It Ain't Over
It Ain't Over [trailer]
Documentary about the illustrious life and career of the baseball great, Yogi Berra.
Docs about sports heroes with unrivalled achievements don't get more entertaining and emotional than this one, even if one knows very little about baseball.
Berra comes across as such a thoroughly good man that you almost start to wonder if there isn't at least something "bad" about him.
While I knew he's the guy behind such unique observations like "It’s deja vu all over again" and "When you come to a fork in the road, take it". I didn't know he's also connected with the Hanna-Barbera cartoon character Yogi Bear.
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Babysitting Butcher: Chapter 69
A part of me wishes that there was a simple answer to how to fix Billy and me.
That I could say I ended up spending a night in a hotel in the city, realized that I missed him, our bed, Terror, our house, and went home to hash it all out and work through it.
I can’t say that. Every time I had a thought about missing Billy or our bed - a flash of Maeve coming out of his old apartment building looking as disheveled as I had before my date with John. If I thought about Terror and the house and wondered if I acted too rashly - the reminder of his sit down with Homelander and “temp V” hit me in the nostalgia balls.
My mom gave it two days before she called, which for her was a record. And I gave her a vague answer since I wasn’t sure if I was ready to end things with Billy and any mention of cheating would put a huge fucking bullseye on any future plans we might still harbor.
“I have a backlog of paperwork,” I’d offered, “and on top of that Vought is handing over more files -” after I’d subpoenaed them and their labs about all variants of the V shit that they might have floating around, with a subtle threat thrown in concerning raids on said labs should they fail to include anything. “The drive is too far when I’m putting in more overtime.”
“Billy,” she started and I was eyeing my stapler with the intent to brain myself. “He dropped off Terror the past two days and said he’s working outside of the office -” here it comes, I knew the tone, not overtly confrontational and just subtly curious. “Are you two -”
Using the stapler for something more productive than ruining my intellect further, I banged in on my desk a few times. “I have to go, Mom, someone is at my door.” Vague promises to meet up and finish this riveting conversation, I hit END and let my forehead hit my desktop.
“Did you just smack your head on that desk so loud that I could hear it all the way at the front desk?” Kill me now, I begged whatever hateful god that would let my fucking ex-husband come swaggering in now. “You alright?”
Rolling my eyes while my face was still pressed into my desk, I affirmed that I was fine. His laughter wasn’t completely without humor, but it wasn’t the mirth filled chuckle that I once - Nope, not going there. Sighing, I sat upright, hoping that I didn’t have any weird lines on my face from my momentary lapse of composure.
“I’m great,” he was waiting in the doorframe, a frame where the door was left open as was my usual procedure when I was alone in the office. “What brings you for a visit?”
That was all it took for him to take a seat - once he closed the door that is.
And that’s how the daily visits from my ex-husband began.
I’m sure someone somewhere - probably that superpowered, cape wearing dickhead that started us all on this fucked up trajectory - would jump to some pretty scandalous conclusions if they chose to play peeping Tom and caught Joe and I seated in my office daily.
Joe had - once he realized that Billy’s desk was being unutilized currently - taken up the spot and spent the time helping me sort through the newest influx of Vought documents that came once the powers that be who were supposed to be in house overwatching the supes they created and then unleashed upon the world realized that my request and threat wasn’t going away without gaining the information I wanted. They also did what they’d done when I first took up my role in the damnable office - they sent everything that was remotely linked to their labs and work, even -
“Well, these pages,” Joe muttered, his reading glasses slipping down his nose as he scrolled through the pages I’d shared virtually with him, “are fucking worthless filler.”
I snorted, since we’d both been clicking through heaps of digital bullshit, looking for the nuggets that would tell me the reality of the temporary formula that Billy had in his possession, and had used at least once by his own admission. There had to be something wrong with it, because something that sounded like exactly what would give Vought the opening they so desperately wanted in the military and governmental sector. If you can’t get supes with permanent powers in, then -
“Wait,” my eyes caught it while my brain was multitasking. Mom had called before Joe came in, before I’d left my hotel room, asking if I would be picking up Terror later since Billy had told her that the team would be out of town, and I knew that they weren’t going anywhere sanctioned. I’d hoped that one of the other Boys would text or call, at least to give me a head’s up in case there was a public relations nightmare I would be expected to handle. Nothing so far, but as I kept glancing at my cell phone and glaring at the office phone for its lack of ringing, my gaze had found a formula that might fit what little Billy had told me.
Joe slid his chair closer and I had to push down the reminder of Billy seated there, doing the same and how he’d press to distract me from - but that wasn’t helpful or productive. “Let’s see,” he was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body and his scent, one that I not only knew so well, but one that I’d once held tight - even when he wasn’t nearby, I’d steal one of his shirts from the laundry and sleep with it. That wasn’t helpful or productive either. “From what you said,” I’d told him the bare bones, leaving out things that I knew he had the clearance to see on his own - something I felt certain he’d used before pushing me to see it for myself - and as we sat side by side, reading about another formula based off of the permanent one that had not only created powerful beings while killing just as many that were given it, I felt the bile rush through me as I realized that whomever gave Billy this version wasn’t planning on him surviving whatever outcome his one on one against Homelander might be.
Whether he felt my strain or maybe I made a noise, it didn’t matter, Joe pulled me into his arms and held me as I tried to make peace with the realization that Billy and I didn’t have a future - no matter how our current issue was resolved or not - because every single time that he took a dose of this magical formula, he was pushing his death ever closer. Unlike my very obvious ticking time bomb that Homelander planted chemically inside my body, the one that was still altering my body and being, Billy’s was silent and waiting. But it was coming.
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AHHHH! He lost his EYE in the war! AHHHH!
I am perfectly normal about your last comic. I swear. Very normal. Just...not at all sobbing and emotional over it. You should know that. Definitely. ;_;
It's so good and so sad!
Yep ;u;
Glad you liked it tho!
Take the broken mask drawing as symbolism (?). A piece of him is now forever a part of Mask, and there's no taking that back.
There are many protrayals of Fierce Deity out there, but I like to think he ain't necessarily mean (quite the contrary), just a bit out of touch with how hylians work and feel. Fierce Deity deemed some things necessary for Mask's survival and well being, and not necessarily all of them were free of consequences. It was done with good intentions tho. If only he bothered to explain/tell Mask that...
Tormenting Twilight a bit is fun sometimes too ksksks
> Context about the ask HERE
> Twili Twilight looks HERE
> Continuation of this HERE
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