Two men were stabbed to death and one injured Friday on a light-rail train in Portland, Oregon, after they tried to intervene when another passenger began “ranting and raving” and shouting anti-Muslim hate speech at two young women.
1. Iced coffee. Turkey bacon. Challah french toast.
2. Cuddling with my kid yesterday and marathoning a bunch of Sword Art Online, which I enjoy as much as he does.
3. My kid is seven and a half today! On his suggestion, we're going to the grocery store later today to get cupcakes to share with friends later this afternoon.
4. Watching wee birds at my bird feeder, supping on seeds.
5. Friends. Including all of you.
In 'Girl power: How the fans whose tastes we’ve been most dismissive of may prove the most resilient,' National Post's Sadaf Ahsan wrote Their taste is – more often than not – dismissed as hysterical. They populate Twitter, blogs and online forums. They hit up Ticketmaster on the dot. They write fan-fiction pairing their favourite singers together. They form fanclubs and fansites. And they scream louder than just about anyone else. They are young girls, and as such, the things that they love are open to ridicule, merely because they love them so boldly and with such eager abandon.
For the Duluth News Tribune, Christa Lawler wrote, of the Franconia Sculpture Park, The horizon is a post-apocalyptic fan-fiction fodder: a collection of wooden houses — one sunken, one seemingly airborne, one roofless, one dog-shaped — all alongside animals taken out of context, LEGO-like structures, geometrics, human figures and singled-out body parts.
( Margaret Atwood on Wattpad, Game of Thrones, Chinese lit, Trudeau/Macron, Baywatch, Les Liaisons Dangereuses, Sherlock Holmes )
For The Atlantic, Robinson Meyer noted Trump’s budget remains a kind of fiduciary fan fiction for Freedom Caucus conservatives, who can fantasize about a skinnier government without ever living with the political consequences. So even if it never come to pass, it’s worth noting: This is what they want.
In an interesting New York Times piece on censorship, Balli Kaur Jaswal admitted there was a lot of “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” fan fiction in my early career.
In a NewStatesman review of the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie, Pauline Bock wrote It is a story of sons and daughters – Turner’s son Henry is following in the family tradition, trying to save his father from a curse – usually the sign that a series is dangerously lurking into fan fiction (here's looking at you, Harry Potter’s Cursed Child).
For New Republic, Jeet Heer wrote [Louise] Mensch often veers into surrealistic fan fiction, saying she believes Russian President Vladimir Putin “murdered” Andrew Breitbart in 2012, “funded riots in Ferguson” against police violence, and entrapped Anthony Weiner in a sexting scandal with a 15-year-old girl.
Finally, for Shepherd Express, Russ Bickerstaff wrote Robots and burlesque go together like...robots and burlesque. And really, what could possibly be more sexy than a Dalek? The first weekend of June finds Dainty Rogues asking that very question as the locally-based group presents an all-original Dr. Who fan fiction for the stage.
Enjoy! I will add to it as pinch hits or treats come in. Some songs have more than one work! This may be a spoiler to what you're getting as a gift: click advisedly.
Regarding the fandom page at the collection
You may notice that the collection presently reads 49 works, 12 fandoms. Current AO3 wrangling policy is that unrevealed works are not wrangled. However, one of our participants who is also a wrangler has kindly agreed to wrangle the fandoms immediately at the time of reveals. I am also happy to consider any suggestions for additional aides to provide to ensure you can find what you're looking for.
Please see previous posts for outstanding pinch hits. Treats are also very welcome.
In a positive episode of “The Trews,” host Russell Brand analyzes a surprisingly moving television advertisement that demonstrates how social categories based on race and class are superficial and quickly break down.
On the eve of his election to the House of Representatives, Montana Republican Greg Gianforte beat up Ben Jacobs, a reporter for The Guardian.
And - guess what? I have those tickets.
So I hunkered down and watched Batman vs. Superman. It was exactly as joyless, miserable, boring, and generally intolerable as I expected - with, of course, the exception of the Wonder Woman bits.
But I did it - and now my appetite is whet for more Wonder Woman!!
What kind of ( cut for spoilers and lots of swearing ). And that's without even getting into the fact that ( more spoilers ).
So yeah, I am angry. I am especially angry given how good the first few episodes this series were. If it had all been crap I could have just shrugged and carried on. But this is... ugh. It feels like such a waste. A waste of Bill, and a waste of Erica, who was an awesome new character.
2. We have had no trash pick up at work for a week, for unknown reasons (calling the trash company did not get us anything except promises to come the next day, which were inevitably broken), and our bin outside is jam packed and has been for days, so we just have a huge pile of trash bags building in our back storage area. I've been trying to get someone from corporate to help with this and finally today they called me and said they talked to the manager at the Gardena store and said we could send two pallets of trash per day to them and they would put it in their trash compactor. So a huge chunk of my day today was spent getting pallets of trash made up, which was not fun, but this will help alleviate the situation until we can actually get trash pick-up again, which will probably be Tuesday at the earliest (Monday is a holiday).
3. We got pizza for dinner. :D I texted Carla asking if she would be down with that and she had literally just been about to text me and ask me the same thing.
4. I love how Chloe looks like "ugh, stop taking my picture all the time, Dad!"
In the evening I met rushthatspeaks for a sold-out showing of Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992) at the Brattle Theatre: I thought it was great. It's more overtly supernatural than the series overall—it's focused on the most overtly supernatural strand—but it's also decisively grounded by Sheryl Lee's performance, with Laura Palmer's very realistic anger, damage, and agency (it was not clear in the show that her final status was a choice rather than an inevitable consequence or a weird side effect of the manner of her death; the film offers her no good options, but she absolutely opts for the best of them, which makes it strangely difficult for me to classify the film as horror, even though content-wise I don't know what else it should be) interlocking across registers with the characters who live in the soapier layers of the plot. I was glad to see Harry Dean Stanton turn up in the supporting cast, because he feels existentially like someone who should inhabit a David Lynch universe. Now we just need to finish watching the remaining half of Season Two and figure out what to do about the third-season revival.
A later interlude of placidly watching candymaking videos by Public Displays of Confection with spatch was interrupted by Autolycus violently throwing up all over a box of hardcover Le Guin and Tanith Lee, but fortunately the box had a lid on it, the books have been transplanted to a high shelf, and a very shaken small cat was comforted after we emergency-mopped the floor. (There was much anxious purring. We reassured him that we know he does not throw up maliciously. He never looks like he enjoys it.)
Unless it gets a National Theatre-style broadcast, I don't have a hope of seeing the Crucible's Julius Caesar on account of it being in Sheffield and me being on the other side of an ocean, but it's being done with a diverse, gender-equal cast and I wish I could see it, because Zoë Waites has a hell of a lean and hungry look:
We are talking about seeing Jacques Tati's Playtime (1967) tomorrow. I haven't seen the movie since 2010, when it was also on film at the Brattle and I loved it. I should get to bed.
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
by Charles Lederer (screen play), Joseph Fields (based on the musical comedy by), and Anita Loos (based on the musical comedy by)
Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation
Sarah: Am I the only one who gets a little zing! of excitement with the production company logo and music at the start of a movie? I think it’s a leftover reaction from going to a movie as a kid – which was a Big Deal of excitement.
Carrie S: Clothes!
Elyse: My fashion goals are to have a cape like Dorothy’s.
Carrie S: Three minutes in and I’m already in love with Jane Russell.
Sarah: What lipstick is Jane wearing in the opening sequence? I love it.
Ah, vintage movie credits. I can have a shower in the time it takes to get through them.
Elyse: Is “those girls couldn’t drown” a boob joke?
Carrie S: I feel like we need to discuss the flesh colored swim trunks but word fail me.
Elyse: Holy skin colored swim trunks. I love how the ship conveniently has a gymnastics studio next to the pool. Also what the fuck is the Australian crawl?
Sarah: Carrie, I agree. There is absolutely no subtext to men in flesh colored swim trunks dancing, wrestling, and swinging on a pole. Nope.
RHG: Fuckboy Gus looks like Charles Boyle from Brooklyn 99 and that’s a substitution that’s going to keep me ENDLESSLY entertained for a while. All weekend, probably.
Sarah: Ok, when Junior Esmond walks through the backstage area on the way to Lorelei’s dressing room, he looks at all the women, and looks utterly confused what he’s doing there.
Elyse: I love Dorothy. LOVE her.
RHG: Jane Russell is the best, hands down. I want to get drunk with Dorothy and talk shit. Or with Jane. Both of ‘em.
Sarah: I love Dorothy’s confident sexuality. I love that the issue
RHG: RUNNING, why? “Sure it keeps you healthy, but at what cost?”
I deeply appreciate this workout scene. My face and Dorothy’s face are the same face and we would absolutely be best friends for ever. “I like a beautiful hunk of man.”
Sarah: “Nobody chaperones the chaperone.” And a thousand historical romances were born.
“Dibs on the shot putter.” Again, a thousand romances were born. Probably contemporary but I can be flexible.
Carrie S: When Lorelei and Dorothy walk into the dining room together there’s no lesbian subtext all. Nope. Not a bit.
Sarah: The choreography is something else – I don’t think their rib cages moved at all.
RHG: It’s nice to see actual dancing after that abhorrent remake of Dirty Dancing the other night with low energy, lackluster, barely dirty dancing.
Carrie S: I can’t figure out why I so very much want Lorelei to have love and riches even though she has the morals of a boa constrictor.
Sarah: Lorelei threatening to have her meals in her room so the head waiter has to give back his bribes – ma’am. I am so impressed.
Carrie S: Lorelei grand dismissal of annoying men is my everything.
Elyse: “The human ferret” is my new favorite insult.
Sarah: “Did you ever hear of a rich pole vaulter?” A thousand romances born? Well, maybe not a thousand. Maybe a six.
RHG: Oh, he’s good. Malone is VERY good at his job.
Ah! Elliot Reid reminds me of Christian Borle, especially in “My line? My most effective one is to tell a girl she has hair like a torch at midnight, lips like a red couch in an ivory palace that I’m lonely and starved for affection. Then, I generally burst into tears. It seldom works.”
Sarah: “You might be interested in my tiara.” I’m going to say that randomly, when I have a tiara in my bag. Which means I need to get a tiara to keep in my bag.
RHG: I’m going to start carrying around a tiara. Just in case. You never know when you might have a tiara emergency. “I just love finding new places to wear diamonds!” LOL.
Carrie S: OMG Lorelei is a terrible person. Blackmailing a dude to get a tiara is low, honey.
Sarah: Who packs a tiara in a leather briefcase without pad?
Elyse: Life goals: Needing 4 bellboys to unload my taxi…Except it would be all yarn and books, probably.
Carrie S: THAT SHADE OF BLUE THO. WE ARE NOT WORTHY.
Sarah: And Carrie, that cobalt dress…we are indeed not worthy.
Elyse: This movie is pure clothes pr0n. Except the cone bras. Those are a little scary.
RHG: The costumes in this are STUNNING. OMG.
Sarah: The fact that I’m really enjoying this movie and that it’s a musical is surprising.
Elyse: Where do these women buy their lipstick?! It survives kissing…getting knocked in the pool…like a million cocktails…
Sarah: Dorothy is making me rethink pantsuits.
Dorothy has a pink lipstick now – and I don’t wear pink but I like it. I need makeup lessons from whomever chose her cosmetics.
RHG: THAT IS A VERY LARGE LISTENING DEVICE. “If you’ve nothing more to say, pray, scat.” BRUTAL.
Sarah: Malone would make a terrible paparazzi. And I defined about sixteen abdominal muscles cringing at Piggy’s tales of Africa. Good grief.
Carrie S: I’m disappointed by the wedding dresses. I thought they’d be more outrageous.
Sarah: I was not expecting tea length wedding dresses and lace.
Elyse: I don’t understand why the chandelier is made of women. Or the candelabra. HAVE THEY BEEN CURSED?!
Carre S: I love the female friendship and I love the tenacity with which the women go after what they want from life. It was a lot of fun! Also we have to provide a gif of Monroe smacking guys with her fan and saying “No, no no no no no” cause that’s the best.
Elyse: I adore the fact that Dorothy and Lorelei support each other unwaveringly. They may not always agree with each other, but they love and protect each other. I will watch/read that story always.
Sarah: I love that Lorelei and Dorothy’s friendship is immutable. They both know each other’s flaws and habits, but they defend one another and protect each other. And they’re honest about the circumstances they’re in, and don’t condemn each other for doing what they want, and going after what they want. I love that about this movie.
I also love their exchange:
“It’s just not fair.”
“Of course it’s not.”
They’re going to help each other and look after each other because nothing is fair.
RHG: That was charming and adorable, and I feel like Marilyn Monroe was a much better actress than a lot of people give her credit for. Sure, lot of people can do the breathy, “Oh my, isn’t that interesting?” thing, but to do it with enough layers, and being able to let the camera see the machinations behind it all? Noice. Pity that most people now seem to see just the hair and the boobs and the legs.
Elyse: “Really, then why are you wearing that hat?” I LOVE DOROTHY.
“You hold your breath till I call.” I LOVE HER EVEN MORE
RHG: Dorothy and I would TOTALLY be BFFs. We’d be salt-mates. It would be amazing.
Sarah: It’s hard to grade this because through my present-day lenses (all four of them) there are some cringe-tastic moments. I’m generally not a fan of musicals. (WHY. WHY DO YOU BURST INTO SONG AND DON’T KNOW YOU ARE SINGING WHY.)
It’s not perfection but it’s very close. B+
RHG: I’d agree on the B+ grade…although, thinking back to the dude workout song, that pushes it up to an A- for me. I do love me a beautiful hunk of man.
Elyse: This was super fun. I liked the romance but I loved the female friendship and the clothes were AMAZING. I agree with B+/A-.
Did you watch Gentlemen Prefer Blondes along with us? Do you have a favorite costume? Are you more of a Dorothy or a Lorelei?
A skipper who looked 25 or 26 placed tobacco in “a suspicious looking object, sucked and then breathed out smoke”.
He had a “scarlet woollen coat” with “cuffs embroidered with gold thread and the buttons were silver-plated”, which was “a thing of great beauty, but as clothing it was gaudy”.
The skipper gave instructions to a crew that “in accordance with what appeared to be some mark of respect” followed orders to remove their hats “to the man, most of them revealing balding heads”.
They “exchanged words amongst themselves like birds twittering”.
A dog on the ship “did not look like food. It looked like a pet.”
Another samurai chronicler called Hirota noted the crew offered gifts including an object he later drew, which looks like a boomerang.
One sailor bared his chest to the disguised samurai to reveal a tattoo of “the upper body of a beautiful woman”, Hamaguchi wrote.
Another produced “a big glass of what appeared to be an alcoholic beverage and indicated that we should drink”.“We declined by waving our hands, upon which they passed the glass around themselves, one by one tapping their heads as they drank to indicate the good feeling it brought them, and finished the lot.”
Pinch hit #8 still needs a writer - please claim it at that post or by email.
See below for four further pinch hits (please reply here or email to claim).
( Pinch hit #10 - fic, art )
( Pinch hit #11 - fic )
( Pinch hit #12 - CLAIMED )
( Pinch hit #13 - CLAIMED )
Pinch hits are due at 11:59pm EDT Thursday 1 June. (Countdown)
I will shortly post a playlist of all songs for which a work has been posted (updated as treats & pinch hits come in, of course).
Author: Hakoishi Toru
Publisher: Young Jump
Genre: Humor, Sports
Status in Japan: 1 volume, ongoing
Scanlator: Megchan's Scanlations + Anima Regia
Scanlation Status: Ongoing
More Info: Baka Updates
Summary: Hino is obsessed with playing sports in high school, but not because he loves sports (he doesn't), or is any good at them (he's really not). He's doing it because that's the way to get a girlfriend (or so he thinks). After getting kicked out of half his school's sports clubs, he's still convinced he just hasn't found the sport he's truly destined for. When he (literally) runs into Noborito Ayako, manager of the rubgy club, it's love at first sight (for him), but all she's looking for is another warm body for the struggling rugby club. Could this be the chance he's been waiting for?
Chapter Summary: Nobody thinks Hino can stand up against Asakura, not even Hino himself. But Noborito still hasn't given up hope...
Chapter 3: Take Back the Honor
Gus: "Doesn't seem like Henry to leave that there."
Shawn: "He didn't. I like to leave spare keys all around the house. He finds them and gets rid of them. It's one of our little games."
Gus: "That's messed up, Shawn."
Shawn: "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have to do it if he would just give me my own key. But he wouldn't, so I went to a locksmith and had twenty of them made. He still hasn't found the one under the welcome mat, but he found the one I buried in the garden, how hilarious is that?"
Gus: "You're going to feel bad if some robber finds a key and robs the house."
Shawn: "I might feel bad for the robber."
~1930, by nixajane
Fandom: Person of Interest
Warnings/Content: Fluff, domesticity, hazardous bathroom floors
Notes: For 100_words, Challenge #43: Touch.
Summary: Sometimes for Harold, beauty outweighs common sense.
Also at the Archive
( Harold is admiring John's back )
( 'I got your spoilers cheap.' )
Title: The old oak tree
Characters: Jack Harkness
Length: 1,935 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for Challenge 192 - Tree
Summary: Jack has come to say goodbye to an old friend.
Jack tucked his hands into pockets, staring across the lush green grass towards the heavy machinery now situated in the middle of the large park. There were several big trucks, a tall cherry picker style crane, and about a dozen men in bright high vis jackets standing about, each staring around and offering the others their opinions on how to best go about the task, pointing and gesticulating.
Ianto shambled up to stand next to him, offering him a paper cup, full of steaming hot coffee, against the chill of the morning. Reluctantly, Jack pulled his hands from his pockets and allowed the cup to warm them.
Ianto stifled the yawn rising inside him. It had been a long night, and he would have preferred to be in bed, safe in the knowledge that the spacecraft that had crashed here not eight hours ago was now safely ensconced back at the hub, and its less than peaceful occupants locked away, awaiting a Shadow Proclamation vessel to come pick them up and put them on trial for attempting to invade a Category Five planet.
They might have succeeded had they not crashed, losing a third of their crew. Even so, between the remaining crew, they had enough weapons and artillery to wipe out half of Europe. What they hadn't counted on was Torchwood; Jack having distracted their advance force, whilst Tosh installed a protective barrier, effectively cutting off their forces from their ship and their ability to launch weapons. It hadn't prevented them from taking shots at Jack, killing him, but it gave Owen, Gwen and Ianto time enough to return fire and eventually force their surrender.
'Why are we here, Jack?' Ianto asked. Had they missed clearing the area of some obvious piece of evidence? Sure, it had been dark, but the ship, damaged as it was, was still largely in one piece, able to be dragged away and loaded onto one of Harwoods largest trucks. All that was left now was the impressive divot in the grass, and the mangled old oak tree it had hit on its way down. That was the reason for all the men here now, called out to pull the tree down, too damaged to leave in its current state, and probably too damaged to heal itself.
The story had gone around that some drunken teenagers had stolen a car, tearing it around the park in mad circles until it finally wrapped itself around the old oak. No one had seen the car, nor its passengers, either before or after the incident, but that's what all the police reports said.
'Came to say goodbye to an old friend,' Jack replied, raising the cup to his lips and breathing in the heavenly scent, letting his exhale create a cloud of white in front of his face.
Jack inclined his head towards the gaggle of council workers and tradesmen, busy surrounding the thick trunk of the tree with broad strapping, trying to tether it upright from its knocked over angle, at least until they could cut some of the higher branches from the main body of the tree, steadying it for its ultimate removal.
'The tree?' Ianto asked, clutching his own coffee, needing it more for the caffeine than the warmth, though the warmth was a definite bonus.
'That oak tree has stood here for over two hundred years,' Jack stated.
'Finally something in Cardiff older than you,' Ianto quipped.
Old indeed. That oak had been just a young tree when Jack had first been stranded here, its bark still smooth and unweathered. It was the first to be planted in the new botanical gardens of the time, and over the next generation had devolved into a park for all the public to enjoy, with more oaks and birches planted, creating long avenues in some places, and sprawling gardens in others.
This particular one though was special for Jack. In the early days he'd slept under its leafy boughs through the mild summer months, and even some of the bitterest winter nights, kept warm by the alcohol running through his veins, thrown forcibly from the pubs too drunk to find proper shelter. Plenty of his pre-Torchwood days had been spent living rough.
Over the years, he'd enjoyed picnics here in the spring, sprawled on thick rugs, enjoying egg and lettuce sandwiches and lemonade, the weak Welsh sunshine breaking through the canopy of leaves overhead, and the sound of children and dogs running and squealing their delight.
He'd had occasion to spend afternoons there, lying in the grass, watching his lover of the time fussing over a canvas, trying to capture the simple beauty of the place. Jack would have preferred if he'd wanted to paint him, since he was sure he was the most appealing view in the park. Instead he'd left for Paris only a few weeks later. Jack had always known it would be short lived, just as his lover had been short-tempered and frustrated by a lack of creative inspiration.
He'd watched Lucia and their daughter collecting acorns beneath the grand boughs, his little girl fascinated by everything she touched. It left him wondering how life after so many decades had finally decided to grant him the kindness of a loving family. He should have known it wouldn't last. Being immortal and working for Torchwood was a recipe for disaster. He couldn't change who he was. All he could do was wait for his Doctor to return.
He'd chased plenty of weevils through the park, even clambering up into the twisted branches to get the jump on them, or to make a hasty escape when things had gone south on him. It turned out weevils couldn't climb trees, which was a handy thing to know.
He'd met Ianto for the first time, just a few dozen yards away from it, on just one of those occasions when his legs couldn't carry him far enough to reach his trusty refuge before the weevil was on top of him. He and Ianto had shared long walks through the park, hand in hand, enjoying the dappled sunlight on an autumn day, kicking through the red and golden leaves, listening to the satisfying crunch underfoot, and sometimes grabbing handfuls of them and throwing them like children tossing snowballs, forgetting age and responsibility for just a few minutes.
Yes, Jack and this tree went way back. He'd be sad to see it go, having stood there all those years, watching the world go by, just as he had. It would be slowly cut into more manageable chunks by disenchanted council workers, thrown through a woodchipper machine and ground up into little bits. It deserved a better end than this.
'It survived the winter of '65 and the rain of fire of '82.'
'Rain of fire?'
'Long story. I never imagined it would ever die. Always figured it might be the one thing to outlive me.'
'It gave its life for a noble cause,' Ianto replied. 'Had they not accidentally crashed into it, we'd probably all have been killed asleep in our beds before we even knew what had happened.'
It was true, Jack had to admit. He shuddered to think what might have happened had it not been for that one tiny stroke of misfortune. The precise how of the matter was yet to be determined. It was so unlike that species to be so incompetent. They could've landed in a dozen places clear of any obstacles, the plass, the Millennium Stadium, Ninian Park, the list went on. Perhaps they'd had mechanical problems. Tosh would be able to tell them in the coming days, once she'd taken a good look at it. For now, it seemed they'd all been saved by an act of serendipity.
As the sound of the first chainsaw fired up, Jack knew he'd seen enough. He didn't want to be here when they started hacking away at his old friend, leaving nothing but a gaping hole where it had once stood tall and proud.
'Time to go,' he said, throwing back the last lukewarm remnants of his coffee and handing it back to Ianto, before stalking back to the SUV. Ianto watched him go, collar pulled high, long strides putting distance between them.
It was a good three months later, when Ianto left work early one afternoon to take delivery of some furniture for his house. All Jack was concerned about was the word that a new bed was forthcoming, bigger than the one they currently had. Ianto's intention was to have everything unpacked and installed before Jack came home. It wasn't the bed he was planning on surprising Jack with.
Running a polish cloth over the new table, he admired the lovely colour of the timber. It was a fine replacement for the ratty old pine table that Ianto had never gotten around to upgrading or replacing since they'd moved in together properly. The chairs were equally pleasing, their legs and backs artfully turned by hand, and it was nice to have a matching set for once. Nothing in his house had coordinated when he'd first moved in, a cobbled together hotchpotch of hand me downs from Rhiannon and his mum, stuff from his old flat in London, and a half a dozen items picked up along the way from discount retailers. It was slow going, but eventually everything would be replaced with nice new furnishings, coordinated and more suited to a proper house than a twenty something's bachelor pad.
'I'm home!' came the yell from down the hall, signalling Jack's arrival.
Ianto smiled inwardly, waiting for the big reveal.
'What's say we skip dinner and road test this new bed?' Jack said, stepping into the main living area.
'Well, we could,' Ianto said, 'but then you wouldn't get to enjoy dinner at our new table.'
Jack turned his head to look around Ianto at their new table and chairs.
'That wasn't the one we picked out,' he said.
'I thought you might like this better.'
Jack ran his fingers along the knobbled edge of it, the length of it cut from a single tree, and the bark on each side forming a rustic bevelled edge.
'It's incredible. Where did you find something like this? It must've cost a fortune.'
'The timber came surprisingly cheap. It only cost me a small bribe to a city council arborist. The man who built it is the one just outside the city that made those love spoons we bought. He was rapt to get the commission. I figured with a bit of care, that old oak might live to be enjoyed for a few hundred more years.'
Jack's head shot up. 'You mean it's?'
'Yes, Jack,' Ianto replied, loving Jack's priceless reaction. It was exactly what he'd been hoping for. It was nice to know he could still surprise Jack every now and then.
Jack ran his hand along the edge again, feeling that same of old gnarled bark he must have touched half a hundred times.
'It's perfect,' he said. 'You're perfect,' he added, coming over to hug his ever thoughtful lover.
'I know,' Ianto replied, letting Jack kiss him. 'Just keep that in mind the next time I screw something up.'
'Not gonna happen,' Jack said, grinning. 'Now what was it you said about dinner?'
'Good. I just hope you had this table built good and sturdy. I might want to have dessert here as well.'
Ianto laughed, giving Jack a playful peck on the cheek. 'It's oak. It'd take an alien spaceship to break that.'
2. My house is mostly clean, and the new vacuum cleaner works well.
3. The dog's medication is working, which means she no longer pees in her sleep. (Yes, really. Sigh.)
4. I had a lovely lunch (with gelato!) and a long walk in the redwoods with laurashapiro and shrift.
5. There are still 2 more days of the weekend, and I have no obligations whatsoever. This is kind of awesome.
Inside Hillary Clinton's Life after the Election
As staffers and friends began to melt down with shock and grief, Clinton, by all accounts, remained preternaturally calm. One staffer speculated that she was able to do so because she is a person who often expects the worst and does not trust the best: “It was an example of reality rising to meet her expectations.”
“I remember having conversations with her which were gut-wrenching to me,” says Mook of that night. “Saying to her, ‘The math isn’t there. It doesn’t look like we can win.’ She was so stoic about it. She immediately went into the mode of thinking, Okay, what do we do next?”
Speechwriters Dan Schwerin and Megan Rooney realized that they were going to have to produce a concession speech. Rooney had drafted one and stuck it in a drawer. As the evening wore on, they started working on it. By the time the results were certain, Clinton and her advisers felt that it was too late to make a speech; she wanted to consider carefully what she had to say, and went back and forth with her team about the stance to take toward Trump. When Schwerin and Rooney came to her suite at the Peninsula Hotel the next morning to go over the draft, Clinton was sitting in her bathrobe at the table. She had slept only briefly, but she was clear: She wanted to take a slightly more aggressive approach, focusing on the protection of democratic norms, and she wanted to emphasize the message to young girls, the passage that would become the heart of her speech.
As the pair of writers left her room and walked down the hall, Rooney turned to Schwerin and said, “That’s a president.” Schwerin remembers: “Because here, in this incredibly difficult moment, she was thinking calmly and rationally about what the country needs to hear.” Schwerin said that until then he had held it together. “But I kind of lost it then.”
And flashback, from the same writer, almost exactly a year ago:
There is an Indiana Jones–style, “It had to be snakes” inevitability about the fact that Donald Trump is Clinton’s Republican rival. Of course Hillary Clinton is going to have to run against a man who seems both to embody and have attracted the support of everything male, white, and angry about the ascension of women and black people in America. Trump is the antithesis of Clinton’s pragmatism, her careful nature, her capacious understanding of American civic and government institutions and how to maneuver within them. Of course a woman who wants to land in the Oval Office is going to have to get past an aggressive reality-TV star who has literally talked about his penis in a debate.
Even though I had a reasonably decent night's sleep last night.
Good meetings with people and good conversations, some tasty food, a panel that (I think) went fairly well even though it was in the room I hate, with the speakers on a platform and a spread-out audience, and cold. (One might also mention the single microphone that had to be handed back and forth among the panel.)
Also managed to get to a couple of other panels.
Was contemplating the Tiptree Auction but felt some recharge time alone was necessitated, May go to the parties for a little while, but am already feeling a bit that what a hedjog wants is a nice cup of Horlicks and a Nice Book to go with it.
Dear Rare Male Slash Writer,
Links to my fandom pages:
Maeve of Winter on AO3
Maeve of Winter on Tumblr
Maeve of Winter on Dreamwidth
WhimsicalNixie on LiveJournal
Maeve of Winter on Imzy
Maeve of Winter on Fanfiction.net
Wishing you well! This my first time participating, and I'm very excited!
I prefer things I can get as trade collections because there's pretty much zero chance I can afford to chase down individual comics. XD
(This has been brought to you by wasting time by reading Cyclops' TV Tropes page.)
Round 1, I planted two wave petunias, one in a pot and one in the barrel garden; plus a packet of chive seeds in the septic garden.
EDIT 5/27/17: Round 2, my partner Doug raked grass and I helped haul it away.
EDIT 5/27/17: Round 3, I trimmed grass around about half of the wildflower garden.
1) It's the end of the term, or rather, just past it, and yesterday I skyped with my advisor for our annual checklist/meeting I have to do to discuss my progress and whatnot. Which, I've had a good term; I've done a chapter and gotten a paper proposal accepted for a big conference next year which will fold into the next chapter. My advisor was happy and had good and useful thoughts on things, and I have a plan forward. And I also wrote several other essays this term for other forthcoming publications and sent in two sets of revisions. I am a good puppy. BUT I AM ALWAYS ANXIOUS because this is my default setting.
1a) A friend of mine has straight-up had two mini breakdowns in the last three days, the first about her diss because she has extreme burnout from writing and the other because she starts teaching two summer courses on Tuesday and the PTB raised the attendance cap without telling her. So while she has printouts and assignments and whatnot for a class of 35, she now has a class of 40, which doesn't seem like a big deal except it totally changes group assignments and the ability to read and return papers. And I'm kind of limited in helpful things I can say. Like, yeah, this sucks, but...welcome to academia? Where shit always gets piled on and fucked with?
2) I might have to deal with a IRL Troll tomorrow and am inwardly prepping. On the one hand, this person isn't as bad as others in the extended social circle, but they are still the kind of person who will go to a potluck without bringing anything or without helping in anyway, and who will purposefully try to redirect/distract conversations to themselves and their interests, and...I don't have the energy for mitigating that right now. So, wish me luck, I guess.
2a) I also tend to dislike holiday weekends, and today I braved the crowds to go grocery shopping, which was managable, but still. I just want to hunker down and do as little as possible, but I still have chores to do. *sigh*
The screenings, held by the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema chain, sparked anger online, but the company’s management responded by scheduling even more of the exclusive showings.
There are two new pinch hits. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org or reply in a comment (please include your AO3 name and your email) to claim them:
( Pinch hit #8 - fic )
( Pinch hit #9 - CLAIMED )
Pinch hits #5 and up are due at 11:59pm EDT Thursday 1 June. (Countdown).
Treats can be posted freely until reveals (collection will then be set to moderated).
The president’s refusal to commit to the landmark Paris Agreement on climate change further isolates the U.S. as other world powers prepare to tackle the environmental crisis.
Fandom: The Hobbit
Length: 468 + 5 photos
Summary: Fili heads through the woods to escape the wargs.
Two days ago Bard had come to ask Thorin for assistance. Four travellers had arrived who had enquired about a group who had left before them. This group had not reached Bard’s company, and Bard was now asking if some of the dwarves could go with him as he sought to find them. Thorin had been reluctant to agree at first, but when Bard promised they would travel no more than two days away, he had finally agreed.
Fili and Kili were part of the group, and had been on their last scouting mission before the group returned home when they found two small children hiding in some rocks. They lifted the children onto their own ponies, before starting to head back to the group.
Suddenly they heard wargs in the distance.
“Kili,” Fili said, “Take both children and head straight back. I’ll draw them off through the woods. I’ll meet you by the horse chestnut tree.”
Kili scooped up the second child and set off. Fili waited until his brother was clear and then made his own way across the open grassland, heading for the weeping willow he could see not too far away. The wargs should have sufficient time to spot him, but not be able to catch him before he disappeared into the woods.
By the time he was approaching the willow he could hear the wargs getting closer. His pony was growing more nervous and skittish and Fili tried hard not to allow his own fears to convey themselves to his mount. He rode under the willow, ducking to avoid the hanging branches and tried to pick out a suitable route.
He rode on confident the wargs would find it difficult to follow him, but not daring to slacken his pace more than was necessary to navigate his way between the trees. There were still some of the fallen leaves from the previous autumn covering exposed roots, which could trip the unwary. Fortunately his pony was surefooted, and continued to respond to his commands, until something finally spooked her, she moved suddenly sideways, and Fili was unsaddled.
He came round to find himself looking up into leaves. He heard Dwalin’s familiar voice telling him he was all right, that Kili had made it back to the group, and had told them what had happened. When he hadn’t appeared they had come looking for him. Bofur had found Fili’s pony and they helped him back on, before slowly riding back to join the other group.
As soon as they were back, Bard indicated they move off. Although the wargs had given up the chase he wasn’t prepared to wait around in case they came back. And he had no wish to tell Thorin his nephew had received any more injuries than his current bruising.