last three decades

some baby boomer who has spent the last three decades in a loveless marriage with someone they barely tolerate: just wait, you’re going to regret putting off looking for love! you’re going to be so lonely when you’re older!! your life is going to feel so empty and incomplete!!!

me, putting my own happiness first, pursuing my dreams, cultivating healthy and fulfilling platonic relationships, doing whatever I want whenever I want, and just generally living my life to the fullest as a young single adult: 

It’s time for #TrilobiteTuesday! Over the last three decades, Morocco has emerged as the somewhat unlikely epicenter of worldwide trilobite discoveries. From Lower Cambrian Fallotaspids to an incredible array of unusual Devonian species—many, like this Drotops armatus, featuring outlandish spines and multi-faceted eyes—the sedimentary strata of North Africa has provided a veritable bonanza of bizarre trilobite types. Dozens of previously unknown species have emerged from the rich Paleozoic soils of Morocco, many requiring the delicate work of preparation artisans to free the specimens from their eons-old rock encasements. And while a dearth of scientific research has been done on the preponderance of material found thus far, there are a growing number of paleontologists around the globe who have recently begun to tackle this daunting, yet fascinating task.

Night Falls: Chapter 18

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: After witnessing a murder, Y/N becomes a protected witness to FBI Agent Dean Winchester, who needs her help to do more than just solve one man’s murder.

Word Count: 5,284


A/N: Gird your lions, friends. I have a feeling you don’t know what’s coming. 

Wanna be tagged? Shot  @attractiverandomness a note and a “thank you” for being my tag master savior!

Night Falls Master List

You had decided to call it an early night that night, not wanting to face Dean any more than you had to. 

You got it. It was his job to protect you, and he wasn’t doing that when he was busy doing you. But if he was mad at himself, then that was his own problem, not yours. 

When he didn’t want you, sure, it made your chest tighten but you weren’t going to push him, risking what you thought would be further embarrassment. No one made him rush up those stairs after you and pin you against your door. He made that choice–whether good or bad–and he had to live with it.

And for Christ’s sake, it was sex. It wasn’t like you two had killed anyone. And no one had showed up to kill you, so all was fine.

Or so you thought.

Dean was gone by the time you woke up the next morning, and when Cas arrived for his night shift, he showed up with a new partner–Benjamin–a man older than Cas with ashy skin and graying hair. He spoke quietly but with surety, and when you asked Cas where Dean was, you were informed that he was working overtime at the bureau getting ready for the trial on Monday, making sure all necessary precautions were in place.


Not that you doubted that, but Cas had no idea that Dean was clearly trying to avoid you. 

It made your jaw clench and head shake. For the first time since it happened, you actually regretted sleeping with him. What had been such a great moment was squashed and destroyed by the fact that Dean didn’t want to even see you anymore. 

You should never have made a move. You should have let things be. Sure, he finished it, but you had started it, and clearly that was a mistake. Because whatever it was that seemed to be growing between you two was now dead. 

The saving grace to it all was that the trial was quickly approaching and this would all be over soon, and you would never have to see him again. 

But as the weekend rolled on, there was a constant a sense of dread in your stomach. Reality had finally set in about what would happen Monday morning as Cas explained protocols–from the moment you left this house, until you were on the stand, you would be in a bulletproof vest with the bold FBI letters stitched across it. Before you even arrived to the courthouse, you would change cars, and do so again once you left, making sure that you weren’t being followed. While waiting to give your testimony, there would be several FBI agents escorting you around the courthouse. There would even be several female agents around so that you were never alone, not even in the bathroom. 

By Sunday night, you were mere hours away from seeing Zazel again and being put on the stand. You forced yourself to replay the night in the parking garage, and the day at the flee market, remembering exactly what got you into this mess so that you could end it once and for all. You tried to once again find that fire that had burned inside you, the rage towards Zazel for ruining your life that helped you hold your head high and your will steel, but as the hours ticked by, your determination was waning.

You briefly wondered if Crowley would be there, but you doubted it. Though you had no idea what he looked like, you assumed the FBI did–but what if they didn’t? What if he sat in court as an unassuming spectator? What if he finally saw the woman who was threatening his empire–helping the man that had been trying to take him down since the moment his mother was murdered? Would he try anything? Or just stare you down while you were none the wiser?

You really didn’t know much about Crowley, though you knew enough by now that you were going to be challenging a man who had been spending the last three decades building a criminal empire that hadn’t been challenged until now. 

Way to put a fucking target on your back.

There was still no guarantee that once the trial was over, and Zazel was-assuming–found guilty, that you would be able to return to your normal life. There was no promise that just because you finally held up your end of the deal, that you would get the happy-ever-after you so naively believed was waiting for you at the end of this ordeal when you signed your witness statement. 

Because at the end of the day, you weren’t playing by the FBI’s rules. You were playing by Crowley’s. 

Tomorrow morning you would take the stand, revealing yourself to the world. There was a fair chance that Crowley would come after you, and if that happened, there would be no returning to your normal life. You would be thrown into witness protection, given a new name, a new job, a whole new life where Y/F/N Y/L/N never existed. 

You would never see your parents again, or be by your sister’s side once she finally got married, or sit on the sidelines and cheer her on as she walked across the stage as Doctor Lydia Y/L/N. You would miss Mike’s child–who was due only two months from now–or any nieces or nephews that would come after. Your life would be snatched away, with no chance of ever going back. 

And as you in bed that night, you can’t stop the tears from prickling your eyes. With no one around to be strong for, you let yourself be weak. Because once you leave this room, you had to show the world that Zazel didn’t scare you, that Crowley was nothing but a name, and you, without a single doubt in your mind, would be there to take them down. You Y/F/N Y/L/N.

But no matter how much you tried to reassure yourself that tomorrow would go exactly as Dean had been promising since the day he knocked on your door, that tomorrow would finally bring an end to this living nightmare, you couldn’t stop the gnawing fear in your stomach that this was far from over.

Keep reading


Literary symmetry at its finest.

fun game: listen to this while imagining throam but volume three is set decades later

reginasevilpanda  asked:

Oh my gosh if you have some time I need OQ + sending nudes to the wrong number, pretty please <3

It’s a relatively new concept to her, not only for the fact that her cell phone has been one of the flip variety for the last three decades but the whole selfie sending saga in the first place. Everyone knew what she looked like, why would they want picture proof?

Henry had insisted though. Her trusty old phone had finally given up the ghost and, despite her reluctance, she’d chosen to upgrade to an iPhone. ‘It does so much more than your old phone, Mom. Trust me.’ and, of course, she did. So the next day she’d bought one. The very same model that she’d gotten Henry for his seventeenth birthday the year before. It hadn’t been hard to get used to, after an hour or so spent fiddling about with it, and she’d found herself rather happy with her new choice and her hand picked selection of applications.

One of which was Snapchat.

At first, Henry was her only contact and she loved it. Loved looking in on his day to day activities; time with his friends, afternoons spent terrorising the Charmings with his other mother, sweet little moments with Violet. It was like her own little peek into his world.

Over time though, and with Henry’s influence on the town, others had downloaded the app and so her contact list had grown to include Snow - with endless videos of Neal running riot about the town - Charming - sickening picture after picture of his one true love when she was unawares - Emma - mainly snaps warning any that followed her of the various hazards around town and some of Henry - and Robin.

He was the more recent of them all.

Her own ‘story’ consisted of various dishes she’d experimented with, drawings that her dimpled seven year-old sweetheart had brought home from school - he was endlessly talented with a pot of paints, they’d found - and pictures of all three of her boys together whenever she had them all in one room.

It was nice.

Also, it afforded herself and Robin the chance to get a little more creative when it came to their affections. Namely when the good and reformed Outlaw found himself on the night shift at the station.

Most times she’d send him a little warning, a preliminary snap to ensure he was alone before she’d begin the show for him.

It was never anything particularly special - a bare shoulder, a video of her thighs slowly rubbing together as she let loose breathy moans, an awkwardly angled (but highly paying off) shot of her bare bottom that always sent him wild - but his reaction was always worth the effort. Particularly on the nights she didn’t have to be up for work the next morning. He’d wake her on his return with a tongue between her legs or after a series of touches that would have her wet before her eyes were even open.

She’d known from the beginning that theirs was a relationship made to last the ages but to actually experience it was something that always managed to take her breath away.

The thought of her husband, so hardworking and lovely, was what had her in quite the playful mood tonight. He’d had to work a few more night shifts this week and so, she was missing him.

She padded across the floor of the bedroom to stand before her full length mirror, grinning as she positioned herself. She didn’t want the build up tonight and the thought of completely surprising him was too good to resist so, with a little preparation, she brought her phone up and pressed a finger to the middle button, recording as she moved her elbows out a little and allowed her silk nightgown to slip from her body.

She watched it through a couple of times, just to ensure it did the job, before she pulled up her contacts and found Robin’s name with the little gold heart beside it - of course he was her ‘best friend’ on the app.

It didn’t take long, just the short walk back to the bed, before she received a notification telling her that he’d replayed the snap - she chuckled softly at the thought of his expression - and only one minute after that came the “Robin is typing…” banner, followed by the little blue chat button that had anticipation skittering across her bare skin.

“Oh, my love…” read his message and it was only three words but they were three words that had her grinning like a fool at her phone.

Instead of replying, however, she positioned herself back upon the bed with arms straight out before her and her camera switched to the front so that she could adjust herself. Taking a moment, she brought a hand down to thrum gently across each nipple, returning it when both stiffened into dusky peaks.

She angled her phone, taking the picture on a diagonal and swiping to add the desired filter before moving to her contact list once more. It was as she’d highlighted Robin’s name that she heard a sharp cry from down the hallway - Scarlett.

She sighed gently, glancing down to send the snap - she couldn’t leave him hanging in anticipation - before leaving her phone on her bed and moving to pull on her robe.


Emma was quite ready to pack up and call it a night. She was on call anyway, if there was any real emergency she’d hear about it. The sight of Robin looking so desperately at his phone in the other office - no doubt texting Regina - not strengthened her resolve. It was home time.

First though, the phone had to be diverted to her cell.

Picking up her own phone - she really needed to learn her number one day - she was surprised to find a notification of a received snapchat from Regina. The very fact that Regina was even on snapchat still amused her.

Still, it wasn’t a complete rarity for her to receive a funny picture of Henry or a sweet snap of Roland and Scarlett and so, rather innocently, she opened the app and clicked to open the received picture only to throw her phone across the room, wincing at the worrisome crack as it hit the ground. Robin was frowning confusedly at her through the window separating them but she could do nothing other than try and erase the image from her mind.

Robin’s focus on his phone made sense now. How many times had they been on the night shift together and this had been happening?

It didn’t bear thinking about.


She was roused by gentle kisses along the line of her jaw and neck, her husband’s palm warm as it stroked along her upper arm. God, she loved him.

“Welcome home,” she whispered sleepily to him, tilting her head back on the pillow to allow him more access to her skin and emitting a warm hum at the feeling of him behind her. “Good shift?”

“Most definitely,” he replied pointedly before he continued, “although, Emma was acting a little strangely before we left. She threw her phone across the room.”

“Why would she do something like that?” Regina frowned.

“I don’t know,” Robin chuckled softly, “but she warned me that you’d be getting the bill for the repairs.”

That had her a little more alert as she turned her head and asked, “Why the hell would it be my-” she gasped, hoping to god that she was wrong as she lifted herself from Robin’s hold and reached for her phone left forgotten on her bedside table after her last exchange with Robin.

She was quick to unlock it, ignoring her husband’s questions and opening the snapchat app, her heart pounding fiercely as she looked through her most recent exchanges and, sure enough, there was Emma’s name just under Robin’s, the little triangle just an outline of colour.

“Oh, fuck.”

anonymous asked:

Not sure if you're aware of this, but gay people are capable of doing horrible things, too. It's not like being gay automatically makes you an innocent angel who can do no wrong.

Originally posted by gif-weenus

Here’s the thing: gay people are just *barely* getting representation that allows them to be showcased as full, multifaceted human beings. And when I say just *barely* I mean within the last two to three decades, depending on how generous we’re being.

While, yes, gay people (like any other kind of people) *can* be villains and do awful things, Disney specifically has a history of queercoding villains and making their nonconforming traits synonymous with their villainy. Scar. Jafar. Ratcliff. Ursula (based on drag performer Devine). The original animated LeFou.

This isn’t a step forward. This isn’t a step sideways, even. This is a backwards step *UNLESS* Disney actively works to subvert the harmful stereotypes associated with LeFou’s presentation and characterization.

And in a climate where I can’t point to one gay HERO in Disney (or most other media, for that matter), I personally feel a type of way having the alleged first proclaimed gay character to be a VILLAIN’S SIDEKICK.


By now, I think we know what this is about.

I almost picked the Burnside Batgirl, Supergirl, Agent Carter and even Rey from Star Wars. But I chose Windblade and here’s why. But first a little back story.

I’ve been a loyal fan of the Transformers franchise for the last three decades. I was part of the original target demographic for Transformers back in 1984, and the years passed, when other kids grew out of it… I stuck with them. I talked before how important they’ve been to my life, and there’s no need to go into that again. But I’ve been hanging about the franchise and fandom for many years. (Kind of like Rung. I’ve always been there, but no one ever noticed. And I’m okay with that.) I’ve seen some awesome things in the fandom. The rise of creative talents… As well and the fall of creative talents. I’ve seen projects come that revolutionize the franchise, as well as projects that makes Dark of the Moon look like the Avengers.

So yeah, like all long running franchises, there’s been ups and downs.

My fandom has been changing a lot over the last couple of years, and really… For the best. It’s becoming more inclusive and more experimental, both conceptually and literally. While the toys have been lacking lately… And I suspect this is just an industry phase. That’ll upswing again in a few years… The creativity of the media, from the comics to the cartoons and video games have really been groundbreaking for a bunch of tie-in merchandises. (Movies leave quite a bit to be desired, but the upcoming future movies here kind of give a glimmer of hope here, with the Bay-influence being shifted out.)

Well, a couple years ago, Windblade was created by the fans during an online creation poll. As how a majority of the OC characters are female seekers, this shouldn’t have shocked anyone. The writer, Mairghread Scott, created this character that was, in my opinion, a breath of fresh air. She wasn’t an angry victim, or cold assassin, or even manic pixie girl… She was this flawed spokeswoman, who was in over her head, trying really hard to make the right choices and barely keeping her head above water as she sparred politically with one of the most conniving, underhanded, backstabbing, silver tongued bastards of modern fiction: Starscream.

But Mairghread Scott, had a lot of complaints thrown at her… And these complaints where… Well… Quite unjustified. Hell, one of the first times that she has a Q&A feedback from the fans, one of the first questions asked was “Does she put out?” (Seriously. That was asked.) And the same complaints we heard toward Furiosa, Rey, Ms. Marvel, CW’s Supergirl and all the others… Pretty much, Windblade got labeled a Mary Sue. Even though, nothing she’s done even comes close to matching the definition of one. Now granted, this is the literal example of a “vocal minority”, and Windblade, Ms. Scott and this new progressive attitude in Transformers isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. And as one of the original fans, I’m quite good with this.

(Note: Not to be confused with the “Vocal Minority label lobbied at female readers all the time, which much like the labels thrown at Furiosa and the others, is also unjustified.)

So long story short, last week, when the comic over at Marvel, Mockingbird came to a conclusion. and the harassment of Chelsea Cain, I was reminded of the crap that Ms. Scott dealt with, and how some of those vocal people reacted to it all. And all of this over a t-shirt… Which had nothing to do with the comic itself. (Which was a comic about mer-corgis and relationships with ghost cowboys. Seriously, the comic was awesome and I’m gonna miss it!)

So when people were drawing images of various characters, wearing the now-infamous t-shirt… I wanted to join in support. I have a lot of creative friends who are women trying to make their place in comics, and I wanted to show that I stand with Ms. Cain, not just because it’s the right thing to do, not just because I never want those friends of mine to feel they’re alone against the world… But also because, this is something that’s getting frickin’ old.

And I thought “Windblade would be a perfect candidate to wear the shirt.” Ripped sleeves for her shoulders and everything. And there you go. :)

A Dream is a Wish

Rumplestiltskin/Belle, G 

Summary: A fix it for the fate of Belle and Rumbelle in the Wish Realm.

Notes: I had to. It was just too sad. Spoilers for 6x11. Unbeta’d errors abound, probably.


The first sign that something was amiss was the slight weakening of the wards on his prison. Rumplestiltskin awoke from a hazy sleep, not knowing how many days had passed, and not truly caring either, to the tickling sensation of magic. He frowned and started pacing the perimeter of his cell, but a moment later when Regina - no, this other Regina - showed up, he knew it had been caused by her.

What she’d said about being from another world sort of made sense. He’d read of such a thing going back to some of the oldest texts he could find. Everyone knew there were other realms, of course, but it was only a theory that there could also be copies of those worlds as well, a new one splitting off every time an important decision was made. That implied they were infinite in number, and the thought of more than one of him in existence was disconcerting to say the least.

As soon as he was left Princess Emma and the other Regina, he transported himself to Regina’s castle. Before his unfortunate and extended imprisonment, he’d discovered that Belle had never made it home to Avonlea, and further, that she’d tried to return to the Dark Castle only to be intercepted by this world’s Regina. Naturally, he assumed he would find his True Love in the highest tower, yet he hesitated before opening the door.

Keep reading

[The ‘Dudley Dorito’, the nickname given to the bright lights spotted in the sky.]

West Midlands Police received 12 reports of UFO sightings between 2013 and 2016.

Meanwhile West Mercia Police received four reports across Shropshire in the same time frame.

The figures have been revealed following Freedom Of Information requests to both police forces.

It comes as two high-profile UFO sightings have occurred across the region in the last three decades.

Shropshire’s most notorious ‘X-File’ incident took place at RAF Cosford in 1993 where an MoD police patrol saw bright lights in the sky. The sighting - dubbed the Cosford Incident - took place on March 31, at 1.15am. Dozens of triangular shaped UFOs were spotted moving at speed in the sky across western Britain at around the time.

In the Black Country, numerous sightings of a triangle-shaped UFO have been spotted over Dudley since the start of the millennium. The numerous reports of the bright lights have gave way to the nickname the 'Dudley Dorito’.

A break-down of the stats from West Midlands Police show the most UFO reports came from Birmingham, with three being made since 2013.

There were two reports in Dudley and Sandwell, and one report from Wolverhampton and Walsall.

Police revealed some of the sightings were described as 'lights’, 'objects’ and 'objects with lights’. But none were investigated by police officers.

In Shropshire, West Merica Police revealed four UFO sightings took place across the rural county since 2013.

An 'object with lights and flames’ was seen flying the low before landing in a tree in Donnington, Telford, on November 11, 2013. The sighting took place in the early hours and was reported at 3.47am.

Around 10 months later, an object was seen 'moving erratically in the sky’ over Bridgnorth. It had lights and was doing '90 degree turns’. Police received the report on September 25, 2014, at 4.23am. Police closed the log into the incident pending further enquiries.

A 'UFO’ with 'lots of lights and loud screaming’ was seen around 30 to 40 feet from the ground in Mickleton, Gloucestershire. The incident was reported to West Merica Police on February 25, 2016 at 19.32pm, but officers passed it onto Gloucestershire Police.

The most recent UFO sighting reported to police in Shropshire took place in Shrewsbury. Strangle lights were reported on March 7, 2016, at 1.17am. But the sighting was established as a helicopter and no police deployment was made.

The term UFO was officially coined by the American air force in 1953 and has since become widespread.

Allied pilots described such sightings as 'foo fighters’ during the Second World War.

Staffordshire Police said it was unable to respond to an FOI request regarding UFOs because it would be too costly to investigate.

It’s time for Trilobite Tuesday! Located near the town of Clarita, Oklahoma, the fossil-rich Devonian sediments of the Haragan formation have, over the last three decades, produced a magnificent array of three-dimensional trilobite specimens. Their rich caramel color, incredible preservation, and spinose ornamentation, most notably on the species Dicranurus hamatus (pictured) and Ceratenurus sp., have made these 417 million-year-old trilobites particular favorites of both museum curators and amateur collectors worldwide. Indeed, some 20 species, including Huntoniatonia lingulifer, Ketternaspis williamsi and Acanthopyge consanguinea, are known from the Haragan and its sister formation, the Bois d'arc, making this mountainous, semi-arid region of Oklahoma one of the most prolific trilobite locations in North America.

Learn about other top trilobite localities. 

anonymous asked:

Dragon!au Hanzo and Genji with a (male) platonic friend/lover (your pick) please :D maybe they never planned to tell reader but something went wrong and reader found out, cue angst, freaking out, misunderstandings but all is well at the end (or whatever you are inspired by!) Thanks and keep up your great writing^^


Most people connect the sight of a dragon with the horrors of the omnic crisis. Nowadays all but extinct, during the crisis they experienced their greatest increase in power, allying themselves with the god programs to enslave humankind. Veterans and civilian survivors alike remember the dragons’ roars as they hid from the awe-inspiring and terrifying creatures, their enormous bodies shadows in the water, blotting out the sun above.

Once they stood as a symbol of prosperity, longevity and wisdom, but overnight they turned into the nightmare of a generation. After Overwatch trapped the last god program, freed the omnics in their service and became the global organisation they would remain for twenty years, their first order was to call out another great dragon hunt. It should be the last.

What followed historians describe as one of the most brutal mass killings in history. As punishment for the crimes committed during the crisis, horrendous in their own right, the dragons watched as they were hunted down, slaughtered and torn apart from skin to bone marrow. Some fought, but the crisis weakened them, and some hid, like the human prey they hunted, but no one would shelter them.

Overwatch called a stop to the hunt only when the enraged mob turned to the children. By then the dragons were gone. A once mighty race standing side by side with humankind reduced to history.

“… Rough estimates put the number of surviving dragons in the low dozens but no one can be sure. For better or worse they hide. Perhaps one day we can find common ground. Until then the dragons’ place is in stories and legends.”

The documentary ends to the credits running over an old picture of a group of human and dragon soldiers during the second world war, side by side and smiling brightly. It’s the first show you’ve seen that doesn’t demonise dragons and as expected the older attendees of this movie night make their derision known. Even Reinhardt keeps himself tight lipped and says nothing when Jack monologues about the natural malice all dragons possess.

Keep reading


The F40, F50, Enzo and LaFerrari Together at Fiorano

Seeing them all together at Fiorano was an unforgettable and very moving experience made all the more special by the fact that they were driven, one after the other, by the man that test-drove them on that same track throughout their development.

We’re talking, of course, about the F40, the F50, the Enzo and LaFerrari, the milestone cars in Ferrari’s technological evolution over the last three decades, and the great Dario Benuzzi, himself a fixture at Maranello since 1969. The legendary Ferrari test-driver drove each one of the cars in order, reliving the emotions of a lifetime career with the Prancing Horse in a kind of unique technological time-lapse sequence.


World class Iconic American Artist Jean-Michel Basquiat Makes History. 

               What was a normal Thursday night quickly transformed into a night of art history when iconic artist Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Untitled painting sells for $110.5 million at Sotheby’s latest auction.

               Basquiat’s Untitled was last purchased over three decades ago by local New York collectors Jerry and Emily Spiegel for twenty thousand dollars. The art piece would then disappear from the public’s view until the couple passed away in 2009 and passed it on to their family. The Basquiat propelled Sotheby’s auction results to $319 million in sales, a 32 percent increase from a year ago. The bidding for the painting started on May 18 at $57 million, sparking gasps in the packed salesroom. Lasting for more than 10 minutes as three parties chased after the work the final result would top Andy Warhol’s $105.4 million auction record and make Brooklyn-born Basquiat the most expensive American artist at auction.

               “I remember astounding the art world back in 1980s when I set an auction record for Basquiat at $99,000,” says art dealer and friend to Jean-Michel Basquiat, Jeffrey Deitch  “All of us, Jean-Michel’s friends, we totally believed in his genius. I always thought he would be one day in the league of Picasso, Bacon and Van Gogh. The work has that iconic quality. His appeal is real.”

i’ve always had a hard time figuring out that “what would u talk about/drink on drunk history” idea but i think i’ve finally found the answer to the first question, and the tentative answer to the second even though i can’t drink:

topic: the three facets/subgenres of batman characterization and how they’ve played out in notable works across the last three decades (possibly featuring @fluttervee as a co-contributor)

and poison: spiked horchata

Marinette and Money

Why is my heart so certain that Marinette’s parents come from money?  At least one of them does, and since we know pretty much nothing about Tom, I’m willing to bet it’s her mom.

They live in a very nice flat (double floors, big bay windows, a loft with a rooftop view) just across the Seine from Notre Dame (ep 16), which places them right about the 6th Arrondissement, (maybe the 5th) which is known for being trendy and expensive.  Real estate in Paris is expensive!  Did one of them live in that house forever?  Did someone inherit it?  Or did they just straight up buy it?  Either way, it speaks of money!

Everything in their house is tastefully decorated.  They are clearly not living in squalor, though they don’t have any of the ostentatious affections of the Agreste family- a gigantic, Spartan dining room in which only Adrien ever eats? (if I had to bet, I would say Gabriel is new money.  Who tries that hard and then never, ever, uses the space?)  

They have things.  Aside from the decorations, Marinette and her dad have a console at least new enough to keep up with Mecha Strike 3.  Marinette has her own television, a work station, a well-furnished room…  Marinette pursues her passion to make clothes by designing and creating new stuff all of the time.  Anyone who has done a single DIY project from Pinterest can tell you that it’s way more expensive than just buying the thing.  Anyone who cosplays can tell you that doing it well is really expensive. Marinette does not have her own part time job (is that a thing in France?) but she is able to pursue this as well as hang out with friends.  Any of y’all teens out there (and ‘grown ups’, lol) know how quickly money goes.

I guess that Marinette’s mom is the source of the money for a few different reasons: her uncle is a world-renowned chef, which takes time and effort in its own right.  Assuming someone helped him achieve the education, who? There’s a lot of nouveau riche in China from the last three or four decades of expanded economic growth, but the family-centered expectation in east Asian culture is such that it would not surprise me if Sabine’s family also had enough wealth for her to travel in her younger years, during which time she met a strapping young Frenchmen who dreamed of being a baker.

Sabine also dresses better than Tom, wearing a modified cheongsam.  Sure he’s baking a lot but he only ever wears a t-shirt and trousers?  YOU’RE IN PARIS, TOM, DRESS IT UP ;P

And they HAVE a bakery, a really successful bakery, which has clientele including metropolitan news anchors. 

Lots of little thoughts.  But basically, the Dupain-Cheng family is probably not “as wealthy” as the Agreste family, but they are certainly not hurting for money.  And they are probably richer in the way that counts anyway ;)

Of an evening…

  1. Christine likes to take a shower.
  2. Then rest her head on my shoulder and watch TV shows about murders.
  3. I tend to forget Step One has happened and that Christine’s hair is therefore still a bit soggy.
  4. I notice that my shoulder is damp.
  5. I accuse Christine of dribbling on me.

Tonight Christine has certainly dribbled on me during the fifth episode of the second season of How to Get Away…WITH MURDER! and the second episode of the first season of Between The Lines of Duty (we watched on Netflix, but that translates as ‘S02E05′ and ‘S01E02′ if you’re pirating). 

This The Lines of Duty episode took a darker turn than the first instalment which had simply asked “What if policing was as bad as teaching?” This goes as far as “What if policing was as bad as nursing?” 

I anticipate that all future episodes will continue to interrogate the police by comparing them to other British public services that’ve been degraded over the last three decades by the intrusion of ill-fitting free market ideology under the guise of ‘professionalisation.’

(Taking the piss there a bit, but I kind of do anticipate that. I think I might trust this show)

Who Wants To Get Away…WITH MURDER! was all about Annalise averting rumpo. She was successful in stopping that little gay lad from getting an orgy going and stopping WhatsHerName from committing weird phone sex based on that Smack the Pony sketch about pink pants. She was, however, sadly unsuccessful in stopping that other WhatsHerName from getting the shaggers in with Eviler Gary Barlow. 

What a strange show this is! The only characters who’re ever appealing are Annalise and that little gay lad - the two most self-destructive - while self-preservation is consistently depicted as the Root of All Evil. Not sure this is all that healthy. I don’t think I trust this show.

Better Than Expected

During writers circle last week I ended up with the most amazing prompt

Naturally I wrote ridiculous perryshmirtz. It’s pretty short

Heinz held his breath.

 It wasn’t because the dock smelled particularly rank (although it did, a little); it was because his watch had just beeped the hour, and that meant that his date for the evening had exactly one minute in which to be on time. He bounced on his heels. This one was Charlene’s recommendation, and he’d never been set up on a blind date by his ex before. He’d been pretty grudging about the whole thing, but then Vanessa had gotten involved and one man was no match for two women with Expectations, especially not against his darling daughter and his ex wife who was still firmly of the surety that if Heinz believed he had won an argument he would find inevitably that he had been mistaken.

So here he was. He’d started out sulking over the very idea, and somehow had ended up renting a boat and a suit and a portable oven and having no idea how he’d gone from point A to point B. As the night had drawn closer and closer, he had gotten more and more excited about it. Maybe this was what he needed?

Maybe things would finally go right.

There was a sound from the far end of the dock, sort of like a muffled shout followed by ductape being unraveled. Heinz peered into the darkness.

“Helloooo?” he called.

The night shifted slightly, and then Heinz Doofenshmirtz was being approached by a man who was, obviously and without any question whatsoever, his blind date.

“Huh,” Heinz said. “I thought you’d be taller, for some reason.”

His date frowned at him.

“Hi,” Heinz went on, sticking out his hand, “I’m Heinz Doofenshmirtz. You must be Steven.”

The man paused, and then nodded slowly.

“It’s great to meet you!” Heinz said. “Charlene, um, said you were into boating so I…” He gestured over his shoulder at the little boat, “I rented us one, I’ve also got a little stove, I figured I could make us dinner while we’re out on the water, I cook a lot and I’ve got this recipe I’ve been wanting to try out for ages and there are some candles I hope you like vanilla wow you don’t say much do you?”

Steven gave him an uncertain shrug.

“That’s okay,” Heinz said, quickly, “I can work with that!”

He spun on his heel and started towards the boat, adjusting his suit as he went. Great, his date was cool as a cucumber and he was already tripping over his own tongue.

“I have a course plotted,” he added, over his shoulder, “I used google maps because I didn’t have time to check it out myself, but I’m sure it’ll be plenty romantic.”

From somewhere behind him, there was the sound of stumbling, almost as if someone had been viciously startled.

It wasn’t even supposed to have been a three hour tour. Date night was usually a couple hours long at the most, maybe half an hour if the woman on the other side of the table had a particularly grating obsession with shellfish. Heinz was surprised how often that one came up.

He surveyed the damage to the boat, which was now lying on its side across the rocky beach. Totaled. Well that was a hundred dollar rental down the drain. He checked his suit with a sinking feeling. His finger poked through a rip in the collar. And there went the rest of his alimony, yep. He collapsed into a half buried rock and dropped his head into his hands.

“I don’t know what I expected,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the world in general. “Something like this always happens. Last time there was a break out at the zoo. Wildebeest stampede.”

His date watch him silently. Big shocker. The man hadn’t said a thing to Heinz all evening. Heinz had been so unnerved by the stalwart silence that he’d missed that iceberg of a rock rising from the water right up until it had punched a hole in their transportation. His fault, unsurprisingly. Steven must think he’s a complete buffoon.

“No, no,” Heinz went on, “don’t bother talking now. I know this is terrible, you don’t have to break a record on my account.”

His date stood there for a few more minutes while Heinz quietly laid down curses on everyone and everything he’d come into contact with for the last three decades. He hoped the whole city of Gimmelshtump withered up and blew away. He kept that litany up long after the sound of feet shuffling away had faded underneath the susurrus of surf.

And he’d been so excited an hour ago. Why did he even bother trying anymore? What was he expecting here, another Charlene? Another Evil Love? Like those had turned out so well. This whole thing was so pointless, and the worst part was knowing even now, sitting on this stupid rock on a beach of humiliation and regret, that he was going to try it again next week. He was a gambler, that’s what he was. A hopeless gambler with the worst hand at the table.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, Heinz looked up. Placed in front of him now—he hadn’t even noticed it happening, how can anybody move that silently—was the salvaged dining table, propped up on one side with a large rock to make up for a broken limb. Two damp candles sat on the center of the sandy table cloth. Heinz blinked.

Quietly, his date dropped down onto a lump of driftwood at the other end of the table and flashed a brief, uncertain thumbs up.

Heinz had to cover his eyes.

Better, he thought helplessly. Better than expected.