#I never paid attention to the numbers and holy cow

[tinalbion]

I posted 850 times in 2022

That's 391 more posts than 2021!

341 posts created (40%)

509 posts reblogged (60%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bisexual-horror-fan

@vigilvntes

@clints-lucky-arrow

@your-mxnd-is-mxne

@vlkyriesgf

I tagged 674 of my posts in 2022

Only 21% of my posts had no tags

#tinalbion speaks - 250 posts

#shut up tina - 77 posts

#adrian chase - 61 posts

#vigilante - 60 posts

#adrian chase thoughts - 59 posts

#juniebugg - 38 posts

#tinalbion writings - 32 posts

#anon speaks - 29 posts

#robert englund - 25 posts

#adrian chase x reader - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 119 characters

#he wouldn't mind you winning but i swear he'd fight tooth and claw to make you think a made up rule is an official rule

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

okay so i got inspired by mitski’s pink in the night “i know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right. can I try again, try again, try again?" cause i can’t go a day w/o making scenarios and thinking abt adrian and this is what i have so far and it’s long whoops

so one of adrian’s coworkers throws a party and he asks the you to be his date. to make it believable he kisses u in front of them but he makes it a little to real and passionate, u not giving the same energy and it never leaves ur head till he drops u off. u invite him inside cause ur both tipsy or something so ur both just rambling on the floor and u ask if that was the first time he kissed someone in a while. u felt bad for not returning the same passion and u just crawl towards him asking if he wants to try again and he’s trying not to lose it as u do so. it’s just a messy/heartfelt confession and soft loving from them

Omg Nat, you have such lovely ideas and I am more than happy to write this, so sorry it took this long for me to get it out but hey, it's here and it's ready! Thank you again for sending this in, I really appreciate it~ I hope you like it!

"Nights In White Satin"

》MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT《

Pairing: Vigilante x GN!Reader Rating: Slightly Explicit; drinking, partying, creep being a creep to the reader, Adrian being a soft boy, soft sex, making out, groping, just all of it Length: 3.6k

362 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

#4

A  R E A L  H E R O | t h r e e

You move to Evergreen for a fresh start, you've inherited your grandparents' place, and then you meet the sweetest guy. But there's a duality to him, something a bit darker. Then you meet Vigilante, a killer anti-hero who just looks out for the safety of Evergreen, but the dangerous side of him appeals to you more than you care to admit.

》MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT《

Pairing: Vigilante x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit; smut (oral female receiving), drinking, cussing, murder, Adrian being a little peeping tom

Length: 8.6k (I am unhinged...)   

p a r t  3  ⎮ f e e l i n g s

See the full post

436 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

#3

A  R E A L  H E R O | f o u r

You move to Evergreen for a fresh start, you’ve inherited your grandparents’ place, and then you meet the sweetest guy. But there’s a duality to him, something a bit darker. Then you meet Vigilante, a killer anti-hero who just looks out for the safety of Evergreen, but the dangerous side of him appeals to you more than you care to admit.

》MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT《

Pairing: Vigilante x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit; smut; blow job, dirty talk, teasing, vaginal sex, praise kink. Fluff, cuddling, comfort, angst, feelings, learning how to shoot, murder threats

Length: 7.8k

p a r t  4  ⎮ n e r v o u s  

439 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

#2

A  R E A L  H E R O | t w o

You move to Evergreen for a fresh start, you've inherited your grandparents' place, and then you meet the sweetest guy. But there's a duality to him, something a bit darker. Then you meet Vigilante, a killer anti-hero who just looks out for the safety of Evergreen, but the dangerous side of him appeals to you more than you care to admit.

》MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT《

Pairing: Vigilante x f!Reader 

Rating: Explicit; smut, drinking, and so much fluff and angst

Length: 7.3k (guys I am SO sorry...) 

p a r t  2   | a f t e r t h o u g h t

594 notes - Posted February 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

A  R E A L  H E R O   |  o n e

A/N: I needed to do this for myself because I HAD to write for my new favorite best boy, Vigilante/ Adrian Chase. He's been on my mind a LOT lately, so I'm using the prompts from this list here. 

➵ “Can I kiss you?”

➵ “You’ve got that look again.” “what look?” “that look when I kiss you. when you get all flustered on me.”

*

*

》MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT《

Pairing: Vigilante x f!Reader - 

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5.6k

p a r t  1   |  a  w a r m  w e l c o m e 

1,069 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[s-creations]

In Sickness, In Health Chapter 5 - Broken Arm

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros             Rating: General Audience             Relationships/Pairings:  José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles     Additional Tags: getting sick, being cared for, mental health, injury, sore throat, common cold, chicken pox, broken bones, whooping cough, taking care of others.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Author’s Note: This chapter is self titled with what's about to happen. But please keep in mind this contains talk of broken bones. If I need to put further tags/warnings on this story, please let me know!

“Dewey, I’m serious, get down!” Huey frantically called.

 “Sorry, can’t hear you. Too high up and doing amazing!” Dewey called back as he reached for the next level of branches. 

 “Dewey!” 

 “Let it go dude,” Louie commented as he scrolled through his phone. Leaning up against the same tree that Dewey was currently climbing. “You’re not getting him down from there. Just let nature take its course.”

 While Huey glared at Louie, Dewey was continuing his trek up the tall tree. Humming his theme song (version 236) while he reached for another branch. His plan for the day was to reach the top of the tallest tree in the backyard so he could see across the bay. To hopefully see across it, maybe even see the entire world and what it had to offer. Maybe he could even find some place interesting enough to visit! Some place close!

 Ah, he was so eager! He couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the world looked like. Entire body shaking with eagerness, Dewey moved a bit too quickly...

 He lost his footing first. Webbed foot slipped and Dewey quickly reached out to try and grab something for support. Only for his hand to grab at air. The branch just a bit too far out of reach. 

 It was as if time stood still for a moment. Dewey got a brief thought of ‘Huh...maybe this wasn’t the best idea.’ before he began to properly fall. It was strangely exhilarating to hear the wind rushing around him. Sort of like flying. Except the opposite. Because he was, in fact, falling. So this was worse.

 Dewey hit the ground hard, Huey shrieking while Louie let out a cry of ‘Holy Cow!’ as they rushed over. The triplet dressed in blue sat up slowly. Looking around, dazed, but otherwise felt fine. 

 “What were you thinking! You could have been killed!” Huey huffed. Fear being replaced by anger as he glared down at his brother.

 “I was thinking how cool it would be to see the view from the top of that tree. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be for the moment. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow-”

 Dewey let out a yelp of pain when he tried to put weight on his arm. Pain shooting through it, the duckling swearing he was about to pass out from it. Taking a deep breath to keep himself awake, Dewey looked down at said arm. Which was clearly broken. Sticking out at a weird angle, but nothing else seemed ‘wrong’.

 “I broke my arm.”

 “WHAT?”

 “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Check it.” Dewey casually commented holding up the mentioned limb. Louie looked close to vomiting while Huey turned very pale. 

 “Oh… Okay. Um, Louie, can you get Uncle Donald?” The youngest triplet nodded and dashed back towards the house, happy to not see the arm. Huey, on his part, bent down to examine the damage as best he could. “Ah...so… I don’t think I’m supposed to touch it. But it looks so bad!”

 “Dude, it doesn’t hurt. Just breathe and leave it alone.” Truth be told, Dewey wasn’t really sure why he wasn’t panicking. Maybe it was because everyone else was already freaking out. But, it was probably the fact that, since it didn’t hurt, Dewey wasn’t too worried.

 “Dewey!” 

 Ah, someone else to worry about him.

 “Hi Uncle Donald!” Dewey beamed while being faced with a panicked duck. 

 Donald looked prepared to start pulling out his feathers in panic. “Okay, okay, Dewey, how are you feeling?”

 “Pretty good, all things considered.”

 “Okay, can you walk? We need to get you to the car.” 

 “Sure...I’ll just need help getting up.”

 Dewey was more than patient as the rest of the family rushed around him. Helping him into the car, getting the seatbelt on, making sure he was okay before they set off. A quick trip to the emergency room later and Dewey now had a sweet cast and a story to share with his other two uncles. 

 “This is so cool! Benny had one of his arms in a cast too and he got people to sign it. Do you think I could do that too?” Dewey looked up at Donald, freehand knocking on the hardened plaster. 

 “Of course. You can start carrying some sharpies when you’re at school. Just as long as you don't make everything messy and you don’t distract the class.” Donald commented, finally relaxed now that everything was taken care of.

 At first, Dewey was honestly thrilled to have his cast. It was like getting a fancy new piece of armor in a video game. Wanting to constantly show it off. Happily retelling his adventure with so much gusto to whomever would hear him. It was great. 

 Until it wasn’t.

 The first issue was how uncomfortable the cast was becoming. It was heavy and clunky. He couldn’t sleep because the cast was just dead weight. His arm started becoming both itchy and sweaty. Hot and bothersome with no solution as to how it was supposed to be fixed. 

 The second issue was that there was no one else to tell the story to. All his classmates knew. All his neighbors knew. And, even if his uncles would listen to him, Dewey knew they were becoming bored by the story. The once great armor was now dragging him down. 

 The last issue was that he couldn’t do anything. Uncle Donald made it clear that Dewey wasn’t going to do anything with the cast on. Not that the duckling paid that warning too much attention. Until he realized that the cast was preventing Dewey from, quite literally, doing anything. He couldn’t grab anything. Couldn’t put pressure on it in any way. Hold anything. It was basically a useless arm. 

 “At least you have some time to work on your homework.” Huey offered weakly. Which was only met with an unamused glare. 

 Dewey was becoming so bored. 

 He was currently situated on the sofa during one afternoon. Eyes barely open, barely focused, as he ‘watched’ the television. Dewey wasn’t fully taken in what he was looking at. He was also pretty sure there was a string of drool sliding out from the side of his mouth.

 “Well, don’t you look charming.”

 Dewey merely rolled his head to the side to look over towards Donald. “Hello…”

 “Hello to you too.” The older duck walked over, claiming an empty seat next to the blue dressed triplet. “I see you’ve moved your pity party from the bedroom to the living room.”

 “Not pity.” Dewey weakly argued back.

 “No? Then what are you doing?”

 “Bored?”

 “Ah, I see. Nothing like being sad for yourself.”

 “There’s nothing I can to with my stupid arm is it’s stupid cast.” Dewey huffed weakly. 

 “You’ve done nothing but watch t.v. since you’ve gotten that cast. Why don’t you try doing something new?”

 “Broken arm, can’t do anything.”

 Donald rolled his eyes. “You’re not in a full body cast, you can still move. And your dominant hand is still ‘free’. I don’t mean trying to climb something new. Why not find a new hobby? Read a book, go take a walk, something.”

 “All sounds boring.”

 Letting out a slow breath, Donald took a new approach. “Well, I have something you might be interested in.”

 “Doubt it.” Even with a heavy sigh of boredom, Dewey still followed his uncle.

 They entered a small side room at the back of the house. One filled with mainly boxes and other unneeded odds and ends. They passed the stacked boxes, going towards the sole window. Where an artist easel had been set up. Paints and other tools cluttering a small rolling cart that had been pushed against the wall. 

 “What is this?” Dewey asked as he looked over the pile of paint tubes. 

 “My get away, if you will. When I want a break from everything, I come here and just paint. Just...put on some music and paint.”

 “I’ve never seen you paint before…”

 “Well, I did just start,” Donald commented, taking a seat in front of the easel. “I was told it would help me relax.”

 “So, are you telling me to start painting?” Dewey asked. 

 “Sort of.” Reaching into a large bag that was propped up against the wall as well, Donald pulled out two items. A small sketchbook and a mechanical pencil. “You have an active imagination. Why don’t you try giving your words some pictures?”

 Dewey was skeptical at first. When starting, it was frustrating. Nothing was looking right and it was maddening to try and figure out what something was supposed to look like. Seeing it in his head to transfer it onto paper was difficult. 

 Tio José swooped in to save the day. When Dewey crumpled up another failure. The parrot was more than happy to give his expertise on how to start off a drawing. Getting the basic shapes, proportions, how to look at the whole and the parts of an object, how drawing from real life can help draw from the imagination. After that, there was no stopping him.

 Even with the cast on, it didn’t stop him. If anything Dewey started using it as a weight to keep the loose paper still. The rest of the recovery melted away. The blue cladded duckling happily returned to school with a fully healed arm and a number of handcrafted books to share. 

[openheart12]

Hi, yes, hello beautiful! Can you write a fic where MC accidentally sends Ethan her entire fanfic folder by mistake 😂🤣

How To Get Away With Fanfiction

I’m reliving my embarrassment 😭 but it is done and idk wtf happened with this lmao. This is also to make up for earlier kmjhygfd

Only tagging @ao719 @oofchoices @loveellamae @burnsoslow because no one else should have to read this unless they click on the read more and if they do... god bless. And thank you to Maroe for helping me come up with some of these ideas!

It had been a long day at work when Dr. Gertrude-Sue Claws made her way home to do the one thing that relaxed her; writing fanfiction.

She had thought of the perfect idea for Spirit and Rainbow Dash and her fingers flew across the keyboard.

There was something about the multi colors in his mane and tail that drew him to her. He lived by the phrase, “hump ‘em and dump ‘em,” which he planned on doing with Rainbow Dash, but not without consent because horse jail wasn’t fun. He had heard the horror stories from his human friends, Kurns and Bryce.

“Rainbow Dash,” he neighed.

“Spirit…” She neighed back in response, she knew all about his...extracurricular activities. He was the biggest fuck horse out of the herd. Ever since Rain had died from drowning, god bless, he hadn’t been the same. It was also why he paid more attention to Rainbow Dash because she had Rain in the first part of her name.

“Let’s do this,” he smirked with his horse mouth.

“Fine…” She turned her back to him as he reared on his hind legs and mounted her, letting out a series of neighs.

She laughed silently to herself before moving on her Owen Hunt fic and she knew how much she was going to enjoy this one especially.

Owen was walking through the halls when he saw five women stalking towards him like cats, one even had whiskers drawn on her face. “Anitah with the h, get him!” He heard one of them command and watched as she came up to him, kicking him in no man's land. He felt them drag him into an empty exam room.

“MAROE! You got the chainsaw?”

“Nah bruh, Bears and Rams were in charge of that,” she explained.

Anything but Krista, cocked her half shaved eyebrow at Burns and Ella. “Y’all got the chainsaw?”

“No, but I have the cream for the burn I’m about to inflict,” Burns snickered to herself at her own joke, the others joining in before getting back to business.

“Burns, Ella, go scope out the cafeteria for some good food because I can’t kill in good faith on an empty stomach and as me and Ella say, we always get food first,” Anything but Krista said, turning her attention to the two people left, throwing them both a knife. Then proceeded to stab Owen numerous times, but making sure not to hit any major organs yet.

“We need a blender,” Anitah with the h announced.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Anything but Krista and MAROE said at the same time, looking at each other and bursting into laughter at the jinx.

“If that was making a human smoothie, then yes. We’ll show him that no one messes with Derek Christopher Shepherd,” Anitah with the h said smugly, pulling a blender out from behind her back and plugging it into the wall.

“You...you pulled that out of your jacket?” MAROE asked in a surprising tone.

“Y’all don’t keep blenders in yours?” Anitah with the h asked as if that wasn’t common, but it was good to know that she was always prepared.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie came to life, “Team Bears/Rams to Team CA, what y’all want from here? Over and out.”

“Team CA to Team Bears/Rams, we want CookOut. Over and out.” Anything but Krista responded. “It’s about time y’all tried a little piece of heaven,” she looked at Anitah with the h and MAROE.

“That’s a negative ghost rider, the closest CookOut is on the other side of the country. Over and out.”

“Well you better get on your way because you two also need to try a little piece of heaven, we’ll save the good stuff for when you get back. Over and out.” The trio resumed their slice and dice game, taking a short break to play Choices because the latest chapter of The Nanny Affair had just been released and even Owen wasn’t going to keep them away from Sam Dalton.

A couple hours later, Burns and Ella arrived with the food, handing out their respective trays to their respective orderers, they were able to keep the milkshakes from melting by their cold hearts.

“Ahhh gimme my milkshake,” Anything but Krista snatched it from Burns’ hand, earning a slap on her hand from her adoptive mother and a threat of taking away her pony...again.

“Yooo this shake hits different,” Ella exclaimed.

“You could even say that it slaps,” MAROE added making her squeak.

“It’s the one good thing North Carolina has to offer for me,” Anything but Krista chimed in, fist bumping Anitah with the h because the struggle was real. The cows really did outnumber the people, they just hoped that there wouldn’t be a cow revolution because that would be awful except the yeehaw folk would probably survive since they did have a song called “A Country Boy Can Survive.” 

“Burns, we left you the honor of picking the perfect weather for us to dispose of the body which is more like liquid at this point. We need rain, thunder, and lightning to erase all of the evidence. Watching “Forensic Files” has finally come in handy. And Ella, we need you to pretend to be a nurse or something to help us get out of here. I’ll be honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead…” Anything but Krista admitted, but they expected that from her so they already had a plan in place.

“If anyone happens to see Derek Shepherd, I ask that you tell me,” MAROE added.

“Not if I find him first,” Anything but Krista said.

“He’s like fifty four years old…” Burns said being ever the good adoptive mother.

“Then I call Spencer Reid!” Anything but Krista exclaimed.

“I have Lucifer then,” MAROE challenged knowing that would get under her skin. 

“Children, calm yourselves.” Burns shook her head.

“Hey, I’ll be eighteen in like a number amount of months,” Anything but Krista said.

“I’ll be eighteen before you,” MAROE said, sticking out her tongue.

“I’Ll Be EiGhTeEn BeFoRe YoU,” she repeated, placing her hands on her hips and doing that Spongebob meme. After thinking of a better comeback, she grabbed her knife she used on Owen earlier and plunged it into MAROE’s back.

“Et tu, Brute?” MAROE said with shock in her voice before her body crumpled on the ground.

“Yes, bye bitch.”

The other three just stared as the blood drained from her body before turning their attention to Anything but Krista. They were the epitome of 👁👄👁.

“What? She wanted to “due” anyway. And at her funeral we can play “To Be So Lonely” because well she will be lol.”

“Anywaysss, we gonna get food or what?” Ella asked as she covered Owen’s body with a sheet.

“Wings?” Burns suggested and they all agreed. After arriving at the restaurant, they were very shocked to see MAROE sitting at a table waiting for them.

“It’s the trying to kill me for me,” she said upon taking their seats, glaring at Anything But Krista specifically.

“It’s the stealing my fictional husbands for me,” she retaliated.

“It’s the acting like children for me,” Burns' authoritative voice came.

“Sorry,” they both murmured as they looked over the menus to order their food. The rest of their lunch going smoothly, their victims already forgotten about. Don’t mess with hangry chicks who hate Owent Cunt.

“So who’s next?” Anitah with the h asked.

“Ahh you’ve gotten the first taste of blood and now you’re addicted,” Burns observed. She would make for a good profiler for the FBI at Quantico. She would have a cool nickname; Cunt Punter.

“Why not just kill everyone we hate?” Ella questioned.

“That’s a great idea! I say we kill Guy and Vanessa,” Anything but Krista suggested.

“And Landrat!” MAROE added, the whole group agreeing, finishing their lunch before getting to their killing spree.

Gertrude-Sue was laughing at her made up characters and story when she received an email from Ethonk Remy to send him a folder that she had. Goggle Drive was acting stupid so she didn’t realize that she had shared her fanfiction folder with her boss before it was too late. She saw a little giraffe pop up in the right hand corner telling her that he was already viewing what was inside the folder.

“Holy donkey claws,” she cried out loud, smacking her hands against her face.

Meanwhile, Ethonk was going through her folder when he came across a document and his eyes went wide. “What are they doing with the dog?” He said to himself.

Wonder pets, wonder pets

We're on our way

To help a friend and save the day

We're not too big

And we're not too tough

But when we work together, we've got the right stuff

Gooo wonder pets yaaaaay!

The phone

The phone is ringing

The phone

We'll be right there

The phone

The phone is ringing

There's an animal in trouble

There's an animal in trouble

There's an animal in trouble somewhere

“What the hell are Wonder Pets?” He continued inspecting the different documents ranging from murder of one Owen Cunt, horses having sexual intercourse, Wonder Pets stuff, four kids and a dog where they did questionable things with each other, a sponge and a starfish were high on marijuana, a game where Gertrude-Sue had made him and her a family that looked way too realistic for his liking, two bunnies who kept hopping around with one of their little brothers, and multiple documents about Matthew Gray Gubler, Tom Holland, Tom Ellis, Patrick Dempsey, and Harry Styles which were all quite disturbing.

He took out his phone to call her. “Hey uh, Gert, what is this?”

“Oh well you see, the funny thing is that I accidentally sent you the wrong folder so if you could just pretend like this never happened, that would be fantastic. Okay thanks bye. I’m sending you the right one this time.” And she hung up, ready to throw herself off a cliff at her stupidity.

One thing was for sure, she would never make this mistake again.

[brieannakeogh]

Give a Bow- Chapter 10

**Second time posting this, just reuploading**

Ok 18+ b/c of Smut in this chapter. Never written smut before, and I don’t count that veiled attempt in Broken either. It’s still not super dirty but yeah. Go away kiddies. Only warning is smut.

Sebastian Stan x plus sized reader

Summery: You move to NYC and finally get your first job as an actor on...well, off Broadway, far off Broadway. You are surprised to learn one of your favorite actors is in the same show. 

Previous Chapter / Master List

Stepping out of the subway tunnel in Manhattan, Sebastian quickly hailed a cab. He was anxious to get back to his apartment. The subway car you two were on wasn’t very crowded for the middle of a night on a weekday, and you had been teasing him the whole way, just enough to get him wanting more before pulling away. He was becoming desperate for a private room with a door that locked, until he heard your stomach grumble in the cab.

Upon hearing the noise you removed your arm around his to wrap around your middle, embarrassment colored your cheeks. “Sorry, I hadn’t eaten dinner yet. I was just going to have Sal make something for me and take it home. I would have gone ahead and eaten if I had known you were coming.” Guilty look on your face.

Sebastian runs a hand down his face, willing the blood back to his brain to think better. “Ok, there is a great little late night place by my apartment that we can get something to go and take it back to my place.” Not liking the distance between you now, he pull you closer to his side and you rest your cheek on his chest, as he tells the driver the modified directions to the restaurant.

When the cab stops in front of the place, you weren’t sure exactly what you were expecting, but the upscale restaurant that Sebastian was leading you to wasn’t it. Walking in you can tell the waitstaff recognize him, but not just because of his celebrity status, he apparently was a regular.

“Hey Sebastian,” The brunette greeted him. “Hadn’t seen you in a while. Is it two tonight?” She glances around him to you standing a couple of steps behind.

He looks over his shoulder and takes your hand pulling you up beside him, arm around your waist. “Not tonight Brittany, my girl hasn’t had dinner yet so I’m just going to get her something to go and taking it back to my place.” He smiles down at you.

“Not a problem!” She riffles through her hostess podium producing a menu. “Here you go ma’am. You two can sit over there while you decide. Just let me know when you are ready to order.” She addresses you.

Sebastians says a quick thanks and you go sit at the table indicated. Opening the menu, your eyes pop at the prices. “Sebastian,” you hiss at him. “We can just get a $1 pizza slice somewhere, I don’t need all this.”

He frowns. “Why? Don’t you see anything you like? It’s one of my favorite places, I was hoping you would like it too.”

“That’s not the issue. It all sounds great, but I can’t spend this on a quick dinner.” You argue.

“Number one, I asked you out so I expected to pay. Number two, if I didn’t go to Sal’s, this is what I would have eaten, and I didn’t even pay at Sal’s because of the incident so you’ll have to pay him back for me. It’s all even.” He smirks.

“Ok, ok, I get it.” You relent. “It does look good.” You say quietly, biting your lip.

He looks over the top of the menu pointing out a few of his favorite dishes. You end up going with the one he brought to your attention first, getting up and going to tell Brittnay your order. It’s not a long wait before someone comes out, loaded with tiny boxes. It was apparently some assembly required.

Sebastian paid for the food and took the bag from you as you walked the two blocks to his apartment building. Saying hello to Rodney, you and Seb went up to his floor and into his place. He sat the food on the kitchen bar, taking out the boxes while you grabbed a plate from the cabinet. He plated up the food, pouring sauces, and there was even a garnish in the box that he put on the plate.

“Voila!” He sat the plate in front of one of the bar stools and pulled it out for you.

“Thank you.” You say as you sit down, hopping a little to get up the high bar stool. “It’s like you’ve done that before.”

He chuckles at you. “Yeah, one or two times. I’ve gone there quite a bit and you picked my favorite thing on the menu.” He sat beside you in another stool.

“Holy cow!” You exclaim after taking a bite. “Slap my ass and call me Sally, that’s good!”

“Slap your what now?” He says laughing, his confusion on his face making you laugh so hard you almost choke on your food.

“It’s just a southern expression.” You reply once you get your breath back, still chuckling. “I thought you would like it.” Winking at him.

“Just finish your food.” He shakes his head at you as he walks to the fridge to grab a water. Passing it to you when he comes back.

“This is really good, but I’m stuffed. I don’t think I can finish all this.” Patting your stomach. He takes the plate from you.

“It’s not great left over so I’ll finish it off.” He smirks at you.

“You just wanted an excuse to eat my food.”

“Revenge for my bacon.” He scrapes the last of it off the plate and stuffing his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” Getting up to take the empty plate and fork, rinsing them off at the sink. “Wow, I can’t believe how late it is.” Looking at the clock. “I don’t want to go to bed yet until my stomach settles.”

“I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time.” He says as he comes around the bar, hands settling on your hips, pressing you to the counter, front flush against yours.

“Hmmm, what about scrabble.” You tease as your arms make their way around his neck.

“Don’t have scrabble. I wouldn’t say no to a version of twister though.” He leans down and captures your lips. Hands sliding up to the waistband of your pants, thumbs running under your shirt, teasing the bit of skin he finds there. He pulls you closer by the belt loops, so you can feel the reaction he has to you. A soft moan escapes when you feel him pressed against you. He takes the opportunity to dive deeper into the kiss, tasting you. Hands exploring up under your shirt, running along your soft sides, one hand splayed on your back. Your hands in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He lets out a moan of his own and pulls you away from the counter, backpedaling towards the hall and his bedroom. By the time you’ve hit the door, his hand has found the clasp of your bra, using a flick of the wrist it’s undone and just your shirt covers you from his eyes, but his hands are already on you. You reach for his belt, tugging and pulling until it’s off and thrown somewhere at the foot of the bed. Stumbling a bit as your knees hit the bed’s edge, he grabs you to keep you from falling and it’s like the first time he had pulled you close. You look up into his blue eyes, crinkles around the edges from the smile he wears, you know he is thinking the same. The look he gives you and the chuckle quickly turn dark as he bends to grab under your knees, effectively making you fall back in the middle of the bed with a yelp.

“You made me fall.” You complain with a pout.

“I told you, you would.” He winks at you, tugging his shirt over his head. You lose concentration when his bare chest comes into view. “My eyes are up here.” He smirks.

“I could say the same.” You counter, noticing his gaze moving to your breasts, nipples poking out of the thin top you’re still wearing.

He crawls on the bed, hovering over you, moving one hand down to pull the hem of your shirt up, finally about to see what he has been fondling all night. “Wait, Seb.” You put a hand to his chest.

He sits up a bit on his heels. “Am I going to fast?” He questions, concern in his eyes.

You look away. “No, it’s not that. I just….I don’t want you to be disappointed.” Biting your lip you look back to him.

His brows are furrowed until a look of realization comes over his features. Reaching out he pulls your lip from your teeth. “What did I tell you? Hmmm?”

“That if you couldn’t have it, I couldn’t either?” You reply

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. That this….” He waves a hand over your body, ending at your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “....is beautiful. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, even me.” He leans down, hand resting on your cheek to present you with the most searing kiss you’ve ever had. It reaches into your soul and opens a space deep within you, filling you with warmth. This time when he reaches to remove your shirt you don’t stop him. He worships every inch of exposed skin, pulling your loose bra over your arms. His fingers going down the waistband of your pants as you tug open the button and zipper of his own. His hands find your heat and all you can think is this man is magic, you’ve barely started and already you are right on the edge.

“Please, Sebastian.” You whine into his mouth, weakly trying to push his pants down and hold back your bliss. He pulls back to search your eyes, and smirks when he sees the desperation there. Removing his hand completely he stands and sheds the last bit of clothing he has left, reaching for your legs he pulls you to the edge of the bed so he can get your pants undone, ripping them down in one go.

You barely notice that you are naked in front of him as your eyes hadn’t left purple tipped, leaking member between his legs. It doesn’t falter or waver as you expose yourself more, only growing impossibly harder. A surge of confidence at the thought it’s all for you. That you were the one making him like this. Sitting up before he can move back onto the bed, your hands go over his hips, looking up to his eyes as your tongue swipes up from base to tip. The sinful groan he releases makes you shutter. Taking him in fully, he settles his hand in your hair, carding through it as his head goes back, eyes closing, more pants spur you on, before he’s gripping your hair and tugging you off. “Baby, ya got to stop. Can’t take that tonight, you’ve had me riled up for an hour.”

“Next time.” You say as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. A growl is heard above you, before his knees come into view, pressing on the bed as he pushes you to lay back. He fits into your open and willing legs, teasing you and slicking himself up, leaning down on one elbow, hand going to the back of your head to pull you in for another searing kiss, he seats himself full into you.

“Ah, fuck!” He moans as he comes up for air. “How long has it been baby? You’re so tight.” He groans into your ear, as his hand moves down to your hip, pulling your leg around him to change the angle, thrusting slowing for himself and you.

“Never like this.” You pant out, brain turned to mush.

He stills and jerks his head up. “Never?!” Jaw falling open.

“Not what I meant.” You laugh. “Just not this good, and not your size.” The flush on your face growing darker, as you look away embarrassed.

You look back up when you hear his laugh and see the light in his eyes. “Glad to hear it.” He says before he gives you a sweet quick kiss to the lips, moving to pepper them all over your face before moving on to your neck, finding the sensitive spot he knows you love. Testing the waters with shallow strokes, he soon finds an unforgiving pace that has you both tumbling quicker and quicker to your release. He sits up on his knees, holding your legs over his shoulders as a hand makes it’s way between you, to find that little button to make you soar. You’re shouting his name and seeing stars as he works you over the edge. Once you’re over he falls back down, pressing you against him with his head in your neck, rutting against you, chasing his own release with your name on his lips. You’re both coming back down from you high, you kiss every bit of skin you can find, shoulder, arm, neck. He repays in kind once he catches his breath, leaving kisses and nips on your neck, not caring if another mark is left.

He settles his weight on you, as he wraps his arms under your body, holding you close, still intimately connected. “Hmmm, I could go to sleep right here.” He breaths into your ear.

“While that would be lovely, I think we need to clean up.” You tell him, patting him on the back, indicating he should get up. The excess weight not bothering you now, but will soon be uncomfortable.

Groaning he pushes himself up, pecking you on the lips one last time, before removing himself completely from your body, hissing on the way out. You sit up from the bed and take the hand offered to you, helping you up. In the bathroom, you both do the necessary clean up before going back to the room and settling in the bed. He’s on his back with your cheek on his chest, arm and leg thrown over him as he gets the covers up and pulls them over the both of you.

“Ya know? I never did get to try the guest bed.” You comment.

“Maybe we can break that in tomorrow? I did promise after all.” He says kissing the hair at the top of your head. “But now get some sleep, we have practice in the morning.”

You hum your approval and are quickly pulled under.

Next Chapter

So yeah it’s short, it took me forever to write this, b/c I was so scared to write smut. Please let me know if I shouldn’t ever do that again lol. **Future me comes in...Yeah I write a good bit of smut now...heh.**

NO TAGS AS IT IS A REPOST

[wishingforatypewriter]

Committed to Conflict

Summary: Part eight of On Casual Commitments. The friends reunite and  much Aldini drama ensues. 

“I have to get back to the restaurant, you guys,” Erina groaned, even as Ikumi called room service to bring up more drinks and brunch foods. 

It was mid-morning and they were sitting on the balcony of Hisako’s penthouse suite at the Hayatt, all but Alice sipping red sangria. There were only three days left before the pre-opening of Canvas, and the squad had descended upon the Bay Area early to surprise—and thoroughly distract—Erina. 

“Let Yukihira handle it for now,” Alice said with a dismissive wave. “You know he’s just gonna disappear on you when Ryo and the others arrive.” 

Erina pursed her lips at this, annoyed with him in advance. “I suppose that is true.” 

“Of course it is. Now, rotate your wrist, Hishoko,” Alice ordered as she held the pink haired woman’s left hand up to the sun. Ikumi and Erina leaned forward to better observe the near-blinding light that reflected off the central stone. 

“Holy shit!” Ikumi said, before bringing Hisako’s hand down to eye-level so she could further inspect it. “This has gotta be worth $15,000 US at least.” 

“Twenty,” Erina said as she eyed it.

Alice, who had been there when Akira bought the ring, revealed a small smirk and casually pointed her index finger skyward. “Higher.” 

“I don’t want to know,” Hisako sighed. As soon as she saw the robin egg blue box, she knew that he had done something crazy. 

The ring was too much, too showy, too grand—three Tiffany Classic diamonds on a platinum band. Hisako would have never chosen something so extravagant on her own, but she endured the constant oohs and ahhs and holy shits of her friends, sous chefs, and students because she knew how much it meant to him to be able to spend inordinate amounts of money on her (and truth be told, the bling was starting to grow on her). 

“For the amount of time he made you wait, it needed to be something spectacular,” Erina said as she swirled her drink around. 

“If that’s the case, you must be expecting a whole mine full of diamonds,” said Ikumi who had at some point swapped out her sangria for a flask of rum.

Erina chafed at the comment for a moment. If Alice had said it, she would have snapped, but she was glad to have grown close enough to Ikumi to experience the full extent of her sass. 

“I haven’t been waiting for that long,” she said petulantly. In the most technical sense, he had only been her boyfriend—it was still so weird to think about—for two and a half weeks. 

“You haven’t been dating for that long,” Alice corrected. “You’ve been in love with Yukihira since you were seventeen.” 

“That’s not...” Erina paused, the denial of a lifetime poised at her lips when she recalled half-drunk card games in the Elite Ten’s parliamentary office, sneaking off into the city to visit a new pop-up restaurant and leaving Hayama with all the paperwork, sitting on kitchen countertops taste-testing whatever madness he had come up with this or that time.

She remembered his dish for BLUE, the one that brought him to the world’s stage, the one finally made her give in and admit that his cooking made her see stars. She remembered going over the ingredients in her head that night before bed—the seafood, fresh legumes, and sun-dried tomatoes, the subtle hints of honey that permeated the sauce—tears welling in her eyes with the knowledge that the dish that won her had been for someone else. 

Erina heaved a long sigh and finished off her drink. In truth, part of her must have been waiting for Yukihira Souma since the day she met him. Maybe even before then. 

“New topic,” Hisako said, reading her expression. She pulled out a thick bridal magazine, annotated with countless blue post-it notes. “What am I doing with my hair for the wedding?” 

Megumi knew that they shouldn’t have left Tuscany until the latest possible moment, and she had said as much. But still, out of brotherly love and an undying urge to prove he was okay with his twin’s marriage to his ex-girlfriend, her husband had agreed to spend a week at Isami and Ikumi’s place out in the Napa Valley before the pre-open. 

When they first arrived, Ikumi had been sipping champagne in the hot tub, wearing a black monokini and eating strawberries off of a glass dish. Isami had been lounging in a beach chair, emailing the increasing number of restaurant managers interested in serving his Cabernet Sauvignon. 

Although he was polite and tried—most times unsuccessfully—to keep an open mind, Takumi’s emotions always showed on his face. Megumi knew at once that he didn’t quite approve of their excessive display of wealth—the vast swimming pool out front and the his and hers Lamborghinis parked in a garage entirely too big for the sleek sports cars. 

“Not even Erina and Yukihira are this ridiculous,” he had whispered to her on their first night in a guest bedroom bigger than their master at home. 

Megumi chucked a bit at this. “Let them be,” she said. “You know Isami-kun and Ikumi-san have always been a bit um...eccentric.” 

That was a wild understatement, she knew. The two had gotten married in New Zealand, in secret ceremony, without the blessing of nonna Aldini or the acknowledgement of the Catholic church. To this day, she knew Takumi resented that he wasn’t present for his brother’s wedding, even though Isami’s pursuit of Ikumi had almost put an end to the brothers’ friendship. 

Things were much better between them now, of course. The brothers Aldini were two halves of the moon; they could never remain at odds for long. But still, Takumi did wait until Ikumi had left to day-drink with Erina and the gang to make his request.

“Isami, I need you to take over the trattoria,” he said, while they were in the kitchen free-styling dinner. “The baby’s due in March and we want to spend the first year in Tokyo to make things easier for Megumi with her job.” 

“I wish I could help you, nii-chan,” Isami replied, with a truly regretful look in his deep blue eyes. He held his glass of wine up to more closely inspect the quality. “But we just finished buying a cattle ranch down in Texas. The Mito Group wants to try something new with the cows they’re breeding. We’re gonna be splitting our time between here and there for the next few years.” 

“Fratello,” Takumi said. “I know that you’re enjoying this...” The blond paused, grasping for the right word. “This lifestyle. But Trattoria Aldini is the family business. Dad’s getting older. He can’t do it alone.”

“The Mito Company is also my family’s business,” Isami reminded him. “And my wife is going to be the CEO soon. I belong in the states with her, at least for now. If you want to hire another sous chef I’ll pay for it—” 

“No one is asking for your money, Isami.” The words came out harsher than Takumi intended, but he still meant them. 

“Nobody said you were, nii-chan.” He swirled the wine in his cup, sipped it. “But it’s here if you need it.”

They let it hang between them for a moment, the geographic distance and their divergent priorities, and also that which was known by both brothers but remained unsaid. 

The older Aldinis, especially their father and grandparents, had never exactly approved of Ikumi—not when she was Takumi’s tough-as-nails high school girlfriend, and especially not after she moved on to the other brother. Isami hadn’t been on speaking terms with their father since a particularly colorful argument a few weeks before the wedding. The dark haired twin had made it clear that he would cut off anyone who disrespected her. 

“You won’t even consider returning to Italy.” 

“I won’t,” he replied. 

 Another crack in the mezzaluna. 

When Erina was finished with her day-drinking and wedding planning, she found that the upperclassmen had descended upon Canvas. 

Souma was holding court as always, somehow managing to entertain them while moving tables and decor into the main dining room. 

“How does one do that?” Tsukasa Eishi asked her as he watched Souma banter with his wife. 

“Do what?” 

“Extraversion.” 

Erina laughed a little at this before following his gaze. 

Her eyes narrowed as she watched Rindou sitting on the bar table, one mile-long leg crossed over the other. The red haired woman pulled a cigarette out of her purse, stuck it between her lips and had Souma light it. 

“I hate that she does that,” the former first seat said, half to Erina and half to himself. She wasn’t sure if he was referring to the tobacco or the flirting. 

“Tell your wife to stop smoking in my restaurant,” she said, only partly joking. 

“Tell your boyfriend to stop charming my wife,” Tsukasa countered in the same tone. 

Erina only gave a noncommittal shrug in response. Souma could charm the paint off the walls when he got in a certain mood, but he never meant anything by it. Rindou probably didn’t either. But still...

“I can’t believe those two used to sleep together.” It was during that hazy period between when he broke up with Tadokoro and when he started fooling around with her. Erina hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time because her attention had been elsewhere. 

Eishi shot her a sidelong glance.  

“What?” she asked. 

“You dated Saito.”

“Casually,” she stressed, deciding that she would need another drink soon. “Besides, he didn’t last long.” 

There was a pregnant pause, and then both of them started laughing hysterically. When Erina looked up, Kinokuni Nene was shaking her head at them. 

“I expected better from the two of you,” she said. “Can’t believe Satoshi made me leave our son with the sitter for this.” 

Suddenly Eishi blanched and started fiddling with his cell phone. “The sitter! What if she forgot to feed the baby, or if he got lost and she’s too afraid to tell me. Or what if he got sick; summer colds are a thing, you know and...” 

At this point, Erina knew that he wouldn’t be good for any more conversation for the next few hours. 

“You really are all parents now,” she said, thinking also of Alice’s pregnancy, and Megumi’s, and the fact that Hisako had always wanted children. 

“Has baby fever finally gotten to you, Nakiri-san?” asked Isshiki who had miraculously appeared at his wife’s side. He glanced suggestively at Souma and then winked at Erina. “He’s good with kids, you know.”

“Extremely good,” said Kuga, virtually coming out of nowhere. “I tried to hire Yukihira-chin as my live-in nanny, but alas he refused.”

“Okay,” she said, her cheeks dyed vermilion. “We are not having this conversation.” 

“But—”

“Nope.” Erina crossed her arms, her cheeks puffing up a little. “End of discussion!” 

Just then Souma came over to join the ever-growing group. “What’s wrong, Nakiri?” 

All was quiet for a moment, and then Kinokuni-san adjusted her glasses with a professorial air. “She,” the woman said, pointing to Erina, “wants to have your babies. And the rest of us want you to get on with it already.”

Isshiki and Kuga nodded solemnly in agreement. 

When Erina was certain that she wouldn’t melt into the finished wood flooring, she grasped for a comeback. Even though every iota of her wanted to explode, she knew that going off would only make it seem true. 

“I think you’re mistaken, Kinokuni-san,” she said, surprised at how calm her voice came out, how casual. She interlaced her fingers to stop them from trembling. “Kuga’s the one who wants his babies.” 

They all shared a laugh at this and Souma went to bring out a bottle of Aldini brand cab sauv. 

“You missed an opportunity there,” Isshiki whispered to her once he was gone.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” she replied, her body still tingling with nerves. “Consider yourself lucky that I won’t poison all of you.” Hisako would teach her how if she asked.   

She took a deep breath and rolled her neck, letting the last waves of nervousness leave her. 

Three more days until the pre-open—ten until the real thing. After that she could let the knowledge that he was good with kids drive her mad. 

[hellofastestnewsfan]

Anger has a peculiar power in democracies. Skillfully deployed before the right audience, it cuts straight to the heart of popular politics. It is attention-getting, drowning out the buzz of news cycles. It is inherently personal and thereby hard to refute with arguments of principle; it makes the political personal and the personal political. It feeds on raw emotions with a primal power: fear, pride, hate, humiliation. And it is contagious, investing the like-minded with a sense of holy cause.

In recent weeks, it has grown increasingly ubiquitous in American politics. In Montana this past Thursday, President Donald Trump praised Republican Representative Greg Gianforte, who pleaded guilty to assaulting the Guardian reporter Ben Jacobs, saying, “Any guy who can do a body slam … he’s my guy.”

The week before, the Republican candidate for governor in Pennsylvania told his opponent that he was “going to stomp all over [his] face with golf spikes.” On the other side of the political tracks, the former attorney general Eric Holder said, “When they go low, we kick them.” Both men later qualified their statements, noting that they didn’t mean to incite violence. Their purpose—though neither man explicitly said as much—was to use rhetoric to stoke passions and rouse support.

Brett Kavanaugh did much the same during his Senate confirmation hearing. As authentic as his outrage was, he was strategically playing to like-minded supporters. Indeed, the White House counsel Don McGahn advised him to play up his emotions for maximum impact. And it worked—probably beyond his wildest expectations.

[Conor Friedersdorf: Brett Kavanaugh and the “white male rage” thesis]

Such is the dynamic of politics in the time of Trump. The politics of outrage is fast becoming a political norm, each flare-up lowering the bar of acceptable rhetoric and producing an upswing in belligerent posturing.

But Trump didn’t invent this emotion-laden mode of political warfare. He’s certainly promoting it to an extreme degree, but it has a long and storied history that predates even that notorious poisoner of the political realm, Newt Gingrich. As tempting as it may be to assume that American politics has been an oasis of civility until the semi-recent past, at moments of intense polarization and strife throughout our nation’s checkered history, politicians have appealed to our lowest common denominator, using the power of anger and intimidation to spread their message and get their way.

We often link such outrage with protest, but in truth, political power holders have long used anger, fear, and intimidation to preserve the status quo, bullying their opponents into compliance or silence, and frightening the public into surrendering rights for the sake of security—though with mixed results.

[Read: Donald Trump and the politics of fear]

Southern congressmen made masterly use of strategic outrage and intimidation in the 1830s, 1840s, and 1850s, depicting themselves as victims of a campaign of Northern degradation and protecting their interests with the power of their rage.

In some ways, these decades were a heyday of the politics of anger. The rise of organized party politics in the so-called Age of Jackson brought with it an aggressive anger-spiked style of political warfare. The notoriously combative Andrew Jackson led the way in this new kind of politics. The Democratic Party rose to power by celebrating his warlike instincts, battlefield exploits, and epic temper tantrums (his favorite swear words—“by the Eternal”—became a popular catchphrase). It is no coincidence that the rise of this rough-and-tumble politics saw the partial sidelining of women in party politics, allegedly for their own good.

Those same decades saw the intensification of the slavery debate as westward expansion forced the nation to confront slavery’s spread with each new state’s entry to the Union. Thanks to the three-fifths compromise, which gave the South outsize power in Congress by granting representation for three-fifths of its enslaved population, Southerners had long protected their slaveholding regime by dominating national politics—and they felt entitled to that power. And, of course, that regime was itself grounded on anger and entitlement.

The bullying power of Southern entitlement showed its full force in Congress. Whenever anyone dared to denounce slavery, Southerners rose up in a howling chorus of outrage, sometimes storming out of deliberations en masse. An 1842 outburst was typical of many. Representative John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts deliberately tried to put Southerners “in a blaze” over the issue of slavery. “Such a scene I never witnessed,” the abolitionist Theodore Dwight Weld told his wife, Angelina, and sister-in-law Sarah Grimké, themselves leading abolitionists. Scores of slaveholders shouted points of order, “every now and then screaming at the top of their voices: ‘That is false.’ ‘I demand, Mr. Speaker, that you put him down.’ ‘What are we to sit here and endure such insults.’” It was for good reason that Adams called such displays “explosions.”

There was real anger in such outbursts. There was also real power. Southerners and Southern-born Westerners routinely used them to bully Northerners and Northern-born Westerners into backing down. When someone dared to attack the institution of slavery, Southerners strategically and dramatically raged and threatened, insisting that they were ready to fight—literally fight—for their rights, hinting at duel challenges or even threatening to cut an offender’s throat. Not only did such displays cow Northern “noncombatants,” as they were called, but they gave Southerners an undeniable advantage in Congress. Many Northerners did their best to avoid such situations, disempowering themselves in the process.

[Ta-Nehisi Coates: In defense of political anger]

When it came to congressional combat, Northerners weren’t fighting men of the same sort as Southerners. Which isn’t to say that the antebellum North wasn’t violent. Riots were a Northern specialty, erupting in city streets with alarming regularity; nativist riots were a particular favorite. But Northerners were less comfortable with man-to-man showdowns than Southerners were, and by the 1830s they considered dueling a barbaric Southern custom. So both for their own sake and to avoid offending their constituents, backing away from Southern fury was often the course they chose.

The Ohio abolitionist Joshua Giddings noticed this imbalance of power upon assuming his seat in the House in 1837, and it shocked him. “I think we have no Northern man who dares boldly and fearlessly declare his abhorrence of slavery and the slave-trade,” he wrote in his diary in 1838. “That kind of fear I never experienced, nor shall I submit to it now … I would rather lose my election at home than suffer the insolence of these Southerners.” Following that logic, Giddings took on Southerners, standing them down to advance his cause. By mocking their bluster and scorning their threats, he exposed their bullying to the American public for what it was. He also paid a price; during his 22 years in the House, Giddings was physically attacked at least seven times.

There were other ways to stand down Southern bullies. John Parker Hale of New Hampshire used humor. When confronted by raging Southerners, he responded with good-natured jokes and gibes, deflating Southern bravado with laughter. His flawless comic timing was apparent in 1848 when he asked for a dictionary to find an insult’s meaning; playing up the comedy of the moment, he brought down the house. John Quincy Adams used his parliamentary prowess and the weight of his authority to cow Southerners, outsmarting and out-bullying them when they were on the attack. Congressional peers were well aware of his “sledgehammer” eloquence.

Still, the bullying went on—not least because it paid dividends back home. The nation was watching, and it mattered. In an age when many congressmen were one-term wonders, Southern “fighting men” often were reelected, their constituents clearly approving of their aggressive tactics. And in time, that logic spread. The intensification of the nation’s ongoing slavery crisis fueled a spike in Southern bullying in Congress, and that anger proved contagious.

Technological innovations spread that contagion. The telegraph circulated news from Washington with remarkable speed, confronting increasing numbers of Americans with images of raging slaveholders holding dominion in Congress. In the face of such evidence, and with the slavery crisis peaking, Northerners began urging their representatives to fight back, sometimes even sending them weapons.

By the late 1850s, Northern congressmen were defending themselves and their interests with a new power, using not only harsh words, but occasionally fists and guns as well. Southerners fought all the harder in response.

This fighting wasn’t just for show. By the late 1850s, most congressmen were armed; as early as 1850, some congressmen guessed that roughly 30 percent of the House carried weapons, and those numbers increased over the course of that eventful decade. Eager to protect the interests of their party, state, and section; worried about constituent approval; and all too aware of the high stakes of the battle over slavery’s future, congressmen warred within the walls of the Capitol, stoking rage inside and outside Congress in the process.

Thus did Southern bullying pave the road to civil war. Rage begat rage, and Northern noncombatants became fighting men, making cross-sectional discourse ever more difficult. As one Northerner put it, given the ongoing Southern “threats and menaces” in Congress, cooperating with Southerners “would destroy their position at home” by suggesting that they had voted “under the influence of these belligerent taunts.” Anger, entitlement, manhood, and politics: This potent brew shaped the nation’s sectional crisis.

Now it is shaping our current crisis. Emotions are rising every day, with social media leading the way. Within the past few weeks alone, Rand Paul voiced concern that someone will get killed, and Jerry Falwell Jr. took to Twitter to urge the election of fighting men to beat “the liberal fascists Dems.” “Conservatives & Christians need to stop electing ‘nice guys,’” he tweeted on September 28. “They might make great Christian leaders, but the US needs street fighters like @realDonaldTrump at every level of government … & many Repub leaders are a bunch of wimps!” The echo of the 1850s is deafening; the implications are alarming. Politics is becoming war by other means.

Such is the impact of a politics of anger. For a time, it attracts followers and cements loyalties, breeding a spiraling mass of dangerous passions, inspiring some Americans to cast their opponents as a dangerous “other,” dividing the nation, and linking manhood with authority in rhetoric as well as fact.

[Read: Women are furious. Now what?]

But bullying power holders often pay a price, fueling a backlash through the contagion of rage. It happened in the 1850s. And recent weeks have suggested much the same. Kavanaugh’s howling outrage enraged women. Even before his hearing, they were running for office in remarkably high numbers, driven by their anger over the current direction of national politics and their hope to accomplish something better. Now their impulse is fast becoming more of a cause. Trump’s threats against the press have had a similar impact, inspiring outrage from his opposition and heightened calls to action.

Republican outrage is enraging and empowering resistance. But it’s important to note: Resistance and violence aren’t one and the same. Channeled properly and put to purpose, outrage can prove formative, inspiring civic engagement, political involvement, and organized protest, thereby leading to reform and change. And in a democratic politics, it is assertive, heartfelt, organized resistance—not brute violence—that best brings positive outcomes.

from The Atlantic https://ift.tt/2q6y8Ok

[itsworn]

The Chaotic World of Funny Car Chaos! Race weekend from a Promoter’s Point of View

For the past fifteen years, I have dedicated my life to the sport of drag racing as a photographer, race reporter, and participant. My wife and I spend every weekend from mid-January to early December at a drag race somewhere across this great country. In addition to serving as President of the Southwest Heritage Racing Association, which is the largest and most rapidly-growing independent drag racing series in the Southwest, I also find the task of hosting large, single events very intriguing. After five years of success organizing and promoting the annual Pro Mod vs Fuel Altered Showdown each summer in Texas, I decided to challenge myself on an even bigger event.

Funny Cars are without question the most entertaining vehicles to ever take the starting line at a drag strip. For decades, they have entertained spectators with their ill handling unpredictability and aggressive style. When funny car lays down a full track burnout, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. That’s what drag racing is all about. We needed to bring Funny Cars back to the main stage in the Southwest, and make it big. The challenge was clear, host a Funny Car race that appeals to both the racers and the spectators like nothing we’ve seen since the 1970’s and early 1980’s. Since that time, smaller eight car shows and two- or four-car match races were all fans and racers had. It was time for a legitimate, mass appealing, large, well-paying and Funny Car event. Thus, Funny Car Chaos was born.

Knowing the amount of Funny Cars not only in the mid-west but across the country, I was sure we could certainly attract sixteen cars to make the tow to North Star Dragway in Denton, Texas if we didn’t require them to fit a certain rules profile and we paid them decent money for their efforts. When I announced Funny Car Chaos in December 2016, I had no money or sponsors, just a date, a track owner who gave me a chance. Over the next six months, I spent tireless hours hunting sponsorships, and after lots of time on a calculator, I knew I had to get the payout announced to make these racers know this was for real. A group of local teams had confirmed interest, and after the announcement of a $25,000 payout, we subsequently attracted the attention of several out of town teams. My title sponsor and biggest supporter, Randy Ranew and the Red Line Shirt Club, played a huge role in getting me to this point.

Holy cow! Now I’ve got 25 cars pre-entered into this race and was only planning on qualifying 16. Back to the calculator, let’s figure out a way to let all these teams who are willing to dedicate their time and money have a chance at a first round and be part of the show. The format was finalized with an elite eight top qualifiers making up the ‘A’ field and remaining nine through twenty four qualifiers slotted into the ‘B’ field of sixteen, qualifying twenty four cars total. With the format and payout set, 25 teams pre-entered and sponsorship commitments higher than I’ve ever raised before, it was time to promote, promote, promote. Could term “Funny Car” be enough to attract people to the event? Who doesn’t love a Funny Car, right?

Fast forward to the week of the race, and my cell phone hasn’t stopped ringing. I literally carried battery packs in my pocket to keep my phone from dying. Teams started arriving on Tuesday. What? You only see things like that at the U.S. Nationals or the March Meet. A dreary forecast for Thursday and Friday had me nervous, as we had test sessions, pre-parties, and lots of action scheduled. Thankfully, we were blessed with a dry Thursday night, and the pre-party went off better than expected. The local restaurant had to quit taking food orders at one point because the kitchen was so backed up. After talking with the owner, more alcohol sales were recorded through the register since the opening of the venue in 2013.

We were off and running at 6:00 am Friday morning, and I was starting to feel the anxiety. After all the hype, I had better deliver the goods with the next two days of drag racing. A steady drizzle hung over North Star Dragway until just before noon,then the track staff took charge to dry the quickest eighth mile in Texas for a 2:00 test session for Funny Cars.

With 22 tech cards turned in at the drivers meeting, all the racers knew they were “in the show”, however, three of the pre-entered teams were unable to make it. We had it all at Funny Car Chaos: nitro cars, alcohol cars, new body styles and old body styles, heck, we even had a ‘topless’ Funny Car. Several teams took advantage of the open rule book and made changes to their engine combinations, choosing to bolt on bigger fuel pumps, more powerful magnetos, etc. It was like Funny Cars on steroids!

With such a wide assortment of cars, some who run regularly and some relative novices, I knew we’d face some losses as parts failure took its toll. Testing went well, Mark Sanders ripped off a stout 3.72 elapsed time, which proved the track was ready to hold whatever these cars wanted to throw at. At 8 p.m., we fired the first pair of floppers to officially kick off Funny Car Chaos qualifying. This was the roughest, longest, most challenging session of twelve pairs of cars I’d experienced in my life. Midway through the session, the most iconic Funny Car to ever call Texas home, the “Blue Max”, came to the line with driver Ronny Young lined up against Marc White in the “Crop Duster” from Illinois. At that moment, I quit breathing for several seconds.

At first, it was with disbelief that I was hosting a drag race that included “Blue Max” which is, in my opinion, the most badass Funny Car to ever see the face of the Earth. But after a 3.82 at 192 mph pass from Young, I heard a series of throttle whacks at the top end that was far from normal, followed by the ambulance lights coming to life as the safety crew rolling onto the track.

It’s hard to describe the feeling you get as an event promoter when something scary happens to one of your racers, one of your friends. I had no choice but to get down to the top end and see what had happened. Upon arrival, the first thing I saw was Ronny Young standing in the sand trap with a look of disgust on his face. Thankfully, Young was completely uninjured, but the famed flopper suffered race-ending damage, possibly with a bent frame. Young went into the sand trap after a late chute deployment kept the car from making the final turn off. I shook his hand and expressed my relief that he was alive and well, so thankful for that opportunity. After repairing the net system, we were back in action.

Two pairs later, the dreadful, full-track oil down showed it’s ugly face. So, the staff was back at it, with mops and dry sweep and starter David Strickland manning the scrubber machine. After an hour of delay removing the “Blue Max” from the sand trap and repairing the catch net, another hour of oil clean up ensued, flat lining the momentum we had built to this point. By this time, I already had cars in the lanes ready for their second qualifying pass, but still had six cars left to run in the first qualifying session. Schedule? Throw that out the window. After discussions with the remaining drivers and teams ready for their second shot, we agreed to run as long as the track stayed safe. Thankfully, the evening dew we commonly get never materialized, and those die-hard fans stuck around for one of the most impressive Funny Car runs I’ve ever witnessed.

John Hale lit up his Guy Tipton-tuned “One Bad Texan” to kick off the second qualifying session with a burnout that literally kept the rear tires blazing to the mile per hour cone at the eighth mile. The crowd went wild! Hale finally came to a stop well past the scoreboards, then backed up and brought it to the line. The green light dropped and Hale blasted off the starting line like a rocket, flames dancing from the pipes. The scoreboards lit up with a 3.77 at 194 mph to qualify number two. Wow, what an epic pass! Hale qualified behind Mark Sanders’ 3.68 at 205 mph which led the sheets with one more session remaining on Saturday afternoon.

With Friday a thing of the past, the task at hand was to rebound with a stellar effort on Saturday and that goal was met with flying colors. Plenty of sunshine, temperatures in the high 80s, the front gate flowing with cars and the parking lot filling up, things were looking good. I always try to make sure the events I host provide continuous and flowing entertainment. An arsenal of between round action filled the pits past the normal parking area and almost to the first turn off at the top end of the track. We crammed 125+ trailers in the facility made up of match racers and exhibition machines like K.C. Jones, who was pulling double duty driving both the “Crazy Train” wheelstander and “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” jet dragster. Howard Farris was in the house determined to break the 3.53 track record with the “War Wagon” AA/Fuel Altered. John Robinson had his turbo diesel powered dragster on hand among many others. Capping off the show, the Dirty South Gasser series brought back the old school vibe with more than thirty five participants lined up for the Beat The Heat World Finals held on Saturday.

All remaining Funny Cars had a solid spot in the field, so I expected maybe just a few to come up for the final qualifying session. To my amazement, almost every car found a spot in the lanes and were eager to take the track as the stands were literally filled to capacity and spectators were four and five deep on the fence past the scoreboards. Let’s fire ‘em up!

The final qualifier went off with just one oil delay, and it was now time to compose a ladder. With the assistance of my loyal announcer David Rattan, we put together the field and made copies, then I hopped on the scooter to deliver a ladder to each team. The original plan was to host a pre-race parade of cars, but to make up time, I hesitantly scrapped that part of the show, preferring to make up lost ground on my timeline and have this event completed at a reasonable hour. As a promoter, photographer, spectator, whatever, nothing gets under my skin worse than racing at one or two in the morning in front of empty bleachers on a subpar racing surface. So with the parade scrapped, the call went out for the first round of Funny Cars to head to the lanes, it was time to pair them up and let them ride.

Announcing is a crucial part of hosting any form of entertainment, but especially drag racing. Thankfully, I’ve got a dedicated team behind me including David Rattan in the announcer booth and my long time staging lane director Justin Haas, who also handles the lanes for the SHRA nostalgia series. With this team combined with the hard working staff at North Star Dragway, we were ready to go as Justin sent the first pair to the water box.

The first round saw several upsets, especially in the ‘A’ eliminator as John Hale and Marc White suffered first round losses after qualifying in the top half. Watching from between the lanes on the starting line, directly behind the starter, let me tell you, the nitro fumes were thick and plentiful during the ‘A’ field. A lifelong nitro junkie, it just didn’t get any better than that! ‘B’ field contestants held their own with some great side-by-side racing as we cut the fields in half and teams returned to the pit area for servicing. K.C. Jones did his thing in the wheelie car and jet dragster, the Dirty South Gassers kept the front wheels up on their exhibition runs and rounds were underway in the Beat The Heat program. We had the ball rolling now.

Being the “guy in charge” means you are the one who deals with all the random stuff that happens. I’ve seen more than my fair share of unexpected issues, but thankfully only a few incidents were reported over the weekend. One young spectator whacked his head open on the bleachers running unsupervised between the frame work of the bleachers. An adult spectator took a rolled up t-shirt to the eye from a race team shooting t-shirts into the crowd with an air cannon, bad aim I guess. Those issues were easy to resolve. A few years ago at an event I promoted called “Match Race Madness” we had breaker boxes overloaded and on fire, the water well ran dry and we had to use cases of bottled water in the burnout box, we even lost power to one side of the track lighting system, so a couple bumps and bruises were easy to manage.

Before I knew it, we were into the finals; where did the time go? I felt as if we just held first round an hour ago, but it was now 11:30 p.m. and final round cars were in the lanes. Mark Sanders and Keith Jackson would square off in the ‘A’ feature while Andy Mears and Jordan Ballew were up in the ‘B’ field final. Wait, don’t forget to notify all the photographers and videographers of the fireworks show set for the conclusion of the final round. We had wired a system down the side of the track in both lanes, set to go boom as the ‘A’ field final round went through the finish line. Fireworks ready, media members notified, track clear, let’s crown some winners!

The ‘B’ field was up first with Mears and Ballew coming to life. Mears in a 1957 Chevy entry branded “Dragon Slayer” from Lubbock, Texas and Ballew rocking the 1969 Chevy Nova “Ballew Thunder” tuned by his father Russell. Both personal friends of mine, both great race teams, this one was going to be fun. The ambers dropped and they were off. Side-by-side they charged to the finish line, where Mears’ 4.76 at 144 mph narrowly defeated a 4.77 at 145 mph from Ballew in the closest drag race of the event (.021 margin of victory). Yes! A great side-by-side final round is always what you want to see.

The big boys were up next. Keith Jackson was a funny car racer I grew up watching as a kid on family vacations to Bandimere Speedway for the NHRA Mile High Nationals, his hometown race in his time running NHRA Funny Car. The disbelief that this man was now racing in an event I was hosting in Texas was shocking enough, but to think he might win the event was simply thrilling. Mark Sanders was the last team to pre-enter, notifying me just the week before that they had planned on attending. Sanders had shown no mercy thus far: top qualifier, low elapsed time, top speed, but a thrash in the pits had ensued when the rods decided to exit the block on the “Mr. Explosive” 1970 Ford Mustang entry. Son and crew chief Jake Sanders led the team into battle with a new bullet between the frame rails as both cars pulled into the waterbox. Crew members hung the starters on the front snout of their blown nitro powerplants and gave the nod, we’re ready, crank em’ up.

Nitro fumes pumped from the pipes high into the sky as the bodies dropped and burnouts were underway. This race was a toss-up. Sanders had been quicker, but the newly installed engine always causes a bit of uncertainty. On the line, crew chiefs made their final adjustments and sent their drivers into the beams. That wicked sound when fuel cars put it on the high side (engage the second fuel pump) will straighten the hair on a nitro junkie’s arms, mine for sure. A flash of amber and the green lights were on as Jackson took a slight starting line advantage. They looked, from my vantage point, glued together at half-track, and I could see Jackson drifting towards the guardrail while Sanders also had his hands full keeping his hot rod in the groove. Both were out of the throttle right before the finish line as Sanders’ win light came on with a 4.12 at 141 mph to Jackson’s close 4.25 at 154 mph, both surprisingly off pace, but with the win going to Sanders and company as the team celebrated on the starting line after their thrash to make the call for the finals paid off.

The fireworks went off- well, most of them did- as the fans started making their way towards the exit and preparation for the winners circle festivities began. Typically I’m the guy lining up the cars in the winner’s circle area, making sure every person in the group is visible to the camera lens, but this time I was the guy handing out the cash, jumbo size check, and custom-designed trophy. For racers to come up and tell you this is the most fun they’ve had in years means a lot. Thankfully, I got that from a lot of the participants and sharing the winners circle photo with these teams was a special feeling I’ll never forget. Everyone was going home safe, the racing was very exciting, the stands were packed, and that’s a wrap, Funny Car Chaos was in the books.

I’d like to personally thank North Star Dragway owner Gene Nicodemus for believing in my vision and giving me the opportunity to make reality of this crazy idea. Secondly, my wife Tera, who was the only person who kept my sanity in this process and poured hours of help into making it happen. Finally, the sponsors and racers, without their involvement no drag race was possible and it is with their support that brought this event together. Thank you all.

A weekend filled with unknowns, triple checking of every piece of the puzzle, answering countless questions, making sure everyone was in place, ensuring your racers and spectators were having fun, it was all worth every second. From back up girls to header flames, the Funny Car teams put on a spectacular show, and my sincere thanks goes out to each team who trusted me in this effort. Not a single driver expressed any issue with the event, and to my surprise, every single team made sure to tell me before they headed home, “I’ll be at the next one!”

I guess that leaves me no choice. Let’s do it again! A few months prior to the inaugural Funny Car Chaos, I had already reached out to a few tracks in hopes of securing a second date for 2018, set for some time in the spring, while keeping a permanent home at North Star Dragway for a fall race. Amarillo Dragway is where I’ve chosen to take Funny Car Chaos 2 and we’re gearing up for a bigger and better edition of this flip top frenzy at one of the most historic drag racing facilities in the country. So look forward to more folks, as we charge ahead full throttle into next year where we will again pack the pits with Funny Cars, it will be, Funny Car Chaos!

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