#the transparency was accidental but i think its the cherry on top

[mx-mind]

This is what I feel like whenever I start a new game

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 76: The Weighing of the Wands

Dust sparkled like raw glitter as it was thrown asunder from the surfaces they'd once sat upon, the eight teenagers began sneezing in painful succession and several of them yelped in pain as even more boxes piled atop them.

Danger came and went so frequently during these travels, none of them ever rarely felt safe enough to stow theirs away, though in a place like this it seemed more prudent just not to misplace it lest they pick the wrong one up. They were in Ollivander's.

Remus' breath caught in his throat, only causing him to cough harder and hopefully hide the look on his face. The place looked exactly the same as the first time he'd stepped in here, right down to the spindly chair he'd accidentally exploded on his second unclaimed wand. By the fourth one he'd been in a panic, casting anxious looks at his father to please tell him this was all still going to work out, that he did deserve a magic wand, he just wanted one normal experience. His father wouldn't quite meet his eyes when Ollivander came back with the fifth box, not looking nearly as deterred as Remus would have thought.

 "Here we are then, let's have this a try. Cypress wood, 10¼", unicorn hair, nice and pliable." He'd been cold and stiff, this had been the most he'd been around others in so long, and they'd come here at the crack of dawn before most of the shops even opened so that they could be the first into each. Lyall Lupin hadn't looked him in the eye all day, he'd been too busy casting suspicious glances at everyone around him, his hand never leaving his son's shoulder.

Ollivander knew, he was instantly convinced of that from those perturbant eyes, but when he'd finally wrapped his fingers around the bulbous end, the grooves already perfectly fit to match his fingers, warmth shot straight up his arm. With a surprised smile and a bit of prompting from Mr. Ollivander, he gave a little twirl and laughed in delight as the shop's lights all flared brightly as the sun and flashed every color of the rainbow before settling back. He'd hardly let it out of his sight since then, afraid the Minister or any person really would point out the very obscure law of nonhumans having wands, and where exactly he fell into that category...

Sirius watched the indecision flashing across Moony's face, like he couldn't decide if he was happy to be back here or not as he held his wand protectively instead of for protection. He understood why of course, they all nicked each other's stuff countless times, but never that. He shuffled all the closer to him now, keeping a leery eye on Regulus, Longbottom, or even Evans in case any of them dared say anything about it now that they could possibly guess the same, keeping his own very obviously at his side, running his hand down the ruins engraved in it he'd still yet to decipher.

 Cedar and 12 1/4th'', dragon heart-string, very rigid for a wand of this wood. The words played back to him clear as day back in this place, it had been the first disappointment of his parent's magical life after all. They would have expected him to have possessed a wand of Elder or Larch, those woods associated with power. He scoffed now as he had then, vividly remembering Ollivander's delight he'd gotten young Sirius' wand on the very first guess as he caused the shadows to flicker on the wall with purpose, all enfolding each other in the shape of snakes and almost scaring little Regulus.

Regulus, of course, would have denied that now had he been so informed, but the shop remained as vastly silent as ever. Even their ruckus of entering without its shopkeeper couldn't permeate the sheer magic in the air, the infinity of the shop's endless wand cases. He couldn't help himself from exploring at once, if there was one person he'd have voluntarily pulled along for his experience it would have been Garrick Ollivander. The man had fascinated him upon their very first meeting, being able to perfectly recite both of his parents and his brother's wands, and as many generations back as Regulus asked. The wandmaker had seemed delighted by him, pleasing his parents immensely as they began making rather transparent comments about bringing their youngest back around for Ollivander to take under his wing. 

He thought back to that day with feelings as mixed as ever, Sirius had already been showing a pension by that time for his troublemaking ways, unwilling to conform to what their parents expected of him. It had taken the master three try's to be given his own wand, "Apple, 13 1/3'', unicorn hair and vastly flexible to suit your needs," he recalled with perfect clarity. He'd gone home that night and looked up every bit of wandlore book his father owned and even sent out to their Uncle Alphard for more. He'd been pleasantly smug to find apple a rarer wand wood, no wonder his parents had left beaming, but the more he dug the more he began to wonder if even the great wandmaker of their time could make a mistake. After all, when he'd taken his extension to magic, smooth all the way to the end where it got the slightest of twists, there had been no gigantic display of magic as he'd once seen Sirius produce. All that had really happened was a sweep of wind blowing through the store, blowing robes and hair about sure, but nothing too memorable.

All the studying he'd done had said wands of apple went well to those who had high aims, but did not mix well with the Dark Arts. What other path was there that the two didn't mix?

Peter didn't feel the need to hide away from anyone anymore, but still he sought no one out for now as he stood looking over Ollivander's work station. He dared not touch anything, but inspected everything with intimate detail regardless. A wand was halfway through its shaping, the core still half shown in the top half yet whittled together, a bright phoenix feather-like his own, but of cherry wood instead of his red oak. His was also slightly shorter than this one was apparently going to be, and he had no way of knowing the flexibility of the wand, he wasn't even sure what his own meant yet. Malleable, something you could shape as you wish. It sure didn't feel as if he had any say in what he wished as of late. The design almost embodied his nickname, he noted ironically, the wood was weaved as if with the movement itself and had ringlets along the entirety of it.

What happened to it in this future? Had he lost it in his fight when he framed Sirius? Kept it to help resurrect the Dark Lord before returning that wand and then continuing with his own? The same wand he'd used to help him create his masterful disguise that had allowed his cowardice to be his life while hiding out at the Weasley's? A rat he'd gifted himself along with his friends help to aid Remus. He gazed miserably at his left hand, the one he'd accidentally made vanish from sight when Ollivander had taken six tries to give him his wand. He'd been too shy to ask at the time what the record was for how long it had taken him to find a matching pair, but he was sure his was up there, he was always an in-between it seemed.

Alice was growing quite weary of constantly finding herself alone and meandering around strange places looking for anyone else. If the goal of the book was for them to be getting real-life experience of how Harry was feeling, she'd say congratulations long before now. She still looked around with keen interest, as she'd actually never been here. She'd inherited her wand from her grandmother, and it suited her well, but even she hadn't gotten this wand from Ollivander himself, but overseas from Japan of all places. 

"Reed and 14'', with a unicorn hair. It's a steady wand for a steady hand now," she'd been warned upon her eleventh birthday. She'd heard from others it wasn't prudent to use another's wand, but it had always suited her fine, and she rather liked the almost candy cane design of the wand, though it dipped in a slight hook instead of inwards at the end. She wondered what Neville's was, the fond thought flitted through her mind as she continued walking past endless rows of yet unclaimed wands. From what little she'd heard of Augusta, she had managed to grow more stern with age, but surely even she'd managed a smile for Neville like he deserved when gifted a wand as well, possibly from this very shop? She certainly wasn't going to complain about the chance to look around regardless.

Frank stayed where he was for fear of disturbing any more dust and sneezing his face off next. The boxes and uncovered wands lay scattered around him, and he eyed at least five that happened to be pointing at him with exhaustion. He dared not move them away though, he didn't want the wands to think he was trying to claim them and causing something else to go wrong. Exhaustion was stopping him from moving away entirely, he hoped dearly they landed someplace they could kip down soon.

He wished he could get up and go find Alice, or even Lily, but remembered well his mother's warning about staying right beside her and getting lost, especially in this place. He already was though, so what was the harm? He nudged a wand with his foot as he began moving around, and it sparkled red in protest, so he slowly lowered himself back to his previous position and waited it out instead.

 "Apple, 12 1/4'', Phoenix, a very austere wand while I was creating it, but I'm sure you'll manage." Ollivander's words seemed to mock back at him now, his wand certainly did seem as strict with him as his own mother. It took intense concentration to manage even the simplest of spells, he didn't dare try it now when all his heavy-lidded eyes wanted to do was slide shut. Evans's voice, while uneasy giving poor Harry's accounts going through this, still had a charming, mellow sort of quality he was quickly nodding off to, only missing the warmth of Alice's hands to really help him relax.

Lily twirled her wand about in her hand, getting it caught between her ring finger and pointer and holding it like that for several minutes while reminding herself there was nothing to curse in here she should. No Charm she could utilize either to help. Just another surprisingly yet ill-received connection she felt to her son, over how lonely he felt. The way Sev had been freezing her out with increasing frequency lately to hang out with those others instead, well, he may as well have accused her of doing something she'd never do as well. Why was she the one being punished when she'd done nothing wrong?

Things had been so much simpler back when they'd just started school, they'd done everything together then, even here. The old man had smiled kindly at her starry-eyed gaze upon everything, it had only taken him his second try to fit her up. Willow, 10¼", unicorn hair*, a quite swishy wand upon development. It was her dream come true, the soft brown wood had intricate swirling designs like water inlaid in it, she'd taken him literally and began enthusiastically swishing it everywhere of course, and much as she'd imagined that first time in their grove, it finally happened as sparklers trailed after the end in a truly magical display, from her! She still remembered Ollivander giving such details to Harry when he'd come for his, a little Muggleborn like her had even been as memorable as all the others who came across this shop.

It made sense, of course, that when Harry was called for his wand to be inspected it was the best Britain had to offer to do it. She wondered what he thought of Harry now, had he and his wand lived up to the great things he expected of him? She still wished for him to have a more normal life than he was getting first.

James continued rummaging behind the desk, determined to find the bloody list. Surely the man had to have a list of all wands in this shop and keep a record of who he sold them too, there was just no way he simply memorized it all?! Evans had long since picked up the book and was reading it, he was too disgusted by the world Harry was living in to even consider it. Now his own son's friends were turning against him along with the rest of that mad school, thinking that kid would do this to himself? There was enjoying being the center of attention, and then there was his offspring, and he knew quite well which side of the line Harry stood on. Why wouldn't his best friend know that? 'No friends are perfect,' his own snide voice reminded him as he avoided looking at his own for now as well while he continued his solo quest.

Sirius and Remus were huddled up together and he had no idea where Peter landed. Seemed even this mad charade was giving them some breathing room for a few more moments, and he took to that while he could by continuing his search manually along the shelves now. He'd tried summoning it of course, with the very wand Ollivander had gifted him, mahogany, 11", dragon heartstring*, nice and supple. He'd even guessed right on his very first try, and the spurt of water that shot the man in the face was his reward as James ran from the shop in delight before his parents could even pay.

The reddish-gold wood that had an almost spiderweb-like pattern inlaid in it remained in his pocket for now though as he traversed the endless shelves, none of which were even marked, each box identical to the last. Only cracking one open revealed the wand inside, and he just didn't know enough about them to even guess at which could be Harry's, if it was even here. Merlin knew exactly when they were in this shop, Tom Riddle's could still be here for all he knew. He didn't even have a good excuse for why he was looking for it, just another way to connect to his son? As his days at Hogwarts grew more dangerous, and even cruel from the student body within, he wanted to punch Ron in the face more every second for not exactly being helpful when Harry needed him now more than ever, what with Sirius' insanity not exactly helping his son in their time.

HPHPHP

The ones noted with an * are of my own decision, the rest is cannon. Hope you enjoyed!

Alice Smith* - Reed, 14'', Unicorn, Steady, thicker at the base and thinning as it ended in a hook with one deep groove spiraling the entire thing.

Frank Longbottom/ Neville Longbottom's 1st Wand* - Apple, 12 1/4'', Phoenix, Austere, a very plain wand with no extra designs except at the very base of the wand where small scratches marked it as if the wood were already peeling.

James Potter- Mahogany, 11", (Core Unknown)/ Dragon Heartstring*, Supple, spiderweb pattern inlaid across the middle of it.

Lily Evans- Willow, 10¼", (Core Unknown)/ Unicron*, Swishy, little water like waves etched into it in a dizzying pattern when twirled around.

Peter Pettigrew's first wand*- Red Oak, 11'', Phoenix, Malleable, ringlets along the entirety of it.

Regulus Black* - Apple, 13 1/3'', Unicorn, Flexible, smooth all the way to the end where it got the slightest of twists like a star about to burst

Remus Lupin- Cypress, 10¼", Unicorn, Pliable, bulbous at the end with finger groves only to the halfway point

Sirius Black *- Cedar, 12 1/4th'', Dragon heart-string, Rigid, ancient ruins etched in

Mine is: Hornbeam wood with a dragon heartstring core, 12 ½" and surprisingly swishy flexibility, and I like to think the design would resemble a turtles shell pattern.

Let me know yours?

[progressivelyaddled]

Progressively addled ramblings of a guinea fowl grandma

I think I must have always wanted to chronicle the events of my life, although chronicle seems a rather grand term for what I do. When I was a child I ran away from home, with a few belongings and a bit of food wrapped in a brightly coloured cloth tied to a stick, Dick Whittington-style. I ran as far as the railway line culvert and there I unpacked my things and had a bite to eat. I waited for something to happen but it didn't, so I walked home. I probably would have forgotten about this incident, but much later I found my account of it in an orange coloured exercise book, complete with drawings of my runaway from home kit! And then there were the forty years of diary writing! I always thought that when I was a very old person, as opposed to being just an old person, I would spend countless hours reading through my diary accounts of bringing up babies, of fixing things and of coping with playing at  all our various gigs. Unfortunately this can no longer happen, but here I am again sifting through the  muddled feelings and memories in my head, trying to make sense of it all! Memories are so unreliable. Important moments in one's life can disappear in a haphazard, unpredictable manner while painful, insignificant, should be forgotten events determinedly stay put!

Today's pudding from the old CWA Calendar of Puddings is a Strawberry Trifle.

December 2nd      Strawberry Trifle

Break about half a stale sponge cake into a crystal dish, not too deep. Mix in a cup about two tablespoons milk and two tablespoons sherry and pour over sufficient to just soak the cake. Then add a layer of fresh strawberries mashed with sugar to taste. Make a custard with 1 cup milk, 1 tablespoon sugar and two eggs. Pour while still warm over the contents of dish, and when cold, top with ½ cup whipped cream. Decorate edges of trifle with whole small ripe strawberries. Raspberries and loganberries can be used in same way.

Mrs L.L.Kluske (Jervois)

Illustration 1: Strawberry Trifle

This was very light and delicious. I must confess that I cheated and bought a sponge! Second confession, I added a little cornflour to thicken my egg custard. I only had large strawberries for decoration, small ones around the edge would probably have been better. I did not add sugar to the mashed strawberries as I thought they were sweet enough.  I used my newly acquired Swift Whip to whip the cream. (They still turn up in op shops occasionally.) If I don't have much whipping to do, I prefer to use my Swift Whip rather than my Kenwood, much less noisy!

Illustration 2: Swift Whip and successfully whipped cream. 

Last weekend we had a wonderful time with our Pinnaroo family, playing music, reading books, planting trees, dancing on the trampoline, playing cricket and we even fitted in a visit to the Pinnaroo op shop!. We found a microscope, a good cricket bat, some clothes, some books and grand daughter Amelia found a lovely jug and glass set for her special drinks. When I was a child there were no op shops where I lived. I remember my mother adding bits of material to the waistline of my dresses to lengthen them when I grew and my father tacking  new soles on my worn out shoes. I often wonder if this still happens.

Illustration 3: Amelia trying out her new microscope.

I thought in this post I would write about some of the things that survived the fire. The last thing I did before we drove away was to let out my chooks. When we returned later in the day, the geese and most of our chooks were still there and on the next day they laid us five eggs in their burnt nests! It is a puzzle to me how they survived. So many sheep, kangaroos, lizards, snakes and birds died at Pinkerton Plains on that day.

Iluustration 3: Five eggs in the burnt chookhouse the day after the fire.

Most of our guinea fowl survived, though the trees they always roosted in at night did not. I have always loved my guinea fowl. When we first moved to River House I really missed their noisy cacophony and rather absurd, quarrelsome antics.

Illustration 4 : Guinea fowl at Lonely Hill Farm (Photo taken by Tad)

At Lonely Hill Farm our guinea fowl would love to peck at my lawn. In fact, they were so destructive I had to cover it with a net, which I used to remove once a day so they could have a peck! Guinea fowl are a bit silly and panic a lot, but they often warn us if a wild cat or a fox is about and they love eating earwigs so are very helpful in the garden. We have brought our remaining guinea fowl to “River House”, where we are now living and where they have made a garden  nest in one of the wildest parts.

Illustration 5: Guineafowl at home at River House already pecking my lawn.

Illustration 6: Hidden Guinea fowl nest.

Each day a new egg appears in the nest. Guinea fowl are not terribly good sitters.  One year at Lonely Hill one of the mothers would dutifully sit on her eggs in the day time and then fly up into her tree at night! Consequently no guinea fowl chicks survived that time. Their eggs are very hard and occasionally I would find an accidentally laid egg lying unbroken at the foot of the tree, quite a long way down from where they were roosting. Even crows who are avid egg thieves often give up trying to crack guinea fowl eggs! I know this because intact eggs have been found amongst the egg shells of normal chook eggs in crow rubbish heaps!

The Lychgate

One structure which survived the fire was our lychgate. The lychgate was made from a stack of old weathered flooring joists for daughter Jane's wedding with help from son Alex, Tony, Adrian and Jeff. (See December 11th 2013 post.)

Illustration 7: Lychgate looking beautiful for Jane and Patrick’s wedding.

When we came home on the day of the fire and our home was gone, it seemed so strange that the wooden lychgate was still standing. Parts of it had caught alight and it was charred badly but most of it was intact.

Illustration 8: Surviving Lychgate.

Much later we decided we wanted the lychgate, our remaining piece of Lonely Hill Farm, to be with us at River house.

Illustration 8: Lychgate teetering on the trailer on the way to River House.

We put it on the back of our trailer, slowly drove it here and found some timber to repair it.  On the whole farm there were only two surviving pieces of wood which happened to be perfect for the job. I think it looks very good here, old and rustic, like River House itself and like the current occupants!!!

Illustration 9: Lychgate at River House being repaired.

I am running out of time, so I will conclude by saying how much I am enjoying “The Leopard” by Giuseppe di Lampedusa, published posthumously in 1958 and written about change and decay in Sicily in the 1860s. There are so many wonderfully quotable passages in this book, but because I have a fondness for jellies, I will end my blog with an apt quote from this book.

“At the end of the meal appeared a rum jelly. This was the Prince's favourite pudding, and the Princess had been careful to order it early that morning in gratitude for favours granted. It was rather threatening at first sight, shaped like a tower with bastions and battlements and smooth slippery walls impossible to scale, garrisoned by red and green cherries and pistachio nuts; but into its transparent and quivering flanks a spoon plunged with astounding ease. By the time the amber-coloured fortress reached Francesco Paolo, the sixteen-year-old son who was served last, it consisted only of shattered walls and hunks of wobbly rubble. Exhilarated by the aroma of rum and the delicate flavour of the multi-coloured garrison, the Prince enjoyed watching the rapid demolishing of the fortress beneath the assault of his family's appetite.”

I would love the recipe, if anyone has insight into jellies made in Sicily in the 1860s! 

[honeybuniza]

Question tag

I was tagged by @shinwrons​ <33 (thank u<3 i luv u) 

What are your five favorite songs from your bias group?

Well, since NCT is my bias group this days...so let me hit you up with my five favorite songs from NCT (but i mean the whole group not just one sub-unit): Wake up, baby don’t like it, without you, mad city and whiplash. lmao

What are your five favorite songs (kpop) not from your bias group?

Well,,,if i had to chose a group I’d chose SHINee! So, my top five would be: Amigo, lucifer, ring ding dong (uHM YES), dream girl and view. 

What are your five favorite non-kpop songs?

Blackbear ft Devon Baldwin- Waste away, Alina Baraz ft Khalid- Electric, Disclosure ft Sam Smitch- Latch, Luis Enrique- Yo no sé mañana, Sam Smith- Lay me down.

Who is your bias and why do you like them? 

If I had to chose one ultimate bias...I think it would be Jin from BTS. Honestly, I like Jin because he’s a sweet person and he likes puns and bad jokes. I like him because of his talents too, not only his looks even tho he’s incredibly beautiful and how he’s always looking out for everyone. And tbh one smile from him can make my day!

What do you usually wear for winter/autumn/spring/summer? What’s your “style”?

I like to wear comfy clothes but mostly casual i guess. I don’t really have a style. 

For your bias group, what was your favorite hair style/era for each member?

Tbh, I think for each sub-unit...well for NCT-U...well the seventh sense and without you (they all looked amazing)??? For NCT-127 definitely cherry bomb or limitless,,,not sure. And for NCT DREAM uhm, chewing gum??(bc i miss jaemin ok)

How did you “discover” kpop and how did you discover vixx?

Discovering kpop was actually an accident but a good one, I was in Youtube and i accidentally clicked a video of SHINee of Ring ding dong and I was like “OH DAMN THIS IS GOOD!!” and everything started there. And Vixx...well i honestly don’t really remember but they’re a group that deserve mORE1!!! I love vixx. My precious children

What does your phone case look like?

Its a transparent case with lilac flowers and i honestly love it. 

Do you normally browse tumblr on your phone or on pc?

Mostly on my phone, but also on my laptop from time to time. 

How are you doing? Got any plans for the day/night?

I’m not doing the best right now but that’s okay. I guess i’ll have dinner with my parents, sis and aunt then proceed to snuggle my covers!!

I honestly don’t know who to tag!! but okay @bewitched-by-boyfriend, @lovzyx and @jasandoval12 (HI I LUV U BINCHIE JSJSJS) You don’t have to do this tho!! So please don’t feel pressured!!! 

[nosoundtv]

This is Us

I’ll keep it short so, here it is! Chapter 2! I hope you guys like and as always feed back is appreciated. If you’d like to read the first chapter just go in the tag #This is Us fic. Also thank you guys so much for over 200 followers!

-

Chapter 2, unexpected

People can be jerks. They can say things about others that aren’t true or aren’t kind. They can be there one minute and then leave the next. They say they won’t tell anyone your secrets but, of course they will. Those aren’t true friends. So why did those people seem to seep into others lives anyway. That’s what the boy who laid in bed thought about, but the jerk he was thinking about wasn’t really a jerk. This said jerk just confused him was all.

The room was faded with light and dark blues that clung to the walls. The window was right across from the door to the back of the room. The sun wasn’t even up all the way. Dim light peaked through the dusty window that crawled into the inky room.

The boys skin was fare looking under the ill lighted glow. Although his skin pigment didn’t change much anyway in most lights. He laid on his bed staring at the ceiling with dreary river colored eyes. His short messy dark chestnut hair formed a small widows peak. The features of his face were thin but, had a fullness to his dusted cheeks. To the left of his forehead was a small scar that was right below his hair line. His lips were thin and lightly rose colored.

He swallowed smoothly, closing his tired eyes that had a slight shaded color under them. He reopened them hesitantly, turning on his side to face the open room. His slightly wide formed chest felt heavy and empty. Like something or rather, many things had been weighing on him for a while. His eyes flicked to the desk that sat under the window that was right beside his bed. A phone rested on the area his ocean eyes looked to. He stared at it for a second. His dark, half unkept brows furrowed lightly. He reached out to it, grabbing it but, not looking at it just yet. The fare skinned teen rested the phone on his bed, facing the smooth objects screen down. His thin hand laid on top of it loosely, smoothing over the phone with his thumb as his eyes searched the opposing wall for something. Maybe a sign of answer. He glanced down at it. A look on his face that read worries couldn’t be fixed easily.

The anxious boy took a breath as he turned to lay on his back, sitting up. He turned the cool phone over in his thin hands to look at the black screen. He clicked it open, blueish soft light flooding into the lucid room, making his skin a white rose like shade.

6:10 am.

Saturday.

A signal notification displayed on the fragile glass screen.

Tony: I’ll be there soon Sent 5:46 am

He breathed deeply as he read the message that he had been waiting for since 1 in the morning. His blood stopped, heart drumming in his ears as he felt his heart beat flood into his fingers and chest, beating with every pulse. He read that message a hundred more times before his body could finally warm again. A stirring sensation danced in his stomach. It was light, and fluttery with this warmth that wrapped around his chest like flowers blooming in the current spring air. His shoulders laid more relaxed than before, like the heaviness his chest bared before was some what lifted. He sank in the cool sheets as he closed his dim eyes, letting the phone fall onto his chest.

The rooms air was warm and light but, slightly dry. Birds sang with the rising morning. A signal cricket chirped lowly.

He set the phone on the side of his bed.

The relieved boy sat up slowly, arching his back letting the knots crack and unfold. He threw over his moderately sized legs over his bed side, connecting his feet to the cool hardwood floor. The sleepy junior grabbed a pair of whatever jeans he could find in the “clean” pile on the floor. He slipped them on, a bit clumsily, tripping when one of the legs wouldn’t quite go through the pant leg. He caught himself on the door before he could fall to his “death.” The unexpected excitement that ran through his body cooled at a moderate pace. The stunned teen grabbed a dark grey looking jacket from his door hanger, throwing it on quickly. He glanced down at his shirt for a moment.

He showered yesterday, right? He brought the navy blue shirt to his nose smelling it swiftly, concluding it was up to pare. He walked back over to the messy but, extremely comfortable bed to grab the important object that was his phone. He stuffed the rectangular object in his jacket pocket as he walked to the door. He grabbed the handle but, stopped before he turned it. The hesitant boy looked back to the desk under the window.

A small cassette player rested on the old piece of furniture. His eyes glazed over for a moment as his face morphed into that of slight pain. He turned away quickly, walking out the door without looking back this time. From the top of the stairs the junior could see through the wide kitchen window draped with thin off white curtains. To the outside he could see what was the front end of an old, faded cherry dusted mustang partly masked by a low growing tree. A small smile crept on his fare features. The glaze in his eyes from before was washed away with a transparent bright glow. The teen jogged down the stairs carelessly, not caring if he made any noise. His parents were going to be gone for a month and a half. The teen floated over the main floor to the front door eagerly.

He hesitated for moment but, shook it off easily. Although, the soft butterfly feeling he felt in his stomach didn’t seem to want to shake off. He strode out the front door onto the front porch, closing the door behind him. The clumsy boy jerked backwards, accidentally getting his jacket caught in the door. He huffed in irritation and slight embarrassment as he reopened the door, pulling out the jammed fabric and quickly staggering around while slamming the door shut. He could hear distant laughter from the car that sat parked a little ways down beside his house. The huffing teen jammed his beating hands in his pockets as he walked to the mustang that was waiting for him. When he reached the skittle red car he stood on the outside passenger door as he eyed the driver on the inside. The driver had one hand loosely gripped on the wheel and the other over his mouth, blatantly trying to hide his obvious smile, shoulders bouncing with a light chuckle. The fare skinned young man on the out side of the car rolled his eyes, roughly grabbing the door handle and swinging it open as he slide in the passenger seat.

“Hey, clay.” The Latino teen nudged the other playfully. A small smirk trying its hardest not to spread on Tony’s face.

“Bye, Tony.” Clay half heartedly went to grab the door handle to leave but, of course he actually wouldn’t. He stopped when he heard a ‘click’ sound reverberate in the car. Clay turned back to Tony sharply, brows furrowed and his mouth in a lopsided downward frown.

“Did you just lock the car.”

“I most certainly did.” The smug slightly older male lazily rolled his head in the direction of a half irritated, but also half amused Clay.

The taller or rather the lighter skinned boy scoffed in response.

“This is kid napping.” The flustered teen threw his hands half way in the air as he gestured to the lock that was now clicked down. He looked out the window then back to Tony as a small smirk was etching into existence on the blue eyed boys face.

“You’re the one who got in me car willingly.” Tony couldn’t help but, lower his head and look up at the fellow junior beside him. Clay returned the gaze back at the gold flaky eyed Latino.

The air was much cooler than before. The sun was finally stretched across the low horizon. It’s warm orangey red drops of light seeped into the car, touching the faces of the two young men who stared at each other for a few long moments. The light ran over Tonys face in such a way his eyes seemed even more golden and vibrant. His skin even more inviting and bright looking. Clay looked back out the window as he teared his eyes from away from the other.

“Alright, but if my parents wonder where I am, and they call the cops, I’m blaming you.” He extended a lazy thin finger towards the so called kid napper. He turned his gaze towards the window shield.

“Your parents aren’t even going to be back until next month.” Tony tried to half defend himself as he rose a hand in the direction of the other teens house that was missing the usual car in the driveway. He let himself take in Clays profile. The sun washed over his fine features as the the light bounced through his transparent but, bright icy blue orbs. Clay turned back to the other, catching Tony staring. The caramel skinned boys eyes didn’t avert right away but, rather lingered for a moment before breaking his gaze. The bronze eyed male flicked his eyes to the windshield as he turned the ignition. The purr of the engine warmed and filled the Mustang. He pressed the gas, revving it up as the car roared but, of course staying in place.

“I’ve been in this car how many times and you still wanna be a show off?” Clay squinted his eyes at the other, cocking his head to the right, rolling his eyes as he thought about all the countless other times Tony had done that.

“And you’ve known me for how long and you still don’t know how fun it is to do that?” The Latino retorted back playfully as he pressed the gas another time but this time a little harder, revving the engine a few times before being sastifyid. Clay tried his best to keep the smile off his face as he lowerd his head to his chest, shaking it.

“Lets just go before you wake up the rest of the neighborhood.”

“Alright but, with me in this car I can’t make any promises.” He sprawled the hand that rested on the wheel out, emphasizing the ‘can’t’ in the sentence.

“Oh, just drive.” The Caucasian male shoved the other on the shoulder while the shoved one chuckled in response. Tony changed the gear from parked to drive and started to drift down the road. Clay glanced at the other man. Admiring his profile. He shook his head as a thin smile painted on his face. He thought Tony didn’t notice him looking but, of course the driver did.

[thedeadshotnetwork]

Lady Dynamites brilliant second season is openly hostile toward Netflix

Lady Dynamite’s brilliant second season is openly hostile toward Netflix, its platform

Maria Bamford’s surrealist comedy parodies the streaming service as ‘MuskVision’

by Nov 15, 2017, 8:30am EST

Beth Dubber / Netflix

Maria Bamford’s Lady Dynamite, created in collaboration with Arrested Development’s Pam Brady and Mitch Hurwitz, was the most interesting addition to Netflix’s original content catalog in 2016. It’s a bizarro-world show-biz sitcom with three timelines, a smattering of animation, Candy Land production design, talking pugs, and a heroine who explains that, physically, she can only speak in “baby voice” or “rich lady at a cocktail party” voice. It’s a more immediately lovable iteration on 30 Rock’s entertainment-industry satire. Lady Dynamite has the same ability to pull apart popular culture and command impressive guest turns. (Season 1 has Ana Gasteyer, Jenny Slate, and Judd Apatow; season 2 adds Andy Samberg, Judy Greer, and Weird Al Yankovic.) But its lead is far less interested in posturing as Pinterest’s idea of a mess, and far more interested in struggling to keep her shit together for real. Season 1 has about a thousand plot lines, but to put it simply: it follows a character named Maria Bamford, played by Maria Bamford, as she tries to move forward with her comedy career and take care of her mental health at the same time. This involves turning down a Judd Apatow movie over and over, offending him deeply. Season 2 is both stranger than the first and more aggressively meta. Between all the usual antics (the first episode’s A-plot is about a raccoon named Randall), it’s a dissection of how a TV show gets green-lit in the streaming age — through consideration of how it fits into a catalog, a recommendation algorithm, a brand, etc. Lady Dynamite directly addresses how a struggle with bipolar disorder is worthy of series-length exploration, even while implying that Netflix is taking advantage of it to win brownie points with subscribers and critics. The second season’s structure is just as odd as the first, with frequent time jumps back to Bamford’s 1987 adolescence in Duluth, Minnesota, and forward to a jarring, dystopian future in which she’s turning her life into a TV show (called Maria Bamford is Nuts!) for a content farm called “MuskVision.” MuskVision is an Elon Musk property, but it has the Netflix branding and color scheme. (There are also several side plots that involve a malevolent autonomous Tesla.) Maria Bamford is Nuts! — a science fiction reimagining of her life, in which she, again, plays herself — is green-lit after a small robot named Don Jr. (I’m still struggling to figure out that part of the joke) scans her face and feeds her through an algorithm. MuskVision needs more mental illness content, Don Jr. declares! Ana Gasteyer, playing a Hollywood agent whose flame-adorned office building looks like the gates of Hell, explains why: “I want to tell the story of your fucking life in bingeable fucking installments! It will be so inventive and groundbreaking in its comedy that alt-comedy Twitter will choke on its own jizz! And here is the cherry on the streaming sundae: we will focus on mental illness, and we will destigmatize it, forever!” In a recent interview with the AV Club, Bamford explains that the second season of Lady Dynamite gave her the unexpected opportunity to critique the first. In a brain-busting twist, some of the examples she uses in this interview double as lines her character says on Lady Dynamite, in a handful of direct addresses to the camera. Bamford — as either the real Bamford or the show-within-a-show Bamford; it’s hard to tell which fourth wall she’s breaking at any given moment — takes a sidebar to say that her first season (of Lady Dynamite or of Maria Bamford is Nuts!, it isn’t clear) had too many blowjobs, and that it “wasn’t cool” to have an entirely white writers’ room collaborate on an episode about race. She isn’t just critiquing her streaming platform, she’s critiquing the show it let her produce.

Photo by Beth Dubber / Netflix

The new season of Lady Dynamite also has a lot of strange 30 Rock-esque plotlines that initially seem like distractions. Bamford’s character finds out that her manager Bruce Ben-Bacharach (Fred Melamed) tricked her into a production deal involving half a dozen reality competition TV shows starring children in the Philippines. They have sinister titles like Kids Have to Dance, Can You Beat Up a Fifth Grader? and Shark Tank. Hoping to atone for her involvement, Bamford tries to ingratiate herself at a Filipino community center in Los Angeles, and ends up accidentally letting a bunch of strangers plan her wedding. What they come up with involves a stranger in red glitter walking her down the aisle, six-foot wings with portraits of every Catholic saint glued onto them, and an atmosphere that her mother declares “like a Mad Max movie without the dust.” This season also introduces the “Hollywood Ladies Club,” a Skull and Bones-like organization led by Transparent creator Jill Soloway. Its goal is to lean into and exploit Hollywood sexism, keeping men distracted by keeping them “jacking it” all the time. This involves sending Maria on a quest to unleash a “hive-queen” named Ranlith. “Have you seen the Matrix trilogy?” Maria is asked, two or three times, as part of her introduction to this bonkers conspiracy. “No I haven’t, and I really don’t want to,” she keeps muttering, “It just looks so boring.” Later, en route to the core of the Earth, she has to use her boobs and tongue to jump-start a magical elevator. This probably sounds like incoherent, over-the-top storytelling. It’s true that Bamford doesn’t actually arrive at a digestible critique of Hollywood sexism, or the whiteness of writers’ rooms. But eventually, both of these plotlines are revealed as spinoffs from the show’s central conflict, like Bamford’s tendency to take on more and more responsibility and emotional obligation until it threatens to destroy her. She presents that as the result of a pathological fear of hurting or disappointing anyone for even a second, and she pushes both plots to absurd lengths to show just how irrational the fear is.

Photo by Beth Dubber / Netflix

In the same AV Club interview, Bamford speaks diplomatically but disconcertingly about how the 17-hour production days on her Netflix series were almost unmanageable for her. She was told that doing 10-hour “child actor days” would be too expensive. Of course, that production schedule isn’t unique to Netflix, but you don’t have to guess at how it threatened Bamford’s mental health; this risk is literally the plot of the second season of her Netflix show. Lady Dynamite’s frank hostility toward Netflix may be less satisfying for the average viewer than it is for me, a culture writer trying to keep up with a dozen original series releases each month. But anyone navigating the age of peak TV has likely felt a twinge of the feeling Bamford expresses here: that all life experiences exist to be pushed through an algorithm and come out the other side as money and laudatory headlines. It’s a sharp twist on Nora Ephron’s famous “everything is copy” philosophy — everything is content. And the books Ephron created out of her life experiences were her books, but Bamford’s show belongs to Netflix. Bamford has spoken plainly about her bipolar disorder outside of the series, often in her standup, and recently in a column for The New York Times, in which she detailed how she met and fell in love with her husband, the artist Scott Marvel Cassidy. (At age 43, this was her first long-term relationship.) The character of Maria’s husband on Lady Dynamite is based on and named after him, and the unassuming ease of their banter is the show’s emotional core: it can slip between silly and serious, but never comes off as anything but 100 percent attentive and affectionate. Their relationship is what eventually gets her out of her Hollywood dystopia, and it’s the only plotline that abstains from all the surrealist elements that swirl around everything else. The love story Bamford wrote in the Times is short, told with matter-of-fact prose, and organized around a plainly stated but harrowing story. It’s a great supplement to the show, which ultimately sneaks something human into a confusing collage of societal critiques. Not that anyone should care about this part, but the love story even somewhat redeems Netflix: Bamford clearly resents the algorithmic approach to content — or at least, she thinks it’s worth challenging and mocking, but she contorted around it to tell a deeply personal story. Describing a show with as many bizarre moving pieces as Lady Dynamite makes it sound like a joke, and watching it in “bingeable fucking installments” is sort of tiring. But it’s the gradual piling and eventual shucking of absurdities that makes the end of the second season so rewarding and, strangely, elegant. The second season of Lady Dynamite is currently available on Netflix.

Tags: November 15, 2017 at 01:34PM