#jokes on him because their conversations are the longest andrew has

[constantly-questioning-reality]

neil, flirting: our conversations ain’t long, but you know what is (;

andrew: the list of felonies you’ve managed not to be convicted for?

#jokes on him because their conversations are the longest andrew has #incorrect aftg #aftg shitpost #aftg headcanons #aftg incorrect quotes #all for the game #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #the raven king #andreil #the king's men #aaron minyard #andrew x neil #kevin day #matt boyd #neil x andrew #all for the gay #allison reynolds #dan wilds #nicky hemmick #nora sakavic #renee walker #andriel #tfc #the kings men #palmetto state foxes

[palmett-hoes]

per your post "every single one of the monsters is autistic and/or adhd" will you elaborate on that?, if you do i will love you forever (not that i wont if you dont do it)

oh boy i would love to!!! unironically nothing brings me more joy than writing long, convoluted character analysis posts

---

okay so i’ve written several posts before about why andrew is autistic. his moral code, the roundabout way he communicates, his body language, his stimulation-seeking behavior, his strict adherence to transactional deals, the emphasis on honesty, and a dozen other details. at this point i just take andrew being autistic as fact, not just an interpretation

h o w e v e r  i also hc that andrew is dyslexic, which is also a neurodiverse condition

- - -

similarly, i’ve seen more than one person interpret kevin as autistic, and i absolutely agree that it fits. not just the hyperfocus on exy but mostly the way he communicates. he’s very indirect, especially in his affection but very direct with his opinions. he tries to be helpful in a material way to the people he cares about, even if he comes off as negative. he wants the people he cares about to be safe and successful so he pushes them to work hard and reminds them in measurable ways how to stay healthy. he doesn’t factor in a lot of room for emotions, so instead he focuses on quantifiable things that he can improve. i personally act very similarly. approaching someone emotionally is hard for me, so when the people i care about have problems all i can think to do is try offering solutions, check up on their well-being, etc. practicality instead of conventional sentiment is extremely common with asd

- - -

so now let’s talk about neil. i had to think on this one for a WHILE but ultimately came to the conclusion that neil is adhd, probably hyperactive type. 

like obviously neil is high energy. i would say he probably does the most exercise of anyone on the team. morning run, morning practice, afternoon practice, night practice with kevin and andrew, plus he doesn’t have a car so he runs to class (on a BIG ass campus), and goes for an extra run when he feels stressed. that’s... insane, honestly.

neil reminds me SO MUCH of this post that goes:

“Was just informed by my mom that I do in fact have ADHD and the reason I thought I didn’t was because ever since I was seven whenever I got super energetic my mom would have me go chop wood so now when I’m feeling The ADHD I go chop wood”

(phenomenal post) and that’s neil to a t. tell me this isn’t exactly how neil handles his problems and also exactly what mary would have had to do to keep her unmedicated and very energetic son focused on the task of staying alive

neil also definitely has that ADHD on/off switch with his interest. the obvious being exy which is like the definition of a hyperfixation, but you can see it in other things: the way he runs totally hot or totally cold with people, his complete disinterest in his schoolwork, the way he can’t seem to sit still long enough to follow movies. but then there’s also the hyperfocus. doing the same drill for hours on end. watching exy game after exy game. staring at andrew until time falls away

what’s more, neil on many occasions shows racing thoughts, both in an anxiety way (and anxiety often goes hand-and-hand with adhd) but also as a way to quickly and accurately take in details about people to build a character profile of them. this is what allows him to connect with the foxes, how he manages to get through andrew’s puzzles, and even how he knows what to say in order to knock riko down a peg. his brain just works so fast and it takes in a lot of very specific details and disparate information to make connections.

but also like,, neil has a HUGE problem with time blindness. like the instant he didn’t have his mother around to manage and direct him anymore he lost all sense of time. he stayed in Millport for a YEAR. and what did he keep telling himself during that time? basically “i really need to move on, but not just yet.” for a YEAR! then he gets to palmetto and he’s like “i’ll cut and run in a month or two” then he doesn’t “i’ll be gone by halloween” wrong again “i’ll leave by the raven’s game” nope. like,, the boy just has NO sense of time and he can’t seem to make himself DO anything outside of an externally enforced schedule. and even then,,, HE HAD 48 FUCKING DAYS TO FIGURE OUT SOMETHING TO DO TO NOT GET MURDERED! 48 WHOLE DAYS. he didn’t make a plan, he didn’t write down any letters with goodbyes, he didn’t GO TO THE FBI LIKE HE’D INTENDED TO THE WHOLE TIME! nah he just made out with andrew and when he finally got to zero he was just like “ah shit, that was fast. oh well guess i’ll die” and that’s time blindness, babey!

---

let’s move on to nicky. 

now i think it would be really easy to say nicky is just adhd because he’s high energy and forgetful but tbh,, i don’t think that’s all of it. like if you really look at nicky’s character and especially at his problems, he has asd problems just as much as he has adhd problems.

so nicky is dual diagnosis asd and adhd. also nicky reminds me a lot of a girl i used to know who was autistic/adhd

so, adhd:

very generally speaking, ppl with adhd will struggle with sitting still, listening to and following instructions, planning/organization, following a schedule, and some social boundaries like “appropriate” times and topics of conversation

i would say you see hints of this with nicky. he’s definitely a rambunctious personality, constantly on the move, constantly stimulation seeking. he’s very tactile. he likes to dance, he likes to party, he complains about it but he’s an elite-level athlete. he’s also decidedly very chatty, and doesn’t seem to really pay attention to what he’s saying. he distracts himself and the people around him have to keep him on track. he has some trouble with boundaries. he’s a little all over the place. he’s almost a bit of an adhd stereotype

also one thing i find interesting is that when neil sees him in the library doing work neil is surprised to see he’s capable of that, especially bc when we see the upperclassmen doing work they generally do it in their dorms or on the bus and/or with other people around. that hyper-social nicky would be alone in a quiet place is weird. but this is like the most common tip for dealing with adhd. don’t do it in a familiar space. have a designated space and time to do work. limit distractions. just a lil detail

so now, asd:

in all honesty, most of nicky’s actual problems in the narrative could be viewed as stemming from asd symptoms. his number one issue being that he has a lot of trouble with nonverbal cues (and tbh, verbal ones too). the twins are mostly quiet. andrew especially (when he’s sober) communicates primarily nonverbally, and nicky seems to have a lot of trouble with this. despite knowing them for the longest on the team, nicky honestly seems to have the least insight into the way either of the twins actually thinks or processes things. he loves them, and he’s very forgiving of them, but he fundamentally doesn’t understand them. 

the twins, andrew especially, put up a LOT of nonverbal boundaries, and nicky sort of inadvertently keeps trampling all over them. he’s touchy in a way they don’t like. he talks a lot about their personal lives to other people. he treats them like they’re joking when they’re serious. etc. and like,,, you kind of get the sense that the upperclassmen feel similarly about him. beyond the homophobia, beyond the fact that he’s loyal to andrew, the upperclassmen still treat him with this sense of,, bafflement, i suppose? it’s clear that they don’t really understand him and he doesn’t really understand them. although, nicky IS curious about the upperclassmen, while the upperclassmen are pretty dismissive of him. it reminds me of when my sweet, floppy dog tries to play with my cat. their body language is different; they’re each receiving different signals than they believe they’re sending out

only,, nicky loves people!! he likes being around them, he likes talking to them. he’s interested in their lives and stories, but it’s very clear that he can’t read between the lines on people. he has an incredibly hard time with people who expect their actions to speak for them, which is most people, but is especially his cousins.

actually this is very much also an issue that i have: things need to be spelled out for me. the way i deal with it is i ask a lot of questions. ‘how do you want me to react to this potential situation?’ ‘what are specific things that make you most comfortable?’ ‘please explain to me exactly how you feel and what has prompted those feelings?’ and i’m always communicating vice versa like that with other people. a lot of specifics in both questions and answers

and the interesting thing is, when i was skimming through the books reviewing dialogue styles for another ask, i noticed that, actually, nicky DOES do this. with neil and the upperclassmen, nicky asks a LOT of quick, clarifying questions. things that ask after tone, that ask after intent. it’s kinda sad that he does this for communicating with acquaintances, but with the twins, the people he’s closest to, he makes a lot more assumptions. and i’m really proud of nicky for having this coping skill, because i can’t imagine it’s something he grew up doing. there’s no way he was raised in an environment that fostered this kind of open communication so it must have been something he learned about much later, probably in germany with the kloses, which would also explain why he’s a lil imperfect about it

---

now last but not least, aaron

this is another one i had to think through for a long time before it felt like it fit

much like how i felt that it would be easy to read nicky as simply adhd rather than also asd, i think it would be easy to say aaron is autistic simply because he is quieter, less rambunctious. however, i actually think he’s adhd, likely primarily inattentive type

in all honesty, aaron’s #1 character trait for the first two books is basically that he’s disconnected. detached. separated both from his family and his team. not in the same forcefully apathetic way that andrew is, more,, spaced out. he’s just kind,, there. not really paying attention to what’s going on, tuning in every once in a while only if something really catches his eye/ear then tuning right back out again. just sits in his corner and plays on his phone. and the thing is, from the moments when he does tune in, you can tell that he actually does care. he backs nicky when seth insults him in tfc, and we know he cares deeply about andrew even if he’s become disillusioned with their fraught relationship. he even hangs with his family, doesn’t seem to really try and slip away to other friends besides katelyn, he’s fine spending his leisure time with the monsters. so it’s not totally apathy, he’s just,,, tuned out most of the time

and, yea, that sounds like adhd. it’s not the type that most people are familiar with, and for a lot of people this causes it to slip under the radar. it can make it hard to get help or a dx because it doesn’t fit with how adhd “should” look or how someone “should” act, but difficulty focusing your thoughts and staying in tune with the current moment is absolutely part of adhd

addiction is also a huge problem for people with adhd. a lot of stimulants affect people with adhd very differently than neurotypicals, especially in small doses, and an adhd kid who’s struggled their whole lives with the disorder might try speed or god-forbid meth or fuck even coffee and suddenly find that things are a lot easier for them. they start to self-medicate, they don’t actually know what they’re doing, and then they’re addicted, and everything spirals out of control. we don’t know too many details about aaron’s addiction other than that his mother enabled him, but wouldn’t this fit? it’s also an explanation for aaron still taking drugs at eden’s, given that cracker dust seems to be a mild amphetamine. (aaron talk to betsy about the neurocog and get an actual prescription please)

(total throw away but aaron plays videogames and videogames are like,, adhd culture)

#Anonymous #txt #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #my posts #im talkin #cw addiction #cw addiction mentioned

[imperfectcourt]

You know how there are the banquets for college exy teams? What if the pro teams did something similar. What if they have a big awards banquet?

Andrew's first year, Neil can't come because he has a game and he's CRUSHED because he wants to see Andrew and his friends but they just saw each other so mostly he wants to go bother all of these pro players and meet coaches and start networking as he prepares to go pro himself and it's a NIGHT with ALL THE EXY

The next year, he hasn't seen Andrew in weeks. They aren't in the same district and life as a pro athlete is busy. When they get to the event hall, they are one of the first teams. Neil waits. He gets his picture taken. He holds the same champagne glass for an hour, pretending to sip without actually drinking any of it.

When he and Andrew finally see each other its across a crowded room. Their eyes find each other like magnets, the two shortest people sticking out below the giants. Neil doesn't even register (or care) that he's being rude by walking out of a conversation mid sentence. His body goes on it's own accord.

Had he been consciously in control, he would have stopped and smiled and given his drink to Andrew. He would have bumped shoulders and pretended to listen to the greetings of the new players.

But it's been weeks, the longest they've ever gone and Neil is not in control. The champagne glass is dropped to the carpet and Andrew opens his arms expectantly with a put upon sigh as Neil falls into him. He huffs like it's annoying but Neil feels Andrew's hands clutching at the back of his jacket and presses in further, further, wishing he could crawl inside Andrew's chest.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Matt jokes to the side.

"Yes," one of them says, but the group around them isn't actually sure who. Andrew squeezes Neil's waist until his feet only just brush the floor.

Nobody pays them much mind, tucked over off to the side. A natural barrier is formed just because the players around them are so much taller. The loudness of the room doesn't reach them.

"You're making a scene," Kevin comes over to say.

"Fuck off, man, you know these two," Matt says.

It's been weeks.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #my writing

[sextonsharpwinhalstead]

Okay, so I’m a slut for medical dramas but I also get frustrated when there’s a lack of diversity or when queer/PoC/disabled etc characters exist solely to suffer at the hands of writers. Could you rank the current medical dramas from best to worst in terms of diversity?

 HO’S UNITE! 

I completely understand. Not only in the lack of diversity but also a lack of the KIND of diversity. I have a weird theory about television and often movie casts. Of course this ranking is only of the shows I watch. Worst to Best.

The Resident

The Good: 

The show begins with the audience following Devon Pravesh, a Gujarati and South Asian man. He’s on of the most realistic characters considering most medical shows seem to gloss over the fact that most people in medical school as well as working practitioners look an awful lot like Devon and less like Conrad. They have the shoot-for-excellence-at-all-times Nigerian immigrant surgeon and all around bad-ass Mina Okafor, and of course The Raptor, AJ Austin who was adopted by a Chinese man and a Black American woman. The newest edition of Dr. Barrett Cain adds another bit of chocolate goodness to look at too.

The Bad:

Aside from Mina’s poorly cast mother Lynne Whitfield and the introduction of Devon’s parents the show hasn’t figured out how to weave in the different ethnicity's and backgrounds of their characters of color. No one speaks in their mother-tongue, celebrates any holidays or traditions tied to their respective cultures and religions and of course the most obvious. EVERYONE here is straight and able-bodied. And there are only TWO female leads, with most of the other recurring female characters being sent away or killed off.

The Good Doctor

The Good:

Although not the first medical drama to introduce a character with Autism it is the first to have one as the lead and his autism is a focus of the show. In the beginning there was the English born Dr. Jared Kalu, we know he comes from money and is assumed to be Asian, the actor is actually Nigerian and white, after he left the show Dr. Park was introduced. The Good Doctor has had the most Asian representation on a medical show I believe EVER in the history of prime-time television. Allegra Aoki, Dr. Aurdrey Lim, and Dr. Jackson Han round the out the Asian representation on the show.  Carly Lever, Dr. Claire Browne, and Dr. Marcus Andrews are represented as black or mixed-race Black Americans. Dr. Neil Melendez is the only Latino or Hispanic character he really doesn’t lean into it. Dr. Glassman and his wife are both Jewish.

The Bad:

The Good Doctor is doing something different having an autistic character as the lead, and although Freddie Highmore is a talented actor, he isn’t autistic. Also it would’ve been even better if Shaun could’ve been Shauna. A chance was missed here by taking a look at the often under diagnosed sect of girls and women who are autistic. The show has a lot of women on it both recurring and regular but ALL of them, just like the men,are straight. And a missed opportunity too considering the actress who plays Carly has been married to a woman since 2013. Also, Carly and Claire can pass the paper bag test, NO ONE is bilingual, and if they are they don’t show it or any of the other aspects of their cultural differences it’s very “American.

Chicago Med

The Good:

Out of all the One Chicago Shows, Med has the most racially diverse cast as well as diverse recurring characters. They have four black women on the cast. April Sexton whose real surname is Suassuna is Afro-Brazilian, who speaks both Spanish and Portuguese, attends family functions based on her heritage and has even shared a few anecdotes and beliefs from her culture which also include her brother Dr. Noah Sexton. Ditto for the recurring character Dr. Isidore Latham. He has Asperger’s, is Jewish, and observes all aspects of Judaism including wearing a kippah, and sharing some Jewish based jokes. Dr. Ethan Choi is believed to be Korean and Iranian born Dominic Rains has been added to the cast as Dr. Crockett Marcel rounding out the leads of Asian descent. 

The Bad:

Ethan’s ethnicity and race has only been brought up when it was being demeaned. Other than that the show leans heavily on his military background to give him depth but gives zero basis for any customs or cultural traits he probably had growing up. Nary a mention is given about Crockett’s race only his southern New Orleans heritage leaving us as an audience wondering if he’s Creole? Spicy White? No idea. Also April is Brazilian but almost exclusively speaks Spanish when not speaking English to her brother which is by far the strangest considering I have never met anyone who chooses English if they are raised in a multicultural household, and definitely not in conversation with their family members. But never Portuguese. All of these shows fail at representing Black American cultural, which leaves Maggie and Sharon with very little to share. And of course the most obvious. There are no LGBT characters on the show. None are leads and it doesn’t appear as though they are adding any or thinking about opening any new doors within the characters.

New Amsterdam

The Good

New Amsterdam does a lot of things right. My dear Vijay Kapoor who’s Indian identity is very wrapped in who he is, from his accent, to his prayers, mannerisms, and discussions of his past he isn’t just a token he’s a full character. Although the show has yet to address it Dr. Helen Sharpe who is obviously black is played by Freema Agyeman who is not so obviously half Iranian on her mothers side. But she is English and her disposition, her language and slang are represented in that regard. Lauren Bloom is a neurodivergent character with ADHD and a struggling addict. Dr. Floyd Reynolds is Black American who has Sunday dinners at his mothers. And Dr. Iggy Frome is a gay married man with 50 bajillion Pakistani children and aiming for one more. Recurring characters, Dr. Valentina Castro, Dora, and Casey are all  Latino and Evie Floyd is mixed race, white and Black American. Not to mention this show has plethora of diverse peripheral characters, little people, hijabs, turbans, kippahs,everywhere, you name it you’ve probably seen it. The show has to be diverse because it’s in New York and it’s supposed to be an international hospital. The place is MASSIVE. 

The Bad:

All that diversity, all the difference, cultural richness, ripe stories running amok and the entire show is centered on a cis-het white man. Not mention Casey and Dora don’t even have last names. Maybe that’s why the actress isn’t on the show anymore and is now on Emergence, New Amsterdam’s rival at that time slot. 

Grey’s Anatomy

The Good

Where do you start with the longest running medical drama on television.

They’ve had it all and still do. They constantly have LGBT characters, who are shown to get hot and heavy the same as their het-counterparts. Where other shows have two men bird-kissing like they don’t even want to touch, Levi and Nico are rolling around in ambulances and hooking up in on-call rooms. Ditto for the women, I stan Callie x Arizona especially their golden years. Nothing will ever touch the way Arizona used to say “Calliope” when they first started dated, it still makes me smile thinking about it. They’ve had addicts, alcoholics, neurodivigent characters, every race you could think of, Muslim, Christian,Jewish,and atheists. All kinds of socio-economic backgrounds. If you can think it they’ve had it and there really isn’t much reason or room to list all the characters both recurring and regular who have checked damn near every box.

The Bad:

It’s time for more brown Asians. And a regular neurodivergent character although there is more than enough room to diagnose a few of the characters if they wanted to. I’d be happy with a deaf doctor too. Also Carina DeLuca is currently the only Bi-character and she’s been kind of only used as a bed warmer which is...well, yikes. 

#ask sextonsharpwinhalstead #The Good Doctor #new amsterdam #chicago med #grey's anatomy #the resident #the resident on fox

[drreporting]

Nuptials Pt.3

Tuesday Night.

“Hurricane Amy,” Derek confirmed with a slight chuckle, “That’s what they used to call her at school. She hated the name.” He took a sip of his whiskey, adding, “That, and Little Amy. Call her that if you want her to tear your eyes out.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Owen laughed, knowing how much Amelia hated it when people, aside from Derek, called her Amy, far less Little Amy.

“Amy was very volatile in school,” Derek continued, embarrassing his younger sibling in her absence, “She would just say things without even thinking about it. It got her into a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t think that has changed much,” Alex piped in, taking a seat at the table Owen and Derek were sitting at.

“I remember a little after our dad passed away,” Derek recalled, “Mom got called in to our elementary school for a fight she got in.” Derek laughed as he thought about the memory, stuttering to finish the story. “Amy grabbed a little girl by her throat and almost choked her because she said something mean about dad.” Alex almost choked on his drink as he erupted in a fit of laughter.

“The point of this entire story,” Derek concluded, downing the rest of his drinks, “Is to be careful of what you say to my sister. She will grab you by your throat.”

“Noted,” Owen smiled, shaking his head as Andrew, Ben and Jackson approached the table, carrying a bus load of shots on a plate.

“Drinks are here,” Ben announced, grinning mischievously at Owen.

“Uh, those are shots,” Owen corrected the firefighter.

“Same thing.” Ben placed four differently coloured shots in front of Owen.

“I can’t drink all of this,” the trauma surgeon tried to say. The other five surgeons were having none of it.

“Come on, Hunt,” Andrew encouraged him, “You only have a couple more days of freedom before you officially become a soccer dad.”

“I think it’s soccer mom, De Luca,” Owen curtly corrected.

“No way, dude,” Alex chimed in, taking a shot from the plate and downing it instantly, “Shepherd wears the pants. You’re definitely the soccer dad; she has you whipped.”

Owen frowned at his statement. “That is not true.”

“Then prove it,” Jackson taunted him, gesturing to the four shots in front of him. Owen looked around at his fellow surgeons, each of them with a smug grin on their faces.

Desperately wanting to prove them wrong, Owen sighed and said, “Screw it.” He downed all four shots, being cheered on by his colleagues. He could already feel the buzz creeping as Derek began to speak again.

“So, how is family life?” Derek asked, “With the new baby and all.”

“For a new born, Rosie throws a lot of tantrums,” Owen disclosed thoughtfully, “She and Amelia almost never get along.”

“Maybe because they’re so similar,” Derek shrugged, “From what I remember, Amy was the loudest crier and persevered during the longest tantrum episodes.”

“I’m usually able to calm her down,” Owen added, “So I don’t know what it is about Amelia that makes her so…agitated.”

“They’re two north pole magnets,” Derek metaphorically stated, “You’re likely going to have to be breaking up fights between them for the rest of your life.”

“Gee, thanks,” Owen muttered, suddenly defeated at the thought.

“We should’ve hired strippers,” Alex announced.

“Strippers, really?” Jackson laughed, “For all of our wives to kill us? The only person who isn’t married here, is De Luca.”

“I bet you the girls hired male strippers,” Alex insisted, “There are always male strippers at bachelorette parties.

“Amelia would never,” Owen assured the bunch.

“Amelia wouldn’t,” Alex agreed, “But Addison, Meredith, Jo or Arizona? They definitely would.”

“Oh, and the southern chick too,” De Luca piped in, “I can’t remember her name, but she looked pretty impish.”

“Charlotte,” Owen answered for them, feeling incredibly insecure now.

Sensing his mood shift, Alex quickly added, “Hey, but you’re basically marrying a party girl, Hunt, so you scored.” Reaching over the table to pat his shoulder, the paediatric surgeon winked and added, “Maybe she’ll do a strip tease for you later.”

---

“You hired strippers?” Amelia exclaimed after just entering the bar, only to find that drinks were being served by men dressed in bow ties and dress pants. Only.

“I’m reminding you of what you’re going to be missing out on once you tie yourself down to a man,” Charlotte teased the neurosurgeon, guiding her over to one of the servers. “Charles, this is the soon-to-be.”

Charles looked Amelia up and down and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you.” He then took her hand and guided it to his chest before letting it trail down his torso.

As soon as the guy walked off, Amelia commented, “He has a really hard chest.”

“I know,” the blonde confirmed, winking at her. Amelia rolled her eyes just as she heard Maggie screaming.

“Oh my god,” Maggie gasped as she looked at the picture on Addison’s phone. Tears came to her eyes. “Amelia, you look amazing!”

“You took a picture?” Amelia exclaimed, rushing over to Addison’s side to see that she had, in fact, taken a picture of Amelia in her wedding dress, “I hate you.”

“You do look nice, though,” Meredith commented as she joined the trio, “Owen won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.” Addison continued to talk to Maggie about the dress, while Meredith pulled her aside for a personal conversation.

“You look nervous,” she said as they reach the bar table.

“Is it that obvious?” Amelia sighed, calling to the bar tender for a glass of sparkling water.

Meredith smirked. “I’m hoping it’s the copious amounts of alcohol around you, and not the wedding.”

Amelia sat on the bar stool and bit on her bottom lip. “I feel like we’re making a mistake, me and Owen.”

“You already made Rosie,” Meredith joked, referring to the baby as their big mistake. Amelia rolled her eyes and smiled, but her nervousness remained as she looked around at her friends having fun. “You’re not making a mistake,” Meredith assured her, taking her hand, “Love isn’t a mistake, and trust me when I say that Owen loves you.”

It was then that Amelia looked her in the eye. “It just feels like we’re rushing everything, all the time. Dating, moving in, the engagement, Rosie.”

“Everyone has a different timeline for things,” Meredith advised her, “And, if not, I can drive the getaway car on your wedding day.”

Amelia laughed as her phone vibrated in her pocket. “I’ll remember your offer. Excuse me.” She hastily darted out of the bar as she looked at the caller ID on her phone. She didn’t recognise the number. “This is Dr Shepherd.”

“Amelia,” a familiar voice said on the other line.

She paused, trying to register the voice. “Ryan?” She hadn’t heard from him since their official introduction to their son as his father, which had surprisingly gone well.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, unsure of what to say next, “How is R. Junior?”

“He’s…good,” she said, weary of why he was calling, “How are you?”

“I’m not calling you for money,” he quickly said, hearing the hesitation in her voice, “I’m still sober. Five months now.”

Amelia smiled to herself, a sense of warmth filling her being. “That’s great, Ryan. I’m happy for you.”

“Me too,” he agreed, “I’m also happy for you; I hear you’re getting married.”

“I am,” she confirmed, thinking of how happy she was that she was marrying Owen. Maybe it was just wedding jitters.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little jealous,” he disclosed, making her laugh.

“Of me? No way,” she teased.

“Lame, right?” he commented. There was a brief silence after, before he finally said, “I am genuinely happy for you, Amelia.”

She sighed in relief and smiled. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“Although, I always imagined that we would get married again and have more kids,” he sheepishly confessed, “But I guess I ruined my chances a while ago.” She knew he was referring to the countless time he’d shown up in her life, lying about his sobriety and toying with her emotions.

“It’s in the past,” she assured him, “Really.” Then, after a brief thought, she said, “You should come to the wedding.”

“I don’t know,” he mused, unsure of the idea of him and Owen in the same room, especially at her wedding, “I don’t want to make things tense or awkward for you.”

“No, I want you there,” she convinced him. When she heard no response from him, she offered, “I’ll promise you a dance if you come.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Ryan mused, “I guess I can’t say no.” Amelia laughed, glad that he had called, although she was reluctant at first to speak to him.

“Maggie and Arizona are drunk,” was the first thing Amelia heard when she came back into the bar. The words had come from Stephanie’s mouth. Standing by the door, she looked over at her friends. Addison, Charlotte, Meredith, Maggie, Jo, Stephanie, Arizona, even April. They had all come out to celebrate her future with Owen, and she couldn’t help but be so glad that she’d made one more good decision in her life, the decision to move to Seattle.

#omeliafics #omelia #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #addison montgomery #Charlotte king #ryan kerrigan #ryan shepherd #rymelia #rosie shepherd-hunt #nuptials

[heyyyharry]

My Girl Series: Chapter 9 - Bambi

…in which the little girl next door isn’t so little anymore.

Series description: Y/N falls in love with the older boy next door who doesn’t feel the same, years later they meet again at a funeral.

AU: actor!harry, older!harry, younger!y/n; (4-year age gap)

Chapter 8: Without The Love - Harry wants what he shouldn’t, and now he cannot leave.

Warning: smut (yes guys, finally), and also mistakes because my eyesight got blurry after going through 7k words lmao.

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"But boys don't like little girls."

"That's not true. I'm a boy and I like you."

"You do?!"

"Of course I do. You're my girl."

With a faint smile, fifteen-year-old Harry headed back to his front porch. He thought about the look on Y/N's face when he called her his girl, oh how happy she must've felt, and that made him feel special too. As the boy sat back down with his study group, his eyes still followed the girl until she was finally out of sight.

"Are you dating an eleven-year-old?" The fat kid named Brian said, pulling Harry's attention back to the skeptical stares everyone in the circle was giving him. They all cracked up at that one question, causing the poor boy to shift uncomfortably in his spot.

"She's just my neighbor," he said, but nobody seemed convinced.

"I think she has a crush on you," said the pretty blonde sitting right in front of him. When she pressed her lips into a smile, Harry swore that his heart might've just skipped a beat.

Her name was Kathy — the most beautiful girl in school. Earlier that year, there had been rumors going around that she secretly liked Harry a lot, but she hadn't found the courage to ask him out yet. And frankly, who wouldn't want to receive attention from such a beautiful girl? So when she assumed that his little friend might have a crush on him, he couldn't let her believe that was true, not even for a second.

"I think she only sees me as her big brother," he reassured Kathy.

Another smile formed on her lips as she combed her fingers through her golden locks.

"Trust me, I know when a girl likes a boy," she said, batting her eyelashes at Harry, who could only hope it wasn't obvious how red he had become.

"Dude," another kid spoke up, gaining everyone's attention at once, but he was only talking to Harry. "That kid was so excited to tell you about her first period. Talk about being obsessive! I can see her hanging your photos everywhere in her bedroom."

Everyone burst out laughing at what that boy had just said, everyone including his crush. So even though Harry didn't find any humor in the mean joke, he cracked a nervous grin. He felt so guilty afterwards though; if his Bambi had been there and they had said those words to her face, he might've reacted differently. But she wasn't there, Kathy was, leaving him no other choice but to play along.

When Harry looked up and met Kathy's blue eyes, she gave him a shrug as if to tell him to just ignore his friends. But how could he when they were all laughing at him? For a teenage boy, having a good reputation mattered a lot; and without a doubt, having a lot of friends was more important than having a real one. So those simple words the other kids had said caused him to overthink for the rest of the day. And from that day, the way he saw his little neighbor had also changed.

All of a sudden, he felt like it was inappropriate for a fifteen-year-old to spend that much time with an eleven-year-old. First off, people would make fun of him. Second, girls like Kathy would assume he wasn't mature enough for them. It was such a shame that both of those reasons were about him, and not Y/N. He didn't bother to think about how it would make her feel when he decided to keep his distance with her.

At that point, Harry didn't know how much he would regret it later on.

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Checking his watch for the third time or so, Harry leaned back against the car, sighing as he looked up. He tried to find the window on the fifth floor that was Y/N's bedroom only to see if her light was on. It showed just how impatient he was getting. Fifteen minutes more and he began to fear that she might've forgotten about their "date" to the musical. So he decided to send a quick text to make sure she remembered. It didn't take more than a second for the word seen to appear and three dots to pop up in the chat box.

⌲ Bambi: The show starts at 9. It's only 7PM now?

Shit. He thought to himself and quickly opened the photo of the tickets she'd sent. She was right. He was too excited to see her that he thought the show started one hour earlier. Embarrassed, Harry quickly wrote her another text.

⌲ Sorry. But I'm here anyway so can I come up?

⌲ Bambi: Wait. I'll be right down with you.

⌲ Bambi: Btw, park your car somewhere. We'll walk.

Y/N suggested that they go for a drink first and then to the theater. He hadn't seen her so excited in a long time, she talked and laughed a lot. It wasn't her everyday personality but he thought he liked that side of her, he liked it a lot.

They walked side by side, two meters apart, him having both hands in his pockets and her with her arms folded to hold onto herself. Those defensive gestures might keep them from running into each other's embrace, yet it didn't stop their thoughts from wandering way too far from reality. He took a glance at her and turned away as she did the same. They had been walking for five minutes without exchanging a single word, and the silence had become way too suffocating.

"Why is this street so dark?" Harry finally spoke as he looked around and realized there was no one else but the two of them. The moon was nowhere to be seen, and the only source of light there was a dim streetlamp which went on and off every second.

Harry had checked the weather forecast before leaving his house and it said there was a 70% chance of rain that night. No wonder the stars in the sky were nonexistent, same as the moon, they were all hidden under thick blankets of dark clouds.

Not answering Harry's question, Y/N walked fast forward, taking a turn into an alley as she nodded her head, giving him signal to hurry along. She told him they couldn't take the direct route to the bar because it would be suicidal to walk down the street together at London's most busy hour. When they went out for dinner with her father and Marcy, they had tried to be as lowkey as they could've, but somehow still ran into his fans. This time, they had to be even more secretive, though it was admittedly tiring to literally hide in the dark.

"Do you always walk that far when you're out with a girl?" Y/N pointed out, making Harry realize he was keeping a considerable distance from her.

"Yeah, well, I don't even hold hands on a date unless it's for PR."

"Sucks to be you." She laughed. But he agreed. It sucked to be him sometimes.

In silence, Harry followed the girl as they walked along the rough cobbled road that caused his feet to ache. The abandoned blocks on both sides were tight together and loomed over the pair, creating an illusion that the alleyway was longer and more narrow than it actually was. The sounds of their footsteps ricochetted from one wall to the other, somehow causing his heart to beat in sync with his steady paces.

In the half light of the alley, his Bambi appeared so small. To answer the question in his head, she broke the silence, "I don't usually take this route when I go out alone at night."

"Good." He breathed out a heavy chuckle, feeling relieved. "I meant to ask."

They carried on walking, taking a few more turns. All those narrow streets looked almost the same, all dark and grey, causing Harry to think if Y/N had left him there to walk back on his own, he would've spent the rest of his life searching for the way out.

"We're almost there," she assured him.

Soon he noticed the yellow beams of the only lamppost ahead, and Y/N sighed in relief as she pointed to the metal door at the end of the road, saying that was the back entrance of the bar. She walked in without hesitation, pulling Harry along, so he assumed she had been there plenty of times before.

The place was hundreds of conversations told in loud voices, all mixed up with the loud rock song blasting on the speaker which nobody really paid attention to. Y/N made her way through the sweaty bodies, making sure her fingers stayed locked around Harry's wrist as they headed straight towards the counter to order some drinks.

"Andrew!"

"Little girl!" The big fat bartender laughed loudly when he spotted her face in the crowd. "I can hardly recognize you when you're sober."

Y/N rolled her eyes as she huffed and pulled a chair to sit down, telling Harry to do the same. It took the actor a moment to figure out why Andrew and everything there looked so familiar. That was the same bar he'd come to pick her up when she was shit-faced on that counter and threw up all over his shoes. He opened his mouth to speak, yet was interrupted by the loud bearded man.

"Glad to see you two back together again," said the man while looking at Harry. "The last time you broke up, she literally turned my bar into her second home."

"But we never dated."

"Don't fool me, little girl." Andrew scoffed, pointing a finger at Y/N. "If your pretty boyfriend hadn't come save your ass, I would've tossed you out on the street that night."

Harry and Y/N exchanged funny looks in silence. Instead of trying to explain, they just let Andrew believe what he wanted to believe and ordered a pint of beer for each.

Most of the people at that bar were blue-collar workers and middle-aged men who'd had too much to drink to remember who they were, let alone recognize movie star Harry Styles sitting just a few feet away from them. For the first time in the longest time, Harry finally felt like he was invisible and he actually loved the feeling of it. It seemed like Y/N was the only one there who knew him, and he felt free to drink as much as he liked and laughed as hard as he wanted. They sat and talked about life, his movies, her job at the library, and many other things that mattered to them. Then it was finally 8:30, they paid for the drinks and said goodbye to Andrew so as to get to the show on time.

Once again, the pair took the same dark route they had before, but this time instead of walking far apart, she had her arm around his waist and his on her shoulders. They were singing random songs out loud, knowing the only creatures they might disturb on that abandoned street were the rats and cockroaches in the sewers. But their ignorance didn't get to last for too long. As they took the final turn to get back to the main street, Harry immediately spotted a familiar face.

Under the lamppost stood a man, tall and slim, with a cigarette between his lips. He was too busy talking on the phone with someone to notice them. So Harry grabbed Y/N by the arms and pulled her back into the dark alleyway. She intended to ask when he pressed her against the wall, but with a finger to his lips, he signaled her to stay silent. Slowly, he poked his head out to check on the stranger, making Y/N frown in confusion.

"That man out there works for an online magazine that write gossip about celebrities," he whispered, now turning back to her, one hand resting on the wall by her head, the other on her neck. "Maybe we should wait a bit for him to leave. Can't let him see us together."

Y/N pressed her lips into a firm line, nodding her head to let him know she got it. She fought him a lot, so it was nice to see her listen to him even just for once. And she looked too cute for him to feel unfortunate that they got stuck in that situation.

For a moment, he got lost in the hues of her eyes. He told himself to stay calm, still couldn't fight the urge to caress her lips with his thumb. He thought about chewing on them if she would just let him kiss her. But knowing her, he didn't have much hope for getting a taste of those lips anytime soon.

Just as a drop of crystal-clear water appeared on his skin, Harry quickly lifted both hands above Y/N's head to shield her from the raindrops coming down. She gave him a smile, as if the thought of a rain excited her as it used to when she was a child. He watched her beam grow, unable to stop one from forming upon his face. However, the drops became heavier really soon. Harry poked his head out of the alleyway once again, but the annoying reporter was still standing there because he was safe with the roof above his head. Harry sighed in frustration, but Y/N only giggled. The sound of her laugh eased his mind as he stepped closer, almost sandwiching her between his body and the brick wall so the rain couldn't drench all of her, at least not as much as it was doing to him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, their faces so close that even with the sound thunder, he could still hear her breath get caught in her throat. Y/N cupped his face, wiping the wet strands out of his forehead. Her eyelids flutter as she stared at the droplets running down his pink lips.

"Why are you sorry?" She asked, laughing nervously when her body shivered from the cold. Even though it was pointless at this point to shield her from the downpour, Harry still kept one arm above her head, his other tightened the grip on her waist.

"I ruined our date."

"Our date?"

"Oh, fuck...I mean..." He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head and laughing lowly. "Shit. Never mind."

Y/N said nothing. The girl couldn't come up with anything to speak so she pulled him in. The water ran down their faces to where their lips collided. Neither seemed to care as they tasted the cold drops against the tips of their tongues. Harry pushed his lips in more firmly, and the intoxicating wave running through him caused his head to spin in circles. There was something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender yet intense moment that just wouldn't wait. The couple melted into each other, letting the water soak through to chill their skin, like a rebellion act against nature.

The universe could bring the storm, but the sunshine within could come through just as strong.

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When Harry pulled his car over in front of his house, his first instinct was to look up at the highest window next door to check if Y/N had gone to bed yet. It was almost midnight then but he could still see her shadow pacing back and forth inside her room, and so he assumed she must've waited until the last minute to prepare for an exam again.

"What is it?" Spoke the girl sitting in the passenger seat, as she leaned over to see what her date was looking at, and why he was smiling. Harry just straight off told Kathy that it was nothing, and got out to come open the door for her. His mum was already asleep, so he asked Kathy to be quiet as he took her hand and led her into his house. The teenagers headed straight to the backyard, where they could be alone and didn't have to worry about waking up Anne.

Turning on the fairy lights on the porch, Harry set up two chairs looking out to the garden, and asked his date to sit down with him. But that wasn't what Kathy had in mind. Her attention was on something else. With a smile she pointed to the big tree standing right by the fence, and asked him, "is that your treehouse?"

"Yeah. My dad built it," he answered.

Harry almost included 'before he left', but he didn't think Kathy was ready to hear about his family drama when it was just their first date.

"Let's go up there."

"Go up there?" Harry widened his eyes at her suggestion, yet the girl already seemed so excited.

"Yeah. I wanna see your treehouse." She giggled and leaned in to study his facial expression, probably wondering why he seemed so unsure. "Do you have secrets that you don't want me to know?" Kathy joked, laughing slightly, but Harry only shook his head as a response. "Or am I not special enough?"

"You are, you are special," he said fast, laughing nervously.

Without a doubt, he liked Kathy very much. He would be insane if he didn't, because she was the definition of perfect. She was beautiful, and sweet, and smart, like the main girl in those romantic movies he'd watched and books he'd read. And to have someone popular and pretty like her as a girlfriend was certainly a dream come true. However, nobody else had entered that treehouse but him and Y/N. It wasn't just his treehouse, it was theirs. So even though Y/N was studying in her room and wouldn't be able to see him bring Kathy to their fort, he felt guilty about it still.

"I'm too exhausted to climb all the way up there," he lied. But Kathy just breathed out a laugh and took his wrist as she told him he was just lazy.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go," she urged him, pulling the boy with her before he could come up with another way to say no. And Harry didn't make an effort to stop her then. He let her get on the robe ladder first and followed right after to make sure she didn't fall. When they finally got up there, he switched on the lightbulb and stepped aside for his date to enter the world that was initially just his and Y/N's.

"Wow, 'do not enter'. Trying to be badass, huh?" Kathy giggled as she read the messy handwriting on the door. Little did she know, it wasn't Harry's.

The girl took a look around the tiny space, observing every little corner that belonged to her date's childhood, everything that used to matter a lot, or still mattered to him. It didn't take her too long to spot four simple words carved onto the back entrance.

"Y/N and Harry only?" She squinted her eyes, and turned to give Harry a questioning look. "Is Y/N that little girl who lives next door to you?"

"Yup." He shrugged, shoving both hands into his pants pockets. "This used to be our treehouse."

Used to. Harry couldn't believe he'd said that. If Y/N was there, she would be so upset, and the thought of it made him feel terrible.

"Our?" Kathy playfully stuck out her bottom lip, pouting as she said, "so I'm not the first girl you brought here?"

"She's just a kid." He chuckled, shaking his head, and the smile soon returned to Kathy's face. Slowly, she walked up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and Harry felt his heart racing faster as his arms finally tightened around her small waist. Their foreheads rested against each other; and he let himself get carried away by the deep blue of her eyes.

"Sit. I have something for you." He sat down on the floor, pulling her down with him and reached out to grab the dusty guitar he'd left in the corner for too long. The last time he picked it up was when his Bambi asked him to play her a song. Of course he didn't mention it to Kathy, so the girl assumed she was the first and only girl he'd ever sung to.

The sad truth was, she wasn't even his first love, or even his love. She was just a girl he had a crush on at seventeen, the age at which not everyone could tell the difference between love and physical attraction. Harry and Kathy had their first kiss that night in the treehouse, but a few months later, they called it off because their feelings just weren't the same anymore. After the breakup, they never spoke to each other again, and it didn't take Harry too long to erase most memories he had with her.

But somehow, he couldn't do the same to the little girl he had abandoned.

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The rain came in waves, splattering across the pavement and beating down on every hard surface. Soon the entire city had been hidden by silver sheets of water. As pedestrians dashed for cover, the hiss of car tires on glistening roads was competing with the wild howling of the wind. The scene was pure madness. But right there, in Harry's car, was the opposite of what was happening outside in the pouring rain.

He kissed her and the world fell away. Their heavy breaths had fogged up all the windows, obscuring the movements of two soaked body in the backseat of the steamy vehicle. She was sitting on his lap, grinding against the hard bulge under his wet jeans, earning a heavy groan that got stuck in his throat when he tossed his head back. His fingers pressed hard onto the exposed skin above the waistband of her tennis skirt.

"That man took too long to leave," she moaned into his mouth, hands hiking up his shirt as she was desperate for some skin contact. The thin fabric of her panties didn't really do its job because he could feel her heat burning through all those layers and knew she wasn't just dripping from the rain. It was killing him to not tear off her clothes and take her right there. He desperately wanted to, he knew she wanted him to. His mind tried to reason with him that once they'd had sex, they could never go back. But now she was moaning his name non-stop as he was sucking on her neck, it was impossible for them to stop at this point.

"We can't...not here." His breath hitched up as he clung to her hips, trying to push her away, but she grasped his neck harder, forcing him to open his eyes and look into hers. The look she was giving him could melt him into the puddle that had already formed on the leather seat because of their drenched clothes.

"Want you now," she begged, hot mouth sucking the spot right below his ear, causing him to moan out, and the sound to Y/N was just like a ballad made from heaven.

"Bambi-" She cut him off by kissing his lips. He kissed back, both hands moving to her neck and hair.

"Want you to fuck me," she whispered, pouting like a little girl, but now he knew she wasn't one anymore. "Don't you want that? To fuck me?"

"I do, fuck, I do." Harry loved and hated her dirty mouth at the same time, but he still managed to use a fraction of self-control he'd got left to reason with her, as well as himself.

"Just...don't want our first time to...god...to be like this. Not here." He tossed his head back when she kissed his jawline, neck, and collarbone. "Let's get you home." He shook his head, one arm squeezing her torso, but she only kissed him harder, leaving him breathless. "Baby, be good."

Y/N's lips curved into a smile as she heard that nickname. That was the first time he'd ever called her "baby" and she almost begged him to never stop repeating that word.

"Shh." She brought her finger up to his lips and kissed them again, before pulling away a bit so she wouldn't forget to breathe. "Don't worry about me. I've done this before."

"Fuck. No need to remind me that." He released a rough groan when she bit his earlobe, trying not to think about all the other men who had felt what he was feeling then. Their breathing then became rough and fast as she tugged on his shirt, and finally pulling it over his head to do the same to her sweater. She didn't have her bra on, so Harry's eyes nearly fell out when he saw her bare chest for the first time.

There was a vulnerability in Y/N's eyes as she felt him gazing at her naked form. With that look on his face, it almost felt like Harry had just seen a woman's breasts for the first time in his life, so she couldn't help but giggle lowly. His eyes didn't linger too long there, just enough for her to know how beautiful she was to him. She was literally trembling when she took his hand and placed it on one breast. He squeezed it gently, feeling the softness of her skin which was turning warm under his palm. One hand at the back of his neck, she urged his face down. Soon he opened his mouth and gently suckled, causing his name to spill out from her mouth, mixing up with wet moans that got his jeans tightened even more.

She was his drug. All it took was one touch and the intoxication was instant. Her scent became more prominent in the tiny space of his backseat and the fragranced hot air got all the blood in his body rushing to one body part.

Before they knew how it happened, they were both naked and their bodies were moving softly together as if they were one. Their tongues entwined in a sloppy kiss when he was finally inside, changing her breathing with every hard thrust as if her moans fueled him to go harder and deeper.

"No...don't...Bambi, look at me." He held her face to demand eye contact, not slowing down as she begged him not to. She struggled to keep her eyes open but never gave into the temptation to get carried away all at once. He watched her face twist with pleasure as his lips parted, hands guiding her hip to move her faster ontop of him.

"Feels good."

"Yea—Yeah? " He furrowed his brows as she did the same, clutching his hair a bit tighter.

"More." She moaned, nodding fast, not to look anywhere else but his green eyes.

"Such a good girl for me. Almost there, baby. C'mon," he coaxed her, capturing her mouth with his own and she caught him by surprise by nipping his bottom lip between her teeth. He was weak for her, entirely defeated under her. If she wanted him to beg, he would, as long as she promised to never stop until they both came undone.

When it happened, Y/N almost forgot how to breathe. She slammed one hand against the foggy window on her side, arching her back when he pounded into her. She couldn't care less if her scream could break the glass as she tossed her head back and dug her nails into his back. Harry released into the condom just a few seconds after her as he finally slowed down and kissed her hard on the lips. The stayed there, panting until they caught our breaths, sweaty foreheads against one another.

It was insane how they managed to get back to her flat, let alone strip each other down again once they had entered the living room. This time, he took her hard against her bedroom wall, still in their dripping clothes, too aroused to care or even make it to the bed. After the third orgasm that followed right after her second, Harry had to catch Y/N's limb body before she collapsed and carried her to the shower. They just stood there leaning onto each other for support, her head on his chest as he washed her hair, letting the warm water run down their flushed skin to wash the rain water, sweat, and the smell of sex all down the drain.

It wasn't until they had returned to the bedroom and began drying off that realization sank back in for both. They just stood there, staring at one another in silent. Harry had only a towel wrapped around his waist now that his clothes were all wet. And Y/N was wearing just a t-shirt big and long enough to look like a dress on her. The feeling was strange, yet new, and exciting.

It was Y/N who took the first steps forward, closing the distance between them two to hug him tight. Without saying a word, he did the same, sniffing in the apple scent of her still soaked hair.

"Stay the night," she said at last. And he happily nodded, squeezing her warm body tight.

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Harry had been pacing back and forth for nearly a minute before he finally gained enough courage to ring on his neighbor's doorbell. The boy blew air through his mouth, hollowing up his cheeks as he heard footsteps coming his way. And when the door opened, it wasn't the fourteen-year-old he was there to see, it was her mother. Tam Y/L/N greeted the boy next door with a casual, yet heart-warming smile.

"Harry, look how grown you are! I haven't seen you around in so long," she said. He already knew that it'd been a while since he last came here, but to hear it from someone else made him feel worse somehow. "I heard you got the scholarship that you wanted. Your mother must be so proud."

"Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N...Is Y/N home?"

"Yeah, she's upstairs. Want me to call her for you?"

"No." He stopped her just as she turned away. "Uhm...I'm leaving tomorrow. I think I should let her know. Can you tell her that for me?"

"Sweetie..." The corners of Tam's lips sank into a frown. "She doesn't even know about the scholarship."

Right. Of course she didn't know. The last time they talked was a year ago when she asked him to take her to that concert but he refused. He couldn't believe it had been that long. They had been two strangers for a year now, so to see her again and tell her he was gonna leave Holmes Chapel and wasn't sure when and if he was ever coming back would make him seem like a jerk. So even though Harry's initial intention when he rang the doorbell was to talk to her in person, but now the thought of it scared him a lot. Harry stood there, stuttering in front of her mother, trying to come up with an excuse so she would help him out by breaking this news to Y/N.

But the woman spoke before he could, "Harry, you know her. If she hears this from me she'll assume she doesn't matter to you." Then came a pause. "Do you care about her?"

He didn't answer that inquiry. But he didn't have to.

"Then I think you should tell her yourself. She really misses you," Tam said, giving the eighteen-year-old boy another smile.

She was right. Even though he had been keeping distance with Y/N for that long, he couldn't walk away knowing she would hate him and think she didn't mean anything to him. After all, she was still the girl he'd got into a fight for and risked getting sick as he walked in the rain to keep her safe. Even if his head told him she didn't matter, his heart knew she did.

After a moment, he finally nodded, and Tam didn't hesitate to turn her head and shouted upstairs,"Y/N, Harry is here to see you!"

"Wait," he spoke after a second thought. "Can you...can you tell her to meet me at our treehouse?"

"Sure, love," the woman said without asking why.

Harry thanked her and walked away quickly before Y/N came down and saw his face. He needed time to think about how to break the news without breaking her heart, and maybe his own.

It had been so long since he last visited their treehouse, and it was quite embarrassing how he had to struggle at first because he'd forgotten how to climb. He sat there on the floor like the night they first met, but this time he was nervous because he knew she was coming.

Harry turned his head as soon as he heard Y/N's voice at the entrance. He got up from the dusty wooden floor, smiling at the girl. Her eyes were still as bright as he remembered. He'd never told her, but all the emotions she was trying to hide always showed through her big eyes and gave away what she was actually feeling. But this time, it was hope that he saw in them. And he knew the goodbye was gonna be twice as hard as how he'd imagined it would be.

They sat down side by side on the edge of their little house with bare feet dangling in the air, listening to the cricket singing their summer song. He knew he was going to miss this, he was going to miss Holmes Chapel, and mostly he was going to miss her. Y/N seemed pretty quiet that night, so Harry had to initiate a conversation, asking her about school, about Celine, about her parent's constant fights. He also filled her in with most of the things that had happened to her in the past year, and kept her updated on his sister and his mum.

But eventually, he must say what he was there to say, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. To London."

From the way her body stiffened as she heard those words, Harry had expected a different reaction from his little neighbor. However, she only laughed and asked him if he was joking. He wished it had been a joke, then it wouldn't have killed him to say it out loud. He told her about the scholarship, about being accepted into his dream school, and now he could finally follow his dream to become a famous actor. But she was quiet the whole time. He didn't know what she was thinking, he never did.

"I'll come back and visit you next summer," he said, not even sure if he could stay true to those words. But at least they would ease her mind. "I wanted to see you one last time before I left...Bambi, say something."

His Bambi turned to look at him with glistening eyes, and he silently begged her not to dissolve into tears because he wouldn't know what to do. But knowing Y/N, he was sure that she wouldn't allow herself to cry in front of him now that he was basically just a familiar stranger.

"I'm really happy for you, H," she said at last, putting on a smile. So he smiled back at her, reaching out to tuck a strand behind her ear. He told her to be strong when he wasn't around, and take care of herself, though she'd been doing just fine without him in the past year. And deep down, he hoped she would find a boy who wouldn't mind getting a black eye to make her happy. He couldn't be that boy, not anymore.

"This treehouse is all yours now," he told her. "Please look after it?"

"I will," she gave him her words. From the determination written on her face, he knew she would keep her promise, and somehow that made him happy. Maybe because he knew she didn't hated him like he assumed she would.

It was getting late, and he had to catch a train before sunrise. So Harry said his last goodbye to his little neighbor, telling her that they both should get some rest. But instead of letting him go, she cut him off just as he tried to say something else. "Harry...Can I ask you for one last favor?"

"Anything, kid. Tell me."

"Can you...Uhm...Will you..." She exhaled deeply and took his hand in hers. "Will you be my first kiss?"

The grin slowly faded from his face when he realized she was actually serious. "I don't think I should be your first kiss, Bambi. You should save it for the boy you like."

"But you...are the boy I like."

Harry was surprised to hear those words, yet not really. A part of him had always known she'd had a crush on him, but he assumed it would just disappear into thin air real soon. But after a year of acting like they didn't know each other, how could she still call him the boy she liked?

He wanted to lighten up the mood without hurting her feelings, yet he struggled to come up with what to say. But Y/N was impatient as always. She couldn't wait for a reply, probably because she knew she would never get one. So she just followed her instinct and cupped his face to bring her lips to his, only to pull away a second later. It was barely what one would call a kiss, but Harry was in shock and he couldn't even flinch. A fourteen-year-old had just kissed him on the lips. How could he possibly react in this situation? So he chose not to react.

He just sat there and watched her run back to the rope ladder. And the next moment she was gone, for good this time. He didn't think too much about the kiss even though it did put him in shock. But maybe it was for the best if her last memory of him was their moment on the treehouse and not him leaving her without saying goodbye. At least now he knew she wouldn't hate him forever.

She had been a big part of his childhood, and would always be a part of him. So as Harry watched her run back to her house, he truly hoped if they never met again, she would keep him in her memory if not in her heart.

For him, he would also do the same.

.

.

.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night, reaching for the warm body lying next to him, only to find the bed cold and empty. In an instant, he became frantic, thinking Y/N had gone. But it took him a second to calm down and remember he was at her place, not his. The girl hadn't even left the bed. She was just sitting up, holding her knees to her chest and staring at the window. She stayed very still when he crawled to her side.

"Bambi?" His voice was dreadfully quiet. "Are you...Why are you crying, love?" The left side of his chest ached when he saw a tear running down from the corner of her eyes. Slowly she turned to look at him, her lips trembled and her shoulders heaved with emotion when he pulled her to his chest.

"Is it because of me?" He sadly questioned, assuming it must be him. Maybe he shouldn't have been too rough when they had sex, maybe she regretted sleeping with him, maybe she was gonna tell him to leave and never see her again. His whole body tensed up in fear thinking all of those maybes could be true. But eventually, she shook her head no.

"I forgot my cup of tea," she whispered.

That answer left him confused. "Your cup of tea?"

Y/N nodded, staying utterly lifeless in his arms. "It keeps me from having nightmares."

"Is that why you always drink tea before bed?"

"Hmm," she hummed and buried her face into his chest, inhaling his cent as if to remind herself that she'd still got him. After a moment of silence and ragged breathing, she told him, "I saw my mum. She was standing right by a car. But before I could get to her, the car exploded, and all that was left was fire and smoke and the sound of my own screams..."

"Shh." He stroked her hair, pressing butterfly kisses to her forehead. It was then that he realized she was clinging to the locket he'd given her, somehow it put him at ease knowing his birthday gift could lend her some kind of emotional support when she felt afraid. "Want me to make you a cup of tea, love?"

"No. Just...don't let me go."

"Alright."

Harry laid her back down, this time with her back to his chest. When they clasped each other in a warm hug, Y/N could finally be calm enough to listen to the sound of the gentle night rain outside, feeling his chest rising and falling against her back, their breaths in unison.

For a second, Harry wished they could share their hearts as easily as sharing their body heat. He couldn't remember the last time he let another get close to him like this, but Y/N was special; though at the same time, being with her felt like carrying a time bomb. One wrong move and he was a goner, yet every time she tried to leave, it was him who convinced her to stay.

"I'll go to the wedding with you." Her voice pierced right through the silence of the room, causing his eyes to fly open. Y/N thought he didn't hear her, so she repeated the sentence once more, adding, "if your offer still stands."

"It does." He chuckled hoarsely. "What changed your mind though?"

"Thought I should stop running away from reality." That was her answer, nothing more. He didn't really get what she actually meant, but he didn't think she wanted him to ask, so he decided to let it go.

"When are you gonna leave?" She asked.

"Not tonight. I'm staying tonight."

Harry wasn't sure if when she said "leave", she meant him leaving her flat before she woke up, or him leaving her for good. But it didn't really matter. That answer would do for both meanings. Because no matter what happened to them in the future, he knew it wasn't gonna end tonight.

"Good," Y/N murmured with a tiny sigh, making Harry chuckle. His eyes gradually slipped closed, and a few minutes later, he went limp.

#my girl series #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #actor!harry #older!harry #younger!y/n

[dukeofriven]

Fun Jade/Rose Facts (Well... facts.)

Note: These facts are divided between “In-Comic” (Everything from Page 1 of Homestuck (A young man stands in his bedroom...) to page 8128 (The End) and “The Credits” (Pages 8129-8130). If I update this after the Epilogue, we’ll... cross that bridge when we get there.

In-Comic Jade/Rose Facts

Jade and Rose have only five conversations in the entire comic.

1 2 3 4 (2 pages) 5 (2 pages)

Conversation #4 is repeated. We see it first from Jade’s POV, then from Rose’s.

The number of conversations goes up to six if you count GrimBark Jade saying “Bark” and “Hey guys long time no see” to the assembled group in Act 6 Intermission 5 - but since Rose says nothing back, I am not counting this as a conversation.

You may do so if you wish.

After removing dialogue tags (like “TT”) and Pesterlog archival data (“ceased pestering” etc), their shortest conversation is their fourth at 80 words long.

Their longest one-on-one conversation is their third at 571 words long.

Their longest conversation is their fifth. It features Doc Scratch, and runs some 1,170 words long.

All told, about 2,711 words are exchanged in one-another’s chat windows. Discounting Doc Scratch’s intrusion into their final conversation, they speak 2324 words to one-another.

If you are counting the Grimbark conversation, add another 7 words.

6 if ‘BARK” is more of a sound.

By contrast, this single one-page Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory exchange between Dave, John, and Karkat runs some 2188 words - over a thousand words longer than any single Jade/Rose conversation, and only some 136 less than their entire conversation history.

Rose never speaks a single word to Jade aloud.

Rose never uses Jade’s name in conversation with her.

Jade and Rose "share the screen” 15 times during the comic. (I have excluded both Caliborn’s ‘Homosuck’ cutouts and his Plasticine maquette because A) they are facsimiles of an event recited by an even-more unreliable narrator than usual, not the real thing, and B) Seriously: Fuck That Guy)

One of these on-camera appearances was ret-conned out of existence.

In only seven of these appearances are both Jade and Rose conscious.

Here are all their on-camera appearances:

Act 6 Intermission 5

(Don’t think I ever noticed Gamzee hiding in the background before.) Act 6 Act 5

Act 7

(It’s tough to tell but I think the above photo is the closest Rose and Jade ever get in the comic.)

Rose never speaks to Jade again after their fifth conversation in Act 5 Act 2.

Rose and Jade do not converse for the entirety of Act 6.

Rose and Jade do not converse for the entirety of Act 7

Going off “page math” alone. here are some fun facts about Jade and Rose conversations:

5% - or about 1/20th of the comic - passes before Rose and Jade speak.

Rose and Jade spend 39% - 39/100ths - of the comic “in-touch” with one another.    

They spent the remaining 56% of the comic not talking.

Rose and Jade spend approximately 61% of Homestuck not in-contact, not in-touch with one another.

Counting the repeat conversation and a single still panel, there are only 9 pages in Homestuck where Rose and Jade are talking.

0.11072834645669291% of Homestuck - 5,536,417,323/5,000,000,000,000ths - (5.5 milliard billionths of the comic - 5.5 billion trillionths for our American readers. ~11/10000) is devoted to Rose and Jade’s “on-screen” relationship. And that’s counting a repeat conversation and a silent panel.

Rose and Jade “share” the screen - either while message-conversing or literally “in the same shot” in 20 pages of Homestuck.

That’s 0.24606299212598426% of Homestuck. About 24,606,299,213/10,000,000,000,000 (~1/400ths) of the comic.

Homestuck contains about 817,612 words.

Jade-Rose conversations all together comprise some 2779 words, taking into account that the fourth conversation is repeated twice.

Jade-Rose conversations comprise approximately 0.33989227163984875% of Homestuck’s text.

That’s 8497306791/2500000000000ths

Credits Jade/Rose Facts

There is no canonical evidence that Jade attended Rose’s wedding.

Seriously - she’s not there in the pictures. When all the kids are lifting the bride and bride up on chairs as part of the “thing done during the horah that isn’t actually part of the horah guess who just did a deep dive into the history of the horah did you know it’s from Greece via Romania and only dates back to 1930 as a traditional pan-Jewish custom it’s kind of like clan tartans in that it’s a cultural touchstone that feels ancient but isn’t” she’s... absent. Jake is in the picture twice once at the top, once in trickster mode on the bottom. Jade Harley: had better things to do than go to Rose’s wedding?

Jade and Rose are the only two kids to never be shown with Trickster modes.

This following photograph is the only conversation Rose and Jade ever have in-person in all the Homestuck franchise. It is their only moment of contact after Act 5 Act 2. We have no demonstrative way of proving that they ever conversed in-person before John’s 18th birthday party on Earth-C:

This is their only verbal conversation, and their only conversation to go textually unrecorded.

We have no way of proving that this is not Rose and Jade burying the hatchet after a... four year feud after Jade clumsily let Rose know her mother had been brutally murdered. 

This is 1.3297872340425532% of the entire credits video.

That’s 664893617/50000000000ths of the entire credits - because the only good joke is a cumbersome running joke.

BONUS: Snapchat Jade/Rose Facts

Welcome to the land of dubious canonicity. [Update 23/04/19: I’d like to note that I used this phrase before the Epilogues hit. Also, these are now officially outside of even the broader Homestuck meta-canon as far as anyone can tell. Radio silence on this remains aggravating. What were these and what did Andrew Hussie actually want?]

Do you remember the Snapchats? They didn’t stop being a thing or anything.

... well, they did, actually. Who knows if they’re canon any more. [Again: they are not]

That’s why this section is a bonus - its demi-canonical!

Man, remember when we were all excited that the future of Homestuck was going to be snapchats?

We were going to get so many snapped chats.

So many you guys.

Sigh.

Please no walking on the grass. That grass is only semi-canon. We are liable for damages with the rental company.

Jade and Rose appear together in one (1) snapchat photo:

I’m pretty sure this is the only Beta kids group shot in the entirety of Homestuck!

This Jade/Rose interaction comprises 1.5151515151515151% of all the snapchats.

That’s 946969697/62500000000ths.

That’s really all there is to say on the matter.

FAQ Will you cover the Epilogue?

I will, of course, update this most important resource if/when the Epilogue gives us any more Jade/Rose content. Statistically speaking, it won’t take up much space. You missed interaction [X]! Can I tell you about it?

Yes please! Thanks for letting me know, I will add it right away and update my maths.

You missed interaction [Caliborn’s Master Plan]! Can I -? You may not. This seems elaborate and kind of pointless - why would you do this? Because Jade/Rose is a ship and talking about the Jade/Rose friendship is a thing and I... uh... I didn’t get it. But now having done all this work I... ... I still don’t get it. I always questioned Jade/Rose because I said to myself “they don’t really interact much,” and now that I’ve sat down and run the numbers they really don’t interact much. Now if you’re wondering “did you run though every single conversation looking for the times Jade mentioned Rose or Rose mentioned Jade” the answer would be “ha ha ha that would be crazy of course I did.” I am very tired. And... they don’t talk about each-other much. I mean ‘actually’ talk - I’m not counting all the “hey do you know what Rose/Jade is doing” questions asked between the kids or the trolls (though there’s not that many, really) - I’m talking about actual conversations, like when John talks about how he feels about having to marry Rose according to the Shipping Chart or Karkat mutters that Jade maybe kind of meant something to him once. Jade has this to say about Rose - talking to, of all people, Eridan: GG: rose? GG: i do not have a score to settle with rose!!! GG: why would you think that?    CA: oh CA: wwell fuck CA: suppose i wwas guessin it wwas natural to presume somesuch relation like that betwween the twwo a you    GG: i think you are projecting your own attitude on to others GG: just because you tend to hate and/or hit on everyone you meet doesnt mean everyone else is that way GG: rose just sent me a code for a crystal ball, shes my friend and is basically the best!  It’s a very Harleybert sentiment. And sadly it doesn’t add up to anything. At the very least, Rose doesn’t think that much about Jade. Take it from me: a guy who literally went through every conversation Rose and Jade ever had with and about each other: Rose doesn’t think much about Jade. When Jade shows up sleeping at the end of act six lots of people talk about her: Rose’s only comment is to make a crack about Jade ending end-game ships when she wakes up, and also to note that there was Bird Dave and Dog Jade and Cat Rose but No [Animal] Egbert. That’s it. The most Rose ever has to say is the “she has the karma” conversation all the way back in Act 3 - and it’s still really about Dave. When GrimbarkJade shows up on LOLAR... Rose makes no comment whatsoever. Jade does not take the time to go see Rose when she wakes up in the ret-con timeline. Jade discusses Rose with John only in the context of John and his shipping chart destiny. Rose never seems to have anything to say about Jade to Dave or John. If these kids had had a normal sibling existence in the same high school and John had been hit by a car Jade would have remained friends with Dave but she and Rose would be revealed to not be all that close - their common point of friendship is John, not one-another. Rose talks about so much shit - but not about Jade. Jade might say Rose is “the best” but it’s Harley hyperbole more than anything: she didn’t even get Rose a birthday present because she says Rose is hard to shop for! Rose LaLonde is hard to shop for? What?

There. It’s an Emily the Strange t-shirt with Charles Dutton’s head. it took me ten seconds to come up with it you are welcome Jade. You want to ship Rose/Jade? Fuck yeah, man - go for it! You want to write an eighty thousand word fan-fiction on Rose and Jade: BFF Treasure Hunter Essayists? Sounds fucking rad please write that. You want to say that, canonically, Jade and Rose are great friends? I’m going to have to disagree. Homestuck is a story about four friends - it is not a story about four equally friendly friends. Maybe it was meant to be: not going to lie, I like Act 6 and the ending of Homestuck a lot but even I concede that Jade gets shafted in the “having shit to do” department - the fact that she sits out the big Giant Talky Session at the end of the comic? Weird as shit. If she was up and awake and had any kind of conversation with Rose where they seemed friendly and in-touch I would change my opinion in a heartbeat: I’m not some crank who hates Jade and Rose being best of friends because I’m a weirdo. I mean I am a weirdo but for other reasons, not this. No, I just don’t agree with the idea because it’s not supported by the text. Five conversations in seven acts? Less than 3,000 words exchanged in a document running into the hundred of thousands - and some of that repeat, and some of that the words of a giant cueball tool? If Andrew Hussie wanted us to believe that Jade Harley and Rose LaLonde are particularly close friends, he put no sign of that into the text. If I missed something please - tell me. Argue it with me, even, if you disagree with my assessment - or my math.I am not great at math. Regardless - reach out. We should talk about this more. Edit: Updated 10:38 EST April 12, 2019: corrected multiple typos, changed “dismissed” to “questioning,” clarified point about the horah to sound less weird.

#jade harley #rose lalonde #homestuck #dave strider #john egbert #andrew hussie #beta kids #emily the strange #Charles Dutton #this ocean charles #eridan ampora #kanaya maryam #candy corn vampire #problem sleuth #ghostbusters #Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #sbahj #roxy lalonde #dirk strider #jane crocker #terezi pyrope #calliope #dad crocker #earth c #skaia #sburb #wv #jake english #karkat vantas #wayward vagabond

[calzona-ga]

Warning: Spoiler alert! Do not proceed if you have not watched Thursday's 332nd episode of Grey's Anatomy, which officially makes it the longest-running primetime medical drama, surpassing ER.

Grey's Anatomy became the longest-running primetime TV medical drama Thursday by celebrating with a party, both on and off screen.

Abandoning tradition, ABC's crown jewel marked its milestone 332nd hour -- officially surpassing ER for the honor -- with a get-together that brought together the current ensemble, led by OGs Ellen Pompeo, Justin Chambers, Chandra Wilson and James Pickens Jr., to commemorate Catherine's (Debbie Allen) new lease on life following her successful cancer surgery. Unlike the majority (if not all) of Grey's' previous episodes, this one didn't feature any medicine or medical case, a decision showrunner Krista Vernoff, whose history with the show dates back to the groundbreaking 2005 pilot, said was intentional.

"It's pretty extraordinary, and a little surreal. ER is such a television legacy, and was such an extraordinary program. If ER didn't exist, Grey's wouldn't exist. So, we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to ER, and to [executive producer] John Wells, and we are so grateful," Vernoff, who spent five seasons working alongside Wells on Shameless, told ET on Thursday of Grey's making history. "This is exciting and monumental and a little crazy, and we're all just sort of walking around here looking at each other like, 'What?'" (George Clooney, who played pediatrician Doug Ross on ER for the first five seasons, joked in February, "That's got to stop. We gotta go back and do more!")

And unlike the Grey's landmark 300th episode in its 14th season, which paid tributes to past cast members who have since departed, like Sandra Oh, T.R. Knight and Patrick Dempsey, hour 332 looked ahead at what's still to come for the doctors of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. Because, as Vernoff said, "To celebrate how far we've come, and how far we have yet to go."

Following Thursday's historic Grey's TV moment, Vernoff jumped on the phone with ET to reflect on the lasting legacy of the ABC series and looks ahead at what's still to come, including Meredith and DeLuca's full-fledged romance, the unexpected arrival of DeLuca's father and what's next.

ET: Congratulations on making TV history! How did ER shape Grey's Anatomy into what it's become? Krista Vernoff: ER broke the mold for medical shows, and it was incredible, and it was dramatic, and it was just groundbreaking television for its time. And when we were in the writers' room in the early years of Grey's Anatomy, our conversations were often, how do we do it differently than ER? Like, we didn't want to be an ER copycat. How do we be in the hospital world and do it differently than ER? In the early years of the show we rarely brought in patients through the emergency room. They usually came in through surgical rounds.

We leaned, tonally, into romantic comedy, which I think was a part of [creator] Shonda [Rhimes]' pitch from the very beginning. As I recall, when she pitched the show, she said, "We have the drama and excitement of ER, but a tone that's all our own, with romance and humor in equal parts." We always, in television, build on each other's legacies. There was MASH, and then there was China Beach, and there were multiple shows in between, and there was ER, which really broke new ground. And Grey's Anatomy is... We all stand on each other's shoulders.

In approaching this particular episode, what did you want to accomplish or achieve with this hour that differentiated it from a typical episode of Grey's? With the 300th episode, we looked backward. It was a very nostalgic episode. It paid tribute to the whole length of the series. With this episode, we made the decision to look forward, and to celebrate how far we've come, and how far we have yet to go. And so, Bailey's speech to Catherine of "We don't know what the future holds, but no one ever knows what the future holds." People still love us, we're still here, and that's cause for celebration," was really the theme. We threw a party to celebrate this milestone. And we wanted to do something different than we had ever done before.

There was a lot of brainstorming, and what we came up with was we had never done an episode with no medicine. I think this episode is probably a little bewildering to watch after 15 seasons of Grey's Anatomy. You keep waiting for the medical crisis that never comes. That's how we decided to break new ground with this episode, while also emotionally laying the groundwork for the stories moving forward.

The episode did a good job of sprinkling in red herrings, especially with the arrival of Alex's mom, Helen Karev (guest star Lindsay Wagner). I thought something was actually wrong until it was revealed that, actually no, she was right about the fire. Thank you. And I have to say, Andy Reaser, who has been on the show for many years now, wrote this episode, and he did an amazing job with the question of, who started the fire and all the fire hazards and [having] a little bit of mystery -- a little bit of mislead. He did it beautifully. And Chandra Wilson, who directed it.

Speaking of looking ahead, it appears as though you're fully embracing the idea of Meredith and DeLuca. Is this the end of the love triangle with Link?The love triangle with Link is over.

Was it a surprise to you that we would be talking about Meredith and DeLuca in this way? It was a surprise. I think it was a surprise to Meredith, and that is what's so joyful in watching it, is how life surprises us all the time. Every idea that we have about our life and what's going to happen next, we're always wrong, and life comes in and surprises us. And DeLuca has come in and surprised Meredith, and put her. She's bewildered and delighted by this turn of events. And I think you see that all over her face. But the amount of smiling that we're seeing from Meredith is really a joy. Where does this leave Link? Is there another story involving him that has yet to be explored that you can tease? There is. Link has some of his... Some of the most exciting and delightful stuff I've seen this season is coming from Link in the coming episodes, but I don't want to tease what it is. I asked Giacomo Gianniotti recently whether he believed Meredith and DeLuca were endgame. What is your take? For sure. The one thing I know for sure is that I'm not going to comment on Meredith's endgame at this stage, and the reason for that is that there's no end in sight to this show. We are still delivering ABC's highest rating in the demographic. We are still their No. 1 drama in the age 18-to-49 demographic, 15 seasons in. So, I'm not building to the end of the series. I am looking forward, much as Bailey and Catherine's conversation mirrored. We don't know what life is going to bring us, and we are looking forward. And so, I'm not commenting on endgame because for me there's no end in sight. At the end of the episode, we met DeLuca's dad, Vicenzo (guest star Lorenzo Caccialanza), for the very first time, who called Andrew by his given Italian name, Andrea. How is the unexpected arrival of his dad going to shake things up? Dad brings drama. If Dad's wardrobe suggested anything, and the arrival, and the Italian that nobody understands -- including Meredith. Like, Meredith speaks a tiny little bit of Italian, Meredith took three years of Italian in undergrad. She didn't understand that conversation that they were having any more than any of the rest of us did, so when [DeLuca's] dad stepped out of that limo, everybody but people who are fluent in Italian were completely shocked. Dad brings drama, for sure, and that's all I'm going to say.

I do remember DeLuca mentioning that his dad was a renowned but corrupt surgeon in Italy who was mentally unstable, and he's not exactly what he was before. Is that what you're exploring in terms of his arrival?DeLuca's father has a history of mental illness and it's a complicated relationship for DeLuca. And yes, those are some of the themes we're looking at moving forward.

Amelia and Owen really went through a roller-coaster this episode. Amelia breaks up with Owen, and now they find themselves in a place where they may be co-parenting Leo. Is Leo the saving grace to their relationship? What are you setting up here? I don't want to tease what's happening moving forward, but I do want to say that I think that story was really beautifully told, and I think that we felt so much joy in the return of Leo to Owen and Amelia, and simultaneously this heartbreak of "Wow, they just broke up, like, what happens now?" And I think that Amelia had a real moment of clarity at the party when Meredith pointed out that Teddy has been a thing in Owen's life and will always be a thing in Owen's life. And she realized that it wasn't a love triangle so much as a circle that is making her dizzy, and she's stepped out of the circle. It will be really interesting to see what happens now that Leo's back.

Is Betty/Britney's story over? Are you satisfied with how that story wrapped up? Peyton Kennedy is an incredible young actress, and so, I don't know. I love her, and I love the character. I'll always call her Betty, because I think it's her preferred name. I love her, and I guess my hope for her is that she gets clean and sober, and finds some happiness back with her parents, who I do not think are bad people. But who knows?

And Teddy and Koracick. When did you get the idea to put them together? I'm really enjoying their dynamic and I didn't expect to. The idea emerged in the writers' room earlier this season, and you float test balloons with actors and their chemistry when you begin to build a thing. You put them in a scene or two together and see how it plays. And from the minute we put them next to each other at the table read we were like, Oh, that's happening. Koracick brings out a lightness in Teddy that is just a joy to see. He makes her laugh, and she deserves to laugh. I think she does the same for him. We've learned so much about his history as a character, and his personal pain, and it's really fun to see them bringing joy to each other.

Again, congrats on the milestone. It really doesn't seem like the show's going to ever really end.

#grey's anatomy #Krista Vernoff #eonline #scoop

[exyjunkies]

attitudes towards schoolwork: the foxes edition

neil: could care a lot less about his academics. still, he knows that his being a student at psu is what keeps him playing exy. does better in subjects he’s genuinely interested in. tries his best to do his homework in increments. never does all-nighters.

andrew: gets by almost without studying. well, studying that hard. reads book chapters maybe once or twice, then gets Bs, or even the very occasional A, without a sweat. a silent group mate, but gets the work done anyway. will quite possibly ignore teachers when called for recitation. 

aaron: has continuously frowned/rolled his eyes because of the loud guy seated beside him in one of his majors. really good at memorization, but also believes that being good at recall isn’t the way to become a doctor. goes on study dates with katelyn. is an index cards and diagrams person.

nicky: has a highlighting system. he’s the only one who understands his color specifications. is the type to have several pictures of lecture slides and blackboard notes in his camera roll. makes studyblrs and gets clout for it. has friends other than the foxes in his classes that are more than glad to help him out.

kevin: sits at the back of the class on purpose, but asks questions more than most of the class. believes he has to excel in academics as much as he needs to in exy. talks to his professors after class and actually engages in conversations with them. A+ or nothing student. faculty members talk about him during their lunch break.

matt: the type to bring his professors food or coffee. genuinely laughs at jokes made in exam questions. always trying to get the foxes together for a study group whenever finals season rolls around. secretly grade-conscious. makes motivational memes, and sends them to the foxes group chat.

dan: people who mess with her binder are dead. has colored sticky notes and several folded pages in her small planner. claps and cheers whenever her professor finishes an awesome lecture. makes themed study playlists, and sends them to the foxes group chat.

renee: has really good handwriting, and therefore really good notes. does the homework, but volunteers to help people with it, not send her answers entirely. carries the bulk of group work whenever she has to, but leaves incompetent group mates out of the final output.

allison: brings her laptop all the time, and types up all her her notes and reviewers. goes to that one starbucks branch every time she has an exam coming up. has one big online drive of study materials, which she shares with the foxes from time to time. has really bad attention span, and needs people to study with her to keep her on track.

seth: goes into class with a ‘fuck it’ attitude, but half the time, he leaves with the feeling of wanting to do better. procrastinates a lot. favorite mode of procrastination is going to the boxing gym. the longest he’s taken to pass an output after a deadline is around two weeks. 

#aftg #tfc #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg hc #myhc

[harryandmolly]

The Long Way Home -3-

Summary: His world is a little rocked when Shawn is joined on his 2019 world tour by Emma, a former child star with a chip on her shoulder and a voice that haunts him.

Warnings: Language, alcohol and drug use, soft yearning eyes

Word count: 4.7k ish

Once the set-skipping gauntlet was thrown, Emma couldn’t take it back.

She knew what it meant to skip the headliner’s first set of the tour. She knew it made her look worse than she probably already does in his eyes, but she couldn’t stand it. She knew if she had to be there, to watch him light up the crowd doing what he loved, singing his soul, she’d have a meltdown. And she doesn’t have time for a meltdown.

The first show in Amsterdam was fine, technically speaking. She got through it as expected with precision and very little style. She should’ve been expecting Shawn and his friends there sidestage but it slipped her mind and she wasn’t mentally prepared. To see him beaming at her like he was a proud older brother after the garbage she just spewed for the masses, it was too much. He was too nice. She didn’t deserve it. She was ashamed.

So she bolted.

She hurried in and out of her dressing room, opting to shower on the bus. She remembers physically feeling the wail of thousands of women as she was exiting the back door of the venue just as he was going on stage. She gritted her teeth against the tears -- tears of embarrassment, exhaustion and heart-wrenching jealousy. She shut herself up in the bus with Tammy and Patsy on her Amazon Echo, staying up too late writing songs she’ll never sing.

It set the tone for the tour. She didn’t mean for it to. She went in to this arrangement knowing keeping her distance was best – it always was, professionally speaking. She didn’t want to become his best friend or his mentee. But she also didn’t want him to think she’s a brat. She’s not a brat.

Ok, she’s definitely a brat, but she’s a hardworking woman who has scraped and fought for all she has. Even if it’s not what she wants.

She hasn’t actively sought out Shawn’s company but she knows she’s not welcome. She glides past his open dressing room door. The rest of the tour crew, plus a few members of her own team, are welcome any time. It’s a big ol’ party. But when she hustles past like she’s got somewhere to be, which she always does, there’s no call of, “hey, Emma! Come join us!”

Fine, it’s easier that way, she reasons. No distractions. She gets her business done – back-to-back radio interviews, weird, invasive Buzzfeed videos that, unfortunately, don’t include puppies like some of the ones she’s seen, and recording her album.

She doesn’t know who started this trend of the mobile recording studio but she hates him or her. Or them, if it’s One Direction like she suspects. Her team wants to capitalize on the success her single hasn’t even had yet by following it up with an album as closely as possible. This means she spends hours locked in a roving recording studio singing the liquid bubblegum-flavored tunes and hearing terms like “mass appeal” and “girl power” so many times they lose all meaning.

But they’re about to find out what kind of girl power she’s really got. It’s single release day. They’re in Oslo for a show and she’s up with the dawn for a live interview with BBC Radio 1 followed by a few more across the U.S. as “Fireheart” is released in a new time zone every hour. She’s finishing her final call with a radio station in Phoenix, she thinks, as she’s sprinting up the stage steps, late for soundcheck. They’ve been rehearsing the song so she can play it on the day of the release. The choreo is kicking her ass. What she really needs is to rest for a few minutes before the show but they do another thorough run-through of the set and she has a “creative call” with the mom-and-Margaret-chosen director of her video. It’s a misnomer – there’s nothing creative about it at all on her end.

She’s not sure she’s stopped talking for more than five minutes all day when Steven finally insists that she sit down with her face in the humidifier in silence. Again, the urge to kiss him rears hard in her shaky chest. She’s staring blankly at her phone with her nose bumping up against the plastic ridge on her personal humidifier, flipping through Instagram when she gets a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: hey it’s shawn. just heard the new song, you sound great. issa bop!

She snorts in shock and looks around her even though she’s in the green room alone in her underwear. She lets herself blush and, just for a minute, she fucking loves “Fireheart.”

Her fingers scan fast over the keys.

Thanks :)

It’s all she gives and she suspects it’s all he wants to get.

+

Shawn’s lying if he says he wasn’t waiting around for midnight in Oslo for “Fireheart” to drop. This is her first non-Disney release and he’s curious to see what she’ll do with it, what he can glean from her personal style.

The song is, at best, generic. It doesn’t even really sound like her, they edited it so heavily. It’s a fucking crime, really, because her voice is beautiful. In the few tracks on her soundtracks where they let her shine, she really shines. He wants to see more of that. But maybe this is what she wanted.

He figures the polite thing to do is text her. She’s still his tour mate even if they haven’t exchanged more than a passing glance or a flat smile in two weeks. It’s what he would want from her, he reasons. Actually, he’d want a whole lot more. And he’s still not wholly sure why.

Her response is quick like she was at her phone fielding a thousand similar messages, which he’s sure she was. It doesn’t invite more conversation which he’s at once grateful for and annoyed by. He drops his phone and walks away for a few minutes, stepping outside the bus.

He’s sitting on the curb in the empty parking lot where the buses are housed when a big white Escalade with tinted windows and the shiniest rims he’s ever seen pulls up. A frazzled assistant-type stumbles out of the passenger side and opens the door for the longest pair of legs he’s ever seen. His eyebrows lift.

The woman attached to the legs is Emma’s mother, there’s no question. The resemblance is uncanny. From the dainty pointed nose to the expensive highlights in her hair to the shape of her lips, it’s Emma in 25 years. Shawn swallows hard.

Emma’s mother steps out of the car like she’s had a lot of practice navigating with those skyscraper legs, something he’s still not good at. She’s staring down at her phone typing a thousand words a minute and muttering something to the assistant who’s so keyed up she looks like she needs a pee. Emma’s mom strides up to the bus with the same long, quick steps Shawn’s used to seeing Emma utilize. She walks in without knocking and that’s the last he sees of her.

There’s something about the way she carries herself that makes him understand Emma a little better now. His mother doesn’t walk like that. His mother doesn’t talk to people that way. His mother definitely doesn’t dress like a 30-year-old Paris Hilton cast-off. If that’s who raised Emma, maybe it’s no wonder.

A couple weeks later, Andrew snags Shawn after his gym session and before breakfast, which is a dangerous time to corner him so Shawn knows it’s important.

He sits at the small picnic table outside the venue in Lisbon and eyes Andrew warily, trying not to pout about the French toast he wants to go hunt down.

“So Margaret and I sat down this morning—”

Shawn’s eyes go wide. This cannot be good.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Andrew pleads before continuing, “We sat down this morning because we’ve been getting calls from the label about… about why you and Emma never seem to interact.”

Shawn sighs and rakes a hand through his sweaty curls. He sits back, remembers there’s nothing to lean against on a picnic bench and slumps forward onto his elbows.

“Yeah,” Shawn prompts.

“So they want you and Emma to be friendly. Not too friendly, just big-brother, little-sister type stuff, just to look like you can stand to be in the same room. A few Snapchats and Insta Stories should do it. It’s a fine line, because they don’t want you to look like you’re dating. We can discuss the details later. Are you… I mean, can you handle this?”

Shawn growls under his breath. “Yeah, I can fucking handle it. I just—” He stops himself. Andrew raises his eyebrows.

“I don’t get why it matters. Why do we have to interact? We’re on tour, we’re not friends. I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

The last sentence sounded a little more vulnerable than Shawn wanted to be, but fuck it. He’s kind of upset. And Andrew won’t judge him.

“It matters for PR. It matters that the label’s artists don’t look like they hate each other. And, if it helps, I don’t think she cares enough about you to hate you.” He snorts the last few words like a joke but they sting Shawn where it counts. He’s gotten good enough at all this to keep it from showing on his face.

“Fine, ok. Whatever.”

Andrew goes to stand but Shawn stops him.

“Does she know about this yet? What did she say?”

Andrew purses his lips. “Emma, ever expressive, said ‘fine’ and walked away.”

Shawn thinks he hears a “to tune up her wicked witch broomstick” under Andrew’s breath as he strolls off to another task but he can’t be sure.

+

Abject horror is what Emma felt when the order came down from on high that she and Shawn are to interact on social media. Flat disinterest is what showed up on her face.

It was only back in her bedroom that she let herself fist her hands in her hair and squirm about it, so uncomfortable with the idea of spending any more time with him than she has to. At the moment, that’s pretty much limited to bumping into each other in hotel hallways when they’re staying overnight and passing his dressing room if he happens to look up at her while she walks by. The idea of actually staging cute, friendly Snapchats makes her stomach turn with nerves.

He texts her and invites her down to the lobby for coffee at their hotel in Manchester. She’s admittedly grateful that he makes the first move, but she’s still a little miserable at the idea of this weird assignment. But what label wants, label gets. (It’s becoming Margaret’s catchphrase)

He’s standing beside the counter on his phone with a hoodie up over his head to keep a low profile. Joke’s on him, though, because he’s outrageously tall and she can still see those boyish curls peeking out from under the hood. In another life, she could see herself walking up behind him and tucking her arms around his waist to stick her hands in his hoodie pocket.

In this life, she walks fast and loud in her heeled booties to make her presence known. He looks up when he hears her, eyes wide and a little panicked. Her heart clenches. She offers him the flattest smile she can manage.

“Hey,” he says, sliding his phone in the pocket of his tight jeans. She wants to go with it. She clears her throat.

“Hey. Did you order?”

He shakes his head. They walk up to the counter. She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the chalkboard menu above their heads hopelessly, knowing her order like the back of her hand.

The cashier asks for their orders. Shawn looks to Emma. “Green tea,” she croaks.

Shawn orders a black coffee and hands the woman cash. Emma nods at him in the only thanks she can manage. She can feel her insides vibrating around him and she hasn’t even had any caffeine yet.

“So… we have an assignment,” Shawn tries to joke. His voice is humorless.

She lifts her eyebrows briefly and bobs her head. “Yeah.”

“Should… I mean, should we just take a selfie with our drinks?” he offers. She’s silent. It’s so painful.

“Yeah, ok,” she finally answers, chewing on her lower lip. He watches it disappear under her teeth briefly and reappear a little softer, a little pinker. He almost doesn’t notice their orders come up.

He thanks the barista with a smile and follows Emma to a table. He’s grateful there aren’t many people around to witness this awkward interaction. No one seems to have clocked them at all despite the fact that Emma came downstairs in full make-up and an outfit fit for a Vogue photoshoot. Not that he noticed.

They sit at a tiny round table. Emma crosses her outrageous legs and Shawn fiddles with the settings on his Instagram camera.

“Do you mind if I take it?”

He blinks and looks over at her. Her voice is quiet and a little shy – it’s not the monotone drawl he’s used to. He just nods and puts his phone down.

She swipes into her camera like a pro and holds up her drink next to him. Her hand finds the angle she likes and she makes the happiest face he’s seen on her for the Boomerang she films. He can’t help but smile, too, widening his eyes like he’s never been more excited about anything than drinking coffee with Emma Kingston.

Her expression falls when she drops her hand and moves away from him. She studies the Boomerang, tilts her head and nods. It’s acceptable. She posts it, tagging him with the caption, “caffeine time with the best @shawnmendes!”

She places her phone face down on the table and cups her tea in both hands. He watches the black sequins float, suspended in liquid on the back of her phone case. He looks back at her.

She looks tired even under all the make-up. Her fingers are twitchy against the cardboard cup. Is he making her nervous, he wonders? He slouches against his chair and sips his coffee.

“We’re going out tonight. Me and my band and a few others. Do you want to come?”

The words shock her as much as they shock him when they leave his mouth. They both stare at each other for too long a moment, amazed at what they heard. She sips her tea for something to occupy her mouth.

“Yeah, cool.”

That was not the answer she expected to give. She exhales slowly and stands. “See you later.”

She’s gone in several long strides and he’s alone in the café wondering what the fuck he just did.

+

The plan for the evening was communicated to her through Margaret, who heard it from Andrew, who got it from Geoff, who was told by Shawn. After the show at Manchester Arena, they’re taking cars first to Gorilla, then to Sound Control, then the Mint Lounge if they’re up for it.

Emma hopes they’re up for it. She hasn’t had a proper night out since before tour, since Ashley gave her her first E and held her hair when she threw it up in the back of an Uber on the 405.

She’s dressed not to kill, but to fucking assassinate. Mabel lets her get a little buckwild on club nights in exchange for not bitching too much when she has to wear designers she doesn’t like for Instagram ads. Tonight, the choice is very Manchester: a sort of shredded black sleeveless tank dress with dark stockings (with more tears) and thigh high black patent leather military boots. It’s so grunge, she thinks to herself, turning to admire her perky ass in the mirror, Courtney Love is shaking in her boots.

With the addition of round black 90s shades and a swipe of gloss, she steps off the bus.

Shawn’s used to conversation stopping whenever Emma walks into a space. She’s an unignorable presence. He wonders if it hurts her feelings most of the time but, on nights like this, when she’s making an entrance, he can see a flush creep up her chest and knows she likes it.

She looks… outrageous. He has to focus on clenching his jaw to keep it from dropping. Fuck.

But her face is cold under layers of highlighter and contour and he can see she’s not all in there, like usual. He’s becoming familiar with the ache in his chest that he gets when he tries to find her in her eyes and comes up empty and confused.

She produces a game-for-it smile and nods at the fleet of vehicles waiting to take them out as if giving them permission to escort her. Shawn slides into the car behind hers and watches as she sits next to Brian. He wonders if Brian can smell her perfume or the shampoo she uses. He blinks hard and stares out the window, grinning at the city as they infiltrate it.

Emma isn’t intimately familiar with the Manchester club scene the way she is with, say, Los Angeles or Ibiza, but one of Shawn’s guitar techs and one of her dancers grew up here so they know where to find what they’re looking for. She decides to trust them when they pull up outside a building that does not resemble any club she’s ever been in but it is called Gorilla and she’s trying to be cool so she says nothing, determined to remain open-minded.

Shawn never feels more like a celebrity when he’s storming a club with a team of his friends and tour mates and they’re getting let through the velvet ropes ahead of everyone in line with nods and handshakes. He doesn’t embrace this privilege that often because it still feels a little weird but on tour, he likes getting to treat his friends. Everyone works so hard; doing the rockstar thing boosts morale.

As he’s looking around at the crowd gathered at the bar, morale is clearly boosted. Everyone’s got a drink in their hand, everyone’s laughing and screaming and dancing and it’s actually a little early, he thinks, for things to have gotten so wild but it’s their first night out of the tour and Jess and Lexi are both in their hometown and invited some friends. He’s scanning everyone’s faces and planning out how he can manage to fit them all in one Insta story when he finds one missing.

Through the slight fog of several beers and post-show exhaustion, he glances around searching for Emma’s signature butter-blonde waves. He feels a hint of panic rise in his chest when it takes him longer than he wants it to. He does finally spot her, though, leaning against a wall with one leg bent under her and her head tilted as she listens to some short red-headed guy chatting her up. Her lips are curled like she’s flirting which he hasn’t seen her do with anyone yet, including the few brave souls from the crew who have tried and failed to crack through her walls. Suddenly, she erupts with laughter and he flinches, shocked at the sight. She actually looks really interested and engaged. Shawn tries not to visibly seethe. He waves down another beer from the bartender to help with that.

Shawn actively tries not to look for her again for the next half hour but it’s hard because something in the back of his head wants to protect her in case the guy’s a creep but he’s distracted enough by the company and the booze. It’s as they’re gathering up to hit the next club that he looks for her to make sure she’s included. She’s wrapped under that guy’s arm now and apparently he’s coming with them and Shawn feels his jaw tense up a little but he knows he can’t let anyone see it especially since it doesn’t make any fucking sense for him to be feeling this way.

Once again, the caravan of cars takes them to Sound Control – a gargantuan three-floor venue with a club in the basement. But this time, Shawn’s in the very back of the Escalade with Emma and her arm candy and he’s never felt so uncomfortable in his life. The redheaded Weasley-looking bloke is nice enough, honestly, introducing himself to everyone and trading quips in thick Mancunian accents with Jess and Lexi. But he’s squashed in between Emma and Shawn in a seat not designed for Shawn’s 6’2” frame and despite the fact that Shawn is definitely drunk, he’s still not drunk enough for this.

Emma’s choice of entertainment for the evening does not resemble Shawn in the slightest – it’s almost a wonder that they could be considered the same species. This isn’t entirely an accident, Emma admits to herself through a hazy brain fog of gin and the joint she and Roger (that’s the redhead’s name, of course it is) shared in the bathroom after a snog.

She has to remind herself somehow that Shawn Mendes isn’t the only good-looking guy on this god-forsaken island. If she can do that while listening to a cute, if rough and tumble, English accent, she’ll jump at the chance. The look on Shawn’s face when Roger teases the hem of her skirt as they’re walking through the doors to the second stop of the night is a delicious bonus.

Shawn loses Emma and Roger almost the second they get inside. The cocktail of emotions (way less fun than the cocktail he wants right now) he’s experiencing is dampening his party-ready exterior and becoming noticeable. Geoff smacks at his arm as Shawn nurses his… eighth beer? He really can’t be sure now.

“You good, man?” Geoff yells over the din. Shawn just nods and looks away. Geoff decides not to push it. Not the environment for a heart-to-heart, anyway.

Shawn doesn’t dance much sober but drunk Shawn? He gets down. He’s jumping around, crashing into people who don’t seem to mind, giddy from hops and thumping house music. He feels a little invincible. Something triggers the memory of the crowd tonight, his crowd. They were spectacular – the U.K. gigs always are. He thinks about the way they screamed on command for him, how they sang his songs louder than he could’ve ever dreamed they would.

He thinks about the opener, too, though. He doesn’t let her see him watch her set because his pride is still smarting from when she skipped his opening night. He doesn’t think she’s deigned to stay for any show since either. But he can’t help it. He’s got it clocked now so he can miss the first few songs and sneak up behind a rafter somewhere to watch her belt “How I’ve Been” barefoot and beautiful. He’s fucking mesmerized and he hates himself a little for it.

He finds himself looking for her again now in the low-ceilinged smoky club. The only lights in the space are an eerie red, mixing with fog and weed and cigs and hot, sticky breath. He swallows, feeling his head spin as he turns too fast. He grabs a support pillar nearby and clings to it as he continues his search.

He wishes he didn’t when he finds her, though. Every inch of the back of her body is pressed against the front of… well, not Roger’s. This new guy is taller. He’s a lot taller. He’s more built in the upper body from what Shawn can see. He’s got dark curly hair and wandering hands. If Shawn were just a little drunker, he’d wonder if somehow it’s him, if he’s having an out of body experience.

They’re grinding hard, bodies pounding rhythmically against each other, against their tightly-enclosed neighbors. This guy’s hands are everywhere – her hips, her thighs, reaching up her skirt a little, grabbing at her breasts through her thin dress. Shawn’s stomach roils. He’s sure he’s gonna throw up. He grabs the column a little harder.

Somehow, impossibly, through the throngs of people, their eyes lock. Her cloud-like lips are parted with the effort of her panting breaths. Her hands are both tangled in this bastard’s hair while he works on a mark on her neck.

Emma’s staring at Shawn and Shawn’s staring at Emma, both waiting for each other to crack and react. He’s impressively stoic, given his state of intoxication. He only flinches when the Shawn look-a-like’s hand is edging up the hem of her dress again.

She smiles like she’s won, which she kind of has. Her grin is nothing like he’s seen on her before, nor on any woman. It’s almost inhuman somehow. Shawn whimpers, watching her turn her head to coax the lips off her neck and back to hers. The second he sees her tongue peek out to explore his mouth, Shawn shuts down.

He turns away and walks (stumble-runs) to the bar, leaning against it and almost begging the bartender for water. He leans against a wall in silence until his friends notice his rather conspicuous absence and dig him out of his hole.

They round up again – no Ruby Lounge tonight. They’re spent. It’s past 3am, anyway. Shawn instinctively starts counting heads again.

“Where’s Emma?” he chokes. He knows the answer. He has to hear it out loud anyway.

Lexi simpers almost proudly. “Not coming. Left with some French guy half an hour ago. Took him back to the hotel.”

Shawn blinks the green haze in his eyes before he can nod. “Cool. Let’s hit the road.”

+

She was a woman possessed, Emma decides when she wakes up the next morning with a warm body next to her. He doesn’t look nearly as much like Shawn in the cold light of dawn. She pokes him in the back and nods when he rolls over and grimaces at her.

He’s gone in five minutes. She’s good at that, getting rid of guys in the morning. If nothing else, her cold stare helps her achieve that. But it scares away everyone else by design, too. You can’t be two people, she reminds herself over a mug of hotel room green tea. She doesn’t have the energy to brave the lobby for Caffe Nero. Anyone could be down there. Plus, the longer she can convince her team she’s asleep, the longer she can stay here in this place between sleep and Emma Kingston, a place without Pilaticardio or “Fireheart” or an Anastasia brow palette.

Emma’s tired. Physically, bone tired, sure, but that’s not new. She’s tired of walking up with someone and still feeling alone. She’s tired of walking past a room of people with inside jokes knowing she hasn’t made herself welcome. She’s so fucking tired.

She’s been thinking lately about implementing a new… strategy. Maybe she doesn’t have to be cold and detached all the time. Maybe she can be cold, detached and funny. Like, she can jump into conversations with a sharp quip and make everyone laugh in surprise. Then at least they’d like her enough to nod at her and say hi sometimes when she walks past the door. She doesn’t need an invite inside. She doesn’t want one. She just needs… something.

Emma stands. Her joints creak louder than usual. She wonders why for a moment then remembers the dancing, and the shoes. She shoots a harsh glance at her discarded boots. The dancing makes her think of the touching and the touching makes her think of Shawn.

She wasn’t just drunk on Gordon’s, she was drunk on power, too. When Shawn looks at her the way he does when he either thinks she doesn’t see him (like when he’d hiding and watching the end of her set) or when he’s drunk and can’t help it, it’s the closest feeling she gets to independence. Pilaticardio doesn’t come close.

Now, this morning, the thrill is gone. Sobriety has set in and has brought with it the consequences of her rather ridiculous decisions. She remembers the way she smiled at him. She remembers the look of horror on his face. She already felt sick. Now she feels sicker.

On her way to the shower, she catches a glimpse of Emma Kingston looking like she got hit by a truck. The reality, of course, is not as exciting – too much gin, weed and bad sex.

Must be Wednesday.

Taglist: @the-claire-bitch-project @smallerinfinities @crapri @stillinskislydia@carlaimberlain @heavenly—holland @abigfatmess @rosecolouredtimes

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes angst

[sci-fantasy]

The Annotated “Playback”

Tomorrow, Friday October 20, begins OVFF 33, the annual Ohio Valley Filk Fest, the biggest filk convention (certainly in stature; probably in people too?).

I am thus pleased to announce that after months of on-again-off-again work, and the assistance of several friends including @animatedamerican​ and @jchance4d4​, I have finished the project envisioned here, and annotated all of the references in Andrew Ross’s “Playback.”

(Well, as much as I could. One or two were not identifiable fully.)

A lot of people commented approving of this idea when @seananmcguire​ reblogged this, so I hope you see the fruits of our labor.

Song above the cut; references below.

“Playback” to the tune of Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire” filk lyrics by Andrew Ross

Mary Shelley, HG Wells, people meeting at hotels Rudyard Kipling, people singing ditties at the bar Gilbert, Sullivan, rounds of Young Man Mulligan Poul and Karen Anderson, songs in Key of R Martha Keller, Tolkein, songs of worlds as yet unseen TH White’s Arthurians, Frederick Pohl’s Futurians Tom Lehrer, Mondegreens, Slan Shacks, fanzines Music circles, Reprints, Jacobs has a misprint! We shouted “MacIntyre!” It’s our cry of battle for the Old Dun Cattle We shouted “MacIntyre!” And we haven’t parted since the circle started Amazing Stories Annuals, Pelz’s Filksong Manuals Dr. Demento tunes, Callahan’s Crosstime Saloons Hope Eyrie, Leslie Fish, bounced potatoes off the dish Robert Aspirin, Gwen Zak, Dawson’s Christian, Captain Jack Off Centaur, Teri Lee, making love in zero-G Filthy Pierre, Longcor, black market Tullamore Juanita Coulson, Red Lions, badges marked with Dandelions Dorsai have a Fan Club! Jello in the bathtub! Don’t set the cat on fire It will only fight it if you try to light it Don’t set the cat on fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Peter Beagle, Consonance, chili cursed with sentience HOPSFA, NESFA, ConChord, and the Pegasus Award PFNEN, Ose, Amway, Talk Like a Pirate Day Dandelion Digitals, Julia Ecklar and the gulls Bob Laurent, Asimov, Jeff and Maya Bohnhoff Rocky Horror Muppet Shows, Frank Hayes feeling indisposed Bill Sutton DIY, Marischiello goodbye Challenger! Final tour! What else must we all endure? We saw the sky on fire While the world was staring, we were Jordin Karing We saw the sky on fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Kathy Mar, Next Gen, Tullamore is back again Steve Macdonald, Elfquest, Interfilk funds a guest Tom Smith, 307 Ale, Lee Gold, Heather Dale Phoenyx, Keepers of the Flame, Filkontario’s Hall of Fame Echo’s Children, Bab-5, need a fool to feed the drive Hamlet done by John Woo, Marilisa Valtazanou GaFilk, Urban Tapestry, lives rich in fantasy Airwalls down at Orycon! Firebells at Baycon! We didn’t start a fire We were all but deafened, and began Kanefin’ We didn’t start a fire And we haven’t parted since the circle started Blake Hodgetts, Proteins, Vixy, Tony, Thirteen Stone Dragons, Moxie, Zander, Heather into Alexander Bill and Gretchen, dead mouse, alligators in the house ConFlikt, Judi Filksign, Tragedy at East Hill Mine Mary Crowell, Faerieworlds, brony boys and Wicked Girls Britain’s Talis Kimberly, Seanan’s Kellis-Amberlee Doubleclicks! Browncoats! Cats! FuMP! Toy Boat! Release the Cello! Sasquon! Thor! Pass another Tullamore! We didn’t start the choir It’s been so cathartic for the longest bardic We didn’t start the choir But when our turns have gone, it will still go on and on until the dawn…

Mary Shelley: As in, the writer of the first science fiction novel, Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus.

HG Wells: Wrote The Time Machine and War of the Worlds and, along with Jules Verne, is considered one of the fathers of science fiction by people who don’t count Mary. (Jules pioneered “hard” SF, where he justified as much as he could with science; HG was busy making social metaphors.)

People meeting at hotels: AKA “conventions.” The first SF con was (debatably) Philcon in 1936, when ten people from the New York SF club went down to Philly to meet those guys. They called it a convention because the Democratic and Republican National Conventions had both been in Philly earlier that year, so it was a joke, see. The first World Science Fiction Convention was in New York in 1939.

Rudyard Kipling: English poet and journalist, famously a representation of British imperialism, but a lot of his stuff got set to music by Leslie Fish (for whom see more later).

People singing ditties at the bar: AKA filk. Or karaoke. Or any other sort of thing that happens when people who sing are near people who sing.

Gilbert, Sullivan: Light operettists famous for patter. They get refilked a lot.

Rounds of Young Man Mulligan: "Old Man Mulligan” was a 1940 story from Astounding Science Fiction by P. Schuyler Miller; as far as I can tell it was a pretty standard adventure story but it featured the titular Old Man who’d been around forever. “Young Man Mulligan” is an SFnal version of "The Great Historical Bum” (aka “I Was Born About Ten Thousand Years Ago” or “The Bragging Song”; lyrics here); it opens “I was born about ten thousand years from now,” so you can see how it’ll go from that. It was one of the original “everybody keeps writing new verses” songs; Bruce Pelz published almost 70 in an early filkbook and many many more have been written since. (The Pelz lyrics do not appear to be available online.)

Poul and Karen Anderson: Poul was a Golden Age writing legend, one of the Grand Masters of SFWA, maybe one rung down from Asimov and Heinlein (maybe). Karen, his widow and sometimes co-writer, is among many other significant things the first person to deliberately use the term “filk music” in print. They both wrote their fair share of filk, and were inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2003.

Songs in the Key of R: Another way to say “off key.” See this folk song (lyrics here) of...disputed provenance (I have found a few different claims of authorship).

Martha Keller: Poet and balladeer, born 1902, died 1971. A number of her poems from Brady’s Bend and Other Ballads were put to music by Juanita Coulson (see below) in 1984 on “Rifles & Rhymes” by Off Centaur Publications (see below).

Tolkien: Do I really need to? Fine. Wrote The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings and basically created the modern fantasy genre on accident while he was busy with constructed languages and mythologies.

Songs of worlds as yet unseen: AKA “filk.” See also “Folk Songs for Folk Who Ain’t Even Been Yet,” by Leslie Fish (see below), which was the first commercially published filk album.

TH White’s Arthurians: White’s The Once and Future King is a distillation and to some extent modernization of the King Arthur legend; the first part was The Sword in the Stone and yes, that’s what the Disney movie was adapted from. And yes, there have been plenty of Arthurian filk songs over the years.

Frederick Pohl’s Futurians: An early group of SF fans, specifically New York area fans (several of them were part of the 1936 Philcon mentioned above). Famously, several politically-minded Futurians were arguably-banned (whether it was really a “ban” still gets debated today) from the first Worldcon in ‘39 for handing out political flyers; Pohl was one of those.

Tom Lehrer: He’s a retired mathematics professor who “hangs out” at UC Santa Cruz, but in the ‘50s-’60s he was an active mathematics professor and also a fairly popular political satirist. Despite having no love for folk music (see his songs “The Folk Song Army,” lyrics here, and even moreso “The Irish Ballad,” lyrics here, wherein he calls the folk song “the particular form of permissible idiocy of the intellectual fringe”), his stuff gets sung a lot in filk circles.

Mondegreens: Misheard lyrics, like the famous “‘Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” (for “Kiss the Sky,” by Jimi Hendrix). Named by Sylvia Wright in 1954 after her own mishearing of the ballad “The Bonnie Earl o’Moray; the line was “They hae slain the Earl o' Moray/And laid him on the green,” and she heard “and Lady Mondegreen.” The term caught on, and it and/or some individual mondegreens have been the inspiration for no small number of filk songs and at least one filk band.

Slan Shacks: Early term for an SF clubhouse or house filled with fans; named for A.E. van Vogt’s 1940 novel Slan which was an early version of the persecuted-superior-race-of-beings story (think X-Men). Fans in the ‘40s-50s picked up the phrase “Fans are Slans” in yet another example of the weird ostracism/superiority cycle that pervades fandom to this day.

Fanzines: The internet before the internet. When fans wanted to communicate over long distances and all they had was printed paper, they printed papers. They made little bound fan-made magazines (hence, fanzines, or just zines) of their songs, stories, jokes, and opinions and mailed them to each other. A lot of early filk was in the pages of fanzines.

Music circles: How filk typically happens--people sit in a circle and sing. They usually take turns. See below for “bardic” and “chaos.”

Reprints: Printings again. A lot of filk didn’t necessarily get them, but some did, including some early albums, some early filkbooks like the NESFA Hymnal, see below, or the Westerfilk Collection.

Jacobs has a misprint!: While Karen Anderson (see above) was the first person to deliberately use the word “filk” in print, the first use of the word at all was a typo in Lee Jacobs’s essay, which ended up being called “The Influence of Science Fiction on Modern American Filk Music.” It spread in conversation as a funny typo for a while before Karen fixed it in a tangible medium of expression.

We shouted “MacIntyre!” (and the rest of that chorus): “When the Old Dun Cow Caught Fire” or “The Old Dun Cow” or “Macintyre!” is a very classic music hall song (written 1893) that gets performed by basically every folk or filk group that aims for that “British Isles drinking song” feel. See here for pedigree, lyrics, and recording.

Amazing Stories Annuals: In 1927, Hugo Gernsback published Amazing Stories Annual, a pulp magazine of “scientifiction” (the term “science fiction” hadn’t been coined yet). It sold so well he made it quarterly almost immediately; he lost the rights a few years later and the magazine ended up falling to the 800-pound gorilla that was Astounding Science Fiction. But it was arguably where all this started.

Pelz’s Filksong Manuals: Bruce Pelz, a legend of California fandom, was among other things one of the first creators of bound, organized, and published filkbooks (complete with sheet music!), which were titled the Filksong Manuals. (He’s mentioned under the “Young Man Mulligan” entry; it was one of the Manuals that had those 70ish verses to “Mulligan.”) Pelz was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame posthumously in 2007.

Dr. Demento tunes: Barry Hansen, AKA “Dr. Demento,” was a DJ in 1970 when he realized that “novelty” tunes lit up the phone banks more than rock and roll, and created the “Dr. Demento” persona for a syndicated radio show of novelty, comedy, and otherwise unusual music. It was on the radio weekly until 2010 and is now produced weekly online. He’s played a fair amount of filk over the years, reintroduced Stan Freberg, Tom Lehrer, and Spike Jones to a grateful world, and both inspired and launched “Weird Al” Yankovic’s career.

Callahan’s Crosstime Saloons: Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon by Spider Robinson and the various “Callahan’s Place” stories that followed had more than a few filk songs among the lyrics (Robinson is a songwriter himself), and at one point a couple of filkers (Jordin and Mary Kay Kare, see below) appear as characters to sing their filk song about Callahan’s.

Hope Eyrie: Listen here. Considered by many to be the “anthem” of filk, or possibly of science fiction fandom (inasmuch as it’s possible). Written by…

Leslie Fish: One of the most significant filkers in history; not only did she write “Hope Eyrie,” she also wrote the infamous-beyond-infamy “Banned from Argo,” created the subgenre of “Kipplefish”  by setting Rudyard Kipling’s (see above) poetry to music, had the first commercial filk album (see above), helped to popularize filk music, wrote some of the earliest Kirk/Spock slash fiction...she’s pretty important, is what I’m saying. When the Filk Hall of Fame was founded in 1995, she was one of the first three inductees.

Bounced potatoes off the dish: At Westercon XIX in San Diego in 1966, the hotel was legendarily bad. Most notably, the Guest of Honor banquet featured completely inedible food, prompting Poul Anderson (see above) to set a filk to the tune of “Waltzing Matilda,” entitled “Bouncing Potatoes.”

Robert Aspirin: SF writer active from the late 70s until his death in 2008, Bob was also the founder of the Dorsai Irregulars (see below), and one of the people who brought early filk from private hotel rooms into public spaces, by (among others) holding a bit all-night filksing in celebration of the Irregulars’ formation in 1974. He was another of the first Filk Hall of Fame inductees in 1995.

Gwen Zak: One of the more spiritually-focused filkers, Gwen is a Pegasus Award (see below) winner for “Circles” and nominee for “I Am Lord” (cowritten with Leslie Fish).

Dawson’s Christian: A filksong by Duane Elms, written 1987, about a ghost ship. It’s been refilked more than a few times itself, including “Dawson’s Concom” (where it’s about ghost...convention runners).

Captain Jack: Not Pirates (probably), not Torchwood (probably), but the titular character of Meg Davis’s 1975 song “Captain Jack and the Mermaid.”

Off Centaur: The first filk music publishing house, Off Centaur Publications produced much of the early commercially-released filk albums, thus making filk available outside of a convention/fandom setting for the first time. They were the third of the three initial 1995 inductees into the Filk Hall of Fame. OCP was founded by Jordin Kare, Catherine Cook, and...

Teri Lee: Who went on to found Firebird Arts & Music, one of the more active filk publishers working today.

Making love in zero-G: A recurring topic in filk songs, including “Home on LaGrange,” and most notably, “A Reconsideration Of Anatomical Docking Maneuvers In A Zero-Gravity Environment, or The Zero-G Sex Song,” the latter being the most direct reference given its first line.

Filthy Pierre: Erwin “Filthy Pierre” Strauss was one of the prime movers in early filk on the East Coast of the US in the 1970s, creating some of the first songbooks, lists of top songs to know, and a lot of filk evangelism. To this day his melodica is a recurring feature at larger East Coast and world-level conventions. Pierre was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1998.

Longcor: Michael “Moonwulf” Longcor has been a major figure in Midwestern filk since the 1970s; he has no fewer than ten published music albums, was twice King of the Middle Kingdom of the SCA, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2014.

Black market Tullamore: Tullamore Dew, a brand of Irish whiskey, was Bob Asprin’s preferred drink (because it was cheap, or so the story goes), a preference that he passed on to the Dorsai Irregulars and filk community both. “Tully” is a commonly mentioned in songs about the DI, about filk itself, or about alcohol.

Juanita Coulson: Filker since the 1950s and still going strong, Juanita was one of the earliest filk encouragers, welcoming and encouraging new people to filk circles. She had several early OCP albums, brought Martha Keller’s (see above) poetry to the attention of many filkers, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996.

Red Lions: Red Lion Hotels (now bought and owned by Doubletree) were the sites of many filk conventions, especially in the Pacific Northwest.

Badges marked with Dandelions: Kathy Mar (see below) and Lindy Sears founded the “Dandelion Conspiracy” to encourage general SF conventions to be filk-friendly and to push back against the somewhat unsavory reputation of filkers among conrunners. In Kathy’s words:  “In taking the dandelion as the filker's symbol, I hope to convey, as gently as the flower-power movement did, that filk is almost impossible to root out. If disturbed, it tends to proliferate. It can be beneficial at times, and it can even be beautiful in spite of its weedy reputation.”

Dorsai have a Fan Club!: At the Worldcon in Toronto in 1973, various security-type duties were the purview of local rent-a-cops, who...did not mesh well with fan culture, and more critically, did not understand fan valuation. This especially manifested in their Art Show duties; a very valuable Kelly Freas painting was swiped from the show because the rent-a-cop checking receipts didn’t know enough about the painting to realize that the receipt he was being shown did not nearly cover the value of the painting the thief was claiming to have bought. Bob Aspirin (see above) decided that Something Must Be Done, and formed an organization by fans, for fans, and of fans to do various convention-running duties on a by-contract basis. He named them the Dorsai Irregulars, a reference to the Childe Cycle of boks by Gordon R. Dickson about a planet of mercenaries, the Dorsai. (The joke being, if the “regular” Dorsai were off fighting in battles, doing con security was definitely a job for the “Irregular” Dorsai.) As mentioned above, the celebration of the Dorsai’s establishment was a watershed moment for filk, and to this day many Dorsai veterans are Midwestern filkers and vice versa.

Jello in the bathtub!: At the 1974 Worldcon in DC, Joe Haldeman (presumably, hopefully, jokingly) remarked that his ultimate sexual fantasy involved a bathtub full of green jello. By the end of the con, his bathtub had been jello-ed, with a couple of naked girls for, ahem, flavor. (Or perhaps texture.) The incident got inevitably filked about, though not many of those appear to be available online.

Don’t set the cat on fire (and the rest of the chorus): A four-line version of Frank Hayes’s (see below) “Never Set the Cat on Fire” (lyrics here).

Peter Beagle: Writer of The Last Unicorn (novel and screenplay) and numerous other works; also a filker himself, with an album (cassette, of course) of his live performance at Baycon 1986.

Consonance: Bay Area filk convention since at least 1992, probably longer.

Chili cursed with sentience: Beware of the Sentient Chili by Chris Weber (lyrics here).

HOPSFA: The Johns Hopkins SF club. They put out a filkbook, the HOPSFA Hymnal, in the 70s.

NESFA: The New England Science Fiction Association. They put out the NESFA Hymnal in the 70s, too.

ConChord: A filk convention held in the LA area starting in the early 80s, and closing its doors in the 2010s due to low attendance.

The Pegasus Award: The main community award (think the Hugo Award equivalent) for filkers, given out annually at the Ohio Valley Filk Fest (OVFF) every fall since the late ‘80s.

PFNEN: A fanzine (see above) called Philk-Fee-Nom-Ee-Nom, published by Paul Willett in the ‘80s. It was nominated for a Hugo in 1984.

Ose: A common musical style of filk, for sad, depressing stuff. The joke being it’s “ose, ose, and more ose!” (As in, “morose.”) Since a lot of the folk music tradition is similarly depressing, it was inevitable.

Amway: OK, I’ll admit, I’m not 100% on this one. I suspect it’s how “Amway salesman” could be considered one of the most mundane of mundanities, as in Roberta Rogow’s song “A Use for ‘Argo,’” but that’s all I got.

Talk Like a Pirate Day: The “holiday” on September 19 every year, wherein people, well, talk like pirates. Tom Smith, see below, wrote the official Talk Like a Pirate Day Song in 2003 see here.

Dandelion Digitals: Since the Dandelion Conspiracy (see above) was a thing, it’s no shock that a label called Dandelion Digital would spring up. They put out some of the first filk CDs in the ‘90s.

Julia Ecklar and the gulls: Julia Ecklar is a very well-known filker, one of Off Centaur’s (see above) most prolific artists; she has nine Pegasus Awards (see above) and also won the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer in 1991. By all accounts, she has a fondness for birds--if I’m reading this right she works at the National Aviary in Pittsburgh. Beyond that, I’m not sure about the gulls.

Bob Laurent: Californian filker and fan; he founded Wail Songs in the ‘80s to distribute tapes of live convention recordings, and also founded Consonance (see above) and Interfilk (see below). He was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996.

Asimov: Isaac Asimov, to be precise, one of the Golden Age of Science Fiction’s most famous writers. He didn’t coin the word “robot” but you’d believe he had. He also, inevitably, wrote a couple of filksongs himself back in the day.

Jeff and Maya Bohnhoff: Californian musicians and filkers with a half dozen albums (see here), a recording setup to help other filkers record quality albums, a couple of Pegasus Awards--and Maya’s an SF writer in her own right with an impressively long bibliography.

Rocky Horror Muppet Shows: There really are no words. Just a link. Written by Tom Smith (see below) and performed a couple of time, originally in 1987 and twice more in the 2010s

Frank Hayes feeling indisposed: Frank Hayes is yet another leading light of filk. He wrote the infectiously upbeat “Never Set the Cat on Fire” (see above) as well as many other songs, but he’s most known for Frank Hayes Disease: that is, forgetting his words. And causing other filkers to forget theirs. (It’s been known to happen that someone will borrow his guitar and suddenly forget lyrics they’ve had cold for decades.) Frank was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2009 and is married to Teri Lee (see above).

Bill Sutton DIY: Bill Sutton is a filker from Indiana; he and his wife Brenda have a couple of albums. Bill’s most famous song is “Do It Yourself,” which he describes as “a vintage song about vintage computing.” (“You can build a mainframe from the things you find at home,” it proclaims.)

Marischiello goodbye: Bill Marischiello was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996...but had died in 1986. (I’m sure it’s this because this is chronological, as see…)

Challenger!: Space Shuttle Challenger, as you’re probably aware, broke apart on liftoff in January 1986. The song “Fire in the Sky” by Jordin Kare (see below) is largely about that and the other successes and failures of the Space Program.

Final tour! What else must we all endure?: This reads like fluff that rhymes, to me.

We saw the sky on fire (and the rest of the chorus): As mentioned above, this is all based on Jordin Kare’s “Fire in the Sky.”  (Link is to the version on the album To Touch the Stars.)

Kathy Mar: Cofounder of the Dandelion Conspiracy (see above), part of the second annual induction into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1996, winner of seven Pegasus Awards, and yet another of Those Names.

Next Gen: As established, this is chronological, so we’re into the late ‘80s. Star Trek: The Next Generation premiered in 1987.

Tullamore is back again: I can’t find confirmation of this, but I seem to recall hearing that Tully was hard to find for a few years in the ‘80s thanks to the Troubles.

Steve Macdonald: “Smac,” as he is affectionately known, is a member of the Dorsai Irregulars (see above), a 2006 inductee in the Filk Hall of Fame, winner of six Pegasus Awards, once administrator of the same to great effect, and is known as Gallamor the Bard at Renaissance Faires.

Elfquest: The legendary long-running comic book fantasy epic is one of those properties that filkers seem to really be fond of. There’s been an album of Elfquest filk, a songbook of filk about Elfquest, and, well, see for yourself.

Interfilk funds a guest: Interfilk, founded in 1992, is an organization dedicated to the cross-pollenation of filk, by paying to send filkers to conventions in other regions. They are a registered nonprofit, and most filk cons do an auction of donated goods (rare music, songbooks, knick-knacks, food, drink…) to raise money.

Tom Smith: The World’s Fastest Filker, fourteen-time Pegasus Award winner (and 34-time nominee), 2005 inductee into the Filk Hall of Fame. Along with “Rocket Ride,” his paean to the Golden Age of Science Fiction, his most famous song is...

307 Ale: ...the story of a few MIT geeks who managed to brew beer inside of a tesseract and got a liquid that’s 153.5% alcohol--that is, it has a proof of 307. (He saw 307 ALE on a license plate and ran with it.)

Lee Gold: California SF fandom, publisher of the filk zine (see above) Xenofilkia since 1988 (and still going). Inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 1997 and publisher of several posthumous filk collections (that is, collections of deceased filkers’ work; she’s still alive).

Heather Dale: Filk by way of the SCA, officially a Celtic bard-style performer with something like 20 albums to her name. She’s been at numerous filk conventions, won four Pegasus Awards, been nominated for another four.

Phoenyx, Keepers of the Flame: Celtic fusion rock band Phoenyx, founded by Heather Alexander (see below), had one album, “Keepers of the Flame.” Long out of print.

Filkontario’s Hall of Fame: The Filk Hall of Fame, mentioned extensively here; inductions happen at FilkOntario (FKO), an annual filk con--guess where.

Echo’s Children: Filk duo Echo’s Children, Cat Faber and Callie Hills, four-time nominees for Pegasus Awards for performance; Cat won seven times for writing/composing or individual songs. In addition to several songs about various tabletop RPGs they were in, and a few about other media, a lot of their songs are about…

Bab-5: Babylon 5, the TV show created by J. Michael Straczynski, which was doing long-form arc storytelling in the mid-90s in syndication. Besides Echo’s Children, a few other filkers have done songs about it; Tom Smith (see above) did a whole-show summary to the tune of Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week.”

Need a fool to feed the drive: “Fool to Feed the Drive” by Jordin Kare (see above) is a refilk of “Fuel to Feed the Drive” by Cynthia McQuillin--McQuillin being a multiple-Pegasus award winner herself and 1998 Filk Hall of Fame inductee. “Fuel,” the original, is a sad elegy about a spaceship that runs out of fuel in deep space, doomed. “Fool” points out that fusion drives use water, and humans are mostly water…

Hamlet done by John Woo: Oh, Andrew...this is a bit of self-promotion from the writer of this song, Andrew Ross. Andrew was nominated for a 2011 Pegasus Award for his song “Crispy Danish,” which is, well, a retelling of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark as a John Woo film, set to “Sheep Marketing Ploy” by Tom Smith (see above).

Marilisa Valtazanou: Oh, that’s why--he needed something to rhyme! Marilisa has been nominated for over a dozen Pegasus awards, alone or as part of a group, and helps run the annual UK Filk Convention.

GaFilk: The start of the filking New Year, GAFilk is held the first full weekend of the year in Atlanta, GA (hence the name). One of the more well established filk cons.

Urban Tapestry: Canadian filk trio of Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Allison Durno, and Jodi Krangle; they’ve won two Pegasus Awards and released three albums, and were inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2011.

Lives rich in fantasy: “Rich Fantasy Lives,” by Tom Smith (see above) and Rob Balder, is in contention for “Filk anthem” with “Hope Eyrie” (see above) and its ilk. It celebrates the joy of having more worlds than one to visit on occasion. Best sung in a crowd.

Airwalls down at Orycon!: OK, this one I can only go off of what @jenroses said: “The Airwalls at Orycon was one of those legendary disasters that ended up sparking the best filk circle I’ve ever been at.”

Firebells at Baycon!: This one got filked by Bob Kanefsky (see below): it’s the mostly-true story of a massive problem at Baycon in 2002. The fire alarms kept going off. Every five minutes or so.

All night.

We didn’t start a fire (and the rest of that chorus): See above. “Kanefin’” refers to Bob Kanefsky, considered one of the grandmasters of the refilk. 2007 Pegasus Award winner for Writer/Composer and nominee for specific songs, Bob has a legendary habit of taking one song by a singer, and rewriting the lyrics (often to make it another song by that same singer)...and then convincing the original singer to sing the filk--he got verbed. To Kanef is to sing your mashup-filk parody of a specific filker’s work at said filker. He has several albums of just that. One of the greatest parodists in filk.

Blake Hodgetts, Proteins: Filker Blake Hodgetts, two-time Pegasus Award nominee for writing, has a song called “Proteins” which is a sci-fi version of one of those cowboy ballads about a cowboy who meets a Mexican girl, they get together briefly, share no language, spend the night, then they part...in his version, it’s an alien, and our lonely singer remembers too late that biochemistry mismatches can lead to anaphylactic shock...

Vixy, Tony, Thirteen: Filk duo Vixy and Tony from the Pacific Northwest, two-time Pegasus winners; their first album was “Thirteen,” and at time of writing was their only album. (Their second came out in 2016.)

Stone Dragons: Canadian filk duo of Tom and Sue Jeffers. Tom was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2012.

Moxie: Play it with Moxie is the nine-member “house band” at GAFilk (see above), which plays the annual GAFilk Banquet.

NOTE: These next two pieces discuss trans individuals, and use their “deadnames”--the names they went by before transition. In both cases, the individuals are public about their transitions and former names, so I am given to understand that this is not considered a breach of etiquette.

If it is, I apologize and will edit the post.

Zander: Zanda Myrande describes herself as “still recovering from the trauma of being Zander Nyrond for several decades,” but still gives “ house room to Zander and the rest of the deadbeats who populate her head.” Zanda is a UK filker, two-time Pegasus Award winner, and writer of the song that UK filk has claimed as their own anthem, “Sam’s Song.”

Heather into Alexander: Celtic musician and filker Alexander James Adams, the Faerie Tale Minstrel, describes himself as “the Heir to Heather Alexander,” who went to the lands of Faerie (thus invoking the “Changeling Child” tale). He has a handful of Pegasus Awards, and wrote the archetypal song of battle, “March of Cambreadth.”

Bill and Gretchen, dead mouse: Bill and Gretchen Roper, filkers from the Midwest, literally own the domain filker.com. Bill has three Pegasus Awards, one with Gretchen; that one is for “My Husband, the Filker,” and includes a snippet about a dead mouse to the tune of “Our House” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

Alligators in the house: Filk about exactly what it sounds like. Written by Betsy Tinney (see below) and performed by Betsy, Alexander James Adams (see above), and S.J. Tucker as Tricky Pixie.

ConFlikt: A relatively new filk convention in the Pacific Northwest, foudned 2007.

Judi Filksign: Judi Miller is a talented filker, singer, and musician in her own right, but is primarily known in filk as an ASL translator. Many filk concerts see her at the side of the stage, signing the songs. She won the Pegasus Award for Best Performer in 2006 and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2007.

Tragedy at East Hill Mine: “The Wreck of the Crash of the Easthill Mining Disaster” by Brooke Abbey (formerly Brooke Lunderville), a Canadian pharmacist and filker.

Mary Crowell: That’s Dr. Mary Crowell to you, punk! Dr. Crowell is a piano, composition, music theory, and music appreciation professor from Alabama, a four-time Pegasus winner (including once with Play It with Moxie, see above) with another dozen-plus nominations, has two albums and major parts on several more, and is one of filk’s roving accompanists; she can provide a piano backing on the fly.

Faerieworlds: A music festival in Oregon, which has featured a number of filk musicians, including S.J. Tucker and Alexander James Adams (see above) both individually and as Tricky Pixie (also see above).

Brony boys: A lot of fandom subcultures develop their own filk; Harry Potter has Wizard Rock, Doctor Who has Time Lord Rock, and yes, My Little Pony has its own filk. (Note: This was written before “Brony” stopped being considered anything except a warning sign of the Sad Puppies and the like. Look that one up yourself if you want, this is long enough as is.)

Wicked Girls: The fourth album of filker and author Seanan McGuire, six-time Pegasus Award winner. Wicked Girls was the first single-artist filk album to be nominated for a Hugo Award (To Touch the Stars, see above, did it earlier but was multi-artist), for Best Related Work in 2012. “Wicked Girls Saving Ourselves,” shortened to “Wicked Girls,” is also the central track of the album.

Britain’s Talis Kimberley: Talis Kimberley, UK filker and activist, has been nominated for 32 Pegasus Awards and won 9, released over a dozen albums, and was inducted into the Filk Hall of Fame in 2014.

Seanan’s Kellis-Amberlee: Under her open pseudonym of Mira Grant, Seanan McGuire (see above) wrote the Newsflesh series, in which a manmade virus called Kellis-Amberlee causes zombification upon death.  (The similarity to the sound of Talis’s name is a coincidence.)

Doubleclicks: A nerd-rock duo--they they don’t self-identify as filkers, but they’re well regarded and friends with many Pacific Northwest filkers.

Browncoats: The organized fandom for Firefly, densely populated with filkers.

Cats: One of the most common subjects of filksongs that aren’t actually about fantasy or science fiction.

FuMP: The Funny Music Project, a loose affiliation of comedy musicians that has considerable overlap with the filk community (including Tom Smith and the Great Luke Ski, among others).

Toy Boat: Toyboat, a hard-rock filk band from the Midwest.

Release the Cello: An album by filker and cellist Betsy Tinney (see above).

Sasquon: Sasquan, the 2015 World Science Fiction Convention, which was the current con when this song was written.

Thor: The God of Thunder, Mighty Thor! This probably refers more to the Leslie Fish song, though--she was doing that sort of thing before the Marvel Cinematic Universe made that version a household name.

Pass another Tullamore: Tullamore Dew (see above).

for the longest bardic: At filksings, “bardic” refers to a style of turn-taking in which the opportunity to sing and/or play (or, in some variations, request a song of someone else) progresses around the circle in order.  This contrasts with “chaotic”, a style in which there are no set turns and anybody can request to perform next.

#filk

[cateliot]

in between the silence

Fandom:  Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Characters:  Melinda May, Phil Coulson, Lance Hunter, mentioned:  Andrew Garner

Pairing:   Melinda May/Phil Coulson, some Melinda May/Andrew Garner

Length:  800 words

Warnings:  No Archive Warnings, tags to 3x07

Summary:   Of all their silent conversations, this was the one that broke his heart the most. 

She seemed so invincible.  But just touch her and she’ll wince.  She has secrets and trusts no one.  She’s the perfect example of betrayal.  Because anyone she’s ever trusted broke her.

She hadn’t moved since the doctors had begun working on Andrew.  He watched her from the other side of the glass, breathing evenly as she watched the surgeons, covered in blood, operate on her ex-husband.

He hadn’t seen her in months.

He had sent agents, dozens of them, trying to find her.  After Andrew had returned from Maui without her, he had been searching for her.  Never found her, of course.  No one could find Melinda May unless she wanted to be found.

But he couldn’t stop looking.

And when she had appeared just the other week, she was suddenly there and suddenly gone.  It was so fast, meaningless, cold almost and he didn’t even have a chance to say what he wanted to.  His pre-planned apologies.

His arguments.

His anger.

And there she was, standing across the room and he couldn’t make force himself to walk towards her.  It was minutes before his heavy footsteps made it across the hallway and into the large open, hospital room.  He could clearly see her reaction to his sudden presence.  Her body tensed, muscles almost indistinctively rippling into fight or flight mode.

He was interrupting her vigil and he didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

He slid down on the wall next to her.  His back protesting at the movement as his shoulder brushed against hers.  Melinda’s body enclosed on itself slightly, making her smaller, less of a target and he pretended not to notice.

Neither of them spoke for the longest time and the only sound was the beeping of Andrew’s heart rate monitor.

“You two have the same face.”  His voice was course, scratchy as he sat down next to her.  Melinda’s dark eyes lingered on Andrew’s form a moment longer before turning towards Phil.  “Granted you had been shot and tortured at the time, not unconscious.”

Please look at me.

Her face didn’t change at the tone of his joke and he internally sighed.  The time apart hadn’t lessened the feelings of hurt she had left with.  “I looked for you,” he broached gently.

“Here I am.”

Her voice was soft, barely there.  It reminded him of the time after Bahrain when each syllable he and Andrew and Maria pulled out of her was a hard fought victory.

You knew where I was.  You just never came.

He swallowed hard before speaking again.

“Are … are you staying?”

“No.”

I can’t.

The single word was a sharp shard through his heart.  He knew that he had left things with his best friend, unfinished, broken, but he’d never had imagined that she’s leave on vacation and never return.  She had always come back.  Even after Bahrain.  Even after her string of failed suicide missions.  Her divorce with Andrew.  She always came back.  Except this time.  He struggled to respond.

“I called…”

You never answered.

“You sent agents to tail me,” she corrected with a sigh.  God, she sounded exhausted.  “To try and convince me to come back to base.  Level Three agents, no less.”

You should have come yourself.

“I got rid of the levels,” he said immediately, the sentence rolling off his tongue before he could reel it back in.  

Please forgive me.

Melinda lifted her eyes to meet his for a moment and he could the coldness sliding between them.  Sizing her up, she looked smaller, thinner than he had last seen her.  There were growing black circles under her eyes that had been just as dark as she when she had left.

What have you been up to May?

“Melinda?”

There was a deep groan that had May on her feet before Coulson could even respond.  She moved to the side of Andrew’s hospital bed.  He was covered in layers of bandages, sheets and contrasted to his dark skin.  His suit was thrown haphazardly over one of the chairs.  

Judging by Melinda’s anguish, he would have believed that the good doctor was dying, when he knew differently.  Just a broken hip.  A few scratches.  Potential concussion.

It’s going to be okay.

I hope.

He couldn’t hear the whispered words they shared.  He couldn’t find it in himself to not be jealous.  It was Andrew.  It had always been Andrew, from the very start.  He knew that of course, but as the Professor fade back out of consciousness, May glanced once over her shoulder.

He hadn’t moved, a quiet presence, unwavering.  The look in her eyes made him want to cry, the pain was tangible and he could feel it in the air.

Oh, Melinda, please don’t go.

#fanfic #aosfanfic #melindamay #melindamayedit #melindamayfanfic #philcoulson #philcoulsonedit #philinda #philindaedit #philindafanfic #andrewgarner #3.07 #3.07spoiler #bahrain #friendshipandheartache #pastandrew/may #cateliot

[rueur]

Morning Pages (06.01.2017)

Friday 6th Jan - 6:43 a.m.

I’m up earlier today because I’ll need to go to Craigieburn to celebrate my cousin’s birthday with some good old-fashioned morning prayer, which I’m looking forward to. A little bit. I don’t like being up this early, but I guess I’ll have to get used to it some time before the new semester starts. I also had a weird night last night. I had a nightmare where there was this event I’d attended, with a musical show (sorry, I just had to turn my alarms off, they were going off again at 6:45) and the performers were all kinda demonic. They gave out these little boxed things, and I took one home with no suspicion because at the time, the musicians didn’t look fishy at all. Fish is swimming very vigorously, by the way. He wants food. I cannot feed him yet, it’s too early.

Anyway, I took this boxed thing home and opened it up and almost immediately, this little rubber something shot under my bed or under a cabinet or something, and I lost it. So I kneeled down near this crack and peered into it and saw this tiny rubber creature thing. I tried to pull it out with one finger, because that’s all that would fit under this cabinet, and I couldn’t. Then my mother walked in and she was Asian. I mean my actual mother is already Asian, but she’s South-Asian. Sri Lankan. My mother in this dream was Chinese or something. Not my real mother. But I accepted it in the dream. So I told my mother that the rubber thing had fallen underneath the cabinet and she feigned disappointment for me, and then left. As soon as she’d left, the rubber thing started to point back at me! With a long and thin finger. I grabbed it and pulled and the rubber thing instantly started to stretch out and out. It just kept stretching like a window climber, or one of those stretchy, sticky hands you get at $2 shops. I just took a pause in my writing. I’m really groggy right now, sorry. This is not my most ideal mood for writing, but I know that’s exactly why the morning pages are supposed to be so helpful.

Anyway, yes, the thing just kept on stretching. I kept pulling, and all the while calling out to my mum to come and look at this stretchy living thing. But my mum never came. The thing was also squealing, like a happy baby or something, but very alien. Then I got up off the floor, and went to find my mum to tell her it’s ALIVE. I find my mum sitting quietly in the living room, staring down at her hand which has cramped in on itself. It looks like a claw, like deformed. I ask her what’s going on, and she just shows me her hand, and for some reason we both correlate her cramped hand to the newfound movement of the rubber thing, like the rubber thing is taking her muscles. Then I said ‘We have to finish the game’ and my mother says ‘NO’ and she’s terrified. Then I think I woke up, and it was 5:03 a.m.. I tried falling back to sleep for ages but it didn’t work. I kept seeing shadows in the dark, and it was also sweltering and I’d buried myself under this thick blanket in my sleep for some reason. I was sweating like you wouldn’t believe and I just flicked on the lamp, got up out of bed, and splashed my face with some water before trying to fall back asleep. I don’t know when I fell asleep again, but it wasn’t easy. I probably got under an hour’s sleep before waking up again.

I was supposed to tell you about Andrew today! From Thailander. He was one of my more memorable regulars who worked at an office on the street, Lonsdale Street. He’d call in ahead of time so that his food was ready when he got there because I’m assuming he had a very small lunch break. He’d usually order the spiciest stir-fry and then ask for it to be ‘extra spicy’. Pick-up for Andrew! I knew him after his second pick-up order with me, because he was so lame. A typical dad telling typical dad-jokes, seeing him every lunch rush was honestly a highlight for me. He was tall, slightly muscular build, with gray hair and a slightly receding hairline. He looked to be around forty, maybe just under middle-aged; quite young. Then I stopped working the lunch shifts and I didn’t see him for a couple of months before I finally quit. On my two week’s notice though, my bosses were definitely overworking me, giving me more shifts than I could handle alongside school. I was working the lunch rush again, and I got a call in my last week. Pick-up for Andrew! Jokingly on the phone, I asked if he wanted the food ‘extra spicy’ because he didn’t say it that time, and he laughed. He said no, though. But he came in and immediately said ‘I thought it was you!’ and I was just very happy to see him. We had a proper conversation that final time because I told him it was my last day, and he congratulated me. He said he hadn’t actually been to Thailander in a while before that day because he’d had a complaint they’d never dealt with, namely that one of their stir-fries was supposed to have green beans and when he got it there were absolutely no green beans at all. I told him we hadn’t had green beans in the kitchen for a while so I didn’t know why it was still on the menu and he said I was paying attention and that was good. He grew up in Eltham, he told me. I said I lived in South Morang, and we were complaining/praising what it meant to live at the end of the train line. He now lives in Sandringham, he said. That’s where I’ve wanted to live more than anything: by the beach, close to the city. South Melbourne. Here I’ve spent my entire life in the north. As north as you can get.

I seem to have a lot more to say this morning than last, I think. Or maybe I have an equal amount to say. I gave you stories yesterday, and one continuation of a story and a dream today. I think that’s pretty standard. I went home yesterday, to get some more clothes because I was running out of clean clothes in Northcote. I don’t want to use the washing machine here because it’s communal and downstairs and I’m shy. My anxiety has very much come with me to Northcote and into the new year. Anyway! I rode home and was incredibly sweaty on my arrival. I changed and hung out with my brother for a bit, listening to his music. He’s getting into Australian hip-hop. I am proud. Then my sister and Anthony, her boyfriend, came home with some groceries and my sister said they were going to start a workout soon, if I wanted to join them. I said yes, because honestly I haven’t been doing too much in the way of staying fit whilst I’ve been in Northcote. I have a running track and a bike track in South Morang, and it took me a while to establish those too. Northcote has the All Nations Park though and I don’t know if I can leave that when I’m done house-sitting because it’s so BIG and BEAUTIFUL. I’ll definitely be spending more time in Northcote even after the summer, I think.

So we braced ourselves, all four of us, and did this thirty-minute workout. It was actually quite fun! We used the Nike training app on my sister’s phone, and a spotify playlist she’d put together for gym sessions (very techno, very upbeat). At the end of it, I used the sweat towel they’d offered me beforehand (before the workout, I’d just laughed at it and said I wouldn’t need it). Then my sister made this amazing pumpkin ravioli/gnocchi lunch with mushrooms and spinach. It was amazing, and there were no leftovers. Then I had a bath with the rose bath salts and fizzes that I was given for Christmas by Anthony’s family. It was heavenly, and worked a wonder on my sore muscles at the time. But this morning, upon waking up and leaving my bed, I realise that my legs and arms are still so, so sore!

I had a bath, packed all my things up and made my way back home once more to Northcote. My clothes didn’t fit in my backpack (which was full of fresh underwear and toilet paper), so I folded them and fitted them into a plastic bag which I then tied tightly and hung from the handlebars on my bike. As suspected, they hit my front wheel A LOT and the bag developed a lot of holes. Luckily, none of my clothes tore. On the way home from High Street, however, I had to hold the plastic bag with both arms to stop the bag tearing any further and spilling my clothes out onto the floor.

I just had to plug my laptop in. It was on 8% and it had started to go red. I just checked Facebook, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take breaks from this stream-of-consciousness stuff, I know. It was an accident. I downloaded tinder again, to talk to strangers around me while I’m living on my own, because whilst I do like having all this time to myself it still does get a little bit lonely. And Ikaros is working all the time. Actually, he’s working Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, but he can somehow stretch that out so that it feels like he’s working ALL the time. I worked like six days a week for Thailander, and still made time for him. It hurts my feelings, I’m not going to lie. But I’m not here to talk about my love life. It’s not too great right now. Which is why I haven’t told him I’m on tinder. I’m just on tinder because I’m generally lonely. I want to meet people! And I’ve met and friended two interesting people so far: Lauren and Lucas. I’ll tell you about them later though, I just wanted to say two things before I run out of space for this morning.

Ikaros called me last night when he was walking down the hill, on his way to the bank. We were on the phone for an hour. One time I was on the phone to Malith for 4 hours! And I don’t even think that’s the longest, honestly. Anyway, he was talking to me about work. It’s been tough these past few days. Then I told him about my Artist’s Way challenge and the morning pages. Then he found an interesting calico cat on the street and that overshadowed my enthusiasm for being creative. And then he told Cameron to invite me to this thing on Saturday night that Ikaros actually never wanted to go to in the first place, and I had to lie to Cameron on his behalf and just tell him I was busy on Saturday night instead. So I went to bed feeling really icky. I don’t know what’s happening with this relationship. One thing is certain though: right now, it’s draining me.

#spilled ink #stream of consciousness #or at least it's supposed to be #morning pages #2 #06.01.2017

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Demko, Tolvanen and Mittelstadt Debut (Apr 1)

  Earlier this week I discussed the importance of goals-for percentage as it relates to future playoff success, specifically citing a 52.5% GF% as the cut-off for true contender status. This led to a good discussion about strength of schedule and how it might relate to a team’s ability to clear that cut-off, specifically looking at the disparity in talent between the Atlantic and the Metro divisions.

I really don’t believe that strength of schedule has much impact. The parity in the league is to the point that anyone can win on any given night. Look at ESPN’s strength of schedule metric. There’s barely any disparity between teams. Even though Boston, Toronto, and Tampa Bay will have played extra games against bad teams at the bottom of their division, they’ll also have played each other more often. Plus, Florida is no longer a joke.

You can use all sorts of anecdotes to prove your point one way or the other. At the end of the day, everyone is beating up on the Atlantic. An extra game here or there hasn’t made a big difference. Want something palpable? Look at how the Atlantic’s top teams have fared against the West, compared to how the Metro’s best have fared. That’s where the real disparity lies.

Bottom line, you can only beat the team that is in front of you. Consistently doing so over the course of 82 games is how you prove yourself a true contender. The Atlantic’s best have done it. The Metro’s best haven’t as yet.

*

While we are on the topic of playoffs, Travis Yost had an interesting piece on the importance of regular season head-to-head performance for predicting playoff outcomes. I looked at head-to-head record when I did my deep dive on playoff outcomes a few years back but didn’t derive the same predictability as I did from goal differential, so I dropped the idea. Yost’s article digs much deeper:

The tricky part is that we’re looking at only a handful of games, which means relatively small samples of data. To really tease out how teams have performed against one another, we can look at two varying measures – the percentage of total scoring chances in a team's favour and the percentage of total goals in a team's favour.

It’s an interesting idea, and I wondered how head-to-head scoring chance percentage has done over the past few seasons in terms of predicting outcomes of playoff series. As it turns out, not particularly well. Teams that held a scoring chance advantage through their regular season matchups won only 55% of their playoff matchups. That’s better than nothing, but not better than what goals-for differential can do.

*

Explosive return to the lineup for Jake DeBrusk who rejoined the second line with David Krejci and red-hot Ryan Donato. DeBrusk and Krejci both notched three points, while Donato had two to run his point total to seven points in seven games.

The Bruins have seemingly endless waves of young talent to throw at opponents. They’re the team I’ll try to load up on in playoff pools. It may prove challenging to land more than one guy off their top line, but you could likely corner the market on their depth options if you are willing to reach a little.

Brandon Carlo had to be stretchered off after this fall:

{source}<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">Brandon Carlo lands awkwardly on his left ankle and gets stretchered off the ice <a href="https://t.co/lcISiyxbW2">pic.twitter.com/lcISiyxbW2</a></p>— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) <a href="https://twitter.com/PeteBlackburn/status/980166682688843777?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 31, 2018</a></blockquote>

<script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>{/source}

  Either Carlo is Gumby or his season is done. Indeed, it appears that Carlo is out indefinitely with a broken leg.

The Bruins also lost Riley Nash after taking a shot to the head.

*

The Wild lost Ryan Suter to a leg injury as well:

{source} <blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">Ryan Suter&#39;s foot goes into the boards awkwardly. He needed to be helped off the ice. <a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/mnwild?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">#mnwild</a> <a href="https://t.co/Q2G79preAv">pic.twitter.com/Q2G79preAv</a></p>— Giles Ferrell (@gilesferrell) <a href="https://twitter.com/gilesferrell/status/980258476361420800?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">April 1, 2018</a></blockquote>

<script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>{/source}

  This one doesn’t look quite as bad but could really hinder their playoff hopes if Suter is diminished or misses any time. With Jared Spurgeon already out, you’re looking at losing the entirety of a top pair that consistently chewed 25+ minutes a night.

*

Taylor Hall is awesome, but also the Islanders’ defense is terrible:

{source}<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en"><p lang="und" dir="ltr"> <a href="https://twitter.com/hallsy09?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@hallsy09</a> <a href="https://t.co/C8XXccTKao">pic.twitter.com/C8XXccTKao</a></p>— NHL GIFs (@NHLGIFs) <a href="https://twitter.com/NHLGIFs/status/980240676762812416?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">April 1, 2018</a></blockquote>

<script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>{/source}

*

26 saves on 30 shots and a win for Thatcher Demko in his NHL debut. Demko has boasted some solid numbers in the AHL this season, boasting a .921 save percentage.

After two years in the minors you have to figure that Demko is ready to take another step. If the Canucks were closer to seriously competing perhaps it would make sense to bring Demko up sooner, but since they aren’t he’d be better off continuing to get regular action in the AHL than making the Canucks as a backup next season. However, as we have seen in Colorado and New Jersey teams can turn around faster than you might think so perhaps he could get dragged up by mid-season next year.

*

One assist for Casey Mittelstadt in his debut. He skated 14 minutes centering the third line and second PP unit. Not a bad spot, but not a great one either.

A hat-trick for Sam Reinhart gives him 34 points in the last 34 games, which all kicked off after the Sabres’ bye week. A big reason for his second-half tear has been the Sabres’ rediscovery of power play excellence. 14 of Reinhart’s points in this run have come with the man-advantage, helping him to career highs in PP goals (11) and PP points (20). A full season of PP production like this could lead to a breakout, but we also said that last season.

Five assists for Jack Eichel vaulting him to a new career high with 62 points. Amazing that this is a career high since he’s nearly been a point-per-game guy for two straight years. Those pesky injuries will catch up to you, however.

*

No points or shots even for Eeli Tolvanen in his NHL debut. He skated 13:34 getting a cameo on the top line with Filip Forsberg given the night off. Tolvanen might stick on that top line if Viktor Arvidsson’s injury proves serious, as the forward was forced from last night’s game.

*

Tough times for the Avalanche:

{source}<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-cards="hidden" data-lang="en"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">Semyon Varlamov has a lower body injury and is out for the season.<br><br>Erik Johnson has a fractured patella and is out six weeks. <a href="https://t.co/o7TIcLyDnW">pic.twitter.com/o7TIcLyDnW</a></p>— Colorado Avalanche (@Avalanche) <a href="https://twitter.com/Avalanche/status/980145632492089344?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 31, 2018</a></blockquote>

<script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>{/source}

  This is not the first time they have been forced to weather injuries to Semyon Varlamov and Erik Johnson, but it nonetheless makes their task ahead more challenging. Even if they survive to make the playoffs they’ll be in tough without these vets.

    *

Interesting look at how today is the golden age for ironman streaks in the NHL:

Four of the 10 longest streaks in NHL history were active at the start of the 2017-18 season. Anaheim Ducks forward Andrew Cogliano's streak ended at 830 games earlier this season — because of suspension — and Pittsburgh Penguins winger Phil Kessel is fast approaching 700 consecutive games, too. Meanwhile Montreal Canadiens defenseman Karl Alzner comes in at 12th all time, with a streak that hit 600 consecutive games earlier this season.

Keith Yandle and Patrick Marleau are the other two guys with active streaks among the 10 longest in history. It’s certainly a boon to the fantasy value of Yandle, Marleau and Kessel that they don’t miss games.

I don’t know that the league is changing to make it easier for these guys to accomplish these feats. Of all the arguments made in this piece, what was missed was expansion. The player pool being so much larger increases the odds of having multiple outliers. At the end of the day, that’s what these guys are: outliers.

*

Jeff Veillette had the most thorough and important piece on the MVP discussion that you’ll find:

This lines up with the trope we all know, that a goaltender is the backbone of a hockey team. They can steal you wins on bad nights and cost you points on good ones, and everything in between; so much of the score, and in the long term, the standings, relies on how they stop the puck.

So, if you really believe that the Hart Trophy needs to stay strict to the Most Valuable Player To Their Team definition, and you believe that playoff status is key to this argument, we should probably throw skaters out of the conversation entirely. Goalies dominate in this regard; you’re basically looking at the GSAA leader, or the goalie with the highest GSAA that keeps their team from going into a negative goal difference (or, a worse one if they have one already).

Everyone has their own criteria to define value, but if you take a literal approach, goalies have the most impact on the game. They are the only players to play all 60 minutes and have a direct hand in controlling just how many goals the opposition can score. I prefer an abstract approach, but I think you have to acknowledge the import of goalies before you can make any other argument.

*

Thanks for reading! You can follow me on Twitter @SteveLaidlaw.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-demko-tolvanen-and-mittelstadt-debut-apr-1/

[footyplusau]

The high-powered meeting where Kevin Sheedy and Richard Colless tore strips off each other

The animosity between the Sydney Swans and GWS Giants wasn’t sparked on the field.

It came to life at a high-powered lunch at Circular Quay six years ago, when inaugural Giants coach Kevin Sheedy and former Swans chairman Richard Colless roared at each other in front of the AFL’s most senior figures, including chief executive Andrew Demetriou and chairman Mike Fitzpatrick.

Play Video Don’t Play

Viney: Criticism of players has impact

Play Video Don’t Play

Previous slide Next slide

FootyFix: Can the Tiges keep it up?

FootyFix: Can the Tiges keep it up?

Rohan Connolly previews all the footy action ahead of round 5 in the AFL.

Viney: Criticism of players has impact

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Viney: Criticism of players has impact

Viney: Criticism of players has impact

Richmond and Melbourne captains Trent Cotchin and Jack Viney believe the negative opinion aimed at individual players such as Tyrone Vickery can cause a heavy mental impact.

Gunston: Mitchell will receive plenty of banter

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Gunston: Mitchell will receive plenty of …

Gunston: Mitchell will receive plenty of banter

Jack Gunston knows if Sam Mitchell is right to play for West Coast his ex-teammates will make sure he remembers where he came from.

AFL plays of round 4

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AFL plays of round 4

AFL plays of round 4

Good Friday footy was great, Nat Fyfe is captain courageous, Hopper pops through a ripper, Eddie kicks six including the usual bit of genius and Riewoldt is sublime as Tiges remain unbeaten.

Clarkson’s confidence challenge

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Clarkson’s confidence challenge

Clarkson’s confidence challenge

Alastair Clarkson believes the playing group is devoid of confidence and will need to find a way to bounce back to remain competitive.

Geelong remain unbeaten as Hawthorn misery continues

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Geelong remain unbeaten as Hawthorn …

Geelong remain unbeaten as Hawthorn misery continues

The Geelong Cats have continued their unbeaten start to the season at the expense of winless the Hawthorn Hawks, winning 20.14.134 to 6.12.48.

Crows crush Bombers to remain undefeated

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Crows crush Bombers to remain undefeated

Crows crush Bombers to remain undefeated

Eddie Betts and Taylor Walker kicked ten between them by half-time, as Adelaide crushed Essendon by 65 points to remain undefeated.

FootyFix: Can the Tiges keep it up?

Rohan Connolly previews all the footy action ahead of round 5 in the AFL.

“Let’s agree to what we’re going to fight about in the papers,” Sheedy said, according to those in the room.

Colless, the AFL’s longest-serving chairman who transformed the Swans into a powerhouse, wasn’t having a bar of publicity stunts played out in the media.

Flashpoint: Steve Johnson and Lance Franklin clash at the quarter time break during the 2016 AFL First Qualifying Final match between the Swans and the Giants. Photo: Michael Willson/AFL Media

“We don’t even want you in Sydney,” he said, according to those in the room.

Then it was on: two titans of the game passionately ripping into another. Fabulous stuff.

In the end, Fitzpatrick had to calm them down.

The other guests who had a front-row seat this day included Demetriou’s deputy and eventual successor, Gillon McLachlan, Swans coach John Longmire and chief executive Andrew Ireland, Giants chairman Tony Shepherd and then chief executive Dale Holmes.

Headline-maker: Kevin Sheedy was the perfect choice as coach for the Giants. Photo: Brook Mitchell/AFL Media

Sheedy confirmed the blow-up when contacted this week ahead of Saturday night’s blockbuster between the two clubs at the SCG.

“[Giants chief executive] Dave Matthews called the meeting,” Sheedy said. “I looked at Andrew Demetriou and Mike Fitzpatrick and said, ‘What’s this bullshit? Andrew, let’s not play the Swans for five years, because we’re only going to give them eight points so they can make the four.

“If he [Colless] doesn’t want us in, why should we give them eight easy points?’ How many top-four finishes and grand finals did the Swans make in those years when we were just starting out? This was on top of us being called an AFL propaganda hoax. I thought this was the biggest load of rubbish I’d ever heard.”

Then Sheedy throws in this line: “Richard didn’t appreciate the talent that was looking at him. He didn’t realise how good we were.”

The anecdote perfectly sums up the angst between the Swans and Giants, whose rivalry is intensifying as GWS edge closer to a maiden flag and Sydney struggles.

On one hand we have the Swans, who shrugged off mediocrity to become the strongest club of any code in the country.

On the other the Giants, who have been parachuted into Western Sydney and funded by head office. Sheedy – an Energizer Bunny when it comes to promoting the game – was the perfect choice as coach. He generated back pages by being, well, Sheeds.

“Kevin’s default position is to put on a clown suit, to be fired out of a cannon, to generate publicity,” Colless said. “The Swans position was ‘no gimmicks’. If we were to be taken seriously, [the] Geoff Edelsten days had to be gone. We’ve had to be taken seriously as a club, and that was to be respectful of our position in NSW. We had to show humility and convey that we understood the history and culture of sport in this city.”

To that end, Colless does not believe rivalry or animosity between the two clubs can be manufactured. He loathes the term “Battle of the Bridge”, which positions the Anzac Bridge as the geographical divide between the two clubs.

“There’s no question that the fixture has taken on a different complexion because Sydney is respected for its consistency and now you’ve had this spectacular rise from GWS,” he said. “But the Swans have done the heavy lifting with sustained success. ‘The Battle of the Bridge’ is a stupid term. Big brother, little brother … Who thought of that? In Adelaide, there’s deep-seated enmity. That type of rivalry takes time. With Sydney and GWS, I think it’s more deep-seated respect.”

A crowd of about 40,000 is expected for the round five match on Saturday night. It follows the 60,000-plus crowd at ANZ Stadium for last year’s qualifying final between the two clubs.

Sydney get four big-name players back but they are eyeballing a possible 0-5 start to the season. There have been whispers around Moore Park all summer that two grand final defeats in three years have left deep scars.

It should be a fascinating game, but Sheedy won’t be in attendance because of other commitments in Melbourne.

“But tell the NRL I’ll come and help them any time that they need me,” he said.

Like almost every conversation I’ve had with him, I don’t know if he was joking.

Within his rights to look around: Aaron Woods. Photo: Getty Images

Tigers’ dramas drag on

Bravo, Ivan Cleary, bravo.

The new Wests Tigers coach did what his chief executive should’ve done months ago: he told off-contract stars Aaron Woods and James Tedesco on Thursday they had 24 hours to make a decision about their futures.

Then Cleary walked over to the gaggle of reporters at training at Concord Oval and told them, too.

Unfortunately, he should’ve also brought a white flag because it’s a sure sign he knows both players are leaving.

Woods is basically a done deal at the Bulldogs. Fans will bag him but consider the fact he’s been there for two rebuilds and is now expected to hang around for a third.

Tedesco has been genuinely torn but all roads seem to be leading to the Roosters instead of the Dogs. He’s been sounding out Roosters players about joining them next season.

The Roosters are adamant Tedesco won’t receive more than a $1 million a season, relying on the selling point of joining a powerful club. They expect a decision in the next day or two.

When the dust settles, can someone explain to me how Tigers chief executive Justin Pascoe and the board keep their jobs after all this?

In less than a year, on their watch, they have: disgracefully shoved favourite son Robbie Farah out the door; sacked coach Jason Taylor after three rounds (he found out from his coaching staff, who found out via Twitter, that he’d been punted); then watched three local juniors in Woods, Tedesco and Mitchell Moses walk out of the club.

Meanwhile, the all-powerful Wests faction that pulls all the levers won’t talk publicly about the decisions it is making.

Someone wake me when this is over. It has officially become boring.

Inspirational human being: Curtis McGrath. Photo: Brendan Esposito / NRL Photos

True grit

If you ever needed a reminder about the silliness – and importance – of sport, it was there for those of us lucky enough to attend the Ted Larkin Oration dinner at NRL headquarters on Wednesday night.

The oration was delivered by Curtis McGrath, the decorated former sapper who incredibly rebounded from losing both his legs from a mine blast while serving in Afghanistan in 2012 to winning a Paralympic gold medal four years later.

“My legs were gone,” McGrath told a silent room. “Everything hurt. My earlobes, my bum, my tongue, my eyes were sore.”

Then he uttered these immortal words …

“They loaded me on to a stretcher and as they carried me along, that’s when I said, ‘You guys will see me at the Paralympics. I’ll compete for NZ in the black and white, not the green and gold’. They said, ‘We’ll drop you here’. They were crying as they were carrying me. That’s what I have learnt: this injury wasn’t just mine. It belonged to everyone around me, too.”

As McGrath waited for a helicopter, his mood changed.

“I didn’t think I was going to die until I was sitting there waiting for the helicopter,” he said. “That’s when I asked one of the lads, ‘You need to print off some letters on my laptop to my family, my girlfriend, my friends’ [to tell them] that I wasn’t coming home.”

When McGrath was eventually loaded on to an air force “nurse” headed for Germany a few days later, the enormity of the war in Afghanistan struck him.

“I was the only non-American on the flight, we were all wounded,” he said. “This was when I realised this war was so much bigger than I realised. Up the front, there were two guys having surgery on them. They were trying to die on that flight.”

McGrath took up the paracanoe and last year, in Rio, won the KL2 200 metres … wearing the green and gold of Australia.

Still a chance: The Sydney Harbour Bridge could yet host a horse race.

Long shot, but a shot nonetheless

An exclusive story in last Saturday’s Sydney Morning Herald about horse racing being held on the Sydney Harbour Bridge was met with scepticism, as tantalising as the prospect of thoroughbreds steaming over the Coathanger might be.

Racing writer Chris Roots revealed Racing NSW is in discussions with a promoter about synthetic turf being laid across the bridge for program consisting of six races of about 1000 metres.

This column made some calls on it and was surprised to learn – not least from a few state politicians – that this might have legs.

It still appears to be a long shot, but don’t dismiss it as something a couple of marketing types schemed up over a long lunch at Mr Wong.

We’re assured the promoter in question who approached Racing NSW isn’t a lightweight, is serious about making it happen, and serious about it happening in Sydney.

Given the width of the bridge, temporary grandstands could be erected at either end so a crowd of 20,000 to 30,000 could watch.

The event wouldn’t so much promote racing in NSW as Sydney itself. Images of horse races being held on Australia’s most iconic landmark would be shown around the world.

No word yet on which way the horses would run, although it makes sense that they should head north so they don’t have to pay the toll.

THE QUOTE

“He would often do an entire weights session in his undies.” – Bernard Foley‘s enduring memory of Wallabies and Waratahs teammate Drew Mitchell, who has announced his retirement.

THUMBS UP

In 1967, Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to run in the Boston Marathon. “Get the hell out of my race!” shouted race director Jock Semple as he tried to take her out. On Monday, half a century later and at the age of 70, she again ran in the race and officials retired her bib number in her honour.

THUMBS DOWN

Boston Celtics star Isaiah Thomas bravely took to the court in the NBA finals a day after his sister was killed in a car accident, and then knocked down 33 points. Of course, Charles Barkley thought it necessary to say the sight of Thomas crying pre-match was “not a good look”. Just wow …

It’s a big weekend for … the Western Sydney Wanderers, who meet a Brisbane Roar side that will have revenge on their mind in the A-League quarter-finals at Suncorp Stadium.

It’s an even bigger weekend for … Polarisation, the English stayer who won the Sydney Cup two weeks ago and must do it again on Saturday after the first attempt was declared a “no race”.

Andrew Webster is on Facebook.

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[playthehits-blog]

Andrew Bird - Ace Theatre - 5.14.16

In the name of procrastination, it is yet again time for another posting in my impeding “Yesteryear” series of concert reviews. This edition will feature the magnificent “Dr. Stringz”, or Andrew Bird as he is most commonly known. That is also the name that his mother knows him by, simply because that is the name that she gave him at birth, so of course she would know him by that name. Anywho, Andrew Bird is a long-standing, multi-instrumental artist who has a very rich history that spans a time longer than many of his fans lives. This was the second installment of his that I have been fortunate enough to attend, and much like the first time, this may have been the most diverse crowd for a show that I have been present at. It featured everyone from hi-brow/fine-art/wine-and-dine elders to angst-infused teenage indie-folk newcomers, and everyone in between (including myself, who probably lies somewhere in the middle of both categories, with unfortunate similarities to both…). Thankfully, that’s one of my favorite things about Andrew Bird and his music; it’s entirely enjoyable to those of all groups and ages, while not being driven by popular modes of music. This is highly due to Bird being one of the most prolific violinists in non-classical music today. Being trained under the Suzuki philosophy since his childhood, Bird’s instrumentation often mimics his vocal inflection and melody. Pairing this with an abundant use of pizzicato, a technique used typically by stand-up bassist and cellists, Bird’s offering is unlike most in all of folk-rock. As you can imagine, Bird has long studied, showcased, and explored his violin talents for the better part of the last four decades, and his luxuriant display of talents do not stop there. Bird himself is also very well known for his embellished whistling, along with the ability to play nearly all lute instruments. His authority of all things strings coined him the aforementioned title of “Dr. Stringz”; a character he portrayed in a children's TV show (so cute). Take a peek through his thorough recording history, and you’ll find no room for doubt to strip him of this deserving (albeit childish) accolade. More so than this, what makes his offerings so much more engaging is his impeccable (and educational) ability to sing about the most peculiar subjects. Likely the smartest person in the room on any given day, Bird’s vast intellect of all things astronomy, biology, geology, neurology, and all other gy’s makes his clever lines and floating rhymes magnificently impressive. I consider myself a huge fan of his, yet often times I haven’t the slightest idea of what he is talking about. It’s equally as enlightening as it is frustrating, mainly due to my inability to understand his references. Either way, it makes the time spent with his music all the more an engaging experience, one that you won’t soon regret.

Moving on to the contents of the night (and to the context of which I mean to babble on about and waste your precious time on), this particular concert was to promote his most recent album (at the time of the concert, clearly not at the time of this outdated, shorthanded excuse for literature) “Are You Serious”. In the days leading up to this concert, there was much room in my existence for garnered excitement, as the previous time that I saw Bird was one of the most enjoyable nights for myself. This time differed as I had previously seen him in a smaller theater, whereas in this installment, Bird would showcase his talents at the Ace Theatre, which is a much larger setting with assigned seating. I’m sure many can agree that a setting such as this suits Bird best, as the acoustics of the hall allowed his previously mentioned talents to carry throughout the theater seemingly effortlessly. This beautiful display began with a brief excerpt from Alice Coltrane’s “Journey In Satchidananda” from a light-less stage. Going on for a few moments, the band broke into “Capsized”, the opening song from AYS [...”Are You Serious”. I like the use of acronyms that only I know the reference to. Makes things more fun for me, and more frustrating for you (??), which is subsequently more fun for me…unless of course no one reads this, which nobody does, nor should, so joke’s on me I guess]. As this song kicked in, so did the stage lights, and the night was in motion...literally… Some random woman who was vibin’ more than a noodle in boiling water (with movements similar to the likeness of such a noodle) brought it upon herself to interpretive dance in front of the stage. Throughout. The entire. Show….. I guess she had every right to do so as this song is pretty groovy, and I too was (potentially) feeling such vibe, but figured she was enough for all of those who were in attendance to experience. I could also benefit from saving myself the embarrassment of showcasing my equally freakish movements. In any case, Bird came ready to PTH (......play…..the…..HITS!!!…..no? k fine), and play those hits he sure did. He immediately moved to the decade old song “A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left” from 2005’s “The Mysterious Production of Eggs”, which features previously mentioned whistling (which is very much the case with many of his songs, yet widely iconic in this song).

From this, Bird stayed on the topic of visiting past songs such a “Tenuousness” (a song which lyrics are beyond all comprehension. I wasn’t lying when I said this dude was intelligent) and “Lusitania”. Following this, he then returned to the title track of AYS in (what other than) “Are You Serious”. While this song is on the softer side, it represents much of what makes his music so unmistakably himself. It includes all of his preceding musical characteristics; embroidered and flowery diction (which he knowingly instructs the listener to “get out your dictionaries”, in a very modest way, as pretentious as this does sound), plucked and strummed violin, and innocently clever storytelling. One of my favorite things about Bird is that while much of his lyrics are conversational, he often transposes them in the form of an actual conversation when performing live. I’ve seen quite a few artists follow this type of execution in their performances, yet none make it seem as nonchalant and natural as Bird does. He has a way of presenting it so purely that you feel as if he is conversing directly to you. It’s a truly wonderful addition to his already witty, virtuoso performance. Speaking of virtuosity, the band then played “Truth Lies Low”, which just might be my favorite off the new album (which is his best since 2007’s “Armchair Apocrypha”, in my very insignificant opinion). The longest and most intricate song (again, my opinion with all insignificance included) from AYS, “Truth Lies Low” acts as home to the most improvisation on the album and in this performance. When I think of Andrew Bird, I think of songs such as this. They’re so unapologetically him, and I mean that in a way that as all bands create their own sounds and personalities that make them “themselves”, Bird showcases his fearlessness to embrace himself in this song. Featuring two sections of improvised solos (including those by his band members as well) Birds immaculate abilities were put on display unlike I had previously experienced. Echoing into every nook and cranny of the theater, Bird’s luscious swells and sweeps swayed the crowd into delight. As I have made very clear through my oversupply of worthless words on this blog, I am a sucker for improvisation, and this display sure was one of the many highlights of the night for me (and others as well, I assume).

Following this, the lovely Fiona Apple made a guest appearance (as she does on the album) for the performance of “Left Hand Kisses”. Switching between violin and guitar, Bird’s (Dr. Stringz) inviting melodies paired with Apple’s vibrato showcased chemistry between the two as good as any duo in music. It was pure folk bliss. Bird followed this with again revisiting favorites such as “Plasticities”. Coming from “Armchair Apocrypha”, an album literally filled with hits, I felt both delight and dismay, as I knew that this would likely be the only feature of the album for the night. Nevertheless, I swooped in this offering with all nostalgia attached. Maybe his strongest (and most famous) demonstration of his pizzicato abilities, Bird pushed the tempo on this track, boasting (and rightfully so) his talents.

Shifting to his “Hands of Glory” acoustic project of past which features violin, stand-up bass, and (in this instance) mandolin, the band performed “Pulaski at Night”. Utilizing only one (50’s style) microphone, the trio sounded as gritty and stripped back as ever (that’s supposed to be a good thing...I’ve never been good at compliments). It would seem at this point that the night was starting to wane, and I could feel discontent of the nights imminent end beginning to build. This was quickly put to rest as, to my endless appreciation, Bird played my favorite offering of his. Discussing the potential set-list with my friend and colleague who I was fortunate to attend this concert with, I briefly mentioned that regardless the set-list, this show was destined to deliver. However if I could have one song featured, it would make the night more than glorious for myself. And to my endless appreciation (repetitive), Bird finished his initial set with “Armchairs”, fooling my previous hunch of him only visiting “Armchair Apocrypha” once. There are times where I find myself waiting, hoping, without any expectation, for moments like these. They are imaginary occasions in which my existence cannot fathom the effect it would have on me if it were to come to fruition. Yet, in those seven minuscule minutes, a lifetime of waiting for such a moment would be worthwhile (*yarf*). By far my favorite offering of his, and potentially one of my favorite songs in history, Bird’s display of this song elevated my spirits to heights that were previously seemingly unobtainable (*YARF*). As charismatic as ever, Bird played to the crowd with emotion that was completely and entirely himself.

Thoroughly elated from the act that was exhibited to us, Bird granted us further delight through the means of an encore that included more Fiona and covers of Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Bird then ended with the somewhat somber but otherwise lighthearted “The New Saint Jude”. A song likely referencing his wife’s diagnosis, battle, and eventual defeat of cancer, Bird brings light to the virtues of looking on the bright side of things. As this was the unfortunate end of such a splendid night, it left me to see things through a positive light as well: While all good things must come to an end (why), at least I got see one of my favorite musicians play one of my favorite songs. Unfortunately for you, you have just wasted 5-10 minutes of your precious, escaping lifetime reading this pointless review. But hey, look on the bright side; at least it’s finally (and thankfully) over....for now.

Setlist:

1. Journey to Satchidananda

2. Capsized

3. A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left

4. Tenuousness

5. Lusitania

6. Are You Serious

7. Truth Lies Low

8. Puma

9. Left Hand Kisses (ft. Fiona Apple)

10. Roma Fade

11. Three White Horses

12. Plasticities

13. Valleys of the Young

14. Pulaski at Night

15. Bellevue

16. Armchairs

Encore:

1. Harvest (Neil Young cover)

2. Oh, Sister (Bob Dylan cover) (ft. Fiona Apple)

3. Give It Away

4. The New Saint Jude

#Andrew Bird #Dr. Stringz #folk #folk rock #indie rock #musician #music #concert #review #concert review #PLAYTHEHITS #Play The Hits