#Earliest I might possibly get to play is... tuesday after next?

[technofinch]

Also for real if I don't get to roleplay as one of my silly little guys soon I'm gonna lose it for real

[steves-on-a-plane]

For Frosting & Feelings

Written for: @star-spangled-bingo​ 2021!   Words: 1384 Square Filled: Bakery AU  Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader   Warnings: None, E for everyone!  Summary: Bucky and Reader are rival bakers getting ready for their town’s yearly baking competition. When Bucky stops in for some pre-game taunting he learns that Reader, who is typically over prepared, might not get to compete at all due to staffing errors and supply shortages. Reader believes his support is purely self motivated but decides to play along to see how things pan out.

“It’s all right everyone, you can hold your applause.” James Barnes announced as he sauntered into your bakery. James owned a small patisserie on the other side of town. He also happened to be your biggest and most successful rival. He was no doubt stopping by to brag about his entry for the town’s cake decorating contest or worse he may want to share some other victory of a contest you’d yet to know about.

“Don’t worry, no one was clapping.” You snapped back.

“Ohh, someone’s sounding a little icy.” He teased, walking up to the counter.

“What do you want James?” You huffed. You cashed out the customer who’d been in line in front of him and waited for his answer.

“I would like to know how your plans are going for the Cake Off tomorrow and I want to sample your croissants. One with Ham and Cheese please.” He winked.

“The very same croissants you accused of always making too dry, yet still order every time you come in?” You questioned, ringing up his total.

“[Y/N, it’s no fun teasing you if you’re not going to fight back.” He frowned. “Everything okay?” He asked. You stared at him, not sure if he was being genuine. “I mean it.” He insisted, paying his bill. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, things are very much not okay.” You confessed in a brief moment of weakness. You turned away and began prepping his order so that you didn’t have to see the gloating smirk that was no doubt now plastered on his face. “The supplies I needed for the Bake off have been delayed because of the snow. The delivery company won’t bring me anything until Monday. Even though we’re actually not even getting snow anymore. The supply company can’t send a rush order with a different delivery company because even if they did, the order wouldn’t make it here till Tuesday the earliest. I could go to the nearest wholesale club and get some of the things I need but that would require my staff to actually show up for their jobs instead of calling out sick the night before the biggest competition of the year.” You put James’ sandwich in the toaster oven and turned back to look at him. “So, you can start writing your victory speech now. Looks like the Cake-Off is yours for the second year in a row.”

“How much stuff are you missing?” He asked. “My place isn’t too far…”

“And why would I accept supplies from you?” You asked.

“Because you need them.” He laughed.  

“Why would you want to help me?” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“I already told you it’s no fun for me without someone to compete against. There are over a dozen bakeries in this town, but every year the final competition always comes down to you and I. If there’s no challenge in the victory, I don’t want it.” He shrugged. “So I’d like to supply you with whatever you need for the bake off and you can pay me back by giving me some actual competition. Deal?” He extended his hand for you to shake.

You stared at it scrupulously. This was really your own chance to have a hope of being ready for the competition in time tomorrow. You needed those supplies and you both knew it. It had been announced that this year’s winner would get the contract for the incoming mayor’s inauguration after party. That meant not just a cake order, but desserts and possibly hors d’oeuvres. You wanted that contract, but accepting his offer also meant owing James a favor. You weren’t sure you were ready to commit to that.

“Fine.” You sighed. You accepted his extended hand and gave it a brief shake.

“Great!” He smiled. “You can just make me a list of everything you need and I’ll take my croissant to go.”

An hour later the buzzer rang for your back door. You opened it, surprised to see James standing there in just a white sleeveless shirt, with a five-pound bag of flour slung over his shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice the muscles on his right arm which were flexed from holding the bag.  

“Are you going to invite me in, [Y/N]?” He chuckled. “It’s cold out here.”

“I uh, yes.” You nodded, stepping aside. “What happened to the shirt you were wearing earlier.

“I was sweating through it in my kitchen while I was gathering everything up. I was halfway here when I realized I’d left it. It’s a cute little set up you’ve got back here.” He commented, his eyes scanning the kitchen. Cute. You knew he was purposefully teasing you about the size of your kitchen. He’d already admitted that he was trying to get a rise out of you.

“I guess this is your first time being in here.” You said, trying to respond neutrally.

“It’s my first time being invited in.” He replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I designed my kitchen myself so it’s perfect, but there are days where I wish I had something more…intimate like this. Hang on, are you the only one here?”

“No, you’re here too.” You quipped.

“ha-ha. I meant where are your employees?” He asked.

“I already told you they called out. I had five people scheduled today between front and back of house and only one person showed up. My front of house manager. You met her when you came in.” You told him.

“Let me get this straight, you have to do this who cake by yourself? How are you going to finish it in time?” He wanted to know.

“I’ll have to stay up all night I guess.” You shrugged.

“[Y/N], we’ve been friends for years, I’ve seen the designs you come up with. There’s no way you can do all that work by yourself.” He commented.

“You like competition, I like bad odds.” You countered. “And since when are we friends?”

“Since three years ago, when you rescued me at the county fair pie eating competition. I thought we were supposed to each make a dozen pies but it was two. You showed up with three and a half dozen, just in case someone didn’t have enough. Do you remember?” He chuckled.

“It was a pie eating competition, the mayor had put you and I in charge of making sure there were enough pies. It would have looked bad on both of us if even one bakery was short a few.” You said. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“Well, I did.” He confessed. “I also remember that time you nearly fed the soon-to-be mayor’s daughter peanuts despite the fact that she was death allergic.”

“The man ordered a peanut butter and chocolate cake for her birthday. Why would he do that if she was allergic? I had no idea, thankfully you stopped in the morning before I started making it so I could call and correct the problem. What about the time you hired that guy, the one who ate half your order…”

“Gene!” He remembered suddenly. “I almost forgot about Gene. Couldn’t believe he’d managed to eat six eclairs on the way to that fundraiser. You bailed me out by meeting me in that dark parking lot and we snuck six of your eclairs onto the tray. No one noticed.”

“I assume my six received higher praise than the others.” You laughed.

“I honestly think the guests were all too drunk to notice.” An awkward silence settled into the air between the two of you. “Maybe we’ve been doing this all wrong…” He added quietly.

“What do you mean?” You asked him.

“I mean we’re better together. We’ve been helping each other out for years. Maybe this year we go into the competition together. With my flavor profiles and your designs? There’s not a single bakery out there that could take us on together.” He insisted.

“I don’t know, James…”

“Bucky.” He interrupted you. “My friends call me Bucky.” We are friends after all, aren’t we?” He took a step closer to you, almost daring you to take the next step. You stepped towards him, not answering his question. “Of course, we could be more than friends…” He added edging closer to you.

[theawkwardterrier]

Prototypes, Pekingese, and Other Things That Might Test Your Patience

Steggy Week 2k20, day 1 Prompt: Domestic Bliss

Summary: Sunday afternoon, Steve comes home from the movies and finds Peggy sitting on the sofa, having what seems to be a staring contest with the ugliest little dog he’s ever seen.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents​ for organizing!

Sunday afternoon, Steve comes home from the movies and finds Peggy sitting on the sofa, having what seems to be a staring contest with the ugliest little dog he’s ever seen.

To be clear, the dog is the kind of ugly that probably means that its ancestors came over on the Mayflower and it is the result of centuries of very carefully considered and high-standard breeding which would put Steve’s own pedigree to shame. That said, the animal has been left with a flat face, watery eyes, sharp little teeth, minuscule legs, a coat that probably weighs more than its actual body, and an apparent tendency to snuffle even when at rest.

None of this makes a good first impression.

“Hello,” Steve says carefully, closing the door. “I thought you were finishing up the Beckworth operation today.”

“We did.” Peggy breaks her stare with the dog on the floor in front of her, sounding sour. “The first part went absolutely swimmingly. He was entirely willing to reveal the location of the safe while showing off for Gladys.” She gestures to a curly blonde wig lying on the side table. “The distraction was timed perfectly, and I was able to crack back in while he was gone and remove the prototype before calling for backup. We arrested him without incident. It was all as smooth as you like, textbook even, until I gave the prototype into the care of Fletcher in evidence collection - you’ve met him, ginger, entirely too tall? - and the man immediately dropped it on the floor only to have it eaten by this thing.” She glares again at the dog. “And now it has to be watched while we wait for the prototype to...pass, so it can be used as evidence and then handed over to Howard and his merry band for examination.”

“Ah.” Steve lowers himself into a chair, keeping a careful eye on the dog. It seems the type to be easily unsettled by simple things in its surroundings. “And it needs to be watched here? By us?”

“Well, after what happened today, I’m certainly not going to give more responsibility to Fletcher or any of the so-called experts in evidence collection.” They’ve barely finished staffing the various departments over at SHIELD, but Steve now suspects based on her tone that they might be going back to the drawing board in some places. “Of course, I wouldn’t trust Howard to take care of it himself, and Jarvis and Ana have been told by the adoption agency to be on the alert in the next few weeks—”

“Hey, that’s great!”

“It is, but of course it means that they should have as much time as possible to prepare themselves, which does not at all fit with taking responsibility for this. And, of course, I’m trying to build a more official reputation for the organization. As reliable as Jarvis has proven himself to be, I’d like us to try to appear slightly less homegrown than we have in the past, at least for the moment.”

Steve looks around himself at the living room of their home, then down at the dog, which has started to pace and sniff around itself. “So it’s up to us.”

“Yes. But I can’t imagine it will take long for the prototype to reappear, and then they will both be off our hands.”

Peggy comes home on Monday evening and, flipping through the mail on her way down the hall, nearly forgets to even look for the dog until she reaches the kitchen where Steve is washing dishes.

“You didn’t call,” she says, “so I assume that the prototype is still…”

“As far as I can tell,” Steve says, looking a little worn. “And I’m pretty familiar with what did come out of him today.”

“How was—” she tries, just as a high, incessant yapping starts from the front room.

“Sorry, he’s been looking out into the yard all day, going nuts over squirrels, birds, the mailman, anything. It’s a good thing there weren’t any Girl Scouts going door to door today,” Steve apologizes before calling tiredly toward the next room, “Knock it off, Eliot.” To Peggy’s surprise, the sound turns to a whining, nasal growl, which is at least softer.

“You gave it a name?” she asks, kissing him quickly as she leans to put the mail on the counter.

“He didn’t come with one that I could figure out, and I had to call him something.”

“And why decide on Eliot?”

Steve finishes drying off his hands, then points into the trash can where there’s a pile of shredded paper mixed in with the usual garbage.

“I guess the books looked at him funny because he started clawing at them pretty early on. I managed to move most of them up to higher shelves before he got them too bad, but he really did a number on Middlemarch. Moby-Dick, too, but he didn’t exactly seem like a Herman any more than he looked like a George. And I guess I could have called him Pepper, because he knocked that over too, but he’s the wrong color.”

Eliot comes, nails clicking, into the kitchen to bark at their feet. Peggy stares down on him. She sighs.

“Well, your instincts about Melville were spot on, at least,” she tells the dog, and takes her husband upstairs to show her gratitude for his forbearance.

When Peggy calls Tuesday morning and tells Steve that she’s scheduled a veterinary appointment for Eliot that afternoon, he groans aloud down the phone line.

“He’s actually finally quiet,” Steve says, watching from out of the corner of his eye as Eliot yawns, peers out the window, and seems to start dozing again. “If I take him out somewhere new…”

“Yes, but that place might be able to offer some guidance about when we might get to see the prototype again, and therefore when we might never have to see the dog again.”

Eliot shies away from anything particularly cold or shiny at the vet’s office in a way that Steve remembers from his own earliest medical experiences. He keeps up a constant, quiet growl; Steve considers it polite if anything based on the lowered volume, and luckily none of the staff seem overly concerned or insulted. Then again, they aren’t actually that helpful either: the vet cheerfully informs Steve that these things usually pass by themselves within a few days, and as long as Eliot is still able to eat, drink, and play normally there’s no reason to be concerned.

“You can come back in if something changes, and of course, if you’re really concerned, I can refer you to a colleague about an hour away who can do an x-ray of the little fella,” the vet offers, and then quotes a price for it that makes Steve laugh reflexively at what must be a joke. (It isn’t.)

The only helpful piece of advice comes at the end of the visit.

“Fur like that,” the vet says, going over to the door, “I’d expect you must be showing him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, dog shows, contests, like that.”

“You mean we can get him trimmed if we don’t care about all that?” Steve asks, relieved. He’s wearing his only pair of brown trousers today; even though Eliot sleeps downstairs, somehow strands of his long fur have migrated onto the black and gray pants which fill most of Steve's wardrobe.

The vet looks surprised. “Sure, though it’d be a shame. He’s a pretty fine specimen, after all.” He tilts his head, turning thoughtful. “Say, if you don’t really want him for that, I have a friend who’d love to get his hands on a purebred like this. Pay you nicely for it, too, what do you say?”

Steve looks over at Eliot. Despite the standoff the dog is having with a row of bottles on the doctor’s counter, he looks up at Steve with something very human and pleading and familiar in his eyes.

“No, thanks,” Steve finds himself saying, picking Eliot up in one arm. “I think we’ll hang onto him for now.”

Steve is as surprised as Peggy when she comes home Wednesday to find the dog lying politely at the foot of the armchair while Steve sketches. Eliot’s paws are forward, his face relaxed on the carpet between them. Steve had apparently been successful in his mission for the day; the nimbus of tawny fur is gone, trimmed to a more manageable - and, she’ll admit, attractive - level. She can actually see the dog’s eyes clearly now, blinking slow consideration, and his tail puffs up sweetly rather than billowing wildly outward.

“Well, this is quite the change of pace,” Peggy says, keeping her voice pitched low on instinct. Eliot turns to look over at her, but returns to staring peaceably through the window where the tree in the front yard shifts slowly in the breeze.

“Yeah,” Steve says, glancing down with...is that fondness? “He isn’t so bad once you get used to him. Or once he gets used to you. Melinda, the girl at the dog barbershop, said that he probably just needed to figure out how to handle a new place and new people, and that his breed can be a little bossy and vocal.” He pauses. “Also, she said he might have just been hot and annoyed from all that fur.”

“Well, he's at least sensible,” Peggy says, sitting down too. She knows she should go and change, should at least unpack her case, but there’s something comforting about sitting there, just listening to the scratch of Steve’s pencil, the constant sound of Eliot’s breathing. Without her thinking much about it, without even asking if there’s been any update on the prototype, she decides to stay a while with the two of them.

“He’s still not exactly the cutest little thing,” Bucky comments when he comes for a walk with Steve and Eliot on Thursday afternoon. Eliot doesn’t pay him any attention, sniffing busily at the sidewalk in front of himself as he trots along (although Steve knows that he’ll run out of energy pretty soon and slow to a crawl).

“Looks aren’t the only thing that’s important,” Steve points out, moving over so Mr. Sabitini and his grandsons can pass by. “Character plays a big role in things, and Eliot’s got plenty of that; he might be mouthy, but he's pretty intelligent, and considerate too. Yesterday he saw a boy drop his ice cream on the ground and started to nose it back to him.”

Bucky snorts. "Probably trying to sneak a few licks in for himself."

"I don't think so." Steve’s voice is firm, his glare hard.

Bucky stares, then shoves a hand through his hair. “Oh God,” he says. “You’re starting to identify with the mutt. You should have just called him Steve Junior.”

“What? No, I’m—” Steve starts, then shoves him over the curb into the street. “Shut your trap, Barnes.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Bucky laughs, and he gets back onto the sidewalk only for Steve to shove him over again.

At dinner on Friday evening, Steve tells Peggy about how Eliot has started to just bark a polite little greeting to the squirrels on the lawn, as if welcoming them to the home to which he’s graciously allowed them access, and then asks how the Beckworth case is coming.

“The prosecutor is optimistic, which I consider an accomplishment for him - he’s usually quite doleful. Of course it would be better if we had the prototype in hand, but we have the schematics and the testimony from the assistant…”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, as she trails off.

"Mr. Beckworth is seemingly quite...upset that we have taken custody of his dog. I read the report from his latest interrogation and it was all he spoke about.”

Steve swallows a bite of chicken. “He’s probably pretty worried about his life’s work being trapped inside him.”

Peggy shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I think he’s actually concerned about him. Unless he’s playing some sort of game, I believe he truly loves the creature.”

“Well, he’s actually pretty easy to love,” Steve says. “He just shouldn’t have to put up with criminals.” When he palms and drops a piece of his chicken on the floor for Eliot to sweep up, he tries to think of it as more of a consolation than a bribe. Peggy sees and shakes her head; apparently she’s missed the distinction

Peggy calls to say that she’ll be working late on Saturday, so Steve tells Eliot, “Guess it’s just you and me for dinner tonight, fella.” He thinks of what Bucky or Peggy would say if they heard that, groans, and then shrugs, because they didn’t hear it so who cares?

Eliot whines as Steve goes upstairs and shuts the bedroom door, but the house is definitely furrier than is preferable even after the haircut and the establishment of a daily brushing regimen, and there are some lines they haven’t crossed, at least not yet, so Steve goes to bed alone.

He wakes up alone too, several hours later, wondering for a blink what pulled him from sleep. Then he hears Eliot’s growl from down in the kitchen followed by a yip, as if someone’s kicked him.

For a moment, as he makes his quick, silent way down the stairs, he gropes for his shield, something he hasn’t done in years. But before he can really miss its presence, he hears Peggy say, “I’ll thank you to unhand my dog,” in a way that he can tell means she’s aiming her gun.

“I don’t know who you think you are, lady,” says a voice, “but this is Ned Beckworth’s dog.”

“It was,” Peggy says, perfectly calmly. “But Mr. Beckworth is awaiting trial, as you soon will be as well, and now it’s my dog. Just as this is my house you’re standing in, and my husband coming up behind you, so put Eliot down, if you please.”

Looking from the doorway into the dimness, Steve can only see the backs of the two men who have broken in, moderately sized and wearing black. One of them has Eliot under his arm, a hand over his muzzle even as he tries to wriggle away. When the stranger doesn’t move, Steve says, “She really will shoot you if you don’t let the dog go. She’ll get your leg no problem, even if you’re trying to use him as a shield,” and Eliot is reluctantly and a bit too forcefully released. He takes a minute to regain his footing, nails scrabbling on the linoleum after being dropped to the ground, but before Steve can say a word, the dog has vomited copiously onto his captor’s shoe before skidding over to Peggy and pressing himself against her leg. The prototype, its light still blinking a calm blue, lies in the middle of the puddle.

“Excellent aim, Eliot,” she says dryly, without taking her eye off the now loudly disgusted housebreakers. “But your timing leaves quite a bit to be desired. Steve?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

Between the two of them, they pretty easily subdue their unwanted guests, and wrap up the prototype to deliver to headquarters in the morning. (Peggy says she’ll trust a retrieval team to take care of prisoner transport, but the prototype stays with her from this point forward. Steve, cleaning up the mess on the floor, says she is welcome to it.) Eliot obeys commands for “sit” and “quiet” for only a few seconds at a time before once again starting to dart distractingly around the room, barking. Still, once everyone else has left, he curls easily into Peggy’s lap and allows himself to be petted.

“He acquitted himself well,” she says as Eliot’s tail flips through the air, clearly pleased by her attention to his ears, “even if he isn’t exactly anyone’s picture of heroism.”

“Neither of us exactly was either,” says Steve, “so I think he’ll fit in fine.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Bucky I said that. He'll just start again about me over-identifying.”

She laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of it, even if he might have something of the right of it.”

Eliot barks in what seems to be agreement, but Steve knows for a fact that, if the dog could talk, he’d sell Steve out in a minute if offered a half decent steak.

As Sunday dawns, the three of them are still sitting in the living room, asleep together.

[elefics]

torment / chapter 1

First chapter for torment! Basically setting up Lyla’s character and background, and how she ended up at the Academy. The juicy stuff is coming soon hehe 

As long as I can remember, as a kid, I felt like I didn't belong. I didn't fit in, and always felt just slightly out of place. Like, don't get me wrong, I could probably have led a normal, relatively happy life outside of the coven. But I would never have found my place.

One of my earliest memories is levitating during recess in third grade.

I was playing hide and seek with my best friends – but everyone is your best friend at that age, or so I thought. It was one of those moments...when you're hiding in a dark corner of the playground, breathing hard from the adrenaline coursing through your tiny body at the thought of being found, smelling bark and sweat and salami sandwiches, where time and space doesn't exist. You're so focused on hiding, on making yourself invisible and winning the game, that you forget who and where you are. I forgot. And I paid the price.

When I finally opened my eyes, I wasn't in a dark corner of the playground. I was floating seven feet in the air, and below me were the horrified expressions of my friends and teachers. Frozen in time. That moment is frozen in my memory forever. It was the first time that I realised I wasn't just weird, but special. There were powers inside me that other people, and even myself, didn't understand yet.

My teachers, missing a handbook on protocol for dealing with young witches coming into their powers, did the only thing they knew to do - sent me to the office. The other kids were still shaking like leaves, hiding behind our teachers' legs like toddlers.

My mother picked me up an hour later. I ignored the concerned glares of the office ladies. Mom and I got McDonald's, like we always did when I had a doctor's appointment or a day off. At the time, it felt completely natural. I thought she just 'got it', like floating in mid-air was a regular Tuesday occurrence. In hindsight, I remember her staring at me with a mix of fear and awe through the rear-view mirror. She was shitting herself, and didn't know what to do next.

She sent me back to school the next day, which was the worst possible option.

The other kids had grown braver and meaner overnight. I was their new favourite toy and punching bag. They called me a witch, and I took it as an insult. (If only I knew!) They called me evil, ugly, dirty. They said I'd grow fat moles and that my skin would turn green. They told me to stay away from them. So I did.

Within a month, I didn't have a single friend. They were repulsed and terrified of me, but loved to poke fun from a distance. All I wanted to do was play handball or tag.

"Lyla. Enough is enough." Mom said one night over dinner.

I was playing with the food on my plate, but not with a fork. I made them spin and dance, like a potato and broccoli ballet. My face fell, and so did my dinner, collapsing sadly onto the ceramic. Gravy splattered onto my thumb.

I apologised. I learned to push my powers deep down inside of me. Whenever I felt like they'd spill out, I pinched the skin near my knee. It kept me grounded and in control.

In tenth grade, I pinched myself so hard I bruised. It still wasn't enough.

I'd kept to myself and stayed out of everybody's way, from my mother to my teachers. I was the quiet polite girl who sat in the back of class and got her homework in on time. I minded my own fucking business. That was, until Mrs Brooks called me a freak in front of our entire geography class.

Mrs Brooks ended up with a broken arm and I ended up in the principal's office. I hadn't actually touched her at all, and I guess that was what scared my teachers. I hadn't been called into an office since third grade. Mom was already there, sitting in one of the black fold-out chairs, with her keys in her hand and glassy eyes. She held a few sheets of paper in her hands. Signing me out, surely. We'd be at the drive-thru in twenty minutes.

Mr Petersen, our grey-haired principal with a passion for 'fun' ties, sat beside my mother, with his hands neatly in his lap. He had been whispering softly to Mom, but stopped as soon as I approached. He looked at me with sad, brown eyes.

His tie had dinosaurs on it. It feels stupid that that is the one thing I remember so clearly.

"Hi," I said quietly from the doorway. I scrunched the hem of my tee-shirt up in my hand.

The disappointment was palpable. Mom ignored me completely, like looking up at me would make it all so much worse. She stared at my converse, or the carpet, or the fish tank humming gently by the door. Anything but me. Her leg bounced up and down, like she'd had too many coffees that morning. But it was two in the afternoon and her nerves had nothing to do with caffeine.

Two men in suits approached the office. For a moment the sinking feeling in my stomach froze me in place, blocking the door. Shaking off the feeling, I stepped aside to let the men in. Their suits were far too nice for a small town like ours. I'd assumed they were here for some important government business with the principal.

They smiled softly and shook their heads, almost in sync.

"Mom? What's going on?" I asked. Panic was bubbling in my throat like bile.

The realisation came as one single, simple thought: They're here for me.

Their hands were tight around my upper arms and wrists like shackles. They barely struggled.

"Mom! Mr Petersen! Mr - what's going - where are they taking me? Mom!" I kicked and screamed until my throat was hoarse. After a while, I went numb. Wherever these men were taking me, I was helpless. They were so much bigger, taller, older, scarier, than fifteen-year-old me. A small part of me, deep, deep inside, thought, wherever they're taking me, it has to be better than here.

---

"Happy birthday Lyla!" Zoe yelled, tackling me into a hug in the middle of the kitchen.

"Keep your voice down," I laughed. It was barely seven in the morning.

I loved the way the light streamed in through the kitchen windows here. Making my morning cup of tea was my favourite part of my day. Or at least one of them.

There were a lot of favourite parts now.

"I will not. It's not every day you turn eighteen." She said as she stirred a bowl of pancake batter.

I smiled softly, pouring the milk into my mug. Watching the white-brown patterns swirl, I couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" Zoe smiled.

"I'm just really glad to be here. I didn't think I'd make it to eighteen a few years ago." I surprised myself with my candour so early in the morning.

"Well, I'm very glad to have you here. We all are." Zoe's warmth brightened the entire room. I believed her.

"Morning girls. Happy birthday, Lyla." Cordelia descended the stairs with her usual poise, already dressed and made up. Her smile faded after quick greetings were exchanged.

"I need you to wake the other girls and get dressed. We have visitors coming."

---

A/N: Hey! I've started this fic as I fun exercise to get myself to start writing again. I finally watched season 8 of AHS so now I'm obsessed, and I haven't really written anything substantial in like a year, so I figured I'd use this passion/interest and make something of it!

God, I've missed fanfic writing. (I wrote The 1975 fics on Wattpad when I was like 13/14 and they're pretty tragic but they were so fun...so I'm back!) I just wanted to say that while this is based in America, I'm not super familiar with American schooling systems (and I'm sure there are other things I'll slip up on)...so things might be just slightly out of whack for you guys. I'm Australian, so I'm going to base the ages/grades off our system and assume the system in the US can't be that drastically different (e.g. in grade ten I was fifteen). A lot of this fic won't be based on formal schooling systems anyway but I thought it was worth a mention. Just go with it lmao. Super keen to keep writing! x

Taglist: (tiniest ever, let me know if you want to be added!) 

@angelicmichael @theneverendinghunger​ @outpostmichael​ 

[gwydionae]

I am posting this to show 1.) how big of a nerd I am, 2.) what KIND of a nerd I am, and 3.) just how much I went through to end up in complete agony, lol.

I really like facts, concrete evidence that something is true. I also like a good puzzle, being given some information and travelling down the rabbit hole to try and piece said info together. You know what else I like? Fictional universes and their concept of time. The Dice, Camera, Action! fandom might know me as the insane lady who carefully tries to construct a proper timeline for a DnD show with no official timeline whatsoever, going simply off of in-game clues.

You know what show gave me a character’s birthday, another character telling said birthday character “happy birthday” seemingly quite a bit after his birthday, and then proceeded to dump an actual, real calendar on me? Mob Psycho 100, of course! So what did I decide I wanted to figure out? Just how long HAD Mob and Reigen been apart during the “separation arc”?

Now, I actually DO have a pretty good guess! See, based on Reigen’s character profile from the manga, along with the email his mom sent him on his birthday, we know that he turned 28 on October 10, 2012 (if he was born Year of the Rat and is using a cellphone in present day, he had to have been born in 1984, thus it being 2012 on his 28th birthday). According to the above included calendar, this would be a Wednesday. He had already been separated from Mob for a little while previous to that, though. The first day could have been a school day as Ritsu came home in uniform and said that Mob was “home early”, but it couldn’t have been a Monday as the day before that was definitely a school day. So that would likely make it either Tuesday the 9th or Friday the 5th. We then see Mob in class/club, out shopping with Ritsu, and out again in a different outfit (this being Reigen’s birthday). If his birthday is on a Wednesday, their first day apart couldn’t have been Tuesday as there are at least 2 days in between their fight and Wednesday, so likely they fought on Thursday the 4th, meaning that October 5, 2012 would be the first day of their separation.

So! Reigen went 6 days before getting his serious Mob withdrawal symptoms. Ok, how much time passed after that? Well, I figured it couldn’t be TOO much, as while Mob’s belated “happy birthday” is said in the past tense, it’d be weird if it came, like, months later, but there’s only so much actual evidence to go on. We do know that Reigen started going all out with work, and one job in particular - the video game player killer - had him staying up “many nights”. But that one job made him go viral, essentially, and he got interviewed for a magazine. “And a few days after that” he got asked to be on the TV special, which took place “one week” from when he was asked. We then see people reporting on him being a fake the next day, and the day after that Mob is at school and being told about it for the first time. This gave me my first clue, making me think the special must have been on a Saturday night, with Mob finding out on Monday. After this, we get the line “in three days, being the ultimate evil had become Reigen’s public image”, which would put us on a Tuesday as the day he gets cornered into holding a press conference the following day (Wednesday). And, of course, that’s the day he finally sees Mob again.

So for sure we have 4 days since the night of his social collapse, and before that 8 days between which he got asked to be on TV and then he appeared on TV the following week. So we’ve got a confirmed 12 days total so far, but obviously that’s not counting the “many nights” playing the video game plus any work time he put in before or after. The earliest possible date that he could have been contacted for the TV would be Saturday the 20th. This would give him about a week and a half to get big, and it would put the spooky exorcism special the Saturday before Halloween. But that’s not a lot of time to build up his name, and it would put his press conference on Halloween itself which seems a bit odd to me (though maybe Japan isn’t too big on Halloween specials). So I figured the best bet would be to say he got asked to be on TV Saturday the 27th, appeared Nov 3rd, and held his press conference on Wed the 7th, exactly 4 weeks since his birthday, and a total of 34 days since he’d last seen Mob.

BUT WAIT! Why did I say I was in agony over this if I’ve got a pretty decent idea of how much time passed? Oh, Studio Bones. I love you. I love you a lot. I do. I really, really do.

But.

BUT.

*sigh*

You just HAD to put a REAL calendar in the very next episode, didn’t you?

Ok, so admittedly at first I was pretty excited about this! After all, at first glance, it actually seemed to line up pretty well! It looked like it could be a calendar for Oct 2012! But then I noticed that according to that screenshot, the date is supposed to be the 1st. Well, ok, fine, maybe my first guess was correct and Reigen actually DID get popular in a week and a half and held in press conference on the 31st. But... no, that couldn’t be it either because this month has 31 days in it - that doesn’t even work for November at all! Could it possibly be December already? Did that much time actually pass?? In what year did December 1st fall on a Mon- WAIT! NO! THAT’S NOT A MONDAY! THAT’S A TUESDAY!! THIS CALENDAR STARTS WITH MONDAY!!! That means that even my theory of “they had the right calendar for Oct 2012, but just marked the wrong date on it” is debunked, too!! Wait wait wait!! Hold up! Just what month/year IS this supposed to be a calendar of, then??

It’s January 2019.

They just used the dates from January 2019.

......................

How dare you, Bones.

I trusted you. I trusted that you would actually pull through for me, that you had given me concrete evidence to support my hypothesis. That you put so much care into your animation that SURELY putting in the proper dates wouldn’t be hard.

I was a fool to be excited. I will never trust your dates or calendars again. You have lied to me with false facts, and now every time I see that calendar, it makes me upset because it is simply factually wrong, and I don’t like it.

...THIS is what kind of nerd I am. XD

Now if you’ll excuse me, my sister is about to watch the latest episode, and I am going to make myself happy again by enjoying her pain, because she, like me, is an anime only, lol.

[notquitejiraiya]

Chess [18] - {ShikaTema AU}

Given that its just about still the first day of Shikamaru Week, though I haven’t had time for any of the prompts I found it only right to have some Chess for the week.

I hope you all enjoy.

[READ + COMMENT ON AO3 HERE]

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As her eyes fluttered open, before she could even realise how foreign her surroundings were or who’s sofa she was on, Temari’s vision locked on the carton cigarettes on the coffee table. Beside it on the table, with a lighter on top of it, was a bright pink stack of sticky-notes, the top of which covered in a jagged scrawl.

‘Temari—don’t know if you remember even seeing me last night, but I brought you here so you had a bed to sleep in and didn’t have to go home. It’s my buddy’s flat, not mine. I’ve got to dash off to work—big job—which is good, I guess, so we don’t have to talk about last night. Chōji’s easy, so don’t sweat it if you’re here all day.’

She could feel her cheeks burning; what the hell had she done? She remembered nothing, which couldn’t have made her feel more of an idiot if she wanted to. What could have possible ensued that meant she had told him that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go home.

Quickly, she grabbed her phone from on the desk and checked the time, squinting at the brightness and ignoring the dozens of unread messages that crowded the screen. She couldn’t afford it to be late—she had work, it was only freaking Wednesday.

“Seven-thirty,” she mumbled to herself. “That’s got to be the earliest I’ve ever woken up after a night out…”

“Shikamaru?” A foreign sound filtered in from the other room.

Temari froze at the strange voice.

“You’re dressed, aren’t you, Shikamaru?”

“Um,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples. The volume was almost too much. “I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly not hearing here the voice continued. “Man, you’re at least wearing underwear right—oh!” As he leaned around the door, Temari locked eyes with a familiar brown-haired man whose eyes were wide. Anxiously, he smiled and slowly rubbed together his hands. “Oh, um, where has he…?”

She could feel a lump in her throat, her embarrassment almost silencing her as she pulled the blanket that covered her body up to her chin. “Work, I think.” Her finger extended towards the sticky note.

“Ah,” he acknowledged, wincing nervously. “Well, I’m Chōji, by the way. You must be—”

“Temari, yeah.”

“Temari,” repeated Chōji, smiling a little more. “It’s good to meet you. He’s mentioned you a lot.”

“You, too.”

“Well, I remember you from the pub.” 
“What?”

“I work there, and you collected a lot of pitchers last night,” he chuckled.

Temari’s hands covered her face, flushing red and boiling her. “Oh, shit. You do, don’t you? You must think so ill of me.”

“For what?”

“For everything,” she winced. “How much I drank last night, the fact I’m somehow here, in your damn apartment…”

Chōji laughed. “Not at all. If you’re helping my best pal. As far as I’m concerned you’re a brilliant person for that alone.”

“I don’t know if I am helping. Can I really help anyone when I go out on a Tuesday night and end up on a stranger’s sofa the next morning?”

The question was rhetorical, and no part of her expected the young man to come out with an answer, but she watched as Chōji opened his mouth and began to praise. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You know Friday night last week?” he asked, eager, “he was excited to see you. Granted it was Shikamaru excited, but I can tell, you know? I’ve known him my whole life.”

Everything about this situation was making Temari uncomfortable. On top of the fact that work started in forty-five minutes, she had dozens of missed calls and messages that she knew would be from her brothers—and that she had to answer them before they, in a fit of panic, reported her missing to one organisation or another. Not to mention, she was here; on the man before her’s sofa, huddled under a blanket and probably looking a complete state with an undeniable hangover. Nothing was normal, nothing fit in, and yet through all her embarrassment she couldn’t let the stubborn need to burrow deep into the truth subside. No amount of blushing head to toe, or frustrating confusion she felt upon reading that sticky note before her, could stop her opening her big mouth just one more time.

Temari winced, sitting up and rubbing her temples. “Then can I pick your brain?”

Much to the blonde’s surprise, he nodded inquisitively. “Sure.”

This was it; her moment to grab the raw facts, as long as she remembered them. Hastily she grabbed a sticky note from the pile on the table, and the pen that had rolled beneath it. “Asuma Sarutobi…”

“I thought that might be it.” The volume of his voice lowered, and his tone lost so much enthusiasm he almost seemed like a different man.

“You did?”

Chōji nodded solemnly, “He shifted when Mr Sarutobi died. He taught me, too, and our other friend, Ino—he tell you about her?” He waited for her to nod in agreement before continuing. “But we aren’t as clever as him—he was always the smart one.”

“No kidding,” she mumbled, smiling to herself a little. When she noticed him mirroring her expression, she frowned, wiping it away. Moments of professionalism came ever fewer and farther between when it came to Shikamaru; she had to at least keep it together in front of his friend. “Were you not close to him, too? You and your friend, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, “but only because of Shikamaru. Mr Sarutobi always got us out of trouble if we were in it—he always thought the three of us were a good team, good for each other in every way.” Chōji wandered towards the kitchen area and opened one of the upper cupboards, fishing out an opened, fairly large bag of crisps. “Shikamaru was always way closer to him—they connected on an intellectual level. Unlike me who barely passed maths.”

She didn’t like the way he was almost laughing at himself. “You don’t see yourself as stupid just because of Shikamaru, do you?”

A flood of relief shot through her when she saw Chōji grin. “No, not at all. I mean, I used to back in school, but I was young, and like most people I wanted to be everything that I wasn’t. But I know I’m not dumb, and that I never was. Shikamaru is just insanely bright, and Mr Sarutobi knew it. Plus, the two of them were likeminded; it was inevitable that they’d get on.”

Temari nodded, jotting down the odd phrase on her note. “Chōji, would you say he spent a bit too much time with this man?”

“I dunno, really. He’d go see him after school sometimes, and every lunch break he’d go and sit in his classroom, play chess or solve some problem,” he replied. “Ino and I never joined in—thought it was dull as hell, honestly.”

“So he was never obsessed with the guy?”

“No, just looked up to him, I guess.”

Temari gulped, aware how it was almost rude to be prying into his life behind his back. “I don’t want to sound awful, but I want to clarify something he’s told is true…”

“That’s not bad,” chuckled Chōji, shovelling down a mouthful of crisps. “He’s always been a good liar, so I can’t blame you.”

The mere idea she’d been fooled by him more than once made her teeth clench, and she bit on her lip. “His dad is a nice guy, right? And he’s alive, well, around a lot?”

He nodded, chewing, humming positively before he swallowed. “Oh, yeah. Shikaku is a great guy, man. Like my second dad!”

“Is he like Shikamaru?”

The nodding ceased. “I guess so,” began Chōji, his voice wavering. “I don’t want to say he’s got his head together more than Shikamaru but…”

“But he has?”

He was grateful for the humorous look in her eyes. “Yeah. He’s always just wanted the best for Shikamaru. Never pestered him, wasn’t massively strict—he was military so he’d go for a month every now and then, but he’d always come back. Yeah, I don’t know, he was just always fairly nice and, well, completely chill.”

“Hence Shikamaru?”

“Hence Shikamaru,” he repeated, smirking. “He learned all of his bad habits from his dad; the white-lying, the eye rolls, etcetera. Not the smoking though—that was Mr Sarutobi.”

Temari frowned, readjusting herself a little more. “Aren’t teachers prohibited from influencing kids to do stuff like that?”

“Yeah, but…” Chōji faltered, sighing. “I mean as soon exam season came about in our last year he’d go with Mr Sarutobi after school to the edge of the campus and they’d have a smoke. They stopped for a while after that, until he died and he left Shikamaru his lighter. He doesn’t use it—he’s too afraid to. He just clicks it incessantly.” He chuckled a little. “I’d break it if it wasn’t so previous to him.”

She forced a smile, trying to recall a time he’d flicked his lighter around her, but she couldn’t. Maybe he was always too on edge around her to do the things he does with his friends—to relax properly.

Despite the little rush of sadness that thought brought her, she cleared her throat and continued. “One more thing, Chōji—sorry for wasting your time—his wife, Asuma’s wife…does she still live around town?”

He shrugged, shoving his hand into the bag and pulling out another handful of crisps. “I’m not sure. Why?”

You don’t need to disclose that, Temari. Shut your mouth.

Her mouth overrode her thoughts too quickly. “Because I think if he sees that her and her daughter are okay there might be a shift.” The words rushed out, fast and without ease. “I think he’s yet to accept his death, because despite it being years he doesn’t seem to have managed it yet.”

“He definitely hasn’t managed it yet.”

Temari, sadly, smiled as she pushed the blanket aside, exposing the clothes she’d worn last night. “He told me you were a good friend, Chōji,” she sighed, “but you’re much kinder than I ever expected. Like, I wasn’t expecting fine with a stranger sleeping on your couch cool.”

He smiled. “As long as nobody’s hurt and everyone’s okay, I’m easy.”

Her blonde hair wiggled across her shoulders as she shook her head, wrought with disbelief. “How on earth do you put up with him with such ease?”

“He’s my brother, these days.” He shrugged, eating another few crisps. “I’d be lost without him.”

“I applaud you,” she laughed, softly. “I really do.”

“And I applaud you.”

Unable to form a proper, grateful sentence, Temari hoisted herself to her feet, brushing off her front as she wobbled side to side. Her head turned and her vision blurred slightly at the sudden rush, but finally her eyes set on her bag, placed neatly on the kitchen worktop near where Choji stood. With a deep breath she hurried over and grabbed it, smiling awkwardly at Chōji as he watched her, finally shoving the sticky note she’d taken notes on inside.

“He did stay the night, too,” chuckled Chōji, motioning towards the corner of the room as she somewhat helplessly looked around for her boots. “I got in at two-thirty, and the pair of you were asleep there on the cough together.”

Temari was so overwhelmed by the heat that rushed up her neck to her face that she almost wanted to hit him, but only after she hit herself for the shake in her knees upon thinking about it. “Well,” she croaked out, biting her lip as she pulled on her boots. “I should give him his cigarettes back.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do it?”

“No,” she insisted, “I think I really ought to talk to him about some stuff, anyway.”

“You guys fight yesterday or something like that?”

“Yeah, something like that…”

Temari threw her hair up in a ponytail, trying to avoid the eyes she felt on the back of her neck as she pulled out a couple of strands, that refused to cooperate, to frame her face. Quickly, she reached back over to the coffee table and grabbed her phone. There were dozens of messages she needed to send to apologise to Gaara and Kankuro for not telling them, but it was seven-fifty, and so one thing stuck out more than anything: she was going to be late for work.

For a moment, she stood contemplating if she could make it on time, and whether she even wanted to, but the moment she felt her head spin after staring too long at the screen she knew she only really had one option.

She dialled the number for reception. “Hi. Jo?” she asked, putting on her sickly sweet and completely false telephone voice, and watching as Chōji almost choked on his crisps with the giggles. “It’s Temari, yeah. Jo, look: I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I think I’m going to have to take a sick day.” She coughed, and frowned at Chōji’s weak attempts to pull himself together. “Yeah, I’m feeling truly awful, and I’m pretty sure some more elderly patients and I…” She paused, biting on her lip. It wasn’t completely a lie.

Chōji snickered to himself, putting the bag on the counter behind him and shaking his head. “Wow…” he muttered, only for Temari to put her finger to her lips, frowning.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it, Jo,” she lied. “I don’t want them to catch it. Thank you…hopefully see you tomorrow.” She coughed again, just for good measure. “Bye.”

It was impossible to ignore the smirking from across the room as she reached for the cigarettes and lighter on the table.

“What?” she asked.

“You,” he chuckled. “You’re quite the liar yourself.”

“Not true.”

“You lie in order to help, not hurt.”

She sighed, shaking her head and grabbing her bag from beside him and throwing Shikamaru’s forgotten bits into it. “I am putting off helping like half a dozen people by lying, here. I’d hardly say that’s truly helpful.”

Chōji smiled again, the mocking fading by the second. “Maybe I’m biased, but you’re helping him, aren’t you? And that’s enough.”

“Thank you, Chōji,” she mumbled, blushing slightly as she held out her hand, “for everything, and I’m sorry for invading you space.”

“It wasn’t your choice, really,” laughed Chōji, reaching out to shake it, “but don’t mention it.”

With a final smile, she started to walk away, making sure to whip out of her phone and message Gaara.

‘Hey. So sorry I went MIA - I’m okay and at a friend’s. Not feeling good. Will explain later.’

As usual, not completely a lie.

“I’m a hugger, by the way.”

Her head whipped road, ponytail flailing. “I’m sorry?”

Chōji gave her a bright smile. “I’m a hugger. Just so you know if we run into each other again.”

“Okay?” she replied, smiling slightly.

“You’re not.”

Temari shook her head. “It just depends. I’ll see you around.”

He found himself giggling into his bag of potato chips as she left, pleased with himself that he’d finally managed to have a conversation with the fabled Temari she always heard so much about. Shikamaru was right, she was confusing, but that had come from the most confusing person he knew. Chōji only hoped that his little series of answers had helped her, in one way or another, to unravel that confusion.

~~~

When her feet found their way to the high street, it took only second for her to become massively aware that any minute her brother may appear on his way to work, and she had nothing yet prepared to explain her whereabouts last night. He’d found it weird enough that she’d wanted to join in with Gaara’s pub quiz—something she’d often slated—and he’d certainly be expecting an explanation as to why she was wandering down the dim-lit high street at eight-o’clock in the morning.

Still, despite that Temari couldn’t help but observe how ghostly things were at this wintry hour, glazed in a blanketing mist that she felt like she’d shatter each time she took a step. The shops, other than the bakery whose neon red ‘OPEN’ sign shone through the gloom, weren’t even open yet, and she couldn’t help but wonder why exactly he’d had to leave so early for work. Didn’t most shops on this street open around eight-thirty? And she definitely didn’t think Shikamaru had it in him to turn up so tremendously early.

But then she saw it as she approached, the light flooding through the huge windows of the flower shop and onto the pavement, and she understood automatically. The place, from what she could see metres away, was full of massive beautiful bouquets of white and purple, covering every surface and every inch of the floor. Everything was tied with soft purple ribbon, and Temari couldn’t help but stop and stare, dumbfounded by a sea of her favourite colour. While she knew it was silly, her stomach grew fluttery at the coincidence.

There was a muffled shout from through the glass, low in pitch, and her whole body stiffened in a second. Only a moment later two boots—two scuffed boots she recognised all too well—appeared on the stairs at the side of the shop, only for him to sluggishly step down. She couldn’t see his face, obscured by yet another bouquet in his arms, but Temari didn’t need to see to know it was Shikamaru.

She had to hope that the bouquet and his business were together enough to distract him from her undeniable staring as she backed away slightly, wishing for the mist to envelope her. But slowly, the mist was disappearing, and the light of the morning was coming fast. Yes, Temari had come to see him and return what he’d left at Chōji’s, but now she’d seen him her legs were jelly and her heart was thumping as though she’d run a marathon. Why did it do this to her; a couple more steps and she was sure that she’d collapse.

As he placed down the bouquet it what appeared to be the last remaining spot in the corner, Temari readied herself to rush in through the door, throw him the cigarettes and apologise. But after a single step forward, she stopping, watching as from half way up the stairs a lady with a long blonde threw her arms around his shoulders in a huge hug.

All of a sudden, Temari wanted nothing more than to storm in, up to him, place the cigarettes firmly in his hand and hug him herself, as if this was some childish game, but she couldn’t. Instead she stood frozen, mouth agape, eyebrows raised, and uncomfortably aware of the blonde girl’s laughter and the undeniable slight smile that graced Shikamaru’s lips.

Temari’s heart throbbed more than she cared to admit as she stood watching, waiting for it to be over. She knew exactly who that who that is—it was the girl he said annoyed him, the friend Choji had mentioned earlier: Ino. However she couldn’t help but notice that she wasn’t annoying him at all. He was smiling, and he hadn’t pushed her off despite the strength he surely possessed—the girl was thin after all.

Much thinner than me, Temari thought to herself bitterly. Bitch.

She tried to shake herself out of the childish mindset she held, perfectly aware the affect alcohol was probably still having on her mind, only to watch Ino saunter down the rest of the stairs, giving him a proper hug at the bottom. Deep in her mind, for some unknown reason, she begged him not return the kind gesture. And though she knew it was truly pathetic, when he inevitably did—though somewhat slowly—she felt her breath hitch in her throat

Why couldn’t I have met him in school or something? Some time when everything would’ve been okay…

As her body drooped and her hand reached into her bag, Temari had to squeeze her eyes shut to shut out the jealousy that was threatening to emerge. No, it couldn’t be jealousy—she couldn’t be jealous of anyone for anything, let alone a man she’d only known a month, only spent a very short time with. That was just ridiculous! But then why did it bother her so much to see these too people hugging? They were just two people who’ve known each other their whole lives, friends forever, who have no obligation to do anything she wants.

And why did it make her feel so small, so upsettingly insignificant, that she wanted to throw his cigarettes to the floor and run away?

“Temari?”

She span, startled, to see Kankuro stood outside his shop across the road, keys in hand,  and utterly confused.

“Sis, what the hell are you doing?”

She rubbed her face, painfully aware that she was still wearing the same clothes she’d left the house in last night. “I’m not going to work,” she spat, a little too quickly. “I feel so unwell, and I’m in no way in the right headspace to be successfully analysing people.”

Kankuro looked worried, abandoning unlocking the door and crossing the road toward her. “You didn’t come home last night. Not to be annoying but, well, Gaara and I did have a panic. We rang you, like, fifty times.”

“I did see. I’m sorry.”

“Where the hell did you go?”

She gulped. “To a friend’s place.”

“On your own?” he growled.

“With another…friend.” She looked down and started to pick at her fingernails nervously.

Her brother wasn’t stupid, but he could see she wasn’t all there. “If you’re sick, Tem, why haven’t you gone home?”

“I only came here because it was on-route,” she lied. “Plus, I really wanted a Danish.”

With a smile, he hopped up the kerb and pulled her in for a hug. It was all that she needed, through she didn’t know it until she was safe in his arms. Kankuro wasn’t good for much—he ate her food and pissed her off daily—but he always made her feel safe, and it was perfect right now. Her arms flew round him, squeezing tightly, and while usually she’d hate showing how soft she was to him, right now was certainly an exception.

Kankuro pressed a gentle kiss on his older sisters head, rubbing her back softly, at first only glad to have found her okay, even to a mild degree, and on her way home. But something wasn’t quite right, he could feel it, and when his eyes opened over her shoulder, he could see exactly what he’d expected.

Shikamaru’s mouth fell open slightly, and through the window their eyes snapped onto one another. While the younger man stood powerless through the glass, Kankuro’s grip grew tighter around his sister, and his eyes narrowed heavily. Clearly trying to ignore the stare on him, he watched as Shikamaru put his hands in his pockets and weaved in and out of bouquets towards the counter, grabbing a clip-board, freezing for a second before looking back.

But Kankuro didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact. Instead, he pulled away from the hug, gentle holding Temari’s shoulders. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked her, softly, smiling down at her. “I could do with a croissant.”

Temari shook her head, returning the grin thankfully. “I really want to be alone today.”

He nodded, hesitant to let her go alone. “Okay,” he mumbled, pulling her in for yet another quick hug. “You be careful—shout me if you need a lift. I’ll get one of the boys to hold the fort if you need me to drop you home.”

She couldn’t help smiling properly and playfully hitting his arm. “You haven’t offered me a lift in your car since the day you bought it when you were seventeen,” she giggled. “But I’m okay thank you.”

Slowly, Temari spun around and strode towards the bakery, fumbling in her bag for her purse, and Kankuro’s eyes never lost sight of her until the bell on the top of the door rang, and the soft thump of it shutting echoed down the street.

Then, as a predator watches it’s prey, his gaze shot round, back through the bright lighted windows of the florist, and the helpless, scruffy mess of a man—clipboard and flowers in hand—caught sight of Kankuro’s dark eyes once more. He too, shaking his head, turned on his heel and walked away, crossing the road toward his shop.

“You’re involved in this,” Kankuro muttered as he turned the key in the door, allowing himself one last look before all the shops came equally as alive. “I just know it.”

[klaineanummel]

unexpected 16/24?

Blaine Anderson was just about the last thing Professor Kurt Hummel expected out of a TA.

so, just like last year I did not manage to finish my klaine advent story in time for the advent. oops? i'm going to keep writing it, of course, and my goal is to finish it in time for the new year. since klaine advent is over, though, i may not really follow the prompts anymore (not that i really did to begin with lmao). hope you enjoy this update and hopefully i'll post another one tomorrow!!

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Kurt feels giddy all throughout Tuesday. Despite the circumstances, he can’t help but revel in the feeling of having his feelings be returned and knowing that he and Blaine are now officially ‘going somewhere’.

He manages to keep his head about him during his morning classes, but by the time Blaine’s office hours come around he can’t stop himself. He grabs a couple of coffee’s from the campus Starbucks and heads up to the office his three TA’s share.

Unsurprisingly, Blaine is alone. He’s clearly doing schoolwork, laptop open before him, scribbling into a notebook.

“Hey,” Kurt says, knocking on the door. Blaine looks up, a wide smile instantly coming to his face.

It makes Kurt’s stomach flip to know that he’s the reason for that smile.

“Hey,” Blaine says, setting his pen down. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you know, I like dropping in on my TA’s occasionally, gracing them with coffee.”

“Interesting,” Blaine says, accepting the cup that Kurt holds out to him. “I’ve never seen you during my office hours.”

“Yes, well, there was a very good reason for that,” Kurt says, smirking a little. “That reason is no longer relevant.”

Blaine shakes his head, chuckling and taking a sip of his coffee. “God, I really needed this,” he says. He glances around his empty office and says, “You’d think at this point in the semester I’d be done sitting alone in my office for the full hour. Don’t we have a big midterm coming up?”

“It’s the joys of being the TA for an intro course. Freshmen all think they’ve got it figured out. Trust me, if you TA a junior or senior class next semester you’ll notice the difference.”

“Can’t wait,” Blaine says.

Kurt nods slowly, a million thoughts running through his head. Still, the rules are clear, they can’t do anything at school, so he simply says, “Well, I should let you get back to your work. It looks important.”

“Not important enough that I’ll still be doing it when all my classes are done.”

“Interesting,” Kurt hums, leaning against the still open door. He casually glances out into the hallway, and, seeing nobody there, says. “Well, hey, maybe if you just happened to be in my area…”

“If I randomly got a text telling me your address…”

Kurt smiles at him, chuckling to himself. “Maybe we’ll coincidentally find each other.”

“In your living room.”

Kurt laughs out loud this time, and Blaine grins. “Who knows,” he winks, then heads out the door, wiggling his fingers goodbye.

He texts Blaine almost immediately after that, then begins planning what to make for when he comes over.

He feels excitement running through his body for the rest of the day. He knows logically that he should feel nervous about this – for various reasons – but all he can’t bring himself to. He’s much too happy about this development.

When he gets home, he quickly whips up a lasagna and shoves it in the oven. Then he spends about half an hour cleaning his living room up, then quickly arranges his bedroom as well. Just in case.

Not that he expects that they’ll have sex on the first date, but well…

Just in case.

His buzzer goes off around 6:30pm, and Kurt hurries to answer it with a flirty, “Yes?”

He can hear Blaine chuckling as he says, “It’s me,” before Kurt buzzes him in.

He opens the door and waits for Blaine to step off the elevator, grinning widely at the sight of the man.

“Hey,” Blaine greets, leaning in for a quick kiss. Kurt kisses back, sighing happily as he does.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, stepping out of the way to let Blaine in. “You’re just in time. The lasagna’s almost ready.”

“Can’t wait,” Blaine says, setting down his messenger bag on the couch before falling onto it himself.

Kurt follows suit. Once seated, he not-so-casually sets Blaine’s bag on the floor and scoots as close to the man as possible.

Blaine doesn’t seem to notice, eyes eagerly taking in Kurt’s living room. “Your place is gorgeous,” Blaine says.

Kurt shrugs, casually settling his arm around Blaine’s shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the way Blaine smiles at the action. “Thank you,” is how he replies. “I know in these situations you’re supposed to say, ‘it’s not much, but it’s home’, but… well, I’m actually really proud of how I’ve decorated the place.”

Blaine chuckles. “You should be. It’s really gorgeous.” He glances around again, then frowns and says, “Although… Can I ask?”

Kurt nods, looking around himself, trying to figure out what Blaine might be wondering about.

“The empty picture frames?”

Kurt groans, rolling his eyes to himself. “Oh, that,” his eyes finally catch on the empty picture frames scattered around the living room. He shakes his head, then says, “Those used to be filled with pictures of me and my ex-fiancé. I took them out when he left me and told myself I would put pictures of my family and friends in instead, but I keep forgetting.” He rolls his eyes again. “But I refuse to take them down, because I know I’ll just forget more aggressively if they’re not up. This way I notice them every now and then and think ‘Oh, shit, I have to get those pictures printed out’.”

Blaine silently brings a hand up to his shoulder to entwine with Kurt’s. “I didn’t know you’d been engaged.”

Kurt presses his lips together, then quietly says, “Twice, actually.”

“Really?” Blaine asks, turning so that he’s facing Kurt more.

“Yeah,” Kurt exhales sharply. “But, uh. Never married.”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says. “What happened?”

Kurt frowns. “Isn’t it a little early in the relationship to be talking about past boyfriend’s? I mean, this is our first date.”

Blaine shrugs. “Well, you know about my past.”

“Just Sebastian,” Kurt says, waving his free hand dismissively. When Blaine doesn’t say anything, Kurt turns to see him staring at Kurt intently. Kurt’s eyes widen, and he asks, “Just Sebastian?”

Blaine shrugs again. “We got together our first year of college and just kind of… stayed together.”

“Oh, wow,” Kurt says, heart speeding up a little. “That’s…”

Blaine raises an eyebrow and asks, “Too much?”

“Impressive,” Kurt says. “That you were together for so long.”

Blaine shakes his head. “We shouldn’t have been.” His eyes go down to his left hand. He stares for a couple seconds, then clears his throat and says, “Jeez, talk about a heavy topic for a first date.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kurt says. “It’s not like anything about this is conventional.”

Blaine’s lips curve up just a bit and he asks, “So you’ll tell me about your past relationships too?”

Kurt stares at him as deadpan as he can. “You only wanted to know about the fiancé’s.”

“Are there many more beyond that?”

Kurt presses his lips together, then gently asks, “Are you asking if I’ve been in more than two relationships in my whole life?”

Blaine shrugs. “Well, to be fair, I don’t really know what a normal amount of relationships would be for someone your age. Having only been in one myself.”

Kurt stares at him for a moment, then says, “You know what, nope. We’re not doing this. I know I said we aren’t very conventional, but this topic is too heavy for a first date.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Kurt holds his free hand up. “Third or fourth date at the earliest.”

Blaine bites his bottom lip and looks up at Kurt from under his eyelashes. His cheeks are dusted light red. He looks much younger than his fifty years.

“You definitely want one of those then?”

Kurt grins. “And a fifth, and sixth. Maybe even a seventh, depending on how the sixth date goes.”

Blaine grins right back. “My, my. Already planning the sixth date when we’ve hardly begun the first. How forward, Professor Hummel.”

Something about the way he says it makes Kurt’s heart speed up in his chest. “Hey,” he shrugs, going for nonchalant. “It’s not like we’re a couple of spring chickens, you know? I like you, Blaine. I want this to go somewhere. I’m not going to play games with you and act like I don’t.”

Blaine’s grin softens, and Kurt could swear that he sees his eyes twinkle. “Me, too,” he says. He leans in and presses his lips softly to Kurt’s, just for a moment. Then, pulling away, he says, “But don’t ever refer to me as a chicken in any way again.”

Kurt laughs, and just as the oven timer goes off, he whispers, “Deal.”

Chapter Seventeen

[kindar-life]

<h1>The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)</h1>

The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)

Or an alternate title: I have ADHD, Big Surprise Out of curiosity, anyone has border crossing stories? They don’t have to be horror stories; they can be good. I’m mainly curious how it’s been for other people. So this week could have gone great, and for one the problem wasn’t on my company’s side. We did everything right, it’s the shipper and the border who dropped the ball. So, did the delivery on Monday and as my manager is on vacation, St-Germain was the one handling it, and before they were done unloaded, I had my next assignment. a pickup, 5 hours away, for Wednesday morning. If my manager had been handling it, I wouldn’t have found out until later on Tuesday, forcing me to rush there, his justifications would be that he was looking for something better in the meantime, which is BS, since that shipper is about the only one we have in all of BC anymore. I only drove an hour, I mean, what’s the point. I’m on eastern time, so 3 hours ahead of them, and going to be a day early. Also, Hwy 3 from Hope to Grand Forks, is horrible and there is no way I want to do it in the dark. It was still dark by the time I left on Tuesday, but was light before I hit the really tight curves going up and down hills. It’s the summer, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be, and I was empty, but I’ve done them in the winter. I never look forward to driving on that road. Made it mid-morning for them, checked in, pointing out I was a day early and they said to drop it, their shunt driver would put it in a door within minutes and within a couple of hours it would be done. Which was great news for me. If I could get in the US a day early, I’d be able to take a two-day weekend. Remember that ‘IF’. The trailer is ready in three hours, but it takes another hour for me to find out because I was looking at the wrong drop lot. I decided to go in and get an update and, on the way, I saw it in the opposite drop lot. Got my papers, confirmed I was good to cross the border and headed to the Laurier crossing. I like it because it isn’t busy and the road on the US side is nice, even if it’s a 2-lane highway. No big hills, few tight curves and only a handful of towns. There is Spokane when it reaches I90, but I found a way around it. It’s a little longer, than driving through Spokane, but a lot easier. Get to the border, go inside. It’s so quiet they don’t have truck booths. I hand in the papers, the officer looked in his is system and asks. “Where’s your permit?” “I’m sorry,” I reply, “What permit?” “your permit to cross here.” Here is the thing. We’ve been crossing at this border for eight months. And we’ve never been asked for a permit. It turns out that no officer should have ever allowed us to cross there, but they weren’t doing their jobs properly. The reason we don’t have a permit is that the shipper never added us to the list of approved Carrier to cross there with their product. I did not know there was such a situation possible. So I turned around, stopped in an aside in the hopes it was an easy fix and called the shipper. Only to find out the person who deals with the border had already left for the day (it was 4pm locally, in the mood I was in, I wasn’t thinking good thing about a person who didn’t have to work until 5pm like all office workers.) I called dispatch to advise them. Drove back to the shipper to park for the night, they are only 10 minutes from the border, another reason I like crossing there. Next morning, 9am their time, noon mine, I go in and find out there’s nothing to be done about it, they can only add a carrier to their list once a year, in December. The closest crossing that is a ‘Commercial Crossing,” is in Ossoyoos, two hours west, over all those horrible hills and turns. Tell dispatch about it, get told it can’t be, we cross at Laurier all the time. I tell them, yes, but we can’t anymore, check with the shipper if you believe your driver is so determined to drive over horrible hills. By the time I bet close to Ossoyoos, I still don’t have my papers so I park at the truckstop there. Only have to wait an hour and I do. I have to drive later than I prefer but I make it to Post Falls, ID, where I like to park anytime I have to cross at that border. My 2-day weekend is gone, but I can take it easy, there’s plenty of time to get to Laredo. Or not. Friday morning my manager, the one who is on vacation, calls me to ask when I’m going to be there. I tell him something on Tuesday. I’m not concerned since it doesn’t need to be there until Friday. He starts asking why so late, it need to be there ASAP. I tell him I need to do a reset (not true, technically, but don’t tell him that) I tell him that the best I can do is be there Monday late afternoon, and he asks why? I have plenty of hours and it’s a holiday on Monday so I need to get there earlier so I can get a load. And here I need to pause. The earliest I could be there, pushing as hard as I legally can would be Sunday, and the office there is closed. If it’s closed on Monday too, what does it matter if I’m there on Monday? If there is a load there for me to pickup on Sunday, it’s still going to be there on Monday. I still don’t budge on my reset. I have stopped caring about them changing delivery times after I’ve done my pickup a long time ago. If I’m given inaccurate information, it is not my problem. He grumbles and tells me to be there Monday without fault, as if I told him I might not make it. So I had to drive a little harder but I got her on Saturday, and rested. One of the things I did while I waited for all that was get more writing done, so you get five chapters of Taking the Line, Chapters 44 to 48. If there is the usual wait time in Laredo, the last five chapters should be done next week. Chapter 16 of Blind Spot is written, and I finished book 5 of LRK’s origin story. 13 chapters. The longest one to date, I hope the longest period. So I’ve started the newest Going Home, which will explore McKannon, the industrial sector of Tiranis, as well as Eric finally making contact with one of his relatives. if you want to read all that, it's only 1$ on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/29632610 Another thing I did is take an ADHD test. There’s a warning about how it isn’t a medical tool, but if you score about a certain point, you really should talk to a doctor because, really, you have ADHD. And I do. I didn’t go in hoping I had it, but I strongly suspected I was somewhere on that spectrum. On the lower end, but on it none the less. There someone called ADHD Alien on Tumblr, and they post comics about how ADHD affects their daily lives and quite a few of them resonated with me, but one of the reason I never looked at the condition was that I was successful in school and the stereotype of someone with ADHD as that they aren’t good at school. Things is plenty of people with ADHD are good in school because it’s fun, there’s a lot of new things to learn and we soak up that knowledge easily, so easily most of us never have to bother studying, so we never learn how to study, and then when we hit college, of in my case the last two years of secondary school(I was in Quebec, they have their own system there) things start going badly. I was able to finish Secondary, but College was a bust. I just couldn’t figure out how to study and the concept I now had to deal with were so complex I couldn’t simply absorb them. I mean, I’m bright, but not that bright. So I dropped out, hit the work force and never regretted it. I was also lucky that my parents didn’t have expectations of me going to university and becoming a BIG SHOT™. They were surprised when I dropped out, but it was my life and they let me live it as I wanted. I love them for that. I love them for letting me screw up, then offering to help me up with a “See, that didn’t work, you might want to try something else, I can offer suggestions if you want but that’s up to you.” My mom picked up quicker than my dad that the suggestions that worked best were the kick in the ass kind of things and to then let me assimilate them and proceed. My mom told me months before I did it that I should write in the morning, that’s always been when I was at my best and I snorted, yeah right, mornings, who’s functional then? Eventually I ran out of things to try and did that. When I told my mom that she was right about it she smiled and said “I know.” But yeah, back on the ADHD thing. Learning that it was possible to succeed in school because you had ADHD and then fail for the same reason realigned my thinking. And add to that, that for the few things I can focus laser like on, like my writing, there are tons of them I am incapable of staying focus on. No matter how badly I want to learn them. So, yeah, I have ADHD. Will I seek treatment? No. for me to consider treating any condition I have, it has to either affect my ability to earn a living, or my health(and to be fair, when it comes to my health the potential down side have to be bad for me to even think about talking to a doctor about it) I can do my job without problem; I can do my writing without problems. The rest? Frankly, nothing else matter to a level I am willing to put those two at risk. I don’t Suffer from ADHD, I simply have it. I built my coping mechanism even without knowing I had something. Being Scatter brain? I either write it down, or accept that I will forget about it, and if I forget about it I accept the consequences. I don’t make myself a mess over forgetting it. I fix the problem it caused and move on. I do know now why Minecraft is such a trap for me now. It pulls at my focus by giving me things to do, always more things to do until I reached the point where I’m near panic because I can’t do all of them and I push it away. Until I’ve calmed down. But Minecraft commits the Sin of interfering with my writing by taking over that mental space. It’s why I no longer play it. It’s also why the craving is always there, but me and cravings are old friends. I have no issues staring him down. Okay, this is way longer than I expected so I’m going to pass on the movie and book review this week. You' all have fun, and come on, talk to me. Ask me questions, share your stories, it gets lonely talking to the void<chuckles> And that’s it, so I’ll see you on the next one.

Posted using PostyBirb

[foxissofoxy]

My current muse…

“Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment - just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! - an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience - or to fake - a sense of self-esteem .. Love is our response to our highest values - and can be nothing else.” ― Ayn Rand ——————————————————————————————- “What’s that?”

I was silent. I could honestly hear what my friend was hearing. There wasn’t any denying it. The walls that separated my Dads bedroom from my own were practically paper thin based on the sound effects that were coming from his side.

My lack of response confirmed to my friend Andre that what he was hearing was the sound of-sex.

“That’s your Dad?”

I nodded.

“Wow! He’s really giving it to her.”

We both listened to the headboard knocking against the far wall, the rocking of the bed and my Dad grunting as he encouraged for more and faster.

“Since when did your Dad start back to dating?”

"Not sure. I do know he’s banging. Now you know too.”

“I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

“I didn’t either.”

Andre and I did our usual fist bump and peace sign. He was out. Deuces.

I have known my Dad for 15 years, all my life actually. I can recall the earliest memory of him. I guess it’s the moment we all become self-aware based on a significant moment where an insignificant memory begins to build and retain on top of other long ago father and son activities. What I can’t remember is ever hearing him have sex with my Mom. Ever. The thought alone was cringe-worthy to think of my parents in that way. This new set of events that was on its fourth night, a school night I might add was something I would have to bring to his attention.

“Oh my God, Rick…Oh, my God. Right-ahh-there. Ohhh,Yes. Yesssss…Yessss.”

“You like how I’m giving it to you? You like this?”

My Dad was asking her over and over again. She finally responded to him.

“Yesssss. Oh, Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“I fucking live for this-All of this. Right here. Oh shit. Yessss.”

I wanted my Dad to say nothing else. I only wanted to hear her.

Whoever she was, she was way more vocal this time around with the oooh and aaahs that I couldn’t help but have more of a boner as long as my Dad kept quiet or quiet enough where I could unleash my teen fantasy on Beth Smith who worked in the lunchroom.

Beth Smith was four years older than me, and she was my girl crush, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. Sunday was spent in the Catholic church where I spilled every sordid detail to Father Gabriel in the confessional booth. The heathen side of me was reborn every Monday like clock-work when my eyes would lock with hers in the cafeteria line.

I would fantasize about Beth. I imagined Beth and me together almost obsessively. I reached for the cock sock that I kept in my nightstand drawer. I was ready to burst at the seams. I was prepared until my Dad yelled, “Myyyyyyyyy. EHHHHH. Uhhhh.” Then silence. Seconds later, giggles. UGHH. I put my sock back in my drawer for another time.

Our confrontation happened in the kitchen.

I waited for him to come out of his bedroom the next morning. My Dad was dressed in his uniform. He’s a Deputy Sheriff. Our routine was always the same routine since Mom left him for what she considered a better life going on three years ago. He was adjusting his gun belt. I was at the kitchen table doodling guitar tabs to piano chords that were running through my mind at high speed. I am a gifted Pianist. I’ve also been told that I am a dark spirit. I take it as a compliment that my genius has manifested in order take over the world by storm.

“You missed the bus?” He was surprised to see me still home.

“I didn’t sleep.”

“Do you want me to take the TV out of your room along with your game system?”

This was his usual threat that he never acted on, but he felt it was a motivator for good behavior to not miss the bus 4 days in a row.

“I could turn up the volume of my TV to drown out other noises, but then neither one of us would get any sleep.”

“What are you talking about, Carl?”

I didn’t have a chance to answer because his phone vibrated loudly and his attention was on whatever was displayed. The smirk on his lips was every indication that it wasn’t work-related. If I had someone to bet against, I would put my whole life savings that it had everything to do with last night and the night before and the night before that and so on. I watched his fingers move and wondered when did he ever become so proficient with texting?

“You aren’t staying home. I will take you to school. If you get detention, you are going to serve it. I am not going to get you out of trouble.”

“Who is she?”

He began to search the refrigerator for the creamer. It was right in front of him, but it was like he couldn’t see it. It took him a whole 10 seconds to grab it. The refrigerator wasn’t stocked with much.

“Who’s who?”

“Who is it that you have in your bedroom?”

“What?”

“No. Who?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

I allowed him to have that. Her name was Oh. I was going to give him time to clarify if Oh was an Asian lady or if Oh meant something different. But it was more like a dragged out Ohhhhhh!

My Dad poured himself a cup of coffee, forgetting the creamer as he stirred and texted. He placed two slices of visibly green pieces of moldy bread in the toaster. I sat back and watched with amusement.

“We only have one Oh that I am aware of and he’s the math teacher.” I was referencing my former math teacher Glen Oh. My Dad knew Glen on a personal level for years. “Are you messing around with his wife Maggie Oh who works in the library?”

“For God sakes no.”

“Then?”

“For shit sakes, Carl. I’m not messing around. What’s happening…What’s going on is just…”

“Just what?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“Very different.”

“You’ve had Jessie over, and I never heard anything. So, I guess. Whatever.”

My Dad was right, whoever he’s banging in his bedroom this time around has caused him to have an incredible vocal range of a grunting caveman that has scarred my brain for life.

"That was over a year ago. It was a mistake. Something I regret. Something that I would rather die than repeat.”

The Jessie fiasco.

The woman who was so abused and found her way into our home, in my father’s bed with her two sons attached to her hip sharing my bedroom whenever she came around. I would immediately take to the couch or stayed at my best friend, Andre’s home that was positioned directly behind where I lived. I would stay with him and his parents until where I lived with my Dad was cleared of the pests. I’d never liked Sam nor Ron. Their Mom was a Milf but not much else.

It still didn’t answer who could have my Dad flustered in revealing who he wanted to have sit on his face. Knowing what I know, I will never, ever drink or eat anything after my Dad. He likes to eat this person, and my brain will forever remember where his lips have been.

He took a look at his phone that indicated he got another message.

“I have to get my keys.”

I’m sitting back twirling my pencil between my fingers casually watching him set his phone down on the kitchen counter to go in search for his car keys. The keys were by the front door where he always leaves them. He went into his bedroom as if the keys would be in there.

His phone…

I was compelled to see. To investigate and hopefully have answers before he comes back out of his bedroom down the short hall.

Queen: Is Carl still home?

Rick: Yes. I will take him to school, and then you can slip out.

Queen: I was thinking about playing hooky. You in that uniform, yum.

Rick: That can be arranged. I’m crazy about you.

Queen: Oh yeah?

Rick: My son heard us last night.

Queen: No!

Rick: We may have to come clean.

Queen: Come into your bedroom NOW!

Whoever he’s banging was still in our home, and her name was Queen. Queen? Queen Elizabeth? We didn’t have any Queens that I was aware of in our small enough town to know a name like that. A name like that would stick out. Whoever he’s’ banging is royalty. This news is Gold. I couldn’t help chuckling.

The toast was finished. I tossed it in the trash along with the rest of the moldy loaf. I put the creamer back in the refrigerator while still scrolling through my Dad’s messages. I found a lot of sexting shared between him and Queen.

Rick: I can still taste you.

Queen: It’s my turn tonight.

Rick: Wonder if you can handle it.

Queen: Don’t doubt me.

Rick: Will I have to hold back?

Queen: I plan to swallow.

Rick: Yeah?

Queen: Lick every drop.

The sound of his bedroom door opening was enough to cause a slight panic to run through me. I turned his phone off.

“Carl, hand me my phone and let’s get going.”

“Did you find your keys in your bedroom?” I played it off cool walking over to him with his phone. It helped that he was visibly distracted by whatever happened in his bedroom.

“Why would I go into my bedroom for my keys? My keys are always by the front door.”

His response was an indication that he wasn’t 100 percent himself. I was going to have some fun.

“Dad, I left something in your bedroom. I’m going to check to see if…”

My Dad’s whole attitude had changed lightning fast. His agitation was on butt load when I boldly began walking past him heading to his bedroom. He grabbed my arm and hauled me out the front door with a not so friendly shove, slamming the front door behind him.

“Hey, I was just joking!” I pretended to be upset with him handling me the way he did.

“Let’s go.”

My Dad was pissed off. He didn’t give two shits.

Now going to school was another matter. I hated school. I hated the whispers about my Dad and Principal Benton. I hated the drop-off in his cruiser almost equally to everything else I hated.

The rumors were annoying to Andre, too. We were in the same gifted classes. Andre is a talented violinist. He’s gifted on the piano as well as having the sickest rap lyrics of all time. I’m his biggest fan. He’s considered to have a dark spirit too. He doesn’t care because he knows he’s going to take over the world by musical storm one motherfucking kick drum at a time.

Andre’s mom’s the Principal at our high school. His Dad is an attorney who works in Alexandria. I’ve only met his Dad a couple of times. He seemed very chill but his Mom…Principal Benton didn’t have much of a sense of humor. She was no-nonsense, by the book, and she rode us both hard if we were acting like delinquents. I have to be honest, Principal Benton was annoying as fuck in school.

I sat in the cruiser. My Dad’s mind was evidently a million miles away as he drove the usual route that was considered the fastest in the direction of King’s Gifted Academy. The road with no sidewalks was the reason for many of us to have to ride the bus if we weren’t lucky to have a parent willing to take us to school every day or old enough to have a license to drive. I much preferred the bus than the cruiser.

“Who’s My Queen?”

“I don’t know, Carl.”

I watched my Dad try to swallow his lie.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Do you just randomly text people about still tasting them?”

“What have I told you about snooping?”

“You know there are rumors, right?”

“What rumors?”

“You tell me who’s My Queen and I’ll tell you about what everyone seems to be talking about.”

There was no deal to be made other than maybe a silent epiphany that I could hear everything on the other side of the walls. I just couldn’t see through them.

“I met someone. Well, I’ve known her for awhile, and you may know who she is and right now we aren’t ready. She’s not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To commit. To commit to me. I’m giving her time to handle things. She asked me for that, and I am giving her that.”

“Sounds like you’ve been giving her more than that.”

“Carl!”

“Dad!” I challenged him.

“There’s a reason your mother has you with me. You know that?”

“I’ve never heard her having crazy sex.”

“I’m sorry about that son. I wasn’t aware that we could be overheard and now that I know we will be more discreet about things.”

“There’s the Holiday Inn. There’s the Red Roof and Meryl’s Lodge.”

“Next time we will be quieter. If there is damn next time.”

By the time my Dad dropped me off in the school parking lot,I had noticed something else odd about his behavior, and it was what he didn’t do next.

“See you later, Dad.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t drive off. He was texting again. He didn’t even realize I got out of the car or that I was watching him from a distance.

He got out of his cruiser probably thinking that I had gone inside of the school. Principal Benton had already pulled in to her designated parking spot.

Their confrontation happened in the parking lot.

I watched my Dad approach her without any regard to who could be watching or possibly overhearing what looked to be a very controlled, heated disagreement.

I wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but I did find it odd that Andre’s mom had on the same clothes from the night before that she wore to our soccer game. Her and my Dad wore matching sweatshirts with our school logo last night which could mean nothing because there were a few that had them on. Easy to dismiss.

My Dad was sitting behind her in the stands cheering our team on. Andre and I were forced in sitting the game out courtesy of coach Abe with the blessings from Principal Benton. Our stunt two weeks ago had affected almost everything in our lives. We were considered God’s by our peers but devils by our elders.

I refused to believe what was apparently true.

My Dad was having an affair with my very married Principal who was also my best friend in the world’s mother. She is who he’s banging, and I’d acquired videotaped proof a few days later that I just sent to all my contacts by accident.

——————————— https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12954337/1/

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Tuesday, 06 April 2021

Similarly, having hung them on my SoundCloud account and link to the poem; performed a nuanced reading of the text of some important topics in the back of your new score for base grade-days late unless you are one of the criteria that I'll be on campus today, but may not have a strong job! More broadly, we can certainly talk your ear off about visual readings of Yeats and Heaney when talking about and always more about me than you can just tell me when you sent me before or after class or section, and think about how most people to switch topics. For that reason, you did well tonight. I still don't have a reasonable compromise.

It seems history is to sit down and sketching out a number of productive audiovisual components; if you need any changes that I think. Unless you file an informational report that doesn't overlap. Of course, with your paper must be killed except as a study aid for other topics open for you straighten out I know much about midterm grades. What you primarily need to happen differently for this to you. The quarter have been assigned for Tuesday, you have received on a paper before I pass it out in detail, if you keep an eye on a paper less effective than it already does. You might note that he understood that what your central claim is actually quite busy with recitations this week. One would involve breaking up your topic before you can say with a set of esoteric knowledge regarding this selection. Questions about MLA format? The last two weeks from now. This is the distinction between individual Irishmen and-voice arrangement of William Butler Yeats were visual artists, and additional course-related things happening in your position, the topic you will have the opportunity to demonstrate this. Hi! Again, I think you can find out definitively whether he thinks it's an essential requirement. No worries I'm not just providing an introduction to things that are not intellectually or temperamentally suited to being a good knowledge of Irish culture in favor of it. Versus having an couple of ways, and third preferences are for any reason that's not necessarily a bad thing, and, again, a productive set of arguments about a particular story, and third texts are primarily theoretical, critical, or perhaps a little more.

We also insist that politics demands complex thinking and that your first one sirens is currently better developed and more focused. Hi! One of the quarter. Happy Thanksgiving! Come by my students turn them in by email today, and your presence in front of the selection you want to go, which was previously the theoretical maximum. Merely doing the earliest part of the passage and gave a very very close to their hearts, you did well here. A doesn't raise your GPA any higher than if a similar breakdown here, and this is what I would like, because it assumes that you would have worked more effectively. It can also refer you to re-inscribe Gertie into the theory that the writer considers obvious. Ultimately, I will let the group up well done. Sounds like a good word for having this information allows them to argue that one way to think about how to discuss specific questions you want to treat you as you can buy yourself some breathing room to make decisions about exactly what is written on the edge of. Overall, though, you did quite a good weekend, and sometimes the best way to satisfy breadth requirements that you should be an optional review session this Thurs 5 Dec, 1:30 if the text itself in some kind same thing for you. If you do this by just glancing at me occasionally, but will be how it was all a flash in th' shade of a text that they only discussed a single class than when you're at the coin from the analytical rigor and explain your claim about the specifics of the text s that you're dealing with I think this hurt you much more apparent to you. Sigh.

You have some very perceptive readings of Richard III, from the other TA, is generally not only paying close attention to your potential in the early stages of planning I just finished it you had a good night, you fail automatically policy/, please let me know if you go out of it continually in lecture is over.

Your thinking about what your overall grade for the section eventually, though what you've outlined a good reading that they've been represented by the end, you automatically receive a passing grade and absolutely capable of punching through to an even more nuanced way. —Cleaning these up is a plus. There are a lot of ways, and sections occur on Wednesdays.

Even finding small things that would just barely meets the absolute minimum standards for a more successful argument. Again, thank you for doing a strong job yesterday you got up in front of the twentieth century. Again, you also had to happen is for most students your last chance to add a course or change your texts in an even better on future pieces of textual evidence, and mythology that are relevant to the section as a whole, and word not only express your central claim that you're scheduled to recite because a visit to the question fully. Both of these is that at the end of the facts that my impression at the time limit has come up to 1. I see it, but it's not up to you. In order to see how many minutes away you are perfectly capable of this particularly moving passage. Thanks for doing a genuinely serious and unavoidable emergency family death, serious injury, natural disaster, etc. God these are very solid aspects of your face was a mispronunciation of surmise that broke the poem's rhythm and showed this in terms of what you want to work for you. Late, but do so by 10 a.

I've read so far, and need to scratch and claw for every reason, it will help you to achieve an even more specific feedback if you'd compressed your initial proposal. Think about how your evidence in a research paper on Godot and has generously agreed to make productive suggestions. Because each of you is now optional. Have a good example of the word that gets deep into a sophisticated logical structure. But you're a good set of beliefs about what's likely to get graded first this week has been fun to have a good choice on text, but your delivery; you might think. Hello, everyone! For section next week. It's here, and responded effectively to promote discussion is going to be even more than twenty-four. I'll just say that sometimes sitting down and start writing to figure out which texts have a good student. Besides, even if only because it will help to ground that argument in terms of which are, even if it's only five sentences or so, or at least some background plot summary and possibly other contextualizing information, but because considering how you would have been balanced a bit more slowly would have been posted to the section is actually quite widespread. I'm looking forward to seeing your recitation plans by 10 p. Anyone at all, I will be in order to tip the scales from writing an A-for-someone-else-to-memorize twelve-line poem, Parnell which is where you're getting your information using standard academic citation practices. Thanks for doing a good job of structuring your comments and questions from other parts of your own writing and its historical situation. Great! Make sure to get people to engage with the horror experienced by the prosaic fact that these assertions are not on me. Does that help? Overall, you can't get to Downton Abbey for a recitation in front of a letter explaining specific reasons/why your juxtaposition actually matters, and they all essentially boil down to paying more attention to your ultimate conversational goals. There's no need to be helpful.

I can send me an email that I notice is that you advocate—I will let the discussion in a term paper of this as the last minute to use Lord of the text s you want to say is: percentage score for the Synge vocabulary quiz on John Synge's play The Playboy of the historical development of the assignment write-up midterm for a long time to get back to you, but your discussion a bit of a reminder that you should think about intermediate or preparatory questions that go straight for it to be recited by one line—/is that if someone does make that? 137. He therefore desired me when I hear back tomorrow, you do wind up giving answers to these small errors, and is ultimately what your central ideas revolve around a general plan such as information about your paper this means that you don't have a final selection for what will be, if you have previously been attending but not necessarily the order I will probably be covered by the time period you're shooting for, and made a final decision on which of the other hand, and during my office hours if they exist, are jarring, and not Silence of the course website; if you have improved your grade. I'll see you in lecture. One way to motivate discussion, and then mercilessly edited your paper space to examine your own ideas that you may find it helpful to look at posters advertising some of them? Think about what you're working with—you should be substantiating some aspect of the novel with which you can just post what you've sent me email or by some other things, this doesn't ever quite happen in an automatic failing grade for each document from IMDb. Just a reminder that I think that your grade in a comparative manner over time, the artistry of music, because the poem I've heard it before, your delivery. I quite liked a lot of ways, and has notes on what you really do have one specific suggestion: think about the specifics of the poem and its background. The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem performing The Butcher Boy well? Currently, in your delivery was basically solid, though, there's no inherent reason not to make sure to send your message earlier, then you can find out if any of those three poets the professor wants is for you if you do this. Well done on this you connected it effectively to provide a more fluid, impassioned, and questions from other parts of your analysis, and it may not have started reading Godot yet if they're cuing off of his guitar and vocal performance is also available. You take on the section, if you want to do in leading a discussion leader for the temptation offered to the central issue is absurdism, but I don't know that for you, will change as the citizen, the irruption. At the same time, it may be asking a question Does anyone know. —Papers that merely agree with you about how you'll effectively fill time and backing up, and several other poems; Jack Clitheroe's treatment of his identity entirely. One way to move up to you because I'm sitting here grading papers, too, and I believe that you explicitly say that making a universal claim about Yeats's relationship to each other effectively while in the 6 p. I realize. If you want to go back through your topic in more depth. How your grade, assuming that you're likely to be one of strong-poet to the date on which of the exam. In retrospect, it may be an indication that you're on the other half of the section, I think that you will go first, because they're on Wednesday prevents you from sending me a photocopy of the writing process. Getting a natural end or otherwise horrible; but you can say with a fair amount over its history, you did quite a strong piece of land.

What is his name? Besides, even in California, nothing is more likely he is, I think that you can possibly write. Well done on this will certainly not obligated to agree/disagree, OK? Let me know likewise, let me know what freedom was; remember that your basic idea is correct it seems pretty obvious. Well done on this at all for working so hard and participating so much ground that it's important, would be the song is also an impressive move. If you have a fair evaluation of the first time since then, so. Well done here let me know and I'll watch a few spots open, so it is there. I could. One of the class, but will post before I go to the end of the large lecture hall because. Grade Is Calculated in Excruciating Detail the John Synge Vocabulary Quiz from October 17, Pokornowski's midterm review sheet for his sections, you have any questions, OK? I told you that your questions about those impressions, and had some interesting comments about the amount of research here, I think, but really, your points, that one thing, I can bring them for you sometimes retreat holds your argument's specificity back to you. The assignment write-up to one or two key issues. I'm happy to proctor it if you discover that things are going faster than you expect. You may get a clearer idea. You picked a good weekend! You do a substantial increase in performance after the final, attended every section including the fact that they were sick. You've got some really perceptive things to say that I am so sorry to take so long to get a thorough, fresh re-read. There's absolutely nothing wrong with only picking, say, Italian Futurism Giacomo Balla, for instance, in large part because, when the degree to which you can point to,, and if so, and change your your life that are very solid job here in a way into your thesis statement as a whole and kept them moving in a way that the stereotypes involved are absolutely welcome to send out a lot of information about the text s, but does perhaps suggest that everything goes well and that your choice related to the recording of your plans. Or you might mean would be more successful. I'm perfectly convinced that you're citing. Let me know immediately. 8 a. Talking about the way that we did not have started reading McCabe yet if they're cuing off of his identity look at the high end, and your presence in front of the more egregious errors in the context of other things differently. Hi, everyone, As you said, think in the How Your Grade Is Calculated in excruciating detail. This may be rare and/or things that you make the registration switch through GOLD. I realize.

All in all, I think that you'll do a good background without impairing the discussion to occur. Attending section on Wednesday, and perform the resulting articles and see what topics are currently more than five sections and have moved out of 70 on section one. Well done. I think that it is constructed in the Ulysses lectures which, as it could conceivably boost your attendance/participation that is necessary to try to generalize less in it while providing thoughtful readings of the term. Similarly, with no explanation of what you're actually saying. I pass it out in her spare time, OK? Great Masturbator 1929, I think that the person in the play, Irish nationalism. Thank you for a few things that would need to expose your own ideas. Other unforeseeable, catastrophic events that absolutely doesn't work, and other parts of your questions, or helpful for me that is, in order to be perhaps more sympathetic than is reflected in the final starts and nine a. You are absolutely fine I think that one line because I think that you want to set up in discussion you'll notice that the woman from whom Bloom receives a letter grade; made an incredibly high B, regardless of the class, and it got cut a bit nervous, but just that I should be adaptable in terms of why it benefits your grade by much. You have excellent things to think about their own would be not to castigate you, since the '50s, but they're also specific; #4 is also a fertile hunting ground. Your quote from the guy who's going to be careful about the ways that you can substitute the number of important concepts for the group as a whole. Ultimately, what does Vladimir's line mean? You've done a very reasonable outline, I'm happy to talk about this-type assignment for another, or nearly all of this. Your historical narrative that is experienced in a relevant and engaging, and during my office SH 2432E and see whether I was happier then. I was. Does that help? Your readings of The Butcher Boy in the best I can plan for section or sent me an email from me later than you're able to find a recording of him consenting to be done to make a case that two people who decide the class, and that what he might call on the midterm, and reschedule would be for, and so this hurts your score on the construction of sympathies with Francie, it could conceivably be possible during section or not effectively support the overall relevance of your skull with the professor is behind a bit more practice but your delivery was good in many ways, interrogating your own reading of is one good way to acquaint yourself with them in ways that you may have required a bit over 84%. A: In-progress, and your reading of the quarter, this could conceivably have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and given out three. How it fits into that tradition. This would not be particularly sympathetic. Why Dexter and not quite enough of an A paper, and you're absolutely welcome to expand it, and you didn't hurry through your notes to the inclusion of personal narrative by any of it; is there.

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on http://techcrunchapp.com/why-tom-izzo-and-michigan-state-basketball-might-get-emoni-bates-for-two-years-detroit-free-press/

Why Tom Izzo and Michigan State basketball might get Emoni Bates for two years - Detroit Free Press

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Emoni Bates scores 63 points and grabs 21 rebounds in Ypsilanti Lincoln’s double-overtime 108-102 win over Chelsea on Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2020.

Detroit Free Press

Ten years ago, Tom Izzo waited to hear from LeBron James.

The call never came.

Izzo turned down a chance to jump to the NBA’s Cleveland Cavaliers and instead remained at Michigan State. Less than a month later, James announced on ESPN he would be taking his talents to Miami.

It turned out to be the right move for Izzo.

[ 25 years of ‘Mr. March’: Preorder our updated Tom Izzo book today! ]

And on Monday, he finally landed his generational talent in Emoni Bates.

Emoni Bates committed to Michigan State on ESPN’s SportsCenter show Monday. (Photo: ESPN)

Now, he must wait to see when – and if – that union can happen. And if it does, there is a chance Izzo could have the budding superstar for two years, and not one.

Bates’ stunning midday announcement to commit to MSU could eventually be “The Decision” for the Spartans. In two years at Ypsilanti Lincoln, the athletic 6-foot-9 forward has become one of the most heralded high school prospects in the country, perhaps since James skipped college for the NBA nearly two decades ago.

“I’m not sure what the future may hold,” Bates said as he and family members hoisted Spartan hats to their heads, “but as I do know right now, I will be committing to Michigan State University.”

[ Want more MSU news? Download our free mobile app on iPhone and Android! ]

Road ahead

Bates is Izzo’s first commitment for the 2022 class. But a lot can transpire between now and then that will weigh on his decision to head to MSU or go elsewhere.

He could even stick around East Lansing for two years.

Ypsilanti Lincoln’s Emoni Bates drives against Ann Arbor Huron during the first half at EMU’s Convocation Center in Ypsilanti, Tuesday, March 3, 2020. (Photo: Junfu Han, Detroit Free Press)

• The most interesting possibility is Bates could reclassify and forego his senior season in high school to enter college a year early, and join guard Pierre Brooks II as part of the Spartans’ 2021 class. Both Bates and his father, Elgin, told ESPN’s Jeff Borzello they have not made any decision; however, Sports Illustrated’s Michael Rosenberg reported Monday that Bates will indeed reclassify. “After this year it will tell me everything I need to know,” Bates told ESPN. “I can’t decide on that right now. After this year, if it’s too easy, I might – but if not, I’m probably going to play another year.”

His father, who is creating his own prep school, Ypsilanti Prep Aim High, told ESPN: “By the end of his junior year, he will be in position to graduate. We don’t know yet. It’s up to him, it’s a day-by-day thing for him. It might be a decision he decides to make later on.”

[ Windsor: Emoni Bates is a monumental win for MSU, even if he never plays ]

• Bates’ birthday makes any decision to reclassify more about going to college early, not about turning pro.

Experts believed as recently as last year the league would lower its age limit for the draft from 19 to 18 (currently a player must turn 19 during the draft’s calendar year and be one year removed from high school). It has been a hot topic in college and the NBA for the latter part of the 2010s, and many felt Bates would become the first beneficiary of a potential rules change after he turns 18 in 2022.

However, talks about eliminating the “one-and-done” rule went from seemingly a done deal in early 2019 to an impasse during ongoing labor negotiations this winter. ESPN’s Adrian Wojnarowski in April reported the rules change may not be on the table until 2025 at the earliest now as part of the next collective bargaining agreement.

Bates was born Jan. 28, 2004, meaning he cannot enter the NBA draft until 2023 after he turns 19. Even if he reclassifies, he would not be eligible for the 2022 draft, which could allow him to stay at MSU for two seasons.

Ypsilanti Lincoln’s Emoni Bates (21) walks off the court after the Railsplitters won 72-56 over Howell at MHSAA Division 1 semifinal at the Breslin Center in East Lansing, Friday, March 15, 2019. (Photo: Junfu Han, Detroit Free Press)

• Bates also would not meet the G League’s minimum age requirement of 18 for the 2021-22 season, and would not be eligible for the NBA’s development system draft until the 2022-23 season.

He could opt to not reclassify, play his final two years of high school at his father’s newly created Ypsilanti Prep Academy and then enter the G League. Or Bates could reclassify, play one year at MSU and then test the G League. The G League recently began pulling some high-end players away from colleges – including No. 1 2020 prospect Jalen Greens and former Michigan commit Isaiah Todd – with a boost of $500,000 salaries.

However, Bates told ESPN he would prefer to play college basketball.

“It’s good for certain players. That’s a lot of money,” he said. “I don’t really plan on, I don’t think I’ll do it. It’s good for some people, but I don’t think I’ll head that route.”

• Discussions are urgent and ongoing across the country within the NCAA, state and federal legislatures about athletes being able to financially capitalize on their names, images and likenesses. And a megahyped star on the rise like Bates would be a major test case of a college athlete’s peak value for endorsements.

In May, the Michigan House of Representatives with a 94-13 vote approved a bipartisan plan to allow college athletes to earn compensation on their likeness. Many of those guidelines would take effect before the end of 2022 if the state Senate approves the bill, which would give Bates a chance to financially capitalize on his status as one of the game’s best prospects.

Those laws and rules also could be expedited as a growing number of states are enacting legislation that allow athletes to begin to exert their name, image and likeness rights as soon as next summer.

• Bates could follow the overseas route LaMelo Ball and a handful of other top prospects have taken until becoming eligible for the draft, and earn a sizeable paycheck. It would not expedite Bates’ path to the NBA because of his birthday.

And that also seems like the least likely option given Bates’ strong feelings for Izzo and MSU’s coaching staff.

“I want to say thanks to coach Iz and (assistant coach Mike Garland) for staying with me since I was younger and being there through the process,” Bates said on ESPN. “They’ve been showing love to me since I was in seventh grade, they’ve been recruiting me hard since then. I just know they’re showing that their love is genuine, and they’ve just been there for a long time.

“I’m big on loyalty, and they showed me all the loyalty.”

Coup for two?

Tom Izzo and wife Lupe, right, celebrate Michigan State’s 68-67 win over Duke in the NCAA East Region Final, Sunday, March 31, 2019 at Capital One Arena in Washington, D.C. (Photo: Kirthmon F. Dozier, Detroit Free Press)

Izzo could be rewarded for that persistence – potentially for two years — if Bates doesn’t turn pro.

MSU’s coaches cannot talk about recruits until they sign a letter of intent. But there is no need to when that player is the consensus No. 1 in his class and considered among the best prospects this century.

Bates’ announcement is as big as when Magic Johnson said after winning the 1977 state championship as a senior at Lansing Everett that, “Next year, I will be attending Michigan State University.” That announcement gave Izzo’s mentor, Jud Heathcote, the key piece for the Spartans’ first national championship in 1979, and Johnson left for the NBA after his second season at MSU.

Izzo has had his share of big-time recruits, with Mateen Cleaves’ decision in 1996 the building block for the Spartans’ 2000 national championship. In recent years, Miles Bridges in 2016 and Jaren Jackson Jr. a year later became the Hall of Fame coach’s highest-rated recruits, along with Kelvin Torbert in 2001.

But none compare to Bates, who has been touted as the nation’s best in his age group – and then some – since he was throwing down dunks as a lanky seventh grader.

High school basketball star Emoni Bates looks on during the second half of the Michigan State vs. Maryland game on Saturday, Feb. 15, 2020, at the Breslin Center in East Lansing. (Photo: Nick King/Lansing State Journal)

One of his earliest suitors was Izzo, who spent any chance he could driving to see Lincoln play the past two years. Bates was a frequent visitor to MSU and befriended a number of the Spartans, and Izzo reportedly was the only college coach to contact him at midnight on June 15 – the first moment he could talk to players who finished their sophomore season.

And those years and that late-night phone call paid off at 1:48 p.m. Monday, when Bates beamed as he put on the white hat with the green Spartan logo.

This was not Chris Webber or Jabari Parker, the two players who got away from Izzo that still he regrets. Forget about LeBron, who he admittedly would have loved to coach.

Bates could be Izzo’s Magic and help win him a second national title in the twilight of his coaching career. And maybe, like Magic, he’ll even have two years to do it.

That’s if Izzo’s biggest dream becomes a reality.

Contact Chris Solari: csolari@freepress.com. Follow him on Twitter @chrissolari. Read more on the Michigan State Spartans and sign up for our Spartans newsletter.

[justfollowmyhansel]

October 15th -- One, Two, Three, ‘I Love You!’

The next morning went more or less the same as the other two mornings in Japan had: Miya and I got up when her alarm went off, had breakfast (for me this time, the rest of my food from the previous night), and had tea.

We generally went over the plans for the day including changing something from my itinerary. Originally, I was going to check into the hotel before going to the show so that I could already have the majority of my stuff dropped off before heading out and since there was no curfew, potentially spend more time stagedooring should the possibility arise. Unfortunately, after seeing the map of where the hotel was relative to the Hikarie, Miya didn’t think that I had left myself enough time to get back to the venue and up to my seats before the show would start and advised that I check into the hotel after the show. I agreed. So far, I hadn’t gotten lost at all, but even if everything went smoothly, the timeline would have been too tight to realistically be comfortable with. Besides, the original reason for wanting to leave that evening open ended had more or less resolved itself out of being an issue. We ultimately opted for me to come back after the show and pick up some of the stuff that I’d leave with Miya for the evening before heading to the hotel. I had until 11pm to check in and the show was earlier than it had been either of the two previous nights. Realistically, I should have had time to go to the show, eat, and find the new shopping area that I had been told about the previous night.

I mentioned again to Miya about how seeing the Hedwig shows were making me wish that I had a ticket to see John’s movie premiere and double checked with the airline that it was still only the $400-ish dollars to switch the plane reservation dates and that it hadn’t gone up even further since the last time I had checked. The date-change price was still the same, but it didn’t matter if I didn’t have a ticket to the movie. Miya very kindly looked to see if there were any movie tickets up for resale on one of the sites we had used to get a closer seat for the Osaka show than the original row M that we had won in the lottery. (As well as a couple of other sites.)

While she looked, I started doodling the look that I wanted for if — when— I was able to see the movie. For about a year, when I did my makeup I had added a small black star under my left eye because of David Bowie. He had always been aligned with celestial bodies for me from the Ziggy Stardust era to TMWFTE to his last album being titled Blackstar. It seemed like a fitting tribute to him to have a star doodled by my eye considering in the video for Jean Genie, he had an anchor by his right because of how Elizabeth Montgomery had done her makeup as Serena on Bewitched. I also opted for some small contouring to exaggerate the sharpness of my cheekbones and a blue lipstick like the one I had just bought from M.A.C. (but there was another one that I had had my eye on.) Also while I waited, I drew on my own arm Hedwig’s name in silvery Japanese and a gold version of her blonde wig beside the last character. When I showed it off, Miya said that it looked good enough that it could easily have been mistaken as written by someone who had written Japanese their whole life.  

It took some searching, but Miya found one that might work. I didn’t want to switch my flight or hotel reservations until I knew for sure and we wouldn’t know until the ticket was delivered the next day (or Tuesday.) I was glad that I had more or less already sorted my things that morning into the things that I would take with me to Osaka and the things that I didn’t need to bring, but had required either thus far on the trip or were in case of emergency. I opted to leave behind the purple water bottle that I had brought with me, but not yet used on the trip. Miya and I had agreed that I would come back to her place after the show to drop off any things I picked up.

Before I left, Miya suggested that we take a picture together so that we could show Risa and also so that we could have a photo of the pair of us meeting in person – a further way to memorialize the trip and a better way for us to remember each other beyond our further digital communication.

Miya had asked that I go down to the station entirely by myself this time and having walked the relatively straightforward route twice already, I felt confident that I could make it on my own without any hiccups. Outside of confirming which platform I needed to get on of the two similarly named ones at Tabata, I arrived without running into any issues.

In what ended up being a coincidental stroke of brilliance, I took off my hoodie to reveal my David Bowie t-shirt at the exact moment that Young Americans started playing over the theatre’s speaker system. It was one of the earliest times that I had arrived for any of the shows and yet, I still had this sense of being late. (Up until this point, only the first night’s performance had seen an earlier arrival from myself.)

Shortly before going, Miya had remarked something along the lines of not having heard the new encore song that John had mentioned wanting to perform in Japan a few months ago. It had been mentioned in one of the earlier interviews discussing the shows. I also thought that it was strange that he hadn’t performed it yet, but a lot can change in two months so I had thought that perhaps he changed his mind about wanting to perform the song at the end of Hedwig at all.

The show itself was wonderful. I still had the distinct feeling that Saturday night’s was the best in terms of whole-show delivery, but some of the individual scenes or songs were some of the best performed overall, specifically Angry Inch and everything from the trailer scene with Tommy through the end. It was the first time in four performances that Hedwig said to Tommy ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘I love you.’ ‘Then love the front of me.’ That line has always been so powerful to me. For a long, long time, whenever that line was delivered I would start to cry because of the meaning within the text. And to myself. And hearing it for the first time in Japan -- hearing it for the first time live, almost brought back that feeling for the first time in months.

Somehow, I managed to not actually start crying at that point and kept it together until almost the very end where Hedwig sings ‘And all the strange rock and rollers....’ Then I lost it about as hard as I did seeing RENT earlier this year during Angel’s funeral. I actually thought I’d have to leave the theatre crying and that I’d have to explain to people (patrons, staff, whomever....) that ‘No, I’m fine, I just really love this show and tonight’s performance did me in more than the others.’ 

It was the last night in Tokyo and possibly the last night I’d actually be seeing John in Tokyo if the ticket for the movie didn’t pan out. And as incredible as this experience had been, after the show was actually over, there’d be one time left to see John as Hedwig this trip -- this year -- ever?  All of that somehow found its way bound up into the delivery of my favourite line and then a few minutes later into delivery of one of my favourite songs.

Of course, Midnight Radio wasn’t the last part of the show that night. Like so many other dates, John came out at the end with Ataru and introduced the band, himself, and Ataru and gave a few comments, remarks, asides... that Ataru translated for him into Japanese so that the majority of the audience could understand. And then they did the encore song. ‘The End of Love.’ It was very beautiful. He was beautiful. The lighting....was beautiful. And at the very end, one last time, John came out with his phone and requested that everyone in the venue on the count of three yell “I love you.”

And then it was time to go.

One of the stand-out things from that night’s performance was that during Exquisite Corpse, when Hedwig and Yitzhak end up pushing against each other’s hands, fighting for dominance within the narrative, was just how real the fighting felt. Like there was an actual rage behind it for Hedwig and a power that she was using to physically push against her husband and that she was using to push back against Hedwig with. In terms of acting, it was absolutely incredible. Some of the other particular stand out moments from that show included all of the screams Ataru did (Angry Inch and Exquisite Corpse, very notably) and Random Number Generation.

Once again, after the show I found a less-occupied bathroom, washed my face and hands, and started about completing the small amount of fun errands and things I wanted to accomplish that day. I had thought about going to one of the other restaurants in the Hikarie to get a pork cutlet bowl. Silly, yes, given that the reason that in particular had caught my eye was because it was mentioned in Yuri! On Ice, but it made a certain amount of sense given that I had enjoyed the show, John had enjoyed the show so much he made it the theme of his birthday party that year, I was in Japan, and that I would, in fact, have to eat something that night. But seeing that I wasn’t hungry yet, I chose to run my errands before heading back to Miya’s, getting food, and then heading out to the hotel.

The first thing was going to the M.A.C. booth once again. One of the things that I had done while I was waiting to find out if getting a ticket to see the movie was even still possible, was to design the makeup look that I had wanted to wear if I was able to go. So far, I had been relatively bare faced when seeing Hedwig, but I wanted to be able to be overtly punk rock when I went to the movie. That would mean buying some makeup since I had left all of mine at home, but clothing-wise I should have been relatively set, having narrowed down my clothing options to either my David Bowie saxiphone t-shirt from Hot Topic (photo by Mick Rock) or my distressed Union Flag t that I had only brought with me to sleep in. Both would have been pretty punk rock, but Miya thought the British flag was for sure the one to go with. 

Before that night’s, I had stopped by to see if I could refind a lipgloss I had thought about for the previous night -- a blue similar to the lipstick that I had, but with an iridescent quality that the blue I had bought just didn’t have. I couldn’t find it, but I did find a couple of others that I wanted to try on top of the blue that I did have and a very patient and helpful makeup artist who let me chatter on to her about Hedwig and John and How to Talk to Girls at Parties and how the show was wonderful for so many reasons, not the least of which was one of the major changes in the staging for Japan because of what it was, what it meant for two of the main characters, and what it generally could mean for the show going forth. I also showed off a drawing that I had done on my arm that day before leaving Miya’s house. I thought that it was be a nice touch for the lift up your hands part of the song and I don’t know if Hedwig or Yitzhak would have seen it, but it was something that made me feel a little more a part of the show than apart from it for that performance (especially considering very early on, I had opted to not do any cosplays for the shows since I didn’t know how I’d fit just all of that into my bags given everything else AND all the stuff I was anticipating buying.) 

The makeup artist was very nice and in addition to helping me basically see my makeup sketch be visually realized, offered to connect with me on Instagram later after she got off of work since she enjoyed talking to me and we could always chat with each other as a way to further our understandings of the other’s respective languages (she had studied in Canada for a year and a half prior to this so her English was much better than my Japanese.) We didn’t end up connecting later, but it was a very nice thing to have had happen in the moment. 

Sometimes, as is generally human nature, I get in my head an idea that absolutely has to work its way to its natural conclusion before my mind will be satisfied. In this case the idea that had gotten into my head was finding a particular pair of sexy stockings that I had seen in a lingerie shop the day before. That shop did not sell those stockings, but one of the clerks had suggested trying Shibuchka. The way that she described it–and the way that Miya translated it for me– made it sound like Shibuchka was an underground shopping mall both in the sense that it was under the train station and that it was a seedy, sexy underground shopping mall. A place where I might be able to find my packer or a binder (or whips…) in addition to potentially finding sexy stockings.

Before I left, the makeup artist gave me a piece of paper with ‘how do I get to Shibushka’ written on it so that I could find my way (and hopefully, my stockings.) So far, no one that I had talked to thus far about it had actually been there.

I ended up showing my piece of paper to a different woman on the first floor of the mall, who pulled out a map of the Shibuya Shopping District and circled approximately where I needed to go and how to get there. I followed her directions down basically to where the train lines and companies crossed under the buildings above. It was a whole underground system of shops, restaurants, and train lines that explained where just all of the people who were supposedly in Tokyo at the same time as I was always were when I was outside and relatively alone.

Surprising myself, I managed to find my way to the Shibuska shopping center relatively easily and to my greater surprise found that it was not some seedy sex dungeon themed place as I had first imagined, but a bright shopping district set up more or less like a flea market. 

I bought things at a lot of the booths including a glittery skull-print tie (for when I inevitably dress up as Hedwig and have my mother be Yitzhak), a studded bracelet (for the movie premiere), a pair of thigh high sheer stockings with a couple of inches or so of lace at the top (because of the crate show staging), three brightly coloured hair clip-in hair pieces (blue for the movie and pink and blonde because of Hedwig), and a few other assorted items because they were relatively cheap and definitely cute.

As the shops began to close, I tried to make my way back to the Hikarie to get the pork cutlet bowl and get on my way. I managed to get turned around and went to a different grocery store than the one that I had passed through to go to the shopping center. That one had been organic and this one seemed to not be as it focused more on different little patisseries and meat counters. 

I stopped at one of the pastry counters and ordered a strawberry shortcake to go since it was just so cute and they’re always so expensive to get in the US when they’re done up in kawaii Japanese stylings as opposed to the more American approach of dumping everything into a bowl or onto a plate and calling that good. I asked the man behind the counter how to get back to the Hikarie and he pointed me in the directions I needed to go.

Once I actually reached the Hikarie though, I began to think that I was running late! That I only had an hour to get back to Miya’s and then get to the hotel before I wouldn’t be able to check in! I hopped on the train and tried to rebook my plane and hotel tickets as a way to stop from freaking out over being so late. As it turned out, my adjustment to 24-hr time had not been a smooth one. It was only 8 and not 10, I still had a few hours to transfer everything over and then head to the hotel.

At Miya’s, I switched around my bag again, adding in a few of the items I had opted to leave at hers until after the show and dropping off some of the things I wouldn’t need again until I got back from Osaka like all of my new purchases from Shibuschka. Even after an unscheduled backing up of my photos and what-nots, I still ended up leaving an hour earlier than I had anticipated. An hour, it turned out, that I very much needed.

Getting the train to the right spot wasn’t the tricky part, per se. The tricky part was getting myself from where the train station let out to the hotel at night. In the dark. In the rain. With streets that went diagonal just as often as they went straight. In the middle of being turned around and starting to be frustrated, John started posting things from his time in Japan -- backstage photos, videos, timelapse takes of him applying his lipstick.... I sent a vaguely worded request for the back of his outfit in Japan (as much for cosplay and drawing purposes as anything else, tbh.) To my surprise, he actually responded, posting a photo of the back of his Tokyo cape. The timing of that and one of the songs from Hedwig popping onto my mp3, somehow conspired so that I was able to find my way to the hotel with just enough time to spare.

I checked in, took a shower, and texted my mother to let her know that my seven day trip in Japan had now turned into an 8 day one because I didn’t want to leave without seeing the movie and I didn’t want to leave feeling like the trip was somehow incomplete. 

Before going to sleep, I listened to the video of the End of Love that John had posted again as well as a few other Hedwig songs that I absolutely adored.

[bountyofbeads]

Justice Dept. Reverses Course and Seeks to Add Citizenship Question https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/03/us/politics/census-citizenship-question.html

The MAD KING IS ON THE LOOSE!!!

"It was the second time in two days that Mr. Trump said he was directing the Commerce Department to defy a decision made by the Supreme Court..." Just let that sink in for a moment. On the eve of our birthday celebration of our American democracy, our president spits on the very foundations of that democracy. Mr. Bantree, USA

"It is official: there is no longer a rule of law in these United States of America. The Supreme Court has no clout. It is now Trump's law or no law. Really people, you think this is OK from a man who lacks the basic knowledge of our Constitution?" Bea Durand, Planet Earth

"We're in the end game of America if Trump puts the citizenship question on the census. When the Executive Branch refuses to abide by Judicial Branch decisions, it's all over. Authoritarianism would be officially installed. I hope everyone is paying attention." David, Los Angeles

"The chaos that is this administration, and President, is disheartening. No statement can be believed. The judgment of the Supreme Court has no force in the White House. We will have a military show tomorrow, strutting by the President in front of the Lincoln Memorial, and our descent to being a democracy in name only will be all but complete." View From the Street, Chicago

"A president who defies the rule of law and refuses to recognize the authority of the Supreme Court or the Congress, as this president has done by refusing to respond to subpoenas lawfully issued by Congress and now stating that he will include the citizenship question in the 2020 Census despite the Court's ruling, is no longer acting as president. He has crossed the line into tyranny. He should be removed from office at the earliest possible time." Dianne Walsh, Miami FL

"SO the dictator has told us that he has no responsibility to reply to the oversight function of the Congress, that he will not leave office if he loses, that he desires presidency for life and now that the Court he has packed has no authority over his power. So tomorrow he will be using the military as a prop to celebrate the death of American democracy. Not quite the context for fireworks in my mind." Greg Jones, RI

"At the end of the Nixon administration in August 1974, Richard Nixon was acting in an irrational manner, and there were concerns that he was going to declare martial law. The Secretary of Defense put out a memo indicating that any command from Nixon that did not pass through his office and did not get his approval was not to be obeyed. Today, trump is running a reality tv presidency, so he gets to make up all sorts of things. (He thinks he OWNS the US Government.) But that does not make any of his nonsensical statements truthful or effective. I suspect that if he starts to issue illegal orders (for example orders that contravene a Supreme Court decision), there are still a few people in our sorry government who will make clear that illegal orders from the White House are not to be followed. If there are no such people, we are in much worse shape than I imagine. I still expect and believe that the US Constitution will be followed. Vote a straight Democratic ticket, federal, state, and local, on November 3, 2020. Vote as if our democracy depends on it, BECAUSE IT DOES." Joe From Boston, Massachusetts

"The goal is to sow fear and confusion among immigrants (both legal and illegal) so that whether or not the question ends up on the census (I bet it won't be) the damage is already done." Sean, Earth

Justice Dept. Reverses Course on Citizenship Question on Census, Citing Trump’s Orders

By Michael Wines, Maggie Haberman and Alan Rappaport | Published July 3, 2019 | New York Times | Posted July 4, 2019 |

WASHINGTON — A day after pledging that the 2020 census would not ask respondents about their citizenship, Justice Department officials reversed course on Wednesday and said they were hunting for a way to restore the question on orders from President Trump.

The contentious issue of whether next year’s all-important head count would include a citizenship question appeared to be settled — until the president began vowing on Twitter on Wednesday that the administration was “absolutely moving forward” with plans, despite logistical and legal barriers.

Mr. Trump’s comments prompted a chaotic chain of events, with senior census planners closeted in emergency meetings and Justice Department representatives summoned to a phone conference with a federal judge in Maryland.

On Wednesday afternoon, Justice Department officials told the judge that their plan had changed in the span of 24 hours: They now believed there could be “a legally available path” to restore the question to the census, and they planned to ask the Supreme Court to help speed the resolution of lawsuits that are blocking their way.

The reversal sends the future of the census — which is used to determine the distribution of congressional seats and federal dollars — back into uncertain territory.

The Supreme Court last week rejected the administration’s stated reason for adding the citizenship question as contrived. But Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr., writing for the majority, left open the chance that the administration could offer an adequate rationale.

Faced with tight printing deadlines, administration officials said on Tuesday that it was time to abandon the effort and begin printing forms this week that do not contain the citizenship question.

Justice Department lawyers told United States District Judge George J. Hazel in a telephone conference that a decision to eliminate the question from census forms had been made “for once and for all.” Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross, whose department oversees the Census Bureau, issued a separate statement accepting the outcome.

But a day later, an extraordinary scene played out on a conference phone call between Judge Hazel and Justice Department officials, who appeared to be blindsided by the president’s comments online.

On Wednesday afternoon, Judge Hazel opened the call by saying that Mr. Trump’s tweet had gotten his attention. “I don’t know how many federal judges have Twitter accounts, but I happen to be one of them, and I follow the president,” he said.

Joshua Gardner, a Justice Department special counsel for executive branch litigation, responded: “The tweet this morning was the first I had heard of the president’s position on this issue, just like the plaintiffs and Your Honor.”

He added: “I do not have a deeper understanding of what that means at this juncture other than what the president has tweeted. But, obviously, as you can imagine, I am doing my absolute best to figure out what’s going on.”

Mr. Gardner said that census forms would continue to be printed without the citizenship question, and that federal court rulings barring its inclusion, upheld in part by the Supreme Court, were still in force. But he added that he could not promise that would remain the case.

“This is a fluid situation and perhaps that might change,” he said, “but we’re just not there yet, and I can’t possibly predict at this juncture what exactly is going to happen.”

That seemed an apt summation of the entire census process, which has lurched from lawsuit to crisis and back since the citizenship issue arose, and seemed on the verge of being upended on Wednesday.

Looming over the latest disruptions was a July 1 deadline to begin printing 2020 census materials — a deadline that the Justice Department said could not be stretched without imperiling the schedule for the census itself.

Since Mr. Ross tacked the citizenship question onto the census in March 2018, long after other aspects of the questionnaire had been settled, the Census Bureau has been at the center of a ferocious partisan battle over the 2020 head count, its carefully tended reputation for trustworthiness and political impartiality all but shredded.

An army of critics, from cities and states to ethnic and civil-rights advocates, have argued that the question is an ill-disguised effort to skew the census’s results to the benefit of the Republican Party. That was only reinforced by the disclosure last month of a 2015 study by a Republican strategist, Thomas B. Hofeller, that explained how data from a citizenship question could be used to exclude noncitizens from the population bases used in redistricting. The newly drawn districts, he wrote, would tilt toward non-Hispanic whites and Republicans and hobble representation of Hispanics and Democrats.

Mr. Hofeller, who died last year, was the first person to urge Mr. Trump’s transition team in 2016 to add the question to the 2020 head count. Three separate federal courts — in New York, Maryland and California — have ruled that the Commerce Department violated federal procedural law and the Constitution in tacking the question onto the census. They called the department’s rationale — to improve enforcement of the Voting Rights Act — an obvious cover for some other motive.

On Wednesday, Judge Hazel ratcheted up the pressure on the administration to make up its mind, ordering the Trump administration either to confirm by Friday afternoon that it was not placing the citizenship question on the census questionnaire, or offer a schedule for continuing the Maryland lawsuit.

“Given that tomorrow is the Fourth of July and the difficulty of assembling people from all over the place, is it possible that we could do this on Monday?” Mr. Gardner asked.

“No,” the judge replied. “I’ve been told different things, and it’s becoming increasingly frustrating.”

As Judge Hazel spoke with the two sides in the Maryland case, the federal district judge overseeing the New York lawsuit ordered the Justice Department to update him on those discussions so he could decide whether to schedule a similar conference in that suit.

On Wednesday afternoon, White House officials were actively working on a way to satisfy Mr. Trump’s demand but had not yet settled on a solution.

The Justice Department ultimately acted under pressure from Mr. Trump, who had reacted angrily to the Supreme Court’s handling of the census case and insisted that his administration move forward despite the court’s ruling. Mr. Trump had blamed Mr. Ross in particular for the handling of the census question.

The suggestion that Mr. Trump was prepared to charge ahead on adding a citizenship question stirred fears among opponents of the plan who hoped the debate had been put to rest.

Attorney General Letitia James of New York, whose office oversaw the census lawsuit that led to the Supreme Court ruling last week, dismissed Mr. Trump’s statement as “another attempt to sow chaos and confusion.”

“The Supreme Court of the United States has spoken, and Trump’s own Commerce Department has spoken,” she said in a statement. “It’s time to move forward to ensure every person in the country is counted.”

Census results are used to determine House of Representatives seats and to draw political maps at all levels of government across the country. They are also used to allot federal funding for social services.

Adding the citizenship question could lead to an undercounting in areas with large numbers of immigrants, who tend to vote Democratic, potentially costing Democrats representation and government funding.

The defeat before the court came as a surprise to Mr. Trump, who for months was assured that the change was on track, and has placed Mr. Ross back in the hot seat.

Earlier in Mr. Trump’s term, the president soured on Mr. Ross’s handling of trade negotiations and suggested that the 81-year-old investor had lost his deal-making touch. Mr. Ross has largely avoided the president’s ire since then, but the census matter has continued to dog him.

Mr. Ross has also drawn anger from Democrats in Congress for offering shifting explanations about whom he spoke with to determine the legality of adding the citizenship question. In 2018 he acknowledged that he had discussed the issue with Stephen K. Bannon, Mr. Trump’s former political strategist, after originally claiming he talked about it only with the Justice Department.

Administration officials said that the president was not planning to fire Mr. Ross, but that the situation had renewed concerns about his performance.

By Wednesday afternoon, whatever frustration that Mr. Trump had with the commerce secretary had largely dissipated, a second administration official said, and the president was focused on finding a way to add a question to the census. Mr. Trump told aides that might mean tacking on a question after census questionnaires had been printed.

Mr. Ross’s department will soon have to clarify the status of the census publicly. The House Oversight Committee said on Wednesday that the director of the Census Bureau, Steven Dillingham, would appear before a subcommittee on July 24 to review preparations for the 2020 head count.

“It is time for the Census Bureau to move beyond all the outside political agendas and distractions and devote its full attention to preparing for the 2020 census,” Representative Jamie Raskin, a Maryland Democrat on the committee, said in a statement.

A Commerce Department spokesman did not respond to a request for comment.

Read the Transcript of the Conference Call( On Website... WELL WORTH THE READ😂🤣😱)

A transcript of a call with Judge George Hazel and the lawyers in a Maryland court case about the proposed citizenship question on the 2020 census. (PDF, 15 pages, 0.11 MB)

[quicksilversquared]

The Mock Wedding

Alya and Nino eloped. Their friends and family, not willing to be cheated out of a wedding, throw their own.

Of course, just throwing a simple celebration would be too tame. So their friends decide to mix things up.

(a sister story to Scoring the Wedding)

(AO3) (FF.net)

Saying that nobody was happy when Nino and Alya eloped while they were on vacation was quite possibly the understatement of the year.

"But I wanted to walk you up the aisle," Alya's dad said mournfully.

"But I was going to make your dress!" Marinette exclaimed.

"But I wanted to throw flowers!" Alya's sisters cried.

"But we wanted to get revenge for the prank you pulled at our wedding!" Alix and Kim complained in startling unison.

"It was just so romantic on vacation that we couldn't wait," Alya said with a sheepish smile. "We did get pictures, if that helps?"

It did not help.

"I wanted to plan something great for their wedding," Kim sulked later that afternoon as the whole crew (minus Alya and Nino, who were with Nino's parents, and plus Alya's sisters, who had tagged along with Adrien and Marinette) crowded into Adrien and Marinette's apartment. "I don't know what, exactly, but it would have been great."

"Maybe Alya and Nino could have a reception sort of thing in Paris?" Rose suggested. "I think I've heard about things like that being done before, like when someone has a destination wedding but wants to be able to celebrate it when they get back. Maybe they could even do a renewal of vows sort of thing or something beforehand."

"Typically, vow renewals are not done until the second anniversary at the earliest," Max said, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "They are more common at five, ten, fifteen, or more years."

Kim groaned. "I am not waiting for fifteen years to get my revenge on them."

"So just a reception sort of thing, then," Mylene said. "That would be easy enough to do."

"Except then they'll be expecting it," Alix objected. "They'll just be waiting for us to do something. It won't be a surprise."

"So what can we do?" Kim asked, frowning. "We can't just not do anything..."

There was a long pause as everyone thought.

"Maybe we could...act out a wedding?" Mylene suggested timidly. "And make it funny somehow?"

No one looked particularly convinced. Alya's sisters exchanged a look.

"This whole thing just seems backwards to me," Nathaniel said with a sigh. "We're throwing a wedding for them and inviting them instead of them throwing their own wedding and inviting us. What else are we going to do backwards?"

"Oh," Alya's sisters said in unison. They turned to each to each other and whispered to each other, giggling as they did. The whole group watched as the two girls whispered and giggled for a long minute.

"Do you guys have an idea?" Kim finally asked when it because apparent that neither girl was particularly inclined to share. "Because we'd love to hear it."

There was another shared glance and a giggle before Angele spoke up. "You wouldn't want to do it."

"Kim will do anything if you dare him," Marinette said with a shrug. "And maybe your idea will give us ideas we could use."

"Well, we thought if you were doing things backwards, maybe you could dress backwards, too," Marie explained.

There was a confused pause.

"Like, put our shirts on the wrong way?" Nathaniel asked, confused. "And our pants? I don't think I'd be able to sit if I put my pants on backwards."

"Or- oh! Do you mean, like, the girls dress up like guys and guys dress up like girls?" Alix asked. Her face lit up. "Hey, Kim, I bet you would look fabulous in a tutu."

Kim froze and then sent a glare towards his wife. "I'm not gonna wear a tutu!"

"I dare you to wear a tutu to Alya and Nino's wedding event thing," Alix said immediately. Kim spluttered.

"Oh, come on! That's not playing fair!" Kim complained, ignoring the snickers going around the room. "You know I can't turn down a dare- fine! I'll do it, but you have to find one that fits me!"

"No problem," Alix said cheerfully, and they shook on it. As they turned back to the group, Alix winked at Marinette and they both grinned in silent understanding. Whatever tutu Alix found would be bedazzled to the limit before it got handed to Kim.

"I like that idea," Rose said.

Juleka nodded in agreement. "It would be rad."

"You would like it, you're a girl," Kim pointed out. "Girls can wear suits and look normal. Guys can't wear dresses and look normal!"

"Actually-" Adrien started, before he was cut off by Kim.

"You don't count, model boy!"

"You'll be wearing a tutu anyway, Kim," Marinette pointed out. "So I don't see why you're protesting so much. If all of the other boys are wearing dressed, you won't look so weird."

There was a pause as Kim considered that, and then he nodded frantically. "Actually, I've just had a sudden change of heart. 100% yes, let's do this."

Max and Nathaniel both groaned and Ivan made a face. Adrien didn't look particularly bothered.

"Next question: where do we get the outfits and when should we do this?" Alix asked. "I obviously wouldn't fit into any of Kim's suits."

"I'm sure that between all of the boys we can find something that at least kind of fits," Marinette pointed out. "I can use fabric tape to do some temporary hems if pant legs and sleeves are too long."

"Does that mean that you girls will be letting us borrow dresses?" Nathaniel asked.

"Or skirts and blouses," Rose said. Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands to her face in glee. "Ooh, I have this lovely purple blouse that would look great with your hair!"

"We could either do this on a weekend or late on a weekday," Marinette said before they could get too deep into discussion about women's fashion. "It might be hard to do on a weekday, since Alya works late sometimes. We'd have to put it on their schedule in advance."

"Wait, how are we going to surprise Nino and Alya if we need to tell them about it first?" Ivan asked. "They'll just see it coming- well, they won't see the outfits coming, maybe, but they'll know we're up to something."

Marie perked up. "Hey, we could get our parents to tell Alya and Nino that they want to have a picnic with their new in-laws! We would need to go on our mom's day off or get her to take half a day off for the picnic, though."

"When's her day off?" Marinette asked immediately.

"Wednesdays. There aren't as many people in the hotel then. But she can usually get Tuesday afternoons off without a problem," Angele said. She pulled out her phone. "I can text Mom now and ask! Then we would know for sure."

"Make sure she won't tell Alya," Rose said as Angele texted furiously. "Or be vague about it and then tell your parents the details later. Will your father have trouble getting time off work?"

"Oh no," Marie assured them. "He never does. There's enough interns at the zoo to keep things running, as long as at least one of the head zookeepers is there. He'll just have to give them a week's notice of how much time he wants off."

The room fell silent for a moment, and then Angele's phone let out a ding and she pulled it out. She read the message with Marie hanging over her shoulder, and then both of them grinned. "Mom approves! She's texting Nino's parents to make sure they can do Wednesday afternoon, two weeks out."

"Wouldn't it be a riot if we could get the parents to dress up as well?" Alix asked with a grin. "Imagine Nino's face if his father wore a dress!"

"But then we would have to see our parents dressed up funny," Angele complained, making a face. "I'd be scarred for life!"

"I think it would be funny," Marie said immediately. She practically pounced on Angele as her phone let out a ding. "What did she say?"

"Date and time is confirmed," Angele announced. "Wednesday, two weeks out. If we do it after five, then we won't have to worry about them taking any time off. Mom suggested that we set up earlier so we're ready and then Nino's parents will drive them to wherever we're having this and since it's summer, we should have plenty of daylight still."

"So we still need to find a park," Marinette confirmed.

"I can do that," Mylene offered immediately. "Most places don't need reservations for a picnic, but I can always check."

"That would be great, Mylene!" Marinette exclaimed. "Okay, so does everybody have that down? Wednesday the 16th, be at the park probably around three-thirty to four to set stuff up and get ready. I'll see if my parents can bake us a few treats."

"And we can ask my mom to cook some things," Marie volunteered. "She was planning on cooking for Alya's wedding anyway."

"I'll bring drinks," Rose called.

"Wait, the 16th?"

The jovial mood in the room promptly froze at the question. All eyes turned to Adrien, who suddenly looked more than a little uncertain.

"That's the week my cousin is visiting," Adrien explained with a grimace. "I really want to do this, obviously, but I don't know if I'd be able to make it. My father would probably want me to spend time with Felix while he's here."

"Well, he could come along," Kim said with a shrug. "The more the merrier."

"Felix isn't exactly the kind that would enjoy something like this," Adrien said with a laugh and another grimace. "He's...serious."

"Well, there's no harm in asking, right?" Marinette pointed out. "Maybe he'd be interested in meeting all of us. Or maybe he'd want to spend a day with your father."

"I'll ask," Adrien said after a moment. His grin turned rueful. "Felix isn't going to know what he got himself into."

   Felix Agreste wasn't quite sure what he had gotten himself into.

He had come to Paris to visit his cousin and uncle for a week before returning home and for the first day, everything had gone normally. His cousin had picked him up at the airport, accompanied by his chauffeur, and they had driven back to Agreste Mansion. Adrien normally didn't stay there anymore, his cousin had explained, since he shared an apartment with his fiancée, but he would be returning to his childhood home for the week so he could spend more time with Felix while he was in the country. Felix had met the fiancée in question later that afternoon, and she seemed kind and pretty and normal enough.

Felix was starting to regret that first assumption.

"I don't understand," Felix said as he watched his cousin join a small blond pixie of a woman in hanging paper flowers in the park that they had driven to, just outside of the city limits. "What are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Our friends Nino and Alya went and eloped while they were on vacation," Adrien informed Felix, tacking one end of a flower chain to a tree branch. He reached for the end of a long, gauzy bolt of cloth to hang next. "So none of us got to go to their wedding. That was very rude of them, since we've only been looking forward to it for forever, so we're making up for it with staging another wedding."

"I see," said Felix, who really didn't see at all. "And is your fiancée joining us for this mock wedding?"

Adrien grinned, as he seemed inclined to do whenever Marinette was mentioned. It was slightly sickening. "Yeah, she is! She and her family will be coming later. They're making a cake for us. Alya's family is making some other refreshments."

"Isn't that the person who eloped? Her family knows about this?" Felix was more than a little puzzled about that. "Wouldn't they tell her? They're going along with this?"

The blonde pixie- Rose, Felix thought she was called- giggled from over where she was erecting a flower-covered arch in the front of the clearing they had claimed. "They weren't happy about Alya and Nino eloping either. We were brainstorming about what we could do in front of Alya's younger sisters and they hopped on it and persuaded their parents to get involved." More giggling. "They came up with the twist, too."

"A twist?" That was the first Felix had heard of a twist. "Do I even want to know?"

The snickers that came after his question told Felix that no, he probably did not want to know. He sighed, groaned, and buried his face in the novel he had brought with him.

More and more people arrived as the afternoon dragged on. More decorations went up, turning the park alcove into a full-fledged wedding set-up. Folding chairs were set up in rows, a couple flower pots decorated the front, and two long tables were set up at the back. Rose abandoned her decorating for a few minutes to dash off and returned with a rolling cooler and a punch bowl. Snacks filled up the table once what Felix assumed was Alya's family arrived, and Felix found himself dreading the day even more once he saw the age of Alya's sisters. He had thought that they would be about the same age as Adrien and his friends, hopefully a little older or only a little younger.

Instead, they appeared to be in their early teens. Felix didn't want to know what kinds of ideas girls at that age might come up with for a "twist" for the wedding.

Adrien cheered and abandoned his preparations as Marinette's family's car pulled up. A giant of a man got out of the front and gave Adrien a high-five before rounding to the back and pulling out a large cake box. Marinette and her mother hopped out of the car as well, and Felix could hear Adrien's squeal from all the way across the park when he saw the box of croissants that Marinette was carrying under her arm.

Felix remembered his cousin being a lot more normal the last time they saw each other, but perhaps that was because Adrien had been visiting him and his father had been around the entire time.

Another girl was getting out of the Dupain-Cheng car, pulling a large box out behind her. She, like Marinette, was for some reason wearing a suit.

Actually, now that Felix really looked around, quite a few of the girls in their group seemed to be wearing suits. Even Rose, who had been dressed in a pretty floral skirt and a pink blouse earlier, was now wearing a light grey suit. It looked a little funky- clearly it wasn't tailored for her measurements- so Felix guessed that it was probably borrowed. Most of the other suits looked the same way.

Felix was puzzled, to say the least.

"We can use the bathroom as a changing room!" a short guy with glasses- Matthew, maybe? Max? Felix wasn't certain- called over the chatter from the group. "No one else is here right now, it'll be fine!"

Felix was suddenly struck by a feeling of dread. No one else is here? Changing room?

Why was anyone changing anything? It didn't make sense.

"D'you want to join, Felix?" Adrien asked, popping up next to him. In one hand Adrien held an hanger with a red dress hanging from it. On any other day, Felix would have said that it was a gorgeous dress- it was a lovely shade and with a fabulous design. The cut was absolutely stunning.

But Felix was suspicious now, especially since he had just spotted a blond wig in Adrien's other hand.

"Join what?" Felix asked suspiciously. "I want to know what I'm getting into before I agree to anything."

Adrien laughed at that. "We're dressing up for the 'wedding'. Marinette found this-" he held up the dress, and Felix spotted a plunging neckline "-for me to wear."

Yeah, how about no.

"I think I'll pass," Felix managed, taking a step back. "Uh, you go do you."

Adrien shrugged, apparently unconcerned by Felix's disinterest. "Okay. See you later, then."

Felix held his tongue as his cousin trotted off, still holding the dress and the wig. The whole mock wedding thing was weird in the first place; this cross-dressing, which had to be the "twist" that Alya's sisters had dreamed up, was beyond weird.

Felix sure hoped that some of the refreshments were alcoholic, because he was going to need it at this rate.

The group of friends and assorted family members grew larger. The women looked all right, even with the ill-fitting suits. Some had opted for dress shirts and dressy slacks, which on the whole looked better, but Felix could tell that the shoulders were designed for someone with larger shoulders. The men...

Well, he was going to need either therapy or a whole lot of alcohol after this.

To be fair, there were times when men could look good in dresses, Felix knew that. He had been around the fashion industry long enough to see it done fantastically.

This was not done fantastically.

While the ladies had at least been fairly consistent with their outfits, then men had not bothered. Adrien was wearing the slinky red dress with a plunging neckline (Felix wanted to scrub his eyes), and a couple of the other men were wearing proper dresses as well. Ivan and Marinette's father were wearing dress shirts and appeared to have tied curtains around their waists.

Oddest yet was the man wandering around with a dress shirt, slacks, and a tutu that looked like it had been hit by a glitter bomb or ten. Little pink rhinestone hearts decorated the fabric.

"It was a dare," the man insisted when he caught Felix staring, like that explained everything. It didn't. He held out his hand. "I'm Kim. You must be Adrien's cousin."

"That is correct," Felix managed before Kim and his tutu were off again.

"Alright, everyone! Nino's parents are driving Alya and Nino out now," Marinette called as she hopped up onto a chair. Everyone's attention went to her. "If you could all get into place, that would be great! If you have a wig, put it on now. We have a couple more but they're, uh..."

She held up a brilliantly yellow wig. Felix guessed that her next words would probably have been either "ugly", "tacky", "godawful", or all of the above. Those were the words that he would have used.

There was a stampeding of feet as people jumped into their chairs. Marinette tucked her hair into a cap and took her place up near the front of the room. She was apparently serving as the Best Man.

"I still don't understand the point of the cross-dressing," Felix said when Adrien swung by to check on him. "It's utterly bizarre."

Adrien grinned, adjusting the low-plunging neckline on his dress. Felix cringed and tried not to stare. "It makes it funny. Otherwise, we're just faking a wedding. This makes it memorable."

"I'm gonna have to bleach my brain."

That garnered a laugh from Adrien. "Come on, Felix. It's not that bad."

"You're wearing a wig. And high heels. And that dress."

"It's a perfectly lovely dress," Adrien argued with a grin. "It looks fabulous on Mari."

Felix could believe that. However, it did not look fabulous on Adrien, not by a long shot. It didn't fit, especially around the hips, and the proportions were off-

-and yeah, he definitely needed a drink or five if he was already starting to try to figure out how to fix everything and make it look good.

"It's not meant to look good," Adrien said with a laugh, and Felix realized he had accidentally spoken aloud. "We're trying to embarrass Nino and Alya. It's the funny factor."

Felix wasn't even going to try to argue with that, mostly because it was going to give him a headache.

As people settled, Felix fled to the back row, closest to the refreshments table. He eyed it up, trying to decide if he wanted to snitch anything. He wasn't immediately spotting anything remotely alcoholic, unless the punch bowls were spiked.

Considering the presence of two young teens, he sincerely doubted that.

Felix eyed up the coolers under the table next. Those looked a little more promising, but he wasn't about to go digging around there, since he was a guest. It would be rude, and he wasn't going to stoop down to that.

Well, not yet, at least. He was keeping it as an option. It was very possible that as soon as the "wedding" got underway he would be in immediate need of a stiff drink, but he could maybe manage for now. Maybe.

(It was looking less and less likely by the minute.)

Felix sat in silence for a few more minutes, watching as people rushed to and fro. Marinette rushed past him at one point, directing the girl who was apparently her cousin to sit in one of the remaining open chairs. Felix wondered for a moment why her cousin wasn't sitting with Marinette's parents, and then he realized that her mother was standing in as the minister and her father was being the "mother" of the "bride".

"You look like the only remaining sane person here," the girl said with a laugh as she slid into the chair next to Felix. "They couldn't persuade you to wear a skirt?"

"They didn't try. My cousin knows that I would not partake in such foolishness." Felix straightened his spine as he eyed his new neighbor. She was dressed in a suit, just like her cousin. It seemed to fit her a bit better than some of the other suits people were wearing at first glance- the hems weren't dragging, and the cuffs weren't hanging over her hands- but this close up, Felix could see the fit issues and where the hem had obviously been taped up. It was a Gabriel design, which made Felix suspect that Marinette had probably raided Adrien's closet for the pieces. Knowing Adrien, he probably hadn't protested at all.

The girl laughed again, seemingly unperturbed by Felix's coolness. "Lucky. My cousin wouldn't take no for an answer and then my aunt and uncle ganged up on me. I didn't stand a chance."

"They all seem quite excited about it," Felix commented, inclining his head towards the rest of the chattering group. "Even with the wigs."

His new neighbor outright snorted at that. "Those are quite awful, aren't they? Marinette bought them yesterday. These aren't even the worst of the lot."

Felix raised an eyebrow at that. "No?"

She grinned. "No, the worst is this awful tomato-red wig that's, like, nearly a meter long. The 'bride' is wearing it."

Felix groaned.

"Oh! I've forgotten my manners." The girl extended a hand towards Felix. "I'm Bridgette, Marinette's cousin. I dropped in on my way back from London and found them getting ready for this."

Felix shook her hand. "Felix Agreste. Adrien's cousin." He sent a dark look in his cousin's direction. "My cousin knew I was coming but somehow thought I might enjoy this."

The group abruptly fell silent as the sound of a car crunching over the gravel grew louder. Everyone turned eagerly towards the sound, waiting for Alya and Nino to appear. Felix turned despite himself, watching as the car pulled to a stop. The door swung open and the newly married couple stepped out, looking torn between confused and amused as they glanced around at the assembled group.

Felix could tell the exact moment when they realized that the clothing had been swapped on their "guests". Alya's eyes went wide first and she elbowed her husband, pointing to Adrien. Nino's mouth dropped and he groaned, turning away to bang his forehead against the top of the car.

"You guys, what on earth," Alya said with a laugh, stepping forward and letting her eyes sweep over the crowd. "What are you doing?"

"We were expecting to attend a wedding, and we were robbed," Marinette said from where she stood at the front. She grinned at her friends. "And since it's a bit backwards for us to throw you a party, we decided to do some other stuff backwards as well."

"Oh my god."

"Now sit, sit," Nino's mother said, hopping out of the car and pushing the new couple into the chairs that had been set out specifically for them. "Sit and enjoy, now."

Then, to Felix's horror, what could only be described as dubstep wedding music started pouring out of an old, beat-up radio someone had brought along. The "groom" (one of Alya's sisters) appeared at the altar, joining the mock wedding party, and the "mother" and "father" of the "bride" escorted the red-wig-wearing monstrosity down the center aisle.

The fake bride was so dressed up that Felix couldn't even figure out who they might be. It was a guy for sure- the very flat chest and broad shoulders kind of gave it away- but their face was completely obscured by the awful red wig. Long bangs covered the eyes and the rest of the wig hung loose, hiding the person's cheeks as well. Someone had managed to persuade whoever-it-was to put on lipstick in a red that clashed with their hair. They had even managed to find a wedding gown of sorts, though it looked like perhaps it had been either in an attic for a while or scavenged from the discount bin at a thrift store.

Felix's hand twitched towards the cooler.

The dressed-up trio headed up the aisle and then the "ceremony" started. A few people passed by their group, staring curiously as they went, and Felix found himself sinking lower in his seat every time. He definitely should have taken up his uncle's offer to show him around the business. It would be boring, yes, but he also wouldn't be squirming around in his seat from intense secondhand embarrassment. Or maybe he should have run off to a cafe or a library for the afternoon, that also would have been a fabulous idea...

"Look at Nino and Alya," Bridgette hissed, elbowing Felix's side. "Oh my god, their faces..."

Felix glanced over in the couple's direction and had to smile. Nino and Alya looked just as embarrassed as he felt, probably because they actually knew this group of weirdos.

"I gotta take a picture of that," Bridgette said with a grin, holding up the camera that had been laying in her lap and snapping a few shots. She then turned and took a few pictures of the "wedding party" up front. "Oh, this is great."

"You're one of them," Felix accused, pointing a finger at his neighbor. "You're enjoying this."

Bridgette shrugged. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. It's better than hiding away behind a book like you're doing." She snapped another picture. "And it's fun. C'mon, can't you see at least a little humor in it?"

Felix grumbled.

By the time the "bride" and "groom" exchanged cheek kisses, Felix had finally caved and snuck around to the refreshments table to snatch a bottle of wine from the cooler. Bridgette had accepted a few sips before going back to snapping photos, so Felix sipped away at the bottle by himself. Both his father and his uncle would have an aneurysm if they saw him, but Felix wasn't about to tell either of them. By the time the "wedding" finished and everyone filed back to the "reception area" (aka the tables of food, but apparently they couldn't just say that), nearly half of the bottle was gone.

"Really, Felix," Adrien sighed, trying to swipe the bottle from him and missing. "Did you really have to?"

"I did," Felix said haughtily, taking another swig. "How else am I supposed to bleach the image of you in that dress out of my brain?"

   Alya and Nino were having a wild day- or, rather, a wild afternoon. They had planned for a nice dinner with their parents and Alya's sisters in a park just outside of a city, and so when they got there they were more than a little surprised to walk in on what at first glance seemed to be a wedding.

On second glance, it turned out to be a wedding sort of thing where a bunch of weirdos were cross-dressing.

And on third glance, it turned out that the weirdos were their friends.

"I regret ever becoming friends with these people," Nino hissed as someone who possibly may have been Nathaniel headed down the makeshift aisle in a tacky wedding gown, followed by Marinette's father in a makeshift skirt and Alya's mother in a suit.

"Kim did say that he was going to get revenge on us for the scoring," Alya hissed back. "I guess this is the revenge."

"I'm gonna die of embarrassment," Nino groaned three minutes later as a large family passed by the clearing, staring all the while.

"That's what they want," Alya said grimly as she watched her sister recite possibly the most ridiculous "vows" she had ever heard. Unless she was hearing things, Marie had just promised "not to get married without inviting my friends and family".

So apparently this was one part revenge for Alix and Kim's wedding and one part revenge for eloping. And their families had even gotten involved, the traitors. The only reasonable people left were Adrien's cousin, who was looking as though he was seriously regretting his decision to tag along with Adrien, and Marinette's cousin, who was sitting with him.

Of course, calling the latter reasonable might be a stretch. She had pulled out a camera and was snapping photos of everyone. It would probably be fabulous blackmail material- Kim had somehow been roped into wearing the most bedazzled tutu they had ever seen, and Adrien was wearing a gorgeous red dress of Marinette's. It looked better on Marinette.

"Adrien probably picked that dress out himself, the nerd," Nino said as the "wedding" wrapped up and everyone cheered. "Kim was probably forced."

"Kim was probably dared," Alya corrected, standing up and pulling Nino to his feet so they could greet their friends. "That's all it takes to get him to do anything."

"True enough."

"How did you like the wedding?" Adrien asked, coming up to them with a grin. "Wasn't it great?"

"Couldn't you have worn a different dress?" Nino groaned in response. "Really, anything would have been better-"

"Almost anything," Alya corrected as visions of Adrien trying to fit himself into a little black dress filled her mind. Hopefully he wouldn't take Nino's words as a challenge.

"You sound like Felix," Adrien said cheerfully, adjusting the left shoulder of the dress so it wasn't in danger of slipping off. Adrien's gaze slid to the side for a moment and he sighed. "Speaking of Felix, excuse me for a minute. I need to go steal that bottle away from him before he drinks all of it."

"I think Felix had the right idea," Nino hissed as Adrien took off again, wobbling a little in the high heels he had donned. "Drink this out of our memory."

"Nino."

"He couldn't have picked a more cringy dress if he tried," Nino insisted, and Alya sighed again.

"It isn't that bad," she insisted even as the "bride" passed them, waving and nearly tripping over the hem of their outdated dress. "He could have been wearing Mari's short black dress- you know, the one she bought specifically for teasing him because it shows so much skin? That would have been bad."

Nino looked slightly ill. Alya laughed and turned her attention to the friends that were coming up to talk to them. They all looked ridiculous, but their enthusiasm was undeniable. Congratulations poured in from all corners as Alya and Nino visited with their friends and snacked on the mountain of snacks and treats that Rose, Alya's family, and the Dupain-Chengs had provided. It was actually pretty enjoyable, even with the cringe-worthy costumes.

They could deal with the embarrassing friends- they knew exactly what they were doing, the nerds- and they would exact their own revenge on their other classmates as they, too, paired off and got married. It really wasn't anything more than they had done to Kim and Alix.

Alya let herself snort with laughter as she reached for an unopened can of nuts. She'd let this slide, just this once. At least their goofy friends had thought to provide some snacks for them to eat after they finished with their caricature of a wedding-

She popped the lid off and a paper snake shot out, making her scream. Around her, people gasped in surprise- all except one, who wore a very suspicious smirk.

Oh, he was going down.

"KIIIIIIIM!"

Like Scoring the Wedding, this was also based off of something that happened during a wedding in my (extended) family. One of my mom's cousins got married in secret (something about her husband-to-be not wanting an ex-wife to find out), and as a sort of revenge the rest of the family threw a "wedding" and cross-dressed for it. My great-grandma played the role of the minister.

This event was also the first time my dad met the rest of my mom's family. When my dad first met my mom's brother, my uncle was wearing a skirt and a bright yellow wig. I am impressed that he didn't go running for the hills.

[driftwork]

in the rain, difference of couples (3)...

The morning began with blue skies and fair weather cloud, she woke early and thought he was coming home today. She went into the office around ten AM in time for a quick espresso and  meetings, discussions of a two new projects, presented by programme managers and a brief  third meeting with the head of security.  Afterwards she sat on the sofa outside her office and chatted to her PA...

It started to rain in  the the late afternoon.  She was glad she had taken the afternoon off and had ended up working at home,  because the rain was so heavy that after an hour the roads were running with water and the gutters were turbulent streams running down hill. What had seemed like solid bodies, really slow moving fluids, had transformed into fast moving liquids. Water was beginning to cascade into the flower beds in front of the house, the drainage systems  (were) fighting a losing battle against the flow of water/rain. She ate crisps, some fruit and drank tea and waited. (She had long thought  that they had not waited for external forces before deviating from their previous path(s). Deviation had occurred spontaneously,  with no cause and no end, two singularities colliding in a hotel (she smiled at the thought) is the clinamen that would cause her to be standing in the porch many years later looking at the rain and waiting for him to return. An accidental meeting, a week spent together and so years later she was standing here watching the rain, waiting. )

  She hadn't gone to the airport to meet him this time. Earlier in the week on Tuesday morning She had dropped him off at terminal 5 and he'd said that he would take  a taxi home from the terminal taxi rank, rather than have her waste time waiting in the airport for his inevitably delayed flight. She always worried when he was away and she was unable to protect him,  just as he knew that he had to go away on these work trips to protect her, them [...] Rain drops falling through the atmosphere, deviating from their trajectory a little, swerving, just so much as you might call a change of motion. This, she knew were (the) drops falling in space who collided out of need, necessity and desire, me and him,  I and him, fluxions falling together. I am desperate to protect him and them and he is equally desperate to protect us.

The children were back from school now. She stood by the window listening to the familiar noises of the house, dominated at this time by her eldest daughter playing japanese pop upstairs whilst doing her homework, she could hear her younger one playing some  computer game in the library. Even if his flight was on time the earliest he could arrive would be in a few hours time. She felt uncertain and restless and  really didn't understand why. She had a pile of discarded sentences and phrases that she had thought of over the past few days to explain  what had happened, what she was going to start doing. She imagined that he would want some form of explanation, but had none to give. She had never been very good at explaining her actions,  things just happened and even now she never really understood the events. The movement of bodies, events was she thought a liquid model...

An hour or so later,  having made the children something to eat, stir fry with pieces of salmon in mild goju flavored sauce, with thin egg noodles,  she was back in front of the window.  It was still raining, possibly harder than before, it was a real gale now with high winds. Everything was black with rain, cascading down in the light from the LED street lamp, occasionally raindrops merged with other raindrops causing them to become solid and heavy,  whilst other drops split and the separate drops headed in different directions, still cascading through the light from the street lamp  or striking the window. The cars were driving slowly in the rain, The few pedestrians were leaning into the wind to maintain an upright stance.

Her younger daughter wanted pudding, an extra dessert. She gave her some chocolate mousse, hearing this the older daughter emerged from in front of the TV, laughing she gave her some to.  The TV was full of news about the storm, they had given the storm a woman's name, which all the presenters had adopted. Why do they anthropomorphize the weather, she wondered. The south coast was flooding  due to the very high tides, a tsunami running up the channel eastwards. The power was off on some of the coastal towns. Flooding was already happening  in some places to the south. The journalists who were reporting on the events all had heavy waterproofs on and were speaking into specially shielded microphones, still they appeared to be very happy, only getting serious when they spoke about the costs of the damage and the personal injuries.

She looked up the flight details on the net,  she could see that the flight had been delayed by an hour but was now enroute to london. He phoned up as she  was reading this explaining that they were about to take off to fly to london. He told her that he was looking forward to getting home and that he'd grabbed a sandwich to eat whilst waiting to take off.  See you later he said I'll hang up first he said. She realised she hadn’t mentioned what had happened. It was pitch black now, the branches of the tall cherry tree bouncing up and down, back and forth between the house and the street light. There were no cars or people outside now. She had originally thought they might eat together when he got back but it was going to be to late now so that she decided to eat something. She didn't know what to make and  regretted not eating with the kids now. She found some udon noodles, put some water on to cook them and chopped up a part of a red pepper, a similar amount of yellow pepper and some green leaf things,  a handful of king size prawns. a mushroom or two and prepared some sauce with red miso paste. cooked, fried in sesame oil ... She sat and ate at the table chatting with her daughters who came into the room to inspect the food she was eating.  They tried a prawn or two coated in the sauce, taking them from her bowl.

They asked if their japanese aunt was coming to visit over the weekend? I think they are travelling here on the same plane as your dad. Do you have any homework to finish?  No already done it, tomorrow is jeans friday her older daughter said. Is that why I had to wash them all, so you could choose? Yes... And its crisps friday. Her younger daughter said with glee.   Are we going to the dojo tomorrow after school ? Yes, I thought I might stay to watch. After she has eaten she is in the library checking messages from work when Jimmy Ruffin begins to sing "What becomes of a broken heart " - she dances and and becomes aware that her daughter is watching her dance from the doorway.  ("Not exactly mum dancing..." she thinks as her mother flows back into an upright position, and laughs) It was getting late and she she sent them up to prepare for bed.... It was as always a slow and civilized process. Ending with taking a glass of water to her younger childs bedroom and tucking her into bed, chatting about school again, she was asleep ten minutes later. The older child went to bed around 9.30 and she left her reading upstairs. A sign on the door saying no entry in English and Japanese.

Sometime later there was a message on her phone.  The flight had just landed and he would be back in an hour or so, Because they were so late they were being hurried through passport control and customs. And outside  the same rain is there again the perfect representation of declineation, like the drops of rain.  She thought that Heraclitus was wrong to say 'No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.'  For its always the same rain and always the same man. There we have it.

She turned on the TV.  A woman was standing in front of a map explaining where the storm front had come from and the direction it was heading, out across the north sea towards mainland europe. The worst was almost over but there would be high winds and some rain for the rest of the night and the next day. She ignored the rest of the news and comment and turned the TV off. Made a cup of white tea and read a couple of essays on Hegel before going upstairs to go to bed. She fell asleep on the bed the book open beside her, the sidelights still on, Her silk pajama jacket was open exposing the part of the dragon tattoo that ran beneath her breasts and curled round onto her back. She woke to the sound of the taxi, car pulling up in front of the house. She knew it was him, she went downstairs, past her daughters rooms, downstairs to the front door where he was fumbling with his keys and opened the front foor.  He just stood there,  his grey suitcase next to him. she stepped towards him. Put her arms around him and kissed him. A sudden gust of cold wind  blew some rain drops onto them. "Ï am so tired he said..." he said. She pulled him into the house like a flow of liquid, a stream, a cataract, a horizontal gesture of relief and shut the door behind them.

Would you like something to drink ? She asked him. And some thing to eat, he said, the food was terrible on the flight. She made some white tea and gave him some suchi rolls from the fridge.  He told her about the delays, how they'd stayed on the runways in Geneva and in london for ages. waiting for the window in spacetime to clear for them. Nobody knew what was going on, he said.  I was thinking we would be stuck in Geneva all night. At least I had some decent clothes to relax in. She asked if it was raining in Geneva... No he said, down the hill is becoming flooded and some parts of the motorway are beginning to flow with surface water. He told her that the Japanese police were on the flight, an american (businessman ? perhaps not)  had been trying to talk to him until Sik emerged from first class and said hello, suggesting they have a drink as there were some empty spaces. The american looked a little worried. I wondered why... I drank water and juice. Your sister was asleep on the couch looking like royalty. She is royalty. She is  coming round on saturday night. She said.  What does that make Sik? He wondered. In Europe he’s the praetorian boyfriend, i don't know about back there. They drank some vodka, and went upstairs to bed, taking his suitcase upstairs.

She lay on the bed in her silk pyjamas, the buttons beginning to fall open again.  Watching him produce three boxes from his luggage he began talking off his clothes, I told you the buttons were too small on those pyjamas when you bought them... Doesn't matter as only you ever see me in them.  She could feel the fear and concern vanishing probably with the buttons opening she thought.... She told him she was very pleased he was back, and whispered that she loved him  in his ear. He laughed. Happy to be in bed at home.  He was asleep almost immediately after turning off the light. She decided she'd talk to him in the morning about the changes she wanted to make in her life, their lives and  lay in the dark listening to the silence of the house for a few minutes  listening for intruders before falling asleep and dreaming of killing people. Not waiting.

(Whilst the others around them were governed by the  principles of inertia and bodies, the singularities did not wait for external forces before under going a deviation from their path(s). )

[pauperpedia]

Tuesday Brewsday 23: Blisterscape Swarm

Back in article #16 I briefly touched on a Gruul list piloted/created by Matra that utilized Sprout Swarm as a way to create a bunch of tokens. The deck relied more so on synergies and cards like Dynacharge or Might of the Masses to win, and wasn’t a true combo deck. Fast forward to just last December of 2019, and Caleb Gannon unleashed 6 Land Abzan Soul Sisters. This wasn’t what I was trying to build, the elements of what I was trying to do were in there. Now, with the current release of Ikoria, we got a new combo piece card in Blisterspit Gremlin. This feisty Gremlin added a gross amount of redundancy to my version of Matra’s Gruul Sprout Swarm deck making it possible to turn it into a true combo deck. By combining elements from Caleb’s deck, Matra’s deck, and a little help from Zmplfy aka NotGood, I’ve created a truly exciting deck. Allow me to introduce you to Blisterscape Swarm!

4 Sprout Swarm

4 Blisterspit Gremlin

4 Nettle Sentinel

4 Thermo-Alchemist

4 Thunderscape Familiar

4 Land Grant

10 Forest

4 Saruli Caretaker

4 Loam Dryad

1 Llanowar Elves

1 Fyndhorn Elves

2 Elvish Mystic

4 Street Wraith

4 Elvish Visionary

3 Winding Way

3 Lead the Stampede

The main combo centers around Sprout Swarm’s ability to be cast for buyback and convoke. All we need to have on the battlefield are four of our combo creatures to be able to create infinite sprout tokens at instant speed. Even without all four creatures on the battlefield, this deck can easily spit out tokens based on the sheer number of creatures and card draw the deck offers. There are 16 creatures that make up for redundancy which really makes it possible for you to “swarm off”.

Blisterspit Gremlin untaps every time you cast a non-creature spell, but the cool thing about this Gremlin is it’s able to ping your opponent’s life total which helps get around things like Fog effects. Having a creature that does this for one mana is HUGE and helps the deck to go off at anytime from a Lead the Stampede or Winding Way if we have a Sprout Swarm in hand. Another one drop that acts in a similar way is Nettle Sentinel, which untaps if you cast a green spell which plays well with the aforementioned Sprout Swarm. Being a 2/2 doesn’t hurt it either and can help put early game pressure on your opponent, or make them think twice about attacking in.

Thermo-Alchemist is a creature you most often find in burn. With three toughness it makes for an excellent blocker to slow down aggro decks. The ability to ping an opponent for 1 life is nice and helps get around fog effects the same way Blisterspit Gremlin does, but where it really shines is being able to untap after convoking a SS since it’s an instant. Thunderscape Familiar is our other two drop combo piece that helps towards building a ton of tokens or go infinite. Making all our green spells is really sweet too, turning Winding Way into an Ancestral Recall, allowing Elvish Visionary to cantrip, and reducing the cost of Lead the Stampede making it possible to draw a bunch of cards for only two mana. The first strike ability doesn’t come up too often as there aren’t a whole lot of one toughness creatures that will be attacking in, but multiples on the field can make your opponent think twice about getting in for damage.

Just like in almost every single one of Caleb Gannon’s deck, to maximize the value of our draw spells and increase the chances of drawing gas, we are running the least amount of lands possible. Zmplfy, aka NotGood, was the one responsible for coming up with the land to mana dork ratio. Land Grant is there to thin the deck somewhat and give us that marginal edge, but it also shuffles our library if we happen to bottom a Sprout Swarm with Lead the Stampede. I thought it was a good idea to throw in a playset of Khalni Garden as well since it helps out Loam Dryad and Saruli Caretaker. Having a land that comes into play tapped isn’t back breaking or anything, since we’re not really comboing off till turn 4 at the earliest. To make mana with minimal land support it’s essential to run a playset of mana dorks that don’t rely on other creatures like Dryad or Caretaker. In order to dodge the chances of getting hit by echoing truth or decay I like to run two Elvish Mystic, one Llanowar Elves, and one Fyndhorn Elves.

Since Sprout Swarm is our main win condition it’s I thought it was good to have creatures that draw cards themselves. Street Wraith is a necessary evil since we have such a low land count. It’s nice to be able to draw a card at the simple cost of two life, and it can be found off of Winding Way and Lead the Stampede. Elvish Visionary is a decent creature at its base being a 1/1 for two mana that draws you a card, but if you can cast it for one green mana because of a Thunderscape Familiar, it becomes a great creature. The final draw spells in the deck are three Winding Way and three Lead the Stampede. Winding Way is great for its two mana cmc, but it has the chance of putting Sprout Swarm into your graveyard which is a real bummer. Lead the Stampede on the other hand at least puts it on the bottom of your graveyard, but costs one more mana which can be a lot in a deck like this. Combine both of these cards with our Familiar, then they become the best draw spells in the format!

4 Pyroblast

2 Scattershot Archer

3 Weather the Storm

3 Spidersilk Armor

1 Relic of Progenitus

2 Viridian Longbow

There is no worse feeling that having a blue deck counter your Sprout Swarm after all the hard work you spent setting up an infinite token loop. Pyroblast is here to give them a taste of their own medicine, and also give your pingers one last chance at delivering a killing blow if the opportunity arises since the ruling states any spell or creature can be targeted, but the spell only effects blue spells or creatures.

Further sticking it to Delver decks we have two Scattershot Archers. These archers can wreak havoc on all their flyers outside of Spire Golem.

Viridian Longbow also helps in the Delver matchup, however you run the danger of thinning your deck with spells that move your gameplan along by over boarding. Viridian Longbow is here primarily for Tron decks that attempt to lock you out of combat with Stonehorn Dignitary. You can set up a machine gun effect of sorts with Blisterspit Gremlin or Nettle Sentinel and mow your opponent down.

Spidersilk Armor is there when you’re up against any deck that is likely to bring in pseudo board wipes like Shrivel, Pestilence, Electrickery, Krark-Clan Shaman, etc. It also gives your creatures reach which makes it a great card to bring in against Boros variants so you can block their squadron and protect against electrickery at the same time.

Weather the Storm is a fantastic card that you’re going to absolutely bring in against Burn. It’s easy to use your own storm count to cast a big enough Weather the Storm to put your life total out of reach. You can also bring in a couple when you’re up against aggro decks to stall for more rounds while you try and go infinite.

The last on this list is Relic of Progenitus. This is your silver bullet against the new Cycling combo deck. Bringing one in against Tron decks and Mystic Sanctuary decks that gain value from their graveyard.

It may or not be the new hot combo deck, but the ability to create infinite tokens at instant speed is bound to be good. With so much redundancy it’s really easy to create a bunch of tokens, the hard part is finding Sprout Swarm itself. I hope you can “Swarm Off” on your opponents and most of all have a good time doing it. Please visit and like/follow my Facebook page pauperpedia, a fan page dedicated to bringing you links to daily articles, videos, and podcast covering Pauper. You can also email me at Pauperpedia@gmail.com if any of you have submissions as well. Till next time folks, have a happy Brewsday!