#he was already struggling not to lose it during the syndicate finale so like??

[missycolorful]

Philza, basically: I already said goodbye to the Dream SMP with my syndicate finale. I don’t want to go back because I said my piece. Go enjoy someone else’s stream if you wanna enjoy the final DSMP stream. Stop chat hopping, it is very annoying for everyone who just wants to enjoy this stream.

Some fucking idiots: woooow, Phil doesn’t care about his friends who are on the server right now, how can he be so disrespectful? How can he say that about the server that gave him all his views? (Insert boring ass ‘Phil is old even though he’s fucking 35’ “joke” here)

[imhereformysciencefriends]

Execution (& Syndicate)

@peerpressureweek day 5!

Ranboo struggled against his bindings, the chains around his wrists, the gag inside his mouth, the stones tied to his ankles. He shouted, muffled as it was, begging any of the onlookers to believe him, to help him! He even, in his desperation, met their eyes, but each gaze that was turned on him was cruel and leering, eager to see the show. Little freak of nature, cast off the side of a cliff, left to drown like a normal human or burn from his water intolerance, they didn’t care. As long as he was dead either way.

His heart drummed in his chest. He’d be dead either way. The moment the cruel hands on him lifted his thin body and heavy stones and hefted him off the cliff, he was as good as dead. The moment he hit the water, he would be. He screamed, pleadingly, uselessly, tried to catch the eye of even the people who were hauling him, but it was useless. All of it, useless.

His stomach swooped in the free fall, one final scream of terror wrenched out around the gag, and then with a splash his skin began to sizzle. He screamed until he was out of air and thrashed, immediately losing which way was up or down, unable to feel the stones tied to his ankles thanks to the agony, and could not even form enough coherent thought to know that this was it.

This was the end.

He would die, in pain, burned to death in the sea.

…Which was why, as he groaned at every aching, burning inch of skin, he felt it was rather odd that he was even alive at all.

His eyes opened, blurry and unfocused, to a dry, clean room. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it took a good, solid fifty to sixty seconds for it to do so, during which he was afraid he’d been blinded permanently. But the room swam into focus (more or less) and his head twisted with slow ache, every movement further agony.

“Hey, kid.”

Ranboo tried to look at the source of the voice, but it was too far for his head to turn. Fortunately, the man who spoke approached, and settled himself on the edge of the bed Ranboo was lying in. Ranboo’s lips parted to speak, but only a chalkboard wheeze came out.

“Easy. Don’t push yourself too hard: you barely managed to survive.”

Yes, Ranboo certainly felt like that was true.

Warm, rough hands were gentle on him as this stranger helped Ranboo sit, but despite his care Ranboo still felt every breath of pressure as a special hellish agony on his skin, the act of moving almost painful enough to knock him out again.

“Okay, it’s okay, shhh,” the stranger was saying, barely audible through Ranboo’s ears. “We’ve already given you the max amount of potion you can get before we’re riskin’ overdose. Niki says it’s the water that burned you, but you think you could drink some soup? We need to get somethin’ in you.”

Ranbo was heaving just from being upright, but distantly he knew he did need to eat something if he was going to survive. He forced himself to nod, the tiny motion sending agony through him.

Gently, warm mushroom soup was poured down his throat, the taste vaguely reminiscent of daisies, and then Ranboo was—still very painfully—settled back down into the soft bed. Even knowing he was laying down, his mind somehow wished he could lay down even more.

Part of Ranboo wanted to ask questions: who this man was, why they’d saved him, how they’d saved him, what if the people who’d tried to execute him came after his saviors, where was he, thoughts churning around in his head like rags in a bucket, but more than that Ranboo was tired.

“Go ahead and sleep, kid. The three of us are gonna watch out for you.” A warm hand gently settled on Ranboo’s forehead with the words, and he closed his eyes and slept.

[ca311ach]

Mistake

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk

Warning: Major Character Death (?)

(Note: I hate sad endings. Keep that in mind.)

They were so close in the beginning...

Deku and katsuki have been growing apart. Deku’s working all the time, katsuki never sees him anymore— it’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be there. They never talk, never eat together, never go anywhere together, it’s all just work—they don’t even sleep together, Deku crashes at the office more often than not. Deku brushes it all off, says he really doesn’t have time for this conversation, they’ll talk later—

“Oh, will we? ‘Cause-“

“Yeah, sure, Kacchan, look, I really have to go-“

“Then maybe you shouldn’t fucking come back.” Katsuki’s angry, not really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He regrets saying it almost immediately, clenches his jaw against the apology balanced on the edge of his tongue-

“Maybe I shouldn’t.” -only for it to dissipate and coat his throat in ashes. Deku’s still shoving clothes into his go bag, hasn’t looked up even once during the conversation. Like it doesn’t matter. Like their relationship and it’s impending end mean absolutely nothing to him. Katsuki stares, sinuses prickling, the room blurring just a little at the edges.

“do you... do you even love me anymore?” The question slips out before he can stop it. Dread drops heavily into his stomach, debris from the beating, breaking thing in his chest.

“...I’ll come by in the morning. Get my things.” Deku pauses, hesitates. Katsuki wants him to look up, to look at him. Just once. They’ve both always been so damn bad with words but they wear their hearts on their sleeves. If Deku would just look at him- “Bye.” Katsuki’s body goes cold. When Deku pushes past him, he does nothing. Stands on numb, shaky legs as the front door opens, shuts. No particular force behind it. No anger, no hesitation, just open and shut. It feels like a dismissal.

Suddenly, katsuki can’t be here anymore, in their shared space with the dozens of photos on the walls, the old worn out sofa with that weirdly shaped stain on the rightmost cushion, the out-of-place poster in the kitchen because katsuki isn’t good with surprises. The all might curtains in the living room because they’re both nerds, the football-sized Pomeranian plushy Deku got him because ‘it looks just like you’. That soap dispenser in the bathroom that looks kinda like a dick but Deku always says is an abstract cat. Their bed.

He stands in the door of their bedroom for a while, itching to leave but not wanting to run into Deku on his way out. What feels like hours later, he throws on a coat, grabs his keys, and rushes from the apartment like a culprit from a grisly crime scene.

He goes to Eijirou and Mina for the night. Their house is always open to him, a haven away from his empty home. He tries not to utilize it much, stubbornly denying his loneliness until the sleep deprivation starts to affect his work.

There’s a large scale villain attack the next day.

Number one hero Deku’s not there to answer the call. He and pro hero Shouto had left the country just that morning for a mission.

The villain has a metallurgy quirk that allows them to control and warp any magnetic metal within their vicinity. The greater the magnetism, the more control they have. They’ve been souped up on an unstable trigger knockoff, developed by an underground lab syndicate. As a result, their influence has expanded to a larger radius and to metals they wouldn’t typically be able to work with. Driven insane by the power, the villain is tearing apart the city of Fukuoka indiscriminately, tearing pipes up through the ground, supports from buildings, smashing cars into groups of civilians and using lampposts as oversized baseball bats. Smaller pieces of metal have become cannon balls, bullets. The civilian death toll is climbing, at least three heroes have been killed; the situation is horrific. Heroes from across Japan are called in to help.

Lemillion and his partner, Suneater, had been first to the scene, there when the perpetrator’s quirk spiraled out of control. They were rushed to the hospital before the roads had filled with flying debris and fleeing civilians. Gale is down for the count— the villain had used his quirk against him, sent hundreds of tiny projectiles to ride his wind and penetrate his skin. Creati managed to slow the villain’s trek across Fukuoka, distracting her with any number of non-metallic obstacles and distance-based weaponry. Unfortunately, the swirl of metal constantly rotating the villain thwarted any attempts at getting close. Plastic sedation bullets ricocheted off flying mufflers and mopeds. Ingenium had to rush in and grab her when she collapsed from exhaustion, narrowly avoiding a sharp piece of sheet metal, poised to slice them in half.

Dynamite arrives late alongside Pinky and Red Riot. He’d called in sick for the day, tired and numb, having spent the night staring at the wall of the Kirishimas’ guest bedroom. The couple had taken the day off, too, to keep an eye on Katsuki. None of them expected the urgent call from their superior, ordering them to Fukuoka /immediately/ to assist in taking down a level nine threat.

Dynamite goes into the fight determined to do the best he can, exhausted as he is, heartbroken and puffy eyed. He’s sloppy, reckless, pushes himself past his limits and then some. He’s shot with makeshift bullets, impaled with scraps, maimed by debris. He’s torn apart.

In the end, Dynamite wins the fight but Katsuki loses his life.

Izuku is watching the fight from Europe where he and Shouto have been temporarily commissioned. He feels helpless, guilty, even before Dynamite turns up on screen. Hasn’t been able to shake the heaviness in his chest since that morning, when he’d rushed to grab more of his things from their shared apartment before heading to the airport. The feeling only multiples when his husband appears on screen, builds from his stomach up to his throat. His chest hurts. He wishes he was there, he wishes he hadn’t left Kacchan like he had, with their relationship up in the air. They were going through a rough patch, and it’s not like he’d been trying to smooth it over at all. Katsuki was perfectly in his right to be angry, especially when Izuku repeatedly dismissed his concerns for the sake of work.

The Dynamite on screen was a mess, though it might not look like it to anyone else. Izuku knew his Kacchan, knew Dynamite, how he moved, how his attacks worked, the explicit precision behind his every maneuver. The Dynamite on screen was reckless and sloppy, throwing himself at the villain again and again. Izuku would swear that he could hear a sharp crunch the next time the villain grabs Dynamite with claws of sharp scrap metal and slams him into the ground.

Still, he blasts himself out of that crushing clutch, propels himself into the air, bleeding and bruised and so obviously broken despite the distance between the fight and the helicopter’s camera. Izuku wishes he could grab him, hold him down, tell him to ‘stop, already, dammit, you’re gonna die if you keep this up.’ But all he can do is watch as Dynamite once again throws himself at the villain, narrowly dodging her reaching, grabbing metal hands, to propel himself into the whirl of torn and splintered metal rotating around her.

He makes it through, disappears into the artificial twister. The circumference of the area he entered is dyed red, a skirt of blood and gore and proof that all the world watching may have just witnessed Dynamite getting shredded into bloody pulp. Izuku’s eyes water, the guilt and the helplessness and the love for his husband that could never fade, never in a million lifetimes, finally clog his throat. He can’t help it, though, the hope in his chest. He’s not dead. Katsuki is not dead.

The whirl of metal stops, suddenly. The scene on the television is completely still; he’d almost think the thing had frozen if not for the exclamations of the live reporter. And then it all falls, loudly, dramatically, a veritable ruckus that has almost everyone in the foreign office around him hurriedly blocking their ears. Izuku can’t move. Can’t breath. The camera zooms.

Dynamite stands over the prone body of the villain. He looks... horrific. Nightmarish. More blood and gore than body. The reporter gasps. The office around Izuku is silent.

Dynamite falls.

And Izuku goes cold.

No.

A winged hero, Blue Jay some part of him interjects, flies over, drops down to let the two medics they have in their arms tend to Dynamite. Uravity follows, hurriedly floating debris and pushing it to the side, making way for more medical personnel. Her movements are frantic.

Not like this.

They finally get the ambulance through, load dynamite in with practiced speed and, sirens wailing, take off across the screen. Blue jay kneels beside the still unconscious villain, grabs at Uravity’s arm to draw her distracted eyes away from a cause she can no longer do anything for.

Not like this, please.

Izuku takes the first flight he can find back to Japan, Shouto at his back. They’re off the flight the second it touches down, in a car not long after.

The hospital is a mess, handling an overload of casualties from the fight. So many civilians injured, so many heroes, too. It’s a struggle to break through bustling nurses and doctors and weeping families, but Izuku and Shouto get to the desk, are promptly sent back to the ER waiting room.

Hours pass, no one comes to talk to them. He and Shouto watch people come and go, watch doctors deliver the good, the bad, and the horrible. Finally, someone comes. Her jaw is clenched, her eyes wide but shuttered. She stares at them for a moment, Izuku and Shouto, and they stare back at her. When the tension reaches a boiling point, she takes a deep shuddering breath and, with a voice choked by grief, she says,

“I’m sorry.”

And Izuku’s world /shatters/.

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Nostra Parentela Ch. 2: Trust Issues

Series Summary: Jack goes missing days after his father betrays their family by joining another syndicate. Everyone suspects Lucifer but instead of sitting around wondering, Castiel goes to the best detective he knows: Dean Winchester. The cynical detective has lost his lust for life and doesn't want to make his miserable days anymore miserable by being caught between the two biggest crime families in the country. Ever persuasive, Castiel is able to recruit him and start a relationship that neither of them expected.

Summary: Castiel can't focus on anything but Dean during a meeting with his lawyer. Meanwhile, Jack gets out of the rain.

Pairing: Destiel, Sastiel(one sided)

Other characters: Jack, Cain, Sam, Gabriel, Chuck(mentioned)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, alcohol, kissing, violence mention

Word count: 2800+

A/N: I like to think that Castiel is a gentlemen, despite all of the death threats. Enjoy! (Thank you to my awesome beta @cajunquandary​ for making this chapter sparkle!)

Masterlist

Six days missing

Castiel

Castiel stares at the clock on the wall, watching as seconds tick by in an agonizingly slow pace. He never cared about time before. Really, days used to blend together if he wasn't paying close enough attention. But with every second that passes he gets more restless. If Jack is even alive, he's probably cold and hungry. If he's dead...A lump forms in Castiel's throat, the thought of it making him sick to his stomach.

“Why didn't you call them off?” Sam asks, pulling Castiel from his thoughts. Ah, the lawsuit. A few foot soldiers 'persuaded' a witness to not testify in court, and despite there being no evidence, the opposing lawyer still wants to meddle.

“It's not my garrison,” Castiel says, eyes focused on the clock. “My father sent them out,” he adds.

“I...guess you gotta relay this to Chuck,” Sam says, turning his eyes to Gabriel. Sam goes over a list of possible charges, pointing them out on his sheet as he does. Castiel wants to care, he really does, but his mind is a million miles away. The only good news thus far is the detective saying yes. He smiles as his mind trails to Dean, a hum rumbling in his throat. What kind of lunatic smiles with a gun pointed at him?

“Interesting,” Castiel mumbles, chuckling to himself. Frowning, Sam clears his throat.

“Just...tell Chuck how serious this is,” the Winchester says, glancing at Castiel with a frown. Gabriel yawns, stretching his arms above his head.

“Will do Sammich, meeting adjourned?” Gabriel asks, smiling when he gains a nod. Castiel continues staring at the clock, his mind drifting between Jack and Dean. Gabriel waves his hand in his brother's face. “Hey, you good?” he asks. Castiel raises his eyebrows, looking around. He didn't even notice Sam leaving.

“Hypothetically.” He flicks his eyes to his elder brother. “What if I found someone willing to help me find Jack? A detective so good that he...hypothetically traced a few bodies back to Mikey.” Gabriel's face sinks, the cheery air that usually surrounds him dissipating.

“You're bringing a cop into our business?”

“Someone had to do something,” Castiel retorts, throwing a hand up. “You already know how well Michael and Balthazar covered their asses. If he was able to track them, imagine what he could do to find Jack.” He glances at the clock once more, standing up. “Can this stay between us?” he asks. Gabriel nods, draping an arm around Castiel's shoulders as they begin to walk.

“As long as you keep our family affairs within the family,” he whispers, patting him on the chest. “No matter who you are –”

“Dad sends rats floating down the river,” Castiel finishes. The elder Novak nods, cracking a grin as Sam approaches.

“So, when are you gonna let me buy you dinner?” Gabriel cooes, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam. “Just imagine this handsome mug covered in spaghetti sauce.”

“Great visual, but I'm good,” Sam chuckles, shaking his head. Gabriel pokes his bottom lip out, playfully smacking his brother on the arm.

“I keep forgetting you're head over heels for my baby bro,” he grumbles. Sam stutters over unformed sentences, his face flushing crimson.

“I-I don't – Castiel it's not – I –”

Silently, Castiel ducks out of the room, pulling out his pocket watch .“See yourself out, Sam, I'm running late.”

–

Dean

“I really don't like you right now,” Dean groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. If working with the mafia under death threats wasn't hard enough, Castiel was making it a lot damn harder. “Let's review. Common places Jack would be?”

“I can't tell you that,” Castiel says, leaning back in his seat.

“Uh huh. Friends and acquaintances?”

“I can't say.”

“Contracts with businesses?”

“That's another no.”

“Any fucking thing?” Dean growls, throwing his hands up. Castiel stares at him silently, an impossible to read look on his face. “You come here, beg me for help, and when I finally say 'fuck it' you fight me every step of the way! What am I supposed to do?”

“Make it work,” he says, shrugging. Dean stands from his desk, staring down at the notes he has written. Jack is in his early twenties. Jack is a Novak. Jack went missing. He might be with his father – in an undisclosed location – but he might not. This is the entirety of the information Dean was given. “Well? Are we done?”

“Are we done – ” Dean cuts himself off, mouth agape in disbelief. “I'm losing my mind.”

Castiel scoffs, standing from his seat. “I told you everything I could, Dean –”

“Nah, no you didn't,” he grunts, making his way around the desk. “You told me enough to cover your ass.” Dean brushes past him wordlessly, snatching open the door and gesturing at the air. “But yeah, we're done,” he says, a forced smile on his face. Silently, Castiel stands from his seat, taking a deep breath before turning to the other man.

“Look.” Castiel darts his tongue over his lip, stroking his jaw in thought. “I'm...I can't tell you anything that could put my family at risk,” he says, shaking his head as he closes the space between himself and the detective, leaving only inches of space between them. “But I do need you.” Dean gulps thick, flicking his eyes to the ground. Why the hell is his heart racing?

“You gotta trust me if we're gonna do this,” Dean says, trying to keep his voice steady. Alright, being so close to this psychopath is making it hard to think, though he'd never admit it out loud. As far as Dean can tell, the Novak's are blessed – cursed? – with equal parts insanity and good looks.

“I've known you for four days, we need more time to establish 'trust',” Castiel says, tilting his head with a small smile perched on his face. Dean curses under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I need a drink,” Dean grumbles, chewing his lip.

“I'll buy the first round, I know a place” Castiel retorts, jetting out of the room before the Winchester can respond.

…..

“This is fine,” Dean whispers to himself, a stale smile on his face as the bartender hands him two beers. “It's just a drink.” He scans his eyes over the bar, stomach twisting at the familiar faces. Being a decorated detective in a bar full of criminals is never ideal. A few try to avoid his eye, while others won't stop staring. “Just a drink in a bar full of people who want me dead,” he whispers, clenching his jaw when his eyes land on Castiel.

Bastard.

When he said 'I need a drink', he meant in his tiny little home listening to jazz records in the dark. Dean slams the beers down, pointing at Castiel in a warning.

“You seem...upset –”

“Why here?” Dean snaps, trying to keep his voice low. Shrugging, the Novak sips his beer, frowning.

“My father helped fund the bar, I get free drinks here,” he says, speaking slowly. Dean chuckles and swipes a hand over his face.

“So – So not only am I surrounded by people who daydream ways they're gonna kill me –” Dean snatches his beer up, snarling – “I'm in a bar bought with a goon loan?!” he hisses.

Castiel stifles a laugh, holding a hand over his mouth and nodding. “You're fine, detective –”

“Don't say detective!”

“– No one will touch you. You're with me,” he says, that same soft smile on his face. Dean huffs, crossing his arms over. They sip from their beers silently, stealing glances periodically. Finally, the Novak clears his throat, gesturing to the bartender to come over. “I find that tequila and limes are great for bonding.”

“So that's what we're doing? Bonding?”

“I need to know I can trust you, so yes,” Castiel says. He orders a bottle of tequila before continuing. “Even our lawyer did it, though I'll never challenge Sam again,” he says, a disgusted look going over his face. Dean's eyebrows shoot up, and for the first time all night, a wide grin breaks across his face.

“That's a story I gotta hear,” Dean says, smacking the other man on the shoulder. The bartender sets down a bottle of Jose Cuervo, six lime wedges and two shot glasses. Castiel sighs, clenching his teeth.

“Your brother is a demon. Long story short, I'm puking in the street, Sam almost destroyed three bar tables and my nephew is actively trying to stop our eldest brother from shooting his gun in the air,” he says, the smile on his face wavering.

“Huh, didn't know Sammy had it in 'em,” Dean chuckles, filling both shot glasses and offering Castiel a lime.

…..

Castiel pulls Dean out of the taxi, slinging his arm over his shoulder with a grunt. Rain is beating down, and there's no sign of it stopping. Quickly, Castiel helps Dean to his apartment, shaking his head.

“For a borderline alcoholic, you're a lightweight,” Castiel says.

“Shuddup,” Dean grumbles, squinting his eyes. The bad spins are coming. “Gotta le'down,” he slurs, holding a hand over his head. Admittedly, Dean let the drinking get a little out of control. After finishing the bottle of tequila, six beers each, and some brown liquor Dean was too drunk to read the label of, they finally called it quits and headed back to the detective's apartment. They struggle up the stairs, trying to lean their weight on each other. As they reach the top of the stairs, Dean fishes out his keys, humming as Castiel rests a hand on his back. “M'gonna le'down, you comin' in?” he asks as he finally gets into his apartment.

“Only to get you to bed,” Castiel says.

Dean begins stumbling forward, pausing in his tracks when he realizes that Castiel isn't following. “You comin'?” he asks, a cocked smile on his face.

“I think I need to stay here,” he says, rubbing his nape. Dean frowns, throwing a hand up. The detective's thoughts are everywhere, and though he wants to stop himself from speaking, the words come flying out anyways.

“What if I asked you to come with?” Dean says, gaining a chuckle. Silently, Castiel leads Dean to his bed, gently urging Dean to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Shoes off, get some rest – Dean –” Castiel laughs as Dean pulls him flush against him, taking a deep breath.

“I know it's not jus' me,” he says, voice a near whisper and he pulls at Castiel's suit jacket. “Can't get any closer than this,” he adds. Castiel presses a chaste kiss against Dean's lips, pausing when the detective lulls his head back. With a sigh, he flicks Dean on the forehead, shaking his head.

“You're far too drunk,” he grumbles, pushing Dean down to the bed. 

“You're hot even when I'm sober,” he blurts, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He can't shake the spinning away. “You already got me in bed, come on,” he whines, squinting open an eye.

“Look at me, Dean,” Castiel says, gripping the other man's face. Dean lulls his head to the side, a drunken grin on his face. “I'll regret this in the morning, won't I?” he asks, cursing under his breath. Castiel raises up on his knees, pulling his suit jacket off with a huff. He drapes his jacket over Dean, pointing at him in a warning. “If you were sober,” he says, shaking his head and making his way out of the room. “God, if you were sober.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, wrapping himself in the suit jacket before allowing himself to drift asleep.

–

Jack

Thunder shakes the tiny house, sending an uncomfortable shiver up Jack's spine. He stares blankly ahead, slowly rubbing the plush bath towel over his hair. He closes his eyes as a blanket is draped over his shoulders, his shivering body thankful for the new found warmth. Jack glances up at the other man as he makes his way to the stove, heart pounding in his chest. He gulps thick as a bowl of soup is placed before him, pulling the blanket around himself tighter.

Cain.

Just the mention of his name sends even the most decorated goons into prayers. He's notorious in circles big and small, and all he's known for is being a sick, demented man with a lust for blood. As the smell of fresh garlic and rosemary fills his nose, Jack's mouth waters, his stomach whining.

“Hope you eat pork,” Cain grunts, cracking open a beer and gesturing to the bowl. Jack remains silent, picking up the spoon and scooping up a heap of vegetables and shredded pork. “How was the shower? You needed one desperately,” he says, chuckling. Again, Jack remains silent, save for the pleased groan that escapes his lips as he tastes his food. Outstanding. “You like it?” he asks. Jack nods slightly, glancing up at him. If it weren't for Cain, he'd still be squatting in the alley, wondering how the hell he'd get through the next few days. Still, he's wary.

“How much?” Jack asks. The other man cocks an eyebrow, swigging from his beer. “You know, for helping me. What do I owe you?”

Cain ponders over the words, a smile flitting across his face before being replaced with a bored look. “Manual labor,” he begins, tilting his head. “Tend the garden. Mow the lawn. Help with the chickens. Other than that, don't bring trouble to my home and we're even,” he says, standing from his seat and turning to leave. “Your room's down the hall.”

“Wait, just...chores?” Jack asks.

“Just chores. Not gonna make you pay rent if you're useful.”

Jack frowns as the words register. “You're not like what I heard,” he says, his voice a near whisper. Cain runs his fingers through his locks, and Jack catches his gaze lingering a bit too long. It's like being in the presence of a god. Do you grovel? Do you cower? At this point, Jack is ready to do both.

“What've you heard?” he asks.

“That...you're the one I should check for under my bed,” Jack says, laughing awkwardly. “I still don't get why you took me in.”

“You're a kid, I don't leave kids out to rot.” He makes his way to Jack, scratching his scruff. “Since we're getting familiar with each other, why are you so far from home?” he asks. Jack shovels another spoonful of food into his mouth, turning his eyes away from him. “A Novak won't let their own sleep on the street.”

It probably wouldn't make sense to anyone looking in. Living on the street instead of the huge, gaudy house his grandfather graciously allows everyone to stay in? You'd have to be insane to do that! But, for Jack, he'd rather be on the street than stuck between his father and grandfather's petty feud. Trying to choose between either leaving his family or turning his back on his dad would have ended bad either way.

“How about you?” Jack says, flicking his eyes up to Cain. “I didn't think someone as infamous as you would run a farm.”

Shrugging, Cain sips his beer. “When you know what I know about the family, you do whatever the hell you want.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah,” Cain grunts, sucking his teeth. “Alright, finish that and get some shut eye. Tomorrow's gonna be a long one.”

Eternity squad: @sheinthatfandom​ @greenshinigamieyes @lipstickandwhiskey​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @bcarolinablr​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mssunnyone​

[rekutopia]

In which Shirayuki came home to a surprise (part 1)

A part of the Flatmate AU (one, two, three, four, in accidental order)

The sun had long set when Shirayuki walked back home, though it was only shortly after six. The wet November chill hung heavily in the air and made her shiver despite her duffle coat. With half of her face buried into her thick scarf, she pulled her shoulders together and moved as quickly as her freezing toes allowed. The little pharmacist was usually miserable in this kind of weather, but this evening there were little jubilant skips in her steps. 

It’s finally over.

After almost two agonizing years, there was no more struggle. No more sleepless nights, no more angry tears. No more interrogations disguised as interviews and no more tedious negotiations with lawyers. There was no need to scan the surroundings for pesky press whenever she got out of the house anymore. At long last, she could breathe freely again.

GG Pharmacy was now officially a part of the Wisteria Hospital.

When the first blackmail attempt appeared at the beginning of last year, Shirayuki didn't think that the matter would turn into a big scandal. Why, because it was based on false accusations. GG Pharmacy was indicted to give special treatment to doctors from certain hospitals to gain extra profit – how preposterous!

At first, they ignored the threats, thinking they were empty. But then they noticed that more and more partners started to question their credibility and even express their wish to withdraw from their cooperation. When one day a summons landed in their mailbox they knew they had to take measures.

It wasn’t easy to clear their name and regain their reputation. Looking back, Shirayuki was grateful for every individual who had helped her make it through the scandalous dispute. 

The detectives, who uncovered the syndicate behind the whole affair. The U-Syndicate was known to infiltrate pharmacies with their men and sell modified drugs that left the patients helplessly addicted to them. If that wasn’t successful they would then try to bring down the whole pharmacy and replace it with one of their own. While Shirayuki has heard of them, she never thought that a small, inconspicuous neighbourhood pharmacy like GG Pharmacy would be one of their targets.

She was grateful for Zen Wisteria. It was pure coincidence that they met. The general counsel of Wisteria Hospital was scouting the pharmacies around the area for a cooperation as a hospital pharmacy. Since Dr. Gazelt was busy dealing with the syndicate matter she sent Shirayuki in her place to talk with him. Despite their dire situation, Zen believed in their innocence, and their lunches quickly became strategy meetings. Zen also provided GG Pharmacy with the best – though also the most expensive – lawyer in town.

She was grateful for Izana Wisteria, the board chairman of Wisteria Hospital. He was willing to overlook the scandal and let his brother persuade him to partner with GG Pharmacy. If it weren’t for this cooperation, it would be much harder for them to get back on their feet. The broken connections with their former business partners would be challenging to re-establish. Attaining new ones would be nearly impossible in the beginning. Though Shirayuki still found the tall, blond man rather unreadable and sometimes even intimidating, she had great respect for him.

She was grateful for Yuzuri and her late-night hot cocoa, ready to slap her on her back whenever she started to lose faith during the whole turmoil. Since Yuzuri was a part-time worker the whole scandal didn’t affect her as much mentally as financially – at some point, they were forced to reduce her hours temporarily. But she was always cheerful when she clocked in and that never failed to lift Shirayuki’s spirit.

Most of all, she was grateful for Obi. All the time at work, Shirayuki managed to keep a strong facade in front of everyone. She couldn’t cause Dr. Gazelt and Yuzuri more worries, so she kept her anger and frustration to herself. Until one day she couldn’t anymore and her poor, bewildered flatmate then found her in a quivering heap on the couch.

Obi was her only shoulder to cry on, the only person outside of work she could talk to about the matter. He never pried, always giving Shirayuki time to unfurl the story bit by bit, whenever she felt like it. Even when she wordlessly invaded his personal space after her first breakdown, he let her cuddle up to him and gave her comfort.

Obi was also the one who picked her up and saved her from persistent reporters even though it caused him to be late for work. He stayed up with her while she readied herself for the summonses and carried her to bed when she no longer could keep her eyes open. He made her laugh whenever he could with his silly shenanigans.

A tap on her furrowed eyebrows. A poke on her cheeks. A nudge on her arm. A pat on the top of her head. When she was lucky he sometimes even offered her a shoulder massage. Obi’s touches reminded her to relax, and that overthinking stuff would not do her any favour. It won’t be a full victory if you look like Yubaba afterwards, he once said, though I’m sure you’ll be a cute granny someday, he added. Not only did Obi believe in her when she couldn’t believe in herself – he also saved her from premature ageing.

Shirayuki chuckled despite herself. I’m so glad Obi’s my flatmate.

She sighed happily as she approached her building. She wanted to tell Obi the good news right away, but unfortunately, that had to wait until he was back from his late shift. She was looking forward to getting away from the cold, though. The first thing she would do was to soak in a nice, relaxing hot bath. Maybe even use that yuzu bath salt Obi brought her from his last trip to Japan. A treat to herself after winning the battle. Well, technically, Dr. Gazelt won the battle, but hey, Shirayuki had her share of fights.

Closing the door behind her, Shirayuki exhaled with relief. The flat was pleasantly warm, welcoming her home, thanks to the smart app that automatically times and regulates the temperature – one of Obi’s gimmick. Another reason to be thankful to her flatmate.

When her nose was finally freed from her metres-long scarf, Shirayuki caught a waft of something delicious in the air. Something very much like Obi’s black pepper tofu. A smile rose on her lips as she felt her heart swell, all of a sudden brimming with affection towards her thoughtful flatmate. 

Aww, Obi made dinner before he left.

Shirayuki started to fumble with the buttons of her coat. Despite the thick gloves she had on that day her fingers were cold and stiff. Not only her fingers, but her whole body was stiff. She must have been unconsciously tensing all her muscles from the cold.

Bath first, then dinner.

After shrugging everything off, Shirayuki went into the living area and was about to turn on the lights there when she heard something.

Something that sounded like a groan.

Shirayuki stopped dead in her tracks, perked up her ears and listened closely. What on earth was that? Was there someone inside the flat? Heart in throat and eyes wide open, she scanned the room for signs of movements in the darkness but didn’t find anything out of place. 

Then she noticed a stripe of faint light coming out from under Obi’s door. Shirayuki sighed and let all tension drain away from her body. Shaking her head in disbelief, she relaxed her stance and placed a hand on her chest. 

Of course, it’s just Obi.

She felt silly for freaking out so easily. But then again, what was Obi doing, being at home? Was his shift cancelled? Whatever the reason was, Shirayuki would make sure he gets an appropriate scolding. What was he thinking, scaring her like that? He usually texted her when his schedule changed.

Just as she started walking towards Obi’s room to give him his well-deserved scolding, she heard it again. 

It was definitely a groan.

This time, something clicked in Shirayuki’s brain. Could it be that her flatmate was...enjoying some alone time in there? Shirayuki felt her face flushed. W-well, it’s not that she minded or anything – Obi was a man, just like Shirayuki was a woman, and-and it’s perfectly natural for a man – and a woman! – to have...biological needs in...different forms, such as...this one. 

And so, although it was never her wish to catch her flatmate jerking himself off, Shirayuki had to accept the inevitable that it already happened. The only thing she could do now was to simply pretend she didn’t hear anything, slip quietly into her room and–

Another faint sound broke her train of thoughts. Without her permission, her feet went ahead and brought her straight to Obi’s door, tip-toeing lightly, silent on the parquet floor like a burglar in her own house.

“Aaahh...”

From directly in front of the door, the moaning and groaning were louder, clearer and they went straight down to that warm place between her legs. Shirayuki held her breath and gripped the hem of her pullover to ground herself. Obi sounded so wrecked, his heavy panting now also audible from the proximity.

Shirayuki’s brain was working in parallel. One part was frantically telling her to stop eavesdropping and leave her flatmate be in his solitary pleasure. The other part was busy sending her images of how that said flatmate might look like right now. And the noises he was making were rather fuelling the latter.

Was he lying on the futon or sitting on a chair? Was there any piece of clothing still on him or was he only wearing his birthday suit? Was his head thrown back? Eyes closed? Eyebrows beautifully scrunched? Lush lips parted? 

Shirayuki was about to step closer and lean on the door before she caught herself.

Don’t be ridiculous, Shirayuki! Stop this nonsense! Go to your room!

Cheeks burning, Shirayuki pulled herself reluctantly away from the door. She was starting to turn towards her own room when the next thing she heard sent chills down her spine.

“Aahh! Aki! A-Aki! Slow down!”

Then a deeper, familiar voice came through the door. “This is as slow as I could go.”

“Fuuuck!” Obi’s voice was breaking, like on the edge of pain.

“Just breathe, love. Breathe...” came the soothing reply, followed by a long, breathy moan from Obi.

Shirayuki stood frozen between their rooms. The hot arousal she felt just seconds ago was gone in a heartbeat. In its place, a twinge in her heart, followed by a pulsating, dull pain. Shirayuki raised a hand to her chest and rubbed on it, first softly, then more aggressively, as the pain did not go away. Strange, did she just get a heart attack? Should she call 112?

Still rubbing her chest, Shirayuki slowly retreated to the living area, then further back to the corridor. There she put on her coat and her muffler. Then she grabbed her keys and her purse and quietly slipped out of the flat. She put on her boots, went downstairs and walked outside.

----

Just how long she had been walking aimlessly, Shirayuki didn’t know. What part of town did she end up in anyway? In front of her was a park she didn’t recognise. There was hardly anyone but herself. Looking around absentmindedly, she saw only one brave jogger and a couple of dog owners. The chilly wind had died down but now there was a layer of thin mist in the air. 

How did she even get here? Everything that happened after she heard Aki's voice was a blur. The only thing certain was the constant throbbing in her chest, on which her gloved hand was still rubbing, sometimes lightly pounding. 

Why wouldn’t that nagging pain go away? Should she really go have it checked out? Maybe it was really a heart attack? And why was it so damn cold? Her face felt numb and though Shirayuki didn’t feel like it she knew she needed to go somewhere inside, soon.

She didn’t want to go back to her flat, though. She couldn’t. No matter how alluring the hot bath was, and not to mention the savoury black pepper tofu that–

Oh. Shirayuki bit on her lip. Her eyes suddenly stung with unshed tears.

I guess he made it for Aki.

Inhaling a shaky breath, she made up her mind. She patted her coat pocket and reached for her phone.

“Hello, Yuzuri?”

[vmheadquarters]

Fifteen years ago, our favorite female sleuth made her first appearance on UPN (later turned CW) in Veronica Mars. Three television seasons, a Kickstarter-backed film, and two books later, Veronica Mars is being revived thanks to the beloved streaming platform Hulu.

From the get go, Veronica Mars has sparked the conversation on many ‘controversial’ topics – well ahead of its time – that were handled so well and subtly, you never felt like you were being lectured to. Within the first season, writer-creator Rob Thomas tackled topics like rape, slut-shaming, transphobia, racial stereotypes, and the most prevalent theme at hand is the war and divide between “the have and the have-nots”.

Kristen Bell’s portrayal of Veronica Mars and V’s sassy, yet endearing, personality has taken the marshmallow community by storm. The character is one that is efficacious and sharp, but is not without flaws. Veronica allows each of us to resonate with her as a person, with her struggles, with her traumas; she is and remains a grounded, human character.

The Murder Mystery

Set five years after the Veronica Mars Kickstarter film, three young spring breakers and a motel manager are dead after a bomb explodes in the office of the Neptune Sea Sprite Motel. This is the first of more to come, all of which are hurting the Spring Break destination and beachfront businesses. Hired by the Maloof’s, a wealthy and politically rich family of one of the injured victims, Mars Investigations is on the case to figure out who this serial bomber could be.

Meanwhile, Veronica finally gets a Pony, Logan (Jason Dohring) – a navy intelligence officer – returns home into the arms of Veronica, Papa Mars (Enrico Colantoni) is physically recovering from the car accident that occured in the film and reeling through the emotions of a potentially serious medical issue, Wallace (Percy Daggs III) seems to be happily solidified in his married life and career as a teacher at Neptune High, and Weevil (Francis Capra) must face the formidable consequences that occurred between the film and present-day. Max Greenfield reprises his role as Leo D’Amato, except this time as an FBI agent working with Veronica on the case. Even if you’re a LoVer, Leo’s presence back on the screen is one that deliberately toys with our emotions, but leaves us with a happy sensation coursing through our veins.

The plot has a heavy focus on the main mystery in a serialized fashion, so that any newbie can come fresh into this season without even the basic concept and still be able to follow along. The characters are introduced in a manner that subtly recaps their backstory without being overly explanatory, which allows the new faces to scoop in, but gives enough of the nostalgic factors to cater to those long-term marshmallows. Book readers might notice some similarities between this story line and the content of the books, and while some of it seems to be derived from them, this is not an exclusive adaptation.

There is a noticeable lack of mini-mysteries in each episode set within the confines of the larger, long-con mystery that the previous seasons managed to execute so well. A bit of a letdown since those episodic stories also helped provide teachable moments, and without them we’re almost without the moral compass that creator Rob Thomas has perfected in years past. But when you see how twisted this bombing story turns out to be, in hindsight it’s understandable.

The Nostalgia Doesn’t Outweigh the Modernization

Longtime fans are already on the edge of their seats waiting for this revival and eager to figure out what is so “controversial” about it that warrants Bell’s contemplation of falling off of social media during its release (per an interview with E! News). While they will eat up every moment of the new series, Bell is not wrong in that this is arguably the most controversial season of Veronica Mars simply for the arcs in the storyline. With fellow critics having early-screening access and all eight episodes dropping on day one, caution is advised on social media and within articles, as this season is one you do not want to be spoiled on.

Albeit some pandering to LoVe-rs (the acronym for fans who ship Logan and Veronica), which I am all on board for, Veronica Mars isn’t willing to sacrifice its authenticity and realness simply to keep solidified fans happy. Veronica and Logan have been together for a solid five years now and with a particular state of affairs that arise, Veronica must fight a battle within herself and decide what’s more important: the love of her life or protecting herself from her fears? This is not a plot device created in order to cultivate some rundown teenage emotions, but rather to reflect on the characters we have come to know and love.

Veronica desires chaos because that is all she has known; she has found comfort in it and the only way she has learned to cope with life is by fighting that chaos. ‘Classic Logan’ is in reservation as he’s been working with a therapist, but that doesn’t mean we don’t see those sparks inside of him. For what it’s worth, this is the most likeable and stable Logan has ever been. The chemistry between Bell and Dohring on-screen is on fire more than ever before, and they’re much more compelling now that they’re adults with real issues to discuss.

Hulu doesn’t try to recapture the exact essence of the original three seasons and film, which may be somewhat jarring to old fans. This is new, this is different, and this is an emotional roller coaster you need to prepare yourself for in a completely different way. Thomas and Ruggiero-Wright have managed to take the crux of Veronica Mars & Co., encapsulating who she is and what built her to this phase in life, and expand upon it.

We’re no longer looking at a teenage girl whose life is constantly at battles with every rich kid who wants to dual it out, but we still have good ‘ole Veronica Mars. She’s the same in the way that she still has a hard time letting her guard down – both physically and emotionally – and will smack you in the face with her brutal honesty like a baseball coming out of left field. But Veronica is grown up and we needed this version of her. Sure, they could recycle the same character and we’d still love it, but Veronica aging and growing with her original viewers is a great way to give a nod to those fans and simultaneously grow the show.

New Players Pull Up Their Sleeves and the Old Ones Need More Face Time

When Veronica Mars originally aired, there was an overwhelming number of guest stars on the show that later became top notch actors/actresses. Season four’s casting announcements have generated huge buzz, from big names like J.K. Simmons to Patton Oswalt, and Kirby Howell-Baptiste to Clifton Collins Jr as guest stars.

Simmons plays Clyde Pickett, an ex-con who works for Richard Casablancas a.k.a. “Big Dick (David Starzyk) after meeting during their incarceration in Chino. The two are an entertaining pair who receive a huge chunk of screentime but in relevancy to the over-arching story. You know they’re good when they can fit naturally into the Mars world and hold a light to the insanely talented OG casting. A handful of other guest appearances from the original to tease the fandom will leave you with your hands in the air cheering and send your heart racing (good and bad).

Other criminal syndicates include the fantastic addition of Alonzo (Clifton Collins Jr.), who manages to bring laughter and fun to a character that is a literal drug cartel hitman for El Despiadado.

Alonzo and his new partner are in Neptune looking for the at-fault bomber that killed his boss’s nephew. Unfortunately, the El Despiadado storyline is pretty minute and would be a fun side-story to pursue in the next season. If you’ve seen Collins’ other work, you know just how talented he is, and his persona here is no exception. The vicious and brutal pair might give you a chuckle but you know they mean business.

Two other characters that definitely received their fair amount of attention is Patton Oswalt’s Penn Epner and Kirby Howell-Baptiste’s Nicole. Oswalt is a Cho’s Pizza delivery driver (yes, THAT Cho’s), a true crime obsessee and “murder-head” participant. He’s the kind of pain in the arse we love to have around.

But Nicole. What a character. She’s a strong-willed (and seemingly strong-fisted) business owner of the local spring breaker bar, making waves calling out Big Dick and punching douchebag guys in her establishment. Big Dick is advocating for a movement (N.U.T.S) which seeks to remove the spring-breakers and their trash behavior from Neptune, but he also wants to buy up the real estate on the boardwalk, including that of Matty Ross (Izabela Vidovic).

Matty is the deceased motel manager’s daughter and now property owner of Sea Sprite Motel (somehow, even though she’s still in high school). As V’s new protege, Matty seems to have the same lived experiences as Veronica, leading her to the same determined and resiliant personality that Veronica most definitely can resonate with. She’s an entertaining watch when she gets her screen time, but with as much is packed in to this 8 episode mini-series, there just doesn’t seem to be enough time for the characters growing on us and those we remember with a fondness – like Weevil and Wallace.

Wallace is living his best life – married with a son (who happens to be played by Percy’s ACTUAL daughter) – and working at Neptune High. The absolute disappointment here is that we just don’t get enough of him. We spend so much time focusing on the case at hand and the LoVe relationship, it’s like Wallace was cast to the side a bit. While we can all certainly relate to getting older and losing touch with our close friends, it seems odd that Wallace wouldn’t want to extend his help with this case or that Veronica wouldn’t want to rely on him for some advice. This is the biggest letdown in the revival.

And then there’s Weevil (Francis Capra). Why is he one of the most underrated and incredible castings on the show? Probably because he has a deep heart of gold, he’s beyond loyal to Veronica, and Capra knows how to steal the show with a powerful performance. But again, this is another character we needed more of. One of the most beloved in the show and a character that’s still integral to this storyline, Weevil feels underserved and underutilized.

A Girl Needs Closure

There’s no doubt that this is top-tier content from within the Veronica Mars world, a needed step up from season 3 and the film. But if you’re a marshmallow Weevil’s been loving long time, you’ll need to accept what the writers are doing here and understand why.

It’s not sunshine and rainbows. Rob Thomas always desired Veronica Mars be a dark noir and season four absolutely delivers on this principle. It’s a worthwhile investment that most definitely has a clear conclusion, but with enough content and characters that if Hulu were to appease us, a fifth season is a must.

The shocking ending will leave you speechless and have you wondering how Veronica could possibly recover, taking us back to the roots of what makes Ms. Mars the person she is. As V herself said in season one, “Tragedy blows through your life like a tornado, uprooting everything, creating chaos. You wait for the dust to settle, and then you choose. You can live in the wreckage and pretend it’s still the mansion you remember. Or you can crawl from the rubble and slowly rebuild. Because after disaster strikes, the important thing is that you move on. But if you’re like me, you just keep chasing the storm. The problem with chasing the storm is that it wears you down, breaks your spirit. Even the experts agree, a girl needs closure.”

With edgier and more adult content, Veronica Mars is cussin’ back with Mr. Sparky (her taser) in her hand and dusting the wreckage off her shoulders. The private eye achieves her closure, and we are left with enough hope that Mars Investigations will soon be back in business.

[takeallyourloveouttame-blog]

game on.

I wouldn’t call you if I didn’t really need you. I have no one else to fucking call. The words replay in my head again and again. I’m overly tired and rightfully so. I’ve been working overtime trying to infiltrate this criminal group without luck. I could hear Dustin in the background shouting, stomping; anything to make noise and announce to the neighborhood that he was overly pissed. I knew - given Kitt’s broken voice - that it wasn’t going to be a pretty scene. I knew I would be overly pissed too. I also knew that if it was what I thought it was - my plans would be changing soon. My hands find pockets as soon as I exit the subway train and jog my way up the stairs to the brisk welcome of night. Continuous prompts remind me to stay calm and clear of mind. I don’t have enough skin in the game yet to over-emote. My only in at this point is Dustin. Mind flashes to Kitt and her quivering voice. Eyes darken as I press the damn-near broken buzzer for their apartment and hear the obnoxious gargle signaling the door is open. Pulling the door wide, I stride the stairs rapidly and don’t care to knock on the door belonging to the siblings’ shared apartment. As I enter, Dustin gets in my face, wild-eyed and face-flushed. “He beat her real fuckin’ good, man. I’m gonna kill him. I don’t care what happens to me.” Fingertips press against his chest. I can feel the heat rising off of him and can smell his bravado. I don’t doubt that he’s willing to kill for his sister, but I do know that I need him to do the opposite and remain my main point of contact to this syndicate. I also recognize that I’m not ready to see what awaits. “If you want your sister to bury your sorry ass, go put a few plugs in someone. You’re not thinking straight. Probably can’t even aim a gun right now. Where is she?” My eyes waiver toward the bathroom door. The light fixture buzzes audible through the cracked door, but isn’t loud enough to drown out the pained croons and hitched breath. “Dustin. Sit down, stay there.” Approaching the door with measured steps, I lightly rap my knuckles to the back of the unevenly stained surface so it doesn’t nudge open further without invitation. “It’s me. I’m coming in.” The door creaks as I slowly push it open - and I immediately see the same blinding red that fills Dustin’s gaze. My heart begins to drum rapidly in the barrel between my ribs and I kneel in front of her, taking in a visual assessment of the damage, thumbs pushing back hair from her face. “Please tell me there’s a corpse somewhere,” I whisper hotly through a seething clench of my teeth. “I just want to fucking shower and sleep and I can’t get my own shirt over my goddamn head without almost passing out from the pain.” “No corpse then?” I quirk a brow, and watch tears brim her eyes but refuse to fall. My jaw tenses again and I nod in understanding, straightening up to assess the shower and then her state. “This’s gonna hurt.” She nods and I bend and scoop arms around her, straightening her up and trying to ignore her throated cries. “How much do you like this?” I ask, giving a small indicating tug to the hem of her tank top. “I doubt the blood will come out. Just get it off of me,” she says and I notice the hitch in her breathing; the pain in her eyes. It doesn’t matter if she likes it in that moment. “Scissors,” I say and turn toward the medicine cabinet, opening it wide to ruffle through without a car, pushing past menstrual medications, tylenol, unmarked bottles, and tampons. “Dustin, bring me scissors,” I holler and hear him immediately shuffle around. His hand appears with a pair of shears in the crack of the door and I grab them, then close the door entirely. “Turn around,” I offer in a firm, yet gentle tone. I fight to hide my anger, but know I will get my ultimate revenge. With her back toward me, I pluck the material away from her skin and skim the scissors along the rails of her spine, slicing until the tank top splits. My hands carefully guide the material over her shoulders and down her arms, trying to be the least intrusive for her battered body. Dark, deep bruises paint her skin. Especially along her ribs. “I’m gonna undo your bra,” I say with a bit of hesitation, fingers gently clasping fabric on either side of the hook and loop. I want further consent and feel my heart ripping through my ears, but I know she’s been through trauma and don’t want her to have to console me to be able to fulfill a request that was hard for her to make to begin with. I pull the fabric apart just enough to loosen the hook from its notch and keep a grip on both ends to keep it from snapping against her burdened body, guiding the fabric down her shoulders and arms until it falls to the bathroom floor. I stay behind her and make the transition to her pants, arms reaching around to her front when I feel her hands on my forearms. “I can do my pants, you perv.” Our smiles are audible, though hers extinguishes with a pained exhale and I take a step back and swing my body to avert my eyes. Staring down a lone scar in the wall, I listen to the pain in her breathing and refusal of tears and I force myself to remember them - for later. For the right time. “Ready,” she tells me and I turn toward her, eyes dipping for a brief second over her naked form before stepping toward the shower. I dip in and turn the dials, gliding my fingers through the stream until it warms to a comfortable level. “Ready when you are,” I say, securing my eyes to hers. Her movements are slow and measured. I can tell she’s trying to cause herself the least amount of pain with each step. Her knees near the ceramic edge of the tub and I find my natural frown settling a bit deeper. “This is going to be really fuckin’ rough. Take it at your own speed and lean on me as much as you need. I won’t let ya fall.” She seethes, her lips vibrating as she lifts her leg and steps over the tub’s side, her other leg quick to follow. I can tell she wants to bleat out but she bites it back. Kitt is tough as nails and I wouldn’t expect anything less. I close the shower curtain around her and wait before I hear the familiar exhale again. My head pops through the water barrier and I see her attempting to reach for her shampoo. “Easy,” I warn, already shrugging from my jacket. Quickly kicking off my shoes and tugging off my socks, I enter the stream still in my white t-shirt and jeans, realizing I need to ditch my phone and wallet rapidly too. Outstretching my hand and securing the shampoo bottle, I squeeze a growing amount into my palm before she gives me a silent nod. She turns her back toward me and I feel relief. “Smells like a unicorn’s asshole,” I note and spread the goo between my hands before dragging my fingers through her hair gently. I remember the gash near her hairline and try to keep the suds away from it. Brush strokes of red slip down the drain. “What else do you need?” I ask, my clothes now clinging heavily to me. “This yours?” I grab a loofah and note Dustin’s obvious bar of soap - greasy hairs attached to it like a magnet. A bottle of cheap soap with a colorful label with some kind of cheesy vanilla graphic catches my eye and I hold it in front of her for verification. Stringing soap along the loofah surface, I rub it in and she turns her head. Our gazes linger and she slowly takes possession. My gaze turns and I linger in the back of the tub, listening to more hisses and grunts until she’s had enough, dried and fresh blood pooling through the running stream. “I’m done,” she says and refuses to sound defeated. Leaning forward, I flick off the water and step out, water puddling at my feet as I reach for a towel she directs me to. I wring pools of excess water from my shirt into the tub, the fabric hanging loose at my waist then take another towel and attempt to pat myself down. “Can you-” she starts and I interject. “The whole reason I’m here’s so Dustin doesn’t see his sister naked, right?” I help wrap herself with the towel and open the bathroom door. Dustin sits up, suddenly alert, though he’s poured himself at least half a bottle of whiskey just during the wait. “Your sister’s a badass,” I assure him. “You alright Kitt?” He’s clearly distraught, angered, and overly protective, but he's also eyeing me and my soggy, sloshing clothes. She nods, mostly because nothing about this is alright. She helps pick out items from her closet and I ask, “did you lose consciousness at all?” “I don’t even fuckin’ know.” I help slip the flannel on one arm at a time and secure the buttons, eyes on hers other than to navigate which button I’m on. “Just go fuckin’ commando and cut me a break here,” I relent and she nods as if it isn’t a big deal. When I bend over to secure the leggings over one leg, I struggle and she bobs for balance. “Use me,” I urge and feel her palms on my back as I struggle to roll the leggings up. “I don’t know how the hell you wear these.” Sweat threatens my brow line when I finish, straightening up my stiff spine with a grunt. “Bed,” I tell her. “Dustin, get in here!” Within seconds, Dustin jogs into her bedroom. We help her into bed and I instruct Dustin to lay off the fucking booze and whatever else. I warn Kitt to stay awake no matter how bad she wants to sleep through the night in case she’s concussed. I tell them I’m going to leave, but I stay perched on the top step in the hallway just outside of their door for hours. Dark eyes lost in a longing gaze, trapped inside my head as I plot my next move. Before I finally leave, I replay the words in my head. The words I made her tell me before we left that bathroom. “Who did this to you?” “Like you don’t know.” “I need you to say it, Kitt.” Confusion riddling her eyes - then emotion. She blinks, skews her jaw, and says the magical words: “Fuckin’ Ace.” 

Fuckin’ Ace. Game on.

[mostthingskenobi]

Hellooo! So, I have a question for you I've been wondering about for ages now... What do you imagine Obi-Wan and Satines first kiss in the clone wars series would've been like if they'd done it? Would Satine kiss Obi-Wan or would he kiss her? And what would the situation be for them to finally do it? If you're not sure then maybe some ideas? Btw I love your blog and hope you'll stay much longer. I'm sorry about what's happened to you. I hope you're getting better because you're just amazing

Hello there, my friend! This ask gave me a jolt of pure joy!! What a fun and pleasant thing to think about… and I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that I’ve given this quite a bit of thought. So here’s what I imagine (I’ll try not to be too wordy and take up too much of your time… who am I kidding…. this is going to be the longest thing I’ve ever written):

OBI-WAN AND SATINE’S CLONE WARS KISS THAT NEVER HAPPENED BUT SHOULD HAVE… **QUIETLY SOBS IN THE CORNER**

OK, to start, I understand why Obi-Wan and Satine never kiss in the Clone Wars. George Lucas believed that Kenobi was the embodiment of the perfect Jedi, even to Obi-Wan’s own detriment. It’s why Lucas never allowed Obi-Wan to kiss Satine, or respond to her dying “I love you.” It’s why Obi-Wan didn’t fight Maul during The Lawless, and George Lucas certainly shot down Dave Filoni’s idea that Korkie was Obi-Wan and Satine’s child. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a pure Jedi Knight.

My problem with that: it’s boring.

It’s not boring that Obi-Wan is pure, it’s boring that he never slips. As a writer, I believe it’s more interesting when a character’s standards are challenged and they are forced to break their status quo. It’s more gratifying for the audience to see a character change and grow, to struggle, give in to temptation, relent, and ultimately succeed (Luke Skywalker anyone???). This is ESPECIALLY important when you brutalize a character. Star Wars is very hard on Obi-Wan Kenobi and he receives very little validation. For the audience’s sake, Obi-Wan Kenobi deserves just one moment where he follows his heart FOR HIMSELF.

(This is all rhetorical, of course. If it isn’t obvious by the fact that I run an Obi-Wan Kenobi blog, Instagram, and AO3 account, let me say that I love Obi-Wan just as he is. Though as a storyteller, I may have changed a few plot points on his timeline.)

That being said, there are 2 places I can picture a kiss between Obi-Wan and Satine.

THE SLOW BURN

The first scenario is a slow burn that builds through the Mandalorian Arc in season 2. I imagine Obi-Wan would be doing his best to ignore his feelings for Satine and keep things “strictly professional.” But after the multiple assassination attempts made by Death Watch, and the Duchess wrongly being accused of murder, I would say Kenobi’s guard on his feelings would gradually begin to drop. Satine is one of the few characters Obi-Wan reaches out and physically touches in The Clone Wars, and he touches her a lot. To me, that indicates a certain level of familiarity that is not present between Kenobi and other characters.

I don’t think Satine would make the first move. I think she would encourage it subtly, but she would not kiss Obi-Wan first and here’s why:

1. She cannot be the one to break the Jedi Code. If Satine forces Obi-Wan to betray his oath before he’s ready, then she is the villain, the temptress, the distraction. She has no wish to change him or undermine his achievements. I wrote this in my first piece of fan fiction, A Jedi’s Resolve, and I still think it’s true of Satine:

“How could I ask you to give up the Order that you loved so much?… Don’t you see that you are a paradox? I loved you as you were, and forcing you to leave the Jedi would have made you a different man.”

2. Satine already told Obi-Wan her feelings in Voyage of Temptation. She laid her heart bare. If something is going to happen between them, it needs to be because Obi-Wan wants her enough to break his Code. He needs to want her in a “we’re soul mates and the Force will not let us be apart” sort of way, not be tempted to break his Jedi vow for lust.

I know this sounds all boring and moralistic, but as discussed earlier, Obi-Wan is a pure knight, and, in my opinion, this is how he would stay in character and kiss Satine. The act has to tie back to honor.

How would it happen? Well, Obi-Wan would have to be pushed to his limit by, let’s say, the pain of losing Satine again… or by not getting to tell her how he feels before she returns to Mandalore… or by overwhelming memories of their young love… Once he’s at his limit, they need to conveniently end up alone together where they can finally say what needs to be said without the risk of being overheard. I’m building up to this in my fic The Jedi and His Duchess. Or if you want something short and sweet, A Jedi’s Resolve is a one-off I needed to write to give myself closure. These fics detail exactly how I think this situation would unfold.

As much as I love this scenario, Star Wars would never go for it in canon. It’s too hypocritical to give Obi-Wan a love interest, especially when they portray Anakin’s love for Padme as a betrayal.

HOWEVER!!!! There is a line, I think it’s in the episode Corruption, where Satine reveals to Padme that Obi-Wan has told her all about Padme’s adventurous spirit. This implies that Obitine has remained in touch during the Clone Wars.

THE ULTIMATE TEMPTATION

The second scenario would take place during The Lawless. I have serious issues with this episode, for many reasons. I cannot watch it without sobbing… because I’m a huge emotional baby. BUT I also feel like the episode is extremely rushed. Maul spends an excruciating amount of time building up his underground crime syndicate and spends all of 10 minutes exacting revenge on Obi-Wan.

As an audience member, I’m far more fascinated by the interpersonal relationships: the conflict between Maul and Obi-Wan, the love between Satine and Obi-Wan, the betrayal between Maul and Sidious. This is more interesting than 2 full episodes of crime mongering. And I’m sorry, but Satine dies in Obi-Wan’s arms and like 5 seconds later cracks a joke with Bo-Katan. WTF, Kenobi?

What we should have gotten:

1. Much more time spent between Obi-Wan, Maul, and Satine, like at least 2 episodes.

2. Obi-Wan needed to tell Satine something while she lay dying. This woman died for him, lost her home, her planet, her family, her life’s work for this Jedi. She was used as a means to an end. The least Obi-Wan could have done was kiss her properly when he rescued her or said he loved her while he held her in his arms. She died not knowing how he felt about her. (I’m suddenly feeling inspired to write a ficlet of Obi-Wan rescuing Satine properly  0_0  )

3. A moment of real Dark Side temptation for Obi-Wan. It didn’t have to be as extreme as my series, The Dark Side of Obi-Wan Kenobi, but there should have been something more significant in that moment. Or at least more visible grieving into the next episode arc. Obi-Wan gets over Satine really fast and it really pisses me off. He’s such a perfect Jedi that it almost makes him seem heartless. I’ll say it again: GRATIFY YOUR AUDIENCE!!

OK, sorry… this is a little less about a kissing scenario and a little more about asking for a moment where Obi-Wan reveals his feelings to Satine… But that’s OK… right??????

I’m so very sorry, Anon!!!! This is the longest thing I’ve ever written and I’m afraid I may not even have answered your question!!! This is probably way more than you bargained for. I apologize for rambling on and on. But thank you for the lovely ask. I honestly really appreciated thinking about something other than my own awful life :) Thank you for your kind words! And thank you so much for following my blog!!!!!!! It warms my heart that you enjoy my stuff. Please keep in touch!!

[edelweissdev-blog]

Bio for Zhu Yijun, winner of the OC Contest!

In honour of our winner of the OC contest, Omega, here is the profile of his award winning character, Yijun! Thanks again for this fantastic character!

Name: 朱怡君 (Zhu Yijun, or Yijun Zhu in western naming conventions)

Nationality: Han Chinese (specifically looking to rep Nat. China)

Ideology: Three Principles of the People/Mínshēng Syndicalism (Would be represented in game as Radical Socialist. Essentially a more agrarian version of socialism, based off the social conditions of rural southern china, and influenced heavily through Georgism. Would be pretty heterodox to typical syndicalism, but Yijun doesn’t really care what the damn French have to think about it, this is what her family has fought and died for.)

Appearance: Yijun, due to both already coming from a western-minded family, and due to living in France for most of her adolescent life, has adopted a western wardrobe. As a testament to her father and of her political beliefs, Yijun will often wear the sky blue that was once the color of the National Revolutionary Army uniforms. A typical outfit for Yijun might consist of a matching sky blue cardigan and skirt, with a white blouse, or it could be a light blue dress. Yijun typically does not wear a hat in everyday wear, instead keeping her long, back-length black hair free and straight. Yijun does have short bangs, and her hair comes around both of her sides along with her back.Her brown eyes are not bispectaled, nor does she typically wear any form of jewelry on her. Yijun’s most defining facial feature is a small, x-shaped scar on her left cheek, which she obtained during the fall of Wuchang and her escape from the city.

Much like the socialists she met in France, Yijun has took the habit of wearing an armband in everyday wear here in Geneva. Instead of the the typical red armband, Yijun instead wears a blue armband with the white sun of the Kuomintang. Yijun wears it as a visual reminder to herself that the Xinhai Revolution has not died yet, and she will be the bridge to carry it from her father’s generation to her own. It also serves as an immediate indicator to others that she is Chinese, but does not identify with the current Chinese government, along with indicating that she is a socialist (although not European-style syndicalism).

Personality: Yijun’s experiences as a child during the collapse of Kuomintang rule in Southern China, along with the visceral anger of losing most of her family in the resulting chaos, had fundamentally broken Yijun. What had once been a sweet, loving, and caring girl has been replaced with an unyielding, if tranquil, fury. It is hard for Yijun to focus on anything beyond her feelings of pain and guilt, and thus she has tried to erect barriers around herself to keep anyone from getting close to her. In effect, in Geneva, Yijun is simply afraid of getting too close to her fellow students, preferring to just focus on her studies in the background of whatever relationship drama is unfolding around her. That is not to say Yijun will not talk if approached to, but she will seem cold and distant; it could easily be misread that she simply thought everyone was beneath her, but it's actually because Yijun just doesn’t know how to connect with other people anymore, and is too afraid to try to again.

Yijun isn’t one to be quick to anger; her life experiences has made her simply let go of personal slights that may have gotten under other people’s skins. However, when it comes to truly important topics that Yijun holds close to her heart, like the legacy of her father and brothers, the way Germany, Japan, and other powers conspired to ransack her home again, or someone upholding truly reactionary thought; her anger towards that individual will be hard to subdue. Yijun is not one to easily forgive nor forget, but to anyone in Geneva who manages to open her shell, she will also prove to be a most loyal friend as well.

Yijun’s main interests, in an academic setting, is history, particularly the history of China. As part of her education back home, she is well-versed in some of the classic literature of her homeland, where she particularly identifies with the legends of both Hua Mulan and the Ming loyalist Koxinga. Asking her about her country’s history is one of the easiest ways to get her to open up, as she could spend hours detailing minute details of various peasant uprisings against corrupt and decadent emperors. However, that fascinations ends on anything related to the Qing: they are nothing more than foreign bandits that had, and now thanks to Germany, continue to plunder from China and keep it in a feudal dark age. Saying anything positive about the Manchu dynasty is perhaps the easiest way to get her to explode.

Yijun also has a budding interest in writing as well. Most of her writing, beyond schoolwork, has been unfocused short stories about whatever was on her mind at the time she picked up her pen. She even admits they’re not really all that good, but its something to do so that she doesn’t go mad when her mind keeps focusing on what happened ten years ago. Yijun has mused about the idea of writing an “alternative history” novel like that American novel she found in a Paris library, It Can’t Happen Here! However, she doesn’t know what to do with it, beyond a general desire to “fix” the Xinhai Revolution so that it was never betrayed by foreigners. A quirk related to her writing is that she only will do stories in her native Mandarin, with traditional hanzi characters. To Yijun, the symbolism and the artistic calligraphy of the characters adds a dimension to the writing that Latin-based scripts lack, but it also means that most students at Geneva simply have to take her word at what she’s writing.  

Biography:

[NOTE: This is based off of publicly revealed but not yet implemented lore for China, so if you’re wondering if some of these references aren’t making any sense, this is why. I got my source from here: http://cs.servegame.com/kaiserreich/thread-2204.html. However, it was down the last time I tried to access it, so you may need to wayback machine it]

Yijun was born in bumbling city of Guangzhou on June 1st, 1918; the youngest of three and the only daughter. Her father, Zhu Tao, was from Wuchang, and personally witnessed the Wuchang Uprising in 1911, the initial Tongmenghui resistance to the Qing dynasty. Ever since that fateful day on October 10th, the Zhu family’s fate would be tied to the successes and failures of what would eventually become the Kuomintang.

Yijun’s brothers, Qiang and Huang, were somewhat older than Yijun, being born respectively in 1908 and 1910. Tao was enthralled by the Kuomintang ever since he saw them openly defy the Qing Empire, and quickly registered for the Nationalist Party as soon as they formally organized. In 1917, the family moved from Wuchang to Guangzhou as the KMT clique was established in the city. It was once they finally settled down in their new home that Tao and his wife Jingyu, unexpectedly had a third child. Although it wasn’t their plan, they still loved her very dearly, and life went on with a slightly expanded family.

It was under the reality of a divided country that Yijun grew up under. Not even Guangzhou was spared from political violence: it experienced a brief civil war in Yijun’s infancy over whether or not Sun Yat-sen should continue to lead the party or not. However, it was, compared to the north, far more peaceful and prosperous, and perhaps one of the better areas to raise a child. Yijun got the best education a war-torn nation could provide, as Tao used his influence as a low-mid party member to pull as many strings as he could.

These formative years, from about 1920-1926, were the happiest of Yijun’s life. Sure, outside of her bubble, everyone was killing each other over the question of who should lead China. However, all she can remember playing with her friends at school, helping her mom with her chores, being read stories by her dad (whenever he was home), and even playing some games with her brothers when they weren’t too annoyed by her. It was a period of bliss that would soon be violently ripped from her.

In 1926, as a response to the growing instability of the warlords to the north, the KMT enacted what would be known as the Northern Expedition. Both Tao and the recently of-age Qiang both volunteered to join the army, as an officer and an enlistee, respectively. The march against the northern criminals might be long and arduous, but it would be the final struggle to unify China under enlightened, people-centered government. There would be no more war, no more dictators, but peace and prosperity.

The NRA never even reached Nanjing.

In their first major battle, the NRA forces were soundly defeated by the German-backed Zhili clique. Among the dead were both Tao and Qiang. Only a few months later, the Zhili themselves attacked Guangzhou. The entire city was torn into chaos as the streets ran red with blood in the urban fighting. Everything went by so quickly, that Yijun could barely process what was going on at first. Jingyu, Huang, and herself took whatever they could carry and headed for the docks. Rumor had it that there were boats to take the leadership to France. Although they were far too low ranked to be the intended recipients… it was their best chance to get out of the falling city.

At some point in their mad dash, an explosion rocked a building to their side, spewing debris onto the street. Yijun was gashed by splintering wood, but she survived. However, the shock knocked her out, and by the time she regained consciousness, she was already on a boat leaving shore, her mother tensly staring at the burning city, fighting back tears. Huang wasn’t with them, and her mother remained silent as the young girl asked where her brother was. All the little girl could do was join her mother, looking at the engulfing inferno that continued to consume the city

Yijun would later find out that Huang refused to evacuate, saying that his father and brother didn’t run from their duty, and neither should he. Plus, they’d have a better chance of pleading their way on a ship if it was just a single mother and her young child, rather than if he was there with them.  He promised to write back as soon as he could, to make sure they knew he survived the fall of the city.

He never wrote back. Yijun and her mother knew he would have crossed hell and highwater to get any form of contact with him had he lived: he’s gone as well.

Yijun and Jingyu both settled down in Paris with the other KMT exiles, both utterly broken from their experiences in Guangzhou. Jingyu arranged for her daughter to continue her studies in an école, but given that neither of them spoke French when they first arrived, simply readjusting to their new lives was going to be hard work. Jingyu was simply done with politics at this point in her life, and since that’s all the other exiles wanted to talk about, she was forced to try to reach out to native Parisians for any sort of friendship. Yijun on the other hand, grew to resent herself for not being able to do anything to help the situation. It didn’t matter that she was only 8 at the time; her entire family besides her mother died to protect her, the country, and the revolution, and beyond her survival, it was all for naught. As she started to approach her teenage years, Yijun felt the onus of responsibility to try to avenge them one day, when the opportunity arose itself.

Therefore, while Jingyu willingly embraced France, Yijun slid into isolation with the other exile’s children, finding them to be her only real friends in the Commune. Jingyu didn’t mind at first; it made sense that her daughter gravitated towards the children most similar to her, and it's not like they were really old enough to influence her. However, as she grew older, Jingyu attempted to push Yijun to accept their new life in Paris and try to make friends with her kids in school.  

However, Yijun continued to mostly hang out with the other exiles, who increasingly radicalized each other after sharing their stories of their families and their heroics in the name of the Nationalist Party to one another. During the height of the 1932 riots in the south, Yijun and her friends did an impromptu oath, similar to the legendary Peach Garden Oath, that they would one day return back to China “when the time was right”. This, of course, horrified Jingyu when she heard about it, but she also knew if she tried to intervene too harshly, her daughter would just meet with them behind her back.

Four years later, in 1936, Jingyu heard through one of the other exile’s wives that they were planning the “big one”. The tyranny in the Eight Provinces was reaching a breaking point, and it was only a matter of when before the remaining KMT cells in China would lead a new uprising, and they would return to their homeland. Jingyu was terrified; she knew her daughter would do anything to join the return trip. She didn’t want to see her only remaining child killed in some short-sighted quest of vengeance. Instead, she secretly enrolled her daughter into the International School of Geneva, to get her away from her friends and to keep her out of the next wave of bloodshed in China.

[wbwest]

New Post has been published on WilliamBruceWest.com

New Post has been published on http://www.williambrucewest.com/2017/05/05/west-week-ever-pop-culture-review-5517/

West Week Ever: Pop Culture In Review - 5/5/17

In TV news, we got the first trailer for Marvel’s The Defenders series on Netflix. I dunno, y’all. I’ll be the first person to tell you that I’m behind on these shows. At this point, I’ve only seen Daredevil season 1 and Jessica Jones. No DD S2, no Luke Cage, and no Iron Fist. Sorry, kids, but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. Daredevil was a worthy bingeing experience, as each episode ended on a cliffhanger that MADE you have to check out the next episode immediately. Jessica Jones, not so much. It took me about 3 months to get through that show. Now, I enjoyed it, but it didn’t demand that I consume it immediately. I’m eager to catch Luke Cage, but I wanna go in order, so that means I’ve got to meet the Punisher and Elektra first in Daredevil season 2. So, even though The Defenders comes out in August, I’ll be lucky if I get to it in 2017. Anyway, I told you all that to make you see that my level of enthusiasm for this probably isn’t as high as yours because I’m so far behind. That said, I thought this trailer looked hokey as Hell. The scene where Murdock comes into Jessica’s interrogation felt like a bad fan film. Shit, the whole thing felt like a bad fan film. Remember when Playstation Network aired that Bendis Powers show? Yeah, it looks like that. Something about the cinematography of it all. And then they had to do another goddamn hallway fight. WE GET IT ALREADY! I just don’t know about this one right now..

In other TV news, there are talks of a Roseanne revival, with ABC and Netflix interested bidding on the project. Laurie Metcalf, Aunt Jackie herself, reported that contracts have been worked out, so now they’re just trying to sell the series. Right now, Roseanne (does she currently have a last name?), John Goodman, and Sara Gilbert would star, while Metcalfe says she’s on board in some capacity. It’ll be interesting to see how they pull this off, ya know with Dan being dead and all. Still, it ended with one of the most maligned series finales in television history, and they’ve got a chance to basically erase it. How many shows can say that? Anyway, I was never a huge Roseanne fan. They were just so poor and depressing. Are they gonna lose the bike shop? Are they gonna lose the loose meat restaurant? Is Fisher gonna stop beating up Jackie? I know their struggles resonated with certain folks, but not me. I actually liked the Lottery Season because I could say “Thank God their lives aren’t such shit anymore!” Anyway, I’d bet money on this happening, so it’s now just a matter of where it’s gonna air. The big question is in which “universe” it will be set. After all, the finale basically laid out that everything since about season 4 of the show had been a lie, since Darlene actually ended up with Mark, Becky was the one with David, Jackie was a lesbian, etc. So, would we get the “true” Roseanne, or just more of what we’re used to? And with Mark dead, and David on The Big Bang Theory, I don’t really expect much from those characters anyway. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

I was on my own last weekend, so I took the time to watch TV and catch up comics. Well, I didn’t really watch TV, but it was on in the background. It provided the soundtrack to my comic time. What did I watch? CMT – Country Music Television. Yeah, yeah, you hate country. I don’t care. I grew up on it, so it has a special place in my heart. Anyway, when I saw Brad Paisley’s new video for “Last Time For Everything”, I KNEW I had to share it with y’all. This thing is a love letter to children of the 80s, complete with tracking/tape distortion lines. I don’t wanna spoil anything, so just check it out. Don’t worry – the song’s not about drankin’, or a dead dog, or his wife left him; it’s just a song about appreciating things when you have them because they won’t always be there.

The backdoor pilot for the Black-ish spinoff aired this week. Oh, you don’t know what a “backdoor pilot” is? It’s when an established show gives up one of its episodes to try to launch a new show. Since it already has a built-in audience, it kinda tricks viewers into watching a new show that they otherwise wouldn’t have checked out. Married…with Children had, like, 4 of them. Anyway, in Black-ish, Zoey went off to check out college, made a new best friend, and pissed off the Black Student Union. The whole episode was kinda hokey, but it worked. Chris Parnell was the spineless dean, which is basically every Chris Parnell character these days. And I love how they worked Deon Cole’s Charlie into the plot. If the spinoff gets picked up (I mean, why wouldn’t it?), I hope he gets a bigger role there than he has on Black-ish. If Black-ish is a modern-day Cosby Show, then this is its A Different World. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that, really.

If you like useless gimmick items as much as I do, then make sure you pick up your Frork from McDonalds today. To celebrate the release of their three new Signature Crafted Recipes (Pico Guacamole, Sweet BBQ Bacon, and Maple Bacon Dijon), they’re releasing a utensil that they know nobody needs, but hey, why not? The Frork is basically a fry holder, where the fries act as the tines of the fork. In the infomercial, complete with Anthony Sullivan appearance, they claim the Frork will help you scoop up the toppings that fall off your overflowing sandwich. I swear Anthony Sullivan killed Billy Mays ‘so he’d get ALL that sweet infomercial work. But I digress…If you would like a Frork, check this link to see if one of your local McDonalds locations is giving them out today.

Things You Might Have Missed This Week

HBO has hired writers for FOUR potential Game of Thrones spinoffs. So, get ready for Match of Chairs, Bout of Seats, Mother of Dragons and, my personal favorite, Tits & Swords.

Warner Bros has pushed back its theatrical animated Scooby-Doo film two years to 2020.

Girl Meets World is officially dead, as creator Michael Jacobs was unable to find a new home for the series.

While this news is about a month old, FXX has decided against a fourth season of Man Seeking Woman, which wrapped up its 3rd season in March. The season finale was a fitting series finale, so I ain’t mad.

Hot on the heels of its premiere, Hulu has renewed The Handmaid’s Tale for a second season.

Surprising no one, Fox canceled the freshman drama Pitch, about the first female major league baseball player. Following on their heels, NBC canceled the Wizard of Oz update Emerald City.

It was reported that Gabriel Luna’s Ghost Rider will be returning to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. for the season finale

Speaking of Marvel TV, we got our first cast picture from Inhumans. KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!

We also got our first look at the cast of Marvel’s Runaways on Hulu. They look like the comic, but I still hate that they aged Molly. I like her more as a precocious child to balance them out.

A strike by the Writers Guild of America, which would’ve affected all corners of entertainment, was narrowly averted at the 11th hour

Morning Joe hosts Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski revealed that they’re engaged. Man, they shit in the company ink! That’s the saying, right?

The biggest TV news of the week was that Ryan Seacrest was announced as Kelly Ripa’s permanent cohost on what will now be called Live with Kelly & Ryan. This bothered me so much! First of all, I was really kinda hoping an underdog, like Fred Savage, would get it. And if they had to go with a media person, they had Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen on the list. But Seacrest?! The dude’s empire is based in LA and, yes, he has an empire. He’s a modern-day Merv Griffin, producing Keeping Up With The Kardashians, Shades of Blue, and Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve with Ryan Seacrest. He also has a daily syndicated radio show, On Air With Ryan Seacrest, as well as hosts the weekly American Top 40 countdown. With all that going on, you’d think he’d stay in LA instead of taking a job from a New Yorker. Instead, iHeartMedia has built a radio station in the ABC Studios building so that he can do his radio show immediately after taping Live. The plan is for him to stay in New York Monday-Thursday to film Live, he’ll pretape Friday’s show on Thursday, and then he’ll spend Friday-Sunday in LA.

But that’s not ALL the Seacrest news this week. You see, talks of an American Idol revival have heated up again. I wrote about it a few weeks ago, when NBC and Fox were both interested in the show – NBC especially because they could, then, reduce The Voice to one cycle a year. Those talks fell through, but now it appears that ABC has gotten into the game, with one stipulation: there’s no Idol without Seacrest, so the show would have to move to New York so he could continue to host. The show’s production company, Fremantle, insists that it stays in LA. ABC wants to announce it during the May upfronts, which occur in two weeks, for a Fall 2018 premiere (yeah, it ain’t gonna be ready by this Fall). So here’s the plan on how that would work: Fremantle wants to air Idol on Sunday nights from LA, where Seacrest would then fly to NYC after the show in order to make it in time to film Live Monday morning. After filming Monday’s Live, he would then fly back to LA for the Idol results show. Once that’s over, he would fly back to NYC in time for Tuesday’s Live. My God! The live portion of Idol is only 10 weeks, but that is a grueling schedule that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. So far, however, it seems that ABC’s plan would be to air Idol on Mondays, to go head to head with The Voice, so this plan wouldn’t work.

Say what you will about Seacrest, but I’ve always admired the dude’s work ethic. He doesn’t seem to know the word “no”, and he’s constantly building his brand. With the exception of the short-lived On Air With Ryan Seacrest TV show (which is conveniently missing from his Wikipedia entry), he doesn’t really fail at anything. I guess hard work and determination really can take you places. I’ll tell ya, back when he was hosting Click and Gladiators 2000, I had NO CLUE he would become as big as he is. He makes me wanna go out and get 3 more jobs. Then again, I wouldn’t have his net worth of $330 million, but it’d be a start. Anyway, for taking all the jobs, while growing in power, Ryan Seacrest had the West Week Ever.

[bondedbrotherhood-blog]

Last fight

written by @LitningNABottle

*Stars exploded behind my eyes from the hard blow to the side of my head, but I’d needed to take a hit. Too little of a show and the betting spectators would go nuts in the wrong direction, as well as my pay would be docked for lack of entertainment value. Shuffling back, I shook it off and bounced on my toes, sliding left and then right, hands up guarding. This was essentially a game young back in the Old Country played when they were bored. I should know. I’d been bored too. I traded playground shoves for the next ten minutes with the thick-headed human male before growing tired of the same weekly game I’d been playing for the last year and half. Ducking the bloodied meat hook, I stepped back a scant inch and darted in low and fast, my fists coming up hard in a rapid session of four strikes, taking the air from the male’s lungs in a rush of spittle and sewer breath that would have done the job had his aim missed. For fuck’s sake, didn’t these rats without tails have any sense of cleanliness? At all? But money was money, and I that was what I was here for. The roof over my head didn’t get paid for by my sweet smile. The hit was only a tap; I knew I was far stronger than any human, even the strongest of their males wasn’t powerful enough in a ‘fair’ fight to take me down. The rush of stench as the male’s body did a weaving tilt toward me nearly made me lose what little First meal I’d eaten hours ago. The rotting perfume from his bad oral hygiene washed over me, making me breathe through my mouth. His eyes were glazed, the greasy sweat dripping down his face and neck gave off a fetid odor as well. Asshole was on drugs for something, I could smell it. Ugh. I needed to end this show. And that’s what this was. Just a dog and pony show. Using the male’s off balance as a focus, I jumped where I stood and twisted, kicking both legs out, planting both heavily booted feet straight into his chest. Slow motion free fall was a beautiful sight when done properly and ended in a lights out theme. It wasn’t a move I’d have used had my opponent been clean. And by clean, I didn’t mean hygiene this time; this male was hopped up on something that gave me an advantage I was happy to use against him. Landing on 3 points, I flicked a snarling fangless-glare at my opponent to make sure he didn’t get back up before standing slowly. He wasn’t dead, but when he woke up he’d sure as hell wish he was. Pretty sure I broke more than a few ribs and from the sound of the wheezing, likely a punctured lung rounded out the quick internal assessment. The surrounding collective erupted in a roaring din that would have made a deaf human deaf. Bodies beat against the metal cage, yelling and screaming, threats, and praise alike filled the air like never ending confetti. I needed out before the crowd became that confetti and flash mobbed the inside of the fighting ring. Walking quickly to toward the exit, I dodged drunken swings, grabbing hands and had to push my way out of an arm that hooked around my waist with a growl and a palm heel to the nose of the offender. The sea of bodies parted at that point and I knew Rip would meet me later with the payout. It had taken time to finetune trustworthy details, but it worked and Rip was one of the few humans I gave the least trust to. For now, I needed to get out of the building and I couldn’t chance dematerializing in front of anyone, so making like a human was my only scope. On top of that, the building walls were inlaid with steel, an older construction job that had used too much money in materials. Grabbing my hoodie and bursting past the last door, I drew in a breath of fresh cold air and resisted leaning against the wall for a minute. The faster I was away from the warehouse, the better I’d feel. Ducking around the corner, keeping my head down I listened for anyone following me and when I didn’t hear or see anyone, I dematerialized to the dark stairwell that led to my basement apartment. The nice thing about the place was it was in a dark alleyway, with little light at night, not too bright during the day (so I’d been told, hence the reason for the cheap rent), and an alcove that was hidden from immediate street view. Slipping in close, I willed the locks free reaching for the door handle. And froze.* “Rip said to meet you here with the night’s pay.” *The voice wasn’t totally unfamiliar, but damn if it didn’t set my nerves off just the same. Not letting that deter me, I turned back with a dark look, my hood pulled over my head as I ascended the steps toward the male. I needed the money I’d earned. He took a quick pace back and coughed nervously. I scared him. Good.* And where’s Rip. I don’t have time to babysit you until he gets here. *I didn’t care if I sounded callous and cold. Rip wasn’t known for sending some not-so trustworthy errand males to work for him and I learned early on not to trust any but Rip himself.* You have my take, or you can leave and I’ll call Rip and tell him I was bothered. “N-no, I h-have it right here.” *Wary and on guard, I picked up the stutter of the male’s heartbeat. Telltale sign of a lie. Shit, shit shit… My heart raced, adrenaline flared up amplifying every single sound and spark of new light. I didn’t care, I was ready to dematerialize. I’d done it once before, and thankfully it had been brushed off as a drunk thinking he was talking to a hallucination of a barn owl. I’d been wearing a brown hoodie and grey jeans, and it’d been snowing hard when the drunk tumbled around a corner into me, waving a gun while rambling about the atrocities of some rich human taking political office. The male had looked up in that drunken stupor, eyes wide as he hollered “fucking giant owl!” and pointed his gun at me. I hadn’t thought about staying around and scrubbing his memory, I’d just scattered. Since then, I’d been far more careful in picking my surroundings. Rip’s errand boy reached into his coat pocket, fever-laced eyes darting back and forth crazy-like, his breathing uneven as his hand came clear of the jacket….. … and held out a thickly padded, stain-smeared envelope. The sound of a car alarm going off made us both jump, the male’s head whipping around toward the sound was my opening and departure cue. Snapping the envelope out of his grip, I dematerialized in the dark before he could look back and materialized on top of a nearby rooftop just out of sight with a soft string of curses. The rooftop entryway was at the edge of the building, giving me a perfect vantage point to keep tabs on my unannounced visitor until he left; I was going to have a long, very colorful conversation with Rip. It was time I was out of the game, I hadn’t wanted to ‘play’ in the first place. It was only a means of survival and as soon as I was able, I was cutting and bolting. Not as like the humans could keep me tied to them like they did their own kind. I wasn’t weak like a human, but I had need of their money once I’d left the Old World on my own. I still had to be careful. And in that, was a weakness. After watching and listening to the male do a series of “what the fuck! Shit! God damn holy fucks”, he finally left. I waited a few moments more to make doubly sure he hadn’t been followed and dematerialized, reforming in the shadows at the back of the alleyway. Games of cat and mouse were getting boring, but getting caught could mean much worse. The door, already unlocked, was still closed but I wasn’t in a hurry now. I waited another moment and then went inside, locking it firmly behind me. Letting the envelope drop onto the small table beside the door, my eyes swept my small, mostly lightless basement apartment when the back of my neck crawled. I dropped into a fighting stance the instant the scent hit my nose, careful to keep my fangs hidden.* What the hell...!? Who’s here? How the fuck did you get in here? “Don’t worry Stormy girl, I didn’t break in, you left the door open for me before doing your little disappear act. I’ll admit, I was impressed and surprised. Amos would have put a bullet between your pretty green eyes had you stayed there longer. *It wasn’t Rip, the sound and smell were completely different. The silhouette indicated a short, thin and wiry person, but the voice was male, deep and guttural. A snap then hissing crackle lit the air as a match flared to bright flame, briefly illuminating the male’s face as he lit a cigarette.* See, Storm, I told you I’d take care of you, make sure you were paid at the end of every fight, but now I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t raise the stakes a little after what I saw. And the question should be, Who, no, -What- the fuck are YOU?” *The male inhaled, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright before it dimmed and blew out a cloud of nastiness into my clean air. I didn’t say anything but subtly stood up. This male was not as big a threat as he was going to be dead.* What am I, you ask? I’m just a girl. One you need to concern yourself with any more. Horace. *Where Rip was my.. ‘Manager’ for a lack of a better term, Horace was a different rat altogether. He owned the buildings, the fighting business, the lackeys who ran it, including Rip, and all the fighters. Which extended to include me. Rumors rang rampant through the syndicate, that if you didn’t pull your pay weight in the rings, Horace paid you a visit that you never forgot. If you were lucky to have any brains left to piece memories back together with. I’d never lost a match, so why was Horace here? Or -was- that the reason? Before the male could take another toke of his smoke, I was on top of him with a growl, my hands and body pinning him to the chair. His look of surprise was quickly covered up with a steady glare as my eyes bore into his. Yes, keep looking at me, let’s make this easy. I spoke calmly before he could utter a single word of protest or begin struggling.* You’re going home, taking a nice long hot shower, and while you’re in that shower, you’re going to shave that dead muskrat off your face and forget what you saw tonight. *I pulled the last twenty minutes of memory from Horace’s mind and put it behind a hell of a migraine lock that would put a bull elephant down and planted a new memory.* All you saw was a thug trying to break into a car on the streets and you kindly thought it was mine and came to inquire. *With that seed planted, I slowly let the male go and backed up. He blinked a few times and wiped his face with a hand, looking at his lit cigarette and then at me.* “N-not your.. car. M-must have been someone else’s. Sorry, I-I need to get home and.. shave..” Nope, not mine. Sorry. *I backed away more, toward the door and pulled it open, watching carefully as Horace walked out, puffing heavily on his smoke as if his life depended on it. Closing it behind him, I locked it tight with shaking hands, unable to concentrate enough to will them in place and slumped against the wood, blowing out a breath.* Dammit. Dammit.. Now I need a new source of income as well as a new home. *Sliding my phone out of my jacket pocket, I dialed the one number I had saved, speaking low and a lot calmer than I felt.* I”m out, I’m done. That was my last fight, Rip. #Solo #LastFight #BondedBrothers

[descending-into-chaos]

Old Love

Prompt from writing.prompt.s: During a bank robbery, you’re surprised when the criminals seem to recognise you and retreat in fear. Only later do you learn that your high school sweetheart runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a “No Harm” list. You decide to pay them a visit after all these years.

Word Count: 1123

Warnings: Language (not a lot)

A/N: Something I wrote for a prompt that turned longer than I anticipated. It’s crappy. I suck at romance anyways. Feedback is appreciated and loved.

Maeve finally found his location after a few hours of hacking through multiple databases. He was good, she had to give him that. But not as good as her. Normally, she wouldn't have bothered with him but that day in the bank robbery, people were injured.  She couldn't stand the fact that innocent people were harmed even if it was superficially.

She left the house and drove off in her car. The location wasn’t too far, just a few miles outside of town. He was using a large company as his cover and was very discreet about the crime portion of his work. Maeve finally arrived in front of the white building and she stormed inside straight to the front desk. The woman at the desk paled at Maeve’s sight, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Maeve.

“I want to meet Mason Kline immediately,” Maeve spoke briefly and curtly.

“I-I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the woman stammered out averting her gaze. “Mr. Kline is currently in a me-meeting.”

Maeve narrowed my gaze at her. “Now,” she hissed.

“I’m sorry Ma’am but I really can’t,” she firmly stated but the cower gave her away.

Maeve backed off. “Fine, you won’t tell me, I’ll find him myself.” She turned towards the elevator leaving the woman at the desk stunned.

Panicking, the woman immediately called Mason, informing him of Maeve’s arrival. On the other hand, Maeve hacked into the building’s cameras with her phone. She found him on the top floor, lazing around in his office.

“In a meeting, my ass,” she muttered furiously as she waited for the elevator. She put her phone back into her pocket just as she entered the elevator and went up,

The moment she came out of the elevator, she stalked over to his room and barged in without knocking. Her eyes were lit with fury. “Mason, Lyall, Kline,” she gritted out.

The chair behind the desk turned around revealing a handsome man in his early twenties. He had raven black hair, storm grey eyes, and a lazy smile that charmed hundreds of woman. Mason stood up from his chair, walking over to her.

“I knew you’d come back for me one day,” he said, stopping in front of her and lifting her chin up. He was tall, a complete head taller than her.

Maeve slapped away his hand. “You fucking bastard.”

Mason was surprised and reflexively backed away a step. “Well, that’s not how I imagined our reunion to be.”

She didn’t hear him, her blood boiling in rage. “Who the hell do you think you are? Harming innocent people and for what? Some money that you already have? I swear to god, that I am ready to kill you right now.”

He seemed to cower a bit. “Maeve, I swear there was another-”

“Innocent people were hurt because of you,” she screamed at him. “You’re lucky nothing was serious or you would be dead right now!”

Mason sighed. “Please, Maeve, would you listen to me?”

“No,” she seethed, her hand already moving for a slap.

Mason caught her wrist. Maeve tried to pry off his hand with her free hand but he grabbed that one too. He moved her to the side and against the wall, while closing the door shut with his foot. His stormy eyes bore into her bottle green ones. She struggled but he had a strong grip.

“Maeve, the head of that bank was abusing his power. He was taking bits of money from the different accounts,” he explained, his voice soft.

“That doesn’t explain why people had to be hurt!” she exclaimed although her rage was dwindling.

“It was an accident. You have to believe me,” he pleaded, his eyes showing his sincerity. He brought her hands to his lips and lightly pecked them.

Now, with her rage mostly gone, Maeve fought with her heart. Back in high school, the only reason she broke up with him was because she believed that a long distance relationship wouldn’t work. Mason had to go to Italy in order to follow his dreams and she didn’t want to hold him back from that either. Those eyes that she loved were weakening her defences and his actions really weren’t helping.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked in a whisper.

Maeve’s eyes showed her conflict before she sighed. “Yes.” Looking back and thinking carefully, the person who got hurt, it was his fault

Mason’s eyes brightened and a boyish grin took over his face. She internally melted but was able to keep up her calm facade. “I promise to never harm innocent people,” he promised.

Maeve’s eyes softened. “Why are you running a crime syndicate? The largest one at that?”

The brightness in his grin faded and a part of Maeve regretted asking the question. “What better way to stop crime than from within?” he finally answered.

“Why?” she questioned. “You were never the hero type.”

He opened his mouth to reply but closed it as red creeped up his neck. “No reason. Just felt like it.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Don’t lie to me, Kline.”

His breath caught but he composed himself in time. He unwillingly let go of her hands and turned around so she couldn’t see his blushing face. “Really, no reason.”

Maeve moved so she was back in front of him with her arms crossed. “Come on, why?”

Mason shook his head. “Nope, not saying.” He stuck his tongue out childishly at her.

“But I want to know,” she pestered, pulling at his sleeve.

Maeve didn’t know how but she ended up acting like she used to, back when they were dating. Mason smirked before leaning into her face, making her blush this time. “Curious now, are we, my queen?”

The old nickname slipped out of his mouth so naturally that he almost didn’t register it. He paused. Mason didn’t pull back but continued to stare into her eyes. Maeve averted her gaze from him.

Mason easily let one of his arms snake around her waist pulling her closer to him. “You know, I still love you,” he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

She looked down, struggling with her own emotions. She knew she still loved him but he’s also dangerous. Maeve ended up looking back into his eyes. A mistake since she fell for them all over again. Well, it’s not like she had much to lose anyways.

Maeve smiled. “I still love you too.” She watched as Mason’s face switch between multiple emotions.

Mason couldn’t help himself. He kissed her and Maeve was happy to return it.

*

In a different room, two males watched the camera footage with popcorn in their hands. The blond cheered as he watched Mason and Maeve kiss on screen.

“Told you, the plan would work!”

The brunet rolled his eyes but smiled anyways. “Yeah, yeah. Mission accomplished.”

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Daniel Bryan is Back. Now What?

On April 1, 2012, Daniel Bryan competed in the opening match at WrestleMania 28, dropping the World Heavyweight Championship to Sheamus in an embarrassing 18-second comedy bout and stunning the many fans he had in the audience that night who were hoping to see him shine on the biggest stage of his career to date. It seemed to confirm the worst fears of his most highly-devoted acolytes: As good as he was, he just didn’t have what it took in the eyes of Vince McMahon and the WWE braintrust to be considered the very best of the best. The next night their disappointment turned into outright revolt and the resulting “Yes Movement” propelled Bryan onto a two-year odyssey that saw him become the most popular wrestler on the planet, and culminated when he finally came full-circle and won the now-unified WWE World Heavyweight Championship in the main event of WrestleMania 30 in a Triple Threat Match against Randy Orton and Batista.

It was one of the greatest long-term underdog stories WWE has ever told, filled with iconic moments, seamlessly weaving together fiction and reality—like all great wrestling stories do—as both character and performer struggled to be taken seriously as the top talent in the company. Then, just as Bryan was ready to take the next step in his career after finally ascending to the absolute highest peak the industry had to offer, it was all over.

He relinquished the title due to injury a mere 64 days after his “Miracle on Bourbon Street,” and after a brief comeback in 2015, he was forced to retire for medical reasons—specifically a series of concussions and an apparent, as he described it, “brain lesion.” For those that had followed him on his journey from obscurity to superstardom, it was an incredibly disappointing end to the saga to see Bryan, a wrestling savant who went about his work with an unmatched intensity and passion, forced to hang up his boots, only to later return in a non-physical, authority figure role where he was tantalizingly close to the action but never able to participate in it.

Then, on Tuesday night, he un-retired. In an emotional promo on SmackDown Live, a teary-eyed Bryan announced that he was finally medically cleared to return to the ring, declaring triumphantly that “If you fight for your dreams, they will fight for you.” By the end of the night he was mixing it up with bad guy best friends Sami Zayn and Kevin Owens, eventually taking an apron powerbomb from Owens—one of the riskier moves there is—before being carted off on a stretcher, finally, at long last, just pretending to be injured.

It appears that Bryan really is back, and has eschewed the training wheels. His return is going to have a seismic impact on WWE storytelling moving forward, and while it raises many interesting questions about how he’ll be used, in a broader sense it’s also worth wondering why it took so long for him to return. What about his brain has changed between now and the last time he was able to compete, nearly three years ago?

Bryan hasn’t been shy in talking about the events leading up to his retirement, and it’s been clear for months that the only thing keeping him out of a WWE ring were WWE doctors, a position that he respected but didn’t seem to necessarily agree with. In a candid podcast interview with former WWE Superstars Edge & Christian from July 2017, Bryan admitted that after his last concussion, he was repeatedly cleared to return to the ring by outside specialists only to have WWE deny him each time he raised the issue of returning to the active roster.

Eventually, after a last-ditch experimental treatment, a doctor told him they discovered a lesion on the temporal parietal region of his brain, which appeared to be the last straw. He was gently nudged by Vince McMahon himself to immediately retire at the Monday Night RAW in Seattle, Washington just days later.

But throughout his subsequent return and on-camera stint as retired authority figure, he’s continued to get rigorously tested, and the results have repeatedly said that his brain is healthy. He now classifies the lesion diagnosis as a “misunderstanding” in terminology and claims that he’s no more at risk of serious injury than any average person. But if that’s the case, why has he been retired for the last three years?

WWE conspiracy theorists may very well look at Bryan’s injury timeline and come to the conclusion that the company simply didn’t want to deal with the constant pressure to make him a top draw that resulted in debacles like the 2015 Royal Rumble, when Bryan loyalists in Philadelphia booed the winner, Roman Reigns, along with his cousin, The Rock, out of the building at the conclusion of the event.

It’s also entirely possible that they just didn’t want to take a chance with Bryan’s health—he did have a particularly scary moment in a match against Randy Orton during the buildup to his WrestleMania triumph, when a “stinger” caused him to temporarily lose feeling in his arms and ended in the first medical stoppage of a match in the modern era, something that might feel more commonplace now, but at the time was extremely rare. Bryan does come from the old school wrestling mindset of continuing to perform through any injury—he once finished a match with a detached retina—so perhaps WWE, by keeping him away from the ring despite technically being medically cleared, was simply doing what it thought was necessary to protect him.

Questions as to why WWE is finally re-activating him now are sure to linger, but the easiest answer is that Bryan has clearly indicated that he plans on performing again, and if WWE passed on the opportunity, it’s impossible to ignore the value he could add to a company like New Japan Pro Wrestling, currently riding an unprecedented wave of stateside popularity. Or the Young Bucks/Cody Rhodes-masterminded, 10,000 seat home run swing indie supershow, All In, coming up Sept. 1 in Chicago. If Vince McMahon has demonstrated one quality over his career, it’s a pathological refusal to let his would-be usurpers get a leg up on him.

Whatever the exact reason for Bryan’s three-year-hiatus, or his upcoming in-ring return, he is back, and that is going to have a profound impact on the WWE landscape. His brief pseudo-feud with The Miz in 2016 produced some of the most compelling television the company aired all year, and did a lot to legitimize Miz as a genuine A-List star and not just a gimmicky pretender. His old roommate and opponent Shinsuke Nakamura, a long-rumored Bryan dream opponent, has already expressed interest in finally making that match a reality. Bryan was having classic throwdowns with current WWE Champion A.J. Styles over ten years ago, and has missed out entirely on Styles’ dominant, long-overdue run in the company. His rivalry with Cena was a massive part of his run to the wrestling stratosphere in 2014, and it will be fascinating to see them interact, or possibly step in the ring together, given their storyline and real life connections. He’s instantly elevated the Zayn/Owens feud with Shane McMahon, which had been fizzling, into absolute must-see TV and finally turned the two longtime friends/rivals into the hottest, most despised act in the company. Really, the WWE roster is perhaps at its highest ever peak when it comes to the level of sheer in-ring talent on contract, so there’s no limit of Daniel Bryan dream matches that, all of a sudden, feel like they could become reality.

It’s become immediately obvious, though, that WWE is going to be faced with the same problem it faced throughout the last few years of Bryan’s run with the company—that audiences simply refuse to accept anything less than a starring role for him, regardless of the creative machinations that are happening behind the scenes. Even throughout his tenure as a non-wrestling authority figure on SmackDown Live, Bryan never stopped being the most popular performer on the roster. His ability to connect with and unify crowds, which could never fully get behind anointed top stars like Cena or Reigns, remains unparalleled.

How WWE walks that line creatively in the coming months or years is going to be fascinating to watch. For now, it’s enough just to soak in the moment as we collectively realize we’re once again going to see Daniel Bryan get to do what he loves to do more than anything else. Yes, indeed.

Daniel Bryan is Back. Now What? syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com

[cultivating-ass]

muddywatersrp application; Winnie Lake

IC

T i t l e » The Heretic

Full name: Bronwyn “Winnie” Lake

Age: 35

Birth date: November 8, 1981

Gender & pronouns: Cisfemale, She/Her

Affiliation: Civilian

Occupation: Dancer

Faceclaim: Ruth Negga

B i o g r a p h y »

Winnie Lake was born the eccentric, charismatic youngest daughter of a baptist preacher in Bethel, Louisiana. The family lived a humble but secure life in a nice trailer by the bayou. Reverend Lake kept a close eye on his three beautiful daughters Briony, Bernadette, and Bronwyn making sure they stuck to their studies and stayed away from temptation. Bronwyn, Winnie to her friends and admirers, was always the problem child. Instead of going to church everyday with the family she would ask to sit in the back pews and then sneak down to the creek during service to roughhouse and smoke stolen cigarettes with the other non-church going children. She would give her lunch to the kids who's parents were too far gone on a nod every morning to make them one. She hung out with the rejects, the deviants, and the recidivists sometimes to her own misfortune. Winnie was a friend to everyone she met, whether her father approved or not.

Much like many small towns in America no one left Bethel, and everyone knew everyone else’s business. If your father ran the convenience store, you would run it one day. If your mother was a baker, she would teach you her trade. If your father was the Reverend you were expected to marry a nice god fearing man who would one day be the Reverend, but Winnie wanted more. She wanted out, and one of the boys she would skip church to see promised her just that. Malachi wasn’t the brightest boy, or the handsomest, but he listened to Winnie’s dreams and visions and that was enough for her. Her promised to take her away from Bethel, to a big city like Chicago where they could do whatever they want together and her father couldn’t get in the way. What Winnie didn’t know was that Malachi’s brilliant plan was to rob a bank a few towns over.

Malachi's was plastered all over the news the second he walked into that bank, and Winnie knew he wasn’t going to make it out a free man so she left him there to be arrested. It was in that moment that she knew she had to save herself or face an eternity under her father’s suffocating protection, or worse in prison. So Winnie packed up all her things and made her way towards Chicago. She almost made it before settling down in a town not too far away called Muddy Waters where she found comfort in the small town atmosphere and the cheap living. She began once again waiting tables at the diner.

Even working overtime at the diner Winnie struggled to make payments on the one bedroom trailer she rented, and Winnie was soon forced to take up other jobs around town. She worked first shift at the diner, and second shift at the pub. It was hard work but Winnie was determined to make it on her own. It wasn’t until she passed a sign that said Talent Wanted at Saint Sabrina's that Winnie’s financial hardships were put past her. Her magnetic personality made her a popular dancer, although her natural beauty didn’t hurt. Everything was running smoothly until she began to get calls and letters from the folks back home. Apparently someone in Bethel had heard about Winnie’s new job and news travels fast in a town like Bethel. Especially news that the Reverend’s youngest daughter was nothing more than a harlot and a whore after her boyfriend tried to rob a bank. Winnie didn’t care, it was her life after all, and her father already refused to even talk to her or acknowledge her existence to anyone. It hurt Winnie, but it only cemented what she had known her entire life: She would never be the perfect Preacher’s daughter her father wanted her to be.

P e r s o n a l i t y »

Always a smart and ambitious girl Winnie got a job waiting tables at the age of fourteen, and although trouble seemed to follow her she graduated high school by 16. A natural social butterfly there wasn’t a person in town that didn’t at least know Winnie, half of them thinking she was crazy and unclean while the other half was completely in love with her. She is a free spirit who has a soft spot for the outcasts, as she felt that way in her own family as her father’s conservative views felt like a hand around her neck. Winnie can be hard headed, sarcastic, and opinionated, but she really just yearns for friendship and approval. She’s well know around town and during the day can often be found bothering various shop owners and workers around town.

A f f i l i a t i o n s »

Write a short description in the character’s own words of their outlook regarding each group:

Whitewater Syndicate: "If I cared ‘bout my life, and I do, I wouldn’t be answerin’ no questions ‘bout that. Customers is customers and the Syndicate money is just as good as anyone’s.”

Northside Rascals: "I’m a neutral party- I ain’t got no ponies in that race. As long as they boys pay their tabs and keep they hands out my snatch we ain’t got a problem. I hold my own, and they hold theirs.”

Muddy Waters law enforcement: "I liked ‘em better when they knew how to have fun.”

W r i t i n g S a m p l e »

“Startin’ to think you live here.” Winnie chuckled her accent as thick as a humid summer breeze as she leaned over the counter, resting her upper body there. “You ever get out of the world of poles and hoes and into the world of the living?” She nodded her head at the bar tender signaling him to bring her her signature drink peach schnapps with as many cherries as would fit in the glass. “Me neither.” She replied clinking glasses with the patron next to her. “I tell ya’ what- sometimes I’m walkin’ down the street and I see a girl in them long pants and I think to myself what is she doing? Ain’t she know she can make more money if she loses the leg sleeves? And then I gotta remember that it ain’t in good taste.” Winnie slammed the liquid in the drink before using her long fake nails to fish out a cherry from the glass. “Halloween soon though, then good taste goes out the window and I finally feel like I can let loose. You got a freaky side, honey?” Winnie wiggled her eyebrows before placing the cherry between her teeth.

Placing her drink down she pressed both hands into the bar lifting herself up onto the table top. She crossed her legs letting her feet dangle between the patron’s legs. “Me? I’m a freak all the time.” She purred resting a platform heel lightly against the man’s crotch. “If you got the cash, darlin’, I can make your wildest dreams come true.” Picking up her drink once again she placed another cherry on her tongue before winking at her mark. The man held out a twenty rubbing the note up Winnie’s leg before stopping at her upper thigh. “Oh honey,” she said snatching the twenty out of the man’s hand and placing it in her bra “that ain’t enough to make no one’s dreams come true.” Losing her patiences for a moment the sweet twang faded from her voice. “I take credit.” She replied flatly.

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Takeaways – Winning Bigger 2017 and Beyond

This post originally appeared on MDL Group's Blog and is republished with permission. Find out how to syndicate your content with theBrokerList.

One of the things I am committed to this year is capturing my Takeaways from the various events that I attend throughout the year and sharing them. Click here for Previous Takeaways.

August is an interesting month. I am still catching up from a week family vacation. The kids are back to school. The dust is just starting to settle from summer activities. And I am dusting off the business plan that I wrote in January, to see where I’m at, and how much further I have to go to achieve my dreams. August is the month where I can make or break the year. Because it leaves the perfect amount of time to really pivot into the 4th quarter. Choosing to recommit to ambitions means Winning Bigger in 2017 and beyond! Just ask Gary Vaynerchuk!

One of our core values at MDL Group is Community Engagement. It seems like we do something every month toward that end. Things like organizing a team for the Susan G. Komen 5K to adopting families at hospitals during the holidays to create a magical season while they are struggling with both health and finances. This year, we decided to do one thing bigger. Michael Campbell in our office has been a board member of Boys Town Nevada for over a decade. He put us in touch with Donna Pacella, Development Director.  We asked “what problem can we solve for you?” They asked for backpacks.

May 1 – June 30, 2017  we created the MDL Group Backpack Fundraising Challenged. That link is to a video when we launched –  1,700 people saw it! The first thing we did was challenged fellow commercial real estate companies to see who could raise the most backpacks for Boys Town Nevada. The challenge was simple. There was a $100 buy in. The company that raised the most backpacks between May 1st and June 30th won the pot, a trophy, and bragging rights.

Nine total companies accepted the challenge. They are listed below. We set an initial goal of gathering 2,500 backpacks collectively. We chose that number because Boys Town Nevada serves 900 families in Las Vegas. Those 900 families have about 2,500 children. I should mention Boys Town serves boys and girls ages K – 12.

Before I tell you the rest of story about the backpack challenge I want to share with you where I got this idea of Winning Bigger. Actually it’s #winningbigger2017!

If you have been around Las Vegas for any amount of time you probably know Ruth Furman, Owner of Image Words, a PR company. You only have to meet Ruth once and you’ll never forget her. If you have never met her in person there is a very high probability that you have seen, read, or heard her words. I met Ruth in 2015. We were introduced to explore if our company could use her PR expertise. Ruth did what smart business owners do and showed us her value by example. If I’m being totally honest I didn’t recognize just how ridiculously talented Ruth is back then. You know the adage. When the student is ready the teach appears. I just wasn’t ready. But I also never forgot her!

Ruth and I reconnected at that NAIOP Spotlight Awards in March 2017. We bumped into each other at the bar in the back of the ballroom. I had noticed Ruth on social media that year. She kept posting something that captured my attention. Ruth ended every post with the hashtag #winningbigger2017. In fact, that was the first thing I said to her that night. “Ruth! Winning Bigger 2017!” It’s sounds so stupid to me now as I’m writing this. But what Ruth did with the hashtag mantra… It’s subtle. It’s simple. And its brilliant. I’m going to come back to this. Because Ruth is going to show up again in our backpack story in a big way… in a #winningbigger2017 kind of way!

This is a playbook of what the commercial real estate industry did to #winbigger for Boys Town Nevada. Actually, for the kids who live right here in our community, who don’t even have the resources to buy a backpack for school. I am still shocked when I think about what we were able to accomplish. It actually makes me emotional. There is a video at the very end that the magnificent Nathalie Mills made which brings it all home. There are a lot of videos and links in this post. But please make sure to see the one at the end. It’s titled “Thank you”.

When we conceived this challenge, we wanted to tap into the friendly competitiveness of our industry and channel it for those boys and girls who need it. And guess what happened… that’s right… #winningbigger!

At the end of the day we set out to solve a problem for Boys Town Nevada. Michael Campbell says this challenge created a miracle for those boys and girls. I believe we created an opportunity for others to create magic… and over the course of two months… they did!

Which restaurant created the Boys Town Bison Burger and donated its proceeds?

Who stepped up to cater an event for over 150 people at Boys Town’s campus?

How many backpacks did we end up raising and which company won the challenge?

It’s a double edged sword when you challenge your competitors to something like this. I mean, it’s our idea. What if we lose? To raise the stakes even higher, Hadley Hodgkin from The Equity Group, called me out publicly on Facebook for a side bet. If they raised more backpacks than us I would have to personally donate an additional $500 to Boys Town and vice versa. I took the bet! So that’s how it started back in May. There was a $900 pot, pride and a personal $500 side bet for me and Hadley. But we had a plan. We were supremely confident. We came out with cannons!

Before the launched we organized our strategy. Property managers, operations support, brokers, accounting… everyone would engage our clients, colleagues and vendors to ask for backpacks and monetary donations. We knew our competitors would do the same. We needed secret weapons.

The first was creating a gofundme account to make it easy for people to donate. Our goal was to raise $1,000. We had to increase it to $2,500 by the third day. We raised it again to $3,500 on day 7 because we kept surpassing our goal. Ultimately, we raised $5,750 just from our gofundme account.

The competition was feeling the heat.

But they didn’t exactly sit idle. They traveled to the extremes!

We got creative, made a promo video, re-imagined our logo, and changed all email signature blocks company wide.  Every time an email was sent from any of our 40 + teammates it was an advertisement and had this video linked to it. Go ahead. Click it and watch! It’s only 0:65 seconds

We made a video for Cinco De Mayo and posted it all over our social media. This one is only 0:45 seconds.

We even managed to break Amazon.com twice during these two months!! I know that sounds crazy right? Only Kim Kardashian can break the internet. But I promise. We did it too! That’s because of secret weapon #2.

We have an Extreme Couponer in our company. When we finally bought backpacks, we got them for under $4 per unit. Going rate at Target for the same quality is $9.

Another thing we did in the ‘secret weapon’ category was created a list of influencers and asked them to join in. Influencer in marketing is something that you should really know about, if you don’t already. It’s estimated to be a $5 – $10 billion industry just in the US. By the way, I first learned about influencer marketing from Gary Vaynerchuk. Another good video here.

Jason Feinberg was the first influencer to answer the call. You know, the co-host of Fox 5 Live and the three-time Emmy winning journalist. By the way – Jason is #winningbigger2017. He got engaged!

Jason got us on Fox 5 Live to talk about the challenge.

Another media mogul to lend his mic was Bob Fisher. He had us on his live radio show Vegas Observations.

At this point you get the gist of how things were going. We were on fire! So let me bring Ruth back into the story and let’s talk more about #winningbigger2017.

Ruth got involved in her brilliant way. Finding Win-Win opportunities for her clients and our cause. The first thing she did was get the restaurant Table 34 on board. They created a special dish, the Boys Town Bison Burger, where all proceeds from this special would be donated to Boys Town. Here is Chef Wes Kendrick showing us how it’s made!

The other thing Ruth did was over the top! She got us connected with Metro Diner as featured on the Food Network show Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives!  When Metro Diner opens a new location they gift the opening weekend to different charities. You know how a restaurant will have a friends and family soft opening so they can train the staff and work out kinks? Metro Diner is so engaged in the communities they serve, that friends and family to them, are local charities.

In the case of the 7305 S. Rainbow location which opened July 15th the charity was Boys Town. Diners that day were invited to eat either breakfast, lunch or dinner. When they were presented the bill it was zeroed out. Instead they asked for a donation for Boys Town. They raised over $4,000 that day! That made Ruth Furman the single largest fundraiser, more than any other individual, in our backpack challenge.

And if that wasn’t enough, look how many times she got our cause mentioned on TV.

Video: Channel 8 National Fried Chicken Day 

Video: News3LV Comfort Food Favorite  

Video: News3LV Metro Diner Expanding 

Video: Action News 13 Metro Diner Launching Second Location 

How is that for #winningbigger2017?!

In case you’re curious where this notion of Winning Bigger came from like I was, I turned the tables on Ruth a bit, and interviewed her. This is the tie off to the opening message about August being a terrific month to recommit to your dreams and to focus on #winningbigger2017!

HM: Where did #WinningBigger2017 come from?

RF: I’ve had a mantra manifesting itself as a social media hashtag for the last several years. Chasing Joy 2015 and Choosing Joy 2016 were a few. I realized as an entrepreneur, I can’t always choose joy and win bigger, but I can try.

#winningbigger2017 is all  about making choices that are smart and joyful at the same time. Choices that both move me forward and make me happy.

#winningbigger2017 means saying no to impulsively taking a free day trip to San Francisco.

#winningbigger2017 means being brave enough to work in a new way.

#winningbigger2017 means finding a way to find the win win that will fuel me and bring me joy at the same time.

Remember I told you… Ruth is ridiculously talented!

The top-off for the backpack challenge for us was July 14th when we all went to visit the Boys Town campus on North Mojave and Washington. The purpose of our visit that evening was to deliver the remaining backpacks to the Boys Town families. I say remaining because on June 23rd, 8 elementary schools served by Boys Town’s School Initiative Program, came to our offices to pick up however many backpacks they needed for each and every student at their campus. These schools are also listed below.

I cannot tell you how fulfilling this all was. But what I also need to tell you is how encouraging it was when the community to showed up the way that it did. Our good friends at Capriotti’s Catering not only contributed to the backpack challenge, they catered the July 14th event for 150 people!!

How is that for an August story? Our goal was 2,500 backpacks. We raised 9,365! And by the way, MDL Group was the winner of the challenge. We donated the $900 pot to Boys Town also.

This is the “Thank you” video that I mentioned in the opening. Please watch it to see who all participated with collecting backpacks, donations, and love! I promise, you won’t be disappointed!!

We have a phenomenal industry of dedicated professionals who go above and beyond for our community! Now go out everyone and commit to #winningbigger2017!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RSS Feed provided by theBrokerList Blog - Are you on theBrokerList for commercial real estate (cre)? and Takeaways – Winning Bigger 2017 and Beyond was written by Hayim Mizrachi CCIM, MDL Group.

Takeaways – Winning Bigger 2017 and Beyond published first on http://ift.tt/2hkHhkP

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The New York Giants Are Dead and Buried

All good things must come to an end.

So must slightly above average things that didn’t really do much for 14 years other than catch fire and step in shit at the perfect time—twice—against the most hated and successful team over those same 14 years.

It’s time to say farewell to the New York Giants as we know them, the shittiest good NFL team of this century, the beautiful idiots that did the world the service of beating the New England Patriots in two Super Bowls and, almost literally, nothing else of note, but will almost certainly be remembered for doing something other than that.

The 2017 season was already over but watching the Giants have their lunches handed to them Sunday by a winless San Francisco 49ers team that would struggle to beat elite high school squads at a neutral site was the lowest point in a season of low points. We saw Eli Manning being outplayed by a quarterback who may or may not be the avatar of a 45-year-old man on his couch playing a video game in Santa Clara, Janoris Jenkins doing his job with all the enthusiasm of a teen on a tour of the Hoover Dam with his parents, and Jonathan Casillas futilely chasing Garrett Celek, a scene that was only missing Cassillas’s pants falling around his ankles and tripping him.

This was inevitable—not just the game but the season itself. One year after the Giants reached the postseason on the back of a generational defense, carrying an offensive line that was no better than five mailboxes on roller skates, Giants GM Jerry Reese did nothing to address the team’s one glaring flaw. He instead chose to draft a tight end, throw money at a productive but aging wide receiver, and presumably spend the rest of the money on styling gel for Ben McAdoo. Reese looked at a house with a rotting foundation and said, “Give it a new coat of blue paint and let’s hope the foundation doesn’t give out next season.”

And now all that’s left is seven more weeks of Jenkins doing his best Willy Wonka impression— “Stop, don’t, come back”—instead of tackling, and Eli missing wide-open fifth- and sixth-string receivers. People will tell you that this is the end of a magnificent era in Giants history and it’s time for a rebuild, but really only the latter is true.

Take it from a guy who hasn’t missed an Eli start in more than a decade: Manning is a perfectly fine quarterback who’s had two amazing playoff runs and nothing else. The reason people hilariously talk about him as a possible Hall of Fame quarterback is because those runs were two of the most improbable and memorable runs of the past two decades. Otherwise, Eli is a turkey sandwich—it hits the spot once in a while depending on who prepared it and the accoutrement, but more often than not you’d rather be eating something else and you sound like an idiot when you defend its greatness.

As a Giants fan, I will forever treasure what Eli did to the Patriots in those Super Bowls. The two late drives, the puzzled face of convicted cheater Tom Brady as this goofus gets the best of him not once but twice, and… seriously, that’s it. Maybe it would have been more than that if Plaxico Burress bought tighter pants, but he didn’t, so it isn’t. If the Giants had beaten the Dolphins and the Chiefs instead of the Patriots in those Super Bowls, would anyone care? It triggers my gag reflex to admit this but the reason those Giants championships are as fun as they are has more to do with the opponent than anything my favorite sports team did. It doesn’t take away from it, but it forces you to look at Eli’s time in New Jersey through a more realistic lens.

Do you know how many quarterbacks have made at least 60 starts between 2004 and today and have a better passer rating than Eli? Twenty-four! Holy shit! And among those quarterbacks with better ratings are names like David Garrard, Ryan Tannehill, and Chad Pennington! Eli is 32nd in interception percentage. I won’t get into everyone ahead of him in that category but just know it contains a Hasselbeck.

There’s nothing wrong with appreciating what Eli did on a big stage, but let’s not romanticize the total body of work. Eli’s career was like Watchmen—there were a few memorable moments people still talk about today but overall it wasn’t that good and it definitely lasted longer than it should have.

The Giants won a Super Bowl in two of Eli’s 14 years. Do you know how many other seasons during the Eli Era involved a playoff win? Zero. Zero! That’s two years of titles and 12 years of absolutely nothing. The Giants are the football team version of the all-or-nothing baseball slugger. Shit, forget about playoff wins; the Giants only have four other playoff trips during Eli’s time outside of the Super Bowl seasons.

Take away two fluke (it’s OK to admit they were flukes now) playoff runs and what are you left with? The Giants are basically the Detroit Lions with a slightly more forgiving curse.

Please, don’t let slicked-back McAdoo make you pine for Tom Coughlin, a man who in his last season was so out of it that he no longer understood the concept of time. Coughlin made Andy Reid look like Bran Stark. The only difference between Coughlin and McAdoo the past two seasons is that if people mocked Coughlin’s hair and baggy suits last season, he would not have spent the off-season getting an image makeover; he would have raised two middle fingers to his critics just before mismanaging his timeouts in the final two minutes of a half during a divisional loss.

It’s time to tear it down and let everyone go. Yes, everyone. Even Odell Beckham Jr.

Beckham is a beautiful angel who does not deserve to be trapped in a rebuild for the next five years while Davis Webb or Josh Rosen or Sam Darnold figures out if they suck or not. Or worse yet, what if the Giants decide the want one more year of Eli throwing death balls high and wide of receivers in traffic? Either way, Beckham should be set free as soon as possible because I love him too much to see him blamed for every poor decision made by the organization through the end of the decade. Beckham’s destiny should not be “A.J. Green in a more hopeless situation.”

The most frustrating part of the past 14 years was that so many of them were without a dynamic player, at least on offense. Beckham finally became that player the past few years and like the incompetent dipshits they are, the local and national media did everything to blame him for the woes of a franchise that always had more woes than anyone realized. The man cried on the sideline during a loss, and that was a problem. The man spent on an off-day on a yacht and became the reason a less talented team lost to a more talented team in Green Bay six days later.

The garbage Beckham has had to endure for no other reason than he has more talent than any player in Giants history and the predetermined narrative that any wide receiver with a modicum of personality must be a problem should earn him the right to play the rest of his career as a Patriot, catching Super Bowl-winning touchdown passes from 51-year-old Tom Brady in a game played on the moon.

There’s a difference between looking at the past 14 years the Giants provided as a fan and as an objective bystander. As a fan, I wouldn’t trade it for what’s behind any curtain, because the two high points were so intoxicating that it made the other 12 years and losing to the 49ers tolerable. But as an objective bystander, the team has won 109 games and lost 99 games with Eli under center and that only seems better than it is because of two playoff runs—runs that every fan base outside of New England and Pittsburgh would take over that time—so it’s hard to convey to the other 29 fans bases just how shitty things have been otherwise.

By the time you read this, McAdoo and/or Reese could be fired. Word may come down not long after that Eli will back up Webb the rest of the season. There will be conversations about how it went wrong (it’s not that complicated) and where Eli stands in the pantheon of great quarterbacks (he doesn’t).

Just know that for 14 years, Eli and the Giants were a perfectly edible, occasionally wonderful turkey sandwich.

The New York Giants Are Dead and Buried syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6