#issa bakes

[mando-and-bucky]

loki finale day 💚🖤 made matcha chocolate chip cookies

cripsy variant ⬅️➡️ chewy variant

#loki #cookies #matcha cookies #matcha #chocolate chip cookies #issa bakes #marvel

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

It’s not, but what exactly is her brand now? I think that’s the main problem.

Plant, I respectfully disagree that she has neither a brand nor authenticity. She has both. The problem is that they are both negative. They don't sell.

Her brand is family problems, drama, reclusiveness, over the top spending. She's not seen enough to be aspirational--no one sees her on a great vacation playing at the beach or doing some kind of DIY decor at the Montecito mansion or baking cookies and sharing the recipe, or trying some new face mask. No one wants her advice on family because we never see her kids, and everyone knows neither she nor her husband get along with their families. No one wants what she merches because we can't afford it.

I am a middle class American and I have a Reiss blouse, an Issa dress, Superga shoes, three other tops that are what Kate wore, and knock off Kikis that I found on Etsy. Kate has enough of a mix of style that you can get a pretty dress and some sneakers then admire all the McQueen from afar. Meghan's got Birkin bags and Dior caftans. It doesn't translate.

She HAS a brand, and the problem for her is that in the age of internet receipts, well, her brand IS authentic. She is who she is. We all know it. And none of us want to be it.

Lol, I was referring to a “marketable” brand.

But you’re right. People now associate her with constant drama and conflict, which is not attractive nor aspirational. It’s not even fun drama, like in the Housewives franchise. It’s just loud and uncomfortable.

[littledollll]

🕊️

Back with a request but not Agere :0 I know mad I have one of those to send next so don’t fret my love and how is your day going? Remember you’re so loved

Prompt~ so I feel like an angsty Larissa x reader fic based off the song “ceilings- Lizzy McApline” would be perfect. It goes on about how they wish to be with someone yet it’s not a real opportunity. They can’t be with them for some reason. I feel you could write that beautifully ~ shy anon🕊️

Lonely dreams

Larissa Weems x reader

A/n: im hanging in there babes, it’s lovely to see you here like always, I hope you enjoy. Idk how to do songlyric fics so I won’t cuz scary but I’ve actually had vivid daydreams about this song and this is how it goes. Requests are open

Warning: fluff, loss, grief.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You had the perfect life. Everything you’ve ever dreamt of came true for you. Your dream job, the love of your life, that easy going, calm, day to day and you’ve always craved, you finally had it.

A safe routine that repeated every day, you and Larissa worked and lived together like you always wished. You’d wake up every morning with littered kisses all over your face, making you giggle and pout. Making breakfast together was probably the best part of your day, you and Larissa together in a spacious kitchen with everything you could possibly need for the perfect meal, it felt like those love story movies, when they’d show those baking montages filled with laughs and attacking eachother with food.

Walking hand in hand through the hallways made you feel so confident, having Larissa Weems proudly showing you to the world. She walked you to your class with a kiss on the very tip of your nose, making you giggle and turn away to compose yourself before you had to start class.

“I will see you at lunch, my love.” Something made you want to pull her back, to stop her from walking away and give you just another kiss. But you didn’t, instead letting her go, “Have a good day, Issa” you said, before running off to start class.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You had this unsettling feeling running through your bones the whole morning, but it all went away when you met Larissa for lunch. Routine. Just like always, your pre-packed lunch that you made together the afternoon before, a conversation filled lunch or maybe just enjoying eachother in silence. A second to just breathe and be, you hugged and kissed so softly, so sweetly you never wanted to go back. It was a movie, it was your perfect life.

And the day went on, you’d come back to her office after class was over and wait the two hours she stayed extra working after you. You mostly bugged her to get out of the office and come home with you, occasionally you’d poke her for attention and get a quick kiss which made you feel giddy all over and sedated you for another few minutes before you inevitably poked her again.

You were resting against Larissa’s shoulder when she closed the computer and looked your way, a sweet smile on her face. “Okay darling, we can go now.”

Larissa’s warm and dazzling smile, was the most comforting thing on this planet, you couldn’t love anything more. It was contagious, whenever she smiled you couldn’t help but follow.

Tonight you’d order take out, every week twice a week, Routine. You’d always pick something new to try for the first time together, and you’d sit together on the couch with nothing but music playing in the background, the second you were done eating you were always the first to fall asleep.

Shuffling down to get confortable as you nuzzled into her chest with a pleased sigh, you could hear her calm heart beat, how her chest lightly moved up and down with every relaxed breath. Your perfect girl, the perfect movie life.

But you woke up, and it was over. The fresh memory of her funeral as if it had been just yesterday. A year, a whole year. And your mind refused to give in to the idea, that was it. She’s gone forever.

There was no such thing as her soft lips waking you up every morning, you didn’t laugh and dance every morning with breakfast, you walked alone through the halls of this now so monotone school, you ate lunch at your desk with nobody but yourself, and you went straight home after school. Losing yourself in daydreams of seeing her again, until you cried yourself to sleep, all to repeat again the next day, routine.

You were harshly slapped by reality each morning. You woke up. And that was it, the end of your perfect movie.

#larissa weems #principal weems #🕊️ anon #Larissa weems angst #principal larissa weems #gwendoline christie #larissa x reader #wednesday larissa weems #larissa weems wednesday #larissa weems nevermore #larissa weems x reader #shy anon love page #shy anon

[anjelicawrites]

Do you have any fluffy/smutty Aemond reader Osferth headcanons lying around in your brain you could share?

Everything is under the cut! SFW and NSFW.

Another batch of headcanons can be found here.

Every Friday afternoon/evening, reader and Aemond spend time doing their skin and hair care routine while watching Drag Race or these shows where people renovate houses. Osferth just stares dumbly at them; he has tried to understand what they talk about unfortunately, every single time, his brain goes into "404. Page not found", against his will, because he truly wants to understand the interest his lovers have.

Osferth is big on DIY, Aemond usually is there with him, being completely useless and pretty, just to spend time together and talk. It happens, sometimes, that work is left aside for heavy make-out sessions which end with one of the two being fucked on the work bench.

During the evenings when Osferth is not with them, reader ends up brushing Aemond's long hair and trying cute hairstyles on them, until he dozes off in front of the fire.

Reader jokingly slaps Aemond's ass at random (it's a nice, spankable ass, sue her). Aemond always asks "Who dares touching the dragon?" "Me. What's the dragon going to do about it?". It usually ends with reader being fucked on the first available surface.

Aemond came into the relationship incapable of cooking or managing an household, because he was raised thinking that people can be payed to do so (baking is another thing, he was great at it as a way to deal with stress). He was surprised that he was supposed to do his part and not cheat hiring a maid. He became pretty good at it, but he is grumpy when it's his turn.

Aemond is a classy bitch who will never go and have a drink in one of the dreadful pubs Osferth goes. He was horrified once he found out the places reader goes with her friends from university, who are all distinguished professionals in their own fields and. As it turns out, the higher the risk to contract Salmonella is, the better they all think the joint is.

They cannot get married, this doesn't stop them to organise a "betrothal ceremony", where they exchange rings and party with they loved ones. Osferth builds the structure they use for the ceremony. The project is shared between him and Aemond and he does the actual building work, Aemond is in charge of drawing the project. The structure is all made of wood and has strong gothic influence. Reader stars crying the moment she sees the whole thing.

Aemond is capable of degrading reader in bed using High Valyrian. He used to stammer at first, cheeks red, he's a pro now. What hasn't changed is him saying afterwards "I'm sorry, issa jorrāelagon, I didn't mean any of that. I love you".

#aemond targaryen x reader x osferth #aemond targaryen x y/n x osferth #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth #polyquestion

[bringmemyrocks]

Half-baked thoughts on online treatment of refuseniks and former IOF people below:

Inspired by this post but not wanting to derail. This is not targeted at OP (whom I respect and agree with completely) but rather musing on the phenomenon of how former IDF soldiers and even refuseniks (those who face prison rather than join the army) get treated online.

I agree with this post, but also:

If Miko Peled became an activist now, I don't think he would get the support he got. He wrote The General's Son in 2016, having already been a pro-Palestine activist for many years.

Things are understandably more polarized now. #notonormalization, and the absolute vitriol that (some, younger) Palestinians and allies poured on Tal Mitnick, the 18-year-old who went to prison for refusing to serve during this genocide. "OMG draft dodgers aren't heroes! LMAO if he doesn't renounce his citizenship [and lose his ability to leave Israel bc he's not a dual citizen] he's trash! Omg colonizer scum!"

I understand it comes from trauma, but holy shit, Miko Peled was in the fucking special forces and was literally the son of a general, people love him and justifiably so, but people had no mercy with this kid.

Maybe Miko Peled just has seniority--he's been around long enough, back when Norm Finkelstein and Noam Chomsky were welcomed despite being anti-BDS 2-staters (look it up), and goodness knows plenty of the #notonormalization crowd are willing to throw Issa Amro under the bus for...not literally being part of Hamas, I guess? It just feels shitty. "Double standards" gets used constantly, but Tal's main crime was being born as a Jewish Israeli and being born a generation too late to be respected for an act that will place him outside of Israeli society forever.

Before anyone says "Rocks, these are different people!" Online I've definitely seen some of the same people heaping abuse on Tal Mitnick singing Miko Peled's praises. And I think they should both be praised. Neither of them renounced their citizenship and joined the PFLP, but come on. It's still a big deal and they both have massive targets on their backs, even if it's obviously the right thing to do.

I have not been in the Palestinian activism sphere for that long. I was still a liberal zionist in 2016. I do not have the moral high ground here. But it makes me think.

#i #miko peled and tal mitnick are treated very differently #and I think that says something

[countlesstimes]

୨⎯ Issa Miller ⎯୧

Species: Werewolf (turned)

Sex: Male

Age: 21

Birthday: July 18

Height: 6’1” (185 cm)

Background: Issa was born and raised in Harlem, New York. He is in culinary school and works part time at a diner as a line cook. He stared working at 17 as a dishwasher in the same diner and worked his way up to line cook. He grew up in a medium sized family with two older sisters (Karimah/Malika). Issa’s dad was in the military for most of his life so he is closer to his mom and sisters.

Issa’s favorite things to do are watch cooking/baking competition shows and recipes on YouTube. He also likes to go to the gym and work out every morning. He is more interested in cooking soul found rather than high end food. Issa likes to take recipes and put a soul food twist to it. His favorite dish to make is Jamaican oxtails and rice.

He was not born a werewolf but got turned when he was 18. On his way home from work one night he was attacked by a feral werewolf and left for dead. Issa was found and taken to the hospital. The doctors believed he wouldn’t make it but he did. The werewolf turned him but he never told anyone once he noticed obvious changes. When people ask how he survived he says it was luck. He had a hard time adjusting to the change and distanced himself from friends, family, school and work for a few months. Issa realized that he can’t do this alone and went back to somewhat normal. However, he is still afraid of telling his family. When a full moon comes around he disappears for the night and goes to the biggest park he can find to hide.

Appearance: He has deep brown skin and chocolate brown eyes and long lashes. After the incident he gained golden specks in his irises. His body is muscular and tall. He has a few scars his abdomen and one on his neck. His nose is broad and he has a beard and mustache that is cut closer to the skin. His hair is dark brown and kinky, he wears his hair in locs down to his chin with the sides shaved. At work or at the gym he ties his hair back in a ponytail. He has a septum piercing and a nose stud.

#🍳​issa m. #oc #ocs #monster oc #werewolf #werewolf oc #werewolf x reader #terato x reader #monster bf #monster boy oc #monster boyfriend #exophilia

[tashabilities]

It's raining.

I made bread and it tastes good but looks terrible so i'ma try again

My loaf pan is a half inch smaller than standard loaf pans, too,

So i'ma get a real loaf pan and hit it one more time.

I made basically two loaves because I knew all that dough wasn't gon fit in that pan, but overestimated how much dough to cut off the loaf.

Now I see I could've let a li'l more of the dough be in the loaf pan.

It's a tasty bread,

I can make garlic bread out of it to go with the stuffed shells, and reclaim that old recipe,

But I can't make a sandwich out of it,

Both loaves are too small and oddly shaped.

I might can make a sandwich out of the smaller small loaf, cut it lengthwise.

It's a li'l tough, too, maybe I should take it out at 25 minutes vs 30.

I put the last of that bag of chickpeas for my salads in the instant pot for an hour and 40 minutes and yes, that's it.

I grated the mozzarella for the shells and the Jack and sharp cheddar for the nacho cheese sauce experiment, whenever I stop being scared of lemon juice and baking soda.

I washed a fuck ton of dishes and ate a great salad and a potato for dinner because I didn't have energy for shells.

I need a white onion and a red onion and more active dry yeast.

One packet of the yeast I had was dead, didn't bloom at all, but the second packet was the one.

I'm so glad I reclaimed my kitchen.

My people show you love by feeding you,

So it's really been a process of giving the love to myself first like,

I don't have anybody to cook for but no,

I'M somebody to cook for.

And it's not gon make or break me to experiment with two cups of flour and 8 ounces of cheese.

I'm learning new things, trying new things.

Issa process.

[achitka]

Doors (Chapter 32)

Well, just gotta get everyone out of the house…Oof - there they go.

Meetings

Julieta watched Isabela leave the table and sighed. Agustín whispered his worry, and Julieta nodded as she looked over at her mother. Isabela’s erratic behavior had finally come to a head at breakfast. On one hand, Isabela seemed genuinely happy that her little sister had finally found her place in the family. On the other, it was at the expense of Isabela’s. The cuts and scratches on Isabela’s arms had become very concerning. Troubling enough that even Isabela’s Abuela Valentina had pulled Julieta aside one evening after dinner to mention it to her and Agustín. Prior to the magic coming back, when asked, Isabela would claim they were from working in the fields. But Julieta knew they too tiny and straight for that to have been the reason. They also tended to show up, after any conversation with Julieta’s mother. She’d made actual progress with her sister’s and the three of them spent hours talking about the things they wanted to do in the future. Now that her Gift was involved, they were appearing more frequently and getting deeper. Isabela would barely notice it happening, but it was clear they were self-inflicted.

Isabela’s behavior was undoubtedly part of what was making Mirabel so nervous. She seemed unwilling to confront her older sister, so was still too easy a target when Isabela got like that. Mirabel wanted more than anything for her big sister to be proud of her. Luisa, still caught in the middle, was often forced to mediate the nonsense and arguments that would start. The way Mirabel looked when Casita started tossing Isabela about showed her anger and frustration. When Julieta made a few remarks to her eldest regarding her attitude, they were met with little to no response. Today, Isabela had gone out of her way to be rude to her sister and was petty at the expense of a small child.

Issa needed to find better outlets while searching for her place in their new family dynamic. The fact that her mother had said nothing, seemed to snap Isabela out of it. And it was obvious, she was not getting what she thought she needed from her Abuela. Isabela was still stuck, wanting to be seen as she was, but at the same time not wanting it.

Julieta could see Isabela wanted to forgive her Abuela, but it was clear she wouldn't be able to move forward without some sort of intervention from her mother. It did not help that Issa was avoiding her with vigor. When her mother left the table, Julieta hoped it was to talk to her nieta.

Once her family dispersed after breakfast, Julieta sat at the dining room table drinking coffee with just a touch of chocolate, thinking about that meeting and worrying about her kids. She felt like their world was falling back into that loop of dysfunction that had been so harmful before. She’d noticed the little cacti that had appeared on Mira’s inner door. Was it possible Isabela misunderstood the door’s purpose and was trying to protect her sister from her Abuela? It would explain some things, and it would be so like her daughter to never realize that she and Gus had already taken steps to ensure that what happened to her would not happen to her sister. Issa’s love/hate relationship with her Abuela even before the magic returned was unfortunate, but Isabela was an adult now, so this was something she would have to decide for herself. Julieta picked up her spoon and tapped it gently on the table.

Pepa came in from the kitchen and smiled broadly as she put a plate of cookies in front of her. “You need to taste these,” Pepa said with a flourish.

“Polvorosas?” Julieta asked, and Pepa nodded as she pushed the plate a little closer. “They smell divine, Pepi,” Julieta said as she picked one up. She took a bite and was delighted. “These are delicious, Pepi. You’ve mastered the cookie baking, for sure.”

“You’re not just saying that?” Pepa asked, leaning in.

Julieta nodded and took another bite and said, “Of course not. You really have a knack for this, I see where Camilo inherited his baking skills,” Julieta said, taking another.

“That is unlikely, but I do appreciate the thought. I just want to make cookies with Antonio. Have a little fun in the kitchen with my baby boy.”

“Yes, baking with our kids was always something I enjoyed.” Julieta must have been frowning because Pepa set aside the cookies and poured herself a cup of coffee. She noticed the chocolate and sat down beside her. Julieta only put chocolate in her coffee when she was stressed. Pepa was one of the few people that knew that and said as she put a hand over hers, “Are you okay, hermana?”

Julieta sighed, “No. I’m just hoping Mamá will talk to Isabela.”

“That was quite a show this morning,” Pepa said, sitting back, “Good to know Casita has Mirabel’s back.”

Bruno came into the dining room carrying a bag that had the vision tablet and his sketches peeking out from the top. He set it on the table with a small thud and sat down. Pepa immediately pushed the plate of cookies to him and said, “Try one.”

Bruno looked to Julieta, Pepa was never much of a cook, or more rightly she was never encouraged to cook. Random rain was never the best for baking, but Julieta was more than happy to have Pepa in the kitchen with her. She nodded to her brother, and Bruno picked up one of the cookies and took a tentative bite. “What do you know, they’re pretty good, Pep.” He then took a bigger bite.

Pepa smiled proudly and said while pointing to the bag, “So, Bruno, how did Mamá pull you into this?”

“She did not pull,” Bruno said and finished the cookie and waggled a finger at her, “she asked.”

“Oh, and you said yes?” Pepa had a look of pure disbelief. “You’re not worried how they’ll take the news about the people in the mountains?”

Bruno sat back in the chair looking at the bag and tapping the table with his fingertips and asked, “Honestly?”

Both Julieta and Pepa nodded.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had to deal with it that I’m not certain how I feel about it. But you had it right, Pep. New miracle, new beginning. If my Gift is going to be useful to this family, then I can’t hide myself away anymore.” Bruno was rubbing his hands on his pant legs, stopping only to pick at some imaginary lint. “I mean, there’s the nervousness I always feel when I have to talk to actual people outside the family, but…”

“But what Bruno?”

“Even though this,” and he pointed to the bag, “is not great news, and before the breaking would have brought me nothing but grief… Now it’s like, like rebuilding Casita and our family…” Bruno paused and tapped the table a little harder. “What I’m trying to say is I think we can handle it.”

Julieta smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. Over the past year, Bruno was slowly giving himself permission to be happy. There was that hiccup when the magic revived, and Julieta truly did worry that he would vanish again. Only this time there were no mountains to stop him disappearing forever. While still somewhat jealous of his relationship with her youngest, she knew that Mirabel was the only reason Bruno was here at all. Those two were so alike. There came a muffled squeak from his shirt pocket that Bruno absently patted. Juli wondered which of his rats were with him, probably Tino, since Fura was still with Paola. Their Mamá came into the room then and said, “I see you’re ready, Bruno. Shall we go?”

“We’re not waiting for Mirabel and Isabela?” he asked as he picked up another cookie.

“No, Issa is still in her room getting ready. I sent Mirabel to fetch her. I’m sure they’ll catch up.”

He handed the cookie to her and said, “You need to try this. It’s pretty tasty.”

Alma took the cookie and had a small bite. She smiled and said, “Yes, these are excellent. Did you make these Pepita?”

Pepa looked almost ready to cry as she nodded and Bruno said, “Yep, Pep just made them.”

Their mother looked at her daughter and said, “They are very delicious, may I have another?”

Pepa held up the plate and their mother took another. “Okay, Bruno, time to go.” Bruno looked at Julieta and winked. He pulled another cookie off the plate and stood as he pocketed the cookie. The rat inside made a delighted sound and their mother looked about to say something, but instead patted his arm and took another bite of her cookie as Bruno picked up the bag, and together they left the kitchen for the front door.

So different, Julieta thought. She sometimes wondered how their lives would have been different if their Mamá had been able to find healing sooner. There was a gentle clatter of tiles near the window, and Julieta took a deep breath.

“What did Casita say?” Pepa asked, the bare whisper of a cloud forming.

“Isabee loves Humm.”

“You gonna tell me what that means or make me guess?”

Julieta turned to her sister and said, “Mamá’s found a way to take that first step with Issa.”

Pepa smiled, and the cloud dissipated, and she said, “Thank goodness for that.”

Isabela came in then with Mirabel and Julieta smiled seeing the new clothes. Pepa was sitting with her mouth hanging open. The outfit Isabela was wearing had been made as a surprise while everyone was stuck at home. Agustín felt Isabela needed a change of more than just the color of her dress. When Gus and his father had finished it, Julieta and her husband talked over whether to just give them to her or hold off. They decided not to let Issa find them until she actually spoke with her Abuela. However, much Isabela said she didn’t care what her Abuela thought, it was very apparent she felt somewhat lost without the direction her Abuela previously provided.

Mirabel was looking tense but hopeful, and Julieta hoped she would find a way to relax a little before they got to the meeting.

“You two should get a move on, or you’ll be late,” Julieta said.

“We are going, I just got some scratches that need to be healed first,” Issa said and rolled up her sleeves.

Julieta came around the table and gently traced the cuts. Isabela seemed surprised that Julieta did not ask that obvious question as she reached for the small plate of cookies on the table. She let her gift flow into one and handed it to her daughter. Issa ate it and the scratches and cuts disappeared. Isabela rolled down her sleeves and said as she redid the buttons, “Thanks, Mamá. Probably gonna lay off the vine sleeves for a while.”

Julieta smiled and nodded. Issa never like explaining what was going on in her head, and Julieta hoped this really was a turning point for her oldest. With luck, she would finally be able to move forward, and Issa smiled when Julieta smoothed her hair behind her ear and gave Issa a kiss on the cheek.

“You ready Mira?” Isabela asked, turning toward her sister.

“No, but you’ll be with me, so hopefully I won’t make a complete fool of myself in front of the whole town.”

Isabela laughed as she turned her sister toward the door, giving her a gentle shove, “That’s the spirit Hermanita.”

Julieta watched them go, then turned back to find Pepa was right next to her, and Julieta took a step back. “What?”

“Where did Issa get those clothes?”

“Gus and his father made them.”

Pepa nodded and leaned into her sister, saying, “You think I could get something like that?”

Julieta tilted her head and said, “Probably, you should ask him.”

“Can’t you ask him for me?”

“She could, but since I’m right here…” said a voice from the door. The sisters turned and Julieta smiled. Agustín walked over, gave Julieta a hug before he sat at the table with a sigh, pouring himself some coffee. The sisters returned to the table and Julieta poured herself more coffee and dropped a piece of chocolate in it as Pepa poured herself some.

Camilo poked his head in from the kitchen and said, “Tía, are there any leftover arepas? Oooo, and the cookies, can I have some of those too?”

“Camilo,” Pepa said, “Second, second breakfast, mi amor?”

“Studying makes me hungry.”

Julieta watched Pepa roll her eyes and her sister said, “No to the cookies, I made those for our guest. Left over arepas are in the basket on the sideboard.” Camilo eyed the basket as he stepped all the way in and flipped back the towel. He managed to pick up a good half dozen arepas and shrugged at the look on their faces. Then he winked and promptly disappeared the way he had come. “Oi, those cookies are still out,” Pepa said getting up, “Guess I better deliver them before…” there was a clatter of tiles in the kitchen and Pepa growled, a storm cloud forming as she stalked off.

Julieta looked at her husband and noticed the blue daisy on Agustín’s lapel, pointed at it and said, “That’s new.”

“Yes, Isabela says it’s for a new beginning,” he said and smiled at it.

“That’s a relief,” Julieta said, “She did seem a lot calmer when she and Mirabel left for the meeting.”

“When she came up to thank me for the clothes, she looked almost happy and did not sound stressed at all.”

Julieta picked up another cookie and took a bite, then said, “She finally let me heal those cuts on her arms. Agustín, there were so many. At least she’ll have fewer scars.”

“One more for the club of the perfectly imperfect Madrigals,” Agustín said with a chuckle. Julieta smirked and laid her head on Agustín’s arm. He reached around and pulled her closer. “There is one other thing.”

“Oh?”

“Isabela would like to have lunch with us today after the meeting, she says, to discuss some things.”

The clock chimed and Julieta got up and said, "You best get going, I told Pepa I'd walk with her."

"Okay, I'll see you there," Agustín said and downed the rest of his coffee and headed out the door.

Pepa returned to the kitchen and together the sisters left.

------------

Hermanas

Mirabel left Casita feeling a bit better about the morning. At least Issa wasn’t mad at her. As she always did, she turned and waved to Casita. Isabela turned with her and waved as well. She’d never done that before that Mirabel knew of, and it made her curious again as to how well Isabela understood Casita. Mirabel realized she in many ways underestimated her sister, and knew Isabela probably understood Casita a lot better than Mirabel assumed. It really hadn’t occurred to her that Isabela knew what Casita was saying. It wasn’t something Isabela ever did in front of anyone. But then Issa was the one Abuela was training to take over her place before the breaking. Isabela was also the oldest grandchild, and Mirabel felt somewhat sad, realizing that she still took Isabela’s feelings for granted. While Isabela claimed she was delighted she was free of her role as señorita perfecta, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to lead. It really hadn’t occurred to Mirabel how that loss of status had truly affected her sister. Her gloomy thoughts were interrupted when Issa asked, “Mira, botany is the study of plants, right?”

That’s random, Mirabel thought, then said, “Yeah, that and how they work together in their environment.”

“Oh, then that makes sense,” Isabela said.

“What makes sense?”

“Abuela came to my room earlier to talk about me possibly going with Luisa to Bogotá.”

Mirabel stopped and so did Isabela.

“You’re leaving too?”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided about that yet,” Issa said and nudged Mirabel forward again.

Mirabel nodded but continued on. While she didn’t want her sisters to leave the Encanto, she knew she could never hold them back. Being a vet was something Luisa had decided on over nine months ago and had her heart set on that goal. Isabela had made it no secret that she was planning to travel, but now if Issa was going to college too… Mirabel was genuinely torn. She could see how it would be better for both of her sisters to go to school together. The outside seemed particularly frightening, and she’d be here, by herself, again.

Isabela reached over and unraveled her fingers as she took her sister’s hand. She’d noticed that Mirabel had unconsciously knotted them up in front of herself again. Isabela gave her hand a squeeze and said, “It’s not happening anytime soon. We’re going to have to deal with the folks on the mountain first. But I didn’t want you to find out from anyone but me.”

They walked a little further in silence, and Mirabel said, “Issa?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I guess, just being you and helping me learn all this. Gotta say you’re much better at it than me.”

Issa’s expression was thoughtful as she said, “You know, it might not be a bad idea if you went to college too. You’re more than smart enough, and you can get some experience dealing with the outside. See what’s out there that could help the Encanto in the future. Look how many people came just this past year. You’re probably gonna need that eventually.”

Mirabel had never actually considered leaving the Encanto, and the thought made her a little tense. “You think?” she asked as they turned off the main road onto the side street that led to the meeting room at the back of the Church.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Issa replied as she waved a hand at her head, “I do think.”

Mirabel snickered and Isabela grinned. They reached the door to the meeting room and Isabela stopped her from opening it and said, “Okay. Lesson one, it’s likely there will only be Señora Guzmán, Old Arturo, and Dr. González in there right now. Make sure you look them in the eye when you talk to them and smile, Mira.” Mirabel tried to smile, and her sister said, “You look like you’re about to commit a crime,” and Mira let the toothy smile drop, nodded and smiled again, only this time she didn’t show her teeth and Isabela sighed and said, “Well now you look like someone just perpetrated a crime against you. Relax, hermanita, smile like you do when you’re waving to Casita.” Mira did and Issa said, “Excellent, hold that thought. Okay, here we go.” And Isabela opened the door, and motioned for Mirabel to lead the way as they stepped in.

------------

Bruno sat at a table at the furthest side of the meeting room, hood pulled up and gently tapping the surface of the vision as he waited for the sponty to pass. This was the first one today, and while he hoped it would be the last, he knew better. The ringing sound his fingernails elicited from the completed vision were very soothing to him. Once the sponty ended, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of whatever it was that Julieta was supplying. He smelled the blueberries and mint mixture before taking a quick swallow. Hands no longer shaking, he replaced the stopper and put it away. Bruno’s primary purpose for being here was to watch the people and gauge their reactions, not just to him, but to the news that soon there could be trouble. He pulled out the sketchbook and rapidly roughed out a drawing, then closed it and set it on the table.

After a moment, he pulled off his hood and noticed his mother watching him with concern. It brought back long forgotten memories of when his mother accepted his idiosyncrasies for what they were. Coping mechanisms, he’d come to rely on to deal with the fear of what he might see in his next vision. As he got older and grew wearier of the day-to-day effort of just staying alive. His mother’s need for him to ‘act’ more grown up made him grow sullen and bitter. He just wanted his mother to accept his twitchy, broken self just as he was and still feel proud. He gave her a small smile and a thumbs up. Her worried expression lessened as she smiled and nodded, reluctantly she returned her attention to the young man in front of her. He had also been watching Bruno with interest, but returned his attention to ‘Doña’ Alma Madrigal when she began speaking to him. The young man was not tall, probably half a head shorter than Bruno, wore dark rimmed glasses atop a hawkish nose that were almost too big for his face. He stood straight though and spoke to his mother with confidence that did not come off as arrogant. Something his mother always responded to. His clothes were not the usual either. He wore a collared short-sleeved shirt under an open vest that had several pockets. Most of those had small boxes in them. His short pants stopped just above his knees and no shoes, those he had left near the door. At the moment all Bruno could remember was that he’d come with the first batch of newcomers from Bogotá.

Something about him was familiar though, but what was his name? His mother had introduced him, but Bruno had truthfully not been paying much attention. He did know this person led the group that had been watching the river pass. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but that one had also been the focus of Bruno’s sponty. Bruno sat and rolled the pencil on the table. The name still wasn’t coming to him, so he focused on Mariano, who was here with his mother. Bruno would have never thought Mariano the type to be interested in this sort of thing. Dolores seemed to think he was perfect for it. Bruno kind of dismissed that since she and Mariano were dating, but had to admit, Mariano was a natural. Like the other fellow, he spoke with confidence and deferred to his mother. He could see why Mamá would want him to marry into the family.

Old Arturo was speaking with Señora Guzmán and González, pulling answers out of her about how things were going with the wedding plans. Occasionally, Mariano would whisper something to the open air, and Bruno realized he must be speaking to his sobrina. That was a remarkable new side of Dolores’s Gift, it was a shame she had to remain in Casita for it to work. He wondered if she could speak to more than one person at once, or if it was limited to just one at a time.

Mariano looked suddenly concerned as he excused himself and went over to speak with Bruno’s Mamá. His mother broke off her conversation with the young man and she and Mariano went a short way away. His mother looked startled for a moment, but then appeared to be listening to someone, but Mariano was not talking. She responded to the open air as Mariano had. Maybe something was happening with the folks on the mountain. He opened his sketchbook again and flipped through the last few pages and added a few things to the background. Bruno tapped the vision with his free hand, listening to the soft ring of it as he added details.

He looked up when the door opened. Mirabel and Isabela came in and Bruno smiled, seeing his sobrina was now walking confidently about in the new outfit Gus had made for her. Women in pants… Issa was sure to start a fashion trend. While Bruno had suggested the color, he wondered how long it would take Isabela to change it. Mirabel looked nervous as a cat, looking around at the people already assembled for the meeting. Isabela leaned in and said something to her sister that made Mirabel smile and she relaxed. Issa gave Mirabel a gentle shove toward the table he was sitting at. The young man her mother had been speaking to, turned to see who had come in and went still. He took a step back, bumped into a chair, and had to look away or fall over. This was enough to break the spell, and Bruno noticed the young man sat down, still watching his sobrina as she passed by. Isabela really was a strikingly beautiful woman and Bruno thought, tread lightly, my friend.

Mariano’s eyebrows went up watching the other fellow as he watched Isabela. A small smile crossed his lips and he nodded and waved to the sisters when they noticed him. Mariano immediately returned his attention to their Abuela, but the exchange did not go unnoticed by the young man, who looked thoughtful but continued to watch Isabela and Mirabel as they came over to the table where he was sitting. They sat down next to him, and Isabela looked around the room, and she raised an eyebrow when her eyes stopped for a moment on the young man who was still staring at her.

Mirabel noticed none of this, instead she was examining his sketchbook that was still turned to his most recent effort. As she was scrutinizing the page, she blinked, and her eyes flicked to the young man. He was no longer staring at Isabela but had joined the Doctor, Señora Guzmán and Old Arturo, who were listening intently to what he was telling them. Mirabel adjusted her glasses then pulled him closer with his ruana and asked in a whispered voice, “Is that him?”

Bruno glanced at the sketch, it was incomplete, and the figures did not have faces, but Mirabel seemed to see more in his sketches than anyone else did. She’d found him one afternoon before dinner, sketching out the scenes the spontys were showing him. Bruno had told her then he’d taken to sketching what he saw in his spontys, so he wouldn’t forget something. When Bruno nodded, Mirabel sat back and said just as quietly, “Why would Bubo Márquez show up in your sponty with Paola?”

“I think I’ve mentioned this before,” Bruno said as he closed the book, “I don’t know.”

Mirabel gave him the side eye and laughed, but it was clear she was seeing something that would probably become obvious soon enough. Seeing everyone was there, his mother and the rest came to sit around the table. Bruno waited for his mother to finish her introductions, then at her request pulled out the sketches, the vision tablet he left in the bag for now. Bruno started passing them one page at a time to those at the table that had not seen them. Bubo paused and looked a long time at the sketch of the angry man and Fernando. He also spent time looking at the sketch of the older woman. Once all the sketches were returned to him, Bruno brought out the vision tablet. He turned it toward them, and Señora Guzmán gasped. The Doctor and old Arturo’s gentle face showed actual anger. Mariano’s was all concern. Bubo, however, was now looking out the only window at the mountains, his expression unreadable. Señora Guzmán looked at his mother and said, “We must do everything we can to help these children. We’ve all heard the stories about the unrest on the outside.”

“Yes,” old Arturo agreed. He turned to Bruno and asked, “Bruno, have your visions told you where they are on the mountain?”

Bruno blinked at the question but answered, “No, nothing that specific.”

“It’s good that your Gift has given us some time to prepare,” the Doctor said with a nod.

Bruno decided he liked the Doctor and was a little astonished that he said his Gift was good. Encouraged, he said, “We have not been idle with this. We are gathering as much information as we can, so we can do what’s best.”

Mariano offered then, “Dolores told me this morning there are at least five more children with the women in Bruno’s vision. She thinks the larger group is made up of at least twenty-five people.”

Bruno’s mother said, “There is one other thing you all need to know. Last night, while we were investigating, Camilo found one of the children and brought them to Casita. Mira will be looking after her, as she seems most comfortable with her.”

Mirabel spoke up then, “The child’s name is Paola. She’s probably seven or eight. Right now, she’s with Antonio. If you do happen to see her, please don’t ask her any questions about this until we have a chance to get her settled in. She’s already skittish, and we don’t want to frighten her further.”

“Señor Madrigal, I got the impression that the people in the sketches are pursuing the women in the vision tablet,” Bubo said then asked, “Do we know why?”

“No. Presently, it’s all speculation.”

His mother added, “All we know for certain is they are all headed toward our valley, so we will need to address this now.”

There were nods all round and Bubo cleared his throat and asked, “Señor Madrigal, do you have a sketch of Paola?”

Bruno was starting to see why this one had been the focus of his earlier sponty. He nodded and opened the sketchbook to the page with the smiling child. Bubo took the small book, and it was clear he knew who this child was. Who they were before someone named them ‘Paola’. Bubo frowned for a moment, then returned the sketchbook, and said, “I think I know who the leader of the other group is.”

“Please, Señor, tell us what you know,” Bruno’s mother said.

“His name is José,” Bubo paused then added, “José Márquez, and he is my Tío.”

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

#encanto #tio bruno #encanto dolores #pepa madrigal #casita #family madrigal #the family madrigal #julieta madrigal #encanto pepa #felix madrigal #abuela alma madrigal #augustin madrigal #encanto fanfic #my fanfic writing #mirabel madrigal #encanto Disney #disney encanto #isabela madrigal #antonio madrigal #camilo madrigal #dolores madrigal #doors

[mando-and-bucky]

lemon tiramisu 🍋

#lemon tiramisu #tiramisu #lemon #lemon curd #issa bakes #issa cooks

[unsoundedcomic]

So how does Ssael measure up in terms of food invention? Is he (did he really come up with/research recipes or just steal them from Issa?) a better or worse recipe forge than Biz? Are his weird ethnic Tainish foods more or less cursed than my ideas about Alderode’s? Or was he just like, “roast x meat with y herb and z root vegetable” eighty times in a row and the Ssaelit were like 😲

Ahahaha~

They're all Tainish recipes. He wrote them down later in life as he saw Tain's less pymary-focused culture disappearing into obscurity. All the Alds were interested in were the various ways one could wiggle their hand at the ground and evaporate weeds, or start fires, or walk through walls; not as much interest in baking or soup >(

[johnnygstaffordshire]

...oh...so ya...okay??? ion...I shop @ the thrift store...IGHT?? SO YA...HOWEVER...HOWEVA...BUT YA MAKE 1 FA YA BELT...DEY...OH WORD?!?!?! HE NOT EATNA JOE...I WORK THE JOE HAND THE BEANz DEY BAKED...ISSA AERO...I SEE...🤔🤔...BABY...I...OH LAWD...BABY...

[okinawanoumi]

A story of mom and I (1)

My mother is always in a bad mood in the morning. She's not angry, she's lifeless.

Her eyes are blank and she hangs her head down.  She doesn't respond when I talk to her.

Unlike us, who live in the present from the past, she has to face a completely new version of herself every morning.

Where am I?

Who is the person giving me instructions?

what should I do?

At the breakfast table, she feels depressed.

There was no reaction to the tea I offered.

I bake pancakes for breakfast as usual. Today I put some sweet potatoes in them. I prinkled honey on the finished pancake and place it in front of her.

Mother raises her head and looks relieved.

This is always a delicious thing to eat.

Pancakes bring her back to the real world.

She picks up a fork and starts eating silently.

And little by little, her day begins.

"Where am I ?"

At the dining table after breakfast, my mother felt anxious for a moment.

She looked and saw the writing in front of her.

"The tadpoles are playing hide-and-seek behind the water plants, where the water in the stream is sparkling."

She saw a sparkling stream in front of her.

Her anxiety went away.

She continued reading aloud.

“Today, March 3rd, is the Doll’s Festival.

Odairi-sama and Hina-sama at the entrance...

My mother was immersed in the world unfolding before her eyes.

``Reading practice book for dementia B'' is her tranquilizer.

When her heart was about to break, she always followed her writing.

There were only two poems that she hummed when I was a child.

``Over the mountains, far to travel, people say, Happiness dwells.... Karl Busse

“How many mountains and rivers I need to cross before I get to a land where loneliness prevails..” Bokusui  Wakayama

As a child, I couldn't miss her melancholic profile when she was humming the poems.

The letters in front of her continued.

"The sound of water jumping into an old pond" Matsuo Basho

“Come and play with me, orphaned sparrow” Issa Kobayashi

As she read her favorite ``Issa'' by ``Kobayashi Issa'' with all her might, she heard a voice and looked up to see a woman standing there with an angry face.

I was urging her to drink a cup of tea while I was playing with my computer on the low table in front of the sofa. The amount of tea I served at breakfast hasn't decreased at all since two hours ago. My mother is so engrossed in reading aloud that she doesn't seem to notice the tea. After a doctor told me that humans need 1,000 liters of water a day, it became my mission and obsession to get her to drink water.

"Drink it."

"Yes, yes"

"Drink that."

“Oh, is it OK if I drink this?”

・ ・・・・・・・・・・

"Drink your tea, please."

"Thank you very much"

We've been repeating this exchange for more than ten minutes. She has never touched the cup though she replied Yes with a smile. She knows what she is doing. 

There was a popping sound in my head, and the next moment I yelled at her.

"I told you to drink, so why aren't you drinking?"

As soon as she stood up, she ran into the Japanese-style room across the hallway.

As I sat in my dining chair, my eyes wandered over the table. A cup of tea that my mother didn't drink, a reading practice book, a cell phone, nail clippers, ear picks, four pens, nail polish that I used a few days ago, and direct mail and real estate advertisements that I took out of the mailbox in the morning. They were scattered on the table. When I looked into the sink, I saw the plates, cups, and frying pans I used for breakfast. I erased those things from my mind, got up, and went out into the garden.

It was three days ago when I was finally able to plant the petunia seedlings that I bought three weeks ago.

Living with my mother makes it impossible for me to do even something as simple as ``plant flowers.'' The seedlings were covered with white roots. When I looked at the house next door, I saw colorful summer flowers already decorating the area around the gate.

When I entered the house and looked into the Japanese-style room next to the entrance, I saw my mother rolling up toilet paper.

In a Japanese-style room, the rental bed under nursing care insurance was on the east side, and on the other side was a piano that had never been opened since we moved in. On top of it sat a few dusty stuffed animals and a big-eyed doll wearing a black velvet dress made by my mother. There is a table and a chair in front of the piano. That was her workshop.

The toilet paper was rolled up in her hands.

Toilet paper of the same length and rolled up like a scroll was being produced more and more in the same size, same length, and same shape. Each finished product was packed in a box, resembling the gift rolls you often see at department stores. Several rolls were made, and the finished rolls were disassembled and rolled again from scratch, so they were repeatedly placed in and out of the box.

When I glanced at rolls and asked her if she was busy, mother looked up with a grin on her face.

"I have pudding, shall we go eat it?"

The pudding happened to be 20% off at the supermarket yesterday. There's a little whipped cream on top. Although she was unwilling to drink tea, she had finished the pudding in no time.

"Would you like to have some tea?"

When I handed her the cup, she glanced inside while she held it. Then she sipped some. The pudding was sweet, so I guess she needed some tea.

As much as the amount of tea has decreased, my heart felt lighter.

#caring #dementia #在宅介護 #認知症 #mental health #short story

[blackcatarts]

HI ISSA i hope you're doing good :) have you baked/cooked anything you are proud of recently?

im doing good dee thank u ily!!

i havent baked or cooked anything in a while honestly and it sucks bc i really should i just dont have the time :( i DID however help my friends make pasta the other night which was nice!

#i was cutting the garlic with a knife sitting there thinking teehee im just like joe macbeth #AJWHEGHASDGJHAWGEJHAGSJDAS #ask #dieke

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Fluffuary 2023 Masterlist

Day 1: Power Outage- Kili x Nessa

Day 2: Kissing- Aragorn x Issa

Day 3: Picnic- Samwise x Adelaide

Day 4: Love Letters- Fili x Celeste

Day 5: "Marry Me?"- Eomer x Kitra 

Day 6: Sunrise- Pippin x Camellia

Day 7: First "I Love You"- Kili x Rosemary 

Day 8: Midnight Talks- Elladan x Netra 

Day 9: Sunset- Thranduil x Aster 

Day 10: Stargazing- Thorin x Sienna

Day 11: Fireplace- Dwalin x Astrea

Day 12: Baking/Cooking Together- Elrond x Iris

Day 13: Secret Relationship- Haldir x Sephera 

Day 14: Spooning/Cuddling- Bilbo x Pandora 

Day 15: Domestic Chores- Beorn x Cassidora 

Day 16: Established "I Love You"- Boromir x Citra

Day 17: Rainy Day- Bard x Roslyn

Day 18: Reunion- Fili x Aurora

Day 19: First Sight- Haldir x Mirabella 

Day 20: Date Night- Merry x Brooke

Day 21: Surprise Gift- Thorin x Bellarose 

Day 22: Flowers- Faramir x Almë

Day 23- Planning the Future- Bofur x Gemma 

Day 24: Hot Beverage- Glorfindel x Elletta

Day 25: Forehead Touch- Legolas x Alphine

Day 26: Holding Hands- Lindir x Marina 

Day 27: Snowed In- Elrohir x Adaia

Day28: Slow Dancing- Frodo x Lalia

[toddlazarski]

“Sherman’s Showcase”

The A.V. Club

There is no laughter more hollow, no handclap or whoop more soulless, than that ignited by a traffic signal. To understand the applause sign is to consider a dated, insulting notion that we, the audience, maybe don’t really know how to watch, consume, appreciate. And yet it remains an integral part of the late-night talk show rigmarole wherein a man in a suit reads topical jokes from out-of-sight cue cards as America puts on its jammies. Even new takes on the formula abide the old slight to the idea of a present, subjective assembly. Maybe by now, in the late-night game, we’ve all just grown tired. In the wake of the end of the shows of Trevor Noah, James Corden, and Samantha Bee, The New York Times recently asked “Is There a Future for Late-Night Talk Shows?” It seems, with declining interest and the ascendance of streaming, with a growing reluctance to hear tired jokes about gas prices and the vice president from a soundstage in Rockefeller Center, it may be time to lay the old dog to pasture. How? Sherman’s Showcase seems to ask. Well, skewer it to smithereens, apparently.

At the opening of each episode, yes, a suited man stands, ridiculous phallic Bob Barker microphone in hand, dark shades and immaculate beard immovable, a lounge singer’s smug suavity, preacher’s aloof charm, deep throaty voice assured and practiced, the air of a confident and consummate emcee to lead one toward nighttime delights. But then, for instance, he might go into a quick and breathless tangent: “I can’t wait to start the show, but before we get there allow me to summarize the plot of Mulholland Drive. You see, she shoots herself. Great movie.”  

Such is the course and absurd tenor for most of the show, as it evolves or devolves or dissolves or aimlessly winds its way toward some unholy amalgamation of asides, backstage glimpses, interviews, live music performances, music videos, previews, movie trailers, animation, award shows, game shows, commercials, even a video game - "there was 16 minutes of text back and forth before the game even started." It is all vaguely, conceptually sketch comedy, sure, in spirit, but strung together with an uncannily and uniquely propulsive bump. 

The man at the center of it all, Sherman McDaniels himself, is Bashir Salahuddin. His sidekick, Dutch Shepherd, is played by Diallo Riddle. The real life duo met at Harvard before embarking on a union of writing and video projects, landing as writers for Jimmy Fallon, creating the cult Comedy Central show South Side, and eventually birthing Sherman, which premiered in 2019. This latest iteration of their creative offspring is pitched as a kind of offbeat parody on Soul Train, American Bandstand, Solid Gold, some other 70’s show you’ve likely heard Questlove reminisce about. But it actually feels more in common with the work of Christopher Guest, I Think You Should Leave, and some freaky fever dream of a sativa-baked In Living Color writer’s room where the editor has gone on vacation.  

Season two is a continuation of the team’s well-honed brand of quick-hitting, time-hopping narration, giving a 360-degree view of a beloved musical variety show. For this go they’ve brought back John Legend as producer, occasional guest, and, from the sound of it, probable co-songwriter. Guests also include Issa Rae and Chance the Rapper, and everything remains very much in the IFC brand of “Slightly Off,” in the faux-serious vain of Portlandia, and not unlike a completely problematic step-sibling of Documentary Now. We have straight-faced commitment to musical numbers like “Epulets Fall in Love” and “I Love You, Sike;”  an overlong and artful treatment of a Wes Anderson twee fest, in the trailer for Forty Acres and a Blimp (“coming soon to theaters in Cannes, Silver Lake, and most of Brooklyn”); simple silliness (“Cognac, you my only friend,” takes a sip, “that is not cognac”); and coy zingery: a voiceover announcing a past show’s guests welcomes “the face of hope and change in the Democratic Party, John Edwards!”   

Like with any assorted sketch show, like a book of poems or a big league slugger where half-the-time success equals greatness, not every effort works. One of the earliest bits here, a trailer for a flick wherein Mary J. Blige attempts a heist to take down P. Diddy, won’t let go of its search for a tag or a throughline, and comes off like clumsy and warmed-over SNL. But even in flatness is shown real willingness to gamble, to try, there is a stretching and a belief, bordering dangerously, deliciously on recklessness. At times the writers treat the audience with so much trust it almost feels like indifference. Especially in trailers for the likes of Not Passing. The kernel of the idea can almost be seen, framed in late-night smoke and soundtracked by thigh slaps  — what if we take Passing, and, do the opposite!? Similarly, consider, That’s The Spirit. An African soccer phenom’s father is a ghost, who is a soccer ball. As his mother prepares him to have a new sibling, the poor boy can’t stop asking her how his ghost soccer ball father conceived a new child. A tag line promises “A story of forgiveness.” 

On paper this shouldn’t jive with a strangely poetic black-and-white segment on the perspective of the show’s security guard: “in reality nothing is secured, security is a fiction, a pantomime.” Nor should that gel with an old animated Sherman-penned series, Dumpster Buddies, featuring his friend “Obese Maurice,” which we see as he discusses on an expose-style Frost/Nixon-esque interview. But everything moves and flows with such assurance, style, a slinky and soulful rat-a-tat tempo that inevitably leads back to a song and dance routine far better than it has any right or need to be.  

Salahuddin, the center of nearly every bit, the eye of the hurricane, is a forceful revelation. Part caricature and part chum, delusional but familiar, it’s hard not to think of Danny McBride in The Righteous Gemstones or anything else, with that always-semi-disbelieving head cocked slightly back, an overcooked swagger turned so high, so ridiculous, it becomes something benignly, lovably goofy. In the digressions, the deviations, wondrous casual remarks, there is such a sense of timing, such laughable machismo, it is easy to almost feel the need to lean forward, to catch the next line, to not be able to look away from the somehow hip awkwardness. In a George Clinton parody, Sherman states, “God wanted a style of music that involved way too many people, so he invented funk.” And so Sherman, the show, moves, with a party atmosphere and large contingent of creators moving and shaking and offering something at once neurotic, silly, feel good, and singularly smart. It is also a line indicative of the writerly attention given to almost everything Sherman says. There is not a moment of dead air, not a second without something like realizing that, to Sherman, five plus six is 12, because he “always rounds up.” Of its time, the end product feels almost like scrollable sketch comedy—if something doesn’t work for you there’s surely something, something else, coming right behind. Something else in a steady, heady funk, set entirely to its own beat. Something delicious because you don’t know quite how to process it and nobody is giving a clue.