#the kind of art I would cut out of magazines and stick them all over my wall

[thesmollestsnek]

My headcanons for the batfamily’s body types, in no particular order;

Jason - Big. Tall, broad, insanely big muscles hidden under a healthy layer of fat. No particular part of him is more defined, or even particularly defined at all, he’s just Big with a capital b. Absolute powerhouse, the definition of a bear.

Dick - He’s got the gymnast’s build. Probably the most “cut” of the family he’s got the trim waist and extremely defined shoulders you’d find on any high level gymnast/acrobat. Tons of muscle definition even when he’s relaxed but especially when he flexes. Most of his muscle mass is up in his shoulders, seeing him work those back shoulder muscles is a work of art. And of course, you can’t forget that iconic ass ;)

Tim - Honestly, Tim Drake is the kinda guy who looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Super pale and insanely skinny with very little definition. Stick thin limbs that pack a surprising punch. He’s got wiry muscles built for speed and endurance over brute strength

Damian - Best word I can think to describe Damian would be “lithe”. He’s small, still a kid and with some of that childlike roundness to his features. He’s a vegetarian which greatly reduces his potential sources of protein, so he’s definitely more on the lean side, at least for now. He may grow into a build more like Bruce’s as he ages but for now he’s short and fairly skinny.

Bruce - Think of a famous actor you’d see posing on a magazine. That’s him. Dorito figure, six pack abs, muscle definition out the ass. He’s the fucking Batman, and has an absolutely insane workout routine to boot. Super tall with the widest shoulders imaginable, but still capable of making himself soft when comforting kids (his own or other people’s).

Cass - Typical ballerina build. Super petite with a surprising amount of strength hidden behind soft slender limbs. Short with a tiny waist and no hips or chest to speak of, she’s silk over steel with an insane of muscle control she uses to make herself as soft and pretty as possible. 100% capable of knocking a man out with one punch, though you’d never know it by looking at her otherwise.

Barbara - First off, my version of Barbara is still in a wheelchair, though she definitely didn’t let that stop her from working out. She may be the girl in the chair both literally and metaphorically, but she still likes to make sure she’s fully capable of defending herself if necessary. Iirc her specific flavor of wheelchair bound is paralysis, so her legs would be fairly small with very little definition, even if she does all she can to exercise those muscles and keep them from atrophying, considering. That being said she has arm muscles for days, super strong both from working out and just using her arms to propel herself and to transfer in and out of her wheelchair. 100% capable of doing a weird little army crawl using just her arm muscles to get around in an emergency if something were to happen to her chair.

Steph - Definitely the squishiest of the girls, though considering they’re all vigilantes that doesn’t necessarily mean much. She seems like the type to have curves, and not work towards having any specific kind of figure. Think a bit of a stocky pear kind of shape. She’s definitely got some muscle definition, but not nearly as much as she could she focuses more on actually being strong than just looking it. A bit on the short side, but not overly so.

Duke: I… honestly know the least about Duke out of the whole batfamily, so he’s definitely the least defined in my head. From what I’ve got, he’s probably more than a bit lanky. I picture him being super tall but not having the body mass of Jason, Bruce, or even Dick to go with that height. Decently strong but more speed oriented, with more of a basketball player build.

[memeadonna]

Anything for You, Baby

Hello everyone! This is a short little thirst story I wrote for @sendhelpimstupid featuring Sugar Baby Kirishima. The stunning art can be found here. Please visit her page and show her some love! 

This story is 18+. Minors DNI 

Warnings: Sugar Baby/Sugar Mommy Relationship, Premature Ejaculation, Cross-Dressing, Sub Kirishima, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Mild Choking, Scratching and Biting Mentioned, Vaginal Intercourse, I wrote this in like 3 hours sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes

Word Count: 2,562

Of all the things you were thankful for in life, people were always surprised when you mentioned Kirishima's expensive taste. Your entire relationship had started because he hadn't noticed how much money he'd been spending until one day he was overdrawn. He hadn't added up the totals of his expenses in his head, hadn't realized every time he swiped his card that money left his account. He liked the finer things in life, and how was he supposed to know that his bank account was meant to last him all of his first semester? His parents had told him "figure it out", so he couldn't even ask them for help. 

Being at a hero school was tough already – he could barely even enjoy the city nightlife since he was stuck at the dorms between classes doing homework. He didn't even have enough time to get a job outside of school hours. Maybe he wasn't cut out for university, let alone at a prestigious hero school. 

You had noticed Kirishima's state of panic, and when he confessed to everyone in the dorm that he was out of money, people (Bakugou and his other friends) had made fun of him. Uraraka and Iida had stepped in immediately, chastising them for mocking him. He tried to play it off as no big deal, that he'd figure it out, and the conversation shifted elsewhere. 

You'd been born into a wealthy family like Iida and Momo, and on top of that you'd had your own job throughout high school, so you'd saved up lots of money already.  "I could hire you," you told him after everyone had left for the night. "Pay you to do things for me." 

"I don't need your charity," he'd snapped back. "Did Bakugou put you up to this?" 

"I just thought I'd offer to help you since we're friends," you answered calmly, before getting up and heading to your dorm. That night you'd sat up late regretting ever asking him if he needed help. 

Early the next morning he was at your door. "What kind of things?" was the first thing he asked, as you rubbed your eyes and blinked up at him blearily. You made him repeat himself twice because the words didn't stick in your brain this early. 

"Clean my room, do my laundry," you'd finally told him, offering what you hoped was a kind smile. "Other things when I want them." The blush he gave you at those words more than made up for his harshness last night. 

You'd started slowly, of course. You gave him rewards for handing in assignments on time, taken him out to dinner when he got good grades, and little treats for random things. "Do I always need a reason, baby?" you'd asked him one night as he examined the concert tickets, you'd just given him. You'd been delighted to accept the ticket he gave back to you and had secretly smiled to yourself as Denki had whined and complained that Kirishima had promised to take him! But that was back when Kirishima was spending his money on everything. Now he was just spending it on himself. 

One day, half-joking, you'd gifted him a French Maid outfit to clean your room in. It was just a little too tight for him (he couldn't even do the zipper up!), but it was the creamy white stockings and cute little heels you were interested in. He tried his hardest to clean your room, but after the third time he rolled his ankle, he ended up with you in his lap, and let's just say that your relationship changed from there. 

You'd pushed him back into your bed and felt him up beneath the skirts and ruffles. You left a smattering of dark hickies over his neck and collarbones, moving down his body with clear intent. He was beet red, sitting up and panting as he watched you with wide eyes. Your hands slipped below his skirts and trailed up his legs, and you watched him squirm. "Aw," you teased, revelling in your victory. "What's wrong, does the baby like getting dressed up all cute and ravaged?" 

He stammered with a reply for a moment, but you dipped under his skirt and the breathy gasp he let out as you began to kiss up his thighs was more than worth it. A part of you wanted to pull back out and apply lipstick so you could leave more evidence of your kisses, but there was no way in hell you were going to back down now. You settled for more hickies and a few bites, and by the time you reached your prize, he was hard and throbbing. 

You were the only person with a dorm on your floor (luck of the draw), so you didn't dare tell him he should quiet down his moaning, especially not as you slid the lacy panties reverently down his thighs. 

It was clearly his first time, and he was squirming in your grip as you gave him a teasing lick. A part of you wanted to pull back and tease him some more, but this was too good to pass up. He threw an arm over his eyes and slipped his other hand into your hair. He arched his back as you raked your nails down his thighs, and let out the sweetest noise you'd ever heard, blowing his load directly in your face before you could even get him into your mouth. After you'd finished laughing and wiped his spunk off of your face, you'd given him the sweetest kiss on the cheek. He'd gone beet red as you laughed, and hadn't said no when you promised him a shopping spree because he was just so good for you. 

The sales lady at the lingered store had been surprisingly accommodating when you'd asked her if they carried up to a 3X. 

He'd been your sugar baby for all of first year, even after he got his own allowance from his parents. He'd been your boyfriend the rest of your university career (of course, you still liked to treat your spoiled baby), and a few years out of school he'd asked you to marry him, with that same sweet expression he always had when he told you he loved you. 

The world saw Red Riot as a strong, manly hero that took shit from nobody. They also saw him as hopelessly in love with you (or with Dynamight, depending on which magazine you read). He was a real Man's Man, always on the covers of fitness magazines or advertising sports drinks and protein powders. He advocated for always being chivalrous and brave, but that Manly Men also took the time to be vulnerable and compassionate. 

One thing that hadn't changed since your days in university was the fact that your Eijirou loved to be spoiled. Shopping sprees, private chefs, weekends away… his eyes always lit up no matter what you surprised him with. You were both similarly ranked in the charts, and both made a lot of money, but he secretly adored the fact that you had a bank account you filled up every month just for him. He'd buy whatever he wanted with it, whether it was designer clothes or handbags (for either of you), or any number of things (he particularly liked buying new gym equipment that the two of you most certainly didn't need). 

Today had been a hard day. You'd been overusing your quirk and your muscles were sore, not to mention you'd been working with one Lord Explosion Murder God which meant that you'd been ordered around all day.

When you got home, a note from your husband was laying on the counter. Eijirou would be home a little late, and you could order whatever for dinner. Grumbling to yourself, you refused to take yet another order from yet another person and reheated leftovers in the fridge. Take that, loving husband! 

You ate standing at the counter in your uniform, and after you'd put the dishes away you marched up to your bedroom, already peeling your costume off. You left it on the bathroom floor as you hopped into the shower, and just let the hot water scald your aching muscles. You used Eijirou's body wash because you missed his smell, and changed into your pyjamas while you combed your hair. 

You crawled under the covers and scrolled on your phone for a while, wishing your husband would just hurry up and come home already. You wanted to fall asleep in his arms, hear him tell you all about how he would protect you from the bad things in the world. 

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs woke you from a restless sleep, and you sat up in bed. How long were you asleep? Was that your Eiji? 

The door opened, and what greeted you took your breath away. Your husband stood in the doorway with a sheer robe, trimmed with red faux fur. It was tied with a ribbon around his waist and accentuated his hips beautifully. He was wearing red lacy thigh highs and nothing else beneath the robe. He completed the look with a set of Louis Vuitton stilettos, which you noticed in passing due to the stunning everything else the Adonis before you was showing off. 

"Hey," he purred. "Heard you had a rough day." He smirked at you as your eyes trailed up and down his body. "Can I make it better?" he took a few steps into the room, undoing the ribbon around his waist teasingly slowly. He opened the robe, letting it fall off his shoulders and rest at his elbows. He had filled out a lot since university, and he was a healthy 7'6 and twice as wide as you. He could lift you with one arm and toss you like a football if he wanted, but as he dropped his robe to the floor and elegantly clicked his way across the room towards you, he had no intention of tossing you around tonight. That thought made sparks dance around your core, and you felt your panties starting to soak. 

You sat up on your knees for a better look at him. He ran his hands over his body, shamelessly showing off for you. His dick stood proud and tall and was already leaking for you. You smiled at him as you slipped into your role. "Did you buy that to look pretty for me?" you asked ever so sweetly. "Sounds like you want a reward." 

He walked right up to the side of the bed with a breathy "Yes,". You leaned up for a kiss and enjoyed the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he took his time with you. 

His hands gently explored your curves, squeezing the plush of your thighs and the soft skin beneath your breasts, and as you pulled back to lick your lips at him, "Anything for you, Baby," felt like the most natural thing to say. 

He crawled into bed, careful not to kick you with his knife-shoes, and placed his wrists at the headboard. You attached the restraints with all the care in the world, and ran your hands over your baby's chest, admiring all of the scars that years of hero work had marked him with. "You're beautiful," you told him, leaning down for another kiss. 

You painted his chest with kisses and hickies, not caring if they'd be visible the next day. Let people stare. Let people know who your man belonged to. 

"I love these too," you ran your hand over his new stockings. "You know lace is my favourite." 

"Always the best for mommy," he purred back, pleased with himself as you explored his body. It had become familiar to you; you knew everywhere he was sensitive. You knew how to get him going, how to slow him down, and how to drive him wild. You shrugged off your own pyjamas and he let out a noise of approval, eyes taking in your curves. "You're stunning." He offered, looking absolutely awestruck. If his hands were free, they'd be all over you, but now was not his turn for control. 

You slid off your panties and tossed them off the bed, eyeing his body up with increasing lust, before suddenly straddling him and sinking down onto him with a small noise of discomfort. He let out a sharp noise of concern and pleasure, gasping. "You've gotta prep yourself!" He hissed, half-drunk on the tight squeeze. 

"Shut up," you answered, and picked up a brutal pace. He let out a strangled noise and arched up into your touch, gasping and whining and looking up at you with eyes clouded by lust as he gave harsh thrusts up into your welcoming body. His hands hardened and unhardened within their restraints, along with a line along his forehead. You wrapped your hands around his throat, and he tilted his head back to bare it to you. His moans crescendoed as you began to put pressure on him, canting your hips faster and faster. 

He was drunk off the lust singing in his veins and bent one of his knees to give you better leverage. You freed one of his hands from its restraint and it immediately flew to your hip to help you ride. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and his breath came in desperate gasps. "Gonna cum!" he whined, blinking desperately up at you. "Please mommy! Please let me fucking cum I want to cum so bad!" he babbled, blinking his pretty crimson eyes up at you. 

You gently caressed his face and smiled down at him. You leaned in closer, giving him a deep kiss. "So do it," you growled. "Knock me up." 

His hips faltered and the absolute roar he let out at your challenge sent a pleased shiver through you. He ripped the other restraint right off of the bedframe (along with a chunk of the frame itself) and flipped you onto your back, all without pulling out of you. He kissed you ravenously, his hands squeezing every inch of you. He grabbed one of your tits in one hand as he reached his other down to play with your clit. He threw you over the edge, and as you came around him, his thrusts changed. They were sharp and purposeful as he poured everything he had into your body. 

"Mine," he growled out, sinking his fangs into the tender meat of your shoulder. He didn't dare move as the two of you came down from your highs but rolled the two of you back over so he didn't crush you. You laughed a little and cuddled into his chest, enjoying the warmth of a womb full of his cum and the delicious stretch of him inside of you, not to mention the feeling of utter safety that having his arms around you brought. "I love you." He purred, giving your forehead a kiss.  

"I love you too," you answered back, smiling up at him with tenderness. 

"Did you really mean it?" he traced his hands over your back, massaging your tender shoulders. "You want to start a family?" 

"Mhm," you nodded tiredly, before looking back up at him once again, echoing your earlier promise: "Anything for you, Baby." 

Taglist: @malicealieness (If you would like to be added to the tag list, please send me an ask requesting it)

[kpopfanfictrash]

s is for sexy

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook

Word Count: 1,532

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to The Art of War More. This drabble takes place after the events of both TAOM and L is for Lunacy. Jungkook is included in People magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive issue, but you can’t find a copy anywhere.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

“We’ve made a terrible mistake,” you complained, sinking down on a park bench to rest your chin in one hand.

Coming to a stop, Gina craned her neck to peer over her shoulder. “I agree,” she said. “We should’ve stopped and gotten donuts at that shop I pointed out.”

“Gina.” You looked up. “Read the room, alright?”

“Right, sorry.”

She grinned, plopping down on the park bench beside you. Adjusting her green and white striped shorts, Gina lifted a hand to scan the horizon. A few children played on the slide at the playground, their innocent cackles drifting over the hedges.

Utterly exhausted, you sighed. “We should give up.”

“No!” Gina turned to face you, appalled. “We’re not stopping until we’ve combed every newsstand in the city. Until we’ve harassed every bodega owner! Until our names are plastered under persona non grata in every library!”

Normally, Gina’s speeches were enough for you to crack a smile, but not today. Today was the day Jungkook’s big magazine article was released and you had woefully dropped the ball. To be fair, Seokjin had suggested you order the volume ahead of time, since the People’s Sexiest Men issue tended to sell out, but you completely forgot.

Jungkook had stayed on campus through Senior year, but then had immediately entered the NHL. This was his second full season with the team and already, he was garnering national attention. Much of this was due to a viral clip of your boyfriend removing his jersey at the end of game five of the western conference finals, but said clip wouldn’t have gone viral if Jungkook had been on the bench.

The fact that he got playing time in his first season was remarkable – let alone that he was playing in the semis and was now considered the league’s It boy. Already there were rumors of him being nominated for end of year awards. Jungkook was excited about those, of course, but you and your friends were more excited for this. People’s Sexiest Men Alive.

He wasn’t the cover, of course – that was reserved for A list celebrities – but it seemed Jungkook’s abs had been enough to land him a mention. You’d planned on wallpapering the apartment door with the photo before he got home tomorrow, but that wouldn’t happen if you couldn’t get your hands on a copy.

Unfortunately for you, the issue seemed to be sold out.

Sighing again, you folded your arms over your chest. “Has Seokjin said anything to you?” you asked Gina. “Was he able to find one?”

“How should I know?” she said, somewhat defensive. “It’s not like I know everything Seokjin does or says.”

You stared at her for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Uh – I know?”

“Right.” Gina swallowed, somewhat mollified. “Why don’t we call him?”

Shaking your head at her weirdness, you pulled your phone from your pocket. Honestly, Gina and Seokjin had been acting mad weird lately. They acted all cagey and awkward whenever you asked one about the other. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think they were fighting.

Dialing Seokjin’s number, you leaned back on the bench and listened to his ringback tone. Kim Seokjin was one of the only people you knew – well, him and your aunt – who still had that feature, and Seokjin hadn’t bothered to update his since 2011. It was still Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.

HEY, I JUST MET YOU! AND THIS IS CRAZ –

“Hello?”

“Seokjin,” you groaned. “When are you going to change that dumb ringback tone?”

“Whenever Carly Rae goes out of style, so never.”

Gina, having overheard, cracked up beside you.

“Anyways,” you said, switching to your other ear. “Any luck on the search?”

“Sorry, but nope. Seems your boyfriend is more in demand than that one donut shop Gina always wants to go to.”

“That, or it’s the fact that Michael B. Jordan’s on the cover.”

“Yeah, probably that.”

“Alright,” you sighed, picking a thread on your jeans. “Thanks for trying, Seokjin.”

“Anytime,” he said and hung up.

As you shoved your phone in your purse, Gina looked at you warily. “No luck?”

“Nope.”

“Hm.” Gina leaned back on the bench. “Maybe we should switch gears here, get creative. We could cut out semi-nude photos of Jungkook and stick them to the pages of last year’s edition!”

“Where would I get last year’s issue, though?”

“Good point.” Gina thought. “You could just stick semi-nude photos of Jungkook to your front door?”

“Gina,” you laughed, shoving her shoulder. “Stop stripping my boyfriend!”

“There it is!” Gina beamed. “I knew I could get you to laugh.”

Shaking your head, your smile faded a little. Gina was right though, this was silly. It would’ve been fun for Jungkook to come home from his away game to this, but it was hardly the end of the world. You would just order a copy online and wait.

Heaving a great sigh, you stood from the bench. “Okay,” you said, turning to Gina. “Let’s head out.”

Gina convinced you to go to the donut shop at least, so you didn’t arrive home empty-handed. That was the reason she gave you at least, although you knew it had more to do with her recently launched donut Instagram.

The box was precariously perched on your hip as you shoved open the door, placing the keys on the hook to kick the door shut. As you turned to walk inside, you started – nearly dropping the entire box of donuts on the floor.

“Jungkook?” you gasped.

Chucking the box on the counter, you dashed across the room.

Jungkook laughed when you reached him, immediately jumping to wrap your legs around his waist. He caught you easily, warm hands on your waist as you buried your face in his chest. Somewhat awkwardly, he walked you towards the kitchen.

“You’re back!” you blurted, pulling back to see him.

Jungkook grinned, rosy-cheeked from your touch. “I’m back,” he agreed, depositing you on the kitchen counter. “Miss me?”

“How?” you demanded, poking his chest. “How’d you get home so fast?”

“I feel so welcome,” Jungkook teased. At the look on your face, he grinned. “Coach cancelled tomorrow’s practice, so I caught a flight back today.”

“Yay,” you said happily, leaning to rest your head on his chest.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat reassured you and for a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy this. Jungkook smelled as he always did, like light floral and cotton, and the weight of his hands on your thighs made your heart calm.

His thumbs played with the thread on your jeans, which sent your mind to other places – places involving your bed, his ass and zero clothes – but for now, you were content with this.

“What’s in the box?” he murmured into your hair.

“Oh, right,” you said and pulled back. Twisting around, you dragged the donut box towards you and popped the top. “Some might be a bit squished since I threw them. Gina and I went to the new donut place on Lakeview.”

Jungkook’s eyes went super-wide. He immediately bent to grab the closest donut, powdered sugar getting everywhere when he bit into the side.

“Yum.” Jungkook’s eyes rolled exaggeratedly back in his head. “Wow, this is the best welcome home I’ve ever gotten. There’s you, of course, but also – donuts.”

“Obviously,” you said. “There was actually supposed to be another surprise, but I kind of messed it up.”

Jungkook licked powdered sugar off his wrist. “Messed something up? You? Don’t buy it.”

“Suck up,” you teased. “But no, really. I wanted to get your People’s Sexiest Men edition! I was going to plaster it across the front door and embarrass you.”

Jungkook grimaced. “As fun as that sounds, the donuts are better.”

“What? You aren’t proud of how sexy you are?”

“I don’t care about that.” Jungkook swallowed the last of the donut. “As long as you find me sexy.”

Tipping your head back, you groaned. “Okay, now you’re seriously sucking up.”

“Mm.” Placing his hands on either side of your thighs, Jungkook’s nose grazed your jawline. “Anything else you want me to suck?”

“Jungkook!”

Drawing back, his gaze glinted darkly. “Besides, why do you need that photo of me with my shirt off?”

You frowned, perturbed and he reached one hand overhead. Still looking at you, Jungkook did that stupid-hot thing guys do where they remove their shirt with one hand. When his six pack abs were revealed, they left you a bit speechless.

Flexing a little, Jungkook grinned. “You have the real thing.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, shoving his pec. Oh – hard. Sliding down from the counter, you began walking towards the bedroom. “But since you offered…”

Jungkook waggled his brows. “I did.”

“Get in there, sexiest man alive,” you laughed. “Show me what you got.”

“Alright.” Jungkook caught himself on the doorframe with both hands. “But before we go any further, I feel compelled to clarify I’m not People’s sexiest man, just one of them. Michael B. Jordan is the sexiest man alive.”

“Jungkook!” You pointed through the door. “Bed!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a salute.

You stared after him, grinning stupidly before following.

 kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: I just want to say, for my OG readers that have been reading this since I first posted the headcanon list last year, I love and appreciate y’all so much!! If you want, since this is a long term project, I can add you to the tag list if you like :)

Also Letter commission’s are open until 3/10, so if your interested, price and info are here. 

Based on this Headcanon list (x) : Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! <This is Part 4!>

You sigh, eyes glancing back at your watch.

Maybe it’s off?

You wouldn’t put it past Fred to screw up the time on your watch just so you would show up an hour early to your class, wondering if it was always this dark at eight in the morning.

But if Fred did mess with your watch, how does that explain everyone else? You turn to your right and look at a group of third and fourth years scattered around the room. Surely he couldn’t have changed the time in everyone’s watch.

Though at this point you know better than to assume anything is impossible for Fred Weasley, especially if he’s able to get George on board with his pranks.

You sigh, eyes sweeping over the room again. The chatting has long died down, now it looks like all those late nights in the common room playing exploding snap are finally beginning catching up.

Especially when the class was missing the particularly loud and somewhat entertaining antics of the one and only, Gilderoy Lockhart. It wasn’t that it was particularly fun to watch his nonsensical lessons or anything- but at least it was something to watch. And as long as you were barley competent, you could get by just fine on the “pop quizzes” he had. Though they were really more like magazine quizzes about how well you knew him.

Plus he was pretty good looking, though you would rather die than admit that to Fred or George.

Speaking of your favorite pair of doppelgängers-

You turn to look at your side, the two chair next to you on the long bench are vacant. Well, it’s not like it’s totally unusual for them to skip class. You can count on one hand how many times they’ve been excited to come to defense against the dark arts this year. But-

But... they usually invite you when they do decide to play hooky.

Maybe they didn’t invite you because you’re always persuading them to come to class instead. ‘You don’t want a howler from your Mum now do you?’ You would say, pushing them towards the class.

Maybe they just don’t think you’re fun to be around anymore. No, no, they’re your friends- you can’t start thinking like that, there must be a good reason why-

“Hey (Y/N/N)” George squeezes past you, plopping into the chair next to you with a soft rattle.

His hair’s sticking every which way, his robe is crooked, and his tie isn’t even tied, just hanging limply along his neck. 

“You don’t even have your bag George” you hiss, did he finally get into a fist fight with Draco Malfoy? You’ve told them both not to think too hard about how he called you-

“Wait where’s Fred?” You look to the door, expecting to see a messy head of fire red hair walk through the door, sporting bruises and maybe a grin like his black eye is a gold medal.

But instead, there’s a familiar head of golden hair standing in the doorway. It’s Gilderoy Lockhart. There’s no doubt about it, the image of him is perfect. Of course it’s your professor.

Of course it is.

But there’s something about the way he carries himself? Like he’s still getting used to having legs so short. The way his smile seems a little more...mischievous than usual, that twinkle of absolute delight in those strangely familiar eyes.

“Oh no” you mumble, but George grins from beside you.

“I’m not going to be needing my bag, and neither are you” George whispers in your ear, and you turn to look at him.

They didn’t.

“Good afternoon class, sorry I’m late! I was admiring myself in one of my thirty mirrors and the time just...got away from me.” ‘Professor Lockhart’ says flashing his class the most condescending smile you have ever seen.

“That’s not a lie you know, we did find him admiring himself in the mirror” George whispers, your face is in your hands but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s got a pleased grin on his face.

“It’s why it was so easy to knock him out and shove him into the teachers lounge- he never even saw it coming”

Well at least they didn’t shove him into a broom closet.

“Now class, I would like you to write a list of things you love about me-“ there’s a collective groan and the rustle of parchment but neither you and George don’t move a muscle.

“Four feet at least!” Fred, in his Lockhart-skin-suit bellows, which earns another collective groan from the rest of the class.

“So what, did you draw the short stick, why aren’t you up there?” You ask jerking your head towards Fred, it looks like the more fun part of the prank honestly. It also seems like the sweetest m form of revenge after old Gildy gave you three detention last week for showing up late to class, but you won’t mention that.

George only shrugs.

Honestly ninety percent of this situation was Fred’s poor impulse control. One second they were running late to class, and George was worrying about getting detention because if he has to scrub all those awards for Filch again he won’t be able to hold a quil - and the next thing he knows he’s carrying Lockhart by his feet into the teachers lounge.

“He’s the showman, I’m just the side kick.” George shrugs, it’s been that way since they were kids. Fred would come up with an idea and George would follow his lead.

Not that he’s upset about it. It’s always interesting, he’s hasn’t been bored in years. Still, he can’t help but wonder if they didn’t share the same face, would he and Fred be as close as they are now?

Or would he be just as easily replaced, most likely by Lee Jordan. Well Ron might make a more susceptible accomplice, would anyone do-

“And where would our fearless leader be without his trustworthy sidekicks?” You say, a hint of a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. Your voice drawing George out of his thoughts.

“Probably in detention” You muse, that or jail, because technically they assaulted their professor, and that’s got to be a serious offense.

George laughs next to you, well you’ve got a point. If it wasn’t for you and him, you three would have been expelled long ago. He’s about to lean over and whisper something in your ear when some interrupts him mid motion.

“Weasley and (L/N), less flirting and more quil movement, yes?” He really sounds like Fred right there, a hint of an accent peaking through. Not that anyone other than you and George seem to notice. They’re all too busy contemplating how embarrassing it must be to get called out for not paying attention by Gilderoy Lockhart of all people.

You manage to not roll your eyes, sifting through your bag until you pull out some parchment.

“Geez four feet? That’s kind of excessive” you mumble while George is holding back laughter so violent he’s actually shaking.

“You know he’s just teasin’ right? It’s not like Lockhart’s actually going to grade these-“ and then a horrible realization dawns on him.

Half of the reason they thought this plan would work is because someone as pompous as Gilderoy Lockhart would never admit that two teenage boys hit him over the head with one of his books, and shoved him on a sofa (after tying his shoe laces together).

No, good old Gildy would go along like nothing had even happened, perhaps he’d even believe that nothing had really happened. Not enough sleep and too much caffeine do result in memory loss. And who can sleep with ‘the heir of Slytherin’ on the loose?

Ordering-sorry, assigning them to write four feet worth of parchment about what they admire about their professor sounds exactly like something he would do.

“Fucking Fred.” George hisses, why did he bloody have to pick four feet? Wouldn’t just one foot have sufficed? But no, the great Fred could never- ‘it adds enthusiasm, it’s all about the drama’ he would say.

Well where’s your god damn drama now that your best friend and brother are about to fail this god forksaken class, all because you couldn’t say one foot instead of f*cking four, George wants to scream.

You sigh, cutting your parchment in half, handing one half to George. You’ve only got four feet on you, you didn’t think you would need any more than that, so the both of you are just going to have to turn in two feet each.

“Sure would be a shame if Fred came back to the dorm and found, oh I don’t know, fifty spiders in his bed” you muse as you pull out two quills, and a bottle of ink. You’ve only got the one bottle, you’ll have to share.

But George isn’t paying any mind to the ink and parchment situation, instead he’s grinning at your suggestion. He always knew you had a wicked streak.

“Yeah it would be a real shame if say, two people were to go down to Hagrid’s hut, collect some drool from Fang, and smear it all over Fred’s robes” You peer at George from the corner of your eye, trying to hide your smile behind your hand.

“Oh well now wouldn’t that just be awful, hypothetically of course” You say, looking down to your parchment

“Truly a tragedy” He responds with a grin.

[sebthesnipe]

Together (My First Anxceit Fic)

Anxceit Fluff was requested... I attempted and failed. Well, kinda. It's a bit fluffy...

They really didn't want to cooperate.

Ship: Anxiety

For Mage_Ofthe_East on AO3 who is vastly supportive of my writing <3 I did my best. I'm sorry if its not as fluffy as it should be. <3 I think you'll still like it though.

Master List

AO3

TW: Alternate Ending has Major Character Death, Old Age, Children

“No! I don’t wanna go!” Virgil cried, pulling hard on his father’s hand, desperate to get away.

“Virgil! That is enough!” his father grumbled in frustration as he dragged him along towards the school’s double doors. “You have to go to school. All big boys do.”

“I don’t want to be a big-“

“What happened to your eye?” a small voice asked, cutting Virgil off and pulling his attention to the young boy waiting at the top of the steps.

Virgil sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve as his father pulled to a stop in front of the open doors.

A tall man in a dark blue polo and tie stood holding open the door and eyeing Virgil and his father evenly. Next to him stood the boy, only a few inches taller than Virgil, and certainly not that much older.

The side of the boy’s face was discolored with something that looked like an ‘angel kiss’, at least that was what Virgil’s father called it.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Virgil asked in return, the tears that had been running down his cheeks starting to dry up at the question.

“Virgil!” his father gasped.

“It’s quite alright,” the blue polo man reassured before turning back to the boy next to him. “Janus, why don’t you answer him? You did ask him a question first. It is only fair.”

The discolored boy eyed Virgil with a look far too similar to the blue polo man’s.

“It’s called Vitiligo,” he stated in a pompous tone. “It is a skin condition that causes its host to lose pig-eh-men-tation on certain parts of their bodies.”

“Very good,” the blue polo man praised.

“Thank you, Papa!” Janus chirped with a grin, glancing up at the man in question before sticking his tongue out at Virgil.

Virgil rolled his mismatched eyes. “Yeah, well, mine is… is… Heta… Heta-cha-o-nia-“

“Heterochromia, kiddo,” Virgil’s father offered affectionately.

“YEAH! That thing!” Virgil nodded.

“Pft,” Janus scoffed. “Whatever, I’m going to go play in the art room,” he informed his papa, striding into the school with his nose upturned.

Virgil stared after him. Virgil really liked art… And he supposed the other kid was interesting.

“You’re more than welcome to join him, Virgil,” Janus’ papa informed him.

Virgil looked up at his own father for reassurance, earning a slight nod before Virgil rushed after him.

“Wait for me!!!”

……………………………………………………………….

“What a nerd!” Janus' deep voice scoffed as he peered out the window.

Virgil glanced up from the magazine he had been flipping through, not that he was actually paying attention to it. His blue and green gaze landed on the two possible culprits of Janus’ current insult.

“Which one?” Virgil asked, with very little interest as he took in the Prince brothers.

Roman’s broad shoulders filled out his letterman jacket quite well, while Remus’ seemed a few sizes too big as he hung from a branch above his brother’s head. They seemed to be arguing about something.

“Does it matter?” Janus asked lazily, giving a shrug, his own letterman lifting and falling with the motion.

“Just curious as to whose heart you’re breaking next,” Virgil teased playfully.

“Shut it,” Janus laughed, shoving his friend out of his chair. “You’re just jealous! It’s not my fault no one wants to date a racoon!”

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings,” Virgil teased back, rubbing his newly bruised. “I’m serious though, I rather not have to avoid them both for the rest of our lives. They live next door to me you know?”

“The rest of our lives?” Janus asked with an arched brow.

“Well, yeah,” Virgil shrugged, climbing back into his seat. “Let’s face it, we’ve been friends this long… You’re kind of stuck with me for good now.” He tried not to flush as he spoke the sentimental words.

Janus stared at him for a long moment, making Virgil shift uncomfortably.

“Gross,” he hissed, though his Vitiligo stretched as he smiled affectionately.

“Your face!” Virgil retorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, your mom!” Janus spat back.

…………………………………………………

“You don’t get a say in it!” Janus spat at him angrily, throwing another perfectly folded shirt into his suitcase.

“I think I should!” Virgil snapped back. “I’m only your best friend !”

“You were my best friend!” Janus growled, moving to back another article of clothing.

“Don’t give me that crap, Janus! You’re just mad because you don’t want to hear reason!” Virgil argued, ignoring the sting of his words.

“Reason?! Ha!” Janus laughed mirthlessly. “The only reason I’m hearing from you is jealousy!”

“Me?! Jealous?! Of what?!”

Janus tossed in one more pair of slacks before slamming the case close and rounding on his friend.

“Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Janus offered sarcastically.

“Chronologically,” Virgil replied, calling him out.

Janus hesitated before giving a grimace. “How about that I’ve always been smarter than you! It’s not my fault you didn’t get accepted into a good college-“

“I didn’t apply!” Virgil argued, not willing to admit that he had been waiting to find out which college Janus was getting accepted to before following him.

“Or how about the fact that all your relationships end in disaster?” Janus added, turning to zip the case.

“I broke up with them!” Virgil reminded, ignoring the way his heart was pounding painfully.

“How about the fact that I am not content to stay in this tiny ass town, following tiny ass dead-end jobs and spend all my time wasting away with you !”

Silence fell between them.

Virgil’s gaze widened at that, chest feeling as if it had just been cracked open.

“I… See,” he mumbled, feeling his ribs heaving.

“Listen,” Janus sighed, realizing what he had said, his expression softening. “Remus is a good guy. We’ve been together a long time. I mean… he’s the reason I stayed as long as I have but… With Roman gone he’s willing to move and… I can’t miss this opportunity Virg… I’m sorry.” With that, Janus pulled his suitcase off the bed and headed for the door without a backwards glance, leaving Virgil to sink slowly to the floor, tears staining his cheeks as he watched his friend’s silhouette disappear around the corner.

………………………

“I know, right?” Virgil laughed, taking another long sip of his drink as he glanced over at his date.

It was a clear crisp night. Perfect for their walk back to his place. How long had they been dating now? Two months? Three?

“I thought he was going to choke! If you saw his face-“ Virgil’s voice cut off.

The silhouette of a man, dimly lit by the porch light, standing on Virgil’s doorstep caught his attention.

“Who is that?” his date’s voice echoed in his ear.

Virgil didn’t register the words.

His cup slid from his hand, hitting pavement and splattering his jeans.

“Virgil?” his date asked, still not receiving an answer.

Virgil paid them no mind, body seeming to turn on autopilot as he strode up the walkway, eyes glued to the outline of the man as if worried he might be a figment of his imagination.

It wouldn’t be the first time…

Virgil needed to know he was real…

Needed to know he was actually there...

“Hey-” Janus whispered, voice dripping with sadness, cut off as the breath was knocked out of him.

Virgil’s arms wrapped around Janus’ slender form, squeezing him so tight Janus felt as if he would break.

A moment later, Virgil pulled back, his multicolored gaze taking in the streaks that split the dirty smudges on his old friend’s cheeks, and the way his pleading eyes met his.

He had been crying? Janus? That certainly wasn’t the prideful image-driven man, Virgil remembered.

Years had passed since their falling out, neither willing to reach out to the other. Virgil had, of course, checked in other man from time to time through social media and family, but he was sure Janus had never known that.

“I assume this is a bad time?” Janus asked, peering past Virgil towards his date.

Virgil paid it no mind.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Janus tensed at the question, studying Virgil’s expression in turn before tears began to well up again.

Virgil didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the taller man once more, pulling him close as Janus’ fingers curled into his hoodie, sobs raking his body.

…………………………………………………..

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, watching Janus examine himself in the mirror.

“It’s just one date, Virg,” Janus reminded with a smirk.

“Your first date,” Virgil countered. “First since-“

“It’s just one date, Virgil,” Janus insisted, cutting him off. “Now, how do I look?”

He turned to face the shorter man, straightening his tie as he did so.

“Like someone vomited yellow on your funeral suit,” Virgil grumbled, grimacing as he sat cross legged on the bed.

“Perfect,” Janus grinned in return. “I’ll be perfectly dressed for when I knock him dead.”

“Just don’t expect me to give the eulogy,” Virgil groaned.

“Like I’d trust you with anything more than handing out pamphlets,” Janus chuckled, picking up a pillow from the floor and tossing it at him.

“For the record, at your funeral, I’m bringing cake and icecream!” Virgil called after him as Janus headed for the door. “Throwing a block party!”

“Oh please! You need friends for that!” Janus called over his shoulder.

…………………………………………

Janus was exhausted.

A double shift with no lunch break. He was fairly certain that was illegal…

He stumbled into the house, tossing the keys onto the side table before calling out for his roommate.

“Virgil? I hope you left me some-“ He paused at the sight of the small to-go container sitting on the bar with his name scrawled on it in thick black messy lettering.

A smile played on his lips as he took the box and headed for the living room. Crappy food and some dull documentary sounded like the perfect end to such a long day.

He paused, Virgil’s snores drifting to him from the study.

Shifting directions, Janus peered into the room, catching sight of the cheap ‘Happy Birthday’ decorations strung across the bookcases and the small cake (which Virgil had obviously already began to enjoy) sitting on the table that read ‘Ha- Bir- Janus!’ in bright yellow, the words cut off by the large chunk missing from the sweet.

His eyes fell on Virgil’s sleeping form draped across the large arm chair, party hat covering one eye as he mouth hung open, crumb covered plate still resting atop his chest as it rose and fell.

Janus’ heart clenched and realization struck him as the walls seemed to shake with the sheer volume of Virgil’s breathing.

He was in love with Virgil Sanders!

…………………………………………………………………………….

“That’s not funny, Janus!” Virgil snapped, glaring at his friend.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Janus agreed simply.

“You’re fucking insane!” Virgil accused.

“I completely agree,” he nodded.

“Stop being so agreeable, damn it!” Virgil snapped.

“Only when you state something I can disagree with,” Janus countered.

“What will your dad say?!” Virgil asked.

“Papa will probably agree with me,” Janus offered calmly.

“But I never said that I-“ Virgil cut himself off, flabbergasted by the entire situation, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“You never had to Virgil,” Janus offered, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him as he watched his room mate frantically pace across the room. “I’ve always known.”

Virgil pinned him with a testy glare, his frustration only intensifying at the knowing smirk Janus offered.

“Then you are the one that’s lost their mind!” Virgil accused.

“Or found it, depending on your perspective,” Janus offered.

“No! Absolutely not!” Virgil answered, shaking his head.

“Why?” Janus asked simply.

“Well… Well… Because…” Virgil stammered.

“Because it wasn’t your idea?” Janus asked.

“What?! No! It was my idea!” Virgil paused as he realized what he had said and backtracked. “Well, originally… before… you know…”

“Good, then we’re in agreement.” Janus gave a curt nod, standing and straightening his coat.

“What?! But I never-“

“You did say it was your idea to get married originally,” Janus pointed out, “and I am agreeing with you now. Therefore it is set. October is a nice month to have a wedding, don’t you think?” he asked, already heading out of the room.

Virgil sank into the chair Janus had just vacated, utterly and completely confused… and yet happy beyond belief.

……………………………………………

“Are you sure?” Virgil whispered softly, peering over his husband’s shoulder.

“More than I have ever been in my life,” Janus nodded, bouncing the small child currently wrapped snugly in his arms.

Virgil didn’t need telling twice. “Alright then,” he nodded, turning to the desk next to them and signing his name.

“Logan Patton Dee, Fathers: Janus Alexander Dee and Virgil Edward Dee,” he whispered softly.

He slid the paper across the polished wood with a grin.

“It’s official,” the woman nodded with a kind smile, stamping the paper and moving to make copies. “Congratulations, to the three of you. There will be monthly check ins but I am certain everything will be as it should be.”

“Just as it should be,” Janus agreed with a nod, still peering dreamily down at their son’s face.

……………………………………………………

“I'm a serious Dad! You should have seen her!” Logan laughed, waving his hands in the air. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile at that, gray hair falling loosely into his face.

“You think Papa will like her?” Logan asked, finally glancing up at his father, brows furrowing in worry.

“She sounds like a very smart girl,” Virgil offered.

“Oh, she’s a genius Dad! Way smarter than me! Fiery too!” He went on. “She makes me the happiest man in the world.”

“Then I think he’ll adore her,” he reassured. “Is that right, love?” he asked, glancing over Logan’s shoulder at Janus as the man approached, his own salt and pepper locks groomed neatly down.

Logan started, turning quickly in his seat to stare up in surprise at the man in question.

“Hmph,” Janus huffed, with an upturn of his nose. “We’ll see.”

……………………………….

“Grandpa!” Valerie cried, climbing onto Virgil’s lap, his wheelchair rocking slightly with the force.

“Oof! Easy Val, if your Pawpaw sees you in my lap, he’ll have my head,” Virgil teased, tickling the little girls' sides playfully.

“That I will!” Janus teased, appearing at Virgil’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder. He looked happy to see the young girl, despite his threat.

“Pawpaw! Will you come watch me and Leo swim?” she asked excitedly, peering up pleadingly at Janus and causing his features to soften even more.

“In a bit, dear. I need to take Grandpa here back upstairs for a nap.”

“Who are you calling grandpa, old man?” Virgil growled at his husband playfully, helping Valerie climb off his lap. She gave him a big hug before hurrying off to play with her brother.

“You, grandpa,” Janus teased with a chuckle, “Come on, I’ll even lay down with you if you promise no to snore so loudly.”

“Ha!” Virgil barked. “Good luck with that. A forty year steak isn’t going to stop now!”

The End (of the fluff anyways)...

[[[This is the end of the fluff.

Continue at your own risk. Alternate NON-FLUFF ending in next chapter.

YOU WILL CRY!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]]]

Alternate Ending:

Janus brushed away the loose grass and dirt the marred the headstone, clearing the words

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’ etched in marble.

The dark stone of the plot next to him lay empty, waiting for Janus to join him in his eternal slumber, but the man paid it no mind as he emptied the vase of dead flowers and replaced them with the new ones he had brought.

“There,” Janus hummed proudly. “Much better. You always were a slob, you know,” he teased. “Though I suppose it comes with being part racoon.”

He laughed, the sound falling a bit flat as tears welled in his eyes.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “The kids do too. Logan promises he’ll visit but you know how those things go…”

…………………………………

“I miss you,” Logan mumbled, pulling out the dead flowers from the vase and replacing them with fresh ones. “Both of you…”

He peered down at the double plot.

‘Virgil Edward Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’

‘Janus Alexander Dee Loving husband, father, and grandfather’.

“The kids do too. Though, they’re still a bit young to really understand. You know how those things go…”

[yenafmd]

❧ god, it’s brutal out here.

date(s): september 2021 mentions of: @fmdhanbyul​ word count: 585 words warnings: n/a details:  a glimpse into yena’s creative progress putting together her solo pictorial for the base x exclusive collab. the concept is heavily inspired by herself, wanting to create something that has her name written all over it to get her name out there in the fashion business, yena likes to think she did a good job at that (i know very little about fashion i’m winging all of this, pls be kind to me)

when yena was told she would get to pitch in on her solo pictorial as a creative director, she was over the moon.

fashion had been a big passion of hers for a long time and while no stranger to modelling work, probably her second most popular line of work next to acting. but never had yena been on the creative end of things. her modelling gigs all looked more or less the same, she showed up, would let the stylists dress her up prettily and she tried her best to look good on camera.

and yena loved that, she loved looking pretty, she loved feeling pretty, and she loved being on set for photoshoots, high quality cameras capturing her every pose.

but it wasn’t the same as being creatively involved. 

she had played around with that in a way of course, in putting together her own wardrobe and looks. occasionally, one of her friends would allow her to work her magic on them, ranging from casual everyday looks to more nightlife oriented matters or for any ocassion really. especially poor hanbyul was often on the receiving end of yena’s impromptu dress-up and makeover sessions. something that came with dating her.

either way, none of that had ever been on a professional scale, so when offered the opportunity, she had been quick to jump to it.

yena wanted to do a good job at this. she had to, if she wanted to convince dimensions that it was interesting to continue her more in the fashion business, possibly on the other side of the lens for once. 

for her first gig, the option were endless really and because of that, she wanted to stick to something close to what she was familiar with. she wanted people to be able to look at this and be able to easily tie it back to her, the words nam yena written over every aspect of the pictorial.

so truly, the retro y2k preppy school look made a lot of sense. yena was no stranger to pleated skirts and cropped camisoles and knee high socks. her style had always been a mixture of sexy yet playful and fun, pastels colors and cute detailings to articles of clothing that in reality covered very little.

yena wanted to take that to the extreme, her own style but enlarged to an over-exaggerated level, the kind of dramatized version that didn’t really exist in real life, only in the media. 

the other puzzle pieces fell in place quickly after that, a scrapbook kind of style, lined paper background covered in cute little doodles and stickers and detail all handpicked by yena herself to perfectly suit the concept, the pictures layered over top like cut outs, like they were taken out of a magazine themselves, creating the paradox of a magazine in a magazine. 

it lived up to all of yena’s teenage dreams, the hyper-feminine flair of ‘90s/’00s american movies that she had always loved. it felt kind of like a caricature almost, but in the best way possible, a surreal, larger than life version of all the things she loved. a level of glamour only achievable in art and media.

bringing all of those aspects together, all the little bits of the preppy old school styling, the glossy makeup, the overabundance of stickers and rhinestones and decorated littered throughout all of it, they shaped the perfect signature, like yena’s name was written on a mirror in lipstick, a lip print left at the bottom.  

[onemilliongoldstars]

better to be fake - chapter two

Since she started at St Anne’s private prep school, Lexa has prided herself on her ability to fly below the radar, even if she sometimes is forced to waitress her classmates’ socialite events. That all changes the moment she comes to the attention of Clarke Griffin, the princess of the upper east side, as wealthy as she is beautiful and used to getting her own way.

Determined to shake off the hold of her over bearing mother, Clarke presents Lexa with a proposal that she can’t turn down: pretend to date her and she will make sure Lexa never has to waitress again.

–

please note the tags and warnings on ao3.

read on ao3.

clexa high society au.

2/13

--

She feels out of place from the moment she steps out of the elevator and into the Griffin home.

It's the maid that greets her at the door and leads her through into the living room to wait while she hurries away to fetch Clarke. Lexa stands, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans and inspects the wide, open space with interest. There's a broad archway that leads into a dining room at the far end of the long room, but the living room itself is probably big enough to fit most of her apartment in. It's decorated in light creams, yellows and reds and it feels cleaner than any room Lexa has ever been in before. There are several slim, comfortable couches and a glass coffee table with magazines arranged artfully across the surface. The whole apartment is quiet. In her own home there is a constant buzz of noise, the traffic from the street outside or music from the bar at the end of the block or their neighbours passing the door and it's almost unnerving to be so surrounded by silence.

Her gaze is caught by the fireplace, all dark stone and marble and she wanders slowly towards it, taking a moment to inspect the childhood photos on the mantelpiece before her attention is drawn down to a large vase of flowers in the empty space where flames would flicker in winter. They're bright and beautiful and she lets herself reach out and run a thumb over the petal of a lily.

Thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs draw her attention and she darts away from the flowers guiltily, looking up in time to see Clarke, breathless and beaming in the doorway.

She feels immediately underdressed, but it's not a new feeling. Clarke's text had told her this was just a family brunch, nothing formal and so she'd pulled on her best jeans and a light blue shirt, a thin sweater thrown over the top to ward off the autumn chill. Clarke, however, is wearing a light dress and a pair of dark heels, her hair thrown into some complicated twist of braids that is artfully arranged to look casual. There are even fresh flowers woven between her golden strands and Lexa can't help but stare.

"What?" Clarke falters in the doorway, looking down at herself. "Is something wrong? Do I look bad?"

"No, you look..." she fumbles to find the right word, "wonderful. I just thought you said this was casual."

"It is." Clarke quirks her eyebrow, quizzically and Lexa looks pointedly down at her own outfit. "Oh don't be silly," Clarke rolls her eyes, stepping fully into the room to grab her by the hand and tug her away into the corridor again. "You look perfect."

“Your kind of perfect?” She asks wryly as she is led up the curving staircase, surrounded by more cut flowers and large landscapes. “Or the good kind?”

At the top of the staircase Clarke turns and Lexa has to come to an abrupt halt to stop from running into her. “My kind is the good kind.” She tells her and Clarke sounds so certain, so firm and resolute that Lexa’s eyes widen even as the girl turns around and continues on through the long corridors.

She follows her silently, but she takes in the many doors that sit off the corridor. She counts five before Clarke pushes one open and she can’t help but wonder what could possibly be behind them, Clarke lives with only her mother, who is barely ever home and yet their apartment is like a labyrinth.

Clarke pauses in the doorway, turning to look at her and she sees, to her surprise, a glimmer of nervousness in her eyes. “This is my room,” she tells her, quietly and Lexa nods once.

Her stare is curious when Clarke steps aside and lets her inside, roving around the room to take in everything that fills it. It isn’t a small space by any means, but it’s so filled with stuff that it feels… not small, but cosy.

The large double bed is covered in a light blue coverlet and an array of cushions and one of the bedside tables is piled high with books. Some of them- the ones at the bottom- are school books, but the rest are books on mythology and art and paperbacks with creased spines and curled pages. The bed is covered with bits of paper and a few clothes and as she steps further in she notices that the high mirror is surrounded by pictures of people that Lexa recognises from school, selfies with Octavia and Raven, their faces creased with laughter; pictures of Clarke on Bellamy’s back, her tongue out; laughing snapshots of she and her friends on vacation; even pencil sketches of friends and families.

The click of the door shutting behind her draws her eyes away and she turns to see Clarke watching her carefully, lingering near the door.

"Do you like it?" She sounds oddly vulnerable and open, and Lexa tries to put her at ease, nodding with a small smile, hand reaching out to trail across the soft coverlet as she speaks.

"Yeah, it's beautiful." Fingers brush against the fur of a small stuffed rabbit, sat against the pillows looking slightly ragged and limp and she turns, cocking an eyebrow teasingly at the blonde. "Friend of yours?"

Clarke's slight flush is almost endearing and she hurries forward, grabbing the rabbit and hugging it to her chest even as she smiles. "Hey, lay off Peter."

"Peter?" Lexa echoes, laughter in her voice and Clarke rolls her eyes, dropping the rabbit back onto the bed and following it with a slight humph, kicking up her heeled shoes onto the bed, ignoring the clothes she is crushing beneath her body.

"Quit it, my dad read me Peter Rabbit when I was a kid and I got hooked. I used to make the nanny read it to me every day, twice."

"Twice?" She almost chokes on the word, shaking her head as she wanders closer towards the head of the bed. "Wow, you weren't kidding around."

"I never kid about rabbits, Lexa." She's so serious, so deadpan that for a second Lexa is stumped, hesitating where she stands, but Clarke's mask cracks and she giggles, patting the space beside her invitingly. "Joke. Sit down, you don't always have to stand on ceremony."

"You sure about that?" She sits regardless, perching on the edge of the bed and leaning down to tug off her boots before propping her feet up on the bed, reclining back against the multitude of cushions and turning so that she can look at Clarke.

"What do you mean?" Clarke shifts, turning so that she can lean on her elbow and look at Lexa through eyes that are so blue they remind Lexa of the pictures of tropical seas she's seen in National Geographic.

"Well your apartment is kind of like a museum," She stares at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the intricate plasterwork and hoping that Clarke doesn't take offence.

Beside her the girl sighs and nods, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Not here though," Lexa can't resist turning again to look at her, watching the way that blue eyes flicker away before venturing up to meet hers again from under long eyelashes. Clarke is unimaginably different here, lying against her bed and murmuring childhood stories to Lexa. She is open and innocent and incredibly vulnerable, as far from the high heeled girl who strides down the corridors of St Anne's as it's possible to be, and Lexa struggles for a moment to find what to say. "This room is different, more alive than the rest of the house."

"Thanks," Clarke's smile is small but genuine and a twinkle flashes in her eye, a return to the confidence that Lexa knows when she asks, teasingly. "And what's your room like?" She wiggles her eyebrows and Lexa guffaws so loudly that it makes Clarke snort inelegantly.

"Easy there," she returns, playfully, "it's our first date. I normally wait until at least date two to take a girl to my room."

"Well I guess I'll just have to pray for a second date then," Clarke's smile is slight and coy, tweaking at the corners of her lips teasingly and Lexa is momentarily entranced, eyes fixed to the plump and roll of her pink lips before a knock on the door cracks through the room like a whip.

They both turn, startled and flushing, to see the maid sticking her head around the door. She eyes them both suspiciously, before finally settling her gaze on Clarke and saying, haughtily, "Miss Clarke, your mother is here and brunch will be served soon."

"Thank you Martha," Clarke swings her feet off the bed, standing easily and striding over to mirror to fluff at her hair.

"Should we go?" Lexa pulls on her boots again, trepidation creeping up from her stomach. Clarke shakes her head, leaning in close to the mirror to check her makeup.

"No, let her wait. I'm forever waiting for her."

It doesn't seem like the healthiest of relationships, but Lexa lets it pass anyway, shrugging and shaking her head as she settles back to sit on the bed again. Her gaze is caught by a picture on Clarke's bedside table, beside a glass of water and a small, retro style radio; caught in a frame, the image that stares out at her is bright and colourful and Lexa is momentarily captured by it. Clarke is obviously young, maybe nine or ten, and sat on a bench beside a man who has the same eyes as her. They are both laughing, caught in a candid because Clarke is pointing at her father and he has ice cream from the cone in his hands smeared against the tip of his nose. Clarke looks younger, hair braided down her back simply, in shorts and a pink shirt and there is a carefree joy in her eyes that Lexa has never seen before.

"Is this your dad?"

Clarke freezes, halfway through applying her lip gloss and slowly screws the cap back on before she paces round to her side of the bed, peering down at the picture though it is clear that she knows what Lexa is talking about.

"Yeah, that's him." Her voice is soft and quiet and when Lexa turns to look back at her she is running the ear of the rabbit between her thumb and fingers, a subconscious, comforting habit.

"What happened to him?" She speaks lowly, afraid to break the quiet between them.

"He died." She sounds curt and matter of fact and the rabbit falls back onto the bed as she stands a little straighter, staring down at Lexa with regal expectancy. "Ready? We have to scar my mother, remember?"

"Of course.”

At her bedroom door Clarke turns, holding out an expectant hand, and when their fingers twine together Lexa feels a flush run through her at the sight of Clarke's thumb curled possessively atop her own.

Abby Griffin looks Lexa up and down when she walks down the stairs beside her daughter. She stands imperiously, in heels so high that she towers over them both when they reach the bottom. Her skirt suit is all sharp edges, a dark blue that is almost feminine, but not quite, and long brown hair is curled gently to fall over her shoulders, softening the whole look just slightly.

She smiles - a small, thin affair that seems as forced as it is fake - and looks to Clarke.

"Hello, darling," there's a very faint twang in her voice, an accent that Lexa thinks could be from New England.

"Mother," Clarke leans forward and places a Hollywood style kiss against her mother's cheek, backing away quickly to stand beside Lexa again. She is slightly taller in her heels and when her hand comes to rest on the small of Lexa's back she almost does a double take, blinking when she is nudged forwards. "This is Lexa, my girlfriend."

Abby's brows quirk, just briefly and she enquires, lightly, "Girlfriend?"

"Yes," Clarke squares her shoulders, head held high, clearly ready for battle but Abby just eyes them both for a moment before smiling wanly and holding out a hand in Lexa's direction.

"I see. It’s nice to meet you, Lexa." There's an amused glint in her eyes and her manicured nails press against Lexa's skin when her hand clasps around Lexa's; it doesn't hurt but Lexa is startled by the feeling and her eyes dart up to meet Abby's.

"You too, Mrs Griffin."

"Please, Abby." She steps back, looking to the side and holding out a hand invitingly to someone. "This is Marcus Kane, my partner."

"Her boyfriend," Clarke inputs, bluntly as a man emerges from the closet, smiling at them openly and taking the hand that Abby has outstretched.

Abby shoots her an irritated glance and Lexa watches from the corner of her eye as Clarke crosses her arms with a slight huff. Marcus doesn't seem bothered however and for a moment Lexa wonders if he is simply an idiot who didn't pick up on Clarke's blatant dislike for him, but she catches sight of his amused eyes as he speaks. "Good to see you too, Clarke."

They stand there quietly, waiting for a moment, before Abby gestures towards the rest of the apartment with a polite smile. "Shall we? I've been informed that brunch will be served momentarily."

Marcus and Abby precede them and she feels the breath rush out of her body when they turn away. A hand clasps hers and when she turns Clarke's face is set with determination.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" She mutters, quietly as Clarke begins to lead her through the apartment.

Clarke's eyes flicker to hers and she raises an eyebrow, "When do I ever?"

----

Her mother seems to have brought her A-game today.

Clarke stirs her spoon around the combination of yogurt and berries in her crystal bowl, pushing the morsels of food back and forth until the yogurt is pink and the berries are nothing more than a crushed mess. She watches resentfully from the other side of Lexa as her mother spoons fruit into her own bowl, piercing pieces of pineapple and peach with a silver fork as Lexa picks at her parfait anxiously.

"And you're going to college, Lexa?" Abby asks, smoothly and Clarke notices Lexa swallow nervously, hands reaching out for her glass of water.

"Yes, I'm actually hoping to go to Yale." Clarke tries not to seem too surprised, schooling her expression quickly though Abby's eyes dart to her rapidly. "I've applied for early admittance, hopefully into one of the scholarship programmes."

"Wonderful," Her mother gushes and Lexa shifts uncomfortably on the chair beside her, shrugging awkwardly. "And what will you study?"

"I'm hoping to major in poli  science." Lexa replies, fingers running around the rim of her glass.

"Very good," Abby seems impressed, nodding and her eyes flicker over to Clarke. "Any way that you could persuade my daughter to sort out her admissions forms? I've been asking her for weeks."

"You've had an answer," Clarke snaps, abruptly, dropping her spoon so that it rattles against the bowl loudly.

"Not one that I'll accept, dear." Abby answers mildly, smiling wanly at her but there's a fierce glint in her eyes that Clarke recognises well.

"I'm sure that Clarke will make the decision that's right for her soon enough," Lexa puts in, after a moment of tense silence. "It normally takes a while to choose, I was just lucky that I knew what I wanted from freshman year."

"Are you going to change the world, Lexa?" Marcus asks and though he's clearly well meaning, there's a patronising edge to his voice that makes Clarke bristle.

When she opens her mouth to bite back, however, Lexa cuts through her. "I'm pretty sure that everybody who goes to college wants to change the world."

"Very true.”

"Who are your parents, Lexa?" Abby cuts the fruit in her bowl into smaller pieces. "Are you new to the area? I don't think we've ever seen you at any of the society gatherings?"

"No," Lexa hesitates, "you wouldn't have. I live in Brooklyn with my mom, she works as a secretary for a small, local building firm and I waitress part time."

Abby blinks at her, clearly startled and for a moment the silence returns, blanketing them like fresh snow before her mother finally unfreezes and says, voice stilted. "I see."

Clarke can't help but smile when she cuts a glance at Lexa and sees while  her eyes downcast a satisfied smirk is lingering at the edges of her lips.

----

At the door, her mother turns to Lexa with a raised eyebrow and says, amusement lacing through her voice. "Well then Lexa, I expect we won't be seeing you again?"

"Oh, why not?" Lexa frowns, perplexed as she takes her coat from Martha, wrapping it over her arm.

"Well," Abby glances at Clarke, smiling slightly, "Clarke has made her point now."

"My point?" Her voice raises high as she echoes her mother's words, furious and outraged. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Language," Abby reprimands Clarke offhandedly, "Please, darling, you and I both know that Lexa is not really your girlfriend. You just brought her here to upset me, no offence meant Lexa."

Clarke gapes, flabbergasted by her mother's calm acknowledgement and she fumbles for her words, stuttering to try to find a way to salvage the situation when a hand slides around Clarke's waist and pulls her abruptly closer, until she is pressed against Lexa's side, flush with her body.

"Excuse me Mrs Griffin, but I happen to like your daughter very much," Lexa's eyes flicker to hers for a moment, creased with irritation. "I don't appreciate your implication that we are anything but real. We've been together for a few weeks now."

"Really, dear if you expect me to believe that-"

Her mother's voice falls flat when Lexa spins her around to press their lips together, hands tightening around her waist. Clarke gasps in surprise into the touch, before her hands snake up around Lexa's neck, touch hesitant and uncertain, the soft press to her mouth taking her breath away as a tongue brushes against her lips teasingly for a moment, before they break away, and she is immensely glad for Lexa's arm around her waist, holding her up.

Abby blinks at them, looking between them with growing alarm, and Clarke smiles in satisfaction before stepping away from Lexa, their hands still intertwined as she tugs gently. "Come on, Lex, let me show you out."

They retreat to the elevator together and it's only when the door slides shut on the frozen figure of her mother that Clarke lets out a snort of laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh god, that was genius Lexa." Leaning up onto her toes, shoes long abandoned- much to her mother’s chagrin- she presses a kiss to Lexa's cheek and the girl smiles, clearly pleased with herself. "That was brilliant, did you see her face? She's was so mad!"

"Your mother is a piece of work," Lexa raises an eyebrow as the elevator doors slide open for them and they step out into the foyer.

"Tell me about it." She slides her hand into Lexa's, pulling her to a stop before she can head for the door, lowering her voice so that the doorman can't hear. "So, do you mind doing this for a little while longer?"

"Did it seem like I minded?" Lexa smirks at her and Clarke rolls her eyes, slapping lightly at her arm.

"I can compensate you for your time, if you’re passing up on shifts or anything. And for travelling into the city.” She reassures her and Lexa stiffens, frowning.

"No, no it's fine." She laughs awkwardly, the sound forced and stilted. "I think your earlier payment covered at least two dates, anyway."

"Okay," She draws the word out uncertainly, watching Lexa with confused eyes before shrugging, "Well listen, my mom will ask around at school so as far as anyone knows we're together, okay?"

"Sounds good," Lexa pulls on her coat, digging her hands deeply into the pockets, "I should go, I have a shift that starts at one."

"Okay, I'll see you on Monday then?" At Lexa's nod she smiles and presses another kiss to her cheek, hands curling around her arm and squeezing again before she steps back, waving once as Lexa makes her way towards the door.

It's only in the elevator that she checks her phone and realises that it's not even midday yet.

----

The hairs on the back of her neck are prickling. Beneath her clammy fingers the spines of her books feel strange and slick and Lexa huddles into her locker, hoping to avoid the eyes that she can feel fixed on her. She’s not used to attention from her classmates, has happily flown under the radar for as long as she’s been going to this school, but now her uniform feels suddenly itchy and starched and she’s distinctly aware that she didn’t put on any eyeliner today.

People’s gazes have been following her all day. The moment she stepped through the wrought iron gates, only a few minutes before the bell, she felt eyes on her. In algebra Matthew Conrad had stared at her through most of the class and she’d caught Cathy Redbred actually craning her neck from the first row to gape at her during second period philosophy class. Her cheeks are pink from the attention and she bundles her books into her arms in an effort to appear invisible.

She only barely makes it to history in time, even with the clearer corridors and she’s halfway to her seat when an all too familiar voice calls out her name.

“Lexa!”

It pulls her to a stop as surely as a tether and she stumbles to a halt, lifting her head from her books to blink at Clarke owlishly. She’s managed to avoid the blonde all day, up until now, and she’s frustrated to see that Clarke looks as beautiful as ever: all sparkling eyes and ringleted hair, accompanied by the effortless confidence of someone who knows that they can have whatever they want.

Clarke is patting the space beside her, which has been suddenly and conveniently cleared. Lexa takes a moment to look at her old spot near the back of the class, but it’s now occupied by Clarke’s old desk mate and Lexa has too many eyes on her throughout the day to start picking a fight. Besides, Clarke’s desk is next to the window, so Lexa sinks reluctantly into the space.

“Hey,” Clarke leans her head against her elbow, watching Lexa as she unloads her things neatly across the desk. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“It’s barely midday,” Lexa desperately avoids her gaze, even though Clarke’s eyes on her feel distinctly different to the whispered glances that have been following her all day.

“You didn’t text me over the weekend, kind of thought you might be mad.”

Clarke doesn’t mince her words at least and Lexa’s distinctly grateful for that even as she carefully straightens her pencils.

“Not mad, just busy sorry.”

“Busy?” Lexa’s eyes are finally drawn to Clarke’s and she startles to see the blonde’s eyes fixed on her still, her voice carefully light.

“I was working,” Now that she has met Clarke’s eyes she can’t quite bring herself to look away.

“Oh, cool.” Clarke hesitates for a moment and Lexa uses the respite to drag her eyes away. She takes her pen and writes the date in the margin of her notebook. “Are you working tonight?”

She feels as if she knows what’s coming, but Lexa shakes her head quietly.

“Well…” Clarke sounds strangely nervous, “Do you want to get together tonight?”

“I have to study,” Lexa glances at her from beneath her eyelashes. It feels terribly tentative between them, as if at any moment they could shatter apart and she isn’t quite sure whether she wants it to or not.

“That’s okay,” Clarke brightens, “So do I, want to have a study date?”

Lexa fumbles over her words, distracted by the light of Clarke’s happy smile and the softness in her eyes. “I um… I guess.”

“Come on babe,” Clarke’s hand settles over hers on the desk and Lexa’s breath stutters from her throat. “I miss you.”

“I, um…” The door swings open to reveal Mr Walding and as the class falls into an expectant, respectful hush, Lexa is only able to nod. Clarke’s fingers tighten around hers briefly, before she pulls her hand away to start writing.

---

She shouldn’t really be surprised that a study date at Clarke’s penthouse apartment consists of luxurious cushions laid out over her bed, bowls of snacks peppered across the room and two tall glasses of iced tea, the condensation gathering to drip down the outside of the glass. Clarke is already studying, laid out across the bed on her stomach, with a pillow shoved beneath her and an open book, upon which sits her phone, when the housekeeper shows Lexa in.

Clarke perks up when the door swings open, beaming at Lexa as she hitches herself further up on the bed.

“Hi! You came!”

“You asked me to,” Lexa smiles weakly, hesitating in the doorway as her eyes swing from the desk- upon which are piles of books, basically unused- and the bed. “Sorry, lacrosse took longer than usual.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke lounges across the bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes and patting the bed. “I didn’t even know you played until you mentioned practice.”

Taking her cue, Lexa pads over and toes off her shoes at the bottom of the bed, gathering a few books into her hands and setting onto the mattress uncertainly as she says. “It looks good on college applications.”

“So you don’t like it?” Clarke twirls her pen in her hands, watching her with blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“No,” Lexa glances down at her binders, blushing a little, “I like it. It’s fun and I’m good, plus it’s nice to feel involved in something at school.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me the great Lexa Woods actually has something she enjoys?” Lexa opens her mouth to protest but when she sees Clarke’s teasing eyes and half smile, she snaps her mouth shut, gathering her hands in her lap and replying primly.

“I like things.”

“Really, like what?” Clarke rolls her eyes, “Studying?”

“Clearly more than you,” Lexa glances pointedly down to the phone placed between her pages and Clarke’s cheeks colour delightfully in response.

“I- I was looking something up.” At Lexa’s grin she relaxes just slightly, tugging on her arm to encourage her further onto the bed. “Maybe you should teach me how to study.”

“Clarke you’re not an idiot, it’s clear that you know how to study.” Lexa arches an eyebrow, settling back into the cushioned bedhead and Clarke wriggles up to join her,

“You don’t know that, I might be in great need of a tutor.”

“You get excellent grades,” Lexa opens her books in her lap, glancing down at the page of algebra questions with distaste before uncapping her pen.

“Oh god, you’re doing the algebra homework. I was hoping to pretend that wasn’t happening.” Clarke groans loudly, resting her head so carelessly against Lexa’s shoulder that Lexa hopes she doesn’t feel how she tenses up.

“The earlier we get it done the better,” Lexa fidgets with her pencil, staring at the questions intently and trying to ignore the hot tickles of Clarke’s breath against her neck.

“You know,” Clarke is still unnecessarily close to her, and her voice is suddenly low and slightly husky. “When you proposed a study date I didn’t think there would actually be any studying.” Her lips brush against Lexa’s neck and Lexa freezes beneath her, her eyes widening and her heart rabbiting in her chest.

“I don’t… that’s not why I came here.” She speaks in a rush, her cheeks hot and embarrassment curling in her stomach. “I just thought we could study together.”

Clarke pulls back to look at her and Lexa tries not to squirm under her intense gaze. Her eyes travel across Lexa’s face slowly and thoughtfully, trying to read how serious she is and what she sees must satisfy her because she finally nods.

“Okay Lex, we can study.” To Lexa’s relief she pulls away until their arms only brush when they both go to write. Clarke adds a few numbers to her sheet and then glances at Lexa from below her lashes, “but if anyone asks we made out violently.”

Lexa can’t help the grin that pulls at her lips, “Violently?”

“Mmhm,” Clarke spins her pencil again. “I fell off the bed.”

---

The housekeeper calls upstairs once Abby arrives home, but at the sight of Clarke’s pursed lips and determinedly uninterested expression, Lexa stays quiet and goes back to explaining equations to the blonde leaning against her side. When Abby appears a few minutes later, giving the door a cursory knock before pushing it open to come to a stop in the doorway, Clarke leans closer to her.

“Oh, Lexa, I didn’t know you were here.” Abby’s mask of politeness slams immediately into place, but Lexa can’t help the thrill of satisfaction she feels at the sight of shock that precedes it.

“We’re studying mom,” Clarke supplies, chin tilting up stubbornly, “What do you want?”

Abby arches an eyebrow, “Only to pop by and remind you that we have to be at the Blake’s for six thirty tonight. You should probably start to get ready.”

“You’re going out?” Lexa’s eyes dart to Clarke and she begins to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Clarke’s hand against her arm stops her and Lexa is surprised to find that her gaze is soft, “I want you to stay,” expression hardening, she turns back to her mother. “Can’t you make my excuses at the Blake’s? We go there every week, they won’t mind if I miss one.”

Abby’s lips press into a thin line, “No Clarke, that’s rude.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me Clarke,” Abby sneaks an anxious look at Lexa, who reaches out to take Clarke’s hand and squeeze it gently, drawing her attention back down.

“It’s okay,” Lexa tells her earnestly, “I need to get home and start on dinner anyway.” Clarke’s face falls and Lexa sees Abby’s lips draw up into a slight victorious smile from the corner of her eyes. She feels irritation curl in her belly, the only real explanation for why she leans forward and catches Clarke’s lips in a soft, tender kiss.

The blonde surrenders immediately into her embrace, fingers tightening around hers and Lexa allows herself the briefest of moments to enjoy the innocence of warm lips moving against her own, the intimate brush of cheeks and floral scent of Clarke’s perfume before finally breaking away.

She’s aware that Abby is watching them, but doesn’t tear her eyes away from Clarke as she speaks. “Have fun tonight, I’ll talk to you later.”

She slides her feet into her school shoes as Clarke seems to find her breath again, her cheeks dusted with a dusky rose.

“Text me when you get home?” Clarke calls after her as she starts out of the room and Lexa nods over her shoulder, slipping awkwardly past Abby in the door.

“See you again Mrs Griffin.”

“I’m sure I will Lexa.”

---

[cricketnationrise]

Books I read in quarantine: Part 1

So on Friday, March 13, 2020 something not that chill happened. We all know what that was. Anyway for me the silver lining was that I got a lot of my TBR knocked out by not being at work. I read over 150 books from mid-march to mid-october.

1. We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: yes, it had been on my list for a while, yes it was awesome, yes, its still worth the read

2. Dragonquest by Anne McCaffrey: eh. listen. she’s one of the most prominent women in fantasy/sci-fi writing and that’s great. and maybe some the later books aren’t quite such a product of their time. but there are some aspects to the dragon “bonding” that feel especially uncomfortable and there’s a lot of violence toward women. so.

3. Briar’s Book by Tamora Pierce: I was in the midst of a Circle of Magic reread. Unfortunately for me, this one is about a plague. It’s still one of the best CoM books and I enjoy it immensely. Its definitely going to be harder to read from now on

4. The Tiger’s Daughter by K. Arsenault Rivera: loved this. empress and ruler of the steppes as lesbians that also battle demons? i needed a family tree, but that’s normal for me. still need to get to the next one in this series.

5. Fablehaven by Brandon Mull:  middle grade fantasy novel. i hesitate to say lighthearted because there are definitely some heavy themes, but all the fantasy creatures you encounter are cool AF and this one at least doesn’t end on a cliffhanger.

6. Magic Steps by Tamora Pierce: less strong than some of the others in the Emelan series, but has some cool worldbuilding that got better fleshed out in the Beka Cooper Tortall books. featuring UNMAGIC. v dark. also dance magic. and romance between two older characters

7. The Bookshop on the Corner by Jenny Colgan: delightful romance, not super explicit, very wish fulfillment if your wish is to run away from your life in london and live off the proceeds of a mobile bookstore in a tiny town. which. is not unappealing.

8. Street Magic by Tamora Pierce: features 9 cats, street urchins, and a VERY TERRIFYING wealthy widow straight up murdering kids for fun and games, stone magic

9. Scythe by Neal Shusterman: okay so take our world and then solve all physical ailments and have everything run by the cloud. except that death is still a thing but only if you are picked by a Scythe. first book in a trilogy. fast paced, amazing, violent (someone gets their head cut off), standard dystopia stuff. you’ll want to have the next two books ON YOUR SHELF

10. Wink Poppy Midnight by April Genevieve Tucholke: there is definitely someone out there who will like this more than me. one of them is my roommate. it was just too dark of a friendship/enemyship for me. lots of unreliable narrators. and like, they were just kind of horrible to each other? the actual plot was kinda cool and i definitely would have liked it more if it ended lighter

11. The Word for World is Forest by Ursula K. LeGuin: a giant of fantasy and science fiction. this was my first of her sci-fi stuff and the first of the hainish cycle that i’ve read. quick read. definitely makes you think.

12. The Haunting of Tram Car 015 by P. Djèlí Clark: number two in a series, but i didn’t know that going in. absolutely going to read the others. a cairo where all sorts of spirits and demons exist and actively interact with the “normal” world.

13. The Girl Who Reads on the Métro by Christine Féret-Fleury: i’ve never been to france but this feels VERY french. magical realism about bringing the right book to the perfect reader. super cute.

14. Fire Starter by P. Anastasia: first of a series. i wanted to like this better based on the magic system. romance felt forced. also it turned out to be aliens. which like, not a problem, but don’t spend 100 pages telling me its magic and then boom alien virus. maybe the others are better, but i’m not going to find out.

15. The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros: i had to read this in middle school and definitely didn’t appreciate it enough. highly recommended.

16. A Witch’s Guide to Escape: A Practical Compendium of Portal Fantasies by Alix E. Harrow: a fantastic short story about reading, libraries, magic and supporting teenagers who need it. you can read it online or as part of Apex Magazine Issue 105 from Feb 2018.

17. On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden: really long graphic novel about a found family in space trying to do a good job repairing various buildings and stuff. enough queer content for anybody really. gorgeous art.

18. Doughnut by Tom Holt: book 1 in the YouSpace series. very discworld-esq except that its our own world plus a pocket dimension that’s only accessible with a lot of math and a prayer. hilarious at times, but a decidedly darker tone than discworld so just be aware if that’s not what youre looking for

19. The Girl Who Could Move Sh*t with Her Mind by Jackson Ford: teenage girl in california has powers that let her move things with her mind. works as part of a government program with a whole band of misfits. she thought she was the only one and then someone else starts doing crime (TM) and murder with telekinesis and she has to stop them. found family toward the end. graphic violence toward the end. wildfires.

20. Ballad of the Whiskey Robber: A True Story of Bank Heists, Ice Hockey, Transylvanian Pelt Smuggling, Moonlighting Detectives, and Broken Hearts by Julian Rubinstein: what it says on the tin, basically. NONFICTION. this dude in europe had way too many day jobs that were actually crime and his story is WILD. last update i saw was that he was still alive, paroled from jail, and making pottery??

21. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon: 800+ pages of epic eastern fantasy. some dragons. a witchy big bad. betrayal. queer romance as a main plotline. magic. seriously good.

22. Transcription by Kate Atkinson: flashback within a flashback within a flashback and reversing that path as you move through the book. woman just wants a secretary job during the war. somehow ends up as a spy??? i liked it, i keep meaning to get more of her books

23. Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire: first in the wayward children series. under 200 pages if you’re looking for a quick read. what happens to kids that have gone through a door, had an adventure, and then forced back into our world? they don’t quite fit. and when that happens they go to Eleanor West’s School. fantastic series that is still being added to (number 7 comes out next year). can be very dark/sinister at times. but theres a lot of queer representation and found family stuff to balance out.

24. Down Among the Sticks and Bones by Seanan McGuire: book 2 in the wayward children series. focuses on Jack and Jill’s backstory of their time before book 1. they are from The Moors where a Vampire Lord and a Mad Scientist are battling against each other to keep the balance of the world with a village of innocents between them

25. Go Fish by Ian Rogers: short story published on Tor.com about a group of paranormal investigators. there’s a fish factory that no one will go in because it’s haunted and/or cursed and people have been dying from going in there

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #221: ... New Blood!

July, 1982

A semi-famous somewhat imitated cover!

Can you guess ahead of time which two will be joining the Avengers?

No cheating.

Actually, what’s funny is that I can imagine a Young Bendis looking at this cover, seeing Luke Cage, Spider-Man, and Wolverine all in a row like that and whispering to himself ‘one day... one day...’

Spider-Woman is even on this! This is almost the roster meme that Bendis would have selected his team out of.

Just as soon as he cleared the way by killing off Ant-Man and Hawkeye.

Anyway, I like the cute touch that there’s just a completely blank square for Sue Storm. And is she really still going by Invisible Girl at this point?

-google- Ah, Invisible Woman is still a few years off.

And at risk of spoiling, I like the cover pretending that Rom (Space Knight) could feasibly join the Avengers. Although that would have made a hilarious mess when the rights lapsed. A whole swathe of Avengers comics unavailable.

So, where are we at?

Last times on Avengers: Captain America decided that the Avengers had become too unwieldy. They’d settled into a filler rut and Cap wanted them to be lean and mean.

So the old order changeith’d! And Moondragon meddled, causing half of the old team to quit. But Cap got his lean team of himself, Thor, Iron Man, Wasp, Yellowjacket, and Tigra.

And then Yellowjacket Hank Pym had an ‘attempted murder out of insecurity’ breakdown and tried to murder his friends and was a very bad husband to Wasp as well.

So Yellowjacket was out and Wasp took some personal time.

It was just Cap, Thor, Iron Man, and Tigra. And then Tigra quit.

Wasp rejoined but the trim team of six had become anemic at four and after some space mishaps, its finally time to try to do something about that.

As Iron Man declares in title-of-the-issue font they need some ... NEW BLOOD!

And Wasp declares ‘yes we all know that already we’ve just been putting it off.’

(And they finally got the big meeting table back from the cleaners or wherever its been. Thank goodness)

But the question that Chairperson Wasp poses the team is should they re-induct some ex-members or go looking for some truly new blood?

Thor is brooding on the recent events, where Moondragon manipulated the Avengers previous roster shakeup and later when Moondragon took over a planet and got Thor to fight his friends.

So Thor’s point, by way of dwelling, is that they should be careful with who they choose.

Thor: “Thus can no action, no thought made by any of us in the last weeks be truly, absolutely claimed as our own. Not even... mine.”

There we go. There’s that good Moondragon induced paranoia I was hoping for.

And character wise, I do like that there’s fallout from the Ba-Bani misadventure. Whether being forced to fight his friends or being made to fall in love with Moondragon or being convinced to side with her plan to bring mandatory peace to the universe. Thor has been affected by what happened.

Cap suggests that they clear the slate and just judge potential members on their current qualifications.

So what qualifications should potential Avengers have?

Captain America: “Compatibility. Someone who can work in a team.”

Iron Man: “And technical expertise. Perhaps someone good with weaponry.”

Thor: “We’ve enough strength, methinks. But courage is important. Aye, and a noble heart.”

Wasp: “Well, I know exactly what this group needs. More girls!”

Good suggestions. All good suggestions. But very good suggestion from Wasp.

I know that two women on one team is the low bar that Avengers tends to reach but you know what’s worse? One women on one team. And you know what’s better? Three.

Think about it.

The meeting gets cut short because Jan has to go do Jan things like show off fashion at the Tavern on the Green but she tells the others to figure out who they’d like as new Avengers and then they’ll all decide at their meeting next week.

As the Avengers all head off, Captain America mentions to Iron Man that hey remember how Hawkeye used to be an Avenger all the time? Weren’t those good times? He worked well on the team, was real into being an Avenger.

Iron Man agrees that sure is a Thought but flies off thinking more about Jan’s suggestion to have more women on the team, albeit probably for less than pure reasons.

Thor meanwhile doesn’t have anywhere to be so sits down in the sitting room and reads a Time magazine.

Jarvis brings Thor some mead and Thor asks who Jarvis would enlist for the Avengers if Jarvis was given the choice.

Jarvis is surprised to be asked but does his best to speak off the cuff.

Jarvis: “Why, I - I really hadn’t given it much thought! But since you ask, I feel that some of the best Avengers have started as the most unlikely candidates. For example, those with strongly individual, independent natures seem to have worked out surprisingly well.”

You’re a good guy, Jarvis.

And you’ve got a good point. Since the Avengers were pretty much everyone who wasn’t on a team jammed onto a team together, the Avengers kind of have as foundation strongly individual independent superheroes managing to do a teamwork anyway.

And Thor just so happens to be reading the Time magazine that has a picture of Spider-Man on the front (along with “Friend or Menace?”) and thinks huh individual and independent??

Oh boy!

Spider-Man going to be offered a spot on the Avengers? Is it 2005 already?

Goofs aside, this is an interesting callback maybe.

All the way back in Amazing Spider-Man Annual #3 (November, 1966) which I didn’t cover but probably should have if this was a more comprehensive Avengers blog but then I may have died under the enormity of the task.

Uh, that sentence got away from me.

Anyway, in that Spider-Man Annual, the Avengers debate whether to recruit Spider-Man for their team. Thor is the one there to find Spider-Man and bring him to the mansion. The Avengers decide to test him and (after Spider-Man tries to beat up the entire team because that’s what Spider-Man thinks proving himself is) they send him to bring the Hulk back with him.

He finds the Hulk and fights the Hulk but Hulk turns back to Bruce Banner and Spider-Man feels bad for Bruce and doesn’t want to turn him over to the Avengers (not knowing that they want to help Hulk). So he comes back and says welp couldn’t find him guess I’m not Avengers material byyyyyye.

The other Avengers go huh I guess he wasn’t Avengers material but Thor seemed to suspect what had really happened.

So my rambling point is that its appropriate that Thor again thinks to recruit Spider-Man for the Avengers because of that previous story.

Later in the day, Iron Man calls Captain America.

Although as Cap points out they know each other’s civilian name now so why be formal?

Iron Man: “Captain America? This is Iron Man.”

Captain America: “Hey, Tony, let’s make it ‘Steve,’ okay? I’m off duty.”

So Tony “Iron Man” Stark has managed to stop thinking about more woman on the Avengers and has actually started to think about having Hawkeye back on the Avengers and has to admit, it sounds good to him!

So Captain Steve says they should go together tomorrow and see what Hawkeye thinks.

This is a nice sequence.

Its nice to see how the two learning each other’s identity plays out like this. Tony trying to stick to how they’ve known each other and Steve making a not subtle overture for them to become more familiar.

This is probably good shipping fodder, I realize!

But it is also good friendshipping fodder. It can be both.

Elsewhere and meanwhile, at the Van Dyne residence, Janet puts her own recruitment drive into... drive?

She’s invited every super-heroine in the country she can think of to brunch but she has no idea how to get a hold of She-Hulk.

Not even her state of the art computer system can find her! Granted, the state of the art computer system is for analyzing fashion forecasts and not news reports about She-Hulk sightings.

So Jan decides that if you want a She-Hulk you’ve got to spend a little green.

She has her assistant take out a bunch of full-page ads in all of the major west coast newspapers. And heck, buy a bunch of commercial time too!

Jan is going to do some I Want You (to Join the Avengers) ads!

She is ludicrously wealthy.

I went and checked and her original inheritance was ‘only’ three million dollars but the way that she throws around money I’m pretty sure she has managed to get some lucrative investments. That or she’s just super good at being a fashionista.

Granted, blowing a bunch of money for a chance to have brunch with She-Hulk is a pretty good reason to blow a bunch of money.

Later, as twilight comes, Thor is flying around Central Park because he has no idea how to find Spider-Man but hears that he’s often around “the meadow-lands called Central Park” and happens upon three goofuses who just robbed a pawnshop.

These goofuses are such goofuses that one of them is wearing groucho glasses as a disguise. Another one is wearing a clown mask.

Which, like a moth to fire, aggros Spider-Man just to mock the guy.

I’m pretty sure rather than flying around aimlessly, the best way to find Spider-Man is to create the perfect quip opportunity.

A clown: “I’m gonna kiss every dime o’ my share -- just as soon as we get to the hideout so’s I can take off this stupid mask!”

Spider-Man, suddenly: “Aw, c’mon, Bunky, leave it on! I’ve always wanted to bust a bozo who looks like a bozo!”

Groucho: “S-s-spider-Man!”

S-s-spider-Man: “But enough of this clowning! Wanna give up?”

Dangit, Peter. Good wordplay.

But before can catch these thieves just like flies, down came the rain and washed the spider out.

A sudden, inexplicable (cough cough Thor) localized storm tosses around the thieves until they surrender.

After the police lead away the goofus thieves, Spider-Man comes dripping wet and with a bone to pick.

Spider-Man: “Do you have any idea what it’s like running around in wet tights?”

Thor is like sorry bro but I’ve come to talk so Spider-Man agrees but they’ll need to go off somewhere private because the press is honing in on him to ask him bonkers questions about whether he came in a flying saucer.

I think they’re thinking of a certain emissary of hell.

That darn press!

Spider-Man and Thor relocate to a high rooftop for their talk.

Spider-Man: “Now, Goldilocks, what’s your beef?”

Thor: “Thy protective demeanor is unneeded, my friend. I have no ‘beef’ -- only a proposal. The Avengers are seeking new members, and I wouldst offer thee such position.”

Spider-Man: “You... Thor... want me as an Avenger?

Spider-Man is still not sure if it would work out (reflecting on Spider-Man Annual #3) but he’s also really flattered by the offer. And presumably how the offer wasn’t accompanied by “BUT FIRST YOU MUST PASS OUR TEST!”

So he can’t just accept the offer off-hand but he’s definitely going to think about it.

Even if you don’t join the team, even just being considered is an honor.

The twilight turns into night turns into day, and Cap and Iron Man show up in Hawkeye’s place of business to bug him.

Don’t know if you remember but Hawkeye has a cushy job as head of security for Cross Technological Enterprises. And he actually does take the job seriously which is why he’s a little concerned, at least for his professional pride, that Cap and Iron Man got past his guards.

Cap: “Avengers priority -- never leave home without it. In fact, we’ve come to offer it to you.”

Smooth. Smooth, Cap.

Although I do like that they can just march up to the guards of this company and go ‘hey let us in we’re avengers’ and its not even a ‘ok i’ll clear it with head of security hawkeye’ its ‘yeah sure go right in and do you want any paperclips?’

Anyway, Hawkeye has his pride so he tells Cap not to expect him to come crawling back after the Avengers booted him out (actually Gyrich because Gyrich wanted the Avengers to have some ding dang diversity. Its weirdly the least assholeish thing he’s ever done although he approached it very much in an asshole way).

Point being, they kicked Hawkeye out and he has a new super cool job now.

Iron Man takes this show of wounded pride in wounded stride, just asking that Hawkeye consider it and let them know when he makes a decision.

But Hawkeye doubts he’ll decide to come back to the Avengers because he’s got a good thing in this steady, respectable paying job which comes with job security and respect!

And then, suddenly struck by the realization that he, Hawkeye, is turning down a drama implosion like the Avengers to do the adult thing?? Hawkeye doesn’t like what he’s become.

And he stares in horror at the trappings of power and respectability. The sex and the drugs.

Or a Playboy magazine and a personalized coffee cup, at least.

And he decides to give Iron Man his answer right then and there.

Which, of course, involves shooting arrows. This is Hawkeye we’re talking about.

What’s amazing is that we’ll learn later this issue that he’s going to keep his security job and do Avengers on top of that (and in fairness most of the Avengers don’t have Avengers as their only thing). But he just shot an arrow through a glass door in his place of employment.

But you don’t hire Hawkeye if you don’t expect that kind of thing so I can see why it wouldn’t impact his job.

So that’s Hawkeye as a YES and Spider-Man as a ‘I’ll get back to you.’ And as the weekend arrives, it’s time for Janet van Dyne’s superheroine brunch.

And on the hill above the van Dyne house, its our old pal Fabian Stankowicz.

Remember? The Mechano-Marauder? Built a robot suit to beat up the Avengers, none of them took him that seriously? Iron Man beat him up solo without trying very hard and then got angry about Hank Pym?

Anyway, he’s back, somehow, and he’s salty about the less than dignified experience he had in issue 217. But this time, he has a new plan!

Fabian Stankowicz: “They laughed at me! Mocked me! But I’ll show the Avengers that the Mechano-Marauder is not to be toyed with! I’ll attack their weakest member when the others aren’t around! She’ll be helpless! *Heh-heh-heh*”

Well. Good luck with that, my dude.

Sue Storm-Richards, the Invisible Girl, arrives and Jan introduces her to the other prospective Avengers: Dazzler, Spider-Woman, and Black Widow.

All good candidates, really.

Especially Dazzler.

Well, Beast left and Tigra left so somebody needs to be the new funny person.

Apparently, Spider-Woman doesn’t like puns because she immediately starts getting catty with Dazzler.

Spider-Woman: “Nice going, Blaire! You’re showing all the polish and poise of a real pro!”

Dazzler: “Oh? And I suppose crawling on walls like some yucky insect is ‘professional’?”

Spider-Woman: “I sting, too”

I guess, they have some history in Dazzler’s own book that didn’t go over well. Black Widow has to lean over and tell them to cut the shit out for Jan’s sake.

But then the last invited guest shows up.

ITS A SHE-HULK!

She saw the ads and she’s come for the free food!

Relatable.

Outside, Jan’s chauffeur Mr. Carrothers sits on the limo taking a smoke break and reflecting how good he has it working for the Wasp. Good pay, casual hours. The most he can complain about is that it gets a little boring sometimes.

That’s probably tempting fate because the All-New All-Different Mechano-Marauder stomps up to the house. Remember how Fabian threw the limo last time? Mr. Carrothers remembers.

He panics and runs into the house and tries to warn the assembled heroes.

And yet.

They didn’t really leap to action, huh? I mean, I get it. Brunch.

Even after the robot fist has punched through Wasp’s frankly ludicrous window and kidnapped Dazzler, Wasp is more annoyed than anything.

Wasp: “Fabian Stankowicz, you get that thing out of my living room!”

And then has to explain to her guests that Fabian is some chump that Iron Man beat up and that he wants to make a name for himself by defeating the Avengers. And Sue is like ah yes I understand completely.

But chump or not, Black Widow decides that they should rescue Dazzler.

Dazzler: “I don’t think I need saving, folks! This guy’s just holding, not squeezing!”

And so much for the brunch bunch taking this any amount of serious.

Sue just puts up a quick invisible dome to keep Fabian from getting to the rest of them which the Mechano-Marauder instantly bonks into and bangs on impotently demanding that they let him in.

Careful, Fabian.

You’re memeing yourself.

Dazzler saves herself when she gets tired of being carried around. She does her Dazzler thing with the bright pulse of light, blinding Fabian.

He drops Dazzler but she’s caught by She-Hulk.

The blinded Mechano-Marauder drives around blindly, thinking “These women aren’t even Avengers! They can’t beat me!”

Alas, Dazzler decides the same decision she decided in #211, that she’s a singer, not a fighter.

And Sue also decides to head off, saying that she’s too busy with the Fantastic Four anyway.

Shame.

But can we talk about the sheer audacity that Jan had of trying to poach Sue from the Fantastic Four to the Avengers? The nerve! The verve!

So that’s two of her candidates declining but that still leaves Spider-Woman, Black Widow, and She-Hulk.

And unfortunately for Mechano-Marauder, the first two are the two that have decided to kick his ass a little for entertainment reasons.

Spider-Woman’s venom blast damages one of the giant robot fists and Black Widow swings around Hoth-style and trips the Mechano-Marauder into the ornamental pond.

Alas, after literally dunking a giant robot into a pond, both Spider-Woman and Black Widow turn down the offer to join the Avengers.

Black Widow has private business that are keeping her busy. And Spider-Woman doesn’t even offer an excuse.

In fairness, she has her own solo book over in California and that’s a heck of a commute. I’m actually impressed that she came all this way for brunch.

Fabian is fed up with being treated as an after-thought in his own fight scene and bursts out of the pond, yelling how he’s going to destroy them all!

All.... uh, two that’s left at this point. Yup, he sure is going to destroy all two of them.

She-Hulk has been fairly low-key this whole story, especially for She-Hulk. I’m pretty sure she came to the brunch just for the food and she hasn’t reacted much to Fabian, even when the others were. She caught Dazzler but she hasn’t had much to say since arriving. She’s mostly been standing with her hands on her hips, watching things play out.

But I guess she’s gotten tired of Fabian. Or maybe it falls to her as the last guest.

She tells him to shut up and breaks his robot suit with one punch.

Fabian has one last trick up his Mechano-Marauder sleeve but its a dumb one.

His ejector seat is actually a backup robot suit. Annnd, its so heavy that it sinks into the ground. Trapping him.

Good job, Fabian.

She-Hulk goes to give him one more punch but Wasp stops her. Because she wants a shot at him.

And wow! What a shot!

At full not small size she crosses the streams to focus her bio-power stings into one concentrated beam and blows a hole in Fabian’s escape suit.

I’ve talked before about how Wasp’s pew pew stings have seemingly gotten souped up under Shooter and I think this is another good example. I mean, she’s not blowing up a house but combining the blasts to do precision boring is another cool application we haven’t seen before.

Anyway, now Wasp goes teeny and flies into the hole she made and up into the helmet to blast Fabian in the face. So hard his helmet flies off.

Wasp: “That’ll teach ‘im for ruining my party!”

And that’s that for brunch.

Days later, Jarvis calls the State Department to request official clearance for two new members.

And we see part of the process of that. Interesting if you’re interested in the logistics of an officially recognized superhero team.

I guess what’s interesting is that Henry Peter Gyrich is still part of the process.

You’d think he’d have been replaced or something after the Avengers very publicly embarrassed him and got emancipated from him. I guess he keeps doing the necessary liaison stuff without ever talking to them.

The requests for the two new members cross Gyrich’s desk and he takes it to the White House where the request gets signed by Ronald Reagan.

(The two new members are Hawkeye and She-Hulk by the by. We see it on the paperwork. Guess Spider-Man is still thinking it over.)

Anyway, I guess its interesting that new Avengers are a matter that goes all the way up to the president.

God, I’m glad that for the modern team, Cap told the US government to fuck off because I don’t want to even think about that still being a thing.

The next day after the paperwork is signed, Hawkeye is on his way to Avengers Mansion in a cab. He’s reading a Time magazine about the change in the Avengers’ roster and reflecting that it’ll be hard to hold down two jobs but worth it because he’s missed the adventure.

Check out the Time magazine though.

The cover of this comic book issue is in-universe the cover of Time magazine! That’s neat.

But Hawkeye’s cab is suddenly cut off by a pink Cadillac.

And Hawkeye being Hawkeye doesn’t just grumble and go about his day. He commits assault. Because this is Hawkeye.

The guy that Cap and Iron Man wanted back for being a good team-player.

So he gets out of the cab and shoots the pink Cadillac with an EMP arrow that fries the car’s electrical system.

Really abusing that Avengers Priority Status already, huh, Hawkeye?

The one mistake he made is that the pink Cadillac belongs to She-Hulk. She in fact earned it by doing a car commercial for Wacky Willie’s Wheels-And-Deals so you might imagine she’s fond of it.

So she picks up the cab with Hawkeye in it and leans it against a lightpole.

And then she picks up the Cadillac on her shoulder and walks off with it.

She-Hulk knows how to make a lasting impression, I’ll say that.

But soon after he gets down from the taxi and stops in at an ER to make sure he’s not concussed, Hawkeye arrives at Avengers Mansion to rejoin the team.

Hawkeye: “Okay, folks, life can go on -- Hawkeye’s here!”

Iron Man: “And it’s about time! We were starting to get worried. What happened?”

Hawkeye: “Oh, nothin’ much -- not ‘til some freaky Amazon tried to play dominoes with my taxi!”

She-Hulk, lurking silhouetted by the window: “‘Amazon’, eh? I don’t suppose it could have been -- a green Amazon?”

That is a powerful energy you have there, She-Hulk. Powerful energy and a power move in a power suit.

And that’s how Hawkeye’s day was ruined. Also how the two new additions to the team start with bad blood.

Conflict! We gotta have it!

Wasp: “Hawkeye, She-Hulk. I’d like to officially welcome you both. From now on -- you’re one of us. We’re one of you. And we’re all -- THE AVENGERS!”

Jan’s trying a new thing where she kisses every new member. And they both have to bend down a little for her.

Also, another new Wasp costume! Wasp gonna Wasp!

This is another good, light-hearted decompression issue. The Moondragon two-parter had some yuks but also mind-control sex and Drax’s brain melting. So this time Wasp throws a brunch and Cap and Iron Man help Hawkeye escape the drudgery of an adult job.

There’s a lot of what could have been with Wasp’s guest list. What if she could convince Sue Storm to take a break from the Fantastic Four to try being on the Avengers.

She’ll join later, in the Worst Roster but she’ll join with Reed. I’m thinking more of a thing where Sue gets some time away from the family. I don’t think it could last long and it would need the Avengers and FF writer to be on the same page but I think it could be interesting - Sue getting to be on a team where she doesn’t have to be the adult in the room and doesn’t have to work alongside the family.

It’s a similar reason to why I’d like to see adult Cyclops join the Avengers. He’s so tied in with X-stuff and being the leader of X-stuff that I want to take him out of that context and see a new side of him.

Spider-Woman and Black Widow also could have been interesting. They’ll both become Avengers later. I don’t know that Dazzler ever did and she presents interesting opportunities.

The Avengers have had Wonder Man who was also trying to break into acting while being an Avenger. So Dazzler trying to pursue her singing career might just be a retread of that but what if she were more successful and was a celebrity on the team.

The Avengers kind of are celebrities but I think it’d be a different feel if they had a famous (disco) singer on the team.

Interesting stuff (for me) to think about, anyway.

Something else to talk about is the creative credits. Jim Shooter is credited for plotting but Dave Michelinie as writer. And looking ahead, Shooter is not going to be the solo writer again in the near future.

I think we’re getting to the point where Shooter’s going to be too busy with EIC duties to keep up writing the Avengers. He’s going to get plotting credits for a few more issues, probably loose threads he’s handing to other writers.

So the second Shooter run is going to end soon. Shame. Very much a shame. It wasn’t a very long run but he put a lot of energy and humor into the book.

Next time: Egghead’s back and he’s bringing a new Masters of Evil. Wow, it’s been a while since we’ve had them and they’re supposed to be the Avengers’ evil opposite team.

And Egghead is the not very impressive criminal mastermind who couldn’t beat Hank Pym so instead framed him for crime. Hopefully the new Masters rise above that level of menace.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because I’m bringing you the She-Hulk content you crave. I assume. I took a poll and one out of one person said ‘this is the She-Hulk content I crave’ and I extrapolated from that. Also you should like and reblog because She-Hulk would want you to.

[hadrian-pendragons]

From the Outside

A polythieves piece that was supposed to be a drabble but got out of hand. Only goes up to before the end of Okumura’s palace because that’s where I was when I wrote it. Enjoy~

Everyone knows there’s something up with that new-but-getting-old kid.

He shows up and, at the start, is shrouded in mystery and darkened by rumors. That... doesn’t really change—but as time goes by, the student body of Shujin Academy starts to notice things. Important things.

The new delinquent student hanging with the old delinquent student wasn’t a big shock. The new and old delinquent student somehow pulling the blond modeling icon of the second year’s class into their fold was.

A friend of a friend of a cousin sees the three wandering the underground mall together, stopping by the flower shop, laughing and enjoying themselves. How does anyone enjoy the company of a murderer and the guy that tore apart the track team with his selfishness?

Takamaki-san must think she can change them—or maybe, just like the new rumors that flew over her head, the news of what kind of people Sakamoto and Kurusu were never reached her ears.

It didn’t occur to them that perhaps she was the one that knew the truth.

But, despite their involvement together and rumor after rumor after bet on which of the two “bad boys” she was after—certainly it was the new, mysterious guy. Sakamoto was a bit too loud and a bit too stupid for someone of her caliber. Kurusu, at least, seemed to have a decent head on his shoulders—it becomes less of a hot topic. In the wake of Kamoshida’s confession, it isn’t even considered worthy news, unless it was in the context of how much they had been pushing the man in the weeks leading up to the assembly.

No, there were more important things to care about now, like the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, exams, the new art exhibit and its famous showcaser.

And then it’s the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, exams, and Madarame’s live and embarassing confession.

And then someone notices a dark haired guy wearing a different school uniform waiting by the gates.

No one pays himany mind, except for some odd looks and whispers because what was the guy concentrating so hard on, staring at the school building and the students and holding his hands up in a box shape as if he could capture the scene with his mind? Then again, maybe someone should get the student council president or a teacher, because this was starting to get a little weird—

“There they are!” Several students jump at the sudden exclamation, the guy whirling around to face the school entrance, the light of mischeif and awe in his eyes, “The most worthy subjects to ever grace a canvas, rays of hope in the dark abyss, beauty and wonder personified—“

“Oh my god, Yusuke, please cut the crap.”

“Oh hush, Ryuji, some of us enjoy the attention.”

“Oh? You mean you did wanna model nude—?”

Sakamoto is cut off by Takamaki’s headlock, and Kurusu sighs, shakes his head, and smiles at the odd man in front of the school.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Yusuke.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Akira.”

It’s shocked silence that follows them all away from the school, confusion silencing the whispers more effectively than any rule. By the next day, the students of Shujin all know about the odd boy that waits in front of the school building, but no one truly talks about him.

He’s with that trio, and really, the Phantom Thieves of Hearts are more interesting at the moment.

And then Kaneshiro sinks his slimy hands into the pockets of even the students, and the student council president starts to act a bit strange.

People notice her places she normally would never go, standing around, peeking up over a magazine or a newspaper and trying and failing to hide her presence. Whispers follow her, of course—but the more observant take a look around and realize exactly who is nearby.

Always those four, always together, and really if it weren’t for the fact one was the protege of a former hack, one was the school outcast, one was far out of any of their leagues and the last was a possible murderer, maybe their classmates would have been somewhat jealous at the way they seemed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and stick together like glue.

They’ve got the attention of the student council president, though. And not the good kind. There wasn’t really much to be jealous of.

Then, Kaneshiro’s grip suddenly recedes faster than it dig itself in, and that group of four begins to hang out a bit longer at the school gates for Nijima to join them.

She joins them with an annoyed expression.

And it becomes increasingly difficult to find them all together.

The closeness is still there—in they way they greet each other in the halls, in the way Takamaki and Kurusu seem to check their phones at the same time, in the way Nijima berates Sakamoto for his exam grades and Kitagawa is seen with any one of them at any given time in public, and even Mishima is found hunting down Kurusu during the day, suddenly a lot closer with the rest of them than anyone had even realized—but the obvious association is gone. They aren’t together often, enough so that after the initial curiosity, people forget why they found it interesting in the first place.

Summer break and the Medjed scare come and go, and the much anticipated second-year class trip to Hawaii takes over the school’s gossip mill.

And then someone spots Sakamoto and Takamaki leave Kurusu and Mishima’s room, and in lieu of a poorly planned schedule and many teens gathered in a single hotel, people remember.

They’re all even seen on the beach, Takamaki putting flowers in the other’s hair, and—Kitagawa even appears, shockingly enough.

But it’s Hawaii, and with the fast-approaching deadline of their flight back, all rumor and prying gets shoved away for one last chance to make the most of their time.

The day of their return flight, a few last-minute shoppers spot the red-haired honor student chatting happily with Kurusu and his group, and honestly, no one can truly feel surprised anymore.

The odd group is really forgotten when the Phantom Thieves ranking appears on the “phan”site and Principal Kobayakawa passes away.

Maybe, in the days leading up to the downfall of the shrewd corporate criminal Okumura, they’re all seen bent on their knees and tending to the plants in the school gardens alongside the quiet, happy gardener student that seemed unworried about the looming of the popularity polls.

The world casts itself into an uproar over individuals, but together is how they face it all.

[bluejeanlouis]

COMING SOON: The Yellow Roof, 1970s AU by kiddle

Louis is a gifted musician spending his days on the wrong side of a drive-thru window. Harry is the lead singer of a band in need of a little talent. Their big break is a thousand miles away. 

Preview under the cut:

With a deep sigh, Louis leaned his chair on its back two legs, propping one of his feet up next to the till in front of him. The sun was blinding between the trees of the neighbourhood across the street, striking his eyes through the drive-thru window. He yanked the blind closed even though he wasn’t supposed to when the Fotomat was open. But there was no one around and his ability to give a shit had decreased significantly today. Slurping on the can of Coke he brought with him, he pulled out his lyric book.

Louis was not a poet. In fact, the pretentious and dull poetry class he took in his second semester at college was detrimental in his decision to drop out a year later. He didn’t like the confusion of poetry and the rules despite being an art form that claimed to be free of them. Don’t get him wrong, he was confident in his own writing, he just didn’t want to be taught how to do it.

But one look under the cover of that notebook would reveal pages and pages of poetic garbage. Some of it was great, and a couple had even ended up as actual songs back when Louis was performing solo at bars before he gave up on that too. Most of it was scribbled chicken scratch. That was just his process.

He held the notebook against his knees, tracing dark lines across the last words he wrote last night with his pen. It was some bullshit angsty heartbreak harnessed from his high school first love mixed with the anger of being sacked from a band that he was the best instrumentalist in. Sometimes that kind of emotion makes for a perfect writing session, and sometimes it’s a diary entry you never want to see the light of day.

Louis bit the end of his pen, rereading the words on his page. ‘Heart’ had to be the most overused word in love songs, and he had it down in every verse and the chorus. Love songs weren’t even what he wanted to write about. It wasn’t the only feeling out there. It sure as hell wasn’t the most predominant one in his mind.

A loud and abrupt knock on the window made Louis nearly leap out of his seat. His notebook and pen tumbled to the ground as he dropped his feet from the desk. He yanked on the string to make the blind spring back up, knocking his Coke over in the process. He picked it up just as quick, groaning at the mess it made. All the commotion caused the stack of pickup envelopes next to the widow to splay out over the desk in front of him. Now that the customer could see him, he tried to push him all out of the way before he slid the window open.

“Hi, welcome to— Shit!”

One of the envelopes had landed in the small puddle of spilled Coke. He tried to wipe it off on his jeans as quickly as he could before returning it to the scattered pile with the others. Once he finally composed himself, he tried to greet the customer properly.

But then his face fell to disgust.

“What are you doing here?”

“You left so quickly yesterday, we didn’t have the chance to talk,” said Harry, the lead singer of Louis’ former going-nowhere band. Harry had one hand casually rested on the steering wheel, the other elbow poking out the window, and sunglasses sitting low on his nose. Louis hated how effortlessly cool he could always look. It made him the perfect goddamn lead singer.

Louis rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to do? Beg for you to let me stay? ‘You’re out of the band’ was pretty loud and clear.”

“I mean, I thought we could have a discussion about it.”

“So you showed up to my work to have a discussion about it?” He hunched over so just his head was sticking out the window, his fist squished into his cheek to hold his head up.

“You wouldn’t answer the phone last night.”

“Take a hint,” he snapped, then slid the window shut with enough force to make it bounce halfway open again. He pushed it the rest of the way closed in a huff.

But Harry hadn’t driven away yet, so Louis slumped over in his chair and refused to look in his direction. Why the hell would he show up here? Just to rub it in his face? The new guy always loses the band argument. Louis was over it, and he had the faint remnants of a hangover to prove it.

He took a swig of his Coke that was now almost empty. No one ever left any napkins around here, but a few tissues seemed to do the trick to sop up that puddle. As he tried to avoid getting sticky hands, Louis could see Harry getting out of his car in the bottom corner of his eye. Then he heard the window opening again.

“Louis, listen to me,” Harry pressed. He had his hand in the way so Louis couldn’t shut it, but it did cross Louis’ mind to crush his fingers just to get him out of here.

“Go away,” he stated, pulling the roller blind between them. If only it was soundproof.

The blind sprung up again, revealing a wildly frustrated Harry on one side and an indifferent Louis on the other. He was pretending to read a copy of Vogue that one of the girls from the after-school shift left behind last night.

“We have a meeting with a record company in L.A. and they’re expecting a four-piece to show up. There’s no time to find a new bassist, so you’re back in the band.”

Louis folded down one corner and peeked his eye over Carrie Fisher’s head.

“How’d you get a meeting? The band sucks.”

Harry stared at him, angrily chewing on his lip, then turned around with a huff. “Fuck you,” he muttered, opening his car door.

Louis waited for him to start the engine and leave, but then the words “L.A.” and “record company” flashed with lights and sirens in his mind, and he imagined this opportunity driving off and never looking back.

“Wait!” Louis called out, tossing the magazine to the side and launching himself out the back door. He ran across the front of the car and slammed his hands on the hood so Harry couldn’t move the car an inch further. They eyed each other, and when Louis trusted that Harry wouldn’t speed off the moment he moved, Louis ran around to the passenger seat and got in.

Harry shook his head, both hands gripped tight on the steering wheel. “I’ve been dealing with your bullshit for ten years, man,” he said.

So maybe Louis wasn’t being totally truthful about what happened with the band.

Louis met Harry in his first year of middle school. They ended up in the same gym class, which was hell for every twelve-year-old, but for people like Louis and Harry, it was just a little too much to bear. They found skillful ways to ditch whenever possible, especially when it came to running the mile. Sometimes they’d hang out near the back of the group when everyone was filling out the gym doors, then slip out the side and circle the building before the teacher saw. The equipment closet was full of plenty of hiding spaces that begged to be taken advantage of. The best days were when they had a substitute who wouldn’t even notice that they never came back from a bathroom break in the change room.

In high school, they drifted, hanging out in the same group of freaks and burnouts, but not often with each other. They’d find themselves at the same parties and bickering in the same cars full of friends, but that initial bond had faded. Once college rolled around, they weren’t surprised to find out they’d be going to the same state school, but discovering their dorms were across the hall from each other was quite the shock.

They had become inseparable again, except for the inevitable monthly fights that left them not speaking to each other for days at a time. That went on for about two years until Louis dropped out and Harry continued with his literature degree. During that time, they hardly saw each other at all. Louis began to wonder if their friendship had only ever been one of convenience. But just as the year of 1972 was beginning, Louis got a phone call from that on-and-off best friend of his asking if he wanted to join his band.  

Harry and Louis fought from day one, but just as much as they hated each other’s guts, they loved each other too. Louis would still consider Harry his friend, but he would have no problem telling him what an insufferable bastard he was right to his face. It was a brotherly bond. Sort of.

“How’d you get the meeting?” Louis asked, turning sideways in his seat. “When is it?”

“We sent in our demo and they want to talk to us. That’s it,” he said. “The meeting is next week and they want all of us there.”

“Me included?”

“You’re on the demo.”

The demo was pretty shit if you asked Louis, but he decided to keep that to himself. They recorded it at their old college in the crummy basement studio run by students, and you could guess that by the first listen. Louis looked out at the empty parking lot ahead of them. He had memorized every detail of this parking lot. It had become the scenery for his life. He couldn’t wait until he never had to look at it again.

“Do you actually want me back in the band?” Louis wondered, sincerity in his voice for once.

“I—” Harry started, but didn’t look him in the eye. “I want to be at a place where you could be in the band without the two of us constantly at each other’s necks.”

“That would be nice, yeah,” Louis sighed.

They sat in silence, Louis weighing his options and Harry wondering if he really should’ve taken that ignored phone call as a hint.

“So, what, is this to discuss an album deal?” Louis asked, hoping more detail might help his decision.

“It’s to discuss our potential. They didn’t tell me a whole lot, but if they want to spend their time on us then they gotta have some hope.”

A car horn blared loudly behind them, an impatient customer waiting his turn to desperately develop the photos from his five-year-old’s birthday party, surely. It startled them, but that was Louis’ cue to get back to work, he supposed.

“Can I think about it?” Louis asked. He was already halfway out the door.

“Not for too long. We meet them next week.”

The horn blared again.

“One second!” Louis called out. The guy in the car flipped him the bird and Louis wasn’t hesitant to send him one right back.

“What’s the label?”

“CBS,” Harry said.

Shit, Louis thought. CBS was no joke.

“Move your fucking car!” the guy behind them hollered out his window.

Harry glanced at the angry face in his rear-view mirror, then ignored it completely. Louis looked like he was about to leave, but Harry grabbed his arm to stop him. “Before you go, take this.” He dropped a roll of film into Louis’ open palm.

Louis looked at it curiously, his other hand on the door handle. “What’s this?”

Harry laughed. “Photos I need to get developed. This is a Fotomat, is it not?”

“It is,” Louis said slowly.

“I’ll be back in twenty-four hours,” Harry said, plucking his sunglasses off the dash and sliding them onto his face. “For those photos and for an answer.”

[amphtaminedreams]

Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 Plus a Little Jacquemus: Okay, Dior DID Suck (Part 2/2)

Hi to anyone reading,

First of all, thank you! I have never had a post do as well as the part 1 of my haute couture week review did and I am so overwhelmed with the positive feedback. This is probably funny to read for those of you getting thousands of reblogs on your posts, me acting like I won an academy award because I got a couple of hundred, but honestly I don’t expect any traction when I write on here (it’s basically just me word vomiting everything I’m thinking as if people want to hear it aka. mouthing off into what I thought was the void) so if you did read it, thank you! I do spend a long-ass time on these so it means a lot:-)

I’ll leave the self-indulgent ramble there though as it’s probably not what you came for and jump straight into part 2 of my thoughts, starting with Jacquemus. Yeah, I knew what I was doing when I tagged that in my last post. Simon Porte Jacquemus is the man of the *fashion* people right now; I’ve even found myself coming round to the Le Chiquito bag despite my original thought being “well, that’s fucking useless”. I know, I know, technically it’s not haute couture; it was part of Men’s Fashion Week, but it happened around the same time and everyone was talking about it on Twitter, so I feel like I have to include it.

In a way, it kind of reminds me of Bottega Veneta’s last RTW show, in that, especially with the women’s outfits, we seem to be sticking with simple, fitted garments and chunky, more statement jewellery. I’ve got to say I like the styling here a lot more though, and in general I’m a fan of this collection. The collared tops with cut outs underneath blazers are cool and I can’t wait until it gets warm enough for me to not feel dumb wearing my headscarfs like this; there’s a LOT of summer outfit inspiration. It’s not a mind-blowing collection or anything but it is effortlessly sexy and that’s something I wish I could say about myself. Most of us can only hope to look half as good as these models do whilst making the effort but at least Jacquemus is aspirational, lol. 

I also fucking adore this colour palette. I’m sick of neutrals literally just meaning brown and white; the navy, sand and muted khaki is a fresh edition to what is usually interpreted as the colours you’d seen worn by Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff and only Disney’s Riverboat Cruise staff. And I mean, come on-what is more neutral than typical English school carpet blue.

Next for the whole reason I had to make this haute couture week review 2 separate posts: Jean Paul Gaultier’s final show.

In the best way possible, it’s a lot. I don’t even really know where to start, except to say that I guess this is a fitting last show; a celebration of everything campy, messy, weird, performative, and punk is the perfect send off for a brand whose best known perfume of the last few years is called Scandal. More than anything, the final show represented the range of characters and cultures that have influenced JPG throughout his half-a-decade-long career, the lines that supposedly separate what is “masculine” and “feminine”, “old” and “young” and ultimately art and fashion blurred in the most exaggerated way possible. Sure, there are some looks which are individually a bit messy here but the way they were grouped into almost chapter-like segments meant that when you see them all together, they work. Nods to the patterns and structures that recurred from season to season were sprinkled throughout, from sailor stripes to corsets to the expected whirlwinds of colour. I’ll even allow the wellies in that one outfit; if I can get over bucket hats in Peter fucking Pilotto’s last RTW show, I can get over some questionable shoes here. Middle aged fishermen and boys who liked to pose with monster carp in their Tinder pictures as some weird display of masculinity everywhere rejoice.

Now onto a show that I personally found slightly disappointing: Margiela.

I think this one is a bit TOO weird for me. Like if you’re gonna go avant-garde, go all out. Chiffon gimp masks (I don’t know if that’s the intention here but that’s what I’m getting, sorry Maison) are something I’m not particularly fond of and I’ve never been a fan of the Tabi boots in the first place, let alone when they’ve seemingly been blown up to Michelin man style proportions. I didn’t find the show to be a total lost cause-I enjoyed the colour palette and I’ve always liked that contrast stitching detail, plus the bowler hats are interesting-but on the whole considering how much I liked the last RTW show, this is a bit of a let down. 

The looks I included are salvageable but (I feel mean saying this) there were genuinely a lot of pieces that did just resemble bits of fabric draped over each over with no discernible rhyme or reason, so much so that they reminded me of some of the monstrosities I saw at a Drag Race pub quiz this one time where we had 5 mins to make some garms out of loo roll and then have a team member model them for points down a makeshift runway. 

Ralph and Russo was alright. There were a few pieces that I really liked but again, I can’t help but compare this collection to the last, where it felt like the fussy details of bows and sequins and feathers and the Barbie Dreamhouse palette were utilised with a direction in mind. Here, I don’t get that. As ever, the gowns are gorgeous and I’d pay good money just to try one on for five minutes but as an overall collection I’d say there was a lack of higher vision, which is probably the snobbiest sentence I’ve ever written so forgive me.

As for Ronald Van Der Kemp, I could’ve done without including it to be honest, if it weren’t for the few pieces I’m in love with: the velvet cape, fur trimmed jacket and blue satin dress are probably my favourite pieces here.

So onto a collection I liked a lot more: Schiaparelli. 

The influence of nature from flowers in bloom to insects to the organic structure of the human skeleton is as present as ever, though this collection includes a lot more delicate symbolism than usual. Honestly, the details make it for me; the brooches, earrings and facial jewellery are other-worldly touches to outfits that could otherwise be simple fashion magazine editor on-the-go. That’s not in itself a bad thing! The suits are gorgeous. I mean, I’m talking fashion editor in New York in a power suit yelling orders down the phone while she rushes along with a coffee. A Miranda Priestley in the making type woman. THAT’S a modern take on the divine feminine that Maria Grazia should’ve been going for; our goddesses aren’t women who sit around looking pretty (though that helps too) and place curses on mere mortals anymore, they’re women who get shit done. 

With regards to Valentino, which was also a delight, let me start by saying this colour palette is EVERYTHING. It’s ugly sisters in Cinderella fantastic, and we know those 2 were the real fashion icons really. Other than that, I adore the Old Hollywood silhouettes from the gloves to the Liz Taylor-in-Cleopatra-level-dramatic earrings. Everything is opulent and expensive-looking and pretty much what we’ve all come to expect from Valentino. A strong 8/10.

For me personally, Viktor and Rolf was a standout and one of my favourite collections of haute couture week. It’s not going to be everyone’s cup of tea and I know it’s at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to what was probably my other favourite collection, Elie Saab, but this is just my style down to a T, the perfect balance of grungy and cutesy that I want to achieve. 

There’s probably going to be a lot of objections to the temporary face tattoos and I get that, but I think they’re fucking sick. I obviously wouldn’t get a permanent one lest my mother murder me in cold blood however if I did, you bet I would be pairing them with frilly-ass babydoll dresses that you could pick up in Camden Market like this. 

And last but not least (that would be Dior), there’s Zuhair Murad.

Sigh.

IDK, man. Seeing Zuhair Murad dresses on Tumblr and WeHeartIt (remember that site? It still exists!) as a 14 year old was one of the things that got me into fashion, so it sucks that almost every time a new collection comes around, I feel underwhelmed. Disappointingly, the brand hasn’t really progressed all that much since 2013. It goes without saying that the stoning and the embroidery and sequins are stunning and would make anyone feel like a princess but from a critical point of view, I’m just not seeing anything new here. Whereas I feel like Elie Saab, for example, reflected the growing fascination with East Asian fashion and recognition of the supremacy of the region’s street style in his haute couture last collection, Zuhair Murad seems to be stuck designing the same dresses he was 6 years ago. 

To pick one example, the rounded stoned necklines are so outdated that they’ve been making their way onto department store prom dresses for years. I get that it’s supposed to be a reference to Ancient Egyptian style and I respect that, I was one of those 8 year old that was obsessed with mummies and the “Curse of Tutankhamun”, but couldn’t it be done in a more interesting way? It’s Maria Grazia’s spin on Ancient Greece all over again. Now I get how how the I imagine very niche subsection of people who are into fashion and Julius Caesar (okay, so I don’t even know if they still believed in mythology and all that malarky at that point in history but just roll with my comparison here) might’ve felt going through Vogue Runway. Anyway, I hate to end on a critical note and so be clear, these are still absolutely magnificent dresses. If we ignore those ugly round necklines, that is.

So that’s it for this post! If you read part 1 and 2, I hope you enjoyed it! As always, let me know your opinions and feel free to disagree. I’m literally just about to start trawling through all the A/W 2020 RTW collections though I imagine that’s gonna take me way longer to do than this, so I wouldn’t expect that for a month or two. In the meantime, I’m trying to fit shooting a Euphoria-inspired lookbook into my days off work which is looking atm like it’s going to be the end of March, so look out for that, and also a review of the red carpet fashion from this season’s award shows. 

As ever, thank you so much for reading and again, thank you for the reception on part 1 if you were one of the people that read it. It makes staying up til 3am with the jitters seem worthwhile, lol! 

Lauren x

[weirdponytail]

How modern is everything in MIC? Like what technology do they have? Plus, what does dragon armor look like in this universe, I’m really curious, lol?

Haha, once again that’s a sort of difficult question that needs to be answered!! Buckle in, folks. Sorry the post got so damn long!

Modern Inheritance Cycle is a bit of a misnomer, really. Technology varies pretty widely, so I can’t point to a chunk of our history and say ‘iz like that!’ for MIC. I’ll do my best to give a general overview.

Big things are that fossil fuel engines do not exist. Planes, automobiles, etc, do not and will not exist in MIC. Horses and walking are still the main travel methods. Both swords and guns are used. In the Broddring Empire, the most technologically advanced computers are those box computers from the late 90s early 2000s. Somehow, MP3 players exist, but not the sleek ones we know now (Eragon has one that he keeps on his person at all times). There is some difference between the level of computer tech humans have when looking at the Empire and Surda. Elves and dwarves have their own levels of tech that are more advanced. Radios are a thing, but for communication and entertainment/news, and again differ somewhat between races. 

Also, big note that my friend Cor brought to my attention: My dumbass completely forgot about the Urgals and figuring out their levels of tech. It’s low, mostly due to combat focused and rather secluded (iirc) lifestyles. 

Alright, let’s get down to specifics.

Handheld Weapons: While guns are a thing (modern, right here, right now guns), they haven’t taken over swords and other bladed weapons completely. Heck, swords are still a major part of the series! Close combat is done with swords, while guns are usually pistols, rifles, etc, used mid to long range. Things like AKs and very large magazine automatics aren’t very common, but burst fire and semi auto are okay. Examples: Arya and Brom both carry pistols and occasionally a long gun or combat rifle of some sort, while Murtagh has a specialized rifle he uses. Fäolin was a trained sniper. It’s sort of up in the air really. I add them when I feel like it. 

Large Weapons: As mentioned in my MIC Dwarves post (LINKED), dwarves developed some artillery type weapons and small tanks (WW2 levels at the highest), run on magic energy. This energy is usually stored in mid to low quality minerals and crystals and can be replenished either via putting your life energy into it, or (and this is something new, I’m not sure if it’s going to stay or not) channeling the resulting energy release from basic exothermic chemical reactions into the crystals, though this is only a thing that dwarves know how to do and they are NOT sharing that information.

Armor: Oddly enough, Kevlar isn’t really prevalent. There’s still enough of a focus on hand to hand sword fighting that there’s mixes of other materials that could deflect sword blows with materials that can dissipate the impact of projectiles. Dwarves are the best to look to for their lightweight metal alloys for this purpose, and Saphira’s armor is the pinnacle of that technological achievement. I’m rusty (HA!) on my metallurgy and aramid fiber applications info, so you’ve sparked my urge to do some research. I’ve not figured out a good dragon armor design yet, but when I do I’ll definitely draw some up!

Oh, more armor! Elves have perfected spidersilk armor, and when properly mixed with metals or aramid weaves it creates fantastically resistant cloth and plating. Arya’s jacket, mentioned plenty of times in MIC stories, is made of this spidersilk cloth mixture. It’s stopped bullets before, and is pretty resistant to cutting from nearly everything but a Rider’s sword or other crazy rule breaking/bending magic. Arya’s armor in my original ‘The Soldier’ drawing is also spidersilk, though it’s more spidersilk alloy plate. If you see anything that’s a mottled texture, mottled blue or blue grey in my MIC art, that’s had spidersilk added to it. Elvish armor (and even some weapons) relies on it heavily. 

Elves tend to have the ‘highest’ level of tech, but it’s mostly due to an abundance of magic, time, and knowledge in other fields that lead to strange new inventions. They don’t develop it often, as it’s mostly a fleeting hobby, but when they do implement it with their magic it can be pretty dang cool. Glenwing studied, among his mental health and medical training, electrical engineering type things and thus knows how to rewire both nerves and devices. Rhunön is quite adept at working magic into her forging, as well as mechanical and electrical (sort of) work. When Glen loses his arm in the ambush, Rhunön is the one that makes a prosthetic for him that sort of ends up being like Fullmetal Alchemist Automail, but without the painful surgical requirements. It requires only the same amount of energy that movement and actions with muscle and tissue would require with his real arm, so it is linked to his own energy. Arya, meanwhile, picks up a lot of mechanical engineering from bothering Rhunön as a kid and gets even more experience with it via dwarvish tech, weapons sabotage, and ‘use everything till it falls apart’ forced rationing with the Varden, leading to a combination of her and Glen’s skills to create their squad’s special radios that are mentioned in a few of the MIC stories.

Dwarves are the most mechanically inclined and, again, use energy storing crystals very frequently in their creations. I think it’s mentioned in my dwarf post that many many households have items and tools that house these crystals. I go more in depth with the post I mentioned so that’s probably where you’ll get the most info.

Humans are kinda stuck. Galbatorix tends to draw from things reported on/seen while fighting against other forces and has his people develop from those. Military weapons have been the main focus, so there’s not much in the way of computers or that kind of stuff. Those old box computers are usually only used in businesses that can afford them for finances and the like. As for artillery, the Broddring Empire has developed ‘cannonbombs,’ artillery shells that are clusterbombs inside an outer shell that can be on a timed fuse for detonation before impact or explode on impact and releases several more explosives (If you want a better explanation, check out MIRV grenades from from the Borderlands games). They’re the bane of trench fighters.

Meanwhile, in Surda, computers are a little smaller! Due to the hot climate, Surdans learned to make more efficient cooling systems and were able to make them smaller and more compact, leading to an explosion of research into making the rest of the equipment smaller as well. They’ve moved on to tower+flat monitor type computers. Surda is more interested in chemical engineering and tech towards the center of the kingdom, while defensive tech and development takes precedence along the border for obvious reasons. 

Even though humans seem to have gotten the short end of the stick, I always want to mention that in MIC, humans are the most ingenious, able to use, reuse and repurpose due to their ‘limitations’ when side by side with other races. They think outside and all over the box, occasionally cutting the material of the box to see if they can make something out of that. It’s something that most dwarves and elves just don’t understand, and thus often overlook or underestimate. 

That’s...all I’ve got at the moment. I hope that helped a bit! Please, if you have any more questions, ask! :D I love world building!!

[fipindustries]

list of comics i made so far

i already shared the list of all the novels i tried to write throughout my llife so i see no reason why not to do the same with the comics i tried to work on. no i should clarify, with my lists of novels there was a clear cut distinction between what was a novel and a short story so to parse one from the other was an easy task. it should be known that i wrote hundreds of shorts stories that i havent shared with anyone. now a similar situation occurs with my comics, i have done hundreds upon hundreds of little comics, short jokes, little skits and short lived strips through my life, so in order to give this list some weight and not make it longer than the bible the criteria i used was that it had to be something i did on a regular basis or that tells a self contained story with a beggining middle and end.

now without further ado, lets begin!

spike Vanderville (age 7)

you can tell i was way more into comics than i was into novels from a young age. done with pen and folded paper, it was the story about a young kid called spike, whose design was heavily inspired by bradley from sticking around, who had magical powers which allowed him to manipulate reality. it was a mix of harry potter and a series of illustrates short stories that came in a magazine in argentina. his best friend was a scarecrow with a pumpkin head that he had brought to life, his archnemesis was a fat bully.

curiously enough i was so passionate about this project even though i had no idea what i was doing and no talent that i actually did like three full colored issues of it. my family was really proud of me. sadly those comics are completly lost to time

andrew and the monkey (age 10)

this was the classical story about a boy and his best friend the talking animal. one page comedy strips done in pen and paper. nothing too clever, just a way for me to try lame jokes mostly stolen from spongebob squarepants. not much else to it. i tried to do like a revamp in 2014 but it was short lived, as you can see the jokes didnt get any less lame

FIP industries (age 17)

mostly done in digital. yes as you can see fip is something that has followed me my whole life in quite the variety of mediums. there were as a matter of fact multiple attempts to make this comic a real thing but time and again they would peter off as i saw that my skill was just not up to the task. i think i have talked more than enough about fip industries on this blog, one interesting thing is that if you follow the link you will come across a lot of proto ideas that i had before they cemented and took their definite shape in the novel (and even after the novel i kept retconning and retooling things over and over again, fip industries is an ongoing thing that will probably last my entire lifetime)

Disregarding Reality I (age 20)

the first iteration of disregarding reality, a humorous strip done in pencil and paper, a fairly short lived affair, lasting no more than 3 months. the entire premise of the comic was an MRA activist and a feminist live together, they are friends, they argue a lot. remember 2013 guys? back when this whole politics bullshit truly kicked off online? this was before gamer gate, mind you. but by that point i had seen more than enough of it on tumblr and i was like “someone should do some scathing commentary with wit and penache” and that someone had to be me. mainly inspired by commics like f@nboys and el goonish hive and a thousand billion others that were so popular back in those halcyon days.

i got bored of it pretty quickly and it wouldnt be until three years later than i would finally decide to re-start the project but until then...

Strangers in the forest (age 21)

here comes a rather productive era in my ouvre, ink and paper, based on a short story i wrote, its about an eldritch monster pretending to be human and a ghost girl, killed by her father. they have a dispute because the monster wants to eat the corpse of the girl but the ghost doesnt want to give up her bones because its the one thing that tethers her to the mortal plane. they eventually resolve their dispute. by this point i was actually, unironically trying my best to do comics which i felt looked professional.

Song of a nightmare (age 21)

another one based on a short story i wrote. ink and paper, a private detective wakes up in the middle of the night and sees a mermaid lying in bed next to him. he spends most of the comic trying to figure out how the hell is this possible. still one of my favourite ones and certainly one of my family’s and friends favourites as well. a rather poetic tale, strongly inspired by argentinian fiction and their propensity towards magical realism, i was reading a lot of cortazar back then.

Aika (age 21)

as you can tell i was on a fucking roll that year. ink and paper, this was a story based upon a simple and basic idea that i had in my mind for years and years. i always liked the concept behind the movie “the kid” where bruce willis mysteriously comes across himself as a kid. so of course one day i came up with the idea, what if you recieved a visit from your future self... but she was a woman?

this is probably the most aggresively trans story i ever wrote in my life, it is literally about a guy realizing they are trans and breaking down over it. here is the giant kicker, i did not realize at all what i was doing. i was completly unaware of what was going on here, i was still deep deep in the closet and not even realizing i was there. it really is astounding the honesty and the rawness with which i wrote this comic and it went all over my head. a perfect example of “im such a great ally lol”

oh also there is time travel i guess. my main impetus (beyond whatever my subconcious was forcing me to do) was my desire to make a complete clusterfuck of a story, i was a huge fan of homestuck, i had read fleek and demon, i wanted to do my own take on a hypercomplicated time travel puzzle plot. other things came out on top of it but i didnt noticed them. fucking hilarious

Hello Agatha (age 21)

a comedic strip about a wacky pixie dream girl having wacky adventures with her wacky friends, one of which is a man with a toilet for a head. what a gut buster, what a knee slapper!

there is not much to say about this one, wacky surreal comedy was always my favourite and so time and again i would try my hand at it but it is surprisingly hard to do!

The /co/ ventures! (age 20 - age25)

an ongoing project done in multiple mediums. i think i said more than enough about this in here and here. it was me practiscing comics, practiscing my humor and adding my tiny grain of sand to the 4chan culture. i am proud to say these comics were actually very well liked there and that i would be recognized without a name or signature of any kind, just on the strength of my style.

the vest kind of madness (age 22)

probably one of the projects in which i put the biggest amount of effort to make it look professional. traditional inks and digital colors. a crossover that i cant believe never happened in comics considering how obvious it is. Rac Shade, the changing man and delirium of the endless, the two flagship vertigo characters associated with madness. clearly a match made in heaven.

to this day im flabbergasted i seem to be the only one to think of this.

Disregarding Reality II (age 23)

another work where i have already spilled rivers of bytes explaining my thought process behind it. after having a no good, terrible, very bad day, finding my self aimless and without purpose, deep in denial and depression, i decided to give my self a big project to have something to get me out of bed every day. these three guys came from the depths of my mind to save me.

this time leaning a lot more on silly humor and surrealism than political commentary, still insanely proud of how much i managed to make this last, almost three years, well over 200 pages! and in here i found the inspiration and the creative energy to tackle all sorts of diverse projects of which we are about to see all about.

Mama Bird (age 24)

my masterpiece.

by far the best comic i ever did. a kid with a bird for a mom. hilarious, touching, heartbreaking. it was a concept that i had come up with when i was 21. back then it was supposed to be exclusively a humorous comic strip but then i found a dramatic angle for the story and that was when everything clicked into place. that was when i realized this was a comic i had to do. and i did it. it took me five months but it was well worth it. still insanely proud of this one

Soft boys (age 25)

a weird experimental little story where i decided to sit down and deconstruct one of the most popular superpowers. super elasticity. more akin to me just mashing my toys against each other than me trying to tell a serious story. i am actually really happy with some of the art here and some of the sequences presented. particularly the final one where a brick joke twenty pages in the making finally pays off.

Hexen Snatch (age 25)

a semi spinoff to my novel FIP industries, we focus on a side character that managed to survive after the events of the novel and how they’ll manage to survive further beyond that. insanely soaked by the magical world of pact by widbow i wanted desperatly to share my own take on magic, every page is accompanied by a little text where i expand upon the lore and the way magic is supposed to work on this world. i really like the prose on those snippets and the ideas they work almost more that the comic itself with which i was not happy at all when i was working on it. i didnt like the character design, i didnt like how the art in general was coming out, i didnt like the pacing of the story or how superficially we were getting to expore this world in the comic proper. i had to take a very long hiatus just to accumulate the will to finish the comic and once i did i feel it really petered off without much of a satisfying payoff.

on some level i blame the exhaustion and frustration that i came out of this comic with for the fact that i ended up quitting disregarding reality soon afterwards.

Maxplosive (age 26)

another project that has followed me across multiple mediums. came up with an idea for a videogame back in 2015. saved it on the back pocket for a while, used it as a story within a story on my novel fan.tastic, practisced a couple of animations with the characters and eventually decided that, if my skills at videogame making were not enough, i had at least more than poven myself as a comic artist so maybe that was the definitive medium in which this idea would have to exist.

the original idea was to tell the story in two parts, the first half would introduce the character and the videogame as if the comic was a playthrough of the game. all fun and childlike and innocent. then the second half was meant to explore the life of the main character as an adult, how being “a videogame protagonist” had ruined her body, her mental health and her life. i tried all sorts of weird stuff with the format here, using reciclable assets, static camera angles and generally presenting the whole thing as if it was a videogame.

sadly the project got too big for my breaches, i was fucking exhausted back then, swamped with a bunch of other projects, my job, other responsabilities, unsatisfied with the story and with no idea where to take it. eventually i got tired, decided to skip a day, then the day became a week and then the week became a month and by then i had to face the facts, i was just no longer able to continue the comic. and so i quit not only maxplosive but disregarding reality all together.

i still did the occasional comic here and then but it wouldnt be until the very end of 20-fucking-20 that i was finally inspired to tackle a new project, my newest one, my last one....

Lapsarian (age 27)

an interesting experiment, i decided to do the whole comic in one sit and then post it chapter by chapter on a weekly basis. a surprising result of this was that i managed to do in one month the same amoung of pages that would have taken me 5 months back when i started disregarding reality, is good to see that after al this time i still got it.

took me a while to get the hang of it again and find my own style once more but once i armed up it was smooth sailing for 40 pages all the way to the end. but what is this comic even about?

its... weird, with full disclosure and no shame, it is mostly a fetish story about big lizard creatures commiting vore. the milkman had already shown me that i could do those types of stories and no lighting would come from the heavens to strike me down so i said, why not as a comic? i like to think that beyond the fetish content it is still a decent story in its own right, an interesting feedback that i got from this is that people are suprised how earnest it is, one saying something like “this is the best pitch for a fetish that i was never interested in”

Conclussion:

looking back on this im surprised, turns out i was a lot more prolific and working a lot more regularly than i expected, in here are documented ten years of creative output that never seems to wane. it was fun to do the roundabout trip and see how my style, my technice and generally my work ethic evolved through the years. another nice thing to see is the multiple formats, the multiple tools and mediums i experimented with, i find myself constantly trying new things, new methods, new angles, new interesting ideas for how to make a comic (without even getting into what to make a comic about).

something i always knew about myself was that drawing is a fundamental part of who i am, it is something that just cant be taken away from me and that will always be a part of my life one way or the other, is good to see it so plainly, in black and white, on this list. here goes for what i might be able to do in the future

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: From the news European countries have been easing the lock down but restaurants and cafes remain closed. So what do you do for food? Do you cook? Are you a good cook? Do you enjoy cooking?

You are right to say in Europe things have been easing up a little. However each European country is responding differently as things present themselves on the ground. In France and in Paris in particular the lock down has eased with shops re-opening and schools have limited re-opening. The shops allow a limited number of people in at any one time so there is a queue usually (orderly and well humoured it has be said, at least in my experience). Cafes and restaurants remain closed pending a further review - in early June I think. But some eateries do deliveries for pick ups by a side window.

I cook. Just how well is more debatable as my criteria for success is not to kill others or myself. So judged on that score I would say I’m a reasonably decent cook. I hate to admit it but next to British food Norwegian food is not really much to write home about. I’m actually being harsh on British cuisine. I know everyone goes on about how bad British food is but it’s a cliche and untrue given the plethora of of cooking TV shows and just how dramatically British cuisine has changed in the last 30 years. I’ve been lucky to have dined at some really great restaurants from childhood because my father in particular was a foodie and we ate well.

I would like to say I learned a lot from my mother but I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have. She could very cook well but she did so rarely and at a time when we siblings didn’t take much interest. My Norwegian mother was fortunate to learn culinary skills on a cooking course for girls one summer in the Swiss alps at a finishing school as she was also at a nearby boarding school. Her parents thought she would make a good homely wife and hostess - but typically Norwegian my mother had other ideas. Still, a lot of what she learned had stayed with her and she developed a keen interest in French style of cooking to be able to cook well when she wanted to.

When we lived overseas in some countries - such as in India, Pakistan, Dubai and China - we had native cooks and servants and I remember spending a lot of time watching how the food was being made in the kitchen with the friendly cook. And I learned a few things here and there. We didn’t just eat ‘British food’ at home but actually enjoyed the local cuisine. I loved walking in the bazaars and eating street food - it was tasty and so much fun. My parents would put on lavish parties and that was always catered. I did learn from my mother when I did pay attention and her example stayed with me.

At boarding school and university I would cook as well but again nothing exceptional. Often I would have friends around and we would cook together and I would be naturally curious as to how they made a dish that was from their country and I learned on the hoof from them. At university I also started to write down recipes and kept a record of them in a file. So quick and easy meals from little ingredients because of an essay crisis or during a revision slog or the occasional dinner party where I sweated on making dishes from well thumbed cook books. No one died so encouraged I carried on cooking.

I do love cooking because it allows me to have the mental space to think about other things other than work or personal stuff. It gives me a lot of peace in cooking for myself and for others. I’m not a seat by the pants kind of cook. I envy those who can just naturally toss ingredients together and come up with something divine. I am quite regimented. I like to have all my ingredients clearly cut and put on plates in the right order. I like order over chaos. It doesn’t mean my mind is regimented. I can cook a recipe from muscle memory but I need to have order on the kitchen table.

These days I’m fortunate that I get to dine in some very fine Michelin starred restaurants on my business travels and it’s made a more discerning foodie. I avoid restaurant food in hotels for instance because consistently they disappoint. Instead I always plan ahead if I know I am going to a foreign city I will reserve a table during my stay of a restaurant recommended by foodie friends I respect. Often I have to choose the restaurant for a corporate client we may be schmoozing and that has broadened my knowledge and palate to find the right restaurant through trial and error. In Paris too with friends usually we go and try out restaurants that are on the rise and off the tourist beaten track. For the food gourmand though Lyon is the place to go for a pilgrimage. It is after all the place where the great French chef Paul Bocuse was based.

At home I do like to cook for dinner parties in my apartment. It takes planning in terms of deciding what dishes to cook - French cuisine naturally. Through Parisian friends I am more discerning where to go to get the required ingredients. I plan the whole dinner party like a military operation in terms of the logistics. Some may laugh but I take to heart what the great French chef Jacques Pepin once said that, “great cooking favours the prepared hands”.

As a ritual I always do my vegetable shopping in the weekend food market stalls or I go to particular boutiques shops where there is an artisanal element on display. Even what to cook I take into account the people I am bringing together and how they might get a long over the food. The French never bring a bottle of wine to a dinner party as one might in England. It would be considered rude. And yet wine is a serious accompaniment to the food served. Fortunately for me I co-own a vineyard with my two cousins out in the sticks of rural France so I have become greatly educated about wine and my little wine collection is sufficient for all occasions.  

I think through osmosis I have become a better cook and I can feel it every time I go back to England to see friends or my family. I do look on horrified at what they are eating some times. But I have to remind myself not to fall into the trap of being a Parisian food snob. In England I think the food in restaurants has greatly improved but it’s also true that less and less people know how to cook. This is also increasingly true in France too, especially Paris. Fast food and pre-cooked meals from restaurants as well as Uber/Deliveroo are changing things habits. Habits such as cooking dishes were handed down from generation to generation but instead are at your ready made finger tips.

One of my French friends is a chef trained food critic for a major magazine and he has helped me become a better cook. I feel like I am in a piano class with a stern teacher as he slaps my hands in irritation if I try to write down notes instead of paying close attention to the wafting aromas. To him food is spiritual and aesthetic experience that has to be engaged with the heart and the soul. He keeps chiding me that “You are not cooking. You are making love”.

I don’t quite feel as lyrical or mystical as he but I appreciate the passion and this marvellous trait of actually caring.

From him and other French friends  I feel I’ve become a better chef by absorbing certain key principles in good and healthy cooking: never rush cooking as if you’re chasing a missed bus but savour every moment; eat as fresh and natural as possible; local and seasonal are best; left your ingredients be your seasoning; fat is your friend, use butter over olive oil in dishes; never waste food, use all of it; everything in moderation; and every meal is a celebration and not an ordeal.

The last one in particular is important. A meal is not about eating (or drinking of good wine) it’s about the conversation. In the same way it is impossible for an Italian to cook for one person - try making lasagne or any pasta dish for one because you’ll end up making it for five - so it is for the French. Good food is nothing without good conversation.

For the French a successful evening isn’t just judged by the food but also by the talk around the table. The French love to pontificate, gyrate, and muse on any topic under the sun. It’s not just about the knowledge or intellect one brings to the table but also a worthy argument. A true argument isn’t to exclude people but an invitation to draw people in with their own unique views to come to some settled truth. A riposte must nick but never wound for good manners are premium. Wit and charm are prized but courtesy and grace are precious. Parisians tend to have elevated convivial conversations and yet outside of Paris the conversations are more earthy and hearty - ate least that’s been my experience. Either way conversation is a companion to cooking.

I’ve learned this last principle from my lockdown experience with my neighbours in the small apartment building I live in. Most of the residents have bolted before the lockdown to their country homes in Normandy and Bretagne. A few have remained for different reasons. During the lock down phase a couple of us have been buying food for the more senior aged neighbours.

In particular two neighbours I have done their personal shopping for them since they are classified at risk. One is a retired army general and another is retired art gallery owner. They both have gourmand tastes and I have to trek to particular shops to buy the things they want, usually preserves or cheeses or pastries. I often cook for them and often it’s dishes they are used to having so I’m extending my culinary range. They are both fussy eaters used to having a gourmand palate so I feel like I’m at school sometimes having to be corrected now and again as well as being graded.

They were at first wary of letting me cook for them because they thought I was another English barbarian but I slowly won them over. I’ve even got them to try some very English things. The cakes I did went down well but they really liked my scones as well as the clotted cream and jam to go with it. Here I must thank my new Fortnum and Mason’s cook book which has an excellent recipe for scones. I’m surprised at how quickly people have taken to them. So much so it’s become a weekend ritual with the other residents of the building.

We gather at the weekends in the enclosed court yard and with some the small kids having the freedom to run around a little the rest of us sit and chat and we share food that we’ve all cooked. We listen to music played by two residents each proficient on the violin and cello. It’s a fantastic bonding experience and it brings us closer together to the point we have our own WhatsApp group and we help each other out when we can. And surely that is another reason why one enjoys cooking is the sheer pleasure that you hope to bring to others through the taste of food.

If I have learned anything then it’s that is no good or a bad cuisine, just the one you like the best. We all have taste, even if we don’t realise it. Whether a person cooks well or badly it doesn’t stop you understanding the difference between what tastes good and what doesn’t.

For me cooking is precious. Cooking brings rhythm and meaning to my life.

Thanks for your question.

[papermoonloveslucy]

GRAFIC LUCY

April 26, 1953

On April 26, 1953, Lucille Ball appeared on the cover of the Chicago Sunday Tribune’s Grafic Magazine.  Inside, the article is titled “Lucille and Desi. $8,000,000 TV Stars” by Hedda Hopper.  

The photo on the cover is very similar to one that also appeared on this 1954 issue of Dell’s “I Love Lucy” comics. It is likely the phots were taken at the same time during the same photo shoot. 

By HEDDA HOPPER 

LUCILLE BALL, and Desi Arnaz. in their wildest dreams during their upsies and downsies, never imagined that one day they - a couple of strolling players - would be signed to a two-and-a-half year television contract for $8,000,000.

That's a heap of cash in any man's language, and in American money it's like finding the Glory Hole gold mine or stubbing your toe in your own back yard and starting an oil gusher. For actors to sign that kind of contract it's a Disney fantasy come to life. 

Lucy has used a lot of gold dust in her hair, but she's certain now that Peter Pan came to life and covered her from head to toe with pixie dust. But, being Lucy, her one comment after signing the fabulous deal with her TV sponsors was: "It couldn't happen to a nicer pair of kids. I mean our two children, of course." 

And those kids are as famous as their ma and pa. All over America last January, second in news importance to Ike Eisenhower's inauguration, was the birth of Lucille Ball's baby boy. The interest in the big event was fantastic. Tho they've been kicking around Hollywood for a long time, Lucille and Desi have grown into an American Institution in two years via TV. They've received more than fifty awards; their names have become household words. 

I was In Washington for the in inauguration, when Desidero [sp] Arnaz was born.

I’d like to straighten out one point. Lucy didn't have her baby by caesarean to please her sponsors. The operation was necessary. She had her first child by the same process, and since the caesarean operation could be set for a definite date, the birth was worked into the script of the show. The writers took full advantage of it. Since the show deals with an average couple, the pre-natal period reflected that of millions who have, or were having, babies. And to make sure that nothing in poor taste crept in, the Amazes had a Catholic priest a Jewish rabbi, and a Protestant minister check each script.

Lucy wanted a boy, and her doctor told her she'd have one. "I didn't pay any attention to his prediction," says Lucy. "He told me my first baby would be a boy, too. So I had a girl." 

Their show sticks to real life situations and mirrors the trials, tribulations, and fun of marriages enjoyed by millions of average men and women. 

Desi credits the success of the show to that fact "Its an average love story with humor," he explains. "Audiences believe I'm in love with Lucy, and I am. Lucy ' could be a straight dramatic show. In fact, I think there's no really good comedy that couldn't be turned into drama. I believe the average man gets a kick out of Ricky (the name he uses on the show), because he somehow always manages to dominate the woman, tho the victory is not great. Women love Lucy since she gets by with things they'd like to do, but wouldn't dare try." 

A fan wrote Desi: "I used to think my wife was crazy. But after following Lucy, I'm convinced all women are that way, so I'm reconciled to my wife's behavior." 

Desi is proud of the fact that he and Lucy help many couples in distress. “Lucille and I used to fight a lot," says he. "Then we discovered a sense of humor about situations that came up at home. We learned to live together and like it just as Ricky and Lucy do on the show. In real life, we still have our differences, but we never go to bed without speaking. We may have a peeve between us, but one of us will always say, 'All right What are you mad about? ' That either settles It or starts a real battle, which gets the beef off our chests." 

I wanted to know how much Lucy and Ricky resembled the real life Amazes. 

"A lot"  Desi laughed. "For example, we can never agree on the temperature of our home. I like it hot Lucy wants it cold. We put that In the show. For television the characters have to be exaggerated for the sake of comedy. But sometimes situations come up at home that give our writers ideas. For instance, our baby. Writing him into the script was completely natural. We knew what happened to couples expecting a baby."  

“It was the first nine-months' pregnancy that lasted only seven weeks," said Lucy, meaning that the baby business was only on seven programs. 

“And neither of our writers, Madeline Pugh and Bob Carroll Jr., is married," said Desi. 

"But they know whereof they write," said Lucy. "Within three weeks after the baby was born, we received 20,000 letters, 2,000 telegrams, and hundreds of packages.” 

"How many products do you indorse?" [sp] I asked. 

"It's easier to tell you what we haven't indorsed, [sp]" said Lucy. "We haven't indorsed [sp] locomotives or aircraft. We have art office now on 5th Avenue in New York just to handle merchandising." 

I asked how much money they could keep from their $8,000,000 contract.

"About four dollars and fifty-five cents," said Desi. "In the dear old days before taxes we could have retired for life In one year. But the government needs money. We're not complaining. Lucy doesn't have much business sense anyway. When it comes time to pay taxes, she doesn't bother trying to get exemptions. She just says, 'Bring me the check, and I'll sign it.' 

"And you're still expanding instead of cutting down?" I asked. 

"Yes," said Desi. "I put in 10 hours daily at my office." 

"I don't bother with business," said Lucy.  “That's Desi's department." 

“We've got over a hundred people working for us now," said Desi. "We'll do 32 television films a year, and I'm getting a man to take over the business management so I can devote more time to the creative phase of our work. We. plan to produce other shows. Then there are pictures." 

"I'm happy you two are going to make 'The Long, Long Trailer,' " I said. 

"That," said Desi, "is a dream. I read the book and tried to buy it But I didn't have the money to compete with Metro. So Pandro Berman called me up and asked if Lucy and I would be interested in reading the script I told him sure, to send it over. And It was 'Long, Long Trailer.” 

"It's a honey," added Lucy. "I once lived with my family in a trailer. It was all right until we all got claustrophobia. That's bad enough when you get it alone, but when it hits a whole family at the same time whew!" 

"We can make pictures any time we like," said Desi "But we'll concentrate on television. But if either Lucy or I wants to do a movie, we can always pile up a backlog of TV films that will tide us over." 

"I'm not particularly interested in going back to movies," said Lucy. "TV is my dish. We don't see a script at least I don't until 10 o'clock Monday morning. On Tuesday, we read from 10 to 12, then lunch. After that we start shooting. The writers usually aren't even on the set If I don't understand something, either the producer, Jess Oppenheimer, or our director, Bill Asher, explains it to me. We work four days and rest three. You cant do that in picture-making.” 

"Incidentally, Desi's malapropisms aren't written into the script. The script is written in straight English. But If Desi butchers the King's English during a rehearsal, it stays in." 

"Bill Frawley and Vivian Vance are wonderful additions to your cast," I said.

"We were lucky to get them," said Lucy. "When Bill's name was mentioned, I almost dropped dead. He was a big star and we couldn't afford him. But somebody said it wouldn't hurt to try to get him. Remember this was two years ago; and everybody here was scoffing at TV. Nobody knew." 

People didn't know many things. For years I've watched Lucy's work and considered her one of our finest comediennes. She has versatility and great timing. But nobody gave her break. Tho he'd done several pictures, Hollywood just couldn't see Desi for dust. He had to make a living with his band, and this put him on the road for long periods. Result: "I Love Lucy." 

"When we got the idea for the show, people said audiences wouldn't accept us as husband-and-wife team," said Lucy. "They didn't think audiences would believe that a girl like me and a Cuban like Desi could be married. I remember telling you this, Hedda, and you yelled back, 'But for Pete's sake, you' are married!'". 

Because the Amazes finally decided to portray life as they found It regardless of how dizzy it was, they found their way of life, says Lucy. "If you have a hunch, back it," is Lucy's advice.

The headline of April 26, 1953.