Roughly On Par with the Cakemaker of Kiev

An Email Sent To Fandom Listserv

Fri, 21 Jun 2019 15:41:06 GMT

( From an email sent to the entire litserv. )

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Emails sent to the FH Listserv

Fri, 12 Oct 2018 18:15:50 GMT

You're Invited!

Kitty (and Clint, sorta) is having a baby! Join Tony and Hardison in pampering and spoiling Kitty in a day of presents, massages, mani-pedis, and general relaxation. Food and beverages will be provided by Eliot and the staff at Luke's; party begins after noon at the Onsen on Monday, October 15th.

Gifts are not required, but gratefully accepted. For those interested, please see the attached registry link.

No Baby Games

[Sent to all adults on the island and various alumni. If you think you got one, you did!]

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The Causeway, Wednesday Afternoon

Wed, 26 Sep 2018 18:51:29 GMT

Hardison was really starting to hate standing at this spot on the Causeway, computer in hand as he selected which of the off-duty portals to hack. Every time he sent a portal into Kathy's world, they'd got something good back (Raven and Kathy both), but his heart jumped into his throat every time he had to send his people through to go back there.

He'd really, really been hoping last time would be the last time, but here they were again.

"A'ight, so good news, bad news, an' ironic news," he said to the small group clustered around him. "Good news: the portal is successfully hacked, it'll show up in about a minute, an' it's definitely goin' to Kathy's LA. Bad news: the last coordinates I sent y'all to got lost, so I'mma have to send you somewhere else. Ironic news..." His expression was wry. "I got the exact coordinates for the Griffith Observatory. So that's where y'all are gettin' dropped off."

Which still counted as bad news actually.

"Which means you're gonna have to get to the Mount," he said softly. "Once you're in LA, you might be able to reach Kathy again an' arrange some kinda escort or pickup, but, worst case, you're gonna have to hike five miles through zombie territory before you're safe."

( And so the cavalry are called )

[Preplayed with the vdistinctive (who is also playing double-duty as tigerundercover), rebelseekspizza, not_every_mage, and smilestopscars, all of whom have been rockstars and shining beacons of sanity in the face of my panic. NFI, NFB, off we goooo! Previous entries here and here Next Entry]

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The Shores of Selkie Lake, Friday Evening

Fri, 10 Aug 2018 17:48:35 GMT

DJ Roomba was cranking out to tunes, though Hardison had left the soft serve machine at home, making this officially a 'roughing it' camping trip. Not that Eliot would necessarily agree (there was still electricity because Hardison was many things, but a goddamn savage wasn't one of them), but was it really a date if the two of them didn't bicker about something pointless while Parker looked on and offered commentary?

No. No it was not.

Originally, Hardison had planned to pitch the tent up in the woods, but something about them had been...off-putting. So instead he'd spent the morning setting up here on the shore, including hammering a 'No Suits Allowed' sign next to the water to encourage skinny dipping by his sexy, sexy partners. Steaks were resting in Eliot's signature marinade, other stuff had been peeled and chopped, the all-natural, hickory-chip grill was gently glowing red.

Aww yeah, he done good.

[For the crew!]

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75 Godiva Street, Wednesday Afternoon

Wed, 04 Jul 2018 19:02:18 GMT

Hardison stomped angrily into the house, still yelling into his phone about the catastrophe at the park. Well, sometimes yelling. When he could get a word in edgewise. His Nana was so angry she could be heard over the phone as well, occasionally using words that baby Jesus would not condone.

He didn't stop until he had reached the kitchen, grabbing for a pad of paper and a pen. "I'mma need your recipe, Nana," he said. "It's the only way to save these people. Raisins!"

"Make sure you got the right seasonings!" His Nana reminded. "Ain't nothin' without seasonings! You ever had a cold, boiled potato on its own? Nobody wanna eat that!"

"I know, Nana. Eliot got loads of seasonings here." In...one of these cupboards.

"This is just a sin and a shame, baby," Nana clucked. "There are poor, impressionable children who could have tried to eat that. Now here's what you need..."

[Open, but with definite SP warnings]

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75 Godiva Street, Monday Afternoon

Mon, 11 Jun 2018 07:11:08 GMT

Another weird weekend and Hardison wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. Being a teen seemed a lot more fraught than being a little kid and that wasn't even taking getting beaten up by a tiny version of his boyfriend into account.

But that wasn't the main issue on his mind right now. Hardison was looking at the howling wasteland that was their kitchen and shaking his head. Tiny!Parker had kindly left some of his sodas behind during her burglary spree, but not much else.

"How'm I supposed to get breakfast?" Hardison asked Val, who was sitting by his feet. "No bowls, no fridge--I'm pretty sure she even stripped the countertops!"

Hopefully she hadn't gotten very far with their belongings, or Eliot was going to have to remodel their kitchen. Again.

[Open! Will pickup pings when I'm conscious again.]

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Luke's Diner, Thursday

Thu, 07 Jun 2018 05:24:06 GMT

Ugh. That jerky white kid was back at the house again this morning. After the...issue...that had arisen when Alec, Jerkface, and Weird Girl had woken up sharing a bed, Alec had been more than happy to spend all of yesterday avoiding them, even if that had meant participating in the paintball thing. But he hadn't had any of his fake credit cards or IDs on him, so he'd ended up going back to the house last night.

To find Jerkface also there. Ugh. And he thought Weird Girl might have been around, too, but she was fast and kinda creepy, so it wasn't like he'd gone looking.

So Alec was out of the house as soon as he was up (at the crack of noon!), casually swiping one of the expensive laptops that had been lying around. Maybe if he could hack into that (maybe? HA!), he could get himself an ID and a cash stream and away from the house. Before Jerkface could decide to beat him up for, like, existing or whatever.

The sign on the restaurant's window caught his eye:

Today's Specials
Yeah, we know you don't have money. Come in and get a meal and pay us back next week. Unless you're Eliot, Hardison, Miguel, or ~~Kanan~~ Caleb. You gotta work.
Spaghetti and Meatballs
Crockpot Chicken Noodle Soup
Shrimp Fajitas (You're welcome, adults)

Free food? Ish? Alec was going to worry about why he was singled out later. He was going in to peel some potatoes and get a huge helping of spaghetti and meatballs.

[Content Warning for a physical fight in the Eliot/Hardison thread with underlying homophobic tones. Please practice good self-care when deciding whether to read, my dears.]

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75 Godiva Street, Sunday Afternoon

Sun, 15 Apr 2018 16:03:36 GMT

"So, our client," Hardison said, clicking on the multiscreen display that made up the wall of the study specifically for this purpose, "is a little amusement park y'all might have heard about called Cupcake Kingdom?" He snorted. "It's only the first an' oldest privately-owned theme park in the country, based off them old Cuphead an' Mugman shorts from the 20s an' 30s." He clicked over to one of the more well-known cartoons, where Cuphead and Mugman were fighting off Cala Maria. Little Alec had had nightmares about that mermaid. "Which were, in turn, based off a vaudeville act back in the late 1800s--now, I ain't gonna show any of the ye old-timey footage of some of their acts, mostly cause they kinda get racist an' they ain't important anyway."

( I just entertain myself sometimes. ) She'd convinced that Doonlogger's runnin' the place into the ground so he can get around the contract he signed sayin' he wouldn't sell it to a theme park competitor so it could turn into another Six Flags or somethin'. But I--I ain't so sure."

[Establishy, unless the roommates want to tag in!]

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Art, Thursday, Period Three

Thu, 12 Apr 2018 19:47:17 GMT

Hardison had a couple of things pinging on his Leverage searches back home and had a feeling that they might be heading out on a job sometime soon. But it wasn't like art really had a final exam anyway, so he didn't feel terrible about the possibility of canceling class next week.

"A'ight, y'all, so we've had a semester to learn new types of artistic styles an' forms. So this class is a repeat of the first one." He waved a hand over the art room, where he'd once again pulled out as many different kinds of supplies as he could find. "Make somethin'. Anythin'. The only restriction is that it can't be the same thing you made the first week. Same subject is fine, but you gotta use somethin' you learned this semester."

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75 Godiva Street, Thursday Afternoon

Thu, 05 Apr 2018 19:32:00 GMT

After sending out the email to inform his students that class was most definitely canceled for the day, Hardison managed to pull on a pair of boxers and pad into the kitchen to make some sandwiches. They weren't all fancy, with special onions and homemade aoili or whatever (though there were heirloom tomatoes and dill havarti cheese because Hardison had learned some things over the years, whether he'd admitted it or not), but they were thick and filling. He let Val out into the yard while he prepped, 'accidentally' dropping a shred of turkey on the floor for her to grab on the way out, figuring she might appreciate both the snack and the ability to run around a bit after being housebound more than usual these past two weeks.

She came back in when he whistled, though (possibly because she was hoping for more turkey, but Hardison knew better than to chance it twice), and cheerfully padded along behind him as he carried a platter of sandwiches back to his partners. Sometimes spoiling the ones you loved meant hearty sandwiches on tangy sourdough bread and a puppy to cuddle.

[Open for housemates or phone calls]

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75 Godiva Street, Saturday Afternoon

Sat, 16 Dec 2017 19:06:26 GMT

So, everything was terrible again. Hardison was pretty sure that Tony and his TA were evil, Eliot had brought home a version of Kathy that needed babysitting a lot more than she needed to be out heroing, there were slugs pretty much everywhere, and last night Eliot had insisted they all sleep down in the panic room in the basement. Which was actually more like a 'panic suite' because Eliot had built it and he was kind of extra about things, but even so, it was a little more claustrophobic than Hardison was comfortable with. He'd found himself calculating how much air was available in their hidey hole, which wasn't something he'd done since they'd moved from Portland.

That itchy restlessness hadn't left him, even when they'd all come back upstairs for brunch. He needed to get out for a little while. Do something. Spend some time in the open air while feeling useful. So once the meal was over, Hardison grabbed for his jacket and his laptop bag. A walk across the island to the school for some quality research time would hopefully settle him.

[Open for housemates and visitors!]

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75 Godiva Street, Thanksgiving Day, Thursday Afternoon

Wed, 22 Nov 2017 19:04:37 GMT

It was Thanksgiving! The house smelled amazing too, like roasting turkey and sage and simmering apple cider and baking pies. Eliot had outdone himself in the kitchen this year, whipping up the creamiest mashed potatoes, the fluffiest stuffing, and even the crispiest egg rolls Hardison had ever seen. His own contribution was a platter of the croissant-variety Hot Pockets in various flavors.

Look, his TA had requested them and he was gonna provide, dammit.

Now they were finishing up the last few dishes, setting the table, and preparing for a delicious Thanksgiving meal. Not every member of their assorted families could be here today, but every person who was here was family in their own way. For Hardison, found family was infinitely more precious than people just related by blood. Each person had chosen to be here, to be part of this, and--

Shut up, he wasn't getting all misty-eyed. It was the dust. It got all up in his allergies.

[Up super-early I know, but holiday-related SP expected in a big way and also timezones! Sorry to anyone confused, but this post is definitely set for Thursday, Thanksgiving.]

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75 Godiva Road, Sunday Afternoon

Sun, 06 Aug 2017 19:14:16 GMT

At some point on Saturday--Hardison had stopped keeping track of time after his fifth shot of Red Bull and Orange Soda--Eliot and Parker had shown up at the library covered in shark goo and hustled him home, talking about sleep and showers and real food. Probably. By the time they'd shown up, Hardison had been hopped up on so much caffeine he could practically see through time and most of what they'd been saying had sounded like a teacher from the old Peanuts cartoons.

After almost twelve hours of solid sleep, a shower that felt great even though it was cold, and a breakfast that was too good to have come from the camp stove Eliot had cooked it on, Hardison was starting to feel like a person again. He was standing in the living room, staring out the window and sipping his cocoa. "We can fix up the guest room for the girls again," he was saying. "Let 'em stay with us. An' Luke's is busted, but the freezer's still workin' an' folks can get to--oh shit!"

That oh shit? Was for the two--no three--was that four sharks being propelled through the air towards their house. At high speed. "Get down!" he yelled flinging himself behind the couch, just before a total of five sharks slammed through the front walls of the house and causing serious structural damage to most of the downstairs.

He should have stayed in the library.

[For them that are there!]

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75 Godiva Road, Saturday Morning

Sat, 15 Jul 2017 09:36:37 GMT

Noah often didn't want to get up in the mornings when that arrogant overseer, Cato, rang the bell calling the field hands to work. Being a blacksmith was easier than picking cotton--no worries about getting whipped if he didn't make weight, for one--but it was still long hours and hard work, making sure that all the horses were shoed and the tools repaired and every bit of metal on the plantation was bright and shining.

Waking up this morning was even harder. His bed felt soft, like a cloud, and his blankets like the gentlest cotton, wouldn't scratch a baby's naked ass. His sheets felt clean and crisp and the soft breathing from behind him--

Sheets?

Breathing?

Noah's eyes snapped open but he made himself lie perfectly still. Sure, last night had been one of Bareback Shaw's parties, but that didn't explain why he was asleep in one of the white folks' rooms! He didn't even wanna guess what kinda punishment that would entail if he was found here. Never mind the one he'd get for not being back in his quarters by sunup.

Another muffled noise behind him. Noah wasn't sure he wanted to look over and see who it was. He was praying that it would be another slave. Getting caught in a white woman's bed would result in something far worse than just more stripes on his back.

Maybe he could just...eeeeease on out of this bed and be out the door and on his way back to Macon before anyone was the wiser.

[For thems that live here! Also TRIGGER WARNING! Hardison is Noah from WGN's Underground and is a slave from 1850's Georgia. That means there will be references to slavery, beatings, lynchings, sexual assault and rape/coercion and pretty much every other horrible topic that comes up in conjunction with treating humans like chattel.]

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