#i know i know american glass houses blah blah blah but

[dutybcund]

finally watching jonny's 'actors on actors' and have once again been confronted with the way brits say nike. please give me a moment.

[bllsbailey]

When Your Dog Makes a Mess...

Ever had a puppy? Did it ever destroy a pillow or piece of furniture and leave you with a huge mess? Sure. Probably. At first, you get angry for a minute. Maybe you stayed angry for an hour. Or a week. But then, after you calmed down for a bit, you mellowed out because you know that's just what puppies do. They can't help it. They don't hate you. They just cannot fight their nature.

This past weekend, Joe Biden left us a big mess. This past weekend, he issued a very carefully-worded pardon for his convicted criminal baby boy. Even after he repeatedly stated that he would not. He lied. But he can't help it. It's his nature. It's just what he does.

These people have no conscience. But as Biden happily leaves the White House and totters blissfully into full-blown senility, he doesn't care. 

What are you gonna do to me? As long as I get free ice cream for life (what's left of it) and a cushioned toilet chair with a presidential seal, I'm content. I don't care what any of you think.

Now, this came as no surprise to anyone. Not even KJP, who keeps a red binder marked "Break Glass in Case of Emergency" hidden behind her trash can for the inevitable announcement over which she will be thoroughly questioned.

"Karine, did the president lie to the American people?"

"No, Peter [Doocy]. As we've stated before and said many times, the president loves his son very much and simply wants what's best for him...Blah, Blah, Blah...and Blah."

So Biden lied a bunch of times over the course of the past year, saying he would not pardon Hunter Biden. Now he's done it. And, of course, it will never get the coverage it deserves.

MUST-SEE: CNN Makes Dan Goldman Watch His Past Proclamation That Joe Biden Would Never Pardon Hunter

WATCH: Supercut of Corrupt Media Waxing Poetic Over Biden's Now-Nuked Claim He Wouldn't Pardon Hunter

Anyway...Biden pardoned Hunter. But it was a very unusual pardon. If you read it, there are two things that might jump out at you. The first is his claim that his boy was unjustly pursued by law enforcement. But...wasn't that your own DOJ, Joe? Why would they do that? Perhaps because the matter garnered enough attention from "right-wing media" that it would have been impossible to ignore, so they had to do it? Knowing full well that if dragged out long enough, you could pardon him before he had to spend a day in jail?

Let's see...who else has been unjustly pursued by Joe Biden's DOJ? Donald Trump? A lot of January 6 people who are still sitting in jail awaiting their right to a quick and speedy trial? I don't think Joe is going to pardon them for similar reasons. I think his convictions are self-serving and situational.

Second, the Biden Pardon covers Hunter from 10 years ago up until December 1, 2024, for anything and everything he did or may have done, or thought of, or may not have thought of during that time period. Gee, now, why would he do that? I'll leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions. I bet they will hit you pretty fast, though. Democrats aren't stupid, but they are crafty. Crafty like a cat that won't do his business on the rug but will do it in your shoes if you forget to feed him.

All of this is pretty disgusting. None of this is supposed to happen here. Justice is supposed to be blind, and none of us (as Democrats have repeatedly reminded us) is above the law. This is what we were promised since grade school. Now, this might make you angry. It probably makes you outraged. And you justifiably should be if you care about this country. But fear not. There is a silver lining. 

Joe Biden said he would not pardon Hunter for multiple federal convictions, and then he did because he's a good Daddy. Joe Biden sent the FBI to Mar-a-Lago and raided Trump for keeping classified documents at home. Trump was charged. When Biden was found to be guilty of the same thing a few months later, there was no raid. And Grandpa Joe was absolved because he was simply a nice, well-meaning older gent who, while being mentally well enough to be President of the United States, was not mentally well enough to remember the boxes and boxes of classified documents that he routinely backs his Corvette into.

Joe Biden and Joy Reid and Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer and KJP and the clique of cool kids at school will package this up as the beautiful Hallmark love a father has for his son or something, put a bow on it, and drop it under the tree. Love and forgiveness and the Holiday (nee Christmas) Spirit, etc., etc., etc., and if you believe otherwise, you are a hurtful and hateful person.

Silly people, read the room. You lost the election. Badly. The electoral vote, the popular vote, and the swing state vote. Get a clue. America doesn't believe you anymore. They're not eating your secret sauce. Your DEI, your lawfare, your lies to our faces, and especially your elitist double standards are now showcased spectacularly by the Biden pardon as it waves gloriously in the breeze like a gay pride flag in Kabul.

Now, Progressives might be smart enough to realize this intellectually, but their hearts won't let them accept it. They will keep pressing their ideas and malign anyone who disagrees. They won't criticize the Biden pardon, and they won't forsake the party. Like untrained puppies, they'll continue to make a mess because they can't help it. They cannot fight the urge. It's just what they do. Hypocrisy and double standards forever memorialized in the Congressional Record and in the history books.

Thanks, Grandpa Joe. Thank you for this gift — this marvelous mess you've left us with. You've just given us all a lot to think about over the next few election cycles.

[itdobethatbitch]

Blah blah personal shit... also tumblr mobile is killing me I don't know how to remove the poll and I don't know how to put a read more so....you can suffer with me

It is frustrating to have a rough relationship with my mom and maternal grandmother. They have done so much for me and I love them but they are...kind of awful people. My grandmother let my grandfather beat my mother and throw mugs and glass cigarette trays at her. They give her grief about paying back money but give my uncle however much he wants without a word about paying them back.

And my mom is...she has mental illness issues. Mainly bipolar and hoarding. And when I say hoarding people tend to think I'm exaggerating, but she will not stop buying just...junk. we have a trail through the house we can walk, and in a different house we are working on it is filled to the fucking brim with....just stuff and it is horrendous and I can't clean anything because everything is just piled on each other. And she has pain issues and I know that but she doesn't move. She goes to work where she sits

(she is a 911 dispatcher, so yeah the job is mentally stressful but that's not the point. The point is she just sits for hours)

She comes home and sits on the couch or sleeps. On her days off, she sleeps. I'm the one who does her laundry. I'm the one who tries to keep up with the dishes. She cooka about every other week and makes a good meal. She is a great cook. But she acts like it is such a struggle. She smokes and drinks monster energy constantly. She doesn't ever actually drink water but she chugs that Clear American flavored sparkling water stuff. She is diabetic but eats sweets constantly. Nerds is a big think she is into right now.

But just constantly eating junk food and never moving of course your gonna feel like shit. And she does things like carry heavy shit instead of asking me to help and she hurts herself. And I can't feel bad for her when she whines because she is doing it to herself. I want to help her but she doesn't listen to anything and I am at my limit.

I dont know how to support her when she doesn't want to help herself. She is going to die and leave me to deal with the rest of the family shit and my father already has one foot in the grave so I worry about him. I don't know how to manage all this. On top of that I learning more about feminism and trying to make my father understand that the personal stories he experienced is not the norm of how women are treated and he just doesn't get it and I want to support the women I'm my family but I also just kind of fucking hate how they are as people.

[youzicha]

Actually I think this has great potential! Like,

Whither Tartaria?

Looking out over the modern city, we see a stark hellscape of angular boxes, devoid of ornamentation. You only have to go on social media to realize how universally hated these buildings are. And indeed in surveys, 76% say that they much prefer lavishly ornamented 19th-century architecture. [Picture of a modern and a 19th-century house.] This raises a great mystery: how did we go from humane, livable buildings to these oppressive cuboids of glass and concrete?

The skilled journalist Wom Tolfe did a deep dive to uncover the real story.

How Did Modern Architecture Start?

Behind the original modern houses was a highly ideological, religious project. For the Puritans in New England, the house was a religious and symbolic structure.  They were thought to represent both Christ’s divine body and the organization of society. And the key concept in Puritan thought was simplicity, meaning plainness in all material things.

They believed that by living in austere plain houses, the inhabitants would awaken to the spiritual realm. Accordingly, they constructed drab gray structures, which aimed for deliberate ugliness to avoid worldly temptations. [picture of the Witch House at Salem]

The Puritan architecture quickly became the norm in all of New England, and to this day the Cambridge Planning Board maintains the historical character of the city. [picture of an ugly blue house on Broadway]

How Did It Take Over The Academy?

To understand how this style spread outside the core New England area, we have to understand two trends. First, the dramatic rise of Harvard University and Yale University to the apex of American (and therefore world-wide) society. These universities, located in the middle of New England, [... blah blah]

The elite Ivies alone would not have been sufficient. The other contingent historical fact was the rise of the Nazis in Germany. A crop of famous German architects, such as Walter Gropius, were forced to flee. They were incredibly charismatic, "handsome to women, correct and urbane in a classic German manner, a lieutenant of cavalry", and the American yokels were star-struck.

But the admiration was mutual. As soon as Gropius arrived on American soil (in Massachusetts, the heart of the old Puritan counties), he was mightily impressed with the local architectural form, and set out to make it his own. He built what is now known as the Gropius House, aiming to "absorb into my own conception those features of the New England architectural tradition that I found still alive and adequate", and he succeeded beyond measure: it became the seed of what is now know as the International Modernist style.

[... blah blah ...]

The house the Gropiuses built for themselves in 1938 in Lincoln, Massachusetts (now known as Gropius House) was influential in bringing International Modernism to the US, but Gropius disliked the term: "I made it a point to absorb into my own conception those features of the New England architectural tradition that I found still alive and adequate."[24]

[lothirielswandc]

I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM (Starring John Constantine's Impeccable Parenting skills)

*This is a one-shot special for 3k views; it can be read regardless of where you are in the story*

— TWO YEARS AGO —

— LONDON —

“This is so stupid.”

“Oi! I’m not enjoying myself, either. I could be doing a lot more interesting things on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Yeah, I’m sure liver failure is a big commitment.”

“Okay,” Zatanna scooted forward, leaning between Raven and Constantine from the back seat. Raven’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel. When she glanced in the rearview mirror, she saw Etrigan calmly lick his thumb and turn the page on his copy of People Magazine.

“You’re a bloody seventeen year-old. How do you not know how to drive?” Constantine complained, turning in shotgun to give Raven a judgemental look.

She gritted her teeth. She did not like being in such close confines with him. His comments were getting on her nerves. And he smelled. The sharp aroma of liquor mixed with stale vomit. “I’ve been busy.”

“Like you’re one to judge, John.” Zatanna quipped, shifting to keep her uncomfortable position. “You’re terrible behind the wheel. How did you even get a license?”

“When most sods my age were reenacting the end of Thelma and Louise, I was mastering the dark arts.”

“Mastering is generous. Oh, Katy Perry’s new album is venerous,” Etrigan flipped to another page.

“Alright—we’re off topic, I don't want to be parked here all day. Set the knob to drive and let’s shove off.” Constantine grumbled.

Raven did as she was told and pulled on the “knob.” When it was level with the drive setting, the car started to inch forward in the empty parking lot.

“You’re doing great, sweetie. Let’s go over some basic driving rules first—” Zatanna offered.

Constantine dismissed her with a hand. “Blah blah blah, just ignore her. Here’s what you need to know: green means go. Yellow means go faster. Red means go when the coppers aren't looking.”

“Yeah, most of what you said is illegal,” Raven rolled her eyes. In the process, her gaze was drawn to the dashboard, “Can we turn the music on?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Zatanna and Constantine exchanged a glare.

“She needs to focus. She’s not used to this,” Zatanna remarked.

“Any situation is improved with Led Zeppelin, Zee,” Constantine gestured at the slowly-inching car, “and this one is in dire need of some improvement. Roth, go to the stop sign. It’s time to release you into the population—and there’s a gas pedal there for a reason. Step on it.”

Raven tapped the other pedal with her foot. The car lurched forward and the stop sign blurred past as they met oncoming traffic.

“WOAH—!” Zatanna leaned over and straightened the wheel. Constantine’s face was squished up against the window. Etrigan barely glanced up from his magazine.

“I never gave Chaz enough credit for raising a daughter,” Constantine yanked himself off the glass surface, rubbing his face. “Bloody hell.”

Raven hardly caught his words. She was too busy trying to figure out the maze of roads before her. Everything was backwards: Londoners drove on the left, opposing every American street she’d been exposed to for the past few years. She hunched down, squinting, trying to stay in between the lines. Raven’s foot cried out in protest of being set at such an odd angle for a long period of time.

“You’re not even on the road—you’re in the other lane, you have to level yourself!” Constantine gripped the dashboard in front of him.

“I’m trying—stop yelling at me!” Raven snapped at him.

“Should’ve let Boston join us. He’s dead; he can't die in a car accident. He’s immune,” Constantine covered his eyes.

Something red filled the rearview mirror. “Here’s Boston—oh, fuck.”

“Shit—shit!” The car swerved. Raven winced as horns blared around her. She sank down lower in her seat.

“Boston!” Zee swatted the air that depicted the ex-trapeze artist’s spectral form. “Bad timing! We’re busy!”

“What? Etrigan texted and said you were getting ice cream.” Boston Brand settled into the empty seat behind Constantine, floating in the unoccupied space.

“You can't even eat it.” Zatanna pointed out.

“Don't rub it in! I don’t go for the food: I love scaring the kids that work at Dairy Queen by turning the machines on and off.”

Raven shook her head, keeping her eyes on the road. “I should’ve never returned to society. I should’ve stayed in Themyscira—no, I should’ve sailed to an empty island and lived out the rest of my life with a coconut named Wilson.”

“Don't steal my plan B,” Warned Constantine.

Boston’s form went through Constantine’s chair, his face hovering before the infamous Hellblazer. “You don’t look so good, Johnny. ‘Ey, kiddo, maybe you should stop by a bathroom.”

“Don’t bother. I went on that last turn.”

“Ew.” Boston shuddered and melted into the backseat. Raven chewed on her bottom lip as a traffic light appeared ahead.

“We’re turning right,” Zee instructed her.

“If you run over pedestrians, you get bonus points!”

“Boston, I will banish you to hell, so help me...”

Raven turned on the blinker and the car started to slow. She heard someone uncap a marker and scribble across parchment.

Raven’s eyes slid towards Constantine’s seat. “Are you drawing a pentagram right now?”

“It’s a sign. ‘Says impaired driver. Boston, take this and tape it to the back of the car. Give the wankers some warning.”

“Uh, this says insane driver, not impaired—”

“Shh! Just do it!”

The car steadily approached the crosswalk. Raven looked up and down the street for anyone walking, hopefully not future victims.

“Is that...Nanaue?”

The massive shark was hurrying across the road with his laptop; he was attending MIT online in order to spend more time with John. Apparently, the half-man, half-shark hybrid was an excellent tech wiz.

“Do not hit my boyfriend,” Constantine ordered.

“I'm not—although, for the record, I do not enjoy listening to you hook up with a shark every night.” Raven involuntarily shuddered, shoving away flashbacks of certain thuds late at night that reverberated throughout the House of Mystery.

“Agreed,” Boston nodded along with her. “Thank god for the vinyl records—that Marina lady’s a saint. What is she, Welsh?”

“And Greek.”

“Wow. A literal Greek goddess. Can we listen to her right now?”

“NO!”

The stop light turned yellow.

“Speed up, Raven. This light takes forever,” Zatanna replied.

“Slow down,” Constantine countered. “Do not hit Nanaue. That tall pile of earth-defying genetics is my one source of happiness.”

“High talk from the guy who just said ‘yellow’ means speed up,” Zatanna rolled her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Raven, step on it. We have places to be.”

“Why the rush, Zee? Is there a specific reason you don't want to see him—? You will stop at that crosswalk, young lady!”

“John, don't be an ass. This has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with me wanting ice cream before Boston terrifies the villagers!”

Raven had enough. She shouted over the chaos, “WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP? CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW OR I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND NO ONE’S GETTING ICE CREAM!”

Raven turned her attention back to the road. A tower of silver with a glimmering sheen rose before her. In a hoodie with khakis.

Raven slammed on the breaks. Constantine face-planted against the windshield. Zatanna yelped as her seatbelt tugged her back against the tan leather seats. Boston went flying forward, floating past the outside of the car.

When the car fully stopped, Raven shut her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She opened them, and a massive shark (with all limbs attached) waved at them from the front of the car.

Constantine pulled his face away from the glass (again) and turned to her, “No casualties. A broken nose. An intact boyfriend. Not bad, Roth.”

Boston floated back to the car, scowling, “Uh, I’d like to revisit the ‘no casualties’ part!”

Etrigan finally looked up from his copy of People Magazine, “Are we there yet? Why is Constantine covered in sweat?”

“Because parenting bloody sucks, that's why!”

[attrociteas]

here’s my frat boy with a horrible sense of style i mean james i mean my america oc since i can’t find a fc for him. just a buncha picrews and a bio

BASICS

NAME: James Frederick Jones 

Last name formerly Kirkland, changed since 1776. 

BIRTHDAY: Celebrates it on July 4 

AGE: Approx. 400 years old. He comes into existence in the late 1600s to early 1700s.

GENDER: ??? he/they to those he is close to. Usually just he/him. 

SEXUALITY: Bisexual, with equal preference for any gender. Has been more or less open about it, though the AIDS crisis in the US (c. 1980s/1990s) led to him being a lot more reserved and at times uncomfortable with his sexuality. 

LANGUAGES: Fluent in English, Spanish, Russian, French, and German. Speaks fairly good Mandarin, some Japanese. Basic knowledge of a couple other languages, nothing substantial. 

RELIGION: American civil religion. Non-denominational Protestant on paper. He will even tell you he is Christian or that he believes in God but he doesn’t really know what that means nowadays, and he hasn’t actually participated in any form of sacred ritual ever. 

LOCATION: Hops between Philadelphia and New York City quite frequently, prefers the former for its closeness to DC when he’s busy with government work. Has a couple of properties all over the country, but his favorite for when he wants to get away from the city is his house in Virginia. 

EDUCATION: Most of his intensive tutoring was received under Arthur’s tutelage. He was tutored by humans (and occasionally Arthur himself) on various subjects, particularly philosophy, political economy, history, literature, mathematics, and languages (French and German). During the late 18th century, he took various courses on political economy and government at Harvard. He earned a doctorate degree in politics & economics from Harvard in the 1880s. He tried to get into robotics in the 1950s & 1960s and failed comically at it. Microbiology is his latest love. Since the early 2000s he’s been studying fungi. 

OCCUPATION: Personification/representation of the United States of America. He holds stocks in various companies and owns/rents property. Basically, he doesn’t need to work. Government work takes up a significant amount of his time and he’s fine with that. When he’s not busy, he’s busy trying to find other things to keep him busy to keep him from losing his mind. 

PHYSICAL && APPEARANCE

FC: tbd.

HEIGHT/WEIGHT & BUILD: 6'0 / 200lbs 

CLOTHES/STYLE: Fairly casual on the day-to-day, has a particular love for flannels and dumb looking hoodies. Expensive suits and coats for meetings and other professional events. 

HAIR: Short, dirty blond hair.

EYES: Gray with a tinge of blue. Has shit eyesight and refuses to wear contacts unless it’s for flying/piloting, so he’s always wearing glasses. 

MARKS/SCARS/OTHER NOTABLE CHARACTERISTICS: tbd. 

ILLNESS: Nothing chronic. 

PERSONALITY

MBTI TYPE: ENFP 

ALIGNMENT: True Neutral. 

DIAGNOSES: Formally diagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and dyslexia. //

blah blah I will write a personality thing here at some point. Some notes.

Was extremely insecure as a child, honestly more or less continues to be up through to the present day even though he acts as if he is very confident. Has a chronic need for other people to like him, will get childish when that’s not the case. 

For that reason he is obsessed with seeming cool to other and is always eager to hop into trends/fads. Cursed taste in music but also listens to some bangers

Really very sociable and charming on the outside; also extremely observant and good at remembering small details about people. 

Obsessed with his status as a powerful nation and has been even when the idea of power was just an illusion of grandeur (i.e. 19th century). Makes him paranoid as shit. 

Always trying to measure up to some ideal and he’s not quite sure what the ideal is.

Cries when the dog dies in movies. 

Collects stamps and model cars. Has them all at his home in Virginia and is eager to show them off. 

Conspiracy theories about aliens can I get a hell yeah 

Loves airplanes and is a pretty good pilot. Has considered doing it full time but was prevented for doing so for a couple reasons (tba)

He pretends he knows shit about computers but for someone so young, he is actually not very good with them, and he gets upset when he doesn’t understand Twitter memes. Not being good with tech upsets him but in a way that’s kinda funny to outsiders. 

He spends long nights scrolling social media instead of sleeping, drinks too much caffeine, and doesn’t understand why he feels so empty at the end of most days. Doesn’t click for him that the fact that he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone in three days is probably a contributing factor to this, but he tends to lose track of the passage of time.

Will debate about anything; he’ll just stick with his own point of view at the end because he’s not actually debating for understanding but because he’s bored. *cough* debate is a gateway drug to centrism

Surprisingly easy to manipulate just because he’s not very introspective. He’s not going to realize you’re doing it tbh. 

FAVORITES, HABITS, MISC.

FAVORITE COLOR: Green

FAVORITE LITERARY WORKS: Bold of you to assume he reads. I’m kidding. He likes Pynchon and science fiction a lot. 

DRINKING / SMOKING / DRUGS: Occasionally, mostly socially / Occasionally / Yeah more tbd

PETS: Recently adopted a Dalmatian that he calls Spock. 

HISTORY

So much, too long, etc. I can’t write it all out here. If you want my interpretation or thoughts on a particular event or period, just message me. Otherwise, you’ll see historical takes on this blog when you see them. If you want sources on US history, also feel free to contact me. 

[illegal-spiegel]

Firsts with Kyoya

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x f!reader Genre: Fluff, vv light smut Warnings: smut at the end. CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP

First Meeting:

surprisingly enough, the way you two met was through his father 

you just moved from America and your dad had business with Kyoya’s 

after meeting you, Kyoya’s dad, Yoshio Ootori, was determined to have you meet his son 

you made arrangements to come back when his son was there, wanting to please your father

it’s hard to do such a thing 

you are an only child and a female 

in America, it would’ve been easier to take over his company

but in Japan? 

it’s near impossible now 

either way, you do all you can to make the man happy  

and if making an arranged marriage with this boy would do that, then you’d do it in a heartbeat 

even if you’d rather marry someone you love

you came back the next day for lunch, sitting at a big table with the Ootori family and your mother and father 

Kyoya was nowhere to be found 

suddenly, you hear a boisterous voice come from outside of the large dining room 

“But, Kyoya! I need help with my Japanese! I also want to use one of those Kotatsu things!” you hear someone shout in Japanese, but with an accent 

you don’t hear a response

instead, you hear a maid softly tell the gentlemen that Kyoya’s family and the guests are waiting in the dining room 

there are then quick footsteps to the dining room 

two maids open the door and in strolls a blond and a raven-haired male 

they both stare at Mr. Ootori before looking around the table 

both of their eyes eventually stop on you 

“Son, you’re late, and you brought a guest,” Mr. Ootori says with a hidden emotion

they are both silent for a moment before the blond speaks up 

“Sorry, Mr. Ootori. I can leave. I held Kyoya up an-”

“It’s alright. Why don’t you both take a seat?” he says in a sugary sweet tone, motioning for a maid to set another place down for the blond 

Kyoya was sat right across from you 

his gaze makes you feel insecure all of a sudden 

“Sorry about being so late. I’ll make it up to you somehow,” Kyoya apologizes to your family 

your father speaks up first, smiling at him as he did so 

“No worries, young man.” 

you could hear his American accent when he spoke 

he then glances at you, expecting you to say something  

your eyes widen at this realization as you clear your throat 

“Oh, uh, yes. It’s quite alright. We were quite early, anyway,” you reassure 

Kyoya gives you both a smile, it seeming a bit fake to you but you weren’t about to call him out on it

“Let’s eat,” his father announces 

from there, you ate in silence and only spoke when spoken to, just like your father taught you

about halfway through lunch, the blond started speaking to you 

he introduced himself and you both started a conversation from there

you couldn’t help to let the serious facade fade and to smile at the boy 

he was very sweet and funny, even if he was kind of loud

you discovered he’s quite goofy 

after dinner, Mr. Ootori offered to show your dad to his office to talk further about business plans 

he instructed his son to ‘entertain’ you 

you, Kyoya, and Tamaki made your way out

“What would you like to do, Miss (L/n)?” Kyoya asks in a formal tone 

you hold back a frown at his tone 

is he always so serious? 

“Let’s go to the garden! I’m sure (Y/n) would like it!” Tamaki basically shouts 

Tamaki offers you his arm, which you happily take

he then leads you to the garden which you did, in fact, fall in love with 

Kyoya was relieved that Tamaki was easily able to entertain you but knew his father would be mad at him if he found out it wasn’t his son who was the one entertaining you

so with that thought, he comes over to you and starts informing you on the different flowers, their meaning, etc. 

you spend some time with the two boys in the garden before hearing your dad’s booming voice

you turn and see your father waiting on you, nodding your head to let him know you heard him

you turn back to the boys and flash them a smile, bowing to them since you read that’s what you’re supposed to do when thanking someone

“Thank you for showing me the garden. See ya later,” you thank before walking away to go over to your father

Kyoya’s eyes follow your figure as you leave, the gears in his mind churning 

First Time Hanging Out:

Kyoya’s father never told him why exactly he had to interact with you so much

“Text Y/n.” “Invite Y/n over for dinner.” “Give Y/n a call.”

and now, he wants him to take you out

his father made reservations for you two at one of the most expensive restaurants in the area, then making plans to go see a musical 

when you saw a limo outside of your house, you grew very nervous 

this felt like a date

but like not a date?

Kyoya was taking you to places that couples go on dates but Kyoya just didn’t really seem interested in you? 

you get into the limo with a smile slapped onto your face, kindly greeting the handsome male 

he greets you before going quiet

he then remembers that he’s supposed to get you to like him or whatever his father said 

so, he strikes up a conversation with you  

you quietly respond as he speaks to you, feeling a little uncomfortable 

about halfway to wherever you’re going, he seems to give up on talking to you 

you feel a bit guilty for not really participating in the conversation but how could you?

he was acting like someone is holding a gun to his head and forcing him to talk to you

you sigh as you stare out the window, your eyes lighting up at the sight 

the sun was setting, making reds and oranges paint the sky

Kyoya notices the look in your eyes, a weird feeling coming up in his chest 

he helps you out of the car once you reach the restaurant, not seeing the expression on your face

the said expression on your face is one of shock 

sure, your dad is a CEO of a company but that doesn’t mean you are insanely rich and get to blow your money on whatever

your dad gave you money when you asked for it 

which is close to never 

as you both take your seats, your entire body is stiff

you felt like if you breathed too much, you’d knock the expensive vase full of flowers off the table somehow 

Kyoya notices your tense state but doesn’t comment on it 

when you’re brought your menus, you try to find the cheapest thing available, which is not cheap at all in your book 

you didn’t even have an appetite anymore 

finally, Kyoya can’t take it anymore 

“Would you like to go somewhere else?” he offers

you let out a breath of relief, nodding your head with a small smile

“Yes, please,” you whisper

he offers a hand to assist you to stand up, you lightly taking it 

once outside, he turns to face you 

“Where would you like to go?” 

you look around before spotting a McDonald’s, smiling as you point it out 

“I want to go there,” you say with a bright smile 

Kyoya internally groans at the sight of the greasy place, wondering why you’d want to go there out of all places 

“Alright. Let’s go,” he says in an almost monotone voice 

you happily lead the way, your stomach growling a bit 

you didn’t really care for McDonald’s all that much but it reminds you of home 

of America 

you order for the both of you and pay before he can even blink 

you lead him to a table once you get your food, giggling at his expression 

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

he studies the food as you eat a fry, acting as if it’ll start moving 

“It’s fine. Besides, you paid for it,” he says softly, picking up a fry and slowly eating it 

he wouldn’t admit it out loud but it didn’t taste that bad 

you both eat and, surprisingly, have a proper conversation 

you seemed much more relaxed and happy as you ate the fatty food 

Kyoya just didn’t understand you 

after you both finished eating, he told you about the musical 

you agreed to go to that since you changed the food plans 

you go together and you both actually enjoyed it. It was entertaining in different ways 

once he takes you home, you were kind of sad to leave 

he and Tamaki are the only things you have close to friends 

First Dance:

okay yeah, so, normally people don’t dance unless they go to a school dance or their significant other is just that romantic 

but the Ootori’s are far from normal 

they hold some sort of ball every year for some reason or another (you weren’t really listening)

your father made you dress up like a princess

makeup and all (you look kinda like a clown in your opinion. Your face feels ten times heavier)

after knowing Kyoya and Tamaki for a while now, you were all kind of friends now

if you can call it that 

you and Tamaki are for sure

you hang out all the time

Kyoya though? 

you weren’t sure if you could call him a friend 

Tamaki told you that they associate with each other because of a club

Kyoya would have no interest in him if there wasn’t something for him to gain 

it broke your heart to hear that 

Tamaki is such a caring person who deserves the world, in your opinion

he’s been through so much, he deserves to have a best friend 

I suppose he sees you as his best friend 

anyway, you eventually reach the Ootori estate after a boring drive with your father (he kept telling you how to act, eat, walk, speak, blah blah blah)

you head up the steps as soon as the door is open for you, taking in the fresh air with a smile 

 as soon as you get inside, you feel suffocated again 

you wanted to run to the garden, which is where you normally go when visiting the Ootori’s

your father is right behind you though, leading you to the long table piled with food 

you realize it’s because that’s where Kyoya is 

he ‘drops you off’ there before walking away to speak to important people 

Kyoya gives you a nod in acknowledgment before taking a sip of whatever he’s drinking in that fancy glass of his 

you face the table and can’t help but to feel your mouth water 

you’re starving 

your dad is forcing you on this stupid diet to have you be thinner 

‘men like their women thin,’ he said

it made you want to puke 

back in America, he was a pretty chill dad 

ever since we got here though, it’s like there’s a devil on his shoulder whispering all this nonsense to him 

maybe it’s that Mr. Ootori...

you didn’t even realize you’re stuffing your face, literally shoving as much as you can into it, before you feel a tap on your shoulder

you’re still chewing when you turn around, seeing a slightly older gentleman offering his hand to you 

“May I have this dance, Miss L/n?”

you quickly gulp down the food and take his hand with a polite smile 

dad says that you should always accept offers to dance 

you didn’t want to dance with this guy though 

he’s not that much older than you but he’s clearly not in high school anymore 

he also has too much cologne on 

and you just want to stuff your face with those delicious looking Mushi Pan

but alas, you're forced to dance

it seems that a slow song starts just as you step out onto the dance floor 

you’re are about a minute into the song before someone taps on his shoulder, making him pause and turn around 

“May I cut in?”

the guy huffs a bit but nods his head, bowing to you a bit before stalking off 

you bite back a smile as Kyoya takes ahold of your hand and waist

“Didn’t take you as a dancer,” you tease, letting your hand fall onto his shoulder

he hums as he looks anywhere but you as he replies

“I’m talented in many subjects, including dancing.”

you roll your eyes at his bragging, sighing as you look away from him

“That man was a terrible dancer,” he continues when you don’t reply 

you frown at his words, refusing to look at him 

“Reminds me of you trying to cook pancakes,” he teases.

you gasp in mock offense, taking your hand off of his shoulder to hit his chest

“I am great at making pancakes!” you argue, trying not to smile 

a small smile graces his face as he disagrees with you, playful banter being shot between you both 

neither of you realized how long you’d been dancing until his father starts making a speech (apparently he does it every year towards the end of the ball)

Kyoya leads you off the dance floor and back to the food 

“I heard your stomach grumble as soon as you saw the Mushi Pan,” he teases

it’s kinda weird to hear him be so playful 

you lightly shove him before grabbing one of the spongey desserts, taking a bite of half of it and moaning 

“These are literally so good,” you mumble around all the food in your mouth

you were too busy falling in love with the soft yumminess in your hand to realize that Kyoya was giving you the softest look 

okay, maybe he did have a soft spot for you

First Time Giving a Compliment: 

you both are at that phase where accidental touches aren’t so accidental anymore and you’re a lot shyer around him now 

he seems just as confident in himself as always 

so, when he walks up to you while you’re talking to Haruhi and asks you to go to the mall with him 

you’re shocked 

you, of course, agree, trying not to blush

you both head to the mall after the club is done for the day

you both walk around, going into a few stores

neither of you really buy anything 

eventually, Kyoya’s need to shower you in gifts kicks in 

he leads you into a store that he thinks you like and asks what size stuff you wear

you’re embarrassed to tell him things like your pants’ size 

what if he thinks you’re fat?

he doesn’t react in any sort of way really when you tell him 

he then starts walking around the store, picking out things that catch his eye and things he thinks you’ll like 

he then comes back to where you’re standing, admiring a necklace

he hands you a bunch of clothes and tells you to go try it on 

you walk into the dressing room, trying on a pair of jeans and a shirt he picked out 

he’s sitting on a plush chair and looking around when you come back out 

his eyes instantly snap to yours before roaming your body 

he smirks and gives a nod 

“You look good.”

a blush instantly slaps onto your face, biting your lip to hide your smile 

“Thank you,” you whisper

you then scurry back into the dressing room, staring at your reflection 

did that just happen?

did Kyoya Ootori really just give you a compliment?

you silently squeal and jump around happily 

Kyoya watches in amusement as your feet go up to hide behind the door before coming back down to meet the floor 

he can clearly see you fangirling but doesn’t call you out on it

after trying on everything and picking out what you like, you both make your way to the register 

as soon as the cash register says the price, Kyoya is handing over his card before you can even reach for your wallet 

you gape at his card before gaping up at him 

“Why would you do th—”

“Oh, I want to purchase that necklace too,” Kyoya says cooly as he points out the necklace you were eyeing earlier 

“No! We don’t need anything more. Thank you,” you say before the cashier can move

they look between the two of you, trying to decide who to listen to 

“Don’t waste more of your money on me, Kyoya,” you plead, already feeling bad

he sighs before waving his hand at the cashier, nodding his head 

“Alright, that’ll be all.”

you relax at his words, picking up your bag once the cashier hands back your receipt and his card 

you then quickly head for the exit 

Kyoya whispers something to cashier before following after you 

you then quickly lead the way out of the mall, feeling embarrassed and guilty for having him pay for you

Kyoya didn’t mind one bit though 

he’d buy you the world if he could 

First Time Giving You a Gift:

you guessed it 

he went back for the necklace 

and gave it to you for your birthday

your heart didn’t know what to do with itself 

you ended up throwing your arms around him for a hug

he kissed your forehead and held onto you tightly 

this was your first hug 

and man, neither of you wanted to let go 

but alas

you can’t stay in each other’s arms forever 

you tried for a while though before the gang started gagging at the two of you 

you pull away and smile bashfully up at him as you thank him again 

he then asks if he can put it on you 

you hand it over to him and turn around, pulling your hair up 

he slips it between your arms and then pins it behind your neck, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders afterward

you then turn back around with one of the brightest smiles he’s ever seen 

“It looks good on you,” he whispers 

he gets like this now 

all sweet and mushy, even in public 

he liked to keep it as private as possible though, hence the whispering

you try to contain your blush, but it’s impossible at this point

“Thank you,” you say again

First Kiss:

okay so 

I’m sure you guessed this as well 

he initiated it 

it kinda surprised and didn’t surprise you both at the same time 

like 

you both had your suspicions that you liked each other (it helped that literally everyone constantly told you both that you are head’s over heels for each other) 

he took you on a date 

and no, it wasn’t at some fancy schmancy place 

it was at night when he texted you and asked to hangout 

you had to sneak out of your house 

and there was Kyoya waiting for you outside your house 

you both were driven around for what felt like ever before finally reaching your destination 

the middle of nowhere 

you made a joke asking if he’s actually a serial killer and this is where he takes his victims to kill them 

he, of course, joked back and said yes, but you are his favorite victim 

you playfully gushed as he went to the trunk (you made another joke saying he’s getting his ax)

he pulled out a picnic basket and a couple blankets 

you raised a brow as you helped him hold some of the stuff, letting him lead the way 

he led you into a field, the grass going up to your thighs 

then, Kyoya steps into a clearing 

you actually gushed this time when you noticed it’s in the shape of a heart 

“How romantic,” you teased as you set the big blanket down 

it’s getting dark outside but you swore you could see a blush dusted over his cheeks 

you set everything up before getting comfortable 

he then pulled all the food out of the basket, making your heart melt (and your stomach growl) 

he made all of your favorites

no, not the chef 

he did 

you gave him a kiss on the cheek before starting to dig in 

you both talked to each other quietly despite the fact that you two were the only ones out there 

you both admired the sun as it sets 

more so you since he was too busy looking at you 

you both stayed out there for hours. Cuddling, holding hands, sharing secrets, all the goods 

at one point, you both had stopped talking and were just staring up at the stars 

you felt eyes on you, making you turn your head to find a pair of brown-grey eyes focused on you 

you blushed as you studied his eyes 

he’s the only one you know with eyes like that 

you couldn’t see his eyes at one point cause he closed them and leaned in, connecting your lips 

your heart lurched into your throat, deciding it belonged there instead of your chest

you both kissed for a moment before pulling away 

you smiled bashfully at him, feeling a blush coming back to your face 

“That was my first kiss,” you admitted softly 

his eyes widened before he relaxed, smiling back at you 

“Me too. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did,” he whispered

you giggled like a schoolgirl at his words, nodding your head 

you then leaned back in and gave him another kiss 

that happened throughout the night 

after he had asked you to be his girlfriend

First Time Having Sex:

(you remember that episode where Kyoya tugs Haruhi onto the bed and like get on top of her?)

(YEAH BRO)

(that shii hit different)

so 

there you two were

casually hanging out with everyone on your little vacation AFTER HIGH SCHOOL AS ADULTS

Tamaki absolutely refused to let you two share a room 

he said you’d be safer staying in ‘daddy’s’ room

Kyoya straight up told him, “Over my dead body.” 

the twins thought it was hilarious 

you ended up getting rooms right across from each other 

you and Haruhi were sharing a room cause “You two can bond!” 

Tamaki and his ideas, you swear 

you didn’t mind though 

it was fun having girly time with Haruhi 

but you wanted to see your boyfriend 

so, once Haruhi fell asleep, you snuck across the hall to see Kyoya 

and there he sat 

looking tall, dark, and handsome 

he had just got out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his torso

and shirtless

cleanup in the doorway cause there’s drool everywhere 

it was then you realized you never really get to see him without his glasses 

he stood up silently, walking over to you 

you flashed him a smile, extending your arms a bit as you waited for a hug which is normally how you greet each other 

that clearly wasn’t what he had in mind 

your eyes widened as he tugged on your arm and forced you onto the bed 

you’re pretty sure your heart flew out of your chest and is now somewhere on the floor 

he quickly crawled onto the bed and hovered over you, staring down at you with clouded eyes 

“Oya?” you whispered your nickname for him, your eyes wide as he just silently took you in 

you hadn’t changed out of your swimsuit yet from being on the beach all day 

you had one of his button-up t-shirts on though, which was enough to cover you up 

he didn’t reply as he leaned down to connect your lips

normally, your kisses don’t last long and are super sweet 

or are passionate and include some groping 

this kiss though? It felt fiery and new and exciting 

you instantly returned it, humming softly 

his hands started to roam, starting at your thighs and ending up on your stomach 

he then lifted his hands to start to undo the buttons of his shirt 

once the buttons were all undone, his hands go back to wandering 

he stopped below your chest and pulled back to look down at you, silently asking for permission 

you let out a shaky sigh and nod of your head 

after experimenting with your chest, he started to get serious 

foreplay lasted for a good bit, seeing as how this is both of your first time doing it together

when it came time to do the actual deed, he pulled away to go to the table he was sitting at previously 

you watched him with furrowed brows, your naked body going cold without his touch 

he picked up his wallet and pulled out a condom, turning to you with a smirk 

you snorted with a raise of your brow, leaning back on your elbows 

“You brought a condom? Confident are we?” you teased 

he smirked darkly as he walked back over to you, standing by the side of the bed as he slipped it on 

“I didn’t bring just one,” he said in a deeper tone than normal 

your face instantly got hot

he then took his time with you 

letting you adjust and making love to you 

he wanted it to be perfect for you 

for the both of you 

you felt like you were in heaven 

though, god was probably frowning at you 

you snorted in the middle of Kyoya pulling out to thrust back in 

“Are you laughing at me?” he questioned with a brow going up to hide in his loose hair 

he didn’t even bother giving you a chance to reply and explain 

he just started going faster, making you forget anything you were going to say 

once you both climaxed, he cleaned you both up before holding you in his arms 

you didn’t mean to fall asleep in his arms

but you did 

the next morning, Tamaki came to Kyoya’s room to wake him up, seeing as how everyone else was already at breakfast except for you and him 

Haruhi said you weren’t in the room and she figured you went to the beach as soon as the sun started to rise since you talked about wanting to go shell hunting while enjoying the sunrise 

he didn’t bother knocking and just walked in 

he yelped in surprise and turned around, getting that famously dark blush of his 

Kyoya had his famous murder gaze as you held him back 

“I swear I didn’t see anything!” Tamaki yells as he takes off down the hallway 

Masterlist 

more with ohshc

[lovelyirony]

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home. 

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing. 

Thank god they were almost home. 

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed. 

A metal arm. 

Huh. 

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here. 

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct? 

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow. 

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were. 

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around. 

His eyes widen. 

“You--what?” 

The voice is surprisingly American. 

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising. 

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk. 

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch. 

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.” 

“What--huh?” 

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?” 

“I do not know what you are talking about.” 

His eyes get cold again. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am the Asset.” 

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is. 

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle. 

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs. 

- 

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside. 

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?” 

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.” 

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.” 

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?” 

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?” 

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.” 

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out. 

- 

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes. 

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

- 

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t. 

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones. 

And this is where it hits him. 

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over. 

Yeah, you’d need a bit more. 

Like a fucking super soldier serum. 

- 

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock. 

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps  Model-T.) 

- 

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick. 

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch. 

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks. 

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue. 

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?” 

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him. 

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it. 

Fury yells at him for two hours. 

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours. 

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--” 

“He’s retired,” Tony says. 

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.) 

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks. 

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people. 

Tony grins. 

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?” 

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.” 

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows. 

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there. 

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school. 

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.” 

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor. 

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious. 

Then, there’s the attack on New York. 

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah. 

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies. 

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh. 

- 

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills. 

“You know about Winter Soldier?” 

“Barnes? Yeah.” 

“You know who he is?” 

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.” 

Steve overhears. 

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.” 

“Why is that the phrase you use?” 

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?” 

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew. 

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad. 

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD. 

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people. 

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals. 

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.) 

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor. 

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him. 

-

Helicarriers go in the water. 

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all. 

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt. 

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.” 

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.” 

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.” 

“Is everything a joke to you?” 

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?” 

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.” 

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?” 

“With toasted bread?” 

“I’m not an animal, Steve.” 

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts. 

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines. 

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.” 

“Fuck.” 

- 

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure. 

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.” 

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.” 

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida. 

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?” 

“Multitask, Sir.” 

“Oh, true.” 

- 

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip. 

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much. 

“We have to wait,” Tony says. 

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows. 

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous. 

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically? 

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.” 

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.” 

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.” 

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.” 

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?” 

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.” 

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Will do.” 

- 

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.” 

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.” 

“Do you care what he thinks?” 

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice. 

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...” 

“Shared history?” 

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.” 

And then he jumps off a balcony. 

A fucking balcony. 

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session. 

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa. 

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.” 

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.” 

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?” 

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.” 

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.” 

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.” 

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?” 

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.” 

“Got it. And Tony?” 

Her voice is soft. 

“Yes, dear?” 

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same. 

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

- 

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices. 

Steve texts him. 

bucky’s back. holy shit 

be back in a week. radio silence. 

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink 

:(((( 

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.” 

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise? 

Maria was...Maria was different. 

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate. 

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable. 

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it. 

So yeah. 

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable. 

So he flies back to New York. 

- 

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is. 

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.” 

“Ah, there’s that.” 

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.” 

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response. 

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t. 

“Jail would be more fitting.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.” 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.” 

“Why a cannibal?” 

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.” 

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.” 

-

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life. 

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip. 

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling. 

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty. 

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.) 

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made. 

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen. 

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?” 

Shit. 

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche. 

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?” 

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?” 

“We can break it down over coffee.” 

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.” 

Tony blinks. 

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.” 

“I still killed your parents.” 

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.” 

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.” 

Bucky’s face blanks. 

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.” 

“I...I want to make it up to you.” 

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.” 

- 

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries. 

Bucky smiles. 

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it. 

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more. 

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games. 

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail. 

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”  

Tony laughs. 

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.” 

“Just observation, no armor required.” 

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?” 

Bucky smiles. 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll need feedback.” 

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.” 

- 

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back. 

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases. 

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.” 

Tony laughs. 

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.” 

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky. 

- 

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest. 

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.) 

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions. 

(They both know that’s not it.) 

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups. 

- 

Steve calls them out on it. 

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.” 

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts. 

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?” 

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.” 

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.” 

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient. 

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.” 

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.” 

“Technically, Tony surprised me.” 

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.” 

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers. 

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.” 

Tony snorts, smiling. 

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.” 

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.” 

[anexplanationofunfortunateevents]

Don’t ever tell me anything about my business. ‘Kay?

Have you ever watched an old gangster movie and heard a reference to someone having “made his bones”? It’s not a whimsical reference to growing up physically. To become a made man, you had to participate in a contract kill. That’s not just a hazing ritual. It’s an insurance policy. You’re not allowed on the crew until they know they can implicate you in a murder.

Otherwise, Mikey whacks Donnie while Junior hides in the backseat.

It’s a mess.

Donald Trump may be extremely ignorant about everything decent people might want to be good at, but he has a ton of practice at sucking people into his life of crime, and there’s no reason to think Pence is an exception. In fact, Pence is the person who Trump would most want to implicate, because he has the most to gain from turning on Trump. This alone would be enough to justify the House’s investigation of Mike Pence for his involvement in Trump’s attempt to extort the president of Ukraine into helping him steal the 2020 election.

This creates kind of a mutual assured destruction situation. White House “Acting* Chief of Staff” Mick Mulvaney and America’s Giamope Rudy Giuliani have both outright said they know too much for Trump to throw them under the bus. It’s possible that they haven’t entirely thought this through. Blackmailing the president is, uh, frowned upon, and by implying that they’re doing it successfully, they’re advertising that Trump is susceptible to blackmail. But you see how it works.

Naturally, Pence has taken the same obstinate line as the rest of the regime – no puppet, no puppet, you’re the collusion, lying deep state Democrat fake news, blah blah blah – and he’s good at making his lies look and sound boring, so you really have to stop to appreciate just how ludicrous his denials are.

Pence’s anonymous spokesperson’s gaslighty, who-me story is that:

Although at least two of his staffers were listening in on the call with President Zelensky, they did not tell Pence about it. This means Pence’s staff actively undermines him by keeping important information away from him. Oh, and also, the vice president has security clearance, so keeping this information from Pence necessarily meant keeping it from everyone else. What Trump did on that call with Zelensky is a crime. Knowing about a crime but concealing it is also a crime. Neither had been fired before one of them gave congressional testimony in early November, so if Pence is telling the truth, he was entrusting important national security duties to at least two people who were .... at least uncomfortably crime-adjacent.

He expects us to believe that he didn’t understand that Giuliani was putting the screws to the Ukrainian government to open investigations to Trump’s political benefit. In May, Giuliani told the New York Times that was exactly what he planned on doing. Also in May, Pence’s scheduled visit to Ukraine for President Zelensky’s inauguration was abruptly canceled. He didn’t ask why? He didn’t fucking Google “Ukraine” to try and figure it out? Even if Pence doesn’t believe anything he reads in the Failing New York Times, Giuliani had made the same pitch on Fox News a month earlier. And yet he was still in the dark about all this by late July.

When he did take a belated trip to Europe, he went with national security advisor John Bolton, who was legitimately outraged at this whole thing and who is not a man for hiding his displeasure. I mean, sure, maybe Pence totally ignored the other Americans in the delegation and only came out of his cocoon of silence for meetings with foreign dignitaries. He would still have noticed that Zelensky was acting pretty odd for a person who was having what Pence claims he believed was a normal conversation. Maybe he would have even asked the national security staffer who went with him on the trip, who could have told him exactly why Zelensky was rattled because she was listening in on the call.

Oh, and Zelensky never raised any specifics during his calls with Pence. Calls! Plural!

Most damningly, you have to believe that Pence is still completely incapacitated. That he’s responding to incredibly compelling testimony from respected State Department employees by promising to help Trump “fight the swamp” because he is just a poor blustering fool who has been ill-used and misled. Put yourself in the tight glass slippers of this naive Disney princess of a hypothetical vice president. Imagine you really were in the middle of all this stuff and didn’t realize there was anything wrong with it. You were as shocked as anyone to find out about this call where Trump bargained with Zelensky to “do us a favor,  though.” There is absolutely no way you would fail to realize that you were implicated in this scheme. And once you have a realization like that, you have two choices: you can resign in protest and tell the world everything you know, or you can stick around and be damned with the rest of them. But somehow this epiphany has eluded Mike Pence every day for over a month? Fucking spare me.

And that’s just the work Pence would have to do to be so aggressively ignorant about the extortion of Ukraine. There are so many more high crimes and misdemeanors that we don’t have the time to investigate like this! How does he do his job while staying innocently oblivious to all the impeachable offenses that are actually happening? How does he get into the office every day without tripping over stray crimes? “Hm, Mother, maybe we should have the cook send us breakfast in bed? Pancakes? Just make sure you get a side of bacon, they always accidentally put a plate of felonies on the tray instead. So I hear!”

Pence’s circle is usually pretty successful at using his simple-mindedness to deflect accountability for the administration’s day-to-day malevolent wackiness. And in a pinch, they’ve managed to convince the press that, gosh darn it, he was conveniently derelict in reading this or that specific memo. But this is next-level. This isn’t “the vice president is such an incurious buffoon that he makes W look like a fucking Rhodes scholar.” This is “the vice president is literally a Westworld host”: no matter what he reads, hears, or says about Ukraine, it doesn’t look like anything to him.

Or you could go with the only logical explanation, which is that he knew.

In one sense, Pence is not anything special. Horrible vice presidents are an American tradition. If you can manage to avoid having sacks of dirty cash brought to you in the West Wing, profiteering off of a war you incited, or shooting a man in Jersey just to watch him die, you’d be at least a mid-tier VP. But Pence being implicated in the crimes for which Trump is being impeached is different. The American government generally prefers to avoid directly and explicitly rewarding someone for a crime they have committed. If you’re convicted of killing someone, you can’t inherit their house or collect their life insurance. You can’t inherit the White House because of the high crimes and misdemeanors that you aided and abetted! You just can’t!!

And yet, this motherfucker really thinks he’s going to do just that.

*"Acting White House Chief of Staff” is not a real thing. Mulvaney isn’t temporarily holding the job for the actual chief of staff. He’s not waiting on confirmation or anything.

[jeanjauthor]

A rambling musing on mortgages, stone lions, traffic signs, & European heraldry, the symbology that rules much of our modern lives.

Stone Lions at the end of a driveway...means that the mortgage has been paid off.

I like this concept...except I think I’d want to get stone snow leopards. I grok them (get them / intuitively understand them / feel at one with them) more than lions, or any other cat...other than housecats.  Might be easier to get stone housecats...but if I got them...

Would I get them as Sejant (heraldic term for cats sitting upright, butt on the ground, forelegs vertically straight, think cat statues from Egypt), Couchant (heraldic term for butt & belly/chest on the ground, forelegs semi-stretched in front, head erect, think of lions in front of the NYC Public LIbrary), Dormant (same as couchant but head down, napping), or Catloaf (not an official heraldic position/term, but basically couchant with the paws tucked under, head erect)...?

Rampant (heraldic for one foot on the ground, the other three raised as if scratching/mauling/attacking) would be difficult to acquire, and require either: hellaciously expensive stonecarving with supportive flora or flowing cloak or tail dragging on the ground, etc, to hold up the weight of the body; cement or geopolymer with steel rebar support welding it to a heavy base; wrought iron (which can support its own weight on one slender-by-comparison hind leg); or cast resin...which would require more supportive elements.

Or maybe I could go totally modern and install video screens, and just stream images of funny cat gifts & videos all the time...?  (And occasionally flash a sign, “This is NOT a drive thru entrance, No U Cannot Haz Cheezborgers Here!”...?)

...Also I have no idea what to call this position, heraldically. (Which could totally be my aesthetic, not gonna lie...well not gonna fabricate, ‘cause obviously if it’s my aesthetic, it’s my position and I’ll lie down ‘n mlem it, lol.)

If it were a bird, it would be Splayed, but splayed is seen in a position looking directly at the belly of the beast, like an X shape, usually with the head at the top of the image, tail (feathered or otherwise) down at the bottom.  This is like...dormant inverted?

The tongue mlemming in the .gif would not be replicatable in a static image, but tongues showing is often a part of heraldic design; you just have to say “langued (color)” (langued = we gave it a tongue, yo!) to indicate it’s visible.

And since snow leopards are automatically argent (white/silver, a metal (the other metal is Or, gold/yellow, and always written with a capital O)) spotted sable (black, a color, but in minor amounts compared to the main color)...you have to tint the langue (tongue) a contrasting hue. 

This means that argent (the main ‘color’ of the beast, heraldically considered a metal) must be langued (given a tongue) with a color (often rouge (red) or azure (blue), but could also be purpur (purple) or even vert (green)).  Or it could be tinted with a “fur” (spotted in special ways, or patterned in specific ways meant to emulate ermine spots, grey squirrel fur backs & bellies, etc, but let’s be honest, a tongue is too small for that, and my tongue isn’t always dead-fuzzy in the mornings, so it’s not 100% “me” to have a furry tongue.)

Confusing? I know!

But remember, European heraldry was designed to Make Things Visibly Distinct At A Distance.  Before the eras of snazzy uniforms (American Revolution, French Revolution & Napoleonic Wars, the Prussian Army, etc, etc), everybody just threw on whatever armor or protection they had available and went to war...and...in the melee scrum, everyone moshpitting around you could easily end up killing folks on your own side by pure mistake.

So heralds came up with rules for heraldry...and to this day, those rules govern our lives, writers, artists, readers...and those rules have gone worldwide.  Not just because of colonialism (sorry for that part of things, everyone else), but because the rules work.

If I recall correctly, I’ve blazoned (written out in fancy heraldry language) this particular sign before:

On a lozenge Or within an orle, on a billet sable, a torteaux, a bezant, and a pomm. --12th Century Norman Heraldry language (English translation: With our fancy shorthand language and its many governing rules, we are describing a yellow diamond shape with a thin black border around its edges that doesn’t actually go all the way to the edges, so you still see a little bit of yellow at the very edges of the sign; in the center of all that yellow is a black rectangle that’s vertically long, and on that black rectangle we can see a red circle at the top, a yellow circle in the middle, and a green circle at the bottom.)

Aka it’s a Traffic Sign Ahead sign.  For those who aren’t visually impaired, if you’re on the internet, you’ve probably been exposed to enough other modern life images to know what this is.

The yellow background is bright but light in color, compared to the black, the red, and the green elements.  (Btw, a torteaux is French for cake, bezant means the gold coin of the Byzantine Empire, and a pomme is French for green apple; it’s way shorter and more concise to say a torteaux, which is automatically defined as red & round, than a red circle, one word for the price of two.)

Here’s another one, a little more challenging to define:

Ignoring the 3D-esque shadowing and oulining, we have:

Argent within an orle sable, a fletchless arrow upright, shaft and pheon broken to dexter, sable, surtout an annulet barred bendwise gules.

...Who the what now??

Since it’s not on a diamond shape (lozenge), but instead on a square (a form of rectangle), we don’t have to mention the shape, this time.  Coats-of-arms are always presumed to either go on a shield shape or a flag (rectangle or square) shape.  It’s only when you get fancy (or female coats-of-arms, blah blah blah), that you have to mention it being on any other shape.

Argent (white background) within an orle sable (thin black border that doesn’t actually touch the edges, same as above), a fletchless (no feather bits) upright (arrow pointing up), Shaft and pheon (midpoint and arrowhead) broken dexter (to the viewer’s left, but the wearer’s right if they’re actually wearing this as a shield or a tabard; the fact that we include the pheon (arrowhead) in this indicates the arrowhead is off to the viewer’s left); surtout (another object lying on top of the last one(s) we just described) an annulet (fancy name for ring) barred (it’s got a stripe across it!) bendwise (hey, it’s a diagonal stripe, from dexter chief to sinister base (viewer’s top left to bottom right, but the wearer’s top right to bottom left), gules (ande hey, it’s red!!).

Basically it’s a No Left Turns Allowed sign.  The red circle-with-diagonal-slash is a “Not Allowed” symbol, and the arrow points to the viewer’s left, indicating “Do Not Turn Left Here.”

Black on traffic signs is a strong color that shows up very well against yellow (the color used for cautionary rules, curvy road ahead, rocks falling, pedestrian crossing, etc) and white (absolute rules, such as Speed Limit/Maximum signs and Do Not Enter signs, etc.).  Black is most often used for either text, or for arrows and other lines indicating the flow of traffic (merging lanes, etc).

It’s visually friendly to pair up a very strong color (black, red, brown, blue, green, rarely purple) with a pale one (white or yellow).  People who have colorblindness issues or who need glasses to see can usually still tell the various bits apart with these high contrast choices.

But...the smaller the details, the less you want to clutter those details.  So the basic rule in heraldic design is, make the image about 6 inches tall, pin it to a wall, and stand back 10, 15, or even 20 feet.  Can you still tell what it is?  Yes?  Good design!  If you cannot...rework it!

So...the reason why I got off on this tangent is that...well...I finally sold my house.  Which means my mortgage is technically paid off.

So I could get stone lions for my driveway...except I no longer own the property. *sigh*

But I’m hoping to take the funds leftover from paying off the mortgage to buy land outright, and build a tiny house on it.  Which hopefully would be paid off without needing a mortgage...or maybe only the tiniest of mortgages...which means I could get “stone lions” for my driveway, some day.

...Which don’t have to remain stone-colored.

See, that’s the thing:  statues in medieval times weren’t always plain stone, ya know!  (Certainly not in Roman & Grecian days, hoo boy did they love color!) They painted them, covered them in fabric and flowers, applied gold and silver leaf, copper sheathing, etc, etc, etc.

So I’m sitting here wondering what sort of “My House & Land Are All Paid Off” stuff I could get.  Because I (technically) could...some day.

[red-moskito]

24. April. 2020

Málaga, Spain

For many of us, the last time it felt like the whole world was having the same conversation was on September 11th, 2001. For me, it was also the day I left London for Faedis, Italy. A few people around me on the train were murmuring about some kind an attack. When I got the airport, it was so quiet. People stood frozen in front of televisions watching two plumes of black smoke rise into a blue sky.

I’d met Marco while he was in London for a couple days to sell some wine. We both quoted Biggie Smalls and the Big Lebowski. He was just getting the family vineyard going as a proper business. I had no plans beyond the next weekend. I said I liked the idea of working on a vineyard. He said, cool. 

The house was a kitchen and a bedroom above the cantina. Almost everything inside was older than me. The roof in the bedroom sloped down to the floor. We opened a few bottles and ate dinner. 

While insects buzzed and chirped outside the windows, we watched our world reorganize itself towards endless war on television. It was cold that night. We slept under scratchy blankets on little beds made during times of less abundance. 

I stayed until the end of October. We often ate lunch in Orsaria with his parents, Paolo and Miriam. I liked them. They acted as if Marco had just found a younger brother they had somehow misplaced. I also liked their house. It was big, beautiful and warm. They had comfortable sofas and a computer for sending sentimental emails and downloading mp3s. 

I did my best to match their enthusiasm for every course. E buona la pasta, Tito? Si, si... buonissimo! Marco, perché non mangia di più? When I got sick, they had a doctor come to the house. He brought a stethoscope in a leather bag. Nonna introduced me to grappa as medicine. The first glass felt like hot wax going down my throat.  

I annoyed Marco with my plans to marry his sister Barbara, even though she thought I was a sfigato. We drove down gravel roads to parties in little bars where his friends played reggae like some of mine did back home.

No matter how late we stayed out, or how many bottles we left empty on the table, Marco was up with the sun and ready to work. He’d drink flat Coca-Cola before his coffee. Some fuel to get the engine started, man. Good for the stomach. 

Winemaking is agriculture, science, art, design, engineering, sales, marketing, gambling, guessing…. When there aren’t vines to trim, there are tanks to check, fertilizers to buy, grapes to take to the laboratory, grass to cut, cases to deliver, bottles to label, fill, cork... People we’d meet throughout the day said, buon lavoro as goodbye. 

Whenever something could go wrong, it often did. Marco’s momentary frustration would quickly just become something else to laugh about. Stay calm. Piano, piano. We have to be the Tom Cruise of the situation, man. 

Sometimes he would sketch out the plans for our day on scrap paper. Little cartoons of machines, grapes, tanks and tubes with arrows between them. Numbers and notes floating around the edges. He never drew us. We were always moving anyway. 

During the vendemmia a crowd arrived to help. Friends, traveling workers and his family, of course. Nonno laughed and shook his head at me and my allergies. I never really got the hang of the tractor, but I loved cutting the grapes free. We stacked crates and tipped them into presses. They all knew far more about my country than I did about theirs. We debated the merits of Sublime, compared Berlusconi to Bush and retold our favorite Simpsons episodes. Every day we all ate lunch together on the patio beneath a sunshade of interwoven vines. 

The wine we made went to tables all around Friuli-Venezia-Giulia and parts of Europe. I brought a few bottles with me when I left for Torino. Some went to rest on shelves in the cantina.   

The last time I was in Faedis was in August 2016. Marco still sings while he’s walking between the rows of vines. 'Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see…’ I mean come on. man. He was really the best. You know it. The best... ‘It was all a dream. I used to read Word-Up Magazine…’ 

The TV in the kitchen is gone. There’s a wood stove there now. They watch movies projected on the wall of the room we used to sleep in. A futon for guests has replaced the little beds. Marco had remodeled the house to make room for another proper bedroom. 

He dug out some grimy bottles of our wine. It was six years younger than I was when we made it. I didn’t get to see Barbara. Paulo and Miriam’s house is now a bed and breakfast. Go there if you’re ever near Orsaria. It’s even more beautiful now. 

Friuili is 300 km from Lombardia. In February, Marco and I started talking and texting about the virus. I’d already started veering away from people on the sidewalk. There was a movie I wanted to see in the cinema, but I didn’t go. I avoided the port full of cruise ship passengers. But I still went out. 

On March 6, I’d had an internal debate about going to the botanical gardens on my day off. It’s outdoors. It’s low season. It’ll be empty. It’s windy and warm. And anyway, Málaga isn’t Bergamo. I rode my bike there, and while I was locking it, I reconsidered again. I saw a couple walking down from the mountains across the road. Should I just hike up this trail instead? Instead I went inside. I’d only been in summer before. I wanted to see what it looked like at the beginning of spring. 

While I was having my coffee, a woman sat at the other end of the picnic table. When she started blowing her nose, I told myself it would be silly and rude to get up. Then she started coughing. I looked at the unwrapped sandwich I had brought from home. My open water thermos. Mentally measuring metres and wind speed. Still feeling like I was being ridiculous. Her daughter brought the drinks and sat down. Ecco la tua mamma... I picked up my things and moved to another table.

I spent the next half hour telling myself I was being paranoid while trying to focus on the plants in the sunshine. Doing impossible math in my head. There are 60 million Italians.... they could have been traveling for weeks... maybe they live here... anyone could have it... there are so many old people here... I heard that man couch under is hat... it could have been on the coffee cup anyway… the bartender washes them in the sink... how hot is that water?

I walked to the end of the gardens where a gazebo was built for the view of the cathedral and the sea. I watched turtles swimming around the little pond. Marco texted me. Stay at home. I called him to tell him about the Italian women and my paranoia. They walked by while I was on the phone, and I moved upwind. Still feeling ridiculous. 

He was calm as always. The main problem is there aren’t enough beds for the, how do you say... the reanimation. The people they are just fucking dying in the corridors. They don’t know for sure who is the patient zero, but the patient one or two. He’s a 38 years old guy. He’s been on the fucking respirator for weeks. In Cividale there are three cases. It’s crazy, man. What we have to do is just fucking close everything like they did in China. But that will never happen you know man, because this is Europe. 

Two days later the Italian government locked down Lombardia and fourteen other provinces. The following day they extended to it include the entire country. Within a week, most of Europe followed suit.

Seven weeks later the Italian government agrees with many of you about the essential nature of wine. So Marco is still working. Since the lockdown started, he’s been in the hospital twice. He was in a car accident in March, and then something more serious happened in April. 

He sent me a selfie from the hospital bed. I called him and he answered laughing. His wife had thought he was faking a stroke to play a trick on her. Fucking unbelievable, man. I tried to drink the juice. You know in the morning, the orange juice, and I put it all over my t-shirt. I couldn’t put it to my mouth. I couldn’t say nothing. I was like blah, blah, blah. My brain was no good. Anyway, how are you, are you good?  

The hospitals in Udine aren’t overwhelmed, but he was only allowed one visitor per day. He asked his mother to bring his laptop, so he could get some work done. Everybody say rest. Rest, rest, rest. Okay, I’m in the bed. 

When he was discharged he sent me a photo with his wife and baby walking between the vines. Their daughter, Emilia, has unruly red hair. In every photo she looks overjoyed and a little surprised to have found herself inside her new body. Are you ok? Super ok, man. Super ok. They were all smiles. Glowing in the green grass. Paola looks far too smart to have fallen for either of us back when we would try to out-charm each other every time a woman arrived at the vineyard. 

Marco’s still getting up with the sun. But fewer and fewer Italians have money for wine. He’s not loading pallets with boxes bound for dinner parties in Oslo or Chicago. No American tourists will be giggling at his accent this summer. The local restaurants are dark and full of stale air. 

For almost twenty years, whenever I’ve called Marco to talk about moving or just getting away, he reminds me of my house in Faedis. 

Next to the front door there are photographs of family and friends working together since long before the days of color. Behind the house, up on top of the hill, there is a little shack with the year 1867 written above the door. It will still be there once our world has reorganized itself yet again. 

So will we. 

https://www.cecchinimarco.com/

http://www.dorsariabedandbreakfast.it/index.php/it/

[bruinhilda]

I swear, my brain sometimes...

I remember this morning’s dream, and it could be a kid’s show.  Why I’m dreaming such a thing up I don’t understand, but...

It concerned three siblings who were fighting against an Evil Organization that wants to capture and dissect/study them.  The Evil Organization is run by Nazis who are all about the master race blah blah horseshit.

The siblings happen to be part-alien, which they found out when exposure to a certain procedure gave two of them, the eldest and youngest, superpowers.  The middle child did not have the exposure, and is refusing to try and get superpowers because she doesn’t want to change who she is.  Nor does she want to go out and brawl like elder brother and younger sister do.  She’s quite smart, however, and can figure out any technology she sees very quickly.

However, the dream story didn’t follow a grand adventure.  It followed them having to attend their (adoptive) family gathering, as their wheeler-dealer uncle was throwing a big bash to impress his current business contacts.  It was all awkward family squabbling until an entire roomful of adult party-goers, including the kids’ parents, vanished into thin air.

“The Nazis have a teleporter!  They figured out the teleporter!”

The kids work with the same scientific organization that accidentally gave them superpowers with their research into crashed alien technology, led by a brilliant scientist whose name I never got.  She was Native American, I think.  Wore glasses, tended to be very calming and supportive, if constantly stressed while scrambling to keep the kids out of the extreme danger they gravitate to while fending off Government Interests.

There was a stressful interaction between elder brother and middle sister, him pointing out that with their parents kidnapped and the stakes suddenly stupidly high, she might want to reconsider the powers thing.  But then partly backing down, saying she was the most brilliant person he knows, and if anyone can figure out how to find them and solve this, she can.  But to think about it, maybe?

(I got the impression that elder brother was known as elder sister before the procedure, which might have fueled some of the stress between them about the procedure’s potential “changes.”)

Youngest sister was about five or six, and very cute and happy, and utterly capable of fucking your shit up if she thought you were being Bad.  It was taking a team of scientists to keep her from blowing the house up in her stress about her parents.

I have no idea where my brain was going with all this, or what to do with it.  I didn’t even see how the “episode” was resolved!  So, here it is on Tumblr for y’all to consider.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Typical: Storytime

Storytime!

This is just a rant about something that happened in my real life, but because I live to tell stories it ended up being kind of long for context purposes. I just used the keep reading feature because it was a bit longer and I don’t want to blow up anybody’s dashboard just because I don’t know how to shut up.

I'm trying to figure how and where to start when I explain my experience of misogyny in the world.

You see, I'm not normal.

My father was fifty years old when I was born. This meant that in some ways he was painfully old-fashioned. However, in other ways he was surprisingly incredibly progressive. Here's an example: He absolutely believed it was inappropriate for women to curse. On the other hand, he didn't really curse himself. He also did not believe that women were weaker by any stretch of the imagination and not only expected but required that I work in the exact same way he would have had I been born a boy. He built houses for a living and often took me with him. Some of my earliest memories are playing on sawhorses on a job site.

My mother was 22 years his junior and was raised in a cult. She was and is a small, deceptively delicate woman. (Don't be fooled. The bitch has a spine of steel. I aspire.) My father was under the impression that she was made of finely-spun glass and must be protected at all costs, so she was rarely required to help.

I, however, was a sturdy child who grew into a tall, solid woman. As such, I spent so much of my childhood helping my dad with whatever. I now have any number of odd skills that came from being the only daughter to a man who expected everyone to carry their share. If I had a dollar for every time I had to shimmy under the house, or the car, or help saw wood, or hang drywall, or lay hardwood floor, or haul feed for the cows, or, or, or, I would have had a way better allowance. (I was also required to learn how to cook and clean and do laundry, etc. Work was work and didn't have a gender to my dad's mind. He rarely cooked, but it was because, other than white sausage gravy, he was so incredibly bad at it.)

My point, and I do have one, is I am not helpless. My husband adoooooores this about me. He loves that I'm loud, and abrasive, and willing to do whatever to get shit done, and that I do not modulate my tone because some people don't like it when women express themselves the way men often do.

The other thing you need to know for this story is that I absolutely LIVE on my phone. I've probably written half of the fanfiction I've posted here on the OneNote app on my phone. I'm thinking about turning off the screen report thing because somehow, I don't feel good when it tells me my screen time was down 25% TO an average of six hours a day. I don't know how to cope anymore without the damn thing.

The other day, I was getting out of my car and fumbling with my phone when I dropped it, screen side down, on uneven asphalt. The screen shattered, of course, so I needed a new one. (If I sound unconcerned, believe me. I had a full-blown mental breakdown in the parking lot of the place I'm trying to get a job. They were watching me through the window as I full body whined. It was great!)

Tom (the hubby) and I talked it over and I looked at my options. I had an iPhone, and didn't feel like learning a new one, so I decided to get a newer model, but not the newest. We'd buy it outright and save the upgrade on our account until we were both ready, because we like to upgrade at the same time to keep it simple.

Seems pretty clear, right? Does anything about that paragraph seem uncertain, or like I need assistance in any way with making a decision on what to purchase? Do I seem like I lack confidence, or have questions? Yeah, I'm even more strident in person. Keep that in mind.

I walk into the T-Mobile store to ask someone if I can exchange real American dollars for an iPhone 8 plus 64 GB, color doesn't matter. There is a dude there, training a young woman. SHE just started looking to see if they had it in stock. Didn't even question me. Was just gonna sell me a phone. Then the dude starts asking a bunch of questions and trying to talk me into a newer model because "it's only $50 more." Yeah. IF I USE MY FUCKING UPGRADE WHICH I JUST EXPLICITLY SAID I DON'T WANT TO DO.

I don't get pissed off. I just say thanks but no thanks, I just want what I said I want.

Turns out they're out of stock. I'm then informed that I can try the other stores, but they recommend I call around first so that I don't waste my time driving if they don't have one. Okay, then. I've only spent my entire adult life in customer service, so this doesn't infuriate me at all. Tom just stood at my back and looked down on the guy when he tried to talk to him. I love this man so freaking much.

I know the nearest T-Mobile store is not that far away and there's a restaurant Tom and I can get dinner at right near there that I like, so we decide to just drive down there. Mind you, I'm already mildly irritated because of the last store, I'm driving in the busiest part of my town during rush hour, and I'm currently switching the meds for my panic disorder. I'm a little high-strung.

We get to the next T-Mobile store and walk in. I've got a chip on my shoulder at this point, but remember, entire adult life in customer service, I’m not gonna start out an asshole. I tell the guy who greets me what I want. He informs me that they, too, are out of stock, and asks if I would be interested in the newer models. I tell him thanks, but no thanks, and ask if he can check if anyone else in town has the one I want because, and I FUCKING QUOTE, "I know what I want, and I'm not really interested in being sold to right now." (I promise you; I'm smiling and joking when I say that. I wasn't being a dick.)

Then, the guy next to him starts selling to me. Telling me that I'm wrong to want the other phone because blah blah blah and it's only $50 more, bullshit bullshit bullshit. Here's the interesting thing.

The guy was about four inches taller than me, putting him at about six foot. He was also about four inches away from me, way inside my personal space, and talking down to me like I was an idiot. I think he expected Tom to say something, which at that point he could stop dealing with my pushy ass and deal with a more reasonable man. What he got was me, deliberately, blatantly, and pointedly taking a long step back away from him and sneering at him in offended disgust while I did so.

The shock on his face was a wonder to behold.

"So, you're not going to help me then." I turn to Tom. "We're gonna go."

Tom turns to the douchebag. "We're gonna go."

I finally got the fucking phone I wanted, after calling a third store. That guy, Jordyn, was the shit. I told him what I wanted and why. He said cool. I walked into the store and traded my money for the phone I asked for. He was nice and respectful and never once talked to me like I didn't know how to handle either a cell phone or a financial transaction because I didn't possess a dick. Thank you, Jordyn, for being the only T-Mobile employee, out of the six I dealt with yesterday, to not make me want to douse all that magenta in gasoline and set the whole fucking thing on fire.

But I couldn't help but think about that douchebag. And my mom. My five-foot-nothing, tiny, sweet little mom. Who isn't made of spun-glass, but who isn't invincible, either. Who could have easily been menaced by a man with a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her. I have the luxury, the privilege, of being tall and strong and mean, with a broken fear response, so I don't really get intimidated. As a matter of fact, homeslice is lucky he didn't get a punch in the dick for his efforts.

But I'm not normal.

And that behavior is not okay. Especially not to sell a fucking cell phone.

[parksandrecepisodereviews]

S3:12: Eagleton

I’m revving up this blog and since I gotta start somewhere why not start arbitrarily in the middle of the show? 

This particular episode begins with Leslie (Knope) walking into Ron (Swanson)’s office and says, “Good morning, Ron.” Leslie awkwardly stands over Ron’s desk and tries to confuse him with conversation before asking him what he’s doing on his birthday on Friday. (It is a trap) Ron replies that he never does anything for his birthday to which Leslie goes, “AHAAAAA” because he has fallen into her trap. She then sings a birthday song I suspect that she made up on the spot. Blah blah blah Ron doesn’t like people having information on him, Leslie digs it up to annoy him because that’s kind of her deal. Is it out of love? She claims it is. But if she truly loved Ron, and she claims she does, she would leave him alone. He just wants to be left alone. 

Tom (Haverford) comes in after the intro sequence with the happy music and American images and places a photograph in Leslie’s hands and tells her that “they” put up a fence around a children’s park on the Pawnee/Eagleton border. Donna (Meagle) makes a comment about how Eagletonians are rich snobs but doesn’t miss the chance to mention her Mercedes Benz. Ben (Wyatt) asks who would build a fence around a playground and Leslie immediately knows who without any evidence, she just KNOWS. And the answer is Lindsay Carlisle Shay (played by Parker Posey) who used to be Leslie’s best friend until she took that job that Leslie turned down. Moving to Eagleton apparently changed this woman at her core and made her despicable in the eyes of Leslie. Maybe the fence was a good idea, considering Leslie admits that the Pawnee side of the park is where bad kids go to smash fluorescent light tubes. Eagleton is just trying to protect their kids from glass shards and mercury vapor. But Leslie, being the communist she is, believes the park is for everyone. Leslie gives April (Ludgate) a list of things to do to prepare for Ron’s birthday. Ron is fearful.

The next scene is at a public forum which normally provides some of the best comedic moments in the series because it illustrates the stupidity of Pawnee’s citizens. One man is concerned that his kids are going to play in the rock quarry since the park is fenced off. Another man suggests that they burn the fence down. Leslie shuts the idea down by saying that would be the felony of arson. The man doesn’t care. A different man suggests that they put up a fence around the Eagleton fence to make maintenance harder for them. A woman stands up and says that her boy, Joey (last name unimportant) hurt his arm trying to climb the fence to play on the nicer side and demands that the government take down the fence. Leslie promises the entire forum that she will, in fact, tear down the wall like she’s Mikhail Gorbachev (a communist). The entire forum applauds her lie. The arson man brings up the idea of burning the fence and Leslie says, “yeah, great” like she agrees with him which is confusing, possibly giving the man the green light to commit a felony. We never see him again in the show so maybe he goes to prison after attempted arson.

April is on the phone speaking loudly enough for Ron to hear the ridiculous party favors she’s trying to order. Ron holds down the switch hook to forcefully hang up the call and tells April to stop. Then Lindsay Carlisle Shay shows up and brightens up the dingy Pawnee parks department, even though they all hate her. Leslie and Lindsay are fake nice in their reunion. Ben introduces himself to her, probably hoping to get a piece since it’s going nowhere with Leslie, but is shot down when she calls him Dan and dismisses the correction he tries to make. Leslie tries to goad Lindsay by introducing Ann (Perkins) as her best friend. Lindsay couldn’t give a shit. She sees Ann as sad and tired because she’s a nurse and looks like she regrets shaking her hand probably because she touches a lot of blood in her line of work. Leslie and Lindsay step out into the courtyard where Lindsay says she does charity work in Pawnee but basically calls it a lost cause. Leslie then pulls out an old photograph of Lindsay from before she got a nose job and lost some weight as well as her soul. Lindsay tries to pry it out of Leslie’s vice-like grip. They have a pointless conversation about the park and the fence and Lindsay leaves after insulting the town that Leslie loves most and Leslie can do nothing but stand there and take it. She tells the camera crew what she would have said if she were quicker with the quips and it honestly wouldn’t have been worth saying at the time anyway.

Commercial break (I’m watching this on Netflix so there are no commercials)

Leslie, Ben, and Tom are now in Eagleton at the Eagletonian version of a public forum which looks more like an upscale cafe. Lindsay, donning horse riding garb greets all three of them and calls them “Pawnee.” Tom introduces himself using his full name to which Lindsay says, “okay.” Leslie asks her if she was just at the stables and she confirms that, indeed, she was. Lindsay comments on Leslie’s appearance, saying she looks like she’s been working really hard and offers her a mirror or a self-help book. They are mean to each other right before the forum begins. 

April walks into Ron’s office and asks for details about his house to plan for people to come for a birthday party. Ron sees Ann walking into the department with balloons in her hand. Thinking they are for him, the birthday boy, he quickly dashes over to her with a pen in hand and begins popping them. Ann explains that the balloons were for a sick child at the hospital. Ron is not remorseful. He orders Ann to go into his office so that they can speak in private. Ann remarks that she doesn’t work for him and doesn’t have to do what he says. Ron doesn’t give a shit. 

Back in Eagleton, Leslie tries to explain her side for not having a fence at the park. Eagleton citizens are met with applause when they introduce themselves to the forum and offer their own perspectives. One woman says that the fence is a punishment for Pawnee. Leslie spews more communist drivel saying any kid should be able to play in any park “regardless of wealth or status” and applauds herself awkwardly as the Eagletonians watch in silence. She then points to the boy from before who had hurt his arm climbing the fence. A man says he saw the boy selling fireworks to Eagleton kids. His mother then inaudibly chews him out right then and there. Lindsay thinks this illustrates her point that Pawnee is a shithole town and the only way to become better is to change everything about it, like she did herself. The entire forum applauds at her words while Leslie stands there in anger and defeat.

Back at the office Ron demands that Ann tells him what’s going on for his birthday. She was unaware it was even his birthday so she tells him happy birthday. Ron tells her to shut her damn mouth, like the rude ass that he is. Ron, even though Ann didn’t know it was his birthday, pressures her to tell him what Leslie is planning and she has to tell him that she has no clue. She tells him what Leslie did for her birthday which increases the fear within Ron.

The Pawnee gang leaves Eagleton and Leslie gives the backstory of the fallout between her and Lindsay which, who cares. It’s a very short scene and Lindsay’s never in the show again, so.

Ron asks Chris (Traeger) to send Leslie on some kind of government related trip so that she can’t celebrate Ron’s birthday. Chris is informed that it’s Ron’s birthday from this conversation, tells Ron “happy birthday” grabs his face and plants a big wet kiss right on his mouth. 

At the park with the fence, Leslie, Tom, Ben, April, Donna, Andy (Dwyer), and Jerry (Gergich) are there to throw trash all around the Eagleton side of the fence. Ben rhetorically asks Leslie if that just plays into what Eagleton already thinks of them. Leslie ponders his point for a second and decides he is right. Leslie often doesn’t think things through and acts emotionally. Lindsay shows up with her dog, Sambuca. Leslie tries to make her see that all this is stupid and that she’s from Pawnee. Lindsay denies it. Leslie questions her takeout from JJ’s Diner and she explains that the waffles are great dog laxatives. Once she feeds her dog the waffle, Leslie fucking loses her shit and viciously attacks Lindsay. The police arrive and they try to get each other to apologize which leads to the best dialogue in this entire episode which is why I’m going to transcribe it verbatim...

Leslie: I will never apologize to her. Lindsay: Nor I, her.  Leslie: (mockingly) Nor I, her. I doth proclaim to be a stupid fartface. Lindsay: Nice retort. Did G.B. Shaw write that for you? Leslie: DID G.B. SHAW WRITE YOUR STUPID FARTFACE?

The Pawnee officer then says that if they don’t apologize they’re gonna toss them into jail.

So obviously they end up in jail. Lindsay is shown in a typical jail cell, while Leslie is in a comfortable lilac holding cell where she is offered refreshments, but she declines.

The next day Andy walks into Ron’s office and says he forgot to put a shirt on. Ron is wearing a shirt, but admits that he slept there to avoid being kidnapped by Leslie in his own home. He tries to get Andy to reveal what’s going on for his birthday but Andy says that Leslie’s done so much for him that he wouldn’t betray her like that. Ron respects that. However Andy lets slip that he’s going to kidnap him.

In the Eagleton jail cell, Ann comes to bail out Leslie. Who cares what happens here, it isn’t funny. Except when Ann offers to beat Lindsay senseless with a baseball bat.

Next scene is a baseball game using the fence that Eagleton put up. Effectively repurposing the fence but if you can recall she promised the Pawnee citizens at the forum that she would get it taken down. Leslie is a liar. Lindsay is impressed that Leslie is so efficient at her job, making baseball teams and organizing the game. They tentatively make plans to hang out sometime but who knows if it ever happens. I wish she returned to the show at some point because I like Parker Posey but whatever.

After psychologically torturing Ron all week, Leslie leads Ron into a cozy room where she set up his birthday surprise which is whiskey and steak and other things Ron likes. Then they have a touching conversation but who cares, it isn’t funny.

This is a good episode. On the comedic meter it’s not as funny as some other episodes but its message of finding common ground between enemies who used to be friends is touching. And it has Parker Posey in it so I give it like an 8/10.

[thesimplyluxuriouslife]

253: 36 Ways to Welcome Joie de Vivre into Your Everyday Life

"I firmly believe that it's the little things we do that eventually add up to a happy life. I am not asking you to change everything about the way you live, but perhaps to reconsider a few details of your daily routine. Remember that joie de vivre is not revolutionary —but it is evolutionary." —Robert Arbor, author of Joie de Vivre: Simple French Style for Everyday Living

Sixteen years French chef Robert Arbor released a book that offers a personal glimpse into his everyday routines which adhere to the French's simple approach to living well. With time split between living in Connecticutt and living in a country home in Flaujac-Poujol, France, with his wife and two sons, he shares how the secrets of the French are really quite simple when it comes to elevating the everyday.

Yes, it took me far too long to pick up this book, but as soon as I did, his words were music to my ears as he too celebrates and revels in the everyday routines, cultivate seemingly simple rituals that are savored and deeply appreciated. A way of life that is inspired by his own upbringing in Fontainebleau, France, just outside of Paris.

Many readers recommended Joie de Vivre: Simple French Style for Everyday Living and many readers have shared they return to read this book often to reminders of how to slow down and savor the lives they have worked so hard to have the opportunity to live. Joie de Vivre is a gem of a resource for reminding ourselves of the beauty of life - understanding that our lives are made up everydays is all we need to do to recognize and embrace a truly contented life.

While I will certainly be picking up the book many times more in the future, having highlighted and annotated heavily throughout, I wanted to share 36 ideas Arbor shares in the book as an introduction to how grand the everyday can be, and how it truly is quite simple.

~Be sure to tune in and listen to the podcast episode and more discussion on each point is shared.

1.Breakfast - enjoy alone and make it nice or with a very close friend, someone you like - make it your personal time of the day.

2. Savor the buttery goodness of a croissant on weekend or for special occasions

~TSLL's homemade croissant recipe~

3. Cloth napkins for everyday dining

4. Cultivate a routine you enjoy around your breakfast and morning "to give a quick thought to each day's potential".

5. Cultivate your own potager (vegetable garden) to "grow a few things to eat fresh". And only grow what you love to eat and share.

6. Disperse flowers throughout your potager, let go of perfection and separation.

7. Place your fresh, delicate vegetables and fruits (tomatoes, courgettes, most fruit) in a compote on the kitchen counter to be reminded to use them immediately (or very soon).

"A big part of comprehending joie de vivre is understanding that enjoyment in day-to-day life is the true key to happiness. Finding happiness in small things means that ordinary days are filled with pleasures rather than obligations. Joyful anticipation of life's everyday events is part of bringing joie de vivre into your home in a lasting way."

8. Grow your own garden of herbs

9. Make food shopping enjoyable - visit a special shop, a farm stand or make it a social engagement.

10. Enjoy good, seasonal food and revel in it.

11. Welcome cheese into your eating regimen

12. Regularly frequent le marché in your area when available

"Great food and ingredients can be found anywhere. One just has to make more of an effort and decide on a lifestyle choice about the quality of the food."

~All You Need to Know About the Markets in Provence

13. Make the kitchen the center of the house, but it need not be state-of-the-art.

14. No need to spend a lot of money to have a pleasant workable kitchen - regular height chairs, let go of the high stools, so you can relax and enjoy conversation - sitting back, etc. Only purchase the equipment you will actually use and buy quality items that will last. Here are a few ideas: 3-4 pots with lids, a cast iron skillet (keep it seasoned), a teakettle on the stove for boiling water, a Dutch oven or cocotte, but again, only tools you will need for the food you and your household enjoy eating.

~Why Not . . . Use Simple Changes to Transform Your Kitchen?

15. Have the basic cooking utensils stocked in your kitchen so no matter what the season, you can make what you enjoy: 3 sharpened knives (paring, chef's and serrated), 2 cutting boards, earthenware jugs full of different wooden spoons and spatulas, a stainless-steel spoon and 8-oz ladle, perforated stainless steel spoon, tongs, a whisk, 3 graduated mixing bowls, a fine mesh strainer, hot mitts, a hand-cranked can opener, cork screw, cotton kitchen towels, and a scale, measuring cups and spoons, rolling pin if you are a baker.

~A Cook's Kitchen (necessary utensils)

~A Baker's Kitchen (necessary utensils)

16. A well stocked épicerie (pantry) with top-grade items (In TSLL's 2nd book, an entire chapter breaks down how to step into your kitchen and enjoy the everyday meals)

17. Tidy your kitchen as you go to make the space a place you enjoy stepping into each time.

18. Lengthen and deepen (full and satiating) your midday meal as much as possible.

"This is a time for stepping away from your work — even if you are eating with your coworkers—and talking and thinking about something else . . . Whatever the company, the conversation is always pleasant and positive. And that, naturally, adds to the pleasure and anticipation of lunch. It is a real break from the rest of the day. Le déjeuner is not about using time, it is about taking time."

19. Enjoy a picnic and make it comfortable

"I do love a picnic in the French style, which, of course, means comfort, comfort and more comfort. First of all, a French person is simply not going to eat on the ground. Although we might lounge around on a blanket later, it is much butter to eat sitting up."

20. Reserve Sunday to enjoy a big Sunday lunch, focusing on pleasure rather than obligation.

21. And grab that nap after the lengthy lunch to add regular moments of rejuventation .

"Remind yourself that sometimes the best ideas and solutions rise to the surface when you're not thinking so hard."

22. Grab an afternoon break regularly with la pause gourmande to give yourself a treat - "a treat with a purpose" and offer the perfect solution to the "afternoon blahs".

23. Enjoy dinner in the dining room regularly and offer the opportunity for everyone to contribute (whether by setting the table, etc.) somehow.

24. Unwind after dinner with a little dessert treat (nothing too grand), and partaking in something you enjoy on your own or with others so that you can go to bed happy and content.

25. Share dinner with friends with a casual dinner party - only invite people you truly like and don't "overstretch yourself".

~10 Ideas Gleaned & Confirmed from My last Dinner Party, episode #235

26. Create a warm and inviting atmosphere, which means you need to be able to be relaxed and enjoy the evening as well. The goal: good food, good conversation and good fun.

27. Begin with apéritifs - small nibbles and drinks.

28. Have very small groups of flowers on the table to create a welcome, but not cumbersome table to sit around and enjoy the meal.

29. Add candles to the dinner table either in glass hurricanes, or small tea lights spread around the tabletop.

30. Add a low volume lyric-less music to the background, as the conversation amongst friends is the best music.

31. Enjoy cheese and a vinaigrette dressed salad course after the main course prior to dessert.

32. Add water to the meal to be enjoyed while enjoying glasses of wine with each course.

33. Dessert need not be homemade when you have a favorite local patisserie.

34. Savor the winding down at the end of the day and do not skip this important part of each day. Cultivate a pleasant ritual, perhaps a different one for each season.

35. Make lavender-scented linen water to add an inviting scent to your bed linens.

36. Enjoy a good night's sleep

"Americans are fascinated with how the French manage to live so well, and so contentedly, in their ordinary, day-to-day life. It's not just about cooking, decorating, or entertaining — it's about enjoying all the small details of domestic life." —Robert Arbor

May your everydays be full of simple pleasures and moments of joy as well as you remember how extraordinary your life already is at this very moment.

~Order Robert Arbor's book Joie de Vivre: Simple French Style for Everyday Living

~SIMILAR EPISODES/POSTS from THE ARCHIVES YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

~14 Ways to Eat Like the French —Savor Good Food, Don't Fear It, episode #175

~20 Ways to Incorporate Your Love for the French Culture into Your Everydays, episode #144

~The French Way: How to Create a Luxurious Everyday Life, episode #23

~View all French-Inspired podcast episodes here

Petit Plaisir

~Call My Agent (Dix Pour Cent)

https://youtu.be/RvM0ZrxBwFU

~Images: TSLL Instagram (@thesimplyluxuriouslife)

Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast

[laularlau8]

The history of India’s independence and the creation of Pakistan had been unfamiliar to Gillian Anderson when she took the role of Lady Mountbatten for her new film Viceroy’s House. The actor had once hired a private history tutor, a dozen years ago, to fill in some gaps of history she was hazy on – “Stuff that just wasn’t in my brain” – but this had not been one of them.

“No, I’d thought let me start with a couple of things that I don’t actually know that much about, or I can’t remember that much about, which was the first and second world wars.” She starts to laugh. “But it was a disaster. Because I have no memory. I took notes, blah, blah, blah, but couldn’t remember a thing he taught me. Nothing. I’m not even sure, if you’d asked me the next day, I could have told you what I’d learned. You know, even my favourite books, I couldn’t tell you what they were about. It’s always been that way.”

The menopause hasn’t helped, and lately things have become so bad that she’s going to get herself tested to see if she might actually be dyslexic. “Somebody had said to me that dyslexia isn’t just about seeing words backwards, it’s also about the assimilation of information. I’d always been afraid to look into it, because I was afraid that if I found something out, I would think that I couldn’t do anything that I wanted to do. I have this impression that I can do whatever I make up my mind to. But the reality is...” She lets the sentence fall away with a grimace.

By a bit of luck, the one thing the actor has always been able to remember are her lines. “But of course that’s terrifying for me, thinking, well, what if this problem that exists in the rest of my life shows up in that respect, too? Then I’d be buggered.”

If this creates an impression of a ditzy blonde, it would be misleading. We meet at the photographer’s studio, where a rack of stylist’s clothes stands unused; she chooses to be photographed in her own, and the way she chuckles about this makes me think the preference is par for the course for Anderson on shoots. Her fitted black trouser suit and heels are a sort of corporate/fashion hybrid, and her manner is similarly friendly but business-like. Apart from her enormous eyes, everything about Anderson is tiny, and the compactness reinforces the sense of efficient self-possession she conveys. She was just 24 when, as FBI agent Dana Scully in the paranormal TV drama that would make her a global star, she captivated X-Files fans for 10 years with her hyper-rational cool, before moving to London where her career has been equally sure-footed. From period dramas (Bleak House, House Of Mirth, War And Peace) to big-budget TV series (Hannibal, The Fall), to independent movies (The Last King Of Scotland, A Cock And Bull Story), comedy (Boogie Woogie, Johnny English Reborn) and theatre (A Doll’s House, A Streetcar Named Desire), Anderson seems to get busier the older she gets. It’s a tall order for a beautiful blonde to play consistently powerful, intelligent women, but Anderson has pulled it off.

The actor brings her air of serious purpose to the role of Lady Mountbatten, giving us a less flighty version of the aristocrat than the good-time girl caricature we’ve been accustomed to. She evokes her character’s classic colonial glamour, but depicts her dashing about nursing the sick and injured, and being a generally good egg.

“One of the things that I was surprised by in studying Edwina was that there was certainly a turning point in her life when she went from being predominantly a socialite, and wafting around and having affairs, living pretty much from holiday to holiday and leaving her children at home. But when the war happened and she started to participate in nursing et cetera, her escapism completely switched over to being of service, so everything she did from that moment on was about properly digging in and working around the clock.”

Viceroy’s House opens with the arrival in India of Lord Mountbatten and his wife in 1947, to oversee the nation’s transition from colonial rule to independence. Hugh Bonneville plays Edwina’s husband, and their official residence – Viceroy’s House – is not so much the film’s setting as the third star member of the cast. Sumptuously filmed, at moments the movie is a sort of Downton Abbey of the Raj, with all sorts of romantic intrigue going on below stairs among the 500 Hindu, Sikh and Muslim household staff. But there is not so much as a hint of the affair Lady Mountbatten was rumoured to take up with the man about to become India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. Their romance was to have been the subject of a 2009 film, Indian Summer, until the Indian government took exception to the salacious storyline and forced the movie to be cancelled. In the hands of British director Gurinder Chadha, whose own family were among the 14 million displaced in the violence and bloodshed of the period, this new version of India’s independence is less racy, if rather more substantial, and concerns itself with the politics of partition.

Anderson says she was always conscious while making the film that some viewers will find the concept of a “good” colonialist inherently problematic – “yes, absolutely, absolutely” – and 70 years after independence, she found herself revisiting colonialism’s dynamics on location. They filmed in Jodhpur, staying at the Umaid Bhawan Palace hotel, where the film was also shot, using the palace to double for the real Viceroy’s House. “And, you know, we’re in a situation where we’re in a developing country and we are filming at the height of luxury and, yes, there’s an uneasiness to it. There was one actor we worked with, who does a lot of work around the world in – I can’t remember whether it’s around poverty or Aids – who would not stay there. He refused to stay in the hotel, and wanted to stay in some place that felt more like India.”

Even by the standards of activist actors, Anderson’s own involvement in social and political causes is prolific. The 48-year-old has campaigned variously for women’s rights in Afghanistan, against sexual violence towards girls in Myanmar, for better access to HIV treatment in South Africa and education in Uganda, against domestic violence in the UK and child trafficking across the globe, for the rights of indigenous tribes in South America and conservation of cheetahs in Namibia, against deforestation in the Amazon and rabbit fur farms in China – and that is nothing like the full list. I was therefore expecting her to be quite forthright about current political affairs, but am completely wrong.

“I generally have a tendency to steer away from outright political discussion in interviews, because I am an actor, and there’s so much that I don’t understand, and I don’t for a second feel like I have a right to that platform. I don’t want to get into a discussion about Trump or about Brexit or any of that – I feel it’s best left to people who really understand the very, very complex issues. Not for a second am I going to pitch in, because I don’t really know what it is that I’m talking about. I have opinions, but I don’t think my opinions are more valid because I’m an actor and have more of a platform than others.”

I wonder if this is her way of saying she shares the view that actors ought to stop turning awards ceremonies into anti-Trump rallies, but she looks faintly alarmed. “No, no, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’m only talking about myself. I don’t have an opinion on whether or not actors should speak out.”

She has, on the other hand, just co-written a book called We: A Manifesto For Women Everywhere. Rather like Anderson, it is less polemical than one might guess from the title, and more a manual for spiritual self-improvement. Co-written with her close friend Jennifer Nadel, a former barrister and BBC documentary maker, Anderson has described it as a work of advice to her younger self. “I have struggled with self-esteem myself,” she said last year, “and in looking at the ways that I have dealt with overcoming those things, I started to think that maybe some of it might be potentially useful for other people of all ages.”

According to the introduction, it is a “manifesto for a female-led revolution”, and Anderson stresses that it is “not a self-help book”, although it reads a lot like one. Chapters are called things like Acceptance: Making Friends With What Is, and Courage: Ending The Victim Trap, and its pages promise to “change your life”. It prescribes a detailed programme of fairly recognisable techniques, which range from meditation, affirmations (“This is who I am and I’m glad to be me”), messages to oneself on Post-it notes stuck to the bathroom mirror (“My name is Decca. I am a good and kind person. I do not need to please everyone. I do enough. I am enough.”) and a nightly gratitude list of reasons to feel grateful to the universe. As is often the case with this sort of book, I find myself torn between cynical giggles and the mesmerising thought: what if it works?

Anderson swears it does, but she has such cut-glass British poise that I struggle to picture her solemnly reciting affirmations. It might have been easier to reconcile her voice with the book’s rather Californian, new-age tone had we met in America, for she is what’s called bidialectal; when in the US, she speaks in an American accent, but here she sounds completely British, and says she has no control over it. “I was in Los Angeles recently with a couple of Brits and I thought, I’m going to see what it’s like to talk among Americans with a British accent, and I felt so uncomfortable. It felt so disingenuous, and I kept thinking they must think I’m a complete twat. But when I’m here, it’s nearly impossible for me to maintain an American accent.”

Anderson was born in Chicago but moved to London aged five, while her father attended film school in the city. When she was 11, the family moved back to the States, to Michigan, but continued to spend summers in London, and by her early teens Anderson was rattling off the rails. Punk rock, drugs, an addict girlfriend and a much older boyfriend all featured heavily in her adolescence, and her classmates weren’t wrong when they voted her “most likely to get arrested”. On the night of graduation, she broke into her school to try to glue the locks shut, and was charged with trespass.

She has been in therapy since the age of 14, and the book is interspersed with personal passages on her own experience of mental-health difficulties. “There were times,” she tells me, “when it was really bad. There have been times in my life where I haven’t wanted to leave the house.” But there’s a bit of a dance between disclosure and discretion, because whenever I ask her to elaborate on the personal vignettes in the book, she shuts down.

I kept hearing myself say, ‘I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down’

The book contains enough 12-step-style advice to make me think addiction issues went beyond teenage experimentation for Anderson, and when I say so, she nods. Could she say a little more? “No.” After 24 years in therapy, and writing the book, I’m guessing she has a good idea where her problems stem from, but the question receives a chilly, “Pourquoi?” There are “quite a few”, she says, but “I would have put them in the book if I wanted to talk about them out loud.”

Her first husband was a Canadian art director she met on the set of The X-Filesand married at 25. Their daughter Piper was born a year later, but the marriage was over within three years; her second marriage, in 2004, to a journalist and producer, ended within two. Months later, she announced she was pregnant, and had two sons – Oscar, now 11, and Felix, nine – with a British businessman, before they split up five years ago.

I’m curious about how a single mother who has been working flat out for 25 years (she was back on the X-Files set nine days after giving birth to Piper) can even find the time to practise all the spiritual techniques her book recommends.

“Well,” she smiles, “I’ve definitely deliberately slowed down. Because I kept hearing myself say, ‘I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down, I’ve got to slow down.’ I must have said that for 10 years, or maybe even 20 years. I was just sick and tired of hearing myself. I just thought, why do I do this to myself, and why have I done it for so long? People would laugh at me because I’d be like, ‘I had an extra 10 minutes, so I stopped in to say hi, you know.’ It became enough of a joke among my friends that I had to start paying attention to it. So one of the things I try really hard now to do is, no matter what, after I drop the kids, I go back home so I can meditate.”

Why has she always pushed herself so hard? “Well, the bigger-picture part is that I’m responsible for quite a lot of people financially, so it’s that. But it’s also a little bit of fear of what happens when one slows down. When I think about an empty period of time, fear comes up. I’m quite good at being on my own, so it’s not necessarily fear of myself, but probably fear of facing those things like: why do I drive myself so hard?”

Does she really compile a list of things to feel grateful for every day? “Yes! I do a gratitude list every night. I mean, it’s in my head now, but I go through stages where I think I’m just complaining all the time again. It’s too floating in my head, it needs to be on paper.” Complaining all the time is “probably one of the things I struggle with most. I suffer from great intolerance. Such intolerance of so much.” Such as? “Oh, intolerance of myself. Intolerance of situations. Intolerance of people on the street. Intolerance of whatever. So I have to constantly settle myself down from the state of being aggravated.”

I try to picture her stropping about, grumbling about roadworks or noisy neighbours, and find this image easier to conjure than the new-age version of her intoning, “My name is Gillian Anderson, I am a good and kind person.” She has a steeliness about her that I really like, but whether it’s proof of the success of her spiritual techniques or indicates the limits of their powers, I can’t decide. She certainly feels like someone in full control of herself and her life, and if this keeps her at a slightly cool distance, it is also rather enviable.

She says she used to be pitilessly intolerant of her own physical self, but won’t elaborate on how that manifested itself, because she refuses to allow herself that line of thinking. “I will not go there. I simply will not allow it any more. Because the things that we might be critical of ourselves about actually don’t matter. The only thing that really matters in terms of our peace of mind is our peace of mind itself, and how we react to things. All I know is that when I meditate, one goes beyond the physical, and it is possible to tap into a sense of absolute contentment and joy in that place. So if that’s where you’re starting, then actually none of this,” and she gestures to her body, “means anything, really.”

How is it possible for a working actor to liberate herself from concerns about physical appearance, when her existence is so entwined in it? After eight seconds of silence, she replies: “I don’t know. I mean, as I get older, I imagine the roles that I’m able to get are going to change. There will be a certain point where I’ll make the decision to go grey, you know. There might be a certain point where I decide that it’s silly for me to continue being blond when I’m in my 60s. I’ve also always wanted to direct, I’ve also always wanted to be an artist. Maybe when the kids are out of college, I can decide to downsize and go grey and get less work.”

The art of acceptance is one of her new book’s biggest themes. As someone who is terrible at it, I’ve never been sure how realistic an ambition true acceptance really is.

“Well, there’s an opportunity for fear around every corner, fear of the future, fear of what if,” Anderson says. “But the acceptance of wherever we are, whoever we are, is freedom. So, you know, I can sit and bemoan the fact that I don’t get the same roles, or bemoan the fact that my skin is starting to look like chicken skin, or bemoan whatever it is. But that’s not reality. That’s fighting reality.”