#which was partly why i couldn’t let the vet take her to get picked up

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift Part 6 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Summary: It's Saturday, your dickhead boyfriend is out of town, an old friend is in town, and it's time to get drunk!

Warnings: Drinking, mention of drug use, crippling self doubt

W/C: 4.3k

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Part 1 Part 7

Somehow, the week went exceptionally well. You bugged Frankie each day for the photo he promised you, and each time he grinned and told you that good things came to those who waited. On Wednesday you received a call from the vet telling you the kitten was going to be fine, and she would be put up for adoption when she was old enough. You were initially crushed that the kitten wasn’t going to be yours, but told yourself it was good she was bound to go to a good to a family. You couldn’t give the kind of life a cat deserved.

But most of all, you were almost unreasonably excited for the weekend. You bounced with excitement every time you thought about it - hell, even things with Kurt seemed to be going better. He had planned a hunting trip up north with a few of his friends, and would be gone from Thursday til Monday. He had brought you a bunch of flowers when he ‘broke the news’, not your favourite kind but it was the thought that counted. An entire four days to yourself was more than enough incentive for you to almost force him out the door on Thursday afternoon. With a kiss and a packed lunch and a promise to call, he was gone and the apartment was blessedly empty.

Even better, your best friend Sara was in town.

Fifteen minutes after you watched Kurt’s car pull out of the apartments parking lot, watching the window carefully to make sure he didn’t come back, you called her.

“Can we do something on Saturday? Get drunk, do bad things, anything?” You said by way of greeting.

“Oh hell fucking yes, I’ve been waiting for you to be fun again!” Sara said. You knew that was a not so subtle jab at how much you had changed since Kurt entered your life. You ignored it, like you usually did.

“Saturday sound good to you? I work Friday night and I can’t take it off.” More like you didn’t want to take it off.

“Saturday sounds fantastic. There’s a big fight night happening, and I wanna watch some hot sweaty guys pummel each other.” Sara said. “We can get drunk at the same time. Also I can get some molly if you want.”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, not entirely opposed to the idea of spending the night high as shit. Especially if Kurt wasn’t going to be there to yell at you for it.

“Let me know, sooner rather than later so I can sort it out with my guy,” Sara said. “Anyway babe, I’ve gotta jet, I’ve only got five minutes left on my break and I haven’t eaten yet, love ya!”

“Love you too,” you said, meaning it with your whole heart. Out of all the friends you once had, Sara was the only one who had stuck around after you started dating Kurt. At first, you had choked it up to jealousy, convincing yourself all your other friends were envious of your perfect relationship with a perfect guy. Now looking back, you could see what really happened: you had ditched them. Completely and utterly. Kurt had taken up all of your time, convincing you to stay in when you had plans to go out, telling you that the girls you would have trusted your life with only barely put up with you and it was just so obvious to anyone with an outsider's perspective that they didn’t really like you. You were grateful for Sara, more than words could say.

~*~

Saturday came quickly, and before you knew it, Sara was slamming her fist on your door, a bag stuffed with alcohol slung over her shoulder.

“Bitch!” she screamed in greeting when you finally opened the door, still wrapped in your towel from your shower. She was already dressed, in a tight gold 70s style jumpsuit that made her dark brown skin look like it was glowing from the inside out.

“How do you manage to look so good all the time?” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Witchcraft,” Sara said, pulling a bottle of prosecco out of her bag and popping it open. “And like, this whole thing took me all day. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” you said, plucking the bottle out of Sara’s hand and taking a swig. It was cold and crisp and filled your partly empty stomach. You continued to take small sips as you got ready, occasionally asking Sara for her girly wisdom on what to wear. She picked out your outfit as you applied makeup. It felt almost foreign, using something other than a mascara and brow pencil. The use of colour and shimmers almost felt like breaking some unwritten rule you had created for yourself since dating Kurt.

“What happened to all your fun clothes?” Sara whined, going through your wardrobe. You shrugged, carefully applying bronzer. Honestly, you weren’t sure. Sometimes things just went missing - you didn’t really question it anymore.

“I’m a miracle worker.” Sara declared after almost fifteen minutes of searching. You looked up at her, then at the small bundle of clothing in her arms. She grinned and flung the pile at you. You held up a black pleather skirt that you hadn’t worn in almost a year, and a black body suit that dipped low in the chest.

“Christ,” you muttered.

“What’s wrong with it,” Sara sounded exasperated, like she had been expecting this from you.

“It’s just-” you hesitated. “I’m not going out to get dick, you know? What’s wrong with a pair of jeans?”

Sara rolled her eyes. “What’s wrong with a pair of jeans? I’ll tell you what: everything. You don’t have to have dick as the aim of the night to look cute. You can look cute for yourself. You know just as well as I do that skirt makes your legs and ass look amazing, especially when paired with the shoes I’ve brought for you. Plus, if someone out tonight decides you look cute enough to buy you drinks, then even better! Because free drinks! You don’t have to fuck them as a thank you, you can just turn around and walk away. So, get dressed and stop complaining.”

You considered Sara’s words for a moment. She was right. After you changed, you admired yourself in the mirror. Your ass really did look amazing, and the strappy black heels that Sara had loaned you accentuated your calves magnificently. Sara stood next to you, arm linked through yours, almost a foot taller in her platforms and with her afro teased to the high heavens.

“God, we’re sexy,” she murmured, taking another swig out of the bottle. “You’re absolutely wasted on Kurt.”

You didn’t bother with your usual retorts to that kind of comment. She’s wrong, you’re lucky to have someone to love you like that at all, no one else would want to if they got to know you, you told yourself. It’s what he had told you over and over again, the words searing themselves inside your brain to repeat each time you began to truly doubt with him.

You finished off the prosecco while you waited for the Uber to arrive, enjoying the warm buzz it left you with. Sara whipped out her phone and began to take photos of the two of you. At first, you shied away from the camera, the words Kurt had said once in a throwaway comment, surely not designed to hurt but did anyway, rang in your ears. You don’t look very good in photos, why do you take so many? After that, you would spend hours staring at old photos of yourself, the flaws that were invisible now glaringly obvious.

Tonight though . . . Tonight you felt pretty. You posed for the camera, following Sara’s instructions as best you could. You took photos of each other throughout the entire ride to the venue where the fight night was taking place.

It looked a little shabby on the outside, overgrown hedges snaked up the walls, covering the windows. A smoking area was off to the side, crowded with people. The inside was even more crowded, with bodies pushing up against the horseshoe shaped bar and surrounding the ring. Two women were in the ring, both bloodied and swinging.

“God there is just something so arousing about hot people consensually beating each other up,” Sara said, unable to tear her eyes away from the ring.

“Babe, you’re drooling,” you joked, stepping in line for the bar.

“I can’t help it, I have an overactive salivary gland,” Sara sighed, tearing her eyes away. “At least my dentist says so.” You grinned at her and ordered three vodka sodas each. It was a tradition with the two of you that you would always order three drinks at a time. Less back and forth, you had reasoned. Although, usually as the night progressed, three drinks were downed in the same amount of time it took to drink one, so it really cancelled itself out in the end.

As tradition warranted, you and Sara cheersed and swallowed your first drink in one breath.

Several more fights occurred, the divisions eventually changing from women’s to men’s. Neither you nor Sara paid much attention to the first few fights: “amateur hour” Sara had said to you “I’m waiting for the good stuff.”

The good stuff, it turned out, started almost an hour and 5 drinks after you arrived.

“Next fight, King V Miller!” The announcer shouted into the microphone to the cheer of the crowd. Sara’s head shot up as if she could sense the sudden change, and she grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to the ring.

“Oh, my god look at him,” Sara said, gesturing to the ring. You knew instantly which one she was talking about. He was tall, with shaggy blonde hair and lean muscle corded over his body.

“He’s pretty spry,” you said, and instantly cringed. Spry? Really?

“I wanna fuck him tonight,” Sara said. Then her voice took on a determined edge. “I am going to fuck him tonight.” Manifestation, Sara called it. If you told the universe what you wanted, the universe would deliver.

Apparently.

“I am going to get more drinks,” you told her. She nodded, not tearing her eyes away from the fighter. You went to the considerably less crowded bar- it seemed like everyone was now watching the fights- and leant against its sticky surface.

You shouted your order over the noise of the crowd, and scanned the bar as you waited. Most faces were familiar in the way that you knew when you had seen someone before, but you didn’t know when or where. That was, until you landed on one dazzlingly familiar face, standing almost right next to you.

“Frankie?”

~*~

Frankie startled at the sound of his name. He looked around, expecting to see one of the boys or maybe an old work friend from the mechanics. The last person he expected was you. But there you stood, looking so good that he was momentarily lost for words.

“Frankie!” You said again, with a huge grin on your face this time.

“Hey!” He grinned back, “what’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?” His tone held a flirty edge, one he wouldn’t dare have used if he hadn’t already had several bourbon and colas.

“Oh you know, I plan on accosting the winner tonight of all their prize money and taking off into the night, never to be heard from again,” you accepted three drinks from the bartender as you spoke. “What about you?”

“My friend Benny is fighting tonight. He’s actually up right now, the blonde one.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way! My friend wants to fuck your friend.” You pointed your chin towards a tall black woman, dressed like she had wandered out of Studio 54. “Is he single? Can we play wingpeople?”

“He is, we can.” Frankie nodded confidently. Maybe it was the alcohol controlling his brain, but any excuse to spend time with you seemed like a good excuse. “How should we do this?”

“Does your friend Billy-”

“Benny.”

“Benny stick around after the fights?”

“Yeah, he gets free drinks,” Frankie said. You nodded approvingly, taking a sip of one of your own drinks. Frankie watched amazed as you somehow held the two others in one hand, your fingers curling around the hard plastic cups.

“How do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Hold your stuff like that,” he gestured to your fingers. You looked down, confused.

“Whatta’ya mean?”

“With your fingers.”

“Oh! Um, I dunno, I just do.” You shrugged and placed the now empty up on a random table, and started on the next drink. It occurred to Frankie that you were well on your way to being very, very drunk.

The crowd cheered loudly as Benny knocked out the other guy with a bloody grin. Frankie whistled his support and Benny caught his eye, saluting tiredly. Santi also caught his attention, and even across the room Frankie could see the wicked grin form on his face. Frankie looked away quickly, not willing to give the bastard any ideas.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Frankie asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Some stupid place doing some stupid hunting,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “Fuck him anyway he never lets me do anything fun.”

“What do you mean ‘lets you’?” Frankie said, his brow furrowing.

“I mean, he’s a controlling dickhead!” You said, then slapped a hand over your mouth. “Don’t tell him I just said that! Please!”

“I won’t, I promise,” Frankie said.

“Just forget I said anything,” your voice had taken on an almost desperate edge.

“It’s forgotten,” Frankie lied. He didn’t know how, but he was going to bring it up later. The idea of your boyfriend ‘not letting’ you do something had taken root in his brain, and somehow it made him furious. He took a deep breath, counting slowly to calm himself down.

“Who’s that guy who keeps making faces at you?” You asked, gesturing across the bar. Frankie sighed.

“Santi.” Frankie rolled his eyes at his old friend and waved him over. His curly hair friend bounded over, flashing you with a brilliant white smile.

“Well, hello there,” he said, winking at you. “Santiago Garcia, but you can call me whatever you like.”

You smiled sheepishly and gave him your name, “I work with Frankie.” Santiago’s grin widened at this piece of information, and Frankie groaned internally.

“You’re the girl Frankie told me about.”

“Chatting shit, I’m sure,” you laughed, but Frankie didn’t miss the questioning glance you sent his way when you spoke.

“Santiago was the one who took that photo I told you about,” Frankie said quickly, not wanting you to get the wrong idea. You nodded and leant over towards Santi.

“He keeps promising to show me but he’s yet to deliver,” you said, winking at Frankie. His stomach jumped, breath caught in his throat. He knew you were joking but he couldn’t help but feel like he had disappointed you somehow.

“That’s my fault,” Santi said, “I keep meaning to get him a copy but since he’s sleeping all day I haven’t been able to.” You nodded and turned to Frankie.

“I should go find my Sara before I lose her for the night,” you said, looking at Frankie. “Come find me - I mean, us later? With your Benny?”

“Yeah, of course,” Frankie said, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. The urge to grab you and kiss you grew with every second, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t that kind of guy, and no amount of drinks would make him think it would be a good idea to do that to someone. Let alone you.

~*~

Frankie’s head was cloudy with alcohol, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good your ass looked in that tiny skirt, how he wanted to plant his face directly in your chest.

“Fucking hell, get a grip,” Santiago said, shaking his friend by the shoulder. They were back in the locker rooms, Benny was buzzing with his win. He and Will were going their post match ritual of smacking each other on the back and releasing loud “woo”’s.

“I’m fine,” Frankie insisted, and Santi scoffed.

“You’re full of shit,” he said. “Ironhead, tell this idiot he’s full of shit!”

“You’re full of shit, Fish!” Will said automatically. “But what’s he full of shit for?”

“He’s in denial about pining for the chick he works with,” Santi said. “Look at the poor bastard, it’s written on his face.”

“Fish, you’ve never been good at keeping a straight face when it comes to emotional crap,” Benny said. “All other stuff, you’re great. Just not when it comes to matters of the heart. Or the dick.”

“You should’ve seen the way he was looking at her,” Santi laughed. “And the way she was looking at him, making bedroom eyes at each other.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, ignoring how the last comment made his heart leap. “You’re all stupid, she’s just a work friend saying hi. Nothing more.”

“Full of shit!” Benny cackles. “Look at his blush!” Frankie groaned. They were right about him at least. He had it bad for you.

But that didn’t matter. You had a boyfriend, and even if everything Frankie found out about the guy made him resent him a little more, he couldn’t change that one important fact. And he wasn’t stupid enough to ruin the beginings of his friendship with you over a stupid fucking crush. He just wasn’t.

Benny showered, singing You Belong With Me and switching out the pronouns as he did. The man was an unashamed Swiftie, claiming that she had a song for every situation. Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep swig of his beer. Will sat beside him and nudged him gently.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked.

Frankie frowned. “What? I’m not gonna ‘do’ anything. She has a boyfriend, end of story.”

“Sorry to hear that man,” Will said, sounding sincere. He knew Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to wreck someone else's relationship for purely selfish reasons. “You’re a good man.”

Frankie wished he wasn’t.

Benny changed into his regular clothes quickly, and said something about needing a drink. The four of them left the locker room and made their way to the bar, and Frankie couldn’t help but look around for you. When he couldn’t see you, he bit back the slight disappointment that sank in his stomach. Benny brought a round for the group and they found an empty table to sit at. The employees of the bar were dismantling the ring to make room for a dance floor. Loud, thumping music started playing and within moments the floor was packed with bodies.

“Frankie! And Frankie’s friends!” Frankie looked around at the sound of your voice, which was high with excitement. You bounded over, clutching the hand of the friend you had pointed out earlier. You introduced yourself and your friend Sara to the group and pulled up a chair for you and Sara each. Frankie didn’t miss how you placed Sara’s chair next to Benny, or how Benny was staring at Sara with his mouth slightly open. He also noticed with a slight pang how you sat yourself between Will and Santi, directly across from him.

What he didn’t was how much you kept looking at him. Lucky for him, Santi and Will noticed plenty.

You and Sara spent a few hours with the group, until a not so inconspicuous Benny and Sara both disappeared, Sara throwing a wink towards you as she left. Will left not long after, saying that his bed was calling his name. Santi stayed a little longer, flirting with you much to Frankie’s annoyance. To his credit, he didn’t show you the catfish photo. Frankie wanted to show you that one himself, when you were both sober.

“I better head out,” Santi said as it rolled past three in the morning. “I’ve gotta babysit Lee tomorrow, and you know how hyper he is.” He turned to you and kissed your hand. “It was the deepest pleasure meeting you, don’t be a stranger. Frankie.” Santi raised an eyebrow and shot him a meaningful look.

“Good night,” he said a little forcefully, shoving Santi towards the door, mainly to get him to stop flirting with you. He knew the flirting was just incentive to spur him into some kind of action with you, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Your friends are nice,” you said, struggling to connect the straw of your drink with your mouth.

“They’re assholes most of the time. They’re just nice to beautiful women.” Frankie regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Shit! Now she thinks I think she’s beautiful. She is! But she doesn’t need to know I think that! Frankie finished off his drink to avoid looking at you.

“I’m attractive til they get to know me,” you said with a snort.

“What makes you think that?” Frankie asked, confused as to how that could work.

“I don’t think,” you said, “I know. It’s a fact. One that cannot be argued.”

Frankie was about to argue with you about this when you turned away, stumbling as you did. She’s super fucking drunk, Frankie thought, grabbing your arms to steady you. Your skin was so much softer than he anticipated, sending a jolt through him. He let go quickly, mouth going dry as you beamed up at him.

“You saved me!” You declared, then finished your drink quickly, emitting a small burp. “To thank you, I must give you a token of my gratitude. I know! A drink! Three drinks for the kind sir! And three for me!”

“Jesus, how much have you had?” Frankie asked, laughing.

“Only a little bit,” you shrugged and thought for a moment. “Maybe like, a dozen vodka sodas and some shots and also half a bottle of prosecco. And also a teeny tiny bit of molly, but that was hours ago, so it’s basically gone.”

“Maybe I should walk you home,” Frankie suggested gently, amazed that you were still upright let alone getting served. You shrugged.

“I can just get an Uber or something, it’s fine.”

“No, no, don’t waste your money, let me walk you.”

You looked up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

The cold air outside hit the both of you like a wall. Stars scattered across a moonless sky, leaving Frankie wonderstruck for a moment, until he noticed the goosebumps on your arms. Without a second thought, Frankie took off his jacket and placed it gently around your shoulders. You looked up at him, a surprised look on your face.

“Frankie, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I have this friend, right? And she’s been dating this guy for years now. They live together, no kids or anything. But she told me a little while ago that she’s been feeling . . . trapped.”

“Trapped?”

“Yeah. Like, she doesn’t think she loves her boyfriend anymore. At least, not in a way that she should. And he’s so mean to her, too. He doesn’t hit her or anything, but he’s also not super nice to her, and-and she doesn’t always know what she did to deserve it. She doesn’t know what to do.”

“Can she leave?” Frankie suspected you weren't talking about a friend, but he didn’t press beyond what you were willing to tell him.

“Not easily, I don’t think. She doesn’t have enough money for her own place and- and she’s afraid.” Your face flushed.

“What’s she afraid of?”

“Being alone. Unloved. She doesn’t have any family or anything and her boyfriend is the closest she has to that. So um, if she was your friend, what would you say to her?”

Frankie was thoughtful for several moments. He didn’t want to fuck this up. If his suspicions were correct, you were talking about yourself. “Well, first of all I would tell her that her boyfriend is a massive dick, even if he doesn’t hit her, boyfriends shouldn’t make their girlfriends feel like shit. I would tell her to talk to her friends, ask for their help. I would also tell her that being alone doesn’t have to mean lonely, and it certainly doesn’t mean that she’s going to be unloved.”

You nodded thoughtfully at this. Frankie took this as a good sign. “She can’t know for sure what her life will be like, but my guess is that it will be better if she chooses to leave this asshole.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Frankie knew you were thinking about what he said. He too, was lost in thought. Trying to figure out a plan to help you in any way he could. All too soon, you arrived at your apartment building.

“Thanks for this,” you said, taking off the jacket and handing it to him. Frankie nodded.

“You needed it more than me,” he said simply. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow?”

You nodded, and then as if you weren’t entirely sure if what you were about to do was a good idea, you wrapped your arms around him. Frankie stiffened for a moment before hugging you back, holding you to him tightly, breathing in your scent of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. You were warm and soft and everything in him was screaming don’t let go.

“Thank you,” you whispered in his ear, and he knew you weren’t talking about the jacket.

Taglist: Taglist: @hnt-escape @sharkbait77 @1800-fight-me @annathewitch @darnitdraco @frankiecatfish @punkerthanpascal @nakhudanyx @gracie7209

#the night shift #frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier

[uomo-accattivante]

Great article about Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter - a poker movie that’s not really a poker movie...

Some filmmakers write a hit movie and spend the ensuing years trying to escape its shadow. Paul Schrader never flinched. Forty-five years after his “Taxi Driver” script put him on the map, the writer-director has developed a body of work loaded with alienated anti-heroes compelled to violent and reckless extremes for the sake of a higher calling.

That includes “The Card Counter,” in which Oscar Isaac plays guilt-stricken Abu Ghraib vet William Tell, a man with a gambling addiction compelled to help the revenge-seeking son (Tye Sheridan) of a former colleague. Taking justice into his own hands, Isaac’s William Tell slithers through the Vegas strip in search of questionable salvation, not unlike a certain Vietnam vet named Travis Bickle did from the driver’s seat. As if to cement the comparisons, “The Card Counter” features Martin Scorsese as an executive producer, marking the first time the two men share a credit since 1999’s “Bringing Out the Dead.”

For Schrader, “Taxi Driver” comparisons are inevitable in all his work. “My tendency is to look for interesting occupational metaphors,” Schrader said in a recent interview. “‘Taxi Driver’ hit the bull’s eye of the zeitgeist and it doesn’t die. There’s no way I could’ve planned for that, but it does inform the stories I tell.”

At 75, Schrader continues to churn out movies much like his compatriot Scorsese, albeit on a much smaller scale. “The Card Counter” is the latest illustration of the secularized Christian dogma percolating through his work. “Our society doesn’t like to take responsibility for anything,” he said. “But I come from a culture where you’re responsible for everything. You come into the world soaked with guilt and you just get guiltier.” In his own prickly fashion, Schrader makes movies steeped in empathy for lost souls in search of redemption despite the daunting odds. “We’re all certainly capable of forgiveness,” he said, and chuckled. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

The “Taxi Driver” dilemma looms large in nearly all of Schrader’s work, from the dazzling high-stakes activism of “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters” all the way through Ethan Hawke’s eco-conscious priest in “First Reformed.” While the latter, Oscar-nominated effort brought Schrader new fans, “The Card Counter” is an even more precise distillation of his aesthetic — a moody, philosophical drama about the vanity of the personal crusade.

Schrader, who has labeled his homegrown character studies as “man in the room” dramas, embraces the parallels as usual. “There is this kind of myth that the taxi driver was this friendly, joking kind of guy who was a character actor in movies,” he said. “But the reality is that it’s a very lonely job, and you’re trapped in a box for 60 hours a week.” He saw the same logic with gambling, a wayward profession generally depicted in the movies in the context of escapist romps, rather than the somber rituals that afflict most players. “I thought about the essence of playing cards every day, or sitting in front of a slot machine. It’s kind of zombie-like,” Schrader said. “You see commercials of people in casinos laughing. But it’s a pretty glum place. Today with slots you don’t even have to pull the lever. You just sit there and let the numbers roll.”

The gambling figure led Schrader to the bigger picture of his character’s conundrum. “I was wondering why someone would choose to live in that sort of purgatory,” he said. “He doesn’t want to be alive, but he can’t really be dead, either. What could cause that? It can’t be a simple crime, murder, or a family dispute. It has to be something unforgivable. And that was Abu Ghraib.”

After the fallout of that debacle, William did time in a military prison, and reenters society before the movie begins. That was a world the filmmaker wanted to understand in clearer terms. Though Schrader has received blowback for his controversial Facebook posts in the past, in this case, the platform was an asset: He used it to track down soldiers who had done time in the United States Penitentiary in Leavenworth, the only military prison in the U.S., to better understand the initial claustrophobic world that Tell endures, as well as the conflict between the justice he’s received and what he deserves. “This man has been punished by his government, set free, and paid his due, but he doesn’t feel that,” Schrader said. “What does he do then? How does he fill his time? That’s how it all began.”

Schrader himself toyed with gambling when he lived in Los Angeles early in his career, but soon gave it up. “I very quickly realized I was only interested in gambling if it was really dangerous and I didn’t want to expose myself to that kind of danger,” he said. Years later, though, the experience helped inform his story. “There is this whole fantasy of gambling movies from ‘The Cincinnati Kid’ to ‘California Split,’” Schrader said. “But poker is all about waiting. People will play 10 to 12 hours a day and two to three times a day, a hand will happen where two players both have chips. Now you’ve got a face-off. But that doesn’t happen very often. Most guys who are there are running the numbers, the probability.”

He envisioned “The Card Counter” as a repudiation of the traditional poker movie, which builds to the giddy release of a final tournament. When that moment arrives in the movie, Schrader takes the movie in a bleak, shocking new direction. “It’s not really a poker movie — that’s a red herring,” he said.

William is immersed in his casino journey when he encounters Cirk (Sheridan), the crazy-eyed son of another Abu Ghraib soldier who committed suicide. Cirk blames the soldiers’ former commander (Willem Dafoe), and hopes to loop William into the plan. Instead, the older man decides to take Cirk under his wing to talk him out of the act, which doesn’t prove so easy. In the process, the gambler forms a curious bond with La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a gambling agent and pimp whose icy, relentless drive to make the most out of the poker circuit brings William some measure of companionship on his wayward journey.

It should come as no surprise that the “Girls Trip” breakout is nearly unrecognizable in the role of the calculated La Linda, which is also a distinctly Schraderish touch: From his work with Richard Pryor in 1978’s “Blue Collar” all the way through Cedric the Entertainer’s supporting turn in “First Reformed,” Schrader has made a habit of seeking out comedic actors willing to play against type. That’s partly opportunistic on his part. “They’re eager to do it because they want to expand their palette, so you can get them for a price,” Schrader said, chuckling again. “That’s necessary, given the kind of films I make.” But that’s not all: “They will always find a way to be interesting, even when they’re not getting a laugh.”

Which is not to say that the process comes easily to them. Haddish recently told the New York Times that Schrader had to coach her out of speaking in a comedic sing-song. The filmmaker put it in blunter terms. “On the first reading of the script we had, frankly, she wasn’t very good,” he said. “I told her to go back and read every single line without emotion. Then I said, ‘You’re not going to do that in front of the camera, but you can’t hit every line either. So let’s pick five or six lines you can hit where you get a smile or reaction.’ Quickly she got that it was a different rhythm.”

As for Isaac, whose disquieting turn suggests a maniac lingering just beneath the surface, Schrader once again turned to metaphor. “I told him to imagine himself on a rocky coast in the ocean,” Schrader said. “Waves are going to come up and get you all day every day. They’re going to try to batter you. Let them. The waves will go away. You’ll still be there. Don’t compete. In the end, the rocks will win. You have to learn to trust that the way these things are put together has more power than the individual movement.”

William’s routine includes an odd ritual in which he covers all the furniture in his various Vegas hotel rooms with white paper. While the motivation is never explained, Schrader said it stemmed from an experience with production designer Ferdinando Scarfiotti on the set of 1982’s “Cat People,” when Schrader realized the man was doing the same thing. “He said, quite simply, ‘I have to live here surrounded by these ugly hotel furnishings,’” Schrader recalled. The concept inspired the new movie’s most compelling visual motif. “Casinos are very ugly places. There are no exceptions,” Schrader said. “Often you aspire to finding pockets of beauty and there weren’t really any here except the only place he could control, which was his hotel rooms, where he could privatize his visions. I came up with this ritual for him to control those visuals.”

At a certain point, Schrader himself couldn’t control the visuals of “The Card Counter” for more prosaic reasons: After an extra tested positive for COVID-19, the production shut down last March, with five days of shooting left, and couldn’t resume until July. Though Schrader initially took to Facebook to fume at his producers, the pause eventually opened up an opportunity to tweak his vision. “I edited the film and put in placeholders for the five or six scenes of consequence that I hadn’t shot,” he said. “I didn’t have a fully finished film but I could screen it for people. Normally you only get that privilege if you have a big-budget film and you’re allowed reshoots.” The early audience included Scorsese, who provided a crucial note. “I asked Marty, ‘What am I missing?’ He said to me that the relationship with Tiffany and Oscar was too thin. So I rewrote those scenes.”

Schrader asked Scorsese to take on the executive producer credit as a favor. “I said, ‘Marty, wouldn’t it be nice to share a card again? I thought it would help sell the film but it would also be a cool thing to do after all these years,’” Schrader said. “Then a couple of weeks later his agent called wanting to work out a deal. What deal? I asked Marty and he said yes. That’s the deal!” Now, the pair are trying to collaborate on a new long-form TV series based on the Bible, though the timing has been delayed by production on Scorsese’s upcoming “Killers of the Flower Moon.”

In the meantime, Schrader has been mulling over the way “Taxi Driver” not only continues to inform his storytelling but the world at large. “Hardly a week goes by that I don’t notice or hear some reference to it,” he said. “But I don’t know how you’d tell such a story today. A number of writers have tried and I don’t think they’ve succeeded because it has to come out of a certain place and time. We have plenty of these incels around, but they’re not as original or revealing as they were 45 years ago when that character came on the scene. I wouldn’t know how to write about it.”

Instead, his next project is a love triangle called “Master Gardener,” which he hopes to shoot in Louisiana before the end of the year. He has several other potential scripts ready to go after that. And while he has expressed trepidation about the future of cinema in the past, he’s not convinced that audiences have given up on it yet. He recalled a conversation he had with Cedric the Entertainer when “First Reformed” made the rounds. “He said off-handedly to me, ‘You know, I didn’t realize there were so many people who liked serious movies,’” Schrader said, and chuckled once more. “Well, yeah, there are.”

“The Card Counter” premieres next week at the Venice Film Festival. Focus Features releases on September 10, 2021.

###

#oscar isaac #the card counter #paul schrader #martin scorsese #tiffany haddish #tye sheridan #willem dafoe #taxi driver #master gardener #indiewire

[innerdialoguingofanartist]

Reconciliation

Why not share some drabbling I've done for this au while I'm waiting for my car to be serviced? I actually wrote this more recently than some other stuff, but I've been editing my drabbles for consistency with the current musings! Hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~

"Miss! Wait! Please!" SD panted in gloom of the late, stormy afternoon as Shop ran off, who was happy to leave the lying bastard to the wilds of the island, drenched in sweat, rain, and mud. 

"Ugh, god, damn it-" he muttered to himself as he tugged on his pant leg, yanking his foot out of some mud. He was in the middle of trying to explain himself to the dinosaur after the truth came out and he told everyone he was reporting everything about Shop to his boss, Vic Hoskins. How could you blame him? This was a golden opportunity for job security, not to mention the accolades that would come with being at the forefront of groundbreaking research such as the experiment that had just run away from him. But, SD was not made for rugged terrain, he was made for cushy office work and the frequent visits to the raptor enclosure for observations. 

Taking a seat at the base of a somewhat dry tree, he began to reminisce about what got him to this point in his life. He first thought about Shop, in the brief moments he saw her, always trying to emulate the raptor's vocal patterns when she thought no one was looking, did she watch him too he wondered? He remembered the twinge of grief he felt for her when he came into the paddock one day and witnessed the attack; it all happened so fast but ultimately ended with him calling in the ACU to detain the raptors while fellow trainers ran in to recover the girl. Something like that hadn't happened in a long while, and the paleo-vets were alerted immediately to make sure the animals were ok. SD could remember calmly pacing around to find someone to take care of the human that had gotten bit, but no one else seemed as focused on her, that is, aside that one vet-tech who seemed to be losing his mind over her. 

SD rubbed his tired face with a small chuckle, thankful that at least Ian hadn't changed much since he met him. He remembered him talking to Shop, who obviously knew him, with him nearly begging her to stay awake before carting her off, verbally hoping that someone was getting a spit sample so that they could try to make an antidote. Remembering how he was pulled by some unknown force, SD recalled how he stormed up to the paleo-vets, and demanded a saliva sample, for research, of course, flashing his badge. They compiled, after a short scolding and lesson on how tranquilizers could damage the animals, and while he understood, he cared more about the human than the animal; one could argue whether or not that ever changed.

The man's eyes shot open as he heard rustling all around him. His heart pounded in his chest, telling him to run, but he knew he couldn't, if there was anything there. A quick look around and he took his chances with the tree, climbing up slowly to some sturdy branches and thanking himself for his history with heavy lifting. After a while, and seeing as the storm wasn't letting up, SD's mind returned to its thoughts.

He thought about how he scared Ian initially when he approached him with the sample, stopping him from stammering over his words to tell him to just, help her. He also recalled the first time he saw Cyprin, who was working with Ian on stabilizing Shop, who's health was very obviously declining, and fast. He remembered watching as her energy and color seemed to be sucked out of her, and how he would visit her room nearly daily after his usual rounds to give updates on the raptors and on the antidote. Even though he could see how visiting her kept her spirits up, he still took the time as an opportunity to observe and collect data on the infection to keep for future reference.

No one could have known Cyprin had ulterior motives. SD personally believed it was only after Shop had slightly mutated from the antidote that they grew hungry for something more, pushing them to create the second dose that sent everything in a dinosaur shaped spiral.

~~~

Elsewhere on the island, Shop had stopped running, pacing in a circle in frustration as she hissed and barked, talking to herself. She was having trouble wrapping her head around SD, and was moreover confused by the anguish and betrayal she felt. She actually thought he cared about her! He had helped her stay strong when she was on her deathbed and had become an anchor for her when she couldn't think through the pain of transforming. Instead though, he was more or less selling everything about her aside her physical body to Hoskins, which everyone knew was obsessed with the prospect of militarized raptors. How could he ever want to be a part of that?! Could she really even trust anyone else? What if Ian was also in cahoots with Cyprin and just REALLY good at acting? Maybe she would have been better off trying to get integrated with the raptors that nearly killed her when she was human, now she was anything but human. And if she ever was taken anywhere else, she would surely be tested on and treated like the science experiment she knew she was. Unable to wail in despair, Shop bellowed and stomped her feet, shaking her head violently as the rain picked up again.

Meanwhile, SD began to hope that Shop would come around for him again, so he could explain himself to her properly. He really did want to make things right for her, or to at least give her peace of mind that she was safe now, that he wasn't going to give up any more information to anyone. Though, he could figure that she definitely felt betrayed; he couldn't understand her, but she had made her distaste for the situation quite clear. 

Above the wind and the rain, SD suddenly heard a low hissing, rattling noise. "Oh no…" he whispered to himself as a dilophosaurus stared him down from the ground to his perch, claws gripping into the tree bark as it tried to reach up to him, opening its frill in an impressive display; terrified of the prospect of this being his end, SD screamed, only partly hoping that someone would hear it.

Shop was still angrily stomping around when she heard a faint scream, carried by the wind. It could only be one thing, and while she wanted nothing to do with him, part of her wanted to repay what he had done for her, and hoped that she was wrong for being mistrustful of him. She made up her mind with a few short hops and grunts before taking off, following the fading scent as the rain died down again.

SD tried to climb higher, but after realizing the last bit of rain had made everything dangerously slick, he decided against it, instead preparing himself by curling up into a  ball as much as he could, but all he could hear over the wind was a screech that was cut off horribly, along with some grunting, accompanied by the sounds of a fight before, quiet. SD unfurled himself slowly, only to be met by Shop, staring him down. It was both a relief, and nerve wracking to see her again. He sat frozen as she called him down with his signature sound, followed by a head bob to the ground with a stomp. When he didn't move, Shop repeated the action, louder.

"O-okay, alright, I'm sorry, I'm coming down." SD called down, nervous as he attempted to scale down the tree at least somewhat gracefully. He hoped this is what she wanted him to do, which seemed to be confirmed as she backed up to give him room, eyes focused on him as the sky grew darker.

"Thank you, Shop." He muttered, to which his only reply from her was a curt snort, as she turned away from him. "NO! Please, wait…" SD started, wiping his hands on his pants, as if to wipe away his nerves. "I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." Shop growled dangerously at the man, wanting to give him a piece of her mind, but knowing that it would be pointless. "You have every right to hate me, I know, but I promise you that I'm not the enemy here, and I still do want to help you, especially now-" He attempted to reach out to the raptor, who stepped away, uneasy as she gurgled quietly. 

"It's alright…" He withdrew his hand. "I can't imagine what all of this must be like for you…" SD looked down at himself, unsure of what to do. He froze when he saw clawed toes walk into view, letting Shop look him over before she drew close and rested her head on his, gurgling for a moment before stepping back, bowing her head and chirping softly.

"Um... thank you, I think?…" SD attempted to walk a few steps before he dropped to his knees, his exhaustion catching up with him. "Just, just, give me, a moment." He got out between huffs as thunder began to roll overhead again. Shop shook her head in the human equivalent to an eye roll,and slowly stepped towards SD, lowering herself and swinging her head to the side to suggest that he hold on to her. Carefully, SD slid an arm over the base of Shop's neck, giving her a small pat before she knew to stand up slowly, squawking a small bit at the unfamiliar weight resting on her now. It was slow going, but together, they went home.

#written thoughts #Jurassic World: Project Hybrid #R!Shop #sd #i would put it under read more but im on mobile atm #let me know if i need to put any like #warning tags or anything idk #hope yall like it ;;u;;

[pictureamoebae]

Peggy made it through her surgery. They removed her toe and also a small cyst from her front shoulder that she’s had ever since I adopted her. Both will be sent to pathology now to test for any nasties. It’s likely the cyst will be fine, but the toe might yield scary things. We’ll have to wait and see.

When I went to pick her up the nurse took me back to the holding room. Usually they prep the patients and get them in their carriers ready to go home but Peggy has become more and more stressed during this whole ordeal and wouldn’t let them anywhere near her once she was awake again. She let me stroke her straight away, which the nurse marvelled at and made me glow with love, while also feeling awful because she was so stressed in the first place. After many yowls and cries and growls and sadnesses together we got a cone on her and I managed to coax her into the carrier.

Back home it became clear right away there was no way she’d tolerate the cone, which she neatly demonstrated by throwing up into it. So off it came. Which makes her a lot happier but my job over the coming days unbelievably more difficult as I have to stop her licking the wounds. Perhaps counterintuitively it’s the one on her shoulder, where the cyst was removed, she wants to lick the most. Both wound sites have internal dissolvable stitches and skin glue on the outside — something I asked for if possible after previous experience with my last cat who ripped out his stitches due to stress in the final days before he died.

The first few hours at home we’re gruelling and I barely held it together. I’d only had maybe 6 hours sleep over the past 2 days, so I was already coming close to just running for the hills... where I could have a nice little nap and forget about everything. The comedown from the ketamine used in the anaesthetic made her dysmorphic, which was partly why she was so angry. She couldn’t settle, despite being sleepy (solidarity, Peggy), but couldn’t walk well because, well I guess losing a toe does that. I tried to get a dose of vetergesic (opiate painkiller) into her but she was still too high and wouldn’t take most of it. We just had to sit and watch her and try to comfort her as best as possible.

I was pretty much dead on my feet by 8pm so I napped on the sofa on and off while my partner watched her. I got up at 11pm and by then she was a lot more lucid. I managed to get a gabapentin tablet (painkiller and anti-anxiety med often used for arthritis, 3 a day) into her by way of sneaky tuna water, and then I went up to bed until 2.30am. When I came back down she was so much happier. She’d been able to sleep quite a bit. So I gave her an Onsior tablet (anti-inflammatory, 1 a day), again in tuna water, and she devoured the lot and then ate some biscuits. That was nearly an hour ago and she’s napping now while my partner has gone to bed and I take the overnight shift.

It’s going to be a long few days, for all of us. Her pain will slowly subside and she’ll eventually get used to having one less toe. Having internal stitches and skin glue means she’ll hopefully find them less irritating and leave the wound sites alone a bit more, but we will need eagle eyes for at least a few days. My partner’s extremely grumpy when anything disrupts his sleep cycle, so I’ll have that to contend with too!

Peggy has to go back for a wound checkup with the nurse on Monday. I am *not* looking forward to getting her in her carrier ahead of that. But after that she should have a week with no vet visit.

It’s 3.28am and I have to find ways to amuse myself now sat by her side while I try to stay awake for the next few hours. Part of that was writing this. You have to sit through boring cat owner tracts for my amusement.

#peggy ruxpin #cw: injury #injury: cw #amputation: cw #cw: amputation #cw: surgery #surgery: cw #cw: medical #medical: cw

[lubdubsworld]

Yours, Truly.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

“Well, that’s that I guess.” I watched the men from the creditor’s office load the last of the crate into the huge moving van, while the man himself gave me a sympathetic smile, signing off on the cheque. 

“We tried to make this as easy for you as possible, Miss. Yoongi ssi told us about your situation and while there’s nothing we can do about it, in terms of the apartment, we do intend to reimburse you the difference from the valuable items you just sold off, once the debt is paid.” 

I waved him off. 

“you can put it in my bank account, though we both know it’s not going to be much.” 

My phone rang again and I frowned at the name on the contact list. Lee Shin. 

Shin was Wonho’s immediate boss, and a sleaze by every standard. I hadn’t enjoyed any of our previous interactions, partly because he made it abundantly clear that he was interested , and partly because he was just extra touchy in general. Wonho had never taken my complaints seriously, asking me to take it as a compliment instead of raising flags over it, always claiming that he couldn’t risk his position in the company.

which was ridiculous when i thought about what he’d gone ahead and done. I pushed the thought behind. The past week had been a very torturous kind of hell. I hadn’t been able to get in touch with Wonho or his lawyer and a part of me just wanted to storm in and shake some sense into him. But a part of me had always known that this would happen, or so it felt.

Wonho had always been easily influenced. Even during our marriage he seldom argued with me, always going along with whatever i suggested. At the time , I had chalked it up to him being crazy in love with me. Apparently , it was nothing more than a lack of backbone.

 Wonho was a coward and he had ruined my life. 

The phone kept ringing, drawing me back to the present. 

Groaning a little, I picked up the phone. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” 

“Yes, Mr. Lee.” I said, keeping my voice even. Somewhere behind me , i could hear Yoongi rattling around in the back of his car, which now had three suitcases worth of my clothes and a small box of stuff from my childhood. I’d tossed the rest of my stuff away, not in any urgency to remember all the ways I’d failed at my marriage. Seven years down the drain. 

The more i thought about it, the more I wanted to claw my ex-husband’s face off. 

“..... So , what I was saying is that , you’re welcome to move in with my wife and I, until you get back on your feet. What do you say to that, love?”

I grimaced , Yoongi catching the tail end of my expression and raising an eyebrow at me. i waved off his concern and turned around to refuse when a sleek white Porsche rolled over to the parking space of my apartment building, A familiar company Logo etched on the hood. i stared in surprise as the driver skillfully parked the car before sliding out from behind the wheel. 

I blinked in disbelief as Kim Taehyung straightened, slipping his sunglasses off his face and tucking them in his pocket before looking around. He smiled wide when his eyes met mine, waving cheerfully as he locked his car and began making his way over to me. 

“...... Love? You there?” The man’s voice in my ear shook me out of my shock and I hummed in confusion before shaking my head.

“Uh.. No sir. That wouldn’t be necessary at all... I do have a place to stay , but thank you for offering.” I said , just as Taehyung stepped up to me, his beautifully crafted brows rising to his hairline as he tilted his head curiously at my words. 

I smiled helplessly.

“No, no. i absolutely refuse to take no for an answer, my love. i know Wonho did you dirty but you should know, not all men are like that and I , for one, think that a girl like you.....” 

“who’s the guy?” Taehyung said loudly, startling me as he leaned in , pretending to listen in and i drew back. 

“It’s nothing... I... Mr. Lee. Like I said, i don’t need a place to stay for the night....and...”

“Wait, Lee Shin? Wonho’s boss?” Taehyung’s jaw hardened. 

i nodded and the next second, the phone got snatched out of my ears, Tae pressing the speaker button as he frowned.

“Come on, sweetheart. That bastard didn’t know how to appreciate a good thing when he had it. I’m not like that. i could take real good care of you, you know... In return for a little bit of your company. If you’re good to me, i could be persuaded to be very generous.....” The man’s voice filled the air and i felt my entire body flush in disbelief and offence. 

“What the fuck did you just say, you nasty son of a bitch?!!” Yoongi’s voice came loud and angry next to me and I flinched when my best friend reached for the phone but Taehyung shook his head.

“Mr. Lee. This is kim Taehyung, your CEO. I’ve recorded your phonecall to Y/N and trust me, this is going to play key evidence in the hearing you have scheduled tomorrow for harassing your secretary. I don’t like predicting outcomes , not without all the facts but something tells me that you’re going to lose your job and/or go to prison . So maybe you could tell Wonho about your opinions , in person?” 

I heard Mr. Lee splutter over the line before Taehyung hung up, swiftly blocking the man’s number too , before smiling and handing over the phone. 

“You’re like a loser magnet, aren’t you?” He said brightly and I grimaced. 

“Is that why you’re here?” i shot back and he chuckled deeply, his voice low and warm. Taehyung’s voice was one of the best things about him. It reminded me of hunting cabins, tucked into the woods, with a warm blazing fireplace and soft rugs under my bare foot. 

“Fair enough. I just wanted to check in on you. It’s been a week since we talked and i thought you may have changed your mind.” He said softly.

I shook my head swiftly.

“i really don’t think ... i don’t need .....Well, I’m fine. For now.” I waved my hands a little wildly and he hummed.

“Are you sure i couldn’t convince you? i’m kind of in a real fix right now. “ He sighed deeply. “ I really need someone to help me out. My sister is going in for surgery on Thursday and i’ll be having both the twins and the new baby with me for the next three weeks. Yeon Hee is ...well she’s not really a kid-friendly person and i have a bunch of meetings too. I have no experience with babysitters and i was really hoping that you could stay over at my place. it would be a huge help.” 

He turned huge brown eyes at me, limpid and soft .

I groaned.

“This is unfair., You’re taking advantage of the fact that I love your sister and i love babies. You’re playing dirty! ” I protested and he grinned wider, boxy smile setting my heart on fire as he waggled his brows.

“Shamelessly.” He agreed. 

Yoongi finished locking up the bootspace of his car and slowly sauntered over. 

“As long as you pay her , she’s available.” He said teasingly and I shoved him a little. 

Taehyung chuckled but his eyes were still vaguely desperate.

“Please, angel. I know you aren’t comfortable with it but i really wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate. Jooheon is too young to be with some un-vetted sitter and there is no one in the world i trust more than you.”

I stared at him for a second, shaking my head gently.

“You always know the right things to say, don’t you?” I sighed. “ Fine, but how long are we talking about? I can’t agree to something indefinite...” I said firmly. 

“Why don’t we talk about it over coffee?” Taehyung prompted. 

Before i could respond, Yoongi snorted.

“And, that’s my cue to leave. Sweetheart, you’ll be coming over right? I’ll get the guest bedroom set up okay?” He kissed me lightly on the cheek and i nodded. 

Taehyung gave him a half hug and we both watched as he pulled away from the curb and drove off.

“So.... coffee shop in the corner or Starbucks? “ I said softly and he hesitated.

“I have an espresso machine in my condo.” He said softly and I hesitated.

“Tae...”

“It’s all good, angel. No funny business , i promise. It’s just ...the paparazzi’s been after me ever since I revealed my relationship and I’d rather not have you bear the brunt of it.... you know...if we get spotted together....” he shrugged his shoulders lightly, the movement causing his shirt to stretch out across his broad frame . 

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that and i nodded absently. 

“Excellent... Come on... Let’s go...” He stepped down the few stairs jumping over a small puddle of water at the base of the stair , on the pavement. But,  before I could follow, he turned around, grabbing my waist with both hands and lifting me off the stair. I fell forward into  him, his chest pressed right up against mine , impossibly warm and hard underneath me. I gasped in surprise, gripping his shoulders in shock .

His eyes were as wide as mine, as if he had just realized what he’d done.

“Taehyung, what on earth-?” I said sharply and he recoiled like he’d been burned, his long fingers leaving my body quickly.

“shit,.. i’m sorry.. it’s just...there was water and i didn’t want your shoes to get wet..... I’m sorry, angel that was out of line . I apologize.” He held both his hands up and i couldn’t breathe , let alone respond. I managed a weak nod and stuttered, “ It’s alright...” before wrapping both arms around myself almost protectively. I suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed, raw and gullible. 

I couldn’t even meet his eyes because my heart was pounding so hard inside my chest. i kept a decent distance between us as he walked to his car but I couldn’t stop the way my  insides twisted with sudden , hot and intense attraction. After all these years, i still wanted Taehyung with an ache that was fierce and impossible to ignore. 

He came here to find a babysitter , not a girlfriend . He already has one of those. A 5′10 supermodel who happens to have the face of a literal goddess........You’re so out of his league here , it’s not even funny, Y/N.

I let him open the door for me, slipping into the heated leather seats. I froze up again for a second, when he put my seat belt on for me.

“Hey...uh... You okay?” He said softly. I managed a weak smile. 

“I’m fine, Tae. It’s fine. Really craving that coffee now.” i laughed nervously watching him come around and climb into the seat net to me. He started the car quickly and flashed me another smile.

“You’ll love my sister’s kids. They’re dying to have a cool aunt.” He winked. Something curled inside me.

“Well, they have a supermodel for an aunt. Can’t get cooler than that....” I said shrilly. His smile faltered for a second but he schooled his features quickly. 

“I’ve told them all about how you used to sculpt... They love art.” 

“I’ll be glad to paint with them.” I said honestly, giving him a little smile and his eyes were so full of warmth , I had to look away. i also realized, what I’d just said.

Taehyung picked up on it quickly.

“So this means you’re going to do it then? Move in with me ?” 

He grinned before reaching out and throwing an arm on the back of my seat, before turning around to look as he backed out of the spot. i tried not to stare at the way his large hands looked gripping the steering wheel. Tried not to think about how they’d felt gripping my waist. 

“Well, uh... i’m not sure that’s how you should be phrasing that to your girlfriend.” I said weakly and he frowned.

“You’re more worried about her than you should be. Me and Yeon hee...we’re.... it’s nothing serious. We’re friends more than lovers and its a really casual thing.” 

I tried not to fidget.

“I’m sure that has nothing to do with me.” i said quickly.

“Y/N...”

“Tae, I’m serious. I just... I just divorced my husband of seven years. I’m not up for these games....”

“These aren’t games, angel...”

“You know what i mean, Tae. I’m still emotionally in a lot of pain...and I know you always hated Wonho ....”

“Damn right I hated him, he took the one thing i wanted in the whole damn world.” Taehyung snapped.

I shut my eyes. 

“Taehyung...”

He groaned .

“I’m sorry. You’re right.. it’s just... it’s hard for me to see you ... being upset because of that bastard after everything he did....” He said softly. “He shouldn’t have ever come near you if he wasn’t going to love you right....” 

I stared at him. It had been over a decade but he still reminded me of the boy I’d left behind. I could read Taehyung like a book.....

And i thought about Wonho , about how different he had turned out to be, about how easily i’d been fooled. I’d thought I’d known him well, too and look how that turned out.... 

I didn’t know Taehyung, no matter how achingly familiar he felt. 

“ Can we not talk about this...?” I said softly.

He hesitated before nodding.

I sighed and sank back into the seats. It was going to be a long night. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : This is short but I hope you guys liked it,.

#taehyung #taehyung fics #taehyung smut #taehyung reactions #bts smut #bts fics #bts reactions #bta scenarios #v smut #v fics #bts v #bts taehyung

[helloharani]

the “big” age

Recently, my morning routines have been quite calm. Only recently, because I just finished my second last semester of university. ... 

...  CRISIS TIME!!!  But even with classes during the last few months, my days have been generally filled with things to do. Over the year, I have built sort of a schedule. I think with everyone being at home because of Covid, we’ve been pacing ourselves a bit, “pacing” mean that there are things that happen throughout the week that make me realise how the days are passing.  Back to the morning. I’ve concluded that I like having a good breakfast. I think it might be my favourite meal of the day, or at least the most impactful. Even if I wake up at 11 a.m., I find myself eating “breakfast” and then a late lunch. Breakfast is accompanied by coffee, which I have found important to my system. I learned to make my own milk coffee (I guess you could call it a latte under certain circumstances) over the holidays thanks to my mom and Uncle Wasy. He gave us some filter paper and good coffee powder.  Haru takes her morning rounds - she walks in and out of the house, back to the food bowl and away. It gets funny sometimes, everyone wonders why she does it but we’ve just decided that she’s just a wanderer. She’s grown a lot fatter. Snowy would still be sleeping, either on the couch or in my room. Someone (usually my mom) would open the door to my room for him every morning. We have to give him medicine for the next few days. He looked a little sick, and after a trip to the vet we found out that he has a lack of teeth (sigh), and that he was probably sick from flu season. I got worried because he was losing weight. I don’t like thinking about my cats growing old. Or anyone I love, honestly.  The days vary. I’ve been trying to exercise every one or two days, right now I’m trying to stick to this everyday Yoga routine by following a Youtuber named Adrienne. Without class I’ve dedicated all my time to reading, and throughout the past two weeks I’ve revisited an old book series that I hope to write about here soon. I’m mostly in the comfort of my coping mechanisms. When I have the energy I like to see my friends. The nights usually end with snow sessions with Firdaus through FaceTime.  Uncle Wasy and Aunty Zura come over every Saturday for dinner. It feels different that they’ve been around so often, but a good kind of different. I’d like to think that it has always been this way. It feels like it would have been if they weren’t travelling so much every year. Unfortunately for them, Covid has bound them here for now.  Aniqah, Kasih, Myra and I have picked up Girl Guides again properly by trying to achieve the Duke of Edinburgh award. I now see them every Friday for Capoeira class with Norma. Mia is there too. For once we’re all exercising together.  I’ve also picked up bass and Ian teaches me through Zoom every Thursday. I thought I’d give it a try because I’ve been feeling disconnected from the keys. Hopefully this transition creates a new bond for music and me. Senja has been on a break for a while. We’re having our first show in months this Saturday. It’s not actually a show, it’s more of a pre-recording that will be up on YouTube. Our EP recording has been halted until things get better.  I start my internship at MalaysiaKini tomorrow. I also turn 21 in a few hours.  I think what I’m most scared about is throwing my life away. I don’t mean this by me giving up and becoming a slump forever. I mean as in forgetting. I’m not sure if I’ve told anyone this but I have a feeling that if I live long, I’ll suffer from amnesia and that will bring my demise.  I wanted to write this to solidify what I know and what life feels like right now. Turning 21 feels different than turning 20, even though that was the year I left the teens. Who knew that I would end up wanting to be alone on my 21st birthday? I would like to laugh.  I told my friends I didn’t want to celebrate in at all this year. I’ve had the privilege of being surprised and being thrown gatherings by them for the last few years, ever since high school and I couldn’t be more grateful. But I’ve cemented that I want a break this year to just absorb everything.  Partly because on my birthdays, I usually end up feeling terrible. I’ve always felt that at the end of the day, when I see people, I feel the need to please them rather than do what I want to do. And I think this year I’ve become strong enough to actually WANT to do what I want, instead of backing down.  I blame Covid. This year I’ve ventured into myself unlike any other year, and I know for a fact who really cares and who doesn’t. I don’t want my birthday to be just another reason for anyone to do anything for me. Do I sound selfish and whiny? I’m sorry.  Anyway, I don’t know where this ramble is going to. Wake up! You’re 21 soon!  I can’t see what is going to happen tomorrow, or the day after, or the next few days. For good or for bad, I just hope that my 21st year of being alive will be a year full of happy memories, both big and small. 

From 20-year old me to future me. You are sad and you prefer spending time alone at home (a drastic change from pre-Covid Inarah). You don’t know why. You’ve been let down a lot, both by people and yourself. You’ve found a new sense of gratitude for your privileges, your friends and especially your family; although you have problems showing so. Everything feels mundane, sometimes you don’t even feel like eating. But sometimes you feel good, and you can laugh and cry without feeling bad.  I wonder if everyone will still be living together in a few years. Will I move out? Will we move out? I kind of hope not. What will the politics be like then? Will we go back to living physically instead of virtually? What new items will I own, and what old ones will I let go of?  I hope in the future you find a balance that works for you, and I hope you get to go to sleep feeling good instead of the opposite. I hope you embrace growing up instead of feeling bitter about it, and I hope you enjoy what you do. I hope you cultivate good and healthy relationships, and maybe a better lifestyle. Also, keep your room clean - 

- and stay true to yourself.  Sending hope and love. 

Lepaklu  30th November 2020 

#when #will #i #learn #how #to #handle #my #feelings #properly

[fictionfromgames]

2019 (Buffy/Angel Eden studios)

Lawrence Myers (January)

"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

The cameras never stopped, but years at the firm led to an impeccable public persona. It was a large part of how a two term representative got picked out as VP, but then again, a little help from the Senior Partners goes a long way. He gave a picture perfect smile to the judge, bigger than the tight control he normally displayed, but still just as false.

It would be a while before he got to a place of privacy, something that made him begin to clench his jaw after a while. The American people were desperately pathetic, constantly delaying anything worthwhile, and he needed to get out.

Lawrence smoothed his salt and pepper hair, the only gesture he allowed himself, and largely as a joke for the press. His assistant was hovering in the periphery, and there was nothing he’d rather be doing than delegating long-awaited tasks.

He gestured to Mallory; an hour in and it was far past time to get the hell out of there. No more shmoozing, no more firing up the very amenable base. It was time.

“Sir, we’ve got a meet-and-greet in Virginia next--” Mallory began.

“Stop and listen,” President Myers said, his genial mask slipping into the authoritative annoyance he’d honed so well, “Call my guys at Homeland Security and ICE. I want all funding to IDRS halted and deferred to them.”

“Of course,” his assistant knew better than to respond with hesitation or confusion, “We’ll work up a press release too.”

“America solves its own problems, we don’t need INTERPOL junior here doing whatever the fuck they want,” he declared, “I don’t care who it needs to go through, we’ll start with an executive order if I have to.” “Absolutely,” Mallory complied, writing everything down, “And about the rally--”

“Fucking rallies,” his brow creased, conjuring up the lines in his brow that should have been deeper at 50, “That horseshit needs to be cut in half if we’re gonna get anything done this year.”

“Of course.”

A New, Confused Hope (March)

The tones of the aggravating electric chime rang again. Probably some lookie-loo or new witch seeking locally grown sage. Luckily, it does well enough in pots, so Logan always had a supply for the newly witchy.

He sniffed. Among the incenses and minty goodness of the growing sage, he caught a distinct eau de troll, and... “Hey, Aszea, try not to get vamp dust everywhere,” he called out without looking to the front of the shop.

“Logan, is Janis in? We have a kind of a situation,” the giant woman responded.

The way Aszea said situation made his ears perk, and probably would have without extra sensitive hearing. He placed his book down and made his way to the front, and was a little surprised that there were two people, and that the young woman with the troll was actually the one who smelled of dead vampires.

“Wwwwwwwhat?” Logan looked confused.

“So this is Emily.” Aszea put a hand softly on the girl’s shoulders, “She’s a sophomore at the catholic school, and she just killed like, three vampires.”

“Wait, really?” Logan moved around the counter, “That sounds like Slayer stuff, but--” “Right, she had a little assistance,” Aszea looked indignant, “But I told her about the Augury, and that we may be able to help her learn about what’s going on, and that, while it’s weird to have adult friends...”

“Having adult employers would be a good cover for a new Potential,” Logan knew immediately. He realized he’d carried a crystal ball out from stock, and set it down on an empty stand. “Twenty hours a week of magical supervision, little to no suspicion.”

“Twenty paid hours,” Aszea pointed out.

“Can you help me?” the girl’s eyes finally flickered up from her thousand yard stare. She was still in shock over what had happened, and Logan felt all the deeply bittersweet memories of watching someone learn some truth about the world lean a little more bitter when they locked eyes.

“Of course,” he said as softly as he could, “Just let me text the boss lady.”

Bad Actors (September)

“Well, shit!” Janis cursed, double-checking her phone.

“More amateur mages mucking up the mojo?” Logan asked, leaning over the counter.

“No, this was a test,” Janis held a finger in the air, “Someone is doing this on purpose, poisoning the well, and Iiiiiiiiii...”

Her face fell as she knew she’d have to admit something.

“Don’t know what to do about it?” Logan cut into her thought break.

“Yes, thanks, I was going to say that,” Janis twisted her mouth up, “Did you find the sleep daught?”

“Yeah, but I gotta skip it, Asz said there’s an inordinate amount of undead lately so I’ll be off the leash,” he said without looking at her.

“Any better at it? Can’t have you biting our only Slayer ally,” Janis crossed her arms, partly to glower and mostly to stop staring into her phone.

“I’ll tell you when you figure out what’s going on with the Tumblr coven.”

It was often tempting to throw annoying hexes at Logan, but ever since Myers ascended to the presidency, everything had been looking worse for the magical community, and she couldn’t afford to piss off any allies, even her werewolf store clerk.

“Who’d have thought I’d be curious as to where Phil went since January, huh?” she brushed a lock of hair out of her face, a small act of control in her increasingly chaotic life.

All Saints’ Order (November)

Brian raised his hands in victory. The molotov had crashed through the heathen storefront, and a small fire began taking hold inside. The Augury would be cleansed from his city.

Around him, his brothers cheered, hoisting their various weapons into the air, yells of “Hail Myers!” amongst the more enthusiastic wordlessness. They’d save their country, he knew, they’d start the next crusade, they’d burn--

Janis ended the spell.

“What’s happening?” Emily spoke up.

“We’re minus one shop and plus one openly fascistic anti-magic movement,” Janis responded flatly.

“Fuck,” was Aszea’s whole contribution the conversation.

*****************

So the last post was a couple years ago, and I’ve been watching a lot of Buffy, so here’s some setting update.

Lawrence Myers, 46th president of the United States, was a lawyer at a little firm known as Wolfram & Hart, and spent two terms as a representative for the state of Nevada before being courted, seemingly at random, as VP. When a very unexpected death opened up a vacancy in the White House, his administration fed on the zeitgeist of right wing American concerns and interests: a desire for law and order, fed by a covert program that produced chaos in the form of systematically sired mobs of vampires; fear and revulsion at the statistics of religion, that “witch” was now outpacing the growth of more “traditional” religious tendencies (see: christian denominations); and retaliation, essentially encouraged by the White House with its failure to criticize vigilante actions against apparently “satanic” sorts, such as middle class store owners or their working class superpowered/strange employees. Meanwhile, already prestigious or successful warlocks and demonic allies remained untouched by the ignorant sycophants.

Janis Morad, witch, demonologist, former entrepreneur. “Technopagan” is a term of the past, largely discarded in favor just plain ole witch, and Janis made her first sales online when Certain Social Websites started making witchcraft aesthetic. Using mundane practitioners to fund her own actual magickal ventures, she was largely able to fly under the radar until the All Saints’ executive order, which was supposed to fund governmental policing of Weird Stuff, but also just kind of invigorated an irate and clueless portion of the populace.

Logan Benson, werewolf. He was bit shortly before going to work with Janis, and has been pacified in his wolf phases by Janis’ alchemical experimentations. He’s been more and more eager to help out Aszea on nights as she seems immune to lycanthropy and is both tough and regenerative enough to survive the more mundane mauling that happened when he and the troll first met.

Emily Szymanski, Slayer. She’s mostly around because I had an idea that I liked-- that the Slayer Potential awakening spell was for extant Slayer Potentials when it was cast, not every one of them since. That being the case (how generous of me to myself), beginning in 2018 or later is the perfect time-- as Potentials come into age fifteen years later, we could be seeing one brand new Slayer for every one that has died since s7 of Buffy. This opens things up to a classic high school Slayer experience that we’re familiar with, while also still seeing a few “grizzled” vets in their mid to late twenties. I tend to assume “The life of a Slayer is brutally short,” but you don’t have to.

Generally speaking, she’s timid, I envisioned her as a nerdy Slayer, which will be fleshed out and statted when I get to it.

Aszea, troll. She was transformed from her assigned gender at birth through a wish-- one that she did not word carefully enough despite assuming she’d been quite particular. She wished to be a woman, but not specifically a human woman, and whoops. Now she mostly patrols and is the big muscle of the group.

Beyond this post, it’ll be set concurrent to whenever I’m writing, which is why I wanted to jump past all the time I didn’t include since the first two posts. Characters will have character sheets whenever they get their own story.

#buffy rpg #btvs rpg #eden studios

[tacticalpineapple]

welp here’s a little fluffy adorable something I whipped together post-The Final Problem, so, spoilers. This uhhh ran away from me, and I don’t mind at all!

The flat had been pummeled and, indeed, exploded, but it wasn’t irreparable. John found it a stroke of luck just how many of the original items survived the blast, and he and Sherlock made a point of salvaging what they could before the repairmen (vetted by Sherlock, and more importantly by Mrs. Hudson, personally) came and started making it livable again.

The mounted head, and even the headphones, had somehow made it. Several of the heavier, sturdier chairs--like Sherlock’s, for example. John’s was a little worse for wear, but if he was honest, he couldn’t rightly say if it didn’t already look that way with the explosion only making it more obvious. Reupholstered, they had to be, but as close to the same color and fabric as possible. The couch had fared a little better for its distance, and a thorough cleaning was good enough for it.

The flooring needed redone, and several of the less sturdy chairs, desks, and tables unfortunately didn’t make it. But those items, while homey, were just items that could be replaced. The mirror above the mantle had obviously shattered, but the frame was still good. The walls were a mess, the windows gone, plaster everywhere, dust and grime. The kitchen had mostly survived, but there was still damage that needed fixing.

It was going to be a long road back to normalcy, but John was particularly enthusiastic about brushing the dust off and starting again. He’d never stopped being a soldier, not when he returned from Afghanistan, not after he’d met Sherlock, not after he married Mary, not after the threat of Eurus had ceased. This was just another battle survived, and he got to rebuild what had started it all, what meant so much, with Sherlock.

And with Rosie.

John had to smile to himself as he and Sherlock were out at an honest to god furniture store picking out new pieces to replace the damaged beyond repair. It was perhaps the most normal thing they had ever done together, especially with the baby in tow, to get her out of the house and away from dealing with mostly sitters. (He couldn’t find anyone who didn’t want to babysit the kid of those he was willing to ask, bless.) And Sherlock was pretending so hard he wasn’t out of his depth, quietly assessing the construction, material, actual worth versus retail price of the pieces they passed. John didn’t pay any mind to the prattling, finding it soothing in a way. Until, distracted, he stopped, staring at a low coffee table. Sherlock continued for several paces before he noticed, spinning with momentary confusion, and ending up back at John’s side.

“The table?”

John hiked Rosie up farther on his shoulder, sleepy but not yet asleep, as he wove between a few desk chairs and a futon. “Doesn’t it look just like the old one?” he marveled. The angles, the color, the finish wasn’t quite right but it was so close he had almost suspected it had been lifted right out of the flat to be put on sale here. He leaned down and ran a hand over it, smiling proudly at his discovery. One more bit of normalcy they could recover.

“Absolutely not.”

John’s brain faltered, his fingers hovering over the surface as a look of blankness, then surprise, then confusion ran over his face, looking up to see it was Sherlock’s turn to walk away.

“Hold on--” He wasn’t about to go for his typical loudness with a sleepy child on him, tottering after Sherlock faster than he’d like to keep apace. “Hold on, what do you mean ‘absolutely not’? That coffeetable is a near replica, and once we wear it in, it’ll look no different to us than the old one.”

Sherlock kept walking, taking the tone that implied it should be thoroughly obvious and he shouldn’t have to waste breath explaining it. “The corners are going to pose a problem, sharp edges. It won’t be long until she’s mobile, after all.”

John’s feet halted, rooted, and Sherlock noticed immediately this time, probably banking on it from the much more casual way he turned to stare down his partner in crime-solving.

“You don’t want Rosie running into the corners of the table. When she starts walking on her own.” It was incredibly thoughtful, and an oversight he was about to kick himself for missing, except-- John opened and closed his mouth a few times before deciding to smile. “Means you expect to have her over often enough for that to be an issue.”

“I should think you’d want her to live with her father.” John’s expression softened further, for a moment burying his face partly against his daughter before looking back, about to say something. Sherlock cut him off with a bend of the knees and a feigned eyeroll. “Yes, of course I want you to move back in. Your place is big for the two of you, even if you can afford it--which, you can, but it’ll be a squeeze--and for as many times as you’ll be with me, thus either dragging her along or phoning up sitters left and right, the logical conclusion is you both move in as soon as it’s finished to avoid the inconvenience.”

Unimpressed, or pretending to be at least, John moved back over to Sherlock’s side. “You could move in with us instead.” Sherlock didn’t have to say anything though, just lock eyes with his mildly unimpressed face. “Nah.”

“Nah.”

“I’d never let you turn the sitting room into a chaotic consultation room.”

“And traveling back and forth to a flat, turned office, a whole half of which would stop being in use? It’d be--”

“Inconvenient, I know.”

“Quite so.”

“We’ll have to implement some new rules,” John added as they continued down the aisle, barely paying attention to the furniture.

“Oh, you know how I detest rules.”

“You cannot leave experiments around for her to get into.”

“I don’t just ‘leave them around’; I put them exactly where they need to be.”

“And if you think I’m going to keep getting up by myself every time she cries at night...”

“I need my mind sharp in the morning, and at all times.”

“No taking her to crime scenes until she’s older.”

“It’ll be good experience, expand her horizons, open her up to new possibilities at a young age.”

“And you’ll have to kiss me.”

Sherlock nearly tripped, which was just as hilarious as he thought it would be. To his credit, John didn’t laugh, just looked at his partner in all seriousness.

“What?”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are an absolute prat. Everyone around us has seen it but us. Even Mary saw it, for Christ’s sake. We’re going to live together raising my daughter after everything we’ve been through, so you’re going to start kissing me like you’ve been meaning to for what I suspect is a very long time.”

“And this is to be one of your new rules?”

“One of the most important ones, in fact.”

“Well then. In that case...” Sherlock stepped closer, hesitant at first. “I’ll have to start practicing.” He leaned into John’s space, brushing a hand by his cheek and settling fingers on his neck. The space was closed, a soft touch of lips. John leaned in just a fraction, restraining himself when remembering that maybe in the middle of a furniture store was not the wisest time and place for all this.

Sherlock pulled away slowly before placing a kiss atop Rosie’s head of hair, and when he straightened, there was a contented smile on his face.

“I’ll admit, some of your rules have merit.”

“Good...good,” John started in somewhat of a daze. He wasn’t sure that would actually work. He cleared his throat. “Oh look, new chairs for the clients to sit in, why don’t we have a look over there.” And if he was grinning like a loon, well, obviously he was just excited about chairs was all.

#fanfic #Sherlock #sherlock spoilers #parentlock #johnlock #I haven't written john in a long time and never wrote sherlock so this is gonna be interesting #this was inspired by a post pointing out that their new table in front of the couch was round #DOMESTICITY!!! /bangs fists on table #this started as a short thing so I guess it'll remain title-less for now

[ezatluba]

Why Scientists Love to Study Dogs (and Often Ignore Cats)

By James Gorman

Feb. 26, 2018

Recently someone (my boss, actually) mentioned to me that I wrote more articles about dogs than I did about cats and asked why.

My first thought, naturally, was that it had nothing to do with the fact that I have owned numerous dogs and no cats, but rather reflected the amount of research done by scientists on the animals.

After all, I’ll write about any interesting findings, and I like cats just fine, even if I am a dog person. Two of my adult children have cats, and I would hate for them to think I was paying them insufficient attention. (Hello Bailey! Hello Tawny! — Those are the cats, not the children.)

But I figured I should do some reporting, so I emailed Elinor Karlsson at the Broad Institute and the University of Massachusetts. She is a geneticist who owns three cats, but does much of her research on dogs — the perfect unbiased observer. Her research, by the way, is about dog genomes. She gets dog DNA from owners who send in their pets’ saliva samples.

The research I have been interested in and writing about involves evolution, domestication, current genetics and behavior. And the questions are of the What-is-a-dog-really? variety. Dogs and cats have also been used as laboratory animals in invasive experiments, but I wasn’t asking about which animal is more popular for those.

I had gotten to know Dr. Karlsson a bit while reporting on research she was doing on wolves. I asked her whether there was indeed more research on dogs than cats, and if so, why?

“Ooo, that is an interesting question!” she wrote back. “Way more interesting than the various grant-related emails that are filling up my inbox.

“The research has lagged behind in cats. I think they’re taken less seriously than dogs, probably to do with societal biases. I have a vet in my group who thinks that many of the cancers in cats may actually be better models for human cancer, but there has been almost no research into them.”

Better models than cancers in dogs, that is. Dogs do get many of the same cancers as humans, but in dogs the risk for these cancers often varies by breed, which narrows the target down when looking for the cause of a disease.

Furthermore, said Dr. Karlsson, cat behavior gets no respect.

“Non-cat people tend to laugh at the idea of studying behavioral genetics in cats, and the animal training world complains that people tend to dismiss cats as untrainable.”

Cats, of course, can be trained just as any animal can. Dr. Karlsson unwittingly trained her cat to hop up on the counter when she opened the door of a cabinet containing goodies.

And commerce has recognized cat trainability. There are several models of toilet training kits to teach cats to use human toilets. If such kits exist for dogs, I couldn’t find them. Not even for Bichon frises.

And as to the cancers, Dr. Karlsson said Kate Megquier, a veterinarian working on a Ph.D. at the Broad Institute in cancer genomics thought cat cancers deserved more attention.

Dr. Megquier said “I’ve been studying a lot of the dog cancers,” but that there are reasons studying certain naturally occurring cancers in cats could be valuable.

They get a lot of cancers called lymphomas, she said, and “they certainly have something to teach us about lymphomas.” They also get oral cancers similar to ones humans get and it’s possible, she said, that these might be related to environmental toxins they pick up while grooming themselves.

Investigating that possibility “could give us some insight into these cancers,” she said, helping pets and people. Dr. Megquier likes dogs, but is, by her own account, “definitely a cat person.”

Dr. Karlsson said that there are good reasons dogs are studied so intensively. There are many more dog breeds — about 400 compared to about 40 cat breeds. That means more genetic diversity, and better tools for studying genomes.

She did note, however, that a new reference cat genome is more detailed than the most recent dog genome.

“We’re all hugely jealous of it, and had to put up with lots of teasing from the cat geneticists at the meeting I was at last week,” she said.

Cultural attitudes toward pets creep into research even in the organization of scientific meetings, Dr. Karlsson pointed out. Putting the two animals together as the subject of a meeting is more related to their status as the iconic human pets rather than biological similarity.

My next email was to Elaine Ostrander, at the National Institutes of Health, who both owns pet dogs and studies dog genetics.

Her lab has identified eight genes that play a big role in determining dog size, the first being one important for making dogs small. The lab has also identified cancer genes shared by human beings and dogs. In particular, her lab identified a genetic cause of a kidney disease common to German shepherds before the same gene was shown to cause the same cancer in people.

Dr. Ostrander replied to my email by noting the attraction to science of the many different dog breeds and the vast range in dog size and shape. Some of the genes that affect growth, she said, affect “diseases of growth gone awry, like cancer.”

In addition, she wrote, “dogs have undergone this really striking bottleneck during domestication,” in which a few ancestral wolves gave rise to all domestic dogs. Later on Victorians produced many breeds that have even narrower bottlenecks, with much inbreeding.

Domestication, she said, has “happened in an amazingly short period of time and we don’t understand all the genetics associated with it. It remains one of the most interesting and challenging questions in biology.”

Some dogs suffer from behavioral problems that look similar to human problems like Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Those similarities, Dr. Ostrander said, provide “a great avenue for learning more about ourselves.”

That pretty much stated the case for dogs, I thought. Next, I called one of the main people responsible for the recent cat genome Dr. Karlsson was talking about, Leslie Lyons at the University of Missouri.

I asked her about there being more research on dogs than cats.

“That’s absolutely true,” she said, “for several different reasons.”

She agreed that the “the dog is a great model for cancers,” she said. It’s also true they have been domesticated longer than cats, and have more breeds, thus having a greater potential for studying inherited diseases.

But she also said there are social reasons having to do with popular attitudes toward cats that spill over into the realm of research. She said cat lovers are not as interested as dog lovers in fancy breeds — yet. Cats could be bred in many different shapes and sizes like dogs, she said, if there were interest. “We could have a Chihuahua cat and a Great Dane cat,” although, she said, “I think that would be a little dangerous.”

She said research funds are much harder to obtain for cats, even though cats are superior to other animals for studying some diseases, like polycystic kidney disease, or PKD. “Let’s put them in drug trials. We could fix the cats and we could fix humans.” Dr. Lyons keeps cats as pets and did mention, in an offhand way, during our conversation the common observation that “Cats rule, dogs drool.”

I also called Fiona Marshall, a bioarchaeologist at Washington University in St. Louis. We had spoken a while ago for an article I did on donkeys. The domestication of donkeys is only one of her areas of interest. She also studies African cats and cat domestication and was one of the authors of a paper several years ago that dated the first evidence of domestic cats to a 5,300-year-old site in China.

She said that cats are rarer than dogs in archaeological sites, partly because they’re solitary and they don’t seem to have been eaten as much by ancient humans.

“If they’re not eaten, you don’t find them in waste piles,” she said.

“I also think that there is a bias as a result of medieval to later European views of cats,” she said. “Cats were considered to be bad animals because they didn’t do what humans said.” And yet, that is the source of their appeal now for many people. Dr. Marshall herself has pet cats.

And now the numbers: A search of Pub Med, a database that includes most biomedical journals, yielded 139,858 results for cats and 328,781 results for dogs. Google scholar results were 1,670,000 for cats and 2,850,000 for dogs. These are simple searches, of course, and don’t say much about the kind of research that was undertaken.

As for journalism, my searches on the news database Nexis for dogs and cats kept returning more than 3,000 hits, which my screen warned me would take a long time to retrieve. So I settled for searches of “dog genome” and “cat genome.” The result, 20 for dogs, 6 for cats. The dog genome was sequenced before the cat genome.

I would caution against concluding anything based on this haphazard browsing other than that the results do back up the researchers’ sense that there’s more research on dogs.

Also, a colleague raised a question that didn’t occur to a single expert I interviewed, which shows that devotion to science can sometimes limit your point of view.

“Is it possible,” my friend, who has had both cats and dogs, asked, “that there are more dog studies because the cats won’t consent?”

Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?