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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Dildos and Hayfever

Harringrove April prompt day 13, Hayfever. Detective Billy Hargrove's had a rough time lately, and Captain Hopper assigns him a partner who'll either make everything worse...or everything better.

“All you need to know is he’s the commissioner’s son,” rang in Billy’s head as he stalked down the hall. Hopper had followed up with “I told him you were fresh out of rehab,” and “I’m sure you can remember enough of the ropes to show him, right, it’s not like he’s gonna be doing the work anyway,” and Billy gritted his teeth, punching the elevator buttons with a vengeance.

The light flickered, worsening the headache that always came on in the spring when all the flowers bloomed, and every tree on every sidewalk in the city shot its rocks off in midair—or when he had to walk into the office of the captain. This morning, to his utmost joy, he’d had both, and he took the opportunity of alone time in the elevator to blow his nose, hard.

Captain Hopper meant well, probably, Billy told himself, and set his shoulders.

He found the right building because of the smoke pouring out half the upper windows, the six fire trucks, and the EMTs coming out with the victims—a nice brownstone, before. Billy looked—somewhat hopelessly—for an elevator, sighed, and hauled himself up seven flights of stairs, sneezing.

Police Commissioner Harrington’s son was interviewing witnesses. Billy’d seen him before—always with his own office, always flirting with whoever worked reception, always with his uniform tailored. How he’d brokered a transfer to Major Crimes was a riddle Billy couldn’t wait to ask about—though if he was absolute dead weight, Hopper would probably come up with another solution to Billy’s bullshit, and kick Harrington back onto a desk somewhere.

Harrington was on an upper landing, listening to a black lady and her husband. They looked in their...seventies, maybe, well-off, both crying, and clutching tabby cats. “I can speak to you later,” he said gently, “—if you’d like to—” but the woman shook her head, grabbing his hand.

“He’s a good boy,” she said, sniffling, “—and you better catch whoever did this. Anyone who could do this. There aren’t many young men ready to haul an old lady’s groceries up nine flights, or open her pickle jars, either. Anything we can tell you—”

The man nodded too, holding her hand, and Harrington crouched, jotting down their story, while Billy showed his ID and ducked under the crime scene tape into the half-gutted apartment. He listened as he pulled the whole crime scene kit on, his gloves, mask, booties, and haircap and all.

It smelled horrible, still thick with greasy smoke that clung to the inside of Billy’s sinuses, and he was grateful for the mask.

The parts of the apartment that hadn’t caught fire were nice—nicer than he could afford, certainly—with art everywhere, photos, paintings...and a floor-to-ceiling, sculptural mobile he couldn’t help thinking looked like a cock. He surveyed the scene—a coffee table with wine glasses for two, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and chocolate dick-shaped marshmallows, in front of a couch with penis-shaped pillows.

There was a spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ on the wall, the last word obscured by char from the fire, but Billy honestly wasn’t sure it was new, given the decor in general, and the adjacent broken glass glued to the wall in a penis shape. He leaned in and sniffed it, and he could still smell the fumes of the paint. He snapped a few pictures of it, for later.

When he backed up to get a wider view, his shoulder thumped into someone. “Sorry,” said Harrington, and then, showing why he’d made detective, “...that huge thing on the ceiling kinda looks like a dick.”

“A lot of things in this apartment do, you’ll find,” said Wheeler, the lead CSI, raising her eyebrows at Billy with a smirk. He tensed, a little, but she just started giving him the report, and he nearly shut his eyes in relief. “Including the weapon.” She waved at a bagged, cement dong sculpture that looked like art deco. “It probably didn’t take any prints,” she said, sighing, “—with a gritty surface like that.” Harrington grimaced, wincing, and touching his head.

“The victim will probably regain consciousness,” Wheeler went on. “He left the windows open all along that side of the apartment,” she pointed, “—and with as windy as it’s been today, it sucked the fire away from him, so he didn’t get much smoke inhalation.”

“What even...robbery?” Harrington asked, then, “Domestic violence?” and she grimaced, clicking around on her tablet.

“From his phone, it looks like a first date. We’re going over it with a fine-tooth comb, though,” she said, frowning at Billy, then down at her tablet. “Since the assailant obviously wanted the crime scene burned to the ground.”

Billy nodded, his eyes watering either from the fumes, or the pollen count. He sneezed inside his mask, and grimaced as it stuck to his face wetly. “Who is the victim?” he asked, sighing, and wrinkling his nose.

“Ishaq Hill,” Harrington put in, glancing between them. “Profession, camboy. Posted photos and videos of himself, pinup style mostly, artsy, sometimes naked. Neighbors don’t think it was stressing him out any, though, he just talked about being single a lot.”

Wheeler raised her eyebrows. “Because of the head trauma, they’re keeping him in a medically induced coma, so we can’t ask him what happened at least until tomorrow. But look,” she said, leaning between them to flick between photos on her tablet. She zoomed in on the victim’s crotch, and Billy automatically shot an alarmed glance at the nearest human, who happened to be Harrington, his brown eyes frowning back.

“Was there evidence of sexual assault?” he asked, and Wheeler shook her head, waving him closer.

“No, no, look,” she said, zooming it in further. “It’s hard to see, but look, the harness. The color, there, against his white vinyl? It’s a leather harness, dyed rainbow tie-dye. The straps are cut—and it’s empty.”

Billy stared at her. “...you’re saying the victim is trans,” he said slowly, making sure he had it right, “—and the attempted murderer stole his dick.”

“What the hell,” Harrington breathed.

She raised her eyebrows, waving her arms in a dramatic shrug. “I have no idea! But go look, there’s another one in the bedroom—” she pointed, and then bent back to sweeping something into a tiny ziploc bag.

In the bedroom, Harrington pointed at the waist-to-hip sculpture of a man, used to demo, apparently, turquoise leather straps similar to the rainbow straps they could make out in the photos. This one had a securely-fitted glass dildo in it with a whole blown-glass coral reef inside. Harrington bent close to stare at the cock made of tiny jellyfish and anemones, while Billy took in the display on the dresser—a whole array of fancy condoms and butt plugs, with decorated stands, and nameplates.

“He must have used this stuff in videos,” Harrington said. “Like, you know, unboxing.”

“I think he probably filmed less taking them out and more more putting them in things,” Billy muttered, as Harrington snickered, and then waved at the small, rhinestoned pastry stand labeled ‘God <3 Fags’. It was empty.

He looked over to see whether Harrington had noticed the empty stand, but he was fiddling with his phone. “...doesn’t look like he had any nasty public messages, or anything,” he said, frowning. “I’ll look through his account when we get back—”

“I’m gonna see where he gets all these dildos,” Billy said, frowning at one with what looked like birthday candles, and ‘Ishaq 23rd’ floating inside. He pulled a drawer open, and found a few boxed vibrators, and a lot of lingerie. “Some of this stuff has to be custom. Maybe they’ll know which one got stolen.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, brightening. “Good idea!”

“You can call around,” Billy told him, and Harrington shot him a sideways glance that made Billy wonder if he was gonna be a shithead about his dad being the commissioner, but he just nodded. He dropped into a chair at a desk out on the floor like any other cop when they got back to the precinct, searching up both Ishaq Hill’s social media, and local sex shops.

Billy went to find coffee and gossip, avoiding the old guard—his father’s friends.

“Steve’s all right,” said Holland, another CSI he thought he could trust, since she was friends with Wheeler. She considered, crossing her arms. “Everybody figures he’ll be bad at the job, so he gets all the desk work, and he’s kind of obnoxious, but he’ll get down and dust vac a bloody trunk, if you need him to.”

Hagen in Vice sneered, and yelled for everyone to come say hey to Neil Hargrove’s son, back from rehab, and Billy turned on his heel and stalked back to his own department, his heart racing.

He returned to hand Harrington a vending machine coffee, and Harrington looked grateful, toasting him in the air as he talked on the phone. “No, ma’am, I’m not trying to make any trouble. No, it’s nothing like—” he groaned, leaning his head against the handset, then sipped his coffee, and hit redial. “Hey, I’m looking to buy custom, handmade dildos. I’ve got a—” he grimaced at the wall, screwed up his face in thought, and then shrugged, glancing at Billy, and grimacing as he sighed. “I’ve got a highschool ring I wanna put in a dildo. Uh, go 2011!” He listened. “Oh, you do? Oh, thanks so much,” he said, writing down a phone number, and mumbling more thank yous.

“What’d you get?” Billy asked.

“Just another store to try,” Steve muttered. He kicked the desk, and rolled a couple feet closer to hand the post-it note to Billy. “They don’t want to talk to me until I want a weird sex toy,” he said, flushing a little, but laughing. “I’ve looked for one with plastic dinosaurs in it, a butt plug with my old glass eye—”

Billy snorted his coffee, coughing as Harrington scrambled up to pat his back.

“I think one time I maybe said moose antlers,” he muttered, counting off on his fingers. “That one must think I’m pretty weird.”

“Not the eyeball one though,” Billy choked out, trying not to die. “The fake eye ass plug store thinks that’s normal as shit.”

“I just mean,” Steve said, blushing, and waving his arms in a vaguely antler-like shape from his head, “—moose antlers wouldn’t probably fit in my ass, you know?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Billy gasped, wiping his eyes, leaned in to where Harrington had brought up Hill’s social media, and scrolled.

“What’s all this shit about the Westboro Baptist Church?” he asked.

Steve was mumbling and scribbling, and then he hung up. “Oh,” he nodded. “They’ve been spamming ‘God Hates Fags’ on all his sites. He’s been doing a big photoshoot with teasers, kind of...at them? He kept tagging them. It’s gone viral.” He held out his phone, and Billy was treated to a lock screen of their assault victim on his knees, arms out like he was singing, his glittery dick spurting a cartoon rainbow.

“...sorry, that’s not very professional,” Harrington said, grimacing, and yanking it back. “I’ll change it.”

“Did you see this at the crime scene?” Billy asked him, yanking his phone out and showing Harrington the spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ he’d found on the wall.

“Holy shit,” Harrington said. “Eugh, imagine them knowing where you live. Shit, I didn’t even notice that.” He sighed, and Billy kicked his chair, lightly.

“Kinda busy walls in that place,” he pointed out, and Steve shot him a smirk.

“Hargrove!” a familiar voice yelled, and Detective Holloway ran up and gave Billy a hug. “You look so good!” she told him, and then nodded at Harrington, and smiled back at Billy. “We found the guy the date was with on Grindr. They’re bringing him in.”

It was nice to have somebody happy to see him, even if her face made him kinda uncomfortable, knowing she’d been the one to catch him drinking in the supply room after all the—after.

“Make him wait,” Billy said, considering. “I wanna go through the conversations on Grindr. He can work up some nerves first.”

“He’s ex-military,” she said, grimacing. “His CV says his last job was as a ‘fully armed and trained combat specialist’ who did security for diamond mines in war-torn areas. I don’t think you’re gonna make him nervous.”

“Eugh,” Harrington said, making a face. “I can see why that date didn’t go well. He probably dresses like a supervillain.”

Holloway’s look at him was a little withering, and he shut up, turning back to sit at his computer. “Lemme know if you need anything,” she told Billy, frowning into his face, and he pushed her shoulder away, quirking his mouth.

“...I’m okay,” he told her, and she didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t hug him again, at least.

“How are you doing?” Harrington asked, after she’d left, and after swallowing half the cup of coffee in one chipmunk-cheeked slurp. He wiped his mouth, blinking wide brown eyes up at Billy, and Billy groaned.

“Look, about what the captain—”

“I know the story,” Harrington said, tossing back the rest of the coffee like a bathtub drain. Billy reminded himself to make Harrington pee before they got in a car together, like a little kid on a road trip. “My dad’s the commissioner, I know the whole...thing,” he said, grimacing. “You shoulda got a commendation.”

“...he was a dirty cop,” Billy grunted, hunching his shoulders. “It’s our job to make sure—”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed, nodding at his screen, and Billy relaxed a little, out from under the weight of sympathetic eyes. “It’s our job, but not everybody does it. And you knew what it was gonna be like.”

“I did,” Billy said, grimacing. “I thought I did.”

“Hey, they let me into Major Crimes for this,” Harrington laughed, unhappily. “Even if my police work isn’t up to scratch, they won’t try anything on you if I’m standing there.”

Billy watched him, and felt a kind of brotherhood, suddenly, looking at Harrington’s tight smile, and tense shoulders. “...police work’s been okay so far,” he said, and Harrington shot him a startled grin. “I’m gonna go...call the hospital,” Billy told him, suddenly needing to be somewhere else. “Maybe swing by and take a look at our victim.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, nodding.

Billy had a few more pictures of the harness sent over—Wheeler was right about what it was, at least—and then they brought the ex-military Grindr date in. He didn’t look that intimidating, actually—his huge biceps were flexed as he held kleenex over his nose, sneezing so hard every few feet he staggered, and he was wearing a t-shirt with a badly-designed logo for a Queer Youth Charity Marathon.

“Hey,” Harrington whispered, touching his shoulder just before they went inside. “Uh, there’s a lot of hate on there from the Westboro Baptist Church. Like, they were getting specific, said someone doxxed him.”

In the interrogation room, their person of interest sneezed so hard snot dangled from both his nostrils, like a drooly dog. Steve snorted a laugh, and walked off to lean against another detective’s desk—Carol’s, Billy thought.

“Can I bribe you for some of that kleenex?” he asked, leaning in like he was flirting on a movie poster, and Carol laughed out loud, and hit him with it.

“Take it and git,” she said, and Steve ran back, grinning.

“Here we go,” he said, handing one to Billy. “One for you, the rest of the box for him.”

“I didn’t even stay for the whole date,” said Braxton Haglund, 34 years old, dark haired and caucasian, with a tattoo Billy could see peeking from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Haglund blew his nose, again, and the kleenex was so wet it made a noise as he dropped it against the table. “He’d left the windows all open. I walked up so many stairs—” he sneezed, miserably, several times, wadding handfuls of kleenex under his nose, and wiping his eyes.

“God,” he mumbled. “If I didn’t have hayfever, I’d probably still have been there when...whatever happened,” he said, between sneezes. His wide shoulders were hunched despairingly, and even Harrington had a sympathetic grimace. “Dunno if I’d have been much use, though.”

“Did you see anyone as you left?” Billy asked, and Haglund thought, taking deep breaths between blowing his nose.

“...nobody that stood out,” he said. “Some neighbors, maybe. Think I walked into somebody, once, my eyes were watering.”

He hadn’t seen anybody going in, either, so after they let him leave, Billy spent a while scrolling through all the victim’s media accounts. Harrington stayed doggedly on tracking down the dildo maker—Billy nearly felt sorry for him, except it was giving Billy such a good read on what to expect—and he was coming up with a continuous stream of weird sex toys to be in search of. “I’m an author,” he told one. “I want a dildo containing the pen I wrote my first book with.” He jotted down another number, called it, sighed, and tried again. “Uh, I want a dildo full of baby teeth—” he started, and then stopped, frowning at the phone. “They hung up,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Wouldn’t you?!” Billy asked, smiling despite having to see comment after comment by the Westboro Baptist Church. He found further reasons to hate them, but nothing specifically actionable, so he finally stretched and grabbed his jacket. “I’m done for the day,” he called over the other empty desks.

“Go ahead,” Harrington said, frowning at the screen. “I won’t stay much longer. How the hell hard can this be, really?”

He was there before Billy the next morning, his jaw set, with dark shadows under his eyes. Billy detoured to the coffee machine first, and plonked it down in front of him, and Harington rewarded him with widening eyes, and then a bewildered stare.

“...thanks,” he said softly, then smirked up through a yawn. “Heard back from the arson investigators, and guess what? The fire looks accidental.” He bounced a little in his chair, and Billy wondered whether he was really into murder mysteries, or whether he was just trying to stay awake. “There was a pan on the stove, some kind of chocolate fondue, they think. Just caught fire, and with Ishaq unconscious, nobody turned off the stove.”

“...lucky bastard,” Billy said, grimacing, and Harrington raised his eyebrows.

“You think? Oh, also, guess what—I found her. Our dildo artist. She’s not all that local, but she did send me a few pictures of the dildos she’s made for our guy.”

“Had to track her down eventually,” Billy said, sipping his coffee, and then caught the way Harrington just bit his lips, his jaw tensing.

“Good job,” Billy told him, feeling a little...stupid, like he was praising a dog, but Harrington brightened, smirking up at him again.

Billy studied the printouts, as Harrington spun around on his chair, guzzling down coffee, and explaining his triumph. “She says that photoshoot that had the Westboro Baptist Church up in arms? Upcoming? Get this,” he said, getting up to lean over Billy’s shoulder. “—they’re pissed because our boy was staying at a hotel once with the new leader, Steven Drain. He pretended to be maid service, snuck in, and took the guy’s wedding ring, and made it into a dildo. He describes it as ‘surrounded by rainbow unicorn confetti and delicious queer flesh’. Our victim stole his wedding ring,” Harrington cackled, beaming. “I’m subscribing to his...everything.”

“Lemme see if any of these comments can be traced to Steven Drain,” Billy said, heading off to ask someone to do computer magic. Steve hopped up and came with him, which was kinda weird, but it was nice to walk down a hall without people shoulder-slamming him like he wasn’t there.

“Hate that he has my name,” Steve muttered, as they walked back. “Drain’s got restraining orders for beating up and threatening two young teenagers his daughter talked to, it’s on the public record. We could see what kinda injuries they had,” Harrington said. “...imagine taking down the whole Westboro church.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Billy laughed, dropping into his own chair as Harrington got more coffee, then called around and discovered the assailants had both been right-handed.

“Get this,” he said excitedly, “—Steven Drain is in town. Gay soldier’s wedding, they’re planning to picket it and scream at his widower, you know, their whole thing, but he flew in the night before the assault.”

“We should talk to him,” Billy said, most of his brain on the photos of dildos and butt plugs.

“Can’t we just drop a piano on him?” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted, flicking back through, and trying to figure out what was bugging him about the dildos. There were lots of them, more than Billy’d seen in the victim’s room, and Billy stopped, squinting at his phone screen at one that looked like it was full of tiny antique coins. “...wait,” he muttered. “Where did you say she lived? Dildo lady?”

“Upstate,” Harrington told him, blinking up at him, as he held his pen on the list of neighbors he’d called to ask whether they’d seen anyone that looked like Steven Drain.

“I need to talk to Dildo Lady,” Billy announced, and Harrington blinked at him, then glanced at his screen and back to Billy, waiting. “...we should go talk to her,” Billy amended, and Harrington grinned, grabbing his jacket.

“Should we talk to Drain first?” he asked, “—since he’s local?”

“Let’s wait and see the CSI reports,” Billy told him. “We’ll be on a lot firmer ground if he clipped his nails after he clocked Ishaq Hill upside the head.”

“Hard to believe somebody that loud went down quietly,” Harrington said, nodding. “There’ll probably be hair or something. Even if he doesn’t wake up and tell us. I called this morning—he’s out of danger, it sounds like,” he said, grimacing, and Billy nodded.

“Nice if we can tell him it’s all handled, though,” he said, and Harrington laughed.

“That’s a definite yep.”

Billy led the way to the level where his car was parked, and then stopped.

His car had dead rats on it. He walked closer, and there was a scratch where somebody’d jimmied his window, and tossed more rats inside, and suddenly he longed for a drink.

“Shit,” Harrington said, putting an arm around his shoulders to steer him away, and whipping out his phone. “Yeah, hey—”

“Stop,” Billy hissed, grabbing for it. “You’ll just make it worse, don’t tell your fucking dad—”

“Wheeler,” Harrington said. “Mmm, yeah, you know you said you had some CSI training to do? I’ve got a, uh, little crime scene in the parking garage. Could you get your most annoying rookie to come down and—yeah. Yeah, blue Camaro, license plate PCE 235.” He listened for a long second, and then thanked her again, tucking his phone away.

“...shit,” Billy sighed, as Harrington manhandled him to a different car.

To his relief, Harrington didn’t say anything sympathetic. After a few minutes, driving at a snail’s pace through downtown traffic, he took a breath, and Billy’s hands twitched. “Huh,” Harrington said, glancing down, and then biting his lips in a cartoonishly intent face.

“...jesus, just say whatever it is,” Billy told him, snorting a laugh, and sipping his coffee.

“Sorry your dad is a bastard asshole shithead,” Harrington said, wincing, and Billy choked again, coughing and spluttering coffee down his shirt, but he hadn’t been able to laugh about it before, ever, and it felt good, even if he tried to breathe coffee, and couldn’t stop coughing.

When he could finally draw breath, he sighed contentedly, leaning his head against the window. “...he is, isn’t he,” he said.

“He is, and so are most of the officers he came up from the academy with,” Steve said, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “My dad too. He didn’t—ugh.”

“What?” Billy asked, curious, suddenly, about Steve Harrington, instead of just the commissioner’s son.

“He didn’t want me to transfer,” Harrington muttered. “He said Major Crimes doesn’t need the dead weight. Hopper had to kinda go out on a limb. I fuck up and I’m kicked all the way down to traffic, I think.”

The thought that the commissioner had stepped in to help Billy, Detective Neil Hargrove’s son, had gotten Billy through some long nights in rehab. He drew a long breath, realizing he was even more alone than he’d thought. “...shit,” he said softly. His eyes stung.

“It’s fine,” Harrington said. “Hopper’s got your back. There are enough of us. I’ll lean on Hagen some, I think I can talk him around. It’s good you turned your dad in. You did a good thing, and everybody shit on you for it,” he growled, glancing over. “I’ve got your back. Jesus, man, don’t cry.”

“It’s the pollen,” Billy said thickly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I have hayfever,” Billy hissed at him, rubbing his face.

The Dildo Lady looked about sixty, Pakistani probably, and wore a hijab. Her name was Faiza Khalol, and she was delighted to tell them about her work.

“Do you have any better pictures of these?” Billy asked her, showing her the one with the coins in it. “Or could you describe them?”

She could, as it turned out—and even better, when she’d asked about them, Hill had given her one, and she handed Billy a tiny silver coin which, after some googling, he thought might be an Athenian drachma.

“Oh,” she whispered, her brows drawing together. “Um, is it valuable?”

“I have no idea,” Billy told her, but flicked to another picture. “But these are, I think.” The clear butt-plug was full of greyish crystals, with a huge one where it would show.

“I didn’t see these in his dresser,” Harrington said, leaning in warmly against him, and Billy annoyed himself by shivering.

“No. These are uncut diamonds, I think.” Faiza and Harrington gasped satisfyingly, and Billy grinned. “Ishaq Hill stole more than a wedding ring, I think. We’ve had the wrong motive.”

“Braxton Haglund guarded diamond mines,” Harrington breathed. “He’d probably recognize them. Did Ishaq post pictures with these?”

“He always put up pictures of my latest work,” Faiza said, covering her mouth in horror. “Do you think…”

“I think we better talk to Braxton Haglund again,” Billy said, reveling in Harrington’s impressed grin.

“You’ve got duthing on be,” Haglund gasped, blowing his nose miserably. “You gan’t brove I saw ‘s pictures. You gan’t brove anything.”

Billy tried to parse that for a long second, and then, for Harrington, who looked bewildered, said, “Oh, that’s not all we have. Have you wondered,” he said, turning to his partner, who grinned back, “—how anyone could come in to Ishaq Hill’s apartment, clonk him from behind with a dick sculpture, then search his apartment, and not notice he’d left chocolate heating on the stove? Chocolate burns fast,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Haglund. “How did you not notice the smell?”

“His hayfever,” Harrington breathed, his eyes widening at Billy as his cheeks flushed, and Haglund slammed his fist on the table, opened his mouth to yell, and then stopped to blow his nose, and sneeze.

“Also while you were waiting,” Billy told Haglind with satisfaction, “—we searched your apartment. The warrant judge was convinced by our diamond-and-hayfever argument, and guess what we found?”

Haglund’s eyes widened in horror, and his back thudded against his chair as Billy shot Harrington a grin, and Harrington smirked back. “Good job framing a hate group for the crime,” Billy said, his grin widening, “—but why were Ishaq Hill’s dildos on the table in your front room?”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove April #harringrove #Ridiculous #Billy and Steve like each other more than they thought #=D

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emilykinncy · 3 years

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Normily My Caffeine Withdrawal Podcast episode (transcript of certain parts)

EK intro: I first met Norman Reedus working on The Walking Dead of course. Over the course of my four seasons on our show, I got to know Norman better and better and we became good friends. And in a sort of interesting parallel, our characters storylines also became more intertwined within the show. Norman is so special, he seems to have endless amounts of creative energy that I find incredibly inspiring. He also has great taste in music and coffee which makes him a perfect guest for this podcast. Welcome back to My Caffeine Withdrawal, I am so incredibly excited to share this episode with all of you today. Norman has so many fans and I know this to be true because everyday someone in my life or someone on social media asks me ‘hey, how was it working with Norman? What is Norman Reedus like?’ Well, now today you guys are going to get to know Norman in the same way that I know Norman! We talk about how Norman got into acting and when and why he moved to California, as well as what his life was like as an artist first starting out in Los Angeles. We talk about a book he’s been writing! And he tells a lot of great stories! But first, Norman explained his current coffee setup situation and how he’s currently weathering the quarantine from Costa Rica.

This gets long so putting it behind a cut!

I put a timestamp of where each segment starts at the end of them!

NR: Hi Emily!

EK: Hi!

NR: I just set this up cause I’ve been listening to your podcast which I really like and I know it’s heavy on the coffee so I brought my coffee setup down the mountain in my backpack on the motorcycle and this is my coffee jam here (I’m not 100% sure of the last 2 words) so, this is what I do. You ready?

EK: Yes!

*NR shows her & describes his coffee process*

EK: What was the thing um, on Instagram, you posted this picture of a hummingbird, that was crazy! What made you post that?

NR: It’s this person that I’ve become friends with, they only try to post positive things…*he explains more about the person & post* (starts at 6:08)

EK: You wanna hear something kind of crazy about the hummingbird thing? I don’t know if you know this about me but I’ve definitely gotten more like spiritual…but like *Emily giggle* this is gonna sound crazy and I don’t even usually talk about this stuff, but I sort of have this sign of when I’m like guided where I’m supposed to go, and my sign has been a hummingbird. And you had text me and I randomly looked at your Instagram and saw—

NR: Wow

EK: —It definitely was like one of those where like ‘go there’, maybe it was just if there is a god or whatever just being like ‘oh nice, connect with your friend, you know, like connect with Norman…’

NR: I actually believe all that. When I texted you I was having breakfast at this place by the beach, the lady that makes the honey, by her place. And I was listening to your podcast with Lennie. And I had already heard Lauren’s and I was listening to Lennie’s, and at the end of it you were like ‘you know what I hope during Covid everyone can reach out to a friend’ and I was like ‘I’m just gonna text her’ so I texted you at that moment. I have the same thing with a bird like my dad, before my dad died he was always talking about cardinals, those red cardinals. So everytime I see a cardinal I think the same thing. And then the night before, Danai called me out of nowhere. I hadn’t spoken to Danai in forever. And she’s like ’what are you doing?’ and I’m like ‘I’m sitting on my patio with all the lights off…’ and there was a meteor shower, it was called like the Gideon meteor shower, this huge meteor shower that happened. And I saw 21 shooting stars before I went to bed. I pay attention to all that shit—

EK: Yeah

NR: 21! And I was like talking to her I’m like ‘there’s 11! There’s 12!’ and it just kept going. I believe all that stuff.

EK: I grew up Catholic so I kind of, like…religion in general felt sort of overwhelming even though prayer and stuff like that came naturally to me and then just over like the last like 5 or 6 years or so I’ve like really embraced it where I’m sort of like ‘yep, I think these things are happening, I have little signs that tell me like where to go…’. I guess I don’t really talk about it with people much but it’s just, like I read about it and stuff. Yeah.

NR: I believe it, I believe all of them. I’m not really religious but I believe all those signs all the time. I see little signs in everything, yeah.

EK: Yeah! (starts at 9:38)

EK: That sounds like you’ve had a very productive quarantine, or whatever this corona-pocalypse quarantine time.

NR: I’m not good with sitting still, you know what I mean, so I’m always doing something.

EK: Yeah! Yeah. I mean that’s one thing, when I was thinking about—when I was around you more working on the show, was that you were always…like you know sitting down to dinner and then like noticing this saltshaker and this fork should be next to each other in a certain way and then you can take a picture. You know what I mean, like I remember that about you like always making something, I guess. Or looking for the art in it or the picture. Or, you know, which um—

NR: it’s ADD or something I dunno what…

EK: I admired it because I feel like I can be so slow. Like, I love making stuff but I can sort of like piece it together over weeks and then I finally do—like in my head somehow, like I’m more of like a turtle! You know just like—

NR: Yeah but you make music! I mean, we all wish we could write songs and perform songs. You know, you make music. We all wish we were musicians, you know what I’m saying, so. (starts at 18:18)

EK: I remember you telling me a story of how you got an agent by like going to a party and then someone said ‘do you want to be in a play?’ and then you were the understudy and then the guy just happened to have to call out so then you were in the play, you didn’t have to be the understudy and then an agent—and that’s how it all started with acting, um, *laughs* did I just tell your story for you?!

NR: You’re right. No, no you’re exactly right. That’s exactly what happened. (starts at 26:08)

NR: I actually made an album, a music album

EK: You did?!

NR: Yeah

EK: Oh, that’s—you wrote all the songs and stuff? Or did you—

NR: I didn’t write any of it. And I didn’t really sing it, it’s more of a spoken word thing

EK: Yeah!

NR *tells story about how this came about, which involves an igloo*

EK: Wait, why were you in an igloo in Switzerland?! *laughs*

NR *tells more of the story…it’s long ok I don’t wanna transcribe it sdhfhsfh*

EK: Yeah I wanna hear your album! I mean…

NR: It’s out—

EK: It is?!

NR: It played…it did pretty well in France, it was on the radio and shit

EK: Yeah, will you email it to me or something, so I can…

NR: I will. Yeah yeah.

EK: I also wanted to make sure today to get some of your music picks because I remember back when we were on the show you always gave me the best music, like stuff that I hadn’t heard. I don’t know if if it’s just like because of your friends in New York or like maybe you’re a little bit older than me so you know different bands than I do. But, I remember like Dinosaur Jr., you like introducing me to Dinosaur Jr. Like I didn’t really know Dinosaur Jr. before you

NR: That’s crazy that you don’t know Dinosaur Jr. then (? I really can’t tell for sure that last word he says)

EK: I know! I think I might have pretended that I kind of I knew but like you introduced me for sure and I like totally dove in. But yeah during this quarantine, what have you been listening to?

NR: *lists some bands* Sean Lennon’s band that he made with Les Claypool is really good. He was on Ride with me.

EK: Oh, he was?! I’ve only see—I haven’t seen all the episodes of that, I’ve only seen, um, a few of them (adsdfdjf don’t lie Emily it’s probably actually 0 but we all understand babe) (starts at 35:10)

EK: It was so fun to talk to you today

NR: Yeah I miss you! I miss you, it’s good to see you and hear you.

EK: I miss you too, I’m going to check out that sock method…although I think it’s just pour over it’s just with a special…reusable—

NR: Yeah, a dirty sock

EK: Yeah, but something about it, yeah….*both laugh* Thank you for being on here, it feels so good to like chat with you

NR: Yeah, I miss you it’s good to hear your voice

EK: I miss you too, yeah. *she starts talking about twd & the connection with everyone etc* (starts at 41:36)

NR: *after he mentions everyone from the cast he’s still in touch with* You get these friendships with people and it becomes a big part of your life, your friends on the show, so. I’m glad I’m talking to you

EK: Yeah, I’m glad I’m talking to you too. (starts at 44:03)

From Emily’s end blurb: I hope you guys enjoyed Norman and I’s little catch up call over Zoom, I hope that you learned something new about Norman you didn’t know before. You know, Norman and I really hadn’t connected much over the last couple years (we all know this Emily and we pretty much all know why lol) we’ve just been on sort of different paths (yeah, that’s a way to put it I guess haha) but again and again I’m finding that one of the blessings of this time, being stuck at home, is remembering and reconnecting with people I care about and people that care about me. Maybe you have a friend you used to work with that you haven’t caught up with for a while and now you’ll feel inspired to send them a little text saying hello.

(How do they literally have chemistry on a *podcast* okay bye I’m going to go fly into the sun now)

#emily kinney #normily #i remember the old days ok i'm not putting this in the nr tag lol #jeez this took a while...i feel like i'm back in 2014-17 lol #can't believe he invited himself on the show lmaoo #like i can but...why is he like this #i realize that isn't said specifically but it's kinda the natural conclusion

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gryffindorcls · 5 years

Text

More Than Just a Friend: Chapter 1

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Hello, lovely readers! Thank you for taking the time to read!

This fic was inspired by @gale-of-the-nomads ‘s chat post. You can find it here.

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After patrol, Adrien face planted onto his bed and groaned. Plagg watched as his holder mumbled incoherent ramblings into his comforter. There was only so much a Kwami could take, and he was really close to reaching his limit. This kid needed help.

“Adrien,” Plagg called out in a sing-song voice.

“Hrrrrmmm,” his chosen responded without removing his face from the bedspread.

“You okay there, kid?”

“HRRRRRrrrruuuuGH!”

“So...is that a no?”

Adrien breathed deeply and pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I’m frustrated, Plagg.”

“Yes,” Plagg responded, nodding his head, “That much I can tell.”

“I JUST DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

“Are you going to make me listen to you talk about it all night?”

The visibly distressed teen ignored the Kwami’s question. “It’s just...why couldn’t Ladybug be someone I know? It would make all of this so much easier!”

Plagg shook his head and sighed. “I will take that as a yes. I guess I should get comfortable.”

“You don’t understand.”

“To be perfectly fair, I rarely understand you.”

“She feels so unreachable and yet strangely...close? I don’t know anymore. If only she was someone like...Marinette...you know? That would be great!”

Plagg choked on air. “Woah...wait? Why bakery girl? What’s so special about her?”

Adrien scrunched his face in thought. “Well, I guess it’s because she’s already an everyday hero. She’s always standing up for others and making sure that everyone feels included. Marinette may get nervous sometimes, but she’s also brave, smart, kind, and helpful. She’s pretty and super talented. It would be great if Ladybug was someone like her...or even if it was her.”

“Are you sure it would be great if it was her? Didn’t you tell me that she liked Luka?”

“Plagg, I’m not saying that Marinette is Ladybug. I’m saying it would be nice if Ladybug was someone close to me like Marinette.”

“Kid…”

Adrien walked over to his window and gazed off into the distance. He rested his head against the glass and released a shaky breath.

“Regardless of Luka, it would never work if she was Ladybug. I can’t date Marinette...she’s just a friend,” he said softly, keeping his eyes glued on the Parisian cityscape.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Plagg began, “You sounded pretty sad when you said that just now.”

His chosen turned around and looked at his Kwami with a befuddled expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Adrien,” Plagg cleared his throat, “hear me out. What if...and stay with me on this...what if she wasn’t just a friend?”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Okay...let me try to explain this differently. You are miserable all the time because you can’t capture Ladybug’s heart. How am I doing so far?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “You’re not completely wrong, but I would like to point out that I’m not miserable all of the time.”

“Kid, that was a yes or no question.”

“Just continue explaining.”

“Fine. You wish that Ladybug was someone you knew in real life, and you just gave Marinette as an example, and not someone like...angry sword girl.”

“Kagami?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Adrien huffed. “You and I both know that Kagami definitely isn’t Ladybug. She was Akumatized and we fought her...twice!”

Plagg threw his paws into the air. “Still, you said you wished that Ladybug was someone like Marinette. You never said you wanted her to be someone like Kagami.”

“I’m still not getting your point.”

“What if you tried going out on a date with bakery girl?”

Adrien’s eyes grew wide. “No! I can’t date Marinette!”

Plagg crossed his arms. “And why not?”

“Because she’s just a friend!”

“You obviously have a crush on her.”

The black Kwami carefully observed his holder’s reaction to his last statement.

Adrien’s cheeks were bright red. “No, I don’t.”

“The fact that you’re blushing tells me otherwise,” Plagg pointed out.

The teen buried his face in his hands. “I can’t have a crush on Marinette! I like Ladybug.”

“Did you not just say to me that it would be great if Marinette is Ladybug? Why not give it a shot and see if you’re right. Even if she’s not your partner and you wind up falling for her, would it be the worst thing in the world? You might even be happy for a change.”

“But Marinette is just a…”

Plagg cut him off. “I swear, kid, if you say ‘just a friend’ one more time, I’m going to lose it...and the last time that happened Krakatoa erupted.”

Adrien fell silent and sat down on his bed. He hung his head low and folded his hands in his lap.

The Kwami decided to try a gentler approach. “Look, for just a moment...I want you to pretend that there’s no Ladybug and you’re not Chat Noir. Just imagine that you’re a normal boy with a normal life. Now, think about what it would be like to date Marinette. She’s nice, and she smells like bread. I know she enjoys making things, and her parents seem to like you. You’ve told her that she’s amazing on multiple occasions, and you just told me that you think she’s pretty.”

Adrien looked up and stared off into the distance. Plagg could see the wheels turning in his chosen’s brain, and he really hoped that something would click this time. Suddenly, the teen groaned loudly and doubled over onto the couch.

“Adrien?” Plagg asked after watching his holder moan in anguish for a solid minute.

“No!,” he exclaimed, “I can’t have a crush on Marinette. I CAN’T, BUT I DO! Why did you have to point out all that stuff to me! She’ll never agree to go out with me. She hasn’t started a relationship with a single person who’s shown interest in her all year, and I’m pretty sure half the class has a crush on her. AND NOW I DO, TOO!”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve liked her all along.”

“Oh my God, Plagg! I can’t like Ladybug and Marinette.”

“Sure you can. You were still in love with Ladybug when you took sword girl out on a date...right?”

“I HAVE A CRUSH ON THREE GIRLS? What is wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Plagg shrugged, “You just have a type.”

Adrien sat down in a huff. “I can’t ask Marinette out on a date. She doesn’t think of me that way. She likes Luka.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then you are more than welcome to ask her out.”

“I will be humiliated. I don’t think I can handle rejection from Ladybug and Marinette.”

“Isn’t it worth exploring though?”

Adrien shook his head and started walking towards the bathroom. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

The tiny, black being chased after him. “Can I at least have some cheese before you go to sleep?”

“PLAGG!”

“What? Giving life advice makes me hungry!”

***

Two hours after Adrien fell asleep, Plagg phased through the window and flew into the night. He zipped down the quiet roads and around the corner towards his holder’s school. If memory served him correctly, bakery girl was right across the street.

Once he found the bakery, he flew to the top window and phased into the attic room where Marinette lay sleeping in her bed. Plagg scanned the room until his eyes fell on a small red mass curled up in a heap of fabric on a desk.

“Tikki!” he whispered loudly from the other side of the room.

Plagg zoomed over to his counterpart and tapped her with his paw.

“Tikki!” he said with more force while still maintaining an appropriate volume.

The red Kwami began to stir in her sleep. Plagg poked her again, and she finally opened her eyes.

She gave him a confused look. “Plagg? What are you doing here? Are you okay? Is your holder okay?”

“I did something,” he said plainly.

Tikki glared at him. “What did you do, Plagg? Don’t tell me another species went extinct. First, it was the dinosaurs. Then, it was the dodo birds, and you completely crossed the line when it came to the unicorns.”

“You and I both know that those unicorns were a bunch of lying thieves. They had to go.”

“They were cute.”

“They were monsters.”

Tikki took a deep breath and massaged her temples. “We’re getting off topic. Please just tell me that the squirrels are still okay.”

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Yes, the squirrels are fine...for now.”

“Just explain to me what you did.”

“I may have convinced my boy that he has a crush on your girl.”

“Chat Noir has never been quiet about liking Ladybug.”

“No,” Plagg said, making eye contact, “I made him realize that Adrien likes Marinette.”

“Oh,” Tikki responded.

“That’s it?”

“Does this mean that he figured out Ladybug’s identity?”

“No. He came home from patrol and started going on about how he wished that Ladybug was someone he knew ‘like Marinette’. I then questioned him on why he chose her out of all his friends, and then I told him to try asking her out.”

“How did he take that?”

“He had a full-blown existential crisis. Adrien thinks that Marinette doesn’t like him romantically and that she’ll turn him down if he asks her on a date.”

“Are you kidding? The girl is obviously in love with him.”

Plagg shook his head. “He’s going to need proof. He’s that kind of guy.”

Tikki paused before answering. “The Valentine.”

“What about it?”

“Marinette wrote it.”

He curled his lips into a smile. “I knew it! But we don’t have any concrete evidence that it’s from her. I’m telling you, he’s not going to believe me unless I have something irrefutable to show him. Not even a sample of her handwriting will be enough.”

Tikki formed her own mischievous grin. “Do you really think that the Valentine he got was the only draft?”

The red Kwami zoomed over to the trunk on the opposite side of the room. She phased through the top, cracked open the lid, and slid a slightly crumpled paper onto the floor. Plagg flew over to the chest and began examining the paper. He saw that it had three different drafts of the Valentine poem, “Marinette Agreste” scribbled in the margins, and a drawing of a smiling hamster.

Plagg looked up at his counterpart. “This is perfect.”

Tikki gave him a serious look. “Now, I have nothing against them finding happiness and starting to date each other, but we will need to make sure that they are careful when it comes to their identities. They can’t know.”

“What if...just try to follow me here,” Plagg began, “what if they did?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if they knew each other’s identities? Would it be that bad? Fox Girl and Turtle Boy learned each other’s identities, and they’re doing great.”

“But Master Fu…”

He cut her off. “Doesn’t have to live with them. He doesn’t see what I see. You asked me if my holder was okay when I came here tonight. You want to know the truth? No, he’s not. His dad sucks and he’s always alone. Here we have two kids who love each other and they don’t even realize it! Do you know how much better their relationship will be? They’ll become better partners and heroes.”

Tikki softened her expression. “You really care about him.”

“I always care about my cats, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t have fun with them along the way.”

“Maybe...maybe you’re right.”

Plagg grinned. “What was that, Sugarcube? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Tikki rolled her eyes and sighed. “I said that maybe you’re right.”

“Finally! You admit it.”

“I’m not saying that you’re always right. You just so happen to be right this one time.”

“Come on! There were plenty of other times that I was correct! I was right about Archduke Franz Ferdinand.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh, yes I was.”

“You started World War I.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Fine,” Tikki said, making a dismissive gesture, “So, what are we supposed to do now? Are we just going to let them figure it out on their own?”

“No, we nudge them. They need help,” Plagg explained, “I will give this paper to Adrien tomorrow morning, and I will try to convince him to ask out Marinette.”

“How is that going to help them figure out each other’s identities?”

“We’re just going to have to improvise when opportunities arise. It’s not like we haven’t done that before.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best with Marinette. I’ll try to figure something out.”

“Just think, once they’re a couple, we’ll get to spend more time together.” Plagg nuzzled Tikki as he spoke.

“I’ve missed you, too, Stinky Sock.”

With the paper in hand, Plagg flew over to the window that led to the balcony. Tikki followed behind closely.

Before phasing through the glass, he turned to the red Kwami. “Just one more thing. Adrien feels like he can be himself when he’s Chat Noir. There are very few people in his civilian life who see that side of him. Ladybug has turned him down more than once. I have to ask...how does she really feel about her partner?”

Tikki smiled as she responded. “She values his friendship and cares for him deeply. While she gets frustrated by his recklessness and when he jokes around during a fight, she has a soft spot for the cat. She won’t admit it, but I think she’s starting to fall for him.”

Plagg beamed. “Good. We might just be able to make this work.”

Next ----->

AO3

Fanfiction

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Thank you to everyone who has been reading and following my other stories. Now that “Chat for a Day” and “Please Tell Me I’m Awake Right Now” are both on their last chapters, I have started to write new fics! Let the fluff-train continue!

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Seeing all your responses fills my heart with joy! You are all wonderful!

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#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrien x marinette #adrienette #fluff #tikki and plagg #ml plagg #ml tikki #More Than Just a Friend #Chapter 1 #fanfiction #ao3

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agentunwin · 5 years

Text

[SCRAPPED IMAGINE] PROMISES

A/N: This is one of the many things I started writing but ultimately decided to scrap. I’m just posting some of my scrapped work here so that I can reference back to them or whatever if I ever decide to pick them back up again.

You wiped your hands free of the water and dish soap your hands were just submerged in, the time nearing 7:00, which meant it was almost bed time. You were usually adamant on getting Lailah to bed on time, but tonight, you think you could make an exception.

The soft strumming caught your attention and you smile to yourself as you walked over to the doorway of Shawn's music room, leaning on it and watching the sight in front of you. Shawn was sitting on the couch with a guitar on his lap, Lailah sandwiched between the guitar and his chest. He was playing a simple melody- Twinkle twinkle little star- When he looked up at you with a lopsided grin.

It's only for a second before he turns his head back towards the little girl in his arms, nuzzling his face into her soft, wild curls.

These were the kinds of moments that always kept you lifted when you felt down. Seeing the two loves of your life never failed to make you cheerful and you cherished[..]

"Twinkle, twinkle," Shawn sang, rocking himself and Lailah side to side gently.

"Little star." Her little voice sang, a content smile on her face.

"How I wonder what you.."

"Are," She sang out again, but this time it was just a tiny whisper, making Shawn laugh gently, holding her tighter. Lailah lets out a cute giggle, pretending to act bashful.

"Sing it louder, Lailah!" He gives her a mile-wide smile, his hands placing the guitar on the ground gently before his hands go to his daughter's sides, tickling her mercilessly.

"Daddy, stop!" She's giggling, trying to wiggle from his grip, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Shawn shakes his head and continued on for a few seconds before he's letting her go and she's running to you, wrapping herself around your legs like a koala bear. You gasp at this but grin, and it's then that Shawn notices the phone in your hand that had recorded the whole ordeal.

He gets up, making his way over to the of you, bending down to pick up Lailah so she's sitting on his left arm. He then wraps his other arm around you, bringing the two of you in for a bear hug.

"My girls." He hums, squeezing you a little tighter. After a few seconds of swaying the two of you back and forth, he separates to look up at you, readjusting Lailah so she's on his hip now. "Send that video to me, please."

"Gotcha." You smile at him, taking a step back to look at the two of them.

Lailah was a spitting image of the two of you- 50% Shawn, 50% you. She had certain features that you could immediately recognize as his and others yours, and the two of you swore that she was the most beautiful kid you've ever seen the moment she came into the world. Turning 4 years old in only 2 months, she was also extremely smart, kind, and musically gifted- Something she obviously got from Shawn. And having these two in your life was the greatest gift you could ever think of.

"Does this mean it's time to go to bed?" Lailah asks, looking up at you with those big beautiful eyes of hers.

You give her a soft smile and kiss her cheek, "No, we're having movie night tonight, remember?"

Lailah is suddenly antsy and excited at this, wriggling in Shawn's arms to get him to put her down. As soon as he does, she's zooming out of the room to get ready for the rest of the night, excited squeals leaving her mouth. This makes both of you chuckle and Shawn pulls you into him, resting your forehead against his.

This moment would usually be sweet, with your heads together and hands linked lovingly, however right now, both of you felt the sadness that lingered somewhere overhead.

This was one of the last moments you'd be sharing with Shawn before he left for a 5 month tour around the world. He'd left you and Lailah alone for tours before, but none of them ever reached over 2 months, and he made it appoint to fly back home every once in a while to see you. However, this time, there would be none of that. Lailah was starting kindergarten and him flying out would be too much trouble given his circumstances.

Shawn gulps and brings a hand up to the side of your face, caressing it gently.

"Baby, stop thinking about it." He whispers, catching your mind spinning in the act. "Let's just enjoy tonight, okay?"

You sniff and you didn't even realize you had begun crying until he's wiping your tears away, plodding gentle kisses all over your face.

"It's gonna be so hard." You sniff, bringing his eyes up to yours once again. "She's going so fast now, I can barely even keep up with her while you're here."

"I know, baby." He nods his head, squeezing your hands tighter. "But you're the #1 mom. She listens to you and loves you- She loves you so much. I love you so much. I know you'll do amazing when I'm gone just like you do every other time."

Before you can respond Lailah is running into the back of your legs again, catching your attention.

"Let's watch this one!" She's yelling, holding up a DVD case of one of her favorite dinosaur movies. She's running off once again before either of you can even say yes and you laugh to yourself, letting our a deep sigh.

"Let's just enjoy this last night, alright Y/N?" Shawn suggests, and no longer than 2 hours later all of you are passed out on the couch, multiple blankets draped over your bodies with Lailah sandwiched between the two of you, letting out tiny, adorable snores.

That next morning, the tears were threatening to spill once again. Shawn was kneeled on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around Lailah. His eyes were also glazed over but he refused to let himself cry, figuring that there had to be at least one adult here who wasn't a wreck for his daughter's sake. You stood off to the side allowing them to have their private moment as you watched, nervously chewing on your finger.

"I'm just going to be gone for a while, okay?" Shawn reminds the little girl, running his fingers over her soft face. "Longer than I usually am. But I'm still going to be here for you if you need anything, anything at all. “

to be continued

#Shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #sm #shawn peter raul mendes #my writing #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #masterlist #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes request #shawn fic

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makingscipub · 4 years

Text

Making Science Public 2019: An overview

Every year I think: This will be the last year I write something for this blog… and each year I write a bit more. And so it was this year. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, I really don’t know. But it distracts me from life’s increasing troubles and keeps me sane.

As usual, I have written about biological topics, such as gene, genome and germline editing and epigenetics, about climate change (a bit), and about metaphors. I have also ventured out or rather back into a bit of history of science and even history of linguistics, a territory I had left behind decades ago. And, of course there is a bit of science communication sprinkled over all this like Christmas glitter.

When I had no time or had no inspiration, a few guest bloggers filled in some blogging gaps for me. Thank you!

Gene drive

Let’s start with biology. My focus this year was on ‘gene drive’, as I was lucky enough to be a co-applicant on a Wellcome Trust funded grant directed by Sarah Hartley that focuses on how we talk about this new biotechnology intended to, amongst others, deal with mosquitoes that spread malaria, dengue fever, Zika and so on. I wrote a post about the project overall, based on its press release.

However, my interest in gene drive started before that, when I listened in to a radio programme and tried to trace the etymology of the drive in gene drive – and found it actually stems from a metaphor relating to the driving of locomotives! Talking to people about gene drive, in English, German and French, I also discovered how many roadblocks there are to what one may call ‘gene drive communication’, over and above the obscure etymology.

Once the project started, I tried to gain a better understanding of the concept of ‘gene drive’ and the more I looked the more confused I got. So I wrote a post about the link or not between gene drive and GM mosquitoes and another about the link or not between gene drive and microbes like Wolbachia. GM mosquitoes and Wolbachia have been used in the wild to deal with the threat of malaria and other diseases, but actual gene drives not yet.

When starting to do some media analysis with Aleksandra Stelmach, the research fellow working on the gene drive communication project, I discovered a confusion or rather disruption of a different kind relating to the reliability of a database that we normally use for our research. The blog also delves, like my first one, into the beginnings of what one may call ‘gene drive talk’, which began in the 1990s, but has accelerated since 2014.

While I was exploring confusions and probably confusing people in the process, Aleksandra wrote an excellent, clear and non-confusing blog post about the emerging metaphors around gene drive which she extracted from a 2019 Nature article. This complements nicely an earlier post I had written about metaphors and mammals and gene drive.

Epigenetics

Another topic that preoccupied my thoughts this year was, or rather continued to be, epigenetics, which has been appropriated not only by people who want to sell wellness products but surprisingly also by people who want to establish a new way of studying biology and society. I thought this through a little bit in a post on epigenetics and the solid fundamental science that’s going on but is competing with fantastic expectation.

Epigenetics in academia and advertising

Seeing the nuanced way that epigenetics is discussed by scientists, I was surprised to see how much less nuanced the uptake of epigenetics has been in social science academia, let alone by advertisers and marketers. So I collaborated with Aleksandra Stelmach and Cath Ennis on an article detailing the way in which epigenetics can be used to do things, be it advertising alternative wellness products or promoting alternative ways to do sociology, in particular to explore the so-called ‘biosocial’.

Our article, exploring all this in detail through the lens of social representations theory and metaphor analysis, has now appeared online and will be part of a special issue that will be published in print early next year.

Epigenetics in popular culture, advertising and academia

Some of the other epigenetics posts focused on the over-hyping of transgenerational epigenetic inheritance, others zoomed in on epigenetics in popular culture: for example turkey dinosaurs and pancakes, the emergence of he metaphor of witness marks in a popular article, epigenetics on Pinterest.

This last post was written in collaboration with Cath Ennis who also wrote two important guest posts. One dealt with the use of epigenetics as a metaphor or analogy to think with, i.e. to think about cultural phenomena like sacred texts or even inequality; the other explored the way epigenetics has been portrayed in science fiction (and it has the best image!).

In the middle of the year, a confluence of events, brought about by blogging, led to a brief collaboration with the historian of science Andrew Reynolds, which led to him giving a joint paper (but I really didn’t contribute a lot) about chromatin landscapes at a history and philosophy of science conference. I wrote a short post about this venture.

And finally, I also wrote a post about the great way in which some scientists, in this case doing research on epigenetics and worms, use twitter threads to make their research public. I still haven’t done that myself! For another great example of how threads can be used in science communication, here is one by Ewan Birney on ethnicity and genetics.

Other biological posts

One post continued my interest in gene editing which dominated my posts last year and also tapped into my fascination with the interaction between science and culture which also came through in some of my own and others posts about epigenetics. In this post I tried to look more closely at the interaction between CRISPR and culture and the longstanding or novel tropes that are used to link the two.

Two other posts dealt with collaborative projects, one undertaken with Achim Roseman on heritable genome editing and the national and international governance challenges and policy options posed by this new biotechnology; another undertaken with Carmen McLeod and Rusi Jaspal on emerging media and social representations of faecal microbial transplants, an emerging treatment of diseases of the gut and microbiome, such as Clostridium difficile.

I also returned to one of my longstanding topics, namely the military metaphors used in the context of drug resistant infection, also called antibiotic resistance or AMR.

As I was in a mood for reflection and restrospection this year, I also wrote a post summarising all my articles published in the journal New Genetics and Society. These include papers on cloning, genomics, the human genome, the microbiome, synthetic biology, epigenetics and faecal microbial transplants.

Many of these NGS articles were written in collaboration with other people, such as Aleksandra Stelmach, Carmen McLeod and Rusi Jaspal, but in particular Iina Hellsten. 2020 will be, in a way, the twentieth anniversary of our various collaborations over time, from genetics and genomics to climate change, to bird flu and beyond.

Metaphors, science and cells

Of course, I couldn’t resist meddling in metaphors. This year I focused on metaphors relating to cells in particular and wrote one post on machine metaphors for life, another about an orgy of metaphors for organelles, and one asking when in all this is a metaphor actually a metaphor?

Climate change

I still wrote a few posts about climate change, although this is no longer my research focus. It is however a topic that has finally become the focus of public debate even public movements.

I wrote one post about a now vanishing, i.e. no longer needed icon or symbol of climate change, namely the polar bear, inspired by the work by Saffron O’Neill on climate images. I wrote another on the now longer controversial, but increasingly important, topic of extreme weather.

Despite the fact that climate change is now speaking for itself, some climate change communication experts still feel the need to debate the best ways to communicate climate change, with some opposing the setting of deadlines or targets and others contesting the usefulness of strategic messaging. So I wrote a blog post about that.

And finally, I came back to a topic that interested me at the beginning of my blogging career a decade ago, namely ‘climategate’. This November was the tenth anniversary of this attempt to misdirect climate communication and in my post I came back to some of the issues I had raised in an article published in 2010, especially the denigration of experts, consensus and truth through using the metaphor of ‘science is religion’. This is still going on!

History of science and history of linguistics

This year I came back, briefly, to some of my really old passions, namely the history of science in general and the history of linguistics in particular. One post dealt with the first ever article published in the journal Nature, 150 years ago, an article by Huxley on Goethe’s aphorisms on nature. It was fascinating to explore this whole episode in more detail, including the language and style used, the connections with Darwin and so on.

I also wrote a post about a rather forgotten woman philosopher of speech and language: Grace Andrus de Laguna, one of the fore-mothers of pragmatics as a field of linguistics, a field that studies language in action. That was the topic of my PhD and my first job here in England as a JRF at Wolfson College, Oxford. Ah, the good old days….

Science communication

I also tried to write something on the way new insights into DNA have been communicated from the 1960s onwards, focusing in particular on the mystery as to why cybernetics, so influential in the creation of molecular biology, did not inspire more metaphors.

Another post explored early efforts to foster public understanding of science in the 1960s, triggered by finding an old magazine squirrelled away in my husbands office.

And finally, I wondered whether social science (jargon) helps or hinders science communication. This musing was provoked by a wonderful tweet by Alice Bell in which she said: “Drunk suit fell over getting on the tube, exclaimed ‘Gravity! That’s physics! That’s the cleverest thing!’ and then started asking people in the carriage if they love physics and whether or not it’s better than biology.” And went on to ask: “Sci commers: You can facilitate all the fancy pants coproductions of upstreams you want, but drunk middle aged men arguing with strangers about whether it was gravity, vodka or the Northern Line that made them fall over is public engagement with science and technology.” (Italics added) Think about it!

Other

I wrote a few blog posts about subjects and topics that are not easily classifiable, for example about metaphors, society and Brexit, about the division of social knowledge and its breakdown, about the exposome (not to be confused with exosomes), about astrogenomics, about black holes, about space as solace for the soul and about science and poetry

Guest posts

This year was and continues to be quite fractious. There were quite a few family and other crises I had/have to deal with. It was therefore a relief to find that other people wanted to contribute guest posts to the Making Science Public blog – some of which, by Alexandra and Cath, I referenced above under epigenetics. Beyond that:

Chris Toumey wrote interesting reflections on his new book about nanotech and the humanities, followed by description of the value of qualitative methods, prompted by a comment to the previous blog post. Joachim Allgaier wrote a wonderful overview of his article/research dealing with science, science communication and YouTube. Penny Polson, Carmen McLeod and Eleanor Hadley Kershaw wrote a report on their workshop on the circular economy. Jim Dratwa and Barbara Prainsack discussed a call for a moratorium on germline editing, and Michael Morrison contributed to the debate surrounding a controversial tweet relating to genome editing and human enhancement.

I would like to thank all my colleagues and friends who have helped me with this blog and much more. I would also like to think my readers, especially those who have emailed me with comments and thoughts. I wish you all a healthy and happy 202o.

The post Making Science Public 2019: An overview appeared first on Making Science Public.

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hisourart-blog · 7 years

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Iziko Museums of South Africa, Cape Town, South Africa

New Post has been published on https://hisour.com/place/europe/iziko-museums-south-africa-cape-town-south-africa/

Iziko Museums of South Africa, Cape Town, South Africa

The Iziko South African National Gallery (ISANG) is South Africa's premier art museum, housing outstanding collections of South African, African, British, French, Dutch and Flemish art. The museum has a full programme of temporary exhibitions of contemporary and historical paintings, works on paper, photography, sculpture, beadwork, textiles and architecture. Although ISANG hosts many important international traveling exhibitions, the museum always includes on its schedule exhibitions curated from the permanent collections, with an emphasis on showing art from Southern Africa. The Iziko South African Museum is a South African national museum located in Cape Town. The museum was founded in 1825, the first in the country. It has been on its present site in the Company's Garden since 1897. The museum houses important African zoology, palaeontology and archaeology collections. Iziko is a Xhosa word meaning "hearth". The museum is organized on four levels and hosts a variety of exhibitions, from rock art to fossils, marine animals and meteorites. Ground level: People past to present consisting of three separate exhibitions: The Power of Rock Art (on the ideas, knowledge and beliefs expressed in San rock art); African Cultures (material culture of Southern African hunter-gatherers and agriculturalists in historic times, as well as displays of material from Nguni people and Sotho–Tswana people, also collections from the Great Zimbabwe; Lydenburg Heads (artifacts from the early Iron Age, symbols of the ritual life of early agriculturalists in South Africa). Karoo fossils dioramas of mammal-like reptiles (they look like dinosaurs but are not) that lived in the Karoo region 250 million years ago. World of water depicting life in South Africa's oceans, comprises: Coelacanth (the caste of the first Coelacanth discovered in 1938, with information on the biology and evolutionary history of this "living fossil"); Ocean Giants (features the longest and heaviest species of bony fish and the largest of all invertebrates). Southern oceans animal life in the Subantarctic region. Whale well a unique collection of whale casts and skeletons, to be seen from all floors; includes a 20.5 metre blue whale skeleton. You can also listen to the song of the humpback whale. Discovery room a "hands-on" experience of real specimens and activities that encourage learning through discovery. Level 1: Sharkworld all about the diversity, biology and conservation of sharks, skates, rays, and chimeras. Includes massive megatooth shark jaws and an audiovisual centre. Iziko planetarium an extraordinary audio-visual experience expounding the wonders of the universe. Monthly flyers on current productions are available at the museum's entrance. Our place in the universe a display depicting a cosmic zoom to view the universe on an ever-increasing scale, reaching back to almost the very beginning of the universe. Meteorites features three large iron meteorites. Level 2: Mammals mainly Southern African mammals, including a foal of the extinct quagga. Birds Southern African and exotic birds, avian evolution, dioramas of waterbirds and seabirds. Wonders of nature found on the mezzanine level overlooking the bird gallery. Features a selection of objects showing the beauty and diversity of natural form. History of the SA Museum shows the history of the museum from its beginnings in 1825 to until 1975. Mindspace on-line resource centre. Indigenous knowledge an important part of South Africa's heritage. This exhibition is a window on indigenous ways of using natural resources. There are also a collection of South African and foreign minerals, an exhibition on the biology of bats and a geological model of Table Mountain. Level 3: Stone bones of the ancient Karoo focuses on 250-million-year-old mammal-like reptile (therapsids) fossils from the Karoo with reconstructions of what they might have looked like. Features the evolution of mammals from the therapsids, and the End-Permian Extinction – believed to be the biggest extinction event Earth has ever experienced. Collections: African Art The collections of African Art in the Permanent Collection of the South African (SA) National Gallery mirror the histories of independence, division and democracy that have shaped the character of our country over the last century and a half. Approximately 3 000 works primarily representative of the diversity of South Africa reflect expressive styles across the region. Aesthetics are expressed in media such as beadwork, sculpture, metalwork, weaving, carving in wood, bone and horn, and our collection includes exquisitely crafted items for use as adornment, regalia or for ritual or personal use. The collection originated in the 1970s with the contribution of former curator and sculptor Bruce Arnott – also Deputy Director at the time – whose interest in West African sculpture eventually led to the acquisition of a small selection of works from such regions as Central Africa, West Africa, Benin and later, beadwork from South Africa. Modern Painting and Sculpture: Modernism is not easy to define, but refers roughly to a period dating from the 1860s through to the 1970s, and is used to describe the styles and ideologies of art produced during that era. Born of great cosmopolitan centres, it flourished in Germany and Holland, as well as in Moscow, Paris, London and New York. Broadly speaking, Modernists had a utopian desire to create a better world: they believed in technology as the key means to achieve social improvement and in the machine as a symbol of this aspiration. All of these principles were frequently combined with social and political beliefs (largely left-leaning) which held that design and art could, and should, transform society. Modernism assumes local characters in different countries and, in South Africa, often reflects shifts in socio-political concerns. It is demonstrated in a great diversity of style and technique, ranging from landscapes to abstract art, engagement with the current trends that were burgeoning in Europe, to an intensely local sense of what it meant to be an artist in this country during the 20th Century. The Modern Painting and Sculpture Collection contains excellent examples of many leading South African artists of the early and mid-20th Century, such as Gerard Sekoto, Alexis Preller, Irma Stern and Jacobus Hendrik Pierneef, all of whose artworks are very much in demand today. Historical Painting and Sculpture Collections: The historical collections of painting and sculpture within the Art Collections Department of Iziko Museums embrace a wide range of works for art that are both South African and foreign in origin. The founding of the South African National Gallery (SANG) in 1871 during the British colonial period initially established an emphasis on British art, as well collecting works of art from South Africa’s other “founder” nations, such as the Netherlands. Almost all of the works of art in these collections were acquired either by presentation or bequest. Early benefactors such as the South African-born Alfred de Pass added works by British and international artists between 1926 and 1949. The gallery’s holdings were expanded by gifts from Sir Edmund and Lady Davis in 1935-38, and the Sir Abe Bailey Bequest, which has been on long-term loan to the SANG since 1946. Over the years, especially in the 1970s and 1980s, more modern works augmented and updated the British collection. The British holdings include works by JWM Turner, Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Gainsborough, George Stubbs, Daniel Maclise, William Orchardson, Edward Ward, Edward Burne-Jones, George Fredrick Watts, Charles Shannon, Charles Ricketts, Frank Brangwyn, CRW Nevinson, Paul Nash, Roger Fry, Vanessa Bell, Duncan Grant, Gillian Ayres, Alan Davie, Ronal Kitaj and Gary Wragg. It was De Pass who initiated the collecting of work by South African painters and sculptors from the 1930s, a policy which was pursued more vigorously from the early 1950s, thanks to the State making a small acquisitions budget available from 1949. This saw the purchase of modern South African works by Walter Battiss, Alexis Preller, Irma Stern and others. The collecting of South African works dating from the 19th century was minimal because of a policy decision that deferred acquisitions in this area to other “Africana” museums in South Africa whose chief area of collecting this was. Contemporary Collection: Unlike Iziko’s collections of Historical or Modern art, the ambit of the collection of Contemporary Paintings and Sculpture shifts with time, as works once considered “contemporary” recede further from the present and are incorporated into “history”. Currently, the Collection of Contemporary Paintings and Sculpture extends temporally from approximately the 1960s-1970s to the present day, and consists predominantly of works by South African artists. This is one of the most actively acquiring collections, and while the Art Collections acquisition policy considers the redress of historical omissions as vital to the collection, it is also forward-looking with regard to the output of emerging and established artists in South Africa. Some noteworthy recent acquisitions include Mary Sibande’s 2010 large-scale sculpture titled The Reign, Noria Mabasa’s 2008 wooden sculpture Ndi Mukegulu a ne a khou thsimbila na vhaduhulu vhaue vhavhili / Grandmother and her two Children, and a crocheted lace portrait by Pierre Fouché titled The Kiss (2008). While the contemporary collection is continuously growing, it also has houses works which for some years have been favourites with our visitors. These include Jane Alexander’s well-known sculpture The Butcher Boys (1985/6), William Kentridge’s series of five Soho Eckstein short animated films (1989-1996), and one of Jackson Hlungwani’s variations of Christ Playing Football, a large wooden sculpture smaller variations of which are included in other major collections in South Africa. The South African Museum was founded by Lord Charles Somerset in 1825 as a general museum comprising natural history and material culture from local and other groups further afield. In time, it developed greater systematic organisation and classification similar to the evolutionary models that were prominent in European and American museums in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The focus on natural history encouraged the notion that very little divided the animal world from the human subjects who were documented. This continued until the 1990s with the reservation of cultural history museums for the display of settler histories and the relegation of material culture from other cultures to natural history and anthropology museums. "Bushmen", referring collectively to San and Khoi indigenous groups, were considered lowest on the evolutionary timescale and as living remnants of "civilised" man's prehistory, akin to the highest form of ape. As such, they became the subject of intensive research, particularly from 1906 onwards under the directorship of Louis Péringuey. Subsequent research on Bushmen was informed by the rise of physical anthropology, a discipline in the European scientific community that drew direct correlation between physical type and evolutionary status and therefore intellectual, cultural and social status, as discussed in a 1988 article by Annie Coombes. Between 1907 and 1924 Péringuey initiated a casting project, carried out by museum modeller James Drury, in which sixty-eight body casts of "pure Bushmen specimens" were taken in a process that was both humiliating and painful for the participants. The title of Drury's book, Bushman, whale and dinosaur, detailing his 40-year affiliation with the South African Museum, gives some indication of the status these specimens were given. Some of the casts made by museum modeller James Drury were displayed in the South African Museum from 1911 but without any contextualisation or acknowledgement of the Bushmen’s complex social and cultural networks. With accompanying museum labels in which they were continually referred to in the past tense, the Bushmen were consigned to history and extinction. It was only in the late 1950s that Drury’s casts were given any contextualisation in the form of the Bushman Diorama when they were displayed in an invented cultural setting based on an early nineteenth-century painting by Samuel Daniell. However, the newly revised label once again emphasised the narrative of extinction and lacked any historical contextualisation or information about the Bushmen’s individual histories. The Bushman Diorama was not the only South African Museum display that historicised ethnic groups in this way. The African culture gallery also featured a series of displays of casts or models of "dark-skinned people" (in ethnically-defined groups) who "live in rural areas and are located in timeless places such as 'tribes' or 'groups'". The Bushman Diorama deserves particular attention though, as it has been at the centre of much contestation but also a popular tourist attraction for foreigners, locals and schools. The focus of tours was largely the physical appearance of the figures; teachers and tour guides would routinely use the display to emphasise racialised physical features such as skin, hair type, body shape and genital forms. In 1989, in recognition of the ethical and unequal power dimensions involved in the display, the South African Museum took the first steps to mediate the diorama. This came in the shape of an adjoining exhibition that investigated the rationale for the casting project and explored the backgrounds and identities of the people who had been cast. Photographs from the casting process were shown and one of the figures was dressed in early twentieth century (instead of hunter-gather) attire to alert viewers to the constructed nature of the diorama. Continued revision occurred in 1993 with Out of Touch, an auto-critique that added "dilemma labels" and contrasting superimposed images to the display cases in the African cultures gallery (and the diorama) in order to destabilise the narrative and to "qualify previous notions of cultural stasis by acknowledging urbanisation and other changes".

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