#also i tried making jacks suit close to 30s suit as possible with my own flair lol

[zombinary]

i’ll share this quick sneak peak. Don’t RB! Just like and...well, leave a reply ig!

#if you ask why rosie n jacks heights arent accurate its bc i want morticia and gomez heights ok. #also i tried making jacks suit close to 30s suit as possible with my own flair lol #i still gotta rehash edd n mollys designs and see if i wanna do any updatez #TWF #The Walten Files #tagging just for blacklist sakez

[dickshardblog]

Moving Day DID NOT Go As Planned

Last time we moved, we vowed we weren't doing it that way again. We rented a U-Haul, asked some friends for help, loaded all of our belongings into a truck, drove them to our next place, and unloaded all of our stuff. "Next time," we said, "next time we're hiring movers."

And this time, we did. We found a service called Bellhop, they had good rates. We booked our move for Friday the 23rd of July. We closed on our new house two weeks before, and we needed to be out of our rental by the 31st. That would give us a week to make sure we left the property in the same condition we found it in.

By the time the movers got there at 2:00pm on Friday, I had already emptied the basement into two separate storage units by transporting boxes in my car. I packed up the library, thousands of books, and moved all of those over to the new place myself. We packed up all our DVDs and Blu-rays, and moved all of them into storage along with the shelving we used to display them. We'd packed up most of the kitchen (the counter-tops were still full of stuff from the cabinets we emptied, we figured we had a week to pack and move the stragglers) and moved the boxes to the front room. We packed up the bedroom and the nursery, and moved most of those boxes to the front room. We left some boxes stacked in the nursery.

We bought a new couch for the new house and were getting rid of the old one. So we told them we didn't need the couch moved. We had some loose items that hadn't made it into boxes on the couch, which also, was not their concern. We showed them the front room, said we needed those boxes, the curio cabinet, computer desk, leave the couch, the desk we used as a TV stand, the TV (surround sound, 4k player, cable box had already been packed and moved), from the kitchen, just the small table, microwave, washer and dryer. No need to move the refrigerator, or the stove, they belonged in the house. Upstairs, we needed two beds, the crib, chest of drawers, computer desk, TV, a nightstand, an etagere, and two small filing cabinets moved.

By this time, a full three quarters of our belongings had already been moved into storage or into the new house. The movers were supposed to come with the expectation that they were moving a two story, two bedroom house into a three bedroom two story house. After they stepped outside and conferred amongst themselves, they came back in and said they were going to need to re-schedule the move … — Scuse, please? You don't re-schedule a fucking move. Moving day is moving day, come hell or high water. Period. Full stop. End of story.

Upon questioning, they said it was to give us more time to prepare for the move … — Scuse, please? For two months we've been spending our evenings and weekends packing and moving the majority of our belongings out of this fucking house while working full time jobs and raising a child. My entire library is already moved, all of the end tables, my massive mixed media collection … two storage units, a 10x10 and a 5x10, and a good portion of my new house was already full of my stuff that I already moved there prior to moving day. What the fuck do you want me to do, take apart all the furniture? That's kind of the point of hiring movers. I don't want to mess with that. I don't want to do it so much, that I'm willing to pay someone else to do it. That's the whole point of hiring the work out.

Anyway, they left and after we picked our jaws up off the floor at the sheer fucking audacity of what had just happened, we re-grouped and scrambled to find a U-Haul truck available at 2:00 pm on a Friday afternoon in late July. Luckily, we found a twenty-six foot truck available. I reserved it, we went and picked it up. It was jacked up. The brake light kept coming on and beeping at me. The brakes seemed fine, and if I turned the truck off and back on again, it stopped until it decided to start up with the beeping again.

I got the truck home at 4:30 pm, and we immediately started loading it as fast as we could. The goal was to get as much as we possibly could into the truck, loading our bed and Rowan's crib last, so we could get the truck to our new house, and unload the crib and bed, get them set up by a fairly reasonable time, go to sleep, and save the rest of the unloading for morning. We stopped loading and headed to our new home around 9:00 pm. We were tired, sweaty, dirty, we hurt all over. And to think — the plan had been to sit back and point at things while we watched fit, muscular men move all our stuff for us. We'd paid good money for it, after all.

I think we got to sleep around 3:00 am the next morning. Nothing went quite as planned. When we got back home with the U-Haul, we realized we didn't have any of Rowan's food, nor her milk, nor any food for us, and we didn't have Sammy's dog food. So, I left Jay to fight with getting Rowan's crib re-assembled on his own while I ran to Kroger and obtained sustenance for my family.

In the morning, I tried to secure the truck for another day. It was already booked. Every 26 foot truck in a 30 mile radius was booked. I tried to get a smaller truck, any truck, for the rest of our stuff. I kept calling all of the U-Haul locations near me. Nobody had a truck. Finally, I called the national number, and they did find a 20 foot truck. So, while Jay dropped Rowan off at his friend Linda's house, I unloaded what I could of the U-Haul. When Jay got back, we unloaded the two-man objects. We went to the U-Haul, swapped out the trucks, and drove back to our old house for round two.

Jay headed back in the car to go pick up Rowan at around 7:00 pm. I kept loading until around 8:30, then drove the second truckload of furniture and boxes back to our new home. We had no plans to unload that night. We would unload in the morning, return the truck, and bring two more carloads home that evening, my Versa and his Optima. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of the next week, I drove the Versa over to the old place after work and brought home a carload. Thursday, we took both cars, we made two trips with the Versa and one with the Optima. Friday, we brought both cars again, loaded them up, and finally got everything out of the old place that we meant to take.

Saturday, July 31st, eight days after some jackasses with no work ethic told us we needed to reschedule our move, I drove to the rental office and dropped off our keys.

I think that in many ways, in some states, when executed properly, the gig economy can be a good thing. In states that have adopted the Affordable Care Act, where self-employed individuals can find affordable health care options, and sensible tax codes. I think it has the potential to be good for workers, employers, and consumers alike. I rely quite heavily on services like Instacart, Shipt, Doordash, and Amazon, all of whom employ gig workers to make deliveries, do the shopping, etc. Most of the time they do a phenomenal job. And when they don't, it's usually because the person you lucked into getting is fairly new, in over their heads, not cut out for the job, and likely won't last long before they seek out something more suitable for them.

But a moving company is not suited for gig workers at all. Moving a person's belongings with the care and respect they deserve is a learned skill that most people don't possess. Let's face it, Americans love their things. Their shiny baubles. Their found treasures. I was already nervous that the movers might just be careless and break things without a thought. I was nervous that they wouldn't show at all. I didn't imagine they'd show up and then go, "Meh, too hard."

We wanted professional movers, and they sent us college kids with no work ethic, no sense of obligation to honor an agreement, and absolutely no clue what goes into moving all of ones belongings from one house to another. Every time I think back, I think up fresh, new ways I should have berated them as they beat a hasty retreat from my rented property.

Next time we move, I swear, we're hiring professional movers.

#moving #bellhop #gig workers #gig economy #work ethic #hell week

[spiderman-homecomeme]

day five - the baby-sitters club

ROOMMATES AU

A/N: DAY FIVE WOO!!! get ready for some softness!! This fic was very strongly inspired by the fact that for quarantine, I’ve been watching my sister’s two kids for her while she works from home. But instead of giving MJ a two year old and a nine month old, I thought I’d give her a baby and Peter. So two babies. 

Thanks @spideychelleweek​ again!!

Enjoy 5.1k of FLUFF, BABIES, and oh my GOD they were roommates

Read here or on AO3

-

come home

baby 

The text messages stare back up at him, taunting; the three words laughing maniacally as he tries to figure out what it all means, what his roommate of nearly two-and-a-half years MJ means when she sends him something so straightforward, yet still so cryptic.

There’s no chance in the world that she means what he’s thinking she means… that the gutter his mind immediately swan-dives into is in any way the right place to be. MJ, blunt and honest as she is, isn’t someone who just puts herself out there so forwardly.

He’s seen her flirt, and frankly, she’s almost as bad at it as he is. 

Granted, she’s been successful a few more times than he has, but still. 

In the area of romance and relationships, MJ might as well have that same Parker-Luck.

He realizes mid-swing that he still hasn’t sent any reply. He responds with an appropriate amount of question marks—three to be exact—before his body seems to move on its own accord, cutting off his early Saturday-afternoon patrol short by about half-an-hour and swinging him home at an almost embarrassing speed.

When, his phone pings again.

please I need you

At that, he clumsily misses a shot, forgetting who and where he is, stomach flipping as he hits free-fall for a fraction of a second before catching himself. 

His next thought is that this all has to be some accident. Perhaps it’s for someone else; perhaps she knows another Peter, another person she has under “Loser” in her phone. And, weirdly enough, the thought of someone else being so lovingly given that title brings with it a strange feeling in his chest. 

Or maybe he’s just completely misunderstanding the statement, which wouldn’t be all that unusual for him. After all, it’s damn near impossible to get someone’s true meaning in a text message. Sarcasm can fall flat when read. The difference between a period and an exclamation point can be monumental. The list goes on. 

Though, Peter likes to think in his years of being MJ’s friend, plus the two-and-a-half of being her roommate, that he’s come to know her pretty well, that he’s got all of her phrases and mannerisms tucked away in the “MJ” file in his brain. 

Still, after years of friendship, he’d be dumb to think she’d have run out of ways to surprise him. 

But what would he even do if a) MJ meant everything literally and b) it wasn’t some accident and she actually, honestly, truly meant it for him?

Really. What would he even do? He has no idea.

He starts to wonder if maybe it’s code for something else when he nearly splats face-first into his fifth-story window, almost losing himself completely in his thoughts. Sliding the window open as quickly as possible, he practically falls into his room, not caring about whether he’s being silent  or not. (MJ found out his secret years ago, even before they were really even friends.) He nearly trips over his suit as it flies off, and he stumbles as he yanks on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the night before. 

Without another thought, he bursts out of his room, following the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. 

What he finds, however, isn’t something he’d ever considered in a million years. 

MJ’s there alright, standing in front of the open fridge, searching through the various fruits and vegetables. A perfectly normal occurrence. Nothing to be concerned about. 

Only there’s a slight difference. 

There’s a baby resting comfortably on her hip, one of its tiny hands reaching out to grab at the stray locks of hair falling from MJ’s ponytail as she ducks her head. 

“Uh…” Peter starts, the confusion just coming right out of him. “Hi?”

MJ barely even registers that Peter’s even there. “Oh hey, man.” She’s the very essence of nonchalance as she places some deli-sliced turkey and pepper jack cheese on the counter, her other hand instinctively coming up to stop the baby from grabbing any of it. 

At his bewildered silence, she finally meets his gaze, ignoring the infant in her grasp desperately trying to get its chubby hands on the jar of mayo. “What’s up?”

come home

baby

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds that nothing comes out at first. He blows out a puff of air through his lips. “I was—I was gonna ask about… your... text…?” He pauses again, his brow furrowed as he glances between her and the tiny human on her hip. “...But I think I understand now.” He huffs out a laugh. 

“Oh,” MJ nods, adjusting her grip as she closes the refrigerator door with her foot. “Yeah. That.” 

Peter eyes her expectantly. A beat passes. 

“What?” She asks innocently, as if she wasn’t just holding a random baby in their kitchen. 

“You wanna…” Peter gestures to her, his finger going back and forth between her and the infant. “Explain… The baby?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, my bad.” She goes to the pantry to grab the loaf of bread before turning to look at him again. “This is my son,” she deadpans. “I didn’t tell you?”

“MJ—”

“—you’re the father.”

Peter only returns with an unblinking, unimpressed stare. 

“I adopted him this morning.”

Peter blinks.

MJ waits a moment before apparently giving up the joke. “Okay, fine.” She rolls her eyes. “This is my nephew, Oliver. He’s eight months old, and my sister asked me to watch him for the day. I thought the text I sent was pretty clear, though.” There’s a faint smirk on her lips as she says that last bit, an expression that never fails to make Peter’s face warm. 

“I mean, it wasn’t,” Peter responds, returning her joking expression, his mind flashing back to the panic he was in not five minutes ago. “But it’s whatever.” He looks down at the baby in her arms, his smirk melting into a wide, easy smile. “Hi, Oliver!” 

Little Oliver stares blankly for a moment before turning to bury his face in MJ’s shoulder. 

And it’s the fact that Peter doesn’t immediately get a smile in return that makes him feel like literal human garbage. 

MJ seems to notice his disappointment. “It’s okay,” She says, bouncing the little one slightly. “Oliver’s kinda iffy with strangers at first. He’ll warm up to you.”

Hmm, sounds familiar, Peter thinks. 

A stretch of silence falls over the room, Oliver breaking it with a string of babbles consisting of only “guy” and the occasional “buh,” as he smacks at MJ’s shoulder, his other hand reaching for her hair once again. 

“Need any help?” Peter asks, remembering her last text to him, and also seeing the pained expression on her face as Oliver successfully gets a fistful of her curls and tugs it toward his slobbery mouth. 

“Um, yeah, actually,” MJ puts her sandwich makings down before walking over and holding her nephew out to him, simultaneously trying to free her hair from his tiny, vice grip. “Can you take him while I make my lunch?” 

Peter pauses a moment, eyeing the two of them before carefully holding his hands out. “Uh, sure...” 

MJ doesn’t miss the trepidation in his tone, but she also doesn’t seem to address it. Instead, she just hands him the baby, not waiting to see if he’s ready or anything. 

Luckily, Peter’s reflexes are fast, and he’s able to hang on to little Oliver, even if it is slightly awkward. Both of his arms are wrapped around the small torso, the eight month old pushing back against his chest, letting out a frustrated whine. The pleading expression on Peter’s face as he turns to face MJ again causes her to huff out a sudden laugh. 

Peter moves one of his hands to support the head, though he feels more and more that he’s losing control of the baby in his arms that desperately wants to look around the room. 

Again, MJ puts her ingredients down, making her way back over. “Just… hold him under his butt.” Gently, she guides Peter’s hands with her own to a more comfortable position, a touch under any normal circumstances would make him question his sanity. “He’s old enough to hold himself up, so you don’t need to like, support the back of his head or anything.”

Having never had much experience with babies—no little siblings, cousins, or his own nieces and nephews—this is entirely uncharted territory for Peter. His only interactions with littles have been through his work as Spider-Man. While it’s true that he’s saved one or two from burning buildings, this is something entirely different. 

And it becomes abundantly clear that Oliver can still sense the insecurity, even as Peter’s hold improves, when he starts letting out quiet, fussy whimpers. “Ahhh,” Peter panics for a moment, eyes wide as he looks to MJ for help, before adjusting his grip again, allowing the baby into a more natural position. 

“See? Super easy,” MJ says as she cuts her sandwich in half. 

Neither boy seems completely at ease with the other.

“I guess,” Peter replies, lightly bouncing on his feet. “Need any more help besides this?”

“Sure.” MJ looks up from her lunch before taking a bite. “But don’t think this means you’re getting any of my paycheck,” she jokes through a mouthful of turkey sandwich. “This isn’t some Baby-Sitters Club shit, alright?” 

Peter gives a firm nod. "Understood."

“Okay, well. Here’s the rundown,” She says as she finishes her lunch and begins to make her way into the living room. “My sister will be back tonight at 6:30. Before then, he needs to eat and sleep about every three hours. Last bottle was… thirty minutes ago? So he’ll need another one at about… two-ish, and then a nap right after.”

While she’s talking, rattling off the to-do list, the softest smile forms on Peter’s face as he listens and follows her. 

“And then, of course, we’ll have to change his diaper a lot, give him a new one before and after his nap and…” She notices her roommate staring, his eyes tinted with humor. “What?”

Peter coughs, clearing his throat, the tips of his ears turning an embarrassing shade of pink, though his smile never leaves. “Oh, uh, nothing. You just… you seem to have this down to a science. Like you care. A lot.”

She jerks her head back in mild surprise. “Well, yeah. He’s my nephew. And I told my sister he’d be back in one piece.”

“That’s fair,” Peter concedes.

“Plus, I’m not you,” she teases. “I don’t half-ass jobs.”

“Hey!” Peter’s eyes narrow at her, and he brings a hand to his chest, wounded, but he can’t seem to drop the dopey little grin her teasing brings. 

“In the meantime—” MJ sits down on the ground, motioning for Peter to follow suit. “—we can just play with him.”

Peter nods, though he struggles to find a way down that’s comfortable for both him and Oliver. He wonders if he should put the baby down first? Or if it’s completely safe to just sit. And again, his hesitation is clear, both to Oliver and to MJ. 

“Dude, just put him down.” She says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“Yeah—Yeah, I—” Peter shifts on his feet. “I got that part.”

Oliver lets out the beginning of an anxious cry.

With another awkward side-step, Peter seems to figure it out, either from actually piecing it together or from not wanting the tiny human in his arms to start screaming, he’s not sure. He gently—and perhaps with an overwhelming amount of caution—places the eight month old on the ground. Oliver, still crying, glances around frantically. His wails stop almost immediately, his face lighting up, positively beaming when his eyes meet MJ’s. 

Michelle only gives him half-a-smirk and there’s a big, happy grin on his chubby face.

Oliver’s eyes move from hers after a beat, darting around the room curiously before landing on Peter. 

Peter puts on a silly smile. “Hey, buddy!” He greets in his best impression of a baby-talk voice. 

Though Oliver seems to be mildly fascinated by this new stranger, his expression shows that he’s less than impressed at the attempt.

And looking up, Peter sees the same look on MJ’s face.

Michelle, however, seems to take pity on her poor roommate, swooping in to rescue him from further embarrassment in front of a literal eight month old child. “He really likes when you blow raspberries at him,” MJ offers. “He’ll either laugh or do one back. It’s cute.”

Peter nods, though he doesn’t try.

MJ sits forward, getting her nephews attention, sticking her tongue out and letting out a harsh puff of air. As if on cue, Oliver lets out one of quite possibly the cutest sounds Peter’s ever heard. The baby’s eyes widen first, mouth forming a tiny little circle before he breaks into giggles, eyes barely open, his smile wide and gummy. When she does it a second time, his hands fly to his face, curled into tiny little fists. 

Peter has to physically hold back the audible awwww that threatens to just come right out of him at the sight. 

It takes a third time for Oliver to blow a raspberry back at MJ. It’s clumsy, and a bit of his drool flies out everywhere, but even then, Michelle’s unable to keep the small grin from tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

It’s when Peter tries, tongue stuck out with some forced air, that little Oliver’s smile slowly fades, his tiny features now fixed into a calculating expression. 

Almost instantly, Peter deflates. 

MJ starts to stand, putting a toy in front of the baby before giving Peter a gentle pat on the shoulder. “It’s okay, tiger. You’ll get ‘em next time.” She stretches her hands high above her head, the action earning another squeal of delight from Oliver. 

Oh, come on! Bare minimum, Peter thinks. 

In fact, almost everything Michelle seems to do gets the same reaction. She’s not a particularly sunny, bubbly person—far from it—but even her blank, impassive stares seem to incite rounds and rounds of uncontrollable giggles from her nephew. 

“Hey, can you watch him while I run to the bathroom?” MJ asks, already walking in that direction. 

“Yeah—yeah,” Peter nods, pressing his lips together. “Totally.”

Oliver doesn’t immediately notice when she’s gone, and he sits there, happily chewing on the soft toy that Michelle had placed in front of him. Though, when he realizes that he’s been left alone with the stranger, he grows restless. 

Peter sees his opportunity. “Hey! Hey Buddy! Hey Oliver!” He says with an overdramatic excitement. Again, he blows a quiet raspberry at the little one, feeling just slightest bit of success when one of the corners of Oliver’s mouth quirks upward for the briefest of moments. 

But the feeling quickly dissipates when Oliver’s attention goes back to the clearly more interesting toy. 

It does rattle, after all. 

Peter sits back on his hands, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he tries to come up with another way to get this dang baby to smile. If he could get him to laugh, bonus points. But now, all he needs is the teeniest, tiniest smile, and maybe he’ll feel like he can actually succeed in life. 

He doesn’t take a second to think about how he’s banking all of his future self-worth on whether or not a baby thinks he’s funny enough. Much less likes him.

But something catches Oliver’s curious eyes, and he turns to look at Peter—or rather, Peter’s hands. Turning his gaze downward, Peter sees that the simple bands of his webshooters—though the ‘shooty’ part of them is put away—are still on his wrists, and the dark silver metal is shining in the pocket of sunlight on the living room floor. 

Oliver lets out an excited, intrigued coo. He leans forward, tiny little noises of exertion coming from his as he starts army crawling to Peter’s place on the floor. 

And really, Peter can’t help himself. He picks Oliver up again, placing him back in a sitting position before taking one of the bands off his wrist. “You wanna see this, buddy?” Peter asks in a gentle tone, holding out the webshooter to the infant. “It looks cool, huh?”

Oliver takes the metal band into his tiny, chubby hands, his mouth set into a little circle, his eyes wide as he shakes the new toy furiously. 

“You like ‘em, little dude?” 

Oliver answers with a loud, excited “Ah!” In the same breath, he brings the webshooter to his mouth. 

And although Peter’s reflexes are fast, he can’t stop the eight month old from chomping on the cold metal between his gums. 

“Oliver!” Peter says, surprised that there’s a laugh underneath his tone. “You’re not supposed to chew on it!”

“What is he chewing on?” MJ’s voice is behind him again as she walks back into the room. 

Peter barely turns around to look at her as he responds. “My webshooter.”

“Oh, my God! Peter, I leave for one second—” Michelle instantly moves to her nephew, taking the metal band from his tiny grasp, setting it on the coffee table before joining them on the floor. “You let him put that in his mouth?”

“He seemed interested in it!” Peter defends. 

“He’s a baby, dude.” MJ stares at him. “He’s interesting in literally everything.”

“Not me…” Peter mutters under his breath before speaking at a normal volume again. “All I did was hand it to him!”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. “You let him—a baby, who you saw earlier trying to eat my hair—hold your webshooter, not thinking he was going to want to chew on it?”

Peter tilts his head, bottom lip poking out as he shrugs. She has a fair point. He did not think that through. Upon this moment of realization, he flinches, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

And at that, at his evident regret, she seems to soften. A sigh escapes her. “It’s fine, dude.” She laughs. “I’ve definitely let him chew on things that were just as bad before I learned. It was one time, but… I’ve been there.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, holding his head back as he looks at her from the corner of his eye. 

Her gaze shifts around the room, avoiding his for some reason. “No prob.”

The moment, tiny and seemingly insignificant as it is, is ending with another excited, incoherent, attention-demanding yell from the baby in front of them.

They play with Oliver for the rest of the early-afternoon, Peter still never getting anything more than a half-smile, if even that. Michelle always getting them effortlessly, without even trying, her nephew clearly smitten with her. 

And it’s not like Peter’s stopped trying. In fact, he might even say—or rather, he might be influenced by MJ saying—that he’s trying a little too hard maybe. He has tried everything though, it seems. Once he’s more comfortable holding the baby, he tries swinging him up into the air, but that only gets a few, ever so faint, single laughs. Nothing like the giggles that MJ gets out of him. 

Oliver’s even grown to be more comfortable around Peter, no longer glancing around frantically, looking to be rescued when placed in his arms. The baby even holds onto him, something MJ says is one of his little signs that he does indeed “like you.”

So, in theory, Peter should be able to make this baby smile. Make him laugh. 

But, it’s much easier said than done. At least for him. 

When one-thirty rolls around, MJ gets a call from her boss. Nothing to worry about, she says, but one she needs to take outside. 

Peter being much more confident, thinks nothing of it. In fact, he finds it to be the perfect opportunity to really master this whole baby thing. Even with no experience, he’s finding this easier than he’d ever thought. It just comes more naturally to him the more time he spends with Oliver. 

It’s weird in the coolest way. 

There are various, multi-colored blocks on the floor in front of Oliver, one of them between his drooly, chubby hands and in his mouth. He spares a few glances at Peter, once again, only a corner of his mouth quirking upward, though this one does seem to reach his eyes. 

Peter will take that as one of the many steps of an actual win. 

But nothing else seems to come out of it, Oliver just chewing on his block while Peter sits there in silent contemplation. Not wanting to try anything new, Peter goes back to the initial method. The classic, farty raspberries. 

Peter blows one at him, Oliver taking the block out of his mouth to flail his arms the slightest bit. 

Now, that’s something, Peter thinks. 

Peter does it again, earning the same, cute reaction; arms waving a little harder this time. At the third time, he doesn’t get the giggle he’s looking for, but an energetic squeal before Oliver sticks his little tongue out and blows a raspberry right back at him. 

In Oliver’s excitement at the fourth time, he flails a little too hard, losing his balance and tumbling over to the right and onto the soft carpet. His head just barely bumps the bright green block, and at first, his expression is blank and slightly confused. 

And then, there’s a second; one where Peter hears the sharp, deep intake of breath.

Oliver lets out a scared, long wail. It trails off, hiccuping as he lets out another scream. Peter instantly moves to him, taking the baby into his arms and holding him to his chest. His hand rests at the back of his small head, and he softly shh’s him, murmuring gentle, if not a little bit panicked, words of reassurance. 

“It’s okay, buddy! You’re okay!” Peter’s attempt at comforting the crying baby is valiant, but it doesn’t pay off. His voice comes out too shaky, no matter how quiet it is. 

When the door opens, MJ shutting it behind her, Peter looks up as if to thank whatever higher being that graciously decided to take pity on him. 

MJ’s brow is pinched together, her expression concerned. “What happened?” 

Peter’s heart seems to have fallen into his stomach, and his stomach into his butt. “Uh…” He takes a breath. “He—he fell and... hit his head on—on one of the blocks.” 

MJ holds her hands out to take the baby that’s too distracted by its own crying to even notice. “It’s okay,” she says to Oliver (and to Peter). “It happens sometimes. That’s how he learns to keep his balance.” She rocks back and forth, speaking softly to little Oliver as he clings desperately to her shirt, crying into her collarbone. “Auntie MJ, I fell over,” She speaks for him in a gentle tone, quiet enough that Peter probably wouldn’t be able to hear without his super senses. “It was so scary!” 

The crying soon turns to quiet whimpers that line up perfectly with her rocks from side-to-side; it’s almost as if he’s telling her all about what happened. 

Peter watches, a smile forming on his lips at the gentleness coming from his friend before him in spite of the near-crippling fear he’d just experienced moments before. He’s never really seen MJ this soft before, speaking with such tenderness. A few times, maybe, when she’s seen an animal; a dog, a cat, a bumblebee, a dragonfly, even the wayward spider, but nothing like this before. 

The crying eventually stops, and little Oliver looks up at MJ. She smiles down at him, lightly squeezing his sides under his armpits, and a tiny grin breaks across his features as he reaches his chubby hands out to her cheeks. 

MJ can feel Peter’s eyes and smile burning into her. 

“What?” She asks, perhaps a little defensive. 

“Nothing!” Peter says immediately, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Just… Interesting—Nice, I mean, seeing you… with him.”

She raises a curious, almost judging brow, still rocking on her feet. 

“I mean—” Peter huffs out a laugh. “You don’t really like people all that much.”

“I mean… I don’t know. When you think about it, babies aren’t really people yet?” MJ reasons, scrunching her face playfully at the baby in her arms. “Like, of course they’re physically people, but… They aren’t terrible, yet. And I think they should be rewarded for that.”

Peter laughs again, not able to stop the fond shake of his head as MJ blows another raspberry at her nephew. 

Not long after, two o’clock comes. MJ once again leaves Peter to watch Oliver while she goes and heats up a bottle. Thankfully, nothing happens this time around. In fact, it’s pretty uneventful. Peter sits across from the baby, showing him how to stack a set of colorful rings on a wooden stick. 

Of course, he still doesn’t get a smile, but… it’s fine.

MJ returns just minutes later, Oliver’s eyes going wide, cooing in excitement, when he sees what’s in her hand. He seems to dance in place, his limbs flailing about when she goes to pick him up. “Alright, my dude, let’s get you some milk and then a nap.”

“He doesn’t seem super tired, though?” Peter asks rather than states.

Again, as if on cue, even amidst his sheer excitement, Oliver lets out a yawn, bringing his tiny fists up to rub at his eyes.

MJ raises a brow that speaks volumes. 

Peter shuts up. 

Peter gets a much need break as MJ feeds her nephew, both of them scrolling on their phones as the little one practically inhales his meal. But soon, as he gets to where there’s about a fourth of the bottle left, his small eyelids seem to grow heavier and heavier, and he struggles to keep them both open. And even sooner after that, as he finishes the last drop, little snoozes can be heard as he falls fast asleep on his aunt. 

Peter looks up then, just a few moments later, having not been paying attention, seeing that MJ’s shifting to laying down on the couch, her nephew cuddled up beside her. Her own eyes are closed, her arms above her head as she starts to drift off. 

And at that, he takes a chance, moving as quietly as he can to go stand above the slumbering duo. He pulls his phone out, swiping to the camera, taking a single picture, when MJ cracks an eye open, feeling his presence. 

“What are you doing?” She asks sleepily. 

Peter barely looks up from his phone, lips pulled back into a mischievous grin. “Getting blackmail. In case I need it.”

“Oh?” MJ questions, unable to keep from closing her eyes again.  

“Yeah.” Peter puts his phone away. “Imagine what everyone would think seeing big, tough, mean Michelle Jones cuddling with a baby.”

MJ rolls her eyes. “Come on. You’ve done way more embarrassing things. This is nothing.”

Peter nods. “Fair.”

“Plus,” MJ continues, though she can’t stop the playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I can just murder you if you ever show that to anyone. No biggie.”

Peter covers his mouth as he lets out a surprised snort. 

--

“Thank you so much for watching him!” 

Peter hears a new voice from the living room. He steps over the threshold, seeing Michelle’s sister standing in the front doorway, empty baby carrier next to her feet, Oliver happily on her hip. 

MJ shrugs. “No problem.” Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Peter. “Oh, Lara, this is my roommate, Peter. He helped out.”

Lara’s smile widens as she reaches her free hand out to shake his. “Hi Peter. Thanks for helping my dear sister take care of this little monster.” She punctuates that statement with a tickle in her son’s side, earning a hiccuping giggle. 

Peter can’t help but grin. “Anytime.”

“But just because he helped doesn’t mean you should pay him,” MJ cuts in before throwing a teasing wink to her friend. 

Lara ignores her sister’s comment. “Peter, just find me on facebook, send me your venmo, we’ll figure it out. Simple.”

“No, no.” Peter waves her off. “That’s really—that’s okay,” he chuckles nervously, gaze flitting between the older sister and his roommate. 

Lara shrugs. “We’ll figure it out,” she repeats. She takes one of Oliver’s hands in hers. “Alright, Oliver. Wave bye-bye to your Aunt MJ and… Peter.” She shrugs again, this time more apologetic. 

MJ waves back at her nephew, moving forward to give him a little boop on his chubby cheeks. “See ya later, bud. Till the next time.” 

The baby grins, wide and happy. 

Peter waves, too, putting on his best, biggest, most genuine smile yet. “Bye bye, Oliver!” 

And finally.

FINALLY.

The wonderful, adorable, gummy little grin of validation that Peter wanted so badly stretches across the little one’s features. Oliver turns his head, bashfully burying his face into his mother’s hair. She smiles, putting her son into the carrier. 

“Thanks, guys,” Lara offers with a final wave, closing the door behind her. 

The apartment is quiet, the click of the shutting door echoing between the two roommates as they stand there. Peter’s the first to look over; he doesn’t turn his head, sneaking little glances from the corner of his eye. 

And he sees MJ do the same once. 

“Well, that was fun,” he offers lamely, rocking back on his heels. “We made a good team!”

“Yup,” MJ agrees, pressing her lips together. 

He turns to her. “For real, though. I had a blast,” he says earnestly. 

She turns to him. “Me, too,” she replies, and he swears he can detect a hint of shyness to her tone. 

And for a moment, they just stare at each other, neither one of them saying anything. The words unsaid hanging between them like a thick blanket. 

Peter clears his throat. “MJ… Today… Kinda got me thinking—”

“—Oh my, God. Yes. We should have a baby together.”

Her words nearly knock him right out of his head and into the astral plane. If he were a cartoon, he’s sure he’d have those damn stars and cuckoo circling his head like a giant anvil had just landed on top of him. 

“What?!”

She breaks, her laughter filling the apartment. “Dude, I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Geez.”

Peter breathes out a laugh, nodding slowly. 

He really had been right, he thinks as she playfully ruffles his hair and walks past him into the kitchen, asking what he wants to do for dinner; he’s right that even after all the years he’s spent with MJ, she never fails to run out of ways to mess with him. 

“Yeah…” His mouth twists as he tries to hide his smile, glancing briefly at the door, then at the toys that had been left at their apartment just in case there was another day of babysitting. He laughs, mostly to himself. “We’d be horrible parents anyway.”

#spideychelle #spideychelleweek2k20 #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #mcu #spider-man #fic

[back-and-totheleft]

‘There’s still a presence out there reminding people not to speak about JFK’s killing’

Oliver Stone is not a fan of “cancel culture”. “Of course I despise it,” the Oscar winning filmmaker says, as if utterly amazed that anyone needs to ask him such a dumb question. “I am sure I’ve been cancelled by some people for all the comments I’ve made…. it’s like a witch hunt. It’s terrible. American censorship in general, because it is a declining, defensive, empire, it (America) has become very sensitive to any criticism. What is going on in the world with YouTube and social media,” he rants. “Twitter is the worst. They’ve banned the ex-President of the United States. It’s shocking!” he says, referring to Donald Trump’s removal from the micro-blogging platform.

It’s a Saturday lunchtime in the restaurant of the Marriott Hotel on the Croisette in Cannes. The American director is in town for the festival premiere this week of his new feature documentary JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass, in which he yet again pores over President John F Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963.

“I am a pin cushion for American-Russian peace relations… I had four f***ing vaccines: two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” Stone gestures at his arm. The rival super-powers may remain deeply suspicious of one another, but Stone is loading himself up with potions from both sides of the old Iron Curtain.

He has recently been travelling in Russia (hence the Sputnik jabs) where he has been making a new documentary about how nuclear power can save humanity. He also recently completed a film about Kazakhstan’s former president Nursultan Nazarbayev which – like his interviews with Vladimir Putin – has been roundly ridiculed for its deferential, softly-softly approach toward a figure widely regarded as a ruthless despot.

Dressed in a blue polo shirt, riffing away about the English football team one moment and his favourite movies the next, laughing constantly, the 74-year-old Oscar-winning director of Platoon, Wall Street, Natural Born Killers et al is a far cheerier presence than his reputation as a purveyor of dark conspiracy thrillers might suggest. He is also very outspoken. For all his belligerence, though, Stone isn’t as thick-skinned as you might imagine. I wonder if he was hurt by the scorn that came his way when his feature film JFK was released in 1991.

“I was more of a younger man. It was painful to me,” the director sighs as he remembers being attacked by such admired figures as newscaster Walter Cronkite and Hollywood power broker Jack Valenti for listening to the “hallucinatory bleatings” of former New Orleans DA Jim Garrison when JFK came out. “It was quite shocking actually because I thought the murder was behind us. I did think there was a feeling that 30 years later, we can look at this thing again without getting excited. But I was way wrong.”

Garrison, of course, was the real-life figure portrayed by Kevin Costner in the film; he was the original proponent of the theory that the CIA were involved in the killing of the US president, after his 1966 investigation. Garrison wrote the book On the Trail of the Assassins, on which the movie was partly based.

Even the director’s fiercest detractors will find it hard to dismiss the evidence he has assembled about the JFK assassination in the new documentary. Once I’d seen it and heard him hold forth, I came away thinking that only flat-earthers can possibly still believe that Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy all on his own. It’s that convincing.

Stone blitzes you with facts and figures about the Kennedy killing and its aftermath. At times, he himself seems to be suffering from information overload. “I am sorry. There are so many people,” he apologises for not immediately remembering the name of Kennedy’s personal physician, George Burkley, who was present both at Parkland Hospital, where Kennedy was first taken, and then at Bethesda, where the autopsy took place. Burkley was strangely reticent when giving evidence to the Warren Commission.

“I think there’s still a presence out there which reminds people not to speak. I’ve heard that in, of all places, Russia,” Stone says. He was startled to discover that the Russians knew all about his new documentary long before it was discussed in the mainstream press. “They said, ‘We heard about it.’ I said, ‘How?’ They said, ‘We have our contacts in the American intelligence business. They are not very happy about it.’”

Stone believes that no US president since Kennedy died has been “able to go up against this militarised sector of our economy”. Even Trump “backed down at the last second” and declined to release all the relevant documents relating to the assassination. “He announced, ‘I’m going to free it up, blah blah blah, big talk, and then a few hours before, he caved to CIA National Security again.”

The veteran filmmaker expresses his frustrations at historians like Robert Caro, author of a huge (and hugely respected) multi-volume biography of President Lyndon Johnson, for ignoring the evidence that has been turned up about the assassination.

“I can’t say [LBJ] was involved in the assassination,” explains Stone, “but it certainly suited him that Kennedy was not there anymore and he covered up by appointing the Warren Commission and doing all the things he did.”

Stone tried to cast Marlon Brando in JFK in the role as the deep throat source Mr X, eventually played by Donald Sutherland.

“I realise now I am grateful that he turned it down because he knew better than I that he would make 20 minutes out of that 14-minute monologue and it wouldn’t have worked.”

Nevertheless, he filled the film with famous faces. He thought that having familiar actors would make it easier for audiences to engage with what was an immensely complicated story.

Getting Stone to stop talking about JFK is like trying to pull a bone from a mastiff’s jaws. To change the subject slightly, I ask if he is still in touch with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. He is and is utterly horrified at how Assange is being treated, especially given that Siggi the Hacker, a key witness in the extradition case against Assange, admitted recently that he lied. Stone praises Assange’s partner Stella Morris as “the best wife you could ever have. She really is smart, she’s a lawyer … he has two children. He can’t even touch them or see them. It’s barbaric. It indicates America is declining faster than we know. It is just cutting off dissent.”

The mood lightens when I invite Stone to discuss some of his favourite films. He recently tweeted a list of these, which included Darling starring Julie Christie, Joseph Losey’s Eva starring Stanley Baker and Jeanne Moreau, and Houseboat, a frothy comedy starring Cary Grant and Sophia Loren. “I love films, always have. People don’t know that side of me. I could go on forever.”

Between his darker and more contentious efforts, Stone has made a few genre films himself, for example the underrated thriller U-Turn starring Sean Penn and Jennifer Lopez. He notes, though, that even when he tried a sports movie, he ended up right back in the firing line. The NFL was furious about his 1999 American Football film, Any Given Sunday. “They (the NFL) are arrogant, very rich people who close down any dissent, so I had to change uniforms and names… but they got the point.”

Last year, Stone published the first volume of his autobiography, Chasing the Light, which took him from childhood up to his Oscar triumph with Platoon. It was well received but it didn’t make nearly a big enough splash for his liking. “There was a curtain of silence about that. Maybe it is Covid… it was not reviewed by many people,” he says. “I wish the timing had been better. The publisher was terrible. They didn’t really promote anything. So now I have to start over again if I am going to do a second book, which I would love to do. But I have to find the right publisher.”

The book contains a barbed account of Stone’s experiences as a young screenwriter working in London for British director Alan Parker and producer David Puttnam on Midnight Express. “I wrote about it in the book, so you got my point of view. They were not very friendly people. I gave my criticism of Parker that he had a chip on his shoulder. He was from a poor side of the English. There is this phenomenon you see in England of hating the upper classes until they approve of you.”

No, they didn’t stay in touch. “And Puttnam is a Lord, right? He reminds me of Tony Blair. He is such a weasel.” For once, Stone feels he has overstepped the mark. He doesn’t want to call Puttnam a weasel after all. “Put it this way, Tony Blair is a weasel. I wouldn’t trust Tony Blair. Puttnam is a supporter of Blair. Let’s leave it at that.”

On matters English, he isn’t that keen on soccer either. He watched the semi-final between England and Denmark but had no intention of tuning into the final.

“Soccer is a different kind of game. It’s a different aesthetic. It is constant movement. The United States game allows you to re-group after every play and go into a huddle and so it becomes about strategy. I still enjoy it although people think I am brutal.”

Ask him why he so relishes American Football and he replies that he “grew up with violence in America … we were banging – cowboys and Indians, a lot of killing and that stuff. How do you get away from that? We weren’t playing with dolls.”

Stone’s feelings about the US are deeply ambivalent. He is old enough to remember a time in the late 1940s and early 1950s when “everything in America was golden” and part of him still seems to love the country but his mother was French and he talks about the US as a nation now in near terminal decline.

Perhaps surprisingly, his real political hero isn’t JFK. It’s the former President of France, Charles de Gaulle. “He said no to NATO and he said no to America. He understood the dangers of being a satellite country to America. You have no power in Europe. Don’t kid yourself. The EU is just an artificial body that was amazingly stupid in cutting off Russia and cutting off China too now.”

He doesn’t much like Boris Johnson either. “Boris, listen. He’d simply throw you in jail in a second.” He rails against the English for holding Assange in Belmarsh prison.

When he is not on a crusade or unravelling a conspiracy, Stone relaxes through Buddhist meditation. “Moderation in all things,” the man who came up with the phrase “greed is right, greed works” says with no evident sense of irony. He enjoys hanging out with his friends. “I have a nice life. I’m lucky,” he says before quickly adding, “I wish I had been more honoured and respected in my lifetime, but it seems that I took a course that is in conflict with the American Empire.”

Stone’s films have had relatively few strong female characters. Ask if he welcomes the #MeToo movement and the challenging of old gender norms and he gives a typically contrary answer. “It cuts both ways, though. There are reasons for patriarchy through the centuries,” he says. “Tribes tend to have a strong leader. You need strong leaders, but I do see the feminine impulse as being important, especially when situations become too militant. The feminine impulse, I’m talking about the maternal impulse not the Hillary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher version of feminism. They’re men. They’re not women,” he says. “I don’t want women in politics who want to be men. If a woman is a woman, she should be a woman and bring her maternalism. It’s a leavening influence.”

The director deplores the rush to judge historical figures about past misdeeds from a contemporary point of view. “I am conservative in that way… don’t expect to rejudge the entire society based on your new values.”

He met with Harvey Weinstein in Cannes a few years ago to discuss a potential Guantanamo Bay TV series. “At that point, maybe he knew he was on the ropes; he was delightfully charming and humble.” The project was scuppered by the scandal that that engulfed the former Miramax boss, who is now behind bars as a convicted sex offender. Stone’s gripes with Weinstein are less to do with his sexual offences than with the way that he attacked films like Born on the Fourth of July and Saving Private Ryan to boost his own movies.

“The press loved him [Weinstein]. Don’t forget, they loved him in the 1990s,” he says, remembering the disingenuous way in which Weinstein portrayed himself as the underdog taking on the big, bad Hollywood system.

“I think he robbed Cruise of the Oscar, frankly,” Stone huffs at the intensive Weinstein lobbying which saw Daniel Day-Lewis win the Academy Award for Best for My Left Foot, denying Tom Cruise for Born on the Fourth of July in the process.

Stone acknowledges his status in Hollywood has diminished. “All that’s gone. The people have changed,” he says of the days when the studios doted on him and his films were regularly awards contenders. Now, he’ll often finance his work out of Europe. He is developing a new feature film (he won’t say what it is). “Never say die, never say it’s over,” he says of his career.

Stone is based in Los Angeles and also has “a place in New York”. During the pandemic, he still managed to travel to Russia to make his nuclear power/clean energy documentary. “I got my shots over there because the EU is so f***ing stupid,” he says of the of the Europeans’ refusal to recognise the Sputnik vaccine. “It’s ridiculous, part of the political madness of this time.”

Now, he is putting all his energy into his new documentary about nuclear power. He waves away the idea that the Chernobyl and Fukushima disasters show what can go wrong – they were accidents.

“Accidents you learn from. If there were not a few crashes, how would you fly?” he says. It’s a line that somehow seems to express his entire philosophy of life.

-Geoffrey Macnab interviews Oliver Stone, The Independent, Jul 15 2021 [x]

#oliver stone #jfk #jfk: through the looking glass #the independent #julian assange #boris johnson #david puttnam #harvey weinstein #born on the fourth of july #covid19 #vaccine #chasing the light #cannes film festival

[eos-teric]

Relationship Reading 101

I often find requests in my mailbox for readings related to love life, couples, romantic interests. By personal choice I don't do that: it’s already extremely difficult to be precise with readings made via web, not having the chance of interacting live with the querent; it’s even more complicated if I’m asked to include a third person. Moreover, this kind of reading is most effective if the person concerned chooses the cards and interacts with the deck themselves.

Nonetheless, during these months, I’ve done some research and have even been lucky enough to meet a diviner specialized in love reading. In this post I’ll gradually collect the methods I learn. I’ll choose the ones within everyone's reach, to allow you to easily interrogate your own cards!

[last update: Oct 10th, 2020]

SETUP

All you need is a common deck of poker cards. If it’s included, I personally prefer to remove the Joker to keep the deck balanced; if you’re a beginner, I also recommend this setup! You can still choose to keep the Joker, knowing that if it does come up in a reading it’d be a harbinger of immaturity, uncertainty or even infidelity. Alternatively you can also use a tarot deck if you have one. As for the Joker, you can choose whether or not to remove the Major Arcana. I advise you not to keep them all, but to prefer The Lovers, The Hanged Man, The Devil, The Fool. If you feel that a card resonates well with your relationship, include it as well.

You’ll end up with – at least – the 52 (or 56) cards of the four suits: Hearts/Cups, Diamonds/Pentacles, Clubs/Wands, Spades/Swords.

Each method may have its own correspondences with the suits. In general, however, Hearts stand for good news, stability and love; Spades for obstacles, conflicts and sadness.

Remember to cleanse your deck. If you’ve chosen to use playing cards, make sure they’re no longer used to play: they’d absorb bad energies and lose concentration, i.e. divinatory effectiveness. The best practice is to purify and charge the deck before each reading.

METHOD #1 • Daily compatibility

Do you ever think about a special someone, wondering if today is the right day for that idea you've been putting off so far? Or are you interested in that someone, not sure if they like you as much? Then grab and shuffle your deck!

Draw the cards from the top: you discard two and keep the third until the deck runs out. Eventually you count how many Hearts and Spades you have – exactly the number of symbols on each card, not the number of cards of that suit; royal figures count as 15, Major Arcana have no value, and the Joker is worth 30 Spades!

Result: if Hearts are more than Spades your compatibility is good, otherwise it’s better to give ‘em some space and focus on something else.

If the Joker or any Major Arcana are present among the cards drawn, you can interpret them for further insight. Which cards and suits are they close to? The red suits (or Cups and Pentacles) are positive, while the black ones (or Swords and Wands) are negative.

e.g. — Suppose that the Joker is next to the Queen of Spades: one could suspect a betrayal or the malicious intervention of another person.

METHOD #2 • Two bodies, two souls

I was expressly advised to do this reading only during the night before the new moon – it’s believed that when the moon is new, one should never divine –, to check the status and changes in your relationship over the last lunar month as the Moon is the celestial body linked to the soul. It’s also possible to repeat this reading in the same night only by changing at least one of the two subjects in question; this means that you should never ask twice about the status of the same couple, ‘cause it would offend the cards! You’ll then have to wait for the following lunar cycle.

It works like this: first of all you have to choose a card that represents you (or the querent) and one that represents the partner. Specifically, the choice falls between the royal figures of Diamonds for one, and those of Clubs for the other. There isn't exactly a rule but, if it helps, Kings are for men, Queens for women, and Jacks are gender neutral and younger than the two regents. Hearts and Spades remain independent, as they represent love and suffering respectively, as mentioned in the setup.

e.g. — I identify myself with the Jack of Diamonds and my partner, pretending he’s a man older than me, should therefore be the King of Clubs. (I could have chosen the Jack of Clubs instead, so he would have been the King of Diamonds. Easy, right?)

You’re now both associated with one of the four suits. As the name of this method suggests, you finally have two bodies. Your two souls will be the Aces of each suit respectively. We’ll call these four cards Stakes.

e.g. — My soul will be represented by the Ace of Diamonds and his by the Ace of Clubs.

As always, shuffle the cards and draw them one at a time from the top of the deck; distribute them in four stacks, until there are none left, then scroll through each one: your bodies and souls now function as brackets, which include some cards and exclude others. Five intuitive cases can arise, but make sure you've checked well. If it helps, arrange the cards in a row, following their order, and look at them carefully.

1. You found only one Stake: keep it and the following cards, if any; discard the rest. 2. You found two Stakes: keep them and the eventual cards between; discard the rest. 3. You found three Stakes: keep the first two Stakes with what they eventually include, discarding the previous cards, if any; also keep the third Stake and eventually the subsequent cards, thus discarding those included between the second and third Stake, if any. 4. You found four Stakes: as for two Stakes, but twice. 5. The stack contains no Stake: discard it all.

Now stack up all the remaining cards in one deck (don’t shuffle it!) and repeat the operation, this time dividing it into three stacks; next time will be only two stacks; finally, reverse the order of the remaining cards, as if you were forming a single last stack.

It’s time to check: deal out the cards, drawing them from the top and placing them from left to right. You’ll know everything went well if in the end you still have at least the four Stakes and no more than 6 other cards, for a maximum amount of 10 and a minimum of 4. If there are more than ten cards left, it means that the deck has nothing to tell you: maybe the couple isn't close enough, or there hasn't been any progress since last reading. If one of the Stakes is missing, you have clearly messed up and wasted the opportunity for this lunar cycle – that sucks, so be thorough!

But if the numbers add up, you can proceed with the interpretation! Again, follow your intuition by first observing the distance and position of the respective souls from the bodies (remember: it’s the same suit!); then observe the distance between the respective bodies and souls of the couple; finally, consider everything as a whole, paying attention to additional cards and their position. In particular, the further cards of Diamonds and Clubs are related to the partner associated with the same suit; the royal figures are people outside the couple, and the aces can be memories or hopes.

e.g. — I ended up with: Q♦, A♦, A♣, 7♥, J♦, K♣. I immediately notice that our bodies are equidistant from our souls, and that both souls and bodies are side by side; the two planes are separated by a card of Hearts. The interpretation is almost spontaneous: there’s a perfect balance between emotional and physical levels, and in that Seven I see a growth in our relationship. Evidently, in the last lunar month, everything between us has tried to put itself in the right place, and over the next cycle it may be possible to exploit this state as a fertile ground. The key to succeeding in this intent could depend on that Queen of Diamonds, a woman I know that’s also close to my soul. I instinctively thought of a dear friend of mine, who might be able to give me the right advice. Easy peasy lemon squeezy!

METHOD #3 • PRIORITY

We often forget that love isn’t everything, and by virtue of it we sacrifice a lot. This method is a fairly simple and mechanical solitaire game, but when played with your divination cards it can give general feedback on which aspects of your life you should pay attention to.

Shuffle the deck and take out four cards, face down: set them aside. We will call ‘em Revelations. Deal out the remaining cards, placing them face down evenly in four rows. If you’re using a poker deck, when you’re done with the setup you’ll have a 12x4 grid in front of you, i.e. 48 cells.

Your aim is to gradually arrange the cards of the same suit in each row, in ascending order from 2 to King – thus excluding the Ace. The "game" is divided into four rounds, one for each Revelation. Draw the first one and find its position on the first row, which will then be associated with that suit. Be careful: don't forget that the first card of a row is actually meant for a 2, not the Ace, and so on! To place the card you currently have in your hand, you’ll need to swap it with the faced-down one that occupies its correct cell. When you draw a new suit, its row will be the next unused one.

e.g. — My first Revelation is a 7♥, which I place on the sixth cell of the first row, swapping it with what I discover to be the J♣, that will go to the tenth cell of the second row because the first one is already for Hearts.

Continue until you draw an Ace: place it to the left of the row corresponding to its suit: the round is over and you must draw the next Revelation. The game ends when all the Aces have been found, and therefore when you have no more Revelations. Flip all the cards that are still faced-down, leaving them where they are. This solitaire is successful when all the cards are correctly ordered on the grid.

e.g. — To complete the solitaire I have three faced-down cards left, but I draw the last Ace so I can’t help but check if those other two cards were already in the right position. Indeed yes, so I won!

Whether the game was succeeded or not, it’s time to divine: first of all, if it has failed, it might mean that you’ll soon have some setbacks or that there’s not enough clarity in your life. Analyze the order of appearance of the suits, from top to bottom: this will help you understand which aspect of your life you should focus on (first rows), suggesting you temporarily leave out something else (last rows). Spades represent the causes of your pain; Hearts are your relationships; Clubs stand for study or career, Diamonds for what makes you materially satisfied and safe. For a good divination you must as well pay attention to each Revelation, to the order of appearance of the Aces, and especially to the order of completion of the four suits: be glad when Spades are the last to be completed, 'cause it means that sadness is far away!

#my post #Eos #witchblr #divination #love #tarot cards #playing cards #my lessons

[yeet-me-into-oblivion-please]

Well, Supernatural is actually ending and I don't know what I'll do

[ Brevity is not a strong suit of mine since I've included personal details but there's stuff I feel everyone in the SPN family needs to read]

You might be expecting another post about how Supernatural saved someone's life and how devastated they will be when it ends because they've watched it for so long as well as how the actors have impacted their lives. This is probably one of those but please hear me out.

Supernatural premiered in 2005 and I was in preparatory class (aged 5 years and was before I began 1st grade). I heard of it because my aunt would watch it time to time so I'd also tried to get some peeks myself but I wasn't allowed to because it was "too scary".

Then our local cable began to show seasons 1-5 and that was when everyone in class started watching and quoting it. This was in 6th grade and I was frustrated because I knew about it before most of them yet they acted like it was a new show. I had a fair idea about the story but once I began watching it, I fell in love with it and loved it like a part of my soul.

Yes, Jensen Ackles was my first crush but I still thought (and do think) that both he and Jared are super hot. So I was sucked into this vortex, this Neverland which I never thought I would end.

I joined Tumblr for this show in 2013 because I saw the jokes about there being a Supernatural gif everywhere and wanted to be a part of the fandom/community. This was also the year I actually became interested what other fans felt though I never used this site properly until 2016 I would read the IMDb discussion boards because I hated scurrying through Destiel-infested posts.

(Fun fact:I wasn't using any social media of my own but on my mother's Facebook I liked a Supernatural fan page asking people's opinions on Destiel. This is was around the time season 8 was just finishing or had already finished so I read the comments--- people talked about Dean and Castiel being gay and didn't approve of it as there was this one girl who was conservative and didn't believe in homosexuality while others went on how Dean was always a ladies man which I agreed with. Not that I commented but I thought there was something I missed and I thought Castiel used Dean as a vessel, thus Destiel.)

But I digress. I was in deep by the time season 9 premiered and majority of the people I knew stopped watching the show except for this girl who bullied me throughout preschool who put up this update that Dean had become a demon. I doubt she watches the show now but it was hard seeing her put pictures of "I heart Dean Winchester" and pictures of Jensen when my mom asked me why I don't do the same.

Supernatural, I feel, has become that embarrassing thing you are into in middle school but suddenly drop when you're older, looking back and thinking, "Yeesh, I can't believe I used to watch this show."

I'll be a grown woman at 30 or 40 and probably eventually in my 70s and 80s but I will still look back fondly, the good, the bad and the ugly because I have like many teenagers have undergone many changes (friends, family, emotions, hobbies etc) but Supernatural has always been this constant in my life.

Because let me tell you, I'm seeing these posts saying stuff like how people are glad that it's finally over with its "bullshit" and that's it's dying. That is extremely disrespectful and insensitive to those people who literally live for it, who have invested time and money into it: gif makers, artists, meta writers (I may not agree with you guys but even you count). They don't know what to do once the show ends because it has helped them in ways others will never ever be able to fathom.

I saw the video put up by the guys. I saw and I could tell that Jared, Jensen and Misha had probably cried their guts out before the announcement because their eyes were red and puffy. Jared was controlling himself by talking less as Jensen was clearly on the verge as well but yes they said that they should save the angst for next year.

I love the guys; I love Jared being a goofball and Jensen being equally goofy as well and I'll say this too, I used to enjoy some of Misha's crass jokes (not the highlight ) as well which was why I looked forward to the gag reel every summer (because of J2) because it was cathartic after a traumatic season finale. I love the witty banter and the pranks the cast would do and I will miss it tremendously.

I have some issues with my aunt but everything would be okay when we would fawn over the guys and bingewatch the entire season the summer after it finished airing. We'd quote quotes back and forth and even spiritually killed ourselves watching short clips of "Sammy, close your eyes", "I'm proud of us" etc. Hell, she even promised me that when we go visit my uncle in the States we'd attend a con together.

If, and whenever we do go, it'll be different because the show won't be on air anymore and I know for a fact that I won't feel the anticipation of an episode.

So don't say disrespectful and callous things like "fucking finally". You can dislike the cast/plotline/show but don't ridicule and mock those who invested in the show,some of you are most probably speculating and have barely seen it.

I'm not some dumb, blind fan. I can see some stupid mistakes and don't always eat up what the writers show. For example, everyone must have figured that I dislike Destiel because it's based on groundless assumptions. I thought the Bloodlines was a crap idea that had nothing to do with the main plot and knew it was destined to fail.

As for Wayward Daughters/Sisters or whatever the fuck it was supposed to be called, I was not looking forward to it at all because it was one of those "forced diversity" shows, y'know gender bent stuff.

I felt that they were bastardising everything that Supernatural has and will (always) stand for because some people had a hair up their backsides. Yeah, I loathed Claire and that Kaia mourning thing was bullshit. Thank goodness I was sick that day and couldn't keep my eyes open for that episode.

If we were told that there would be a Men of Letters(with Henry Winchester) or even a Bobby-Rufus spinoff I would be okay with that but for now since the show will finish next year let's the wounds heal first, shall we?

I hope that Jared and Jensen get some offers once the show is done and I will pay good money to see movies, TV shows of them etc but for now I will keep quiet since I hope we get an ending we (and the boys) deserve.

Yes, the writer situation scares me and I think they should call Eric Kripke for a last hurrah. I mean, it is his baby and he should get to have a say in the series finale as well as J2.

Will one of the brothers die and the other will live (I'm worried we'll get a reverse Swan Song)? Will they both die leaving Cas behind and Jack as some sort legacy who trains future hunters? That would be a possibility since the sheriff in 14.16 asked the Winchesters why they don't tell people about monsters. What happens to Baby?

I seriously doubt the ending will be happy(maybe not 100%) but the best thing would be if they go driving with Baby into the sunset...

Dean at the steering wheel with Sam riding shotgun, where they should be ---- where they will always be, home. Dean plays his "mullet rock" as Sam would playfully mock his brother's musical choices. No chick flick moments. Just the Winchesters.

The boys need to lay their weary heads to rest, so they can cry no more. Because they are the legendary Winchesters, the hunters who saved the world countless times unbeknownst to many. I don't think their work will ever be done but there will be peace when they are done and how they will reach that point we'll never know till 2020.

Everyone will hear "Carry on wayward son" for the last time ever in Supernatural over a painful montage of "Dad's gone on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days" and "Saving people, hunting things, the family business". Now who in this fandom wouldn't be wracked with pain?

This is the show we all joked about that made a deal with the devil to never go off air but I did expect this a long time ago. Only thing was that I didn't know how I'd treat the news. I was that person who would go, "pfft, of course Supernatural would get renewed". Then again, this was the show that an ending was imminent and the whole season 4 debacle about Misha and the angel storyline saving the show blah blah blah.

So next year, everyone will flock to see the finale and epic conclusion to the Winchester saga whether they stopped at season 5,6,7 or 10,12. Diss it all you want for the shit show it may have become but wherever you left off, you may still want to know what happens to Sam and Dean Winchester in the end.

Once Supernatural ends, I'll turn 20 next summer and I would like to think of it being poetic that I end my adolescence with a show I have loved when I brave the cold, ruthless world of adulthood. I'm a picky person and can't say what's my favorite xyz is but you know what I'll say about my favorite TV show.

We will have completed 327 episodes which is the highest for a scifi TV show so I do hope the boys get some sort of recognition. It was us crazy bitches and jerks that gave the show the mileage and it was us that gave Jared and Jensen faith that they could carry on so for the remainder of season 14 and for 15,support these guys. Support these annoyingly sexy and ridiculously hilarious dudes for this show. I'm sure Jared and Jensen love the show like it's their kid practically but I wish everyone would just shut up, tinhatters, bronlies, stans, destihellers because we are all fans of the one show so let's ease the time we have left.

But seriously imagine Sam and Dean on a desert highway, the orange and yellow rays of the setting sun make Baby shine in all her splendor which makes Dean swell with pride. He starts the engine with a low rumble and they're off. They might to California to feel the sand beneath their feet or to Disneyland. They're living the "apple pie life" and this is their personal heaven : with each other.

I wouldn't mind this playing in the background if the ending is the inevitable and unspeakable you know what :

It's wishful thinking, since I wish they'd actually play some Zeppelin instead of song titles being used as episode titles but I wish they could use some Queen or Guns n Roses and stuff before 1979 because everything sucked ass afterwards according to Dean.

I want the classic rock resurgence in the show as well but I know they'll end up using the cash elsewhere. I wouldn't mind a body swap episode but if wishes were horses, right?

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #misha collins #jack kline #alexander calvert #j2 #j2m #destiel #sastiel #padackles #sabriel #mishalecki #cockles #deancas #casdean #wincest #spn #spnfamily

[heller-obama]

Operation Newsboy

It’s still Saturday, so I still made the deadline I made for myself! (it’s still around the time I usually post but still)

Also, actual plot this time! Yay!

Here’s the prologue, chapter one, chapter two, and chapter three if you hadn’t read them

Chapter 4

Words: 2,204 (it’s really because the newsies plot started too)

Warnings: uhhh child labor, child abuse(?) kinda not really, cursing, this chapter isn’t as good as the others

Editing: just grammarly because this is super rushed sorry

***#***

Barry’s Flash suit cowl hung behind his head, his face of absolute shock. To Wally’s own shock, there was something new about Barry: there was a scar running from the corner of his eye to between his nose and his lip. It was thick and pale against his tan skin.

“Wally? What the hell? Why are you in 1899?” He asked, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m here--I’m here with the Legends. What happened to your face?” Wally asked, unsure of how he felt about these circumstances.

“I’ve told you the story before,” He grumbled. “You know I don’t like to talk about it.”

“No…Barry, you haven’t.”

“Wally, don’t drag that into this,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re…oh. Oh.” Realization dawned on Wally. “Barry…humor me. Where’d you get that scar?”

“You know how!” He said, probably a bit louder than he should. Wally gave him the just-do-it-you-big-idiot stare. “Fine! The knife fight over newsie turf, okay? Jeesh!”

“Oh, dammit,” Wally muttered. “I told you I was here with the Legends. This kid was killed when he wasn’t supposed to be, and he was supposed to ignite a strike that’d end child labor…We’re here to save the kid.”

“What do you mean, ‘end child labor’? That’s still a thing in 2017, Wally. Let alone the 20th century.”

“It’s the time ripples. This kid I’m protecting dies, then he doesn’t set off a strike in two days, and child labor isn’t abolished like it was supposed to be, in the ‘30s.”

Barry just stared at the guy he considered his brother for a few seconds.

“So…” Wally tried to break the silence. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“The goddamn Thinker,” he muttered. He didn’t offer any more insight.

“Would you look at that?” Wally teased. “The great Barry Allen, cursing like a sailor.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled and playfully punched Wally’s arm.

##*##

When Wally made it back to the Lodge(it didn’t take that long considering he ran there and back), the boys were all sitting on their beds cross-legged, mischievous grins plastered on their faces.

“Oh, no,” he muttered when he saw the boys.

“Oh, yes,” they all said.

“So why’d youse run out of ‘ere like that, eh?” Race asked.

“Uh…” Wally couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Youse got yourself a nickname now!” Romeo crowed.

“Speedy!” The boy who slept under Race, Sniper, called.

“Yeah!” All the boys yelled.

“Ey! Quiet down, I’s tryin’ to sleep ‘ere.” Finch said loudly.

“A’ight,” the boys mumbled.

And despite himself, Wally could feel himself smiling as he fell asleep.

##*##

Manhattan, New York

July 13, 1899

“Wally! Wally! Wally! Wally!” Wally groaned and rolled over in bed. There was a tinny voice shouting in his ear.

“Waaaaaallyyyyyyyyy!” The voice shouted, even louder this time. “Wally! Get your ass out of bed! That’s an order!” Finally, Wally stirred and recognized Sara’s voice from the comms in his ear.

“What?” He whispered, wary of waking his new friends up.

“You remember why you’re there, right? Save Jack Kelly, save the child labor ban! He’s supposed to be killed soon!”

“How long?” He whispered, shaking the sleep out of him.

“Fifteen minutes, max! Let’s go!”

Wally slipped out of bed, walking as silently as possible to the door. He opened it, then slipped out.

“Eh, New York’s fine for those who got a big, strong door to lock it out.” He could hear Jack’s voice, presumably talking to Crutchie. “But, I tell ya, Crutchie, there is a whole ‘nother way out there!” Wally stayed in hiding, not wanting to intrude on whatever conversation was going on up there. He looked around, checking to see if there were any nefarious people hanging around. But there was no one.

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts once more. “They say folks is dyin’ to get here. Me, I’m dyin’ to get away, to a little town out west that’s spankin’ new.”

Wally’s jaw dropped. He knew that the newsies danced on random occasions, but singing? He didn’t expect that. He sat, knowing that the time assassin wouldn’t kill Jack with Crutchie around. And if Wally had anything to do with it, then he wouldn’t kill Jack at all.

“Close your eyes. Come with me. Where it’s clean and green and pretty.” Wally could hear all of Jack’s dreams laid out bare for two unexpected people to hear.

“There’s a life that’s worth the livin’. And I’m gonna do my share! Work the land! Chase the sun! Swim the whole Rio Grande just for fu-u-un!” Wally felt slightly guilty listening to something so personal, but it was worth it of he could save his new friend.

“Just hold on, kid, ‘til that train makes Sa-anta Fe.” The morning bell tolled, and Wally scooted towards the ladder to the roof. “Hey, Specs! Racer, Henry, Albert, Elmer! Get a move on! Them papes don’t sell themselves!”

Wally waited for Crutchie to climb down the ladder before he made his move.

“Oh, hey, Wally,” Crutchie said.

“I, uh, need to talk to Jack,” Wally said.

“Oookaaay,” Crutchie walked into the Lodge.

Wally started climbing the ladder, then had an idea. “Hey, Jack, I need to talk to you!”

Jack stuck his head over the ladder. “Okay?”

Wally finally reached the top of the ladder. He was at a total loss about what to say to Jack, given that he came up here on a whim. “It’s, uh, about selling spots! You, uh, haven’t told me where to sell. Or how to sell. Or who to sell to…”

Jack looked completely off-guard. “Youse…just come sell with me. I’ll teach ya the ropes.”

Secretly, Wally was happy. With or without the strike, he had an excuse to stay by Jack’s side all day. Suddenly he heard a slight noise, like a pebble being dislodged off a roof. Wally whipped his head around, but there was nothing in the pre-dawn light.

Jack was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “Sorry, I thought I heard something.”

“Is that all?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” he said and cleared his throat. “Uh, after you.”

When they walked through the roof access door, everyone was out already, in front of the Lodge, waiting for Jack, Wally supposed.

Wally was trailing behind Jack like a small puppy, but when he pushed open the front door, he did not get what he was expecting.

As soon as Jack stepped out of the threshold, he started singing. Again.

“It’s a crooked game we’re playin’, one we’ll never lose. ‘Long as suckers don’t mind payin’, just to get bad news.” Jack sang.

Before Wally could say anything, the other newsies joined in, too.

“Ain’t it a fine life, carryin’ the banner through it all. A mighty fine life, carryin’ the banner tough and tall. When that bell rings, we goes where we wishes, we’s as free as fishes, sure beats washin’ dishes. What a fine life, carryin’ the banner home-free all.” An unfortunate rich looking lady and her friend walked by, perfectly posed to get incessantly hit on. Which is what Romeo and Jack immediately did, of course.

“Well, hello, hello, hello, beautiful,” Romeo said.

“Woah, step aside, Romeo. Nothin’ more concerns you here.” Jack said, shoving his friend out of his way. “Mornin’, miss. May I interest you in the latest news?”

“The paper isn’t even out yet,” she said.

“Oh, but I’d be delighted to deliver it to you poisynally,” Jack said, stepping closer to the pair who was about to walk away.

Her friend looked like he was about to do something that’d probably get him a black eye, but the lady held up her hand. “I’ve got a headline for you: ‘Cheeky Boy Gets Nothing For His Troubles’.” She retorted.

Jack just walked away, still eyeing the lady.

“Hey, Crutchie,” Finch said, “what’s your leg say? Gonna rain?”

Crutchie shook his bad leg experimentally. “Uhh…no rain. Oh-oh, partly cloudy, clear by evenin’.”

“They oughta bottle this guy!” Finch cried.

“Yeah, and the limp sells 50 papes a week, all by itself.” Race added.

Crutchie looked slightly offended. “I don’t need the limp to sell papes. I got personality.” He stopped, and Wally had a feeling as to what was going to come next. “It takes a smile that spreads like butter, the kind that turns a lady’s head.”

Wally stalked over to an empty corner, trying to find an empty space to talk with Sara. “Hey, Sara,” he said into his comms.

“Wally? The kid’s not dead, is he?” Sara’s reply came quick.

“Thanks for believing in me, Sara,” he joked.

“Update? Did you find our time assassin?”

“No, but I think I heard him on the roof earlier, right after you said he was going to murder Jack.”

“Of course he was there. You kinda have to be present to assassinate someone. And since—is that singing?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I think we’ve found a group of people weirder than us, Sara.”

“Hey, what’s the holdup? Waiting makes me antsy, I likes livin’ chancey!” Finch yelled.

“I’ll take your word on that,” Sara said.

Suddenly(and finally), the group started moving, to what Wally hoped was Newsie Square. “Gotta go, Sara.”

“Alright, just remember to be safe.” The mic crackled, and Mick’s voice came over the speaker. “Hey! Tell that little punk I want my dollar back!” Wally could hear Sara slap him on the back of the head. “Shut it, Rory.” Wally grinned as he ran to catch up with the newsies.

Much to his chagrin, they didn’t arrive at the square. It was a couple of nuns handing out coffee and biscuits. Oh, thank God! Wally thought. I’m starving! He made a mental note to either buy or steal--preferably buy--some food later, to supplement his speedster diet.

Finally, after some singing, dancing, and gymnastics, the newsies finally made it to the circulation gate.

“Hey, look, they’re putting up the headline!” Finch cried.

“I hope it’s bloody, with a nice, clear picture!” Specs replied.

“YEAH!” The boys chorused.

The headline was not, in fact, bloody or with a clear picture. It really read: ‘TROLLEY STRIKE ENTERS 3RD WEEK’. The boys all groaned.

“The trolley strike? Not again,” Elmer whined.

“Man, three weeks of the same story.” Race added.

“They’re killing us with that snoozer.” Finch jumped in, too.

Just then, two decently dressed guys wearing bowler hats that couldn’t be that older than Wally walked up. “Hey! Step aside!” they yelled.

“Oh, dear me!” Race mocked. “What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night.”

Wally figured these guys weren’t exactly buddy-buddy with the newsies.

“Or could it be…” Crutchie began, and everyone joined in.

“The Delancey brothers!”

“Hey, Oscar!” Finch called, walking up to the one with no vest on. “Word on the street says you and your brother took money to beat up striking trolley workers.”

“So? It’s honest work.” Oscar replied. Some of the newsies scoffed.

“By crackin’ the heads of defenseless workers?” Albert butted in.

“I take care of the guy who takes care of me,” Oscar replied.

Wow, it really is a dog-eat-dog world here, Wally thought.

Race got into his face. “Hey, ain’t your father one of the strikers?”

“I guess he didn’t take care of me.” Oscar pushed Race.

But before Race could retaliate, the other Delancey started attacking Crutchie. “Hey, you want some of that, too? You lousy crip!” He stole Crutchie’s crutch and shoved him to the ground.

Immediately, Jack was on him. He snatched Crutchie’s crutch back. “That is not nice, Morris!”

“Hey, five to one Jack skunks him!” Race cried indignantly, while Albert helped Crutchie up. Wally could feel his body tense up with anger.

“One unfortunate day, you might find you have a bum gam of your own,” Jack continued. “How would you like us picking on you, eh?” Jack turned towards the newsies. “Hey! Hey, maybe we should find out!” He turned back and whacked Morris in the shin with the crutch, and then spun around and whacked Oscar, too. Despite himself, Wally hissed in empathy. The newsies, however, cheered.

“Wait until we get our hands on you!” Oscar threatened.

“You gotta catch me first!” Jack yelled and took off like a shot.

“GO, JACK!” The newsies, including Wally this time, cheered. And then, inevitably, they started dancing again.

“PAPES FOR THE NEWSIES! LINE UP!” An older mustached man yelled.

“Mornin’, Weasel! You missed me?” Jack called at the front of the line.

“The name’s Wiesel,” the man spat.

“Ain’t that what I said?” Jack smirked. “I’ll take the usual.”

“100 papes for the wise guy,” Wiesel called to the Delanceys.

“How’s it going, Weasel?” Race said.

“At least call me ‘mister’.”

“I’ll call you sweetheart if you spot me 50 papes, huh?”

“Drop the cash and move along,” He said threateningly, but Race wasn’t intimidated.

He slapped a few coins on the lockbox. “Whatever happened to romance?” Race said wistfully.

“50 for the Racer. Next!”

The and the other boys went, making various ‘Weasel’ jokes.

Finally, it was Wally’s turn. He said nothing, just lightly placing a quarter on the box.

“Ah, a new kid, huh?” Wiesel said.

“He’s called Speedy,” one of the younger newsies Wally hadn’t met yet called.

“50 papes for Speedy!” Wiesel called.

Another new kid behind Wally with black hair went next. “Would’ya look at this? Two new kids in one day!”

A smaller kid popped out from behind him. “Hey, I’m new, too!”

“Don’t worry, kid, it rubs right off.” Race called.

Albert went next, making a crack about Wiesel getting into the movie business.

The new kid caused some ruckus about being short a paper, which Jack quickly resolved.

Within seconds, Jack was already trying to strike a deal with the two boys.

Wally was only half-listening, really. He was looking around the square for someone who didn’t belong. So far, the most suspicious people he saw were the Delancey brothers and Wiesel, but they didn’t exactly scream ‘time assassin’. Plus they already had a history with the boys, so…jackasses? Totally. Inter-time period assassins? No.

“Newsies! Hit the streets! The sun is up, the headline stinks, and this kid ain’t getting any younger!” Jack yelled.

Then Wally, Jack, and the two new kids, Davey and Les, headed out into the streets, gearing up for a day of selling.

#Jamie writes stuff #operation newsboy #I kinda based Barry's scar on an injury I got one time #because I was bored and because I had no other ideas #newsies #jack kelly #Katherine plumber #crutchie #crutchie morris #morris delancey #the delancey brothers #Albert dasilva #romeo #legends of tomorrow #Wally west #Barry allen #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr

[uwannaseemyboarpit-blog]

Sacecrow - WiP

You find a magical scarecrow - true love's kiss will turn it back into a prince.

The scarecrow was missing its head.

The summer sun was beginning to melt into the horizon. Moira adjusted her gaze, the spindly figure casting a shadow across her eyes. The lack of a head wasn’t the only oddity in regards to the scarecrow. It seemed to be... standing on water.

Moira’s gaze darted around the pond, searching for an explanation. This must be some kind of joke. Or perhaps a new art installation. Nobody else in the park seemed to be as captivated by the sight as she was.

The last of the sunlight glistened on the glass skyscrapers beyond the trees. Two ducks conversed as they sailed by the scarecrow.

Moira walked through the park every evening on her way home. She was certain that there had not been a scarecrow standing... on the pond just yesterday. She sat a nearby bench, too charmed to leave the scarecrow. After further inspection, she could see that the scarecrow was not actually standing on water but rather, a lily pad. This was still odd, as the lily pad should not be able to support the scarecrow. Yet, there he was. At least, she was pretty sure it was a he.

The scarecrow wore an ill-fitting suit, though, Moira wasn’t sure what kind of suit might actually fit a scarecrow. The material looked fairly worn but even from the bench, she could tell that the tie was pure silk.

The light finally smouldered out. There was just enough of a glow for something orange to catch Moira’s eye. It bobbed gently amongst the flora at the water’s edge. A pumpkin. Moira moved to get a better look at it. There seemed to be something carved into it. A jack’o lantern, perhaps? It was a face but there were other symbols carved in a ring along the top and bottom of the pumpkin.

Runes.

Moira was surprised. She knew there were other witches in New York but she had yet to run into one. It was also quite foolish to leave one’s magic simply lying around. For witches, magic is like a social insurance number. Completely unique. Very valuable to someone who knew what they were looking for. Easily stolen if the right thief were involved.

Moira looked at the scarecrow again.

“Whoever did that to you must have been very willing to deal with any consequences.” She stooped down and gingerly retrieved the pumpkin from the water.

“Looks like you are stuck there until you get your head back,” she muttered, turning the pumpkin over in her hands as she read the runes. While the jack o lanterns face was quite basic, Moira noted that the two front teeth had been exaggerated. They were comically large compared to the rest of the carving. She flopped back down on the bench, her fingers running over the runes.

Runes could be like computer programming. Even though two programmers are technically using the same programming language, it can sometimes be incredibly difficult for one to understand the work of another. Moira was faced with such a conundrum now. She could understand the gist of the spell, but not the full intention of the caster. In addition, there seemed to be more than one spell in use. They were woven together tightly.

It was good work, someone had put a lot of time into “programming” this spell. The caster even accounted for the head being accidentally removed, in which case, the scarecrow would freeze. That explained the illusion of “standing” on a lily pad. Still, it was a strange place for a scarecrow to be.

She looked at the headless figure on the pond, back at the jack’o lantern and back again at scarecrows body. Moira let out a huff. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She scanned the area to see if anyone was paying any close attention to her or the scarecrow. The coast was clear but she would have to be quick.

“Ylf,” she commanded the pumpkin, her voice taking on an eerie echo. It began to slowly float out of her hands.

“Revoh.”

The pumpkin maintained it’s height, bobbing in the air as it had been in the pond.

Moira pointed at the headless scarecrow on the lily pad.

“Nruter.”

The pumpkin zipped to the scarecrow, snapping into place in the middle of the shoulders. No longer suspended, the scarecrow’s pole dropped into the pond. It began to fall over, but Moira had been expecting this.

“Ereh emoc.”

The scarecrow levitated a few feet in the air and hovered over to Moira. She watched her surroundings carefully for any onlookers. Nobody seemed any the wiser. And really, this was New York. This couldn’t possibly have been the strangest thing these people had seen today.

Once the scarecrow was in front of her, she inspected it a little more closely.

“That’s quite an expensive looking watch,” she motioned to the timepiece hanging off of the branch that would have been the left arm.

The scarecrow began to... hop of it’s own accord. Moira couldn’t quite make out if this was out of fear or excitement. She walked back to the bench and flopped down, chin in hand, examining the scarecrow.

“It says there,” she motioned to the runes on the pumpkin head, “that if you receive a kiss, the spell on you would be broken.”

The scarecrow’s hopping became erratic. It bounced around in what Moira decided was delight. She narrowed her eyes at him and spoke sternly.

“Listen here, stop drawing attention to yourself! I can simply walk away from this but you’ll be put straight into a wood chipper if you unnerve enough tourists.”

The scarecrow stopped bouncing but Moira could tell he was vibrating with excitement. She began to feel a little sorry for him, truth be told.

Moira let out a sigh. Her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her. It had been ages since she’d seen a spell of this caliber and the mystery was too much for her. She could go home and try to forget about this but it would only keep her awake at night. On the other hand, if she broke the spell on the scarecrow, she might have a lead on another witch in the city. Moira had moved to New York 6 months ago and was finding it extremely difficult to locate any other witches. Much more difficult than she had anticipated. She thought a larger city might allow her more opportunities to practice magic in a coven, or to learn something new. Or just to make a new friend. It seemed the witches in big cities were more guarded and cautious.

Until now.

Moira had been staring off into space and had not noticed that the scarecrow had hopped up next to her. She blinked in surprise.

“You’re eager to have that spell broken,” she muttered, still weighing the pros and cons inside her head. The caster would know that the spell had been broken and Moira didn’t want to make any bad first impressions when she finally did meet another witch. However, it wasn’t unlikely that the scarecrow was a witch. Considering it was harmless “prank” kind of spell, she may have just stumbled into a disagreement between friends.

Moira scrunched up her face and looked at the scarecrow. The jack o lantern grinned back at her. She noticed a candle inside.

“Erif.”

The a flame now danced within the jack o lantern’s face, making him much more charming.

“Eh, fudge it.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on one of the exaggerated front teeth.

The smell of cinnamon and orange trees filled the air as the spell dispersed.

It was quickly replaced by a very sharp cologne that made Moira’s eyes water.

“Took you long enough,” came a voice spoilt by a silver spoon.

Eric Trump stood before Moira. He looked down his nose at her and Moira could tell that he trying to decide what to do next.

“Most people would say ‘thank you’,” she sputtered back at him.

He was taken aback by this. He opened his mouth to say something more, thought better of it, and closed it again. There was a pause.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” His tone was still off for someone who had been quite helpless not a minute ago.

Moira crossed her arms. She was no fan of the Trump family on all levels. She understood completely why Eric Trump had been turned into a scarecrow and nearly regretted her decision to undo the spell. Nearly. If it got her closer to other witches in New York then maybe it would be worth it. A panicked thought entered her mind just then.

“Isn’t your father looking for you? There hasn’t been anything in the news about you being missing.”

“Are you stupid,” Eric scoffed.

Moira was about to ask more questions about who had cast the spell when the scent of cinnamon and orange groves returned. She felt the hair on her neck rise. Eric’s face whitened. He tried to take off but Moira was to quick for him.

“Llits eb.”

He froze, mid sprint. The only thing that could move were his eyes, which were widened in terror.

“Thank you,” came a melodic voice from behind her. Moira turned. A beautiful woman with dark skin and adorned in gold jewelry smirked back at her. She wore a smart blue velvet suit which Moira liked very much.

The woman raised a brow at Moira. “I’m surprised someone kissed this wretch less than 24 hours after I cast the spell. It’s a shame, I’ll have to start over again.”

The woman sauntered over to Trump and tsked.

Moira blinked, trying to think of how she might be able to make a connection and earn the other witch’s trust.

“It was the only way I thought I might find another witch in New York,” Moira said.

The golden witch turned her attention to Moira. “Ahh that explains things. You just got lucky then, didn’t you Eric?” She pinched his cheek.

“My name is Ahiam,” she said to Moira with a subtle bow of the head.

“Moira.”

“What do you propose we do with Eric, Moira?”

“What’s the end-goal?”

Ahiam laughed. It was full, from her belly. Moira liked her.

“Mischief,” Ahiam replied with a grin, “just good old-fashioned mischief.”

“We could turn him into a frog but then he might be eaten.”

“That would BE tragic.”

“Quite.” Moira thought for a moment. “I’ve got it.”

* * * *

Luz Gonzales had been cleaning up after the Trump family for 30 years. As such, it wasn’t too surprising to her when she dreamed she WAS Eric Trump. She’d had dreams like this before, ordering shrimp cocktail after shrimp cocktail as she lay by the pool.

This time was different.

She could TASTE the shrimp in this dream. She could feel the sun on her skin. Her back pain was gone and she was much taller. There was also the fact that this dream was now on day three.

Luz was fairly sure that she really WAS Eric Trump. She had woken up in his usual room three days ago with a note saying she should enjoy her 2 week vacation. The air had smelled delicious. Like oranges and rain.

[80srockher]

Yuri on Ice Rewatch and Live-Commentary, Episode 1: Easy as Pirozhki!! The Grand Prix Final of Tears

*There are spoilers throughout.  I also make assumptions that anyone reading has already seen the episode or has a grasp of the content.*

Source: http://yurionicescreencaps.tumblr.com

The opening scene is so pretty.  Really sets a tone.  I went in knowing nothing about the anime first go-around, so I found Yuri and Victor’s grow/glow-ups montages interesting.  

This theme song is… not my favorite.  Maybe it’s the French horns?  That and too much synth.  I usually skip over it but want to give it a chance this go-around.

Heh, Victor and his gold blades to match his gold medal.  And his European af haircut.  Can’t remember the last time I saw an American past the age of 12 with bangs. No mistaking him for anything other than Eastern European.

Also, the poster on the left is for Victor, I believe.  Can he pull his leg that high in the air?  Was that featured and I forgot?  I’ll be on the lookout for it.

Also, looks like Jean JACK made it to Sochi and placed third here too, lolz.

Yes, please listen to your coach, Yuri.  Don’t poke the wound.  Stay off the internets.  ESPECIALLY the figure skating internets.  What little I remember from when I used to follow the sport is that it’s dramatic, to put it nicely.

I keep getting distracted by the utter Euro-ness of the Europeans in this show. The cut of Coach Celestino’s suit is so Italian I weep. He’s too smooth.

Yuri’s name tag has his name in Cyrillic as well?  Cute.

My first impression of Yuri was that he looks about 18 and that impression hasn’t changed.  Perhaps it’s the glasses, but he def looks youthful. I’m also someone who’s been accused of looking a decade+ younger than I actually am, so I can sympathize.

Speaking of sympathy – Yuri caved to pressure, binged ate before the competition while mourning his dog, then bombed his first trip to the Grand Prix final.  All in front of his idol.  Damnity damn damn.  Sorry, kid.

Is Cao Bin ever introduced on the show?  Something else I forgot, maybe?

Now, when I first saw this poor child crying in the bathroom, that’s when I knew the series was going to be much different from the light-hearted anime about figure skating I expected.  It got real deep real quick.

Yuri Plisetsky “The Russian Punk”.  Is this something the in-universe media refers to him as?  Because I only recall (JPN) Yuri saying it and only this once.

This screencap is during the scene where the journalist Marooka (sp?) is hassling Yuri about his future plans and instead of answering, Yuri can only stare at someone else’s puppy that reminds him of his dead Vicchan.

This baby is crying. Cry.ing.  This has been a tough day for poor Yuri, overall.

And he talks down to himself so much.  It’s all his fault he caved to pressure. He was an idiot to think he could meet his idol on the same playing field.   He’s come so far and still thinks so little of his accomplishments.

So, I understand this “one year later” is not really accurate, lol.  It’s just the new  year following the previous season.  I was confused initially about a number of soon-to-happen events before Yuri’s mental alter ego cleared it up.

So, per Minako’s voice actress, Yuri really is pronounced YOO-RI.  Cute.

Four Continents is… not a Grand Prix competition?  My figure skating knowledge is all rust now.

LOL, Minako does. Not. Play. And she wears a pinky ring.  My God, that death grip on poor Yuri.

It’s snowing outside the train station when Yuri and Minako leave.  So, it’s not unusual to snow in this region in March, but it’s highly unusual a month or so later. Man, hard to believe Yuri sat around for almost an entire month before the infamous video became viral.  More on that, later.

So, based on everyone’s interactions with Yuri so far, the only person who cares that he didn’t make it to the World Championships is him.  And he should care since he’s worked basically his entire life towards that goal.  But, he doesn’t appear to have let anyone down but himself, though he doesn’t act that way.

So, the fact that the family hot springs is named “Yu-topia”… did that influence Yuri’s name at all, I wonder?

Ha!  I wish I could have recorded the Japanese actor’s voice when he says this line.  He makes Yuri sound so done with it all, lol.  It’s the best.

Ok, so a number of very interesting and entertaining things happen in succession that I don’t feel like screencapping.  No hug between the littlest Katsuki and the senior Katsukis, even though he hasn’t been home in 5 years.  Fascinating. No doubt cultural (I’m guessing) but fascinating.  

Yuri’s mom basically calls Minako a drunk.  To her face. LOL.  But I imagine no one can get mad at this sweet lady.

Minako calls Yuri out on his weight gain in front of God and everybody.  Though, I think it’s more of a matter of his clothes no longer fitting due to said weight gain.  

But, his parents don’t care. Eat more pork cutlet bowls, Yuri! Welcome home!

Vicchan’s shrine is where they also store the unused treadmill.  Want to bet the only person to use it was Yuri?

Then older sis Mari-neechan appears with frosted tips.  I can appreciate a character that doesn’t beat around the bush (a trait she inherited from her mother, I imagine).  Welcome home, Yuri, but don’t sit on your ass.  Start thinking about your next move.    

Actually *loads headcanon* I suspect Mari doesn’t want Yuri to give up on skating.  The longer he stays at home, the more quitting becomes a possibility.

So, the Katsuki family hot springs resort (Inn?  Restaurant?) is the last one standing in town.  Very OT, but I wonder if the hot springs are still an attraction at all and are perhaps, government-owned?  Protected, used by tourists for a fee, perhaps?  I think about things like that.

Having never visited a hot spring, and based on the setting around Minako while she watches the World Championships on TV, it appears to be a place for people to come, soak, and lounge and grab a bite to eat if the mood strikes.  So, the Katsukis wait on people basically all day long.  Gotta be exhausting work.

Yuuuuuko!  The Madonna of Ice Castle Hasetsu!  Yuri’s crush on her is hella cute.

A slight segue to Yuri’s perceived attraction to Yuko and what it could imply about his sexual identity.  Per his labeling of Yuko as a “Madonna,” I figure Yuri considers Yuko untouchable, perhaps even “too good” for him.  Yuko, just like Victor, is “ideal”.  For someone as self-conscious as Yuri, comparing any romantic prospects against his two ideals was probably a convenient excuse not to get *too* close to anyone, male or female.  That being said, he didn’t pursue Yuko.  Alcohol loosened enough of Yuri’s inhibitions to eventually openly flirt with Victor, but this is still an important distinction, IMO.  He pursued one of his ideals (in more ways than one, even going so far as to leave home to in hopes of becoming Victor’s equal) and left the other one behind.

Yuri idealizes/d Yuko, and comes to love Victor.  He’s gay.  Bi, at the least.  

I don’t feel confident in applying any other labels, because I’m a straight.  Yuri could fall under any number of categories as long it they include, IMO, same-sex attraction.

In actuality, Yuko is “introduced” to the audience as Yuri’s straight love interest, but that doesn’t last long.  Cute and clever, show creators.  Cute. And . Clever.

Then we find out, via flashback, a) how adorable they all were when they were little kids and b) Yuko wanted to see Yuri compete against Victor.  Yuko has been a profound influence on Yuri.

So, Victor.  This guy is in a class by himself.  The animators obviously invested a lot of time in his movements.  You can see why he leads the field even at 27.

Also, the creators had the nerve, the audacity, the unmitigated gall to compose an original opera aria for a cartoon.  That was my next indicator that this was more than a cutesy figure skating anime.  

The song really is beautiful, too.  Probably my favorite in the soundtrack.

Who’s the last IRL skater to win 5 consecutive World Championships?  Michelle Kwan, maybe?  Who is Kwan’s male equivalent?  Back then, probably Alexei Yagudin?  May research. May not. 

Anyway, Victor is the Michelle Kwan of YOI-verse lol.

Hmm.  Here come the three brats.  Good God.  Poor Yuko and Takeshi lol.

So sweet to see Yuri’s childhood bully is his biggest fan now.

Sooo, Yuko’s triplets secretly record Yuri’s private performance, post it online (sometime before April 10, when Victor shows up), and things progress rather quickly from there...

Or do they?  It appeared to me that Yuri caught up with Yuko at the rink the same day he returned home.  Did he skate Victor’s routine for her that day, as well, or did it happen later?  Perhaps the triplets waited a few weeks to post the video, or else it took a few weeks to go viral.  Did Yuri turn off his phone for *weeks* to avoid the world?

Maybe he got home on March 30 and then the whole month of April just went to hell for him?  The possibilities...

LOL, I’m so SO mad the title of the video is “Katsuki Yuri TRIED to Skate Victor’s FS Program”. Those brats.

This might be the most unattractive Victor’s ever looked.  Severe close-ups aren’t flattering on anyone.  Welp, down the rabbit hole now.  

So, in the next scene it snows in April which doesn’t stop anyone from stripping naked to bathe in a hot spring, apparently.  Or it just doesn’t stop Victor.

#moneyshot

I like this ending theme much better.  It’s a head-bopper.  The Instagram reel kills me.  

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read through this stream of consciousness!  No idea how long it may take me to get through the rest.  I tip my hat to those who regularly and passionately participate in fandom.  It’s a lot of work!

#yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #yuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #minako okukawa #hiroko katsuki #toshiya katsuki #mari katsuki #yuko nishigori #takeshi nishigori #celestino cialdini #yuri plisetsky #episode1 #myblogisMYsafeplace #hashtagskeepmefrombabbling #yoi rewatch #makkachin #vicchan #yoi

[classyfoxdestiny]

Premier League predictions 2021-22: BBC Sport pundits pick their top four

Premier League predictions 2021-22: BBC Sport pundits pick their top four

Defending champions Manchester City have won the Premier League in three of the past four seasons – but can anyone stop them this time?

Manchester United were City’s nearest rivals last time out but finished 12 points back and have still not sustained a serious title bid since they were last champions in 2013.

Will United challenge for top spot until the end in 2021-22? How will Liverpool respond after their title defence imploded at the start of the year? Can Chelsea be contenders again domestically after conquering Europe? And will Leicester, Arsenal, Tottenham or anyone else break into the Champions League places?

We asked 20 BBC TV and radio pundits to pick their top four, with explanations for their selections.

Alan Shearer Chelsea Man City Man Utd Liverpool Fara Williams Chelsea Man City Man Utd Liverpool Sue Smith Chelsea Man City Man Utd Liverpool Chris Sutton Chelsea Man City Liverpool Man Utd Rachel Brown-Finnis Chelsea Man City Liverpool Man Utd Matthew Upson Chelsea Man City Liverpool Man Utd Rob Green Chelsea Liverpool Man City Man Utd Martin Keown Man City Chelsea Liverpool Man Utd Micah Richards Man City Chelsea Liverpool Man Utd Stephen Warnock Man City Chelsea Liverpool Man Utd Danny Murphy Man City Liverpool Chelsea Man Utd Mark Lawrenson Man City Liverpool Chelsea Man Utd Ashley Williams Man City Chelsea Man Utd Liverpool Clinton Morrison Man City Chelsea Man Utd Liverpool Michael Brown Man City Chelsea Man Utd Liverpool Pat Nevin Man City Chelsea Man Utd Liverpool Leon Osman Man City Chelsea Man Utd Liverpool Nedum Onuoha Man City Man Utd Liverpool Chelsea Lindsay Johnson Man City Man Utd Chelsea Liverpool Jermaine Beckford Man City Chelsea Man Utd Leicester

Five teams feature in the forecasted top fours, but only City, United and Chelsea feature in all 20.

In terms of who will win it, City are favourites, with 13 votes. Chelsea get seven, while the highest anyone thinks United or Liverpool will finish is second. The overall predicted ranking gives a similar outcome.

1. Man City 2. Chelsea 3. Man Utd 4. Liverpool 5. Leicester 72 pts 62 pts 33 pts 32 pts 1 pt

(using system of 4 pts for a 1st place, 3 pts for 2nd, 2 pts for 3rd and 1 pt for 4th)

Which transfer would affect three pundits’ title predictions?

The predictions were made on Thursday, 12 August, with just under three weeks to go before the transfer window closes on Tuesday, 31 August.

Alan Shearer: Some major signings have already happened, but there are more to come that will affect the title race. I’m expecting it to be much tighter at the top than last time, with four teams in with a chance of being champions, not just City and Chelsea.

Alan Shearer joins Ian Wright and Gary Lineker on Match of the Day this Saturday at 22:20 BST on BBC One and the BBC Sport website for highlights of seven Premier League games.

Chris Sutton: If Harry Kane goes to Manchester City, then he is the perfect fit for them and I would fancy them. If he doesn’t, I think Chelsea will nick it, because they are getting Romelu Lukaku. I don’t think City will win the title without signing a centre-forward. I know they won it last season largely playing without one, which was remarkable. I don’t see it happening again.

Matthew Upson: As things stand, I’d back Chelsea. It looks as if Lukaku is definitely going there, while things are very different with City and Kane – who knows if that will happen? It’s a big ask for them to win the league again without a new striker but, if they do get Kane, that turns that problem position into a massive positive – and I’d change my prediction.

Sue Smith: Chelsea will have massive confidence from winning the Champions League but if City can get Kane, then I’d put them on top instead.

Guardiola was a ‘massive factor’ in Grealish joining Man City

Pat Nevin: City have already added Jack Grealish, who is exactly the right player for them and there is the possibility of Kane, who is perfect too because he is so creative and adaptable. Arguably he’s the player that Pep tried to turn Sergio Aguero into, and I can’t think of many strikers so well suited to City’s style.

If they get him, they are big favourites. If they don’t, they are just marginal favourites.

Man City – ‘A team of Galacticos’

This is the sixth season running where Manchester City have featured in everyone’s forecasted top four. It’s also the fourth successive year where no-one thinks they will finish below second.

Micah Richards: It’s tougher than ever to call it this season but I am still going to say City, even if they don’t get Kane. John Stones has signed a new deal and, with him and Ruben Dias, the defence is sorted. When you look at their options in midfield and going forward, it’s just not fair on the other teams and, with the form that Raheem Sterling was in at the Euros, they still have to be favourites.

Micah Richards and Dion Dublin are the guests on Football Focus on BBC One and the BBC Sport website at 12:00 BST on Saturday.

Danny Murphy: My gut feeling is that City are going to be really difficult to knock off their perch. They and Liverpool will just about have the edge on everyone but not by much – the top four will be really tight.

Nedum Onuoha: I look at how good City were defensively last season and think they will be strong enough to win the title again. But I think this year will be the first time in a while where there will be more than two teams in with a shout at the very end. City have made an excellent signing in Grealish but their rivals have strengthened well too.

Jermaine Beckford: They are so powerful. Stones and Dias have formed a brilliant relationship and City don’t really have a weakness any more.

Michael Brown: My only doubt is if they don’t get Kane, or another striker.

Ashley Williams: City are the best team and squad in the league. They have added Grealish and if they get Kane then the title is done. Even without Kane, or another top-class striker, as a team they have got goals everywhere and their style of play doesn’t need a recognised centre-forward. I’m expecting a more productive season from Sterling too.

Martin Keown: What I am really excited about is seeing how Grealish will play under Guardiola, after seeing the effect Pep has had on Sterling and Phil Foden already. Now we have another talented English player in his hands, and Grealish has a team of Galacticos around him.

Chelsea – ‘The depth in their squad is scary’

Last season, no-one thought Chelsea would win the title and only two out of 25 pundits thought they would make the top two. This time, seven out of 20 pundits think they will be champions and 80% think they will make the top two.

Pat Nevin: I’ve been at all their pre-season games and have looked at the depth they have got in their squad and it is actually scary – and that’s before Lukaku has arrived. If you add him on top of Kai Havertz, who could be, certainly over the next few years, one of the great players in the world, and look all the way through their squad, then they have got so much quality.

Fara Williams: We saw the impact Thomas Tuchel made in the second half of last season and how hard Chelsea are to beat. Lukaku’s goals will turn a lot of draws into wins.

Rob Green: Their squad is stronger than everyone else’s, even City. Then you add Lukaku, who will bring the best out of everyone else.

Martin Keown: Lukaku is a player you have to keep hungry so I think this is the perfect move for him, going back to a club where he has something to prove.

Ashley Williams: Chelsea made big improvements last season and I think they will be better again. I played with Lukaku at Everton so I know him quite well – his goal record for us was incredible but having seen him play for Inter Milan and Belgium, he’s even better now. It’s as if he has recognised his own ability and strengths more than he did before, and he knows when and where to use them. I still speak to him a lot and he has worked hard on his game – it’s mentally where he has got stronger, because he has always been a beast physically.

Ashley Williams joins Dion Dublin and Jason Mohammad on Final Score on Saturday, from 14:30 BST on the red button and the BBC Sport website and from 16:00 on BBC One.

Chelsea boss Thomas Tuchel celebrates winning the Champions League with his family

Stephen Warnock: Tactically, they are so well organised under Tuchel, and it looks a happy camp too. He has created the perfect environment of having the authority that means no-one steps out of line, but the players like him too.

Michael Brown: They have got the belief now too, which is massive. They have gone from wondering ‘where will we finish?’ to thinking ‘we’ve got every chance’. They will be right in the mix.

Rachel Brown-Finnis: Tuchel consolidated at first and made them difficult to break down, now he is adding more firepower as well. If Lukaku clicks with their creative players, they will just be awesome but I just feel they will have the edge because of how hard they have been to beat.

Chris Sutton: Tuchel has not just sorted them out defensively, he has added a really nice balance to their team. Timo Werner will benefit from his first year in England, and Havertz also came into form at the end of the season. If there was a criticism of Chelsea last time, it was that they possibly weren’t ruthless enough but with Lukaku they will have a guy in who is an absolute glutton for goals.

Jadon Sancho joins an already fearsome United attacking line-up for the new season. Also in their squad are (left to right) Marcus Rashford, Anthony Martial, Mason Greenwood and Edinson Cavani

Man Utd – Will Sancho give them the ‘X-factor’?

Last season, 24 out of 25 pundits thought they would make the top four although 17 of the votes they received placed them in fourth. This time, 100% think they will finish in the top four and 11 out of 20 think they will finish third or higher, although only two people have backed them to finish second.

Chris Sutton: United missed a great opportunity to win the Europa League last season, which would have taken the pressure off Ole Gunnar Solskjaer by ending his wait for a trophy. They still had a good season but there is something missing – they have to show greater consistency and be able to take the game to the opposition. The other three top teams have a better balance about them but maybe Jadon Sancho will give them that X-factor.

Nedum Onuoha: If Sancho’s game can translate to the Premier League, then that is a huge coup for United. I can’t wait to see how he gets on.

Micah Richards: United have shown that they can beat anyone but they seem to have too many off-days over the course of the season and for me they are a couple of players short of being a title-winning side – including a centre-forward. Edinson Cavani is 34 and at the stage of his career where he needs looking after. He can’t play every week and they don’t have another striker like him.

Pat Nevin: It feels like Manchester United have been trying to sort out that centre-back position forever and, finally, by getting Raphael Varane in alongside Harry Maguire it looks right. I suspect it will turn out that way too, but let’s hold fire slightly to see – Varane was always lightning quick when he was younger but I have watched him a few times recently and wondered if he had lost half a yard of pace. I will only find out by watching him in the Premier League.

Matthew Upson: There is a lot of guesswork involved here until the season starts but Varane looks a really good signing, and one they needed to make. He and Harry Maguire are a world-class pairing at the back and that is going to make a huge difference for them.

Ashley Williams: You can’t ask for more from a centre-half partnership. My only question is whether Varane hits the ground running or does he need time to settle in. I’ve never played in La Liga so I am not saying there are easy games there but in the Premier League you are tested even by the poorer teams, and in different ways. Varane is vastly experienced but I’m not sure he will have come up against many teams like Burnley who have really physical strikers such as Chris Wood and Ashley Barnes. It doesn’t sound glamorous but they make your life difficult for 90 minutes. He has won everything there is to win, though, so I am sure he will cope with that.

Stephen Warnock: I see it as a four-horse race this year but the only difference between United and the other three is with their manager – I don’t think Solskjaer is the man to win the title. He’s done well tactically in some games but there have been times when something is not quite right and if you had given United’s squad to Jurgen Klopp, Guardiola or Tuchel last season, I think they all would have won the league. I am not sure he is the right man to take United to the next level.

Martin Keown: I have United down as finishing fourth but this title race is as open as it will ever be. They have made two brilliant signings, and they mean business. I am only picking this order because I have been asked to – and if they were to win it, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Liverpool’s only signing so far this summer saw France centre-back Ibrahima Konate join for £36m from RB Leipzig

Liverpool – A strong team but how deep is their squad?

Last season, 52% of the BBC pundits thought Liverpool would defend their title, while 21 out of 25 thought they would finish in the top two. This season, no-one thinks they will be champions, and only three out of 20 think they will make the top two.

Mark Lawrenson: A big factor for Liverpool is hunger after what happened last season. Yes, they had a lot of injuries but by their high standards it was a poor campaign – so they have a point to prove, especially in front of their fans at Anfield where they had such a poor run at the start of the year.

Danny Murphy: It is hugely important that Liverpool get Jordan Henderson’s contract situation sorted out. They have already lost Georginio Wijnaldum, who has been under-rated for the past few years. I do expect Henderson to stay, because he has been so pivotal to their success, but they need to put those concerns to bed quickly. Losing both now would be unthinkable.

Danny Murphy joins Ashley Williams and Mark Chapman for MOTD2 this Sunday at 22:30 BST on BBC One and the BBC Sport website for highlights of Newcastle v West Ham and Tottenham v Manchester City.

Georginio Wijnaldum left Liverpool in June and signed for Paris St-Germain on a free transfer. “He is seriously under-rated,” says Danny Murphy. “He is brilliant defensively but great on the ball too and he doesn’t get enough credit for how good he is technically.”

Stephen Warnock: They are still a very strong team and I just think the style of football will be back to what it was a couple of years ago, with the team playing that high press again. Sadio Mane and Mohamed Salah look fresh after a break over the summer but it is a concern what happens when they both go to the Africa Cup of Nations in January.

Martin Keown: I know people are saying they haven’t really bought but there was nothing really wrong with Liverpool before their injury problems last season. I am backing Klopp to get back the perfection that was there in the two seasons before that, and they can challenge again, no doubt about it.

Pat Nevin: Liverpool still don’t look like they have a big enough squad to win the league, but then I’ve said that about them before. They have got Virgil van Dijk back now, which makes a massive difference, but I kind of think they need another serious striker.

Micah Richards: Diogo Jota did really well last season, and his injury came at a bad time for them. It might take a while for them to work out their best combination in attack, or what system to go with.

Chris Sutton: Ibrahima Konate looks like a decent defensive signing but the issue with Van Dijk is how fit is he? How has he been affected by being out for so long and the injury? We will find out.

Matthew Upson: It is hard to remember Liverpool at full throttle because they had such a disastrous time from the start of the year. Even though they have got Van Dijk fit, I had the same cruciate ligament injury and I’d say you are looking at several months from when he plays his first competitive game to him being back at his best. Joe Gomez is in the same boat really, and that’s the reason I have them down as third.

Rachel Brown-Finnis: I hope Van Dijk gets back to his best because he is such a wonderful player. They need him to perform individually but he also lifts the whole team. I don’t think it will happen for Liverpool without him, because of that knock-on effect. When they are in full swing, they are fantastic to watch.

Leicester – fighting it out with Arsenal, Tottenham and West Ham for the top six?

Last season, Arsenal were the only other team to feature in the picks – two out of 25 pundits thought they would finish fourth or higher. This time, Leicester get a mention – but only one pundit thinks they will finish in the Champions League places.

Jermaine Beckford: I am going with Leicester to finish fourth. They are a breath of fresh air in terms of how much they invest in their squad compared to the teams who finished above them last season. They still spend some money of course, but they spend it so well. Their recruitment is absolutely brilliant, and I am a huge fan of the way Foxes boss Brendan Rodgers sets up his teams and gets everyone working hard together.

Ashley Williams: It’s going to be tough for anyone else to crack the top four, and I don’t think Arsenal or Spurs can do it. If anyone can wriggle in there, it is Leicester. They are a really good team and can beat any of the leading teams on their day but as they have already found out after finishing fifth twice, it is tough for them to sustain those standards for the whole season.

Martin Keown: Leicester will push again and they will definitely have a say in who will win the title. Arsenal and Spurs can too, but it still feels more like they are both in transition at the moment. There will be some pressure on Arsenal early on, because they have got some very difficult early fixtures against Chelsea and City in the first couple of weeks. I just want to see some more convincing performances from them, because I think we can see the club has tumbled down the league, and there are other clubs with more resources than them now. They need to be more competitive in games to get up the table, and they also need Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang to have a smile back on his face.

Danny Murphy: If anyone might surprise a few people it’s Arsenal – they are not in Europe, and they have got some fantastic forward players. People forget that last season was the first in Aubameyang’s career where he didn’t score a bagful of goals, and nothing suggests to me that is going to continue. They have a tough start but their young players are going to keep getting better.

Pat Nevin: Just purely if you look at the finances and size and experience of squads, it is going to be very hard for anyone outside the top four to get up there again. After the top four, it is Arsenal, Spurs, Leicester, and maybe West Ham who will all basically be trying to be the best of the rest.

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[aflatteredfool]

Lamb Stew

Hey @plumandfinch it’s me, your Secret Santa! I hope you enjoy! It’s my first fanfiction ever! (I’m also on mobile and worried about formatting; I apologize if it’s off. My internet is down and this is the only option right now.)

Lucien has never been good with keeping secrets from Jean. One look and he spills everything. That’s why he’s so impressed he’s been able to keep her Christmas present under wraps for so long. He’s aloof and almost absent on purpose, just enough to get Jean looking in a different direction.

When Jean tells him that this year maybe they shouldn’t exchange Christmas gifts, he goes along with her plan. They did, after all, have a four-month honeymoon which they are still recovering from. Finances aren’t something they really have to worry about, but they spent enough on their honeymoon to satisfy a year’s worth of enjoyment. And, also, all presents really do is show someone you care enough about them to spend money on a thing, so Jean and Lucien make sure the other is well cared for without resorting to material objects. They are still newlyweds, after all. To Lucien, a touch means more than an object wrapped in paper. 

But Lucien can’t resist. 

While cleaning out his mother’s studio, he found her old hand-written recipes - long time favorites of the Blake family. To this day Lucien can remember waking up to the smell of the Lamington in the oven, or the soda bread as it cooled on the counter. His mother was able to take the most basic recipe and make it her own, adding her own unique ingredients to better suit her palette.

Lucien remembers a story Jean told him soon after his arrival in Ballarat.  Thomas was longing for a bowl of lamb stew, and was never quite satisfied with Jean’s creation. Sure, it was hearty and delicious and tasted even better the next day. But there was something missing; that “oomph” that Thomas couldn’t quite place. She worked with Thomas for ages to figure out what was missing. He remembered carrots and potatoes and onions, traditional ingredients. Salt? Pepper? Garlic? Surely. Jean tried everything she could think of but couldn’t make it to Thomas’ liking. She even tried various fruits –  lamb pairs well with apricots and cranberries, prunes, dates. Mint? Rosemary? Close, but still not there. Jean asked Lucien if he knew the secret ingredient in his mother’s lamb stew. Lucien was no help at all.

She was certain that Thomas was holding the stew up in esteem to remember Genevieve by and there couldn’t possibly be a secret ingredient. Eventually Jean gave up and treated Thomas to various other savory dishes for which he was eternally grateful. But for years it had bothered Jean that she couldn’t figure out what the stew was missing.   

Within the stack of recipe cards in hand he finds it - his mother’s recipe for lamb stew. It’s a bit yellow and faded after years of neglect, but he’s able to read his mother’s careful handwriting. The secret ingredient. It’s there, starting at him. He almost immediately shares it with Jean but decides to wait. He gathers up the various other cards, at least 30 in total, and carefully hides them away from Jean. He knows just what to do.

Weeks later he meets with Albert, the local bookshop owner and shares his plans for Jean’s present. Lucien wants to preserve his mother’s delicate recipe cards into a book for Jean, while also creating blank spaces for Jean to add to as she wants.

As Christmas nears, Lucien begins to get cold feet, per se, about his gift to Jean. Will she feel as if she’s just good enough to cook his meals? Will she feel appreciated as Lucien’s wife and family and not as his former housekeeper? In the end he realizes that Jean loved his father more than he did and longed to have met his mother. Jean is more Blake than Lucien is, and in the end he knows he’s made the right decision. 

Christmas Day rolls around and Jean spends all morning cooking before the arrival of their friends and family. Christopher’s family have agreed to spend a few days with Jean and Lucien, and of course Matthew and Alice and Rose make an appearance. The leg of lamb was perfectly roasted and there are happy smiles all around. 

Lucien sits at the piano teaching Amelia how to play and it warms Jean’s heart. Christopher and Ruby plan to stay through the week and Jean cannot contain her happiness. How fast a life can change in just a year. Jean thought she knew true happiness before, but now it feels like her life is complete. Her marriage to Christopher was harried and rushed, but they settled into a comfortable relationship. He treated her with love and respect and they worked well together on the farm. Having married so young, Jean was still trying to figure out the woman she was to become. At times she felt like she had outgrown Christopher and wanted something more, but she knew she could never do anything about it.

She finally found her chance with Lucien. 

As the day faded into evening, the house became quiet. Christopher was the last to say goodnight as Lucien and Jean found themselves alone for the first time all day. Sitting together on the couch with a gentle song playing in the background, exhaustion stepped in. As the song on the wireless ends, Jean makes her way to their bedroom as Lucien checks to make sure the house is locked and everything is put away for the night.

Too tired to even undress, Jean falls on the bed and immediately is met with a hard object jamming into her neck. Someone had left a beautifully wrapped present on her pillow. Someone who promised not to get her a gift this year. 

Curiosity getting the better of her, she carefully opens the package to find a beautiful leather bound book titled simply, “The Blake Family Cookery Book.” Opening the cover, she instantly recognizes Genevieve’s handwriting and takes a second to look at the titles of the cards. She sees a few of hers that Lucien has snuck in there that she’d left laying around the kitchen.

As she turns the next page she is overcome with emotion as tears flood her eyes. Her grandmother’s handwriting. That slanted script she grew up trying to emulate.Behind those, her mom’s recipes. She sees the recipe cards that have been in her family for generations. 

Sensing movement at the door, Jean turns to find Lucien staring lovingly at her.

“How did you get these?”

“Jack and Christopher helped. They got in contact with your sister and together they worked for months to find all of the recipe cards they could. Your sister was glad they were going to good use.” 

Jean looks at Lucien and can no longer not be in his arms. She kisses him and somehow “thank you” does not seem like enough. Lucien grabs her hand and leads her back to the bed. 

“Come here, I want to show you something.” 

Lucien turns to the last page and hands Jean the book. 

Taking a second to realize what she’s seeing, she remarks “Yeast! That’s it!” 

The secret ingredient was beer, the thing she never thought to try. That’s what gave the stew the dark and robust flavor that Thomas struggled to identify coherently. No one has ever taken the time to make her such a thoughtful gift. Jean already has plans to give it to her granddaughter in about twenty years. Looking into Lucien’s eyes she cannot imagine a life without him, She thought she was doing pretty okay before he made an appearance, but in the end she discovered that she had been waiting for him her whole life. 

Setting the book down carefully, Jean turns to Lucien and begins to climb on top of him. “So. Are you ready for your Christmas present?” 

#doctor Blake secret Santa #tdbm #plumandfinch #tdbmsecretsanta2k17

[heyyamaguchi]

In Return

The @ignoctsecretsanta event is finally here! My gift-ee was @raenngu - Merry Christmas! The fic is under the cut, or you can find it here on AO3. Hope you like it! ( ﾟ▽ﾟ)/*

Title: In Return Rating: T Warnings: None Other Tags: Established Relationship, Sickfic, Cuddling & Snuggling

By the very nature of his position, Ignis spends more time with Noctis than anyone.

By the very nature of his position, Ignis spends more time with Noctis than anyone. 

There’s very little that isn’t shared between them—every joy, sorrow, hope, and fear. All secrets, dreams, frustrations, and hurt. Stolen kisses when they think nobody is looking. A million little affectionate touches that come as naturally as breathing air, cultivated by a lifetime’s worth of trust and understanding.

All that being said, Noct isn’t the least bit surprised when his own miserable, sniffling, hacking cold becomes Ignis’s miserable, sniffling, hacking cold.

After ten-plus years, it’s the natural order of things.

Granted, they do go about convalescence a little differently—Noct stays home for three days and watches terrible daytime TV, while Ignis…does not. But there’s a certain sense of solidarity between them in the two days after Noct starts to get better and before Ignis starts to feel worse.

The problem is, Ignis only seems to be feeling worse.

The poor guy has tissues shoved in every available pocket, nose scrubbed pink in a way that might be funny were it not for his obvious misery. When he’s not blowing his nose, he’s coughing, and when he’s not coughing, he’s clearing his throat with such a poorly-hidden grimace Noct knows it must hurt like hell.

He has to admit, he feels a little guilty—both for giving Ignis his cold in the first place, and for the fact that he’d managed to get away with relatively mild symptoms in comparison to whatever monstrosity has set up shop in his advisor’s chest.

So, on the fifth day, when Ignis’s cough begins to sound less like he’s clearing his throat and more like he’s struggling not to drown, Noct makes up his mind to do something about it.

Mercifully, they only have two important things left on the agenda for today: the longest, most boring meeting in the world, and a daunting stack of reports Noct has been putting off reading ever since the first sniffle hit. He knows he should have put more focus into keeping on top of things, but he can barely get through those pages of political jargon on a good day, let alone when he’s not feeling well. He tells himself it was a losing battle, but that consolation is somewhat hollow in the face of all this backlog.

Nevertheless, he can only focus on one thing at a time. And for now, that one thing is this meeting.

They’re just there to observe, really. Ignis has been dutifully taking notes the entire time, but it’s not like either of them knows jack about city infrastructure. Some guy with a ridiculously gaudy tie is bemoaning the lack of funds allotted towards bridge maintenance, while another is trying to interject a point about the necessity of upgraded emergency weather equipment. It’s probably important and relevant information that will affect a great number of people, but the two men remind him more of sleazy used car salesmen than respected government officials. It’s almost enough to turn him away from the topic entirely.

It’s also very, very boring.

Noct can’t keep his attention from wandering, eyes straying to the yellow legal pad Ignis is writing on. His notes are pristine, key points jotted down in his tiny, neat handwriting. His gaze travels up to Ignis’s face, watching his eyes flick from the speaker to his notes, back and forth at lightning speed. He doesn’t seem to notice Noct’s watchful stare, even as the prince takes in the dusting of pink high on his cheeks, the beads of sweat collecting at his hairline, the occasional shiver running through his frame…

Then he stops writing.

Noct freezes, wondering if he’s been caught—and if so, why it should matter. But no, Ignis keeps his grip on the pen, his other hand traveling to press ineffectively to his chest, and Noct can now hear the gentle wheeze with each of his inhalations.

He’s going to cough, that same gut-wrenching cough he’s been doing since yesterday. And he’s doing his damnedest to suppress it—out of what? Politeness? For the sake of these clowns bickering over money? It must hurt, too—and is it his imagination, or are Ignis’s eyes a little wetter than they’d been a minute ago? He looks anxious and miserable in a way Noct hasn’t seen since—

He’s just about to say something when Ignis stands, breathlessly muttering an apology in the midst of a bow, and marches out of the room like a man on a mission. The door hasn’t even swung all the way shut before Noct hears exactly what he’d known was coming—explosive, deep coughing, seemingly far too loud to have come from his mild-mannered advisor. Then the door latches, effectively soundproofing the room.

Somehow the silence is worse. He’s sure everything is fine, but not knowing for certain that Ignis had managed to catch his breath is agonizing in its own way.

This meeting cannot end soon enough.

Some fifteen-odd minutes later, when it finally does, Noct is in such a hurry to gather his and Ignis’s things that he barely hears the closing remarks about the necessity of another meeting “in order to make a well-examined decision on the matter.”

Figures.

The wave of relief Noct feels when he finds Ignis waiting right outside the door is palpable. He passes over his briefcase and travel mug, lacing their fingers together long enough to give his hand a comforting little squeeze before they head towards the elevator.

As soon as the elevator doors shut, Ignis sags against the wall, eyes closed. He has a few damp specks on his shirt collar—he must’ve gone to the restroom to splash cool water on his face, Noct realizes, though he certainly doesn’t seem to be feeling any better for it.

“You look like shit,” Ignis cracks open one eye, and Noct amends, “—sicker than I was, I mean.”

“Yes, well…” Ignis makes a vague gesture with his mug, which Noct knows is full of that awful herbal tea he drinks whenever he’s really, truly ill, “it’s nothing a good night’s rest won’t fix.”

Noct rolls his eyes. “And when’s the last time you had one of those?”

“…Touché.” Ignis closes his eye again and raises a hand to adjust his glasses, fingers lingering for just a few seconds to pinch the bridge of his nose. Noct pats his back reassuringly, and he can’t quite help his own smile when the corners of Ignis’s lips quirk up in amusement. “Do I look an absolute state?”

“Do you feel an ‘absolute state’?” Noct counters, reaching up and pushing back the few sweat-damp strands of hair that have stuck to Ignis’s forehead. An unsubtle brush against skin reveals what he already knows; his advisor is running a temperature.

Ignis only hums.

The elevator chimes.

The debate over who is going to drive them back to Noct’s apartment is short-lived once Noct points out that it is in both of their best interests if Ignis doesn’t crash the car in the midst of a coughing fit. Ignis tries valiantly to argue back, but raising his voice to a proper fighting volume is enough to send him into just such a fit. He hacks wetly, face buried in the crook of his elbow, hard enough and long enough that he’s practically swooning when it finally lets up. Eyes and nose streaming, he even lets Noct open the passenger side door for him.

And while Noct is sure Ignis probably has like, four different kinds of cough drops in his briefcase, he offers him one from the handful he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier—basking in the warmth of the tired, grateful little smile he receives in return.

Noct leaves the radio off—a necessary sacrifice for the sake of Ignis’s pounding head—and fiddles with the heat instead. It’s not particularly cold out, but he remembers Ignis shivering his way through the meeting and figures it’s the best he can do for now.

Either he’s correct, or else exhaustion has simply won the battle, because they’re barely a mile out before Ignis lists to the right, forehead thumping gently against the cool glass of the window. Noct waits a moment before sneaking a peek at him, wondering if maybe he’s just resting his eyes, but no—his posture is completely slack, mouth hanging slightly open. Hell, he’s even snoring—barely loud enough to be heard over the whirr of the heating system.

If he wasn’t one hundred percent certain Ignis would wake up to scold him for removing his eyes from the road, Noct would totally take a picture right now.

Instead, he just concentrates on keeping the ride as smooth as possible.

Ignis doesn’t stir until they’re parked, and Noct gives him a minute to collect himself before they head into the apartment. He toes his shoes off ungracefully, watching with some interest as Ignis follows suit, and leads his still-drowsy boyfriend over to the sofa.

“I am in dire need of some caffeine,” Ignis complains through a yawn, even as he sinks back into the cushions. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

Noct rolls his eyes, exasperated but still impossibly fond. “Bronchitis, Ignis. You have bronchitis.”

“…Perhaps.”

“Almost definitely,” Noct uncaps the thermometer, conveniently left on the end table earlier that week by none other than Ignis himself. “Open up,” he pokes his patient in the lower lip when he doesn’t react fast enough.

Ignis complies, reluctance written all over his face. “I hardly think this is severe enough to warrant such attention,” he mumbles around the thermometer.

But thirty seconds later, they have their answer. “102 even,” Noct announces, to Ignis’s obvious chagrin. “That’s high enough. You’re going to bed.”

True to his nature, a counterpoint follows, “Noct, it’s only—” he squints at the clock, “—5:30.”

“Yeah, and you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” The deeply troubled furrow between Ignis’s brows doesn’t smooth out, so Noct softens his tone. “Just for a little while, okay? You can sleep here on the couch, and I’ll sit in the chair and tackle a couple of these reports. Sound good?”

Whether it’s the thought of the prince actually getting some work done, or just the simple enticing pull of slumber, Noct isn’t sure, but Ignis folds like a house of cards. “If you insist.”

Noct leans in long enough to give him a peck on the cheek, then heads to his bedroom to retrieve a pair of Ignis’s warmest pajama pants, the thickest blanket he owns, and three ridiculously overstuffed pillows. He makes quick work of his advisor’s business attire, heart clenching at how badly he shivers in just his underclothes, and helps him shimmy into the flannel pants. Ignis coughs lightly, face turned away as Noct arranges the pillows at one end of the couch and eases him back against them. Noct kisses him again, this time on his fever-hot forehead as he tucks the comforter around his body.

“Comfy?”

“Very.”

“You need anything else?”

Ignis shakes his head. “You’re spoiling me,” he cautions, though the warning comes across more sleepy and content than foreboding.

“You deserve it,” Noct smoothes back his bangs, stealing his glasses from the bridge of his nose and placing them on the coffee table for safekeeping. “Just rest. I’ll be working if you need me.”

“Hard to believe,” there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as his eyes flutter shut.

“Harsh, Specs.” But Ignis is already asleep.

Noct settles in for the long run.

Ignis awakens with a rush of adrenaline and the horrible, pressing knowledge that something is wrong.

His sleep-addled brain takes a moment to process that he’s coughing—hard enough that each cough brings literal tears to his eyes. He struggles his way out of his blanket cocoon, turning on his side and pulling his knees toward his chest, anything to make it stop. He hears rustling, footsteps, someone talking to him, but he can’t make sense of the words. Then, without warning, he’s hauled up into a sitting position—a move that throws off what little equilibrium he has and makes him sick to his stomach.

It’s Noct, he realizes belatedly, feeling a hand against his back. Noct’s hand, Noct’s voice, Noct’s sofa, Noct’s apartment. He focuses on that hand, kneading gently into his back, trying to help get his breathing back under control. He takes in a stuttered breath, coughing it out again just as quickly, but Noct’s voice has an encouraging edge to it now, and a cool hand presses to the back of his neck as he manages another inward gasp.

Noct sits with him until he’s only panting, then gets up just long enough to nab the box of tissues from the end-table. Ignis grabs a handful, dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose until he feels almost human again.

“Feel better?” Noct asks.

“Somewhat.” he lies, noting with no small amount of displeasure how utterly destroyed his voice is.

Noct clearly doesn’t believe him, which is probably for the best. Still, he drops the subject. “You want dinner? There’s leftover soup.” To say the soup is simply leftover doesn’t quite do the sheer volume justice. When it comes to Ignis, there is simply no underestimating the curative powers of broth and noodles.

Which is to say, he’d dutifully produced a truly absurd quantity the very moment Noct had mentioned feeling unwell.

Except now…now the very thought of food is enough to turn his stomach. “I’d—” he cuts himself off, swallowing compulsively, “I’d rather not.”

He must look as exceptionally queasy as he feels, because Noct doesn’t try to talk him into it. “You should probably have something to drink, at least…you’re still pretty flushed,” he’s frowning as he presses the backs of his fingers to Ignis’s forehead. Ignis repeats the action himself, but he can’t really make an assumption either way. “Tea?” Noct suggests, “I don’t have your gross herbal stuff, though…but I think there might be orange juice in the fridge?”

Ignis would rather play it safe, in all honesty. “Maybe just a glass of water, and some of that awful cough syrup I forced into you over the weekend?”

Noct turns to stare so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. “So now the truth comes out—you knew it was horrible from the beginning. ‘Cherry flavor’, my ass.”

The snort that escapes Ignis is both hilarious and unexpected, and he catches a glimpse of Noct’s grin before he turns away under the pretense of retrieving the requested items. In the short time it takes him to fill a cup and grab the cough medicine, Ignis is overcome by a wash of fatigue, and he flops back onto the pillows, massaging his throbbing temples. He realizes he’s probably dehydrated, but knowing the cause of this massive headache doesn’t do him much good. His eyes slip shut despite himself.

“Still tired?” Noct’s voice is low, obviously trying to avoid disturbing him.

“Exhausted, actually,” Ignis murmurs, dragging his eyes open long enough to accept the proffered glass. The cool liquid feels incredible against his raw throat, and he surprises himself by downing half the water in one go. Noct uncaps the medicine, examining the label on the back and carefully dispensing the correct dose into the measuring cup. In Ignis’s humble opinion, the syrup would be much less intimidating if it didn’t reflect a murky, reddish hue, but beggars can’t be choosers. He takes it like a shot, but it still hits enough of his taste-buds on the way down to send a shudder up his spine.

Noct gives him a wry smile. “Horrible, isn’t it?”

“Positively disgusting,” he swishes a little water around in his mouth to try and dissipate the taste.

“Should knock you out in no time, at least,” Noct supplies.

Not that Ignis will probably need much help on that front, drowsy as he already is. Being sick is certainly doing a number on his overall productivity. He allows Noct to take him by the arm, helping him rise from the gravitational pull of the sofa and make his unsteady way into the bedroom.

He shrugs him off, though, when Noct tries to deposit him in bed.

“What’s up?” Noct tilts his head to the side, a slight pout upon his lips.

He can’t let this one go, though. “I know a shower is probably out of the question, but…” he hopes Noct catches his drift.

Noct sighs, but ultimately agrees. “Okay, yeah. Go brush your teeth and wash your face and whatever else you gotta do. Maybe a bath tomorrow, if you don’t look like you’ll fall asleep and drown in the tub.”

Reinvigorated by the promise of basic personal hygiene, Ignis straightens up enough that Noct deems him sufficiently awake to manage without a babysitter. With a nodded promise to shout if he needs anything, he disappears behind the door, relishing this brief moment of solitude. He brushes his teeth quickly—eager to erase the lingering pseudo-cherry flavor from his mouth—uses the facilities, makes a vain attempt to comb his hair into something half-controllable, and takes great pleasure in washing away the sticky layer of dried sweat on his face.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror is somewhat startling—he looks much worse off than he’d remembered from that morning. Or perhaps he’s simply projecting how terrible he currently feels onto his reflection. In either case, he sincerely hopes a good night’s sleep will help clear away the bruise-colored circles beneath his eyes.

He’s shivering by the time he returns to the bedroom, beyond grateful when Noct ushers him beneath the comforter—and even more so when the prince climbs into bed after him.

The lights go out. Save for the ambient hum of the building, the room is quiet.

And Ignis is suddenly wide awake.

He blinks, eyes trying to adjust to the inky blackness of his surroundings. Maybe he’s just not in the right position? He shuffles over onto one side, then the other. Flips the pillow over, fluffs it up, then scrunches it beneath his head. He takes several deep breaths, trying to relax himself into unconsciousness, but all that succeeds in doing is to force a string of smothered coughs from his abused lungs.

A low groan forms in the back of his throat, and he has to resist the urge to pull the covers up over his head like a scorned child. He settles for smushing his face into the pillow, trying to block out the universe and whatever nonsense could possibly be keeping him from several hours of desperately-needed sleep.

He knows he’s truly done it when Noct mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, draping an arm across his body in a half-hug he’s all too eager to receive.

“Wha’ssa matter?” The question is inelegantly put, Noct’s own exhaustion creeping into his voice—a gentle reminder that he’d recently been ill, as well.

“I can’t—” frustration laces his words, but there’s no helping it, “—it’s—it’s ridiculous. Apologies.”

He can practically hear Noct rolling his eyes in the darkness. “Don’t ‘apologies’ me, c’mon.”

Ignis considers his options for a long moment. Finally, “I can’t sleep.”

“Obviously.”

“I—I’m certainly tired enough, but…” Noct is moving behind him, arms creeping up his back to find his shoulders. He’s just about to ask what he’s doing, when firm pressure into an achy spot right between his shoulder blades makes him gasp.

Noct pulls away as if he’d been burned. “You’re tense,” he observes.

Ignis can hear the strain in his own voice when he replies, “A bit, yes.”

Hands wandering up and down, Noct is sure to feel every illness-bred knot in Ignis’s back. The displeased click of his tongue all but seals the deal. “No wonder you can’t sleep—scoot forward a little,” he pushes Ignis slightly upright, blatantly ignoring the groan this elicits, and shuffles into the newly-created space against the headboard. Ignis rests against him without any prompting, snuggling up to this most welcome source of heat.

Noct’s hands are warm as they sit upon his shoulders, and Ignis can’t help the shaky little sigh that passes his lips at the first gentle sweep of his thumbs over coiled muscle. Noct takes this for what it is—permission to press a bit harder—and works at the first big knot he finds.

Ignis arches his back ever-so-slightly, trying to guide Noct’s hands where he needs them most, and has to bite back a moan when he finds the right spot. “You’re too good to me,” he murmurs, rolling one shoulder forward with marked relief.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Ignis laughs, quiet and a little raspy as Noct cants his hips forward, giving him space to lean back. Noct’s hands are in his hair now, pads of his fingers rubbing lazy circles on his scalp. He can feel the rise and fall of Noct’s chest with each breath, and he tries to match his own breathing to the slow, easy pace. When he presses his ear to Noct’s breastbone, he can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

He could fall asleep like this.

The darkness that laps at the edges of wakefulness is familiar. He breathes in time with Noct, the wheezing ache in his chest dissolving bit by bit. The arms around him are warm, the form beneath him is sturdy. It feels good. It feels right.

It feels like home.

In the hazy bliss of near-unconsciousness, he thinks he forms his mouth into the shape of, “I love you.”

The press of lips to the crown of his head is all he needs in return.

#ignoctsecretsanta #raenngu #ffxv #ignis #noctis #ignoct #sickfic #fic #my fic #wc: 3636 #ignoct secret santa

[spnrelatedurl]

Stay Beautiful - Chapter 3

A/N: The response for this series has been incredible so far, and there’s only been 2 chapters. So, to reward you guys for your kind words, may I present to you; Chapter 3! Seriously though, thank you so much for everything. It means a lot that you guys are reading this, let alone taking time out of your day to say something kind about it. You guys ROCK! I hope you enjoy this very angsty chapter! :D

Trigger Warnings: Kidnap, Missing Child, suicide mention

Word count: 1825

Tag List:  @winchesters-favorite-girl @winchester-writes @storyofawinchester @rosie-winchester @bea789  @inkedinpastel @alicat-life @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @straightasdeanwinchester @unicorndreamer1622 @internationalmusicteacher@xdsockmonkey @lolawinchesterr

I was at the City of Austin police station.

Morgan had gone. Jared had gone. All of the Padalecki’s and their friends, the Ackles’ and Collins’ had gone.

I’d been talking to an FBI agent for the last two hours. Kinda funny really, considering my possible father poses as one sometimes on the show he’s in. Ava Alexander was a tall woman with a long, horsey face. I liked her. She listened carefully to every word I had to say, then asked me questions in a sympathetic inflection.

She went away for a bit, then came back to tell me that my parents were being looked for in both New York and around England. I knew this was good news. But my mind was still on my meeting with the Padalecki’s. I kept trying to match the sad-eyed Jared with the image I had of him in my mind, holding me as a baby. Was that really the same man?

“Kendra?”

I looked up. Ava stretched out her long legs.

“You have to understand,” she said. “There’s two separate issues here. The whole business of you maybe being stolen from your birth family when you were a baby. That’s one. But then there’s also the possibility of your parents being involved and planning something else. Those are two separate crimes. Two different but overlapping investigations.”

“So what’s going to happen next?”

“You mean to you?” She stood up.

I nodded.

“We’ll keep you informed.” She said before leaving the room. I was left on my own again.

I curled up in my chair and rested my head on my arm. The seconds on the clock ticked by.

Jack must be so confused right now, and he probably hates my guts more than ever. Not that it could be by that much, and if my parents get sent down for this I don’t know if I could stand facing him with him knowing why.

And I needed time to think about the Padalecki’s. I must’ve been wrong about Jared. I must’ve. Surely, if Jared was my father, I would’ve felt something more when I saw him.

I closed my eyes. Tears prickled at the lids. The only person I could stand being around right now was Morgan and I didn’t really want to see her much either. I just wanted to be on my own.

The door opened and I turned to face who it was. Luckily it was only Morgan with Ava.

“Hey.” She greeted.

“Hi.” I said.

“So, any more info yet?” She asked, leaping into the chair opposite mine, strangely content. Almost upbeat.

“Not really. Just some stuff about two crimes my parents committed.” I sighed. “Morgan, even if this is all true, what’s gonna happen to Jack?”

“I thought you didn’t care about Jack?”

I let out a short groan.

“I mean, I hate him, sure. But he’s still my brother despite everything. And it wasn’t his fault. I don’t know.” I said.

“Listen, girls, there are some practical issues we need to discuss.” She said, standing in the corner of the room with her arms folded and a file in her hand.

“Like what?” Morgan asked.

“Well, so far we have no actual evidence that you were kidnapped at all, or if it was your parents who did it, Kendra. But if they did kidnap you as a baby, it would give them all the more reason to try and make your disappearance permanent.” She said. I shook my head.

“No. I mean, my dad’s a harmless person. My mum’s organised, sure, but she wouldn’t be able to organise a murder. She’s not like that. She’s so squeamish that even the mere drop of blood would be enough to send her into a frenzy. Besides all of that, they kidnapped me for a reason. They must want me, right?” I asked.

“Listen, we’re checking out all the details, but that’s going to take a bit of time. And, naturally, the Padalecki’s are all stirred up to know one way or the other.”

Ava cleared her throat. It was some awkward tension in the room when we suddenly realised the Padalecki’s are the true victims here.

“There is one way to speed all this up, however.” She paused. “A DNA test.”

The test took less than a minute. The nurse who checked me over when we came into the station was the same nurse who took a swab and stuck it in my mouth and swiped it against my cheek. She said the results would be ready tomorrow. I couldn’t believe something so big rested on something so quick and easy to do.

The FBI let Morgan and I go to a hotel – with police supervision, of course – and once we got in our room, Morgan’s parents were there to greet her.

“You stupid, stupid…” Her mum sniffed. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. Both of you.”

She pulled me into the hug too. Little did I know, that was exactly what I needed. I’ve always loved Morgan’s family. I’ve been a little jealous of them if truth be told. They were the perfect family who loved each other more than anything. They were so close-knit it actually made me jealous most of the time.

“Listen, how’s about we get some room service and watch some TV?” Her dad suggested. Morgan and I smiled and nodded our heads.

“Look, your father and I know it’s a big day tomorrow, and we want to have a chat, so we’ll leave you to order whatever you want – within reason – and we’ll be back before you know it.” Morgan’s mum said.

Once our food came Morgan switched on the TV. She’s a bit of a news fan. I’ve never figured out why. It’s all horrible most of the time, and the most uplifting stories are usually the ones involving animals or an overachiever.

I just picked at my food, trying to ignore the endless drone of the TV. Too many thoughts were crowding in on me. All the stuff about mum and dad possibly being arrested, the DNA test I have to look forward to. What would it mean if I really was Chloe Padalecki?

I’d only ever thought of my birth family as some kind of fantasy before. Some place I could turn to when it suited me. A whole alternate life that changed depending on my mood. Now I’ve met the Padalecki’s, I’d painfully realised there was a whole family reality behind my fantasy. A family reality I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to face.

I tried to distract myself by flicking crumbs at Morgan, but she just laughed then brushed it off, getting increasingly less interested by the second.

“Why don’t you just watch this with me?” She said as she turned back to the news.

The police came in at about 10 o’clock, when Morgan was asleep and I was pretending to be too.

As the night wore on my thoughts became darker and more insistent. When I turned away from one, another pushed its way into my head. I found myself imagining how upset Jared and my still imaginary mother must’ve been when they realised I was missing. Then it was my parents – I saw them in my mind’s eye waiting and watching outside my hotel door. Then I tried remembering that the police were there so it would be fine.

Get a grip, Kendra.

I slept a little, then woke up when it was getting light. I lay on my back, quietly giggling at the sound of Morgan lightly snoring. She always joked about how I snore like a little bear. For that second, everything was normal again. Then my thoughts intruded on me again.

If I was the Padalecki’s daughter, what would that mean? They would want to see me again – which is fine, I was curious about them too. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

Suppose they call me Chloe?

Suppose Jared expects me to call him dad?

There was a rap at the door. Morgan snorted herself awake making me smile, but I got up to answer it nonetheless.

“Good, you’re up. Not because of me, I hope.” Ava Alexander strode in with a coffee and some pieces of paper.

“No, you’re alright.” I answered.

“Speak for yourself.” Morgan yawned.

I looked around for a clock. 6:30 am. Why was Ava waking us up this early? And where were Morgan’s parents?

“Your DNA results,” she spoke.

But in that moment, I knew before she told me.

“According to the test there’s a greater than 99.9% chance you’re the biological offspring of Jared.”

So, in other words no doubt at all.

After all this time and effort into finding out where I came from, I thought I would feel excited. Or afraid. Or at least relieved.

But I felt nothing.

Morgan put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it sympathetically.

“What does that mean for me now?” I asked.

“Well, in normal situations there’d be a foster home. Then-” She answered.

“What? A foster home?”

“They’d be good people, Kendra,” she patted my knee. “Properly vetted by the state and-“

“But I don’t want to live with strangers!” I said adamantly.

“Listen, you’re not letting me finish. I said, normally the state would find foster carers for you. But this is not a normal situation. The Padalecki’s know about the DNA result. My guess is that they’re going to get a family court judge to approve a ‘best interest placement’.” She said.

“What does that mean?” I asked, leaning against Morgan. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“The Padalecki’s are most likely going to get themselves approved as temporary foster parents,” Ava smiled. “They’re wealthy people, with good standing in the community. If they can get social services to rush through the necessary criminal background checks and stuff, and persuade a judge you’d be better off with them than anyone else, then you could stay with them until the permanent orders are issued, and, if your adoptive parents didn’t kidnap you, then they would fight your adoptive parents for custody.”

I stared at her blankly.

“What about my birth mum? I don’t know a thing about her.” I said. She sighed sadly.

“I was told if you asked I should be the one to tell you. Listen, once you were kidnapped your mother took it bad. Really, really bad. She… well… she’s not with us anymore.” She said. Tears were already dripping down my cheeks.

“That’s it? That’s all I get? I have to live with this family I don’t know and that’s all I get about my dead mum? That she offed herself years ago?” I asked angrily. Ava sighed, standing up, getting ready to leave the room.

“Look at it this way, Kendra.” She said, putting on her coat. “After 18 years, you’d finally be going home.”

#mine #spnrelatedurl #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfiction #supernatural rpf #supernatural fanfic #stay beautiful #jared padalecki #genevieve padalecki #ofc

[lovehoundd]

When the cage is open (Bioshock fanfiction)

pairing: Jack/Elizabeth | word count: 4912 | warnings: spoilers, like hella spoilers | tags: angst and fluff, post burial at sea | ao3 link: x

the end of Burial at Sea pretty much broke my heart, so in order to cure my shattered emotions i needed to write such a horrible, plotless fluff. it’s really stupid and corny, but it was fun to write since learning to my finals is killing me. i just want Jack and Elizabeth to be happy ಥ_ಥ  they’re good kids and deserve a lot of love and puppies. beta was done by my ray of sunshine @ahjiminie​

The end of Jack’s mutual story with Rapture was near, he could feel it in his bones. There was one thing left for him to do, namely killing Fontaine. Jack had no idea whether he’ll succeed or die trying and rot in this underwater hell, but one thing was sure – he had to do it.

It was the only way to be sure that the girls will be truly safe and free. And there were other victims of Fontaine’s doings. Dozens of civilians dead and others who were pulled into the civil war, more or less consciously, like poor Diane McClintock and Jasmine Jolene whose only fault was being naive or in love. And finally, Andrew Ryan, who in the face of failure died on his own terms. Ryan’s deeds were no better than Fontaine’s, but Jack admired his dignity and how he valued his freedom. Maybe because Jack never had his own. Not to mention that Andrew and Jasmine were his real parents, even thought he had never known them.

It wasn’t rational, but somehow Jack felt that he owned something to all of them. He wanted to fight Fontaine in their name, to be sure that their suffering wasn’t in vain. But primarily, Jack wanted to do it for the girls. They were the ones who Rapture hurt the most and Jack was willing to do everything he could to repay them.

Rapture tainted and corrupted Jack, he felt all its sins crawling along his skin. After all, he was inseparable part of it. When he first got out of the bathysphere, the city seemed like a nightmare from which Jack couldn’t wake up, but the thought that above him there is a normal world waiting for him gave him hope. Later it turned out, that apart from Rapture, there was no other home for Jack.

Although everything was leading to it, at the thought of confronting Fontaine Jack was shaking out of fear and anger. He could still feel the burning despair in his heart, when the thought of Atlas being Fontaine came back to his head. Jack truly believed him, gave his life into Atlas’ hands willingly. Not that it wasn’t already there all this time.

He was Frank’s puppet and he had no free will, but even without enslaving phrase “would you kindly” Jack was sure he’d trust Atlas with all his heart. His voice was the only reassuring thing in the hell he’s been through, the only light in the darkness. Maybe he and Diane McClintock weren’t so different after all.

But now Jack knew the truth and was left all alone. Sure, there was Tenenbaum who helped him, but Jack was aware that alike Fontaine, she saw him only as a tool. In her case, she wanted to use him for more noble reasons, but what was the difference for Jack? He had nothing. No memories, no family, no past nor future. Just another freak of nature, in which Rapture was abounding. His whole life has been a whim of a man, who valued power high above human life.

Jack didn’t even own himself. At this thought he shuddered. Tears started to well in his eyes, but were wiped away quickly. There was no time for this and he needed all strength he had right now.

Jack was deep in his thoughts while wandering about Apollo Square. He needed to get second dose of Lot 192. He had already taken the first, to cure himself out of Code Yellow and other remaining trigger phrases. Since then, dancing to Frank’s tune has come to an end. Fontaine had nothing on him, no more dirty tricks. Now it was just old fashion guns against guns. And well, not so old fashion giant amount of ADAM. But first, he needed to regain control over his plasmids before even thinking about getting Fontaine. To do that, he needed another dose of Lot, which was in Suchong’s private clinic. Jack was desperate to get there as fast as possible, but on the other hand he was also afraid of going to the lab where his creator used to work.

He got there by accident, while exploring the second floor of Artemis Suites. As always, Jack was going through all the rooms in search of anything that could become handy. While doing that, he noticed entrance to Suchong clinic in the east wing of the building.

After a while of searching, he finally got the Lot. Jack sighed with a relief. Plasmids changing every 30 seconds were driving him crazy, not to mention he couldn’t properly fight. He went further into clinic, hoping to find some more of Suchong’s notes. Jack was still terrified, but wanted to learn all he could about himself, about the precious “ace in the hole”, since all of his previous life was just a crop of lies.

He found Suchong’s recorded diary, the last one, which was very obvious since it was lying next to his massacred body. Jack’s first impulse was feeling horrified and sorry for him, even taking into account all what Suchong did to him. Being drilled to a table by a Big Daddy was a horrible way to die. But when Jack listened to the record, he couldn’t help but to smile viciously. Suchong’s death pretty much summarized all his deeds.

There was nothing more for Jack to do, so he should get back to finding Fontaine, but he felt a sudden need to go further into clinic. He found a breach in a wall, behind which there was another room. Led by curiosity, Jack proceeded.

In the darkness something white loomed before his eyes. It was a shirt on a young woman’s body lying on the floor. Thinking, it’s just another rotting corpse, Jack approached. Maybe she had some EVE with her, it was worth checking. But when he got closer, he saw a barely noticeable movement. Her chest was rising and falling, so lightly and slowly, that she could be easily mistaken for dead. Jack was surprised and felt a glimmer of hope that he may help her.

“Hey, do you hear me?” he touched gently her shoulder. Surrounding darkness was so deep that he could hardly see her face. Jack snapped his fingers using Incinerate as a lighter. Finally, he could see the girl better. First thing he noticed was a horrible injury on the left side of her head and a grimace of pain. It took a moment for Jack to realize how pretty she was, under all those bruises and scabs. He shook her shoulder, in the most gentle way he could.

At Jack’s touch and mild lighting, the girl frowned and slowly opened her eyes with noticeable difficulties. She tried to say something, but only a stertorous sound came out of her chapped mouth. Jack reached for a bottle of water he had with him and helped her with drinking it. When finished, the girl gasped.

“Thanks,” she whispered. Jack didn’t know what to do. It was not safe around here and he didn’t have anything to make her a proper dressing. His first aid kits seemed not to be enough.

“Answer me only if you feel strong enough. Do you know what are your injuries except your head?”

��I… probably have a concussion... but nothing else,” she answered quietly. Jack leaned closer to see her wound. Only then the girl saw him better.

“Oh God… It’s you. It is really you...” She closed her eyes and slowly a smile spread on her face. Few tears ran down her cheek. Jack didn’t pay attention to that since she was probably just splattering, not being fully conscious. He’s heard a lot of strange things said by citizens of Rapture. He thought that the best option will be taking her to Tenenbaum since seemingly her knowledge on medicine was far wider then Jack’s.

“I will take you somewhere safe,” he said and took her in his arms, lifting her up. She was so light and petite that the injury seemed much more serious to Jack now. She nestled against Jack’s sweater like a little girl.

“I saw you... in my vision… I saw you saving Sally… I can’t believe you’re here,” the girl sighed, sounding both exhausted and delighted. Jack frowned, starting to be little bit irritated. He didn’t want to lose her, to have another life on his conscience.

“Hush! You’re very weak, you must save your strength.”

“You just have no idea how important you are, do you?” she chuckled lightly. “That you’re the only person that can end this spinning wheel of madness and pain? Oh Jack...” She smiled and tears run down her cheek. Jack forgot about her state and stopped, being shock and slightly scared. How this girl knew his name? Who was she? She seemed little bit out of this place, just like him. And what was she doing here, half dead, but still conscious enough to say such bizarre things. He looked down on her.

“How… how do you know my name?”

“It’s a very long and complex story. I doubt…. you’ll believe it,” she snorted, but there was sadness in it.

“After arriving to this city nothing ever will be the same. I think you can’t surprise me in any way. But now, please say nothing. You must rest. I’ll get you to someone who will patch you up.”

“Mhm, okay,” she sighed.

“Just, one last thing. There is no need to tell you my name, since somehow you know it, but what’s yours?”

“It’s Elizabeth.” She closed her eyes, making a quiet whining sound, when she felt a vertigo. A moment later she passed out. Jack thought that it was better for her, while being unconscious she couldn’t feel the pain. He stopped for a moment to firm his grip and make carrying more comfortable.

Jack tried to let his thought wander aimlessly for a while, to rest a little bit after all that he’s heard, but one thing kept on occupying his mind. A nagging feeling that he has already heard the name “Elizabeth” in his rather short life before. Though he had no idea when and why.

* * *

Everything hurt, even breathing. The slowest movement made a wave of pain go through Elizabeth’s head and when she tried opening her eyes, the world whirled around her. But she was alive. Suffering, both physically and mentally, but alive.

How was it even possible? She remembered a slowly dying light, her last vision of Jack arriving to Rapture, Sally singing “La vie en rose” and then everything gone. Her death was sudden and violent but also essential in some way, so her being alive made no sense.

Since Jack was here, some time must have passed. What was it, weeks? Months? Hard to measure and even harder to understand. The only reasonable explanation were the Luteces, but what was the point of brining her back to life? Her part in the story was over, she was the mean to an end, leading to the big final with Jack playing the main role. Her and Booker’s sins were redeemed, there was nothing more for her to do.

And her happiness? Never mattered, so why should it be important now? The Luteces weren’t the type of people who felt compassion or did things in sake of one’s happiness. But on the other hand, only thanks to them Elizabeth could ever meet her father and spend some time with him, even if it was just a few days. And they gave opportunity for Booker to pay the debt he had to Elizabeth. So maybe after all they did care, in their very specific way.

Or was it something bigger? It could be just another whim of the Luteces. But could be also fate as well. Elizabeth was always sentimental, so she knew her judgment wasn’t clear, but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that it was written for her and Jack to meet.

She had the strangest feeling that she had known him all her life. Of course it was impossible, but some kind of bond could’ve been created between them when Jack’s memories mixed with hers. But Elizabeth knew it wasn’t all that was there.

Vision of Jack was the last thing she had seen before her death, the only consolation in it. Now, he was the first person for Elizabeth to see after her revival. It was a strange coincidence and Elizabeth has noticed that in her life there was no place for fortuity.

Her thoughts came back to Jack. Not constant and variables, infinite amount of universes or fate. Simply Jack. How she could feel an emanating willpower and determination from him. How he managed to preserve his innocence and kindness after all he’s been through. How he seemed to be glowing in the ubiquitous darkness of Rapture.

He was filling all her senses, which were still dimmed by pain and confusion, but by this maybe more sensitive. She felt him all over her heart, her thoughts, her soul. She felt him everywhere.

At this thoughts something rolled in Elizabeth’s stomach. This feeling, so simple yet so overwhelming, was completely new to her. How could she know it, since most of her life she spent being isolated from other people? It was probably the first time since meeting Booker when she started to feel something close to happiness. But a moment later her thoughts darkened after realizing something.

She was not the type of a person who could just sit down for a moment and fall in love. She was out of time, out of place, always. A part of two, three, a hundred, millions of millions worlds, thus not truly a part of any world. She didn’t truly have anything.

But was Jack any different? A man without a past nor future. Bereft of free will, created only to serve and obey. They both didn’t have anything. Not until now.

When Elizabeth thought about their lives, she found one thing pretty ironic. How was it possible that Jack, who was enslaved by Fontaine, could make more changes and do more good than she and Booker together? Booker, his own master, making decisions good and bad, but his own. Who’s life was painful, but he lived it fully. And who in the end had no choice, trapped in a circle of his own guilt and redemption.

And what about her? A woman for whom time and space had no meaning. Who could crush and create new worlds with an eye-blink, but was too proud and blinded by revenge to save one little girl.

Jack had more strength and humanity in him than they ever had, even though he wasn’t even born to be man, but a slave. He embodied everything Elizabeth and Booker tried to be and failed. Their fate was every man's fate: to try and fail, over and over again, but to never give up.

But Jack was different. He somehow managed to break the circle. Something Elizabeth and Booker could only dream of.

All those thoughts were rolling in Elizabeth’s head, while she was still hang between being conscious and asleep. After a while of struggle she opened her eyes, everything blurred with pain. She tried to sit halfway up, when a woman’s voice, with a thick German accent, came to her from nearby.

“Lie down, child. You’re still very weak.”

“Where is Jack?” Elizabeth murmured, trying not to sound obviously concerned.

“He brought you here few hours ago and left. I don’t know where he is now, the beacon of the radio is very weak.”

“But why did he left?”

“You don’t know? He’s gone to kill Fontaine.”

“Fontaine?! This bastard is still alive?” Elizabeth was really hoping, that after a sudden success this psychopath will quickly die in the civil war he had induced, maybe even killed by one of his supporters.

The woman chuckled.

“So, I assume you had the pleasure to meet him in person, right? And yes, unfortunately he’s alive and well, but with some luck it may be changed. And oh, I forgot, you can call me Brigid.” Elizabeth in her first reaction wanted to answer “Yeah, Tenenbaum. ‘Mother’ of the Little Sisters, I know you.” but in the last moment she bit her tongue. Maybe telling people things that she shouldn’t be aware of, wasn’t the best idea.

“I’m Elizabeth.”

Tenenbaum knelt down next to her and slowly started to change Elizabeth’s dressing.

“Your wound is serious, but it should heal without any complications if you’ll be careful.

“Is my wound… fresh?” Tenenbaum gave her a surprised look.

“Yes darling. Do you remember how you got it?”

You bet I do, Elizabeth thought.

“No, I don’t. Tell me one thing… When did Atlas attack Rapture?” Tenenbaum looked even more bewildered.

“Something more than a year ago. Why are you asking? It’s commonly known.” Elizabeth brooded. How was it possible? Even if the wound wouldn’t be serious enough to kill her, she still got it a year ago. She should have died out of dehydration or simply anything!

For the first time in her life Elizabeth would be glad if the Luteces appeared out of nowhere like they always did, babbling about universes and physics, only to understand what the hell was going on. But they didn’t. She was left here all alone, with no answers.

Maybe it was better this way? Did knowing the answers were ever good for her? Probably not. Could she simply think of it as an occasion to start a new life? Were Luteces really this kind? After all, she wasn’t this important, to break the rules of the universe over and over for again, just for her.

Was she?

Elizabeth smiled sadly. She wasn’t even sure if it was possible for her to move on, after all she’s been through.

She was burst out of her thoughts by a childish squeak. In the corner of her eye she saw a little girl running to her. A child approached her and grabbed her hand, cuddling it.

“Sally, leave this miss alone! She’s very sick.” Tenenbaum scolded the girl, but she didn’t pay attention. All she cared about now was Elizabeth.

“Mommy! Mommy, I knew you’ll be back, I knew it! I was waiting for you for so long, but I always knew you’ll come back for me!”

“Oh Sally...” Elizabeth felt tears running down her cheeks. First it was single drops, but a moment later she started sobbing. With difficulties she lift herself up and embraced the girl.

“You will never be alone again, I promise you that. I will never leave you.” She stroke Sally’s hair and wept. It was impossible to be real, just too good.

“You’re... this girl’s mother?” Tenenbaum’s eyebrows couldn’t get any higher.

“No, but I am the closest thing to it.”

Now there was no question if Elizabeth could move on, or not. She simply had to, for Sally. Elizabeth embraced her tighter, still crying and smiling.

* * *

“I remember when me and the Kraut put you in that sub. You were no more than two. You were my ace in the hole, but you were also the closest thing I ever had to a son. And that’s why this hurts.”

Jack was going up in an elevator while Fontaine tantalized him via radio. Jack kept on clenching his fists, with Electro Bolt dancing between his fingertips. He felt like he could kill Fontaine with his bare hands. “Pulling the ‘dad card’ just before the end, are you Fontaine? You must be insane to think this’ll work. Now you have nowhere to run. Fight me you cowardly fuck.”

Jack wasn’t the avenger type. He didn’t want to spill more blood and if he’d got a chance to spare Fontaine, he would do it without hesitation, despite the fact how much he’d suffered because of him. But Jack also wasn’t a fool. He knew that sparing Fontaine would only made things worse, since he wasn’t the type of man who can repentance. There was no other way but killing him.

Jack closed his eyes and trembled out of fear and disgust. “There is no mercy for the wicked.”

Jack didn’t have strength to care. Not anymore. He only wanted Fontaine dead and he could even die trying. His life had no value to him.

No, it wasn’t completely true. It looked like that few hours ago, but right now Jack was afraid of dying. Maybe not dying itself, but dying before seeing Elizabeth again.

He sighed and leaned his forehead against cool wall of the elevator. He slowly opened his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

“I just want to see her one more time.”

* * *

When Jack came back to a hideout, he looked completely exhausted. He was smiling, but it only reached his lips. All girls ran towards him, jumping, shouting and cheering. Fontaine was dead and they were finally free.

Jack took them into his arms, stroking them and laughing, but he only did it to make them happy, since he wasn’t feeling joyful at all. Tenenbaum also approached him, shook his hand and kissed him in both cheek. Everybody were safe and blithe. Everybody but Jack.

He lift his eyes from the girls and looked above them. Back behind of the crowd, Jack saw Elizabeth standing alone. It was like seeing the first signs of dawn after hours of a terrible sleepless night. Jack exhaled slowly, feeling how calmness was filing all his bones.

She came closer and lightly spread her arms. It was something for what Jack was waiting, although he didn’t know that. He almost ran to her and closed her in a tight embrace.

Elizabeth smiled involuntarily, feeling his palm on her shoulder-blade.

“Welcome home,” she murmured. Jack wanted to make an ironic remark about her just being corny, but he couldn’t say anything since he started to cry.

* * *

Elizabeth felt Jack’s breath on her cheek. She lift her gaze and looked into his eyes. He answered with a shy smile.

“You’re not sleeping,” she said.

“No, I can’t. For the first time in my life I have a chance to sleep soundly and I just can’t.”

“I know what you mean. All of this seems like short break between one horror and another.” Jack snorted quietly.  “Right? But from what you’ve told me, it must be an end. At least for us.”

Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I really hope so, Jack.”

He sunk into his thoughts.

For the last few hours they were talking. Elizabeth told him everything. About Columbia and Luteces, about Booker and Comstock. About constant and variables. How she arrived to Rapture and how Atlas killed her. To Elizabeth great astonishment, Jack believed her. They talked to Sally and she told Jack that Elizabeth was an angel the last time she saw her. But did the word of a girl, who was brainwashed for almost all her life had any meaning? For Jack it had.

And it mattered very much to Elizabeth, not only because she simply wanted him to believe her. She could see herself in Little Sisters. Isolated, brainwashed and being perceived not as humans but an objects. Very valuable and desired, but still an object. And Jack could see beyond that. He could see the real girls in them, not only monsters that can be killed for ADAM. It was the same with her. He didn’t saw her as a freak, but as a person who had suffered way too much in her life. In this way he saved her just like Booker once did.

When she finished her story, Jack was completely overwhelmed and tired. He asked if he could sleep next to her this night. After the events of the last few hours he was devastated and didn’t want to be left alone in this terrible darkness, bereft of the moonlight. Elizabeth felt exactly the same.

“Elizabeth?” Jack said after a short moment of silence.

“Yes?”

“Tell me...” He looked at her cage pendant. “Now, since your cage is open and you’re finally free…What will you choose? All possibilities are right in front of you… Everything you could never do, now is within your reach. You can finally go to Paris.  There is a whole new life ahead of you.” Elizabeth silenced for a while and looked at him from under her lashes. She got a little bit closer and sighed quietly.

“My life… never belonged to me and the only thing I used to have were dreams. I had so many plans... Now I can hardly remember most of them. But now, when I have the choice, for the first time in my life, I…” Elizabeth hesitated, but then looked him in the eyes one more time, and she was sure.

“I choose you, Jack,” she said quietly and brushed her lips against his. After a moment of shock Jack started to respond, thought his movements were slow. He cupped her face and gently deepened the kiss, but not making it harsh. They were both really careful and tender, like it was the first and the last time they could ever see each other.

Something rolled in Elizabeth’s stomach. It was like a wave coming through her body, feeling Jack’s hands on her, lips brushing against lips. She had never felt anything like that in her life, to touch, to feel, someone this important to her. They hardly knew each other, but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling, that all her life, all her suffering was leading to this moment, to meeting Jack.

For Jack she was an echo of the life he was robbed from, but also an announcement of the life that was about to come. A warm voice in the darkness, a lighthouse on the raging sea.

Jack kept his palm on Elizabeth’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. He gave her a thankful smile. Elizabeth grinned cheekily.

“And what about you, Jack Wynand? After breaking your chains, do you also have some particular plan?” Jack snorted.

“I might have something on my mind,” he said, reached for her right hand, and kissed it. Then he started to play involuntarily with her fingers, especially with a pinky.

Elizabeth looked at it. Now she remembered, that this finger wasn’t entirely hers. That she wasn’t this Elizabeth from Columbia, unstoppable, with endless chances for a life. Her finger was now normal, and so was she. This world was the last shore she had landed on.

But even after realizing that, Jack seemed the only option for her to choose. Now, she was sure even more.

“Elizabeth, I think that… when it comes to what you’ve told me… about constants and variables...you and I, we may be constants. It may sound stupid, but when you look at our lives, it’s like, we are the two sides of the same coin.” Jack said, still holding her hand.

“Heads or tails. You are right, Jack.” Elizabeth thought.

“You mean… fuck despotic dads?” She answered instead. Jack burst out laughing.

“I was trying to be poetic, but yeah, it was my point. But now it’s over. Tomorrow, we will all go back to the surface. The girls probably have never seen the sky before, I can’t wait to see their delight.” The thought of seeing the sky again moved Elizabeth so much that she felt tears welling in her eyes. She have never thought of having a chance to see it again.

“Now go to sleep,” Jack said and kissed her on the forehead. She snuggled against his sweater. It smelled of salt, blood and the faintest scent of cologne. This mixture was rather odd, but pleasant. It was a masculine fragrance, which she involuntarily linked with Booker. Oh God, Booker.

* * *

Elizabeth was lying still, waiting for Jack to fall asleep. She didn’t have to wait long, after a while his breath was calm. Now she could try talking to Booker.

“Booker...? Dad?” She murmured very quietly. Silence. No more voices in her head. She didn’t need his help anymore, so it was obvious that the hallucinations will disappear. But she couldn't stop hoping to hear his voice one more time. Tears ran down her face. It was her last goodbye with him.

“Booker, I miss you. I miss you so much I thought I was going insane. Those few days we’ve spent together in Columbia… It was the best time of my life.” Elizabeth sobbed quietly, not wanting to wake up Jack. The only answer was still silence, pulsing in the thick air. Elizabeth felt overwhelming loneliness, running through her body and clenching on her throat.

“One day, when I die… We’ll meet again, won’t we?” No response, only surrounding darkness. Elizabeth bit her lip not to weep aloud.

After a moment her breath started to calm down. She lift her gaze, looking at sleeping Jack and wiped tears from her face. Then she found his hand, closing it in hers.

“I miss you, Booker, and I’ll never stop. But right now… I think… I hope... It’s gonna be alright.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you... for everything. I… I love you dad. Please, rest in peace.”

She exhaled and inhaled deeply for a few moments. She nestled against Jack’s chest, feeling how her sadness was mixing with hope and love.

And then she fell asleep.

#jack x elizabeth #jackliz #my kiddos #bioshock #burial at sea #bioshock infinite #spoilers #bioshock spoilers #fanfiction #fanfic #normally i prefer jatlas #but after bas ep 2 i thought i would die #i had a depression for like two weeks #sally #brigid tenenbaum #booker dewitt #my poor son #ಥ_ಥ #i love him so much it shoul be illigal

[frazzledsoul]

So I recently had an unofficial binge watch of most of the third season of Gilmore Girls and

Why did I suddenly stop watching this show in late 2002 for no apparent reason? I mean, it was made for me. There is an episode with dueling Edgar Allen Poe impersonators and a magic cat! If that isn’t my type of show, I don’t know what is.

As much as I love season 5 and the better moments during season 6, there’s definitely value to watching this show before my ship set sail and everything got so complicated. The show was sweeter and more innocent then and it was easier to appreciate it as a whole. It was also a lot easier to like Rory when she was in high school.

Various thoughts on this mini binge:

The technology gap isn’t as obvious to me as it was a few years ago when I sat down with my DVD copies of the first two seasons, but I do have to chuckle at everyone running around with pagers when they already have cell phones. It’s so quaint.

Lorelai’s drama about which Ivy League school Rory is going to be manipulated into attending is so silly. There will come a time in the near future when she’s going to be grateful this is the biggest drama she has to deal with in her child’s life.

There are two major, major continuity gaps that popped up in the revival that are glaringly apparent in 3.18 (the episode with the inn fire, the dueling Edgar Allen Poes, and the magic cat). ASP wrote this episode, so she can’t blame it on any of the other writers. One of them involves Luke meeting Nicole’s parents and witnessing an extended conversation about yup, surrogacy contracts. Luke is distracted by his current parenting (via Jess) woes and it’s been twelve years so we’ll let that one pass, but it really makes no sense that he would remain totally clueless about how that kind of thing works years later. 

The second one involves how long Michel has known Lorelai. He clearly states in this episode that it’s only been five years (which is two years before the series began, when Lorelai was 30). However, in the revival Lorelai clearly details that they first met when she began working at the front desk and he told her she shouldn’t wear a Thompson Twins T shirt to work. The scene Lorelai recalls had to take place when she was in her late teens/early 20s, as it makes no sense that it would take her 13 years to work up to the front desk and become manager 2 years later or that she would be able to buy her house 3 years before she made it to the front desk (and the Thompson Twins T shirt is obviously a tip off that this event happened long before then, as Lorelai would have been 30 in in 1998). I know I’m probably the only one who noticed this, but would it have killed ASP to hire any continuity experts to check for this stuff? The loss of Michel is pretty key to Lorelai’s plot in the revival and even if they stuck with the correct timeline, they still would have been working together for close to two decades.

When Lorelai was talking to Rory about having a few “three night stands” in the revival, she was totally referring to Alex, wasn’t she? The dude just disappears and no one seems to care.

That said, romantically Lorelai is all over the place this season. Christopher, Max, Alex, Luke. She’s got all of her bases covered and yet at this point her story’s mostly about Rory and Rory’s man drama and college choices. The show wasn’t at the point where it could really be about something else yet. So let’s take the guys one at a time, shall we:

Christopher.  Lorelai spends the earlier part of the season distraught over Christopher and the fact that they missed their one big chance to have a relationship again. I’m only mentioning this because I think after this incident it was never really the same with him for Rory or Lorelai again. Rory could never really forgive him for showing up to be Gigi’s dad when he failed her in so many ways. Lorelai could never really be as starry-eyed about him after this: yes, she does give him another chance eventually, and commits to him when she shouldn’t have, but it was too late by then: he’d already failed her, and she’d been with Luke, and had known it could be a lot better than Christopher was ever capable of.

Max. I kind of wish we had gotten to see Max in the revival. They had a perfect opening with Rory and Paris returning to Chilton and it wouldn’t have opened up another love triangle situation, because Lorelai wouldn’t have been there. I would have loved to see him stable and with a wife that suited him and actually loved him (and maybe some kids). Max, like Dean, was a nice guy who just wasn’t right for Lorelai, and it would have been nice to see that he ended up with a nice life away from it all, like Dean did. It’s so sad that the last we see of him is being physically threatened by Lorelai’s presence while she pursues him solely because she’s bored with her current quasi-boyfriend (when she remembers he exists, that is).

Alex. It’s now occurred to me that Alex is basically Lorelai’s version of Rory’s Paul in the revival and I’m kinda creeped out. Well, at least Alex didn’t seem to take it any more seriously than Lorelai did.

Luke. Luke spends this season as lovesick and silently devoted to Lorelai as ever, but halfway through he seems to decide that it’s not going to happen and he’s just going to move on. I’m not really sure what Nicole was doing with him, though. He seems a lot more willing to go on excursions with Nicole (the skiing trip, the cruise) than he was with either Lorelai or Rachel (in both cases, they both stuck pretty close to life in town) but at the same time denies he wants to commit to her at all. He seems to always be looking for reasons to confirm that Lorelai might be a tad interested. When Lorelai tells him about the dream, it’s clear that he’s looking for what might else might be in there that she’s not telling him. And when he’s with her at Rory’s graduation and asks if she’s sure that it’s really a good idea for him to go on vacation with Nicole “despite everything”, he’s practically begging her to give him any little sign of hope.

All that time, he still was hanging onto that horoscope. Even after he married Nicole, he never let go of it. All she had to do was say the word and Nicole would be history.

Ugh, these two.

I kind of want to talk a little about the kids subject, since the season opens with Lorelai dreaming she’s pregnant with his babies and the one time they discuss the subject before they actually get together is in this season. I don’t think the dream was as much about Lorelai really subconsciously wanting the babies as it was about wanting someone who would actually support her and take care of her and her family (ie Rory), and that was never going to be Christopher. It was always Luke. I don’t think Lorelai knows it at this point: for her part, she is clearly jealous of Nicole, but she hasn’t thought it out any farther than that.

When Luke brings the subject of kids in the dance marathon episode to Lorelai it really comes out of left field. What does she care if Luke makes a few snarky comments about Sookie and Jackson’s suitability as parents? She’s not his girlfriend: she’s not remotely thinking about having kids with him in reality. Of course, that’s the exact reason he brings it up. He doesn’t want Lorelai to dismiss the notion of giving him a chance on something even as remote as him never wanting kids. But it doesn’t sound to me like it’s something either of them are longing for. I’ve heard lots of talk that their conversation about kids in the revival was empty and meaningless as opposed to this earlier conversation, and I think that’s silly. While it’s a cute moment that obviously implies that they are meant to be together eventually, it just doesn’t compare to a conversation where they discuss their life together and Luke flat out says that he considers Rory his daughter (and that he doesn’t need a son because he has Jess). He and Lorelai didn’t need a traditional family of their own because they already had one.

What I think some fans miss when they get wrapped up in the fact that Luke and Lorelai never had kids of their own is that even at the moment of this earlier conversation, Luke is already a parent. He really, really tries with Jess, albeit imperfectly, and he fails. Maybe it wasn’t possible to reach someone as angry and confused as Jess was. Maybe if Luke had been more proactive in making sure Jess actually finished high school on time, he would have succeeded. But it’s so sad to me to see Jess beg and beg that deadbeat father of his to let him stay with him because he can’t face life back home. But Luke was the only real father that Jess had, and his good influence ultimately paid off, even if not right away.

(And seriously? We were supposed to watch a spinoff series on Jess and his dad? I’m glad it never happened. I think it would kind of lessen all that Luke tried to do for Jess.)

I think too that we see that Luke really is Rory’s actual dad in this season, if only intermittently. Christopher makes a big deal about Rory forgiving him at the beginning of the season, but he’s got little to offer her. He can’t even show up for her graduation. But Luke is there, and he even cries: he’s jubilant at all of her college acceptance letters: he’s very overprotective when it comes to Jess. He was always there for her, no matter what.

(Luke must be a living nightmare for April’s boyfriends, though. Even his own relatives weren’t good enough for Rory, and we can see that overprotectiveness with April start to flare in season 7.).

Jess really does not come off well to me in this season. In fact, I remain confused as to why so many people remained in love with Jess Mariano for years after the way he ends things here. Jess polled as Rory’s favored boyfriend for years, and I believe the affection many people had for him is a major reason why Milo is so beloved on This Is Us (of course, the fact that Jack Pearson is a flawless human specimen has a lot to do with that, but I think that affection did transfer over). Jess lies to Luke, betrays the trust he has in him, and flunks out of school for no apparent reason. He tries to get Rory to have sex with him, avoids her, and then leaves town without a word for either her or Luke. And this is after beating up Dean, having Luke takes responsibility for his own mess, and ruining Rory’s chance to go to prom. I know he was a sullen, rebellious kid who never wanted to be there and had basically been abandoned by both of his parents, but he had a lot of good people in his corner pulling for him and wanting him to do better. I think the guy he turned into in the revival is a sweet, loyal, dependable guy who would make a great mate for Rory if she ever gets her shit together. We can kind of see him becoming that person in his later appearances in the series. But that is not who he was by the end of season 3.

Lane’s plotline kind of falls flat to me: it seems so twee and backward, even for a show like this. Dave is cute and patient and adorably awkward, but the kind of shenanigans Lane is pulling with him at this point are ridiculous, considering that she’s nearly an adult. I just couldn’t accept him as a real love interest, and I’m not sure he was any more suited to Lane than Zach eventually was. Dave started off perfect: Zach clearly never was, and he had to work to become the kind of person that would be good for Lane. I don’t really see Dave fitting into the kind of hipster mom/dad unit that Lane had settled into by the time of the revival. So I guess the guy is sweet, but I’m not getting it. At least she got a chance to go to prom, though.

The fact that Lorelai is willing to give up her dream of buying the inn solely so that Rory can fulfill her dream of going to an Ivy League school and not have to burden her parents again makes me love her so, so much. I mostly focus on the shipper stuff when it comes to this show but ultimately it is about one woman’s self-sacrifice for the sake of her daughter and I think we see this so much this season. Lorelai can be selfish and infuriating and we do see that a lot of the time, but she’s more than willing to dig her heels in and make the hard choices when it counts. In a world of Shonda Rhimes dramas and decadent superhero shows, we really need that sometimes.

And if you don’t cry at Rory’s tribute to her mom during her graduation speech, you soul is blacker than even mine and there is no hope for you.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls ayitl #lorelai gilmore #rory gilmore #lane kim #luke danes #jess mariano #luke x lorelai #rory x jess #long rambling thoughts #queue #my season 4 post will be much shorter

[flauntpage]

DGB Grab Bag: A Wedgie for Wedgewood, Inflamed Calgary Fans, & Espo's Night

Three Stars of Comedy

The third star: This Hawks/Panthers glitch – I won't lie, I've probably watched this three dozen times and I enjoy it more each time through.

The second star: This Coyotes fan – Apparently she likes Scott Wedgewood? I really hope that's what this means.

(Needless to say, he was thrilled.)

The first star: Jozy Altidore – He's a soccer player, for MLS champions Toronto FC. That's what got him invited to handle the ceremonial faceoff before the next Maple Leafs game. And, uh, the handshakes did not go well.

Altidore was too busy on his phone to notice that he left Maple Leafs alternate captain Leo Komarov hanging on a handshake. (He later apologized, and it was accepted.)

Trivial Annoyance of the Week

The NHL is celebrating the 100th anniversary of the league's first ever games this weekend. The main event is in Ottawa, where the Senators will host the Canadiens in the season's first outdoor game. It's a rematch from that very first opening night back in 1917, when the original Senators hosted the Habs and George Vezina outdueled Clint Benedict in a 7-4 Montreal win.

It's a pretty cool. There's just one minor problem: Saturday isn't actually the 100th anniversary. That would be December 19, which is Tuesday.

You can understand what the league is doing here, of course. They want these outdoor games to have as big an impact as possible, and that means holding them on weekends. Sure, you'd make the history purists happy by holding the event a few days later, but you lose out on ratings and revenue. Besides, as everyone who lives here could tell you, Ottawa is closed on Tuesday nights.

So yes, of course you have the big outdoor game a few days early. But check out the schedule for the league's official anniversary on Tuesday. Do you notice anything unusual?

Neither do I. It's basically a typical Tuesday night slate. And that's kind of odd, right?

The league's only other surviving original team, the Maple Leafs, are at home that night, but it's against the Hurricanes. The Senators are hosting the Wild. And even though the league launched with half its teams in Montreal, the Canadiens are on the road, in Vancouver. They couldn’t have given us a Leafs/Habs game as a nod to the other opening night matchup from 1917 that saw Toronto beat the Wanderers in the league's very first game? They didn't even do that NHL thing where they pretend that history started with the Original Six and give us one of those matchups.

It's not like the league hasn't spent the last year bathing itself in history. They've done ceremonies and fan votes and Top 100 lists dating back to last season. And for the most part, it's been great. I'm the last guy who'll ever complain about a league celebrating its history.

But when it comes to the two anniversary dates on the calendar that really matter—the formation of the league on November 26 and the first games on December 19—the NHL just kind of shrugged. It's weird. It's like your annoying friend who tries to turn their birthday party into a week-long event, then forgets to schedule anything for the actual day.

Throw us a bone, NHL. At least make the Leafs play by 1917 rules, with no forward passes or backup goalies and three-minute minors. Have half the Senators sit out the first period in a contract dispute. Burn down the Montreal arena. Something.

Or we could just have a few pre-game ceremonies on an otherwise typical Tuesday. I guess that works too. It just seems a little anti-climactic after all this buildup, no?

Obscure Former Player of the Week

Other than the 100th anniversary, the NHL's other big news this week is that it now seems inevitable that Seattle will be getting a team at some point in the next few years. Let's combine those two stories with this week's obscure player: goaltender Harry "Hap" Holmes.

Holmes isn't necessarily all that obscure in the big picture sense, or at least he shouldn't be—he's in the Hockey Hall of Fame. But it's probably fair to say that most modern fans don't know him. After all, he played a century ago, and his name isn't often remembered in the same tier as stars from the era like Joe Malone or Cy Denneny that at least some of today's fans may recognize.

In fact, most of Holmes's success as a pro came before the NHL existed. He won his first Stanley Cup in 1914 as a member of the Toronto Blueshirts of the NHA, the predecessor of the NHL. But it was his second that made history, as he backstopped the Pacific Coast Hockey Association's Seattle Metropolitans to a 1917 win, the first time the Cup had ever been captured by an American team. (Feel free to see how many of your hockey expert friends know that Seattle won a Stanley Cup long before places like New York, Chicago or Detroit.)

That 1917 Cup also marked the last one before the NHL arrived, and Holmes initially joined the new league's Toronto franchise. (That team didn't have a formal name, although they'd later be known as the Arenas.) That team went on to win the league title as well as the Stanley Cup, Holmes's third. He'd play just two more games for the team the following year before heading back to the Metropolitans, and later joined the Victoria Cougars of the Western Hockey League. He made some history there too, winning his fourth Stanley Cup in 1926 by beating the NHL's Montreal Maroons. It was the last time that the Cup was won by a team outside the NHL, who gained exclusive control of the trophy beginning in 1927.

That made it four Cups for Holmes with four different teams; to this day he remains the only NHL player to ever do that. (His former teammate and fellow Hall-of-Famer Jack Marshall did it too, but never appeared in the NHL.)

Holmes eventually returned to the NHL for a two-season stint beginning in 1926 when the Cougars moved to Detroit and joined the league after the WHL disbanded. In all, he played 103 games in parts of four NHL seasons, one of the five major pro leagues of the day he suited up for.

And perhaps my favorite Hap Holmes fact of them all: According to Wikipedia, he sometimes wore a cap when he played to protect him from objects thrown from the stands by the era's fans, who found that "his shining bald dome presented a tempting target."

Outrage of the Week

The issue: With expansion to Seattle looking like a done deal, the Flames seem intent on making Calgary fans think that a move to Houston is looming unless a new arena deal gets done. The outrage: Nobody seems to believe them, and fans aren't happy that the subject is coming up at all. Is it justified: The idea that the Flames could move if they don't get an arena deal isn't new—Gary Bettman suggested as much a few months ago, although he was vague on specifics. That was part of an effort to turn Calgary fans and voters against the city's mayor, who was seen as an obstacle to an arena deal. It didn't work.

The story resurfaced this week thanks to a column from Eric Francis of the Calgary Sun that skipped the subtleties and went straight to outright predicting that the Flames would be in Houston within three years. We don't know how much, if any, of that piece was based on information coming directly from the Flames. But even if Francis was simply presenting his own views, the fact that the Flames didn't immediately push back on the report suggests that, at the very least, they don’t mind having this stuff out there. (Full disclosure: Francis and I both contribute to Sportsnet.)

Seeing such a bold prediction of an imminent move had to make Flames fans nervous. But plenty of others took issues with the Francis piece, with Kent Wilson posting an in-depth takedown at The Athletic. Wilson's argument, in a nutshell, is that a move just doesn't add up, financially or otherwise. Calgary is a great market, and it wouldn't seem to make sense for the Flames to abandon that for an unknown market like Houston. And as Wilson points out, plenty of teams have played this game before that we now know were bluffing.

And that's the big problem here. Even if the Flames really are eying a move and trying to send warning signals to their fans before it's too late, this ground has just been trod too many times. NHL fans have heard this before—in Pittsburgh, in New Jersey, in Raleigh, and in just about every market that ever wanted a new area and didn't get it right away. It's a game that's playing out to varying degrees right now in Ottawa, Brooklyn, and (as always) Arizona. Once those situations are resolved, it will be someone else's turn.

This certainly isn't an NHL problem, and if anything the league has been more stable when it comes to franchise movement in the last two decades than the NFL or NBA. But when it comes to dropping threats, the NHL seems to view them as just part of how business is done in this league.

And that gets exhausting. The Flames aren't going anywhere unless this whole situation is misplayed by all sides so badly that it goes completely off the rails, and they'll end up with a new arena that will be partly funded by taxpayers. And within a few years, most of us will have forgotten all about this.

Most, but not all. Because you have to wonder how many diehard Flames fans, who've been with the team through good times and bad, are feeling just a little less enthusiasm for the team right now. The NHL is a business, as we're constantly reminded. But it's a business that charges a lot of money for an inconsistent product, and that means it relies on an awful lot of loyalty. Putting even a fraction of that at risk is a dangerous game.

That would be worth thinking about for NHL teams. It might already be too late for Calgary. If so, we'll have to wait and see whether their current threats come with a cost. And if so, whether the next teams in line learn any lessons

Classic YouTube Clip Breakdown

Last week marked the 30-year anniversary of one of my favorite moments from the 1980s. It didn't involve a goal or a save or a fight, or anything else that had anything to do with the game being played. But it did take place on the ice, and you won't hear a building get much louder than the old Boston Garden did back on December 3, 1987.

Yes, it's the legendary Phil Esposito jersey retirement. Our clip begins with Ray Bourque being called on to "make a presentation." That's fitting, since not only has he assumed Esposito's mantle as the Bruin's best player, but he wears the same #7 that's being retired. For a few more seconds, at least.

By the way, if you're thrown off Bob Wilson announcing Bourque as the Bruins captain but wearing an "A," he shared the duties with Rick Middleton that season. Middleton wore the "C" at home, while Bourque got it on the road.

It was always kind of weird that the Bruins gave Esposito's number to Bourque as a rookie. But it was even weirder that they also gave it to guys like Bill Bennett and Sean Shanahan in between. Remember, there was some bad blood between Esposito and the team after he was traded to the Rangers in 1975, which might explain why it took six years after his retirement for the Bruins to get around to officially honoring his number.

But to their credit, they eventually do it right. Bourque skates over and shares a few words with Esposito, then hands him a No. 7 jersey. You kind of sense Esposito accepting the gift with a "Yeah, thanks, I already have dozens of these" sort of vibe, but it's just the setup for the bigger moment to come.

With Esposito momentarily distracted, Bourque yanks his own No. 7 jersey off to reveal a second one underneath, this one bearing what would become his iconic No. 77. It takes a second for everyone to realize what just happened—Esposito didn't know this was coming, and seems genuinely stunned—and the crowd goes nuts once they clue in.

The back story here is that apparently Esposito thought Bourque was going to keep wearing No. 7, and was fine with that. But Bourque had never wanted the pressure that came with the number, so he jumped at the chance to swap it out while honoring an all-time great.

I feel like we don’t give Bourque enough credit for (literally) pulling this off so smoothly. You put me on live TV in front of 20,000 people and tell me to take a sweater off, there's a 100 percent chance it's going to end with me showing my bare tummy to the world for an awkwardly long period of time. Not Bourque. He sheds his jersey with near-Baumgartner speed, and still remembers to do a little pirouette so everyone can see what just happened. He wasn't one of the all-time greats for nothing.

Esposito throws on the jersey and starts his speech. Man, Phil was as cool as they'd come. How cool? Oh, roughly "wears tinted shades at his own retirement ceremony even though it's being held indoors" cool.

He thanks Bourque, and then mentions the Rangers, who are the visitors for this game. At the time, Esposito was their general manager, and whoo boy was that ever a fun time. I'm pretty sure that this two-minute speech is the longest period of time he managed to go as Rangers GM without making at least one trade.

Espo gets the cheap pop from a Bobby Orr mention, mentions exactly nobody from management or ownership, and then thanks the fans. We end with a shot of his number going up to the rafters. It's helpfully labelled "Philip A. Esposito," just in case some other Philip Esposito came along and everyone got confused.

At one point, the number is going up so crooked that it's nearly sideways, but they get it straightened out by the end. Near miss there. That would have been right up there with the night the Canucks honored Markus Naslund, shone a spotlight through his No. 19, and turned it into a giant frowny face.

To this day everyone's favorite Bourque memory is the Cup handoff from Joe Sakic, and rightly so. But the Esposito number swap should absolutely be a close second. If Gordie Howe gets to be Mr. Hockey, Bourque might have to start going by Mr. Ceremony. He's like the polar opposite of this guy.

Years later, Esposito would be on hand when the Bruins retired Bourque's #77, although he did not disrobe during the ceremony. At least as far as we know.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at [email protected] and follow him on Twitter @DownGoesBrown.

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