I got a fb notification I really didn't want, which prompted me to go and do some more tidying up and removing the last remaining connections to my exes on there

But in doing so, i get to appreciate a final parting cute thought

When they got married, they /swapped/ surnames. They both took the others name, but they don't have the same name

I don't know what they ended up chosing for the kids, but that idea of swapping isn't something I've encountered before and it's quite a nice idea

professor hotchner - aaron hotchner x reader smut

(okay, i wrote this 2 years ago, it's on my ao3 (same username), no judgements pls, i cba to rewrite it better or even reread it- i have spell-checked it!

warnings: smut, oral (f rec and m rec), fingering

word count: 5180)

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You walked into your criminal psychology class. Alternatively, you walked into the course with the hot professor. 

You had initially taken the class out of pure interest, planning to take one or two classes (to get a gist of what “criminal psychology” was really about) and then swap it out for something more like your major- but then you saw him. Professor Aaron Hotchner. The unreasonably attractive professor- the man you had fantasised about for the last four months

- sat at the back of the lecture hall. Not that you had initially; you had sat near the front. The closer to the attractive professor, the better, right? Wrong. You weren’t being precisely subtle about your attraction (then again, neither was anybody else), but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. At least you had the decorum to move to the back. Every else? Not so much.

You got out your textbook (the heaviest textbook you had) alongside your notepad and a pen as he walked into the room. The way he walked, alongside everything else he did, oozed confidence. He stopped at his desk, set his briefcase down on the desk, took out his laptop and set the suitcase beside the desk.

As he set up the projector, you stared at him. His attire was impeccable. A tailored black suit with a perfectly-tied tie and a Rolex on his right wrist. He looked expensive- he was expensive. You were sure that Rolex cost more money than you had ever owned in your entire life.

He started talking, and you could feel the wet patch growing in your panties. It was bad. he was talking about serial murderers and rapists, yet here you were… there had to be something wrong with you.

You weren’t listening to the lecture. You should have been, really. You didn’t want to fail this class. And you were going to with your most recent grade.

“and that will be all, thank you.”

where had the time gone? the lecture was an hour and a half…

whilst putting your textbook, notepad and pen back into your bookbag. Professor Hotchner called your name, causing your head to fly up.

“May I see you in my office?”

shit.

You must have looked like a deer stuck in headlights, you thought. Other students were snickering as they passed your seat at the back. You were in trouble. That was the only explanation. What had you done? There was nothing besides getting a c- on your latest test.

Was this about the c-?

You nodded your head shyly, your heart already speeding up. Shit. Shit. Shit. What were you going to do? You were going to have to go to his office. Alone. With your hot professor whom you had been harbouring quite the crush on.

It wasn’t just that he was hot (although that did play a significant part); it was also his demeanour. he was… mature. More mature than the boys at the university. He was in control of the room. Whichever room he was in, he was in control. He always stood with such dominance. One look directed towards someone, and they immediately shut up.

But he was also caring. You saw that when his son came to visit sometimes. That was partly why you moved to the back at first. A woman, who you presumed to be his girlfriend or wife (though he wore no ring), came in with a young boy. However, other students were too curious and asked him who she was. His Ex-wife’s sister was a babysitter for him and his son.

He was caring but in control. He was a perfect balance. he was-

Professor Hotchner’s voice was louder this time as he said your name, cutting off your thoughts. You immediately looked at him, your head flying up, grabbing your packed book bag and moving towards his office, directly connected to the lecture hall. You passed him with your head tilted downwards, a blush already spreading across your cheeks and neck even though you couldn’t see him. And because you couldn’t see him, you didn’t see the smirk inhibiting his face.

You stopped just behind the two chairs in front of his desk and heard him close the door. Looking around his office, you noticed it probably looked like every other professor’s office- but it was different. It was his. A few papers stacked up (the one on top marked with a large red “c+”), books on bookshelves with many placed lazily in front of them. A picture of his son and himself on the desk- cute. There was also a navy blue couch between two overflowing bookshelves.

“Please, sit down,” his voice was calm as he walked towards the desk, holding an outstretched hand as a gesture. You did as he asked, removing the bookbag from your shoulder and onto the floor next to the chair where you sat. He had removed his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of the door, causing a deeper blush to cover your face- damn, he looks good- and sat down in his brown leather office chair.

“do you know why you’re here?” yes. Wait, no. It couldn’t have been the c-. he was a harsh marker, and more or less everybody else had failed. In fact, you had gotten one of the highest marks in the class, if not the highest. It didn’t make sense. Professor Hotchner sighed. Is he disappointed?

“you seem to be… distracted in my class,” he started, your eyes moving quickly from the frame to him before moving away even faster; his brown eyes were full of concern, his fingers laced together as he leaned his elbows against the cherry wood desk. “I know you are capable of higher grades. I wondered if something was bothering you.” you looked back at him. His eyes were soft- he was actually concerned. And he believed you could get a higher grade. he actually thought you could-

you cleared your throat, unwilling to let his words, words he had just thrown casually into conversation, consume your thoughts. “nothing, it’s- um, nothing,” you looked away from his brown eyes before you drowned in them. It was stupid, really. You couldn’t even look your professor in the eye. Your professor.

“If there is anything, my office is always open until 7 pm,” he smiled at you. Tall, brooding Professor Hotchner smiled at you. You felt compelled to tell him. Tell him that he has been distracting you. Tell him you hadn’t been listening to a word he had been saying and that c- was pure luck. Tell him that he was the one you fantasised about at night. Every night for the last four months.

“actually-” you cut yourself off before you could continue. Shit.

“actually?” he asked, tilting his head to get you to look him in the eye. God, why did I say anything?!

“um- nothing. Um- the-thank you for, err- for this,” you grabbed your bag, standing up, hoping to whichever deity was out there that you could escape the office without further questioning. No such luck. The gods were not on your side today. Professor Hotchner said your name again, standing up, towering over you with his stature. Gods.

“Is there any way I can make up the grade?” you asked, looking at him properly for the first time since you entered the office. Gods. He was more handsome this close. Alone in his office with him standing before you, concerned about your wellbeing- he had become more attractive to you. Something you had thought was impossible.

Why did I say that?!

“I’m afraid not. If you do better on your next paper, it could bring up your final grade,” he looked sorry. Genuinely sorry. It was nice. It was attractive. He clearly cared for you for his students.

“Are you sure, professor?” gods. Was I actually going to go through with this? You batted your eyelashes up at him, looking at him as innocently as possible. He sucked in a sharp breath. Bingo.

“I’m sorry, but-”

“Professor,” you cut him off, “I’m sure there’s something I can do,” you smiled at him, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. he looked at you, his brows furrowed and mouth set in a straight line like he was debating whether or not to take you up on what you were implying,

suddenly, he walked- or instead marched- towards the office door, locking it and closing the blinds on the window next to the door. He didn’t turn back around, instead of leaning his hand against the lock whilst the other twitched at his side.

“Need I remind you that what your proposing is against university policy? I could lose my job-”

“And I could lose my scholarship,” you said quickly. You knew the risks. You knew all about it. The moment you returned to your dorm after his class, you and your friends immediately looked up the dating policy at the university. They had giggled at you for acting like some kind of schoolgirl with a crush- it had been a fun night.

He turned back around at that, his fingers still twitching. He was debating it. Seriously debating it. You stared at each other for about a minute and had never felt your heartbeat so fast. This could be it. This could be the moment you get to sleep with your hot professor- a man you definitely knew wasn’t going to be like the college boys you had had thus far- or this could be the moment when he kicked you out of his class for inappropriate behaviour, or worse, the university.

He walked towards you, stopping in front of you, looking down at you with parted lips.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he whispered, moving his large hands to cup your cheeks, rubbing his thumb against your left cheekbone, as his eyes darted over your face- your lips, jawline, and eyes.

“I know,” you whispered back, your hands moving around his neck. You leaned up to kiss him. His kiss was- well, it was Professor Aaron Hotchner. It was gentle and sweet, but you could tell he was in control. It was subtle.

It wasn’t like he was shoving his tongue down your throat, something those college boys thought was a great display of dominance- it was subtle. He gently nipped at your lower lip, causing you to giggle and him, in response, to smile against your lips. One of his hands wound around the back of your head, pressing your lips more firmly against his.

He slowly walked you backwards until the back of your shins hit the couch, gently lowering you onto it. He was positioned between your legs, supporting himself with one hand against the cushioned crest rail. He pulled away from your lips and looked down at you as you panted.

“hi…” you whispered, out of breath. His lips quirked up, his hand adjusting to support himself better.

“hello…” his voice, deeper than usual, trailed off as he dipped his head back down to your lips, kissing them shortly before moving down to your jawline; his other hand pulled your shirt over your head. You threw it beside the couch or roughly beside the sofa. Your fingers scratched the back of his head, your other hand moving lazily up and down his waist.

His mouth was hot against your flushed flesh. He started to pepper kisses along your neck, sliding onto his knees whilst still kissing your neck.

His surprisingly smooth hands ran up, and down your jean-clad shins- gods, you regretted not wearing a skirt today. His hands gradually made their way higher until they met your lower thighs. You moved your hands to run through his soft dark hair.

One of his hands dug into the couch to cup your ass as his other hand unbuttoned your high-waisted trousers. Moaning as he squeezed your ass, you removed your shirt, pulling it above your head before throwing it beside the comfortable couch. Having left his hair, your hands went to help professor hotchner unbutton your jeans. How many buttons do these jeans bloody need?!

When you both unbuttoned them, his hand under your ass pushed you up slightly, allowing him to pull them down his legs. Your movements were impatient as you helped him remove them. God, you wanted him.

He pulled them clean off your legs just after you slipped off your flats, throwing your jeans and shoes roughly to where you had thrown your shirt, leaving you in just your panties and bra. Which were not matching. Damn.

Not that he cared anyway. You- his attractive and cute student- was naked on his couch; he couldn’t care less.

His hands continued their previous ministrations, rubbing up and down your thighs, occasionally squeezing your upper inner thigh. His lips soon joined them- as did your moans. His mouth made its way up from your thighs, alternating between them until he met your panties.

He knew this was wrong. he knew it was wrong since the moment he invited you into his office. he knew he was setting himself up for failure.

But he couldn’t care less.

Plus, he was enjoying seeing the wet patch in your panties.

He pressed a kiss against your clit, causing a soft moan to leave your lips as you lift your hips slightly, encouraging him.

“pretty girl…” professor hotchner’s voice was more husky than usual. More attractive than usual. How that was possible, you hadn’t a clue. You whimpered at his words, revelling in the praise.

He moved your pretty panties to the side with two thick fingers; he paused for a second, taking you in. he was right- you were pretty. You lifted your head, looking at him and staring at you. No other sight had ever been so heavenly. You dropped your head back as you tightened around nothing and groaned. 

He pressed another kiss to your clit- your bare clit this time, causing your hips to buck involuntarily, not expecting the sudden touch.

“sensitive, are we?” his words were sensual, causing you to get wetter than you already were. You let out a quick, ‘mm, hmm’ in a whimper, lifting your hips to entice him to touch you more.

You reached behind yourself, slightly arching your back, to remove your bra as he licked a line from your opening to your clit. You unhooked your bra and let out a loud moan, your back arching even further. One of your hands moved to your professor’s hair, lightly gripping it, causing him to groan. The vibrations from his vocalisation contribute to your growing orgasm.

His tongue circled your clit, his hands spreading your thighs even more. He started to pull your panties off of you, your hips lifting on instinct, and threw them vaguely where the rest of your clothes were. He lifted one of your thighs onto his shoulder to open you up for him even further, and your heel dug into his shoulder blade as his movements became too much pleasure for you.

You looked down at him again. Gods. His hair was tousled from where you had run your fingers through it, his coffee eyes meeting yours, and you felt him smirk against you. You tightened around nothing once again as your head fell back against the navy settee, groaning loudly.

His previous circling had turned to suckling. Your “light gripping” had turned into tight fistfuls of hair. You quickly let go, gripping the seat in fistfuls of blue instead. Your moans, whimpers, and whines echoed off the walls, and his smirk grew, once again, against you.

Just as you started to tighten around nothing again, two of his colossal fingers began to tease your entrance. And your hand flew to his teasing one, gripping his wrist. Your fingers didn’t even encircle his wrist.

Earlier on your thigh, his other hand grazed your body to your breast before kneading it. Your moans grew in volume and frequency as your other hand gripped his other wrist.

His teasing casually moved onto, gently fingering you with his middle finger. His movements were soft, quickly finding your special spot and caressing it. His movements were perfect- he knew what he was doing. God, did he know what he was doing.

He added another finger, curling them into you, pinching your nipple simultaneously, causing your hips to buck again- your mewling becoming louder with your orgasm rapidly approaching. The hand squeezing your breast moved to your lower stomach, holding you down. fuck, he’s strong.

“oh? Right there, hmm?” he was mocking you. By the fucking gods, it was attractive. He had pulled away from your clit slightly, his words causing his lips to graze against your nerve endings.

“Oh, god. Please, professor,” you were past the point of caring about anything other than your professor, his tongue and his fingers.

Professor Hotchner added another finger, stretching your tight little hole for him, causing your grip on his wrists to tighten. He smiled against your clit, still sucking on it when he noticed your reaction. His fingers continued prodding against your spongy flesh, and he had begun quietly humming around your clit, causing vibrations to spread through your core.

“I’m gonna-” You cut yourself off with a gasp, hands leaving his wrists to grip at the cushion, then moving back to his wrists as you flailed to grab onto something to ground yourself, his actions too much to handle.

Combining your impending orgasm with his humming, suckling, and prodding, you swore you would implode.

“gonna cum?” your professor asked. He was mocking you again. You knew he was because he knew you were about to cum. And you knew that he knew that you knew. Maybe that shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did.

When he spoke, he pulled away slightly to get his words out, causing a high whine to leave your lips as you attempted to lift your hips to meet his mouth again. His hand on your stomach held you down, and he had begun to rub his thumb and forth over your pelvic bone. He chuckled loudly at your neediness.

“you gonna be a good girl for your professor and cum?” fuck. fuck. fuck. His words caused your hips to buck (or at least to attempt to, anyway) and multiple curse words to leave your mouth as you took in all the stimulation he provided. After his words, he immediately started sucking and humming at your clit, once more.

His words tipped you over the edge into your bliss. It was the best orgasm you had ever had in your entire life. Maybe it was because it was Professor Hotchner; perhaps it was because you hadn’t had sex in four months since you first joined his class.

Your fingers gripped the couch to the point where you were sure it was going to leave a permanent mark. And your heel dug into his back harder, your thighs shaking and the one on his shoulder going to close around his head.

He didn’t let up his movements, continuing at the same rhythm- he knew what he was doing.

You didn’t know how long you were seeing stars, but you knew it felt like a good eternity.

When you finally came down, he slowed his movements slightly to bring you down gently.

“Jesus fucking Christ, professor,” you gasped out, your panting- instead of your moans- filling the room, along with his slight laughter. His hand had stopped fingering you instead of rubbing up and down your thighs.

“mmm, that good then?” he mumbled against your skin, kissing your body as he moved up it, his hands rubbing the underside of the thigh still on his shoulder. 

“shut up,” you reply, still out of breath as his lips meet your collarbone. You hadn’t realised until now that not only did he look expensive, but he also smelt it. You presumed it had to be Gucci- it would match his tie. 

You looked down at him, starting to rake your hands through his soft hair, noticing he was beginning to form a hickey on your clavicle. fuck. If this was all you had to remember this by, you sure as hell weren’t complaining.

Looking down at him, you noticed how much he was tenting his slacks. he looked big already. Your hands left his hair to fumble at his slacks- your post-orgasm bliss making your hands shake too much to unbutton them, never mind unzip them. 

Professor Hotchner had made his way to your plump lips, smiling and giggling- you never thought you would hear your professor giggle. He came to your aid, unbuttoning and unzipping them before you pushed them down to his knees and underwear. You didn’t get enough time to look at him.

“shut up,” you mumbled again. Whilst doing this, he hadn’t left your lips not once, moving his lips against yours- they just seemed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Though you could probably bring that up to his skill.

“Now, now,” he started, barely pulling away from you, “I don’t think you want that,” of course, you didn’t want that. Nobody in your position could ever want that. His voice was partly what was getting you off. What you did want to do was… 

You pushed him off you, sitting up and taking him by the hand. You moved you two until he was standing against the couch, and you were where he previously was. His eyes roamed over you, and you blushed heavily, suddenly feeling under scrutiny. Despite your warm flush, you realised the room was colder than ever as you stood without clothes.

“cold?” he asked quietly. He looked like he was ready to go turn on the heating. 

“sit down,” you demanded quickly- you didn’t care that it was cold, and you swore to the gods that if he was going to turn on the heating and stop this, for even thirty seconds, you would cry.

He sat down with his legs slightly spread as you slowly sank to your knees. His hand immediately approaches your cheeks to rub his thumbs back and forth over your cheekbone. You finally looked at him and pushed his black trousers down to his ankles. fuck. You had expected him to be big (look at him), but this was. Wow.

You moved his thighs apart even more with small hands as he wound one hand into your hair and the other to trace your jawline. You looked up at him- he had been reticent. He was smiling down at you. It was strange, actually. Not the whole situation (although that was strange)-the adoration in his eyes was weird. But definitely not in the wrong way.

You brought your view back to his cock, eyeing it. He was huge. And really pretty. Everything about him was pretty. At the base, he had black hair, slightly curly but definitely groomed. His head was angry-looking and leaking- Jesus fucking Christ, was he really this turned on just by eating you out?

You touched your lips to kiss the tip, causing Professor Hotchner to bring his hands to your hair while groaning. You decided you wanted to hear more of that, taking the entire tip into your mouth, lightly sucking. 

His grip on your hair got tighter as his moans got louder, his hips starting to buck much like yours- you would have tried to hold them down like he had done to you, but you knew your efforts would be futile, him being much bigger than you. he tasted salty- good, but salty- as you lapped up the precum. 

His grip on your hair pushed you down to take more of him. You followed his silent command, hollowing your cheeks to make sure you didn’t accidentally scrape your teeth against him- he had just made gave you the best orgasm of your life, and you certainly didn’t want to provide him with the worst blow job of his life after that.

You took as much as you comfortably could, your other hands moving up and down the rest of his shaft; your mouth didn’t cover- the other one starting to play with his balls. Strings of curse words and pet names were leaving his lips as he began to put your hair in a makeshift ponytail.

“shit, sweetheart-” he bucked his hips harshly, forcing you to take more of him and gag. You relaxed your throat, knowing it was a mistake on his part, pulling away to just take the tip in your mouth as you caught your breath. You hummed around him, trying to communicate that you were fine; that caused his hips to jump, too.

His grip on your hair pulled you off of him, causing you to look up at him, face covered in precum and drool. You heard him swear quietly.

“c’mere,” he mumbled, letting your hair fall from his hands, helping you stand and straddle his lap, his hands immediately resting on your hips. Instantly, he was on your lips, kissing you roughly, impatiently- you had never seen professor hotchner impatient. He was patient with his students, no matter how blatantly stupid they were being (to spend more time with him, you presumed- there’s no way someone can be that stupid).

Now? he was gripping you like you were to float away like a helium balloon, and you certainly felt like you were going to. Your hands moved over to his shoulders to give you something to balance on as you ground your bare pussy onto his cock.

He stood up, causing you to squeak, quickly wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands were holding you up by your ass as he walked you over to his suit jacket he had previously hung up on the back of the door. He put your back to the curtain in front of the side window, holding you up with one hand as the other went into the inner suit jacket, searching.

He pulled out a condom, “wow. really, professor?” you looked at him in disbelief. He let out a laugh.

“I do have a life, I know,” he deadpanned but still smiled at you.

“I don’t believe that,” you said, your smile growing.

“oh? why’s that?”

“your office is always open until 7,” you mumbled, kissing him roughly, grabbing the condom from him and opening it. You rubbed your thumb over his head, causing a groan to leave his lips, before rolling the condom onto his thick shaft. 

Your movements were quick as he entered you- you were both just as needy as each other (although you assumed he was more so- considering he hadn’t even cum yet). He lined himself up to you, slowly pushing it in. You had thought taking him in your mouth was difficult, but now? Your head fell back against the wall with a thud, but you ignored it instead of gripping onto his shoulders in a vain attempt to ground yourself.

His head fell into the crook of your neck, and his hand returned to your ass after he lined himself up. His grip on you was becoming tighter the deeper inside you he went. 

When he bottomed out, you both let out a simultaneous groan, staying still for a few seconds to take in the situation- your professor was balls-deep inside you. he was balls-deep inside his student. 

Despite the moral dilemma he was currently facing, there was no way in all hell that he would pull out now. He started rocking his hips gently, letting out quiet moans into your neck as your hand scraped through his hair and your mouth fell into an ‘o’ shape.

“Professor,” you moaned out. The title seemed to trigger something inside Professor Hotchner, and he sped up until his pace was fast, rough, and brutal. He didn’t let up, even as you clawed at his shoulders, digging your nails into the ironed dress shirt. 

You were sure, had you been against the door, that it would’ve broken off the hinges. And you were convinced that if anybody was inside his lecture hall, they would know what you two were doing- how could they not? It wasn’t like you two were being quiet.

He continued kissing up and down your throat, holding you up with one hand under your ass (which he occasionally squeezed, causing you to jolt against him), and whispering dirty words into your skin.

“sweet girl… you’re so pretty for me,” he said, against your collarbone, his pace relentless, “letting your professor fuck you like a dirty little whore,” your toes curled at his words, your second orgasm hitting you like a moving train.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your grip on him tightened, grinding yourself onto him; your other hand moved down to rub quick, harsh circles on your clit. Back arched against the wall, you accidentally shoved your tits into Professor Hotchner’s face- something he was taking advantage of. Your vision blurred, tears forming in your eyes as you squeezed them shut, your moans growing louder as the seconds passed.

“Oh, god, professor! Please, please, please,” you weren’t quite sure what you were begging for, your words falling easily from your lips without meaning. Your voice felt foreign to your own ears as they rang.

Professor Hotchner continued his rough strokes through your orgasm, not stopping or fumbling once. His grip on you tightened as he came inside you, your cunt squeezing him dry as you pressed his body against yours, almost slumping against you.

You both stayed there for a while longer, panting and trying to catch your breath. His hands continued to smooth over your exposed flesh, his head buried in the crook of your neck. as your scratched lazily up and down his hair, your head against the wall.

He pulled out of you soft and let you down, gently, careful not to hurt you. he was quick to pull up and zip up his slacks again as you went in search of your clothes. The silence was killing you- the post-orgasm clarity hitting you both with what you had just done. Not that you regretted it. But you knew it was- well, wrong. It was against many rules and policies, but you certainly didn’t regret it.

And neither did he.

You got dressed quickly, putting on your trousers and shirt, slipping back on your dolly shoes and grabbing your bookbag, professor hotchner watching you the entire time. You smiled up at him, trying not to be quite awkward about this- you wanted it to happen again and acting awkward was not the way to go around that.

“See you on Thursday, professor,” you smiled at him again, walking out of the office and through the lecture hall, your smile growing into a smirk. 

Aaron shook his head after you left, scoffing then smiling- you were really something else, huh?

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins​ on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns. 

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner​

theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.

theformat wrote,

[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]

"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

Hi,

Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do? 

Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.

Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that. 

See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower. 

You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower. 

At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.

See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.

Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"

We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…

I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.

The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?

At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.

I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship. 

I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.

This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.

It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.

It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…

In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.

So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".

Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen. 

I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool! 

He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.

Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.

I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.

It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped." 

When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."

The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression. 

I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.

Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.

[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.

Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.

Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it? 

We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.

Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.

It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept. 

In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?

My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.

I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.

Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.

Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!

So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.

After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road. 

On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.

They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?

The Vanity Label was born.

The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened? 

We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.

In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.

So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.

"Hello?" 

"We're releasing it on the website today." 

"Wow."

So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.

Without further ado...

"Dog Problems"

- Nate

Irreverent Pt. 21 - Dearly Departed

Title: Irreverent Pt. 21 - Dearly Departed Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: R Words: 2934

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"You're leaving?" It was Derek who had managed to speak first. The rest of you were still processing what Hotch had said.

"I have been given a temporary assignment in Pakistan by the Director and have been told I have minimal choice in the matter. In the interim, Morgan will be Unit Chief." That's what he'd said. You were pretty sure you'd heard him correctly. On their own each of those words held meaning. But strung together like that and coming from Hotch, they might as well have been gibberish as far as you were concerned.

He looked upset at having to leave. He doesn't want to. You tried telling yourself that. But this was also Hotch. You'd seen him stand up to Strauss on countless occasions for the better of the team. So why was he just going along with this? Why was he abandoning you while you were in the middle of the search for Doyle? What about Emily? What about the team? What about you?

You looked around and saw your thoughts in everyone's mind. Penelope still looked struck. Derek seemed more pissed off than anything else. Spencer looked broken - he'd had it the worst with Emily's death. You knew JJ had been with him a lot the past few days. Even Rossi seemed upset. You wondered if Hotch had bothered telling him first on his own or if this was intended to be dropped on everyone all at once.

You could feel the stillness in your body. You weren't sure what you felt yet. Upset? Abandoned? Angry? All of the above? Hotch was clutching the papers that were undoubtedly his marching orders, tightly in his hand.

"What about Jack, Aaron?" It was Rossi who asked that.

You should move. Say something. But what?

"I've arranged for him to stay with Jess while I'm away. He should be alright there."

JJ was still gone too…Hotch was leaving. You looked around at the rest of the team seated at the table and you could feel Derek shouldering the full weight of what Hotch was asking of him.

You felt Hotch's eyes on you. You still hadn't spoken. What was there to say?

*------------*

You'd kept in touch with Clyde Easter after you guys had released him from detainment. At first you'd reached out to him to tell him about Emily - you felt like he should know. He'd come to the funeral and the two of you had spoken briefly. Before he left, he'd tucked a card with a different number on it in your hand.

The two of you had been corresponding for some months now as he worked Doyle from the Interpol angle. With Hotch gone, Derek had wanted to ramp up the search for Doyle but he'd been shut down by Strauss citing jurisdiction. You were forced to move underground. After months of nothing, Clyde had gotten solid proof that Doyle was moving and there might be a window of opportunity coming up. It was time to bring Derek in.

*------------*

"So let me get this straight, after Strauss shut it down, you took it upon yourself to open communication with Interpol to continue investigating Doyle?" You'd called Rossi and Derek over to your house under the ruse of dinner, feeling it would be safest. After dinner the three of you had sat at your dining room table over drinks, when you'd decided to reveal the true nature of the invite.

"Yes," you replied, standing to grab the file from the back of your hidden wall safe. "Here's everything I have on Doyle. Per Clyde," you note the look Rossi and Derek gave one another when you referred to Easter by his first name, "Doyle has operations underway but he has a visibility issue, forcing him underground for the most part. However, he has a meeting scheduled with his stakeholders for which he has to be present. That's our window of opportunity."

"And you trust Easter?" Rossi had left looking through the file you'd put in front of them to Derek. He chose to watch you instead.

"No, but he has nothing to gain by lying to us about this. He's still on Doyle's list and he would much rather we go after him than have Doyle barging through his front door."

"You should've told us, Y/N." Derek had flipped through the file and confirmed what you'd relayed to them.

"Look, you can choose to be pissed at me for not reading you in earlier, or you can help me go after Doyle." You weren't about to be guilted into feeling bad about how you went about this.

"Help you?" Derek raised his eyebrows at your word choice.

"I'm doing this with or without you."

He scoffed and finished his drink. "Yeah, you and what army?"

"I won't fight with you Derek. You want to be pissed, go be pissed. Break something and get it out. But don't act like you don't want to go after Doyle. You're not upset I did this. You're upset you didn't."

His shoulders tensed, feeling the brunt of your retort. You thought he might lash out at you again, but he seemed to be coming to terms with the situation much faster than you had anticipated.

"We still need to find where the meeting is going to happen."

"All we need in order to do that, is leverage over the right person. I have someone in mind," you responded. You'd thought this through. To the end.

"We need to call Aaron."

*------------*

He'd grown a beard. He was back after seven months and that was the first thing you noticed. What anyone noticed really. Besides that he looked tan and more rugged than usual, though that could be chalked up to the lack of a suit. He was dressed like a civilian. Which made sense. He wasn't SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief. That title was still Derek's. As far as you knew, he was simply SSA Aaron Hotchner, temporarily in Pakistan running a joint task force. If the definition of temporarily had been swapped out with indefinitely, that is.

"Sir, the beard suits you," Penelope had told him in greeting.

"Thank you Garcia." Those were the first words you'd heard from him in seven months.

You hadn't gotten up to greet him. You'd looked up in his direction when he entered and smiled, stifling seven months' worth of anger tight inside. It didn't pass your notice that Spencer hadn't stood up either. At least someone else was also sick of taking the high road. You needed that kind of camaraderie.

"Morgan read me in before I arrived. If you're ready, we can talk through the plan to obtain the meeting location and see how it should be executed." Funny how quickly he fell back into the role of Unit Chief. As if he hadn't absconded the throne.

"It's handled. I'm running point on it. You're welcome to join the others in the van or listen in from here with Garcia."  Your voice came out a little harsher than you'd intended.

He looked a little surprised but quickly recovered and nodded.

*------------*

"Subject is approaching." Spencer's voice came through the earpiece you had on. You were seated at a restaurant downtown, your hands folded in front of you on the white linen tablecloth. You remembered this place from one of the first times your father had visited you whilst you were doing your training at Quantico. He had come to talk you out of it but hadn't been able to resist taking you to a nice meal.

"Hello sister."

Dominic had arrived with his permanently cocky smirk firmly in place. He took off his coat and sat down across from you, unbuttoning the bottom button on his jacket. A waiter arrived to bring him a drink menu. You'd been nursing yours for some time now. After he had ordered, he looked right at you. He was trying to mimic your father's infamous staredowns. It fell flat coming from him. Maybe you had to actually be afraid for it to have its desired affect.

"So, you've finally come to your senses, have you?" He leaned back in his chair as the waiter quickly dropped his drink off.

"How are Katie and Amara?"

His brow furrowed slightly before he answered. "Katie is fine, she sends her regards. Amara is seven now. She's started second grade."

You smiled. It had been some time since you saw your niece. "That's a good age."

"Yeah, she's cute. She made a family tree for class, you know. Made sure to put you on it. Julian too."

"That's sweet," you answered, stirring your drink with the straw provided. "You love Amara, don't you Dom?"

There was a pause before he replied, his brow furrowed more if that were possible. "She's my daughter Y/N. Of course I love her."

"She's your daughter. You wouldn't want any harm to come to her."

His shoulders tensed immediately as he leaned in closely to you across the table. "What the fuck are you trying to say?"

"Just that it is regretful when children get hurt because they become pawns in their parents' wars."

He was still leaning across the table and his next words came out dangerously low. "You think you can just come in here and threaten me? Threaten my family? And you'll get away with it?"

"You have two options Dom. Tell me where Valhalla is meeting his stakeholders."

"Or?"

"I'm sorry, I misspoke. You only have one option. That was it."

"And if I don't comply?"

"There are US Marshalls waiting to escort you home so that you can grab your wife and daughter and pack any personal belongings. They'll take care of you."

"You didn't say what happens if I don't comply."

You looked at him sitting across from you in his expensive suit. Being almost fifteen years older than you, Dominic used to intimidate you. He was never the brother that spoiled you. When you'd been born he'd been a spoiled teenager used to bullying and taking his misplaced anger out on Julian. But your father wouldn't have stood for anyone laying a hand on you (Except him apparently, you thought, thinking back to your last encounter with your father.), so Dominic had tortured you in other ways.

You fixed Dominic with a small smile geared to unnerve him, before answering his question. "Papa used to say that I was the pretty one. Julian was his artist. But you Dom, you were always the smart one, right?"

You stood and retrieved a $100 bill from your pocket and placed it under the drink glass.

"You have fifteen minutes. I'll be outside. Clock's ticking."

*------------*

Hotch and Derek stood next to you as the Marshalls helped your brother into the back of the dark SUV across the street.

"You threatened a child in there, Y/N." His voice was low, and yet still carried the full force of his accusation.

You felt the roiling anger bubbling to the top. He had no right to tell you how to handle this. "I won't make excuses for how I choose to fix the mess you ran away from," your rebuke was at the tip of your tongue and thrown at him before he could prepare for the rally. With that, you turned and left, leaving him to watch you walk back to the van.

*------------*

The following day, Hotch had asked the team to come to the conference room first thing in the morning. When you had walked in, you saw JJ standing in a corner talking to Hotch. You'd smiled at her despite being confused as to why she was there. Once everyone was seated Hotch stood at the front of the room. JJ was standing too. Why was she standing? Why was she here?

With all eyes focused on him, Hotch began speaking. "Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team."

Your mind went faster than he could speak. JJ was there. Seven months ago. When he left. When Emily died. Seven months ago he made a decision. JJ is here. She was at the hospital. Why had she been at the hospital that day?

"She's alive," you expelled, pushing up and away from the table and towards the back of the room, furthest from Hotch and the door, your realization propelling you to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the two people at the front of the room.

"What?" Spencer looked at you as you had interrupted Hotch's speech before it had even started.

"She's alive. Emily's alive. That's it right? That's why we're all here. That's why JJ is here and why she was at the hospital that night. Emily's alive." Your mouth was on autopilot as you spoke. The words had left your mouth before you'd truly understood what they meant yourself. It just…fit. It made sense.

"Y/N, we buried Emily. She's dead." Derek stood to move towards you, as if you were having a mental break.

You ignored him. You only looked at Hotch who had stopped speaking as soon as you'd stood up. Both him and JJ were looking at you in what could only be described as horror. Why they were horrified you didn't know. If anything you should be horrified. What does it say about me that I'm not even horrified at this. It's almost as if you'd seen the lies coming.

"Tell them." Your eyes bored into Hotch's. It was a credit to him that he hadn't looked away yet.

"Yes."

His confirmation was accompanied by the click clacking of familiar heels outside the conference room and then the door opened and there she was. Emily Prentiss. Back from the dead.

Penelope recovered first, leaping up to go hug Emily. She looked well, you noted. She was walking around the room. She'd hugged Hotch and JJ next. Now she'd moved on to Spencer who looked like he should be sedated. She was apologizing to everyone. Derek could barely bring himself to wrap his arms around her. Rossi recovered remarkably. He pulled her in for a hug and even kissed both her cheeks, causing her to laugh. You hadn't heard that laugh in seven months.

She was walking towards you. You felt yourself physically recoil.

"Y/N." JJ was using her mom voice. The voice that told you to be fair and kind and sharing is caring.

"Don't JJ." You turned away from Emily who was standing closest to you, to face the front again where Hotch and JJ stood. The only two people who had known. Who had watched the rest of you fall apart and allowed it to happen. And instead of sticking around to watch the fallout, they'd both been conveniently far away.

"How are we supposed to trust you? Either of you?"

"Y/N, that's not fair." It's the first time Emily had spoken directly to you in seven months.

"You were dead. But he was here. He saw what it did to us and then he just left and the whole time! He knew! He knew how it wrecked us." You voice fluctuated throughout and you were breathing as if you'd just run a marathon.

There was silence and then Derek was standing in front of you, shielding you from the rest. He tucked the strand of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear and leaned in to hold you so he could speak and not be heard. "Let's do this later. Eye on the prize, yeah?"

For him, you let it go. You owed him that. Not them.

*------------*

Hotch watched Morgan hold you and the visual was a gut punch.

No one else had said anything. But you were never quite that easy. You'd never once not shared exactly how you felt. Likely a testament to having stifled how you felt for years. After you'd confronted your father it was an awakening. You no longer held your punches and while it had been something Hotch had admired in the past, right now in this moment, when those punches were directed at him, he had to admit there was a downside. Even still, he couldn't help himself from being impressed. This was why he loved you. He no longer actively denied the fact.

Your words hurt more than he let on. He had prepared for Morgan to be pissed and for Reid to fall apart. From you he had hoped for a hug hello for both himself and Emily.

But then he had to remind himself of seven months ago. The hospital had been the last time you'd let him hold you. After that you'd been gone. There hadn't been any light behind your smiles. You hadn't confided in him about how much you missed Emily. Well you'd have to be around to have heard that wouldn't you. His guilty conscience had taken your side and was doing an excellent job beating him up in your silence since Derek had talked you down.

He couldn't deny that he was extremely worried about you. He'd talked to Derek after the Marshalls had picked up your brother but Derek had brushed him off, saying you were doing what had to be done to keep afloat. He wondered if Derek was right. You were treading water to stay afloat because he'd taken the life raft right from under you.

He worried how long you could keep going before the force of the waves drowned you.

New Look Sabres: 2019 NHL Draft

Rasmus Dahlin is a hard act to follow. I think part of the reason Alex Nylander went through such Sabres popular opinion hell was because he was the first round pick the year after Jack Eichel’s Draft. Maybe that’s me projecting because my little Sabres heart hadn’t been broken for a while at that point. I really only jumped on the Sabres wagon at the beginning of the decade so my biggest lived disappointment in this team was the 2011 First Round against the Flyers. Picking Alex Nylander was a curve ball that year and he didn’t pan out immediately. That failing to hit on high draft picks was part of then-General Manager Tim Murray’s undoing and part of what ruined rebuild 1.0. That’s not to mention how bad GMTM was for Nylander’s development thrusting him right into the AHL. You couldn’t put all that on Nylander. I hoped so hard going into this Draft that whoever gets drafted the year after Dahlin isn’t under that kind of microscope right away. Nylander had a tiny little renaissance during his callup last season but he’s still not quite there yet. He’s about to enter what-the-hell-are-you territory but to be very honest his name coming up in trade talks made me a little angry. Hold back your snide tweets, apparently they’re informing the real insiders! I can’t imagine anything like the Nylander Saga repeating itself, but this is the Buffalo Sabres we’re talking about.

The Draft last year felt like a coronation for Sabres fans but just because we’re not getting a generational talent this go around doesn’t mean this draft isn’t ripe for drama. Rewind back about a month and Buffalo was once again the home of the NHL Combine. The event that now will be in Buffalo for several years to come saw the genesis of a few Draft narratives for the Sabres. The most notable one is the Alex Turcotte story. Apparently Sabres brass interviewed Turcotte and… his dad? The reports were conflicting but Turcotte definitely represented a big blip on the radar. The young Mittelstadt-color-palate-swapped center is from Chicagoland and was probably not likely falling any further than 7 – Buffalo’s first pick. Turcotte was a popular choice to go to the Blackhawks in many mock drafts because of the Chicago connection. Jason Botterill and the funky bunch also interviewed one London Knights forward Conor McMichael. Sabres bloggers smarter than I say he was an intriguing option for the other first round pick... that’s if we have that second first round pick because with other teams wheeling and dealing for a week plus going into the Draft Jason Botterill was quiet. There had been rumors galore connected to Buffalo from Tampa to Vancouver which made the lack of movement that much more peculiar. Add onto all this the debut of a Vegas Gold look for the Sabres “Golden Season” instead of royal blue and it was a wild week going into the Draft.

Jack Hughes and Kappo Kakko went first overall as expected. The Alex Turcotte watch was short lived, but he didn’t go third overall to Chicago as many predicted. He had to wait all the way to number 5 when the LA Kings scooped him up. Conor McMichael went 25th overall to Washington but this is a Sabres blog so you’re probably waiting for some Sabres talk. With the 7th overall pick the Buffalo Sabres selected WHL center Dylan Cozens. Once again, smarter bloggers than I say that selection was solid because the first round of this draft was really three tiers: the top two, two through about ten and then everyone else. The Red Wings threw a curve ball and selected Disney Channel star Moritz Seider throwing off everyone’s top ten but for the most part there weren’t many surprises. I was on the Cole Caulfield bandwagon, but he probably wasn’t a wise choice at seven. When he began to drop I even entertained the idea of Botterill trading up with that second first rounder to get him, but this was not one of those drafts and he went 15th overall to… Montreal. Ugh. How about something funny? The Panthers picked goalie Spencer Knight with their 13th overall. That was funny too, but this joke is a Sabres joke: Cozens is the first WHL draft pick in Jason Botterill’s time as General Manager of the Buffalo Sabres. This is a real, deep-cut Sabres joke but there is some humor to that. I think the social media guy for the team knew it too because one of the first photos from them after his pick was Sam Reinhart greeting him. Sam is the last WHL guy to be drafted onto the Sabres. Again, it’s deep cut joke about how Botts hates the WHL so it’s not going to get the whole room but there you go: Humor. I’m not going to pretend to know how to project out Cozens because again, I’m not the smart guy in the room; but I will say it is great to start to replenish the center depth in the organization which dropped off a cliff only a few guys down the depth chart.

The Sabres used the 31st overall pick to… just make a pick. No trades in the first round. As Day One wound down the swell of energy that it may happen dissipated and they picked USHL Defenseman Ryan Johnson. I am all for picking lefthanded D to help build up that side of the defense but the buzz around the pick was a guy with a Russian name who will certainly make me regret not knowing his name. Johnson could’ve easily fallen into the second round, but the pick was in and another defenseman is in the pipeline. Trades, at least the variety from the Sabres, were scarce in the remaining rounds on Saturday. The Sabres traded some late round picks but no real consequential trades on Draft weekend for Buffalo put a little bit of a damper on it all for me. I don’t really subscribe to the idea the yet-to-be-announced salary cap number is really what’s stopping trades. PK Subban got traded to the Devils for a bunch of no names and low picks while we wondered if Sabres 3rd round pick goalie Erik Portillo is in fact named after a type of pepper. The lack of movement right now isn’t something worth panicking about but if we’re sitting here next Monday on Free Agency Day wondering if we’re crazy I’m not going to blame anyone for hitting the panic button. Botterill has signaled a renewed faith in Rasmus Ristolainen probably egged on by the new coach so… you can fall either way on whether the OG Rasmus needs to go. I lean toward trade him but that doesn’t have to be right now. We’ll address all this stuff in the free agency blog so let’s take a look at who else was picked. I mentioned Portillo and we won’t see him even in Rochester for a couple years but that’s fine, the goalie depth was beginning to get shallow. Botts said openly he doesn’t want to rush Ukko Pekka-Lukkonen who will probably make his Rochester Americans debut this coming season. That is smart and frustrating because goalies take a long time to develop when you do it right but… uh… did you watch the second half of last season? Part of that collapse was the goalie tandem coming back down to earth hard. Folks were clamoring for UPL, probably a little too hastily but that’s what eight years out of the playoffs will do to you. I am not particularly jazzed about the other three guys we got. You take flyers on guys that far down in the draft and the chances are better than not all three of these guys I am about to mention don’t make the NHL: Aaron Huglen, Filip Cederqvist and Lukas Rousek. Hopefully one of them is a diamond in the rough. Perhaps it’s unfair for us to be so underwhelmed. Sean Tierney at Charting Hockey placed the Sabres in a top six of teams who did well at the Draft. He’s worth follow if you want to understand how you can make a graph of average likelihood to make the NHL because Lord knows I can’t explain that.

Like, share and comment on the New Look Sabres blog. It’s great to be back at it. You can expect the post on the 2019-2020 NHL Schedule later this week. By the sounds of it that will be released by the league either tomorrow or Wednesday. We already have the preseason, season opener and home opener but I’ll save all that analysis for that blog. Then later on next week you can expect a Free Agency Recap. Normally by the fourth of July the action quiets down. Jeff Skinner happened in August last summer but hey, I’m not psychic. Thank you to everyone who responded kindly to me dropping off the map for a couple days. My wife and I had a family emergency that we needed to address so we put everything on hold. We’re back now and things are going to be alright. Your support means a lot to me and I hope if you ever need something I can be there for you as well. To lighten the mood: let’s hope we don’t need to be here for each other after a worst-case scenario offseason! Pieces are moving and for all the rumors the Sabres are in on this guy and that guy there hasn’t been a lot to actually talk about. I guess we’ll see. It wouldn’t be fun if we knew the ending, eh? Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. That Moritz Seider was shocked to go as high as he did. The gif of his reaction is some precious draft video for the ages.

off the rack #1186

Monday, October 23, 2017

 The back door lock on my X-Trail wasn't working so I had to drop it off this morning at Japan Auto to see if they can fix it. Then it was off to Costco to stock up an a few necessities. It's so nice and warm here in Ottawa that I will be able to read Charles de Lint's new book The Wind in His Heart outside.

 Deadpool vs. Old Man Logan #1 - Declan Shalvey (writer) Mike Henderson (art) Lee Loughridge (colours) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This 5-issue mini has the two stabby heroes with healing factors teaming up to keep a new mutant from being captured by bad guys. Sure, it's a story that's already been told many times but Declan does a good job of keeping the fun factor up so I will keep reading.

 Batman: The Drowned #1 - Dan Abnett (writer) Philip Tan & Tyler Kirkman (art) Dean White & Arif Prianto (colours) Tom Napolitano (letters). There's a gender swap in this Dark Nights Metal tie-in where a woman named Bryce Wayne transforms herself into an evil version of Aquaman's wife Mera. That was unexpected. I like how this issue clarifies why the bad Batpersons are doing what they're doing. It's a basic motivation and not anything new so there's still a chance that I might stop caring about this story and stop reading.

 Kid Lobotomy #1 - Peter Milligan (writer) Tess Fowler (art) Lee Loughridge (colours) Aditya Bidikar (letters). If I had looked at the credits before picking this book off the racks to read I should have expected the extreme weirdness in this comic book written by Peter Milligan. I remember his stint on Shade the Changing Man and what a psychedelic ride that was. This book is loopy too and it was the art that helped me power through to the last page. If you enjoy exploring odd mindscapes you'll like this.

 Thor #700 - Jason Aaron (writer) Walt Simonson & Matthew Wilson, Russell Dauterman & Matthew Wilson, Daniel Acuna, James Harren & Dave Stewart, Becky Cloonan & Dave Stewart, Das Pastoras, Chris Burnham & Ive Svorcina, Andrew MacLean & Dave Stewart, Jill Thompson, Mike del Mundo, and Olivier Coipel & Dave Stewart (art) VC's Joe Sabino (letters). This 50-page epic features Part 1 of "The Death of Thor", but which Thor? There's a lot of them. If you've never read a Thor comic book this is a great place to start. You can tell that Jason Aaron is having so much fun writing these adventures and I am one very appreciative fan. Buy this book.

 Aquaman #29 - Dan Abnett (writer) Stjepan Sejic (art & colours) Steve Wands (letters). Okay, things are starting to go the good guys' way. Evil King Rath is going to get what fer.

 Maestros #1 - Steve Skroce (writer & art) Dave Stewart (colours) Fonografiks (letters). Yay, Steve Skroce is back on the racks and this time he's writing his own book. I loved "We Stand On Guard" and was hoping we'd see Steve's art again soon. This fantasy book is about a young wizard who inherits the title of big kahuna wizard after his Dad is killed. I thought that Geof Darrow did the art for this after turning the first page, but nope, it's Steve just painstakingly drawing up a storm. This new comic book gets added to my "must read" list.

 Champions #13 - Mark Waid (writer) Humberto Ramos (pencils) Victor Olazaba (inks) Edgar Delgado (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). Part 2 of "Worlds Collide" has the Champions teaming up with the Avengers to stop the High Evolutionary from destroying the planet. Four groups scatter around the world to save lives but even though they keep the world's tallest buildings from disaster there's still plenty of danger ahead. The story continues in Avengers #673 which hits the racks on November 1.

 Batman #33 - Tom King (writer) Joelle Jones (art) Jordie Bellaire (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). You gotta read this. Do you guys have a good chuckle when you get to the last page of a really good comic book because you feel happily amused and think, man I can't wait to read the rest of this story? I do. Few writers can make me do that and Tom King just got added to the list of writers that do. Some fans might not like what's going on with Batman's love life but I think it's great. Part 1 of "Rules of Engagement" has the Bat visiting an old flame and boy, is he going to get burned. Joelle "Lady Killer" Jones did a wonderful job showing the men folk back at the mansion and made my heart swoon with her rendition of Selina. I wish the word balloon person hadn't screwed up on the last page, otherwise this issue was a perfect read.

 Sherlock Frankenstein and the Legion of Evil #1 - Jeff Lemire (writer) David Rubin (art, colours & letters). This spin-ff of Black Hammer is worth checking out if you like that mystery about a team of old super heroes. This story focuses on their super villain enemies and follows Black Hammer's daughter as she goes searching for her father. Jeff Lemire is every bit as clever as Alan Moore at creating neat super characters when Alan was doing America's Best Comics.

 Ms. Marvel #23 - G. Willow Wilson (writer) Diego Olortegui (art) Ian Herring (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Remember the time when Kamala went to Karachi and had a team up with a hero there? Guess who's in Jersey City and attending her high school now? I'm glad Willow did the conversion to metric on the runaway train's speed. I didn't have a sense of what 25 miles per hour feels like. 40 kilometres per hour I get. This was a great way to have the two heroes commiserate while the train rolls along.

 Wonder Woman #32 - James Robinson (writer) Sergio Davila (pencils) Scott Hanna & Mark Morales (inks) Romulo Fajardo Jr. (colours) Saida Temofonte (letters). I found the writing in this issue was as stilted as a bad soap opera script. I don't like how the relationship between Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor is portrayed. I hate that he calls her "angel". I will read the next issue to find out more about Diana's "brother" Jason and to see Emanuela Lupacchino drawing her first issue of this series.

 Groo: Play of the Gods #4 - Sergio Aragones & Mark Evanier (writers) Sergio Aragones (art) John Ercek & Tom Luth (colours) Stan Sakai (letters). And so another great Groo mini ends. This time the last laugh was on the gods.

 Superman #33 - Peter J. Tomasi & Patrick Gleason (writer) Doug Mahnke (pencils) Jaime Mendoza (inks) Wil Quintana (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). "Imperius Lex" starts here. With baby Darkseid missing, Apokalips needs a new ruler and it has chosen Lex Luthor. But Lex is a good guy now, right? Maybe he'll find a way to change the Parademons into minions. I like that Lois and Jon are in this story too.

 Incredible Hulk #709 - Greg Pak (writer) Greg Land (pencils) Jay Leisten (inks) Frank D'Armata (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). "Return To Planet Hulk" starts here. Not to worry, they haven't resurrected Bruce Banner (yet). This time it's Amadeus "The Totally Awesome Hulk" Cho crash landing on the planet. There's no holding back when the kid unleashes the junk in the trunk as he battles a tribe of bad guys. All hail the Green Scar. This is a refreshing change of pace.

 Super Sons #9 - Peter J. Tomasi (writer) Jorge Jimenez & Carmine Di Giandomenico (art) Alejandro Sanchez & Ivan Plascencia (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). "Planet of the Capes" ends here. I much preferred the art of Jorge Jimenez over that of Carmine Di Giandomenico. Carmine's kids don't look like kids.

 Wonder Woman Conan #2 - Gail Simone (writer) Aaron Lopresti (pencils) Matt Ryan (inks) Wendy Broome (colours) Saida Temofonte (letters). There's a #MeToo moment in this issue that I found was unnecessary that made me feel disappointed because this is written by a woman. The crew threatening Diana that way wasn't needed for Conan to be any more protective than he already was. I wondered if it was put in just to titillate male readers or to point out that most men are scum. I did like how the crow girls dealt with the wine besotted pervert in the stands though.

 Invincible Iron Man #593 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Stefano Caselli & Alex Maleev (art) Marte Gracia &  Alex Maleev (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). "The Search for Tony Stark" starts here. Get everything you need to know to start reading this series. It's the rebirth of one of Marvel's iconic super heroes so join us long time shellhead fans and buckle up for a wild ride.

Breaking Bad Characters Who Can Appear In Jesse's El Camino Movie

Breaking Bad is returning with a sequel movie titled El Camino, but which established characters will be along for the ride? Reports of a Breaking Bad movie began to surface last year, but the project was typically secretive in nature, and with the Better Call Saul spinoff also in production, it wasn't easy to gauge how much truth was behind the rumors. Finally, in February 2019, the Breaking Bad movie was officially confirmed, even though many of the show's main cast had already revealed as much.

Such is the level of cloak and dagger surrounding the Breaking Bad movie, Bob Odenkirk recently claimed that the entire film had been shot in secret and, as if to confirm that story, Netflix revealed the first trailer for El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie earlier this week. This short teaser sees the return of Charles Baker as Skinny Pete, an old dealer associate of Jesse Pinkman's. Under police interrogation, Pete refuses to tell the Feds anything about where Jesse could be, although he claims to have no idea anyway. With the meth lab bust all over the news and Jesse on the run, El Camino's story is neatly set up in time for the film's October release on Netflix.

Related: The Boys Drops An Obscure Breaking Bad Reference

After featuring in the teaser, there's a strong possibility Skinny Peter could make a further appearance in El Camino, but who else from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul might return? Taking into account their current status in the narrative and suitability for the story, here are the Breaking Bad characters who could star alongside Aaron Paul in El Camino.

Bob Odenkirk's comments regarding the Breaking Bad movie have implied that the actor has no involvement in El Camino, but it's impossible to take anything at face value and an appearance by Saul would make sense in the context of Better Call Saul. Following the breakdown of his business relationship with Walter White, Saul goes into hiding as Gene and begins working in a shopping mall Cinnabon. Better Call Saul has explored this post-Breaking Bad period in Saul's life and has teased that Saul's secret identity could be exposed at any moment

With the authorities chasing down Jesse in El Camino, the movie could continue Better Call Saul's Gene timeline and explore what happens when Saul himself gets busted. Will he team up with Jesse? Or play the law and try to negotiate in exchange for helping police catch the runaway meth cook? In either case, Saul is the strongest connecting thread running throughout the Breaking Bad franchise and El Camino may feel incomplete without him.

Walter White's family seemed to truly move on in Breaking Bad's series finale, putting the shadow of Heisenberg firmly behind them and bringing Skyler and Walt Jr.'s story to a natural conclusion. However, Skyler arguably has some unfinished business in the world of Breaking Bad. During the show's prime, Anna Gunn's character was lambasted by viewers and seen as an obstacle to Walt's drug manufacturing adventures. The Skyler hate reached fever pitch in Breaking Bad's later seasons but, once the series had come to an end, many viewers found themselves reevaluating Skyler's character and finding a new appreciation for her position.

It's fair to say that with time and analysis, fan attitudes towards Skyler have become far more positive and a return in El Camino could give Walt's long-suffering wife a glorious return, as well as an ending that's free of the irrational negativity Skyler received when Breaking Bad first aired.

Related: Better Call Saul Should End With Meeting Walter White

Where there's Skinny Pete, Badger isn't likely to be far behind. Jesse's other main drug dealer pal was a peripheral figure in Breaking Bad and mostly used as a source of comic relief, particularly when trying to figure out whether a customer was a Narc. If El Camino finds Jesse running from the law, he'll surely turn to his few remaining (alive) friends and this could signal a return for Matthew Lee Jones as Badger.

Aaron Paul mysteriously posted a Breaking Bad scene on his Twitter account, claiming it held a relevance to the forthcoming movie. The clip featured an exchange between Walt and a badly-injured Jesse, who yells at his former mentor for taking away everything and everyone that he cherished. With so few people left to turn to, Badger and Skinny Pete may know more about Jesse than the El Camino trailer lets on.

After making a deal with the Nazis who imprisoned Jesse, Walt gets revenge on Lydia by swapping her coffee sweetener with poisonous ricin and Breaking Bad's final episode shows Lydia looking distinctly unwell, clearly suffering the effects of Walt's assassination attempt. However, the audience doesn't actually see Lydia die and orally-ingested ricin isn't necessarily fatal, depending on the dosage. For all Walt knew, Lydia might've decided to cut down on the coffee during his exile and not consumed enough of the substance to die from it.

If Lydia did somehow survive Walt's ricin, she could make for a strong antagonist in El Camino, perhaps seeking revenge against Jesse or hoping to silence him and keep her name away from the police investigation. Lydia has already reappeared in Better Call Saul, so an appearance in El Camino is very much on the cards.

Breaking Bad introduced Jesse Pinkman's parents and brother at an early stage, but the trio appear sparingly, more or less vanishing in later seasons. Jesse's relationship with his family is rocky to say the least, and while his mother demonstrates some affection, Jesse's father clearly despises his eldest son with a vengeance, with the idealized middle-class family essentially seeking to ignore the existence of their drug-dealer black sheep son.

Related: Better Call Saul: How Jimmy's Arc Mirrors Breaking Bad's Walter White

However, if El Camino is putting Jesse front and center of the story, it would make sense to dive deeper into his blood relatives and explore a side of the character that was only briefly touched upon in Breaking Bad. Jesse's family story also remains somewhat incomplete. By buying their house, Jesse did manage to gain a measure of revenge against his estranged parents, but Jesse's obvious love for his brother goes unresolved and could be a fruitful avenue for El Camino to venture down.

Huell's laid back attitude and love of money made him a cult figure in Breaking Bad and fans were rewarded when the character reappeared in Better Call Saul, helping Jimmy pull off several cons that included embarrassing his own brother at a legal hearing. Not only would a Huell cameo be a fan-pleasing moment, but viewers would also appreciate an update on Huell's life after his tenure working for Saul Goodman came to an end. Jesse, meanwhile, might have a personal score to settle with Huell after his role in the poisoning of a loved one.

Jesse becomes somewhat of a surrogate father to Brock after starting a relationship with fellow addict, Andrea, but the youngster gets caught up in Heisenberg's meth crusade and is used as a pawn to manipulate Jesse. At the end of Breaking Bad, Brock's fate is unknown, but his mother is tragically murdered by Todd (affectionately known as Meth Damon) in Breaking Bad's final season as a punishment for an escape attempt.

The final time viewers see Jesse, he's speeding away from the Nazis' base and, knowing that he was somewhat responsible for causing Andrea's death, one of Jesse's priorities upon gaining freedom would surely be to check in on Brock, possibly even caring for him if no one else was there to do so. As such, Brock could be an important figure in El Camino. One stumbling block, however, is that the movie appears to be set only a short time after Breaking Bad, while the young actor who played Brock would've aged 6 years.

Related: Did Walter White Really Die? Why Fans Still Debate Breaking Bad's Ending

Aside from characters who are still alive within the world of Breaking Bad, it's possible that a selection of deceased figures could also make a return in some capacity, with Krysten Ritter's Jane Margolis one of the first names that comes to mind. Jane was Jesse's partner during Breaking Bad's second season, but the pair's love of drugs soon dominated their relationship. Jane died after an overdose, with Walt passively watching on as she struggled and choked.

Jane's death had a profound impact on Jesse and after escaping his imprisonment, he's unlikely to be in a sound mental state, which could allow for hallucinations and visions of killed-off characters. Ritter has been widely rumored to be appearing in El Camino since the movie was first mentioned in 2018 and the actress remains linked to the project even following the official title reveal.

He may have died in the series finale, but can there be Breaking Bad without Walter White? As with Jane, any appearance by Walt would surely arrive in the form of a flashback, hallucination or dream sequence, but audiences would no doubt be grateful just to witness Bryan Cranston returning to his most famous character. While it's clear that El Camino will focus on Jesse, the pairing of Cranston and Pinkman was arguably the soul of Breaking Bad and an exchange between them, even an imaginary one, could prove a standout moment of the new movie.

As for Cranston, the actor has previously expressed a desire to appear in any proposed Breaking Bad movie, but has remained coy on whether or not that wish would become a reality. Thus far at least, any role for Walter White in El Camino remains firmly under wraps.

More: Tuco's Breaking Bad Backstory (Revealed In Better Call Saul)

El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie streams October 11th on Netflix.

source https://screenrant.com/breaking-bad-movie-characters-return-el-camino/

Asexual!Mads x Troubled!Burr

James Madison is an affection asexual man who finds it increasingly annoying that his best friend doesn’t quite grasp the concept of love with little to no lust involved. Aaron Burr is a struggling prodigy trying to keep his legacy afloat meanwhile watching everyone leap hurdles and go beyond his own limitations. They need some snugs. ___________________________________ “Aw Jemmy has been on the phone all day~ Did you finally get yourself a little side piece” Thomas rubbed his scruff cheek against Madison who was unphased. “Seriously you’ve been sitting there for so long, Sally and I already finished up in the bedroom and you’re still planted.” Usually Madison would leave when his best friend and roommate would have his romantic advances. However this time he was glued to his phone, waiting, texting, waiting some more. Thomas was growing a little suspicious, it was cute at first but Madison had literally stopped moving and now he was getting concerned. “Earth to James Madison.” “I am waiting for my partner to text me, we were going to meet up so we can work on our project.” He finally responded, he had sent Aaron Burr several messages. Some over facebook, some over text messages, now he was ready to call him, he glanced at Thomas’s face and there was a blank expression in his eyes. “The political economics project…for Washington? We’re supposed to have a fully drafted thesis and a presentation. Don’t tell me you forgot.” James was often paired with Thomas he knew that Jefferson had a tendency to fall out of focus. “Oh.” Thomas made a stranger face, as if he was more confused. “You didn’t finish it yet?” Madison was a hard worker; he would have assumed an assignment they were given a few days ago would have long been checked off his to-do list. “damn…” “What do you mean, ‘you didn’t finish it yet?’” Madison placed his phone down and crossed his arms, Thomas had his full attention. “Don’t tell me you made Hamilton do all the work…” There was no way Thomas and Alexander finished their project. They spent half the class ignoring each other and the other half heatedly debating each other over the professor. No, no way. “No. If you must know, Hamilton and I worked separately, then he came to me with, BEGGED me to read over his work so I gave him mine, we exchanged some stuff…he wanted to write it all himself and I was not about to let that nugget of a kid write over my words. So we ended up finishing the project in one night.” He shrugged, they got carried away but at least it was the longest time they were silent and not thinking about murdering the other. “Who is your partner again?” “Burr.” Madison spoke, internally in shock that Jefferson and Hamilton worked together and didn’t cause some nuclear explosion. He supposed in times like this, both men were professionals. “Yea…who dat?” He rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t’ ring a bell, he’s in our class?” Thomas couldn’t even put a face to the name. “Aaron.” Madison tried first name and still Thomas was shaking his head. “Aaron Burr? Dean’s list? Mom was a former Dean of the school before she died? Entirely family has gone to the same university? We have nearly every Washington taught class with him and Hamilton?” Still nothing, Madison couldn’t blame him. He honestly didn’t think much of Burr until they were paired up. He never debated or participated. When he did it was usually in agreement with another statement, piggybacking on the words of someone else. He never really made an impression other than he was present. “Anyway I know where lives we swapped addresses so I’ll stop by. The project is due in three days by midnight and we haven’t even thought of a thesis.” “Rooough, first time you’re not paired with me and you’re still gonna do all the work~” Thomas laughed at him, though it was the first time he, himself, was paired with someone new and he ended up doing more work than he was used to. It was a nice challenge though. “You could stick around, Sally and I are going for round deux and I don’t mind swingin’” He wiggled his eyebrow. Madison’s face was stoic; Jefferson knew well Madison wasn’t into threesomes or any somes. “That’s gay Thomas.” He walked out the door while Thomas yelled rationales why his invitation wasn’t gay at all. It was the first time; Thomas usually made invitations to test this ‘asexuality’ Madison labeled himself as. He knew Thomas could be insensitive but he was persistent. There were questions about masturbation, about loneliness, about ‘maybe you just haven’t tried hard enough’. It wasn’t a matter of trying, it was mentality. Madison knew himself like he knew that the bus he was boarding was going to take him a few blocks towards Burr’s place. He knew that what he felt wasn’t a dysfunction or a lack of effort, it was simply who he was. He wasn’t a cold person…though he was a person who suffered from getting many colds. He was opinionated and polite but he was also affectionate, he enjoyed being around people he cared about. He didn’t see why if he cared about someone there had to be a bed involved. He didn’t feel the urge or need to, as for boners, those were moments of stress relief, and they came and went less than often. And he wasn’t sitting there imagining anyone; it would be like assuming cracking knuckles came with imagining yourself punching someone in the face. Though…Thomas was right, it was rough. There were few people who wanted to really get to know Madison on that companion level if sex wasn’t on the table. He had many uncomfortable meetings with women who were at first delighted at his declaration but also disappointed after a while that it wasn’t an act of chivalry. Then the more awkward, taking it ‘personal’ that he didn’t want to. Where was this pressure to be a man and be good at bedding people? James didn’t know how deeply this all bothered him until he nearly missed the stop. Last second he ran to the front of the bus and darted out, the cold air squeezed his lungs and he started to cough. He walked a few blocks and stopped at Burr’s apartment. He double checked the information they swapped the moment they were paired up and walked up to the door. Like most apartments in New York City the door was broken and no need to buzz in. Madison just waltzed in and found his door number giving it a nice hard knock. He was annoyed, at Thomas for triggering him, at Burr for ghosting him, and at Hamilton for turning his friend into a hard worker. Something Madison couldn’t do even with all the Mac and cheese in the world. He waited, coughing loudly now and still nothing. “Burr are you home!” He called, cupping his mouth so his voice would echo a bit. He slammed his fist against the door again and it opened up, in mid knock. He looked up and Burr’s face was disgruntled. It was unnerving, from what he did remember of their meeting Burr was smiley and all too agreeable. Now he was starting a blood shot, sneering, angry man with tear stains down his hollowed face. “What are you doing here?” he tried to compose himself, was he actually trying to smile? He clearly didn’t look like he should be smiling but he forced it, the his lips trembled into the most half assed smile he’s seen. “…project is due soon and we haven’t met up once.” He spoke. “Alexander and Thomas already finished theirs, I figure it was a sign we should get to it…but..” if this was bad time perhaps Madison should go. He felt…strange being here while Burr seemed so disheveled. Without speaking Burr opened the door more and motioned him in. James took a step in and debated going further…his mind reminded him he had work to do so he kept stepping in. Once he was fully in he started coughing, there was a heavy scent of tobacco looming in the air like a blanket and his lungs were not in a battle with his body. “Sorry. Sorry” Burr muttered as he shuffled towards a window. Madison took in the place while he was walking in more. The apartment was nice, well decorated, flowers in vases (hopefully fake or else Madison was going to start sneezing on top of his wheezing), paintings, books, expensive rugs…so why did Burr not look the part. He was used to seeing Burr well dressed and crisp with a smile. Now he was wearing a wife beater tank top and sweatpants, his posture was all wrong. What happened to him in the span of a few days? “Burr…” He croaked getting a small chilled breeze from the outside now that the window was open. He had some clean air to try and speak with. “Where have you been?” That southern sass came out now that he was fully aware something was wrong. “I’m not one to pry where I shouldn’t” Madison liked his simple life where the only outrageous thing in his life was Thomas and …that was more than enough. “but we have a very serious project so if you’re not committed, say the word, I am more than happy to do it and put both of our names on the paper.” He started speaking, just say yes, was all he could think. Burr would give him the ok, he could leave and save himself anymore turmoil in one night. Aaron looked at him with eyes that were half lidded and empty, wetness gathered around the corners, his face still trying to keep that stupid smile in place while he said nothing. Madison was ready to leave, if Burr wasn’t going to give him an explanation or start working then he’d just go. Madison turned his body around when he heard Burr mumble. “…she’s gone…” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm so roughly Madison was concerned that he was going to push his eyeballs back into his sockets. James might have been without lust but he was not out of emotion. He sat down on the couch near the window letting the clean air cleanse his weak lungs. “Who?” He knew this look once before. Thomas had it after Martha died, tragic, now Thomas had problems keeping a real, meaningful relationship without having the guilt of Martha’s death drive him over the wall. James knew well how to combat grief. “My wife.” Madison looked side to side. “Y…you were married?” Not that it was unheard of, just…he never heard Burr mention the girl. When Thomas met Martha in high school it was nothing but Martha. Now that he was screwing Sally it was nothing but Sally. Hamilton often spoke warmly of his affections towards anyone he regarded close. Burr? Not once did he speak of a woman, not at lunch, not before, during or after class. Just…nothing. Come to think of it, now that Madison was getting a good look at Burr, he didn’t even see a wedding ring. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Burr looked up at Madison with a half smile, it was almost as sad as his wet eyes. “She left me.” “Oh …shit..” This was a miscalculation, abort, eject, and open the window more. “That…that’s rough.” Madison coined Jefferson’s comment from earlier; he was out of words to use. This was not good at, relationships… Seeing how it was hard for him to even begin one he had no idea how to mend one. “If this is a bad time maybe I should go…” “Go ahead…” He motioned towards the door. “Not like it stopped her…” Madison was about to move but suddenly something popped in Burr, like he couldn’t hold it anymore. He couldn’t just smile and keep quiet. “I waited for her, waited for her to come to me and she ups and leaves. Yes I’ve been busy; I’ve been working hard…and for what? Hamilton gets all the recognition in class. Jefferson is second, Washington barely even sees me. Here am I. I sit, and wait, and study and work hard and here I am…with nothing to show for it.” He placed his hand over his mouth and looked off beyond the line of his sight. He was watching his entire life, everything his parents left him, every ideal he ever built for himself trickle away into obscurity. Just as he felt like his world was finally crashing in on him he felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I thought you were leaving…” He tried to compose himself but Madison spoke now. “I know…” He nodded. “The feeling…I stand by Jefferson and you think anyone sees me? The man walks in his all magenta get up and makes himself louder than the opposition and forget if Hamilton is there. There is not getting a word in…so the spotlight doesn’t shine on us…that doesn’t mean we don’t do our part…that doesn’t mean you’re not important in there.” Madison took his hand back. “Washington always said work as though history has its eye on you. The difference you make…you’re making a difference Burr. When I started my first semester, Jefferson was gone. I took on a double major, I worked with Hamilton and wrote 29 different papers. I worked myself every day and night and one day I realized Hamilton wrote nearly double of what I did…and his stride wasn’t affected. His health was fine…me? I was riding the line of breaking down.” This was something he never told Jefferson. He didn’t want Thomas to feel like he couldn’t leave Madison alone, plus Martha passed…it was just the wrong time to be open with him. “When I saw him thriving like that and here I was miles behind barely breathing. I nearly lost it. I tossed my laptop out of a window, had a full break down, and cried it out. And I realized I was alone.” He sat down beside Burr. “it wasn’t easy…come out of it afterwards…it was a lot of telling myself little things at first like, maybe two majors is too much. Maybe working with Hamilton was too much, and comparing yourself. I started to remember the things that made me who I am. That with all the sick days I still manage to be an honor student. With all my allergies I managed to be alive. Out of all my siblings I’m the one at a prestigious university doing something that isn’t farming.” Madison smiled a little. “Remember the person you are, logically, of course there is always someone better…and perhaps waiting around and not taking action is not always the best but that is who you are. You’re still a prodigy…son of a genius, honor student not to mention you were Hamilton’s mentor for the beginning of the semester. Consider his success some of yours too…and…” He paused when he felt a little pressure on his shoulder. He glanced down and noticed Burr was leaning on him. Madison wasn’t sure what to make of this…he felt his face heat up a little. So this was comforting? Thomas didn’t like to be held when he was sad, he got aggressive took it out on whoever he was sleeping with. He’d only talk to James after he calmed himself. It was nice being needed…in a way James could relate to. He felt Burr shake against his shoulder. Cry it out, Madison thought to himself. He moved his body and adjusted himself so Burr was leaning on his broad, stout chest. Madison patted the back of his head. The room didn’t smell so foul…he wasn’t worried about the project anymore. “If you need someone to talk to…maybe not about your wife…but…other things. You have my number now and my address…feel free to call or drop by.” James felt Aaron nod his head slowly, he leaned on Madison for a bit longer, crying for minutes, nearly an hour straight. When he finally stopped, Burr felt strangely at ease. The weight he had learned to smile over was lifted for the first time, his body actually ached like it had been sore from carrying something. He also realized Madison was strangely comfortable for a short…and broad man. He was firm enough where he wasn’t being pushed by the weight of Burr’s body but soft where he almost sank into him like a pillow. Warm…and slight smell of menthol. “You smell like Vics.” Burr finally croaked in a voice thick from sobbing. “Its nice.” He chuckled softly and softly sighed. “This is nice…thank you for staying.” “Anytime Burr…” He held him. This was something he lacked, he craved to be held and needed in just this way. No strings, no teases, no wondering if he had to have that talk explaining himself. There was nothing to this, it was simple. He was here, Burr was here, they were here. “…seriously we need to work on the project. We have to finish.” It dawned on him he was here and nothing was being done. Aaron just laughed a bit and nodded. “I’ll get my laptop, stay the night. Its already pretty late.” He made a motion to get up. Something James didn’t like but staying the night…that was invitation he heard before. “The couch pulls out into a bed…here is a second room if you want that.”

Relief, Madison nodded. He watched Aaron walk away from him and come back with his laptop and a few of his papers. “Notes, we can work on a thesis and use notes as one of our references.” “Reasonable.” James nodded , he slid close to Burr working with him and his laptop building a mock political write up plan for their economics class. It went smoother than when he worked with Thomas. Burr listened, waited, he gave his input and encouraged things and the silence between them wasn’t awkward. Madison yawned a little, Burr followed with a louder one as they worked for a few hours. Somewhere between reading the notes and listening to Burr type, James was lulled to sleep by the sound of the clacking… Skip______ Morning rolled around and Madison, an early riser, stirred. He was laying on the couch horizontally. When he opened his eyes he found he was staring at the back of Burr’s head. He too was sleeping beside him, an inch or so of space. His face was glowing; he felt an intimacy in his heart. Not the kind Thomas talked about, he didn’t feel the need to whisk Burr away but to hold him again like last night and protect the older man from his own demons. James reached out and went to touch the back of Burr’s head when he got a whiff of the couch which absorbed most of the cigarette scent and sneezed. His eyes were huge with horror as Burr clearly tensed at the feeling of being sneezed on. Good work James. You just sneezed on a man. Burr turned his head and to his surprised he didn’t look offended, his eyes were half lidded with sleep and his smile soft, casual and unlike last night genuinely entertained. “That is one way to say good morning.” He sat up, stretching a bit. “Sorry…you feel asleep and I kept working. I must have fallen asleep too…you looked comfy…” He admitted and also admitting…Madison brought certain calm to his chest and mind he hadn’t known. He was afraid the thoughts would come back if he left Madison’s calm aura. James merely nodded and sat up slowly. “Breakfast?” “Excuse me?” James looked at Burr who was smiling a little wider at him. “Do you want breakfast, James?” James felt his heart flutter. Why? Because someone wanted to cook him breakfast, and someone wanted to be around him for the first time? Someone who wasn’t obligated by years of friendship? Yes. “I’ve got a delicate appetite…various allergies…eggs, gluten, lactose…certain fruits and sugars…” “Try me~” Burr’s voice took a playful tone that disarmed him. Madison sat there, cheeks glowing while Burr made his way to the kitchen. “Are you joining me in here?” He called out again and James immediately stood and joined him. _________________________________________ I had fun, this was fun. I really like Burr and Madison. Cute, anxious sidekicks.

:)<

First New Marvel X-Men Crossover Revealed

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Marvel announced the first major crossover of Jonathan Hickman’s Dawn of X era of X-Men. X of Swords will tie all the X-titles together in a ’90s throwback, 15-part crossover touching every single book in the line. 

“One of the cool things we are able to do now, because we’ve established the X-line and really know where we’re going, is that we’re able to try some different things out,” Hickman said in a statement. “X of Swords will be an old school crossover that meanders through the entire line. It’s almost like chapters of a story.”

Hickman, you’ll recall, reinvigorated the X-Men line with House of X and Powers of X. And like Powers of X, X of Swords is using the Roman numeral X as a sort of low-nerdy double entendre. Where Powers of X examined four time periods of exponential scales, X of Swords heavily implies a focus on the mystical (the Ten of Swords is a not great tarot card – it depicts a man lying face down on the ground with ten swords in his back), and the promotional artwork seems to hint at that being the case. 

As he did for HoX/PoX, Mark Brooks drew a pretty interesting promotional piece for X of Swords. Take a look, but be warned: Past the picture, there will be spoilers for most Dawn of X comics, as we try and look at who’s on the piece, and almost as importantly, what swords they’re holding.

Starting in the top left corner and moving clockwise:

Eye Boy, created for Jason Aaron’s underrated Wolverine and the X-Men and slated to appear as part of Leah Williams’ and David Baldeon’s X-Factor. That book has Trevor as a part of the team that investigates mutant deaths so the resurrection protocols can be initiated. He’s wielding some kind of eye sword.

Gorgon, the ex-Hand leader who once killed, resurrected and brainwashed Wolverine into being a Hand agent. Since joining the mutants on Krakoa, Gorgon was personally recommended by Logan to be one of the four Great Captains of Krakoa, responsible for the protection of the mutant ruling council when they leave the island. He’s holding the Godkiller sword that he’s carried since he was in Hickman’s Secret Warriors. The blade was created for Zeus but lost, and eventually made its way into Gorgon’s hands.

Next to him is John Greycrow, formerly one of Sinister’s Marauders, and slated to be a member of Hellions, an upcoming book from Zeb Wells and Stephen Segovia. Greycrow is a master marksman who honed his talents in war (originally World War II, but Marvel Time means his service dates have been moved up to Symkaria or something) and has technology powers. He’s carrying some kind of technological gunsword.

Below and to the right is Brian Braddock, formerly Captain Britain but now titleless (I believe) after ceding the Amulet of Right to his sister Betsy in Tini Howard and Marcus To’s magnificent Excalibur. He’s holding the Sword of Might, one of the two artifacts offered to potential Captains Britain. When captured and corrupted in Otherworld by Morgan Le Fay, Brian gave up the Amulet of Right to Betsy to help her stop Le Fay’s attack. He’s currently suffering through a crisis of confidence now that he’s left with only the sword. It also feels important that he’s textually not a mutant.

Below Captain Britain is Psylocke. This will stop being confusing in a couple of months – Kwannon (the woman who was body-swapped with Elizabeth Braddock back in the late ‘80s, then died of the Legacy Virus in Betsy’s old body) was resurrected during Wolverine’s return before HoXPoX. She was most recently in Fallen Angels running down ex-family and trying to kill Apoth, a self-aware AI drug dealer. Psylocke is carrying a fairly standard-looking sword. 

Above him is Rachel Grey, another member of X-Factor, carrying the Blade of the Phoenix, the Shi’ar sword used by the Death Commandos to wipe out her bloodline on Earth.

Below her is Charles Xavier, carrying the sword Magneto made for him out of the broken shards of the Cerebro helmet he was wearing when he was shot in the head in the pages of X-Force.

Next to him is Cable carrying a sword I recognize but can’t name at the moment. Cable is set to appear in his own book, from Gerry Duggan and Phil Noto, but has spent much of Dawn of X on family vacations with Cyclops, Jean Grey, Rachel Grey, his uncle Gabe, his dad’s boyfriend Wolverine, his dad’s other wife Emma Frost, and their island home’s estranged sister.

Above Cable is Doug Ramsey, Cypher. Doug was most recently running around Shi’ar territory trying to get to Chandilar to visit with Cannonball in Hickman and Rod Reis’ New Mutants. He’s back on Earth and back to functioning as Krakoa’s voice now. The sword he’s carrying looks like it’s a techno-organic extension of his arm, but it could also be his best friend, Warlock the Technarch, hiding from Cyclops. Confused? Go read X-Men #7.

Next to Cable and Cypher is Betsy Braddock, the newest Captain Britain. She is attacking with her telekinetic sword that’s a manifestation of her powers, and she’s dressed in her snazzy new Captain Britain uniform designed by To for Excalibur.

Next to Betsy is a yet-unnamed sidekick to Angel who’s set to appear in Vita Ayala and Bernard Chang’s Children of the Atom, starting in April.

Read more

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X-Men: Who are the Children of the Vault?

By Jim Dandy

Movies

Marvel Movies Release Schedule: Complete MCU Phase 4 Timeline

By Mike Cecchini

Down and to his right is Domino, sporting a fancy wooden stabbing sleeve crafted by Forge to heal the parts of her that were skinned by the Reavers to allow them to pass undetected through Krakoa’s defenses in early X-Force. 

Below her is Cyclops with a laser sword. You don’t need much more than that.

In the bottom right corner is Armor, Hisako Ichiki. She debuted in Joss Whedon and John Cassaday’s Astonishing X-Men, and has been a leader of that era of students since. She’s currently spreading the good word about Krakoa to mutants around the world in the pages of New Mutants.

To the left is Wolverine carrying the Muramasa blade. This sword cuts through anything and disrupts healing factors – it’s one of the few things that could potentially hurt Wolverine enough to kill him.

Next to Logan is Magik, Ilyanna Rasputin, carrying her Soulsword. More on this in a second, but Magik has most recently been in space with Cypher and the rest of the New Mutants, in her case trying to make out with all of the Shi’ar Death Commandos.

To Magik’s side is Storm carrying some kind of long lightning kunai.This is one of my favorite sentences of all time.

Below Storm is Nightcrawler, the first Pope of a new mutant religion (again, read X-Men #7, it’s bonkers) carrying a fancy looking rapier. Nightcrawler has always been modeled (and modeled himself) after Errol Flynn, and the rapier is a big part of that.

Next to Nightcrawler is Storm’s Marauders teammate Iceman, ready for some Stabbing…and…Chill…? I’m sorry, once I thought of it I had to type it.

And finally, above Iceman is Apocalypse, the man who ended the Bronze Age. Apocalypse is pictured here holding one of the jagged scimitars he was last seen carrying in a flashback told by Cypher about Krakoa’s ancient history. Krakoa was once Okkara, one big island, until an invasion from another plane forced Apocalypse to sacrifice his first Horsemen to seal off that invasion, and half of Okkara. Arrako, the sealed off sister island to Krakoa, reappeared in X-Men #2, and with it the daughter of one of the Horsemen. 

This was one of the most exciting dangling ideas from House of X and Powers of X. The fact that Dawn of X has been just as casually stuffed with new concepts and deep examinations of the changes wrought by Krakoa and the Five’s resurrection abilities, while also making time for fun superhero punch ups and picking up ideas that have been left on the ground by the introductory series is what’s making the X-Men line so exciting right now. 

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X of Swords kicks off in July.

The post First New Marvel X-Men Crossover Revealed appeared first on Den of Geek.

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Stephen Colbert Caps Comeback Year Hosting Emmys: "I Just Wanted to Do Jokes" (Q&A)

http://styleveryday.com/2017/09/11/stephen-colbert-caps-comeback-year-hosting-emmys-i-just-wanted-to-do-jokes-qa/

Stephen Colbert Caps Comeback Year Hosting Emmys: "I Just Wanted to Do Jokes" (Q&A)

The CBS host on his start in comedy, how Bill O’Reilly inspired his ‘Colbert Report’ character, David Letterman’s gracious handoff of ‘The Late Show’ and its comeback from a year-one fizzle: “I’ve allowed myself to become a pure performer.”

Just under two years ago, Stephen Colbert debuted as host of CBS’ The Late Show. And it hasn’t even been a year since sluggish ratings, an Emmys snub and a lack of buzz prompted some to begin writing off the onetime Comedy Central star whose Colbert Report had previously picked up two Emmys for variety series. His Late Show was so challenged that there even were whispers he’d be asked to swap time slots with James Corden.

What a difference a year — and a presidential election — can make. The Late Show (not NBC’s The Tonight Show) finished the season atop the late-night ratings for the first time in 22 years; The Late Show (not The Tonight Show) earned a series nom; and Colbert (not Corden) is set to host the Sept. 17 Emmy Awards, where The Late Show is also nominated for directing and writing (though both his series and Showtime election night special fell to the likes of Corden and Samantha Bee at the Creative Arts Emmys over the weekend).

In a wide-ranging August interview, Colbert kept his telecast plans close to the vest. But he spoke frankly about how he discovered comedy, the path that led him to Comedy Central’s The Daily Show and Colbert Report (led by a character modeled on Bill O’Reilly, “a well-intentioned, poorly-informed, high-status idiot”), that rocky first year on The Late Show (“I lost my mind!”) and the joy of becoming “pure performer.”

Below is an edited version of that conversation, which you can hear in full here.

You grew up in a large, observant Catholic family. How do you think you were shaped by that?

What is the role of religion in the life of the Colbert family? Where to begin? What is the role of marble in the shape of a statue? It was so important. On a certain pedestrian level, we went to church every Sunday, but we also said our prayers. Prayers every night. Prayers all the time. Offering it up to God, if there was something wrong, if you had some trouble. Well, Mom would say, “Offer it up. Offer it up. Whatever you’re suffering through right now.” She would say, “There’s another jewel in your crown, when you get to heaven.” Because we all have crowns when we get to heaven. We’d all say, “Oh, come on, that crown’s going to be so heavy when I get up there!” My mom made Halloween costumes of the saints, whatever your saint is — like Saint Stephen would wear rags and carry a stone because he was stoned to death. It was sort of infused in every aspect of our lives. My father was an intellectual. A real one, I believe. His idea of fun was reading French humanist philosophers, like Jacques Maritain. Christian Humanists. Faith was just enormous. My father and two of my brothers died when I was younger, and that brought home the needs of the faith. The faith served my mother and myself and my family in a profound way, because you’re faced with this enormous suffering.

How do you think you were changed by that tragedy?

I have said to myself more than once, “Gosh, I hope I live long enough to figure out what that did to me.” It’s almost like that event created a labyrinth in my mind, in which I could hide when I was younger. No one could find me if I went into the labyrinth of that experience, but I was also lost in there. Comedy was a relief. Every night for years, I played either George Carlin’s Class Clown or Bill Cosby’s Very Funny Fellow or Bill Cosby’s Wonderfulness or David Frye’s Richard Nixon: A Fantasy, Steve Martin’s Wild and Crazy Guy, Let’s Get Small… Comedy albums were the greatest drug. Religion is the opiate of the masses? Religion’s got nothing on comedy in terms of its opiate abilities. Comedy was my opiate. Comedy became… not my religion, but certainly, I heard a vocation there, like I wanted to be part of that. I wanted, in a way, without consciously knowing it, I wanted to be the person who made everybody feel better, and I saw comedy as a way to do it.

You started doing comedy professionally as part of Chicago’s Second City and later on the sketch show Exit 57, then The Dana Carvey Show, then a stint on Good Morning America, of all places. How did that happen — and how did that lead you to The Daily Show?

Somebody from ABC calls me and says “Hey, somebody from Good Morning America is going from the entertainment division to the news division,” because GMA had been entertainment. They said, “As we were metaphorically sort of handing over the keys, before we locked the door between the two divisions, somebody from news said, ‘Hey, is there anybody in entertainment who kind of looks straight, but could probably look like a reporter that we send out to do comedy pieces?’ And somebody said, ‘Stephen Colbert!’” I went over there, and they didn’t want me to be funny. They didn’t really want me to be funny. I did two pieces, and then they shot down 25 pitches in a row. But they had to pay me, so I was very grateful, because I could make rent.

While I was doing that, I got a call from my agent saying, “Do you want to go meet with The Daily Show? People are looking for correspondents.” I was like, “This is my career now? Now I’m a reporter?” I didn’t know anything about The Daily Show. This was before the first anniversary with Craig Kilborn. I watched it the night before I went. I didn’t like it. But I went over there and said I just loved it. I thought it was fantastic. The people there said, “Hey, so, you were a member of the Second City?” Yeah. “And you like, wrote and produced a TV show, a sketch show?” Yeah. “You were on The Dana Carvey Show?” Yeah. “And you’ve written for Saturday Night Live?” Yeah. “And now you’re a reporter for ABC News?” I go, “Yeah.” They were like, “You’re genetically engineered to do this job!” So I get the gig and I did that for a while, off and on. They weren’t thrilled with me.

You were also doing Strangers With Candy.

The third season of Strangers, I really wasn’t around there at The Daily Show, because it was really intensive and Paul Dinello and I were writing every word and breaking every story for Strangers. During that period, this guy named Jon Stewart took over The Daily Show. I knew Jon around from Short Attention Span Theater. My wife knew Jon, which was strange. When he got the gig, she was like, “What’s Jon Leibowitz doing up there?” She knew him back when he first came up to New York. His roommate dated her roommate or something like that, so he’s this quiet guy in the corner drinking an Amstel Light all the time. “He’s not funny. What’s going on?” So she knew him before I did. When I came back for the 2000 campaign, I remember the first day I really came back to the Jon show — I didn’t do much his first year — we hit it off immediately. I could feel that he was injecting the show with purpose. He invited us to put our own thoughts, to put our own feelings, to put our own editorial position in what we were doing. We weren’t widgets to him. We were creative partners. I realized immediately that I had kind of stumbled into the best possible job on TV, in the second greatest campaign of all time. We thought, at the time, “How could it possibly be stranger than this?”

So Indecision 2000 — was that the first introduction of the character Stephen Colbert?

In the ’90s, but specifically after 9/11, in the early aughts, punditry became this tremendous cash cow, because the nation’s whipped up into an emotional froth as it well should be, and punditry harvests emotion for profit. The folks at The Daily Show — I remember [co-creator] Madeleine Smithberg saying to me, like, “We want to do something that’s pundit-based and we think it should be you.” And so we started doing a commercial called “The Colbert Report” within The Daily Show. It was just an ad for a show that didn’t exist, called The Colbert Report, and I was “Stephen Colbert.” “Some people give you the truth, some people give you opinion, well, he’ll give you neither!” I forgot it was, something like, “It’s the no-fact zone!” That was when we first came up with the “no-fact zone,” and “Colbert: It’s French… bitch.”

And Bill O’Reilly was your primary model for the character?

Oh yeah, well he’s the king! If you’re going to model punditry, there were other people, like Aaron Brown, in a way, Anderson Cooper, bright as a shiny new penny, Aaron Brown, who would kind of like mull over the news and just have his moment of somewhat Ed Murrow-esque reflection on the day, but a little bit also adjunct professor of poetry, but there was no denying was O’Reilly. The number of words that could come out of that man’s mouth, and with seeming sincerity — I’ve never been able to figure out if O’Reilly meant what he said — over the years I have different levels of belief.

What were your personal feelings about this guy?

O’Reilly? I mean, I watched him professionally. I don’t think I would’ve watched him for pleasure. I watched him professionally, he was a model [for the character]. He just seemed like a bully. I don’t like bullies. I was bullied. Like a lot of people in comedy, I was bullied when I was younger, so he just seemed like a lot of bullies I knew growing up. It’s incredibly enjoyable to inhabit that skin, because then you just give yourself over. It’s sort of easy to improvise that person, because you are giving into your appetites, including your appetite to always be right, which is one of the greatest appetites. I really enjoyed him, because I really do think he’s a well-intentioned, poorly-informed, high-status idiot, which was my model.

So how did it become a show?


I really liked where [The Daily Show was] going with Jon, but I wanted to leave because there’s only so much I could do. Jon was always going to be the guy with the ball, and well he should be. There’s no greater runner. He’s the master, but I knew I could only do so much for him. It was a beautiful note, but only one note that I could do for him in his chorus of correspondents, and he wanted to do something with me. First, we pitched a show to NBC, which they bought the pilot idea — it would’ve been a good old sitcom — and then didn’t make the pilot. Then Comedy Central said, “Do you want to do a spinoff show of The Daily Show?” Jon and I talked about it and we said, well, “What about The Colbert Report?” We literally met for 45 minutes and — I have this page still on my Microsoft Word — and that page is just a scattering of words, but you look at it and go, “Oh yeah, that’s The Colbert Report.”

And the thesis was there from the start — truthiness, calling people out for their bullshit.

To be the bullshit. That was it. Everybody can smell bullshit. Our attempt was to manifest the turd. I am the turd in the punch bowl of our public discourse. That’s what I was trying to be. The thing we used to say is, “If you see something in politics or in entertainment or in the media, the closer it looks like me, the less you should trust it.”

You and Jon, separately and together, as much as you guys often like to downplay it, really became a primary source for a lot of people who maybe don’t consume traditional news media. When along the line did you realize that was the relationship a lot of people had with you and did it add a sense of responsibility on top of being funny?

I don’t want to speak for Jon, but I never heard him downplay, or I wouldn’t want to downplay, if people said they were informed by the work that I did. I think what I would say — and I think I’ve heard Jon say the same thing — is that we’re not downplaying where people got their information, but that’s not our intention. The information is there so that we can do the jokes on this information that’s very interesting to us. You can’t do these kinds of shows — The Late Show or the shows that I did before — without caring. Without giving a damn what you’re talking about. I mean, you can, but boy, that’ll get to pretty grinding work if you don’t have some emotional attachment to it. We’re running our jokes off of something that people care about and that is given a status of importance because it’s in the news. If people say that we influence them, that’s fine. I can’t dictate how people feel and what people get from the work that I did. I would only say that’s not the intention. Our intention or my intention and my responsibility always remains the same. It’s to tell jokes.

So it’s April 2014 and David Letterman announces he’s going to retire. How soon did you think, “I’m interested in this”?

Well, the very first thing I said to my agent [James “Baby Doll” Nixon] when I found out that they were making some overtures — it wasn’t a certain thing — was, “Baby Doll,” I said, “Baby Doll, the last thing I ever thought I’d do next is something harder.” And he said, “This won’t be harder! It’ll be easier. It’ll be easier, because you don’t have to do the character or anything like that.” Well. God bless him, he was wrong. It is a harder job. It is a harder job. But, as I said, I was wondering if they’d ever ask me. It was not my ambition, because I thought, I have always been something of a selective taste. I’m an acquired taste. That’s why cable seemed right for me. Do they really want to take a risk on me? On CBS? Because they know they’re higher, right? And Les was like, “No, this is what we want. We want to do something different.” My sister Mary was in town, and I was like, “Listen, I’ve got this thing, it’s all happening very fast, it’s possible.” And she just smiled. And I went, “Ugh! If I end up getting this gig, and this thing ends up being successful, somebody at CBS should send you flowers. I’m taking it because you just smiled.”

How was the handoff? Was Dave friendly, helpful, whatever?

He was so nice. Dave had always been really nice to me when I would come over. I was lucky enough to come on his show 10 times. A nice round number. Oh God, I always loved coming on! I’d go home and watch the show and just watch Dave’s face, to see, is he was really interested in what I was saying? Did I really make him laugh? That was a huge joy, if you could make Dave, for real, laugh. Really surprise him with a story. That was the greatest feeling in the world. So he’d always been really nice to me, and as soon as I got the gig and it was announced, he called me up. Actually, my assistant just found the transcript of our conversation. As soon as I got off, I wrote down everything that we said to each other so that I could remember it, and she found it the other day. Shortly before he left, I said, “Can I come talk to you?” And he’s like, “Sure.” I came over and I met him in one of these offices on this floor, and just had a couple bottles of water, and we sat there and talked and I asked him a ton of questions. He was extremely gracious about it. At one point, I said, “Do you mind me asking you all these questions?” And he said, “Nobody’s ever asked me these questions before.” And I said, “Really, never?” And he said, “Who would know to ask and who’d care what the answer is?” I was asking things about how to play this space and what his decisions have been — literally, “Why’d you put your desk there? Where do you put your producers? How do you deal with the balcony as opposed to the floor?” I’ve always thought that must be hard to deal with two separate audiences like that, because this theater is split up in a very interesting way, as I’ve discovered. “Where do you hide from your producers when you don’t want to be found?” That made him laugh. He was like, “I’ve got a great place for you and told me it later.” I haven’t used it yet.

You didn’t want a Late Show showrunner at first.

Absolutely. Why would I need a showrunner? I ran my old show. I’ll run the new one.

So eventually what made you recognize the need?

I lost my mind! What are you talking about? I couldn’t sleep at night, because A) clearly, aesthetically, or in terms of having an editorial intention, the show was not coalescing. People didn’t know what they were going to get. They didn’t know what it was about, because neither did I. I’d thrown out the baby with the bathwater in trying to be my character. I also threw out, kind of, my interests, which led to the character, which was politics, or just what happened today? What is the conversation that’s happening today?

What were you doing instead?


I don’t know. Very light, small stories. Maybe one big story, but we weren’t telling it in a story form. Just a couple of jokes and then we’d move on. Whereas, what we really are, as my exec Tom keeps reminding me, “Well, we’re storytellers!” We can’t just do one joke. We want to tell the story to the audience of why we even wanted to tell one joke about this thing, or why it’s interesting. It might be something that is the conversation. But also, we came to this realization that we’re not there at the old show because, I don’t know, we were often not doing the story that Jon did that night. We were doing other stories or stories with a little bit of a longer build to them, like more long-read kind of stories. We had to inform the audience a lot. We were breaking news to the audience unintentionally. Here, we learned that that’s not the job. Really, what works in one of these shows — at least, in my experience — is I’m going to talk to you about the thing you’ve already been talking about today and we’re going to give you our take on this thing that everybody’s been talking about, to give you some context, and maybe calm you down about it. That took a long time for for us to figure out, and we didn’t have the time or the space to figure that out until Chris Licht came on. Until I had an honest-to-God showrunner.

April 2016, you now have a showrunner, so you can focus more on the comedy?

Purely. Our deal was, he said, “Any moment you’re not thinking about comedy, I’ve failed.” And I said, “Let’s shake on it. You want the job?” You can boil down a two-hour conversation to that sentence. It’s a deal.

Last year, you were not an Emmy nominee; this year you’re an Emmy nominee, your primary competition has flipped and people can’t seem to get enough of it. How are you different?

I hope so. I’ll tell you, there’s a lot of things that have changed. I have an even deeper respect for Kimmel and Fallon and Conan and the people who came before us. I always respected their comedy, but I really respect them professionally. I didn’t know what they were doing until I got here. I’m in awe of a guy like Dave, doing 32 years, or Kimmel — what is Kimmel, now, 17 years? 15 years. Like that. I’ve always been friends with those guys. In late night now, people get disappointed that there isn’t a feud, but now I actually have a deeper respect for all of them than I did before. I’ve learned to trust my staff, because, being a control freak is mild form of distrust, if you know what I mean. Doing the live shows — we’ve done 17 or so over the past year — made me trust the staff and goddamnit, they’ve just killed it. They’ve done a fantastic job. I so admire what they’ve achieved and how the show now is far more bottom up, how they bring the ideas. I’m so grateful for the work that they’ve done. I’ve allowed myself to become sort of a pure performer now. I don’t try to produce the show in my head. People ask me, what’s going to happen today? I say, I just work here. I’ve been able to let go of the reins of control to — I don’t know if I can say to a large degree, that’s for someone else to say — but for me, it feels like an enormous degree. I walk into a meeting and Chris might say to me, “You’re not part of this meeting.” I go, “OK, I’ll leave,” which I think was a shock to people, because there was no meeting I was not in before. For years, for a decade. Letting go and just enjoying being on stage with the audience. That’s kind of where I realized why I took this job. I wanted to change as a performer. I wanted to change what my responsibilities were on a daily basis. I just wanted to go out there and do jokes for people. They might be about things, like I said, people think aren’t significant, but I want to go out there and do jokes for people. I want to go out there and be interested in my guest. The last two years has allowed me to do that. I could not do that for that first year. Chris gave us the space to do it, and then me trusting my staff allowed me to let go and just be the guy on stage. That’s the only way I could reveal myself, I could be myself for the audience.

And are you enjoying it more?

Oh, I love it! I love this job. I couldn’t love it more. This feels, right now, like the first year of the old gig. There’s a sense of excitement, and I hope, I hope that is throughout the whole building, that people feel like they’ve created something new, that wasn’t here a year ago and they paid their dues in that first year. It was hard on everybody. It’s just as hard if no one’s watching. 

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