#you have to be like oh no *davids* the one with the wife - *ben* is the one that doesnt know his new man fucked his dad yet

[laesas]

Honestly the only people mad about Only Friends being fucked up and messy and sexually charged are either teenagers or adult shut-ins that have never actually interacted with a group of gay people in their early 20's. I promise, hand on heart. It is exactly as chaotic as that. Maybe more.

[moon-spirit-yue]

Once Upon a Time, In a Land Far Away...

(So remember when I said I wouldn’t make an OUAT au? I was a liar. However, I am ending this fic after the first season or perhaps season two because ya girl can’t be writing all that. TW SMALL FIGHT SCENE IN THE BEGINNING ILL MAKE THE TW OBVIOUS!

READ THE NEW NAMES BECAUSE YOU WILL BE VERY CONFUSED IF YOU SKIP THIS! Raya’s Storybrooke name is Rose, Namaari’s is Natasha, Virana’s is Vanessa, Benja’s is just Ben, Sisu’s is Suki, Boun’s is Brian, Noi’s is Naomi, and Tong’s is Thomas. Please enjoy!)

“What the hell happened? I thought you managed to get lost or something,” Namaari hissed the second Raya came back into the room.

“It’s so much worse than we were hoping. Snow went into labor before they could finish the portal. The baby is being sent to this other world by herself,” Raya told her in a frenzied manner.

“Oh my god,” Namaari whispered, absolutely horrified.

“I just, I need to sit down,” Raya stated warily as she all but collapsed on the couch near the door.

Namaari shot up from the bed and rushed to Raya’s side. Just like she always does. Raya can always count on her.

“What does this mean?” Namaari asked worriedly.

“It means that Emma’s going to need to find a way to break the curse all on her own,” Raya sighed as she buried her face in her hands.

Namaari wrapped her arms around Raya and pulled her close. Immediately, Raya returned the embrace and squeezed tightly. 

The Heart woman never wants to let go of her. Namaari. Her wife. But now she doesn’t have a choice.

When the Evil Queen threatened Snow White and Prince Charming on their wedding day, everyone was on edge. The Evil Queen does many things, but make empty threats are not one of them.

Snow knew the only way to guarantee the safety of the kingdom and her unborn child was to consult with Rumplestiltskin. Then they discovered that Snow White and Prince David’s daughter would be some magical curse breaker for them all. The original goal was to put Snow in the tree trunk so that she could raise the little princess curse free due, to the fact that there’s only enough magic to send one person. They just couldn’t make the tree fast enough. 

“I can’t believe this. I run from Druun for six years, and now it’s all ruined because some bitch who’s in an eternal battle with her step daughter wants to even the score,” Raya spat.

She had to be angry. If she wasn’t enveloped in rage, she’d breakdown in tears, which wasn’t very appealing at the moment.

“Look, we’ve been through a hell of a lot in our lifetime, and we will get through this too,” Namaari assured her.

“I don’t understand how you could possibly be so confident about that. We’re putting our hopes, our lives, in the tiny hands of a baby that hasn’t even been alive for a full day. That’s too much of a burden for anyone to bear,” Raya huffed. She speaks from personal experience, after all. 

“I know it is, but Rumplestiltskin already prophesied this all from the beginning. Which means that as long as Emma can escape, we've all got a chance," Namaari assured her.

Raya sighed and took a glance at the window. She has no idea where this curse is going to take them. Nobody does. They're at an utter disadvantage. The most information Raya's gotten from it is that everyone's memory is going to be wiped.

“I’m sorry I’m being so negative about this. You’re going to be cursed too, I should at least be attempting to comfort you,” Raya sighed, feeling so utterly defeated. “I just have no idea how we can make it past this.”

“Hey, you’re the most hopeful woman I’ve ever met. I mean, you hoped for six years that a dragon could bring your father back, and you were right. You hoped for all of a Kumandra. I can hope for us both right now. That’s what marriage is. Helping each other when the other is struggling,” Namaari told her. 

Toi, Raya is so in love. She didn’t know it was possible to feel so much adoration for one person until Namaari. The Heart princess simply gave her wife a kiss. One that Namaari immediately returned.

“I’m going to miss this. Something tells me that in this cursed land, we won’t be newly weds,” Raya sighed, pulling Namaari in for a hug.

“You might be right about our marital status, but I’ll still be in love with you. I always have been, and I always will be. There are some things not even magic can change,” the Fang princess said in a soft, comforting voice. 

“Yeah? Well if someone as lame as you can manage to love me in a cursed land, I bet I can love you so much more. Because, you know, I’m a lot cooler than you are,” Raya mumbled, trying not to cry her eyes out. 

“As if. I’ll love you so much in this cursed land, you’ll be embarrassed at how lacking you were when the curse gets lifted,” she heard Namaari huff out.

“You know what? If you can somehow manage to get Rumplestiltskin off my back in the cursed land, I just might agree,” Raya snorted.

“Please. That guy’s like three feet tall. I can totally get him to back off from you in the new world. If I have to keep Rumplestiltskin away, then you have to help me deal with my mother. I bet she’s going to be especially difficult in the cursed land,” Namaari scoffed. 

“I think we have ourselves a deal, binturi,” Raya giggled.

At that moment, David rushed into the room and quickly closed the door behind her. He was holding Emma in one arm and his sword in the other.

"My god, what the hell's happening out there?" Raya blurted as she and Namaari both stood up from the couch.

"The queen's guards. They infiltrated the castle. They're...there's so much more than just me. I don't know how I'll get past them all," the prince rambled while trying to catch his breathe.

"In and out David, in and out. Look, we've got your back. Raya and I will have gladly go out there to offer some backup," Namaari assured him.

"I can't ask you to do that," David said, trying to shoot the idea down.

"Hey, your fate isn't the only one that depends on getting her to this other world before the curse does. Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good fight," Raya smirked, trying to not panic at whatever was beyond those two doors.

"Hey, we sparred four days ago," Namaari reminded her with a frown.

"I know what I said," Raya grinned, feeling her nerves ease little bit more. It's like just looking at her wife is good for her health.

"Okay, less flirting, more preparing for battle," David reminded them.

"That's fair," Raya conceded as she grabbed her sword.

Namaari did the same. They never did go anywhere without a sword. That probably says something about themselves.

"Alright. We're good," Namaari nodded.

"Pause. I want a kiss for good luck," Raya told her.

Though no one was willing to say it outloud, they all knew that it was very possible this could be the last time any of them see each other. That's probably why David had no objection when Namaari used her free hand to cradle Raya's face and give her a deep kiss. Raya decided she liked that kiss so much that there was no way it'd be their last.

"I love you," Raya smiled as her wife pulled away.

"I love you too," Namaari whispered fondly.

Then a loud crash resounded from the outside, causing the trio to face the door with a deathly grip on their swords. When they decided no one would be breaking in, Raya and Namaari stepped out in front of David to take on whatever battle awaited them.

There were six guards at the end of the hall. They didn't look like they had a clue where they were going. Raya's pretty damn sure she could take these guys, especially with her badass wife beside her.

"Go ahead David, we'll hold them off," Namaari told him.

"Dep la, I was going to say that! Can you read my mind?" Raya grinned.

"I just know you too well, my love," Namaari responded with a small smile of her own.

"Thank you, I'm eternally in debt to the both of you. And for god's sake, focus on the fight instead of flirting!" the prince exclaimed before rushing off to send Emma into the wardrobe.

"Tell Emma Auntie Raya and Auntie Namaari love her!" Raya yelled as David sprinted away.

(TW WARNING START)

Okay, the Queen's armed forces were now right in front of them. No biggie. The first guy that came up to her was a cinch to beat. A solid kick in the chest made him slam against the wall and knock the guy out cold. Poor bastard must have been new.

Namaari was dealing with her own trio of guards as the remaining two ganged up on the Heart woman. They were fast, but clumsy. One guard managed to nick Raya's eyebrow and nose bridge. While it wasn't going to do any lasting damage, it'd certainly leave a mark. The force of their hits meeting air kept them off balance enough to give Raya a chance to swipe back.

She checked the corner of her eye to make sure Namaar was doing well and of course, she's beating their asses. After a couple good stabs through skin, Namaari knocked the other three off thier feet.

Raya had managed to stab the last guy in the leg when his guard was down. Hah. These guys are really bad fighters. Then she heard Namaari groan.

"Hey, do you think that," Namaari began, before she lunged herself at Raya.

A Queen's guard jumped out of the shadows and came hurtling to Raya when her back was turned. Namaari was able to interfere, but the guard just moved the blade the side and sliced Namaari's arm clean off. Raya's wife collapsed to the floor, crying from pure agony.

With absolutely zero hesitation, Raya raised her sword and pummeled it straight through the guard's heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Then left nothing for Raya to focus on except for her wife. She quickly took off her waist band and firmly tied it around the edge of the spot where the arm was cut off to prevent further blood loss. She's honestly not sure how she did it with her tears blurring her vision.

Once the band was tight enough, Raya moved Namaari so that her head was resting on Raya's lap. The screaming had stopped, there was only a pained whimper was coming from her now.

(TW WARNING STOP)

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me. Namaari, you have to stay awake, do you understand me? If I have to live through this stupid curse, then so do you!" Raya sobbed.

This can't be happened. They've been married for what, a month? It didn't matter that there was a curse or everyone would be miserable, Raya wanted to be cursed and miserable with Namaari. For the rest of their lives. One month is not enough.

"You're...so bossy. Even now," Namaari mustered out.

Raya couldn't hold back the extra tears seeing Namaari in so much pain from such a simple sentence. She's trying so hard to stay awake.

"Thanks for the defense back there. That guy totally would have sliced right through my heart if you hadn't done anything," Raya whispered, tears still stubbornly streaming down her face.

"I know. I'd rather lose an arm than lose you," Namaari said.

"I wish you didn't have to lose one at all," Raya told her honestly.

"Will you still love me even if I only have one arm?" Namaari blurted.

God, how stupid is this woman?

"That may have been the most ridiculous shit you've ever said in your entire life, Namaari. Of course I'll love you without the arm. Besides, you've seen what dragon magic can do with those metal arms. Once this curse business is settled, you can get a magical metal arm and you're gonna look so badass," Raya choked out with a small smile on her lips.

"You think I'd look hot with a metal arm?" Namaari grinned.

Even though the reason why is so painfully stupid, Raya's just happy to see that smile.

"Duh. I think you'd look hot with anything. Do you think I'll look hot with the eyebrow and nose scar? The wounds are kind of deep," Raya sniffled.

"You're always hot. The scars will add to it. I wanna kiss them when they're healed," Namaari mumbled, seeming to drift off.

"Aye! Stay with me, One Armed Wonder!" Raya snapped.

"Did you just call me One Armed Wonder?" Namaari mumbled incredulously.

"Too soon?" Raya sheepishly asked.

"I want that engraved on my metal arm," Namaari decided with a giggle.

Raya laughed a bit too. It's so hard to laugh knowing that the love of her life is in so much pain and there's nothing she can do about it.

The ground began to shake. Raya looked out the window to see the black and green fog slowly take over the whole kingdom.

"It's coming," was all Raya managed to say.

"Kiss me," Namaari said.

And how can Raya say no to that?

Raya leaned down and pressed a soft but firm kiss on Namaari's lips. She's feels so safe in the kiss. Even when the world is ending. No one's ever made Raya feel the way Namaari does. No one else ever will.

Raya gently broke away and gasped as the shaking grew more intense. Raya leaned over Namaari in order to protect her body from any more potential injury.

"I love you," Raya yelled as the fog approached.

"Love...," Namaari trailed off.

She was way too weak. It was a miracle the Fang warrior lasted this long. But that's okay, Raya doesn't need her to say it out load to know she means it.

All she could do was hold her wife tightly as they were swept into a land where they were never married in the first place.

************************

(27 years later)

Roseline Heart woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Literally. There’s a spot on the mattress that has the spring sticking out because of how old it is and it ended up cutting Rose’s cheek. Now there’s a thin trail of blood coming from her face. Fantastic.

Groggily, Rose helplessly grabbed around for her glasses and shuffled to the bathroom. She’s pretty sure this is where the bandaids are. After actually putting on the glasses, success was Rose’s as she managed to get her hands the hello kitty band aid box. After cleaning up the cut as best as she could, she put her bright pink band aid on and headed out to the kitchen.

“Morning Sunshine! How’s-” Suki began before noticing bright ass bandaid on Rose’s face. “Okay, seriously, you gotta replace that mattress. Someone’s gonna call the sheriff on me for domestic violence if you keep this up!”

“Someone’s dramatic. I just forgot to put a thick pillow over it like usual. No big deal,” Rose said with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

“It feels like you never remember the pillow. Besides, you've already got a couple scars on your face. No reason to add on another,” Suki huffs while handing her an apple.

“Aye, don’t sass the hand that’s gonna be dying your hair blue tonight,” Rose warned. 

Suki simply stuck her tongue out at her and began rummaging through the cabinets to find some of her cereal. 

Suddenly a loud, obnoxious knocking at their door caused both girls to groan.

“You get the door, I’ll get the checkbook,” Rose said in defeat.

“You got it, bestie,” Suki huffed while headed to the door. 

Rose heard the door open as Suki made idle chit chat with their intrud- guest. Beloved landlord. She found the checkbook resting on her living room couch. Rose grabbed a pen, wrote out her check, and tore it off the booklet. 

“Mr. Gold. What a joy it is to see your wrinkly face so early in the morning,” Rose deadpanned.

“You’ve always known how to charm a man, haven’t you?” Gold mocked.

“Considering the fact that I’m a lesbian, I really hope not,” Rose grumbled while handing him the check. 

Mr. Gold examined it, front and back, before deciding it was sufficient.

“Well, everything seems to be in order. As per usual,” Mr. Gold spat. “I’ll leave you girls to your morning, then. Ms. Datu, I’ll be expecting your half of the rent on the first,” Mr Gold told her.

“And that is when you will receive, sir,” Suki said with an uncomfortable polite smile.

“Wonderful. I’ll be off then. Have an excellent day, Dearie,” Mr. Gold smirked. 

With that, he walked right of their apartment without bothering to close the door. Rose scowled and slammed the door shut. God, she wanted to take that cane from his hand and bash his face in with it. 

Will Rose ever understand what Gold’s problem is with her? No. No she will not. Rose just doesn’t get it! She’s an excellent tenant. She’s never been late for a payment. Not once. Hell, sometimes she gives Sisu extra cash in case she falls short with her rent money.

Yet somehow, Mr. Gold is never satisfied with her stellar reputation. In fact, he seems to be quite irritated whenever Rose manages to deliver the rent. Which is every time he asks for it. In simpler words, Mr. Gold is always pissed at Rose and there is nothing she can do about it. Rose wins none and loses all.

It used to make woman want to rip her hair out from pure frustration. Here she is, always giving rent when she needs to and she smells like flowers all the time! What more could a landlord want?! 

It wouldn’t be such an issue if he treated everyone else like this. But he doesn’t. Of course, just like any other landlord, he expects his tenants to pay rent on time and he tends to be a no nonsense kind of guy. But Mr. Gold’s willing to negotiate with others. He’s fine with coming to a compromise of some sort. But if Rose were to have issues?

She’d be on the streets faster than you can say ‘what a jackass’.

It’s not like there’s anything Rose can do about it, either. The only person that could match up to Mr. Gold in the realm of power in this town is Regina Mills, the mayor. Unfortunately, Mr. Gold has some sort of in with Mayor Mills, so Rose is totally screwed. 

But, well, Rose has accepted her status as Gold Enemy Number One. Nothing she can do about it now.

“God, I hate that guy. Why the hell can’t he just lay off your back?” Suki scowled. 

“Question of the century, truly. Think you can pick up some fruit while after work? Seems like we’re running low,” Rose asked her roommate.

“Got it. You better get dressed girl, aren’t you opening the store today?” Suki asked.

“Yeah, I need to move it,” Rose sighed while rushing into her room to get ready. 

Rose hastily put on a green long sleeve shirt and blue jeans that were way too big for her, held up by a dark brown belt. She flew in and out of the bathroom in record time. Once she grabbed her satchel like bag, she was ready for work. 

“Have fun, don’t hurt yourself!” Suki yelled as Rose put on her beat up sneakers. 

“If anyone’s gonna hurt themselves today, it’s you. See you later!” Rose yelled as she exited the apartment. 

Speed walking out of the building, Rose was so lost in her own world that she almost didn’t comprehend the fact that she nearly torpedoed into Mary Margaret. 

“Crap, sorry! I had a late start today,” Rose apologetically stated.

“Oh it’s no problem, Rose. You know, I was actually hoping I would run into you today. I’ll be super quick, I promise,” Mary Margaret said. 

“Yeah, for sure. What’s up?” Rose asked.

“Would you be able to tutor a kid in my class? His name is Henry, same age as Naomi, and he’s a really great kid. He’s just going through a bit of a hard time. He’s also a very quick study, the only reason why his grades have been slipping is because he lacks focus. His mother insisted on him getting a tutor and she has every intention of paying you. I only ask because of how great you are with Naomi and how much her grades improved after your tutoring,” Mary Margaret pleaded.

Huh. Rose really can't remember much of Namoi's progress. Well, Mary Margaret is her friend and a little extra cash couldn’t hurt. Besides, if she can help a kid out what’s the harm?

“That can work. I’m free after 4:30 on Mondays and Wednesdays, does that work out?” Rose asked. 

“Oh that’ll be perfect! I can not thank you enough! Think it can start today?” Mary Margaret asked with hopeful eyes.

Rose frowned and checked her phone to come to the discovery that today is, in fact, Wednesday. Shit, all the days blend together.

“I can do that, I just need to text Suki that I’ll be home late,” Rose responded. 

“You are seriously saving my life, thank you. Okay, meet me at Granny’s Diner at about 4:45 so that you two can get started,” Mary Margaret informed her.

“Granny’s at 4:45, on it. Alright, I gotta scatter before Moe has my head. See you later, Mary!” Rose yelled as she began a light jog to her car.

“Bye Rose! Thanks again!” Mary Margaret yelled.

Rose smiled and waved as she continued her jogging pace. The moment she got into her car, the pedal was to metal. Though she may have broke a couple speeding laws, Rose made it to work a whole two minutes early. 

Once she hopped out of her car that should have been thrown the in the dump years ago, Rose opened the door to her beloved place of work. 

Game of Thorns is her happy place. Surrounded by the soothing aromas of tulips and lilies, arranging the flowers to compliment each, and just staring at all the plants gives Rose a sense of peace. Besides, since the owner Moe French hates Mr. Gold, the old snake can’t set foot in this place. Here, Rose has solace. 

Mostly.

There is, of course, the fact that Natasha Fang is one of the shop’s biggest customers. 

The name Natasha is very fitting. Similarly to a gnat, Natasha does everything in her power to be as big of a nuisance to Rose as possible. The name quite literally speaks for itself.

Unfortunately, that would be very bad for business. The shop could just get rid of every single customer except for Natasha and they would still be kept afloat. She always orders in bulk and tips well, which is the only good thing Rose can say about her. 

Natasha is just so.....awful! Rose will never forgive how that woman betrayed her. Natasha and her stupid undercut can take a long walk off a short pier. 

“Rose, how are you on this fine morning?” Moe French asked as he walked through the door. That’s one way to snap Rose out of her thoughts.

“Morning Moe. I’m okay. I got my daily dose of Gold today, which was super fun for me,” Rose huffed as she set up the register.

“Ugh, that old bastard has no business harassing you! So what if he’s your landlord? He still has a job to treat his tenants with basic respect!” Moe rambled as he began to reorganize the flowers. 

“You are preaching to the choir, my friend,” Rose sighed. 

The two worked quietly together in order to set up the space for opening. Only a couple of customers came in the shop before Rose saw an unnecessarily flashy sports car parked right in front of the shop.

“The gnat is flying in!” Moe hissed when he also noticed this specific car.

Rose quickly retreated to the back room. It’s their fun little code word for saying that Natasha, the worst person ever, was entering the shop. Moe and the rest of Rose’s coworkers all understood the complicated dynamic between the two girls. Said dynamic being Natasha tries aggravating Rose at every possible opportunity while Rose does everything in her power to avoid her.

Rose is very grateful that her colleagues had her back and were willing to talk to Natasha instead. Does Rose realize that it's petty and childish to run from her problem? Yeah. But it works and gives Rose a better peace of mind.

"Mr. French, good to see you today," Rose heard Natasha say as she walked into the shop.

"Ms. Fang! And you as well. What can I do for you?" her boss asked.

"I'll need the usual, please. Carnations instead of peonies this time, though. One of our clients is obsessed with peonies so I'm trying to play to my audience. If you guys can help deliver them this Friday, that would be great," Natasha informed him. (Probably with her stupid fake smile.)

"Of course we can! Come on, I'll ring you up!" Moe excitedly stated as the footsteps got closer.

Ugh, Rose wishes Moe could be as anti Natasha as he was anti Gold. The girl does drop a lot of cash for this store at his core, Moe French is a business man. Rose knew this business would not be half as good without Natasha's participation. Doesn't mean she had to like it, though.

"Thank you for your business!" Moe said. Rose could practically hear the smile in his voice.

"Of course, Mr. French. I'll see you on Friday, Heart," Natasha said with way too much glee.

Though no one could see it, Rose scowled. She worked full time. When the shop is open, Rose is working. Of course Natasha knows that.

The young florist waited until she heard the door close before reentering the main part of the shop.

"I wanna punch her in her stupid face," Rose blatantly stated when she excited the room.

"All she'd need to is grab you with her prosthetic arm and it'd be over for you," Moe reminded her.

"Well I would have made the experience very stressful for her," Rose grumbled as she got back to work.

"I'm sure you would have, Rose," Moe nodded.

Rose internally groaned and mentally prepared herself for this Friday. Even it's only two days away, she needs all the help she can get. Rose is positive she doesn't work at the only flower shop in the world, so why can't Natasha go to literally any other?

It doesn't even matter. Rose is just going to do what she always does. Talk to Thomas exclusively, hide behind the flowers whenever Natasha's in eyesight, and teleport out there before any interaction can occur. It's in everyone's best interest.

The day droned on as usual. Moe decided to close up shop today, so Rose was able to get to Granny's Diner a tad earlier than expected. She saw Mary Margaret already at the diner, which was very convenient.

Rose walked up to the table where she was sitting and saw the kid also sitting with Mary Margaret. Huh, so the whole gang is here.

She was about to introduce herself when she caught sight of the woman sitting next to Henry. Can anyone explain why the ever loving fuck the mayor is sitting next to this little boy?

Rose gave the teacher a look and jutted her head to the side which is the nonverbal cue of 'get the hell over here right now'.

Mary Margaret, being used to Rose, knew what she was getting at walked over to greet her.

“Mary,” Rose said in an eerily calm tone.

“Yes, Rose?” Mary Margaret asked in a meek voice.

“Please do not tell me that Henry’s last name is Mills,” Rose hissed.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest before, but he really needs the help and I was worried you’d judge him before meeting him!” the teacher exclaimed.

“I’m not judging him, I’m judging whether or not I’ll be able to even live in Storybrooke!” Rose snapped. “I can not afford to make this kid upset, Mary. I’ve already got Gold on my back for, I don’t know, breathing! If I manage to get on Mayor Mills’ bad side, I will quite literally have no choice but to leave town!”

“Rose, please, he’s not that kind of kid. Besides, one of the things he’s been struggling with is the relationship with his mother. Just give it a shot. One day trial. If you really think you can’t do it, then fine. But please, just try,” Mary Margaret begged.

Rose sighed at the kid that seemed absolutely miserable sitting next to his own mother. Just looking at him, Rose does feel bad for the little guy. And it’s not like Rose has anything better to do on a Wednesday afternoon...

“Fine. One day,” Rose agreed. 

“You are a god send! Okay, get ready to meet the family!” Mary Margaret whispered as she tugged on Rose’s arm. “Mayor Mills! Henry! Here’s this fantastic tutor I was telling you guys about.”

Madame Mayor looked Rose up and down, examining her like she’s trying to decide whether she’s worthy of being in her and her son’s presence. 

“Regina Mills. This is my son, Henry. Thank you for taking time out of your day to help him,” the mayor said in a drawled sort of voice. Then, Mayor Mills stuck her hand out to shake. 

“Roseline Heart. Everyone calls me Rose. It’s a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances,” Rose said with a polite smile. 

Rose then stuck her own arm out to shake. When she made contact with the mayor’s hand, Rose felt a vice like grip in the handshake. But she would not be the one to back down. As previously stated, she really can’t afford to. 

“Firm handshake. Wonderful,” the mayor said as she let go with smile. 

Rose isn’t sure exactly what kind of smile the mayor’s flashing, but she knows for a fact it’s not a genuine one. 

“Well, with that I will be off. The job of Mayor never stops. Behave Henry. I love you. And for heaven’s sake, actually pay attention to what she says please,” the Mayor told her son. 

After planting a quick kiss on her son’s forehead, the mayor was off. Probably to make an innocent man cry. 

Rose stared at Henry. Henry stared right back. 

“So. You wanna play go fish and every time you lose, we have to actually focus on your school work?”

At the prospect of a game, the boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. 

“Uh, yeah!” he grinned as Rose brought out a deck of cards to shuffle.

It may seem stupid, but it works. Rose challenges Naomi to a battle of go fish all the time when she needs to get work done. The ability to make homework fun tends to make kids more inclined to comply. 

Rose decided that she likes Henry after his mother picked him up. Mary Maragaret’s probably right. Just a good kid with a rough relationship with his mom, likely due to her job. 

There’s just one more stop to Rose’s journey before heading home.

Rose took slow steps to Storybrooke’s general hospital where she briefly passed by Dr. Whale. After a quick greeting to the physician, she entered the hallway where the patients reside.

Calmly, Rose sat at the chair right at her father’s bedside. Without saying a word, Rose held his hand stared at his expressionless face.

God, what she wouldn’t give for just one expression to overcome her father’s face. Rose’s father has been comatose for who even knows how long. Dr. Whale insists there’s hope, but that may just be his way of sustaining his paycheck. 

She wants her father back. More than anything, Rose wants her father to open his eyes. 

But just like every single day before, Ben Heart does not open his eyes. He lays on the bed, still as a statue as he always does. Nothing has changed.

Rose mustered up the courage to tell her father about her day because maybe, just maybe, he’s listening. Once there was nothing more to say, she got up to drive back home.

As she left her father’s room, she looked to the side and saw yet another face that has yet to move. John Doe, he’s been in a comatose state for about as long as her father as, and no one’s ever claimed him. Talk about a bad break. 

Rose figured it’d be best to leave before she gets too wrapped up in all the depressing thoughts. She managed to get home in one piece where Suki is waiting for her.

“Hey bestie! How’s your day?” Suki asked.

“The Henry kid is nice. I’ll continue tutoring him. Other than that, you know how my day went. Same as every other day.”

************************

(one year later)

Rose was scrolling through instagram on her phone, waiting for Henry to show up at Granny’s like usual. The kid was running late, which really isn’t like him. Rose contemplated calling him before the young boy burst through the doors.

“Hey Rose!” Henry exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Rose had to say, she’s surprised. She’s never seen Henry so....happy? Vibrant? Not utterly depressed?

“Hi Henry! What’s got you looking so positively gleeful after a long day of school?” Rose smiled.

“I’m not sure you can handle it,” Henry shrugged.

“Uh, I absolutely can,” Rose interjected. 

“Whatever you say. Just know I won’t be offended when you won’t believe a word I say,” Henry sighed.

With that, the little nine year old boy plopped a thick leather book on the table. It was definitely old and had beautiful golden lettering with the words ‘once upon a time’ written on it.

“Oooo, fairytales? I loved this stuff as a kid. What about this is unbelievable?” Rose asked.

“I know this going to be a lot to digest and like I said, you won’t have to believe me. Have you ever wondered why the clock never moves? Why you can’t seem to remember just about anything from their past? Why no one ever leaves this town?” Henry inquired mysteriously. 

“Uh, one is that your mother never hires anyone to fix the clock, two is just an age issue, and three is because we’re all too lazy or like this town,” Rose explained.

“All of your answers are incorrect! It’s actually because this whole town is cursed!” the young boy whispered.

Rose blinked once. Twice. Three times.

“Okay, I realize I’m not exactly in the height of my life right now, but I wouldn’t say I’m cursed,” Rose laughed.

“It’s not just you, it’s everyone in this town! They’re all characters in this book. You all just can’t remember anything and time doesn’t move,” Henry explained.

Now Rose wasn’t entirely sure to handle this. What Henry was saying is clearly some fantasy to cope with whatever issues he’s dealing with at home. 

“Look, Henry,” Rose began. 

“Just wait. Let me ask you something. Do you remember why exactly you hate Natasha? Do you remember who gave you that dragon pendant? Or the ring on your right hand? Can you remember how you met Suki? Or Ms. Blanchard?” Henry asked, quickly following one question after another.

“Well, Natasha betrayed me. When were kids. Yeah we were young, but she clearly lacks remorse,” Rose said.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, Rose only addressed the first question because it was the only question where she was certain of her answer.

“But what actually happened? What did Natasha do to betray you?” Henry pressed.

Now Rose had to admit, the details are.....fuzzy. Rose can say beyond the shadow of a doubt that Natasha is a traitorous snake that should be avoided at all costs.

But honestly? She doesn’t remember exactly what occurred during this awful betrayal. The person who gave her the ring and pendant were important to Rose. She’s kind of sure of that. Rose is also pretty sure whoever gifted her those items were from the same person. However, Rose isn't entirely sure who this person is. She thinks they were gifts from a relative.

The gold dragon pendant with a bright blue gem in the middle went matched well with gold band of the ring that also has a bright blue circular gem in the center. Little diamonds run along the band making it the most beautiful and valuable thing Rose owns.

“I have a terrible memory, Henry. Anyone that knows me can attest to that. So what if I can’t remember the exact bits of what Natasha did? Or who gave me jewelry? Or how I met my friends? Having the memory of a goldfish don’t mean there’s a curse,” Rose tried to remind him.

“I get why you don’t believe me. After all, you got wronged by a lot of people which made you very cautious and untrusting,” Henry sighed, looking incredibly disappointed.

Rose frowned at seeing the boy so dejected. She tried to think of a way to cheer him up without lying and saying she believed him.

“If you’re so intent on the idea everyone in this town is a story book character, who am I?” Rose asked just to humor him.

At this, Henry’s eyes lightened up. He opened the book and flipped to a page in big, fancy letters that read out to be ‘Raya and the Last Dragon��. 

“This is your story. You’re Raya, untrusting heroine that has to learn to have faith in order to get her happy ending. In the book, after Namaari betrays you, you have to find the almighty dragon Sisu in order to return everyone from stone. Then Namaari proves herself by risking her life to save you and everyone else in Kumandra. After that, you two spent a lot of time together reuniting the five lands and eventually you two fall in love and get married! You were only married for a few weeks before the curse hit,” Henry informed her.

“Huh. Well, at least my story book life has a happily ever after before this supposed curse,” Rose huffed. “Wait, so who do you think Suki is? And Mary Margaret? Oh, you have to tell me who you think your mom is!”

“Suki is Sisu, the dragon that helped you save the world. Mary Margaret’s Snow White and my mom, well...,” Henry sighed, clearly hesitant to speak. “She’s the Evil Queen.”

Well this theory is most certainly going to drive an even bigger wedge between Henry and his mom than before. Though Rose has to admit, she finds the concept of Suki being a dragon very amusing.

“Wow. That...is a lot of information you dropped on me,” was all Rose could say after that.

“Yeah, I know,” Henry nodded. 

“Alright, I’m still not quite convinced that everyone in this town is a cursed fairytale character and you’re fine with that. So I just have one last question for you,” Rose told him.

“Lay it on me,” Henry nodded.

“Who’s my wife? You know, the girl that’s really Namaari but got cursed and is now not my wife. According to you, because I am doubtful,” Rose grinned.

“You’re not gonna like my answer,” Henry admitted sheepishly.

“Oh no. Who is it?” Rose asked, weirdly afraid of who he was going to say. 

“It’s Natasha Fang. She’s your wife before the curse,” Henry informed her. 

“I want a new one,” Rose demanded. 

“What,” Henry deadpanned. 

“I said I want a new one. Natasha Fang can’t to be my wife, she sucks! So pick a different one,” Rose told him. 

“I can’t just pick a different one, it’s who you married! You chose Natasha! She chose you! It already happened, there’s no take backsies!” Henry glared.

“Um, excuse you, if you get to tell me my entire life is one big curse, then I get to have a better wife! What about that girl who works at the electric company? She’s cute and she always gives me a discount whenever she needs to fix up my apartment! Make her my wife instead,” Rose whined childishly.

“That’s not- you know what? There’s no point in arguing with you. If there’s any hope of saving you and everyone else in this town, I need cold hard proof,” Henry sighed. 

“.............................are you sure cute electrician girl can’t be my wife?”

“Yes, Rose. I am sure. Cute electrician girl is not and will never be your wife. Deal with it.”

“............................rude.”

[ingravinoveritas]

The fact Michael put hands on David in the office writing scene and proceeded to say he would have 'torn David to shreds in seconds' whilst in feral Sheen mode *yer, I dont think anyone thought of them fighting when he said that*. I mean I know most of staged is scripted/directed by Simon but oh man, my brain stopped working for a bit. Also the Damsel in the tower (David forever the pretty princess) and the big spoon dialogue made me laugh so much.

Hello, Anons! Thank you for writing in to share your favorite bits of Staged with me. I’ve had a few other Anons write in to share their opinion of the show overall, but I wanted to group these together since they’re referencing specific moments in the episodes.

Anon #1: I caught that moment in episode 4, too. Here’s the visual, for those who haven’t seen it yet:

What was so interesting to me is that there were two specific instances in this season where Michael and David very deliberately enter into each other’s physical spaces/touch each other, seemingly without prompting. This was one, and then the scene where David touches Michael’s arm that Anon #3 mentioned is the other:

We could sit here all day and discuss what was scripted vs. what wasn’t, and whether Simon wrote these little moments of contact into the script, but my immediate gut feeling is that he didn’t. It’s one thing to write the words on the page, but Michael and David are the ones who bring those words to life and imbue the situations in the show with their own chemistry and connection. And it seems to be their natural instinct to be in each other’s space and to touch.

I think we sometimes forget how important touch is to human beings. It can be a way of grounding someone, of saying, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here for you” when a person is having a crisis or a difficult time in general. Depriving someone of touch who needs it can also be tremendously harmful, mentally and emotionally, so I found it very lovely to see Michael and David giving that to each other so freely. (We got a hint of that from the hug at the NTAs last year, but this seemed to be even greater confirmation.)

I also thought it was very interesting that, of everyone in the third season, Michael had the most on screen physical contact with David, and the married vibes between them were played up so strongly. David seemed to be physical in equal measure with Georgia and Michael, but for Michael, those intimate touches only came from David. And the “old married couple” line completely fits with Georgia repeatedly calling Michael David’s “other wife” in real life.

...Which leads me to the moment you mentioned, Anon #2. I was entirely entertained by this scene at the beginning of episode 5, with Michael and David eviscerating each other’s careers, albeit quite playfully. It actually reminded me of a very similar scene in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, where Matt Damon and Ben Affleck do the same thing, re: each other’s careers. (If you haven’t seen it, you can watch that scene here starting at the 2:00 mark.)

The difference is that with Matt and Ben, it noticeably has the feeling of two best friends taking the piss out of each other, but with Michael and David, it very much comes across as that “old married couple” vibe instead. It’s playful teasing underpinned with so much love and affection and something...more than what we see with Ben and Matt, especially with how Michael laughs. Difficult to say whether it was improvised,  but I absolutely believe Michael’s laugh and David being pleased at making Michael laugh were both genuine. 

So many choices were made in this season (the “damsel in the tower” line gets me too, because I swear that is right out of an MS/DT fanfic I once read). The “big spoon” question nearly knocked me out of my seat, too, particularly because a) They answered it; and b) The response wasn’t something like, “Oh, I’d have to ask Georgia about that” but rather Michael and David answering without hesitation, thereby heavily implying that they have, in fact, spooned with each other. Amazing.

I appreciate you all sharing your favorite moments with me, and getting to talk about them definitely made me smile. (Also, Anon #3, if you need a link to watch Staged season 3, please DM me and I can help you out there.) Thanks for writing in! x

[satelitis]

okok so this is gonna be all of my hs2 comments throughout the season

!! HEARTSTOPPER S2 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT !!

TAO AND ELLE 🤬 get your asses together already

omg imogen she is so pretty !!!

who the hell is this guy?

nooo they’re separated!!! ))):

BEN GO THE HELL AWAYYYYY STOP TALKING TO MY BOYFRIWND ABOUT HIS BOYFEIWND

:0 CHARLIE IS REJOINING RUGBY??!

EW HARRY GO AWAY 🙄

why is charlie the only one in different clothes—

STOP YELLING AT NICK NEOW

OMG TARA AND DARCY MY FAV LESBEANS BESIDES DORCAS AND MARLENE IYKYK

ew elle is weirdly flirting w/ tao 🤨

omg if my bf doesn’t get me oreos for our 2 month anniversary then i don’t want it 🤦‍♀️😐😐

OMG CHARLIE RWMEMBERD NICKS FAV CHOCOLATE SHHEJEJEHHWHEHHEHEHEHEBS

NOW THEY ARE MAKING OUT IN THE LOVKER ROOM AND ALMOST GOT CAUGHT 🫢

🎶BOYKISSSERRRRRRR 🎶

“No more kissing at school 😡 it’s too risky 😣”

OMG TORIII ML 🫶🏼

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OUT OF MY LEAGUE BY FATT SNJSJSJSKENNENSNEJSNSNSNNBDDBDBDBBSSBBSBEHSHEHHEB THIS SONG OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMYOMGOOMGOMYOMYOMGOMGOMYOMGOMGOGMOGMGOGKMTOTKTOTRNWJHWBSGWGWGWGWHWBHWBWBWNSNSBSNWB I LOCE THIS SONG CAUSE U ARE OUTTA MY LEAUGEWEEE ENJSJSJSNENNENSBEB SCREAMING HEHSBEHEBEBBEHDHEHEHEHEHSVSBEHEBEBBEBEBEBEB OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG ok i’ll shut up now

omg issac—

CAUSE U ARE OUT OF MY LEAUGE ALL THE THINGS I BELIEVE YOU ARE JUST THE RIGHT KIND YEHA U ARE MORE THAN JUST A DEEAM!!!

omg they invited imogen 🥺🥺

omg charlie tryna help nick come out to imogen is everything 🥺🥺

WHAT THE FUCK TAO AND ELLE ABT KISSED?!?

pov nick:

OMG IMOGEN KNOWS ABOUT NICK AND CHARLIE —

“i’m bisexual actually” 😜

FUCK NO NOT IMOGEN HAVING A CRUSH ON BEN🫣💀

take a drink everytime i say omg

:0 THEY KUST KISSED INNFRONT OF EVERYONE well they’re friend group but still

“bye” 😋

“bye” 🤭

charlies parents need to gtfo—

“no hankypanky” SHUT THE HELL UPPPP

EPISODE 2!!

charlies teachers need to get out

uhm charlie’s mom gtfo now let them be gay around each others houses

IGH EW NICKS STUFID BROTHER 🙄

awww their texts ))):

OMG TAO AND ELLE JUST NEED TO CONFESS ALREADY LIKE TAO BETTER ASK ELLE TO PROM OR I WILL BE THROWING HANDS

ew ben ugh GO AWAYYYY 😤

“i told you my rules and now you’re here till the end of the day😐” SHUT THE FUCK UP

:0

…

….

BEN COME HERE IM THROWING HANDS I AM TAKING MY FUVKING SWEATSHIRT OFF AND I WILL PULL THAT BROWN SHIT ASS HAIR OUT OF YOUR SCALP AND DRAG YOU THROUGH THE RUDGBY FIELD BY YOUR NOSE HAIR

anyway 🤭

you and nick are NOTHING alike get that through you’re dumb thick ass scull

ACTUALLY DAVID HE DOES AHVE A GF ALA ME AND HE ALSO HAD A BF NAMED CHARLIE SO GTFO

omg felix 🥰🥰🥰

naomi !!! 😚

we love taos mom <33

“is that elle? she’s so pretty!! :DD” omg :(((

bens gonna throw hands w/ nick i just know it

awwwh charlie snuck out again!!

taos smile is so cute

DAVID STAY TF AWAY FEOM CHARLIE

i can definitely tell who got the good genes

:0 HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT…..

I- omg

“i just wanted to meet the guy who turned my little brother gay” STFUUUUUUU 😤

olivia coleman better drag his ass

Charlie )): babes you gotta eat… )): i feel so bad for him ☹️

awh the voice memo ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️💗💗💗💗

EPISODE 3.

OMG TAO COMING TO TERMS W/ HIS FEELINGS 💗💗💗💗💗

“ik you and charlie are really good mates 😄”

the coach just walked in on them lmaooo

we stan the coach!!! and her wife 💐💐

OMG THEY FINSIHER THE EXAMS AND HISOry thing!!

OMG TARA!! she just… oh no… i mean oh yes but in an oh no way ://

THE GAY TEACHERS HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

omg a boy just invited issac to the party hehehehe

they really thought they did something by not letting the boys and girls share a room

tara, darcy, nick, & charlie :

OMG TAOS HAIR I—

OMG OMG OMG OMGOMGOGKGMFNT HE JUST ASKED HER OUTTTTTTT 🫢

AWWW AYYAYAYAAYTAYAYAYYYYYTTTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

awh he is willing to go see a movie he hates but she loves just for her )):

“Look after him or you die :))”

why the fuck are those popcorn things so huge?

oh no oh no oh no oh no tao and elle nononononononononononononono )):

i hate this fucking party i would break down then and there that is WAY too overstimulating

toriii stopp )))):

oh my god i need to skip a couple scenes one sec

ok phew they’re just having tea now

*sighs*

EPISODE 4.

kit conner speaking french is EVERYTHING

everyone being so surprised nick can speak french is so funny.

BEN YOU FUVKING RAT CALL IMOGEN A BITCH AGAIN AND I WILL DRAG YO STANKY ASS RN AND PULL UR HAIR WE WILL BATTLE IT OUT RN NO BOXING GLOVES DISS MY BABES IMOGEN AGAINANDN I WILL DRAG YO FUVKING FAKE ASS

anyway

EPISODE 5.

CHARLIE HAS A HIVKEY????

OK SO ELLE KISSED TAO AND CHARLIE IS MEETING NICKS FAD

TARA AND DARCY )):

OKOK DORRY I GOT SO LAZY W/ EPISODES 4&5

EPISODE 6.

tao and elle are so cute 🥰

OMG— NO NOT THE TRUTH OR DARE ARE YALL 5 😭

“I dare charlie to kiss Ben 😻” shut the fuck up

OMG I CALLED THE TRUTH ISTG

OMG NICK IS COMING OUT — OMGOMGOMG IM SO PROUD OF NICK :D WHY AM I CRYING ☹️☹️☹️☹️

darcy has food poisoning 😶

omg they’re adorable wtff

nick is a right side of the bed person…idk how i feel about that tbh

WHAT THE HELL AM I WATCHING I DIDNT SIGN UP FOR THIS—

🫣🫣🫣

ok phew it’s not escalating

:0 oh no. Oh no. do it and i will turn this off bc now i’m scared—

DARCY SAID IT GUYS

ONG GAY TEACHERS GAY TEACHERS GAY TEACHERS GAY TEACHERS KISSING !!!

awwh nick ml )):

EPISODE 7.

TARAS FOLKLORE POSTER IS EVERYTHING

ugh ben just go away

CONGRATS ELLE 🥳🥳🥳

oh no tao )):

I LOVE TAOS MOM SO MUCH!!!! AND NICKS MOM!!!

Charlie’s mom can fuck off tbh

I would kick Charlie’s ass at Mario Kart tbh

“Oh my god they’re gonna kiss!!!” I love darcy sm

UGH BEN STOP BOTHERING CHARLIE FUCKING NUT 🙄

AWH NICK ASKING CHARLIE FO PROMMM

CONANANNANANANANANANAN CONAN CONAN CONAN CONAN CONAN CONAN IM SCREAMING @masivechaos

Awh issac )):

I— NOO TAOO

Issac representing aroace is amazing

OMG KMGOMGOMGOMG CONANANANANANANANANANAN WNWNNANNA CONAN I LOVE TOUUUUUUUUU

i’m so confused

OKAY OKAY

DARCYS MOM FUCK OFFFF

AWHHH OMG ITS SO CUTE THE PAINTING IS ADORABLE I LOVE IT ))):

tao )):

OMG BEN GO THE HELL AWAY YOU FUCKING RAT DIEEEEEE

ben get your half assed apology out of here and go take a shower musty ass

YEAH CHARLIE DRAG HIM BUTN HIM AT THE STAKE 🥳🥳🥳

YEAH YOU DONT HAVR TO FORGIVE HIM!!!

david go away

HES GONNA TELL THE DAD ISTG

oh my god

oh my god

oh my god

DAVID SHUT THE FUCK UP 😐 ACTUALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP !

DAVID HUSH DAVID HUSH KEEP YOUR ASS UP

david im gonna kick your ass

AWWWW NICKKK )))):

DRAG THEM NICKS MOM WE LOVE YOU 🫀🫀

AHH WE STAN TORIIII

YAYY CHARLIES MOM IS COMING SEOUND :)))

why are they doing dishes in the dark 🤔

OMG DARCYS MOM GTFO STOP RN OKG OMGOMG DARCY GOT KICKED OUT— i’m crying now what the hell

EPISODE 8.

”Boyfriends ❤️ (Im bi, actually)”

GRAHHHHHH

AWHH TAOOOOOOOOOOO AND ELELEWKWLLWLWLWLWWLelw AHHHHHH MY HEARTTTTTTTT

wait wait where is darcy?????

OMG WE LOVE THE SUPPORTIVE FRIEND GROUPOO

tao and nicks friendship >>>>

AWWW CHARLIE AND NICK IN THE SUITS ARE TOO CUTE ☹️☹️☹️💗💗

OMG THE RADIOHEAD REFERENCES ARE SO 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

awh darcy )):

we love how supportive of a gf tara is!!

omg elle’s dad jsjsjsjej

ELLE IS SO ORETTY!!!!!!

SUMMER OF LOVE THAGS SO CUTE ?!??

THE SET UP IS ADORAVKE ?!?!?

issac bringing a book to prom is everything

nicks friends give me mixed signals but atleast they’re supportive !!

TAO AND ELLE DANCINF ARE SO ADORABKE

GAY TEACHERSSSS

…IMOGEN

OMG DARCY!!!! TARA NOOOOOOO DONT GO TO HER HOUSE ACTUALLY DO GO TO HER HOUSE AND YELL AT HER STUPID MOM!

bitch ass mom 🤥

AWWHHH

crying again 😃

them just saying i love you to each other over and over again ))):

OMG TAYLOR SWIFT , CONAN GRAY & BEABADOOBEE IN THE HEARTSTOPPER SOUNDTRACK?!?!

awh charlie )):

nick helping charlie is everything

OH MY FUCKING GOD— THIS WAS , I JUST , THIS SEASON WAS … IM SO , 9.5/10 BSBSBDBS OK BYE!!

[nel-world]

funny scene

Movies "Step Brothers" (2008) - Bunk Bed Scene

Dale: "Hey, you awake?" Brennan: "Yeah." Dale: "I just had the craziest dream. I was driving a helicopter with a cat." Brennan: "Did we just become best friends?" Dale: "Yup!" "Shaun of the Dead" (2004) - Don't Stop Me Now

Shaun: "Okay, Diane, kill the Queen!" David: "What?" Shaun: "The jukebox!" "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" (2005) - Waxing Scene

Andy: "Oooooh! Kelly Clarkson!" "Hot Fuzz" (2007) - The Model Village

Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired two guns whilst jumping through the air?" Danny Butterman: "No." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired one gun whilst jumping through the air?" Danny Butterman: "No." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever been in a high-speed pursuit?" Danny Butterman: "Yes, I have." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired a gun whilst in a high-speed pursuit?" Danny Butterman: "No." "Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story" (2004) - The 5 D's of Dodgeball

Patches O'Houlihan: "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball." Justin: "What?" [Patches throws a wrench at Justin] TV Shows "Friends" (Season 5, Episode 8 - "The One with the Thanksgiving Flashbacks")

Joey: "Set another place for Thanksgiving. My entire family thinks I have VD." Ross: "Tonight, on a very special Blossom." "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 5, Episode 23 - "Michael Scott Paper Company")

Michael: "Well, well, well, how the turntables…" Jim: "Have turned." "Parks and Recreation" (Season 5, Episode 14 - "Leslie and Ben")

Ben: "I am super chill all the time." Leslie: "Oh, Ben, you beautiful spineless jellyfish." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 5, Episode 22 - "Jake & Amy")

Jake: "Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool, no doubt no doubt no doubt no doubt." Amy: "Are you okay?" Jake: "Totally." "Arrested Development" (Season 3, Episode 9 - "S.O.B.s")

Lucille: "I don't understand the question, and I won't respond to it." "New Girl" (Season 2, Episode 15 - "Cooler")

Nick: "Not a chance, Jessica Day. I’d rather kiss a toilet seat!" Jess: "I’m about to say something serious. I hope you’re ready. I think I’m too drunk to marry you." "How I Met Your Mother" (Season 1, Episode 15 - "Game Night")

Barney: "Legendary!" Marshall: "What's the opposite of eating? Isn't it barfing?" "Community" (Season 3, Episode 4 - "Remedial Chaos Theory")

Troy: "I’m a sexy dracula." Abed: "You mean vampire." Troy: "I don’t need to know which dracula I am to know I’m sexy." These scenes offer a variety of humor from slapstick to clever wordplay, showcasing the comedic talents

Movies "The Hangover" (2009) - Wake-Up Scene

Alan: "Hey, guys, you ready to let the dogs out?" Stu: "What?" Alan: "You know, let the dogs out. Who, who?" "Groundhog Day" (1993) - Ned Ryerson Scene

Ned: "Phil? Phil Connors? I thought that was you! Hi, how you doing? Ned Ryerson! Needle-nose Ned? Ned the Head? Come on, buddy. Case Western High? Ned Ryerson?" Phil: "Bing!" "Mean Girls" (2004) - Kevin Gnapoor's Rap

Kevin: "All you sucka MCs ain't got nothing on me. From my grades to my lines, you can't touch Kevin G. I'm a mathlete, so nerd is inferred, but forget what you heard, I'm like James Bond the Third. Shaken, not stirred, I'm Kevin Gnapoor. The G is silent when I sneak in your door." "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" (1994) - The Opening Scene

Ace Ventura: "Mmmmm, yes, Satan? Oh, I’m sorry, sir. You sounded like someone else." "The Princess Bride" (1987) - The Battle of Wits

Vizzini: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!" TV Shows "Friends" (Season 3, Episode 2 - "The One Where No One's Ready")

Joey: "Look at me, I'm Chandler. Could I BE wearing any more clothes?" Chandler: "I'm not looking at you. I'm looking at the pillows." "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 7, Episode 19 - "Garage Sale")

Michael: "Holly Flax, marrying me will you be?" Holly: "Your wife becoming will I." "Parks and Recreation" (Season 2, Episode 10 - "Hunting Trip")

Ron: "I have cried twice in my life. Once when I was seven and I was hit by a school bus, and then again when I heard that Li'l Sebastian had passed." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 3, Episode 3 - "Boyle's Hunch")

Jake: "Title of your sex tape." Boyle: "What's the plan?" Jake: "Title of your sex tape." "How I Met Your Mother" (Season 2, Episode 9 - "Slap Bet")

Marshall: "You just got slapped! Bet you're feeling pretty stupid right about now. Slapsgiving is upon us!" Barney: "That was three slaps ago, Slap God!" "Scrubs" (Season 2, Episode 1 - "My Overkill")

Dr. Cox: "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present, Man Not Caring." J.D.: "I care, I just don't care about you." "Community" (Season 1, Episode 23 - "Modern Warfare")

Jeff: "Come with me if you don't want paint on your clothes." Abed: "Cool. Cool cool cool." "Archer" (Season 2, Episode 4 - "Pipeline Fever")

Archer: "Do you want ants? Because that's how you get ants." These additional scenes highlight the comedic brilliance

TV Shows "Friends" (Season 5, Episode 14 - "The One Where Everybody Finds Out")

Phoebe and Rachel discover that Monica and Chandler are secretly dating. Phoebe and Chandler engage in a hilarious seduction standoff, culminating in Chandler's confession. "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 5, Episode 13 - "Stress Relief")

Dwight's fire drill prank leads to chaos and hilarity in the office, with memorable moments like Stanley's heart attack and Angela throwing her cat into the ceiling. "Parks and Recreation" (Season 4, Episode 11 - "The Comeback Kid")

Leslie's team tries to set up a campaign rally in a gym, resulting in a series of comedic disasters, including a tiny ice rink and a disastrous entrance down a slippery ramp. "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 1, Episode 6 - "Halloween")

Jake bets Captain Holt that he can steal his Medal of Valor before midnight, leading to a series of elaborate and humorous heist antics. "Seinfeld" (Season 8, Episode 9 - "The Abstinence")

George becomes a genius when he stops having sex, leading to a series of funny scenes where he impresses everyone with his newfound intellect, while Elaine's lack of sex makes her dumber. These scenes are just a small sampling

Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy" (2004) - News Team Fight

Ron Burgundy: "Boy, that escalated quickly… I mean, that really got out of hand fast!" Brian Fantana: "It jumped up a notch." Brick Tamland: "Yeah, I stabbed a man in the heart." Ron Burgundy: "I saw that! Brick killed a guy. Did you throw a trident?" "Dumb and Dumber" (1994) - The Toilet Scene

Harry: "Lloyd, what are you doing?" Lloyd: "It feels good to mingle with these laid-back country folk, don't it, Harry?" Harry: "I like it a lot." "The Naked Gun" (1988) - Baseball Scene

Frank Drebin: "Strike? Strike? All right, let me check one more thing." [Frank dances around in exaggerated umpire gestures] TV Shows "Friends" (Season 5, Episode 14 - "The One Where Everybody Finds Out")

Phoebe: "They don't know that we know they know we know!" Chandler: "All right, enough! No one is sleeping with anyone!" "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 5, Episode 13 - "Stress Relief")

Dwight: "Today, smoking is going to save lives." Michael: "Oh, my God! It's happening! Everybody stay calm!" Oscar: "What's the procedure, everyone? What's the procedure?" "Parks and Recreation" (Season 4, Episode 11 - "The Comeback Kid")

Leslie: "Oh my God, everything is falling apart." Ben: "I think this ice rink was a mistake." Tom: "I have never been more embarrassed in my entire life." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 1, Episode 6 - "Halloween")

Jake: "I stole your Medal of Valor!" Holt: "Impossible!" Jake: "Well, then, what’s this?" Holt: "My Medal of Valor!" "Seinfeld" (Season 8, Episode 9 - "The Abstinence")

George: "My mind is like a computer." Jerry: "So what are you gonna do now?" George: "I think I’ll read a book. From beginning to end. In that order." Elaine: "I don’t know what’s happening to me, Jerry. I think I'm getting dumber." These dialogues capture the humor

their dialogues:

Movies "Superbad" (2007) - McLovin Scene

Officer Michaels: "What's your name?" Fogell: "Uh, it's McLovin." Officer Slater: "McLovin? What kind of a stupid name is that, Fogell? What, are you trying to be an Irish R&B singer?" Fogell: "No, they let you pick any name you want when you get down there." Officer Michaels: "And you landed on McLovin?" Fogell: "Yeah, it was between that or Muhammad." Officer Slater: "Why the hell would it be between that or Muhammad?" "Mrs. Doubtfire" (1993) - Dinner Scene

Mrs. Doubtfire (Daniel): "It was a run-by fruiting!" Stu: "What?" Mrs. Doubtfire (Daniel): "I saw it! Some angry member of the kitchen staff. Did you not tip them? Oh, the terrorists, they ran that way. It was a run-by fruiting." "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" (1986) - Ben Stein's Classroom

Economics Teacher: "In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the… Anyone? Anyone? The Great Depression, passed the… Anyone? Anyone? The tariff bill? The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act? Which, anyone? Raised or lowered… raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue for the federal government. Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? It did not work, and the United States sank deeper into the Great Depression." "Zoolander" (2001) - The Gasoline Fight

Derek Zoolander: "Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty." [Cut to the gasoline fight scene] Derek: "Orange Mocha Frappuccino!" [Friends start spraying each other with gasoline] [The scene ends in a hilarious but tragic explosion] "Bridesmaids" (2011) - The Dress Shop

Annie: "This is some classy sh—" [gets interrupted by stomach cramps] Lillian: "Annie, are you okay?" Annie: "I'm fine, I just�� there's something in my stomach…" Megan: "It's happening. It happened." Lillian: "What did you do?" Megan: "I crapped in the sink." TV Shows "Friends" (Season 4, Episode 12 - "The One with the Embryos")

Ross: "What is Chandler Bing's job?" Rachel: "Oh gosh, it has something to do with numbers… and processing… uh… he carries a briefcase…" Monica: "No! It's… something to do with transponding." Chandler: "I’m sorry, the answer we were looking for was 'Transponster!'" Monica: "That's not even a word!" "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 4, Episode 5 - "Dinner Party")

Michael: "Jan and I have a safe word in case things go too far… Fleischmann’s Margarine." Jim: "That's two words." Michael: "Compound word." "Parks and Recreation" (Season 3, Episode 13 - "The Fight")

Ron: "I regret nothing. The end." Leslie: "Ron, how did you get here?" Ron: "I have no idea." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 2, Episode 22 - "The Chopper")

Jake: "Tell me about the dream, Scully." Scully: "I was in a chopper. It was raining meatballs." Jake: "Was it awesome?" Scully: "Yeah, it was awesome." "Arrested Development" (Season 1, Episode 2 - "Top Banana")

Gob: "I’m gonna build an airport, put my name on it. Why, Michael?" Michael: "So you can fly away from your problems?" Gob: "No, because it’s the only way to get to Hawaii." These scenes and dialogues are iconic

with dialogue:

Movies "The Hangover" (2009) - Wake-Up Scene

Alan: "Hey, guys, you ready to let the dogs out?" Stu: "What?" Alan: "You know, let the dogs out. Who, who?" "Groundhog Day" (1993) - Ned Ryerson Scene

Ned: "Phil? Phil Connors? I thought that was you! Hi, how you doing? Ned Ryerson! Needle-nose Ned? Ned the Head? Come on, buddy. Case Western High? Ned Ryerson?" Phil: "Bing!" "Mean Girls" (2004) - Kevin Gnapoor's Rap

Kevin: "All you sucka MCs ain't got nothing on me. From my grades to my lines, you can't touch Kevin G. I'm a mathlete, so nerd is inferred, but forget what you heard, I'm like James Bond the Third. Shaken, not stirred, I'm Kevin Gnapoor. The G is silent when I sneak in your door." "Ace Ventura: Pet Detective" (1994) - The Opening Scene

Ace Ventura: "Mmmmm, yes, Satan? Oh, I’m sorry, sir. You sounded like someone else." "The Princess Bride" (1987) - The Battle of Wits

Vizzini: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!" TV Shows "Friends" (Season 3, Episode 2 - "The One Where No One's Ready")

Joey: "Look at me, I'm Chandler. Could I BE wearing any more clothes?" Chandler: "I'm not looking at you. I'm looking at the pillows." "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 7, Episode 19 - "Garage Sale")

Michael: "Holly Flax, marrying me will you be?" Holly: "Your wife becoming will I." "Parks and Recreation" (Season 2, Episode 10 - "Hunting Trip")

Ron: "I have cried twice in my life. Once when I was seven and I was hit by a school bus, and then again when I heard that Li'l Sebastian had passed." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 3, Episode 3 - "Boyle's Hunch")

Jake: "Title of your sex tape." Boyle: "What's the plan?" Jake: "Title of your sex tape." "How I Met Your Mother" (Season 2, Episode 9 - "Slap Bet")

Marshall: "You just got slapped! Bet you're feeling pretty stupid right about now. Slapsgiving is upon us!" Barney: "That was three slaps ago, Slap God!" "Scrubs" (Season 2, Episode 1 - "My Overkill")

Dr. Cox: "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present, Man Not Caring." J.D.: "I care, I just don't care about you." "Community" (Season 1, Episode 23 - "Modern Warfare")

Jeff: "Come with me if you don't want paint on your clothes." Abed: "Cool. Cool cool cool." "Archer" (Season 2, Episode 4 - "Pipeline Fever")

Archer: "Do you want ants? Because that's how you get ants." These additional scenes highlight th

with memorable dialogues:

Movies "Step Brothers" (2008) - Bunk Bed Scene

Dale: "Hey, you awake?" Brennan: "Yeah." Dale: "I just had the craziest dream. I was driving a helicopter with a cat." Brennan: "Did we just become best friends?" Dale: "Yup!" "Shaun of the Dead" (2004) - Don't Stop Me Now

Shaun: "Okay, Diane, kill the Queen!" David: "What?" Shaun: "The jukebox!" "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" (2005) - Waxing Scene

Andy: "Oooooh! Kelly Clarkson!" "Hot Fuzz" (2007) - The Model Village

Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired two guns whilst jumping through the air?" Danny Butterman: "No." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired one gun whilst jumping through the air?" Danny Butterman: "No." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever been in a high-speed pursuit?" Danny Butterman: "Yes, I have." Nicholas Angel: "Have you ever fired a gun whilst in a high-speed pursuit?" Danny Butterman: "No." "Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story" (2004) - The 5 D's of Dodgeball

Patches O'Houlihan: "If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball." Justin: "What?" [Patches throws a wrench at Justin] TV Shows "Friends" (Season 5, Episode 8 - "The One with the Thanksgiving Flashbacks")

Joey: "Set another place for Thanksgiving. My entire family thinks I have VD." Ross: "Tonight, on a very special Blossom." "The Office" (U.S.) (Season 5, Episode 23 - "Michael Scott Paper Company")

Michael: "Well, well, well, how the turntables…" Jim: "Have turned." "Parks and Recreation" (Season 5, Episode 14 - "Leslie and Ben")

Ben: "I am super chill all the time." Leslie: "Oh, Ben, you beautiful spineless jellyfish." "Brooklyn Nine-Nine" (Season 5, Episode 22 - "Jake & Amy")

Jake: "Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool, no doubt no doubt no doubt no doubt." Amy: "Are you okay?" Jake: "Totally." "Arrested Development" (Season 3, Episode 9 - "S.O.B.s")

Lucille: "I don't understand the question, and I won't respond to it." "New Girl" (Season 2, Episode 15 - "Cooler")

Nick: "Not a chance, Jessica Day. I’d rather kiss a toilet seat!" Jess: "I’m about to say something serious. I hope you’re ready. I think I’m too drunk to marry you." "How I Met Your Mother" (Season 1, Episode 15 - "Game Night")

Barney: "Legendary!" Marshall: "What's the opposite of eating? Isn't it barfing?" "Community" (Season 3, Episode 4 - "Remedial Chaos Theory")

Troy: "I’m a sexy dracula." Abed: "You mean vampire." Troy: "I don’t need to know which dracula I am to know I’m sexy." These scenes offer a

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Of the three European dramas so far remade for UK television by Eagle Eye Drama – the production company set up by the team behind streaming service Walter Presents – Belgian director Dries Vos has worked on two.

The first was Professor T, with Vos directing 12 episodes over its first two seasons. Debuting in 2021, the ITV series is based on the Belgian show of the same name and stars Ben Miller as a university criminologist with obsessive-compulsive disorder who assists the police in solving crimes.

Last year then saw the release of Channel 4 drama Suspect, an adaptation of Danish series Forhøret. It stars James Nesbitt as a detective retracing the final days of his murdered daughter to find out what happened.

Vos directed all eight episodes of Suspect, which has been recommissioned for a second season, and he has now directed all six parts of The Couple Next Door, the latest Eagle Eye adaptation, again for Channel 4.

A dark, psychological and emotionally charged thriller written by David Allison (Bedlam, Marcella), the series is based on Dutch drama New Neighbours and aims to explore the claustrophobia of living in suburbia, where you never quite know what goes on behind closed doors.

Eleanor Tomlinson and Alfred Enoch star as Evie and Pete, who move into a new house in an upscale neighbourhood and quickly befriend their neighbours, traffic cop Danny (Sam Heughan) and his yoga instructor wife Becka (Jessica De Gouw). The two couples then becoming increasingly close until events on one fateful night change all their lives forever.

In Belgium, Vos is known for comedy series and crime dramas such as Women of the Night and De Dag (The Day), which dramatised the events surrounding a bank robbery from the point of view of both the police and the robbers.

“But I’ve always wanted to do some kind of sexy thriller,” the director tells DQ. “I’ve always done these more heist stories like De Dag, for instance, but this was completely different. Eagle Eye talked about it in September 2022, when they had two scripts, and I started reading it and immediately felt it could be something. We then started working on it first at a script level, of course, and then we started shooting at the end of March this year.”

Having worked on remakes in the past, Vos adopted the same approach for The Couple Next Door that he used when working on Professor T and Suspect, which is to ignore the fact it is based on another series and to treat it as if it has been created from scratch.

“I never watch the original series. I never read anything about it,” he says. “For me, it’s just the same as if it’s a new script. Otherwise, you’re in danger of stealing stuff.

“If all this influence comes my way, I might maybe try to change my vision and I just want to be clear, so I always start by trying to search for some pictures, some stuff from other movies, some references. I had some pictures that I showed the writer – there were some stills from a movie I love with some koi carp, and we ended up writing some scenes with koi. We influenced each other the whole time. But if you watch the original series then you’re too attached to what you see. That’s not always helpful.”

With international dramas more accessible to viewers than ever – and Walter Presents doing as much as any other streamer to take local-language dramas around the world – remakes may seem unnecessary. But Vos still sees value in adaptations, believing the same story can evolve through the work of new storytellers in front of and behind the camera.

“It’s easily said, ‘Oh, it’s a remake,’ but you always try to invent it from scratch,” he says. “It’s the way you approach it visually [as a director] but also the way you’re directing those actors. They bring some other stuff with them as well. A writer brings some other stuff, so it’s good if you get the freedom to make it your own.

“If you don’t have that freedom and people just want to see the same as the original, there’s no point making a remake. It’s always got to be filtered through the eyes of a director or through the eyes of a writer so it’s got another perspective than the original.”

The Couple Next Door doesn’t just stand apart from the series it is inspired by, but from anything else Vos has directed in the past. “You evolve as a director, and you’re influenced by things you see and things you think are cool,” he says. “But what I always try to do is ask, ‘What is this show?’ What does this show need?’

“For instance, I like to play with genres, so this could be a romantic movie but also a fairytale or have some thriller elements, and I put them all in a box and shake it a little bit. Then I put my personality in it and there’s something new or a new visual language, or just the way you’re blocking actors or their language is different or whatever. There are so many parameters you can play with. You can still just remake something on a shot-by-shot basis, but what’s the point of it all?”

Taking a cue from De Dag, a key visual trick Vos uses for The Couple Next Door is the multiple perspectives at play as characters constantly watch each other. And it’s not just Evie, Pete, Danny and Becka, but also another neighbour, Alan (Hugh Dennis), who seems to have a particular interest in Becka.

“It’s a story about lots of people. My first instinct was like, ‘Ah, this is a story about Evie.’ But if you dig into it, it evolves a little bit more towards a story about Danny and Becka as well because they have problems in their relationship,” the director explains. “There is also some stuff happening with Pete and Evie at the same time, and so it evolves by having those two couples. In the first episode, we focus more on Evie but then some episodes shift a little bit more towards Alan. I always like to have more perspectives on the same story.

“Those perspective changes are really interesting to play with narratively, but also visually. It’s about the ensemble. When you finish episode six, you will have a complete storyline for everybody.”

The filming locations also added to the claustrophobic atmosphere. Location scouts discovered a cul-de-sac in the Netherlands with homes that create a suitably heightened atmosphere owing to the fact they look like they belong in American suburbia. Filming also took place in Leeds and in Belgium.

“It’s a completely strange setup but that’s why I love it,” Vos says of the exteriors location. “So having that and also having people watching through curtains and watching each other, that’s a cool thing to play with.

“It’s also a bit soapy – it’s got some soapy elements in there. But the series evolves to something completely different and completely dark by the end.”

Throughout the course of the series, it’s safe to say not everything goes to plan for the two couples, as Evie and Danny become drawn to each other over the course of the first episode. Vos used the camera to demonstrate the distances between characters, sometimes starting off distant and drawing closer, and on other occasions becoming more separated.

Of course, the actors are key to getting the right chemistry for the series, particularly Tomlinson and Heughan. Vos jokes that he just says “action… and then stuff happens,” but he also spent time with the actors to break down their characters and explain what he wanted from them.

“They went out for dinner, and there’s got to be a minimum level of trust,” he says of Tomlinson and Heughan. “It’s very interesting to see, but what I was doing was always on a gut level. You don’t have a lot of time because there are a lot of stress factors during shooting, so sometimes you have to decide on the spot.”

The challenges on the show didn’t just come down to finding the right locations to create the drama’s pristine appearance – further exemplifying the show’s theme that not everything is as it appears. In particular, “just finding the right tone was the biggest one for this series,” the director reveals, “I think it works and hopefully an audience will think the same.”

The right tone, one that blends psychological thrills with charged emotion, was still being sought on the last day of filming, and continued into the editing process.

“On the last day we were still like, ‘But what is it?’ Visually we found it while we were shooting but, still, story-wise, it’s only when it’s coming together in the edit that you get that feeling,” he says. “I also spent a year searching for the right music, because music on this series makes a difference. Music can change so much.

“Then when we were at a screening, Hugh Dennis said to me, ‘You found it.’”

Audiences can judge for themselves when The Couple Next Door launches on Channel 4 on Monday. It will also air on Starz in the US and Canada in 2024, with Beta Film distributing the drama internationally.

Can Vos envisage returning for a second season? “Let’s see how it evolves, and if people love it, let’s go for a second series,” he says. “But if it’s a flop or people hate it, then it’s over. Let’s just see what happens in the next few weeks.”

tagged in: Channel 4, Dries Vos, Eagle Eye Drama, The Couple Next Door

🤔 The director @driesvos pushed hard if his perception was a romance narrative in a swinger relationship. If his work has anything, taking this from this and that from that and mixing them with copycat moments from films, as we saw in “The Notebook”.

This reminds Quentin Tarantino’s words once said, “I steal from every single movie ever made”. But a shared bonding experience in a lusciously dark way does not seem romantic at all and life is not a fairy tale, there is never “A happily ever after”. This is not “The Notebook” 2 🫤 with a touch from the Psychological/Thriller film “Rear Window”

[smiletimeisrunningout]

"Hey, you know how much I love August!" Emma protested with a grin, "But I'm going to tell him you said that." "It was truly the easiest way for Emma to let us know she was in good hands," Mary Margaret interjected, "While I'm a little concerned about the... Grace of the Colonies." "Oh, that's Caleb. You'll meet him soon. You'll see why I picked her." Who knew what could have happened if Grace and Caleb had met. Probably an actual fire. She's remarkable. While Emma missed the flash of interest in her mother's eyes at Ben's praise of her, she saw the way both her parents lit up; of course he had to say that, it was not only polite but what she had instructed him to do to win over her parents, but it still warmed her heart with pride to see them bond over it. "That, I do not doubt," David agree, bringing his arm around Emma's shoulders, "Our daughter brings hope wherever she goes." Mary Margaret simply nodded, watching between Emma and Ben with curiosity.

The laughter that came from both her parents when Ben brought up attempting to entertained her with books had Emma gave Ben a look that clearly meant 'see?' "Oh, my dear," Mary Margaret gave him an apologetic look, "I'm afraid that's closer to my heart than Emma's. You should have tried with food." "Mother!" Emma protested laughing. What was she, a dog? "It's true, but still."

"Clearly, she won that argument." "I am wearing a skirt too, am I not?" on top of the pants and cut on her side, which made it feel more like some sort of long vest or a cape, but at least she had been ready for action. Several kinds of action, really, if only her parents had been a couple of days late and Ben had been on time. "Well, in her defense, it is a military camp," David observed, "If there were to be an attack, fighting in a skirt could prove to be..." "Difficult," Mary Margaret ended in a disapproving note, the one of a woman who had been in that exact position, "Especially if you have a smaller frame than a man and need all the advantage you can get-not that I expect you to have fought in person, Emma." "No, of course not, I can't, it'd be as good as declaring war." "And hopefully you left Regina's men alone as well," her mother continued, and Emma did her very best not to look at Ben, to keep staring at her mother's eyes so that her mother would look only at her, and hope that her dad wouldn't look at him either, because Emma had very much fought those men as soon as some of her guard had caught up with her. She had told George she'd wait until her parents knew she wasn't under his care anymore, and she had waited until their letter had confirmed so, before taking off for a couple of weeks to eliminate the threat. It was nothing special, Ben knew well that she had been in plenty battles before. Ben did. Her parents did not. "I know you felt tempted to go, but a real battle isn't a tournament, you must let it be taken care of by more experienced people. I'm hoping your staying here taught you that too." "Of course, mom, I'd never be that reckl-well, I'd be, but I let the soldiers take care of it. I barely trained to keep in shape, men here get agitated by pants, I couldn't even look for play-fights. I did get dresses made so they'd be more comfortable, they are in that trunk." "Oh?" her mother turned to see, and her father turned his head as well, and that was when Emma gave Ben a warning look. Possibly a little pleading.

"Let's stay a little longer, I'm afraid we'll inevitably be interrupted if we get out of Emma's tent now," Mary Margaret pointed out, picking up a dress to check it herself, "This is a good color for you." "I guess what my wonderful wife means is that she has just started snooping." "David!" Emma chuckled, casually stepping closer to Ben so she could whisper to him: "As far as they know, I only fight when I'm under attack. Rarely."

It felt as though Benjamin were trapped inside a whirlwind. He gaped between the trio, his head swimming with each uttered word. Finally, he was able to focus once Emma stepped forward and made introductions.

Unable to help it, he sneered. "You refer to me as 'August of the Colonies?' Should I be insulted?" His words were laced with unmistakable warmth, and despite the fact he was meeting Emma's parents -- something that should be wholly terrifying -- he found the couple very disarming as they stepped forward to greet him.

The reference of taking care of Emma and entertaining her brought a faint flush to Benjamin's cheeks -- one he hoped and prayed could be attributed to the slight chill in the air -- and he laughed, self-conscious while accepting David's offered handshake. "What started off as duty has since turned into friendship," he offered. "Your daughter is...she's..." Sparing Emma a brief glance, he clumsily finished, "She's remarkable. We very much rely upon her spirit and good cheer here in this camp."

David's quip earned him a more genuine smile. "Very much so," Benjamin agreed. "I've tried entertaining Emma with books, but she's declared war upon Shakespeare -- a man who's long since been dead."

Mary Margaret was all smiles as they spoke, sunny and pleasant, and a clear relation to Emma's stunning positivity. She invited him for a drink and he straightened. "Are you allowed to partake, Major? We'd love to discuss Emma's behavior in the past year."

"Behavior?" Benjamin echoed. Yet again, a nervous heat burned beneath his collar and he chuckled, offering what he hoped to be an appeasing smile. "Well, aside from dismissing my love of literature, she's been perfectly pleasant...though there was also a minor tiff about wearing breeches." He nodded toward Emma's ensemble. "Clearly, she won that argument."

Biting back an amused smile, he attempted to keep his eyes on Emma's parents as he affirmed, "I'd be honored to join you. I've just come from a meeting, so I shouldn't be needed for the rest of the day...so long as everything goes according to plan, of course." He waved a hand. "We could head over to the officer quarters, if you'd prefer? It's far homier than these tents."

[cupcakesandtv]

I was gonna do a cute title like “Never Have I Ever suffered from poor plot pacing” or “Never Have I Ever been so attached to a character that it will slowly wreck the show.” But those were clunky titles and I’m not a tv writer (yet) so I’ll leave that alone. 

I liked the season more than I thought I would. I was worried that the Aneesa stuff would pit Devi against her in a way that felt icky. I was worried that they’d ruin Paxton. I was worried they’d forget all about the continuing grief journey. But they didn’t do those things. Well. I have some complaints but overall, if you’re not spending all your time drenched in fandom, it was good. It was fine. 

Maitreyi Ramakrishna made me cry. Poorna Jagannathan made me cry. Lee Rodriguez made me cry. Megan Suri made me cry. Also Sharon, Eleanor’s step mom? There was a bit where she got me really teary. Or as Paxton mentioned “puffy.” 

I laughed at Trent falling off the roof. I screamed at Paxton getting Regina George’d. I loved Kamala realizing that standing up for herself like Devi would was important. I chuckled warmly when Trent asked Eleanor to dance. 

Overall, it was lovely. 

But I think there were some serious pacing problems. It was smart to get the dating two boys mess kiboshed by the end of ep2. I liked that Devi herself was the snitcher and that her own hubris brought her downfall. She was not out here letting Zoe Maytag take her man or even pretend to. 

I didn’t like that we seem to have circled back to Paxton is dumb, doesn’t talk, only cares about popularity, and the show frames his attraction to Devi as only being physical. He liked her in season 1 because she was weird. She said things he didn’t expect. He got to be vulnerable with her. But I guess he just waited in his car for her all day (including having Chinese food delivered to his jeep) because he thinks she’s just hot.

I didn’t like that Ben is portrayed as not only attainable, but as the better match for Devi. The montage of things we see them doing is competing against each other, kissing, and like studying? It doesn’t seem like they have fun except when kissing. I feel ya, Devi, kissing is fun, but Fab is right, Ben’s grand gesture was dangerous and as boring as her dad’s daily commute. Fab is also right that Ben has never been nice to Devi and he’s been a jerk to Fab and Eleanor too. I didn’t see that improving at all over the season. Somehow they just accepted him into their group? Oh right, btw Ben still doesn’t have friends. He just has a different gf now. 

I didn’t like that Ben was the reason Devi was jealous of Aneesa. There were valid reasons that Devi was jealous of her and boiling it down to Ben felt like an excuse to keep Devi and Aneesa in conflict for longer than necessary. A lot of things felt dragged out and longer than necessary. But that’s to my point about the pacing and being attached to Ben to the detriment of the show. Why does Devi even like Ben? Literally what has he done? One grand gesture? And sometimes they banter. He still calls her “David” which still is so yikes considering how ethnic names are often mocked by white people. It’s like he enjoys having the high ground to be cruel after she hurts him. (The tattoo thing was mean in a way that felt way too much like he was rubbing her nose in it.) And even when they have those little moments throughout when we’re supposed to see that aw, they still like each other, they were just like him being the barest minimum of nice when Devi was suffering. I’m sure plenty of shippers will have list upon lists of things Ben has done and how he and Devi clearly like each other. But it was a lot of tell and not show. “Ben challenges me! I picked up 15 bags of trash today,” is such a weird way to think of someone you like?

The show’s attachment to the love triangle, and Ben’s part in it, will be the nail in its coffin. Just like Danny going off the rails and wanting Mindy to be a trad wife made so many of us rage quit The Mindy Project, the way they’ll continue to push Ben vs Paxton will keep us bored. 

Let me shift back to things I liked again. Absolutely adored Paxton’s episode. I know Chrissy Teigen fucked up and couldn’t be the narrator after all that bullying she did came to light but I would very much like to know what her script looked like because it was probably peak comedy. I feel like her image as a famous, hot asian american (pre the scandal) would have been a better fit than Gigi Hadid. But Gigi did well enough and I enjoyed it. Love that I nailed Paxton’s parents as hippies, it was DELIGHTFUL to find out they’re Jesus hippies. Can’t wait to write some religious trauma into Paxton’s story one day. Love Paxton’s grandpa and I liked how that worked its way around the whole season. I was impressed. OH ALSO SHOUT OUT TO GRANPAX FOR BELIEVING IN OUR GUY WHEN EVEN HIS PARENTS’ DIDN’T. I know I’ve previously said that I hated the idea of Devi tutoring Paxton. I think he’d be way too proud. But the show made it work in a way that made sense. And it was nice to see him come around to understanding he needed to do better for himself. I didn’t love Devi yelling at him that she couldn’t hold his hand forever but I liked the way it got him to see the reality of that point. He couldn’t use Devi as a crutch. He needed to do the work himself. Even if it was hard. I mean, he’s still a junior in high school and clearly he’ll be fine for senior year swim team but pish posh. It worked for the story to have that be a catalyst for him to figure his shit out. 

The “Crazy Devi” stuff really hit. I could see them building to it and I kinda hate that it never got back around to Paxton. I would have liked to see him assuring her she wasn’t crazy. Or even admitting that he started that nickname. (The whole time he was being ~mean to Devi it felt like the writer’s knew Ben was so awful last season that they had to make Paxton look mean too as balance but Darren clearly played it as Paxton being uncomfortable when he was mean to Devi. A contrast to Ben, like I mentioned before, enjoying being cruel to Devi.) I’m glad she went to her therapist about it though. I’m glad that Dr. Ryan assured her that despite her actions being extreme, they were based in pain and trauma and that didn’t make her crazy. The thing with her mom dating….phew. I have never related more, Devi. My dad died when I was a whole ass adult so my trauma is not the same. But the things grief can do to you: like say, when your widowed mother mentions a man more than once in conversation and you start imagining scenarios as to why she’s even TALKING about another man. I’ve been there, Devi. She was right to be hurt and mad finding out her mom lied to her. But I loved the way her Grandma smacked her and reminded her that her mother was an adult. Our parents are imperfect human beings like we are. They make mistakes, or rash decisions, and sometimes they do things just to feel. And Nalini needed to feel. I loved the way that unfolded. (Although I don’t think Common is a very good actor….sorry don’t throw tomatoes. He is very hot so I GET IT NALINI, I DO.) 

It’s like 1am so the last thing I’m gonna talk about is the made up hurdle of Paxton being embarrassed of Devi. I can’t believe they took an excuse that he made up to fool his sister last season (“I’m cool, she’s known for winning the spelling bee”) and made a whole goddamn episode about it. It was transparent as one final obstacle for Devi and Paxton to clear before they let them get together. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they ended up together. Him hitting her with his car and wanting to take her to the hospital, her demanding that he be clear about his intentions, that was all very cute. But Paxton has never been embarrassed of Devi. In season 1, he hung out with her without any qualms. He had her at the hot pocket. He cheered her on when someone tried to make fun of her after the party. Trent even looked UNCOMFORTABLE when he iced Devi out after her mom called him an idiot. His friends knew who she was and didn’t seem at all concerned with her social status. If anything, Paxton found that part of Devi refreshing. And in season 2, we’re shown that oh, during their brief time dating, he never referred to her as his girlfriend and oh Trent was always there. The explanation given makes sense I guess. But it doesn’t really. He wasn’t embarrassed because he was dating her and she lied. He was hurt. He didn’t even come up with the excuse of her not mattering to him until just before that car took him out. In season 1 when Paxton found out Devi had been telling everyone they were having sex, he wasn’t embarrassed. He was hurt. He thought they were friends. Instead, she was using him to raise her social status. But he didn’t rebut the rumor. He didn’t correct anyone! He wasn’t embarrassed. So this last ditch hurdle felt like they ran out of material. It was nice to see Devi stand up for herself and say that she wouldn’t just be the secret girl, but overall, it just wasn’t believable. Especially since they won’t let go of the love triangle and still left it WIDE open for Ben to swoop in next season. 

So while I’m glad they ended up together, it just feels like it will be switched up next season when she will inevitably date Ben. For some unknown reason. Idk he’ll probably cheat on Aneesa to kiss Devi. Again. That will probably set off more Devi apology tour and hijinks. But at this point, I’m over it. I think the show was best when it was about Devi (and Paxton) learning and trying to do better. But Ben really drags most of that to a grinding halt.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 5: The Saint Petersburg–Moscow Railway]

You are a Russian grand duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You (kind of) hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Some more sexual tension, drama on a train (not snakes on a plane), language, use of weapons, violence, death.

Word count: 7.8k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

In Paris, the Prince of Wales is on leave.

He has a frosty glass of champagne in one hand, a cigar in the other, his head resting in the swale of Marguerite’s bare belly as they lay together in an unmade bed. They haven’t gone to sleep yet, and the first fingers of gilded sunlight are creeping up over the windowsill like the legs of a spider. A hundred miles away on the front, David’s fellow Grenadier Guards are fixing their bayonets and shoveling out trenches and stirring coffee in pots made of upturned helmets; but the Prince of Wales is spared such inconveniences as often as he can be. Marguerite twirls locks of his wispy blond hair and sips red wine, clumsily, drunkenly, splashing wayward crimson beads on her naked chest and giggling when David rises to lick them away.

“I heard the most awful rumor,” he says mid-yawn. His voice is groggy, his eyes sore and dipping shut for longer and longer intervals.

“What’s that?” Marguerite asks. She’s a skilled courtesan, unshakably glamorous, frivolous and cunning and fun. She’s exactly the sort of girl he likes.

“People are saying that one of the Romanov grand duchesses died in an accident. A stable burned down or something. Or maybe it was a greenhouse, I don’t recall. Somewhere out in the godforsaken wilderness, wherever they’re being held captive. I suppose it doesn’t really matter where. It might as well be the end of the world.”

“Horrible,” Marguerite murmurs sympathetically, stroking David’s cheek with the backs of her ringed, artful fingers. “You two were close?”

“In a manner of speaking. She was my father’s favorite out of all the cousins…and you know how infamously difficult he is to please. I probably would have ended up marrying her someday.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Marguerite’s concern seems genuine. She’s a woman of the world, she has that wisdom that only comes with being battered by life; she knows she has no future as anybody’s wife, and she knows that David having a wife would change nothing between them, just as her own existence changes nothing between David and all those other women he occasionally calls home. “As if that family hasn’t suffered enough.”

“Uncle Nicky isn’t entirely innocent of wrongdoing, darling, believe me. But yes, they’ve fallen upon very hard times indeed.” David takes a deep, lazy drag off his cigar. “In any case, as in most tragedies there’s a silver lining to be found.”

“Is there?” Marguerite says, smiling angelically down at him. She knows how to read men, and she knows when their moods are lifting like sails awash with wind. She knows when it’s alright to smile again. “Tell me, mon chéri.”

“Well, Tatiana is still available.” David finished his champagne, puts out his cigar, and closes his eyes at last. “And she’s always been the most beautiful one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I come downstairs in the morning with my hair clean and flowing and scented with perfume left for me by my considerate (if excessively gregarious) Italian hosts, my white dress painstakingly rid of cat hair, my steps proud and gliding. I had said that I wanted to feel more like myself, and that was true; but I also wanted to feel like someone Ben might notice if he passed her on the street, someone he might even like if he didn’t already know that her family was royal and therefore irredeemably distasteful to him. It occurs to me—as the Persians and Birmans and Himalayans observe with petulant eyes and swishing tails—that I could no more help being born to a tsar than Ben could help being born to an impoverished drunk, and I wonder what it will take for us to forgive each other. I find Ben outside in the courtyard, grim and smoking and watching the sun rise over townhouse roofs and thinning treetops.

“Looks great,” he says coolly when he sees my dress, then scoops up a handful of dirt from the garden and hurls it at me.

“Hey—!”

“And throw a sweater or something over it. And put your hair up.” He points at me with his cigarette. “You’re a typist, not a princess. Remember that, Your Majesty?”

“Your Imperial Highness.”

“I’ll get it right eventually.”

“You’re running out of time,” I pitch back. And that’s true: today we leave Moscow, and tomorrow we’ll be in Saint Petersburg, and a week or so after that we’ll be in London and have parted ways for the rest of our disparate lives. But Ben doesn’t seem to like that I’ve said this. His brow furrows, his frown deepens, there’s a new darkness in his eyes, jade turned to hunter. My best efforts have not won me any ground at all. He never cares what I’m wearing. I’m such an idiot, I tell myself with a sickening, sinking feeling, staring down at my shoes.

“Let’s go pack up the cart,” Ben says, a bit more gently now, the ice in his veins melting away. “The next service at Saint Basil’s starts in an hour.”

“Okay.” But I hesitate.

Ben sighs. “You still haven’t figured out how to braid your hair, have you?”

“I have not,” I admit.

“Alright.” He puts out his cigarette in an empty flowerpot and opens the back door for me. “We’ll take care of that too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

As it turns out, Joe Mazzello hasn’t been flirting with me after all; or, rather, he hasn’t been flirting with me any more than he flirts with literally everybody. He bats his scant auburn eyelashes at the women in church, at the pretty young street vendors thrusting handmade scarves and piping hot chebureki under our noses, at the harried mothers in the train station with disarrayed hair and wailing children, even at the stooped middle-aged lady pushing a cart loaded up with pavlovas and candies through the hallway of our train car. Joe attempts to charm his way into a discount—no easy feat considering his very poor Russian and the cart lady’s nonexistent English, let alone Italian—and I eventually intercede to translate. As the cart lady closes our compartment door and ambles away and Joe feasts upon his pavlovas (one of every flavor: vanilla, raspberry, honeycomb, and lemon cream), he studies me with those shrewd dark eyes.

“Your Russian is very good,” Joe says, wiping crumbs from his lips with the back of one hand.

I shrug, busying myself with my copy of Tarzan of the Apes, dismissive, flippant. “I’ve practiced a lot.”

“Yes, perhaps, but your Russian is better than your English.”

I startle, dropping my book. It hits the floor with a thump. I scramble to grab it, dodging Joe’s narrowing eyes, fidgeting with my dress and my tattered green sweater and my braided hair, stammering some useless reply. Ben—who had been writing in his notebook and gazing out the window as the bloody afternoon sun races towards the horizon and the train cuts through the Northern European Plain—peers over at Joe with a look that I’ve never seen from him before. It’s a warning that bites like glass, that’s dark like thunder, that sears the words from my throat.

“It is not my business,” Joe relents at once with an easy, acquiescent grin. He takes a bite of his honeycomb pavlova and flourishes his hands aimlessly. “I am but a humble deserter of my own country, what do I know about anything? Your Russian is eccellente, Lana bella donna, that is all I am meaning by this.”

“That’s all you mean, you muppet,” Ben corrects, resuming his notes.

“That’s what I said, Beniamino! Oh mio Dio. Mamma mia.” Joe sighs and shakes his head, chewing his pavlova like a cow, raising his eyebrows at me. “He is always so scontroso, no?”

Scontroso, I know, translates to grumpy or disagreeable. “He’s alright,” I reply, smiling. Ben ignores us. I wonder what he’s writing about, what he’s planning to put in his future bestselling New York Times article, what he’s going to say about me; but now this is simple curiosity rather than dread. Ben and I have been getting along better lately. We’ve forged a vague sort of alliance. Whatever he’s going to reveal to the world, it can’t be that bad.

“So,” Joe says. “Tell me, Lana bella donna, what do you have waiting for you in London? Family? Friends? A gentleman caller, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” I muse, thinking of the Prince of Wales. Great Britain is no Italy or Greece, that’s for certain, but it’s warmer than Russia and relatively safe and civilized and never too far from the ocean. I think with time I could learn to call such a place home, to cherish it. I found myself struggling to remember why I’d ever been so attached to a future in a Mediterranean kingdom to begin with. That younger, simpler, carelessly romantic version of myself felt so distant now, like an old friend waving goodbye from the railing of a ship before dissolving into nothingness.

Joe chuckles and nods. “Yes, I knew it, this must be true. Of course you have a fidanzato. A lovely lady like yourself? You might have five or ten. Or seven, one for every day of the week, no? Mario on Monday, Teodoro on Tuesday…”

“Why do they have to be Italian?” Ben interjects crossly.

“Not a fidanzato,” I tell Joe. A fidanzato is a boyfriend or even a betrothed, it’s a much too consequential word for what David Windsor actually is. He’s a family friend, he’s a distant relative, he’s a royal, he’s my guarantee of lifelong security, he’s perfectly acceptable in both my own and my family’s eyes…but no one could claim that we are engaged. Not quite yet, anyway. “He’s more like…a probable suitor. Or an admirer.”

Joe crinkles his angular nose at me. “A what?”

“He’s more like a corteggiatore.”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say, Lana bella donna. But I can see with my own two eyes. You cannot pretend to be so innocent. You have hot blood. You cannot fool me. My first language might be Italian, but all my people are also fluent in love.”

Ben groans as he continues jotting down presumably tantalizing details in his leather-bound notebook. He had been in better spirits earlier today—passing me sarcastic half-smiles in Saint Basil’s Cathedral, miming the priests’ continuous swinging of censers that billowed incense smoke, tugging at the tail of my braid to distract me from chanting, all the while never losing that warm candlelit playfulness—but his mood is descending with the sun. He pauses his writing and glowers out the darkening window, searching for the right words. The thin, latticed scars on the backs of his hands are visible only when the lamp light hits them a certain way, a patchwork of insubstantial, ever-vanishing threads like spiderwebs.

I run my hands down my braid, self-conscious, inadvertently loosening the strands that Ben wove together this morning. He frowns at me with disapproval, his brow low. I say to Joe: “To be perfectly forthcoming, I’m a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, actually.”

Joe’s pavlovas have disappeared entirely, a fact he mourns with yearning stares at the crumbs on his sweater. “About what, signora? This London boy?”

I can’t believe I’m telling him this. I’ve never told anybody this. “Yes. And no. About love in general, I suppose.”

Joe is mystified; this I can glean from the flailing of his hands, which I’m learning to read like a new language, like English or Italian or French or Latin or inky brushstrokes of Japanese. “But Lana bella donna, what on earth could there be for a woman like you to be so anxiety about?”

“Anxious about,” Ben corrects with a smirk.

“Silenzio,” Joe throws back.

“Well…this love business.” I know more than Mother thinks I do—in part due to my voracious reading, more so from the scandalous and covert gossip that Anastasia used to relay from the soldiers she formed and discarded infatuations with more changeably than the weather shifts from parched to rain—but still far less than I would prefer. Mother has always vowed that she would speak to each of us just before our wedding night, fill in all those persistent blank spots, unearth the mysteries, calm our roiled nerves. I’m not sure why I have to wait that long. It seems like an awfully swift turnaround from knowing next to nothing to having the weight of the world on my shoulders; after all, the production of a suitable heir is a pursuit that holds dynasties hostage in the interim, a blade pressed to the jugular.

I suddenly realize that they’re both waiting for me to elaborate. Joe is watching me with his chin atop his interlocked fingers, his expression open and curious. Ben has glanced up from his notebook. Part of me likes that he cares enough to notice, to listen. Part of me now feels very, very nervous.

I say quickly: “I suppose I just don’t want to be unprepared and disappoint my husband.”

“Ah, this is not possible, signora,” Joe replies brightly. “Not if you are with the right man. You see, many people make this misunderstanding. Love is not really about the skill. It is all about the chemistry.”

“Where the hell did you learn that word?” Ben asks.

“From a certain lady friend who happened to study the chemistry, Beniamino!” Joe replies, exasperated. “Now please, I beg you, do not interrupt when I am dispensing invaluable wisdom.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” Ben grumbles and turns back to the window.

Joe continues: “Anyway, as I was saying, if you have the passion with a person then the rest will come naturally. It is just like pasta. The salt goes with the boiling water, but you never add olive oil to the water, never. Tagliatelle goes with the Bolognese. Spaghetti goes with the carbonara. And everybody knows that bucatini goes with the amatriciana. And the bread is for mopping up any sauce that is left when all the pasta has been eaten, not for smothering with butter or parmesan cheese, oh, che orrore!” He shudders.

“Whoops,” Ben says.

“If you are bread and this man in London is a splash of leftover marinara,” Joe informs me as earnestly as a mathematics tutor. “Then you will have the chemistry and it will all work out for the best. Your bodies will speak to each other. You will have a natural passion, and you can work out the rest of the details in time. You will be happy. As you deserve to be. As we all deserve to be. Even grumpy Beniamino over there.”

“Alright,” I say, still toying with my braid. I am aware that I am burdened with fears I didn’t have a week ago. Maybe it was Ben who gave them to me, with all his deep-rooted cynicism and unwelcome inquiries; or maybe the increasing ugliness of this country—of this world, of this time we inhabit like zoo animals in their chains—has cast everything I thought I knew into question. Papa and Mother have always been devoted to each other, have always had an effortless sort of connection and a heat that runs beneath their skin and flushes to the surface even after decades together. That’s something I’d like to have for myself one day. But perhaps it’s less of a guarantee than I’d imagined. And perhaps the realization of my relative powerlessness in such a momentous matter has rolled over me all at once like a cold sweat, like a fever. “But how do I know if a man is…what did you say, Joe? Marinara sauce. What if he’s butter or cheese or something even worse and I just don’t realize it until it’s too late?”

Joe smiles. “You should know if you have chemistry with someone, Lana bella donna. It is as obvious as the sun or the moon. You cannot miss it if it’s there.”

I comb back through all my memories with the tall, blond, dashing David Windsor: pleasantries exchanged over champagne, polite strolls through the gardens, the prince practicing his French with me, my sisters and I cheering him on from the sidelines of the polo field. I try to remember a time when he had touched me with anything like passion, like urgency. I try to remember the look in his eyes. But then I realize I can’t recall his eyes at all; I instinctively want to assume they’re blue, but I can only picture green irises that oscillate from seafoam to pine to emerald.

No, David’s eyes are blue, I remember now. Blue like a lake, blue like the sky. And perhaps one day my children will have the same ones.

“He’s just so dignified,” I burst out with a flustered, panicky laugh. “He’s, he’s…well, you know the type. He’s an aristocrat of sorts. So composed, so courteous. He’s never done anything that could be misconstrued as improper. He’s too…too respectful. Too well-bred. He cares too much about my honor. He would never do anything to malign it.”

I don’t intend to check to see how Ben reacts to this, but I do anyway. He’s not rolling his eyes, he’s not grumbling or snorting or even chronicling how ridiculous he thinks I am in his little notebook. He’s just staring at me, his pen hovering over the page, his face unreadable.

Joe heaves out a great sigh and touches his fingertips to his forehead. “I do not know, signora. I would never try to steer the path of your life. But I myself would not marry anyone unless I was positivo that we shared a chemistry.” He pauses, then adds for a dash of levity: “Unless perhaps they were very, very, very rich.”

I chuckle just like Joe wants me to, I relax my shoulders and place my hands serenely in my lap; I gulp down those chaotic pricklings of unease. But my mind is a lightning storm over the ocean, thrashing and thunderous.

Joe pivots to Ben. “What do you think of this chemistry situation?”

Ben shifts restlessly in his seat and lights himself a cigarette. “I wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“What do you mean, Beniamino? Don’t you have someone pining away for you back home? Come to think of it, in all this time I cannot remember you ever mentioning a lady friend. How bizzarro. Surely you must have some relevant experience with which to enlighten us.”

“Nope,” Ben says.

“I cannot believe that. A man like you?” Joe turns to me. “A man like him? With no lovers to be found? No, no, it is not possible. You are a bugiardo, my friend.” A liar, he means. “And not even a convincing one! Come on, I can see you are blushing, tell us everything before we are forced to resort to torture.”  

“All I do is work,” Ben returns brusquely. His cheeks do look rather ruddy; and this time there’s no cold, violent Russian wind to explain them.

“But amico, there is always time for love!”

Ben smokes and stares out the black window and says nothing.

“You really don’t have a wife? Not even a betrothed? Not even an occasional paramour?” I don’t plan to ask this, but I can’t resist. It doesn’t make any sense. In my social circle, it would be unthinkable for a man like Ben—as beautiful as he is, as clever as he is, mid-twenties and brimming with sharp potential—to be unspoken for. He would have a revolving door of suitors decked in ballgowns and tiaras, trunks full of love letters, incessant party invitations; or, more likely, he would already have some bejeweled, dutiful wife and ever-growing pack of children with green eyes and pale cheeks prone to bloodrush. But Ben isn’t a royal. To most of the world, he’s nobody at all. And this is a strange thing for me to remember.

“No,” Ben replies.

“Never?” I press, bewildered.

Now Ben turns to look at me. “Never.”

“But…why?”

“Maybe I’m saving myself for marriage. Just like you.” There’s an edge to his voice, a razorlike glint in his eyes. He exhales smoke into air that’s taut with silence. “Except that no one will claim my value is diminished if I change my mind.”

And then he smiles at me, he actually smiles, crookedly, cruelly. Joe’s jaw falls open and a helpless little gasp escapes like the squeak of a mouse. I’m glaring at Ben; no, I’m seething. There’s scarlet heat sloshing in my face and my neck and the palms of my hands. But there are all these layers to what I’m feeling, like I’m a book with a hundred pages, like I’m Russia itself built of air and trees and topsoil and sediment and permafrost that never feels the sun. There are too many layers for me to name.

“Well!” Joe exhales, slapping his scrawny thighs and hopping to his feet. “Sounds like you two have some things to work out. I’m going to go track down that cart lady and see if I can buy myself some more pavlovas. I might be gone for a while. People are known to get lost on trains. Who could know how long it will take me to find my way back to our compartment?”

“No—!” Ben and I immediately object in unison.

But Joe cannot be dissuaded. “Enjoy the privacy! Ciao!” He slips out the door and is gone.

I cross my arms and lean back in my seat until my back meets the plush red upholstery, frowning at Ben. “That was unnecessary,” I say darkly.

“Technically, this entire situation is unnecessary.”

He’s blaming Papa again, he’s blaming my family, he’s blaming people like me for the burden of having to drag some tiresome grand duchess across war-torn Europe. And, even more than that, he’s making his predilections perfectly clear: that he could never respect someone like me, let alone desire her. This doesn’t matter, because it’s an impossibility anyway, it would be like the stars longing to reach out and touch the earth. But somehow it feels like it matters a lot.

I stand, which seems to alarm Ben. His taunting smile vanishes. “Where are you going?”

“To the Ladies Room. Why, do you want to watch?”

“Just get out,” he snaps, and returns to scrawling irritably in his notebook.

I breeze into the hallway, close the compartment door behind me, and cover my face with my shaking hands. “It’s fine,” I whisper to myself in Russian. “Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. None of this matters. Soon I’ll be in London with my family, and more likely than not by spring David and I will be planning our wedding.” This last part doesn’t make me feel any better, so I drop it.

I roam down the hallway—in no hurry to accomplish my task and thereafter return to the compartment where Ben is waiting—to the other end of the train car and step inside the tiny, single-stall Ladies Room. When my eyes hit the mirror, I jolt like bodies sometimes do when they’re teetering on the edge of sleep. The girl there—the woman there—shocks me. In my head, I still picture myself as a Romanov daughter: delicate, spotless, long flowing hair, serene and static as a photograph. But this is not what I see in the smudged mirror hanging over the sink. My dress is wrinkled and freckled with dirt and doesn’t fit as well as I remember; maybe I’ve lost weight, or I’ve gained weight, or my weight has redistributed itself somehow, but in any case my dress hangs in some places and pulls tightly in others and I am left feeling entirely inelegant. My braid is hastily-done and messy, escaped strands of hair falling around my ears and sticking to my forehead and my cheeks. But worst of all is my face. I don’t look young or fresh or placid or graceful; I don’t look like someone who belongs in a photograph of a royal family. My eyes are feral and my skin dotted with muddy fingerprints and my mouth quivering with emotions tugging at their frayed leashes. I look like someone who would make my mother cover her eyes and turn away with a perfumed handkerchief pressed to her pinched lips. I look like some fearful, shattered nobody. I look like a peasant. I look like someone who works with her hands until the bones split beneath calloused skin.

“Enough,” I scold myself in Russian, in my own language. I do not have the luxury of crumbling. I cannot afford the self-indulgence of battling with all these unfamiliar, clamoring questions that are biting at me like wolves. I press my palm to the cold glass of the mirror, and this I speak in English, so that no one who might overhear could understand: “I am still a grand duchess, whether I look like one or not. And my family still needs me. And there are still miraculous things that wait for me after this journey is over.”

Out in the hallway there are two young men returning to their own compartment, their faces stubbled with dark burgeoning beards, their hands kept warm in the pockets of their worn black coats. They speak to each other in a Russian that is unrefined but still comprehensible to me. They are smiling, they are chuckling, they are unencumbered with clandestine cares like mine. I find this charming.

“Good evening, lady,” they call to me in their unsophisticated Russian.

I nod a shy hello. They smell like cologne and beer and autumn air, but they also smell like smoke; this reminds me of Papa, but it reminds me of Ben too. I like these men, I decide. “On your way to Saint Petersburg?” I ask them.

“On our way to a magnificent future!” the shorter man announces joyously.

“We have tickets for a ship to America,” the taller one explains.

“Where the streets are paved with gold and jobs fall from the sky like rain,” the short one recites like a poem, with grand sweeps of his arms.

His friend rolls his translucent blue eyes. “Dmitriy, please, you exaggerate.”

“Anywhere is better than here, Ilya,” Dmitriy counters. And then, turning to me: “Don’t you agree? I have cousins in New York City. They make ten dollars a week and eat two meals a day. That’s two meals with meat! Not just potatoes and cabbage boiled in water. Not just dreams of potatoes and cabbage when there are none to be had. It is paradise on earth.”

“I’m headed there myself,” I say, for no particular reason. “Maybe we will meet again across the ocean.”

“If we do,” Dmitriy replies with a grin. “We must have dinner together sometime. It will be my treat.”

“Yes, absolutely. I will look forward to it.” I pass by them in the narrow hallway; and as I do, the train lurches to one side. Dmitriy is knocked off-balance and collides with me. I slam into the door of their compartment with a yelp like a small dog’s.

“I’m so terribly sorry!” Dmitriy says, steadying himself, and then reaches out to help me. His hands take my waist. “Are you alright, lady…?”

His words die, and his face shifts from mortification to intrigue. I realize why with a swelling of terror like a wave. His hands have felt not just lace, not just flesh, but the peculiar unyielding shapes of the imperial jewels sewn into my dress. His fingers explore the outline of what was once my mother’s sapphire necklace. “What is that?” he asks me with soft wonder.

“Nothing.”

“Ilya, open the door,” Dmitriy orders, nodding to their compartment. Ilya does so. And then together, they drag me inside.

“No—!” I scream, before Dmitriy muffles my cries with the nicotine-dusted palm of his hand.

“Ilya, my knife. Get it from my bag.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s something sewn into her dress. Coins maybe, I’m not sure. But it must be valuable. Just look at her face. She’s petrified.” I struggle as Ilya gives Dmitriy the knife and Dmitriy prods me with his free hand, finding more bulges of jewels against my hips, my ribs, my spine. “What in the name of God…?”

I thrust my elbow into his stomach and Dmitriy doubles over, gasping. “Ben!” I shout, only once, before Dmitriy has me pinned against the wall with his knife at my throat.

“Listen,” he hisses in that artless breed of Russian. “We’re not going to kill you. We’re not even going to hurt you. We just want your money. And it seems like you have more than you could possibly need anyway, right? So what harm is there in us taking some? Your family will make sure you are alright. You must have a good one, with an accent like yours. We don’t mean any harm to you, lady. Really. There are no hard feelings. We’re all just rats jumping off the same sinking ship. But Ilya and I need this money more than you do. And you’re going to let us take it.”

Dmitriy removes his hand from my mouth, yanks off my tattered green sweater, and begins to cut. Slits open in the fabric of my dress like gaping mouths. Swaths of lace flutter down to the floor. He holds up my mother’s sapphire necklace, glittering like sunlight on the Atlantic Ocean, the most expensive thing he’s ever seen. “Oh my god,” he marvels.

“Jesus,” Ilya says.

“Help me,” Dmitriy instructs him. “Feel for the bumps so I can cut them out.”

They spin me around, roughly, uncaringly, and read my secrets like Braille. I place my palms on the black window. Outside are whirling shadows of pine trees and frost grass and earth and stars. As they incise my family’s history from me—diamond earrings, emerald bracelets, yellow topazes that were once imbedded in rings, rubies that were once part of one of Mother’s tiaras—I feel tears streaming down my cheeks and leaving tracks in the dirt there. I feel weak and horrified and violated. But I also feel anger, an anger that is deep and red and all-consuming; and my anger is not for these men, it’s not for Ben, it’s not for the revolution or the war or the common people or the world or anything else that I had once blamed for upending my former life. My anger is for Papa not sparing me from this fate by being a better tsar. It’s for Mother not telling me the truth about the world, for never bothering to learn it herself. And it’s for myself as well: for my ignorance, my shallowness, my recklessness that may very well cost me and Ben our lives. For once the initial high of their good fortune has faded, surely these men will begin to wonder: What kind of person carries jewels like this? What kind of woman have we found?

“Ben,” I whimper, so quietly that Dmitriy and Ilya don’t even notice. If we’re discovered, he’ll be killed. I might be sent back to the wilderness, I might get to see my family again…but Ben won’t. He doesn’t deserve to have his life stolen from him. He’s barely begun to glimpse the good parts of it.

I hear the compartment door roll open. I feel Dmitriy and Ilya’s hands drop off me. The knife clatters as it hits the floor. And when I turn to look, I see Ben standing in the doorway with his pistol raised.

“Let her go,” he says in Russian. His voice is steady, but his hand holding the pistol is shaking just enough for me to notice.

The men back away from me with their raised fists clutching loose glistening gemstones and ropes of necklaces, bracelets, strings of pearls to thread through long, clean, aristocratic hair. Ben’s green eyes dart to the men, to the jewels, to me, to the hanging scraps of my mangled dress; and within seconds, he has pieced it all together. Shame bubbles up in me, but Ben betrays no emotion at all.

With the muzzle of his pistol, Ben points to the jewels in the men’s hands. “Give them back to her.”

Dmitriy and Ilya hesitate, glancing at each other.

“Do it now,” Ben orders.

I offer my empty, trembling hands, and the men fill them with the jewels they’d cut from my dress. Metal and gemstones clink against each other with high, tinny chimes. The weight compounds until I struggle to hold it, and then there is no more for the men to give.

Ben says to me in English, so the others cannot understand: “Go back to our compartment. Wait there. Do not come looking for me. Do not make a scene. If I don’t come back, tell Joe to escort you to London and he’ll do it. Do you understand me?”

My stomach plummets, my blood goes cold. If he doesn’t come back? “Ben, why—?”

“Go.” He shoves me out into the empty hallway.

I stagger towards our compartment, and peer back over my shoulder to see Ben forcing the men at gunpoint down the hallway in the opposite direction and out the door that leads to the open-air platform between the train cars. “Everything will be fine,” I can hear Ben promising in his stilted Russian as they disappear into the roaring night air. “I will make you leave the train but that is all…”

And then the door closes and they are gone.

I barricade myself in our compartment and lay my jewels on the table and press my knuckles against my mouth to keep from screaming. I pace back and forth with tears hemorrhaging from my eyes. If he doesn’t come back? If he doesn’t come back? For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m not worrying about my family. I’m not even worrying about myself. I’m not thinking even the faintest bit about this mission or Christmas in London or my Uncle George or his eldest son, the one I will probably be married to in a year’s time. Everything I’m made of, every shred of bone and muscle and marrow, is aching for Ben.

It seems like forever before he comes back, but he does. Ben opens the sliding door, steps inside, and closes it again without a word. He secures his pistol in his holster. He looks at me. And then he swipes at a few scattered droplets on his left cheekbone: blood. The red smears across his face. And then I understand perfectly. Ben killed those men. He shot them, and he threw them off the platform, and he left their bodies in the wilderness to be eaten by vultures or wolves or the simple savagery of nature. And he did it because I left him no other choice.

“Oh god,” I moan, sobbing. “It’s all my fault, Ben, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” he says, coming closer.

“I made you kill those men, I made you do it, because they found the jewels and if they told anyone about it we’d be discovered, oh my god, I’m so sorry, Ben, I shouldn’t have had the jewels in my dress and I shouldn’t have lied to you about it and I’m just so sorry—”

“Stop,” Ben pleads, grabbing my face with his hands, staining me with Russian blood.

He’s going to yell at me again, I think, miserable, staring up at him through tears. He’s going to yell at me and tell me what a useless, sheltered idiot I am, and when he does he’ll be right.

But Ben doesn’t yell. “I’m not mad,” he says softly. “Okay? I’m not mad. I get it, I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s my own fault. It’s alright. Everything’s alright. We’re safe now. I’m going to keep us safe.”

“I don’t deserve this,” I choke out in a whisper. “I’m burdening you and risking your life and making you kill people and it’s all for me and I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” Ben insists.

“No, I don’t, and I’m sorry, and I don’t want to do this to you anymore—”

“Look, I’m fine, I’m not hurt and I’m not dead and I’m not mad, so can you please just stop fucking apologizing?”

My head is shaking, tears flooding, my fingers gripped around the lapels of his coat. “Ben, I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to you because of me—”

“Listen, listen to me, nothing’s going to happen to us—”

We’re both talking at once, me looking up at Ben, him looking down at me, our bodies interweaving unbeknownst to us; and I don’t know who moves first, but somehow now his lips are on mine, and all that screaming anarchy in my skull has vanished.

It’s nothing like I feared a kiss might be: premeditated, intentional, awkward, effortful. There’s no anxiety in my mind, in my flesh. There’s no fear of imperfection. There is only a seamless clicking into place and a weightlessness that swallows the floor out from under me. And I don’t know if it’s the same chemistry that Joe was talking about earlier, because it doesn’t feel like our bodies are speaking to each other; it feels like there are no words at all, not here, not anywhere in the world. This feels like something beyond words, or perhaps above them, something older than language and brighter than the stars.

Ben breaks away abruptly. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he says in a rush, breathless, repentant, pleading, showing me the white palms of his hands like flags of surrender. Then he buries his face in them and collapses into his seat and doesn’t look at me for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

In London, King George V is sinking into a hot bath; in Saint Petersburg, an increasingly infirm Sir Buchanan is propped up on pillows in bed and flipping languorously through a newspaper; and in Passchendaele, Franklin Hardy is hunkered in his trench coat stained with mud and sweat and other men’s blood, scribbling down a letter home as cold rain pours all around him. But in Yekaterinburg, the family of the man who was once the tsar is fast asleep.

The house moans as wind howls through the rafters, the drafty walls, the floorboards. Winter is an approaching storm. The birds have flown south; the air smells like metal. Beneath a pile of frayed, moth-eaten blankets, Tatiana Romanov is dreaming of a Christmas ball in London. Her gown is red, a vicious sort of red, a more brilliant red than anything she’s ever seen. Rubies hang from her neck and wrists. She’s nursing a flute of champagne and giggling with her sisters, ignoring the wolfish stares of rigid young men who will grow up to be dukes, emperors, lords, admirals, kings. Tati has never managed to cultivate an appreciation for men, has never given them much thought at all, has always found them coarse and brutish and unfeeling and hungry. She won’t dance with any of them tonight if she can help it. Except for Papa, of course; Papa is nothing like most men. Papa is what God must have had in mind when he first imagined men, before all those primordial, biological corruptions burrowed into their skulls and rendered them so inescapably mortal.

Someone is shaking her awake now, urgently, roughly; and for a moment Tati thinks that maybe the time has come for them to be rescued, that her favorite sister has made it to London and secured their family’s asylum there. But no, there hasn’t been enough time: it will take another few weeks at least, unless her sister has somehow figured out how to sprout wings or airplane propellors, which Tati doubts. Then what’s going on?

Tati blinks in the darkness. The shadow standing by her bedside is too tall to be any of her siblings and too broad to be Mother or Papa. Also, they are prodding her shoulder with the muzzle of a pistol.

“Get up,” the guard says in guttural, peasant Russian. “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Tati asks.

“Get up.”

“Is Mother alright? Is Alexei? Did he have another hemorrhage—?”

The guard rips away the blankets and drags Tati off the bed by her slender forearm.

“Stop it, let go of me, that hurts—!”

“Get up,” he commands again, seething in the dim, dreamlike bedroom. “And come with me.”

The guard escorts Tati—the muzzle of his pistol digging into the flesh between her shoulder blades—through the hallway, down the staircase, and into the basement. She doesn’t know his name, she doesn’t even recognize his face; the guards come and go these days, progressively becoming (it seems to Tati, anyway) more filthy, less educated, more hateful. In the basement, the walls are adorned with yellowed, peeling wallpaper and nothing else. The floor is dusty and bitterly cold beneath the soles of her feet. The other guards are standing with their rifles in hand, bayonets fixed, and this does not alarm Tati; there have been armed men watching her since infancy, because she was born into a family worth protecting. And there under naked bulbs of stark electric light—huddled together against the wall farthest from the stairs, their eyes wide and flitting—the rest of the captive Romanovs are waiting for her.

Papa has one hand on Mother’s shoulder, one hand on Alexei’s. Mother is clutching Olga to her chest as Olga sobs softly, pitifully, Mother’s arthritic hands smoothing her loose hair. Maria and Anastasia embrace Tati as she rushes to them, their fingers twisting into the fabric of her nightgown like hooks into a fish, holding on tightly as a child might do to the string of a kite clawed away by the wind.

“What’s happening?” Tati whispers in Russian, because that’s all she’s allowed to speak.

“They must be moving us again,” Mother says. Her voice is low and level. She is too exhausted to feel panic anymore; or perhaps she only swallows it down to hide it from her children.

“Can we have some chairs, please?” Papa asks the guards. “While we wait. Please. For my wife and my son, at least.” Alexei is whimpering and placing almost no weight at all on his left leg. His knee is still hideously swollen and bruised from being bumped on a table several days ago.

After some discussion, the guards bring two chairs, one for Mother and one for Alexei. In the hushed basement, Tati listens to see if she can hear anything beyond the walls: the growl of truck engines, the stomping of hooves, the voices of men. She can detect no preparations for their departure. She wonders what could be worse than here, where the windows are covered with newspapers and they are not permitted to speak in English and they have to ring a bell to be allowed out of their locked rooms. She wonders where her favorite sister is now, how Sir Buchanan’s brooding blond press attaché is treating her. She worries about her almost constantly.

Several of the guards are leering at Tati as she stands there, groggy and disoriented in her nightgown. She shivers and crosses her arms over her small chest and tries not to make eye contact. So many people are envious of her, so many women would kill to be her, because Tati is the most beautiful Romanov daughter and everyone has always agreed on this matter, as if it’s as immutable as the snow being cold or the ocean being deep. But no one has ever asked Tati how she feels about this. She’d give away her face for free if she could, she’d happily shed that great female triumph that she’s done nothing to earn. If Tati was less beautiful, she wouldn’t be so valuable in the royal marriage market, she wouldn’t have filled her parents with proud expectations as their most prized offering to trade; she’d just be one of five extraneous grand duchesses, and maybe then she could slip away into a nunnery somewhere and forever evade those mysterious, messy, ravenous grapplings of men.

Papa takes off his robe and drapes it across Tati’s trembling shoulders. Then he glares at the guards, glares like a monster, like a tiger or a brown bear or a viper. It is strange for Tati to see him so angry. Papa is never angry.

“You have no decency,” Papa scolds the guards, somehow regal even in his simple blue cotton pajamas. They hang off him like sheets hang off a child pretending to be a ghost; he’s lost so much weight since his abdication. He’s lost so many pieces of himself. “We’ve done nothing to you. We follow your rules and obey your orders, we dutifully rise when you jostle us awake in the middle of the night, we move from prison to prison at a moment’s notice. So don’t you spit your hatred at us. And don’t you dare frighten my children. We’ve done nothing to you.”

“You’ve done everything to us,” a guard says simply, and the man who was once the tsar has nothing to offer in reply.

Down the stairs comes the heavy plodding of boots. It’s the leader of the guards, an eternally unsmiling man with grey eyes and a scraggly black beard and a wool flat cap. He is carrying a single rolled-up piece of paper. He stands beside his men, unrolls the paper, and clears his throat.

“Are we leaving now?” Papa asks. “Where are we going? My wife and children need their shoes and winter coats. Can I go upstairs to fetch them—?”

“Nicholas Romanov,” the man reads. “You are an enemy of the people and must not be permitted release under any circumstances. Therefore, you will now be executed.”

“What?” Papa says, not understanding, not believing. He turns to his wife and his children, who are frozen with their mouths agape. “What did he say?”

But the only answers are smoke and screams and gunfire. It happens in an instant, and yet somehow it feels very slow: Papa reaching for Alexei, Mother crossing herself, Anastasia stumbling towards the staircase before the guards are on her with their bayonets. And as Tati’s back hits the wall, she is reminded of her dream, of the color of Christmas and her ballgown and her rubies, of a red more vivid and savage than anything she’s ever known: red, red, red.

[conhivemindcent]

Hi, I also grew up with Steve Backshall on TV, and I thought I could help with British children’s TV.

There are two BBC children’s channels - CBeebies (which you’ve mentioned, it’s for younger children under 6) and CBBC (for 6-12 year olds). Deadly 60 was on CBBC and so was Iain Stirling (specifically I remember he did a show called The Dog Ate My Homework, which is essentially a children’s panel show themed around school. I enjoyed it as a 11-year-old though I doubt I’ll enjoy it as much now).

Deadly 60 had a game I used to love playing on the CBBC website where Steve was in Madagascar and had to climb around and take pictures of animals. I had a lot of fun but found the later stages really hard and I hated losing health by animals or falling. Helped to fuel my love of lemurs, and I will always be thankful for that.

I think a lot of this is before my time (I mostly watched CBBC in the mid 2010s). Noel Edmunds used to host Multi-Coloured Swap Shop in the 70s/80s on BBC1 (it wasn’t until 1985 that cbbc became its own block and 2002 until it became its own thing). Mr Blobby was from Noel’s House Party but I don’t think that was a kids show. And as a kid, I never really saw him. Or Basil Brush. I grew up with the puppets Hacker and Dodge T Dog. (Hacker Time was one of my favourite kids shows, again idk how well it holds up.)

Similarly, I never saw Richard Bacon on Blue Peter. I can’t remember who was on Blue Peter when I was a kid, but not him. Again, this was in the 90s, so I wasn’t even alive. Similar case with Rainbow - stopped airing in 1997 and I was a 2000s baby. I never saw any Ant and Dec children’s shows but they stopped doing kids shows in 2001. I first saw them when I watched Saturday Night Takeaway. Thankfully I never saw Savile either. If I remember correctly I would’ve been about 6 when he died and 7 when the expose came out. So I suppose that’s something good about being modern.

I don’t think Simon Amstell did anything kids related but again, I have a much more narrow scope of children’s television. He could’ve done everything in the 90s and I wouldn’t know.

Postman Pat I remember! Postman Pat and his black-and-white cat (Jesse). Always charming, but I never really remembered much of the episodes plots. So I can’t say whether he got bothered by dogs (though it could just be people making fun of dogs hating postmen). I liked the old stop-motion style, and looking at him now… oh why did they move him to cgi?

Peppa Pig… exists. It’s probably the most watched kids show and I really liked it as a kid but yea, it’s grating and annoying. An episode of it got banned in Australia; the Queen was in it and there was a walking talking potato. Also all the characters are alliterative but not George, Chloé or Alexander? Like in one episode they oppose the name Michael Rabbit but George Pig is ok with them? I don’t know if David Baddiel’s wife is in the show, but Grandpa Rabbit is Brian Blessed. Shame this is the one I recognise most about. But then again, the show has become a common laughing point not only in the Uk but also internationally with memes. The creators also made Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom which I believe is much better. Can be annoying and is for kids, but it’s much better.

There was also a game on the CBeebies website for Peppa Pig where you had to play against the adults to score in basketball. I had fun with it as a kid. Dead simple though.

I could probably share more about specifically 2010s children’s shows if you’d like to hear.

(Also unrelated to children’s shows but I watched it as a kid, Zoe Ball used to host the companion show to Strictly - It Takes Two and now has a breakfast show on radio 2)

I have literally never heard of any of the NYT 2024 contestants. Not just don’t know who they are, but I have absolutely never heard any of those names before in any capacity.

I realize that’s not that surprising, because I live in Canada. But I did think I had an okay grasp on people who are on UK TV. I acquired this grasp by watching a lot of their long- and short-running panel shows, and every time I heard a reference I didn’t get, I’d look it up so I’d know for next time.

I’m remembering last year at Just For Laughs, when I went to a club night called Brit-ish that was hosted by Tom Allen, and he referenced Mock the Week, and people cheered. He seemed surprised that the Canadian crowd knew about Mock the Week, which struck me as slightly condescending, thinking a bunch of people who had specifically shown up for a lineup of British comedians would not know about one of their extremely popular mainstream British comedy shows. But then Tom Allen said we might know that but we don’t know most British television, do we even know about The One Show?

I did, of course, know about The One Show. I know it as that thing where Jason Manford lost his job due to, in the delicate words of Frankie Boyle, having a wank in a hotel room. When Tom Allen asked that question, my mother even leaned over to me to whisper that she knew what The One Show was, because she’d watched a lot of WILTY and they’d had Alex Jones on (not – you know, not that Alex Jones, the Welsh one). My mom isn’t nearly as steeped in British television as I am, but even she had picked up on some of that. If you watch enough panel shows, you’re going to pick an understanding of British cultural references and TV personalities even outside of comedy. I know about lots of those. I certainly know about The One Show.

I do not, however, know who a single person on NYT 2024 is. That doesn’t mean they’ll be bad. Lots of people I’ve never heard of are very good at many things. I’m just saying, apparently I don’t know as much as I’d thought about people on British TV.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

WHO?

Prompt: “Can you do a mob!Roman Reigns x Pregnant Reader where they are in a meeting and someone disrespects her?” Requested by the lovely @purpledragon04 (I’m also tagging my girl @ziasaph ‘cuz she wants all Roman related stories...and I can relate babe! Hahaha)

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Mob!Roman Reigns x Pregnant Reader

Warnings: Mob themed related subjects(drugs/gun),cursing,explicit violence,mentions of murder,harassment.

Notes: I’ve always wanted to write something Mob!Roman related but I’ve never had any good ideas,until the amazing @purpledragon04 request this. I’ve had some free time today so I dedicated to write this.So there you have it, I hope you like it babe.🥰 Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

I woke up as soon as the smell of fresh toast and scrambled eggs filled the bedroom, I opened my eyes and saw my beautiful man holding a tray fool of food,shirtless and barefooted with his hair down,only in a pair of black sweatpants that hanged dangerously low on his hips.

“Good morning baby girl” He softly smiles

“Good morning Ro”

He placed the tray of food on top of the bed on his empty side and approached me kneeling on one knee,placing one big hand on my round belly,pecking my lips,looking at my bump and asking in a soft voice

“And how are we feeling today?” While he rubbed and gave light pecks all around my belly.

“So far so good!” I answered as I ran my fingers through his thick,silky,dark hair.

“Good” he pecks my lips “ ‘cuz I’ve brought us some food”

He got up and walked to his side of our king size bed,placed the tray next to me so he could sit on the bed.

Ever since we’ve found out I was pregnant Roman did this same morning ritual every day without a fail! He would wake up before me and cook himself our breakfast. And to be honest I don’t know how he could do it,for 6 months straight now,every single day. It mesmerized me how much dedication he had with my and the baby’s well being.

“What did I do to deserve you?To deserve this everyday?” I honestly asked while I pointed to the tray

He shyly smiled and I could swear he blushed before answering “Baby girl,you’re making a big deal out of nothing really,it’s a simple gesture that I like to do,because I love you and our little bundle of joy” He rubbed my bump “I just like to take care of you both that’s all...now let’s eat before the food gets cold”

I smiled and took a good look on the tray,there was scrambled eggs,plain toast and toast with jam,fruit salad,water,coffee and juice. I eagerly reached for the coffee when...

“Nu uh! You’re not drinking that missy!” He took the coffee out of my sight “I’ve made you some peach juice and there’s water.”

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed sigh before saying “The doctor said that I had do control the amount of caffeine I drink and not to totally quit it,you know?”

“First things first,don’t roll you eyes at me missy. Secondly yours and the baby’s health comes in first place,so that means no caffeine for you”

“But I-“

“There’s no arguing about it! Now drink your juice and eat your breakfast!”

“Whatever you say,dad” I scoffed

He briefly chuckled and said “Don’t you worry baby girl, later tonight, I’m sure the same words will come out of your mouth with a different tone to it” he deviously smirked at me.

I was finishing opening the last package with some of the baby’s items I’ve bought online, to find the one thing I was looking for. A romper with some beautiful and delicate flower patterns on it, with the saying ‘ I may be small,but I’m a one big wish come true’, the same words Roman said to the baby when we’ve found out I was 4 weeks pregnant.

I smiled and made my way to his office, I was so excited to show him what I’ve found that I bursted through the door saying

“Hey Ro,look what I’ve foun-“ I stopped talking as soon as I saw he wasn’t alone “I’m so sorry! I didn’t knew you had a meeting,that was so reckless of me to burst in like that,sorry.”

“It’s ok baby, it’s a last minute meeting, I didn’t even had time to let you know, it’s ok tho, I know you didn’t mean to” He smiled “Besides,we’re pretty much done here.” He stood up from his chair,made his way towards me at the door and whispered “I’m just gonna go grab something really quick,so I can give to David,then I’m all yours ok?”

“Sure,Ro” I answered and he pecked my lips

“I’ll be right back baby” And he quickly went down the stairs.

Personally, I don’t like David, as matter of fact I fucking hate him! He is one of the guys who takes shifts with Ben selling Roman’s product on the streets. And he’s a total pervert.

Every time he sees me he flirts (borderline harass) me, making disgusting comments about me,my body,my clothes..and since I got pregnant it became worst, I once caught him saying that he loved the fact that I’m pregnant now,because it would make my boobs look bigger and I would look so good that way. To say that he’s disgusting and filthy is an understatement, he’s the worst scum bag I’ve ever seen! I never said anything to Roman because I know David is one of his top guys and I didn’t wanted to ruin his business,but I swear that many,many times I wish I had told him.

David stood up and made his way dangerously towards me

“Well, well...what do we have here?Two beautiful girls” He reach his arm to touch my bump and a ferocious mother instinct took over me. I could take care of myself but I’ll be damned if he touches my baby!

“Touch her and I’ll kill you myself” I snarled.

It may sound dumb, since she wasn’t even born yet, to think that he could actually touch her. But he knew that to me touching a woman’s pregnant bump was as intimate as touching her baby. And he would never,ever touch my baby girl!

“Calm down mama” he chuckled “I mean no harm! I gotta say tho Y/N, you look as beautiful as ever” he measured me from head to toe with an aroused look upon his eyes and I had to hold myself from throwing up.

“You know I would give anything for that baby to be mine and not his right?” He approached me carefully

“Stay away from me”

“Calm down tigress!” He lightly laughed

“Don’t you dare to touch me or her! You make me sick!”

“I just wanna give my girls a hug,that’s all”

Pure fear surrounded me and I turned away to run,but he was faster pulling me towards him, wrapping his arms around my belly making my ass rest on his erection.

“See,how I get whenever I see you tigress?” He started to caress my baby bump and hot tears poured down my eyes making my sight completely blurred. I felt someone quickly yank him from me and I cleaned my eyes to see Roman on top of him restlessly throw punch after punch on his face.

“Have you lost your fucking mind motherfucker? You must have a death wish boy!” Roman said while he continued to punch him with such a ferocious rage that I was pretty sure his face was getting unrecognizable.

He started to choke in his own blood, so Roman stopped his actions, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulled the 9mm gun he always kept on his pants back waist. He put the gun nozzle on his cheek close to his lips and David started to cry babbling something along the lines of please and sorry. Roman just ignored saying

“Who the fuck you think you are boy? You live from my money, live in one of my houses, sell my drugs and still you think you can come to my house and mess with my pregnant woman” Roman dragged the nozzle from his cheek to his closed lips “And unborn daughter, under my roof and it will all be ok? Open your mouth” David begin to cry even harder “I said open. your. fucking. mouth boy!” He screamed and David slowly opened his mouth.

Roman places the nozzle inside of David’s mouth and continues to say scaringly calm

“What’s the matter Davie? I thought you liked to touch and talk obscenities to pregnant women. Go on now,continue what you were saying to my wife” David paralyzed “C’mon Dave, don’t be shy! You clearly have no respect for women, specially for my woman, or myself for that matter. So go for it, I’m all ears now!” The light beige rug beneath David started to slowly become a darker beige tone, was he?..

“Oh Davie, you filthy motherfucker, you’re pissing on my fucking rug???! Unbelievable! You know I’ll have to discount this from your paycheck right?” Roman was now laughing uncontrollably, he looked at me with amusement on his eyes

“Do you see this Y/N? David is scared...poor thing!” He continued to chuckle “Are you afraid to die Dave?”

“Yes, sir” David barely mumble

“Don’t you worry Davie boy, I’m not gonna kill you...I’ll just make you an example for any dumb motherfucker who thinks he can disrespect my wife or daughter..” Roman smiled

It has been 2 weeks now,since the incident with David. Roman has never once spoken about him since Ben took him out of our house.

I was in the baby’s nursery, organizing some of her clothing in the little lavender and white wardrobe we just bought for her, when Roman came through the door.

“Whatcha doing baby girl?”

“Trying to organize the chaos” I laughed,there were clothes and toys all over the nursery.

He placed one hand on my bump and whispered “And what’s my other baby girl doing,huh?” He kneeled down and nuzzled his nose on my belly, placing his bearded cheek on it right after.

“Oh definitely sleeping!” I chuckled

“I wonder where did she got it from?” He tried to hold back a laugh

“Uh” I gasped, pretending to be offended “Roman, are you trying to imply that I’m the lazy one?”

“No baby! I would never say such thing!” He smiled while pressing his chin to my bump so he could look at me with an amused look on his face.

“Yeah right you wouldn’t!” I laughed while I stroked his bearded cheek. He stood up and sweetly kissed my lips before going to the little wardrobe.

“Oh,this is cute” He said while holding a yellow dress with big black polka dots in it.

I couldn’t stop the thought that lingered on my mind for 2 weeks now, and before I could process what I was saying the words left my mouth.

“Ro, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, baby girl. Whatcha wanna know?” He answered still amused by the baby’s dresses

“What happened with David?”

I could see that his whole body tensed, before relaxing again. He took a small hanger out of the wardrobe, hanged the little yellow dress on it and put it back on the baby’s wardrobe before turning to face me,while calmly answering

“Who?”

I love Roman,although he’s a big guy and all of that I was never afraid of him, but I’ve never seen such a cruel, cold look on his face...and to be honest it was kinda scary.

“David...” I whispered

“I don’t know what you’re talking about baby” He gave me the coldest smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Roman...you’re kinda scaring me,love” My voice came out quite shaky

“Y/N, baby girl..” He came to me and cupped my face on his hands “Look at me baby” I did as he asked

“Y/N, I sincerely tell you that I don’t know who this David is or what happened to him. I’ve never met any David baby girl... You look a little flushed, why don’t we go downstairs to the kitchen and I’ll make you a sandwich huh? I need to keep my girls healthy” He leaned one hand down to my belly and the other one stroked my hair.

“What do you say baby?”

“Yeah Ro,that sounds nice”

“Good” He sincerely smiled at me and the warmth was back to his eyes “C’mon” he intertwined our fingers as we went down the stairs to the kitchen “I have to take care of my girls” He said while he looked at me with a smile.

That’s when I realized that whatever happened with David I would never know, and to be honest with you, I don’t even think I wanna know anymore...

[newtonsheffield]

First of all: I LOVE YOUR BENEDICT AND SOPHIE! Enchanted was so amazing! ❤️

But Sophie never had a family before so isn‘t it quite overwhelming for her that everyone cares so much when she had to take of herself for all these years?! How does she handles it?!

Thank you so much! I was very stressed at having to write Sophie because honestly, name a kinder character in the Bridgerton Universe? I’ll wait. I’m so so glad you enjoyed it! 

Poor Sophie is a little stressed at the prospect of the Bridgertons. Let’s see how she gets on with them! 

Sophie had left Bridgerton and Sons the Monday after the Sheffield-Bridgerton wedding feeling lighter than she had in years. Violet Bridgerton had tucked her against her side in the lift and said I’ll see you on Thursday for lunch, Sophie. Benedict can give you the address or I’m sure Kate and Lucy could drop by for you. And suddenly she’d felt an overwhelming sense of panic welling in her chest. This family had been so kind to her already and suddenly she was very worried if she let them into her life any further she’d never want to let them go. So when they’d gotten to the lobby she’d choked out I’m sorry Mrs Bridgerton, but I have an appointment on Thursday that I can’t miss. Violet had eyed her shrewdly and said Hmmm Well if you can’t, then you can’t next week perhaps? though Sophie could tell she hadn’t believed it for a second, She had a new excuse every week. Every event, Even when Benedict said quietly, when he held her before they fell asleep They just want to get to know you Sophie. 

She got away with it until once more Kate Bridgerton and Lucy Abernathy had arrived at the restaurant she worked at, quite out of the blue, and given her very little opportunity to say no. They’d settled at the table of a small restaurant not far away and Kate had leapt into a story from the honeymoon she’d just returned from I nearly had him strangled before we’d even left the house I swear to god. Kate had hissed, while Lucy laughed brightly. Sophie felt her eyebrows raise. Lucy took note of her slightly shocked countenance and said If you think this is bad, you should have seen them when they first met. Sophie looked further shocked and Kate laughed I couldn’t stand the sight of him! Now I’ll admit, he has his charms Kate had said with a soft smile on her face, that had warmed Sophie’s own heart a little. Kate had eyed her a little shrewdly for a second, Ben had told Sophie just how astute his sister in law could be and she shifted uncomfortably. Sophie, I know that The Bridgertons can seem like... a lot and when I first got together with Anthony I was worried as well, but they really are the best kind of people. Lucy nodded vigorously, smiling at Sophie and then said Honestly Sophie, I think the only thing you have to fear is Violet detailing exactly how beautiful your children with Benedict will be! Gregory and I are apparently going to have beautiful children with my eyes and his hair and she hopes, there’ll be quite a few! Sophie laughed with the other women for quite a while and thought that perhaps, dinner at Violet Bridgerton’s this Sunday wouldn’t be so terrible.

Even so she found herself clutching the muffins she’d made with white knuckles in Benedict’s car the entire way there. Soph, relax. My mum is so excited you’re coming, and Kate and Lucy will be there, you know them. Sophie had nodded, biting her lip. As soon as Violet Bridgerton’s front door was opened the noise had been nearly deafening. Gregory I have absolutely had enough of you! Jesus fuc- A teenage girl was yelling from the top of the stairs, Gregory Bridgerton was laughing from the bottom holding what appeared to be his sister’s mobile phone only to be sharply cut across Hyacinth Bridgerton That is enough! Violet Bridgerton said, then noticing Sophie said Oh Sophie, Benedict has been hiding you away from me these last few months, come in. Sophie, who was starting to feel a little overwhelmed already by the general chaos, was ushered into the living room her arm tightly around Benedict’s waist, and if possible, the sight there was even odder. Kate was sitting on the sofa, laughing as Edwina Sheffield, twice voted England’s most beautiful woman, pouted ridiculously her hand thrown over her face dramatically And then he accidentally pushed me in the rose bush it was so humiliating Anthony huffed from his position, sitting agains his wife’s legs He’s not good enough for you Eddie. I don’t like this David. A woman Sophie didn’t know, but was clearly a Bridgerton laughed from her place next to Lucy Ooof Eddie, you said you wanted an older brother and now you have the worst one in the entire world. Benedict laughed surprising Sophie, and the noise put her at ease suddenly, Well, El, I’m very glad Anthony is much worse than me. Everyone looked up at the sound of his voice smiling brightly. And as Sophie was pulled away from Benedict, pulled onto the sofa between Kate and her sister and into conversation, and odd feeling of calm content washed over her. And for the oddest moment, this place she’d never been before felt like home.   

[gunkreads]

I saw your post on where you described your favourite niche and it sounds right up my alley! Would you have any books to recommend that you have found since you posted it? I would really appreciate any suggestions - I just finished the long way to a small angry planet and I would love to find some similar books!!

Well... unfortunately Small Angry Planet is one of the few good examples I have of that niche. I think that, actual book recs aside, the best general advice I can give is to pick up books that look kinda shitty. Something published 20+ years ago with terrible cover art where the first page is like "the Skuverthians cross the Ghru-Nkle mountains in Phuzgerland every Huffer season to hunt Yngrang". It really helps to understand exactly what you want out of a book and, more importantly, why. Once you read some meh books, likely not finishing them, you'll have a clearer picture of what you like because you'll have read something that you dislike most of, but like one thing enough to read it.

The gist of this idea is that if you can learn to read a book for the one thing you like, you'll be able to find this found-family getting-by trope in a lot more places.

A good example that... might be up your alley? Probably not. Is an incredibly silly, pretty dumb, quite bad military sci-fi book called The Excalibur Alternative by David Weber. The premise goes: a medieval English fighting force is abducted by aliens and taken to strange planets to fight other primitive civilizations. That's it. The writing is chunky, the characters are one-note, and the plot is hamfisted and contrived, but I had a DAMN good time reading it because the premise was awesome! It's basically "what if humans are the toughest sons o' bitches out there". It's a wonderful exercise in defamiliarization to a sci-fi reader; it shows you all the standard alien tech and cultural differences through the eyes of a stereotypical English military commander. A lot of the time is spent with the guy and his wife and kid just trying to figure out how to make a life in slavery to these aliens. It's a really, really fun concept with questionable execution and very little elegance, but reading it taught me so much about what I want out of a book. I can put up with a ton of "bad" as long as I love the premise and the author is earnest.

And I'm dying right now trying to remember the name of this book I read the same summer about a disabled alien guy whose race accidentally wrecked their planet and made it uninhabitable, but he goes on an expedition to scout it because someone heard a radio signal, so he goes down to this planet and finds civilization rebuilding itself. It's KILLING me that I can't remember the title or the author, but it's an amazing "what is this actually about? oh, the human condition" book. I'm sorry to tease you like this but I'm hoping someone has read this obscure paperback and recognizes it.

Another example might be Slaughterhouse Five, oddly enough. More of a classic, so more people are likely to have read it, but it's VERY much about a guy trying to get by in a SUPER weird situation. It's a super fucked-up book with a lot of Vonnegut-standard weird shit that a lot of people find distasteful, but fundamentally the idea is there.

Similarly, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this vibe. The first book is less so, but the second and third are TOTALLY just "how is Arthur gonna get through his day." Small, Angry Planet is basically a tamer version of Hitchhiker's Guide, honestly; much less absurdity in the universe but just as much heart.

The one of these you're most likely to have read is the Imperial Radch trilogy by Ann Leckie, starting with Ancillary Justice. It has a lot higher immediate stakes than Small, Angry Planet but has a similar "how do these people live here" tone.

I didn't finish it, but Mars by Ben Bova seemed like it would have some of this? It's very hard sci-fi and I only read about 150 pages of it, but it had a lot of interpersonal relationship questions e.g. "how do you handle a 2 year spaceflight with 10 other people."

Half-Life by Hal Clement I also didn't finish, but seemed similar in tone to Mars, though it was a bit softer sci-fi.

I'm currently watching The Expanse, which is based on the book series of the same name, and while it's not a great analogue to Small, Angry Planet, I can say the show has some similar crew relationship plotlines in the early seasons, especially s1. The story is a lot higher-stakes and gets a bit scary, but the core is there.

I guess I'd also compare the Last Herald-Mage series by Mercedes Lackey, starting with Magic's Pawn, in this category? It's also got a more defined driving plot than Small, Angry Planet, but most of the first book (which is all I've read) is just about the main character trying to keep his life from falling apart while struggling with depression. It's an emotional rollercoaster, but not much happens, so... make of that what you will.

I'm really scraping for examples at this point because I tend to forget books I read, but I hope at least one of these tickles your need.

[welllpthisishappening]

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual. 

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities. 

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May. 

He needed a haircut, she thought. 

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her. 

On a Thursday in May. 

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly. 

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree. 

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally. 

The muscle shifted. 

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient. 

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook. 

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout. 

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs. 

An actual scorebook. 

That he brought with him to Citi Field. 

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird. 

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison. 

Nina bit her lip. 

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up. 

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed. 

Some of which might have mystical and potentially. 

Goddamn, Ben Stiller. 

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle. 

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body. 

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him. 

The muscle. 

She heard his pencil drop, she swore. 

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically. 

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. 

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue. 

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous. 

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field. 

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up. 

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise. 

And sat back down. 

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible. 

The amazing, even. 

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint. 

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist. 

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually. 

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache. 

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades. 

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began. 

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation. 

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams. 

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey. 

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm. 

He was still keeping score. 

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page. 

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry. 

It would be embarrassing. 

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now. 

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way. 

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head. 

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance. 

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars. 

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time. 

Once she got the popcorn off her feet. 

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward. 

With his own brand of emotion. 

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling. 

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming. 

Undeniably so. 

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her. 

He didn’t make the throw. 

Not in time, at least. 

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night. 

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook. 

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier. 

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad. 

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter. 

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should. 

Jesper was going to crack a rib. 

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed. 

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly. 

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved. 

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face. 

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed. 

Ah, damn. 

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss. 

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil. 

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite. 

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her. 

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. 

He’d folded the piece of paper. 

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him. 

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth. 

He watched. 

Documented. 

Kept track. 

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again. 

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. 

To hand to her. 

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though. 

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest. 

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet. 

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders. 

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were. 

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever. 

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil. 

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far. 

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did. 

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move. 

On her part, specifically. 

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even. 

She grinned. 

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall. 

He didn’t look away. 

She’d think that was important, later. 

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower. 

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her. 

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling. 

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded. 

And climbed over the seat. 

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain. 

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t. 

At least not at first. 

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder. 

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself. 

They’d get there. 

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway. 

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra. 

Sugar on top, if you will. 

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines. 

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least. 

He smiled. 

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too. 

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic. 

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her. 

Huh. 

Huh. 

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70. 

She had sensitive skin. 

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth. 

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed. 

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance. 

He didn’t push her hand off his. 

The coffee was going to go cold. 

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.  

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing. 

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen. 

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile. 

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission. 

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his. 

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened. 

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued. 

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket. 

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page. 

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was. 

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them. 

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors. 

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that. 

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form. 

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act. 

Once an inning, then. 

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back. 

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things. 

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles. 

He called them jimmies. 

She made fun of him. 

And then—

It was over. 

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze. 

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue. 

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck. 

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them. 

That was nice. 

He was nice. 

She was—

A mess, at best. 

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow. 

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room. 

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument. 

There was champagne, so. That helped. 

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches. 

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered. 

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number. 

Neither could she, quite frankly. 

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her. 

From running into the section. 

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set. 

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason. 

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out. 

Matthias hadn’t been at the game. 

To be a Mets fan, was to wait. 

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it. 

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting. 

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey. 

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently. 

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks. 

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say. 

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe. 

It smelled like salt when she did. 

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him. 

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status. 

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer. 

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably. 

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand. 

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added. 

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured. 

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died. 

It was very dramatic. 

Sweeping, even. 

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club. 

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle. 

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness. 

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like. 

She wasn’t entirely opposed. 

Their shoes nearly brushed. 

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely. 

She licked her lips. 

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance. 

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined. 

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together. 

Nina closed her eyes. 

Better to remember, that way. 

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice. 

He was still there. 

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time. 

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe. 

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that. 

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first. 

She kissed the bottom of his chin. 

It was all she could reach. 

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic. 

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him. 

Either or, really. 

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend. 

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be. 

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone. 

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #82: “Baffler Meal” | January 1, 2003 - 12:00 AM | S08E01

An all-time classic, wonderful episode. Ending 2002 on a high note (technically this is the first episode of 2003 being that it aired at midnight, but I’m delaying my EPHEMERA CORNER post for as long as I can).

The origins of Aqua Teen Hunger Force are laid bare for all to see with Baffler Meal. Aqua Teen Hunger Force was famously based on a rejected Space Ghost script. Well, this is that script, re-imagining the Aqua Teens based on old designs and concepts from that unproduced episode. The desired effect is to approximate what that episode would have been like had it been produced in 1999 before the Aqua Teen Hunger Force series proper was developed. It’s supposed to be confusing; to the point where in the DVD commentary track they even question weather or not they should make it clear within the commentary that that’s what’s going on here (they do).

I will now take this opportunity to quote one of my favorite synopses of a TV show ever, originally taken from tvtome (remember tvtome? god, what a great site):

Space Ghost is forced into a raw deal with the deadly Colonial Man, forever altering the future of classic rock - again. Willie Nelson and a MOCKERY of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force star in this episode. This episode mocks a great comedy show. It doesn't feel funny in the least.

Here you can see the lack of understanding for what the episode really is. Despite the fact that the ostensible Space Ghost fan (tvtome was run by volunteer submissions for it’s episode data) should one-thousand percent understand the Space Ghost connection, clearly recognize Dave Willis’ voice (he still voices Meatwad in a very similar manner), etc. The degree of confusion this episode caused can not be understated.

Nuggets from the DVD commentary:

Frylock is a guy in a costume in this. Okay, that wasn’t specifically from the DVD commentary, but it’s the first time I caught that detail, ever, and I don’t want to start a separate bullet-point list for stray observations.

Shake’s read of “blahd” instead of “blade” was inspired by a real typo in the script, just like “Branford the Branford” before it.

Todd Hanson of The Onion helped write this episode and kept pitching a character named Napkin Lad. I believe Napkin Lad actually comes to be later in the Aqua Teen series.

And another thing I love: The cool song at the end. The part where Dave is like “OH BABY, YEAH BABY” etc. towards the very end of the episode? That part gets stuck in my head like, VERY FREQUENTLY, and for years I thought it was Bob Odenkirk singing in either a Mr. Show or Ben Stiller Show sketch and have been trying to place it forever. Turns out it wasn’t Bob, but David, and I ain’t talkin’ Cross, do I sound cross to you? Do you even appreciate wordplay??

NEXT is my end-of-the-year roundup of second-run premieres, shorts, commercials, bumpers, etc. That’s right, EPHEMERA CORNER is back! But it’s gonna be a long one so I might break it up over the course of a few days, maybe a week, even.

MAIL BAG

I think these were all anonymous, please forgive me if I have, as the French say, “fucked up” by failing to name the conspirator.

2002 is almost over! What do you think brak's position on the iraq war was? Carl's? Hesh's? Junior addleburg's?

Brak: against, but respects the office of the presidency and urges using civil methods to protest. Carl: pro, he is a white supremacist and is supportive of any and all mass destruction committed on non-white nations. Hesh: HESH WANTS SOME SEX! lol. Junior Addleburg: has not been told about the war.

Do you think you are being overtly charitable to Brak this time around? Surely the best Brak show episode isnt even half as good as the worst Home Movies episode. Right?

I do tend to react to “better” Brak episodes the same way you encourage a problem student when they squeak out a B minus. There absolutely was a time when I loved The Brak Show and was all-in on it. That time was SEPTEMBER 2nd-8th, 2001. Hippo was certainly a factor. 9/11 may have also contributed.

I don’t think I’ve said this yet, but I’ve been keeping a running episode ranking of Adult Swim shows as I’ve been doing this. It’ll probably get revised at some point, so I’m not exactly ready to share it. In my ranking I tended to group Home Movies episodes very close to each other, and I would sometimes talk myself into ranking things a little higher or lower than I normally would just to break up a long streak of Home Movies. So I can actually say with impunity, yes, there are strong episodes of Brak Show that I've ranked over weaker episodes of Home Movies. But I might have to have a little chat with the man in the mirror about that.

Are you only doing animated shows or are you going to do live animated shows to. I feel like most people agree Tim and Eric bringing live-action to the block ruined it permanently even if you think those guys are funny in a vacuum. I'm just wondering because I know you did animation only for your Simpsons Night B-sodes so I feel you are a "tooned-in" guy.

Live-action is getting reviewed too! I can’t WAIT to revisit Saul of the Molemen. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not sure where to draw the line on the internet stuff, though. If it aired on Adult Swim I’m very likely to cover it, but I don’t see myself covering the FishCenter repeats that aired at 4AM. Anime is generally getting the shaft. Sorry. I think it’d be cool if somebody started a blog that covered Adult Swim Action. But yes, you are right, I’m a pretty tooned-in guy. Lots of people have said this about me.

If you had to dress like any of the Adult Swim First Era characters for Halloween who would you dress as and who would you LIKE to dress as if difficulty of pulling it off wasn't an issue.

There was a Space Ghost muscle suit at one of those Halloween Stores one year and I very nearly bought it even though I had no intention of wearing it for Halloween. I did a very low-effort season 4 Hank Venture because by happenstance my hair looked like his at the time, and I found what looked like Brock’s jacket at a thrift store.

Putting on a blue Sealab uniform and only traveling in a chair with wheels would be real fun. I could probably pull of an effective Carl. As far a difficult costume I’d be the poolside announcer during the O.G. bumpers, because I imagine that he’s very muscular and his dick is real long and it’s constantly flopping out of the pantleg of his swim trunks and that it’s getting sucked off all the time by them old ladies and most of the time he’s like “no no, we mustn’t do that, for I am a professional” but every now and again he’s like “well alright” and this would reflect my experiences at whatever Halloween party I’m at except it would be a 20 year old woman dressed like an old lady because it’s Halloween. Thanks for the question.

Do you have a girlfriend? What does she think of Adult Swim or does she hate cartoons like mine.

I’m not done with the last thing. I would also have a bullhorn and I’d be using it while getting sucked off, even though that’s a discreet affair. Like, we’d find a bedroom that was empty and lock the door and I’d be like “Oh yeah baby suck my peenie, yes you are doing so good at sucking that.” in hushed tones, but into the bullhorn. I’d also use it to yell at children for wearing racist or appropriative costumes, which, as we all know, leads to more getting-your-dick-sucked. Anyway, I got a wife and we literally met at an Adult Swim event during Comic-Con! It was Tim & Eric Awesome-con 2007! I’M NOT LYING

Would you rather take one big bite out of meatwad or drink the entirety of Master Shake.

I wonder if Master Shake is warm. Anyway, I’d go with that, biting Meatwad seems like CERTAIN DEATH.

[jettreno]

allow me to present @krogerss‘s and my masterpiece....the schitt’s creek umbrella academy au

reginald hargreeves, eccentric billionaire, adopted seven kids. they’ve been living off his money their whole lives (ooc i know but listen it’s an au), but when he dies the only thing he leaves them in his will is collective ownership of the tiny remote town of schitt’s creek. they all move into the motel (diego luther and five share one room, allison vanya ben and klaus the other. it’s cramped) shenanigans ensue

everyone’s a little ooc bc the very nature of the schitt’s creek universe is that everyone is at least a little bit of an asshole

there aren’t a lot of one-to-one equivalent characters, but here are some:

- lila is the stevie figure. she’s the one and only employee at the motel and has an antagonistic yet loving friendship/romance with diego

- hazel is the roland figure. he’s the mayor of the town. and like yeah he’s supportive enough of these new folks but hes also an asshole. five in particular can’t stand him

- the jocelyn figure is split between agnes and cha cha. that is to say, agnes is hazel’s wife, but cha cha teaches at the local high school

- raymond is the ted figure, sissy is the twyla figure, dave is the patrick figure

okay now for the hargreeves:

- this is the first time most of them have lived together in years and it’s. messy

- all of them except for five are in their late 20s. five is a teenager who until now was at a prestigious boarding school

- five: i have to go to PUBLIC SCHOOL? between the six of you you HAVE to be able to scrounge up enough brain cells to be able to home school me *realizes luther is the most educated of them and he would be five’s teacher* actually im good this will be an adventure for me

- yes cha cha is five’s teacher. this goes as well as you would expect

- speaking of luther, yeah he has a phd in astrophysics. when he first gets to schitt’s creek he very condescendingly introduces himself as “doctor hargreeves” to everyone but this backfires because everyone thinks hes a medical doctor and theyre really excited for him to open a practice in town. he has to backtrack and explain that no hes not that kind of doctor and theyre all like oh.....that’s kinda cringe :/

- he’s definitely the johnny figure, he’s the one who’s like “i have BUSINESS SENSE” but cant figure out anything that will actually make money

- allison is kinda like a cross between moira and alexis...she absolutely says “love that journey for me :)” to lila but she also absolutely does the herb erlinger commercial. shes an aspiring actress who’s done a fair amount of bit parts in things, like people might recognize her but they wouldnt know why. 

- a little bit allison.....that’s all im saying

- she directs cabaret 

- klaus is more of a david and alexis cross. before coming to schitt’s creek he was genuinely just here for a laff x. he spent most of his time getting high and traveling the world and he has a lot of very concerning anecdotes about his life that he mentions very casually. he opens the apothecary with dave but it’s much more like. an actual apothecary. herbs and crystals and shit. it’s a miracle it stays open. 

- diego’s goal previously was he was training for american ninja warrior. now hes like “might fuck around and become a private eye” but he’s not actually certified or affiliated with anyone so it’s more like he’s harassing people 

- ben and klaus at one point fake a robbery of the apothecary so that diego can solve it to try to boost his confidence. it doesn’t go as planned

- ben is an aspiring author. he’s been working on the same manuscript for years. none of his siblings think he’ll actually finish it. he’s had a lot of near death experiences that he, similar to klaus, talks about way too casually

- the jocelyn vs moira town council race but it’s allison vs ben. it’s a bloodbath. in the end though allison drops out and ben gets it

- vanya is critically reviewed violinist. she’s very quiet and very shy but her siblings always talk about her like shes some kind of badass? which confuses everyone in town. turns out when she was younger she pulled a mae borowski and nearly killed this kid named leonard who had been bullying her and everyone was like O_O she hasnt done anything like that since but her siblings have never let her live it down

- the beginning of the dead guy in room four episode except every time a sibling walks into the room and lila tells them theres a dead guy theyre like “did vanya do it”

other stuff:

- five diego and lila enter the motel business together. despite the fact that theyre all constantly at each other’s throats, and one of them is a literal teenager, it works. 

- the entire ted and alexis proposal plot but with raymond and allison like literally i dont want to change any of that

- the swedes are on the billboard. “don’t worry, they’re triplets!” 

- genuinely unsure where to put patch and jill in here but i want them here somewhere

- luther: you left without telling anyone where you were! vanya: i texted allison three days ago! everyone: ????? allison: ...god, it was ONE TEXT, vanya!