#except thrasher. thrasher is a white boy. look at him.

[pjthetoonaddict]

Every Robot in CN City is too cheap to hire a babysitter, I guess. 😂

Poor Larry.

#digital illustration #artists on tumblr #fanart #character design #robot jones fanart #robot jones #whtrj #time squad #larry 3000 #robotboy #cartoon network #cn city #tawog bobert #the amazing world of gumball #robotomy #robotomy thrasher #robotboy is blasian fyi #honestly none of these bots are white #except thrasher. thrasher is a white boy. look at him. #gijinka

[moonssugar]

🔎 bet you weren't expecting me to say kaid (also chelsie)

KAID

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE because Kaid is my favorite boy lets goooooo!

When you think about Kaid you have to imagine golden. And also soft. Kaid is about your average sized coyote, he looks bigger next to Sam than he does other people but in reality he's not that large at all! Just small enough for Sam to carry with a little effort but also big enough to drag Sam out of bed. Most of Kaid has sandy gold or tan and rust colored reddish brown fur, his markings are from medium to dark brown and cream white along his back and except for the base and tip of his tail which are darker brown and then coal black. His ears are big ol' reddish brown isosceles triangles and they have soft, white lining inner lining. He's not the least bit straggly, in fact he likes being just a little fluffy and somewhat chonky looking all the time even though the climate would say otherwise. He has a round black nose and short pale whiskers. Kaid also has a cream chest and a cream colored soft underbelly. His face is less narrow than most coyotes, still kind of narrow but also friendly and inviting (friend shaped); he has round-ish eyes that become narrower at the sides. They almost close when he smiles and when he smiles he lolls out his tongue. He has long legs but his fluffiness makes them look shorter, his paws are the right size to fit in Sam's hands and have black nails.

Photo reference! His fur is close to this level of being varied but where this coyote has more dark/black undertones imagine rich golden and tan undertones instead with fewer dark brown hairs. The rust brown on the forelegs and hind legs is a really accurate color though and so is the tip of this boy's tail although Kaid's is more full.

But so is the color in this coyote (the gold and tan coloring, left) is really true to Kaid also! The only difference is that Kaid's gold fur is a shade or two darker. He also completely lacks grey fur.

Lastly, Kaid is mostly shaped like this boy right here (right)! Chonk, somft, round. Its so Sam can use him as a pillow, other times he's less fluffy and more slender.

Fun fact! Kaid has the exact same eye color as Sam, they're both dark brown, I remember describing it somewhere as taking in and consuming light. Second fun fact! There's a mark on his back that is mostly white and brown that makes a crescent moon shape around his shoulders that points forward.

CHELSIE

Alright so my girl Chelsie! I think her appearance is so cool, honestly. Chelsie is South Asian, her mom is white, her dad is Indian and she is transfem. She has dark brown chin length loose hair, slightly wavy, not completely straight and the ends always have some sort of highlights because it pisses her mom off and she loves it (go her!). For the current times, they're dyed lilac purple. She has a light brown/warm beige complexion, sometimes she tans and sometimes she ends up with sunburn if she's not careful, it's a toss up. She has moles instead of freckles, not that many of them, just dotting her face, ears, arms and shoulders. Her face is more narrow, she has an aquiline nose, light brown eyes and small little moles beneath them. Chelse is on the skinnier side, she has sort of lanky limbs. Chelsie is taller than Sam and she will never let him forget it, he's her elbow rest first and friend second (kidding but she does love to lean on him a lot because he's softer than the wall).

This isn't physical but she radiates Fun and Adventurous energy with her appearance.

Chells likes to experiment with her appearance a lot, its really her finding a balance between things that feel nice to wear and make her feel happy but also clothes that express her interests. She wears graphic tees all the time, a lot of them are thrifted or handed down from friends. She tends to dabble in a lot of chaotic fashion choices making her pretty hard to pin down but these mostly include: merchandise, shirts with slogans that don't make sense and have mildly threatening auras (she might have a shirt that says 'bepis' on it too) jorts, pleated skirts, patches on jean vests and jackets, the occasional pony bead bracelet, ankle bracelets, thrasher sweatshirts and oversized hoodies. Accessories she likes to wear often are little UFO and mothman earrings, the two gold bangle bracelets her paternal grandmother gave her (both different colors but I haven't decided which) and her pink feather boa necklace she wears around the house whenever she's feeling bad. It helps cheer her up!

I don't have official faceclaims for my characters because its incredibly hard to find people that look like them so while I don't have a face claim for Chelsie or the others I do have approximations! This woman's face reminds me a lot of Chelsie's, mostly her nose and smile. And the radiance is accurate to to be honest LOOK AT THIS GAZE UPON IT

She's listening to Lifetime Achievement Award here for sure lmao

#roadtrip by azzy #chelsie by azzy #kaid by azzy #pia thank you so much for sending this ask now i have an excuse to yell about my characters #also if theres grammar errors here #its bc its 4 am for me whoops #chelsie lemon demon enjoyer canon #chelsie (roadtrip!) #kaid (roadtrip!)

[hangingfire]

A capital story

I got to perusing The Nautical Magazine and Naval Chronicle for 1845 last night, and discovered that it includes a 50-ish page article called The African Guano Trade: Being an account of the trade in Guano from Ichabo, and other places on the African Coast, more particularly, the Proceedings of the Committee of Management, by an anonymous member of that committee. Some cursory searching hasn’t yielded up any clues as to the identity of the anonymous member, and if anyone has any leads on that, I’d love to hear it.

Anyhow, Ichabo (or Ichaboe) is, of course, “Birdshit Island”, famous amongst Terror fans for Fitzjames’s “whole saga of policing that massive guano deposit off Namibia”. I haven’t yet strapped in to read the whole article, but so far I’ve seen that our boy does get a mention on p. 628:

As the time of the Clio’s stay at Ichabo was limited, the most urgent cases only were brought under Commander Fitzjames’ notice; he attended the committee meetings while he remained, and by his attention to the cases brought before him, and his evident desire to do all he could for the general interests concerned, made himself respected and esteemed by all who met him. The meetings of committe, now consisting of fourteen members, were held twice a week, minutes of proceedings were regularly kept, written complaints alone received, and business conducted in a manner suitable to the constantly increasing number of vessels present. After remaining four days the Clio left for England.

And then … there’s a poem at the very end (p. 664). By another anonymous author:

The following lines were written by a talented friend of ours at the Cape of Good Hope, at a time when the whole conversation in every society centered in Guano.

A scholar with better resources than mine might be able to get to the bottom of this, but given what we know about Fitzjames’s tendencies toward poetry … Look, you have no idea how badly I want for him to have written this. Anyway, regardless of authorship, I present this for general amusement.

A thousand fine vessels are ploughing the main, With their white sails all spread till their lofty spars strain; But what are they seeking, and where are they gone? Attend to my lay, and I’ll tell you anon.

There’s an island that lies on West Africa’s shore, Where penguins have lived since the flood or before, And raised up a hill there, a mile high or more. This hill is all guano, and lately ‘tis shown, That finer potatoes and turnips are grown By means of this compost, than ever were known; And the peach and the nectarine, the apple, the pear, Attain such a size, that the gardeners stare, And cry, “Well I never saw fruit like that 'ere !” One cabbage thus reared, as a paper maintains, Weighed twenty-one stone, thirteen pounds and six grains, So no wonder Guano celebrity gains.

If business cause you to walk down the street, A group of old fogies you’re certain to meet, Rigged in chokers, frock-coats, and boots, all complete ; Except that the latter are large for the feet, But that is apart from the subject I treat: Their broad shouldered figures, their weather-bronzed features, Convince you at once, that they’re sea-faring creatures. One pulls out a snuff-box and hands it about, While each one in turn puts it up to his snout, But none of the party will take a pinch out: You’re puzzled till some one says, “here’s an example Of Malagas Guano, it’s not a bad sample.”

You speak a strange sail, ask her where she is bound? She answers, “wherever guano is found.”

At dinner some gentlemen helping a dish Says “a little guano, Sir ?—beg pardon—fish?” And so the word’s dinned in your ears, till you wish, Those foreseeing penguins had never laid by, (Without speaking before) such a precious supply.

The island of Ichabo’s besomed all o'er, As clean as e'er thrasher swept granary floor: Not Hercules twit as Augeas’s groom, E'er used with such rigour his scavenger broom. It’s now nothing more than a desolate rock, And, sad to relate, such a terrible shock Have the seals and the penguins to each finer feeling Received, from,\ what they call scandalous dealing, Their infants all strangled regardless of squealing, That, to law and to gratitude vainly appealing, In rage they’ve abandoned the home of their sires, Protesting, henceforth 'till the whole tribe expires, This coveted treasure they’ll cast in the deep. Each parent enjoins on his children to keep The oaths they have sworn? Skippers listen and weep!

On Ichabo’s surges deep wailings were heard, The childless, the widow, the fatherless bird, Departing in pitiful dirges concurred: From Malaga’s shores, too, a shriek rode the wind, From bleak Paternoster another combined; From I.O. Smith’s islands a voice rent the air, Prophetic that they in disasters would share, Notwithstanding the good Capt. B–n had been there, And done what he could do to ward off their fate; His gen'rous exertions were rather too late, His arguments lost on the merciless fate Of one, who had bade them their doom to await.

One evening it chanced, as I strolled by the shore, This saddest of ditties the cool night breeze bore, Distinct o'er the surf with its gruff sullen roar;—

The Penguin’s Lament. Tormented for aye be the pitiless breast That drove me afar from my home! A desolate bird o'er the broad billow’s crest, In search of a country to roam.

Fiends, ever torture the cold ruthless heart That robbed my warm nest of its young! And made a poor heart-broken penguin depart From the land whence his forefathers sprung.

May conscience’s thorns on his death-bed be strewn, His friends in adversity flee, Was Martin’s act made for the jack-ass alone Extend not its mercies to me?

Then in Albion! no longer the land of the just, The penguin’s lament shall be heard, And those miserly wretches lie low in the dust, Who spared not a poor ocean bird.

Source: The Nautical Magazine And Naval Chronicle: a Journal of Papers On Subjects Connected With Maritime Affairs. London: Simpkin, Marshall, and Co., 1845. pp. 617-666

#nautical and fascinating #bad poetry #james fitzjames #maybe? #the terror amc adjacent

[marjorie189]

Chapter 3

Y/N POV:

I woke up to the sensation of water. It was all over my sheets and body.

I screeched in disbelief.

I saw Froy, Emilio, Ivan, and Mason wetting me with water guns.

I hid under my blankets and screeched for them to stop, and of course they had a camera.

I soon felt the water stop.

"Ahh man! The guns don't have no more water. " Froy said disappointedly while sadly looking down at the gun.

I took the chance and attacked him.

I pushed him down to the floor and got on top of him. I got a water bottle near me and wet his face. His hair and face were soaked.

He gasped in shock.

"Didn't Shawn teach you to have mercy on people??" Froy said smirking.

"Oh get out!!" You laughed pointing at the door.

Ivan laughed, "Well I think one of us is going to make breakfast. If you'd like some?"

"Yeah for sure. I'm gonna shower first. So see you in a few." I said.

"See you downstairs, Mas." I said blowing a kiss at him.

He giggled and they all left.

I got the wet clothes off of me and headed for the shower.

I showered quickly to head to breakfast.

Once I got off the shower I put a towel over my body and headed to the closet.

I put some comfortable clothes on, because I didn't know what the plans for today were.

I went down stairs and saw Jazzy cooking up some waffles for everyone.

"Morning guys!" I said overly excited.

"Morning!" They replied.

I sat next to Mason and saw him eating waffles with syrup.

"Did you like sleeping over??" I asked him.

He nodded vigorously. I chucked.

I got the Nutella and fresh strawberries, to add onto the waffles.

"That's looks really good." Tessa said sitting next to me.

"You want some??" I asked.

"Just a bite." Tessa said.

I grabbed the waffle a led it to her mouth, she took a bite.

"Aww you guys look like a happy couple!!" Bethany said.

Everyone laughed.

"It's actually really good!!" Tessa said.

I nodded, "I know."

"So what are the plans for today??" Emilio asked.

"I don't know. What do y'all wanna do??" I said.

"CAN WE PLAY HIDE AND GO SEEK?" Mason said excitedly.

"That actually sounds like fun!" Jazzy said.

"Yes! We can even make a video out of it?!" Ivan said.

"That's perfect! We can have fun and make a video at the same time!" Bethany said.

"Who's it?" Mason said.

"NOT IT!!" We all yelled, the last one who yelled was Emilio.

"Aww man! I'm it!" Emilio said disappointedly.

We all laughed and all grabbed gopros to record ourselves.

"Count for 100 seconds!" Froy yelled and ran off.

3rd Person POV

They all ran recording themselves, showing their hiding spots.

Y/N ran off to the library and hid in between the isles of book shelves. She got a blanket from a chair and began reading Harry Potter.

Mason ran to the gaming room and hid behind a huge game. His small body his perfectly behind the huge gaming device.

Froy hid in Y/N's Range Rover. The windows were tinted, it would be difficult to find him.

Ivan hid behind the huge water slides outdoor. The slides were higher that 60 ft, it was great spot to hide behind.

Bethany hid in the recording studio. She hid in the soundproof room, which was perfect if she made a sound.

Tessa hid in the elevator, no one would think that someone would hide in a elevator.

Jazzy hid in the Bowling Alley. She hid inside the couches. She was petite, she could fit anywhere!

Emilio started looking around the kitchen since that's where everyone was before they started playing hide and go seek.

He looked under the little room under the staircase. He found no one.

"So far I have no luck guys!" Emilio said walking around the first floor.

He went into a few other rooms and gave up on the first floor. He went onto the elevator and found Tessa!

"Nooo! You weren't supposed to go on the elevator!!" Tessa said laughing.

"You're the first one I found! So you'll have a punishment!" Emilio said evilly.

"What?? I did not approve of this!" Tessa said.

"Too bad! No you have to help me find the others." Emilio said.

"The huts! The ones next to the pool!" Tessa said excitedly.

"Good idea! That's a good hiding spot!" Emilio said and they both headed outside.

They looked inside the huts and no one was there. They walked around the backyard, where the huge slides were.

They heard some noise, they quietly followed it and found Ivan.

They walked around and soon started finding each of the members slowly.

The last few members they haven't found was Jazzy and Froy.

"I can't believe you were reading Harry Potter while you were hiding." Tessa said shaking her head.

"Don't judge me! It's a good book! I have to finish them all so I can have a Harry Potter movie marathon!!" Y/N said flinging her arms about over her head.

"Yeah no! It's not a good book." The boys said jokingly to y/n.

"Where can they be?" Emilio said, since he was it.

"Have you checked the garage?" Ivan asked.

"Actually, no! Let's go!" Emilio said running to the garage.

In the garage they opened up all the vehicles and found Froy in Y/N's Range Rover.

"Wait?! Did I win??" Froy said happily.

"Nope! We still have to find Jazzy!" Bethany said.

"What!!" Froy said disappointedly.

We all laughed and continued looking for her.

"What haven't you checked?" Y/N asked.

"The Merch room, bowling alley, movie room, sauna." Emilio listed.

"Well the bowling alley is the closest. Let's check there." Tessa suggested.

They all agreed and checked the bowling alley. It was empty. They looked around and they didn't find Jazzy.

"Let's check the Movie theatre." Emilio said giving up.

They all nodded and started walking out.

Tessa being the clumsiest from the group, fell onto the couch in the bowling alley. Creating a huge noisey impact, causing two screams.

One was Tessa's and the other was unknown. It came from the inside of the couches.

Everyone was confused from the unknown scream. They reluctantly checked the inside of the couch and found Jazzy.

"Omg! What was that??" Jazzy said petrified.

"I accidentally fell onto the couch." Tessa said laughing.

"Now you have to get blindfolded and get your punishment." Emilio said evilly.

Tessa got blindfolded, and her best friends were going to make her walk into the pool.

"Ok just walk a little more forward!" Emilio said, holding back his laughs.

"O-oh ok...You sure??" Tessa said nervously.

"Oh yeah!! For sure!!" Emilio said.

Tessa stepped into the pool and she screeched.

"AHHHHHHHHH!!" She yelled and the water cut her off.

They all laughed except for Tessa.

She got out of the pool and ran into her room to shower.

They all laughed and went inside to wrap up the video.

Y/N's POV

Once we all wrapped up the Hide and Go seek video we started to make plans for the day.

"Heyy!! We should go to Skyscraper that has the glass slide. It's in Downtown L.A." Bethany suggested excitedly.

"That sounds like fun!" Mason said.

"Yeah it's a glass slide that comes out of the skyscraper and you go through it and you can see the view of L.A. It's a 1000 feet up" Bethany rambled.

"Wait lemme see a pic!" Jazzy asked.

" Yeah! Hold up." Bethany said.

"That's looks like so much fun!!" I said.

"Do you wanna go Mas?" Froy asked Mason.

Mason nodded vigorously.

I chucked.

"Alright let me go change Mason." I said taking his hand.

"Alright I'll let Tessa know where we're going." Jazzy said.

I nodded and Mason and I went to my room.

"I can't wait to go on the slide!!" Mason said jumping up and down while I looked for his outfit.

I giggled, "Alright! But don't get scared!"

I changed Mason into his outfit.

"Y/N!! You should wear your blue adidas pants too! So we can match!!!" Mason said cutely.

"Oh my god! That's a good idea Mas!" I said kissing his cheek before getting my outfit ready.

I wore a cropped white thrasher shirt, black fishnet tights under blue adidas sweats.

Makeup:

Hair:

"Alright let's go Mas." I said and we went downstairs while everyone was waiting for us.

"Wow finally the guys are ready on time" I said laughing.

The girls laughed and the guys faked laughed.

We all got onto the SUV, blasted some music and started vlogging.

Once we got to the building we got in and went to the floor in which the slide took place.

"Omg I'm so excited yet nervous!!" Tessa said.

"Omg me too!! Take a picture of me for Instagram when I'm on the slide!" I said to Tessa.

"Omg yes! You definitely have to take of picture of me too!" Tessa said excitedly.

We giggled.

Ivan was going first.

"Oh god I'm nervous." Ivan said.

"Just don't look down. You know just 1,000 feet up in the air! No worries...." Emilio said.

We all laughed and he slid down.

It was then Froy's turn and then Emilio.

After Emilio slid down the slide, it was Mason's turn to slide down.

"Are you scared Mas?" I asked him.

"A little. But it looks like fun!" Mason said.

"Alright! You ready Baby?" I asked.

He nodded and slid down the slide.

"Go Mason!!" We and rooted for him.

He looked back at us and giggled.

The guys took him once he met the bottom of the slide.

"Alright I'll go down next." Jazzy said fiercely.

"Alright girl! You got this!" Bethany said.

Jazzy slid down and so did Bethany.

"Oh my god I'm so nervous." Tessa said.

I decided to mess with her.

I was going to pretend to push her into the slide.

I pretended to push her in and she screamed.

"Y/N!! I'm gonna kill you!" Tessa yelled.

You laughed and she giggled.

Tessa slid and I took her picture.

I then sat on the glass slide. It looked beautiful but I was 1000 feet up in the air, so if you look down it feels like you're going to fall down.

I slid down and Tessa snapped my picture.

I showed Tessa the picture I took of her!

Then Tessa showed me the picture she took of me.

"Omg! I love it! Thank you Tess!" I said and hugged her.

"How was it Mas??" I asked him kneeling down at him.

"It was really scary!! But it was fun!" He said happily.

"I'm happy you had fun!" I said kissing his forehead, standing up.

"Do you want some ice cream, Mas?" Emilio asked him.

Mason nodded his head.

"Yaaa! I want ice cream!" Mason said.

We all laughed and went across the street to get ice cream.

At the ice cream shop, everyone ordered their ice cream.

We all went outside and walked around Downtown L.A.

Paparazzis snapped pictures of us eating our ice cream. We walked around looking at the beauty of Downtown L.A.

Once it started getting dark we went back to the SUV. It can be dangerous once it's dark, we would've stayed but we had Mason.

We didn't want anything bad happening.

On the drive home, Mason fell asleep.

"He's passed out!" Froy whispered.

"Yeah! I think he had a lot of fun!" Jazzy said.

I laughed, "He did!"

I felt my phone vibrating, it was Dylan.

"Hey what's up, Dyl pickle" I said giggling at his nickname.

"Nothing much sis, we just wanted to come over to pick Mason up." Dylan said.

"Alright. Well right now we're in Downtown L.A. So just go inside the house. We're on our way!" I said.

"Alright Garrett and I will be waiting inside! Love you! " Dylan said.

"Alright see you there! Love you too!" I said ending the call.

-

Once we got home, we all got off the SUV.

Ivan carried Mason, taking him into the house.

He laid him down on the living room couches.

We saw Garrett and Dylan in the house.

I hugged them, and they of course messed up my hair.

I rolled my eyes and fixed my ponytail.

"Mason's sleeping." I told them.

"Maybe we can stay a while. So he can rest for a bit. He'll probably wake up when we take him to the car." Garrett said and Dylan nodded.

"We could go into the kitchen. So we could be close to Mason, in case he wakes up?" I suggested and we headed to the kitchen.

I sat on the counter and the twins stood up against the counter.

"So what's up sis?" Garrett asked.

"Nothing much. What about you guys?" I asked them.

"Nothing really. You know the normal." Dylan replied.

I nodded.

"So do you have any plans tomorrow?" Garrett asked.

"I don't think so? Probably just hang out with the others." I guessed.

"Well since we haven't had a older sibling hangout. We were thinking that maybe we could hang out tomorrow. The three of us!" Dylan suggested.

"Yeah and Mason has a play date tomorrow! So it can just be the older siblings. Like the good old days!" Garrett said.

I hopped out of the island and hugged them.

"Of course! That's sounds like so much fun! I've missed the three of us hanging around." I said into their chest.

Once we finished our conversation they had to go.

They carried Mason out to car.

I followed them and watched them buckle Mason.

"Alright baby sis, so brunch tomorrow at 11:30!" Dylan said he gets out and closes the back door. He then comes over to me and hugs me then kisses my forehead:

He let's go of me and does around the car to the drivers side getting in.

See you tomorrow SNOWFLAKES! Garrett says giving me a hug then getting in himself.

"Yeah! See you guys tomorrow!" I said blowing them a kiss.

"Alright! The cafe in Beverly Hills?" Garrett said.

"Alright guys I'll be there! Love you boys!" I said as they drove away.

I went inside and took a shower.

I then changed into some pajamas:

I sat on my bed and posted the picture on Instagram. The picture that Tessa took of me on the slide.

I then went to sleep.

-

Ok y'all are probably wondering when Shawn is going to make an appearance in the book. Obviously since he's why you guys are reading this book lol. He's going to make an appearance in the next few chapters to come! Bear with us guys! It'll be worth it. I promise. Thank you all for reading. ~Marjorie

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes x reader #Shawn Mendes Book #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn peter raul mendes #y/n #shawn mendes x y/n

[mystery-deer]

Commission (70′s Holt/Kevin)

  Raymond watched through half-lidded eyes as Kevin neatly pecked at his typewriter, mouth in a thin line of concentration, eyebrows furrowed. He was gorgeous, even more so due to his complete silence while typing.

 In his precinct he had to deal with so many people mouthing the words, mumbling along or just plain reciting whatever they were writing out loud. It was maddening in a way that was difficult to notice until you were somewhere silent. Such as your boyfriend’s apartment.

He was renting somewhere quiet but pulsing, where the sidewalk rumbled under their feet and you could see the silhouettes of people dancing from the windows. Raymond enjoyed his visits but couldn’t imagine living there. His own apartment was much quieter. “That’s because you live in a building largely inhabited by senior citizens.” Kevin had protested when Raymond brought it up, staring out the window and sipping coffee. He didn’t know how he did it but Kevin always made any coffee Raymond bought him taste good. 

“At least my building doesn’t reek of narcotics.” He’d countered. “It’s not a narcotic.” Kevin had replied, lifting Raymond’s head by the chin and kissing him. Smoke slowly billowed out from his lips as he smiled softly.

“It’s for medicinal purposes.” Raymond felt himself begin to get hard but resolutely hummed and went back to shadow watching. “Nonetheless, my point still stands.” The conversation had ended there as Kevin went back to his previously interrupted work and Raymond kept himself busy by reviewing cases, perusing Kevin’s literature collection (It sent a shock of warmth to his heart to see him incorporate his recommendations), and going on a brisk walk.

“Hey, you’re the professor’s man aren’tcha!” A woman called from her too-small balcony. Raymond squinted. She was topless and seemed in the process of necking with a male friend who looked annoyed by the interruption. He rocked on his heels, feeling around in his pockets for change. Kevin had asked him to buy bread from the store. He wanted to get him something to surprise him though he didn’t know how much there would be to impress Kevin Cozner at a corner store.

“I’m nobody’s man.” He settled on, turning away from the woman and continuing to walk. She laughed and began to half-sing half-moan “Right on, right on, right on…” And the rhythm stuck with him as he walked through the puddle ridden streets, listening to his shoes squeak as he opened the door to the store. 

He bought white bread and in a dusty corner saw a shelf of porcelain figurines. Some were far too...vibrant. Most were. All were, except for a small brown thrasher bird figurine that had been cruelly kept out of sight by a mug bizarrely shaped like a hamburger.

“Hey buddy.” The shopkeeper, who had been unsubtly following him around with shifty, anxious eyes piped up. “You buying something?” “Yes.” He said, making a split second decision to buy the little bird. “That’s why I’m in your store.”

_________

“Oh, Raymond it’s beautiful.” Kevin breathed, examining the bird on all sides. Raymond couldn’t help the proud grin that snaked its way across his face as he began toasting bread for dinner. “I believe it can be used to store coins as well but I trust you wouldn’t dream of tarnishing it like that.” “Your trust is not unfounded.”

“Good.” He paused. “A woman yelled at me from her balcony just now - well, fifteen minutes ago.” “Oh?” Kevin said, a protective glint in his eye.

“She asked if I was, and I quote. ‘The professor’s man’ end quote.” Recognition spread across Kevin’s face and he nodded. “Ah. Sandra. She’s a reporter at the New Yorker you know, we’re quite friendly.”

“I see. I didn’t know whether or not to confirm or deny so I gave a non-answer.” Kevin was quiet as he placed the bird delicately on one of the shelves in his kitchen. It was slightly crooked as they had tried to assemble it themselves and kept putting off fixing it. “Because of me?” He asked quietly. “Hm?” “Because I’m...I know I’ve been a bit more private about us than you’re used to-”

“Oh!” He interrupted, understanding now. “No, it’s- I didn’t want to put a target on either of our backs.”

He walked over to Kevin and kissed his cheek. “Contrary to what you might think I haven’t made a habit of telling strangers my sexuality or who I’m dating.” He looked Kevin up and down. “No matter how much I might like to.”

He’d meant it flirtatiously but Kevin grimaced, taking it as a jab. “Kevin-” 

“I’m going- I want to tell people, I do. It’s just...difficult.” He knew it was. He knew Kevin had grown up far away from city smog and laced cigarettes and free love girls who shouted shirtless from balconies. Kevin had told him in snippets. Over breakfast, over the phone. Mumbling through stories in the dark as their bodies intertwined, He’d grown up in the suburbs.

He’d grown up in country clubs and private schools, yearbook photos where all the girls’ hair was long and combed to shining and all the boys sneered instead of smiled for the camera. Kevin looked lost in those photos. His eyes were dull and his lips were pressed together, holding something back.

He’d grown up with “Be a man!” and Sissysissysissy trailing him wherever he went. He’d grown up with girlfriends and lush green grass and fair weather friends that told him it was okay, they knew he wasn’t gay, those assholes were just trying to get a rise out of you.

He knew perfectly well how difficult it was. How telling his parents he was gay might be the last thing he’d ever say to them.

He wanted in that moment to rush out the door holding Kevin’s hand, wanted to catch a cab or take the subway to his mother’s house and introduce them. Wanted his boyfriend to hear what Raymond heard all the time during the monthly phone calls with his mother,  “I love you. You’re always welcome here.”

Instead he kissed him.

Kevin made a startled noise, back against the countertop as Raymond blocked him in with arms on either side of him. They separated slightly, just enough to talk but not enough to need to open their eyes fully. Raymond watched a slightly blurry Kevin breathe and watch him back. “I believe a change of topic would be perti-” “Fuck me.”  Well, what kind of a monster would be he to deny him? Kevin’s bedroom was organized impeccably but simply too small to keep from feeling overcrowded. Bookshelf half blocking one window and framed newspaper articles or playbills lining the walls.

As they got into bed Raymond heard a crash and looked up, startled to find Kevin’s typewriter on the floor. “It’s fine.” His boyfriend insisted, pulling at Raymond’s shirt. “I’ll get a new one.”

“Why not a computer, Richard Rich Jr?” He teased, pulling Kevin into his lap and running a hand up his back which arched as he went along. Kevin rolled his eyes in feigned annoyance but Raymond knew he was amused. Could see it in the way his mouth twitched and feel it in the warmth that washed over him when their eyes met again. 

He leaned down for a kiss and Raymond obliged, letting Kevin run his fingers through his hair. “You need a haircut.” He observed. His hand had vanished up the palm in Raymond’s hair. The man in question shrugged.

“I never have time, when I get out of the work my barber’s closed.” He could see his boyfriend bite back a comment about working less, see him switch and soften. It was amazing. He’d never been able to read a partner like he was able to read Kevin. The man was fascinating.

“I’ll cut it for you.” He finally said and then, realizing he might sound bossy added,  “If you’d like.”

Raymond nodded, grinning in that cocksure way of his that made Kevin’s heart leap into his throat. He observed him, slowly allowing himself to smile back. No one made him smile like Ray. “I’d like that very much~” He purred, hand sliding lower and squeezing Kevin’s ass. Kevin arched an eyebrow and ohh that was...not fair.

“Rather presumptuous of you.” Kevin commented in a tone that would surely send chills down any potential future student’s spine. Though not for the same reason it sent one down Raymond’s.

“Well I only assumed based on past experiences.” He countered, watching the man in his lap unbutton and slip off his own shirt and immediately make quick work of Raymond’s. “Oh?”

“You’ve very adamantly voiced your approval in the past.” He elaborated, smile returning. Smooth now, confident and flirtatious as he pulled Kevin down, bending him by the hair until he could kiss his chest. It was warm and he could feel his heart beating. Fast, excited. “I know you’re not as delicate as you look, Professor.” At that Kevin unexpectedly broke Raymond’s grip on and shot up faster than the other man could register. It was only his police training that stopped him from screaming. And only his extreme trust in Kevin that stopped him from blocking or countering, instead easily willing himself to be still as he soon found himself pinned to the bed, wrists held down by his boyfriend’s hands.

“No.” Kevin agreed, peering down at him. His eyes were a piercing blue and stole his breath away as he felt his face heat up. He shifted his legs, heart pounding in his chest. “I’m not.” They kissed again and as they did Kevin unbuttoned Raymond’s bell bottoms.

 After a moment they separated and Kevin wore a devilish smile as he moved back, taking Raymond’s cock in his hand and beginning to stroke. Raymond huffed but didn’t moan as Kevin continued, hand warming. The sounds that filled the room became louder and louder and they were both torn between thinking them erotic or embarrassing.

Kevin evidently decided the latter, getting off of his boyfriend and rummaging in a bedside drawer with his clean hand. He ripped the wrapper with his teeth and after inspecting the condom thoroughly to make sure it was unbroken, applied it.

Raymond watched with bleary awe, blood obviously not rushing to his brain at the moment. He thought to himself that Kevin looked handsome, quick, sure of himself. Hot as hell. Kevin noticed him staring and returned his heated gaze with a smile before laying down and tucking a bit of hair behind his ears as he wrapped his lips around his boyfriend’s cock. The room grew warmer and warmer as different sounds began to fill the air. Raymond’s labored, shaky breathing. Kevin’s light moans. Wet noise and the occasional almost-cough or harsh exhale as he took too much at once. It was heavenly. rightonrightonrighton... He would later say about the experience, “It was in a way bizarre. That your brillant mouth was wrapped around me.”  And Kevin would reply that his mind was often occupied with thoughts of Raymond, why shouldn’t his mouth be? And they’d laugh softly. rightonrightonrighton…. But in the moment he could think of nothing coherent. Only half sentences and Kevin Kevin Kevin Kevin-

And then not even that.

Kevin deftly removed and disposed of the condom and went immediately into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Raymond knew he should get up. Shower. Clean. They’d need to change the sheets, surely. 

But he found himself falling half asleep instead as he listened to the sounds of Kevin opening cabinets and running water. It was...domestic. It felt right, like home. When Kevin returned Raymond greeted him with a tired “What, no post-coital cuddling?” and a smile.

Kevin looked at the bedsheets eagerly and then at his boyfriend’s nearly sleeping form. “Leave it until the morning.” The man in bed suggested, gesturing for Kevin to join him. He sighed but climbed in. “Yes, forgive me. I have a habit of brushing my teeth after I put anything in my mouth.” He shrugged, leaning down and replacing his typewriter on the nightstand. “My brother’s in medical school so that might have to do with it.” Raymond opened one eye, surprise clear on his face. “You brother?” “Oh. Yes, my younger brother. Martin.” Kevin fidgeted with the bed sheet, peering down at it as if it were telling him something entrancing. “He will like you.” He said resolutely, turning off the lamp. Raymond laid in the dark, feeling a sort of happy restlessness that he couldn’t describe in detail. Kevin had a brother. Kevin had told him about his brother and he would meet him one day. This was a far cry from; “Do your parents know?” “Please specify?” “About me.” “We...aren’t close.” “We’re dating!” “My parents and I aren’t close.” He knew nothing about them. Martin was studying to become a dentist. Martin would like him. Will like him.

It was hope, he realized. Hope for a future with this brilliant, wonderful, clever man that he loved. A future where they had a family, where they didn’t have to hide, where they could be exactly who they were and be loved unconditionally. As they loved each other.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, light flooded the room once again as Kevin sighed and began removing the sheets. 

“I’m sorry, but I really do have to change these sheets.” He said, almost to himself. And Raymond only smiled fondly in response as he moved to help him.

(I got explicit permission from the person who commissioned me to post this!)

#long text posts like this sometimes get words jumbled so let me know if the words are jumbled #writing commissions #my writing #b99 fic #fanfic #kevin cozner/raymond holt #it's hard writing characters in character but also younger and in a different time period #please consider commissioning me! thank you v_v #I have no fixed rates bc writing is very variable #Holt definitely thinks 70s Kevin is a bit of a bad boy rebel

[peacefulheartfarm]

Coyotes on the Homestead

Coyotes are a plague when you have sheep. Today’s podcast is going to be all about coyotes. Probably more than you ever wanted to know. Some things about coyotes might surprise you.

I want to take a minute and say welcome to all the new listeners and welcome back to the veteran homestead-loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast for every episode. I appreciate you all so much. I’m so excited to share with you what’s going on at the farm this week.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

So why is the topic today about coyotes? Well, we have had issues and I need to talk about it. I’ll try to keep it mostly factual and as upbeat as possible. In the end though, sometimes homestead life has tragic consequences.  

Sheep and Lambs

Over a span of about 3 or 4 days we lost more than half of our sheep. All six of our lambs, including my bottle baby, Susie Q are gone. Five adult ewes are also gone. We have 10 sheep left out of 21. Yeah, it’s a big loss. I’m still heartbroken about losing Susie Q. I still look for her. When I look out the window, momentarily I’m looking for her. Especially in the evening, when I go to create bottles for the twin calves, I briefly look for the very small bottle we use for lambs. Then I remember. She’s gone.

I was unusually attached to Susie Q. We’ve had bottle lambs lots of time. But I’ve never been so attached. Well, perhaps it’s that we have never lost one. And after they are grown and no longer need me for daily feedings, I naturally let go of them. Like Lambert. He’s still out there with the boys and he was a bottle baby. I just don’t think I would miss him the way that I miss Susie Q. And we’ve had others that ended up at freezer camp. I don’t know what’s different except that she was still so young dependent on us.

Cows and Calves

We moved all of the animals out of the back fields where the attacks were occurring. Scott brought out a couple of guys that hunted the male leader and we also used poison. That’s a really harsh method, but sometimes it is necessary.

The twin calves were also quite vulnerable to coyote attack. Scott moved them to a sheltered area. Virginia is also with them. We had to pull her out of the general herd because she was nursing on Cloud. If you remember, Cloud is already feeding two calves. Adding Virginia was definitely more than Cloud could support. You can likely guess that the ones who would suffer would be Princess and Winston. Virginia is about a year old and would definitely wipe out all the available milk and the younger two would be left hungry. So, Virginia is safely away from the other cows and hanging out with the twins.

Keeping the various calves out of one or another milk supply has really been a challenge this year. I don’t know if I mentioned that we briefly had all the calves and cows together. It’s much easier to maintain the pastures if there are only two groups of animals. The boys and the girls. However, having all the cow girls together immediately failed. Rosie came in for milking down a couple of quarts of milk. We suspected Princess as Rosie is her mom, after all. Now I’m wondering if it was actually Virginia and after she got a taste of milk she started looking around and found Cloud after Rosie was gone. Who knows? Rosie and Butter are in a field by themselves. The twin calves and Virginia are in the loafing space. And the rest of the crew which includes Violet, Claire, Buttercup, Cloud and her two calves, are out front. The boys, of course, are in yet another place. We have cows all over the place.  

Everyone is relatively safe at the moment. Let’s talk about coyotes. I didn’t want to know all of this and I’ve left out the most gruesome of details. But the gist of the story is here.

Coyotes

The coyote is a species of canine native to North America. It is smaller than its close relative, the wolf. It fills much of the same ecological niche as the golden jackal does in Europe and Asia. Though the coyote is larger and more predatory. Other historical names for this species include the prairie wolf and the brush wolf.

The coyote is listed as least concern by the International Union for Conservation of Nature, due to its wide distribution and abundance throughout North America. Coyote populations are also abundant southwards through Mexico and into Central America. Even now, it is enlarging its range by moving into urban areas in the eastern U.S. and Canada. The coyote was sighted in eastern Panama (across the Panama Canal from their home range) for the first time in 2013.

Coyote Subspecies

There are 19 recognized coyote subspecies. The average male weighs 18 to 44 lb and the average female 15 to 40 lb. Their fur color is predominantly light gray and red, sometimes interspersed with black and white. The colors vary somewhat with geography. Coyotes are highly flexible in their social organization. Sometimes living in a family unit and sometimes in loosely knit packs of unrelated individuals. Primarily carnivorous, its diet consists mainly of deer, rabbits, hares, rodents, birds, reptiles, amphibians, fish, and invertebrates, though it may also eat fruits and vegetables on occasion. Its characteristic vocalization is a howl made by solitary individuals. Humans are the coyote's greatest threat, followed by cougars and gray wolves. In spite of this, coyotes sometimes mate with gray, eastern, or red wolves, producing "coywolf" hybrids. Genetic studies show that most North American wolves contain some level of coyote DNA.

Coyote Folklore

The coyote is a prominent character in Native American folklore, usually depicted as a trickster that alternately assumes the form of an actual coyote or a man. After the European colonization of the Americas, it was seen in Anglo-American culture as a cowardly and untrustworthy animal. Unlike wolves, which have undergone an improvement of their public image, attitudes towards the coyote remain largely negative. I’m in the group with that attitude.

Hunting and Feeding

Two studies that experimentally investigated the role of olfactory, auditory, and visual cues found that visual cues are the most important ones for hunting in coyotes.

When hunting large prey, the coyote often works in pairs or small groups. Unlike the wolf, which attacks large prey from the rear, the coyote approaches from the front, lacerating its prey's head and throat. Although coyotes can live in large groups, small prey is typically caught singly. Coyotes have been observed to kill porcupines in pairs, using their paws to flip the rodents on their backs, then attacking the soft underbelly. Only old and experienced coyotes can successfully prey on porcupines, with many predation attempts by young coyotes resulting in them being injured by their prey's quills. Recent evidence demonstrates that at least some coyotes have become more nocturnal in hunting, presumably to avoid humans.

Coyotes may occasionally form mutualistic hunting relationships with American badgers, assisting each other in digging up rodent prey. The relationship between the two species may occasionally border on apparent "friendship", as some coyotes have been observed laying their heads on their badger companions or licking their faces without protest. The amicable interactions between coyotes and badgers were known to pre-Columbian civilizations, as shown on a Mexican jar dated to 1250–1300 depicting the relationship between the two.

Vocalizations

The coyote has been described as "the most vocal of all wild North American mammals". Its loudness and range of vocalizations was the cause for its binomial name Canis latrans, meaning "barking dog". At least 11 different vocalizations are known in adult coyotes. These sounds are divided into three categories: agonistic and alarm, greeting, and contact. The lone howl is the most iconic sound of the coyote and may serve the purpose of announcing the presence of a lone individual separated from its pack.

Habitat

Prior to the near extermination of wolves and cougars, the coyote was most numerous in grasslands inhabited by bison, pronghorn, elk, and other deer, doing particularly well in short-grass areas with prairie dogs, though it was just as much at home in semiarid areas with sagebrush and jackrabbits or in deserts inhabited by cactus, kangaroo rats, and rattlesnakes.

Coyotes walk around 3–10 miles per day, often along trails such as logging roads and paths; they may use iced-over rivers as travel routes in winter. They are often more active around evening and the beginning of the night than during the day. Like many canids, coyotes are competent swimmers, reported to be able to travel at least 0.5 miles across water.

Diet

The coyote is ecologically the North American equivalent of the Eurasian golden jackal. Likewise, the coyote is highly versatile in its choice of food, but is primarily carnivorous, with 90% of its diet consisting of meat. Prey species include bison (largely as carrion), white-tailed deer, mule deer, moose, elk, bighorn sheep, pronghorn, rabbits, hares, rodents, birds (especially young water birds and pigeons and doves), amphibians (except toads), lizards, snakes, turtles and tortoises, fish, crustaceans, and insects. More unusual prey include young black bear cubs and rattlesnakes. Coyotes kill rattlesnakes mostly for food but also to protect their pups at their dens. They will tease the snakes until they stretch out and then bite their heads and shake them. Birds taken by coyotes may range in size from thrashers, larks and sparrows to adult wild turkeys.

If working in packs or pairs, coyotes have access to larger prey than lone. In some cases, packs of coyotes have dispatched much larger prey such as adult deer, cow, elk, and sheep, although the young fawn, calves and lambs of these animals are most often taken. In some cases, coyotes can bring down prey weighing up to 220 to 440 lb or more. When it comes to adult animals such as deer, they often exploit them when vulnerable such as those that are infirm, stuck in snow or ice, otherwise winter-weakened or heavily pregnant. Less wary domestic animals are more easily exploited.

Although coyotes prefer fresh meat, they will scavenge when the opportunity presents itself. Excluding the insects, fruit, and grass eaten, the coyote requires an estimated 1.3 lb of food daily, 550 lb annually.

The coyote feeds on a variety of different produce, including blackberries, blueberries, peaches, pears, apples, prickly pears, persimmons, peanuts, watermelons, cantaloupes, and carrots. During the winter and early spring, the coyote eats large quantities of grass, such as green wheat blades.

Other interesting diet components

In coastal California, coyotes now consume a higher percentage of marine-based food than their ancestors, which is thought to be due to the extirpation of the grizzly bear from this region. In Death Valley, coyotes may consume great quantities of hawkmoth caterpillars or beetles in the spring flowering months.

Livestock and Pet Predation Statistics

As of 2007, coyotes were the most abundant livestock predators in western North America, causing the majority of sheep, goat, and cattle losses. For example, according to the National Agricultural Statistics Service, coyotes were responsible for 60.5% of the 224,000 sheep deaths attributed to predation in 2004. The total number of sheep deaths in 2004 comprised 2.22% of the total sheep and lamb population in the United States, which, according to the National Agricultural Statistics Service USDA report, totaled 4.66 million and 7.80 million heads respectively as of July 1, 2005. Because coyote populations are typically many times greater and more widely distributed than those of wolves, coyotes cause more overall predation losses. United States government agents routinely shoot, poison, trap, and kill about 90,000 coyotes each year to protect livestock. An Idaho census taken in 2005 showed that individual coyotes were 5% as likely to attack livestock as individual wolves. In Utah, more than 11,000 coyotes were killed for bounties totaling over $500,000 in the fiscal year ending June 30, 2017.

Livestock Guardian Dogs

Livestock guardian dogs are commonly used to aggressively repel predators and have worked well in both fenced pasture and range operations. A 1986 survey of sheep producers in the USA found that 82% reported the use of dogs represented an economic asset.

Protect Yourself and Your Pets

Coyotes are often attracted to dog food and animals that are small enough to appear as prey. Items such as garbage, pet food, and sometimes feeding stations for birds and squirrels attract coyotes into backyards. About three to five pets attacked by coyotes are brought into the Animal Urgent Care hospital of South Orange County (California) each week, the majority of which are dogs. Cats typically do not survive coyote attacks. Smaller breeds of dogs are more likely to suffer injury and/or death.

Coyotes are one of my least favorite parts of God’s creation. I’ve probably given you far too much information on these creatures. But as I said earlier, I needed to talk about this. Thanks for listening.

Final Thoughts

Living on the homestead is not always pretty. Survival is always relative to the environment. Many times, survival is a competition between humans and other species. All animals have a right to live. God made them and there you go. They have a right to live. And we also have the right to protect our other animals. Sometimes it is a small parasite – which is also deadly at times. And sometimes it’s larger animals such as coyotes and bears. Everyone is just trying to survive. I miss my Susie Q. And when I look at our decimated flock of sheep, I am filled with sadness. However, in the end, some of our flock has survived and we will rebuild. It’s what we do. Our flock will rise again. In the fall or next spring, we will have lambs again. The life cycle continues.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts or whatever podcasting service you use, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. If you like this content and want to help out the show, the absolute best way you can do that is to share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content. Let them know about the Peaceful Heart Farmcast.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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[watusichris]

Replacements, 1st Time Around

In 1983, the Replacements hit Los Angeles for the first time. I followed them around for a week or two. This story, from the Dec. 2, 1983 issue of the Los Angeles Reader, is being posted in acknowledgement of the band’s splendid live album “For Sale,” which is being released on Friday by Rhino and is utterly tremendous. **********            During a Midwestern winter, when the seasonal temperatures gravitate toward the arctic, a rock ‘n’ roll band has to play hard just to stay warm. Judging from the rather limp records that emanate from the region, there are a lot of frozen butts in the heart of the nation. Midwestern rock hasn’t had much to offer since the garage-band heyday of Chicago’s Shadows of Knight and Minneapolis’ Litter, besides the pre-punk spasms of the MC5 and the Stooges.

Last week, though, a Minneapolis band pulled through L.A. and proved that there’s no energy crisis in their particular basement. The Replacements knocked out four superior sets of go-for-the-throat rock ‘n’ roll in the local clubs. I’ll borrow one of their song-title catch phrases: Color me impressed.

The Replacements have been together since 1979. They’ve released three records’ worth of original material (two albums and an EP) that could blow Violent Femme Gordon Gano’s precious little gonads from here to Maine. After hearing them on vinyl and in concert, there’s no doubt as to who the true Kings of the Great White North are.

The records, all on the Twin Cities-based Twin/Tone label, are all raw, unmanicured productions that opt for scurvy power rather than flat professionalism. Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash, the debut album released in 1981, is a sort of song cycle of 18 tunes about cruising, partying, romance, dope, drunkenness, and the other senseless pursuits of adolescent Midwesterners. Its 1982 follow-up, The Replacements Stink, is a harder, louder eight-song EP that refines the first record’s sound into a murderous ball-peen screech. The latest LP, Hootenanny, is a lovably sloppy, diversely programmed collection incorporating blues, country, and folk elements hitherto unheard on the group’s recordings.

The great virtue of the Replacements’ records is a charming insouciance about polish, cleanliness, subtlety, taste, and other non-rock ‘n’ roll concerns. The band comes on like a disarming juvenile trash compacting of the pre-’66 Rolling Stones, the New York Dolls, the Stooges, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. Crudity, humor (much of it self-deprecating), velocity, and high volume are the hallmarks of the Replacements’ style. The Dolls are their most obvious role model: The ear-scraping abandon of Bob Stinson’s guitar recalls Johnny Thunders at his most frenetic, and vocalist Paul Westerberg’s drunken, hoarse warbling is comparable to the caterwauling of the pre-solo David Johansen.

 Westerberg writes the lion’s share of the band’s material, and it is largely terrific stuff. He’s at his best when confronting the trials of Everykid, whether goofing off at the bus stop (“Hangin’ Downtown”), lusting after the girl who works at the corner store (“Customer’), lamenting the necessities of lower education (“Fuck School”), or confronting the idiocies of average teenage social behavior (“I Bought a Headache” and “Color Me Impressed”).

Though many of the numbers are smash ‘n’ snarl thrashers, there’s enough variety in the Replacements’ sound to keep them out of sticky-floored identipunk corners. Many of Westerberg’s most effective and affecting compositions are ballads – “Johnny’s Gonna Die” (a premature elegy for the graveyard-bound Johnny Thunders, on Sorry Ma), “Go” (on Stink), and “Willpower” (on Hootenanny). The group also shows an increasing affinity for inebriated blues and boogie; the standard mode of Midwestern barroom bashing is utilized to ironic effect in “White and Lazy” (which sounds remarkably like the Dolls’ boozy remake of Bo Diddley’s “Pills”) and “Take Me Down to the Hospital.” Westerberg is also reportedly a prolific writer of folkish solo material: This side of his style is reflected on record in the non-LP B side “If Only You were Lonely” and the caustic, basement-tapey self lampoon “Treatment Bound,” which concludes Hootenanny: “We’re getting’ noplace as fast as we can/We get a nose full from our so-called friends.”

This daffy catalog of styles, as well as some wonderfully blatant cops (everything from the Dragnet theme to “Frere Jacques,” “Oh Darling,” and “The Twist”), combines with Westerberg’s nose-thumbing take on dumb youth angst and the band’s flat-out, heated performance methodology to make for rock ‘n’ roll that is alert, aware, pointed, and funny. On their records (and I wouldn’t part with any one of them), the Replacments are unbeatable. Onstage, even when approaching the boundary line of chaos, they’re among the most special of live bands.

I don’t know where you suckers were last week, but the Replacements shows in L.A. were without exception under-attended. Well, you blew it, chumps, and don’t let it happen next time. This is a band that can knock you out of your Nikes even on the slowest and worst of nights, and they shouldn’t be missed.

Visually, they’re an unprepossessing lot. Paul Westerberg is an emaciated rail who looks like he rolled out of bed just before the gig; his sole concession to onstage fashion is some poorly applied eye makeup, which just emphasizes the beatness of his wardrobe (faded flannels and T-shirts and well-worn jeans) and the comatosity of his appearance. His face is perpetually creased by a knowing smirk; like Popeye, he speaks and sings out of the corner of his mouth.

Guitarist Bob Stinson is the group’s fashion plate: He usually plays in a polka-dotted skirt, or in his jockey shorts. The pocket of his blue denim jacket holds his toothbrush. His brother Tommy, the group’s bassist, and drummer Chris Mars are little babyfaces (the junior Stinson joined the group when he was 12). For all his youthful appearance, Mars possess a deadpan wit: Shortly after Kristine McKenna pegged him as a Yale student in the Times, Mars showed up on the Music Machine stage wearing a T-shirt hand-lettered in Magic Marker with “YAIL UNIVERSITY.”

“Loose” is a term that can be used to describe a typical Replacements set. Some songs do not so much end as break down in a clatter of drums and a squawk of feedback. Westerberg and the young Stinson are often to be found in conversation during a guitar solo. Blown key changes occur with regularity. The band is frankly casual about its performance demeanor. At the Music Machine last Wednesday, Tommy Stinson leaned over in midtune to grab a beer, and his bass immediately came both unplugged and unstrapped; he unhurriedly refitted himself, in time to pluck the last two notes of the song.

 This is definitely a group who hold to their professed sub-professional standing (“The label wants a hit/But we don’t give a shit,” they sing in “Treatment Bound”), but their carelessness and blithe disregard for even the basics of showmanship never interfere with the impact of the show.

They heave their way through a set at eardrum-crushing volume, with Westerberg, his vocal cords ready to snap at any moment, screaming to be heard over the din. Bob Stinson’s Fender spits out withering clusters of spike-toned notes, underpinned by Westerberg’s brutishly loud rhythm guitar. And Tommy Stinson and Mars provide a relentless backup. As wiggy as the band can get, its musicianship is generally of the highest caliber.

They provide more than a few laughs, too. They’ll switch instruments to play the title track from Hootenanny. They’ll rock out on “The Marine Corps Hymn,” essay Hank Williams’ “Hey Good Lookin’” or T. Rex’s “Twentieth Century Boy,” or perform a country-and-western version of their “God Damn Job” (lyric: “I need a god damn job/I need a god damn job/God damn it/God damn it/God damn/ I need a god damn job”).

I got hooked on the Replacements’ energy and sharp-incisored humor at Club Lingerie two weeks ago, where, looking a bit singed from the road, they wowed some of the assembled waxworks with a ragged but involving set. I wound up following the group around town during the next few days. They did a sizzling marathon hour-and-a-quarter show at the Cathay de Grande on Monday night, and a tough, nutty, erratic one at the Music Machine on Wednesday.

Musically, they were at low ebb at their return Cathay engagement on Thanksgiving, but that set may have been the most revealing of all. The house was filled with Mohawked dolts panting for Social Distortion. The Replacements, who could easily have mowed their audience down with a show comprising their short, fierce, hardcore-styled tunes, instead opted for the opposite tack. They began the show with the blues shuffle “White and Lazy” and made their alienating way through every ballad, country tune, and slow number in their repertoire. The leftover turkeys in the crowd were gobbling as the set oozed its way to a conclusion, but it was the Replacements who were having the last laugh on the fashion-conscious ex-surfers in leather. As Tommy Stinson said in mock admiration, “Wow, punk rockers.”

Remember when punk rockers gave their audiences the raspberry (or worse), disassembled rigid expectations, and guffawed at the status quo? At the Cathay on Turkey Day, the Replacements proved something besides the fact that they are a great rock ‘n’ roll band. They proved that they may just be the last real punk band in America. Come back soon, guys – there are some other folks in this sleepy town who could use some waking- and wising-up.

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 17: Migration

Our yard had a big cedar elm whose branches brushed pretty close to one of my bedroom windows. I think that’s why I would often get birds hanging out on my windowsill. I liked waking up and seeing them there. We kept several bird-feeders around the yard and I liked figuring out which birds were the same ones I saw on my windowsill. I recorded my sightings and observations in a Field Notes journal. One year for Christmas my parents got me a ‘Birds of Texas’ poster with beautiful painted illustrations of common backyard birds. I loved their names: white-winged dove, pyrrhuloxia, canyon towhee, vesper sparrow, crissal thrasher, white-throated swift, red-winged blackbird, house finch, starling. Their names were like poems. I liked drawing birds, too. But not Texas birds, entirely made-up birds: the persimmon-tufted rocketbird, the tawny tailblaster, the water wawso.

The day that I would come to think of as Dead Bird Day began like any other day. The radio alarm woke me up. Stevie Nicks was throatily belting ‘The Edge of Seventeen’ and a grackle was tittering around my windowsill. I took those as good signs. I whistled to the bird and tapped on the window to say hello. I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and went to the pool to meet Ari. After we were done swimming we went back to my house. We sat on my front porch. My shoes were off and I was staring at my feet. Particularly, I was looking with mild disgust and fascination at all the little hairs on my toes that had suddenly sprung up, as if overnight, like Jack’s beanstalk. I wasn’t sure what I felt about them. The last thing I wanted was to end up with hairy and knobby Hobbit feet.

I looked up from my feet and saw that Ari was smiling at me.

“What?” I asked.

“I was just smiling,” he said. “Can’t a guy smile?”

“You’re not telling me the truth.” I’d been trying to work on his whole not-talking thing by calling him out on it (with limited success). Sometimes it worked. Other times he stayed as close-lipped as a clam.

“Okay,” he said. “I was smiling because you were looking at your feet.”

“That’s a funny thing to smile about.”

“It’s weird,” he said. “Who does that—looks at their feet? Except you.”

“It’s not a bad thing to study your own body,” I said. This topic—my body and the changes I’d been going through recently—had been popping up more and more to the forefront of my mind lately. I wanted to talk about it with someone, but as much as I loved my parents they were definitely out of the running and Ari got squeamish about that type of thing. I desperately wanted to know if he was feeling some of the same things I was feeling.

“That’s a really weird thing to say, too,” he said.

But then he’d answer like that and I knew the topic was not open for discussion.

“Whatever,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said.

I changed the subject before either of us could get a chance to get annoyed. “Do you like dogs, Ari?”

“I love dogs.”

“Me too. They don’t have to wear shoes.”

He laughed, his throaty surprised laugh. I loved making him laugh (either intentionally or unintentionally; it didn’t matter to me as long as I was able to chase the sadness out of his eyes).

“I’m going to ask my dad if he’ll get me a dog.” I’d been thinking about it a lot, and I thought I was ready to put Ringo’s memory to rest.

“What kind of dog do you want?”

“I don’t know. One that comes from the shelter. You know, one of those dogs that someone’s thrown away.”

“Yeah, but how will you know which one to pick? There’s a lot of dogs at the shelter. And they all want to be saved.”

“It’s because people are so mean. They throw dogs away like they’re trash. I hate that.”

Then, we heard a loud pffft noise and rustling and boys yelling across the street. There were three boys and two were holding BB guns. I looked up and saw the trail of smoke, then smelled it. One boy was pointing his gun at a tree. “We got one! We got one!” his voice echoed. I realized that they’d killed a bird and were aiming to kill another. And then something fierce and furious inside of me burst open.

I leapt from the porch and ran over to them before I even realized what I was doing. “Hey! Stop that! What the hell’s wrong with you?” I wanted to grab the gun from them but stuck my hand out instead. “Give me that gun.” They were younger and smaller than me, but harder. My heart was thrashing and my right calf muscles were shaky with involuntary spasms but I wasn’t going to let it show to these heartless assholes.

One of the boys sized me up and said, “My ass if I’m gonna give you my BB gun.”

“It’s against the law.”

With one part of my brain I was staring at the boys and trying to make sure they stopped what they were doing. The other part of my brain was trying to figure out if we could still save the bird they’d shot. Could my dad bring it to the vet? I saw its rigid form, its tiny upturned legs, the puncture in the middle of its beautiful white and brown markings and thought crazily Maybe there’s still a chance.

“Second amendment,” the boy said.

“Yeah, second amendment,” his idiotic crony repeated.

“The second amendment doesn’t apply to BB guns, you jerk. And besides, guns aren’t allowed on city property.”

“What are planning to do about it, you piece of shit?”

“I’m going to make you stop.”

“How?”

One of the boys took a step toward me and spit on the ground. My body was already coursing with adrenaline and anger but then I got a sudden stab of fear in my belly. They had guns. The logical side of my brain tried to assure myself that I couldn’t die from a BB gun bullet. But it would still hurt like hell if they shot me. Or kicked me or punched me. Or any combination of all three.

“By kicking your skinny little asses all the way to the Mexican border.”

Ari said that, not me. I turned my head and he was right there next to me. I hadn’t realized he’d crossed the street until that very second, that’s how fixated I’d been on stopping the bird killers.

Ari knew how to fight. I didn’t. I’d seen it that very first day I met him but it almost felt like I’d been witnessing a dream or an apparition of him since he had never showed me that other part of him since that day. But here was that other Ari, tough as nails and mean as hell. I could almost smell it on him, how willing he was to beat the crap out of these kids without a moment’s hesitation, the way you can smell a coming thunderstorm. He eyed them down hard. One of the boys raised his gun like he was about to shoot it at us.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, you little piece of dog shit,” Ari said in this new voice that was menacing and low and slow as molasses. And then like lightning he reached out and grabbed the gun right out of the boy’s hand. “You’re lucky I don’t shove this up your ass.”

He threw the gun on the ground. It made such a loud clattering noise that I winced, momentarily afraid that he’d accidentally caused it to fire.

The boys also flinched at the noise and the shock of what he’d just done. I thought for sure they’d jump us. But then the fight deflated out of them and they left, cussing us out under their breaths as they went.

We watched them walk away. Ari’s fists stayed clenched and his shoulders stayed hunched until they were well down the block. Ari and I looked at each other. I felt like the wind had just got knocked out of me.

“I didn’t know you liked to fight,” I said. Though this wasn’t entirely true. I knew he could hold his own. I didn’t know that a willingness to fight was hovering just below the surface, ready to bolt into violent action at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t really. Not really,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “You like to fight.”

“Maybe I do,” he said. “And I didn’t know you were a pacifist.”

“Maybe I’m not a pacifist. Maybe I just think you need a good reason to go around killing birds.” I looked at him. His jaw was still clenched and his breathing was a little heavy. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to hug him. Or maybe I wanted him to hug me. “You’re good at tossing around bad words, too.”

“Yeah, well, Dante, let’s not tell your mom.”

“We won’t tell yours either.”

He looked at me. “I have a theory about why moms are so strict.”

“It’s because they love us, Ari.”

“That’s part of it. The other part of it is that they want us to stay boys forever.”

“Yeah, I think that would make my mom happy—if I was a boy forever.”

I looked at the bird again. I knew it was dead this time. I don’t know why I thought a few minutes ago I’d be able to save it, like I was a saint or Jesus or God. I hated those boys who killed it. I hated how careless and callous they were about wiping out such a beautiful, harmless creature without so much as a second thought. And then leaving it there like just another piece of trash on the side of the road.

“I’ve never seen you that mad,” Ari said.

“I’ve never seen you that mad, either.”

Neither of us spoke. We both just looked at the bird. I felt for a second like the bird was fluttering inside my chest, banging its fragile body against my throat and wildly flapping its wings like it was trying to escape out of a cage. But then I realized I was just trying to keep myself from crying in front of Ari.

“It’s just a little sparrow,” I said. I felt so sad and small, so useless and weak. I felt the tears coming hot and fast down my cheeks. I turned my face away from Ari.

Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry Boys don’t cry

I hated that. I hated how ashamed I was that I couldn’t stop crying. I walked back across the street and Ari followed me. He didn’t say anything. I threw my shoes at the ground as hard as I could. That made me feel a little bit better. I sat back down on the porch and wiped my eyes.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“I was.”

“So?”

So? What did it mean that I was scared and Ari wasn’t? That Ari could defend himself in a fight and I couldn’t? That I was crying and he wasn’t? I’d made up my mind a while ago that I didn’t want to be ashamed of who I was. I told myself that it’s ok to cry. Crying feels good. Crying helps ease the crushing feeling inside before it gets to be too much to bear. But however irrational and stupid it was, I still felt like I’d failed a test.

We didn’t talk for another few minutes. I was going through in my head everything I could remember about sparrows. Most types that live in Texas don’t migrate in the summer months. They stay here year-round. They mostly eat seeds and insects. There are at least 35 species of sparrow. I wondered if the bird they killed was a boy or girl. I didn’t know why I wondered that.

Ari broke the silence and asked, “Why do birds exist, anyway?”

“You don’t know?”

“I guess I don’t.”

“Birds exist to teach us things about the sky.”

“You believe that?”

“Yes.”

By studying birds, humans had figured out how to build airplanes. Now we could easily traverse the globe, pick up and move far away from our original homes. Families could scatter like seeds on the wind. I pictured in my head maps I’d seen of different migratory patterns of birds across North America: the Pacific Flyaway, Central Flyaway, Mississippi Flyaway, Atlantic Flyaway. Birds migrate to go in search of better nourishment and to increase their chance of survival. My parents left their families for probably similar reasons.

I thought: fly away home, as free as a bird, empty nest, as the crow flies, swan song, wild goose chase, night owl, ugly duckling, odd duck, chicken out, the early bird catches the worm, take under your wing, kill two birds with one stone.

I took a deep breath. “Will you help me bury the bird?” I asked.

“Sure.”

We got a shovel out of the garage. Ari picked up the bird with it and brought it over to my yard. We dug a hole under an oleander and buried the bird there.

I started crying again. This time, I was thinking of when we’d buried Ringo. I still missed him so much. The ache was raw and wide open. Maybe I wasn’t ready to ask for another dog just yet. Or maybe this meant I was ready. My brain was too full to think clearly.

I was also thinking about how beautiful the oleander flowers were and how that made me happy despite the sadness I still felt because of the bird. The blossoms were pink and showy and fragrant. I wanted to pluck one and put it behind my ear. But I couldn’t.

I was thinking how I’ll never fit in anywhere because I’m a migratory bird with no real home to return to.

We stared at the bird’s grave for a little while in silence.

“Thanks,” I said finally.

“Sure,” Ari said.

I was suddenly so tired. I wanted nothing more than to fall right asleep and wake up tomorrow morning to a bird trilling on my windowsill like nothing today had ever happened. But I knew that was as impossible as me bringing the sparrow back to life after the boys shot it.

“Hey,” Ari whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’ll go swimming,” I said.

“Yeah, we’ll go swimming.”

I went inside. Neither of my parents were home, which was a bit unusual. I took a hot shower and then fell asleep.

When I woke up, my room was dark and I was confused. I saw that I’d only been asleep for a few hours, but I felt like I had been out cold for days. I felt better, though, so I went downstairs. My dad was finishing up making dinner. I hugged both my parents for a long time. I didn’t tell them about the bird but I didn’t need to.

That night, during dinner, my parents told me they had big news. My dad was in the process of final interviews for a visiting professor position in Chicago and we’d know in a week or so whether or not he’d gotten the job. The minute they told me, I burst into tears.

#ari and dante fic

[shallahraekwon062488]

If you think Netflix's 'Iron Fist' is racist or whitewashing, you don't understand the character

Netflix’s Iron Fist isn’t racist, the character’s creator Roy Thomas isn’t racist and the show’s casting isn’t another case of Hollywood whitewashing. Danny Rand, a/k/a Iron Fist, was a white man when he first appeared in "Marvel Premiere" No. 15 in 1974 and he has always been white. "He was a character for a comic book at a different time,” Thomas said of Rand in an interview with Inverse.com. But, Thomas added, if the producers “wanted to kill off white Iron Fist and come up with one who wasn’t Caucasian, that wouldn’t have bothered me, but neither am I ashamed for having made up one who was. He wasn’t intended to stand for any race. He was just a man who was indoctrinated into a certain thing." "... People have too much time on their hands, I guess. They have an infinite capacity for righteous indignation," Thomas said. "By and large, that tends to be misplaced quite often because if you’re becoming all upset over things that are just stories, and if you don’t like it, instead of trying to change somebody else’s story, go out and make up your own character and do a good job of it. That’s just fine, but why waste time trying to run down other people’s characters simply because they weren’t created with your standards in mind?" Jerry Chandler, who writes the blog "Needless things," sees Thomas’s point. "I’m someone who is in favor of seeing the diversity of this country and the Marvel Universe make its way to our screens," Chandler states. "As such, I’m going to offer a suggestion to the social critics/crusaders out there - choose your battles and the words you use as weapons more carefully and intelligently! "Iron Fist is a poor choice to take this stand over," he continued. "There are legitimate discussions to be had over whitewashing, but this show really offers none of the reasons for those discussions. It’s not a reboot/remake of an existing property with a minority lead. Danny Rand has always been white. It doesn’t help legitimate discussions about whitewashing to knee-jerk label things ‘whitewashing’ and dilute the meaning of the word." “'Racist' has been thrown around a lot lately," he added. "This is, here, an inaccurate label. You can damage your own cause and turn away potential allies wrongly throwing that word around. Especially, because, in its time, ‘Iron Fist’ was an amazingly progressive book! The creators behind it were more courageous than some of their peers when it came to tackling progressive issues and social injustices. Aspects of it may seem quaint by 2017 standards; especially for critics who weren’t around 43 years ago. But it was a series that laid the industry groundwork for the next steps forward to be taken. "Claims that this is ‘White Savior’ or ‘Mighty Whitey’ racism are wrong. It’s something far less evil. It’s ‘someone Like Me’ wish fulfillment. "I have used various social media and writing platforms to promote characters like Night Thrasher, Shang-Chi, Sunfire, Turbo, or others getting the next shots at MCU fame. If the people attacking Iron Fist instead put that same time, energy, focus, and social media noise into promoting characters like those to the powers that be, they might actually start getting made," Chandler concluded. "The additional benefit there is getting more voices joining in support of a cause rather than tuning it out." Outspoken comic book artist ChrisCross, who has never been shy about pushing for diversity in the industry and speaking out about racism, also says that those in a tizzy over the "Iron Fist" show's casting are fighting the wrong fight. "How about we look at things this way for people who never read ‘Iron Fist’ but are reacting based on people who never heard of the concept until it was aired," he said. "Here's a young, white, rich boy named Danny Rand who's the heir apparent to a multi-billion dollar corporation. (He's) headed to China with his parents when the plane falls out of the sky into the Himalayan mountains and kills everyone on board except the boy himself. The people of The Heavenly city of K'un L'un bring the boy into their care and never once flinched at the boy's ethnicity. He was a boy in need. "He was assimilated into their culture with no special treatment," he added. "I'm sure he was teased here and there about his presence but grew up under their paradigm, learned about the unfettered history without it being tainted by some white historians who's mission it was to make whites superior and changed to make those Asians look like savages. "He ate with them and fought with them, trained with them in the trenches and was lanced just like them when there were consequences," he continued. "For all intents and purposes, Danny Rand was of K'un L'un, not a part of the oppressive regime all over the world that sat on the spirit of people of color, and would correct anyone if someone talked fool logic in prejudice aimed at Asians or any brown or black person! He would be too knowledgeable to fall for such foolishness and would teach those fools in kind for saying anything directed to those he grew up with!” According to ChrisCross, Danny Rand is the antithesis of "white privilege" and he said it would be a shame if “Iron Fist” “doesn't get a chance to get better and is shelved because of an outcry of people who never understood the very concept of a lone survivor who thrived in another culture and became a warrior protecting them as a gracious payback for raising him, and then took his knowledge to help the downtrodden." "This isn't David Carradine put in place of Bruce Lee, people," he emphasized. "He shouldn't be Asian because he's not Asian. Just like Bruce Lee should have been in 'Kung Fu', not only because he created the show, but also because it’s about Asians coming into a land stolen by Europeans and how that Asian deals with that situation and uses his wisdom and prowess to teach as he goes." "Danny Rand is not the same premise. He was wasn't pulling a whole culture down in a system he created to cheat those of K'un Lun of their culture and finances. This isn't the right fight. In fact, it's not a fight at all." Article By Jerome Maida.

#iron fist #danny rand #netflix iron fist #marvel iron fist #marvel sjw #anti iron fist #anti danny rand #anti marvel

[whatwouldfrogsdo]

Opportunity (or Dreamer)

Day 6 of Nursey Week!

Trigger warnings: This deals with discussion of racism, particularly racism within the NHL, as well as white supremacy and internalized racism. Disclaimer that I, the writer, am white and so please, please if any of this is insensitive or straight up incorrect let me know and I will edit. There’s also some internalized acephobia.

Also on AO3 here.

“What’s that about?”

Derek looked across at Ransom, then followed his gaze, frowning when he saw April and March playing beer pong. Then he realized that Holster and Dex had sat down to talk just beyond the beer pong table.

Derek paused for a moment, considering if it was okay to answer honestly. “We’ve had NHL scouts. It’s, uh, getting to the point where we have to decide if we’re staying here for fourth year or not.”

“Shit.” Ransom looked impressed. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I think they’re starting to look at Samwell as one of the top colleges to try and pick from or something. Dex and I aren’t talking about it much. We don't want to affect each other’s decision.” His teeth worried at his lip. The reminder of next year's uncertainty got more and more stressful the closer to a decision he felt. The hiss of air next to him told him that Ransom could see some of his doubts, and the next thing Derek knew, he was being steered towards the stairs.

In the attic, they settled on the double  which had replaced the bunk beds about a year earlier, and Derek stretched out so that he was staring at the ceiling. Ransom flopped onto his stomach and tilted his head to look at him.

“What's up?”

“It's stupid.”

“Isn't it always? Okay, start easy. Do you want to play NHL next year or stay here?”

“I want to play NHL, of course I do.”

“And you want Dex to do the same but he's not so sure?”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut. “No. No, I think he'd regret not doing that last year. I didn’t come here for the degree. I came for the college experience, and I can leave after three years knowing I got it. He came as the first person in his family to go to college. It was an effort for him to get here. You never know what might happen with hockey and realistically something could happen that first year before we've made enough to get by on, and I can shrug and live on my parents’ money and maybe write a book or some shit, but he— It would kill him.”

There was a long silence. “Well why the hell aren't you telling him you think that?”

“Because half the time we fight it's about money. And— And because this hits too close to our first ever fight. I applied for the scholarship even though I didn’t need it and he did. What if— What if it’s my privilege talking when I say I want to go into the NHL, but that’s not for him? At least not now. Isn’t it kind of fucked for me to want that success straight away, but want him to wait?”

Ransom pulled the toy frog he and Holster had gifted to them at graduation towards him and had what looked like a staring competition with it while he thought. “I’ve never known you and Dex to avoid fights,” he finally said. “You tell each other what you think, whether it’ll annoy the other one or not. That’s how you work.”

It was true. Derek so rarely told people what he really thought of them, but with Dex he always had, and in the end it had turned into a strange form of trust. Similarly, back in the beginning when Dex was trying to mold himself into somebody he wasn’t, it was only back in the confines and privacy of their shared dorm that he let himself open up, heart pouring out for Derek to see, to the point where they didn’t know how to function when they had to pretend not to know such things about each other. “This is different. This is our futures. Besides, it’s the sort of fight we couldn’t keep up here. It would affect the whole team.”

Ransom stiffened for a moment, and when their eyes crossed, Derek knew both of them were thinking about all those altercations between Ransom and Holster the year before. Making life decisions was difficult.

“Nursey, bro, the main thing is you want what’s best for him.” There was a crack in his voice which betrayed a hint of emotion at the acknowledgement that Holster had only ever wanted the same for him. “And when it comes to privilege- I mean, fuck, have you spent so much time teaching yourself about classism that you’ve forgotten that you playing in the NHL will automatically put you on a Wiki page of Black players in the League? And you'll literally be like the third person with desi heritage. Hockey’s so fucking white, Nursey. You can’t let an opportunity like this pass you by because you’re trying to cater to your white boyfriend’s feelings.”

Derek nodded. He knew that it was true, but forcing himself to make a decision without factoring Dex in seemed impossible.

“Way I see it, Nursey, not talking to each other is making this decision more difficult than if you were. What if he’s thinking the exact same thing but he thinks you want him to go with you?”

“That’s the other thing, though!” Derek said, sitting up. “What if we can’t do long-distance? We’ve been living together in the same fucking room as each other ever since the second time we ever met. It’s not even just since we’ve been together, it’s since before that. We don’t know each other apart. We just went from hating each other’s guts to— to—”

“To disgustingly domestic?”

“Whatever. But we did all of that while living together, and the one summer we were apart was difficult enough and now we’re even closer and he’s my best friend and I don’t know how this would work. We don’t even—” His hand shook a little and he dug his fingernails into his palm as he tried to push the words out. “We probably have sex less than your average long-distance couple already.”

“Woah.” Ransom’s hand flew out and grabbed Derek’s, prising his fingers out of a fist. “That’s personal. You don’t need to tell me that.”

“But it’s relevant. What if we go all that time not seeing each other, and then when we do I’m not in the mood. Am I just supposed to expect him to be okay with that?”

“Dex knew what he was signing up for. If he really isn’t okay with that, he doesn’t deserve you, but I’m willing to bet Jack’s annual salary that he loves you, asexuality and all, and won’t begrudge it. Your relationship is way more than sex.” Derek knew he didn't look convinced, because Ransom let out a heavy sigh and continued. “Long-distance doesn’t work for everyone, right? But it does for some people, and you two— It’s up to you to make it work, eh? I know I’m the last person who should be giving advice on making it work considering my relationship couldn’t handle a move to Boston, but a lot of that was me not putting in the effort. I kept just thinking March and April have each other, so if I’m tired after another full day of med school, I don’t have to ring, or Holster’s got a game this weekend and it’s easier to get to that than it is to get to Samwell for their game, and what if I screw up his rituals by not being there? But if you put in the effort, and if you keep talking to each other, why shouldn’t you be able to manage it?”

Derek stared at a stain on the ceiling - the one which Holster insisted had been there before he moved into the attic, even though Ransom didn’t remember it being there to begin with despite it being right above where his top bunk had been. A long-distance relationship with Dex was incomprehensible to him after all this time of waking up next to him, and every time he tried to imagine it, doubts plagued his mind.

“Hey,” Ransom said softly, and Derek looked back at him. “This will be good for you. If you know you can get through this year, you can get through anything with him. If you can't, it's better to know now when you've both got a definite support system around and you'll have something to throw yourselves into. Otherwise, what? Five years down the line you've got kids to think about and you end up traded across the country from each other and realise that you actually don't know how to function apart?”

Derek nodded. “You're right. I know you are, it just makes me wonder why we have to change anything if we're happy.”

“Things change, bro, that's life. Don't turn down the opportunity to follow your dreams for love. Didn't La La Land teach you anything?”

“I didn't watch it.”

“Oh. Not everyone lives with Holster, eh?”

Derek snorted, but when he responded, it was with a sincere shrug. “He might be worth making new dreams for.”

“Nah, he isn't. Nobody's worth that unless they're willing to do anything they can to let you follow the ones you already have and if that's the case there's no point changing them. What difference does it really make doing it a year early? It's not like the odds of the same team signing you both is that great and it's probably lower signing the same year. You're allowed your own dream. You're allowed to want to give up on college for it and still think Dex should stick it out here. And he doesn't have to make his decision based on you thinking that but also you don't have to make your decision based on what Dex wants. Except you don't even know what he wants! You're just stressing over making sure he's happy and comfortable and please just think about why that's so fucked up.”

Derek’s breath hitched “I know. I know, okay. I'll talk to him. I'll tell him I'm doing it.”

“Good. You can fulfill my dream, too.”

When Derek looked over to see what Ransom meant, he was met with a mischievous grin. He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Well, I have a dream that one day—”

“Oh my God.”

“The Black boys and girls can play hockey with the white boys and girls.”

“That's already a thing.”

Ransom carried on as if Derek hadn’t said anything. “And I have a dream—”

“Are you really doing this, you absolute nerd?”

“That one day the Atlanta Thrashers won't be accused of reverse racism for hiring Black players.”

“Pretty difficult seeing as they aren't a team anymore.”

“But also that they won't only hire Black players to give themselves a particular fan-base.”

“Are you done?”

He grinned. “I don't know, are you convinced?”

Derek pushed himself off the bed. “Honestly, I'll do it. You're right. I have to do this; it's not an opportunity I can miss, and I want to do it now, not in a year when it'll just feel like wasting time.”

Ransom jumped up to hit him on the back. “Look at my little frog, all grown up and mature and ready to face the world.”

“You're so embarrassing,” Derek muttered as they started back down the stairs to rejoin the kegster. “Uh, but thanks.”

“Any time, bro. I mean that. You've got my number.”

They sidled up to Holster and Dex who each silently demanded if everything was okay. Derek swung himself up to sit on the arm of Dex’s chair, and placed his feet in his lap. The look Dex gave him said ‘we need to talk,’ but his fingers were gentle and reassuring as he ran them up Derek’s calves. Hopefully, they were on the same page.

#nurseyweek #derek nurse #omgcp #omgcp fanfic #check please! #stephwrites #justin oluransi #nurseydex #freshverse tag