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aramblingjay · 2 years

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Through fresh eyes — Part III

Alternatively titled: How Gary goes from looking at Jamie like he wants to kill him to looking at Jamie like arguing football with him is the highlight of his week (and the greatest honor of his life)

Aka: I somehow started writing an indifferent-coworkers-to-best-friends carraville origin story fic?

Master

The first few weeks, they try to keep the tech stuff to a minimum. If something needs to be shown on the screen with arrows and circles and all the paraphernalia, Gary shoulders the majority of it, intimately familiar by now with how it all works. He didn’t get a replica of the MNF screen installed in his home for nothing.

But the time is fast approaching for Jamie to do a big piece involving multiple clips and annotations, drawing boxes on screen and wielding the stylus like it’s a natural extension of his hand rather than a foreign object he has to will into submission. Jamie is bursting with ideas of pieces he wants to do on City and Norwich and everyone in between, too, which speeds up the timeline even more.

So on the back of their conversation the previous evening, today the training wheels are coming off.

Unlike Gary’s memory of his first attempt at using the screen for more than a simple watch this now, Jamie doesn’t appear the slightest bit nervous. It’s either real or a very, very good act—he doesn’t ask for extra time in rehearsal to go over his bit again, takes it in stride when Scott suggests they switch the order of his last two clips just a few minutes before it’s time for make-up. (The most nervous he looks all evening is when he’s presented with four options for a tie and asked to pick his favorite)

“You feeling ready?” Gary eventually asks as they settle into their seats, just moments left until the cameras start rolling.

Jamie frowns at him. “Fine, yeah. You look more worried than I am.”

Well. Right, then.

“Let’s have a good show, boys,” Ed says, and then they’re away.

As apparently everybody but Gary expected, Jamie does completely fine. Things could’ve been smoother, sure, a little crisper selecting the right highlight tool, a little calmer when the arrows took a second longer than expected to appear, but overall—it’s not even a draw, it’s a win, three whole points in the bag, and Gary is relieved in a way he can’t quite understand.

He meets Jamie’s eyes when they next cut to adverts and gives him a little well done you nod. Jamie smiles back, and something flips in his stomach.

He could be the future of the show, Gary thinks a little wildly. The thought comes out of nowhere but it lingers in the back of his mind the rest of the night, refusing to disappear.

Here and there, other opportunities have steadily started to come his way now that he’s made half a name for himself in punditry and people have stopped shitting on his whole family for his very existence. Managerial jobs that would be a step up from just being Roy’s assistant, one or two business contracts in Manchester, at some point a school was mentioned—things, other things he could be involved in to make a difference beyond just winning silverware for United and viewership for Sky.

But Gary has never been one to start something without seeing it through, and every single one of those offers ended up in the bin because this, here, MNF—this isn’t something he’s willing to leave half-baked and watch crumble in his wake.

But. But.

Leaders name successors all the time, don’t they? Even Sir Alex left in the end.

(Not that that’s going too well for them at the moment)

Jamie comes over and shakes his hand once the cameras turn off, a habit they fell into after the first show and have never really broken (just like the pre- and post-game rituals they both followed throughout their careers, no one’s willing to mess with a winning formula). And Gary can’t help but think, for the first time amongst all the people he’s ever met at Sky in the past two years, he could be it.

It starts entirely by accident.

But Gary looks at himself in the mirror one morning, trying to fit into his favorite pair of jeans, and thinks: Fuck, I’ve let myself go.

At United, this wouldn’t have even been a possibility, but retirement has softened him, in good ways and bad. He doesn’t mind the extra padding on his cheeks, really, the way it rounds out his face so all those insults that started with rat feel a lot more like a distant memory. But something about going up a jean size feels like surrender, like failure, like he’s gone as old and pudgy and weak as he sometimes feels, climbing up the stairs to his flat when the lift is broken.

If Sir Alex could see him now.

Which is how the next weekend Gary goes and finds himself in the fitness wing of Sky studios, a place he hasn’t been in since the first-day tour. The badge around his neck means it’s free to use, which makes it as good a place to start as any.

Vaguely, he remembers having heard that there are guided classes here, offered by professional trainers, but for getting back into it after two years away, he’d rather discover just how out of shape he is in private.

Of course, that’s why as soon as he gets to the stationary bike tucked in the back, in his mind a nice, easy way to start off, there’s Jamie.

They’ve seen each other in all sorts of clobber at this point, football kits and suits and button-ups and t-shirts. Even in various stages of undress, no space for modesty in a dressing room or the greenroom before a show. Yet something about standing here in his athletic shorts and slightly-too-form-fitting gym t-shirt is as naked as he’s ever felt, exposed and vulnerable.

Jamie doesn’t say anything initially, just lifts a hand to him in silent greeting, and Gary manages a thin smile in response.

Shame clings to him like a second skin as he settles himself on the bike next to Jamie’s. There are only two bikes, there’s no other equipment back here that he could pretend to be interested in, and the only thing worse than being embarrassed is being a coward, so he tries to avoid thinking about Jamie and hunts for the Start button on this stupid contraption.

Still, his skin prickles preemptively as he waits for the snide remark that’s sure to come—Finally looked in the mirror, Gary? Trying to get the weight off, Gary? Didn’t fancy seeing you here, Gary. First time since you retired, Gary? Need a little help with that, Gary? What would Fergie say now, Gary?

Honestly, he’s not sure if there’s anything he’d be willing to hear right now that wouldn’t feel like judgment, or an insult, or even worse, pity. Maybe if Jamie just up and left, allowed him to wallow in private the way he initially came back here to do, that would be enough.

Perhaps predictably, Jamie surprises him. “Wanna race?” he asks, just as Gary gives up on trying to find the right button and instead slowly pedals his bike into life.

Gary doesn’t answer, but he starts pedaling faster, and Jamie does too, and that’s how it begins.

After that, there’s a routine. They take the train down on Sunday, usually early in the morning because they’re more often than not scheduled for Super Sunday anyways. Sky always puts them all up at the same hotel in whichever city they’re in, Gary-Souness-Carra-Redknapp in a straight line on the same floor most weekends, with the presenters, touchline reporters, and other staff dotted around the rest of the building.

(In Gary’s mind, it means more than half the building is full of Liverpool fans, because that seems to be the bias around here, but he doesn’t complain too much. Loyalties fade once you retire—not that he doesn’t love United with every bone in his body, but he doesn’t feel the same hatred toward everyone else anymore. It’s hard, after you’ve looked through pictures of someone’s kids and seen them get a trim in hair & makeup and watched hours upon hours of football in a chair beside them, to fester on old rivalries)

After Super Sunday, it’s usually a meal out with all the lads, a few drinks for the ones not on air Monday and some watered-down slosh for the rest of them, before heading in for the night.

Monday morning, it’s him and Jamie arriving early to the studio in London to kick the day off, followed by the morning meeting. The air is buzzing, to say the least, charged with different opinions and emotions and ideas that all get whittled down by lunchtime to lay out a framework for the night’s show.

Lunch after that, usually a working lunch while they’re ironing out the last few talking points (or arguing, as it so often goes, between whether Jamie’s segment idea or Gary’s segment idea should get the extra minutes, clips, and focus). Then a round of exercise, biking or weights or a quick session with the trainer, whatever the other seems less excited about doing. Always together, though, Jamie trying to one-up Gary, Gary trying to sabotage Jamie’s equipment before he’s even started, the only kind of athletic competition they’ll be participating in these days.

Afternoon rehearsal is next, followed by hair and makeup. It’s the hardest part of the day in many ways, looking at the suit and tie and thinking how’s this one gonna turn out then, but Gary’s used to it now. If Jamie doesn’t give him too much stick for what he’s wearing that’s usually a good sign the Twitter vitriol will be pretty tame.

Then the lights turn on, and it’s show time.

Gary settles into the routine they way he always settled into new boots—unsteady at first, missing the way the old ones molded to him like a glove, but growing more and more comfortable by the day, learning the new curves and contours and peculiarities until the thought of having any other boot, any other routine, feels unimaginable.

And then, Jamie’s out one week. “Me daughter’s sick, I won’t be coming in,” he says very firmly during the customary mid-week call with the producers. It isn’t phrased as a question so much as a declaration, and nobody argues.

Family comes first, anyways. They all get it.

Gary stays quiet, lets Scott handle the standard hope she feels better, mate, if there’s anything we can do just say the word pleasantries. Something in him feels a bit like a deflated balloon, all flat and crumpled, but he’s nothing if not a professional compartmentalizer.

Only on the ride down to London does he let himself think about it again. They’ve never taken the train together—Manchester and Liverpool are close but not that close—and yet something about the journey feels long and bleak all the same. For two years he made this trip under exactly these circumstances, expecting to see Ed and Graeme and Redders and Scott and Frankie after he arrived just as he will today, and never once did it feel like this. Gary doesn’t know what to make of it.

Super Sunday itself is…fine. Nothing eventful, one of those weekends where you could write the narrative before a ball was kicked and be just about spot on about how the games would go. No upsets, no drama, no controversy. It’s a bit dull in the studio, really, and Ed cuts to an extra advert break toward the end to avoid broadcasting another five minutes of them sitting around going yeah, I agree with Gary totally and yes, Graeme’s spot on there without much else to say after that. Things get that way sometimes, especially when the game itself hasn’t been particularly inspiring, but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s just—missing.

Someone.

It’s even worse at the hotel. He’s the last to come in, having stayed back a few minutes to run over details about tomorrow’s show with Ed, and a whole group of them are all clustered in the lobby as soon as he pushes past the door.

“Dinner?” Redknapp (Jamie, he reminds himself, even though there’s a different face which comes to mind for that name now) asks, because he’s nice like that.

Gary declines. They’re all Liverpool today, Souness and Redknapp and a couple of the staff members loyal to the wrong shade of red, but even that doesn’t explain why the thought of going out for a meal feels utterly draining. “See you in the studio,” he says as they make for the door, and watches them disappear beyond the revolving glass with a strange detachment.

MNF is the worst of the lot. He hasn’t done one on his own in months, now, hasn’t needed to, and though they bring out the old two-seater table and adjust a few segments so a first-time viewer wouldn’t even notice there was a guest missing, Jamie’s absence is the only thing he notices all day.

“Strange without Carra here, innit?” Ed says to him as they kick off the morning meeting (Gary was early, as he always is, and spent the time doodling on top of his notes instead of looking up to confront the empty room).

“That’s one word for it. Calmer, quieter, more intelligent. Those are other words.”

It’s a test, really. Either Ed with look a bit uncomfortable, hearing him talk that way about a coworker when he isn’t around to defend himself. Or he will laugh.

Ed laughs, and that’s—yeah. Yeah, alright. Apparently his dislike of Jamie Liverpool-is-my-middle-name Carragher is more joke than threat now.

The meeting is too stagnant, almost boring, hearing only his own ideas without much to refute them. Gary can out-stubborn just about anyone, and the show they’ve planned by the end of the hour is as close to his brainchild as anything on TV will ever be, and he hates it. Hates that there won’t be any surprises, unexpected twists of either the good kind or the bad, won’t be any sparks flying when the lights come on because an unstoppable force has met an immovable object.

It isn’t the same, doing this show without that high-pitched Scouse bark constantly in his ear.

He pauses during the halftime analysis after his first comment about zonal marking, a bit of a throwaway line to explain the rather horrific defending for the first goal, and can almost hear Jamie interjecting it’s not the system it’s the execution louder than he hears the producer in his ear moving the clips along. But no such voice materializes, of course, and it throws him off so much he flubs his next line.

Ed chuckles, but Gary hears the booming laugh that should’ve followed his mistake all the same, could swear he hears it all the way from fucking Liverpool where Jamie is most definitely watching on the telly.

Scouse bastard. Ruining his life even when he isn’t here.

His phone buzzes the minute the show’s done, and he doesn’t even have to check to know who it is.

Gary doesn’t look at the message though. Something stops him—pride, stubbornness, a sense that if he doesn’t read it yet at least there’ll be a bit of anticipation to carry him through the twenty minute drive to the hotel.

Normally once the show’s done, they go out for drinks with some of the crew. Real ones, since neither of them usually schedule much for the Tuesday after an MNF. Jamie on any sort of night out is a bit of a sight, actually, and Gary’s learned some things about him that Jamie probably wouldn’t let slip without the drink loosening his tongue. Gary too, though the list of things he really needs to keep quiet shortens by the day.

Today, for obvious reasons, the plan is just a quiet night in his hotel room—check some emails, answer some messages, a quick browse through Twitter to see how the show went down, and then bed. A little earlier than normal perhaps, but he’s scheduled an early train for tomorrow morning, the earliest he could find, can’t wait to get back to Manchester and put this strange weekend behind him.

After he’s settled in the room, nightclothes on, emails answered, he pulls out his phone and finally looks at the message. There are two, in fact, one after another. The second is a long one, and a quick skim through reveals that it’s mainly a list of comments about the show, almost like Jamie actually did keep up the running commentary Gary could swear he heard in his head the whole night. But the message that stands out most is the first, just one simple, damning line.

Bit dull without me really

Gary can’t even disagree.

The other problem, perhaps the bigger problem, is that Liverpool and City are both flying. It’s the worst sort of time to be a United fan, his beloved Reds floundering in the Europa League places (and sometimes trying to fling themselves out of any European competition at all) while both their most-hated rivals battle it out for the League.

Being at Sky makes it both better and worse—he has to give his opinion on it all the time, which numbs the pain in a way, makes it his job rather than his passion. But also, he has to give his opinion on it all the time, and it means there’s no escape.

The cherry on top is that it also means Jamie comes in most Mondays in a good mood with a snarky comment he’s been waiting to unleash, and this one is no different.

“How does it feel, knowing if youse keep this up, it’ll be the first time you haven’t got top four in League history?” Jamie asks walking through the door, skipping any sort of standard or polite greeting as always.

Gary can’t describe, later, why that’s the moment he snaps, but it’s the only explanation for what comes next. “Probably how it feels knowing Liverpool might win their first title the very year after you leave.”

As far as retorts go, it’s a bit clunky, but Jamie doesn’t laugh it off or come back with something sharper the way Gary expects him to. Instead his whole face just sort of—falters, wiped blank, devoid of any emotion in a way that’s as foreign on Jamie as if he started speaking in an American accent. For several moments, he stares almost robotically at Gary, eyes flat and empty, and Gary’s chest squeezes tight, tight, tight, in a way he remembers from scoring his first own goal, from making Phil cry as kids, from every other moment in his life when he knew he fucked up.

Shit.

Then Gary watches as Jamie takes a deep, deliberate breath, schools his expression, shrugs his shoulders, and says with almost rehearsed precision, “Stevie’s flying, me son’s over the moon. That’s much more important to me.”

The atmosphere should go stiff and tense after that, but somehow it doesn’t. Jamie deftly switches the topic as though the last minute never occurred at all, and it’s over quicker than it began.

I’m fine, Jamie is saying implicitly. That one hurt, but I’m tougher than a low blow. Let it go.

Gary can’t.

They’ve taken the piss out of each other on a lot of different fronts over the past several months, and never once elicited that sort of reaction. He’s (incorrectly, he’s aware, but it’s still funny) painted Jamie with the same brush as the Spice Boys, called him slow, called him a burglar, dismissed his ideas as utter rubbish, shat all over Liverpool’s title credentials, suggested Gerrard couldn’t lace Scholesy’s boots—nothing. That last one certainly got the biggest reaction out of him, but not like this.

It’s almost the opposite of a reaction, shutting down rather than winding up, and Gary doesn’t understand what line he’s crossed between sharp but harmless banter and something that penetrates a lot deeper. Only knows that he never wants to again.

What’s this about you meeting with Sir Alex? he texts Jamie first thing on a Tuesday morning. The United grapevine is a real and ferocious thing, and nothing stays secret for long.

He’s gotten so used to the instantaneous replies that it bothers him when this one takes a full thirty minutes to come through, even though he’s aware most people aren’t awake at half five in the morning (Jamie isn’t most people, though, and his sleep schedule seems about as unpredictable as the lottery numbers. Gary could swear that some nights he’s probably not sleeping at all)

Yeah, had a greet chat with him over the weekend

How’d that happen?

Don’t worry, you’re still his favorite

Gary rolls his eyes reading that, though it wasn’t even close to what he was trying to ask. (And he was never the boss’s favorite anyways)

Another message, before Gary can think of a suitable response.

He wrote me a really nice letter after I retired. I had Michael put me in touch with him and we set up a little meeting in Manchester

Those last two words give him pause. The world’s biggest Scouser was in Manchester and he didn’t even know?

Something about the idea of Jamie in Manchester for pleasure rather than business, a private meeting rather than a football match, is strange. And with Sir Alex of all people, the very personification of Manchester United.

Gary tries to imagine setting up a meeting with Kenny Dalglish or Rafa Benitez that was personal, not for Sky, and can’t, something in him protesting at the very idea. He hasn’t mellowed enough for that yet.

Vaguely, he remembers Jamie mentioning that he used to read football autobiographies the way most people read the news, cover to cover, a new one every day. It’s something he’s learned about Jamie in the last few months—he loves football, the game in and of itself, more than anyone Gary’s ever met.

Gary likes football, loves football even, but can admit he probably loves United more, would sooner stay up reveling in Best United Goals compilations on YouTube than watch Brazilian and Japanese second division matches the way Jamie seems to.

Fair play, he types back, because he has mellowed enough to give credit where it’s due.

As March turns into April, Sky start wheeling out the incessant The Run In graphics pitting Liverpool against City, trying to figure out who might win the League. The question gets put to him week after week, and as Liverpool’s unbeaten run stretches on, Gary starts conceding what seemed unthinkable at one point in the season.

It’s Liverpool’s to lose now.

The Reds edge City 3-2 at Anfield, then survive against Norwich to go five points clear the top, and Gary thinks, privately, it might be done here.

Jamie is—up and then down, depending on the moment. There’s obvious enthusiasm from the Liverpool fan in him, to see his team in such a position for the first time in League history. There’s also a shadow of sadness, knowing he could’ve been a part of this moment if he’d stayed just one season longer, knowing this’ll get thrown at him for the rest of his life by people who don’t understand the complexities of retiring as a one-club local player.

They don’t talk about any of this. (But Gary gets it. He suspects he’s one of the only ones who could)

And then, after the next MNF, they do.

“I always knew I had to time it right,” Jamie admits to him over drinks.

They’ve just watched City thrash West Brom to keep the title chase alive, spent the entirety of MNF trying to offer new and fresh opinions on the battle at the top despite there being very little that hasn’t already been said, and Gary is tired. Jamie looks tired too, shoulders slumped, suit jacket tossed against the back of his chair, tie loosened and the top button of his shirt popped open. Many weeks they’re joined by Ed or some of the crew, but it’s only them tonight, just drinks and frank conversation for company.

“Didn’t want to turn into me, hauled off at halftime and warming the bench the rest of the season?” Gary chuckles, because he can laugh about it now in a way he couldn’t before.

“No, seriously, that’s the type of thing I was thinking,” Jamie says. “I didn’t want it to get to the point where supporters would see my name on the teamsheet and go for fuck’s sake why’s he playing again.”

“Yeah, I understand that. I understand that completely.”

And he does, genuinely. He doesn’t choose to spend a lot of time thinking about how they are similar, usually more focused on the differences, but it hasn’t escaped him that they were the same type of player on the pitch and the same type of character off it, that their journeys through football have been almost perfect mirrors of one another.

“I think I stayed a year too long,” Gary says suddenly. Jamie looks at him in that intense, focused way of his, and whether it’s the drinks or the company or the fact that there’s a better-than-good chance the club he loves is going to be flayed open tomorrow, the admission comes easily. “They asked me to stay one more season and I did, but I should’ve left when I planned to. It’s the embarrassment, isn’t it, being on the bench watching kids play ahead of you? It’s the embarrassment that hurts.”

“I remember we would train on the Monday with the reserves, while all the lads who’d played would get the day off to recover. There’d be fifteen, sixteen year old kids beside you, enjoying their chance of a lifetime to be in the reserves at a big club, and you’re there thinking—I’ve played in Champions League finals, and now I’m here. Oh my god.” Jamie sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “But if I’d just swallowed me pride and hung on one more year…” He trails off, the implication clear, and takes another sip, longer than the last.

It’s the first time they’ve openly discussed the fly in the ointment, and Gary understands the fragile trust for what it is. “You must be the only unhappy person in the city of Liverpool,” he says lightly, fully prepared to backtrack if this goes as poorly as his last attempt to joke about this particular fly. “Liverpool might win the League, Everton might get top four—everyone else on Merseyside is partying.”

To his relief, Jamie chuckles. “Yeah, but I’m still doing better than most of Manchester.”

It should hurt, but Gary just laughs.

The next morning, the news breaks. Manchester United have sacked David Moyes.

Though Gary had a feeling it was coming, it doesn’t hurt any less to see it confirmed in bold black letters on the front page of every newspaper in Manchester. Hurts even more, in fact, because it means he gets a call from his mum asking if he’s spoken to Phil yet, and for all that she’s been involved with sports far too long to actually shed tears over this, the sadness in her voice hits him like a dagger straight to the heart.

“He isn’t picking up my calls,” Gary says.

“Mine either. I left him a voicemail, but he mightn’t see it for a while. It must be tough for all of the staff right now.”

“Yeah.”

(They’re both aware that this doesn’t mean Phil’s immediately out of a job, especially with how much the club looks after its own, but they’re also aware that Phil’s efforts as part of the coaching staff this season can’t be branded as anything other than a failure no matter what happens next)

Still, there’s no surprise attached to all the pain—seventh isn’t a position Manchester United should ever be in, no matter whether a member of the manager’s staff, or someday perhaps the manager himself, is the brother he grew up alongside.

No, the only surprising part is that Jamie barely says a word.

He spends the whole week on tenterhooks, waiting for a mocking text or a barbed comment once they’re in the same room, but there’s nothing. Just a curious, “So who do you think the next manager will be then?” as the opening gambit of the morning meeting, and not a single derogatory mention of the circumstances that led to there being a managerial discussion at all.

Even more crucially, perhaps, the only name that Jamie brings up when they float ideas for the evening’s analysis on the United situation is the manager’s. There isn’t a chance in hell that Jamie isn’t aware Phil’s on the coaching staff, but he doesn’t make any digs, doesn’t ask Gary if he’s spoken to him, doesn’t even mention him at all.

It’s a courtesy. Gary knows it’s a courtesy, and he files it away under things to think about more in the future, because it leaves something fluttering in his stomach that he isn’t in the right headspace to process yet.

But it does feel as though a new, unspoken boundary has been drawn and laid out, one that if you’d asked him a year ago, he never would’ve imagined could be established with Jamie Carragher of all people.

I won’t kick you when you’re down.

He remembers that when the discussion switches to the Chelsea game, doesn’t say anything.

Did he celebrate both of Chelsea’s goals against Liverpool, as he does literally anytime someone scores against his most hated rivals? Of course. But he tries to return the favor of Jamie’s quiet tact, keeps it strictly professional and swallows away every taunt that comes to his mind. A year ago, he would’ve been spewing nothing but taunts if given an opportunity to go face-to-face with a slightly-vulnerable Jamie Carragher on the verge of watching Liverpool lose the League because of his best mate’s mistake.

Not anymore.

Banter is for when they’re flying high, and this—this is the world starting to crumble around Jamie’s ears, only worse, because Stevie’s the one in the firing line.

To his credit, Jamie manages to stay equally professional discussing the situation. “It’s just one game, really. Liverpool have to put it behind them and focus on winning their remaining two games, put the pressure on City and take it all the way to the end. Try to outscore Palace and Newcastle in the process, beef up the goal difference. And then, when the final whistle blows, we’ll see where the chips fall.”

“Yeah. It’s the panic that’ll crush them,” Gary agrees. He’s stopped being surprised when they have the same take on things, these days—they see the game through the same eyes, as much as those eyes are often covered by glasses tinted different shades of red. “City have been here before, won it before, so they won’t panic. Liverpool need to keep their heads.”

“What Liverpool need to keep are clean sheets,” Jamie fires back immediately, words crunched and jagged like the teeth of a very serrated blade, and Gary lets it slide because he knows Jamie’s not actually pissed off at him. The frustration is aimed elsewhere, at a backline he’s no longer part of.

(Things would certainly be different if he still was, in ways that have nothing to do with the football on the pitch. Gary thinks of their electric debates nearly every Monday morning, the way a weekend of football never quite feels complete until he gets a snarky message or two from Jamie about the results, how one of Sky’s stationary bikes now has a United sticker beside the screen and the other an old Liverpool scarf tied to the frame, and feels nothing but relief at the way it’s all turned out)

I’m happy here with you. I’m happy here with you. I’m happy here with you.

Gary doesn’t mean to say it. He has thought about foraying more fully into management before, still might someday, and certainly he’d be lying if he claimed the United job wouldn’t be a dream come true. But he’s enjoying his time at Sky, loves doing MNF, and being Roy’s assistant at England is enough to get his managerial kicks without having to deal with the constant pressure of the big office.

That’s what he should say.

But.

They both started the show somewhat miserable today for obvious reasons, and yet several hours in now, Gary can feel his blood pumping, can feel the energy buzzing under his skin like he’s just walked off the pitch after a big derby game. He’s just watched Arsenal move one step closer to cementing their place in the top four, and spent the last ten minutes dissecting United’s shambolic season in excruciating detail, but still he feels electrified, like he could go for another hour if needed.

This is the magic of the show, and of doing the show with the man sat across the table from him in particular—a man as funny as he is frustrating, passionate down to his last toenail, and fucking smart to boot.

So when Jamie asks, “Would you take it?”, expression open and curious like he genuinely thinks there’s a chance Gary should be considered for the United job, and that if asked he would go, Sky and punditry and England are the furthest thing from Gary’s mind.

“I’m happy here with you.”

Jamie blinks at him, uncharacteristically lost for words, but that’s the truth, isn’t it? Whatever this strange partnership they’ve forged, right now, in this very moment, despite the circus surrounding the football club that was once his entire life, he’s happy.

Happy here with Jamie.

It’s a stupid, inane comment.

“Hope we don’t get another Slippy G moment tonight, am I right?” some staffer whose name Gary doesn’t even know says to them as they walk into the fitness room.

He and Jamie are both in their workout gear, guards down, and it takes several moments for the words to process.

“What’s that?” Jamie asks, coming to a stop, an edge to his words that tells Gary he most definitely heard it the first time.

“Slippy G, mate,” the staffer repeats, clearly not having picked up the same hint. “Embarrassing, honestly.”

The best response would probably be to laugh it off and move on. But Gary still remembers how it felt after Euro 96, after Portugal, after the last derby at Maine Road, remembers how it felt to be so low he was sobbing on the fucking floor even more sometimes than he remembers the highs, the wins, the treble.

He sees the impish little grin on the staffer’s face, the way they think they’ve got one over big-and-tough Jamie Carragher. He sees the clench in Jamie’s jaw, the way his expression is terrifyingly blank again, like he’s now learned it gets when Jamie’s scared of what his real reaction might be, and something bubbles up in his stomach that he can’t stop.

“Oi. Fuck off.”

The staffer’s eyes widen comically, eyebrows shooting up to their hairline. “I—pardon, what—”

Gary doesn’t know who this is, doesn’t know who they support, doesn’t give a single shit. “Don’t you have a job to be doing somewhere?” he interrupts, pulls out the voice he’s always had in his locker as an older brother and refined even further as a father, the one that screams cold disappointment and unwavering authority.

The staffer clears out pretty quickly after that.

“Don’t need you fighting me battles,” Jamie says after a moment. He doesn’t sound the least bit angry, which Gary takes as a good sign.

“Yeah, I know. Just—that’s uncalled for, that.”

Jamie stares at him, inscrutable. Then he grins. “Gary Neville defending a Scouser. Who would’ve thought?”

Who would have indeed?

The Palace game is an utter shitshow.

Watching the three Palace goals go in over the last ten minutes is the closest Gary thinks he’s ever gotten to seeing a real-life horror story unfold before his eyes. With each goal, Jamie tenses a little further, shouting more and more at the screen like maybe Liverpool’s piss-poor defense will hear him if he’s just loud enough.

When the equalizer hits the back of the net, and a strange, almost solemn quiet blankets the studio.

Gary doesn’t break it. In some sense, they’re all waiting for Jamie to react first.

The Gary who ran down the touchline to kiss his badge in front of the traveling Liverpool fans would’ve cheered as loud as he could. Now, at the very least, Gary expects to be happy seeing Liverpool throw away the title—he’s already seen City win it once in the most dramatic of fashions, which means seeing them win it again won’t be nearly as hard as seeing Liverpool do it—but Jamie’s standing not four feet away with his head in his hands, and Gary mostly just feels calm.

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says eventually. Nobody tells him off for cursing in the studio. If there was ever a moment that called for a breach of decorum, this would be it.

Jamie’s words burst the bubble of silence, and everyone around them buzzes to life, calling for clips of all three late goals to be queued up, demanding to arrange for the manager or a player or just someone associated with Liverpool Football Club to come on the big screen for a live post-match interview, frantically combing through graphics to find the one on Liverpool’s defensive frailties. Late drama is always a logistical challenge, but this is something else entirely. Even Ed looks slightly flustered, muttering to himself as he rehearses an entirely new post-match monologue.

Throughout it all, Jamie just stands there by the screen, frozen.

“Jamie,” Gary says, as kindly as he can. They have a post-match to deliver, and it’s critical they get this right. “Pull yourself together.”

He does.

They’re nothing if not professionals, and Jamie delivers the post-match as well any anyone could be expected to. Gary tries to let him take the lead, knows from personal experience just how far anger and adrenaline can carry you when you’re the one talking. Listening is the hard part.

They make it through, and Jamie isn’t the only one relieved when the cameras finally switch off.

“Drink?” Gary asks him after the show, fully expecting Jamie to decline. It’s the last MNF of the season, and Jamie probably does need several drinks, but Gary doubts he’s the company with which Jamie wants to down them tonight.

So he’s not surprised when Jamie shakes his head. “I need to be home,” he responds quietly, voice thinned out and hollow. All of the frustration and anger that got him through the show is gone now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that Gary is all-too familiar with. Football has torn all their hearts out before, his included. “Need to see Stevie, I—” he breaks off, and it’s the first time in all the years and months Gary has known him, first with England and now, as almost-friends, that he looks like he might cry. “G’night.”

“Night, Jamie.” I’m sorry, he wants to add—he never wanted Liverpool to win the League, but he didn’t want them to lose it like this either.

He doesn’t say anything. The cloak of his eight League titles sits heavy on his shoulders, a weight that feels suffocating rather than emboldening for the first time in his life.

Jamie manages a twisted, painful smile that Gary never wants to see again, and then he’s gone.

“First season working together. How’s it been, lads?” Ed asks at the Sky end-of-season do.

Gary’s well on his way to getting drunk, Jamie is quite clearly already there, but he feels entirely clear-headed as he considers the question. It’s been a disappointing season for him on the pitch, his beloved United clearly not covering herself in much glory, but off the pitch, in the studio, there’s only one way to describe how it’s all gone.

“Brilliant,” Gary says honestly.

“Loved it,” Jamie says at the same time.

“On to the next one then!” Ed exclaims, before disappearing in the direction of the bar.

Jamie’s eyes meet his, and the music in the background swells to a crescendo as they clink their glasses together.

Gary smiles. On to the next one.

#carraville #jamie carragher #gary neville #*fic #*writing

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kit-fisto-obsessive · 1 year

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Captain Rex Is In Trouble

Chapter 3: Downtime And The Duality Of Man (Cody)

AO3

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Summary

Rex didn’t get a lot of time to relax when he was aboard the Resolute. If they weren’t in active battle, they were either preparing for it or recovering from it. Even his leisure time was taken up with datawork, disciplinary actions, training, and making sure that Ahsoka was doing her independent learning, assuming Anakin wasn’t around to help her.

Notes

Sophi is named after my late dog. I will take no criticism on this.

Rating: T

Warnings

N/A

It was a sad statement about his life that these days that the most relaxing thing he did was datawork.

That being said, he reckoned he'd figured out a way to make it more enjoyable. Doing it with either a cup of kaf, tea, hot chocolate, or brandy in one hand was the first way, but he'd learnt that location and company also had a lot to do with making it more bearable. They’d cleared out a storage room on the Resolute, shoved a few old sofas in there and thrown blankets and handmade cushions about to make it comfortable. They called it the officer’s lounge, but really it was Torrent’s hang-out space.

Venators are big. They’re full of empty spaces, emergency bunk space and extra storage. Most companies have made themselves a similar spot, or kitted out their bunk rooms with homemade furniture and other things. Today, in Torrent’s designated chillaxing den - Anakin’s words and not Rex’s - the company was also as good as it got.

Ahsoka was lying on a rug, made from scraps of old black undersuits all woven together. She kicked her feet together, chewing her stylus thoughtfully as she worked on whatever it is she was working on. Anakin and Echo were working on reports, as was Jesse. Fives was supposed to be doing that too, but he was dozing instead. Kix and Hardcase were both filling out requisition forms, for medical and weaponry respectively.

The best bit though, was that Cody and Obi-Wan were there. Rex hadn’t actually seen Cody in person since the dinner party last month, but the joint operation they were working on meant that he and Obi-Wan were staying on the Resolute to prepare. Now they were lounging on one of the sofas, leaning against each other while they each did their respective work.

Well, Obi-Wan was working. Cody was scowling into his datapad and typing incessantly, so he was probably arguing with someone in his batch chat.

Dogma and Tup were there too, doing their own thing. Torrent’s newest members were both fairly quiet. Rex was trying to keep a close eye on them after Umbara. To say it had been a rough first deployment was a little bit of an understatement.

Not everyone in the battalion had seen how close they’d gotten to true disaster, but Dogma and Tup had been too involved not too. The top brass had decided to keep it quiet, which Rex wasn’t comfortable with but he was unfortunately used to by now. He wasn't sure how Dogma and Tup were taking it.

It was unfair they had so much to deal with on their first shakedown, but nothing was fair in Rex’s experience. He was keeping an eye on them both, still waiting for it to hit them. He or Kix would make sure they were there to catch them when it did.

Today wasn’t going to be that day though. Dogma was invested in something on his pad. It looked like he was reading, scowling deeply. It didn’t look like he was reading a story with an expression like that, but Rex didn’t know what else it could be. Member of the 501st’s premier company he might be, but he was still a little too shiny to be doing any actual datawork, however that was a datawork expression if Rex had ever seen one.

Tup, with his rapidly tapping fingers and tongue stuck out to one side, was clearly playing a game. He looked like he was having fun.

Rex went back to his datawork, smiling a little to himself. They reminded him a lot of him and Kix, or Fives and Echo, Fox and Wolffe. Everyone had a favourite batchmate, and if you were lucky enough, you might get to keep them.

"Oh that sith sucking son of a whore!"

Fives woke up, coughing.

Cody, while not Rex’s batchmate, was definitely tied with Kix for 'favourite'. Especially when he did stuff like this.

He’d only recently relaxed enough to remove the stick from his ass around Torrent and Ghost, largely thanks to Kenobi. It was odd, because according to Fox, Cody pretty frequently gushed about them, Fives and Echo in particular, on their private batch chat that Rex wasn't allowed into for bullshit reasons. However, there were plenty of things that were slightly odd about Cody, and one of those things was his obsession with trying to keep his professional and personal lives separate.

It was a losing game, for many reasons, the first of which being their personal and professional lives were one and the same. Did it even count as a professional life if you were a slave?

Anyway. The rest of Torrent hadn't yet been exposed to this side of Cody.

The deranged bastard side, that is.

There are six people that could make Cody pull that expression, and Rex was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything recently to earn it. Nor was Cody currently trying to beat the snot out of him, so it must be one of the others.

Actually, Cody was glaring fiercely at Obi-Wan, so it might not be any of them. Nice for Obi-Wan that he’d been promoted to the list of people that could make Cody absolutely lose his shit.

"Is there a problem darling?" Kenobi enquired lightly, not looking up from his datapad. It was absolutely the correct reaction.

Nothing could make Cody lose his shit faster than ignoring him while he was in a strop. This was going to be entertaining.

"It was you," Cody seethed, pointing an accusatory finger at Obi-Wan.

"What was me?" Kenobi murmured, still not looking up from his pad.

Kix, having known Cody for only a few months less than Rex, didn’t look up from his work either.

Fives, Echo, Hardcase and Jesse were looking at Cody with expressions of fascination, horror, glee and utter confusion, in that order. Dogma and Tup looked like eeyopies caught in speeder headlights, their faces identical expressions of shock. Ahsoka was watching him like he was a particularly entertaining animal at the zoo.

She wasn’t wrong. Rex loved it when Cody went off like this, especially in front of people who hadn’t seen it before. He was usually so calm and controlled, it was like he bottled it all up. Shake that bottle, and watch him explode. Rex wished he had some bangcorn.

Another good thing about having Ahsoka around was that Kenobi was around much more often too, something about lineage pride and not trusting Anakin with a child. That was what he said at least, but Rex reckoned it was because he adored the kid just as much as everyone else did.

Rex was friendly enough with Obi-Wan. Some days it felt like they were Anakin's parents, exasperated and bemused and occasionally banging their heads against the wall. It was nice to see more of him, but with Obi-Wan came Cody. No offence to Kenobi, but Rex much preferred his big brother.

That, coupled with the removal of the stick from his ass, had led to their current situation: off-duty datawork in companionable silence, until Cody started swearing about… well, Rex wasn't entirely sure yet, but it was bound to be entertaining.

"You told Fox all that stuff about me," Cody hissed, a little quieter.

That made Obi-Wan look up. Rex leaned forward.

"What stuff?" he asked, blinking confusedly.

"Stuff," Cody whined, "about me, that I don't want him to know."

"Wait," Anakin said, frowning. "You tell Fox stuff about sex with Cody?"

"What?"

Cody, Anakin and Obi-Wan all looked at each other with utter confusion. Fives looked like he was to vibrate out of his skin with uncontrolled joy. Dogma looked utterly horrified.

Kix sighed and put his datapad down.

"Where the hell did you get that idea from?" Cody exclaimed.

"You said it was stuff that you don't want Fox knowing!" Anakin shouted back.

"Not sex stuff," Cody exploded. "Unless-" he turned back towards Obi-Wan. "You don't talk to Fox about sex with me, right?"

"Of course I don’t!"

Fives and Hardcase started cackling in the background.

"Cody, what in the Galaxy are you talking about?" Kenobi sighed. "What ‘stuff’ am I telling Fox?"

"Embarrassing stuff!" Cody exclaimed. "Like. Me getting injured and Rex forcefully sedating me.” Echo smothered his laugh with a cough, badly. Cody glared at him before turning back to Obi-Wan. “I thought it was Rex that told on me, but then a few months after that Fox knew I got concussed walking into a door and Rex didn't know about that, and I didn't let Sophi file a report about it either, so it must've been you!"

"You got a concussion by walking into a door?" Anakin asked.

"Again? Cody," Kix sighed. "That's really not good for your brain."

"What brain?" Rex muttered. He ducked the random bit of metal Cody threw at his head with ease.

"It was only mild, my brain's fine," Cody dismissed, already moving on.

"Wait," Rex said, frowning. "Those were both months ago. How are you only figuring this out now?"

"Wait. You knew about it?"

"Sophi told us immediately," Kix said, stretching his back out. "Sent me the scans so I could see your lonely brain cell for myself. Poor sick thing."

Dogma looked terrified that Cody might explode Kix with his mind for the insubordination. Force knew it looked like he was trying. It wouldn’t take long for Dogma to figure out that insubordination may as well be Kix’s middle name.

Hell, they only had one name. It may as well be his first.

Cody gave up glaring at Kix and rounded back on Rex.

"So it was you who told Fox?"

"Nah," Rex shrugged, "I don't tend to tell him stuff I want to use as my own blackmail later."

Their audience watched on, fascinated.

"No. It was me, I'm afraid," said Obi-Wan, "on both occasions. I wasn't aware that you knew each other."

“Fox wouldn’t have told you on purpose,” Cody said easily. “Not your fault.”

He sat back down, steepling his fingers together and squinting.

“This requires revenge,” he glanced back at Obi-Wan. “You in?”

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, going back to his work. Cody pouted, but Obi-Wan just kept working on his datapad.

“I’m in,” Anakin said, crossing his legs and leaning forwards. “I’m always down for a little revenge, doesn’t matter whose.”

“You shouldn’t cross Fox, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured, scrolling through his datapad slowly. “He rents your arm back to you at a very reasonable price.”

“Excuse me?” Rex said.

“I lost my arm, my prosthetic one, to Fox in a game of strip sabacc,” Anakin explained as if it made any sense. “Or it might have been snap… it’s a bit fuzzy. We were very drunk.”

“Anakin and Fox are no longer allowed to socialise unsupervised,” Obi-Wan added.

Everyone stared at Anakin.

“I can see that,” Cody said after a brief pause.

“It wasn’t even that bad,” Anakin said, rolling his eyes.

“If you hadn’t spilled the last of that bottle, there is a very real possibility you both would have died from alcohol poisoning.”

“We barely hallucinated.”

“That’s not good, Anakin!”

“So what do you pay him to use your arm?” Rex asked curiously.

“The reasonable monthly cost of my immortal soul,” Anakin replied easily.

Ahsoka started giggling, rolling onto her back and clutching at her stomach.

“We also don’t play strip sabacc anymore,” Obi-Wan said. “Fox said he was bored of seeing us naked and wanted our money instead.”

“What?” Cody coughed.

“We started with strip sabacc on the basis that Fox didn't have any money, or many possessions to bet with.”

“After that last game of sabacc, I think he has more money than us now,” Anakin lamented.

“No. Wait. Stop.” Cody held his hands up, staring at Obi-Wan. “Fox has seen you naked?”

“Both of us. Several times,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s really very good at sabacc. It’s highly irritating.”

“Oh come on,” Anakin said, stretching his back. “If you actually cared that much you could win easily. You just let them have their fun because you don’t want to admit how nice you actually are.”

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up.

“What do you mean, let ‘them’ have their fun?”

Anakin blinked.

“You mean you don't know?”

“Know what?”

There was a brief moment where Anakin and Obi-Wan were staring at each other, both confused. It hung in the air like a bead of water hanging from the tap, mere microseconds before it dropped. Then Anakin’s face cracked into a wide, triumphant smile.

“Hah! I noticed something you didn't!” he crowed, jabbing a finger in Obi-Wan's scowling face.

“Anakin, tell me-”

“Me! I noticed something that you, Mr Observant, Mr Genius Investigator, didn't!” he leapt up from his spot on the sofa, hair flopping around his face. “This might be the greatest day of my life! Ahsoka, take a holo.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried, outraged.

After a brief staring contest, Anakin rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the couch.

“Oh fine,” he sulked. “You know how whenever you play sabacc with Fox, Vos is always there too?”

Obi-Wan nodded, slowly.

“And even though Vos is almost as good as you at sabacc, when you play with Fox he always loses even worse than you do?”

Obi-Wan looked confused for a moment, then there was a split second when realisation dawned before his face was overtaken with absolute fury. Rex hadn’t seen Obi-Wan look like that before, but it was the same expression that Cody had been wearing only minutes beforehand.

“Oh that utter fucking slut,” he seethed. “I'm going to murder him. What a fucking whore.”

He stood and began pacing the room, Ahsoka scrambling out of his way as she continued to giggle helplessly.

“I don't get it.” Hardcase said slowly.

“He's deliberately throwing the odds so that his boyfriend wins,” Obi-Wan explained, running a hand through his hair.

“Who is?”

“Vos! My so-called best friend!” Obi-Wan continued to pace. “I'm going to burn his hair off, I swear it. How did I never notice?”

“Because you're so unhealthily competitive that when you start to lose a card game you go completely insane?” Anakin offered. “Lose your grip on reality and turn into a screaming toddler?”

“You do, Master Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka said, resting her chin on her knees. “You really do.”

“If I wasn’t so incensed, you’d both be punished,” Obi-Wan said, thumbing his beard. “As it stands…” He turned towards Cody. “I retract my previous statement.”

“What?”

“Revenge. Let's do it.”

“This is why I love you,” Cody said, standing and clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulders. As he leaned forwards to brush a kiss against Obi-Wan’s lips; Anakin, Rex and Ahsoka made simultaneous gagging noises.

“Shut up,” Cody said as he pulled back. “So, Cyare, let's start planning.”

“I wouldn’t,” Kix muttered. “Last time you tried to get revenge on Fox you ended up with a serious concussion and sharp force trauma to your forehead.”

“What did he do to you?” Ahsoka exclaimed, looking up at Cody with wide eyes.

“Oh. Nothing. I was chasing him and I fell down some stairs,” Cody dismissed. “Besides, that's not the last time I tried to get revenge on Fox, that’s just the last time you knew about it.”

“Good thing I did,” Kix muttered. “Rex and Fox thought you were dead. They were going to throw your body into the ocean so they didn’t get in trouble with the longnecks.”

“In my defence,” Rex said, holding his hands up, “I knew Cody wasn’t dead, I just really wanted him to be.”

He dodged another flying projectile, laughing.

“Wait, Kamino doesn’t even have stairs,” Fives said, leaning forwards.

“The access walkways on the outside of the cities do,” Rex explained. “Cody chased Fox out there one day after Fox stole his contraband.”

“How long have you all known each other?” Tup said. He flushed a little as Rex turned to him.

“Cody and Fox and the rest of their asshole batch?” Rex said. “Since I was almost five.”

“I found Rex in the garbage and felt sorry for him,” Cody explained, wrapping an arm around Obi-Wan as he settled back down beside him. “Worst mistake of my life.”

Rex flipped him off with a grin.

“Known them for even longer than I’ve known Kixy over there,” he finished.

“Wait,” Hardcase said. “I thought you two were batchmates?”

Rex swallowed, glancing at Kix then Cody. He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“We were, but not originally,” he said quietly. “We were a scraps batch.”

Hardcase nodded, and Tup and Dogma glanced at each other quietly.

“What’s that?” Ahsoka asked quietly.

“A scraps batch is a batch made up of clones who lost their original batches,” Kix explained quietly.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all in the past,” Rex replied. “Sides, I did pretty well out of it. Kixy here, and Keeli. Sophi and Howie. We had fun.”

“Sure did,” Kix murmured, and they mimed high-fiving across the room.

“I’m your favourite though,” Cody said.

“Least favourite, more like.”

“I should have left you in the trash you ungrateful piece of shit.”

“Fox is my favourite. He’s nicer to me than you are.”

“Cos Foxes love garbage is why.”

Rex flung a pillow at Cody’s head, who ducked laughing.

“Back to planning revenge,” he continued. “It’ll have to be next time we’re on Coruscant, unless we’re sneaky about it. Anakin could help us slice into their comms or something.”

“Yeah,” Kix snorted, “because that's gonna go well. Have you ever actually managed to get revenge on Fox? Ever?”

“Once. It was the greatest day of my life.”

“What did you do?” Echo asked, leaning forwards.

“I farted in his helmet,” Cody said. Jesse choked. “He doesn’t know. Although, that helmet got destroyed so I need to fart up his new one.”

“I can’t believe you’re a Marshall Commander,” Kix sighed. “That’s the worst revenge ever.”

“Hey, it’s old school but it worked!”

“It’s childish!”

"It's awful, Commander," Fives said, grinning. "Really shit. Aren't you supposed to be a tactical genius or something?"

Cody gestured rudely at Fives, who started laughing so hard he collapsed sideways into Echo.

“I’m not sure I can think of anything belonging to Quinlan that you could fart in,” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard. “Not anything he uses often anyway.”

“Getting any kind of revenge on Fox is doomed to fail,” Rex said. “Especially if you throw Vos into the mix. He’s like… Fox but less bothered about appearing sane in public, and he’s a Jedi. He’s Fox with a lightsaber. You’re both fucked. No offence, General Kenobi.”

“None taken,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m fully aware of what ridiculously dramatic and sadistic bastards they both can be. Quinlan and I grew up together.”

Cody chuckled.

“Having Fox and Wolffe as older brothers growing up was great,” he mused, stretching his arms behind his head. “Both of them are such fucking assholes. As long as they weren’t pissed off at you they were so much fun. Fox could build paint bombs.”

“Commander Fox,” Jesse said, his eyebrow raised. “Really? The guy who busted us just for crashing a couple speeders?”

Rex remembered Fox laughing at him afterwards and calling his men a bunch of idiots while forcing Rex to watch the video of said idiocy over and over again. A few months ago Fox had even sent a video of him perfectly executing the move they’d been attempting, because he was an asshole.

“Him and Wolffe, they're kind of like Fives and Echo,” Cody explained.

“How’d you mean?” Fives asked.

“You know,” Rex said. “Echo uses Fives to distract from the fact he's even better at making trouble, but also even better at hiding it? Kinda like that.”

“Hey!”

“I once watched Fox eat ten pudding cups in ten minutes, just because Wolffe bet he couldn't,” Rex reminisced, ignoring both of the outraged domino twins. “He threw up all over his bunk. He's just…. Really good at being professional during work hours. Like Cody.”

“Damn straight,” Cody said, jabbing his finger in Rex’s direction. “And I can be just as much of a deranged bastard as those two can be too. Don’t you forget it.”

Rex snorted.

“If anyone has any friends in the Guard, you might want to warn them that Cody is about to get his ass kicked.”

“I’ll com Game,” Echo said. “She’ll be able to get us the holos.”

“Fuck the both of you,” Cody said. “Where the kark is the loyalty here?”

“With Fox,” Rex replied easily. “I’m not gonna bet against a sure thing.”

“Cheeky prick.”

Before he could even blink, Cody lunged. Rex was slammed sideways off his chair and to the floor in an instant. The others scrambled out of the way, laughing as he and Cody grappled with each other. Rex howled as Cody got a hold of his boxers and pulled them up, giving him the wedgie from hell.

If he was going to be like that, Rex saw no problem with digging his teeth into Cody’s arm. That meant he let go of Rex’s pants but it meant his hands were free to jab his knuckles into Rex’s sides. Rex grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. His minor victory was short-lived, it was hard to keep hold of Cody’s freshly trimmed inch long regulation cut, but it didn’t make Cody’s shout of pain any less satisfying. At least not until he found himself being flipped over and crushed.

The door slid open and someone walked in. The boots were painted in 212th gold but Rex couldn’t see much else as Cody squished him into the floor.

“Kix, you got a minute?” Sophi said. “I need to discuss supplies for the upcoming manoeuvres with you. Hey Rex… Cody.”

Cody shoved Rex into the floor and stood, glaring at her. Rex stayed where he was, gazing at the ceiling as he caught his breath. He craned his neck to see his second favourite batchmate and the 212th's chief medic, datapad in hand as she raised an eyebrow at her Commander.

“You!” Cody shouted, pointing at her. “You ever heard of battalion loyalty?”

“Nope,” Sophi replied.

“What about patient confidentiality?

Sophi sighed.

“Is this about your endless string of concussions?” she asked. “I only shared that information with Kix, a fellow medical professional. Not my fault that Rex read it.”

“It was on your batch chat!”

“Whatever,” Sophi said, cocking her hip. “Boil was looking for you, needs you to sign some stuff.”

“Fine, but we’re talking about this at your annual review,” Cody said, scowling. He leaned down to kiss Obi-Wan goodbye, his sulky child demeanour being smothered by the ever professional marshall commander.

“I’ll try to pretend I care,” Sophi drawled, moving to sit beside Kix and handing him her datapad.

“Watch it, Lieutenant,” Cody said, straightening his off-duty reds.

No one could quite pull off the flip between sober professional and hyperactive arsehole like Cody. No one could change so completely, or so quickly. Fox almost had it down, but then sometimes that sardonic smile of his would creep in at the edges, when he just couldn't help himself. Bly was equally professional, but was also just a genuinely kind and calm person. Cody flattened his hair back down and the transformation was complete, no more boisterous big brother- only the steadfast and capable marshall commander remained.

Rex smiled fondly as Cody strode out of the door. No one outside would be any the wiser, and that was just the way Cody liked it. Rex had never minded if his men saw him goof off a little, though he did try not to act too much like an idiot in front of those who didn't know him well. He liked to think it made him more approachable.

Cody had more riding on him though. Rex was a Captain, Cody wasn't even just a Commander. He was a Marshal Commander, one of three. Bly, Bacara, and Cody; the buck stopped with them. Fox too, sort of. So yeah, Rex could understand why he was a little more careful about how he was perceived than Rex was. But he could also enjoy the times when his ori'vod got to let loose.

The rest of Torrent watched him go, expressions ranging between slightly stunned and highly amused. Ahsoka chewed her pen thoughtfully, then went back to her work as if nothing had happened. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan were engrossed in their work, both of them also acting as if nothing had happened. Fives looked overjoyed, Echo thoughtful. Dogma, Jesse and Hardcase all looked like they were having some kind of emotional crisis.

Tup was already engrossed in his game again, so Rex guessed he wasn’t too bothered by the whole thing.

He pushed himself up, leaning back on his palms and cocking his head at Sophi.

“Okay,” he said, “but you absolutely do tell Fox everything that happens to Cody, right?”

She snorted.

“Of course I do,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much candy and fancy food that man gets given by his senator friends? I know whose good books I'd rather be in.”

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#captain rex is in trouble #madz writes

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megananash-blog · 5 months

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This bag is so cute and practical! It comes in other colors if pink isn't your thing. It can hold a good amount in a 2L size. Wear it crossbody or around your waist.

Ecolution Patented Micro-Pop Microwave Popcorn Popper - $15.99

My mom gave this to me a few years ago as part of my Christmas present and I still use it a ton and it makes really great popcorn that you can add your own ingredients to so you know it doesn't have any added ingredients you don't want. And...it's delicious and fun for movie nights as a family!

NUTR Nut Milk Maker - $169.99

This is one of the nerdy things that I think is really cool. I haven't tried it yet, but it's on my wishlist so I can make my own non-dairy milk at home. I've heard that it's amazing and works really well. It's not really on sale, but I still wanted to include it.

Silk lined winter hat - $11.89

These hats are cute and simple to go with everything, but lined in satin to help it not be itchy if you're wearing the hat for awhile.

ViGrace Womens Winter Touchscreen Gloves - $13.99

I have these gloves and they are so soft and warm plus they really do work with touchscreens!

T WILKER 2Pcs Kids Winter Knitted Hats+Scarf Set - $14.69

These are my fave for my kids! Both warm and so soft inside! My son hates things that are "itchy" and these were approved by him!

Apple Watch SE - $179

Amazing deal on this Apple Watch! It's perfect for everything that I need at a slightly cheaper price than if you want all of the newest features that I probably wouldn't even use.

Shiatsu Neck and Back Massager - $36.79

I bought this for my husband last year and he actually uses it a lot. It's the gift that keeps on giving for both of us! Lives up to the hype and the 55,000+ positive reviews.

Peloton Bike - $1,095

Of course, this is quite the investment. If you love biking and the convenience of working out at home, then this is a great investment at a good price. Something to think about is the monthly membership is around $48/month so it feels similar to the price of a gym membership, but you can do it from home. There are also lots of other kinds of workouts on the app from yoga, barre, weight lifting, and more! I don't regret this purchase! The classes and teachers are always so good!

Fire HD 10 Plus tablet - $109.99

I have this tablet and I'm a big fan! It's a great price for everything that I need, but still has great features! You can watch shows or movies, but it also works really well as a digital calendar or you can write notes on it with a stylus. It's exactly what I wanted at a great deal.

Fire 7 Kids tablet - $54.99

My kids have these tablets and they are perfect for them! It has everything that they need at a great price and parental controls so you can make sure their screen time is safe and age appropriate.

Kids Echo Dot (5th Gen) - $27.99

My kids have these Kids Echo Dot devices and they're really fun! You can tell the Alexa the age of your kids and they filter out music or material that isn't age appropriate. My kids listen to music, audio books, get weather updates, play games and more with this device! Definitely recommend!

Levoit Air Purifier - $109.99

I just bought this air purifier a few months ago and I think it really helps with the air quality in our house! I'm very impressed so far especially since we added a dog to our house so hopefully it helps with the air quality and to prevent allergies.

Yedi Bread Maker - $129.95 (with a $15 coupon that can be added in cart)

This bread maker made the list of Oprah's favorite things in 2021. It's made from stainless steel so nothing unhealthy will get mixed into your bread. It has 19 settings to make many types of bread to your heart's desire including a gluten free option.

Ooni Fyra 12 Wood Fired Outdoor Countertop Pizza Oven - $244.30

This is another one that is on my wishlist! Normally it's $350 so it's about one hundred dollars off. My research tells me that it makes the best pizza ever in about 60 seconds!

*If you buy anything through these Amazon links, I may get a small percentage back as an incentive. These are still my real opinions about products that I have used myself and am giving my honest opinion about.

#black friday #black friday deals #christmas gift ideas #cooking #kitchen appliances #gift ideas

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toloveandbelovedtoo · 1 year

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Day 3: practice

I had to think about today, since starting this and thinking about love, I think about how to practice and integrate it in my day. I had gone to Backyard BBQ for lunch and as I was leaving, I realized it would have been a good opportunity to pay for someone's meal. I think about it when I hold a door open for someone or when it's held for me. I thought about love when my neighbor offered my some plant clippings and when I laid on the floor with Kiwi.

But today I want to make it a continuation of yesterday as art has been on my mind lately. I woke up still feeling grumpy and disgruntled by my art practice. It's a gray day, cloudy outside but not really raining and I felt tired. I got the idea then to go back to basics. I'm a digital artist, pretty much all of my work is done on my iPad and I mostly work on big pieces with coloring and shading and the whole deal. And while that's great and my art has developed with each piece, I need to do the work all people do: basics and fundamentals.

I'm a self-taught artist. I had a phone with a stylus and one night in bed I thought, I want to draw. So I started going to town drawing people, doing the line art, the coloring, the shading, each piece was a full completed piece. My art was not that great two years ago, I definitely learned a lot and gotten so much better with spacing and proportions. But I realized that I should put in the work and practice of doing timed figure drawings, doing doodles, making sketches, and practicing the anatomy, the clothing, the background basics.

I grabbed some pencils and paper I bought a few years ago and posted up on my couch where I went through timed poses. I got 90 seconds with each figure and just went to drawing as much as I could before the time was up. Some poses were definitely more difficult than others, but I had fun. Fun! That was something I felt like was missing from my art yesterday and that I just wanted to have fun. I feel like I fell in that trap in fandom where I needed to be producing completed works and my worth was based on what I could produce and how often. I lost the joy.

And I realize now that some of my art block stems from the need to be instantly perfect. Perfection was demanded by my mother, each of us kids were gifted and talented, we didn't need practice, we didn't make mistakes. Whatever we picked up, we were supposed to know how to do it with little instruction. I am the sort-of-youngest of four (I'm a twin) and it always looked like my two older siblings were amazing at everything they did. My brother was a marching band science genius, my sister was the artist and musician. I stayed in the shadows in technical theatre.

I didn't know how to ask for help, or how to ask someone to teach me x, y, or z. My grades were to be A+ in school and when I, the son of a math teacher, was getting a D in calculus, I was yelled at for not asking for help. It was shameful that I needed a tutor to get through chemistry and that I couldn't keep up with my peers in school who were already going to college for math as they had completed all the courses the school system offered.

I would find myself getting frustrated with hobbies. When I was in middle school, I thought I would make jewelry, but I felt my work wasn't as good as my mom's or sister's. I learned to knit and was great at it, but it got boring after a while. I learned to crochet, sew, needlepoint. I tried an instrument but I'm fairly tone deaf and can't read music. I picked up hobbies easily and mastered a lot quickly, I was great at knitting, origami, gardening, and video gaming.

So I realized that's why I was getting so frustrated with art. I could see I have talent and potential, I love getting to draw bodies and explore what it means to be trans and queer through art. I love making my blorbos kiss. One of my favorite things is to draw from fan fics to surprise writers, it makes my heart warm to see their excitement. And so it's okay to not be good at everything at once. What was that Jake quote from Adventure Time? Sucking is just the first step to getting good at something? So I'm giving myself this act of love of learning my craft and hobby by working on lessons and the basics and fundamentals.

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igolascl · 2 years

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Epson stylus photo r1800 refurbished

Then hit the paper button with no paper loaded, fire up the toothbrush & scrub both the big top & smaller bottom rollers well as they rotate through about 3 or 4 cycles. After all the printer is a powered on electric device and you don't want to coat the insides any more than the roller wheels. Dip the clean or a new or dedicated brush head in alcohol and give it a good shake off of excess alcohol to keep spray to a minimum. I use my electric toothbrush - Oral-B Vitality from Braun. Hope Epson are reading this so they correct what sure looks like a flaw before R1800 V2 comes out ! Unfortunately, one has to repeat the procedure more often than I would like. I'm in Australia, by the way - not that it makes any difference to Epson printer problems or tech support, let me tell you!īen - Your suggestion of cleaning the rollers is G-R-E-A-T ! Works like a charm. Thank you to all who have/are participating in this topic - it's been so helpful to me. I'll tell anyone I can that has this problem just how simple it is to fix. I was very much on my own with this, I thought - but not so. On enquiry, Epson techs simply asked 'Are you using Epson paper?' - and when the answer was 'no', they immediately backed off from being helpful. I've now followed your advice, used a plastic ruler with a very clean fine linen handkerchief held on it, lightly dampened with alcohol, against the friction wheel as I operated the feed mechanism - I did that three times - and the printer now works 100%, with not a single sheet failing to feed in. I could make it work by manually 'helping' the paper in (using 250gsm non-genuine matte photo paper), and even risked holding very fine sandpaper (YES!) as the printer tried to feed (to clean the coating from the paper off the friction wheel) - but to no real avail. I've had a massive problem of paper not feeding into an Epson R390 Photo Stylus printer. thus there is a bit of an understanding of electronic control of mechanisms. and have been involved a bit in automation (robotics) of test equipment. My background is Aeronautical Engineering. PERHAPS USING A STICK WOULD BE A BETTER CHOICE. BE CAREFUL THAT THE FEED DOES NOT PULL THE CLOTH INTO THE ROLLERS. and a second or more later the printer went through a feed cycle. and pushed the paper feed button on the printer (top right button). then carefully holding the wet cloth to the rubber wheel. I wet the end of the cloth with rubbing alcohol wrapped at the end of my finger. I then decided to clean that wheel with rubbing alcohol and a dishcloth. throwing the timing of the whole process off. there is a rubber covered friction wheel which is meant to pull the top sheet through. then using a flashlight and watching the feed mechanism at the bottom, right side of the paper. I called Epson's tech support, and talked with the fellow for about 90 minutes trying all his ideas (which did not work). I would try to guide the paper and slightly push on the top during the feed process, but then it would take the paper, and push it right on through the printer without printing. I would try a single sheet, and had the same problem. and it would not correctly feed the paper into the printer. I was using the Epson 13" x 19" Ultra Premium Presentation Paper (formely Enhanced Matte).

#Epson stylus photo r1800 refurbished

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furia-lepida · 2 years

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ARGH

I'm not sure if I want to scream or cry or both

I bought a new laptop for various reasons

The old one is almost 5 years old and can be slow as all fuck

Some of the keys don't work consistently (sometimes they don't work at all, sometimes you have to press really hard or repeatedly, sometimes they are fine. But also of course these are keys that I need to type my name)

The track pad suddenly stopped working (and even when I tried fixing it nothing changed)

I can make this one my desktop computer as long as it still functions

So I buy a new laptop, that is 2-in-1 so I can also fold it flat because versatility is nice, especially while in grad school and having a lot of readings

Well I get it all set up and then for a while, after it has been activated and set up for not even 6 hours at this point, it wouldn't function unless it was plugged in - immediately shutting off as soon as it was unplugged

I've had that issue with 2 previous laptops (including the 5 year old one I still have)

Which means the battery is messed up

Well I find something online that tells me how to fix that issue. It works! Thank goodness!

....except now it won't charge past 60%

Which is weird and fucked up it was only unboxed and activated the day before. But I don't trust uninstalling and reinstalling the drivers (see trackpad mention above)

So I take it into big blue and yellow store the next day (today) - after confirming that the battery not charging is still an issue - that I ordered it from... And they tell me that it sounds like the battery is definitely bad (no shit)

So before I 100% know what's happening they have taken the laptop and refunded the price of the laptop to me... but I still need a new laptop

Now I have to wait like 2 days for the refund to fully process before they will help me order a new one (which doesn't entirely make sense to me) because I do want that model thank you very much - it was very nice while I had it, other than the obvious issues (and the fact that I ordered a stylus to go with it and so I dont want that to be wasted either)

It needs to be ordered because they don't have it in store - which is why I had ordered it initially anyway

And so now I have to wait and mope and I'm just very frustrated

I just want a nice, new, fast, & functional laptop please and thank you - it really shouldn’t be that hard

#personal #rant #c & the perpetual technology issues #i have never had my tech juju work that fast #but also frustrated with The Store and the way that convo went down #you can ignore this #i just needed to yell about it

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alexisnoir · 2 years

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The House of Marley Stir it Up turntable arrived and...

,,, I got a nasty surprise. Not only the Audio-Technica AT 3600 L stylus was missing

but the power adapter, mainly the European version plug (the socket pin)

arrived bend and I have no ways of checking if the turntable even works!

Right now I’m waiting for the answer from the shop that I bought this from.

I can deal with the loss of the Audio Technica Stylus - it’s very cheap, easy to get so no big deal, however the power adapter - it’s hard to get a specific one for a specific turntable without the worries it’s going to cause more damage than help. The exact same one from The House of Marley is not so easy accessible in my country, the one I have found is available from The House of Marley Australian shop! You can imagine the fees I’d need to pay just to get that! So I hope the shop that sold me this turntable will at the very least have a spare one compatible with this turntable.

Fingers crossed!

#turntable #vinyl #music #setback

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lordoftherazzles · 2 years

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A request from @i-did-not-mean-to centered around our favorite soft dwarf, Ori!! I’ve placed this little one shot in the AU-verse of “Bookbinder//Songwriter”, as we’ve not met him yet in that fic, and I’m excited for the day he does make his appearance!!

I hope you enjoy this little one shot, my friend! And thank you so much for your love and support ALWAYS.

Peace and quiet was a hard thing to come by within this house. So when those few moments of silence truly hit, Ori knew he had to make the most of it. If it wasn’t Dori’s fussing over the usual–how the house looked, what Nori was up to, if Ori was focusing on his life goals, etc–then it was Nori’s constant shenanigans. Both of Ori’s brothers were loving, just as they cared for one another, but they were like night and day most times, and that could make for a very loud environment.

Especially when they were already loud to begin with!

Ori was typically stuck in the middle or sitting on the sidelines whenever those loud discussions happened, or whenever there was chaos of another sort unfolding, but nine times out of ten he wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, if he could just get Dori to stop smushing his cheeks as if he were five again, that would be lovely!

Silence. It was perfect for concentration. Ori had been working on setting up a proper portfolio with his drawings and design work that often were made into all sorts of different crafts. There were crochet and knitting patterns, but where his talent truly shined was with a pen. A beautiful pristine white stylus that grazed its way across a digital drawing pad with ease, guided by Ori’s steady hand and bright imagination.

Art was Ori’s niche in many forms. Weaving, drawing, and even a little bit of poetry on occasion, but where it truly mattered were the lines. That’s where this portfolio was coming into play. To compile a collection of drawings and new examples that might one day launch him into the big working world of animation and design. For now, Ori would just have to suffer working at the local tailor shop with Dori and using this quiet time to work on one of many side projects.

Or that was the hope until it all shattered with a yell that Ori should have been expecting.

“Little brother!”

The grimace that crawled across Ori’s face was inevitable as his head ducked some, clutching his tablet close to his chest and whining something fierce to himself. Again, he loved his brothers, but his brothers loved him just a little too much to leave him alone.

“Of course I’d find you holed up in your cave,” Nori’s overly cheery voice rang out as the door flew open. An auburn-haired storm was rolling through the house, sporting a wild grin and even wilder ideas, as always.

“Hi Nori,” Ori greeted with a voice that oozed patience, even if he didn’t feel it on most days.

“Working on something important, I wager? Or something perhaps naughty? Is that why you’re clutching your tablet so close to your chest?” One brow arched, Ori blushed, and Nori considered that a mission accomplished.

“No! Nothing like that, why do you always assume–” Ori bit the inside of his cheek, head still ducked and face aflame. “You’re teasing me…and I should know better.” Uncurling from himself and pulling the tablet away from his chest rather gingerly, Ori showed off his current project. A landscape piece with many colorful flowers of different shades and shapes.

“Oh, that is really nice.” A genuine response.

“Thank you. I’m trying to put together my portfolio, any exposure–and before you say it, not indecent exposure–is good.” Setting the tablet down and frantically moving a few papers from his desk before Nori’s ass decided to land on them, the younger brother of the household couldn’t help but huff a bit at the sudden seat occupied on his desk.

“I have some decent exposure work for you if you’re interested! It’s time to break out the ol’ needle and ink again–”

“For the last time, I am not signing your name or your initials on Dwalin’s…backside.”

“No, no, not that, though one day. But, a new fella is easing his way into the little Desolation group. Thorin’s found himself a new man.” Nori’s brows waggled with mischief, a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye as he gently kicked his legs and looked far too amused than he should have with someone else’s love life.

“I’m not signing his name either,” Ori teased, knowing full well that Thorin was far more reasonable with things like tattoos. Though maybe not piercings from what Ori had heard over the years. “What’s he like?”

“Short, but he’s assertive and feisty beneath that little sweater vest of his. Perfect for ol’ Thorin and a far cry from the string bean he was with before.” Which was good news, indeed, and the sentiment was shared between the two of them with a small nod. “He was asking us to recommend a guy to do some ink, and of course, I have to promote my little brother.”

“I’m not an actual tattoo artist…you got me the tools and told me to have at it…”

“You’re the only one I know with a steady hand and can do great lines. I mean, look at your landscape there! Anyway, I don’t know, maybe you could work out a deal with him? He and his mother own the new bookshop on the corner of Main, perhaps there’d be a place to display some of your pieces? Or promotional work, advertising, whatever it is you want to call it.”

It didn’t sound like a bad idea. As Ori had said, any exposure was good, and to have people outside of the web see his designs and get a taste for them, put a small fire in his chest as he glanced down towards the landscape he had been sketching.

Worrying his lower lip with his teeth for a moment, Ori finally then lifted his gaze and seemed to mirror a bit of Nori’s confidence in his expression. “That’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time, so long as he’s not wanting something…crazy complicated that he’ll have to suffer with for the rest of his life, I mean.” Ori was an artistic sort, but even his creative style knew no bounds. You couldn’t exactly erase the lines of a tattoo as you could a digital one.

“I doubt he’ll go for anything too crazy. Doesn’t seem like the type, but, I’m glad you’re on board. I never fail when I say ‘I know a guy’, though in this case, I know the best guy.” Nori reached over to ruffle at Ori’s hair, which earned a small lean away in defiance before the older of the two was on his feet. “Say, once this is all done and over with, now that we have Thorin settled on his happily ever after, I’d say you’re next!”

“What? No, no that’s okay…I can manage that myself…” Ori sputtered a bit, unwilling to look Nori in the eyes so that the more sly figure could catch him within a lie. “I’m far too busy right now to worry about that anyway.” Though Ori would not be mentioning the cute barista he had spotted during one of his many frappe runs. What was her name again…? Mari? A pretty thing with dark hair like the earth, and a smile that shined like the sun.

“Ori?”

“I’m here!”

“Are you sure? It looked like you were on your way to outer space with that thoughtful look on your face. Is there something you’re not telling me?” Something in Nori’s tone was suspicious, but far be it from him to needle any further…for the moment.

“No, I’m fine. Just…thinking about landscapes, which I really need to finish if I’m going to have this portfolio put together sometime this year at this rate…”

“Alright, if you say so, but remember, you can tell me anything that’s on your mind. Even your deepest darkest secret.” Nori was well aware that something was amiss, and his words and voice hinted at such, but considering it was Ori, it likely had to be pretty mild–whatever it was. “And if you need help out of any trouble…I know a guy.”

“As always.”

“Nori! What on earth is this THING in the front yard?” Dori’s voice barked from the floor level below.

“It’s called artwork! Use your eyes!”

“It’s bright and plastic and doesn’t match my peonies! It’s not ARTWORK. Where did you even get it? Are you stealing from the neighbors again?”

“For your information it’s Dwalin’s!” Well, more like Dwalin’s neighbor’s.

Ori sighed. Just another day at home and another quiet moment come and gone–and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though now that he was thinking about it…that coffee shop was pretty quiet…and had quite the inspirational view.

#the hobbit #ori #nori #dori #modern!au #i-did-not-mean-to #fic: bookbinder//songwriter #It was so fun playing with characters outside of thorin and bilbo!!#though of course they were mentioned slightly ehuehuehue #razzywrites #razquests #ori's an artist jack-of-all-trades type and i love him #one day i'll compile a proper Extras series for bb//sw

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meruz · 3 years

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once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous)

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL.

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close.

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

#ask #trying this new thing where i tag people in the body of the post instead

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