#we should have more hobson

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #25

Hobson wasn’t the Fenton’s butler for long, but he was their butler long enough to become … concerned. Specifically, for a certain black-haired teenager.

However, he didn't know the best way to go about stepping in on this situation. So, instead he calls a friend. Surely Alfred will know what to do.

[pseudowho]

In Flagrante Delicto

Higuruma Hiromi will fight your help and guidance every step of the way...until one night, he catches himself needing you desperately.

An AU where Higuruma is forced into the employ of Jujutsu High after his role in The Culling Games.

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen!, angst, smut and fluff, Hiromi being willing to argue with anyone about anything, with a little bit of sex pollen needy Hiromi

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Higuruma Hiromi was undoubtedly the most difficult mission you had ever been given.

Tasked with walking Hiromi through 'the systems' of the Jujutsu world, you, a sorcerer who had been introduced to this world more conventionally, had absolutely nothing in your armory to counter the veritable force of nature that this man was.

You argued, constantly. He forced you to acknowledge the hideous insufficiencies and injustices in the system you worked for, at the most inconvenient of times.

Your patience was a finely tuned machine. You had perfected your ability to debate and discuss the ethics and morality of Jujutsu sorcerer activity, both legal and illegal, over a number of years.

But Higuruma Hiromi had driven you to drink. One evening, sat at home, deeper into a bottle of wine than you had anticipated, you received two messages in quick succession; one, from Yaga ("Mission with Higuruma tomorrow. Details to be sent over by Ijichi") and the other, from Higuruma ("I look forward to continuing our discussion tomorrow"), and you groaned, sinking the rest of your wine, and hoping it was enough to get you through the chaos of Higuruma's mind.

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"So," you started, approaching the subway with Higuruma, "lots of late-night civilian disappearances on this one line," you pointed to your map, "and two Second-Grade sorcerers have already disappeared in separate incidents. What does this tell you?"

Higuruma was silent, musing as he tapped his gavel lightly against his hip. Reaching his conclusion, he turned to you with a wry smile: "That your higher-ups knew, by the first Second-Grade's death, that a Second-Grade wasn't strong enough, but sent another Second-Grade anyway."

You sighed, deep and weary, "While that's probably true, we don't know they're dead--"

"Well they're not playing Scrabble, are they--"

"--and that's not the answer I'm looking for--"

"Well, I'm not here to be charitable, or unrealistic."

"Oh, are you here to be insufferable?"

Higuruma half-laughed, "Preferably. God forbid I should be sufferable--"

You swiped his gavel from his hand, and tapped him sharply on the forehead, "Higuruma. Please. I'm begging you," you clasped your hands for dramatic effect as he assessed you, a sardonic half-smile in his hooded eyes, "the quicker you play the game, the quicker you and I can go our separate ways and you can just go out and do this by yourself."

Higuruma's lip curled up in bitter distaste. He wiggled one finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it with an irritated twist of his neck. "I'll reiterate," he said, considered and flat, "that my joining the Jujutsu sorcerer's established hierarchy is a Hobson's Choice."

"If I want to go about making some positive changes to this cesspit," he spat, "I have to prove myself trustworthy in their eyes, and atone for my crimes by playing their game." Higuruma approached you, his chin tilted down as he looked through you, with sombre eyes.

"And the sad thing is," he said softly, now inches from you as you burned under his scrutiny, "you've been playing their game for so many years, you've convinced yourself that the rules are fair."

You swallowed, meeting his gaze; your agreement with him passed as an unspoken pact, but you were, as of yet, unable to betray your established part in this system with words. Higuruma nodded, slowly, understanding.

"So I'll inconvenience you as little as possible," he reassured, "and try to be a good boy today." You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, counting to ten. Opening your eyes, you caught up to Higuruma, who was already halfway down the empty subway steps.

"Please don't go ahead without me," you pressed, "I know you're not completely inexperienced, but fighting Curses is much more nuanced than fighting Curse-users."

"But they're brainless, right? By all means they're probably easier." You tilted your hand from side to side.

"They fight on instinct. We can be guilty of overthinking something that's primal for them. I'd never assume I can out-think evolution."

Higuruma hummed, satisfied with your answer. You were relieved to have averted another argument. Reaching the bottom of the steps together, your shadows were short in the low eerie glow of the empty subway system.

"So the victims got on a train, but never got off it," Higuruma confirmed with you.

"But it hasn't been the same train every time, so it seems to--"

"--pick a host. Right. And you've asked the station master to keep to the same train schedule tonight?"

"Mhm. No people around though."

"So, we could always just get on trains until we're attacked."

"That is completely reckless, and I won't--"

Higuruma breezed away down the corridor, his slim suited figure sloping away so lackadaisically that you felt annoyance bubble up in your throat.

"You don't have to come," he called back, relaxed and confident, "I've got this covered." You ran after him, grabbing his upper arm. He stopped, annoyed and impatient.

"Just...trust me," Higuruma urged, "try something new. You may be pleasantly surprised." He gripped your hand, firmly breaking your grip as he stared you down.

"How can I trust you? I barely know you."

"Then why are you worried about me?" He taunted, heated and scathing, "Not really what you lot do, is it? Worry about each other?"

"Well I worry about you," you snapped, "I worry about you every day and every night since they tasked me with taking care of you." You swallowed, embarrassed by your outburst. Higuruma hesitated briefly, looking...touched? He spun round, his back to you now, tapping his gavel in irritation against his thigh.

"That settles it then," he said, convicted and grabbing you by the hand, "you've got to come with me. It would be cruel not to let you worry. Come along."

You were pulled through the dim corridors of the subway system by Higuruma Hiromi, protesting the whole way.

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"-- so stupid, you could have died--"

"-- but I didn't, and I'm fine, so stop worr--"

You slapped the wounded shoulder you were currently patching up for Higuruma, and he made a noise of protest as you scolded him, "Stop telling me to stop worrying," you cried, pressing gauze to his cuts, "because I've worked in this shitty system for years, so I know that if we don't worry about each other, nobody else will worry about us, and you have no regard for your own wellbeing--"

Higuruma's head snapped up, smiling, "So you agree," he pressed, excited by the new development, "that the higher-ups have no intention to safeguard any of you--"

"--I never disagreed with you, Higuruma. You just...missed the point. As usual."

Higuruma turned, unable to look you in the eye as you continued dabbing the back of his shoulder. His eyes beseeched you to continue, dark and quizzical.

You continued, your voice tight and upset, "Whether or not we fight back against the higher-ups, makes no difference. Almost every sorcerer in this wreck would go where they were sent anyway, because at least we have a chance of defending ourselves against the monsters out here."

You sighed, taping bandages down, Higuruma's bleeding now settled, "So that's what I decided to do. I expend my energy protecting the non-sorcerers because they're the weakest link in the equation. They can't defend themselves. It's the right thing to do. I'll fight the big fight on my days off."

Higuruma was quiet, allowing himself to be chastised. He rolled the gavel between his hands. He suddenly felt so exposed, shirtless in front of you, feeling every touch of your soft hands as they assessed his ribs, and he gulped, unusually unable to find the words to say.

"Do you, uh...do you want to grab a drink? After we're done here," he offered weakly, eager to spend time with you outside of these roles you were forced to play.

"No," you emphasised as he rubbed his nose, "you'd probably tell me my drink order was wrong." Higuruma sunk his face into his hands, laughing.

"I'm not that bad--"

"You are dreadful. I love the...the passion you have, but I'm just...I'm tired. I'd rather go home." Higuruma nodded, thoroughly shot-down, respecting your refusal.

Sloping home that night, insisting he'd prefer to walk over being dropped home by Nitta, Higuruma considered he may have been fighting the wrong person for weeks now. Torn between 'playing the game' to get out from under your feet as soon as possible, and resisting becoming part of another broken, unjust system, Higuruma found himself erring unusually on the side which benefitted you over anyone else.

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In the midst of battle, you found yourself separated from Higuruma, cold dread seeping into your belly as you realised there was nobody else here to save him from himself. Distracted, you took a major hit, thrown by some sordid thrashing beast down an old brick staircase.

You had largely protected your body in swathes of your own Cursed-energy, but still had the breath forced out of your lungs as you had hit the wall below. The Curse, enormous and puce-coloured, roared down the stairs after you.

Trying to stand on a dice roll, your numbers came up short and you stumbled, heart lurching into your mouth.

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You and Higuruma had been assigned to clear out a growing populace of curses in an abandoned block of flats. Trying to talk to him, to plan tactics and methodology, Higuruma had seemed quietly indifferent towards you on the journey there. Refusing to engage with you on any serious level, he seemed almost bored of you, staring impassively out of the window throughout.

You tried not to be hurt, reminding yourself you were here to assess whether or not Higuruma was safe to act independently as a sorcerer. After his series of murders in the Culling Games and before, he was offered two choices: work for Jujutsu High, or refuse and face being hunted down and executed. But, he was an adult, and his safety was ultimately not your jurisdiction if he refused to take your advice.

And yet...the thought of his death by any means filled you with a sickly dread.

Because in reality, Higuruma represented the idealism, the ethical standards that working within a broken system had steadily stamped out of you. Your anger towards him was a projection of your own shame at having fallen into line when you wanted nothing more than to rebel, to protect the weak, including your own colleagues, despite the resistance.

Even worse, Higuruma saw this, and his disappointment in you only deepened your shame. You were meant to be 'helping him' to adapt to your world, and you felt sick to your stomach as you tried to contaminate this man. You felt sicker still as you felt yourself creep closer and closer to his way of thinking, wondering if you fit in this world anymore.

You couldn't tell him how deeply you admired him for being everything you had fallen so far from.

After efforts to interact had fallen flat, you sat beside each other in stony silence. Still, you felt, despite his feigned indifference, anger poured off him, not cold, but white hot.

"What have I...what have I done?" you asked, afraid of the answer.

Higuruma looked at you, eyes still glowing like little coals in his impassive face; "What have you done?" he retaliated. You sighed, a short breath out of your nose.

"...you're not ready to be sent out alone yet. You're reckless and you've got by on luck so far, but--"

"--so you saw fit to carry on this babysitting charade by telling the higher-ups that I'm a danger to myself and others around me." Higuruma scowled at you, not trying to conceal his fury anymore. You blushed, feeling the shame twist in your throat.

"...you...assume you're going to come out on top in every fight, so you don't assess the danger before you jump in, and it's just a matter of time before-- before you--" You reached out to take his hand, desperate to communicate your fear for him in a way he would understand. Higuruma moved to pull his hand away and you held on harder.

"I just...couldn't stand to see you die some pointless death," you urged, "I need-- we need men like you." Higuruma appeared unmoved, silently allowing you to squeeze his hand. Eventually, his long fingers slowly closed around yours.

"I don't think anyone's cared about me this much in years," he replied, as lightly as if he were talking about the weather.

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Brickwork and rubble clouded your vision as the floor rumbled beneath your feet, the Curse blown sideways, shunted by a comedically large gavel. You felt a taut-muscled arm loop around your waist, yanking you to stand-- "get up, come on-- NOW!" -- and you half-ran, half-staggered through a devastated corridor. Your heart sank as you spotted the staircases downward completely collapsed, leaving you both stranded on the fifth floor.

Higuruma appeared, dusty and spitting, wiping residue out of his eyes and slamming his hand to a button on the wall. In a wild flurry, the Curse turned the corner, screeching and hissing, and with a *ping* the lift doors opened. Not looking back at you, Higuruma shoved you into the open lift, slamming his hand on the button again for the doors to close.

"No-- Higuruma! Hiromi!" You skidded across the lift on grazed knees, wedging your arm between the doors with a yell as they closed around it. The lift didn't move down, and you heard Higuruma's incoherent shout of rage at you as you forced the doors open, reaching out for him and dragging him in by the back of his collar, and hammering the 'close doors' button repeatedly as the Curse, still dazed and staggered, made its headlong rush towards you.

As you fell into the lift with Higuruma, you felt a hand press behind your head, its fine bones crunching as it cushioned your head's strike against the wall. You sat, slumped, Higuruma's body over yours in a protective cage, as the doors slid closed, denting inwards as the Curse hit them with a metallic thud, and a roar.

Silence. Higuruma, silent and seething, reached behind him to press another button. The lift started a smooth descent downwards.

"I had it," he spat, lips curled upwards, nose wrinkled in animated fury, "and you stopped me-- for what? Why?"

You gulped, coughing brick dust out of your lungs as you croaked, "You were lunch. You were that close to being killed--"

"--do you really think I'm that inept--"

"--you're not inept, just inexperienced--"

"I'm not a fucking child!" Higuruma's voice rang, deep and final, around the lift. The lift pinged as you reached the bottom floor. You sighed again, pushing him away from you as you stood, moving towards the doors.

"We'll regroup and consider our plan of--" A wiry arm blocked your path, holding down the 'close doors' button.

"We are not finished," Higuruma pressed, enunciating every syllable with gritted teeth. You rested your hand on his forearm, gentle and weary.

"I am. I'm finished." Higuruma stared at you incredulously, hackles still raised. You continued, "I can't coddle you anymore. You're a smart man, you're happy you know what you're doing. So I'm finished. I won't keep fighting you for your own life, Hiromi."

Hiromi deflated slowly, unable to fight without an opponent. His lip still curled, he refused to move his arm from blocking the door, looking away from you as his fury simmered low.

"I'll clear you with the higher ups. Do what you want to finish up here. I'm done." Still, Hiromi didn't let you go, silent as your hand stayed tenderly on his forearm. A few heartbeats passed between you.

"The thing is, Hiromi...you've already lost the fight when you think the result is the most important thing. Being willing to put yourself forward to defend people, going through that fight for them...that's the really noble thing. Any idiot can win a fight. It takes guts to stand up and decide to fight in the first place."

Reaching past Hiromi to press the 'open doors' button, the lift flooded with daylight, muted by the external veil. Hiromi's arm dropped, beaten. As you moved to step past him, his fingers gently tangled in yours, your hands ghosting together between your bodies.

"Can I...can I buy you a drink? To thank you." You swallowed, throat thick with conflicting emotion. You hesitated, then nodded. Hiromi smiled down at you, something unreadably tender in his eyes.

He leaned slowly down, and pressed a soft-lipped kiss to your forehead; "thank you."

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You didn't get to go out for that drink. After giving the higher-ups your approval for Higuruma to be released, he was thrown headlong into mission after mission.

You sent him occasional texts, and he messaged back, usually dry witty commentaries on the jobs he'd been given. You found yourself missing him, feeling little golden bubbles of joy when your phone pinged, his name on the screen.

It had been a week since your disastrous argument in the lift. You still felt guilty for having abandoned him, still not feeling he was ready, but knowing he had to find his own footing at this point.

Late one evening, you dried your hair with a towel, padding around your apartment in just your underwear as you got ready for bed. You jumped and squeaked with alarm as someone hammered on your door. Grabbing an oversized t-shirt from a pile of laundry, you pulled it on over your head. Approaching the door, cautious, you were alarmed to feel--

"...Hiromi?"

Hiromi leaned against your doorframe, his head on his forearm, and he looked at you with feverish eyes, panting, apparently in pain. His dishevelled suit, and a blossoming bruise beneath his right eye placed him as a man fresh from a mission.

Without hesitation, you gripped Hiromi by the hand and pulled him into your apartment, closing and locking the door. Immediately your hands grasped his cheeks, looking deeply into his eyes, a look of such sweet concern on your face that he gulped, overwhelmed, desperate.

"What happened? Why are you here? You should get to Shoko--"

"I don't want Shoko," he spat, chest heaving as he turned away again, pressing his forehead to his fist against the door, "I want...I want you." You blushed, pleased he had come to you for help, but your medical knowledge was limited.

"What happened?" You asked again, hands cautiously ghosting over his abdomen, checking for injuries.

Hiromi groaned, low and slow, as he burned from the inside out. Your touch shot through him like a thousand arrows. His fingers seared his skin as he fumbled, trying to undo his own tie, and you took pity, reaching round him, your small hands cool against his neck as you removed his tie for him. You felt him tremble against you.

As his collar opened, you spotted a narrow, inch-long dart in his neck, like a cactus prickle. Curious, you plucked it out and dropped it onto the sideboard near the door. Is he poisoned? You questioned yourself in a panic, and you grasped him by the cheeks again, looking deeply into his eyes, terrified you'd watch the life ebb out of him, unable to do anything.

"What do you...what are you feeling?" You took him by the hand, guiding him to your sofa and forcing him to sit as you stood in front of him. His sloped eyes were narrow, taking in your barely-covered legs, the barely-concealed nubs of your nipples beneath the t-shirt fabric. Hiromi reached out with a shaking hand, grazing his fingers up your calf and your breath hitched.

"...Hiromi?" His hooded eyes flicked up to yours as his fingers stayed on your calf. Oh, you looked so uncertain, so concerned for him, and it was...delicious.

"It hurts," Hiromi croaked, "I need-- I-- I need--" His throat was tight, and you took him in, how desperate he looked, how needy, and the realisation clicked into place.

"You need...me?" Hiromi shuddered, recalling how he'd walked directly into an obvious trap while hunting down this godforsaken Curse, not taking in his surroundings, stubborn and certain in his ability to prevail--

"I'm sorry," he whimpered, cock throbbing, trapped against his thigh, his whole body burning from the inside out, "I was wrong."

"Oh, so you do know how to flirt," you teased and he huffed out a laugh, groaning again, in agony, and he begged, shameless, his head leant forward to press against your tummy as his hands crept up, eager to grasp your hips and pull you straight to his mouth.

"Please...please--" he whined, and you shivered feeling his hot breath on your belly through the fabric of your t-shirt, tangling your hands into his hair. Hiromi trembled, letting out a sandy growl against your clothes.

"Don't stop me, please," he urged, "I can't...I can't stop myself." He flipped your t-shirt up and you gasped, his strong hands sinking into the plush of your hips, holding you to his mouth, his tongue tasting you as he swiped open-mouthed kisses just above your underwear.

You felt sweet pleasure throb between your legs, all good sense thrown out of the window as you felt how deeply you had missed Hiromi, how ridiculously grateful you felt to be needed by him in this way, and you breathed to him, "You know I'd always help you."

Hiromi moaned his appreciation, his mouth now slipping down to the front of your underwear, and his tongue traced the shape of your pussy, groaning at the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. Your knees buckled, weak with the feeling of his mouth against you.

His lean arms hooked around the back of your knees, lifting them over his shoulders as he leaned you back against him. You cried out, when leaning forwards to grasp the back of the sofa, your clothed pussy pressed firmly against Hiromi's face.

You blushed as he breathed you in, his hips bucking instinctively upwards, aching to be inside you, cum heavy in his balls and desperate for release. His teeth grazed your pussy through your underwear, and he nuzzled into you, trying to part your folds with his nose through the fabric. Impatient, and feeling your hand sink into his hair again, he used two fingers to swipe your underwear aside, sinking his tongue instantly between your folds.

You whined so beautifully above him, and he undid his trousers, pulling his cock out of his trousers, gripping it tightly as he rubbed his nose and tongue urgently between your soft lips. Hiromi began to stroke himself furiously, squeezing hard at the tip, pre-cum dripping down his fist, shivering at the pleasure.

You allowed Hiromi to use you, your keening voice rising as he latched onto your clit, sinking two fingers into your pussy with no warning, thrusting them roughly into you. You bucked your hips against his face as he whimpered his approval. You blushed as you heard the frantic plaps of Hiromi pleasuring himself, your brain foggy with bliss.

Hiromi's fingers bullied into you, desperate to study you, imagining how deliciously his cock would stretch those plush walls. The constant pressure of his fingers against your cervix and his desperately nuzzling tongue and nose between your folds had you reeling, humping his face as you trembled and shook, Hiromi encouraging it as you approached your orgasm.

Your pleasure peaked, sharp and sweet, and Hiromi held you tightly to his face, still determined to taste you, drawing your orgasm out until you quivered, overstimulated, feeling your heart pulse between your legs. As Hiromi shook from his own orgasm, but not at all relieved and panting, cum dribbling down the front of his shirt, he dropped you into his lap.

You gripped the front of his shirt, his cum sticky against your belly. His hand tangled into your hair as he crushed his lips to yours with bruising force, forcing you to taste him. Nipping your bottom lip between his teeth, he whispered, begging again.

"Inside you...please, please..." You nodded again, and Hiromi threw your shirt off over your head, leaning back to drink you in; panting, trembling, straddling his lap, what the fuck was he playing at by fighting with you for so long--

Your hands worked nimbly at the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning and pressing it down his arms and you leaned forwards, almost as hungry as him as you took his nipple into your mouth. Hiromi hissed with delight, kicking off his trousers, shoes and socks and rocking your hips against him.

Hiromi grasped your hands, pressing one to his cheek, and one to his chest, forcing you to lean forwards as you shamelessly cast your eyes up and down his lean body, his muscles twitching with the electricity of your core on his aching cock. His teeth scraped against the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, your shivers like a sedative to him.

His eyes burned into yours, hot and pleading in the dark. His body was a furnace against yours, desperately craving a cure for the agony he was in. You lifted one leg off him, intending to stand to remove your underwear, but stopped as Hiromi all but sobbed against your wrist at the sudden loss of pressure on his cock, throbbing and sticky with cum against the neat, black hair on his belly. His fine-boned hands pressed you hard against him, before methodically tearing the sides of your underwear, flinging the scrap of fabric to the side.

When you grasped his aching cock, Hiromi was almost blinded by the anticipation, his hands flinging out sideways to grip the fabric of the sofa, and he panted, whimpering and pleading as you rubbed the angry red head of his cock between your folds, gathering wetness.

When you sank slowly down onto him, crying out as your walls fluttered around him like wet velvet, Hiromi came again with  a shout, faint with bliss and temporary relief, feeling his own seed drip out of you and onto his thighs. He growled in frustration when, after his cock had stopped twitching inside you, he felt the need to cum again build up within his belly, overwhelming him with an almost violent urge to pursue it.

"...Hiromi? Do you...is this...?" You rode him slowly as he twisted in pleasure and anguish beneath you. Reaching up to grasp your breasts like stress-balls, Hiromi shook his head desperately at you, feeling pathetic and helpless. He was corseted by his intense need to not hurt you. You leaned into him, whispering reassurance and soft nothings in his ear.

Hiromi couldn't take it anymore. Standing up, holding himself inside you and locking your ankles behind his hips, he flipped you over, crushing your thighs to your chest. Grasping the back of the sofa, Hiromi snapped his hips against yours with determined precision, his shoulders tight and mouth slack as with every thrust he felt the urge to push harder, deeper, to empty himself inside you again and again, until you were putty in his hands, until he had cleansed himself of this unscratchable itch.

You clawed for purchase on anything as you were pounded into the sofa, drunk on the sensation of being so full, your insides feeling thrillingly bruised, the tenderness building, slow and intense. Reaching up, you plaited your fingers in Hiromi's at the top of the sofa, and he leaned down, nipping and kissing your knuckles in grateful affection.

The air was filled with the wet slaps of your joint bodies, and Hiromi's constant soft whimpers as you came again, this orgasm burning through your body as you hiccuped, tears streaming into your hair.

"Please please please...please, please," Hiromi begged as his next orgasm surged ruinously through him, dropping him to his knees on the edge of the sofa. Hiromi felt his senses return to him with each pulse of cum that left his body, relieved...for now.

Weak, exhausted, Hiromi flopped onto you, wrapping your arms and legs around him in a full-body embrace, suddenly feeling so touch-starved. Hiromi almost wept his thanks into your hair, and you stroked his hair in soft circles with your nails, all reassurance and acceptance.

By the time you had made it to your bedroom and slipped, sticky and spent, between the soft covers, Hiromi's eyes had returned to you, hungry and burning, his fingers stroking through your folds, fascinated by the drips of his seed still leaking out of you. He had flipped you over and pinned you prone to the mattress, sinking into you and moaning your praises as you had clenched, trembling with overstimulation, sucking his cock into your aching body.

Throughout the night, his relief had waned, with longer and longer gaps between him seeking out the warm acceptance of your body. You would wake to his body flush against yours, Hiromi lifting your leg over his hip as he sunk into you, mewling and panting in the night.

Finally, you had woken with sunlight streaming through the windows, Hiromi draped around you, looking soft and exhausted as he slept; Hiromi woke to the smell of coffee and you, very much ready to be cared for...and, occasionally, argued with.

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Ugh, yes. Debate me, lawyer daddy.

[fanficrocks]

Touch my heart

For @chrumblr-whumblr: May whump challenge #17 - Touch starved

Fandom: Lewis (ITV)

Length: ~3k words

Also posted to AO3

DI Robbie Lewis was clearing his desk on the evening of Good Friday in no great mood and with few plans for the weekend. Part of him was happy for his sergeant DS James Hathaway, a practising Catholic who would hopefully appreciate being able to attend the Easter service at church without worrying about a callout. For himself, Easter meant very little since his kids had grown too old for the egg hunt; and religion in general meant nothing at all since his wife’s tragic death some seven years ago. Indeed, the prospect of a full weekend off-rota held little appeal.

Just then, James returned to the office with the ballistics report they had been waiting for, the final nail in the coffin for the case they had cleared two days ago. As he added it to the file for CPS and brought the whole across to his boss, Robbie gave in to impulse.

“So, what are your plans for the weekend? Aside from church on Easter morning?”

“The band I play in - we have a gig in Reading tomorrow night for the local diocese. A bit different from what we normally play, so we are meeting for lunch and spending the afternoon rehearsing.”

“And Sunday, after church?”

“Nothing definite. Why?”

“Do you fancy takeaway at mine? There is a fine single malt calling our names, and you can break in the new sofa bed. Come a bit early if you like and we can watch more than one DVD from that boxset you brought last time.”

Despite the seemingly casual invitation, Robbie found himself holding his breath. It had been well over a month since James had joined him for a meal at his, and even their after-work pints had taken on a different flavour… almost as though he was showing up out of habit or duty, and not because he wanted to. Which was a puzzle, because they had settled into a nice pattern over the past couple of years - ever since the Phoenix case had rattled their equilibrium so badly. 

Even worse in Robbie’s opinion, James seemed to have been distancing himself at work too. Not in a way that would be obvious to anyone else - their usual repartee in quip and counterquip continued unabated, and not even such sharp observers as Dr. Laura Hobson or DCS Innocent had noticed anything. But he had - the difference was subtle but definite, and he found himself missing all the causal touches that punctuated their days… a hand on the back to indicate who should go through a doorway first, a friendly bump of the shoulder when walking down a narrow pavement, or a touch on the forearm to quietly draw attention to a clue. James and he had never had much sense of personal space around each other except when seriously at odds; and despite the tensions during the Crevecoeur case during the winter, he thought they had hit their stride once again. If anything, James had grown closer and more trusting since then - particularly once Robbie had made it clear that he was not going to push for any explanations regarding James’ childhood when his father was employed on that estate. Or so it had seemed, until the changes of the last weeks. 

To his surprise and relief, James looked happy - nay, delighted - at the invitation. His face broke into an all-too-rare sincere smile which seemed blinding in its intensity as he rushed to accept, with the stipulation that he would bring dessert. As they turned to walk in step down to the car park, Robbie felt something right itself despite the couple of feet of distance James continued to maintain between them. And found himself looking forward to the weekend after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

By Sunday afternoon, Robbie was basking in a pleasant sense of achievement - all the chores he had postponed for weeks as they had hit a string of complex cases were finally done, and he had taken advantage of the good weather to get a start on the little back garden that came with his flat. And he now had a pleasant evening to look forward to with his best mate. On the thought, he decided to text James to check what time he would be coming over, since they had not really decided what “early” meant. Text sent and cuppa in hand, he went back into the garden to continue planning what he would get to the next time he had a free day or two, and to wonder whether James might be game to join him.

Almost an hour later, there was no answer to his text, nor when he tried calling James. Robbie left messages on both his mobile and his home phone, and willed himself to wait a further half hour - maybe the lad was showering. But once his self-imposed interval had elapsed with no response from James, he could not wait any longer. Grabbing his car keys, he drove over to James’ flat, barely keeping within the posted speed limit on the thankfully empty roads. Once there, it was the work of a moment to check that James’ car was in its accustomed spot before letting himself in using the spare key he had been given a couple of years ago now. 

Stepping into James’ apartment, Robbie was brought up short by the unaccustomed clutter visible from the hall. Not that he had been here all that often, but after four years of sharing an office with James, he knew that the other man was always neat and systematic in everything he did. And he would never have left his beloved Gibson lying on the floor in the hallway! 

Increasingly worried about what he would find, Robbie walked further into the flat, calling out to James as he went. The silence that met him was distinctly unnerving, particularly as he knew that James should be at home. Until he entered the bedroom to find a fully clothed lanky frame collapsed on the bed, sweating and shivering simultaneously, while evidently too exhausted to have removed even his belt and shoes.

With a startled exclamation, Robbie made his way to the bedside. It did not take long to realise what was wrong - James had obviously come down with the flu that had been making the rounds of the nick for the past couple of weeks, and between fever and incipient dehydration, was in no shape to respond to the phone or indeed even to Robbie’s voice. And knowing him as Robbie did, it was likely the daft sod had been feeling poorly for a few days and ignoring it. Deciding that the recriminations could wait until James was better, he set to work getting the younger man comfortably into bed before attempting to get some fluids and paracetamol into him.

As he struggled with an utterly uncoordinated and floppy six-foot-three-inch sergeant, Robbie remembered just why nurses have to be so strong. By the time he got James changed into his pyjamas (old track bottoms and a threadbare T-shirt that surely could not have survived from his Cambridge days?) and manoeuvred him properly into bed, it was evident that this was just the start of a long evening and night. The lad’s temperature seemed to be steadily climbing, and while not yet obviously uncooperative, he was not exactly easy to coax into doing the needful - not making any sense when he talked, but nonetheless managing to convey his displeasure in increasingly inventive mumbles. Fortunately, James still seemed to recognise his touch and responded well enough to that, even if he seemed to be trying to burrow into Robbie for comfort. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Robbie realised he would have to call Innocent and request a sick day (or several) for James. While in no immediate danger or need of further medical attention, the lad was obviously unwell and would need time to recover. But the trickier thing would be to convince Innocent to give Robbie the next day off too… given how James was just now, there seemed to be no other option. He could barely go to the kitchen to fetch him something to drink, or to the bathroom to refresh the wet flannel to cool his brow, without triggering intense anxiety on James’ part. Indeed, he only seemed to calm down and rest if Robbie was holding his hand or stroking his hair… as though that touch was the only thing anchoring him. 

Not wanting to disturb James, who seemed to have finally dropped off into a doze, Robbie decided to text Innocent and hope for the best. His guardian angels must have been working overtime, for she responded almost immediately and, albeit grudgingly, granted him a day off with the proviso that he be available should an emergency arise. With a sigh of relief, Robbie put away his phone and turned back to his awkward sod, gently freeing his left hand from the deathgrip James had on it in favour of replacing the wet flannel with his right. To his surprise, James brought his own hand up in a more coordinated movement than any he had essayed so far and pressed it over Robbie’s, as if to tighten the contact before relaxing back into sleep. 

It was an hour before James woke up, seemingly more compos mentis this time, and uncomplainingly cooperative when Robbie encouraged him to drink some orange juice. After helping him to the bathroom and changing the damp sheets in the interim, Robbie got him resettled in bed with a fresh cold flannel and water within easy reach.

“Lad, will you be alright on your own for a little while? You don’t have much in the fridge by way of fluids, so I will make a quick visit to the shops.” 

“Of course, Sir. And thank you! I don’t know how… you really didn’t need to… ”

“Give over, man! You are not just my sergeant, you are my mate. Now, seeing it is Easter Sunday, your local shop might be closed, so don’t get worried if I have to drive to the nearest supermarket and it takes a bit longer.”

Prophetic words, as it turned out. Not only were the small local shops closed, so was the nearest supermarket. By the time Robbie located one that was open and stocked up on the items he thought they would need, it was well over an hour since he had left James. He sent a brief text to explain, then hurried back as quickly as he could given the suddenly heavy traffic due to people returning from their Easter weekend trips.

Putting away the supplies he had bought, Robbie entered James’ bedroom carrying a tray bearing a bowl of hot chicken soup, some fresh bread, and further supplies of juice and paracetamol to see his sergeant trying to get out of bed and swaying in the process. Quickly putting the tray down on the dresser, he reached out to James, grasping his shoulders to steady him… only for James to turn into his body and cling desperately. Although wracked by fever and weakness, he was gripping Robbie as though for dear life. And no power on earth could stop him then from slipping his arms comfortingly around that shaking form.

“It’s alright, lad. I am here. What’s wrong?”

“You came back! You didn’t leave me!”

“Of course I came back, lad. I only went to get some supplies. Why did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Nobody does. All go away, never come back.”

“I am here, James. I won’t go away like that.”

“You did. When I lied to you. About Will and Feardocha and the others.”

“But I came back. I always do. As you know, lad.” 

Somehow, that seemed to get through to James, who allowed himself to be settled back against the piled pillows and accepted the soup Robbie was offering. He did not seem to know what to do with it, though, and simply sat there with a troubled stare as the soup cooled. With a sigh, Robbie sat down at the edge of the bed and lightly cuffed him on the arm.

“The soup won’t drink itself, you know. Come on now, a few spoonfuls won’t hurt you. And the bread will settle your tummy - let you alternate ibuprofen with the paracetamol to break the fever sooner.”

“What about you?”

“I will have mine after you finish.”

“You won’t go away?”

“No, daft lad. I won’t go away. I will bring my dinner here and sit in the armchair to have it if the smell of food won’t bother you.” 

Satisfied, James settled back and proceeded to eat. The soup and bread felt just right, as did Robbie’s solid presence by his side. A few minutes later, as he mopped up the last of the soup and accepted the tablets Robbie offered, he felt sufficiently restored to feel for the glasses on his bedside table and perch them on his nose before reaching for the book lying open there. A soft chuckle from Robbie made him look up then.

“What?”

“Only you would pick up a book with such small print when scarcely able to hold your head upright.”

“It’s just that I don’t want to fall asleep again right away. Not until I make sure you have eaten too.”

“That so? Why don’t we chat a bit then? So long as it won’t hurt your throat.”

“My throat is surprisingly clear, though I can’t say the same about my head. What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing particular. You choose. Just no more flipping elves.”

That set James off laughing, though he had to stop soon enough as his exhausted body could handle only so much. Taking the laughter as a good sign, Robbie bore away the used tray and came back in with his sandwich and beer to settle down in the armchair after pulling it close enough for James to reach him if he so wanted. To his surprise, James took his hand unselfconsciously and initiated the conversation this time.

“I was really looking forward to our takeaway and DVD night, you know.”

“Glad to hear it. How about we do it once you are recovered?”

“You mean that?”

“Not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean! And I miss relaxing with you at the end of a case, or even just because. You do know that you are welcome any time, don’t you?”

James turned an interesting shade of pink at this, and nodded as a shy - almost incredulous - smile played around his lips. Robbie returned to his sandwich, wondering what new complications the daft lad’s overactive brain was cooking up now, and how he might need to handle them. 

“I just wanted to say, Sir, I really appreciate it. The acceptance and friendship you extend to me… I have never… just, thank you.”

“As I said, James, I consider you a friend. My best mate, really. So you have nothing to thank me for. You would do as much if the situation was reversed.”

“Hmmm. Still, I have never had anyone to do this for me. It… takes a bit of getting used to.”

Robbie found himself swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat at this admission. Taking a moment to compose himself, for James would shut down immediately if his reaction had even the faintest whiff of pity, he looked up and met his friend’s eyes openly, allowing his understanding to colour his gaze.

“Sometimes, we get lucky with our families. Other times, it takes longer and we have to find our clan.”

“Was that why you moved so far from home?”

“No - I was one of the lucky ones. We were almost frighteningly poor when I was growing up, but there was plenty of love to go around. It was the miners strikes in ‘84 that drove me south… wasn’t easy being a copper when many among my family and mates were working in the mines. The tensions ran too high just then, so it made sense to move here closer to Val’s folks.”

“I didn’t realise. That must have been hard.”

“Aye, especially at first. But it got easier with time, like almost everything does. Now, how about a cuppa before you get some sleep? I saw you have some non-caf herbal teas. Ginger-lemon sound OK?.”

At James’ nod, he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and clear away the detritus of dinner, such as it was, while waiting for the tea to steep. Re-entering the bedroom a few minutes later, he found James trying valiantly to keep his eyelids open and not slide down into a fully recumbent position. Realising the younger man’s struggle, Robbie sat down beside him and slipped a supportive arm beneath his shoulders while holding his other hand ready to steady the cup in case of need. James relaxed against his side as he slowly sipped the tea as though the simple act of raising and lowering the cup required all his concentration.

Tea drunk, he sank back against his pillows, still pressed against Robbie’s side as though loath to give up the contact. Once James was deeply asleep, Robbie settled him comfortably then rose to retreat to the armchair, only for a long-fingered hand to clutch his own tightly. 

“Don’t go away.”

“I am not, lad. I will be right here - in the armchair.”

“No. Too far. Don’t go.”

“Alright. I am right here - you hold on to my hand.”

That seemed to do the trick as James drifted off again. Robbie sat there gently stroking the hand he was holding and hoping that would soothe the nervous twitches and jerks… it was as though James could not fully relax even in his sleep, and he wondered what else was in store until the fever broke properly.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, he looked up into James’ wide-open eyes. Their gaze was unfocused and for a moment, he was concerned that the lad was delirious, when he spoke in a dreamy tone.

“You are still here.”

“Course I am. Promised you, didn’t I?”

“And you always keep your promises.”

“I do. Or at least, I try my best to.”

“Something I need to learn from you. But I am doing better at it - I gave up touching you as my Lenten sacrifice, and I did not break that vow.” 

“Why lad? Does it bother you when I touch you? You should have said… I guess I have been used to having someone around, and transferred that to you as we became friends.”

“Bother me? No, it is exactly the opposite.”

As James dropped back into sleep, a number of things suddenly made sense to Robbie. Lent - and in the spirit of sacrificing something important to him, James had determined to give up the casual touches the two of them so frequently shared. So that was the reason for the distance he had sensed between them over the past weeks. While it was a relief to know that he had not done anything to precipitate the distance, Robbie knew that when the right time came, he would need to talk to James about being sensible in his sacrifices. Life had taught him that being too alone could eat into a man’s soul, that we are not made to exist without human touch. That there is no shame in needing a caring presence and a warm hand to grasp. 

But those were matters for another day when James was recovered and hopefully willing to talk to him. For now, it was enough that his presence and his touch were helping James, and that the lad trusted him enough to let him in thus far. What he truly wanted from their friendship - that was something to discuss later. But one thing Robbie was determined on… whatever it was, he would be there for James to the best of his ability and with his whole heart.

[katarinas-redemption]

List of Redarina posts on the Redarina subreddit/ All content.(Posts, images, gifs, and videos, are mine). Feel free to use. Subreddit moderated by u/lyinginfieldsofgold. More posts coming soon.

*New* Troy and Aaron discuss The Blacklist (and other things) with Cape May writer Daniel Knauf. Raymond Reddington's identity is confirmed yet again. Knauf talks a little about writing the Cape May episode plus much more. Direct link in comments.

I know how far a parent will go to protect their child - Raymond Reddington.

Naomi Hyland - I don't even wanna know how you pulled that off.

Becoming Reddington - rassvet & nachalo katarina scene

Red shoots Tatiana Petrova aka Fakerina.

Red and Dom scenes - The Artax Network - S3E20

More Red and Dom scenes - (The Blacklist, Season 3, Episode 20, Artax Network)

Red enters the FBI building opening scene- short video

The show didn't say Red's identity out loud. Instead, they showed it. #Redarina | #konets | Season 8, Episode 22.

Redarina in Season 2. Orchard: The people and the events may have been there, but in different roles.

Redarina in Season 3 - Episode [3x19] Cape May. Reds Hobson's Choice mirrors Katarina's choice.

Requiem S4Ep17 Red: A trusted voice. A cool head. Undaunted initiative in a messy situation. All the things that you gave to Elizabeth’s mother.

Brainstorming Raymond Reddington's Fingerprints and DNA on this show.

When did Red's mother die? Lena Volkova aka Virginia Lopatin aka Virginia King.?

Redarina in Season 1 - "The way Sam told the story." S1E22

Jon Bokenkamp has always had the ending in mind.

Season 7- The Katarina Rostova aka Fakerina Arc

Red is a Parent. Not a third party. Some early S1-S4 dialogue.

Red: Elizabeth couldn’t sleep. Colicky. But more often than not, when she scrunched that bunny against her cheek, she was calm, quiet. 9X12.

Liz: And how should I look at this? Red: Like a criminal. May come easier than you think. Shall I show you?

Liz is Red's Daughter supporting scenes. (S1-S4).

Ep. 8.21 Nachalo finally explains the mystery of the Swan Lake Ballet performance. 2. Was Liz originally supposed to be Ballerina Girl?

Red: Your mother loved that photograph. Represented everything she wanted but couldn’t have. Not after she betrayed the KGB. After that, she was a hunted woman.

That – scar is a permanent reminder of – how the choices we made have affected your life forever.

S1E22 - Liz: Tom told me something right before he died. Red: What was that? Liz: “Your father’s alive.” James Spader: That was the intention with the line….that you could interpret it either way. That you could interpret it as being the truth or you could interpret it as being figurative.

Red is N13, Season 8, Neville Townsend scenes.

Cape May - Redarina "visual" parallel scenes. Part 1

Cape May - Redarina "visual" parallel scenes. Part 2

The Alchemist (No. 101). 👏👏👏 Episode highlights.

Blacklist staff confirm Redarina.

" Agnes, Elizabeth, and Raymond. This funny, little family who all share that laugh. " - Dembe Zum

8.05 The Fribourg Confidence - The Red and Abe parent parallel.

The focus is on Red's eyes.

Misdirect and Red Herrings. Abandoned by a father who was a career criminal. A mother who died of weakness and shame.

Redarina Subreddit

[normalaboutdntm]

Death Note the Musical @ NYCC2023: Album Listening Party

As described by Playbill: "A late-night listening party of the recently announced studio concept album will follow at 9 PM, with Valdes and John-Wilson joining along with host Louis Hobson and special guest Ashley Loren (Moulin Rouge! The Musical)."

I want to emphasize that the listening party happened almost 12 hours after the morning DNTM panel and on Day 3 of the con. People were exhausted, but so many people still made it a point to come check out the new album for a show that has never been performed in the US. I got there 40 minutes before the start time and there was already a sizable queue. Anyway, here's the deets (I don't have a full recording of this since my phone was about to die so this is just what I remember):

Louis Hobson, one of the producers in London and producer for the concept album, did trivia and gave away merch. He introduced the album sneak peeks with, "Some of these tracks just came to me today and we put them in the show today."

Frank Wildhorn was in Hawaii and couldn't make it, but he recorded a brief video to say hi. I saw it shared as an Instagram story later but I can't find it now so it's possible it didn't get preserved. Luckily I was still recording at this point :)

"Hey everybody, aloha, this is Frank Wildhorn, the composer of Death Note! I wanted to welcome you all to comic con and to this wonderful adventure that we are all on. For a few years ago [sic], when I was asked by my Japanese producers to do a musical of Death Note, I wasn't so into anime and the manga world, but my kids were, and my kids introduced me to the genre, and it's amazing - it's such great source material and of course it has the best fans in the world, you guys. I'm so happy and honored to have the chance to do this for you and i hope you enjoy the experience of comic con. Much love, aloha, arigato gozaimasu, ??? signing off."

Dean John-Wilson performed The Way Things Are:

Ashley Loren performed When Love Comes:

Joaquin Pedro Valdes did not perform due to being on vocal rest but we did get to watch his reaction to hearing the final cut of Where is the Justice? for the first time:

I don't remember all the tracks they showed us but I do know The Game Begins and Kira were two of them.

They had planned to do a cosplay contest, but it was immediately evident that @seximexipapi (IG) should win:

[ID: 1. DJW crouching and JPV standing in front of an elaborate, height-accurate Ryuk cosplay. JPV holds the Death Note in one hand and an apple in the other. 2. JPV holding a microphone to the Ryuk cosplayer, who has pushed up his mask.]

JPV made this video of him walking down the aisle with Ryuk. On the left side you can briefly see Yuzo Kajiyama, the original producer of the Japanese production, standing up and filming in his L cosplay:

They closed the night by announcing the official track list:

[ID: a presentation slide that has the Death Note the Musical logo of an apple on a notebook and says "Official Track List: Overture, Where is the Justice?, They're Only Human, Hurricane, Kira, Ready or Not, We All Need a Hero, The Game Begins, There Are Lines, Mortals and Fools, I'll Only Love You More, The Way Things Are, Honor Bound, Playing His Game, Borrowed Time, When Love Comes, The Way It Ends, Requiem." ]

It's odd that they "announced" this because the track list was previously released on WhatsOnStage.com at the same time the new album was announced; however the previous track list didn't have The Way It Ends on it so I'm glad they did. Not sure why Secrets and Lies and Stalemate were cut but I'm glad to finally be getting The Way Things Are in English.

OH and I remember at the very end Hobson vagueing about big news coming soon :)

[theoriginalmarke]

WEDNESDAY WORD OF THE DAY

Hobson-Jobson [hob-suhn-job-suhn] noun: the alteration of a word or phrase borrowed from another language to accord more closely with the phonological and lexical patterns of the borrowing language.

English buckaroo and cockroach are the results of Hobson-Jobson, coming from Spanish vaquero and cucaracha. The Malay word kampung, meaning village, became the English word compound.

I love etymology. I used to have bunches of books devoted to words. Remember when we still had books? 

Kitten’s mom has an appointment with Miracle Ear this morning. Her new hearing aids came in and they’ll make sure everything is working correctly. If they do their job they should make a huge difference for her. 

Less yelling at her, less frustration from her. Less pretending she heard what people said while nodding politely. Wait, that’s me. I’m the one who nods politely while pretending I heard you. Never mind. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have shit to do.

I love you baby. Two more days! MWAH!

Y’all have a great day.

[charlesandmartine]

Wednesday 1st February 2023

Wellington was not as windy as last time we were here. In fact quite calm. The well oiled machine spat into action to disgorge as many guests into town as had expressed an interest in doing so. A free shuttle awaited us alongside HMS Milton Keynes to convey us safely out of the dock area before we messed up their container stacking system.

We chose to alight at stop number 2 but traffic was heavy so we got out when we could in the centre of town. We made our way down to the waters edge and followed the map to the Te Papa Museum. We have visited this before but it is extremely good and confident that there was plenty more to see we entered the beautiful modern building that houses it.

Sir William Hobson was commissioned in 1841 to take the Waitangi agreement to all Maori chiefs to get them to sign the deal that Queen Victoria had sat up all night drawing up. Basically it mentioned land a lot and implied that the Maori peoples owned the freehold of all land, but from time to time she might want to wack a block of flats or two here and there. On the up side, a missionary and his son did literally sit up all night translating the document into Maori. On the down side, I don't expect many of them could read.

Of course pretty soon after this somebody spotted yellow rocks in the ground and soon they had a major gold rush on their hands and Maoris were first treated to chicken chop suey and prawn crackers.

The document, or rather a copy of it, is on display. The original is tucked away somewhere safe. Unfortunately before did so, it managed to get a bit wet and rats chewed a good deal of it. Otherwise, what's left is in the safe, quite safe.

Subsequent skirmishes occurred where various chiefs implied they hadn't read the small print too carefully.

A coffee beckoned and then we had to whizz off to bus stop number 2 to return to the ship. We really did not get long ashore and Captain was anxious to get going because he needs to make Sydney in 3 days time. So we sat at the blunt end again, watching New Zealand getting smaller, perhaps for the last time we will see it as the mist and rain began to descend.

Having eaten a really tasty curry at somewhat more than room temperature it was washed down, to clear the pallette, with an Australian Sauvignon Blanc! I should mention here that the bar had run out of New Zealand Sauv!!! I mean we have just left the place. Didn't anyone spot the stock was on the low side?? That would be a good time to get some in!!

We finished the evening in the 2/70 club deck 5, blunt end. They had playing a virtual R&B band which was very good. We virtually applauded them. The clocks go back one hour tonight as we leave NZ waters due west, once again on the Tasman Sea.

Missing, one small dog!

Job opportunity:

Replacement small dog required for light security/ border duties. Big fluffy ones need not apply. Must have accurate nose for sandwiches and pork chops. Excellent working conditions. Alas no working from home. No time wasters.

Yes it's official, the small dog has disappeared. He has not been seen at all.

[tachvintlogic]

The Lightning Conductor 1/28 entry commentary (this book has been great)

In which a crowd converges and the truth comes out!

THIS IS NOT A DRILL HOLY SHIT IT'S HAPPENING

MISS SYBIL BARROW TO HER SCHOOL FRIEND, MISS MINNIE HOBSON, OF EDGBASTON, BIRMINGHAM

Okay, these are the Barrows that Jack's mom wanted to set Jack up with. Hmmm...

That's what I mean when I say she wants a lot of living up to; and more than once in the last two months or so I'd have given my boots if Pa and I hadn't bound ourselves to travel about with her, but had gone off on our own, with a courier, like that handsome one I sent you the snapshot of with the Yankee girl at Blois.

So she doesn't much care for his mother, and she doesn't realize that "handsoem courier" is actually the real Jack Winston.

Well, I told you how vexed Lady B. was because "Jack," as she calls him, couldn't get to Cannes. He was always writing from different places and making excuses, till Pa said in his joking way, he'd bet that "Jack was up to some game of his own," and my lady didn't like that a little bit.

He certainly is. LOL

I was afraid there might be something in that joke of yours about his trying to keep out of my way, and I was bound he shouldn't think I was after him. There's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it for a girl who can bait her hook as I can.

So I'm not 100% sure what she's saying but it sounds like she's not really interested in him.

[A] telegram arrived for Lady B. She was in a twitter, and gave it to Pa to read, and say what he thought. It was sent from Naples by a perfect stranger to her, who signed his name James Van Wyck Payne

Oh dear.

This is going to be good! I'm on the edge of my seat!

I proposed showing it to Lady B., but she was frightfully upset already; and Mr. Payne said he didn't see that it would do any good to harrow up her feelings still more now, and perhaps if we did she wouldn't be able to undertake a journey.

Oh shitttttttttttttt...

He - Mr. Payne, I mean - had written from Rome to the girl's father in New York, that she was in the power of an abandoned ruffian, and the father had started off to the rescue the very day after receiving the letter.

Oh shit her father just barely keeps missing her and neither she or Jack realize it!

Mr. Payne said he was that kind of man; and if Lady B. would go on now by the next train to Taormina, everybody might confront the chauffeur and denounce him at once.

I cannot wait!!!!!

I was very much interested, of course, and naturally wanted to be in at the death, which Mr. Payne seemed quite pleased to have me do, for we had by this time made up great friends; we seemed so congenial in many ways, and he knows such quantities of swell people everywhere.

Girl I'm so sorry to say but that man is a true scoundrel.

Mr. Payne and I talked in low voices about people we knew. Sometimes I intimated I knew them, too, and others still more swell, for I didn't like to seem out of it; and luckily I'd read a great deal about them in the Society papers, so I was never at a loss.

Actually, maybe they are two peas in a pod. They can go on and talk about people they don't know like they knew them all day.

[I]t was decided that we should drive straight down to Sir Evelyn Haines', where probably the horrible chauffeur was audaciously passing himself off as the Honourable Jack Winston, whom Sir Evelyn had never met.

He's not just passing himself off as the Honourable Jack Winston :-)

She stood looking perfectly dazed, as he told her how it was now proved beyond a doubt that her chauffeur, of whom she thought so highly, was a fraudulent villain, a thief, and, it was to be feared, even worse.

Oh no!!! :0

"There's Dad!" and at the same moment she ran ahead of us, across the grass to where a tall, big man with short, curly grey hair and a smooth-shaven face stood under a tree talking to another man whose back - which was turned to us - looked a tiny bit familiar

>:D

This is going to be so gooooooooooood

"Jack!" cried Lady B. And then it was our turn to be surprised. We supposed at first that she'd gone mad; but, my dear girl, it was true. The murderous chauffeur was the Honourable Jack!

>:D

*evil cackling*

But the big man answered, in a slow, drawling way, as if he were just ready to laugh, "Well, I guess I won't do much. Mr. Winston and I met here accidentally, and talked to each other awhile before either of us knew who the other was; and when we did know, why, he was able to give me a pretty satisfactory explanation. I guess there's nothing much that's wrong; and I hope Mr. Winston will introduce me to his mother."

Well I'm glad that Jack and Molly's dad got along well!

By-and-by Mr. Payne joined us, poor fellow, and I did what I could to console him, telling him that was always the way in this world, with the well-meaning, unselfish people.

I'm just this is a pair the spares situation. I wish them luck lying about knowing people.

But these American girls think such a lot of themselves, that they don't like being played with; and judging by the look on her face this afternoon when she heard the truth, she was hurt and angry all the way down to the quick. [...] I must say, in my opinion, it would serve him right if she did.

Yeah Jack you really didn't need to lie to her like that. Imagine how much easier this whole thing could've been if you just offered to accompany her as yourself?

MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HERSELF

Well, considering her father is here, she doesn't need to address her letters to him anymore.

When Jimmy Payne suddenly hurled himself at me out of a cab [...] and exploded into fireworks calculated to blow my poor Lightning Conductor into fragments, I threw cold water on his Roman candles and rockets.

Ha!!

It was almost as difficult to believe at first that he had tricked me by pretending to be Brown, when he was really Mr. Winston, as it would have been to believe Jimmy Payne's penny-dreadful stories.

I imagine it was.

Women are supposed to have no abstract sense of justice, but I thought my girl was different.

Mr. Randolph, your daughter just found out she's been lied to and made a fool of for months. She's allowed to be angry. SMH

Naturally, as it was the only thing to be said, his lips asked the same question his eyes had asked before. "Can you forgive me?"

Damn, Jack is more perspective how much he screwed up than the dad is. "Can you forgive me?" not even a "Will you forgive me?" or "May I have your forgiveness" but he asks if forgiveness is even possible.

"I fancied it was myself; but I didn't mind that, or anything else which gave me a chance of being near you, even under false pretences. It is for deceiving you that I ask to be forgiven. I lived a good many lies as Brown, but honestly, I believe I never told one."

Dude, you're not doing yourself any favors. You most certainly did tell lies.

I couldn't say another word, for thinking of Brown being in love with me, and there being no reason why I shouldn't let myself love him too - except, of course, one's self-respect after all that had happened.

This is a romantic comedy. :)

"No - I don't think I could have done that. I- I depended on Brown so much. I used- to wonder how I should ever get on without him." "Don't get on without him. I'll be your chauffeur all my days, if those are the only terms on which you'll take me back. But are there no other terms? What I want is-" "What?" I couldn't resist asking when he paused. "Everything!"

Shaking my head while giggling. I love these idiots.

I heard myself saying: "I do forgive you." "And love me - a little?" "No; not a little." Then he caught me in his arms, though at any moment someone might have passed the summer-house door and seen us. He didn't think of that, apparently, and neither did I at the time. I thought only of Brown-Brown-Brown. There was nobody in the world but Brown.

:D

And they're now together! How sweet. I loved this book. It's such a shame the fandom is so small.

[ashleysingermfablog]

Wk 16, 15th of May, 2024 Research

What constitutes a ritual?

From the text: The Psychology of Rituals: An Integrative Review and Process-Based Framework by Nicholas M. Hobson, Juliana Schroeder, Jane L. Risen, Dimitris Xygalatas, and Michael Inzlicht...

Traditionally, ritual has been studied from broad sociocultural perspectives, with little consideration of the psychological processes at play. Recently, however, psychologists have begun turning their attention to the study of ritual, uncovering the causal mechanisms driving this universal aspect of human behavior. With growing interest in the psychology of ritual, this article provides an organizing framework to understand recent empirical work from social psychology, cognitive science, anthropology, behavioral economics, and neuroscience. Our framework focuses on three primary regulatory functions of rituals: regulation of (a) emotions, (b) performance goal states, and (c) social connection. We examine the possible mechanisms underlying each function by considering the bottom-up processes that emerge from the physical features of rituals and top-down processes that emerge from the psychological meaning of rituals. Our framework, by appreciating the value of psychological theory, generates novel predictions and enriches our understanding of ritual and human behavior more broadly.

Ritual actions do not produce a practical result on the external world—that is one of the reasons why we call them ritual. But to make this statement is not to say that ritual has no function . . . it gives members of the society confidence, it dispels their anxieties, and it disciplines their social organizations.

—George C. Homans, Anxiety and Ritual, 1941

Rituals pervade human life. Whether through religion, busi- ness, politics, education, athletics, or the military, they are central to the most meaningful traditions and cultural practices around the world. In rituals, the most ordinary of actions and gestures become transformed into symbolic expressions, their meaning reinforced each time they are performed (Van Gennep, 1909).

Gardening for example could be seen as a ritual in my practice as it is done intentionally, it is emotionally soothing and it is an action performed over and over again.

The repeated kneeling and bowing of reli- gious prayer signals commitment to God and provides sol- ace; a team’s pregame ritual of putting equipment on from left-to-right (and not right-to-left) empowers athletes to per- form at their best; and, marriage rites during the wedding ceremony seal the bond between two people. Rituals are a fundamental part of the human experience, and are, there- fore, of interest to researchers who study human behavior across multiple disciplines.

We propose that the study of ritual should no longer be exclusive to anthropologists and cultural ethnographers.

Chapter: The Defining Features of Ritual

Developing a framework for the psychological functions of ritual first requires a clear definition of what does—and does not—constitute a ritual. Definitions of ritual abound in the social sciences (Bell, 1997; Boyer & Liénard, 2006; Humphrey & Laidlaw, 1994), and differ widely depending on their focus (e.g., Bell, 1992, 1997; Collins, 2004; Turner, 1969), resulting in incompatible theoretical approaches (Beattie, 1966). Here, we put forth a definition that we believe is compatible with most prior empirical research and theorizing, but that has the additional advantage of address- ing the individual psychology of ritual.

First, rituals are distinguished by a specific set of physical features pertaining to the characteristic aspects of the indi- vidual actions that compose them, which tend to be structured in rigid, formal, and repetitive ways (Foster, Weigand, & Baines, 2006; Rossano, 2012; Tambiah, 1979). Unlike other behaviors, rituals are typically chunked into units of seg- mented action, which then become sequenced, patterned, and repeated in fixed or bounded ways (Boyer & Liénard, 2006; Nielbo & Sørensen, 2011, 2015). 

Habits and rituals differ.

In contrast to habits or routines, which may change each time they are performed, rituals tend to be invariable in their performance (Rappaport, 1999; Smith & Stewart, 2011).

Because of this invariability, rituals typically require a “scrupulous adherence” to rules, whereby sticking exactly to the script is imperative (Dulaney & Fiske, 1994, p. 245).

Day to day life may not include rituals inherently, rituals have to be consciously made.

For example, setting a table to prepare for a meal is typically not considered to be a ritual. The specific placement and ordering of silverware and plate ware is unimportant, just so long as they are arranged on the table in a practical manner for eating. Contrast this with the same behavior of table setting that occurs during religious holidays such as Jewish Passover. The Passover Seder dinner is a lengthy ritual feast involving a table-setting practice—called the Seder table—that requires precise place- ment of certain items that are utilized at exact times over the course of the dinner (in fact, Seder is roughly translated as “order, arrangement”). 

This example illustrates how, on ordinary occasions, a mundane behavior may be nonritualistic, but at another time becomes highly ritualized with the addition of certain noninstrumental features.

Ritual as a definition: We define ritual as (a) predefined sequences characterised by rigidity, formal- ity, and repetition that are (b) embedded in a larger system of symbolism and meaning, but (c) contain elements that lack direct instrumental purpose.

Chapter: Ritual’s Regulatory Functions

Despite rituals’ lack of clear instrumental purpose, it is now well known that rituals serve many psychological functions (e.g., Boyer & Liénard, 2006; Watson-Jones & Legare, 2016). Rituals can regulate (a) emotions, (b) performance goal states, and (c) social connection to others.

Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), in particular, seems to be characterized by frequently engaging in ritual behaviors to ward off anxious and intrusive thoughts (e.g., Mataix-Cols, Rosario-Campos, & Leckman, 2005; Reuven- Magril, Dar, & Liberman, 2008). Other populations under intense stress such as abuse victims (Jacobs, 1989) and pal- liative care patients (Romanoff & Thompson, 2006) often engage in excessive ritualization as well.

Chapter: Emotion Regulation

Multiple bodies of literature suggest that rituals can act as a buffer against the deleterious effects of strong negative emotions. Ritualized behaviors seem particularly likely to emerge under circumstances characterized by negative emotions such as high anxiety, uncertainty, and stress (Celsi, Rose, & Leigh, 1993; Keinan, 1994; Lang, Krátký, Shaver, Jerotijević, & Xygalatas, 2015; Padgett & Jorgenson, 1982).

Chapter: Social Regulation

Rituals shared within religious groups, sports teams, work organizations, and families, are often experienced as social events. Indeed, many scholars have suggested that rituals are ubiquitous because they are central to the functioning of large-scale cooperative groups, forming the basis of contemporary society (Atran & Henrich, 2010; Durkeim, 1915; Irons, 1996; Norenzayan & Shariff, 2008; Rossano, 2012; Watson-Jones & Legare, 2016). The idea of ritual regulating a person’s ability to connect with others has long-standing tradition in anthropology. Ritual is often regarded as a powerful mediating social mechanism that, when done properly, strikes a balance between opposing social and interpersonal forces.

[oliviamartinphotography]

Over the break shoot

I started this shoot by photographing my living room. I haven't taken many interior shots so wanted to play around with this. They were taken around 11 when the sun was shining in perfectly through the window. I thought this cast great shadows into the space and illuminated it beautifully. I played around briefly with capturing different angles of the space, noticing the shapes that the light and shadows created which provided some nice still life shots. I wanted to explore my street a little bit more too - I find it very interesting and there's lot's to look at so I expect I'll be revisiting it as a subject many times. It's a great back street - I've been finding back streets very intriguing as they tend to contain the more run down buildings with lots of graffiti and cheap apartments. As usual, graffiti caught my eye so I played around capturing some. There was a red car parked up against a building that I find quite brutal looking - it's old and fully grey with no windows on one side. I thought the red car created an interesting juxtaposition amongst the mostly colourless setting. I've noticed that I find shots like this interesting - images that contain one pop of colour where the rest of the colours are very dull/grey. It makes the colour in the image pop. Again I wanted to capture the shapes that the shadows created and also the dynamic lines of the buildings. These initial images were shot in the morning but I continued later in the afternoon around 3. I love shooting at this time as the colours are very warm and the shadows cast are very dramatic and long. I work on K road so afterwards I explored Pitt street, Hobson street and K Road. Another thing I've found interesting to capture is scenes that should be busy yet have no people in them - they look quite apocalyptic especially if the setting is a bit rundown. The presence of cars also hints at the presence of people without them being there which is also cool. I captured more graffiti as I went too - what I find interesting about it is that it's people marking their place. It's another reminder that we share our environment with so many others. It's also cool when I notice the same tag but in several different places. In week 7 I took a photo of an old bank building on the corner of Queen street and K road. During this shoot I shot the same place and when comparing the 2 I noticed that in the second one, the graffiti was gone. I thought that the impermanence of graffiti was interesting and also the fact that our environments are everchanging - photography really allows me to note those small changes that are happening all the time as I have a photo record of it. After exploring some scenery in the Jewish cemetary at the Grafton Bridge intersection, I went back to shoot on my road again. I found it interesting to compare the same scene at a different time. The light and shadows were totally different which alters the lines, shapes and colours of the location. The photos taken at the beginning of the day compared to the end have such a different feel to them.

[veritywarner90]

$100 million… every single day.

How would you feel if I told you that’s how much Australian taxpayers spend on direct government support for Indigenous communities?

That’s $39.5 billion of direct government expenditure a year1.

That’s more than we spend on the NDIS ($35.5 billion), Medicare ($31.3 billion) or defence ($38 billion).

It’s about the same as the Federal Government’s entire spend on schools and universities ($39.7 billion).

That doesn’t even include the EXTRA $424 million announced by Albo on Monday to “close the gap” (yes, an extra $1.2 million a day!).

Well, Australians are generous and compassionate and we all agree that Indigenous people need to be respected and supported.

But despite the outlay of this enormous amount of real money, there has been almost no discernible improvement in the lives of Indigenous Australians.

The gap just isn’t closing.

In fact, if the NDIS or Medicare were delivering outcomes as bad as this $100 million a day, there would be a Royal Commission.

It would be a global scandal.

And those responsible – starting with the Prime Minister – would resign in disgrace.

But every day we do spend this $100 million and instead of demanding to know why Aboriginal Australians are still so far behind, Anthony Albanese and a group of high-profile activists want to rip up our Constitution to accommodate a dangerous and divisive ‘Voice to Parliament’.

It’s so bad, it’s breathtaking.

This is why tens of thousands of Australians have already joined ADVANCE’s Fair Australia campaign by pledging to vote NO in the referendum.

This is why Senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price is leading the fight against the dangerous and divisive Voice.

And it’s why Fair Australia flew New Zealand equality campaigner Casey Costello from Hobson’s Pledge to Canberra to warn your politicians about the true cost of the Voice.

New Zealand’s version of the Voice has been an absolute disaster.

NZ equality campaigner Casey Costello and Fair Australia’s spokeswoman Senator Jacinta Nampijinpa Price at Parliament House raising the alarm about the true cost of the Voice.

According to Casey, Instead of a “voice”, New Zealanders copped “a self-appointed, elitist minority advocating that they speak for all Maori”, which has just made things worse for the people it was set up to help.

Sound familiar?

The PM should be explaining to you why the billions of dollars spent on direct support for Indigenous Australians is wasted before he throws good money after bad on a Voice referendum.

Albo needs to be straight with the Australian people and tell us how much is too much.

Because if $100 million a day isn’t enough, how much is?

Matthew Sheahan

Executive Director

ADVANCE

Read more articles at:

https://veritywarner90.wordpress.com

[pavspatch]

“The Ridiculous Life of a Non-League Chairman”

WRITING a successful funny book on football is no easy task, as I know only too well. Something that raises a lot of laughs when it happens, or when recounted at the bar top over a few beers, often draws looks of total indifference sometime later when it appears in print.

And you’ll inevitably find it compared with the magnum opus that is Fred Eyre’s “Kicked into Touch”.

"Nowhere to Run", the new book by Ashton United co-chairman Jonathan Sayer, differs from the traditional style. Rather than being a collection of humorous anecdotes, it's a novel based on funny stories, many of which, by the author's own admission, have been embellished and exaggerated.

Names, on the whole, have been changed "to protect the innocent" but anyone who's familiar with Ashton United, or the Tameside non-league scene, should be able to work out who they are, even though the author insists none of his characters are faithful representations.

First-team manager Jamie Benshaw — a free-scoring striker with a mop of blond hair — has to be Jody Banim. Harry "Robbo" Roberts — a tall ex-police officer — chimes with Steve "Hobbo" Hobson. Club president Reginald Timpkins is the legendary Ronnie Thomasson. Tony Liverstout must be an amalgam of Terry Hollis and Terry Liversidge. You can work the rest out for yourself.

Interestingly, Mike Clegg gets his real name. His successor Steve Cunningham becomes Jamie Cunningham. I suspect the book was pretty much complete by the time Ashton changed managers at the start of the year

"Nowhere to Run" is a tale which does exactly what it says on the tin - well, cover. It recounts the ridiculous life of the chairman of a semi-professional football outfit. It's not uproariously funny, but it does make you smile and want to turn over the next page.

Its greatest success is how it allows the average supporter see a club through the eyes of owners. As fans, we know how we feel, and we have, or at least thinke we have, a good idea of the management and players. But what of the chairmen, the people so often viewed as inept and responsible for creating problems rather than solving them?

Jonathan gives us more than a peep behind the curtain. And he accepts the low-esteem in which directors are held. The book starts with a quote from Bill Shankly: "At any football club there's a holy trinity: the players, the manager and the supporters. The directors don't come into it. They are only there to sign cheques."

I'd often wondered what it was like to sack a manager. "Nowhere to Run" supplies a blow-by-blow account not only of what happens when the axe falls, but also the dilemma owners face when coming to their decision. Should they show faith and give the boss time to turn things round? Or should they act before things get even worse and it's too late?

Jonathan even admits to being scared of how the manager might react — something I've often wondered about considering some of the managers I've dealt with over the last 40-plus years.

We also get an inside view of the appointment process, which is something clubs tend to keep very secret in these days where they release news through anodyne social media statements rather than through a dedicated reporter from the local rag.

"Nowhere to Run" shows it really is true that people will askfor a job fully believing their success at the Football Manager video game is ample qualification to lead a Northern Premier League side. Sorting through dozens of applications is no easy task. The book also confirms that former Curzon boss John Flanagan was interviewed. He has to be Jim Finnigan who managed local rivals.

All the bitter disappointments and euphoric highs of running a non-league outfit are laid bare: buying (too much) kit, placating stroppy long-time supporters, dealing with the council, and the chaos that passes for wages and finances. The constant stream of phone calls, texts and WhatsApp messages, each on a different topic.

"Nowhere to Run" is a warm, gentle and funny read that underlines the Burke family's love for Ashton United and their genuine desire to see the club do well.

Anyone with knowledge of the semi-professional game should enjoy it. If you don't have knowledge, believe me, the stories are based on fact. I have personal experience of the mayhem that passes for everyday life in non-league land. I still bear the scars from meetings that have featured long, long arguments over buying an extra dozen pies for Saturday's derby match.

Whether Jonathan really drove to Bashley in Hampshire rather than Basford in Nottinghamshire, is another matter entirely.

"Nowhere to Run" by Jonathan Sayer, published by Bantam Books, will be published on August 10. 20 per cent of all proceeds will go to Ashton United in perpetuity.

[college-girl199328]

Dick Parker is 79. He and his wife have lived in the same uptown Saint John apartment building for 21 years. Two weeks ago, they received notice from their landlord of a 15 percent increase in rent come October.

"You know, the amounts are damn near $150 a month," said Parker about the increase. "I think it's outrageous." Parker's apartment building is one of several that were part of a 150-unit purchase in 2020 by Historica Six GP Inc. and Historica Six Limited Partnership.

Kristina Hobson lives in the seven-story McArthur building on Germain Street. Her notice is also for a 15 percent increase, and she said every long-term tenant she knows in the building received a similar letter.

"For me, 15 percent was quite a drastic increase," said Hobson. "Our building had quite a strong reaction; people have lived in the building for quite a long time, and we have quite a few older people who live there, so there are quite a few fixed incomes."

That is not what longer-term tenants were told to expect from Historica's president Keith Brideau when he purchased the properties 30 months ago. At the time, he gave several interviews suggesting tenants in those buildings need not be concerned about receiving large rent hikes from him.

"They don't have to worry about it," Brideau said about the renters he was inheriting in the sale, in an interview on Information Morning Saint John at the time.

"I grew up in the north end. I know personally that it is not easy for people to pay $1,200 or $1,500 a month. But at the same time, those very people who can't afford it deserve a nice roof over their heads. What we're looking forward to is actually taking care of the people more in that $500 to $1,000 price range."

Last year, tenants in the affected buildings were protected by a hard rent cap in New Brunswick and were charged increases by Historica of 3.8 percent. Those caps have been eliminated this year. That means the proposed new 15 percent increase will see those who have been tenants since the sale paying about 19 percent more in October than they were in 2020.

Inflation in New Brunswick since the sale has been slightly more than 12 percent. In an interview Tuesday, Brideau said he is facing increased costs for several expenses, including maintenance, heat, insurance, labor, and debt financing.

"We are not immune to inflation," he said. According to Brideau, all tenants who have been renting in any of his buildings for more than one year have been issued notices for some kind of October increase, and he estimated that between 50 and 75 of those were for the full 15 percent.

"It's only fair we bump those up a little bit," said Brideau. "I have to be fair to our business as well as make sure I can pay my bills." Changes in rental rules made by the province for this year do allow landlords to raise rents to "market" levels which have risen sharply over the last three years. But if that involves an increase above inflation, the province has given officers with the Residential Tenancies Tribunal the authority to require the increase be phased in over multiple years.

Quebec does not have a firm cap on rent, but the province's housing tribunal calculates an annual recommended basic increase. For 2023, it said 2.3 percent is fair for an unheated apartment and up to 7.3 percent for a building that includes heat from an oil furnace.

"I think there should be some control on rent," said Parker. "A 15 percent increase to me is outrageous, and the only ones that can do anything about it, of course, are the governments."

[philleegirl]

Little fandom meme

Tag the people you want to get to know better

Thank you, @mywingsareonwheels for tagging me! And calling me awesome cause I have not felt that way lately (or myself at all, honestly).

Three ships: Jimmy/Duncan (Shetland) this is definitely my most normal ship as at least both of those characters appear as regulars on the show. Neville Parker/Colin Babcock (Death in Paradise) I do have a lot of form on shipping main characters with one time guest stars. Laura Hobson/Robbie Lewis (Morse and Lewis) one of my very rare ships that got their happy ending. And a bonus OT3: Harrison/Parker/Elliot (Leverage and Leverage: Redemption) perfectly balanced OT3

Favourite ship ever: I can't really decide, but I think it is a tie between BJ/Hawkeye (MASH) and Leo/Margaret (The West Wing) because both taught me a lot about fandom, writing, and friendship.

Last song: Something that was playing in the car on the way home. I am not a huge music person, but I do have to listen in the car at all times. Oddly, though, I have Flowers stuck in my head every morning at work for the first 20-30 minutes, but since I listen to Christian radio on the way to work, I don't get it.

Last movie: Um... Honestly, I don't remember. I don't really watch movies. If we are talking movie length anything, then the last Vera of S12.

Currently reading: Nothing at the moment because I have been dealing with really bad brain fog from my CFS/ME coupled with some of the worst SAD I have had in 7 years. Also, it his preventing me from writing, which is KILLING me.

Currently watching: At this exact moment, a really bad series of Taskmaster, Series 6 to be exact.

Currently consuming: Nothing, but had a lovely slice of pizza with ham a few minutes ago.

Currently craving: Water and sleep. Water because I left my giant canteen in the kitchen and being too lazy to get it. Sleep because I have been pushing myself a bit more than I should and wanted an early night, but instead am waiting for my mama to get out of the shower, since I don't let her shower unsupervised because of her health.

Tagging: (stolen directly from @mywingsareonwheels) oh I’m always a bit shy about this! But I will tag a few utterly awesome people and hope that they are happy to be so; as always please don’t feel remotely obliged to take part. @livatoseus @greaseonmymouth @greenapricot @whodares1 @aurorlaura

[eddie4lyfe]

Five Minutes with Joseph Quinn

Five Minutes with Joseph Quinn Eddie Munson Stranger Things Metalhammer Issue 365

Words: Rich Hobson

Stranger Things’ resident metalhead on playing Eddie Munson, guitar heroes and why Dave Grohl should write Corroded Coffin’s music

When you took the role of Eddie Munson, did you expect that it would take off like it has?

“Not at all. No, I think expectations get you in trouble in this game, and I couldn’t have predicted people’s warmth and acceptance for him. So it’s a really lovely feeling, it caught me completely off guard.”

What attracted you to the role in the first place?

“Well, the chances are so stacked against you - it’s very rare to be asked to participate in something that has this much kind of cultural significance so it was a no-brainer.”

How much of the character had been fleshed out when you were cast?

“I auditioned a couple of scenes that were actually in the show. We had no idea how many episodes he was going to be in; we were told at least four. But I didn’t know anything about what would happen at the end, or how much he would actually be involved in the season. So I’m delighed that I got as much to sink my teeth into.”

What were your influences for the character?

“I think we all those people that were a little bit older than us growing up, that we admired or had a soft spot for. I was always very impressed with those people that were a little bit older than me that were very nonconformist, a little attention seeking.”

How reflective is Eddie of you?

“Not much. We all have moments where we feel vulnerable, maybe overcompensate. I joined my school two years late, so I guess there was maybe a little bit of overcompensation there. But I’ve been very lucky, I’ve always had friends and haven’t felt like too much of an outsider. But with all of my characters, if you don’t humanise them, you don’t care about them, and if people aren’t vulnerable and themselves and authentic, you tend to not really want to be around them. I think we’re far more drawn to someone that’s offensively imperfect than someone that’s constantly trying to be perfect and impressive.”

We hear you “connected with the character through metal” - what were your entry points?

“I listened to Master of Reality by Black Sabbath over and over. Master of Puppets as well, Slayer . . . all that kind of stuff. That was my way into that whole world, really. Black Sabbath were my guys, and Led Zeppelin too, but I guess they’re less metal.”

Is it true you’re actually a guitarist too?

“Yeah, I’ve played since I was a kid, but it’s been woefully under practised in recent years.”

What was it that got you into guitar?

“Well, my dad played guitar and my granddad played for a time, so it’s something we’d do as a family. We are by no means virtuosos, but we all have a go.”

Who are your guitar heroes?

“Hendrix is an obvious one, I was always very enamoured with him. Nirvana were my first proper band obsession, I had all of Kurt Cobain’s posters on my wall. It’s kind of cliché, but it’s true.”

Did you get any input on the epic Master of Puppets solo in the new season? Was it your choice?

“I don’t know where the fuck the showrunners got it from! Ha ha ha! But it was completely their choice. It was the perfect song for a crescendo to take us through this crazy sequence I think it’s an inspired choice, really.”

Will we ever hear Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin?

“We’re working on an EP . . . Joking! I’m joking!”

It’s not that ridiculous - Dave Grohl did it with Dream Widow this year . . .

“Maybe I should email him - ‘Would you writ the music for Corroded Coffin please?’”

How would they sound?

“Oh, thrash! Proper, old-school thrash - really fast, really evil.”

If you could play any rock star in a biopic, who would you choose?

“Keith Moon would be pretty cool, you could have a lot of fun with him. I don’t understand how that hasn’t been done already. I’ve actually heard that there’s something in the works, but I don’t think I’m in consideration for it. Whoever gets to go at that . . . That’ll be a lot of fun.”

-

Stranger Things Season 4 is streaming now via Netflix

[final-girl96]

Monsters, Metallica and Keith Moon: meet Eddie Munson actor Joseph Quinn

By Rich Hobson( Metal Hammer ) published about 12 hours ago

Stranger Things' Eddie Munson actor Joseph Quinn talks heavy metal, guitar heroes and why Dave Grohl should write a Corroded Coffin EP

(Image credit: Netflix)

Actors can spend their entire careers waiting for a role like Eddie Munson. The resident metalhead of Stranger Things core setting of Hawkins, Indiana, Munson captured the hearts of viewers worldwide, becoming a hit internet sensation that turned actor Joseph Quinn from a relative unknown in the world of TV and film into a star-in-the-making. Hammer sat down with Quinn earlier this year to talk Eddie Munson, his guitar heroes and why Foo Fighters should write the music for his on-screen band, Corroded Coffin.

When you took the role of Eddie Munson, did you expect that it would take off like it has?

“Not at all. No, I think expectations get you in trouble in this game, and I couldn’t have predicted people’s warmth and acceptance for him. So it’s a really lovely feeling, it caught me completely off guard.”

What attracted you to the role in the first place?

“Well, the chances are so stacked against you - it’s very rare to be asked to participate in something that has this much kind of cultural significance so it was a no-brainer.”

How much of the character had been fleshed out when you were cast?

“I auditioned a couple of scenes that were actually in the show. We had no idea how many episodes he was going to be in; we were told at least four. But I didn’t know anything about what would happen at the end, or how much he would actually be involved in the season. So I’m delighted that I got as much to sink my teeth into.”

What were your influences for the character?

“I think we all have those people that were a little bit older than us growing up, that we admired or had a soft spot for. I was always very impressed with those people that were a little bit older than me that were very nonconformist, a little attention seeking.”

How reflective is Eddie of you?

“Not much. We all have moments where we feel vulnerable, maybe overcompensate. I joined my school two years late, so I guess there was maybe a little bit of overcompensation there. But I’ve been very lucky, I’ve always had friends and haven’t felt like too much of an outsider.

But with all of my characters, if you don’t humanise them, you don’t care about them, and if people aren’t vulnerable and themselves and authentic, you tend to not really want to be around them. I think we’re far more drawn to someone that’s offensively imperfect than someone that’s constantly trying to be perfect and impressive.”

We hear you “connected with the character through metal” – what were your entry points?

“I listened to Master Of Reality by Black Sabbath over and over. Master Of Puppets as well, Slayer… all that kind of stuff. That was my way into that whole world, really. Black Sabbath were my guys, and Led Zeppelin too, but I guess they’re less metal.”

Is it true you’re actually a guitarist too?

“Yeah, I’ve played since I was a kid, but it’s been woefully under practised in recent years.”

What was it that got you into guitar?

“Well, my dad played guitar and my granddad played for a time, so it’s something we’d do as a family. We are by no means virtuosos, but we all have a go.”

Who are your guitar heroes?

“Hendrix is an obvious one, I was always very enamoured with him. Nirvana were my first proper band obsession; I had all of Kurt Cobain’s posters on my wall. It’s kind of cliché, but it’s true.”

Did you get any input on the epic Master Of Puppets solo in the new season? Was it your choice?

“I don’t know where the fuck the showrunners got it from! Ha ha ha! But it was completely their choice. It was the perfect song for a crescendo to take us through this crazy sequence. I think it’s an inspired choice, really.”

Will we ever hear Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin?

“We’re working on an EP… Joking! I’m joking!”

It’s not that ridiculous – Dave Grohl did it with Dream Widow this year…

“Maybe I should email him – ‘Would you write the music for Corroded Coffin please?’”

How would they sound?

“Oh, thrash! Proper, old-school thrash – really fast, really evil.”

If you could play any rock star in a biopic, who would you choose?

“Keith Moon would be pretty cool, you could have a lot of fun with him. I don’t understand how that hasn’t been done already. I’ve actually heard that there’s something in the works, but I don’t think I’m in consideration for it. Whoever gets to go at that… That’ll be a lot of fun.”