#leon duncan

[postpunkindustrial]

Leon Duncan - Fuck a rosseta stone for my brain waves

[polkadotpatterson]

How do I write a coherent Fic Rec Friday post about fics that render me incapable of coherent thought? Well, I haven't quite figured that out yet, but I want to attempt a shoutout to @baby-triumphant‘s Leon/Andrew fics anyway, because I recently got around to reading them and it turns out these guys drive me absolutely bonkers in the best way!

So, what's the deal with these two? Well, they're from Chicago (as we all are, of course), except this isn’t quite the same Chicago you may be familiar with. In this universe, we’re introduced to the City of Four Thousand Saints, where the Short Circuits Firefighters could sure use a miracle or two if they're going to win a championship.

That miracle just might come in the form of Leon Duncan, the Firefighters’ newly unretired star pitcher coming back after a couple of surgeries. At least, his catcher Andrew Trebek sure thinks so. Andrew's got plenty of faith in the saints -- and plenty of faith in Leon, because after all these years as a battery together, there’s nobody he believes in more than his pitcher.

So they’re complicated. So they’re hurt, both of them, tired and aching and always so fucking sore, and the rookies stare at them when they finish each other’s sentences, proof enough that even five years of Leon retired couldn’t make them less of a two-headed monster.

Leon knows Andrew calls him a saint sometimes. It’s only fair, for all that Leon believes in Andrew, for Andrew to believe right back.

I honestly don’t know what to say about these two other than their relationship is fascinating and complicated and I absolutely can’t get enough of it. So, listen to Robbie instead, who knows exactly what to say about these two, and read his fics!

There are three 12x100s about these Short Circuits Firefighters in Robbie’s chicago, in brief series, as well as a handful of ficlets on his tumblr. They’re all quick reads, but they're also the kind of fics that stick with you for a very long time. Each one is a short but masterful display of character dynamics and worldbuilding, and I only wish I had checked them out sooner. 

[baby-triumphant]

ooooh hmm free space for 19?

aha! some leon/andrew, mayhaps? a smidge of suggestive language under the cut

19. tugging at the other’s clothes to keep them close

The Firefighters had one day to celebrate Leon's return unimpeded before the press descended. No matter what miracles they were blessed with, there wasn't anything that could keep a reporter away, something Andrew had grimly resigned himself to.

It wasn't Andrew's place to tell Leon how to feel about the press, and for the most part Leon'd had a neutral relationship with them: except for the invasive questions about how his divorce would affect his game, except for the way they had always demanded more of them, except for the way he always came out of an interview exhausted and wrung out.

Exhausted or wrung out though he might be, he took the questions anyways, with a thoughtful grace that charmed everyone he talked to, and he kept taking them. He liked the attention, Andrew was given to understand; hurtful or helpful, it was all the same to Leon, who always needed to know where he stood with others.

Andrew—whose fealty to Leon had been unconditional since the first four-seam fastball Leon had given him, the one like lightning—was forced to admit that this particular character trait of Leon's was shitty as hell.

During their second day back training together, the way Andrew had always wanted, the reporters lined up at the chain-link fence, because they had wanted this, too: another chance to speak to greatness.

Andrew could imagine the columns already, tallying whether Leon Duncan could hitch the rest of the Firefighters to his miracles and pull them all along with him. He wanted to yell at them to go away, but Bison would absolutely yell at him for it, never mind the inevitable PR fallout, so—no fucking way.

Andrew signaled a time out the third time Leon's attention wandered, and drew close enough that he could hear the way Leon's chest heaved like a racehorse's, starving for oxygen. Leon always did push himself harder when there were people watching.

"You're not focusing," Andrew said, glove over his mouth just in case some reporter had gotten the bright idea to read lips.

Leon's grey eyes were bright as he said, "I am focused."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Yes, Leon," he said, "we all know you love striking a pose."

Leon took his hand out of his glove and stretched it. "That's not fair, Andrew, and I'm not photogenic anyway," he murmured in half-hearted protest, eyebrows drawing together. The little furrow between them had gotten a little deeper, Andrew noticed. Andrew also noticed that the tan line from his wedding band had faded, which he then deliberately un-noticed.

And then Leon's attention wandered away again, stolen. Andrew took a deep breath, did his best not to be jealously resentful, and mostly succeeded.

He moved into Leon's line of sight, and angled his body so the sharp tug he gave Leon's jersey wasn't visible by any curious camera. Leon blinked down at him, bewilderment on his face, and Andrew realized abruptly that his hand was knuckled into Leon's belly, pressing through the fabric into skin and muscle.

Andrew felt his face heat, but didn't take his hand away. If physical touch was what kept Leon grounded then that was what it took, and Andrew's massive, poorly-hidden emotional hard-on for the guy could be ignored for the sake of them playing well together.

"Stay with me," he said.

Leon stared at him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open.

Andrew gave his jersey another pointed tug.

"Yeah," Leon said. "Yeah."

Leon's attention didn't wander for the rest of their practice. Little miracles, Andrew thought, and didn't let his attention wander, either.

[zef-zef]

Leon Duncan - Digital Drug from: Leon Duncan - 'Fuck A Rosetta Stone For My Brainwaves' (Hakuna Kulala, 2021)

"Fuck a rosetta stone for my brain waves" is the result of Duncan's tireless tonal and rhythmic research, and a narcotic voyage into a fiercely independent mind.

Like Muslimgauze, Klein or Slikback, Leon Duncan maps out uncharted musical territory, challenging expectations and paradigms in the process.

[mostlymonk]

Bright Mississippi

Monty Alexander

Andrae Murchison  – trombone Wayne Escoffery– sax Monty Alexander – piano & melodica Karl Wright – percussion Junior Wedderburn - percussion Leon Duncan – electric bass JJ Shakur – bass Jason Brown – drums

[baby-triumphant]

7 leon and link?

im really deep in my leon + andrew feelings right now so here we go (im bending the prompt a little im sorry haha)

7. guiding them with a hand on the small of their back

Haze Days has to be one of Link's least favorite events.

It happens every year, in the first week of August when the city is hottest and muggiest. In the shadows Link had been part of the organizing crew, since bullpen depth had nothing better to do than organize signing and photo ops for the big-leaguers, so Link knows Haze Days inside and out: knows the best orientation of the signing tables so the lighting will look good in the papers, knows the rural firefighters who get the proceeds from Haze Days.

This is her first time participating as a player and not as event staff, but she can't help but squint at the seating arrangement and photo op rotations as she's watching the event staff bustle around setting up.

She could recite the slogans in her sleep. Beat the haze! Support wildfire management!

Haze Days is, in principle, a cool enough event with a worthy cause. In practice, it makes Link want to put her head in a freezer. She wasn't built for summer.

Leon and Andrew are listed apart from everyone else.

"I thought pitchers were supposed to all be at the same table," she tells Bianca. "That's how it is every year."

Bianca looks at her, expression completely neutral. "Did you ever go to a signing event before you started helping organize them?" ze asks.

Link feels herself flush, hot and embarrassed. The humidity is curling her baby hairs into an unpleasant frizz. She'd been a fan of the Firefighters growing up, of course, but she'd grown up far enough outside the city proper that going to the fan events had been out of the question even if her parents had been willing to pay for a signed photo with her favorite players. "No," she says, awkwardly.

"And when did you start helping organize them?" Bianca asks.

"Three years ago," Link says. "When I joined the shadows." At seventeen she'd had a good enough arm, enough placement control, enough of a toolkit. She'd thought, a little foolishly, she would be the best pitcher in the world.

That particular thesis had been disproven as soon as she'd met Leon, who was not the best pitcher in the world but despite two injuries that should have ended his career still threw like liquid gold and was better than Link could ever imagine herself being. Even on bad days he was consistent, which was more than Link could say for herself.

"Duncan retired five years ago," Bianca says, and hir tone is so kind but Link still feels young and idiotic for the way it hits her only after Bianca has practically spelled it out. "Maybe before Duncan all of the pitchers were together. But Duncan and Trebek sit at the same table no matter what. That's how it's always been."

"Oh," Link says.

She'd hoped she'd be able to sit next to Leon. She had so many questions, and she couldn't quite tell whether Leon was avoiding her or not, and Haze Days seemed like a great chance to get those questions in while Leon was right there. Between signings, of course.

Bianca opens hir mouth to say something, and then seems to think better of it.

Link's attention is elsewhere, anyway: Leon and Andrew's entrance into the plaza is heralded by a smattering of cheers from the enterprising early fans. They both wave, but their heads are bent together, mouths moving in inaudible conversation.

Andrew stops and turns to face Leon more fully, hand coming up to cover his mouth. The set of his shoulders is as bullish as Andrew ever gets, and the frown on Leon's face gets bigger the longer Andrew talks.

Leon puts one hand on the small of Andrew's back and guides him into the waiting seat. Andrew goes willingly, knocking his knuckles against Leon's chest as he does.

Link's chest aches with something like longing and something like jealousy.

"Always together," Bianca says, shakes hir head, and moves off to join the position players at their table. Link hesitates a moment longer, just to watch the way Andrew pours them both water, the way Leon systematically tests every Sharpie in their cup and picks out two for each of them.

She wants—she doesn't know what she wants. Or who to ask for it, or how.

"C'mon, Link," Tiera calls, and Link tears her eyes away from Leon Duncan and Andrew Trebek, and sits down where she's supposed to.

[baby-triumphant]

leon and andrew for 62?

62. "Please shut up. Just shut up."

this got long so under the cut it goes! immediately after leon un-retires for the short circuit

There are a couple new faces on the team, of course; Leon's been gone long enough that things have moved on, but at the same time the Fire House feels the exact same as Leon left it, somewhere between professional and lived-in.

They hadn't even bothered taking his bunker jacket down from next to Andrew's. Leon doesn't know whether he's supposed to resent that or not, and decides it's not worth thinking about.

"They wanted my autograph," Leon says that night, sitting across from Andrew at the dining table after all the celebratory welcome back!s are done. Bison's chili is deeply nostalgic, especially accompanied by Andrew's sourdough, but the old bowls have been replaced by beautiful pieces of heavy stoneware. Leon's not sure who's responsible for that.

Andrew shrugs. He doesn't look up, but his ankle knocks against Leon's calf under the table. "You're famous."

"I know that," Leon says, "but I'm not..." He pushes the chili in his bowl around, not sure what the right words are. "Not good enough anymore," he settles on, and Andrew kicks him again, more sharply.

"Please shut up," Andrew says, and Leon looks up at him, startled. Andrew's staring at him, wide-eyed like he hadn't meant to say it. He doubles down, though, because he always does. "Just shut up," he says, louder. "I had enough of your self-flagellating bullshit after—"

His mouth snaps shut. The second surgery, Leon assumes. He remembers waking up after, watching drowsily as Andrew tangled his fingers in his necklace and murmured snatches of prayers Leon couldn't quite understand.

The necklace still glints gold under Andrew's shirt collar when he moves. Andrew sighs tightly, shakes his head, and says, "I'm fucking done, okay? We work around it if it comes up again. But you're here now."

There are twin scars on Leon's inner elbows from the surgeries, four inches long and pale pink, and sometimes his fingers go numb when they shouldn't, representations of Leon's inability to resist change.

Andrew is the same as ever, though.

Leon says, "I missed you," and means it. He wants to ask if Andrew prayed for him to come back to the Firefighters, but can't figure out a way to word the question that doesn't sound ungrateful.

Andrew looks at him like he knows what Leon wants to ask; looks at him like the answer is yes, of course I did. "Eat your fucking chili, Duncan."

[mostlymonk]

Well You Needn’t

Monty Alexander Group

Wayne Escoffery – sax Andrae Murchison – trombone Andy Bassford – guitar Monty Alexander – piano Leon Duncan – elec. bass J.J. Shakur – bass Karl Wright – drums/perc Jason Brown – drums