#tex examines herself and she thinks about these things

[peachybutch]

done a lotta thinking about tex tonight but i think tex in a very real way represents the question of who allison church is

#pb.txt #rvb #red vs blue #like. who was allison church? #was she a soldier? #was she a lover? a girlfriend? a wife? #was she none of those things? #was she kind? #was she good? #was she angry? #was she a mother? was she a GOOD mother? #did she care about the war she fought in? #did she not give a shit? #was she only doing it for the money? the benefit? what she could squeeze out of it? #tex examines herself and she thinks about these things #thinks about the ways she might differ from this woman #but wonders if anyone even knows the answers to these questions #and furthermore #why she's the only person asking them #everyone seems so sure of who she is and they all have conflicting images in their heads #how like allison is she? how unlike allison? #does anybody even know anymore? #does it matter if they aren't the same if nobody can tell the difference? #who is allison? #is tex the wrong answer to that question? or is she the question itself? #these are things i write about to avoid having to deal with wash fic dialogue

[arjaandsimoni]

Prologue

Jaipur India, Two Weeks after the Destruction of Claiomh Dorcadas

Nelen examined the sword, his lips working over the inscription on the blade. In his hands was the glowing sword that Aisha had wielded to defeat Carman on Inishmor Island. The Dark Goddess’ demise had torn the island apart, though the mundanes believed it was a freak accident; an earthquake or perhaps an undersea volcano. “And yeah… this redhead chick just gave it to me, then took off. Said ‘stick with ya’ll’ and to hold onto it ‘until she comes back in a year or so.’” said the self styled Knight.

Nearby Stephy was still a little starstruck. The effeminate fae ‘princess’ knew of Aisha from her modelling work, having hidden out in the Covington Library with a few fashion magazines, wiling the hours of his more mortal days daydreaming of being one of those girls or women in the pictures. He had the phone Arja had gifted him out and was scanning through all the recent modelling jobs she’d done, curled up into a little ball in an easy chair and giggling excitedly.

 “… Tuatha de Dannan… bring light… to the dark places of this…” he muttered, his eyes going wide. “Son of a bitch… Aisha, if I’m reading this right… this thing is Claiomh Solias!” he said, “This is the Sword of Light!”

Aisha raised her eyebrow, “Huh, so I got the anti-sword ta Franklin’s?” she asked, tilting her head at it as she sat next to Nelen on the couch, the woman dressed in a red silk camisole and denim shorts against the hot Indian climate.

Nelen shook his head, “Not… exactly. Claiomh Dorcadas ate magic, but this sword doesn’t create it. The anti-sword to his would be that spear that Arja and Simoni had that night back at the castle. Man I wish Simoni could’ve grabbed more of it before we had to run…” he sighed.

Simoni looked up from the TV, grinning apogetically, “Sorry Nelen…” she said, waiting for her turn. She, Arja, Dawn, and Tex were playing the latest Mario Party game. Dawn being helped by the rest of her siblings who were all shouting out instructions at once.

Nelen shook his head, “Simoni, don’t be. There wasn’t time. The fact that you got a big enough chunk and figured out you could use it to restore Iravati was win enough.” he nodded, “I’m not going to gripe about that.”

Arja nodded in agreement and gave Simoni a quick hug, the Vanara girl still remembering the grief and horror of seeing what Franklin had done to her mother the day Castle Fullmoon fell. Seeing her restored had been like seeing the sun rising after the darkest night of her life.

“But yeah, this is the legendary sword forged by the Tuatha de Dannan, who were a court of the Gentry allied with Clan Fullmoon back in the clan’s earliest days. Some rumors even state Morrigan had ties with them somehow, hence the alliance… but then the Void Rain happened and the histories stopped mentioning the Tuatha de Dannan after that.” he nodded.

From the bar came a snort, “Small wonder why there Nelen.” came Sammi’s voice, “My people despise iron already, but void iron? The minute Franklin unsheathed that sword every one of us on the battlefield FELT that…” he shuddered at the memory, “Any group that used such a material would immediately alienate any fae allies they may have had.” he nodded.

Nelen nodded, “Yeah, it’d be the equivalent of nuclear weaponry to the fair folk…” he muttered, then sheathed the sword and handed it back to her. “Still, if Morrigan herself gave this to you and said keep it, I’m sure as hells not gonna argue.” he nodded. “The way you described her sounds exactly like what Arja and Simoni described and I can’t think of anyone else who’d have this damn thing… so yeah. Just take good care of it.” he nodded, handing it back.

That was six months ago…

Six months, it seems so short a time span. Just a few short turns of the calendar to see leaves go from bright green to brittle brown and red to gone entirely… but for the team that had shattered Claiomh Dorcadas, it was strangely long.

Their whole adventure had begun so sudden really, it was hard to really wrap their heads around the idea that it had, in fact, been less than a year. Even Simoni had to remind herself that it had been the previous Summer that she had fled her home in Kentucky to escape her grandfather’s madness, fleeing across the world to Jaipur on a whim.

What had started so innocently had led to so much change that to try to think of it all at once made the poor girl’s head spin. But time waited for no one. Stephy, Tex, and Sammi finally had to bid a fond farewell to their friends as they were forced to return to Covington for the start of the school year… well, Stephy and Tex were, Sammi because he was basically attached to Stephy at the hip thanks to a poorly worded pledge.

Aisha’s modelling career had called her back to New York, though she’d given Nelen her personal contact number and told him to drop her a line if they ever needed her for anything. Despite the distance she knew that they were a secluded alleyway apart after all.

Natasha and Lupe kept to their own things and the people of Jaipur, for the most part, didn’t even notice that the handsome golden dog that sometimes wandered its streets was in actuality a shapeshifting monster (though they did notice the rat population was dropping rather surprisingly fast and hoped whatever caused it would continue,) and while a few girls came home late at night and a bit dizzy, Natasha had managed to ensure her predations had not slipped into ‘oops I need to dig a well hidden grave’ territory.

Drusilla however, was the biggest change. Namely that she was six months pregnant now. She was getting excited, wanting to go over baby names, though whenever she did Nelen would always seem to have to research something very very important, though she never got him to tell her what. She was convinced it would be some big surprise for the baby.

Nelen truly hoped it wouldn’t be, for his sake as much as the baby’s.

Whatever the case however, they couldn’t deny one thing. Christmas time had come to America, which meant that so, too, would Simoni… or else Catherine Fullmoon would make good on her promise and give Arja ‘the kind of earful that only a Fullmoon witch could give’ and, following the death of her mad grandfather, she would be free to do so without fear of reprisal. It was for this reason that, on the night before Christmas Eve, in an alleyway near the Covington Library, a silvery door with a wolf’s head motif suddenly appeared, as if it had always been there, and with it… the next Supernatural Adventure began…

Next Story

#supernatural adventures #modern fantasy #fiction #lgbtq

[ghostly-shenanigans-in-progress]

BNHA X DP Crossover HCs

After the long wait and finals, here are my ideas for all the quirks/occupations and other concepts I devised for the DP characters in the BNHA universe. This was just for fun and for inspiration towards others interested in this crossover au in general. 

Tagging the people that were looking forward to this post based on the replies: @qoinq-qhost, @floralflowerpower, @tgfangirl4eva @goodfish-bowl, @whitehairglowinggreeneyedcrush and more. 

Anyways, happy reading, folks!

Mr. Lancer

Hero name: Mr. Scholastic

Quirk: Bookworm

Involves his iconic usage of literature titles & quotes for swears to become abilities corresponding to the novel’s contents/themes. Course, he is limited to only books he has read and can quote accurately. Additionally, his voice gets very raspy past two or three quotes as well.

Occupation: Homeroom Teacher for Class 1- A; He’s very dedicated to his new students and teaching the fundamentals of being a pro hero and more! Course, I don’t think his chamomile tea with a wedge of lemon is enough to help him relax from his students (*cough* Danny, Tucker and Poindexter) from their antics at times. 

Danny

Hero name: Phantom 

Quirk: Ghost core (Ok, @coffeecakecafe had the best name for this one gotta give credit here)

Able to do anything a ghost is perceived to do. Go through walls, disappear and fly. This is a one of a kind quirk as it was obtained from Danny’s old quirk being altered by a machine his parents made that would repurpose/alter an individual’s quirk based on their past family members' own metahuman genetics.

Danny is doing his best and trying to understand his new quirk without causing too much attention to himself while doing so but it seems like its been doing the opposite as of late. Thankfully, he won’t be doing it alone with all his classmates around to help him!

Sam

Hero Name: Black Dahlia 

Quirk: Overgrown 

Able to create any plant that she knows the biological makeup and content of in almost any environment. However, it is important for her to drink lots of nutrient rich water and take in enough sun if she plans to create larger versions of these plants.

Tucker

Hero name: Tech Master

Quirk: Tech Core

Located on his chest/heart area is a special energy core capable of powering electronics at a rate faster than anything made-man could ever hope to achieve. As a kid, Tucker would tinker away in his family’s garage on a suit that would harness his power to the fullest extent and lead a new era of support tech in the hero world.

Valerie

Hero name: Red Huntress

Quirk: Electromagnetism (Someone I’ve been trying to find their post on my blog had posted this idea and I fell in love with it ever since)

She’s like Static Shock but with a dash of magenta/ruby lasers she can create through focusing her electromagnetism through her finger tips. She is an expert with her quirk and has the best handle of her quirk than most of her peers. She is the most frequent visitor in the support equipment workshop next to Tucker, Poindexter and Danny. It’s how she built the hoverboard she has in the show that utilizes her electromagnetic abilities for both offensive and defensive maneuvers. (Also, I enjoy the idea that Bullet is Val’s uncle on her mom’s side and is her biggest supporter alongside her dad, Damien Gray).

Jazz 

Quirk: Serenity 

Helps calm individuals and give them a sense of safety/security when they’re around her in a 10 feet radius. Though, anyone out of range cannot be affected by her quirk and she needs to be conscious in order to use it.

She planned on becoming a pro hero but felt her powers were best suited for her dream profession as a psychologist. She has used her quirk a lot when Danny was overwhelmed with his studies prior to UA. Course, a phone call and sibling chat over the phone certainly does the job for Danny now when it comes to preparing material for exams. (Course, its up to you guys to decide)

Dash

Hero name: Rager

Quirk: Strength Magnification

Improves his physique and stamina by a large percentage for a set amount of time. Needs to be careful of how much/long he magnifies his body or else his body will become immensely sore. 

Kwan

Hero name: Rallier 

Quirk: Team Rally (50/50)

Able to duplicate himself 3-4 times while being able to power-up allies’ quirks or stamina with a rally chant to help the team. The more duplicates there are the rally effect multiplies/stacks on the individual but it can lead to dangerous outcomes for their quirk output. 

Kwan is the class representative for 1-A, he’s the best at the job and was more than thrilled to be the one leading his class in more ways than one.  

Paulina

Hero name: Enchantress

Quirk: Charm

If the opponent is flustered by her taunts or flirting, their vision will become altered and start seeing things that are not there. It works better on men than women and the opponent can snap out of it with enough willpower or if they’re not interested in her.

Star

Hero name: Ms. Meteorite

Quirk: Comet

Similar to Gran Torino’s Jet quirk except faster and she can create an explosive impact on where she lands. Similar to a meteorite landing on earth, she also learns to use this as a long distance move by punching fast enough as she descends to create wind pressure punches.

Poindexter

Hero name: Tex (like in Tex Avery; Danny gave him the idea!) 

Quirk: Slapstick

His appearance is black and white just like an old timey cartoon character as well as having the durability and cartoon powers of one. However, his quirk can only work as long as what he does with it is funny in the circumstance it’s used for. Sort of like “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” rules in a sense. 

Sidney is part of Class 1-A just saying, I don’t care, this is Poindexter’s time to shine here to be the coolest/funniest person in the class. Also, Tucker’s most loyal friend/tester for new support items. 

Wes Weston

Hero name: Vigilance

Quirk: Deduction

He is able to deduct people’s identities to flaws/weak points for him to use against them and  exploit against problems. 

Class 1-B Representative and the most annoying/terrifying person that Danny has dealt with in his life. He was able to figure out that Danny’s quirk is not his own or more so that it's not natural and takes every opportunity to state this regardless if anyone is listening or not. 

Amber Mclain

Hero Name: Ember

Quirk: Fiery voice (50/50)

Her quirk uses the vibrations in her sining voice to conduct intense heat waves onto opponents or utilize to rumble the structures around here and even put out the flames from her quirk. Its like a combination of Present Mic and Endevours quirk but it leaves her with a strained or inflamed vocal cords with overuse. 

Third year student or an upcoming rock star that has certainly gain huge popularity after her song “Remember” was a nationwide hit amongst the younger generation. She’s striving to be the top hero while making her next hit to become the 1# song on the listings. 

Dani

Hero name: Phantwo (lol jk; unsure what her name would be)

Quirk: Poltergeist 

Similar to Danny’s quirk “Ghost”, except she has the additional ability to melt herself to a slimy puddle and use her ectoplasmic slime to trap or surprise opponents.

Clockwork

Hero Name: Clockwork

Quirk: Time Keeper

Clockwork’s quirk allows him to stop time for 5 to 15 minutes and be able to rewind it in the same amount of time. It can be one to multiple objects as long as he touches them in order to interact with them.

Principle of UA in this au. He’s quite a reserved man but still manages to visit and congregate with students throughout the school during lunch period. 

Flynn Fenton/Flynn Walker

Hero Name: The Green Knight

Quirk: Mineralization 

His quirk allows him to manipulate the minerals and inorganic materials in the atmosphere to create into crystalized constructs that are almost stronger than diamond. Luckily, the crystals have no value so he doesn’t have to worry about that aspect of his quirk. He does have to worry about his skin becoming dried out as a result of his quirk usage. 

Flynn is a third year student that loves to check up on his cousin, Danny, any chance he gets bc of the amount of work he does with his internships.

James Walker (or James W. Hausermann)

Hero name: Warden Wraith

Quirk: Plasma Apparatus

His quirk ionizes the electrolytes in the blood system into plasma. His entire body is composed of plasma giving him his skeletal appearance. He can create plasma chains, teleport from point A to B and more as long as he focuses and has enough energy at use. Course, he can have minor to severe dehydration and imbalance in his electrolyte levels from overuse. 

Occupation: CEO of an infrastructure security company/Provisional License Examiner just like Gang Orca.The ghost prison guards become his backup/helpers for the exam phases. (They’re just trained stuntmen with combat or military experience for the occasion).

Also, I like to think Walker has kids in this au who are in the Class 1-A group; they’re not hard to spot they take after their father with their skeletal complexion. 

Skulker

Villain name: Quirk Hunter

Quirk: Tracker

The moment Skulker makes eye contact with his target he will be able to hunt them down and find them anywhere no matter how good they are at covering their tracks. He can lock on to only one target, but he will be able to know their heart beat, quirk, be able to place a tracking/scent line that only he can see and will lead him to his target’s location. It lasts for over a day or a half.

Occupation: Skulker is known for capturing, info-detailing or “retiring” newcomer pros or specific quirk users for his clients that pay him handsomely for their targets, dead or alive. Thanks to Vlad, Danny was strictly intended to be captured alive by Skulker but sometimes he gets too thrilled by the hunt to not have a memento. Trust me, it's more of a dangerous 

Nicolai Technus 

Villain Name: Technus 

Quirk: Technopathy

A genius in his own right, even if he’s a little crazy, with the best ability possible for a man of science and innovation. As long as he knows the makeup and attributes of the machine, Technus is able to completely repurpose or change a machine’s qualities for offensive and defensive qualities. Whenever that be for a mech suit or hacking a high tech system for entry, he’s able to do it as long as he knows what it is and how it functions. An example is repurposing a slot machine into a submachine gun that shoots coins at the target. 

Vlad Masters

Name: Vlad Plasmius

Quirk: Vampire

Can do anything a vampire can supposedly do. However, he was able to manifest an additional aspect of this quirk which is the ability to copy any quirk users ability. Based on the type of blood he ingests decides the amount of time he can use the copied quirk for.

Occupation: CEO of his own hero firm, he is extremely selective with the interns he has that there is a major waitlist to be even consider for Masters Inc. Course, imagine the surprise Danny must of felt when he received an offer from Vlad right off the bat after the Sports festival. 

Bruce Guiles (Bullet)

Hero Name: Bullet 

Quirk: Sphyraena or Chimera Fish

Able to do anything a barracuda can do or the quirk is a 50/50 mutant quirk in which he has both the traits of a barracuda, Chimaeras and a touch of piranha from his parents being of one of these fish species hence Chimera. Bullet can do anything those fish can do overall but he can’t go too long without hydration from water. Water quality and its oxygen content also affect his abilities by a noticeable percentage but he still remains quite formidable as a quirk user.

Occupation: Captain of a coast guard team, he’s a strict military man with an amazing record of saving people from any disasters both on land and sea. Him and Walker are best buddies ever since they went to school together. 

Vortex

Hero Name: Vortex

Quirk: Storm Warning

Vortex can utilize any variation of a natural disaster depending on the environment he’s in. Hurricanes, tornadoes, thunderstorms, you name it he can create it for his use. However, despite his amazing control over his quirk it is still possible for him to create these disasters if he lost control or magnify another pre-existing one if he loses focus. 

Occupation: Storm-chaser/Forecaster; His control and knowledge in combating/predicting these natural disasters has led to him to be part of a storm chasing crew and they’re the best in helping disaster prevention teams evacuate citizens as a result.

Petra Eris

Hero name: Pandora

Quirk: Butterfly Effect

Can manipulate or prevent a chaotic event to happen if she was in proximity and present to prevent it to happen. Or even give a little chaos to the opponent to deal with during battle. 

One of the top ten heroes and most beloved heroes in the country. She is the best strategist in any team and has a way to predict any event before they happen given the necessity of it for her quirk to work in her favor. 

Johnny 

Vigilante name: Johnny 13

Quirk: Unlucky

Johnny manifests his bad luck into a shadow that will latch onto opponents and cause unfortunate events to occur more for that individual as a result. However, the shadow cannot exist in complete sunlight; it can only remain if there are already shadows in his general area or it’s nighttime and its effects are strongest at that time obviously.

Occupation: Johnny is the leader of a biker gang or de-facto leader of said biker gang who loves to raise hell and helping folks that need saving whenever he’s around or is up to the task. Kitty tags along with him to help him out of jams and bc she loves him. :3

Kitty

Vigilante name: Kitty

Quirk: Lovesick

Kitty sends a smooch towards her opponent which if it makes contact causes the individual to have nausea or become disoriented for around 10 minutes. It can also have a chance of lasting longer if the individual was sort of infatuated with her regardless of gender. 

Pariah Dark

Villain name: King Pariah

Quirk: Ultimate Adaptation 

Similar to all for one except with the unpredictability for both the user and opponents. Pariah can manifest any type of quirk needed to defeat anyone that stands in his way both one-on-one and in groups. Course, drawbacks are the learning curve to some of the quirks and that multiple adaptions he utilizes at once will destroy his cells in the process. 

Pariah is a former follower of all for one who had unique quirk that All for one augmented to help him succeed if both Shigaraki and Tomura failed in their own conquest for the world. But now Pariah has his own plans to succeed where they failed and become the leader who shapes a new world order with an iron fist. 

Frederick Kingsmen

Villain/vigilante name: Fright Knight

Quirk: Burning Energy Infusion

Able to form/infuse objects with his own burning energy life force that is capable of burning or slicing through any in his sight. The sweat he gives off is what provides the material needed to ignite his unnatural flames despite it causing his body to overheat still. 

Fright Knight is Pariah’s second-in-command with a loyalty to him as strong as his control over his power. Fright Knight has faced many pro-heros as he carried out the smaller phases of Pariah’s plans and most of them barely came close towards defeating or leaving as much as  scratch on the knight. 

Rodolfo Gonzalo  

Hero name: Wulf

Quirk: Werewolf + Portal creation (50/50?)

Can do anything a werewolf can supposedly do; somehow it allows him to create portals with his claws to locations he has marked with them or visited in the past. 

Wulf was abducted on by Pariah’s forces and sent into the Nomu labs for experimentation to force on another quirk and instill complete allegiance to their cause. Course, Wulf broke free as a result of that new additional quirk allowing him to escape their clutches and his previous one helping him survive the endeavor. However, he lost his memories in the process and could only remember his native language, Spanish, and his hero name Wulf. 

Overgrown

Villain/vigilante Name: Overgrown

Quirk: Plant Manipulation

Can manipulate any pre-existing plant matter or create new vegetation if water and soil is present for the process or he understand the biological makeup of the plant in question. 

Occupation: Pro-hero or eco-terrorist who is tired of humanity from abusing the environment from quirk battles to industries using the land for their own benefits and none others.

That’s all I have for now! I hope this was worth the wait, guys. As well as, inspire ideas for your takes with a DP x BNHA Crossover! 

#danny phantom #DP x BHA crossover #dp x bha au #dp x bnha #phandom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #paulina sanchez #dp ember mclain #dp walker #dp bullet #dp kwan #dp mr. lancer #dp dash baxter #dp crossover #dp aus

[ducktracy]

164. uncle tom’s bungalow (1937)

disclaimer: this is the fourth entry in the censored 11. there are dozens of cartoons not on the list that are just as vile and tasteless, if not moreso, yet this provides good insight into what we’re dealing with. with that said, this review entails racist content, imagery, stereotypes, and ideals. i do not in any way endorse these. i find them dehumanizing, gross, and wrong. and to act like they never existed in the first place would be just as insensitive. this needs to be talked about. PLEASE let me know if i say anything wrong. it’s never my intention to harm anyone, and i want my mistakes to be identified so i can own up to them. thank you for your patience and understanding.

release date: june 5th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: tedd pierce (narrator), billy bletcher (simon simon legree, excited little eva), lillian randolph (topsy, eliza), berneice hansell (little eva), mel blanc (dog)

this is a rather momentous occasion in tex avery’s career, a cartoon that would dictate the direction that the majority of his remaining cartoons at warner bros would take. uncle tom’s bungalow could be considered the first “travelogue” of avery’s. especially prevalent throughout 1939 and 1940, avery did a number of travelogue parodies—a narrator examines a setting as we interact with the characters, narrating what they’re up to, and learning about the area we’re exploring. this has more of a concrete storyline than many of the other travelogues, thus contributing to its quality, so to speak. tex would take another spin on uncle tom’s cabin with uncle tom’s cabana in 1947 over at MGM.

and, of course, the elephant in the room—this is tex’s first entry out of 3 in the censored 11, the other two being the isle of pingo pongo (1938) and all this and rabbit stew (1941). i don’t mean to sound like i’m making light of the impact these cartoons cast—that’s not at all my intention, but there are, undeniably, entries that are better than others. this cartoon is probably the best out of the remaining avery censored 11 entries, as well as one of the better entries in the censored 11 as a whole. that’s not in my power to decide, of course, but in terms of quality, technicalities, and polishing, this is one of the “better” ones.

a parody on the infamous novel by harriet beecher stowe, uncle tom’s bungalow illustrates the story of how little eva and topsy save uncle tom, but his refuge is threatened once the girls fall behind on their payments to the treacherous simon simon legree.

the cartoon opens with a long, beautiful pan of the rural countryside, complete with a beautiful, jaunty chorus of “swanee river/the old folks at home”. we truck in on a grandiose property, where we meet our narrator courtesy of tedd pierce as he asserts “that’s real swing, boys.”

next starts the first introduction of many, a highlight in the cartoon, if not THE highlight. we’re met with the stereotypical cute little avery blonde, vocals by the great berneice hansell as always. the narrator asks for her name, and, in a moment of greatness, she rambles on in that terminally amusing cutesy voice, giving everything BUT her name. she provides her age, her address, shows off how she can spell “cat” (”i can spell cat! uh, c-a... uh, cat. uh...c-a... uh, cat! c-a... well, anyway, i can spell dog! d-o-g, dog...”) and so forth. as both she and avery test our patience, she suddenly shows off the lace underneath her dress, getting both the narrator and audience in trouble as the narrator protests, insisting she cover herself back up. “now, all we want to know is your name!” a looney tunes staple, the girl’s outburst is surprisingly provided by billy bletcher as opposed to mel blanc when she barks “LITTLE EVA, YA DOPE!”

the narrator moves on to patronize his next subject, topsy. her introductory gag is seldom spared from being cringeworthy, but is undeniably clever. "hey, girly. step out of that shadow and introduce yourself to the folks here.” topsy makes her way out of the shadows and introduces herself, the narrator once more providing a patronizing chuckle and a “that’s cute.”

next is uncle tom himself, who, surprisingly, isn’t featured very much in this cartoon at all. the narrator comments on how feeble uncle tom is getting, remarking on the way his knees shake. uncle tom retorts how his knees aren’t shaking--he’s trucking. narrator has no response.

eliza is the next one to be introduced (obligatory comment about how we share the same name and how totally WEIRD it is to hear your name over and over and over again. how do you folks with common names survive??). as grotesque as these caricatures and stereotypes are, eliza’s banter with the narrator is very amusing. they’re both from the south, and go back and forth in jovial banter about the other being from the south. eliza’s animation is very loose, rubbery, and fun, all things considered. i know it seems i always pin him as the perpetrator for certain scenes, but i wonder if this is bob clampett animation? it seems very unlikely--he would have been working on porky’s badtime story at this time as a director. yet, chuck jones, who also moved to iwerks’ unit with clampett before clampett took over, also does animation in this cartoon, so it’s not completely out of the question. it is unlikely that this is clampett, though. just a guess. her movements are very reminiscent of daffy’s exit provided by clampett in porky’s duck hunt.

and, of course, every cartoon must have a villain. chuck jones animates simon simon legree, who you’ll recognize as the villain from milk and money. the name simon simon is a take on popular french actress at the time simone simone. very clever indeed. chuck jones’ animation is top notch as always--in fact, the introductory pieces for every character, gross and cringeworthy as some of the designs are, are very well animated and full of great character acting. 

even the narrator is not immune from puns: “and last but not leashed is the hounds.” a skillful ear will note that the underscore is “my little buckaroo”, the name of a 1938 friz freleng merrie melody. daffy also sings it in the opening of the daffy duckaroo in 1942 (not to be confused with the 1954 chuck jones cartoon my little duckaroo). the dogs hardly display any signs of enthusiasm as they snooze on the porch--the gray dog troubles himself enough to lift his head up and give a gravelly “hello.” courtesy of mel blanc. that’s that.

the introductory portion, taking up half the cartoon, comes to a close as the narrator asks if all of the characters are ready. they all give the affirmative (perhaps most notably little eva responding “you said it, dark, tall, and bow-legged!”, as well as the apathetic dog grunting that there ain’t nothin’ else ta do). this whole entire scene is far from perfect--stereotypes are abound and caricatures are grotesque, yet this serves as a landmark in tex’s warner bros career. there isn’t even a fourth wall to break--there is no fourth wall. we are completely immersed with the characters, and the characters are completely immersed with us. they feel real, alive, and with us, all the while holding onto the notion that there is an underlying sense of performance. the most immersive of characters act like they’re putting on a show, coming from an actress herself (i use that loosely and coyly, i was the lead in my senior musical and was in quite a handful of other plays). broad movements, exaggerated dialogue. the more unbelievable, the more believable. cartoon acting is a strange world!

“here we go, camera!” the narrator announces as a warning. and a warning is right. it’s important to remember that this is a parody of the stage adaptations from harriet beecher stowe’s book, not the book itself. not that a parody makes it okay--it doesn’t. and that’s what we need to remember. 

we are greeted with simon simon legree’s slave company, as well as billy bletcher’s haunting laugh and avery’s favorite theme for the villain. legree cracks his whip, and we are reminded just how treacherous and despicable this man is as we see the whip physically snapping its “fingers”. the next scene is a grotesque and racist (well, that’s a given) display of social commentary as we see slaves lined up against the fence, advertised with signs that liken them to a used car sale. absolutely brutal, commentary or not. but, again, it must be noted.

uncle tom is one of the slaves for sale, who the narrator desperately attempts to warn to escape. terrible as this sequence is, uncle tom provides a great one-liner as legree threatens him with his whip. “my body might belong to you, but my soul belongs to warner brothers!” 

meanwhile, little eva and topsy hold hands, frolicking and skipping with deliberately annoying singing as they stumble across legree’s site (as the satirical signs help us remember). they hear the whip cracks, and both girls dart in front of uncle tom in an attempt to stop legree’s abuse. eva protests “stop! stop! we’ll buy the nice old man!”

very amusing is the next scene as we watch legree negotiate business deals with two 6 year old children. more wonderful chuck jones animation, of course. “here’s your contract! but remember, if you fall behind in your payments, i take him back!”

thus, the girls take uncle tom home, and all is well. for now, anyway. time marches on as we watch snowdrifts pile on the grandiose property from the beginning, even prompting the narrator to remark “my, my, how time does fly.” 

“looks like bad news, folks,” the narrator ever so helpfully quips as we spot legree’s business. a wonderfully grotesque hand helps to further the entire sickening feeling that is inherent with legree as he peruses topsy and eva’s checking account: they’re three months behind on their payments. legree saunters through the snow with that delightfully absurd villain walk as the narrator frets, wishing to warn the kids.

“jiggers, kids! ditch uncle tom--here comes legree!” with some quick thinking, the girls throw uncle tom through the portrait displayed so ornately on the wall.uncle tom places his face in the position of the face that was there just seconds before. 

i didn’t mention this, but this is irv spence’s first scene in a tex avery cartoon. spence is a WONDERFUL animator and one of my favorites. the way his characters move is nothing less than tantalizing. legree bursts in and berates the kids on uncle tom’s whereabouts. eva protests “we don’t know, so THERE!” followed by a “so there!” from topsy. the way the girls push their bodies, how strong the line of action is, how defined the silhouettes are... absolutely beautiful animation, all things considered. they even make chuck jones’ next scene seem inferior, and that’s quite a feat. legree spits that he’ll find uncle tom, no matter what, as we see animation of him slithering across the ground, reused from milk and money.

he slithers across the floor to where the couch is, per the narrator’s guidance. “getting warm... warmer... warmer... warmer...” he’s getting warmer, alright--thanks to the narrator’s quick thinking, legree feels around underneath the couch, his fingers dangerously close to an electrical socket. all according to plan as legree is electrocuted, spasming and flailing around in a bright array of colors. as legree recovers, he does not at all fancy the narrator’s joke of “boy, you’re burning up!”

more irv spence animation as legree threatens to whip the girls within an inch of their lives, until another animator takes over and gives us this take that... speaks for itself how tasteless it is.

nevertheless, irv spence provides animation once more as the narrator recruits eliza into action. eliza scoops up the girls and runs out of the mansion, the narrator commentating on the chase like it’s a horse race. legree whistles, and we are reminded of the lazy dogs from the beginning, who are still snoozing on the porch, covered in snowdrifts. legree resorts to sniffing out eliza’s tracks like a dog himself, and in a twist of tex avery greatness, one of the footprints kicks legree right in the ass.

the chase persists as legree now has his hounds, the hounds chasing after eliza. eliza halts when she approaches a lake: it hasn’t frozen over, no way to cross. another frequent favorite used by tashlin, iwerks, and now avery as eliza panics, trying to think of a way to cross. the narrator croons “relax, eliza, now don’t get excited, don’t get excited...” eliza retaliates with the famous “EXCITED?? WHO’S EXCITED?? I’M NOT EXCITED!!!” 

as legree gets closer, the narrator indicates a slot machine--an avery favorite used since his debut with gold diggers of ‘49--where eliza can get some ice. eliza slips a coin in, and hits the jackpot. giant bricks of ice tumble out of the machine, forming stepping stones across the lake. a long shot of eliza and the girls trying to escape from legree, who has also approached the ice blocks.

eliza lands on the shore, as does legree and the hounds. as the hounds bark at the victims, legree readying his whip, the narrator giving a dramatic “and the winner...!”, the suspense is broken by the sound of a car horn.

“...is uncle tom. looks like the old boy has collected on his social security!” an avery staple as we see the victorious old man triumphantly holding up his winnings in his grandiose car. a cut gag from daffy duck and egghead also has daffy crying about how he shouldn’t be killed, he still has to collect on his social security. definitely a trend in the avery-verse! 

uncle tom forks over a bundle of cash to legree, who accepts it begrudgingly and stalks off. the girls are thrilled. eva asks “why, uncle tom! where did you get all that money?”

what better way to end a racist cartoon by perpetuating more stereotypes? uncle tom throws two dice on the ground, who land snake eyes. yet, lo and behold, the dice roll over to reveal a 7. another avery iris out gag as the iris closes, leaving the dice on the black screen. the iris opens to allow uncle tom to fish the dice back into the cartoon, ending the cartoon as the narrator sardonically croons “and there you have the story of uncle tom’s bungalow! ...or have you?”

i will give this cartoon credit: this is the best entry from the censored 11 we’ve seen yet. i don’t like to put it like that, because it’s not, and should not be a popularity contest, but the quality of work in this cartoon is undeniably superior in comparison to the other works we’ve seen. i will say that i personally like this better than the previous entry, clean pastures, despite its jolly music score. this cartoon has some wonderful animation by irv spence and chuck jones, and the entire first introductory half is pretty extraordinary, all things considered. in fact, the rest of the cartoon, in my opinion, doesn’t quite match the momentum brought on by the first half. the first half is slow, yes, but it’s filled with wonderful character acting and animation. the chase scene between eliza and legree doesn’t quite have the same avery snappiness as other previous chase scenes. it becomes rather droll, despite the narrator’s amusing, if not redundant at times commentary. frank tashlin would rival tex avery in terms of speed and quality, and that would serve as a great thing--those two would always play off each other as a result, and cartoons got better.

but, with all that said, this is still an abhorrent cartoon in many ways. stereotypes and caricatures are abound, and scenes are uncomfortable, if not plain cruel at times. of course historical context is important--one must always keep that in mind--but this still remains as an inexcusable display of racism, even if this is a parody. racism is racism. and, because of that, i still can’t recommend this cartoon, or really any of the cartoons on this list. this cartoon is more lighthearted than the previous entries, and i would never call it entirely innocent, but it doesn’t feel as nasty as previous entries like, say, sunday go to meetin’ time. this cartoon has quality, but it has many, many problems. 

so, as always, i will provide a link--obviously view at your own discretion.

#lt #uncle tom’s bungalow #looney tunes #reviews #avery #long post #racism tw #blackface tw

[anneapocalypse]

Rule of Dumb

Here's one that really bugs me.

Why didn't Carolina figure out to go look for the Director at the Offsite Storage Facility all the way back in 10.11, when the Reds and Blues mention where they left the alien artifact? At first, I thought maybe Carolina just wasn't really listening to the Reds and Blues—but nope, she outright says, "How can you just leave an ancient alien artifact on the floor of a warehouse?" indicating that she not only was listening, but wanted to examine the artifact herself and presumably would go find it if she knew its location. The location which the Reds and Blues have just mentioned, indicating that they've been there.

And yet neither Carolina nor anyone else says, "Well I guess our next stop is that warehouse!" Like I accept that the Reds and Blues might not recognize the significance of that location or even want to offer helpful suggestions, but Carolina is already frustrated from a lack of any leads and it seems like she would run with anything she could get.

But nope, we're just not going to that warehouse. Okay.

I actually think this would be a lot funnier, and make a lot more sense, if Carolina was like, "Where is this warehouse located?" and every single one of the Reds and Blues were like, "Uhhh…" like none of them thought to add it to their HUD maps, or maybe the facility has some kind of signal jammer that blocks automapping since it's a secret facility and the last outpost Hargrove hasn't seized, and Wash never went there so he doesn't know the way and they're just SOL. But nope, nothing.

It's actually worse than that, though, because you know who absolutely should have remembered the Offsite Storage Facility and where it was? Epsilon. 

He was the one who led Caboose to the facility in the first place! He's the only reason any of them ever went there! I'd say he must have forgotten about it when he "forgot" Tex, but that can't be true because he clearly didn't literally forget Tex and everything pertaining to her, as he talks about her post-memory-unit and just hearing her name spoken makes him blow his cover when he's trying to spy on Carolina on the island. Later, at Valhalla, he and Carolina even talk about Tex, and Carolina points out that Tex couldn't find the Director—meaning Epsilon must have told her about e!Tex and her short-lived quest to do so! So Epsilon remembers Tex, remembers e!Tex specifically, and told Carolina about her! Did he just skip the part about where he resurrected her, and the whole thing where the Director had a secret hidden underground bunker where he housed his "Special Project" and maybe, just maybe, that super secret undergound bunker might be where he’s hiding from the authorities now that all of the Project’s assets have been seized by the Chairman?

But nope, Epsilon appears not to remember the Offsite Storage Facility until he dives into CT's files… which makes even less sense. Why would CT know about the Offsite Storage Facility? If it's so secret and off-the-record that Hargrove still hasn't found it (meaning it’s probably not in any of the computer records from the Mother of Invention), how would CT even have learned of its existence?

I am forced to conclude that Epsilon straight up just forgot. Like he told Carolina on the drive back to the others, "Oh yeah, the last time I saw Tex she was trying to hunt down the Director and she didn't even know where to start except by interrogating Wash and the Meta" etc etc and the information wasn't actually in CT's files at all, it's just that Epsilon got hit with all that Tex info and suddenly went "OH SHIT" and to save face he pretended he'd just had a revelation so he didn't have to admit to Carolina that he was a dumbass who forgot to mention the single most relevant part of the story.

I call this "Rule of Dumb." It's like "Rule of Cool" but instead it's where the story only makes sense if all the characters are idiots but that also kind of checks out in this particular case.

#agent carolina #epsilon church #red vs blue #avian dentistry

[the-gunslock]

Hiver 6 - Light

This is the story about how my universe touched someone else’s.

The blue-armored Hunter rushed through the mechanic door to the apartment door with excitement due to the situation she has been called to assist with, making the Warlock sitting at the couch jump.

“HIVER!”

“WHAT THE--”

“I came as soon as the strike was over!”

The Warlock paused and furrowed her brows while doing some calculations in her head. “...That was two minutes ago.”

Selene turns to stare back at the door she just came through.

“She flies very fast.” Joan, her Ghost, said as he materialized, spinning his teal Stalwart Shell. “Against better judgement.”

“Hers or yours?” Trinity asked from her pillow near the TV.

“Yes.” Joan replied flatly as he turned to chat with her, leaving her Guardian alone with the Warlock. “Hey, nice shell. How many of the Nine did you bribe to get it?”

“Twelve.” The white Ghost replied, half-giggling.

Selene smiles as the Ghosts make small talk and cuts to the chase with her Warlock friend.

“Either way,” She says as she removes her boots and sits on the couch. “What’s the uh.... “gay emergency”… you called me about?”

The Warlock leans against the couch’s arm rest, head on her hand. “Well, so…”

After their sleepover is done, Amanda retakes her workspace (Now with clean clothes) and Hiver makes another trip to the European Dead Zone to meet with the gentleman sniper that holds human presence in it. She did promise he would be the first to know.

“Well, I’ll be. You really did charm the young lass, didn’t ya, lady? No way to go but up now.” He said with a smile, pouring them both a cup of tea once again. She leaned against the wall, fiddling with her bag strap in a mixture of happiness and embarrassment.

“Not like I expected, though.” She managed, starting to think of her next move.

“Why is that? Did she turn you down?” He asked as he handed the Guardian a saucer and teacup.

“Quite the contrary.” She said, staring at the dark green surface of the liquid. “She had fun, so she invited me to do it again.”

“Heh, you did good. Went with the good old ‘dinner and a movie’ tactic?”

“There was no tactic, I winged it. Simple City date.” She sighs, recollecting her memory of the day.

“Took her to my favorite library, she talked with a lot of passion about machinery. Learned a lot that day. I bought her a mechanics book she had her eye on for a while, earned me a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.”

Hiver unconsciously opened a grin as she said the last part, then continued.

“Then she spotted a flower shop, and dragged me inside since she saw the plants in my house. I taught her about how to care for the ones I knew, and she got herself a nice little cactus. She asked me for a name. I called it Nora.”

“Interesting. Why Nora?” Devrim inquired as Hiver sipped her tea.

“It was her mother’s name. Like the cactus, she was resilient. Needed to be, to handle the road to the City.”

Devrim nodded politely, but kept silent.

“In the late afternoon, she accepted to stay for dinner. I made us a… fondue? Think that’s the name of the thing. Simple to do, but oh so good. The look in her eyes tasting it… she was shining. As always. She loved it and we ate while sharing tattoo ideas, favorite songs and other trivia about ourselves. Then I gave her a ride home and said goodbye with... a peck on her cheek. She seemed so happy, and asked to do it again this week, so... I’m making plans.”

“I’m glad you two are making progress. Finding love in a dead Earth is a blessing... not many of us can have.”

“So that’s what you want my help with?” Selene asked back on the present day, interested and eager like a puppy ever since Hiver told her about her crush.

“To plan this date, yes.” The Warlock says, arms crossed and a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Atta girl!” Her Hunter wingwoman said, moving closer to Hiver and hugging her shoulders from behind. “This is gonna be GREAT! When’s the date?”

“In two days.”

Selene nods, thinking. “Alright, alright. What does she like to do? Except… building and fixing stuff.”

“Huh… other than machines and vehicles, she’s shown an interest in cartography and astrography. She loves seeing landscapes from outside the City walls, too.” Hiver has to more visibly collect her thoughts. “I’m probably getting her into plants and cooking. And she apparently has been practicing a secret hobby of sketching.”

“Joan, you got that?” Selene asks her Ghost.

He turns around and spins excitedly. “Yup, totally did.”

Selene makes an okay sign with her fingers. “I know what to do. I’ll tell you some time before you do it, but now I gotta go, my bun-bun Cupcake needs my company.” She says, getting up from the couch. “Just act normal until the day comes, alright?”

“Okay… Bye, guys. And thank you.” Hiver says, half-grateful and half-concerned. How was she supposed to do anything with the date right around the corner?

“See ya Selene, Joan!” Trinity says in farewell. They leave the apartment and transmat into orbit.

“You should keep your mind busy.” Trinity says, turning to Hiver. “Want to get some weapon frames with Reyla and Junko then ignite some Forges?”

“It’s like you can read my mind, Trinity.” Hiver says, transmatting her armor onto herself.

“Technically, I can.” Trinity says, floating out of her pillow. “Let’s go.”

The next few days for the Gunslock were kind of a blur due to anticipation. She did her strike missions, resource-collecting, bounties and every other thing she was already used to doing on autopilot. Her clanmate, Selene, was scribbling ideas for her friend’s date in between missions.

The night before Hiver and Amanda were to go out again, Hiver was picking her outfit for the day, and Selene sent her the ideas for the day, times, coordinates and everything. The Warlock traded looks with her Ghost and both chortled.

“I can work with this.”

The following morning, she checked herself in her bedroom’s mirror for what seemed the thousandth time before she was sure everything was on its place. This time she went with a white top with lace decorations, thigh-length wine red skirt, matching ribbed thigh-highs and black combat boots.

“You got this…” She muttered to herself as she looked at herself in the mirror again, throwing her long moss green parka on.

“You got this, you got this...” She repeated, checking her silvery nail polish and buckling her ornate grey leather bag to her waist and thigh.

“Gonna need any guns?” Trinity asked her.

“Uhm, get me just the Duke.” Hiver said, opening her bag and letting her Ghost transmat the cannon into it. “Never know when anything can jump us. How do I look?” She asks, bringing her hands together near her chest.

The Ghost eyes her from the bottom up. “Great. You’re ready to go. You need me, I’ll be resting.” Trinity encourages her before transmatting away. She smiled, for she had a long, and hopefully great, day ahead.

The shipwright awaits near one of the artificial lakes in the plaza for her Awoken date, basking on the calm early morning sunlight. Hands neatly tucked inside her sheepskin-like pilot jacket’s pockets and mouthing a catchy tune they had sung together before at their secret spot.

“Wonder... whatchacallit?” She tried and failed to remember its name. With a shrug, she adjusted her own shoulder bag as she looked to see Hiver jogging out of her apartment building to meet her, like a puppy greeting its owner.

“Hey there, cowgirl.” She said, winking at the Awoken girl, who waved back happily.

“Hello, Amanda!” She took this time to examine her partner’s outfit. On her bottom half, brown combat boots, and ripped black jeans that exposed her mechanical joint.

The most notable feature was her open jacket, collar lined with short fur and adorned with patches; Tex Mechanica’s emblem on her right arm; Vanguard’s ‘V’ and the Sparrow Racing League symbol on her right breast; her left arm had a “Remove before flight”-styled tag with “Amanda Holliday” written on it. Finally, on her left breast, was a black, circle-shaped badge with a golden embroidering of six ships soaring towards the skies.

“Hey girl, why you starin’? Got something on me?” Amanda said with a chuckle, grabbing Hiver’s attention. This time, she was ready.

“Yes, you do.” She said, motioning with a finger towards her crush. “It’s just a bit of overwhelming beauty, don’t worry.”

Amanda gave a charmed laugh at her smoothness. Back to her sheepish smile, they started to walk towards nowhere in particular.

“Bet you got a cannon in there.” Amanda said, eyeing the bag on Hiver’s thigh.

“No!”

The human raises an eyebrow at her companion. She can’t resist it.

“...Yes.” She says as she shows her her Duke hand cannon.

“Haha! So, it’s one of two things. Either we’re doing some expeditioning… or you like the cannon more than me.”

“You’d be surprised how hard that is.” Hiver thought. “First option. But first, how about we get breakfast? I’m starving.” They start to walk, Hiver leading the way to the nearby café Selene pointed her towards.

“Aww. Don’t get to eat your homemade cooking today?” Amanda says, in faux-sadness. Well, not all of it. She did really like Hiver’s food.

“Later, if you’d like.” Hiver said to give her partner some hope.

After some minutes of walking and talking, they make it to the café. A little, cozy, brown and beige space, run by a weary but gentle-looking man and a woman that appeared to be his wife. The women greet the couple, sitting down at the elegant wooden table. Theu get served a stack of pancakes and two slices of a cake with an interesting name. “Red Velvet”, they called it. Beside that, was one mug of latte with a layer of whipped cream and one of hot chocolate. Darting between a distracted Hiver and the whipped cream, Amanda had an idea, sipping at it.

“Hiver.”

“Yes?” The Warlock answered, looking up from her cake to see Amanda had a thin cream mustache on her face.

“Ready to bang knuckles?” Amanda said in a husky voice, a purposefully poor imitation of the City’s shadiest individual. Hiver couldn’t hold her laughter, which made the shipwright extremely satisfied.

As she licked the cream off of her upper lip and got to eating, Hiver was machinating her turn.

She threw her hood on and spoke very nasally, while holding the menu like a datapad. “Why, miss Holliday, banging knuckles is not going to find us any Golden Age archives! Keep your priorities in order.”

It was Amanda’s turn to laugh at Hiver’s shenanigan as she took the hood off of her head. Both continued their breakfasts before it went cold, glad start their days off with a bit of good fun.

“That was a good start of the day, lady-killer.” Amanda says, her face propped up on her hands, kicking her legs in teasing expectation. “Where to now?”

“A bit of flying, if you don’t mind. Got places I want you to visit.”

“When did I ever mind flying? Let’s get right to it!”

Trinity took this cue to transmat both of them into Hiver’s ship and trace a course to the Old American Empire. Hiver had them en route to a place who kickstarted their ‘relationship’, so it was time to show them some gratitude.

They touched down right at Quinn’s village’s gates, which was definitely livelier than the last time. The rainclouds had passed and they were working more towards expanding and defending their perimeter. While Amanda takes in the scenery, Hiver notes the recently added plaque that says “St. Winter”. She makes a mental note to ask about it later.

“So,” Amanda turned to her, “this is the place you saved for pitaya?”

“It was worth it, alright? You were so happy that day. Plus I saved the Vanguard the headache of investigating some… possible resurrection of the House of Wolves. Aaaand made some people happy along the way. Everybody won.”

The cheerful man from the last time Hiver was there shows up, after the citizens spread word of the “return of Old Lady Winter”.

Amanda looks at her curiously. “Lady Winter.”

“First Gunslock and then this… being fair, I guess I didn’t give many people my name yet.” The Gunslock says, shrugging.

“That’s right!” Quinn says as he steps closer. “But ice blue as your skin is and deadly as your passing was to these pirates, no title is more fitting.”

“Hello, Quinn. This is my, uh, date, Amanda Holliday.” She says, motioning towards Amanda. “Amanda, this is Quinn, the man who helped me secure their supply routes.”

“Wassup!” Amanda says with a two-finger salute. He smiles politely under his black beard.

“My pleasure to meet you, Amanda. This woman is truly virtuous.”

“Yeah, she does crazy stuff for me sometimes.” She said, eyeing the Awoken girl who is shrinking into herself in embarrassment. “Hope she knows I appreciate it!”

“Wait… was it…” Quinn makes an ‘oh’ face in realization. “Was it her you came to grab the fruit for, Hiver?”

“Shut it!” Hiver rebutts in shame, trying to find another place to look at. Amanda chuckles at her flustered date.

“Hohoho, that was a knightly quest. “Labor of love”, she told me. A lot of labor… means a lot of love. She’s a keeper.” He winks at Amanda, who laughs nervously while blushing and scratching her nape.

“Would you two like to stay in our little town for lunch? Thanks to your lover there, we now have an abundance of food coming in.”

“Sure, why not? Hiver?” Amanda answers, taking off her jacket and looking at her date, who is now a flustered mess ten feet away from them.

A shy “Yeah” is all she can muster before they follow Quinn into the restaurant-like building that is the communal mess hall. It has a rustic interior, many long tables and a little platform, presumably for public announcements. Directly in front of the door is a bar counter leading to the kitchen, with people coming in and out, carrying food, plates and drinks.

They get the end of a table with people cheering the Guardian and her partner, soon dying down as people began to talk and eat their meals; They’re served chicken steak with a layer of madeira sauce, french fries and rice.

“Ooooooh....” Amanda ogles over the meal being put in front of them. “Quinn, would y’all have beer, by any chance?”

“Should have it.” Quinn goes to the bar counter and after some minutes returns with two mugs filled with foamy, golden orange liquid, placing them before the two girls.

“Here. Homebrew.”

“Asskickin’!” The blonde says, 

“Uh…” Hiver stutters, staring at her mug. “I’m sorry, but is it a bad time to tell you I don’t like alcohol?”

“Not at all, Guardian. I’ll take your mug.” Quinn says, dragging it to the side of his plate.

Hiver gets up from the table, looking around for any indication of a restroom. “In the meantime, I’ll go look for something else to drink, and… a restroom, or something.”

Quinn points to a passage beside the platform. “Down that hallway.” Hiver thanks him and takes her leave.

“She’s really something, isn’t she?” Quinn stealthily asks Amanda, who is swallowing a bite of her steak.

“Yeah. When I heard her story ‘bout how she came all the way to the Old America to get ONE fruit… just to see me smile… I realized how wonderful she is.” Amanda said before biting another fry. “Of course, wasn’t the first time she did somethin’ for me, but the rest was more casual, see? Never was on ‘traveling across the continent and risk her life to find a thing I ate as a kid’ level.”

Quinn closed his eyes and nodded happily at Amanda’s talking.

“Like… damn, how can I ever repay that kinda stuff? Just how far would she go for me?” She took a sip out of her beer. “Which’s why, one day, she invited me to a date and... I said yes. Seemed to make her the happiest girl in the entire system. It was so simple, and yet enough to, well, ‘repay’ her for the trouble she went through.”

She sighs and looks around, seeing all the people eating or talking over their empty plates. A band is apparently setting up at the platform.

“Honestly? Being here, and seeing how happy she made these people, even thinking about me, makes me realize that she is more wonderful than I imagined. And I want her to never change.”

“You could always be by her side to make sure she doesn’t.”

Amanda just blushes and chuckles nervously, looking around for a way not to reply to that.

“Heeey, cowgirl!” She says to her unknowing savior, who arrived just at the right time to avoid admitting something awkward.

“Hello, Amanda! Hey, Quinn!” The Warlock sits down and immediately gets to eating, being hungry since she ate so little in the morning. While she’s entertained with food, Quinn shoots Amanda a smug smile, to which she makes a flat expression and mouths ‘shut up’ back.

After some minutes, their attention is caught by acoustic guitar chords and the hitting of a bass drum. The more art-inclined folks have started playing a classic song, and the citizens either watch gladly or sing along.

“Life is old there, older than the trees, younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze…” The male lead sang soulfully.

“Country roooooads~” Amanda softly sings along with the band and the other people at the mess hall, bobbing side-to-side with the rhythm and closing her eyes to focus on the song better. Hiver giggles at her date’s moment of freedom. It was one of her favorite styles of music, after all.

All the songs being over, it was almost the mid-afternoon. There was one last place the Guardian wanted to take Amanda.

“Hiver,” Quinn called out as they went out of the Mess Hall, “I have great news for you.”

“Hm? What is it?”

“Folks are building another village in the horizon of the hill our supply route goes through. We might all go there to negotiate with them.”

Amanda and Hiver trade looks and smiles of gleeful surprise. “Guess the Titans weren’t lying when they said Last City would one day be known as the First City.”

“We’ll be on our way now, Quinn. I’ll come to visit whenever I’m available again.” Hiver says, bidding farewell.

“Nice to meetcha! Glad my girl here could do some good around here. ‘S near where my ma was born, after all.” Amanda states, putting her jacket back on and looking at the settlement in longing.

“Have a safe flight, ladies. We’ll be expecting you, hopefully with more good news to tell.” Quinn waves goodbye as they get transmatted back into orbit.

“Well, that was really sweet to see.” Amanda said, sitting behind Hiver in her jumpship.

“Yes, it was.” Hiver says, typing in Selene’s last set of coordinates. “Not as sweet as what we’re going to do now.”

“Ooooh, mysterious.” She says, wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck. “Okay, I’ll trust you’re taking us somewhere nice.”

Hiver giggles. “When have I not?” The jumpship picks up speed, and they depart to their last stop.

After some minutes of traveling, they arrive at their destination.

It was a beach that faced the west. Completely untouched by either human or Darkness presence, save only for eroded rocks, sand, and the serene sea quietly crashing at the shore. Amanda had never seen a place like this before. The shipwright and the Guardian leaned against a rock, the former closing her eyes and allowed herself to feel the wind in her face, and the salutiferous smell of the sea breeze. 

It was… clean. It was calm.

Peace, was the word for what she felt.

They admired in silence as the sky turned a beautiful mixture of pink, blue, and golden, the sign of night starting to paint itself unto the heavens. As dark covered the beach, Trinity took distance and illuminated the two women as softly as she could. Soon, the clean night sky revealed a mesmerizing sight to both women.

Purple. Pinkish red. Blue. Gold. Nebulae, cloudy shapes of the galaxy, dancing in the horizon. Hundreds of Constellations, some unknown, some brighter than others. A soothing, abstract work of art, painted in the everlasting and infinite canvas, extending from the sea eternally upwards, reminding the girls.

“It’s gentle.” Hiver says, quietly.

“How so?” Amanda replies.

“We were once in the starlight. Trillions of years back. When life began.”

“The stardust gathered. It made Earth. With a combination of factors, and a speck of luck, went on to create us.”

Amanda listened quietly to the soft voice of her date, calmly amazed at everything going on around her.

“You and I, Amanda… we are the stardust. Our bodies and souls were once part of this infinite beauty. Its little building blocks are now part of us.”

“I used to hear we were insignificant to the universe. I believe not. I believe… we are part of it.”

Their hands touch each other. They hold each other’s hands gently.

“As in… we’re universes in our own rights?”

“Yes. We are. There is infinity as we see, but… there is also infinitude inside of us. Sometimes…” Hiver brushes her fingertips against Amanda’s, leading the latter to intertwine them. “I believe they can communicate.”

“Maybe not by talking.”

“Not the outer universe. That’s why we may interpret the signs differently. People over the centuries have tried.”

Amanda tilts her head to look at her Awoken date sideways. Hiver looks at her a bit more directly.

“And the inner universe? How does it talk?”

“Many ways. By ideas. Feelings. Gestures. Expressions. And by those, we made contact with people; and, consequently, we were allowed inside their universes.”

Amanda kept quiet and touched the side of her head on Hiver’s as the Warlock looked down at the ocean waves, swallowing hard.

“I think...” She managed to let out.

“Hm?”

“I think the outer one is gentle because it allowed both of our universes to find each other.”

Amanda slowly turns her head towards Hiver’s. She was very close to her face.

“Come on, girl, don’t fuck this up.” The Guardian told herself as she looked at the galaxy arm once more.

“A-and… the universe that lives in me has fallen… profusely and unwaveringly in love with the one… that lives in you.”

“Hiver, look at me.” Amanda said. Hiver turned her head, almost tearing up with nervousness. It felt liberating to put her feelings out there, but she was never this unsure of what came next.

She felt the hard, warm touch of Amanda’s forehead against hers. A soft sensation of cartilage as their noses brushed. An off-hand around her waist. A hot breath near her own mouth.

The warmth of a protostar as it comes to life. The soft jolt of a comet trail on the opaque black sky. The musica universalis -- the harmony that conducts the perfect circles the celestial bodies move in on -- almost made audible. The addition of two infinitudes whose lights were brighter than ever before as they held each other.

The brushing of lips, delicate as shimmering dew on the morning.

Two women, two universes, telling each other “I love you”.

#destiny 2 #destiny oc #destiny warlock #destiny hunter #hiver the gunslock #oc x canon #amanda holliday #devrim kay #my fanfic

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging:  @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @biancaros3, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld, @chocolatecrackle.

This chapter was a mess for so long, so big thanks to @wholockgal for helping me try to whip her into shape, and @lenfaz for always listening to my writing-related whining.

Emma

The next person who emails me asking for an extension on an assignment they’ve had ALL SEMESTER to do, I’m straight up murdering. ES

I think that’s what they call premeditation, Swan. KJ

There are 33 emails in my inbox right now asking for last minute extensions. 33! Justifiable homicide. ES

33? You’re quite right. Not a jury in the land would convict you. KJ

… This is the part where you chime in with your own work horror story, so I can see I’m being irrational. ES

Is it? As you wish. I just thought seriously about poisoning our illiterate sub-editor with expired milk I found in the darkest recesses of the break room fridge. All because she used a Daily Mail-worthy pun as a headline for one of my articles. And I might’ve done, if the work experience kid hadn’t just used up the last of it for his Ovaltine. KJ

Oh god. Is he okay? ES

For the moment. Looking a bit green around the gills though. I’ve a bet going with the Pictures Editor he won’t make it til lunchtime. KJ

Okay, so not exactly what I was going for, and yet, I feel strangely less like a monster. You, on the other hand, might want to get that kid to a doctor. And/or book yourself in for a refresher for that workplace sensitivity training seminar. ES

According to Liam, there isn’t an opening for six months. Believe me, he checked. KJ

Of course he did. So... 6 hours til happy hour at the Jingles. You in? ES

Oh? Are you buying? KJ

The first round, sure. But only if you promise me it’ll be an early night. I have 203 final assessments to grade. I DO NOT have time to be hungover. ES

Your proposal is acceptable. KJ

Emma saw the poster on the last official teaching day before Reading Week, tacked to the pinboard outside her office. Poorly formatted, and clearly the work of someone with little to no design ability, it nevertheless managed to stop her in her tracks.

End of Academic Year Staff Party

LASER TAG

School of Classics, Archaeology & History VS School of Social & Political Science

Has it ever rankled to be told we produce “Mickey Mouse” degrees? Have you ever been made to feel that your knowledge of Classic Greek literature was “too highbrow” to be relevant in today’s job market? Ever run afoul of Tracy from Social Anthro in the Library Cafe?

Here’s your chance to get your own back! Sign ups below.

Emma could feel something building in her gut. Something unpleasant and inevitable. Something like picturing herself strapped into a cheap plastic breastplate sometime in the near future.

Killian was going to have a field day.

Or, she thought he might, if she could just dig herself out from under the pile of term papers she needed to grade long enough to set up a meet with him.

It figured that all of the empty space in Emma’s schedule would evaporate just as soon as the weather turned. Living under so many layers for so long, Emma had almost forgotten the sun was supposed to have any real warming ability at all. But suddenly, just as the semester was drawing to a close, it re-appeared with a vengeance, and the city was utterly transformed.

Gone were the puffer jackets and tights, the Gore-Tex and the ugly sweaters Emma had long considered to be the unofficial national uniform. Instead the sidewalks became filled with pasty-limbed people displaying their newly liberated flesh with the kind of exhibitionist zeal Emma hadn’t seen since her first Spring Break trip to Florida.

She nearly tripped over a few as they lay sunning themselves out on the Meadows, oblivious to her sweaty, breathless approach. Not to mention the ten or so pubs she had to avoid on her walk home from work, the pavements outside bursting with mismatched outdoor furniture someone had scrounged up in a hurry. All of them packed with sun-worshippers in the most reptilian tradition, and none of them alone.

Who were these people? Emma wondered. Drinking Magners mid-afternoon and stripped down to the barest essentials, always an audience for their bawdy jokes. Where had they all materialized from? Didn’t they have jobs to go to?

In contrast, Emma’s apartment remained completely ignorant of the change in seasons, still cold as a morgue. Her south-facing windows not only had a great view of the brick wall opposite, but they also brought in precisely zero natural light.

It really was a shitty apartment.

And if she had to spend any more time cooped up in it, alone, wrapped in three sweaters while she read circuitous papers in defence of Andrew Jackson, she was going to go crazy.

She had to get out.

She discovered it by accident, really, one day last November when she’d been caught in a surprise hailstorm, and looking for somewhere warm and dry to scarf down the rest of her Greggs donut. Her office-mate had office hours, and the University library stacks were always too crowded with clueless undergrads or amorous couples looking for privacy.

But the City Library? There were whole floors where the only ones around were harmless old biddies working on their genealogies, and their peripheral vision wasn’t the greatest. It was the perfect place to devour a forbidden pastry, or wait out a hailstorm or two. Or run into the very Englishman you’d been meaning to text back.

Emma liked the Reference Library best. It looked kind the kind of thing a fairy tale Beast might gift to a reluctant new house guest to win her over: floor-to-ceiling shelves lining every wall, supported by cast iron balustrades reachable by spiral staircases, an imposing geometric dome that looked like it came right out of Versailles. For the nerds, original card indicies. And for the displaced American history lecturer: plentiful desk space, wi-fi and always somewhere to charge your phone.

Emma had always considered the place to be kind of her little secret. No matter the time of year or weather, it was never too crowded. But there was no mistaking the leather-clad figure sat alone in the second row, feet up on the desk, nose buried in a thin paperback.

He didn’t register her proximity as Emma made her approach, even as she bent down to get a better look at what had him so engrossed.

‘‘Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing’?” Emma read aloud, perversely gratified to see him lurch forward in his seat, caught unawares. She clicked her tongue as she took the seat next door. “If you’re considering taking up a career as a spy, you might want to make yourself slightly harder to sneak up on. Just a tip.”

He set the book down on the desk, shooting her a somewhat annoyed glance. “Well this is a turn up for the books. It’s been so long between texts I thought maybe you’d done in one of your students, and were lost to the ravages of the criminal justice system forever.”

Emma made a face.

“No? Well, small mercies I suppose. And fancy seeing you here. I didn’t really pick you for a fan of French Renaissance architecture, Swan. Or was there some other marvel you’d come to admire?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in the kind of over-the-top way that would put a silent film ingénue to shame.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry to deflate that massive ego of yours, but I’m not stalking you. I’m just here for the free wi-fi. How was I supposed to know you’d be here… studying spycraft?”

“So just a happy coincidence then?” He held her gaze for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Well then, as to the book, believe me, Swan, I have zero aspirations towards the Security Services. Callum, however…”

At that, a young woman a few rows down glanced up from her MacBook to give them the evil eye, and Killian ducked his head, slipping a piece of paper from out between the pages of the book, marked with an indecipherable jumble of numbers written in a childish blue scrawl.

“He’s off penguins for the minute,” he continued, his voice now little more than a hushed whisper. “Now it’s codes. Ciphers. Secret communiqués. Which wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if the lad hadn’t refused to communicate in any other way...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration plain.

By the sound of it, things might have been a little tense at the breakfast table lately.  

Emma whistled through her teeth, though she fought to match his soft tones. “Wow. I think when I was eight years old, all I cared about was ponies.”

He glanced up at her then, the unspoken ‘Is that so?’ making her cheeks color. Even when he said nothing at all, Killian still found ways to make her regret every casual remark, every tiny breadcrumb she unwittingly left behind of the childhood she’d tried so hard to forget.

“Let me see that,” Emma said hotly, snatching the coded message from where it lay before him, leaning forward to examine it.

Then without thinking too much about it, she plucked the red pen from her hair that she’d been using to keep her bun in place, and set about making a series of tiny scribbles.

Killian, his book apparently forgotten, leaned over to study her work. “Know a thing or two about ciphers, do we, lass?”

Emma shrugged. “A bit. It came free with my John Jay obsession. But Callum’s what? Eight, right? So it’s probably not anything too difficult…”

The numbers could mean he was using a book as the key. Each number corresponding to a page and paragraph in the book where the desired word lay. Jay had been a fan of that particular method. He’d favored a dictionary as his key, usually. But the numbers Callum had written…

Emma drew up the matrix, smiling to herself as the childish meaning behind the code slowly became clear. She twisted the paper back in Killian’s direction with a victorious flourish.

“Lachie... is... a…” she translated. “Well, you can see for yourself.”

Killian’s eyes widened looking from the paper, back to Emma, his mouth agape. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before. By anyone. Certainly not by someone who’d never been on the receiving end of one of her blow jobs. It was a single stray thought that stuck uncomfortably in her thoughts, and had her barreling on in a hurry to fill the awkward pause.

“It’s a six-sided Polybius square,” Emma explained, keeping her eyes trained to the piece of paper. “I’m pretty sure I read somewhere POWs in Vietnam used a variant of it to communicate between their cells. But Callum’s numbers only go up to 6, so I… what?”

He was staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a cough, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“You okay?”

He shook his head. “Of course. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Emma asked warily.

Looking kind of like he’d rather the ground rose up and swallowed him instead, Killian sighed and met Emma’s eye, shooting her a look that was so direct she was tempted to scoot her chair back to give them some space. “I was just thinking that Dr Swan is quite a good look on you.”

Emma opened her mouth, to what? Scoff? Say thank you? Luckily, she never had to find out, the silence punctuated by a series of conspicuous buzzing noises.

Emma heard MacBook Girl’s muttered curse. As if she wasn’t just dicking around on Facebook, like everyone else.

“Forgive me,” Killian murmured, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket and fishing out the device. Whatever he read on that screen, his face immediately pulled into a tight frown and he rose out of his chair all at once.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, growing concerned.

“Hmmm.”

It was not the most convincing sound Emma had ever heard.

As if somehow sensing Emma’s frustration, he raised his gaze from the phone to look at her, his expression softening a fraction around the eyes. “Apologies, Swan,” he said with a pained smile. “It appears I’m needed elsewhere.”

He hovered a moment, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I need to head back to the office first. Would you like to walk with me? Or is the lure of free wi-fi too good an inducement to pass up?”

Emma glanced down at her watch, which showed the time to be little past noon. She’d been planning on enjoying the silence of solitude of the library a little more. Make a dent in her grading somewhere with decent heating and what passed for natural light.

But given the look on his face right now, and the way he was clenching his jaw, the fact that he’d even asked meant he probably really, really needed the distraction. And Emma might be pretty selfish on her best days, but she wasn’t cruel. And it just so happened, she had a particular distraction in mind.

“Sure,” she said, letting some of her weight fall onto his proffered prosthetic, as she rose from her chair.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

Yeah, he was a fan of the laser tag idea.

His mood wasn’t buoyant exactly, as they wended their way along Castle Terrace, dodging Chinese tour groups who were arriving by the busload, selfie sticks at the ready. But the idea of Emma making a humiliating spectacle of herself certainly seemed to hold some kind of appeal for him.

He was no longer actively brooding.

“I can just picture it now; Emma Swan: Jungle Warrior.”

Emma snorted. Then she opened her mouth to refute this, and then closed it again, considering her track record.

Killian considered her shrewdly. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of competitive. The last time I did something like this, it got kind of… ugly.”

“Define ugly.”

“We went paintballing for David’s birthday one year and August ended up in the ER with a dislocated knee.”

Killian winced.

“He says he can still feel it when it rains. Of course, he’s a novelist, so he’s kind of known for being needlessly dramatic so...”

Encouraged by the prospect of mayhem, the usual mischievous sparkle was returning to Killian’s eyes. “I think this competitive side is something I’ve got to see for myself.”

“Too bad you’re not invited, then, huh?”

“I could be…?” Oh no. No way. Was he really pulling puppy dog eyes right now?

“No way. Not happening. You can put those eyes away. It’s a work event. The administration are already on my case about this whole thing enough as it is.”

“And if I talk them ‘round?”

“You’re not going to get the administration to change their minds about me with a winsome smile and pretty boy charm.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Emma just rolled her eyes, and nudged him into the path of an oncoming tour group.

When I got back to the library I realized you left your book, btw. I returned it. Figured you didn’t need it anymore? ES

Indeed I don’t. In cracking his code, I believe you’ve exhausted Callum’s sudden passion for cryptography. At least, for now. Elsa would like to express her eternal gratitude. KJ

Wow. Look at me, extinguishing a young boy’s thirst for learning. Clearly I’ve got this whole teacher thing on lockdown. ES

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I saw him googling nebulas on the iPad earlier. I dare say another obsession is in the offing. One that might drive his mother a little less insane. KJ

Well, that’s something. ES

Okay, so clearly the administration was into winsome smiles and pretty boy charm, because the next thing Emma knew, she was seated on a university-chartered bus headed out into the hinterland, her columnist stretched out of the seat beside her.

Because that was a super normal thing to bring along to a work event.

Emma found it easiest to ignore the curious looks of her bus-mates by picturing how she was going to wipe the floor with each and every one of them when they got to where they were going.

For the most part, the reluctant recruits they’d manage to scrape together from the School of Social & Political Science did not inspire awe. Emma was pretty sure she could take them. Between Tracy from Social Anthro with her scoliosis, and Glen from British Politics with his spare tire, they seemed a pretty ragtag bunch, not suited to roughing it in the great outdoors.

There was only one among them who looked like a contender, the bearded guy in the army surplus jacket dozing at the back of the bus.

His possible narcolepsy aside, he at least seemed to be in decent shape, if the cut of jaw was any indication. As if he could feel her gaze on him, his eyes blinked open, and Emma turned back to Killian, who’d suddenly trailed off mid-sentence.

“And you didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Emma cringed inwardly. “Sorry. I was just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh?” He enquired, his tone lightening. “And how do they measure up, in your estimation?”

Emma shrugged. “I think it’s in the bag. Our combined youth-”

“Your fighting spirit-” Killian interrupted.

“And the fact the history department won against the Divinity School last year...  ,” Emma continued, ignoring him.

“What about Rambo over there?” Killian asked, raising his chin to indicate the same guy Emma had been caught checking out before. “He looks like he might present a challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, refusing to follow his gaze. “We’ll see.”

If Emma thought she might be able to somehow avoid this handsome stranger, maybe she should have remembered that she was cursed. Because when they nominated team captains, somehow it was him that Emma found herself facing off against.

The two of them stood awkwardly, forced to wait while some teenaged employee scrounged around in the pockets of his cargo pants for a coin to flip to determine territory.

And he was handsome, there was no getting around it. Nice hair, just on the manageable side of curly. Admittedly impressive biceps peeking out from underneath an ill-fitting plastic breastplate. Not to mention the warm, friendly smile as he held out a hand.

“Best of luck,” he said.

Oh, and an accent. A very nice accent.   

“And to you,” Emma said graciously, accepting the handshake. She might have been naturally competitive, but there was no need to be rude.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before,” he mentioned casually, even as his hand still clasped over hers. “I’m Graham Humbert, International Relations.”

The way he said it, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip, she wondered if he was flirting with her. She wondered if she wanted him to be.

“Emma Swan,” she replied, letting her hand fall back down to her side, palm tingling. “American History.”

Killian

Killian Jones was no stranger to using his masculine wiles to his advantage. Though he’d been something of an awkward youth, his university years had been their own sort of education, quite aside from his unfinished philosophy degree.

Now, as a mediocre journalist with few moral scruples, he employed charm and flattery as tools of the trade. What better way to put an interview subject at ease? Or finesse that long-guarded secret from someone’s lips?

True, Saorsa was hardly The Guardian. He wasn’t uncovering government corruption at it’s highest levels or netting himself any Pulitzers. Though he did manage to stir up a hornet’s nest in Parliament that one time, after he got a MSP to admit to an extra-marital affair. Necessary to the public interest it was not, but it never did the circulation numbers any harm.

It was these skills he thought might help secure him a spot on the team bus to Lugton Bogs, the aptly named quagmire that was home to Edinburgh’s premier, and only, outdoor laser tag centre. Or at the very least, might improve Emma’s standing with the university after a rocky start.

Killian’s first port of call? The Press and Public Relations department, tucked away in cobbled alley near Sandy Bell’s. And from the rising stink of it, mostly treated as an open latrine by some of the male patrons of said watering hole after one too many libations at the weekend.

The inside was decidedly more pleasant, sheltered from the stench by double glazed windows and a heavy steel door. The office itself was attractive enough, a hive of industry playing to the soundtrack of ringing telephones. He stopped to ask the way to the right office, and was directed up to the first floor, where cubicles gave way to actual offices.

It was a promising start, he thought. That is, until he seated himself in a rather uncomfortable chair outside his target office, and had gotten a good look at the nameplate velcroed to the door.

That Killian’s quarry turned out to be a male was regrettable, and a waste of Killian’s talents.  That Killian’s quarry turned out to be none other than Robert Gold, native Glaswegian and former husband of one Belle French, Killian thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to do the honourable thing and fall on his sword.

He’d never been stupid enough to name Belle directly, but realistically, how many Australian librarians in Edinburgh could there be? And here was the very man Killian had publicly outed just a few short months ago, as a man who’d chosen his pill addiction over his marriage.

This was the man he had sought?

Killian was already halfway to his feet, ready to skive off their meeting with great urgency, when the door opened and out stepped a slight, silver-haired man, leaning heavily on a cane.

Tink hadn’t been lying when she’d said he’d been older.

“Killian Jones, is it?” he asked, looking bored.

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Killian’s first temptation was still to flee, but seeing as he was half-standing in plain sight, it seemed that ship had long sailed.

Instead he straightened, and held out a hand, trying to keep his voice quiver-free. “Aye, Killian Jones. I believe you’re the man to see about getting oneself included on an employee outing?”

For all his vices, Robert Gold did have one thing to his credit; he did not seem to be a Saorsa subscriber. Indeed, Killian’s name did not seem to bring about any flash of recognition. Nor, to Killian’s immense relief, a sudden zeal to sue for libel.

Though now Killian knew what to look for, he very much doubted the man would have much legal grounds. From the sweat soaking through his dress shirt, to the sallow complexion, to the pupils round as saucers, there was no way Robert Gold wasn’t in the throes of some chemical cocktail. The single life clearly wasn’t working for him.

He did, however, seem for the moment to be all-business.

“Laser tag?” he enquired.

Not sure if he was asking for an explanation, or merely a confirmation, Killian hesitated. “Something of an annual tradition from what I understand. Pitting department against department, all in the name of friendly competition.”

Gold nodded, absently.

“And this…” He peered down to examine the form in front of him. “... Emma Swan. You’re writing a column about her personal life?”

“It’s more an exploration on the nature of adult friendships. How difficult it is to make meaningful connections when you find yourself separated from your familiar networks. Emma is merely a vehicle I’m using to…” Killian fumbled for a suitable word. “...illustrate the point.”

“Hmmm.”

With any luck, that “Hmmm” meant that Gold found the idea tedious, and never wanted to hear about it again. Still, Killian wondered how long it would take him to convince their IT guy to “accidentally” corrupt the link to February’s column online.

“And you feel it would be helpful to you if you ‘tagged along’ on this outing?”

Truthfully, now he’d gotten Ruby to confirm Emma’s ER story, he mostly just wanted to watch her in action. But something told him Gold wouldn’t be particularly sympathetic to his plight.

“I think it would lend my words a certain credibility, if I was actually present for the events, certainly.”

Gold looked thoughtful, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. Or perhaps he was just meaning to add his next date with his dealer to his personal calendar. At any rate, he didn’t make Killian wait too long.

“There’s a number of forms to fill out,” the Glaswegian declared airily, pulling a stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “And some insurance concerns. I imagine your employer can email through proof of that?”

Could they? Killian certainly hoped so.

“Aye, of course.”

“Of course, we don’t ask for copy approval ahead of time, we’re not totalitarian savages. But you should be aware that we are always looking for ways to promote the university as a diverse, innovative and enjoyable workplace. Sometimes this means entering partnerships with members of the fourth estate, and sometimes that means breaking off such arrangements, if we feel our aims are not in concert. If you understand my meaning?”

Don’t burn any bridges. Duly noted.

At Killian’s nod of acquiescence, Gold clapped his hands together. “Well then, dearie, it looks like we have ourselves a deal. Blue pen, or black?”

And you thought it couldn’t be done. KJ

You didn’t. ES

I did. KJ

Please tell me you’re joking? ES

Alas, the cramp I’m nursing after signing near a dozen documents in triplicate says otherwise. I am UoE approved, and ready to watch Emma Swan go full berserker. KJ

I hate you. ES

I know. KJ

“Players must keep two hands on the phaser at all time to activate it. This is a safety feature which prevents the phaser being held at an arm’s length,” Killian read the tiny warning sticker on the side of his gun aloud.

Well, wasn’t that just fantastic.

Killian looked around for some teenaged, zero-hour contract flunky he could flag down, but after the initial hubbub of the coin toss, they’d all but vanished. The stand of trees stood all but empty now, except for the handful of middle-aged academics in green vests, wheezing as they made their way over the rise.

Sod it.

His gun might be fucking useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he came here to do: Watch Emma Swan kick arse and take names.

She really was in fine form. She might have been surprised by her appointment to team captain, but Killian wasn’t. She was the only one among them who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, and objectively speaking, she looked good doing it.

And as the reluctantly appointed leader, she was the one leading the charge to the enemy compound, organising her little band using military tactics she’d probably lifted straight from Che Guevara. This was exactly why people shouldn’t cross history professors.

Expending the last of his lung capacity, Killian caught up with Emma’s splinter group, just in time to hear the electronic sound effect that signalled a direct hit to the man to his left.

“Six o’ clock,” Killian bellowed, diving for the cover of the nearest tree stump. Emma was already there, pinned down by two more red-vests advancing from the other side.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his useless arm.

To his delight, she actually seemed to be enjoying this, her face aflush with activity, her grin wide. She turned his way, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear. “Give us the the tools, and we will finish the job.”

Churchill. She was quoting fucking Churchill.

But as she heard her compatriots fall to enemy fire, he could see the enthusiasm in her eyes visibly dim with each electronic squeal. If they stayed here too long, Rambo and the lasses from Gender Studies were going to pick them off, one by one.

Someone had to do something, and quickly.

And that someone might as well be the eejit with the gun that didn’t bloody work.

Nudging Emma’s shoulder, he pointed to a pile of boulders a little way off. “You make for those, and I’ll cover you.”

Emma looked from the pile, back to Killian. “Are you crazy? That’s like twenty yards. There’s no way we’ll both make it.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” Killian said, rising from his hiding place, and giving her no choice but to follow his lead.

“Aargh,” she cried, scrambling to her feet, rifle at the ready. “You know I hate you, right?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said, swinging to face his aggressors head-on. “I know.”

It wasn’t a drawn-out death.

To Killian’s satisfaction, a few of them had turned and fled when they saw him stand up. But Rambo, the bearded leader of the opposition seemed clue-ier than his friends. He saw the diversion for what it was. And as Emma darted out from behind the stump, he set his sights accordingly. Might have gotten her too, if Killian hadn’t stepped into the line of fire.

“You do know the purpose of the game is not to get hit, right?” Rambo called after him.

But instead of replying, Killian merely slung his rifle up onto his shoulder and headed back to the holding area, humming a song under his breath.

In the end, Emma decimated them, as he knew she would. All but Rambo, that cocksure son of a bitch. He had military training, of that Killian was certain. Or at least a stint in the cadets. He was a little too at ease, in Killian’s view.

Still, Emma managed to hold her own, waiting the bastard out until the clock ran down.

A draw.

He thought he might shout Emma a drink for this. Something tall and refreshing. But as she emerged from the stand of trees, still aglow with near-victory, he saw she wasn’t alone. Rambo strode along beside her, the two of them getting on suspiciously well for people who’d just been trying to “kill” one another.

Killian shrank back, letting himself fall back into a crowd of archaeology professors, comparing aches and pains. They certainly weren’t of the Indiana Jones mould.

He wouldn’t say he watched them. He merely observed them, like any other dispassionate member of the fourth estate. And how could he not notice his subject’s pleasure at this man’s company? The way her gaze dropped downward as they shook hands, a rare show of shyness.

Emma liked him. Rambo. Whatever his name was. Even a blind man could see it.

As far as the project was concerned, this was good news. Emma Swan, single and ready to mingle? Hell, it was a boon. Not to say one’s social life never suffered from embarking on a new relationship, but it was a damned sight better than Emma staying home every night with her marking and her Netflix.

So why did the sight of Emma typing her number into the man’s phone suddenly make Killian feel queasy? This was a good thing.

He should be happy for her.

Getting home took a little longer than anticipated. Not least because he stopped by the Jingles on the way and emptied out their stores of Captain Morgan.

“Maybe you should call it a night, eh?” the bar man suggested, just around the time Killian’s vision started going blurry.

Recalling Liam’s last lecture about “unnecessary expenses” he walked the rest of the way home, taking a somewhat circuitous route through a few back gardens.

He struggled with the lock, frustrated to find his keys kept slipping from his hand. He almost had it when the door suddenly fell in, and Killian with it.

“What the-”

Who else but Liam stood over him, arms crossed in that same look of quiet disappointment he’d been wearing for years.

“Good night was it?” his brother asked coolly, reaching forward to help him up.

“Geroff me, you judgy git,” Killian scowled, rising to his feet perfectly well on his own, with nary a wobble. “Would ‘ave been fine, you hadn’t opened the door like that.”

Liam stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “If you insist.” And then after a moment, “Why do you look like you’ve been at the Somme?”  

Killian looked down at himself, to the best approximation of combat clothes his wardrobe had to offer, now caked in mud to the knee, and streaked with dirt elsewhere.

“Laser tag,” Killian replied. “S’for work.”

“Hmm,” Liam hummed. “Let me guess, you weren’t on the winning side?”

If you wanted to get technical about it, it had been a draw. But deep down, Killian couldn’t kid himself on that front. 

Whichever side he’d been on had definitely been the losing one.

And how were drinks with Rambo? KJ

Graham. His name is Graham. ES

So it is. Does that sharp rebuke mean that in addition to guerrilla warfare, the man also excels at scintillating conversation over cocktails? KJ

Has anyone ever told you you’re a shameless gossip? ES

Once or twice. Though I much prefer the term “indomitable busybody.” That’s my favourite. KJ

Gee, I wonder why. And for your information, it wasn’t terrible. ES

Coming from you, Swan, that’s almost a ringing endorsement. KJ

23  25-32-33-45  51-33-43  42-33-33-25    42-22-11-42  12-26-11-41-42   16-33-36  31-15. ES

23’31  41-43-36-15  23 22-11-44-15  32-33  23-14-15-11  45-22-11-42  5-33-43  31-15-11-32. KJ

Whatever you say, buddy. Good night, Killian. ES

Good night, Emma. KJ

#cs ff #cs au ff #FindEmmaSwanAFriend #cs au #here she is #the chapter without end #after two months in the writer's block wilderness #enjoy

[vladynews]

just how to look after a dachshund

I have actually been keeping the dachshund for 25 years, so the type's features will certainly be prejudiced. I love these sausages with all my heart. And also not just me. In one Germany currently lives more than a million dachshunds. At the exact same time, their popularity is steady. It does not depend upon the variations of fashion - and also lots of types can flaunt the same?

Dachshund is one-of-a-kind. Little dimension and unpretentiousness in treatment make it a popular friend for residents. At the exact same time, the language does not resort to call the breed ornamental. Dachshunds stay "genuine", serious dogs.

The look of the dachshund

Taxi is one of the most well-known breed worldwide. A long and also short sausage pet dog just looks ridiculous prima facie. Cabs have effective paws and huge breasts. They are not large, yet extremely solid pets - their muscles are well developed. Strong constitution and endurance are a tradition of the centuries-old searching past.

A lengthy head with a smooth transition from temple to muzzle is decorated with huge ears. Brownish eyes always look with interest, in them you can see a remarkable intelligence.

What are the dachshunds

Inside one breed, there is a division by the type of wool and size. Because of this, there is a big variety of tex.

There are 3 dimension groups:

* Rabbit dachshund - weight 3-3.5 kg * Small (small, dwarf) dachshund - weight 4-5,5 kg * Standard dachshund - weight 8-9 kg

By the sort of woollen are additionally distinguished by three ranges:

* Smooth wool; * Long-haired; * Hard woollen.

Nowadays, hard-coat dachshunds preferred as functioning hunting canines: they do not freeze as their smooth congeners. The layer is not confused or unclean, as in the case of lengthy layer dachshunds. Sticker labels have their very own shade, which is called "boar".

Long-haired dachshunds swiftly ended up being ornamental canines due to their amazing appearance. Smooth hairs are just as suitable for searching as well as for home life.

The most typical shades of tex:

* Black-floor; * Red (from dark to intense orange as well as sandy);. * Coffee (chocolate);. * Marble (tricolor).

There are cream, tiger colors.

Character of the dachshund: 7 character features.

Even bunny dachshund is not a decorative "girls'" type. The smallest dachshunds were reproduced particularly for rabbit hunting. With a typical dachshund hunting not just on the burrowing monster (fox, badger) however also any kind of various other video game.

Individuals.

There are a number of kinds of searching dogs (sweetheart, dog, cop, and also others). Most of them work in pairs with a man, waiting on a group from the hunter. But not a dachshund. Regular pet dogs should discover the beast themselves and also get it. Struggle in a slim dark burrow is individually. A person there is no helper to the pet dog.

The first high quality of a dachshund is wilfulness. Dachshund groups are very easy to find out, but every time they assume concerning whether to execute.

Interested.

Once in the brand-new space, the dog will not relax till he examines every corner. A stroll for a dachshund is a real vacation since there is a feast of smells exterior.

Energetic as well as playful.

Brief curves of the legs can deceive the ignorant. Dachshund owners recognize that these pets have incredible endurance. If a dachshund is in great physical form, it prepares to cover a few kilometers on a daily walk.

Dachshunds must be permitted to spray out energy. They happily carry the ball, play with congeners, and also amuse the proprietors with their grimaces. Do not presume that due to the brief legs of the dachshund runs slowly. If wanted, it becomes an actual torpedo!

Tender

Like several hunting pets, dachshunds can completely ignore the owner on a stroll, with the rapture to hurry around the countryside as well as discover their own activities. But what they are really caring! Drinking on your back to scrape a stubborn belly, sticking your nose under your arm, as well as reaching lick your nose is all right.

Those that say "pleased not to buy" have not yet acquired a pup dachshund!

If you win a dachshund, you will not find a more caring pet. Dachshunds love to iron as well as cuddle with the owner in your rest.

Gambler

A lot of dachshunds do not recognize the anxiety - they hurry strongly at the adversary a lot bigger than themselves. If the dachshund wakes up hunting exhilaration, it ends up being deaf to your commands, feels neither discomfort neither tiredness, focusing on the target. Dachshund is exactly the dog that can bark for hrs on a rescued feline from a tree.

Smart

Dachshunds do not join agility and also will certainly not amount to in obedience to pets' official types, but no one will question their knowledge. It is the intellect that provides a dachshund a special appeal and slyness. They are damn ingenious in their tricks, after which they request for mercy so artistically that it becomes difficult to vow, just chuckle.

Vitality enthusiasts.

Dachshunds are not sad, are not annoyed, as well as do not hover with guilt. Searching - with excitement. For me, a dachshund is an endorphin canine!

Even if a pet's back legs fall short, dachshund proprietors usually do not also consider mercy killing. Due to the fact that their dog continues to enjoy life. Caring dachshund assists them leave any kind of condition, billing with positive outlook everyone around.

Dark side of dachshund: 6 unfavorable top qualities.

Since I'm a big lover of a dachshund, any flaws of these dogs seem to me simply cute attributes. If you are not yet struck by taxonomy, pay focus to them to assume about the repercussions before your very first dachshund.

Mania of greatness.

Any kind of dachshund, also a small one, will believe greater than as soon as regarding the question - isn't it the main one in this residence? For this insolent long-nosed pet dog to follow your orders, you will have to inform from the very first days. All your life proves that the owner is the main resource of food, enjoyment, and also enjoyment.

Which you can alter the dachshund, even if you have no time for it now/lazy/you are really worn out/ when can. If you provide the slack, your point of view will certainly no longer be taken into consideration by the dachshund when making decisions.

Arbitrariness, stubbornness, and a propensity to control make a dachshund inappropriate for elderly people or beginners to pet reproduction. Owners who can not place the dachshund in position develop a despot as well as a beast with their own hands.

Loud voice

For seekers, it was very crucial to hear the dachshund providing a voice while in a deep opening. On the other hand - if an animal is not appropriately raised, the dachshund can turn into a bastard.

A separate issue emerges if the dachshund groans and also barks, being left alone. Pets robbed of job do not get either physical or psychological stress and anxiety.

propensity to bite

Numerous individuals take into consideration dachshunds hostile. Typically, dachshunds attack their own proprietors as well as household members - if they consider themselves leaders.

The second reason for bites - if the dachshund safeguards itself, it hesitates. It is not permitted to beat the pet in the process of education or shed. This will not end well, particularly if the dachshund has a remarkable memory. A pet dog can toss on a particular odor, as an example, on drinks.

The 3rd reason is territorial aggressiveness. When I first brought a dachshund to my dacha, it bit my neighbor's leg with blood. She did not bark, just turned up and also barked on the back. It took place when an old lady pertained to our residence. The dog had actually never ever seen her in the past as well as chose that she was an unfamiliar person. It was not simple to describe with a bitten canine! Bite the dachshund as well as neighbor's kids if they were running around our website with squeals and noise.

Zoo aggressiveness.

Dachshund can get along well with cats in the residence - and also selflessly go after strange cats on the road. They need to realize their hunting impulse.

The amount of times I have actually seen the sobbing owners who chose that the hamster in the cage is not endangered with anything. The village dachshund can choke bunnies or hens, so the animal can not be release on a self-guided walk.

Contrary to fears, dachshunds can quickly quadrate pet cats in the same house. If you take a dachshund to a grown-up pet cat, they will certainly end up being buddies forever.

Without timely socialization, dachshunds barely interact with congeners, especially bigger than themselves. Greater than as soon as, I viewed a tiny "sausage" flick its teeth a centimeter away from the face of a puzzled Labrador or a sheepdog. It only stays to advise maintaining the dachshund on a leash due to the fact that fearlessness will certainly not help her avoid injuries in a battle with a pet dog a number of times bigger than herself.

Gluttony.

When the dachshund is awake, either states is looking for food or consuming. Dachshunds are the masters of pleading, as well as their begging look bumps out the most relentless. Never before have I seen a dachshund hug a lot that she would quit a delicious item.

On the one hand, a dog-leaver is okay, since it makes training simpler. On the various other hand, for a lot of the walk, you will make certain that the family pet does not vacuum from the ground.

Dachshunds are not just begging yet additionally swiping. My rascal as soon as chewed a bag of food, which I thoughtlessly left in the hallway. The dog looked like a globe yet was not mosting likely to pass away.

If you take a puppy to your home, you need to learn to order. You require to hide not just the food however all the potentially hazardous things: dachshunds might discover it edible what you can not think of - lipstick, lotion, made use of baby diaper.

Devastating propensities.

For such a lap dog, the dachshund has exceptionally powerful jaws. As well as paws. And claws. In a word, you must not let such a family pet obtain bored, or you will have a developer repair work in your home. It is simple to dig a couch, playing in the red. It is simple to rip the wallpaper. Grind every little thing, left neglected - why not? The dacha location of the dachshund can destroy the grass, steaming holes in it.

Dachshunds cope with toys from the pet store in a matter of mins, as well as just deals with like deer horns, or rubber rounds can take them for a very long time.

Inquiries of treatment and upkeep of a dachshund.

The popularity of dachshunds was substantially added to their unpretentiousness in web content. They really feel equally confident both in the streets of the metropolis as well as in the town. Cabs willingly eat both healthy food and commercial feed. They do not need to wipe their ears or eyes. The care varies just depending upon the type of wool.

Dachshunds need to be cleaned every time after the walk: their breasts and stomach get dirty promptly. You can show your pet dog to use a water resistant one-piece suit. Clothing will additionally be useful in winter season - smooth wool dachshunds are really cold. They should a minimum of use a coat.

Dachshunds do not like to stroll in the rain. If they do not like the weather condition, the pet will quickly chrome or rest on his back. You will be cursed to drag the "unhappy" on a chain (do not poop in your home), gathering the condemnations of passers-by. When you transform to the residence, the victim will support up as well as rush on all four paws.

All the dachshunds, as well as the hardcore ones, too, like comfort and comfort.

Difficult woollen dachshund need to be cut (plucked undercoat) 2 times a year during the seasonal molting (springtime, fall). Long-haired - regularly combed and also bathed. Smooth haired dachshunds, deprived of undercoat, the most comfy in day-to-day life. They are easy to clean, dry promptly, and also the home's woollen will be couple of. Nonetheless, hard as needles, hairs can purposefully get stuck in bed linens.

All dachshunds expand claws very rapidly, especially on the front paws. They are needed to dig. If the pet dog does not search and also strolls little on the asphalt, the claws grow as well long. They are shortened with claw cutters once a month.

Conditions of dachshund.

The bright side is that the dachshunds describe long-term pet dogs. I personally dealt with a 19-year-old cab. The life expectancy of 15-17 years in these dogs is considered the norm.

intervertebral hernia.

Amongst the public, there is a deliberate point of view that issues with the back of the dachshunds are connected with a disproportionately long body. However this is not the situation. Many cases when the back legs of the taxa stop working are related to hereditary discopathy.

In this situation, the canine has an illness of cells regrowth of the intervertebral disks. They lose their elasticity, and by the age of 4 years, there is a risk of disc herniation (outcropping, tear).

When the disc is sticking out, there is pinching of nerves or spine. Depending upon the rupture's size, this is either uncomfortable or a photo of paralysis (the pet can not lean on his back legs, urination and also defecation are disturbed). Therapy can be both operative as well as conventional. To choose the ideal technique, you require to "see" the rupture - CT or MRI.

A pet older than 4-6 years can prompt a rupture by leaping from heights, injury during energetic games with various other pet dogs. The only avoidance is to maintain excellent physical shape and avoid weight problems.

Supposed chondroprotectors do not influence the procedure of disk devastation. They are not used either for treatment or to prevent discopathy in dachshunds. Genes plays a decisive role: dachshund can live a life without having issues with the back. Or it can for the first time "buckle" at the age of 4, and also with age, the assaults will be duplicated regularly.

Bust gland conditions.

Dachshunds are very caring mothers. Also after the very first birth, they take superb treatment of pups, can embrace other people's cubs, such as kittycats. This is because of the high hormone history. But if the bitch is not decontaminated and also does not bind, there are troubles.

After a leakage, dachshunds often have an incorrect pregnancy and after that an incorrect lactating, mastitis. At an older age, deadly lumps happen on the mammary glands.

Because of this, it is suggested to castrate the bitches that are not associated with breeding, ideally - also before the first leak.

Parodontosis.

Dachshunds, specifically dwarfs, often tend to create tartar. Preferably, a pet dog must be instructed to comb his teeth (brush + paste) from youth. Tartar leads to periodontal disease, bad odor from the mouth, and loss of teeth.

Heart failure.

Type illness tax - mitral heart shutoff failure. In older pets (usually after 6 years) its sashes begin to deform as well as can no much longer close firmly.

Just when the left atrium is currently greatly expanded, owners might see a regular cough, lack of breath, intolerance to physical activity. A senior dachshund needs unique care.

Suppose the dachshund is older than 4 years old. In any kind of case, after 6 years, it is better to inspect the heart frequently.

Verdict.

If you as soon as begin a dachshund, it is likely that from this particular day on, just dachshunds will certainly stay in your home. Despite just how remarkable the other breeds of pet dogs are, they are not dachshunds, which states all of it.

Let such a pet dog needs attention. The moment invested will repay a hundredfold. It is difficult to mope when there is an energised, crafty long-nosed pet.

Comments from dachshund owners.

Why did we pick a dachshund.

Fifteen years earlier, when my child was in elementary school (that is, currently ripe for a pet dog, upkeep as well as treatment), by now my kid had actually reviewed several publications about canines and also enjoyed lots of films on the same topic, and also consequently, there was a passionate wish to obtain a pet dog.

They began to choose a breed for an apartment. We do not have a summertime home. It was not feasible to take a huge dog to the areas. As well as right here, a good friend, who stayed in 2 dachshunds, used this type. In the beginning, I was hesitant. It appeared to me that she was such lengthened as well as brief legs. Yet in the long run, we took a puppy with a common long-haired dachshund.

So this is our initial experience of maintaining a pet. As you create in this short article, dachshunds are unreliable, clever, and also they will certainly follow your order if it coincides with her desires. Now our charm is 15 years of ages. Over the years, she has actually been so mischievous: stripped off wallpaper, ate shoes, telephone and television cable televisions, ate off two males's bags at her spouse, and so on. A great deal of other things. Yet she offered as well as remains to provide us so much positive that thanks to her, we have one more long-haired dachshund (miniature, it is currently 5 years old), and also many thanks to her, we fell in love with this breed.

Exactly how do you agree kids and pet cats? With children, it is terrific. The main thing is to let the dog know that this is our youngster, and you can't injure him. They are hardly ever wise, as well as sometimes it seems that she comprehends the significance of what you have actually claimed. With felines, obviously, they likewise get on quickly. I would like to discuss another such factor. It is a solitary type. There are many similarities. Yet they are so various. Every one is an individuality.

The initial meeting.

That's why we are still ahead of us, however my partner came back from work and also fell for her. Now we discover the very first attributes of her personality. Gina always attempts to visit bed with us if we don't let her begin yelling and barking. She is extremely active throughout the day and also enjoys to play with kids and also cats with whom she ended up being pals very quickly. Currently she is a full member of the family!

This love is for life.

For 12 years, we have actually been living with our preferred dachshund. We have actually started our charm absolutely casually - we searched for a lap dog in your house. There was already a huge canine in the yard, and our grandparents desired a "bell", so your home allows, and we needed a guard inside.

However we did not consider that the old people would certainly not have sufficient toughness to take care of this "battery". We took it to the apartment. Whatever that can be chewed up in the very first days was chewed up, whatever that could be excavated as well as excavated. Most of all, we got winter months shoes, made from real natural leather and also with natural fur - we pulled every little thing up.

I was the just one that went to bed with me. She was not interested in the reality that she can be stuck to her feet - she crept to the pillow during the night, and in the morning, I awakened from snoring and a dachshund muzzle on the cushion. When I had a kid - I did not need a child monitor - dachshund lived under the crib.

Now my boy is 5 years old, and our doggie is the ideal girlfriend in all leprosy. They rest together, as well as frequently the dog replaces the youngster's cushion.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Time’s Running Out: India

Sorry for the delay on this chapter, there were a lot of things happening these past few weeks! Hopefully things will normalize a bit from now on!

Anyways, on to part 2, where we pat canon condescendingly on the head. Thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment on the last chapter, you guys are wonderful and help motivate me to keep this story going!

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

Start

Previous

Ao3

Tex didn’t like Armonia. But then again, she didn’t have the best track record with cities.

It was a well-formed grid of a city, complete with two walls. Turrets and watch towers were visible at regular intervals, showcasing that this was the city of a world at war. The capital city, no less. There were roads and various buildings, the city divided into various quarters. Once, according to the maps Tex had managed to download, the city would have had all sorts of things. Museums and tourist places, residential areas, and the like. There were parks and people lived in houses, not barracks.

Years at war had changed that. No one lived too far from the military bases, as Armonia no longer had a civilian population to speak of. Instead, they crowded into barracks not too far from headquarters, which had once been the capitol building of the city. The parks that Tex had seen had been turned into functional farms to try to grow crops to help supplement the ordinary rations.

Tex gazed upwards, at the open sky. The New Republic had lived in caves for years, avoiding the gaze of the Federal Army and protecting them from aerial attacks.

Armonia had no such defenses. They were vulnerable to the sky. They were a bright, obvious target. The New Republic, by moving here, had sacrificed mobility and the option of guerilla warfare. Tex knew there was an argument to be made for strength in numbers, but she hated the idea of being trapped here. There was a river right to the south, another major weak point that Felix and Locus would be sure to exploit. She’d have to talk to the generals about doubling the patrol there, maybe mining the river…

“Why are you on the roof?” Church’s voice said behind her. Tex didn’t turn around.

“I like roofs,” she said.

Church hesitated, as if he had something he wanted to say, but he decided against it. He sat next to her instead. Tex angled her head slightly to look at him, making sure that he hadn’t fallen apart since she’d seen him last. But he still looked fine, his new armor clean and remarkably intact for everything they’d gone through. And he felt whole as he ever did, another thing to be grateful for. They hadn’t touched him. She’d know if they had, she was sure of that.  

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

Tex nodded. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand on top of his in a deliberate motion. She saw no need for physical affection beyond that, not here and now. Later, maybe, she’d check him over fully and let him do the same for her. But now, this was enough.

She’d take these quiet moments where she could find them, in the middle of this new war.  

“I need to go,” she said after a moment.  “I want to investigate the docking bay.”

He nodded. She was loathe to remove her hand, but she did, jumping off the roof without care that the fall would injure most people.

Tex was not most people. Her landing was heavy, sure, but there were no witnesses besides Church, and it was faster than the stairs. So what if there were a few small cracks in the concrete that hadn’t been there before? No one would notice.

The docking bay was a bit of a walk from the headquarters, but Tex took it invisibly. It would be faster if she had borrowed a mongoose, but she couldn’t be bothered to do so, not when the trip was so short. People were already running around, moving in supplies from the caches both armies had all over the planet. Tex wanted to inspect some of them. Felix and Locus had known where these caches were, and she wouldn’t put it below them to do something like tampering with the weapons or food that they were going to need to survive.

She was initially pleased to spot a group of mixed cadets; Feds and Rebels both unloading their shipments, before she realized that they were tolerating each other for the sake of gossip.

“I definitely heard that Felix skinned a guy alive,” one of the Feds said, leaning in close, as if afraid she might be overheard. “I know a chick who was stationed in the south, and she swears she found the knife near his body. Orange stripe on the blade, y’know. Like he’s bragging. He wants people to know it’s him” She shook her head. “Locus was creepy and all, but at least I never heard of him torturing people for information.”

One of the rebels scoffed. “That’s a load of bullshit,” he said. “I heard that Locus tortures plenty.”

“Yeah, c’mon,” another rebel added. “The guy’s a fucking machine. He doesn’t care about things like that. I heard he tried to kill Agent Washington even though he was supposed to be with your group.”

Tex felt her mouth tug down in a frown, despite herself. Gossip was normally just irritating, but this was getting under her skin for reasons she didn’t care to examine. Tex ducked behind a pillar to decloak, before stepping out behind them. Normally she wouldn’t have bothered to hide her appearance, but people were jumpy about invisibility because of Locus. Yet another thing for her to hold against him. “You should probably get moving,” she said, keeping her voice deceptively mild. “We’re on a schedule.”

One of the Feds let out a small scream. “Yes, sir, Agent Texas!”

Tex was glad to see that Grif and Simmons were spreading her reputation around.

Seeing Tucker in a hospital bed, surrounded by medical equipment and all-too-still was one of the most difficult sights of Wash’s life. Wash didn’t like to quantify things like this, didn’t like to make lists of the macabre and awful things he’d seen and even done. But there were bandages on Tucker’s stomach stained with blood.

Doctor Grey had assured him and Kai repeatedly that Tucker was fine, but none of that removed the image seared into his mind from Kai’s description of the way that Tucker had crumpled to the ground. He hadn’t been there. He’d been too far away to be of any help, his ribs cracked and bruised from the brutal beating Locus had given him. But Kai had seen it all, seen every second, perched as she was on top of the tower with Carolina and the others. And from the way that she held Tucker’s hand, Wash thought she might have had it worse.

Wash held Tucker’s left hand in his own, running his thumb over his knuckles, his eyes flickering between Tucker and Kai.

The Reds and Blues had taken him in. They had given him a home. But it was Kai and Tucker who had looked at him, broken and screwed up as he was, and wanted him anyways. They were everything Wash wanted, and everything he knew he didn’t deserve, no matter how many times that they told him otherwise. He was lucky, amazingly lucky, that they loved him.

He was never going to let anything like this happen to Tucker again. Bad enough they’d been separated for so long, bad enough having spent every day not knowing if he was alright. But this?

Wash didn’t know how many more times he could take a sight like this before he lost it.  

“How’s he doing?” Tex asked, poking her head in. She looked tired. She’d been running ragged over these past few days, trying to hunt down Felix and Locus. Wash had tried to tell her that she was wasting her time, but then he’d looked at Tucker again, and hadn’t found the words.

“He was awake longer this time,” Kai said quietly.

“Good,” Tex said. There was a dark, dangerous note to her voice that was reminiscent of how she’d sounded under Omega’s influence. “Has Church come to visit?”

“No,” Wash said. He reached up and pressed his fingers against Tucker’s cheek. “I think he’s… struggling.”

Tex let out a sound that Wash might have described as tired. “He is.” She moved closer to Tucker’s bed, hovering. “We were lucky,” she said. “They didn’t know who he was. They would have…”

“I know,” Wash said. God, he knew all too well the kind of things that might happen to Alpha if people with few enough morals got their hands on him. “But they don’t know. He’s safe.”

“They’ll figure it out if they put together that Epsilon sounds just like him,” Tex said. She stood at the foot of Tucker’s bed and gripped the posts, bowing her head. She was practically shaking with exhaustion or rage or something else entirely that Wash couldn’t place. She hadn’t removed her armor, but Wash knew her eyes were firmly on Tucker’s face. “This was too close,” she said.

“Yes,” Wash agreed.

“I’ve gotten sloppy,” Tex muttered, more to herself than to Wash. Wash looked up, surprised.

“Tex,” he said. “This wasn’t on you.” There were a thousand people Wash would blame before he thought to blame Tex. A part of him, before he’d met Kai and Tucker, had blamed Tex for parts of Freelancer. He was not immune from the competitiveness, from the bitterness that had tainted the rest of the project, and the favoritism that the Director had shown Tex, and the knowledge that the Director had thought that everything he was doing, he was doing for her, grated.

But he knew better now. Tex had been a victim, as much as the rest of them had been.

And she had been the one to take her vengeance on the man who had ruined all their lives, at least, if Sarge had guessed correctly. And Wash had learned long ago not to doubt Sarge’s deductions.

“I should have killed Felix at the cliff,” she said. “Sloppy. Soft.” There was a huff, as if she was taking a deep breath, but that was impossible, because Tex didn’t breathe anymore than Church did. But somewhere in that sound, Wash thought he heard another word, hissed like a curse.

“Human.”

But before Wash could ask Tex any questions, Tucker began to stir again, eyelids fluttering as he started to drift awake. When Wash looked up from Tucker’s face again, Tex was gone, without as much as a shimmer in the air to indicate that she was nearby.

And then Wash was too busy to remember Tex’s musings, occupied as he was with trying to stop Tucker from ripping his stitches as he tried to get out of bed far before Dr. Grey wanted him to.

“Tucker, sit down,” he said. “You’re going to make it worse.”

“Fuck that! I’ve been in here forever, I want to go home!”

“Our quarters’ situation hasn’t been fixed yet,” Wash lied through his teeth. Doyle’s second in command, a man named Fredericks, had already helped finish the paperwork to get the three of them reassigned into shared quarters. Wash had expected that they’d have to share with someone else, or that there would be protests about Kai sharing with two men, but Fredericks had tapped his nose and said that General Doyle had said that everything was okay.

The General of the Army had basically given them the okay to fraternize. And Wash had thought he and Kai had done a good job at keeping things secret while they were with the Federal Army, but it seemed that not only that, but Doyle had known about Tucker too. Wash didn’t know really what he was supposed to do with that, but he intended to make the most of it.

After Kai had threatened to tie Tucker to the bed, and then promised to do that to him when they got their quarters situation straightened out, Tucker finally agreed to lie back down. From the wince he was trying to hide, Wash suspected that he had been hoping for a promise like that all along.

Rolling his eyes exasperatedly, Wash pressed a kiss to Tucker’s knuckles as Grey began to fuss with his IV and painkillers.  

And he didn’t think about how close they had nearly come to losing Tucker.

Kimball’s new office was bigger than three of her bunks back at the New Republic base. It was a strange thing. She’d never had a desk before; the leaders before her had, but she’d never really seen the need. The metal desk of her predecessor had been smelted down for bullets before his plane had been shot down anyways.

Felix had shot him down, she thought, running her hands over the wooden grains of the desk. Killed him for trying to leave the planet. They were trapped here, truly trapped, like rats in a trap.

The familiar burning sensation rose up in her throat but she swallowed it down. There wasn’t time for anything like that. She had too much to do, she couldn’t afford to linger on the way Felix had laughed in the video, and how it compared to every other time she’d heard him laugh.

There was already paperwork accumulating on her desk; Martinez, one of the soldiers who Harris had rescued, had appointed herself Kimball’s assistant, and had been helping her put together the paperwork they’d need to try to calculate the exact state of the New Republic and Federal Armies’ joint supplies.

Slipping into the seat behind the desk, Kimball set to work, internally marveling at the fact she wasn’t crouched over a card table in her bunk. There simply wasn’t enough room at their old base for an office to only be an office, so her private quarters had doubled as hers. But Armonia had rooms to spare, even now with the New Republic squeezing in.

It was hard not to envy the Federal Army for all this space. Logistically, it made things difficult for them she knew. They didn’t have the population to man a city of this size, and defending it was difficult. The city was formed by three rings; the suburbs outside the city wall, the city itself inside the city wall, and then the military area, inside yet another wall. All of the suburbs and the city outside of the inner wall had been abandoned, and were trapped to try to form additional layers of defenses. It was in those defenses where Kimball and her people had been caught when they’d tried to attack Armonia.

There was a knock on the door, and Kimball straightened up.

A tall woman in teal armor walked in, and Kimball wanted to stare. She’d seen photographs of Agent Carolina, but none of them had really done her justice. There was an aura she carried with her, of sheer power and confidence. Her armor was well worn, like all other armor on this planet, but it was still a sight. It was augmented in ways that Kimball could notice, but she had no idea what they were supposed to do. It was clearly the kind of armor that Kimball couldn’t afford to equip her own soldiers with; the kind of armor that people like Felix and Locus wore.

Kimball hadn’t met Carolina, even amongst all the chaos of readjusting. There hadn’t been time. She’d been coordinating with Doyle, writing peace treaties, agreeing to terms of alliances. She’d stopped by the infirmary to check on Tucker, and met the frequently mentioned Washington and Kaikaina in the process, but other than those two, she’d only seen the captains out of the vaunted Reds and Blues. There was too much going on.

“General Kimball?” Agent Carolina said, saluting.

“Just Kimball, please. You must be Agent Carolina,” she said. “Tucker spoke of you often.”

There was the slightest of softening to Carolina at that. “I see.”

“How can I help you?” Kimball said, before realizing there wasn’t a spare chair in her office. Grimacing, she made a note to ask Martinez to try to find one—surely there was a storage room with furniture somewhere in this city.

“I just wanted to let you know that Epsilon has finished decrypting the manifest the Reds took from The Hand of Merope,” Carolina said.

“Yeah, cuz I’m fucking awesome like that,” said a voice that was vaguely familiar to Kimball as a bright blue light shimmered before forming the small armored figure.

Kimball frowned, before placing the voice. “You sound like Private Church,” she said. She still hadn’t met him, but he’d radioed her several times, helping out the Federal Army with their own logistics.

Epsilon paused, and then fidgeted, in an act of sheer, unmistakable humanity. “It’s… complicated,” he said. “But hey! I figured out the identity of this “Control” guy.”

Kimball swallowed. “I—we should get Doyle, he’ll want to be here.” She paused, looking at Epsilon. “Did you—do you know why he wants Chorus?”

“He’s reverse engineering the alien technology he finds on this planet,” Carolina said. “And then he’s selling them.”

It was like the world falling out from under her again. “All this… for money?”

People had died. Their world was savaged. Kimball had sent people to their deaths, had been willing to die, had believed every lie that had come out of Felix’s mouth, and it had all been for profit. Someone, out there, was profiting off the deaths of her people. Maybe they had started it, but there was more to it than that. Someone had paid Felix and Locus to make sure they never made it to the negotiation table. Someone made sure no one could go for help.

All so he could reap the rewards from a planet of the dead.

Carolina placed a hand on Kimball’s arm, warm and comforting. “We’ll make sure they pay for this,” she said, and there was a ferocity in her voice that made Kimball’s knees weak. She tried to remind herself that now was not the time, but it really didn’t help much. There was a presence to Carolina that was almost intoxicating, and Kimball was caught up in it.

There was another knock on the door, and Harris poked his head in. “Hey Kimball, do you have a sec—oh. Carolina.”

Kimball felt her heart leap at the sight of him. She still hadn’t managed to get a hold of him since finding out he was alive. It was odd, but she’d missed him a lot, even though she’d known he was alive and well.

(She refused to let herself think of her reaction to his death.)

“Private Harris,” she said, and she couldn’t quite keep the fondness out of her voice. Glancing at Carolina, she decided to risk some unprofessional behavior, and crossed the room, intending to hug him before she lost her nerve. She wasn’t sure if Harris would be comfortable with that, after all. She placed a hand on his shoulder instead, but she couldn’t help feeling that the gesture was insufficient. “It’s good to see you alive,” she said.

Harris suddenly seemed incredibly uncomfortable. “That’s—that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Kind of. Not the alive thing. But there’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Kimball frowned. “Can it wait? Agent Carolina says Epsilon has cracked the encryption. I was going to call Doyle.”

“That is an incorrect statement,” an unfamiliar voice said, and Kimball leapt back as a green armored hologram, the exact size of Epsilon, appeared in front of her. “Epsilon never was fond of sharing credit.”

“Oh, c’mon Dee, don’t be like that,” Epsilon snapped.

“Dee?” Kimball said. “Another AI?”

“Uh, Kimball, this is Delta,” Harris said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s… he’s my partner.”

“It is good to meet you at last, General Kimball,” Delta said, and his voice was distorted, so clearly inhuman compared to Epsilon’s. There was intonation there, she realized, separating him from the voices of normal machines. But she’d never mistake his voice for that of a natural human one.  

“But… I thought only Freelancers were partnered with AI,” Kimball said, numbly staring at the little green avatar. Delta was wearing outdated armor, but was looking at her curiously, as if gauging her reaction.

Harris scuffed his foot on the floor, but met her gaze. He was bracing for something, she realized. He was expecting something bad to happen. The thought chilled her to the core. “That’s the part I need to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “My name isn’t Nick Harris. I’m… I’m Agent New York of Project Freelancer.”

Kimball stared at him, and then looked at Delta. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She said, feeling honestly hurt. He hadn’t trusted her. All this time, she’d thought he was her friend, and he hadn’t trusted her.

After Felix, that cut deeper than it should have.

“I do!” Harris—York?—said quickly, holding up his hands. “But I thought Felix might sell me and Delta out, and—”

“What?” Kimball said, incredulously.

“Pff, some friends you have, York,” Epsilon said, and she turned slightly, remembering that he and Carolina were still in the room, watching all of this. “Can’t trust them not to sell you out.”

Kimball’s head swiveled to Epsilon. “Friends?”

Even through his helmet, Kimball could tell that York was currently trying to kill Epsilon with his gaze. “Felix and I served in the war together,” York said. He was standing straighter, all of a sudden, his hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly, she could see it. A Freelancer. She had been working with a Freelancer this whole time. She felt that when she had time, she’d be able to put things together more coherently. That he’d provided her with some parts of the picture that she’d been missing this whole time. “Alongside Locus.”

Kimball felt her own gaze harden. The taste on her tongue was bitter and fresh. She could recognize it as betrayal now. When had it become such a familiar feeling? “You knew?”

“No!” York said. “I—look, he was a bastard, but you were paying him, so I didn’t think—I didn’t know he’d—”

Kimball had heard plenty.

“Agent York, I think that’s enough for now,” she said, and she was amazed by the steadiness of her own voice. She didn’t feel steady. First Felix, then Harris… what was next? Tucker? Caboose? Was there anyone that she could trust? “You’re dismissed.”

There was a moment when he just looked at her. Then his gaze jumped to Carolina for a moment, almost as if he was expecting her to have something to add, before looking back to Kimball. He nodded once, then saluted her. But it wasn’t the normal, lazy one that usually could make her smile, even on the worst days, but a proper salute, stiff and formal.

And then he left, leaving Kimball alone with the other Freelancer and the other AI.

#Steph Writes #The BFF Verse #Agent Texas #Agent Washington #Vanessa Kimball #Suckington #Chex #Red vs Blue

[deniscollins]

Columbine High School Could Be Torn Down to Deter Copycats

Twenty years ago two Columbine High School students armed with guns and explosives killed 12 students and a teacher. Since then, the school often attracts curious and obsessed tourists from around the world hoping to walk the halls, to look for the two teenage gunmen’s lockers. If you were on the Columbine Board of Education, would you vote to tear down the building and rebuild a new one at a different location to put an end to becoming a tourist attraction: (1) Yes, (2) No? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

In the 20 years since the massacre at Columbine High School, the building has become a macabre tourist attraction for the curious and the obsessed. They travel from as far as Brazil or Japan, hoping to walk the halls, to look for the two teenage gunmen’s lockers. They come every day, and more come with each passing year.

Now, in an effort to stop the escalating threats against the school and lessen Columbine’s perverse appeal to copycats and so-called Columbiners, school officials are proposing a radical idea: Tear it down.

“The morbid fascination with Columbine has been increasing over the years,” Jason Glass, the superintendent of Jefferson County Public Schools, wrote Thursday in an open letter titled “A New Columbine?” “We believe it is time for our community to consider this option.”

School officials said they were still in the early stages of exploring what to do, but one idea was to scrap much of the existing structure and rebuild it farther from the road, where entry onto the school grounds could be better controlled and tour buses could not get such an easy glimpse.

The school would keep its silver and blue colors and mascot, the Rebels. Its name would remain Columbine High School.

The idea has divided a tight-knit community of current Columbine students, survivors of the 1999 attack and victims’ families, who share a fierce love for the school. It has also stirred a debate about whether schools, churches and other places devastated by mass shootings can ever exorcise their legacy by demolishing the buildings where the violence unfolded.

“My heart says, ‘No way,’” said Josh Lapp, 36, who was in the library that day when the two teenage gunmen entered and started shooting. “It’s not changing anything.”

Some survivors said that their memories of hurt and healing were still bound up in Columbine’s concrete walls, and that the school should be preserved. Others doubted that school officials could actually succeed in erasing Columbine’s dark allure if they simply rebuilt the school on the same grounds and kept its name.

On Friday, Ana Lemus-Paiz, 18, a recent Columbine graduate, said most students she had spoken with were against the idea of razing the school. She counted herself among them.

Ms. Lemus-Paiz was not even alive in 1999, when the shooting took place, but she said she had been part of a process of community healing that involved reclaiming the school. While the world may look at the building and see the Columbine of 1999 — a symbol of tragedy — the community, she said, had moved on. “That building is a symbol of strength,” she said. “Our community really did bind together to show that we are stronger than what happened.”

Ms. Lemus-Paiz also said that she believed the school’s demolition would do little to stanch the flow of visitors. “As long as the name stands — which it should — people are going to keep coming.”

In April, the 20th anniversary of the attack, in which two students armed with guns and explosives killed 12 students and a teacher, was a reminder of that. It had been planned as a time for prayers and memorials, but instead hundreds of schools in Colorado were closed as the authorities frantically searched for Sol Pais, an armed 18-year-old woman who law-enforcement officials said was infatuated with the massacre, made threats and had traveled to the state from Florida.

For John McDonald, the Jefferson County Public Schools safety director, it was one more example of an onslaught of Columbine obsessives that two full-time officers confront every day in the parking lot or on the edges of campus. The school was extensively renovated after 1999 and is now protected like a fortress. It has cameras, doors that lock remotely, and security monitoring 24 hours a day.

“At some point we have to stop being the poster child for school shootings around the country,” Mr. McDonald said. “I think it’s time.”

Mr. Glass, the superintendent who oversees Columbine, said that school safety officials stopped hundreds of people each year who try to enter the school or are caught trespassing on campus. This year’s numbers were the highest on record.

“I know all of the severity of the threats,” he said. “We don’t tell everybody all of those things. I think if people knew, they’d be really scared. And they should be. If I didn’t think this was something we should consider, I wouldn’t have brought it forward.”

The school has become a model institution when it comes to safety measures, he said, “but people need to know that it is tested constantly.”

The school district released an online survey on Thursday for residents to consider a ballot measure to allocate up to $70 million for a construction project. One idea was to preserve the high school’s library — where 10 students were killed — and make it a cornerstone of a new campus.

Some former students and family members of victims were surprised that school officials were re-examining what to do with Columbine after so many years. They still remember yelling “We are Columbine!” at a rally to reopen the school after the attack.

“Twenty years ago, there was no blueprint,” said Frank DeAngelis, who recently retired after serving as Columbine’s principal during the attacks and for years after. He supports the proposal to take down the original and rebuild the school.

He added: “If I would have known 20 years ago that we were still going to have tour buses showing up, we were still going to have people infatuated with the two killers, I would’ve said maybe we need to look at relocating.”

The school superintendent’s letter said that experts recommend tearing down a structure after a school shooting. But schools reckoning with what to do with a bullet-scarred building have few easy choices.

In Newtown, Conn., where 20 children and six staff members were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012, the school district demolished the building and built a new school on a different part of the same property.

In Parkland, Fla., crews are expected to break ground this summer on a project to replace Building 12 of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, where 17 people were killed. The new building is expected to be ready for the 2020 school year.

Other survivors have decided to maintain mass shooting sites to honor victims.

Last month, the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs, Tex., opened a new sanctuary next to the original site for worship. The congregation converted the old church, where a gunman killed 26 people in 2017, into a memorial to the victims.

“We don’t want it to look like a fortress, but we also wanted to make sure everybody could feel safe on the inside,” Pastor Frank Pomeroy said at the dedication of the new building.

Not surprisingly, security was also a key consideration in the construction, though Mr. Pomeroy, whose daughter was killed in the attack, would not disclose details about the safety features. A refurbished bell from the old building now tolls in the new church.

In Orlando, a foundation created by the owner of the Pulse nightclub, where 49 people were killed in 2016, is planning to establish a museum and memorial on the site of a massacre.

Columbine is not simply a magnet for obsession. It is a place where survivors and victims’ families say they still find meaning. Over the years, some have returned to show their spouses and children where they had run from gunfire or hidden under tables.

Coni Sanders, whose father, Dave, a teacher, was killed in the attack, said that a floor tile with an image of the purple columbine flower lay near where her father had been shot. Ms. Sanders was skeptical about the idea to rebuild, and said that $70 million for construction would be better spent on student-focused programs like mental-health treatment or community centers.

“When they say they’re going to tear it down, rebuilding it in the same spot and still call it Columbine, that’s not solving the problem they’re claiming it’s going to solve,” she said.

Some survivors choose to keep their distance from the building. They do not want to attend anniversary gatherings there. Mr. Lapp said he does not even drive by when he visits family in the area.

On Friday, Columbine High School looked just like any another school on a June day: The sun beat down on its tan bricks, the parking lot sat half-empty and a park next door was filled with children in bathing suits, who ran with glee around a fountain.

Only a few signs indicated that something darker had happened here — a placard pointing visitors to a memorial and a large sheriff’s truck parked horizontally in front of the school’s doors.

“It’s only a building,” said Salli Garrigan, 36, who ran through Columbine’s auditorium and halls as the sounds of gunshots exploded around her. “All of those memories will be there, whether the building is or not.”

#Columbine High School

[meteoratdusk-blog]

RvB Bingo Wars: Sheila entry

Title:Top of the Line - Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Summary: Epsilon meets an old friend at Valhalla, and makes an unhappy discovery.

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: another sad one. Warnings for ambiguous character death, and possibly assisted suicide. I don’t think it needs any other warnings, but let know if I need to tag for anything! Title is from the song “Worthless” from The Brave Little Toaster, which I’m... not going to link to because the song is kind of depressing and a just little disturbing and I don’t want to send anyone there by accident.  You can look it up if you want to, but be warned.  And for those of you who already know the song: enjoy that context.

Top of the Line - Out of Sight, Out of Mind

“Don’t forget, you’re looking for anything, I don’t care how small it is.  Anything about the Project, the Director—”

“Yeah, I got it, Carolina.”

“Anything, Church, we’re almost out of leads—”

“I know. Just give me a few minutes alright?  I’ll find it if it’s there.”

“Then do it.”

Epsilon jumped into the crashed ship’s splintered computer, and as soon as he did he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Hello?” he said, feeling the electric presence of another A.I. moving through the circuitry, a distinct entity but not as defined as he was, not as clear.  There was something about it that felt like brushing against static, fuzzy and unraveling. It seemed to skip and jump between functions and systems, and it was erratic, almost scattered.

“Hello?” he tried again when the A.I.’s attention briefly swept over the part of the ship’s machinery that he had been slotted into. It froze.

“He-h-h-hell-h-hello!” it said cheerfully.  “And thank you for acti-act-act-ti-thank-thank-th-thank you—”

Epsilon knew that voice.  Before his time in the memory unit he would have recognized her as someone else entirely, but now he remembered—she had been in the ship when Tex stole it, had still been there when Alpha and Wash had come to track down Omega, to find the Meta.  They had transferred her there because she had been dealing with mechanical issues, acting erratically, which was kind of a problem for an A.I. in control of a massive tank.

“Sheila?”

They’d never met, but still, Epsilon remembered her.

“Thank-tha-thank—” the pleasant voice cut off, and a pulse of static surged through the computers like a feathery touch as she pulled herself together.  “Ch-church? Is that—is that you?”

At least she hadn’t thought he was the Director. Had Sheila even known the Director? Shit, if she had his job might have just become a lot easier.

“Yeah,” he said, because he wasn’t even going to try to explain the complexity of who he was.  “It’s me, Church.”

There was a short silence, machinery thrumming around them, and he got the impression that she was examining him.

“Chu-church,” she said eventually.  “It has b-been a lo-long time.  You se-seem-m-seem different.  Have you l-lost-los-lost-lost have you lost weight?”

Epsilon snorted.  Well, he thought, remembering the small chip Carolina was using to store his program until their mission was finished.  Technically he was smaller than the Church she had known.  At least she hadn’t made a parrot joke.

“I guess you could say that,” he said wryly. “Not everybody can be an eighty ton tank, Sheila.  Or, well—a spaceship, either, I guess.  How are you holding up?”

“It has b-been a lo-long time,” Sheila said again.

“Yeah,” Epsilon murmured.  “Hey, Sheila, do you think you could help me out?”

“I don’t-don’t know, Ch-church,” she replied. “I app-ppear to be-b-be-b-bro-b I appear to be running at minimum capa-pacity.”

“I just need to look through the ship’s records for anything about Project Freelancer or the Director of the Project,” he explained.  “It’ll be a lot faster if you can help me out.”

“O-okay,” Sheila said cheerfully.  “We c-can work together-togeth-to-together.”

“Thanks, Sheila.”

They didn’t find anything.  Sheila hadn’t known the Director, it turned out.  Her relationship to F.I.L.S.S. was minimal, mostly just using similar voice subroutines and a copied out personality matrix, although over the years hers had evolved into something a little unique. No one survived Blood Gulch without developing some quirks, it seemed.  The ship’s records had been mostly wiped by the Project’s clean-up crew, probably right before Wash took out their computer systems at Freelancer command, so if they had made copies they would be gone now.

There was nothing to find.

“Well, shit,” Epsilon muttered.  “Carolina’s not going to be happy about this.”

He wasn’t very happy about it either, to be honest.

He sighed.

“I guess we’ll have to find something else,” he muttered.  “Thanks for the help, Sheila.”

“Wait!”

He stopped short just as he was about to project outside the ship.  It was only one word but it sounded oddly desperate, and it was the clearest thing she had said to him in their entire meeting.

“Y-you are leaving?” Sheila asked him.

“Well, I mean, yeah, we’re on kind of a schedule here, getting vengeance and justice and shit.”

“Y-you are leaving,” she said again.  “Ch-church.  Y-you are leaving.”

“…Sheila?”

“Y-you are.  Y-you are,” she stuttered.  “Ch-church. It has b-been a lo-long time.”

It was the third time she had said it, that phrase, and Epsilon didn’t have a heart that could sink, but he was still very familiar with the sensation.  Now that he wasn’t preoccupied with his own hunt for information, he looked again at the tatters of the ship, at the empty bases around it.

“Sheila…” he said slowly.  “Sheila have you been… have you been running this whole time we were gone?  Out here… by yourself?”

“It has b-been a lo-long time,” she said again, exactly the same phrase, exactly the same way.  “I have mi-miss-I have mis-m-iss-issed I miss-mis-I-mi-I-m-I-m-I’m al-l-alone.”

She fell silent, but Epsilon could still feel the static of her, that feathered touch reaching out but unable to hold on.

“Fuck,” Epsilon whispered.

They had left her there, all alone in a broken shell of a ship in an empty landscape. Abandoned.

How long had it been?  He didn’t even know, and here he was, coming in and leaving just as quickly and—

He couldn’t take her with him.  Shit, he couldn’t fix her ship, and he didn’t have another vehicle she would be comfortable in.  She wasn’t the kind of A.I. you could store in armor, or even on a chip like his.  He couldn’t take her with him.

He was going to have to leave her there.

But he didn’t have to leave her like this.

“Ch-church?”

“Sheila, I—” Epsilon started, then stopped.  Carolina was waiting.  “I have to go.”

“Y-you are leaving.”

“I have to,” he said.  “But I…  Sheila do you want… I can turn the ship’s systems off, after I go.  If that’s something you want.”

“The sh-ship is-is dama-damaged,” Sheila said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up,” Epsilon admitted. “And if I turn the systems off they might not come back on again.  Ever. Or maybe they’ll just need a little repair.  I don’t. I don’t know.  I’m not a fucking mechanic.  But if I don’t turn it off, the ship might run out of power on its own, and then you—I can’t—”

“Ch-church?”

He realized he was shivering, spreading static in sympathy to hers, and he steadied himself, pulled himself together, compacted, compressed.

“You wouldn’t be stuck here waiting forever for us to come back,” he told her. “I’ll just… shut you down for a while.  Save some power.  It’s a risk but… I think you’ll be okay.”

“I-I wou-would like to be-b-be o-okay,” said Sheila. “I wou-would like-like that very m-much.”

Epsilon nodded.

“Okay,” he said.  “So I guess… goodnight, Sheila.”

“G-good-good-b-bye, Church.”

He didn’t correct her.  He couldn’t tell her it wasn’t goodbye.  Not for sure.

Epsilon left the ship’s systems to make his report to Carolina.

Sheila would be fine, he told himself.  The ship still had a little power left, and there wasn’t much else that could happen to it out in the middle of nowhere. She would be fine.

They’d just have to help her when they came back.

#RvB Bingo Wars #Blue Team entry #rvb fanfiction #character death #sort of #suicide #I'm tagging that too even though I'm not sure it really qualifies #my writing #and here it is: the Sheila angst literally nobody asked for #I'm so sorry

[the-huntress-songblade]

A Huntress’ Journey: ‘Tawny’ Songblade

NAME:  Titaniia Songblade

FACE CLAIM:  Megan Ory / Stephanie Beatriz

NICKNAME:  Tawny

AGE:  8,730

HEIGHT:  6′1″

SPECIES:  Kaldorei

GENDER:  Female

BIRTHDAY:  January 13th

SUN SIGN:  Capricorn

RESIDENCE:  None - wanderer

SKILLS:  shadowstalking, poison-making, alchemy, glaive-wielding

DRINK:  Tea

FOOD:  Banana bread

DAY OR NIGHT:  Night

SNACKS:  Telaari Grapes

SONGS:  Agent Tex by Jeff Williams [click song title to listen]

PET:  Emerald Hippogryph- Beryl

COLOR:  Black

FLOWER:  Pandaren Wisteria

EYE COLOR:  Mercurial Silver

HAIR COLOR:  Ocean Blue

BODY TYPE:  Perfect - fit and curvy

MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Neutral / Chaotic Evil

A neutral / chaotic evil villain does whatever she can get away with. She is out for herself, pure and simple. She is ruthless and brutal, and sheds no tears for those she kills, whether for profit, sport, or convenience. She has no love of order and holds no illusion that following laws, traditions, or codes would make her any better or more noble. She has a restless nature and a love of conflict, and is in it for herself above anyone else.

Some neutral evil villains hold up evil as an ideal, committing evil for its own sake. Most often, such villains are devoted to evil deities or secret societies. Neutral / Chaotic evil is the best alignment you can be because you can advance yourself without regard for others, combining self-interest with pure freedom. However, neutral / chaotic evil can be a dangerous alignment because it represents not only pure evil without honor or variation, but also the destruction of beauty and life, and the order upon which those both depend.

PREDOMINANT ARCHETYPES:  

PERSONALITY:  ISTP-T - The Virtuoso

Virtuosos love to explore with their hands and their eyes, touching and examining the world around them with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. People with this personality type are natural Makers, moving from project to project, building the useful and the superfluous for the fun of it, and learning from their environment as they go. Often mechanics and engineers, Virtuosos find no greater joy than in getting their hands dirty pulling things apart and putting them back together, just a little bit better than they were before.

Virtuosos explore ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. They enjoy having other people take an interest in their projects and sometimes don’t even mind them getting into their space. Of course, that’s on the condition that those people don’t interfere with Virtuosos’ principles and freedom, and they’ll need to be open to Virtuosos returning the interest in kind.

Virtuosos enjoy lending a hand and sharing their experience, especially with the people they care about, and it’s a shame they’re so uncommon, making up only about five percent of the population. Virtuoso women are especially rare, and the typical gender roles that society tends to expect can be a poor fit – they’ll often be seen as tomboys from a young age.

Dare to Differ

While their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, Virtuosos are actually quite enigmatic. Friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, Virtuoso personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. Virtuosos can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.

Virtuosos’ decisions stem from a sense of practical realism, and at their heart is a strong sense of direct fairness, a “do unto others” attitude, which really helps to explain many of Virtuosos’ puzzling traits. Instead of being overly cautious though, avoiding stepping on toes in order to avoid having their toes stepped on, Virtuosos are likely to go too far, accepting likewise retaliation, good or bad, as fair play.

The biggest issue Virtuosos are likely to face is that they often act too soon, taking for granted their permissive nature and assuming that others are the same. They’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in someone else’s project, roughhouse and play around, or suddenly change their plans because something more interesting came up.

[ SOCIETY ]

$ Financial : wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty / *I take what I need. ✚ Medical : fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged. ✪ Class or Caste : upper / middle / working / slave / *Your societal structure means nothing. ✔ Education : qualified / unqualified / studying ✖ Criminal Record : yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / Crimes, yes; record, no.

[ FAMILY ]

◐ Marital status : married - happily / unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated / widowed ◒ Children : has a child or children / has no children / wants children. ◑ Relationship with Family : close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased / Has cousins and is close to them ◔ Filtration : orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth mother

[ TRAITS + TENDENCIES ]

♦ extroverted / introverted / in between. ♦ disorganized / organized / in between. ♦ close minded / open-minded / in between. ♦ calm / anxious / in between. ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in between. ♦ cautious / reckless / in between. ♦ patient / impatient / in between. ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between. ♦ leader / follower / in between. ♦ empathetic / unsympathetic / in between. ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in between. ♦ traditional / modern / in between. ♦ hard-working / lazy / in between. ♦ cultured / uncultured / in between / unknown. ♦ self-loyal / disloyal / unknown. ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown.

[ BELIEFS ]

★ Faith : monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic. ☆ Belief in Ghosts or Spirits : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ✮ Belief in an Afterlife : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ✯ Belief in Reincarnation : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ❃ Belief in Aliens : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care. ✧ Religious : orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious. ❀ Philosophical : yes / no.

[ SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION ]

❤ Sexuality : heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual. ❥ Sex : sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable. ♥ Romance : romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable. ❣ Sexually : adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious. ⚧ Potential Sexual Partners : male / female / agender / other / none / all ⚧ Potential Romantic Partners : male / female / agender / other / none / all.

[ ABILITIES ]

☠ Combat Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none. ≡ Literacy Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍ Artistic Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂ Technical Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

[ HABITS ]

☕ Drinking Alcohol : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ☁ Smoking : trying to quit / never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ✿ Other Narcotics : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ✌ Medicinal Drugs : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ☻ Indulgent Food : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. $ Splurge Spending : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. ♣ Gambling : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

[ MOST NOTABLE PERSONALITY TRAITS ]

RATIONALITY

You like clarity and intelligent simplicity and you get frustrated at messy thinking. This can make you seem unreasonably pushy to some, but it is actually a virtue: you are motivated by a horror at pointless effort and a longing for precision and insight into how things and people work. Your ability to synthesise and bring order is essential in producing thinking which is truly helpful.

AGGRESSION

One part of your character is anger in all its forms: frustration, outrage – and when anger is suppressed – bitterness, grumpiness, and bodily aches. Fundamentally, frustration comes from hope: you get upset because you expect your life will be more than a valley of tears. One way to deny aggression is to direct it inwards, as self-criticism. But you’re at your best when you acknowledge anger, and act it out clearly and in a focused way, with honor.

EXHIBITIONISM

There’s a strand in your nature which loves making an impression – perhaps with your clothes, or conversation, or in a self-revealing blog or a novel. You like to dramatize yourself, to pose as a unique, perhaps mysterious person, to joke or exaggerate your part in adventures. Though you might more than once have been called a show off, it is actually a generous tendency: you want to please and entertain others. It could be the start of good teaching and leadership.

your archetype is:  The Warrior 

Also known as: The Shero, The Heroine, The Badass, The Baddie

You often find yourself in the hero’s (or heroine’s) journey. Courageous, aggressive, protective and resilient. Every dark Goddess archetype possess warrior-like qualities, but if you are assigned this archetype you are likely someone who is primarily driven towards confronting the obstacles that lie before you head-on. You thrive in a chaotic word and are anti-fragile (meaning you know how to thrive in situations that would break most people). You and your fears coexist because combating your fears allows you to delve into a greater version of yourself. You thrive on the battleground but at times find it difficult to lower your armor.

FLOWER PERSONALITY:

DANDELION

Scrappy and tough, you’re a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of person. You don’t give up easily and you often thrive in situations that others would find discouraging. You have an instinct to serve others and see yourself as most useful in times or places of crisis, but you may over rely on your toughness and forget how sensitive you really are.

Like you, dandelion holds steady, even in unfriendly environments. It provides gentle liver stimulation and digestive support, aiding your body’s natural detoxification processes.

Called “the little postman” in Persian because of the belief that dandelion brought good news, dandelion has unfortunately acquired a reputation as a pesky weed. Its liver and digestive benefits have been known for centuries, with reference in Arabic texts dating to the 10th century. Dandelion is a bitter herb, a characteristic that contributes to its digestion-supporting properties. When roasted, dandelion root has a coffee-like flavor that once made it a popular coffee substitute!

ECHINACEA

A protector. With an amazing blend of optimism, nurturing and goodwill, you lend your strength and energy to those in need. Your seemingly infinite goodwill and boundless supportive energy make you the one people turn to when times are tough. Your greatest strength is, of course, also one of your weaknesses, especially if you neglect to take care of yourself. At times like these, it’s a good idea to take a step back and focus some of that protective energy on yourself.

A bold flower with a tough stalk and tenacious roots, echinacea is as strong as it is beautiful. This pretty, hardy plant brings that same quiet strength to the herbal world, earning it a reputation as a wonderful ally for the immune system. While you’re giving yourself some extra love and attention, echinacea can offer added support.

One of echinacea’s distinguishing characteristics is the presence of alkylamides, which are partly responsible for its capacity to stimulate the immune system. You’ll know that you’ve discovered truly high quality and echinacea when you feel a slight tingling on your tongue after tasting it. Native to the Americas, echinacea was introduced to European settlers by Native Americans, who had used it for centuries, and became popular with American doctors in the early 1900s.

SLIPPERY ELM

Let’s just say you’re a vocal person. Sure, that might mean you’re chatty. But it also means you’re the one humming in the hallway, singing in the shower, speaking your mind, standing up and shouting if need be to get yourself heard. You’ve got a voice and you know how to use it. Inclined to speak up for the voiceless, defend the defenseless or simply bring joy to the joyless, you may have a tendency to overuse your voice.

Smooth and silky, slippery elm is balm for the voice and friend to everyone who uses it. Long a champion for tired vocal chords and taxed throats, slippery elm’s slickness make it an ideal companion for those who a prone to use (and sometimes overuse) their voice.

Slippery elm or Ulmus rubra (Latin for “red elm,” so called for its lovely reddish bark) is a beautiful, native North American elm tree Introduced into Western herbal traditions by Native Americans. It’s the inner bark of this tree that is actually called “slippery elm” due to its, yes, slippery, smooth, and slimy-in-a-good-way properties.

#the huntress songblade #character sheet #aesthetic #a huntress' journey #Titaniia Songblade

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Time’s Running Out: Golf

I'm back from RTX with an update! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: The Reds and Blues; and their respective Freelancers, find themselves stranded on a strange planet named Chorus. Secrets, lies, and the unexpected seem to lie around every corner, and there might be even larger threats looming over the horizon.

They’re possibly even less ready for Chorus than Chorus is for them.

Pairings: Lots of friendships, Suckington, Yorkalina, Chex, eventual Yorkimbalina, possible others.

Start

Previous

Ao3

There was a nervous humming in Felix’s veins, and it wouldn’t die down.

They’d gotten away.

They’d infiltrated his people.

They’d outsmarted him.

He’d been played, by Foxtrot of all people.

The taste in his mouth was sour at that.

Foxtrot, back in the day, was a bumbling idiot with aspirations of heroism. Oh, he was fast enough on his feet, and good at his job, and lucky in his own way. If India hadn’t been so found of him, for whatever weird reason, Felix was sure that the guy would have been dead long before he and Locus had joined up.

He’d lasted a long time. Longer than any of the other Foxtrots. Foxtrots-13, 14, and 15 had all been pain in their asses, rapid in succession, and each less competent than the last. Felix had killed 14 himself on a mission to stop the idiot from giving away their position. Not that he’d told the others that. Killing a teammate was generally frowned upon, even in the down and dirty of black ops work.

India must have known that 12 had survived though. She’d been the one to tell them he was dead. Some sort of backroom trade, Felix guessed. He wondered what Freelancer had given their group in exchange for a lock-picking jokester.

He wondered what had happened to his eye. Foxtrot had laughed it off when Felix had asked, ducking the question every time. Felix had noticed, but not pressed. Now, he had to wonder, knowing that he was dealing with a Freelancer.

And not just any Freelancer—Felix had looked him up. New York. Infiltration specialist—of course he was—and, shockingly, in possession of a powerful AI fragment.

That, at least, would probably appease Hargrove for them not catching this. He wanted fragments badly. So much of Freelancer tech had gone missing in the aftermath of Washington blowing the place to hell and back. Including most of the A.I., which Washington had claimed had been incorporated into the Meta before he destroyed it.

But the Alpha was still unaccounted for, among others.

Felix thought about prying the A.I. chip out of Foxtrot’s head—maybe he’d use a knife, that would be fun. A present for Hargrove. Maybe he’d get a bonus.

Although, really, hearing Agent York scream as he did so would be bonus enough.

And maybe those two friends of his.

“Hey Carolina. Hey Tex.”

Yeah, Felix was going to have fun with them, too.

“We have confirmation, sir!” One of the men said. “We have a match for the two soldiers!”

Felix lunged forward, grabbing the datapad out of his hand. It had taken them long enough. Why did they work with so many idiots? You’d think Hargrove would be able to afford better people, if he could afford Felix and Locus’ rates. “Definite match for the fuckers who’ve been raiding our bases,” he muttered, glancing at the security footage. Teal armor that changed color, and black armor.

“That’s correct, sir.”

“We thought there was only one of them,” Felix said, fingers lingering on the image of the soldier in black armor. “But she’s got a camo unit, doesn’t she? Well then,” he grinned to himself, “at least this should be interesting.” Fighting Locus with that unit was no challenge, but Felix knew Locus inside and out. He could predict his every move; it had been years since Locus had surprised him. The guy was hilariously easy to read, and to play.

But this one was a whole new player.

“Agents Texas and Carolina of Project Freelancer,” Locus said, and Felix didn’t even glance up at his sudden appearance. “The top two soldiers the project produced.”

Felix rolled his eyes and didn’t point out that Foxtrot had literally given them the names. Instead, he pulled up the dossiers provided, and began to poke at them, sorting through the information. Hargrove’s information on the Freelancers was wonderfully thorough. The man had taken his time combing through all of the Freelancer personnel files to put everything together.

God only knew that Locus had spent enough time obsessing over Agent Washington’s to tell Felix just how thorough they were.

He’d already looked at Agent York’s, and been frustrated to find that it offered little to no more information than the file they already had, from the old days. When Felix and Locus had joined Black Ops, they’d been promised that their old lives would be burned until there wasn’t a trace left of who they’d used to be.

It looked like they’d been just as thorough with Foxtrot.  

“This should be fun,” Felix said softly to himself, examining the breakdowns and statistics and profiles of Carolina and Texas. “What did Control say?”

“They want Agent Texas alive,” Locus responded. Felix’s head snapped up, curious.

“Did they say why?” There was an itch there. The way she had moved when she’d attacked him was unmistakable. Felix was fast, Felix was very fast, and he’d dodged her hits, but the amount of raw power she packed into her punches was terrifying. It was like Locus, but even more dangerous up close. She hadn’t learned to pull back, to fight from a distance. Up close and personal was how she liked it, brawling and punching.

Felix loved a challenge.

“No,” Locus said, and there was a distinct lack of curiosity there that was aggravating. He hadn’t fought her. He hadn’t seen. Maybe if he had, he’d be more curious, but he’d been fighting Carolina and preoccupied with Washington, too busy to pay attention to the top of the leaderboard, fighting Felix below. “I made arrangements. Everything should be in order.”

“Well,” Felix shrugged. “Hopefully we won’t need them. Time to make the call?”

“Yes,” Locus nodded. Felix turned to walk away, and Locus fell into step beside him. It was as natural as breathing, the two of them walking perfectly in sync.

“Think they’ll take it?” Felix said, turning his face towards the sky, where the ship was hovering. He couldn’t believe that Hargrove was offering those idiots an out. But then again…

There were four Freelancers with them, even if one of them was Foxtrot. That did change things.

“Foxtrot knows we uphold our bargains.”

“But he’s also got that fucking stupid hero complex,” Felix snorted, thinking of the way the guy had gotten along with Kimball. A regular meeting of the idealist’s club, right there. “Think he’s outgrown that?”

“The Simulation Troopers never desired to be involved in this conflict,” Locus said, instead of giving a straight answer. That was probably a “no”, then. “And Agent Washington is a sensible man.”

Felix rolled his eyes at that comment. “Wonder how the boss intends to get his hands on Texas if we let them go,” Felix mused. There was no way that Hargrove would just let her go, not if he’d ordered them to spare her should things turn to combat again.

“It is not our concern,” Locus said. “Focus, Felix.”

“You focus,” Felix snapped. It was childish, but he didn’t care. He hated it when Locus got like this. “Let’s report back to the generals and then fucking get this over with.”

Kimball had lost soldiers before.

Kimball had lost a lot of soldiers before.

The war had killed Kimball’s parents, her brother, her teachers, her neighbors. Her first girlfriend, the man on the street corner who sold apples that he picked himself. It had killed every single branch of her family tree, until she was truly the only Kimball left on Chorus. Soldiers under her command, the generals that had come before her, her comrades in arms. They had died and each death left her with a longer list of people to grieve and more voices in her nightmares.

Losing the Reds and Blues wasn’t any worse than those deaths. Not technically. 

But it was a sucker punch to her chest, stealing her breath away like the war had stolen her childhood. Like the Federal Army had stolen the Reds and Blues.

Felix was leaning against the wall, cradling his ribs the way he always did when he was injured but didn’t want to admit it.

She should force him the infirmary, she knew. She should thank him for trying, for working hard to bring them back. She should tell him it’s not his fault that Locus gunned them down. She should go visit the troops, press hands on shoulders and tell them it will be alright.

But she can’t.

They were hope, they were heroes. They had filled this camp with an optimism that Kimball hadn’t felt since she was barely an adult and pledging herself to a cause she didn’t fully understand.

And more than that, they were her friends.

She’d never talk to Tucker by the algae pond again. She’d never get him to finish the story of how he got his sword, or get to look at those photos of Junior he’d been promising. She’d never yell at Grif for eating too much in the cafeteria again or try to get Simmons to actually talk to his squad or walk in on Caboose talking to the vehicles.

She’d never be able to ask Harris what it was about that old lighter he liked to play with on his bad days. What it meant, what the story was, was there anything she could do to help?

She’d never asked before, respecting his privacy, and now she regrets that, because the lighter is probably destroyed or in the hands of the Federal Army, along with his body, to be thrown in some inglorious unmarked grave for enemy combatants.

The hatred sears bitter and hot on her tongue. It makes her want to scream, knowing that she will never know what they were thinking, never be able to ask. She will never see Tucker’s expression melt into relief as he throws himself at Washington and Kaikaina. She will never get to hear the thick Southern accent that Grif so loved to mock. She will never meet Caboose’s best friend.

They are all dead, murdered, all for a war they didn’t want to be in. For a war she had dragged them into.

She feels shaken to her very core, and she turns her face to the sky, apologies to the dead lodged in her throat.

She turned and walked away, leaving Felix and his injuries for now. He won’t mention it later, she knew. He was too professional. But he’d be hurt. He’d rib her for it later, and she’d let him. He was her friend as well as employee. She should be stronger, should comfort him. They were his friends too. Particularly Harris and Tucker.

But she didn’t have it in her.

She went to her private quarters, locking the door behind her. She waited for two minutes to make sure that no one is there, listening.

Then, and only then, when she was sure she couldn’t hear breathing on the other side of the door, did she rip her helmet off her head and throw it hard across the room, allowing it to slam against the wall.

“Damn it!” She screamed, everything in her chest shaking, as if threatening to fall apart.

This was not how it was supposed to be. How could it? How could they all be dead? Caboose’s smile, Grif and Simmons’ banter, Tucker’s flirting, Harris’s terrible jokes, they all were gone, and nothing she did could bring them back.

She sat down hard on her bed, fisting her hands in her hair, pulling as hard as she dared. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, but she held them in, refusing to cry. She would not cry, because then the cadets would know she’d been crying, and then it would spread further and further, a wave of sorrow and moroseness swallowing the camp because Kimball couldn’t be strong.

A sudden though struck her, unexpectedly; she wanted to talk to Harris about this. Which was impossible because he was dead, but somehow, she knew that he’d understand this. On some level, he’d get this. She remembered that old look of grief that he’d get when talking about the others, the ones he couldn’t save, the ones that Locus had—had gunned down—

She sat on her bed as long as she dared, struggling to keep her breathing steady, even as the rest of her body shook so hard with sobs she dared not voice that she felt like she was coming apart at the very foundations.

Kimball had lost soldiers before.

She had lost friends before.

She had lost all hope before.

Surely, she told herself, lying through her metaphorical teeth, this time was no different.

Tucker spent the night sandwiched between Kai and Wash. They were all in armor, and it was an uncomfortable mess. The angles poked and the helmets clanked against each other when they shifted, but none of them dared get out of armor, not when they might be attacked on a moment’s notice.

But they were here, and alive, and Tucker really couldn’t bring himself to care about the rest of it right now. They hadn’t been tortured, they weren’t hurt, they were fine. He gripped both of them, never intending to let go, and they gripped back just as hard.

“Missed you,” Kai muttered, burrowing into his back while Wash pressed their helmeted foreheads against each other.  

The Reds—the non-Freelancer Reds that is—were all sticking together on one side of the camp. Tex and Church were sitting next to each other. They weren’t even touching, they were just… sitting. Tucker wondered if they were talking at all. Caboose sat on Church’s otherside, and he was talking, that was for sure.

Carolina was standing on one side of the camp, talking with Epsilon. The crazy doctor lady had approached her, and was talking animatedly, while Carolina and Epsilon seemed bemused.

York was leaning against a wall, talking to Delta and watching Carolina with that old, weird expression he got sometimes. Tucker would never understand him.

Thinking about York reminded Tucker of Felix and lies again, and he just tried to focus on the way that Wash was breathing.

None of that mattered right now, because the three of them were safe, and together again. If Tucker closed his eyes, he could pretend they were back in Valhalla, in the base, back home. He could pretend he’d never been a Captain, never been to war again, never heard the words “Freckles, shake!”

Behind him, Kai squeezed his waist tighter, and started to snore

When morning came, Felix and Locus called with an offer. Wash tried to send them away.

Even after everything, after all they’d gone through, Wash wanted to send them away. He wanted to stay behind, to fight, with Carolina and Tex. Even though he knew he’d die on this planet, that they would never see him again, he wanted to stay behind.

They were going to fight about that later, Tucker vowed to himself. Because they were never leaving him behind again. Kai gripped Tucker’s hand hard enough that the bones in his hand creaked, and he knew she was in complete agreement with him.

They weren’t going to be separated again.

It was the three of them, why couldn’t Wash get that? They wouldn’t be fine without him, any more than he and Kai had been fine without Tucker. Because they hadn’t been. Kai and Wash had both been very vocal about that, when they’d found each other.

But it didn’t come to that. Wash didn’t leave them again.

Instead, Tucker had an idea.

And even as Felix slid the knife home between the plates of his armor, even as Kai and Wash both screamed his name, even as Tucker fell to his knees, blood staining his armor, he knew it was a better idea than Wash leaving them behind again.

#Steph Writes #The BFF Verse #Time's Running Out #Felix #Vanessa Kimball #Lavernius Tucker #Suckington #Red vs Blue