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jq37 · 4 years ago

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Maybe I'm also being animal racist, but a current guess I have for oMaM is that the rabbit Sly saw at the docks was actually the newspaper photographer who seems to be spending a lot of energy documenting Sly's movements at this party, and the bad lighting/state of intoxicated introspection led Syl to make a wrong assumption. (Also did you ever watch Hoodwinked? Spoilers: the reporter bunny did it)

lol hey guys. So I've been fairly MIA the past couple of weeks due to my job trying to actively murder me but I wanted to pop in for a hot second to talk about where we are theory-wise at this point in the season.

First of all, to address the actual ask, I feel like Brennan must have known Longfoot would be suspicious due to ~animal racism~ and put him in as a red herring and now we have even more info to back that up.

I suspect that what's going on with the stuff in the manor is a version of the Pepper's ghost illusion which involves mirrors to do ghostly projections and look pretty darn good for an effect that was invented hundreds of years ago. If you've ever ridden Haunted Mansion at Disney, that's the effect they use to do the waltzing ghosts (fun fact, because the effect mirrors the objects it's used on and the Imagineers forgot to take that into account, all of the female ghosts are leading in the dance!) But that's just fluff, let's talk plot.

So last week's ep threw a LOT of suspicion on Sly with him literally being painted at the villain and Grant doing absolutely nothing to defend himself. And, I'll admit, it would be pretty delicious to not only have Sly foreshadow it earlier with his coy, "Why yes, it also could have been me," and also that Grant himself would have [REDACTED] Rekha a SECOND TIME (watch the Murder Mystery ep of Game Changers if you don't know what I mean--it's my fave ep). But I talked it over with my watch buddy @camwritery and I don't think Sly is actually a baddie. I think this is a double double cross (Lol a cross from Mr. Cross). Here's my thought process.

(1) Yes there's that stack of letters Daisy found in Sly's hand but those easily could have been forged. I'd like Buck to take a look at those since he has that rogue handwriting checking ability.

(2) Squire Badger specially said something was coming to F Sly up and Sly could tell he wasn't the mastermind. Fletcher would make the most sense as to who the mastermind actually is. Like, it wouldn't be so much a twist to the audience but it would be a big ass twist to the CHARACTERS who thought he was fully dead (for the most part) and I feel like that matters more than "subverting expectations" or whatever. It's possible we find out it's actually another party guest I guess (or more likely, that some number of them are involved as accomplices) but Brennan said last week we've met all the characters and it's too late to introduce a new person at this point. And Fletcher is such a through line in Sly and Daisy's stories, it would be weird to not go for the payoff.

(3) So Fletcher is alive. We know this. What would a dead but not dead criminal mastermind want? To ruin his arch nemesis, obv. So, how do you do that? Maybe you fake the death of some mouse to create an unsolvable murder to drive him crazy? And then maybe you work with the person who the fake murder pissed off (because of Sly's inability to "solve" it) to ruin Sly because that guy hates Sly now? And maybe you involve some element of faking deaths in your plan because a faked death is what was central to the original plot that made Sly's reputation and ruined your family? That's so convoluted but this is a guy who handcuffed himself to his enemy and jumped off a waterfall. He's clearly a drama queen and he has nothing but time.

(4) I think Sly has figured this out to some degree and he's decided that letting himself get captured is the best option for him at the moment. Like, he didn't protest at all. Which, yes, checks out to his laidback, posh casual persona but I think he knows that if anything happens to anyone while he's locked up then it casts suspicion on someone besides him or it means the "murders" have to stop because no one will kill anyone while he's not active as a possible suspect due to literally not being able to murder anyone. Speaking of--

(5) Yeah, I don't believe these are murders. All those dead bodies from the list? Badgers, corvids, horned animals. That's the badger fam and their spouses. And the one guy we "knew" was dead also doesn't seem to be dead (which Brennan seeded from the start with Conor's widow hearing his voice which seems possible if she lives so close and he was alive this whole time). I guess framing Sly for a full family murder or something was the plan? But that doesn't quite check out because presumably they'd un-die at some point and I feel like they wouldn't want to live under assumed identities in animal Bavaria or something. I know news doesn't travel fast w/o the internet but they're prominent people. News would spread I assume. Maybe the death faking was to make Sly believe he was crazy? Or to believe in ghosts? Messing with a genius's mind is I'm sure one of the worst things you can do. There's also Buck's Frankenstein theory which is a little out there but they were trying crazy stuff with electricity and dead bodies back in the day. Kind of a wild pull but cam sent me this about a Dr. Squires from the same-ish time period shocking someone back to life. It would be wild and now we have some alt explanations for the electricity but gotta explore all options. And this would Constance to call her dad a madman, lol.

(6) Grant/Sly has a lot more info than us with all those maddening redacted texts so it's very likely he has some long game happening we know nothing about. I wondered if he might have known about Fletcher for a while--when Daisy revealed he was alive he was surprised but I don't remember if he was surprised that he was alive or if it was ambiguous and it might just be that he didn't tell her. I assumed he didn't know at all (because I feel like that's what Brennan narrated in episode 1) but I need to go back and check.

(7) At the end of the day, D20 is a show that rewards love and friendship over betrayal and the like. This very much could be the first season with a real betrayal but I'm kinda skeptical. Sly could just be a big faker but he seems genuine to me. Also, what would his motive even be here? This doesn't seem like his style and I don't know why he'd do this.

(8) Lars failed their check on purpose and Ian saw full puppydog earnestness. Sly if you've been a bad guy this whole time and Lars didn't know, bitch I'll kill you

(9) Not really on topic but I want to note, Daisy's find of that second trick portrait makes me thing my theory was correct and there's a third somewhere. I wonder where.

(10) Even less on topic but the "Show Her Your Butt 2: Electric Boogaloo" sequence last week made me spit soda everywhere and I think that should be acknowledged.

#mice and murder #mice and murder spoilers #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 #asks #madamxpresident

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nerdypanda3126 · 4 years ago

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Playing with Fire – Ch. 3

Luka and Marinette decide to be friends, Luka gets some much-needed sleep, and an uninvited guest shows up.

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Later that evening, she waited for him as she watched the sky streak through with pink and purple from her spot by the window. As if on cue, Luka glided down from the roof and landed in the courtyard again, and her flames flickered to life around her. Of course, he would know the time of day the change hit as well as she did.

She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. When he saw her, he stopped, hanging in the doorway as if unsure if he should enter or not. There was a pause between them, as each waited for the other to say something. He tapped his slender fingers against the stone archway rhythmically. Finally, he sighed.

"Um, earlier… you mentioned supplies," he said softly. "I can get you anything you want. All you have to do is ask."

Her curiosity got the better of her. "How would you manage that?"

"There's someone who passes through occasionally. A friend. I can give him a list." He glanced over to the corner and smirked. "I've already got pillows down."

She blushed all over again. He chuckled and came over to sit opposite her, dangling his leg just as she was.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked after a moment, following her line of sight out over the mountains.

He was probably talking about the view, but she was watching the fires flickering to life in the streets of her village down below and in the homes of everyone she knew and loved. Her parents would be sitting down to supper right about now. She wondered if he was right about them. What they would say if they knew of her fate.

She hummed to avoid answering him. In the corner of her vision, she saw him look over at her, but she almost felt like if she didn't keep her eyes on it, the village would disappear entirely.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She let out an incredulous scoff, smiling despite the traitorous tear that slipped down her cheek.

"Whatever for?"

"For… earlier. For trapping you here. For cursing you. For... everything."

"You don't need to apologize, Luka." She wiped her cheeks hurriedly and sighed before she tore her eyes away to look at him. "You saved my life. I can't possibly repay you for that."

She started to reach out to take his hand, but pulled back, remembering the effect she would have on him. Instead she tucked her hair back behind her ear.

Maybe we can be friends,” she said shyly, “if you want.”

He didn’t answer right away, and when she glanced up at him he was miles away, his eyes still on the horizon, his profile thrown into sharp relief from the fading light. When he turned to face her, she jumped like she’d been caught at something, and for the first time since she’d met him, his smile reached his eyes.

“I’d like that.”

For some reason—she didn’t know if it was the low tone of his voice or those intense eyes or the way he sounded like he truly meant it—she blushed all the way to the roots of her hair.

He released her quickly and leaned back to lay on the stone floor, dangling both his legs off the side and staring at the ceiling instead of at her. Without those eyes on her, her blush cooled and she let out a breath before she scooted back and mirrored his position.

“Although I’m still half-expecting you to murder me in my sleep,” he muttered before he turned his head to look at her, his sideways grin entirely at odds with his words.

She shrugged and scooted a bit closer to him so their heads were leaning together, not quite touching. “I’d at least wait until morning. Without pillows, you’re the comfiest thing here.”

“Good to know. Maybe I’ll strike them from my list then, self-defense and all that.”

A realization hit her as she stared up at the ceiling with him and she started giggling. “You know something? I didn’t even bring a weapon.”

He let out a snort of laughter. “Some dragon killer you are.” As her giggles overtook her, he quirked his eyebrows and that teasing grin grew. “What were you gonna do, throw a bucket of water on me and expect me to go out like a candle?”

She shoved his shoulder, completely beyond speech. At her brief touch, his eyes turned to slits again and he waved his forked tongue at her while he had it.

“Though that still implies the foresight to bring a bucket of water, which you also neglected,” he continued.

She waved at him to stop as a stitch started forming in her side, but he pushed on, apparently enjoying making her laugh. “No, no, I know, you thought you’d slay me with your feminine wiles.” He was laughing with her now. As she made to shove his shoulder again, he squirmed away. “You thought I’d fall so madly in love with you I’d die on the spot, that’s it, that’s what happened.”

She rolled over into his side, laughing harder than she ever had before, only partly intending to stop his tirade. His laughter faded into a soft hissing as his scales replaced the broad chest she’d been leaning on.

Their laughter quieted together and she looked up at him. When he’d changed, he’d laid his head back again and closed his eyes and his bright blue fire was flaring in his throat. She shifted so she was more within his protective coil as his tail came up to curl around her. His wings were splayed out across the floor and she hesitated before she ran her hand over the delicate membrane.

Something like a hum came out of him, although it was deep and rumbly. A purr? That wasn’t quite it either. She traced the ridges of the bones that stood up and he shivered before he grumbled good-naturedly and pulled them away from her, turning on his side instead with her tucked into the curve of his stomach.

“What? Are you ticklish or something?”

He kicked her lightly with his back claw, pretending it was because he was adjusting, but even in dragon form he had a wicked smirk.

“Fine, keep your secrets. You’ve got like a thousand books on dragons. I’ll figure it out myself.”

She woke as the first rays of light streamed into the open window. Carefully, she extricated herself from the hold he had on her and managed to stand away from him before their bond forced them to switch. He didn’t even move, and if it weren’t for his heavy breathing she would’ve really worried about him.

He made that humming sound again as she settled into place with him, already resigned to using him as a pillow until further notice. But he was comfortable, that hadn’t been a lie. And he was warm. She fell asleep easily, only a minute or two behind him.

***

True to her word, she started in on her research as she let him sleep. And as it turned out, dragons could be ticklish. Hers definitely was. She tucked that knowledge away for the next time he was teasing her.

Her stomach grumbled about mid-morning, so she went out and gathered what she could within the limits of their tether. Based on his reaction yesterday, she didn’t think he’d be too happy if she woke him by yanking at it again. When she climbed back up, he’d shifted to pull his tail in between his claws, but other than that, he was still solidly passed out.

The journal tugged at her curiosity again. Her eyes slid over to him. The little pink forked tips of his tongue were just barely poking out between his lips. Completely out. She couldn’t help but smile. For all that huffing and grumbling he’d done yesterday, he was kind of cute as a dragon.

Still, she didn’t want to sniff around in anything too personal unless he was willing to let her, so she hid it under a few different books and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

When dusk started to steal her light to read by, she snuck out again for food and came back to tuck herself into his coils again. Unconsciously, he tugged her to him and draped his wing over them both, making that humming noise again as his fire flared to life in his chest.

When she woke up ahead of him again for the second day in a row, she really did worry. Was it normal for a dragon to sleep so long? Was it okay that he was? If not, if he was sick, if something was wrong with him, was there even anything she could do?

And just like the other night, as soon as she was curled up against him with his heavy, rhythmic breathing under her, she fell straight asleep.

***

She bent her head back to his books with an entirely different question to answer, keeping an eye on him the entire time, ignoring her grumbling stomach as the sun climbed its way through the sky.

Finally, when the tower was just starting to cast a shadow on the clearing, he groaned and lifted himself up on his claws. He looked around blearily until he found her, then loped over to rest his chin on her shoulder. She pushed back from the table, eyeing the stacks of very flammable paper she’d been leafing through.

“How long was I out?” His voice in her ear made her jump, even though she knew he was there. He straightened up to lay his hand on her shoulder instead.

“Almost two days.”

He hummed in response. It was different from the hum he made as a dragon, but reminded her so strongly of the noise he'd made when she was in his coils that her stomach did an odd little flip. She stood and turned to wrap her arms around his waist and hug him tightly, nuzzling into his shoulder as she did. He stiffened at first, surprised by her gesture, but laid his arm across her shoulders to return the hug.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she grumbled, headbutting him as she did to emphasize her point. “I thought you were actually dying or something.”

He chuckled as he started rubbing her back in comforting circles. “I don’t think I’ve slept like that…” he started, then paused to think. “Ever. I’ve never slept like that before.” He looked down at her in his arms and smiled warmly. “I guess having my savior around really does help.”

Without thinking about it, she reached up to trace the circles under his eyes. As she smoothed the pads of her thumbs over the fragile skin, she couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought they looked lighter. He certainly seemed more relaxed than he had been yesterday.

"I'm glad you got some sleep."

His cheeks warmed under her touch and he reached up to pull her hands away, stepping back as he did. Her blush answered his as she realized she'd been standing maybe a little too close to him. He cleared his throat and looked away, over to the table that was strewn with his books.

"You've been busy."

"Just reading. Catching up, you know."

"Anything interesting?"

She bit her lip as she hesitated. "Well, the one I'm interested in I haven't read yet."

“Which one?”

She pointed to her stack, unwilling to go near the stack of paper and set it aflame, but also unwilling to let go of his hand. He followed her direction and dug through the pile one-handed until he landed on the small leather bound journal.

"I forgot about this thing." He sat in her chair and she kept a hand on his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. "I wanted to learn to read and write. My friend, the one I told you about, he helped me. Although I have to admit I wasn't the best student." He chuckled again as he found a page that was ripped in half. "I had a temper, and a tendency towards tantrums. Honestly he probably taught me more about patience than anything else. Not intentionally, I'm sure, since patience is hardly in his vocabulary."

Watching him flip through the pages, she could see it now, the illegible scrawl morphing itself into letters followed by words. Rips and holes and singed pages where he got frustrated, lessening as he got towards the end.

"Do you care if I look at it?" she asked.

He stiffened for a brief moment before he visibly relaxed and laid it back down on top of her pile. "If you want. There's not much there, really."

"Lukaaaa!" Someone sang from below, loudly enough for it to carry up to them, and terribly off-key.

"Speak of the devil," Luka muttered.

Marinette turned her head to look out the window, but whoever was there was approaching from the other direction.

"Is it your friend?" she asked.

“Come on, you great scaly beast! I know you can hear me, and I haven’t got all day!”

Luka’s lips pressed together into that thin line, but also curved up into a smile. His thumb rubbed against her wrist lightly, apparently taking comfort from their joined hands. As an answer, he tugged her gently towards the stairs, and she followed, wondering who it was that could make him so instantly on edge and excited at the same time.

When they got to the bottom, Luka stopped and turned back to her. “I have to warn you. He can be a little… well, odd. He…” He chuckled, embarrassed, before he continued. “He thinks he can see the future. Or, I don’t know, maybe he actually does, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. If you’re not sure what to say, do this—” He held up his free hand with his thumb tucked over his middle and ring fingers, his index and pinky extended all the way up. She mimicked the gesture and he nodded in satisfaction.

“Perfect. It means…" He paused to think then shook his head. "Okay, honestly, I don’t know what it means. Some sort of music he swears is all the rage in the future."

He stopped and looked at her, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them, and grinned before he took a quick breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth and shook his shoulders as if settling his scales.

"Kid! Where you at? Seriously, you gonna make an old man—"

The voice yelped before a thud resounded through the clearing and Luka hid a snicker behind his hand as he walked out with Marinette onto the stone path.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #mlb fic #LBSC Exchange 2021 #lukanette #lukanette endgame #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #dragon!luka #cursed!marinette #fic title: playing with fire

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djarinvibe · 4 years ago

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Shooting Stars (Din Djarin x F!Reader) Pt. 2

A/N: I apologize this is took so long to get out. Life is mad against me right now and I’m just trying to stay afloat- anyways heres wonderwall...

Warnings: MODERN!AU, mentions of child abuse but not detailed

Words: 3.1K

Summary: Din comes over to help with a project, bringing along someone you didn’t expect.

Master List

October

“I’m sure you're aware as to why I called you into my office…?” Dean Karga’s voice echoed throughout his boring, run-of-the-mill office. You furrowed your brows and shook your head, watching the man in confusion. He sat leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk, mindlessly twirling a pen between his fingers and looking up at you expectantly.

“I am not,” You answered with a chuckle, sitting in one of his guest chairs. The man had summoned you without warning; you had just dismissed your last class of the day when the announcement happened.

“The Halloween Formal…?” The man trailed off in question again. His expression was excited, as he shrugged out his arms with glee, however you still couldn't get a read as to whatever the hell he was getting on about. The Halloween Formal is a dance the school puts on every year; usually organized by a sorority of students and the secretaries working together.

“What about it?” You shook your head in confusion, studying the man's face for any answers. He took his feet off the desk, leaning towards you in his chair with a growing smile.

“I want you to put together the Formal this year.” Karga grinned, arms stretched out in exclamation. You grimaced at the offer, quickly shaking your head.

“Me? What happened to the sorority girls and the secretaries?” You questioned, “Like, a whole team of people?”

“Right,” The Dean sighed, dropping his arms to his lap, “The sorority decided they didn't want to do it this year, and the secretaries agreed... However, Omera suggested you.”

“Or, maybe you could hire an outside source?” You suggested, prompting the man to give you a pursed-lip glare. Also, why would Omera call you out like that? You’ll have to speak to her later.

“It’s not in the budget.” He coyly responded, triggering your eyes to roll. “Look, I’ll give you an extra week of vacation as compensation? I just need someone to plan this damned thing.”

You paused before speaking, casting your arms up in defeat, “Alright, fine. Can I at least recruit some people to help?”

“Yes- But don't tell them about the vacation days…” The Dean quickly spoke, giving you a look. You sighed with a nod, prompting the man to chuckle with glee and clap his hands together; probably ecstatic he didn't have to plan the Formal himself.

The afternoon sun blared into the windows, casting a golden glow across your emptied classroom. A groan passed through your lips as your eyes scanned the list of essential items for the Formal. Your feet anxiously tapped the ground below your desk as you chewed your cheek.

It’s been one week since the Dean gave you the task of planning the Halloween Formal, and honestly, you've got nothing done; your helper hasn't exactly been much help. Omera, who you recruited out of spite, hasn't done her tasks yet leaving you a week behind from where you should be. You would ask Din for help, but it’s his first year here and you honestly don't want to scare him off with such a tedious job.

Ever since his personal introduction in your classroom just a month a few weeks ago, your friendship has blossomed. Never have you gotten along with a new teacher so fast, but you love it. However, you've noticed that he isn't as social with the other teachers. He mostly tends to just hang by himself unless people engage him. It makes you curious as to why he was so eager to introduce himself to you.

A quiet, repeated knock echoed throughout the room, startling you. Chuckling to dismiss your scare, you called for whomever to enter the space.

“Hey,” Din’s low, gravely voice caught your attention, and you looked up to greet the man. He had just closed the door behind him, beginning to pad over to your desk.

“Hi,” You smiled at the man, biting your lip shortly after. He donned his signature gray suit, with dark brown shoes to match. His hair was loose and curly, splaying across his forehead and curling around his ears. You noted his stubble had grown in a bit, appearing more dark against his tan skin.

The two of you haven’t spoken in person for a couple days, as he had gone out of town. He never told you why, and you didn't want to pry either; Though you were very curious. You know that he has an adopted three year old son, and couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with him.

Din mentioned his son to you a few weeks back. The two of you had somehow managed to find yourselves alone in the teachers lounge. You told him your life story, while he remained relatively quiet; but you managed to find out some things about him.

“How have you been?” He questioned, mindlessly grabbing a spare chair from a stack in the corner of the room, which you keep for meetings, and placed it down in front of your desk.

“The usual,” You chuckled lightly, shrugging afterwards. “How were your days off?” You added, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your desk.

“Oh, I just took my son out of town for a couple days.” Din shrugged off your intrigue, clearly not interested in sharing more details.

“I'm jealous, getting out of town sounds like a dream right now.” You sensed the man's hesitation for detail, and began to shift the topic to the Halloween Formal. Grabbing the paper from earlier, you groaned looking at the list.

“The Dean told me about that,” Din chuckled, reaching down and grabbing the to-do list from your grasp. His eyes scanned the paper before he shook his head, handing it back.

“It’s in less than three weeks and I’ve got nothing done.” You groaned, resting your head into your hands. “And my helper, Omera, has been… well, unhelpful.”

You could hear the man across from you release a humor filled snort before he spoke, “I’ll help you.”

Your head raised at his statement, looking at him with hope. “You will?”

“Yeah, you seem like you could use it.” He smirked in return, watching as your whole demeanor changed.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” A sincere grin crossed your cheeks at the statement.

Streaming sunlight illuminated the small living room of your house as you sat on the couch, fingers flipping through papers for the Formal. The TV hung above the fireplace quietly played some show to fill the silence, one you haven’t bothered to pay attention to. The repeating ‘Tik’ of the clock felt like it was pounding at the same beat as your heart.

An anxious sigh passed your lips as you jotted down a note to call some company about DJ-ing the Formal. You are honestly just trying to distract yourself from the nerves in your belly. Friday afternoon, before you left work, Din had suggested he come over to help with planning the Formal on Saturday, which you accepted. You know you should invite Omera over too, as she is the one who got you into this, but you really just want to spend time alone with Din; outside of school.

In all truth, the two of you haven't been alone together save for that rare moment in the teachers lounge, and the small talk you exchange in your classrooms. But you want to get to know him better. The man is mysterious, and rarely speaks unless spoken to. You notice that he hardly interacts with your colleagues, mostly just you or the Dean. It drives your curiosity, how secluded the new teacher is.

A knock at your front door caught your attention, making your stomach drop. Swallowing, you set the papers onto the coffee table and stood up, padding over to the entryway. Pulling open the heavy slab of wood, Din’s handsome face came into view as he stood on your porch. However what you weren't expecting was his three year old son to be in his grasp. The child was asleep, his small face tucked into Din’s neck.

“Hi,” You whispered breathlessly, stepping aside to let him in. He gave you a half grin and a nod as he tread inside, setting his satchel onto the couch.

“Sorry to bring him, my sitter dropped.” Din’s voice softened when he spoke about his son, “Is there somewhere he can sleep?”

“Oh, of course, there's a guest bedroom down the hall and to the left.” You whispered, pointing to the area. Your colleague thanked you silently before disappearing into the bedroom.

You took the moment to compose yourself, puttering around the living room. You spent the entire morning cleaning, but still couldn’t help yourself from straightening a few items while waiting for his return. When his footsteps finally echoed back down the hall, you settled.

“Sorry, again.” He apologized quietly, grabbing his satchel from it’s spot on the couch and sitting down.

“Please, don’t apologize, he’s allowed to be here,” You chuckled, dismissing his apology with a wave of your hand. The man thanked you with a soft nod, opening up the bag in his lap and pulling out a small binder.

Din quickly jumped into work mode, focusing on the project at hand. The conversation died, both of you choosing to stay in silence as you worked on planning. Though you felt more inclined to remain silent due to his silence. The butterflies still haven't left your stomach, every time he would shuffle or clear his throat, they regained activity.

It felt silly to be so flustered over a man you’ve barely met and is also a colleague. There have been moments where your breath has literally caught in your throat at his sight. Someone even caught you doing it last week. You were walking by his classroom during your free period and couldn’t stop yourself from halting in front of his door and watching him teach through the small door window. It wasn’t until a student noticed you watching did you scurry along, heat radiating from your cheeks.

Omera was aware of your crush, having spoken to you about him multiple times since the morning he started. Whenever she sees the man around school, she finds the time to gossip about it later.

It’s endearing that she’s invested, but sometimes you avoided her around campus for that very reason. You love the woman, but recently she’s been driving you crazy. Hence, why you didn't invite her over; besides your want to spend an afternoon alone with Din.

“Did you call the DJ yet?” Din’s low voice caused you to jump slightly, interrupting the silence that shrouded your living room. The two of you had remained quiet for about half an hour now, merely making small talk about the Formal here and there.

It’s frustrating however; you want to get to know more about him, like, for example, where did he move from? And what did he do before teaching? Also, you had questions about his son, like his name, and if there is a mother figure in the picture? Yet, you can't seem to get the questions to form.

“No, not yet.” You answered with a slight chuckle, dismissing the scare. You could feel his eyes studying the side of your face, only making the heat return to your cheeks.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” You then asked, setting aside the papers in your hand and standing up from the couch. Din shook his head, and you gave him a curt nod before stepping into the kitchen, out of his eyesight. Taking a deep breath to release the tension in your shoulders, you grabbed a glass from the cupboard before filling it with water. However, just as you were about to take a sip, you felt a slight tug on the bottom of your pants. Looking down, you met the sight of Din’s son.

He is adorable, to say the least. He wore a little green, knitted beanie with bunny-like ears sticking out side to side, and was dressed in a tan jacket that was long enough to cover his body down to his feet. He looked up at you with dark brown eyes filled with tears, his bottom lip trembled as he was on the verge of crying.

Without a second thought, you set down the glass of water and picked the boy up into your grasp. He immediately tucked his face into your neck, little sniffles sounding from his throat. Rubbing his back, you made your way back to the living room.

“Uh, Din?” You questioned, causing the man to turn around. His eyes widened for a second when he realized his son was in your arms, before jumping up and making his way over.

“What’re you doing up?” Din questioned, peeling the boy from your chest and settling him in his arms. The small child only sniffled instead of answering, pulling at your heart. The man didn't say a word, only holding his son tighter while tucking his head against his chest. He mouthed a silent ‘Sorry’ before turning on his heel and sitting on the couch.

Following timidly, you bit your lip unsure what to do. Truth be told, you don't have much experience with young kids. Young teens and up? No problem. Elementary age and down? Well… you teach college for a reason. Growing up, you didn't have any cousins who were around. Your family lived across the country from your aunts and uncles; and to make it worse, you are an only child. Needless to say, you're not much help in the babysitting department.

“Um, is there anything I can do?” You questioned, watching the man stroke his child's back soothingly. A pang formed in your belly as you thought about him doing that same thing with you, but instead cuddled in bed talking about your day.

“No. Thank you, though.” Din murmured, his dark eyes greeting your own for a moment. You nodded, joining him once again on the couch. Focusing back on your work, you figured that was easier than fawning over the man soothing his child. Even though you struggle with children, it’s hard to not be attracted to a man taking care of one.

A quiet hum sounded from the man adjacent you, filling the silence of the room. Swallowing dryly, you tried your best to look at the paper in your hand, however his voice was too distracting. It sounded like a melody, one a parent would sing to soothe their distraught child. His low alto added warmth to the tune, and your chest.

“I’m going to get a drink.” You quickly cleared your throat, standing up from the couch. You heard the man mumble something, but didn’t quiet catch what it was as you made your way to the separate space. Approaching the cupboard, you grabbed a glass before hastily filling it with water and taking a sip.

Taking a deep breath, your eyes turned to look at the back of Din’s head. Butterflies stormed your stomach at the sight of his son’s head tucked into his neck; the boy’s green beanie acting as a pillow. The faint sound of his humming could still be heard from the kitchen, but it wasn’t as overwhelming from a distance.

You finish the full glass before returning to the living room, deciding it was best to let Din get his son back to sleep; and to slow your beating heart. You don’t realize how much time had passed, but you notice that Din has stopped humming, Instead replaced by little snores coming from the child snoozing in his lap.

“I’m sorry about the kid.” The man whispered once you sat down.

“I already told you it’s okay,” You cleared your throat, looking back towards him. He remained silent, his eyes cast down towards the child.

“I’m still new to all of this.” The man chuckled, but you could still read the uncertainty in his voice. He is a new father, which is scary by itself, but he’s doing it all alone.

“Can I ask… What made you decide to adopt?” You formed the question carefully, unsure of how to articulate without your curiosity sounding like a jackass.

The man was quiet for moment before he finally spoke, “It kind of just happened.” He began, “Before working at the university, I was a bounty hunter. I mostly brought in criminals who had debts, traveling around the country in an old RV. Then, I got an odd job. I was tasked with finding a child and returning him to the client…” Din trailed off afterwards, his hand protectively settling on his son’s back. “They were going to kill him... I couldn’t allow it.”

“Oh,” You murmured, studying the side of the mans face as he stared down at the boy. It’d harded over the course of the story, voiding all emotion, the happening clearly still weighing heavy on his heart.

“He’s gone mute from the torture they put him through.” Din added, his gaze greeting yours once again. A stale sheen of tears stained the bottom of his eyes, but he was quick to blink them away once you noticed. Your chest clenched at his words, sorrow filling your throat as you looked at the sleeping child. Three years old... and to have faced such horrors…

“I fled with the kid after that. We’ve hidden a few places, but we ended up here back in August.” Din paused, catching your attention once again. “Greef hired me as the Astronomy teacher, aware of my situation. He’s an old friend.” His eyes held a shimmer of hope, though it was dim. Him entrusting you with this information felt exhilarating, but to hear of such things existing in the world seemed unbelievable. And who would have to heart to harm a child? No matter, you felt the need to aid him and protect his son.

“Din, I-” You paused to swallow, his soft, brown eyes peering into your own, “You can trust me.” You finished, reaching across the couch and gently placing your hand on top of his own. The warmth of his hands mixed with the cool touch of your own felt electric, sending your heart into a frenzy. The man didn’t respond, instead he adjusted your hands so your fingers intertwined.

“Thank you.” His voice was low, filled with sincere emotion. You didn’t dare look up into his eyes, afraid of sending your heart into overload, but you felt them peering at the side of your face. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

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

TAGLIST: @snow30285 @mack4676 @remmysbounty Thank you for reading!! <3 <3 <3

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction

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passionate-reply · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

In this installment of Great Albums, we’re back to talking about albums nobody’s ever heard of! You might not know who Zaine Griff is, but you’ve probably heard of a guy called Hans Zimmer, and Zimmer is the real mastermind of this record: a masterpiece of New Romantic synth-pop made long before he made his name composing for the big screen! Not to mention contributions from Ultravox’s Warren Cann, YMO’s Yukihiro Takahashi, and even Kate Bush. Find out all about it by watching this video, or reading the full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today’s installment is going to feature an album that is most definitely towards the obscure side--but, like most of the more obscure artists and albums I’ve talked about, I think this one is every bit as good as the classics. Zaine Griff’s Figures is not only a forgotten album that I think deserves more acclaim, but also an album that, in many ways, feels like it could have been a huge success in its own time.

Zaine Griff grew up in New Zealand, and moved to Great Britain in the 1970s in the hopes of pursuing a career in music. His debut LP, 1980’s Ashes & Diamonds, would mark him as one of the many artists straddling the musical landscape in the aftermath of glam, in the long shadow of David Bowie. With keen visual panache, a suave way of slurring when he sang, and the requisite killer cheekbones, Griff fit in perfectly with the so-called “New Romantics,” as stylish and sophisticated as Visage, Ultravox, or Japan.

Music: “Ashes & Diamonds”

The real turning point in Griff’s career was his being “discovered,” so to speak, by Hans Zimmer and Warren Cann. Cann had already become a figure of some renown, as the percussionist for the aforementioned Ultravox. Despite his tremendous fame today, Zimmer actually had much less to show for himself at this point, aside from a somewhat dodgy stint in the Buggles. While geniuses in their own ways, neither of them were necessarily natural frontmen, and Zaine Griff seemed like the perfect missing piece to fit into their pop ambitions.

Even setting aside Zimmer and Cann, Figures is actually full of recognizable talent, and I think it may have the single most stacked list of album credits I’ve ever seen in my life! You’ll also hear contributions from Yellow Magic Orchestra’s Yukihiro Takahashi, backing vocals from Linda Jardim, who was also the soprano on the Buggles’ famous “Video Killed the Radio Star,” and a guest appearance by none other than Kate Bush. That’s really a lot of clout going around, which is one of the reasons I’m so surprised this album went nowhere. Anyway, that aside, the most dominant sonic footprint on display here is certainly that of Hans Zimmer. Zimmer is credited with producing the album, and his dynamic, expressive, perhaps “cinematic” work with digital synthesisers is surely the driving force behind Figures’s sound.

Music: “Fahrenheit 451”

It’s easy to imagine “Fahrenheit 451” is the thumping theme to some delightfully 80s adaptation of Ray Bradbury’s classic novel. Its theme of lustful but dangerous romance is a constant throughout the album, most notably on tracks like “Hot” and the haunting closer, “The Beating of Wings.” The song’s tense and dramatic mood is well bolstered by those soaring synths, courtesy of the Fairlight CMI. One of the most distinctive sounds of mid-80s synth-pop, the soft, breathy tones of the Fairlight hadn’t yet reached full saturation when Figures was made--Zimmer was an early adopter of this particular musical revolution. You might be surprised to learn that “Fahrenheit 451” only saw minor distribution as a single, exclusively for the French and Belgian markets. I think that sort of mismanagement on behalf of Polydor really shafted this album. Its lead single was actually its title track.

Music: “Figures”

The title track of Figures isn’t the worst song I’ve ever heard, but I do think it just might be the worst song on this album. With a strident, stabbing synth riff and a somewhat sparse and anemic soundstage, the title track is not particularly exciting, and also not particularly representative of what the rest of the album sounds like, with no indication of the lush and vibrant textures that dominate tracks like “Fahrenheit 451.” It also has less lyrics than the other tracks, and offers Griff little opportunity to demonstrate his pipes. Thematically, though, its imagery of wispy and mysterious personas, flitting in and out of substance in a world where appearance and identity are trifling and ephemeral, is something that resonates strongly with the album as a whole, as one might surmise from its title also being used for the album. “The Vanishing Men,” another song that easily feels like a better single than “Figures,” handles the same sort of subject in a more playful and upbeat manner.

Music: “The Vanishing Men”

The titular “vanishing men” are quite clearly the life of the party here, and in the world of this track, the insignificance of true identity is portrayed as an invitation to experiment and have fun with it--though not without a slight hint of danger as well. Perhaps it’s a good metaphor for the curated aestheticism of the New Romantic movement, decried by some as “style over substance.” New Romanticism really didn’t have much time left by the time *Figures* came out, being so strongly associated with trends in fashion that were on their way out by this point. Even Ultravox would find themselves pivoting towards more of a pop rock-oriented sound for their final classic lineup LP, 1984’s Lament. I can’t help but think that the changing landscape of musical trends is part of the poor reception of Figures, which is such a consummate New Romantic album, which basks in the full flush of the movement’s prior penetration into the mainstream. As stated above, “The Vanishing Men” is all about the glamour of mutable identity, but other tracks on the album seem to assign this theme a bit more weight, as in “The Stranger.”

Music: “The Stranger”

The titular character of “The Stranger” is described as “a stranger to himself,” but also “no stranger to anyone else.” This track seems to be more focused on the negative aspects of fashionable persona-play: losing the dignity and security of a true form, the people around you seeing through your charades, and becoming trapped in an existence defined by arbitrariness and artificiality. I’d also be remiss not to mention this track’s winsome pentatonic synth riff, which helps create a mercurial and ambiguous mood. It might be interpreted as a nod towards the rampant Orientalism of New Romantic music, which ran with the early 80s verve for all things Asian, and wasn’t shy about appropriating “Asiatic” musical motives like pentatonic scales to evoke mystery and wonder. Griff and friends’ use of such here is relatively subtle, though, and perhaps a bit more tactful than how many of their contemporaries approached other musical ideas associated with the East.

The unforgettable cover of Figures is as dramatic and infused with capital-R Romantic sentiment as the music contained within. Above the text relating the artist and title, which uses a V for a U for a touch of the classical, we see Griff splayed dramatically in a pond of lilies. With sharp makeup that emphasizes his lips, and a diaphanous, blousy top that turns translucent in the water, he seems to be the perfect tragic hero of some lost work of Shakespeare’s--complete with another flower stylishly pinned to his chest. As I mentioned before, Figures is an album that rides the wave of New Romanticism particularly hard, and I think its cover is yet another symptom of those sensibilities.

Speaking of Shakespeare, I can’t help but want to compare this image with a famous painting of one of Shakespeare’s best-known characters: Ophelia, by Sir John Everett Millais. Painted in the early 1850s, Millais’s Ophelia depicts the moment where Ophelia, driven mad by Hamlet’s romantic rejection of her, drowns herself in a river. It’s exactly the kind of story of wild, passionate, and doomed love portrayed on tracks like “Fahrenheit 451.” Ophelia is also associated strongly with flowers in the text, and features in a particularly memorable scene where she doles out various symbolic blossoms to members of the royal court. Besides the affinity of subject matter, even the composition of Millais’s work resembles the cover of Figures, contrasting its subject’s pale skin with the dark and murky natural surrounds, and emphasizing the drapery of their wettened attire. Ophelia is often considered the definitive masterpiece of the short-lived art movement, the “Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,” who, as their name implies, sought to recapture the intuitive, colourful, and emotive power of art created prior to the High Renaissance. Not unlike New Romanticism, the Pre-Raphaelite movement would crumble after only a few years, but not without leaving behind a trail of masterpieces that would continue to inspire future artists and admirers, far removed from their own time.

After the release of Figures, Zaine Griff remained involved with Hans Zimmer and Warren Cann, and, as the supergroup “Helden,” they embarked on an even more ambitious musical opus together: Spies, a sort of synth-pop oratorio about immortal Nazi super-spies falling in love in a futuristic dystopia. Spies is about as out-there as it sounds, and brings the flamboyant musical excess of Figures into a suitably theatrical setting. It’s also got nearly as star-studded of a cast as Figures, featuring not only Zimmer, Cann, and Jardim again, but also Eddie Maelov of Eddie & Sunshine as a mad scientist, and the enigmatic French electro-cabaret chanteuse Ronny, in the role of a super-computer with a sultry female voice. Griff portrays one of the titular immortal spies, known only as “The Stranger”--which, of course, begs comparison to the track of the same name on Figures, and prompts the question, to what extent was Spies already in the works when *Figures* was being written and recorded?

Music: “The Ball”

We all know the rest of the story for Hans Zimmer, who began working with music for film in the mid-1980s, such as the queer cult classic My Beautiful Laundrette. But Zaine Griff obviously never became a household name. Despite being finished in 1983, Spies never got to see an official release, as it was a bit too out there for a label to take a chance on at the time, and it would probably be lost media today if it weren’t for a vinyl bootleg that’s thankfully fairly easy to find online. Griff decided to retire from music shortly after this, and recounts a story of having walked past an extremely talented street musician, and having a sort of epiphany about just how hard it was to make it in music. After all, if a true virtuoso could end up busking on the street, how fair and rewarding could the industry possibly be? Disillusioned with the world of pop, Griff returned to his native New Zealand and got a day job as a golf instructor. More recently, though, he’s also released several new solo albums in the 2010s, surprisingly enough, and attempted to push forward into some very contemporary-sounding pop rock. The world is, of course, a very different place nowadays than it was in the 20th Century, and particularly in the world of music distribution, so perhaps it makes sense that our brave new world has room in it for someone like Zaine Griff to return.

My overall favourite track on Figures is probably “Time Stands Still,” which I think is perhaps the most accessible, pop-friendly track to be had on the album, and the one I would’ve released as the lead single had I worked for Polydor. With a big hook and simple, repetitive lyrics, it’s a true pop song through and through--though, if an artist releases a commercial-sounding album in the woods, and nobody is around to buy it, is it still really “pop?” Anyway, I also love this track’s delightful outro, imitating a skipping record to represent a freeze in the flow of time...though I admit it’s a lot less harrowing to hear when listening digitally! That’s all I have for today--thanks for listening.

Music: “Time Stands Still”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #zaine griff #new romantic #ultravox #warren cann #hans zimmer

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radramblog · 4 years ago

Text

Every Boros Commander, Part 1

Every one of these rambles is going to be longer and nerdier than the last, I guess. We’ll see how long I can keep that up for.

If you aren’t or haven’t been at least a casual fan of Magic: The Gathering, this post is going to be completely lost on you, sorry.

Oh also I’m having to split this in half since it took basically all afternoon to write and its still juuuust not done.

Boros gets a lot of shit for being bad and having bad generals for EDH until recently, and seeing as its my favourite two-colour pair I felt like exploring, well, every option we have for the combo. I’m excluding the new Commander Legends partner commanders in this, since I don’t have all day, and I’m also not covering Akiri and Bruse Tarl since no-one ever builds just Boros with them, and I’m not including 3-5 colour decks that just happen to have red and white in them. That’s not Boros.

Boros’s strengths are in manipulating combat, in tokens, and with Voltron strategies. It is the best pair for Equipment decks and top tier for Aggressive decks, to the point of being arguably shoehorned by WOTC into such strategies for a long time. Its weaknesses are mostly to do with card draw and ramp, possibly the most important things in a casual game of Commander, but the former is alleviated by many of red’s recent card draw options and the latter easily supplemented with mana rocks- if you have enough money, any deck can have good ramp, but enough budget options exist these days that it isn’t too bad even for the “worst colors”.

Anyway, enough beating around the bush lets get into this. Going in Chronological order.

Agrus Kos, Wojek Veteran (29th most played as of writing)

…It seriously took until Ravnica to get a legendary RW creature? Heinous. Cool as Agrus is as protagonist of the Ravnica novel, his card simply does not hold up in 2021, let alone beforehand. He’s a Glorious Anthem style commander, except he works best only with creatures that are both red and white, and not nearly enough cards produce multicolored tokens for him to boost. Oh, also he’s a 5 mana 3/3 with no protection or evasion that has to attack to get his effect. Save it for the novel.

Razia, Boros Archangel (30th most played as of writing, the last place finalist)

Speaking of Ravnica. Razia is fucking cool, between the art and unique, if underwhelming, activated ability. She is also 8 mana and not green. She is the only commander to my knowledge that can redirect damage to opponents’s creatures, so if that’s the deck you want to build, go for it, though enjoy the distressingly small cardpool. God, they couldn’t have given her an extra power, could they?

Brion Stoutarm (6th most played as of writing)

Brion is the first actually viable commander of the bunch, being a pretty decent head to either a Fling deck with Ball Lightnings or Acts of Treason, or just Giant Tribal with his Lorwyn compatriots. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or played against Brion yet, but I’d be interested in doing so. Having lifegain in the command zone with a deck that likes throwing damage around is pretty nice. It’s surprising that he’s still so high, especially considering EDHREC (my data source) only now pulls from the last 2 years of decks, but I’m certainly not sad to see him there.

Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer (19th most played as of writing)

Spoilers: Jor is actually the best Anthem commander. +3/+0 is huge, and when most of your ramp and some of your draw is artifacts you’re not going to have a hard time getting metalcraft. 5 mana is a fair chunk for an aggressive deck but he turns the damage output up enough notches that I think he’s pretty good. Underrated in my opinion. How are there more Tajic, Legion’s Edge decks than Jor Kadeen decks?

Basandra, Battle Seraph (24th most played as of writing)

Basandra is the head of my current Boros deck, being a pillowfort/combat manipulation deck. She’s, uh, not ideal in that even, since she stops even you from casting removal and such during combat. Having an extra must attack effect in the zone is nice, though, and a flying commander can be nice for closing games out. Basandra at least has the gift of being fairly open-ended, but also, she doesn’t really do anything, so that’s probably got something to do with it.

On a side note, fuck you Terese Nielsen for turning out to be a cunt. No-one else seems to have drawn this character, so I can’t even make an alter. Fuck.

Gisela, Blade of Goldnight (10th most played as of writing)

Gisela has a lot of very attractive words on her. Unfortunately, 7 mana and that ability means that as soon as you drop her out of the zone, you better use her quick because she isn’t sticking around long. Obviously lends herself to group slug or Earthquake decks, but the former paints an even bigger target on your head and the latter is even mana hungrier than normal. I prefer her in the 99.

Aurelia, the Warleader (5th most played as of writing)

Aurelia was the “best” Boros commander for a long time, and it’s easy to see why- haste and an extra combat trigger add up to a lot of damage very quickly and it’s not like there was much competition for a while. She’s actually the only one of the top 5 Boros commanders that wasn’t printed in the last 5 years, so I guess she’s stood the test of time, much like Brion. I’d argue she’s pretty boring though, seeing as she has the one thing she does, but she does it well and there’s no faulting her for that. She’s the closest we have to r/custommagic’s favourite “double combat triggers” legend. A lot of people seem to run her as Angel Tribal too, which of the available Angels in the zone I’d argue that’s a pretty good shout. The Red/Boros Angels are fun!

Tajic, Blade of the Legion (20th most played as of writing)

The first on this list I’d consider playing as Voltron, Tajic’s first card is indestructible which as a former Sapling of Colfenor player is fucking excellent in the zone for when you have to play defensively. He does, however, require other creatures in the deck to truly shine, and you do have to have those creatures attack, so it can be awkward to get the most out of him. He’s a cool dude though, much better than his other card imo.

Anax and Cymede (23rd most played as of writing)

The first draft I ever played was a Born of the Gods draft in which I splashed Anax and Cymede. Clearly, I had no idea what I was doing. Anax and Cymede look a lot like Tajic in deck, to be honest, since they’re creatures that like having buffs but also want other creatures around to benefit. Heroic is kind of an awkward requirement, however, and I suspect you’d be spending more time just having it as a buff for the royals themselves. Its nice to see a loving married couple as a Magic card, though, I’m sure things will be good for them always.

Iroas, God of Victory (9th most played as of writing)

Somehow despite it being common in the 99 of aggressive decks, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Iroas deck in my local metas. I think it has the potential to be pretty powerful, since if you can meet his (admittedly harsh) requirement he’s an indestructible evasive commander with that magical 7 power making commander damage a 3HKO. And when he’s not ready to rumble, he’s nigh impossible to kill on account of the limited targeted enchantment exile people tend to play in the format. Otherwise, he makes attacking free and bountiful for other creatures, and so is just kinda good to have around- I can see running him for that alone.

Munda, Ambush Leader (27th most played as of writing)

Somehow more people are playing Munda than Razia or Agrus, despite being just the worst commander with Ally in the text (outside the type line, love you Zada) and not doing actual anything outside of that. Why the fuck doesn’t he draw the cards? Why does he just stack them? God, Munda sucks. Also I have like 3 of them, since I drafted a lot of that deck in that environment and people just pass him around. Anyone want one? Be my guest.

Kalemne, Disciple of Iroas (11th most played as of writing)

Precon face commanders always get a bit more love and a bit more power than the average legend, and Kalemne is no exception. Double Strike in the zone on a creature that gets bigger is just nuts, and it means she kills people astonishingly quickly. Even my non-voltron Kalemne deck that just wanted to play big idiots had her as a huge threat since even if she gets killed she stays big. Kalemne also happens to be probably better for Giant tribal than Brion, though he does at least get to yeet those removal magnets if they do get removed.

Anya, Merciless Angel (26th most played as of writing)

I didn’t think Anya would be this low. While she is another indestructible commander, it is conditional, and her abilities are self-sabotaging- if someone is in range of being killed by her, you’re probably not going to want to attack them just so you can keep indestructible and buffs, but you also, yknow, want to kill them. I can see her being political in this way though- keeping someone alive with her swords at their throat can have some fun implications. I think shes underrated despite her awkwardness.

Archangel Avacyn (14th most played as of writing)

(Her colour identity is RW since her other face is a red creature. It’s a bit odd, I know)

Avacyn was fucking unbeatable in draft and obnoxious in Standard (though one of my favourite magic stories involves her, so,), and since I never managed to get one for Kalemne when that deck was around I have no real love for her. She’s generically powerful without leading in a particular direction, but her flip ability is pretty cool as is her story in the set. It’s OK. Also why do people keep putting her in Angel decks? You know she doesn’t flip off those, right?

Adriana, Captain of the Guard (22nd most played as of writing)

Adriana, Adriana. I didn’t dislike Adriana as much as I did until I actually did the math on her. Typical commander games are 4-player, so she is a +3/+3 anthem at maximum assuming you have good attacks on every single opponent and that none of them are dead yet. I’m really not sure why you’d play this over Jor Kadeen, and it looks like people aren’t, so. Melee was a fun mechanic in draft, but I completely understand why it hasn’t crossed over, ever, to other formats, seeing as there are 7 total cards with it and most of them are draft chaff. CONTINUED IN PART 2...ANOTHER DAY. PROBABLY SOON SINCE IT’S 2/3 DONE ALREADY.

#mtg #commander #edh #ramble #boros #fuck you adriana

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recurring-polynya · 5 years ago

Note

In WDKALY, literally no one - sans Orihime - was surprised about RenRuki announcing their engagement. I would love to read a fic where they think they're being subtle and sneaky about their PDA around Soul Society but in reality, they were... not.

This one was a lot of fun. 😈

🩹 🩹 🩹

Hanatarou checked his patient list, and sighed. He liked Lieutenant Abarai perfectly well as a friend, but as a patient, he was awful. On one hand, at least he bothered even coming to the Fourth, unlike most alumni of the Eleventh. On the other, Hanatarou wasn’t sure why the man even bothered, since he always tried to leave again, immediately, and never followed his care instructions, unless--

“Lieutenant Abarai, may I come in?” he called.

“It’s your damn hospital,” Abarai’s gruff voice called back.

“We don’t like to surprise our patients, especially the ones who have concussions,” Hanatarou explained cheerfully, stepping around the divider. “Oh, Rukia’s here!” That ought to make this go a lot easier.

“My brother asked me to stop in and see how this dingus was doing,” Rukia excused. “I was just going.”

“Please stay,” Hanatarou begged. “You’re the only one who can get him to take his pain medicine.”

Abarai made an offended face. “Now, see here--” he blustered.

“Really?” Rukia hooted. “This mother hen?”

“Is he?” Hanatarou asked mildly.

“You mean you’ve never seen him fussing over…” Rukia trailed off, “his subordinates?” she finished quickly.

Hanatarou scratched his head. “I suppose there was the time you brought Rikichi in with that cut on his hand.”

“I had told him to rub some dirt on it,” Renji muttered, “and the dummy mashed a bunch of gravel into it. I felt bad so I dragged him over here. Man, that kid can bawl.”

“Who doesn’t know how to rub dirt on a wound?” Rukia scoffed.

“The Fourth does not encourage ‘rubbing dirt’ on wounds,” Hanatarou disclaimed patiently. “Speaking of which, you have a concussion, Lieutenant Abarai. I stopped the internal bleeding, but you need to take one of these pills every eight hours for the next 48. You must get some rest. You can stay here at the Fourth, or, if you have someone who can come stay with you and check in with your every few hours to make sure you don’t slip into a coma, you may go home.”

Renji swung his legs over the side of his bed. “I will go home.”

“Who is going to check on you?” Hanatarou asked, his pen poised over his clipboard. “I will need their contact information.” His eyes slid over to Rukia.

Rukia held up her hands defensively. “Whoa! I’m only here because my brother wanted to know if his adjutant had succumbed to his wounds or not, I’m not--”

“You do realize that Captain Kuchiki is the one who gave him the concussion, right?” Hanatarou pointed out. “He brought Renji in.”

“Why did you let me go on like that?” Rukia hissed, jabbing Renji in the ribs with an elbow.

“Write down Rikichi,” Renji announced. “You know his number.”

Hanatarou raised one eyebrow. “I am going to check in on you, you know. Do you want me to call Rikichi in eight hours?”

Renji’s eyes slid over to the side. “Call Rukia,” he mumbled. “But write down Rikichi.”

📁 📁 📁

Sentarou carefully made his way down the hall, trying really, really hard not to spill the huge stack of papers in his arms. At some point, there had been a tiny hope in his heart that Captain Kyouraku’s promotion might mean a slight reduction in the level of bureaucracy, but his fantasies had failed to account for Lieutenant Ise accompanying him to the First. Poor Lieutenant Kuchiki was handling both the captain’s and vice-captain’s paperwork, she was probably exhausted.

Usually, Rukia kept her door open, but it was closed at the moment. Sentarou wondered if she was taking a nap (not that he would blame her), so he knocked softly on the doorframe. There was a scuffle and a thump, and then an “Er, yes?”

“Lieutenant, it’s 3rd Seat Kotsubaki! Got some paperwork for you! Is now a good time?”

“Ahh… just a sec...”

There was more scuffling, the creak of the window that always stuck a bit in its frame, and a louder thump. Rukia suddenly threw the shoji open, looking a bit wild-eyed, with a too-big grin on her face. “Wow! That’s a lot of paperwork,” she managed, her smile turning stiff.

“Here, I’ll bring it right in,” Sentarou said, and Rukia scampered back toward her desk, and kicked something under it.

Sentarou started laying the paperwork out in piles. “Some of these forms are new. Apparently, Lieutenant Ise is getting creative.”

“Urgh,” Rukia groaned.

“Here are the templates for the big damage assessments we’re supposed to turn in next month,” Sentarou said, taking a smaller pile off the top, and setting it aside. “Here is a clearance application you need to fill out, so you can be included in captains’ briefings. Here are the change of address forms that we need to pass out to anyone who is in temporary housing.”

Rukia ran her fingers through her hair and made a horrified face. Her hair was pretty mussed up on one side, she’d probably been doing that all morning. Sentarou couldn’t imagine all the bullshit she must be putting up with these days.

“Ha ha, that’s the face I made, too,” Sentarou laughed. “Let me know which of these you want me to take care of.”

“Well, you can pass out the housing forms, but these are really my responsibility.”

“You just seem pretty overwhelmed, that’s all. You’re only one person,” Sentarou pointed out reasonably. “And you don’t need to fake it in front of me, you know. You’re hardly the only captain who takes naps in their office.”

“Nap…?” Rukia looked confused for a moment, then slapped herself in the forehead. “Oh, gosh, yes, you caught me!”

Sentarou chuckled, and pulled the next chunk of papers off the stack. “Resumes for transfer applicants. There are more than I expected… probably people hoping to make seats, I suppose.” He was running out of space on Rukia’s desk, and he had to take a few steps over to find an empty spot. He stepped on something soft and bent down to pick it up. “You must have dropped your...” he said, examining the thing in his hand. “...Bandana? Is that what this is?”

Rukia snatched it out of his hand and without looking at it, tossed it out the window. “Don’t know how that got in here, never seen it before in my life.”

A hand shot up and grabbed the bandana out of the air before disappearing again.

Sentarou gave Rukia a very judgemental look. “I was only going to say it looked an awful lot like the one Lieutenant Abarai wears. You know. Your friend. Who leaves crap lying around you office all the time.”

“Oh. Maybe,” Rukia shrugged.

“I do not!” a voice wafted in from outside.

☕ ☕ ☕

“You headed back?” Momo asked Renji as they were leaving the Lieutenants’ meeting. “We need to talk about that joint exercise our squads doing next week.”

“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Renji replied absently, which was a little odd, since he had dropped off a three inch binder full of “some ideas I had” the day before. “Are you busy this afternoon? If I can come over this afternoon, I’ll bring you a coffee.”

Momo frowned. The new Living World coffee place Renji was into was all the way down by the Thirteenth. Also, he had a cup of coffee sitting right in front of him. “I mean, we’re walking back,” she pressed. “Can’t we just talk about it now?”

“I gotta talk to Rukia about some, um, Kuchiki stuff,” Renji jerked a thumb at Rukia, who was sitting next to him.

Rukia took a sip of Renji’s coffee and regarded Momo with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah,” she said when she had finished “Kuchiki stuff.”

“I want a caramel latte and a scone,” Momo jabbed a finger at Renji.

His face brightened immediately. “Deal! See you then!” Momo regarded him with narrowed eyes, before calling, “Hey, Izuru, Shuuhei, wait up!”

She was halfway back to the Fifth when she realized she had forgotten her notebook, and had to dash frantically back to the First. As she shoved open the shoji to the meeting room, Rukia very abruptly thumped her elbow down on the table, shoving her hair out of her face with her other hand. Renji’s chair fell over backwards.

“Are you two still here?” Momo asked, picking up her notebook.

“Very complicated Kuchiki stuff,” Renji called from the floor.

“Very complicated,” Rukia concurred.

🌸 🌸 🌸

“You wished to see me, Brother?” Rukia appeared in the doorway of Byakuya’s office at the manor.

“Good morning, Rukia. You are looking very lovely.”

Rukia smiled and cast her eyes down. Byakuya knew very well she was on her way to a festival downtown. She did look lovely in her brightly colored kimono and jeweled hairpins, but it was more than that. There was a certain… energy… about Rukia lately. Much like himself, Rukia’s default facial expression had once been a sort of unamused glower. Lately, though, she often wore a faraway smile, as though she were remembering an amusing story someone had told her at some earlier occasion. She was more talkative, more cheerful, but it was underlaid with a sort of serenity, a sense that all was right with the Soul Society.

“Thank you, Brother,” she replied, her cheeks flushing a very becoming pink.

“As you know, the manor is very large, especially for only two residents,” Byakuya started off, gazing out the doorway toward the gardens. “There are many odd corners of it, closed off hallways, etc. I am sure you have… poked around from time to time.”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed a darker pink. “I… er…”

Byakuya waved a hand. “As you are perfectly welcome to! This is your home. They are only packed away to avoid the need for cleaning and to preserve the furniture.”

“Oh,” Rukia replied, looking a little confused as to why he would be bringing this up.

“I did, however, want to mention, in particular, the lower engawa that permits access to the sunken garden. It is quite difficult to reach. The main access had to be blocked when the wine cellar was remodeled a few decades ago. There are still ways to get there, of course. It is attached to an old guest room, and the servant’s passages can still be accessed through the root cellar in the kitchens.”

“Hmm!” Rukia nodded.

“One could also theoretically… jump down from the balcony directly above it, which is an unused pottery studio that belonged to my grandmother.” Byakuya rubbed his chin, recalling the way one had to sort of swing a little before one dropped down, otherwise, one might land directly in his grandmother’s prize roses, which had rather notable thorns.

“Seems quite a bother,” Rukia observed airily.

“It is a rather nice spot,” Byakuya pointed out. “The way it is situated under the house gives quite a bit of privacy. It is nearly invisible if one does not know where to look for it. The flowers in the sunken garden are very fragrant, and in fine weather, it permits lovely breezes. There is… a downside, though.”

Rukia stared at Byakuya. Byakuya let his gaze return to his sister.

“A peculiarity of the manor’s construction causes any noise from that engawa to be funnelled-- perhaps even amplified-- up… here,” he waved his hand vaguely around the study.

Rukia’s face was darkening from a delicate shade of pink to a ripe crimson.

“So any, say...conversations... one might have there are… not as private as one might think.”

“I… see,” Rukia squeaked.

Byakuya felt a strong twinge of sympathy for his sister. He knew he did not need to continue, but for the first time in his life, he felt the desire to engage in a bit of sibling solidarity. “Rukia,” he said.

“Yes, Brother?”

“The reason I know this, Rukia…. is because this used to be our grandfather’s study.”

Rukia’s countenance abruptly turned from red to white as all the blood drained from her face. She looked rather like a daikon.

Byakuya took a deep breath, and looked out at the garden once again. “You have probably noticed that the tea house in the garden is fairly modern. It was built for my mother, in fact, who found the old one to be difficult to get to. The previous one was built before the hedge maze grew into its current glory. It’s still back there, you know, and in fairly good repair. A great deal of morning glory has grown up around it, and it is rather small and drafty, but it’s very charming. He tapped his finger on his chin. “There is some storage, you know, if one wished to keep, say a blanket, or a bottle or two of sake…”

“How interesting!” Rukia cut him off, her voice a full octave above its usual pitch.

Byakuya leaned back. “Your sister was very fond of that tea house. She said it was ‘quaint.’”

Rukia’s mouth opened and then closed again, without a single word falling out.

Byakuya wondered if he should mention the loose floorboard or the family of raccoons that had once taken up residence under it. He decided not to. Rukia was certainly capable of handling a few raccoons.

“You have plans for today?”

“Er, ah, yes!”

“You do not want to be late. I have said what I wished to say. Have a nice time.”

“Yes, Brother! Thank...you… Brother!”

Byakuya nodded and smiled pleasantly. “Tell my vice-captain I sent my regards.”

#happy birthday renji!#renji abarai #rukia kuchiki #my writing #drabbles #B Y A K U Y A

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aaronmaurer · 4 years ago

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TV I Liked in 2020

Every year I reflect on the pop culture I enjoyed and put it in some sort of order.

Was there ever a year more unpredictably tailor-made for peak TV than 2020? Lockdowns/quarantines/stay-at-home orders meant a lot more time at home and the occasion to check out new and old favorites. (I recognize that if you’re lucky enough to have kids or roommates or a S.O., your amount of actual downtime may have been wildly different). While the pandemic resulted in production delays and truncated seasons for many shows, the continued streaming-era trends of limited series and 8-13 episode seasons mean that a lot of great and satisfying storytelling still made its way to the screen. As always, I in no way lay any claims to “best-ness” or completeness – this is just a list of the shows that brought me the most joy and escapism in a tough year and therefore might be worth putting on your radar.

10 Favorites

10. The Right Stuff: Season 1 (Disney+)

As a space program enthusiast, even I had to wonder, does the world really need another retelling of NASA’s early days? Especially since Tom Wolfe’s book has already been adapted as the riveting and iconoclastic Philip Kaufman film of the same name? While some may disagree, I find that this Disney+ series does justify its existence by focusing more on the relationships of the astronauts and their personal lives than the technical science (which may be partially attributable to budget limitations?). The series is kind of like Mad Men but with NASA instead of advertising (and real people, of course), so if that sounds intriguing, I encourage you to give it a whirl.

9. Fargo: Season 4 (FX)

As a big fan of Noah Hawley’s Coen Brothers pastiche/crime anthology series, I was somewhat let down by this latest season. Drawing its influence primarily from the likes of gangster drama Miller’s Crossing – one of the Coens’ least comedic/idiosyncratic efforts – this season is more straightforward than its predecessors and includes a lot of characters and plot-threads that never quite cohere. That said, it is still amongst the year’s most ambitious television with another stacked cast, and the (more-or-less) standalone episode “East/West” is enough to make the season worthwhile.

8. The Last Dance (ESPN)

Ostensibly a 10-episode documentary about the 1990s Chicago Bulls’ sixth and final NBA Championship run, The Last Dance actually broadens that scope to survey the entire history of Michael Jordan and coach Phil Jackson’s careers with the team. Cleverly structured with twin narratives that chart that final season as well as an earlier timeframe, each episode also shifts the spotlight to a different person, which provides focus and variety throughout the series. And frankly, it’s also just an incredible ride to relive the Jordan era and bask in his immeasurable talent and charisma – while also getting a snapshot of his outsized ego and vices (though he had sign-off on everything, so it’s not exactly a warts-and-all telling).

7. The Queen’s Gambit (Netflix)

This miniseries adaptation of the Walter Tevis coming-of-age novel about a chess prodigy and her various addictions is compulsively watchable and avoids the bloat of many other streaming series (both in running time and number of episodes). The 1960s production design is stunning and the performances, including Anya Taylor-Joy in the lead role, are convincing and compelling.

6. The Great: Season 1 (hulu)

Much like his screenplay for The Favourite, Tony McNamara’s series about Catherine the Great rewrites history with a thoroughly modern and irreverent sensibility (see also: Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette). Elle Fanning brings a winning charm and strength to the title role and Nicholas Hoult is riotously entertaining as her absurdly clueless and ribald husband, Emperor Peter III. Its 10-episodes occasionally tilt into repetitiveness, but when the ride is this fun, why complain? Huzzah!

5. Dispatches From Elsewhere (AMC)

A limited (but possibly anthology-to-be?) series from creator/writer/director/actor Jason Segal, Dispatches From Elsewhere is a beautiful and creative affirmation of life and celebration of humanity. The first 9 episodes form a fulfilling and complete arc, while the tenth branches into fourth wall-breaking meta territory, which may be a bridge too far for some (but is certainly ambitious if nothing else). Either way, it’s a movingly realized portrait of honesty, vulnerability and empathy, and I highly recommend visiting whenever it inevitably makes its way to Netflix, or elsewhere…

4. What We Do in the Shadows: Season 2 (FX)

The second season of WWDITS is more self-assured and expansive than the first, extending a premise I loved from its antecedent film – but was skeptical could be sustained – to new and reinvigorated (after)life. Each episode packs plenty of laughs, but for my money, there is no better encapsulation of the series’ potential and Matt Berry’s comic genius than “On The Run,” which guest-stars Mark Hamill and features Laszlo’s alter ego Jackie Daytona, regular human bartender.

3. Ted Lasso: Season 1 (AppleTV+)

Much more than your average fish-out-of-water comedy, Jason Sudeikis’ Ted Lasso is a brilliant tribute to humaneness, decency, emotional intelligence and good coaching – not just on the field. The fact that its backdrop is English Premier League Soccer is just gravy (even if that’s not necessarily represented 100% proficiently). A true surprise and gem of the year.

2. Mrs. America (hulu)

This FX miniseries explores the women’s liberation movement and fight for the Equal Rights Amendment in the 1970s and its opposition by conservative women including Phyllis Schlafly. One of the most ingenious aspects of the series is centering each episode on a different character, which rotates the point of view and helps things from getting same-y. With a slate of directors including Ryan Bowden and Anna Fleck (Half-Nelson, Sugar, Captain Marvel) and an A-List cast including Cate Blanchett, Rose Byrne, Uzo Aduba, Sarah Paulson, Margo Martindale, Tracey Ulman and Elizabeth Banks, its quality is right up there with anything on the big screen. And its message remains (sadly) relevant as ever in our current era.

1. The Good Place: Season 4 (NBC)

It was tempting to omit The Good Place this year or shunt it to a side category since only the final 4 episodes aired in 2020, but that would have been disingenuous. This show is one of my all-time favorites and it ended perfectly. The series finale is a representative mix of absurdist humor and tear-jerking emotion, built on themes of morality, self-improvement, community and humanity. (And this last run of eps also includes a pretty fantastic Timothy Olyphant/Justified quasi-crossover.) Now that the entire series is available to stream on Netflix (or purchase in a nice Blu-ray set), it’s a perfect time to revisit the Good Place, or check it out for the first time if you’ve never had the pleasure.

5 of the Best Things I Caught Up With

Anne With An E (Netflix/CBC)

Another example of classic literature I had no prior knowledge of (see also Little Women and Emma), this Netflix/CBC adaptation of Anne of Green Gables was strongly recommended by several friends so I finally gave it a shot. While this is apparently slightly more grown-up than the source material, it’s not overly grimdark or self-serious but rather humane and heartfelt, expanding the story’s scope to include Black and First Nations peoples in early 1800s Canada, among other identities and themes. It has sadly been canceled, but the three seasons that exist are heart-warming and life-affirming storytelling. Fingers crossed that someday we’ll be gifted with a follow-up movie or two to tie up some of the dangling threads.

Better Call Saul (AMC)

I liked Breaking Bad, but I didn’t have much interest in an extended “Breaking Bad Universe,” as much as I appreciate star Bob Odenkirk’s multitalents. Multiple recommendations and lockdown finally provided me the opportunity to catch up on this prequel series and I’m glad I did. Just as expertly plotted and acted as its predecessor, the series follows Jimmy McGill/Saul Goodman on his own journey to disrepute but really makes it hard not to root for his redemption (even as you know that’s not where this story ends).

Joe Pera Talks With You (Adult Swim)

It’s hard to really describe the deadpan and oddly soothing humor of comedian Joe Pera whose persona, in the series at least, combines something like the earnestness of Mr. Rogers with the calm enthusiasm of Bob Ross. Sharing his knowledge on the likes of how to get the best bite out of your breakfast combo, growing a bean arch and this amazing song “Baba O’Reilly” by the Who – have you heard it?!? – Pera provides arch comfort that remains solidly on the side of sincerity. The surprise special he released during lockdown, “Relaxing Old Footage with Joe Pera,” was a true gift in the middle of a strange and isolated year.

The Mandalorian (Disney+)

One of the few recent Star Wars properties that lives up to its potential, the adventures of Mando and Grogu is a real thrill-ride of a series with outstanding production values (you definitely want to check out the behind-the-scenes documentary series if you haven’t). I personally prefer the first season, appreciating its Western-influenced vibes and somewhat-more-siloed story. The back half of the second season veers a little too much into fan service and video game-y plotting IMHO but still has several excellent episodes on offer, especially the Timothy Olyphant-infused energy of premiere “The Marshall” and stunning cinematography of “The Jedi.” And, you know, Grogu.

The Tick (Amazon Prime)

I’ve been a fan of the Tick since the character’s Fox cartoon and indie comic book days and also loved the short-lived Patrick Warburton series from 2001. I was skeptical about this Amazon Prime reboot, especially upon seeing the pilot episode’s off-putting costumes. Finally gaining access to Prime this year, I decided to catch up and it gets quite good!, especially in Season 2. First, the costumes are upgraded; second, Peter Serafinowicz’s initially shaky characterization improves; and third, it begins to come into its own identity. The only real issue is yet another premature cancellation for the property, meaning Season 2’s tease of interdimensional alien Thrakkorzog will never be fulfilled. 😢

Bonus! 5 More Honorable Mentions:

City So Real (National Geographic)

The Good Lord Bird (Showtime)

How To with John Wilson: Season 1 (HBO)

Kidding: Season 2 (Showtime)

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt: Kimmy Vs The Reverend (Netflix)

#tv #television

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raendown · 5 years ago

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For the @madatobiweek prompt the was only one bed.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5104 Rated: T+ Summary: Hashirama runs in to an old friend unexpectedly and Tobirama - well. Tobirama would like to have a firm chat with life's manager. No way is it fair for any human being to look that delicious.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Woodn’t It Be Nice

‘Just an old friend from middle school’ Hashirama had called him. Tobirama didn’t doubt that part, his brother had a habit of befriending every person that crossed his path by sheer force of will, but he found himself slightly upset that Hashirama hadn’t seen fit to warn him even a little bit before introducing him to the human wet dream known as Uchiha Madara.

Madara had, at one point, big plans to follow along with the dreams his family had for him to become some big business exec. Evidently those dreams had been cast aside at some point when he realized the high stress lifestyle was not how he wanted to spend his years. Tobirama didn’t really see how anyone went from business school to taking up a career in lumberjacking but he was hardly about to complain. Living in the deep woods and hauling trees for a living had clearly done wonders for Madara’s figure.

And Tobirama really wanted a piece of that.

It was truly unfair how good that man made tartan look considering how many times Tobirama had snuck in to his brother’s closet only to despair that such patterns still didn’t suit him. Also high up on his list of unfair things was the sheer mass of all that thick dark hair falling in wavy tangles and how utterly scrumptious he looked without, apparently, having yet discovered the socially accepted function of a hairbrush. Given time and a good keyboard Tobirama was sure he could have produced a thesis length paper on why he should be allowed to bury his hands in all that hair. Two on why he should be allowed to touch that chest.

Because wow the chest. With a rib cage the size and general shape of a barrel and a waist line built for standing his ground against at least a smaller sized tank, it was almost enough to distract Tobirama from the thick muscle outlines clearly visible under the flannel – almost, but not quite. If he looked any harder his eyes might actually fall out of his head but he couldn’t seem to stop or even convince his mouth to close.

Using his mind to juxtapose the image of an ax over those stubby thick fingers, Tobirama swallowed hard and wondered how many people had tried to pick this man up with some sort of bad wood puns. And more importantly whether that would work for him too. He definitely had some wood sprouting up that he wouldn’t mind letting Madara take care of.

“What do you think Tobi?”

“Glorious…”

“Right? I do have good ideas sometimes!”

“Huh?” He turned to find Hashirama beaming at him but his brother was already turning away without giving him a moment to clarify that he hadn’t actually been paying attention to the conversation.

Clapping his old friend on both shoulders, Hashirama smiled so wide he nearly split his own face in half. “You’ll love staying at our house. And you’ll love sharing a room with Tobi!”

“Wait, what!?” Maybe he shouldn’t have taken quite so much time to admire that chest.

Hashirama laughed. “You didn’t think I’d make him sleep on the couch did you? Not when you have a perfectly good spare bed in your room!”

“But that- that’s Itama’s bed. What if Itama comes home?” Growing up with four boys in the same house, each only a few years apart from the others, it still felt wasteful for all of them to sleep in separate rooms even now that they were older and Hashirama’s job at the hospital had paid for a much larger house. It didn’t matter that Tobirama had actually been getting a little lonely while their two younger brothers were off at university in another city. Extra space or not there was no way he would survive sleeping in the same room with Madara unless he was granted an hour or so of alone time first. And knowing his older brother’s enthusiasm for socializing that wasn’t likely to happen.

“Itama called last night,” Hashirama reminded him with an absent smile. “He’s off this weekend with his roommate to some concert happening a city away from them. I would ask Madara to sleep in Kawarama’s room but he’s still not over that cold he’s been fighting all week. We wouldn’t want our guest to get sick!”

“Appreciated,” Madara grunted.

Slightly panicked, Tobirama cast about in his mind for any other excuse he could think of. “What if I’ve caught it too? He'd still get sick.”

“Nonsense, Kawa hasn’t let anyone near him except the dog. Neither of us is sick.”

“I don’t know, Anija, I feel pretty warm.”

“Maybe because it’s like a hundred degrees out,” Hashirama laughed. “Come now, Tobi, if you keep saying stuff like that I’m going to think you don’t want Madara in your room!”

One look at those massive flannel-clad arms and Tobirama quickly swallowed his next words. The man could probably crush his head without thought and as delicious as it was to imagine being caught between those biceps he was also quite fond of living. While his brother threw an arm around broad shoulders Tobirama forced his eyes to look elsewhere, contemplating the restless night ahead.

Thankfully for his sanity he was at least able to sit alone in the backseat on the drive back from the hotel Hashirama just happened to spot his old friend going in to. Madara sat up front and nodded or grunted along to the man’s endless chatter. The backseat was quiet, free of tempting muscles, and gave Tobirama all the room he needed to stretch his legs across the width of the car. He noted Madara stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror several times but it was hard to tell what expression might be hiding under that scruffy beard. The fact that it was apparently due to be shaved off at the first opportunity was probably one of the greatest tragedies this world had ever seen.

As a history buff Tobirama felt particularly qualified to make that call.

When Madara was finally encouraged to speak more than a word or two strung together he told them how he had come to be in town with no plans and nowhere to stay. Apparently his younger brother Izuna still lived in Konoha and he’d planned his vacation to make a surprise visit. Except he was the one surprised to discover the house locked, one of the neighbors calling over to him that the whole family had left on a vacation of their own just a few days before.

“Good thing we caught you then!” Hashirama declared. “No point in spending money on a lonely hotel room for two weeks when you could be catching up with me! I can’t believe how little you’ve changed!”

“Really?” Tobirama muttered under his breath. If Madara had looked like this back in middle school he definitely would have remembered a face like that. Puberty would no doubt have smacked him in the face several years earlier.

After a slow blink Madara grunted, “Beard.” That was, apparently, all he had to say on the matter.

Never before in his life had Tobirama been quite so grateful to arrive home as he was that day, spilling out of the car and heading for the door as if all the devils of hell were chasing him. He made it in to the kitchen with enough time to set the kettle boiling and slip back out towards his bedroom before the other two even made it inside. The planet earth itself would fall out of its heavenly rotation before he let Madara walk in and see the absolute mess he typically lived in, research notes strewn here and there, clothing left on the floor where it was shed after yet another twenty hour binge on the latest project. No one needed to know the shame of his bedroom during the months when Itama was gone.

Just as he kicked out a foot to steady a precarious stack of textbooks the door opened and Hashirama cheerfully invited their guest in to a room that wasn’t even his. Madara blinked around, eyes pausing on the one bed that had clearly not seen any recent use.

“Hope you didn’t clean up or anything,” he said. “It’s just me.”

“Oh don’t worry, Tobi’s always really clean!” Hashirama chirped, oblivious to his brother’s uncomfortable shifting.

“Right. Where can I drop this?”

Madara held up the duffel he’d been carrying when they spotted him on the street. When told he could put it anywhere he liked it was tossed on the floor with little care, a sure sign there wasn’t anything too breakable inside. A moment later he seemed to think the better of his actions and asked where the bathroom was as he stepped across to riffle in one of the duffle’s pockets.

As quickly as he had hurried to his own bedroom Tobirama was gone again just like that. The kettle should be going off any second and he was pretty sure if he stuck around for Madara to come out of the shower all damp and delicious and possibly half naked - well, suffice to say the police probably wouldn’t accept any of the excuses running through his mind just then.

Like it always did, a large hot cup of tea helped to settle him in his skin, leaving him feeling much more in control of his own reactions by the time Hashirama came back downstairs. His brother gave vent to a gusty contented sigh while he poured a cup for himself.

“It’s hard to believe Uchiha Madara of all people is upstairs in my home!” he said. “Honestly I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But, isn’t it funny, i was just thinking about him the other day!”

“Whatever keeps you going when Mito tells you to bite the pillow,” Tobirama murmured.

“No! Ew! It’s not- hey! She doesn’t make me do anything like that!” Hot tea sloshed all over the counter as Hashirama slammed his cup back down and bent double to gag exaggeratedly. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had failed drama in highschool what with all the dramatics he filled every day with.

Tobirama let the poor idiot catch his breath a little before daring to ask, “He taking a shower before dinner?”

“Um, I guess so. He didn’t say. What would you like to eat?”

Dinner - fish, of course, since the choice was left to him - was about as quiet as meals in their house ever got with Hashirama chattering endlessly. Amazingly Madara actually seemed to be listening to it all, nodding in the right places or humming in tandem with Tobirama whenever it was needed. It was nearly impossible to tell what was actually going on in his mind and Tobirama hated himself just a little for being so desperately intrigued by it. He’d never loved anything more than puzzles, taking things apart to see what made them tick, digging and digging until he ran out of questions to answer. People like Madara were exactly the sort of rare person who were able to hold his attention.

Even more so since their guest came down for the evening meal with a clean shaven face, dark shaggy beard sacrificed to the waste bin upstairs, and Tobirama came to the horrifying conclusion that it needed to be glued back in place as soon as possible. Surely it had to be illegal for any human being to walk around looking as delicious as this. It wasn’t fair.

Under normal circumstances he would have said that going to bed was a relief, being allowed to crawl between familiar sheets and allow the privacy of his own room to unclench the tensions in his body. With Madara stumping in to the room after him he knew that he had nothing to look forward to but a few hours of restlessness until he gave in and snuck off to shame himself in the bathroom down the hall. Itama’s ancient bedframe gave a mighty creak the first time its new resident sat down. Normally it bore a much lighter load than all the rippling muscles clinging to Madara’s frame but it held up alright and the two of them were able to lay their heads down with goodnights murmured in to the darkness.

Tobirama lasted only an hour and a half. He really hoped the other man only thought he was getting up to pee.

During the day things weren’t so bad. For the most part Madara spent his time with Hashirama getting dragged from one end of the city to the other to re-experience all the things they had done in their childhood together. It was actually somewhat of a relief not to be the center of his brother’s attention for a while, left blissfully alone to work on his research and occasionally greet the ghost of Kawarama whenever he ambled past for food or water before holing up again. With one sibling down for the count and the other away for university the task of indulging Hashirama’s ceaseless energy had fallen entirely to him and it wasn’t until he was finally able to be productive again that he realized just how little he’d been getting done lately.

Even meal times weren’t too terrible if he kept his eyes on his food instead of the tasty meal he would rather be having across the table. It was the evenings when he truly suffered. Getting Madara to come out of his shell and actually engage in conversation had taken a couple days, out of practice as he was from spending most of the few years quietly knocking and hauling lumber, but once he finally opened his mouth long enough to say more than two words together Tobirama was exasperated to discover a mind as beautiful as his face. Was there any way this man wasn’t perfect for him? The universe must be having a grand laugh at him, that was the only explanation he could think of.

Still, as much havoc as it wreaked on his libido it was wonderful to have someone else to converse with who could actually keep up with him. Madara understood the basic concepts of his research, asked intelligent questions, even offered a few philosophical insights that Tobirama himself hadn’t thought of. If he didn’t want the man in his bed so badly it hurt he might have been tempted to offer him a job as a research assistant.

He saw the signs coming from a mile away of course. Stopping it was impossible, though he still gave it the old college try. Catching feelings for his brother’s friend, a man who was only in town for a few weeks and then would likely never be back again, was probably one of the stupider things he had ever done. Tobirama wanted to be mad at the idiot for not just being a pretty face he could seduce and then let go of but it wasn’t like it was Madara’s fault that he checked every box on a lonely albino’s list. He probably wasn’t even aware of how tempting he was. Tobirama really hoped the poor man hadn’t noticed all the drooling and staring and whatnot.

For a little over two weeks things went on like that, so close and yet so far, sleeping in the same room and slipping away to the bathroom for a while just to get himself to sleep. Even as a teenager his body hadn’t ruled him this much. If their family hadn’t been raised to be so frugal it was entirely possible that nothing would have changed, that they would have parted ways as nothing more than a what-if. But Itama loved that old bed no matter how it creaked and groaned and so none of them had ever thought of replacing the ancient thing until one night Madara flopped down on to the mattress and with a loud protest the entire frame shattered underneath him. Almost more shocking that that was the indignant squawk that gurgled up his throat, so unlike the smooth deep baritone he usually spoke in. Tobirama could do nothing but stare from where he stood halfway through the motion of getting up, one arm outstretched, and try to process what had just happened. Apparently all that muscle was too much for the bed to handle.

He could relate.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Madara blinked up from the center of the now very lumpy looking mattress.

“I’ve been better.”

“You didn’t hurt anything did you?”

“No. Well, I think I hurt the bed.” With a groan he rolled off the mess and stumbled to his feet where he stood looking down with a wry expression. “I’ll pay for that.”

Money was not exactly the most pressing concern on Tobirama’s mind at the moment. “That, ah, is that just some of the frame pressing up from underneath?”

Praying to all of his ancestors that the mattress was still usable even if it had to rest on the floor, he watched the other man haul the entire thing up with one hand like it weighed no more than a feather and tried not to whimper. With no light but the moonbeams twisting around the curtains it was easy to see there was nothing directly under the mattress that would make such shapes.

“Bunch’a springs broke under the pressure, I think,” Madara concluded. When he let the whole thing drop back down it did so with a muffled thud much like Tobirama’s heart inside his chest. “Guess I won’t be sleeping there anymore.”

“Not unless you want metal springs digging in to your spine all night long.”

Madara nodded slowly. “Couch it is, then.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option,” Tobirama reluctantly called the man back before he could get halfway to the door. He tried not to be obvious about cringing when Madara turned to pin him in place with dark eyes turned obsidian by the shadows around them.

“Why not?”

“You’ve been here an entire week and I’ve never once seen you sit comfortably on the sofa. It’s just not built to hold someone of your...stature.”

For the space of three heartbeats Madara did nothing but stare and blink. Then he sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with one hand because it was true. Hashirama had bought most of their living room furniture for his tiny wife and his three whipcord thin brothers; he himself preferred to disappear in to the single cushy armchair that could actually hold his tall frame. If Madara went to go sleep on either of the two couches he would probably roll off the first time he tried to take a full breath in.

Genius that he was, Tobirama had already done the calculations. He already knew what doom was about to fall upon him. In their house there were four beds for four people and two couches. One of those beds already had two people in it, Mito quietly arriving home from her work trip earlier that evening. Another contained one highly contagious whiny Kawarama and stank of dog after several days of the two curled up together in it. Now the third bed had collapsed, frame and mattress and all, leaving only one other place left as an option for sleeping.

Tobirama squirmed. Why had he ever thought it was necessary to buy such a roomy bed? He was only one person, surely a twin mattress would have held him and saved him from eyeing the several feet of unused space at his side with defeat in his bones. It was this or ask Madara to sleep on the floor.

“So if I can’t sleep on the couches then where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” He even eyed the carpet as though wondering whether it was plush enough to let him get some rest but one night wasn’t the problem. Laying flat out on the ground for several days in a row would do murder on anyone’s back and just because his job left him in the wilds for months at a time didn’t mean he had to play at camping even in his off time.

“I’ve got room here,” Tobirama forced himself to say.

“You don’t have any sort of air mattress or anything?”

“Not anymore, no. Our dog got in to the closet and chewed them all last summer.”

He watched the other man nodding slowly, a small frown drawing his brows together, and wondered if the option was really so detestable to consider. The offer was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Mito would share a bed with him instead for a few days so Madara could rest beside the friend he had much better reason to trust but the words never had a chance to be spoken.

“You don’t kick or anything, do you?”

“No,” he murmured, hardly daring to breathe.

“Right.”

Then Madara snatched up the same pillow he’d been using for the last couple weeks since Tobirama only had the one on his own bed and stumped across the room with all the grace of a bear. As unsexy as that image was Tobirama still managed to find his thoughts in the gutter, privately thinking that he wouldn’t mind taking up bear wrestling if this was his opponent.

Somehow he managed to keep such thoughts to himself as the mattress dipped to accommodate more than double the weight it was used to. Convincing the anatomy inside his trousers that it was not Go Time was a little more difficult to do. Tobirama carefully rolled on to the side facing away from his new bed partner; at least in this position he was only tenting his own clothing rather than the bedding as well. Nothing could possibly make his desires more obvious. After a moment’s pause he felt Madara shifting around and finding a position to settle in to as well, hopefully facing away from him though he couldn’t exactly see what was going on. When the movement finally stopped he cleared his throat.

“Night,” he mumbled awkwardly. Madara grunted, which he had learned was about the equivalent of him saying it back.

In the silence that followed Tobirama dearly regretted leaving the curtains cracked. Just that small amount of light made shadows on the wall for him to trace with his eyes and glare at as though they were the source of all his problems. If there were shadows on the wall that meant there was enough light for Madara to see if he threw back the covers and tried to escape to the bathroom. Not to mention that it would be much harder to sneak off even after the man had fallen asleep when there was a chance any shifting of the mattress could wake him again and alert him to Tobirama’s nightly embarrassment.

He smothered a groan and curled a little tighter in to himself. Sleep was an impossibility when all he wanted was relief and there didn’t seem like a safe way to achieve that with the source of all his delicious miseries lying so close. It seemed he was doomed to simply lie here while his balls turned bluer and bluer.

“Alright?” The word rumbled low in the space between them and Tobirama nearly leapt out of his skin.

“What?”

“If you’re not feeling good I don’t want to catch anything.”

Clenching his fists he grumbled, “I’m not sick.”

“Seems like you’re not alright though,” his companion mused.

“Oh and how would you know?”

A beat passed before Madara answered. When he did his tone sounded almost hesitant in a strange way. “You don’t usually sleep all curled up in a ball. Is it your stomach? Maybe dinner doesn’t agree with you.”

Pausing in his prayers for death to take him in a localized strike of lightning, Tobirama frowned in to the darkness. It wasn’t such an unusual question - or it wouldn’t have been if they had known each other for any appropriate length of time. He struggled over whether or not to say something until finally his curiosity couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you...watch me sleep?”

Choking sounds accompanied the sudden brush of air against the back of his neck, startling enough that he instinctively shot up on to one elbow so he could twist around. There he was greeted with the sight of Madara spluttering and cutting his way through several disconnected syllables. It was hard to parse which part of the scene before him was the most shocking, the fact that Madara was quite obviously embarrassed or the fact that he had apparently settled down to sleep facing the center of the bed rather than away towards the wall.

“I’m just...observant!” He finally managed to choke out.

“While we’re both lying down on opposite sides of the room you somehow manage to observe my position every night when your eyes are supposed to be closed?”

Madara flushed visibly. “I have trouble sleeping a lot. Sometimes I sit up for a while!”

Fascinating as it was to see a new flustered side to such a composed man of so few words, Tobirama couldn’t truly enjoy this rare opportunity when he was distracted with yet another devastating revelation.

“How long does it usually take you to get to sleep?” he whispered.

“A couple hours.” The words had already passed the man’s lips before Madara seemed to realize what he had just given away.

“Oh.”

The two of them stared at each other, wide eyed and silent, as they both processed what the other now knew. If Madara was awake each night long enough to observe what position Tobirama fell asleep in then he was awake each night to observe him slipping out of bed and down the hall for much longer than one would need for a simple nightly piddle. He knew. And he hadn’t said anything.

“It’s not every day,” Tobirama blurted without thinking. “I’m not some kind of obsessed nymphomaniac or anything.”

“Right.”

“I’m not!”

“Okay. So. Is it just...me then?”

The twitch in his pants said yes but the flaming heat in his face, well, that probably also said yes despite what he would have preferred. All the genius in the world couldn’t help him think his way out of this particular spot, lying in the same bed with a man he could already feel himself developing very ill advised feelings for while that very man stared back at him processing the knowledge that he was very interested in taking up certain physical activities together. What would Hashirama do, he wondered, if he woke up tomorrow morning to discover that his little brother had been smothered to death by those glorious and very strong biceps?

“Didn’t mention it to your brother yet,” Madara finally spoke again. “Wanted Izuna’s opinion on the idea first. But I’ve been thinking about moving back in to town lately. I got a job offer at one of the factories.”

“O-oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Think maybe you’d want to grab a coffee or something sometime?” Somehow the man was able to project both flawless confidence and an adorably unexpected shyness at the same time.

Tobirama nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to rein in his own frantic nodding. “I’d like that.”

“Good, good.”

All plans for throwing himself off the edge of the earth were put on hold. How the hell he had missed his dream hunk returning any sort of interest was beyond him but the last thing he would be doing was complain about it. Who was he to say no when being handed everything he thought he couldn’t have? All wrapped up in a pretty package with gorgeous unruly hair, naturally pouty lips, and thighs he would be happy to have his head crushed between. Whatever small fragment of the universe had taken pity on him deserved a massive ethereal fruit basket in thanks for giving him this.

“You wanna make out?” Madara cut in to his thoughts. “Or do we need to wait for that first date?”

“Now is good,” Tobirama breathed, already twisting the lower half of his body to face inwards as well. Maybe later he could take the time to be ashamed of his own enthusiasm but right now he had an entire beefcake to throw himself on and judging by the appreciative moan that greeted him it didn’t seem like Madara had any problems with that.

He had already managed to roll himself on top of this woodsman adonis and gasp at the stretch in his thighs for how wide they had to open just to sit astride those hips when he paused, pulling away from quite possibly the most mind-bending kiss he’d ever experienced in his life.

“What’s your opinion on wood puns?” he mumbled.

“I will kill you,” Madara replied with absolutely no inflection.

“Noted. Can I wear your shirt tomorrow?”

“You would look absolutely terrible in tartan.” One dark eyebrow lifted slowly, something like hunger gathering in the man’s eyes. “Sure.”

Tobirama shivered and decided if he said anything else he would probably spill every dirty possessive thought his brain had ever come up with. It was much safer to dive in again and tremble under the feeling of large hands curling around his bottom.

Maybe - maybe - he was glad that Hashirama had decided to take a different route home that day and happened to spot his old friend. A reward this good was definitely worth the torture of thinking it was all beyond his reach, that he would suffer through the stages of falling in love and then be forced to ssay goodbye when Madara left, to never see the man again. Whatever it took to convince him that moving back in to town was a good plan he would do it. Even if he had to track down this Izuna fellow himself and beg on his knees for a little support.

For now the only thing he planned to do on his knees was moan, however. Possibly beg. That depended entirely on how far Madara was willing to go before they even made it out for a simple coffee or discussed anything between them with any sort of depth.

Whatever the case, he just really hoped his brother was well and truly asleep down the hall because he had zero plans for staying quiet after finally getting his hands on such a perfect dream.

#rae writes #madatobiweek2020 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #modern au

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tallycraven · 5 years ago

Note

hi do you still do ficlets and can we get more of bellweather apartmates 🥺

But of course! Here you go! It’s also up on ao3 as a part of my collection of anon-requested/inspired ficlets. :)

Waking up with the sun in her eyes is incredibly low on Raelle’s list of favorite-things-to-wake-up-to. Lower still, however, is waking up to the sound of loud clanging accompanied by muffled curse-grunts.

It’s early, she knows that by the position of the sun, shining perfectly through the slats of the blinds to burn her retinas from behind her eyelids. She lets out a small grunt of dissatisfaction and turns to bury her face into the pillows, finding a small respite in the dimness and cool fabric on this side of her bed.

The peace and wonderful haze of sleep beginning to blanket her again is shattered by another loud clang and audible, “fuck!” come from somewhere beyond her door.

Resigning herself to consciousness, she blinks open her eyes to see her alarm clock – a dull green 7:03 AM staring back at her – and resists the urge to break her own neck in an attempt to achieve more rest. Instead, she pushes her palms into her eyes, pressing with enough pressure to see spots in her vision when she finally drags her hands down her face and opens her eyes.

It’s then that she notices the borderline heavenly smell wafting in from the kitchen. The mixture of vanilla and sugar in the air is what convinces her to sit up, only recoiling a little bit at the chill of the hardwood floor against her bare feet.

Raelle Collar is a lot of things, but least of them all is a morning person; this explains the way she sloppily slides on only a pair of fuzzy polka-dotted socks that Tally got her five years ago (now worn-down and much less fuzzy) and nothing else before dragging her feet into the kitchen, following the scent of baked goods like a 90s cartoon character.

“You’re up!” is the first thing she hears from her right, where Tally’s laying down with her phone resting on her chest and red hair spread across the arm of the couch.

Another clang and Abigail’s head pops into view from behind the kitchen island, where she was presumably messing with their collection of baking trays. The top of the counter is nearly completely covered by baked goods—cookies, muffins, and cupcakes as far as the eye could see—as well as a mess of equipment and ingredients.

“Why the fuck don’t we have an eight by eight?” Abigail complains, tossing an unwanted tray on top of the growing stack.

Raelle pads over to the island and slides onto a barstool, the cold leather against her thighs causing a small shiver up her spine. It’s quickly remedied by a blanket draped over her shoulders by Tally, who slides in beside her with a seemingly magically-apparated cup of coffee.

“We lent it to Libba last month so she could make corn bread,” Tally says, nursing her own cup of coffee. “You threw a fit about her not using a cast-iron skillet, remember? And then she said she was never giving it back.”

Abigail straightens, fire in her eyes as she grabs her flour-smeared phone and marches off to presumably make a call to their friend.

She looks haphazard, Raelle notes as she takes a sip of coffee, like she hadn’t slept and is on the verge of launching into a famous Bellweather Breakdown. Another quick glance around the apartment, noting the clutter of papers and open law books on their dining room table and the open laptop on the floor by the coffee table, and Raelle’s pretty sure that Abigail pulled another all-nighter.

“What’s her deal?” Raelle asks, turning to catch Tally’s gaze, which had been focused on a tray of cookies.

Tally gives a small shrug, “She’s been awake since last night, after her post-exam nap yesterday. I think she’s stress baking while waiting for the professor to post her score?”

“The one that she took less than twenty-four hours ago? That’s stupid.”

“You try telling her that.”

Raelle opens her mouth to respond but she’s cut off by Abigail walking back into the room, looking frantic in the way her eyes are focused on her phone screen in evident rage. “I’m going to murder Swythe.”

“You’ve been saying that for the entirety of the seven years we’ve known you.” Tally challenges, causing Raelle to snicker into her coffee.

Abigail’s face is scrunched up in an angry frown, “I mean it this time! Who steals bakeware?”

“Elizabeth Swythe, evidently.” Raelle says with a smirk, imagining Libba sneaking into their apartment at night in all black and making away with Abigail’s prized stand mixer. The image alone pulls another chuckle out of her.

“Yeah, well—”

Abigail is cut off by the melodic ring of their doorbell echoing through their home.

Raelle’s first reaction is to immediately bring a finger to her nose, “Nose goes!”

Tally has also successfully touched her finger to her nose and the two of them turn to look at Abigail, who’s dusted in flour and frosting despite the apron that was meant to keep her tidy. The look on her face is enough to encourage both Tally and Raelle to spin back around to stare at the counter while she stomps to their front door.

When she’s out of immediate earshot, Raelle raises an eyebrow at Tally over her mug and basks in the laughter that comes from her friend.

“What’s she even going to do with all of this?”

Tally shrugs, “Charming her friends in the Spee Club, probably.”

Raelle cocks an eyebrow, snagging a cookie off the cooling rack and taking a bite despite Tally’s excited and scandalized expression.

“She’s going to kill you!”

“The Spee Club is an antiquated bunch of elitists who deserve no love.” Raelle says, mouth full of perfectly chewy snickerdoodle, “those stuck up brats can suck my—”

“Guys! 3B’s here!” Abigail’s voice cuts her off and Raelle freezes on the spot, half-eaten cookie dropping onto the countertop while Tally gasps in excitement.

Tally’s immediately moving, pulling Raelle from her seat and shoving her towards their front door regardless of the way Raelle’s resisting her and holy fuck when did Tally get this strong?

Raelle shoves Tally a little and clings onto the blanket around her shoulders, panicking. “I’m not fucking… wearing…” she gestures hurriedly to herself and drops her voice to a whisper, “pants!”

Tally and Raelle stand in the middle of their apartment, quietly bickering at each other for a brief moment until Abigail walks back in, a familiar guest following behind her.

There are moments in life when Raelle wishes the ground would crack open and swallow her whole. There are other moments when Raelle wishes she could go back in time and stop herself from existing at all. This would be one of those times.

Scylla Ramshorn—resident of apartment 3B, local bookshop keeper, and woman of Raelle’s dreams—is standing in their apartment with a warm smile looking like a model in her form-fitting jeans and comfy sweater. Meanwhile, Raelle’s in nothing but a grey shirt and her boxer briefs, cookie crumbs on her face, and hair messily pointing in every direction.

“Uh,” Raelle smiles, realizing she hasn’t brushed her teeth yet and wanting to crumble. “Hi! What brings you ‘round here?”

Abigail gives her a withering look of embarrassment and chooses to walk away to tend to her army of baked goods.

The laughter that chimes from Scylla is divine; it’s songlike and warm—it makes Raelle incredibly aware of how underdressed she is in her own home.

“I just came over to borrow some sugar.” Scylla says, “I ran out and forgot to pick some up. I hope that’s okay?”

Raelle’s about to rush to go grab some sugar in order to hurry through this mortifying experience but Tally’s gone in a small whip of wind with a, “I’ll go grab some!”

And suddenly she’s stuck: pantsless, standing in front of her crush, and trying to figure out what to do or say that won’t make her look like any more of a dweeb.

“So… sugar, huh?”

Raelle considers packing up and moving back to live with her dad in North Carolina all just to never have to see Scylla or embarrass herself in front of her ever again.

But Scylla just smiles at her, expression stuck somewhere between amusement and something else. “Yeah, I need it for my coffee. I know some people are purists and refuse to take it with cream or sugar but I’m a two creams two sugars type of girl.”

“Noted.” Raelle whispers, pulling at the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Sorry?” Scylla says, stepping closer, “I didn’t hear you.”

Scylla’s eyes drag up and down her body and Raelle suddenly feels even more naked than she actually is.

“Oh!” Raelle panics, “I said, ‘cool beans.’”

The way Scylla tilts her head and smiles should be illegal.

“Like. Coffee beans. ‘Cause you’re making coffee?”

Scylla opens her mouth to reply but seems at a loss for words. Raelle thanks every single higher power she’d ever even heard of in passing when Tally swings in with a small container of sugar and hands it to Scylla while mouthing, ‘Cool beans?’ at Raelle.

“Hopefully that’s enough to last you until you can go shopping again!” Tally supplies shortly after Raelle gives tired shrug in response.

“Thank you! This is plenty, I’m sure I won’t be bothering yo—”

Scylla’s cut off by a high-pitched squeal from behind the kitchen island and all three girls turn to see Abigail bouncing up and down with her phone clutched in her hand.

“I passed! Top five! I get a guaranteed spot in her Supreme Court litigation clinic next semester!” Abigail all but screeches. “Take that, Swythe!”

Raelle nods in pretend understanding, “That’s great, Abs.”

“Great?! More than great! I don’t have to wake up at six in the morning to attempt to register!” Abigail’s setting her phone down and moving towards them at an alarming speed, skidding to a stop with bright eyes and a huge smile. “We’re celebrating tonight!”

Scylla, taking this as her cue to go, gives a small nod. “Congratulations. Thank you for the sugar, I’ll get out of your hair and let you celebrate.”

“Ooooh, no no.” Abigail reaches out and grabs Scylla by the arm.

Raelle muses at the ease with which she does, knowing that she herself has struggled to find an appropriate reason to even brush shoulders with Scylla every time they’re down in the laundry room alone.

“You’re invited. Tonight! I’m treating all of us to dinner and drinks!”

“I don’t want to impose—” Scylla starts, shy smile on her face.

“No! I need all three of you there to shower me in praise for passing this exam and basically guaranteeing myself a spot as the youngest Supreme Court Justice in the history of the United States.”

Abigail’s victory speech continues, but Raelle has already tuned out, focusing in on the way Scylla offers her a sympathetic smile as if to ask, “is she always like this?” to which she can only apologetically smile and shrug.

“Oookay, Abigail, you’re scaring our neighbor.” Tally says, grabbing Abigail by the shoulders and pushing her towards the bathroom. “Why don’t you go shower and take a nap so you have energy to celebrate tonight.”

“I feel great!”

“You smell bad.” Tally deadpans.

It draws an offended gasp from Abigail, who finally relents to Tally’s pushing and moves into the bathroom. The door gets shut and they hear a muffled, “Okay but we’re taking victory shots when I’m clean!”

“Does she know it’s seven in the morning?” Scylla asks, joy and delight in her voice.

Raelle can’t help but laugh, “I don’t think she knows anything other than her name at this point.”

Tally moves to go clean up the mess of equipment on their kitchen counters. “She is serious about celebrating though. You should definitely come over later tonight—help us make sure she doesn’t repeat what happened when she got accepted into Harvard.”

“What did she do?”

“Let’s just say we’re not allowed in any of the 7-11s downtown.” Raelle offers meekly.

Scylla nods in disbelief, mouth open in a charmed smile, “noted.”

She laughs and Raelle finds herself chuckling along. Scylla’s laughter is infectious, it carries with it a sort of mirth that’s all-consuming and entirely soul-warming.

“So, see you tonight?” Raelle asks.

Scylla gives a loose shrug, “As long as you’re there.”

At a loss for real words, Raelle only nods.

“Cool beans.” Scylla smiles, eyebrow quirked.

“Cool beans.” Raelle mirrors, trying to ignore the way her heart speeds up tenfold. She can feel the blush crawling up her neck.

And then Scylla’s walking out of their apartment and Raelle’s just watching her go. She vaguely registers someone coming to stand behind her, but it doesn’t stop her from leaping several feet in the air when Tally giggles and bumps her hip.

“Cool beans, huh?”

#raylla #jenn writes #asks #Anonymous

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remedialpotions · 5 years ago

Text

A Family Affair

ao3

“Mum,” said Bill, frowning at the scroll of parchment before him, “this is way too many people.”

“We’ll manage,” replied Mum as she inked yet another name onto the list. “Besides, you know how Aunt Muriel gets. If we leave anyone off the list, we’ll be hearing about it for years-“

“I know, I know, but come on.” Bill placed a finger next to one of the names, careful not to smudge it. “Thomas Prewett? Have I ever even met him?”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s that second cousin of mine-“

“Second cousin?!” Bill repeated. “Why are your second cousins invited to my wedding?”

“It’s what’s polite,” stated Mum in that tone she always took when she wanted him to stop arguing. “But you don’t have to worry about him, he’s the one who’s an accountant now, he’s not going to come.”

“Then why bother?”

“I would think you’d want your family there.”

Bill slouched down, swinging one leg up to prop his foot on the seat of a chair opposite him. He had promised Fleur that he would take on more of these wedding-related negotiations - and really he was happy to do it, if it made her happy - but they were sapping his strength.

“I do,” he said evenly. “But that means my actual family, not second cousins of yours that I’ve never met.”

“I’m sure they all came to see you when you were born-“

“Oh, well.” Bill couldn’t stop himself rolling his eyes. “That changes everything.”

Mum’s lips tightened together. “I just think it would be nice - Fleur’s list doesn’t have many people on it-“

“Right, because her family are all in France-“ Bill broke off, shaking his head. “We just hoped we could keep the wedding a bit smaller, that’s all. Less people you’ll have to cook for-“

Her hand swatted the back of his. “Don’t be silly, it isn’t a problem at all. Now, here.” She placed a stack of cream-colored envelopes and a bottle of shimmering green ink in front of him. The fancy ink - the special occasion ink. “Why don’t we start addressing the ones we know are going out? We can quibble over second cousins later.”

“All right,” Bill conceded as he reached for a quill. “Have you got addresses?”

Another scroll of parchment was unfurled in front of him. Bill leaned forward to read the name at the top and promptly, to his mum’s chagrin, burst out laughing.

“Charlie?!” he exclaimed. “What am I sending an invitation to Charlie for? He’s my best man, I think he’s aware of the wedding.”

“It’s what’s proper,” said Mum, picking up her own quill. “But if you’re going to put up a fuss, then that’s fine. You can start with - with Percy.”

And he didn’t miss the way her voice went brittle as she spoke his name, like all the air had left her lungs. The air left the room, certainly; any lingering laughter died on Bill’s lips.

“Percy,” he said slowly. “You’re joking.”

Silence fell as Mum tucked an invitation carefully into an envelope, eyes fixed on her work. “He’s your brother.”

Bill let out a sharp breath through his nose.

Yes. Strictly speaking, he and Percy had the same parents, which made them brothers. But Bill also thought that any proper brother of his wouldn’t have spoken to Dad the way Percy had, or made Mum cry for an entire summer. He wouldn’t have shown up - on Christmas, of all days - as some sort of minion for the Ministry.

“He isn’t going to come,” said Bill gently as his mother began inscribing Xenophilius Lovegood’s name onto an envelope, her jaw stubbornly set.

“You don’t know that.”

“I…” Bill sighed again. “I do know that, Mum. Even if we - even if you invite him, he’s not going to come.”

“It’s your wedding, dear,” she said, setting the envelope aside. “You said you wanted your family to be there.”

“Right, but…” Bill paused, but Mum still wasn’t looking at him. “I don’t want him there.”

Bill had not imagined that he might care this much about the guest list - though he was quickly learning that the wedding was about everyone but him and Fleur - but the notion was leaving him as swiftly as it had come. He could not have cared less if Thomas Prewett showed up with his Muggle calculator, or if the party was so vast and packed with quasi-strangers that it spilled out of the tent and stretched all the way to Exeter.

But Percy. Percy was different.

His mum’s second cousins had never mattered to him. He had not taught them to ride a broom, or helped them with maths homework at the kitchen table, or gotten them drunk for the first time on the family trip to Egypt. They had not made his fists tremble with rage and frustration, or made his stomach flip from the very thought of them. To Bill, they were inconsequential. They did not matter.

But Percy mattered. And so Bill could not have him there. Not like this.

“Now you listen here,” said Mum, leaning toward him, her quaking voice low and dangerous. “Your father and I are hosting this wedding, and we’ll decide who is or isn’t welcome in our home. Percy is your brother, and this is a family event, and he is our family. Do you understand?”

She stood so suddenly that it jostled the table, causing the parchment to roll back into itself, and started toward the stairs.

“Mum,” Bill called after her, desperate for her to see reason. “Mum, just listen-“

A door slammed shut, then, and silence fell.

Bill slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose, and contented himself with the thought that Fleur probably wouldn’t have fared any better.

•••

London was hot. The whole south of England was hot - Percy was not unaccustomed to this - but at least in Devon, there had been fresh air, space and room to breathe. In London, the skyscrapers seemed to trap everything in so that the city itself became stuffy, like a locked room with no windows. The heat and humidity just grew and built upon itself until it became unbearable.

Or maybe he just missed home.

But he didn’t. Why would he, when his long-overdue departure had been the catalyst for his meteoric rise to success at the Ministry? He had remained Junior Undersecretary to the Minister even through an administration change, which he knew was almost unheard of. It spoke to his talent, really. To his hard work. It proved that if he threw himself wholeheartedly into it, and dedicated all of his time and energy into being the best employee he could be, that all of his sacrifices would be worth it.

All of them.

Which was why, even though it had no business being so hot in early June, he had parked himself at the desk in his Central London flat. There was always something he could work on, always some way to do more. His plan, as it had been for the past two years, was to throw himself so fully into his work that he had no time or headspace for anything else.

Still, though. It was getting rather uncomfortable in the flat.

He stood, using the back of his hand to brush sweat from his forehead, and walked over to the window. It didn’t open much, just a small gap at the bottom, and there was hardly a breeze anyway. Nothing like the Burrow, where the windows opened wide and let the wind rush in and topple everything over.

It had always been difficult to get any work done like that.

No sooner had Percy sat back down, however, than a tawny owl flew in through the window he’d just opened with a large envelope clamped in its beak. How odd, Percy thought, to receive an owl on the weekend. Most Ministry correspondence was kept strictly to business hours.

As Percy took the envelope from the owl, he caught a glimpse of the penmanship on the front and felt his stomach drop. It was his mother’s writing. Countless scenarios flooded his mind, none of them cheerful; the weekly letters had stopped over a year ago, and now she never wrote him unless it was bad news.

He slid a finger under the flap and broke the wax seal, then drew a thick piece of parchment from inside. His eyes scanned the words, pressed into the page in elegant script.

M. & Mme. Alexandre Delacour

and

Mr & Mrs Arthur Weasley

request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their children

Fleur

and

William

on Friday, the first of August...

Percy stopped reading; his hands were shaking too much. He recalled seeing Fleur Delacour at the kitchen table, back on Christmas, but he hadn’t been aware of this most recent development. To think that his eldest brother was betrothed, and he hadn’t even known… he supposed he must have been too busy cleaning mashed parsnips from his glasses to notice an engagement ring.

But why had he received an invitation? The last time he had been to the Burrow, they had made their position quite plain. Ginny and the twins, in particular, had behaved quite outlandishly - and he, Percy, had been on official business with the Minister, so it wasn’t as if they should have taken his presence personally.

Perhaps it was just proper etiquette. People always cast a wide net when sending wedding invitations, and they never expected absolutely everyone to attend. Good manners and tradition was all it was. He wasn’t really meant to attend.

Yes, that would be it, he decided, walking slowly back to his desk. Just good manners, the way they would probably also invite that second cousin of his mother’s who worked as an accountant, and then not notice whether he was there or not.

Percy gave one last look at the invitation, then dropped it into the small metal bin under his desk.

Then he set back to work.

#bill weasley #molly weasley #percy weasley #hp #harry potter fanfiction #I wrote the thing #and it broke my heart a little

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ljandersen · 5 years ago

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3, 4, 5, and 7 for Burning Barriers? :D

Thank you for the ask! This was fun. This is for “Burning Barriers.” It’s from this list.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

Wow, this is a hard one, mostly because I don’t think of myself being particularly skilled at narration. I’ll just go with the first thing that occurred to me, which isn’t a big spoiler for the story. At this point, Kaidan is losing Shepard and thinks back to the war and a important moment between them in Anderson’s apartment:

Shepard’s head rested in his lap with her fingers intertwined across her stomach. He studied the firelight on her face as she watched the flames. It was everything normal. What life should be except for this. What life would never be. Not for them. He touched her hair, and she looked up. His heart stopped. Watery eyes looked back at him. He’d never seen her cry. It was the only time.

He brushed the tear away with his fingertip. She rubbed the back of her hand roughly across her face, stood, and walked off. Kaidan bent forward and folded his hands in front of him watching the fire. After some time, he stood up.

She was in the upstairs bathroom hunched over the sink, arms bracing on the counter. The faint, green glow of the jacuzzi button was the only light in the darkness. He walked over. He put his palm in the sunken space between her shoulder blades, and her eyes squeezed shut.

She cupped a hand over her mouth but let him pull her to his chest. The green light cast shadows around them on the wall, and cold air blew down the back of his neck from some overhead vent. After a moment, she clenched a fistful of his shirt and pressed her face into his chest. The wad of fabric twisted in her hand to the point it was tight across his back and exposed his stomach. Strands of her hair stuck to his jaw, and he brushed them away, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. He closed his eyes. She was warm and close to him, and his heart slowed. Each breathe smelled like her shampoo. The faucet dripped under the sound of their breathing.

She drew her head back. Everything had a soft emerald shade cast over it, including her features. The light reflected off her eyes as they searched his face. She kissed him softly. The briny taste of tears mixed on their lips. The kiss was slow and gentle, and her palms flattened on his chest. Tender. And Shepard was rarely tender.

Only twice did she say she loved him, and then, only when everything accelerated out of control. At that point, they were certain to be dead in the space of days. She’d said it then, their last night together and in London. But it was here, in the dim light kissing tenderly, tasting tears, he knew she loved him. He’d already loved her for so long.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

This is another hard one simply because picking a favorite out of 300 K words is daunting. Also, every passage I think of sounds good in theory until I actually go back and read it. “Gah! This can’t be my favorite. It’s nowhere near good enough to qualify as a favorite.” I could end up rereading the whole story and never find something “worthy.” Haha! I’ll just go with something I thought of right away.

This is early in the story. Kaidan and Shepard have broken up. Kaidan sneaks into her barracks in the middle of the night to see her one last time before shipping out on assignment. They may not see each other again for a long time.

“Take a seat, Major.” She motioned to the sunken living room.

“See, that generous hostess again.”

He came down the steps and sat on the far couch.

“Hell, yeah, I’m generous,” Shepard said. “It’s the middle of the night. You’re not aware of conventional visiting hours? You’re way passed the cut off.”

“Didn’t see it posted anywhere. Your own fault if there’s confusion.”

“You need visiting etiquette posted, huh? Do I also need signs to keep your boots off the table and use coasters for cold drinks?”

He looked down at his boots. “They’re clean. Besides, I don’t have anything cold to forget to put on a coaster.”

“Are you asking me for a beer?”

“A generous hostess would already have asked. You need more practice.”

“I’ll have to get my visiting hours posted first.” She walked up the steps to the fridge.

“You don’t really have to get me one.” He twisted back to look at her.

“Did you bring your ID?” Shepard pulled two bottles out of fridge. She strolled down the steps and handed him one. “Here you go. On the house.” She clanked their bottles.

“On the house, eh?” He twisted off the cap and took a drink. “Even after I missed happy hour? I take back what I said about your hostess skills.”

“Phew.” She came around him and sat on the other couch. “Could have lost ten minutes of REM tonight worrying about that.”

“Ten minutes? That shouldn’t be worth more than five. You’re more sensitive about your hostess skills than I thought. Good thing I apologized.”

“Did you apologize? I don’t think that counts as an apology.”

“I said I took it back. Redacted it.”

“Well, good enough, I guess.”

They perched on the edge of the couches. Kaidan gave a wide look around the room and took another drink. “Swanky, Shepard.”

“See what celebrity buys.”

“Didn’t buy a large flat screen TV with it though. Guess celebrity can’t buy everything.”

“I have a large flat screen window.” Shepard motioned in front of her. “Why do I need a TV?”

“That you do.” He stood up staring at it. “Pretty amazing actually. Not a lot of windows like this in barracks.”

“Celebrity, like I said.”

“Probably doesn’t get bioticball though.”

He bent to the coffee table and paused, bottle hovering in his fingertips. He looked at the end table and then back to the coffee table. “Shepard! You don’t even have any coasters.”

“Oh.” She took a swig. It was good. Everything felt right -- the beer, everything. “I may have put the cart before the horse on that one.”

“Cart before the horse?” He smirked then laughed. “Think how many generations of humans have said that. How many more generations will?”

“Still works.”

“Well, yeah, it makes sense if you know what a horse is. Have you even seen a horse?”

“I was born on a colony. It’s not like I never spent any time on Earth. I did N7 training here, you ass.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Fine.” She put her beer on the table. “I’ve seen pictures.”

“Pictures? Oh.” Kaidan set his beer down next to her bottle. “Sitting with a horse expert the whole time.”

“Damn right. Over my lifetime, I’ve probably seen five different pictures of horses and, after you leave, I’m gonna look up five more. Then I can say I’ve seen ten.”

“Wow. Slow down.” Kaidan put his palms up. “I see I’ve touched on something there.”

“So, I take it you’ve seen horses?”

“Sure, lots of time, even ridden. But I grew up on Earth, lived on property. Not really that impressive coming from me.”

Shepard stood. “I think I’ll stick to fish.”

She rounded the opposite side of the coffee table and walked to the window. Kaidan came beside her.

“Kaidan, I’m impressed.” She glanced over at him. “You actually looked for a coaster.”

“Well, you may be an excellent hostess, but I’m an excellent guest.”

“An excellent guest would have brought a house warming gift.”

“Coasters,” they said in unison.

5: What part was hardest to write?

Extended action sequences by far are the hardest for me to write. There were numerous operations or battles that required chapters of progressing action in this story. Myself, I often get bored as a consumer of action sequences, either in a TV show or book. The conclusion is forgone and all the time to get there is just spectacle. It doesn’t further the plot or characters. I just want to get back to the story. “Yeah, yeah, I know they escape. Come on. No more cars off bridges and guys jumping on the windshield, please.” Of note, I also feel this way about musicals.

It took some creativity to find what would make those actions sequences interesting to myself as a reader. Even then, they’re always a challenge. All around, long action pieces with multiple scenes stacking together are the most difficult parts of an action adventure to write.

7: Where did the title come from?

“Burning Barriers” had a double meaning. It referred to the plot in terms of biotic barriers. When it came to biotics, I wanted to show biotics having different strengths and skill sets. Kaidan is dexterous and can manipulate fine details from far away. Shepard is good with barriers. Through the story, she uses barriers various ways and part of that involves fire. Her skill with barriers is important to the ending.

The second meaning refers to Kaidan and Shepard’s relationship. The story is also about the barriers between them. There’s friction working together after ending their romantic relationship, and in a sense, it’s trial by fire to either come out closer than before or finally, truly go their separate ways.

Thanks for the fun asks!!! I appreciate it so much. It’s always a huge compliment to be asking about writing.

#ask #meme #writing ask #my writing #Burning Barriers

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yourmandevine · 5 years ago

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Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so.

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

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She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

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“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

youtube

Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months.

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much. Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.

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newagesispage · 5 years ago

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OCTOBER 2020

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The Stones opened Rolling Stones # 9 on Carnaby St.** Bill Wyman auctioned off many unique items for the Prince’s Trust.**Wyman’s bass used for groundbreaking records in ’69 and ’70 broke a record at $384,000. The famous amp that got him into the Stones went for $106,250 and the most expensive toilet seat cover sold at auction with the tongue logo went for $1,142. Brian Jones Rock and Roll Circus guitar sold for $704,000.

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VOTE!!!!

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In San Francisco people can order dinner and drinks delivered with a drag queen performance.

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Joaquin and Rooney had a baby that they named River.

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Real Time has been renewed thru 2022.

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The new film, No Sudden Move about 1955 Detroit will star Don Cheadle, David Harbour, Benicio Del Toro, Ray Liotta and Kieran Culkin.

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Shep Smith is back with Just the Facts on CNBC.

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The Presidential debate: Well, Good Biden moments-“You don’t panic, he panicked.” “It is what it is cuz you are what you are.” “Everybody knows he’s a liar.” Wouldn’t know suburbs unless he took a wrong turn.” “Will you shit up man?” “Get out of your and trap.” Imagine if Bernie or a younger candidate with real energy were there. Imagine someone quick on their feet because we need that. The bully style of scary clown 45 does fluster a normal person as it supposed to. Joe held his own and had real dignity though. It is hard to not respond to the President’s ridiculousness but he needs to be ignored. Trump and son both seemed like they were about 8 Red Bulls into the day with all that pent up anger. Who should be drug tested? Biden? Trump went on about forest management but most of that land belongs to the Federal government. ** I have never seen my mailperson trying to sell ballots.** Trump said that bad things are happening in Philadelphia. Biden should have showed some love for the state. He is on a tour of it now though. ** Chris Wallace said, “Why you not?” Was that a real question? 45 said, “I was a private business people.” They all had a little trouble talking. It is exhausting the way people put up with his manners. **As soon as the debate was over, the Trump army wasted no time reaching out to goons to be poll watchers. Do they know that you just can’t show up randomly for that??**Apprentice insiders say Trump abuses Adderall.

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The other day when Trump took the podium for a rant, an open mike caught a someone saying, “Oh shit” On Fox.

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For those who insist Trump is a religious man, I’ll grant you he pays taxes like a church. –Stephen Colbert

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Letterman is ready with My Next Guest Needs no Introduction. This season includes Robert Downey Jr., Lizzo and Dave Chappelle.

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There are about 9 million feral swine in this country known as super pigs.

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There is talk of Levar Burton replacing Alex Trebeck when he retires. YES!!!!

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Cigar Afficionado magazine has named CBS Sunday Morning the greatest show on tv.

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The U.S. built tunnels under Trump’s wall to let water, garbage, DDT and other toxins flow thru. Millions were spent for nothing and now millions more will be spent to address this problem that empties into the Pacific Ocean.

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Days alert: Melissa Reeves is being replaced. Is it that she does not want to commute from Nashville or that she is a bit too conservative or something else? Is it an end of Days with old side characters and replacements of the stars??** Ava is coming back, JJ is back, Eric and Sami are gone. ** Absolutely loved the pic of Abigail 1 that confused Abigail 2. Funny!!!! It reminded me of the OLTL moment during Asa’s funeral when Blair saw the 1st Blair in a flashback.

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“Smaller than expected” would probably explain a lot about the proud boys. –Andi Zeisler

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Why does anyone listen to Christie or Rudy??

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Looting isn’t part of protesting just like murder isn’t part of arresting.

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A judge has said that Florida has created an “unconstitutional pay to vote system.” This has now been overturned. What are the things that can be termed felonies to keep one from voting? The list includes releasing helium filled balloons, driving without a license, catching the wrong lobster and disturbing turtle eggs. Amendment 4 was originally put into effect to stop freed slaves from voting. But SB7066 makes sure that felons complete the terms of their sentences. The fines, fees and restitution can be hard to navigate. There must be proof before they can vote but all counties keep their own records and there is no organization statewide. Mike Bloomberg, John Legend, Michael Jordon and others are paying off millions of dollars in debt for felons in Florida so that they can vote if they can unravel some of the puzzles. Now Florida Republicans are saying that that is also illegal.

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Two thirds of the world’s wildlife has disappeared in the last 50 years.

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At our own peril, we have to step up or everything is lost. –John Batiste

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Michael Jordan will start up a Nascar team with Bubba Wallace.

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Laraine Newman signed up to be a poll worker. How do you get people to vote? Celebrity poll workers? Hey whatever works as long as the masses don’t gawk and hold up the lines.

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A refrigerator sized asteroid is headed to earth and may arrive about the time of the election.

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So the coronavirus relief funds were funneled by the pentagon to defense contractors.** What kind of a selfish fucking world do we live in? At least we know which people in this world give a flying fuck about the rest of us. Rally and fair participants, relief money scammers and mask protesters, we hear you loud and clear!!

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The Emmys went on thru the week of the 14th thru the 20th. Winners included RuPaul, Don’t fuck with Cats, Leah Remini, The Apollo, Eddie Murphy, Last Week 2nite, SNL, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Crown, Better Call Saul, Joseph Gordon Levitt, Archer, Hollywood, Maya Rudolph, Dan Harmon, Bad Education, Cherry Jones, Regina King, Julia Garner, Mark Ruffalo, Uzo Aduba, The Last Dance and Stranger Things. Schitt’s Creek (and practically the whole cast), Dave Chappelle and Succession took home the big ones. Norman Lear became the oldest Emmy winner ever. Letterman ‘hitchhiked’ to the Emmy’s to present an award. I was really rooting for Amy Sedaris!!

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Bill Murray and Rashida Jones will star in Sofia Coppala’s On the Rocks.** The Doobie Brothers want Bill Murray to stop using their music to sell his golf clothes.

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Danny Trejo and Jessica Tuck will star in ‘The Shift.’

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Illinois is pulling down statues including Chris Columbus. Woo Hoo!!

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13 mummies have been discovered in a well, stacked one on top of the other. The Egyptian discovery from about 2,500 years ago has been well preserved.

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Hysterectomies on immigrant women in detention camps?? Really??

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Scientific American mag is 175 years old has never endorsed a candidate but Joe Biden id their man.

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Word is that in Indonesia the anti- maskers are forced to dig the graves of the Covid 19 victims.

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The Breonna Taylor case continues with a settlement and too few charges.

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Scary Clown 45 announced he will call in to Fox and Friends every Monday or Tuesday but a host told him that they were not committed to that.** The Scary campaign put up ads with “Support Our Troops” but the problem is they are Russian troops and jet fighters.** Trump did a phone interview on Fox Sports and talked about golf.

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It is a shame that Hillary lost the election and many more of us would be alive if she were running the show. But, I can only imagine the shit they would have given her.

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Brad Pascale, Trump’s former campaign manager, went to the hospital after being taken into custody in Florida after threatening suicide.

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Just remember , 1619 Project: Good 1776 Commision: Oh my! Why do these rich old fucks want us to stay as stupid and uninformed as they are? Haven’t we been in the dark long enough? They are the fake news masters.

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Jim Carrey will play Biden on SNL. Chris Rock will be host the season 46 opener on Oct. 3. New players will be Lauren Holt, Punkie Johnson and Andrew Dismukes.

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Gulf War Syndrome is a chronic and multi symptomatic disorder that has affected military personnel from the Persian Gulf War. The DOD is resisting the strong evidence and needs more of a spotlight. The possible exposure to chemical weapons may even have been passed on to their partners through sexual contact. All of this came to light in the mid 90’s thru complaints that were told to Ross Perot. Let’s hope Tammy Duckworth looks into this further.

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Amy Coney Barrett has been nominated to the Supreme Court. Her previous statements tell us she believes the ACA is unconstitutional, abortion is always immoral and the country should undo marriage equality. She is a member of People of Praise.** If she was a Muslim and everything else was the same regarding her beliefs and associations, Republicans would call her a religious extremist and never let her step near the Supreme Court. –Wajahat Ali.** Notorious A.C.B. ?? Do they have one original idea other than new ways to cheat and steal??

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Finn Wittrock has a funny little Emmy Uber ride on Funny or Die.

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Breonna Taylor’s neighbor’s wall got more justice that Breonna herself. –Jordan Uhl

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Go Stevie Wonder!!!

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Dax Sheppard went off the wagon for a while.

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A Giant Gundom? Really?

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A fun prank would be if we stopped this from becoming a dictatorship on Nov. 3rd and whatnot. –George Wallace

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Sen. Kevin Kramer has been acting a little crooked on building the Wall.

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The Metropolitan Opera has cancelled the whole season.

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Happy Doomscrolling

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Can dogs be trained to detect the coronavirus?

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Rand Paul is an idiot. Birx and Atlas have ruined reps. Give ‘em Hell Fauci!! ** Everything Atlas says is false. –R. Redfield

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Eric Trump must testify in court about the Trump business’s a judge has decreed. The Trump biz has made about 19 billion in the last 3 years.** The world is gobbling up the news about the Trump tax returns with tales of debt, the $72.9 milliion refund and foreign influence. How does the IRS let a refund like that happen? How bad of a businessman do you have to be to lose that much $? National security threat. One of his fans will probably bail him out.

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Bet we’d all own houses if we stopped eating so much avocado toast and committed tax fraud. -Kashana

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Mary Trump has sued The President and his siblings for fraud.

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Ellen is selling off $10 mil in art.

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61% say we should abolish the electoral college.

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The Netflix series, Challenger :The Final Flight reminds us that like The Titanic, the arrogance of man can change so many lives.

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Wilderness of Errors is a great doc. It proves just how right the book and mini -series got it.

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The remains of the 1644 warship, Del Menhorst have been found off the Danish coast.

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Everybody is talking about Jeff Daniels in The Comey Rule. The actors were upset when Showtime was going to push back the release until after the election. The actors said they wouldn’t promote the film so the film has premiered.

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David Tennant gets better and better and now he is giving us DES on ITV. Quality AND quanity.

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Independent prosecutors are not going ahead with a case against NE Patriots Robert Craft for soliciting prostitutes.

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America has no memories. –Wallace Shawn

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Tyler Childers has released ‘Long Violent History”. Give it a listen.

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Does it seem like the administration gets a word of the week and they really push it? Caravan-Herd-sedition-looters- Antifa. It is like they all share a brain and do not have a thought of their own.

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Chris Petrovski `will star in ‘Listen’ about a young Israeli soldier.

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On a personal note, I love the way that Autumn makes my brain feel. The spring allergies are gone, the hot muddled summer thinking fades and everything opens up.

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Gubler is back and in the video for Future Islands ‘Moonlight’.

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Niecy Nash wed Jessica Betts.

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Check out the Curious life and death of… on the Smithsonian channel.

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Conan is looking hot with his grown out hair.

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I just love Mel Rodriguez and Weijia Jiang. Some people just don’t get enough credit.

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Vet’s crisis line: 1-800-273-8255

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Donald Trump is taking page out of Charles Manson’s playbook. Start a race war, then convince the public you alone can end it. He’s a lying racist piece of garbage. –Rob Reiner

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Serious Question: Would good Christian conservatives have mounted a Go fund me for Timothy McVeigh? –Michael Mckean

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Old Navy will pay employees to work the polls on Election day.

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Trump is the most effective anti -liberal in my lifetime. –Newt Gingrich

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Tommy Chong does not seem too happy with Joe Rogan.

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Anna Faris is leaving CBS’s Mom as it heads into its 8th season.

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Q Anon should take advantage of the ACA. –Joe Biden

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Word is that the White House told Federal agencies to ban race based sensitivity training. The thinking is that Un American propaganda training sessions have no place in Federal Government.

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I wish I lived in a country where John Kelly, James Mattis and John Bolton had at least half the balls of Sally Yates, Maria Yovanovitch, Fiona Hill, Reality Winner, Christine Blasey Ford or Stormy Daniels. – Andrea Junker** If only Mad Dog Mattis had the balls of Olivia Troye – Michael Mckean

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38 million Americans live in poverty.

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80 year old Sam Little with a possible 93 murders has now been called the most prolific serial killer in the U.S. and he has a photographic memory. Whoever takes this on, please let David Alan Grier play him in the movie.

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You must check out the album, the Angel Headed Hipster.

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Everybody is talking about Cottage Core.

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The Trump campaign can’t help themselves with things like playing ‘knockin’ on Heaven’s door’ and ‘Fortunate son’ at rally’s. It was like the time my Grandfathers young wife brought a purse to the funeral that boldly stated ‘Jackpot.’ True Story.

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Glenn Howerton and Seth Meyers should play brothers on something.** Also Meyers and Larry Wilmore wondered if the cancellation of Wilmore’s show was a reason for the racial unrest and terrible results of the last election. Hmmm.

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Can we remember this election enthusiasm for all future elections? We need to take things seriously EVERY time.** So many say that even with our divide, we all want the same things in the end. I do not think that is really true. It seems that in this divide, we have different ideas about what we want this country to be.

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Harry Styles has replaced Shia LaBeouf in Olivia Wilde’s Don’t Worry Darling.

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Cat Cora has filed for a restraining order against her ex- wife, Jennifer who it seems has been stalking her.

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Showtime’s The Comedy Store sounds interesting with stories like Jimmie Walker who claims that Freddie Prinze wanted to kill John Travolta.

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Maplecroft, Lizzie Borden’s last house sold for about $890,000.

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A woman ref in the NFL?? It’s about time!

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Doc Martin will end after its 10th season.

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Kelly Clarkson is being sued by her management firm.

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Pope Francis refused to meet with Mike Pompeo.

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R.I.P. Tom Seaver, Sophie Farrar, Kevin Dobson, Toots Hibbert, Stevie Lee, Bruce Williamson, Ben Cross, Diana Rigg, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Rev. Robert Graetz, Ron Cobb, Gale Sayers, Dan Dettman, Kevin Burns, Mac Davis, wildfire casualties, Covid victims and Helen Reddy.

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