#ken renders couple of the year

[mt-lowercase-m-derogatory]

I've rewritten this into the style of HP Lovecraft. Because reasons. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZLYDChmfO4 for where I've narrated and captioned it!

The most unfortunate of dating stories, I must recount, is the incident involving the shoe.

During my high school years, my closest friend was under strict parental supervision, forbidden to engage in courtship without the presence of another couple to oversee his actions. This was no pure case of progenitor protectiveness, as madness seemed a marked feature of the family line. Much like ichor from a stone, the unreasonable can precipitate no reason.

In my junior year, after a rather dispiriting breakup with a quasi-girlfriend, I eschewed the notion of dating, much to the dismay of my friend: He had found favor with a young lady he had encountered within a house of law. He persistently urged me to re-enter the social arena of dating, not out of concern for my well-being, but to further his own romantic endeavors. After weeks of resisting his incessant entreaties, I was finally worn down by this proposition: he would arrange both date and expenses, so naught but my attendance would be required. In hindsight, I should have declined. An event premised on absurdity of such sort could hold no kindly fate in store. And yet, he managed to further complicate matters.

The arc of his moral descent remains obscured to me: whether sinking desperation or an eager plunge brought his measures about, it is immaterial. He contacted a girl from his religious congregation - a girl profoundly besotted with him - inviting her to a romantic outing. The implication that he would be her partner remained unspoken, but not unbroken, as I was informed me he'd found me company for his plans. I would not learn of his transgressions until weeks past the event; I would have stopped this travesty had I known of it, and I would scream that solemn vow to even God and all His Angels - and likely will with my dying breath.

On the day of reckoning, my frugal preparations proceeded with minimal fanfare. I donned my favored attire, comfortable yet sartorially offensive: shorts of basket ball, flops which flipped, and a Baja hoodie. Though it afforded me great comfort, it rendered me a spectacle of eccentricity.

Upon arriving at my friend's abode, I collected him and his date before proceeding to my own. It was at this juncture the farcical nature of the evening began to unfold. As I approached the door, my date's initial exuberance turned to disappointment, then disgust, and finally, anger. Unaware she had been deceived as to her prospective partner, I felt my wardrobe and its levity had been unjustly maligned.

Seconds passed in mutual appraisal afore the door was slammed in my face. The terror my friend radiated mixed with our baffled paralysis for the eternal heartbeats before the door once more opened.

Her father, a man of imposing demeanor, invited me inside, explaining that his daughter was upstairs and would require some time, which we would use to talk. We did not talk. We did sit. He sat across from me, meticulously cleaning a pistol - a gesture I could not decipher as either a threat or merely the manner in which his age and sort of man was to indulge in fidgeting. My offer of aid in this cleaning was rudely rebuffed, and so I simply observed, judging his skill to be middlingly adept.

When my date finally descended, her fury was beyond my ken, though not beyond my recognition. Attributing her ire to my appearance, I endeavored to compensate with chivalrous gestures. Having escorted her to the car, her father called me back to the door, leaning into the most sacred margins of my personal space to issue a warning: "Whatever you do to her, I will do to you."

True bewilderment, in its most elevated form, consists not of lacking rationality, but of Reason overwhelming all else as it did in that moment. Three such truths this bestowed me: Firstly, and to the detriment of the patriarch's character, his passable display of pistol maintenance had indeed been a threat. Secondly, even I in the midst of my 'tism intuited that no romantic overtures were fated to occur. Could he truly believe in a triumph of passions between myself and his daugher, or even one… of lusts? Only then did the third and least welcome line of deduction sink in: was this man threatening my person with a bout of the fucking? In my throes, I gave my only response:

"I can't get pregnant."

So thinking to express his machinations for a farce, I felt protected by my confidence in the separation of spheres: the Veil between our world and the Omegaverse would preclude the patriarch's work from coming to fruition.

In that instant, the nature of insanity was forever clarified to my interlocutor: One does not turn insane when, for a single instant, comprehending the vastness of truth - it is the following moment that renders the mind to shards, when one has to fall back to mundanity, forever altered and yet uncomprehending of oneself. I, however, had countless experiences with such esoterics, and my bearings returned in time to make a vehicular escape while the father was yet regaining the function of speech - though what he lacked in alacrity was more than compensated for by the volume and pathos of the words he left in our wake.

In our era of blessed darkness, ignorant to mobile communication technologies that might have called her home, my date merely felt a moment of perplexion before her scowling could grace the deserving party and myself once more. We attended a display of improvisational comedy, an experience the others felt to be marred by my anxious, uncontrollable laughter.

Following the show, my friend suggested a walk in the park, a proposition soundly rejected by my date. Knowing what fate had already befallen her, I felt a great sense of mercy and released her a safe distance away from her home.

Left to chaperone my friend and his date in a park, I climbed a rope tower 30 feet in height, seeking a natural panopticon with which to distance myself without forsaking my duties. However, my friend, oblivious to my intentions, intruded upon my tower of solitude, followed by his date. The mercy I had shown that night was not bestowed to me, as I sat there while their sappy and sopping affections occured well within audible distance, and my powers of dissociation revealed their value once more. When some collegiate members of our age cohort began shaking the spire my tormentors and I sat upon, the opportunity to flirtingly soothe and comfort was not lost on my friend, motivating me to descend and engage with the rude accosters of our unhallowed peak.

After resolving the disturbance to raised middle fingers, I returned to my car, the day's chaos finally overwhelming me. Soon, the students felt a whim to climb up, prompting the core duo of our uncomfortable tricycle to climb down and return to the car, where my heart was hardening to a conclusion. I might not have been able to salvage the memory of that day, but I could brighten its ending with an indulgence of righteous pique. Instructing my passengers to avoid any untoward endeavours, I set out for the tower and began pilfering the shoes left by the college students in their ascent. Then, I realized that the appearance of theft would undermine the purity of my motives. As such, I returned only the right shoe of every pair, gave myself a 100-foot head start, called out "nice shoes, assholes" and punctuated my escape with a diminutive jig.

To all who might heed this caution: college students are swifter than one might anticipate. Despite my head start and their descent from the tower, I found myself a mere five seconds ahead by the time I reached my vehicle. I flung the door open, glanced into the backseat, saw no one, tossed the purloined shoes to the back, and heard two "ow"s as confirmation of our collective's completeness.

My friend and his date emerged moments later, having been engaged in… peculiar activity in the backseat, invalidating my singular request. They clambered forward to inquire about the origins of the shoes, whereupon I confessed to my act of larceny. They responded with noncommital well-wishes, which I accepted with the tact befitting my education: "Speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?"

And at that point, for the first time in his life, I believe my friend was actually embarassed.

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[prof-kenny]

is about to end 2017, this year I saw many beautiful anime but of all those I saw, I can say that princess x ange is the best couple;)

[tendervulture]

“BOW BEFORE UNENDING NIGHT”.

Megaera, shadow dragon, and daughter of Dark Lords Spyro and Cynder in the Evil Married Couple AU, depending on how the timelines shake out. This little dragoness has been very hard to pin down, not to mention that the post-it note that I drew and colored her on was accidentally ruined by a silver sharpie pen, rendering it unsalvageable. Megaera often resembles a creepy victorian child more than a dragon whelpling, and would like to be wise beyond her years. Unfortunately, she's also a know-it-all obsessed with the occult and things beyond mortal ken, and is not as smart as she thinks she is. She is VERY excited for the upcoming Night of Eternal Darkness in a few decades, to the discomfort of her parents. She resembles her granddam Schade, and the two are close.

Title from FAITHFUL SERVANT FRIEND OF CHRIST by Lingua Ignota.

[denimbex1986]

‘...The series seems to struggle itself with the question of what it says about Bucky that he “let” himself be controlled (nb: it doesn’t say anything) and decides some “will he won’t he” suspense over whether he’s deep down still a killer and how he can make up for what he supposedly did are valuable questions to ask, rather than a replication of the same agonising self blame that most abuse survivors subject themselves to.

...it’s believable for everyone to treat his torture and enslavement as an awful unspeakable thing no one wants to confront in earnest, because people are very bad at handling difficult emotional situations, but that treatment is also only ever depicted as wholly appropriate, and so the audience is asked to buy in. Beyond a couple of angry threats Bucky throws the way of Zemo (Daniel Bruhl), his former tormentor, Zemo’s two second apology in episode 3, and some blink and you’ll miss them visual inserts during the aforementioned scene with Ayo, the writing focusses entirely on what Bucky was forced to do while enslaved and skirts around the awful things that were done *to him*, rendering the exploration of his trauma confusing and unbalanced.

...the core message from Sam’s tough love, however kindly delivered, was “man up and take responsibility”. Far from being an example of men healthily discussing emotions, this is a fairly typically macho rejection of any suggestion of fragility or ambivalence. (He also talks about the ineffectiveness of Bucky telling people he’s sorry, seconds after mentioning he was doing the exact opposite, so the incoherence of this speech really has layers.) These might be the kind of well-meaning observations that a real male friend would make, but coming from the mouth of the next Captain America, we are also asked to take them as unimpeachably correct.

...this total emphasis on being “of service” is quite a directive to give a man who was compelled very painfully into service for years, and doesn’t challenge the unhealthy pressure men put on themselves to be in control of their own emotions at all times. The closest Bucky ever comes to falling to pieces comes not from the writing but Stan, who inserts the occasional waver into Bucky’s voice to show all this control is costing something, and does a great trade in “haunted behind the eyes” facial expressions. As a challenge though to the scale of what’s being demanded of the character, that’s fairly thin gruel.

...Sam entreats Bucky to stop working out how to stop all of Hydra’s beneficiaries, and focus on helping its victims — by going and telling them he murdered their loved ones. He doesn’t come out and say that explicitly, obviously, because that would involve the writers directly acknowledging this is some pretty extreme shit, so they just couch it as “people out there who need closure, which only you can give”. I think this is supposed to come off as subtle, rather than minimising.

I have to ask, because when I’ve suggested to people this advice was, well, bad, it hasn’t gone down well: does it really seem a good idea for Bucky, an emotionally unstable man in the midst of an identity crisis, to go off on his own and talk to the loved ones of Hydra’s victims, who he was forced to murder, given the last time someone found out about this (ie Tony Stark) they tried to kill him? Could this not be profoundly retraumatising, having to relive these memories out loud to devastated victims, again and again? Could taking on all their grief and pain and rage on behalf of Hydra, his own torturers, who he must have his own anger against but who will never seek forgiveness, not reinforce the self hatred he already feels?

Meanwhile, is it going to make anyone feel better to be told out of the blue how their loved ones died by the person who killed them? Did seeing Bucky make Isaiah feel better? Did he enjoy that reminder of his past? Did it bring closure? Did anyone on the writing team ask any of these questions?

...The writers...were so unable to authentically write a scene between Bucky and Yori (Ken Takemoto), the father of a man he murdered, that wouldn’t go disastrously wrong they cut it short after about three lines rather than suggest Sam might have oversimplified the problem. But, they needed their vehicle to get Bucky to his smiley happy ending, so the scene had to stay in. He declares at the end of it “I didn’t have a choice” and it‘s possible this was intended to sound like a breakthrough, but as a character beat it’s rather hollow, given that in six hours we’ve seen no depiction of him coming to this realisation.

In any case, no one asks Bucky if this drive to make amends for things he didn’t do is a form of self flagellation that’s preventing him from letting go, whether he’s really up to facing all of Hydra’s victims by himself, offers to go with him, or points out he doesn’t actually need to do any of it...

But aside from saying some pretty unhealthy stuff about recovery, which may not deliver the best messages to male survivors of abuse and assault watching at home, it does seem a shame that what’s unique and interesting about Bucky in the world of male superheroes has been stripped away: the challenging of normative male roles, all the real darkness of having to climb out of what he’s gone through, reduced down to a boring, irrelevant commandment to “do the work”, take charge. In this show, Bucky’s just another dude being a dude.

...Bucky’s story is...operatically, garishly tragic, full of high saturation contradictions and big questions about the self, and a story driven by real world struggle...’

[brianconnollyandsweet]

Brian Connolly, Andy Scott, Mick Tucker, and Steve Priest of Sweet, ca. 1975 (images taken from the following article)

Sweet: Glitter Relics In America Ken Barnes, Phonograph Record magazine, October 1975 "THAT WAS 'Ballroom Blitz' by the Sweet! Hard to believe that's the same group that did 'Little Willy' a couple years ago!" – Southern California AM disc jockey (name withheld to protect the ignorant.)

What I'd like to know is what's so hard to believe? The two records aren't very different. They're both written by the same team (Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman), and they're both fast-paced, gimmicky, hard-rocking pop songs aimed at the young, teenaged singles buying audiences. Granted, ‘Ballroom Blitz’ is more complex musically and has a more interesting premise, but it's certainly no weighty intellectual treatise or navel inspection exercise (thank your lucky stars), nor does it pretend to be. ‘Little Willy’, though – somehow that song has earned itself a horrendous reputation. The snobbish types in press and radio hate it, the kind of minds who helped create the yawning chasm between AM/pop and FM/progressive rock in the first place (and I don't use the word "yawning" idly, progressive fans). They consider ‘Little Willy’ the lowest-common-denominator nadir of plastic AM radio, man, the ‘Yummy Yummy Yummy’ of its generation. I've brought all this up in front (to be disinterred again below) because – well, it makes a suitably splenetic opening, but also because such abuse and snobbery is central to the public conception of the Sweet. It's always surrounded the group (especially in England, where their frothy early hits make ‘Little Willy’ sound like Tarkus, or even ‘Aquatarkus’), and it has planted a deep identity crisis within the band itself, one which effects their public statements, their records, and their live show, rendering them all uneasily and unnecessarily self-conscious. The Sweet would love nothing better, one gets the impression, than to have the whole of their pop past entombed and blotted from the public memory, the sooner the better. However, feeling that such an attitude is mildly preposterous and certainly unmerited, being rather enamored of that very pop past myself, I fearlessly and resolutely intend to devote considerable space to that phase of their career. Commencing, the Middlesex-based quartet formed around 1969, with the present lineup of Brian Connolly (lead vocals), Andy Scott (guitar, high harmonies), Steve Priest (bass, harmonies, contrived vocals), and Mick Tucker (drums, occasional vocals) unchanged since their 1970 recording debut. Among their first singles (for Parlophone) were titles like ‘The Lollipop Man’ and an Archies LP track called ‘Get On The Line’. It was quite pleasant lightweight stuff, as were two sides somehow acquired by 20th Century stateside in 1973, early recordings entitled ‘It's Lonely Out There’ and ‘I'm on My Way’. Six Parlophone single sides were collected in a low-budget compilation called Gimme Dat Ding, featuring along with the Sweet a novelty duo called the Pipkins, composed of session notables Roger Greenaway and Tony Burrows, whose big hit (this album's title track) was as silly a record as ever broke the charts, a rinkydink music-hall riff backing fruity falsetto giggling and halfhearted Wolfman Jack imitations. Rather an embarrassing association for the present-day Sweet to recall, one might conjecture, as was this excerpt from the liner notes: (The Sweet) "have no pretensions about the kind of music they play, but are quite happy to provide good commercial pop." their name, too, which is approximately analogous to an American band calling itself the Candy Bar, was hardly calculated for maximum impact in the progressive field. Their early records had little impact in any field, actually, but circumstances were to change dramatically in early 1971. An aspiring songwriter named Nicky Chinn and a disgruntled lead vocalist with a less-than-immoderately-successful post-flower power band called the Tangerine Peel (Mike Chapman) had recently teamed up with the intention of writing gobs of hit records. Quickly growing weary of turndowns from established Denmark Street publishers, they decided to find a group and make the records themselves. So they duly encountered the Sweet, put them in a studio with a catchy, Archies-styled tune called ‘Funny Funny’, and the result was a British smash which remained glued to various international Top 10 listings for over 30 weeks. Chinn and Chapman masterminded further Sweet hits – ‘Co-Co’, full of steel drums and tropical mumbo jumbo (40 charted weeks); ‘Alexander Graham Bell’, a relative stiff because it probably wasn't bubble gummy enough; and ‘Poppa Joe’, very similiar to ‘Co-Co’ and another internationally enduring chart staple. There was also an album built around the first two hits, with the diabolically clever (or just plain diabolical) title of Funny How Sweet Co-Co Can Be. If this album were representative of the Sweet's early pop era, their embarrassed attitude would be considerably more understandable – it's a frighteningly anemic affair featuring washed-out covers of ‘Daydream’ and the Supremes' ‘Reflections’ and a disconcertingly large proportion of Chinn and Chapman's least inspired songs ever. Recommended only for diehards.There were interesting developments with the group's own compositions, though. ‘Co-Co’'s British flip, ‘Done Me Wrong Alright’, was a fairly heavy rocker full of traditional rocker references to the "house of blue lights," "shades of Jerry Lee," and so forth, a promising if not overly distinctive beginning (actually one of their early Parlophone B-sides, ‘The Juicer’, which came out in the States on Paramount, was a hard-rocker too). ‘Alexander Graham Bell’'s B-side, ‘Spotlight’, was a solid improvement, with a deft ripoff of a ‘Pinball Wizard’ riff and an ominous presence. Apparently, inside this malleable group of candy-pop raves was a hard rock band struggling to get out. Wisely, Chinn, Chapman and producer Phil Wainman (now returned to supervising even more anemic pap with the Bay City Rollers) took notice and rocked up the group's A-sides. The record they did it with was ‘Little Willy’, in June 1972. ‘Little Willy’, no matter how sick of it you became after it went into heavy AM rotation, is still a wonderful record, bright, crisp, with snappy, hard-edged chording adapted from the Who's ‘I Can't Explain’. With that repeated-into-the-ground chorus and simple structure, it's bubblegum all right – and maybe it's time to rescue that disparaged concept from the junk heap of small minds. Something's gone way out of kilter when a musical form so compact, so economical, so close to the basic pop-rock tenets, is so widely scorned. The kind of people who'll sit entranced, tongues hanging out, for a 30 minute slow blues or a two-hour synthesized space drone, pulverize concert-hall floors stomping along with hourlong one-riff boogie blasts, or stare agape, awestruck at the spectacle of a totally musicless 40-minute drum solo will look down their encrusted nasal passages at perfectly charming bubblegum ditties. Next time the opportunity comes up, try listening to a ‘Chewy Chewy’ or a ‘Yummy Yummy’ (if lyrics are still important and "meaningful" to you, ignore the words and concentrate on the instrumental track). Solid rock all the way, simplistic, derivative and contrived, of course, but a large proportion of rock, including countless accepted "classics", is simplistic, derivative, and contrived. Learning to appreciate songs like ‘Little Willy’ can be an excellent means of halting encroaching fossilization of the musical membranes – definitely worth a try. Fitfully resuming our story, the fossils were out in full force when ‘Little Willy’ hit in England, and the sneers and catcalls intensified upon the release of the follow-up, ‘Wig Wam Bam’. In conception, ‘Bam’ might be even sillier than ‘Willy’ (keeping in mind, of course, that it was supposed to be silly, just simple catchy amusingly nonsensical pop tunes for young fans, always Chinn and Chapman's guiding philosophy and one which qualifies them, despite occasional deviations like Suzi Quatro's funky ‘Your Mama Won't Like Me’ or even unlistenable excesses like Mud's ‘Lonely This Christmas’, as one of pop's most important national resources). ‘Wig Wam Bam’ sounds phonetically like quick service from a hooker with a hairpiece, but actually takes up secret Indian love rites or some such inanity. It's heavier than ‘Willy’ musically, and the chords are an eternal delight. Then suddenly, after months of isolated regional outbreaks, ‘Little Willy’ became an American hit. Most of their earlier singles had come out on Bell (‘Co-Co’ had even hit #99), but ‘Willy’ dwarfed all expectations and ended up in the Top 5. So the Sweet had an American breakthrough, with the additional pleasure of exposure to new American snide remarks about bubblegum tripe. These attacks combined with newly-fueled British fusillades (admittedly the sight of the Sweet decked out in ridiculous British conceptions of proper Indian regalia, looking thoroughly imbecilic, in publicity stills for ‘Wig Wam Bam’ did little to upgrade their musical credibility, though in reality the connection is rather slight) to establish a new low in press esteem for the group. The Sweet's next record threw a curve at the critics, as NME observers have pointed out. ‘Blockbuster’ was adapted from the same Yardbirds/Shadows of Knight riffs as Bowie's contemporaneous ‘Jean Genie’, and was actually, thanks to an earthshaking mid-break, stronger musically. It was a colossal European hit, but failed dismally here. Brian Connolly claims American radio stations wouldn't play it because of its strident police sirens, a view which ignores the contrary evidence of, for instance, R. Dean Taylor's ‘Indiana Wants Me’, which contains a much more disturbingly lifelike police car sequence that caused many drivers to pull over abruptly. Perhaps ‘Blockbuster’ was merely too loud and too complicated; the general run of elaborate, gimmicked-up, energetic Chinn/Chapman creations – Mud and Suzi Quatro included – have not found favor with American radio programmers, who prefer softer, simpler records with greater housewife appeal. Anyway, the Sweet did get an American album out, programmed by Bell in a vain attempt to establish the group as heavy rockers. They passed over the early bubblegum items in favor of a number of Sweet-composed B-sides like ‘New York Connection’ and ‘Man from Mecca’ (loud, ponderous, heavy, and rather characterless songs) and ‘Spotlight’ and ‘Need a Lot of Lovin'’ (impressive hard rockers, the latter out-purpling Deep Purple). It also contained the next British hit, ‘Hell Raiser’, which for sheer frenzy and glorious gimmickry is a Chinn/Chapman milestone. By this time, The Sweet's records (though appreciated only by a microscopic though discerning minority and available scarcely as imports, since Bell had followed ‘Blockbuster’ belatedly with ‘Wig Wam Bam’ and then took a pass) seemed along with Slade's thunderous masterworks to be the most exciting new rock around. But the Sweet were still dissatisfied (sample headline: "Sweet Sour on Success?"), still scorned, and still desirous of taking control of their own destiny. A slight but noticeable drop-off in quality on the next two singles seemed to indicate that some degree of autonomy might not be a bad idea. Chinn and Chapman were by now heavily involved with Mud and Suzi Quatro, both of whom were becoming enormous. The Sweet's ‘Ballroom Blitz’, first released in September 1973, viewed in context is actually a rather pale musical sequel to ‘Hell Raiser’, though on its own in comparison to the rest of your 1975 radio playlist it sounds fabulous. It was an interesting concept but an overly hammed-up exaggerated performance. The follow-up, ‘Teenage Rampage’, was considerably worse, loud, hysterical, and completely unmemorable despite (again) an interesting Wild in the Streets-type teenage revolution concept. But a comprise was effected, and the Sweet got to make an album (Sweet Fanny Adams) which reflected their own musical direction. Chinn and Chapman wrote only two songs, both hard-rockers. ‘No You Don't’ had recurrent Who flashes, and was sort of a sing-song heavy metal number (if that's possible). ‘AC-DC’, which Chinn and Chapman can't even mention without cracking up, is an amusingly woeful tale of a guy whose girlfriend is two-timing him with "some other woman as well as me." Lines like "let's be in it together" (say it fast) further solemnified this thoughtful examination of changing sexual mores. An FM-innate smash currently, it lacks only a less-puritanical AM climate to hit both ways. Aside from a metallic version of ‘Peppermint Twist’ (an Australian hit), the rest of the LP was written by the Sweet and on the whole was a first-rate collection of modern rock. ‘Rebel Rouser’ combined Eddie Cochran's ‘Something Else’ riff with an embarrassingly direct plagiarization of ‘Hell Raiser’, true, from Zeppelin's ‘Immigrant Song’, meandered excessively, and registered a deplorable tendency towards self-consciously hard-ass posing in their lyrics ("If she don't spread/I'm gonna bust her head" – subtle, guys). But nearly all their songs had memorable, catchy portions within, and the Who similarities and general energy level were highly cheering. Chinn and Chapman decided to break the mold with the Sweet's singles, too. They cut a total change-of-pace called ‘The Six Teens’, musically subdued and more subtle, with an enigmatic lyric line that even its authors find a bit mysterious. I get the feeling there may be less to it than meets the ear, but the conception (Six Teens = Sixties, with apocalyptic undertones and an aura of stark if unspecified tragedy) is fascinating. In discussing the song, Mike Chapman waxes eloquent about having written it for the kids he saw wandering Sunset Boulevard aimlessly every night, vaguely hoping to make it big and even more vaguely hoping something would spontaneously happen to cause it, while knowing subliminally that it never would. The single has little of the immediate impact of earlier, more explosive Sweet hits, but grows constantly in stature with repeated play (and even impressed most of the normally-implacable British critics). and the Chinn/Chapman follow-up, ‘Turn It Down’, was a startling commercial failure. Unfortunately it deserved its lack of success, being a monotonus heavy boogie generally devoid of any spark of inspiration. It did mesh well with the atmosphere of the Sweet album in which it was included, titled Desolation Boulevard after a line in ‘Six Teens’. There was a bright original called ‘Fox on the Run’, and an affectionate tribute to the Sweet's idols The Who, in a quite accurate cover of ‘My Generation’. But there are also four emphatically mediocre originals, much less impressive than the Sweet Fanny Adams tracks. And, in their most extreme and ill-conceived attempt to register their heavy progressive credentials, the band included an 8 1/2-minute version of Elmer Bernstein's ‘Man With The Golden Arm’, most of which is taken up by aimless solo thrashings. In early 1975, the Sweet arranged to assume the burden of writing and producing their own singles (although they remain on friendly terms with Chinn and Chapman, who are currently occupied with Suzi Quatro and a promising new group called Smokie). Observers prepared for a commercial disaster, but the Sweet outfoxed them by recutting ‘Fox on the Run’ and watching it smash its way to #1. After its revamping, the song took on a supremely commercial sheen (the British album version sounds positively leaden in comparison), with a terrific chorus and a verse structure lifted from the Yardbirds' ‘Shapes of Things’ and plastered with echo. It's an inspiring rock single, tremendously infectious, and now the upcoming American follow-up to ‘Ballroom Blitz’. ‘Blitz’ was the Sweet's first single on American Capitol, eighteen months after original release, and it followed the same pattern as ‘Little Willy’ – originally considered to have little chance of success, it became a regional hit at small secondary stations, spread persistently, and eventually reached the Top 10, surprising nearly everybody (but a welcome surprise). Capitol issued an album combining Sweet Fanny Adams and Desolation Boulevard tracks. It was titled after the latter but contained material mainly taken from the former (five tracks), plus three from D.B., including the single version of ‘Fox’, and ‘Blitz’ and a bizarre Chinn/Chapman track called ‘I Wanna Be Committed’ which Chapman jokes, was written "about the Sweet, their personalities." The LP was divided up into respective sides of Chinn/Chapman compositions and originals, inviting invidious comparisons for those interested (for me, only ‘Fox on the Run’ matches the C/C material, but it not only matches, it vanquishes them, with the exception of ‘Six Teens’).‘Ballroom Blitz’'s success, encouraging FM reaction to the album, and a few rave reviews (somewhat exaggerated in declaring the group new hard-rock Messiahs) gave hope that the Sweet could carve out a new image in America as rockers, once and for all burying their ‘Little Willy’ reputation (in England, although they remain popular, such prospects are quite dim). With that goal in mind, they arrived in L.A. in September for a single introductory date (with full-scale tour tentatively set to follow in January 1976). They sold out the approximately 3000-capacity Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, an impressive feat for a relatively unknown quantity – but there was always a hard-core clique of Sweet fanatics in L.A., dating back to the glamour days of Rodney Bingenheimer's English Disco; and indeed the presence of a disproportionate amount of glitter relics was noted in the audience. Right off the bat Brian Connolly announced that they thought they'd leave the glitter at home and just play rock & roll (this was immediately after, I neglected to mention, their entrance to the strains of ‘The Stripper’ and a twin-screen display of ecdysiasts, food fetishists, and other assorted sordid phallic symbols). They ran through seven hard-rockers in highly impressive form, loud, and energetic, and won over the crowd completely. There was a tendency to elaborate pointlessly on instrumental breaks kept short and economical on record, but the harmonies were spot on, Connolly sung effectively, and Andy Scott did a lot of very neat cacophonous chording, playing with simplicity and eloquence (except for distracting forays into weak jazz). ‘Hell Raiser’ and ‘Ballroom Blitz’ were great openers, and ‘Blockbuster’ and a little-known British B side called ‘Burn on the Flame’ were very strong. They played their current British hit, ‘Action’, which has come in for a bit of slagging regarding alleged melodic resemblances to the Beach Boys' ‘Heroes and Villains’. Actually the similarities are minimal, but the song itself is rather trite and ordinary. But ‘Six Teens’ proved absolutely magnificent, attaining new heights of drama and intensity. Then it all fell apart. Not content with being one of the most exciting bands of straightforward hard-rockers to debut in years, the Sweet felt compelled once again to prove it in the most wearisome fashion imaginable that they were just as "heavy" as Z.Z. Top or Deep Purple or whoever. ‘Sweet FA’, seemingly extended to twice its already-excessive length, was largely taken up with a dismal sequence of solo guitar meanderings, sporadically interesting (as when Scott dueled with echo-delayed transmissions of his own guitar, or when he'd suddenly bash out a few power chords in the midst of his directionless noodlings), but stupefying overall. That was topped, though, by Mick Tucker's drum showcase. First he pranced around the stage spinning sticks, tossing them to the crowd, setting off fireworks – everything in fact, but actually performing a solo, so for awhile I was quite encouraged. But then the band came back, played a snippet of ‘Man with the Golden Arm’, and then he went into the damn solo, and it was a brain-number. Visually it was semi-spectacular, as the twin screens lit up again to flash clips of Tucker belaboring rows of tympani and a regular kit. He would play a few bars live, freeze, and one of the screens would be triggered (with accompanying percussive soundtrack), then it would in turn freeze, the other screen would be activated, and so on, a tripartite film/real life drum duel to the death. The death that transpired, though, was almost all hopes of a great concert – the drum solo went on for apparent ages, destroying all previously built-up momentum, as always. And as always, the crowd ate it up with blank, zombie-like adoration, indicating that such gimmicky showcases may not harm the Sweet's cause at all (except with regard to jaundiced writers lacking the esthetic sensibilities to appreciate the intrinsic worth of drum solos). Finally, the band returned for a stunning ‘Fox on the Run’, which almost obliterated memories of the drum debacle, followed by a speedy medley of ‘AC/DC’ and ‘Set Me Free’. They received a standing ovation and then, interestingly, mortally insulted the crowd by refusing to submit to the tyranny of the compulsory encore. Aside from the personally-distasteful solo extravaganzas, the Sweet were tight, loud, and played their asses off (as was once said about the immortal Bugsy Maugh). They should win a lot of new fans when they tour if all goes well, and their American outlook appears very hopeful. But if they remain paranoiacally intent on endlessly proving their heaviness and totally denying their commercially-oriented past, I wouldn't be surprised to see a marked decrease in quality in their records and more seriously deficient albums like the English Desolation Boulevard. I'm not suggesting they revive ‘Poppa Joe’ or ‘Funny Funny’ (though one pop journalist, for whom I have the utmost professional respect, thinks the Sweet started going downhill with ‘Little Willy’, were completely spoiled by ‘Blockbuster’ and ‘Hell Raiser’, and reached the apex of their career with ‘Co-Co’), or that they necessarily reunite with Chinn & Chapman (‘Fox On the Run’ proved that they could write great singles, even though it's lyrically vacuous compared to the later Chinn/Chapman material – not that lyrical vacuity matters all that much). But until they reconcile their bubblegum heritage with their rock & roll present (I'd like to see ‘Little Willy’ performed onstage again), the Sweet may never quite live up to the potential for a superficial but glorious type of greatness that's always been within their grasp. A final plea: Don't neglect your roots!

[cloud9in]

You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable.  And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over.  A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

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End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter EIGHT; Call The Midwife.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie: Pandora’s box.

On time this week <3 MBD

-- --- --

The weekend whizzed by, Rupert had been held up by one thing or another and a few more of the livestock needed attending to, so she hardly saw or heard Jamie but the ewe had finally been rehomed happily. Though she was relieved to have quiet returned to the house, the fact that Jamie hadn’t been home for dinner for most of the week had left her feeling rather moudline.  

Though he’d done a great job of bringing humour back to the table during their previous conversation, she couldn’t help but dwell on the memories some of the comments had brought back to the surface.

Most nights she was woken by severe nightmares, ones that had rendered her emotional, her eyes red raw and filled with moisture as she tried to contain her sobs. Each time she’d rise, bathe her face in cool water and try to get back to sleep as soon as possible but by the end of the week she was extremely exhausted...and lonely.

In the early hours of Friday morning she found herself sitting in the reading room nursing a glass of whisky. Silently she’d hoped to muddle through the day alone but as Jamie came downstairs to begin his morning routine he saw the glow from the candle she had lit.

He stood in the doorway for long enough to watch a few stray tears roll down her cheek. Illuminated by the small light, she had a book clutched between her hands as if she’d meant to read it though it didn’t seem she was actually going to. It seemed as if she knew he was there but made no move to acknowledge him, instead she kept her eyes (glazed and heavy with moisture) gazing out of the window.

The sun was rising, filling the room with glorious yellow and orange. She’d caught sight of Jamie but her mind had been too focused on holding herself together to speak. The empty feeling that had been haunting her all week was reaching its peak and it felt impossible to even try to communicate with another person.

An ache rose in his belly as he took one small step into the room, across the boundary and closer to her. When she didn’t flinch or show any outward signs that this was upsetting to her, Jamie continued.

She felt his arms wrap around her, the contact strange but welcoming at the same time.

He was warm, his chest rising and falling gently as she moulded herself against him.

There was a moment of calm where neither spoke. Jamie worked hard to keep his heart rate down, the panic rising a little as he realised that he’d initiated contact so easily.

A connection had been made, his...desire...to be close to her had been growing and though he knew she hadn’t picked up on it, there was something about the way she reacted to him that suggested she felt similarly. It was too soon, though, for him to show his hand and he had been content to allow her the safety of his home.

Now, however, he worried this might expose him.

“I have to go out and milk, sassenach, but I’ll come back afterwards. Get yerself a fresh cup of tea and relax, we can talk then.”

Gripping her briefly, he then released his arms, waited for her to pull herself away and turned to leave. She didn’t speak until he was far enough down the corridor that he only caught the echo of her words, but he heard the ‘thank you’ reverberate across the walls and he smiled as he pulled himself inside the jeep and drove off across the fields.

Still in a sort of stupor, she basked in the warmth he’d left clinging to her skin for a long time after she’d heard the door close and the car drive away. Finally she made it back into the kitchen, sorted herself a cup of coffee and went back to the reading room.

Beneath the bench of the window seat, she recalled finding a couple of unopened jigsaws. She hoped Jamie wouldn’t mind, but the thought of doing too much had her stomach tied in knots and it seemed to be the perfect activity to while away the morning.

“Then if he doesn’t come back after milking, I can just continue.” She declared as she unwrapped one of the more complex looking puzzles.

Using the foldaway table she spread the pieces out, making sure to sort the edge pieces from the middle. It wasn’t long before her coffee had cooled, the sun was high in the sky and she’d organised different sections of the jigsaw in small, neat piles inside the completed outer edge.

With the scene in her mind, she didn’t allow herself the chance to overthink the morning, a sort of relaxed calm had settled and her chest felt lighter...though there was still an innate feeling of loss that she couldn’t shake.

Her skin prickled, a draught running through the room, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She was safe, she knew she was, but there was something unsettling brewing. She hoped it was just the prospect of talking about herself, reliving parts of her ‘old’ life that she wanted to remain buried forever.

A piece of the jigsaw clicked into place, the soft card edges fitting together to reveal another section of the image.

“You’d been crying.”

She snorted before licking her lips. The coffee was stone cold now and she had yet to take even a small sip of it.

“Yes.”

She hadn’t heard Jamie return but his words were so soft that it hadn’t shocked her when he’d spoken.

“Silly, really, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Ye dinna have to tell me anything, but I want you to ken that I’m here if you do.”

It had been nearly a month since her arrival at Lallybroch and with April nearly over she realised that she had collected some insight on him, yet she’d given little of herself in return. He wasn’t being nosey or pushy though, his words as gentle as his general demeanour.

“It’s just memories, tough ones, but things that happened in another lifetime.”

Isolated as they were, it felt to her as if she’d been reborn with only a few ghosts of the life she’d once known.

Continuing on with her jigsaw, she chose another few pieces that fit together and felt the process soothing her, it was as if she were talking to nobody rather than to Jamie. He sat perched on the edge of the leather armchair, his eyes focused on her but saying nothing.

“I was very nearly a mother, it was nearly three years ago now...a miracle, really. And then a nightmare.”

The date felt eerily familiar to Jamie. Jenny, his sister, had gone through her own battle around the same time and he’d watched and picked up the pieces as best he could when her husband, Ian, could not. There was nothing worse than getting so heartbreakingly close only to have it all ripped away.

“Nothing was the same after that. I hadn’t really pictured myself raising a family until it happened and then, all of a sudden, I was on maternity leave from my studies without a true purpose, only my grief and a huge hole where my family no longer existed.” She paused, taking a few long breaths as she tried to stop the painful ache from rising in her chest. “It was suggested...calmly...that I didn’t return after that. I had some medication to help me sleep and it made me so groggy that I would have agreed to anything.”

Jenny had been much the same way, only her support network had been larger - he guessed.

“If I know anything, sassenach,” he said quietly, “it’s that there is always room for second chances and new beginnings. Even when it seems improbable.”

Something told her he knew something of her loss without him having to say it. Kind until the end, he allowed her time to process her own restored grief without invading emotionally.

“I’ll make us some lunch.” Sensing that she was spent for the moment, he smiled softly across at her before leaving quietly.

It took her a minute to collect herself again but she felt all the better for the discussion. It was a relief to have the weight removed from her chest and she was pleased she’d successfully managed to get through the story with very few tears.

It felt good, for once, not to be alone.

[piratefalls]

A McDanno rec list for a new friend. (These are also authors I enjoy, so consider this a blanket rec list.)

The Bareknuckle Poet by pleasebekidding

After a serious accident left Steve temporarily wheelchair-bound, working towards his recovery, he enrolled at Rutgers for a year. He met Danny Williams in his criminology course, wearing pride pins and chipped black nail polish, so sure of himself that Steve found it breathtaking. What happened next redefined Steve's sense of self, his ambitions, and many of his priorities.

Tax Benefits by renecdote

“Everyone already assumes we’re married so maybe we should just...” Danny gestures broadly with his beer. He’s maybe a little bit… Not drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“For the tax benefits.”

Danny gives him an aggravated look. “Yes, Steven, for the tax benefits.”

Danny (jokingly) suggests they should get married. Steve takes him seriously.

ua kaha aku la ka nalu o kuu aina (the surf has pressed upon my land) by icoulddothisallday, TetrodotoxinB

Steve knows, he learned, how a man behaves. He can play his part. Danny, who is a good man and great father, looks nothing like what Steve was taught. Reconciling the two means giving up everything he's clung too for the last two decades, and there's nothing about it that's easy.

*potentially triggery AF (deals with effects of conversion therapy) but beautifully rendered

the art of leaving and saying goodbye by Verasteine

2007 is the year Danny learns that choice can be the worst kind of heartbreak. AU.

*warning for infidelity (not mcdanno)

in jest by apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

not just friendship (romance too) by earthquakedream

Steve's gone and gotten himself a boyfriend. Danny's not sure what worse: the fact that he's stupidly jealous or that he actually likes the guy.

All I Ever Wanted (It Comes with a Price) by leviarty

Steve gets shot. Again. Danny is not okay.

* warning: a young grace shoots someone to protect both herself and a gravely injured steve

After All Our Troubles, We Have This by Banshi13

"I'm ending this," McGarrett muttered after a few moments of silence. "I'm not coming back until Wo Fat is in the ground. I'll dig his own grave and bury him myself if I have to, but my father is dead, my mother is running all over the world in hiding, my sister and I were uprooted from our lives, and now he's got Danny locked somewhere in a basement in the middle of Japan." He looked both Chin and Kono in the eye, deadly resolve in his eyes. "This ends. Now. This is the absolute last time that man interferes with my life and my family."

The Other Guy by haldoor

Danny tells Steve what he thinks is a funny story from when he attended Grace's school play. Steve doesn't think it's so funny; in fact, it makes him jealous.

Strapped by stellarmeadow

Steve's determined Danny's going to be prepared next time.

Warm to the Touch by veronicaluv

Danny didn't think twice about going to North Korea to find Steve. He just didn't know everything would go to hell when they got back.

Me and my heart (We got issues) by SquaresAreNotCircles

“I’m in love with you, Steve,” Danny says. He does it softly, quietly, laying the words into the darkness of Steve’s backyard like they’re something breakable, something to be tiptoed around. “I thought you should know.”

Steve’s heart jumps. It rams against his ribcage so hard it’s going to leave bruises. So hard he startles awake, and he almost yells before he realizes he’s outside because he fell asleep in one of the garden chairs in his backyard again.

how to be gay for your best friend in ten easy steps by commatme

See, the thing is that Danny doesn’t really do gay sex, what with being straight and all, but when Steve says I love you he sounds so earnest he makes Danny want to consider it. Which is crazy, right? He’s pretty sure that’s crazy, or at least a little unhinged.

It’s Not So Easy Caving In by paradis

The one where Danny used to be a heroin addict.

blame it on the ocean view by carryokee

Danny gives in, freaks out, and comes to his senses.

So Have I Loved You by Brumeier

In which Grace has a surprise for Steve's birthday and there's not a dry eye in the house.

take it back to a couple years yesterday by itsrosencrantz

Danny really, really doesn't want to go to his twenty year high school reunion.

Steve decides they're going anyway, and Danny takes it about as well as you'd expect.

View From The Shipwreck by flowerfan

Danny Williams isn’t in a great place – he’s a reluctant transplant to Oahu and an outsider at HPD. Former Navy SEAL Steve McGarrett isn’t doing much better, having suffered a career ending injury. When Danny’s young daughter Grace wanders into Steve’s bar after getting lost on a school field trip, Danny is drawn to Steve, somewhat against his better judgement – he’s got enough on his plate. He’s not exactly sure what Steve sees in him. As they spend more time together, Danny learns how Steve’s injury has changed his life in many ways, but not the most important ones. As one thing leads to another, Danny realizes that things might be looking up after all.

True North by lavvyan

“Tell you what, my dad’s throwing his annual Christmas Ball on Saturday. It’s not a trip to Aspen or anything, but it is nice. Fancy food and everything. You guys should come!”

On the trail of a suspected war criminal, Steve and Danny have to go undercover at a fancy ball. The sacrifices they make for the job.

Oh, and Steve's pining like the taiga. Nothing new there.

outside the lines by withoutwords

“I’m Detective Williams.” Danny says, not trying too hard to keep it smug free. “This is my partner, Detective Mackenzie.”

Ken Doll keeps his arms up, his eyes flickering between them all as if he's only seeing police for the first time. “Good cover,” he tells Danny, and it sets Danny’s teeth on edge.

“This is the part where you say sorry for assaulting a police detective, for compromising an investigation, and for acting like a complete asshole while doing it,” Danny growls, about to change his mind and cuff the guy himself.

“Sorry, Officer.”

The bastard is still grinning.

Boys Like Me, We Try Too Hard by romanticallyinept

Steve's always wound so fucking tight.

And Danny's worried about him. Legitimately worried about him. Because maybe Steve always lays into the perps a little hard, and maybe he follows his own rules and his own morals and doesn't stop to sleep unless his body's actually shutting down around him, but usually, Steve's okay at the end of the day. Usually, Steve's not leaning against the wall of the alley they're in, eyes closed and shaking, with the perp he'd cuffed a minute earlier lying on the ground and crying about his broken nose.

Steve keeps a secret, and Danny does his best to patch him back up when it comes to light.

Transformative by boxparade

“You know, I’d heard you’d changed a lot after high school, but I’ve gotta admit, this is a little weird.”

* trans (FTM) Danny

All the Way by VictoriaAGrey

Danny has lost count of how many times he and Steve have used the sexual tension between them for undercover work, only for it to be bottled away after the op is over. With Saint Michael as his witness, that ends tonight.

Nocturne in C# Minor (featuring Stevie Ray Vaughn) by minor_demimonde

So, to recap, Danny has beautiful eyes, great shoulders, a pleasantly-shaped butt, a delectable mouth, expressive hands, and he smells good.

You know, Steve has gone to bed with women who didn’t have that much going for them.

seen it in the flight of birds by Siria

AU from the beginning of Season 2. The Five-0 task force has been reinstated, but the new governor's determined to shake things up. Facing changes and unexpected betrayals, the team has to work together to face new challenges.

It Ain’t Me Babe (Nah), It Ain’t Me You’re Looking For (Babe) by tourdefierce

A story in which Danny makes lists and can't find his heterosexuality underneath all his homogay, Steve has a lot of faces, Kono is perfect in every way and Chin continues to keep Hawaii safe from the Five-O's general disfunction—Or, a story about Kono being awesome and how she likes her men with hearts in their eyes for each other.

Ratios, Decimals, and Percentages by fuchs

In which Steve takes an internet quiz and slowly loses his mind. Danny's okay with it.

Let’s Dance Like We Used To by AndreaLyn

There isn't a world in which Danny wouldn't go after Grace. So when Rachel moves the family to California, Danny goes with. Steve gets left to process life without Danny.

Gunfire, Rainfall, and Beach Erosion by thegrrrl2002

Steve and Danny are kidnapped. After which there is too much swimming and too much rain and it's all very romantic. If you are Steve, that is.

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning by westgirl

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

Always Known What I Wanted To Be by mickeysixx

Grace Williams has always wanted to be a cop.

The Taper Phase by popfly

It’s like being run over by an armored car, like the impact of gunshot to tac vest. The pride Danny feels for his daughter and something else, something about Steve’s tank top sticking to his stomach, the way his shorts stretch across his thighs. The goofy grin that lights up Steve’s face when he sees Danny and Charlie, waving one hand while he nudges Grace with the other.

Pitching Woo by SBG

In which Danny pitches (and then accidentally catches) woo.

clue: four letters, ‘is a many splendored thing’ by armillarysphere

“Crosswords? What are you, sixty?”

“They stimulate brain activity, Danno. You ought to try it sometime.”

Steve doesn’t even look up from his newspaper, half-chewed pen resting at the corner of his mouth in an entirely too distracting way.

That’s Not Just Friendship, That’s Romance by thismuchmore

Danny and Steve start out accidentally dating each other, and it turns into something more.

it’s not what you’re sure of (it’s what you don’t know) by somehowunbroken

Art thief Steve McGarrett and his team come up against FBI Special Agent Danny Williams, and things spin wildly out of control from there.

Same Deep Water by JiM, kalena

This isn't the first lifetime Danny's been in Hawaii. When the stress ratchets up, the dreams get more and more real. Turns out Danny has some unfinished business . . . with Steve.

Warning: Ambien use may lower inhibitions in a wakeful state.

Curiosity Didn’t Kill This Cat by unadrift

"I'm confused," Rachel says. "Are you two dating or not?"

Danny sighs. "You remember that thing with the cat in the box? The one that's both dead and alive?"

"Schroedinger's cat?"  

"It's kind of like that."

"Okay," Rachel says. She clearly has no idea what he's talking about.

2727 Piikoi Street by imaginary_iby

The ways in which Danny makes himself at home by Steve's side, and the family he gains as the years go by. (Featuring Steve in Timberland boots and little else, and happy goofs who like to make out against the front door).

All The Earth Awaits Thee by Portrait_of_a_Fool

Steve knows all about war and willpower, but this is still the hardest battle he’s ever had to fight.

* warning: life threatening illness, no MCD

The Vertical Challenge by AlamoGirl80

Five times Danny thinks about his height, and then realizes that being "not-tall" doesn't really suck at all.

Some Things to Think About When You Decide to Be an Asshole by sutlers

Steve gets high and tries to fuck Danny; things devolve from there.

Inked by thehoyden

Of course Steve is enjoying himself. They're bait for a serial killer who has some sort of serious hangup about tattooing loved ones' names on their skin -- of course Steve thinks this is practically like a vacation, but better, because the chances of collateral damage are higher.

This Thing Of Ours (It Needs a Better Name) by leupagus

Cosa Nostra: (kō'sə nō'strə) etym: Italian n. The branch of the Mafia operating in the United States. Literally, "our thing" or "this thing of ours."

Ho’oponopono by ember_firedrake

Groundhog Day AU. Danny finds himself trapped in the same day over and over again.

Swim for Brighter Days by zarah5

Danny kisses Steve late on a Tuesday, early on a Wednesday. Steve punches him. (Set vaguely post-finale, so spoilers for that.)

All My Guards Away by sheafrotherdon

Tag to episode 1x18, with all the heartache that implies. Now with bonus fixes. With thanks to dogeared for all her suggestions and edits.

Let’s Take it from the Top by pterawaters

Steve goes along with the bachelor-party-in-Vegas, because he chose Danny to be his best man, and that's what Danny wants to do. Unfortunately, the things that happen in Vegas don't necessarily stay there.

How to Keep Your Mouth Shut by primetime

Danny’s sometimes gay. Gay, sometimes. Does dudes. He doesn’t know how to say it right. He doesn’t know how to say it at all.

Don’t Turn Me Home Again by gyzym

After a rough day of island living, Danny wakes up in New Jersey and learns the hard way to be careful what he wishes for.

End-Around by t_fic

Steve hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, looking back over his shoulder at Danny and nodding once before disappearing inside, and yeah, Danny is going to be so fucking lucky to get through this night without a coronary event.

Lonely People Do Stupid Things by waketosleep

Danny decides to show Steve the true meaning of Christmas, and does it by dragging him to New Jersey.

Down Beneath the Waves by samjohnsson

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes it takes another thousand to explain it.

Love’s a Battlefield (and the Navy Did Not Train Steve for This Shit) by cyerus

The Kalakaua-Kelly clan are determined to matchmake Steve. Out of desperation, Steve makes up a boyfriend named Danny.

It doesn't quite go according to plan.

put your mind at ease by eleanor_lavish

Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.

You’ve Got Hawaii (and all I’ve got is you) by queenklu

In which Danny has issues, presents, and Steve fleas, not necessarily in that order.

Jaws by JoeLawson

Danny has a secret.

[ejzah]

A/N: Just a little something to get you through the cold. Assuming it’s cold where you are. Features Kensi, Deeks, Nell, and muscles.

***

Agent, Stripper, Model

“This is ridiculous,” Deeks hissed under his breath as he turned, twisting his neck at an angle to get a better look at his butt in the full-length mirror. “I might as well be naked.”

“Oh, I’m sure ladies would enjoy that,” Kensi commented over comms. She was just a few hundred yards away in a small room, pretending to be a fledgling artist. He glanced in the mirror again and silently cursed Callen for suggesting he be the one to go undercover.

Apparently one of the other patrons, a woman named Sophie Machron who frequented the tiny art studio, had gotten mixed up in drug running operation. Based on a series of texts she’d sent, she was planning to meet with the leader to exchange payment.

Deeks had argued that it made more sense to have both him and Kensi as artists, but Nell had insisted that it would be less suspicious if one of them was a model. If he didn’t know better, he would think she just wanted to excuse to make him prance around in short shorts

“Why would they even make shorts this small?” They squished things and left absolutely no room for imagination. If he and Kensi were alone, he might feel very differently about them, but right now he felt completely exposed.

“Babe, I’m sure you wore much less as a stripper.”

“Say what now?” Nell drawled. Deeks groaned at the resounding silence following her question.

“Uh, Deeks had to play a stripper once when he was a cop,” Kensi inserted with surprising smoothness as Deeks quietly panicked.

“Why haven’t I heard about this before? You never mentioned anything about playing a stripper.” Nell’s voice had gained quite a bit of volume and he was just glad that the entire team wasn’t on comms. He’d never live that down.

“It was, uh, many, many years ago and uh-“ someone knocked on the flimsy door of his changing room, saving Deeks from having to respond.

“Mr. Hanson, we’re ready for you now,” said a female voice he recognized as the shop owner’s.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,” he said. He breathed in twice, shaking his head, and tried to get into the mindset of a man who made a living from posing nearly nude. “Ok, you can do this, Jake.”

Opening the door, he walked down the hallway as confidently as he could and then strode into the main room where drawing classes were held. There was a small platform, with a stool set in middle, situated at the front of the room. The owner had already told him the specific pose she wanted him to hold before he changed. Fortunately it wasn’t overly gratuitous.

He glanced at the patrons and spotted Sophie sitting in the middle of the class. She was tiny, probably shorter than Nell, with vivid red hair and a generally unassuming appearance. It was hard to believe she was involved with anything remotely criminal.

Kensi sat two seats away from Sophie. She worn an appropriately artsy looking shirt paired with flared jeans, speckled with paint stains. The rest of the class was primarily women, all watching him eagerly as he climbed onto the stool. He kept one foot on the ground, slightly flexed, and lifted the other onto the first rung.

A couple women gasped and there was a rush of whispers. He flexed his pecs a couple times, figuring he might as well play it up.

“Oh my god,” he heard Nell whisper. Trying to glance discreetly around at the 30 or so people, he spotted her toward the back, wearing a floppy hat with a poofy green dress. He hadn’t realized she was planning on coming too and felt his cheeks flush, knowing just how much of him she was seeing.

“Mr. Hanson, could I just-“ the owner said, coming up beside him. She reached out, fiddling with the edge of his shorts, which were apparently twisted. Then her hand brushed his side; for a second he thought she was going to grab him but at the last second she snatched her hand back. “Alright, class, you may begin,” she announced, sounding a little out of breath.

Deeks glanced at Kensi, noticing her eyes lasered in on the owner. That made him grin a little bit. It would be fun to tease her about it. With that thought in mind, he leaned back, and waited for the next hour to pass.

About an hour an a half later, the owner called a break. Deeks gratefully eased off the stool with a groan. Holding the same pose for an extended period of time was much harder than you might expect.

Almost immediately, several women came over and started asking questions. He saw a few glance at his fingers, seeming pleased when they noticed they were bare. His discomfort returned and he crossed his arms over his chest, wishing for a robe, or a towel. Even a fig leaf.

“Feeling a little chilly?” Kensi teased him. She’d stepped over to the refreshment table and was using a glass of lemonade as a cover. He merely narrowed his eyes at her, unable to reply. “You’re looking a little nippy there, Jakey.”

“Kens, Sophie just left,” Nell announced suddenly. Kensi immediately dropped her cup into the trash and started cutting through the little groups of chatting people. Deeks made a move to follow her, but Kensi said,

“Stay here, Deeks. You can keep everyone else occupied. Plus, I don’t think your current outfit is NCIS approved. It might be a safety risk.”

Deeks rolled his eyes, but stayed put. He tried to stay focused on the questions he was being asked (was he single, did he like Italian, was he available for private parties) while listening to what sounded like an intense chase.

It felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten that Kensi slipped back into the room and smiled.

“We got them,” she mouthed, snatching a tiny pastry off the refreshment table. Nell came back a few minutes later and he noticed her hat was missing. Otherwise they both looked unharmed, though he thought Kensi might snap if one more person touched his abs.

They finished the class without any more issues and Deeks gratefully escaped to the dressing room at the end of the three hour session. Kensi and Nell were waiting out back for him and Kensi looked him over with a smirk.

“Aw, what happened to your short shorts?”

“I’m burning those,” he said firmly and meaning every word.

“That’s a shame,” Nell muttered, earning a slightly raised eyebrow from Kensi. As they walked back to Kensi’s SUV, she pulled out her drawing from the class. It an almost perfect rendering of Deeks, right down to the definition of his pecs and the flexed muscles in his thighs. “So would it be creepy if I had this framed?”

“Yes,” Kensi and Deeks said very adamantly. She slipped it back in her purse with a regretful sigh.

“Such a shame,” she repeated.

“Mm, I wonder how much vodka it will take to forget this day,” he mused. Kensi smirked at him and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

***

A/N: I’m sure in the real world, a model would be treated with the upmost respect. This is all for fun.

[briefololtragedy]

Bleed for me

Pairing: ShiSaku

Rating: M (for violence)

Summary: Shisui didn’t like people touching what was his

for day 3 of shiSaku weekend: Yakuza AU, obsession, You’re mine and only mine @shisakuweek

Also posted on AO3

A pale child laid in a hospital bed. Their skin almost blending into the stark white sheets that encased the bed. A man and woman sat beside the bed holding onto the child’s hand. Tears could be seen streaming down their faces. They spoke sweet nothings into her ear. The young girl could not hear what they were saying. It was hard to distinguish the small fragile body of the girl from the lines going to and from her. She was almost more machine than human at this point.

The click clack of heels could be heard nearing the door. A gentle knock took the couples attention from their child to the woman now in the room.

“Mr and Mrs. Sato, I’m Doctor Sakura Haruno and here to talk to you about Rin.” The married couple grasped onto each other. They stared at the woman before them, waiting on bated breath for good news.

“I am one of the transplant doctors who specialize in pediatric cardiothoracic surgery. Do you mind if I sit as we talk about Ms. Rin?” A gentle smile made its way onto Dr. Haruno’s face as the couple nodded their heads yes.

“As you know Rin was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome. She has undergone the three stages of repair for her condition, but has now developed complications from not having a 4 chambered heart.” Sakura paused giving time for the parents to process. She always hated these conversations. She glanced at the child laying in the bed. It was likely that good news would not come to this family.

“She has started to develop heart failure in combination with protein losing enteropathy, PLE, as we call it. We do not know the exact reason why some children who have undergone the second or third stage of repair develop this condition. There are some experimental procedures that some surgery centers have tried with little improvement in the patient's condition.” Another pause.

“We are currently pumping the blood through her body artificially with the machine you see. I know when Rin was placed on this they told you what it entails. Her heart is no longer strong enough to function. The machine is giving her lungs a break as well. Right now the best chance Rin has is a heart transplant. She will be near the top of the list in her current state. However, I want you to prepare for the worst case scenario. I am not sure when there will be a donor who matches Rin’s needs…” The words faded into the background for the couple as the sobs overtook them. The doctor placed a hand on the wife’s back rubbing soothing circles. She hoped for a miracle, but life was a cruel bitch.

_______________________________-

The doctor from before was sitting at a bar stool, her petal pink hair cascading down her back. She took a swig of the beer in her hand wanting to erase the day she had. She was dressed to kill with a body hugging backless dress. It was wine red in color, accentuating her alabaster skin. Her green eyes shined like emeralds.

She felt a calloused hands caress her back causing her muscles to twitch. She could smell the alcohol on the individual's breath.

“Aint you a pretty little thing. Let me buy you a drink and you can repay me later.” She had to roll her eyes.

“Beat it. I’m not interested.” She didn’t even bother looking at the man.

“Come on pinky. I can rock your world. You look like you need something stiff.” His laugh grated on her nerves. When he wouldn’t leave her alone, she got up and started to leave. The oaf of a man couldn’t take the hint and grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. She wanted to hurl fron the stench.

“You smell good pinky.” He was starting to rub his nose in her neck. Before she could send her elbow to the man’s skull he was already falling to the ground.

“Ahh!” The drunken idiot now had a foot crushing the bones in his hand. Sakura could hear the crunch of bone from where she was.

“I think the lady told you she wasn’t interested.” A rich baritone voice spoke.

“Oh you just want the bitch for yourself. Find your own. I saw this one first.” The man before her applied more force through his foot, causing the man below him to groan in agony.

“I think it would be best if you leave before something unsightly happens to you.” Sakura knew the man’s fate was dealt the moment he touched her. Sakura already saw a few men in the corner start to move. Once the drunk was up and moving to the exit, he was being followed.

“Was that really necessary, Shisui?” Sakura took the martini from him and started to sip it slowly. She melted when he wrapped his right arm around her. He brought his index finger to her chin and traced her bone structure. Shisui stopped once he was under her chin and turned her face to look at him.

“He was touching what was mine. Don’t forget you’re mine and only mine.” Shisui then sealed their lips together with a kiss.

“Hmm don’t forget you are mine as well.” Shisui smirked. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Shisui would do anything for her. _______________________________

Shisui sat in his leather chair listening to his lackeys talk about different shipments. He really didn’t care at the moment. Sakura was upset about one of her patients. While she told him most things, she always kept her work at arms length from him. Well she tried to for the most part.

When Itachi entered the room Shisui found his back straightening. The glint in Itachi’s eye told Shisui that he was successful in his mission.

“You three leave now.” The three scattered out the door faster than cockroaches clearing ,when a light was turned on. The two waited for the door to close before speaking.

“It appears Sakura has a patient who recently went on the heart transplant list. It's a young girl 8-9 years of age. She has two younger siblings. Mother is an elementary school teacher and father works for a bank. He is a low level teller. The nurses were saying how they don’t think a match will come in on time. Parents are preparing for the worse.”

Shisui leaned onto his clasped hands. “Did you get her blood type and cross matching?”

Itachi smirked and held up a file. “Of course I did. I also tracked down some of the regulars at that bar the two of you go to. I found one who is a match.”

This was just all too perfect.

“You know what to do. Sakura and I will be meeting there for drinks tonight.” Shisui got up from his desk and grabbed his jacket. He was going to kill two birds with one stone. Rid the world of a lowly excuse for a human being and make Sakura happy.

___________________________________________

Shisui had gotten to the bar early to make sure he was sitting in a dark corner. He watched the man go to the bar and order his drink. The bartender glanced his way and Shisui gave a nod. The guy was too busy talking with his friends to see the purple liquid get added to his drink. In just 30-60 minutes the man would lose all inhibitions and fall into the trap.

Itachi was stationed with two others around the bar. The moment Sakura walked into the bar Shisui’s breath escaped his lungs. He could never figure out how she looked so ethereal.

_________________________________________

Sakura snuggled to the man next to her. She buried her nose into his chest. He smelled of sandalwood.

“Hmm where did you go after we got home?” Sakura mumbled as she talked to him. Before he could answer her pager went off. Sakura jumped out of bed and grabbed her phone.

Soon she was kissing Shisui and rushing to get dressed. Shisui just leaned back in their shared bed. Thinking of earlier.

The blade ran up and down the man’s skin. Shisui made sure not to apply enough pressure to cut into the epidermis, at least not yet. The man’s arms and legs were bound to the table immobilizing him.

“Do you know why you are here...What’s your name again?” The man was a sobbing mess.

“K..Ken. Please I have a family.” Anger boiled in Shisui’s veins. He grabbed Ken’s chin, squeezing hard.

“You have a family? Do they know you were at a bar trying to force yourself on women?”

“I’ve never.” A forceful sob caused Ken’s body to jerk violently. Shisui squeezed harder on the man’s jaw. He could feel the bones give under his grip, with a flick of the wrist he jaw gave way.

“What were you doing tonight then? Touching what is mine.” Shisui knew he was not going to get an answer due to the dislocated jaw in his hand.

“Don’t worry your life will mean something once it is ended.” Shisui took his other hand and dug the knife at the base of Ken’s skull. He had read enough of Sakura’s medical textbooks to know the right place to hit to render someone brain dead. Ken would still have his brainstem functions allowing his heart to beat long enough for it to live in another.

In the corner sat Kabuto. While Shisui didn’t agree with his politics, he knew the man could keep a secret. Kabuto also knew better than to cross Shisui. Shisui would not waste any time adding more bodies to the bottom of the ocean.

“You know your part?” Shisui cleaned off his blade.

“Yes. I will take this man to the OR after declaring him brain dead. The nurses will find his organ donor card and alert the transplant team.”

“What are you waiting for? Go.” Shisui wanted to go back home and crawl into his bed. He knew his slumber was going to get distrubed in a few hours with the page Sakura was going to get.

Sakura was running around their bedroom grabbing the nearest article of clothing to dress in. Shisui threw the covers off his body and followed her.

“What are you doing?” Shisui just raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll take you to work so you can rest on the way there. I don’t have work in the morning so I can stay to drive you home.” Shisui melted when he saw her smile. He soon felt arms around his neck and a soft kiss.

“You’re amazing. I can never get over how kind of a husband I have.” Shisui just rested his head on hers before hurrying her to the car.

_____________________________________

He was pacing back and forth. He could see a couple with two young children sitting in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Sakura had been in the OR for over 5 hours now. He was lucky she let him sleep in her office, but he was restless. Multiple what if questions ran through his brain. Shisui started chewing on his thumb nail. He ignored the pointed looks from the staff and visitors who passed him.

Shisui propped himself on the wall. He wanted a view of the OR doors when they opened. After another hour or two, the doors finally opened. Sakura’s hair was tucked under her scrub cap and part of her face obscured by her surgical mask, but she still looked stunning. As he watched her walk over to the family Shisui knew it was all worth it.

It just wasn’t tonight that was worth it. He thought back to when he first met his wife. She was a struggling medical student who his little cousin brought over to stitch him up. Shisui was ensnared in her beauty at that moment. She didn’t bat an eyelash when he cursed at her due to the pain. Sakura didn’t care who he was or how he would be taking the mantle of the Yakuza head.

Shisui spent months planning on how he would bump into her. He memorized her schedule, followed her some nights. She became his obsession. His life was consumed by her. He felt like a nervous fool asking her out the first time. They fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. She was always by his side. Shisui found that they shared a lot of the same ideals.

“Shisui did you get any sleep?” Her hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

“I got some. Let’s get you home. Was the surgery successful?” He held her close as they walked back to her office.

“It was. Thank you.” Her head rested on his shoulder as they walked.

“No need to thank me.” Shisui found himself against her office wall as she devoured him.

“Without you there would have been no surgery tonight. So thank you. You got Kabuto to help didn’t you?” Well hearing that rat's name killed the mood.

“You said you didn’t want to be involved anymore.” They stood in her office embracing.

“You know it’s best for me to not be involved. Let’s get back home to Hiroyuki, he’ll be missing us.” Sakura was right. Their son would be missing them.

[aion-rsa]

How Tina Turner and Frank Zappa Whipped Up Some Dirty Love

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Tina Turner joins the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Class of 2021 in Cleveland this October, along with Jay-Z, Gil Scott-Heron, Todd Rundgren, Carole King, Foo Fighters, and The Go-Gos. Tina is already an honoree as a member of Ike and Tina Turner, and she is also once again distinguishing herself from the group. Even before she went solo, Turner had star billing, such as her turn as the Acid Queen in Ken Russell’s film adaptation of The Who’s Tommy.  But Tina had to skip the credits for her work with Frank Zappa, who was posthumously inducted into the Rock Hall in 1995.

Turner recently made a gracious exit from the stage in HBO’s feature documentary Tina. She is also highlighted in Apple TV+’s upcoming 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything. This was the year Ike and Tina’s cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary” hit No. 4 on Billboard’s Hot 100, becoming their biggest hit. Tina had already established herself as the draw of the musical couple when they signed to Phil Spector’s Philles label. The legendary producer paid extra to highlight Tina’s dynamic range on the single “River Deep – Mountain High,” which was released in May 1966.

Both documentaries skip one of Tina’s artistic highlights. 

Ike and Tina Turner opened the Bolic Sound studios complex at 1310 N La Brea Avenue in Inglewood, California, in 1970. It boasted incomparable state-of-the-art audio equipment for the time. “Bolic was one of the greatest studios I’ve ever seen,” Little Richard wrote in his introduction to Ike Turner’s 1999 autobiography Takin’ Back My Name. “He had everything in this studio. He had his own booking agency, and he was showing people how to produce.” Paul McCartney, George Harrison, and Duane Allman recorded at Bolic Sound.

Frank Zappa recorded and produced two of his most recognizable albums at the studio: his ironically titled 17th album Over-Nite Sensation, which came out in 1973, and Apostrophe from 1974. Zappa was at the forefront of the avant-garde musical movement at the time. During his sessions, Ike and Tina Turner and the Ikettes were recording in the same studio complex. Zappa took advantage of the proximity to expand on his sonic landscape.

“I wanted to put some back-up singers on the thing, and the road manager who was with us at the time checked into it and said, ‘well, why don’t you just use the Ikettes?’ I said, ‘I can get the Ikettes?’ and he said ‘Sure,’” Zappa is quoted as saying in Barry Miles’ 1993 book, Zappa: A Biography.

The vocal trio The Ikettes were already iconic. They were one of the first recognized “Girl Groups” in rock and roll history. The ensemble was formed as the backing group of Art Lassiter and were originally called The Artettes. Ike saw the success Ray Charles had with his backing vocal trio The Raelettes. The original Ikettes included Robbie Montgomery, Venetta Fields and Jessie Smith. They became the Ikettes after Ike and Tina Turner’s first single “Fool In Love” became a hit in 1960, and the Ike and Tina Turner Revue wanted to play it live. Onstage, The Ikettes pushed soul music dance choreography into the stratosphere.

For Over-Nite Sensation, Tina Turner, Linda Sims, and Debbie Wilson appear on the songs “I’m The Slime,” “Dirty Love,” “Zomby Woof,” “Dinah-Moe Humm,” and “Montana.” You can hear them on Apostrophe on the songs “Cosmik Debris” and “Uncle Remus.”

Ike agreed to rent out his signature sounding vocal stylists while still stamping the project with his authority. “But you know what the gimmick was? We had to agree, Ike Turner insisted, that we pay these girls no more than $25 per song, because that’s what he paid them,” Frank says in Miles’ book. “And no matter how many hours it took, I could not pay them any more than $25 per song per girl, including Tina.”

That turns out to be a bit of an exaggeration. The singers were actually paid $25 per hour, according to the session’s invoice, which shows they got $187.50 each for 7 1/2 hours of service. But the singers worked for that money. The song “Montana” not only has constantly evolving time signatures, but also passages which change of speeds. The middle section is especially challenging. Besides the time changes, the harmonic progressions and the way they play against the bass counterpoint is unusual for rock, and challenging to perform.

“It was so difficult, that one part in the middle of the song ‘Montana,’ that the three girls rehearsed it for a couple of days,” Zappa recounted. “Just that one section. You know the part that goes ‘I’m pluckin’ the ol’ dennil floss’? Right in the middle there. I can’t remember her name, but one of the harmony singers, she got it first. She came out and sang her part and the other girls had to follow her track. Tina was so pleased that she was able to sing this thing that she went into the next studio where Ike was working and dragged him into the studio to hear the result of her labor. He listened to the tape and he goes, ‘What is this shit?’ and walked out.”

After hearing some of the recordings, Ike Turner insisted the Ikettes not be credited on the released albums. According to CD reissues, it appears he did not approve of the content. “Dirty Love” and “Dinah-Moe Humm” were among the most overtly sexual songs in Zappa’s catalog. These two songs may be the reason Ike wouldn’t sign off on letting his singing stable put their name on the record sleeves.

Of the other songs, “Zomby Woof” takes a bite out of lycanthropic fare, while “Cosmic Debris” turns the tables on a spiritual guru. “I’m The Slime” is about the brainwashing of everyday television. “Uncle Remus,” which takes its name from Joel Chandler Harris’ Br’er Rabbit stories, is an indictment on the then-current state of the civil rights movement compared with the time of Zappa’s 1966 song “Trouble Every Day.” That song looked at the Watts riots when Black folks were burning down buildings as well as the old status quo. In “Uncle Remus,” the most damage being done is “knocking the little jockeys off the rich people’s lawns.”

Ikettes Linda Sims and Debbie Wilson also recorded “Cheepnis,” Zappa’s classic ode to B-movies at Bolic Sound studio on December 12, 1973. This song was the “elsewhere” on the otherwise live album Roxy & Elsewhere (1974). The rest of the album was recorded at The Roxy Theatre.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

You can see that exceedingly fun footage here at The World of Ike & Tina YouTube Channel:

Both the Tina documentary and 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything include segments covering the wounds Turner suffered as an artist, married to her boss, at the dawn of any kind of gender equality. The oppression she suffered under Ike’s tyrannical reign did not escape Zappa’s eye.

“I don’t know how she managed to stick with that guy for so long,” Zappa said in the Miles book. “He treated her terribly and she’s a really nice lady. We were recording down there on a Sunday. She wasn’t involved with the session, but she came in on Sunday with a whole pot of stew that she brought for everyone working in the studio. Like out of nowhere, here’s Tina Turner coming in with a rag on her head bringing a pot of stew. It was really nice.”

1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything premieres May 21 on Apple TV+.

The post How Tina Turner and Frank Zappa Whipped Up Some Dirty Love appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3uZtrWs

[ultr4viol3tnim]

It’s Unboxing (Late) Friday!!! You already know what it is! Let’s get into it!

First let’s start with my trip to Targét yesterday. My body did not feel like going outside but my SPIRIT told me to go to Targét. I’m glad I listened!!!! I was looking for a Barbie m2m soccer player doll because they’re the same skin tone as the m2m grey/blue top and the m2m teal top doll. 

Those particular m2m’s have become expensive (to my liking) on Amazon and I saw the soccer m2ms were in limited stock at my local Targét. I needed at least two of them and I found exactly two. That means it was for me.

I also found, which I was surprised to see, one of the new 2021 Barbie M2M Yoga Dolls. The Barbie M2M Yoga Doll 3 is the exact skin tone as the m2m yellow top. I only started seeing them appear on social media a couple weeks ago. And every time I see new dolls emerged its almost always in Canada or the UK. 

I haven’t seen these new dolls on Amazon or Target’s website; so I was thoroughly surprised! I was also shocked to see some of the new wave of Barbie Fashionistas in Targét as well. Like, in person!!!!! And with the new packaging!!!!!! I wish I thought to look for these a couple weeks ago!

So I got this Barbie Career Places Playsets: Musician Recording Studio. When I thought of the two of the Barbie and The Rockers dolls I got. I wanted to get more prop instruments. I have a cool photoshoot idea!

I purchased three BMR Kens for rebodying purposes. But after looking at one of the dolls I wanted to rebody and seeing a better match. I may only need 2 of em. I may have to return one of them.

When I first saw the Barbie Fashionistas #166 I immediately fell in love. I thought she looked beautiful and I love that Barbie continues to promote diversity and visibility to the differently abled community. What I discovered was just as awesome! TIme after time, some dolls that Barbie make don’t always match any m2m skin tones, rendering those dolls skin tones unique. 

I can indentify about 4 or 5 dolls of my collection that have unique skin tones. The skin tone of the Barbie Fashionistas #166 is special! I discovered that this particular skin tone is the perfect shade in between the M2M Grey/Purple Top & the M2M Yellow Top. 

I also discovered that at least three of my dolls that didn’t have any m2m match, matched with #166 perfectly. #166 has really become the holy grail on skin tones in my collection; Like a missing piece to puzzle! I’ve ended up getting more than one of these dolls because of this. I’m gonna have so many empty wheelchairs on my desk lol!

Last on the doll agenda;

THIS DOLL FINALLY GOT HERE! I’ve been waiting for this package for over a month and some change. And now its the new year! A Barbie Fashions & Accessories Doll, Model GHT32. I love her face and her beautiful afro! I’ve always seen pics of her on social media and never knew where to find her. Once I did, I immediately added her to my wish list! And now I’ve got her!

And just in time!

NEW AUDITIONS ALERT!!

AUDITIONS #10

AUDITIONS #11

I love getting new additions to my collection!! I have some nice content and new pictures I’m gonna post. I’m very excited to share it even it its just with myself and friends lol.

Til next time

[websitesls364]

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You will get a Matchmaking Team with over 30 years of professional matchmaking experience between them. Their services are based in Columbus, Ohio but being an expert agency in their industry they can also refer you to the best matchmaker in your area. If you desire a more personalized, intensive search in your approach to finding your match which requires the expertise and resources of a matchmaker then they are your team. You are a busy successful person and you don't have time to waste on methods that don't work. When you bought a house you hired a Realtor, when you needed investment advice you hired a Stock Broker. Don't forget to hire a professional for the most important part of your life.

[drkreviews]

Best of... May 2020

Here I am guys with a new and really interesting monthly chart in “Best of... May 2020″! Another Spring is getting to end, a pretty unusual one given the current circumstances. The world has been shaken up by a health crisis without precedents, which reflected in any aspect of our life, even music. Japan has been, unfortunately, one of the last countries to apply the emergency state, and this will bring several tours pushed back or cancelled, releases to be delayed and the music streaming platforms becoming, probably, the last resort for these troubled times. Already in this month we see a notable change, as the picks include artists which you might know, or not, creating an interesting ground for things to come. And now... let’s start the countdown!

Little reminder: on the titles of each pick you will see a link to Spotify for listening to the release, whenever is possible, so that you can support your favourite artists, a feature I am doing since the last album selection. So if you like the band/artist or want to check something new, click and listen!

5) Rands - Yudeta ingenmame no aru yawarakai kouzou [Soft construction with boiled beans] (11.05.2020)

The visual kei band led by the former AvelCain singer Karma brings out the third single, the first work of this year and the last as a trio.

Why they are here: The single shows off one of the most relevant features of Rands’ sound; the notable rhythmical component, which create, along with impactful vocals and energetic and peculiar melodies, a really engaging final product, where careful listeners can notice references to Western music. With this single Rands bring a ray of hope for the visual kei scene, which is mostly lacking of a proper diversity, especially from newcomers.

TRACKLIST

21st Seiki Shounen (21st century boy)

Yudeta ingenmame no aru yawaraki kouzou

Banshou (Evening bell)

Bedlam wa yuenchi (Bedlam is an amusement park)

4) Akira Takarano ft. His Excellency Demon Kakka - Jikuu no mayoi hito [Person lost in space-time] (13.05.2020)

The lead singer of baroque rock band Ali Project and the majestical voice of the Japanese hard rock legend Seikima-II join their forces in this coupling single.

Why they are here: Akira, crystalline and decise, Demon, powerful and charismatic; together they bring out two distinctive and compelling traces, whose first served as opening theme for the anime Hachi-nan tte, sore wa nai deshou!, with a strong metal sound and a deep theatrical approach, for a release which genre fans will love.

TRACKLIST

Jikuu no mayoi hito

Bara igyou (Rose variant)

3) Leo Ieiri - Answer (13.05.2020)

The talented Japanese pop singer releases her first official mini-album, more than one year after her last work.

Why she is here: Pop melodies, with electronic, jazzy tunes and ballad, all genres summarized in this mini-album with six distinctive and passionate cover tracks, where Leo brings out her delicate and unique style, delivering a contained but really efficient release, celebrating Japanese pop music at best.

TRACKLIST

Answer

Cosmos [Yamaguchi Momoe]

Swallowtail Butterfly -Ai no uta- (Swallowtail butterfly -Love song-) [Yen Town Band]

Kanashimi no hate (End of sadness) [Elephant Kashimashi]

Pop Star [Ken Hirai]

Nakukamo shirenai (I may cry) [Itsuro Shimoda]

2) Mama. - Ningen shikkaku [No more human] (27.05.2020)

The young visual kei band, which debut about one year ago, releases the first mini-album, following a short series of singles.

Why they are here: Five musicians, not so famous, but anyway able to bring out a convincing sound, with melodies going into heavy and dark shades, well rendered by good instrumental work and attracting vocals; remindful of dark bands like Kuroyuri to Kage and the recently disbanded Dadaroma, Mama. is a band which should be followed more, as they have the potential of being even better.

TRACKLIST

Ningen shikkaku

Kansen (Infection)

Yubi asobi (Finger play)

Murder Red Chainsaw

Shinjuu uta (Heart song)

Urami harasade o kubebika (Envy or sickness)

1) The Novembers - At The Beginning (27.05.2020) *already reviewed by me*

The best release of the month is the latest effort by the Japanese alternative band The Novembers, released in preview on Bandcamp one week ago.

Why they are here: The eighth album brings the band to a style change, already teased in the EP Today; the presence of Yukihiro, of L'Arc~en~Ciel and Acid Android fame, boosts up the electronic component, mixed up with shoegaze and dreamy shades and versatile vocals, delivering various and complex traces; a compelling album, as The Novembers are used to bring out.

TRACKLIST

Rainbow

Bara to kodomo (Roses and children)

Rikaisha (Supporter)

Dead Heaven

Shoushitsu-ten (Vanishing point)

Rakuen (Heaven)

New York

Hamletmachine

Akehana tareta mado (Open window)

That’s all folks! See you on Wednesday for a new review in “Let’s Listen to”!

Thanks for the reading!

[annoyinglyjovialbird]

Voltron: Next Generation

Zealous Approach: I

Word Count: 2807

A/N: Thank Allura for the power outage last night

Hopeful news came for the crew of the Coeus. On the same day and minutes apart from each other, messages appeared on the Coeus's main screen. The 3-D model of the smaller ships in the cargo ship disaster had finished rendering. Altea had sent files on the missing half-Galra that had been implemented into the Galactic Coalition. Daibaazaal sent its support in the form of a video message where Krolia spoke with Kolivan standing behind her. Arus, Cake's birth Balmera, and Puig similarly sent its support, with planetary updates when necessary. Puig's crust was reforming, and it would only be a few phoebs before they could return to rebuild their lives. Great for them. The information Krolia had given Kova checked out, and the coordinate points were successfully uploaded onto the Coeus's map. 

When the onslaught of messages ceased, the teens had a chance to review it all. The former Paladins ate the leftover pink blobs while the teens stared at their consoles. Allie was in charge of reviewing the files from Altea, searching for inconsistencies. Cake was set to writing thank you messages to the other planets. Caleb sent messages to Curtis, updating him on everything. Liz pulled up the models and looked them over. Kova stood above it all, pulling up the large screen at the front of the Coeus. 

"Who's first?" Shiro asked as he walked into the bridge. As he descended the stairs, Liz was quick to upload her screen onto the larger one. 

The 3-D models of the ships could carry a max of twenty people before it would become too heavy to land or take off. These ships were designed to keep whatever was in the back as far away from the drivers as possible. The only way into the back was through a door in its side. Reviewing the footage, there were five of these ships, but they weren't enough to fill them at capacity. Only a few forty combined, from a hundred at max. 

Kova had an odd look on her face as Liz explained her findings to Shiro and the rest of the team. Kova pulled up the dim pictures of Yorak's ship, then of the cargo ship. The cargo bays were on a different level of the cargo ship, with six chambers. One, if Kova recalled, was used as a temporary hospital for the prisoners. 

"Wait, prisoners?" Liz asked, staring at Kova. The others looked equally confused, while Caleb sat with eyes wide. 

"That's the cargo." Kova stared ahead, eyebrows furrowed. "Galtean prisoners." Caleb relaxed, returning to his work. 

"Half-breed trafficking." Liz turned around in her chair. "Who would've guessed?" Allie raised her hand before Kova could ask. Liz pulled down the screens, returning them to her console as Allie pulled hers up. 

Over the years, Galtean soldiers were assigned under the command of another Galtean soldier named Ralan. The Shiroganes perked up when hearing the name. Ralan was the second Emperor of the Fire when the resurgence occurred. The odd thing Allie had encountered was every soldier in Ralan's platoon was declared MIA every couple of decaphoebs, after several phoebs under Ralan's command. What made it worse was Ralan was supposed to oversee surveillance of the Galtean colonies. Allie went down the list, bright red text next to every picture of the missing Galteans declaring them as such. Ralan's reported MIA was dated only a day before the last known transmission of the Galtean colonies. 

Cake wanted clarification, and Allie provided. The video transmissions of the Galtean colonies were time-stamped, and Allie received those dates. The last video transmission of the Galtean colonies was the day after Ralan went MIA. Cake nodded his head, staring at the young man. He wore a cocky smile, dark violet hair combed back with only a slight curl lay astray. The black chain earring hugged his stone-gray ear, ending with a dark crystal. Ralan was an only child, a common thing among the half-breed children, and his parent's were members of the Alpha and Gamma colonies. That is, a repairer, and a stay-at-home parent. Except, Ralan was born before the colonies were completed and first choice to oversee their surveillance. 

"Whose first choice, exactly?" Caleb asked, staring at Ralan's punchable face. Allie's face soured, staring at the smirking man. 

"The Emperor's," Allie muttered. "He had never seen such a talented, strong, or handsome individual in his life. Except for himself, of course." It was probably the first time Shiro had seen the girl roll her eyes. Kova chuckled, staring at the main screen. Shiro noticed, and smiled. 

"Who's next?" Kova called. Allie pulled her screens down as Caleb projected his. 

"Pops wants to set up a meeting with the Garrison council," Caleb read the message. Kova's eyes hardened at the sight, while Shiro raised his eyebrows. 

"Not until we return to Earth."

"That's what I told him, but he wants an exact date." Both Kova and Shiro stopped in their tracks, reading the last message to confirm. Kova made silent and confused hand gestures at the screen while Shiro sighed tiredly. Kova mouth 'What the quiznack?' while Shiro rubbed his forehead with his human hand. 

"What exact date?" Kova asked to no one. She was so confused. "He knows we're in space. With no clear agenda. And Voltron." 

"On top of the family drama you got going on." 

"Thanks, Caleb."

"No problem."

"Enough, you two." Shiro brought his human hand to his mouth, letting his robotic arm float to Caleb's screen. Allie stared, following the arm as it floated past. The fingers began to type into the message box. The teens looked away as Shiro typed the crude message, then to their horror, sent it. Does he know he's already on 'no hugs'? What's next? 'No husband'? 'No kids'? 'Cleaning Peaches's litter box without his robotic arm'? When Shiro's arm returned to his side, Caleb shut the message box as fast as he could. He wasn't sticking around for that trainwreck. May Allura and the stars be with both of his fathers. 

He pulled his screen down as Kenny's face appeared in a small box on the screen. Kenny held a scaultrite lense in his off-hand while he used his right to push his glasses back up his nose. 

"What's up, Ken?" Kova asked, watching the tiny drone activate itself and fly upwards to show the team in full. Kenny indignantly held up the scaultrite lense, eyes wide and chin forward. "Use your words, Kenneth." 

"This is the last scaultrite lense we have." The team stopped dead in their tracks. They stared at Kenny. How did they run out of lenses so fast? "With all the jumping we've done, some of the older lenses started breaking. This," Kenny held the lense up again. "Is the last scaultrite lense we have." 

"We had thirty-six." 

"I know." Kenny sighed, using his empty hand to brush his bangs back. "I counted, then recounted, and triple counted the lenses in our teleduv. We have seventy-two lenses in our teleduv, double what we bought." Kova groaned, lowering her head. Liz opened up the ongoing itinerary, typing 'scaultrite lenses' in the next empty space. Other items on this list included 'Public appearances', 'food', and 'Schedule'. At least two of those other items could be solved with one trip. 

"Dad," Kova said, looking up. Shiro turned to face her on her podium. She looked so dejected. "We have to go back to the space mall." 

"I know, Kova." Shiro looked up at Kova, sighing along with her. "Liz, set a course for the space mall. Ken, can the lenses hold together long enough for the trip?" 

"Colonel, I never said the lenses needed replacing." Kenny put the lense down somewhere off-screen, coming back empty-handed. "I said we had one left. If any of the other lenses broke, we'd only be able to replace one." 

"What are the chances they break?" 

"It wouldn't be for a couple of trips, but it would be safer to have more." 

"Alright then." Shiro turned towards the nearest of the two staircases, heading towards the door. "I'll let the others know. No one is getting kidnapped again." As the door closed behind Shiro, the others looked up at Kova, who was busily typing away at her screen. 

"What are you doing?" Caleb finally asked after they stared at her for a few minutes. 

"Reaching out to someone who can help." 

——————————

Among the cheery and tired mall visitors, two stood out from the crowd. One, in a dark hoodie and pants, pushed through the visitors in a vain to outrun Varkon the mall cop only meters behind him. The dark clothed individual glanced over his shoulder and ran. 

"H-Hey! Stop right there!" Varkon yelled, speeding towards him on his scooter. The guy ran into an alley to hide from Varkon, catching his breath. As Varkon sped past, still yelling at someone to stop, the dark hooded guy smirked and was turning away. 

They tried at least. 

With a groan, their back met the wall with a harsh thud. An arm had slid in place over his throat and put pressure, causing the hooded guy to cough. As he coughed, the arm disappeared and the hooded guy collapsed on the floor. With a harsh tug, the hoodie was pulled off the guy's head. As the hooded guy held his throat, he glared up at the people responsible. 

"If it ain't the Jax," the Galtean said. "Pleasure to be of service." 

"Uh, Kova?" Caleb asked, crossing his arms. "Who's this guy?" Kova stood above the Galtean, with Caleb to her left. Allie and Liz were behind Kova and Caleb, all dressed in their Paladin armor. 

"The best mole in the universe." The Galtean tried to laugh, coughing instead. Violently. Allie's eyebrows furrowed in concern as Kova and Caleb looked on in mild boredom and daring him to make a move. 

"May I?" Allie whispered, getting a nod from Kova. She lowered herself to the ground, crouching in front of the injured Galtean. He couldn't have been more than their age, but he bore a long scar on the left side of his face, from his scalp to his chin. With gray coily hair and a menacing dark scowl, the Galtean glared at Allie as she stared too long at his scar. 

"Who the quiznack are you?" He said harshly, causing Allie to tense. "What you looking at?" 

"N-nothing!" She exclaimed. The Galtean looked up to meet Kova's glare, and moved his legs forward so he leaned against the wall he was thrown against. 

"What do you want, Jax?" 

"What do you think?" 

"Info." The Galtean looked from Kova to Allie, who was still staring at him. "Is she broken or something?" His sclerae were yellow, with gray irises. Very dark blue Altean markings almost faded into his dark skin, cutting through the marking entirely on his left cheek. 

"You got a problem?"

"It's the purebred Altean for me, y'know?" The Galtean shrugged, stretching his legs out and crossing them while his arms were crossed over his dark hoodie. 

"Allie, can you pull up the Galtean registry?" Kova asked, not taking her eyes off the Galtean teen. Allie complied, with Liz looking over her shoulder. "Look up Mollas." 

"You're supposed to be dead." Allie looked up with a start, blurting out the words before they could be stopped. She looked outraged, confused, and angry. So many emotions for such a tiny person. 

"Kova." Caleb stared at Kova's head. Mollas sighed, figuring it was better than nothing. 

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be dead." Mollas began. Riveting. "You wanna know how I got this, purebred? That maniac of a leader did this to me." Kova's eyes seemed to harden as he continued. Yorak was insane. "Y'know, that idiot doesn't care if we lived or died in those 'training camps'. He just wanted us to follow every command." 

"How did you—" 

"Ha! I'll tell you, princess!" Allied stiffened at the nickname, but said nothing. "I believed it! I believed him! I seriously thought that the Fire was going to provide what I never had! But when the maniac did this," Mollas pointed at the scar. "I left. Stole the nearest escape pod and flew as far away from there as possible."

"That's good, right?" Liz said, getting a scoff from Mollas. 

"Y'know, Jax has it made. Human parents, human siblings, and a home on Earth. Other half-Galras don't have siblings, much less parents or a home." Liz and Allie stared at him in shock. Kova and Caleb had those matching unreadable expressions on their face. "Ever since that idiot came into power, every half-Galra was treated like our parents were after the war. Like we were all guilty of crimes we didn't commit." 

"It's like that throughout the entire galaxy." Kova finally spoke, shifting her weight onto one leg. "Half-Galra are scary, not because of our skills, but because of our parents." 

"Especially if you're second gen." Mollas stared at Kova, who frowned. "The Emperor was some hot-shot second gen on Earth before something happened and he ran away." 

"We already knew that, Mole." 

"Yeah, whatever." 

"How much do you want to go back under?" 

"You couldn't afford me." Mollas and Kova glared at each other. Allie stood, stepping behind Kova. Liz stood in Allie's place with her bayard ready in case the two decided to fight right then and there. 

"I heard the Blade of Marmora is recruiting," Kova said at last, a hand on her hip. Mollas seemed to perk up. "I'm sure they'll have a division set up for the colonies' surveillance after they're found." 

"Can you get me in?" 

"Mole, I can get you to the final stage." Mollas stood up at Kova's words, scaring the Altean behind Kova. "What d'you say? Deal?" Kova held out her hand. Mollas looked from Kova's eyes to her outstretched hand. 

"Y'know, I always liked you, Jax." Mollas said before taking Kova's hand. "You got yourself a deal." As Mollas turned to walk away, Kova slapped the back of his neck. He didn't say anything, frozen in his tracks. 

"Precautions, y'know?" Kova said, and Mollas turned around to give her a nod and a smile. He strode to the opposite end of the alley, lifting his hood over his head, and disappeared into the crowd of people. 

"That was rude, Kova." Caleb said flatly. 

"Says you," Kova responded, walking to closest end of the alley to look for the food court. 

"It was, though?" Caleb said after her. Liz and Allie relaxed, following their pilots. 

The pair were still bickering with each other as they approached the table Cake, Kenny, and Shiro were sitting at. They took their seats around the table while ignoring the lingering eyes on them. Whether the eyes were annoyed or amazed, the pair didn't care. Their argument was more important, even if it had been reduced to 'Yuh huh' and 'Nuh uh'. Cake was still handcuffed to Kenny, looking from the arguing pilots to the yelling coming from the kitchen. So far, someone had been called an idiot sandwich, and Sal was demanding to know who microwaved the fish and chips. 

At least Cake now knew what to avoid. 

"What are you two arguing about?" Shiro asked tiredly. He had leaned his head on his human fist while using his robotic arm to create a barrier between the bickering (and childish) teens. 

"Kova slapped the informant." 

"You're exaggerating."

"Griffin can back me up. Griffin!" Liz looked on with wide eyes as she drank from a large cup. Allie had a similarly large cup in her small hands, looking over the rim. 

"I put a tracker on him!" Kova argued. Before either Caleb or Shiro could respond, an Altean woman approached the table. 

"Um, excuse me. Are you paladins of Voltron?" 

"Yes." Kova and Caleb said at the same time, returning to glare at each other. Liz put down her large cup and kicked Caleb in the shin from under the table. Kova stared at Allie, but she continued taking small sips from her cup. 

As Caleb felt betrayed, a little boy approached Kova. The young boy had pale skin, sandy hair, and big jade green eyes. His little pointed ears and small lavender markings caught Allie's attention. 

"Hi." He said shyly, tucking his chin into his oversized sweater. 

"Hi." Kova, turning in her seat so her back was to Allie. "My name is Kova. What's yours?" The little boy gave a small smile. 

"My name is Vatos." The little boy's pale cheeks turned red as he met Kova's eyes. "You're pretty." 

"Thank you, Vatos." Kova smiled widely. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" 

"I wanna be a paladin," Vatos said, grinning. "Just like you." Before Kova could ask what color, the entire building shook under their feet.

[content-to-convert]

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR...

VIDEO DIDN’T KILL THE RADIO STAR it just made him dress nicer 

By Pat Mellon 

Speaking of your brand evolving, PODCASTS are now a wise bullet to have in the arsenal of promotional weapons. In the early 2000's, for instance, you didn't have the option to record and distribute a PODCAST. The technology didn't exist to even IDENTIFY, much less create one- if you typed PODCAST into an email in 2002, it would have been flagged as a misspelling. 

But now, thanks to Audioblogging, re-branded as PODCASTING thanks to the iPOD, you can reach a targeted captive audience in a car on a long commute, with content that they've actually sought out. It's essentially a radio infomercial for the lifestyle of your product, without the PAID-PROGRAMMING aftertaste. Plenty of people have been slow to warm to the idea of such self-promotion and have waited to see if the technology and its effectiveness sustained or if it waned, the way QR codes did, or video discs did until the invention of the DVD. It can be an amazingly powerful part of your brand. 

Many rejected podcasting, as I did initially, as a waste of energy. In fairness, early on when there were no networks for podcasting and its business model was less focused than now, it smacked of self-congratulatory volunteer work. I saw it as an infringement on my profession. I have 15 years of radio hosting experience. I saw podcasts as competition. In my short-sighted view then, I didn't see the full potential of a podcast. I just saw it as people wanting my job. But as time went on, I began to see the ways, at least in terms of in-car entertainment, that podcasting was the future. And like the cryptic fortune cookie says, "Kill Your Darlings". Or maybe go with the less-confusing, "Reinvent Your Business Constantly. The End Goal May Be The Same But The Tools and Methods Evolve Constantly" which is a Ken Tucker quote I saw on a Snapple Cap. Or even the more direct, "You Have To Reinvent To Stay Fresh and In The Game" which Madonna said once. 

But early on, I saw it as the enemy - the way news journalists must have felt when FREELANCERS started getting a lot of the work in the late 90's. I thought, "If all you need to broadcast is a computer and an opinion, why the hell did I major in Broadcasting? It's like everyone becoming a Youtuber or a Social Media Influencer (seriously, that is NOT a good name. It's just saying what you're doing. It lacks creativity, like naming the glass thing you drink out of a "glass". Or the room with the bed a "bedroom". Or the thing you swing on a "swing". Or the... Sorry-I'll move on.) Anybody can become a Social Media Influencer these days, (and if they're under 14 and haven't been trying for half their lives then you might want to make sure they're breathing) and that means fame, sometimes money, but more important: LIKES. I overheard my 8 year-old playing with her friends and they were pretending there was a genie or something granting wishes and one girl asked for a pony, and another asked for a house of chocolate, and my daughter asked for a million LIKES on her video. LIKES are currency for pre-teen popularity. And LIKES or even merely PAGE VIEWS can be currency in the grown-up world of business. My point is that anyone with a computer and a camera can make money on Youtube if they hustle. It's simply the new normal. It's great, if not dangerous. We've yet to see the fallout of a generation raised on Youtubing, unless, of course, you count cautionary tales like Logan Paul or Jo Jo Siwa, both of whom are rich. It's simply another entertainment option for kids. I kinda thought podcasting was that, but for adults who only wanted quasi-fame; to show-off. But it's bigger than that.

If you're a plumber, for instance, and you want to maximize business, you probably want a decent social media footprint, some solid YELP reviews, and maybe even a podcast. Toilet clogged? Click here for an interview with master plumbers from all over. It's not the ONLY thing you should do. It's ONE of the things you should do.

On the consumer side, you have to realize that traffic, especially the bumper-to-bumper kind, is GOLD to a radio talk show host. People listen the most in their cars, so DJ's in New York and Los Angeles, the #1 and #2 radio markets depending on who you ask*, for instance, who entertain on the radio, are always on their toes to stay funny and relevant because it's so easy to push a button and change the station.

Then suddenly there was a new game in town. People were bypassing the radio altogether and plugging external sources into car sound systems, removing the commercials and unwanted Morning Zoo shenanigans, and rendering my entire college education and training void. My only hope was wishing death to the podcast movement, which I think I did a couple of times on the radio accompanied by a sound effect of a toilet flushing (Take THAT, Podcasting!). It didn't work. I kept hearing the word. Podcast. (eerie voice) PODD CAAAST! My head was in the sand. People would say to me, "you should do a podcast" and I'd cringe and wildly swing fists at imaginary ghosts who were accusing me of "Resting on your laurels" and "Holding on too tight.”

It took a while, but I get the appeal and, more importantly, the power of the Podcast. It's like a book-on-tape for the 21st century- 10 times as cool, though, because it's technologically relevant, and can be different every time you listen. So we agree that podcasts are real. And we acknowledge that there is room for many things on the dashboard of a car, be them outlets, or additional buttons. And we agree that the the way we do business is always changing and we have to adapt to some degree. So why all the hub bub? Because we can't have an intelligent conversation about the delicate existence of Podcasts without talking about Shane Gillis, the comedian who was hired and fired by Saturday Night Live in the same week last year. We need to understand the power of what it was that torpedoed his streetcar (tune into Mixed Metaphors with Pat Mellon Tuesdays on The Podd Couple, right after Poddamnit at 8, and Pod of Thunder with Gene Simmons at 8:17) He and a buddy do this show, this podcast, it's like a radio show but you don't listen to it on your grandpa's Victrola, you tether your MP3 player to the radio inside grandpa's Camry, and there's bad language, which there never is on traditional, boring old dumb talk radio, so right away, it's awesome (honestly, the only difference between Howard Stern on radio and Howard Stern on satellite is the F word) and the internet allows curses and take that, Mr. Suit and Tie, and this is going to be amazing. And on one particular show from 2018, Gillis said "chink" when describing someone in Chinatown. Not a huge scandal, but I guess you'd have to ask Roseanne Barr if the internet can get you into to any kind of trouble. She was exiled from the the entire US for a social media post that mentioned race and monkeys. And the same new normal that allows John Q. Anybody to do a podcast ALSO watches everything you do online and will sink you if it sees something it does not like. America can be confusing that way. Freedom of speech and freedom of complaining about freedom of speech are always at each other's throats, it seems. And you can't have it both ways. The guy who alerted the world to Bill Cosby's dating rituals online is loved by many but is also shunned by others, but that guy knows what he did and he knows not to complain about the ones who, well, complain. It's the price you pay.

The point is, you need to constantly be hustling and using all of technology’s modern tools to get your product out (they’re not burning DVD’s anymore) and maybe one of those avenues is a podcast with salty language, and maybe that podcast exists among your body of work that clients can enjoy whenever they want.

But we live in a new age of retroactive outrage. Eddie Murphy was on SNL and is arguably the most talented person the show has produced. He did a stand-up special in which he explores “What if Mr. T were a Faggot?” It was inflammatory and it was insensitive and it was homophobic (though that buzzword was still a decade from conception) because the premise of the joke- the attribution of homosexual behavior to a big, strong, black man being marginalized as solely predatory sodomy - crossed the line. When I spell it out like that it looks horrible. But it’s a simple comedic device: assigning unlikely behavior to someone for comedic purposes. It’s the fish-out-of-water gag. It’s why we had Mork, and Alf, and Balkie from Perfect Strangers. It’s Freaky Friday. It’s why The Rock playing a babysitter or a tooth fairy is funny. Murphy did this AFTER he was on SNL. But if has been released before he auditioned, do you think he’d have been hired? 

  Of course he would have. Because the Mr. T thing was a small part of that special (though, I recall, an extremely quotable part) and the people who didn’t like or appreciate the language didn’t have the bionic megaphone of the internet so they could get their outrage all over your conscience. The point is that your podcast is a reflection of your brand. You have to weigh your desire to speak freely and loosely with your desire to keep the Cancel Culture at bay. At a MINIMUM, though, you should keep things clean for your clients, listeners, and most importantly, your potential customers. Shane Gillis missed out of being on SNL and fame, instead on infamy because he broke one of society's biggest rules:he said something controversial out loud. Granted, it was in bad taste, but if that were a crime half of us would be in jail. It's just important to remember that your language on a work-based podcast should be professional, which I realize cannot be defined easily, but maybe stay away from slang and cursing. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD.