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queenangst · 4 months

Note

If you want to - 6 from the Richard Siken prompts for Gerard/Elody? :)

[read on ao3]

i was finding myself sleepless and he was running out of lullabies

The last night Elody sees Gerard, they argue.

She doesn’t remember all the words, thinking back on it. The same song and dance, stepping on each other’s toes and barely holding onto each other. She’d looked at him and thought he’d never seemed further away than he had in that moment, across the table.

The anger has been a constant for a while. It sits heavy like a stone in her chest, rolling around and hitting the sides of her ribs.

Elody doesn’t want to fight with her husband. She loves him—she has to keep telling herself that, she loves him—but it’s so hard in the moment to not snap back at him. But love alone isn’t enough. Love doesn’t repair the sieged walls, and love doesn’t repair the cracks forming in her heart. Both require work.

Anger is a weapon.

Not everyone is a fighter. Things are better, when not everyone is a fighter, and that’s why she’d fallen in love in the first place. Gerard has never been a fighter.

She doesn’t need him to wield a sword. Armies need healers and runners and support. Elody can handle the fighting. She needs him to hold her hand, to listen to her, to support her. She needs him in the war room, taking letters and planning.

She needs him next to her.

Where he belongs. Like he’d promised, the day he’d took her hand in his own, human one, and promised to spend the rest of his life next to her.

The fight doesn’t end the way it usually does. It usually ends somewhere in between them. Gerard promises he will think about the war. Elody promises she will think about home. They leave the table and don’t.

“Come on,” Gerard pleads. He tries to soothe her. He tells her he loves her; it is a drop of water trying to douse a rush of flames. “Elody…”

That night, the fight ends ugly. Elody shouts with a commander’s lungs and then storms away.

She feels bad after walking out. Just not bad enough to walk back in and apologize, yet.

Her general catches her in the hall.

“Princess Elody,” he says. She’s grateful for the low torchlight so he doesn’t see how her eyes have betrayed her and filled with tears. “I don’t mean to interrupt—”

“That’s alright. You haven’t interrupted. What’s the matter?”

He hands her a sheaf of papers. “Scout reports. Snowhold marches on us.”

The war began as a few border skirmishes through the City of Chimneys. Testing, she thought, their limits.

Then an entire patrol was killed, save for one soldier who rode straight through the gates of the castle. She’d been spared purposely. It was a warning, she said, from the Tsar of Snowhold.

Greenleigh could surrender, or it would be taken by force.

Her patience grew thinner. Their arguments grew louder. Her nights grew sleepless.

What’s left of her anger dissipates and leaves only dread. “Estimated arrival?”

“...Within days, my lady. Three, at most, if not sooner.”

Stories come in threes, but so do misfortunes.

Elody doesn’t know how to bear it, but she must. She always has to.

Gerard finds her by the pond. There isn’t enough space in her heart for hope at the moment, but she does feel a bit of warmth when she sees him, like winter giving way slightly for spring.

“Elody,” he murmurs.

“I don’t want to hear it right now, Gerard.”

She’s too tired to fight. Her head feels like it’s being pounded against an anvil.

He pauses by the reeds, glancing briefly at the muddy bank, then crosses over to meet her. The mud squelches a little when he steps into it with fine shoes, and Gerard makes a face at it. But he sits next to her anyway.

“You can rest,” he says. “Elody, you—you’ve done everything you can now. Come to bed for a while. We still have time.”

She wants to say yes.

How can she rest, while enemies march on Greenleigh? How can she rest, when the outer villages have fled here for protection?

She shouldn’t even be here, at the pond, but she’d been desperate for even just a moment of reprieve. The waters are calm and still. There are no frogs, only a prince.

“I can’t.”

Elody has begun to dress in full mail, in case.

She doesn’t want to think about war, but she doesn’t want Gerard to not think about war. Instead of thinking about either, she just… leans over. Gerard makes a surprised sound when she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder. It can’t be comfortable, with her pauldron pressing into him, but after a moment Gerard reaches up and runs his fingers carefully through her hair. Webbing is beginning to form between them, a fact Elody doesn’t know what to do with.

Gerard clears his throat awkwardly, and like he used to when they were young, begins to sing. There’s a slight croak to his voice. “ ...Be still, love, don’t cry, sleep like you’re rocked by the stream…”

She closes her eyes for a moment. The hazy smell of water and sweet lilies lulls her.

"Sleep and remember this river lullaby… and I’ll be with you when you dream."

Elody doesn’t sleep. She listens to Gerard sing, and tries to remember it. This is the first time in a while, she thinks, that she’s felt close to peace with him.

It isn’t going to last. She knows it won’t. Maybe tomorrow they will place their swords to each other’s hearts. Maybe tomorrow he will try to sing her another lullaby, and she won’t hear it at all. Maybe tomorrow he will say I love you, again, and he will look more frog than prince, and Elody will feel more fighter than lover. There are only so many lullabies. There are only so many times the skin can split, before it will begin to scar.

The song drifts off. Elody stands, wordless, and strides away.

Later she will ask herself what went wrong. Later she will ask herself why she didn’t stay.

She can’t find the strength to apologize for the argument earlier. Gerard doesn’t say sorry, either. She turns her back and leaves him by the pond.

Three days is a lie. With dawn comes misfortune. The castle crumbles. The sound of screaming fills the street, and Elody raises her golden mace, her lily-flower shield, and sees nothing of her husband.

They fight bitterly. They lose. When they retreat, Elody looks for him, but Gerard is gone somewhere far from her. This isn’t what I wanted, she wants to scream. This isn’t what I asked for.

She tries to remember the last snatch of lullaby he’d sung for her. The memory is too soft on the banks of war, and it pulls away from her, sinking into the water and slipping away.

#ok so i wrote half of this months ago and then uhhhh picked it up again to finish it!#d20 #d20 fanfic #dimension 20 #d20 neverafter #enjoy!#sorry this took so long lol i'm finally getting back to these

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talesofsorrowandofruin · 1 year

Text

The Great OC Alphabet Caper: Moth Edition

Doing this again, this time for characters from The Unfortunate Moth, with bonus information on Silver Glass! (Which may change when I start actually writing it.) In alphabetical order under the cut (spoilers ahead):

Leo

Name: Leopold Colman (I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is his real name or an alias. Currently it’s an alias)

Age/Pronouns: 23, he/him

Brief physical description: Tall, black hair, grey eyes. This Artbreeder portrait is technically of Arthur from Gracemeadow Manor but also fits Leo (yes, my male OCs -- and many of my female OCs -- have very similar descriptions. I have a type.):

Brief list of defining traits: An actor, an aspiring playwright and set designer, an artist... and also an assassin.

Excerpt:

The main impression the cabin made on Yo-han was of absolute chaos. Sheets of sketches lay piled haphazardly on the chair, spilling over onto the floor. A suit was unceremoniously draped over the half-open wardrobe door. Since the chair was unusable, Colman was half-sitting half-lying on the bed and using a suitcase as a footrest. The suitcase was too full and looked like it would burst open at any minute.

Yo-han was hardly a tidy man. He had an amazing ability to get ink over everything when writing, he could never find his shoes without turning his cabin upside down, and he never bothered to fully unpack but instead hunted through his suitcase for what he needed. All the same, this was excessive. How could Colman bear to live in this mess?

Colman looked up from the book he was poring over. "Oh, hello, Mr. So! Have you caught the murderer yet?"

Yo-han let both the mispronunciation and the question pass without comment. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Colman's face fell. "Then you haven't caught him yet."

"Perhaps you can help me," Yo-han said.

"Won't you sit down?"

Yo-han looked pointedly at the chair. Colman laughed sheepishly and set down his book. While he removed the sheets from the chair, Yo-han craned his neck to read the book's title without having to go closer. Richard II. Hmm. He'd assumed Colman's acting career was confined to the sort of musical comedy that relied on twee songs and scantily-clad women to get an audience.

"Would you like some tea?" Colman asked, piling the papers haphazardly on top of a cupboard.

Yo-han slightly revised his opinion of the man. Clearly he had some manners. "No need to go to the trouble. I won't be here long."

Colman dropped the last sheaf of papers on top of the pile. He watched without apparent surprise as they promptly slid off and fell to the floor. Yo-han resisted the urge to suggest he should take housekeeping lessons.

Trivia:

I got his first name from a character name generator, but I chose his surname as a reference to Ronald Colman.

Has killed at least four people.

Genuinely likes Phil (in spite of murdering her aunt), and the feeling’s mutual. At some point in the future they’re going to get married.

Máté

Name: Máté Király

Age/Pronouns: 26, he/him

Brief physical description: Tall, brown hair, brown eyes.

Brief list of defining traits: Takes a grim view of life. Is secretly married to Octavia.

Excerpt:

Cabin 178 was almost depressingly devoid of anything to show its occupant's personality. Mrs. Patton-Langdale had a framed photograph and her own alarm clock. Miss Patton had her murder mysteries. Yo-han himself had his calligraphy set and photo album. But Máté Király had his suitcase and nothing else. No photographs, no letters, no books, no trinkets of sentimental value, not even any sign of a hobby. Yo-han found himself wondering how the man passed the time.

Király gestured Yo-han to the only chair in the room. He sat on the bed himself and took a cigarette case out of his pocket, then changed his mind and put it away. Whether that was because he thought it would be rude to smoke in such a confined space, or simply didn't want to give away the slightest detail about himself, was up for debate.

"What do you want to know?" Király asked in a marginally less chilly tone. Yo-han got the impression he was trying to be friendly but was badly out of practice.

"I want to find out as much as I can about your employer and her niece," Yo-han said.

"Here's something for a start: Miss Ophelia didn't do it."

Yo-han had never investigated a case where everyone was so convinced the main suspect was innocent. It was almost enough to make him suspect Miss Patton in spite of himself.

All he said on that subject for the moment was, "I am inclined to agree with you. But more about that later. Would you mind telling me how you came to work for Mrs. Patton-Langdale?"

"She fought with her latest secretary and fired him. So she advertised for a new one, I applied, and she hired me because I can speak German."

Trivia:

Is fluent in Hungarian, German, Romanian, and also speaks some French and Russian.

His first name is a reference to Hungarian actor Máté Kamarás.

Octavia

Name: Octavia Patton

Age/Pronouns: 20, she/her

Brief physical description: No specific description, but probably looks like Phil.

Brief list of defining traits: Lady Not-Appearing-in-This-Book. She’s mentioned repeatedly but only “appears” in a letter she writes. Phil’s sister. Married to Máté.

Excerpt (this is her letter):

Dear Phil,

I've just heard everything! How dreadful! And they tell me it was an actor who committed the murder! I feel quite ashamed on behalf of the theatre as a whole.

You might have heard that I sent a letter to Máté. I tried to warn him in code, but my code was so safe he couldn't decipher it. Here's the full story: a body was found in the lake near Aunt Rachael's house. (I suppose it's your house now. How funny!) The police wanted to question Aunt Rachael about it. Then they found out she'd been murdered, and they discovered the dead man was working for the man who hired the assassin, so they think he was the first assassin sent to kill her. But she was a match for him!

Funny to think of old Aunt Rachael shoving an assassin down the stairs then hiding his body in the lake. But the police say that's what happened. I suppose they know best.

I've written to Máté too but I might as well explain it to you. J in my code meant those mystery books by Jemima Gibbs-Taylor. You know, the murder mysteries I showed you, that you said were silly. I thought you'd understand.

Send Máté home soon please! I'm so lonely without him!

Your affectionate sister,

Trivia:

Her first name is a reference to Miss Pole from Cranford. Her surname is borrowed from some of my relatives.

Phil

Name: Ophelia Patton

Age/Pronouns: 22, she/her

Brief physical description: Tall, brown hair, grey eyes. My mental image of her has changed since I made her Artbreeder portrait, so it no longer fits her.

Brief list of defining traits: Is having a Very Bad Time.

Excerpt:

Phil had never felt so numb. Not when her aunt was killed, not even when she was arrested. She left the room in a sort of daze. Máté and Mr. Seo accompanied her to her new cabin. Her old one, of course, was roped off as part of the crime scene.

Máté looked so alarmed that she wondered if he thought she was likely to harm herself. She could almost have laughed at that. Mr. Seo asked her if she wanted a cup of tea. She shook her head silently. Talking was too much effort. When they left her alone she collapsed onto the bed and replayed everything Leopold had ever said to her.

Had he been acting the whole time? He'd come to see her when she was arrested. He'd sworn he believed she was innocent. Well, of course he had. No one knew the truth better than him. He'd visited her as often as he was allowed to.

That drawing...

Phil took it out of her pocket and unfolded it. Regret, Mr. Seo had said. An apology. Was it genuine? It had to be, because who had he been trying to fool? In the end it had just incriminated him.

She wondered suddenly if he'd deliberately incriminated himself. If he'd found the one sure way of proving her innocence.

It was wishful thinking. No matter what he might say, it was impossible a murderer could truly care about anyone.

Phil traced the outline of the flowers. They were just outlines without colour. Had he meant them to be white or had he forgotten to colour them?

The drawing blurred. Phil angrily dashed the tears away. It was no use. They kept coming back. She dropped the paper, buried her face in her pillow, and cried herself to sleep.

Trivia:

Gets a relatively happy ending; according to my plans for the sequel, she takes over her aunt’s business, buys a new house, and eventually marries Leo.

Her behaviour around Rachael is based on my own experiences with abusive and mentally unstable authority figures.

Rachael

Name: Rachael Patton-Langdale

Age/Pronouns: 45, she/her

Brief physical description: No specific description

Brief list of defining traits: An absolutely terrible person. It’s amazing it took so long for her to be murdered.

Excerpt:

Rachael was planning something unpleasant for someone. Phil had seen the symptoms before. Unusual abstraction, frowning and tapping her fingers against her lips, not noticing when she was spoken to, maintaining a stony silence; they were all unpleasantly familiar. Phil immediately began reviewing her recent behaviour to see what might have set Rachael off. Her normal yelling was bad enough. But this sort of behaviour always preceded a particularly nasty outburst. The sort of outburst that lasted for days and could sometimes become physically violent. (Mostly to Rachael herself; during these explosions she would slap her own face and accuse the target of her wrath of driving her to do this. At these times Phil honestly believed her aunt belonged in a padded cell.)

Phil spotted the symptoms as soon as she walked into the dining room. What could have happened to cause this in a few minutes? She didn't know, but she immediately switched from trying to provoke Rachael to being as conciliatory as possible. She'd planned to read her magazine during dinner. Instead she kept her handbag firmly closed and greeted Rachael more politely than she had at any time since they left home.

Rachael stayed silent all through dinner. It played havoc with Phil's nerves. She kept her head down, then worried that was making her aunt even angrier. She pretended to be absorbed in her meal, but when her knife scraped against the plate she tensed and waited for an explosion that didn't come. She tried to act naturally but felt like a puppet operated by a trainee puppeteer. Every minute she expected Rachael to accuse her of something. Phil almost wished her aunt would just so she would finally know what was wrong.

Trivia:

She’s based on one of my former teachers.

Yo-han

Name: Seo Yo-han

Age/Pronouns: Early/mid-30s, he/him

Brief physical description: Average height, black hair, brown eyes. My mental image of him has also changed since I made his Artbreeder portrait, so it no longer fits him either. (Now I picture him as looking like Woo Do-hwan.)

Brief list of defining traits: Can’t go anywhere without finding a mystery. Also can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business (I wonder if these facts are connected...).

Excerpt:

In all the chaos of the last two days Yo-han had almost forgotten why he was originally going to Australia. Now that he thought of it again, the politician and the disappearing mistress seemed utterly unimportant. "I have another case waiting in Australia."

"Not another murder, I hope."

Yo-han nodded, internally debating the probabilities of the case ending in tragedy. "Not another murder, I hope."

Király finished his cigarette. He dropped it overboard too and stared down at the water for a minute. "I never would have thought it was him."

There was nothing Yo-han could think of to say that didn't sound trite.

"Do you think he really does care about her?"

Yo-han thought of the times Colman had sought out Miss Patton's company. He couldn't see anything the man had gained from that. As he had calmly admitted during their talk in the cell, Colman had decided on how to commit the murder from the minute he got his hands on a plan of the ship. Had he amused himself by deliberately befriending a young woman, knowing the whole time he was going to kill one of her closest relatives?

Yo-han had met criminals who had done similar things and derived ghastly pleasure from it. But somehow he couldn't picture Colman doing that. Those criminals had never been able to hide their true feelings for long. He remembered what he had thought of Colman's reaction to Miss Patton's arrest.

If he had been acting, he had given the performance of a lifetime.

"I don't know," he said at last. "But I don't think it matters in the end."

"Miss Patton might disagree."

Yes. Miss Patton might disagree. "It would almost be worse if he does care. Whatever the nature of his feelings, whether romantic or purely friendly, they weren't enough to make him stop."

There was little to say after that. Yo-han and Király stood together on the deck in silence and watched the shore grow darker as the sun set.

Trivia:

His name is a reference to two of my favourite Kdrama characters: Seo Moon-jo (Strangers From Hell; a hilariously ironic namesake for a detective) and Kang Yo-han (The Devil Judge).

Not fond of his father or stepmother. Is fond of his half-brother, though.

Bonus Silver Glass content!

Alec

Name: Alexander Lennox

Age/Pronouns: 24, he/him

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: The main suspect. Was unhappy in his marriage. Has recently become very religious. Is keeping an important secret (and it’s not that he murdered his wife).

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

His first name is a reference to one of my relatives and his surname is borrowed from some of my friends.

Originally his surname was Gilmore. I changed it when I discovered there’s a real person named Alec Gilmore.

Gwladys

Name: Gwladys Lennox

Age/Pronouns: 27, she/her

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: A thoroughly unpleasant person. The surprise isn’t that she’s murdered, it’s that the murderer didn’t actually mean to kill her.

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

Her name is a reference to a minor character in Jeeves and Wooster.

David

Name: David Eames (this is definitely an alias, but I don’t know his real name yet)

Age/Pronouns: 25?, he/him

Brief physical description: None yet

Brief list of defining traits: Alec’s valet. Gwladys hated him for reasons unknown. Fond of fishing.

Excerpt: None yet

Trivia:

His surname is a reference to John Eames from The Small House at Allington.

Adding Moth’s and Glass’s taglists: @akindofmagictoo, @lightgriffinsect, @original-writing, @zonnemaagd, @boldnightmarishreverbs, @oh-no-another-idea, @verba-writing, @writingpotato07, @sarahlizziewrites (Let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

#the great oc alphabet caper #writing #my writing #my characters #my WIPs #WIP: moth #WIP: glass #artbreeder #nerissa rambles

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sauntervaguelydown · 1 year

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Autumn Song, By Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The Beautiful Changes, By Richard Wilbur

End of Summer, By Stanley Kunitz

My Autumn Leaves, By Bruce Weigl

Beyond the Red River, By Thomas McGrath

November for Beginners, By Rita Dove

“Blow, blow, thou winter wind”, By William Shakespeare

text under the cut:

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the soul feels like a dried sheaf Bound up at length for harvesting, And how death seems a comely thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows.

Blue poured into summer blue, A hawk broke from his cloudless tower, The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew That part of my life was over.

Already the iron door of the north Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows Order their populations forth, And a cruel wind blows.

so I may let the crows in corn believe it’s me their caws are meant to warn, they know me too. They know the boy

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark.

sit down in the smell of the past and rise in a light

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

An agitation of the air, A perturbation of the light Admonished me the unloved year would turn on its hinge that night

#poetry #these are my OTGW inspo collection

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months

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John Cuneo, Mar-a-Lago Sewage :: [Robert Scott Horton]

* * * * *

Trump's spiral staircase: down, down, down he goes, where he stops, nobody knows

LUCIAN K. TRUSCOTT IV

JUN 20, 2023

Who knew that the name of a two-bit spray-tanned Fox News hack would be destined to be mentioned alongside the David Frost interview of Richard Nixon as a classic of the genre, but it appears that is where yesterday’s Bret Baier “Special Report” interview with Donald Trump is headed. Well known celebrity interviewer Frost asked Nixon whether the president could do something illegal, such as taking action against certain anti-war groups “if he decides it’s in the best interest of the country or something,” to which Nixon infamously responded, “Well, when the president does it, that means it’s not illegal.” Forty-five million television viewers watched that night, a record for the largest audience for a political interview in history.

A much, much smaller audience was watching Fox last night when Trump claimed, for what must have been at least the thousandth time, “First of all, I won in 2020 by a lot, okay? Let’s get that straight.” Baier, holding a sheaf of paper that appeared to have lists not only of questions, but of facts, pushed back by reciting a long list of evidence to the contrary: “There were recounts in all the swing states. There was not significant evidence of fraud,” to which Trump replied, “We were trying to get recounts, real recounts, not just numbers of votes cast.”

Baier forged ahead: “There were lawsuits, more than 50 of them, in front of judges you appointed, that came up with no evidence, no evidence, and they looked at every potential case of voter fraud in six battleground states, and they found fewer than 475 cases.” Trump, babbling over Baier the whole time: “You know why? They weren’t looking at the right things. They were counting ballots, not the authenticity of ballots. The ballots were fake ballots. This was a very rigged election.”

But it was when Baier got into the meat of last week’s indictment of Trump for improperly removing and then mishandling top secret government documents, that the interview really went off the rails for Trump. Baier asked him when he was subpoenaed by the Department of Justice for the documents he held at Mar a Lago, “Why not just hand them over then?”

I wish you could hear Trump’s tone, which resembled nothing more or less than the voice of a little boy who had been caught with a rock in his hand standing on the lawn of a house with a broken window: “Because I had boxes! I wanted to go through the boxes, and get all my personal things out…(sputters)…I don’t want to hand that over to NARA (National Archives and Records Administration) yet, and I was very busy, as you have sort have seen.” A B-roll of the indictment appears on the screen as Baier tirelessly presses on: “But according to the indictment, you then tell this aide to move [boxes] to other locations, after telling your lawyers to say that you had fully complied with the subpoena when you hadn’t.” Trump looks frantic: “Before I send boxes over, I have to take all of my things out. These boxes were interspersed with all sorts of things…uh…golf shirts, clothing, pants, shoes…there were many things…”

Baier manages to intersperse a short question, “Iran war plans?” Here's Trump’s face as he hears the question: “Not that I know of! Not that I know of!”

Baier then turns to the Iran war plan document referred to in the indictment in the transcript of a recording of an interview with ghost writers for Trump’s final chief of staff, Mark Meadows, made at Trump’s Bedminster golf club in 2021. “The Iran attack plan. You remember that. You were recorded.” Baier continues, reading from his typed notes: “The indictment says, the recording and the testimony from people in the room say you showed it to people in the room there, that day. You say on tape, that you can’t declassify it, so why have it?”

“There was no document,” Trump asserts. “That was a massive amount of papers and everything else talking about Iran and other things. And it may have been held up or may not, but that was not a document. I didn’t have a document per se. There was nothing to declassify. These were newspaper stories, magazine stories, and articles.”

“I’m just saying what the indictment says, there were people in the room, who testified…”

“These people are very dishonest people. They’re thugs. They’re thugs. If you look at what they’ve done to other people…”

Tobias Barrington Wolff, the Jefferson Barnes Fordham Professor of Law at the University of Pennsylvania, Carey School of Law, posted on his Facebook page a primer in the law, describing exactly what happened in Trump’s interview with Baier. Helpfully referring to Trump as “the grifter,” Wolff explained: “The only way the grifter's own spoken words could be forcibly used against him at trial is if he chose to do exactly what he is now doing: talk obsessively about the charges against him on camera at rallies and in interviews, hoping that his weaponized narcissistic bluster would once again allow him to escape accountability. Your Fifth Amendment right protects you against being ‘compelled’ to incriminate yourself; it poses no barrier if you want to bull your way in front of a camera and insist on doing so. And one of the main exceptions to the hearsay rule is a statement made by the party himself, which is helpfully referred to as an ‘admission’. The category of admissions is a broad exception to the hearsay rule. It means that other witnesses, like his former lawyers or Walt Nauta, could testify at trial to the things the grifter said to them while executing the conspiracy to obstruct justice. And it means recordings of the grifter's own out-of-court statements can be used to establish the elements of his offenses. It is just that, in a normal criminal trial, the prosecution does not have video of the defendant's own incriminating statements. But the grifter is helpfully providing those video admissions with every campaign speech and every interview he gives to a right-wing news outlet.”

The Florida magistrate in the case against Trump issued an order earlier on the same day of Trump’s interview with Baier forbidding him from disclosing “the Discovery Materials or their contents directly or indirectly to any person or entity other than persons employed to assist in the defense, persons who are interviewed as potential witnesses, counsel for potential witnesses, and other persons to whom the Court may authorize disclosure.” The magistrate went on to warn that disclosure of discovery material “may result in contempt of court or other civil or criminal sanctions.”

It is unknown at the time of this writing if any of Trump’s interview, particularly the part involving the Iran attack plans, amounted to disclosure of “discovery materials.” It is known, however, that pretty much the entire interview, from beginning to end, may one day end up as evidence in trials of Donald Trump in the classified documents case as well as any potential case the Special Counsel files against him for attempting to overturn the results of the 2020 election.

#Robert Scott Horton #John Cuneo #Mar-a-Lago #political cartoon #bathroom storage #Lucian K. Truscott lV #Lucian Truscott Newsletter #TFG #Bret Baier #the grifter

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maypoleman1 · 8 months

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22nd August

The Battle of Bosworth Field

Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth Field by James E McConnell. Source: Look and Learn magazine

The Battle of Bosworth Field took place on this day in 1485. It was the last major battle of the so-called Wars of the Roses that had pitched rival Plantagenet claimants, representing the Royal houses of York and Lancaster against each other for the English throne in an aristocratic family quarrel that became homicidal. Richard III, the last Yorkist king went to meet Henry Earl of Richmond, the last claimant of the Lancastrian line, at the town of Market Bosworth near Leicester, to defeat Henry’s invasion and his, somewhat shaky, claim to the crown. As the two armies clashed, hundreds of miles away in Warminster, Wiltshire, a local woman foretold the outcome. She picked up two sheaves of wheat and shouted ‘Now for Richard, now for Henry!’ and dropped one sheaf to the ground with the cry: ‘Now for King Henry, Richard is slain!’ Neighbours laughed at her delusional predictions, but at that moment, the deserted and betrayed Richard was cut down by a mass of Henry’s soldiers and was killed. The dead king’s crown was retrieved from where it fell and placed on Henry’s head. He was proclaimed as King Henry VII on the battlefield - the first of the Tudors.

#battle of bosworth #henry vii #richard iii #wars of the roses #tudor dynasty

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toiariki · 1 year

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Waitangi Exhibition Opened @theartsvillage Ringatoi: RICHARD FRANCIS Title: “Onward New Zealand” Canvas Print Price: $600 *The Treaty is the tuapapa *Charles Philippe de Thierry’s design for a New Zealand Coat of Arms. The image shows a coat of arms flanked by Māori warrior with taiaha, this one is deplicted in the Artwork on the left of the shield, colourless on purpose, it is a very bad rendition of a Maori, in 1835, a Spanish looking man with a spear not a Taiaha. It includes a motto Tenax. Strength and harmony. The red wax seal has the same image stamped into it, to which I have used as the Lions Heart. (King Richard) *New Zealand Coat of Arms 1911-1956 The White Lion holding the Union Jack, is in the top left hand corner, representing King Charles, he is smelling in his right paw the ‘English” Rose. The Shield has been used as inspiration for this artwork, in the first quarter of the shield shows the southern cross has been replaced with ‘Matariki’ Star constellation, then three ships symbolising the importance of New Zealand's sea trade down the middle have been replaced with the 50cent coin, Endeavour, The ‘Aurere” and an Air NZ Airplane The wheat sheaf in the third quarter represents the agricultural industry has been replaced with the ‘Three Waters” Logo and the crossed hammers in the fourth quarter represent mining is replaced with the currency of today is Crypto, and the Fast food favourites are there to represent the Kai of today. *The 1911 Coat of Arms was replaced in 1956 The crown from this code of arms is King Charles’ the lion keha *bottom right hand corner, here the 20 cent coin is used dated 2022, to represent the passing of Queen Elizabeth, the crosses base is the Beehive, The government. *The Pakeha Woman on the right represents the ultimate in Bi-culturalism, my Mother, blonde hair, blue eyes a Irish Dutch woman. In full colour. *Tamateatuatahi Marama (Moon) unpredictable, with a halo, a warning to be care, here the Queens face from the twenty dollar note has been use in the Moon. *Detail on the Maori Figure has him holding the old school feather (raukura) pen, showing he has the written lauguage and education of the law/lore (at The Arts Village) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnWbzPXJU9s/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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booksr4meandyou · 2 years

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Book Review of The Sigsbee Deep by Nicole Harmon

Book Review of The Sigsbee Deep by Nicole Harmon Title: The Sigsbee Deep Author: Richard J. Miller Publisher: Richard J. Miller Publish Date: 2021 Book Blurb: “Take this,” Chris said, handing him a ten-inch knife, inside a leather sheaf. “I brought it just in case.” The knife had a carved wood handle and was sharp enough to shave with. Mays hooked the sheaf onto his belt. “Were you expecting…

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#Book Review #Booktasters #science fiction

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the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

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Crown of Thorns

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under her chin, arms clutching her knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped her face, and she leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

Series Summary: After the need for their alliance during the Battle of Titan, King Stephen asked in return for his services, that King Anthony of the Iron Islands’, first born daughter would be given in marriage, to his sons, Prince Steven and Prince James of the Kingdom of Kamar-Taj. Despite King Anthony’s other offers, King Stephen would only agree to one, or there would be war between their two Kingdoms. Leaving King Anthony with no choice, he sacrificed his first born daughter, in hopes of sparing his people of anymore suffering. Anthony prayed that the men would care for his daughter, and love her as he did, but a sparkly crown can hide a thousand secrets.

Pairing: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader x Prince!Bucky

Series Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Angst, Fluff (There will be some fluffy stuff I promise, I can't resist), Smut: This series will include some aspects of Dub-con/Non-con: Steve and Bucky aren't going to be Prince Charmings. More Warnings will be posted on Chapters.

Masterlist

Part One: End of an Era

Chapter Warnings: Gore, Violence

Word Count: 3.2k

“We’re losing too many men, my Lord.” Sir Rhodes was able to yell over the cries of the men, who were falling quickly, to Thanos’ blades.

“They are surrounding us; they mean to crush us.” Lord Parker informed, Anthony watched in horror as his men were quickly surrounded by Thanos’ guard caging them in a circle of swords and shields.

“Where is King Stephen, we need his men.” Anthony called out, shoving some of his men away from him, Thanos’ men were beginning to edge their way in, making their circle tighter and tighter.

“He is nowhere to be seen, my Lord. I believe that he is-“ Lord Parker was unable to finish his sentence, as one of Thanos’ guards raised his spear, thrusting it through the air with such force, it pierced straight through Lord Parker’s helmet, swiftly ending his life.

“Richard!” A voice called from across the circle of death; Lord Parker’s brother, Earl Parker, yelped in dismay. Distracted by his brother’s death, he was unaware of the closing shield wall, that soon swallowed him in a stampede of iron boots and swords.

“Benjamin!” Anthony called, watching as his own army began to trample each other, in their own desperation to survive.

His breathing laboured, he looked for a pocket or a gap in the closing ranks, but he was unsuccessful, everywhere he turned, more of his men were being stomped and stabbed, either by their comrades or by Thanos’ waiting steel.

“This is the end for you, King Stark, watch as your people and fellow Kingdoms fall…at the hand of Thanos, The Inevitable.” The dark and gravel voice that sent chills done Anthony’s back.

Stark was powerless to stop him, the pit becoming narrower and narrower; he himself, began to fight for breath, the men had caged him in, their bodies pressed closely, Anthony looked to the sky, it was grey and clouded.

‘Fitting.’ He thought. ‘For the end.’

He felt as though, he had taken his final breath, when suddenly through the shouts and pleas, he heard the unmistakable rumble of horses’ hooves. At first, he believed that his mind was playing tricks on him. That in his final hours the Gods were tormenting him, just before his death.

But then came the sound of a horn, not just any horn, but a battle horn.

Turning his attention from the sky, to the nearby hills, he noticed the crowd of horses that were advancing from the horizon. The Kamar-Taj banners flying high on the long poles.

Anthony let out what little breath he could, in relief, watching as King Stephen’s men quickly dealt with Thanos’ crushing circle. As more of his men fell, the looser the circle became, and Anthony’s men were able to free themselves, and take part in the glorious massacre.

Anthony discovered Thanos, who was attempting to flee the battle ground, his horse was injured, and was flaying and whimpering, staggering on its wounded legs.

“Move you, wretched beast. Obey your master.” Thanos roared, spurring the horse’s side, but the horse moved no faster, exhausted and weary.

“This is why you are a unworthy King, Thanos.” Anthony stalked towards him, drawing his sword as he walked.

The horse was spooked by the screeching of the metal as it slid from it’s sheaf. The glint of the metal, that was partially stained with mud and blood, danced in the horse’s eyes, causing it to rear up, sending Thanos crashing to the floor.

Realising that it’s master had been thrown, using it’s last fuse of energy, it broke into a distressed sprint, through the trees of the nearby woods.

Thanos shrunk away from Anthony’s towering stance, the man’s eyes were dark with anger and determination, he wanted to end the tyranny and pain the bad King had brought upon his Kingdom and his kin’s.

“You nearly took everything from us,” Anthony stood over the would-be God, enjoying seeing the man cower.

“My Lord, I did what I only saw as right, I did what I felt must be done.” Thanos stammered, crawling onto his knees, and bowing his head, in supposed shame.

“Five years, you have brought nothing but grief and blood, to my family, to my people, to my Kingdom. Now you must pay the price for your crimes.

“But, your Grace, I am a King, I am the King of Titan, what I did was nothing new, was nothing spontaneous, it will repeat itself for millennias to come. I am…inevitable.”

Anthony could not bear to hear another worthless word escape the man’s mouth. The grip of the handle grew tighter, his fingers curved round the leather grip, as he stood to the side of the fallen King.

“Look upon your Kingdom for the final time, your highness. Watch as the flames of heaven, scorch your damned Kingdom of it’s sin, as it burns you from history.”

Anthony raised his sword, Thanos looked upon the grounds as he was told to, watching the way his men would cower and scream, as they met their deaths, at the hand of King Anthony and Stephen’s men.

“You see, your Grace…you may be inevitable, but I am…The Iron King.”

Raising the sword above his head, he brought it crashing down, slicing through the fragile skin of Thanos’ neck.

There came a cheer from the knights, as they watched the fallen King’s head roll onto the battlefield, drowning in a puddle of blood.

~~~~~~

“To King Anthony and King Stephen.” Sir Rhodes cheer, lifting his goblet high, the other men following suit.

“To the Iron King.” King Stephen rose from his seat, lifting his own wine in good gesture to Anthony, the glint in his eyes did not match his unnerving smile.

“To the Iron King.” The men roared, before downing the contents of their goblets, and beginning to scrabble amongst themselves to refill their cups.

Anthony flashed a smile, but swiftly looked down, when he caught King Stephen’s eyes glaring at him from across the room.

“I’d like to thank you, personally, my Lord.” Anthony’s eyes trailed up the woman’s body, who stood before him. A sad, yet warming smile, stretched across her face.

“Lady Parker…” Anthony stammered, his heart tightening in his chest, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Anthony extended his hand, Lady Parker reached for it, allowing Anthony to kiss it gently.

“It is indeed a great loss, losing my husband and brother-in-law, in one dreadful, yet magnificent day. I’d like to congratulate you on your victory against the Titans and thank you for taking young Peter as your ward. You will give him a life that a boy requires to grow into a man, a life that I cannot give him.” Lady Parker spoke solemnly.

“I will do only half the job that you could have done, my Lady.” Anthony replied, glumly “It is I, who should be thanking you. You gifted me two wonderful and strong warriors, and now I have a fine young boy, who has the bloodline and the heritage that will further lead my Kingdom to victory. I will raise him, as if he were my own son.”

Lady Parker’s warm smile, faltered slightly, when Anthony mentioned the idea that her nephew would engage in similar service that the men in her family had been slaughtered in.

“I ask for only one thing, my Lord. Please don’t allow me to speak, if you think that my words may be too bold…”

“Please, Lady Parker, you are amongst friends here.” Anthony motioned to his wife and young daughter who had sat either side of him.

“Peter has seen so much death, in his young life. So much pain, and anguish. After losing his mother to the fever, that also took your dear wife, Gods rest her soul…He has found it hard to adjust to life without that compassion and empathy that only a mother can give.”

“It is true; a boy without a mother, can turn savage. I understand your concerns.” Anthony dropped his head slightly, the feeling of his own past and family mishaps weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“Then you must understand my wish, my Lord. I wish for my nephew to not know bloodshed. I understand as a boy, who will become a man, there are certain qualities that he must possess, but I only ask that you keep him protected from the gores of war and he will no longer know of sudden death and unexpected grief.” Lady Parker swiftly wiped at her cheek, catching a stray tear that seemed to trail down her face.

Anthony was unsure of what to say, of what to promise this poor woman, who stood, practically pleading with him.

“I do understand your wish, Lady Parker, and I will do my best to protect young Peter, from the flames of war and death. He will be an educated man, much like his father.” Anthony tried showing his best smile, watching Lady Parker sigh in relief.

“Thank you, your Grace. Thank you so much.” Lady Parker curtsied a few times, before bowing her head to The Queen, and scuttling away from the table.

With the Lady now gone, Anthony once again caught eyes with King Stephen, who appeared to be unmoved, as he chewed expectantly on his boar’s leg.

Anthony cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable under the other King’s stare.

“Are you alright, my love?” The Queen placed he hand on Anthony’s, pulling away when she felt how cold and clammy it had become, despite the warmth and stuffiness of the room.

“Are you okay, daddy?” Y/N, clutched his other arm, looking up at Anthony’s big brown eyes, watching as they clouded with worry and fear.

“I’m just tired from the battle, we should have waited longer, before we threw this celebration.” Anthony replied, shortly.

“What is the matter, Tony?” The Queen pressed, watching as Anthony continued to shift around in his seat.

“Daddy, why are King Stephen’s sons looking at me like that?” Anthony’s eyes snapped up to the other stretched wooden table, that was in front of them. Ignoring Stephen’s harsh gaze, he followed along the table, spotting Stephen’s two sons, staring at his daughter like she was a piece of meat.

“Pep, I need to speak with you…right now.” Without another word, he stood from the table, most of the hall fell silent, unable to ignore the fact that the King had just upped and left without an announcement.

Smiling awkwardly, the Queen stood from her throne, nodding to the crowd by way of excuse before trotting after Anthony.

“What is it, my darling? Why are you so on edge? We should be celebrating your glorious victory.” The Queen grabbed Anthony’s face, hoping to calm him by rubbing her thumbs over his weathered cheeks.

“There is something I must tell you, my love.” Anthony could barely look his wife in the eyes, as he fished for the words that he needed to say.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, the little girl, who had tugged on her father’s arm, had slid off her seat, and unnoticed by the rest of the guests had followed hot on her father’s heals, watching her step-mother and father, from behind a suit of armour, careful to remain silent so she could over-hear their conversation.

“Just tell me, Tony. It can’t be that bad.” The Queen sighed, her smile kind and her eyes warm, as she continued to coax her husband out of his frightened and weary state.

“I know that we promised to decide together, what would happen when we matched made for Y/N.” Anthony began, his own palms flattening on the Queen’s shoulders.

Y/N ears pricked at the mention of her name, shuffling slightly so she could hear better.

“It was Queen Y/M/N final words to me as her Lady-in-Waiting.” The Queen spoke sadly.

Y/N’s eyes glazed momentarily, when the mention of her late mother was brought up. The memories of her biological mother were becoming hazy as she grew older, her face was beginning to fog, and it made her sad to think that soon she would be completely forgotten. The only thing that kept the memorial tie, was the paintings her father had commissioned, that hung proudly in her room and the halls.

Queen Virginia, who had been Queen Y/M/N Lady-in-Waiting, was not bothered by the paintings of her husband’s ex-wife, as she had loved the Queen almost as dearly, and allowed for one of the paintings to hang in the throne room, to remind others of her beauty.

Queen Virginia, or Pepper as Anthony affectionally called her, had been so close to Queen Y/M/N, and had been one of the few at her bedside, when she unfortunately passed from fever.

“I know, but…” Anthony broke from his gaze with the Queen, his tongue freezing in his throat. Y/N turned back to her father, who had grown paler as he locked eyes with his wife.

“Tony…” the Queen eyed his suspiciously, “What have you done?”

“King Stephen required payment, for the sacrifices of his men, and his overall endorsement in the war with the Titans.” Anthony breathed, he sat on one of the stone window seals, his knees felt weak.

“What did he ask for, it is to be expected? Was it more lands, cattle?” Pepper edged towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“King Stephen…has requested…” Anthony swallowed hard, his mouth and throat feeling dry, “…that Y/N be given in marriage to Prince Steven and Prince James.”

The Queen gasped, her hand covering her mouth, trying to contain her shock.

Y/N, who had been leaning heavily on the armour, slipped on the shining metal, in her dazed state, causing the armour to squeak slightly.

Diving behind the wall, before her father could spot her, she sat with her legs pulled to her chest, and eyes wide, as she re-iterated her father’s words, over and over again, in her head.

She realised that the couple had started speaking again, tuning her ears into their conversation.

“Tony you can’t,” Pepper gasped, “She is only 10 years of age, the boys must be what...7-8 years older than her. Oh, Tony you can’t do this. Have you not heard the stories?”

“Yes.” Anthony replied, briskly, standing from his stone seat, “Don’t you think I hate the thought, of my precious baby girl, in the jaws of those two creatures.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened, she was only little, but she too had heard the stories of the two Princes, who came from Kamar-Taj. Peter had told them to her, when they had been playing in the courtyard.

The story of the two sons; who were so wicked and cruel, they had brought about the deaths of their mothers, when they were no more than infants. Peter had told Y/N a story, of how the Princes had cut one of their nanny’s heads off, when they were only five and six.

“Tony you must refuse the proposal, I will not allow Y/M/N daughter to be mistreated by-“

“She is my daughter too!” Y/N shook at her father’s enraged tone, she had never heard him yell, at least not with so much rage and anger, especially not at his wife.

“Do you think that if there was any other way, I would offer up anything-anything, so that my daughter would be free, I’d give my soul to the devil, I would give up the ability to create anymore heirs, I would do anything, to protect my angel. She is the last thing that I have, that links me to Y/M/N. The only thing that I have left of her.” Anthony’s voice settled down, to almost barely a whisper.

“It must be done. King Stephen says it is all that he wants, and if I refuse then he would wage war against the Iron Islands,” Anthony sighed, “My people can’t cope with another war, it must be done.”

“Daddy, please don’t.” Y/N sprung from her hiding place, taking both of the royals by surprise. She wrapped herself around Tony’s leg, burying her face in his breaches, allowing the rich material to soak up her tears.

“Please don’t give me away to those beasts.” Y/N sobbed, Anthony brushed his fingers through her hair, the top of her head began to grow wet, when his own tears began to drip.

“My little bug, I would do anything to keep you safe,” Anthony hoisted the young girl on to his hip, holding her tightly to his chest, “If I don’t allow this marriage, then King Stephen will cause a war, that could see you and Lady Mother being killed. At least this way, I know that you will be safe.”

Pepper sent him an unconvinced glance, that Anthony had to ignore, choosing to bury his face in his daughter’s hair, savouring the smell of her luscious locks.

“I think it is time for bed.” Pepper announced, watching the young Princess’ eyes begin to droop, as she pressed her head under Anthony’s chin.

Scooping Y/N out of Anthony’s arms, she began to carry her to her bedroom, in her tall tower.

“Would you like me to take her, my Lady?” Lady Maria asked, holding her arms out to take the child.

“No thank you, Maria. I will put the Princess to bed tonight.” Pepper nodded, and Lady Maria curtsied back, before leaving the Queen and the Princess alone in her bedroom.

Pepper begins to undress Y/N, pulling her uncomfortable corset off, and sliding her little night dress over her sleepy head.

“Why did you marry my daddy, Lady Mother?” Y/N asked through a yawn, as Pepper laid her back in her bed.

“When your mother was…unwell…she told me and your daddy, that she didn’t want him to be alone, and that you needed a mother, so she said that daddy and I would be best suited to one another.” Pepper explained, as tactfully as she could.

“But did you love him?” Y/N tilted her head, not wanting to upset her step-mother, but wanting to understand.

“At first…no…I loved him as my King, but I struggled to love him as my husband, I was so worried about replacing your mother, but then I found a letter that she had written me before she…passed away…It read that she wanted me to be happy, and that she wanted Anthony, your daddy, to be happy as well, and she knew that I cared for you and loved you very much as if you were my own daughter, and that is what she wanted for her precious baby girl.”

“So you fell in love with daddy, because of me?” Y/N quirked an eyebrow, still not quite grasping the sentimental memory.

“Well…yes…I suppose we did. You brought your father and I together. Our love for you, was strong enough to bring us together, and now I love your father unconditionally, and he does to.” Pepper had climbed into the large bed, which was, despite it’s size, still a challenge, with her puffy under skirt and poufy gold dress.

“Will the evil Princes love me?” Y/N worried, looking up.

“You mustn’t call them that, little one. And I’m sure that you will warm their hearts like you do, with your daddy and I.” Pepper beamed.

“What will I be when I grow up, Lady Mother?” you asked, the bed sheets wrapped high under your chin, your arms clutching your knees.

“You will be Queen, my darling,” she cupped your face, and you leaned into her touch, “and a warrior.”

A/N: I’m back bitches...sorry about the long wait, this book will be updated weekly rather than daily, but I’ve reached a point where I need to be more chill and place less stress on myself with deadlines. Hope you enjoyed, feel free to Like! Reblog! Comment!

And the Taglist is always open!!

Taglist

@readermia @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @bbywtchh @liakrichards @nisha-misha97 @waywardwifey @xxblueslothxx @randomtails @emma-is-a-nerd @hhxppyyy @viviennebloom @in-a-constant-daydream6 @actualhobbitjenny

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longforyesterday · 3 years

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Many may not agree, but Lennon felt the setting suited the occasion, amused by the fact that the Beatle dissolution saga should reach its denouement in the colourful splendour of a Disney theme park. It was a place, to borrow a phrase he’d once used to describe his old writing partner, of pizzas and fairy tales: a mass, low-brow culture of candyfloss and cartoon characters. The signing, Pang maintains, was a sad occasion but one which also represented a sense of progress for the four Beatles, with an eye to future collaboration. “I think it freed them up from certain contractual obligations and made it so they could eventually come back and maybe work together under better circumstances if they wanted to, without feeling that they had to.” Additionally, the four men had the choice to do what they wanted, as individuals in terms of their own careers, instead of remaining contractually obligated to working together. This sense of closure may have led to a rejuvenation of the group in a new musical setting. It would, Pang later insisted, give Lennon a new relationship with his Beatle brothers. When Lennon eventually sat down to ink his signature on the large sheaf of legal papers on December 27, he knew that this was it. Having started the group, he ensured that he would be the one (at least on paper) to bring it to a close.

Richard White, Come Together – Lennon and McCartney In The Seventies

#john lennon #richard white #lennon and mccartney in the seventies

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

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Flatbush & Atlantic: part ii

Here’s part ii! Please reblog and send your thoughts, I love hearing feedback! I was doing a ton of research on American immigration law, and it doesn’t look like Canadians technically need a visa for most work circumstances, but I’m taking it as a matter of artistic license.

https://slapshot-to-the-heart.tumblr.com/post/615257287896989696/flatbush-atlantic-part-i

part ii

October 5

“Mat, I’m in the middle of a meeting,” Chris said, glancing up at him with a bemused-yet-slightly-annoyed look on his face.

Mat looked over at Cass, ducking his head and sheepishly tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Oh, yeah. For sure. I’m sorry, I should have knocked, but I got this letter, and. Yeah. I shouldn’t have interrupted, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Cass couldn’t help but let out a snicker at his rambling, and Mat turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand. She took it. “Sorry about that.” His cheeks colored. “I keep apologizing. I’m Mat Barzal.”

“Cass Cabrera Shaw,” she replied.

“Cass is our new intern, so you’ll be seeing each other around. Hopefully not too often.” Chris said, nodding to where she sat in front of him.

“I got the job?” Cass asked, her head jerking back to look at Chris.

Chris nodded like it should have been obvious. “Cassidy. You’re more than qualified, you know the sport, you understand the responsibilities. You go to a top 5 law school. Yeah, you’re hired.” She blinked, still trying to take it all in. Chris turned to Mat. “Okay, Barzal, you’re up. What’s wrong?”

Mat scratched his neck. “Okay, so I know I should have looked into it sooner and taken responsibility for it. And I do, I mean, take responsibility for it. It’s just, I was in Vancouver for the summer and then vacation and then training camp and—”

Chris cut him off. “Barzal. What is it?”

“I missed the deadline for my visa renewal.” That sounds familiar, Cass thought ruefully. At least she wouldn’t be alone in her dumbassery.

Chris put his head in his hands.

Mat held up a hand. “Wait, it’s not as bad as it seems, I promise.”

“Try me.”

“I called whoever’s in charge, they left a number on the letter—”

“State Department,” Cass said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her hair when Mat looked back at her, a hint of a smile on his face.

He nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, them. I called them and explained the situation, and they agreed to give me an extension.”

Chris cleared his throat. “And by ‘the situation,’ you mean…” He trailed off.

“That I was an NHL player who wasn’t in the country when they sent reminder letters. I might have used the Commissioner’s name once or twice.” Mat said sheepishly.

“And we all know how much weight Gary Bettman’s name carries with American immigration policy,” Chris deadpanned. “Okay, give me a second to think how we’re going to get this done. How much of the forms have you filled out?”

Mat flipped open the folder he had brought, scanning the pages. “Most of it.” At least he’s not entirely hopeless. “There were a couple things I wasn’t sure about, and some new stuff that I don’t remember from last time. I figured it was better to bring it in than try to submit it on my own and get it all horribly wrong.”

“Thank God for that,” Chris said, giving a half-smile. After another minute or so of thinking, he raised his head and looked to where Cassidy was still sitting, straight across the desk. “I saw on your transcript that you’ve taken several immigration law classes. Any fieldwork?” Chris asked.

Cass nodded. “Yeah, there was a clinic run by the school that reviewed visa applications and other paperwork for recent immigrants, I volunteered there for a few months.”

“Good. How familiar are you with O1 visas?” He asked, looking in between Cassidy and Mat.

“For extraordinary capability? I’ve studied them a little, I know that’s the kind that most NHL players are obviously on but I’m not an expert by any means,” she said.

Chris tapped his fingers on the desk, seemingly lost in thought, before his eyes flickered between her and Mat. “Okay. You’ll be running point on Mat’s visa renewal.” Cassidy’s face blanched. “It’s mostly done so it shouldn’t be too hard. But between you and me,” he paused, raising an eyebrow at Mat, “I wouldn’t trust this boy to fill out the paperwork to adopt a goldfish, so make sure you double-check everything he wrote in. Come to me or Richard with any questions, but I really do think you’ll be fine. Got it?”

Cass jerkily nodded her head, still trying to fully process. In the span of the last ten minutes, she had gotten a job that she thought she had no chance for and had been put in charge of a very delicate, very expensive, very important set of immigration paperwork for Mat Barzal. Mat Barzal, the 2018 Calder Trophy winner. Mathew Barzal, the future of the Islanders. No pressure.

“I should probably give you my number,” Mat said, pulling out his phone and holding it out to her. She looked at him with confusion, head tilted to one side. Mat’s face flushed and he rushed to clarify. “Like for the work stuff. In case I have questions about the visa or you need me to translate my chicken scratch for you.”

Now it was Cass’ turn to blush, gently taking his phone out of his hands and navigating to the messages. “I’ll text myself, that way you’ll have my number too. For questions,” she paused briefly, “or anything else.” Cass was typically never that bold, but there was something about the way Mat cracked a smile that made her sure she had made the right decision.

Chris coughed, bringing their attention back to the desk and the issue at hand. “I��ll go and make a copy of these for your records, Mat,” he said, standing up and reaching over the desk for the file with the visa forms, “and Cass, you’ll be working off of the originals.” He glanced between the pair. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Chris closed the door behind him, and Mat leaned up against one of the filing cabinets. “So, you’re working for the team now?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded. “I’m excited, it seems like it’ll be a great position, but I think the prospect of my betrayal might be too much for my poor dad. Working for the enemy and all.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Rangers fan?”

“Big one. I’m from Connecticut so he grew up with the Whalers mostly, but when they folded the family allegiance switched. And when Mike Shaw is in on something, he’s all in. I’m fearing for my well being,” she joked dryly, the corner of her mouth twitching up.

“I think you’ll be fine,” he said, looking up at her. “Tell your dad that I promise we’re not as bad as we seem. Tito, maybe,” he added, wiggling his hand. “But I’m a good guy, as long as you promise not to sell off our training secrets and pass formations to the highest bidder.”

Cass held up three fingers. “I give you my word as a former Girl Scout that I won’t leak the absolute mountains of information I have access to.”

“Pinky promise?” Mat asked, holding out his hand.

It was Cass’ turn to laugh, and she stood up from her chair, leaning over and interlocking their fingers. “Pinky promise.”

Chris chose that particular moment to walk back in, raising his eyebrows briefly. “What’s going on here?”

Mat cleared his throat. “It took a lot of convincing, but I got Cass to pinky promise me that she won’t sell us out to the Rangers.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Apparently there was a rash of double-crossing by interns that I wasn’t aware of,” Chris said, handing over the sheaf of copies to Mat. “And Cassidy, I’ll see you tomorrow at 10?” Cass internally groaned, knowing that it would take well over an hour on the train. Still, she nodded curtly. “Of course.”

He smiled, reaching over the desk and shaking her hand. “I’ll put these,” he said, gesturing to the forms, “in your desk tomorrow. You’ll be working out in the main area, we’ll get you set up when you come in. Other than that, you’re good to go. Glad to have you on board. Genuinely.”

Cass leaned down to pick up her backpack, walking out the door and into the elevator with Mat by her side. “So, I’ll call you if I’ve got questions on any of this, right?” He asked, folding the papers and tucking them into his inside jacket pocket.

She nodded. “Yeah. This one is a little different but I’ve done a lot of filling out forms and revision for this before, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of an issue. If I don’t know the answer to something, I can find it for you. I might have some questions tomorrow, you guys have a game, right?” Cass asked. Mat nodded. “So obviously I know you’ll have morning skate and be by the arena most of the day, but try to have your phone with you when you can so we don’t have to play phone tag, y’know?”

He smiled, holding the front door open for her as they existed onto the busy street. “I’ll do my best, Cass. See you soon.”

As promised, as soon as Mat had turned the corner, Cass pulled out her phone, clicking on Samaira’s contact. She picked up on the first ring. “Samaira, you’re not going to believe what my afternoon has been like.”

She headed straight to her room after getting home, managing to squeeze in a few hours of reading before getting started on dinner. Pasta was easy to make for everyone; Alicia was lactose intolerant and Stella kept kosher, so simplicity was often key in group meals. Sautéeing some collard greens with onions and garlic, she turned her head towards the rooms and hollered to the rest of the apartment. “DINNER’S ALMOST READY!”

Much to her chagrin, Cass got up bright and early the next day, shoveling down a bowl of cereal before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

October 12 (fri)

The Islanders had a weeklong road trip, so Cass had been reassigned to contract review since she was all but done with Mat’s visa renewal. She glanced at her watch, seeing that it was nearly noon. Nearly noon meant nearly lunchtime. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to have for lunch quite yet, but food carts in New York were a dime a dozen; while she wasn’t being paid for the internship, she was given a stipend for lunch and travel expenses that she took full advantage of. Just as she flipped the page over, the office door opened. Assuming that it was some assistant coming for Chris or one of the other lawyers returning from a different office, she didn’t pay it too much mind. That was, however, until the figure stopped by her desk, coughing to get her attention. “Yeah?” She questioned, looking up and tilting her head in confusion when she saw that it was Mat.

“I had a question about one of the employment history sections, and the office said you’d be here today. I brought food,” he said, holding up a paper back emblazoned with the name of a local Chinese restaurant.

“Oh God, bless your heart,” she said, pulling over another chair. “I’m starving. Sit down, walk me through it. What’s got you confused?” It didn’t occur to Cass that he could have easily asked her over text.

October 17 (tues)

Sitting at her desk, Cass was trying (and failing) to finish her notes before midnight when her phone lit up with a text. And then another one. And then another. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up, expecting something from one of her younger siblings or a friend from back home. Instead, it was Mat. Hew brow instantly furrowed, swiping up to see what was the matter. He had sent two pictures, both screenshots from newspapers. Florida Man Arrested for Throwing Gator at Mother-in-Law, the first one read. Florida Man Charged with Reckless Endangerment for Filling Nursing Home Koi Pond with Baby Gators, said the other. Do u think it’s the same guy? He asked.

Rolling her eyes, Cass wrote out a reply. No doubt. Criminals have patterns.

So do u think all Florida men are obsessed with gators or just this one?

Gator cult. She tapped send, picking it back up almost immediately. Obviously.

October 21 (sat)

The plane back from Montréal is about to leave. Any album recs?

Mat and Cass had been texting back-and-forth for the past few days, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise that he asked her.

Wasteland, Baby - Hozier, Electric Light - James Bay. Amidst the Chaos - Sara Bareilles if ya wanna get a little spicy. I’m mostly an indie kinda girl, give me a sec and I’ll send you my playlist.

Can’t wait, Mat responded. Cass loved music, and always found it to be something intensely personal. So what was it about Mat that made her so willing to share?

October 23 (mon)

Cass hated getting up early, but there were some things better than sleep. You wanna get coffee before your classes? Mat had texted the night before. Coffee was one of them. Grabbing her backpack and tugging on her favorite pair of ankle boots, she headed out the door at 7:02.

“Where are you headed this early?” Alicia asked quizzically, her own tote slung over one shoulder. Ryanne almost always left the earliest, usually having to get to her rounds well before anyone else had woken up.

“Mat and I are going out for coffee,” she said, picking up her keys from the nail by the door.

Alicia wiggled her eyebrows. “Oooooh, Cass has a daaaateee,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Cass’s cheeks burned. “It’s not a date, I’m just helping him out with some paperwork. He’s asking me out as a friend. Just because he’s cute—”

Alicia cut her off. “AHA! So you DO admit that you think he’s cute?”

Cass groaned. “Yeah, okay, he’s cute. You happy?” Alicia nodded. “But just because I think he’s attractive doesn’t mean that this is going to be anything other than friends getting together before work, okay?”

Her friend shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cass. Have fun, be safe! Use prot—” Cass closed the door as quickly as she could without slamming it. Forty minutes later, she was walking up to the coffee shop, greeting Mat with a hug.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Cass said.

Mat shook his head. “You didn’t, don’t apologize.” He opened the door for her, hand ghosting over the small of her back as he followed her in line. A few minutes later, Mat was at the register, ordering a cappuccino. He turned to her. “What do you want, Cass?”

“Mat, you don’t have to pay for me,” Cass said, pulling out her wallet.

Mat gently pushed her hand down. “I was the one who suggested it, Cass. I’m paying the bill.” He handed over his card to the barista, turning back to her with a smile. “You can get it next time.” She laughed.

“Fine, you win. Coconut milk latté.”

Oct 25 (wed)

“Afternoon pick-me-up?” Cass looked up from her desk, confused but excited to see Mat in front of her desk.

“Huh?”

He held up a coffee cup, a speckled white-and-blue reusable. “You mentioned something about needing me to sign the last page or something? I brought you coffee, the cup’s for you too. Place says you’ll save 25¢ whenever you use it.”

“Yeah,” Cass said slowly, “and you faxed it over, right? Kristie said they got it in this morning.” Kristie was the office assistant, and had handed the page to Cass right as she had walked in the door half an hour prior.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Mat said, seemingly flustered. “I was worried I might have made a mistake on it, so I thought I’d come over and double-check.”

“You’re worried you made a mistake signing your own name?” Cass didn’t quite understand it, but there was something really endearing about him wanting to come down and check it himself rather than just calling her or emailing Chris. “Okay then,” she said, leaning over her laptop to grab the folder. She traded it for the coffee in Mat’s hand, the Post-it note on the side of the cup catching her eye. Coconut milk latté. He remembered.

Oct 26 (thurs)

What are your thoughts on sushi? Cass got a text from Mat as she was about to get out of her environmental law lecture. The professor had already started packing up her things, so she risked a message back.

As a concept or as a food?

The food haha

All positive, love sushi!

I know this great place in Chelsea, want to grab dinner later?

You don’t have a late practice or anything with the guys? From what she had gathered, even when it wasn’t a game day, Mat would usually get an extra workout in after practice or go out with Tito and some of the rest of the team.

Nope :) Nothing after 2

Cass bit her lip, weighing her options as she shut her laptop and exited the lecture hall. She wasn’t reading too much into it, was she? Friends got dinner together all the time, it wasn’t weird for him to have asked her. It was normal. Typical friend stuff. Sure, she liked him. She liked him a lot. But it wasn’t worth jeopardizing her career and reputation to try and fabricate something that probably wasn’t even there. Sounds good! I should be able to get there 6ish if that works for you?

Perfect! He wrote back, I’ll send you the address.

Les and Fiona caught up to her that afternoon after she practically ran out of their review session the second it was done. “Woah woah woah,” Fiona asked, catching Cass just as she was about to exit the library. “Where are you headed off to so quick?”

Cass tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, scrunching up her nose. “Getting dinner with Mat.”

Les wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, your man?”

Cass went red. “He’s not my man! He just asked if I wanted to get sushi. And I’m hungry, and he said he’s paying. So I said yes.”

“But you like him,” Les said, as if he was stating the obvious. Which, in a way, he was?

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah. It’s hard not to. But he asked me out as friends. It’s not a date. If it was a date, he would have said so? Right?” She was starting to ramble.

Fiona reached out to touch her shoulder, rubbing her thumb back and forth. “Maybe. But maybe not. It’s possible that he is into you, but you and I both know that’s a question best answered by someone other than us,” she pointed at her and Les. “And even if he doesn’t, it’s still a free dinner.”

Cass let out a small smile. “You’re right.” She glanced at her watch. “I told him I’d be there by 6, so I probably should get going if I want to catch the train in time.” She gave each of them a brief hug. “See you next week!”

“GOOD LUCK!” Tyler hollered as she turned the corner. Cass’ cheeks burned, and she was beginning to realize why.

---

Cass got home from the restaurant just after 9, trying desperately to make sense of the past few weeks. Getting ahead of herself had never led to anything good, and much though she wanted to, Cass wasn’t about to put words in Mat’s mouth. But he had been the one to suggest dinner, and he had picked up the tab again. “You’re in law school,” Mat had said with a shrug when the check came. “I’m not about to make you pay for your own food when you don’t have to.” Shaking her head and pulling out the kettle to make a cup of tea, she tried again to rationalize everything. “We’re friends. I’m doing him a solid by helping him out with this paperwork, he’s just trying to be nice and pay me back. Which he doesn’t need to do, because it’s my job. But he’s nice, so he’s doing it anyway. Because we’re friends.” Frustrated, she grabbed her mug, walking back to her bedroom and barely paying any mind to the splashes of near-boiling water that hit the ground.

Oct. 27 (fri)

It was a quarter to 6, and Cass couldn’t wait to get out of the office. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her job. It was incredible and she was so thankful for the opportunity. It was the fact that Mat fucking Barzal had been on her mind all day and she had been finding it so damn hard to concentrate on research and contracts and precedent when she was busy trying to sift through her own feelings. Cass wasn’t a particularly insecure person; like anyone else, she had those days, but it wasn’t really a matter of her thinking he was “out of her league” or that she wasn’t good enough for him. She knew that the whole concept of “leagues” was dumb and classist, but there was something about the whole dynamic that she couldn’t quite shake, and couldn’t quite tell if it was something good or not. It was five minutes to six, and she couldn’t stop her fingers tapping on her desk, waiting to be set free. Waiting for her mind to stop racing. Waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

She spent the next five minutes trying in vain to get through a paper Chris had sent her — she had even broken out her neon highlighters — but nothing was working. Thankfully, Chris chose that moment to stick his head out of his office and call to her. “Cass?” Her head perked up. “I’ve got some files to email you, mind coming in for a sec before you leave?” She nodded, pushing out of her chair and crossing the room.

“How was your day?” Chris asked, pulling up the files to email her.

“Uh, pretty good!” Cass said. “Fridays are relatively light for me, I had a morning meeting with the law review and then headed over here. Mat and I got sushi last night, so that was nice.”

Chris looked up over his laptop. “You and Mat?”

Cass nodded, brows furrowing. “Yeah. Is that an issue?” It was never something she had bothered considering, but —

“Not that I can think of, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re spending a lot of time together, though, have you noticed that?”

“Yeah, I mean, we’re friends, but I didn’t think that was a problem—” Chris held up a hand, cutting her off with a smile.

“I’m not so sure that what Mat wants is a friendship, Cassidy.” He paused. “My son’s about his age, and please feel free to stop me if you’d like, but this is exactly how he acted when he met Iris.”

“Iris?” Cass questioned.

“His fiancée. If I’m reading the situation right, and I think I am, the poor boy’s head over heels for you, Cass.” He clicked his mousepad. “Just sent them over, try to go through them by Monday.”

She nodded, seemingly in a daze as she picked up her bag and walked out of the office, pulling out her phone.

To: Mat

Are you free later?

Oct 28. (sat)

Tapping her foot nervously, Cass fiddled with her phone just to give her hands something to do. They had grabbed breakfast before she had to head to the office and he had to go to morning skate, and she had stolen the check while he was in the bathroom. But she still hadn’t brought up what Chris had said, or for that matter what Les or Samaira or Alicia had been pestering her about for the better part of the past month.

Mat returned to the table, snapping Cass out of her thoughts. “You ready to head out?” It was only just past nine, so the plan had been to take a walk around Prospect Park before they had to take off. Cass nodded awkwardly, grabbing her coat and scarf from the back of the chair and looping it around her neck. Mat’s brow furrowed in confusion, but if he suspected anything, he didn’t say so. He walked a few steps ahead of Cass, holding the door open for her. They walked in silence for a block or two; not an awkward silence and not a comfortable one, but some kind of strange liminal space in between the two where it was clear that neither of them was really able to read the room. Mat’s knuckles brushed up against her own.

As they crossed the street into the gardens, Cass took a deep breath and looked up at him. It’s now or never. “What are we doing?” She breathed, so softly that Mat wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been standing scarcely a foot away.

“We’re going to a park?” Mat questioned.

She wrung her hands, trying to avoid looking at him. “I mean, what are we doing. You and I.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t want you to think that I’m reading too much into things, or that I haven’t enjoyed getting to know you and spend time with you because I have, but I just need to know what there is going on between us. If there is anything going on between us.”

Mat shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning up against a lamppost. “I mean, I’d like there to be. I’m into you, Cass, I thought I had made that clear,” he added with a single laugh. Cass gave him a quizzical look. “Do you think I actually needed to come into the office every time I dropped in on you? That I’d ask just anyone for music recs? That I asked you out to coffee or dinner just as friends? Cassidy,” he said, standing upright and taking a tentative step towards her, “I don’t even know Tito’s coffee order. But I know yours.” He took another step forwards when she didn’t move back, faces so close that their noses were almost touching. “I wouldn’t ever want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. But Cass,” he tilted her chin up with his hand, “I’m all in if you are.”

She took a shaky breath, willing the voices inside of her head to still themselves for just one moment so she could gather her thoughts. “Mat, I want this,” Cass said, gesturing between the two of them with one hand, the other wound with frustration in her curls. “You have no idea how much I want this. But I work for the team. We both do. And I can’t have anyone thinking that I’m here for anything but the job, that I’m a puck bunny or will be distracted from my work and go run off with my boyfriend or whatever you are—” She cut herself off abruptly. “Trotz might get mad at you, sure. I don’t think it would really matter on your end, though. You wouldn’t face any actual consequences. I’m expendable to this team. You’re not.”

Mat’s hand came up to cup her cheek, one thumb swiping away a tear gently, so gently, that she hadn’t even realized had leaked out of her eye. “You’re not expendable, Cass. Not to me, not to the team, not to anyone who’s ever bothered getting to know you. You are such an incredible woman and I know you know it, but sometimes it doesn’t seem like you really believe it. If this is scary for me, and it is, I know it must be downright terrifying for you. And I know you’re worried how it would look, us being together, what the team or Chris or whoever would think, but you need to remember to let your talent speak for itself. If I have a shitty game, miss an easy shot or whatever, there’s always the people who say that Trotz should move me down a line, or that I should be traded, or whatever. And there’s always going to be those people. But if you keep your head in the game—”

“Alright, Troy Bolton,” Cass said, finally giving him a watery smile.

“You realize that if I’m Troy, you’re Gabriella?” Mat asked, raising one eyebrow, hand still on her cheek as the other perched on her waist. Cass leaned into his touch, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but Cass, you’re brilliant. You’re such a good student and you’re so dedicated at work. You’re going to make an incredible lawyer. Everyone sees that. And I absolutely respect that you’re worried about what our relationship might do for your career,” He swallowed hard, skating his hand down her arm to hold her hand. “And I’m not sure what else I could say other than what I already have. But you’re good, so good, and they’d be idiots for letting you go over something like this.”

Cass swallowed. “They say some things are worth the risk.”

“Are we gonna do this?” Mat’s hand moved to the small of her back, leaning down so their lips were almost touching, barely, not quite.

“We’re gonna do this.” Cass closed the gap.

#hockey imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine #hockey writing #nhl writing #nhl fluff #hockey fluff #islanders #new york islanders #mathew barzal #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl smut #hockey smut

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downthetubes · 2 years

Text

British Girls Comics in the spotlight at London’s Cartoon Museum

A display of girls comics art at London’s Cartoon Museum deserves a bit of a plug - so here it is, thanks to Richard Sheaf

Alongside some great temporary exhibitions, comic art on show at London’s Cartoon Museum currently includes a fantastic display looking at art in girls comics, bizarrely unmentioned on the venue’s social media. Art on display includes pages from (Princess) Tina, Girl and School Friend, such as art from “Jane Bond” by Mike Hubbard, from Princess Tina, a strip that is the focus of a new collection…

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#Cartoon Museum #Clive Upton #Dave Gibbons #downthetubes News #Gerry Haylock #Girl #Girls Comics #Jack Hardee #Jane Bond #Mike Hubbard #Princess Tina #Richard Sheaf

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justanalto · 4 years

Text

i'll be on the river (you know where)

song: river by the devil music co.

ship: huntingbird

words: 459

Her kitchen is furnished in stark white, but somehow, the sheaf of divorce papers is the brightest thing in the entire goddamned space.

A pen lays next to them on the table, Hunter's untidy signature littering the blank spaces, arrows indicated where she is to put hers. But Bobbi can't do it -- not when she still wakes up every morning, bedsheets cold, wondering where their marriage had gone so horribly wrong.

It's times like this she goes down to the river running through their backyard -- it'd been a big selling point for the both of them -- and just sits on the bank, watching the water rush by. Hunter used to find her there when he got home from work, often bringing out a thermos of coffee for the both of them to share while they sat in contemplative silence.

(She pretends she doesn't notice herself turning on the coffeemaker before stepping outside.)

The rushes of the river over the rocks remind her of the rustling of paper, and Bobbi has to physically stop for a second to close her eyes to make sure she doesn't hallucinate the sound she usually anticipates coming next: Hunter's gentle British lilt, tracking the ups and downs of Richard Siken deep into the night, when their coffee's gone cold and the water is starting to lap at Bobbi's shoes. The first time she does it, the anticipation is so real his voice does materialize into the air, and the realization that he isn't knocks so much air out of Bobbi's lungs she almost isn't able to cry.

She keeps the books of poetry on the shelf next to the coffeemaker. It's a just-in-case for the case that never comes, set right next to a photo of the two of them during their wedding. Hunter looks at her like she's a treasure he'll cherish for the rest of her life, and not for the first time, she traces his adoring features, swallowing back the tang of bitterness and self-loathing rising in her throat.

How had she taken so many things for granted? His worn-out boots by the door, followed by the booming "I'm home!". The slow Saturday morning over crosswords and double espressos. Their nightly river poem sessions. Hell, Bobbi even missed his parents -- they'd called the weekend before asking about their son, and she'd fallen apart trying to explain that they were soon to be no more.

The wise decision would've been to package everything up and let it float away. Instead, Bobbi lets the divorce papers sit on the kitchen table for another night, makes a pot of coffee, and goes to sit by the river.

She'll be ready one day. Today's just not it. And it probably won't be for a while.

#agents of shield #fanfic #huntingbird #bobbi morse #lance hunter #this hurt while i was writing it #it's also kind of ooc #i guess?#hm #re's 365 drabble challenge

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academicgangster · 5 years

Note

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant and/or Afterheat for the fic meme?

Ahhh 💛💛💛💛

Send me the name of a fic I wrote, and I’ll give you five facts/headcanons about it!

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant (The Fugitive)

Scenes is written deliberately to be enjoyed either as a friendship fic or with ship goggles on, depending on the reader's preference. Death of the author is fully in play with this fic, and was always meant to be so. There's a universe where they're friends, and there's a universe where this Sam is deeply in love with Richard by the end of the fic, and kind of knows it.

In the platonic version of this universe, Richard drives Sam home from the bookstore that morning, and they become better and better friends and it's all very good. In the romantic version, they sit by the lake for a while instead, and Sam leans over and says "Stop me if I'm wrong," and kisses Richard, and then in a few months they move in together and it's all very good.

Any Sam, in any universe, ends up with SO FUCKING MANY OF MY SPEECH PATTERNS. Don't do that, by the way. If it's out of some kind of compulsion, or... Don't do it, Richard.

Sam also has a lot of TLJ's speech patterns, though the lines between TLJ's and Canon Sam's and Mine are pretty fucking blurry because, as you all know, Sam is Me. For instance, The hell've you been lookin' at all day? Buncha blood vessels? is Full TLJ, while Well, I meant the mind, but yes, also art. The stories that can demand to be told. is sort of Where TLJ And I Would Sound The Same.

Dialogue that appears in Scenes that also appears word for word in my Sam/Richard WIP, Then Again: "I didn't know you smoked." / "I don't." *takes a drag of the cigarette he's smoking*

Afterheat (Mission: Impossible)

Ethan's just said goodbye to Julia before this fic begins. There was a tearful hug before she gave him the mug of hot chocolate; he kissed her gently on the cheek, and the last thing she whispered to him before leaving was, "I will never regret having loved you."

The Kashmiri blanket Ethan's wrapped in is a gift from Patrick. It's dark teal and very warm, and Ethan's been hypothermic and needs it badly.

Luther Has Carried Ethan A Lot. Ethan has been Carried A Lot in general, actually. I have a WIP about it. 😅

Brandt is the Acting IMF Secretary while Hunley recovers, and Jane is the acting head of IMF field ops while Ethan recovers.

There's a picture on Jane's phone from a few weeks after this fic, of Ethan tucked between Luther and Hunley, flying home from London on Erika Sloane's private jet. They all look exhausted, Hunley's carrying a sheaf of prescriptions in his pocket, Ethan's wrapped in Luther's jacket and his crutch is just out of frame, but they've all got their arms around each other and they're all smiling.

#💛💛💛💛#vegetarianvampireduck #box chatter #meme #going places making things #i am sam gerard and sam gerard is me

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ladyshivs · 5 years

Text

Artistic License

Fandom: Fallen Hero: Rebirth (all disclaimers to @fallenhero-rebirth)

Pairing: Richard/Herald

Mild retribution spoilers, fairly safe for you know, references to bedroom activities but nothing explicit

WC: ~2138

——

Richard tapped his fingers over the drawers, not quite certain about pulling them open.

Daniel had been...very evasive about their contents.

Well.

Indirectly evasive.

Richard has teased him that if Daniel left him alone in his apartment for too long, he’d start rifling through his belongings.

Daniel’s thoughts had darted to the small set of drawers and then very quickly had shot off in another mental direction, the psychic equivalent of bringing up the weather in the middle of a political debate.

Richard watched TV for half an hour, flipping through channels and resisting temptation. He paced around Daniel’s living room. Thumbed through his closet. Made his way back to the drawers.

It would be rude to look inside, Richard chided himself. Wrong to. With all the secrets he was still keeping from the Ranger, surely Herald was owed some privacy. Some quid pro quo?

Some secrets?

Richard slid the top drawer open smoothly and found. Oh? Oh.

Loose paper. A thick, spiral bound sheaf of drawing paper. Pencils...some plain graphite, bundled together by rubber bands. A box of what seemed to be higher quality (if the label was any indicator) colored pencils. Erasers in various states, white out, markers.

The second drawer held a smooth, blank tablet and connecting cable. Various loose leaf sketches in a neat stack. A book of photography, the edges well worn from use.

The third and lowest drawer held a collection of filled sketchbooks.

Which would have been enough to satisfy Richard’s curiosity, Daniel’s embarrassment about the drawers notwithstanding, were it not for the color scheme of one of the lower sketchbooks.

Buried, four books down, was a cover done in geometric blacks. And greys. And Sidestep electric teal.

Oh ho?

He slid the drawer shut with a bump from his shin and took it over to the couch. Unofficial merch, the cover was an overlay that had been painstakingly glued to the front and back of the sketch pad. Richard thumbed open the front page to find a remarkably neat handwritten note, offering a phone number to call if someone found it and below it a date range. Five years old. Sidestep had been dead for a bit by that point. If the dates meant what it seemed like that should, Daniel had filled the book over the course of a year. Ish. Fifteen months or so.

The first dozen or so pages were filled with random doodles, scribblings of semi realistic birds. Human hands. A couple cartoonish expressions on disembodied heads. Faceless block figure bodies. Some.

Aha.

Richard giggled. Some porn, usually focused on lithe young women in. Possibly possible positions? If they were incredibly flexible. One or two of them were detailed; he’d placed scars lightly on them, either unwilling to delve too deeply into that particular desire or ashamed of it. A fourth of the way into the book Richard hit color, a lightly shaded rendition of some very lovely flowers. And on the back of that page was.

Sidestep.

Which he shouldn’t have been surprised to see. It was Herald’s after all. And he’d been a fan. It would make sense that he’d have drawn his hero. The drawing itself wasn’t particularly interesting, a simple, standard hero pose with his hands on his hips. Had he ever actually stood like that? There weren’t any details worked into it. A standing man with Sidestep’s suit on.

Then there were some life drawings. Actual models in various poses. Some were clothed. Most were nude. Had he taken a class somewhere? Well. Obviously he had; Daniel wasn’t the sort to ask random strangers to pose buck naked for him.

The next Sidestep, a few pages down, had.

Ah.

Hm.

More artistic license.

Still fairly rough, it didn’t look like Daniel had put too much time into it. But he’d been generous with the shoulder muscles. And the abs. And the little V at the front of his abdomen (his suit had never clung like that, he was sure) leading down to a VERY rough looking lower half, as though getting nearer to drawing his crotch had thrown Daniel. He clearly hadn’t been a stranger to anatomy so...? Maybe he’d just gotten distracted, or didn’t like the way the drawing was turning out. The next few pages held perspective practices, views of the city only Daniel and the pigeons could safely reach. More porn.

And that was a naked Sidestep.

That was absolutely a naked Sidestep. Unmistakable. Daniel had helpfully left his mask on as if to drive home that yeah, no. That was without question a drawing of what Daniel had thought he might look like under the suit.

It.

It was.

Uh.

Detailed.

Richard could feel himself growing red. Alone. In the middle of Daniel’s apartment. Where’d they’d made love roughly three hours ago.

He coughed, as if to clear some of the awkwardness for the furniture.

The drawing wasn’t obscene by any standards. It was a view from the front, arms relaxed at either side, legs slightly apart to give the figure a more powerful stance. It could have been just another nude. It probably was just another nude. One whose form and figure Daniel had liked and then doodled Sidestep’s mask onto. It still made Richard’s palms feel damp.

Daniel had been less...imaginative with his musculature, likely because he’d been basing it from a real model. The curvature of his arm muscles were less pronounced, the abdominals not quite as boxy and well outlined. He struggled with the legs—years later and Richard could see the faint echoes of heavy lines having been erased. They ended up fairly nicely though, slender and not bulging but still corded. More so than had ever probably been accurate to life. The model’s junk was different from Richard’s own, no mistaking that. But again, once his sketches hit below the hips Daniel hadn’t put too much effort into it.

He’d obviously had to guess at the scars.

Some he’d come incredibly close to getting right. Mostly the ones from fights where the cameras had been able to catch Sidestep getting slashed by the villain of the week. There was some mottling on his leg vaguely where it had gotten crushed by Pyschopathor. Daniel hadn’t been sure about that one—it looked like he’d tried to add the evidence of healed stitches. Assumed Sidestep would go the hospital and get taken care of.

The next page was filled with colored practice sketches. Of scars. Small, delicate ones. Deep, wide, ragged edged ones. Healed burns. How they might overlap. Sink in. Stretch with the skin. Daniel had been very deliberate with these particular exercises.

The next Sidestep was colored and clothed, now in a dynamic pose, striking upwards at an undrawn foe. Another Sidestep, now joined by Charge, vaulting over a wall, left leg unfinished.

More sketches of hands, now with scars lining them. Legs, in various positions.

More porn, the women’s scars now more prominent. The men they were involved with now bearing some as well.

Sidestep.

Unmasked. Not handsome. Not ugly. Not. Entirely incorrect? It sent a confused tingle of fear up Richard’s spine. When had Herald officially joined the Rangers? Not that long ago, so it couldn’t have been from Ortega’s stories of him. Maybe it was just good guesswork, the shape of his features having been guessed from the mask. The nose was close, jawline the same. The eyes were wider, more innocent and—

“Couldn’t resist?”

“God! Zilla on a rampage, Daniel,” Richards hands flew from the sketchbook to the air, a criminal caught in the act. The substitute profanity earned him a muffled laugh. “Didn’t hear you come in,”

“Yeah?” Daniel said, obligingly. He didn’t seem angry, thoughts still light. Tinged with a little embarrassment, but not upset. Good. “Which one were you looking at?” He floated a little higher, trying to peek. Richard held it up so Daniel could see the front. He winced. “Oooh, that’s an old one,”

“Five years,” Richard offered back, shifting on the couch to make room for Daniel to settle in beside him. “Old enough to send off to school,”

“Jeeze. I can’t imagine there’s anything good in there,”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Richard began, pausing as Daniel leaned in to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Personally I like the play by play of you finding out scars were your thing,” Daniel sputtered, cheeks reddening. The small smile on his face faded a bit.

“Oh, I. I think I remember more of what’s in that one,” the smile fell completely. A reedy breeze of fear tousled his thoughts. “Oh god, you saw the porn,” the tense hope that, oh god, please let that other drawing be in a different book.

“I saw some,” Richard prodded the thoughts along. A little helpful nudge: did he mean the naked Sidestep? Or. Daniel’s thoughts fluttered around him, parting easily in their embarrassment. Oh.

Oh ho.

There was a second naked Sidestep? A much more...racy version?

Richard knew he was grinning and did absolutely nothing to reign it in. “Can I see?” He asked out loud, pressing the book into Daniel’s palms. He wasn’t overly keen on seeing more of what a hormone addled Daniel thought he looked like naked, but the way Daniel was squirming was too good to pass up. Daniel blushed, floundered. Excited. Embarrassed. Nervous half because. Well. It was porn of the man sitting next to him and half out of artistic pride.

Richard’s smile deepened. He was sure he could do a much better job if he tried to draw it now. Much better.

“Let me see if it really is in this one,” he mumbled, sheepish under Richard’s gaze. There was a brush of desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d thrown that sketch away. Hm. It was that embarrassing? Daniel’s thoughts shuddered for a moment and Richard agreeably pulled back; no need to pull it out of him. Daniel was speaking again anyway, angling the book away from Richard’s line of sight. “Do you remember...or, uh, did you ever see that movie “The Dark Ranger”?”

Richard shook his head. “No. Was it about marshal Charge?”

“And Obscura,”

“I remember her, decent fighter but she relied too much on her boosts,” Richard perked up. “She never played with the big league villains. Went into hiding from what I recall,”

“The movie had her team up with the Marshal to take down a Big Bad and earn herself a get out of jail free card,”

“And the heart of the playboy Ranger, I assume,”

Daniel hesitated. “They...uh, set up a rivalry between Obscura and the Marshal’s vigilante sidekick,” he waited for Richard’s reaction.

Which was to shrug. If you let yourself get upset about movie myths you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. And then the little lightbulb in Richard’s brain flick flick flickered on.

“Did you draw Obscura and I having sex?”

“Um.” Daniel looked back down at the book in his hands. “You, uh, don’t really have to look if, uh,” he wilted. Richard almost felt bad. Almost.

Because Daniel was slowing turning the book around and displaying. Two figures, facing forward, the front figure bent over at the waist. Getting railed from behind by the dude in the Sidestep mask.

It was out of Richard’s mouth before he could even think to stop it.

“She looks like you,” blissed out and with much longer hair but.

“I’m aware of that,” Daniel continued miserably.

“Like a lot like you,”

“Yes,”

“Did the actress look that much like you?” Richard needled him a little more, a kid in a candy store.

Daniel flipped the book onto the table and ran his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Probably not, since it’s the last drawing in there. I think I realized what I drew and couldn’t ever come back to it,” Richard let him wallow for a few moments.

“It’s a very good drawing,” he reached out to rub between Daniel’s shoulder blades, incredibly aware of the grin in his voice.

“Thanks,” Daniel muttered between his fingers.

“So,” Richard let his hands fall into Daniel’s view, plucking the sketchbook back up. “I saw other books in there,” Daniel looked up at him, still blank with embarrassment. “Am I allowed to look? Or was this,” he trailed, pushing towards Daniel’s mind the thought that while teasing him was nice, Richard had been caught snooping. Had been doing something he shouldn’t have been. And if Daniel really didn’t want him to look, he’d stop. Daniel sighed, sitting back up.

“The brown covered one is the most recent. But the blue’s where I put all my. All the. Um,”

Richard stood, eyebrows lifting.

“...so the blue one?”

Daniel blushed to his ear tips and nodded.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero: retribution #fhr #fallen hero fanfiction #flystep #i wrote this at work into the text post field so uhhhhhhh

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

February 4, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Today Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT) proposed giving at least $3000 annually per child to American families. This suggestion is coming from a man who, when he ran as the Republican candidate for president in 2012, famously echoed what was then Republican orthodoxy. He was caught on tape saying that “there are 47 percent of the people who… are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe that government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you name it.”

Romney’s proposal indicates the political tide has turned away from the Republicans. Since the 1980s, they have insisted that the government must be starved, dismissing as “socialism” Democrats’ conviction that the government has a role to play in stabilizing the economy and society.

And yet, that idea, which is in line with traditional conservatism, was part of the founding ideology of the Republican Party in the 1850s. It was also the governing ideology of Romney’s father, George Romney, who served as governor of Michigan from 1963 to 1969, where he oversaw the state’s first income tax, and as the secretary of Housing and Urban Development under President Richard Nixon, where he tried to increase housing for the poor and desegregate the suburbs. It was also at the heart of Romney’s own record in Massachusetts, where as governor from 2003 to 2007, he ushered in the near-universal health care system on which the Affordable Care Act was based.

But in the 1990s, Republican leadership purged from the party any lawmakers who embraced traditional Republicanism, demanding absolutely loyalty to the idea of cutting taxes and government to free up individual enterprise. By 2012, Romney had to run from his record, including his major health care victory in Massachusetts. Now, just a decade later, he has returned to the ideas behind it.

Why?

First, and most important, President Joe Biden has hit the ground running, establishing a momentum that looks much like that of Democratic President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933. Roosevelt had behind him stronger majorities than Biden’s, but both took office facing economic crises—and, in Biden’s case, a pandemic as well, along with the climate crisis--and set out immediately to address them.

Like FDR, Biden has established the direction of his administration through executive actions: he is just behind FDR’s cracking pace. Biden arrived in the Oval Office with a sheaf of carefully crafted executive actions that put in place policies that voters wanted: spurring job creation, feeding children, rejoining the World Health Organization, pursuing tax cheats, ending the transgender ban in the military, and reestablishing ties to the nation’s traditional allies. Once Biden had a Democratic Senate as well as a House—those two Georgia Senate seats were huge—he was free to ask for a big relief package for those suffering in the pandemic, and now even Senator Joe Manchin (D-WV), who had expressed concern about the package, seems to be on board.

FDR’s momentum increased in part because the Republicans were discredited after the collapse of the economy and as Republican leaders turned up as corrupt. Biden’s momentum, too, is likely gathering steam as the Republicans are increasingly tainted by their association with the January 6 insurrection and the attack on the Capitol, along with the behavior of those who continue to support the former president.

The former president’s own behavior is not helping to polish his image. In their response to the House impeachment brief, Trump’s lawyers made the mistake of focusing not on whether the Senate can try a former president but on what Trump did and did not do. That, of course, makes Trump a witness, and today Jamie Raskin (D-MD), the lead impeachment manager, asked him to testify.

Trumps’ lawyers promptly refused but, evidently anticipating his refusal, Raskin had noted in the invitation that “[i]f you decline this invitation, we reserve any and all rights, including the right to establish at trial that your refusal to testify supports a strong adverse inference regarding your actions (and inaction) on January 6, 2021.” In other words: “Despite his lawyers’ rhetoric, any official accused of inciting armed violence against the government of the United States should welcome the chance to testify openly and honestly—that is, if the official had a defense."

The lack of defense seems to be mounting. This morning, Jason Stanley of Just Security called attention to the film shown at the January 6 rally just after Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani spoke. Stanley explained how it was an explicitly fascist film, designed to show the former president as a strong fascist leader promising to protect Americans against those who are undermining the country: the Jews. Stanley also pointed out that, according to the New York Times, the rally was “a White House production” and that Trump was deeply involved with the details.

Trump’s supporters are not cutting a good figure, either. Today, by a vote of 230-199, the House of Representatives voted to strip new Georgia Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) of her assignments to the Budget Committee and the Education and Labor Committee. It did so after reviewing social media posts in which she embraced political violence and conspiracy theories. This leaves Greene with little to do but to continue to try to gin up media attention and to raise money.

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) had declined to take action against Greene—although in 2019 he stripped assignments from Steve King (R-IA) for racist comments-- and only eleven Republicans joined the majority. The Republican Party is increasingly associated with the Trump wing, and that association will undoubtedly grow as Democrats press it in advertisements, as they have already begun to do.

McConnell has called for the party’s extremists to be purged out of concern that voters are turning away from the party. Still, the struggle between the two factions might be hard to keep out of the news as the Senate turns to confirmation hearings for Biden’s nominee to head the Department of Justice, Merrick Garland.

Going forward, the attorney general will be responsible for overseeing any prosecutions that come from the attempt to overturn the election, and the Senate Judiciary Committee, which will question Garland, has on it three Republican senators involved in that attempt. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) has been accused by Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger of calling before Trump did to get him to alter the state’s vote count. Senators Ted Cruz (R-TX) and Josh Hawley (R-MO) both joined in challenging the counting of the electoral votes.

It is hard to imagine the other senators at the hearing will not bring the three compromised senators into the discussion. The Republicans have so far refused to schedule Garland’s hearing, although now that the Senate is organized under the Democrats, it will happen soon.

Trump Republicans are betting the former president’s endorsement will win them office in the future. But with social media platforms cracking down on his disinformation, his ability to reach voters is not at all what it used to be, making it easier for members of the other faction to jump ship.

In addition, those echoing Trump’s lies are getting hit in their wallets. Today, the voting systems company Smartmatic sued the Fox News Channel and its personalities Maria Bartiromo, Lou Dobbs, and Jeanine Pirro, along with Giuliani and Trump’s legal advisor Sidney Powell, for at least $2.7 billion in damages for lying about Smartmatic machines in their attempt to overturn the election results.

Republicans rejecting the Trump takeover of the party are increasingly outspoken. Not only has Romney called for a measure that echoes Biden’s emphasis on supporting children and families, but also Senator Ben Sasse (R-NE) today released a video attacking the leaders of his state’s Republican Party after hearing that they planned to censure him for speaking out against the former president.

“If that president were a Democrat, we both know how you’d respond. But, because he had ‘Republican’ behind his name, you’re defending him,” Sasse said. “Something has definitely changed over the last four years … but it’s not me.”

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#political #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Radical Republicans #reality #Corrupt GOP #Criminal GOP

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