#i want to draw tuesday/nolan also

[yanguazalie]

*Doesn't draw for Valentine's Day, draws for Leap Year instead*

#uglydolls #uglydolls moxy #uglydolls ox #m.ox.y #i want to draw tuesday/nolan also #but drawing these two was easier lol #this is based on a vintage postcard btw #i did see a cute postcard ref for tuesday/nolan too #buuuut it may be in my best interest to do something original rather than refer to the obscure #even though obscurity is my jam i mean look where i am lmao #i'll cross that bridge when i come to it

[bronx-bomber87]

Happy Tuesday :) Ep been wanting to get to. Anytime we get little more depth to them and Tim as a character I’m a happy girl. I forgot s2 only has 20 not 22 eps HA We’re almost done which is insane to me. Feel like we just started s2. So after this one we have 3 left in this season. What a trip. Let’s delve in shall we?

2x17 Control

Thanks to Nolan our couple starts their day off with some foot patrol. Grey wants them more engaged with the community. Tim lets her know that while he finds foot patrol annoying he agrees this is important to do. That it creates trust and likability therefore they get more help. Lucy seems real impressed with his answer. I always love when Tim impresses Lucy with his insight. Also when she makes sure he knows how enlightened she finds him. She's hot for Tim in these moments haha

Lucy loves when he shows her his moral compass about this stuff. I said it last review Tim as a person is very attractive. It's definitely huge part of her draw to him. A random guy comes up to them asking for legal advice. They stop and address him. Lucy fully expects Tim to answer this man’s question. I’m rolling when he tells this guy they’re movie extras’. Lucy’s double take is too damn funny. How she kept a straight face idk. He’s such a grumpy old man sometimesI love it. Or as Aaron says in s5 he’s like the old dude from 'UP' LMFAO I love you Timothy Bradford haha

Lucy's smile when he tells her they’re not google is too cute. We all know she loves her grump of a man. She’s enjoying him cracking a joke with a side of heart eyes to go with that smile. Look at him cracking jokes. So proud. Their comfortability level at this point is off the charts. His sense of humor is so fun to see. (He cracked me up too. I laugh every time.)This came out all on its own. I love him so easily making one around her. Lucy is quite amused and enjoying it herself.

Side notes I love about this scene. The ever wonderful height difference I legit can’t get enough. How damn in-sync they are as they’re walking together. Honestly the entire scene. Look at them. Lastly a fan favorite the the lack of personal space. Within inches of each other at all times. Like moths drawn to a flame. Always gravitating back to one another. Their physical chemistry without touching always floors me.

We rejoin them still on foot patrol. Lucy asking Tim if Rachel was disappointed she canceled on her last night? Trying to justify to Tim why she ended up bailing on their bar plans. Clearly residual PTSD from Caleb manifesting into her doing this. She’s clearly wanting to be relieved of the guilt she feels for canceling on her.

Tim is usually that person for her with his insight and telling her like it is. Not this time...She doesn’t get the reply she wants unfortunately. Just Tim being a lying liar who lies, when he says they don’t ever talk about her. Ok honey we believe you…I’m sure he actually talks about her more than Rachel would like. Lucy is offended with his cavalier answer LOL

Their convo gets interrupted by a dope stealing Girl Scout cookies. He runs and ends up in someone’s windshield. One of the little girls shows up from the troop to help them. Tells them they can use her scarf and pen as a tourniquet. Even tells Lucy where to apply it. Pretty impressive composure for a kid haha

Tim’s face is my favorite part when she asks if she can get a badge for this? He’s not sure what shocks him more. Her knowing how to do this or asking for a badge for it haha Lucy’s smile back at Tim is pretty cute. I feel like this will be them as parents when their kid does something that shocks them haha

The fire dept. arrives and so does Emmett Lang. Not gonna lie everyone he is smokin. I remember first time I watched this episode, I was thinking holy hell this man is attractive. Lucy deserved someone on this level of hotness to re-enter the dating world with. He is instantly flirty with Lucy. Telling her his condolences for Tim being her T.O. (good thing Tim misses this part ha) Lucy has zero problems flirting right back with him.

Honestly good for her. This is so needed post-Caleb. She’s crashing Jackson’s date plans and canceling on Rachel. She needed something to get her back on her feet. Just like Rachel was the perfect person for Tim post-Isabel. Emmett was for Lucy in the aftermath of 2x11. Girl needed a win and to feel it was ok to re-integrate back into the world of dating. Quite the score to start back up with if I do say so myself ha

They flirt some more at the hospital. Emmett basically asks her out and Lucy panics. Lies says she has something going on. Oh my girl. That PTSD is showing and I can’t blame her. Just hate seeing it affect her. Tim comes up and says it’s time to go. He says bye to Emmett and Lucy makes the connection they know each other. So she leans on her lifeline since she’s having doubts.

Tries to ask Tim about Emmett. Says he seems nice. Trying to get a beat on him through Tim’s eyes. Tim doesn't understand her line of questioning at first. Just giving short answers that give her no depth. He's thinking nothing of it until she gives him that look above. Then he quickly pieces together what this is.

He instantly disengages about it. Telling her 'No.' Not S1 Tim 'I could care less about your life.' disengaged. More 'I don’t trust myself to give you the right advice.' kind of distance. He wants no part of this. Lucy seems so upset he won’t talk to her about this. This scene is funny in how he cuts it off. How upset she seems. The pointing of his finger. Sadly we know the deep kernel of truth he feels to that final line of the scene.

The weight he’s still carrying around about her abduction. He doesn’t trust himself to vet Emmett for her. Since in his mind he failed so spectacularly with Caleb. He’d rather pass that emotional responsibility off to someone else. The weight that’s already on his soul is crushing...he can’t add to the load. Oh my broken boy. I wanna give you the biggest hug.

Lucy breaks my heart when Jackson tells her he needs alone time with Sterling. Lucy realizes she’s a third wheel. Has been for awhile now. She is horrified by this. Luckily Tim saves her with an OT opportunity. Joining the DEA operation Nolan and Harper are running. Lucy instantly jumps on it. She looks so upset walking away from Jackson. My poor girl. I want to give her a hug. I wanna hug them both in this one. This OP was blessing in disguise for her to do though. We get the best part of the episode during the stakeout.

Lucy is "on the phone" with Rachel saying all the things she wishes Tim would engage her on. He’s shaking his head as she rambles on. It’s so funny. Telling “Rachel” she’s been using Jackson and Sterling as a crutch. That together they make the perfect BF. Saying how they’re safe and that's why she keeps choosing them. My heart. Tim interjects 'Who are you talking to? 'Cause he knows it’s not Rachel.

John interrupts asking if they want coffee? He is going on a run. Lucy is her adorable self and asks for a chai tea latte all excited. Tim cuts her off saying this is a stakeout he's not going to Starbucks LOL Lucy rolls her eyes at him. He’s such an ass sometimes but I love him dearly rough edges and all. John is so sweet tells her he’ll see if he can find her some vanilla creamer LMAO

Lucy returns instantly to her fake convo and Tim can’t take it any longer. Has to call her out in the most Tim Bradford way he can. By calling her and proving she isn’t on the phone…Lucy is mortified but answers LOL Poor girl she just wants to talk it out with her person. I’m a lot like Lucy in the way that I need to talk things out. If I don’t they’ll eat me alive. I have a compulsive need to confront things and not let them fester.

It’s good to have that person you can talk it out with. If you don’t you start to self advise and that’s never good. Tim is that for her. Her sounding board. To her she has a problem she reaches for the lifeline that is Tim to sort it out. So him denying her that catharsis is messing with her. Why she created this fake convo. It got his attention so in the end it worked.

What kills me the most with this scene is both their reactions honestly. Lucy for being utterly shocked Tim would think his opinion had lost any value post-Caleb. To her it never ever occurred to place any blame on him. To trust his gut or opinion any less because of her DOD trauma. Breaks my heart Tim doesn’t see this before they have this conversation. That he truly believes his opinion has lost its value in her eyes after Caleb.

Lucy is astonished he would think she doesn't want his POV. She lives for it. Its the most important one in her life. Tim is so very vulnerable with her with his follow up answer. So proud of him for this vulnerability BTW. Nothing scarier than being emotionally exposed with another person. You can see it written all his face. That guard is down. We see the toll this guilt has taken on him. He unburdens his soul to her. Tells what has been eating at him for months.

That his advice pushed her towards something that could’ve ended her life. Since then he has devalued his place in her life. Doesn’t find himself worthy to advise her in personal matters. He fought against it for so long. Then he gave in and Caleb happened. In his mind proving why he never should’ve gotten involved in the first place. Chiding himself for getting close to her and having that closeness which put her in danger.

Lucy truly had no idea the guilt he'd been carrying since 2x11. It’s six episodes later. At the earliest that's 6 weeks at the most its a little over 2 months if we include her recovery time. The latter is the more likely timeline. That’s a long time to be carrying a burden she never placed on him. She can't stand that he's done this to himself. Lucy immediately wants to put him at ease. Trying to offload that burden and chuck it far away. It never once crossed her mind he would take the sole responsibility. Because not for one second did she ever blame him for it.

She vehemently reassures him it wasn’t his fault. He could be told by everyone under the sun it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t going to stop mentally flogging himself till Lucy forgave him. She is all the things he needs in this moment. Letting him know she thinks it’s ridiculous he would blame himself, that no one had any reason to suspect Caleb for what he was, and overall what happened wasn’t on him. Lucy is taking that weight off his shoulders and throwing it away. Never allowing him to pick it back up again.

He looks so damn relieved and honestly very vulnerable after she absolves him. It helps him start to close a self inflicted wound. Eric the king of facial expressions killing me softly in this scene. His eyes and the way he looks at her when she said wasn’t his fault. *heart clutch* He couldn’t even look at her till she said that. Then when he does he's in awe of her. Like he can't believe she doesn't blame him but is so grateful for her saying as such.

I love her also sharing it wasn’t hers either. It was not at all. (Growth for her too.) Looks like he's biting back his emotions when she lets Tim know how valued his opinion is. It's so sweet. He needed his sunshine human to apply some balm to his wounds. No one does it better than Lucy. She’s complimenting him while also reliving him of the guilt he’s been harboring for much longer than she would’ve liked.

Had she known this she would’ve absolved him the day after honestly. No way she would've wanted him carrying this guilt day in and day out. Her opinion matters so much to him. He NEEDED to hear her say these words. It had to come straight from Lucy or he’d never let it go. She reassured him that not only did she not blame him but his opinion was one that matters most to her. Two things that were in question for him. Quelled the storm in his soul.

It’s scenes like this that are the true building blocks to their foundation. Why they end up working so well in s5. I will die on this hill of loving every single moment of this slow burn. I’m so glad we had 4 seasons to truly make them rock solid. It was so necessary for them as a couple. I don’t regret the wait at all. Because piece by piece they were building toward ‘The Really Beautiful Place’ Lucy calls their relationship in 5x18. Everything happens for a reason for them before we get there. This is just another wonderful facet of it.

The minute he’s granted access and allowance to give her advice he doesn’t hold back. His way of showing he cares too. I love them so much for their ability to just bounce back like they do. After a deeply emotional and vulnerable chat they're right back to the banter. Easily fall back into teasing one another. Tim basically says in not so many words Emmett isn’t good enough for her.(I mean no one is but Tim lets be honest.)

Lucy probes and asks why he thinks that? Tim doesn't hesitate in the slightest. Saying he’s a firefighter for god sakes LMFAO. Clearly has a prejudice against them. For whatever Tim reason that may be. Lucy being all cute saying 'Yeah that’s what makes him so hot.' ha She’s not wrong the man is fine af.

Tim gets defensive and says he doesn’t want to talk about this if she gonna be contrarian about it. Which is Tim speak for being jealous let’s be real honest. Lucy doesn’t hesitate to call him out on it. God I love her. Jokes he’s just threatened by his ‘hunkiness’ I mean he is….his reaction alone proves that he is. It’s ok Tim she still thinks you’re smokin too. She just can’t have you just yet haha

I love them ending this scene on a funny bantery note. Shows how much Tim cares about her. The fact that he is allowing this conversation to even take place proves that. Indulging her in this. They’re so married with their banter. I Iove them sfm. Soulmate behavior the way she teases him about everything and he allows (and loves) it. We leave the scene smiling and laughing at these blissfully unaware idiots in love.

Harper has Lucy and Tim chase what they think is the decoy vehicle once their stakeout is made. They soon realize the decoy vehicle has their target and Nolan’s CI. They end up getting T-Boned in the pursuit of it. Hurts to watch. They're both knocked out cold. I adore how the first thing Tim asks when he comes to is if she’s alright. Always puts her first. The soft way he says ‘Chen’ then asks if she’s ok. It’s the little things I love so very much. ❤️

Emmett arrives on scene flirty as ever with Lucy. She decides to be honest with him. Tells him why she declined his date offer. That her social life is complicated right now. He is smooth af with his reply. Tells her once it’s not he’ll still be interested. Their scene ends pretty cute. This is so good for her. I’m really happy to see her get back out there. She really needed him to help her get over her DOD hump. Just like it’s nice to see Tim happy the same goes for Lucy. I love them both individually as as much as I do together. This cute flirt session is well deserved after all the trauma she’s been through.

Thus ends our episode for them. Such a damn good one for them. I love their building block episodes. They do depth and growth like no other. How I love them so.

Side Notes-Non Chenford

Nice to see Angela get her foot back in the door for Detective. Well earned after her fallout in S1.

Harper SL's and her backstory. Getting to watch her in UC action always fun to watch.

Thank you to those who take the time to like/comment and reblog. Means the world to me. Fuels me to do each review.

See you all in 2x18 :)

#Caitlin Rewatches The Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #summer rewatch #s2 #2x17 Control #The Rookie 2x17 #waiting on s6 #otp: doing my job #otp: you know me so well. too well. #otp: some things matter more #tim bradford #lucy chen #tim x lucy #lucy x tim #the rookie #eric winter #melissa o'neil #tim bradford x lucy chen

[americorys]

What is with all these crossovers between The Rookie and The Rookie Feds?

I know a lot of people from social media who don’t watch Feds and have no interest in it, but all these crossovers basically force us to do so. It’s annoying.

Do you have any insight on to why it’s been so many so far? I’m expecting more crossovers, which is disappointing since The Rookie can stand on its own.

honestly, i am a little confused by this take! i have seen it quite a bit and i don't really get why people are like...annoyed? they have a second show in the universe now, they're going to do crossovers – that doesn't mean you need to watch them or become invested, it just means the story is spread over two different platforms. i do understand if you don't want to watch feds, but do want the story resolution...sure, that can be bothersome – but like. they're not going to do major rookie character development on feds. they're going to do plot-work, and you can always catch up on that later if you're not interested in devoting an hour to it on tuesday.

i'm going to put this under a cut bc it got long, but:

sunday is, for all intents and purposes, the first crossover between the rookie and the rookie feds as standalone shows. the characters appearing in each other's shows really don't count as crossovers, as their appearances are not integral to the story. what we've seen so far are the cast members making cameos on each other's shows – which you fully do not need to watch if you don't want to keep up with both! there was no plot for nolan/angela/tim/lucy in either of the feds episodes that featured them, those appearances were more for marketing purposes than anything else. i also think the feds cast will pop up on rookie and vice versa pretty frequently for this first season of feds, because it's helping establish the expanded universe to the audience.

that's truly the thing, though: if you don't want to watch feds, don't watch it. it's not doing anything for the chenford plot, and if there is a crossover ep, i'm sure you can just find a recap article after the fact if you don't want to waste your time with it, but do want to keep up with the story. plus, if there's any chenford, you'll be able to find it over on @chenfordsource or probably everywhere in the chenford tag.

anyway as for your question...i have no insight on any of that bc it hasn't been so many, but if you're asking why they're showing characters moving between shows, it's literally just:

they're trying to make sure the audience understands the universe has expanded so they don't have to keep explaining it as time goes on – so if angela, for example, pops up on feds in three months, it doesn't need to be like, "my detective contact at the mid-wilshire division, angela lopez, can come in on this," – they can just have angela show up, and the viewers know who she is.

they're marketing for feds. the rookie can stand on it's own – and they're hoping in the future, feds can too, but right now...a big part of the draw of the draw for feds is that it's a part of the rookie-verse...and so yeah, you'll see rookie people on feds because they're the money. they're the characters we already know and love, they're the draw. plus? imo, it's fun – a no-stakes extra moment of tim and lucy being dorks? sign me up. it's not supposed to be furthering their story in any way, it's supposed to be guest work – but rather than having random guest actors involved, it just connects the worlds even further.

i am sorry you feel disappointed by this, but honestly i hope you are able to change your outlook! i don't think the crossovers are a bad thing (as someone who is liking feds so far) and overall...i think they're here to stay, as long as feds continues on. it's a byproduct of an expanded universe, and i am excited to see how they tackle it. i wouldn't be too worried about watching if you're uninterested in feds – like i said earlier, you can always catch up on feds plot stuff elsewhere if you don't want to miss the story points you might need, but don't want to commit to the show.

#anonymous #ask #chenford #the rookie #the rookie feds #i hope this doesn't sound mean i just do not get this take honestly #i really have been liking feds and i understand its not for everyone but like...its going to exist #so i feel like if you're going to watch rookie you gotta at least accept that feds isn't going anywhere ya know #anyway sorry this is so long and again apologies if it sounds mean i am having a really bad week! #that is not an excuse i am just kind of unable to gauge whether my tone sounds harsh or not atm #ok bye!

[my-shields-are-down]

Have you seen the 2nd promo yet??? I want your opinion! We are so close to the premiere, it makes me happy 😊

Yesterday was Women’s appreciation day; I’m all riled up from that. Did you know 10,000,000 women registered to vote in the 8 days after the 19th Amendment was enacted? TEN MILLION.

——+

Yes, I have seen it the promo. And yes, I have thoughts. Quite a LOT of thoughts…

———-+

First, I’m furious that Nolan is getting this opportunity. He didn’t thwart two major drug cartels. He didn’t arrest a legend all by himself. He didn’t survive a serial killer’s protege. He wasn’t murdered.

He didn’t win that fight all by himself. He had help. Mostly from civilians. Are they getting awards?

I am so infuriated that another older, white male is getting promoted over an imminently more qualified and talented woman of color. Fuck. I know they needed a way to accelerate his career, but they did it in such a way that Lucy’s accomplishments are diminished in comparison. I think someone doesn’t like the fact the show isn’t drawing people in because of them, and is trying to steal the spotlight back .

**the only bright spot for me in that whole section of the promo is that the mucketymuck, high up police officer who gives this opportunity to him is FEMALE and a woman of color to boot. Since Captain Anderson died, there has been a woeful lack of female leadership in our MidWilshire chain of command.

————-+

I also didn’t like that the new promo was all Nolan and Tim. Really? Yay for the producers/ABC realizing that Eric is eclipsing Nathan in popularity and maximizing their opportunity to shine a light on him. But why are the women getting itty bitty little scenes? Angela has one line, and Nyla and Lucy only appear in flashes. Sexist. Rude.

Then I had to remind myself, that #2 promo was a tv commercial whereas #1 promo was marketing promo- not standard commercial. No mention of ABC or Hulu at the end of it and no tie in to the Feds on Tuesday night.

Based solely on the tv commercial (#2), to me that means that the main story lines of the episode WILL BE Angela, Lucy and Nyla based. 15-20 minutes on Nolan and then 20-25 minutes on our kick ass ladies.

———+

I think James or Grey dies. Or is severely wounded. Nyla in ultimate warrior mode will be fantastic to watch.

————+

I think the body in the rug is the woman in red from the scene where Tim gets cold cocked. It’s not a guy in there, the people throwing it would have struggled more if the victim was male.

————+

I think Rosalind escapes (which btw I am so excited. I hope she succeeds and taunts both the LAPD and the Feds teams all season. I love the multi-episode story arc). She’s clearly wearing a wig, and I hope she’s got blonde hair under there. Catching a specific blonde in sunny, Southern California? Not as easy as catching a redhead.

I think her accomplice is someone we have seen before (which is why we don’t see her face in the promo). Jessica Russo would be a fantastic twist and create problems for Nolan on multiple levels. She was also season 2.

When did Tamara come on the scene? Was that Season 2? I don’t want the accomplice to be Tamara, but that could really fuck up Lucy. On the flip side, Tamara would be able to give Rosalind the inside scoop on… well, everyone and help Rosalind with her twisted mind games by feeding her secrets and personal information.

I want Rosalind to escape and Jessica to be her accomplice. I want Rosalind to go after everyone around Lucy.. or everyone she thinks is around Lucy. Mainly Nolan and Tim. I want Rosalind to take Tim and hurt him (not kill him), but play into his doubts about being worthy of Lucy, that kind of thing.

(Yes, I have a very dark and twisted side. I love murder mysteries and horror movies, especially the ones that make you dread what’s coming next. )

I also want Rosalind to underestimate Lucy, to think her weak, to not anticipate Lucy rallying the help of Nyla and Angela to not only save Tim but catch Rosalind. That needs to be Lucy’s win, not Nolan’s.

Catching a serial killer ought to get her promoted or have the feds recruit her hard. Maybe she can go to Quantico and get special training for a month or two with their Behavioral Sciences group (the profilers). Give Tim the chance to miss her and contemplate life without her.

—————

Speaking of Angela. I love Angela. I want to meet her brothers and her abuela.

I believe Angela already knows that Tim has feelings for Lucy - whether he admits it to himself, Angela or Lucy that’s different. As is him taking action and/or fighting for what he wants.

She knows her best friend inside and out and has seen him go from fresh recruit to a hollowed, out, drowning in guilt, angry TO and back to this warm(er), sweet, loving man. The way he spoke to her about her wedding dress ? That was breathtakingly sweet and lovely.

She also knows none of that would have happened if not for Lucy. When Lucy asks Angela and Talia about them fixing that felony arrest point contest back in Season 1, Angela knew something was up and I think she’s been watching Tim and Lucy’s changing dynamics ever since. She knows that Lucy is precious to Tim especially after Caleb, beyond him feeling responsible for her.

I also think Genny and Angela are friends. Genny probably called Angela for the inside scoop after meeting Lucy (after she helps with the house) to get the best friend angle scoop.

From the promo, I think Angela probably sees a stolen moment between Dim & Juicy - maybe even the swaying lovey dovey hug from the promo or something similar. She smiles and then cop brain kicks in and she wonders if he’s finally letting Lucy in. He’s acting like he has feelings. And I am sure that Tamara has told Patrice and Angela at a minimum about the 4x22 kiss.

So when Angela asks Tim about his feelings, she wants him to say yes. Because she a) is always fighting for Tim to have the kind of life and happiness she has with Wesley and b) she’s going to know if he’s lying (he is) and c) she can nudge him along to get there faster.

I feel like Angela is the audience around Chenford. She’s rooting for them, nudging Tim along, and plotting to get them together. (Her version of fanfics).

——————

I laughed at the whole air support conversation and scene.

Nolan looked dumpy and Tim, well sweet Jesus he looked fantastic. Did Eric Winter spend the summer working out? Good god. He looks tall and in phenomenal shape. Are we going to be blessed with shirtless Tim shots? I would pay money to see him climbing out of a penthouse pool somewhere, all glistening and glorious…. Sigh….

Although those jeans made him look hippy. Smirk. I also think he’s got his money clip in his front right pocket. You can see the outline on his thigh, isn’t that supposed to be behind his belt in the back?Continuity people!

———-

So. Chenford. I am still in a fantastic mood.

I literally started crying I was so happy when the first promo come out. Up until that point, I was in some major withdrawal and a bit of a funk. I kept getting these negative, hopeless, angsty prompts and I was becoming apathetic about everything. Not a happy camper was I. Here we go:

I think both of them are operating at 85% Tim +Lucy letting their guard down and showing the other one what they really fee. Just letting their shields down and enjoying the other one. 10% is them in hyperaware cop mode, and 5% is Dim & Juicy.

I think they probably maybe had one more training session- maybe with kidding, but more touching each other. Hand holding, arms around each other, maybe her in his lap, coming up with nick names for each other, where are they ticklish, that kind of thing.

During the opp, I expect to see some PDA, some affection, longing glances, that fabulous swaying hug, probably a deeper than expected kiss again. Plus, I think there will be a sex scene we don’t see on camera. Not now anyway. And maybe they didn’t sleep together but they got close to 3rd, or rounded third base but did not go for the inside the park home run… And remembering that moment, especially at inopportune times will cause drama and awkwardness (and flashbacks!!) in their relationship with others as well as their relationship with each other. I can see Lucy on the phone with C, while thinking about Tim and her kissing. I’d love Tim to say Lucy’s name while Ashley is trying to seduce him. (Fun!)

I don’t think they’ll talk about what happens as usual, but their normal will have shifted. All that building UST that everyone in the station noticed and bet on, will be diminished. And they will freak out in their usual ways. And Voldie and Chris will be gone as romantic partners by the Mid-Season finale.

I don’t believe they will start having an affair. Doing so, doesn’t mesh with my understanding of these characters.

But I do think they will find it harder and harder to not act on their growing attraction.

And at some point early on Tim will realize he’s got it bad for Lucy. I want to see him have a heart to heart with Angela.and Lucy with Nyla or Nolan. And I want them to have an honest feeling revelation conversation about each other.

Assuming Chenford kisses in Ep 1, I expect them to be jumping into a full-on, super serious, committed relationship by 5x22 with an engagement and wedding in Season 6.

———-

That was a lot for two promos. I am happy and hopeful. And excited. Now, I need a nap.

#MonkeyThinks #chenford #Chenford promo #tim bradford #lucy chen #i love them #tim x lucy #the rookie #i'm in chenford withdrawal #things that are awesome #that was a lot of thoughts #is the hiatus over yet

[fenrirswood-hq]

JANUARY FULL MOON

IC DATE: 9th of January till 11th of January OOC DATE: 9th of January till 23rd of January PARTICIPATION: mandatory THREADS OUTSIDE OF EVENT: allowed! TAG TO USE: #fenrircoverstory

It's the first Full Moon of the new year, and the people of Fenrir's Wood hope to put the past behind them, move on from all the things that happened in 2022 and look towards the future. Or well, most of them anyway.

The local Supernatural community is more wary than ever before, with Witches spending several days before the full moon getting their security in order, planning rituals and gatherings to appease the spirits ahead of the first transformation.

Those who have already been questioning whether or not something supernatural might be happening in their city, are also on the look out, making the suspicion all the more dangerous.

The Seven ready themselves for another nightmare, knowing it is usually during the full moon that new ones appear, but as the moon draws to its highest point, they've been left pretty much unscattered.

Five others have not been so lucky, as they fall into a type of dream that can only be distinguished as a fever dream.

The strange thing is however: they're not Witches.

Then why would the spirits grant them fever dreams?

And what could they possibly entail?

It isn't the oddest thing to come out of the night, because by next morning, when everyone returns to the city... Fenrir's Wood is on the news.

-

"i saw them change into a wolf and run off into the woods, and I snapped a picture too," local trouble maker tells news on tuesday morning, 10th of january 2023.

-

ooc: list of the SEVEN DREAMERS & the FIVE DREAMERS below. As well as several small suggestions for threads! The FIVE will be contacted throughout the week about the dreams their characters have gotten, because: they didn't have the same ones.

THE SEVEN DREAMERS:

OH CHUNG-AE ZHYAN SURI REZA HARRIS AXEL SULLIVAN OPEN OPEN OPEN

THE FIVE DREAMERS:

ALDEMAR RAMEEK NISHANT DOSHI JOEL EDGAR ROJAS NOLAN KEENE OSIRIS JABBER

Some thread ideas are; your characters have both escaped from being interviewed by the newspapers after the story, your characters were fleeing the forest when they heard the story was dropped, your characters are currently hiding in the forest, your characters are trying to act natural while having their morning breakfast, your characters find one of the werewolves that passed out in the forest, your character is one of the sleepers and is contemplating life, your character is trying to communicate what they saw in their dream but can't find the words, your character really doesn't want to talk about the dreams, your character is acting rather suspicious walking out of the forest, your character fears they were the one in the picture, your character was just about to practice some magic when they noticed they were followed, your character is starting to think the picture might be real (is it?), your character tries to make fun of the news paper article, your character is writing comments under the newspaper article, your character accidentally walked into one of the empty spots and needs help, your characters are thinking of cover stories.

#fwhqplot #fenrircoverstory #murder mention tw

[welllpthisishappening]

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible. 

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims. 

Whatever, really. 

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies. 

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though. 

She’s positive about that, at least. 

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie. 

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect. 

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers. 

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the  oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate. 

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why. 

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does. 

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too. 

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really. 

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so. 

She’s happy for Scarlet, really. 

They won the game. 

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks. 

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier. 

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse. 

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times. 

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers. 

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five. 

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold. 

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day. 

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face. 

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go. 

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously. 

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person. 

And yet. 

He sticks his hand out. 

It’s disarmingly earnest. 

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date. 

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind. 

She takes his hand. 

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later. 

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work. 

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably. 

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason. 

When the Yankees make the postseason. 

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face. 

Much like the goddamn fireworks. 

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault. 

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either. 

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened. 

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions. 

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off. 

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them. 

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand. 

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information. 

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that. 

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter. 

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart. 

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least. 

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs. 

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted.  An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open. 

They both jump.

So, that’s something. 

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume. 

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there. 

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works. 

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of. 

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being. 

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her. 

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be. 

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby. 

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected. 

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed. 

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead. 

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together. 

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first. 

She does her very best to memorize the movement. 

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable. 

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself. 

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division. 

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate. 

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him. 

Emma included. Emma, especially. 

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins. 

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game. 

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then. 

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now. 

Got drafted, technically. 

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back. 

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.  

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2021 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest Rules Thread *CLOSED*

Time to beat the summer heat once again! Summer contests have been a bit more sporadic than Valentine's contests, but this will technically the 10th one that I've held over the years. (I’m rushing this before work, so forgive me for any typos or things that need better clarification. Just let me know, if I need to fix or clarify something)

Two categories, in which you are allowed to submit one entry for each category, if you would like. If you place in one category, you will be automatically disqualified from the other, for reasons of fairness, and to give other people a chance to win a prize. 

Both of these themes lean more to creativity and design, so once again, I will not be splitting it up into the usual talent and humor categories. Even though humor is not a basis for either theme, feel free to still have fun and make us laugh with your entry, if you want to!

CATEGORY 1:  A cool summer DiVE

Last summer, we were treated to the magnificence that is watermelon Chill Penguin in Rockman X DiVE. It was so...strange and different...that we all had a good laugh, but were also left craving more. The swimsuit outfits just focused on a few ladies, and left the guys out, to a little uproar from the fanbase. So, let's take things into our own hands. 

For this category, I'd like you to create a new Rockman X DiVE summer-themed character(s) and special weapon. It can be a playable character, boss, etc., however you'd like to tackle it. 

Create your finest pink flamingo Overdrive Ostriches, Lemonade Aqua Man's, speedo Axl's, and Avalanche Yeti multi-color sno cone sprayer-toting bikini Hope Stelar's for me! Because it's the only way I'll ever have playable Akane...*ahem*

      Content Requirements:      * Megaman character(s) of your choice redesigned into a summer-themed             Rockman X DiVE design/skin      * Along with the summer character, create a new summer-themed weapon             design, for us to waste thousands of EM in the capsule, but never pull due           to the low rates...

CATEGORY 2: Ride the Big Wave

Ken Suther is getting ready to hang ten, but he needs a cool new Megaman-themed board to ride the big wave this summer! So he's holding a surfboard design contest at his Big Wave shop, with the winner getting displayed in the battle card store.

For this category, I'd like you to create a Megaman-themed surfboard design for your favorite characters to hit the beach with. On top of art with the board design, put it into use, and draw your favorite character(s) riding the waves on that board.

      Content Requirements:

     * A creative surfboard design that contains something Megaman-related into         the design      * Put that new board into use, drawing a scene with your favorite                           character(s) hitting the water, in some sort of surfing-themed art

PRIZES:

Covid has not been fully defeated across the globe, and I learned the hard way in March that postal prices are still insanely expensive to ship, especially overseas. So the main prizes for winners will still be cash this summer, sent via Paypal. Hopefully next year I can bring back physical prizes.

The winners in each category will receive the following:

1st Place: $100 USD  2nd Place: $75 USD  3rd Place: $50 USD 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

When you submit, I would prefer you to include the following information in this format, along with your entry:

• (Your name/preferred alias) – As much as I usually know who you are, there’s always someone new or somebody who has a different preference from what their email name says.

• (Category this entry is for) – You can either say 1 or 2, or DiVE/Wave

Only submit your own work, as usual. Any character, major or minor, from any series is allowed. OCs are allowed, as long as your art contains at least one canon Megaman character.

As always, participants are allowed to submit from all over the world.

Paypal is still the preferred method for cash prize payouts. Please have a valid account to receive your winnings.

Youngin's, get your parents permission before entering.

Entries do not need to be colored, but it is preferred. The more effort put into things as always, the better chance you have!

Entries can either be e-mailed to me at rock2125[at]hotmail[dot]com, or you can just PM/note me a link to your pic.

DO NOT post your pics in this journal, your dA galleries, Twitter, tumblr blogs, other sites, etc. until the contest is over. This is the fairest way for competitive reasons. I prefer to keep them all secret until the deadline has passed.

I'll edit a confirmed entry list in this thread when I receive them. So you won't be in the dark about whether or not I've received your entry.

DEADLINE:

The deadline for this contest will be

Tuesday, August 31st, 2021 by 11:59PM, global end of day.

This gives you close to 3 months to finish your entry!

MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

As usual, If you don't plan to enter, but would like to help me judge, please let me know through DM or mention so here. Never hurts to have extra opinions on all the entries.

Bug me with questions if you have any. Please join in, and good luck to everyone who enters!

Confirmed Entries:  

Cat. 1 - @aw-colorcat, @firemanshug, Ryan Vogler, RockmanHQ, @digitallyfanged, Mattasaurs, Vincent Nolan, Algaae, @annvolans​, @subzeroiceskater​, 

Cat. 2 - AbilityField, @aw-colorcat, NightopianFoxGirl, @stephodell, ColeManX, Moogy, @mosketches​, @subzeroiceskater​, 

#Rockman #Megaman #Mega Man #Rock Miyabi's 2021 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest #Fanart Contest

[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [1/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America's back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that's just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

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A/N: I’m pleased to present my contribution to the CS Rewrite-a-thon! Big thanks to the organizers at the @captainswanbigbang​ for organizing this. This is an expansion of a oneshot I wrote a couple of years back called A Sunlit Night, and I loved the chance to get back into the feel of that piece. The fic title is from “Moon River”, which didn’t exist in 1952, but some things are about the aesthetic and it fit too well to resist.

Special thanks to my beta, @thejollyroger-writer​, and to @snidgetsafan​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ for the extra eyes and helping me work through some hurdles along the way. 

Tagging the usuals. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list! 

@kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @spartanguard​, @scientificapricot​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Storybrooke, Maine could be any town in America — just as picturesque as the name suggests in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. The houses have picket fences and boats bob in the harbor and there's an honest-to-god Main Street, lined with a diner and a general store and a pharmacy with advertisements for Ovaltine in the window. It's every picture of America that's ever made its way across the pond, every stereotype of small town life made real. It makes his presence all the more jarring; loners on motorcycles don’t belong in this picture-perfect magazine print town. 

He never meant to stop here — in fact, it’s the kind of little hamlet Killian doubts anyone ever means to find themselves in. Though he may not have planned on stopping — not here, not anywhere, not for anything — he also hadn’t planned on the noise his bike’s engine had started making as he cruised down backroads under the emerald canopy that is rural Maine in June. Killian is used to making minor repairs to the machine — it’s inevitable with the miles he’s putting on the motorcycle, and besides, there’s things you pick up in a war, especially when he spend much of World War II criss-crossing Europe in his plane — but for all of his handy skills, he still can’t make parts materialize out of thin air.

And so, he finds himself in Storybrooke — the nearest town, according to the road map he’d picked up at a welcome center on his way into the state. He’ll find a garage, he’ll work for parts, he’ll be on his way. It should be simple; a few days, a week at most, and then he’s gone again.

(The sooner, the better, in his opinion; a woman wiping down tables outside of the diner shoots him a dirty look, and Killian can’t help but feel like he deserves it for disrupting this idyll they’re living in.)

Blessedly, there is a garage attached to the town’s service station — NOLAN'S REPAIR, a large painted sign advertises across the top of the panelled door — but there's no sign of life inside. A quick glance at his watch, one of the few relics of the war that Killian willingly carries with him, reveals that it's already past seven. That's fine; he doesn’t mind waiting until the morning. 

It's easy enough to find space to park his motorcycle, conveniently alongside a park bench Killian suspects that he'll be spending the night on. As uncomfortable as it might sound to others, he barely thinks twice about the prospect anymore; he's spent plenty of nights on worse, both during the war and after it. His bedroll does more to counter the hard ground than anyone would expect. 

(Sleep is hard to come by these days anyways, and when it does, it only brings nightmares — visions of falling and flames, reminders that there’s no real good reason why he was pulled out of the Atlantic when so many others weren’t.)

(It should have been Liam who was saved, not you, a terrible voice in his mind whispers. It’s easier to drown out during the daytime; at night he’s too tired to deny the truth of it.)

Satisfied that he's got a plan until tomorrow, Killian unbuckles the satchel containing his few important belongings from the body of his bike and sets out to locate the diner. He remembers the sign promising the establishment was open 24 hours a day, and he intends to take advantage of at least a few of them.

Sure enough, the lights of the diner still shine brightly as Killian approaches. Granny's, the neon letters out front read. By all appearances, it's typical of family-type joints across the nation (or at least the parts of the nation he's seen so far). A bell jingles merrily as he pulls open the door; inside, the diner is adorned with a busily patterned wallpaper that somehow avoids looking suffocatingly dark like he would have expected when paired with the red vinyl upholstery of the booths, chairs, and barstools. The jukebox plays faintly at the edge of his hearing, just low enough for him to ignore the sound. Not that he could place the song anyways. Even if there is something of a feeling that the establishment could have been located anywhere and he wouldn't have known the difference, there's a comfortable aura in the air as well. 

"Seat yourself," an older woman calls from behind the counter without looking his way, apparently apprised of his entrance by the aforementioned bell. Considering the diner’s moniker, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the eponymous Granny. It’s probably for the best that she hasn’t turned to face him; he can’t imagine the woman would be as welcoming had she seen his face. He’s a bad influence, they say wherever he goes in voices too loud to be a whisper, too loud to ignore. On a Tuesday night, the crowds here are minimal, a small blessing; after surveying his options, Killian chooses a booth in the back corner where he can watch everyone but hopefully not be disturbed. Already, his unfamiliar face is drawing attention from the few other diners. They’re not used to outsiders, he can tell, and he’s not surprised about it in a town this small. Already, he can feel an unnatural hush in the air as suspicious and in some cases curious faces follow him as he makes his way across the room.

Maybe, in another life, Killian might have stared back, daring his spectators with a look to do something about their staring. That life slipped away when he crossed the ocean in search of anonymity, however, and he makes a show of ignoring the stares, rustling in his satchel instead. From the cluttered depths, he extracts two books; one for his own reading, picked up from the last used bookshop he ran across, and one blank for his own use. Once upon a time, the sights he’s seen and the faces he’s met would have inspired verses, the words tripping over his fingers and across the page in a quest for life, but it’s been a long while since that’s been the case. There are many reasons Killian forges ahead on his endless, aimless ride — some of them tangible, some of them unknown even to him — but his pursuit of his words is part of it. The closest he comes these days is behind the controls of his bike, once more racing through the open sky; it’s only then that the guilt quiets somewhat and he feels like inspiration could be dancing along the breeze, like a bit of dandelion fluff. 

This diner, however, is not the open air or the world rushing past him without a care, and his notebook will once again go to waste.

"Can I get you something?" a different voice asks — feminine, but a little deep and throaty. Killian glances up, expecting to order tea and a ham sandwich and turn back to his own distractions. He expects a passing, forgettable interaction.

He does not expect to look up and find himself faced with an angel.

It's far too fanciful to call her that, especially when she stands in front of him, flesh and blood and bone, but it's all he can come up with when faced with such perfection. Her hair is a shade of gold that painters and pirates must have coveted in times long past, shining and catching in the light with every movement. Though her tresses are pinned back, a few tendrils have still worked themselves loose to frame her face and model the slight curl to the lustrous strands. The way it's swept and pinned makes her eyes shine brighter than any he's ever seen, highlighting their green in a way she can't possibly be oblivious to. There's an aura about her that he can sense but not quite see that practically makes her glow, even in a blue uniform dress and stained apron that's less than flattering. She's somehow entirely separate from the drab surroundings of this small town diner, yet simultaneously he knows she must be an integral part — like the purest diamond embedded in the dingiest mine.

(Maybe there's a verse in there, somewhere. It's been too long for him to even tell anymore.)

He must be gaping like a fish, because she arches an elegant eyebrow at whatever expression graces his face, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her own mouth. It ruins the goddess effect a little bit, but makes her look more human instead — someone with a sense of humor, perhaps even a bit mischievous. "Sorry?" he finally manages to stutter out, though whether that's an apology or a request for clarification is anyone's guess. 

"Would you like to order?" she repeats. "Or would you like some more time to look at the menu?"

"Just some tea, please." It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't trip over his own tongue, though not enough of one to remember that ordering tea in this country is a fool’s errand. "And a ham and cheese sandwich."

"Earl Grey alright?" she asks, surprising him, quickly scratching his order down on her notepad. From Killian's vantage point, he can just see her handwriting — a messy kind of script that fits his impression of her, casual and hurried and somehow still elegant. 

"That's fine." Better than, really; he’d expected that terrible facsimile Americans insist on calling tea. He keeps drinking it anyways, for some indiscernible reason, like a last-ditch grab to hang onto a piece of who he used to be.

The waitress must see some of his surprise on his face, as she smiles knowingly. “Granny spent some time in England in her youth, and came back with very specific opinions about tea. None of the Lipton stuff here.” That would explain it — though it’s still unexpected in a tiny Maine hamlet. “Now, do you want that sandwich grilled or cold?"

"Grilled, please." The mere act of ordering a meal constitutes the most decisions he's had to make in a long time, and certainly the most he's spoken to anyone; his voice feels scratchy with disuse, which can't make the good impression his ego desperately needs. He was considered quite the catch once, if anyone could believe it; Killian wouldn't blame those who called him a liar, to see him now. 

As he grimaces at his own ineptitude, the waitress finishes scribbling out his preferences and tucks her order pad back away in the pocket of that awful apron again. "We'll get that going for you then," she smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

(A name would be nice, for one, but it feels like overstepping to demand that particular snippet of information. He'd caught an E at the corner of her breast pocket, but that could be so many things. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Etta?)

"Wait, lass," he cuts in as she turns to disappear back behind the counter. Her head tilts in a sign of her attention — an adorable one at that. If he were a braver man, he might ask her a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he is not a braver man. "Is there a telephone somewhere I could use?"

"All the way down the hall," she nods. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you, lass," he murmurs as Ella-Ernestine-Elsie walks away again. There's no telling if she heard him or not, but Killian is almost afraid to bring any more attention to himself. 

Sure enough, the payphone is just down the hallway. It's far enough away to offer Killian a modicum of privacy, which is more than he's come to expect in many places. It's dimly lit, and right next to the bathrooms, but he's not here for the ambiance anyways. 

There’s a calming ritual to making the phone calls to New York, even if they’re only sporadic. He’s accustomed by now to speaking with the operator, inserting the change when directed, waiting for the shrill ring as the call connects across hundreds of miles. He doesn't make these calls very often, but it's been several weeks — somewhere in upstate New York was his last call, he thinks — and this unexpected pit stop is as good an excuse as any.

It doesn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Scarlet residence," declares the softly accented voice on the other end of the line, familiar and comforting even across such a distance. 

"Hello, Belle, it's me." Killian leans into the corner formed by the wall and phone as he settles in for the conversation, propping his forearm on the top of the telephone's boxy structure. Belle just might be the last family he has left — certainly the last family he’s aware of — some sort of distant cousin on his late mother’s side. The details of it don’t particularly matter; what does matter is that she’d opened her heart and home when Killian had left, nay, fled England without any plan to speak of. London had still been in shambles, even after hostilities had long since ceased; Killian had found it impossible to live every day surrounded by ghosts and memories, all decaying and obliterated. Belle had offered to let him stay, too, help him get back on his feet again, but the itch to keep moving had been too strong under his skin.

(One thing they don’t tell you when you enlist in the Air Force is this: the solid ground will lose its appeal in a way you can’t imagine, and the world will start to move too slow everywhere else when you’ve spent enough time in a cockpit.)

Besides, Belle has a family of her own, a husband who loves her and two small boys; as kind as she is to offer, and as hard as she has tried to include him, Killian would inevitably always be an outsider in that tableau. It was for the best that he left, to try and settle his demons and rediscover who he can be on his own. 

"Killian!" It's easy to hear the warmth and excitement in his cousin's voice. "How are you? I was just thinking about you today." Just worrying about you is what she means, but Belle's always been too much of a lady to say it out loud. Besides, she understands why he's doing what he's doing; as settled as she is, he hadn't expected her to understand the itch to move that's settled beneath his skin, impossible to ever truly alleviate, but she'd just smiled and asked what she could do when he'd told her his plans. It's how she wound up the custodian not only of Killian's scant belongings, but also his savings account in his absence. 

"I'm fine," he assures her as best he can. "I'm in Maine. I'll be here a few days, I think."

"A few days?" The worry isn't back in her voice yet, but he knows it's coming, just as soon as he shares his reason for stopping. 

"Aye. There’s a nail in my tire. I’ll get it checked out at the shop tomorrow, but I assume they’ll need to order in the new tire. I doubt they’ve got the right ones for the bike on hand."

"But you're alright?" Ah, there's the worry. "You don't need anything? I can wire you money, if you like —"

"I'm fine, Belle, truly," he hastens to assure her. "I'm hoping to trade my labor for parts, help out around the shop if the owner will let me. I'll need something to do around here anyways, it's a pretty small town. I'll let you know if you need to wire me money, don't worry."

"If you're sure..." Belle tries to start, but Killian cuts her off. 

"I'm sure."

"I suppose I'll have to be fine with that. But now, Killian, how are you? Not your motorcycle or the roads — how are you?"

"I'm okay," he says truthfully. It's the best he can give most days; he hasn't quite found what he's looking for, can't even put his finger on what that might be, but he knows it's still out there, still out of reach. Still, it feels better than being cooped up in some office job, forcing himself into the boxes polite society wants him to inhabit that are slowly smothering him. It lets him try to figure out who he is now without Liam and without a clear purpose.

"But are you happy?" It's not the same thing, she doesn't say, but Killian hears it anyways. 

"Enough." It's the best he can give her. "Listen, I just wanted to call and let you know where I am. If it seems like I'll be here more than a few days, I'll give you a number you can reach me at. Tell Will and the boys hello for me."

"I will," Belle promises. "If you need anything at all, if there’s anything I can do, promise you'll call me, Killian. Promise."

"I promise. Love you."

"We love you too, Killian. You can always come here, even if it's not home."

She says that every time, and every time, Killian hangs up to avoid responding. The truth is, he still doesn't have a good answer, and as much as he loves his cousin and her family, their apartment just isn't home. That's something he's not yet sure he'll find again. 

He's barely returned to his seat before a steaming pot of tea is placed before him, the cup following in its wake. "Your sandwich will be ready shortly," the blonde angel assures him. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, lass," he tries to smile. At least his voice is audible this time after his conversation with Belle. 

As Killian lifts the pot to pour himself a cup, he’s thrilled to see the genuine article trickle out. Even with the waitress’ explanation, his expectations of the promised tea had been low. This, though, is steaming and hot and just the right strength. It tastes like a little cup of the home he’d left behind, and infuses him with a warmth and comfort that he hasn’t felt in… years. Not since before the war, just he and Liam sitting at the kitchen table with a cuppa and the radio. 

(It’s a feeling he’s long since lost, and one he didn’t expect to find again in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Everyday miracles can still sprout anywhere, he’s learning, as long as you’re looking for them.)

His dinner arrives as quickly as promised, and time begins to blur together in between warm bites and crisp pages and his thoughts. At some point, the empty plate is whisked away and another cup of tea is brought for him to enjoy. Killian is so used to entertaining himself that he doesn't truly notice any movement around him — that is, until a new plate is placed on his table and nudged into his hand. Glancing at the clock, Killian is surprised to find that the time is now just before ten; he'd been at the diner over two hours, far longer than he’d intended. Blame it on a good book and intriguing, if passing, company, he supposes.

Another quick glance reveals the small plate that the waitress had deposited to display a slice of pie — blueberry, if he's not mistaken. The thing is, he’s certain that he’d never ordered it.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls before she can walk away, "I believe you delivered this to the wrong table."

"No, I didn't," she smiles back, before glancing towards the door. It must be time for her to go home; Killian will regret her absence once she departs, though he knows he doesn't have any true right to do so.

Still, he must insist. Good form and all that. "I didn't order this, I'm afraid." I'm not sure I can afford it, he doesn't say, though that's what he means.

"I know," she replies. "You like pie?"

"I do," he assures her, still confused.

"Then it's on the house. Granny's got a soft spot for the lonely ones." As she tears his ticket off from her order pad, Killian wonders if the woman in front of him might have a soft spot, too. Maybe she was a lonely one herself, once; something in her eyes speaks to the kind of understanding you just can't fake. "If you'd like some more tea, Ruby will be happy to help you," she nods towards a smiling brunette behind the counter. "Have a good night."

"You as well, lass." 

The pie is delicious; he should have expected such just from the look of that flaky crust, but the confirmation is its own revelation. He can't say any of this was what he expected when he set out for dinner — not the blonde angel, and certainly not her unexpected kindness towards him. The more he thinks about it around bites of pie, the more he thinks the diner's proprietress had nothing to do with the sweet treat in front of him — especially since he hasn't even seen her on the premises since his server made that claim. No, he thinks that the pie must have come from the waitress herself, though he can't fathom for what reason.

He finally pays his bill and leaves, letting the diner's bell ring behind him as he exits, but it's not until he's nearly halfway back to the garage and the bench out front that he realizes:

He never actually learned her name.

#csrt #cs ff #captain swan #my writing #Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way) #A Sunlit Night #1950s au

[sambinnie]

How are you? I wish I had something more incisive to greet you with, but the speed with which everything occurs means it would be irrelevant, distasteful or a viral punchline a few hours later. 

I have been to the cinema for the first time in six months, and continued my regular habit exactly where I’d left it by attending a first-thing-in-the-morning screening of Tenet with only one other person in the cinema, sitting miles away and also on their own (the only way to watch a film, I say). Fucking Tenet, though. I mean, I have really missed going to the cinema, partly because I love films and partly because there’s such a small-scale decadence to occasionally going there solo at 10am on a Tuesday morning, and those tiny pleasures (which, of course, are currently no longer tiny) are just the things to keep me going.

But the film. Oh god, the film. I wish… I wish I could collate my thoughts into something which doesn’t just rapidly descend into a frustrated scream. I wish success didn’t mean people couldn’t say no to you. I wish I liked Nolan’s Batman films, for a start, since so many seem to get so much from them (see also: Breaking Bad, Killing Eve and Line of Duty), but I’ve always found them silly, really dumbly written, and badly made — I can’t hear much of the dialogue, and the action sequences are frequently shot with so many cuts and movement that’s it’s impossible to follow, something George Miller could teach him about so beautifully — and they’re so bloody solemn. Gotham is a grim place, but there’s a boring pomposity in fetishing that one-note grimness, and Nolan has it nailed. Having a character genuinely laugh at something doesn’t render your film light-weight; it creates contrast, and human engagement, something these serious (but sci-fi)/serious (but fantasy)/serious (but adult man dresses in a cape) films too often lack, as if a strained, one-note way of speaking will cancel out the frivolous, actually enjoyable genre aspect of the film. 

That lack of humanity is shared by Tenet. After a certain point, I simply don’t care. Is the nuke going to explode before Batman can something something something? *shrugs* Will the Tenet team manage to stop some sort of bad thing happening? Yes? No? Don’t mind, fine either way. Is Tenet nice to look at? Yes, but in a sort of “Christ, are we still holding up billionaire oligarch lifestyles as an aspirational thing at the moment?” very pre-2020 mood. Does it make sense? No, but that alone doesn’t mean it isn’t good — some great films, and some great Nolan films, take several goes to fully enjoy, and some are more enjoyable with every watch. Do I give a single fig about the outcome of the film or for any character after 20 minutes? Nope.

One major issue is that Nolan has made Inception, a masterpiece of film-making meta-commentary. How, once you’ve watched Cobb and Ariadne discuss the leaping-about way of conversations in films/dreams (stopping and starting in completely new locations) can you take the same thing seriously between Neil (Neil. Neil.) and The Protagonist? (I would like to see how many women read this screenplay along the way and just gave a small, inner sigh at the main character being named 'The Protagonist’.) As their boring expositional chats chop between pavement and public transport and plaza, one can’t help remembering how well Nolan previously pointed this out, yet has reverted to that self-conscious device to no benefit at all. It’s like he’s never seen his own films.

Similarly, the much-lauded aeroplane scene is completely without the necessary ingredient of tension because we’ve already been shown what happens, not just in other films but in this one, about fifteen minutes before. It’s like Bill & Ted promising they’d do whatever it was they needed right now, but in the future, and their momentary problem being solved by a loose sense of timey-wimey future self-ness. There’s nothing at stake at the airport, and between us being shown what happens and the scene beginning, nothing has happened for us to even hope the mission isn’t completed. It felt like the criminally underused Himesh Patel was in an instructional video for fuss-free plane-borrowing; compare it to the similar scene in Casino Royale (perhaps the only modern Bond film worth bothering with) and the flatness and mechanical nature of Tenet is all too apparent. The twists of the film, such as they are, are likewise foreseeable for even the least Pauline Kael among us. Who could it be under the mask? WHO COULD IT POSSIBLY BE? 

The Prestige, an earlier film of Nolan’s, is such a contrast to this that I’m stunned I didn’t watch it the moment I came home to clear my brain out. It’s smart, logical, moving, tense, engaging, and if there are plot holes (probably) I didn’t care because a) I really, really cared about what happened to each person, each of whom spoke and behaved like humans, not AI script-bots, and b) it gave this household a v useful shorthand nickname for anyone who wanted something one day but completely inexplicably changed their mind or denied it the next. I recommend it. I do not recommend Tenet. 

Of course, I feel guilty for caring so much about this, and writing about some fucking multi-squillion-dollar film with everything else happening. I am feeling extremely, crushingly ineffectual presently, and have completely come off all social media which from time to time would remind me of the efficacy of protest, of letter-writing and petition-signing and contacting one’s MP, so change feels hopeless and November’s blows seem inevitable. I am trying to knit my mind back together before then with small acts of body-work: cooking and running, drawing and swimming. I worry that I will drown in guilt and fear if I stop for a moment. It is pathetic, but I am still breathing, for now. 

My cynicism-filter is also at its finest mesh, because it cannot cope with the reality of our leaders and the UK’s political discourse: only small-fry stuff gets through, the Sali Hugheses and Jack Monroes, small-time fantasists who manipulate and virtue-signal to build lives of back-slapping consumerist celebration and Twitter Power Leader Boards. I’ve listened again to The Purity Spiral, and also to Desperately Seeking Sympathy, and wondered how many intelligent, kind-hearted people waste time supporting these innocent, victimised mini-Trumps just because they use the right buzzwords and also appear to hate the Tories. 

I wish I could give you some of the lights in my heart that keep me going — the occasional pure moon-eating delight of the people I live with — but here are more feasible treats instead.

Mike Birbiglia’s podcast Working It Out is a treasure, particularly the first episode with Ira Glass, which I think everyone who works in a creative field will listen to and wish they had an Ira Glass to critique their work. I like the idea of documenting works in progress, and not carrying any shame when things don’t work yet.

The Rose Matafeo episode of The Horne Section podcast, because I love her and I love stupid and brilliant songs. Several housemates have discovered Taskmaster too, which makes this a nice bridge.

Sarah & Duck, the BBC programme for tiny children. We never really used kids’ TV when they were little, but this now functions as a salve for when we’ve watched something truly terrifying like Poirot or a Marvel film, and besides the fact that Duck is absolutely fucking hilarious, the animation is staggeringly beautiful. The Islamic geometric patterns of the garden hedge; the soft blue-green hum of the “glow” section of the library, filled with lamps and luminescent books; the motes of dust caught in the sun-rays of Scarf Lady’s window. It’s a balm. 

Thanks to two housemates becoming great cooks over lockdown, I’ve rediscovered lots of my cookbooks and found 2015’s Simply Nigella to be a real corker. The rice with sprouts, chilli and pineapple, the drunken noodles and the Thai noodles with cinnamon and prawn are worth the entry fee alone. It’s quite chicken- and pomegranate seed-heavy, but even if you don’t like those, it’s extremely nice to be eating something that isn’t on our usual five-meal rota (and is also extremely delicious).

I was solo for some of the summer, and managed to watch a few excellent films, including BlacKkKlansman, The Peanut Butter Falcon and Love & Friendship. Cannot recommend these highly enough (*whispers* particularly the latter because it’s as painfully sharp as Austen should be, and we’d made the mistake of watching Emma. and I’m still so cross I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss everything that was wrong with it publicly yet).

I read Esther Williams’ memoir, The Million Dollar Mermaid. Perfect for anyone who loves that period of Hollywood, and full of juicy (as well as some pretty traumatic) episodes from the swimmer and actress’s amazing life. To give you a sense of it, chapter one is called “Esther Williams, Cary Grant, and LSD”. Super good. 

I hope you all keep well, pals x

#film #influencers #podcasts #TV #food #books #recommendations

[yanguazalie]

I saw a shirt and thought it’d be up Nolan’s alley because it’s odd, like him! But in a good way. Those are some nicely designed chairs :D I haven’t determined Nolan’s default clothes yet. This might be the direction I’ll go in though.

Unfortunately my drawings don’t really do the shirt justice because it came out small, so I just added text to fill space and have fun with that instead. It worked out because I’ve wanted to talk just a tiny bit about “Jacklynn” for a good two years now. Now you know that tiny bit! When we’ll see what he looks like... that’s still in the works.

Please, PLEASE take notice to Nolan calling Tuesday his partner while Tuesday calls Nolan her boyfriend D: I don’t know how often I’ll be able to show such wholesome contrast again, it needs to be savored!

Oh and, Nolan works at Wage’s bakery when he’s in town because he likes it and gets along with Wage.

Under the cut is the shirt design I referenced. That should also be savored!

#uglydolls #uglydolls nolan #uglydolls tuesday #uglydolls wage

[b-does-the-write-thing]

The House Guest, Chapter 72/75

Read it on A03

Wednesday December 21st, 2016

The town of Storybrooke lay quiet in the early morning hours. Midnight passed and went as softly as the drop of a feather as the Winter Solstice creeped closer and closer.

It would be the shortest day of the year.

It also very well could be the last.

“Lacey.”

She did not turn from the window. The pane was frosted slightly as the street lamps glowed below them. She sank bank into Rumpelstiltskin's chest though she did not turn from the window. The entire town lay beneath her, each house holding life and secrets she could only hope to protect even if she never knew them.

“Is it time?” she asked.

“Nearly,” Regina responded. The elder witch sat at the table where bottles and vials were stacked around her, sands and powders, liquids and gases swirling in test tubes and bottled by champagne corks. The soft green drew attention to the shadows under Regina’s eyes and the hollows of her cheeks.

The rest of the house was empty. No Ruby, no Archie, no Jefferson or Neal. They had protested of course, but a witch was difficult to argue against. In the end, they had agreed to go with the Nolans and the Bentons on a day trip to New York City, where an unexpected snowstorm had kept them trapped at Cruella’s.

Safe.

Lacey only wished she could have sent everyone away. Regina had refused to vacate the town, calling Lacey’s idea of a gas leak idiotic. The lists of people still missing or dead did not seem to haunt Regina. Lacey saw it every time she closed her eyes.

Monday and Tuesday had creeped by. Lacey had gone to work, picked up the phones, sent emails, handled her business and all the while, she watched the time tick away until the entire mess was over with. One way or another, after six this morning, her life would be forever changed.

“I’m ready,” she whispered. She did not need to see Rumple’s face or hear what he had to say. They had spent the last two evenings curled up on the bed in the corner while Queenie hid in the bathroom. She had only emerged when they had grown quiet and still and proceeded to mewl loudly to remind them that she still existed. Neal had promised to take care of Queenie if something should happen.

The familiar jumped up to the kitchen counter and head butted Lacey’s crossed arms. The odd feline with her mismatched coloring and her stunted tail purred a hello as she joined their watch on the still town.

Lacey’s right hand grasped Rumple’s. He gently kneaded her fingertips with his, pressing the pads of his talons to her own nails. She buried her other hand in Queenie’s fur to scratch the spot behind her cat’s left ear.

There was nothing remarkable about the town, no fog, no starry sky, just a grey cloudy early morning which would dawn late and set earlier than any other day this year.

And yet, this was a moment she would remember for the rest of her life. Be it two more hours or two hundred more years. This moment of quiet contemplation before the storm, wrapped in the arms of a lover she could never have dreamed up and stroking a cat that had helped her find her way when she had been truly lost.

“Are you two just going to stand there all night or are you going to help?”

And then, there was Regina.

“You wanted to make the potions,” Lacey said as she peeled herself away from her roommates. “I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “You’re summoning a demon you’ve summoned already. It’s hardly rocket science.”

True. They had the bones of Bozo’s ancestor and the dagger he had used to cut his own soul free from his mortal form. They simply lacked his blood. Easily gained with the correct spell, the right weapon and a small amount of luck.

“Regina, anyone ever tell you that you’re a bitch?” Lacey grumbled as she sat down across the table.

“Mrs. Lucas did yesterday as a matter of fact,” Regina replied. “She’s leading the Committee to Save the Christmas Parade.”

It was easy to forget it was almost Christmas. The whole town had been in an uproar the past few weeks since Regina had canceled the annual parade. It was something so trivial to Lacey and Regina, that even at work, they brushed off the people’s holiday fury, too busy trying to focus on more important things like town taxes and stopping ancient demons from destroying the town.

Lacey nodded as she reached for the purple scales of a violet turned salamander. “She won’t do anything without the permits,” she assured Regina. “Unless every shop on Main Street signs a waiver-”

“They won’t have to. I gave them the permits last night,” Regina told her. “They’re holding it as soon as the sun goes down tonight.”

“You what?”

Whether it was because of the way the room went still or the quiet fury in Lacey’s voice, Regina looked up from her mortar. “What? If we survive this summoning, they can have their ridiculous parade. If we don’t, they’ll have more things to worry about than if Rudolph’s float works.”

“If something goes wrong-”

“Then, they’re all screwed anyways,” Regina interjected. “Hand me that vial.”

Lacey was more inclined to throw it at her, but settled for ignoring the request entirely to focus on her own project. Behind her, Rumple stayed at the window. He did not make a sound but his body was tense, alert and humming with anticipation.

He was after all about to face the creature responsible for his own power, his own immortality and his own existence. There was a hatred between the two that Lacey couldn’t quite understand, a bond between creator and creation that had twisted and turned loathsome over the centuries. One born of jealousy, rage, and mistrust but more importantly, a hatred reserved for those who had gone past dreams of vengeance.

The clock on the stove read a quarter past five in the morning. The night sky showed no signs of lightening so Lacey continued to work silently besides Regina. They bottled spells, brewed potions, and stoppered death in all its forms.

“There,” Lacey finally said as she ran out of the last of the ingredients. “That’s everything.”

The table glowed with smokes and liquids, gases and stars, solids and gels. They had used some wine bottles toward the end, and the green glass glinted strangely as the golden chain reactions of dormant hexes swirled hazily through the murky depths.

The small apartment glowed. Every surface had been covered in some form of magic. Rumple had retired to the couch at some point where he tinkered curiously with some of Regina’s potions and Queenie had curled up in Lacey’s lap. Both were still wide awake and alert though they appeared relaxed.

As 5:40 appeared on the digital clock face, Regina nodded to her over their bounty. “Better get on with it then,” she said as she too stood up. Rumple did not move from his spot on the couch, though Queenie hopped up onto the table without disturbing a single bottle.

With a lazy wave of her right hand, Lacey called the book from where it sat on the fireplace mantle. A trail of ash followed lazily behind it, until she caught both in her waiting hand. The ash stained her fingertips black and without pause, Regina reached over to stab a straight pin into Lacey’s thumb pad.

After Lacey finished cursing, the elder witch picked the book off the floor and pressed it back into Lacey’s sooty, bloody grip. She whisked a finger under Lacey’s left eye, and when she drew it away, a single tear glistened softly.

“Element of surprise,” Regina said coolly as she pressed the tear into the blood and soot.

“I could have just conjured my own blood and tears at significantly less pain,” Lacey said through her teeth. “You didn’t have to stab me.”

“Lacey.”

Rumple pointed to the clock as the sky outside began to grow navy, then grey, and finally hints of colors appeared in the stratosphere. The book hummed to life as the Winter Solstice dawned outside, and for the third and hopefully last time, Lacey French summoned a demon.

The skin of her palms tingled, the hair on the back of her neck raised and a ghost danced across her grave. Then, there was nothing.

“Lacey?”

Lacey raised a hand for silence. “He’s here,” she replied after a moment.

Regina had a rather large vodka bottle in her hand, which glowed red with a particularly nasty charm. She held it higher to illuminate the small studio.

“Not here,” Lacey clarified as she moved to the window. “He pulled away when he crossed over.”

“Where would he go?” Regina demanded of Rumpelstiltskin.

“Most likely Midas’s manor,” Rumple replied. “It’s still empty.”

“Then, let’s go,” Lacey said. She grabbed as many bottles as she could and with a quick whisper shrank them all down to slip into her jacket pocket. Regina began to do the same but Rumple did not make a move to join them. “Rumple?”

“He’ll expect us to come,” he said to himself. “Otherwise he would have just crossed over on his own. He wouldn’t have waited for you to summon him forth.”

“He’s weak,” Regina pointed out. “He probably hoped we wouldn’t press the matter.”

Lacey shook her head. “No, Rumple’s right. He’s smarter than that.”

“You have the dagger, right?”

Lacey nodded and patted the small sheath strapped to her leg underneath her skirt. The blade remained wicked cold despite the warm of the room and her own body temperature.

“And you have the bones?”

Rumple summoned forth one of the various vials filled with the crushed bone fragments of the last living descendent of the Old One. They had over twenty vials lingering in different hiding spots around the world, ready to be called forth at a moment’s notice.

“Then, we just need to stab the bastard, draw blood and say the words,” Regina finished with a withering look at the two of them. “Let’s get this over with before the town wakes up.”

--

In the end, he was not at the manor.

He was not at the toll bridge.

Or in the woods or at the docks.

They did not find him at Archie’s, or at the Mayor’s residence or even at Granny’s.

By the time all the shops opened on Main Street, the weak morning sun shone through the cloud cover. The trio was exhausted and on edge.

“He’s here,” Lacey seethed as she turned in circles outside Granny’s diner. “I can feel him.”

Rumple laid a hand on her shoulder. “He’s toying with us,” he said softly and Regina nodded wearily from where she leaned against the diner’s porch. “You two need sleep.”

“We just need coffee,” Lacey argued.

Regina pushed away from the wall. She did not do anything as banal as yawn, but her eyes were lined and red and there were dark circles under her eyes that had not been there an hour ago.

“We’ve used more magic jumping around town than was wise, and we stayed up all night preparing potions and spells,” she reminded her. “We keep this up and he’ll just have to show up and blow us over with a huff and a puff.”

Too tired to mock the nursery rhyme reference, Lacey scowled. “So, what? Take a nap and hope he doesn’t start to destroy the town in the meantime?”

“You two go get some rest, and I’ll keep an eye out,” Rumple said with a firm note in his voice. “I’ll alert you if he shows his face, and I can keep him occupied in the interim.”

“Goddamnit,” Lacey swore as she aimed a kick at a nearby rock. “What’s he going to do? Hide out until the Spring Equinox?”

“Rest,” Rumple repeated. “Neither of you are any use to me or this town at this rate.”

Regina nodded curtly. “The Mayor’s Residence is closest,” she said with a quick check down the road. It was the morning rush and a few people were starting to take notice of the Mayor standing outside Granny’s at the early hour. “Lacey, you can stay in one of the guest suites.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather be with Queenie.”

A soft meow of approval came from her feet. Queenie blinked up at her in the cloudy morning, a pleased feline look on her face as she twined about her ankles in greeting.

“Then, it’s settled,” Regina said. “Grab the cat and let’s go.”

--

“Lacey.”

She stirred out of the piles of blankets and pillows to wrap her arms around his waist. Rumple sat perched on the edge of her bed, his hands combing through her tangled hair. The room was dark save the window where faint light still poured through the thin curtain. At her feet, Queenie twitched her nose against her shins but did not move from her own nest of fabric.

“Where is he?” she murmured as she tried to fight off the lingering claws of her dreams. They had been full of nightmares and hopes, shadows of realities that were too fantastic to be true and too cruel to be dismissed.

“Still hiding,” Rumple told her as he helped her sit upright. “Regina’s been up for the past hour scrying for him, but hasn’t had any luck.”

One of her dream fragments grew bright for a moment. “What about the Coven? Or the Church?”

“We discussed this,” Rumple reminded her. “We aren’t going to involve them unless something goes wrong.”

Lacey sighed as she pulled at the pills on the blanket she had found in the closet. The tangles gave her something concrete to fix, and she began to pull at the little knots and beads harder than necessary. “He’s toying with us.”

“He is,” Rumple agreed. “We knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Yea, but I at least thought we’d get to fight,” Lacey groaned. “Not go on a deranged hide and seek around Storybrooke.”

“Get dressed,” Rumple said with a press of his lips to the tips of her ear. “We have a little under an hour before sunset.”

--

When they entered Regina’s office, the stark black and white was tinged with the colors of the setting sun. It was nearly a quarter to four and the sun had already begun to dip lower into the winter sky.

“Anything?” Lacey asked as she joined Regina at her desk. The scrying crystal swung over the map of Storybrooke but it did seem to be doing much of anything other than hanging in Regina’s grasp.

“No,” the other witch said through gritted teeth. “I had something at Gepetto’s but then it disappeared and reappeared across town at the docks. Just a minute ago, I had a fix on him at the Rabbit Hole but he was gone before I could even stop the pendulum swing.”

“He’s toying with us.”

Regina arched a brow. “How is jumping to random place to random place toying with you?”

Lacey ignored her. “Where else did he appear?”

“The lofts where Mary Margaret used to live, near Sprat’s, the woods up by the faerie ring-”

“All places we’ve been together,” Lacey said as she turned to Rumple.

“What kind of message is that?” Regina demanded. She stood from the table, but the pendulum continued to hang in mid air.

“He’s playing for time,” Lacey told her as she grabbed for her jacket. Queenie jumped up on the table to pat at the pendulum. “He wants us to chase him.”

“And we aren’t going to do that?” Rumple asked.

Lacey grinned. “No, because he doesn’t know what we know.”

Regina looked lost. “And what is it that we know?”

“In two hours, there’s going to be a christmas parade.”

--

The plan had been easy.

Convincing Granny Lucas of it, not so much.

The widow crossed her arms and peered suspiciously at the trio. They stood at the Inn’s front door, effectively blocking her from leaving her own home to join the mass of people all heading down to the miraculously saved christmas parade.

“You want me to let her ride on the front float?” Granny repeated.

“The three of us,” Lacey clarified for the third time.

“Mayor Mills here is the reason we were not going to have a parade,” Granny reminded them.

“I gave you the permits last night,” Regina shot back.

“We would have had it with or without those permits,” Granny bristled. “This was a Storybrooke tradition long before you rode into town on your broomstick!”

Rumple chuckled behind her, and Lacey elbowed him gently. “Granny…”

“Oh, don’t Granny me, young lady,” Mrs. Lucas said as she turned her attention on Lacey. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know you have something going on lately. My own granddaughter barely talks to me anymore, disappears every month for nearly a week and now she tells me she’s moving away. You’re as much my child as that one, Lacey French, which means I know you just as well I know her, and there is something the two of you aren’t telling me. If you want to ride on that float, you tell me what’s going on this instant.”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Regina muttered. “At this rate, it’ll be 2017.”

“Regina…” Rumple warned.

Regina ignored him. She took two steps up to Granny to glare down at her. “You want to know what she isn’t telling you? Fine. Your precious granddaughter is a werewolf. Lacey and I are witches, and this guy here is a demonic entity. He was created by the original demon who, as it just so happens, is bent on destroying this entire town tonight in his quest to tear the mortal realm apart to rule this and all other realms in a bloody sway. We are attempting to stop all that by riding at the front of a goddamn Christmas Parade like a bunch of moronic buffoons.”

Granny blinked.

Lacey hurried to explain. “What Regina meant was-”

“A werewolf?”

Lacey’s words died on her lips.

“Regrettably, yes,” Rumple said softly as he gently tugged Lacey too the side so he could speak directly to Granny Lucas. “She was bitten last Halloween, but you suspected that, didn’t you, Madam Lucas?”

To Lacey’s surprise, Ruby’s grandmother gave a short nod.

“Granny?” Lacey mumbled in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve grown a second head, dear,” she said with a snort. “I grew up in this town. I know the myths and the legends about faeries in the woods and the sirens in the sea. Plus, I know how to google.” Lacey wanted to fish her phone out and call Ruby on the spot but Granny fixed her with another direct look. “Let’s see it then,” she demanded. “Some magic.”

All three of them lifted their hands up in unison and a burst of green and red sparks emanated into the night sky. A few people on the sidewalks clapped for the display, a few taking photos of what they assumed were bottle rockets as they hurried on to the parade route. Granny just nodded. “Well, then,” she said as she pushed past the three of them. “Let’s get on with it then.”

--

With Granny Lucas on their side, they had no problems getting onto the head of the parade float. It was covered in ivy and mistletoe, Storybrooke spelled out in poinsetta leaves on the side and white icicles dripping down over the sides to the ground so it looked like it was floating on light itself. With its three different levels, it towered over most of the buildings along Main Street.

With the help of a suggestment elixir, the original float driver agreed to help on a different float. With magic at the helm, their float was on of the first out into the streets and was greeted with excited exclamations of holiday cheer.

“Wave!” Lacey said through gritted teeth to both her companions. Regina slipped into politician mode easily enough but Rumple scanned the crowds, too intent on his prey to pay attention to the kids cheering and waving at him in his Santa Claus outfit.

“Were the outfits really necessary?” Lacey said in aside to Regina.

The Mayor, still in her usual pantsuit, bared her teeth in a smile as she continued to wave to the crowd below. “Probably not, but if he dies in a Santa Claus outfit, it’ll be a hell of a story.”

“No one is dying,” Lacey said firmly. She tugged at her own elf costume, the bell at the end of her cap jingling dementedly. “Don’t think I’m voting for you next year though.”

If the town was surprised to see the very Mayor that had canceled the parade in the first place leading the floats, they were too good natured to care. Familiar faces peered up at them, while children waved happily as parents held them up on their shoulders.

“There.”

Rumple pointed at the clock tower as they passed it, and sure enough, there, illuminated by the dull glow, was a shadow.

“Here,” Regina said and Lacey gasped her hand in her right and Rumple’s in the left. “We’ll need a distraction.”

Rumple smiled and as if that was the signal, the top of their float exploded free and a rein of candy burst forth like a geyser into the night. The crowd’s boomed its approval as the float came to a stop and the entire crowd pressed forward to gather the chocolates and sweets as they continued to pelt down from the sky.

Regina used the pandemonium expertly. One second, they swayed on a still float, and the next, the three of them stood in the empty clock tower above the library before the demon they had chased all day.

The Old One chuckled. “Whose idea was that little performance?”

“Needs must,” Lacey said as she drew the dagger free from beneath her elf’s skirt. “Got your attention, didn’t it?”

The Old One looked to where Rumple stood in his beard and red suit. He had dropped Gold’s face and his demonic face was grotesque in the clock’s feeble light. “It is honestly a sight I do not think I will forget in the foreseeable future.”

“You have a very short future,” Regina said as she appeared just behind him. With a lighting quick move, she smashed a bottle into the side of his face before disappearing again into the shadows.

The Old One did not make a noise of anger or pain, but stood with blood dripping down his face. It pooled into the neck of his robe and stained the hair around his ear but he did not make a move to so much as wipe it off.

Lacey made a move towards him but Rumple snagged her free hand. “Wait!”

Another soft chuckle filled the silence. “I have spent the last fortnight preparing for death,” the demon murmured. “I wondered how I should meet it...or should run from it...and in the end...I think there is nothing as amusing as one’s own hubris.”’

Regina reappeared at their side, and though she held a spell at the ready in her hand and a bottle of some noxious potion in the other, there was no need.

Rumple stepped forward and with no hesitation, he drew a finger through the blood that had begun to drip on the floor. Lacey’s breath caught in her throat, but the Old One did not make a move to strike Rumple even though the back of his neck was exposed and his back open to attack.

“Here,” Rumple said quietly and he swiped the blood over the flat of the blade. As Regina and Lacey kept an eye on the Old One, he sprinkled the bone fragments to stick to the blood on the blade. Finally, he stepped away.

“Do you remember what I said to you?” the Old One asked him before Lacey could begin the words. “When you came to me a coward and a fool? A lost mortal doomed to obscurity even in those primal times?”

“‘I can make you a king’,” Rumple repeated. “‘You will walk through fire and blood, death and agony and you will laugh and not know death’.”

“Until I do.”

Lacey stilled.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” the Old One said where he stood immobile. “That my death heralds his own. My blood is in his veins. Killing me kills him.”

“He’s lying,” Regina said. “Do it now. He’s buying time.”

“Rumple?”

His eyes were locked with the Old One’s, a silent conversation between the two ancient demons. “He’s bluffing.”

Lacey lowered the blade. “But-!”

The Old One struck. It was a small spell, so slight that she had not even noticed it being cast. If Regina had not had her own spell called forth, it would have hit Lacey before she could have even drawn breath to respond.

“Do it!” Regina exclaimed as the shadows erupted to life around them. Dark claws wrapped around Lacey’s throat and arms, encircling her limbs in a tight embrace as it picked her up off the floor to hover in midair. Regina was caught too, though she had an arm free and was using it to hurl whatever she could get her hands on down to the floor below.

Rumple and the Old One were locked in a battle of wills.They flickered in and out of the light, appearing next to each other and then across the room. Lacey struggled in vain to catch her breath, to start the first words, but the shadowy figures pressed their way into her mouth and stilled her tongue.

“Lacey!” Regina yelled as they rose into the rafters. “Say the spell!”

The dagger was heavy in her hand, and though the shadows did not seem able to touch it directly or wrest it from her, Bozo’s words had worked all too well.

Regina knew it too. “He’ll be fine!” she exclaimed, hissing as something corporeal scratched long rows across her face. “Say the spell or we are all dead!”

The shadows clutching her sensed her resolve. As she began to wiggle and struggle for control over her own body, they dropped her. It was a long fall down, long in the time it takes to know one is about to die, but not long enough to gather the breath to speak the words. Luckily, magic did not always need words.

She slashed the hand holding the dagger across her body, and a gust of wind erupted from beneath her so when she hit the floor, she had slowed down enough to only be mildly winded. A agonizing pain at her hip indicated she had stabbed herself in her fall, but she only had eyes for the two demons across the room.

Rumple had his talons locked around the Old One’s throat, prying him backwards into the floor as shadows wailed and tossed around them in a whirlpool of darkness. Rumple was bloody now too. Bozo’s claws were scarlet with their mixed blood.

Lacey wanted to say something. Words of love came to mind, goodbyes, and even apologies clamored to be said but instead she said the only words she could.

It was instantly different from the Summer Solstice. This time it was not power and magic that flooded her senses, but an eerie stillness. The words flowed from her mouth as easily as words of love and praise, as calmly as words of acceptance and compassion and as pure as a prayer.

The shadows faded away. There was no light, no wind, just a serenity that extended from every center in her body and spiralled out into the world around her.

Regina’s centers opened in response, and the shadows exploded as if the sun had risen inside each to them. The entire clock tower shone, not with a light, but with a power that seemed to illuminate from the inside out. The elder witch appeared at her side as quietly as the spring rain, though she did not touch her.

As the magic touched Rumple, he staggered backwards away from his creator and pressed himself along the wall. He only relaxed when he caught her eye, his muscles sagging in relief as the magic touched the wounds along his body and crept into the cracks of his soul.

When the magic touched the Old One, he only laughed.

“Zoso,” Lacey said quietly as the spell breathed through her. “Your time is done.”

“My life may be spent,” he agreed as he pulled himself to a standing position. “However, it has touched countless others. My creations are still out there, my legacy lives on without me.”

“Your legacy stands in the light beside you,” Lacey told him.

“The Dark One is dead,” Zoso spat. “This creature is a lap dog.”

“This creature is a man,” Rumplestiltskin said firmly, “and you had nothing to do with it.”

The magic flared bright and when it abated, the Old One was gone.

Regina only barely caught Lacey as she collapsed. The pain in her hip flared bright and then the lights overhead swam in her vision as darkness crept in. Rumple’s voice was distorted and far away, and though she could hear him and Regina, she let herself sink into the depths of her own mind and slipped away from them into unconsciousness.

Outside, as the parade slowly wound away, the crowd below began to sing O Holy Night.

Notes:

*makes strangled noises*

Bozo is dead. Defeated, erased, vanquished, and our babies are all still alive. (Injured and exhausted but ALIVE)

Next chapter, we have the meeting with the Coven.

So, I'm going to leave this here, this huge chapter, this beginning of the end, and I am going to hug you all while you try and think of how you feel and I hope to hear from you because this has been such an adventure to go on with you all and here we stand three chapters from the end and I can't believe it.

(can you tell I'm a WiP author? I'm freaking out over here that it's almost done)

#the house guest #b does the write thing

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 32

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Grumpy | Leroy, Maurice | Moe French, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Merida (Once Upon a Time), Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Le Fou, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Gus | Billy, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham, Mother Trude (Fairytale Character)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read previous chapter on AO3

Chapter 32 - Afternoon Tea

Belle hated those overly familiar memes that said cheery things like, “Every day is a new day!” or, “You can’t move forward without letting go the chains of the past.” She thought them so sickly sweet that they would rot your teeth beyond the aid of any dentist. She hated that she didn’t feel like eating breakfast. She hated the way she couldn’t get her hair to curl just right, in fact, when she woke the next morning she hated everything.

She had stayed awake for too long trying to listen for the sounds of Gold’s car, only to realize that he probably wouldn’t have come back to the shop anyway. He’d probably have gone to his home - which she had no idea where it was, or maybe even to his cabin, since is was the closest to where he kept the sheep. Only then had she stopped fighting the urge to go to sleep and forget about the rotten ending to what had been a difficult day.

It hadn’t helped. She had gone to bed angry, and had woken the same way.

Ruby must have sensed her mood even before she came out of her bedroom, because the other woman was nowhere to be seen, so she ate alone, and then gathered her things to head down to the library and open up, slamming the door on the book drop box with no small amount of satisfaction as she emptied it, and then all but dropping the pile of books down onto the desk beside the computer.

When she picked up the first one to check it in, she found herself suddenly chuckling, and then laughing outright as she read the title.

Best Served Cold. The book was by Joe Abercrombie.

She might have counted on books, and the library itself to lift her mood, and after she checked in all the books, she went to the front doors, opened them up, and breathed in the air and the ambiance of Storybrooke. She smiled as she saw Leroy and his friends all walking in a single line, heading for Granny’s no doubt to have their breakfast. The sight of Leroy reminded her of why she was there, and how at home everyone in in town made her feel.

Even the difficult Mister Gold.

The thought brought her up short, and she frowned at herself, just a little. Perhaps she owed him an apology. Yes, he’d been an utter beast about things the night before, but he had only been looking out for her, and at the same time no doubt worried about his lamb, and while not an excuse for his behavior, it was a reason, and of one thing she was certain: she had had no right to take her disappointment and self doubt out on him in the way that he had, and the thought made her palm tingle. She should not have slapped him. She stepped further out into the roadway to try and see if he had opened up the shop yet that morning, but she couldn’t see. She would have to go a little further down the street to truly tell.

With a sigh, she turned and almost ran right into Paige’s neighbor. What was it that Jefferson had called her? Mother Trude?

“Well, isn’t it a shame that folk like you don’t look where they’re going,” the old woman snapped, “or mind their own business, when it comes down to it?”

“I’m sorry?” Belle said, having yet again to reign in her irritation, and delivering the words more as an accusatory question than an actual apology.

“Well, I should think so,” Mother Trude responded.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking expectantly at the older woman who seemed to be in a perpetual temper, and it occurred to her then that it must be what she looked like that morning, and resolved to change her attitude completely.  She would go for morning tea at Granny’s, and then she would walk along the road to Mister Gold’s shop and venture in for the first time to make her apologies.

“I just came to tell you that young Paige won’t be coming in today, nor on Tuesday. She has a thing for school, and she’s far too busy besides.” The old woman sniffed. “And I should think so as well. When her mother needs her she’s never around, always here.”

“Mrs. Trude—” Belle began.

“Miss,” the other woman corrected her with yet another sniff.

“I beg your pardon,” Belle said, and this time it was an apology, drawing a third sniff from the woman. “Is she all right? Paige I mean?”

“She just has to work hard to get on for school,” Trude said with a decisive nod.

“And… she couldn’t come and tell me herself?” She had to admit that she was more than a little disappointed at that.

“Well, it’s not for me to say, is it?” the woman began, “What a little girl might or might not be able to do?” With a shake of her head, the woman straightened herself and Belle could tell that she was preparing to move on. “I came to tell you, and now I have, so… that’s all.”

The words, “Tell her I’m thinking of her,” died on Belle’s lips as she watched her walk away, her heart filling with worry for Paige and, not for the first time, did she feel as though she should talk to someone about her concerns, if not in fact call Child Services.

It was with a lot on her mind that she later tied a note to the library doors, and made her way across the street to go and take her tea at Granny’s as she had planned. Unsurprisingly, for a Saturday afternoon, it was busy in Granny’s, but the one person she had secretly been hoping to see there, was nowhere to be found. It wouldn’t of course, be like fate to make things easy for her after all, and so after her tea, she made her way along the street to Mister Gold’s pawnshop.

The bell above the door tinkled almost playfully, although she couldn’t see any sign of Mister Gold. She marveled at the vast array of items both on prominent display, and, as she began to wander around the shop, let her eyes feast on the treasure trove of wonders and mysteries in hidden corners and tucked away at the back of shelves, and niches in display case.

She was just bending down to admire the etchings on a silver tea tray when Mister Gold voice startled her.

“Miss Marchland,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”  Then he frowned softly as she stood up and turned to face him.

He was immaculately dressed as always, in a black suit with deep almost-black pinstripes barely visible along its fitted form. His shirt was black and his necktie a deep, dark maroon. He looked every bit as mysterious as the items in his shop, and every bit as dangerous as the sword that hung on display on the wall behind him.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked mildly. “With the apartment, I mean?”

“What?” she asked, momentarily confused, then coming to herself and dragging her eyes away from him said, “Oh. No, no.” She tendered a hesitant smile. “I um… I just came because I wanted to see you.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “To… offer an apology.”

“For?” he asked, and seemed to be genuinely baffled that she would do such a thing.

“The way I behaved last night.”

He shook his head, and pursed his lips before speaking, “As you rightfully said, I’m neither your father nor have I any business prying into—”

“No.” She cut him off, and shook her head, “I meant… well, that I slapped you. I shouldn’t have done that, and I apologize.”

He gave her a wry and slightly lopsided smile, and said, softly, “No need. It’s already forgotten.”

“Oh, but—”

He cut her off in his own turn. “Besides,” he offered, “In retrospect I rather think I deserved it. Don’t you?”

She made a noise to express her doubt, and then said, “If we’re viewing last night in retrospect, Mister Gold, then no. I rather think you don��t. I think you might have been trying to look out for me.” Then added even more quickly in case he should suddenly say something to disabuse her of the thought, “And that you were worried about the lamb.”

“Neither of which,” he argued softly, “should excuse my ungallant behavior.”

She found that she blushed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“May I ask?” she asked, and he gestured at her to go on. “How is the poor little thing.”

He smiled. “Patched up, and bleating for his mother’s milk,” he said, then asked, “May I offer you some tea? I was just about to have some myself.”

“Thank you, that would be very kind,” she said, in spite of the fact that she had just taken tea at Granny’s, and watched as he walked back to where the curtain separated the retail space of his shop and his back room, and holding aside the curtain, gestured for her to enter.

She walked past him, and he followed, letting the curtain fall closed behind them as he crossed to add an extra scoop of leaf tea to the pot that was standing on the bench beside the kettle. Her eyes went wider yet as she looked over the myriad things that she could see stacked haphazardly against the walls, and covering the shelves and other storage spaces.

She also didn’t miss the bed that was present and was made up with an antique bedspread in beautiful colors that lay over it. She wondered whether this accounted for the many late nights she saw the light still on in the shop.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked.

“Just milk,” she said, and then added, “Thank you.”

He offered her a seat at the table and set down a china cup in front of her filled with steaming tea, and to her surprise, he also set a plate of cookies, that looked home baked, in the center of the table.

“Help yourself,” he said as he joined her at the table, and picked up a cookie, which he nibbled on, apparently thoughtful.

“May I ask?” she asked again after taking a sip of tea. It was strong, and rich - the perfect cup of tea, but somehow this didn’t surprise her.

“Do you begin all your questions that way?” he teased.

She let out a small trill of laughter, and then shook her head. “I simply don’t want to impose,” she told him.

“I’m certain you could never be an imposition, Miss Marchland,” he assured her, drawing another blush to her cheeks. “But ask your question. What is it that you want to know?”

“I have a… young girl that comes to help out in the library three times a week,” she began. “She didn’t come today, and her neighbor told me should wouldn’t come on Tuesday either. Something to do with school.”

“If it’s a school matter, you would do better to speak with Miss Blanchard,” he said, sitting back to take a sip of his tea. “She teaches school.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, “But this seems to be more than that. The neighbor said something about her mother needing her… to help out or,” she shrugged. “It seemed worrisome to me, and this isn’t the first time I’ve sensed something wrong. I was thinking of calling to speak with Child Services.”

Gold frowned and asked, “That bad?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know, and I still don’t know the people around here very well.” She sighed and lost herself in her tea for a while, worrying about Paige.

“What is it about her that troubles you?” he prompted. “If I may I ask.”

“She seems so… nervous sometimes, and lost. She sometimes seems a little lost, that’s it,” she said, as though working things out for herself.

“And does this child have a name?” Gold asked, nudging the plate of cookies her way until she took one and took a bite.

The cookie melted in her mouth, the rich butter-shortbread taste bathing her tongue, and she visibly melted with the pleasure of it. He chuckled.

“A family recipe,” he said. “I like to make them from time to time.”

“They’re very good, Mister Gold,” she said as she swallowed a second mouthful of the delicious confection. “Really very, very good.”

“Thank you.” He accepted her compliment with a nod of his head. Then, with a smile sipped his own tea and asked, “So, this child.  You were about to tell me her name.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “Her name is Paige. Paige Grace. Do you know anything about her?”

The smile fell from Mister Gold’s face, to be replaced by a frown that seemed more than simple concern. “That is worrying indeed,” he said darkly, and something about the change in his demeanor sent shivers over her. She looked at him, her own querying look extending to include her worry and her suddenly increased fear for the girl. At her expression, Gold’s face relaxed a little as though the a cloud had simply passed over his face, and he was now, once more tranquil and simply a concerned town councilman, and not the avenging angel - or demon - he had suddenly resembled.

“She is a very sweet young girl,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “I know her family quite well.”

He seemed to have held the f sound for a beat too long, and it made Belle think that he had been intending to say a different word altogether.

“Perhaps I should speak to Miss Blanchard, after all,” she said.

#rumbelle #AU (slight) #cursed storybrooke #angst #eventual smut #the bookshop on the corner

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1300

Monday, February 10, 2020

 I was waiting for our new comic shipment Tuesday morning when I realised that I have been working in comic book retailing for 40 years now. That answers the question grade 8 me had while sitting in Social Studies class while I was at Glashan Public School. I am so lucky to have landed in a job that I love and am still doing. Who would not want to work somewhere where you get 52 Christmases a year?

 Young Justice #13 - Brian Michael Bendis & David F. Walker (writers) Michael Avon Oeming, Mike Grell & John Timms (art) Gabe Eltaeb (colours) Wes Abbott (letters). Conner gets life lessons from Travis Morgan/Warlord in Skartaris while his team mates come up with a plan to hit S.T.A.R. Labs to try to get him back. The mission gets a few more rescuers so next issue will be wall to wall heroes.

 Black Cat #9 - Jed MacKay (writer) Kris Anka (art) Brian Reber (colours) Ferran Delgado (letters). Boy, I haven't heard that alias in a while. Felicia lands in Madripoor to steal a painting. The last know owner is a guy named Patch. You got that right. It's a Black Cat and Wolverine team-up. I was wondering where Kris Anka would go next after he left Runaways.

 Lois Lane #8 - Greg Rucka (writer) Mike Perkins (art) Gabe Eltaeb (colours) Simon Bowland (letters). The two-page spread where Rene Montoya fights the skull-headed assassin was poetry in motion. No words necessary. Lois is proving herself without her hubby's help in this book.

 Daredevil #17 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Jorge Fornes (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). Just call Matt Murdock the Red Robin Hood. He and Elektra stole from the Stromwyns and gave to the people of Hell's Kitchen. The bad guys don't get mad, they're going to get even. Their solution to their Daredevil problem has me all aquiver.

 Doctor Doom #5 - Christopher Cantwell (writer) Salvador Larroca (art) Guru-eFX (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I may not like the return of ruthless dictator Doom but I sure do like the art in this book. I'm also not a fan of the time hopping Kang but his presence makes things interesting. This is one book that I would stop reading if the art wasn't so nice.

 Batman #88 - James Tynion IV (writer) Guillem March (art) Tomeu Morey (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). Oh man, this story just keeps getting better and better. Catwoman is exhuming a body while talking to the Riddler. You won't believe who's resting in peace. Meanwhile, the Penguin makes a grave error in not killing Deathstroke. Finally, when it looks like Selina is going to be buried alive, someone comes to her rescue. Waiting around to find out who the Designer is adds to the fun.

 Miles Morales: Spider-Man #15 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Javier Garron (art) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). If you're a fan of big bad super villains fighting super heroes then this issue is for you. The new Green Goblin trashes Miles's school looking for Spider-Man. Huge fight, then bad guy runs away. Miles's secret identity could be compromised during the debacle. This one had me guessing.

 Joker/Harley: Criminal Sanity #3 - Kami Garcia (writer) Mico Suayan & Jason Badower (art) Annette Kwok (colours) Richard Starkings of Comicraft (letters). I love this serial killer mystery and not just because the art is so pretty. The alternating black and white pages with the colour pages highlights the two main characters, Doctor Quinn the profiler and John Kelly the possible psychopath. I can't wait to see if the killer gets caught.

 Ant-Man #1 - Zeb Wells (writer) Dylan Burnett (art) Mike Spicer (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I like Scott Lang but I don't like loser Scott Lang and that's the Scott Lang that's in this new 5-issue mini. This story starts with him and his son Stinger making a drug bust. When did he get a son? Scott is hired later to find out why bees are disappearing which leads to him fighting Swarm. They lost me when they introduced three new bad guys: Vespa the spectre of hornets, Thread the Silkworm ghoul and Tusk the Rhino beetle hulk. Stinger is in 4 pages and then poof, he's gone. Scott's daughter Cassie shows up and then she exits stage left. The three insect themed villains crawl out from under a rock with no explanation so all the nonsense turned me off. This is supposed to be fun but I just found it dumb.

 Dark Agnes #1 - Becky Cloonan (writer) Luca Pizzari (art) Jay David Ramos (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). This is bad. I expected a lot better from Becky Cloonan. I did not find the adventures of the red-headed swordswoman in 16th Century France to be very appealing. Agnes was okay in short doses teamed up with Conan in Serpent War but this solo story bored me. Here's another 5-issue mini that I'll take a pass on.

 Conan: Battle for the Serpent Crown #1 - Saladin Ahmed (writer) Luke Ross (art) Nolan Woodard (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). It must the week for new 5-issue minis from Marvel to hit the racks because here's another one. Conan's adventures in the modern world continues as his wandering brings him to Las Vegas. He's tazered by the guards while trying to rob an armoured truck but is saved by a fellow thief named Nyla. They then decide to team up and rob a hotel of money and jewels but someone beats them to the booty. That someone and the surprise villain at the end of this issue was enough to make me want to read the next issue.

 The Immortal Hulk: Great Power #1 - Tom Taylor (writer) Jorge Molina (pencils) Adriano Di Benedetto & Roberto Poggi (inks) David Curiel (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). Attention Immortal Hulk and Amazing Spider-Man fans; this $4.99 US one-shot featuring an amalgam of the Hulk and Spider-Man is well worth adding to your collection. You will discover that Tom Taylor is an excellent writer and this story of friendship and camaraderie is a nice change from the typical super heroes fighting. The guest stars are fun too.

 Marauders #7 - Gerry Duggan (writer) Stefano Caselli (art) Edgar Delgado (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). I know that I said that I was going to bench this book but there were rack copies left over after pulling subs and I can't resist a book with nice art. I still think there's too much going on plot-wise that makes following storylines difficult and I hate when I see art mistakes. Emma is wearing sexy thong panties in one panel and 5 panels later she's wearing granny underwear. I think Stefano's original drawing in the later panel wasn't chaste enough for someone at Marvel/Disney.

 X-Men/Fantastic Four #1 - Chip Zdarsky (writer) Terry Dodson (pencils) Rachel Dodson (inks) Dexter Vines & Karl Story (ink assist) Laura Martin (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). I've been looking forward to this 4-issue mini to hit the racks because I like both the writer and artists involved. This story establishes that Franklin Richards is a mutant. Charles Xavier thinks Franklin should be with his kinfolk on Krakoa. Reed and Sue don't want their teenage son to be away from his family. Instant drama. When Franklin stows away on Kitty's ship returning to Krakoa you know more super hero fights are in the future. But first we have a super villain attack. I thought it was Doc Ock since the attack happens at sea but I was wrong. I'm reading the rest of this to see how the two teams resolve their differences.

 Batman 100-Page Giant #3 - These $4.99 US one-shots are a great value. There are two new stories in this and 3 lengthy reprints. I consider these excellent teasers for the trade collections on the shelves if you want to get the whole story.

 DC's Crimes of Passion #1 - This may not seem like a good deal at $9.99 US for just 80 pages but there are 10 new stories inside featuring more Batman heroes and villains than you can count on two hands. Please don't be discouraged by the cheesy cover, none of the stories inside are that bad.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: The fallout from suspensions, key injuries, Hughes signs and more (Mar 11)

Ramblings: The fallout from suspensions, key injuries, Hughes signs and more (Mar 11)

***

Now available for pre-sale – the 13th annual Interactive Playoff Draft List. Pre-order it here. It will be released the Friday before the season ends. If you bought the Ultimate Fantasy Pack in the summer, this will be included in that purchase. It is not included in the Keeper Fantasy Pack.

*

When Troy Terry picked up three points on Friday he became the first Anaheim rookie to do it in back-to-back games. He was shut out on Sunday but now is the time to go all in on the youngster, who has transitioned to the pro game very quickly and I think will have a productive campaign next season. Even Sam Steel is one to look at as well.

As an aside, I was looking at Steel’s Frozen Pool page and then I went to search on Google for his DobberProspects’ page when I remembered – Frozen Pool now automatically links the two. So I went to Info/Analysis on Steel and sure enough, there was the link. Research made easier. Steel has 34 points in 41 AHL games while Terry has 41 in 41. The Ducks are in transition now, whether they admit it or not.

*

Invasion of the Finns: never before has the NHL seen four Finns tally 30 goals in the same season. The last time three did it was 2005-06 with Teemu Selanne, Olli Jokinen and Jere Lehtinen. Right now Sebastian Aho and Mikko Rantanen are there, with Patrik Laine and Aleksander Barkov knocking on the door with 29. The next international tournament (be it the World Cup or the Olympics) will be interesting, with this country really making strikes over the last decade.

*

Quinn Hughes has signed with Vancouver! If what I understand is correct, he can’t play 10 games or he will become eligible for Seattle expansion. However, I would put money on him playing nine games and burning the first year of his three-year entry deal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made an impact quickly. The Canucks are desperate for a puck-moving defenseman. I posted my Top 200 Fantasy Prospect Forwards rankings Sunday and will have the Top 50 Fantasy Prospect Defensemen up for Tuesday. Hughes is No.2 on that list (there’s a sneak peek for you).

Now over to you, Dante Fabbro.

*

Vladimir Tarasenko missed Saturday’s game with a UBI and now word has come out that he will be “re-evaluated” in 10 days. That pretty much says to me that he’s gone for at least three weeks and this could be something even more serious. Line combinations on Saturday, his first game out, looked like this:

#1

28.8%

O'REILLY,RYAN – SCHENN,BRAYDEN – SCHWARTZ,JADEN

#2

21.2%

BOZAK,TYLER – MAROON,PAT – THOMAS,ROBERT

#3

20.7%

SANFORD,ZACH – STEEN,ALEXANDER – SUNDQVIST,OSKAR

#4

10.6%

BARBASHEV,IVAN – BLAIS,SAMMY – MACEACHERN,MACKENZIE

  As for Jake Allen, he came off a shutout on March 7 and was put right back in there the very next game. I thought he played great Saturday, despite the OT loss – the Sharks dominated in the third and Allen was the reason it even went to overtime. Back-to-back Quality Stars for Allen and four out of his last five. The Blues really want to settle in on a goalie heading into the postseason, so Jordan Binnington (Winnington) will get the next start I’m sure – but he’ll be on a short leash. We’re closing in on the final 10 games and I feel like that will be the cutoff and one goalie will start eight of those 10.

*

Jakub Voracek has been suspended for two games for this hit:

{youtube}dub9ZwaR0gU{/youtube}

I’ve never seen a player get suspended for straightening up his back like that before and I have mixed thoughts on it. Yes, he saw him coming, but could that be explained away as trying to prevent getting pushed from behind? Did his elbow swing back and catch him? Could he have gotten out of the way? Just such a gray area. I guess if it was intentional and brutal it would have been five or more. Josh Bailey returned to the game.

Voracek played with Sean Couturier and Oskar Lindblom last game. Claude Giroux had been playing with JVR and Nolan Patrick. The line shuffling now will likely take Nolan Patrick off the Claude Giroux line and perhaps reunite Giroux with Couturier and Travis Konecny. But that’s purely a guess.

*

The news is crazy these last few days in terms of key guys missing time. Jack Eichel has also been suspended for two games for this hit to the head:

{youtube}vaTljDqCA-E{/youtube}

The initial Zadorov hit, while his shoulder missed the head – I think he planted his helmet on Eichel’s on purpose and he should have been suspended. Eichel’s suspension is cut and dried (unlike Voracek’s).

*

Samuel Montembeault, a goalie I have been a fan of for quite some time, now boasts a 2-0-1 record for the Panthers after starting two straight for them on the weekend. The team is playing well in front of him and he hasn’t been truly tested yet. But right now he is Florida’s best option in the pipeline and since this is a young team on the rise (yeah, I’ve said this for two years now but it’s gonna happen), this could end up being the perfect storm. Montembeault isn’t great, but he’s the team’s best at what could be the right time. The Cory Crawford, the Chris Osgood, or the Jordan Winnington.

Trading away Gustav Nyquist didn’t help Michael Rasmussen any. The rookie is still seeing nine minutes per game. They could be ruining him. I don’t like prospects who get stuck at nine minutes per game for an entire season. Rarely works out for them.

*

Jacob Trouba, a subject of the Top 10 list later Monday, saw 6:42 of PP time for the Jets on Sunday and came up empty. With Josh Morrissey and Dustin Byfuglien out, this is his time to show us a glimpse of what he can do.

While Trouba saw 6:42 on the power play alone, Jack Roslovic saw 6:45 of ice time, period. Roslovic, who is also a subject of the Top 10, had an assist in the contest.

*

After 19 consecutive games with a point, the mighty Bruins were stopped by the Penguins 4-2. Brad Marchand was minus-3.

Danton Heinen, who subbed in for David Pastrnak on the Marchand line, picked up two assists. He has 14 points in his last 16 games. He had 14 points in 39 games before that. Pastrnak is still out for another week.

With two points Sunday, Jake Guentzel has 53 in his last 51 games.

Jared McCann also had two points Sunday and he has eight in his last seven games. I remember poolies jumped on him really quickly when he surprisingly made the Canucks as a 19-year-old in 2015. He was rushed. The Stratford native (as am I) is now in his fourth NHL season, though he was mostly in the minors for one of them, so I consider this his third. He’s clicking with Sidney Crosby and Jake Guentzel. We’ve learned from Conor Sheary (and going further back – Colby Armstrong) that there is no guarantee with this plum placement when an entire summer disrupts the chemistry, I do have more confidence in McCann’s upside and pedigree than I had with Sheary. And ten times out of ten I would roll the dice on just the ‘chance’ that it continues on into next season.

*

The 3M line was at it big time for the Flames Sunday. Mikael Backlund, Matt Tkachuk and Michal Frolik combined for 11 points. For Frolik, the biggest beneficiary of this arrangement, he tallied four assists after having gone six games without a point.

After starting off with a bang, tallying 13 points in 11 games, Brandon Pirri has just three in his last 16 including a goal on Sunday against the Flames.

*

Goals in back-to-back games for Carl Grundstrom in his NHL debut for Los Angeles. The Kings picked up Grundstrom from the Leafs in the Jake Muzzin trade. He also dished out three Hits, though it seemed like more. He’s already drawing comparisons stylistically to Dustin Brown, and I suspect he can put up similar numbers at his peak (55-plus points, 250-plus hits). He didn’t look out of place and I think there is a spot waiting for him on the big club in the fall.

Read Grundstrom’s fantasy scouting profile and PNHLe graph here.

*

It’s as if signing the big contract has helped Jakob Silfverberg turn the corner. He now has points in five straight games, seven in that span. And that’s on a team that is really just not scoring. We know this song and dance already, though. Every year, without fail, in either the first or the second half he produces like a 70-point player but in the other half of that season he produces like a 20-point player. If only we could get an advanced heads up on which half will be which. With the GM coaching the team right now, I feel pretty comfortable with Silf continuing for the duration. Bob Murray needs to make his latest big signing look like a good one, and you can see it in Jakob’s minutes – both at ES and on the PP.

*

Frozen Tools update: A new stat has been added, as well as two new reports. The stat is PPPts/60 which, obviously, is a player’s power-play points rate if broken up into 60 minutes of PP time (to match the regular pts/60 stat). It gives us a great look at how effective players have been on the power play and in my case at least it helps me evaluate how a young offensive player is trending/developing.

Also, goalie home/away splits are in now. Just go to the Report Generator, select goalies, and one of the buttons is cleverly entitled “Goalie Home/Away”.

DobberProspects update: Each scouting profile not only has our upside and certainty ranking at the top, scouting observations in the middle and the Elite Prospects career stats at the bottom…but now it has Mason Black’s fun pNHLe chart at the bottom. It takes a player’s stats in a given league at a given age and averages it out against history, spitting out his NHL potential upside. This didn’t get up and perfected until middle of last week (though I had posted it in last Monday’s Ramblings).

*

See you next Monday.

    from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-the-fallout-from-suspensions-key-injuries-hughes-signs-and-more-mar-11/

[flauntpage]

A Pulse, A Hart-Beat and a Couple of Brain Cramps – Thoughts after Flyers 2, Stars 1

It finally happened. After such a long drought, it finally came to pass.

No, I’m not talking about the end of the Flyers eight-game losing streak – although that too did come to an end Thursday.

Instead, I’m talking about a glimpse of what the Flyers thought they were getting when they signed James van Riemsdyk to a five-year, $35 million contract.

JVR had a hand in both Flyers goals in the team’s first win of 2019. His goal, the game-winner, was a bit fortuitous. His assist on the first goal of the game was nifty.

It was his sixth multiple-point game in 28 games since returning to the Flyers. That’s not a terrible percentage in this day and age.

That said, there have been far too many goose eggs. There were far too many games where JVR has been just a body skating around on the ice. He’s hardly lived up to his reputation as a potential 30-plus goal scorer who sets up shop in the greasy areas in front of the net and goes to work.

Maybe it was returning somewhere he had played before and expecting things to be similar, but they’re not. Maybe it was an expectation that he could play the same way he did in Toronto, where he was pretty successful for six seasons, and found out that won’t fit in the Flyers system.

Heck, the critics will say he’s playing like a guy who is comfortably sitting on his wallet after his big pay day, but knowing JVR, I doubt that’s the case.

A lot of the same weaknesses that have always been in JVR’s game are still there today. They’ve never gone away. But they are the kinds of things you can live with when the guy is potting 30-plus goals in a season.

Except, that wasn’t happening for him with the Flyers.

Yes, he missed some time with an injury that cost him six weeks early in the season, but he has now played in 28 games, and the Flyers were hoping for more than seven goals and nine assists through that many games. Extrapolated over a full 82, that’s about 19 goals and 24 assists for 43 points – a far cry from his totals last season in Toronto where he had 36 goals last season and was between 54 and 62 points in each of the four seasons he played nearly a full schedule of games.

It had gotten so bad for JVR, who before Thursday had only scored one goal in nine games that he was demoted to fourth line duty against Washington on Tuesday.

He cleared the air with coach Scott Gordon and seemed to get a better sense of what the Flyers interim coach wants him to do, and was given a chance to be put back on the top line with Claude Giroux and Travis Konecny against the Stars and it paid off.

It might have been JVR’s best game of the season for the Flyers. One, the team hopes, he can build off of and start playing like the player they were hoping would be a big part of the team’s success in the coming seasons.

“That’s professional sports right there,” van Riemsdyk said. “There should be dialogue between your coaches and players, that’s the only way you get growth. Especially I think for me, again I’m in a new situation and a new team and I want to try to get my bearings right and again there’s always some things you can clarify so things become a little second nature. I mean when you’re playing in a certain place for a long time, things become second nature that maybe they want you to do a little differently here so there’s been some good communication and dialogue about some of that stuff and yeah it’s good.

“I have a good relationship with Gordo since I played for him in Toronto and some USA hockey stuff so I appreciate him taking some time to talk me through some things that he wanted to see and some different things that we’re trying to do.  So yeah I think it makes it easier when you have that dialogue.”

Here’s the assist, which was his best play of the game:

TRAVIS KONECNY TIPS HOME JAMES VAN RIEMSDYK'S FEED!#LetsGoFlyers pic.twitter.com/sdIZoNyMGR

— Hockey Daily (@HockeyDaily365) January 11, 2019

Radko Gudas really makes the play with a great keep and shot from the point (more on him later), but JVR made a slick little no-look pass to Konecny to get the Flyers on the board first.

His goal was a bit fluky, but if you get to the spots on the ice where you have your most success, good things can happen:

The pigeon! pic.twitter.com/IvzDUMnW5R

— Broad Street Hockey (@BroadStHockey) January 11, 2019

There’s been a lot of double doinks in Philly sports recently, hasn’t there?

Anyway, JVR addressed this as well, saying that getting to the right spaces on the ice is part of where scoring success comes from in this league.

“The roles that I’ve been in are a lot of net-front stuff and being the stretch guy and a lot of that is reading the other players and playing off their speed. It’s kind of funny because guys who score goals – guys like Alex Ovechkin and Steven Stamkos – it’s not like they’re always blasting around and sprinting and stopping. They’re kind of meandering and they find that soft spot. People wonder, ‘how’d they get there?’ Well, they know where to go and how to get to the right spot when [their teammate] is ready to pass it. That’s what you try to learn over the course of your career.”

Dodging the missed opportunity bite

For one night, JVR was able to get to the right spot multiple times and it parlayed into a Flyers win. One that ended up being a nailbiter because the Flyers missed out on three consecutive odd man rushes. A 3-on-1 (shorthanded) a 2-on-1 (shorthanded) and a 2-on-0 with JVR and Konecny:

Anton Khudobin makes the save on the 2-on-0 rush. pic.twitter.com/ZQ90WmZg47

— Broad Street Hockey (@BroadStHockey) January 11, 2019

“It was funny because me and TK had just been talking about it after the 2-on-1 right before our chance and we were saying how [Stars goalie Anton Khudobin] likes to sit on the pass so we have to shoot one and sure enough we make two passes back and forth like dummies after we had just talked about it,” van Riemsdyk said. “It’s a fine line though, you don’t want to be the guy who goes in on a 2-on-none and misses either.”

Funny game, hockey. In almost any other sport, the players have a me-first attitude. Hockey is the other way around, to a fault sometimes.

“The Kid looks really good.”

On the elevator ride and subsequent jaunt to the locker room after the game, I happened to ride down with Dallas Stars goaltending coach and former Flyers goalie coach Jeff Reese.

After checking in on him and his family and talking about how well the Dallas goaltending duo of Khudobin and Ben Bishop have been playing, and crediting their coaching, Reese said, “Nah, my job is to just wave the pom-poms.” He then changed the subject to talk about Carter Hart.

“The kid looks really good,” he said. “His positioning and quickness is good for sure, but the thing that impresses me the most is his poise. He’s not rattled. That’s impressive for a 20-year-old kid.”

This was unsolicited mind you. It’s the kind of thing that indicates there is a buzz going on around the league about Hart and the way he’s looked so far.

His save percentage is now a solid .920. He makes a lot of saves look easy. His flaws – based solely on inexperience rather than an inability to do something – seem to get corrected quickly. Early in the season – in Lehigh Valley – Hart had a tendency to go down too soon and leave room upstairs for goal scorers to shoot for the top shelf. Now, Hart stands taller longer and relies on his quickness to get down, if he has to do so.

He still struggles a little bit with rebound control, but that’s also something that comes with experience. He tracks the puck so well that it won’t hurt him long term.

Hart has been a bit of an eye-opener. His play might just be changing the mind of GM Chuck Fletcher. Hart was originally called up for a short stint in the NHL, but the kid has earned his keep.

Now, to be fair, the Flyers are uber-defensive in front of him. They tend to put their bodies on the line to block more shots for Hart than they do other goalies, so that helps (They blocked 18 against Dallas, with Christian Folin leading the way with seven), so there’s that too. But Hart made 37 saves against a red hot Stars team. That’s no small feat, even if very few of the saves seemed to be of the 10-bell variety.

It’s likely to a point where the Flyers won’t hurt his development – at least for awhile anyway (things can always go sideways at some point) – and will be better suited to have him keep playing.

Miscellaneous

Nolan Patrick looked… OK. That’s an improvement over what he’s been looking like recently. But, he’s still giving you the same offensive output as Dale Weise. And his advanced metrics aren’t even as good as Jordan Weal, who can’t stay in the lineup. I still think Patrick would benefit from a little time in Lehigh Valley.

The defense was decent – Gordon switched up the second and third pairs. He went with Gudas and Shayne Gostisbehere and Folin and Robert Hagg.

Gudas has been playing pretty solid hockey for the Flyers for an extended period of time now. He’s truly looking like a very useful piece, and maybe one that could interest other teams at the deadline. He’s really been the most consistent defenseman on this team this season (apologies to Travis Sanheim, who has improved greatly).

There was a moment in the second period where Hagg was getting an extended one-on-one coaching session on the bench from assistant coach Rick Wilson. In the middle of the game, Wilson was hunched over, in Hagg’s ear and drawing frantically on the dry-erase board. There was extended conversation too. Nothing loud or angry. Just a good teaching moment. At the end there were a few pats on the back from Wilson, and Hagg played pretty solid hockey after that. I’m starting to be convinced that the hiring of Wilson may end up being the most underrated move by this organization this season.

Finally, I’m hearing there could be more news coming about the whole Jori Lehtera cocaine ring situation. While one of the members arrested in the ring is now backing off a story that he sold directly to Lehtera, I was told after the game that there might be another connection directly to Lehtera involved in this in Finland. I’m working to confirm what I was told (I’ve actually called a phone number in Finland for the first time in my life) so until I do, I won’t report it here, but I’m honestly perplexed as to why the Flyers are keeping him on the roster at this point. Just waive Lehtera. No one will claim him because of his salary and this investigation. At which point you can either bury him in the minors or give him his outright release. You can’t tell me that it’s better for this team long-term to keep him on this roster at this point than to give someone like a Nicolas Aube-Kubel a real chance to play in the NHL.

  The post A Pulse, A Hart-Beat and a Couple of Brain Cramps – Thoughts after Flyers 2, Stars 1 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Pulse, A Hart-Beat and a Couple of Brain Cramps – Thoughts after Flyers 2, Stars 1 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[sunieldubey-blog]

Avengers: Infinity war TUESDAY, 10 APRIL 2018 Superman: The Justice Gods Superman: The Justice Gods The Kent farm, Kansas— first thing:Something pretty serious has happened. There is a Dodge pick-up nose down in the Kent kitchen. The result, likely, of someone having hurled it at the picturesque farmhouse — until recently a Rockwell-charming homestead modelled on a nearby family home the owners were understandably reluctant to have destroyed, no matter how much Zack Snyder wanted to put it in his Superman movie. A lifetime’s belongings — dusty heirlooms, clothes, crockery, comic books, pictures of a young Clark alongside his ma and pa — have been pulverised into rubble. lt’s as if a tornado has swept through on its way to Oz. In truth, despite the purpose-grown cornfields, this isn’t Kansas. This is Naperville, Chicago, baking in a (still young and healthy) late summer sun. And these are the scars of a superpowered dust-up. A few miles down the road, Smallville has also fallen victim to this super-squabble Debris is strewn across the main street — most noticeably jet engine parts. The Tarmac is pockmarked with angry craters The 7-Eleven is no more. The Sears shattered. Snyder was keen on some real-world relevance to Clark Kent’s hometown: between the big-city chain stores there are foreclosure signs. Plano offered certain advantages in playing Smallville It is within commuting distance of Chicago, which will provide exteriors for Metropolis. And, rather advantageously, a recent train crash (where’s Superman when you need him?) knocked out two blocks of the rural town. The production has built two entire streets on this empty ‘lot’, to be demolished again. The townsfolk couldn’t be more delighted Man Of Steel has rolled by: the council has officially rechristened Plano as Smallville for two weeks, and the mayor has been cast as the bank manager. There appears to be a hero-shaped dent in the vault door. Faora was testing her strength... Producer Deborah Snyder, a tour guide as pretty and talkative as Lois Lane, draws to a halt and surveys the street’s tableau of destruction with a thoughtful tilt of the head. “We’ve been blowing a lot of stuff up,” she reflects. Whatever impression you might have of the reinvention of this stalwart of the superhero canon; how it will play tough where Richard Donner plied romance and comedy, and Bryan Singer sang golden arias to DC’s heavyweight. How today’s Man Of Tomorrow will trim the comic from the comic-book and follow The Dark Knight’s lead into the shadows. Whatever realism has been newly applied to Superman, they are still blowing a hell of a lot of shit up. The bathwater may have been tossed, but Snyder is still holding tightly to the baby. “In the end, Superman is Superman!” proclaims the 47 year-old director. He has the exuberance of a travelling preacher, peppering his sermons with “awesomes” or “super-cools” — the gospel according to St. Geek. “When you talk about superhero action movies, there is Batman of course, and I think that Chris (Nolan) laid a lot of important groundwork. And there are the Marvel movies... I don’t mean it as an insult, Iron Man and Hulk are strong superheroes, but we’ve never had a superhero movie where everyone can go, ‘Yeah, I understand the why of the whole thing.’ Superman is a character who deciphers the why of superheroes.” Man Of Steel isn’t less of a superhero movie. Snyder means for it to be the most superheroic film ever made. “What is the mythology of superheroes? ” he demands from his pulpit. “The answer is Superman. And that is awesome.” Burbank, post-production, 2013 — a year-and-a-half later: Zack Snyder is literally holding the baby. “Family responsibilities,” he apologises. His and Deborah’s new arrival is being gently swapped between parental laps while they discuss their other newborn, currently receiving its coat of special effects. With the help of seven different effects houses including Weta Digital, their bonny, bouncing Superman is taking flight. http://infinitywarsuniel.blogspot.in/2018/04/superman-justice-gods.html?m=1