#ed the tortoise

[thegoddamnwordsmith]

Vote the EcoVivarium Reptile Rescue in the 2024 All-in 4 Change grant program!

Hello, everyone!

Harrah’s Resort Southern California has opened voting for their annual “All-in 4 Change” grant program, where fifteen non-profits in the San Diego, Riverside, and Orange County areas are awarded a portion of a $150,000 cash grant to fund their efforts in helping people and animals through the various programs they run. This year, the non-profit reptile rescue and living museum, the EcoVivarium Reptile Sanctuary, is one of the nominees. EcoVivarium is a cause very close to home for me – members of my family either work there or volunteer there, and we have adopted a number of animals through them, which is why I would like to ask that anyone interested please cast a vote for them. Each person can vote once per day, so if you’re so inclined, please help get EcoVivarium to the top slot! Voting is open until August 28th.

What is the EcoVivarium Reptile Sanctuary?

Located in Escondido, EcoVivarium is one of the largest reptile, amphibian, and arthropod rescues in the United States. Since 2009, they have been devoted to the health and well-being of the animals that come through their doors, and educating children and adults alike about these unique, often misunderstood and misrepresented creatures. EcoVivarium handles many educational programs, both on-site and abroad, as well as birthday parties and events, where people can learn about lizards, snakes, turtles, tortoises, frogs, and arthropods first-hand, even gaining hands-on experiences with some of them. The staff is incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about these animals, and has the patience to help even the most misgiving of people the chance to understand these wonderful creatures. In addition to their extensive special programs, EcoVivarium hosts regular on-site tours, both for walk-in customers and advanced reservations. Visitors will get the chance to pet and even hold a variety of animals, as well as meet some of the Animal Ambassadors, such as Ed the Galapagos Tortoise or Mac the Giant Water Monitor Lizard.

On top of this, EcoVivarium also has limited adoption options you can explore if you would like to add a new member to your family and provide a forever home to one of these wonderful animals. As a reptile rescue, they receive many animals regularly, either due to owner neglect or inability to provide for them, or due to injuries and special needs. Many animals will end up calling EcoVivarium their home, due to factors requiring special care (injuries, trauma-related temperament issues, and/or permit-related legal issues regarding private ownership), but still many more are ready to find a permanent family beyond the facility, one who is ready to love and care for a unique, but incredible friend. As of this writing, there are over 400 animals in EcoVivarium’s care, and with so many of them needing special attention, finding homes for those who are capable of being adopted out is a high priority.

EcoVivarium is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization, with all funds going directly back into animal care and facility maintenance. The organization is handled by a small staff of animal care professionals and educators, supplemented with a number of volunteers of all ages. For more information, please feel free to contact me, or you can contact them directly at Home - EcoVivarium.

Aside from this grant program, they can be donated to directly as well. Donations are tax-deductible to the extent allowable by law.

[fbwzoo]

I like looking at our front lawn right now bc my brain just goes "yessss dragon foooood". There's so much plantain. I need a tortoise

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

Hi! List five things that make you happy; then, if you'd like to, put this in the ask box of the last ten people who reblogged something from you and spread some positivity ✨💙🌺

Hello beloved! I have too many of these in my inbox currently... but I'm actually getting round to one xD (I have 158 asks in here im SO sorry guys)

Ransom! He decided it was cuddle time this morning; I woke to hear purring approach my head, lifted the covers and he sneaked in and curled up against me and purred and purred.

As far as I can see, the damage to my car is only cosmetic; I'll check with my brother tomorrow at church, I think, to see if he thinks it needs tape like his car did before it finally fell apart years later, but it drove fine yesterday and only looks mildly dented.

Dad gave me his insurance card before I left home, just in case. (I'm on parents insurance.) It meant I was able, when asked if I have insurance, to say 'yes actually', and pull the card out, so the owner of the other car has it on file.

My sister is lovely; I told her about all sorts of things last night, mostly the way I've been somewhat relapsing lately, and my worries around that, and she was very nice.

I'm still on the high from meeting an internet friend irl on Thursday. She gives the best hugs. And she called me Hannah.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 64

There is an entire mountain range in the TARDIS. Ace once climbed a snowy mountain inside the TARDIS, and she used to hide in the mountains when she and the Seventh Doctor would argue. (Audio: The Settling)

Ace learned to fence and swordfight from one of Cleopatra's guards. (Audio: The Settling)

The Fifth Doctor is scared of spiders. He has been known to freeze when he sees them, getting Peri to move them out of his way. (Short story: Light at the End of the Tunnel)

In the aftermath of his trial and getting Grant back to his homeworld, the Sixth Doctor contemplated suicide, thinking "it would be best to surrender; just let go of the rope and allow cold water to soothe him, to take his troubled consciousness away." (Novel: Killing Ground)

UNIT files list the Seventh Doctor as the most dangerous incarnation. (Audio: Persuasion)

The Eighth Doctor has been known to make "little piggy oink-oink" noises when he feels like pigs need to be comforted. (Novel: Dominion)

While imprisoned, the Fifth Doctor was once locked in solitary confinement for sixth months - long enough that when he got out, he was shaky on his legs and not used to daylight. (Audio: Doing Time)

Fitz Kreiner tried to kill a guy named Ed Hill. When this did not work, the Eighth Doctor picked up a gun himself and shot him to death. (Novel: Revolution Man)

The Sixth Doctor's pyjamas are loose and silver in color. They have prints of many different breeds of cats on them, all of which are wearing his signature coat. Mel almost "died of shock" when she saw them. (Novel: Instruments of Darkness)

The Fifth Doctor recalled that Jo once got herself into trouble with a lot of giant tortoises during one of the Master's evil schemes and that the Third Doctor had had to lower himself down on a three mile chain to communicate with winks and blinks and negotiate her release. (Audio: The Last Fairy Tale)

Ace was aware that the Seventh Doctor was not afraid of any monster, of pain, or of dying. He was afraid of being alone. (Novel: The Left-Handed Hummingbird)

The Doctor played a female incarnation of Omega in a school play at the Academy. (Short story: He's Behind You)

The Saga of the Time Lords was a theater performance said to portray the history of the Time Lords (although it was inaccurate). Notably, Omega became "the Hand of Meg," and "Rassilon the Dashing" was "President of Time." The other named character in the play was referred to as "Brother Braxiatel." (Short story: He's Behind You)

While talking to Rose about The Saga of the Time Lords, the Tenth Doctor compared it to fanfiction. Then he said that he loves fanfiction and thinks that Rose should read some of his. (Short story: He's Behind You)

During the Time War, the Eighth Doctor built an android companion named Ria. She was designed to be the perfect companion, to tell him that what he was doing was right. (Audio: Lies in Ruins)

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[kusanagihaku]

i will turn into clouds sanguine 

⭢ lyca and mc, 1.2k

q is for qilin. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3

The front door of Obscuary creaks open under your touch. 

Rui must have left it unlocked for you after you texted him earlier today about leaving paperwork for some new missions – you step inside and let the heavy door groan closed behind you. You make a left turn into where you told Rui you’d leave the files…

…only to come face to face with Lyca and a huge, huge canvas. 

You blink. Woah. 

It lays flat on the Obscuary dining table, long and white and half-covered in fine, black pen strokes. If you had to guess, it’d be Lyca’s height when propped upright, with a width double that. 

“You’re here,” Lyca says. He flicks a glance at your shoes. “Did you get lost?” 

You flush. You did make a wrong turn or two in the forest but… you made it, didn’t you? “Um. No.”  

Lyca sniffs, frowning. “You smell like the soil from Rui’s garden. That’s not on the way in.” 

“…maybe?” You can’t help the sheepish grin that breaks onto your face, and are rewarded with Lyca’s triumphant snort. “Anyway, what’s this?” 

Lyca glances back down at the corner of the canvas he’s bent over. “Rui asked me to draw something we could hang in the bar. He promised he would buy me paints if I did it, so I did.” 

You walk closer to the canvas to get a better look. The fine lines coalesce into four large shapes under the dim dining room light, vaguely reminiscent of mythical creatures you might have read about once upon a time. “What are these?” 

Lyca points to his left. There is a small book propped open beside the pen he has just set down – comparing the yellowed page to his canvas, you realise he must have been using it as a reference for most of the details. “The idiot grandpa gave me this book and told me to do this. It was the only thing he suggested that Rui agreed to.” 

You wince; you don’t want to imagine what else Ed suggested to Rui. You turn your attention back to the tangle of black strokes on the white surface. 

Nearest to you is a completed tortoise, mouth open and claws pointed and sharp. It is seated atop a stone, and is angled to face a phoenix floating down from the top left. The phoenix, despite being only rendered in swift, short lines, is striking – its wings are outstretched and its glare fierce. Hidden under the furrow of its eyes is a desperate sort of determination you had no idea could be captured in pen. 

In the top right corner, snaking down from a hastily sketched set of clouds is a majestic beast, teeth bared and horns like fire. Scales slick off its back in flames, and its claws extend towards the foreground. It is lit in part by the warmth of the overhead light, but in part by the soft moonlight streaming in through a nearby window; the silver of moonlight makes the creature almost glow. 

You let out a low whistle, impressed. “Is that a dragon?” 

Lyca nods. “They’re supposed to be the four is- es- suspicious beasts.” 

You pause for a moment. “…auspicious?” 

Lyca scrunches his nose. “Yeah. Anyway, Ed says Rui is supposed to be the dragon.” 

You wrack your brain for mentions of the Four Auspicious Beasts – you know you studied something similar for a class two or three months back. “Isn’t it supposed to symbolise power or strength, or something like that?” 

“Yeah.” Lyca scratches the back of his neck. “Rui has the most power out of all of us. Given his curse and all.” 

You half-smile. Once upon a time you’d have said Ed was the strongest in Obscuary – knowing him now and thinking about the dynamics of the house, it makes more sense that their harried and lively vice-captain would be their dragon. 

“What about the tortoise?” 

Lyca frowns, as if it is obvious. He picks up his pen. “It’s that moth-eaten Casanova, of course. Slow and can’t do anything but make gross jokes.” 

Well. You can’t refute that.

“Also, he said it was supposed to represent longevity and stability,” Lyca adds, adding a few pen strokes, “and he’s supposed to live forever, so.” 

You look carefully at what Lyca is sketching. It is half-complete, details on its face yet to be finished. “Is that you?” 

He nods. “Rui said this was a…” he squints back at the tiny reference book, “a Qilin.” 

Makes sense. From what you remember, the qilin symbolised righteousness and integrity, both qualities Lyca possesses in bounds. 

You hum, watching his hands work. “Did you know that qilin are said to be so gentle and respectful of life they don’t step on blades of grass?” 

Lyca looks up at you, briefly. “I step on grass.”

It pulls a laugh out of you. “Yeah, well, but you’re still one of the most respectful ghouls I know.” 

You feel Lyca straighten a little at that, almost like he’s holding back a beam. He lets out a small huff. “Well. That’s what Suba told me to do.” 

If his tail was out it’d be wagging. You bite back a smile. “That’s good!” 

A silence lapses over the both of you for a few minutes as you watch his pen glide across the canvas. Your eyes wander back, again, to the eyes of the phoenix. 

Come to think of it, aren’t there only three occupants in Obscuary? You know that the set needs all four to be complete, but if Rui was the dragon, Ed the tortoise and Lyca the qilin, who was the phoenix? 

“Lyca, who’s that supposed to be then? Since there are only three of you.” 

Lyca slides a glance at you, brows furrowed as if he cannot fathom why you would be asking. “Isn’t it obvious? That’s you.” 

You blink. 

He taps the back of his pen on the reference book. The little taps are heavy on the lump growing in your throat. “The old man said phoenixes mean rebirth. After you’re cured, you’re gonna have your second life, right?”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he has never had a doubt that you’d be cured, that whatever response you might have had swells in your lungs and stays there. 

The weight of his conviction sinks into the surface of your mind. You know the Mortkranken ghouls have been working overtime for you, you know the Hotarubi ghouls have been poring over dusty old tomes for more information, you know the rest of the ghouls have been working on your curse in their own ways and yet… 

And yet some part of you has never dared to hope for the success of a cure. 

You swallow. 

But here they are, holding a torch you have never dared to light – you will break your curse before the year is up. You will be cured. You will get to return to normal, life irrevocably changed by your time at Darkwick and bound to the ghouls that you’ve helped and been helped by, for better or for worse. You will get to live. 

Your nose burns. 

Lyca looks at you curiously. 

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. You cough to cover up the thick in your voice. “The fact that you’d accept me into Obscuary… that’s really nice to hear.” 

Lyca snorts. “Of course you’ll be with us. Where else would you be?” 

You grin. It comes out watery, probably, but you don’t care. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[melancholicstation]

LONER!BOBBY AND POPULAR!READER HEADCANONS — modern! bobby f. kennedy ᥫ᭡

taglist: @remotewatch @bloxholden35 @starsprangledgirl @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @absurdlyvintage @chemicalw0rld @fortheloveofjos @kimcrystal123 @astro-vibes-bro

word count: 989

you meet during co-ed sailing at the college in which bobby, in all his clodhopping charm, accidentally capsizes the small sailing boat ( that, to his credit, looked about as sturdy as the remote controlled boats loaned out in central park )

expecting you to freak out bobby immediately moves to provide incessant apologies, looking and sounding like an about to be scolded boy, but is eventually dismantled by your acceptance and carefree attitude.

stupidly bobby had regarded your personality to match your exterior: heeled boots, glossy lips, hair misted by diptique’s ‘do son’ and a trusty gel lacquer of 151 pirate polish always freshly applied. in his un-frontal lobe developed brain he thought that the prissy nature of your appearance would influence your temperament when dealing with him.

he was quite shocked to find the polar opposite.

after co-ed sailing you hit it off, purely as friends at first but not without your friends constant teasing of your friendship. mostly because of your polar opposite demeanours

bobby’s being one shrewd in mystery and signposted by: his quiet affliction when dining in the cafeteria, shocked and startled by even the most casual expressions of noise. not heterogeneous to that of a undomesticated fawn.

to get to and fro the campus and the sixty-three acreage that was the schools athletic centre bobby would only carry the upmost essentials to his very being: saratoga tortoise shell reading glasses, an agamemnon by aeschylus first edition hardback, and his iPhone 6 plus encased in a intrecciato colorblocked leather briefcase that was comically big for his slender model-esk frame

being that bobby had no instagram account ( despite him being an anomaly in the chronically online classmates ) communication was tricky to say the least

after a series of misguided letters back and forth placed by bobby into your locker and vice versa, you eventually exchanged numbers

despite this, on occasion, bobby slips note cards in varying hues of lilac, honey orange, and taupe into your locker accompanied by hand-written quotes by your favourite writers: joan didion and virginia woolf alongside a clumsily taped blue-raspberry salt water taffy with such care that could only be achieved via a love-sick collegiate-aged boy

when invited to your house, you quickly excuse yourself and tell bobby to let himself into your bedroom. you find him awkwardly positioning himself on your bed, covered in pink floral print, half-sitting on the bed while looking comedically uncomfortable

it’s not until his fourth visit that he begins to perform comfort and seems at peace, finally finding a non-chaotic safe place to metaphorically rest his head, a place without the chaotic nature of his home situation with his 8 rambunctious siblings

when you and your popular cliche encourage him to come to one of your famous beach bashes he’s understandably hesitant but cannot resistant your batting eyelashes and soft assurances while scratching his head that you’ll be there the entire time right alongside him.

so he goes and gets completely trashed. like BLIND drunk due to his inexperienced tolerance to alcohol at about 10:00pm. the party started at only 8:30pm…

neither of you seem to mind: with yourself being smitten towards his loosening of ambitions and his platonic touchiness brought on by his intoxication, and bobby being interior too trashed to know right from left.

the party ends around 12pm with you slinging bobby’s pashmina cardigan over your right shoulder, and trying to gather bobby frame on your left to reach the uber

END OF SFW HC’s NSFW IS AFTER THIS POINT!

loves to have you sit on his face but your constantly making sure your not hurting him until he eventually shuts you up with an climax or seven what who said thatttt

you love to give bobby hickies just for the fun of seeing what creative ways he chooses to style his outfits in an effort to hide them. what you don’t love is your friends incessant teasing of both him and you as a result

popular!reader loves to put her fingers in bobby’s mouth during s*x just cause she finds it hot

your always giving him love bites

like he’s sometimes so cute in his button up and misplaced tie that you just want to bite his cute arms all over!

both of you are a big a fan of mutual masturbation over facetime

always making love raw, so much that it’s a miracle that you aren’t both parents by the age of 20

definitely pulls your hips back to him if he feels you squirming while eating you out

he definitely asks you to marry him two months into dating during a passionate sexual escapade

is a tits man through and through

will hold your boobs in his sleep

has a mysterious exterior with all your friends but is a total blob of sincerity whenever your alone together

loves to feed you honeycombs as an aftercare ritual, doesn’t matter the time or place

he loves to be pulled by the hair sorryyyyy

is very turned on when you get jealous of girls talking to bobby, now that he’s adjacent to the popular crowd

he adores dry humping sorry someone had to say it and i guess that person is me

you ab ride bobby when he’s all sweating from karate practice ( cause he’s a loser like that )

bobby likes that your the taller one in the relationship unresolved dominance kink that will never be explored

only time he feels undeniably confident and himself is when he’s in bed with you…

because you both still live with your parents you make it a game to see who can stay quiet the longest

you make brief, short home videos together but bobby’s too paranoid and you eventually delete all evidence of it’s existence to ease his mind.

[absolutefilthimsosorry]

Spoilers for DnP Incohearent!!!!

I’m having so much fun trying to solve these that I made a list to keep track! Message if you can help me fill in any I’m missing or if I’ve got any wrong!!!

Also lmk if you see any I’ve missed!! I’m going to keep updating this and have it unrebloggable but you can reblog this post to have a link to it!

These are all gathered from this post and this post so check the notes on those first to try to solve them then look here if you need answers!

Sow march cheer ray = so much cherry

Wee nay urn for uke oye yer tub = we’ve never fucked on youtube?

Ta fold in fig = the golden pig

Feed hay hid eho = vday video

Tat he won ape hit morse him he = daddy want a bit more simmy

Watt ken ice hay = what can I say

North key bus teabag king = naughty busty baking

Fool tie enter nit hobo / fall tie mint her nepo moe / fault aye mint earn are ohm owe/ foul thyme inch hermit hole mold = full time internet homo

Cumin mile aid deed or = come in my ladydoor

Hum hay zinc tan = amazingdan

Elven ower fug sedge own = eleven hour fuck session

An berry moth ribeye adam stir = and every month we buy a hamster

March rest array = Manchester eye

Cyst herding yell = sister daniel

Add a ding teps = editing tips

Cop dubai khaki luna = topped by kakuna

Late eat tore = ladydoor

Half tugger etch two eggs cyst = have the courage to exist

Perish she end wink = Parisian twink

Coal ten big/ goal then pick = golden pig

Cyst ordain yell = sister daniel

Train youth inks = try new things

Gay mean moss/ gain ink mass = gamingmas

Soften need = soft and neat

A wools lied = owl slide

Topper bought them hill = top or bottom Phil

Coat fit firenze = golf with friends???

Few ours pig meow fits = viewers pick my outfits

Read less tar = red lester

Eye eight soup igloo = I ate super glue

Insight youth era too walls = inside you there are two wolves

Mine amy stan = my name is Dan

Clap hella = glabella

Hiss teeth rent = hits different

Eel eyes apron kay kiss = Eliza pancakes

See pram haze ink bra jet = super amazing project

Feels lie yawn = phils lion

Fuel ease snot dawn fair = Phil is not on fire

Jaw shush ear son = josh hutcherson

Ball bull him tour food = bauble in your foot?

Sure eck = shrek

High ate dust = hiatus

Add a dink deps = editing tips

Ga hay shoom air age = gay shoe marriage

Pope eat plate aim = poppy playtime

Eat aches stu = it takes two

Goo gal few ed = google feud

Baze ick lee eye meg ay = basically I’m gay

Ko min yout ti ew = coming out to you

Ender knit subvert grew oop = internet support group

Phylis turn yar a sheen yes = PHIL LESTER YOU’RE A GENIUS

With Audi intern yet wean ed brr wood halve mat = without the internet we never would have met

Gum ban yins drool I’ve = companions through life

Reed sons wide answer flail = reasons why dans a fail

Ewan dam ah some are reed = you and Dan are so married

Denver sis fill/ Denver cis full = Dan vs Phil

Or lawn huffing = all or nothing

Dunk rye core raft = don’t cry craft

Mortal jester roam and thick/ Morph adjust row antic = more than just romantic

So wall how debris poll light = swallow to be polite???

Oar hinge art = orange heart

Foray virgo em = forever home

Chai reel loop/ share real oob = cherry lube

Cad boyd anne = cat boy dan

Far turf ill lip = father philip

Tess lit hen ink = the slittening

Forth house indie rolled or touches = four thousand year old tortoises

Hey moth swish roundup floating = a month without uploading

Jam march let pet tea an farms = Je mange les petit enfants

Day lion howl tour = Dalien Howlter

Ima let all kit = I’m a little kit

Feel pearl lays shell ter = Phil plays shelter

Fewer blue key app ending = viewer spooky happenings

Hell low iam tour reel = hello I am Toriel

Laugh tuh gey mile kuh = left to get milk

Villas eek wreck why vuh = Phil’s secret wife

Footy strain gin said dent = ___ strange incident????

Snow core play sum = snokoplasm

Nope puts cereal sleeping mage innit = no but seriously imagine it

Tear rip pulling flu hence = terrible influence

Jeff why eye aisle hike vague liner = fyi I like vagina

Eggs intense all cry cis = existential crisis

List of contributors

@fletthewreck @dandp @deadandphilgames @manchesterau @thephouseplants @awrfhi @jonsaremembers @rachosaurusrex @dapgolf @dan-whoell @dnphobe @dreamingalto @steveandscraggy @phanbeats @danandfuckingjonlmao @pepper-pastry @yonpote @un-interactive-introvert @spaniel-trowel @sisterdanieldyke @queerdnp @morganadelacour @amid-fandoms @spectral-kitkat @goingpheral @angelzonearth @wdapteo @2009phan @dansevilpianotea

[lazicepie]

Bad soup begone from thy home s!!! This one rejoices for thy successes in conquering the mystical horrors!!! (this one also gives its greetings to this lovely tortoise cat... please giveth them my goodest pats...)

Controversial opinion: oatmeal sucks

Cap. It's okay though, I'll give you time to reconsider.

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 12. Richie Jerimovich

PROMPT is from here and I’m using: “What do you mean you’ve never gone trick-or-treating?!”

A/N: it’s canon in my head that when richie is ready to find a new love interest that they will be plus sized idk that’s just what my brain tells me. This reader is also plus sized and could be a potential love interest but this falls in line of somewhat platonic?

WARNINGS: language, triggering matters such as ED, plus-sized reader, + some childhood verbal bullying.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊

Halloween or fall season wasn’t really Raquel’s joy. She was more of a Christmas girlie by all means but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t attempt some fall things. Take right now for example: she had her hands deep into the guts of a pumpkin, the stench of the vegetable almost made her gag and it happens every year where she’s reminded that she prefers dealing with squash much more. Yet here she was, scooping out the insides and allowing the stringiness to get caught underneath her tortoise nails; zoning out after browsing dreadful Facebook.

Raquel’s tunnel daze is dragged away after harsh kicks are sent right to her door. She’s blinking rapidly as she comes to terms that the sound is coming from outside and not from her head. The 5’10 woman pulls her hands from the pumpkin, ready to move over to the sink to rinse her hands quickly but settles for wiping them on her half apron, then jogs over to the door.

“Who is it?” Raquel questions, disliking that she doesn’t have a peephole but is aware that she could lean over her couch to peer out the window.

The reply is instant but muffled, “your best dream come true! C’mon it’s me, open up!”

Raquel smiles at this, “sorry. I don’t know anyone by, ‘c’mon it’s me!’ Maybe you have the wrong house?”

“The same house that I’ve been over a jillion times before?! I don’t think so sweetheart.”

“If you been here before, how come you don’t have a key?” Raquel continues to play along.

Richie huffs, “I can barely keep up with my own keys so we both know giving me another would probably be a lost cause.”

Raquel unlocks the door soon after and welcomes the fresh 62 degree weather of the early afternoon in before her friend. “Richard, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

In richie fashion, he barges into the condo, kicks squeaking against wood laminate floors as he enters, holding a plastic bag up in the air for the dark haired woman to see. Closing the door behind him, Raquel spins on her fuzzy socks to follow richie right to the eighty-eight square feet modern kitchen.

“Those stools still haven’t come in?” Richie states the obvious as he eyes the outside of the bare counter.

Raquel sighs, “they’re now apparently on back order but it took me to contact them in order to get that information.”

“Shit,” Richie comments, “told you just to cancel the order, get your money back, and we can go down to TJMAXX to get a way better steal than what you probably paid for two of those chairs.”

It’s funny how richie used to give Raquel crap for her weekend errands and now he didn’t mind attending when he could.

Raquel leans her elbows against the counter with a smirk, “that maybe true but I wanted quality over bargaining.”

Don’t take this the wrong way, she had plenty of decor pieces that she just purchased from that exact store but she wanted something a little more upscale since she didn’t exactly have the space in this condo to make a formal dining area. A friend suggested getting a round table to place towards the path of the walkway from the entrance but Raquel decided against that since she didn’t want the second bedroom to be blocked whenever company exited.

Although it was only Raquel and her gray hairless Sphynx, Archibald. Majority of the time Raquel was traveling to other events and her friends’ home and rarely had gatherings at her place. Perhaps it had to do with her own trust issues after facing a break-in last year at her old apartment prior but Raquel was fine with forming a shell around herself.

It was necessary yet that shell came down a bit whenever Richie was around.

“Ah, Suit yourself!” Richie pulls out the items he’s brought with him, “anyway! I brought over some goods for your Sunday dinner.”

Raquel quirks up a brow, “you did?”

“Oh please, don’t look so shocked.” Richie peers over at the woman who grins at him, “it’s nothing big just some shit I got on my evening with Chef Terry, Garrett, and Jessica.”

Raquel sat up some, reaching to move the empty bag to the side now to eye the objects near by. She picks up a jar first and nods, “mint-jelly? Let me guess, some if not all of these things are things you tried but ended up hating.”

Richie rolls his eyes, knowing he’s been caught. “Whatever! I asked Syd what the purpose of that shit was after Chef Terry recommended it and Syd said it pairs well with certain meats and I know lamb is actually one of your favorites so I thought of you.”

Raquel bares her teeth into her bottom lip as she cracks the jar open, sniffing at the sweet but tart aroma and shrugs, “well thanks for thinking of me, rich. I’ll definitely try this out next time I make lamb.”

She steps towards him to peck him on the cheek and Richie fans her away as she goes back to look at the other objects.

“What’re we having tonight then if it’s not your best dish?!” Richie starts swinging his hands back and forth, then scrunched his nose up after noticing the pumpkin, “please don’t tell me it’s that bullshit over there?”

Raquel glances at the pumpkin and laughs to herself, “no. That’s solely for decor purposes only.”

“Oh thank fuck, I thought you were gonna tell me you’re obsessed with all things pumpkin now and then I was gonna have to cancel your ass.” Richie wiped the faux sweat from his brow as he turns, arms hunched behind him as if he’s ready to launch himself up onto the counter.

Raquel sends him a warning glance and Richie scoffs, choosing to pick the charcoal gray sectional in the adjacent living room instead.

“You could never cancel me, Richard.” Raquel informs as she places the new items into their designated spots before turning back to wash her hands, “you love me too much.”

Richard tilts his head before reaching for the remote, “yeah I do, so don’t you forget it.”

Raquel sends him a soft smile which Richard holds dear to his heart with his wide blues, before flicking the tv on, making himself right at home.

And it’s just like any other typical Sunday, with Richie coming over to watch some game Raquel didn’t care about but would still be near, either doing her “grandma activity,” which was cross-stitching or commenting here and there (while cooking) after finding out which team they should be rooting for. When commercial breaks start, Raquel is just finishing up the last pumpkin she’s been working on to place on the outside of her front door.

She waves at a neighbor, Antanios who lives on the top floor and lived here the longest with his teenage grandson (after his mother passed), who’s sitting on the shared patio set reading the newspaper.

“Looks nice, Azizi. Can’t wait to see what you do for Christmas.” The elderly man comments with a wink, playfully glancing upwards towards the second floor, where your other neighbor, Clarise—who was in her mid-fifties; who Raquel playfully called her auntie—liked to battle her with the outdoor decor whenever Christmas came around.

Thankfully Raquel found peace in this neighborhood and with solid neighbors. Although she was youngest here—not counting Antanios’ grandson Elias, she found a sense of belonging here like she never did before.

Raquel smiles at the man, “and I can’t wait for your review.”

Antanios dips his head, turning his attention back to the newspaper. He was always the one to settle the score and was always fair, which was humorous in a way considering he was a retired district attorney. It was only right in Raquel and Clarise’s eyes to have Antanios tell it to them straight.

“Tell Richard I said hello.” Antanios said, keeping his eyes on his paper.

He was a quiet but observant man who noticed it all. However it was no secret that Richie was one of the main ones that always kept coming around to visit the tenant on the last floor.

“Hey Antanios!” Richie yelled from the couch before Raquel closed the door, but not without seeing the man smirking to himself.

“Uh hello! I was just about to have a conversation with my favorite person at this place.” Richie frowned as Raquel laughed at him.

“I’ll save him the trouble,” Raquel stated as she went back into the kitchen, “and Archibald and I definitely take offense to that.”

Richie doesn’t flinch as the mentioned cat jumps onto the arm of the chair by his head, arms making room for the gray cat to make themself comfortable right on his chest.

Richie scratches the animal, “Why? Antanios is my guy! I have real conversations with that man when I crash here and you fall asleep on me! It’s like you always think he’s not listening but he’s got wisdom like he’s fucking buddha or something.”

Raquel nods at that but can’t help but to snort, “is this your way of telling me I should get you a Buddha necklace for Christmas this year since you found your calling and all that?”

Richie thinks about this, “I mean shit, I’d wear it but don’t think I’m gonna be out here bald like this uncooked cat here.”

“Don’t talk about my baby like that.” Raquel warns.

Archibald meows and Richie laughs, “he knows it’s all love but he’s definitely given me a few heart attacks sneaking up on me during the night.”

Richie’s never had a pet before in his life so he really didn’t know what he was missing. Now he has Raquel in his life and Eva’s been over a few times before which sparked her interest in getting a hamster or bunny. Tiffany was against it because she felt that would be more work for her but richie just wanted to make his little girl happy and believed if you taught Eva how to tend to it, she would do a good job. She just had to find her footing is all and Richie felt there wasn’t anything wrong with that. Which is exactly why he was setting some money aside to get whichever one Eva chose.

“Bacon and spinach stuffed chicken or honey glazed salmon,” Raquel clapped to get Richie’s attention after he dived back into the game.

Richie took his time answering, “huh? Uh, the chicken.”

It’s Raquel’s turn to hum at him but soon another commercial comes on, making Richie annoyed as he jumps to his feet. When he faces Raquel he notices that she’s got her attention on her phone while still holding the packages of meat.

“Fucking commercials are killing me!” Richie hisses as he makes his way into the kitchen to raid the fridge for a beverage.

He cracks open the soda and sips from it, then plucks the salmon from Raquel’s hand to place back into the fridge. Which was always fully stocked despite the fact that she was constantly traveling every other weekend being a web designer. It wasn’t unusual for Raquel to get quiet on Richie but the zoning out was what become concerning, especially when he snapped his fingers in front of her face to not receive any answers.

It wasn’t until he yanked up her phone to bring it to his attention. Richie looks at the photo of some lady named: Brooke Weisel-Heeni who has her hand resting on a very large baby bump in a wedding dress followed by a large sized wedding ring and another set of hands covering her’s. Richie didn’t have time to read the caption before Raquel snatched the phone back to place face down.

“You never told me how dinner went with the michelin crew? Any progress with Jess?” Raquel says, suddenly back down to earth as she moves to search the kitchen to cut open the package of chicken.

Richie blinks, “we can get into that later. Who’s this Brooke lady that you were cyber stalking?”

“If I wanted to stalk somebody, she would be my last choice.” Raquel retorts making Richie quirk up his brows.

Richie silently thinks to himself on how to approach this. Clearly there was something touchy about this Brooke person and he didn’t like how Raquel was moving about it either.

“Okay…then…how do you know her?”

Raquel shrugs her shoulders, “we went to middle and high school together and remained friends—Facebook friends.”

Richie sips from the can, “just Facebook official, I get it. So…was there beef I need to know about? Do I gotta hate the lady too?”

That earns a crooked smile from Raquel.

“I’m thirty-three years old! What am I doing being still hung up about how she treated me back then?! Especially since I considered her a friend in middle school. Yes, kids can be some motherfuckers but I mean people can change and you grow right? But I don’t like that I’m feeling a way seeing this hard launch of a wedding and pregnancy.” Raquel starts to vent but Richie feels he’s still missing out on the context.

One thing about Raquel is that she only lets, “motherfucker,” slip out is when she’s highly frustrated about something. So richie knew this was serious business.

“Hey, I’m not judgin’,” Richie raises his hands, “I’ve got, I think two assholes that neither Mikey and I were cool with back in the day on my page but that other assclown? Griffin Georgiou?! Yeah! He tried to add me, ripped him a new one and blocked him immediately after he kept trying to go back and forth wit me.”

Raquel sighed with her head thrown back, making Richie nudge her with the back of his hand, “if you wanna talk about it, lay it on me. If you don’t, then we move on but I’ll lock in that this Brooke lady is on my shit list.”

It’s the fact that she’s getting choked up talking about this, that doesn’t sit right with Richie. However he knows boundaries and realizes not to push them when they came to Raquel. So he eyes her as she’s on autopilot, getting ready to prepare the Sunday dish. It’s silent besides the football game on the tv and he moves beside her, watching her and picking up on what he can do to help prepare dinner.

“…what’s on the agenda for Halloween?” Richie changes the subject, “I hope you got the good shit for the little rascals and also for me because I’m definitely coming over later to eat your stash!” Richie tells the friend beside him as he works on cleaning the spinach.

Raquel lifts her shoulders, “I uh—haven’t thought much about it? Probably get off work just to head over to the bar or go to the bar after work and come home to have a chill night in or give to the kids.”

“Sounds good to me,” Richie replies, “let me know if you decide to give candy because Eva and I will definitely roll through.”

Raquel let’s a small smile greet her lips. She was glad that richie was making the effort to be a better parent to his child and attempting not to create the same disruptive pattern his parents had him in. Eva’s a bright girl, a little on the shy side but as soon as Raquel brought out a mini water color kit that she had stored away for traveling purposes, Eva seemed to lighten up.

“Aw! Let me guess? She’s going as Taylor Swift?”

“BOOM! You got it!”

“Which era?”

“The fact that you know that’s a thing when you’re not a swiftie is impressive.” Richie comments, making Raquel roll her eyes.

Richie laughs a little, “Eva’s doing the lover era. Lots of colors, which I’m not surprised considering I have a little artist on my hands. Tiff’s going for—I think she said evermore.”

Raquel nods, a smile twitching on her lips as if she knows much about either, “and what’re you going for?”

“Do I go with fearless or 1989? But make it manly since I got to keep my street cred high,” Richie puffs out his chest which makes Raquel pull a mocking face, “and risk the chance of scaring my child with adding horror elements to that theme while potentially pissing her mother off? Or do I not dress up for trick or treating?” Richie rambles, which means he’s given this some thought.

Raquel speaks, “I don’t know…isn’t one of the points of trick or treating supposed to be getting dressed up? I’ve never been.”

Richie almost drops the bowl of cream cheese, spinach, mozzarella, and spices mixture that the chicken is supposed to be stuffed with, “What do you mean you’ve never gone trick-or-treating?!”

Raquel glances over her shoulder hearing the oven beep, signaling that the oven was set at the right temperature. “It wasn’t something that was encouraged for me. I didn’t really get to celebrate Halloween like the other kids or even my older brother, who was the popular kid.”

“Why?”

“A combination of things: Brooke, my Bulimic mother, my weight.”

Richie deeply exhaled.

“Sixth grade. I was always heavier than everyone else, always at the doctor to make sure I didn’t have any medical conditions that contributed to it but my pediatrician always reassured that it’s just baby fat and that it would fluctuate once I grew, story of my life!” Raquel humorlessly laughed, “as if my father didn’t come from that same body type. I was never overweight but the minute you’re not petite or shaped like a pencil in anyone else’s eyes, you’re fat and disgusting. Anyways the short story? Brooke and I were friends in middle school, she was having a Halloween party after going trick or treating. She said she forgot to give me an invitation and was about to give it to me in class but the other girls that she already invited said they wouldn’t want a piggy to eat all of their candy if I came. Know what Brooke did? Laughed right with them and kept my invitation in her backpack. I cried about it for the rest of the day and when I got home to tell my mom about it she said to me, ‘well if you wore clothes that actually fit then maybe they wouldn’t say those things to you.’”

Richie clenched his eyes shut, “that’s so fucked up and I’m sorry those turds made you feel that way! You know none of that negative bullshit is true then or now? They’re the ones who missed out on having a good person in their lives. Screw ‘em!”

Raquel rolls the tension from her shoulders, “Thanks for saying that. It’s something I’m always working on and loving this body that’s been given to me. And this isn’t some pity thing I’m trying to throw out there because I love who I am. It’s just seeing her face after all this time—I’m hardly on Facebook—pop back up on my feed caught me completely off guard.”

“Trust me, I get it.” Richie reassures, “…did she ever apologize?”

“Yup when we were both in our second year of college. Two Ohioan girls in New York, me in NYU and her at Brown University. She felt the need to update me about her college experience in the DM by the way, I never asked. I feel like she only apologized because of my friend Tommy though. He’s…unhinged. But I left her on read too which didn’t make me feel any better…but enough of my childhood trauma! Tell me about Michelin.” Raquel used the back of her hand to wipe at her damp eyes.

Richie ignores this and questions, “you wanna go trick or treating with me and Eva?”

“Huh?”

“You’re going!” Richie decides for Raquel who frowns.

“I can’t do that,” Raquel quickly shakes her head, “don’t know if you noticed but I’m grown now.”

Richie scoffs after eyeing Raquel’s profile, “oh I’ve noticed sweetheart…but Isn’t that what they say about adulthood, that you’re supposed to heal your inner child or whatever?”

“Where’s Richie and what have you done with him?” Raquel scanned the room with a hand above her brow.

Richie elbows her as they both share a laugh.

After awhile Raquel claims, “I don’t even have a costume or idea.”

“I mean…you could always join the era’s tour.” Richie kept a straight face as he peered over at Raquel who scrunched up her nose, “C’mon Rocky! Be one of us! There’s even friendship bracelets.”

“No, thank you.”

Richie began to move in a body roll as he screams, “'Cause we nеver go out of style, we nеver go out of style!”

Raquel widens her eyes in horror, “Oh god, what are you doing? Stop that and please sing anything else!”

“Okay.” Richie thinks to himself before belting, “Cause when you're, fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe them!”

Raquel flinches as Richie’s voice booms off the walls of her condo, “I think we found which era you should really be. You felt that in your soul didn’t you?”

Richie clears his throat, “yeah, I think so but I don’t want anymore of your haterade when we come scoop you up. I’ve been growing out my hair too so maybe fearless is the best era to go with after all.”

“Did Jessica convince you to dye it blond too?” Raquel teased, peeking at Richie’s hair that did look a bit fuller compared it’s usual buzzed cut—now that he pointed it out.

Richie frowns over at Raquel, “damn you’re being nosy about Jessica!”

“Hey no need to get defensive,” Raquel smirked, “I’m just trying to see if you picked up on any vibes.”

Richie sucked his teeth, “I’m picking up on you scrambling around from choosing a damn costume!”

“I really don’t want to impose on you and Eva’s quality time.”

“What?! That kid loves you. Not as much as her old man but she likes you because she knows you and I are great together—the best of friends!”

“Don’t tell Fak that, he might get jealous.”

Richie scoffs, ready to toss a spinach stem her way, “as long as you don’t tell this Tommy person that.”

Raquel snorts, “believe me, Tommy does not give a damn who I keep around as long as they don’t mess with me or his business.”

It was apparent to Richie that Raquel only casually mentioned this Tommy person from time to time and he’s met her other friend, co-workers, and even her arrogant older brother but Tommy seemed to be this sort of invisible force that Richie never had the chance to meet.

Richie could live with that as long as he didn’t bring any trouble to Raquel’s door.

She already had Richie right by her side for some good trouble whenever she needed him and it had to be vice versa on Raquel’s end too right?

Well…a decade of friendship regardless of their age gap solidified that as Richie tossed a wrist over Raquel’s shoulder to place a kiss to her temple which she leaned into.

Her own personal safety net, which was never too far from her reach.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚

Read my final 2023 fall prompt here.

[thegoddamnwordsmith]

Hey, it's my birthday! And as a gift, I'd really like you all to spread the word about EcoVivarium, a local nonprofit reptile rescue and living museum, and specifically their GoFundMe. The recent cold snap in California resulted in a massive spike to their power bill, due to the need to keep all the animals warm around the clock. They need as much help as they can get to pay the bill and maintain power in order to continue helping the over 300 animals in their care.

If you can donate, please do! If you can't, please share this message. They do amazing work with a wide variety of lizards, turtles and tortoises, snakes, and arthropods, many with special needs or injuries that keep them from being adopted out. And if you're ever in the area, please don't hesitate to schedule a tour or even just walk-in - the staff will be happy to introduce you to an entire world of new animal friends for you to fall in love with!

[the-writing-mobster]

| T M D G | Chapter 2 Excerpt | 💙 🔪 💔 |

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The grand lobby of the sterile police station was so bare that even the dull thuds of her rubber-soled oxfords bounced off of them and seemed to echo through each and every corridor.

If the summons from her contacts in the forensics team and detective Dreemurr wasn’t enough to announce her presence, those empty, echoing hallways were. 

A few loitering officers casted her underhanded looks, their gazes following her as she passed them.

“Evenin’ Starling. You snoopin around for more dirt?” Grumbled a policeman as she approached the front desk. She didn’t even know who he was, but he certainly knew her. God. I don’t have time for this. 

Detective Dreemurr had said it was urgent… It took everything in her not to roll her eyes out of frustrated annoyance. Instead, she flashed him a generous smile he didn’t deserve. 

If she could, she would have ignored them completely. She didn’t like many of them on the best of days… but she needed them to at least be on good terms so she could get access to evidence.

“Good evening to you too, officer. Do you know where I can find Asgore?” She asked.  

He twitched at the mention of the detective, and it almost seemed like he was going to screw his mouth shut… 

Try as he might, however, her unyielding stare forced the answer out of him.

 “Yeah, he’s back in the Evidence Room,” he muttered. She nodded, her grin growing wider, nearly wolfish as she wrinkled her nose at him. She’d already known that. 

“That’s lovely. Thank you. Do you think you could call him up? That victim was identified and we’re going over the autopsy today.” 

 The officer narrowed his eyes at her. “Right… I'm sure if he knows you're here he'll be on his way, but you're gonna need to sign visitation and NDA forms, y'hear? Can't just come in here demanding everyone to bend over backwards for you,” he grumbled, mostly to himself as he pulled out the tedious paperwork.

She gave a small sigh and tried her best to smile along. Remind herself that she was lucky. If she was any other member of the press, she’d probably get escorted out of the building and told to wait for the official statement just like everyone else. 

But thanks to her connection to the Detective, she was practically untouchable to these hogs. Hog is a generous term. Pigs are lovely animals, she thought as she took the papers he passed over to her.

“Can you at least call him while I'm filling these out?... Please?” she requested with a charming smile. 

She lifted her tortoise shell reading glasses off her chest where they hung on a string of small pearls, and pushed them onto her nose. The officer stared across at her with a flicker of contempt before sighing and giving into her demands. 

A few rings of silence and the scratch of a fountain pen scribbling on paper passed between them.  

“Hmm… looks like I can’t—”

“—Howdy Starling! Sorry for not greeting you at the door, I got caught up with something!” Called Asgore from across the lobby. 

The desk-jockey officer gave a disgruntled pout and hung up the phone. 

Frisk finished signing the NDA and visitors form before shoving it back in the officer's hands. He grumbled under his breath as she immediately abandoned him at the desk to greet her much more amiable associate. 

Asgore took Frisk under his arm and led her away from the lobby, their footsteps loud in her ears. 

“My condolences about Hank. The men are still mad about the op-ed you wrote last year,” murmured Asgore when they were out of earshot. She scoffed with laughter. 

“Let them stay mad. Barney shouldn’t have turned off his body camera.” hissed Frisk and Asgore nodded along in understanding. 

“I know. Still, you know what happens when you come for one of us.” Frisk finally allowed herself to roll her eyes and smirked. 

“Yes I do. I get scowled at behind my back but still get all the special access I want. You know why?” She asked, her smirk growing increasingly more smug as Asgore swiped his card to access the elevator to the morgue. 

“Let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Frisk—”

“—Because I caught the Massachusetts Mangler, and that was before you let me sit in at the crime scenes and observe the autopsies,” she said with a touch of well deserved pride. 

Asgore let out a small scoff of laughter as they stepped into the elevator, blue light cascaded down their forms, setting their eyes in deep shadow as they descended. 

He sent her a hidden look, his beard creasing with a frown she caught from the corner of her eye. But, when she turned to catch him, it was gone. “I haven't forgotten that.”

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Intrigued? Read the rest HERE on AO3! ↓↓

[alexhornefan]

ALEX HORNE & GREG DAVIES - extended version- THEY LIKE TO WATCH podcast P.2

I reached the character limit so had to make a new post! Here's part two.

Asked about pets, Alex said they had the snail, chickens and a tortoise, but they'd all gone and now they have a dog.

Greg talks about how disappointing the Taskmaster house is to visit. Alex says there have been three proposals there and two of them they invited them in to propose. Alex discourages people from turning up to the house though. Greg suggests fans try and find out where himself or Alex lives and stalk them instead. They talk about taking selfies with fans and Greg says they're both quite tolerant with it all. Greg says having had a real job he doesn't forget how lucky he is with his career. Alex asks Greg asks about people who use a timer with a countdown from 5 which he finds very irritating.

Greg tells a story about he and Ed Gamble going to a bar in Norwich and it was a student night and because of The Inbetweeners they were swamped with people wanting selfies. Greg says the management asked them to stay and they'd buy their drinks all night, so they did. Greg said Ed hadn't done much TV then so he was taking the pictures and was deliberatly cutting Greg's head out of the pictures and people would be thrilled but then end up joning the queue again for another picture because of Ed.

Alex talks about acting and says that he thinks he's really good and even Greg says he's really good. Greg interrupts and says Alex is being self-effacing and that he does think he can act. Greg said he was surrised and that Alex could do a role quite nicely. Alex said he does have the fantasy of being asked to be in Snatch 2 and being asked to play a cool, hard-guy. Greg says he doesn't know if he sees that and Alex insists that he can. Asked if he likes the idea of not having to do much work in an acting role, with someone else doing all the writing, Alex says he does like that. He said he has a small part in a Sam Campbell pilot and because someone dropped out, he did the part. He does go on to say that he found the waiting boring with acting. Alex said he got the role mostly because they were filming in the town where he lived.

Greg talks about choosing friends who won't be bothered about his height and make a big deal about it. He tells the story of the short guy in a pub wanting to fight him, and Greg's even shorter mate hitting the guy over the head with a moped helmet.

Greg talks about the Kes documentary he made. He talks about watching or reading bleak things and that he can't handle it any more. He says he is too sensitive now. Alex says he can still watch bleak things and says he watched Tyrannosaur and it's very bleak but he really liked it. Greg says the last bleak thing he watched was Dead Man's Shoes.

Alex says Stephen Graham was very close to doing TM as he really likes it, but the filming schedules didn't work. Alex says about what a great actor Stephen is and that he came over to Greg and Alex at an event and Alex said how lovely and giggly he was to meet.

Alex talks about the sport he watches and watching Strictly Come Dancing. Asked if they'd ever do it, Alex said they were asked the other day by Shirley Ballas. Greg says you should never so no, and it's an amazing institution and Greg would prefer to watch than take part. Alex says Greg would be the best booking on strictly. Greg states that Alex is a very stiff person and Ales agrees and says there are times when he does loosen up, but being on BBC on Saturday nights wouldn't help. Greg looks like he's riding ontop of a hoverboard.

Greg says he doesn't watch comedy when he's writing as he's a sponge and will start to copy the style. He says he watches documentaries and he's recently been watching Last stop Larrimahr and Riders for Justice.

They talk about crying watching things and Greg says he doesn;t cry much. Alex asks if he feels it coming on and stops himself, but Greg says no, and he will cry as he thinks it's good to cry. He talks about going to a concert and getting their late with a GF and a song started and he started crying but noticed that not only was his GF crying, everyone else was as well.

Greg asks Alex if he can remember the last time he had an actual cry and he says no. He said the new John Lewis Christmas ad made him feel like he could cry if he let himself.

Asked about Taskmaster and how shows can be messed up, Alex is asked about how he had a brilliant idea and how every step along the way, Alex made it wonderful. Alex says Andy D is responsible for the look of the show. Alex said that they asked Greg and Frank at the same time and told both of them that the other one was doing the show to help convince them. Greg says he knew Alex a little bit and that their personality types worked well together. Alex puts it down to a lot of luck. Greg says it wasn't that weird because they did no each other at the start because of being in comedy.

They have a brief chat about the opening credits with beards, Alex having a beard since he got married.

[burtonandtaylor]

The Taming of Liz Taylor

Excerpt from article published on December 3, 1966

By Russell Braddon

Elizabeth Taylor, wearing no makeup and looking small and relaxed in pink slacks, sat sipping champagne in her dressing room at the movie studios outside Rome. Her husband, Richard Burton, a large, red-bearded, piratical-looking man in a 16th-century costume, was sipping a large vodka and tonic. “Seen the posters for the film?” she asked, pointing to a series of them on the dressing-room wall. The first announced:

Now on location in Rome ELIZABETH TAYLOR in THE TAMING OF THE SHREW and introducing Richard Burton.

“She had that specially printed,” Burton declaimed with a curl of the lip. “So I got one specially printed too.” His poster announced that Richard Burton starred in The Taming of the Shrew, which was scripted by Richard Burton, edited by Richard Burton, produced by Richard Burton and everything else-ed by Richard Burton. His wife was not even mentioned in the very small print.

Mrs. Burton had thereupon ordered a third poster:

ELIZABETH TAYLOR, ACADEMY AWARD–WINNING ACTRESS AND SHAKESPEAREAN COACH TO RICHARD BURTON IN THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

“Cheek,” was her husband’s comment.

“Take no notice of him. He’s only jealous.”

The conversation turned to the new full-blooded Taylor voice, which she had developed, without benefit of voice coach, for the role of Martha in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? “She can now, at the drop of a hat,” Burton declared, “sound like anything from a ripe old harridan to a boozy old whore.” He saluted her with his large glass of vodka. Glowing with pleasure, she saluted him back with champagne.

“Have a quail’s egg,” she suggested, offering a dish full of them.

Burton was asked how he and his wife came to be starring in a Shakespearean farce under an Italian director, Franco Zeffirelli. He flung himself back in his armchair and began:

“Well, it was like this — and can you believe it for idiocy … ?”

“What do you mean, idiocy?” demanded his wife, who knew what was to follow.

“… when Franco Zeffirelli decided that he wanted to do The Taming of the Shrew as his first film, he sent a colleague of his to see us. And this chap tells Elizabeth what Franco is planning, and that he wants her — who’s never done Shakespeare in her life — to do the Shrew. So naturally I waited for him to ask me — who had starred at the Old Vic — to do Petruchio. But not a word! Not a hint of a word! Apparently Franco didn’t think I was witty enough.” Mrs. Burton laughed callously. “It was only later, when he was taken to see my Hamlet, which was rather a witty Hamlet — not my fault, but it was — that eventually I got the job. … Everyone assumes, of course, and quite properly, that I was asked first. But incredibly I wasn’t. So we might as well get that clear for a start.”

“Absolutely not true,” Zeffirelli said, coming into the room. “Richard is very gallant to Elizabeth — well, sometimes he is very gallant to Elizabeth — but it is absolutely not true. I asked them both at the same time. Always I thought of them together. And, in the end, we even decided to produce it together. It will be the most artistic Shakepeare picture ever made,” he concluded modestly.

“But not stuffy,” Burton reminded.

“Absolutely not stuffy,” Zeffirelli agreed.

“And also, of course, there’s the fact that whilst Elizabeth and I both wanted to do this film, no outside producer, for Shakespeare, would put up the kind of money we can demand.”

Mrs. Burton looked immensely contented at the thought of the kind of money she can demand, even though, as the co-producers, she and Burton had to put up $3 million to pay for their own services.

The Burtons had arrived in Italy with a large entourage, their children, some 200 pieces of baggage, and a mad assortment of pets — “allegedly the children’s, but they’re Elizabeth���s really,” Burton claimed — that were said to include three dogs, two cats, five goldfish, three tortoises, a young rabbit, and a bird. It is a nervous habit of Zeffirelli’s that, when he first meets a person, or even meets again someone he has not seen for some time (like one day), he will admire some part of the person’s apparel. He greeted Mrs. Burton, the day she arrived at the studios, by admiring her earrings — which were of diamonds and indeed wholly admirable.

“They were a present from a director,” Mrs. Burton advised. Then she added sweetly, “It was his first film too.”

“But I think it would be very difficult,” Zeffirelli demurred, “to find something that will top those earrings.”

“No,” she murmured. “There’s a little shop on the Via Condotti called Bulgari …”

“I don’t understand your English accent,” Zeffirelli interrupted hurriedly, Bulgari being in Rome what Tiffany is in New York. “Come and look at the costumes.” But he returned the next day with a bracelet, in enamel and precious stones, that once had belonged to Napoleon’s sister, Elisa Bacciochi. Delighted, Mrs. Burton thanked him and explained that actresses give directors gifts only when their film is completed.

Work began, at the studios, at 9 a.m. — which meant getting up at 6 — and this was one aspect of her work about which Mrs. Burton cared less than passionately.

“Isn’t that wife of mine here yet?” demanded Burton one day. “I swear to you, she’d be late for the last bloody judgment. A quarter of an hour late, in fact, and Liz thinks she’s early.”

Eventually Mrs. Burton arrived, looking composed, uncontrite, and professional. Immediately, Zeffirelli, who directs by playing all the parts and miming extravagantly, launched into his version of how she should act during the morning’s scene — tearing his hair, fighting, spitting and shouting.

“Franco,” she remonstrated, deadpan, “don’t do it all for me, please.”

Mrs. Burton first acted the scene for the cameras, and then — since the microphone couldn’t follow her — did it a second time for sound alone.

“Bravo,” the Italian technicians cheered as she finished. Mrs. Burton giggled, then confessed. “You feel a damned idiot doing that.”

“And to think,” her husband retorted, “that some fool in London once wrote that Elizabeth was overpaid, overweight, and undertalented.”

“Not true,” Zeffirelli assured her, his arm round her shoulder, his eye roving clinically. “You are not overpaid, and you are not ­undertalented.”

“Dear Franco,” she murmured, and kissed him.

Burton slapped her on her stomach. “Look at that,” he invited, and the entire studio looked. “Isn’t that belly disgraceful?”

At last she was stung. “In Egypt,” she observed coldly, “they adore it. The only trouble is, my films are banned in Egypt, so they never get to see it.”

She, Burton, and Zeffirelli discussed once again, finally, what must be done in the next scene, and then indulged in the usual banter about Zeffirelli’s demonstrativeness, Burton’s alleged pleasure in close-ups of Richard Burton, Mrs. Burton’s lateness and ­operations, and Mrs. Burton’s costume, the bodice of which was laced up.

“Untie the lace a little,” Zeffirelli urged.

“Franco, I can’t. There’s enough of me showing already. Any lower and my bosom’ll fall out.”

“Exactly what Columbia wants,” growled her director, and reluctantly left the bosom adequately contained.

After a long day on the set, they consoled themselves with generous libations of vodka and tonic — and the morning after, early on the set, felt quite unwell. Mrs. Burton looked glowing, but she made it very clear that she felt awful.

After one take she stood in front of her small mirror and dabbed sweat from her brow.

“Pure vodka,” she declared. Right hand supported on left wrist, she painstakingly mascaraed each eyelash; to her evident astonishment, she avoided poking an eye out. A piece of costume jewelry clattered to the ground in the middle of his last line and ruined the first take. On the second, a bird high in the studio rafters cheeped shrilly. During the third take, Burton forgot his lines. On the fourth, a carpenter dropped a hammer and destroyed Burton’s ­concentration entirely, though not his good humor.

On the next three takes in a row, Burton fluffed his last line; and on the fourth he fluffed everything, but carried on, cheerfully inventing.

“That went very smoothly, I thought,” he declared as he passed the camera. “Shall we use it? Or would you like it in Welsh now?”

“Let’s go to lunch,” his wife suggested. “It’s not going to get any better.”

After lunch it went perfectly.

On the last day at the studios, Mrs. Burton asked Zeffirelli to come to her husband’s dressing room. “Tomorrow I fly to New York,” he told them, “to produce Anthony and Cleopatra at the Met. But I will miss you.”

“We’ll miss you too,” Mrs. Burton told him. “So here’s something to remember us by.” And she gave him a superb cigarette case of heavy gold decorated with a large sapphire and inscribed:

CARO FRANCO — FROM THE SHREW AND HER TAMER.

[padmerrie]

Muscle Memory (Bookends AU) [1.2K; AO3]

Summary: Minato takes a break from the campaign grind with a sleeping Naruto in tow and stumbles upon his three former students.

ᓚᘏᗢ    ᓚᘏᗢ    ᓚᘏᗢ    

“One.  Two.  Three!” 

Obito, Kakashi, and Rin dropped their sticks into the water and raced to the other side of the bridge.  They braced themselves against the railing, eyes fixed on the river below, their collective breath held in anticipation, waiting.  Watching.

Three sticks appeared, one stick slightly ahead of the other two.

Obito glared at Kakashi.

“You keep dropping yours early,” he snapped.  On his other side, Rin laughed.  

“He’s not dropping it early, Obito.  It’s just luck.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Obito grumbled.  He hopped off the bottom railing and jabbed a thumb to his chest.  “I’m picking the sticks this time.”   

Kakashi made a noncommittal sound, still watching their sticks being swept downstream.  “Rin picked them out last time.”

Obito waved him off with a disgruntled noise, not looking back as he jogged off to retrieve three new sticks from the river’s shore.  

“My, what have I stumbled upon?  An after school physics lesson?”

Rin and Kakashi turned to find their favorite teacher strolling towards them pushing a baby carriage. 

“Minato-sensei!” Rin exclaimed happily.  Her eyes lit up as they landed on the carriage, but Minato pressed a finger to his lips before she could open her mouth again.

“He’s sleeping.  It’s new,” he added with a tired but not unhappy chuckle.  He beckoned them over with a wave of his hand.  Rin was by Minato’s side in an instant.  She gave a delighted gasp, then looked up and waved to Kakashi.  

“Get over here!” she hissed in a whisper. 

Kakashi sighed and dropped off the railing, slipping his hands in his pockets and walking over to them with all the urgency of a tortoise crossing a road.  He hovered by Rin’s shoulder and peered into the bassinet.  It was a sight indeed - mostly because this was possibly the first time Kakashi had ever seen Naruto asleep.

“I’m surprised to see you out, sensei,” Rin said, keeping her voice soft.  “The only time we see you these days is on campaign signs.”  

“Oh those,” Minato chuckled, looking away embarrassed.  “It’s a little much.  Even Kushina said she’s tired of seeing my face everywhere.”

“I saw you on TV yesterday,” Rin continued.  Her lips quirked to the side.  “The camera loves you, sensei.”

Minato’s cheeks flushed.  “I’m glad you think so, but I’ll admit, the feeling is pretty one-sided.  I’ll be glad when this campaign is over next month.  Win or lose.”

“We miss you at school.”

“I miss you all too.  And I miss teaching.  But I truly believe I can do more as governor.  Not just for my students, but for all of Konoha.”  

“What will you do if you lose, sensei?” Rin asked.  Kakashi tch-ed in disapproval, but Minato only smiled. 

“Exactly what I said I’d do when I announced my candidacy.”  Minato looked between Rin and Kakashi.  “No one is handed a road map to achieving their dreams, so one must conclude that there is no one right way to get there.  I don’t have to be governor to make Konoha a better place.” 

Kakashi, still studying Naruto from a distance, said, “You’re going to win, sensei.” 

Minato’s expression softened much in the way it had when he looked in the carriage.  He laid a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder.  “I hope you’re right.”

There was a clattering of noise and all three turned to see Obito standing at the end of the bridge, a pile of sticks lying forgotten at his feet.  

“Minato-sensei!” 

A squalling howl cracked through the air, no build-up, no warning.  Everyone’s eyes snapped to the baby carriage.  

“Nice job,” Kakashi said, frowning peevishly at Obito.  “You woke Naruto up.”  

“It’s ok, Kakashi,” Minato said unperturbed.  “It was going to happen sooner or later.  A butterfly could wake him up.”  He reached into the carriage and lifted Naruto into the air and cradled him to his chest, bouncing him gently and cooing sweet nothings until his cries faded to a more tolerable squabbling. 

“We were just talking about the election,” Rin told Obito as he joined them.  His face lit up.

“I saw you on TV yesterday!”

“Not you too,” Minato lamented, color returning to his cheeks. 

“I sure did!�� You kicked those old geezers’ asses in the debate!”

From over Naruto’s head, Minato hit his former student with a stern look.  “Those old geezers have names, Obito.”

“My Gramps can’t stand Danzo,” Obito went on like he hadn’t heard him.  “And he says the only thing Hiruzen Sarutobi should have authority over this late in his life is his burial plot.” 

“Oh!”  Minato’s expression froze in a state of shock.  “Well, that’s, uh,” he stammered, struggling to find an appropriate response.  “I-I appreciate their vote.” 

Kakashi caught Rin’s eye and murmured, “Spoken like a true politician.”  She smiled at him as Obito shook his head emphatically.

“Oh, they’re not voting for you.  Madara says if Danzo’s egomania doesn’t run this province into the ground, then your idealism will.  I guess that leaves Sarutobi…” Obito trailed off thoughtfully.  “I bet Gramps is counting on him dying during his tenure.”

Minato stared.  

“Hashirama says if this doesn’t work out, you should consider recording audiobooks.  He said he could listen to your voice all day.  Just not your politics.”

“Oh my.  That’s…”  Minato looked around at the three of them, flustered for words before abruptly saying, “Would anyone like to hold Naruto?” 

There was a resounding YES from at least two of his former students. 

Kakashi watched as his friends fought for custody of Naruto, neither one content with simply holding Naruto for a minute and letting go.  Naruto didn’t seem bothered in the slightest being the object of their power struggle.  He babbled senselessly, regardless, his earlier tears long since dried.  There was only one thing that would call for a ceasefire. 

“No,” Kakashi said narrowly.  This was directed at Rin who, despite Kakashi’s clear refusal, only took an undeterred step into his orbit.

“Just for a minute,” she insisted.  “Trust me.”

Kakashi’s hands might as well have been sewn into his pant’s pockets.  He stared defiantly down his nose at the squirming baby in Rin’s arms, all squishy and pink and foreign.  Even though he’d had numerous encounters with him, every interaction felt like the first, which was to say that the experience never ceased to make him uncomfortable.     

Kakashi’s eyes flicked back up to Rin, still watching him.  The shroud of carefully constructed aloofness that he wore like a second skin slipped a little.  He sighed, and held out his arms. 

And then Kakashi couldn’t feel them. 

The only thing he felt was the unfathomable weight of a very small, very real human life cradled to his chest.  Being a baby, Naruto possessed the misfortune of being both easily breakable and highly unpredictable.  While Kakashi didn’t hold this against him - he was a baby - these were two qualities that Kakashi did not care for.  He would have very much liked to hand him back to Rin, but a steadying hand on his shoulder held the urge back.  

Kakashi looked up over his shoulder and watched Minato watching Naruto.  His expression was so familiar that it nudged a memory out of place.  He turned away.  Feeling hadn’t returned to his arms, but he held Naruto a little tighter all the same.   

[saleintothe90s]

490. The 1980 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, November 27, 1980

(the whole parade is here, if you just want the commercials and highlights, it's here)

Randy Hamilton from the soap opera Texas sings "Deep in the Heart of Texas" with a small child? Who is this small child. I want it to be a random child that they chose three minutes before turning the cameras on. Randy doesn't have a Wikipedia page! Sadness.

Ahhh!! Is that a baby Mark Linn Baker in the GE commercial?!

I love the crowd whooping it up for the cast of One 'Mo Time. I was wondering what was behind them --- I think it was the broadcast booth for host Ed McMahon! Just ... there with the saddest looking Woolworth decorations ever.

What a weird closing card (what do you call that?) for this Child World / Children's Palace commercial that aired constantly. Ok, the bear didn't fall on his butt? That was the best shot we could get?

For some reason Marilyn Michaels takes off her gloves while singing "Watching the Parade go Byyy". That couldn't of waited, Marilyn?

Todd Bridges sang a song about the Summer. I felt bad for Todd, he had no back up dancers, just dancing in the street. Was this a time filler? Loved the song!

A baby Glenn Close was there with the cast of Barnum. I feel like Ed is auditioning for the Star Search hosting gig with this parade. I love his energy.

I love the juxtaposition of Bryant Gumbel thanking the Museum of Natural history for letting people warm up in their building with Doodlebug.

Ed sang a song! When was the last time a host SANG.

I thought Cootie ran over a clown, but the clown deliberately laid down in front of him??

Just for us Hampton Roads girlies, Busch Gardens of Williamsburg had a Loch Ness Monster float! It's still at Busch Gardens! The cast of Brigadoon was on the float.

Ed was trying to find a date for Happy Dragon. He said "I guess now that he's 21, he's free to go out in the evening and date whomever he chooses. So if you have an eligible dragon hanging around your house moping, we might be able to set them up and in the years to come, who knows how many dragons we might have in the parade!"

There was a float for everyone's favorite box office flop, Popeye! I think that's supposed to be Olive Oyl?!

1980 was electric football's year. It felt like it was the only toy advertised!

"Tonka's Bear in a Box! Everyone's favorite!"

Finally, a game that looks like one of my dad's vintage fire scanners.

Cowboys were HOT this year, due to the movie Urban Cowboy, and the TV show Dallas. Modern equivalent to this would be this past Summer's Western Barbie! We even had Dean Butler from Little House on the Prairie sing "Don't Fence Me In" while riding a tortoise. The Lone Ranger even showed up. Oh, and even the McDonalds commercial with Ronald was western themed.

While Snoopy couldn't fly this year due to a leg injury, we had Underdog.

Can we discuss how a station wagon is pulling a float. Later on, I saw an Oldsmobile sedan towing the float with the Spinners on it.

This beautiful phone store.

I feel like by the time we were growing up in the late 80s/early 90s, Kermit had more bad days at the parade than good, but 1980 was a good year for him. Just look at him.

Casper is over here looking like the baby from Ally McBeal.

Bob from Sesame Street sang a song while Bert & Ernie danced. Even Oscar liked the song.

Unfortunately, the entire parade isn't on YouTube. Looks like the recorder only set their VCR for two hours. One of the final things you see is Linda Ronstadt and the cast of The Pirates of Penzance. "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" slaps.

Related: previous thanksgiving entries.

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[visualpoett]

The Tortoise and the Hare (1703)

Artist: Francis Barlow

From Æsop's Fables, with his life, in English, French and Latin. [Re-issue of 2nd ed.] London: R. Newcomb for Francis Barlow, 1703 (p. 141)