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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year

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But it’s Better if You Do | SR x Fem! Reader

Summary - the Blue Siren strip club is the last place Spencer Reid wants to spend his birthday. And the absolute last thing he needs is to fall for you, the magnetic exotic dancer who Morgan and Luke pay to give him a birthday dance.

A/N - as a rule, I am not technically writing Spencer x Reader right now but this is for @imagining-in-the-margins damsel in distress challenge although it’s a very vague fit. Kind of anti damsel in distress? I don’t know, let’s just roll with it. Candy Shop by 50 Cent is the song used in Magic Mike XXL when Adam Rodriguez does his lil sexy dance so the song choice was an homage to that. Loosely based around the Panic at the Disco song “But it’s Better if You Do.”

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Exotic Dancer Fem! Reader

Category - fluff I suppose? Maybe mild angst. Happy ending.

CW - exotic dancer reader, Morgan and Luke are bad wingmen, hints at lesbian Emily, strip clubs, snarky Spencer, drinking, swearing, Spencer and his inappropriate erection, brief mentions of masturbation, making out.

WC - 8.2k

Oh, isn't this exactly where you'd like me?

I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.

Praying for love and a lap dance,

And paying in naivety.

The last place Spencer Reid ever expected to find himself on his fortieth birthday was at the Blue Siren Club just off of Dupont Circle. For starters, Spencer wasn’t a big drinker so going to a bar didn’t appeal to him on any other given night, let alone his birthday, but there was much more to the Blue Siren than just being your run of the mill club.

The Blue Siren was well known as being one of the most reputable strip clubs in the district. According to the extensive research Spencer had done when he found out he was to be coming here, it was one of the more exclusive clubs, and if Morgan was to be believed it was popular among law enforcement and other government officials due to its clandestine nature.

From the outside, the Blue Siren looked just like a normal club. If you were to pass it by you may not even glance up at the exposed brick facade and black front door. In the lone window in the front sat a small blue neon sign boosting the club's name and that was all. You wouldn’t be alone in walking right past the establishment without batting an eyelid.

When Luke had suggested the idea to spend his birthday here, Spencer’s immediate reaction had been laughter, because it had to be a joke, right? Strip clubs and Spencer Reid were not a combination anyone who knew him would put together, surely?

“Why are you laughing?” Luke frowned at him, folding his arms across his chest.

“Because you’re making a joke?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Spencer’s laughter came to a sudden halt and he stared at Luke in disbelief. “You…you seriously think that’s how I want to spend my birthday?”

“I was talking to Morgan and-“

“No sentence in the history of the English language that starts with “I was talking to Morgan” has ever had a happy ending.” Spencer scoffed.

“It’s the happy ending part we’re trying to achieve.” Luke smirked at him, a playful hint in his eye that caused Spencer to swallow thickly at the implication.

“Y-you…I…”

“When was the last time you got laid, Reid?”

Spencer felt the moment his cheeks burnt with an intense embarrassment. In all the years he’d known Luke they had never once discussed their sex lives. In fact, Spencer made it a rule to never discuss his sex life with anyone.

“That’s a deeply personal question.” He shrunk in on himself.

“Which is Spencer Reid for, it’s been a while.” Luke smiled knowingly.

“I…I don’t have to answer that.”

“You kinda just did.”

“Regardless,” Spencer shook his head, trying to steer the conversation off of his sex life, or lack thereof. “Strip clubs aren’t brothels. The women don’t sleep with their customers.”

“Morgan and I decided it was slightly more appropriate than buying you a hooker.”

If Spencer thought he was embarrassed before, he was now absolutely mortified.

“I don’t need help getting “laid”, as you so eloquently put it.” Spencer shook his head, turning back to his desk and sorting through some papers to distract himself.

“Don’t you?” An amused voice came from behind him and Spencer groaned, running his hands through his hair. He turned slowly in his chair to see Emily standing over him, an almost delighted look in her eyes. “What are we talking about?”

“Morgan and I want to take Reid to Blue Siren for his birthday next week.” Luke filled her in.

“Oh that place is great!” She beamed. “Can I come?”

“Where are we going?” Rossi seemingly appeared as if from nowhere with his coffee and newspaper.

Spencer grumbled, face palming his hand as the group around him gathered.

“We’re taking Spence to Blue Siren for his birthday.” Emily happily told him.

“Blue Siren? Huh,” Rossi nodded his head. “I haven’t been there for years, count me in. I’ll even see if Hotch wants to join.”

“For the love of god.” Spencer muttered against his hand. No one seemed to hear him and if they did, they ignored him.

“Join what? What did I miss?” Garcia came tottering in on her too high heels, laptop balanced precariously in the crook of her arm.

“Apparently the kid wants to go to a strip club for his birthday.” Rossi informed her.

“No, No.” Spencer shook his head, looking up at them. “The kid does not want to go to a strip club for his birthday.”

“Oh isn’t it the big four-oh?” Garcia bounced up and down in excitement. “You have to do something special for it!”

“I highly doubt a strip club can be deemed as special.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Strip club?” Matt strolled into the conversation now and Spencer wanted to just vanish into thin air.

“Yeah we’re taking Reid for his birthday. Want in?” Luke asked him.

“As long as no one ever tells Kristy.” Matt chuckled.

“What aren’t we telling Kristy?” Tara popped her head up from her desk, Spencer didn’t even know she was there.

“That we’re going to a strip club for Reid’s birthday.” Matt offered her a sly smile.

“Oh sweet! Count me in.” She grinned.

“How about you guys go, since you’re all so excited about it and just tell me how it was? I’ll stay home with a book or something.” Spencer sighed but no one acknowledged him.

The door opened again and JJ meandered in, all eyes turning to look at her.

“Uh, hi?” She laughed awkwardly as she walked across the bullpen.

“Have you ever been to a strip club, Jayje?”

Spencer groaned loudly, crumbling in on himself and smacking his head against the hardwood of his desk. Sometimes it was just easier to go along with these things than try to fight them.

And so, only slightly against his will, Spencer let them talk him into spending his birthday in the last place he ever expected to find himself, least of all on his birthday. The whole team was in attendance, plus Morgan and Hotch, he could only assume to have a front row seat to his complete mortification. They met outside the club, waiting for JJ who was late due to the fact she couldn't get Michael to go to sleep. Luke had gone so far as to pick Spencer up from his apartment, which was in the opposite direction, just so the birthday boy wouldn’t have an excuse for ditching them at the last minute.

“Is that really what you’re wearing to go to a strip club, pretty boy?” Morgan nudged Spencer in the arm.

Spencer glanced down at his attire, what he would call a sensible outfit but was clearly not what he was supposed to be wearing given Morgan’s judgemental gaze. It wasn’t a far cry from what he wore everyday, it wasn’t as though Morgan had never seen him dress like this before. He’d donned a perfectly pressed pair of black slacks, pairing them with his old faithful converse, a crisp blue button down and his black Comme Des Garçons cardigan Rossi had gifted him for his birthday a few years ago. He’d decided against a tie, because that seemed too formal for the occasion even for him.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He frowned, pouting a little.

He quickly eyed up the other men who were all wearing jeans and t-shirts, Rossi and Hotch included. He couldn’t even get started on how strange it was to see Hotch in jeans.

“You look like a TA.” Matt shrugged.

“I always look like a TA. Do you guys think I suddenly dress differently outside of work?” He folded his arms.

“I kind of hoped you did.” Luke smirked.

“Isn’t it supposed to be my birthday?” Spencer grumbled. “I’m already at the last place I want to celebrate so please can we just leave my outfit choices alone?”

“I think you look dapper.” Tara patted his shoulder like he was her annoying kid brother or something.

“Thanks?” He pulled a face.

“And speaking of birthdays!” Garcia was rummaging in her oversized purse before pulling something out. “Voila!”

Spencer frowned at the large, slightly garish, blue and yellow badge proclaiming “Forty Today” in obnoxious bubble font. It was bigger than Garcia’s hand, she surely didn’t expect him to wear that.

“Uh, no offence but there is no way in hell you are getting me to wear that.” He took it from her anyway, slotting it in the front of his satchel.

“Spoil sport.” Emily chided him. “Anyone would think you don’t like your birthday!”

“I don’t very much like this particular birthday.” He muttered under his breath. “Where is Jennifer? I’d really like to just get this over with.”

As if on cue, he heard heels on the concrete ground and seconds later the blonde appeared, dragging someone behind her. She smiled as she came round the corner, tugging Will into view under the streetlamp.

Oh good, more people to witness my humiliation.

“Hey guys, sorry we’re late!” She gave them apologetic glances.

“Will, I didn’t know you’d be joining us.” Penelope hugged JJ and then Will.

“You think I was going to sit at home while my wife goes to a strip club?” He chuckled. “I may never get the opportunity to have permission to do this again in my life. Thanks Spence.”

“You’re so very welcome.” Spencer replied sarcastically. “Can we just get on with this now?”

“That’s the spirit.” Luke chuckled, draping his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and leading him through the non-descript door.

Inside a long, narrow corridor stretched out before them, the distant thrums of bass heavy music, causing the floor to feel like it was vibrating beneath him. A burly doorman awaited them, so broad he almost encompassed the entire corridor.

“Hey man, I have a reservation under Alvez. It's this guy's big four-oh.” Luke gripped Spencer tightly, shaking him a little.

The doorman glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand, scanning over it for a second before looking back up at the motley crew, clearly trying to discern if he needed to card anyone but it was immediately clear he didn’t.

“Follow me,” He motioned for them to come with him.

Luke took the lead, dragging Spencer by his hold on his shoulders. The music got louder the further down the black corridor they got. It was dark and Spencer had to squint to see the man only a few feet in front of him, the corridor only lit by a single red light bulb swinging from the low ceiling that Spencer almost had to duck to walk under.

At the end of the corridor was another door and the music had reached fever pitch at this point. Spencer felt as though he could taste the beat, he could certainly feel it palpitating in his chest. The doorman shoved open the door and Spencer blinked against the sudden wave of lights that smacked against his retinas.

Luke finally let go of his shoulders, the doorway too narrow for the two of them to pass through together and motioned Spencer in front of him. Spencer stepped into the room, surprised by the sudden change in flooring, casting his eyes down to see a plush burgundy carpet now under foot. He tried not to contemplate how many germs were living in that carpet, how many drinks had been spilled and soaked into it over the years, how many other fluids it might have absorbed on top of it. He was sure this place would light up like a christmas tree under a black light.

He grimaced, looking back up and following in the doormans footsteps across the room. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, desperate not to look around and take in his surroundings but his morbid curiosity got the better of him.

Admittedly if he’d imagined what the inside of a strip club would look like this would have been plucked straight from his imagination. The main lighting was low, shielding most of the seating area in an almost ominous glow. The booths were made up of plush, gold velvet sofas, large dark oak tables in the centre of them. There was a long bar on one side, made of the same oak only its surface seemed to glitter when the light hit it. Over the back were two large velveteen curtains, concealing what Spencer could only assume was the private dance areas. There were four raised platforms each with their own golden, floor to ceiling pole in the centre, blue spotlights pointed at each one. Each podium had a scantily clad young girl dancing in upon it and Spencer quickly averted his gaze again, not wanting to be seen to objectify them.

“You know the whole reason they are there is to be looked at right?” Morgan was suddenly at his side, nudging him in the arm.

“It feels very…voyeuristic.” Spencer swallowed.

“Have you seriously never been to a strip club, Reid?” Matt was now at his other side.

“Why is that so hard to believe? Do I really strike you as the kind of guy who goes to strip clubs?” They arrived at the table and Morgan motioned for Spencer to take a seat while the others sat around him.

“It’s usually the quiet ones.” Morgan smirked at him.

“I cannot believe Savannah is ok with you being here.”

“She was fine with it when I told her it was for your birthday.” Morgan winked at him.

“Do I need to tell you what I told Luke? This is not a brothel, I am not getting laid here.” Spencer sighed in exasperation.

“It's not too late to take you to a brothel, kid.” Rossi smirked, before excusing himself to the bar.

“This is the lesser of the two evils, trust me.” Spencer sat back against the plush seat and tried to keep his eyes to himself. It was a difficult feat when just in front of them was another podium with a blonde woman dancing in the skimpiest pair of underwear Spencer had ever seen.

“No deflowering of boy wonder tonight, please.” Garcia giggled.

“Deflower…you are aware I am not a virgin, right?” Spencer pulled a face, was that how people saw him?

“I was joking, Spence, calm down.” Garcia rolled her eyes, still tittering to herself.

“It's that kind of defensive attitude that makes people think you are.” Luke, who was sitting on his left, nudged him.

“I’m fairly certain if I said the same to you, you would be just as defensive.” Spencer shook his head.

Just then, Rossi returned carrying a tray of champagne flutes and setting them on the table in the centre. He was closely followed by another young woman carrying an ice bucket in each hand, each with a bottle of the club's most expensive champagne chilling inside.

Spencer didn’t want to look, really didn’t want to be seen to objectify, but the scent of lavender perfume seemed to flood his senses, his brain, and he could no longer think straight all of a sudden. His eyes which had been attached to the floor glanced over to the pair of deep purple, satin peep toe heels which were standing right in front of him. Slowly his eyes trailed upwards, over a set of long, smooth legs, until meeting a silk pair of dangerously tiny panties, matching the shoes in colour, which he quickly scanned over. His eyes worked up the torso until they came to the chest and the purple silk bra that really left very little to the imagination. Swallowing thickly, his eyes continued their ascent to the face and that’s when time seemed to slow to a halt.

Spencer quivered, actually trembled as he took in your soft features and dazzling eyes. The smile on your lips as you looked at him seemed genuine, and not at all like it was a pain for you to be here. You set down the ice buckets and went about opening one of the bottles, pouring everyone a glass. When you poured Spencer’s glass, bending a little as you did so, his eyes couldn’t help the way they dipped to your cleavage spilling out over the top of your bra.

He quickly snapped his gaze away and thanked you with a shaky smile. He crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to hide an arising problem in his pants.

“I’m Y/N, I’ll be your host for the evening.” You had to speak loudly to be heard by everyone over the pulsing music in the club. “Which one of you is the birthday boy?”

Your eyes flicked between the men in the group, well all of them except the all guy who had paid for the drinks. You’d been informed it was a fortieth birthday, there was no way it was him.

“This guy right here,” Morgan grinned, gripping Spencer by the shoulders.

You looked back at the slightly shy, uptight man in his shirt and cardigan, who was holding onto his champagne flute for dear life. He was not your usual clientele, if you didn’t know any better you would think he didn’t want to be here at all.

“Well, I guess it’s my lucky night.” You couldn’t help but wink at him and even in the low light you saw the way his cheeks instantly flushed pink.

Usually in your line of work, exotic dancing, not stripping, thank you very much, the men you were paid to dance for were older, usually kind of creepy. Admittedly none of the younger men at the table were bad on the eyes, but this one was especially handsome, even if he was absolutely pertrided.

“What’s your name, stud?” You placed one hand on your hip and the other you held out for him to shake.

You saw him swallow, taking a sip of his drink as if to lubricate his mouth so he could speak.

“S-Spencer.” He took your hand and shook it. It was warm and so much larger than your own, even if it was a little sweaty.

“Nice to meet you, S-Spencer.” You teased, hoping to ease some tension but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

He shrunk in on himself, grimacing a little and looking as though he would quite literally rather be anywhere else in the world.

“You too.” His voice jumped several octaves.

Most of the rest of the team watched in amusement at Spencer’s discomfort, all of them aside from Emily who had wandered off to watch a redhead dance, tossing dollar bills at her and Luke who although was still seated, clearly had his eyes on the blonde on the podium in front of them.

“So, shall we get to the good stuff?” You asked him now and he almost choked on his drink.

“G-good stuff?” His eyes widened in terror.

“Your friends here paid for you to have a private birthday dance. They didn’t tell you?”

Spencer clenched his jaw and turned to his friends, anger leaching from his eyes.

“I would like to go on record and say I did not invest any money in this particular endeavour.” Hotch was quick to speak up.

“This is just from me and Alvez. Happy birthday, stud.” Morgan winked at him.

If Spencer was a violent man, he would have wrung Morgan’s neck, maybe bashed his and Luke’s heads together until they lost consciousness. He was fairly certain after all his years on the job he could murder them both and get away with it.

Maybe if you hadn’t been there, standing over him and looking so goddamn delicious in his favourite colour as well, he might have given the two men an ear full. But it wasn’t the time or place and so he swallowed his anger, keeping it bottled up until later and turning back to you.

“Let’s just…get this over with.” Spencer stood up, grabbing his glass and the full bottle of champagne, god knows he was going to need it, and following you towards one of the curtained off areas.

You held the curtain back for him to enter first and he did so without letting himself think about what was going to happen when the two of you were alone. The private room was much the same as the main room, only smaller with no bar. There was another plush golden couch in the centre, a smaller raised platform with a pole on the far wall. The wallpaper was a deep, cherry red, swirled with black and a gold chandelier hung from the ceiling offering, once again, very little light.

Spencer could only assume he was supposed to sit, so slightly reluctantly he dragged his pathetic ass to the couch and sat in the centre of it. He downed the remains of his champagne before swiftly uncorking the bottle. You couldn’t help the way your body reacted to his large, veiny hand expertly pulling the cork from the bottle, like it was the easiest thing in the world. You shuddered a little at the thought of what else his hands might be capable of.

He discarded the glass on the floor and opted instead to drink straight from the bottle, not something Spencer would ever usually do, but this whole night was so out of the ordinary for him, he decided to just lean into it. You came and stood in front of him, hands on your hips as you looked down on him.

“Not big into sharing?” You smirked at him.

“You…I assumed because you were working…”

You chuckled, reaching out and taking the bottle from his hands and taking a hefty sip. You felt the bubbles tickle the back of your throat and branch out towards your brain.

“I can indulge a little, as long as I don’t get off my face. Besides, the alcohol helps when the customer is particularly…” you searched for the right word. “Old. Ugly. Generally gross.”

Spencer frowned at you, processing your words.

“I guess Alvez and Morgan didn’t spring for the package where you pretend to be nice to me.” He tried to not sound as pathetic as he felt but failed miserably.

To his surprise you giggled in response, handing him back the champagne.

“Trust me, stud, you’re one customer I don’t need to drink to have fun with.” You winked at him and heard a little whimper leave his lips. He tried to cover it up by drinking more.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against the bottle top. “Let’s just…I don’t suppose we can just sit here and pretend you gave me a lap dance?”

“Not a chance.” You smiled, sauntering on your heels over to the stereo setup in the corner. You hit play and music pulsed into the room through the speakers situated in each corner. Spencer woefully recognised the song as 50 Cent’s Candy Shop, he’d heard Morgan listen to it on more than a few occasions over the years.

You strutted back over to him, wiggling your hips to the music as you went. Spencer tried to keep his eyes trained on the bottle as he drank, refusing to let himself look at you. You made it back over to him and once again took the bottle from his hands. You sipped from it delicately, bending over to place it on the floor, ensuring to give Spencer a show of your ass as you did so.

A low hiss left his lips, probably at the realisation you were wearing a thong. God you were going to enjoy this.

You stood back up and started swaying to the music, stepping between his open legs. He looked up at you through frightened doe eyes, the most beautiful shade of brown you’d ever seen. His long, messy curls fell in his face and his pouty bottom lip was too kissable for words. You shook that thought off as fast as you could.

You turned you away from him, thinking it easier if you didn’t look at his gorgeous face. You knew his eyes went straight to your bare ass, you could practically feel his gaze on you.

“You can touch me, Spencer, just nowhere inappropriate please.” Really you wanted those hands to touch you everywhere inappropriate but that kind of behaviour was frowned upon within the walls of the club.

“I’m…I’m good.” He croaked.

You smiled to yourself as you slowly lowered yourself into his lap, perching at first on his knees before wiggling backwards.

Spencer gasped loudly as your ass settled into his crotch and without even looking at him you knew he would be one hundred shades of red.

It certainly wasn’t the first time a man had gotten hard when you’d given them a lap dance and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. It may well be the first time you’d enjoyed it though.

“Jesus Christ.” He whimpered, your back now flush with his chest, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “I am so, so sorry. This is humiliating.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” You grinded against him in time to the music. “I know I am attractive and I am also half naked. Honestly, I’d be a little offended if you weren’t excited by that.”

“Right. Right.” Spencer nodded, wishing he could reach the champagne bottle. “So uh…how does one get into this line of work? Stripping.”

He needed to try and take his mind off of how unfathomably good you felt rolling your ass against his dick.

“I’m not a stripper.” You chided him, pinching his knee with your long acrylic nails as punishment. “I’m an exotic dancer. I don’t take my clothes off. Well, no more so than this.”

He grumbled at the pain you inflicted on his leg but the pleasure more than outweighed it.

“Apologies, I hope I wasn’t out of line.”

“It’s ok, it’s a common misconception. And I started working here to help pay my student loans. I stayed because I love what I do.” You grinded particularly hard against him and he whimpered against your neck.

“You went to college?” He sounded surprised.

“Yes, I’m not some bimbo, stud.” You rolled your eyes, another common misconception.

“Sorry.” He clenched his jaw, his cock twitching dangerously in his pants. “What uh, what did you study?”

“Psychology.”

“No kidding?” He sounded genuinely impressed. “You have a degree in psychology and you work here?”

You suddenly turned around, kneeling over Spencer, one leg hooked over each of his thighs. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, swallowing thickly.

“Look, you’re cute but don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of moron and try to make me feel like working here makes me less of a person.” You reached and gripped his jaw, digging your fake nails into his stubbly cheeks.

“I…I didn’t mean it like that, I-“

“I choose to work here.” You cut him off, lowering yourself so you were seated in his lap, straddling him. “I enjoy working here. It gives me a sense of power, I’m choosing to show off my body, to turn men like you into pathetic messes.”

Spencer moaned, didn’t even try to disguise it. You let go of his face and went to stand up but Spencer surprised you when his hands flew to your hips, gripping you firmly and keeping you in place.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He spoke, for the first time sounding close to confident. “You’re stunning and clearly good at your job.” He nodded down to his crotch and how he was straining against his slacks. “I didn’t mean to sound patronising or anything like that. I was merely trying to make conversation and I’m sorry if I upset you. But quite frankly, Y/N, if I don’t keeping talking I’m going to do something really fucking stupid.”

You narrowed your eyes on him, stilling your movements as the music came to end. He kept his grip on your hips and you found yourself a little dizzy by the firmness in which he held you.

“Stupid like what?” Your chest heaved with heavy breaths and Spencer’s eyes briefly flicked down and he hissed again at the sight.

“Something that could probably get you fired, and neither of us wants that.” He grinded up against you this time and a soft moan left your lips.

“Jesus,” you whined, the tables well and truly turned. “Can you just…I don’t know…give me a clue?”

Spencer chuckled a little, moving one hand from your hip to the back of your neck and tugging you closer to him. His lips were close to your ear, ghosting over the skin. It was like a switch had been flipped, the shy and awkward guy who hadn’t even wanted a lap dance was gone, replaced by this confident and self-assured man now beneath you.

His breath fanned across the side of your face and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Let’s just say it would involve both of us wearing a lot less clothes and you screaming my name.”

You whimpered like a dog that had just been kicked and attempted to clamp your legs together but his were in the way. Suddenly he dropped both of his hands to his sides and looked at you darkly.

“Get up.” He commanded you and you were dumb to do anything by comply.

“I need to go.” He stood up, snatching up the bottle of champagne. “Thanks for that.”

You watched him scurry away, seemingly reverting back to the shy creature he’d been initially. He fled back through the curtain, leaving you with an intense heat between your legs.

Goddamnit, you swallowed, trying to compose yourself. I might have just found my kryptonite.

***

Two weeks passed and Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time he closed his eyes he saw you sitting in his lap, that goddamn purple lingerie glowing against your skin. It never failed to make him painfully hard in a matter of seconds and he’d spent more time than he could count masturbating over thoughts of you the last two weeks.

Eventually he couldn’t keep himself away if he tried. Emily had given them the weekend off and sitting alone in his apartment on Saturday night, his limbs had moved without the forethought to do so. And of course he’d ended up outside Blue Siren.

He paid the cover charge and saw himself inside, ambling over to the bar and ordering himself a scotch. He watched the room, in a way he was trained to do, watching and waiting for a glimpse of you.

He’d gotten down three drinks before finally he saw you across the room. His cock twitched almost instantly. Today you wore a crimson red lace teddy with shoes to match. He preferred the purple, liked it when you had more skin on display, but you still looked like a fallen fucking angel. An incredibly sexy fallen angel.

He finished the remains of his drink and set the glass down on the bar before heading your way.

As soon as you saw him, you couldn’t help the way your whole face lit up. He looked much the same as he had last time in his smart shirt and slacks but today he’d bypassed the cardigan and had his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Stud, you came back.” You smirked at him, placing one hand on your hip.

“Can we talk?”

“I’m on the clock.” You shrugged. “My time has to be paid for.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and fished his wallet out of his pocket, flashing a large wad of bills. He pulled one out and stuffed it in your hand.

“How much will a hundred get me?”

You looked down at the bill wide eyed, seeing it was actually a hundred dollars. You looked back at him with a smile.

“At least a few dances.” You turned on your heels and motioned for him to follow you towards the private room you’d occupied a few weeks ago.

Once inside you watched him get comfortable on the couch.

“You sure you just want to talk? I can dance and talk at the same time, I’m just that good.” You winked at him.

“N-no.” He shook his head. “No dancing, please?”

“Fine.” You chuckled, coming over and sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s up? Must be important if you’re willing to drop a C-Note on me.”

“I uh, I wanted to apologise for my conduct the other week. It was very unlike me and I wanted you to know I’m sorry.” His cheeks flushed.

“Hmm.” You mused. “See, I don’t think it was unlike you. I think you allowed yourself to be completely authentic in that moment, letting out a side of yourself you don’t normally let people see.”

“That psych degree is paying off, I see.” His lip twitched into a small smirk.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“People see me a certain way.” He sighed a little as he spoke. “I’m the smart one, the bookish, awkward one. I’ve been seen that way for as long as I can remember. I guess I grew out of it but no one around me sees that. So maybe I play up the persona a little because it's what’s expected of me.” He confessed, not sure why he was doing so but you oddly put him at ease.

“Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it's easier to play into the expected, to fall into the roles people assign us rather than forge our own identity. You know, I only got my degree to prove I could. I wanted to prove, even if only to myself, that there was more to me than people expected of me. One day I might do something with it but for now, I really do love my job. But now I know I could do something else if I chose to.” You were equally surprised by your honesty.

“My friends brought me here because they think I’m some kind of pathetic sad sack that can’t get laid.” He chuckled wistfully.

“Oh but I bet you have no problem in that department, from what I could tell.” Maybe you leant closer to him, you certainly didn’t mean to, but you were sure he was closer now.

“I do alright.” The glint in his eyes told you he did better than alright and why did that cause a rumble of jealousy in your chest?

This time it was him that leaned closer to you, his large hand finding your thigh. You felt your chest tighten at the way it felt.

“I’m not going to sleep with you.” You spoke but you didn’t particularly believe your own voice.

“Not here, certainly not.” He inched his hand higher and you didn’t stop him.

“Not here, not anywhere.”

“Tell yourself that all you want, princess.” He growled the last word, eliciting a whimper from your lips.

“I don’t sleep with customers. Full stop.”

“You sleep with me, I promise I will never come back here.” He dared edge his hand higher, now right at the top of your thigh.

“You should leave.” You said, but you didn’t move or push him away.

“I just paid you a hundred dollars, I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Maybe I did prefer it when you were shy.”

“No you didn’t.” He smiled in a knowing way. And he was right. “Let me take you out, show you what I’m really like.”

You swallowed, god how you would love that. But no. You couldn’t succumb.

“Not gonna happen.” You took hold of his hand and forcibly removed it from your thigh. You removed the bill he’d given you from where you’d tucked it in the side of your panties and tossed it at him. “Keep your money. Leave before I call security.”

Spencer chuckled to himself, shaking his head and placing the note on the couch, leaving it there as he stood up.

“I’m not a threat, you don’t need to call security.” He held his hands up in defeat. “I think you know as well as I do that there's something between us, I just don’t know why you won’t admit to it. But whatever, I’ll go.”

He went to move past you but as he did, his fingers circled your wrist. He turned your hand over and forcibly put his business card in your open hand.

“In case you change your mind, princess.” With that he was gone, leaving your legs shaking in his wake.

You looked down at the card in your hand and frowned to yourself as you read the words adorned on it.

Doctor Spencer Reid. FBI.

Huh. That was an interesting turn of events.

***

Spencer didn’t return to the club again, respecting your boundaries and just holding onto a small glimmer of hope that you would call. But weeks passed and you never did.

In all honesty, he wasn’t that surprised. He expected you’d tossed the card the minute he’d walked through that curtain and never given him a second thought.

He didn’t often allow himself to get close to people for this very reason. When Spencer fell for someone it happened fast and hard and now you were the only thing he could think of and it was tearing him in two.

It was Morgan and Luke’s fault. Them and their dumb idea to take him to a strip club for his birthday. He decided his next birthday was cancelled, the one after that too. Screw it, all his birthdays were cancelled indefinitely.

Thankfully due to the BAU’s heavy caseload and him teaching classes at Marlborough University, he didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on you, which was for the best.

He’d just have to resign himself to being alone again. Just like always.

***

For weeks that card felt like it was burning a hole in your pocket. You didn’t intend on calling Spencer, but you just couldn’t get rid of it. There was something different about him, something that begged you to get to know him. But you had to resist temptation, it would only end badly like it always did.

Still, you couldn’t help but picture his face when you gave an old, sad man a lap dance, wishing it were him instead. It never failed to send chills down your spine when you thought of the way his persona had flipped from shy and slightly nerdy, to suddenly so self assured.

But you had to stop thinking about him. Thinking about him was fruitless. But of course you couldn’t, because like it or not, you were going to see him again.

You’d almost considered pulling out of the class, as soon as you’d seen his name on the business card you knew it would be a bad idea to go through with it. But you’d been excited about this for months and you really didn’t want to wait another semester to take it. You just had to hope you could get through it without incident, however unlikely that seemed.

“Ok, let's take a moment now to discuss the difference between a trigger and a stressor. A trigger is a sensory event experienced by an offender that precipitates subsequent behaviour whereas a stressor is a longer term pattern of behaviour or circumstances which push a person into behaving differently than they normally would. You might want to write this down. I probably shouldn’t be telling you guys this but I’m definitely putting this on the final.”

You watched the brunette a few rows in front of you coyly tell Professor Reid she was simply auditing the class. You couldn’t help but smirk when an array of other beautiful girls raised their hands when he asked who else was auditing. He was the youngest, best looking professor on campus, it was no surprise his class had drawn in a crowd of young girls to fawn over him.

“Uh…ok.” He shook his head, checking his watch. “Unfortunately that is all the time we have for today. Thank you guys.”

You stayed seated while the rest of the class filtered out, watching him collect a stack of papers and put them in his worn satchel before turning to erase the writing on the whiteboard. You stuffed your laptop away and crept down the stairs towards the front of the class, fingers toying with the small white piece of card.

“What was your stressor, Professor? Or should I say, Doctor?”

You saw his back go rigid and for a moment or two he didn't move a muscle. He set the whiteboard eraser down and slowly turned around as you waved his business card at him. He couldn’t help the way his eyes raked up and down your body, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, more than he was used to seeing on you. He still thought you looked like a goddamn angel.

“Uh, I’m sorry, what?” He frowned, clearly at a loss for words.

“You said a stressor is a longer term pattern of behaviour or circumstances which push a person into behaving differently than they normally would. When I first met you, you behaved differently than you normally would, am I right? Pretending to be this shy, awkward little thing.” You quipped your eyebrow at him.

“For the record I wasn’t pretending. It wasn’t some kind of ruse or something. I am generally shy and awkward. But I have learnt to assert myself when I need to, for instance, when I see something I want. I got carried away that night at the club and I’m sorry for that, that was out of character for me.” He leant back against the edge of the desk and perched on it. “Why are you in my class, Y/N?”

“I signed up for this class before I met you. I didn’t even know you were the professor until you gave me your card.” You shrugged a little nervously.

You were more uncomfortable in normal social settings. At the Blue Siren, where you commanded the room, the confidence oozed for you. But in the real world you were much uncomfortable in your own skin.

“You want to be a profiler?” He scrutinised you with his gaze.

“Maybe someday. I told you, I don’t necessarily want to work at the club forever, I want options.”

“But you love your job.” He repeated what you’d told him.

“I do.” You nodded. “If this is going to be weird I can drop out. I can go to Georgetown next semester, although their professor is not a legit FBI agent with the BAU.” You chuckled a little.

“Why would it be weird?”

“Because,” you shrugged. “Since the second you turned around and saw me standing here, you’ve been undressing me with your eyes.”

Spencer smiled, a hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

“I have, it's true.” He agreed. “I can’t help it if I’ve already seen so much of it.”

“I don’t think you should want to sleep with your students.”

“There’s no rule against it.” He chuckled, pushing himself back to his feet. “My students are all over the legal age, if I was to sleep with one of them, it would be completely consensual and no rules would be broken.”

“You’re talking from experience.” You stated and his eyes playfully glistened.

“Maybe.” He shrugged but his face said it all. “I told you, I do alright.”

“Well, I can tell you for a fact I won’t be one of them.”

“And that’s your loss.” He turned his back on you now and started gathering up his things, slinging his satchel over his head. “Excuse me, I have papers to grade.”

You watched him saunter away, leaving you standing there in confusion and a little turned on if you were honest. He shoved open the door and exited the classroom and before you could think it through you were following hot on his heels. You caught up to him in the corridor as he was unlocking his office door. He spotted you in his peripheral vision.

“My office hours are on Wednesday.” He pushed open the door. “If you need something you can come…”

He trailed off when you pushed past him, entering his office ahead of him. He frowned and followed you inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

“What?” He sighed, taking off his bag and dropping it in the chair next to the door. “You asked me to leave the club that night and I did. I gave you my number, I left the ball in your court and you didn’t call and that’s fine. I walked away! So why are you pursuing me?”

“I won’t give it up.” You blurted out, causing a heavy frown to form on Spencer’s face.

“Give up what?” Had he missed a part of the conversation?

“The club, I love my job.”

“I know you do.” His frown deepened. “Why would you have to give it up?”

“Do you know how many men I meet that think I’m some kind of damsel in distress that needs saving? They swoop in, on their fucking white horse and think they can rescue the poor, broken stripper.”

“Exotic dancer.” Spencer corrected you with a smirk. You huffed somewhat childishly.

“Whatever. They think they can change me. Men always think I’m some kind of fucking damsel in distress that needs saving from the big bad world of strip…exotic dancing. That’s why I don’t date customers, not because it's not allowed. I’ve made the mistake before and it always ends the same. So stop looking at me like you want to fuck me, because its never going to happen!”

Spencer simply looked at you curiously while you ranted, voice getting louder with each syllable. Confusingly he was smiling when you finished.

“Can I speak now?” He had a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“If you have to.” You rolled your eyes.

Spencer took a few steps away from the door and you felt yourself growing weaker the closer he got to you. He was magnetic, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but I’m certain I never once said that I have any kind of issue with your profession and I certainly never asked you to quit. Am I right?”

“Y-yes.” You swallowed, catching the scent of his cologne.

“If you’ve found something you love I would never dream of keeping you from that. Honestly, I admire you. It takes a lot of bravery and a lot of confidence to do what you do and god…you do it so well. Why would I ever want to take that from you?” He was so close now and you were begging him to touch you even though it was a bad idea.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Yes, princess, you do.” He smirked. “You made an assumption about me, the same way I admittedly did when I first met you. But I was wrong and I acknowledged that. It’s only fair for you to do the same.”

He raised his hand and your legs shook before he even touched you, at the sheer anticipation of it. It came up to cup your jaw, firmly enough that you could feel his fingers squeezing your jawbone.

“Y-you don’t want to change me?” You whimpered.

“Why mess with perfection?” He bowed his head, his lips so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off of them. “I’m no knight in shining armour, Y/N, I’m not rushing in to try and save you. And you are most certainly not a damsel in distress. You are a strong, independent woman and I would be lucky to merely exist in your orbit.”

You mewled, trying to move closer to him, to crash your lips against his but he held you firmly in place, chuckling at your eagerness. For the first time in a long time you felt all your bravado melt away, all the confidence you had on stage at the Blue Siren was washed away, leaving you a trembling mess in front of this man. And normally that kind of vulnerability would cause you to run for the hills. But being vulnerable with Spencer didn’t seem all that bad.

“Can you,” you swallowed, eyes glued on those pouty lips of his. “Please…just kiss me already, stud.”

Spencer laughed and for a moment you thought he might not comply. But then he closed the small space between you and you finally got to feel those pillowy lips pressing against yours. He gripped the back of your neck firmly, keeping you in place, as if you would go anywhere.

Maybe one day Spencer would thank Morgan and Luke for the birthday present, this was one he’d surely cherish, as long as you would let him.

Oh, isn't this exactly where you'd like me?

I'm exactly where you'd like me, you know.

Praying for love and a lap dance,

Taglist -

All

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @ssa-uglywhore27 @smurphyse @reidselle @reidsbookclub

SR x reader

@dreatine @dr-spencerr-reidd @spenxerslut @drayshadow @rainsong01 @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @spencer-reid-wonderland @im-totally-not-dezi @hotchandspencearedilfs

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

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pluckyredhead · 1 year

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Since we are FINALLY getting a new Green Arrow comic next week, I wanted to talk about my favorite GA story in a very long time: “Earn It Back” by Dave Wielgosz and Mike Norton, which was part of last year’s DC’s Saved By the Belle Reve anthology. I picked up this comic because the solicit mentioned Super Sons and Gotham Academy stories, but the solicit, cover, and variant cover gave zero indication that there would be any GA content at all, let alone maybe the best Ollie + baby Roy story...ever??? (Side note: this is why I am Comics Georg. If you read EVERYTHING, you will eventually find treasure.)

The story takes place “years ago,” when Roy is in 8th grade. (For non-Americans, that means 13 or 14, depending on when exactly in the year it is. Roy’s birthday is in November so he’s probably 14 here.)

It starts with Ollie being called in to Roy’s school to speak to the vice principal, and oh man, Ollie is a disaster here:

There is so much to love already:

1. Mike Norton’s art! I always enjoy his work so much. Take it as given that for every page I am loving the art, so I won’t keep saying it. (Also this is a tiny detail but colorist Steve Wands picked just the perfect shade of green for Ollie’s shirt.)

2. “He’s not an idiot.” Already Ollie is in a defensive panic and absolutely flailing. It’s worth noting that Ollie has always and will always be someone who says the very first thought that comes to mind, and this is before he lost all his money and grew a social conscience so he is using thoughtless, offense language. But also, as will be made explicit by the end of the story, Ollie is not someone who did well academically. When Ollie uses the word “idiot,” he means himself. Roy himself once said Ollie is both proud and ashamed that Roy is so much like him and the fact that Roy phrased it that way makes my heart hurt, but it’s probably more accurate to say: Ollie recognizes that Roy is very like him and it worries him because he is intimately familiar with his own faults.

3. This story sits pretty completely within pre-Flashpoint continuity and characterization - it doesn’t match Roy’s New 52 or Rebirth backstories at all. And as a pre-Flashpoint fan, I do love that. But one thing that emerges from the mess of contradictory versions of Roy’s backstory in the New 52 is that it’s really easy to headcanon that version of him - eternally bored in school, miles ahead of the class and unable to sit still, eventually seeking solace in acting out and substance abuse - as neurodivergent, potentially ADHD. And this story also hints at those tendencies, which there is zero indication of in pre-Flashpoint. I just think it does a great job gracefully combining multiple characterizations of Roy so that no one’s is “wrong.”

Ollie: “Hey Barry. you’re a fucking nerd, right?” Barry: “...Yes. 😔”

ANYWAY LOOK HOW MUCH OLLIE LOVES ROY!!! HE THINKS ROY IS AMAZING!!

My single solitary issue with this story is that it posits that Bruce is someone it would be logical to turn to for parenting advice, but I guess this early on, before Dick started butting heads with him - let alone before Jason showed up - both Bruce and Ollie could be dumb enough to think he was.

I will never get over how cute Roy’s little face is when he’s talking about shooting Wally. I kiss him! I pinch his cheeks!

Weeks go by. Roy’s grades improve, but he’s miserable:

Truly Mike Norton is just drawing my headcanons at this point. Yes, that is what Ollie’s house looks like. Yes, that is how he dresses. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Look how mad the Titans are! Look at Garth stomping off! This is so cute, I’m dying.

Again, BRUCE IS NOT A MODEL PARENT. He’s so condescending here, too. AT LEAST OLLIE'S KIDS ALL MAKE IT OUT OF ADOLESCENCE ALIVE, BRUCE.

(The Dinah cameo is interesting, since she and Ollie don’t interact. It makes this story tricky to place in any prior continuity, since pre-Crisis she didn’t join the League until after Ollie had already grown his beard. I guess this could be the post-Crisis continuity established by JLA: Year One, because Ollie is clean-shaven in that book, which has the pleasing implication that she is a veteran founding member here and Bruce and Ollie are rookies.)

Anyway, it’s the VP calling to let Ollie know that Roy has been cutting school:

BABY IS ANGRY. Baby also has impeccable aim (of course), because oh man, telling Ollie he’s a tyrant and a fake and flaky is one THOUSAND percent hitting him where it hurts. “You gave up on me” oh BOY the abandonment issues started early.

Other things I love: how incredibly daddish Ollie sounds in the “Keep going, Roy” line. Also, “Being his friend didn’t work.” DAVE WIELGOSZ IS ALSO JUST WRITING MY HEADCANONS!!! I have said for literally decades at this point that Ollie’s early parenting style was permissive to a fault because Roy is his buddy! His pal! His little fella!

Like I said at the beginning, Ollie’s panicked “He’s not an idiot!” was not about Roy, it was about Ollie. He doesn’t want to see Roy make the same mistakes he did. (He should probably have told Roy about contraceptives then, but...) (Actually he did tell Roy not to get Donna pregnant in Teen Titans: Year One, but probably he should have been clearer about the means.)

Panel three makes me want to sob. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MU-HU-HUCH. (Ollie and Roy, I mean. Not Ollie and Vice Principal Parks.)

P.S. The posters on Roy’s wall! What a nerd!

😭😭😭

This is such a complicated little emotional beat and I love it. Roy has been so angry at Ollie but his immediate uncomfortable forgiveness and the way Ollie recognizes it for what it is is so good. (Also of course Robert went along with it, Robert Queen was trash.)

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER! OLLIE THINKS ROY IS THE GREATEST PERSON ALIVE! ROY SHOWS HIS FORGIVENESS BY ROASTING HIS OLD MAN!

(We don’t need to discuss the part where I’m pretty sure Roy never finished high school. It’s a happy ending for now, okay?)

Anyway, I love this story very very much and just wanted to gush about it. if the new GA book is anywhere close to this high quality, I will be very happy indeed.

#green arrow #oliver queen #roy harper #speedy

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reddancer1 · 1 year

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save the last dance

This date in 1962 saw the U.S. release of 'Save The Last Dance For Me', a compilation LP of The Drifters' singles from 1960 to 1962, including Ben E. King's leads.

From the album, the title track and 1960 single SAVE THE LAST DANCE FOR ME.NOTE: The earliest known surviving footage of The Drifters performing this song comes from a 1965 episode of 'Where The Action Is'. Unfortunately the black and white clip is very badly damaged. In the video here, I've combined some colorized fragments of the footage with some classic dancing moments from TV (colorized too).

This song tells the story of a couple at a dance. He tells his wife that she is free to dance and socialize with other men throughout the evening, but she should not forget that she is going home with him. Inspiration for the song came from a very personal experience.

The songwriting team of Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman wrote this song. One night, Pomus found a wedding invitation in a hatbox, and back came his most vivid memory from his wedding: watching his brother Raoul dance with his new wife while Doc, who had polio, sat in his wheelchair. Inspired, he stayed up all night writing the words to this song on the back of the invitation.

Shuman had played him a soaring Latin melody that afternoon, and he wanted the words to sound like a poem translated into English - something along the lines of Pablo Neruda. By the second verse, a hint of jealousy and vulnerability creeps in with the lyrics, "If he asks if you're all alone, can he take you home, you must tell him no." Pomus ended his night of songwriting by writing down the words that would become the title: "Save The Last Dance For Me."

Pomus and Shuman were writers for Atlantic Records, where they worked with the team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who produced this song. Leiber and Stoller were great with Latin rhythms, which is what they used here and what Pomus had in mind with the flow of the lyrics. Leiber and Stoller were using The Coasters to record most of their songs at the time, and had asked Pomus and Shuman to write songs for The Drifters.

The Drifters lead singer for this song was Ben E. King, who a few months later started scoring solo hits with "Spanish Harlem" and "Stand By Me." When they were recording the song Atlantic Records boss Ahmet Ertegun told King how the song was inspired by Pomus watching his wife dance with another man at his wedding, and King drew on that story to wring out the emotion in his vocals.

In a rare bonehead move by Atlantic Records honchos Ertegun and Jerry Wexler, they relegated this song to the B-side of another Pomus/Shuman composition called "Nobody But Me."

It was Dick Clark who broke the song when he flipped the single and played "Save The Last Dance" on his show American Bandstand. The song gave The Drifters their only #1 hit.

It was three years after his wedding to Willi Burke that Doc Pomus wrote this song. Willi was a tall and beautiful actress - quite a contrast to the rotund Pomus. They had a daughter together, prompting Pomus to focus on songwriting, which was much more stable and lucrative than singing. Their marriage fell apart in the mid-'60s, when they separated.

For a while, Lou Reed lived in the same neighborhood as Doc Pomus, and they became close friends. Reed has said that Pomus' daughter gave him the wedding invitation containing the words Doc started writing for this song.

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thehikingviking · 1 year

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Walker Mountain from Willow Flat, 2022 Sierra Challenge Day 1

Day 1 of the 2022 Sierra Challenge was supposed to be Ink Rocks, a class 4 volcanic feature at the end of Burt Canyon near the headwaters of the Little Walker River. Since Ink Rocks had no recorded ascents, Bob hoped to protect the identity of the peak in the months leading up to the Challenge by referring to Ink Rocks as the “Mystery Peak.” His goal was to unselfishly share the spoils of a Sierra Nevada first ascent with the greater challenge group. Perhaps underestimating how many people read his site, Bob left a few too many hints on his writeup, and several people within the hiking and climbing community figured out the Mystery Peak before its identity was revealed. Recognizing that someone might lack either ethics or a most basic level of emotional intelligence, Bob removed some of the hints from the website a few weeks later. I could only hope that the peak would remain unspoiled by the time of our planned visit.

The 2022 Sierra Challenge finally came. This would be an important year for me as this would be the first time I would organize and lead the Sierra Challenge, taking over from Bob Burd. As we sat down and ate dinner the night before in the town of Bridgeport, several of us noticed a logged ascent on Ink Rocks that had recently popped up on several of the hiking social media apps. Unfortunately, a bad actor had stolen the summit. On top of that the weather was forecasted to thunderstorm with a 100% chance the whole next day. The combination of lightning and wet volcanic rock was a dangerous mix. With the allure of the first ascent now gone and safety becoming a concern, I decided to send a last minute email out to the challenge participants. I would now give Challenge Peak credit to any peak above Burt Canyon. To qualify, the peak must stand over 10,000 ft high and have over 260 feet of prominence, or it must be officially labeled on the USGS topo map. I personally chose to go for Walker Mountain, which was the highest peak in the area, while others chose to go for Mt Emma or unnamed Peak 10,025.

The next morning I woke in my motel room in Bridgeport and drove with Mike to the Willow Flat Trailhead. It was still raining in earnest as we drove the dirt road to its end at a locked gate. Unfortunately the trailhead parking has room for only 3-4 vehicles, and by the time I arrived there were no more spots. I was forced to drive down the road for about a mile and hike back up to the trailhead. I waited for 6am and started off with Mike Toffey and Sean King. Some had started even earlier than us, and others would start after us. We followed the dirt road through a small community of summer homes. We joked about the possibility of getting an Aqua Challenge point by sneaking into someone’s hot tub.

While it was raining strongly, I did not hear any thunder or see any lightning the whole day. We were all prepared with rain jackets, so it wasn’t all that miserable. After 1.5 miles of hiking up very gradual and well defined trail, Sean recommended that we start heading cross country up the ridge to our left. Now the fun would really begin. There was a lot of knee to waist high bushwhacking ahead of us. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, however every step through the soaked brush would get me more and more wet. I tried my best to keep up with Sean and Mike, but it was only a matter of time before they were out of sight. I was all alone in the rain.

One should always expect to be alone for long periods of time during the Sierra Challenge, but the storm added another level of hardship. I started questioning what I was doing. I considered if I should perhaps turn back. However I felt safe enough so long as I remained below the tree line. We had a new tracking feature during this year’s challenge. I was able to log onto a website and track the GPS location of Mike and Sean via their inReach in real time. I was encouraged to find that even though they were out of sight, I was essentially on top of their GPS location. I considered that there was most likely a delay in the signal being uploaded to the website, and estimated they were less than 10 minutes ahead of me. I tried to be as efficient in route finding as possible. I knew I couldn’t outpace them, but maybe I could choose a better route. As I climbed higher, the terrain became more rocky. I thought I heard a mountain lion meowing in the distance. With large granite boulders everywhere, it was the perfect place for an ambush.

My route followed the top of the ridge. It stopped raining as I climbed above the tree line. With this break in the weather, I figured that I’d probably be able to reach Hanging Valley Ridge High Point, which qualified as a Challenge Peak. For a moment I even spotted Mike and Sean ahead of me. Things were looking encouraging.

Within a matter of minutes I made it to what I thought was the summit. A mirror was placed inside some of the summit rocks. When I opened my phone to log the peak, I realized that I was still short of the summit. I learned a few months later that this point was unofficially called Carolyn’s Peak.

Thankfully I had GPS, since I could not see much around me. I was stuck inside of a cloud and my vision was only limited to several meters in places. I continued along the ridge through the mist.

Finally I spotted Hanging Valley Ridge High Point ahead of me. What was even more encouraging was there were several people on the summit.

What a lovely surprise. I thought I would be alone for the rest of the day. Not only were Sean and Mike there, but so were Chris and Grundy. They handed me the register just as I reached the summit.

The cloud cover made the views even more magnificent.

Across the hanging valley, from which Hanging Valley Ridge gets its name, was Walker Mountain. All five of us decided to continue to the next peak together.

I was in high spirits. Things couldn’t really have been much worse just an hour earlier, and now I had decent weather and great company.

We crossed a rejuvenated stream that drained down the hanging valley then continued directly up the barren slopes of Walker Mountain.

We climbed competitively while staying in one group.

We reached the summit in no time.

To the northeast dropped the hanging valley.

To the west was a point that appeared slightly higher. We decided to visit this point as well.

To the north was the general direction of Ink Rocks, the original Challenge Peak.

We couldn’t decipher which point was the highest, but it didn’t matter to us since we had climbed both. One had a register and the other was marked as the high point on our maps.

There was some discussion, mostly between Chris and Grundy, about continuing to another peak. In the end we all decided to drop down to Burt Canyon below, opting to compete for the polka-dot jersey when the weather was better. We then dropped down to the hanging valley below.

We decided to follow the stream downhill towards Burt Canyon.

Rain brings forth mushrooms.

The stream cascaded down, and we all picked our own slippery and loose route back to the Little Walker River.

Things started to get wet again once we dropped below 9,000 feet.

We had some wet bushwhacking for a several hundred meters as we neared the trail. We were absolutely soaked, but the stoke was high.

Once at the trail, we had a nice walk out. It began raining in earnest once more, but we were more or less prepared.

We passed by Hunter on our way out, a new Challenge participant. He was hoping for better weather in the afternoon, so we wished him luck and continued our separate ways.

In the end I decided to give every participant credit for the Aqua Jersey, since we we were all thoroughly soaked. My time was 5 hours and 45 minutes.

Official Summary:

Burt Canyon Peaks. Any peak over 10k ft elevation and 260 ft prominence qualifies. 90% chance of thunderstorms forecasted all day. Only the tried and true challenge participants made it out today.

The Tour de France does not cancel their race due to rain, so why should the Sierra Challenge? Chris Henry, Tom Grundy, Mike Toffey, Sean King and Sean Casserly all summited Hanging Valley Ridge High Point and Walker Mountain. Zee Chunawala and Jonathan Mason summited Peak 10025. Dylan Doblar, Drew Doblar, Tom Becht, Iris Ma & Jeff Moffat hiked Mt Emma. Hunter Plude got a later start to avoid the worst of the weather, and will most likely return later.

All participants today received the same time on this stage. Every participant today also received Aqua Jersey points.

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micheswife · 3 years

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Confessions

MICHE ZACHARIAS X SHY CADET

Miche finally tells his crush he likes her. That's it

Miche watched her from Erwin’s office as she left the headquarters to enjoy a well-deserved break. The evening sun highlighted her brunette curls, stopping just below her delicate shoulders. It was a shame really, her hair used to touch her waist when she first joined. She was so incredibly shy and anxious back then, struggling to find her place among younger people that were much stronger than her. He remembered back when she declined the promotion for the sake of her happiness. It had been 3 years since y/n joined the survey corps at the age of 20. She was a late beginner, but her analytical skills, a fateful emotional meltdown and a background in research had soon gotten her a place under section commander Hange. Y/n was not good as a fighter, but she was observant, more than Erwin and Hange. Miche could not help but notice her, she was cute after all. She had flaws, just like everyone else, but the veteran soldier was drawn to her in particular. He couldn’t remember when he felt like that for the first time. Maybe it was when he saw her for the first time, clutching a soiled handwritten application and trying her hardest to put on a brave face. Who knows? Who cares? The important part was that he liked her, she did not know and he was not going to tell.

“What are you looking at Miche? “

“N-nothing, Erwin. Go on…”

Miche went back to focusing on the meeting. y/n had already disappeared in the next lane, so there was no point looking outside. The meeting would go on for hours, as usual, veterans had no holidays.

Meanwhile, y/n made herself comfortable near the quiet riverbank. It was one of the few attractions in the little land of Paradis, especially after the fall of Wall Maria. The serene river glowed red under the now darkening sun rays. Y/n had about 30 minutes to draw something, after which it would get too dark. Problem was, y/n had no idea what to draw. So she just sat there, wondering about her life. It seemed self-indulgent to refuse work only to get out and ponder about herself, but she needed it. The chaos inside the headquarters hardly did her any good. She wanted quiet and peace, but what she had right now was just pure loneliness. Y/n had friends, but nobody close or free enough to sit under the open night sky. So she sat all alone over the wall, the cold breeze ruffling her hair. If only there were someone to hold her.

“Bottomline, all of you must prepare your squads for next month’s expedition. We can’t afford to compromise manpower. Pay attention to the weak members, we need them to come back alive. You all are dismissed.”

Miche walked out of Erwin’s office and went straight to his room that he shared with Dieter, another squad leader. He felt tired, as though he knew what was about to come. A lot of action and a shit ton of casualties, not to forget all the rigorous training he was about to deliver on the cadets.

“What a long day..”

“Tomorrow’s going to be longer, Ness.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you will make it through the expedition?”

Miche scrunched his nose at the odd yet totally reasonable question. Him and Dieter served the scout regiment since their teenage years, yet they never quite got used to the anxiety before impending doom. Against his overbearing stress, Miche gave him a positive answer hoping to lift his spirits.

“I will make it out alive, Ness. The most damage I will end up with is a lost limb, after which I will retire and live a peaceful life. Don’t worry.” Miche finished with his signature scoff, masking his true emotions. The shameless, pretentious display of cockiness was all worth the little chuckle from Ness, the most sociable, tender man among veterans.

They made their way to the dining hall after chit chatting and freshening up. Their tables had the usual serving of bread, soup and vegetables. His eyes scanned the place for the owner of those beautiful, crazy curls, y/n, she should have been back by now. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Usually it was so easy to spot her in her corner seat. Perhaps Hange assigned her some work, but he couldn’t risk revealing his crush by asking the overly-energetic squad leader. So he quietly finished his plate, feeling just a little hint of emptiness because he missed y/n.

“Nifa, find y/n and tell her I want her in the lab tomorrow at 6am sharp.” Mike overheard Hange speaking from a couple of tables away.

“Yes captain.” Nifa quickly finished her meal and left the dining hall and eventually the headquarters. Her face made it clear that she had done this several times now and Miche was not surprised. Y/n was often in her own head and stayed out for a long time. Miche just found it unusual for her to stay out this late. It was cold outside, no person in their right mind would stay out past 8pm. He wished he knew what was going on inside the girl’s head that made her personality so withdrawn, but he did not have the time. He needed to draft a schedule for this week’s training and tests for the cadets. Just the thought of sitting in an office doing paperwork with a candlelight flickering throughout the night made him feel calm. He was extremely skilled on the field, but he liked doing paperwork too. His studious side was something only his immediate squad and other veterans were familiar with. Sometimes he couldn’t help fantasizing about sharing his study with y/n. Aside from his feelings, y/n had the brains to draft a perfect test that tapped into all the necessary skills for the next expedition. After all, that was what she had been doing before joining the survey corps, albeit in a different field. Miche stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him. He felt dumb, so dumb. He had drafted so many tests, all by himself, fully knowing that there was someone that could probably do it better than him. Fully knowing that y/n had been a psychology student, and she had perfected the theory subjects after joining the survey corps. He turned around and approached Hange.

“Would you mind if I borrow one of your soldiers for a while?”

“That depends, Miche, who are you talking about?”

“Y/n, I need her help drafting the tests tonight. I think she can do a good job.”

“You are right.. I’ll let her know.”

“Tell her to be in my office by 9;30 tonight.”

Miche left for his office to begin work, he wanted to finish as much as he could before y/n showed up. Because work was not the only thing he was concerned about. He knew exactly what he was doing, it was dubious, but he needed to do it. It was funny how a few hours ago he thought he’d never confess his feelings, but later created an opportunity to do that exact thing. He couldn’t believe himself.

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It was 9;30 sharp, and Miche heard a soft knock on his office door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked, and take a seat before me.” He said without lifting his head.

Y/n made herself comfortable and glanced over three open books and a single page. Miche was writing down questions.

“Alright y/n, I need your help drafting the question papers for tomorrow’s tests. Of course, you will be exempted from actually taking the test as a reward.”

“Understood, sir”

“Good, now I want you to create 30 questions that combine the concepts of formations, weaponry and strategy. Make them difficult, and make sure to base it upon the last 5 expeditions.”

“Alright-”

“You have 2 hours to finish this.”

“Okay..” y/n walked over to the bookshelf and grabbed a heap of books. Miche raised his eyebrows in confusion,

“How are you going to refer to that many books and finish it within time?” Miche questioned her.

“I will, don’t worry.” y/n’s sudden confidence took him aback.

“Well good luck.”

Time flew by quickly as both of them were engrossed in their work, the only sounds coming from the candle and turning of pages. It wasn’t peaceful to be precise, y/n was turning pages with such aggression it made the section commander steal glances at her. She would flip through the pages and write down important points, constantly checking the time as she worked. Her handwriting got messier as time flew by and Miche couldn’t help but notice. He could tell that y/n totally had the plan to give those cadets a hard time. She had a weak, but cocky smirk the whole time, and Miche was just glad that he was not one of the people that would need to take the test. He knew that expression and aggressive handwriting very well. She always wore that smirk while writing exams, and everytime she came out on top. Miche knew she was overcompensating for her sub-par physique and iron-deficiency that interfered with her ODM skills, but that semblance of confidence on her face always turned him on. Her hair was still messed up, she struggled to keep that twisted fringe out of her face.

“Where’s the ruler?!” Y/n asked loudly, shaking Miche out of his trance.

“Wait…” He fished out a ruler from the clutter in his drawer and handed it to y/n.

“What are you drawing?”

“A wrong diagram of the latest formation.” Y/n replied curtly.

“I see.. Good.”

Miche was organizing his drawer after finishing his work when y/n handed him the tests. It was 11;30 sharp. The ink had somehow gotten between y/n’s fingers. Miche went through all seven pages of three extremely complicated tests and shot a glance at y/n, who looked like she was awaiting his praise. She was sitting with her back straight, wide eyed and messy hair. Miche chuckled, and y/n smiled. She knew she had done those cadets dirty with her questions.

“You have a naughty side, don’t you?” “Kitten” , was the term Miche refrained from using at the end.

Y/n nodded with a cheeky grin. The section commander squinted and got up from his chair, towering over her. A faint blush crept over her cheeks as she broke eye contact with him, staring down at her feet instead. Her delicate shoulders now looked tensed up under her transparent, embroidered shoulder shawl. The pile of paperwork didn’t allow him to notice her beautiful blush pink dress. She had embroidered little flowers to accentuate her figure all the way down to her hips.

“You look beautiful in that dress.” Miche blurted out, causing her to blush harder and breathe unevenly.

“Thank you, sir..”

“Look at me when you speak.”

“O-okay..” she slowly raised her head, still not wanting to make eye contact.

“I will be straight to the point y/n… I like you, not just as a comrade.”

“Understood.” y/n was taking quick, short breaths, causing the tall blonde to get on his knees. She had gone back to her timid mouse state and he could no longer read her.

“Are you scared right now?” Miche tried hard to not sound like a creep.

“No, I like you too!”

“That’s -” he began to speak but got cut off.

“More than a comrade, if you were wondering…” she trailed off shyly. Miche kept staring at her, dumbstruck at her honest confession. This whole time he had no idea about her feelings.

"When were you planning to tell me ..?" Miche asked, pulling a chair behind him. He was still leaning towards y/n with an expression of pure shock.

"I… Never planned on saying anything." Y/n's expression saddened as she looked at him with her doe eyes.

"I can understand.". he was telling the truth. The realisation that their confessions were a result of his impulsive decision dawned on him. He couldn't take his eyes off her form. She looked anxious, fondling with her pendant in one hand.

"Do you want to take this further?" Y/n asked with a shaky voice, and his answer was immediate.

"Yes."

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?" The 35 year old man felt like a teenager trying to walk on eggshells. The woman before him giggled and nodded in approval, finally lifting her hand from the pendant. She was starting to settle down, although the butterflies in her stomach made it difficult. Miche was about to lean in when she stopped him and got up from her chair.

"I forgot to lock the door." She said naughtly.

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Okay, I really wanted to turn this into a smut, but I am too chicken. 🙈🥺

#miche aot #miche zacharias #aot miche #section commander miche #miche x reader #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #mike zacharias #miche x you #miche fluff #mike aot #attack on titan #snk miche #aot hange zoe #aot hange #aot canon #canonverse #shingeki no kyojin

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dweemeister · 3 years

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The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)

Theodore Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss, remains best-known for his children’s books. The Cat in the Hat; Green Eggs and Ham; and Oh, the Places You’ll Go! are household names in English-language literature. Seuss’ bibliography overshadows his work in films, beginning with the adapted screenplay of his own book, The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins (1943) – directed by George Pal as part of the Puppetoons series. During WWII, Seuss was heavily involved in propaganda films and the Private Snafu (1943-1946) military training films. After the war’s end, Seuss returned to writing children’s books, but also continued to write for movies. The Academy Award-winning animated short film Gerald McBoing-Boing (1950) benefitted from Seuss’ story work, and Seuss’ success there inspired him to write a screenplay for a live-action fantasy film. That screenplay – the unwieldy rough draft coming in at over 1,200 pages – was The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. The eventual movie, produced by Stanley Kramer (1960’s Inherit the Wind, 1961’s Judgment at Nuremberg) and directed by Roy Rowland (1945’s Our Vines Have Tender Grapes, 1956’s Meet Me in Las Vegas) for Columbia Pictures, would be Seuss’ only involvement in a non-documentary feature film.

Like many who speak English as their first language, Dr. Seuss’ books graced my early childhood. So integral to numerous children’s youth is Seuss that his whimsy, wordplay, and authorial stamps are easily recognizable. In that spirit, the cinematic record of live-action Seuss adaptations consists of the scatological Jim Carrey in How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000) and the visual nightmare that is Mike Myers as The Cat in the Hat (2003). Compared to the original works, both films are ungainly, casually cruel, and overcomplicated. Not promising company for Dr. T. But even taking into account the three animated feature adaptations of Seuss – Horton Hears a Who! (2008), The Lorax (2012), and The Grinch (2018) – and the fact that Columbia forced wholesale deletions from the rough draft script of Dr. T to achieve a feasible runtime, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is arguably the most faithful feature adaptation to Dr. Seuss’ authorial intent and signature aesthetic.

In other words, this is one of the strangest films you may ever encounter. No synopsis I could write in one paragraph will ever capture the film’s bizarreries.

Little Bart Collins (Tommy Rettig) is asleep during piano practice and his teacher, Dr. Terwilliker (Hans Conried), is furious. His overworked, widowed mother Heloise (Mary Healey) intuits Terwilliker’s unrealistic expectations (Terwilliker wants to teach the next Paderewski) towards Bart’s piano skills and inability to concentrate. Heloise also appears to be quietly eyeing the plumber August Zabladowski (Peter Lind Hayes) and his wrench. With the lesson done for the day, Bart falls asleep again. This time, he dreams that Terwilliker is now the leader of the Terwilliker Institute, a pianist supremacy mini-state which is built upon five hundred young pianist slave boys (hence, 5,000 fingers) forcibly playing Terwilliker’s latest compositions. His mother is Terwilliker’s unwilling, hypnotized assistant and plumber August Zabladowski (Hayes is essentially playing the same character, but in a different world) is Bart’s only ally around. Together, Bart and Mr. Zabladowski must evade the Institute’s guards as they attempt to undermine Terwilliker’s plans for his next concert.

In its final form, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is a muddled mess of a story. The analogues between Bart’s reality and his dreams are inconsistent, several would-be subplots never resolve (or at the very least develop beyond a basic idea), and the film’s initial lightness is subject to rapid mood swings that make this picture feel disjointed. Indeed, Seuss’ sprawling social commentary in his first draft – including allegories and themes of post-WWII totalitarianism, anti-communism, and atomic annihilation – is in tatters in this final product. The viewer will witness brief fragments of those ideas, remaining in this movie as the barest of hints of the contents of the original screenplay’s rough draft. Even now, Dr. T inspires psychiatric analyses and accusations that Bart’s relationship with his mother reveals signs of an Oedipal complex (to yours truly, the latter is too much of a reach). The grim nature of Terwilliker Institute renders Dr. T unsuitable for the youngest children. For older children and adults, try going into this movie without expectations of narrative logic and embrace the grotesque aspects that only Seuss could imagine.

If my attempts to describe this movie’s preposterousness through its narrative and screenwriting approach have failed, perhaps I can capture that for you by writing on its technical features.

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For its sheer narrative inventiveness – inconsistencies, abrupt tonal shifts, nonsense, and Rowland’s uninspired direction aside – The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T is nevertheless an ambitious film, and Columbia bequeathed a hefty budget to match that ambition. Much of that budget went to the film’s visuals. This is an extravagantly-staged motion picture, as nothing could do Dr. Seuss’ illustrations justice without fully committing to his geometric impossibilities: skyward ladders and improbable connections between rooms, an eschewal of right angles and straight lines, and architecture bound to raise the ire of physics teachers. One could compare this to German Expressionism, but Dr. T’s sets tend not to dictate the film’s mood nor are they subject to high-contrast lighting. Seuss went uncredited as the concept artist on Dr. T, and it was up to Clem Beauchamp (1935’s The Lives of a Bengal Lancer, 1952’s High Noon) and the uncredited matte artists to commit those visuals to the real world. Outside of animated film, Beauchamp and the matte artists succeed in creating twisted sets that seem to leap off the pages of Seuss’ most artistically interesting books. Some of the sets appear too stagebound, but the production design accomplishes its need to resemble a world borne from a fever dream (or, at least, a young pianist’s nightmare).

This movie’s outrageous costume design (other than Jean Louis’ gowns for Mary Healey, the costume designer/s for this film are uncredited) comprises absurd uniforms and two of the most ludicrous hats – the “happy fingers” cap (see photo at the top of this write-up) and whatever the hell Terwilliker dons in the film’s climax – one might ever see in a film. Most of the costumes are laughably impractical and ridiculous to even those without fashion sense. In what might be the tamest example, while working under Terwilliker, Bart’s mother wears a suit that is all business formal on the left-hand side and bare-shouldered, sleeveless, and nightclub-y on the right. The delineation of real life – which barely features in the film’s eighty-nine minutes – and this world of Bart’s dreams could not be any more unambiguous thanks to the combination of the production and costume design work.

The disappointing musical score by Fredrich Hollaender (1930’s The Blue Angel, 1948’s A Foreign Affair) and song lyrics by Seuss rarely connects to the larger narrative unfolding. Seven songs make the final print, with nine (yikes!) Hollaender-Seuss songs ending up on the cutting room floor. Seuss’ wordplay is evident, as are Hollaender’s melodic flourishes. Columbia, a studio not known for its musicals, assembled a 98-piece orchestra – the largest musical ensemble to work on a Columbia film at the time – for The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T alone. That lush sound is apparent throughout for the numerous nonsense songs that color the score in addition to the incidental score. It is unusual to listen to a collection of novelty songs orchestrated so fully. Listen to “Dressing Song: Do-Mi-Do Duds” and its complicated, seeming unsingable lines:

Come on and dress me, dress me, dress me In my peek-a-boo blouse With the lovely inner lining made of Chesapeake mouse! I want my polka-dotted dickie with the crinoline fringe For I'm going doe-me-doe-ing on a doe-me-doe binge!

The rich orchestration seems to hail from a more lavish film. But too many of these songs are scene-specific, and rarely does Hollaender utilize musical quotations from these songs into his score. “Get Together Weather” is delightful, but it seems so isolated from the rest of the film; elsewhere, “The Dungeon Song” exemplifies a macabre side to Seuss seldom appearing in his books. Nevertheless, Hollaender is able to demonstrate his playfulness across the entire film, none moreso during any scene with the bearded, roller-skating twins and the “Dungeon Ballet”, in which the music complements stunning choreography and fascinating props that recall the jingtinglers, floofloovers, tartookas, whohoopers, slooslunkas, and whowonkas from the Christmas television special How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966). Yet, Hollaender’s film score and the soundtrack with Seuss seems to demand something – anything – to tie the entire compositional effort together. Perhaps a song or some cue like that was cut from the film, which is ultimately to its detriment.

Hans Conried (who starred as Captain Hook in Disney’s Peter Pan several months prior to Dr. T’s release) stands out from a decidedly average Peter Lind Hayes and Mary Healey – Hayes and Healey, in a sort of in-joke, were married. Conried’s performance as the sadistic, torture- and imprisonment-happy music teacher can be considered camp, but this is anything but “bad” camp. He throws himself completely into this cartoonish role, sans shame, complete with mid-Atlantic accent, and topped off with exaggerated facial and physical acting that fits this fantasy. As Bart, child actor Tommy Rettig (best known as Jeff Miller on the CBS television series Lassie) seems more assured in his performance than most child performers his age during the 1950s. His fourth wall-breaking asides seem more appropriate in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, but Rettig makes it work, and inhabits Bart’s flaws wonderfully.

Columbia demanded numerous reworkings of Seuss’ script, leading to several reshoots – most notably the opening scene (Seuss opposed the conceit of Bart’s dream framing the film) – and a ballooning budget. Upon its release in the summer of 1953, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T bombed at the box office and was assailed by critics. A crestfallen Seuss, who could not stand the production difficulties that beset the film from the start of shooting, would never work in feature films again. He would dedicate himself almost entirely to writing and illustrating children’s books, with many of his most popular titles (including The Cat in the Hat, One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and Green Eggs and Ham) published within a decade of Dr. T’s critical and commercial failure. His hesitance to participate in filmmaking informed his reluctance to allow Chuck Jones to adapt How the Grinch Stole Christmas! thirteen years later. Animation suited his books, Seuss thought, and he would never again pay any consideration to live-action filmmaking.

The reevaluation of The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T has seen a rehabilitation of the film’s image in recent decades. Home media releases and television showings have introduced the film to viewers not influenced by the hyperbolic negativity of the film critics working in 1953. This is not a sterling example of Old Hollywood fantasy filmmaking, due to a heavily gutted screenplay, scattershot thematic development, and incongruent musical score. Yet, the movie’s surrealistic charms and Seussian chaos know no peers, even in the present day.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T #The 5000 Fingers of Dr. T.#Dr. Seuss #Roy Rowland #Peter Lind Hayes #Mary Healy #Hans Conried #Tommy Rettig #Allan Scott #Stanley Kramer #Frederick Hollander #Rudolph Sternad #Cary Odell #William Kiernan #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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aricazorel · 3 years

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N7 month prompts--Day 30 End

(This takes place prior to Messages. The letter is from chapter 14 of Broken Road.)

Alenko—

I’m sure you remember me. Mike Westmore—the punk from Brain Camp that teased you about Rahna. She liked you better than me anyway. We ended up doing a tour of duty together once you finally decided to get a paycheck for those big biotic muscles of yours. Somehow we became friends through all that. Either way, what happened at Jump Zero never should have happened to us kids but because of that you showed me that being a cocky, arrogant biotic is a very bad thing. You showed the military what a true biotic soldier should be. You’re an example for all of us with or without the L2 implant. I owe you a lot. You’re a hell of a soldier and not because of the biotics.

You may or may not know, but I’m part of Shepard’s ragtag team to save the universe this time. Thought it was my turn since you had yours last time. This is my choice, my chance to do my part. There is a chance this is a one-way trip as we’re heading through the Omega 4 Relay after we get all the people and equipment we need to hit the Collectors where they live. The thing is we all knew this could be a suicide mission when we signed on. But we did it anyway, not because of Cerberus or because the Alliance doesn’t believe Shepard. We did it because we believe in Shepard and his mission.

I regret nothing about accepting this mission except one thing. I’m leaving someone behind, and I may not be able to come back to her. Whatever happened I know you have to still care about Kora. I know she still cares about you. She doesn’t mention it as much as she used to but I can still see it in her eyes every once in a while. She’s never stopped caring about you and she probably never will. I was lucky to meet her and be with her for the time we had together. If we are blessed with more than I’m luckier than I deserve.

I don’t want to leave her alone, but she said she understood why I had to go. It was like ripping my heart out when I finally had to leave for the Normandy’s deployment. I never wanted her to go through what she had again, but she said she understood. I know she did, but she deserves better and more.

If I don’t come back I want you to look after her. She needs that. She won’t admit it, but she needs someone and as much as she loves me, she loves you more I think. Whatever your reasons for leaving her were, they were pretty f’ing stupid. You realize you left behind the best thing that ever happened to you right? If you didn’t then, I sure as hell hope you do now. You owe her so much and she owes you. But regardless of that, if you do get the chance to be with her again take it and hold on to it with both hands. Don’t you ever let her go again. And if I die and I find out you’ve f’ed up another chance with her, I’ll haunt you to your grave, Alenko.

Get your damned head out of your ass and realize just how much you two need each other.

I love Kora but I know and accept that I more than likely won’t make it back it her. This is your chance, Staff Cmdr. Don’t screw this up too.

Good luck.

Mike Westmore, Lt. Cmdr. SSV Normandy, SR2

P.S. Kora knows nothing about this letter. I sent her a completely different one but what you do now is up to you. Make a good choice. If we fail, it may be your last.

~~~~~

It had been months since he’d received the surprise letter. He had read it and re-read it more times than he could count. Westmore had hit on an old wound, one Kaidan had caused. One he had never truly recovered from.

Kora Reese was the one that got away. More accurately, he had let her get away thinking he was doing the right thing. Now a little over two years later, he knew for a fact he had been wrong. He had been an idiot. How could leaving her like he had been the best thing for either of them? It hadn’t been. He had been miserable for months after leaving her until he finally threw himself into his work again, ignoring that pain. But no matter what he did, it was still there.

No matter what he had accomplished in the meantime, the ranks he had risen to, the assignments he had taken on, the pain from that wound was still there. It always would be until he confronted it. He had never run from anything before except this. The hole in his heart he had created by forcing Kori away had never been filled. And now a dead man was calling his bluff.

Mike had been a good man just proud and more macho than Kaidan cared for. He’d been in a relationship with Kori for nearly a year before the O-4 Relay mission. But when he left, Westmore had at least been open and honest about his reasons. Kori would have understood and accepted that unlike how he had BSed his reasons for leaving.

Now he stood in his quarters typing up a report for Anderson on the progress his biotic students were making. He made sure to include a request for an in person briefing with the Admiral. It would require him to return to Earth and coincidentally would occur about the same time the SR2 was to be turned over the Alliance R & D. And the team overseeing that project was to be headed up by none other than Kora Reese.

Anderson had dropped her name in his last video call with Kaidan when he informed him of the pending arrest of Shepard after the Alpha Relay incident. The older man was once again hinting that Kaidan should patch things up with his one time flame. That combined with Westmore’s letter, made everything crystal clear.

Westmore was right. He had f’ed up and let go of the best thing that had ever happened to him. Westmore had died trying to protect humanity nearly six months before and had asked Kaidan to fix a mistake. It was the motivation he needed to end his own suffering. He had never thought that he would have the opportunity to make things right with Reese. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to but at least he could talk to her. He could try. Something he hadn’t done at all since the SR1 went down.

Now he found himself wanting to. Not just because of Westmore but because he realized just how much he had hurt Kori. He had always tried to bury that truth but now…

It all could end with just him trying to reach out to her and if he had to engineer an opportunity he would. She deserved better. She always had whether she believed it or not. And this time he would do it right. He would be honest and give her whatever closure she needed.

And maybe just maybe it wouldn’t just be an ending but also a beginning.

#n7 month #mass effect #kaidan alenko #prompts #messages

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stevenuniversallyreviews · 4 years

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Episode 141: Your Mother and Mine

”You have it all wrong!”

We already know the story of Rose Quartz. We know she was a rebel who battled for many years against the forces of Pink Diamond. We know that she was “just another quartz soldier, made right here in the dirt” and rose to greatness by rallying fellow Gems to join her cause. We know that she was drawn to Gems that Homeworld shunned, wanting to make sure everyone had a place. We know that she ended the war by shattering Pink Diamond. And we know that after the war, her shield could only save two of her friends. So on paper, an episode that recaps this information is redundant.

But Your Mother and Mind isn’t about Rose Quartz’s history, it’s about her story. And the story is told by a character that can only reach her audience by impersonating the bearer of Pink Diamond’s gem.

Your Mother and Mine is a simple episode made fascinating by its proximity to the truth. It combines all the pieces of Rose’s story that we’ve heard over the course of the series to give us a definitive take on the narrative just in time for it to be undermined. We’re five episodes away from learning that Rose Quartz was Pink Diamond, and the episode after that is about Pearl correcting the version of events we hear right now. Which means that the episode’s major theme of truth versus fiction is something we can’t even comprehend fully without retrospect. Even if you already suspect that Rose is Pink when you watch it for the first time, the fact that it’s not written in stone yet means there’s still a possibility that Garnet’s story is true, and the episode only becomes great when you know for sure that it isn’t.

Garnet is the perfect narrator for the final depiction of Rose as we knew her before A Single Pale Rose. She’s one of the two remaining Crystal Gems that survived the war and isn’t bubbled, and we’ll soon learn that the other is bound to silence, so Garnet is the most capable character to tell this story and believe it. And her introduction in Your Mother and Mine hammers down why she believes it: when she’s excited about a cause that’s close to home, her enthusiasm overwhelms her usual calm. She’s so happy with the idea of misfit Homeworlders escaping oppression that she can’t step back and see that they aren’t handling her praise well until Padparadscha says it outright (for the second time in three episodes, she displays her ability to “predict” the emotions of the recent past on top of the events). And when she really gets going with her story, Garnet shows the exact same level of breathless, blinding glee. It can be hard to look for flaws in something you’re actively rooting for, that you’ve tied your whole identity to, so she doesn’t.

The distortion of truth that defines the episode is established by the Off Colors, who parrot three variants of Homeworld propaganda that mythologize Rose Quartz in the same way Garnet does, albeit for opposite reasons. They can’t even get their own stories straight, adding to the mystery of a figure that Homeworld would do anything to disavow and vilify, but the three main Gems in Steven’s life also have different concepts of Rose. Pearl’s is the most accurate, but she can’t tell anyone. Garnet’s is what she saw with her own three eyes, so she thinks it’s accurate, but she’s missing critical information. And Amethyst only knew Rose from after the war, so like Steven she had to learn about it secondhand.

And so, a question presents itself: what’s the value of a story that isn’t true? In this episode, Garnet’s false narrative galvanizes the Off Colors in the same way it galvanized her for thousands of years. It gives Steven a version of the shattering that paints Rose’s actions as heroic—Lars, whose first huge character moment with Steven involved insulting his “weird mom,” thinks she’s awesome for doing it. Regardless of the facts, it’s a great story, an honest-to-goodness legend presented gorgeously. So how much does it matter that much of it is wrong?

To Steven and Garnet, it matters quite a bit. But to the Off Colors? They need a confidence boost both in their general lives and in a moment of floating in space with a broken engine, and the story of Rose Quartz concretely helps them. That’s the tricky thing about legendary figures: if you model yourself off a literal interpretation of their actions, as Steven and Garnet do, it can only end in disappointment, but if you just view it as a story, it can do a lot of good. Fiction can be a wonderful thing—Steven Universe is itself an untrue story that has made the world a better place—but it gets rougher when the boundaries between fiction and reality are muddled.

While Rebecca Sugar has many times confirmed that the three lead Gems are based off elements of her personality, Steven is based off her brother, and characteristics of other real people are found throughout the show in the way fiction writers often flesh out their casts, Rose Quartz is different. In an early conversation with Hellboy creator Mike Mignola of all people, she was inspired by Babylonian mythology, especially Ishtar, in developing the show’s backstory, and Era 1 Rose Quartz feels more like an ancient goddess of love and war than a grounded human at this point in the show.

So Garnet tells us a creation myth. She introduces the Diamonds as gods, calling them “unique in their flawlessness” without an ounce of sarcasm, but like most ancient mythological gods, they do indeed have flaws: in this case, according to Garnet, Pink’s cruelty and cowardice. From these gods came Gems in their image, and for an untold sweep of time there was stagnation as all went according to plan, until a disrupting hero shifted this status quo to create the world we know today. Rose Quartz went from questioning her god to arguing with her god to warring with her god to destroying and supplanting her god, but because this is a pantheon, her hubris is punished by the other gods. It’s a story that works as well thousands of years ago as it does today.

And befitting that story, we get the most stylized flashback in the series, expanding heavily from the silhouettes of The Answer. Even if nothing else here worked, this would remain a beautiful episode, with simple but effective techniques to marry narration with aesthetic: transitioning from widescreen to fullscreen as Rose’s worldview expands, using stained glass backgrounds to keep the focus on characters instead of environment, and reducing colors in the foreground to make those colors pop. Eyes are out of the picture, a major handicap for showing how characters feel, but seasoned pros Katie Mitroff and Paul Villeco can convey emotion through body language and mouths alone.

Estelle certainly helps. Her commanding voice could make any story enthralling, even as she shifts from the fairy tale of her own origin to the legend of Rose. While she largely uses the same techniques here as in The Answer, the one noticeable change speaks volumes about Pink Diamond. When speaking for Blue, a far more personal foe for Garnet, she continues to narrate in her usual tone, and when speaking for Rose, her voice raises a little but it still sounds like Garnet. But when speaking for Pink, Estelle does something new: for the first and only time in the series, she vocally impersonates another character.

This is the second episode in a row featuring Pink Diamond, and the second in a row where she’s voiced by someone who isn’t Pink Diamond. Stevonnie shows the true version (a child), while Garnet shows the legend (a tyrant). And both halves of the Mindful Education duo are great at it! All Estelle needs is a few lines to shift that British accent into full evil aristocrat mode, and the special attention she gives to this voice highlights just how different this take on Pink is from the tantrum AJ Michalka provided. Even before we know the full truth, something is off about this cruel but newly confident version of Pink.

While the whole story gains new meaning when we hear the truth, the most compelling part in retrospect is Garnet’s stance on Pink Diamond calling for help. On top of providing the stunning header image as we pan from revolutionaries up to their oppressors, it’s this brilliant, awful moment where Garnet gets so close to the truth without grasping it, Blue Zircon style. Yes, Pink summoned other Diamonds to Earth, but it was part of her plan to save the planet: to make a big enough fuss that Homeworld would decide her colony wasn’t worth it. Garnet’s take is in line with the Pink we saw in our last episode, immature and seeking approval from her elders, and focusing on it here highlights how these negative traits could be aimed to help others when we see her real motives in Now We’re Only Falling Apart.

That said, Pink isn’t the only Diamond we see here.

White Diamond is different. She’s the only Diamond who isn’t named until her debut episode, existing only as a suggestion that fills in a massive gap. We’re restricted to her glimpses of her, mere hints of her ominous presence, like a monster in the shadows. The mural on the moon, the distant view of her ship on Homeworld, the actual white diamond that tops the insignia, that’s all we’ve gotten until now.

Here we get three images of her, even if she still goes unmentioned: the first shot of the four Diamonds together, the shot of the remaining three Diamonds after the shattering, and the Corruption. She remains obscured, more an idea than a character, but it’s clearer than ever that she’s the head of the group, and that she’s enormous, even compared to Yellow and Blue. Her absence is as captivating as her presence, as we see more of her than ever but still get the impression that Pink was only able to appeal to the middle sisters. It’s a great hook, a second mystery that overlaps Pink Diamond’s to show the audience that there’s more to this story than we might think, and even when we inevitably unravel Pink’s history, there’s a bigger threat behind the curtain.

The story ends with a brief scene in our regular style, showing that even if everything else was wrong, Rose Quartz did use her shield to save her friends. We return to a downcast ship, but Garnet supplements the power of fiction with the power of truth: that despite all the lies from Homeworld (and the lies from Rose, it turns out), the Crystal Gems and the Off Colors persist. No matter how much authority figures might try to hide it, diversity of lifestyle and identity is everywhere, because queer folks are normal folks. That’s the sort of thing a good story can make clear, especially when society constantly repeats a brutal and bald-faced lie.

And so the Off Colors trilogy of sorts draws to a close, with another call to adventure aboard the Sun Incinerator. But not before Steven and Garnet have a sit-down away from the celebrating crew, and the downside of a good story peeks out. It’s refreshing to see Steven verbalize his theory about Stevonnie’s dream so soon, given the necessary gap between The Trial and Jungle Moon to focus on his immediate concerns, but because Garnet only knows the story instead of the history, she replies with two truths and a lie: that his powers come from empathy, that his differences are something to be celebrated, and that Rose Quartz definitely killed Pink Diamond.

Steven will thus need another push to find the truth, rather than pursuing it on his own. Rose’s story does a lot of good, but it keeps Steven in the dark on his heritage and his inheritance, and makes him doubt the gut that he should be learning to trust by now. Self-doubt is just one of the many issues plaguing him in Steven Universe Future, but it remains a major factor in his identity crisis, and it’s rooted in moments like this: when a loved one who means well repeats a lie that makes him question what he knows in his heart.

The truth can be a dangerous thing, and fiction can comfort and inspire. The truth leads to clarity, and fiction can distort. This isn’t a convenient dichotomy, and Garnet herself will soon be ripped apart by the realization that the story she tells right here was a lie, but she wouldn’t be who she is today without that story, and for better and worse, neither would Steven. I’m not saying it isn’t important to seek the truth, and I’m certainly not saying that this show is telling us that. But I appreciate so much that the value of stories isn’t lost in that message.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Without the upcoming reveal, this is just an episode that I like. Great visuals and a well-told story, but still feels like a recap. But that reveal amps up Your Mother and Mine by both justifying the recap itself and by making the actual point of the episode clear. So up it goes!

Top Twenty-Five

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Jungle Moon

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Lars of the Stars

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Back to the Kindergarten

Steven’s Dream

Kevin Party

When It Rains

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Doug Out

The Good Lars

Are You My Dad?

I Am My Mom

Stuck Together

The Trial

Off Colors

Lars’s Head

Gemcation

Raising the Barn

Sadie Killer

Your Mother and Mine

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Dewey Wins

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

6. Horror Club 5. Fusion Cuisine 4. House Guest 3. Onion Gang 2. Sadie’s Song 1. Island Adventure

#your mother and mine #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

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stormskates · 5 years

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Rika Kihira - International Angel of Peace | Program Review

Choreography by Tom Dickson

The Concept

International Angel of Peace tells the story of an angel on a mission to end war and conflict between different religions of the world and unite them in peace. This concept is reflected in multiple facets of the program, such as:

the music, which is a medley of different pieces to represent and allude to a diversity of places, religions, and cultures

the choreography, which builds on the inspiration of the music and depicts varying expressions from faith to anger to joy and triumph

the costume, tailored by Satomi Ito, which has gold embellishments reminiscent of gilded sculptures, a common art form found across multiple cultures and religions

Unlike her previous programs, International Angel of Peace isn’t an interpretation of a pre-existing text. This isn’t choreographed to a single piece of music (e.g. Breakfast in Baghdad, Kung Fu Piano, Beautiful Storm, Claire de Lune, Rhapsody in Blue, Tzigane) or songs tied already by a theme (e.g. La Strada). While drawing inspiration from various sources, everything from the medley of songs and the story that accompanies it results to the creation of an entirely new text. This makes it distinguished and incomparable.

I’m a big fan of how layered and substantive this program is. As I especially appreciate it when the choreography goes above and beyond expectations, I thought I’d write this up.

Pardon the inconsistent and poor quality of GIFs as these are from various performances and sources. Some are mine but some are also from: @rika-kihira | @chibihao | @reimz

The Program

International Angel of Peace begins with the sound of a bell being rung, which is matched by arm movements that depict the opening of a dance. The choreography that follows, now as the music plays a beautiful cello cover of O Virtus Sapientiae (composed by German Benedictine abbess Hildegard von Bingen), also portray a gentle awakening. She circles twice before opening her chest, like so:

The tempo in O Virtus Sapientiae is slow, giving her ample time for her opening jumps. For the duration of the song, she’s allowed to focus on jumping and landing her highest scoring jumps, the 4S and 3A2T. (Note that as of this writing, she has yet to perform both jumps to avoid aggravating her ankle injury.)

The music then picks up, shifting to the slightly more upbeat, thrill-inducing Beirut Taxi (composed by Alexandre Desplat for the movie Syriana) as she does a series of transitions into her 3Lz. Serious, grim expressions of the face and body complement those steps — the angel in this story is gearing up as she sets forth to accomplish her mission.

After the jump, she wastes no more time getting into her combination camel spin, matching the beat of the music. As she ends the spin, the music fades to the next song, Wings of the Eagle (composed by Uttara-kuru). The music invokes less combative emotions and harks back to traditional Japanese sounds. The image of a Japanese garden comes to mind, but we aren’t allowed to gaze at the flowers for long as the music doesn’t take long to shift again - this time to Caravans on the Move (composed by Mike Batt) - and the angel comes across the war.

Rika jumps her second 3A and transitions directly into the step sequence, the first part of which is set to the music, Mother Tongue (composed by Dead Can Dance). The tempo is faster, demanding her to perform quicker, sharper movements. In no way, however, does this sacrifice her fluidity and motion on the ice. She makes use of the size of the rink, covering as much ice as there is available. Just watch her go (and the camera follow her):

The first part of the step sequence ends with a brief but decisive halt. The battle stops for a moment, and the angel puts on a smile.

The tempo slows down, but we still see hints of truculent stances throughout the choreography before it mellows down completely.

This part is rather brilliant imo: there is scarcely a war in history where the parties involved do not still encounter hiccups in negotiations and compromises for peace, and this portrays that period pretty well.

When the step sequence ends, the music shifts to Sacred Stones (a world music-style rendition of a Sanskrit chant by Sheila Chandra). Rika takes a breath and gathers speed again for her 3Lz3T (x) and transitions out of them to this choreography:

Personally (and this is probably an unpopular opinion), I’m a bit perplexed by the takes about how controversial the arm movements are in this part. The position is popularly credited to Egyptian style dance, but there are also strong similarities in even just the first video you see when you search up traditional Indian dance in Youtube (e.g. the positions in 1:47-1:51 in this). Not for me to deny how others felt about this part of the choreography, but it doesn’t strike as appropriative when the exact music used doesn’t appear to be used in actual prayers (and is performed by a woman of Indian descent) and the choreography doesn’t appear to demean or devalue the culture it draws inspiration from.

If anything, this is the most solemn part of the program. The war has ended, the people are in a state of rebuilding, and the angel is praying for continued peace. At this point in the program, the hymn evokes feelings of hope and faith, which I find beautiful.

Moving on, Rika jumps her last combo, the 3F-Eu-3S (x), and swings right into her combination I-spin as the hymn fades and transitions into the last piece of music, In A Moment of Greatness (composed by Larry Groupé). The title speaks for itself: the Angel of Peace has accomplished her mission, and the last three elements evoke that triumph.

In the choreographic sequence alone, we watch the angel express her joy with a beautiful, victorious Ina Bauer to a gleeful stag jump. I also really like these arm movements in between, as they're expressing this ‘opening up’ — a recurring theme in the entire element. Her arms rarely take a break and are not held sloppily, as you can see:

After the choreographic sequence, Rika does a cross-grab spiral before her last jump, the 3Lo (x), directly transitioning into the final element and her best spin, the layback — a mere ten seconds away from the end of the program. This part of the choreography is not only difficult to execute, but also complements the music really well.

Her end pose is, of course, of a triumphant fashion. Her posture is impeccable, so even a simple pose like this looks elegant and beautiful. I also like thinking of this as the part where the angel finally spreads out and shows off her wings.

Further Thoughts

Putting her varying jump layout aside (the ones I’ve labelled here is from the original plan, which is more ambitious than what she’s performed so far), I thought the program itself is pretty solid from concept to execution.

On skating skills: The program highlights Rika’s strengths very well, showcasing her varying use of speed, ease of flow and acceleration acquisition between elements, wide range of body movement, clear edge control, and skills in multi-directional and one-footed skating. Her skating skills have visibly improved since last season.

On transitions: The transitions between elements (jumps, spins, sequences) are smooth and complex. Three of her jumps (3Lz, 3F-Eu-3Sx, and 3Lox) exit into spins, one jump exits into the step sequence. There are steps before her combos and the solo 3Lz. All the transitions also match the music overall, as I’ve elaborated above.

On composition: The program demonstrates a clear concept, matching plot and choreography to music and maximising the space of rink. There’s more to this than being another angel program. The points of the plot are defined, and the details of the concept (i.e. how this is meant to evoke a diverse set of cultures, religions) are sprinkled in different ways (music, choreography, even the warrior-like costume) throughout the program.

On interpretation of the music: Rika is one of the few skaters I know who match their movements to the music. The music is a medley and by its very nature demands the portrayal of multiple emotions, which is an expectation I think the choreography and performance meets. The movements here are nuanced and expressive, enough for the attentive viewer to grasp the story being told even if you’re seated far.

On performance: While I do think we have yet to see this program in full form and performed with a similar ferocity that Rika showed in NHK+GPF2018, it’d be unfair not to give credit to her lines, carriage, posture, and expression in movement, not to mention performing this cleanly so far even under immense pressure.

There is so, so much potential in this program and it’s really quite a lot more meticulous, structured, and difficult than most people give it credit for.

#Rika Kihira #Tom Dickson #figure skating #Team Hamada #Satomi Ito

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chirpsythismorning · 2 years

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How the Ending of Stranger Things 3 Subtly (Blatantly) Foreshadowed the Love Triangle in Stranger Things 4

During Mike and Will's last scene together alone (essentially their goodbye), Mike shows visible concern over the fact that Will is probably gonna want to join another party after he moves. In response, Will reassures him that would be impossible, with Mike looking visibly relieved and even happy about this reassurance.

However, in contrast, as Mike is saying his goodbyes to El, only a moment later, Mike doesn't voice any similar concerns about the possibility of her meeting new people (even with the concept fresh in his mind, might I add). Also in contrast to his scene with Will, their goodbye here ends with Mike looking conflicted and confused at El's form of reassurance (love confession/kiss), rather than relieved/happy.

These are honestly such weird narrative choices on the writers part, if I'm supposed to believe that what Mike has with Will is strictly platonic and what Mike has with El is strictly romantic.

In fact, Mike even makes a point of mentioning Will's name in his plans to reunite with El during their goodbye, but he makes no mention of El when he says goodbye to Will...

Now, what should that tell you??

Even just reanalyzing these scenes from s3 in combination with what ends up happening in s4, how can anyone still come to the honest conclusion that m!leven makes more sense as endgame than byler?

El was still very new to basic experiences, let alone high school, and so although things did go horrible for her in Cali, they could've gone well in a better scenario.

She even gives Mike this impression in early ST4, saying that things were going amazing for her, and we saw Mike being fairly open and kind when it came to the topic of her new friends and new life in Lenora.

Though, once again in contrast, Mike was visibly uncomfortable over the topic of Will's life in Lenora, or more specifically, what El mentioned in her most recent letter, which was that she thought Will might be painting something for a girl he likes.

Interestingly, besides the fact that Will is painting more, this small piece of (mis)information about a girl, is the only thing we were shown Mike knowing about Will's new life in Lenora.

After humiliating himself at the airport by asking about the painting, since we the audience (and El) already know Mike knows about it and who it’s probably for, what follows is Mike making absolutely zero effort to find out anything else about Will’s new life, after now assuming El's suspicions were correct.

How very platonic of you, Mike.

We even get these hints via subtext that Mike thought El's new friend Angela could be the girl Will made the painting for.

So we’re seeing this pattern here, and it’s that Mike is actually shown to be more scared about losing Will to new people than he is scared about losing El to new people.

Then, low and behold, it turns out El was lying about having friends. In reality she’s quite miserable in Lenora.

You would think, despite the unfortunate circumstances, if Mike had actually been insecure about El moving on, only for those insecurities to be disproven, wouldn't he have been at least slightly relieved?

But we don't get that. After the truth is revealed, Mike looks even more upset and conflicted about his relationship with El than before.

He can try and say that his behavior is related to his fear that someone new will discover how special El is, followed by her not needing him, but in reality, that possibility was just literally disproven.

El had no one new in her life, and she was literally standing before Mike, begging him to need her. All he had to do was say I love you. Problem solved, right?

But he didn't. He didn't because the truth is so much more complex than he's making it out to be.

Going into the rest of the season, after El has left and it's only Mike and Will, there is absolutely no mention of Will's life in Lenora, with the focus instead being all on Mike.

Mike's trying to reveal to Will that he wants to end things romantically with El, saying their fight was one he didn't think they could come back from (even though he and the audience know all it would've required was three simple words), him even going as far as to say that he doesn't think him and El meeting each other was anything special ("IT WASN'T FATE! IT WASN'T DESTINY!" like, okay! Chill out, Michael!).

Mike is trying as subtly as he possibly can to hint to Will that he is having these insecurities about his relationship, a relationship that he believes is doomed to fail, but that he is scared of ending himself because it might mean losing El altogether.

Tragically, all it probably would've taken was Will voicing even an ounce of agreement in Mike's doubts, for Mike to finally end things with El. Seriously, where is s3 Will when s4 Mike needs him?? Will could've said anything to support his doubts, and Mike would've been throwing in the towel (no, but like literally the only time Will showed Mike any annoyance in s4 over Mike moping about El, and here Mike was, throwing El's letter in the garbage almost instantly... )

Only problem is, Will isn't letting that happen this time.

And what do you think that tells Mike? I mean, if I were Mike, I would assume that Will is definitely not interested. After all, he apparently likes girls now, despite implying he wouldn't move on last time they talked. And now he has someone else to gift his paintings too, not Mike.

Mike's probably realizing rn that he's going crazy all alone, without Will.

Because like, let's be real. If your best friend has feelings for someone, you talk about it with them.

We literally see this happening right now with Mike and Will when it comes to El. All. Season.

So why, after finding out about Will's potential love interest, has Mike made zero effort to learn more about said girl?

WHY not have Will become aware that Mike assumes there is a girl in the first place????

Matter of fact, why didn't we see Mike's reaction to hearing Will talk about his life in Lenora, at all???????

Maybe because it would've been even more obvious than Mike admitting to Will that Hawkins wasn't the same without him?

Maybe because this is a classic case of the misunderstanding/miscommunication trope, where it could all be solved if everyone just knew the truth?

Honestly, I think the moment we do finally get to see Mike's reaction to Will, maybe even just slightly implying life was better for him in Lenora, Mike is going to look... well, devastated.

And that would've been a little too on the nose for ST4, especially if their plan was to keep the general audience second-guessing Mike's feelings, up until the final season.

I do believe it's likely we'll eventually get Mike's true reaction to Will's life in Lenora though, because the lead up has been quite extensive.

In the s3 finale, they could've easily shown us Mike being worried El would find someone else in Cali, but they don’t. Instead they show us that Mike has that insecurity linked to Will.

The main insecurity I saw Mike having in regards to El at the end of s3, standing in front of Will's closet, was that it genuinely looked like he knew that if he was 'normal', he would've tried harder to fight for their romantic relationship. But he just couldn’t do it and so that’s why he looked annoyed with himself as she started walking away.

But suddenly, El's turning around, confronting him, and Mike doesn’t look the least bit relieved. He looks distracted and caught off guard. When she mentions his heart, that's when he starts looking downright panicked. Then, she's walking back up to him and kissing him, all while his eyes are wide open. Afterwards, he's silent and she leaves him in Will's room by himself, looking dumbfounded.

I would argue that if Mike did truly love El (romantically), but just didn’t know how to express it, he would have been relieved that she was making it so easy for him. After all, it didn’t even require any work on his part in that moment.

BOOM. She said she loved him too. BOOM. She kissed him. BOOM. They’re boyfriend and girlfriend again. That was easy, right?

But if them being together again was what Mike truly wanted at this point, 3 months post-breakup, then his reaction here makes no sense when you compare it to his reaction to Will only minutes before.

Which brings me back to the importance of the whole walkie/phone call/letters debacle.

What I think is that, initially, Mike intended to use the walkie to stay in touch with El, and to reserve writing letters for Will ('Love Mike'). Either that, or perhaps he was initially open minded to having equal contact with both of them, via letters and phone calls/Cerebro.

After finding out Will did want the same future as him, even getting confirmation from Will that he wouldn’t be 'joining any other parties', Mike is hopeful. How they talk is basically code for them both hoping their instincts are right about the others feelings; that they equally feel the same way about each other and that maybe, sometime in the future, maybe.

I do think they both had this realization in that moment during their goodbye. And that's what makes everything that follows going into s4 so stupidly tragic for everyone involved.

I think that talk with Will was when Mike realized he wanted to reserve romantic gestures for Will again (like he did in s2) and to go back to the more friendship based gestures with El (arguably also what he did in s2 with the walkie).

That's what was holding him back, this realization that he actually wanted him and El to stay broken up so that he could go back to this bond he had with Will.

But suddenly, El is telling him she loves him too and she’s kissing him and??? How the hell does he take back what he said those few months ago? She lost her only real father figure, she's moving away AND is revealing that she's in love with him? Obviously he’s not thinking about how in the long run, this misunderstanding will only hurt her more than just breaking it off now. He's thinking about how much she's already hurting and that he can't do this to her. And tbh, I don't really blame Mike for not having the courage to do it. I probably wouldn't either.

Quite frankly, I think a lot of the audience can't give up on M!leven because they too have the same mindset as Mike, which is that, because they feel so bad for El and everything she's been through, he's practically indebted to her, as she's saved his life countless times, and pretty much the entire world. How can he not love her? It's the LEAST Mike can do in his mind (and the audiences').

Don't get me wrong. I never wanted El to be heartbroken. I can say with full confidence that 99.99% of bylers want El to be the one to break it off with Mike. It's seriously starting to look like Mike is just going to pull a Ted Wheeler and be miserable forever if she doesn't take the initiative on this and so that's really the only satisfying way they can go about that at this point.

I do believe that El and Mike have a good dynamic, well, when they're not forcing themselves to be someone else just to be with each other. And I think s1 dynamics making a return means we'll hopefully get some of those honest interactions between them, like we did before society kind of forced its expectations on them.

But, if we're being honest with ourselves, season 4 is said and done, which means everything that happened, happened.

Mike has already broken El's heart. He's already done the very thing he didn't want to do, all because he was convinced that his only option was to lie to her, himself and everyone about the truth.

Like, there must be a reason why the writers keep showing us Mike struggling with committing to El, over and over throughout the entire series. The fact that when it's finally caught up to him, he looks downright terrified, like it all adds up, honestly. It all makes sense.

He’s also got internalized homophobia working against him, telling him, 'El is incredible, beautiful, a literal superhero and she loves you…? What’s wrong with you??'

And I think Mike’s visible turmoil at the end of s3 is this realization that he's right back where he started. Repressing his true feelings; reserving romantic gestures for El and as a result having no choice but to reserve platonic gestures for Will.

Then s4 comes around and we find out El and Mike have been keeping in touch via letters, with no mention of the walkies at all.

We can presume that they did not talk over the phone because of government surveillance, which was why Mike initially mentioned the walkies in the first place (again, remember he said this BEFORE they kissed/got back together).

We also know from Will's perspective that Mike only called a couple of times. We can assume maybe more than once, but probably no more than 2-5 times, he successfully got through to the Byers.

But we also now know from Dustin's perspective (and El's because she heard this conversation in the void), is that Mike called so much to the point where Dustin said he was 'always whining' about the line being busy.

And this will never not be the most important piece of the puzzle to me.

First of all, this line was put here for a reason. Second of all, no one outside of bylers in the fandom talk about this much, if at all, and that's probably because those refusing to consider the possibility of byler would rather not acknowledge that there's literally no other way to interpret this.

In present time, Dustin has just said Mike is 'always whining about' the Byers' line being busy, which means that even though it's been 6+ months since the Byers' moved to California, Mike presumably hasn't stoped 'whining about it' (always more so implies still/currently, not so much in the past/previously/'maybe a couple times').

So, why didn't Mike tell Will he called way more than 'a couple of times' when Will confronted him about it?

And why didn't we get anything regarding Mike and El keeping in touch via the walkie, ie, Mike's original plan?

We saw that in her room, El had a shrine dedicated to Mike, with the walkie sitting right in the middle, just waiting for him to call her. Because technically, in order for them to keep in contact via the walkie, Mike would have to be at Dustin's using Cerebro, or having stolen it (like he said he would).

But instead of seeing El being annoyed with Mike calling her constantly, we get Mike reading a letter from El, with shots of the Mike shrine, and El saying "I miss you so much I can hardly breathe, do you miss me too?" WITH NO RESPONSE and this awkward tension, seeing as what follows is nothing that constitutes an El shrine in Mike's space, the scene ending with him crumpling up her letter and moving on entirely.

We even get a scene of Dustin talking to Suzie on Cerebro directly after this scene with Mike.

So... What if this means Mike didn't follow through when it came to actually calling El on the walkie? What if she was already suspicious, not only about the letters all ending with 'from Mike' but also because she remembered Mike saying he would call so much, only for her to find out, directly from Dustin that Mike was always 'whining about' the Byers phone line being busy. Which meant all those times he could've called El, all those times she was waiting for him to annoy her like he said he would, he was busy annoying Dustin over the fact that he couldn't get ahold of Will...

What if Mike went from telling El he would call her so much she would have to turn it off, to in reality, only calling her on the walkie maybe a couple times, only to drop it all-together, which is what lead to the letters being the main source of contact in the first place.

Also WHY even have El be the one to find out that Mike was constantly calling the Byers to talk to Will, before Will himself finds out, with him still currently assuming the opposite...?

Honestly, I think it's kind of obvious, but I'll try to continue spelling it out.

I think Mike made a compromise with himself after both El and Will moved to California.

He couldn't break it off with El, not now and not this way. Maybe if he was straight and only liked girls, he could end things without feeling self conscious about the potential perceived implications behind it. But because he knows the true reason, he feels like it will give him away. Sadly, Mike also has very low self esteem and so he just genuinely believes that he should be honored to be loved by someone like El, because this is probably as good as it's gonna get for someone like him.

This compromise also involves Mike trying to keep things as platonic as possible with Will, and yet the way he goes about it still somehow tragically does exactly the opposite.

By not going through with using the walkie to call El, he's making the phone calls between him and Will 'their' thing, even when Mike tragically can never seem to reach him.

I think the idea of talking to El 'romantically' on Cerebro, only to hear Will in the background, who Mike now may have the urge to talk to after not being able to get ahold of him for weeks.?. I just know Mike cringed at the mere idea of that, like I could totally see something like that being a catalyst for why he made that separation between how he'd allow himself to communicate with them in the first place, post s3.

I also think he knew that if he wrote letters to both Will and El, there was a small chance they could end up comparing letters at some point, and the difference between how he opens up with Will in comparison to how he doesn't as much with El, would have made his true feelings glaringly obvious.

I do honestly believe that the reason they never let us read any of Mike's letters to El (beyond how they all end...) was because of this very fact, that it would have been the biggest giveaway of all.

Like, what the hell would Mike have even talked about anyways? It's literally canon that he was a 'shitty knockoff' of his true self when they reunited at the airport and then all day at rink-o-mania too (just like El), so maybe it isn't a reach to assume he also lied in his letters (just like El). Or even more likely, he probably focused on just asking questions about how she was doing/how the Byers were doing. After all, Mike has no reason to believe El wants to hear about Hellfire, or any of the things he knows aren't exactly perceived as 'cool'.

source

This is also why I'm fairly convinced they're saving showing the audience a letter written by Mike for the final season, because that's when his true feelings will be revealed (and this time, it will be a letter that ends with, ‘love Mike’...)

Though I think it's unlikely we'll get flashbacks about what Mike was thinking between ST3-4 (possibility scene in New Moon... iykyk), I like to believe that he did try to write a letter to Will at least once, maybe right after they moved, but at the very last second he realized it ended with, 'love Mike', in contrast to a letter he wrote to El ending with, 'from Mike', and that's when it really hit him.

He knew he had to set boundaries with himself to be a good boyfriend and a good best friend (in theory of course, because he failed miserably).

The biggest giveaway of all though, is Mike not being able to fully submit to this compromise he's made with himself.

Even though he reserved writing letters to El, to convince himself he was at least trying to be a good, romantic boyfriend, while also trying to convince himself that his feelings for Will were strictly platonic (SHES MY GIRLFRIEND, WILL! /WERE FRIENDS. WERE FRIENDS!), he still couldn't give in entirely; he still couldn’t end the letters to El with, “love Mike’.

It took Will giving Mike constant reassurance and support all of s4, up until the very last second, for him to finally tell El he loves her.

And now here we are! Forced conformity caused the end of the world, so now we just gotta wait for gay love/endgame to save it.

#stranger things #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #idk but #yeah the math is mathing

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iamsaha · 4 years

Text

Friend

Finnegan pulled her skirt up to show off some more leg and undid an extra button to show more cleavage. She frowned. The expensive push-up bra she had gotten - after telling herself that it was a work expense - was extremely uncomfortable. As if every dollar she had sunk into it was eager to remind her that it should have been spent on something else.

“Hey, Finn.” Roan came into the locker room, already in the process of tearing her shirt off. “Slow night.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Could use one.” Finnegan applied her lip balm, smacked her lips, and turned to face her friend. The brunette was massaging her own feet with a look of bliss on her face. “You alright?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” Roan smiled. “The night is slow but the day was packed. Especially this afternoon.”

“Lucky me then.”

“Yep.” Roan sighed as she got up to get changed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn. We’re both working the night shift.”

“Goodnight.” Finnegan hugged her friend and left the locker room. The dark hallway smelled of fried food, alcohol, and a slight hint of the lemon-scented cleaning product used to clean the floors. It was a combination of smells that Finnegan had hated at first when she first started working at Buck’s but now, after five years, it was something she could think of fondly. She thought it was weird she could do that but she didn’t question it. It’s always nice to have something to think of positively.

“Hey, gorgeous. Didn’t see you come in.”

“Well I didn’t want you to see me before I got all pretty.” Finnegan smiled at Cooper as he stuck his head out the kitchen door. “What do you think?” She twirled for him.

“You’d turn a gay man straight, Finn.” Cooper nodded approvingly.

“Well did I?”

“Nope!”

“Fuck you then.” Finnegan punched his shoulder and headed towards the main room. Roan was right. It was a slow night. She could count a grand total of ten customers in the restaurant’s fairly large main room. The majority, a loud group of five, weren’t even in her section. She watched for a second to see how they were treating the new girl, Shelly, as she dropped off their food. Their eyes wandered but that’s about it. Since adventurous eyes were encouraged in their workplace, Finnegan kept moving. As she passed them, one called out to her.

“How about you join us, sweetheart?”

“I’d love to but we’re not allowed to spoil our customers.” Finnegan winked at him. “Not too much anyway.” She lifted her skirt up to show off her thigh before letting it drop. That got her a cheer but otherwise the men left her alone. It was always risky pulling a move like that. Some took it as an invitation to get physically friendly. But most of the men at Buck’s were polite and knew what was allowed and what wasn’t. For the ones that didn’t, there’s a gentleman standing by the door that was very protective of his female coworkers.

“Good evening, sir, I hope you haven’t had to wait too long.” Finnegan said when she got to her first table for the night. “My name is Finnegan and I’ll be your waitress tonight. You can call me Finn.”

“It’s fine.” The man said. “Is Roan not in tonight?”

“Her shift just ended.” Finnegan frowned apologetically. “She your favorite?”

“I just had her a week ago, which was my first time here. I’m sure you can be my favorite.”

“I’m sure I can be.” Finnegan brightened up like he had just made her day and moved to stand by him, her hip resting against his upper arm. She put her arm around his shoulder and leaned over. “So what can I get started for you...?”

“Greg.”

“Greg! That was my high school volleyball coach’s name. Had the biggest crush on him.” Finnegan said. “What can I get you, Greg?”

“Just get me a diet coke for now, Finn.” Greg said. “Haven’t looked at the menu much.”

“Well how about I suggest an appetizer for ya?”

“Sure.”

She leaned closer and ‘casually’ pushed her breasts against the side of his head. “Our chef Cooper makes the best mozzarella sticks. I don’t know what he breads the cheese with but I think it’s drugs. And the marinara sauce that you get to dip with is to die for. ”

“Then I would love some of those.”

“I’ll get that right out for you, Greg.” She started the order on her tablet and put in what he had asked for. She squeezed his shoulder and went to the soda fountain to get his coke. On the way back she greeted customers that had just been seated. “I’ll be right with you gentleman.” She winked at them and they smiled back. She made sure to sway her hips a little extra on the remaining few steps to Greg. “Here’s your diet coke, sir.”

“Thank you.” Greg took a sip of the drink. “I think I’ll have Buck’s Burger.”

“Fries or onion rings on the side?” Finnegan asked. “Or a mix of both for just a dollar extra?”

“Neither, Finn. Trying to watch what I eat.” Greg shook his head. “Shouldn’t have said yes to those mozzarella sticks.”

“Well since you’re being smart and taking care of yourself,” Finnegan said. “You want a turkey patty for that burger instead of beef?”

“Does it cost extra?”

“Buck fifty buuuuut,” Finnegan said. “I do love a man that takes care of himself.”

“Turkey patty it is then, Finn.” Greg laughed. “You’re gonna get every penny out of me, aren’t you?”

“Well not every penny. I do want you to come back.” Finnegan grinned. “Just as much as you wanna give me.”

“Fair enough, honey.” Greg handed her the menu. “Now get this outta my sight before I get tempted by the other things on there.”

“Your appetizer will be here in a second.” Finnegan took the menu, dropped it off at the hostess’ podium, and returned to the two men that had recently arrived. “How y’all doing? My name’s Finnegan and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Call me Finn.” She said. “Or call me sweetie if that’s what you want.”

“W-w-we’ll call you F-Finn.” One man said, trying to seem like he wasn’t staring at her cleavage.

“Booo.” She said playfully. “How about you, sir? Will you call me Finn too?”

“I’ll call you sweetie, sweetie.” The other man said. He seemed at least a decade older than the first. “Lighten up Mike. You just hurt her feelings.”

“Oh. S-s-sorry.” Mike blushed and looked down.

“Don’t worry about it, Mike. Call me whatever makes you comfortable.” Finn smiled and patted his back. “What can I get you two to drink?”

“Got any new IPAs?”

“Electric Jellyfish.” Finnegan said. “Has a nice citrus flavor to it and our chef swears he can taste a hint of mango.”

“Two pints of that then!”

“J-j-just one.” Mike said. “I’ll h-h-have a water. With l-l-lemon.”

“It’s your birthday, Mikey. Come on.”

“I drove us here, Jake.”

“Ooo responsible. Love it. Happy birthday, Mike!” Finnegan smoothly interrupted before Jake could argue. “A pint of Electric Jellyfish for one cutie and a glass of water with lemon for the birthday cutie. Any appetizers?”

“Y’all still have those crab cakes? I didn’t see it on the menu but I’m hoping anyway.” Jake asked. Mike looked pleased at being called ‘birthday cutie’.

“Wow you’re a frequent customer aren’t you, Jake? Yes in fact we do still have the crab cakes. Secret menu item now.” Finnegan smiled. “How come I haven’t seen your smile around before?”

“Was out of town for a long while, Finn.” Jake said. “Came back just for my brother’s birthday.”

“That’s so nice of you, Jake.” Finnegan crooned. “Well I’ll get those crab cakes started and be right back with your drinks.”

“Enjoyin’ those mozzarella sticks, Greg?” She asked on the way to the bar. He gave her an appreciative nod and she winked in return. It was when Sal was pouring the beer for her that she saw that another man had been seated at her section. He was wearing a hoodie and seemed intent on keeping his hands in the kangaroo pocket in the front. On her walk back to Jake and Mike’s table, she noticed the new guest take a hand out for a brief moment. Finnegan thought she saw heavy bandages but the hand was put away just as quickly as it was brought out. “Here you go. Do you know what you want to eat? Or should I give y’all more time?”

“Some more time. Please.” Mike said. “Sweetie.”

“I think you’re the sweetie, Mike.” Finnegan winked. “I’ll be back in five.”

“How about sooner because we’ll miss you?” Jake grinned.

“As you wish.” Finnegan curtsied, being sure to tip her cleavage in Mike’s direction. Birthday boy deserved it. And she wanted to earn back the money she spent on the bra. Then, she walked over to her new guest. “Hello! Welcome to Buck’s. I’ll be your waitress Finnegan but please call me Finn. What’s your name?”

“Barry.” He said, keeping his head bowed but looking up at her from under the hood.

It worried Finnegan that he was keeping himself concealed but his table was close to the entrance. When she glanced at Brent, he nodded his head subtly. Satisfied that she’d be safe she returned her attention to Barry. “Very nice to meet you, Barry. What do you want to drink?”

“Water.”

“Just water? Not even a soda?” Finnegan smiled. “Our food goes well with sugary, bubbly drinks.”

“Water is fine.”

“Suit yourself, Barry.” Finnegan shrugged. “Any appetizers or do you need more time to look at the menu?”

“Time.” Barry said. “Please.”

“Sure thing, honey.” Finnegan smiled. “I’m a fan of those beer battered fish and chips you can find in the specials but I’ll get you whatever you ask for.” Instead of patting or squeezing his shoulder like she normally would have done, she tapped the table and smiled again. Before going to check on Shelly, she walked over to Brent. “Hey, baby.”

“Evening, Finn.” Brent nodded at her and gave the slightest of smiles. “How’s your sister?”

“Awww that’s so sweet of you to remember. She’s out of the hospital now. Trying to rest up but my new nephew isn’t letting her.” Finnegan said. “Keeps wanting his mama’s milk.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Listen. I know you already noticed but,” Finnegan lowered her voice just in case. “Keep an eye on the guy in the hoodie, will ya? I hate profiling him like that. But him hiding his face rubs me the wrong way.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you, Brent. You are the best.” She blew him a kiss and walked over to Shelly who was attempting to balance five drinks on a platter. “Oh sweetie here. Let me help you.”

“No no. I got it. I have to practice.” Shelly frowned stubbornly. “Thanks though.”

“If you say so. How’s your table treating you? Eyes only?”

“One put his hand on my ass.”

“Which one?” Finnegan tensed. “I’ll have Brent talk to him.”

“No no it’s okay. His friend hit him for me.” Shelly shook her head rapidly. “And it’s my fault anyway. I don’t know what’s too far and flirted with him a little extra.”

“Shelly. Sweetheart.” Finnegan sighed. “It is absolutely not your fault! You understand me? The rules here are simple. You flirt. You tease your body a little. But our customers are not allowed to grope you. They come here to look at something nice and get some extra attention while they eat good food. If they want to grope a woman they can get a prostitute or a stripper willing to bend the rules. Buck’s girls do not provide that service.”

“Okay, Finn.” Shelly smiled gratefully. “Thank you. I’m gonna go serve them now.”

“Remember, Brent is there for a reason. He’s our friend not our customers’.” Finnegan headed to Greg who had just been served his burger. “Well, Greg. How’s that burger treating you?”

“Treating me better than my ex wife.” Greg chuckled. “Wasn’t sure if I’d like the turkey patty but it’s damn good.”

“Well screw her if a patty is better!” Finnegan laughed with him.

“What’s that sauce on here? Never had anything like it.”

“Well that’s Buck’s secret! Even Cooper doesn’t know what’s in it and he made you that burger.” Finnegan said, then pointed over to a shelf situated next to the bar. On it were bottles of Buck’s Sauce. “You wanna take a bottle home with you?”

Greg looked over at the shelf, then pointed at the shirt rack next to it. “I’ll come back for the burger. But I think I will get myself a t-shirt. I should get the word out.”

“That would mean so much to me, Greg.” Finnegan grinned. “What size does a big strong man like you wear? A large?”

“Extra large, sweet heart.” Greg chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding about watching what I eat. I need to.”

“Oh hush you’re handsome.”

“I said I was fat, not ugly.” Greg winked.

That got a genuine laugh out of Finnegan. “Truer words have never been spoken. I’ll drop the shirt off in a minute.” She squeezed his shoulder and walked over to Mike and Jake’s table. “Well, gentleman. Enjoying those crab cakes?”

Mike hurriedly swallowed. “Delicious!”

Jake took his time chewing and swallowing, but he did smile at her. “Just like I remembered.”

“Wonderful!” Finnegan said. “Are you ready to order your main course?”

“Yep.” Jake said. “Mikey go ahead and tell her.”

“Oh. Uhm.” Mike’s face didn’t blush when he looked at her but his ears did turn lobster red. “I’ll have Buck’s Spicy Chicken Sandwich w-with fries on the side. A-and Jake wants the Southerner Chicken Sandwich. With fries. Fries.”

“Two chicken sandwiches for my boys, coming right up.” She placed the order on her tablet, then smiled at Mike. “I like your tattoos, Mike.”

“Th-thank you.”

“He’s a tattoo artist.” Jake chimed in.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“I’m an a-p-prentice still.” Mike corrected. “Not official.”

“Well you’ll need to practice on someone then, right?” Finnegan asked. “Why not me?”

“You have tattoos?” Mike glanced at her pale hands and arms.

“Where they are is a secret.” Finnegan winked but she did pull her collar to the side, slightly, revealing a hint of ink. “Write your shop’s name down when y’all pay the bill. I’ll come and check you out. See if we can work out a design.”

“C-cool. Thank you.”

“Told you coming here would be a good idea.” Jake grinned. “You just got a customer.”

“You sure did.” Finnegan squeezed Mike’s shoulder. “Alright I’ll be back in a bit. Need me to get a refill for that beer, Jake?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jake got up, stuffing the last crab cake into his mouth. “Gonna head to the bathroom, Mike.”

Finnegan waved at Mike, winked at Greg as she passed him, and arrived at Barry’s table. “Well Mr. Barry. What can I get for you?”

“The fish and chips.”

“Sure!” Finnegan smiled. She noticed him peek at her before looking away. “No appetizers?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself, Barry.” Finnegan shrugged. “It’ll be out in a little bit, alright?”

“Okay.” Barry nodded. “And a soda. Please.”

“Ahh changed your mind, did ya?” Finnegan said. “What kind of bubbly goodness do you want?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

“Man of excellent taste.” Finnegan gave him a thumbs up and patted the table. “I’ll be right back with that.”

She was getting that drink when Jake approached her. “Hey, Finn.”

“Hey, Jake.” Finnegan said. “Need something?”

“Just wanted to thank you for being so nice to Mike.” Jake said. “If you couldn’t tell, he’s a little awkward around women. It’s why I brought him here.”

“Well of course, Jake!” Finnegan smiled, leaning on the counter and facing him. “And he’s not that awkward. A little shy maybe. But it’s cute.”

“I’ve tried telling him that women aren’t scary but…” Jake sighed and shrugged. “Hopefully tonight helps a little.”

“I’m sure it will. I’m glad I can help.” Finnegan grabbed the fresh beer as Sal handed it to her. “And here’s that beer you wanted.” Finnegan watched him go, then headed to Barry’s table. “One Dr. Pepper for you, Mr. Barry.”

“Thank you.” Barry said. “Finn.”

“You’re welcome.” Finnegan said. “Anything else I can do for ya? You’ve got a good view of the tv so I can change the channel for ya, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine. I have my phone.” Barry gestured with his chin at his phone. The screen was filled with text.

“Oooo what are you reading?”

“Wheel of Time.” Barry said, tone hesitant. “It’s a series by…”

“Robert Jordan.” Finnegan finished. “I haven’t read it but it’s on my list.”

“Really?”

Though she couldn’t see his face that well, Finnegan was sure he looked shocked. “What? Can’t a pretty girl like me enjoy some fantasy?”

“You can. It’s just…”

“Surprising?” Finnegan laughed. “I know. I get it all the time. But I’m a fantasy nerd just like you.” She looked around then leaned over conspiratorially and whispered. “I’ve got a Brass Allomantic symbol tattoo on my waist. Do you know what that means?”

“Soother.”

“Yep!” Finnegan cheered. “Sanderson is an absolute genius, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Barry nodded.

“Well I’ll leave you to read. Don’t wanna get in the way of that. I know how annoyed I get when people interrupt my storytime.” Finnegan stood back up normally. “Your dinner will be here soon.”

“Thank you, Finn.”

Finnegan winked then went to grab an extra-large shirt for Greg. “Here ya go, Greg. And since you were being smart and taking care of your health, the shirt is on the house.”

“Really?” Greg beamed. “Can you do that?”

“Buck is flexible with his favorites.” Finnegan said. “And I’m his number one.”

“Seems like a great guy.”

“Only ones better than him are his customers.”

“You’re never off, are you?” Greg laughed. “With the customer pleasing.”

“Oh Greg I am always on.” Finnegan winked. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“Well I want a milkshake. But I wouldn’t want to disappoint you so I’ll just have the check.”

“Yay! Good man.” Finnegan jumped in place and clapped her hands together, pretending to not notice the attention it got from him. “I’ll be back with your check. The t-shirt will be on there, for our own inventory purposes, but you’re not going to be charged. If it seems like you were, though, let me know!”

“Thank you, Finn.”

Finnegan headed to Jake and Mike’s table after grabbing Greg’s check and dropping it off. “How are you boys doing?”

“Well I’m doing great.” Jake laughed, putting his sandwich down. “How about you, Mikey?”

“G-g-good.” Mike sniffled. He looked as though he had been crying.

“Awww Mikey… I assumed you could handle spice since you asked for it.” Finnegan held back a chuckle. “We usually do a complementary slice of cake or pie for birthday boys but we can do a milkshake instead. It’ll calm your tongue down. Vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry?”

“Vanilla.” Mike sniffled again. “Please.”

“Oh wow I’m so surprised you picked vanilla.” Finnegan smirked.

“Could I get a milkshake too? Chocolate.” Jake asked, watching her put in the order.

“You aren’t the birthday boy, Jake. You’ll be charged for that one.”

“Really?” Jake frowned exaggeratedly.

“Yep.” Finnegan frowned in response as a fake apology.

“Ah it’s fine. Bring me one anyway. Along with the check.”

“Sure! Be back soon, boys.” She walked over to Greg’s table and, when he caught sight of her, began dragging her feet in as slowly as she could without looking stupid. “Do you really have to go?”

“My dogs are waiting for me. So yes.” Greg smiled. “I had a good time tonight, Finn. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Give your pups extra belly rubs on my behalf.” Finnegan picked up his card along with the check. “And please do come back! Hopefully I’m the one that gets to wait on you.”

“I hope so too.”

After double checking that he hadn’t been charged for the t-shirt, Finnegan swiped his card. With his receipt printed, she returned to Greg’s table, once again walking as slowly as she could to it once they made eye contact. “Here you go, Greg. Drive safe.”

“Will do.” Greg said. “Listen. I know all the attention you give us and everything is part of your job. But it’s still really nice. And it feels authentic.”

“Wouldn’t feel right to me if I wasn’t being authentic, Greg.” Finnegan said. “It is my job. But I enjoy doing it.”

“I believe you.”

Finnegan hugged him from the side, once again pressing her breasts to his head, and walked to Barry’s table. “Mr. Barry.”

“Finn.”

“How are the fish and chips?” Finnegan asked. “As good as I promised?”

“Mhm.” Barry nodded. “Thank you.”

“I knew it! That’s what I always get when I eat here. Cooper is a genius cook.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“He’s a friend.”

“Oh! Didn’t know that.” Finnegan raised an eyebrow. “Well that makes you family. Sort of. How come we haven’t seen each other before?”

“Been a long time since I came here.” Barry said after a few moments of silence.

Finnegan assumed it had something to do with the bandages he kept hiding. “Ah. Well. Good to have you back, Mr. Barry.”

“Good to be back.”

Finnegan felt she could get him to talk more if she pressed him but decided against it. “After my other two customers leave, do you mind if I join you? I can take my dinner break early.”

“Oh. Sure.” Barry looked up at her in shock and she caught sight of a scarred face. He jerked his head back down immediately. “If you want.”

“Dinner is more fun with company.” Finnegan said. “Want me to bring over any dessert for you to have something to eat while I do?”

“Apple pie. If you have it.”

“We sure do!” Finnegan patted the table then went to grab the two milkshakes that were waiting for Jake and Mike. Once she had those, along with their check, she returned to the boys. “Here you go! One vanilla and one chocolate. Happy birthday, Mikey!”

Mike grabbed his and began sucking on the straw immediately. Jake laughed. “He says thanks.”

“Thank you…” Mike added quietly.

“You’re welcome. Are you the type to enjoy people singing happy birthday or….” She saw the look on his face. “No. Gotcha.”

“Aw come on.” Jake threw his hands in the air. “You being uncomfortable is the best part.”

“Birthday boy gets to pick.” Finnegan put the check in front of Jake. “And birthday boy’s brother pays, right?”

“Right.” Jake sighed heavily. He took his wallet out and gave her the card and check.

“Aren’t you gonna look at the check?”

“I trust a girl that works for Buck.” Jake smiled.

“Good policy. We’re the best.” Finnegan smiled back, then walked away to charge him. Despite her rush to get back to Barry, Finnegan checked to be sure Jake was being billed for the right items before swiping his card. Once that was done, she returned. “Remember. Write down your tattoo shop’s name, Mike!”

“I will.” Mike said. His milkshake was almost done.

“Careful! Don’t want you getting a brain freeze.” Finnegan patted his back playfully before giving him a pen to write with. “Alright then. You boys have a safe night, alright?”

“You too, Finn.” Jake said. “That’s what Brent over there is for, right?”

Finnegan laughed, gave them both a side hug, and grabbed the check from Greg’s table. She raised both eyebrows in surprise at the extremely generous tip he had left her before heading to the kitchen. “Hey, Cooper!”

“Hey, Finnegan.” Cooper didn’t look up from the burgers he was grilling.

“Your friend Barry is here. I’m serving him.”

“Is he? Cool.” Cooper smiled. “Been convincing him for weeks. Don’t bill him, by the way. His meal’s on me.”

“You got it.” Finnegan nodded. “Any chance I can be nosy and you can tell me what he’s hiding?”

“No chance, Finn.”

“Ahh that’s fine.” Finnegan shrugged. “Tell me this though. Is he a good guy?”

“The best.”

“In that case, could you have some fish and chips sent over to his table for me? I’m taking my dinner break with him.”

“Little early for a dinner break, don’t you think?”

“Who’s gonna stop me? The only one here with seniority over me is you.” Finnegan pouted. “You gonna stop me, Coop?”

“Nope.”

“Love ya.” Finnegan said. “I’m gonna grab a slice of pie for him as well.”

“Help yourself.”

Pie in hand, she returned to Barry. “Either you’re not enjoying your meal or you’re a slow eater.”

“Slow eater.” Barry said. As if to demonstrate, he took a single bite out of a fry that was small enough for him to eat whole.

“I’m a vacuum.” Finnegan put his pie to the side. “Thanks for letting me join you.”

“Thank you.” Barry said. “Didn’t know that happened here.”

“There aren’t any rules against it.” Finnegan said. “Just as long as we don’t go past our break time. Also helps that you’re a friend of Cooper. Wouldn’t be comfortable doing this with a customer I don’t know.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know Cooper though.” Finnegan winked. “A friend of Cooper is a friend of mine. He doesn’t make friends easily.”

Barry chuckled. “No. He doesn’t.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since we were kids. Fifth grade.”

“Wow!” Finnegan exclaimed. “Only people I’ve been friends with since I was a kid are my parents.”

“I got lucky.” Barry said. “How long have you been working here?”

“Five years once we get to April 15th.”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you. I love this job.”

“Easy to tell.”

“Is that so?”

“You’re very enthusiastic and friendly.” Barry said. “Hard to fake.”

“Never underestimate a girl working customer service.” Finnegan laughed. “But you’re right. Only days I’m not genuine is when I’m not feeling alright. But if I’m good on the inside? Every smile you get comes from the heart.”

Their conversation mainly revolved around the various fantasy worlds they wished they could visit, if not live in. Even the dystopian societies had a draw to them due to the amazing magic that happened there. Barry seemed interested in anything that took him away from whatever was happening in his life. He never blatantly said it. But Finnegan could pick up on his escapist fantasies, perhaps because she could directly empathize.

“You’ve been here awhile.” Barry said, after the conversation lulled for a few moments. “You want to stay at Buck’s?”

“Saving up for grad school.” Finnegan said. “If I get into the local school I’ll still keep working here though. Girls gotta eat, right?”

“And buy new books.”

“Yes, sir.” Finnegan smiled and tipped her glass to him. She then saw that a new group get seated in her section. “Well shit. Looks like my break is over.”

Barry looked over to where she was looking and sighed. “Ah. Okay. It was nice talking to you.”

“Booooo.” Finnegan pouted as she got up. “Only nice?”

“Great, Finn.” Barry laughed. “It was great. Could I get the check?”

“Nope.”

“...huh?” “Coop is paying for ya.”

“He doesn’t have to do that…”

“He wants to, silly.” Finnegan said. “Next time you come in, you can pay for his dinner.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

Finnegan could feel his smile. “Elbow bump goodbye?”

“Elbow bump see you later.” Barry held his elbow out and she bumped it with hers. “Thank you for tonight, Finn. I really needed it. I hope to see you again when I come in.”

“You’re very welcome Barry.” Finnegan smiled at him. “And you will if you’re lucky.” They bumped elbows again and Finnegan watched him go. She sighed, stretched, and walked to the new group of customers. “Welcome to Buck’s, gentleman! I’m Finnegan, you can call me Finn, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. How y’all doing?”

-Saha

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technicolortheshow · 4 years

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BOHREN & DER CLUB OF GORE

My Bloody Quarantine part 1

The last six months have been pretty shit, hey? It looks like there is no future anymore... global warming, COVID-19, Australia on fire, wars... shall I go on?

ANYWAY, we are not here to talk about a stupid government led by a buffoon with a mop in his head (ops!) but to praise one of the bands who kept me company during this bloody quarantine of mine: BOHREN & DER CLUB OF GORE. This German act, in fact, hung out with me during the several nights of insomnia, which, trust me, were devastating, loooooong and cold. Cigarettes after cigarettes, wine after wine, I thoroughly enjoyed the discography of the quartet and I thought it was time to write something about them.

Because of the slow-moving and nocturnal nature of their music, a doom jazz plenty of end-of-the-world ballads, or, in their words "unholy ambient mixture of slow jazz ballads, Black Sabbath doom and down-tuned Autopsy sounds", I happily matched their records to these apocalyptic months. Just like a dark noir by Leo Malet, or a Terry Gilliam dystopian movie, Bohren & Der Club of Gore managed to convey, over the last 25 years, a deep sense of ethical abandonment and claustrophobic imprisonment. There is no future in the music of the German band, no escape from reality, which is doomed and looped into an endless limbo. A not long time ago - which now seems AGES ago, to be honest - I went to the White Cube for the latest Kiefer’s exhibition. I believe that the combination of BCG music and Kiefer’s artworks pretty well.

Over the last months, while listening to them, between a Medoc and a Nebbiolo, I was picturing the band in a smoky “bar at the end of the world”, channelling some kind of Tom Hillenbrant’s dystopian political setting or a Lynde Mallison’s grey cold painting. The best description, though, comes from the band website: “Dear friends of nighttime drives, remote bridges to nowhere and empty multi-storey car parks”. Club Silencio state of mind, indeed.

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The ensemble has constantly been releasing high-quality records since 1994, with the first doom jazz album called MOTEL GORE - albeit the first release was a 1992 cassette filled with post-hardcore noise published under the name of Langspielkassette. MOTEL GORE is, as someone brilliantly described it “audio pointillism”. I think this similitude is accurate: the band did draw tiny dots of obscure, eerie, music on canvases of sound. “Die Fulci Nummer” drives me mad, with its spectral adagio: it’s so good it would’ve been great in the Fulci’s masterpiece Non si Sevizia un Paperino. “Cairo Keller” is charming and evocative, reminding me of a possible soundtrack for Lovecraft The Nameless City. Extra points for the brilliant reference of the cover.

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in 1997 BCG published MIDNIGHT RADIO, two hours of lynchian-LA-night-driving-without-a-destination soundtrack. if it is true that its predecessor "Gore Motel" is more song-oriented, and therefore a lot easier to listen to - it’s evident that Midnight Radio is more rewarding in its own special way: it’s a journey in the darkest corner of your mind. Yes, because the journeys BCG offers are not only external but often internal. The band has developed over the years a therapeutic dialogue between the listeners and their consciousness. Jungian jazz music anyone? LET’S DEBATE!

By the way, while writing this article, I’ve realised how difficult is to talk about BCG music without quoting several cliches - everyone always ends up referring to the same stuff:” car parks”, “night drive”, “Lynch”. But I have to admit, in this case, it’s definitely true! Listening to BCG can really inspire these topics under our skins, as trivial as it sounds! The point is: they do it better than anyone else, they have been doing this forever and they represent the top in this particular sub-genre. With the results of a cinematographic component in their music that leads to these night drive scenarios, post-modern inner state of minds. Bravo!

Let’s go back to Midnight Radio, to BGC and their discography. It’s undeniable that their music fits perfectly in the set of the SLOW TV/MUSIC/YOUTUBE movement. From The Norway train to this 1986 Canadian TV show called “NIGHT WALK” (which, by the way, looks freaking awesome), from Andy Warhol’ “SLEEP” to Kiarostami or Tarkovsky cinema, the slow movement has left an imprint to contemporary culture. Arguably, BGC, with their long holistic records, is part of the movement. Calming the listeners and bringing them into a meditative state of mind, without being mindfulness - luckily. The point is: BCG makes you think about yourselves, finding out that you are someone you should be scared of! Know yourself, fear yourself!

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All that Jazz came in 2000 with the thrilling “SUNSET MISSION”, thanks to the help of saxophonist Christoph Clöser. In this record the band opened up the sound, literally letting some fresh air to enter their music, easing the claustrophobic moods of the previous albums. A hint of lounge-ness came in, due to the mellow, yet sophisticated, sax of Mr Clöser. It is still quintessential BCG, with the nihilism of the band raising up form the bass. Slow, reiterated bass lines are running through the record, giving to Sunset Mission a gloomy, hypnotic cadence. The liner notes include a quote from Matt Wagner's Grendel comic book, which reads: "Alone in the comforting darkness the creature waits. As confusion reigns on this hellish stage, the deafening grind of machinery, the odious clot of chemical waste. Still, the trail of his ultimate prey leads through this steely maze to these, the addled offspring of the modern world.

According to many people, 2002 ‘BLACK EARTH” is BCG masterpiece. I don’t know yet, as I REALLY like them all. What I can say is that Black Earth sounds a lot more accessible, with an even more developed sense of ‘lounge-ness’ which was not so evident in the previous records. Blach Earth is a good record. Perhaps the trick here is the balanced tempo of the saxophone. Perfectly played within the songs at the right time, Christoph Clöser’ sax conveys an open jazzy sound. One of my favourite directors ever is Jean-Pierre Melville, his movies are everything I like in term of style and plot. Noir a là Dashiell Hammett, but French and without hope - give me more of this, Hollywood, please! Enough of fucking Marvel heroes, give me noir hard-boiled movies!

Black Earth could have easily been the perfect great soundtrack for Mr Melville’s movies - especially, IHMO, Bob le flambeur. Think about it: a french man, with a cigarette in his mouth, gambling his life for a young woman, in a dirty Marseille, with the BCG slow tempo doomed jazz. yasss please, give me more. Or a glacial Alain Delon killing his lover for money.

Black Earth was followed up, in 2005, by “GEISTERFAUST”, which is considered a slower than ever version of the former album. In Ghost Fist (this is the translation) Bohren & Der Club of Gore has stripped down its sound to the bone, becoming more gentle and less aggressive without any compromise. 5 songs only, named after the 5 fingers of the hand, for an hour of dark jazz. Again, excellent quality.

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I have been buying BCG on CD, I think this music on vinyl does not sound perfect UNLESS you have an extremely high-quality sound system, Like some classical music issue, where you need to hear the pianissimo of the piano and single notes, BCG music deserves a very clean medium, I would say CD is the best.

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Jazz de nuit again on their seventh album “DOLORES” published in 2008. This record is pure Badalamenti, pure Lynch in the night. Within the ten songs of Dolores, the core idea of slow-music is even more highlighted, with no guitars at all on the whole album and a sedated keyboard-based mood. In 2009 the band released a 10 minute EP called “MITLEID LADY”. it is strange, because, albeit recorded just after Dolores, it sounds way more gloomy and somehow different. It is BCG but has another level of sophistication compared to the previous record. This step further in the direction of stylistic accuracy is confirmed two years after, in 2011, with another EP, this one named “BEILEID”. The cover of the record is a reference to the famous Edward Gorey, or at least I believe.

The record includes the cover of "Catch My Heart" by German heavy metal band Warlock, with vocals from Mike Patton. I believe this is the only song with a singer in the entire catalogue of the band. Beileid is a cinematic mood-changer composed of pained saxophone solos, and ghostly string sections, an album that will sweep your mind away into dreamland. A must-have IHMO.

In 2013 the ensemble released “PIANO NIGHTS” probably the warmest record of the band. The Piano obviously helps a lot in making the sound softer and brighter - candle lighted rigorously. A German Gothic feast, with a touch of Teutonic expressionism - who remembers the movie The Hands Of Orlac. BCG should definitely play the soundtracks of this movie. A twisted, dark, thriller with Gothic and expressionist elements. After many years, the band introduces the

Finally, in 2020, the band published “PATCHOULI BLUE”. A pristine, unique, summa of their work, which manages to sound similar to other releases of the band, yet unique, with something different, like a small accent. 50s noir glam, Badalamenti, German Gothic, Slow-Movement philosophy are all elements we can find in this record, but there is something else: a hint of electronic, which can possibly open new territories to the band. I am curious to see if they will become a techno ambient act in the like of Gas (joking).

Aristotle once said that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I guess this is the whole point in BCG’s music. The synergy the band has been consistently showing over the last 3 decades, and the constant refinement of their own skills.

VIVA BOHREN!

#bohren #bohren & der club of gore #gothic #german #noir #leomalet #melville #alain delone #jazz #ambient #doom jazz #angelo badalamenti #lynch #mulholland drive #gas #grendel #nightmoves #anselm kiefer #expressionism

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sandstonesunspear · 5 years

Text

Familia

Summary: In which Maggie is a combination of me and my mother and gets to do all the things that we didn’t.

Thanks to @avidreaderffn for checking my Spanish bc I’m rusty, @bathtimefunduck for talking some sense into me, and @syllabicacronyms and @georgiew2304 for doing an initial read.

AO3

The call came on a Monday. Maggie was at work, arms deep in paperwork and open cases when her phone went off.

“Detective Sawyer,” she said, pen still scratching away on her latest evidence report.

“Margarita?”

Maggie blinked. “Tía?” She and her aunt called each other on the regular, but never while Maggie was at work. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your mother.” There was a heavy sigh on the other end that made her stomach drop. “She’s asking for you.”

“For me? Why?” Maggie hadn’t spoken to her mother in years. Not since...not since that ill-fated Valentine’s day that ended with Oscar Rodas kicking his only daughter out of the house. Her mother had said nothing, done nothing, as her husband shouted at their daughter to pack a single suitcase and get out.

“She’s not doing well.”

Maggie got up. She ignored the curious look her partner shot her way and made her way to the precinct locker room.

“What do you mean she’s not doing well?” she demanded.

“She’s in stage IV kidney failure, Maggie. The doctors are doing transfusions—”

“Why not dialysis?

“Mija.” Her aunt’s voice was gentle, like it had been the night she picked Maggie up off the side of the road all those years ago. “They can’t. In her condition, it’s just not feasible anymore. She needs you here now.”

“I…” A part of her wanted to say no. Why should she go and be there for her mother when her mother hadn’t been there for her?

“Maggie.”

Maggie sighed. “Tía, can I call you back? I just, I need a bit.” She needed a bit and more.

“Okay. Just, let me know soon, all right, mija?”

“Of course.”

Maggie hung up before her aunt could say anything else. She put her head in her hands. The universe had a sick sense of humour, she decided. She had waited for years to get a call regarding her mother and now she had. Only it wasn’t the kind of call she wanted.

She pulled up her texts.

Hypo lifespan S4 kidney fail w/o dialysis/transplant, she texted Alex.

She watched the little grey bubble pop up. Then, V short. Days most likely. Why?

Adrian asked, she lied. School project or something.

Her phone buzzed to reveal a thumbs up emoji pop up on screen. It made her lips twitch into a small smile. Her wife was such a dork sometimes.

She set her phone aside and closed her eyes.

Fact: her mother had done nothing to stop her father from kicking her out of the house all those years ago.

Fact: her mother was now dying and needed her there. Now.

Maggie could say no. She could refuse to go back and instead resolve herself to staying in National City while her mother died alone by claiming to have the moral high ground. No one would blame her. No one but Maggie herself. At the end of the day, she knew that there was no moral high ground for something like this and saying no certainly wouldn’t place her on one. Saying no wouldn’t make a statement, it would just make her the daughter who refused her dying mother’s last request. And that just wasn’t who she was.

Maggie’s phone buzzed. She glanced down to see a text from Lucy.

Your aunt called me.

Maggie wanted to be annoyed by that piece of information. But she knew her aunt was only trying to help.

I can get us all a flight for the first thing in the morning, if that’s ok w/ you.

Trust Lucy to be on top of everything when no one else was.

Please, Maggie typed back.

Days. Her mother had days. She had to get there sooner rather than later. She just had to.

By the time Maggie got home, she felt like she had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. Everything in her body was starting to ache and her head was pounding. She didn’t know if was from stress, the grief that was slowly starting to seep through, or some combination of both.

She found herself pulled into a hug almost as soon as the door shut behind her. She stiffened for half a second before melting into Lucy’s embrace. She pressed her face to Lucy’s shoulder and took a deep breath, savouring the hints of cinnamon, jasmine and rose that made up Lucy’s perfume. It was a welcome distraction from the throbbing migraine building just behind her eye.

After a few moments of just enjoying Lucy’s presence, Maggie pulled away. She looked around the apartment.

“Where’s Alex?” She asked.

“Grabbing dinner from that place on 32nd.” Lucy looked her over. “Are you okay?”

Yes. No. Maybe. Maggie didn't know.

She shrugged. “I guess. It just...I wasn’t expecting this.” She sighed. “I feel kinda guilty, to be honest.”

Lucy frowned. “Guilty? For what?”

Maggie shrugged again. “For…” She trailed off. “For feeling sad, for grieving. I don’t really have that right, you know?”

“Don’t have a…Mags, no, you absolutely have a right to feel the way that do right now,” Lucy said.

“I haven’t spoken to my mom in almost 20 years, Luce,” Maggie said. “We weren’t, aren’t, close.”

They had stopped being close the moment she walked through the door to find her father ranting about how he wouldn’t have a child living in sin under his roof.

Lucy brushed a thumb against Maggie’s cheek. The touch was gentle, but Maggie was still so overwhelmed by everything that it made her flinch ever so slightly.

“She was still your family, Maggie. Just because you and her haven’t spoken doesn’t mean that she stopped being your mom.”

Maggie bit her lip.

Lucy sighed. “People arguing over who had the ‘right’ to mourn my mom tore my family apart for years,” she said. “You’re allowed to grieve over what was and what could have been.”

“There’s no use in wondering about what might’ve been Lucy,” Maggie tried, only to fall silent at the look Lucy gave her.

“For something like this, there is.”

Before Maggie could say anything to that, the door opened behind them. Both of them turned to see Alex stumbling through the doorway with multiple bags of takeaway in hand. Those bags were carefully placed on the ground as soon as she caught sight of her lovers.

Maggie let Alex pull her into a hug. She pressed her face against Alex’s shoulder and closed her eyes.

“I don’t…” Know what to do. How to react. How I’m supposed to feel.

She felt Alex press her lips against her air just as Lucy came up from behind to join in the hug.

“We’re right here,” she heard Alex murmur into her hair. “We’ve got you.”

Maggie clenched Alex’s top. She couldn’t stop the sob that rose to her throat. She pressed her face even harder against Alex’s shoulder and started to cry.

The bags of takeaway were forgotten as the Alex and Lucy worked to comfort Maggie.

Maggie couldn’t stop her leg from bouncing during the drive to the hospital. The three hour flight to Omaha had done little to lessen her nerves.

There was a yelp from up front as Alex cut off another driver and floored it.

And Alex driving was certainly doing little to help that either.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too buddy!” Alex groused, flipping the bird at the horn blaring behind them.

“God, this is almost worse than Kandahar,” Maggie heard Lucy mutter up front. She didn’t miss the death grip Lucy had on the overhead handle.

“Your wife is certainly a...spirited driver,” her aunt said quietly.

For the first time in days, Maggie’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile. “There’s a reason Lucy turned so white when Alex offered to drive, tía.”

“I just thought that was a gringa thing.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Lucy’s only half gringa, tía.”

“Still a gringa.”

“Tía.”

“I’m joking mija,” her aunt said. Her grip tightened suddenly as Alex sped the car up even further. “Does your wife realise that it’s a two hour drive from the airport to Blue Springs?”

Maggie caught Alex’s glance through the rearview mirror. She smiled. She knew what Alex was trying to do.

“Something tells me that she knows, but she doesn’t really care what the GPS says.”

Alex pulled into a parking spot with a neatness that clashed with the recklessness of the overall drive itself.

“We’re here!” She announced.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence that was broken by Lucy throwing the car door open. Maggie winced at the sound of their girlfriend retching her guts out. She shook her head and followed Lucy out of the car, leaving her aunt alone with Alex.

She found Lucy behind the car with a hand braced against the trunk. She rubbed Lucy’s back as she coughed.

“When we get back to National City,” Lucy wheezed. “Remind me to look up whoever did Alex’s driving test and sue them for daring to give her a license.”

Maggie chuckled and kissed the side of her head. “Yes, dear.”

“Hey, my driving’s not that bad,” Alex said, coming up behind the both of them. “I got us here, didn’t I?”

Maggie and Lucy exchanged looks. Alex’s driving had gotten them to the hospital and under two hours to boot, but Maggie wasn’t too keen on repeating the whole experience. From Lucy’s grimace, Maggie was willing to bet that Lucy shared her sentiments.

“I’m driving back,” was all Lucy said in a tone that refused to be argued against.

Alex huffed.

Maggie turned to her attention away from her lovers to eye the hospital. It had always been an imposing building in her youth. Now, knowing what she would likely face inside, it was even more so.

Lucy’s hand slipped into hers. Alex’s joined it in the opposite hand a moment later.

“We’re right here, Mags.”

Maggie let out a shaky breath. “Right.”

She held both Alex and Lucy’s hands in a deathgrip as the three of them plus her aunt made their way inside.

The woman in the bed was so different from the woman in her memories. Maggie remembered a woman with perfectly coiffed hair, a regal air, a bit of Mexican snark peppering words every so often.

The woman in the bed had none of that. She was a mess of tubes and wires. The oxygen mask on her face fogged with shallow breaths. It made Maggie want to cry. She settled for swallowing back the lump in her throat instead.

“We’ll leave you alone for a bit,” Alex whispered.

Maggie panicked. “You’re leaving?!”

“Shh…” Alex soothed. “I’m staying, I’ll just be out here in the hall.”

“And Lucy?” Maggie looked to their girlfriend.

“I’m headed to the funeral home,” Lucy said.

“Luce--”

Lucy shook her head. “You need to focus on your mom right now, Maggie,” she said. “If I go and start the arrangements now, it’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

It took Maggie a moment to realise that they were playing to their strengths. Lucy’s legal and administrative knowledge were useless in a medical setting while Alex’s medical background could do nothing for her when attempting to make funeral arrangements.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Trust Lucy to be the logical one when her lovers felt like the world was crashing down around them.

Lucy kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

She walked off with Maggie’s aunt in tow, leaving Maggie and Alex standing alone in the hallway.

Maggie took a deep breath. “Is she gonna know I’m in the room with her?” she asked quietly.

Alex nodded. “Yeah. I checked her chart, she’s still aware and…mostly there,” she finished awkwardly.

“Mostly.”

“She’ll know it’s you, Mags,” Alex said.

Maggie said nothing. She walked into the room and took a seat next to her mother’s bedside. She carefully took an IV-laden hand in hers.

“Mami?” she whispered.

To her relief, her mother’s eyes fluttered open. They were foggy from a combination of pain and the various drugs being administered.

A hiss of the oxygen mask. “Margarita?”

Her voice was so weak, it broke Maggie’s heart. She never thought her mother could ever sound like that.

“Yeah mami, it’s me,” she said. “Estoy aquí.”

“Lupita?”

Maggie knew what her mother was asking. “Ella está con mi, mi amiga.” A part of Maggie hated herself for hiding. “Ella dijo que necesito un abogado y mi amiga es una abogado.”

That part wasn’t a complete lie. Lucy was a lawyer.

“Claro.” Maggie noticed her mother’s eyes drift to the doorway. She followed her line of sight to see Alex.

“Y ella? Quién es ella?”

Maggie swallowed. She absently rubbed her wedding ring. “Ella es mi compañera,” she eventually said.

“Compañera como una amiga o…como una esposa?”

Esposa. Wife. The word came so easily from her mother’s lips that at first, Maggie thought she had misheard her. The expectant look her mother aimed her way, though, made it clear that she hadn’t.

She licked her lips. “Um, como una esposa,” she admitted. “Ella es mi esposa. Se llama Alex.”

Maggie felt her heart start to pound against her ribs as soon as the words left her lips. What if her mother said something rude about Alex? What if what her mother said was an echo of what Oscar Rodas had screamed at her all those years ago on a Valentine’s Day night? What if what if what if--

A movement of a thumb across the back of her hand snapped Maggie from her internal panic. She glanced at her mother’s face. There was no judgement, only eyes that were clearing with curiosity.

Maggie saw her mouth open with a question, but before it could be asked, the squeak of rubber against linoleum caught the attention of both of them. Maggie looked over to see a man in a white coat walk in. He wasn’t Dr. Karkouli.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He didn’t look up from the chart in his hands. “Jason Hendrix, haematologist on this case,” he said. “And you are?”

“The daughter.” Maggie couldn’t keep the clipped tone out of her voice.

Hendrix nodded. “Right, so are you aware that your mother here has myelodysplastic anemia?”

Yes, she knew. Her aunt had given her the entire run down on the way to the hospital. Her mother on the other hand…

“Myelo…que es esto, Margarita?” her mother asked.

Maggie’s jaw tightened. “Nothing, mami.”

Her tía had specifically asked her sister’s care team to not tell her about her condition. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss and sometimes, it could make the difference that gave a patient days instead of hours.

Hendrix continued like he hadn’t heard Maggie. From the way his face was still buried in the chart, she knew it was likely.

“It’s a type of blood cancer--”

Maggie had heard enough. “All right, you’re done!” she snapped.

Before he could say another word, she shoved him out of the room. Blood pounded in her ears. She didn’t stop moving him until his back slammed into the wall.

Maggie wanted to rail against the haematologist, wanted to scream at him, wanted to strangle him and punt him through a wall. Her tía had made one request and this, this pendejo hadn’t followed it.

Alex stepped forward. “Who the fuck taught you your bedside manner?” she demanded. “I want the name of your supervising physician right now because you are no longer on this case.”

Hendrix sputtered. “That’s not your call to make Miss—”

Maggie took a sick satisfaction at the startled yelp he let out the second Alex’s hand fisted his scrub top and dragged him close.

“It’s Doctor,” Alex all but snarled. Her voice was like ice. “Doctor Danvers, and it absolutely is my call because my wife and her family requested that you not inform the patient of her condition, a simple, reasonable request given her status, and you elected to ignore it.”

“I, I…”

“That’s enough, Hendrix,” a voice interrupted.

Maggie looked past the rapidly paling haematologist to see the Dr. Karkouli coming up. He had a deep frown etched into his face that wasn’t aimed at Alex, but rather the hapless man in her grip. It told her that he had heard everything.

“Doctor Danvers, if you could please release my colleague.”

Alex did just that.

Hendrix turned to Karkouli. “Doctor Karkouli, this…”

“I said that’s enough.” Karkouli’s voice was equally as icy as Alex’s. “You’ve done enough. As of this moment, you’re off this case. We will discuss your bedside manner or rather lack thereof later.”

Maggie almost wanted Hendrix to protest further, to say something and so that he would get ripped to shreds. But the rest of her just wanted him to shut up. Karkouli was right, Hendrix had done enough. If he opened his mouth again, she was liable to punch him before either Karkouli or Alex could cut him down.

She watched his mouth open, only to click shut.

“Yes, Doctor,” he said, shooting Alex a dark look. He flinched at the one she returned him. He promptly turned on his heel and stalked off.

Karkouli sighed. “Doctor Danvers, Maggie, I apologise on behalf of my colleague,” he said. “He will be disciplined.”

“Good,” Maggie grumbled. “Now, my mom. I know she’s not in the best place right now, but what he said, it’s not gonna…”

She trailed off when she noticed Karkouli’s smile turn sad.

“I’m afraid that your mother’s condition was already extremely fragile. With what Hendrix said, there’s a very good chance that her condition will worsen.”

“Can’t you go in there and tell her that he was wrong? That he read the wrong chart or something or—” Maggie couldn’t stop the pleading note her voice took.

“Maggie,” Alex interrupted gently. “It doesn’t work that way, babe.”

Maggie bit her lip. Whoever came up with the phrase, sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me was a fucking liar.

She took a deep breath. “Can I go in and talk to my mom?” she asked. “Maybe she didn’t believe him, maybe…”

Karkouli tipped his head. “Of course. While you’re in there, there are a few things I’d like to discuss with your wife, physician to physician, provided I have your permission.”

“Go ahead. She’ll probably understand it all better than I can,” Maggie said. She gave Alex a weak smile before stepping into her mother’s room, leaving the two to talk.

If she thought her mother had looked weak when she had arrived just hours earlier, it was nothing compared to the woman she saw now. It was obvious that the information Hendrix had revealed had had an effect on her mother.

Maggie sat in the chair next to the bed and took her mother’s hand in hers. “Hey, mami,” she whispered.

“Margarita…” It came out as a wheeze.

“Yeah, I’m right here, mami,” she said.

A heavy breath. “Tengo cosas que necesito decirte porque el haematologist dijo…”

No. She wasn’t going to do this. Not now.

“Mami, está bien,” Maggie tried to reassure her. “Él se equivocó. Puedes ganarle a esto, yo sé que puedes. Todo lo que tienes…”

She felt like a child again, pleading for her parents to fix the world’s latest evil because she thought they could do anything. Maria Rodas had certainly seemed the person who could fix anything, right any wrong, fight the hardest of fights and come up on top.

“Margarita.” Despite the overall weakness in her mother’s tone, there was still enough sharpness to make Maggie’s jaw click shut. “Suficiente. No puedo y no quiero.”

The exhaustion in her voice made Maggie stop cold. Everything finally clicked into place.

Tu mamá dijo que ella nunca iba a volver a su casa, her aunt had told her quietly on the way to the hospital. Maggie hadn’t wanted to believe it. Her mother was such a strong woman. To think that she was resigned to never returning home, to dying elsewhere, it just didn’t compute.

But now it did. Her mother was tired. Her kidneys were failing. Her liver was nothing more than a scarred hunk of flesh. And now she knew she had a cancer they couldn’t treat because her body was just too far gone.

It wasn’t fair. Maria Rodas was a strong woman. She deserved more than this, deserved a better death than this. She should have been at home with years ahead of her. But the universe had already decided she would get none of that. She was in a hospital bed with hours ahead of her and she was going to die here.

“Okay.” Maggie let out a shaky breath. “Okay, mami. No tienes que pelear.” She reached up and brushed her fingers against her mother’s curls. She ignored the way her heart cracked at the sight of her mother’s eyes fluttering shut at the gentle touch.

“Estoy muy cansada, Margarita…”

“Sí mamí, yo sé.”

“Tu esposa.” Maggie felt her heart leap once more at the word. Esposa. “La mujer de antes, la pelirroja, ella te hace feliz?”

“Sí, mami.” Both Lucy and Alex made her feel happier than she ever thought she could be. Not that she would tell her mother that, even with the woman on her deathbed.

A small, weak nod. “Bueno.” Her head lolled back against the pillow. “Te amo, mijita. Siempre.”

Maggie bit back a sob. She hadn’t heard those words from her mother in years. Hearing them now felt like a gut punch, a reminder of everything that still needed to be said but would likely stay unsaid.

“Te amo también.” Maggie didn’t miss the way her mother’s lips twitched upwards into something that resembled a faint, pleased smile just before her eyes slipped shut. There was a soft breath, then an almost inaudible groan. Her hand slackened in Maggie’s grip.

“Mami?” She tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, as if trying to provoke a response.

Nothing.

Maggie let out a shuddering breath. This time, she couldn’t stop the sob from coming through. She stood and pressed her forehead against her mother’s as she started to cry.

Te amo. Te amo. Vuelve por favor. Tengo cosas que necesito decirte. Quiero decirte más sobre mi esposa y nuestra novia. Quiero decirte sobre mi vida y más. Vuelve por favor. Por favor.

The door hissed open behind her. A hand gently placed itself on her shoulder.

“Maggie, sweetheart.” Alex’s voice was soft. “C’mere.”

She let herself be pulled into Alex’s arms. She tucked her face into her wife’s shoulder to try and muffle the sound of her tears. She felt Alex start to rub small circles on her upper back. The gentle motion made her cry even harder.

#maggie sawyer #supergirl #my writing #director sanvers

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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

Text

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 13/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany brings Santana a picnic brunch; Santana marvels at how exactly someone as amazing as Brittany even exists.

Chapter 13: but no one is leaving presents tonight

///

Santana wakes up feeling exhausted and heavy.

Her apartment is empty and cold as she stumbles out of bed, wrapping the knitted afghan on her couch around her shoulders as she heads to the kitchen to fumble with the Keurig. The scent of coffee fills her tiny apartment, the Keurig gurgling as it chugs away. The time on the stove reads 7:17 and, despite the fact that usually she would never be awake this early unless absolutely necessary, she dreads the thought of trying to go back to sleep. While her coffee brews she heads to the bathroom and quickly brushes her teeth, staring at her reflection for a long moment after she spits the toothpaste out. Her hair is limp and tangled and the bags under her eyes have only grown darker from tossing and turning all night. She avoids looking in the mirror while she washes her face and brushes her hair out until she can pull it into a slightly lopsided bun.

Her coffee is finished by the time she makes it back to the kitchen, the cold tile freezing on her bare feet, and she mechanically stirs in some creamer and sugar before making her way to the living room and curling into her favourite corner of her couch. She aimlessly flips through television channels, resolutely avoiding anything that is only playing cheesy Christmas movies, too tired to get the other remote and turn on Netflix. She sips her coffee and only watches shows in two minute intervals before she gets bored, nothing able to hold her attention for too long.

It’s only barely eight when her phone buzzes against her thigh and sends a jolt through her whole body in shock.

It’s Brittany, because of course it’s Brittany, and despite everything, a smile tugs at her lips as she takes in the contact photo of Brittany making a goofy face at the camera, her blue eyes sparkling and her smile wide and her freckles in stark contrast to her creamy skin. Hi, the text reads.

Santana carefully balances her coffee mug on her stomach and thighs, her knees drawn up towards her chest, creating a small and precarious shelf for her drink. Hi, she responds, You’re up early.

Well Mercedes started her serenading of xmas songs early so, Brittany answers, and Santana can practically see her slightly sheepish shrug and grin in the words, How are you?

Santana stares blankly at her phone for a long moment, because that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?

Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel as lonely or empty as she usually does the day before the fourteenth, and she kind of has a feeling that it might be because of Brittany. Mike and Tina have always been there for her in whatever way she needed, but Santana has always struggled with actually letting them be there for her, and yet somehow Brittany had squeezed past walls Santana hadn’t even really realized were there, creeping into her heart until she was breaking down in Brittany’s arms without a hint of embarrassment.

Yesterday night after the show was surprisingly cathartic, and she hadn’t felt nearly as drained and forlorn and embarrassed and alone as she usually did after breaking down. She felt tired, sure, but something about Brittany’s arms around her and her steady heartbeat against her cheek made Santana feel so safe and protected that it had soothed her almost instantly; the fact that she stayed cuddled into Brittany, letting her rub comforting circles into the tension in her back, until the security guard was clearing the building later that night certainly didn’t hurt.

She should probably feel embarrassed, but she wasn’t lying when she told Tina that she likes who she is around Brittany. And she’s also kind of really grateful that she didn’t scare Brittany away or anything, that Brittany seems to want to be around her even when she’s at her worst, if the fact that Brittany refused to leave her side until they were in an Uber and Santana was insisting that she would be fine by herself for the night is anything to go by.

Her phone buzzes in her hands and startles her out of her thoughts. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Brittany texts, I totally get that.

Sorry no it’s fine, Santana answers, just got distracted. I feel better than yesterday but I just want this week to be over.

That really sucks, but glad you’re feeling a little better. Santana watches Brittany type for long time, the three dots appearing and disappearing, until she finally asks, Do you wanna get breakfast somewhere?

Despite the fact that she’s had no appetite since Tuesday evening, her stomach gurgles a little at the thought of food; but the idea of showering and leaving the apartment before she has to go to the theatre is not appealing at all. I’d love to but I don’t really wanna go out in public tbh.

There’s another long stretch of Brittany typing, and Santana patiently waits, sipping on her long-cold coffee. Brunch picnic at your apartment? Brittany finally asks, I’ll bring the food and coffee if you manage to find a blanket? She adds a smiley face at the end and Santana finds one curling her lips in response.

That sounds fun, Santana answers.

Awesome! Brittany responds, and Santana so wishes she could see what is probably an adorably excited smile on her face, See you around 11?

Santana agrees and finishes the last sip of her coffee, wincing as the combination of the cold and the coffee grinds from her dying Keurig makes it taste weirdly sharp, almost alcoholic. She putters around her apartment for a while, tidying up even though there’s not much of a mess; she’s not necessarily a neat person, but being at the theatre for the majority of her waking hours leaves less time for her to make a mess at home. She finds an old throw blanket in the linen closet that smells stale and vaguely of moth balls despite the fact that she’s pretty she’s never had moth balls in this apartment before, and takes it to the living room. She turns the coffee table on a ninety degree angle from where it usually sits so it rests flush against the couch on its short end before she spreads the blanket over the carpet in front of the couch, flipping the corners back flat against the floor with her toe. It’s only nine thirty by the time she’s done, so she finally convinces herself to have a hot shower because, despite her lack of energy or desire to do so, she knows it will make her feel better.

She debates by her closet for a long while before shrugging and settling on some sweats and a hoodie from her college days; it’s not like she’s trying to impress Brittany right now, because not only has Brittany held her while she kinda fell apart, but also because Brittany usually sees her frazzled and dressed in old ratty jeans and a black t-shirt basically every day of the week, so this is barely even a step down from that.

It’s 10:42 when someone buzzes her apartment, and she quickly crosses her living room to answer it and let Brittany in. It feels like minutes rather than seconds until there’s a knock on her door, and she opens it to find Brittany with her hands full of food and drinks. She’s dressed in sweats too, her thicker winter jacket zipped up to her chin and her knitted hut tugged a little too low over her forehead like always, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hey,” Santana quickly reaches forwards to grab the tray of drinks from Brittany so she doesn’t look as off balanced, stepping back to let her in, “You’re early.”

Brittany flusters for a moment before she manages to recover and smirk at Santana. “And you’re ready anyways.”

Santana grins and shrugs, waiting a moment for Brittany to kick off her sneakers by the door before leading Brittany back through her apartment and into her living room. She sets the tray of warm drinks down on the coffee table before lowering herself with a small groan; there’s already napkins and cutlery on the table because she was too antsy to sit still earlier.

Brittany drops the bags on the coffee table before lowering herself down too. There’s far more than a couple feet of space on the blanket, but she elects to sit close enough to Santana that that their shoulders press together. Santana smiles at her lap for a moment before glancing at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, finding her smiling softly as pink splotches her cheeks a little. She’s so cute that it takes a moment for Santana to snap out of her daze enough to realize she’s kind of been staring at Brittany for a while, and so she quickly turns to the coffee table to distribute the drinks and napkins and cutlery and ignores the warm flush that starts in her stomach and curls up to her cheeks.

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

Brittany shrugs a little and ducks her head down, and when Santana glances at her, her cheeks are more pink than creamy and, this close, Santana can see how her blush almost completely obscures her freckles. “Just that place you and Mike and Tina always go to.”

Santana furrows her brow, but now that Brittany mentions it, she realizes that the scent filling her apartment is achingly familiar. “They don’t do takeout or delivery though,” she says in confusion.

Brittany bobs her head in a slight nod and smiles a little. “I may have sweet talked that waitress who always teases you guys, just a little bit,” she says, holding her hand up until her thumb and forefinger are barely a millimetre apart.

“Britt,” Santana sighs, and not for the first time she wonders how someone as amazing as Brittany even exists, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know but—” Brittany shrugs again and fidgets with a slightly unraveled string on the right knee of her sweats, “I wanted to.”

Santana just smiles at her for a long moment before she reaches out and takes Brittany’s free hand, gently squeezing it until Brittany’s blue eyes meet hers. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s face creases in a bright smile, her cheeks scrunching her eyes up until they’re catlike and sparkling and the most beautiful thing Santana’s ever seen. “You’re welcome,” she whispers. “I got the Sunshine Special for us, like usual, but I had to get coffee somewhere else since, you know, they don’t do takeout so they didn’t have any disposable coffee cups.”

Santana shakes her head a little and gives Brittany a slightly lopsided smile. “I know I’ve said it before but you’re something else, Britt.”

Brittany shrugs and twists her wrist just a little until her fingers catch around Santana’s and tangle. “I just like making you smile,” she says easily.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath and has to fight every nerve in her body from leaning forward and kissing the hell out of Brittany. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just bad timing; she doesn’t want to kiss Brittany with the anniversary of her mom’s death hanging over her head. She wants it to be something that’s just theirs, so instead she just squeezes Brittany’s hand in hers before moving to stand. “I should grab some plates too.”

Brittany lets out a slow breath and nods easily. Santana smiles at Brittany making herself at home, leaned against the couch and stuck in place by the spread of their picnic around her. She quickly escapes to the kitchen before she is completely frozen by how endearing Brittany is, and grabs a couple plates from her cupboard. She also grabs the peanut butter from the next cupboard, debating how well she can carry everything for a moment before relenting and grabbing the syrup and ketchup bottle from the fridge, since she’s noticed Brittany likes it on her hash browns and eggs. She hip-checks the fridge door closed and balances everything carefully before returning to the living room.

Brittany’s no longer trapped in her nest of food and napkins and cutlery, but standing with her back to Santana and the rest of the living room. Santana silently places everything down on the blanket before moving to see what Brittany’s looking at. She’s standing between the window and the television, where there’s a small shelving unit build into the wall. It’s where Santana keeps most of her framed pictures, her college diploma, a couple of old birthday cards from her mom and Mike and Tina, and her mom’s old knickknacks that she’d had for long before Santana was born.

Santana doesn’t have to see where exactly Brittany’s looking to know what’s caught her attention; the five framed picture, her favourite ones, sitting just below Brittany’s eye level and just above her own.

The first one is of her mom in the hospital mere moments after Santana was born; she’s exhausted and her hair sticks to her face in a dark sweaty mess, but it’s the picture that Santana’s always stared at the most over the past couple years, because as Santana’s gotten older she’s seen herself in her mom at the same age more and more, in their hair and in their smiles and, mostly, in their eyes.

The next picture is of her mom and herself a week before her first day of junior year in New York; her hair is in wild curls and a baseball cap is pulled low over her eyes, and she’s hanging off her mom, who’s a little older and whose laugh lines are a little deeper than they were sixteen years ago. They both look absolutely exhausted, but elated, as they stand in an empty apartment in Washington Heights, the apartment that would be home until her mom died, each holding a pair of keys up for the camera with proud smiles.

The middle picture is of a slightly younger Tina and Mike and her, Tina and Mike dressed in their costumes from whatever show they were doing and Santana in all black, a headset around her neck; Mike’s hair hangs messily into his eyes from before Tina and her convinced him to cut it at least a little bit shorter, Tina has streaks of electric blue peaking out from under the ridiculous hat her character wore, and Santana’s hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her favourite part of the picture is the smudge of tan in the bottom right corner that obscures all of Santana’s body and most of Tina’s from about the shoulders down, because she’ll never forget the look on her mom’s face when the pictures were developed and she realized that her thumb was featured in most of the pictures she took of their third year spring semester’s show.

The next one is Santana and her mom, her laugh lines even deeper as she kisses Santana firmly on the cheek, just a hint of the Stephen Sondheim Theatre behind them; Santana’s beaming at the camera because it was her first official assistant stage manager job at a real theatre, a show she worked on for its short three week run over summer break between her third and fourth year. Her mom’s expression is overflowing with adoration and pride even though only the hinge of her jaw, her pursed lips, her squished nose, and her dark eyelashes are visible to the camera.

The last picture is of Santana and her mom in her mom’s dining room, in the middle of summer at her apartment in Washington Heights, their cheeks pressed together over a small, slightly amateur cake that Santana had baked and decorated herself; her mom is older and thinner in this picture, her cheekbones a little more pronounced and the dark circles under her eyes darker than ever before. Santana has her arms looped around her mom’s neck from behind, both of them smiling widely at the camera, their hair blending together into a wild mass of dark waves.

“That was a couple months before she died,” Santana says suddenly.

Brittany jolts and gasps, glancing over her shoulder to find Santana standing there, watching her study the pictures. Brittany looks embarrassed to have been caught snooping, her eyes wide and her toes tapping together, but Santana just smiles reassuringly at her. Brittany seems to search for words for a moment before she gives Santana a soft smile. “You have her eyes. And her smile.”

Santana’s smile wavers a little but her eyes are bright and delighted. “That’s what everyone always says,” she says proudly.

“You were a really cute baby too,” Brittany says, her attention turning back to the pictures. “You have, like, the tiniest ears ever.”

Santana crosses the living room to peer over Brittany’s shoulder at the picture of her as a newborn. “Mami always told me I was born with hair on my ears like a monkey,” she says with a laugh, “but I think she was mostly just messing with me.”

“Well you’re the tiniest and cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” Brittany declares, and Santana ducks her head as heat rushes to her cheeks.

“I was about a month early,” Santana explains, “All developed, just pint sized.”

Brittany subtly straightens up to her full height and leans her elbow on Santana’s shoulder, grinning widely down at her. “You’re still pint sized,” she teases.

Santana laughs and swats at Brittany’s stomach with a small eye roll. “Oh, shut up,” she complains, “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

Brittany grins and bounces over to the blanket, her limbs collapsing in that careless grace of hers as she sits. Santana sits beside her and passes her a plate as they quietly start dish up their food, Santana handing Brittany the ketchup and then the syrup. She’s surprised to find that the food is still hot and not at all soggy and her coffee is perfect, like it always is when Brittany gets it, and Santana wonders how exactly Brittany manages to be, like, incredibly perfect all the time.

“Can I ask you something?” Brittany says suddenly.

Santana swallows her mouthful of eggs and nods, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “Course.”

“Was your mom’s death— Was it sudden?”

Santana takes another sip of her coffee debating; it’s surprisingly not as hard as she thought it would be to talk about this with Brittany, who gives Santana her full attention, eyes wide and steady on her own. “For me it was. But it wasn’t for her. She knew for months before she told me and I was busy working on some dumb show and she was—” she lets out a shuddering breath. “She didn’t tell me until it was too late.”

Brittany nods and picks at her hash browns before glancing back up at Santana with a small smile. “Tell me about her,” she says.

Santana stares at Brittany for a long moment before she smiles softly, shifting a little until their knees brush. Mike and Tina already knew her mom really well all throughout their college years since she was always inviting them over to feed the three of them and make sure they didn’t starve while on a diet of ramen cups and microwaveable frozen meals, so she’s never had to tell them about her, and she’s never gotten close enough with anyone else to even want to tell them about her mom. But with Brittany’s soft blue eyes on hers, attentive and fond and understanding, she’s actually eager to tell Brittany about the woman who raised her. Even with Mike and Tina it gets too painful sometimes to talk about her mom, and they completely respect that and she kind of really loves them for it, but for possibly the first time in four years she actually really wants to gush about her mom. “She really liked to freak other parents out with crazy stories about emerg,” she starts, “I was the coolest kid in grade one because when she volunteered in our classroom she always told the scariest and most gruesome Halloween stories, and only her and I knew that they weren’t made up or anything. It was like we had our own little secret.”

///

Santana wakes up to fingers slowly trailing over her arm, actually feeling warm and well rested and relaxed for the first time since Tuesday when she realized how close it was to the anniversary of mom’s death.

It takes her a moment longer than it should to realize that she’s curled up into Brittany’s side, her head tucked against Brittany’s shoulder and neck and Brittany’s arm draped around her own shoulders, fingertips dancing across her arm with slowly increasing pressure. She mumbles something, still half-asleep and more comfortable than she’s ever been, and nuzzles closer to Brittany.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Brittany murmurs, and Santana can hear the smile in her voice, “You’ve gotta wake up soon.”

“Time is’t?” she croaks. Brittany’s warm and comfortable under her, and she feels no inclination to move, like, ever.

“Like one,” Brittany says, “I figured you probably wanna get ready before we have to be at the theatre. You’ve been sleeping for about an hour. And you’ve really gotta finish that story about your mom helping you win a snowball fight since you feel asleep right in the middle of it.”

Santana grunts in response, absentminded and content, her limbs still heavy with sleep and comfort. Brittany’s fingers trailing over her arm, even through the thick fabric of her hoodie, feels perfect and she’s dreading going to the theatre today because that means she’ll have to actually move from where she is right now.

“You’re cute when you sleep,” Brittany whispers.

Santana cracks one eye open and glances around her living room. Brittany’s legs are spread out in front of them, Santana’s knees curled over her thighs, and they’re sitting slung at an angle against the couch, Brittany’s head resting atop Santana’s head and the couch cushion. Santana has one hand tangled in Brittany’s sweater, her other one squished between them and painfully tingling as it starts wakes up. “Your butt must be numb,” Santana grumbles, only half of her filter actually working.

Brittany laughs, shaking both of them with the force of it, but not enough to dislodge Santana from her side. “A little,” she agrees, “But it was so worth it.”

Santana hums and lets her eyes close again and just rests there for a long moment, Brittany’s fingers still dancing and tapping all along her arm, Santana’s body moving gently with Brittany’s soft breathing. “We should do this more often,” Santana finally mumbles.

“What, picnics in your living room?”

“Cuddling,” Santana corrects, and she can feel the hitch in Brittany’s breathing jolt their bodies a little. Santana hesitates for a long moment before turning her head slightly and pressing a soft kiss to Brittany’s collarbone through the fabric of her shirt. Brittany’s fingers dig in a little at the move and Santana’s pretty sure Brittany stops breathing entirely for a moment. “Thanks, for this morning,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Brittany says distractedly, and Santana can hear the dreamy daze in her voice, “We totally should.”

Santana just grins and nuzzles closer, content to stay exactly where she is until they absolutely have to get moving lest they be late.

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#also we've Officially passed the halfway mark I'm screaming this is Wild lmao

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