#this has been in my drafts for MONTHS because i had a punchline for it at some point but now i can't remember what it was 😭

[cosmicbeastie]

ds9 episode where they have a bowling team rivalry with ds8 crew.

#this has been in my drafts for MONTHS because i had a punchline for it at some point but now i can't remember what it was 😭 #so ill let it stand on its own now i guess #also unsure if ds8 was ever mentioned in canon so if it was and this doesn't make sense post cancelled #star trek #ds9 #soapbox

[chaoffee]

Kaeya and his self-awareness

Characters: Acolyte Kaeya (Creator reader mentioned)

Genre: ...I'm not sure, actually

AU: sagau

Warnings: None. Ooc perhaps.

Reading time: Shortish read.

Notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for so long...worth it though. At the time I wrote it, I didn't like it. After re-reading it and forgetting it existed, it's not bad 💀 also, Luc writing about other characters that isn't Venti?! That's unheard of 💀 hope yall enjoy it though~

°•—

Being aware of the Creator's presence was something to get used to. The constant feeling of warmth that engulfs you when you're chosen. The way you just know what to do and where to go. The feeling of being watched at certain times. It's something you can't be prepared for at all.

Everyone talks about what it feels like to be chosen as an acolyte for the Creator. What you can expect from it. But nothing can physically or emotionally prepare you for it. It felt rather...invasive. That's what Kaeya thought, anyway.

The day Kaeya got chosen as an acolyte was the day he realized he won't have as much time as he used too. Being taken in by the Ragvindrs was when he learnt about this Creator. Yes, he did know of this beings existence, but they were merely talked about as a myth. The gods had forsaken him long ago, so why was it that he was chosen by you?

He's gotten stronger over the past few months, all thanks to you, he assumes. Weapons he never thought off, or knew existed was suddenly put onto his path that only helped make him become stronger. The people of Teyvat always praises how giving you are. That every acolyte specifically chosen by you would be showered in gifts that help them on their journey.

Kaeya felt rather undeserving of these "gifts". Which got him to pondering why you choose him. It must be some cruel joke he doesn't get the punchline of. He had sleepless nights, tossing and turning on his bed trying to figure out what game you're playing at.

And then, on one of those sleepless nights, it hit him. All of these experiences only acolytes have; the gifts, knowing where and what to do at the right times, teleporting, your voice, sometimes vivid imagery of you. What if it wasn't real at all? That they weren't real? Just some game?

It sounds like nonsense—he knows that. His brain can't really comprehend this theory. There's allot of questions that can't be answered. But it explains most everything that's basically impossible! Kaeya sometimes finds himself forgetting this important theory. Going on with his acolyte life until he suddenly feels frozen, thinking about this theory once again.

Soon realizing he keeps forgetting this theory, he wrote it down. Only for him to, days later, find these notes, read them and remember of it. He's still in his young days of life, it would be unlikely his memory is getting faulty because of old age. Then a thought expressed itself in his head; what if the reason he keeps forgetting is because he's not supposed to know? What if he's programmed to only follow his day-to-day life and having these thoughts, this self awareness, is him going against the programming?

Kaeya has become aware of his virtual existence. What will he do now?

#genshin impact #genshin #sagau #genshin impact kaeya #genshin sagau #honestly this isnt even x reader #its just a random fanfic of kaeya #kaeya would be very suspicious of the creator #idk i just know he would be suspicious #astronetwrk #chaoffee fics

[cb97percent]

Hello my beautiful Ren! I have been MIA working on my business and launching my photography studio! But I came back for my yearly holiday re-read of The Punchline and The Zone. Are they moving to your new website? Miss them dearly but I hope you are well and excited to catch up what I have missed in the last few months! You often come to mind when creating new pieces and series in my photography! One day I would love to share them with you! You are an inspiration and one of my favorite and most moving writers! Sending you lots of love, tiramisu and wine! 💜💜💜

Ayye, congratulations, friend! I wish you a BIG boom in the business as soon as possible. I'm both pleasantly surprised and humbled that I cross your mind when you create your art. That's a huge honor for me, and I'd love to see them! Tenfold of love, tiramisu, and wine back atcha! 💛💛💛

Re: The Punchline and The Zone — Ooh boy.

Short answer It's complicated. They may or may not come back.

Very long answer Your question cracked open months of pent-up frustration for me, so I apologize for my long response. Believe it or not, I had actually written a way lengthier post, but reading back, I don't think there is any point in posting that. Tumblr has me questioning to what extent I can be open and vulnerable here. Or god forbid, have personal opinions.

Here goes nothing.

I'm hopelessly, endlessly, head-over-heels in love with creating, and I do it through multiple channels. During burnout or writer's block periods, I get so restless I want to crawl out of my own skin. That's the extent of my passion. Part of my 2024 resolutions is to publish my erotica work on paid platforms, and I'm seriously pursuing it right now. I'm reevaluating what I'd like to (keep) offer(ing) as free fanfiction vs. original content moving forward.

But I don't think Tumblr is a place for erotica writers anymore. Not "smut". Erotica.

Because smut has been bastardized long ago.

The texture of STAY ficblr has changed a lot when you were gone, and it makes me feel rejected like a failed organ transplant. The overall reader profile is a lot different, and so is the type of content that gets traction. Nobody really cares about plot-driven stories anymore. A quick analysis shows you people want easily consumable content (p0rn), they want it fast, and they want it for free regardless of all the "I would PAY to read you", "I can't believe your writing is free", "I will be the first in line to get your book" comments. Most of us don't even get tips anymore compared to a year ago, and the bare minimum we're asking for is hitting the reblog button (preferably not blank, but still appreciated).

Good lord, how dare we?

Start a blog tomorrow, shroud yourself in mystery, and exclusively write short-form Bang Chan p0rn (not stories), and I guarantee you will do numbers.

I remember someone saying something like "Do you seriously expect people to read all this? Anything over 5k is a longfic". I honestly have no clue as to how that person survives school, but then I go look at my drafts and see word counts north of 50k on average.

Who am I even writing for at this point?

Meaningful interaction is what keeps an author motivated to create. We have iterated this time and time again but nothing is changing. If anything, it's changing for the worse.

Tumblr doesn't tell you how many times a post is visited a.k.a silent reader analytics, but websites do. Now that I have access to traffic information, I am flabbergasted to notice how many clicks I get (it's a lot), yet these people are super reluctant to interact, which made me go:

Call me crazy, but I think we have a problem here.

What's more, people are unwilling to interact off-anon. If you're lucky, you either get a sea of likes or anonymous asks. If you're traumatized about turning anon on, you can say goodbye to having meaningful conversations with people, receiving commentary, or answering questions about your work, which used to be my favorite thing on Tumblr. Now I associate anonymous asks with entitled people demanding things, the urge to make their dislike known to creators, messages that end with "lol" demeaning people's work and skills, sherlocking, all kinds of insults, morality policing, and even doxxing threats. To my knowledge, I have been nothing but kind to people, yet the things I've come across here (personally or through other people's experiences) are nothing short of appalling.

I don't feel safe. Nor do I feel appreciated except for a handful of people.

I would like to write for a supportive and appreciative community instead, and I'm looking for ways to cultivate that to the best of my ability. I want to cater to these people specifically. I want to dedicate a space for them. I want to offer exclusive content for them. I want to create with them.

I want to have a relationship with my readers, and not get treated like a free content machine. I don't think it's too much to ask.

In conclusion, I'm running out of reasons to stay here. I found the temporary solution of redirecting my content to my website to have more control, but we'll see. Everything there will always be free.

Maybe I'll end up breaking the cycle, who knows.

I'm sure you didn't mean it, but thank you for allowing me to get some things off my chest. I feel loads better now.

Take care, friend xx

#✉ skyemail

[irrealisms]

two for flinching! liner notes

fic here if you haven't read it!

the title for this one was hard. the one i ended up on comes from this comic by a softer sea (& this crimeboys version by @iidalus); it's also the name of a game of chicken where you're trying to get the other person to flinch, which i think works well also, but honestly that's secondary to the comic. you're my brother and i love you. that's it. no punchline.

lythraceae ranboo5 sometimes says "all fic is meta". some of my fic is only sort of meta; frex under these smothering waves is trying very hard to be a missing scene that fits as closely into canon as possible. two for flinching! is very very much meta. specifically: it's my entry into the Crimeboys Abuse Discourse.

i was really unsure about it for this reason, honestly; it's got a lot of tags going "the author likes cwilbur! the author sympathizes with cwilbur! this fic is about cwilbur being loved and forgiven!" and those are, like. disclaimers.

i've had this fic idea since july 2022. i started actually writing it earlier this month. this... might be the longest i've ever gone between "had fic idea" and "actually wrote it".

the dream & wilbur scene came to me months before the wilbur & tommy scene. i had the concept of "okay, so, wilbur post-revival is so insistent that dream's a good guy who has Been Punished and Redeemed Himself because he wants to believe he's a good guy who has Been Punished and Redeemed Himself, right? what happens if you bring those parallels back up after wilbur no longer thinks dream's a good guy?" but then i didn't really have a way to resolve it that wasn't "wilbur kills himself" and i didn't want to write that fic

and of course the way i ended up resolving it was "let the crimeboys demons win". ultimately, tommy loves wilbur; wilbur's attempts to leave or punish himself or get tommy to stop loving him, ignoring tommy's actual opinions on the matter, are themselves a way in which wilbur hurts tommy. for that matter, wilbur's attempt to get revenge on dream for tommy hurts tommy! tommy is not a revenge-oriented person! the dance party on the beach did more for tommy than the confrontation in the prison did. acknowledgement of the things wilbur did to hurt tommy is important, but so is the fact that... tommy is going to keep loving wilbur and wanting wilbur to be happy, and that's not a bad thing, it's just who tommy is. if wilbur wants to make things right, he has to do that not by taking revenge but by listening to what his victim wants.

a quote by Eve Tushnet that shaped my theology and that kept coming into my mind while writing this: "We think God sends our bad things to chastise us and cleanse us—we think Purgatory is full of bad things. Fire, cancer, rats, what's bad... raccoons are bad. Unjust wages! But what chastises us is the good things in life. Love—if you've ever loved so much it hurts, or if you've ever been loved by somebody, maybe your mother, so much that it hurts you to think about it—that's the fires of Purgatory. In this life and the next."

the hardest and most painful thing of all for wilbur isn't tommy's hate, like he thinks it is at first; it's tommy's unconditional love. but it's also that same love that gives him the strength to keep living, to move on and do better, after the fear of tommy's hatred had pushed him to plan both murder & suicide.

the first draft of this fic was almost entirely dialogue. it was ... fine? it was written. almost all of the images that i'm proud of, the recurring symbols, etc., came through in editing. my beta @erstwhilesparrow helped so much. this is pretty unusual for me, i usually do much less editing than this one needed, but i'm proud of how it ended up.

parts of the beginning of the wilbur & tommy scene are from the wilbur finale/Boundless Sands, but most of it isn't.

i don't know how obvious this came through in the writing, but it's tagged with wilbur having BPD bc that does in fact inform my characterization here: i read cwilbur as splitting white on dream post-revival, and then black during inconsolable differences. (he tends to split on tommy & on himself as well.)

crimeboys are so fun to write. i really, really want to write them more, because they're just such a joy to write. probably the most fun part of the entire fic for me was the few lines of banter they get near the end about long words.

EDIT: also ! this fic is nonzero inspired by peel the scars from off my back by squareupgod. not in a directly-inspired way, i had the basic premise before i read it, but in the way where i read that fic and it just kind of lives in my brain whenever i think about c!crime now. if you're a c!crime fan go read that fic. or reread it if you already have read it. whichever. and then cry. you do have to cry.

#my writing #liner notes #therapists dni #any british ants in the chat?

[neonghostcat]

I have come to the following conclusion:

I am not allowed to estimate the length of any of my LiuShen fanfics. I seem to be literally incapable of it.

Even my four seasons story (Hundred Winters Grove) almost became more than four chapters, because I could not help myself. It did become something like double the estimated word count. And this was after I had originally thought I might be able to contain it in a single longish oneshot.

I'm normally fairly good at estimating how long a story will be, did you know? Sure, there's a margin of error either way, but I usually have a fairly good guess a chapter or two in, and that margin of error shrinks with each chapter.

LiuShen? It does the opposite.

(Behind the cut I try to rant entertainingly about my current project.)

This is what it's been like for The Guardian Ghost and the Bookish Fairy so far.

Original thought: How about a 4+1 oneshot of a ghost Liu Qingge protecting Shen Qingqiu? Here is a list of the four times he can protect SQQ. Okay, no, 5. Because that'd be funny. Okay, a 5+1 longish oneshot for my fake birthday! Perfect! I'll just skate quickly across the scenes and focus on the funny, cute, or romantic moments and done. Gosh, having this list is going to make it so much easier!

Next: No, it's taken over 1.5k words to just for Liu Qingge's qi deviation scene. We're looking at a multi-chapter for sure. Three chapters, then? Friendly thoughts (since he knows it's not the original SQQ), then attraction, and then resolution? Okay, I'll just map out the chapters for that and... outline complete. Now I may resume writing.

Then: This chapter is running a little long. I'll break this one into two parts. So it'll be four chapters. That'll cover the entirety of August, which is great, TBH. I should have a good idea of where I am in Cultivate by the time the last chapter posts.

Yesterday: ...how is my outline now at six chapters? How. I am running out of ways to title the chapters since my previous systems have broken. FFS, whatever, as long as it's vaguely the right idea go for it. At this rate, I'm going to have to add the tag "slow burn" to my tags draft. I refuse to tag this 5+1 because that idea is dead by now. Everything is out of control. Characters who were basically meant to be walk-on roles have entire scenes now. Everything is on fire. Dogs and cats living together - MASS HYSTERIA.

...on the plus side, I'm enjoying the story.

It's not nearly as funny as intended (scenes originally intended to be less than 500 words to reach a punchline are now treated more seriously or altered to be more than a goof), but it has its moments.

And, as I said, characters meant to be walk-on roles the equivalent of Guard 3 now have scenes.

Luo Binghe now merits his own tag mentions (Gray Lotus Luò Bīnghé & No Vinegar - just to confirm that he's not a bitter love rival in this fic... though maybe 'No Vinegar' isn't entirely accurate, just it's not Binghe who suffers from it). Shang Qinghua has the biggest role in this fic than he has in any of my fics so far. Perhaps put together. He'll go in the characters list. Liu Mingyan may also merit being tagged in the characters list...

TBH, it's a much better fic for it, but I despair of myself. This is exactly why Cultivate will be a monster. (But probably a monster that will get me chapters to post all through November while I do NaNoWriMo for a different story.)

I'm not in as much pain so I've been able to spend more time at the keyboard, which is useful because the wordcount keeps growing and the deadline moves ever-closer. And I do hate posting fics where I haven't finished them first. I'm currently on-track to finish the story by the end of the month, but possibly only if I continue to write ~3.5k+ a day this weekend. (At least I still have a week between the end of the month and posting day, just in case.)

PS: The scene that justified the Grey Lotus Binghe tag? I'm rather sad readers have to wait for that one.

#fanfic planning #Story: The Guardian Ghost

[inkofamethyst]

October 19, 2022

[May 5, 2019]

hey let’s play a fun game: you dare me to go to sleep and i do it in under five minutes

[today]

That was from an old old old draft but I think it’s relevant.  Also what was I so tired for in May of my senior year?  The show was done, no marching band.. maybe it was those four APs I took?  I think AP tests happen around the first week of May?

UMM.  Paradise Killer??  The premise of that game is actually insane.  Like, insane in a way that I can’t even consider how someone would come up with it.  I do kinda wanna play it now though.  And by “play it” I of course mean “watch a lets-play” naturally.

A fairly famous comedian came to campus for a show a few days ago and he was not funny lol (and based on what I knew about him, I (and my parents) figured it was going to go that way).  Like, the warmup acts had me in tears with laughter, and I sat through his whole set waiting for him to actually, you know, not rattle off jokes I’ve heard before???  Half of the jokes were unoriginal lines I’ve seen online elsewhere, and none of them made me laugh so hard my sides hurt.  I smiled, I chuckled, I left feeling disappointed.  I’ve gotten better comedy from college students, from middle school honors students who didn’t want to do classwork.  They were all like, two sentence buildup followed by a punchline and then a non-sequitur to another joke with the same structure on a totally different topic.  Good comedy has a flow to it, it’s in conversation with itself... This guy just stood there awkwardly at points and openly admitted that he was thinking of what to say next.  Granted, I am not a comedian.  Comedy was always difficult for me to really grasp in theatre, I couldn’t do it.  But this man gets paid to be funny.  So.

Speaking of non-sequiturs, I saw a tiktok about how some girl was reading her journal from senior year and she was so filled with despair during college app season that she expressed that the process needed to be outlawed and you know what??  I’m with her on that one.  Barring the end of 2020/beginning of 2021 which was a nationally traumatic event compounded on top of some personal stuff, the college app season was probably the lowest I’ve ever been from a mental health standpoint over an extended period of time.  I’m talking months of bleakness.  Something has to change, but I sure don’t know what.

Nowadays I’m not feeling that same kind of despair, I’m just tired.

I did receive another soft rejection today (they weren’t taking another student) which I much prefer to paying an application fee and working on a personal statement and then receiving a rejection that I could not have done anything better to change.  Also I wasn’t very heavily invested in the guy anyway, so I’m guuci.  The other dude I could be interested in at that department looks too close to death tbh.

Also it’s actually really hard to try to “fill up” my schedule with classes in case I can’t TA.  Like I’ll need two more “real classes” when I register in two weeks but I simply do not have the desire to ~think~.  Maybe I’ll see if I can take a real bioanth class through the consortium.  But then I’ll still need another option.  Obviously I’m hoping my Master Plan works out, but I want a solid backup plan just in case, you know?

Last thing, I’m currently in the middle of CR C3E36 and I think it could be the best Critical Role episode I’ve seen yet out of all the campaigns.  I’ve been so smiley, so giggly, so positively joyful this whole episode, I just feel fantastic.  I’m having literally so much fun with this.  And I mean, there have, of course, been great episodes in the past, but this is sort of like a major crossover event, like Avengers: Infinity War, just an overwhelming feeling of :D and I haven’t even finished the episode yet.

Today I’m thankful that I went to the anthropology meet and greet today!!  Partly because there was food there and while I do have stuff prepared in the fridge, I also love getting free food, especially when it’s not pizza lol (not that pizza is bad, just that so many events serve pizza because it’s simple).  Partly because I got to connect with some of the people in my classes and they’re really cool!  Partly because I got to connect with a professor for whom I would like to TA next semester, and I should be able to get a good section for that (aka not the 8 am ones).  I’m also thankful for my mom, like so so so thankful and I hate the fact that I can be so neurotic but UGH I’m just so thankful that she cares for me enough to not turn me away or shut down my feelings.  I’m also thankful that my ecoanth prof and my archaeology prof canceled class tomorrow (two class day!!)!  I’m thankful that my presentation in archaeology went well (I think I might’ve almost convinced my prof that I didn’t do the readings the night before (but also he’s not the type of guy to care even if I did)).  Last but not least, I’m thankful to finally have finished twisting my hair.  As cute as the headscarf looked, it was getting a little old.  I just wish sometimes that my hair didn’t shrink up so much, but ultimately I don’t mind because a) I have hair and b) I can do a lot with it and c) it’s relatively healthy.  Lots of things to be thankful for today.

[junova]

.˚✦ ๋࣭ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

my universe

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

notes: this one has been in my drafts....forever. never really liked it too much but fuck it. maybe i can redeem it in a part 2??? this is more of a prologue if anything. idk we'll see. happy reading!

pairing: modern!steve rogers x reader, former!bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x natasha romanoff

concept: bucky was all you'd ever cared about, wanting him more than anyone. until he comes along, showing what it actually means to love someone. welcome to heaven in hiding.

warnings: 18+, sexual content, jealous!reader, bucky being a dick, soft!steve, heavy angst, steve is a funny lil shit at the end

wc: 3.9k

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It felt unbearable to be here. Watching how fondly she still looked at him, after all this time, not missing a beat. It was suffocating, surrounding you by a sea of water and having no other option than to drown. Greedily, his love swallowing you up in your entirety.

He did really try to dodge her looks of longing but still, even now he felt the pull to her. It didn’t really matter how long they were absent from each others’ lives.

As you sat next to him, you could feel him slipping from your grasp. Far beyond your control, way out of your depth, he was falling. Deep down, you couldn’t really blame him. The pictures you’d seen of her did no justice, she was truly a vision. Much brighter than you would ever glow and it made you wonder if what he spoke just a few hours ago still held meaning.

Not to mention, she seemed to be as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. Making you grow even more envious of her.

Sure, she had broken his heart but it wasn’t beyond forgiveness. She had simply put herself before the relationship and if you had been in her shoes you could imagine yourself doing the same. All she wanted was a better future for herself, at least it’s what he had told you.

Now sitting here you couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked at him with admiration and love laced in her eyes. Truly, if she still wanted him in her arms there was nothing stopping her.

Surely, not you. You two seemed to live on two different planes of beauty and hers was the kind you dream of having but only have a very little probability of obtaining. With her ruby hair and glossy lips, tempting nearly everyone around her to the way she carried herself and spoke to you like you were the only person she was invested in.

It wasn’t difficult to see why he spoke of her so much. You would, too.

You tried to enjoy the wonderfully prepared meal Pepper and Tony had made, well mainly Pepper. It was delicious, but your senses had gone bitter and it had nothing to do with the food.

You weren’t sure when you started to drift off, maybe it was when Bucky began looking at Natasha like she hung each and every constellation in the sky. Or maybe it’s when you heard her melodic laugh when Bucky delivered the punchline.

It was like Steve, Wanda, and Thor didn’t exist. The lovely couple in their own little bubble, speaking in a language only the two of them understood. Utterly and completely unaware of any and all of their surroundings.

“You okay?” Steve questioned, placing his hand on top of your hand, giving it a small squeeze. Discreetly and under the table away from prying eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I just need some air.” You weren’t sure what could remove the nothingness inside of you, but maybe some space would provide some comfort.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out right in front of you, again. He said he wouldn’t do it again, that he wanted to be with you, but all she had to do was come to town and he’d been chasing her just like he always did.

Excusing yourself you dipped out until you were out on the back patio. Alone to just think and mull over any little thing that should have tipped you off, but didn’t. You let it slide on, blinded by how much you thought you loved him.

You weren’t left in the peaceful night long, until Steve was joining you with two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.

“You looked like you could use a glass or two.” Steve gibed carefully. “I’m just using your sour mood as an excuse to escape from the party.” You were about to object when a full glass of wine was shoved into your grasp.

“I’m not in a sour mood. I’m just swell.” You spoke before taking a big swing of the drink, nearly emptying it’s contents, sending it barreling down your throat.

“Sure, honey. Just like the green monster isn’t oozing out of you.” You found yourself intentionally growling at him, just a little agitated of the truth he spoke.

The absolute audacity on this man seemed to never end. Whether it helped you or caused more misery than he intended.

“It certainly doesn’t help that she's so goddamn perfect. Was she fucking made in a lab? Jesus Christ.” You were jealous and if Steve already knew there was really no point in hiding it. It was written all over you, the longing look you were giving Bucky all night, desperately wanting to be the one he wanted.

“She’s not perfect, nobody is. Just better at hiding her faults than everybody else.” He said it like it was some known fact. Something you should’ve already known, but insecurities tended to eat you alive. Truthfully, it didn’t help that Bucky acted like Natasha walked on water in his hopeful, gleaming eyes. Stinging you like a bee piercing your soft, plush skin for the first time.

He really loved her. It didn’t matter how many times she messed up, what he felt was all the same — she was the one.

“Really? I don’t buy it. Name one.” Steve perched himself on his knees in front of you, his hands on the armrest of the chair you made yourself comfortable in. “Okay.”

“How about the fact that she loves Bucky just about more than anyone else but she’s too selfish to let him go? Then, for months she leads him on and promises she’ll come home but always leaves him heartbroken.” Steve let it flow all in one breath, as his body rested between your legs.

“Sounds gruesome.” You confessed because it hit a little close to home. “Yeah, it is and he has no right to do the same thing to an angel like you.”

You hated how he was right, truly hated it, but anyone with eyes could see how much Bucky dragged you through the mud. He had a good heart, but it just hadn’t been good to you.

Bucky’s intentions weren’t malicious and it didn’t seem like he was either but it didn’t take away from how much he continued to hurt you. All of the unintended consequences only affected you as he went on with his day.

Over and over, he continued to cause you pain and he didn’t even know it. Or he did and just neglected to acknowledge it. If he did, he’d actually have to deal with just how much he was actually hurting you.

It wasn’t like either one was particularly gunning for the latter, but Steve was. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had left you high and dry whenever the red head, beauty stepped foot into town. Although it was the first time you had a front row seat to the attention she commanded from him.

You both sat there in silence for the moment, taking in the starry night as he rested his cheek against your leg. He began running fingertips up and down your exposed calf, letting him soothe you.

“I’ll keep thinking I’ll be alright. That’ll get over him, but he just keeps pulling me back and jerking me around for his ride and I let him.” If anyone saw you besides Steve, you didn’t think you could handle it but you’re comfortable around him.

He’s continuously been there for you everytime Bucky pushed to the side for her. Always so sweet, so tender, comforting you in his warmth. Never once judging you, always taking the time time to just sit and listen to you.

“I don’t think it’s even about him anymore. I’m just chasing this unattainable moment, just so I fill this void in me. Maybe if he loves me I can love me, too.” Mumbling under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear you.

“Bubba.” You smiled for a second, as his voice dripped in concern. “You don’t need him or what little he can offer. Not when you can love yourself better than anyone else can.” He pulled himself up to his feet, picking you up from the chair until you were surrounded by just him.

“We love you. I love you, so stop listening to those nasty little thoughts, bubs. They’re far from the truth. You are truly amazing, incredibly beautiful, and deserve the absolute world.” With slight pressure from his index, he tilted your chin up, letting your eyes drown in his.

“Don’t expect anything less.” Steve breathed out, before testing the waters. He just held you there, caressing your back as you just sunk in his arms, allowing his warmth to ease your hurt. Just like he’d done so many times before.

Somehow, Steve seemed to know exactly what you need to hear. You didn’t know how he managed to be so wonderful all the time. Maybe you could just stay there forever with him shielding you from every single evil in the world out to get you.

“Can you take me somewhere? This is the last place I want to be.” Steve simply nodded before lacing your hand in his, before making your way back inside.

The moment the two of you stepped foot into the house, it was silent. Everyone looked at the two of you. Steve took notice of the Bucky’s bugged eyes at the joined hands of his two best friends, but knew better than to verbally acknowledge it.

It wasn’t something Steve and you hadn’t done, but never in the prying eyes of Bucky. Thor and Wanda had taken note of it a few times, but never spoke a word about it. Secretly, Wanda hoped it meant something for you, because she could see just how much Steve adored you.

He never spoke a word, so you remained clueless to a feeling he never felt like he had a right to speak on. No matter how strongly he felt, he knew if he confessed, it would do more damage than good.

You had become one of his closest friends in the past few years he’d known you and he wouldn’t jeopardize it for anything. Selfishly, he left you under Bucky’s radar because being your friend was far safer than risking the rejection he was sure would be sent his way.

He knew you were close to cutting Bucky off from your life completely, he just had to wait it out. Natasha being here tonight was the icing on the cake for Steve, because all he had to do was be here for in a way Bucky never could. Not when he was slicing through your heart every time his attention diverted from you to her.

Just because he was stuck in a past love instead of the future and Steve would fully take advantage of it — being there for you in any way you needed.

Regardless of everything, he wanted to — needed to. He couldn’t live with himself if he let you go through the hurt and heartache alone. Not when so many times you had seeked the comfort of him to lean on. Steve would never be one to say no to you.

“Are you leaving, doll?” The endearment Bucky intended to be sweet but left a sour taste in your mouth. More than that, you didn’t miss the way Natasha’s eyes widened slightly at the use of his pet name for you. The one she thought was only reserved for her.

Maybe if he held affection for you like he did earlier today, your heart would be filled to the brim, but he didn't. So, you weren’t. “Yeah, Steve’s going to take me home. I have an early morning tomorrow and I’ve already had a bit too much wine.” Bucky didn’t argue, nodding with a tight lipped smile.

Perhaps his indifference is what made you hurt even more. He didn’t care about anything, not even you with you so closely tangled with Steve. It didn’t have an effect on him because the woman sitting by his side, draped over him held more value than you ever could.

“You sure? I can make sure you get home safely.” Bucky pleaded, but before you could respond Steve did.

“I got it, Buck. I’ll make sure she gets home.” He looked like he wanted to say more but he decided to stay silent as he watched you walk out the door with Steve, hand and hand.

The drive home in the Uber was silent, Steve didn’t say a word, just the weight of his arm holding you close. He took note of how you refused to look at anything but the luminescence of the New York’s city lights captivating your vision.

Even if it hurt Bucky only chose you whenever Natasha wasn’t around you couldn’t help but focus on how hot and heated your body felt with Steve so close to you. Holding you so tightly like he was afraid you would let go.

Perhaps it was a bit shady of you to drape yourself over his childhood best friend whenever he rejected you, but now you were finding yourself finding solace in Steve in everything, like you used to with Bucky. He had become this safe place for you, where you wouldn’t be shamed for how you felt or what you were going through.

Even if he knew how much you were hurting from your own obliviousness to Bucky’s behavior, he always let you find solace in his strong, comforting arms. Always sturdy enough to hold the weight of your hurt and what he was carrying too. Just like tonight.

“He’s never going to love me the way I want him to — like the way he loves her.” It wasn’t a question any longer, it was a stone cold fact. Something you’d tried to ignore over the past year, especially.

Not wanting anything in this moment but him, you laid your head on his chest, his steady heartbeat giving you a sense of peace in the aftermath of your heartbreak. The crisp material of the white button up he was wearing shifted from the weight of you, he didn’t really mind.

“I think it’s time for me to let go of this image I have of him, one he can never live up to and accept him for who he is and where he’s at right now.” Steve nodded, still not saying a word, slipping farther and farther away from you as he let his thoughts consume him entirely.

It’d been happening a lot more lately. This. The close, excruciating intimacy between Steve and the woman he was in love with.

Over the past few months, anytime you were upset about something, you would show up at his doorsteps crashing into him as you wept. Always wanting to be close to him, snuggled up to his side, bleeding your heart out to him, something you hadn’t done with anyone.

Not even Bucky.

Then there was the one kiss on New Years’ Eve a few weeks ago which stayed imprinted on the forefront of his mind. He remembered when he woke up the following morning, he was holding you to his chest, the both of you bodies laced with one another.

He got up before you were there to consciously witness it, but it was all he thought about weeks after. Being that close awoke the need to be near you. It was already there, but now he knew how it felt to hold you in the comfort of his own bed.

It nearly killed him when you woke up, making your way down the stairs from his bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxers and the shirt he wore last night. Steve wasn’t drunk enough to completely forget the whole night, nothing had happened in his room last night. Seeing you, in here, in his apartment, made him think what his life could possibly be like with you here.

If he was ever to be so lucky.

As of yesterday, when you told him Bucky finally wanted to move forward with you, it broke him. Even if he kept his true feelings hidden, he felt you crush his heart with one fatale squeeze. Any particular hope he once had, was diminished into a fantasy far from reality.

The both of you were Steve’s best friends — he had to be happy for you.

Then, Natasha came to town. Storming through Bucky’s heart just like she’s always done. When Steve invited you to the dinner his best friend was trying to keep you from, he knew it could possibly be the last fatale blow to whatever string your relationship with Buck was. Maybe his, too.

Steve knew going after you could mean losing his really good friend, but he simply couldn’t stop himself. Not when you were a pure goddess ascending from above in all of your glory, capturing his heart in every single glance you threw his way. At this point, he didn’t care what it’d cost him.

As long as he had you, it would be worth it.

When the car pulled up to your street, you let your hand glide down his chest, resting on his lower abdomen. Not missing the way his body trembled under your touch, the thin material of his shirt doing nothing to protect him from you — not that he wanted to be anywhere but here.

As soon as those sinful words left your mouth, he knew he was done for.

Perhaps, if the both of you hadn’t been tipsy of the bottle of wine you shared, you wouldn’t feel the urge to invite him up, but he smelled too good and acted too perfect for any other consideration.

“Do you want to come inside, Stevie?” You purred watching the gears switch in his mind. Contemplating if he really should go through with it. Now that it was within his reach, he was becoming hesitant to grab it. You were drunk, he was drunk. Hence the uber and the both of your cars left behind in Tony and Pepper’s driveway.

“I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to go up there, bubs.” Instantly, you pouted. A deep frown etched on your beautiful face. “Why not? I think it would be a wonderful thing. Don’t you?” With one swift movement, you were cupping his crotch, making your intentions more than clear.

The grunt leaving Steve’s mouth was animalistic as he tried to exercise the very little restraint he was holding onto. It seemed to become increasingly difficult as you refused to move your hand away.

“I need you to take care of me and I’ll take care of you.” Finally releasing your grip on him, you exited out of the car and you didn’t have to look back to know he was falling you into the lobby of your apartment building.

After a silent elevator ride, with you tucked into his side you made the walk down the narrow hallway into your home, fidgeting to open the door with Steve’s hands caressing your sides. Carefully watching as you kicked off the painful heels, the bottom of your feet thankful, pulling you deeper into the apartment.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” You retreated, afraid someone else might turn you down, too. If Steve did, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. He’s been your person you can count on and now you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

Stopping your movement once you reached your bedroom, you were still waiting for his response. Meticulously, he reached for hand before twirling you around your back pressed against his front. Sighing, when his hand dragged up your spine, while the other hung on your waist with his hand pressed against your stomach.

Pushing the thin strap of your velvet dress, letting it fall off your shoulder. Soft, firm lips touching your soft skin, you couldn’t help but lean back into him. Tilting your head back, offering yourself up to him on a silver platter.

His touch felt like heaven and you didn’t think you’d ever want him to leave. Not when you always felt safe wrapped up in his large muscular arms. Never making you question if you felt wanted.

“Right now, my body wants you as badly as it ever has.” Steve confessed while his lips migrated towards your neck, giving you some much needed attention.

“Does it?” You questioned him, losing any other train of thought as let his other hand push the other strap off your shoulder, the slinky dress falling to floor pooling at your feet.

“It does, sweetheart, but it’ll have to wait.” Already pouting like the brat you were, ready to seduce him right into filling you up, just like you brought him here tonight for.

Dropping down to your level, Steve whispers in your ear, “Because when I fuck you just the way your pussy is aching for it won’t be when you’re drunk, princess.” Throwing gasoline on the fire he created, sharply he bit your earlobe, making you moan.

“I’ve thought about this so much, princess. At first, I thought I would take you from behind, but then I wouldn’t see those begging, doe-eyes itching for a release.” You were trembling for him. His filthy words flooding straight to your slick, crying for him already.

“Maybe you’d want to ride me, huh? Do you want to fuck yourself on my fat cock?” At this point, if it was anyone else, you’d be embarrassed if he found out just how wet you were. Your panties are completely ruined because of him.

“I want to ride you so bad, Stevie.” Maliciously, he laughed before giving your clothed pussy a rough slap, causing you to gasp out. Your nails digging themselves into his bicep as you reached for it.

“Well, if you had been a good girl, maybe I’d let you cum on my cock.” You turned around face to face, ready to bruise your knees for him in a heartbeat. In this space and time, you’ve never wanted anyone more.

Harshly, he gripped your chin as his thumb smoothed over your bottom lip, dragging it down so it plumped right back up. “Bucky will be here tomorrow morning, if not tonight. I took his precious little play thing home and he’s not gonna like that one bit.”

“He wants to have his cake and eat it, too. If you want to let him, by all means go right ahead. And if you don’t? You know where I live, princess.” Very much in contrast to the last few minutes, he sweetly kissed your cheek and headed out right back the door without so much as a second glance.

Leaving you with a hell of a lot to process.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tagging: @tonystankschild | @andromedasstarship | @tinylumpiaa | @brattycherubwrites | @bval-1 | @kayteewritessteve |

#ohhhh....this one got a lil spicy at the end ;) #to be continued.... #if i dont get lazy <3 #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem reader #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers angst #steve rogers x poc reader #steve rogers au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes x poc reader

[coochiequeens]

It was January 2020, and in the past five months, I’d done nearly everything in my power to put my assigned gender behind me. I had come out as trans to my loved ones; I was getting divorced; I moved across the country to Portland, Oregon, which was once called a trans utopia on the Gender Reveal podcast (yes, I was listening to the podcasts as well). What I wasn’t, however, was out to my roommates, three cis men I’d met on Craigslist who all assumed I was a cis man like them.

I lived in the basement of a hulking wooden house owned by a wealthy couple who had moved back to Europe to take care of their elderly parents. My bedroom was an icy concrete box with a mattress on the floor. Every 45 minutes, an industrial dehumidifier would turn on and make a sound like a chainsaw halving a Buick. If a fire took over the house, I would have to crawl out a window too small to meet fire code. My roommates assured me I would be able to fit.

The roommates were generous men: They shared the beer in the fridge; they baked cookies at two in the morning; they held meetings to discuss the dust piling up in the house; they expressed their hurt confusion after friendships decayed. They were just the type of men I should have been able to come out to. But I was still trying to climb out of decades of quicksand-y shame. I had no close trans friends and had no idea yet how to be trans. What I knew was how to pretend to be a cis man. So I maintained this façade to avoid holding a difficult conversation with my roommates — I followed the path of the greatest emotional dissonance.

When my roommates were at work, I stayed in the basement trying on tights and blouses and dresses and skirts I’d bought online to prevent anyone from seeing me buy them. I practiced applying makeup from supermarket brands that were never the right shade for my pale skin. In my room, I focused on two things: finding my style and completing my novel. Dressed in black tights and a breezy forest-green skirt, I would sit at my desk revising The Atmospherians, my first novel, a satire about two best friends who start a cult to reform problematic men.

In a novel, there is nowhere for the subconscious to hide. And mine offered me a way work through decades of complicated feelings about people assuming I was a cis male. I was angry for lying to myself, and others, for so long. I was angry at the people who’d told me I wasn’t actually trans, that I was making it up — I feared they knew me better than I knew myself. And the easiest way to temper this anger was to direct it onto the men in my book. Every new draft failed to humanize the men who joined the cult. A teacher I trusted insisted I couldn’t reduce all the cult members to punchlines. This comment upset me — because it was right.

One evening, I emerged from the basement to find my timber framer roommate packing food into a cooler. He made a point of telling me he was happy to be missing work the following day. Where was he going? To a men’s retreat for the weekend, he told me. Ten minutes later, he’d emailed and texted me details for the next Men’s Open Circle meeting in Portland. I wasn’t the first of the roommates to receive an invitation to Men’s Open Circle — he’d been pressing the other two for months now — but I don’t doubt something about me appeared vulnerable that evening, in need of answers. My roommate wanted to help the only way he knew how: by inviting me to the very same group that helped him.

Since I committed to a writing career, a lot of my life has been spent doing things for the story. When I should be in the moment, I imagine how I will capture it later. I’m far from the first writer to feel this way. And in an era of social media, writers aren’t alone in catapulting themselves into futures sharing the moment. Where many writers differ, though, is that they believe themselves to be objective observers. Joan Didion, for instance, claimed her best skill as a reporter was going unnoticed. Inspired by Didion in Haight-Ashbury, I accepted my roommate’s invitation to Men’s Open Circle, looking forward to silently taking notes while seated beside him. Everyone would assume I was gaining so much from the meeting. They would take me for a diligent man eager to correct his emotions.

The Mankind Project, or MKP, is a “Global Brotherhood of Autonomous Nonprofit/Charitable Organizations.” According to my roommate, MKP helped men reclaim the rituals that have been stripped from modern life. These ideas are loosely based on Robert Bly’s early 1990s book Iron John: A Book About Men, which claims that boys couldn’t fully evolve into men without completing the ancient rituals once expected of them. Bly takes the name of his book from a Brother’s Grimm fairy tale about a boy who matures into adulthood thanks to the aid of a red-haired woodsman named Iron John. Iron John served as a guide for men who have lost touch with their warrior selves in an increasingly feminist age (the ’80s and ’90s), and Bly even led meetings in the woods where men could recapture their primal selves through drumming and chanting and, according to a 1992 New York Times article, gripe about their fallen status as men. What those rituals entail, in 2020, remains fairly mysterious to people who aren’t members of MKP. In 2018, the Times reported that the group’s weekend retreats, which are called the New Warrior Adventure Training and can set men back nearly $700, include cold showers, blindfoldings, and optional nudity to promote body positivity.

An hour before the Men’s Open Circle meeting, my roommate texted to tell me he couldn’t come. My impulse was to cancel. I’m a naturally shy person and hated the idea of introducing myself without the aid of my roommate’s institutional knowledge. But he insisted I go. If I went, he reasoned, I could tell the other two roommates  how great the meetings were. Naturally shy, yes, but even more naturally susceptible to a guilt trip.

I arrived at the stone Episcopal church where the meeting was held feeling prematurely superior to the men who would be there. They gathered in a dimly lit rec room the color of Brut aftershave and were circled up in folding chairs. They had the nervous energy of the perpetually repressed. I believed I didn’t belong in the room, both for the obvious reason (I was trans) and the conceited reason — as an evolved millennial, I already knew how to get in touch with my feelings. But because I didn’t belong in the room made me the most important person there: I could see this place for what it was.

The group leader, who I’ll call Dave, was a 60-something white man wearing a button-down tucked in jeans. He outlined how tonight’s meeting would go. Repeatedly, he used the word men when a simple we or us or you would have worked. “A lot of people say men are always talking, that men never listen to anyone,” Dave said, when introducing our first activity. “But my question for you men is: Does anyone ever listen to men?” Tonight, men would practice hearing other men talk. We split into groups of three. Dave set a timer. One man in each group would talk for five minutes. Afterward, the other men would respond for three minutes. Then the next man would talk.

Here’s the thing: I very much belonged in the room. Five months earlier, I changed just about everything in my life, and though I spoke to a therapist over the phone every two weeks, she wasn’t the right person for me. I was suicidal and lonely and regretting every decision I’d ever made in my life. I was on a waitlist for a trans-inclusive support group, but my name didn’t appear to be moving up on it. These men were my best shot at community.

In my small group, I talked about my divorce and my regrets. In a larger group, I talked about the same subjects. And finally, when all the men came together to share, I volunteered first to tell my story — part of my story, that is. Looking back, perhaps I should have had reservations in a room full of cis men. Men’s groups like MKP have been criticized for placing men in counseling roles with little training. Though MKP insists it is not an adequate substitute for professional help, sessions are rife with expert-sounding advice. Nothing in the room could’ve been mistaken for a 4Chan thread — at least not in Portland in 2020 — but most speakers went unchallenged for their portrayals of women. MKP professes to push men to evolve in ways that serve men, women, and children; however, these groups are still run by men, men with all their baggage and acculturation and gazes. Just because a man is in touch with his emotions does not mean the way he acts on his emotions are appropriate. Anger, after all, is an emotion, as is rage, as is resentment, and all three drive so much of the violence perpetrated by men across the world. Articulation does not guarantee evolution — especially without an effective strategy to push men to reconsider the role their feelings have played in committing harms against others. MKP’s strategy, however, is mostly to let the men speak and vent and gripe and confess and learn to sit with their feelings.

My sharing was met with support and solidarity. The other men had been through similar experiences, and their stories layered Band-Aids over the gaping emotional wound I was eager to heal. I was told I was young. I was learning. Better to get these mistakes out of my system now. As the men consoled me, I felt an urge to come out to them, to let them know there were other reasons why I moved to Portland — trans utopia, remember? There was so much they needed to know that I would never say. If I told them the truth, would they still see themselves in my story? Like a good MKP man, I decided to sit with these feelings.

Here’s the obvious lesson that wasn’t so obvious to me: I was not above these men. I was not more evolved because I had read Judith Butler. I was just as hungry for their support as they were for mine. The advice they offered was flawed and reductive, but it was what I needed to hear: I would be okay, I was learning, I was still alive. If this sounds like an empathy essay, one of those pieces about putting our differences behind us, it isn’t. I didn’t like the men. I didn’t like how they talked about women. And I never learned what they thought about trans people. I didn’t see them or connect with them. But on a January evening, I needed them, far more than they needed me, and I’m grateful they were willing to listen.

At the end of the meeting, Dave collected five-dollar bills from the men. The men who only had twenties accepted Venmo payments from the men who didn’t have cash. One man asked me if I planned to return to Men’s Open Circle next week. “Maybe,” I told him. The next week, I moved home to New Jersey.

Did a TIM just admit that sex based support groups are beneficial? Who else could benefit from sex based support groups? And just as snarky his exploring femininity was trying on tight clothes and supermarket makeup.

#Sex based support groups #Iron John a book about men #New warrior adventure training #Men’s open circle #Mankind Project

[thirteenisles]

Can’t Say We’re Friends | 2

A/N: Thank you for the support for part one, I really hope you guys like this chapter! And as always thank you to the lovely @matbaezal​ for reading everything over for me and helping me out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Part One

“I’m sorry, I think I must have heard you incorrectly. I know for a fact you did not just say that you and Tito are married.”

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. She really wishes she was joking around, because of the look on her little sister's face, she’s waiting for the punchline.

“Oh my god, you’re serious, you actually... got married? Mom is going to have a field day when she finds out.”

“No!” Evelyn shouts, glaring at her sister, “No one else needs to know about this. This stays between us Elizabeth, I need your word.”

The last thing Evelyn needed was her mother finding out because once that happens, her whole family and Tito’s whole family will know. It was already unbearable enough with the suffocating questions of when the two of them were gonna fall in love and realize the one was in front of them the whole time and all that cliche “best friends to lovers” nonsense.

The Caron’s moved from France to Montreal when Evelyn was five. Any fears that she wouldn’t make friends were squashed when they moved next door to the Beauvillier’s. Tito became her best friend that same day. They’ve been through every major life event together. From birthdays and graduations to relationship advice and breakups, and Tito getting drafted to the Islanders. She even transferred her degree to FIT just so he wouldn’t be alone and they got a place together. Their lives have always been intertwined, but it didn’t mean that they were meant to be together.

God help her if her mother found out.

Beth rolls her eyes, “You have my word. I just can’t believe it took you so long for you two to get your shit together.”

“How many times do I have to tell you.” Evelyn huffs, trying to stuff her shoes into her suitcase, “Tito and I are best friends, that’s all there is to it.”

“For someone so intelligent, you’re also so stupid. I’ve never met someone so deep in denial.”

Here we go again, she thinks to herself, another lecture she didn’t ask for.

“Anyway, Tito and I will be back in Montreal tomorrow afternoon. You still picking us up?”

“Yes, of course. And oh, don’t forget about our weekly dinner so, try to keep your lovey dovey crap to a minimum.” Beth says, snickering.

Evelyn rolls her eyes, “Don’t make me regret telling you, Beth.”

“See you tomorrow, Beauvillier!” She ends the call in a sing-song voice.

Evelyn collapses on her bed. Staring at the structured ceiling, she is still a loss. In fact, part of her still wishes she could be in denial, but she raises her left hand and looks at the flimsy ring, it’s the same one wrapped around Tito’s left ring finger. Speaking of him, he still hasn’t returned from his “walk”, if you could call it that. He was just as much in shock, in fact, she had never seen him that speechless before. Breakfast had been a silent affair, before Tito mentioned he needed some air, and had left. That had been hours ago, she hoped he was ok.

Evelyn eventually drifts off, today’s events taking a toll on her.

She wakes up when the bed dips and a calloused hand gently caresses her face. She rubs her eyes and see’s Tito sitting there, looking sheepish.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself. Where have you been?” Evelyn asks, sitting up slowly.

“Went for a walk, got something to eat, then I decided to visit the chapel we apparently went to and got verification.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “we definitely got married last night.”

“We already knew that bubs.”

He sighs, “I know...I just needed to actually hear it from the priest’s mouth.” He trails off, shoulders sagging, and starts picking fuzz off his gym shorts. He looks so drained and dejected. Evelyn felt bad, this was just as much her fault as it was his. They both made this dumb decision and they’d have to deal with the consequences, but they would get through this hiccup together like they’ve gotten through everything else.

“Well,” she started, scooting next to him and rests her head on his shoulder, “Least we didn’t get married by an Elvis impersonator and get matching tattoos.”

He snorts and shakes his head. It’s the first smile on his face all day, “You would never get a tattoo, Evee. You’re afraid of needles.

“Says who...maybe I’m not afraid anymore.”

He gives her a look, “You literally just got your ears pierced last year and that’s only because the girls got you drunk.”

“Your best friend is a hot mess, what else I can say?”

“This hot mess is also my wife,” He teases, poking her cheek.

Rolling her eyes, she gives a quick slap to his thigh, “A terrible choice on my part...marrying you. When was the last time you cleaned under your bed?”

His eyebrow furrows, “Um....you’re supposed to do that?”

She sighs dramatically, “I married a slob.”

“Excuse me?” He mocks offense, “Says the girl who leaves her shoes everywhere in the front hall. That’s a tripping hazard.”

“But at least I don’t leave my underwear on the bathroom floor.”

They look at one another and burst out laughing, at least they can find humor in this ridiculous situation. Falling back on the bed together, they turn and look at one another.

“You’re still my best friend Tito, nothing is ever going to change that.” He smiles at her, “And you’re mine.”

She extends out her pinky to him and links it with his, “For better or for worse.”

And that starts another fit of giggles.

Later on, after some takeout from the Thai food restaurant downstairs and three episodes of the office, Evelyn heads off to bed, leaving Tito on his own.

As soon as he hears the bedroom door shut, he hunches over, burying his face in his hands and he groans. How stupid could he have been? Vegas was a great idea for a vacation, Tito, you’ll only end up getting drunk off your ass and marrying your best friend!

He just wanted to do something fun for his birthday and to get his mind off the disappointment of not getting through to round three of the playoffs. Just spend some quality time with his best friend.

And now she shares his last name.

He thinks back to his conversation with Mat earlier:

He’d gotten voicemail three times and has left enough text messages to make him look crazy. He’s going to kill Mat when he gets back to Long Island, the one time he actually needs him to answer his damn phone, he- finally-

“Fucking finally Mat, I’ve only left three voicemails,” he snaps.

“Good morning to you too Beau, it’s so lovely to hear your voice, my vacation has been great, thank you for asking.” Tito can hear the dripping sarcasm in Mat’s voice.

“Don’t be smart with me, this is serious.”

“Well it must be serious enough for you to leave 20 text messages, three voicemails, and-“ he pauses, “15 missed calls.”

Tito groans, “Mat, I fucked up so bad.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“I married Evelyn.”

It’s silent on the other end before he hears a few chuckles that turn into a full-on belly laugh.

At that moment, Tito realizes, he should have called Ebs.

“You- holy shit, you married Evelyn? Please tell me it’s on video.”

“You’re not helping,” Tito groans, frustrated, “Mat, we got wicked drunk and next thing I know I wake up with her yelling for me and a ring on my finger.”

“For a minute I really thought you were joking with me.” He makes a whooshing noise, “So...how’d she react?”

“Just as shocked as I was. She’s married to me.”

“I know the poor thing when I’ve been right here in the wings waiting for an opportunity to snatch her up.”

Tito rolls his eyes, gritting his teeth, listening to Mat laugh again.

“Is this really the worst thing in the world though?”

“It is when I’ve been in love with her since I was fifteen,” he admits softly.

Saying it out loud should have been relieving, except it’s not. It’s just a reminder of the feelings he’s been hiding from her for years. But Tito would rather keep his feelings a secret than lose a lifetime friendship.

“I know, Tito. To be honest, you aren’t the most subtle when it comes to your feelings for her, everyone can see it, except for her.”

“She’s not obligated to fall in love with me, I can’t be upset with her for not feeling the same.” He sighs, “I just don’t know what to do now.”

“File an annulment?” Mat suggests.

Tito bites his lip, still walking the down the boulevard, “It’s easier to get married than it is to get divorced. It could take months before it’s finalized, and it’s going to be even harder to keep this under wraps, but I suppose it’s our only option at this point.”

“You’re gonna have to tell Lou and Trotz. This is not something you can hide from management. If anything they can help you keep it secret.”

“You’re right.”

It really wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he married Evelyn. He just hoped he could keep her from figuring out his feelings. But he doesn’t know how to stop the intensity of the butterflies or the flush in his cheeks at the reminder that she has his last name.

Anthony Beauvillier was completely and utterly fucked.

#anthony beauvillier #tito beauvillier #anthony beauvillier imagine #tito beauvillier imagine #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb

[goodticklebrain]

Q&A August: Kate Pitt, Pocket Dramaturg

I’m so very excited about today’s installment of Q&A August, because it means I get to formally introduce you to Kate Pitt, my pocket dramaturg and Shakespearean soulmate! I first met Kate when she saved my life by letting me crash on the couch in her hotel room before the closing banquet of the 2016 Shakespeare Theatre Association conference. It was my first conference and, by the last day, I was so sleep deprived that I could hardly function. Despite meeting me in such a ragged and incoherent condition, Kate, who was then working in Public Programs at the Folger Shakespeare Library, decided to invite me to the Folger for a public interview/talk event.

You can read up on my visit to the Folger here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. But, long story short, in Kate I found an absolutely kindred spirit. Within half an hour we were completing each others’ sentences, most because we were conversing almost entirely in Shakespeare quotes. Since then we have gone on several Shakespeare adventures together, including a long-overdue joint pilgrimage to Stratford-upon-Avon earlier this year. Despite having spent extended periods of time in close proximity, we have remained friends, which is something of a minor miracle.

Apart from being a delightful human being, Kate is also a genuine Shakespearean powerhouse, with a vast amount of both scholarly and practical Shakespeare knowledge and experience. You might have noticed that many of my recent comics have included the note “Thanks to my pocket dramaturg, Kate Pitt, for consulting with me on this comic.” This is because I quickly fell into the habit of texting Kate with random Shakespeare-related questions, like “IN HOW MANY SHAKESPEARE PLAYS DO SHEEP REGULARLY APPEAR ON STAGE?” Kate, in her infinite patience and bottomless depth of knowledge, would always promptly text me back with answers, including sources. It was like having my own personal dramaturg in my pocket.

Since then I have often brainstormed comic ideas with her, run drafts past for her approval, and asked for her help when wrestling with particularly troublesome punchlines. (Among other things, she helped me finalize the list of questions I’ve been asking everybody this month!) Creating Good Tickle Brain is a very solitary occupation, and for most of the past five and a half years I’ve been essentially operating in a vacuum. It’s been fun, but it’s also been lonely and isolating at times. Being able to bounce ideas off of Kate, and occasionally commiserate with her on the challenges of being self-employed businesswomen in the Shakespeare world, has made both my job and my life immeasurably more enjoyable.

And so, it gives me GREAT pleasure to turn things over to my pocket dramatrug!

1. Who are you? Why Shakespeare?

I’m Kate Pitt. I’m a dramaturg, writer, producer, and director. I grew up watching Shakespeare films with my parents and saw an outdoor Midsummer at the Edith Wharton house in Lenox when I was about seven. The Mechanicals drove up in a real Jeep, the fairies crept out of the actual woods (I was a city kid – trees were a big deal!), and I was hooked. I’ve also had many wonderful teachers.

2. What moment(s) in Shakespeare always make you laugh?

Orlando forlornly waving his arm and saying “It is my arm”? I’M THERE. A really good (bad) Viola-Sir Andrew fight? SIGN ME UP. Benedict being terrible at hiding? THE BEST. Pyramus’ never-ending death? I LOVE IT. The physical comedy in the plays always makes me laugh. There are lines of text that I almost always laugh at, but I’ve been more delighted when those bits are reinterpreted in ways that sacrifice the laugh, but gain something more interesting in its place. Olivia’s wide-eyed “most wonderful!” is a war-horse, but I once heard it delivered with quiet awe rather than schtick and it was shockingly beautiful. “The dead can live again” rather than “another one!”

Mya interjects: Ok, yes, I also love “It is my arm.”

3. What's a favorite Shakespearean performance anecdote?

A Winter’s Tale where the bear was a puppet, and entered down the aisle sniffing at the audience as it slowly stalked Antigonus. The bear nosed at the handbag of an old lady in the front row and growled at her. She growled right back.

Mya interjects: Don’t mess with old ladies’ handbags.

4. What's one of the more unusual Shakespearean interpretations you've either seen or would like to see?

The opening speech of Richard III done as Bunraku puppet theater, but with a person as the puppet. It showed the pain of being “unfinished” so beautifully while also being horrifying and incredibly funny. This Richard was so close to being a person (“a real boy!”) but knew that he lacked some essential, animating humanity and made a conscious decision to hurt people because of it.

5. What's one of your favorite Shakespearean "hidden gems"?

I love watching the characters on the sidelines – the ones who aren’t the center of attention but are telling incredibly rich stories with their silence. Margaret in Much Ado is a great example and I always watch her when the Prince explains why he thinks Hero is disloyal. Margaret knows in that moment that the ruined wedding is her fault but she says and does…nothing. Aufidius and Isabella also have whole histories in stillness.

6. What passages from Shakespeare have stayed with you?

I’ve had Henry V’s “upon the king” and the Scrivener from Richard III on my mind – the responsibility of leadership and the realization of its corruption – but my favorites are the ones I think as my own thoughts and it takes a minute to figure out where they came from. i.e. on a hiking trip in the pouring rain, carrying a heavy pack, and staring up at switchback #492, I thought, “Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back!” It took until the top of the mountain to figure that one out.

Mya interjects: If you’re not familiar with the Scrivener from Richard III (and there’s no reason why you should be,  since his scene is almost always cut), his one speech goes as follows:

SCRIVENER Here is the indictment of the good Lord Hastings, Which in a set hand fairly is engrossed, That it may be today read o’er in Paul’s. And mark how well the sequel hangs together: Eleven hours I have spent to write it over, For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me; The precedent was full as long a-doing, And yet within these five hours Hastings lived, Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty. Here’s a good world the while! Who is so gross That cannot see this palpable device? Yet who so bold but says he sees it not? Bad is the world, and all will come to naught When such ill dealing must be seen in thought.

I’ve never gotten over the beauty of this line from Pericles – silence may be the perfectest herald of joy, but if you must use words, these ones are pretty great:  

“Give me a gash, put me to present pain, lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me o’erbear the shores of my mortality and drown me with their sweetness.”

7. What Shakespeare plays have changed for you?

All of the plays have changed as I’ve gotten older, but the ones that deal with grief have altered the most. A friend died suddenly when we were eighteen and I reached out for Cleopatra and Constance without consciously knowing why. My father died five years later, and by then I knew that I would find some kind of recognition in the plays and I deliberately went to them. The words were always beautiful, but now I knew what they meant. I must have heard Claudius’ “that father lost, lost his” speech a hundred times but never understood the obscenity of telling someone “the right way” to grieve until someone did it to me. Cordelia comforting the confused and frightened Lear sits close to my heart now, and Ophelia’s madness has method in’t. Hamlet’s “mirror up to nature” didn’t tell me what I’d see or how to respond, but it allowed me look at myself and observe both the shadow of my sorrow and the thing itself when I needed it most.

8. What Shakespearean character or characters do you identify the most with?

Beatrice. I love her wit, her walls and her willingness to climb over them, her delight in her friends’ happiness and her white-hot fury at their pain.

Mya interjects:  Can confirm, Kate is totally Beatrice.

9. Where can we find out more about you? Are there any projects/events you would like us to check out?

You can follow me on Twitter @katepitt and keep up with me on my website www.katepitt.com.

(Back to Mya)  Thanks so much to Kate not only for answering the questions she helped me come up with, but also for being an unfailingly helpful creative and emotional outlet. Get thee a Kate.

COMING NEXT WEEK: A wonderful woman who is training small children to become the next generation of Shakespeare geeks, and two Shakespeare geeks who regularly act like small children! 

#Q&A August #shakespeare

[thefreshfinds]

JOHNNY QUEST THE REBEL:

Johnny The Quest’s rhymes are beyond any listener’s wildest dreams. While others use their music to speak on artificial topics like sex, drugs & their drip, Johnny Quest the Rebel uses his natural skill to not only put the hating n-ggas to sleep, but he also conveys an influential message. If it isn’t through clever punchlines & entendres, then he gets personal — telling his own story for others to relate to. However Johnny Quest the Rebel is one who believes that one should F.R.Y.D  (F.ollow R.each Y.our D.reams) because he knows what it’s like to feel lost & unsure of how you are. Wholeheartedly he defines as one who’s empathic, truthful & real. The “Rebel” side comes from a daily challenge of having an active role in life. “I believe that one of our purposes is to unravel the world.” he goes on to say. On the whole Johnny Quest the Rebel is the voice who demands the world to give up the answers because often we are left wondering “why?”

Starting his musical journey in two different points of his life — Johnny Quest the Rebel first got his big break in 2000/2001. He recalls the first time he freestyled with his older brother & cousins in his Grandma’s basement, saying that they all grew up pretty humble. So Johnny figured if he could be a kid star like Bow Wow then they would never have to worry about money. As he grew up & did a couple of group projects, it wasn’t until he hit rock bottom in 2012 when he started to use music as a therapeutic process to help battle with anxiety & depression. “Music, amongst a few other things, helped me re-instill my confidence & got me out of my low.” Johnny Quest the Rebel adds “It always has, even as a listener, but I just owned that I wanted my music to do for others as it had for me.” After hearing responses from his music, Johnny decided to take music seriously. He was going to live his dream & wake up the people! Till this day he’s thanking his lucky stars. To define Johnny Quest the Rebel’s sound, would be more of a renaissance style. It has all the main components of our golden era of hip hop: storytelling, being the voice for those who are afraid to speak & genre defying — testing all sounds solely to reach different audiences. DREAM gives you a snippet of Johnny Quest the Rebel’s versatility and star power. “You will hear me express how it feels to have a dream even that moment when you realize you can really make it happen.” he adds. “Find your dream & pursue it with 1000% effort, 10x the amount you personally thought you could give.” All in all DREAM sheds some light on Johnny Quest the Rebel’s journey & gives people who have dreams some inspiration to keep going. Like the famous writer Marsha Norman says, “Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.”

The Break Down:

1. Dream: Stomping into your circadian rhythm, Johnny the Quest keeps one alert in the first song “Dream”. Before the beat drop, an high pitched voice echoes out “Dream” over the white noise. Then the beat fuses in beside the familiar voice with sprialing hi-hats, an 808, reverse & futuristic sound effect. However once Johnny booms in saying “all I had was a dream” that’s when things go in full effect. As the beat continues on, Sunnie sings the chorus with effortless passion & sensuality, “If I close my eyes a little longer, baby everything will be ok *insert vocal run to “ok”*/In fact that don’t kill me, it only made me stronger/Well I say turn a dream into tomorrow/And turn tomorrow into today. Johnny Quest the Rebel then uses smooth yet minimal auto-tune for the cut-throat bars he’s about to spit. Ultimately, Johnny Quest The Rebel leads by example that anything is possible if you work hard for it & advices others to do the same. Sometimes we wait for opportunities to come but we should go and find them instead. An example can be seen from this very line from Johnny: “All about the timing, not the diamonds or the risk/But a young Rebel said I need to shine too/Hunting down dreams cause they won’t find you/.../If it glitter & it golden let it blind you.”

2. Truth or Dare: “Truth or Dare” levels up as the second track with a finely tuned violin chord & 808’s that are guaranteed to stick with you from the very beginning to the end. Ultimately the wise MC speaks on his undying hunger to accomplish his goal to make it. “Young Pixar, for my dreams I will risk all. Only way is up when you’re coming from a pitfall.” Even when he’s lived in a nightmare, he still rose with the sun & made things happen. Not only for himself, but for his people as well. Johnny Quest the Rebel also feels highly blessed & favored to be living his dream. Fading out is a voice that says “Don’t wake me up.” & then the famous phrase (and album title) “Dream.”

3. Projects 2 Mansions: “Projects 2 Mansions” breaks the rims off the speaker with it’s stormy base (& yes! It really does sound like it could come off an 90’s sitcom). As the base goes ham, the background leaves some space for the twinkle effect & hi-hats to work it’s magic. The reverb here is the “oooh” & “yeah” that’s highly pitched but also mesmerizing. As Johnny Quest the Rebel questions the listener “Is this everything that you’ve dreamed of? The most hated on I dream love.” he also uses punchlines & metaphors to speak on his luxurious life, living his best life with the homies & gives the haters something to think about. “Hustle like Russell, back when I had to bag a Kimora.” Johnny Quest the Rebel also spreads the word on how it happened (& if you do this too, who’s to say that it won’t happen as soon as tomorrow!?) “Cause I done paid my dues, I swear they cost a lot/.../Only reason that I’m here, somebody paid for me/Don’t get caught up in these streets & be somebodies prey homie. Instead of a 9 to 5, he’s doing what he loves. But to get there is pretty simple: Dream first, hustle second.

4. In My Zone: “Channel surfing on electric waves,” Johnny Quest the Rebel gives us some insight on what pushes him on a daily to achieve his dreams. “Catch Johnny on the star track/..All white but I’m all black/90’s baby so I’m all that/Searching for my bag of chips on different continents. Trying condiments. Even when the going gets rough, Johnny Quest the Rebel advices all in the song to just stay in your zone because eventually it will all pay off. Believe it or not, he’s been through the drafts. Still, he can never be taken out. In unison a feminine voice says in the back “In My Zone.” during certain parts (& the vocals even resemble the singer, The Weeknd’s range). The beat also has a chill-wave feel to it & just cruises into your cerebral cortex.

5. JOHNNY TSUNAMI (SKIT): This short excerpt sounds as if it comes from the greater times when technology was on the rise. At first the interviewer explains who Johnny Quest is & ask then goes on to ask him the question, “Why this quest for the perfect wave?”. Gracefully, he stays composed & gives the best answers to this one which are followed by a couple more.

6. Top of The World: As he takes a hit & answers how to catch the perfect wave — Johnny Quest the Rebel, the beat goes ham with laser beams & hi-hats. While on a “surf board with a dream catcher,” the MC goes to say that this first verse was a favorite because he left some gems that most people won't understand on the first listen. “I love when people listen them come back weeks or months later & are like, “Oh that’s what you meant”. This song also falls in as his favorite one off the project as well, “It came together so smoothly & it’s a dope song.” he adds “I wanted a record that I was able to stay true but that could be listened to in different spaces that everybody could get on they wave.” For me, I interpreted this song’s message as a P.S.A for those who are afraid to break out of their comfort zone. Don’t say you’re going to do something. Just do it. Even if you fall, brush yourself off. Try again. After all, you create your destiny. An example can be seen in these lines: “Life’s a b*tch & I treat it like a model..Now they’re calling me the Native Sun/Waves speaking in my native tongue/Talk back with a body language/English probably is a second language.”

7. www.(420 Reprise): Paying contribute to his right hand Mary Jane, the beat takes a sultry approach( which could be contributed thanks to the fumes or the lighter that sparks up in every song off of Dream) & finds a way to our “Blaze it Up” playlist. As the guitar strings make an appeasing tune, Johnny Quest The Rebel speaks about his daily ritual: to smoke & drink water. Yet he also lets us in a little & speaks on the best piece of advice he’s received from his lady “She tell me not to worry ‘bout what they say/Master your high, grasshopper till you feel like Sensei/And then you treat the world like it’s your dojo/ You gotta give back where nobody can steal your mojo.” At the end, the guitar goes into solo & nails what a guitar riff should sound like.

8. 20/20 Vision: In midst of the snaps, snares & twinkle sound effect — Johnny Quest the Rebel sings in auto-tune “I see in 20/20 my vision, so clear, so clear.” According to the MC the profound message is that any/everyone who has a dream is going to see their vision before anyone will support it or believe it is possible. “Shit this record might make someone quit they day job.” Johnny adds. As long as you keep your focus & work ethic intact then the sky is the limit.

By: Natalee Gilbert

LINK(S):

1. DREAM: https://soundcloud.com/jquesttherebel/sets/dream

2. Instagram: @jquesttherebel

#soundcloud #freshfinds #music #musicblog #rap #listen #banger #musicians #hip hop #follow #johnnyquesttherebel #dream #mixtape #unsignedhype #motivationalquotes

[junker-town]

Ayo Dosunmu is the star Illini basketball always needed

How Chicago native Ayo Dosunmu left a lasting legacy at Illinois.

Ayo Dosunmu put on an all black outfit when he woke up to go to school on October 19, 2017. He changed his Twitter avatar to a blank black box, and so did the rest of his large, supportive family that had been visible throughout the recruiting process. Dosunmu had whittled down his college choice to Illinois and Wake Forest, and he wasn’t about to give any clues before he revealed his decision at the Jordan Brand store in the heart of downtown Chicago.

Dosunmu was considered the top basketball player in the city and a borderline five-star prospect depending on which recruiting service you trusted. He was exactly the type of recruit that had broken the spirit of Illini fans so many times before.

Illinois basketball didn’t always feel like a punchline, but it had become one in the years following its 2005 Final Four run. Illinois captivated the country behind Dee Brown, Deron Williams, and Luther Head, but it couldn’t turn an iconic team into future wins on the recruiting trail. It started to feel like making the Illini your second choice was a rite of passage for top local recruits who were deciding where they would play college basketball.

Eric Gordon verbally committed to Illinois only to end up at Indiana. Jon Scheyer became a legend for his scoring outbursts at suburban Glenbrook North playing for the brother of Illinois coach Bruce Weber, but he still picked Duke over heading to Champaign. Sherron Collins and Julian Wright picked Kansas. Jalen Brunson picked Villanova. Cliff Alexander, then the No. 2 overall prospect in America out of Chicago’s Curie High School, mistakenly picked up an Illinois hat for a moment before revealing that he’d spend his lone college season in Lawrence. The reaction video of Illinois fans watching Alexander’s mishap felt like the program’s defining moment since the Final Four run.

Illinois fans remembered Shaun Livingston wearing an Illini jersey to school at nearby Peoria the day before picking Duke. They had pegged Quentin Snider and Jeremiah Tilmon as saviors only to see each renege on their oral commitments and eventually go to Louisville and Missouri, respectively, instead. The thought of a highly-touted recruit listing the Illini as a finalist was enough to trigger feelings of dread and resignation for anyone who cared about the program. These stories only ended one way.

Illinois coach Brad Underwood reportedly didn’t know Dosunmu’s intentions when the lights went off in the Jordan Brand store and a short video played thanking everyone who helped the point guard get to this point. Kanye West’s “Homecoming” blared from the speakers as the lights came on and Dosunmu entered the room wearing a white Illini polo. Illinois basketball, for once, didn’t come in second.

Three and a half years later, Dosunmu has become the best guard in college basketball, and maybe even its best player. He would have led Illinois to its first NCAA tournament appearance since 2013 as a sophomore last season before Covid-19 stopped daily life as we know it. Now he has Illinois lined up for a No. 1 seed.

“I just felt that playing for my home state and investing in my home state meant more than it would at another school,” Dosunmu told SB Nation. “I thought I had a chance to do something special at Illinois.”

This is the impact Illinois basketball was always waiting for when it pinned its hopes and dreams on high schoolers who ultimately decided they’d rather play college basketball somewhere else. Dosunmu was the right player at the right time to finally make it happen.

Dosunmu started his high school career in Chicago playing at Westinghouse, a formerly proud program that had been relegated down to the inferior White division when he showed up as a freshman. The team appeared to be entering a rebuilding phase, but Dosunmu wouldn’t let that happen. He put up gaudy scoring numbers all season and led Westinghouse to a conference championship that put the school back to the Red division with the rest of the Public League powers.

Still, Dosunmu wanted to compete for state championships and knew he needed a bigger stage for that. He decided to transfer to Morgan Park, one of the city’s premier programs. The Mustangs were led by Nick Irvin, the boisterous and affable head coach whose family also runs the city’s top grassroots program on Nike’s EYBL circuit, the Mac Irvin Fire. Irvin had coached plenty of great players, but he quickly realized Dosunmu could be better than all of them.

“The first day of practice, I knew he had the chance to become one of the best players to ever come out of Chicago,” Irvin told SB Nation.

If Irvin saw his long-term potential, Dosunmu knew it wasn’t his team just yet. Morgan Park had a senior guard in Charlie Moore who was positioning himself as the top player in the city and a top 100 recruit nationally. Irvin pleaded with Dosunmu to take over more often offensively, but the sophomore was content to defend and distribute while Moore pushed for Mr. Basketball. Morgan Park was upset in the super-sectional round of the state playoffs, but Dosunmu’s reputation was starting to take off.

He debuted on the EYBL’s 17U level in the spring and started opening eyes. His first scholarship offer came from Illinois-Chicago and assistant coach Ron ‘Chin’ Coleman. Illinois and then-head coach John Groce offered shortly after. Before long, Dosunmu had gone from unranked to a top-40 recruit flirting with five-star status on some publications.

Suddenly, Dosunmu was crowned the next big thing in the city. With Moore off to play college ball at Cal, Morgan Park would be his team. Irvin says Dosunmu worked as hard as any player he’s ever been around heading into his junior year, often going from hours-long practices with Morgan Park straight into individual skill training with his father Quam. Irvin found a player who hated being coddled and wanted to be pushed to the limit by his coach.

“It’s either state championship or bust,” Irvin recalls telling Dosunmu. “It’s going to come down to you closing out games and closing out teams. I always told him people remember players that close games out like MJ and Kobe. His junior year, he won us a lot of games late.”

Now nearing 6’5 as a point guard, Dosunmu was becoming a takeover scorer who thrived going to the basket and was starting to make progress with an awkward-looking jump shot. He powered Morgan Park through the Public League gauntlet and into the state semifinals, where he suffered a season-ending ankle injury in the first five minutes of the game. Morgan Park would win a state championship without him.

Dosunmu went back to the EYBL circuit months later and certified his borderline five-star status. USC, Xavier, NC State, and Wake Forest were all-in. Illinois had hired a new head coach in Brad Underwood, and he hired a new assistant: Chin Coleman, the same coach who gave Dosunmu his first scholarship.

Dosunmu and his family didn’t want to let speculation over his college decision hang over his senior year. He got together with his inner circle — his parents Jamarra and Quam, his sisters Joselynn and Khadijat, his brother Kube — and made a decision that felt natural for him.

“Illinois is our state program,” Dosunmu’s father told SB Nation. “We want Illinois to be on top. We believed we had the right pieces and could turn it around.”

“We like challenges. We like building things. We’re a hard working family. Illinois was a perfect fit.”

Dosunmu played through another leg injury as a senior, but he wasn’t going to let it keep him off the floor. After leading Morgan Park back to the state title game, he scored a record 28 points in the final outing to bring the Mustangs back-to-back championships.

Photo by Michael Hickey/Getty Images

Dosunmu didn’t have much time to heal up after high school season — he was invited to try out for USA Basketball’s U18 team in the FIBA Americas Championship, made the team, and flew to Ontario for the competition. There, Dosunmu teamed with current NBA players Coby White, Cole Anthony, and Tyrese Maxey and finished sixth on the team in scoring as the Americans won the gold medal. It was another impressive accomplishment in his prep career, but his body never had much time to recover from nagging leg and ankle injuries.

Dosunmu was hailed as the Illini’s savior when he committed, but those around him sensed it wasn’t going to happen overnight. Illinois had lost two key players to transfer over the offseason in Mark Smith and Michael Finke, leaving a young team without much proven talent or depth in the front court.

Illinois was swept out of the 2018 Maui Invitational. It started 1-7 in Big Ten play and finished only above Nebraska and Northwestern in the conference. It had the second-worst defense in the Big Ten and an offense that ranked No. 83 in the country. This was a young team and a bad team by any measure, but there were flashes of the player Dosunmu would eventually become. He closed out a win against Michigan State with a pull-up three, and beat Ohio State with a catch-and-shoot triple from NBA range. He led the team in scoring, but his efficiency — 43.5 percent from the field, 69.5 percent from the foul line — left a lot to be desired.

Dosunmu was projected as a borderline first round pick throughout his freshman year. If some expected him to leave school for good, his father wasn’t one of them.

“He didn’t pass the eye test to me,” Quam Dosunmu said. “I knew he wasn’t ready for grown men at the time because his body hadn’t healed.”

Dosunmu made the surprising decision to announce his return to school without even testing the draft process. He was back for his sophomore season with a goal of going from top prospect to top player.

Illinois got a big boost going into the season with the commitment of Kofi Cockburn, a mammoth seven-foot, 290-pound center from Brooklyn by way of Jamaica. Cockburn provided a much needed infusion of talent as the No. 43 recruit in the RSCI while also filling Illinois’ biggest need. Finally, the Illini had a big man who could fortify the paint on defense and provide interior scoring.

The Illini lost close games to Maryland, Miami (FL), and Missouri to start the season, but things fully started to click in the heart of conference season. Illinois rattled off seven straight wins against Big Ten opponents during one stretch, and they closed the regular season as winners of five of six. Dosunmu was the catalyst and was fully growing into his reputation as one of the best closers in the sport.

He iced a win over Wisconsin with a step-back three. He finished off Northwestern with a deep pull-up. He used his size to bang home a 15-foot game-winner over Zavier Simpson and Michigan. He hit a bomb to beat Indiana and a mid-range shot to down Iowa. Dosunmu improved his scoring average to a team-best 16.6 points per game and was named All-Big Ten First Team. Illinois was ranked in the 30s in efficiency on both ends of the floor and set to get its first NCAA tournament bid since 2013.

Then the pandemic hit.

“We had a chance to win the Big Ten Tournament and I had a chance to improve my stock,” Donsumu said. “But Covid had other plans. I tried to accept it for what it was.”

Covid-19 changed life as we know it for everyone, but it felt particularly devastating for a 20-year-old on the precipice of accomplishing what he had worked so hard for. Again, Dosunmu had a decision to make: turn pro or return for his junior year. To hear his family tell it, he may have made a different choice if not for the pandemic.

“We’re a family of planners,” Quam said. “There was too many uncertainness that came with draft process, with the G League during Covid. We probably wouldn’t be doing an interview right now if not for the pandemic.”

Dosunmu himself also said it was a difficult question to answer:

“I pretty much took it one year at a time,” Dosunmu said. “Talking to my family, they really helped me make the best decision for myself and for my long-term future. My mom always told me you don’t have to save this family. We’re in a great financial situation. I think that allowed me to put in the work I needed.”

Greg Bartram-USA TODAY Sports

The success Dosunmu has experienced as a junior is the direct result of a hard-charging offseason meant to transform his body and his skill set. He owes the former to Illinois strength and conditioning coach Adam Fletcher. The work didn’t stop after hours of lifting. Fletcher also overhauled Dosunmu’s diet and took it upon himself to see that the point guard was eating enough even when he didn’t have the appetite for it.

“Baked chicken, macaroni, mashed potatoes, salad,” Dosunmu recalls. “He’d give me a big plate and say you gotta eat all of this. It came a point where he would sit down at the table with me and watch me eat and make sure I digested it right.”

From the time he entered the program until now, Dosunmu says he put on at least 25 pounds of muscle. The player he is today wouldn’t be possible without it.

When it came to fine-tuning his skill set, Dosunmu went back to the only trainer he’s had his entire life: his family. His father Quam and his brother Kube worked to remake a three-point shot that bottomed out as a sophomore. For as good as Dosunmu was last season, he knew only making 29 percent of his three-pointers wasn’t going to cut it.

The elder Dosunmus recorded every shot Ayo was taking in his training sessions and compared it to what they saw in games. When they found an attempt that looked good, they would go back to the floor and try to replicate the mechanics with a focus on his elbows and follow through. They held him to a high standard, not considering each drill complete until he made 80 percent of his shots.

“It took so many long nights in the gym,” Dosunmu told SB Nation. “Frustrating nights. Threw so many balls all over the gym to get to the point where I got to now.”

Dosunmu has been one of the very best players in the country from the start of the season. Along the way, he’s helped make the Illini one of the country’s very best teams.

Underwood has spread the floor around the two-man game of Dosunmu and Cockburn with electric results. Pick-and-rolls including passes make up half of Dosunmu’s possessions, and Illinois has scored in the 88th percentile in the country on those play types. Dosunmu has thrived driving the ball to the basket since his high school days, but now he knows how to read pick-and-roll coverages as a passer and has more confidence in his pull-up shooting.

Almost every area of Dosunmu’s game has leveled up as a junior. His 30 percent assist rate is a career-best, up from 21 percent. He ended the regular season making 40 percent of his three-pointers, a massive improvement from last season, even if it’s still on modest volume. He’s getting to the line more than ever — a 34 percent free throw rate, up from 25 percent each of his first two years — and he’s making the freebies when he gets there. The point guard who was a 69 percent free throw shooter as a freshman now makes 78 percent from the foul line. He’s pulled off the impressive feat of having his most efficient scoring season (57.1 percent true shooting) while posting his highest usage rate (30 percent) yet.

Illinois has a top-10 offense and top-10 defense, one of only three teams in America that can say that. Right now, Dosunmu is the only player in the country to average more than 20 points, five assists, and six rebounds while shooting better than 50 percent on two-pointers and 40 percent on three-pointers.

The late game heroics have, of course, been there again. He hit a catch-and-shoot three to bury Indiana, a pull-up to beat Nebraska in overtime, an NBA-range three to finish off Northwestern, and a driving layup to defeat Ohio State.

Dosunmu made that last shot while wearing a black mask after suffering a broken nose at the end of a close loss against Michigan State. He doesn’t love how the mask affects his vision, but it has a way of making him look even more intimidating.

The Illini are finally back in the NCAA tournament, and they aren’t just happy to be there. With a likely No. 1 seed next to their name, Dosunmu is thinking about the Final Four and the national championship. Anything less will ultimately be a disappointment.

When asked why he broke the trend of hometown stars spurning the Illini, Dosunmu looked forward instead of backward.

“Five to 10 years from now, the legacy I leave at my home school will mean more than anywhere else.”

That legacy — one of the great players in the history of Illini basketball — has already been cemented. The final chapter just might be the best part yet.

[wennjunwho]

A love song/ A non love song

Genre: Idk angst ??? maybe 

Word Count: 1157

Description: Paris was a trip for two, Joshua ended up going alone. Nashville was a time for two, you’re left alone telling the story. 

Based on this song and this explanation by Jon Cozart and Dodie Clark 

A/N: Ive had this in my draft for soooo long and I really hope you like it because it was very fun and therapeutic to write, so yeah! enjoy! (also check out Dodie, plz and thanks)

Italics: Joshua 

Normal: You 

At least he avoided cliché. That was the only upside Joshua could get out of this whole situation. Everything, form the nice waiter to the bottle of fermented grape juice in front of him seemed to know he was alone, Joshua was sure he was the punchline of Paris at this point. Alone in the city of love. There had to be a name for how pathetic he was.

 You wanted to go back in time, a day, maybe two, when everything was good, when you knew what to say and how to say it. Paris was a long way from Nashville, Paris was a huge leap of faith, faith you couldn’t afford to have just yet. Paris was a beautiful city for saps, just the city for two people who were in love; that’s exactly where the problem had begun, with that one word.

 There had to be some sort of cruel punch line in all of this. He had everything clear in his head, how the two of you were never quite in love, he didn’t even think in love was a possibility for the two of you. But then again Paris was the city of love and he was walking, alone, thinking if it was you or the wine that had gotten him on that plane.

 You had met Joshua in the summer; Nashville was a nice start for your story. Joshua played piano beautifully, that was the first thing you noticed about him, the second being how his hands seemed to move so freely;  you could never play like that, your playing was monotone, mechanic. Joshua made music look easy, you thought of music like a science. It was a funny contrast now that you think about it.

 The boys had told Joshua about a hundred times how your relationship was doomed from the start. It was a joke at first, because Joshua couldn’t keep a relationship and you were too scared to have one. It was a joke because it was funny, because it wasn’t true. Joshua kept looking at his phone screen, whishing, hoping, your name would pop up. But his phone had no service and he could bet you had no intent on ever contacting him again.

The funny thing about Joshua and you was that you were perfect for each other. You liked to watch the same cheesy musicals, and cooking when one of you was stressed, and the both of you were terrified of commitment. The only difference between the two of you was how Joshua was adamant that fate existed, that somehow people were destined to be together. He had gotten you to trust fate, but fate wasn’t kind, fate was set on destroying anyone and everything; you were a fool for believing otherwise even for a second.

 Joshua knew nothing about the situation was funny. Noting about how he left, or how you stayed was funny, but leave it to him and you to find humor in sadness. It was so stupid the way the two of you acted, so childish, so perfect. Joshua knew the situation wasn’t funny, but the way it had played out, like a tragic romantic comedy, something about him cracked a smile out of him.

 The ticket felt cold against your palms ever since he gave it to you. It took you a month and eight days to say no. It took you packing up and saying your goodbyes to notice you couldn’t leave, not yet, not with him. It wasn’t clear to you, why you were so scared of the trip, maybe it was your fear of flying or his fear of failure; whatever it was, it got you off the plane before you even had a chance to get on it.  

  Joshua had made his mind up a few hours ago, Paris, alone, sucked. He had been there before, but never quite like this, his heart wasn’t as heavy. Back then, your name wasn’t even a thought. Paris was made for lovers, the people who weren’t as lucky to experience the city looking in somebody’s eyes got to see how ugly it actually was. The chipped paint, the ugly noises, it was all less beautiful. Joshua decided that day that maybe Paris looked different to everyone, maybe the way you saw Paris said more about you than the city itself. 

 You thought twice about calling Joshua, it had been a good day, it had been one of those days that felt like summer again, it wasn’t up to you to ruin it; cancelling Paris was certainly a way to do that.  

Joshua answered before you could change your mind, his voice was always higher on the phone, it made you laugh most of the time, you weren’t sure if it was okay for you to laugh now. “Paris is too much.” You started, the other side of the line fell silent. “I don’t think I can do this.” “I know and I’m sorry.” “I…” love you. Loved you? Will love you? “I’ll see you later.”

 There was something about your name lighting up his phone screen that seemed foreign, somehow he wasn’t sure if that one glass of wine had actually gotten to him.

How are you?

Well you are home and I’m here drinking fermented grapes, so I’m great.  

You don’t drink.  

You texted me to say that?

I texted you because I have an idea.  

 The real reason behind Paris was for the two of you to record a duet. You never told that to any of your friends, you just mentioned Paris and Joshua, because somehow that was the only thing that mattered. Paris, Joshua and your completely irrational fear of being a couple.

You had said yes to the duet at first because pledis wanted you to, and Joshua wanted you to and at the time paris didn’t seem like a death threat. The melody for the duet was lost somewhere in your voice notes and suddenly you knew what the song was about.

 Joshua had the feeling Paris wasn’t his city, but somehow writing over your melody made it better, somehow getting it all out made it better. Paris wasn’t a pretty city when you weren’t in love, but it was if you pretended to be. Paris was the city of love and as everyone who has ever been cursed with that feeling it was easily deceived; so Joshua turned the lights off that night, knowing that maybe the both of you weren’t in love, but you had maybe written on every margin of your story.

 The song turned out more bitter than you expected, the exact counter melody to what Joshua had written. It wasn’t summer anymore, but you were in Nashville and it was hot enough to pretend, to pretend you hadn’t fallen, to pretend you were in Paris, to pretend for a moment that you were in love with Joshua Hong.

#joshua hong #hong jisoo #seventeen #joshua hong scenarios #svt #seventeen scenarios #junhui #soonyoung #hoshi #dino #lee chan #minghao #the8 #seventeen performance team #seungkwan #jihoon #woozi #jeonghan #seokmin #dokyeom #Seventeen vocal unit #seungcheol #scoups #vernon #hansol chwe #wonwoo #mingyu #seventeen hip hop unit

[abysscontemporary]

The 2020 Comedy Club Shutdown

The comedy club shutdown of 2020 may one day be known as the Great Vanishing Act of the Coronavirus Era. The disappearance of stand-up comics and live audiences, engaged in the conjuring up of mirth and laughter at intimate indoor venues, has brought a halt to a social economy, marked by the exchange of wit and performative delivery for levity and amnesia of ill fortune.

If you think this opening paragraph is unlike the set-up of a live, onstage comedy bit, you’re right.

It illustrates the situation live comedy is in today.

The spoken word, brought to you live and in-person, is very much different from and livelier than the written or mediated word, and the absence of live stand-up comedy puts into sharp relief how its vibrancy is noticeably different from what has succeeded it (e.g., essays, audio and/or video shows, posts on social media, etc.)  Live comedy and its brilliance are sorely missed.

To take a closer look at the distinctions between the conditions of comedy before mid-March 2020 and the lockdown that came afterwards, this writer conferred with a selection of New York City-based comedians in August 2020.  They reflected on what their concepts and practices were like before the pandemic and what their outlooks are for the future.  All were elegant in expressing how the art of unseriousness is serious business.  Furthermore, they portrayed what it’s like to go from being specifically a stand-up comic to being – more broadly – a comedy artist.

What was your routine before the COVID-19 lockdown in terms of writing, rehearsing, performing, pursuing projects, and booking opportunities?

SASHA SRBULJ:  Before the lockdown, I would typically conduct writing sessions with my closest comedy buddies towards the beginning of the week and perform one to three shows at various spots in Manhattan throughout rest of the week.  In between all of this, there would be dozens of discussions with other comics; we’d brainstorm, rehearse, and generate booking opportunities for each other.  This weekly cascade of stuff could all fall under the rubric, “pursuing projects.” Also, by hanging out together during the week, we’d find ways of spurring creativity and ideas.

Since the start of the lockdown, almost all of these in-person activities have stopped, and they’ve become much more rare because the clubs are closed.  We do try to maintain as much online and text-messaging contact as possible - but that's only one element, and it can’t replace the whole experience.

VERONICA GARZA:  Before the lockdown, I was performing almost every day, doing shows or going to open mics. If I wasn’t at a show I was booked on or at a mic, I was supporting a show.  Also, each and every day, I would try to write or to come up with at least three premises to work on.  January and February 2020 were actually really busy months for me, and I was very excited to see where this year would go for me in comedy.

EMILY WINTER:  Before Covid, I'd spend all day writing at home for my various writing jobs and script pursuits, then I'd do standup at night.  I'd usually write new jokes on my way to shows or just work out new ideas when I got on stage.

CAROLYN BUSA:  I’m realizing a lot of my routines happened for me on the train, and that’s the same for writing.  Either on the way to a gig or on the way home from one.  Those were always the times I was most inspired.  Especially after experiencing how a joke hit.

After gigs, I would usually come home from a spot and fall asleep with my notebook in my bed, trying to perfect a bit about submissive sex right before bedtime.  

The same goes for seeing a good show.  I’d know a show was really good when I’d come home inspired and want to write a bunch of new premises.

Booking opportunities kinda happened naturally at countless weekly and monthly shows.  Surely, some months were slower than others.  (Cute, how I thought THAT was slow compared to now). During those times, I focused more on writing; my own show, Side Ponytail; or pursuing open mics.

I feel like I always have and always will have a million project ideas spinning in my head, but, without money or deadlines behind most of them, I complete and pursue them more slowly than I’d like to.

DARA JEMMOTT:  I was really just moving and flying by the seat of my pants - taking any and every gig to make it work.  I would do most of my writing on stage.  With working 10 hours a day and then doing two to three shows a night, it was very difficult to sit down and find time to write.  However, quarantine has allowed for me to write way more and in different areas.

MARC GERBER:  I never made a set time to sit down and write, the way a novelist or a journalist might.  My jokes come to me spontaneously, either through stream-of-consciousness - while daydreaming, that is - or in conversation with others.

My jokes generally start off as amorphous drafts.  I have either a punchline that needs a strong opening premise or a premise that will need a strong punchline.  About 10% to 20% of the bits that I come up with make it to the stage.

Before the lockdown, I would meet with comedian friends, and we’d polish and improve our jokes together. I’d rehearse only before a big show – such as one for recording an album or headlining a major gig.  By this point, doing a 10- to 15-minute set had become rote.  If I had a brand new bit, I might rehearse it in isolation several times before it performing on stage.

I typically don’t pursue projects or booking opportunities.  Primarily, I am reluctant to ask people for opportunities, unless they are big, and I am ready for them.  For example, I recorded my first album in November after aggressively pursuing a record label and convincing them to produce the album and release it. (Happily, the album debuted at Number One on the iTunes comedy chart and it’s been on heavy rotation on a major Sirius station).  In terms of getting spots and other smaller opportunities, I generally take what I’m offered if they’re legitimate.  However, I don’t ask for much, and I don’t implore people to put me on their shows. I think my approach is tactful.

ROBYN JAFFE:  I stepped on stage for the first time just nine months before the comedy clubs and the city shut down, and I quickly became hooked.

I’m a teacher by day, and, over the summer, I was planning to explore more open mics, bringer shows, and auditions because the comedy scene doesn’t lend itself to the preferred early bedtime of someone, like myself, who works in a school during the rest of the year.

How have you responded to the lockdown?  Did you initially see it as brief hiatus?  Did you make it an opportunity to pivot to new projects?  What have you missed most about stand-up comedy, so far?

SASHA SRBULJ:  The lockdown was a shock, and, within the first three months, the only shows I did were on Zoom.  I've since seen people doing park shows, parking lot shows - anything to fill the void. Aside from Zoom shows, I've done shows on Twitch, which was new for me.

I’ve done game-type, interactive audience shows.  (There are online games now that are comedy-centric.  An algorithm throws out some phrases and premises, and then, several comics try to make jokes out of them. The audience votes, participates, comments, etc.)

It's a format that provides a different kind of audience feedback.  On Zoom shows, you generally can't hear the audience and mostly can't see them; so, it's hard to gauge and impossible to improvise much.  The Zoom shows are improving, though.  Even in five months, there's been tremendous progress.

I've pivoted to writing more - both bits for the stage and for writing in general.  The time has also given me an opportunity to strategize the narrative for my next special/album.  Planning basically.  It's an opportunity to think things through deliberately.

What I've missed most about comedy was my friends.  I thought it would be the laughter or the crowds and my own douchey desire to be at the center of attention; but what I actually miss the most is my friends.

(Note:  My douchey desire to be at the center of attention is running in close contention.)

VERONICA GARZA:  Overall, I’ve been generally concerned about my health, so I’ve done what I can to stay inside and avoid crowds.

I took the whole thing as an opportunity to work on other stuff.  I finally made a full draft of my solo show about my dating men and even performing it over Zoom for two festivals.  I have worked on an entire new half-hour of comedy.  I’ve also considered this as an opportunity to work on scripts I’d intended to write.

I miss performing live. I miss seeing the audience - or even the lack thereof - and figuring out what I’ll do on stage.  I miss seeing other comics and having that one drink after the show where we bitch about a show or a venue, but also just catch up. I noticed shows popping up randomly in New York City, and, honestly, I don’t think it’s safe enough for them yet.

EMILY WINTER:  I absolutely thought it would be a brief hiatus, and I was excited.  As both a writer and a standup, I feel like I never have enough time to dedicate to many of my writing projects.  I saw this as the Universe forcing me to concentrate on my writing projects for a while.  Since coronavirus, I've written two new pilots, rewrote an old one, wrote a movie with my husband, and got a book deal.  I’m about halfway through the book-writing process.  My two new pilots still need a lot of work, though.

I do miss stand-up. I miss the feeling of connection that you have when a set is going well. There's just this beautiful buzz in the air.  It's magical.

CAROLYN BUSA:  Oh brother. This is THE question isn’t it? Are you waiting for me to say, “God, I miss the mic!!  Get me on the stage!  My blood and bones need it!!  Punchlines! Laughter!  Applause!”  Not quite.

I definitely did see it as a brief hiatus but kinda like how I adjust to traveling super quickly. (Every hotel or Air BnB feels like home within hours.)  After a short time, NOT getting on stage felt freakishly normal.  It kinda freaked me out and made the last ten years of my life feel like a fever dream. Maybe I'm already on a ventilator.

I, of course, miss having a great set, applause, and people telling me I'm funny.  I miss the thrill of finding the line that makes whatever wild idea I have relate to the majority of a crowd.  Or, if not relate, at least understand where I'm coming from.

I also miss parts of the socialization that came with comedy.  My good friends, those that I'd see every now and then, the bartenders, the Barry’s!  My social life was my day job and comedy, both of which are now gone.

Admittedly, there's a part of me that feels relief.  The hustle has really beaten me up, so to kinda put that aside does not feel horrible. I thought I'd have more pockets of success at this point in my comedy career, and, even though I really like who I am as a comedian, not having to prove it for a few months feels ok.

So,...(shrugs shoulders)   I'm still writing, and I'm still making goofy videos, but, more importantly, I'm really trying to figure out what makes me completely happy.

DARA JEMMOTT:  At first, I responded to the lockdown with annoyance and fear, and, then, I enjoyed the fact I got to sit down for a second.  Afterwards, I had to grieve a life I once knew.

I am getting to enjoy doing nothing because who knows when that will come again?  I did realize that maintaining my mentals would be a top priority and that it was important for me to find projects to distract and dive into. So, I wrote my first pilot.  Never would I have had time to do that before.

MARC GERBER:  I initially saw the lockdown as a brief hiatus.  Fortunately, I had my album coming out, and it gave me something to promote and look forward to.  The success of the album’s release was encouraging, and I was able to do a number of online shows to promote it.

Since then, I have focused mainly on my other career as a psychologist, as the online shows are somewhat underwhelming, and I have been living outside of the city and thus, not getting the opportunity to do any of the outdoor shows that clubs and independent producers have been putting on.

What I miss most about stand-up comedy is the camaraderie of my comedian friends. Of course, there’s also nothing better than making 150 people laugh on a Friday night.

ROBYN JAFFE:  I wanted to keep up with comedy-writing and joke-sharing during the lockdown, so I started a Twitter account.  I also began to post a video to my Instagram account every Sunday night, and I call it “Pajamedy Sunday.”  I may not have been able to get on stage all of these months, but I’m trying to make people laugh during a difficult time.

I did one Zoom show but otherwise haven’t performed.

What do you envision yourself doing before comedy venues fully re-open?  After comedy venues fully re-open, what do you most look forward to doing?  When live stand-up comedy fully returns, what do you expect the dynamic will look like between you and your live audience?

SASHA SRBULJ:  While comedy clubs are closed, I hope I use my time productively.  Aside from ironing out some aspects of my set, there's a writing project I want to try out and see if it has legs.

After comedy venues fully re-open, I am most looking forward to performing and seeing the community come back, which I hope it does.  This lockdown has lasted long enough that things may not just snap back into place like before.  I'm hoping that the thirst for comedy and just fun in general helps bring the community back quickly.

Frankly, until we have full herd immunity - either via a vaccine or just pandemic spread - I can't imagine things going back to the way they were.  Brick-and-mortar comedy clubs are physically intimate spaces, especially in New York City, and laughter is an involuntary response that can spread aerosols. Unfortunately, comedy clubs, along with bars and night clubs, will be among the last establishments to reopen.

In the meantime, outdoor venues, virtual shows, and socially distanced shows are our only way. Once it's safe again, I think people will resume their lives as before.  It may take a while for 100% of the people to be comfortable again, but, once the green light is given, most people will revert to the norm.

I initially thought this would permanently scar an entire generation of people and scare them from social interaction.  However, as it turns out, the hardest thing about this crisis was getting people NOT to socially interact.  So, I think when it will finally be safe, people will come back.

With both the positive and negative aspects of what this means, “You can't change people.”

VERONICA GARZA:  If comedy venues even survives, I’m sure it will be a while before I return to live performances.  I very much look forward to performing, but I also don’t want to rush to return to the stage and putting myself at risk.

I’m not that selfish. When live comedy returns, I’m sure it will be lovely.  This current pause we are in has made everyone eager for some laughter, so I look forward to when we can safely do it in-person.  As for now, I’m enjoying doing it safely over Zoom.

EMILY WINTER:  I've been hesitant to perform at outdoor shows because I'm so immersed in my writing right now.  I'm going to hold out a little longer while I re-work pilots and finish my book.

Once venues re-open, I'm looking forward to that brilliant feeling of connecting with strangers and feeling the collective energy in the room.  I think that will be more difficult since I imagine people will be sitting farther apart.  It's hard to create one unified energy when people aren't physically close together, and I worry about that.

CAROLYN BUSA:  I will continue to think about and explore how to use my creativity to maintain my happiness!  Writing, when I'm inspired; creating, when I want; and exploring other paths, possibly.

I've been dipping my toe back into writing stand-up, but it's been SLOW.  I don't want to pressure myself too much or even say, “Put pressure on myself.”  (Oh god, I hate brains).

I haven't done any outdoor performances, but, from what I hear, people are happy to hear jokes and happy to laugh.  I'd expect that would be the same for when comedy fully returns.

I honestly don't know what to predict though.  Every time I try to think of what something in the future will look like, I suddenly need a nap.  My hope with this worldwide slowdown is that, in the future, comedy can be separated from those who want to hustle and work hard from 8 pm to 1am and those who want to do it from 5 pm to 11 pm.

DARA JEMMOTT:  I'm really not thinking about "fully-re-open" and what that looks like or when that will come.  I'm not going to put my life on hold and resume it after quarantine.  Folks got to learn to live their life regardless and make the best of the situation.

I've been doing plenty of Zoom shows and outdoor shows, so I expect the dynamic to be the same. Uneasily and with trepidation, I’ve been happy to be out of the house and around people.  But, "after quarantine" - I stopped using those words a long time ago.

MARC GERBER:  I have been listening to the experts (e.g. virologists, epidemiologists) and not the politicians since this began.  I knew by mid- to late February that comedy venues were going to close down.  Before one of my shows in late February I posted, “Come see my while you still can!”  Many people thought I was a joking, but I was being deadly serious.

According to the experts, this is going to be a long fight, particularly because of how poorly the federal response was in controlling the virus.  I think comedy is going to come back very gradually.

Before the lockdown I was getting regularly booked at some of the best clubs in New York City. However, there are many, many comics ahead of me on the seniority list.  I believe that for the next several years, if not longer, I will have fewer opportunities to perform than I’d had before the lockdown.  I will have to find a way to engage myself creatively without getting on stage as much. That might include podcasting and writing. I am still figuring it out.

I feel fortunate to have a stable career as a psychologist. While comedians won’t be in high demand for a long time, psychologists certainly will be.

ROBYN JAFFE:  Now, I attend comedy shows outside to enjoy live comedy and shamelessly talk to comics before or after the show. I hope to pick up where I left off whenever that becomes possible!

Comedy can be transformational, and these stand-up comics are stand-up people.  Reading what they’ve said suggests that hearing what they will say on one stage or another will be something to look forward to.

Carolyn Busa:  http://www.carolynbusa.com Veronica Garza:  https://twitter.com/veros_broke Marc Gerber:  https://800pgr.lnk.to/GerberIN Robyn Jaffe:  https://twitter.com/rjaffejokes Dara Jemmott:  http://www.instagram.com/chocolatejem and  https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/comedians-for-hire/id1448386062 Sasha Srbulj:  https://sashasrbulj.com/ Emily Winter:  https://www.emilywintercomedy.com

#standupcomedy #standup #comedy #covid19 #pandemic #lockdown #performing #writing

[creativitytoexplore]

Everything Old Is New Again: An Interview With Co-Web Editor Adam Soto https://ift.tt/2WdSDbp

Writer and editor Adam Soto has long been a part of American Short Fiction‘s editorial team. As one of our assistant editors, he regularly read submission to the journal, wrote copious feedback for authors, and helped determine which stories would ultimately appear in our print edition. So, when we made the decision to bring on another web editor this spring, Adam was a natural choice for the role. This month, he joins our longtime web editor Erin McReynolds as our website’s co-editor, and together, they’ll determine which stories are published here at ASF Online. I recently emailed with Soto to ask about his work, his approach to editing, and his aspirations for the magazine.

—

Nate Brown: Adam, we’re so thrilled that after having served as an assistant editor with us for so long that you’re stepping up to the plate as a new web editor who’ll be working alongside web editor Erin McReynolds. While we know you around these parts—you’ve been a member of Austin’s literary community and of our team for years—I want to start by asking you about your own fiction writing. You’ve got a novel coming out next year. Can you tell us a bit about it?

Adam Soto: Joining ASF was one of the first things I did after coming to Austin, and it’s really been like being part of a family, so I’m really grateful for all the time I’ve had with organization, all the stories I’ve read through the years, and I’m really moved to have the opportunity to contribute more to what the journal is doing, which is something special. 

The novel is called This Weightless World, and it’s out on MCD/FSG fall 2021. It’s a sentimental sci-fi, a kind of Contact for misanthropic millennials. January 1, 2012, Earth detects an alien signal from a planet 75 lightyears away and a group of characters—a Chicago Public School teacher; one of his students, a musical prodigy; and his ex, a programmer who dumped him for a gig at Google—anticipate a major paradigm shift, an alternative to late stage capitalism, the neighborhood’s cycle of violence, an escape from their own personal guilt. I mean, aliens are supposed to be game changers, right? Habit, human nature, laziness, and fear, however, prove to be a greater obstacle than the 75 lightyears between us and them, and when the planet suddenly falls silent, leaving us alone in the universe once again, collapsing the distance between who we are and who we hope to be feels harder than ever. While the characters sort out their lives, our planet’s biological clock keeps ticking, our dependence on technology distorts our sense of reality, and our most vulnerable continue going mostly ignored. If all of that sounds too depressing, I should add that there are also loving pen-pal letters and lyrical dispatches from deep space woven throughout.    

NB: It’s funny, Adam, but I remember you from back in your Iowa City days, when you and my wife, Thea, were MFA students at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Was this a project you were working on back then, or is the novel more recent than that? And how does the novel compare to the work you were writing then? 

AS: I remember the two of you as well. I started the novel on January 1, 2012, so, right before the start of my last semester at Iowa. Marilynne Robinson was going to be teaching a novel workshop in the spring, we’d all been in a novella seminar with Peter Orner, so all of my friends had suddenly pivoted from writing short stories to writing novels, and I thought, I wanna get me some of that!

I was staying with my parents for the holidays, and I had a dream featuring an image and a wordless interpretation. I saw this fuchsia-colored planet and felt that not only I but the whole human race was being shunned and shamed by it, like the planet was Earth’s twin and we just weren’t going to be friends. With absolutely nothing else to go on, I set up my laptop in my parent’s kitchen, took a look around the room, and typed the first thing that came to mind. “So, this dude wakes up on Jan. 1, 2012…” Most of my work, up to that point, had focused on alienating readers. They were mainly plotless, kind of nihilistic, and tried really hard to redeem themselves with lots of catchy sentences. It had never occurred to me that I could cut back on my affect and keep alienation as subject matter. It took me three whole drafts (re-written, top to bottom) and four years to figure out what the story was about, three years working with my amazing agent, Marya Spence, to turn an 800+ page sprawling tome into an actual novel, and it’ll be another year and a half before my editor, Danny Vazquez, and the rest of the team at MCD/ FSG and I turn it over to the public.

NB: Did you have any particularly great workshops or instructors at Iowa? What ideas about writing have stuck with you? And for those considering an MFA program, do you have any advice on what they should expect to take away from the experience? 

AS: My very first workshop there was with the late James Alan McPherson. He was so funny, sage, and generous, and my workshop group became my best friends. Peter Orner was also very inspiring. He taught me a lot about teaching and reading. Teaching and writing were the natural byproducts of reading and paying attention to others for Peter, and this has proven vital to me as a middle-school English teacher. Michelle Huneven, however, changed my life. The way I saw it, I was just this kid who got into this really nice writing program for one reason or another, but, somehow, Michelle took me seriously and told me to take myself seriously. There’s no shortage of people taking themselves seriously in MFA programs, so, I guess my advice is to expect to find something out about yourself. A lot of people find out they don’t like teaching; hell, some people find out they don’t like writing that much, at least not enough to spend the rest of their lives trying to get published. Either way, no matter your age, or where you’re coming from, you’ve got to let the MFA years be formative in some way.

Back in the day, there used to be this expectation that you could join a program and graduate with a book deal, or at least a “cushy” teaching gig that’d hold you off until you got a book deal, and because it was more of a rite of passage, these programs could get away with being deeply unfeeling. I felt nurtured and supported, but I know a lot of people who didn’t and who don’t. But I think if everyone comes in expecting more, and if everyone is willing to accept that that something more probably isn’t going to be more book deals—taking on publishing is a whole other nightmare—then I think a lot of the criticisms of MFA programs could be addressed, and not just by faculty and directors but by the student communities that hold them accountable. Because there’s no real promise for what you can expect, especially from program to program, until you start laying out those expectations. For starters, funding and diversity.

NB: In addition to writing, a big part of editorial work is reading submissions. What kind of work grabs you? What excites you? What do you love coming across in submissions? 

AS: I like something that commits. Something that assures me that it wants to tell me something, even if it’s reluctant to, even if it fails to. Commitment is huge. To voice, a structural procedure, a deep study of character, a memory being pulled apart, a woolgathering.  

NB: Our web exclusive stories have long been capped at 2,000 words (though this is changing), and I’m wondering what you think the short form—whatever you may call them: flash fiction, micro fiction, short-shorts—offer that longer works do not? What are the advantages of really short work?  

AS: Whenever I get a new album, I always start with listening to the longest song. With short story collections, I always start with the shortest story. This is something I’ve done forever. Whatever they’re called, I’ve always been attracted to these brief things, and, over the years, reading them, writing them, I’ve come to appreciate their different intended effects. You read one of Babel’s Red Cavalry Stories and the story’s length isn’t really the first thing you notice. Similar to your feelings after a shorty by Chekhov, you’re struck by the wholeness of the experience, the funny asymmetry, the dropped details—as in the details the writer does and does not drop. Compare that to a sprint by Thomas Bernhard, one of Lydia Davis’s illuminating punchlines, or a haunting by Peter Orner, and I think you get a mixture of dedications to singular things, which is rare in our Wikipedic, FOMA world. And the fact that that one thing can be so many different things—grief’s manipulation of time, light’s impression on a memory, an anecdote, extensive alliteration—is really a gift. Such dedication taken to greater lengths is often awkward or dull until it ventures into the obsessive and becomes genius again.      

NB: Are there writers whose stories you find yourself returning to over time? If so, who are those folks, and which stories do you think demand re-reading? 

AS: Mavis Gallant, constantly, and especially her early and long story “The Cost of Living.” I love that long story for its failure to commit, for dragging out what it means to say for pages and pages, for pretty much being a 36-page novel. Leonard Michaels’s Nachman stories and his list story “In the Fifties.” Anything from Joy Williams’s Escapes, but especially “White” over and over again. Andrey Platonov’s “The Motherland of Electricity” (it teaches you how to build a generator), James Alan McPherson’s “The Silver Bullet,” and, more recently, Sara Majka’s “Saint Andrews Hotel,” “Especially Heinous” by Carmen Maria Machado, and Brandon Taylor’s ASF story, “As Though That Were Love.”  

NB: Jesus, there’s so much good work in there. That Brandon Taylor story has really stayed with me. I taught it at Johns Hopkins last semester, and it made a couple of students (and me) cry. Taylor has so much to say about loneliness and the unbridgeable spaces that exist between people, even those who are dear friends. Come to think of it, the Williams, McPherson, and Majka stories you mention are sort of about that, too. Would you say that the tension between isolation and collectivity, between personal spaces and social spaces are of interest to you? Based on what you’ve said about your own novel, that seems central in that work, too.  

AS: Yes, definitely, definitely, the isolated and the collective, isolated collectives, and, now that we’re all getting a taste, the collectively isolated. And that tension, too, I think you’re right, between the singular and the collective, I’ve always been fascinated by where it pops up, how places and moments of intimacy can leave us feeling so isolated, how fractured our alliances and coalitions can be, how hard it is to come together behind a common goal. But most of all, over the years I’ve become obsessed with characters who, against their better judgment, still seek community, and I’m really attracted to the tensions that arise when those seekers interrogate their intentions or test the authenticity of their communities. One of the unique features of our world today is our ability to not only witness but quantifiably measure the efforts being made by ourselves and others as we vie for each other’s communion—it’s something both beautiful and grotesque. And that reality really takes the characters in TWW for a ride, from pulling them out of their recessional depression to overloading them with worldly concerns to leaving them feel completely isolated. 

NB: American Short Fiction has been around since 1991. Why do you think that journals like ours—large and small, from all parts of the country and the world—abide? What role do you think we play in the broader literary culture, and has that role changed over time? 

AS: Like the few healthy corners of the internet, lit journals are places for spaceless communities, folks looking for a common thing; in our case, a certain flavor of fiction. With every issue, you’re excited to share in the discovery of someone new, eager to read someone familiar, and happy to sustain the practice of an old art form. And before the internet, and now through the internet, lit journals have always offered deeply reflective but also relatively immediate reactions to the worlds we live in, which is something I’m excited to play a part in as a web editor. As a utility, we broaden the spectrum of representation in culture, and although our nets require wider and wider casting, what we discover here increases the expectations we have for other literary institutions, as well as the world at large. 

    Adam Soto is a co-web editor at American Short Fiction. He holds an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and is a former Michener-Copernicus Foundation fellow. He lives with his wife in Austin, TX, where he is a teacher and a musician. His debut novel, This Weightless World, is forthcoming from MCD/ FSG fall 2021. 

#American Short Fiction

[thisismrbrendanjay]

Nixon and MLK

People were marching in the streets.  The leaders were getting arrested.  Police brutality was coming to a head.  The country was divided over whether the protesters were heros or criminals.  And Eisenhower was president.  

It seems antiquated when we see how people spoke to each other then.  Rancor among sides.  Talk of “those criminals.”  Peaceful demonstrations turned to riots.  But there is something we can learn from Nixon and JFK beyond the new film “Selma.”

It’s a little telling that his first meeting with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was in Vice President Richard Nixon’s Senate office--not the White House in 1957.  President Dwight David Eisenhower was avoiding King.  Just a few years before, Eisenhower had a name synonymous with freedom, after leading the allies throughout WWII.  But civil and racial unrest had gripped the country.  Eisenhower didn’t know how to play with racial questions.   In 1954 Brown V. Board of Education the Supreme Court ordered an end to segregation in schools.  “Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal.” Eisenhower handled it unbelievably poorly..  He suggested that they undo generations of unequal schooling starting with--no joke--graduate schools.

But the Vice President, Richard Nixon, was the lone voice in support of a Civil Rights Bill as part of their “domestic portfolio”--a high priority that would stabilize the country through democracy.

Miles away J. Edgar Hoover of the FBI began fanatically tracking King.  But on June 13, 1957 Richard Nixon invited him to his senate office for the first of several meetings.

King had recently given his famous “Justice without Violence” speech and Coretta Scott King was pregnant with the future Martin Luther King III.

“If the Negro succumbs to the temptation of using violence in his struggle for justice, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate life of bitterness, and his chief legacy to the future will be an endless reign of meaningless chaos.”

Nixon’s notes from that afternoon survive.  Negro determined to gain dignity...This is part of a world problem--quest for human dignity all over the world.  They stayed for three hours.  But when he left, King told reporters that it was not a substitute for a meeting with Eisenhower.  It was only “a step in that direction.”

“He had one of the most magnetic personalities that I have ever confronted.” That is Martin Luther King--Martin Luther King--talking about the conservative Nixon. “I...feel that Nixon would have done much more to meet the present crisis in race relations than President Eisenhower has done,” he told reporters.  

Being in DC was difficult for King. As a student at Morehouse College in Atlanta, he’d worked summers in Connecticut.  It always unsettled him--as he wrote in his biography--to leave the integrated North and have to switch to the segregated cars down South.  Because they moved him to the Jim Crow cars in D.C--his own nation’s capital.

The particular genius of Richard Nixon at the time was his ability to listen.  He was only Vice-President, the handy punchline to many jokes about being ineffectual.  But he had his eyes on the White House and saw that oppressed peoples were the quickest to turn towards his bigger enemy: Communism.

Prophetically, King mentioned that Nixon--who would later step down for deceiving the American people--should be watched.  “If Richard Nixon is not sincere, he is the most dangerous man in America.”

King’s political genius was of course in leading his people to a place they couldn’t legislate.  It wouldn’t be over with integrated kindergartens.  It wouldn’t end with voting rights.  Equal pay.  King at his best and most applause-worthy lines speaks of a world above politics, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

When Nixon was photographed with King his fellow republicans thought it would ruin the party.  Shouldn’t he appeal to conservatives in the North and South?  Nixon rejected this idea.  If you want to see race divide the party: become a Democrat.

After the original--but weak by today’s standards--Civil Rights Bill passed, Nixon got a letter from Jackie Robinson: “I and many others will never forget the fight you made and what you stand for.”

King wrote, “I will long remember the rich fellowship which we shared together and the fruitful discussion that we had.”

But King didn’t come close to giving up there, “History has demonstrated that inadequate legislation supported by mass action can accomplish more than adequate legislation which remains unenforced for the lack of a determined mass movement.” King reminded Nixon that he still wanted an audience with the President.

Nixon replied, “My only regret is that I have been unable to do more than I have.  Progress is understandably slow in this field, but we are least can be sure that we are moving steadily and surely ahead.”  Although they didn’t agree on everything, Nixon and King agreed on a vision of a stronger America.

A year later MLK met with Eisenhower.  Segregation was crumbling, but desegregation not enforced.  The meeting solved nothing.  A stronger civil rights bill needed to pass.

THE PRESIDENTIAL HOPEFUL  

By 1960 the equally charismatic John F. Kennedy Jr. was up against Nixon for the Presidency.  Southerners didn’t trust Kennedy.  The evangelist Billy Graham had just returned from a convention in Rio with MLK and heard that King might support JFK.  “King was greatly impressed and just about sold.  I think if you could invite him for a brief conference it might swing him.”

This is where influence gets involved.  

MLK was arrested for violating probabation (What? Yes.  He’d gotten a ticket for “driving without a license.”)  King was arrested in chains in the back of a paddy wagon. With a police dog. Coretta Scott King appealed to both Nixon and the Kennedys.  Coretta was worried he might be killed or disappear in Georgia like other demonstrators had.

At the time, both Nixon and Kennedy had a lot to lose in the southern vote.  Among black voters they were equally split.  MLK leaned toward JFK, Jackie Robinson toward Nixon.

But the Kennedys went into high gear.  JFK telephoned Coretta.  JFK’s brother Robert telephoned the governor of Georgia, which freed MLK.

Nixon?  Uhm… there are rumors that he tried.  But “some hang-up occurred someplace.”  Still the Vice President, Nixon had more clout in the White House on the matter than the influential Kennedy and his brother.  But Nixon wanted to avoid using the matter for political “Grandstanding.”

Soon after the Kennedys printed up 2 million pamphlets entitled “‘No Comment’ Nixon Versus a Candidate with a Heart, Senator Kennedy.”

This is where we lose the young idealist Nixon.

Now for the really weird part: with the election all but over the California born Nixon went home to vote on election day.  When he suggested that he and his campaign aides get a drink they reminded Nixon that the bars were closed.  For Election Day.  So they--no joke--took an all day road trip to Tijuana.  Nixon wanted Margaritas and Mexican food.  

Yes, this is the day when a republican who turned his back on black leadership and turned to Mexican labor.  And it cost him the election.

They came back to the States that night to watch Nixon lose to Kennedy.

Years later in combing through the post-mortem of loss, it was discovered that the Justice Department had looked into how to free MLK, but sat on it.  They also found a very rousing statement drafted for Eisenhower in support of MLK, condemning the Georgia incident.

“I always felt that Nixon lost a real opportunity to express...support of something much larger than an individual,” King later said.  “He would call me frequently about things, getting, seeking my advice.  And yet, when this moment came it was like he had never heard of me, you see.  So this is why I considered him a moral coward.”

Three years later Nixon and MLK bumped into each other at the funeral of John F. Kennedy.  Nixon and JFK started in the Senate the same year.  They’d been opponents, yes, but also friends and colleagues.  There’s no record of King and Nixon speaking in the intervening years.

The vice president who brought us into an era of Civil Rights turned out to be Lyndon Johnson.  Who took over for Kennedy.  This is roughly where the movie “Selma” begins. In 1965 after King’s 1965 Selma to Montgomery marches Johnson signed the Voting Rights Act that both Nixon and King wanted.  Over the dead body of their mutual friend JFK.

THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE

Nixon ran again for President in 1968.  For a while he looked like he would oppose Johnson. But then, four days after Johnson stepped out of the race, Martin Luther King was shot and killed.

Street demonstrations and violence followed.  Nixon, a viable candidate wondered if he should go to the funeral of his old friend King.  He worried that this close to election time it might seem like “Grandstanding.”  A friend reminded him that he had used that word in 1960 when it cost him the election.

But what should Nixon do?  Make phone calls?  Send flowers?

Instead he suspended his campaign, flew to Atlanta two days early to visit with the King family.  First he went to see Coretta.  And then to see MLK’s parents in Collier Heights, a prosperous Atlanta neighborhood.  There was no press coverage.  He left without taking photos.

But then he returned to Atlanta two days later for the funeral.*  He sat in Ebenezer Baptist Church.  But he didn’t join the three and a half mile march to Morehouse College--where Dr. King first discovered on a summer trip that the world and even his own country could be a better place.  

To join that march, for any candidate--Nixon decided--would have been grandstanding.  

What do we learn from Nixon?  What can our political establishment learn from the bloodshed and actions in recent months?  Can you be conservative about an event and still progressive about the future?  We learned a few things from Nixon and MLK.  We learn quite a bit about time.  Namely:

Listening to opposing factions, is different than joining the march.  There are incidences, there are people and there is government.

Inaction is action.  Deciding not to get involved with King in the White House was Eisenhower’s decision.  Meeting with King was Nixon’s.  Stepping in to King’s arrest in Georgia was a different kind of decision for Nixon than Kennedy

No one should wait for a former friend’s funeral to say or feel sorry.

*I’m debating the asterisk, but the funeral for Martin Luther King Jr will continue to be one of the strangest, but most notable events in history.  Notables alphabetically: Harry Belafonte, Wilt Chamberlain, Bill Cosby, Bobby, Jackie and Ted Kennedy, Nelson Rockefeller and George Romney--Mitt’s father.

Suggestions for Further Reading:

If you want too much information on the subject check out Ike and Duck: Portrait of a Strange Political Marriage and the annotated letters to Nixon available in the King Papers Project.