#but then they hit it off with a brief reference to the floyd like when jack and grace bonded over figure skating

[neomachine]

roz/lilith + classic rock "in college, i dropped out of pre-law because it interfered with bruce springsteen’s touring schedule."

[bradshawsbaby]

What Christmas Means to Me, My Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

Summary: You're determined to make your first married Christmas the best one yet. But when you start to overextend yourself, Bob steps in to remind you what's most important.

Word Count: 10.6k

Author's Note: Whew! The relief I feel that I was able to get this story completed before Christmas Eve! This is my contribution to @lewmagoo's A Lew Magoo Christmas challenge! It was inspired by the Stevie Wonder song, "What Christmas Means To Me." I hope you all enjoy!

(Special shoutout and thanks to @luminousnotmatter and @ryebecca for listening to me ramble when I was having a total meltdown about writing this story. I'm very thankful for you both!)

Warnings: References to being stressed during the holidays and a few brief innuendos, but it's mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff!

From the time he was a young boy, Bob Floyd had been cognizant of one very fascinating phenomenon—his bed never felt so comfortable or so warm as when his alarm clock was blaring in his ear, giving him a rather forceful reminder that it was time to get up and start the day. After he met you, that troubling phenomenon seemed to increase tenfold. As responsible as he was and as much as he prided himself on getting to work early each day, Bob would be lying if he said there weren’t times when he felt like chucking his alarm clock across the room and playing sick just so he could stay tucked away in bed all day, cocooned under the blankets and wrapped around your sweet warmth.

This morning, as his alarm started roaring at 7:00 on the dot, Bob let out a small grunt of protest, blindly reaching out from beneath the comforter to pound a resentful fist on the top of his alarm clock. Once it was silent, he rolled over in the bed the two of you had been sharing as husband and wife for nearly six months now and reached an arm out, fully expecting to wrap it around your soft, pajama-clad body. When he was met with emptiness instead, Bob blinked his eyes open in confusion and sat up slowly, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his vision as he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and slipped them onto his nose, albeit a bit crookedly.

“Sweetheart?” Bob called out, frowning when he was met with nothing but the early morning stillness of your quaint little home.

Immediately, he flung the covers back and climbed out of bed, padding towards the bathroom to see if maybe you were in the shower and couldn’t hear him calling you over the sound of the running water. That theory was quickly disproven, however, when he found the bathroom door hanging open, lights off and no sounds of a shower in progress. But as he flicked on the lights, Bob discovered that you must have been in there not too long ago, for the mirror above the sink was still beaded with condensation and the bathmat had the imprint of damp footprints.

“Honey?” Bob called again, thinking maybe you’d stepped outside to enjoy your morning coffee on the front porch. Although why you’d be up this early—and showered already, too—on one of your days off from work was beyond him.

Walking into the kitchen, Bob immediately spotted a piece of festive note paper resting on the countertop. He recognized it instantly, the cream colored paper outlined with a ring of cheerful poinsettias. You’d been ecstatic when you’d found it at the dollar store a few weeks ago—"You never know when something like this will come in handy during the holidays, honey," were your exact words. But what stood out even more was your delicate handwriting etched across the paper in dark ink. Picking up the note, Bob adjusted his glasses and read the message you’d quickly penned on your way out the door.

Good morning, honey! I decided to head out early to try to hit some of the stores before they get too crazy. There’s a lot that I still need to pick up, so I’ll probably be gone most of the day. Also, Lorraine and I are going to run over to check out the venue for our staff holiday party and finalize the menu. Speaking of which, I also need to finalize the menu for OUR party, plus Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Text me if there’s anything you want me to get! Hopefully I won’t be home too late. I love you!!!

P.S. I almost forgot—I packed some lunch for you and left it in the fridge! And there’s a pot of coffee ready to brew. Have a great day!!!

He sighed softly as he set your note back down on the counter, running a hand through his honey brown hair, a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he silently lamented your early departure. He could hear your voice in his head as he read your words, chuckling to himself as he pictured you quickly gulping down a cup of coffee—in your favorite Christmas mug, no doubt—and shoving a piece of half-burnt toast in your mouth before running out the door.

You absolutely lived for this time of year, and all the hecticness that the season entailed.

Bob had known, almost from the very start of your relationship, how much you adored Christmas. It was one of the things, in fact, that had made it so easy for him to fall in love with you. Seeing the way you lit up like a firefly when a Christmas song came on the radio or when your favorite coffee shop started offering peppermint-flavored drinks made Bob’s heart melt in absolute love and devotion. He had never known anyone as whimsical or as full of genuine Christmas spirit as you. And your joy was infectious—Bob had never loved the holiday season so much as he did once he started celebrating it with you.

Waiting for his coffee to finish brewing, Bob couldn’t help but grin as he glanced around the kitchen at all the decorations you’d been putting up since Thanksgiving. They gave your home a warm, cozy feeling that had nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with the loving care with which you’d hung them.

To Bob, every day was Christmas so long as he got to spend it with you.

Which was why he sighed again as he poured a splash of cream into his coffee mug, brows furrowing above his glasses as he considered how little he’d seen you these past couple weeks.

With both of you working full-time jobs, it made sense that you couldn’t possibly spend every waking moment together. But Bob looked forward more than anything to your routine of dinner in the early evening and then hours spent lounging in each other’s arms, talking about your days or listening to music or watching a movie together. It was a habit you had gotten into even before you were married, and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that your lives were now entwined so intrinsically.

These past few weeks, however, that routine had been seriously upended by all the hustle and bustle of the holidays. Bob knew you took this time of year seriously—and he really did love how happy it made you—but it seemed like this year more than ever, your schedule was jam-packed and filled nearly to bursting.

On top of the usual shopping that needed to get done—you bought gifts for everyone, even down to your mail carrier and the barista who made your favorite coffee—there were preparations for not one, not two, but three separate parties you had volunteered to host. First up was your staff holiday party. Your colleagues knew that no one loved Christmas more than you, and so they had unanimously nominated you to spearhead the planning, which you’d graciously agreed to, with some help from your co-worker, Lorraine. Then was the party for the Daggers and their families that you had convinced Bob it would be fun to host a few days before Christmas Eve. All of your friends couldn’t stop buzzing about it, and you were going to great lengths to make sure it was perfect. As if all that wasn’t enough, you were also going to be hosting both of your families for the holidays this year, parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, and all.

“It’s our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs. Floyd,” you’d told him one night, when he’d asked if you were really okay with all of the planning that would be involved. “I want it to be special.” Your smile when you said it warmed him from the inside out. As introverted as he could be, he’d gladly host twenty parties so long as it made you happy.

The reality, however, was that you were swamped. Every day after work, you were either running around to stores or scouring the internet for the best cyber deals or researching recipes that you wanted to try for Christmas dinner. One night, Bob had even found you making an alphabetized list of holiday games you could play at the parties.

“Are you sure you’re really okay?” Bob asked at one point, when he caught you yawning over your dinner. “I know I’ve been busy with work, but I can help more. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’m fine, silly,” you giggled, waving off his concern with a hand. “I just want everyone to have a good time.”

“They will,” he told you, resting his large, calloused hand over yours. He looked intently into your eyes, sincerity shining in the blue depths of his. “They’ll have a good time no matter what. You don’t have to make yourself sick over planning.”

You had just smiled at him and given him a kiss, but clearly you hadn’t heeded his words because now you were even using your day off to run errands, waking up even earlier than your naval aviator husband to do so.

Rinsing his empty mug out in the sink, Bob frowned as he thought of how tired you’d seemed these past few days. Your joy and your sweetness never diminished, but he could tell just from looking in your eyes how exhausted you were getting. You were overextending yourself, and he was terrified you were going to burn out before Christmas even arrived. Not being able to fully enjoy your favorite time of year would devastate you, and nothing would hurt Bob more than that.

You needed to take a day for yourself, Bob decided as he let the warm water flow over him in a quick shower. No shopping, no planning, no organizing—just a day where you actually got to enjoy all your favorite things about this season.

That idea remained buzzing around in his head as he drove to work, hanging on the periphery of his consciousness even as he spent hours flying test runs with Phoenix and the rest of the Daggers. On his lunch break, he enthusiastically hunkered down in the rec room to research some of the plans that were percolating in his mind. And by the time he drove home that evening, he was wearing a smile bright enough to rival any of the Christmas lights twinkling in your neighborhood.

The fact that you still weren’t home when Bob unlocked the front door and carefully placed his work boots on the shoe rack only further solidified his plan. As if you could somehow read his mind, his phone buzzed suddenly with an incoming text.

Are you home? I’m so sorry I’m not back yet! I’m on my way now. I picked up some dinner from that BBQ place that you like 😋

Bob’s heart squeezed with affection as he read your words. You’d been up for nearly twelve hours at this point, and you were no doubt exhausted, but you were still always putting others ahead of yourself. He typed out a quick response as he walked into the living room to turn on the lights on the Christmas tree.

Yum! Thank you, sweetheart. Can’t wait for you to get home ♥️

About twenty minutes later, just as Bob was stepping out of your bedroom after changing into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt from his time at the Naval Academy, he heard your key jiggling in the lock and hurried to meet you.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise when your husband swung open the door before you could finish turning your key. “Hiya, honey,” you beamed, holding up the bag of take-out food you’d picked up especially for him on your drive home.

“Man, I tell you, these delivery people keep getting cuter and cuter,” Bob teased, drawing you close and taking the food out of your hands as he dropped a kiss on your lips.

“Mmm,” you giggled against his mouth, kissing him back as you felt some of the tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders slowly dissipate. “Maybe this delivery girl can join you for dinner tonight,” you winked playfully, smiling when you felt Bob’s fingers lace through yours.

“I was counting on it,” he chuckled, tugging on your hand as he turned into the house.

“Oh, just give me a couple minutes, honey,” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering you’d left your car idling in the driveway, the backseat and trunk filled to the brim with your purchases of the day. “I just want to get everything out of the car.”

“Sweetheart, it can wait,” Bob insisted, glancing longingly between you and his dinner. “Your food’s going to get cold. I’ll help you unload the car after we eat.”

You bit your lip in hesitation, but finally relented when you saw the puppy dog expression on your husband’s face. “Okay, fine, let me just go turn the car off.”

A few minutes later, you and Bob were seated side by side at your small kitchen table, your legs pressing together and your fingers brushing against one another as you nibbled on wings and scarfed down some chili mac and cheese.

“How was your day?” you asked curiously, glancing up as you took a sip of water and wiped your fingers on a napkin.

You always asked that question so sincerely, even after all this time. It made him feel so seen and loved. Smiling, he rested his hand over yours and squeezed your fingers gently.

“It was good,” he said lightly, not yet ready to divulge the plans he’d been formulating all day. “You know, same old, same old. How about yours?”

“It was great!” you chirped, beaming brightly.

Bob smiled and nodded as you told him about the gifts you’d picked up for all the nieces and nephews, the menu you and Lorraine had decided on for your staff holiday party, the grab bags gifts you’d snagged for the Dagger party, the new gingerbread recipe you’d just heard about, and a whole host of other things.

“Sorry, I’m rambling,” you murmured sheepishly after you realized you’d hardly stopped for a moment to take a breath.

“It’s okay, I love it when you ramble,” Bob grinned, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Mmm, I love it even more when you taste like barbeque,” he laughed, nudging your nose with his own.

Laughing, you wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders and kissed him tenderly. Pulling back, you rested your forehead against his with a contented sigh and gazed into his eyes. “Want to go find a movie to watch while I do the dishes?” you suggested.

Bob pulled back slightly to more fully look at you, though he kept his large hands wrapped loosely around your waist. “As much as I love the sound of that plan, I think we should call it an early night tonight, honey,” he said softly, reaching up to lightly brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You look exhausted.”

You pouted slightly, but couldn’t stifle the yawn that suddenly came upon you, which made the both of you laugh. “I guess you’re right,” you admitted ruefully, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment.

“How about you get started on the dishes and I’ll unload everything from the car? Then we’ll head to bed, alright?” Bob asked, hyper aware of the drawn look around your eyes.

“Deal,” you nodded, giving him one more kiss as you jumped up to clear the table.

Thirty minutes later, the two of you were cuddled up under the covers, the warm glow from the little battery-operated lantern you kept near the window casting a cozy feel over the room.

“Do you have any plans for Saturday?” Bob asked softly, running his fingers up and down your arm gently as you lay in his embrace. Saturday was the one day that the both of you had off, and he intended to make the most of it this weekend.

You let out a soft sigh, snuggling up further against his chest. “There are a few new recipes I wanted to try for dinner on Christmas Eve and Christmas, so I figured maybe I should test them out ahead of time, just in case they end up being a disaster. Saturday seems as good a day as any to do that. Want to be my taste tester?” you grinned, eyes crinkling as you smiled over at him.

“Uh-uh,” Bob shook his head, a slightly mischievous smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him. “Why not? You’ve got other plans?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, his blue eyes twinkling, which you could see even in the dark of your bedroom. “I’m going to have a very full day.”

“Doing what?” you huffed jokingly, arching an eyebrow as you rolled onto your side, gazing at him curiously.

“You’ll find out,” Bob grinned, not letting the cat out of the bag just yet. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” you asked, clearly taken aback as your eyes widened once again. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he chuckled, leaning over to give you a quick kiss.

“Bob!” you exclaimed, nudging him lightly with your foot.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he grinned, rolling over and closing his eyes. He had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as he heard you huffing softly beside him, clearly desperate to know what he was planning. Within minutes, however, he heard the sound of your breathing soften and deepen, your eyes closing in a deep slumber.

Turning back over, Bob watched you sleep peacefully and felt his heart clench inside his chest. You were going above and beyond this Christmas, and it was clearly taking its toll, whether you wanted to admit it or not. He was glad to see you sleeping so comfortably after such a long day.

You were striving so hard to make this Christmas magical for everyone else. This weekend, Bob was going to make it magical for you and remind you what this season was really all about.

Nobody deserved it more than you.

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, just as Bob had been anticipating. He’d been checking the forecast every day to make sure that nothing was going to interfere with his plans for today. The weather was better than he could have hoped for—the sun was shining bright, hardly a cloud in the sky, but the air had a nice winter chill as the temperature hovered somewhere between the high fifties and low sixties.

That was one of the only things you ever lamented about moving to San Diego—it was harder to make it feel like Christmas when it was still warm enough to wear shorts and go to the beach. But today’s weather, while certainly not cold by any stretch of the imagination, would at least give you an opportunity to wear one of those new sweaters you’d bought for yourself.

Grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, Bob quietly tiptoed into your bedroom, where he was delighted to see that you were still fast asleep, buried so deeply under the covers that only the top of your head was poking out. Swallowing back a laugh, he sidled over to your side of the bed and carefully placed the treats he’d set out early to procure on your nightstand.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured softly, gingerly taking a seat on the edge of the bed to avoid crushing you. You stirred slightly, but didn’t open your eyes, so he bent down to drop a kiss on the crown of your head, still the only part of your body exposed to the mid-morning light. “Honey, wake up,” he tried again, his voice scarcely above a whisper.

Letting out a soft hum in response, you slowly pushed the covers back and ran a hand down your face before opening your eyes halfway, peeking up at your husband through hooded lids.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Bob chuckled, ducking his head to peck your lips tenderly.

“Mmm, good morning,” you replied, your voice still heavy with sleep as you stretched with a satisfied little groan. You were so distracted by the extremely pleasant view of your handsome husband hovering above you that it took you a moment to realize how much light was filtering in through the windows, and to catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. Gasping, you bolted upright, looking at Bob with wide eyes. “Is that really the time? I thought I set an alarm!”

It was nearly 9:45am. You couldn’t remember the last time you had slept in that late. Between work and all the other things you were usually running around doing, even on your days off, your internal alarm hardly ever let you sleep that long. Not to mention the fact that you normally had an alarm set. You could have sworn you had set it last night.

Bob had the grace to look a bit sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at you with those big blue eyes behind the frames of his adorably gawky glasses. “You did,” he began slowly, glancing guiltily at your alarm clock and then back at you. “I shut it off.”

“Bob!” you exclaimed in astonishment, uncertain what would have possessed him to do that, especially when he knew how busy you were lately. “Why would you do that?”

“You needed the extra sleep, honey,” he said in a voice so sweet and filled with concern that you couldn’t even dream of staying mad at him. Reaching out, he took one of your hands between both of his, gently rolling the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ve been running yourself ragged these past couple weeks. I wanted you to get some real rest.”

You bit your lip, averting your gaze as you silently thought about how busy you’d been lately and how exhausted you’d been feeling. You’d had three cups of coffee at work yesterday just to make it through the day.

“I guess you’re right,” you conceded, your lips curving upward in a rueful smile. “I do feel a little bit better already. Thank you, honey,” you told him, leaning forward to give him a kiss of appreciation. That was when your eyes landed on the cup of coffee and the small red-and-white striped bag on your nightstand. “Is that for me?” you gasped in delight, looking back at your husband eagerly.

“Mhm,” Bob chuckled at your open excitement, reaching for the cup and the bag and placing them in your hands.

Your very favorite coffee shop in all of San Diego, which also happened to be the spot where you and Bob went on your second date, was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall place not far from where you worked. From the outside, it didn’t seem like much to behold, but it was one of the city’s best kept secrets. Their coffee was brewed to perfection and their baked goods were a sweettooth’s dream. But what you loved most of all was the way they went all out for the holidays. The entire cafe was decked out in garland and bows and twinkling lights, Christmas music pumped through the speakers all day long, and their menu reflected everyone’s seasonal favorites.

At this time of year, your go-to order was a large peppermint mocha with extra whipped cream and a gingerbread scone that you swore you wanted to be your last meal on this earth. Bob had gotten to the cafe just in time that morning to get a scone fresh out of the oven.

“Oh my gosh, it’s still warm,” you sighed happily, the spiced molasses melting on your tongue as soon as you popped it into your mouth. You closed your eyes in bliss, washing it down with a sip of the peppermint mocha. “Thank you, honey. This is such a sweet surprise.”

“The first of many, I hope,” Bob smiled, resting a hand on your thigh as you enjoyed your breakfast in bed. “I have lots planned for you today, Mrs. Floyd.”

“You do?” you asked, raising an eyebrow over the rim of your coffee cup.

He nodded, his smile only growing wider. “Don’t you remember what I said the other night? We’ve got a lot to do today. So as soon as you’re done enjoying your breakfast, you better hop in the shower. We don’t want to be late,” he told you, his gorgeous baby blues sparkling as he rose from the bed and started towards the door.

“Wait!” you cried,  jumping out of bed with your coffee and scone still firmly in hand. “What are we doing?” you called after him, chasing behind him in bare feet. “Bobby!”

“You’ll find out,” he laughed, turning around and resting his hands on your shoulders. “Just wear something comfortable,” was all the information he gave you.

You sighed in a purposely dramatic fashion, shooting him a playful glance. You knew from the look on his face that he wasn’t going to tell you anything else, so there was no use in trying to get the information out of him. Instead, you quickly gulped down the rest of your coffee and finished off your scone—still trying to savor every bite—before tearing off your pajamas and jumping into the shower.

An hour later, you were ready to go, dressed in a cute pair of jeans and a new red and white sweater you’d just recently purchased. The weather today finally gave you an opportunity to wear it.

“Is this alright?” you asked Bob as you stepped into the living room, holding your arms out at your sides. It was hard to know what to wear when you had no idea what you were doing.

“It’s perfect,” Bob nodded, smiling as he rose from the couch and took in your appearance. “Just like you,” he added, winking as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I could say the same thing to you,” you giggled, resting your hands on his broad chest. He was wearing a dark green crew neck sweater and dark jeans that fit his long figure exquisitely. “Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Bob just shook his head, laughing out loud when you released a groan of exasperation. “Patience, my sweet wife,” he teased, taking your hand in his and leading you towards the front door. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

You really hadn’t been sure what to anticipate when you climbed into the car with Bob. As many guesses as you tried to make to figure out what his plans were, your husband’s expression was impenetrable. He didn’t give anything away, no matter what you said.

What you hadn’t been expecting was to pull into the parking lot of Petco Park.

As soon as Bob put the car in park, you glanced over at him curiously, trying to figure out what you were doing here. Your husband wasn’t a big baseball fan. And even if he was, it was the middle of December.

“I’m guessing we’re not here for a Padres game?” you ventured with a playful smile, glancing around the crowded parking lot.

Your husband laughed, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Come on,” he told you, climbing out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side to open your door.

Slipping your hand into his, you followed his lead as he guided you through the milling crowd towards the entrance to the baseball stadium. He seemed almost giddy as the two of you got closer and closer to the park, glancing down at you every few seconds as if to check that you were still with him. You had no idea what was awaiting you, but his excitement was infectious and you found yourself buzzing with anticipation.

You weren’t disappointed.

As soon as Bob handed over your tickets to the attendant, you were swept up in the crowd of people surging towards Gallagher Square, where you were met with a breathtaking display of Christmas beauty.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, coming to a halt as you stared, wide-eyed and in awe of the beautiful market that surrounded you.

“Do you like it?” Bob asked, a thread of nervousness in his voice as he looked at you, watching the way you were silently taking everything in.

Turning to face him, your face split into a huge grin and you threw your arms around him, peppering his cheek with kisses. “I love it! It’s so wonderful!”

It was as close to a German Christmas market as you had ever come, with vendors of all kinds set up in little wooden booths ringing the perimeter of the square. There were shopkeepers selling a whole assortment of things, from hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies to homemade candy to personalized ornaments to fine wine and jewelry. Amidst all the different stalls were small stages where performances ranging from choirs to magic shows were taking place, not to mention the life-size snow globes and the giant sleigh where guests could take pictures. And at the center of it all was a ginormous Christmas tree that had to be at least thirty feet tall.

It was magical. It made you feel like you were a little girl again, attending your town’s local Christmas fair with your family.

“I didn’t even know this existed!” you exclaimed, still holding tightly to your husband as you continued to gaze around you.

“I didn’t either,” Bob admitted, unable to stop smiling at how happy you looked. “But Phoenix and Hangman told me they took the kids here last week and had a blast, so I knew I had to get you tickets.”

“Oh, thank you, honey! This is amazing!” you beamed, wrapping your arms around him to give him an enthusiastic kiss.

Bob chuckled and blushed slightly as he adjusted his glasses with one hand, his other hand resting on your hip. “Should we walk around?”

Nodding, you took his hand and practically hauled him across the square, bouncing from stall to stall and oohing and aahing over all the various trinkets and baubles.

“Oh, honey, look! We should get this,” you cooed, holding up a sweet ornament of a hand painted Christmas tree with a little banner draped across it that read Our First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.

It didn’t matter that you had three other ornaments with similar messages already hanging on your Christmas tree at home. Bob gladly pulled out his wallet to buy it for you, his heart fluttering at the gorgeous smile that lit up your entire face when the vendor carefully wrapped it up and handed it to you.

“Thank you, Bobby. I can’t wait to put it on the tree when we get home,” you told him, carefully slipping the wrapped ornament into your purse.

“Anything for you, honey,” Bob murmured softly, kissing your forehead. “Alright, what’s our next stop?”

You and Bob continued to wander among the stalls for the next couple hours, stopping on occasion to take a photo or grab a snack—"This is sustenance," you grinned, holding up the little brown bag of freshly glazed almonds that you’d purchased for the two of you to munch on.

At one point, as you were admiring the work of a local artist, you heard the sound of the sweetest voices imaginable. Following the music, with Bob trailing closely behind, you walked a bit further up the path before stopping in front of a small choir made up of the most angelic looking children you had ever seen. The sign in front of the platform declared that they were students from a local school for children with special needs.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, tears sparkling on your lashes as they sang the most beautiful version of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” you had ever heard. Resting your head on your husband’s shoulder, you let the music wash over you, smiling brightly as they transitioned from one song to another.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there exactly—was it for three songs or six?—but when the children finally stopped singing, you and Bob burst into thunderous applause, prompting nearby onlookers to join in.

The pride on the children’s faces melted your heart as they shyly waved to the crowd and began making their way off the platform.

A little girl with Down syndrome, who couldn’t have been older than six or seven, suddenly broke away from the others and grabbed her mother’s hand, dragging her towards where you and your husband stood.

“Thank you for coming!” she said brightly, offering an adorable little gap-tooth smile.

“Thank you for having us!” you replied brightly, squatting down so that you were on eye level with her. “You all sounded amazing!”

To your surprise, the little girl lunged forward to wrap her arms around you in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” her mother exclaimed, touching her daughter’s shoulder and trying to pull her back.

“It’s alright,” you smiled, patting the little girl’s back before she let go. “No need to apologize.”

“Thank you for staying to listen for so long,” the woman said, looking between you and Bob. “The kids worked really hard on their program for today, so it was nice to have such a captive audience.”

“We were happy to do it, really,” Bob told her, smiling down at the little girl as he rested a hand on your lower back. “Christmas music is my wife’s favorite,” he told her conspiratorially.

Her eyes widened in delighted surprise. “Mine, too!”

You all laughed happily at that.

“Well, I hope you have an amazing Christmas and that Santa brings you everything you’re hoping for this year,” you told her, grinning at the way she lit up at the mention of Santa.

“Santa! Santa!” she cheered.

“That’s right,” her mother nodded, brushing her daughter’s hair back over her shoulder. “We should get going soon if we want to go see Santa. What do you say to the nice people who watched you sing?”

“Thank you!” the little girl said sweetly, giving both you and Bob another quick hug around the legs. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” you and Bob replied in unison, waving to both mother and daughter as you went your separate ways, smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re going to make an amazing mother one day,” Bob told you softly, the unadulterated adoration in his eyes warming you up from the inside out.

You just smiled dreamily in response, very much looking forward to the day when you would get to see Bob Floyd become a father.

“Well I think that was a very successful trip to the Christmas Market,” your husband said a few minutes later after you circled back to the center of the square.

“I had so much fun, honey. Thank you for thinking of this,” you told him, touched by the effort he’d made to bring you here and make it such a lovely afternoon.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bob smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He glanced down at his watch and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but we better get going if we want to stay on schedule. Still have a lot to do.”

“Wait…what?” you questioned, startled. “There’s more?”

“I said I had a lot planned, didn’t I?” That mischievous twinkle had returned to his eyes. “You didn’t think this was it, did you?”

“Bob Floyd, what do you have up your sleeve?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and looking up at him with a quirked brow, trying and failing to mask the smile tugging at your lips.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, taking your hand and leading you back to the car.

If you had been uncertain about what your husband’s plans were when you’d arrived at Petco Park, you were doubly unsure what he had in mind when he turned onto the bridge connecting San Diego to Coronado.

“Are you taking me with you to work?” you wondered with a laugh, looking out the window at the afternoon sun sparkling on the San Diego Bay. You often told Bob that you were jealous of the view he got to enjoy on his commute to and from North Island.

Bob laughed at your question, but simply shook his head in response, turning up the radio as Mariah Carey began belting “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

“Hmmm, saved by the Queen of Christmas,” you joked, nudging him playfully as he took a turn off the bridge.

“Now, honey, you know that you’re the Queen of Christmas,” Bob retorted, winking at you as he made a few more turns.

“True,” you giggled, singing along to the radio until Hotel Coronado appeared in your sights, in all its glorious grandeur. You glanced over at Bob curiously, but he didn’t say anything as he searched for a parking spot.

“The suspense is killing me, Bobby,” you lamented, clinging onto his arm once he finally did manage to park the car. “What are we doing now?”

Turning to face you, Bob was struck once again by just how deeply he loved you. There was no one else he’d drag himself all over San Diego for on his day off from work.

“We’re going ice skating,” he explained, chuckling at the shocked expression on your face.

“You mean…Skating by the Sea?!” you gasped excitedly, practically bouncing up and down in your seat. “Bobby, you got tickets?”

“Sure did,” he nodded, pulling them out of his pocket to show you.

“Oh my gosh, how?” you breathed, reaching out to touch them as if you were afraid they would disappear.

“Mav knows a guy,” Bob chuckled, shaking his head affectionately as he thought of his boss and mentor.

As Hotel Coronado’s most popular winter attraction, it was nearly impossible to get tickets to Skating by the Sea during the Christmas season, but when Bob had mentioned it at work, Maverick had promised that he would be able to procure him a couple tickets. How he managed it, Bob didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know either. All that mattered was that you were looking at him right now like he had hung the moon and the stars, and there was no better reward than that.

“Ready to go?” Bob asked, holding out his hand to you.

“Ready!” you cheered, placing your hand in his and holding on tight.

It had been quite some time since you had actually been ice skating, and you were a bit rusty, especially in comparison to your midwestern husband, who had grown up ice skating on frozen ponds every winter. Still, despite your wobbly knees, you were determined to enjoy every moment of this experience.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Bob murmured encouragingly, holding tightly to your hands as he guided you onto the ice, sticking close to the wall in case you needed extra support.

“If you had told me we were coming, I could have brushed up on my skills ahead of time,” you teased, glancing down at your white rental skates as you carefully slid one foot in front of the other.

“And ruin the surprise and the look on your face when I told you what we were doing? Never,” he grinned, gently squeezing your hands as you slowly started to become more confident and steady on your feet. “You’ve got it, honey. Try looking up at me. I won’t let go,” he promised.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze from your feet up to your husband’s midsection, and then finally up to his face, that face that you adored more than anything else on this earth.

“There you go, you’ve got it. You’re doing such a good job,” Bob praised you, his confidence unshaken as he moved backwards across the ice. It was incredibly attractive how sure of himself he was out here.

“I think I’ve got it now. Want to try letting go?” you asked with a grin, feeling a little nervous but willing to give it a shot.

Smiling proudly, Bob nodded and slowly released his grip on your hands, letting you glide independently for a few seconds. You moved forward tentatively, your hands still out at your sides so that you could grab onto him—or the wall—if needed.

“That’s it, honey! Look at you go!” your husband cheered, making you laugh as you carefully made your way over to the opposite wall, which afforded you breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond.

Seconds later, Bob skated up beside you, resting with you against the wall and enjoying the same view. “Pretty beautiful, huh?” he asked, gazing down at you.

“Insanely beautiful,” you agreed, resting your hand over his and squeezing gently. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“Me, too,” Bob nodded, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “But it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. I’m just so glad to be with you.”

“Honey,” you breathed out, touched by the sweetness of his words. They actually made you well up a little bit.

“I mean it, sweetheart. It’s not the things we do that make days like this special. It’s getting to do them with you. That’s all I really wanted. I’ve missed you these past few weeks,” he confessed.

“Oh, Bobby,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. “I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Bob was quiet for a moment, just holding you close and resting his cheek atop your head.

“I love you so much, you know,” you told him, lifting your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I know,” he nodded, his mouth turning up in a tender smile. “I love you, too. More than anything.”

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, you took his hand and started to push away from the wall. “Come on, let’s go show everybody what an amazing skater you are,” you laughed, nearly toppling over in your eagerness. Thankfully, Bob had some of the quickest reflexes you’d ever seen and was there to catch you.

He was always there to catch you.

You and your husband spent the next hour twirling around on the ice, you trying your best not to fall and Bob trying his best to keep you from falling. By the time your legs were starting to ache in protest, the sun was just beginning to set over the beach, the sky exploding in hues of orange, pink, and red.

“Isn’t that the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen?” you whispered in awe, resting your cheek against your husband’s strong chest and soaking in the moment.

“A close second to you,” Bob replied, chuckling at the adorable way you got all flustered at his compliment. “C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get those skates off you.”

Stepping off the rink, Bob carefully guided you to a nearby bench and sat you down before squatting in front of you to untie your laces.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked softly, reaching out to lightly caress his flushed cheek as he ministered to you.

“I ask myself the same thing every day when I get to wake up beside you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knee before pulling your skates off. He then rose and plopped down beside you on the bench, pulling off his own skates with ease.

After you returned your rental skates and collected your things, Bob stopped you on the pathway near the beach and looked down at you.

“I hope you’ve worked up an appetite after all this,” he told you, a knowing smile on his face. “Because we’ve got one more stop.”

“We do? Oh, Bobby! This day has already been so special. I can’t imagine how it could get any better,” you declared, wondering what more he could possibly have in store.

“Wait and see,” Bob winked, taking your hand as you began strolling off hotel property and towards where you had parked “Oh, and I’ve got a little something in the car for you to change into.”

The last thing on earth you had been expecting when your husband handed you a small duffel bag out of the trunk of the car was to open it up and find the beautiful red dress you’d worn last Christmas—the one Bob hadn’t been able to stop gushing about or get you out of fast enough after Christmas dinner—and your favorite pair of high heels, plus the diamond studs and pendant he’d gifted you last year, the ones you only wore on very special occasions.

And yet, there you were, sitting beside your husband in the passenger seat of his car in your holiday finest, flying along the open road towards some unknown destination.

You weren’t the only one who had changed after your ice skating escapades. Bob had packed a second duffel, it seemed, for when you had returned from getting changed, he was waiting for you, no longer clad in his crew neck and jeans, but in a pair of black slacks and a dinner jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

“For you,” he said with a wide smile, handing you a small bouquet of red and white roses—another surprise he’d been hiding in that trunk of his.

You held the sweet-smelling flowers close to your nose now as Bob made a few turns, heading in a direction that was not totally familiar to you.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you whispered softly, a hint of emotion catching in your voice as you rested the beautiful bouquet in your lap. You couldn’t wait to put it in one of your Christmas vases when you got home and proudly display it on the coffee table in the living room.

Bob glanced over at you as he came to a red light, his blue eyes brimming with adoration as he soaked in how happy and content you looked. “You deserve it,” he told you, reaching out to rest a hand on your thigh, his fingers lightly stroking the inside of your knee. “You deserve all this and so much more. And I’m so lucky to be the man who gets to give it to you—or try anyway,” he added with a sheepish laugh.

Before the light could turn green, you leaned over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. “You succeed,” you murmured against his lips. “Every time. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“I love you,” he smiled, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb before returning both hands to the wheel, ignoring the disgruntled driver who was honking behind him.

You giggled as you settled back in your seat with a happy sigh. “I love you, too, honey.” You paused for a moment or two, then tacked on, “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”

“Nice try,” Bob laughed, shooting you a sideways glance. “I haven’t spoiled any of my surprises today. You think I’m going to start now?”

“Oh, fine,” you replied, heaving a dramatic sigh and then grinning. “I can’t wait to find out what it is though.”

“I have a feeling you’re really going to love it,” he said, his smile warmer than the San Diego sun as he tapped his hands excitedly on the steering wheel, his own anticipation building.

“I know I will,” you nodded, lifting the bouquet of roses to your nose once more and taking a delicate sniff. “I love anything so long as I’m doing it with you.”

A few minutes later, Bob made a final turn that led the two of you up a winding, gorgeously manicured road. Leaning forward, you gazed out the window eagerly, trying to place exactly where you were. At that exact moment, a large sign came into view that read FAIRMONT GRAND DEL MAR.

Gasping in delight, you practically had your nose smushed against the glass as your husband drove past stunning gardens and twinkling fountains, all decked out with the most darling, demure decorations you had ever seen.

Fairmont Grand Del Mar was one of the most luxurious and glamorous hotels in all of Southern California, and while it was basically right in your own backyard, you had never stepped foot on its grounds before.

You suddenly found yourself very grateful that your jeans and sweater were safely tucked away in a duffel bag. Thank goodness your brilliant husband thought of everything.

“Oh my goodness, Bobby!” you squealed, covering your mouth to try to control the delighted laughter that was bubbling up inside you. But it was no use. “It’s so beautiful here!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Bob hummed in agreement, taking in the view as he slowed his pace along the property’s winding pathways. “A beautiful girl in a beautiful place. Sounds about right to me,” he added, eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

You just smiled at that, a pleasant warmth rushing to your cheeks as you tried to take in as much of the views as you could. As if the hotel grounds weren’t breathtaking enough on their own, they’d clearly gone to great lengths to turn the property into a winter wonderland for the holidays and they had more than succeeded. You loved every inch of it.

Moments later, after Bob had helped you out of the car and handed his keys off to a valet parker, he wrapped an arm around your waist and led you into the lobby of what seemed to be one of the hotel’s restaurants. It was elegantly designed, with Persian rugs and cream-colored marble walls, scrolled detailing on the ceiling, and a roaring fireplace to give the room a cozy, inviting atmosphere. It was decorated for the season with class—golden candelabras, dark red poinsettias, aromatic garland wrapped in red ribbons and bows, giant wreaths practically the size of you hanging on the walls.

It felt like a little Christmas paradise.

You were thankful for Bob’s strong hand on your back, guiding you along as you tripped over your own two feet, gazing around the room in unabashed awe.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he whispered in your ear as you approached the host stand. “I’ll make sure to take lots of pictures of you in that gorgeous dress with this perfect Christmas backdrop,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I want you in the pictures, too,” you whispered back, grinning as you squeezed his hand where it was resting on your hip. “Too bad we didn’t think to come here for our Christmas card photo,” you added, eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Next year,” Bob winked. He managed to tear his gaze away from you only when the two of you finally got to the stand and the hostess looked at you expectantly.

“Good evening,” she said in a voice that was calm, cool, and cultured. “Do you have a reservation with us tonight?”

“Yes,” Bob told her, squeezing your hip softly as he spoke. “Dinner for two. It should be under Floyd.”

The hostess checked her computer screen and smiled. “Ah, yes. We’re pleased to welcome you tonight, Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Please, follow me,” she said, leading you through a small maze of elegantly set tables, bedecked with what appeared to be antique tablecloths, romantic candles, and subtle hints of holly and garland.

The three of you finally came to a stop at a cozy table right near a window which overlooked the gardens, a twinkling Christmas tree right in your line of vision.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess told you as the two of you got settled in your seats. “We hope you very much enjoy our special Christmas menu here at Fairmont Grand Del Mar,” she added with a gracious smile before turning to head back to her post.

“Thank you,” you murmured with a soft smile, maintaining every ounce of decorum you could possibly muster until the woman was out of earshot. Then you let out a delighted squeal, the same sound you used to make when opening your presents on Christmas morning as a little girl. “Bobby! This is incredible! How did you manage this?” you demanded, gaping at him in amazement. Then you giggled. “Wait, let me guess. Mav knows another guy?”

“Actually this time, it was Payback who knew a guy,” Bob laughed, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb across your soft skin. “His cousin works concierge at the hotel, so he managed to pull a few strings.”

“Amazing,” you grinned, squeezing his hand lovingly. “Don’t let me forget to thank Mav and Reuben when I see them at the party.”

“Just Mav and Reuben?” he teased, pretending to be wounded.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice as you told him, “Well I’m going to give you a proper thank you tonight.” Your eyes sparkled in tandem with the diamond pendant hanging around your neck.

Bob’s cheeks turned bright pink as he caught your meaning, and he reached up to tug lightly at the collar of his shirt, clearing his throat.

Winking, you leaned back with a smile. Your husband was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sudden appearance of your waiter, an older, dignified man named Antonio, who greeted you both warmly as he shared some drink recommendations.

Despite the fact that Bob hardly ever drank, he ordered the two of you a bottle of champagne that came highly recommended, which Antonio happily delivered along with a bucket of ice.

“To you, sweetheart,” Bob toasted, lifting the flute that your waiter had filled just a moment earlier. “This time of year wouldn’t be half as special if it wasn’t for you.”

“No, to you,” you smiled, raising your own champagne flute to mirror your husband’s. “Today was beyond words, and none of it would have been possible without you.”

“To us then,” he grinned, compromising as he tipped his glass towards you.

“To us,” you nodded in agreement, lightly clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. “Mmm, that’s delicious,” you murmured appreciatively, licking a drop of the champagne off your lip.

“Mhm,” Bob hummed, looking almost surprised. “I mean, not that I have much to compare to, but I’d say this is the best champagne I’ve ever had.”

“Better than at our wedding?” you joked.

“I stand corrected. This is the second best champagne I’ve ever had,” he chuckled.

You and Bob relaxed into smooth and easy conversation. Both your mothers would have scolded you for resting your elbows on the table, especially in such a fancy restaurant, but neither of you cared as you leaned in closer to one another, whispering over the candlelight as the twinkling lights outside the window illuminated your lovestruck faces. Faintly, in the distance, you could hear the soft sounds of classic Christmas tunes being played on a piano. It was the most perfect evening you could have imagined.

The food was some of the best you’d ever tasted. After much debate, you finally settled on the filet mignon with a bearnaise sauce, roasted vegetables, and what had to be the world’s creamiest mashed potatoes, while Bob selected the pork medallions with roasted garlic fingerling potatoes and a brussel sprout salad. Although really it was hard to say who had ordered what considering the way you kept picking food off each other’s plates.

By the time the sour-cherry cheesecake trifle that the two of you had ordered for the grand finale came out, you felt like you were going to burst right out of your pretty red dress. But like you always said, there was always room for dessert.

“You want to know the craziest thing?” you asked, looking up at Bob as you set your fork down on the plate resting between you and your husband. When he nodded at you, you went on, “I just realized that I didn’t think about any of my holiday planning at all today—the shopping, my work party, the parties we’re hosting, none of it. It didn’t cross my mind at all even though it’s all I’ve been thinking about these past few weeks. Isn’t that funny?”

Bob set his fork down as well and gazed at you from across the table, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. “Good,” he said, reaching out to take your hand in his once more, gently playing with your wedding band. “That was my mission, and it sounds like it was a success. I wanted today to be a day where you just got to have fun and enjoy this time of year. I know how much it means to you, and I also know that it’ll be over in the blink of an eye, so we have to make the most of it while we can.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you felt the corners of your eyes pricking with happy tears. Your husband was truly the most thoughtful, selfless, caring man you had ever known. You would never know what you had ever done to get so lucky as to find him.

“Oh, Bobby,” you breathed out, mimicking his actions and lightly rolling his wedding band underneath your finger as you reached for his other hand. You were quiet for a moment, then thought of his words from earlier, the words that had been niggling the back of your mind on and off since you’d left the ice skating rink. “What you said before,” you began slowly, chewing on your bottom lip, “about missing me these past few weeks. Have I really been that busy? I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Bob gasped, squeezing your hands tightly in his own. “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I’ve just been worried about you, that’s all. You’re always so happy this time of year, and I know how much it means to you, so I hate to see you running yourself ragged like you have been. I guess I was starting to be afraid that you were going to burn yourself out before Christmas even got here.”

Your heart constricted at the genuine concern in his voice, at the way he was always looking out for you, even when you weren’t paying careful enough attention.

“And I have missed you,” he added softly, lifting one of your hands to his lips and pressing a tender kiss to it.

“I’ve missed you, too, honey,” you whispered, your throat clogging with emotion as you thought of the many nights you’d come home later than usual after running to the stores after work, too tired to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with your husband or just get to enjoy his company. “And you’re right—I have been running myself ragged. I can feel it. I’ve been so tired, and I feel like I don’t even have the time to enjoy all my favorite traditions.” You sighed softly, shaking your head. “I just—I just wanted everything to be perfect this year, you know?”

“It always is perfect,” Bob murmured encouragingly, gently stroking the inside of your wrist with his calloused fingertips, his movements slow and soothing.

“I know, but with it being our first married Christmas, I guess I just wanted it to be really perfect. I got it into my head that we needed to start all these new traditions and that I had to keep on top of everything at all times to make sure that it happened, but now I’m realizing that in the process of all that, I lost sight of what’s most important about celebrating our first Christmas as husband and wife—you,” you admitted, reaching up to lovingly cup his cheek in your hand.

He smiled softly at your words, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of your palm. “Sweetheart, the good news is that we have a whole lifetime of making traditions together. So long as it’s you and me, then that’s all I need,” he promised you.

You nodded, a couple stray tears spilling down your cheeks, which you wiped away with a sheepish little laugh. “You’re right. Today was a pretty good start to some Floyd Christmas traditions, I think,” you told him with a grin.

Bob reached out to thumb away the tears sparkling like diamonds on your skin. “I agree,” he smiled. “But the truth is, I don’t care what we’re doing. We could go ice skating on the beach or watch a movie on the couch. We could have a five-star dinner at the Fairmont Grand Del Mar or eat take-out on the kitchen floor.” He glanced around for a moment, just to check if anyone had heard him, his blue eyes laughing as he turned back to you. “I just want to do it with you. That’s what Christmas really means to me, sweetheart. All the other stuff, that’s icing on the cake.”

“I love you so much,” you whispered, leaning across the table and capturing his mouth with your own, the taste of sour cherries and champagne still clinging to his lips.

His fingers tangled in your hair as he cradled the back of your head and kissed you back until you were both sitting breathless in your chairs.

“You’re the love of my life,” he told you. “No matter how many traditions come and go, that’s one thing that will never change.”

As soon as you and Bob got home that night, exhausted in the best way after a perfect day together, you both ran to change into the Christmas pajamas you’d worn last Christmas Eve, then curled up on the couch with steaming mugs of hot cocoa to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“Tired?” Bob asked softly as the Peanuts crew sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” while the credits rolled.

“Mmm, a little,” you nodded, lifting your head from where it had been resting on his shoulder.

“Ready to head to bed?” he yawned, pushing the blanket back and rising from the couch before turning to hold his hands out to you.

“Mhm,” you murmured, slipping your hands into your husband’s and allowing him to pull you to your feet. “But not to go to sleep just yet,” you added pointedly.

At your husband’s raised brows, you giggled softly.

“I still have to properly thank you for today,” you reminded him with a playful wink.

You had never seen him move so fast.

That Christmas turned out to be one of the best you’d ever celebrated. Your work party went off without a hitch, the Daggers were already talking about how they needed to make a party at the Floyds’ an annual Christmas tradition, and your families loved getting to spend the holidays together as one huge unit. Every gift you’d purchased was well received and every meal you cooked was touted as the best anyone had ever eaten.

But that wasn’t what made it so special.

As you had been reminded this year, Christmas was about so much more than the planning and the presents and the parties. Those things were nice, sure, but they weren’t what made this time of year so magical.

What made this Christmas so perfect was the handsome man with blue eyes and a wide smile waiting for you beneath the mistletoe.

He was the only gift you needed, today and every day for the rest of your life.

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Prized Shrimp (Floyd x GN!Reader)

Note: Happy (early) Birthday to @floydleeches . I love you with all my heart <3 <3 <3 Thank you for making my life better than it's ever been before.

You honestly didn’t know what to expect. Volleyball wasn’t the most cutthroat sport - even so, you worried about the teams that made up the game. There were two in total, each student separated into one or the other via a sort of raffle. You supposed it was better to draw sticks than have everyone fight over who was on what team. Maybe Coach Vargas did have a good head on his shoulders…was that bad to say? It didn’t matter either way. It’s not like anyone could read your thoughts - well, you don’t think.

You brushed aside the troubling thought in favor of watching the game. As of now, the score was set at a tie. It was anyone’s game - it was so close a small audience had gathered to watch. Aside from a brief timeout due to a wayward strike thanks to Kalim - he almost hit a professor! - everything seemed to be going well. From behind you, you could hear several of your fellow classmates exchanging bets. You glanced to the side to see that even Lilia was getting in on the madol pool. Silver was too far into dreamland to stop his father, and Malleus was too preoccupied by his ice cream. 

“Would you like to place a bet, [y/n]?” Jade startled you a bit, having appeared beside you from nowhere. In his hand he held a silver platter, stacked high with madol. Though his smile was courteous, you spied a glimmer of mischief in his eye. 

“No thanks, I’m good,” you said with a shake of your head. “I’m just here to watch.” 

“Very well.” You were surprised Jade relented so quickly; perhaps he knew your answer from the very beginning, but a certain octopus insisted he offer. As he stood, Jade turned his attention to the game. “Out of curiosity, who do you think will win?”

“Mmm…I don’t know,” you admitted. You watched as Ace, who was stuck on Rook’s team, knocked the ball over the net. “It’s a pretty close game. I never knew Rook could lead a team so well.” 

“Like me, he is a vice housewarden,” Jade commented. “It is a staple for those in such a position, and higher, to have leadership skills. A level head is also required,” he chuckled as he glanced over to the left with a smirk, “though I’m afraid not everyone is perfect.” 

You followed the man’s gaze over to someone you didn’t expect to see: Idia. He sat next to Ortho on a large blanket laid out across the sand, the hood of his jacket pulled tightly over his head. His little brother’s eyes sparkled as he cheered for his fellow students - knowing him, he held no team preference. You supposed Jade referred to Idia, not Ortho, when he made that statement. I mean, Idia’s dorm hadn’t spiraled into chaos yet, so he must be doing a good job. …But how much of that was Ortho’s doing? You felt kinda bad for how little faith you held in Idia’s capabilities in that brief moment. 

“How many bets have we accumulated?” You looked over your shoulder to watch Azul approach the two of you. He wore a straw sunhat - it looked to be of high quality. So the head had gotten to him. Floyd wasn’t pulling your leg when he joked about it earlier. 

“Thirty,” Jade replied to his housewarden. “I just stopped to have a brief chat with our favorite prefect before I went to fetch more.” Should you be worried about being their favorite? Possibly. 

You witnessed the almost evil smirk that spread across Azul’s face. “Very good. Thank you, Jade.” Jade gave a small nod before he wandered off to collect more madol. He barely made it a few steps before he was stopped by a few first years, each adding some amount of madol to the silver platter. Well, you hoped it was worth it. Your attention was dragged back by Azul as he sighed. 

“Hot, isn’t it?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled as you took a big sip from your water bottle. “I heard it’s supposed to be the hottest day of the week. I’m happy I bought that extra protective sunscreen the other day - I don’t want to end up like a lobster.” 

“I agree.” The housewarden suppressed a laugh as he added, “Like Riddle the weekend before.” 

You winced at the memory. You first heard it from Ace and Deuce, but their words did Riddle’s state no justice. The poor guy…you were glad he recovered the other day. You couldn’t imagine how painful that was. “Leave him alone,” you lightly scolded. “You’d be worse off if you were sunburned. Floyd told me about the time when you got sunburned when you were-” 

“And I’ll demand you stop there,” Azul hissed. He now glared daggers into Floyd, who paid him no mind as Leona served the ball and slapped it over to his side of the sand. “May I remind you we’re in public?” 

“Yeah, I know,” you retorted. “So just as Riddle wouldn’t want you laughing about him getting burned, you wouldn’t want me or Floyd telling everyone about that little incident from your childhood.” 

To blackmail the blackmailer was a tricky game - one you had mastered through trial and error. Thankfully you garnered a few pointers from a certain eel in the past to make the process easier. Azul nearly pouted as he crossed his arms and avoided your gaze. “Fine.” 

Before you could say another word, whether mock or further reprimand, you heard Rook yell out, “Floyd!” It was so odd to hear Rook refer to the second year by his name; it certainly caught not just yours, but everyone else’s attention. You focused back on the game just in time to watch the volleyball hurtle straight for Floyd. The eel grinned as he jumped up and spiked the ball, saving his team from a sure loss if the volleyball had hit the ground. The hit was so powerful it shot back over the neck with lightning speed. Though Leona, Deuce, Jack, and their other teammates tried to hit it back, it was no use. You watched in awe as the ball slammed into the sand over the drawn line of Leona’s side of the court. 

Vargas blew his whistle the moment the ball made contact. “That’s the game!” he announced. 

Before Vargas could even declare the obvious winner, Rook, Ace, Floyd, and their comrades erupted in victorious hollars. Though each teammate congratulated the other, it was clear who was the star of the celebration. Floyd received pats on the back, punches to the bicep and shoulder, and even a few side hugs. When Ace came up to give him a high-five, Floyd instead hoisted him up in his arms and spun him around like a ragdoll. Instant regret on the redhead’s part. You watched as he almost melted down to the sand once Floyd released him, lying face up on the ground as he tried to get his bearings again. No harm in going to help the poor guy out. 

“You okay,” you asked through a laugh as you stared down at Ace. 

“‘M fine,” he practically garbled. He blinked a few times - when he could see straight, he noticed the hand you offered out to him. He took it and you helped him up. He shook his head as he got back on his feet, mumbling, “Seven, I hate when he does that.” 

“He does that a lot?”

“Whenever we win a game in basketball, yeah.” Ace’s gaze flicked over to the left; as you followed it, you saw Deuce headed in your direction. That shit-eating grin that was so, well, Ace Trappola was back as he teased, “How’s it feel to be on the losing team?”

“Not that bad,” Deuce shrugged with a smile. Ace seemed a little disappointed by the answer. Aww, poor thing couldn’t rub it in Deuce’s face. What a shame. “You guys played really well!” 

Rook heard Deuce’s praise, he couldn’t help but turn in his direction and give a little bow. “Merci, Monsieur Spade! Your team played most beautifully as well. The way you dove to bounce back the ball at the beginning, how Roi des Lions lead your flock with such grace - and how mighty Fler-a-bras’s form throughout! Ah!” Rook swooned, one hand on his heart and the back of the other pressed to his sweaty forehead. “Ravissant!~ 

Ace leaned over to you to whisper, “I’m gonna vomit if he keeps going.” 

“Soooo, what’s our prize?” Your mind spun with how much your focus was being tossed to and fro. It was dizzying how many people were talking to you and around you all at once. Even so, you managed to direct your attention to Floyd, whose question was directed to Vargas. “We gotta get a prize, right?” A few of his other teammates perked up their ears - human, beastman, merman, and fae alike - at the mention of a reward for their hard work. They, including Ace, made a little huddle around Floyd, all eyes now on Vargas. 

“Of course!” the coach affirmed. “You all get a prize for your hard work.” Now even the losing team was paying attention. Leona stopped his stride away from the net (not everyone could be a good loser) to listen; Jack stalled in wiping the sweat from his nape. Vargas wasn’t really one to give out consolation prizes to the losers, so this was a rare treat indeed! “The prize is…” Vargas paused for effect - every head, from audience to teams, craned forward in anticipation. 

“The valuable bond you established with your teammates!” 

Fucking really?! 

That was the thought you shared with almost everyone in attendance. Even the staff who watched on the sidelines (minus Crowley - one could only guess where he was) gave Vargas a collective bombastic side eye. The coach seemed to not fathom why everyone was so disappointed. 

“That’s some bullshit, dude,” one student complained from within the large group of - now former - volleyball players. 

“Language!” At least half of those students, some even from the audience, collectively shrunk back at the sound of Trein’s commanding voice. 

“This was a team exercise,” Vargas said in his defense, hands on his hips. “I will be sure to give you all extra credit for your efforts once we return to campus.” 

“Laaaame,” Floyd groaned. “I want something better! You don’t have food or some cool sh-stuff or something?” Nice save, you thought. 

“If you mean give you junk food or some other thing to rot your muscles, that’s a no, Mr. Leech.” You were sure the term was ‘rot your brain’, but okay. Sure. 

Though Floyd seemed to relent, although reluctantly, other students continued to argue. Ace was among that throng; Rook and Jack seemed okay with the outcome, while Sebek busied himself with seeing if Lilia and Malleus needed anything. Leona was long gone to some other part of the beach, Deuce himself now collapsed on his own towel. You turned to see Jade passing out madol to those who won their bet, while Azul smiled gleefully as he explained again and again the terms of the bet to ruffled losers. Of course, you supposed Azul had betted on Floyd and was very happy to reap the spoils. If it were the other way around, he’d have turned the rules in his favor. You were honestly surprised Divus and Trein had nothing to say about the gambling. 

All this distraction around you caused you to miss the grin that creeped up Floyd’s lips. Sharp teeth glinted in the sun as his heterochromic eyes focused on one thing - one person. He glanced back at Vargas and asked, “Coach, if I find a prize I want, can I get it?” 

Ignoring the several students that still tried to plead their case, Vargas shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose so.” He jutted his finger in Floyd’s direction. “But if I catch you eating junk, you’re doing laps around the campus for a week!” 

“No problem~” Floyd crooned, no longer looking at the P.E teacher. He’d set his sights back on his chosen prize - his prey. “I’ve got juuuuust the thing I want.”

You were about to go and check on Deuce, who was currently pouring water over his head, when you were suddenly hoisted into the air. A shrill yelp ripped from your throat as your stomach flopped at the quick rise of your body. Two large hands held you up, gripped under your arms as you were held up like a dog - or a little beast you messed with sometimes. “My prize is Shrimpy!~” Floyd declared from behind you with glee. He paid no mind to the way you flailed once you realized just who had you in their grasp. “They’re not junk - not for me, anyway.” 

“Floyd, put me down!” you begged. 

“Nnnnope!” Floyd giggled as he turned you around to face him. “Look at you wigglin’ around. So cute! We’re gonna have lots of fun, Shrimpy~” Floyd peeked over your shoulder to make eye contact with Vargas. “Right, coach?” 

You strained your neck to look back at Vargas. Your eyes silently pleaded with him to tell Floyd to put you down. That was not what you got. “Mhn,” he shrugged again, “I’ll allow it.” 

No mercy for you, it seemed. Next thing you knew, you were tossed over Floyd’s shoulder, his arm wrapped around your waist as he began to carry you away. You looked about to try and find someone to help you. Rook wouldn’t - he’d be more likely to join in on the fun than anything. Ace was too preoccupied with trying to convince Vargas, more likely digging himself into his own set of laps. Deuce seemed to now be fast asleep, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. Jade and Azul would certainly be of no help, and the other teachers were too focused on keeping the rowdy losers - betters and players alike - under control. 

As you and Floyd began to pass a dark green towel, shielded by a humongous umbrella, you thought of your last hope of escape. Malleus! There was no other man willing to protect you. Your gaze soon beheld the tall fae, so already sat on his knees on the towel, looking ready to bolt up and take off after you. Your eyes met, chartreuse to [eye color], and you thanked the Seven that there was clear determination within those slitted orbs. But then you spied Lilia grab Malleus by the wrist, hold gentle yet firm. The older fae whispered something into the prince’s pointed ear - to your horror, he sat back on the towel. 

“Malleus??” you whisper-yelled. The only answer you received was the most pitiful apologetic look that ever graced his elegant features. Lilia, on the other hand, smiled gaily and wiggled his fingers in a goodbye. His expression was almost mischievous, in a way - like he knew something you didn’t. Silver just roused from sleep from behind him, and Sebek paid you no mind as he lectured the young man for his sleepiness. You realized it then: There was no help coming for you. You weren’t necessarily scared…nervous was a term, however. 

“What should we do first, huh, Shrimpy?” Floyd asked. Was he actually giving you options? “We could go eat, make sandcastles, do some diving, wrestle around,” he paused, and you could practically hear the smirk upon his face, “ooooorr we could go swimming~” 

“I-I’m actually kinda hungry.” As if to help your cause, your stomach growled just as the word ‘hungry’ left your lips. 

“Awww, is your tummy rumblin’?~” Floyd cooed. “Okay, we’ll go get something to eat!” Floyd abruptly turned in the direction of a food and drink stand at the edge of the beach. You were flung almost violently, becoming a little dizzy as you settled against his upper back again. “After that, we’ll go swimming!” 

“Sandcastles sounded nice though…” You were honestly just trying to stall the inevitable. 

“Yeah, but swimming’s more fun! We can even play hide and seek.” You glimpsed the razor teeth that made up Floyd cheerful, yet menacing smile. “I’ll be the seeker~” 

Of course he would be. Well, at least you’d get a last meal out of it. Better make it a good one. Hopefully it won’t be so bad…to have that time with your weird, longtime crush was nice.

[muraenide]

"i hate this just as much as you do."

"YOU'RE THE ONLY PERSON I CAN TURN TO" PROMPTS //@hellefyre

"N' that makes yer'n asshole, Jade!"

His eyelids snap shut the minute Floyd raises his fist. For a brief, doubtful second it looked like his brother might have hit him, but rather than feeling the expectant impact on his cheek, Floyd instead threw the papers in his hand onto the ground and stomped off.

Jade sighs with a resigned smile. He bends down, gathering the papers scattered messily across the ground back into a dignified bunch. He counts the pages with his fingers before his expression morphs into one of dawning realization. Oh, they're missing a page. It must have flown off when Floyd waved it in the air in his fit of rage. Jade's eyes scan his surroundings, noting the absence of a breeze, the page must've not flown far. His gaze soon settles on a white article on the ground and he walks towards it. But before he could reach it, another hand, one he'd grown a bit more familiar with in the past few weeks, picked it up before he could.

"I hate this as much as you do."

A minute passes, and Jade allows the statement to dissolve in his mind. To his understanding, there wasn't a different event Rollo could be referring to except his obvious not-so-quiet disagreement with Floyd less than fifteen minutes ago he'd no doubt been heard by at least one part of the school.

Didn't Rollo used to have a brother himself? (Keyword: used to) It had been something the school whispered hushedly about, but since Rollo had a stiff, unyielding aura around him that suggested it was a topic he refused to talk about, Jade had left him to his peace.

"Well, don't be," he says, taking the offered missing page and adding it to his original collection. "Our fallingouts are more common than it seems, but I do love my brother dearly." Their bond was something sacred and incredibly intimate it's something nigh impossible to break. Floyd has his tempers and moods, but it would be hypocritical of Jade to take the moral high road when he'd too sometimes experience his own occasional highs and lows.

He'd hope not that Floyd is reminding Rollo too much of himself, and he reminding Rollo too much of his very own brother...

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Thinking about how the octatrio was in a band in middle school, do you think whenever they put on a performance in the lounge the rest of the dorm would make up the rest of the house band? I bet Octa A-kun would rock the trumpet!

I’m sure Azul could pull some strings and convince some of his students to pitch in for the performances.

I know this ask wasn’t meant to be a writing request, but I felt inspired to make some mob student content, featuring Octavinelle A-kun, aka Kon~ and a Free! Iwatobi Swim Club reference

Imagine this...

Octa A should have known that trouble would be afoot (... er, afin?) as soon as he was called to his dorm leader’s office. Nothing good usually came of such summons--they typically led to prepositions that Octa A would rather not get involved in... And as luck would have it, that was exactly the case.

“A-A live musical performance? H-Here, in the Mostro Lounge?”

“Precisely.” Azul rose from his desk and clapped his hands together. “Customers are willing to pay for not only food, but for the experience that comes with their meals. Fear of missing out on these limited time offers will drive sales up. That is why we offer seasonal menu items--and that is also why I intend to hold a live musical performance.”

The octopus bore a deceptively sweet smile. “Of course, you will assist us... Won’t you, Kon-san?”

“W-With all due respect, dorm leader... W-Why me? I’m... I’m not r-remarkable in any way... I-I’m pretty much just a nobody, a background character...”

“On the contrary, my dear background character,” Azul chuckled, pulling open a drawer and fishing out a folder secured with a paperclip. He slid it toward Octa A, who nervously picked the folder up. “I had Jade do a bit of digging into your background, you see.”

Octa A blanched, his hands going clammy.

“I hear that you are proficient in the trumpet. Back in middle school, you played for the band--first chair. You will find the full collection of pieces you have performed, in chronological order, in that folder if you don’t believe me.”

“I-I...”

“It would be a shame if you didn’t put that talent of yours to some good use. Squandered!” Azul paused dramatically, then added, “Ah, and of course, there will be a cash incentive if you lend us your aid.”

“A cash... incentive?”

“I imagine that you would tire eventually of the cup ramen that you constantly dine on,” Azul spoke lightly, his blue-grey eyes glimmering. “30k Madol for a few hours of your time. That is more than generous, yes?”

He hesitated. “N-No strings attached?”

“No strings attached. Just play your heart out alongside us--that is all that I ask of you.” Azul extended a hand and a warm smile. “So... do we have a deal?”

Octa A perched on a slightly raised platform--the area that would soon be his stage--as he polished up his old trumpet. Its brassy shine was finally starting to return.

He had done it; he had accepted the gig--but his stomach still roiled with unease. Rather than feeling like an old friend had returned, Octa A only felt as though he were holding a lump of cold metal in his hands.

He glanced out into a sea of tables and chairs, only to be met with a single golden eye in the darkness.

“Konbu-chan,” Floyd drawled, “Are you practicing your trumpet?”

“S-Something like that.”

“Ne, ne, if you need to practice, play a song for me!! It’s boring cleaning up all these tables without something to listen to!”

“F-Floyd-senpai, it’s been a while, so I’m rusty... P-Please give me some time to get used to it.”

“Mmm? What, you can’t just blow into it?” The eel tilted his head to one side. “Aaah, that’s so different from playing the drums. Ehehe. It’s so easy to just belt out a tune on those!”

“... Not all of us are gifted,” Octa A mumbled under his breath.

When you're ten, they call you a prodigy. When you're fifteen, they call you a genius. Once you hit twenty, you're just an ordinary person.

Octa A had always been ordinary.

He stared down at the instrument in his hands. As a child, he had adored the glisten of the trumpet, the bold sounds that came out with each breath he passed through. He had loved it so, so much--had put his soul into each piece that he played... Until, one day, he realized.

He would never be remarkable.

And so, he had faded into the shadows and embraced normalcy.

“... Hey, Floyd-senpai.”

“Yeah?”

“D-Do you think I deserve... all of this?” Octa A gestured vaguely to the lights overhead. “Th-This role... this attention... being at NRC... sh-sharing a stage with you, my talented senpai...”

A brief silence followed his question, punctured only by Floyd’s exasperated sigh.

“Eeeeh? I don’t understand you at all, Konbu-chan. If Azul picked ya, then that’s that. You’re thinkin’ way too hard about these things.” Floyd picked up a fork and lightly tapped it on the rim of a glass. A small chime rang out. “Just cut loose and enjoy making music!”

Cut loose and enjoy making music...

Octa A’s brows furrowed as he considered the words, turned them over in his head. The image of his younger self, happily blowing into a glass jar to produce breathy notes, resurfaced. His music was clumsy, still finding its footing--but each step was one made with joy in stride.

He lifted the trumpet to his mouth and blew.

The note that resounded was clear as a bell.

Violet liner glided across Octa A’s upper lash line, flared out into a wing, then tucked under his lower lashes. He flinched at the unfamiliar feeling and balked away from his makeup artist’s touch.

“Do hold still--or I may very well poke your eyeball out with the pencil,” Jade warned, though the curve to his lips suggested that he would not mind at all if that were to happen.

“Y-Yes, Jade-senpai!”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He set down the eyeliner and peeled off his gloves, dipping his digits into an open tub of a gelatinous substance. “Now then, tilt your head up and close your eyes.”

Octa A obeyed.

Robbed of his vision, he was left to rely on his remaining senses to piece together his surroundings and experienced sensations. The distant footsteps of clamoring customers being seated for the big show, the muted strums and toots of instruments being tuned, the hammering of his own heart...

Cool, near wet fingers deftly weaved through Octa A’s hair, pushing his locks back. Stray strands fell at his temples, framing his eyes.

Then came a spritz of cologne at the nape of his neck, under his chin, and on each of his wrists. It smelled of the sea and salt and sorrow, bundled in sandalwood.

“There. All done,” Jade announced, prompting the mob student’s sight to snap back to him. He handed Octa A a handheld mirror with a polite smile. “Fufu. A rather cohesive look, if I do say so myself.”

Fitted in a crisp white suit, black dress shirt, and a lilac bowtie, the young man in the mirror looked ready to tackle the world. His makeup was impeccable--and with his hair parted back, his maroon irises shone like jewels.

“I-I don’t... even look like myself.” Octa A cautiously put a hand on his cheek--just to make sure that the stranger in the looking glass was, indeed, the plain old Kon that he had always known. “D-Did I become a prince or something?”

“I have merely transformed your appearance into something befitting the band’s aesthetic.” Jade adjusted his own lilac tie and passed a glance at the clock. “The magic only lasts until midnight, Kon-san. Do take care to not ruin your ensemble until the show is over.”

“Y-Yessir!” Octa A abruptly stood, trumpet in hand, and bowed in deference.

“Jade. Kon-san.”

Octa A raised his head to find Azul and the other Leech twin approaching, dressed in a similar attire as he and Jade were. Floyd expertly twirled around two drumsticks in his hands, while their dorm leader carried a folder of piano sheet music under his arm.

“There you are. The show is about to start. Are you ready?”

“Once I procure my bass, yes.”

“A-As ready as I’ll ever be...”

“Excellent. Then, let us make this live performance a memorable one for our dear customers. Come! It’s showtime.”

“Y-Yes! I’ll... I’ll do my best! I won’t disappoint you, D-Dorm Leader!!”

Octa A stepped onto the stage, embracing the lights, and the audience that awaited him.

[aweebwrites]

The Last Hope

Warning: (brief) physical abuse, verbal abuse, bullying and all that bad, sad stuff.

(So I saw the Rejected Prophecy Au and helped myself to a chance at angst! Here you go @cakeking-cole!)

_______________

Lloyd gasped upon stumbling on his father holding onto the Earth Driller with his mech, shaking them up and down.

“Let them go!” He yelled, using his green energy to blast the mech back, the Earth Driller and the mechanical arm holding it falling in the process.

“Ow! Watch it Floyd!” Jay's irritated yell came and Lloyd winced.

“You did that on purpose you little punk!” Kai yelled as Nya got the hatch open, all four ninja jumping out while Lloyd contemplated running.

He just wanted to help! He didn't mean to-

“Look!” Nya yelled, pointing out Garmadon who emerged from his busted mech, holding an injured arm as he limped forehead.

“Well?” Zane says and Lloyd looked towards him confused, making him facepalm. “Garmadon is injured! Attack him you stupid little gnat!” He snapped and Lloyd flinched at his harsh tone.

“What are you waiting for?!” Cole yelled and Lloyd rushed forward in front of his father, looking back at them wearily as tears stung his eyes.

“This is the whole point of you being the green ninja! You're so useless! One of us should have been the green ninja! We would have taken down Garmadon ages ago!” Jay yelled at him and tears streamed down Lloyd's cheek as he gathered a weak energy orb in his hands.

“Leave him alone! He's trying his best!” Nya yelled at them, hopping out of the Earth Driller.

“Yeah? Well it's not good enough!” Kai spat, glaring at his sister for daring to defend him. “He literally only has one job and he's just standing there, bawling like a little sissy! God I hate him!” He yelled, throwing his hands up as the others shared his sentiments.

“Attack him already!” Misako yelled at him as Lloyd shook with suppressed sobs, looking at his injured father, one of few who were kind to him, who- dare he even hope?- loved him.

He couldn't. He knew he couldn't. Even if he wanted too, their harsh tones and sharp words were too painful and it showed in his weak, unstable energy orb.

“How dare you speak to my son like that!” Garmadon growled, having enough.

He may be on the side of evil but he will not-

“You've wasted your chance! The Stone Warriors are coming! We need to move!” Misako yelled and Lloyd dropped his arms, looking at his father who reached for him.

He wanted to stay but if he did, it'll be so much worse for him.

“Get in the damn Driller before we leave you here!” Kai yelled and Lloyd turned away, running over to the Driller.

He hopped up and Cole pushed his leg once he did, making him yell as he went off balance, putting his hands up to protect his face from slamming into the side of the driller and oofing once he landed on his back, Kai, Cole, Zane and Jay's laugher sounding as he picked himself up. What's stopping him from leaving them here and taking his father's side? At least then-

“Woah!” He yelled once his legs were grabbed and he was tossed back into his seat before they sped off, the Stone Warriors emerging then.

“How can one boy be so clumsy.” Misako says with a scowl, holding the Helmet of Darkness in her lap.

Lloyd looked down in his lap. He hated this. If only he could be better… Be useful… Maybe then, they wouldn't hate him… And maybe he wouldn't hate himself too.

_________________

“The Horns of Destruction. We're too late.” Misako says horrified.

“And it's all your fault.” Wu says seethingly, hearing what had happened from his precious students.

Lloyd only looked at them blankly as their hateful gazes turned to him, shutting down a little.

“If you hadn't been such a crybaby brat, Garmadon would have been defeated and we wouldn't even need to worry about the stupid clock!” Kai yelled as Kozu and the other Stone Warriors began closing in on them, all of then pulling out their elemental blades.

They all looked down when the ground cracked below them when suddenly, a huge chunk of the ground collapsed, leaving Nya to scream as she was left with the army.

“Nya!” Jay yelled, reaching up for her but the distance between them was too great.

“Sis!” Kai yelled as Kozu grabbed hold of Nya.

“Let her go!” Jay yelled with a venomous glare as she struggled against Kozu uselessly.

“Or what? You will make a big splash?” Kozu taunted as the slab of earth beneath then destabilized further.

“Shit! The groun-” Cole was cut off as they were all sent into freefall.

“No!” Jay yelled over their screams as they fell.

______

Moments later, Lloyd emerged from the water, coughing. He climbed out before standing and hunching over, trying to catch his breath. He looked up once he heard Nya scream, Kozu dragging her away. Guilt hit him hard.

“This is all my fault. I should have taken the shot.” Lloyd whispered, hanging his head.

He didn't see Jay coming at him but he sure felt the intense bloom of pain in his jaw as he stumbled back then fell.

“This is all your fault! If you haven't been such a coward little brat, Nya would have been kidnapped!” Jay yelled down at him as Lloyd held his cheek, in a state of shock.

He… He hit him…

“If anything happens to my sister, I swear I'll make you pay!” Kai growled, stomping towards him and Lloyd curled up in a protective ball, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing picked up with an oncoming panic attack.

“Enough!” Wu yelled, stopping Kai from getting his hit in. “We have lost enough. We can't afford to lose our focus.” He told them.

“Focus?! We have to get my sister!” Kai yelled at him.

“By the time we get back up there, they'll be gone. We will get your sister but the clock has reached zero and the final battle could start at any moment.” Misako told him and Kai frowned. “We must head back to the Bounty so that next time, he will not fail. Again.” She says, looking down at her curled up son with nothing but disappointment.

“Come. Let's head home.” Wu says, looking to his ninja who glared back at Lloyd as they walked ahead. “Do not hold us back.” He says to Lloyd before following behind his students.

Lloyd uncurled himself, holding back his sobs but unable to stop the hitching of his breath. He forced himself to his feet and swiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. They were right. This was all his fault. If he had just attacked… If he wasn't such a coward… If he wasn't so useless… All he did was hold them all back. He should have never been the green ninja. Kai, Cole, Zane or even Jay would be better at this than he was. But no. He lowered his head and followed after them. They were stuck with him.

______________

(Oof. I hurt myself. Just for reference, Jay calls Lloyd Floyd on purpose as a way of picking on him. I'm ashamed to say this was fun to write. I need to be stopped.)

[hedwigencyclopaedia]

David Bowie (Pt. 2)

“There’s old wave. There’s new wave. And then there’s David Bowie.” [1] 

After his brief foray into “plastic soul” with 1975’s Young Americans, Bowie released Station to Station— the first in a string of albums heavily influenced by both contemporary German musical artists like Kraftwerk and Neu!, often referred to as krautrock, and German philosophers like Friedrich Nietzsche. [2] Bowie was no stranger to philosophical references in his work, having previously referenced Nietzsche’s works with “Oh! You Pretty Things,” “Quicksand,” and “Supermen,” all off of 1971’s Hunky Dory. [2, 3]

Station to Station introduced the Thin White Duke persona; a character he later referred to as “a nasty character for me.” It was during this era he made controversial comments referring to Hitler and had the infamous incident at Victoria Station that took what was meant as a wave at the gathered crowd and alleged it to instead be a Nazi salute. He had also been detained in Poland for having Nazi paraphernalia. [4]

Having picked up Iggy Pop on his Isolar Tour, David took a short break from producing his own music to help Pop produce his first solo album The Idiot (1977) and to an extent workshop the new sound he had wanted to explore. They headed to Switzerland to create the album with Iggy often “scribbling lyrics” while David and the other musicians worked at crafting the sound of the album. [1]

For Bowie’s next album, he picked up frequent collaborator and producer Tony Visconti as well as newcomer Brian Eno to work on the first of what would become known as the “Berlin Trilogy” or the “Berlin Triptych” in Low (1977). Although known as part of the Berlin Trilogy, work on Low started at the same Swiss chalet that had seen the creation of The Idiot. The move was partly inspired by Bowie’s larger goal to get himself and his friend off of their respective drug addictions and largely to give them both a new mindset away from the fame, fans, and record labels they faced in either the US or the UK. After its completion, Bowie sent a copy of Low to Nicolas Roeg with a note stating “This is what I wanted to do for the soundtrack,” referring to The Man Who Fell to Earth, the film they had completed the previous year and for which Bowie had initially been promised he’d be able to write the soundtrack. [1]

The release of Low was delayed by Bowie’s record label RCA not caring for half the album being instrumentals and the critical reception — what little there was due to a lack of promotion — was mixed to the point that over the years, it was referred to as almost entirely negatively received upon release. [5]

Bowie’s next album, “Heroes” (1977) expanded on the themes explored in Low, distilling and blending them into the next phase of his career. Recorded ‎at Hansa Studio, which overlooked the Berlin Wall, it loosely used the same format as Low with more accessible lyric songs on Side A and instrumentals making up the majority of the B side. Furthering the similarities, both albums featured use of the “cut-up technique” of writing in which an author takes a poem or written work and cuts it up, rearranging the pages to form an exquisite corpse. [1, 6] Where it differed was while Low’s lyrics were largely inspired by Bowie’s life and current troubles, “Heroes” was considered as a whole to be a less personally inspired project and heavily informed by the culture, history, and “essence” of Berlin. [1]

Bowie continued his experiments not only with sound techniques, but recording and writing styles with the final album in the Berlin Trilogy, Lodger (1979). In writing it, he used techniques such as having his band switch instruments to create a more “garage band” “just learning their instruments” feel for “Boys Keep Swinging,” playing chords from “All The Young Dudes” backwards to create new song “Move On,” reusing the musical track from Iggy Pop’s Sister Midnight, from Bowie-produced The Idiot for “Red Money,” and taking further inspiration from producer Brian Eno’s Oblique Strategies cards, which Eno had introduced while he, Bowie, and Visconti worked on “Heroes.” [1]

Going into the 80s, Bowie was determined to have a hit record. [5] Despite previous fame and relative successes, Bowie wanted to not just be a hit artist; he wanted to be the hit artist. And with his divorce from Angela and his split from MainMan officially finalized, now was the time. The next album, Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) (1980), reached #1 on the UK charts going platinum [7] and #12 in the US. [8]

The follow up three years later, Let’s Dance (1983) outdid its predecessor, both reaching #1 in the charts and going platinum in both countries. [7, 9, 10] The supporting tour, the Serious Moonlight Tour had the distinction of selling out every one of the 96 shows and being one of the largest shows of the time. [11]

The two subsequent albums Tonight (1984) and Never Let Me Down (1987), offered diminishing returns in terms of chart performance [12, 13] and critical reception, with Bowie later disowning Never Let Me Down saying in 1995 “My nadir was Never Let Me Down. It was such an awful album. … I really shouldn’t have even bothered going into the studio to record it. In fact, when I play it, I wonder if I did sometimes” [13] and later in 2002 “There was a period when I was performing in front of these huge stadium crowds and at that time I was thinking 'what are these people doing here? Why did they come to see me? They should be seeing Phil Collins'…And then that came back at me and I thought 'What am I doing here?” [14]

In 1987, as part of the Glass Spider Tour, Bowie had one of the most profound experiences of his touring career while playing a stage that butted up to the Berlin Wall. The sound from the fans on the East side singing along was so loud that Bowie could hear it about the din of his own concert. Part of the concert lives on on YouTube as well as a clip of David’s speech in German addressing both sides of the Wall. The influence of this show was acknowledged by the German Foreign Office in 2016 after Bowie’s death with a tweet reading “Good-bye, David Bowie. You are now among #Heroes. Thank you for helping to bring down the #wall” and linking to a live performance of David performing the song. [15]

As the 80s came to a close, Bowie chose to take some time away from his solo career and formed the band Tin Machine with Reeves Gabrels, and the brothers Hunt and Tony Sales.

He married his second wife, Somali supermodel, philanthropist, and entrepreneur Iman, twice in 1992; the first in a private ceremony and the second in a lavish ceremony in Tuscany. According to David, he was already naming their future children the night he met her. [16] His next album Black Tie, White Noise (1993) was as much a wedding album as it was a reflection of the things currently going on in his life from being in LA when the Rodney King riots started to the death of his beloved half-brother Terry and was a distinct return to “eclecticism” over marketability. [17]

The nineties continued the theme of “eclecticism” with 1995’s Outside, an exploration into the budding industrial movement framed by a murder mystery in support of which he toured with alterative/industrial band Nine Inch Nails [18], 1997’s Earthling, which examined electronic music, and 1999’s hours… which while more conventionally mainstream than its two predecessors in tone, was less well received. [19]

Between albums, Bowie was expanding his horizons beyond his music and film careers such as 1997’s release of Bowie Bonds, an early return for him on future earnings that was presented as an opportunity for the bearer to receive a 7.9% return on their investment [20]; BowieNet, a dial-up internet service provider that also gave subscribers exclusive content and a BowieNet email address [21]; and Omikron: The Nomadic Soul, a futuristic video game that featured songs from ‘hours…’ and featured David and Iman’s voices and likenesses. [22]

Bowie also had started work on Toy which would become his first unreleased album since The Man Who Fell to Earth soundtrack had been scuttled in the mid-70s. Some of the tracks from Toy ended up on his next album, 2002’s Heathen. [23]

His last album before taking a ten year hiatus was Reality (2003) During the supporting tour, he had a lollipop thrown in his eye, (later memorialized in a self portrait) [24], and had the heart attack that stopped him from touring his own music outside of occasional guest appearances with other artists such as David Gilmour of Pink Floyd and at events such as Fashion Rocks in the US. His last live performance was at a benefit for Alicia Keys’ Keep a Child Alive campaign where the pair sang a duet of Bowie’s song “Changes.” [25]

In 2013, he ended his hiatus with the unexpected release of The Next Day, the cover art for which featured a large white box overtop of the iconic “Heroes” album cover. The same year, he partnered with the Victoria and Albert museum in London to exhibit the David Bowie Is collection that later that year began a world tour with stops in Chicago, Paris, the Netherlands, Melbourne, and ending at the Brooklyn Museum on July 15th. [26] A digitized version of the collection became viewable on January 8th 2019 with the David Bowie Is app with narration by Gary Oldman. [27]

Despite the album reaching #2 on the US charts [28] and #1 in the UK [29], producer Tony Visconti said that Bowie had no intention of touring the album [30], a comment that music magazine Pitchfork chose to run with to mean that Bowie would never tour again. [31] Regardless of the intent of the statement, Pitchfork ended up being correct in saying the Bowie would never tour again.

In 2017, Bowie’s long standing ambition of writing a musical was realized when Lazarus opened in New York. Following what happens after The Man Who Fell to Earth, the plot sees lead character Thomas Jerome Newton in the modern day having not significantly aged since the events of the original story. Its composition took inspiration more the original novel by Walter Tevis than from Bowie’s role in the 1976 film. [32]

Bowie’s last album was released January 8th 2016, two days before his death from terminal liver cancer. ★, pronounced “Blackstar” incorporated some of the new songs Bowie had written for Lazarus with originals. Recent successes, past fame, and his very current death made sure that Blackstar placed #1 in 24 different countries including the US, UK, and Germany. [33]

After his death, Bowie was honoured not only with fan memorials and tributes, but with official plaques in Berlin and around England noting places of “historic significance.” [34, 35]

[1] Bowie in Berlin by Thomas Jerome Seabrook. 2008.

[2] David Bowie and Philosophy by Theodore G. Ammon. 2016.

[3] http://loudwire.com/songs-inspired-by-german-philosopher-nietzsche/

[4] https://www.thedailybeast.com/on-race-david-bowie-delved-deep-into-the-darkness-and-came-back-human

[5] Starman by Paul Trunka. 2011. Advanced Galley.

[6] https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2010/apr/13/construct-exquisite-corpse

[7] http://www.bowiewonderworld.com/faq.htm#m09a

[8] https://www.davidbowie.com/blog/2017/9/24/anciant-album-focus-scary-monsters

[9] https://www.riaa.com/gold-platinum/?tab_active=default-award&se=david+bowie#search_section

[10] https://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/chart-beat/8457017/david-bowie-no-1-hot-100-1983-chart-rewind

[11] http://www.electricmud.ca/2018/david-bowie-toronto1983/

[12] https://www.billboard.com/music/david-bowie/chart-history/billboard-200

[13] https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/how-david-bowies-biggest-disappointment-became-a-posthumous-reworked-album-702189/

[14] David Bowie interviewed on Jonathan Ross,  June 29th, 2002.

[15] https://twitter.com/GermanyDiplo/status/686498183669743616

[16] http://ultimateclassicrock.com/david-bowie-black-tie-white-noise/

[17] http://ultimateclassicrock.com/david-bowie-black-tie-white-noise/

[18] https://www.revolvermag.com/music/see-david-bowie-sing-hurt-nine-inch-nails-1995

[19] https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/881-hours/

[20] https://web.archive.org/web/20130620051917/http://www.commodityonline.com/news/david-bowie-bonds--ip-securitization-1896-3-1897.html

[21] https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/jan/11/david-bowie-bowienet-isp-internet

[22] https://www.polygon.com/2016/1/11/10749686/david-bowie-omikron-nomad-soul-david-cage

[23] http://www.davidbowieworld.nl/mijn-bootlegs-2-2/bbc/attachment/david-bowie-toy/

[24] https://twitter.com/dark_shark/status/692853482512977921?lang=en

[25] https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-news/inside-david-bowies-final-years-237314/

[26] https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/exhibitions/davidbowieis

[27] https://www.davidbowie.com/blog/2019/1/8/david-bowie-is-virtual-launched-today

[28] https://www.billboard.com/music/david-bowie/chart-history/billboard-200/song/775880

[29] http://www.bowiewonderworld.com/features/thenextdaycharts.htm

[30] https://www.spin.com/2013/01/david-bowie-producer-the-next-day-album-details/

[31] https://twitter.com/Tonuspomus/status/289810690338856960

[32] https://lazarusmusical.com/about

[33] http://www.bowiewonderworld.com/features/blackstarcharts.htm

[34] https://www.theguardian.com/music/2016/aug/22/david-bowie-berlin-plaque-commemorates-singers-time-in-city

[35]

https://www.theguardian.com/music/2017/jun/15/david-bowie-three-blue-plaques-bbc-music-day

General Resources:

https://www.davidbowie.com/about/

[its-moments-like-this]

My Blackness.  Is this self hate?

Prejudice against my own people

For the majority of my life, I have had to deal//struggle with what it means to be biracial. How it looks, and what it implies for my life in this country (USA.) A country that would much rather have me check a singular box (those of you who are also like me understand what I’m talking about.) Still have not figured that out yet, but I am learning daily.

Being raised by my single white mother, I never had a chance to experience my black culture aside from the R&B music she loved to listen to. It wasn’t until I was about the age of 5 or 6 that started to spend time with my black side of the family.

You can read a little more in-depth telling of my story and struggle with being biracial here.

For the longest time, I have had to fight to be seen as a person of color. That I do “belong at the table” so to speak… or rather that “I am invited to the cookout.” Because of this inward desire to be seen as who I am, I have long suppressed all self-reflection on my own biases and prejudices, because I can not be prejudiced against my own self or people... right?

Then everything happened this past summer with Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and then George Floyd (as well as many others) unjustly losing their lives. Then Black Lives Matter taking to the streets in protest. I felt more than ever the need to post, spread awareness, and “educate” others. Yet, a part of me felt I had to do those things to (again) prove my black-ness (all the while subconsciously denying thoughts of myself having prejudices.) But as days went by these thoughts began to surface and stir in my mind as I read post after post and watched the news.

After months of wrestling with my thoughts and one long honest conversation with my then-girlfriend now fiancé, Micha, I have come to a realization. I am prejudiced against my own people. The causes and situations where it shows itself are not often or deliberate but happen all the same. I was so disappointed in myself and that had taken so long to come to grips with this reality.

Micha prompted the question on that same phone call as to why I think those prejudices exist in the first place. I thought for a bit and the first two conclusions came pretty quickly, childhood bullies and family harassment. The third, however, never came to mind before, but when it came into my head (which I can only attribute to God working) it completely clicked, I had “culture shock” trauma.

Childhood bullies came to my mind pretty easily as I had been bullied most of my time in grade school. While my oppressors came in various races and genders, I remember the cruelest, happened to almost always be of African American descent. They have become such permanent figures in my brain I can remember them each by name. I have always been an easy person to mess with. Despite my efforts to show indifference, it is always obvious when I am uncomfortable or hurting.

I remember during 6th grade, a kid named Deeshawn told me on the bus ride home from school, he was going to fight me when I got off the bus (for what reason I still don’t know) as the other kids cheered him on. I remember ashamedly running home from the bus stop praying I was fast enough to get inside the house to grab my BB gun as some means of protecting myself (I admit it was not a well-thought-out plan.)

Another time in 8th-grade gym class Marquis decided to make me his personal target of a dodgeball game, many hard hits to my gut, face, and crotch, my body not athletic enough to avoid his throws.

For almost my entire sophomore year a football player named Kameryn decided he would refer to me as “Flat Top” based on how one side of my head is a little misshapen, an effect of me being born prematurely. (While it was something I had gotten used to over the years, I was still self-conscious about it.) It took the help of my best friend and school faculty to get him to stop his torment.

In an effort to not go on for days, I will spare you accounts of every bully encounter. These situations isolated might not have resulted in too much, aside from your general childhood trauma. However, I’m convinced they have affected how I perceive anyone who marks a similar resemblance to them, in particular, black men.

To say my family life growing up was complex would be an understatement. While there are no doubt people who have had it rougher, I would still like to believe mine was not all rainbows and butterflies.

Switching from being an only child one week to being the middle child of six the next and as the sole biracial child took a toll in the early years. While my siblings and I did play, joke, and have fun, I was still vastly different from them and they made sure I knew that. I was constantly made fun of and beaten-up on by my older sister and two younger brothers. Sibling squabbles are a pretty normal concept for those who have siblings, it’s something you learn to grow with and even love. However, I was a softy when I was young (a mommas boy if you will) and I did not have a bone of violence in my body. Often coined the “good one” of the bunch. I also had an inability to defend myself well against my siblings which resulted in the aforementioned treatment. This had a negative effect on my mental health, for the most part unbeknownst to me until I reached adulthood.

Another big difference between my siblings and myself was our lifestyles. Each of my siblings at some point in their childhood grew up in less than favorable conditions whether it be living in the ghetto or off food stamps at least for a little bit. While I had not truly felt what it was to go without, if my mother was nothing else, she was a fighter. We were middle class and had a brief stint of needing government assistance but again I never felt the effects of that. 

Something else that only furthered the divide between my siblings and me was culture. Music, style, slang, and the like were worlds different from my own at the time of our meeting. One specific memory I will forever have is all six of us kids eating cereal at the table. Kevin commenting for me to “stop smacking.”  Initially, I did not even realize he was talking to me until he said it again with more force and demand. To which I just stared at him while chewing my cereal a little slower than before, completely confused as to what he meant. Only to have him finally yell moments later, “Stop chewing with your mouth open.” My immediate internal response being “Ooooh” and quickly shut my mouth. The language barrier is something that continued to stifle my relationships with my family until I eventually (slowly) caught on (something I now know as “code-switching.”)

The differences between my siblings and I could not be further apart. I was always the odd one out in every scenario because of that and I would be lying if I said I didn’t hold at least a little resentment. The lifestyle and culture they grew up in was just life for them so why would there be any conscious that I might not understand any of it, especially as kids. If the responsibility fell on anyone aside from myself, it should have been my father who helped me understand… but that is a conversation for another time.

Lastly is the issue of culture shock trauma. A lot of this has to do with my previous paragraph and how I grew up. Before the age of five, I don’t have many memories of my father, he was there in some capacity during the early years but I do not recall seeing him often enough. For a few years, the only “interaction” I remember having with him was when he would send me birthday or Christmas presents. Another being when my mother would put him on the phone to get me to behave (these phone interactions I now realize made me associate fear with his voice.) My mom and I moved from Ohio to Indiana in 2000 just before I was to start 1st grade. We moved to be closer to both sides of my family including my father himself. I remember the day my mom told me I would be spending some time with my dad and his new family, just recently remarried to wife #2 Shannon mother to Kevin (older), Keeshawn (younger), and Mercedez (younger.)

Probably an important thing to note, Kevin, Keesahwn, and I technically share no blood relation but because we have grown up together we consider ourselves no less than blood.  Of those three Mercedez and I share our father. Also while we are on it, my older sister Destiny and other younger brother Eric share our father but each has a different mother from myself or the other three aforementioned. #complex

I was thrown into staying with my father and his new family for what felt like years but in reality, was only for the summer. I remember that day so vividly. I remember they met us at a family member’s house. I got into my dad’s Ford Expedition, seeing Keeshawn directly in front of me with Mercedez in her car seat next to him and Kevin in the seat behind. I offered them some Skittles my mom had bought me just 30 minutes earlier at Lowe’s. I remember that summer how different everything about their lives was from my own and how I felt so entirely out of place. I remember how I was forced to eat everything on my plate before I could get up from the table or drink anything. I remember how I had a panic attack from losing a sock because I got anxious about losing anything of my own while I was there. I remember how I was not allowed to call my mom and how my dad would tell her to stop calling. I remember crying… a lot. I remember there was one night a month after being there my mom got to take me to a fair for the evening and we played games and ate super sugary fair food. Then the feeling of absolute dread when she told me I had to go back later that night. I begged and begged to stay with her. I remember as punishment for whenever we did something wrong we would have to do this T-pose thing where we keep our arms up and out for minutes (but felt like hours.) I remember whenever we were in public and misbehaved we got a hard swat to the back of our hand. I remember learning all the slang my siblings spoke and feeling so scared and confused when I did not understand what was being said around or to me. I remember going to our all-black southern baptist church being the only, not entirely black person there. I remember how we would often go without breakfast and sometimes lunch. I remember being in a perpetual state of grief because Shannon seemed so mean and angry all the time. I remember how my Dad forced us to call Shannon “Mom” and how much of a gut punch it was because I disliked Shannon a lot, and equating her to someone I loved so dearly felt wrong. I remember how I never actually got to spend one on one time with my father ever. I remember how for the most part during a lot of this my father was not ever around. I remember Kevin acting viscerally toward us because he was always forced to babysit us younger kids. I remember how I never wanted to be there and always wanted to go home when I was. I remember how I felt like I would never actually belong there and no one told me otherwise.

All of these differences are cultural but drastic compared to what I was familiar with, with just my mother. I was thrown into them without hesitation or a moment to acclimate. I went from being raised as an only child by a single white woman to the aforementioned being my life for the rest of that summer then rotating weekends and following summers until I was 18. I can only define these experiences as culture shock trauma. However, if I have missed the mark and that is not a depiction of culture shock trauma I am genuinely not sure what is.

Now, all of those experiences might sound grim and maybe even abusive but, I would boil it down to simple cultural differences. The eating all the food thing comes from Shannon (rightfully so) not wanting to make another meal for me or my brother’s picky asses when she spent an hour or more on the one in front of us. The whole drink thing because if we drank a bunch before eating we would think we were “full” and would not eat. The T-pose because let’s be honest the belt would have been far worse and she was saving us haha. Shannon was not necessarily mean she was just tough, because black women have to be, and dealing with three, four, five, or six kids (depending on which combo of us were there) is exhausting to do on your own so patience was thin - a true expression of tough love. And while time with my siblings was rough it was not all bad. Some of the other stuff was just reality, outside of everyone’s control and not anyone’s fault. Now the stuff involving my dad was not and is still not okay and I’m dealing with that.

All of these things affected my young and growing mind and I assume warped for better or worse my outlook on life and black folks. In more ways than one these things traumatized me.  They took the base of what I had grown to know and understand and flipped it upside down for better or worse. But now I am forced to question myself whenever I tense up as a group of black men or teens pass me by. Whenever I’m in the “not so nice” part of town why do I lock my car doors if someone is strolling by my car without thinking. Why do I look over my shoulder when walking down the street in the evening as I hear the boom of the bass coming from a strolling vehicle. Why do I get nervous and skittish if a black stranger approaches me on the street?

My journey in understanding myself (and my people) and ultimately loving myself (and my people) as I am (as they are) still has a long way to go. Considering I’m only uncovering these prejudicial truths at the age of 25 and why I have them in the first place, it is safe to say I have work I must continue to do for myself. But I’m optimistic for the future and everything it holds.

PS - - I am sure my outlooks and conclusions are far form perfect and in some areas miss the mark. If you think so please let me know, but please do so in the mindset that I am working to face my prejudices head on, I am in no way denying they exist. Be honest and blunt, but be gentle.

[your-dietician]

Why Police Have Been Quitting in Droves in the Last Year

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/why-police-have-been-quitting-in-droves-in-the-last-year/

Why Police Have Been Quitting in Droves in the Last Year

ASHEVILLE, N.C. — As protests surged across the country last year over the death of George Floyd at the hands of the Minneapolis police, Officer Lindsay C. Rose in Asheville, N.C., found her world capsized.

Various friends and relatives had stopped speaking to her because she was a cop. During a protest in June around Police Headquarters, a demonstrator lobbed an explosive charge that set her pants on fire and scorched her legs.

She said she was spit on. She was belittled. Members of the city’s gay community, an inclusive clan that had welcomed her in when she first settled in Asheville, stood near her at one event and chanted, “All gay cops are traitors,” she said.

By September, still deeply demoralized despite taking several months off to recuperate, Officer Rose decided that she was done. She quit the Police Department and posted a sometimes bitter, sometimes nostalgic essay online that attracted thousands of readers throughout the city and beyond.

“I’m walking away to exhale and inhale, I’m leaving because I don’t have any more left in me right now,” she wrote. “I’m drowning in this politically charged atmosphere of hate and destruction.”

Officer Rose was hardly alone. Thousands of police officers nationwide have headed for the exits in the past year.

A survey of almost 200 police departments indicated that retirements were up 45 percent and resignations rose by 18 percent in the year from April 2020 to April 2021 when compared with the previous 12 months, according to the Police Executive Research Forum, a Washington policy institute.

New York City saw 2,600 officers retire in 2020 compared with 1,509 the year before. Resignations in Seattle increased to 123 from 34 and retirements to 96 from 43. Minneapolis, which had 912 uniformed officers in May 2019, is now down to 699. At the same time, many cities are contending with a rise in shootings and homicides.

Asheville was among the hardest hit proportionally, losing upward of 80 officers, more than one third of its 238-strong force.

The reason has partly to do with Asheville itself — a big blue dot amid a sea of red voters in western North Carolina. Residents often refer to the city, a tourist mecca of 90,000 people tucked into the picturesque Blue Ridge Mountains, as the South’s version of Austin, Texas, or Portland, Ore.

Protests are commonplace, although none in recent memory had roiled the city quite like those prompted by the death of Mr. Floyd. Asheville has removed its three Confederate monuments, including the obelisk that dominated the central square for more than 100 years. In June, the City Council agreed to earmark an initial $2.1 million to pay reparations to the Black community of more than 10,000 residents.

The police already had come under criticism in recent years, churning through half a dozen chiefs in the past decade amid widespread complaints about overly harsh policing. Often cited is a case in 2019, when an officer pleaded guilty to assaulting a Black man after an argument over jaywalking — at night with few cars on the road.

The past year’s racial justice protests brought these long-simmering tensions swiftly back to the surface.

“There was a cloud over the building,” said Chief David Zack, 58, adding that younger officers were particularly traumatized by the events. “We knew we were going to be in trouble. I don’t think we ever anticipated getting to this level.”

The fact that the protests were directed at them pushed many officers to quit, he said. “They said that we have become the bad guys, and we did not get into this to become the bad guys.”

A sense that the city itself did not back its police was a key reason for the departures, according to officers themselves as well as police and city officials. Officers felt that they should have been praised rather than pilloried after struggling to contain chaotic protests.

Low pay deepened the frustration. With a starting salary around $37,000, few officers can afford houses in Asheville, where housing prices have sharply increased in recent years.

Finally, officers said they were asked to handle too much; they were constantly thrown at tangled societal problems like mental health breakdowns or drug overdoses, they said, for which they were ill-equipped — then blamed when things went wrong.

Officers who left said they endured a barrage of “good riddance” taunts on social media. Some said they were accused of leaving because the higher level of public scrutiny meant they could no longer beat up people of color with impunity.

One sergeant who quit after a decade on the force, who did not want his name published because of the aggressive verbal attacks online, said last summer had chipped away at his professional pride and personal health. He could not sleep and drank too much.

In September, somebody dropped a coffin laden with dirt and manure at the front door of Police Headquarters. “The message was taking a different turn,” Chief Zack said. “The message was not about police reform, but, ‘We endorse violence against police’.”

Of the more than 80 officers who left, about half found different professions and the other half different departments, Chief Zack said. New careers included industrial refrigeration, construction, real estate and pharmaceutical sales — anything far removed from policing.

Some officers decided that Asheville was the problem. Alec N. Dohmann, 30, a former Marine infantryman, could not afford a house in the city, and the rage directed at officers during the protests shocked his wife, who watched it live on Facebook. He took a police job in nearby Greenville, S.C., and bought a house.

“It is night and day,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ll be in uniform and someone comes up and shakes my hand, thanking me for what I do.”

The George Floyd protests in Asheville lasted just four or five nights, far less than in other cities, yet many activists said they remain alarmed by the degree of force police used against demonstrators.

Officers fired tear gas to disperse them, and in one widely criticized incident, the police ransacked a medical tent, chasing off the volunteers, slashing water bottles and destroying first aid supplies.

City officials seemed torn about how to respond. At first Chief Zack defended the officers over the medical tent episode, saying water bottles were constantly heaved at officers, but he apologized amid the subsequent uproar.

Mayor Esther Manheimer dropped into one daily police briefing, lauding the department’s efforts. The very next day, she publicly accused the police of mishandling events, several officers said.

Ms. Manheimer, mayor since 2013, said in an interview that the city was facing a “clash of cultures,” and that she had “obviously not perfected” her efforts to “thread the needle of supporting law enforcement employees, but at the same time demanding and calling for needed change.”

Calls for defunding the police have continued, with many Asheville residents saying the department’s problems started long before last year’s protests.

Rob Thomas of the Racial Justice Coalition grew up in what he described as a “drug house” in the now gentrified North Side. He said the Black community has long felt targeted, and he learned early that there was an unwritten rule among police officers that they would beat anyone who ran from them.

To him, the officers’ leaving is not a big concern.

“The ones who left are collateral damage of people advocating for change,” he said. “It is not these individual officers who are so bad or so wrong; the system itself is kind of messed up.”

Recruitment all over the country, given negative attitudes toward the police, has also become a slog, prompting Asheville to approve a modest salary increase. Several other cities, hearing about the mood among the police in Asheville, put up billboards there hoping to attract officers who were ready to move. It takes roughly a year to train new officers in Asheville, and of seven who started in December, six have already quit, Chief Zack said.

To make do, the A.P.D. has trimmed its services even as shootings and other violent crimes escalated, a trend that has been seen across the country and which many experts have connected to disruption from the pandemic. The police received about 650 calls for “shots fired” last year, Chief Zack said, and there were 10 homicides, compared with seven the year before. Aggravated assaults were also up.

The department shuttered a downtown satellite office, stopped bicycle patrols and is making fewer traffic stops. It published a list of 10 incidents to which it would no longer dispatch officers, including some vehicle thefts, and urged citizens to file simple complaints online rather than calling.

All but one of the seven officers who investigated domestic violence and sexual assault left, so the department is trying to get three officers up to speed on the skills needed.

“A lot of our experience is walking out the door,” Chief Zack said.

With a third of the police force gone, some activists and residents said they worried that the city would squander an opportunity for change, hiring replacements instead of exploring alternatives.

Justin Souther, the manager of Malaprop’s Bookstore, said that what he considered police overkill during the George Floyd protests renewed his conviction that Asheville should not be as reliant on law enforcement for dealing with issues like the homeless people who inhabit downtown. “People need help, not punishment,” he said.

Jill Coleman in the Spice & Tea Exchange echoed those sentiments, yet admitted that she was worried when she heard about rising violent crime.

“People might be feeling a little shaky with not seeing police around, but it is also exciting to think that change is coming,” she said.

Officer Rose, leaving the police after seven years, first worked for a moving company started by a fellow officer who had also quit. She felt angry, tired, disgruntled and like a failure all at once, she said. She slept badly and had no appetite.

“My story is not unique,” she said.

Some time in January, she decided she wanted to retrieve her badge, to give it to her grandfather, who had pinned it on her when she had completed her training.

She had to apply to Chief Zack to get it, she said. Leaving the police had been the hardest decision of her life, she said, and the chief dangled a job as a community liaison officer designed to make the department more transparent to the public.

Plus in an effort to “humanize the badge,” he had relaxed some of the rules. She could now wear short sleeves, for example, displaying the bursts of floral and other tattoos on her arms. Her wife, an Asheville native, endorsed her return as well.

She said yes.

Officer Rose said she still nourishes the idea first planted when she joined the police that she can make a difference in people’s lives, but she is more wary. “It was a rude awaking,” she said. “It’s like you are in a loving relationship, and then all of a sudden you are dumped and you don’t know why.”

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[96thdayofrage]

Two and a half years before former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin became a household name for holding his knee on the neck of George Floyd, Jr., Chauvin did something else which has now landed him in legal jeopardy: he held his knee on the neck of a Minneapolis teenager. That incident, which occurred September 4, 2017, is now the subject of a second federal civil rights indictment against Chauvin — on top of the federal charges Chauvin faces in George Floyd’s death.

Like Floyd, the still-unknown 14-year-old in Chauvin’s second federal indictment told officers that he could not breathe, according to court filings. The boy’s mother also is said by Minnesota state prosecutors to have pleaded for Chauvin to take his knee off her son.

“About one minute later, the child’s mother pointed out that her son had said he could not breathe, and told Chauvin again to take his knee off the child as he was already handcuffed,” Minnesota prosecutors wrote in a little-noticed filing back in November. “Chauvin replied that he was a big guy and did not move.”

Chauvin’s second indictment—filed Thursday, May 6 but unsealed on Friday, May 7—contains but a brief reference to the facts of the Sept. 2017 case. It also does not contain the name of the juvenile suspect Chauvin held to the ground.

“Defendant Chauvin, without legal justification, held Juvenile 1 by the throat and struck Juvenile 1 multiple times in the head with a flashlight,” the first count of the indictment reads. “This offense included the use of a dangerous weapon — a flashlight — and resulted in bodily injury to Juvenile 1.”

The second count contains a few additional facts.

“Defendant Chauvin held his knee on the neck and the upper back of Juvenile 1 even after Juvenile 1 was lying prone, handcuffed, and unresisting,” the indictment continues. “This offense resulted in bodily injury to Juvenile 1.”

Both the indictment and a Department of Justice press release state that the juvenile was fourteen years old at the time and was a resident of Minneapolis.

Previous court documents filed in Chauvin’s separate state murder cases explain the incident further.

A Memorandum of Law in Support of Other Evidence filed by state prosecutors on October November 12, 2020, recounts the Sept. 2017 incident this way — but it’s a description the state eventually walked back:

Chauvin was dispatched to a domestic assault call. The alleged victim told the officers that she had been assaulted by her two minor children, a son and daughter. The officers located the juvenile male laying on the floor in the back of the house. The officers advised the juvenile male that he was under arrest, but he did not comply with commands and directions from the officers. According to Chauvin, the juvenile male “then displayed active resistance to efforts to take him into custody” by “flailing his arms around.” The juvenile male, whom Chauvin described as “approximately 6’2” and at least 240 pounds,” backed himself into a corner and “stretched his legs forward.” Chauvin attempted to grab the juvenile male’s arms, but he would “continue to struggle and flail his arms around.” In his report, Chauvin wrote that he believed the juvenile male would “escalate his efforts to not be arrested,” and because of the juvenile male’s large size, Chauvin “deliver[ed] a few strikes to [the juvenile male] to impact his shoulders and hopefully allow control to be obtained.” Chauvin believed the juvenile male was “still providing active resistance,” but another officer was able to get one handcuff on the juvenile male. As the male kept pulling his arms in front of his body, Chauvin “applied a neck restraint,” and then was “able to roll [the juvenile male] onto his stomach and grab his left wrist so that cuffing could be completed.” Chauvin then “used body weight to pin [the juvenile male] to the floor.” During this time, the alleged victim came into the room and yelled at the officers. The juvenile male had blood coming from his left ear, so the officers requested an ambulance. Paramedics determined that the juvenile male needed stitches, and he was transported to the Hennepin County Medical Center.

By November 16, 2020, the state had looked into the incident further. A Supplemental Memorandum of Law in Support of Other Evidence says the state’s original description of Chauvin’s arrest of the 14-year-old boy “was based entirely on the written reports of Officer Chauvin and another officer.” Prosecutors spent pages unpacking and describing what was on the video; however, the recording itself appears never to have been made public. Here’s the state’s description:

Since submitting [the previous] description to the Court . . . the State has obtained the body worn camera videos of this incident. Those videos show a far more violent and forceful treatment of this child than Chauvin describes in his report. The videos show Chauvin’s use of unreasonable force towards this child and complete disdain for his well-being.

The videos show that Officers Walls and Chauvin entered the home and began speaking with the mother at approximately 8:46 p.m. The mother immediately told the officers that she wanted her children removed from the house. The officers spent the next 36 minutes talking with the mother in the living room and kitchen about the alleged incident and had her fill out a complaint form, all while the two children were in their rooms in the back of the house. After obtaining the written complaint form, Officers Walls and Chauvin proceeded down a short hallway towards the juvenile male’s bedroom.

At 9:12:49, as he approached the bedroom door, Officer Walls told the child to come out of the bedroom. The child was laying on the floor looking at his cell phone. Officer Wells told the child to stand up because he was under arrest. The child responded that he was not under arrest, and added that his mother was drunk and had assaulted him. The child tried to talk with the officers about his mother. As both officers approached the child, Officer Walls said he would not tell him one more time to stand up and yelled “stand up.” The child said they could not touch him in his own house.

At 9:13:22, a mere 33 seconds after telling him to come out of the room, both officers grabbed the child. At that point in time, the child was backed up against his bedroom wall. Officer Walls told the child to get on his stomach, and when he did not, Chauvin hit the child with his flashlight, just eight seconds after first grabbing the child. Two seconds later, Chauvin grabbed the child’s throat and hit him again in the head with his flashlight. The child cried out that they were hurting him, and to stop, and called out “mom.” Chauvin told Officer Walls to use his Taser on the child, but Walls did not have a Taser. At 9:14:15, Chauvin applied a neck restraint, causing the child to lose consciousness and go to the ground. Chauvin and Walls placed him in the prone position and handcuffed him behind his back while the child’s mother pleaded with them not to kill her son and told her son to stop resisting.

About a minute after going to the ground, the child began repeatedly telling the officers that he could not breathe, and his mother told Chauvin to take his knee off her son. About one minute later, the child’s mother pointed out that her son had said he could not breathe, and told Chauvin again to take his knee off the child as he was already handcuffed. Chauvin replied that he was a big guy and did not move. The mother asked a third time for Chauvin to take his knee off her son, and Chauvin replied that the child was breathing. The mother repeated that her son was in handcuffs, and told Chauvin a fourth time that he should take his knee off her son. The mother also said that Chauvin had hit her son with a flashlight and hurt him, and he was handcuffed now and could not do anything. But Chauvin maintained his position. Shortly thereafter, the child told his mother she should go sit on the couch, as he was alright. The mother said ok, and added that the officer had hit the child with a flashlight for no reason.

Although the child’s ear was actively bleeding and he repeatedly told the officers he was in pain, the officers continued to restrain him instead of administering medical treatment. At approximately 9:21 – seven minutes after applying the neck restraint and taking the child to the ground the child asked to be placed on his back because his neck really hurt. The child then began crying. At approximately 9:22, the child again asked to be placed on his back. Chauvin asked if he would be “flopping around at all,” and the child responded “no.” Chauvin simply said “better not.” Still Chauvin maintained his knee on the child’s upper back area. Another officer searched the child. At approximately 9:25, the child sobbed and coughed. He was also able to move his head from side to side, as Chauvin’s knee was on his upper back area. At approximately 9:28, the child talked calmly with the officers and described where in the house they could find his shoes. Chauvin still maintained his knee on the child’s upper back.

At approximately 9:29 – about 15 minutes after Chauvin first restrained the child a paramedic arrived and asked the child what happened. The child said a cop hit him with a flashlight and he “blacked out for a minute.” He added that he was having pain in his ear and confirmed that is where he got hit. At 9:29:47, the paramedic looked at the child’s ear and said he would need stitches.

At approximately 9:31, Chauvin told the child he was under arrest for domestic assault and obstruction with force. The child asked what obstruction with force is, and Chauvin said “because you were told you were under arrest and then this whole show in here. You don’t get to do that.” As Chauvin and Walls tightened the handcuffs, Chauvin removed his knee from the child’s back, some 17 minutes after restraining him to the floor and kneeling on him. At approximately 9:33, Chauvin and Walls helped the child roll to one side and stand up. They then walked him to the ambulance.

The state referred to the Sept. 2017 matter as “Incident 6” in arguments which sought to introduce Chuavin’s so-called “other bad acts” to the jury which heard the murder case involving the death of George Floyd. Judge Peter Cahill, who presided over Chauvin’s state murder trial, refused to allow evidence of “Incident 6” into the Floyd murder case, but he did allow the state to present evidence of two other past use-of-force incidents involving Chauvin. Employing Minnesota Rule of Evidence 404(b), Cahill ruled that “Incident 6” was not relevant to prove Chauvin’s modus operandi or a common scheme or plan of criminal activity. Further employing the classic evidence law balancing test contained within Rule 403, Cahill concluded that allowing prosecutors to use “Incident 6” at trial would have been more prejudicial to the defendant than it would have been probative to the key legal issues in the Floyd case.

Chauvin’s defense attorneys argued that unlike death of George Floyd, “Incident 6” was a domestic matter.

“When Mr. Chauvin attempted to place the suspect under arrest, the suspect actively resisted arrest,” wrote defense attorney Eric J. Nelson on November 16, 2020.  “The Use of Force policy in effect at the time permitted the use of a neck restraint against actively resisting arrestees.”

Nelson continued:

The State makes a point of noting that the suspect was rolled onto his stomach and cuffed while Mr. Chauvin used his knee and body weight to pin the suspect to the floor. As noted previously, this is how MPD officers are trained to handcuff individuals — particularly suspects who are resisting. Again, there is no marked similarity between Incident 6 and the George Floyd incident. Mr. Chauvin’s application of force during Incident 6 was reported to supervisors and cleared. It was reasonable and authorized under the law as well as MPD policy. Incident 6 is simply not admissible.

Though Nelson successfully kept the September 4, 2017 incident out of the George Floyd murder trial, Derek Chauvin now faces legal jeopardy over the matter in the newly unsealed federal case against him.

The federal indictment alleges two counts of Deprivation of Rights Under Color of Law under 18 U.S.C. § 242. It broadly states that Chauvin violated the juvenile suspect’s Fourth Amendment right “to be free from an unreasonable seizure, which includes the right to be free from the use of unreasonable force by a police officer.”

The statute under which Chauvin is charged in reference to the 2017 incident makes Chauvin eligible for up to a 10-year sentence. However, in the George Floyd case, the same federal statute authorizes a much tougher sentence.

[womenofcolor15]

Trump FIRES Secretary of Defense Mark Esper + Trump’s Former Lawyer Says He’ll Likely Flee To Mar-a-Lago & Will Never Return To White House

  Trump is having a post-election FIT! He just fired Secretary of Defense Mark Esper amid ongoing tensions. And he has been recklessly tweeting on Twitter, per usual. Get those deets, plus what Trump’s former lawyer think he’ll do next inside…

The post-election shakeup!

Trump is mad y’all! He can’t take the fact he lost the 2020 presidential election, so he’s causing drama before his exit. Of course.

Days after it was projected that Joe Biden & Kamala Harris will be the next President and Vice President of the United States, Trump went into overdrive on social media. He hopped on Twitter to announce he “won” the election “by a lot” even though the ballots and electoral votes said otherwise.

        View this post on Instagram

                  This is the Big Clown Energy we are leaving behind. Also, if you thought Dems simply pander and don’t actually care about their constituents, your king hit the golf course as the election was being called for Biden, as multiple people tested positive (again) for coronavirus in HIS White House last night and this morning, and as over 100K additional cases of Coronavirus took over the US in solely the last 24 hours. He cares none. Act accordingly.

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Nov 7, 2020 at 9:21am PST

As the ballots were being counted, Trump hit the hit the golf course as the election as multiple people tested positive (again) for Coronavirus in HIS White House over the weekend. There was over 100K additional cases that popped up in the US in 24 hours. No sweat off Trump’s back. He was busy golfing.

Today, he threw a fit and fired the Secretary of Defense Mark Esper. He announced Christopher Miller - who serves as director of the National Counterterrorism Center - will become acting secretary "effective immediately."

I am pleased to announce that Christopher C. Miller, the highly respected Director of the National Counterterrorism Center (unanimously confirmed by the Senate), will be Acting Secretary of Defense, effective immediately..

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) November 9, 2020

Apparently, there was tension brewing between Trump & Esper before the firing. CNN reports:

Esper's increasingly tense relationship with Trump led him to prepare a letter of resignation weeks ago, an attempt to fashion a graceful exit in the widely expected event that the President decided to fire him, several defense sources, including one senior defense official, told CNN.

Esper had been on shaky ground with the White House for months, a rift that deepened after he said in June that he did not support using active-duty troops to quell the large-scale protests across the United States triggered by the death of George Floyd at the hands of police. Esper also said military forces should be used in a law enforcement role only as a last resort.

His remarks from the Pentagon briefing room were seen by many as an effort to distance himself from Trump's threats to deploy the military to enforce order on American city streets and went over poorly at the White House, multiple people familiar with the matter said.

According to multiple administration officials, White House sentiment about Esper had been souring for some time, with both Trump and national security adviser Robert O'Brien viewing him as not entirely committed to the President's vision for the military.

For months, Trump and O'Brien had been frustrated by Esper's tendency to avoid offering a full-throated defense of the President or his policies, the administration officials said. One administration source told CNN that Trump had no respect for Esper, leaving the defense secretary with little influence and little choice but to take his lead from Secretary of State Mike Pompeo.

No surprise here Trump is using his power during his post-election meltdown. Trump’s defense team has been hard at work trying to find a loophole that would get him to serve out a second term. Trump’s legal team has already suffered losses in Michigan and Georgia courts this week, but Trump has pledged to keep moving forward with a legal strategy that he hopes will overturn state results that gave Democrat Joe Biden the win in Tuesday’s vote.

Reuters reports:

The Trump campaign is fighting Philadelphia election officials over vote counting in the city, which continued on Saturday. A state court on Thursday granted the campaign closer access to the proceedings, a ruling that officials have appealed.

The City of Philadelphia Board of Elections has said its observation rules were needed for security reasons and to maintain social distancing protocols.

Trump’s campaign on Wednesday filed a motion to intervene in a case pending before the U.S. Supreme Court challenging a decision from the state’s highest court that allowed election officials to count mail-in ballots postmarked by Tuesday’s Election Day that were delivered through Friday.

Trump’s son, Donald Trump Jr., seemingly took a shot at the Black Lives Matter movement with a tweet about how Trump supporters aren’t rioting:

70 million pissed off republicans and not one city burned to the ground.

— Donald Trump Jr. (@DonaldJTrumpJr) November 7, 2020

An innocent man was brutally murdered on camera either, but go OFF. Let's not compare apples to oranges.

So, what can American’s expect from Trump during his final weeks as president?

According to Trump’s former lawyer, Michael Cohen, the former reality star will likely flee to his headquarters at Mar-a-Lago, spend Christmas there and likely will NOT return to the White House for the transfer of power to Biden. He said Trump will likely fight the election results until January from his Florida property.

“I would not be shocked if there is no concession speech at all. My theory is that at Christmas time he goes to Mar-a-Lago. I think he will stay there through the inauguration. I would not be shocked if he will not show up to the inauguration either,” Mr Cohen said on MSNBC.

“He cannot let the camera look at him and basically pull down the curtain and see the wizard standing beside. He is just a loser and it is killing him and, right now, what is going on in the White House is nothing but finger-pointing.”

WOMP!

As of the time of this post, Trump isn’t giving any signs of conceding.

After it was projected Biden would WIN the presidential election, people ALL over the nation - including Chrissy Teigen & John Legend -  stepped outside to celebrate. And it was the perfect day to do so as temperatures were high in many parts of the country. Look at GOD.

Peep the celebrations in Brookyln, L.A., Philly, Washington D.C. and more below:

@JoyAnnReid I just wanted to share these pictures from Saturday’s celebration of Joe Biden’s and Kamala Harris Celebration in Brooklyn pic.twitter.com/uZwdCzFvAF

— Jahlion (@Jahprince25) November 9, 2020

Brooklyn:

Postal workers getting the love they deserve.

Ok, this is awesome... pic.twitter.com/3mElStKMcb

— Rex Chapman(@RexChapman) November 7, 2020

WATCH LIVE: Crowds have gathered across SoCal, including in West Hollywood and DTLA, to celebrate Joe Biden being projected to win the presidential election. Here's video of a celebration in Venice. https://t.co/FdZ4isCUhq pic.twitter.com/xltK9LzQ0a

— NBC Los Angeles (@NBCLA) November 7, 2020

WATCH LIVE: Celebrations continue across SoCal after Joe Biden is projected to be the next president of the United States. This video captures celebrations in West Hollywood. https://t.co/IBG7rIWAow pic.twitter.com/rFOULufxhw

— NBC Los Angeles (@NBCLA) November 7, 2020

West Philly reacts to Biden’s lead in Pennsylvania by dancing in the street, of course pic.twitter.com/WBuipfLydN

— Ellie Rushing (@EllieRushing) November 6, 2020

The Biden/Harris Philly dance party is on. Even Gritty is there.

Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough, Pennsylvania...pic.twitter.com/R4L1jWUo4x

— Rex Chapman (@RexChapman) November 7, 2020

lots of cheering and car horn beeps outside Philly city hall right now after news of Biden’s win pic.twitter.com/vVqT8ZV6aJ

— Amber Jamieson (@ambiej) November 7, 2020

hundreds gathered at Philly gay bar Woody’s lost it when Joe Biden referred to gay and trans Americans pic.twitter.com/gamnAWa68s

— Amber Jamieson (@ambiej) November 8, 2020

LIVE FROM BLACK LIVES MATTER PLAZA, WASHINGTON D.C. FOR BIDEN HARRIS  pic.twitter.com/dd2cCYAzjW

— soft boi nat (@nat_meier) November 7, 2020

Washington, D.C. in front of White House as President-Elect Joe Biden set to take stage in Delaware: pic.twitter.com/8DwhxroW9a

— Molly O'Toole (@mollymotoole) November 8, 2020

Washington D.C. reacts to the news of Joe Biden being named President-Elect. Nonstop honking in downtown. @fox5dc pic.twitter.com/FymQkWeiLy

— Ama Arthur-Asmah (@Ama_A_Asmah) November 7, 2020

Dear Trump Supporters: He Rather Y’all Believe His Lie(Voter Fraud) & Continue To Divide This Country For His Own Self Ego. Before He Tell Y’all To Do The Right Thing & Support This New President & Administration. If He Was Smart He Would Know God Doesn’t Like Ugly(Behavior)!

— Plies (@plies) November 9, 2020

This World Is Witnessing The Truth & Unveiling Of A “Fake Strong” (Trump) Man. He Was Never As Tough As He Wanted His Supporters To Believe. He Couldn’t Handle Tough Questions(60min Interview), Nor Could He Handle Tough People (Kamala). He’s A Insecure Child In A Mans Body!!

— Plies (@plies) November 8, 2020

  Change is coming!

And let us find out Biden is letting his inner petty out now that he's our next president: 

  How it started How it’s going pic.twitter.com/TiOluozUYk

— Dena Grayson, MD, PhD (@DrDenaGrayson) November 8, 2020

  Photos: Stratos Brilakis/Drew William Anderson/Shutterstock.com/Amanda Edwards/Getty Images

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/11/09/trump-fires-secretary-of-defense-mark-esper-trump%E2%80%99s-former-lawyer-says-he%E2%80%99ll-likely-flee-

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/nobodys-ever-seen-anything-like-this-how-coronavirusturned-the-us-election-upside-down-the-guardian/

'Nobody’s ever seen anything like this': how coronavirus turned the US election upside down - The Guardian

Mar-a-Lago was the place to see and be seen for guests who paid thousands of dollars for the privilege on New Year’s Eve. Diamonds and furs abounded on the red carpet. When Donald Trump arrived at his estate in Palm Beach, Florida, in high spirits and a tuxedo, he declared: “We’re going to have a great year, I predict.”

But earlier that day, a Chinese government website had identified a “pneumonia of unknown cause” in the area surrounding a seafood market in Wuhan. When midnight struck and 2020 dawned, no one could have guessed how this microscopic pathogen would turn the world upside down, infecting 15 million people, killing 625,000, crippling economies and wiping out landmark events such as the Olympic Games.

America is no exception. The coronavirus pandemic has upended the presidential election, which, on Sunday, will be just one hundred days away. It has changed the issues, the way the fight is fought and quite possibly the outcome. The nation’s biggest economic crisis for 75 years, and worst public health crisis for a century, is an asteroid strike that has rewritten the rules of politics and left historians grasping for election year comparisons.

“There is probably nothing the same as coronavirus,” said Thomas Schwartz, a history professor at Vanderbilt University in Nashville. “Obviously, you have issues that stir the public up: 1968 would have been Vietnam and the disturbances that had taken place in the cities. But nothing quite as universal and affecting such a wide band of Americans as the coronavirus. That is really new.”

Soon after that New Year’s Eve celebration at Mar-a-Lago, Trump would be acquitted by Republicans at his Senate impeachment trial and triumphantly brandish the next day’s Washington Post front page at the White House. In his own mind, at least, he was riding a strong economy on his way to re-election, while Democrats struggled to tally results in their Iowa caucuses or settle on a unifying presidential nominee.

Trump in February, in defiant mood following his acquittal in his Senate impeachment trial. Photograph: Joshua Roberts/Reuters

But the virus was on the move. On 22 January, Trump claimed that it “is totally under control” and is “going to be just fine”. On 2 February, he insisted he had stopped its spread by restricting travel from China. On 27 February, he said at the White House: “One day – it’s like a miracle – it will disappear.” And so it went on in what critics now say was a historic feat of denial and failure in leadership.

Covid-19 swept through New York, killing thousands of people. Trump declared himself a “wartime president” and held daily briefings in April but then reportedly “got bored” and switched emphasis to reviving the economy – seen as crucial to his re-election chances. Yet while the infection and death tolls ticked up, his approval ratings ticked down.

Now it seems the old maxim of “It’s the economy, stupid” will be replaced by “It’s the virus, stupid” as the defining issue for voters, not least because the suffering and death have a direct impact on the economy itself: Americans have filed 52.7m unemployment claims over the past four months.

Another famous campaign question, “Are you better off than you were four years ago?”, now seems purely rhetorical. The Trump campaign has been forced to abandon the slogan “Keep America great” in favour of “Make America great again, again”.

Schwartz added: “When Trump had the economy going gangbusters he had a stronger argument on his behalf that, despite his disruptiveness and unpleasantness, people were doing OK and things seemed to be moving ahead. But look at the polling on whether the country’s going in a good direction or a bad direction and, boy, did that spike with the bad direction since March.”

Trump was arguably an unusually lucky president for his first three years, not having to face the type of major crisis that confronted many of his predecessors, enabling him to persist as a gadfly reality TV star tweeting about celebrities instead of reading national security briefs. With the eruption of the virus, that luck ran out spectacularly.

America now has 4m infections and more than 140,000 deaths, the highest tallies in the world. Cases have doubled in the past six weeks even as curves flatten in Europe.

The president continues to defend his response, pointing to travel restrictions he imposed, 50m tests conducted – more than any other country – and mass distribution of ventilators. “We’re all in this together,” he said on Wednesday. “And as Americans, we’re going to get this complete. We’re going to do it properly. We’ve been doing it properly. Sections of the country come up that we didn’t anticipate – for instance, Florida, Texas, et cetera – but we’re working with very talented people, very brilliant people, and it’s all going to work out, and it is working out.”

The pandemic was a moment when Trump could have proved his doubters wrong. He did not rise to the challenge

But his niece Mary Trump, author of a new family memoir, said his handling of the pandemic has been “criminal”. She added: “It was avoidable, it was preventable and even if we hadn’t gotten a hold of it right away, the statistics are pretty clear. Two weeks earlier, what, 90% of deaths could have been avoided? And they haven’t been, simply because he refused to wear a mask because doing so would have admitted that he was wrong about something, and that is something he cannot do.”

The pandemic was a moment when Trump could have surprised the world and proved his doubters wrong. He did not rise to the challenge in the eyes of those critics. He failed to devise a national strategy on testing, rarely spoke of the victims, refused to wear a mask until recently and undermined top public health experts such as Dr Anthony Fauci.

Leon Panetta, a former defence secretary and CIA director, said: “If you operate on the basic premise that crisis defines leadership, then you’d have to say that this crisis has also defined the failure of leadership. That has without question impacted on politics in this country.

“It’s pretty clear that there are a hell of a lot of constituencies out there that feel that he’s failed to lead with this issue. There’s a sense that in many ways he’s basically said, ‘You’re on your own in terms of dealing with this’. He at one point said he doesn’t take responsibility for what’s happening with this virus and I think that sent a real message to the country that the president’s gone awol on the country at a time of crisis.”

Such is the backlash that multiple opinion polls show the Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden leading Trump by double digits, and ahead in the battleground states that will decide the electoral college. The president’s best hope now might be an “October surprise” in the form of a coronavirus vaccine. There is no clearer example of how everything has changed than Texas, which no Democrat has won since 1976. On Wednesday, a record 197 deaths from Covid-19 were reported while a Quinnipiac poll showed Biden leading Trump 45% to 44%.

Filemon Vela, a Democratic congressman from southern Texas, said: “Since the beginning of the pandemic, President Trump and our own governor, Greg Abbott, have made tactical decisions that are now resulting in the killing of Texans en masse. Any rational thinking Texan would be crazy if they voted for Donald Trump, given the way that the state is being ravaged by the virus.

“Across the state, ICUs are full. Back in my home town, patients that should be in the ICU are having to wait in emergency rooms. Patients who can’t get into emergency rooms are having to wait in ambulances for hours outside the hospital. It is a catastrophic situation and I believe that, when November comes around, the people of Texas are going to remember it.”

A protest in support of Black Lives Matter in New York in June. Trump seized on the protest by attempting to stoke ‘culture war’ divisions. Photograph: Bryan R Smith/AFP/Getty Images

Against the implacable foe of the virus, Trump has repeatedly sought to divert and distract. He seized on the Black Lives Matter protests against the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis not with healing and compassion but by attempting to stoke “culture war” divisions over crime and Confederate statues. Still, the pandemic persisted.

Bill Galston, a former policy adviser to President Bill Clinton, said: “If the election becomes a referendum on the president’s handling of the pandemic, he cannot win. It’s as simple as that and so, barring some miraculously favourable developments in the next hundred days, he has no choice but to change the subject as best as he can.”

The pandemic has not only transmogrified the substance of the election but also the style. Democrats were fortunate to get most their primaries out of the way and mostly unite behind a nominee before the storm hit. Other rituals of the election year calendar – campaign rallies, convention speeches, presidential debates – will be unrecognisable.

So far, the altered landscape appears to be hurting Trump and helping Biden. In 2016, the Republican thrived on rambunctious rallies where crowds chanted “Build the wall!” and, referring to his opponent Hillary Clinton, “Lock her up!” The theatre seemingly gave him a blood transfusion of political energy while building a cult of personality for crowds, often in long-neglected small towns, who then fanned out to spread the word.

Last month, however, a Trump rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, drew a disappointingly small crowd amid virus fears, and another in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was cancelled. No more have been announced. The president has also been forced to call off Republican national convention events next month in Jacksonville, Florida, where he had been planning to make a splashy acceptance speech before a cheering crowd.

Democrats will also hold a delayed and pared-down convention in Milwaukee in August, with much of it migrating online. Biden, who at 77 would be the oldest president ever elected, has been able to lie low in his basement in Wilmington, Delaware, spared from the punishment of constant campaigning and awkward encounters that could invite his notorious gaffes. Instead the pandemic plays to his perceived strengths of empathy, experience and stability.

Galston, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution thinktank in Washington, added: “Nobody’s ever seen anything like this and nobody knows what the net effect is going to be. I don’t know to what extent the raucous Trump rallies of 2016 were instrumental to his success but what we do know is that’s not a strategy that can be repeated in 2020.”

But there may be no greater demonstration of the pandemic’s reach than polling day itself, due to take place on 3 November amid health fears, a surge of mail-in voting and a prolonged count that Trump might seek to discredit and exploit.

This week more than 30 advocacy groups and grassroots organisations joined Protect the Results, a project to mobilise millions of people should Trump “contest the election results, refuse to concede after losing, or claim victory before all the votes are counted”.

Panetta, a former White House chief of staff, has heard similar talk from friends. “On conferences and Zoom calls and emails I’m getting concern that this is not a president who has ever shown a tendency to operate with a degree of class in accepting defeat and so there’s a sense that he will resist the results of the election if it’s close,” he said.

“I guess the hope for a lot of people I’ve talked to is that the election results are so clear that it makes it very difficult for the president to even pretend that somehow the vote was wrong.”