#today thinking about point boulevard

[juunobox]

── it means everything. (pinocchio x gn! reader)

summary: reader is a writer, feeling sad about the state of krat and their hobby. mulling in their own thoughts, P returns and comforts reader. p is sweet and supportive<3 fluffy moments warnings: very subtly implied passive suicide ideation, mc feeling hopeless and crying a little note: first time writing p x reader. sorry if it isnt the best i genuinely just needed to feed myself bcs there is an urgent lack of p x reader out there. i tried to make this cute-

You stretch your upper torso in your seat, staring at the pile of papers in front of you. You've just finished writing the second chapter of your book, as well as rewriting the prologue—an effort that consumed your entire day. You glanced at the nearby clock, checking the time. You thought about your puppet partner Pinocchio, it's about time he'd return from a day of stalking. It's getting late at night, the usual time he would come back.

In the meantime- you reach for your cup of tea, sipping it carefully before setting it down on the desk as your gaze drifts to the pile of freshly written papers. Sometimes you wonder why you continue writing your book. Krat is falling apart, after all. It's not the city it once was, the city you had known. What's the meaning?

You were lucky to be saved by Geppetto's puppet amidst the chaos and fortunate not to have contracted the petrification disease. Your near-total lack of self-defense skills makes your survival among the frenzied puppets seem like a miracle. You were hiding beneath a carriage in Elysion Boulevard when P found you and brought you to the refuge known as Hotel Krat, the only safe place left in the decaying city.

As you read through your own writing, paragraph by paragraph, you realize something isn't quite right— the prologue chapter. You think the writing isn't as good as how it was written the first time. You remember losing it while running for your life through Krat, barely managing to stay alive. Maybe that was the cost of being saved by P.

You set the papers aside, feeling an invisible weight settle in your chest. Why do you still write? Why are you still here? You've lost everything—friends, family— all to the petrification disease or the frenzied puppets. Maybe surviving is a curse, to grapple with the guilt of being the only one left.

If Pinocchio hadn’t found you that day, maybe it'd be better off that way. You don't know how much longer you can live like this...

Knock knock.

The soft noise snaps you out of your musing. You quickly run to the door, only to realize tears have been rolling down your cheeks. You hadn't noticed them amidst your thoughts and what-ifs. Quickly wiping them away, you compose yourself. You wouldn't want your puppet partner to see you like this. Despite being a puppet, you treat him as a real boy, even though he's still learning about human emotions. He ventures out daily on errands— navigating the dangerous streets of Krat. While he may not comprehend exhaustion nor fully grasp human feelings just yet, you empathize with his efforts. Despite these differences, you find comfort, sincerity and a sense of belonging in his presence.

You swing the door open, meeting Pinocchio's blue eyes with a forced smile. You try to remain casual, despite the turmoil inside you. "P! You've returned. How was today for you?" you ask, not expecting any verbal response. Pinocchio is a puppet of few words, usually replying with a nod, a shake of his head, or one and two words. Today is no exception, either. He nods with a slight smile, a way of telling you that it was fine. His head soon slightly tilts while pointing his index finger at you, that you interpret as- "What about you?"

"My day was okay. I spent it writing some of my book again," you say. To your surprise, P remains still instead of giving you another nod or smile- now looking at you with what appears to be a small frown.

You rose a brow, "What is it, P?" you ask, not quite understanding his intent. His eyes widen momentarily before he fidgets, struggling to express himself. He points at your eyes, pleading for you to understand. You glance at him, puzzled.

"…My eyes?" you murmur.

P nods almost hesitantly.

"Tired?" he finally speaks, his voice gentle.

"Your eyes… tired?"

You blink slowly, not expecting such a question. Your mind races, searching for a response. The way P's blue eyes implore you only increases your nervousness. "Oh! Yes, must be because I haven't been able to sleep much lately… but don’t worry. I plan on sleeping earlier tonight, though, so don’t you worry!" You laugh lightly, trying to sound casual and lighthearted.

P doesn't appear convinced. He stays motionless, his eyes silently urging you to say more. For a moment, you wonder if he can see through your lie—he's a puppet capable of lying himself, after all.

Before you could say something more, P steps forward and enfolds you in his arms. He pulls you into his embrace. Despite his wooden and steel body, his embrace brings you immense comfort. The weight that has burdened you for weeks—no, months—seems to melt away, at least a little bit of it.

You linger in his embrace for a moment longer before P gently withdraws, yet his grip remains on your shoulders. His expression is filled with genuine concern as he gazes at you.

"You hugged me..? Why?" you ask, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense scrutiny.

P fidgets, clearly searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. He gestures towards the pile of papers on your desk and then back at you, his eyes brimming with curiosity and hopefulness. "Your writing... important," he says slowly, as if trying out the words to see how they fit.

You blink in surprise. "You think my writing is important?"

He nods. "Yes. It… gives meaning."

A lump forms in your throat as you realize he's trying to tell you that your work, your words, still hold value, even in a crumbling city like Krat. How can he tell? Is your distress so obvious that those around you can easily notice? You feel a little embarrassed at this realization, but P's simple affirmation fills you with a warmth you haven't felt in a long time. Your cheeks warm slightly at his words, and you nod, offering him a gentle smile.

"Thank you, P. That means a lot to me," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly.

P smiles, a rare and genuine expression that lights up his usually stoic face. You know he still struggles to emote, so his smile looks a little awkward, but the effort warms your heart. He gestures towards the pile of papers again and then back at himself, silently asking if he could hear your story.

"You want me… to read it to you?" you ask, a bit taken aback.

He nods again, his eyes bright with anticipation.

"Alright," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's sit over there."

You both move to the small couch in your room. You pick up the papers and sit down, P settling in beside you. The close proximity is comforting, and you feel a sense of calmness wash over you in his presence. As you start reading, P listens intently, his eyes constantly switching from your face to the writing in your hand.

You read aloud, the prologue and chapter one unfolding in the quiet room. P's attention never wavers, and his expressions shift subtly with the spoken narrative. It's endearing to see how engrossed he seems to be at your little story, even though it doesn't feel that much interesting to you. Paragraph by paragraph, the story eventually reaches a tender moment between your characters- a kiss shared under the moonlight. P's eyes lit up with a spark of curiosity flickering in them as you read aloud the scene for him. As you’re about to turn the page, he places a hand on the paper, stopping you.

“Is something the matter, P?” you ask, trying to understand his concern. His index finger points at the word 'kiss' on the paper, looking at you with a curious expression.

"You're asking what a kiss is?" you clarify, trying to make sense of his question. P nods, confirming it.

You pause, taken aback by his curiosity. "A kiss is… well, it's a way to show affection. It's something humans do to express their love and care for each other," you explain, feeling a bit flustered. “And there are various kinds of kisses—romantic and platonic, depending on the context. The kiss shared between my characters here is more like a romantic kiss. It’s shared between lovers, while platonic ones are shared with friends and family…” You speak slowly, hoping he’d understand the explanation.

P nods slowly, processing your words. You can hear his gears ticking a little faster than usual, indicating he's processing all this new information. He seems satisfied with your explanation, treating it with the same seriousness he applies to everything he learns.

Taking his nod as encouragement, you continue reading to him, pausing and slowing down whenever you notice P needing further explanation of certain phrases or sentences. Sometimes, he gently stops you from turning the page if you miss a cue.

As time passes, fatigue catches up with you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and before you know it, you find yourself leaning against P's shoulder, your voice trailing off as sleepiness overtakes you. P notices immediately, glancing down to see you asleep. Gently, he sets the pile of papers aside, ensuring not to disturb you. Leaning back, he gazes down at you sleeping soundly against him while sensing an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. His gears and springs tick a little faster, a new sensation that he finds oddly pleasant.

P watches you sleep, observing how relaxed you look. His human hand gently caresses your cheek, moving a stray strand of hair away from your face. The puppet leans closer, hesitating as his gaze drifts to your forehead. The memory of your explanation about kisses comes to mind. After a brief pause, he cups your cheek in his hand and finally presses a little kiss to your forehead.

As he pulls away, he could feel his mechanical heart's beat slowing down. He hadn't realized they had been ticking a little faster up until then. The now familiar warmth settles in his chest again as he takes in the sight of you sleeping peacefully against him, not fully understanding the gesture yet but liking the feeling of giving you a tender kiss like so.

The chestnut-haired puppet then wraps his arms around you in a protective embrace, holding you close to him as you sleep. In this quiet moment, he feels like he had gained a deeper understanding of human emotions and the connections that bind people together.

Though Krat may be falling apart, in this small, intimate space, there is still peace and comfort.

For now, that's enough—for both you and P.

[thelikesofus]

you are my boy, buckaroo

9-1-1 on Fox | 1724 words | hostage situation, athena is buck’s mom prove me wrong, established relationship buddie, wrong place wrong time buck strikes again

tw gun mentioned

Read on AO3

Athena is in the middle of lunch when her phone vibrates in her breast pocket. It has been a day and it's only 2 pm. Her morning patrol ended at a residential home for someone’s idiot boyfriend who had left his keys at work and his girlfriend had called the cops thinking someone was trying to break into their house. The guy’s phone had been in his pocket the whole time yet he hadn’t thought to call his girlfriend to let him inside. 

For a moment she considers ignoring the call and enjoying her sandwich in peace she knows that Harry has a basketball game today and he was going to call her when the game ended.

Leaving her sandwich on the plate with a sigh she tugs the phone out of her pocket and grins at the caller ID. “Hello, Buckaroo. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“‘Thena.” A tiny voice whispers down the line. Athena’s hackles are up instantly and the skin on the back of her neck goosebumps immediately. 

“Buck? What’s going on? Are you in trouble?” She’s already walking out of the station and crossing the parking lot to her patrol car, her sandwich abandoned. She keeps her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear as she fishes out her keys and climbs into her car. “Talk to me, Buck. What’s going on?”

“I’m at the grocer's on West Adams Boulevard.” He’s still whispering and between the shaking of his voice and the commotion around him, Athena can barely pick up what he’s saying. “They barred the doors. I think someone has a gun.”

“Okay. Okay, Baby. I’m on my way.” She throws the patrol car into reverse and rips out of the parking lot. “Are you somewhere safe? Buck?”

“Athena, I don’t think–.” There is shouting on Buck’s end of the line followed by a grunt and a lot of rustling.

“Buck!”

“This one had a phone!” A voice that isn’t Buck’s carries down the line and Athena’s heart feels like a lump in her throat as she switches lanes and turns onto the next block. 

“Buck?” There’s more yelling and then the call ends with a resounding beep.

It takes twenty minutes to get to the grocer Buck mentioned and when Athena pulls up there are already two other cruisers and the ambulance from Station 26 parked outside. Athena swings open her door and charges across the parking lot with her phone still gripped in an iron fist. 

Glancing at the building, she can see very little movement inside though most of the windows are blocked by display cases and overstocked food aisles. “Sergeant Cammeray? What's the situation?”

The older sergeant looks at her and calls out, “Sergeant Grant. Were you called to this too?”

“No, but one of my boys is inside? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

He nods and walks over to meet her pointing towards the front door as he walks. “I’m told it’s a hostage situation. We’ve got about ten civilians inside, two men went in just before 2 o’clock and barred the doors behind them. Someone walking down the street called 9-1-1 after they heard gunshots from inside. We’ve had one girl who snuck out through a back door in the loading bay,” He points to a young woman sitting in the back of The 26’s ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“She able to tell you anything?” Athena asks.

“Not really. She works there and was in the back when they came in. They must have seen her leaving though because they barred that back door behind her.”

“So they let one escape but haven’t started making any demands?”

Cammeray shakes his head. “We’ve got a hostage negotiator on their way. There haven’t been any more shots fired, for all we know it was a warning shot, to scare them.”

Athena turns up her nose. “For all you know someone could be bleeding out in there while you’re all standing around twiddling your thumbs!” 

An hour passes since Buck first called and the negotiator arrives, a stout man with a terrible mustache but who seems to be very good at his job. Or at least, he thinks he is, Athena starts to doubt that at the two-hour mark. There has still been little movement from what she can see through the windows.

Special Agent Sully reports that the men inside are starting to make demands, willing to negotiate. Then more vehicles pull up unannounced as simultaneously all chaos breaks out inside. There’s crashing, sounds of shelves toppling, glass breaking, and gunshots. Three consecutive shots are fired and Athena decides that enough is enough and marches towards the front door, plotting vengeance with every step if they have harmed even a single hair on Evan Buckley’s head. 

She is brought to an abrupt halt by Cammeray blocking her way. “Sergeant Grant.”

“You better move out of my way Gordan or you’re gonna have another thing coming.”

“Sergeant Grant, one of them is an ex-marine. This is out of our jurisdiction now.”

“Jurisdiction my ass. Move!”

“You will be the first one in behind them.” Cammeray indicates to the NCIS unit and SWAT teams both gearing up across the parking lot. “But not a moment sooner.”

This seems like overkill for a grocery store and patience is not Athena’s strong suit—she is well aware—but the wait becomes torturous as a fourth and final shot echoes from the building right as SWAT breaches the doors, front and back.

True to his word, Cammeray lets Athena through as soon as the two men are led out in handcuffs by two NCIS special agents. Inside the store is a mess. The shelves have been ransacked and the till is hanging from the bench by its wires. Athena however is more focused on scanning the array of people who were previously being held hostage but are now being checked over by the paramedics from Station 26. 

Finally, she spots Buck and some of the pressure in her chest eases when she sees him shuffling to his knees as the paramedic who was checking him over moves on to another patient. 

It only takes her a moment to cross the store and crouch in front of him, her hands instantly coming up to cup his cheeks. “Athena?”

“Hey, Baby. Yeah, I’m here.” Buck sighs and falls into Athena’s side. She wraps her arm around his shoulders and runs the fingers of her free hand over his hair. “How come any time there’s trouble, you always find yourself in the middle of it?”

“Special talent?” Buck mumbles and she chuckles as she rubs her hand up and down his arm.

“Okay, let me look at you.” She holds him away from her and brings her fingers to his face.

“The paramedic already cleared me, ‘Thena.”

She tuts at him and turns his face from side to side. There’s a scrape up one side of his face and a nasty welt around his right eye. “Let me fuss for a moment, please. I was worried about you, and for good reason, it seems. Did one of them punch you?”

“Yeah.”

Athena levels him with a flat look and Buck sighs dramatically. “He had a gun, Athena. And he kept waving it at this lady and her baby, and I just–.” Buck motions with his arm and Athena resists the urge to cuff him around the head. 

“Just what? Tackled him?”

Buck glances away and won't meet her eyes.

“Oh, you are so glad your boyfriend isn’t here right now.”

“Please don’t tell Eddie,” Buck begs, spinning back to turn wide pleading eyes on her.

Eddie is out of town visiting his parents in El Paso for the weekend, Buck was supposed to be there with him but following one of that other A shift crew breaking their collar bone on a golf trip, Bobby had to regretfully ask Buck to stay behind. Athena knows full well that Eddie would have Buck’s head on a pike for putting himself in danger again, especially while Eddie wasn’t there to protect him. 

“You know your boy will find out one way or another.”

Buck sighs and leans heavily into the side of the ambulance door. “I know, just, not tonight. Please?”

“Okay,” Athena relents and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “But you are coming home with me tonight.”

“Athena–!”

“Nope, no excuses. The guest room is yours and I’m not letting you out of my sight until the sun comes up again.”

Bobby is waiting at the front door when they arrive at the Nash-Grant house and as soon as Buck is within three feet of him Bobby grabs the boy by his shoulders and holds him firmly in place as he looks him over much the same way Athena did. 

After dinner, Buck finds Athena on her favorite lounge chair in the back yard and he perches on the edge of the one next to her. 

“Hey, Athena.” He starts quietly, looking down at his hands. “Thank you, for coming today, I mean.”

Athena sits up smoothly and reaches out to cup Buck’s cheek, forcing him to look up at him as she smooths her thumb back and forth against the apple of his cheek. “Buckaroo, you are my boy. I will always come when you call me. Always.”

Buck's eyes instantly turn glassy and Athena rises from her seat to kiss his forehead before departing for the night. “Get some sleep, Baby. There’s a toothbrush for you in the bathroom drawer.”

Buck gets a third round of being fussed over when Eddie flies back into Los Angeles the next afternoon—a day earlier than he was meant to be back—but word travels fast and Eddie changed his flights as soon as he heard what had happened. Athena watches from the kitchen table as Eddie winds his arms tightly around Buck and pulls him close to his chest, dropping a kiss on his forehead and to the bruise forming over his right eye. 

“I am never leaving you unsupervised ever again.” Eddie says firmly and Buck rolls his eyes but lets Eddie continue to fret over him and Athena can see the pleasing blush that creeps up his neck at the attention.

[adarkrainbow]

Tales from Broca Street: Intro (2)

So, for some setting explanation...

I) Why "Broca Street" tales?

The Fairy Tales of Broca street are what made said street extremely famous today. The poor street literaly had nothing to it whatsoever. It has a historical past, as it is located in the old 13th arrondissement of Paris and it exists from at least the 12th century (though it was only named "rue Broca" in 1890, after the French doctor and anthropologist Pierre Paul Broca).

And yet, Pierre Gripari, when writing his modern fairytales, his pastiches and parodies of fairy-stories, decided to name the book after what was just back then a tiny, poor, unknown, dirty street, and to have the street regularly appear as a place in Paris the characters regularly go to. (Not all the fairytales take place in Broca street, some are in distant lands out of time and space... but some take place right at the heart of Paris)

Why? To understand that, we must look at another recurring element of the book: a little building at the 69 of Broca Street, that every character that crosses the Broca street end up arriving at, one way or another. It is what in French we call an "épicerie-buvette" ; épicerie being a small shop mainly about food but with some unedible every-day items also sold, buvette being a tiny place that is not a full-time bar, restaurant or pub but where you can still drink and have light meals (usually adjacent to a theater/train station).

The "épicerie" is/was an entire institution in France, as it was the sort of tiny grocery store of the neighborhood where you got most of your light everyday items - before supermarkets and hypermarkets started rolling in and killing "petits commerçants", "small merchants" as we call them in France. Now, in the Parisian area (but I think it is true for most of France), the "épicerie" in the post-1950s world is usually referred to as the "Arab", due to how for quite a long time most épiceries were owned and taken care of by families of "Arabian" descent, from the Middle-East or Northern Africa. The Broca street épicerie is no different, as it is owned by papa Saïd, who has four children (three girls, one boy). Papa Saïd and his children regularly appear throughout the tales because every time the Broca street is involved, they are in the story, sometimes as secondary characters, sometimes as protagonists.

The interesting thing is that Pierre Gripari did not invent papa Saïd and his kids. They were a real family that held a real épicerie in Broca street in the 60s, and that Gripari regularly visited and was friends with. The Broca Street tales? They were originally created by Gripari for the children of papa Saïd, hence why they appear as characters quite a lot. And this is also why Broca Street is such a central location that apparently every supernatural character of Paris ends up crossing at one point or another: the very introduction of the book is about how Broca street is a "wonder" in itself because, if you look at a map of Paris it is said to cross the Port-Royal boulevard. However, when you go by the Port-Royal boulevard you do not encounter the Broca street, and reverse if you cross the Broca street you see the Port-Royal boulevard nowhere... Because the map is in 2D, and in actually the Port-Royal boulevard was built on a bridge that goes over the Broca street.

It is a little detail, but Pierre Gripari takes this detail and turns into into a long, fascinating explanation as to why Broca street is such a bizarre, unique, and weird street of Paris - and why all sorts of wonders await there...

II) The other fairytales of Gripari

Pierre Gripari did not stop writing fairytales with his "Tales of Broca street" book. Oh, no, he wrote many more collections - though nterestingly they tend to be confused or mixed with th Broca street Tales due to how popular they were.

The most famous of these confusions is with his 1983 fairytale collection "Les Contes de la Folie Méricourt", a sort of unofficial "sequel" to the Broca street Tales, this time without Papa Saïd's family, but still mixing modern "fractured" fairytales and more traditional folktale pastiches centered around the Folie-Méricourt street (11th arrondissement). He also published in 1990, the year of his death "Contes d'ailleurs et d'autre part", his last large collection of fairytales. Though he also published single fairytales as short children novellas (Histoire du prince Pipo in 1976, Nanasse et Gigantet in 1978, etc), and he also had some fun writing parodies or deconstructions of the traditional Charles Perrault fairytales.

And that is because Gripari was obsessed with fairytales. He was in his own words a "conteur" (fairytale storyteller), and he found a deep joy in writing these stories for kids. Already during his studies he had turned towards the folktales and mythologies of the world, and this always shaped his approach to everything. For example, Gripari was known to be an a-religious person, who disliked the Church, hated Christianity and had in general a very bad relationship with religion as a whole... However he was deeply fascinated and intrigued by the Christian "mythology", all the myths and legends surrounding the religion, as well as a collector of the Christianized folktales of France. As a result, he has in his own fairytales the appearance of characters such as angels and demons, God and the devil, the pope or the Virgin Mary appear... Despite him also writing texts about why the Church should be abolished.

Pierre Gripari had two major influences when it came to his fairytale style. One was the literary fairytales of Charles Perrault: Gripari admired the work of the man, and he wanted to be considered as the "heir" of Perrault - in fact, he regularly references Perrault's classics in his various literary productions. The second was the world of Russian folktales: Gripari was in love with the world of Russian fairytales and legends, to the point he entirely rewrote several of them in his fairytale collections. A third, smaller influence, is the one of Greek fairytales: his father was a Greek man, and so his whole childhood was filled with Greek fairytales (some of which he also rewrote in his fairytale collections).

III) A few more things to know

About Pierre Gripari himself... He was a quite complex man, so to say. A true "non-conformist". Especially since he was an openly homosexual man, who also very openly hated the Catholic Church, in an old France deeply homophobic and Christian. He was a dual man, always with feet in two worlds: deeply fascinated by French culture and constantly paying homage to it, while also never leaving his roots and interest for more Eastern cultures, from Greece to Russia.

He was a rebellious man whose very political ideas reflected his non-conformism: he was on the extreme-left in the 50s back when all of France was deep in the right (he was then a Communist support Stalin) ; in the 60s when the left became "in fashion" and the "popular" movement he joined the extreme-right (he participated in the racist group Europe-Action), then, clearly not finding what he wanted in any of the political extremes he became a full anarchist... before by the 80s just completely giving up on politics altogether. Gripari simply had a big problem with the "authority" so to speak, be it religious or political, and he always wanted to be on the fringe, in the extremes, where he would shock - he described himself as a Martian having a lot of fun observing the curious humans around him.

He also had a very hard time being discovered and recognized as an author - even when he was alive, he only could scarcely live off his texts, and beyond his one true peak of glory with children literature (and even then, it came quite late), his many other texts (children theater, adult short-stories, little novels) were quickly forgotten and never much talked about. As such he had a LOT of different odd jobs throughout his life, explaining his broad approach to life - as he worked as a library assistant, as a sender of letters for a notary, as a syndicate representative, as a voluntary member of aerial forces, even as a pianist for television advertisement, and many more... It is however quite a shame that he only was ever truly celebrated and famous past his death, in 1990.

Not about Gripari himself, but about the Broca street Tales: their most famous and notorious adaptation (it is not the only one, but it is the major one) is a series of cartoons (dessin-animés as we call them in French) from the mid 1990s, which not only adapted all of the Broca Street Tales, but also added several of the Folie Méricourt Tales (hence why the two are often confused as one in peoples' minds ; doesn't help that they were published with illustrations by the same artist, Claude Lapointe, who was a frequent Gripari collaborator, and the man whose style inspired the one of the cartoon adaptation).

[nientedenada]

Vanus Galerion - The Latest

Today's Vanus Galerion update from the ongoing teslore/tumblr discussion. See here for first round.

Everyone on tumblr and reddit seems to have agreed that Vanus quit leading the guild and got mad at the self-serving politics of the guild before the Planemeld. He came back for the Planemeld itself. I think there are enough sources now to change the uesp order, which has his problems with the guild happening after the Planemeld. I will probably do that myself sometime this week.

Sorry, original Morrowind-era timeline. ESO came for you and fucked your shit up.

Garett-Telvanni on Reddit had some more interesting observations about how and when Vanus got re-involved in the Guild.

It's also worth noting that for most of the base game's storyline, the Mages Guild didn't do shit about the Planemeld, something about which the Fighter's Guild complained:

"Another rejection from the Mages Guild? Dark Anchors are too "pedestrian?""

Which seems weird considering how the main agents of Bal on Nirn are the Worm Cultists, led by Galerion's ex-boyfriend rival, and Galerion's own extremely anti-necromantic views (to the point of being extremely angry at Vastarie for inventing what was basically a telephone to the afterlife). Add to it how Carindon was able to form an official Mages Guild's expedition to Selene's Web, despite Vanus promising Selene that the Guild won't enter her territory uninvited. All of that, paints the picture of Vanus not having as much power in the Guild during the events of ESO as one would think, at least until the Coldharbour storyline, where he grabs them by the balls, I guess.

This makes perfect sense to me.

Unrelated, I also learnt that dev. Ted Peterson, in a non-canon roleplay, had Mannimarco decorating his hide-out with a giant statue of Vanus made out of bones.

The arch passed over to a grand boulevard leading to the plaza and the palace ahead. Even from some distance away, the group could recognize the figure represented on the still incomplete statue from his image in various Mage Guilds throughout Tamriel. It was Vanus Galerion, the founder of the Guild. "His ancient enemy immortalized in bones," the Argonian battlemage mused under her breath.

Tasteful.

[corleonewrites]

La Vérité

AU: Anatomy of a Fall (2023)

Vincent Renzi x Original Female Character fanfic.

Summary: Two people connected by the same past. Two lawyers. And one tangled case which brought them back together again, giving them the opportunity to sort out their feelings towards each other, no matter how painful memories are to both of them can be.

Chapter 3. Suite Española No. 1, Op. 47: V. Asturias - Leyenda Arr. for String Orchestra

______________________________________________________________

Isaac Albéniz music was playing in my headphones and my thoughts were running fast with the speed of the train on my way to Grenoble, when I was re-reading all the notes which Vincent gave me two days ago, trying to concentrate on the future case.

“You were always a cold-hearted strong and mysterious woman from when I saw you for the first time”, this sentence from my ex-tutor didn’t leave my head, keep repeating itself over and over again with the same tone of voice that he had.

This was true. Even with my close friends I was closed off, didn't open my soul because I wanted to keep my secrets inside me, thinking that they won’t understand me and my insecurities. Only with Vincent, when we became closer, I opened my soul a little. Because he wasn’t like the other men who I used to know. Despite the fact that for him I was always a little girl, which was obvious, because he was older than me. Funny how among my peers I felt myself older than I was when with Vincent, I let myself feel like a teenager, when we were separated by an age interval of fifteen years.

I chuckled to myself and dug deeper into the notes of the case.

______________________________________________________________

“Do you have any idea what his age can be?”, Loise asked just if it was a completely regular question, when Vincent passed us by when Loise, Estella and I were standing near the university’s entrance the other day, after the lectures.

“Too old for you, for sure”, Estella laughed, “And definitely for all of us”

“How can you be so sure?”, Loise looked at her resentfully, and checked herself in a mirror, “For me he looks like he’s 30 and 50 at the same time”

“Because he’s got wrinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiles?”, Estella pointed out, when I finally looked at both of them, after I watched him go as he sat inside his car: red vintage Mercedes and drove away, “He’s 39, Simone from the administration told me so”

“Simone told you what?”, Jean-Louis reached us, placing his hand on Estella’s shoulder, and winking at me

“Girls talks, Jean-Louis, that’s not so interesting”, I looked at both Loise and Estella once again, “Anyways, I’m off home now”

“Oh, wait, what about today’s bar night? Camille, did you forget about it? We planned it for a whole week”, Estella asked me, when I, honestly, completely forgot about our plan to spend the evening at the bar where all the students and teachers from Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne loved to hang out after studying hours.

“I’ll be there at 9, don’t worry”, I had to lie that I remembered about the evening. Well, at least I thought that I’d clean my mind and relax from weekend of research for my diploma essay.

______________________________________________________________

The sun was getting down when the train stopped at its final destination in Grenoble. With my travel bag in one hand and with a bag full of documents on my shoulder, I caught a taxi and sped off towards a small hotel which would become my home for an indefinite amount of time which I was planning to spend during my work.

The door of the hotel room opened and I got inside a small, but cozy room with big bed, big table with a small bookcase and a painting The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning of Camille Pissarro on the wall. The view from the room’s window was breathtaking: huge mountains and white snow was covering the roads of the city, small ginger bread-like houses surrounded the area, it felt like I got inside winter fairytale.

Without even unpacking my luggage, I sighed and lay down on the bed, as I was completely tired and had sleepless nights as I was packing my luggage, preparing all the documents for the case when the unbearable desire to meet Vincent was overwhelming me at the same time. This anxiety left me with no sleep at all, so I was glad to finally have the opportunity to at least lay in bed and relax for some time.

I finally made my mind clear: it was the time to place dots on every i in relationships between me and my ex-tutor and my love affair; it was the right time to reduce all those romantic thoughts and hopes which I still had inside of me, which were trying to burst out, knowing how they were hurt before, but still believing in happy ending, despite the fact that the injury from this love affair that we had with Vincent didn’t cure at all.

______________________________________________________________

Surprisingly or not, but when I got inside the bar, I saw not only Loise, Estella and Jean-Louis, but also our new tutor Vincent Renzi, who looked directly at me but quickly moved his gaze away, when I tried to get to my friends’ table, only noticing that he was sitting alone behind the bar desk. My only thought was: was it a pure accident that he was at the same time in exactly the same bar, as it was a very popular place among students and teachers from Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne. I lowered my gaze, and reached the table, when Jean-Louis asked bartender for a round of cider for all of us.

At that time, I started to get angrier, because not only almost all the girls’ attention from my course was on Vincent. I got myself an idea that because of all this fuzz around him I would distract myself from the tutor, creating an appearance of indifference, maybe even disguise. But maybe it was because my interest in him was growing inside me, but I didn’t want to admit it in any case. And so, during that evening at the bar I decided to reduce all those crazy thoughts for some time and forget about him, even though he was at exactly the same place on exactly the same time.

Of course, Estella and Loise recognized him, but thankfully decided not to bother Vincent with their attention, and we continued talking about all sort of things, but particularly about our final exams and essays which we needed to write to graduate from university.

______________________________________________________________

Sometimes, during my childhood, I didn’t want to study at all, I was lazy, maths was my least favourite subject at school, when French and English were the most favourite. But before entering the university I finally realized what I wanted to do in my life, as, probably, it was written in my destiny, because I was always paying attention to my parents’ work as lawyers, everything fascinated me, despite the fact that I knew that sometimes it was very hard.

And so, during my university years I began to study as hard and as passionate as I could, paying close attention to every subject and every rule, I didn’t even have time to relax properly during weekends. At that time, I wasn’t thinking about boys, relationships, all this kind of things, because I wasn’t interested in it, studies were priority to me.

To clean my mind from all those studies I found myself in films: I fell in love with cinematography, I watched a lot of films, finding my favourite actors, directors and films, I even attended some lectures about cinematography. Unfortunately, not every person among my friends were so passionate about my hobby, so most of my time I was watching films by myself, writing small reviews about them in special document on my laptop. I was believing that someday I’d find the right person not only to talk to about cinematography but also to fall in love with.

Who knew at that time that this person would suddenly show up at Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne and it wouldn’t be a student.

______________________________________________________________

They are right when they say that for a drunken mind speaks sober heart. After two glasses of cider, slightly drunken, I left my friends for a couple of minutes to have a smoke outside the bar, to get my head some fresh air and almost bumped into Vincent, who was also smoking his cigarette in front of bar’s entrance.

“Oh, good evening, monsieur Renzi”, I said it with a little annoyance, because I absolutely did not want to run into him that evening. Or at that moment, I wanted it to seem that way to myself. Trying to light my cigarette, and realizing that my lighter had stopped working, I looked at Vincent again, realizing that after all, I would have to talk to him. Something clicked inside my head and I decided to play a game with him. Never knowing where it would lead both of us.

“You got a light? My lighter seems to be ran out”

“Of course”, he said calmly and got his lighter out of the pocket, opening it. I bent over the fire, placing my hand over his, trying to light my cigarette and feeling a pleasant wooden-like smell of his perfume.

I've always had a taste for fragrances, and I've always paid special attention to how a man smells, so, of course, Vincent was among the ones, whose smell of perfume I loved.

“And please, outside the university, I’m Vincent, not monsieur Renzi, we’re not at the lecture room”, he added, lightning his cigarette this time, when I took a puff from mine.

“Well, okay, Vincent, then I’m just Camille, without mademoiselle Cadieux outside the university”

“We got a deal”, he smiled and continued, “Well, Camille, why aren’t you hanging out with your friends who I saw at the bar?”

“Apart from taking a smoke? Honestly, I’m not that interested in hanging out with them. They’re all children”.

“Aren’t we all?”, he asked looking at me. And probably alcohol helped me to open my mind and heart more than it have been expected, so I replied, without paying attention to what I was saying, because at that time my mind was more opened:

“Maybe, but when it comes to my taste in men – I like being with someone who’s older than me”

There. I said it and the sentence disappeared into thin air of the night. Vincent just looked at me, this time even closer and more thoughtful and I felt like my heart just dropped. I probably crossed the line. But probably my heart started to act truly, without lies, as I began to notice that I wanted to get attention from monsieur Renzi, and not in the student-tutor common relationships. I’ve lost the game.

______________________________________________________________

The sound of the incoming message woke me up from my thoughts.

“Hello, Camille. Hope you got to Grenoble safely. I’ll be waiting for you in front of your hotel tomorrow at 10, we’ll get my car to drive to Sandra’s house. The trip won’t take long. I won’t bother you any longer, see you tomorrow”

I smirked and typed “Okay” and put my phone on the bed, getting up from my bed and reaching the window, pulling back the curtain to look at the opening view.

The game just started again and this time I wanted to take revenge.

______________________________________________________________

La Vérité masterlist

[smittywing]

FicBit: Jason Todd/Tim Drake

This seriously has no title. Why.

Yesterday's bit.

Today, Jason attempts to remove his boot from his mouth.

Jason squared his shoulders and stepped across the street.  There.  He was officially in Red Robin’s territory.  It really would ruin the dramatic moment if Tim didn’t show up soon within the next few seconds.

Fortunately, Jason could hear the muted roar of Red Robin’s Ducati as he cornered onto Willingham Boulevard and pulled to a stop in front of Jason.  Baby Bird had *style*, Jason had to give him that.

“What are you doing here?” Tim demanded through his helmet.  

Jason sighed.  “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Tim said, but rolled his eyes when his stomach audibly growled.  Jason tried not to smirk too hard.  Tim reliably drank too much coffee and forgot to eat real food.  “Fine,” he said. “Yes.”

“I’ll pick up some Big Belly Burger and meet you on the roof of the Glitter Factory,” he offered, referring to the strip club across the street.

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said grudgingly, shifting his weight over the bike.  “No onions.”

“The onions are the best part,” Jason protested but Tim was already on the move.

It took about fifteen minutes to grab a couple of double cheeseburger meals (no onions for Princess Timothy) with large fries and circle back to the rooftop of the [building name].  Tim was sitting on the edge and he watched Jason approach suspiciously, like Jason was about to push him off or something.

That was totally uncalled for, Tim’s burger wasn’t worth stealing.

“Here,” Jason said, handing Tim one of the bags.  “No onions.”

“Thanks,” Tim said.  “To what do I owe this generosity?”

Jason took his time sitting down next to Tim on the rooftop and inspected his own burger to ensure it had all requisite toppings before taking a bite.

“It’s been pointed out to me that I may have been a shit to you,” he admitted on the swallow.

“What was that?” Tim asked.  Jason rolled his eyes.

“I was a shit to you.  When you, you know.”

“Came out to you?”  Tim shrugged and bit into his own burger.  “Whatever. Thanks for not punching me in the face I guess?”

Jason sighed. “I’m not that guy,” he said, feeling exactly like that guy.  “I was trying to be like, you know, cool.  Sure you’re gay.  Or bi.  Or whatever.  You’re still the same guy I like to give a hard time.”  Nope.  “Like to rag on.  Tease.”  Shit, now it was weird.

Tim was snort-laughing into his burger.  “You have zero game.  Negative game.”

“I guess I’m a fighter, not a lover,” Jason said, scratching his chin. That much was true.  He was almost 20 and sex wasn't even one of his top five thoughts at any given time. 

“I don't even know what I am,” Tim sighed, in a change of tone. He kicked at Jason's boot. 

“You're smart as fuck and true to yourself and Cannon Fodder doesn't know how lucky he is to have you,” Jason said without thinking. 

Tim turned his head and stared at Jason. “That's the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me,” he said suspiciously. “Except the part where you called my boyfriend Cannon Fodder.”

Jason shrugged.  “I don’t make the rules,” he said.  “Are we cool, now?”

Drake looked like he was chewing over multiple insulting comebacks but couldn’t figure out which one to go with.  Finally he looked out over the city and said, “We’re cool.”

“Okay,” Jason said.  “Good.”

[dailyanarchistposts]

Improving Our Organization, Strategies, and Solidarity

Rather than taking for granted the simplistic dichotomy of “victory” versus “defeat,” we would like to discuss several points that could be improved for future actions. Some decisions taken on May Day raise questions that we must confront if we want to move forward.

First, when we passed the Austerlitz bridge to enter the boulevard de l’Hôpital, we all realized that police forces were waiting for us on both sides of the procession. This made us uneasy for some time. Then, when we finally decided to move forward and reached the McDonald’s, we realized again that police forces we blocking the nearby street rue Buffon. In our view, as soon as we ravaged the McDonald’s, we were already within the trap of police forces, as anti-riot fences and water cannon trucks were blocking us from progressing further. In other words, starting at that specific moment, we had no options except to retreat via the park, to return across the bridge we had just crossed, or to endure the police attacks. Next time, we need to be more aware of our surroundings, to anticipate the movements of law enforcement, and to think ahead of time about possible escape routes in order to avoid the moments of panic that we saw on May Day. We are fortunate to be able to say that we succeeded—for the most part—in escaping and outflanking the massive police presence, at least for a moment. But we could certainly do better.

We also should revisit individual decisions, such as the choice to throw a Molotov cocktail inside the McDonald’s when people were living above the restaurant, or to set cars on fire on the sidewalk so that flames threatened the apartments above them. The point is not to criticize the use of Molotov cocktails, but to consider when and where to use them. We should never risk collateral victims because of our decisions. Let’s avoid another tragedy like the one that took place in Greece several years ago in the Marfin bank fire. A tragedy like that would affect all of us on several different levels.

Also, we need to take better care of each other during actions. On May Day 2018, many people were not equipped to endure the showers of tear gas. Many people experienced panic attacks or respiratory issues while caught in a middle of a large confused crowd. We saw at least one person with a head injury receiving medical attention from firemen. It is obvious that we need to bring more medical supplies with us to these actions.

Finally, let us recall that solidarity is one of our greatest assets. Today, about 50 arrestees await trial. Several gatherings took place in front of the police stations in which individuals were incarcerated. These actions need to intensify, and not only because friends known to us personally are detained. Solidarity is for everyone, friends or not. One idea for future actions could be to find new tactics to protect each other from being arrested, or to respond to arrests.

[lovesongbracket]

Reminder: Vote based on the song, not the artist or specific recording! The tracks referenced are the original artist, aside from a few rare cases where a cover is the most widely known.

Lyrics, videos, info, and notable covers under the cut. (Spotify playlist available in pinned post)

Me and My Husband

Written By: Mitski

Artist: Mitski

Released: 2018

“Me and My Husband” is the seventh track of Mitski’s fifth studio album Be The Cowboy released in August 2018. Like earlier tracks on the album such as ‘Nobody’, ‘Me and My Husband’ explores the loneliness Mitski felt while writing the album, although this time she takes on the persona of a suburban housewife. As she explained to GQ: “If you’re a suburban mom surrounded by family with a nice life you still feel alone. On tour, I’m surrounded by people all the time but it’s lonely.” Despite the song’s upbeat tone the lyrics portray a housewife stubbornly sticking by her husband even though she may not be happy. Mitski claims the song isn’t personal and isn’t meant to be reflection of her views on marriage or settling down as she told The Outline: “I try to keep a sense of humor about all this stuff. I’m not married, I don’t have a husband, but I was just thinking about being a woman with a man in a long term relationship. I used a stereotype of the suburban, old-fashioned housewife to kind of accentuate my point.”

[Verse 1] I steal a few breaths from the world for a minute And then I'll be nothing forever And all of my memories And all of the things I have seen will be gone With my eyes, with my body, with me [Chorus] But me and my husband We are doing better It's always been just him and me Together So I bet all I have on that Furrowed brow And at least in this lifetime We're sticking together Me and my husband We're sticking together [Verse 2] And I'm the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved [Chorus] Me and my husband We are doing better It's always been just him and me Together So I bet all I have on that Furrowed brow And at least in this lifetime We're sticking together Me and my husband We're sticking together Me and my husband We are doing better

Our House

Written By: Graham Nash

Artist: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Released: 1970

Cover included: The Head and the Heart, 2021

“Our House” is a song written by British singer-songwriter Graham Nash and recorded by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young on their album Déjà Vu. At the time Graham Nash & Joni Mitchell were dating and the time the two spent that particular day after purchasing a vase on Ventura Boulevard inspired this song. Nash has stated that he wrote this song in a hour. In October 2013, in an interview with Terry Gross on NPR’s Fresh Air, Nash elaborated: “Well, it’s an ordinary moment. What happened is that Joni [Mitchell] and I – I don’t know whether you know anything about Los Angeles, but on Ventura Boulevard in the Valley, there’s a very famous deli called Art’s Deli. And we’d been to breakfast there. We’re going to get into Joan’s car, and we pass an antique store. And we’re looking in the window, and she saw a very beautiful vase that she wanted to buy … I persuaded her to buy this vase. It wasn’t very expensive, and we took it home. It was a very grey, kind of sleety, drizzly L.A. morning. And we got to the house in Laurel Canyon, and I said – got through the front door and I said, you know what? I’ll light a fire. Why don’t you put some flowers in that vase that you just bought? Well, she was in the garden getting flowers. That meant she was not at her piano, but I was … And an hour later ‘Our House’ was born, out of an incredibly ordinary moment that many, many people have experienced.”

[Verse 1] I'll light the fire You place the flowers in the vase That you bought today [Verse 2] Staring at the fire For hours and hours while I listen to you Play your love songs all night long For me, only for me [Verse 3] Come to me now And rest your head for just five minutes Everything is done [Verse 4] Such a cozy room The windows are illuminated by the evening Sunshine through them, fiery gems For you, only for you [Chorus] Our house is a very, very, very fine house With two cats in the yard Life used to be so hard Now everything is easy cause of you And our [Interlude] La-la, la-la-la la la… [Chorus] Our house is a very, very, very fine house (fine house) With two cats in the yard Life used to be so hard Now everything is easy cause of you And our [Verse 1] I'll light the fire While you place the flowers in the vase That you bought today

[beardedmrbean]

A judge appeared disgusted Wednesday with an unlicensed and uninsured driver – with 19 previous traffic citations — who killed a bicyclist last fall, sending him to prison for at least two years.

Julius Hopkins, 32, pleaded guilty earlier this year to a charge of reckless driving resulting in death for the Sept. 23, 2023, crash that killed Nathan Miller, 32. Hopkins had no driver’s license, registration, or insurance when he collided with Miller on Nellis Boulevard near Tropicana Avenue in the southeast valley.

Miller, a BMX world champion, died hours after the crash. Hopkins was driving a car registered to him, records showed. The registration, which appeared to be a temporary Nevada plate, expired last March.

Police cited Hopkins at the crash site and released him. Officers later arrested him Thursday, Oct. 26, after friends came to the 8 News Now Investigators with questions about the crash. The 8 News Now Investigators then aired a report on Wednesday, Oct. 18. At that point, Hopkins was not facing any charges.

As part of a plea deal, Hopkins was eligible for probation, though he has a history of probation violations and convictions, Judge Mary Kay Holthus noted during Wednesday’s sentencing.

The 8 News Now Investigators found at least 19 traffic cases in multiple jurisdictions across Clark County where police cited or ticketed Hopkins dating back to 2010.

“You shouldn’t have been on the road,” Holthus said to Hopkins as she delivered a 28-to-72-month prison sentence. Holthus could have sentenced Hopkins to anywhere from a minimum of one year in prison or up to six years, with parole eligibility as part of the plea deal, documents said.

“I wish I would have stayed home that night, and we wouldn’t be here today, and Nathan would,” Hopkins told the Miller family as Holthus sentenced him.

Hopkins was driving 67 mph in the 35-mph zone at the time of the crash, documents said. Video the 8 News Now Investigators obtained showed the car suddenly jerked to the right and collided with Miller who was riding his bike close to the curb.

Hopkins was in the car with his wife and their child, police said.

“I too wonder what was going on in that car,” Holthus told Hopkins. “No wonder you killed someone.”

The crash report the 8 News Now Investigators obtained reveals an officer deemed Hopkins at fault for the crash, though “no enforcement action [was] taken.” The officer noted on the crash report that neither alcohol nor drugs were involved, however, there was no check box on the form for how the officer made that determination.

Though Miller was near death, fatal investigators did not respond to the crash to start their investigation in the soon-to-be fatal investigation.

Because the case is now adjudicated, the 8 News Now Investigators can file public records requests to gather more information.

“A strict sentence for the defendant has the potential to affect the thinking and actions of others,” Miller’s sister, Nicole Manning, said Wednesday.

Hopkins has 14 traffic cases in Las Vegas Justice Court. His earliest case, filed in September 2010, was on a charge of no insurance, records showed. Several of the 14 cases remained open as of Wednesday as Hopkins had not paid thousands of dollars in fines or had not yet appeared before a judge.

Hopkins also had traffic cases in Las Vegas Municipal Court, which handles such citations within Las Vegas city limits; Henderson Municipal Court and North Las Vegas Municipal Court, records showed.

“How many chances does the court keep giving at whose expense next time?” Miller’s mother, Michelle Dorotiak, said. “How many innocent lives will be torn apart or lost before the judicial system steps in and says, ‘No more?’”

In 2023, a new Nevada law decriminalized minor traffic offenses. The bill also abolished the practice of issuing warrants for failure to pay traffic fines or appear in court. Several open cases have no documented event other than the issuance of a citation.

With credit for jail time served, Hopkins will be eligible for parole in the summer of 2026.

Holthus is the same judge attacked in her courtroom last January.

[mikimeiko]

Day 9 - Kosice (Slovakia)

Another glorious sunny day! (The first days scarred me and I keep forgetting that it's summer and it's usually sunny most of the time XD)

The old town/city center is developed around a long boulevard with the cathedral in the middle, with lots of small pedestrian streets and passages through courtyards.

It's generally less touristy than any of the cities I visited so far. I still haven't heard any Italian spoken, which is good XD

I finally manage to get the daily lunch menu in a restaurant! I was strongly motivated by the fact that this was my last chance to try it in Slovakia, since it's only during weekdays and on Monday I'm going to be in Czech Republic.

Today's menu is broccoli soup with creme fraiche, pork stroganoff with rice and cucumber salad. And wow, everything is just so good? I think this is the best meal I had this trip, and to think I almost didn't come here because it felt kinda like a tourist trap. Also very weird, you have to go through another restaurant to get to this restaurant, which is on the first floor. Ok?

On the hills near the city there's the ruin of the old Kosice castle. From the bus stop there's a one km path through the woods to get there, and luckily is a gentle slope, a very pleasant walk in nature.

The ruins are very ruin-y, but there's also a reconstruction of a village, a small info point and a refreshment stand that is blasting electro-metal (a weird but not completely unpleasant dissonance with the surroundings). There's also an observation tower that I'm sure gives very nice views of the valley, but you have to climb TOO MANY steps and sorry I'm not going to do it XD.

But then I actually find another viewpoint!

The bus ride there and back is very pretty, overlooking fields and woods.

While the bus climbs the hill I also see some of the high rising buildings neighborhood that are on the outskirts of the city, and as I saw in many ex communist countries that have large areas with buildings like those they have used colors and geometric designs to make them more varied and prettier and I love the result! I also see more of them on a random tram ride (because of course it was time for a random tram ride XD) including one with a smilie on it :D

And I wasn't expecting to meet anyone in my penzion, but while I was smoking in the courtyard I met a very enthusiastic German lady named Elena (not sure about the spelling) that is here for a running competition that lasts a week!

[ladytemeraire]

OK I’m attempting to be better about recognizing and celebrating the good things, so here’s something good from today. CW for brief mention of potential/theoretical animal abuse in the first paragraph only, the rest is all happy things.

For context if you don’t follow me or are new to my blog: Sadie, my GSD mix, has fear-based reactivity with both people and dogs. She was a stray before I got her from the shelter at 3-4 years old, we both got jumped by an off-leash dog in her first month with me, and I’m pretty sure one of the shelter workers hit her at some point. Understandably, her default reaction to both people and dogs is “bark and be scary to make the scary thing go away”. (And as a 55-pound Shep she definitely can look scary when she wants, which doesn’t exactly endear her to strangers.)

But y’all. Today Sadie got to meet the guy that lives catty-corner to me, and she did SO! GOOD!

We were on this little triangle boulevard of land across from my driveway, where I like to let her sniff the squirrel trails, and this guy was out in his drive. So he and I were chatting from afar, and she was interested but not barking or reacting to him and doing very good at engage/disengage. I asked if we could come over, and when he said yes I went “do you want to go say hi?” and she was SO good! Very interested in the doggy smells in his yard, but she went up and sniffed him several times and even gave him gentle licks on his hand. This is literally the best reaction she’s ever had with a strange man and I was so proud of her!!!

She was definitely a little overstimulated because of the doggy smells and being able to hear his dog barking inside, so we kept it short for an introduction. And I think in the future we need to be the ones to leave the situation first, because when he started to walk away she did start barking (which I think was partly “strange man moving” and partly “my new friend is leaving me”). But overall, SO much progress from a year ago!

I definitely cried some happy tears inside and gave her so much praise and a million belly rubs. I know this sounds like such a basic interaction, but for a reactive dog this is a huge milestone and something that I honestly wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to do. It really shows that our work is paying off and gives me hope that she’ll be less overwhelmed around people in the future.

[southeastasiadiary]

Day 14: Repositioning #2

Today is just a travel day, involving a flight from Phnom Penh in the southern part of Cambodia to Siem Reap further north. After a very busy day yesterday and three very busy days coming up, it’s actually quite nice to have a day to catch my breath and reflect, particularly since I’m now at the halfway point in this trip.

If I had to choose a symbol for Cambodia, I’d select something like the Ancient Greek statuary convention known as “the archaic smile.”

Cambodians greet everything with a smile. Everything.

Even when Thy was discussing the worst atrocities of the Khmer Rouge and the suffering of his own family, he did so with a (sometimes unnerving) smile on his face. It’s the national expression. According to Thy, what others express in words, Cambodians express with a gentle smile. It can mean anything from “Thank you” to “You’re welcome” to little more than nothing at all. But it is universal.

The other interesting thing about Cambodia is that it has two legal currencies: the Cambodian riel and the U.S. dollar. Prices will often be posted in both. So, unlike Vietnam, I had absolutely no reason to change money here. Mind you, sometimes you’ll pay in dollars but receive your change in riels.

In Vietnam, religious sites often featured a seamless blend of Buddhism, animism, ancestor worship, Confucianism, and Taoism. That same mix can be found here in Cambodia as well, although Hindu deities also play a more prominent role. I think my favorite Cambodian deity of the pre-Angkor period is Harihara. Some people at that time worshipped Vishnu while others preferred Shiva. To split the difference, they simply created a new god, Harihara, who was half Vishnu (who was sometimes called Hari) and half Shiva (who was sometimes called Hara). You can always recognize statues of Harihara because he wears a crown that is split right down the middle: Shiva’s hair on the left; Vishnu’s plain crown on the right.

It’s a bit reminiscent of the combined crown of Upper and Lower Egypt or the later Greco-Egyptian god Serapis, a similar blend (created for similar reasons) of Osiris and the Apis bull.

I reached the beautiful airport in Siem reap at about 2:30 pm. The airport is designed in a graceful Cambodian style, and with the warm sunny day as I walked to the terminal, it felt more like a walk to a country club.

Ironically, I later learned that, in only ten days (on October 15, 2023), this beautiful little airport will close and be replaced by a much larger airport fifty kilometers away.

Siem Reap is almost like a photographic negative of Phnom Penh. Traffic in Phnom Penh was atrocious, as thick as in Hanoi but without the infrastructure. As a result, you can only creep along on the highway, and it takes forever to get anywhere. Drivers are constantly turning now right, now left so that you can’t believe they actually know where they’re going. In Siem Reap, until you get downtown, the roads are straight, wide boulevards with virtually no traffic. And the downtown doesn’t look like a city, more like a small town in northern Iowa with no building that stands more than two or three stories tall.

The stay here is going to be fun; I can just tell.

[oh-phineas]

Boulevard of Broken ACLs | Self Para

Date: 19 August 2023 Warnings: Mention of surgery/medical stuff (not graphic)

Phineas begins his recovery.

Cheating death is supposed to feel a lot cooler than this, Phineas reflects as Patrick The Physical Therapist guides his leg in the correct motion for the five hundredth time that day. It’s actually pretty mundane. One minute, you’re being hauled to your feet by a girl you kissed at a party one time, being dragged through burning streets while your life flashes before your eyes, and the next you’re spending three hours a week in a rehab gym staring at the ceiling while a grad student chatters on about cricket. He came to Swynlake for adventure, and he’s pretty sure being snatched from the jaws of Hades (the mythical one, not the ex-mayor) is supposed to count for that. But he almost died, and all he got was this shitty Swynlake General Hospital Physical Therapy T-shirt. 

He tells himself that he can make the best out of any boring situation, that this is his superpower. That he never needed to travel the world because everything he ever needed was always in his backyard. And maybe that’s the worst part of all of this: that Phineas is supposed to be the eternal optimist, and he didn’t even get it that bad compared to some people, and still he feels this deep, awful, burning feeling that he is trapped. 

“Whoa, dude, slow down,” Patrick chuckles as Phineas races through his points-and-flexes. “What’s the hurry?”

The hurry is that Phineas wants to be out of here thirty minutes ago, but instead he just smiles. “Not in a hurry,” he says through his teeth. 

“Alright, well, you gotta take it slow to get the full benefit. It isn’t a race!”

Nah, it isn’t, because if it were a race, at least it would be fun.

The fact that he has the meeting with his doctor later to determine the next step feels like a fake milestone. It’s the end of a week of prehab, but it could be the beginning of more weeks of it, if the doctor recommends surgery. And if he doesn’t, there are still dozens of weeks of Patrick’s company ahead. Nothing’s really going to change, Phineas reminds himself as he goes into the exam room. 

“Well, there’s good news and there’s bad news.”

Of course. There’s always good news and bad news.

“Why don’t you just tell me the good news?”

The doctor chuckles. Phineas was kind of serious, honestly. He didn’t want any more bad news. But he was a responsible adult or whatever, so sure, he’d do the prehab, he’d do the surgery, he’d shove the instructions that the doctor printed out for him into the bottom of his backpack and actually dig them out later and show them to his parents and let them stick it to the fridge with a magnet. 

The surgery is set for three weeks from today, putting it squarely between the freshers week party and the networking event. Phineas considers texting Ed and Pip about it, then changes his mind. He doesn’t want either of them to think this will impact anything, because it won’t, because Phineas is determined not to let it. He considers texting Fawn, but then the remembers the announcement about the forest, and feels silly bothering her about this.

His parents have already moved onto talking about the plan for dinner, so while they’re not watching, Phineas hobbles out to Jolene on his crutches and drags himself into the back seat so he can prop his leg up. The car blinks to life hopefully.

“Ain’t nothing gonna break my stride Nobody gonna slow me down. I’ve got to keep on moving.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not funny,” Phineas grumbles. The dials spin mischievously, and then slow down. And then slowly, the volume climbs, like Jolene isn’t quite sure this is the right call.

It’s an old Green Day song. Phineas remembers jumping around his room and singing it a lot when he was younger and angry about all the things he didn’t understand, all the things he couldn’t disappear with optimism. He’s surprised Jolene even comes up with it. At first, he’s singing along quietly, but by the bridge, he’s practically yelling— and it feels good. 

He collapses back into the seat, breathing hard. “Thanks, Jolene,” he says. 

The lights just blink in response, and next up is an angry Fall Out Boy song. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

[1whimsicalgal]

Posted today, August 9, 2023, by TCSM ’1974's cinematographer @dpearldp

 " Shot the iconic Texas Chainsaw Massacre under the swing dolly move this date, August 8, fifty years ago. Story behind the shot: We had shot first week when production decided we needed a shot list. Shut down for a week while director Tobe Hooper shot-listed the movie. First day back, given the shot list when I got to set, and proceeded to set up the first shot. When Tobe arrived he changed everything, and we carried on ignoring the shot list. The second day the same thing. I asked Tobe what was going on? He replied “Oh Dan’l man, didn’t I tell you. I just wrote that to get them off our backs so they’d let us go back to work. We’ll block with the actors on set to design the shots” End of the second-day production realized we were not shooting the shot list, they came down on us hard and demanded we follow the shot list from that point on. On the third day, we shot the swing scene according to the shot list. When we completed the scene and preparing to move on, I had an idea. I explained to Tobe that we have sixty feet of track and a low platform dolly. I was sure I could lay on my stomach holding the 16mm Éclair NPR camera low off of the front of the platform and be able to fit under the swing. I described a shot where the camera starts behind the swing and glides forward following @chainsawgal as she stands and walks towards the house which grows and grows as it overtakes the frame. He loved it and told me to set it up. We started laying track towards the house. Of course, the A.D. got involved and told us we had to move on and could not shoot the shot because it wasn’t on the shot list. Tobe explained that I had come up with the perfect shot to set the tone for the opening of the second act, and we are going to make that shot. He told him “You may fire us and we won’t be back tomorrow, but today I’m the director and he’s the DP, so get the hell out of our way!” I will always remember and respect Tobe for fighting that fight. The shot went on to become the signature shot of TCM.  I’m told that audiences applaud when the shot comes on the screen.” #tcm #texaschainsawmassacre1974 #texaschainsawmassacre #cinematography #greatshots #iconic #postoftheday #bts #16mmfilm

Response from “Pam" aka @chainsawgal - Teri McMinn

“All of which I knew absolutely nothing about! I'm laughing as I write. We knew nothing about that war going on between you guys and 'production', or that you'd come up with the brilliant shot. All I knew was that as Dottie was touching up my makeup and keeping me busy chatting me up, out of the corner of my eye, I looked over across the yard and saw you crouched under the slatted porch swing that had been moved to the yard, the very swing I had been told I would be sitting in for my next scene.  There was Daniel, lying on the grass with his camera, not 10 inches from where I was to park my red shorts. I asked Dottie, "Hey, Dottie, what's Daniel doing under the swing with his camera?" I remember Dottie mumbling, "I dunno..." I'd only the day or two prior turned down a 'production' request to do a skinny-dipping scene. "No, thank you." Anyhoo, had I a clue about your tracking shot and the concept, I might have felt a little more confident and not quite as suspicious of the lot of you as I definitely was when we shot the scene. All through it and afterward, I worried about what Tobe had said to me to convince me all would be fine, "Aww, Teri, goddammit!! We're gonna shoot All Around It!!” He'd had enough of my arguing, so I took my seat on the swing with that camera perched on the ground beneath me. ‘…all around’ WHAT was all I kept thinking?? 🤔 I can assure you, I wasn't worried about Leatherface. Not one bit... 👀🎥😏😱, not then, or for the next 13 months when it was released in October 1974. It's an amazing shot and I'm so grateful I was the "Pam" that got to do it!  🏆 Now, I only wish it could be a giant billboard on Sunset Boulevard. Isn't it great no one listened to me At All?!! 🤣 I’m sure audience’s do applaud. I can't share your post here on IG, but I'll share it on Pammie's FB page. Thanks for the shot and thanks for sharing, Daniel.😁”

 #aheadofyourtime #awardwinning #cinematographer 

Daniel Pearl's Instagram link for the post: https://www.instagram.com/reel/CvtejukgJIP/?fbclid=IwAR1DXAEz8m7Xz1sIxZX8LXNdD9edEle1lhxHzEyb0Pry0o0W9z6I0dbGUO0

[dei-lab-assistant]

Major Monogram's Job was Not Terrible

On the rare occasions people found out what Major Monogram did for a living, they often assumed his job was difficult because it must be “like herding cats.” He originally thought this comparison was inadequate, as many of his agents were both more dangerous and more difficult than he imagined cats to be; also, the consequences of failure when herding cats were considerably less. The addition of cat agents began to change his mind, perhaps the simile was more apt than he originally assumed. 

Other people flat out belittled both him and his line of work. Why did no one trust him with human agents? That was a common question his doubters asked. Do they clean out their own litter boxes? An equally common question. Some called him Noah or Doctor Dolittle to his face. However, over time, the Major came to realize his “completely unglamorous job working with those stupid animal agents of yours” was both important and surprisingly fun. Perhaps not as fun as being a gymnast, but decidedly fulfilling and enjoyable.

Although he would not readily admit it, Major Monogram knew the turning point in his opinion of the O.W.C.A. was the unexpected result of his attempt to requisition some muscle to work security in the building. Instead of a bodybuilder, a gunslinger, or a martial artist, he found himself working with Carl Karl, the unpaid intern who knew everything about computers and nothing about fighting. Apparently, some of the agents had been complaining about the poor quality of their mission briefings, while others thought their computer system was capable of more than games of Minesweeper and collecting spam e-mails, which resulted in Carl being assigned.

On his first day, Carl cleared the paperjam out of all five of their “broken” printers, changed the ink cartridges in all three of their “worthless” printers, and set up the remaining “working” printer to communicate with all of their computers via Wi-Fi instead of a messy batch of cables. Afterwards, he demonstrated how a camera could be attached to a tripod without the use of duct tape. Within days, he had upgraded the security systems on their computers and read the user’s manual for every piece of equipment they had. Although Monogram thought the kid had no future as any kind of agent, he did recognise the boy had some small skill with technical things. And the Major enjoyed having someone to talk to.

Today, for example, Monogram was drinking coffee, pretending to read repetitive memos, and discussing the difference between a street and a road with Carl.

“Technically, Sir, I think streets are in cities, with buildings on both sides of them, whereas roads are more rural, with businesses or houses on only one side, or the other, or neither.” Karl was sitting nearby at his computer, looking over Dr. Doofenshmirtz’s daily purchases as they talked. 

“Nonsense, streets are a specific type of road. All roads are roads. All streets are roads. But not all roads are streets.” The Major tossed his pile of used multicolored sticky notes into the wire trash can beside his desk.

“So you’re willing to admit that streets are only in cities?” Carl opened a new tab on his computer.

“Of course not Carl. Towns and villages also have streets. But all of them are also roads. When they’re being repaired, we call it roadwork, not streetwork.” Sighing, the green clad officer pulled the agency's accounting ledger from his lower left desk drawer. 

“Does this ‘all streets are roads’ idea also apply to avenues and boulevards?”

“Uh… Get back to work, Carl.”

“Yes Sir.”

[tenaciouspostfun]

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The Urban Stages has put on a play that I like to refer to as a hidden gem; on off off Broadway play that is edgy, with great writing as well as interesting. Yussef El Guindi has written a play that has almost perfect symmetry to it. He presents four characters (a square), gives us four points a view; he brings out the jealousy in the men and shows us the support by their strong woman.

On the surface you think the plot is about the book that Jason wrote (Brian Slaten), but you would be wrong. The play dives into a psychological frenzy about people. Guindi touches on political dynamite, however, thankfully, it is only a small piece of his writing by way of small barbs here and there. His writing isn't always clear but that never tips the play downward for very long as the action onstage always picks up the shortcomings of the sputtering verbiage.

As Jason becomes popular with a book he has just written, his high school friend, Amir (Ramsey Zeitouneh) is visually jealous of his friends accomplishments. As a poet he has only garnered a small prize in poetry. He and his wife, Lynn (Sarah McAfee) struggle financially as she too is a struggling artist. Although Lynn is supportive of her husband, the sexual tension between her and Jason is obvious from the start. They flirt, talk about the high school days and comment on each others looks and body.

As a war veteran, Jason is admired by Lynn and less so by Amir. It is evident that Lynn and Jason belong together. Marrying a Mideastern woman, Madeeha(Haneen Arafat Murphy), Jason introduces her to the world at the airport when she arrives into America. She is both old fashioned and yet a modern woman all at the same time. She wants to please Jason, yet Jason is reticent of her love. What is her motivation? With all the twists and turns we later find out.

Guindi is brilliant in bringing out the jealousies in humans. Pointing to each of the four we find their vulnerabilities, strengths as well as their detraction's. Each is likeable; each is detestable, but that's what keeps the audience interested in the plot onstage, and as the story grows the plot gets more and more interesting. We at times hate each character and at other times we like and sympathize with each actor. The writer makes us look at ourselves in this play. How would we feel if we were Amir? What has Madeeha been through? How torn is Lynn? Is Jason for real and what kind of torment has he been through in war torn Iraq?

In this very basic set, Elena Vannoni does an admirable job on this small stage. Very deft in making the time and place believable with the moving boards. Able to place ourselves in the realm of where the actors are at all times, her set is well done. The sound too is great. David Margolin Lawson provides the various moods in the play well. This play had many mood swings and Lawson picks this up without exception, and gives us great flow to the piece. John Langs direction for the most part has the actors clicking on all cylinders. While there are lulls at times, Langs mostly gives us a quality effort.

"People of the Book" is a play that is reminiscent of how off off Broadway used to be... quality, raw edge and good acting as well as good underground writing. Unfortunately today, off off gives us preachy, poorly written political play. But not this one! This play takes us into the depths of four lives. Each of those lives are riddled with underlying problems that slowly boil to the surface by the plays ending.

Broadway Bob, Urban Stages, off off Broadway, Obie Awards, New York City, Tony Awards, Sunset Boulevard, The Outsiders, Lion King, Aladdin, Harry Potter.





Words: 656