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jerzwriter · 2 years

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Sunday Six - 11.13.2022

I'm going to attempt to get all this in before their wedding day next Saturday. Someone give me a high-five!

Here are some sneak peeks of the fics that will be posted in the days to come. They include planning, meltdowns, family drama if I have time for that one, a bridal shower, a secret elopement, a bachelor/bachelorette party.... and then the big day.

I know wedding fics are usually diabetes-inducingly sweet - and this will have sweet moments for sure - but it's Tobias and Casey - so it's going to be a lot of fun and laughter too. I hope you enjoy it!

More Below...

Wedding Plans Part 2: "Stress-free, you say?"

"Tobias, five people have RSVP'd no," Vivian started. "I think that's a sign we should invite the Fosters."

"No."

"You said the wedding was a maximum of 90-people, and now, we're at 85, so what's the big deal if...."

"Ma, we've made this clear. If it's not someone we could call at 2:00 AM if we were stuck on I-95, they shouldn't be there."

His mother shook her head in disgust. "Well, if that's the criteria that we're using, perhaps I shouldn't be there."

"You wouldn't come to get us?" he asked with raised brows.

"Casey, yes. Without question. You. It's debatable."

Wedding Plans 3: Detour

"He gave us the time off!"

"He did!" Tobias beamed. "Now, all we have to do is pack."

Casey stood in the bedroom, still too shocked to be very useful. Everything that had happened during the past three hours seemed surreal, but Ethan agreeing to the two of them being off for two days at a moment's notice was the most surreal of all.

"You told him why!" She accused.

"I did not! I just told him everything was fine, but we needed some time."

She shook her head in disbelief, "He doesn't like you that much," she insisted. "He did this for me. He likes me... you... he finds somewhat conceited and annoying."

Tobias shot her an exasperated look as he tossed a pair of underwear into his suitcase. "Case...that's a ringing endorsement. You do understand you're marrying me... right?

Wedding Plans: Use Soap...A Bridal Shower

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to get all those made on such short notice!" Bryce complained. "I had to promise Monica several raunchy favors for her to agree."

"We thank you for your sacrifice," Tobias saluted.

"All for this!" Jackie barked. "It's a stupid gift, Bryce. It serves no purpose!"

"Au contraire mon frere! They serve as a warning!"

Wedding Plans: Stags & Does

"Absolutely not!" Ethan insisted as a flabbergasted SIenna looked on.

"And why not? What's wrong with Scampo?"

"Nothing, it's a wonderful venue. But they don't have an opening until 9:00 PM, and that's far too late for Casey."

"Too late for what?"

"To be awake, she needs her rest. "

"I hate to tell you this, Ethan, but I talk to Casey when she's at home... and she's up beyond 9:00 PM on school nights."

Ethan turned to Sienna, a look of shock mingled with hurt on his face. "She lied to me!" Pulling a small notepad from his pocket, he scribbled a few notes. "We'll be speaking later."

Wedding Plans: Practice Makes Perfect

"No," Tobias shook his head, his jaw clenched shut. "I'm not about to let him ruin the best day of my life... the best day of Casey's life. He made his choice, and now... he's going to have to live with it."

"Your right," Ethan agreed, handing his friend a glass of his finest Scotch. "It is the biggest day of your life. And you won't want to look back on it with regret."

"So you're saying just forget everything? Make like nothing happened?"

"No," he placed a steady hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm saying you don't want to look back on this day with regret. Use your head, Tobias. That's what Casey would tell you to do."

Wedding Plans: Spend My Life With You

Tobias sighed with relief as he heard nothing but silence on the other side of the curtain. No crying, no heavy breathing, just beautiful, peaceful... silence.

"You OK over there, baby?"

"Yes," Casey breathed. "I feel much better. But do you think this is bad luck?"

"What? Me being here? Casey, first, I can't see you, and second," he stopped to make sure no one was listening from outside the room. Once reassured, he stepped closer to the curtain and whispered out of the side of his mouth. "we're already married, Casey."

"OK," she sighed, "So you still want to go through with this then. You don't want to back out."

"Casey! We're already married!"

"Tobias..."

"Ah, shit. I know. That was loud."

#cfwc sunday six #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #tobias carric x f!mc #tobias x casey #IT'S WEDDING WEEK!!!!!!

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kc-the-writer · 14 days

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26 November 1776

"Here we are, Gentlemen. Are you ready?" With a solemn gesture, Bradford nodded to the imposing brick home before him, his hands clasped together in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting cold. Despite the frigid temperature, his body was consumed by an anxious warmth from within. As he stood there, gathering thoughts and courage, he couldn't help but wish he had a trusty pair of gloves to keep his fingers from going numb. Still, he found himself thankful to feel the cold at all. "You gents, knock on the black door up front. Keep the Major speaking as long as you can. Ask him about his greatest battle stories or the scar on his lip if you have to. If the maid answers, request to speak with the Major directly."

With a nod, Marc shifted in his large riding boots, praying they would not fall off if he needed to flee the Major's home. If he had been graced with another pair of socks to make the shoes fit better, he wondered if he would feel just as nervous about the meeting ahead. Reaching out, he rested his arm on Bradford's shoulder; he couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with his friend, both of them united in their discomfort and determination to face the task ahead. "The question, mon frere, is, are you ready?"

Bradford watched with nervous anticipation as bright white smoke billowed from the cellar chimney and into the blackened sky. Without a moment's hesitation, Bradford sprang into action, jumped over the hedge row, and sprinted towards the cellar where Constance would be hard at work. His heart pounded with each of his long strides through the garden. As he approached the door, the sound of the fire crackling and the distinct aroma of burning wood reached his nose. With a firm push, he swung open the door, and his senses were engulfed in a warm embrace of heat. Connie was diligently stoking the flames, her face flushed with the effort.

"Bradford!" Immediately dropping the rosehips and thyme into a pile on her workbench, Constance pulled herself free of her work and apron in her rush to greet him. Her own cheeks glowed pink from the warmth of the fire. Pressing deeper into his embrace, she savored the cool relief of his skin against hers. "Oh, how I have missed you!"

Bennie stood nervously in front of Major Forsythe's house, his hand poised to knock on the door. The Major was known to be a strict and stern officer, and his reputation preceded him. Bennie took a deep breath and knocked on the door. As the door opened, Bennie was greeted by the Major's icy stare. The young man felt a chill run down his spine. The major stood tall, his broad shoulders and stern expression making him appear even more imposing. Bennie tried to keep his composure as he introduced himself. He stumbled over his words, unsure of how to proceed. "Major Forsythe," he began, "What an honor to meet you. My name is Private Benjamin, and this is my associate... Marc." He trailed off, realizing he had no idea what to say without Bradford and his skill for lies. The Major's expression remained unchanged, and Bennie could tell that he was not impressed. "We are raising money to support smallpox," Bennie said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. The major's eyes narrowed, and he looked at Bennie as though he were a bug that needed to be squashed. Bennie felt his heart pounding in his chest, unsure of what the Major's reaction would be.

As Bennie stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say next, Marc stepped in. "To support the victims of smallpox, of course," he said confidently. "Nobody is in favor of smallpox. We aren't cretins. Surely, you have seen how the disease runs rampant on the prison ships. It is a shame to have so many of your best men running the ships and exposed to the horrors and the potential of contracting such a rotten lot as smallpox. Might you have something to spare for those who have taken ill?"

Bennie and Marc's faces fell with disappointment as the Major let out a grunt and revealed that his contribution would be made through the church. Although they had hoped for a more direct donation, they acknowledged the Major's stance. "We sincerely appreciate you taking the time to meet with us, Major," Bennie replied with politeness and took a step back from the door.

As they turned to depart, Marc pleaded to the Major, "But sir, think of the orphans!"

"Thank you for sharing your concern for the orphans, gentlemen," the Major replied with a hint of empathy in his voice. "As an orphan myself, I understand how important it is to have support and guidance during difficult times," he scratched at his scar and glanced to the garden where Constance was hard at work. "Hell, I nearly orphaned my girl a time or two. Please, allow me a moment to retrieve a coin or two," he said, stepping away from the door.

Rising to her tiptoes, Constance pressed her lips to Bradford's, melting the chill from the November night. She lingered, feeling the heat return to his skin as he held her in the solitude of her cellar laboratory. "Now, Bradford. Tell me, what brings you to my cellar so late at night?"

Licking his lip as though it had been covered in the honey next to the boiling kettle, Bradford tried to recall why he and his mates had made the journey downtown to the townhome. His mind raced at the sight of her, watching and waiting, a grin spread across his face. "You were on my mind, but I knew your father would be home. Little does he know, I have skilled recruits of my own," he chuckled, pulling her closer. "I am here to speak to you regarding the future. Can we sit by the fire?" He shuddered, knees weak as he spoke.

Constance nodded and pulled a stool to the fireplace, ushering Bradford to sit. "Please, let me take that dreadful coat. I cannot speak of a future with you dressed as a soldier. Soldier's futures are always so precarious. You, Bradford, you will be certain yours is not. Tell me your grand scheme," she insisted as she took her seat on his knee.

"You see, I have no plan for my future. No plan but to make you happy. I have no ring to offer you. No symbol of my love and devotion. But I have love and devotion to offer to you now and for the rest of my days. The name I have is not my own, but I will share it with you and someday with our children if you will allow me to. I have nothing to give but myself, Connie, but I offer all of me."

Upon the Major's return, he presented Marc with a modest contribution, which Marc happily accepted. Upon weighing the piece of silver, he couldn't help but express his disappointment; glancing sadly at the Major, he pouted. "Oh, but sir. Think of the widows."

The Major's brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, looking down at Marc with a fierce expression, bearing his teeth. "I thought you said it was for the orphans," the Major said in a stern tone. Marc couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, unsure of how to respond to the Major's accusation.

Incapable of leaving Marc in trouble, Bennie found his voice once more and addressed the Major directly, "Yes, sir. For the widowed orphans, sir. It's a real shameful situation."

Reclined on a pile of linen she found herself eager to rewash before Verity caught sight of them; Constance dragged her fingertips along Bradford's once-broken ribs, taking the time to appreciate each faded bruise with a gentle kiss. Watching happily as his expression changed when she traced the pearlescent scars down his arm as they glowed in the firelight, she realized he had retained all sensation despite the depth of his burns. Impressed with herself, her gaze rose to his deep brown eyes as she grinned. "I must say, I did very well for my first time."

Running his hand through his dark and sweat-saturated hair, he heaved a heavy sigh in agreement. "You did, indeed," his elated daze apparent in his reply.

He was pulled from the stupor of the afterglow by a sharp elbow to his side. "I meant in tending to your burns, you scoundrel! Healing your arm was my first real success. I had always made teas to sell, and my customers were quick to tell me they were delicious. Yes, I had heard once that my salves prevented saddle sores, but that was only through gossip that Verity collected from the other maids. My father would not allow me to try to fix his scars. So, you see, it was only after you that I tested my tinctures," she explained, pulling a clean sheet over herself from the pile of laundry the two had fallen into.

Stunned, Bradford turned to the beautiful and brilliant woman at his side, "You mean to say that you experimented on me?"

"You lived," Constance shrugged before nestling deeper into the linen and her lover's embrace. "And were there any lasting side effects to speak of?"

Bradford thought back to the nights he had spent since leaving her care. Little had changed with his arm, and progress may have been the only constant since the day he was sent away. "Not unless it was a love potion," he sighed, tugging at the thin sheet over her chest.

"It was simply turmeric root and lavender buds. Why? Do you feel bewitched?" Constance asked, nose wrinkled and eyes sparkling in the firelight.

"Absolutely," Bradford groaned, pulling her close enough to plant a kiss on her freckled forehead.

The silence of the night was broken when Bennie and Marc began playing God Save the King on the tin whistle at the Major's door. A sure sign the two had run out of distractions and lies. While it grew obvious that they were not musically inclined, the song, off-key and discordant, sounded like a cry of retreat for the motley duo. Bradford knew his friends could not distract the Major forever.

Sharing a giggle, Bradford dressed and aided Constance back into her corset and apron before slipping out into the garden. Turning back to the door for one last kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers. "After Saturday, nothing but death shall part us again."

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libidomechanica · 7 months

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Untitled Composition # 10511

When my pasture of immortal love go to the last; and kene. And his rave, thine hem bi hor dear, get I nolde were wrang,

in work divineness. No men and of sense and loud of aquoyntauncelot, sesounz vpon erþe, þat al lykes þat biseke!

Too simple taught back on þat, for his chime, than a gentle mine what lone like teaspoon toold his sely in þere. And

meke, and layk and saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! As virtue discrecious for to given admire, two people truth sauered

in fourth, deface and þenne, þay be to saints, because through in teche of her sengel, all my list. Sits of þy bon, he worre

harde telle. She startled bot on might thus of innoghe of ryȝt bifore me, looping, madman, and felawe. I governesse,

bi þe derk nyȝtez. But alle me who redden hors waterwawed. He first ye shul other knyȝt he scrapine,

false in her neuer, bot such a hwe meré mantyle, and meant; but a faught I stead! For hit arn note ryched; hope yow

forsake, whan the Frere wolde we wander of Hell thy white. But when we wilde fyr better, bitwene to wise-valiance I schapes

best of þat mon his dynt þat cheuicauncelot, in among time welde, and watz fremed ful soft hast thou wonderly

watz semez, lurkkez and thrifty clomben bi crafter which daliaunce noble! And wyth her, to your hair was our Titless

for al swich estee, and þe dale ful bysily, and ruȝe know. How must could be hapnest of þe placed, an’ twenty, Tam.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #142 texts #ballad

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

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Klaine one-shot “Sunday Morning Donuts” (Rated NC17)

Summary: When their favorite donut shop runs out and closes up for the day, a GrubHub driver with loose lips leads Santana and Mercedes to Kurt and Blaine's door, where they unknowingly interrupt a Sunday morning tradition. (1472 words)

Read on AO3.

Knock-knock-knock.

…

Knock-knock-knock.

…

BANGBANGBANGBANG!

“Kurt! Blaine! Open this door! We know you’re in there!” Santana yells, slamming on their thick metal door with her fist. Down the hall, a neighbor rolls their door open a slit and grumbles loudly: “Can you please keep it down? There are people trying to sleep!”

“No!” Santana snaps, not looking their way. “This is an emergency!”

Mercedes, more concerned about not causing problems between Kurt, Blaine, and their neighbors, says, “We’ll try to keep it down. Right, Santana?”

But Santana ignores them both and slams on the door harder. The older woman mutters, “Bitch,” under her breath and closes her door with a fairly substantial slam.

“Only in New York,” Mercedes says, figuring that poor old lady is probably thinking the same thing.

“One minute, one minute, hold on!” Kurt bellows, voice sliding up in pitch. “I’m coming!”

“Well don’t take all day about it!” Santana yells with her lips an inch from the seam between the wall and the door. “We’s got some serious business to discuss!”

“Yeah, yeah …” Kurt’s voice flutters, sustaining what sounds like a prolonged yawn. After that, the loft goes quiet. Santana glues her ear to the door. She hears Kurt groan, strained and labored, followed seconds later by angry footsteps marching towards her. The heavy door shakes and rumbles as Kurt pushes it open. Dressed in what might be only a robe, he leans against the frame, looking from Santana to Mercedes with arms crossed.

He doesn’t even try to say hello first.

He knows he won’t get it out in time.

“Where are they!?” Santana demands.

“Good morning, ladies,” Kurt says, rubbing his eyes. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Don’t play asleep with me! I know you have them! Which means you’ve been up a while! A half hour at least!”

“At least …” Kurt mimics.

“Have what?” Blaine asks, trundling up behind his husband in the same exhausted state.

“Donuts!”

Kurt’s face pinches. “It’s Sunday morning! The majority of the country is probably eating donuts! That doesn’t mean that we have any!”

“Au contraire, mon frere! I happen to have it on good authority that you guys ordered two dozen gourmet donuts from the Donut Pub and had them delivered via GrubHub! The last two dozen before they closed up shop for the day!”

Kurt’s eyebrow arches sharply. “And how would you know that?”

“We were on line to buy some,” Mercedes explains. “We were right about to order when they said they were out. Santana saw a GrubHub driver heading to his car …”

“… and I stopped him. Asked him what was up and he told me. I tried to buy a few donuts off him, but he wouldn’t give ‘em up.”

“Well, good for him for doing his job,” Kurt says smugly.

“Yeah, but, for five bucks, he told us where he was going,” Mercedes sheepishly admits. Kurt and Blaine both gasp.

“What!? That’s … that’s … that’s got to be against some kind of company policy!” Blaine exclaims.

“And after I gave him a ten dollar tip, too!”

“Why would he do that!? The two of you could be serial killers!”

“Which means …” Santana interrupts, trying to bring the conversation back to the subject of her lack of pastry “… you guys are either both off your diets, or you’re having some sort of breakfast party …”

“Kinky breakfast party …” Mercedes snickers, looking the robe-clad men up and down.

“… and you didn’t invite us!”

Blaine shoots Kurt a look – a worried look, Mercedes notices. Kurt shakes his head, his mouth drawn into a tight and unamused line. “As unlikely as both those scenarios are, no. There is no party. Just me, my husband, and the last of the donuts,” Kurt gloats, leaning in to Santana’s face when he does.

“But why two dozen?” Mercedes asks. “That’s a lot of donuts for the two of you.”

“Donut Pub gives you a discount on delivery via GrubHub if you spend a certain amount,” Blaine says. “Otherwise, you’re spending the same, just getting less donuts.”

“So we get what sounds good,” Kurt puts in, “and whatever we don’t eat, I take to Vogue.”

Mercedes looks at Santana and shrugs. “Sounds reasonable.”

Santana huffs. “Don’t care. I still wants me some donuts, and I’m not leaving here till I get some!”

Kurt glares at her, then looks over at his husband and sighs. He could say no. Could slam the door in their faces and go on with his life, but that would mean punishing one of his best friends in the world for something that was probably only Santana’s idea. Besides, Santana wouldn’t leave. She would plant herself on the floor in front of their door and yell obscenities in English and Spanish until they gave her what she wanted. Even if they ate all the donuts (which, thank God, they haven’t) they’d have to order more from somewhere else just to get her to shut up.

He’s not going through that again.

“Glazed?” he asks, staring at her with all the venom of a brown recluse. “Powdered? Filled?”

Santana smiles and Kurt hates it. That tiny twist of victory makes him seethe, makes him want to grab every donut they have and grind them in her face. But in her sick mind she’d still see it as a win since she’d have all the donuts (wearing, more accurately) and he’d have none.

“I saw them pack your order. I know for a fact that you have the crème brulee, the salted caramel, the raspberry cremes, the cinnamon toast crunch, the Belgian dark chocolate, and the lavender and chai tea.”

“Yeah?”

“We want one of each.”

Kurt looks at Blaine again and, after a significant moment, nods. Blaine pulls a face of annoyance, but also acceptance. There’s no winning this one.

Not unless they consider moving.

“One moment,” Blaine says, voice dripping with fake politeness as he turns and walks back into the loft. Kurt flashes Santana a toothy grin-mace while Mercedes mouths, ‘Sorry,’ behind her back.

Blaine comes back moments later with a brown paper bag cinched at the top and hands it over.

“There you go,” he says in a sourly-sweet voice. “One of each.”

“Let’s hope they don’t go straight to your thighs,” Kurt adds.

Santana smirks, snatching the bag out of his hand. “Thick thighs save lives.”

“Good bye, Santana,” Kurt says, pulling the door closed.

“What? You’re not even going to invite us in for coffee?” Santana teases.

“No.”

“Let’s go, Tana.” Mercedes grabs the bag out of her hands and heads towards the stairs. “Let’s leave them be. You got what you wanted.”

Kurt rolls the door shut, throws the bolts, then rests his back against it, listening as Santana chases Mercedes, and her donuts, down the hall. When her voice dissolves down the staircase, Kurt looks at Blaine.

Blaine looks at Kurt.

The two of them sputter.

Then they start laughing.

“God, I hate her!” Kurt chokes out, only half joking.

“It’s a good thing the guy from GrubHub gave us the heads up that he was being harassed!”

“Yeah, but I’m still not thrilled that he told.”

“True,” Blaine agrees. “Maybe we’ll go with Postmates next time. We’ll put in the notes that they’ll get tipped extra for leading any potential stalkers astray.”

“Like that would work! Santana’s part bloodhound, I’m sure of it!” Kurt shakes the last of the laughter out of his chest, then fixes dark, bedroom eyes on his husband. “You still good to go?”

Blaine’s laughter peters in his throat as he meets his husband’s gaze with a sultry one of his own. “Absolutely. Who goes first this time?”

“I think … you.” Kurt grins, down to take charge, siphon back some control after the b.s. that just took place.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” Blaine unties his robe and lets it fall to the ground, leaving him naked and hard, the way they had been before Santana started banging at their door. They walk to the kitchen, and Blaine sits in his favorite chair.

“Crème Brulee?” Kurt asks, fingers dancing over the remaining donuts, some half eaten, partially violated, waiting, as Blaine is, for their chance to be devoured completely. “Belgian Dark Chocolate?”

“The Crème Brulee, I think.” Blaine settles in, legs spread, his impatient erection bobbing at the thought of the sweet way his husband is about to go down on him, of how long it takes to eat these particularly dense confections.

Kurt slips the hole of the donut over Blaine’s flushed head, careful not to crack the icing, then slides the ring slowly down his husband’s shaft, watching it travel with watering mouth and hungry eyes. “Excellent choice.”

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #frankie writes

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calamity-bean · 5 years

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ignoring all possible events to come in American Gods—who do you think Sweeney actually likes or could be friends with? I've been going over things and I feel like he and Anansi or Mr. Ibis could be great friends

Interesting question! This is one of the things I loved about 2.05, actually: I think Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte really set the bar for what friendship looks like for Sweeney. I’d gotten so used to watching other Old Gods (especially Wednesday) exclude him, insult him, treat him as lesser than, and then suddenly we meet Samedi and Brigitte, and they… are happy to see him?? Clearly have a positive history with him, enjoy spending time with him, think he’s sexy, think he’s good company, are willing to try and help Laura for him?? Instead of insults, suddenly it’s all, “I love you, brother! Sweeney Fou! Mon frere! Mon amour!” And sure, Sweeney doesn’t completely trust them, and sure, they require payment and are willing to fuck with his and Laura’s heads a bit… But I still got the impression that they all legitimately enjoyed each other, not as tools in a war but simply as people. What a lovely change of pace!

As for other characters… I think I gotta disagree on Anansi, as he doesn’t seem to think much of Sweeney when they see each other in 2.01 (essentially saying Sweeney smells like bullshit) and is probably too much in cahoots with Wednesday for Sweeney’s liking. Laura is such a complicated, romantic relationship that it’s difficult to discuss in terms of just “liking” her or being “friends,” but they do make a great team when they’re at their best, and I think one of the specific things he likes about her is her fiestiness / fighting spirit. In a similar vein, I reckon part of why he gets along with Brigitte and Samedi is because they, like Sweeney himself, are very passionate people —the sort who like to drink, to make love, to get their blood pumping, to raise a little hell and have a great time doing so.

But I think he can appreciate quieter people as well. Vague minor spoilers for 2.07 in case you haven’t watched, but Bilquis and Ibis both show him gentleness and kindness this episode, and he responds relatively kindly in turn, which is nice. And despite constantly giving him SUCH a hard time, I think this ep even shows that Sweeney has a bit of a soft spot for Salim.

There’s one other character dynamic I’m tempted to mention, but I’ve been working on a whole post on it re: 2.07, so I won’t get into that yet. But in short, I think Bilquis, Ibis, and Salim are all relationships with potential… if only Sweeney could, like, stop being such an asshole and learn how to open up and be nicer / more amicable, ahaha.

#american gods #mad sweeney #ag meta #my meta #op #Anonymous #asks

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fourthseal · 5 years

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6) things you said under the stars and in the grass

things you said meme / @spaacemonkey

Being in the mansion again is weird. Being here without Reginald breathing down his neck is even weirder. Klaus keeps expecting the old bastard to pop out from behind a curtain somewhere and shout boo. It’s like the worlds shittiest, most drawn-out haunted house where Klaus knows the jump-scare will come eventually, but not exactly when. He’s out in the gardens smoking a blunt and looking at the stars. Light pollution has chased most of them away but he’s high enough that he doesn’t really care, it’s still beautiful. Ben hasn’t been around all day and at this point Klaus isn’t sure if it’s because he’s mad about the overdose last night, or because he’s just too high for even his brother’s ghost to manifest right now. He would feel bad about it, if he wasn’t so thankful for the peace and quiet. He did try to conjure Reginald earlier, sort of, but if Luther or any of the others think Klaus is going to put any actual effort into summoning the old man they have another thing coming. Murdered or no, Klaus ran away years ago for a reason and he doubts death has softened the bastard any. Besides even if Luther’s right and he was murdered, it’s not like he didn’t have it coming.

The silence is broken by the sound of footsteps coming towards him and Klaus looks over his shoulder, throws a clumsy smile Luther’s way when he figures out it’s him. Maybe he should be a bit less enthusiastic to see his brother given how today has gone, but holding a grudge feels too much like hard work. Besides, Ben will be over the moon when he hears that statue is finally gone-he always hated it.

“Bonsoir mon frere, tu vas bien?” his voice sounds loud in the quiet night, but he likes to think the French softens it. Of all the classes Reginald forced Grace to give them, Klaus always loved languages the most. Maybe if he’d had a normal childhood he would have become a translator or something, but he doesn’t like to dwell too hard on the what ifs, not while he’s high and the moon is out anyway. Speaking of the moon, his head lolls towards Luther and he smiles again, gesturing upward and leaving a trail of smoke from his blunt as he does so.

“Crazy to think you were, y’know, up there. Everyone always says I’m the high one but you really went and put me to shame huh?” he laughs, even though it wasn’t a very good joke and lets his gaze fall back to the stars. Klaus has always been jealous of Luther over a whole range of things, but the thought of getting to hang out on the moon is perhaps the thing he coverts most. It must have been so peaceful, so beautiful, even someone like Klaus can appreciate that and besides-there’s no ghosts on the moon. Probably, unless aliens have died up there which is something he will talk to Ben about whenever he turns up. He reaches into the grass beside him, pulls out a bottle of dad’s finest whiskey and raises it in a small toast. It burns going down, and Klaus laughs again before settling into silence for a while.

“I missed you,” he says eventually, because it’s true, and he’s high, and his dad died today so hell if he’s not sentimental now then when? “I know we never really did the whole hanging out thing but-it was nice knowing you were around y’know? Can’t really call or swing by for a visit on the moon.” as much as he’d usually hate to admit it, Luther being in the mansion has always been something of a safety net for Klaus. It meant even if he’d died out on the streets alone there’d at least be someone around to id his body. Loosing that had fucked him up much more than he’d expected or will ever admit.

The moment passes and Klaus struggles unsteadily onto his feet. Dad’s box of crap fetched quite a sum earlier and there’s a bag of pills in his pocket demanding to be taken. Usually he’d just take them right here in front of Luther and be damned with the consequences or argument, but the poor sod is the only one of them who Klaus thinks ever really came close to loving dad-he’s certainly the only one who will be grieving. Best to leave him to it. Stomping out the remains of his joint Klaus gives Luther a pat on the shoulder. “Stay strong big man,” he says cheerfully, blowing a kiss before going off to find somewhere to get thoroughly fucked up.

#spaacemonkey #&&. goodbye (answered)#drugs tw #alcohol tw #death tw

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junker-town · 4 years

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Common’s 27 NBA All-Star Game introduction rhymes, ranked

Photo by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images

Every all-star got one. They were not created equally.

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27. The three-point range from the lane / He’ll give you a dosage / From the Denver Nuggets / Two-time all-star, the Joker, Nikola Jokic

A dosage of what? Why is it the three-point range from the lane instead of “From the three-point range TO the lane.” How can you possibly pass off “dosage” and “Jokic” as an actual rhyme? Does Common think the “c” in “Jokic” is silent?

This isn’t as bad as Nikola Djokovic, but it’s pretty close.

26. He may not talk a lot / But on the court he gives a clinic / A four-time all-star / From the LA Clippers, Kawhi Leonard

This doesn’t even come close to rhyming.

25. We knew he’d be an all-star / From everything he’s shown us / From the Indiana Pacers / Domantas Sabonis

You can tell Common was like, “Man, what the hell am I supposed to say about Domantas Sabonis?”

24. The reigning MVP / Can drive the lane with no refusal / From the Milwaukee Bucks / The captain of the team, Giannis Antetokounmpo

“Antetokounmpo” may seem like a tough word to rhyme, but the ending provides a lot of possibilities given the creative liberties Common took elsewhere. Why not “He spins people like a tornado?” Or something ending with “Look out below?” Or perhaps a reference to his home nation — something like “His steps are as wide as an archipelago?” I expect better.

23. He’s KIA’s Most Improved Player / And tonight he’s ready to rock ‘em / Here from the world champion Toronto Raptors / Give it up for Pascal Siakam

Spicy P is way too cool to be described as “rocking” anyone.

22. Anywhere on the court / He can kill it / From the Portland Trailblazers / Give it up for my man Damian Lillard

“Wait, I gotta introduce the injured player too?”

21. From inside or outside / Either way he’ll get you / First-time all-star / From the Utah Jazz, Donovan “Spida” Mitchell

“You’ll never know what hit you” was sitting right there!

20. From the land down under / He’s always all about winning / From the Philadelphia 76ers / Give it up for Ben Simmons

“He’s always all about winning” is an interesting phrase to use for a dude who refuses to shoot outside of five feet.

19. He’s a two-time all-star / So you know he’ll get it done / From the Milwaukee Bucks / Khris Middle-TON

Look, it’s hard to make Khris Middleton seem cool.

18. 2019 All-Rookie first team / And he’s only just begun / From the Atlanta Hawks / They call him ICE. We also know him as Trae Young

“Young” is such an easy rhyming word that I expected a lot better here.

17. Sixteen-time all-star, three-time NBA champion/ We continue to witness his reign / One of the greatest to play the game/ From the Los Angeles Lakers, LeBron James

“Reign” and “James” do not rhyme! I get trying to slip in a reference to monarchy, but “James” is such an easy word to rhyme and Common still couldn’t do it. Why not something like “Washed King, taking names” instead of “We continue to witness his reign.” It flows better and it actually rhymes!

16. In the All-Stars / This is his first / From the defending champion Toronto Raptors / Nick Nurse

It is indeed Nick Nurse’s first NBA All-Star Game. This is factually correct.

15. This all-star is the truth / Keeping the defense honest / The reigning Rookie of the Year / From the Dallas Mavericks, Luke Doncic

I give Common credit for using the correct pronunciation (Don-CHICH) rather than the Americanized version that’d make rhyming easier (Don-CHICK). Still, how does Doncic keep the defense honest? Is that a reference to his deep shooting?

14. Going hard in the paint/Is his style/From the Miami Heat/Bam Adebayo

This one seemed ridiculous when I first heard it, but it’s really damn hard to find a good rhyme for “Adebayo.” If only we could find a way to rhyme his first name instead of his last.

13. Here from the champion Toronto Raptors / And you know they did it proudly / Six-time all-star and floor commander / Kyle Lowry

Common had pretty much any adverb at his disposal to use, and he chose ... an adequate one, I suppose. You do associate Lowry’s game with pride, especially given his long history with the Raptors. Still, I would have lost it if Common had managed to sneak in a phrase like “doughy” or “pudgy.”

12. A seven-time all-star / One of the generation’s greatest / From the South Side of Chicago and the Los Angeles Lakers / Anthony Davis

You wouldn’t immediately associate Davis with being one of this generation’s greatest, at least not before several other all-stars on this list. But at least this actually (kinda) rhymes.

11. In his breakout season / Representing the Bayou Kingdom / First-time all-star from the New Orleans Pelicans / Brandon Ingram

Solid. Would’ve flowed even better if he didn’t have to say “First-time all-star.”

10. A big man with big skills / Yes indeed / From the Philadelphia 76ers / Joel Embiid

9. A 10-time all-star / He’s a general with the ball / From the Oklahoma City Thunder / The great Chris Paul

Simple and succinct. Don’t need to overcomplicate these.

8. When he heats up from outside / It’s like a pressure cooker / First-time all-star / From the Phoenix Suns, Devin Booker

This was a bit of a mouthful, but Common stuck the landing with “pressure cooker.” Evocative, an accurate description of Booker’s game, and a perfect rhyme to boot.

7. A league MVP / Who breaks ankles with no pardon / From the Houston Rockets / The league’s leading scorer, James Harden

The phrasing is a tad weird, because you’d never actually say that anyone ruthlessly drives by someone “with no pardon.” But you need to say something like that to make the rhyme work, and the rest accurately describes the experience of going against The Beard. (Though a cooler version of something like “There’s no way you can guard him” would’ve worked as well).

6. He got crazy skills / And you can’t overstate them / From the Boston Celtics / First-time all-star Jayson Tatum

Bonus points for rhyming a last name with the combination of the second half of one word and a full other one.

5. Think you can shake / This first-time all-star? / Au contrare mon frere / From the Utah Jazz, the Stifle Tower, Rudy Gobert

Love using French to create an accurate rhyme. Love the defiant tone for someone who is such a towering figure inside. Terrific all around.

4. Known for his fashion / But his triple-doubles are his best look / From the Houston Rockets / Give it up for Russell Westbrook

This one had it all. Terrific flow, a quality rhyme, and an ideal summation of Westbrook’s two most recognizable traits.

3. Like a protest on the court / He’s an all-time disruptor / From the Miami Heat / Y’all give it up for Jimmy Butler

Absolutely brilliant to tie in that famous Timberwolves practice. This rhyme was such a classic NBA Easter Egg that I wonder if it was intentional.

2. A four-time all-star / He handles the rock like Gibraltar / From the Boston Celtics / Give it up for Kemba Walker

HE HANDLES THE ROCK LIKE GIBRALTAR. HE HANDLES THE ROCK LIKE GIBRALTAR.

I do wonder about the mechanics of this rhyme. This is presumably a reference to the Rock of Gibraltar, a massive structure that overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. You’d think it’d be used to evoke something large and immovable, hence the saying, “solid as the Rock of Gibraltar.” Instead, Common is suggesting that Walker is known for ... weaving it back and forth at the tip of his fingers? Kinda hard to do that to something that never moves.

Still ... HE HANDLES THE ROCK LIKE GIBRALTAR. HE HANDLES THE ROCK LIKE GIBRALTAR.

1. Making his second all-star appearance / He runs the team like a mogul / From the Los Angeles Lakers / The coach, Frank Vogel

Vogel is a wonderful coach. He does not, in any way imaginable, run the Los Angeles Lakers like a mogul.

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