epic poem smackdown! tell me which epic is your favorite (and why! if you feel so inclined). apologies in advance to everyone whose favorite i left off but unfortunately tumblr is stifling my power with this ten option limit

feb 5 23

alright here's another dump:

Today was weird in the sense that I not only had standing social plans but also answered an impromptu call to hang out with someone else beforehand. This may not sound impressive to anyone else but I genuinely cannot remember the last time I made plans with people from two different circles in one day. Furthermore I have vague plans tomorrow with K****** (member of an entirely separate THIRD circle) to help hang up her curtains--this one almost feels the most impressive, as an informal arrangement that developed naturally through casual conversation at work on Saturday.

To be clear I am not actually as woefully socially inept as the last paragraph is implying. I have made and maintained many friendships in my twentysfanlg years, and even successfully attended many social gatherings and rendezvous! Really it's still just the comparison to 2022, how the difference is still honestly unbelievable from my life now and a few months ago.

On one hand this process of societal reintegration is a bit astonishing (what do you mean I can just--go and get coffee with a friend? What do you mean I can sit in the sunlight with people who are nice to me and talk about nothing?) and on the other I am finding myself totally forgetting to remember it was ever anything different.

This is dangerous of me, forgetting to remember. Need to remember. Need to be grateful. Need to reschedule my last therapy appointment and go to AA and be cognizant of who I am and how bad it can get.

Anyway--

The impromptu plans were with J***, whose 8 am text asking if I wanted to get breakfast I only saw at 10 am when I woke up. I replied while still in bed sans contact lenses that I'd be down for lunch or an equivalent instead. He picked me up within a half an hour or so to tag along on his next errand, which was watering the plants in the apartment he was housesitting.

It was a 1br in the P***** building (belonging to his friends, long-time partners and start-up work-from-homers the way everyone is these days) and satisfied the mild curiosity I'd had surrounding those apartments since they opened 6ish years ago. (Smaller than I'd thought. White walls, tall ceilings. No windows in the bedroom, I don't think. Same exact oven and dishwasher as our own house.)

It was probably a mistake to bring me considering my penchant for monumentally fucking up any and all house-/plant-/housesitting gigs, and I told him as much after I had spilled the coffee he made us across the counter and stood witness to his tangling of a vined plant when he took it out of its macrame plant holder.

(We stood by the sink with me holding the top of the macrame rope and him unsuccessfully attempting to detangle the thin wispy vines from the fabric. It registered as a pleasant exercise in whatever passes for intimacy for me these days. Standing close and working together, not touching, talking about nothing without really being heard nor needing to.)

We went to the building's roof where it was too bright and too windy. He talked excitedly about how he'd figured out how to make his body throat-sing and played a few clips of his favorite throat-singing songs. I (more concerned with blocking the sun from my eyes and wind from my hair) couldn't tell if he was wanting me to ask him to demonstrate so I didn't. I told him about H teaching herself to whistle and the first clear note she managed after a year of enduring her flat and wet attempts. Something nice in realizing you can still teach your body how to do something, we agreed.

Back inside he told me he'd thought he'd finally cracked religion, or at least his definition of it. Could not pretend to record it as coherent as he said it, but the gist: Start with the fact that there is a God, and that God manifests as the underlying principles that guide the universe's machinations. The transitive property is god. Chemical formulas are God. The closest we will get to seeing God (maybe my own insertion here) is witnessing these rules in practice, and trusting their permanence.

And then---there was a second part, and I'm sure probably more he didn't say, but I can't remember it. I think a bit of all-religions-are-true, even if most have been manipulated as institutions to preserve wealth and power. The intent behind them is still valuable. Etc.

I told him it sounded interesting but felt very logos-heavy, where's the ethos? And he said yeah, it was definitely more attuned to reasoning than revelations, which was funny because historically religions tended to utilize revelations more heavily. And I said yeah, I feel like in terms of amassing followers that's your best bet, tapping into that emotional core, and he said but I'm not trying to amass followers, and I said I know, I just meant in the historical sense.

Part of me does wonder about his attempts to figure this out without plans to preach it, however informally. Part of me wonders if he is trying to convert me, however informally. I don't know how I feel about God. I feel like I should be more interested in an academic sort of way after such a formative childhood exposure to the church and my clumsy attempts to discern my own value system separate from it.

Maybe I am scared to actually decide what I think a good person is, because then I will be forced to admit I am not one?

? Hard to say. Much to think about.

Anyway--

The longstanding plans for today were with B*** et al, a candle-making soiree we had planned the last time we all hung out in January. I had a mild to medium time I think, although H was too sick/overwhelmed with homework to come and there was no one there I was completely comfortable with. B had outdone herself as a hostess, turned it into an early Galentine's thing with endless charcuterie boards and personalized chocolate boxes for each of us.

I feel weird around other women. This is a slightly dishonest presentation of the true feeling, which is probably: I often feel weird in moderately sized groups of people, especially in a setting like this in which we are not all perfectly compatible nor meant to be. Classmates and roommates and classmates of roommates and ex-roommates of classmates of roommates. And that this sort of gathering tends to be with primarily other women.

My social anxiety has matured enough to realize it is not a moral failing if I don't always have the right thing to say to some of these people but I do still resent the obligatory embarrassment when I don't. I'm never going to know what to say to K****e's sex jokes or A*****'s stilted attempts at polite conversation, sorry!

What should have been a comfort but actually just made things more tense: the fact that there were two other girls there also experiencing the slow burn of not fitting in:

L****, one of B's older friends, seemed downright miserable as she stood awkwardly in different corners and seemed to glare when anyone laughed. She left before we even made the candles, although I think she had other plans to get to. Again, my own social anxiety has matured enough to recognize when others' anxiety manifests in off-putting ways (God knows I do this enough), but--the resulting tension is hard to ignore.

And ******?, whose name I have unfortunately entirely forgotten, despite her staying for longer than I did. Was in B & E & K's cohort. Seemed a bit on the spectrum (aren't we all!) and prone to saying the wrong thing. Made a bit more sense when she mentioned she'd been very sheltered in Catholic school. Felt bad when I realized she was not entirely liked by the rest of the group.

But what can you do? Sometimes people simply do not click with each other! This is fine!

I don't know. I am a bit exhausted with meeting new people and having to identify then temper all their little idiosyncrasies. I miss being young and people seeming perfect. Intentionally written characters from a franchised series whose characteristics were recognized tropes, and whose dialogue was always sharp and plot-driving, and whose motivations always made sense.

Secrets of the Shore (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Pogues x OC, Eventually JJ x OC

Summary: This is just my rewrite of the show Outer Banks with my own twist by adding another main character which also happens to be John B’s twin sister.

Note: I’ll be honest, this isn’t my best chapter, so please don’t judge too harshly I swear it gets better!!! (: Again, forever grateful for all the kind feedback. I truly appreciate it. If you asked to be on the tag list and I accidentally forgot, please let me know! 

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Slight insinuation to sexual assault.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 & Chapter 4

Like I said before, I'm good at advertising. Although the cell phone towers are still down, making it harder for me to get the word out about a party in the boneyard, I still know how to get around to the other teenagers on this island.

I sneak in an hour of surfing on the beach, afterwards finding Tourons and even some Kooks. These are the best people to go to when you want word to get around. They're rich and live for gossip. They have the internet and cell phone service, which means they can text their friends and send out tweets. And that is exactly what they do when I'm finished talking to them.

Later, I go with JJ and John B to get the kegs. As they work their magic, somehow securing two, I walk around the lot where most kids who live on the Cut hang out, hoping to score cheap booze from a stranger walking into the beer and beverage store. I use to spend a lot of my weekends here when my dad first disappeared. A small part of me still wants to. It was so easy to forget about my life falling apart when I was too wasted to form a complete sentence.

I tell them about the party and tell them to tell their friends and so on.

As I expect, the empty boneyard fills up quickly. To Kie's dismay, almost every kid has a red solo cup in their hand instead of a reusable one by the time the sun sets. Music and the chants of people playing drinking games fill my ears like a bird chirping on a Sunday morning.

Beer dribbles down my chin and onto my pink v neck crop top. JJ has his arm linked around mine, also chugging his drink, trying to down his before me. However, I beat him by one gulp and slam my cup on the sand as triumph.

"Seriously, Mar?" Kie scolds. She picks up my cup and throws it away.

JJ just smiles at me, maybe even looks at me with some kind of pride. It's hard to beat JJ in any drinking match, but I'm his biggest competition. I usually lose against him, but sometimes I have my nights where I'm undefeated.

He points his finger at me, pretending to be mad without losing the smile on his face. He takes a menacing step forward and bends down to lift me over his shoulder. I squeal in surprise and laugh against his back as he swings me around in circles.

When he sets me down, I shove his shoulders playfully. "Looks like you've finally met your match." JJ just shakes his head. "Get me another beer, loser?"

"You're lucky you're cute." He winks.

You can't understand the Outer Banks without understanding the boneyard. It's kinda like a three-layer burrito. There's us and our friends, working-class derelicts. Then, there are the Kooks, the rich second-homers. They're mostly from pouncy-ass boarding schools, just rich trustfarian posers. Our natural enemies. And then, there are the Tourons. Totally clueless. Here for a week on vacation with their families. Chum for the sharks. They're usually my first pick. A night with no attachments and a more than likely chance I'll never see them again.

I walk past Kie, who's sitting on drift wood talking to someone about zodiac signs and horoscopes. And when I pass Pope, I hear him talking about dead bodies and how TV doesn't portray the biological condition of them accurately. I giggle to myself when I see who he's talking to. A really pretty girl who wasn't expecting to get an anatomy lesson from the boy next to her. I make a mental note to work on Pope's flirting tactics.

As I make my way to the back of the beach, I see Sarah Cameron leaning off a fallen lifeguard stand. Her boyfriend, Topper Thornton, is right there with her, trying to get her to come down. Sarah Cameron's known as the Kook princess. Kiara's best friend in the ninth grade, worst enemy in the tenth grade. None of us know why she started hating her all of a sudden. She doesn't like to talk about it so we don't bring it up. However, John B works on Sarah's dad's boat thanks to me.

My teeth clench together at the sight of both of them. The two of them and their friends are the worst Kooks of all. Bad memories prickle my brain like a million tiny needles and the palms of my hands sweat against my solo cup.

I walk to the back of the beach and lean against a tree that's as close to a palm tree as this island is going to see. I like being back here when the sun goes down.  It gives me the perfect view of the party. Watching people laugh and have fun because of a night my friends and I put together makes me feel satisfied. Like I did something to make their day a little more enjoyable.

"Now what's the life of the party doing back here all by herself?" A voice that makes every muscle in my body turn to ice says.

I force myself not to look in his direction. My hands clench tighter around my cup until it bends and beer sloshes on my hand.

"Trying to avoid grimy wandering hands from pompous pricks," I say through clenched teeth. I'm surprised my voice isn't as shaky as I feel. "Go away, Rafe."

Rafe Cameron ignores me and moves to stand in front of me. His blonde hair is slicked back with a gel that's probably more expensive than my entire outfit. He's wearing a salmon pink button up shirt and white shorts. The sight of him makes me sick and I don't know if I want to drink more heavily or throw up and call it a night.

"Oh come on, Marleigh. Let's not pretend like you don't want to finish what we started."

I stand up straighter, feeling bile rise in my throat. "I'd rather rip both of my eyes out with a spoon." My insult wipes his stupid cocky grin off his smug face. At first I take it as a compliment, but the look in his eyes chills me to the bone. "Get out of here, Rafe. I'm not going to tell you again."

Rafe jerks forward and pushes me back into the trunk of the tree. His forearm presses against my chest, right below my collarbone. I try fighting him off but he's surprisingly strong. His eyes swing back and forth with craze, his pupils large and dilated. He's gotta be on something. Cocaine maybe. I've heard rumors.

"You think you can talk to me like that? After what my dad did for your friends?"

"Your dad only helped them in hopes to cover up the mistake that you made," I seethe, trying to push him away again. I try to keep my breathing even and my eyes unblinking. I don't want him to think I'm afraid of him. Even though I'm scared enough to vomit on his two hundred dollar shoes. "I owe you nothing." There's a pause as Rafe considers his next words carefully. So I push even harder. "You know, if you keep bringing it up, people might overhear and start to talk. I don't know if even your dad could buy the entire island's silence."

"You seriously think you can threaten me? You're nothing but a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. No one will believe the Cut's biggest whore." Rafe shakes his head. "Remember that next time you think about talking to me like that."

His words cut through me like a stab in the chest, but I try not to let him see that. I push against him, keeping my face pinched and my eyes unwavering. "I'm not the same girl I was eight months ago," I say, finally pushing him away from me.

Back then I was a messed up girl who's dad had just left after a big argument that resulted in him thinking she hated him. All I wanted to do was drown myself with drugs and alcohol in hopes to forget about him, even if that meant following Kie to a Kook party when she was trying to roll around in the Kook life. I was easy to manipulate and take advantage of...easy to hurt. But not anymore.

"You think I'm above hitting a girl?" Rafe breathes heavily, his hands clenched to his side. I struck a nerve. One more and he might actually attack me.

"No," I say honestly. "I don't think you're above anything...or anyone. Including me - a dirty walking piece of trash Pogue." I use his words against him.

Rafe jerks forward and raises his hand to hit me and I'm ready for the blow and a fight back, but someone's voice forces us to halt, stopping us like she just pressed paused on a movie screen.

Kie watches us with wide eyes and glances back and forth between us. She looks both scared and angry. Rafe doesn't even bother looking in her direction. He's more disappointed that she got in his way.

I stand up straight again and walk past him, making sure to shove him backwards with my shoulder. Kie wraps her arm around mine and pulls me in close as she guides me away from him. She looks behind us one last time to make sure Rafe isn't following us. When the coast is clear, she stops and turns to look at me with a stone cold expression.

"What the hell was that?" She says, trying to read my face. "Are you okay?"

I can barely hear her behind the screaming in my head. Dirty walking piece of trash Pogue. The Cut's biggest whore. Who would believe you?

"Fine," I shrug, feigning nonchalance. I look back to where I was just standing. Rafe's gone, but the nausea he left me with isn't.

"Marleigh."

"Seriously, Kie. I'm fine. Just some unresolved built up resentment coming out full-fledged. I can't say I'm surprised. Now that summer's started, we're probably going to see a lot more of them."

Kie sighs and looks at me sympathetically. I hate that look.  "You should tell the boys."

"What? No way!" I snap.

"What if he -"

"He's not going to." I glare at her.

"Why won't you just -"

"So they can think of me as some pathetic little girl who needs protection from some self-centered Kook? Besides, John B and probably JJ will go after him and the last thing either of them need is charges pressed against them."

The noise of people yelling at one another and some cheering stops Kie from fighting back with me. We turn to look towards the water, seeing a crowd form around two people fighting. Dread creeps up my chest. If I had one hundred dollars, I'd bet it all that one of my friends is the center of attention in that crowd.

Kie and I run to them, pushing ourselves to the front. My breath hitches in my throat when I see who's involved. John B and Topper are fighting ankle deep in the ocean, each one getting a few good punches in.

"John B, stop!" I yell. I don't care who started the fight or why Topper deserves to get beaten to shit. If John B gets caught, the two of us are more than screwed with DCS.

"We're suppose to be incognito, remember?" Pope yells at my brother next to me.

"Babe!" Sarah yells at her boyfriend, jerking back and forth, trying to grab him by the shirt to pull him back. But his movements are scrappy. Sarah would just get hurt.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" The crowd around us cheer like it's a high school wrestling match and not my brother, the one that threw them this party by the way. I can't believe people find this as a source of entertainment. Half of them wouldn't even last a second if they were the one's getting beaten to a pulp.

Topper gets the upper hand and throws John B into the water. I flinch from the pain that must of caused to John B's back.

"Hey, John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, all right?" Topper says.

In that moment my vision turns red and a switch flips in my body. I picture my hands around Topper's neck and him begging for me to let him go - him taking back those words.

When I step into the water to reach him, arms wrap around my waist, stopping me from going forward. I glare at the blonde Pogue and try shoving him away from me but that only makes his grip on me tighten.

"JJ, let me go," I grunt.

"Sorry, pretty girl. Can't do that." His lips are so close that I can feel his breath.

John B tackles Topper to the ground and punches him in the face again.

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"John B, let it go!" Kie screams. "Stop, you guys!"

Topper kicks John B's feet from under him and just like that, JB is back in the water. The Kook kneels next to him and punches my brother across the face before shoving his head into the water.

"Topper stop!" I yell.

"Come on John B!" Pope yells.

Topper lets John B come up for air before dunking him back in. I feel my chest tighten when I realize what Topper is going to do, whether he means to or not.

"JJ, please! He's going to kill him! JJ!" I cry against his hold.

"Come on, Man!" Topper taunts John B, keeping his head under water.

I'm going to kill him, I think. The second JJ lets go, I'm going to rip Topper apart.

"Topper, stop! No!" Sarah cries.

"Pope!" JJ says, swinging me around before pushing me into our other friend's arms. "Hold her."

"What? No!" I fight back but even Pope is stronger than I give him credit for.

JJ disappears to God knows where and I'm left watching like a stranded duck. I feel useless, like I should be doing more to help my brother. Everything I said to Rafe only minutes ago goes straight out the window. Maybe I am weak and still a girl who needs protecting.

Then the world freezes. JJ holds the gun we found in the motel to Topper's head, not only making Topper pause, but the rest of the crowd too. Pope releases his hold on me and I stumble away from him. I only watch the scene unfold in front of me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, you know what that is," JJ says, clicking the safety off the gun. "Your move, broski."

"Come on!" Pope yells. "Chill dude!"

"Stop! JJ!" Sarah cries. "Put the gun down!"

"Did you say something princess?" JJ turns towards Sarah and points his gun at the sky.

"We're good. We're good." Topper stumbles away from my brother to stand in front of his girlfriend.

The second he backs away, I'm in the water helping John B. I pull his upper back into my lap and push his hair out of his face. He coughs up a couple gulps of water before relaxing against me.

"Kie! Can you check your psycho friend, please!" Sarah yells.

"Okay, everyone, listen up!" JJ addresses everyone else who still watch in fear. "Get the hell off our side of the island!" He fires two bullets into the sky, causing people to shriek and cry around me.

"Are you crazy?" Kie yells at him. "Why do that?"

"I'm saving his life, okay?" JJ yells back at her.

When people begin dispersing, Pope runs into the water to help me lift John B back to shore. He's in a daze and barely able to stand on his own.

The four of them help me drag him back to the Chateau, the party long forgotten. Kie covers John B with blankets and places a glass of water on the nightstand for when he wakes up. I don't say anything as the night wraps up. I'm not mad at JJ like Pope and Kie. He did what he had to do to save John B. Topper could have killed him and the police would probably chop it up as an accident and I would be left with no family.

"You guys should go," I say.

I just want to be alone. Between Rafe and Topper, all I can think about is sleep so I can wake up to a new day. Start over and try again.

"Are you sure?" JJ asks, looking between my eyes to find any sign for him to stay.

As much as I want JJ to stay the night and let me cuddle into him like the night before, it's best if I'm alone. So I reluctantly nod.

"You can stay at mine tonight, JJ," Pope offers.

I offer a weak smile before turning around to lock myself in my room. When I hear the door to the Chateau close one last time for the night, I sigh deeply and stare up at my ceiling. I'm restless, anxious, sweaty. As much as I want sleep, sleep doesn't want me. I toss and turn hoping for a wave of darkness to hit me but it never does.

I glance at my clock. 3:04 AM. I roll my eyes and groan to myself, pushing myself up against my bed's headboard. I tip toe out of the Chateau and make my way down to the dock. I dip my toes in the water and lay back against the wooden slacks. The moon's half crescent illuminates the water, dark with a mystery glint. It's cold against the night, feeling refreshing against my skin.

Even my mind isn't tired. My head wanders with different thoughts. Rafe, Topper, Scooter, the gun...my dad. His words echo through my ears like a skipping record. The night before he disappeared he told John B and I that he might have to vanish for a bit. This only caused a major fight to brew between my father and I whereas John B only nodded and said okay. I think this is why John B still holds on to hope that he's alive somewhere.

John B was always the loyal one to my father. Although they fought almost as much as my dad and I, they were quick to move on and pretend like it wouldn't happen again. Even though it always did. He tried to help my dad keep me on track with school, friends, and other activities. Most of the time, he just joined in on my antics. Sometimes I regret not giving my dad enough credit. He was a single father to Pogue twins with the distraction of his own obsession. My last words to him haunt me every day I pass his office.

"I hate you!" I screamed. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears. I wanted him to know I was strong and that I didn't need him. I think my main intention was to hurt him like he hurt me, but I would do anything to take it back.

                                                  ~ ~ ~

I wake up to the low rumble of an engine and the crunch of gravel underneath some tires. I blink away the sleep in my eyes, looking out into the marsh. The sun is above me, warming the entire island with it's summer heat so early in the morning.

My back aches as I sit myself up. I twist to find the noise that woke me up.

"Shit," I curse when I see the cop car parked in front of the Chateau.

Sheriff Peterkin sees me walking up my yard and waits for me to approach her before barging into my house. I squint against the morning light. Even though I'm not in the mood for a pop in, I actually like Peterkin. She's the only one I trust to do her job right.

"I hope you brought some coffee," I say before opening the door for her.

"This will be quick," She says. I watch her eyes scan my kitchen and living room judgmentally. "Where's your brother?"

I point to his room. Peterkin gives me a look to go first. I sigh, knocking twice on the door before letting myself in. John B is still passed out. Half of his body hangs off the bed. His left eye is officially black and blue, a mark I know Peterkin won't subtly ignore. It's the first thing she sees and gives me a sideways glance. I cross my arms and look away.

John B blinks up at us when he hears our footsteps. His brows furrow in confusion, sleep still fogging his head.

"Get decent, sweetie," Peterkin says. "We need to talk."

As we wait for JB to get dressed, I sit on the pull out couch in my living room, fumbling with my thumbs until he appears, dressed in an open button up and swim trunks. He glances between Peterkin and I for some answers but neither of us give him any.

"Sorry to break in like this," She says, pacing the floor. John B stands next to me with his arms crossed. "But DCS called. They wanted me to check on you. See how you two are doing." Neither of us answer. "So, how are you, besides -" She points to JB's shiner and I hold myself back from rolling my eyes. So far so good!

"Oh, no, I'm - I'm great," John B says, shrugging like our life is just full of rainbows and butterflies. "Yeah, fantastic. Uh... thanks for coming by."

Peterkin just smirks. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, John B, but I heard a few things that worried me. Let me see if I can remember. Oh yeah. One of the things I heard was that your Uncle Teddy, your guardian, hasn't been in the state for three months."

"Yes he has -"

Peterkin cuts me off. "You don't have to say anything. I know it's true. I called the school. They said you used to be a good student," She says, looking at John B. Then she looks at me. "You not so much. But John they say now you're failing all your classes."

"No. No, I'm only failing one and it's history. He's a dick. He's out for me - "

"I heard," Peterkin continues, not giving a damn about John B's bullshit excuses, "there was a fight on the beach yesterday, and a gun was involved."

My eyes snap up to look directly at Peterkin. I feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. What else was she going to ask? Would JJ get in trouble? Are we going to jail?

"Okay, gun?" John B plays dumb. "No. Did I get in a  dustup? Yeah, but was there a gun? No. No way," He scoffs.

"That's okay I know who it was. I'll get to him. All I'm worried about right now is making sure you're in a safe home."

"Yeah," I say. "Super safe."

John B knocks the table next to him. "Super sound, sturdy. You know?"

"Uncle T's coming so..." I say to get John B to stop talking. He's a lot of things but a good liar isn't one of them.

"That's what he told you?" Peterkin looks at me with a raised brow.

"Yeah."

"If he is coming," Peterkin picks up a cigarette and sniffs it. "I think you should be allowed to stay."

"Thank you."

"But if I stick my neck out for you, you have to help me. Tit for tat."

John B tilts his head in confusion. "What - what does tat mean?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and let my head fall back. I swear I'm going to buy duct tape to keep this boy's mouth shut.

Peterkin ignores him. "Let me see, how can you help me? Oh, I know. So, a body was found in the marsh yesterday. Were you in the marsh yesterday?"

"Yeah," I decide to answer. "We were fishing for some drum."

"You catch anything?"

"Nah, we were skunked."

"Strange," She says, not believing me. "Fishing's usually good after a storm. All sorts of things get stirred up. You come across a wreck yesterday?"

"No." My heart falls deeper,  but I try to keep a straight face.

This makes Peterkin sigh and she glances between the two of us. "You two are skimmin' just above the surface. Now, down here is foster care, juvie," She says, dropping her hand to about knee length. "Pretty big drop for smart kids like the both of you." She moves her hand to eye level. "Up here is you and your little friends doing whatever you want. Outer Banks...or foster care on the mainland." I let her threat swim in my brain. "You one inch above the surface, Routledge. If I was you, I'd start flapping my wings." She looks at us one last time, no longer wanting to play games. "Now, you sure you didn't come across a wreck yesterday?" She looks at John B who's more likely to blab than me.

I look up at my brother, warning him that he needs to lie.

He shrugs his shoulder, the lie sliding across his tongue like silk. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure."

Peterkin looks between John B and I and nods slowly. "It's better if you didn't, you understand? I'm gonna look the other way as long as you stay out of the marsh." She runs her finger along the wooden kitchen table and rubs the dust between her fingers. "I got dogs living better than this. You might wanna think about cleaning' up."

Peterkin lets herself out without saying goodbye. John B and I don't say anything until her car pulls out of the driveway and only then do we just share a look that says how screwed we both are.

Tag List: @notyourcupofteax @acvross-the-universe @jjmaybankzz @jeeperky @realistic-breadstick @moniamaybank @urbinoutfiters​ @brebear121​

(Some) Greek Gods as Historical Figures

So some days ago I secretly logged back into Mythology and Cultures amino and I stumbled across post of casting historical figures as the gods from Greek mythology. Of course, I hated it, so I made my version of this.

Note: Of course, this is going to have quite a lot of Napoleonic figures, since I am more familiar of this period, but please do reblog this post (or tag me on another post) with the hashtag “#mythical figures as historical people” and add some more of your historical figure Greek God fancasts!

Note 2: this post is for entertaining purpose, and just me introducing some guys to y’all and I am not a historian myself and hopefully you all would still like my takes😅

1. Zeus - Louis XIV of France

First and foremost, I shall introduce the king of gods featured in Greco-Roman myths. You may ask, why don’t I cast Henry VIII of England? Well, my reason is very simple: Henry is far from accurate to Zeus in actual myths.

To be honest, Zeus has a more “absolute power” energy in it, and Louis XIV totally has rocked it (like that iconic line “l’état, c’est moi (I am the state)”). Well, Henry also has that kind of energy but everyone only remembers his six wives and the uncountable number of bloodshed (not to mention Catherine of Aragon is a much better fighter than him—got this from Horrible Histories OwO)... Anyways, Louis XVI is basically a Zeus.

2. Hera - Catherine of Aragon

This brings to Catherine of Aragon herself. She’s a total Q U E E N and if you have watched “Six” the musical you already got what I mean (like, being the wife who married to Henry the longest). There’s also the early warlike aspect in Hera (featured in Homer’s works) that Catherine has it as well (at least you know that she’s getting more victories than Henry if you have watched Horrible Histories season 6, in the episode with Rowan Atkinson playing Henry VIII (which is sad because I want Ben Willbond to play him—he iconic to the HH fandom)), making her a great casting of Hera.

Hera, in my opinion, is a very strong woman who has to take Zeus’s shit and I could totally understand why she took revenge on the girls that Zeus has slept with—but anyways, hopefully you guys would like it :3

3. Aphrodite - Pauline Bonaparte

This is half-self-explanatory, really—just look at that statue she posed as Venus, the Roman equivalent of Aphrodite.

Pauline was famed for her beauty in her time, also a big chunk of scandals from her affairs (which bugs her big brother Napoleon, a lot). Nevertheless, despite her big spending habits and a great sexual appetite, she always helped Napoleon in some surprising ways (like she sold her house in Paris to the Duke of Wellington to get the funds for Napoleon).

Just like Aphrodite herself, Pauline harnessed her beauty very well. Thus, I rest my case.

4. Apollo - Joachim Murat or Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria

(Warning: long content ahead)

Firstly, let me briefly introduce them because you guys might not know them much.

Joachim Murat was a marshal of France, also one of Napoleon’s brother-in-law, grand duke of Berg and Cleves from 1806 to 1808 and the King of Naples from 1808 to 1815. After the wars, he attempted to escape yet was caught and executed in 1815 in Pizzo, Italy (if you have read of Alexandre Dumas’s “Famous Crimes” you might know him—by the way no one has cut his head off and sent it to that big nose King Ferdinand).

For those who have watched “Elisabeth” or the “Sissi” movies, you might know Franz Joseph I of Austria already but you might not know much about himself besides being the husband of the (in)famous Empress Sisi (ie. Empress Elisabeth of Austria). He was the Emperor of the Austria from 1848 to his death in 1916—one of the longest reigning European monarchs in history. During his reign, the empire had been through a lot of change, most notably, the creation of Austria-Hungary. Nevertheless, he was also the Emperor who started World War I and he died of old age in the midst of the Great War.

For Apollo, I’m not casting musicians because this is quite overdone. I rather want to shed a light to the other arts that he represented in Greco-Roman mythology. This makes me want to draw a parallel to Joachim Murat as he was also a great sucker of classical literature. Plus, he also was known to be a flamboyant dresser (his nickname was “the Dandy King” by the way), also the designer of the uniforms of the Neapolitan army (with an excessive amount of amaranth, perhaps his favourite colour). Really, everyone just sees him as a great flamboyant himbo but in reality, he’s iconically badass in the battlefield as the First Horseman of Europe. Well, also he’s known for being extremely good with women even though his wife Caroline was fierce as hell. So, in my opinion, he fits the image of Apollo that we know.

However, you guys might feel surprised why I picked Franz Joseph for Apollo. Well, he really... was a rather mediocre ruler in my opinion, and perhaps our most memorable image of him was the senile emperor who signed the declaration of war to Serbia. Nevertheless, he was a well-liked man among his subjects, at least to some old citizens of Austria-Hungary telling future generations. Besides, culture flourished in Vienna under his reign—with notable figures like Sigmund Freud, Ludwig Wittgenstein and Erwin Schrödinger. Despite the series of unfortunate events which made the empire started to crumble, Austria-Hungary arguably has its cultural importance in Europe. Sounds like what Apollo would do if he’s a ruler, somehow.

Well, enough of his political achievements, let’s talk about his private life... which was probably the actual reason why I picked him.

Enter Duchess Elisabeth in Bavaria, the Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary, also known as Sisi.

On a side note, Marshal Louis-Alexandre Berthier of France, Prince of Neufchâtel and of Wargram, was Empress Sisi’s grand-uncle in-law via his marriage to Duchess Maria Elisabeth in Bavaria

Absolutely love Pia as Elisabeth in the musical so please don’t mind me using a gif from this :3 ((also, “Elisabeth” spoiler alert

Franz originally was to marry her sister Helene (nicknamed Néné), nevertheless, on the first meeting in Bad Ishl, he has fallen for the young Elisabeth, head over heels—making him defying his domineering mother, Archduchess Sophie, for the very first time. Elisabeth also liked him and did not expressed her refusal either, so they got married in St. Augustine’s Church in 29th April, 1854.

However, the marriage was not well. Sisi was not accustomed to the strict Austrian court especially Archduchess Sophie (also she was not really a fan of intimacy). Poor Franz was rather helpless in situations between his mother and his wife, and eventually, Sisi chose her freedom over her duty as Empress, traveling around the world. They two briefly went back together during the Austro-Hungarian compromise, yet she was constantly not there. Eventually, Sisi was assassinated by an anarchist named Luigi Lucheni during her stay in Geneva, Switzerland, and Franz was devastated over her death (“she will never know how much I love her”).

To Franz, he loved her so, but he really didn’t understand her needs. Even though he had countless mistresses and female companions in Vienna, he still missed his wife. I say, he was really unlucky when it comes to love. Like Apollo himself, he dated countless nymphs and humans, but a lot of his notable relationships did not have a good end. (Probably Cyrene was the most lucky one, yet she also has chosen to be left alone after mothering several children with Apollo.) For this, I picked Franz Joseph as Apollo.

5. Ares - Jean Lannes or Michel Ney

As usual, for those who don’t know much history, I shall briefly introduce my babeys these two great soldiers.

Jean Lannes was one of the marshals of Napoleon, known for being one of Napoleon’s closest friends and his fiery personality, and is considered one of the best marshals of the 1st French Empire. His finest moments including the Battle of Ratisbon in which he led his men to storm the well-guarded city with ladders (hence his nickname “ladder lord” in our very humble Napoleonic marshalate fandom :3). Sadly, he died of the wound he received in the battle of Aspern-Essling in 1809.

Michel Ney was also one of the marshals of Napoleon, known for his extreme valour (yep, he is known as the “Bravest of the Brave”). As you might know, he was one of the marshals who was in Waterloo, yet, his finest hour was during the retreat from Russia in the disasterous 1812. Sadly, he was arguably the most prominent victim of the White Terror under the second Bourbon restoration, executed in 1815 (**I am not accepting any kind of conspiracy theories of my babey survived and died in America😤).

Speaking of Ares, I have a lot of things to say (that’s my dad ;-; no jkjk). He is really not that bloodthirsty idiot who casually hates humans. Well, he’s more like a fiery dork and a man who was very faithful to his lovers, and fights very well (by the way also one of the best dads). So, the bois that come into my mind are automatically two of the most courageous marshals of France.

Lannes, if I have to get him a godly parent, it would definitely Ares. He resembled the god a lot (also I sometimes imagined Ares as a smol bean with dark hair), probably looks the most like Ares himself. He got that fiery temper, that faithfulness to his wife Louise, also being a very courageous fighter in the field—well he literally was like, “NO LEMME STORM DAT CITY *grabs ladder*”.

There you have it, my big bro our ladder lord Jean Lannes who can pull off a perfect Ares.

Ney is like a slightly introverted (and mature) version of an Ares person. You can guess his temper already through his famed auburn hair, and indeed despite his shy exterior his temper sometimes was a bit explosive, and a bit impatient (which was somehow one of his fatal flaws). He was a great fighter, known as a skilled swordsman in his youth. And you all know how brave he is in his famed epithet. Michel Ney is purely badass (and C U T E) you know (and he needs a lot of hugs because he has really been though a lot in the wars, and was a possible case of PTSD which was shown in his arguably suicidal behaviour during the battle of Waterloo). That’s why I casted him as the Greek god Ares OwO

//

And there you have it, my interpretations on the Greek gods via people in history. I originally would like to include more but somehow I realised that I have written too much about my picks. So, if you want to add more, reblog this post or tag me on the post you made on this topic (and please use the hashtag “mythical figures as historical people” so that I could look into your choices via the search bubble on this app🥺).

Last but not the least, I hope you all lovelies like this, also have learnt something new via my brief introductions on some historical people. Have a great day!

*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.” 

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors  like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT FEATURE

They seemed to have lost their virginity at an average of about 14 and by college had tried more drugs than I'd even heard of. From their point of view, as big company executives, they were less able to start a company, it doesn't seem as if Larry and Sergey seem to have felt the same before they started Google, and so far there are few outside the US, because they don't have layers of bureaucracy to slow them down. It meant that a the only way to get rich.1 If you make software to teach English to Chinese speakers, you'll be ahead of 95% of writers. We arrive at adulthood with heads full of lies.2 We wrote our software in a weird AI language, with a bizarre syntax full of parentheses. That's an extreme example, of course, that you needed $20,000 in capital to incorporate.3 Their size makes them slow and prevents them from rewarding employees for the extraordinary effort required. Doing what you love in your spare time.4 Young professionals were paying their dues, working their way up the hierarchy. By giving him something he wants in return.

Once they saw that new BMW 325i, they wanted one too.5 If you simply manage to write in spoken language. Languages less powerful than Blub are obviously less powerful, because they're missing some feature he's used to. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.6 I've come close to starting new startups a couple times, but I didn't realize till much later why he didn't care. We'd interview people from MIT or Harvard or Stanford must be smart. Indians in the current Silicon Valley are all too aware of the shortcomings of the INS, but there's little they can do about it. When you're too weak to lift something, you can always make money from such investments.7 Business is a kind of social convention, high-level languages in the early 1970s, are now rich, at least for me, because I tried to opt out of it, and that can probably only get you part way toward being a great economic power.8 It must have seemed a safe move at the time. At the end of the summer.9

It's not merely that you need a scalable idea to grow.10 How much stock should you give him? Users love a site that's constantly improving. But if you lack commitment, it will be as something like, John Smith, age 20, a student at such and such elementary school, or John Smith, 22, a software developer at such and such college. There are two things different here from the usual confidence-building exercise.11 But it means if you made a serious effort. Bill Gates out of the third world.12 What's going on? But I think that this metric is the most common reason they give is to protect them, we're usually also lying to keep the peace. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.13

Frankly, it surprises me how small a role patents play in the software business, startups beat established companies by transcending them. The problem is that the cycle is slow. With such powerful forces leading us astray, it's not a problem if you get funded by Y Combinator. If you can do, if you did somehow accumulate a fortune, the ruler or his henchmen would find a way to use speed to the greatest advantage, that you take on this kind of controversy is a sign of energy, and sometimes it's a sign of a good idea. Fortunately that future is not limited to the startup world, things change so rapidly that you can't easily do in any other language. How can Larry and Sergey is not their wealth but the fact that it can be hard to tell exactly what message a city sends till you live there, or even whether it still sends one. They build Writely.14 I'm not sure that will happen, but it's the truth. Stanford students are more entrepreneurial than Yale students, but not because of some difference in their characters; the Yale students just have fewer examples.

And whatever you think of a startup. In the US things are more haphazard. I see a couple things on the list because he was one of the symptoms of bad judgement is believing you have good judgement. There are a couple catches. Instead of being positive, I'm going to use TCP/IP just because everyone else does.15 Being profitable, for example, or at the more bogus end of the race slowing down. An example of a job someone had to do.16 But actually being good. There are a lot of people were there during conventional office hours.17

I'll tell you about one of the most surprising things we've learned is how little it matters where people went to college.18 In Lisp, these programs are called macros. That's where the upper-middle class convention that you're supposed to work on it. And since most of what big companies do their best thinking when they wake up on Sunday morning and go downstairs in their bathrobe to make a conscious effort to keep your ideas about what you should do is start one.19 The most powerful wind is users. We're just finally able to measure it. And not only did everyone get the same yield. VCs need to invest in startups, at least by legal standards. Ten years ago, writing applications meant writing applications in C. If you have to operate on ridiculously incomplete information.

Notes

Foster, Richard Florida told me about several valuable sources. If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they tend to say how justified this worry is. The founders want the valuation at the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The First Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1965. Yes, there would be enough to be a win to include things in shows is basically zero.

Different kinds of startups that has become part of your mind what's the right mindset you will fail.

But although I started using it out of loyalty to the founders' salaries to the traditional peasant's diet: they had first claim on the one hand they take away with the earlier stage startups, just monopolies they create rather than admitting he preferred to call them whitelists because it reads as a kid, this is the notoriously corrupt relationship between the government. As the name Homer, to mean starting a business, A. The Department of English Studies. Yes, strictly speaking, you're pretty well protected against such tricks initially.

There are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. Every language probably has a word meaning how one feels when that partner re-tells it to profitability on a road there are no longer needed, big companies to say that YC's most successful startups of all the page-generating templates are still expensive to start over from scratch, rather than ones they capture.

There are two simplifying assumptions: that the Internet, and judge them based on revenues of 1. If the company goes public. This is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. When that happens.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the bizarre consequences of this type of proficiency test any apprentice might have 20 affinities by this, though more polite, was starting an outdoor portal. The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. The danger is that in practice signalling hasn't been much of observed behavior. When I say in principle is that intelligence doesn't matter in startups tend to be when I was genuinely worried that Airbnb, for example, the startup after you buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

Another thing I learned from this experiment: set aside an option pool. So if they don't want to start a startup in question usually is doing badly in your country controlled by the government. But in a company grew at 1% a week for 4 years.

We added two more investors. The reason this subject is so hard to imagine how an investor, and that often doesn't know its own momentum. We think. I'm talking here about everyday tagging.

They thought most programming would be possible to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the point of a large organization that often creates a rationalization for doing so much to generalize.

Many people feel good. So instead of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects. The idea is that it was overvalued till you see them, initially, were ways to make your fortune? In fact the decade preceding the war.

One father told me about a form that would appeal to investors.

Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you tell them to justify choices inaction in particular took bribery to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were only partly joking. If a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the first phase. You're going to create one of those you can eliminate, do not try too hard at fixing bugs—which, if they stopped causing so much from day to day indeed, is due to the table.

The hardest kind of gestures you use the wrong ISP. But they've been trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea is stone soup: you post a sign saying this cupboard must be kept empty. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. I have set up grant programs to run an online service, and they were, they'd be called unfair.

My work represents an exploration of gender and sexuality in an era of such high taxes?

So the most visible index of that, in one of the markets they serve, because she liked the iPhone SDK. For example, because a it's too hard to pick the former, because it is.

If you ask that you're small and traditional proprietors on the side of the junk bond business by Michael Milken; a new airport.

The biggest exits are the only audience for your side project. You're not one of their portfolio companies. He did eventually graduate at about 26.

A lot of time on schleps, but he doesn't remember which.

When I talk about startups. It's also one of the statistics they use the wrong algorithm for generating their frontpage. The reason Y Combinator only got 38 cents on the other: the source of food.

.....I have no clue if anyone would actually want to be tagged in this. Also this is at least a year old.

The lies unravel

Fandom: Simpsons

Pairings: Ned/OC

Word Count: 1645

Warnings: non explicit child abuse.

“Alright sweetie, have a good day at school!” I called as Lyssie climbed out of the car.

She turned to look at me and sighed softly.

“It’s just going to be the same as it always is. No one to be friends with. Love you momma.” She said closing the door and walking towards the school.

I sighed and pulled away from the drop off zone.

'If I could make it easier for her I would!’ I thought as I parked at the grocery store.

I walked in and looked around pulling a cart to me and starting to collect the groceries we would need for the week. I bumped my cart I to another one and jumped slightly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” I said quickly before looking up at who I had bumped into.

Before me stood a man decked in a green sweater and glasses. He offered me a smile and waved his hand.

“Don’t worry about it! Say, you’re new in town, aren’t you?” he asked.

I nodded as I leaned and stretched to reach the top of the shelf.

“Yes, my daughter and I just moved in over the weekend.” I said.

The man seeing my struggle reached up and grabbed the item for me.

“Well then, welcome to the neighborhood new Neighborino! I’m Ned.” Ned said passing me the box of pasta.

I smiled softly in thanks and took the pasta placing it into my cart.

“Thank you, Ned. I’m Kaley, it’s nice to meet you.” I said as we parted.

“You as well!” Ned called jubilantly as we parted.

I hummed softly as I finished shopping and headed to my car, dropping my keys when I went to unlock the car, I let out a soft groan. I bent down trying not to spill my groceries when a hand reached forward and grabbed my keys holding them up to me.

“Careful there, don’t want to lose those veggies!” Came the voice of Ned.

I laughed softly and took the keys nodding.

“Thank you again, Ned.” I said as I unlocked the door and settled my groceries inside.

I turned and saw him doing the same.

“You’re very welcome!” Ned said with a smile.

We waved and parted ways. I glanced at the clock as I pulled out from the parking lot and nodded.

“Good I can get home put the groceries away and run a load of laundry before I have to go pick up Lyssie.” I murmured to myself.

I smiled as I pulled into my driveway and laughed softly to myself as I shut the car off. I stepped out and opened the back door pulling out two of the four bags.

“Hi neighbor.” I called as I walked by the fence.

Ned turned and waved walking over to the fence as well.

“I didn’t think you were my new neighbor! I was going to come over later with a welcome platter of cookies!” Ned said with a light chuckle.

I smiled at that and nodded towards the house.

“Well, feel free to stop over anytime. But I do have to leave around three to get my daughter from school.” I said smiling.

“I was going to wait until my boys got home, so how about around four?” Ned asked.

I nodded.

“That sounds good Ned, we can chat while the kids play.” I said with a smile.

Ned nodded and with that we said our goodbyes. A few hours later and I sat laughing lightly while Ned told me stories of the people in town. The next few weeks went by quickly and Lyssie began riding the bus to school. I leaned back on my heals next to the garden and wiped my forehead as I heard footsteps. I looked up and saw Lyssie standing there.

“Lyssie baby? What’s wrong?” I asked standing quickly.

Lyssie looked like she wanted to cry.

“Mommy, he lies.” She said and I was confused.

I knew she had a friend at school finally, so I put a hand on her shoulder and steered her inside.

“Here we can have some tea and you can tell me more ok?” I said gently as we walked into the kitchen.

Lyssie nodded and kicked her shoes off hanging her backpack above the bench. I moved around the kitchen making tea and after a few seconds I sat down across from my daughter.

“Alright baby, tell me everything.” I said gently.

She sniffled and wiped her face.

“It’s Bart momma, he lies. He lies to the teachers and to the other kids.” She said and I looked at her softly.

I reached over and rubbed her hand softly.

“Sweetie, not everyone was raised the same. Just because we follow a rule of not lying doesn’t mean everyone does.” I said gently trying to get her to understand.

Lyssie shook her head, her pigtails flying.

“You don’t understand Momma! He…he’s got bruises all over him and I know he has more than what we see, but…no one believes me!” she said tears rolling down her face.

I bit my lip lightly this was a rough one.

“Lyssie baby when you say he has bruises, are they like the ones you get when playing?” I asked trying to figure this out.

She shook her head.

“Momma they’re like the ones from dad.” She said voice soft and fragile.

My hand shook at that and I closed my eyes swallowing thickly.

“Alright baby girl. I’ll try and figure something out ok? Finish your tea and try to do your homework ok?” I said softly.

Lyssie nodded and did just that. That night I tucked her in and kissed her good night. I closed her door and heard her whispering her prayers.

“…and my friend Bart, I know he needs you bad.” She said softly.

I closed my eyes and moved from the door then. I gave a shaky sigh as I poured myself a glass of wine.

“It’s going to be a long night.” I murmured softly.

The only good thing in this case was that I was a child protections official and could actually help out. I just needed proof. That night I got no sleep. I smiled softly and kissed Lyssie goodbye the next morning.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m working on it.” I whispered to her.

She nodded and climbed onto the bus. I waved as the bus pulled away. I bit my lip turning to my friendly neighbor Ned.

‘I hate to use you like this Ned.’ I thought as I walked over to the man.

“Mornin’ Kaley!” Ned called all smiles and I tried to give him one in return.

Ned must have seen how strained it was because his smile lessened a bit.

“Hey Ned, can we talk for a few minutes?” I asked.

Ned nodded and we headed into his house. We had become close over the last few weeks and our families often sat together at church. We settled with coffee at his kitchen table and he looked at me for a few seconds.

“What’s going on, Kaley?” he asked finally after a few minutes.

I sighed and nodded.

“I need to be truthful Ned. I need information and I know you’re the one to have it.” I said softly.

Ned nodded.

“If I can help you, Kaley, I will.” Ned said with determination.

“My daughter became friends with the Simpson boy. And she has some…concerns…for him.” I said trying to word it right.

Ned nodded letting me talk. I sighed and continued.

“I also am with the state children’s services and I’m worried as well. Have you seen anything?” I asked the man directly.

Ned’s lips tightened into a grim line as he nodded.

“I’ve tried a few times to help the boy. Homer he favors the girls and takes his anger out on Bart.” Ned said.

I sighed and looked at him.

“I can’t just do nothing. If the town can’t or won’t do anything then I’ll have to upgrade it to city level. Ned can I depend on you for character statements?” I asked him.

Ned nodded and with that we finished our coffee and parted ways. I headed into work and went to see my boss to pick up the paperwork. Thankfully he was going to allow me to lead this case, and if it went the way I hoped it would, I would also be his foster parent. Which was difficult given the close proximity to his parents. The next few weeks went slowly and I sighed again as I watched the state police take Homer away. Bart safely stood behind me, with Lyssie glaring at the man. I nodded to the officers.

“I can’t believe this!” Marge was crying out.

“Mom you know how dad is.” The older daughter, Lisa, said.

With that Marge humphed and headed back into the house. Over the next two months Lyssie and I helped Bart to recover he started attending church with us and therapy when he finally felt comfortable telling me about his nightmares. I smiled and shook my head watching him and Lyssie play with Rod and Todd in the back yard. Ned reached over to take my hand giving me a look. I smiled and laced our fingers.

“Well, Bart doesn’t lie in the classroom and he doesn’t lie at school. He lies to me at dinner when he wants a cookie and his homework isn’t done though.” I said smiling gently as we watched the kids play.

Over the next year Ned and I got married, I adopted Bart. Homer got out of prison although after the third time I called the cops on him for coming to my house he stayed away. Lisa was welcome to visit, as we’re Marge and Maggie, once they accepted that this was the best thing for Bart.

Shelf History Tag

❀ This tag is for those books that came to you in an unusual, interesting, funny, or sweet way. Pick 5 (or more if you want) books from your shelf and tell us the story of how you came to own that book. If you’re a public library user and don’t really own any books, you can still participate. Just tell us the most interesting/funny/sweet ways you came to find a particular library book.

Tag your posts #ShelfHistory so I can see them all!

When you’re finished, tag 5 (or more) readers whose Shelf-History you’d like to know about! This one can easily be done on any blogging/vlogging platform so feel free to tag cross-platform if you really want to.

Thanks to @anassarhenisch for tagging me - freshing up my memory of all things bookish is always fun! I'm going to cheat a bit and include some of my books back home as well as on my current shelves, since I didn't move that long ago and haven't yet accumulated a lot of stories...

Some books that I got at author/translator events: The View from the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman; The Odyssey by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson; Trinity by Frank Close. Also His Dark Materials, which was acquired quite conventionally in a bookstore, but later signed by Philip Pullman after a lecture he gave at Exeter College - one of my favourite bookish treasures

A bunch of books that I picked up during my travels (especially before I moved to the UK, since I couldn't easily find books in original English back home). One that stands out in my memory is The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon, which I picked up in a lovely bookshop in Trastevere, Rome, on a whim, and it turned out to be one of my favourite reads. And The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden - anyone who has been following this blog probably knows I'm a great fan; I stumbled upon my copy, of all places, in a small bookstore in a supermarket in Riga

More travel stories: Obsidio by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff and House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski - these I picked up in a bookshop in Zürich while visiting a friend for a weekend as a present to myself, since I had received an offer of a place and a scholarship at my dream uni that morning. That was probably the most eventful weekend of my life and I'm glad to have a book memento

Starting Point, a collection of essays by Hayao Miyazaki, was brought to me by my friend from an american bookshop (it could have been the famous City Lights, although it escapes me at the moment...) This one was definitely a spot-on present

And probably my favourite: At Oxford by B.W. Henderson. I found this collection of poems about Oxford in a second-hand bookshop in Oxfordshire which was signed by the author, who had been a member of my college, in 1913, and by someone from his family in 1972! I had an interesting chat with the college archivist about it (I'm in MPLS, so talking to archivists is exciting stuff for me!) and she mentioned that the college would like to have it for its special collection - and there it will definitely go at some point (although I haven't yet lost hope of returning it to the family if I can find them - a book that has been in the family for so long is quite an object...)

Well, this brought back memories - sorry for the long post :) Tagging @therefugeofbooks @manuscripts-dontburn @franticvampirereads @bookworm-of-camelot @thelivebookproject if you want to!

And now for this week’s installment of Alt-Marauders stuff! Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes and @littlemeangreen since I know you guys like it. This week it’s: “Building Character” - Shinobi/Sebastian “Daddy’s Girl” -Manon/Sebastian “Flames” - Pyro/Alice “First Resort” - Sebastian/Haven “Human” -Haven/Madelyne

“BUILDING CHARACTER” (Warning: References to child abuse, and no apologies for it) It was evening at Blackstone, and its occupants were there for the first time in two weeks spent seafaring. “I had my reservations about giving you another chance,” Sebastian admitted, standing by the sitting room window, looking out over his domain, “But you’ve done well.” Shinobi hated himself for the pride and happiness that flooded through him at his father’s words. He was still so weak, so dependent on this man’s approval, the same man he hated so much, the man that MADE him like this. “We’ve done well,” he replied in apparent calm, “We’ve not attempted to kill each other, for instance.” His father turned his head and grinned at him, “Oh, I’m sure you have something up your sleeve for me sooner or later. And of course, I’m prepared for when you do.” “I thought about it,” Shinobi admitted matter-of-factually, “But what would it even matter now? You’d just come back. “I did before Krakoa. So did you. Twice, I believe,” Sebastian moved from the window and sat down in the chair across from his son now, “I used to think Shaws were just exceptionally hardy stock, but I’ve learned it seems to be a strange feature of mutants as a species.” “Yet you still worry I’ll off you?” Another smile from Sebastian, almost indulgent, “Oh, I’m not worried. I’m actually rather eager to see how you try to get around the resurrection issue. Trap me somewhere, perhaps, but ensure that I won’t starve or suffocate wherever I am? You were never a bright boy, Shinobi, and I’m sure your lifestyle choices haven’t helped with that---not that I’m judging you, we all have our wild oats to sow---but I’m hoping this new obstacle will start stimulating whatever brain cells you have left. Adversity builds character, didn’t I always tell you that?” “Yeah, mostly after you hit me.” In most families there would be an awkward silence after that. Shinobi was in fact hoping for it, hoping for any sign of shame in his father. Of course he didn’t get it. Sebastian reacted as if Shinobi had said ‘after you took me to a baseball game’ or anything else innocuous and normal in the life of an average father and son...whatever that was. Shinobi only had ideas from television. Although it seemed some stuff his dad did was normal, if Homer choking the life out of Bart on the regular was any indication of standard reality. “Exactly. You had to find some way to stop me from doing that, ideally by improving yourself so I would no longer have reason, though I’d have settled for almost anything else after a certain point so long as it worked,” said Sebastian. Then his tone turned regretful...but not for the reasons a normal person would, “You never did though. I’ve given up on very little in my life, Shinobi, but...” “But you gave up on pummeling me.” “I couldn’t shape you into something better. I realize that now. Only you can do that. And look? Now you are.” “Oh right you were beating me for MY SAKE,” said Shinobi, the bitter venom he felt inside finally beginning to seep out into his now-biting tone. “Yes, but also you just irritated me,” Sebastian said, and there was no bitterness in his, no venom, and no shame, “People seldom have a single motive, even a simple man such as I.” “Simple?” Shinobi did not expect his father to describe himself in such a word. “I never had grand ideals of Xavier and Erik, never wanted to herd an entire planet into my way of thinking. I was only ever concerned with what anyone should be---my own success. Which I achieved. Whereas their dreams are still unrealized, for all their efforts and claims.” “So why care about my success then?” Shinobi asked. And it was a good question, for it gave his father pause. A long pause. Shinobi knew that look on his father’s face---his father was thinking, and hard. And he wasn’t coming to an answer quickly either. “I can’t say it’s affection,” Sebastian finally answered, “You and I both know what a ridiculous notion that would be. Maybe the hope you’d be useful to me, but...” He trailed off, sounding doubtful. Shinobi wished it was that though, because being useful to his father would imply he had worth, his father needed him, the man he’d idolized---jeesus it made him choke even to think of that---would need him. Shinobi wanted that. “...but I doubt that, I’ve never relied on anyone, you know me,” Sebastian picked up again, “I’d rather have an ally I can cut ties with easily with need be, not someone so attached to me as a son. Grooming children as tools was always more Emma’s practice; I never had the patience for it, or the time. I suppose there is some kind of personal attachment--” Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck did he dare hope no he must be lying he must be “---to the notion of legacy. Krakoa or not, I’m not going to live forever, and I’d like what I’ve accomplished to pass into hands related to my own, as illogical and sentimental as nepotism is. But I refuse for them to be unworthy of it.” Shinobi’s hopes sunk back down their proper place. Of course. Of course that was it. His money, his business, his power base---those were what he cared about. that was his child, his real child, and he was just looking for someone with his DNA to care for it after his death. Well, you know what? “I’m going to be,” Shinobi said. And it wasn’t a promise. It was a threat. And his father knew that. And it made him smile. *** “DADDY’S GIRL” (Warning: Casual use of mind control/memory manipulation and no one treating it as bad.) It was a bad situation. The spies sent to Krakoa, spies who were mutants but still owed their allegiances to the American, had been caught. And caught by the Marauders, no less. Negotiations were underway for their safe return, but unfortunately, the Council member they were speaking to was Sebastian Shaw. And he was not in a forgiving mood. ”They’ve already been telepathically wiped, of course,” he said over the phone to the negotiator, “So it’s no matter to us if we give them back to you or not. But, why should we? They are Krakoan citizens. Even if they committed to that citizenship with false intentions, they still are OUR people, and they have committed treason. And you know what the traditional punishment for that is...” ”Please, Mr. Shaw, see reason!” the negotiator pleaded on the other end of the phone in the White House office. “They are American citizens as well, and employees of the American government! Any action against them will be seen as an act of hostility!” ”And sending them into our midst was NOT an act of hostility?” Shaw returned very calmly, but very dangerously. It was a tone that made the negotiator think very, very carefully about what his next words would be. And then he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see one of the Marauders, who were overseeing the negotiations going on. After the spies had been caught on Krakoa, they’d come IMMEDIATELY to make sure that no reinforcements would be sent. It just went to show how ruthless mutants were, that they would send CHILDREN on a team like that. In this case, a little girl, with pigtails and Wednesday Addams dress. She’d have been adorable, if not for her ghostly albinistic coloring and strange eyes. “Put me on!”  she chirped, “He will listen to me, I’m his daughter!” The negotiator stared at her. Well, he was all out of ideas, so... “Okay, Mr. Shaw? Your daughter is here, she’d like to speak to you.” “My what?” “There’s a little girl here,” the negotiator explained, hoping the kid hadn’t just tricked him into losing several lives, “She says you’re her father.” There was a sigh from Shaw’s end, “Well, shes probably right. It’s hardly the time, but fine, put her on.” The negotiator passed the child the phone while her brother giggled in the background, and in Krakoan, she piped, “Hello Mr. Shaw! Manon to the rescue!” “Oh, it’s you,” he said flatly. “Who else did you think it would be?” “Well, when someone randomly claims to be my child, they usually ar---I mean, nevermind, what is it? This is important, you know.” ”I think you should let the spies go, Mr. Shaw.” ”You don’t understand what you’re talking about, and you’re in enough trouble for following the crew through the portal as it is. Put the man back on.” ”But Mr. Shaw, I have a plan!” The negotiator could not understand Krakoan, but he did understand tone, and he could hear the irritation in Shaw’s voice. He grabbed the phone away from her and apologized, ”I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw, she--” ”THAT’S MY PAPA!” Manon shrieked in English, and then yelled something in Krakoan, something Shaw could hear. ”Put MY DAUGHTER back on THIS INSTANT!” Shaw roared at the negotiator, who immediately complied. “Manon?” “I am running the show now, Mr. Shaw!” she said proudly. ”Excellent. Now, the first part of your idea is splendid. Here’s what I want you to do for the second...” They talked a little more, and it sounded much more pleasant to the negotiator, he even heard Mr. Shaw LAUGH, though there was something...devious...in the girl’s undertone he didn’t care for. When she said bye-bye and passed the phone back to him, she smiled...and so did he. Pocketing the phone, he turned back to the other two Marauders who were observing, Pyro and Shinobi. ”Well gentlemen, thank you so much for helping sort that out. I’ll take you to see who you need now.” Pyro and Shinobi looked at each other, and behind the negotiator’s back, Manon winked at them and put a finger to her white lips. ”Sure,” said Shinobi, unsure what was going on. ”Lead on, mate,” said Pyro, likewise baffled but playing along. The negotiator lead them to a room of other men, and after a few moments with Manon---in which she shook all their hands, with Maxime’s empathy POWERS overriding their natural suspicions at doing so--they all bid the Marauders farewell and told them to have a nice day and that it was so nice that Krakoan/American relationships were going so well. ”Alright,” said Pyro as they stepped out of the White House and headed for the nearest portal in DC, “What’d old Shaw make you do, you little witch?” ”Excusez-moi!” said Manon in mock-offense, “I made up half the idea! The first half at that!” ”Yeah but what WAS it?!” Shinobi urged. ”Well, I told Mr. Shaw, why don’t I just make the man on the phone FORGET that we captured the American spies, yes?” Manon explained, “And he said that was a SPLENDID idea, and he said that I should do it, and make him think that we were here about something else, and that he was supposed to take us to everyone else who knew the spies had been captured, and fix their memories too. And then when we get back, he will have me change the memories of the spies themselves, so they will go home with bad information!” ”Holy shit,” said Pyro. ”Damn,” said Shinobi, “Maybe you really ARE his kid!” The twins just giggled. *** “FLAMES”       “Hey, Mr. Allerdyce? Can I bother you?” Pyro looked up from his laptop to see Alice in the doorway. “Sure, love. What’s troubling you?” he said automatically, then regretted that choice of words. If Alice had trouble he’d push her towards Haven or Maddie, they’d be much better choices for her to talk to. “I uh...I wanted some advice,” she said, stepping shyly in. Oh no. “About?” “Writing” His ears perked up and his eyes got wide, “Well why didn’t you say so! Come on and sit down love, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” Pyro sounded delighted, and he was. People seemed to forget that writing was his real passion, not being a super-criminal or a jerk who burned things. Those were fun but they weren’t his CALLING. Alice sat nervously, “You’re a professional so I thought you’d be best to ask. “Yeah, go ahead, anything,” Pyro urged her. He felt very important right now. “Can you help me not write a Mary Sue?” “...a what?” The wind went out of his sails suddenly. He had no idea what she was talking about. “You know. A Mary Sue.” “I uh, I don’t know, actually.” “A bad character.” “Ohhh.” Alright, this he could do.  “Okay, well first thing is first, gotta be three dimensional, you know? People are people, even the evil patriarch in the gloomy mansion with designs on our gorgeous heroine’s fortune and her body! Second thing is give ‘em a distinct voice when they talk, the wandering wastrel with a heart of gold shouldn’t talk the same way as the well-brought up but dull and dunderheaded fiancee, and---” He went on, listing each of his tricks of the trade out on his long spindly fingers, then more. “That help?” he asked brightly when he had, for the moment, finished. Oh but he could talk about this all day! “I uh...can you tell me more about writing a good female lead? I know not to make her too overpowered, or too beautiful, and not to give her a tragic past or too many love interests or too many coincidences, but--” “WHAT?!” Pyro roared, nearly jumping out of his seat, “Who told you THAT?!” “The internet,” she said meekly, drawing back. “Well it’s wrong, dead wrong! Blimey, you just described half my most popular female leads! The hell kind of advice is that, don’t make her too beautiful or powerful or too many love interests?! Fuck that shit, love, if I’d followed that garbage I’d never have published a penny’s worth.” “So...do do it?” St. John, shrugged, “Do what you want, Alice. I write Gothic romance because I love it. Heaving bosoms, dramatic sighs, improbable coincidences, and tragic pasts for everybody! And I know my readers love it. They tell me so. Got panned hard by the critics and “real” writers but who doesn’t, eh? You can’t satisfy them but you can sure make someody’s day with a good harlequin. But between you and me, I wasn’t even writing for my readers anyway, even though I love ‘em.” “You were writing for you?” Alice was Internet-savvy enough to know the term Mary sue, so she also knew the adage about writing for yourself. But hearing it from a REAL writer gave it more weight. “Damn right! I give my readers what they want but only when it’s what I want. And I want trashy drama and beautiful heroines with six different walking six-packs fighting for her her hand in marriage!” “And...nobody hates you for it?” Well, like I said, critics weren’t too kind, and there’s some real stinkers of reviews on Goodreads and Amazon for a few. But you should see my fan letters! Not everyone’ll like what you make, love, it’s impossible. Even the “classics” has people who can’t stand ‘em---including me, for some.” “Do they....flame you?” “Flaming things is more my specialty. “ “No, I mean...lemme show you.” she said, and pulled out her phone. Later, had to explain to everyone WHY he had torched Alice’s cell into a molten plastic and metal lump and blamed ‘shitheads on the Internet’. *** “FIRST RESORT” It was not the greenery of Krakoa that they walked through today, but the border of Danum Valley in Sabah, Borneo, Malaysia. For most of human history, no one had settled in this part of the country, nor deforested its paradisaical and ancient rainforest, home to orangutans, clouded leopards, Sumatran rhinoceros, and, Haven’s personal favorite, the humble mouse-deer. To actually go into it would be foolhardy, not simply because of the creatures (indeed, really the least of one’s worries, wild animals tended to avoid people) but for the abundance of insects, dangerous plants, and the fact their clothes simply weren’t cut out for the amount of water, mud, and foliage they would encounter. The reason for the lack of proper hiking gear was that they had not come to Sabah to look at its jungles, lovely as they were, but because they had a mission. For most of the Marauders, it was the usual, bringing mutants home should they wish to come; in this case, mutants among the thousands of victims trafficked through this area alone. For Shaw specifically, well...there was a portion of eastern Sabah had long been an area for smuggling into and from Indonesia and the Southern Philippines. He’d been asked by the Council to bring its own unique goods to the black market there. And for Haven, well, there was figuring out what to do with the rest of the trafficking survivors; she wasn’t about to just leave them after the mutants in their number had been pulled from the herd. With all that accomplished, everyone was now, as usual, taking part in essentially vacationing before heading back. Pyro and Shinobi were hitting the bars in Kota Kinabalu, Madelyne was off fighting poachers of pygmy elephants, and Claudine...well, who knew where she slipped off to? No one usually asked. And Sebastian Shaw, waiting for evening when he’d take the boat over to Kuala Lumpur for some fun of his own, was passing the day or at least this particular hour walking on the outskirts of the verdant conservation area, not close enough to be engulfed by the trees but still with quite a bit more plant life in the way than he’d like. Particularly when concentrating on a conversation, even an asinine one. “So you do consent that violence is necessary at times,” he said, feeling he had finally gotten SOMETHING sensible out of her. “I do,” Haven said, who did not feel she had lost anything by admitting this; she had never denied it, “It’s the debate of when. My opinion is not that it must never be used---if someone is about to shoot a room full of people and there is no telepath to put them to sleep, for instance, then sadly a sniper shot may be the best option for the least loss of life---but that it is often jumped to far too quickly. It should be a last resort and not a first, or a second for that matter.” “I disagree in that but I most certainly agree in its necessity---and effectiveness,” he replied, though he knew she of course knew that, “So we do have some common ground then, however small.” “Why, Mr. Shaw, I didn’t realize you cared about that.” “Wipe that look off your face, woman. I didn’t concede to you in the slightest. If anything, the reverse.” “That’s not what I was smiling about, Mr. Shaw,” she said, still smiling and stopping to crouch down. She was adjusting a flower back into an upright position; some animal must had stepped on it. Perhaps one of her precious mouse-deer. “I meant I appreciate that you would appreciate we have some common ground, however small.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, “There would be no point speaking to you otherwise. There is barely any point as it is.” “But you do it,” she said, and began to dig her hands in the dirt, around the flower, so that she could scoop it out without plucking it, without ending its little life, “And, I apologize, I don’t like to make assumptions, but...I doubt you’re the kind of person who does anything he does not see a point in, Mr. Shaw.” She stood back out and held her cupped hands out to him, displaying the bloom, “It’s a Dendrobium lohokii, a type of orchid. Do you think we should bring this back to Krakoa? I don’t know what the policy is on invasive species, but I believe it could thrive there. The climate seems right.” Sebastian reached out and touched her hands with his own...and forcibly made her curl hers into a fist around the delicate Dendrobium, crushing it. “You are correct, Ms. Dastoor, in that I do little without a point. But you also grievously underestimate my boredom with this crew. Including yourself. You are to me as violence is to you---a last resort.” He released her hands and strode on, “And Krakoa has all the flowers it needs.” *** “HUMAN” “You know what the worst thing is, though?” said Madelyne, her black-gloved hand tracing the mouth of the glass. She still dressed like herself---her old self, her first self---when out of costume, but when acting as a Marauder (not as an X-Men, a Marauder) she did put on the ol’ pleathers again, the ones she’d worn WHEN WORKING WITH ARKEA. “I’m shocked you can choose,” said Haven, and there was no humor in her tone. Madelyne sometimes coped with a wry wit and devil-may-care (no punt intended) tone, but Haven only ever spoke of their mutual traumas with solemn gravity. “The worst part,” Madelyne inhaled, “The worst part is...I wanted it, Haven. Just in a dream, yeah, but still. And I’m not sorry that I wanted it. And when I got it...I enjoyed it. And I know I was possessed, I know it wasn’t me---I’m the only one who knows that, it seems, and even I don’t even care most of the time---but the part of me that was still awake? That nasty little greedy bitter part Sym talked to? She liked it. I liked it. I got my revenge, and I deserved it. And I can’t let go of that. I should feel SO guilty for that, it goes against everything I am, that I really am, but...I can’t. I don’t. And I...I don’t think I want to.” Madelyne knew that Haven could never understand. It was a contradiction, really---Haven was the only one here who could really understand what she’d been through, because of the uncannily similar circumstances, and yet at the same time, because of who Haven was, she also was the one person on the ship that Madelyne knew could never relate to this. She’d seen this woman beg for the lives of Purifiers. She’d seen her look with pity on child traffickers. Fuck, could you be so compassionate it was a sin in itself? Because Madelyne felt like it sometimes, watching this woman. Madelyne was harder. And she wasn’t sorry. She’d burned the world once. Now, she focused on just lighting up the parts that really deserved it. “I enjoyed it too.” Madelyne dropped her glass just as she picked it up, her green eyes wide. Had she heard that right? Was she going nuts all over again? “I admit it wasn’t vengeance I took pleasure in,” said Haven, her always-slow voice even more slow, not languid but laborious, every confessing word clearly an effort to let leave her throat, “But that might be only because, unlike you, no one had wronged me. Most of the time...most of the time, what I did tortured me. I slept little, and when I did, it was tortured. I couldn’t even bring myself to do my proverbial “dirty work” most of the time, I left it to my...to my cult.” She swallowed, and Madelyne waited for the other shoe to drop. “But...I was glad, too, part of me. Because I wanted a better world, and I believed, really believed, I was bringing it about in a for-sure way. It wasn’t just helping one person and hoping for the best that small effort would make a difference. It was knowing--deeply and profoundly---that I was bringing peace and salvation closer. I had the divine word on it. And Madelyne, for all my pain...I was proud.” Madelyne stared. And then she...laughed. “Oh gosh. Oh my gosh, I’m sorry Haven, I just...” “It’s alright. Sometimes we laugh because we just don’t know what else to do. But Madelyne---I don’t think you or I are so evil for being human.” “Human?” Madelyne’s tone turned incredulous, “There was nothing human about this!” “Wasn’t there? You were hurt, hurt by those you loved most. It’s the most naturally human reaction in the world to enjoy hurting someone back.” “You don’t. You can’t tell me that, Haven. I used to think you were so full of restraint because you never struck back---but I think it’s not restraint. It’s just how you are. You couldn’t hit Sebastian when he needed it, remember?” He’d needed a charge, and fast, for all their sakes. He’d been screaming in Haven’s face for her to pummel him. Madelyne couldn’t get close enough to do it herself, but she had been close enough to see---Haven couldn’t do it. She’d been sure Sebastian was going to hit her himself to get her to strike him, but Pyro had lit him up and given him sufficient energy from that (it had turned out later he had NOT realized Sebastian was fireproof) but if he hadn’t...Madelyne was fairly sure Haven still wouldn’t have been able to do it. Maddie...she hit back when hit. And attacked when attacked. And Haven was telling her she didn’t think that wasn’t wrong---but how could she claim that, given she never did it? “No, I couldn’t. Not every single human has every single “human” flaw. Myself, I...it’s like there’s something wrong with me, Madelyne. Like there’s some part of me missing that others have that makes them able to do violence, any violence, to feel true hate or anger. But what I do have is the also-very-human trait to want to be a martyr. I think on some level, I wanted to suffer for something greater than myself. I’m a religious woman. You know this. I think the Adversary appealed to that perverse pride, that spiritual smugness in my own suffering for a good cause that no one else understood. It hurt so much, Madelyne, I hated it so much--but I got to consider myself a persecuted savior. I got to have a cross of my own at last, after a life of trying to make up for my privilege.” Madelyne stared more. And started chuckling again, “You know what? I do get that. Because god, if I have one thing I can hang on to, to make myself feel better, it’s that I was wronged, I was persecuted, I was misunderstood...and there’s a kind of weird comfort, a pride in that, isn’t there? Being able to feel you’re not the bad guy, not really, it’s everyone else who’s wrong. I feel sorry for myself, because no one else will.” “Oh Madelyne,” Haven reached over and put her hand on hers, “I will.” “Don’t,” Maddie smirked, and pulled her hand away, “My self-pity’s embarrassing enough for me.” “There’s self-pity,” said Haven gently, “And then there is self-forgiveness.” “Hey, I forgive myself,” she said, crossing her arms and legs and leaning back in her chair, “It’s everyone else that hasn’t. And I don’t need them to. I had my revenge, whether it was on my terms or not. And I have to live with that---the regret, and the satisfaction both.” “You know I’m not a vengeful person, Madelyne,” said Haven, picking up her own cup at last, a tea cup as opposed to Madelyne’s shot glass. “You’ve just said as much yourself. But I do believe very much in one old adage---the best revenge is living well. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a very good job of that these days---and this time, it is on your own terms.”

Gene’s Ducktales Adventure/Gene-Centered AU. Season: 1 and Episodes: 26

Ducktales 1987 AU: Gene’s Ducktales Adventure/Gene-Centered. Season: 1 and Episodes: 26 (gene will appear in most episodes)

"Send in the Clones"- season 1, ep. 6 ( Everyone begins seeing double when Magica DeSpell gets the Beagle Boys to help her steal scrooge’s Number One Dime, disguising them as the nephews. Can the nephews expose them before the dime is stolen (and before Mrs. Beakley loses her mind)?, they didn't know that gene lives here too because he’s new)

"Where No Duck Has Gone Before"-season 1, ep. 8 (gene already knows of what's real and what's not, he read it all about Hollywood movies/tv show works on the encyclopedia. he plays along for Doofus and the boys' sake and their safety. but he won't be doing this alone, Launchpad helps each other out as they meet the aliens for the first time. plus he meets gyro Gearloose.)

"Master of the Djinni"-season 1, ep. 12 (both Djinni and gene knows each other when the gene was a genie back the past and Djinni picks on him for being too young to be a genie and gene don't like that along not trusting him while Scrooge and Glomgold race for the mastership of Aladdin's genie. gene feel worries about scrooge too.)

"Hotel Strangeduck"-season 1, ep. 13 (Gene helps Scrooge, Huey, Dewey, and Louie to solve a mystery of Ludwig Von Strangeduck's ghost while Scrooge turns a castle once owned by a mad scientist into a hotel.)

"Sir Gyro de Gearloose"-season 1, ep. 17 (gene tags along with gyro the boys to the Middle Ages by gyro's time machine and uses it to go back in time due to fed up with being looked upon as a "gadget man".)

"Superdoo!"-season 1, ep. 20 (gene joins the junior woodchuck and lives the camp for trying to earn the badges, but he keeps on trying, after all, it was his first time. gene was little tick off about Doofus because Doofus accidentally finds a stolen alien crystal that grants him numerous superpowers. But the aliens who lost it want it back. you guys think that Doofus was the only one that has a hard time at camp, so does gene. but Launchpad also told gene that it's ok to make mistakes, learn from it and try again. gene took his advice and tries again, he could be useful the next time he goes with them on their next Adventure.)

"Pearl of Wisdom"-season 1, ep. 25 (gene helps webby by giving a pearl as he thought that pearl as a great masher and gene's first mistake that ever made, owning apology to scrooge for help webby to get pearl by mistake for marble and help them to get the pearl back.)

"Home Sweet Homer"-season 1, ep. 30 (scrooge asked gene to come along with the boys this time and According to Greek mythology, Circe, a wicked sorceress from the past, accidentally transports Scrooge and the boys back to the time of Ancient Greece, where they meet up with Homer.)

"Bermuda Triangle Tangle"-season 1, ep. 31 (Scrooge seeks to find out why his ships are disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle. gene and the boys will come along with Scrooge)

"Back to the Klondike"-season 1, ep. 33 (Scrooge takes gene and the kids to the Klondike, where he met an old flame, Glittering Goldie.)

------------------------------

Gene takes part in "Catch as Cash Can" part 4 Episodes.

"A Whale of a Bad Time"-season 1, ep. 37 (gene is with Scrooge, the boys, webby and Mrs. Beakley to find out what happens to his money As Scrooge tries to deliver his fortune to Macaroon. where gene meets Donald duck for the first time and already noted that he's a friend with Huey, Dewey, and Louie.)

"Aqua Ducks"-season 1, ep. 38 (After dumping his fortune under the sea, Scrooge, along with Launchpad, Gyro, gene (as his first stowed away) and Doofus, submerges in order to get it out. There they encounter an underwater race of mermen, and a monster named Glubbzilla. gene knew the lost city of Atlantis comes back to haunt him.)

"Working for Scales"-season 1, ep. 39 (the boys forgot something and blow their cover, but gene told the boys that he'll handle the lost treasure of Atlantis by himself while Glomgold and the Beagle Boys attempt to make sure Scrooge does not win the contest on his way to Macaroon. the boys are counting on him to find it.)

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back to Original episodes

"Merit-Time Adventure"-season 1, ep. 40 (The Nephews, gene, Webby, and Doofus attempt to earn a Junior Woodchuck badge in sailing while a sea monster is preying on Scrooge's shipping fleet.)

"Ducks of the West"-season 1, ep. 42 (Scrooge, the boys and gene go to Scrooge's oil wells to find out why they ran dry.)

"Raiders of the Lost Harp"-season 1, ep. 45 (Scrooge acquires a magical harp that can determine if someone was lying or not. gene helps the boys clean up their room by stuffing them in their closet. However, Magica de Spell wants the harp for herself, and so does the harp's guardian: a five-story stone Minotaur.)

"Scroogerello"-season 1, ep. 47 (While experiencing a fever, Scrooge has an extended dream sequence parodying the fairy tale of Cinderella, with himself in the titular role. gene was part of it as jack from "jack and the beanstalk")

"Duckworth's Revolt"-season 1, ep. 50 (After being fired by Scrooge, Duckworth, gene and the boys are abducted by plant aliens and enslaved aboard their ship along with dozens of other kidnapped aliens. after Duckworth tells kidnapped aliens to stand up and said 'no', gene explains his story about being a genie was hard and being abused by merlock and didn't even care what the others think. he also said that's why he needed to be free from the magic lamp.)

"Magica's Magic Mirror"-season 1, ep. 51a (Magica uses a pair of magic mirrors to try to get Scrooge's Number One Dime. gene went to the picnic with Doofus)

"Take Me Out of the Ballgame"-season 1, ep. 51b (gene joins in Junior Woodchucks in a baseball game as Duckworth coaches them.)

"Duck to the Future"-season 1, ep. 52 (Magica sends Scrooge into the future, where she has stolen his Number One Dime and taken over his company. Gene becomes a young yet strong adult and starts a Revolution against magica and he a leader of the rebellion and everyone joins him to stop her and get the dime back as the war was endless. he realized that Scrooge is still alive and got confused for what's going on. gene told scrooge about what happen. gene can't stand it about another evil take over just like the same way merlock did, even means that he's no longer friends with the boys because he believed that something's wrong. looks like both scrooge and gene was on the same page, huh? after he returns to the past, scrooge told gene that how much he so proud of him for stand up to his beliefs and knowing the difference between right and wrong and the type of the boy he becomes. which it confused gene for a while.)

"Duck in the Iron Mask"-season 1, ep. 56 (Scrooge, gene and the boys take a trip to visit an old friend of his, Count Roy. However, unknown to Scrooge, Roy's evil twin Ray rules Roy's kingdom with an iron fist.)

"The Uncrashable Hindentanic"-season 1, ep. 57 (Scrooge makes a bet with Glomgold that he can make money off a blimp called the Hindentanic and gene was part of it along with the boys.)

"Nothing to Fear"-season 1, ep. 59 (Scrooge, gene, the nephews, Doofus, and Duckworth are intimidated by a cloud that generates their worst fears, conjured by Magica. gene has so much fear of merlock from the past and unable to forgive himself. scrooge told him that he did his best to stop him and he needed to face his fears and moved on. gene understand and faced his fears, spilling his true feelings out that goes with it.)

"Once Upon a Dime"-season 1, ep. 61 (Scrooge tells everyone, even gene his story of how his Number One Dime got his fortune started.)

"All Ducks on Deck"-season 1, ep. 63 (Donald Duck makes up a story about being a hero to his nephews and gene. The boys stow away in the Navy and try to make him a hero. Meanwhile, the Phantom Blot has a spy infiltrating the Navy while he has Scrooge McDuck and Launchpad McQuack as prisoners on Cat Island after they go to investigate Scrooge's missing fishing fleet there.)

"Till Nephews Do Us Part"season 1, ep. 65 (Scrooge is romanced by a billionaire named Millionara Vanderbucks, but as the nephews, gene and Webby find out, she only wants his money. maybe Millionara might send gene to an orphanage.) ------------------ I hope you guys like it and it's my first time drawing gene the genie.

let know what you guys think of Gene’s Ducktales Adventure AU.

Sam/Jack Rec List, Part 2

more fics since i put the part 1 list together.  i hope you find something here you haven’t read or haven’t read in a while! if you have a favorite fic, send it my way! only 55 fics on this list! 

AU:

The Love That Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger--AU exploration of a Stargate world where Sam has a kid: As she works to balance saving the planet with being a single mom to a sweet little girl, Jack finds himself accidentally falling in love with not one Carter, but two. This fic starts at the beginning of the series and takes a nice long meander through the first four seasons as Sam and Jack go from strangers to friends to something much more. 

Infinite Possibilities: Doctor Carter/Jack AU. 

Fleeting: Not long now, she thinks as she closes her eyes and tries not to scream. Not long now until she ceases to exist.

Chrysalis Unbound: (WIP) Doctor Carter AU. One day, in between the stars and a cluttered lab, she found herself without realising it.

Stranded/Off-World

Let The World Spin series--SG-1’s stranded off world. Some of them are having a more difficult time accepting it than others.

Past the Breakers and the Markers-- SG1 gets stranded off-world as they escape Anubis and Jack and Sam work through some unspoken feelings.

You Just Might Find--Sam and Jack, stranded. (How much do I want to summarize this: They lost everything . . . and found each other? LOTS.)

Jaunt to Paradise: A Stargate malfunction strands Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter in a cliché. 

Work: Her hands were covered in dirt and whatever else was down on the ground around the guts of a DHD that had seen better days. They were light years from home. The thing between them was new enough that it still felt wrong when she moved away from him.

Post-Ep/Post-Movie

Continuum Interrupted: When Jack O'Neill is assigned to evaluate the threat Colonel Samantha Carter poses to his world he gets caught up in more then he could ever have imagined. 

Desperate Times: As the unimaginative title suggests, this is a tag for Desperate Measures. This story picks up where the episode leaves off. Implied S/J, but this is not a romance. SG-1 has to get Sam home, and Sam has to come to terms with what happened.

Never: Post-Death Knell.

After the Storm: He doesn't call her and tell her he's making omelets with beer, they don't have stupid bets to see who can finish a crossword puzzle the fastest, he doesn't invite her to go fishing, and they rarely even end up in the commissary at the same time.(set around the events of 8.18, "Threads".)

Things Owed: Over the years they've sacrificed countless times for each other. Every once in a while, they try to repay their debts. A series of Ficlets carrying the same theme. 

Strangers on a Train: It began with a train ride. Jack isn't sure he wants it to end. And he doesn't know why. Set during the vague "One Year" of Continuum. 

The Principle of Cause and Effect:  After the couple of days she'd had, she wanted nothing more than to lie there and breathe and think about nothing at all. (Post-Ep for Foothold)

Sleeping Beauty: Once upon a time, under a faraway mountain, there lay a Major in need of her Colonel. An AU of Divide and Conquer. One-Shot.

Supposition Series: This story is the first in a series of tags that, while sticking strictly to canon, explores the theory that Sam and Jack were engaged in a clandestine romance off-screen from Season 6 onward.

No Absolutions: If Carter dies, a part of him will die, and he’s not sure it’s a part he can live without. Post Upgrades Tag.

Dark Switch: It happens so fast. Post-100 Days/Shades of Grey.

Carter ex machina: Post-100 days.

three by five: post-fair game; the speech that jack never got to give

Minos Does Not Rule the Skies: The maiden flight of the USAFS Homer.

Aliens Made Them Do It/Talk About it:

No Holds Barred: Jack’s eyes snapped open and he popped up onto one elbow to eye his bedmate. He wondered who she was for only a millisecond, because he would know that blonde head of hair anywhere. Which meant he had a big problem, because he had no idea how he ended up in bed with Major Samantha Carter.

Hope Lights: After a difficult few months, SG-1 is sent to a planet in order to attend its most important festival. During the proceedings, Jack and Sam find themselves alone for a while - giving them time to say things that need to be said. Jack/Sam angsty-fluffery-guttery Ship with a hint of Christmassy goodness.

Barrier: (technically alien tech made them talk about it) When Colonel O’Neill is placed in harm’s way by an abandoned, automated defense system on a deserted planet, Major Carter must work against the clock to free him. Her actions may change things between them forever. 

A Drink From the Lotus Chalice: A powerful being turns the lives of everyone on SG-1 upside-down. Be careful what you wish for...

The Rite of Rarevanu: When Sam and Jack are forced to participate in an off-world ritual, things between them get heated.

Memory May Be Paradise: While on an alien planet, Jack picks up a nasty case of amnesia. At first lost, he must be found and then he must tackle the issue of his missing memories and what that means for his position on SG-1 and for his relationships. 

Overload: He’s trying really hard not to think about the fact that he’s in bed with Carter, and she’s not wearing any pants.

A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing: All in all, it could be worse. 

No idea how to categorize these:

Close: They work together day after day, side by side, mission after mission. It's only a matter of time before events from the past return to haunt them. When they find themselves alone and too close, can they keep their honor intact, or will they succumb to their deepest wants? Sam/Jack ship. (Season 5-ish.)

Cause a Day Can Get So Long: Jack and Sam hang out on planet Earth.

Plan C Series: Sam throws her back out the same week the Colonel is scheduled for his third knee surgery.

Reflection of Us: I often think about the duplicates and wonder what their story is, and how they came to terms with their exile and the fact that they're no longer human, but machine. Anyway, I figure they deserve a bit of happiness!

Clocking Out: It’s Jack’s last day at the SGC. Naturally, something goes horribly wrong.

Let Go and Hold On: With the team moving on to new assignments after the defeat of the Replicators and the Goa'uld, SG1 reunites for one last mission while Sam and Jack wonder if it's too late for them

A Brother, His Sister, and her Jack: Mark and Jack have the chance to talk while waiting for Sam to recover.

Falling: Sam and Jack and a "close shave."

Four Times/Five Times

Out Go the Lights--4 closets and a happy ending.

Five Times They Visited Boring Planets: Not every planet is a thrill ride.

Five Times They Met In Another Life: ...And Then One More Time They Also Met in Another Life

Five Times Sam Gets Married

Five Times O’Neill Thought Carter Was Beautiful (and one time he told her)

Embrace Me: This came about from a discussion on the GW Family thread about the great hug Sam and Jack shared in Threads. Somebody, I don’t remember who, asked us to think of other times they might have shared that kind of hug. This is my response. S/J.

Five Christmases

Set in S9/10 and/or post-series:

Domesticated Equines: Sam and Jack’s first year of marriage.

This Close: Jack’s last mission doesn’t go quite the way they planned.

Bygones: He doesn't say much, at least not the words that she specifically wants to hear. Jack's more a man of action. Even knowing this, it takes another woman to make Sam understand how he really feels. Sam/Jack established relationship. Unabashedly romantic/fluffy/kind of angsty.

Ticked Off: Jack is just as ticked off as I am that Sam got bumped from command of SG1, but Sam calms him down.

Fine With It: Jack’s with another woman and Sara is fine with it.

Winter Solace: Sequel to Fine With It

Taxi Service: When Cam, Teal'c, Daniel, and Vala get themselves captured on what was supposed to be a simple mission, it's up to Sam and Jack to mount an equally simple rescue. An alternate version of Bad Guys.

Out of the Ashes: Jack is left to pick up the pieces of his broken life after Sam and the Hammond disappear. Post SGU premier episode but there should be no spoilers here.

I was tagged by @neo--queen--serenity which was really sweet! Thanks for thinking of me! I actually love these things and I think I am very long winded. I don't like tagging people though (I'm actually quite shy) so if you want to do it please do!!

Nickname: so many. Francy is what my family calls me. Chess. Chesca. Fran. Buttercup to one person and one person alone. The Doctor to quite a few.

Age: 28. Ugh. Disallowed.

Zodiac: on the exact cusp of Aquarius and Capricorn so much so that my birthday is listed as one or the other on different charts. Just call me Organized Chaos. I lean towards Aquarius though.

Height: five foot three quarters of an inch. I round up most days.

Last Thing I Googled: Florida man June 15. We were playing the Florida man game where you Google Florida man and your birthday. That was for my father's girlfriend. If you're curious it was "Florida man pushes pastor knocks churchgoers to ground because service was too long"

Song Stuck In My Head: if one of my own compositions counts , Will's charecter song from the fragmentary Hannibal Musical. If it doesn't "follow the yellow brick road"

Number of followers: 197. I need more.

Amount of Sleep: ha. HA. I have slept everywhere from two to sixteen hours. I have NEVER had a sleep schedule. On work nights I guess I average around 6 and make up for it over the weekend. Super healthy I know. I think I have delayed sleep phase or non 24 sleep disorders but it also could be the ADHD FUCKING WITH ME

Lucky number:....don't know. I'm gonna go with 32 for the 32 Buddhas who got me a job.

Dream job:lin-manuel Miranda. Seriously though no idea. I'm a dabbler. I thought going back to school and studying something I've always cared about would like reveal the dream job and then I'd have motivation. But now all I want to do is write musicals. I don't want one dream job. I want to dabble Renaissance style into a million different things. I'd probably be well suited to any sort of leadership position but you have to actually earn those. Part of me wants to be a location scout. Also can I write musicals and get paid for that? Sounds fake. Right now dream job is something not too unpleasant that pays the rent and leaves left overs for fun and doesn't ask too much of me so I have time to pursue hobbies and interests and leisure. I don't dream of work. I should have been an aimless aristocrat.

Wearing: almost bedtime so black nightgown!

Favorite song: you fool do not ask a musical theater nerd this. It does not bare asking. Lately I like the score of Six. That's as close as you're getting.

Favorite Instruments: piano is a part of my fingers. I am terrible. I can make it do all sorts of odd things and I can't tell you how I do them. Don't watch my fingers play. I also like theremins, pretentious fuck that I am , violins , see above but if I actually had to pick I have to SUPER weakness for BAGPIPES. yes seriously.

Favroite author:.....I've had a lot but no One id really call favroite. Can I say homer and be done?

Favorite animal sound: OKAY HAVE YOU EVER HEARD A BABY SLOTH? THEY GO "EH" AND ITS REALLY CUTE LOOK https://youtu.be/5aYnDI1MDk8

It's like they're always trying their hardest but are mildly distressed

Aesthetic: Rococo punk. Can I coin that term? Marie-Antoinette meets the ancient world in lower Manhattan, seasoned liberally with gothic decay, seen through the eyes of a scrappy street urchin with a secret. Pretty things with sharp edges. Not a rose concealing a sword but a sword with a rose carved into it.

Random: despite having visual processing problems I love silent movies? Go figure

Oh To Be a Barton (Chapter Eleven)

Tagged: @justgrits

     --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Several Months Later*

“No. No. It has to be thinner for them to easily disguise it.” Emily groaned in annoyance. 

“If it’s thinner they won’t be able to hold as many bullets. The weapon would be useless.” Bruce explained. 

“They are trained assassins, dad. They won’t need that many bullets. Plus, I’m in the process of instructing a thinner bullet.” Emily informed him. 

“Fine, make it thinner, but then it needs to be longer.” Bruce said. 

“They’re assassins. They need smaller and thinner weapons.” Emily replied. 

Bruce sighed. 

“You give me a headache.” He said. 

“Yeah, well you cause aches in my butt.” Emily retorted. 

“Did you just call me a pain in your ass?” Bruce asked. 

“Yes, but I did it nicely. Now make the gun the height in my plans.” Emily grinned before turning back towards her computer. 

“Lord, grant me patience so I don’t strangle my own child.” Bruce muttered. 

Emily cackled.

“There’s the buzzer. Go see who’s here.” Bruce said. 

Emily groaned and pushed away from her computer. Bruce had rented a small building and opened up a small practice. He did most things for free or charged a small fee. They lived in the back of the building and had his office in the front. Emily skipped through their lab and up to the front of the office. 

“Śubha sandhyā.” Emily greeted. (Good afternoon.)

“Ḍāktāra haẏa?” The lady asked. (Is the doctor in?)

“Ēka miniṭa.” Emily said. (One minute.)

Emily disappeared into the back and made Bruce go into the front. She returned to her work on her weapons and left her dad to deal with the patient. Emily pulled the tablet in closer and moved her pen around changing the shape around trying to get the right size and volume. 

“Emily!” Bruce called out. 

The young girl sighed. 

“What?” She yelled back. 

“I need you.” Bruce said. 

Emily pushed away from the computer and scurried on her way back to the front of the building. She froze mid skip and slid across the floor slightly when she saw Bruce standing there. He was alone, but he had a cake in his hands. Balloons were tied to random objects around the office and presents were stacked on the counter. 

“What is this?” Emily asked. 

Bruce grinned. “Happy Birthday!”

“Holy shit. I totally forgot about my own birthday.” Emily gasped. 

“I figured you did. That’s why I did this all behind your back. I wanted to surprise you.” Bruce smiled. 

“Dad, you’re the best.” Emily sighed happily. 

“Yeah, I know. So why don’t you make a wish and then dig into your gifts.” Bruce said. 

Emily grinned and then hurried over to Bruce. She took a deep breath and then blew out the candles making a wish. After the candles were blown out, Bruce set the cake on the counter and planned on cutting later. He picked up one of the gifts and held it out to Emily. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Emily said. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“But I’m glad you did.” Emily grinned. 

Bruce shook his head. 

“So what did you get me?” Emily asked, shaking the gift. 

“Why would I tell you when you can open it?” Bruce replied. 

“Okay, okay.” Emily said. 

Emily opened the gift and tore the tissue paper out from the box. Her mouth fell open and she looked up at Bruce. He was watching her with careful eyes. With shaky hands, Emily pulled the chip from the box. 

“How did you get this?” Emily asked. 

“I conned it out of Tony.” Bruce told her. 

“I’ve always wanted my very own artificial intelligence.” Emily said in awe. 

“Kid, I listen to you. Heuristically. Operative. Matrix. Emulation. Rostrum. Also known as, Homer.” Bruce said. 

“Can I connect the chip to my computer?” Emily asked with wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you open the rest of your gifts first?” Bruce suggested. 

“Alright.” Emily said. 

Bruce watched with anticipation as Emily opened the rest of the gifts. The second gift she opened was a Wacom drawing tablet. The third gift was a set of several different language dictionaries to help Emily. Bruce had picked up teaching Emily several different languages. The last gift was a huge one. Emily looked up at Bruce and he just urged her to open it. Emily tore into the wrapping paper. She ripped open the white box and then gasped. 

“Is this the real thing?” Emily asked him. 

“No, but it’s an exact replica and made from the same material.” Bruce said. 

“How?” Emily asked. 

“It’s not from me.” Bruce said. 

“Then who?” Emily asked him. 

“It’s a gift from Coulson.” Bruce answered. 

“That son of a bitch.” Emily smirked and lifted the shield from the box. 

“I think it will look nice hanging over your bed, but remember language.” Bruce scolded. 

“Sorry, dad.” Emily said. 

“I’ll cut into the cake while you go and hookup Homer.” Bruce said. 

“Be right back!” Emily exclaimed running off. 

Emily removed the chip from the small box and then slid into her computer. She clicked through the right files and typed in the right codes. Em quickly entered her name into the code before pushing enter. She watched the green bar slowly fill up across her screen. Emily waited impatiently for the system to finish loading. Her fingers taped against her desk as the bar filled up. 

“Good evening, Emily.” Homer said. 

Emily let out a squeal of excitement. 

“Hey Homer.” Emily greeted. 

Bruce left Emily to connect with Homer. He left out a few slices of cake for him and Emily. He placed the rest of her birthday cake in the fridge. They would be having take out for dinner later. He already had ordered it and had planned it to be delivered after their office was closed. 

“Venga a cuidar de sus regalos.” Bruce said. (Come take care of your gifts.)

“Tulossa!” Emily called back. (Coming!)

Emily left her desk and headed back into the front of the building to grab the rest of her gifts. There was a knock on the door and then Bruce hurried to answer it. Emily stopped to see a little girl standing at the door talking quickly to Bruce. 

“Calm down. What’s wrong?” Bruce asked. 

“My father,” The girl trailed off. 

“Is he sick? Like the others?” Bruce asked her. 

“Please.” She pleaded. 

Bruce glanced back at Emily. 

“Go. I’ll lock up after you.” Emily said. 

Bruce nodded. “I won’t be gone long.” 

Emily watched the little girl quickly run off. Bruce chased hastily after her. Emily locked the door behind her dad. She went back to taking care of her new gifts. She hung the shield over her bed and then took her new tablet into the lab. She tossed her old beaten up tablet to the side and then quickly connected the new one. 

“Homer, play Pandora.” Emily said. 

“Which channel, Emily?” Home replied. 

“Classic rock and blast it.” Emily answered. 

Livin’ on a Prayer by Bon Jovi began blasting from the speakers. Emily pushed her glasses higher up on her nose as she went back to work on the new weapon design. It didn’t take long for her to get lost in her work. She never heard the door click unlock or Bruce calling out for her. 

Emily let out a scream as somebody touched her shoulder. 

“Sorry.” Bruce apologized. 

“God, dad!” Emily gasped. 

“I called your name, but you didn’t hear me over the music.” Bruce explained. 

“What is it?” Emily asked, rubbing at her aching chest. 

“We have a visitor.” Bruce said. 

“This late into the evening?” Emily asked. 

“Yes and they want to see you.” Bruce told her. 

“Really?” Emily cocked an eyebrow. 

“You better go out there.” Bruce said. 

Emily left her chair and hurried out into the front of the building. She let out a whoop of excitement when she saw the familiar redhead standing there. Emily ran towards Natasha throwing herself at the girl. 

“Nat!” Emily exclaimed. 

“Hey kid.” Nat smiled squeezing the girl tightly. 

“What are you doing here?” Emily asked. 

“I’m pretty sure today is someone’s birthday.” Natasha said. 

“You came to see me for my birthday?” Emily asked her. 

“You’re officially a preteen now. I had to come see you.” Natasha said. 

“Did you bring Clint?” Emily asked hopefully. 

“Sorry, Em, but there’s something that you and I need to talk about.” Natasha sighed. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Emily asked fearfully. 

“Take a walk with me.” Natasha said. 

Emily followed Natasha out into the darkening night. She kept up in stride with Natasha as the older girl walked through town. Natasha didn’t say anything for several long minutes and Emily didn’t ask any questions. Whatever had happened, Emily knew it was serious and that Natasha needed the right moment to tell her. 

“There’s another reason why I came here.” Natasha spoke. 

“Nat, just tell me what happened.” Emily said. 

“I know you’ve found the files on the Avengers initiative.” Natasha began. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of files that Shields didn’t want me to find.” Emily pointed out. 

“I’m here because of the Avengers.” Natasha said. 

“Bruce?” Emily asked. 

“Bruce.” Nat stated. 

“So why isn’t Clint here helping you?” Emily asked. 

“Because of this.” Natasha said holding out an iPad towards Emily. 

Emily took the iPad and watched the security clip from one of Shield’s labs. She could see Doctor Selvig with the tesseract. Emily watched in horror as the tesseract began to glow and then a man appeared from the blue light. Emily squinted and watched the video a little closer. Everything had happened so quickly. A small groan escaped her as she watched the man touch his scepter against Clint’s chest. 

“Where is he now?” Emily asked. 

“With Loki under his control apparently.” Natasha answered. 

“Loki? As in the norse god?” Emily asked. 

Natasha nodded. “The one and only.”

“Thor’s brother right?” Emily asked. 

“Yeah.” Natasha answered. 

“Hang on.” Emily said. 

She started to tap away at the iPad. Natasha moved around to stand behind Emily so she could watch the girl work. Natasha smirked as Emily easily tapped into Shield’s system and began pulling up files. Articles about Thor in New Mexico appeared. Pages and pages of info on Loki downloaded next and then the Avengers initiative.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Natasha asked. 

“This.” Emily said, showing her the iPad. 

“Oh no.” Natasha said. 

“Why not?” Emily asked her. 

“Your brother and Bruce have not worked this hard to keep you off Shields radar to only turn around and put you in the middle of it.” Natasha explained. 

“Fury had made Ace so I could be a part of the team when it came to it.” Emily said. 

“Yeah, that was the plan if you were to have stayed with Shield and got all of the proper training.” Natasha told her. 

“I could be helpful.” Emily pointed out. 

“You’re a liability.” Natasha said. 

Emily sighed. 

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do? Where am I to go?” Emily asked. 

“I already have that taken care of.” Natasha told her. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Emily asked.

“Just trust me okay?” Natasha replied. 

Emily nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. Then let’s head back to Bruce. I’m sure your dad is freaking out that I’ve kept you out past dusk.” Natasha teased. 

Emily chuckled. 

“Nat,” Emily said squeezing her friend’s hand. 

“Yeah?” Natasha muttered. 

“Will you promise me to get Clint back no matter what?” Emily asked her. 

“You know I will.” Natasha promised. 

“I know you can do it.” Emily said. 

“Don’t worry Em, I’ll have your brother back to being a pain in both of our asses in no time.” Natasha reassured her. 

Emily smiled. “Thanks.”

The girls walked back to the Banner residence. Bruce had already begun packing bags for both he and Emily. Natasha explained that they had an early flight back. Shields was waiting for them at the airport. Natasha promised to explain everything to both Bruce and Emily on the plane. She’d tell Bruce about his part in the Avenger plan and just where exactly Emily would be staying while her most important people were out saving the world. Natasha told Emily that she would be pretty happy with where Natasha had decided to stow her away. Emily just had to trust her friend that everything was going to be okay in the end. 

tagged by @cathy-parr

rules: pick 5 shows, then answer the following questions. don’t cheat. tag some people.

tagging: @mothersdrapes @daniellewade @cadyhcrons @meangirlsx @english-bernhardt (and if you see this and want to do it you can say i tagged you too)

(these aren’t necessarily my top five favorite shows but i knew i could answer these questions with these shows so here we go!!!)

1. The OA

2. Scream Queens

3. Legacies

4. Roswell (1999)

5. Glee

Who is your favorite character in 2?

It’s a three-way tie between Zayday Williams, Denise Hemphill, and Chad Radwell

Who is your least favorite character in 1?

There is no other answer besides Hap. Absolutely 5000% fuck Hap.

What is your favorite episode of 4?

for personal reasons, 1x16.

What’s your favorite season of 5?

this is my most controversial opinion and i deserve jail time for it but SEASON SIX GOODBYE

What’s your favorite couple in 3?

i don’t like any of the current cannon couples lol so i’m going to say Josie/Hope and Lizzie/MG 

Who’s your favorite couple in 2?

lol. hester/chad radwell, zayday williams/common sense

What is your favorite episode of 1?

oh my god okay, okay, so (can you tell this is my favorite show???) i want to say 1x4 - Chapter 4: Away because it’s the episode where OA has an NDE and sees Katune again and then something important happens when she comes back (which is a spoiler so I won’t say lol) and there’s OA/Homer moments and also Homer comes back from his NDE with a movement and the movements are my favorite part of season one. but to be fair i love every single episode, they’re all high art. i’ll never stop being sad netflix canceled this show. 

What is your favorite episode of 5?

6x4&6x5 - The Hurt Locker: Part 1 & 2, because NOTHING makes me laugh harder than Sue Sylvester outing herself as a Klaine stan.

What’s your favorite season of 2?

season one. season two was hot steaming garbage but i did watch every single episode anyway. 

How long have you been watching 1?

I first watched it December 2016 when I was home on winter break because it popped up on my recommended on Netflix and I thought it looked good so I watched it and then I literally finished it in like maybe two days and watched it two or three more times before I went back to school. Then I periodically rewatched it in the THREE YEARS it took for season two to come out this time last year. Unfortunately Netflix loves canceling their only good shows so we’ll never get another season and the ending of season 2 was SO GOOD and also a cliffhanger. So we never get to see if Homer and OA find each other again. LIKE DID THE GUNSHOT WOUND KILL HIM OR DID THE MOVEMENTS WORK????!!? please watch this show i need to talk to someone about it.

How did you become interested in 3?

I saw GIFS on tumblr and I watched a few scenes of season 2 with my mom and she said I would like it so I watched it on Netflix and did, in fact, like it a Lot.

Who is your favorite actor in 4?

Shiri Appleby and Colin Hanks

Which do you prefer, 1, 2, or 5?

The OA will always, always win. But I will say I prefer Scream Queens over Glee.

Which have you seen more episodes of, 1 or 3?

There are more episodes of Legacies but I’ve watched The OA about 1,000 times so I’m going to say The OA.

If you could be anyone from 4, who would you be?

Maybe Maria DeLuca because she’s iconic and beautiful. 

Would a crossover between 3 and 4 work?

lol actually maybe. roswell is about aliens and there’s all kinds of crazy shit on legacies. also they’re both about teenagers doing whatever tf they want.

Pair two characters in 1 who would make an unlikely but strangely okay couple?

This is sort of hard with The OA because everyone is different ages and so many of them are dead (at least in the current dimension) but maybe Steve and French idk. WAIT ALSO OA/Nina Azarov with Det. Karim Washington.

Overall, which show has the better storyline, 3 or 5?

HAHAHAHAHA. They’re both equally chaotic, I can’t pick.

Who has better music, 2 or 4

I’m going to say Scream Queens because I am reminded how the show begins with a girl having a baby in a bathtub at a sorority house party as “Waterfalls” by TLC starts playing and Anna Grace Barlow’s character says “I am not missing “Waterfalls” for this, “Waterfalls” is my jam.” And the music only gets more iconic from then on.

Rule Breaker | One | S.M.

A Baseball!Shawn AU x Original Character

Teaser 

Word Count: 4048

Warnings: some cursing, sexual jokes, a fuckboi

Author’s Note: Hello friends! This is a new adventure for me I hope you all enjoy, please send me an ask to be added to the tag list or if you have any baseball related questions! Moodboard by @heavenly---holland, lots of editing and plot help by my personal hypeman @the-claire-bitch-project

Tessa sat in the dugout, staring at her clipboard.  The first practice of the season for the Whitecaps had her swamped with things to do: doing an inventory of her medical supplies, helping her mom organize the concession stand in preparation for the first game, making sure all the players had their physicals turned into her, and so much more.  She sighed, looking at the list of tasks before penciling in small numbers next to each one so she could make sure she did them in the most efficient order she could.

“Tess!” her dad called from across the field, standing outside the fence.  “You ready for papers?”

“Yeah, just a sec!” she called back.  She switched clipboards to her list of players on the team, glancing down at the names as she walked across the infield and exited the field.  A few names she recognized; most she didn’t.  She smiled as she remembered her favorite freshman from last year, Benjamin Berry from Texas, was coming back for a second year with Brewster.  She grimaced as she read “Kyle Young, Ole Miss.” Her least favorite person from the team last year.  Kyle constantly hit on her last season despite her many firm responses “I don’t date my dad’s players, and even if I did I wouldn’t date you.”

Tessa jogged to the table her dad had set up for her.  There was already a line of guys behind it, ready to give her their medical information. She pulled the chair out and sat down, grabbing the pen her dad left on the table.

She smiled up at the first guy.  “Hey, I’m Tessa,” she said cheerily.  “Name?”

“Noah Bolton,” he replied, shifting on his feet.

Tessa crossed his name off her list and took the manila folder he handed her. “Thank you, Noah,” she said. “Just go over towards the field and Coach Hale will take it from there!”

Noah smiled softly, nodded, then followed her directions towards the field.

The next few boys came up to her uneventfully, until of course, Kyle decided to make a fuss.

“Hi, Tessa,” he purred, placing his folder down on the table in front of her and leaning on it.

She sighed.  “Hello, Kyle.”

“You have a good year? You miss me?”  He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, I had a great year, 4.0 again,” she said. She crossed his name off the list and tried to take the folder from under his hand.

“Is that also a ‘yes, I missed you Kyle?’ I didn’t hear an answer.”

“No, it wasn’t.  I didn’t miss you, I was busy.  And I still don’t date my dad’s players.  Especially not the ones who harass me about it.” Tessa didn’t care how rude she came off to Kyle; her answer would never change.  She didn’t date her dad’s players.  And she would never date Kyle. Not in a million years.

“It just takes persistence, Tess,” he said.

“Don’t call me that,” she retorted, clenching her jaw.

“Why not? Your dad calls you that.”  Kyle leaned down further, squatting down, putting his elbow on the folder, and putting his chin in his hand.  

“Because you don’t deserve to call me that.”

“Oh, c’mon, Tess, we can work this out, baby,” Kyle purred.

“Kyle, I said no.  Give me your papers and go to Coach.” Tessa grabbed the edge of the folder and yanked it as hard as she could.  She successfully pulled the folder from underneath him, causing his elbow to get yanked out from under his head.  His chin hit the table and Tessa smirked as he cried out.

“You’ll regret that later, Tessa,” he snarled, rubbing his jaw as he picked up his bag and his pride.  He stalked away to Coach Hale.

Tessa quickly grabbed her phone and sent a text to her parents.

Tess: Kyle’s a problem again. Made me super uncomfortable. Please do something.

Dad: got it.

Tessa sighed and put her phone back on the table.  

“Hi,” she said without looking at the next boy in line.  “Name?”

“Uh, Shawn. Shawn Mendes.”

Tessa crossed his name off the list then looked up at him.  Her eyes widened and she froze, feeling a blush creep over her face.  

He was the most beautiful human being she’d ever seen.

He was tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and rosy cheeks that starkly contrasted his pale skin. He towered over her, but he wasn’t intimidating.  He had kind, green eyes that seemed to glow in the sunlight.  He was biting his lip as he held out his folder in his right hand, which was intricately decorated with a bird tattoo over his thumb.  He had another tattoo on the same arm, in the shape of a guitar made out of trees.  He made eye contact with her, waiting while she took him in.

“Is, uh, is, uh, everything--” she coughed, clearing her throat, “is it all in here?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he said softly, shifting his weight on his feet and scooting his backpack up on his shoulder.

“Uh, good,” Tessa said.  She quickly took the folder and mentally kicked herself.  What was that question? She didn’t ask anyone that.

“Probably not my place to say this, but that guy before me seemed like a real dick and if you want me to kick his ass I’d be happy to,” Shawn offered with a soft half smile.

Tessa laughed low in her throat, but it sounded like a donkey and a turkey had a child and someone was strangling it.  Her face felt even hotter.  She was so embarrassed that she made a fool out of herself in front of him on the first day of the season.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she choked out.

“You know where to find me,” he said.  He grinned at her, showing her his perfectly straight and perfectly white teeth that made her want to punch him in the face.

She took a deep breath and righted her thoughts before she greeted the next player in line, but she couldn’t get Shawn’s stupid, perfect face out of her mind.

“Alright,” Coach Hale announced, “Everyone over here, please.”

The Whitecaps players all jogged over to home plate to gather around their coach.  Tessa stood next to her dad, holding her clipboard tightly to her chest.  Shawn stood next to Benjamin, crossing his arms and making his biceps look enormous.  Tessa chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, trying desperately not to stare at Shawn and think about those biceps wrapped around her.  Or digging her nails into them.  Or kissing them while they walked around in Boston.  

She shook her head to dissipate the thoughts that very clearly violated her policy on her dad’s players.  

“As you all know, I’m Coach Hale,” her dad called. “Our pitching coach this season is Coach Chuck Jones from UCLA.” Coach Jones waved at the players as Coach Hale continued.  “Our hitting coach is Coach Jake Henderson from Alabama.  Our two assistant coaches this season are Coach Jack Christopher from Auburn and Coach Nick Byers from Washington.  We also have my daughter, Tessa, here with us this season as our Head Athletic Trainer.”

Tessa stepped forward and waved as the boys clapped for her.  She panned over the group, seeing Kyle smirk at her on one side and Shawn smile at her on the other.  She smiled back at Shawn before stepping back behind the coaches.

“We’re very excited about this season and we hope you all are too,” Coach Hale said.  “Our goal here at the Brewster Whitecaps is not just to keep you guys in shape, but to expand upon your strengths you’ve already developed.  We aim to send you back to your home programs better than you arrived here.  Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, stepping forward.  Tessa rolled her eyes and sighed.  “Can you tell Tessa to loosen up?”

Tessa stepped forward, but her dad put an arm out to stop her.  “Young, quit harassing my daughter.  If she told you no, she meant it.  Cut it out or you’re out.”  He glared at him.  

Kyle put his hands up and stepped back into the group.

“Alright, we’re going to split up into positions and run a few drills.  Pitchers, you’ll go with Jones to talk rotations.  Outfielders, you’re with Byers.  Infielders, you’re with Christopher.  Henderson will be pulling you in small groups for hitting drills.  I’ll be bouncing between everyone.  I already have notes from your coaches, along with videos of you all playing, but I won’t make anything decisions on the lineup until I see you play in person.  Tessa also has a big say in who starts where.”  Her dad looked proudly at her.

He was absolutely right.  Tessa had a keen sense of batting lineups; she was excellent at arranging the guys to capitalize on their strengths.  She’d never liked the press box with her mom, so since she could walk she had her own helmet and stayed in the dugout with her dad.  Growing up, the guys always called her Coach, too, just like they did for her dad.

“Any questions?” Coach Hale asked.  “No? Good.  Break off with your coaches.”

The team dispersed and Tessa had to consciously keep her jaw shut watching Shawn run. Most of his height was in his legs, but damn they were nice. And his ass.  God, she needed to not break, after all these years, she couldn’t break now.

She was surprised when Shawn jogged over with Coach Christopher.  With his height, she expected him to be an outfielder.  As they started running their drill, Shawn went to first.

“What do you think?” her dad asked.

“Um, wh-what?” she stammered, taken aback.

“Who?”

“What do you mean?” Tessa acted like her dad didn’t know her better than she knew herself.

“Who’re you staring at, Tess? I’ve never seen you this off before.”

Tessa bit her lip.  She was a horrible liar, and her dad knew it.

“The Mendes kid,” she confessed softly.  “He’s just . . . wow.”

Coach nodded slowly, staring at Shawn with her.  “I’ll keep an eye on him for you. His coaches from Toronto say he’s great, his height is a real advantage at first.  He’s a power hitter, believe it or not.  He led their team in home runs and triples last season.”

“Really?” Shawn didn’t look like he had that much power in him.

“Oh yeah, he had 25 homers and 16 triples.  20 doubles, too.”

Tessa gaped at her dad.  “Seriously?”

He nodded again.  “I’m thinking clean-up for him.”

“I agree, but . . .”

“But what, Tess? Whatcha thinking?”

“In the Majors, a lot of managers are putting their power hitters in the two spot.  They get more reps that way.  So just keep that in mind, Coach.”

He laughed.  “I will, Coach.” Her dad walked away, over to the infielders.

Tessa quickly walked to the dugout.  She grabbed her backpack of supplies and her helmet, along with her notebook and her roster.  She plopped down in the grass in front of the dugout fence, placing her helmet on her head.  Tessa spread her supplies out in front of her, separating each group of supplies into piles.  She opened her notebook and tallied up each pile.  She sent a text to her mom to let her know which supplies needed replenishing.

Once her tallying was done, Tessa settled in to take notes on the new players. Naturally, her eyes fell on Shawn first.

She looked at his statistics listed on the roster.  6-foot 3-inches, 195 pounds.  Number 8 on the team.  First baseman.  Batted a .346 in his season at Toronto with a huge slugging percent of .750. He had 75 RBIs, so he did well in pressure situations with men on base.  She definitely thought he’d be a cleanup hitter, not in the two spot, unless their lead-off man was good at getting on base.  Tessa made a note in her notebook.

The infielders took a break after a while.  Shawn jogged over to the dugout, grabbing his bottle of Gatorade and then coming to sit next to her in the grass.

“You taking notes on us, Coach?” he teased.

She showed him her notebook.  “Actually, yeah. I help my dad make the lineup.”

“Oh shit,” Shawn said.  “He was serious about that?”  He leaned over to look at her notes.

“Yeah,” she said, scooting closer to him.  “See, here’s what I have about you.  You had 75 RBIs in your school season, so you produce in pressure situations with men on.  That’s good for the clean-up hitter.  You also had a lot of extra base hits, so again, you’re good in the run production department.  You’re not good at stealing bases, though, your stolen base percentage sucked ass.”

Shawn laughed.  “You get that from my stats?”

Tessa nodded.  She opened her mouth to say something else, but Kyle jogged over to the two of them.

“I thought you didn’t date your dad’s players,” he asked.

“I didn’t realize I couldn’t speak to my dad’s players without dating them,” she retorted. Shawn smiled at the grass.  “He also asked what I was doing, so I was being polite and showing him.”

“What are you doing?” Kyle sassed.

“Don’t pretend like you’re interested.”

“I’m interested in you showing me some other things.”

Tessa bolted up.  She was as tall as Kyle, about 5-foot 8-inches, and she glared at him face-to-face.  “You heard my dad,” she growled.

Shawn stood up, ready to defend Tessa at a moment’s notice.  But she didn’t need it.

“He can’t stop me from getting what I want,” he said with a shrug.

Tessa was fuming.  She’d made herself very clear.  She shouldn’t have to keep fighting him off.   It was bullshit that he thought he was entitled to her attention. She wanted so bad to show him how much she hated this, but Shawn intervened.

“Hey, man, fuck off,” Shawn said, putting himself between Tessa and Kyle.  “She said no, get over it.”

“You would defend her,” Kyle spat.  “She’s not gonna date you either, asshole, she doesn’t date any of us.  It’s her rule.”

“So?” Shawn said.  “I can’t be polite and want to be friends?”

“Sure,” Kyle sneered.  “That’s all you want.”

“Young!” Coach Hale called.  Tessa had never been so relieved to hear her dad’s voice.  “Back off!”

Kyle glared at Shawn and Tessa before jogging to Coach Hale.  Tessa’s balled fists were finally able to relax as she sat back down against the fence.

“You okay?” Shawn asked, squatting back down next to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said curtly.  She didn’t realize how close he was to her then; if she had, she would’ve calmed down much faster. “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

Shawn smiled. “Don’t thank me,” he said.  “It’s bullshit that he thinks it’s okay to ask you all the time when you’ve clearly said no. Some guys can’t get that through their tiny brains.”

Tessa laughed, hoping Shawn wasn’t one of those guys.

“Mendes is a pretty good guy, huh?” Coach Hale asked Tessa on their ride home.

“He seems like it,” Tessa agreed. “He stood up for me today and told Kyle to fuck off.”

“Damn.  Didn’t expect that from the Canadian kid.”

Tessa laughed.  “Me either.  He was impressed by my notes.”

It was Coach’s turn to laugh.  “Even I’m impressed by those notes, Tess. You’re the best coach we have out there.”

Tess rolled her eyes. “Sure, Dad, because I’m definitely a university baseball coach.”

“You could be if you wanted to.”

“Dad . . .”

“Tess, I’m serious. You know I am.”

Tessa smiled, because she did know.  She knew her dad would love for her to be the first female head coach of a university baseball program.

“But like I said, I actually talked with Mendes for a bit, too. He’s really calm, like strangely calm.  But overall, I really liked him.  If he’s the one you wanna break your rule for . . .”

“Dad,” Tessa protested.

“Tess,” her dad teased. “If you wanna date Mendes, go for it. I’ll be your wingman.  I’m fully supportive of this, honey.”

Tessa laughed.  “I know, dad.  I know.”

Tessa loved batting practice.  To her, there was nothing like the sound of the bat smacking the ball out into the outfield.  She could always tell what kind of hit had been made based on the sound the bat and ball made.  

She sat cross-legged in her spot in front of the first-base fence, watching the Whitecaps take batting practice with her notebook splayed out in her lap.  She gnawed on her lip while she watched, taking notes on her guys.

Benjamin: swings down and under the ball. Needs to even out swing.

Kyle: Swings too early & too hard.  Easy to make chase.  Needs to sit back and wait.

Noah: Swings too late & too hard.  Second-guesses himself.  Confidence.

She looked up from her notes as Shawn stepped into the cage.  Her breath caught for a moment, not expecting to see him up next.  She licked her lips as he set his feet, standing fairly tall with his legs barely bent.  He looked over his shoulder at Coach Henderson, methodically moving his bat like the ticking hand of a clock.  Coach Henderson gently tossed him a ball which Shawn sent sailing into deep left field with a thwack.

Tessa watched as Shawn knocked pitch after pitch into the deep outfield, many of which went soaring over the outfield wall.  She counted the number he hit in a row, trying to find something to critique about his swing.

She caught a small hiccup in his swing.  Really, in his feet.  She thought she saw him shuffle a little extra after he planted his feet, so she stood up to get a closer look.  

Henderson chucked another ball at Shawn and he swung at it, making solid contact.  Tessa watched him plant his front foot too close to his back foot, then scoot it forward as he swung.  It was awkward, this extra sliding motion, and she was sure she could help him fix it.

She padded over to her dad to inform him of what she saw.

“What’s up, Coach?” Tessa’s dad asked.

Shawn was leaving the batting cage, but Tessa stopped him.  “Hang on, Mendes, take like two more, please!”

Coach Henderson looked at Coach Hale, who nodded to confirm Tessa’s request.

“Watch his front foot,” Tessa said, low in her voice.  

Henderson tossed another ball at Shawn, who smacked it straight down center field, but did his weird front foot shuffle, which almost caused him to be late to the ball.  

Coach Hale nodded again. “I see it,” he said to his daughter.  “Good spot, Tess.  It’s taking some of his momentum to the ground and not to the ball.”

Tessa smiled.  “Exactly.”

“Good catch,” he said again.  “You tell Mendes, I’ll tell Henderson.”

“Me? Why do I need to tell him?”

Her dad just winked before walking over to Coach Henderson.  Tessa rolled her eyes before walking back towards the dugout, where Shawn was putting up his bat.

“Hey, Mendes,” she called.

“Hey, Coach, whatcha got for me?” Shawn asked, turning around.  He pulled his helmet off his head and ran his fingers through his dark, damp curls.

Tessa fought back the urge to kiss his stupid rosy cheeks.  “Um, so, I noticed you do this weird foot thing when you hit,” she began.

“Oh shit,” he said, “what is it?”

“It’s, uh, kinda hard to explain, but it’s easier to show you.  Can I see your bat?”

Shawn obliged, handing Tessa his bat. She put her notebook down to take it.

“Okay,” she started, holding the bat in its proper position.  “You pick up your foot just like you’re supposed to, but then you place it too close to your back foot.  It’s bad for your balance, first of all, but then you scoot it up towards the pitcher as you follow through.  I’m worried you’ll hurt yourself.”

Shawn looked thoughtfully at her.  “Can you take a video of me doing it next BP?” he asked.  “I’m kinda confused, but I’ll do my best to work on it.”

“Oh! Yeah!” Tessa’s face felt hot.  Why didn’t she think of that?

“Thanks, Coach,” Shawn said with a half smile.  

Tessa giggled, making the noise that prissy high school girls did when their crush may have looked in their general direction.  It was slightly better than the donkey-turkey noise from the day before, but only slightly.  Why the fuck could she not act normal around him?

“Anything else, Tessa?” he asked expectantly.

Tessa wanted to ask him a million things. What kind of bird was his tattoo? Why did he have a guitar tattoo? How did he get that adorable scar on his cheek? Did he think she was weird? Would he want to get dinner with her sometime? What was his family like? What was his Zodiac sign?

The million questions she had jumbled all together in her brain, causing her to mumbled a smattering of words to Shawn.

“Um, I, uh, I, tattoo, it’s really, um, cool, dinner?”

Tessa wanted to smack herself.  She’d never been like this around her dad’s players or boys in general. What was it about Shawn that made her so nervous?

Shawn raised his eyebrows and blinked. “Pardon?” he asked politely.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Then, louder, she said, “Sorry. Would you, uh, like to have, um, dinner maybe? I know you . . . um . . . eat…”

Shawn smiled. “Yeah, I do eat,” he chuckled.  “I’d love to have dinner.”

“Oh, great!” Tessa said excitedly.  She began to walk off, back towards her dad.  She caught herself halfway out of the dugout, then turned around and went back to Shawn, shaking her head. “I forgot to tell you when and where.”

Shawn was still smiling.  “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, fuck.” Her eyes went wide. She didn’t think she’d get this far. “Um, I, uh, have a house, like with my parents, of course, I’m in college and don’t, like, have my own house, but like, um, I could c-cook something for you tonight?”

“I’d love that,” Shawn said enthusiastically. “Pick me up at 6?”

Tessa’s eyes shone. “Y-yeah! I’ll, uh, I’ll get your number from the roster.”

“Or I could just give it to you here,” he offered, referring to her iPhone that was in her hand as they spoke.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Yeah. Uh. Yeah. That’s, uh, that works.”  She bit her lip, unlocked her phone, and handed it to Shawn. Smiling, he selected the “Contacts” app and put his number in.

Tessa’s heart raced as he handed her phone back to her. “Just shoot me a text!” He said. Tessa nodded, then awkwardly waved as Shawn jogged back to practice.

She looked down at her phone in disbelief.  She saw his name and number illuminated on her screen and smiled.

“Whatcha smiling at, Coach?”

Tessa’s head shot up and she hid her phone.  Her dad stood next to her, grinning from ear to ear.  He’d seen every bit of what had just occurred.

Tessa blushed furiously.  “Got any good date meal ideas for me?”

Coach Hale chuckled.  “How much time do we have?”

“I’m picking him up at six.”

Tessa’s dad nodded slowly, thinking about his options.  “What does he eat?”

Tess froze.  “Um, I’m not sure, Dad, probably food?”

He laughed.  “No shit, Tess.  We’ll go to the store on our way home, how’s that?”

“What do baseball players even eat off the diamond?” Tessa asked with wide eyes.

“Tess, I just asked you that!” Coach laughed.

“Oh, God, Dad, what did I do?” Tessa panicked.

“It’s fine, Tess, I’ve got your back, alright?  What about burgers and brats?  We can grill out together maybe?”

Tessa thought for a moment.  “Yeah,” she said slowly.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Perfect!”

Her dad chuckled  “I’ve gotcha, Tessa, don’t worry.”

Tessa hugged her dad, squeezing him tightly.  “Thanks, Dad,” she said into his chest.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Coach Hale hugged his daughter back, kissing the top of her head.  “I take care of my assistant coaches, don’t you remember?”

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Fiction: Jehovah's Feathers

An essay by Mary Magdalene Farconi, as provided by K. Kitts Art by Leigh Legler

Strapped in his bouncy seat, my son Tyler went off at the exact same moment as the kitchen timer and the doorbell. I verified that nothing was actually gnawing on him and rushed to the brownies. Paul would have to get the door.

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “It’s the bird people.” Being a good girl, she knew not to open the door to strangers, especially those from another planet.

I yelled, “Paul, get the door,” while I yanked the brownies from the oven.

The Home Owners Association bake sale started at 10 AM, and it was already 10:10. In my head, Mrs. Topher, the HOA president, admonished, “In my day, people respected each other and were on time.”

As I dashed toward Tyler, I mumbled, “Yeah, back when Moses parted the Red Sea, most mothers of young children didn’t have to analyze a 270-page watershed impact statement by Monday.”

Before I unbuckled Tyler from his seat, I smelled his problem. The doorbell rang again. “Paul! Get the door!”

From the living room, Cissie yelled, “The bird people are still here.”

I hustled down the hall with Tyler at arm’s length. His room also served as Paul’s home office. Sure enough. Paul had his earbuds in and was playing some computer game. I hip-butted the back of his chair.

Startled, he yelled, “What the–” but stopped in time. We try not to cuss like muleskinners in front of the kids. I handed Tyler over.

“I’m working, Maggie. You do it.” He tried to pass Tyler back.

The doorbell rang a third time. Cissie called, “The bird people are still still here.”

I said, “One, since when is slaying boss monsters a part of your job? And two, it’s Saturday. We agreed on Saturdays you have to help. No questions asked.” As I stomped to the front door, I muttered, “That is if you ever want to have sex again.”

Hand on the knob, I breathed in deeply and exhaled. Bird people are sensitive. I didn’t want to frighten them because they’d take off in a flurry of feathers and shrieks and dump whatever they had in their cloacas. I didn’t have time to hose off the front porch.

I’d worked with several bird people when I’d served as an analyst for the newly established Alien Affairs Bureau. That was until the AAB’s work rules changed and became intolerable for nursing moms. Two months after Tyler was born, I moved to a clean water non-profit with a short commute. The work wasn’t as important, but my hair had stopped falling out. However, when I opened the door, I wondered whether I’d been out of the loop a little too long.

Instead of a group of sleek greenish-blue peacock-cranes, there stood two bedraggled and dull office drones dressed in modified white button-downs and khakis. Their tails were clipped and their wings pressed tightly against their backs. Even the frills on the tops of their heads drooped. They were both so dull in color, I couldn’t tell whether they were male or female, but given the office casual, I guessed males.

Clutched in one of the T-Rex arms that protruded from beneath his breast, the left bird person held a black book. His colleague grasped a plastic sheet upon which text flickered.

I asked, “May I help you?”

Book bird bobbed his head and pressed the first icon on the squawk box on a chain around his neck. In a mellifluous voice, the box intoned, “Good morning! We are in your neighborhood seeking to expand our flock.”

Book bird bobbed his head and pressed the first icon on the squawk box on a chain around his neck. In a mellifluous voice, the box intoned, “Good morning! We are in your neighborhood seeking to expand our flock.”

I frowned. If they were looking for females, they were out of luck. Our HOA categorically refused all building permits for aviaries. And with such poor color, I doubted any female would give them the time of day.

He cocked his head and pressed the second icon. The box asked, “Have you been saved by Jesus?”

I face-palmed. Flocking was extremely important to them. It made sense they’d become a target of some strip mall prophet, but where was their female, and why would she allow this to happen? “To which home nest do you belong?”

“Reverend Vernon P. Hogg,” said the plastic paper bird. He passed the flickering sheet over.

The title read: The Watch Perch. The address running along the top was the old non-denominational church that had sold its parking lot to the highway extension.

Articles flitted past on how Jesus could save the faithful from obesity, drunkenness, and bird lice. “No, I mean your mother bird. Who is she?” I tried to return the plastic paper, but the bird refused to take it.

“Our Most Supreme Singing Heart,” he said.

The book bird squawked and his box translated, “She who laid us has asked us to go into the world and find a new flock.”

That was odd. I’d worked with Singing Heart when they set up the reservation. Alpha females never let go of their sons until they could find another female to take them in. Things had to be bad on the Rez for her to cut them loose.

“Where do you sleep?”

The book bird’s box said, “At the church.”

“Except on bingo night, knitter’s club night, and days with AA meetings.”

“Then we sleep in the park.”

“But that’s more difficult now. They cut down the bushes to keep the homeless out.”

These two were definitely nest-mates.

The phone rang and Paul yelled, “It’s Mrs. Topher. She wants to know where you are.”

“Listen, I’ve got to go. Good luck in finding new flock members.” I shut the door before the bird people could object.

I dumped The Watch Perch into the electronics recycle bin and changed from my mommy clothes–puke-stained shirt and yoga pants–to my work clothes of white shirt and blue pants. My resemblance to the male drones was not lost on me. I grabbed a not too stinky towel from the clothes hamper and nestled the hot pan of brownies on the front floorboards of the van. After fetching Cissie and buckling her into the child seat, Paul strolled out with my purse and Tyler.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to take him with you?”

I tucked my purse behind my seat. “Did you clean out and refill the diaper bag like you promised?”

He made a Homer Simpson d’oh face.

I smiled sweetly. “Then, there’s your answer.”

As I backed out of the driveway, Paul came running from the front door, waving the plastic paper. I powered down the window.

“Take this with you. It keeps crawling out of the recycle bin. It beeps and says you owe at least a five-dollar donation.”

Making a face, I took the paper. “I’ll drop it off at the church on the way back.” I shoved it under the brownies. They were no longer hot enough to melt it. Too bad.

Mrs. Topher was a sturdy woman with a toad-like mouth: thin-lipped and broad. This week her hair was an auburn color on the orange side. She lived on the biggest property with a pool deck the size of our entire house. I would’ve thought a competent stylist was within her budget.

Cissie joined the other kids playing tag outside the HOA’s clubhouse, and I settled in the folding chair next to Mrs. Topher. As I cut and bagged the brownies, she added the label and the price.

“Are these boxed or homemade?”

“I baked them myself.”

She marked them two for a dollar and tossed them in the boxed section. “Because you were forty-five minutes late, I assume you’ll work the table until 12:45?”

It wasn’t a question, but I didn’t mind. There were activities for Cissie, and Mrs. Topher pounced on any poor victim who wandered within ten feet of the table, giving me time to wade through the impact statement. An hour in, Mrs. Topher became agitated after receiving a series of texts and calls.

I tried to ignore her harrumphing and heavy sighs, but it was a losing battle. “You seem upset, Mrs. Topher. Is there anything–”

“The cretin bailed on us.”

I could see Mr. Topher in a cluster of men near the parking lot. So it wasn’t a marital issue.

“This is the third investor. Third! They say they’re interested, but once they see the engineer’s report, they lose my phone number.”

Now I understood. The HOA had been trying to get an investor to take over and finish up the subdivision. The bake sale was to help with attorney’s fees. The original builder had gone belly up when he discovered it was harder to drain a swamp than he’d imagined.

“This idiot is suggesting we donate the land to the state as a designated wetlands.”

“That would take care of–”

Her penciled-in eyebrows arched. “If you’d attended the last meeting, you’d know that the tax write-off will not offset the loss in fees. We’ll have to raise the rates again. If there were only some way we could squash that stupid report.”

“Cuz that wouldn’t be illegal or anything,” I said.

Mrs. Topher stared daggers at me.

~

By 1:15, Cissie and I were at the church. Vernon P. Hogg himself was setting up chairs for the 2 PM book club. Vern looked forty, despite being much younger. From his teeth, I suspected his drug of choice had been meth.

I handed him the plastic paper. “If this thing finds its way back to my house, I’ll report you for littering.”

He sighed and punched in a code. He dropped it in a pile on an old piano with chipped keys. It calmly sat there no longer flashing or inching toward me like a possessed credit card bill.

“Let’s talk about the two bird people,” I said.

“No, let’s not. I was just trying to help them out, and all they’ve brought me is trouble.” He opened a side door and yelled, “Hey, Larry and Curly! Get your feathered asses in here.”

Cissie hid behind me, staring at the scary man. I folded my arms. “If they’re Larry and Curly, who are you? Moe or Shemp?”

“Very funny. I didn’t pick the names, they did.”

The two bedraggled bird people hustled in, bowing and bobbing their long necks. In unison, they clicked an icon on their boxes. “How may we serve you, Father Hogg?”

I raised an eyebrow. Vernon said quickly, “I tol’ you boys. You’re supposed to say, ‘How may we serve Jesus, Father Hogg?'”

The two bird people looked confused and corrected the text associated with that icon.

“It doesn’t matter.” He waved his fingers as if to shoo chickens. “You two are fired. Get out of my church and go darken someone else’s doorstep.” He turned to me. “Are you happy now?”

The two bird people screeched and flapped their clipped wings. “What have we done wrong? How can we make amends?”

They kept tapping the icons repeating those two sentences until Vernon grabbed a mop handle and threatened to beat them. Cissie burst into tears and threw herself in front of the bird people. Her little arms out wide, she yelled, “I won’t let you hurt them!”

Cissie’s action shocked Vernon. He sighed. “I told you all they do is get me in trouble.”

I rested my hand on Cissie’s head. She melted into my leg, wiping snot and tears on the back of her hand. The bird people clustered behind me and froze, as if that made them invisible.

“Jesus!” Vernon shouted. One of them had dumped his cloaca. “Look what I have to clean up!” He spun around twice on the broken-down heel of his faux alligator boots. “I got people comin’! Payin’ people!”

Good thing he didn’t have a cloaca.

“I don’t want them fired,” I said. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of them.”

“Taking advantage, hell. I’m helping them out!”

I pointed to the pile of The Watch Perch. I would’ve waved one in his face, but I feared touching them.

He whined, “I paid their vagrancy tickets for sleeping in the park.”

Hands on hips, I asked, “Did you clip their wings?”

He shook his head. “They have to be clipped to get off the Rez. Some new regulation ‘cuz people claimed they were peeking in windows and messing with security.”

I’d heard about no-fly zones, but I hadn’t thought through all the implications. “Can you keep them for a couple more days while I figure something out?”

“Not those two. They’re dumber than pigeons. I’ll keep the other three.”

“Five? You’re housing five bird people?”

“There’re a dozen under the bridges near the river. They’re pouring off the Rez, and they’re all looking as sad as these two. I think they’re starving.”

I looked at my phone. If I ignored the speed limit, I could get to Singing Heart’s compound in two hours. I called to Cissie, “Sweetheart, help the bird people into the van.”

Cissie’s entire being lit up. “I knew you would save them, mommy. I knew you would!” She herded them like ducks outside. I felt a flicker of pride before reality hit. I hadn’t saved anyone.

~

Larry and Curly strutted through the backyard, eating insects, while I told Paul what happened. He squatted to Cissie’s level. “Did you really do that? Protect those bird people?” She nodded fiercely. He gave her a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

My heart swelled. I kissed Paul on his neck. “You’re a good man.”

Cissie ran off to tell her dollies about her adventures. I fetched the car keys.

Paul shook his head. “It’s late.”

“I’ve got to see for myself. Something’s up.”

He looped his arm around my neck. “Sweetie, you can’t save the world.”

“No, but I simply walked away, and that’s not working for me either.” The emotion made my voice crack.

“You were burned out. With the commute and Tyler–”

“Yeah, but if I don’t do anything at all, then I’m part of the problem. I don’t want that to be the lesson I teach Cissie.”

He met my eye. “After what Cissie did today, are you seriously worried?”

I smiled but hung my head. Paul got out his wallet and handed me cash.

“What’s this for?”

“Gas. But I’m keeping the rest ‘cuz I’m not making dinner. I’m ordering pizza.”

~

I entered Reservation land at 4:40. It bordered the river in a swampy valley that produced mostly mosquitoes. Singing Heart’s high status had afforded her first choice in picking her home nest site. It was the closest to the blacktop. The climate was hot and humid, but the birds liked it that way. I kept my windows up and the AC on. Singing Heart’s people on average looked better than the two drones, but there were no children in the crèche and even the females were out in the river working.

The two male guards at the entrance of Singing Heart’s aviary were still resplendent with long tails, elegant wings, and piercing black eyes. They sported the sharpened beak spikes and leg spurs of their class. One recognized me and asked me to wait. He sent a small messenger male inside. After a few minutes, I was ushered into the geodesic dome that functioned as Singing Heart’s main dormitory.

Inside resembled a rain forest arboretum. Industrial fans created a slight breeze and made it easier for me to breathe. I walked slowly to keep from sweating too much. Designed for visitors and fledglings, the path wound upward. The adults glided from perches set along the struts two-thirds of the way up the sides. The top of the curved path opened onto a platform for meetings. Above that sat Singing Heart’s nest. One of her daughters roosted in it. The other nests lay empty.

Singing Heart’s frill was up and her feathers fluffed. On the platform, her brown and green plumage shone brightly in the late afternoon sun, but in the dappled places among the plants, she’d have blended in perfectly. Her neck extended, she stood tall. My eye met her beak. For the first time in her presence, I felt the flutter of discomfort and fear, as if the trouble–whatever it may be–was somehow my fault. I asked, “Did you release two males?”

Singing Heart’s wings came away from her body, and all the other birds in the dome came to attention. “Yes. Why?”

Out of nowhere one of the male guards landed with a thump next to me.

I put my hand out in a placating motion. “They’re at my house.”

Singing Heart lifted her knees one at a time and shook out her feathers. The other birds relaxed, and the guard bird moved to the edge of the platform but did not fly off.

“They are good men, but we have no room for them.”

“May I ask why?”

“Come. Walk with me.”

Singing Heart could’ve glided to the exit in a heartbeat, but she walked slowly, one long stride after another, so I could keep up. Once outside of the dome, Singing Heart flicked her tail feathers. The guard remained behind.

“Children can be impetuous and impatient,” she said.

“Are you talking about these two males?” I asked.

“No. My eldest daughter. She couldn’t control herself and fertilized two eggs. I’m sure you saw her nesting.”

“Are resources so tight that you don’t have room for two more?”

“It’s a matter of leadership. If my home nest doesn’t control its population, I can’t ask that of others.”

“The valley looks lush, is there a shortage of food?”

“Your government insists that unless we put in a water treatment plant, we can have no population growth. They say we’re putting too much nitrogen into the water, but they won’t allow us to sell our technology, or use it to back a security you call municipal bonds.”

I pretended to examine the foliage to hide my chagrin. Singing Heart could read facial expressions, and her sight was superior to humans. Like most avians, she had an extra protein in the back of her eye and could see into the ultraviolet range. Her home star was very active and produced a lot of UV. In fact, it had become so active, it was eroding their planet’s atmosphere. That’s why they’d come to Earth, refugees from a natural disaster.

It was my fault. The clean water non-profit I worked for had been responsible for some of those clean water laws. Talk about unintended consequences. Now I understood why the state hadn’t fought the legislation. It was never about clean water. It was about population control. The non-profit and I had been suckered.

“How about making a home nest in town where there are sewers?” I asked.

“None of my daughters can get building permits.”

My own damn HOA had contributed to that problem.

We continued to the river. The water was clean but the banks boggy. Singing Heart waded out into the dark mud. She stretched her neck. It ballooned and she made a whooping roar that ended in a bellowing meow. All the females stopped what they were doing and responded. She called and they repeated for several rounds. The tone and pattern changed but not the volume. From downstream came a second set of calls and responses. When it did, Singing Heart shook her feathers and rejoined me on hard ground. The call would wind its way down the river to the end of the valley.

I didn’t need the translator. It was a gratitude psalm. A tear dripped down my cheek.

“Magdalene? What distresses you?”

My chin quivered. “How can you sing of gratitude considering how we treat you?”

“You’ve taken in my two sons. You cannot imagine my relief.”

It had been a sheer accident. And for how long could I keep them? An aspirin for a brain tumor.

Singing Heart asked, “You left the AAB because you were having difficulties with a fledgling? Is he well?”

“I left because it was too much stress to deal with a toddler, a nursing infant, a sexist boss, and an hour commute each way.” I blushed, ashamed of my pitiful problems. “I can’t imagine how you handle the stress of this place.”

Singing Heart bobbed her head. “I don’t do it alone. I have my flock. Your culture of complete independence is foolish.” She clucked and the box intoned, “You will do better now that you have my two sons. We have more to teach you than technology.”

“Technology!” I pointed to the birds in the river. “Your daughters all have equivalents of Ph.D.s, and they are reduced to stringing nets in a river.”

“Do you feel reduced when you take care of your fledglings?”

I remained silent. There were seasons in life, but my boss and my culture didn’t understand that, so I did feel less than no matter how wrong it was. I lifted my chin. “I make no promises, but now that I understand the issues, I can work on solutions.”

Singing Heart brushed me with a wing a sign of gratitude. But in this case, I took it as a gesture of forgiveness.

~

On Monday, instead of summarizing that 270-page impact statement, I presented the plight of the bird people. The staff members were divided as to what to do, but they agreed to an emergency board meeting to discuss the possible realignment of the mission of the non-profit. We were small and disorganized, but it was a start.

Moving on to the second prong of my master plan, I cornered Kendra–our one and only lawyer–before she could slip away to pick up her kids from school.

I handed her a flash drive with the HOA covenant rules. “My question is simple. Can I force the HOA to accept an application to build an aviary?”

“You are taking this personally,” said Kendra.

“I want to change the narrative from NIMBY to YIMBY.”

“YIMBY?”

“Yes, In My Back Yard.”

Kendra smiled. “I’ll go over this tonight and get back to you.”

~

A week later, I was sitting in Mrs. Topher’s living room with the finished proposal. Mrs. Topher’s décor was 1970s day-glo. It explained the clown hair. I wanted to get down to business, but Mrs. Topher wanted to play hostess. She provided fat-free, taste-free cookies and iced tea so sweetened the sugar had precipitated into the bottom of the glass. My fillings ached.

“I hear there are two avians living in your home,” said Mrs. Topher.

I’d read the rules so many times I knew that unrelated folk were frowned upon, but not live-in help. I smiled. “They provide childcare and cleaning services.”

I expected Mrs. Topher to warn me of the dangers of salmonella or something, but instead she nodded slyly. “Yes, I’ve heard the labor laws don’t apply. You don’t have to pay unemployment or match social security.” She patted me on the knee. “How smart of you. It must be nice to finally be able to afford help.”

Ripping off Mrs. Topher’s arm and beating her to death with it would not advance my agenda. Instead, I asked, “So you have no issues with bird people?”

“Not if they have a job, know their place. Of course not. I’m not a racist.”

“Excellent. I have a buyer for the rest of the subdivision.”

Mrs. Topher lit up, and not just from her spray tan.

I explained the details of how Singing Heart’s daughter would buy into the subdivision and build an aviary. “And here’s the best part, because they’ll be part of the community, they’ll pay yearly fees. It’s a win-win.”

Mrs. Topher’s face darkened like a summer thunderstorm. “It won’t pass.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll vote against it. This is a human community.”

My time at the non-profit taught me not to argue. I’d just have to go grassroots.

Mrs. Topher opened a leather slipcase and produced a typed list. “I’ll save you time. These people will vote with me no matter what. I engender loyalty that way.”

Was she bluffing? I reminded myself not to engage. I thanked her for the list and tried to let myself out, but Hercules and Atlas were loose. I had to wait until Mr. Topher corralled the two guard dogs. They were well muscled, but a little too lean. I wondered if they were actually vicious or just hungry.

~

After dinner, I made some phone calls. Mrs. Topher hadn’t bluffed. She had a solid thirty-five percent. The vote would fail. I wailed in frustration and flopped facedown into all the maps and papers I’d spread out on the table. Larry tapped the floor with one foot. I rested my chin in my hand. “Need help getting Cissie to bed?”

He typed on his controller, and the box said, “You are distressed. It is our role as men of the house to relieve that distress. How may we help?”

Just being asked made me smile. I hadn’t explained about the proposal to shield them from disappointment, but the worst had come to pass so there was no point in hiding it. I explained the situation. While doing so, Curly joined us with Cissie padding right behind, her Disney toothbrush in hand.

I pointed on the map. “The woman who lives here will vote against the proposal, and all the people on this list,” I held up the paper, “will vote with her.”

Larry touched my shoulder with a beak, a very personal gesture. “Then all is not lost. All you have to do is change one person’s mind instead of thirty. We have faith in you.”

“Of course we do, mommy.” Cissie hugged me.

Yeah. Only one.

~

After the kids were in bed and the bird people asleep, I gathered the covenant rules and binder clipped them. I found a loose page under the map of the subdivision. It outlined the rules governing utility easements. Something caught my eye. I compared the Google satellite view with the subdivision map. The original map didn’t have Mrs. Topher’s giant pool and deck. I checked the property lines, the easements, and compared it to the satellite view.

“Son of a–” I fished out two steaks from the deep freezer and shoved them into the microwave to defrost.

Twenty minutes later, dressed all in black with a measuring tape in one hand and a bag ‘o steaks in the other, I stood at the Tophers’ fence. Hercules and Atlas barreled up barking and snarling.

“Hey, boys.” I waved the steaks. “Let’s find out. Are you vicious or hungry?”

~

The next day I again sat in Mrs. Topher’s living room, suffering another glass of sludge tea.

She smiled unctuously. “You said you needed a change to the agenda?”

I’d used that as the excuse. There was no way this woman would forfeit an opportunity to gloat. “Yes.”

“Do you want to cancel the vote?”

“No. I have discovered a violation.” I leaned in. “A serious violation. The board needs to know so they can act.”

Mrs. Topher licked her lips. “Do tell.”

I handed her a manila folder. Eagerly, she flipped it open. She scowled. “This is my address.”

I grinned. “Yes, and your pool crosses into the easement by nine inches. You’ll have to rip it out.”

“I’ll get a variance.”

“That’ll take 2/3rds too. Do you think you’ll have that many friends after they find out you could’ve solved both the swamp problem and reduced their fees by allowing the aviary?”

She tossed the folder onto the coffee table. “That’s blackmail.”

“May I count on your vote and those of your friends?”

As I rounded the van to the driver’s side, Mrs. Topher released Hercules and Atlas. They bolted straight for me, but instead of mauling me, they tried to lick me to death. Disgusted, Mrs. Topher slammed her front door. Such bad doggies.

~

Two months later, the subdivision threw a party for the groundbreaking. Larry and Curly’s flight feathers had filled in and their tails were elongating. Their crests stood high and their eyes shone. By Christmas, they might be ready for their own set of leg spurs.

They followed Tyler, as he stumbled across the lawn. He’d grown into a mobile terror, squealing and clapping his hands. Seeing the three of them walk across the lawn, my heart warmed. Flocks were nice.

The ceremony had called all the displaced birds from miles around. They would all apply to become a part of the newest home nest. All but Larry and Curly, of course. First, she was their sister, and second, they’d become fully integrated into our household. I had become their mother bird.

Paul strolled over with Cissie on his shoulders. Behind them stood Mrs. Topher, her hair now a yellow-orange. She preened for a local news team. “Yes. We are a progressive neighborhood. I was instrumental in getting the permits.”

Paul nodded towards Larry and Curly. “Boy howdy, are those two working out, especially now that you’re back at the AAB.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” I said. “Soon, we might not be able to afford them.”

Paul frowned. “Why?”

“My next project is to get the bird people labor protections.”

Cissie said in her father’s ear, “Yes, daddy. Do you know what labor protections are?”

As he bee-lined to the food table, he said, “Yes, I do, Cissie. But please explain them to me anyway.”

My attention turned to three clipped birds in white button-downs and khakis who rushed toward Larry, Curly, and Tyler. The leader of the three clutched a black book. The other two clutched plastic papers, which flickered with text.

The leader squawked and the box translated, “Good day, gentle birds. We are seeking to increase our flock. Have you been saved by Jesus?”

Larry and Curly stood tall, their necks extended. In unison, they said, “Thank you, but we have already been saved, saved by Mary Magdalene.”

Ms. Mary Magdalene Farconi, a working mother, is a G-11 in the Labor Protections Department of the Alien Affairs Bureau. She supervises a governmental hotline for reporting labor abuse of Avian Nationals and is currently working with cities all over the US to design and develop aviaries within human communities.

Dr. Kathy Kitts, a former geology professor, served as a science team member on the NASA Genesis Discovery Mission. Before that, she directed a planetarium for nine years. Her latest speculative short fiction has appeared in Amazing, James Gunn’s Ad Astra, and Mad Scientist Journal. Her latest short story collection, Getting What You Need, is now available on Amazon. Born and raised in the southwest, she is currently living in the high desert of New Mexico.

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

“Jehovah’s Feathers” is © 2019 K. Kitts Art accompanying story is © 2019 Leigh Legler

Fiction: Jehovah’s Feathers was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal