#hello frisco hello

[vampirecorleone]

Appreciation for GREEN Fashion in TV & Film: The Ten Commandments (1956) | The Handmaiden (2016) | Showboat (1951) | Sailor Moon (1992) | Artists & Models (1955) | Nope (2022) | Singing in the Rain (1952) | The Tales of Hoffmann (1951) | American Horror Story: Hotel (2015) | Princess of the Nile (1954) | Attack on Titan (2013) | Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) | Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) | Batman Forever (1995) | The Belle of New York (1952) | Gone with the Wind (1939) | Britney Spears Billboard Awards (2001) | Gossip Girl (2007) | Barbarella (1968) | What a Way to Go (1964) | Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (1997) | Devdas (2002) | Down to Earth (1947) | Avatar the Last Airbender (2005) | Hello Frisco, Hello (1943) | Legally Blonde (2001) | Batman & Robin (1997) | The Other Boleyn Girl (2008) | Bring it On (2000) | EMMA. (2020)

[greatwesternway]

heya! 👋

idk if it's been asked already but: do you have any voice claims for the TFISSAB crew?

Hello!

No one has asked this yet, but it makes sense to. The structure of the letters - that Ray and I each write alternating letters as our respective characters - gives away that its a roleplaying game of a sort. Face and voice claims are quite common in those games.

As it happens though, Ray and I both have backgrounds that sort discourage getting too specific with any kind of work we'd have to outsource. Ray is an animator and so voice casting is something they were trained for in school. I studied game design and learned a lot of the same things they did. Basically that not only is it no use getting your heart set too specifically on a particular voice, but it's also limiting. It's better to go into a casting with an open mind because an actor could surprise you. You could miss out on a truly iconic voice for a character if you're too focused on casting, say, an Ann Margaret type. 'Cause after all, at the end of the day, she won't be Ann Margaret.

Not to say that we consider casting actively for this particular project (most of our engines are stationary displays and so what would we animate them doing? Maybe we could do a radio play, lol). Just that we've been schoolt not to devote much energy in that direction in any project.

That said, we do have generalized ideas about voices though.

Truro describes Pioneer as having a "radio announcers voice", which is a very short way to tell you a lot about how he sounds. Authoritative yet approachable with an air of trustworthiness. And distinctly non-regional.

Pilot and Mate would have had urbanized (read: diluted) Texan accents during their work lives, but Pilot's has been dulled further by his retirement in Illinois. In the scenario in which Mate is rebuilt, his accent remains (Ray also likes the idea of Mate having a particularly deep voice for such a small build.)

999 is a New Yorker and so has an appropriate accent. While I wouldn't call this a voice claim, I did have Jill Zarin from Real Housewives of New York in mind when writing her haranguing U-505. 999 is not quite as nasal as that though.

2903 has a more southwestern accent but it's also diluted by urbanization and the need to be understood everywhere from Los Angeles to Chicago.

Basically, most of these are dictated by where they lived out their service lives. Although Frisco 1630, the Russian Decapod, pretends to have a Russian accent when she meets new engines.

[neilsanders]

A cheeky little hello! 👋 The tune is “Hello, Frisco!” by Harvey Hindermyer and Helen Clark, used under creative commons license.

[penwieldingdreamer]

I see myself with you

So first time posting for TG:M and Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. I’ve been a fan of Top Gun ever since seeing the first one as a child with my parents and after having seen Top Gun: Maverick a few times now, I couldn’t help the idea coming up. Thanks to @fortheloveoffanfic​ I finally got around to writing it 😅 It’s going to be a kinda mini series, not sure yet how many parts and drabbles I’ll be able to come up with. Happy reading and let me know what you think

Summary: You see the cowboy, you met during your roadtrip in Texas, in a bar in San Diego - your last stop of the trip. Only this time he is the epitome of coky pilot. (2.1k words)

Warnings: cursing, fluff, a little bit of angst, (is Jake Seresin a warning in itself)

Masterlist | Next Part

(gif by @honeybeedewdrops​)

"Please darling, don't forget to be home for your Grandma's birthday, she's already complained twice why you haven't come visiting her when you drove past Frisco."

Sighing, you looked around for Allison who had left you in search of the toilet. "I'm sorry, I'll call her tomorrow. Ally dragged me to a bar, so it's probably going to be late."

"Alright, just be careful and don't let any dipshit talk you up."

With a soft laugh you said your goodbyes and turned back to the barkeep handing out drinks to the other patrons. Looking around you spotted an array of people flitting about - aviators stationed at North Island, financial people dressed up in suits and civilians, just like your friend and you.

For the first time in three years you were back in sunny California, enjoying the smell of the ocean and feeling the salt on your skin. Allison had moved to Europe to study journalism there and being joined at the hip since Kindergarten it was a no-brainer that you followed her, working the few odd jobs here and there to pay for food and rent, not sure if college was where you were headed.

Now that she was done, Ally was thinking of coming back home. "But first, we'll enjoy just driving across the country and going wherever the road goes."

That's how you ended up in San Diego, your last stop after having toured the southern states. 

"Whatcha thinkin' bout, hun? That cowboy got your head all jumbled up?" She grinned, taking a seat next to you. 

"That cowboy is back in Texas, don't think I'll be seeing him again." 

Grabbing the drink from the bar, your friend watched you with a grin. "He left quite an impression on you. Never took you to fall for that southern boy charm."

Laughing at the idiocy of your car breaking down in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, you listened to Ally grumbling in the passenger seat of your rental pick-up 

"Fucking hell, we should have stopped back in Dallas. The car's been fucked up for a while."

Taking a deep breath you leaned back against the hood. Your phone had no reception, no way were you going to be able to call a tow truck to get you to a shop. "We gotta sit it out, Ally. I've got no reception right now."

"Ugh, why does it have to be so hot here."

Just as you were about to respond you could hear a loud whistle. Shielding your eyes against the sun. You didn't know if your brain was making it up or if you were just lucky.

"Howdy, ladies."

"Well hello, ladies." A smooth voice with a familiar southern twang washed over you as you watched Ally's eyes bulge. "Can we buy the both of you another round of drinks?"

Moving your eyes over the group of aviators, you shook your head with a soft smile. Allison raised her glass at them and mimicked your action. "Actually Jimmy just made these for us, so we're good." 

"Oh come on, it's just a drink." The one standing behind you leaned closer, his breath hot on your neck and you thought you smelled that cologne again, like that one night back in Texas. 

Turning around you were met with the same face that had stolen your sleep at night ever since you moved on from the Lone Star State. Jake, the cowboy that had helped you fix the car as well as possible to get to the nearest shop. The guy that took you line dancing one night, and riding the next, so he could take you to the hottest make out spot in town like you were teenagers.

But right now he wasn't Jake, he was someone else. Too cocky for his own good and trying to impress his buddies.

"Yo, Hangman, come on. They're clearly not interested." The dark skinned aviator put his hand on his shoulder, trying to pull his friend away from you.

Shrugging him off, Jake moved his head closer and yet everyone heard what he said. "Last time you couldn't get enough of my darlin'. What's different this time around?"

Next thing he knew, the pilot was drenched in your drink, his mouth agape and trying to keep his eyes from stinging at the alcohol. You had hopped down from the stool and pushed your way through the crowd to get outside. Mourning not having gotten his number when you left to continue your road trip, the days having felt like a dream come true but now you felt relief. His southern charm had been replaced by too much cockiness and thinking he'd get everything with that smirk of his.

Inside, the barkeep sent him a disapproving look and turned back to the other patrons, refilling their drinks and taking on new orders. Allison patted his shoulder and shook her head. "Never thought I'd say this, but you're a fucking asshole Jake." She sent a wink towards his friend and left to find you, knowing it wouldn't be long before you gravitate back towards the cowboy.

“So, how long are you stayin’ here?" Jake asked you, sipping his beer in a bar the next town over.

Shrugging your shoulders you watched Allison laughing and dancing with one of the locals. “I guess as long as it takes to get the car fixed and then we’ll be gone and out of your hair.��

“Ah, don’t worry. Mom’s happy to have you around now that Laurie is back to workin’ and leavin’ the twins with her.” He chuckled, leaning back to look at you. It had been the second day you stayed with the Seresin family on their farm and he couldn’t help searching her out whenever she was near him. Also with him due to leave for TopGun he was glad for the two extra pairs of hands to help his Ma and Pa.

The blonde and you had been staying at the guesthouse, helping with feedings and paddock cleaning at the ranch, although horse riding wasn't too high on your agenda. "I'm not made for riding." You had commented, eyeing the chestnut stallion in his box.

"You know what they say: save a horse ride a" Jake never was able to finish that sentence before you had thrown the hay in his face. 

"What?" You saw a smile that brought out his dimples and couldn't help the curiosity about what he was thinking off. "Is it your girl?"

"Nah, actually I was thinkin' of gettin' you to ride out with me tomorrow." 

Pursing your lips, you gave him the best glare you could muster but the dark blonde just grinned at you. "I told you, I'll not be getting onto one of those four legged death traps."

Now he couldn't help the full bellied laugh that escaped his lips, the other patrons chuckling as you slid further down in your seat, a deep blush coloring your cheeks and disappearing underneath your shirt.

"Four legged death traps, that's a new one."  He took a swig of his beer and pointed a finger at you. "Rowdy is actually really sweet, despite his name and he's the best horse to be on, especially if you've never ridden before. Let's just try it once, maybe you'll like it and it'd be a nice memory before I leave for TopGun."

Your eyes widened at the admission, you hadn’t thought he would be doing something else besides work on his family’s farm and yet the thought of him in a uniform made you tingle, even though there’d never be more between you than stollen looks. "You're leaving? Are you in the Army?" 

"Navy, actually."

“So, you’re a sailor?”

Jake let out a soft chuckle, he knew you weren’t around these parts of the world, but curiously never thought you’d not have seen his awards when you were inside the main house. “I’m a pilot. Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service ma’am.”

Giggling softly, you couldn't help the smile that stole itself on your lips. Jake saluted you, sending a wink your way as he gulped down the rest of his beer. "Let's make it a date. You, me, Rowdy and Twink and an open field. Maybe a dip in the creek. What d'you say, darlin’?"

Who could say NO to a hot cowboy, who was a Navy pilot and was going to take a dip in the creek with you? - Yeah, no one. So you agreed, getting up with a broad grin the next day to meet Jake at the main house, but were stopped when you saw a bleached blonde hanging onto him, giggling at something he said.

“Come on Jakey, let's take Rowdy and Twink down to the creek and enjoy cooling off after…ya know. Get away from the farm and let the new help handle it with your parents.”

Sally had been his on and off fling since High School and she thought that Jake would be hers alone, but never thought about his first true love - flying his Super Hornet. So every opportunity she had, she'd make sure he'd only have eyes for her, so far it had worked quite well. He was a flirt and cocky, but most of the time a gentleman. 

Biting your lip your eyes met his and you turned back towards the main house of the farm before he could react, letting himself be dragged towards the stables by Sally.

“So why were you bragging like that back there?” Javy was the only one left from their little group of aviators after the scene Jake had caused. “Did you want to get her back for not getting her into your bed after all?”

“Fuck, no!” Having freshened up a bit, the sandy blonde ordered around for them both and moved to a quieter corner of the bar, talking and keeping an eye out for you. “I thought she’d flirt back like she used to that day I met her. Sally was totally unplanned and the next day it was as if nothing happened. We said our goodbyes and I left for TopGun.”

“But that’s not all. There must be a reason why you’re an asshole trying to get in her pants. I mean, she’s hot and if you fucked it up, I’d be glad to show her that not only Southerners are gentlemen.” The pilot grinned, taking a large gulp of his beer before he chuckled at the scowl on his friend's face. So far only Coyote had earned that title, the other students not really meshing with Hangman’s cockiness and arrogance, even though he was the best at the school.

“Swear that this conversation won’t leave this place. If you tell anyone I’ll deny it and send your ass to the bottom of the sea.” Placing his hand over his heart, Javy nodded his head. It might not leave the bar at the moment, but it sounded like it was a great piece for black mail. Letting out a soft sigh, Jake leaned forward, his words spoken so quietly that he had trouble making out the sentences. “I wanna be the best of the best because that asshole of a sperm donor told me I couldn’t. My Pa loves my Ma, he loves me as if I’m his own, but Greg left us hanging. I wanna prove that I’m better than him and that makes me do dumb shit and fuck up relationships and friendships. Phoenix is right behind me on the scoreboard but instead of being fair and telling her what a good pilot she is, that voice in the back of my mind tells me I’ll never beat her if I make nice. So, I’ll stick to what I know and start fucking shit up, leave others hanging. Same with women, I’m able to get every girl in this bar, I mean, there’s not much to it if you really think about it, they usually fall all over themselves to score with one of us each night, but with her, I fuck up.”

Blowing out the air he didn’t know he held in his lungs, Coyote watched his friend. Jake had always been different when it was just the two of them. Even back in Lemoore where both of them were stationed. It didn’t matter that they were on different squadrons, but they were friends. “You gotta do some serious groveling if you wanna win her over, but if you stick to your charm and stop the assholness you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m gonna marry her, Javy.”

“Thought you didn’t know anything about her.” He chuckled seeing the grin on Hangman’s face.

“I don’t, but she’s the one for me, that’s all I know.”

Divider © by @top-hhun​

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

Hello Borderlands fan. In front of you is a computer. You must write a compelling dissertation on why Wainwright Del Frisco Jakobs and Sir Alistair Hammerlock are a well written couple, without mentioning anything about how not forced nor stereotypically gay they are. If you fail I will use your credit card number to commission every Borderlands fanartist I know to draw the aforementioned gentlemen lovingly making out. Will you persevere... or will the homosexuality truly be forced upon you?

[elizabethrzg]

THE BIG BLORBO BATTLE

HELLO! I am going to be doing a GIANT poll tournament between all of my blorbos. I pitting them against eachother. may the most well liked of them live and win.

Each poll will be a day long and will begin as soon as I can make them the following day Winners for each round will be bolded Round 1 list is now split into two blocks bc of the amount of characters

ROUND 1

Laurence Zvhal (Minecraft Diaries) vs Wocky Kitaki (Ace Attorney)

Garroth Ro’Meave (Mystreet) vs Diluc Ragnvindr (Genshin Impact)

Gene (Mystreet) vs TKO (OK KO: Let's be Heroes)

Kaeya Alberich (Genshin Impact) vs Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney)

Collei (Genshin Impact) vs Trucy Wright  (Ace Attorney)

Hunter Wittebane (The Owl House) vs Knuckles The Echidna  (The Sonic Movie 2)

Dewey Duck (Ducktales 2017) vs Jay Walker (Ninjago)

Apollo Justice (Ace Attorney) vs Rayfa Padma Khura'in (Ace Attorney)

Travis Valkrum (Mystreet) vs Kaedehara Kazuha (Genshin Impact)

Scaramouche (Genshin Impact) vs Morro Wu (Ninjago)

Lloyd Garmadon (Ninjago) vs Louie Duck (Ducktales 2017)

Cole Brookestone (Ninjago) vs Clay Terran (Ace Attorney)

Leonardo Hamato (Rise of the TMNT) vs Sonic (The Sonic Movie)

Donatello Hamato (Rise of the TMNT) vs Matthomule Tholomule (The Owl House)

Dhurke Sahdmadhi (Ace Attorney) vs Jove Justice (Ace Attorney)

Sonic (Sonic Prime) vs Datz Are'bal (Ace Attorney)

Gus Porter (The Owl House) vs Fred Jones (Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated)

Steve Tholomule (The Owl House) vs Venti (Genshin Impact)

Micheal Mell (Be More Chill) vs Warren Graham (Life is Strange)

Daryan Crescend (Ace Attorney, but My Version inspired by friends) vs Chloe Price (Life is Strange)

Max Caufeild (Life is Strange) vs Emira Blight (The Owl House)

Steph Grinich (Life is Strange) vs Nahyuta Sahdmadhi (Ace Attorney)

ROUND 1

Nekoette (Minecraft Diaries) Vs Lukas (MC Storymode)

Dmitiri (Minecraft Diaries) Vs Larry Butz (Ace Attorney Fanon)

Edric Blight (The Owl House) Vs Childe (Genshin Impact)

Chongyun (Genshin Impact) Vs Adrien Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug)

Xingqiu (Genshin Impact) Vs Luka Coffaine (Miraculous Ladybug)

Bennett (Genshin Impact) Vs Lars Barriga (Steven Universe)

Razor (Genshin Impact) Vs Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Tomo (Genshin Impact) Vs Vylad Ro’meave (All)

Ahvram (The Frisco Kid) Vs Agent Zed (Agents: Shed and Zed)

Tommy (The Frisco Kid) Vs Tom (SVTFOE)

Sokka (Avatar: The Last Airbender) Vs Mabel Pines (Gravity Falls)

Garmadon (Ninjago) Vs Lewis Pepper (Mystery Skulls Animated)

Kay Faraday (Ace Attorney) Vs Darell (OK KO: Let's be Heroes)

Launchpad (Ducktales 2017) Vs Lord Boxman (OK KO: Let's be Heroes)

Wu (Ninjago) Vs Papyrus (Undertale)

Darreth (Ninjago) Vs Rad (OK KO: Let's be Heroes)

Ronin (Ninjago) Vs Lancer (Deltarune)

Cassandra “Casey” Jones (Rise of the TMNT) Vs Undyne (Undertale)

[jvzebel-x]

"hello, my name is frisco&i am addicted to shiny things."

🐱💘🪙

[magnuficent76]

I FUCKING LOVE SIR ALISTAIR HAMMERLOCK-JAKOBS AND WAINWRIGHT DEL FRISCO JAKOBS-HAMMERLOCK RAHHHH‼️‼️

Hello Nikolai

[timespass]

Hello Frisco! (1915)

Baritone Reinald Werrenrath & Soprano Olive Kline

[uneasylisteningradio]

Transistor Sister #158 March 19, 2023

Mini theme: Unusual, rare, and obsolete forms and methods of communication!

stream on Mixcloud

Freddy "Boom Boom" Cannon - Transistor Sister Small Faces - Lazy Sunday

Zounds - Dirty Squatters Kosmetika - House The Donnas - Boy Like You Pyhäkoulu - Exynyt Giorgio - Stop

Meiko Kaji - 芽衣子のふて節 Omega Tribe - Time for Change Warsaw - The Drawback The Toads - Nationalsville Fania All-Stars - Sabor Sabor

Baby Huey - Running Water Machine - Flowers Tyrades - I Am Homicide Silver Abuse - Plastic Rows Non Band - Vibration Army Vaaska - Invasion

Les Misérables - Western Union Stiff Little Fingers - Closed Groove Orchestral Manoeuvres In the Dark - Telegraph (The Manor Version 1981) The Fireballs - 3 Minutes Time Intense Molecular Activity - Blinxong Sam Ash and Elida Morris - Hello Frisco The Kinks - Party Line No-Song Kutkotz - Telegram Wreckless Eric - Semaphore Signals

The Baltimore and Ohio Marching Band - The Happy Wanderer Saphron - Sinner Man Vorsicht Kinder - Verschluck dich nicht Charles E. Funk Rebellion - It's Gonna Be the Death of You Dave Edmunds - Dynamite Memphis Jug Band - She Done Sold It Out Liaisons Dangereuses - Kess kill fé show

Chumbawamba - The Day the Nazi Died

[kirk-says-wah]

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

want to read the whole thing? You can find it here

Masterlist

Pairing: James/Lars

TW: end of the world, zombies, character death, blood and gore, loss of sanity, suicidal thoughts, smut

All they tend to do is walk and sleep these days.

In no particular direction, no way the compass turns.

James can’t sleep this particular night.

They’re stuck behind the counter in some once vintage shop, and Lars is asleep next to him, cheeks pink and eyes fluttering.

James can’t help it when his fingers sway, draw out the radio from his bag.

He wonders if Kirk is still alive, if he and Cliff have managed to push through the Frisco hell and out the other side.

He sniffs, lets his fingers skate over the metal.

He presses down on the button, brings it to his lips.

“Kirk?”

He lets the button go, static swaying through the air as he waits for a reply. One that doesn’t come.

He looks over at Lars, his face slack with sleep, cheeks shining under the light from the window, and he can’t help but reach out to him, just to hold any part of him. Just so he doesn’t feel so alone.

“Hello?” he asks again, uncertain now, dread starting to drown him as he blinks up to look at the mouldy popcorn ceiling, sniffs away the wetness that gathers under his nose.

“Kirk?” he tries, one last time, letting the button go only to hear the creak of static inch out of the expanse of the small room.

Lars shifts, murmuring softly, pressing his cheek into James’ thigh.

James pockets the radio, roughly wipes a hand under his eyes before scooting forwards to lie back, curling himself around his sleeping lover, hiding his face in his hair, just breathing him in.

He lets himself think of his previous life, for that is what it feels like now, and remembers all the things he had and all the things he wanted, not realising that he was living in bliss the entire time in that little flat. Even when his job at the garage was hard and he didn’t get paid on time and sometimes he and Lars would argue over things that didn’t matter and he’d have to sleep on the couch when the fights went too far. But he’d do anything now to get it all back. To be able to sit Lars down and apologise for all the things he did wrong, for getting stupidly drunk on work nights and forgetting their anniversary and for letting Lars think that he was doing it all alone.

James doesn’t know what he’d be without Lars, knows he’ll probably still be living with some kids from high school with no job prospects and not a dollar to his name.

In all honesty, he thought this would blow over eventually, this apocalypse thing, that after a while they’d go back to their flat, repaint it and get a bigger tv and they’d pretend none of this ever happened.

He crimps his hands around Lars’ waist, feels the sharpened angles of his ribs that used to be covered under a thin layer of squishy fat, and wonders just how far they’ll have to go before they lose each other. How far they’ll have to go before the world implodes and one of them is left alone.

— —

They’re somewhere quiet, following a little path closeted by trees and brush, leaves tickling James’ fingertips as they walk, Lars two steps behind.

They’re running low on water, and James really hopes they come across a shop soon. A gas station. A well. Anything.

The sun casts shadows over their footsteps, and a pulsing headache makes itself at home behind James’ eyes as they walk.

A shot suddenly ricochets through the silence and James immediately snaps backwards, finds Lars, or at least a part of him, the gun held high in his shaky grip, smoke pluming from the barrel.

“What the fuck?” James hisses, pushes Lars’ hand down, whipping his gaze through the trail. It stays empty.

Lars’ eyes are wide, blank, and James can’t help but feel he’s rubbernecking a car crash in slow motion.

“I-“ Lars starts, disarming the gun with a soft click, his stare traveling past James, over the path.

His eyes glaze over, and he swallows, finally looks up to meet James’ gaze.

When Lars makes no move to answer, James just turns away, pulls his backpack higher, his toes squelching in his sneakers.

“Cmon,” he mumbles, walking away, only the familiar sound of trailing footsteps doesn’t follow.

He frowns, pivots, finds Lars still staring back at him, face pale and slack.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking around in case he missed something.

But Lars just shakes his head, pocketing his gun before threading his hands into his backpack straps. He doesn’t say anything, and this silent Lars is starting to make James feel uncomfortable, because Lars was always the motormouth, he was always the one who could never shut up.

James is seeing him fade, but he won’t let him go. Not now. Not ever.

A strange sense of foreboding follows, but he nods forwards, swallows; Lars walks to stand next to him, squinting up at him under the searing sun.

“Okay?” James asks, but Lars doesn’t answer, continuing down the trail, leaving James feeling unzipped, like his stomach’s just fallen to his feet.

He sniffs, follows Lars.

They go as far as they can.

— —

The rain hits them hard, penetrating like a cool thin knife, waterlogging James’s thoughts as they fathom their way further up the road.

He can hardly hear over the gushing rain, thick globs landing on his face like tears.

“We should go back,” Lars shouts, moves soggy hair from his face as he squints through the onslaught.

They can’t go back. James knows they can’t go back.

They’re so close.

“James, we should go back.”

“We’ve got to keep going,” James hollers back, pulls his backpack further onto his shoulders, feels it dig into his armpits.

Lars stops walking, pivots, wrecked trainers squeaking against the gravel.

“We can’t keep going. There’s nothing out here.”

“We can’t go back,” James reiterates plainly, rubbing his wrist past his nose when his hair drips in his face.

Lars looks over him for a moment, frustration lapsing, like flipping through the pages of a book, until he screams, jamming a foot into the dirt.

“Fuck,” he cries, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Lars-“

“No fuck you, James. We shouldn’t even be going this way.”

James grits his teeth. Theres a crack of thunder above them but he hardly flinches, can hardly see at all.

“Kirk said to get as far as we can.”

“Kirk’s probably dead James!” Lars screams, getting closer, his wet fringe dangling in his face. “We can’t keep going this way.”

James shakes his head, water flying everywhere as it puddles around him, the rain never halting, only seeming to pour down quicker, harder, his thin jacket a poor shelter.

“We have to,” James says, hiccups, looks up at the sky, the flash of lightning. He tumbles backwards, slips, his palm flying out to reassure himself, holds himself up by the abandoned car next to him.

“No, fuck you,” Lars shouts, jabbing a shaky finger at him. “I’m not dying because you’re a stubborn bastard.”

He heaves, cheeks pink against his white pallor, droplets clinging to his lashes.

“I’m going back.”

He turns but James is too quick, yanks on Lars’s backpack. The younger man stumbles back with a grunt, and James takes advantage, pushes him hard into the car.

Lars’s back hits it with a dull thud, and Lars says fuck, tries to fight James off of him.

James pushes him back into the metal, hands fisted in Lars’ shirt, keeping him in place.

“You can’t - fuck.”

He flexes his hands in Lars’ tshirt. The rain pelts between them, James’ lips feel wet, his clothes sticking to him.

“We can’t go back. We’ve got to keep going.”

Lars goes to protest, but James just slams him back into the car door, desperation overriding vexation.

“I need you Lars,” he says. “I fucking need you.”

Lars’s eyes watch him, dart backwards and forwards, looking for a way in, a way to get James to understand. But the opening he once had is closed off, James closed his doors a long time ago, but he’ll be damned if he lets Lars go. He can’t do this alone.

“Okay,” Lars finally breathes, reaches between them to press a flat palm against James’s heaving chest.

James doesn’t let go, not yet.

Water starts to slide into his trainers, webbing in the holes in the soles.

Lars looks back at him. Open and coherent and - - there, a flicker of a younger Lars with the latest video from blockbuster and a bowl full of burnt popcorn and a laugh that still echoes in James’ ears, a spectre of a Lars where he’s still slightly scared of the dark and likes to sleep on the right side of the bed and likes to kiss each of James’ fingertips before he leaves for work - - James feels like maybe they can get through this.

Maybe everything isn’t so lost after all.

— —

Lars doesn’t say all that much anymore, but when he does, when he finally opens his mouth, James wishes for the silence.

His hands crack like pages turning, and he looks up at the sky, takes in the line of clouds.

“You used to like me,” Lars says, a few feet away. His face is thin, cheekbones carved out, pulling up the blinds like James can’t already see his ribs through his tshirt and his faith painted to the seam of his wrists.

“A long time ago,” Lars continues when James doesn’t answer, stops a moment to glance at his lover.

James just stares back, like he’s staring at the sun. Unsure. He’s not sure where Lars is going with this, if this is even Lars talking at all.

“What are you talking about?” James asks, because Lars can’t be talking about him.

“James,” Lars iterates, like he’s answering the question, and his face fractures, porcelain pieces falling away, no slither of light, hollow black.

James swallows thickly, grabs ahold of Lars’ arm like he’s scared he’ll float away.

He looks at Lars, and Lars looks back, and James feels lost in a way he’s not upended in months.

Lars’ geological fault cracks open, and it’s like walking on shattered glass, because there’s nothing James can say when every time he tries to glue him back together, Lars just cracks deeper, like tying a tourniquet on a wound that bled out months ago.

There’s nothing James can say when it seems Lars doesn’t have anything left to give.

Lars is folding, cards on the table, but James doesn’t want to play against him.

He wants to speak, but Lars’ name weighs heavy in his mouth, and instead he continues walking, keeps his hand around Lars’ waist like a bandage on a wound.

Familiarity is a faith line he wishes he’d snipped months ago.

— —

The fire burns steadily.

The air smells like soot and smoke, and James toes his boot into the gravel, throws another page from a magazine onto the flames, something they’d picked up as kindling at their last stop at a liquor store.

Lars is murmuring, mumbling; incoherent and muddled, like James is listening to him through the phone.

James throws some more paper on the fire. He feels vulnerable, the eucalyptus trees no real shelter from the black abyss above them.

His belly grumbles, a sharp cramp digging into his navel, and he knows they should think about finding some food. Maybe he can hunt something in the forest. Maybe they’ll come across another grocery store. He doesn’t keep his hopes up.

The air is thick, bursts of frigid air making sure he knows it’s started to incline its path towards winter.

He can’t remember how long they’ve been going but he knows it’s not July anymore.

The leaves are turning brown, crunching under his feet when he walks, littering the thorough-fare as they trek their way north.

Lars murmurs something, lips uncoordinated, and he leans forwards before abruptly sticking his hands in the fire, fingers shaking as they touch the shrivelled paper.

James isn’t quick enough.

The smell is putrid and greasy, like searing meat, and he pulls Lars’ hands out of the fire only for the skin to bubble and slide like wax. The sound is awful, sizzling as Lars’ hands pucker and wilt like meat on a stove, and James has to try not to throw up at the feeling of rubbery flesh sticking to his fingers.

Lars doesn’t even gasp, doesn’t make a sound. Just looks between James and his hands, like he’s letting himself melt away.

The taste of charcoal lies thick on James’ tongue.

— —

it hurts, James. it hurts so much

it’s okay. it’s okay, Lars

— —

Sometimes he thinks what’s the point. If this is going to be the rest of his life, watching his back, always running, then what is the fucking point.

He asks Lars that question one night. Lars is pressed into his side as they lay on their backs, James’ arm cocooning him safely, but he doesn’t look at James, continues to stare at the ceiling like it holds the answers to his thoughts, takes in the stains and the drip of a leak trailing down the side of the wall.

“I don’t know,” Lars finally says, breath harsh, fingers stiff as James presses indents into his wrist. Their hands hang over James’ hips, white bandages against grubby skin, and James wants to roll over, wants to pull Lars into him, wants to fade into one, wants to kiss his face so hard he gets a headache.

But when he turns his head, peers down at his lover, Lars looks away, looks to the doors, to the glass panels, to the dead people groaning across the asphalt in the sunrise. Looks anywhere but at James. Maybe it’s because he knows he won’t like what he sees.

James doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t let Lars pull his arm away, wraps the rope tight between them, knots it over and over until they fuse together and he knows Lars can never be without him.

They can only survive this together.

— —

They’re smuggled away in a decrepit living room.

James had found some candles in the linen closet, scattered them around in hopes of bringing in a little light.

It’s starting to get cold out, the air ghostly as they hunker down in a once bustling townhouse, and James pulls a frayed blanket from the back of the couch, wraps it around Lars’ shoulders.

Lars doesn’t say anything, but he gives a hint of a smile as a thank you, and James smiles back, if only feigned.

He collapses on the floor, back against the sofa, and Lars leans against him, head knocking against James’ shoulder.

He wonders, the same as other times before, just where he’d be without Lars.

Even when Lars is- well. Lars isn’t Lars. James still knows he can’t do this alone, knows that they rely too much on each other to ever let go.

And he finds his veins are stringed out onto Lars’ lay lines, like the familiar planes of the palm of his hand, and James knows that one day there’ll come a point where it’ll feel like stepping into a mall in the dark rather than crawling into feathered sheets.

Because Lars is Lars but not. Like a part of him walked away on a shadow, dying when the sun comes up, because now his face has lines he never used to have and he never shows his teeth anymore when he smiles.

And he’s here but not here, like greeting someone who’d died months ago. Like calling out his name in the dark only for another to be whispered back.

This isn’t the Lars James knows, but he guesses a mirror never looked so familiar.

The candle in the corner inclines backwards like James’ thoughts are melting it so vividly it can’t help but buckle. James wonders how his knees even stay in tact these days when it feels like he’s being pulled along at the waist, feet numbed and burning against the floor. In fact he’s not seen his feet in months.

He’d think it was disgusting if he could find it in himself to care.

Lars is still next to him, his shoulder pressed into James’, keeping him up and awake, and James can feel every muscle twitch, every breath stutter, like a car that keeps stalling.

James lets his hand trail up, smooth over the crown of Lars’ head, fingers carding through knotty brown hair.

James looks at Lars’ hands, past the bandages and the blisters, and instead sees the indents of rope burn and pink skin.

James knows then that he’s losing him. Lars has the their lives tied in his hands and his grip is starting to loosen, like he’s slowly letting the rope fray and pucker and wilt, even when his hands hurt and he’s straining to keep his head from hanging through the loop, chair knocked over, no hope in sight.

James doesn’t know when, or if there’s ever a time, to pull him back in. If maybe, he’ll tug on the rope too hard and Lars will let go completely.

Not when Lars will look at him through murky green eyes and say I’ve had enough James and James has to say no it’s fine you’re fine we’re fine it’s -

He lets Lars fall asleep against him and keeps his hand over his sternum, feels his chest move with every breath, and tries to convince himself that Lars is still breathing.

[spikewriter]

You’re right. I do want in because there are so, so many — and a lot of mine don’t have clips, sadly.

-The Pink Lady with Hazel Dawn, a frothy little 1911 musical at the New Amsterdam Theater before Flo Ziegfeld moved the Follies in. (Though he was a producer of this.) Main reason? My mom bought the score for this at a flea market for a quarter, so I grew up hearing the music. At one point, Hazel Dawn played “The Pink Lady Waltz” on stage with a violin.

-The Ziegfeld Follies of almost any year, but if I had to pick one, it would be 1915. W.C. Fields, Bert Williams, Ina Claire, Mae Murray, Olive Thomas, Marion Davies, and Ann Pennington were in the cast and the song “Hello, Frisco!” was introduced.

-The original cast of A Chorus Line, which I missed on my senior class trip in ‘77, though I did get to see Annie with the original cast, including Dorothy Loudon. “What I Did for Love” was the unofficial song of the drama section of our graduating class, because even at that age, the question, “What would you do if you couldn’t dance any longer?” resonated strongly with us. (There is, btw, a not great version of a B&W video taking at the Public Theater before the show went to Broadway on YouTube. I listen more than I watch, but that moment is still heartbreaking.)

-The Bandwagon, 1931. Another musical review and another one at The New Amsterdam, though this one was produced after the the Follies had ended. It was the last Broadway show Fred Astaire did with his sister Adele before she retired from the stage to marry and English lord. (Yes, the film Royal Wedding is partially based on her.) Frank Morgan was also in the cast, and that would have been a treat.

-Anything Goes, 1934, with Ethel Merman creating the role of Reno Sweeney. She did the role for the movie version, but Merman and the movie camera never seemed to be a great fit because she was too big. Would have loved to see her fill the stage with her personality, hitting back of the balcony in those days before there microphones.

And it’s so hard to pick just five. I’d love to have seen Pacific Overtures, but there’s also recording shot for Japanese Television out there on YT with the original cast, including Mako (and better quality than the Chorus Line video) . https://youtu.be/MQ546PASgHI?si=X8vvHvsWDdlSFVi1

I’d put Dreamgirls on the list, but I did get to see it with Jennifer Holiday here in Los Angeles when it opened on tour. (And she was amazing.) A Day in Hollywood, A Night In the Ukraine was another premiere tour production, a show that does not get enough productions, because we all need a revue of great classic movie songs performed by the ushers at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, including a tap dance rendition of the Motion Picture Code, and a second act which is the “great play Chekov never wrote” starring the Marx Brothers and Margaret Dumont. But there’s also Chess, which I saw in London and just missed in New York. Probably should put Les Miz on the list since that is a show I have managed to miss in London, New York and Los Angeles.

One show I really wouldn’t want to see was a muscial originally called Odyssey when I saw it on pre-Broadway tour. Starring Yul Brynner and Joan Diener, it’s one of the more notorious flops on Broadway. When I saw it, the show clearly needed work, but had some funny bits, especially Yul Brynner, who was hysterical as Odysseus masquerading as the beggar when he arrives home. But the show was re-worked quite a bit more, and not to good advantage. By the time it hit Broadway, it was retitled Home, Sweet Homer, and had 11 previews and 1 performance. Some stories say the closing notice as up as soon as the opening (and only) performance was finished. Other stories say it was posted during the intermission.

You have 5 tickets and a time machine to see any Broadway shows in the past

Which 5 shows are you seeing? It could even be off Broadway, a show you’ve already seen, a show you’ll never get to see, ANYTHING. Put your 5 shows in the hashtags…

[esters-notepad]

Here's my @chrumblr-whumblr story for day six! I'm one day behind now, and have no idea if/when I can catch up. Not right now, that's for sure... My Johnny Cash song for this day was "Give my love to Rose". I did the alternate prompt "Shouting" instead of the official "Tied to a chair", because there are no chairs in boxcars.

The boxcar seemed empty at first. Not empty empty - it was about one third full of wooden boxes, with some sacks thrown in for good measure - but there didn't seem to be any other stowaways in there. Tom sat down among the sacks and wiped the sweat from his brow. Every chuff of the engine and ka-chunk of the wheels meant freedom. Meant putting distance between prison and himself. Meant coming closer to home. Closer to Rose and Junior. Tom took out the smudged photo from his shirt pocket. It was from a carnival two years ago: Rose in her best dress, smiling at the camera; Junior proudly showing off his oversized front teeth; carnival tents and milling crowds in the background. The boy was seven years old back then. He'd be almost ten now, even bigger and stronger than on the photo. Old enough to be a real help for his ma. Poor Rose, this angel of a woman. She never complained in her letters, but Tom had no illusions that the past decade had been any easier on her than on him. He was constantly amazed that she hadn't married somebody else in the meantime, somebody who could provide for her and Junior. But finally, these years lay behind them. Tom was free now. He was coming home. He softly stroked Rose's face in the picture, then tucked it away solemnly and leaned back against the wall.

It had already been dusk when he'd snuck into the boxcar just outside Frisco. Now, the light was getting too dim to see by. The swaying and rocking of the train was lulling Tom to sleep. He yawned and stretched his arms, then kneeled on the floor to say his prayers. He'd barely gotten to Thy Kingdom come when a light was lit at the other end of the boxcar, behind a pile of boxes.

"Hello?" Tom called. "Who's there?"

"Who's there, he says," said a querolous voice. "Who's there? That's what I should be asking!"

Around the pile of boxes came a tramp, muttering to himself. His clothes were dirty and worn to rags, his feet were bare, and most of his teeth were missing. He carried an old kerosene lamp, which he shone right into Tom's face. Tom squinted and blinked.

"I don't like your face," the tramp complained. "And what are you kneeling for? Makes you look like an idiot."

Tom sat down on the floor. "I was praying," he said with as much dignity he could muster.

"Ha! You are an idiot, then. Still believes in the great pie in the sky when you die. Got any food?"

"No. Just some water."

"What good are you, then? Got any money?"

That money is for Rose, Tom thought. He carefully said: "Do you really think I'd be stowing away in a boxcar if I had money for a ticket?"

"Don't get clever with me, boy!"

The tramp came closer, and so did his smell of old piss and rotten teeth. Tom breathed through his mouth and tried not to gag. The tramp put his lamp down on the floor and grabbed the front of Tom's jacket. Tom's pocket flask made a clucking sound. With a loud "A-ha!" the tramp grabbed it and started pouring the contents down his throat, only to spit it out again, all over Tom's face.

"I don't want liars in my boxcar," he said menacingly.

"I said it was water!" Tom protested.

The tramp didn't listen. "You're a liar!" he shouted. "You're a liar, and a hoarder, and a phony. Get out!"

And he opened the door of the boxcar. The wind howled past the opening. It was dark outside, but Tom still got an impression of great speed.

"I can't!" he stammered. "Too fast... Let me wait until the next switch, at least. Please!"

"I don't want your kind here!" the tramp shouted.

And with surprising strength, he forced Tom towards the door and through it.

[sports-teller]

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List of Frisco RoughRiders 2024 Fireworks Shows

What Days Will the RoughRiders Show Post-Game Fireworks in 2024? List of Frisco RoughRiders 2024 Fireworks Shows at Riders Field! Hello Everyone! Welcome to Sports Teller! Today, we will be going over the List of Frisco RoughRiders 2024 Fireworks Shows! Without further adieu, let’s begin! List of Frisco RoughRiders 2024 Fireworks Shows Going to the RoughRiders Baseball Game This Season? Looking to Catch the Fireworks at Riders Field in 2024? Now that the upcoming season is upon us, you might be thinking “Will they show fireworks this year?” Well, you’re in luck! In 2024, the Frisco RoughRiders (Double-A Farm Team … Read more

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