#by the way they should include Hendricks again

[chicagocubsreactions]

Cubs again plan to investigate possibility of signing Shohei Ohtani

[original article]

Why did Shohei Ohtani meet with the Chicago Cubs? That question has never been fully answered in detail. Ohtani rarely speaks with the media and his representatives at Creative Artists Agency closely guard the information around the Japanese superstar.

The Cubs were granted an audience with Ohtani in December 2017, which could mean nothing in the complex negotiations that will fascinate the baseball world. But the Cubs again plan to be involved in Ohtani’s process, a league source confirmed, which doesn’t guarantee anything other than more rumors and daydreaming about him performing at Wrigley Field.

Cubs executives simply wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they didn’t seriously investigate this possibility. It would also be bad business for a multibillion-dollar franchise to ignore the global marketing possibilities around the team’s iconic stadium and streaming platforms with Ohtani as must-see TV.

Jed Hoyer’s bold decision to sign Craig Counsell to a five-year, $40 million contract and fire manager David Ross dominated the news cycles this week at Major League Baseball’s general manager meetings in Arizona. But as executives and agents wheeled their suitcases through an outdoor plaza Thursday and checked out of the Omni Scottsdale Resort & Spa at Montelucia, the offseason focus will shift back to the players.

It’s unclear if there are any clues in the seven finalists Ohtani chose when he narrowed the list from the 30 teams that were sent a questionnaire that asked for detailed explanations on how each organization would handle the assimilation process from Japan and maximize his enormous talents as a hitter and a pitcher.

Clearly, the calculus has changed. The National League now features the full-time designated hitter and Ohtani will be recovering from elbow surgery and unavailable to pitch next season. The Los Angeles Angels squandered their six years with Ohtani, who never competed in a playoff game with Mike Trout.

The Los Angeles Dodgers are widely seen as a team that will aggressively pursue Ohtani. The Texas Rangers are coming off their first World Series title in franchise history. The San Diego Padres are preparing to cut payroll. The Seattle Mariners and San Francisco Giants could be appealing if Ohtani still has a geographic preference. The Cubs were also invited to CAA headquarters in Los Angeles to make their recruiting pitch.

“I look back on that,” Hoyer said. “We had a great meeting. It felt like we prepared a ton. It was a really good dialogue, good conversation. Obviously, he was going to only choose one out of seven. But we had been to three NLCSs in a row and won a World Series. We had things rolling pretty well.

“It doesn’t surprise me he took a meeting with us, even though us and Texas were the only two teams that weren’t on the West Coast. I think that’s why we were outliers. But it doesn’t surprise me, given when it happened. We had it rolling at that point and I think he was intrigued.”

The Cubs built part of their presentation off material they gathered while unsuccessfully courting Japanese pitcher Masahiro Tanaka after a last-place season in 2013. Cubs chairman Tom Ricketts and Theo Epstein, the president of baseball operations at that time, were involved in the Ohtani meeting. Nao Masamoto, a longtime Cubs official, served as an interpreter. To answer any questions about the team’s pitching infrastructure, the Cubs included Tommy Hottovy, the future pitching coach, and Kyle Hendricks, their World Series Game 7 starter. The Cubs showed Ohtani a piece of virtual-reality equipment used by their hitters.

“Going back to when he came over and when we met with him, there were zero questions about his ability on the mound,” Hoyer said. “That’s all borne out. But I feel like with the bat, there were a lot of questions about how things would translate and would he be able to handle inside fastballs and stuff like that. He proved he could do it.”

Hoyer laughed and continued: “There’s no question the offensive part of his game was underestimated. I think the pitching was probably viewed accurately.”

This time, the Cubs won’t be capped at a $300,000 maximum bonus and Ohtani won’t be restricted by the international signing rules. There were also some health questions back then about Ohtani, who underwent Tommy John surgery in 2018. But this is still a perennial MVP candidate with the left-handed power to hit 40 home runs a year and pitch like a Cy Young Award winner when healthy. Future Hall of Famer sounds like an understatement when describing someone who’s already one of the best athletes in the history of professional sports.

“It was pretty clear that he wanted to do both and DH-ing was the best option for that,” Hoyer said. “We couldn’t provide that. The Dodgers and Padres couldn’t provide that. It was four NL teams and three AL teams and I thought we were at a big disadvantage because we couldn’t offer him the ability to DH. As good as the meeting went, we knew that was always going to be an uphill climb.

“It doesn’t surprise me in the end that he picked an AL team. But I wish we could roll back the clock and take a shot at it again.”

That rare opportunity is here again and no one expected Counsell to pick the Cubs, either.

[jennibeultimate]

Personal recap Worlds 2021 - Ladies FS

And of course I am doing one for the ladies. I am just fuming with anger right now. So this might get harsh and salty. Just a warning. I go down from place 1.

I like Anna's skating and musicality and I am actually glad that even if this was neither her best performance nor a performance that touched me it was still the best of those Russians on the podium. If Trusova would have won with her skates I would be even more mad. So congrats little fairy you did it. ❤️ She is a sweet person and she deserves the world. The scoring is not in the skaters hands, but her scoring was...a choice but still a lot more reasonable than Trusova's....

Liza's story is amazing. Just from this point of view it's an amazing achievement. A rolemodel for all figure skaters that they have a chance after their puberty. Her tears when she found out she won over Trusova touched me. So congratulations from the bottom of my heart. 🎉 BUT this was not a silver medal winners performance. Too many mistakes, too little program. One 3A was fantastic but the rest was so and so. I am glad she got ahead of Trusova but it's not a performance I would remember and 69 PCS is questionable at best, compared to Loena, Kaori and Karen it's not right.

Alexandra Trusova...where to start? It would be called a major downmelt if she wouldn't jump quads. Her TES shoot her up high and looking at the protocol technically calls look ok, I would have lowered some GOEs but the TES are hardly my problem. The PCS are atrocious. There was no choreography, no interpretation, nothing left of what seemed to be improvements in the SP in the season. The PCS were way too high. 10 points should go down at least. 56 was what Eva Lotta got and sorry this was worse than her by a lot. And I am sure without quads and without being from Russia, she wouldn't have gotten those PCS. And that's my big fat problem. This was rigged and corrupted PCS scoring at its best. And this program won the free skate??? Wtf. If that's the future I won't watch skating any longer...nothing against Trusova herself but judges are setting the wrong example here. And no I cannot say congrats from my heart because I would have not put her on the podium. It's clear she also benefitted from a lot of the last group skaters not doing well and her high PCS from the SP. I mean everyone trains hard, so not deserved would be wrong to say but just I am not good with this. So still...

Congratulations to the medalists! You fought hard!

Karen Chen is probably the most underestimated of this competition. She came through with two beautiful programs and showed everyone that she was the right choice for this team. I can only applaud👏👏👏 She was imo robbed of the Bronze here. Her PCS are too low compared to Trusova and Liza and others. 4th place is still a very good result for her and saves USA 3 spots for teh Olympics. (wouldn't it be the biggest joke if ladies have 3 spots but the men don't? Not that I wish for it but that's a still a possibility) Her spirals are just A+! 😍 One of the only programs of today worth rewatching.

Loena Hendricks just did that!!! 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥The underdog of this comp just did that! She was the best today. World champion material. Ofc others may have stronger technical content but the cleaness and presentation was the best of everyone today imo. Even if I am not even a big fan of the program but so well suited to her. Really happy for her. 😊

Kaori Sakamoto is the loser of the day. I am still fuming on Kaori's behalf. Yes there was a mistake and yes she has a Flutz but again if everyone gets a pass on edge calls so should Kaori. Edge calls seem only to exist for Kaori. 🙄 She was lowballed in PCS. An almost clean program and 1 point more PCS than the 2 falls skate of Trusova? Sure...🤮 I probably wouldn't fume so much about Trusova's PCS if others like Kaori and Loena would have scored in the 70s but no...admittedly I don't think this was the best version of Matrix...anyway Kaori deserved better. Love you Kaori! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Rika was extremely hard to watch. Heartbroken for her. 💔💔💔She seems to still deal with her ligament injury, still looking at the trainings I thought she would do well. I think not competing and being in such a good position to win this made it mentally tough on her here. I like this lovely program a lot but for today's program 69 PCS was friendly but not when I look at Trusova though...this were just a couple too much mistakes sadly. I hope she can rest well. She will come back stronger! ❤️

I am including Satoko here because she is the other heartbreak for me. 💔 Nothing worked. She was totally out of everything. She is such a magical skater. 63 PCS are just horrid for a skater of her caliber. Puh...I am sad...love you Satoko and happy birthday 🎂 ❤️

I am so heartbroken for Team Japan in general💔😭😭😭😭

Olga Mikutina was my surprise of this competition. When I watched her live at Euros 2020 she fell all over the place, this was such an improvement. Impressive! 👏👏👏Lovely! You got yourself a fan. 😍

Bradie Tennell - I read that her skates broke prior to the SP so that hindered her here. Still I think Bradie did fairly well but too many little errors that lowered TES and PCS are a big joke anyway. Normally I would say those PCS were fair but then we have Trusova and that's where the sense stops for me...

Haein Lee - she is a lovely skater. She is young but a very committed skater to presentation etc. I like her a lot. Not a bad result for a first World Championship. Ofc they were hoping for a 3rd spot but this wasn't a given from the start.

Yelim Kim - my other fairy just dropped a whole lot. 😭 Not much worked like usual. I am so sorry. Such a perfect SP and now this free skate to drop her even behind her teammate. Maybe she wanted too much starting in the last group? The pressure is huge. Haein Lee and Yelim Kim just have the best dresses of this competition! Korean ladies costumes are always A+++❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Lastly I just mention those I liked in the earlier groups:

Josefin Taljegard 🔥 🔥 🔥 She was on fire. Interpretation A+++ her skating and technical content in general are too low to be competitive but I would rather rewatch her a 1000 times than watch Trusova or some of today's other performances ever again. Also I would rather gladly take 24 programs with less technical content and performances like hers than this diaster free in general from today. In other words stan Josefin! ❤️

Eva Lotta Kiibus - her program is well made. Her technical content is good. Her costume is a dream. She can show more of her personality during the program but the basics are great. Love her. 😍

Lindsay Van Zundert - delivered again a wonderful clean program. Very positively surprised with this young lady. 😊

Overall this event was a disappointment. Scoring wise it should not have surprised me. Performance wise it was disappointing as well.

No not a competition worth rewatching. If this is the ladies figure skating of the future then I quit watching ladies. I hate the uneven apply of rules and the playing favorites of the Russians. And also JSF should finally start backing their skaters or Japan will drown in the end.

Sorry for the on going ranting about Trusova's PCS but this is the main problem for me why nothing of everyone else makes sense. And just a clarification, it's not against Trusova, it's the judging and the way this kind of skating gets more reward than ppl with actual programs. It must be disheartening for a lot of skaters.

Bye.

Praying for a better men free skate. 🙏

[imgoingtocrash]

Made of Iron, Born of Fire: The Fanmix 

by @imgoingtocrash

Listen on Spotify and 8tracks

Read the series on Ao3

AKA: A labor of love for @savvysass’s birthday!!!!

What can I say that hasn’t already been said because we’re both incredibly sappy people in our Author’s Notes? Writing this series with you has brought me so much joy in the last two years, and I never could have hit over 100k words without you. Here’s to whatever we write next in the series...and all of the WIPs we’re working on right now...and only god knows what’s next for us personally and professionally...and most importantly, to you on your Birthday. Thank you for being such a good friend, in both fandom and outside of it. I’m so, so thankful to know you and love you. 🥰

Director’s Cut Below, because we all know I love talking about this series, and yes, that does extend to why I picked these songs. (And also maybe because these song choices only make sense in my brain and hopefully Savannah’s?? Who knows! Feel free to ask questions if you want but let’s be honest this series and fanmix are most importantly for us, because we love the series so dang much.)

My Wildest Dreams by Ron Pope

I spoke in riddles and in rhymes, but my time with you has taught me to simplify, you’re not quite what I pictured you would be, you’re better than my wildest dreams.

We’ve talked about this one before, and I’LL TALK ABOUT IT AGAIN!!!! Ron Pope is so good imo, and this song wowowow the father-child feels, but especially with Tony and newborn Peter a la A Foreign Feeling and A First Time For Everything.

Big & Scared by Raleigh Ritchie

I want to be better for you, let me do that now, you’re my favorite human, so you should be prepared, I’ll help you get through it, when you’re big and scared

We’ve mentioned Tony’s thoughts about legacy multiple times by now, and I think this song really represents Tony looking forward to the person Peter could be become and that “breaking the cycle” mentality of supporting Peter even when he’s not a perfect father.

Legacy of Sadness by Ron Pope

irrational as it may seem I guess I’m sorry, even though I know that none of it’s my fault, it is easier for me to count my blessings, than to cry for every single thing we’ve lost

I have 0 shame putting these two songs by Ron Pope almost back to back because they’re the opening and closing of an album dedicated to his child like...it’s so perfect for Tony and this theme of reflection on who he is and who Peter will become/is becoming and all that entails.

this is me trying by Taylor Swift

They told me all of my cages were mental, so I got wasted like all my potential, and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad, I have a lot of regrets about that

I wrote something...very sad but also soft recently??? and this is for That it’s about pre-CW Pepperony being separated and the road to them trying to come back together including Tony working on himself and I love it!!! It hurts really good!!! This whole song is perfect for it and I can’t wait until people get to read it.

Be Good When I’m Gone by Four Year Strong

I'm sorry I can't stop to listen, but I've got so much to do and I've got some place to be, the house looks like the aftermath of a hurricane, I hope it stays that way

Tony being a busy parent but doing his best to make time for Peter in his life and making that time count has been something super important to illustrate to us, especially the transition from being a CEO to being a superhero and how that changes how Peter sees Tony’s absence over time.

I Won’t Back Down by Johnnyswim, Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors, and Penny and Sparrow

Tony puts on the original version by Tom Petty in Home Is Where The Heart Is, but I think this cover has a very slow, emotional undertone that’s really great too. The interludes, if you didn’t catch it, have all been featured in a fic previously.

Let It Matter by Johnnyswim

So if it matters let it matter, if your heart's breaking let it ache, catch those pieces as they scatter, know your hurt is not in vain

Pepper in Never Tell Me The Odds ALL DAYYYYY. She’s the emotional rock of that fic (and of our Ironfam TBH) and it’s all because she allows herself to feel her feelings and encourages the Stark boys to do so as well.

Simmer - Acoustic by Hayley Williams

And if my child, needed protection, from a fucker like that man, I’d sooner gut him, cause nothing cuts like a mother

Post-Home Is Where The Heart Is...y’all know Pepper’s not that mad about what happened to Obie. Also just Pepper when someone hurts her family?? I always write it as her sort of putting all of her emotion into something she can control and doing it well, so, this song is all about that.

Tightrope by Nia Hendricks

one step after another, keep holding on to each other, don’t look back, move on and let go, that’s how you walk on a tightrope

Pepperony trying to navigate their relationship and the insanity of superhero stuff and also co-parenting. It’s all excellent, I love them so much, I enjoy writing it so much!!!!

Dancing With Your Ghost by Sasha Sloan

Never got the chance, to say a last goodbye, I gotta move on, but it hurts to try, how do I love, how do I love again?

This song is tilted towards romance, but if you’ll remember, we’re a Pro-Tony Survives Endgame AU series, so it’s not about THAT...but well...Infinity War sure will hit something fierce for certain non-romantic relationships in this series, huh?

The Bones by Maren Morris

Call it dumb luck, but baby, you and I, can't even mess it up, although we both try, no, it don't always go the way we planned it, but the wolves came and went and we're still standing

Post-Endgame Ironfam!!! Tony and Pepper married with their kids, their family and HAPPY...THIS IS WHY WE DO ALL OF THE ANGST...FOR A FAMILY...WE LOVE THEM

Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas

Considered Pepper and Peter’s ‘song’, as it’s referenced multiple times in the series, and was one of the bigger solidifying moments of their mother-son relationship as a whole.

Mundane by Hardcastle

And I’ve been sinking into silence, dwelling on my thoughts, and in these months, I haven’t felt that most conversations have left me anything but blue

Peter’s selective mutism was something very special to us when we originally had the idea, and making sure we talk about it and utilize it in the right way is something we’re still working on, particularly with the Therapy Fic we’re brainstorming atm.

survivin’ (One Eyed Jack’s Session) by Bastille

What can I say? I'm survivin', crawling out these sheets to see another day, what can I say? I'm survivin', and I'm gonna be fine, I'm gonna be fine, I think I'll be fine

Spoiler Alert: Peter’s not fine, like, a decent amount of the time. But he’s sure trying, and we love him for that.

Jacob from the Bible by Jake Wesley Rogers

Mama, don't worry, it took me years, to say I'm sorry, to see your tears, Mama, forgive me, I grew up too fast, but it's not on you, it's in the past

Mostly part of Peter growing up to become a hero and realizing what his parents--particularly Pepper--have gone through for him to become the person he is today, but that sometimes he still doesn’t feel like he’s making them proud enough.

Compassion Is a German Word by To Kill A King

Don't be so arrogant, you ain't no different to anyone I've met, we're all the heroes in our own film, or maybe the villain in someone else's

Spider-Man being an excellent superhero boi!!! Being kind and good!!! We love it!! Also, I put a TKAK song on...a LOT of my playlists, because I think they’re great.

brutal by Olivia Rodrigo

And I'm so sick of seventeen, where's my fucking teenage dream?, if someone tells me one more time, "Enjoy your youth", I'm gonna cry

I mean...this song is such a Teenage Mood...I had to do it...

In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning by Frank Sinatra

So, I had this cute little scene in my head that went with this song for SO LONG but there wasn’t really anything for it to fit into so...yeah that’s part 2 of Savannah’s Birthday Gift, a little soft Baby Peter drabble. Fluffy Goop from top to bottom. That can be read here.

Home by Phillip Phillips

Just know you're not alone, 'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home

...I know it’s not original, okay? It’s found family, it’s great, I don’t care!

Comes and Goes (In Waves) by Greg Laswell

And this part was for her, and this part was for her, this part was for her, does she remember?

This song is good family angst in general BUT these specific lyrics made me think of Mary and that they never forget her in their lives despite the other stuff going on (because we refuse to let them).

I Have Made Mistakes by The Oh Hellos

I have made mistakes, I continue to make them, the promises I've made, I continue to break them, and all the doubts I've faced, I continue to face them, but nothing is a waste if you learn from it

No one in the Ironfam is perfect, but they all do their best to try and grow even when they’re scared they’ll never be able to. The ups and downs are all par for the course of this series to us.

Easy Days - Demo by Bastille

Cause I don’t wanna fall back again, back into the easy days, everything was so simple then, little fires burned away

Strife is a part of life, and the family in this fic growing through their loss and struggles and moving ahead as a unit to get to a better place is super central to making the fic what it is...but it’s easy for them to remember the old days before being superheroes and wishing it was simple again.

North by Sleeping At Last

Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind, let our hearts like doors open wide, open wide, settle our bones like wood over time, over time, give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

The way Tony went from feeling so alone to having an entire built family that’s so full of love and everything he never dreamed of...*screams into my pillow* I love this series so much thank you and good night!!!

[wiseabsol]

Let’s talk about why it’s a bad idea if Karrin Murphy’s fate is final.

Some quotes to consider:

pg. 217: “See that this warrior is laid in state,” [Mab] said, and moved her head in a curt gesture toward the Bean. “She has shared our enemies and earned our respect, and so shall it be known amongst my vassals and to the furthest reaches of my kingdom.”

pg. 366: “You tell Odin that Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden says, upon his Name, that if he doesn’t treat Murph better than I would myself, I’m going to kick down his door, pluck his fucking ravens, knock him down, kick his guts out, drag him to the island, and lock him up in a cell with Ethniu [ . . . ] I beat a divine being once [ . . . ] If I have to build a nation to get it done, I’ll do it again.”

pg. 366: Gard shook her head. “Not until the memory of her has faded from the minds of those who knew her. That is the limit not even the All-father may cross.”

So what points can we draw from this?

- According to Gard, Murphy cannot return to Earth until her memory has faded from the minds of those who knew her. This, presumably, includes immortals, whose memories last for a very long time. If this is truly the case, then Murphy cannot participate in the BAT. She and Hendricks will be benched for Ragnarok. In short: Murphy is fucked. 

- Dresden has sealed away a Titan and is willing to do the same to a god. He is currently planning to build his own magical community. Would it really be that surprising if he is willing and able to do something that a god cannot in a future book? Especially when, as mentioned above, Murphy is fucked?

But let’s unpack this more:

First, let’s look at this from a writing standpoint. Why does this rule need to be in place? The short answer is that Butcher is covering his bases. Once we, the readers, learn that Odin has snatched Murphy’s body and is making her into an einherjar, we feel a burst of hope and relief. After all, we’ve seen einherjar before, so doesn’t that mean that we can look forward to Murphy returning at a later date?

Butcher doesn’t want us to think that, though. He wants us to feel as though she’s gone forever...even though we know that the BAT, aka Ragnarok, is coming up, and the einherjar are destined to fight in it. So how does he try to throw us off? He comes up with something that feels...contrived. Something that isn’t a part of the einherjar myth. “She can’t come back! Because--because everyone has to forget about her first! Yes, that’s it! Her fate is final because of this rule I’m only just now saying is a thing!”

But why should we buy this? This is a series in which Dresden is constantly pushing past his own limitations and the roadblocks placed in front of him, and where other characters aren’t afraid to do the same. It’s a series in which the rules are set up to be broken in creative ways (zombie T-Rex, anyone?). Even reality itself can be shattered (and why set that up in Battle Ground if you’re not going to do it in the BAT?).

Aside from that, though, if Murphy really is gone, then we’re left with some problems:

1. Murphy’s death is pointless. As much as Butcher tries to have the characters say that she died fighting a Jotun, she didn’t. She was killed on accident by a scared cop. That’s not satisfying. It could have been if it had more set-up across multiple books, and if Murphy had spent some time grappling with poorly trained officers and cases of police brutality (maybe even cases in which she’d gone too far). But the Dresden Files is stuck in the 90′s in a lot of ways, complete with valourizing “good cops” like Murphy and chalking up “bad cops” like Rudolph to a weakness of character, rather than admitting that there’s a problem with the institution as a whole. In short: This isn’t even political commentary on Butcher’s part. It adds absolutely nothing to the series. 

2. Odin making Murphy into an einherjar is arguably a Fate Worse Than Death for her, rather than a reward. Why? First, her Catholic faith has been ignored. Her soul is not going to the god she chose (did Odin even ask her if she wanted to go to Valhalla? Did Murphy consider it an honor?). Second, everyone she knows and loves will have to die before she can fight again--and what’s the point of her fighting then? Third, she will be forced to sit out of Ragnarok/the BAT. So Odin, in addition to doing a disservice to Murphy, would be benching a warrior during the End Times. How does that make strategic sense? Also, if he’s not going to use his shiny new einherjar, why make her into one at all? Why not just let her be buried and let her soul go to her own god?

3. How much agency does Murphy have in this scenario? Would she really accept the above rule and choose to not help her friends with her new powers? Does that sound like her?

4. If Murphy stays gone, it means that yet another woman has been written out of the story to give Dresden manpain. That’s exhausting, especially considering how poorly Butcher has treated his female characters in the past. Losing Murphy, who is arguably our main female character, feels like adding insult to injury after what happened with Susan, Molly, Lash, and so many others. Why should female readers keep reading a series in which almost every woman character is tortured, killed, or transformed against their will?  

5. Murphy and Marcone were the last important vanilla mortals. If she’s gone for good, then between that and Marcone now being magical, we are left with a series in which normal people--including those with disablilites--can’t survive and make a difference in the fight between magical forces. They’re victims to be protected by Dresden--and thus don’t have agency--or canon fodder if they do get involved. While I suspect that Randy will act as their voice in future books, losing both Murphy and the non-magical Marcone is a blow that I’m not sure the series can recover from. As one reader put it, it’s hard for us to see ourselves in this world anymore, considering that there are no characters like us left in it. Granted, this is a problem even if Murphy returns as an einherjar. But Murphy didn’t have to die in this book, so this problem could have been avoided.   

6. And on a more petty note: Teasing a Dresden and Murphy relationship for ten+ books, and then throwing it away in one, is a nasty thing to do to the readers who were invested in that subplot. “Characters in happy relationships aren’t compelling” is also a weak excuse for doing it, considering that those characters have more to fight for when the world is ending. Finally, just to point out something small: Murphy had sex with Dresden for the first time on the evening of Day 1 of the peace talks, then died on the morning of Day 4. That’s not cool. Butcher can do better.

[pigtownchronicles]

Chapter 1.4 - The Crow’s Nest

Dennis was left behind, as he’d expected he would be. If you’d pinned him down on it, he would have even admitted that he wanted to be abandoned, that it would confirm for him that this was somewhere he didn’t belong, and where he didn’t want to be. He sighed--Barry had promised him one drink, but he could already tell that he’d have to drag him out of here in a couple of hours. He could be such a child.

He started looking for somewhere that he could wait, preferably somewhere quiet and away from the noise of the dance floor, but most of the nooks he found were largely taken up by guys in various states of making out or full blown sex. One thing was for sure, when he was out of here, he’d be dropping an anonymous tip to the liquor control board and the health department, because none of this was acceptable to him, and everyone here should be ashamed of themselves.

Dennis had grown up the son of two doctors, with well entrenched class interests that neither had done much to examine. Dennis’ homosexuality had been a minor wrench in their family, but quickly smoothed over. An anecdote, real or not, that Barry had heard many times at many dinner parties, was that his parents would have been more scandalized by him not going to medical school, than the fact he was gay. His parents’ orthodoxy hadn’t entirely rubbed off on him, but he’d imagined that the sort of debauchery all around him now was beneath gay men, as a culture. They could get married now! They were on TV all the time. This sort of thing just wasn’t necessary, or at the very least, could be kept more discrete. He found a set of stairs leading up. They weren’t cordoned off, but no one seemed to be on the upper level that he could see. On the stairs, someone had spray painted the words “Crow’s Nest” along with an arrow pointing up. A bit curious, he climbed them and found himself on a set of narrow walkways suspended over the warehouse floor. Entirely unsafe, and most certainly another violation of some sort. He’d always kind of enjoyed being a snitch.

The view gave him a good view of the place. There was the dance floor where he was sure Barry and Samuel were still satisfying some of their baser urges. He looked around for where the hell knew where that shady fucker and the meathead had gone, but soon lost interest. He polished off the beer, and set the can off in a little cubby on the wall, and leaned over the railing by the entrance to the bar, deciding to just spend his time looking at the flow of guys coming in, as something to do.

It was after about twenty minutes, when he was contemplating going down and beginning the process of extricating Barry from the place so they could go home, that he saw a trio of younger guys enter the bar. Obviously underage--not surprising, since the bouncer didn’t seem interested in checking ID. They were looking around nervously, tittering a bit and huddling together, before they headed for the bar to get a drink. As they passed under a light, though, Barry realized that he recognized one of them--Kyle Hendricks, a son of one of their neighbors, who they paid to watch their cat, Misty, while they were on vacation.

And so, the snitch in Dennis was torn. On one hand, he loved the idea of getting someone in trouble. On the other hand, Kyle was a good kid, and he’d always taken good care of their home and Misty for them. Besides that, there was the issue of Kyle’s father. It didn’t surprise Dennis to see Kyle here--Barry and him both had sussed out the teenager’s preference rather quickly after their initial introduction. What had concerned them both, though, was the cold treatment they’d gotten from Kyle’s father ever since they’d moved in. He seemed like a garden variety homophobe. He could tolerate Dennis and Barry in his neighborhood, because at least they were respectable, but Dennis didn’t think he would be as accommodating with his own son somehow. There was also the matter of what had happened last summer, but Dennis avoided thinking about that in the moment. What was there to tell anyway? He’d offered to pay Kyle in exchange for helping with cleaning out the garage. Sure, there had been some flirting, maybe. Just some play, really. But then Kyle had kissed him, and Dennis had kissed him back, nothing more, but he was thinking about it now, he knew better than to think about it. Best to bury things like that deep down, and never tell a soul. It was safer that way.

The three young men moved deeper into the bar, and other two kids started making out, while Kyle kept drinking--classic third wheel, then. Maybe he’d come along just to keep them company. Maybe he didn’t even want to be here. The two disappeared into the dance floor not long after that, leaving Kyle alone--and Dennis felt a certain camaraderie, having been abandoned in these sorts of places often, including tonight. If he went down, he could offer him an escape hatch at least. He’d probably be thankful for it. There was no way a good kid like him wanted to be somewhere like this. Kyle finished his beer, and Dennis thought he’d probably just be a good wall flower and stay put, but he didn’t. He was looking around at the other men around, then pushed off from the table, and headed towards...well, Dennis found his theory full of holes already.

Kyle slid closer to the object of interest, a leather clad bear smoking a cigar (indoor smoking, another violation) who was easily twice his age, if not more than that. Older than Dennis, surely. The man looked Kyle over and gave him a nod, the two of them started chatting, and it wasn’t long before the man slid an arm around him and pulled Kyle closer. Dennis wracked his head, trying to remember exactly how old Kyle was. He knew Kyle was eighteen (though he’d been seventeen the summer before, but Dennis definitely wasn’t thinking about that). He was too young to know what he was getting into, what this place was, who that man was and what he was into. Finally feeling a solid moral ground, he headed down to the main floor, and pushed towards the dance floor.

The club had been only moderately packed when they’d entered, and now was beginning to feel crushing. Dennis hadn’t been this close to so many men in a very long time, but rather than exciting, it was just frustrating him. By the time he’d reached the tables around the dance floor, he saw the bear and Kyle had moved from heavy petting to kissing. Dennis walked over, grabbed Kyle by the shoulder and hauled him away from the older man. “Kyle Hendricks, what the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

Kyle’s eyes went wide in the dark, and he tried to bolt, but Dennis kept a firm grip on his upper arm.

The bear got up, “Hey man, what’s the deal, this your boy or something?”

“He’s my neighbor, and he’s underage.”

The bear laughed, “Come on man, this is Pigtown--everyone who’s here belongs here, don’t you know that? The kid came onto me, anyway. I was gonna be gentle.”

Dennis gave the bear a glare, and pulled Kyle further away from him. Kyle was a scrawny kid, with long hair that tended to fall over his eyes, something he liked to hide behind. “If you bolt, I swear to God, I will tell your dad what you were doing tonight, and where you were doing it.”

Kyle’s eyes went from startled, to legitimate terror at the threat. “Mr. Case, you--he’d fucking kill me, come on, I just...my friends wanted to come out, and I...I didn’t really want to, I...”

“Yeah yeah, you just wanted to get all up in some leather bear’s grill, huh? I am going to firmly suggest that you are probably too young to know what you actually want.”

“I’m...I’m eighteen, it’s legal.”

“There’s a distinction between legal and right. Now, Barry and I are going to take you home, and if I catch wind of you doing anything like this again, I will have to make an issue of it with your father, do you understand?” He stood Kyle next to an empty table. “Now, I have to find Barry, and then we’re leaving. You do not take your hand off this table, do you understand me?”

Kyle nodded, and watched as Dennis slipped into the throng of bodies on the dance floor, looking for his husband, surprisingly satisfied to have both the moral high ground, and an indisputable reason to leave this place. Kyle heaved a sigh, trying to get his heart to stop pounding in his ears, and looked back over at the bear a few yards away. The leather bear was looking back at him, with a rather pitiful look, and that just made Kyle angrier. He hated pity. His friends pitied him, for his asshole family. He pitied himself, because he was scrawny. He’d been the one to suggest this place, anyway, not that Dennis needed to know that. He looked down at his hand, still on the table where Dennis had put it. He could let go--he knew that. He could go back over to that bear, he...he could say fuck it. Who cares if his Dad knew, anyway? He’d figure it out. But he didn’t pull his hand away--he just waited, feeling like the child he mostly was still, and hating himself for it. 

The bear just shrugged, and took another drag on his cigar. The boy would have to grow up sometime, after all. Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be seeing more of him soon enough.

***

Want more Pigtown Chronicles? Support me over on my Patreon, and you can get early access to new chapters, along with  loads of other content!

[caniaskyouabouttoday]

“He was conceived out of desperation and born into a mess,” Don Draper narrates from his own therapeutic diary. He’s referring to his youngest son, Gene, born from a fleeting moment of passion in Don’s decaying marriage to Betty — but clearly this sentence describes his own bleak, sordid origins.

Mad Men is one of the most spoiled shows ever so this will have spoilers. Don’s moment of zen became a meme seconds after the show wrapped. What’s strange is that the meme doesn’t seem to have an opinion on this ending of this series. The end of Mad Men isn’t beloved like Six Feet Under, polarizing like The Sopranos, or reviled like Dexter. It simply is an ending.

Much like Mad Men’s ostensible parent series, The Sopranos, there is some ambiguity. I guess you could interpret that the smirk followed by the “Buy the World a Coke” advertisement means that Don made a triumphant return and penned a masterpiece ad for his dream client. But does the smirk mean that Don has let such things go? Has his mentality changed to regard these conquests as trivialities? After his disappearance nothing indicates that McCann Erickson would continue to placate Don let alone give him creative carte blanche on their largest account. Don’s career, for all intents and purposes, appears over in 1970. He is a very rich man and McCann Erickson is a very unhappy workplace.

Mad Men is a hulking 92 episodes, a long show in today’s era of shows doing 8-10 episode seasons every two years; and sags heavily after season 5. The first half of Season Six is nigh unwatchable and the show got bogged down in constant business intrigue with multiple mergers and new names for Sterling Cooper. We’re saddled with pointless characters like Ted Chaough and Lou Adler who are one-dimensional and the show spins its wheels hard including a very poor creative decision to mostly pull the show out of New York and thrust it into Los Angeles to make Don “bi-coastal” — a move that was pretty clearly designed to accomodate outside film projects, not to bolster the quality of Mad Men itself.

Harry Hamlin, who had been mostly missing from TV since major stardom in the 1980s in L.A. Law does add to the proceedings as soft spoken and self-serving weasel, Jim Cutler. I never felt like Mad Men needed an antagonist character, but he was the most worthy one and had a unique presence and delivery. Don is his own worst enemy. Dick Whitman is the hero. The contradictions of Don, and Dick, who I think are primarily distinct (Hamm makes it very clear which he is playing) are the conflict.

Much has also been made of Jessica Pare. She performs a notorious burlesque at Don’s birthday party that embodied “cringe” before that was an ubiquitous word. By the time they had developed any chemistry together the show started ripping them apart by her acting career causing conflict about where they should live; and cooled tensions between Betty and Don reminded audiences of their superior chemistry and more fascinating relationship.

I skipped locating all my discs and watched Mad Men on IMDB TV which gave the series, appropriately, advertisements. Some were loud, garish, and artless; but there were some like a sexy beach themed ad for Calvin Klein “Eternity” set to a sultry lounge cover of “Unchained Melody” - I could imagine Don Draper flashing a whisky soaked grin of approval at the spot. This is a good way to watch the show; monitor your volume button as some ads are much louder than the show volume and horribly obnoxious.

Mad Men is a long, uneven, and imperfect show but its grace notes are incomparable. The “Carousel” sequence from Season One is one of the most perfect bits of TV drama ever. Jon Hamm’s performance as Don Draper and Dick Whitman, what little we see of the latter, are fascinating television characters portrayed to perfection. His work in The Town shows that he has presence in film and I’m baffled at how such a versatile talent has had a tepid career in the six years since the show signed off. Elisabeth Moss has launched into the stratosphere and I sure would like to see more of John Slattery, Christina Hendricks, and Vince Kartheiser (making Pete relatable and somewhat likable is a small miracle of the writing and performances on this series.)

Mad Men isn’t as good as The Sopranos, it isn’t as marketable as Breaking Bad, and it certainly could have told a more compact story; yet I loved spending time in its beautiful dream of the turbulent 1960s. I do not believe we’d have masterworks like “Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood” that were made in its wake without it.

My time with the show was much like Don’s relationships; thrilling highs and plunging lows - yet I can’t wait to hop on that carousel and revisit the series again soon. It truly is a time machine.

[corkcitylibraries]

National Heritage Week | Frank O’Connor – Librarian

by Jim McKeon

Writer, Frank O’Connor, was just twenty years of age when he was released from Gormanstown Interment Camp. Cork had been badly hit by the Civil War. It was still a smouldering ruin. Because the city and county had been the focal point of much of the bloodiest fighting the turmoil of the Civil War lingered there longer than it did elsewhere in the country. In the spring of 1924, the city was still edgy. O’Connor had no money and no job. Under the new government all teachers were required to learn the Irish language. For a few months he taught Irish to the teachers at the Protestant school in St Luke’s Cross, near his home. He was paid a few shillings a week for this. He struggled by, a twenty-year old in his father’s patched up, old hand-me-down trousers teaching middle-aged teachers how to speak the Irish language. It was frustrating, especially if you were on the losing side in the Civil War. MacCurtain and MacSwiney had tragically died but he still met Corkery and Seán O’Faoláin regularly. As so often before Daniel Corkery, forever in O’Connor’s background, stepped in and arranged an interview for a job. Cork dramatist, Lennox Robison, who was secretary of the Carnegie Library, was organising rural libraries and he was looking for young men and women to train as librarians. After a tough interview O’Connor got the job. His mother packed his little cardboard suitcase, including a big holy picture of the Sacred Heart, and he set off for Sligo.

 Bust of Frank O’Connor - on display in the City Library, Grand Parade

At last he had enough books to read. Even for 1924, the wages were poor, thirty shillings a week. His lodgings were twenty-seven and sixpence. He had a half-crown (12.5 cent) left for cigarettes and drink. He posted his dirty laundry on to Cork every week. His mother washed it, with unconditional love, and posted it back, and sometimes included five shillings for her son. As a librarian he was all hands. His boss said he was untrainable. He kept busy by reading poetry books and getting them off by heart. He was blessed with a phenomenal memory. The only thing of note in Sligo was that he celebrated his twenty-first birthday far from home. After six months he was sent to Wicklow, where a new library was to be opened.

 When he arrived a local priest wanted to close down the library. Lennox Robinson had just been heavily criticised and fired from his library position because of a controversial story he wrote about a pregnant girl who felt she had mysterious visit by the Holy Ghost. O’Connor’s boss was Geoffrey Phibbs, an influential fellow poet with controversial opinions on many aspects of life. The two young poets became great friends.  Phibbs escorted O’Connor to Dublin and introduced him to Lady Gregory, George Russell (AE) and Yeats. AE was editor of the Irish Statesman and encouraged O’Connor to send him on something for publication. He sent a verse translation of Suibne Geilt Aspires and when AE published it 14 March 1924, it carried for the first time the pseudonym Frank O’Connor. It must be remembered that he was a young civil servant and he may have been contemplating on keeping his job by using a pen name ever since Lennox Robinson’s enforced resignation. He chose his confirmation name, Francis, and his mother’s maiden name, O’Connor. The prominence AE and the Irish Statesman gave him thrust him into literary view. Yeats had great time for O’Connor and said that he did for Ireland what Chekhov did for Russia. But the young librarian missed home and his mother. A vacancy came up in Cork. AE tried to talk him out of it and warned him he’d be miserable back in Cork. It never occurred to O’Connor that he would not return home. Like his father he was, at that stage, a one-town man..

 Notwithstanding AE’s forebodings, he accepted the job of Cork’s first county librarian in December 1925. He was just twenty-two years of age. His salary of five pounds a week was more than anyone in Harrington’s Square had ever dreamed of earning. The library was at twenty-five Patrick Street which was still in the process of being rebuilt.  Minnie was happy that her son was back home again and his father, Big Mick, was impressed that a pension went with his son’s new job. The city was still in a poor condition. The foundation of the Irish Free State in 1922 augured a period of new confidence in Cork. But in 1924 a public inquiry found: 

  …limited progress had been made on rebuilding Cork’s city centre since it had been burned down in 1920. Criticism was made of the poor quality of maintenance of the city streets, many of which were still paved with timber blocks. Part of Anderson’s Quay had fallen into the river. The public water supply was of poor quality…There was virtually no building in progress in the city.  

  In the burning of Cork not alone had many of the character and physical structures of the city been lost, but so also had thousands of jobs and many peoples’ homes. The Cork Examiner reported that thousands were rendered idle by the destruction. The rebuilding was tediously slow mainly because of the shortage of funding. Britain’s refusal to accept blame and pay compensation didn’t help. The Civil War itself and the post-war political divide were also major factors in delaying the building progress. This was another chapter in Frank O’Connor’s Cork, a damaged city struggling to survive. He opened his library over a shop near the corner of Winthrop Street. It was five years since the burning yet major buildings, just yards away, like Roches Stores and Cash & Co, were still rubble. Rebuilding had not yet started in these two well-known shops. In January 1927, Roches Stores finally re-opened for business. Summing up, the burning of Cork had a unifying effect on a people that had been collectively damaged by the event. It also exposed divisions in Cork society at the time. A Church/political divide came to the surface during this traumatic time. It was demonstrated through criticism by councillors of Bishop Coholan for his refusal to condemn the burning. Many republicans were unhappy because they felt the clerical comments were often selective. Frank O’Connor had a huge responsibility for a young and inexperienced man. He was given a cheque for three thousand pounds to set up and stock his library. He made his first mistake. At that time an anti-Catholic bias still lingered in commerce. He naively lodged the cheque in the nearby and more practical catholic bank when the accepted practice was to use the protestant bank. This innocent action caused a major committee dispute and O’Connor was accused of having a personal and ulterior motive. Then, when he insured the building, the insurance company gave him a cheque as a personal thank you. He didn’t want it and kept it for years but never cashed it. He sums up this whole chaotic scenario: 

  By the time the Cork County Council had done with organizing my sub-committee it consisted of a hundred and ten members, and anyone who has ever had to deal with a public body will realize the chaos this involved. Finally I managed to get my committee together in one of the large council rooms, and by a majority it approved my choice of bankers. There was, I admit, a great deal of heat. Some of the councillors felt I had acted in a very high-handed way, and one protested against my appearing in a green shirt – a thing which, he said, he would not tolerate from anybody. 

  When he finally got his stock of books together and organised his new library, he decided that he should have closer contact with the rural community. If they couldn’t come to him then he’d go to them. He bought a van, packed it with boxes of books, and drove all over the county. After six months this affected his health. He was exhausted from working long hours driving all over West Cork and he wrote almost every night. In a letter to old Wicklow colleague, Phibbs, he wrote, I’m working like a brute beast. He became ill and had to have a serious operation in the Bon Secours Hospital. He spent two weeks in hospital and six weeks convalescing. It shows his stubbornness when he shocked the nuns in the hospital by refusing to receive the sacraments before the operation. 

           Cork had a long tradition of theatre and a critical play-going audience, but in 1927 there was only one drama group in the city, the newly formed Cork Shakespearian Company. Daniel Corkery’s little theatre had closed in 1913 and groups like Munster Players, Leeside Players and Father Matthew Players were also defunct. On 8 August 1927 Micheál MacLiammoir and Hilton Edwards brought their touring company to Cork. They performed The High Steppers’in the Pavillion Theatre in Patrick Street. This venue later became a cinema and is presently HMV music shop. After the opening night there was a party at Seán and Geraldene Neeson’s home. Geraldene was Terence MacSwiney’s bridesmaid when he married in England. MacLiammoir encouraged O’Connor to revive drama in Cork. O’Connor was inspired and was instrumental in forming the Cork Drama League. Although he knew nothing about drama he threw himself headlong at the project. Old friend, Seán Hendrick, recalls: 

  That Michael knew nothing about producing plays and I knew nothing about stage-managing them did not trouble us at all…The producer was to be given a free hand in the choice of both plays and cast and members were bound to accept the parts allotted them. There were to be no stars and an all-round uniformity of performance was to be aimed at. 

  Undaunted, Frank O’Connor tore into their new venture. Lennox Robinson’s play, The Round Table, was to be the first production. It was its first appearance in Cork and there were some slight adjustments to suit the local audience. The curtain-raiser was Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard. Typically, O’Connor wrote the programme notes, directed The Round Table, and appeared in both plays. The Round Table was a difficult play to produce. It had fourteen characters. Many of them doubled up and played two roles. They had trouble trying to cast the part of Daisy Drennan, but one night Geraldine Neeson brought along a pretty young girl to audition. Although she had a terrible stammer she was a natural actress. Not alone did she get the part but that night O’Connor walked her home. From then on Nancy McCarthy became his leading lady and for years to come she was to flit in and out of his life. The company’s first play opened on 28 February 1928 in Gregg Hall in the South Mall, a theatre venue no longer used in Cork. They got high praise all round especially Nancy McCarthy. They immediately started rehearsing for their second venture, The Cherry Orchard. Cork City was now back on its feet and completely rebuilt and people were getting used to a new freedom and sense of safety. Theatre was a hugely popular event.  Plays at that time generally had an Irish theme and written by the likes of Yeats, Synge, Robinson and T. C. Murray. That had been the custom and they were very popular with Cork audiences. But the young Frank O’Connor had other ideas. He was into French and German and Russian theatre and he wanted to offer the Cork public something different. 

  English drama, no matter how significant it may be in its own setting can have no beneficial effect upon a country which is subjected to cultural influences only from one source. The Cork Drama League proposes to give the best of American and continental theatre, of Chekhov, of Martine Sierra, of Eugene O’Neill and those other dramatists whose work, as a result of the dominating influence of the English theatre, is quite unknown in Cork.  

  That was a more than subtle dig at Fr, O’Flynn, a local priest, who had founded the Cork Shakespearian Company in 1924. The two men did not get on. From 20 December to 30 December1927 they exchanged four letters in the Cork Examiner trading insults. Fr, O’Flynn signed his letters The Producer while O’Connor used his name in Irish. Seán Hendrick joined in the attack calling himself Spectator. Everyone in Cork knew who both men were. Ironically, they were more alike than they cared to admit; they were two proud Cork men, they both loved Shakespeare and they both loved Irish. Two more plays were produced, The Cherry Orchard and A Doll’s House. Both got fine reviews, but the audiences were poor. Maybe the Cork Drama League was going too far too soon, and Cork wasn’t ready for them. By now O’Connor was spending most of his time with Nancy McCarthy. Nancy was a religious girl from a well-known Cork family. He brought her home to see his mother and the couple went on a three-week holiday to Donegal. They stayed in houses three miles apart. They met every day for a year outside of St, Peter and Paul’s church after mass. They were engaged for a while but it did not work out. She would not marry him. He would not marry in a Catholic church and there was no way Nancy would marry outside the Church. She was one of ten siblings and he was an only child. She felt he was spoiled. This was quite true. By now he was being regularly published in the Irish Statesman. He had a poem dedicated to Nancy published 9 May 1928. The last two lines are filled with melodrama: 

  That even within this darkness of our body keeps  

Communion with the brightness of a world we dream  

  Frank O’Connor was beginning to feel that AE was right. He should never have left Dublin. He was no longer enjoying his years in Cork. It was no longer the place he had known. O’Faoláin was in America and recently he had found it difficult to talk to Corkery. He made it plain that he was taking sides and that O’Connor was on the wrong side. O’Connor was restless and felt that Cork was threatening to suffocate him. He missed Wicklow where he could talk literature and art to Phibbs and go on to Dublin to meet AE and Yeats. AE would give him all the latest books and gossip, and Sunday evening he could go to the Abbey Theatre and see a series of continental plays, Chekhov, Strindberg and contemporary German plays. Eventually, getting frustrated with the parochialism of Cork and his lack of success with Nancy McCarthy, he applied for the job as municipal librarian in Ballsbridge. On Saturday 1 December 1928 he packed his case and left for Dublin. He still felt it was only a temporary move. Nothing could cure him of the notion that Cork needed him and he needed Cork. Nothing but death could ever cure him of this. 

Jim McKeon’s book Frank O’Connor: A Life is available to borrow from Cork City Libraries 

Jim McKeon has been involved in theatre all his life and has many film scripts, plays and books to his name. His best-known work is probably the biography of Frank O'Connor. He also toured Ireland and the US with his one-man-show on the writer's life. Jim is also an award-winning theatre director and poet.

[insomniac-arrest]

for the story prompt: that's how it started. And how it ended.

There was screaming on the day it started. I don’t what I expected, maybe some sort of warning. Some air sirens, explosions, anime intro music that would blare through my head space before everything went to shit.

There were signs of course, we were all aware of the species jumping. The whispers down in South America and then Europe. Cities that disappeared as entire populations went and Roanoke-d themselves.

I’m getting ahead of myself. That isn’t where the story starts and isn’t even where it ends.

It started with Daniel Uberman. Uberman was the slowest kid in our class, which was saying something since Janet Choi only ever pretended to run and Kirk constantly had sprained ankles. Daniel was so slow it almost hurt to watch and he also wasn’t the most popular kid since he didn’t know when to shut up and sang off key in choir just to be obnoxious.

I was on the track team and it just so happened that coach wanted me to give people pointers. That included Daniel.

“Keep your knees up, Uberman,” and “don’t look at your feet when you run.” That sort of thing. A lot of kids hate running, they think it’s a type of punishment or a waste of time. I never felt that way, ever since I was a kid the burning in my lungs and the fact I moved somewhere on my own two feet.

That was freedom.

They called me a nice guy, I’m not sure what that meant or if it was true. I mean, I once kissed Stacy Hendricks the same week I asked out Nora George. Okay, to precise, the same day. But in my defense I’m a romantic at heart and Nora George smelled like peaches.

But that’s not where the story starts.

The story starts with my mom shrieking at me. “You can’t do that Nicholas!” She said with red welts on her cheeks and the presence of a bear. “You’re bigger than him. You’re older.”

“He pushed me first!” I shrieked back because I was a willful child.

My mom got down on knee and looked me in the eye, “you can’t live with a bully, Nicholas,” she pulled me into a hug I didn’t understand. I’m not sure I understand it now. “You’re stronger than him, you can’t use that against him. No one can live with a bully.”

I hugged my mom back and pretended not to notice when her cheeks were wet. I never knew my dad. I never pushed my brother down again after that, even when he stole my toys and broke them and kicked me in the shins on accident.

They call it Burning Monday here, and they call it Lazarus Day in other places and others simply speak of it in whispers and sobs. We heard of the quarantine, but no one understood what a fungus like that could do.

San Francisco should have been safe, maybe California should have been safe, maybe. It was a Monday and I was out on the track for third period PE class, it was my favorite class as cliche as that is. Coach was off to the side reprimanding Amanda Johnson for lying down on the grass earlier, he seemed to be oblivious to her red eyes and skunk smell.

Amanda definitely had no idea where she was right then.

I was on my third lap and thinking about Nora George wanting to break up with me and fourth period history class and my stupid hangnail from the day before.

“Ahh!” A shriek came from the direction of the school and I turned just in time to see something lumbering over the hill. I mean, I understand it had two legs and arms and a head. But it moved wrong- crooked and jagged like the ball joints weren’t working right in their sockets. It’s skin was as grey as the morning fog and its jaw was open in a yawning, angry direction. The things were covered in some sort of fuzz that surrounded their eyes and mouths and ears. Green fuzz.

A second and third thing quickly sprinted down the hill. They were faster than anything I had ever seen, human or not. Things were falling off of them as they ran: fingers, ears, little things, and if I was thinking straight I would have picked up on that as hope.

I wasn’t, I was backing up toward the fence with my eyebrows rising and mouth silently falling open. “Zombies!” Someone shouted with their finger shaking. “Zombies.” They yelled that impossible word again.

That set everyone off in the sprint in the opposite direction of the horde. I hesitated for just a moment before I was off like a bullet toward the gym. The gym also doubled as a bunker and you could lock the doors.

And then I turned and heard someone shouting. “NO! God, fuck,” I turned just in time to see Daniel Uberman gasping for air and making barely any forward momentum. The devils behind him were much faster.

I turned to keep running. I was the fastest kid in the school. I could get away. I squeezed my eyes shut and wanted to keep running, needed it. But my mom’s voice was still trapped behind every other thought I’ve ever had.

You’re stronger than him, it said. Do something.

I internally groaned just as I turned on my heels and saw Luis Alvarez was holding his lacrosse stick with shaking fingers in front of him. He was fast too and not looking back.

“Alvarez!” I shouted, “Can I borrow that?” I took it from his hands before he could answer and went skidding down the slippery hill where Daniel was stumbling. A creature was five steps behind him with hands outstretched.

“Nick?” He gaped and looked up at me with wide eyes as I arrived. I lifted the stick above my head and then brought it down on the head of the zombie behind him. Kids later would call this “brave” or “stupid” or “wow, Nick’s kind of hot, yeah?”

The last one I didn’t mind so much. But the truth was that Daniel was scrambling for breath and I wasn’t just going to leave someone- my mom would never let me live that down.

The lacrosse stick cracked the head of the zombie like a ripe melon and it splattered with mush spraying in all directions. “Ew,” I wrinkled my nose as the mush inside the zombie was absolutely covered in that green fuzz, it’s insides were covered with it and the brain mush was riddled with holes.

“Fungus,” Daniel reached for me and clawed at my arm, “fungus, like in those ants.”

“What?”

“Ah!” Daniel threw his arms up as more of the fast creatures threw themselves at us. They were delicate and held together by flimsy fungus apparently. I cracked more of them open, but there were more. And more.

“Alright, Daniel,” I threw him the lacrosse stick, “how do you feel about being carried?”

He just shook his head feebly, but I grabbed him by the waist and started hauling him up the hill and toward the gym. The creatures were fast, but the new ones were just now coming over the hill and we managed to bang on the gym door with our fists before they could descend all at once.

Amanda answered the door with wild red eyes and looking like she was having the worst trip of her life, “dudes.”

I forced our way in, “zombies.” I spit, “actual zombies.”

“Like the ants!” I dropped Daniel on the floor and Lazarus Monday had officially started.

We’d find out later that the zombies were controlled by a type of fungus and tore themselves apart trying to move or eat. It would be a short pandemic. But we’d have to survive at least a week or so before it wore itself down into nothing.

But there was a lot to survive before that week was through.

First, Michelle James, one of the most popular girls in my class pointed at me. “You.” She said with a choked croak. Her eyes were red and cheeks streaked with wetness, “you just fought off all those zombies,” she turned to Daniel with her lips peeling back, “for Dan.”

I looked back at her and looked back to the lacrosse stick covered in fuzz and brains. “I guess.”

Michelle looked around to the handful of kids that had managed to get into the gym. Most of the teachers had fled or been taken down saving their students. “I vote that Nick gets to be in charge.”

I just blinked back at her. And several kids raised their hands in agreement. I didn’t mean to be in charge of surviving a zombie attack, but that’s how the story of leading us through Zombie Week started and ended: saving Daniel Uberman.

[disneytva]

Extra Wild ETs: Justin Roiland & Mike McMahan’s ‘Solar Opposites’ Lands at Hulu

Misfit aliens from space trying to adapt to life on Earth have been a popular staple of sitcoms such as My Favorite Martian, ALF and 3rd Rock from the Sun. This spring, a new brood of aliens make their impressive debut in Hulu’s Solar Opposites, the hilarious new animated offering from Rick and Morty co-creator Justin Roiland and former head writer Mike McMahan (Star Trek: Lower Decks).

The series, which overflows with the inspired lunacy you might expect from the madmen who gave us Rick and Morty, follows a team of four aliens who have crash-landed into suburbia after escaping their exploding home planet. Two of them, Korvo (Roiland) and Yumyulack (Sean Giambrone) believe their new home is awful and polluted, while the other duo Terry (Thomas Middleditch) and Jesse (Mary Mack) love humans, their junk food and pop culture.

Roiland, who won an Emmy in 2018 for executive producing Rick and Morty (and yes, he also voices both Rick and Morty for that hugely popular show) tells us that he had the idea to center a show on a pair of odd-couple aliens about 14 years ago. “At some point, it was going to be a live-action series, but it never happened,” he recalls. “Mike McMahan and I were trying to develop another show, between the second and third season of Rick and Morty, but everything we did felt really laborious. So, we decided to put that other idea down and try the odd-couple alien pitch again … and then, once we went back to the original premise, everything became very easy.”

Loving the Aliens

“Justin has all these books of random sketches and ideas from years past,” says McMahan. “We flipped through them and landed on a rough drawing of Terry and Korvo, which we used as the inspiration to build out the family. I was a new dad at the time, so I added the kids/replicants and the baby/Pupa character, we were going for a classic sitcom/FOX look from afar, which would get weirder the closer you looked. The tone we wanted to hit was ‘funny and fun over everything else at all times,’ which you can still clearly see in the finished show.”

McMahan and Roiland then put together the story for the pilot, which is very close to the final version that viewers will get to see on Hulu this month. “We originally had interest from Netflix and Syfy, but those didn’t happen, and then Hulu stepped in,” says Roiland. “We then added [exec producer/writer] Josh Bycel (American Dad!, Happy Endings) along, and things really got moving. It was a lot of work, but everyone is really kicking ass — and it’s been a lot of fun, too.”

In addition to the show regulars, the series also boasts a phenomenal list of guest voice actors. The first season alone features the likes of Alan Tudyk, Tiffany Hadish, Tom Kenny, Alfred Molina, Christina Hendricks, Rainn Wilson, Eric Bauza, Amanda Leighton, Maurice LaMarche, Miguel Sandoval, Nat Faxon, Natalie Morales, Phil LaMarr and Kari Wahlgren. The show is produced by 20th Century Fox Television and the animation is handled by Green Portal Productions and Vancouver-based Bardel Entertainment, which also handle Rick and Morty.

Roiland says he and McMahan had a great time brainstorming about the aliens, their weird biology and how they interact with the world in unexpected ways. For example, whenever they get stressed, their bodies begin to emit little creatures that look like a hybrid between a giant virus and a pink booger (they’re called gooblers).

“It’s funny to think about humanity from the perspective of alien beings,” says Roiland.

“We are going to have lots of fun with the gooblers, but I can’t tell you more about it because we don’t want to ruin the joke.”

Overall, both Roiland and McMahan say the show is a bit sillier and looser than their other collaboration, Rick and Morty. “Our process of writing and producing is quicker, but we still strive for the same level of humor and surprises. We have so many ideas about how these aliens survive on the planet. But when you think about it, it’s really an immigrant story,” Roiland points out. “These characters are very new to their environment, and we get to have fun by looking at things we take for granted and build jokes and sketch storylines around those ideas.”

McMahan says one of their biggest challenges was to always keep the comedy and the tone of the show as light and fun as possible, even when pouring their efforts into making sure everything was professionally executed. “It’s easy for a show to become ‘right,’ but also lose the frivolity that made you like it in the first place. Solar Opposites is always a balancing act between, ‘we have to make a really good, emotionally solid TV episode’ and ‘let’s do some crazy, effed shit that makes us laugh. I’m really happy with how the first season ended up in that regard.”

Juggling Toons Looking back at the past few years, Roiland says the big challenge was juggling the production of Solar Opposites, all of his Rick and Morty duties and launching his own gaming studio Squanch Games in 2016. “Everything was happening at the same time,” he says. “But luckily I had an amazing team. Mike and Josh were amazing and did a great job of running the room day to day. It’s the old adage: You have to surround yourself with talented people and get out of their way. We are having so much fun with this show and our voice cast brings so much to the table: They truly embody the characters and add some hilarious improv material to the show, as well.”

Roiland, who says he was hugely influenced by shows such as The Simpsons, Beavis and Butt-head, Ren & Stimpy and Liquid Television when he was younger, says fans could see a possible appearance by Rick and Morty on Solar Opposites in the future. “In an infinite multiverse, everything is part of the multiverse, so they could easily be a couple of realities away,” he says.“I have no idea how you would navigate the IP waters, but that would be really friggin’ cool!”

“Our initial pitch to Hulu always included a heavily serialized element, so there’s a big part of the show that’s always been designed to be binged,” adds McMahahn. “I’ve never worked on a serialized animated comedy, and I don’t see a lot of them, so I heavily nerded out that we got to make a serialized show along with a goofball comedy. What you see on the screen (in that respect) is exactly what I wanted it to be from conception through execution, which is a rare treat for a creator. Also, the art team and the voice actors are insanely talented, everyone gave it their best, and you’ll see that the first season is something special.”

Roiland says he hopes the audience will get some entertainment and some happiness by watching his new show. “Things are pretty sad out there in the real world, so we hope Solar Opposites and new episodes of Rick and Morty will offer people a little bit of distraction.”

“I hope audiences will sit down to watch a show about crazy funny aliens, and then be surprised as they keep watching how serialized and thought-out everything is,” adds McMahan. “In any other time, this show couldn’t exist. To me, the only reason a show should exist on Hulu (or any streamer) is because it feels like a miracle, like you can’t believe what you’re watching. Sometimes that feeling comes from a cancelled show being resurrected. For Solar, it’s the jokes, language, what we can show on screen (Solar is TV-MA, which is crazy what you can do) and the serialized elements. Somehow, this show feels like a classic, broad network sitcom and like an insane cable show that fell out of another dimension, all at the same time.”

[pollylynn]

Title: Lambent WC: 900

He is a fan of her enthusiasm for their inaugural “nap” in his new office. He knows it’s born, at least in part, of their previous, frustrated attempts, but that does not diminish his fandom one little bit. He very much appreciates the swivel she puts into the swivel chair and her commitment to affirming the sturdiness of not only the chair, but also his behemoth of an antique wooden desk. Her absolute confidence in the privacy afforded by the frosted glass panes of the outward-angled windows is also to be commended—and if she’s indifferent to privacy issues, well that definitely gets a gold star. 

He’s a fan of the nap for all the obvious reasons, as well as the surprises the never-obvious Detective Beckett had up her sleeve. But he’s a fan of this, too—of the after-nap that has them not so much swiveling as describing a slow, lazy arc that carries them into the shaft of street light, then back into shadow. 

She’s in his lap again, wrapped in the shirt she’s commandeered. They have her coat draped haphazardly over the tangled two of them and they’re chatting quietly with the tick of the big, analog wall clock offering its constant commentary. 

“Will you frame it?” She gestures with the toes of one foot toward the mad man’s murder board still leaning against the window. She rolls her ankle in a sinuous figure eight, preening at the way the streetlight though the frosted glass silvers her skin. “Your first big solve.” 

“My first big almost solve.” He imitates her gesture with his own, considerably less elegant toes and she buries a laugh against his shoulder. “You want me to literally frame an innocent man?” 

“I want you—” 

She wriggles on his lap to sit up straight. It’s serious. She has a serious look on her face, but she’s wriggling in his lap. She has interrupted herself at the intersection of double and entendre.  He makes some kind of noise in the back of his throat. He’s going for a salacious growl, but again, she is wriggling in his lap. It has some definite squeak-like qualities. It wins him a particularly stern tweak of the ear, so he does his best to compose himself. 

“I want you to give yourself credit.” She takes his chin in one hand and directs his gaze back toward map with its criss-crossing riot of multi-colored yarn. “You followed that story, with all its twists and turns. You listened to your instincts when everyone else—including me—thought the case was closed.” 

“Plus,” he reaches past her to pluck the oversized purple ball of yarn he, thankfully, hadn’t had to break into in order to map out all the players’ movements, “I made the lady who owns the yarn store downstairs really happy.” He moves to bop her playfully on the nose with the squishy mass, but she snatches it from his hand. 

“Castle,” she says sternly. She’s serious. She’s still serious, and he really likes that about this after-nap, too, even though it’s making him squirm, and not exactly in the pleasant, chair swiveling way.  

“You were right before,” he says, head dipping to avoid her eyes. “I let the case get under my skin.”

“And I’m right now.” She lifts his chin. “Whether or not you stick with this. You did good work on this case.”  

He nods. He lays his cheek alongside hers and tries to let the words sink in. He tries, but his mind protests. It calls him out for the fact that Aubrey Haskins might very well have gotten away with two murders if it weren’t for the fact that Eva Whitfield—Eva Hendricks, really—had had his antennae up from the beginning. She’d had him right back in high school mode, where he’d dared not say no to her cheating off him, dared not say no to her film noir set up. 

But she’d also made him want to believe, then and now, that he might someday be more than on the fringes of cool-kid group then, that he could solve the case and give her closure now. His mind wants him to believe that he’s been an idiot in the mold of Phillip Marlowe, with none of the fictional detective’s eventual savvy and signature detachment. 

 His mind has all kinds of stupid ideas, but the woman of his dreams is in his lap, the greatest detective he knows, and she thinks he did good work. She thinks he should frame his manic almost-solve, and in the after-nap glow, she’s more convincing than the chatter inside his head. The swivel chair makes its lazy arc, carrying them into the shaft of streetlight, then back into shadow. The tick of the big, analog wall clock offers its constant commentary, and the words sink in. 

“I did good work,” he repeats. He breathes a thank you into her skin, so soft that he’s not sure she can hear, so he’d best show her. It’s only sensible. He skims one hand up the sleek expanse of her bare thigh. He shrugs her coat to the floor and sets to work on the buttons of his own shirt, which looks better on her, and better still off her. “It’s the office. I do some of my best work here.”  A/N: There was a lot more talk about that yarn, but then I swatted Brain Poneh on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. Hmm.   images via homeofthenutty

[ilikelookingatthings]

Barbie’s Duality and Untapped Role Model Potential

this particular essay by Clarisa Calderon-Figueroa

When I say Barbie, what pops into your head? A plastic doll with blond locks? The color Pink? Princesses? Glitter? Gender segregated toy sections at Target? Ripped off limbs? Maybe personal memories of playing with Barbie yourself scroll across the back of your eyelids. Or a sense of shallow distaste as you think of plastic surgery, removed ribs, and righteous complaints about body image. Barbie is a household name that has been steadily embedding itself in the world's collective consciousness since “1959,  with her vast array of careers that stem from CEO to astronaut, but who simultaneously is more associated with the lyrics "I'm a blond bimbo girl" by the band "Aqua" ( Dockterman "A Barbie for Every Body") than the female empowerment message she goes out of her way to promote. The collective consciousness pulls "that age-old move" of "'demeaning' a powerful woman" and undercutting Barbie’s influence and the values she actually promotes by "'reducing' her to her appearance." ( Dockterman "Wonder Woman Breaks Through"). She is unfairly accused of selling a sexist, objectifying message under the veneer of empowering girls, stifling the untapped potential this icon has to teach children and adults the value of feminine traits.

 Barbie has been accused of being inappropriate because of her body shape; on the surface these concerns are valid. According to a journal Barbie's design had been closely based on the "Lilli dolls, designed by O & M Hausser created in 1955…" which were "... racy..." dolls meant to be "… suggestive…" "… gag gifts..." that "… were not intended for children"(Hunter et al 138). She supposedly had the male gaze built into her and was repackaged for young girls. A 2006 study found that"girls exposed to Barbie at a young age were more likely to worry about their weight" (Dockterman "A Barbie for Every Body"). However, the study fails to consider that Barbie is not the only doll children would be playing with in real life. Some of those dolls have even more severe proportions than Barbie with a less wholesome image. Match up a Veterinarian Barbie with her "5-inch waist", "11.5-inches of height" and a "bust of 5-inches" against a Bratz doll with their "pouty lips", "bare midriff-baring tops", and half the waist with 7/10th the bust size(Hess). The disproportionate proportions winner is the Bratz doll. The study also proclaims that Barbie wouldn't be realistic if she was scaled up to actual human size, but Barbie is not meant to be scaled up and has never claimed to be realistic.

Barbie has tried to address the criticisms about her proportions by creating the "petite, tall" and "curvy"( Dockterman "A Barbie for Every Body") barbie body molds and with her worldwide reach, she can soon normalize the doll shapes from a young age since as of yet little girls still "snicker" at curvy barbie" which was noted by Tania Missad who had watched the test marketing of these new body types. If Barbie was the source of these body image issues kids would not snicker at different barbies but while she is not responsible she does have the ability to influence kids, especially with live examples of powerful female role models "Beyonce, Christina Hendricks" and "feminist leaders like Lena Dunham" with their "un-Barbie-like figures onscreen, fueling a movement that promotes body acceptance"(Dockterman 46). Barbie has the unique enduring appeal that has been picked up by generations of children; soon her different body types will recalibrate at the new normal.

 Instead of blaming the society and the media that girls are exposed to daily, the blame is thrust on to Barbie even though "she's just a body" that "society can project on"(Dockterman "A Barbie for Every Body") and no one tries to blame boy toys like G.I. Joe of being a bad influence on young lads despite being the hyper-masculine ideal. Barbie is not even the only female icon that has her appearance dragged out to ridicule and used to distract from their actual accomplishments. The superhero Wonder Woman was sculpted from the mind of a "feminist, psychologist and… inventor of the lie-detector test..." "William Moulton Marston" in "1941" as "icon for little girls". Wonder woman's message of empowerment became so iconic the "U.N." dubbed her the "Honorary Ambassador for the Empowerment of Women and Girls..". Unfortunately, her position was rescinded due to a "petition objecting to "a large-breasted white woman of impossible proportions..."; dismissing her as a "... epitome of a 'pinup'" (Dockterman "wonder woman breaks through"). Wonder Woman has been around since Batman and Superman and yet she has had only "one" film compared to the "'Batman's' nine" and "'Superman's seven". People even criticized Gal Gadot as Wonder Woman, not for her acting talent but for the size of her breasts, according to an interview mentioned in the Wonder Woman Breaks Through article. Evidence that the phenomenon of society judging the looks of females and using them as excuses to undercut the messages those ladies represent live people and imaginary characters.

 Another complaint lobbied about the Barbie brand’s narrow view of positive, cheerful girl power. It's true, Mattel could be promoting one type of image of what being a girl is like, but the fact that Barbie from her inception has "inspired resistance" to even her own "script" (Weida el al [103]17-31) and has inspired conversations about what it means to be a lady. Even when Barbie seems one note she can be used to articulate a change. Barbie, as mentioned before with the body molds, has adapted to these arguments; just as feminism has grown and changed over time. Barbie has even purposefully used start a ripple of change for young girls to become interested “in the field of computers and information technology” by filling the gap caused by the “lack of well-known female role models” with the Barbie computer science "coding program"(Martincic et al 7).

 The classic Barbie doll is often accused of promoting a shallow, stereotypical view of the female gender. Its true Barbie is blonde, pretty, fashion-obsessed, loves glitter, and associated with the term princess, however, seeing these as a negative from the get go is sexist in and of itself. If someone is blonde they shouldn’t be taken less seriously than a brunette. If their preferred color is pink it doesn't mean they should be judged more than if their favorite is blue. Enjoying clothes isn’t inherent shallow as it is a method expressing yourself; and glitter is gender-neutral. By associating these feminine aspects with negative light it can lead to dismissing other traits deemed as feminine, such as kindness or compassion, as weak. If girls don't respect those aspects how will they get boys to respect those aspects? Barbie takes those stereotypical girly aspects people have been conditioned over time to avoid and proclaims there is nothing to be ashamed of.

 Even the idea of princesses has become synonymous with being a damsel in distress; a passive prize to be won. In reality, princesses are leaders and have " 'spanned' nearly all cultures and time periods…" and have a "myriad representations"(Weida el al 17-31) of what princesses can be like. The damsel image can immediately be changed when you change the princess to an active main character who drives the story. Barbie has a large association with princesses due to her movie franchise that almost slaps the term princess or mention of a royal in a majority of her films that I am a big fan of because Barbie is always the main character and the goals of the movies don't revolve around romance. Barbie's overly pink girly image is associated with the damsel stereotype which also means when Barbie breaks that stereotype over and over again it will stick. Barbie draws in little girls with her pretty dresses and sparkly animation and can inspire and teach little girls' leadership by normalizing the idea that guys can "… play subordinate roles in comparison with the female characters" (Änggård) since Barbie is the active problem solver.

 Barbie as a female-focused brand explores scenarios where girls are the central focus without the expectations that they'll be brushed aside in favor of boy characters which can happen in more neutral, family-oriented. Slipping in an accidentally positive preference bias toward guys. Eva Änggård had noted that while the girls had included boys in their stories, none of the boys included girls in their own stories. The boys seemed to associate "The presence of female figures…to romance" which caused "teasing" from other boys. It had gotten to the point at least "two girls" had become "angry because they were not allowed to play in the boys' stories" so they "wrote their own stories" (Änggård) that used the themes the boys had favored. Kids reflect the society around them so the fact that the boys dismissed the girls entirely from the story is a micro-example of what happens on a large scale around the world. Barbie can fight those expectations due to her wide media presence. If the media would stop focusing on the flaws Barbie is ironing out and talk about how entertaining her shows or toys are, or the lessons she actually endorses, Barbie might teach the guys who aren't just forced to watch with their sisters the leadership qualities and friendship lessons.

 Barbie has a wide reach not just as a toy, but through her "39" ("List of All Barbie Movies Online") movies and TV shows including Barbie Life in the Dreamhouse. Barbie has computer games and clothing lines. Barbie appeals to nostalgic adults with their collector Barbies; using that connection to prompts those adults to introduce Barbie to their kids. Barbie has an online presence that includes a motion capture Barbie YouTube channel, the Facebook page, or her twitter account ("Barbie YouTube"). Her worldwide appeal is already strong so if the instinct to brush aside girl-oriented media and jump on every minor flaw Barbie has was curbed, she could influence young children when they are the most impressionable to accept many wonderful traits.

 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

 Cite

Änggård, Eva. "Barbie Princesses and Dinosaur Dragons: Narration as a Way of Doing Gender." Gender & Education, vol. 17, no. 5, Dec. 2005, pp. 539–553. EBSCOhost, doi: 10.1080/09540250500192777.

"Barbie." YouTube, YouTube, www.youtube.com/c/barbie/videos.

Dockterman, Eliana. "A Barbie for Every Body. (Cover Story)." TIME Magazine, vol. 187, no. 4, Feb. 2016, pp. 44–51. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=112553378&scope=site.

Dockterman, Eliana. "Wonder Woman Breaks Through." TIME Magazine, vol. 188, no. 27–28, Dec. 2016, pp. 98–105. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=120303854&scope=site.

Hess, Amanda. "Leave Barbie Alone! She's Not the Skinniest Doll on the Block." Slate Magazine, Slate, 5 Feb. 2014, slate.com/human-interest/2014/02/barbies-not-the-skinniest-doll-on-the-block-measuring-barbie-bratz-monster-high-and-american-girl-dolls.html. WEB

Hunter, Dan, and F. Gregory Lastowka. "BarbieTM." Tulane Journal of Technology & Intellectual Property, Vol. 18. Fall 2015, pp. 133-160. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct-true&db=a9h&AN=111415505&scope=site.

"List of All Barbie Movies (Online)." Princess Movies Online, Princess Movies Online Copyright © 2020. Disney Movies Online Kids Movies, 11 Aug. 2020, www.princessmovies.org/barbie-movies/list-all-barbie-movies-online/.

Martincic, Cynthia J., and Neelima Bhatnagar. "Will Computer Engineer Barbie Impact Young Woman's Career Choices?" Information Systems Education Journal, vol. 10, no. 6, Dec. 2012, pp. 4-14. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=eric&AN=EJ1136648&site=eds-live&scope=site.

Weida, Courtney Lee, et al. "Poetics of the Fairy Tale Princess: Products, Problems, & Possibilities." Canadian Review of Art Education: Research & Issues, vol. 46, no. 2, July 2019, pp. 17–32. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=138903133&scope=site.

[doodlelolly0910]

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: This is it guys! This is the very end. I still can't believe it's over. I hope you guys liked it and I couldn't possibly thank you enough for reading and all of your amazing comments. Thank you also to @kmomof4 who has been invaluable during the whole process of writing this and just being an amazing support in general. And super huge thanks to the ever wonderful @courtorderedcake who created the beautiful artwork for this story. She deserves all the love. And away we go!

Epilogue

One year later

Killian Jones sat on his bunk and stared at the wall. The drab beige paint was peeling off the smooth concrete in several places, and Killian's mind began to imagine shapes in it, like one would imagine shapes while watching clouds. It had become a pastime for him, though he couldn't recall when it had begun. For the last year, his life had been reduced to a six foot by eight foot box, shared with another man called “Tiny”, though he was anything but. He didn't know where his cellmate was now, and he didn't care, his mind singularly focused. The slate gray polyester jumpsuit he wore felt stiff against the skin it touched, the thin white t-shirt underneath doing little to prevent the rubbing. He thought briefly about stripping it to the waist, but it wouldn't be much longer now.

The TV in the common area was tuned to a local news station, some of the older inmates having commandeered it for their recreation time, as they sat at a single table directly across from his cell. He couldn't see it but he could hear it, not that he was paying any attention. He scanned over the small space with sharp focus, ensuring that anything he had of value was tucked safely into the small box in front of him. Not that he had much. Just a few books, a couple of drawings and letters he'd received, a few plain, white shirts, nothing huge. The rest of them could fight over the remaining items he would leave behind for all he cared.

“And in other news out of Boston this morning, 62 year old Weaver Gold was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole after a long and arduous trial,” the reporter on the TV proclaimed, causing Killian's ears to prick up. He turned his head slightly so he could better hear, but remained seated on the bunk. “Gold was charged with several counts of assault, kidnapping, murder, and human trafficking, among other violations. This story broke last year when former BPD Detective Emma Nolan headed an undercover investigation into the head of one of Boston's most dangerous criminal empires. More on this story at 11. Let's go to Jackie with sports. Jackie?”

Killian smirked. It was the least the bastard deserved after all the irreparable damage he'd done to countless lives. He looked around his cell, the cramped space, exposed toilet, bars lining the only exit, and for the first time, the sight made him smile. He couldn't think of a more fitting cage for a crocodile.

The year since Killian had been sentenced for “racketeering” (in reality, the cash laundering scheme he had used to keep his operation afloat was the only thing they could connect back to him) was served uneventfully, for which he was grateful. He kept his head down and stayed mostly to himself, making sure that nothing would delay his release. He had made a promise to go on the straight and narrow and he didn't intend to break it. The police were more than lenient with him considering his own criminal operation.

As part of a plea deal including delivering testimony on Gold, he had received thirty six months in a minimum security federal penitentiary, and Will had received thirty himself.  Jefferson had stayed true to his word and helped them get the best deal possible but with the way everything had gone south, prison time became inevitable. Will had been released after eight months with good behavior to serve out the rest of his sentence on parole, as far as he had heard. He was glad for it. Killian had just had a parole hearing of his own, but he wasn't expecting any such miracles.

Until about an hour ago when a guard had stopped by his cell and told him his parole had been approved. And now he waited. His head was filled with images of his last day of freedom. It had been one of the worst of his life. He had killed a man. Watched other men (and a woman) die. He'd been beaten, broken, tortured for hours. But the thing that stuck out to him the most was Emma's pale and lifeless form in his arms.

It had been Milah all over again. Maybe worse, for he couldn't recall a time his soul had physically ached until that moment, like it had known immediately that it was missing its other half. She'd saved him, not only from the bullet, but from himself. He hadn't expected to ever walk away from the dark criminal underbelly alive. But here he was. Maybe he was a survivor after all. He didn't intend to squander a single second Emma had given back to him.

“Jones,” a sharp, commanding voice barked from just behind the bars of his cell. He looked up to see two uniformed guards waiting for him, an older seasoned guard called Spinelli, whom he knew, and a rookie officer that had just started last week. Howard, he thought he recalled. “Cuff up. Time to go.” Killian stood and obediently slid his hand and stump through the slat in the bars, smirking at the look of exasperation on Spinelli's face.

“Problem?” he asked cheekily, his eyebrow quirking up his forehead, and the rookie had to stifle a chuckle in a less than convincing cough, earning him a glare from the older guard and a grin from Killian.

“Be right back,” Spinelli muttered and stomped off towards the pod exit, leaving the rookie and Killian observing one another in silence.

“So…” Killian extended the conversation to the young officer, leaning up against the bars.

“No talking, inmate,” he replied, underconfident authority in his voice.

“Come, now. Who doesn't bend the rules every now and again?” Killian grinned, his tongue nudging his canine tooth mirthfully.

“Is that how you ended up here? All the fun of bending the rules?”

“Touché, Howard,” Killian agreed.

“It's Hendricks.”

“My mistake, lad. Didn't see a nametag,” he said. The younger man flushed scarlet.

“I forgot it this morning,” he admitted.

“Ah. Bit of a rule bender yourself then, aye?” Killian said with a wink and Hendricks bristled. “Don't worry, I won't tell. You'll do alright here, lad. Don't let these bastards get in your head and you'll do just fine.”

“No talking, inmate. Back away from the bars,” snapped Spinelli, who had huffed his way back in front of his cell as Killian finished speaking. Killian rolled his eyes and backed himself towards the bunk again. “Open!” he called out to the command center. A loud buzz rang out and the bars clicked, Spinelli reaching out to hold them shut for the time being.

“Palms, er, forearms flat on the wall, inmate,” Hendricks commanded. Killian complied. This was the very last time he had to do this. Never again. He'd promised her.

After a moment, the bars slid open and Killian was being fitted with what was called “the sleeve”, a mesh wrap with metal buckles in the back that wrapped around his body and secured his stunted arm to his torso, rendering it immobile. He was dressed with a chain around the waist next, a handcuff around his good wrist and the other end secured to the chain. The chain connected to another that hung between his feet where ankle shackles were added and connected as well. Spinelli stepped back, giving him a once over with a nod and a grunt, satisfied with his level of restraint.

“There we are, all nice and subdued and ready to leave prison,” Killian quipped. A thrill shot through him as soon as the words “leave prison” had left his lips. The rookie suppressed another chuckle.

“Just walk, Jones,” Spinelli grumbled, seizing him by the arm and leading him from the cell. Hendricks followed with his box of personal effects.

As they walked down the corridors, men yelling, cheering and jeering at him, he couldn't help but feel… excited.

When he got here, he was fresh out of spending the first three months of his sentence in the hospital getting physical therapy on his shoulder, two weeks of which was spent with his fractured jaw wired shut. He’d been arrested before, but prison was an entirely different beast altogether. And yet it was nothing at all, compared to what he'd gone through with Weaver Gold.

The day he had shown up at the docks, he had been so sure it was the right move. He had gone to Smee's with Emma and obtained a gun that couldn't be traced back to either of them. The plan was to slip in and kill the man, consequences be damned for the rest. He never expected to make it out alive. He had been so close to making it happen when he made one wrong turn and ran smack into Malcolm and Perdu.

He had fought a hell of a fight against them, but the two men eventually overpowered him when Malcolm wrenched his shoulder from its socket. Once again, he had underestimated Gold's influence, by extension to his henchman. It was when he was presented to the man himself like a wrapped gift that he realized just how far he had actually underestimated him.

Gold had wasted no time in his fervor to make Killian suffer. He nearly rejoiced in it. As soon as he was sunk to his knees, Gold smiled, offering a quick ‘Hello, Jones’ and cracking him across the face with the gold handle of his cane. Hence the fractured jaw. The older man was stronger than his looks portrayed. From there on out, it was a series of blows with the cane and taunts with a gun, his gun usually. He wasn't sure how long it had gone on for.

Then Will was led through the door and his stomach twisted. If Will was there, Emma was no longer safe. He had held on to that last mangled little piece of hope that she was still locked up where he left her, even as Will took a similar beating to the one he had. Right up until Emma marched out from behind those crates and everything went to hell.

He clenched his jaw at the memory as the door buzzed to let him in to the discharge area. Spinelli left his side, taking the box and setting it on a dented metal table next to them, but Hendricks remained, and he opened a locker to retrieve a standard set of street clothes for Killian. Jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and a set of laceless athletic shoes were set on the metal table beside the box as Hendricks worked on getting him unbound.

“Strip,” Spinelli instructed as soon as he was free of his chains and the sleeve. Killian had never moved faster to take off his clothes in front of two men in his life. Hendricks set about gathering his discarded jumpsuit and underthings, shaking them out and inspecting them as Spinelli stepped back towards Killian, who stood, hand clasped over his stump before him, naked as the day he was born.

“Arms out, mouth open,” Spinelli ordered. Killian did so, reminding himself for the hundredth time this was the last time he would ever have to do this. Spinelli searched his mouth with a tongue depressor, eyes scanning over every inch of his body to make sure he didn't have anything hidden. As if anyone would sneak something out of prison, but he was sure stranger things had happened. “Squat and cough,” he instructed next. Killian set his jaw and did that, too. Spinelli nodded. “Get dressed.”

Killian did so and Hendricks walked around him, putting things away. Once he was dressed, he picked up the box with his meager belongings and waited. Spinelli scanned his ID card and the metal door opposite to the one they had entered through buzzed and opened with a loud clank. They reached another door at the end of a short hallway. When Spinelli opened it, daylight flooded in from beyond the floor to ceiling windows that lined the room.

People milled about on the other side of the glass, waiting for a visit or for someone to answer their questions. The door at the end of the glass lined hallway led directly outside. He walked between Hendricks and Spinelli and they waited for clearance at the end of the hall before he stepped out the door into the yard. The two guards escorted him to the fenceline and opened the gate.

“Well, gentlemen, I'd say it was a pleasure, but frankly, I hope I never see either of you again,” he said, only half joking. Hendricks did chuckle at that and even Spinelli offered him a begrudging smile.

“Best of luck, Jones,” the older guard said and Killian nodded in acknowledgement, his eyes already set forward and searching for his future.

Killian Jones took his first free steps in over a year out the front gate, simply taking a moment to breathe it all in.

The rumble of a familiar engine had his head turning in a second, just in time to see a small, yellow Volkswagen Bug pulling up to the curb. Sunshine colored hair and a flushed face popped out of the driver's side door and Killian couldn't have held back his grin if he’d tried.

Emma's brilliant green eyes set on him and she smiled.

“Somebody order a getaway car?” she asked, walking around the front of the car towards him. Killian didn't care who was watching. He dropped the box of things that didn't matter to the pavement and rushed forward to the only thing that did, scooping her up in his arms and sealing lips over hers in a kiss that took both of their breath away.

His arms looped around her waist and he lifted her, her head falling back and laughing as her hands found purchase on his shoulders. He spun them around, resting his forehead against hers, refusing to let her go, not that she was even trying to escape.

“Hi,” she murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking over his less than immaculately groomed beard.

“Hi,” he replied, nuzzling into her touch, still a little disbelieving that she was here, alive, in his arms.

Emma had coded twice in the ambulance once medics were able to get to her and three more times in surgery to repair the damage in her abdomen. The last time had been the closest call. The doctor had been ready to call time of death, but Emma's heart inexplicably started beating again all on its own. No one could explain it. They had called it a miracle.

It had been a long road to recovery for her as well, but if nothing else, Emma Nolan was a fighter. She had completed grueling amounts of physical therapy and mental health evaluations, but she had never wasted a single second with Killian. Phone calls, letters, visits every weekend (with accompanying one hour drive both ways), Emma never complained, and Killian wouldn't be where he was without her. In every way possible.

Emma was released from the police force shortly after the incident, before she had even come home from the hospital. They had cited “medical reasons”, for which her resumé was grateful, but she had broken so much procedure it wasn't like she hadn't seen it coming. The women she saved had been worth it. Will was worth it. Killian was worth it. She and Will had set out to found a nonprofit for missing people, a sizeable donation from one Ivy Belfrey getting them off the ground, and she was happier now than she had ever been.

“You can't park there!” a voice shouted at them and they both turned from their embrace to see a stern looking woman in uniform on a golf cart motioning to her car. Emma waved at her in understanding as Killian set her back on her feet.

“Ready to get out of here?” she asked.

“Aye, my love,” he replied with a grin and another quick kiss.

“It's just you and me now.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, agrà.”

The two got in the car and drove away, the scent of sea salt and jasmine following them on the breeze.

And when she brought him home to meet Ruby, the force of nature that was her best friend may or may not have actually passed out seeing the man from Emma's sketchbook come to life. But that was a discussion for another day.

[geekmama]

Mothering Day

It was Sherlock’s worst nightmare -- or so he claimed... 

A little gift for @ellis-hendricks for Mothers Day, or ‘Mothering Day’, which was today in the UK (the Wikipedia entry on this is quite interesting), so it’s unbetaed - please forgive any errors. Domestic fluff, with references to real life issues. God bless all you mothers out there!

“You’ve what?” Sherlock exclaimed, staring at the wife of his bosom as though she’d taken leave of her senses -- as indeed she had, if he had heard her correctly.

Molly stood her ground. “I’ve already made the reservation. Lunch at The Goring with your mum and mine, and Alicia Smallwood -- Mycroft has already confirmed they’ll be there -- followed by champagne and Simnel Cake here at home -- I’m going to do the cake myself, I’ve always wanted to try making that one. And I’ve invited John and Rosie, too. We’ll have a special toast to Mary.”

“We’re bringing the children to The Goring? And you can’t have champagne, in case you’ve forgotten,” he almost sneered, gesturing toward the considerable swell of her abdomen, where their second son currently resided. “You’re bloody eight months gone!”

She flushed, but replied evenly, “I can have sparkling cider with Rosie and Will. And you know how well-behaved they’ve been when we take them to restaurants. They’ll be fine!”

“At The Goring? The Queen lunches there! This is ridiculous!” But he saw that, once again, he was blundering into Not Good territory. Her confidence wavered visibly, her eyes becoming suspiciously bright, and not in a good way. Backtracking, he said firmly, but in a more moderate tone, “Molly, it’s too much. You should be recruiting your strength, not spending extra hours on your feet to make a damned cake!”

“What you mean is it’s not what you would like,” she said, a tiny quiver in her voice.

He sighed with a roll of his eyes, exasperated, yet well aware that he was losing this battle. He got in one more jab: “You knew I wouldn’t like it, else you’d’ve--” But her lip trembled, and he gave it up. “For God’s sake, don’t cry!”

“I’m not crying,” she asserted, even as she swiped at a tear that had spilled over to slip down her cheek.

Swearing under his breath, he took her by the wrist and pulled her over to the sofa.

Happily, they’d just put Will down for his nap. It took considerable time to soothe her, tenderly drying her tears and offering (mostly sincere) apologies for allowing his beastly selfishness to get the better of him. And after that, what with cuddling, tender kisses, and a fortuitous third-trimester mood swing, there ensued a really stellar interlude, one that went a long way toward reconciling him to Molly’s subterfuge, and even to the nightmarish prospect that loomed before him.

*

Sherlock had barely closed the door on the last of their guests when Molly piped up with an I told you so!

“There! I thought it went off beautifully,” she said, a lurking twinkle in her eye. “Would you like another sliver of cake?”

“Make it a big sliver,” he said, genially, but when she turned to go into the kitchen he was inspired to give her a light but nevertheless stinging smack on the arse.

She yelped in surprise and whirled to face him. “What was that for?” Her tone was resentful, but the laughter and shame in her eyes, and her flushed cheeks, told their own tale.

“You know what it was for,” he said, pulling her just a little roughly into his arms (as best he could, at least, with young Jon between them). He slid one hand down to caress her exquisite, and really only mildly abused backside (though a modicum of guilt still flayed his soul), and said, “Next time I’d like to be included in the planning of the event, if you please.”

Her cheeks grew pinker. “But you would have told me No! And I wanted this. We don’t know how much longer our mothers will be with us. Mrs. Hudson, too. I’m so glad she could join us. And Greg.”

“Mmm.” Greg’s mother had passed the previous year. And Molly was right. One never knew. So he said to her, more seriously, “I won’t say No next time. Alright?”

“You won’t?” She eyed him dubiously.

“It’ll either be Maybe or Yes.”

“It had better be Yes!” she said --

And gave his own backside a firm pinch.

“Vixen!” he growled, and kissed her. She was laughing beneath it at first, then hummed with pleasure, her hands beginning to roam provocatively. He followed suit -- there was, indeed, something to be said for trust and hard-won knowledge -- and he had just begun to ruche up the back of her skirt when a distant but familiar cry came to their ears and they froze.

Will, who’d gone down for a nap on their return from the restaurant, was apparently awake.

Sherlock sighed, “I’ll get him,” and reluctantly released his delectable armful of wife.

“I’ll cut you a slice of cake,” Molly replied -- but her fingers closed on the lapel of his coat, bringing him to a halt. She looked up at him, a half smile on her lips. “Later?”.

He bent and, in a low voice, said against her ear, “No Maybe about it.”

 ~.~

[axannwn]

They’s spent centuries avoiding their father after they’d run from home and their mothers corpse. As soon as they’d left, they’d made new names, new stories, and gotten on the first ship they found, in the first port town they’d come across. For decades, the halls had lied about who they were and what they could do, never staying in any place for longer than it took to build up more cash and make a few supernatural contacts in the city if they could. When they found the Hendrick twins, things had gotten a little easier - Will didn’t like performing scrying spells, but he was good at them, and willing to check for danger, or their father, in each new continent or port, first for money, and then for favors, until he was one of their first contacts when they needed to make a change again. And so as they moved around, sometimes posing as siblings, as cousins, as anything that could get them into a new place and sharing space with as few questions as possible, made easier as time went on. And as they traveled, from continent to continent, to europe and asia and the americas and back again, with stops in other places between (the less said about their 5 months in new zeland the better however,) and each time, there was no indication that they were being followed, that they were being watched, that Draco Hall even remembered them at all. And so, a handful of decades ago, after several long, shouted debates that resulted in one or both of them getting angry enough to go rip up a few trees, they’d decided to move to a safe town, for the first time since their mothers death. And once again, they’d become Alex and Orion Hall, settling back into the names slowly, until hearing them yelled out didn’t make Orion flinch and reach for Alex, and Alex could stop the instinctive urge to bare her teeth and step to her brothers shoulder.  And things had gotten easier, over time. Orion had become a stable presence in the police department, Alex slowly unwound and found herself involved in a half dozen people and plots around town, and for a few decades, the Hendricks had joined them, dragging a siren behind, Noah had come to join and introduced Alex to Carson, and they were at an equilibrium, as close to calm and normal as their lives had ever been. And then, just after the festival - Andromeda Hall, an absolute terror of a child, and, to their mutual dismay, their half sister. Neither of them had been pleased with that particular discovery. But at least she’d talked to them, if only to insult them over text messages shared with the rest of the dragons in the city. Something that their father couldn’t, apparently, get the balls to do as well. Instead, he’d just sent those damned invitations, the same gold envelopes as every other adult in town received, all without even reaching out to them. Alex had raged for days at that, but Orion had started looking for anything he could do to even possibly stain the event. Tragically, Bianca appeared to be good at her job, as all the security was in place, and there wasn’t even a misfiled permit he could use as an excuse to shut part of the party down. Of course, Will probably had something including glitter ready that they could have used to disrupt things, but Alex was too angry, and Orion too bitter, to let anyone other than themselves, disrupt the party even more than Theos hideous suit had managed.  Not until they had one conversation at least. Alex and Orion had broken away from their dates earlier, reconvening at the bar, Alex eyes narrowed as she watched the rest of the towns population mingling, tracking the movements of the woman their father had brought along as a date. “Do you think he’s avoiding us on purpose?” She asked, leaning against the bar as she did so. Orion, had turned to face it awhile ago, elbow propped on its surface as he motioned for another drink, snorting at her question. “Fuck, probably. A, I know you don’t remember a ton of what it was like before he started leaving for ages, but I never heard him apologize. And if he didn’t to mom, he wont to us. He probably just plans to ignore us until either he and his replacement kid, or us leave.” He sneered, rolling his eyes briefly at the idea of them letting Draco chase them out of town. And apparently Alex shared his thoughts, because she snorted briefly, before falling silent, nails drumming on the counter in a pattern that had always signaled one of her bad ideas. Before Orion could do more than turn, question on his lips however, she was pushing away, mind made up as she stepped forwards, expecting him to follow her as usual. “Well. I was going to let him come to us, but perhaps its time we go to him.” Spine straight and chin up, she strode across the floor, staring determinedly after the path her father had taken, leaving Orion to scramble for his discarded suit jacket,pulling it on as he went hurrying after her, glass in hand. He caught up with her half way there, Alex having long ago mastered the art of powerwalking in five inch heels, and stayed at her shoulder, the two of them next to each other as they approached their father. 

Others were watching them as they approached, but they ignored them, continuing to cross the expanse of the gala until they found the man they wanted. “Daddy, there you are, we’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Alex called out, voice higher than it was naturally, sounding almost like she had back before everything had become terrible. “Yeah, its been what, three hundred years?” Orion added, not bothering to keep the sneer off his face. “And not even a card. Should we be hurt, do you think Alex?” He asked, glancing away from their father and towards her. “Oh, I don’t know. I mean, we didn’t invite him to the murder, he didn’t bother to send us a card when he knocked someone else up, and now he couldn’t even bother to pick up a phone or come to your job.” Alex continued, tapping one finger against her lips. “You know, Orion, if it was anyone else, I would say that being in town again after a few centuries and not even bothering to visit your son who can be found at the police station like, every day, or texting your eldest daughter that you know your replacement one has talked to is - huh. Whats the word? A dick fucking move?” Alex asked, cruelty in her gaze, head cocking to the side as she asked, voice full of hurt that wasn’t at all mimicked on her face “Whats wrong daddy? did you think we would go away if you ignored us?” The question made Orion snort, bringing his drink to his mouth, muttering loud enough for anyone near bye to hear “Certainly didn’t help him before.” They could have easily continued on, digging further and further into him, throwing more insults at his feet, but instead they paused there, both watching Draco for a response. // @cosmicannwnwrites​

[lostonehero]

A reprieve (pt 2 of a silent betrayal)

Marvin panicked when Anti appeared along with the chain going into his wrist, so what did he do? He told Anti to rest and do as he pleased. That was three months ago, and he was now ready to summon Anti back. Jackie was ready to attack, Shneep had his sedatives ready, Robbie was there because he wanted a hug, and Chase had his gun. Marvin wasn't alone he was ready for this Glitch Bitch.

"Anti I command you to appear." The chain appeared from his arm as he spoke these words, but he was ready.

What they weren't expecting was to to see the demon dressed in a big sweater obviously handmade. He was currently scooping what looked like black salsa out of a jar with his nails and eating it like it was jam. From the smell it was something spicy. Anti swallowed before speaking. "Yes master what is it that you need of me." He at least sounded stronger then before.

Marvin stepped back, and swallowed. " tell me exactly what you were doing, and, uh eating."

Anti licked his lips. "It's a mix of chilies ghost peppers, and Carolina reapers. Well I went to visit the cats in the mountains and played with them. Then I went to play with some forest dogs. Oh then I went back to old habits and started to crochet again. I made a sweater I'm wearing." He began to eat again.

Marvin pauses looking at his friends who looked equally confused. "Uh ok Anti could you tell us who you worked for before."

"Who was my previous master..... I don't know they had a failsafe and erased most of my memories so I really don't know anything. Unless you're interested in hell or crocheting, or animals, or even technology." Anti sounded completely different. He was still glitchy still had his pointed ears and slashed neck but there was no malice.

Shneep made a motion which jolted Marvin. "Oh uh Anti." He coughed and tried to sound more threatening then he was. "Shneep will do an examination on you. You must follow everything he says to you, and do whatever he asks until the exam is finished."

"Yes master." Anti says with no emotion looking over to Shneep who looks around.

"Jackie follow me to the exam room, Anti I want you stripped down to nothing but a hospital gown by the time we arrive." Shneep says pulling Jackie with him.

.........

Anti was already in the waiting room like he was asked sitting patiently when Shneep entered with Jackie.

Shneep even though the traumas Anti caused still haunted him, he was a doctor first. So when he saw that Anti's neck was constantly bleeding as the least of his concerns he rushed into action. "Anti are you in any pain."

Anti shakes his head. "Why would I be in pain master let me rest."

With a quiet voice matching his pale expression as Jackie looked behind Anti. "Your back Anti how could that not hurt."

Shneep rushed and looked behind to see the disfiguring scars and some what he could only describe as demon blood oozing from wounds. "How did that happen?"

Anti answering with almost a bored tone. "I don't know the previous owner had me erase my memories when someone else took ownership of me. I think I used to look different, but I don't know how to change my form anymore."

Shneep looked back at Jackie. "Jackie could you please leave this room I need to do some tests alone."

Jackie wanted to argue, but the look in Shneep's eyes made him stop as he left.

...........

"I don't know anymore, Anti isn't acting like a villain anymore. He's like a wounded animal from what I've seen." Jackie sighs looking down at his glass of water.

"Did he really look that bad?" Chase asked his overprotective father side is coming out. "I mean look he did screw with us but he doesn't remember any of it."

"Well from what I heard yes. Honestly Anti looked more tired then anything." Jackie sighed.

A quiet voice spoke up. "I wish he wouldn't call me master. It wasn't like I was trying to own him. Now he's hurt, and can't remember anything." Marvin sighs.

"Now now." A German voice cut through as Anti followed behind Hendrick. "From my examination Anti cannot recall anything he had done to us or in the past 500 years or so.... he's a lot older then I thought, but I digress. He is completely under your control Marvin, and since the chains are connected to you from what he described unless you cut off your arm you both are stuck together." Shneep pauses watching Anti lounge on the couch chewing on one of his nails.

Shneep clears his throat. "For the glitch's physical form he has suffered immense damage that for lack of a better word looks grotesque and extremely painful and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

The rest of the egos paled looking at Anti. Chase is the one brave enough or it could just be his death wish to sit next to Anti as Shneep continued to rattle off his report. "Do you remember me?" The depressed father asks.

Anti looks over stretching and sitting up leaning his face close to Chase's. "Can't say we've ever met before."

A lump of ice grew in the pit of Chase's stomach. This monster who ruined everything, well actually not everything he actually helped him find out Stacy was cheating on him, but that wasn't the point. This monster had no memory of him, and he was as docile as a newborn kitten. Now of course Chase didn't buy Anti's new behavior, but he was hopefully.

After the long winded explanation from Shneep Marvin spoke up. "Anti your orders until I say otherwise is to do as you please, but this will be your home." Everyone including Anti looked at Marvin in shock.

"Marvin-"

Marvin cuts off Jackie. "If anything goes wrong then I will intervene. Just let's see what will happen."

The rest of the egos nod unsure of what to make of this new development.

.........

Everyone was walking on eggshells while Anti was around. The glitch now had his own room that he kept open when he wasn't inside. It wasn't anything to write home about. Still everyone was weary except for Robbie who loves to hang out with Anti.

It wasn't until Chase was sidelined by Anti he wanted to scream, but it was over in an instant. When he opened his eyes Anti was in front of him with a.... hopeful look. Then Chase realized his clothes were changed, he was wearing a oversized sweater with the septic eye logo on it. It was really comfy.

"I got bored so I decided to make everyone sweaters. You're the first one i came across. Uh are you going to run away? Master Marvin said I should expect that.... though I haven't been given any other orders so I did this myself...... I can't actually remember what I used to do for fun." Anti stops a static green blush envelopes his face. "Sorry I was rambling I'll get going." He glitched away before Chase could even respond.

He really liked the sweater, but now he was actually concerned for the demon. Anti just looked so lost, like he didn't even know himself. Which is what he said but actually seeing it is something else. He was going to make a point to actually hang out with the glitch if only to soothe the worry and suspicion. Well that's what he'll tell himself.

.........

The next to be convinced this wasn't a act was Shneep when he asked Anti to come in for a check up. The demon was sitting crossed legged on the exam table waiting patiently.

"This won't be a physical exam Anti I just want to ask you some questions." Shneep said looking down at his notebook pen in hand.

"Ok doctor. I will answer to the best of my abilities." Anti replied with a neutral expression.

"Alright first question, when were you born?" Shneep looked at Anti expecting some ridiculous number.

"I don't remember....uh " the glitch stops seemingly frustrated. "I think my last owner made me erase more of myself then I thought." His arms are now crossed.

Shneep pauses scribbling it down. "Right.... ok Anti do you have a demonic form, or something you feel more comfortable in?"

Anti pauses with the same frustrated look." I don't know."

Shneep scribbles that down as well. "What was your original home? Did you have siblings? Are you a father?"

Anti's frustration turns to sadness as he starts to cry black ooze as he grips his head. "I don't know. I don't know. I don't-"

Shneep quickly gets up rubbing Anti's head. "Hush hush we can continue this another day. You really can't remember anything."

Anti nods rubbing his eyes, his glitching state returns to normal. "I can't recall anything. I'm sorry doctor."

"Nein don't apologize. We can get through this together with science. We can start working on those scars first." Shneep says with confidence.

A soft purr is emitting from Anti which Shneep quickly writes down that fact. "Ok doctor I trust you. We can fix this together." Anti says rubbing his eyes glitching away.

Shneep looked down at his notes then to the empty table. Screw his gear he was a doctor, and now Anti was his patient, and he needed his help. Shneep will do everything in his power to help the glitch bitch.

...........

Jackie did actually believe Anti was changed for the better, why? Well it was because Jackie found Anti crocheting with the local veterans he helps out. After that he made sure to be kinder to the glitch. What got Jackie concerned though was his eating habits. Anti ate nothing but hot peppers, and nothing else. Jackie was surprised that the demon didn't burn a hole through his stomach.

But when he confronted the glitch about it, Anti said it tasted like something from a place he missed but couldn't remembered what it was.

That also made Jackie concerned, Anti's memory was practically nonexistent. Whoever or whatever controlled the demon last made sure if anything broke the bond the demon would be practically useless without a guide or a master.

Jackie was probably getting too involved but he was a superhero godamnit and Anti was in need of saving. He just needed to find the previous owner, God he hated saying that, and find a way of getting Anti to remember.

Before that he really needed to thank Anti for the sweater.

........

Jameson wasn't concerned at all the deal worked out in his favor like he knew it would. Even now that he wasn't in control Anti was useless. That demon couldn't even use his own powers effectively, and he loved watching his frustration with his memory that is practically gone.

So what if he was now stuck as some ego. This was too much fun to watch.

.........

Marvin took the longest to adjust, he just couldn't get used to it. He was a magician for fucks sake he should be able to handle a demon..... but Anti was like a newborn fawn who couldn't even understand himself let alone his powers. Which was frustrating to Marvin, but also made him upset in a different way watching Anti struggle.

The demon couldn't even remember his actual name, which would of been helpful for Marvin. But he couldn't stay mad at Anti he literally just fell asleep in a cardboard box Marvin had forgotten to clean up.

He was still researching all he could about demon deals, but Anti said the debt was already paid since he picked up from another owner... which was also concerning because he didn't know the previous owner, and he refused to believe JJ even owned Anti. He was probably protecting the mirror.

Marvin just needed to do more research, and maybe invest in cat toys.

////

(This was longer then I planned it to be... oh well anyways please request something i do for this series anything you guys want, even include the markiplier egos of you like. I really like going off prompts just dm me or just ask.)

[baggettsathome]

Real Food!

It’s been nearly a week since our last update, and we’re happy to report some actual forward progress (along with a lateral move or two).

Toward the end of last week, Nate’s dobhoff (feeding) tube was not cooperating. Each time we tried to increase the rate to give him additional nutrition, he got nauseated or bloated and they were forced to back things down again. On Friday, the feeding pump kept alarming that the tube was clogged and they had to turn it off completely. But on Saturday morning, the surgeons came in with a surprise announcement: Nate can eat!

Nate hadn’t eaten solid food for 47 days and spent most of that time craving a taco. The hospital low-fat diet chicken taco wasn’t exactly what he was daydreaming of but it’s progress!

He started with a few goldfish crackers and a couple of bites of a chicken taco. He’s still limited to a low-fat diet and he’s taking thing very, very slowly. But he’s eaten a little bit more each day since and it’s gone well. No nausea or new pain or bloating.

But the dobhoff issues still needed addressing because he’s not taking in enough calories to meet all his body’s needs yet. Yesterday (Monday), they prepared to take him down to interventional radiology to try repositioning the tube. Before that, they also did a CT scan to see if they could make sense of some changing drainage near his bile drain.

Unfortunately, the CT scan showed a few new fluid collections that all needed to come out. Along with repositioning the feeding tube, Nate’s trip to IR was extended to include putting in more drains. In the end, he ended up with one net new drain. One previous drain was removed and two new ones were added. He’s now has his bile drain + four JP (smaller, bulb-shaped) drains. One of the fluid collections was too small and too hard to reach this time, so they plan to do another CT on Thursday to look again. If the collection is still growing, they’ll be able to reach it to drain. If it’s getting smaller, they’ll leave it alone.

Visitors from near and far have made the last week a little brighter.

Like all the other fluid that’s come out of his belly, this fluid is growing some nasty bugs. However, there isn’t anything new or unexpected so, for now at least, the infectious disease team thinks his current antibiotic regimen should have him covered.

After that adjustment, the dobhoff seems to be working much better. Between that and the small amounts he’s actually eating, the team felt comfortable pulling him off the IV nutrition. It’ll be the first time in over a month that Nate’s not hooked up to that all night. IV nutrition can also negatively affect the liver, so we’re also hoping that stopping it will help correct the last two of Nate’s liver labs still in the abnormal range.

For most of October, our situation felt precarious and we were focused on getting through each day. For the first time in a while, we’re looking more at the future and what milestones we hope lie ahead. Eventually, Nate will be eating enough that he doesn’t need the tube feeding anymore and they can pull it out. (Nate is very hopeful this is soon.) At some point, they’ll do a capping trial of his bile drain. With that, they close the drain off temporarily to make sure that the leak doesn’t show itself again with bile in his drains. If that capping trial goes well, they can begin to think about pulling the bile drain out. Another thing in the back of our minds is that the stent that was placed in Nate’s pancreas way back in September also needs to be either replaced or removed at some point soon.

Thursday marks Nate’s 61st day in this hospital this admission and 200th day in the hospital since his first transplant in March 2017. But our spirits are fairly high. Being able to eat real food was a huge step and although the new drains were kind of a bummer, it was more of a lateral step than backwards one.

Thankful that a few of the Baggett cousins could make a detour to visit Madison on their road trip!

Our moods were also probably helped by our lovely visitors over the weekend and the little gifts they brought us, which we learned several of you out there contributed to! We have enjoyed opening the four little jars of notes and reading some of your favorite memories with us, things to make us laugh, and things to lift us up. (If you haven’t sent in a message yet, we’re still accepting them! Check this out.)

Incredible friends who coordinated making these jars of happy notes and wrote out everyone’s responses for us.

And beyond the well wishes we’ve received from you all, we also received a few surprise bits of encouragement from some totally unexpected sources. Thanks to our friend Allie who used her connections to get these videos (which we’ve been showing to almost everyone who comes by Nate’s room):

Kyle Hendricks (Chicago Cubs Pitcher)

Wilson Contreras (Chicago Cubs Catcher)