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agaypanic · 9 months

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The Fella Part 9 (James Maguire X Quinn!Reader)

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Summary: The girls have been waiting for months to see Take That in Belfast. When a polar bear is on the loose and Mary forbids them from going, they have to take matters into their own hands.

A/N: only took a million years but i finally wrote a new part lol BIG thanks to @crumpets-are-better-with-jam for writing out the episode’s script for me, without them I probably would’ve never found the time to be able to write this. Also the word g*psy is censored and used as little as possible because it’s considered a slur but some say that if you say it with the right context it’s ok, but i don’t wanna take any chances, you know?

***

The weekends were always the best part of the week for Y/n. No school or work, no obligations except for church on Sunday, and being able to sleep in late. Y/n wished to be an adult, so her life could be like this every day.

But this was going to be the weekend of all weekends. Months ago, the girls and James scrimped and saved every coin and bill and were able to buy concert tickets to see Take That in Belfast. And today was the day of the concert. The girls sat all squished together on the couch, watching said band on the TV, with James perched on the arm of the sofa, subtly clinging to Y/n. Their relationship was still a secret somehow, today marking their third month together. They were honestly surprised nobody noticed how their affection was more than friendly.

“God Almighty.” Grandpa Joe spoke in horror, glaring at the screen. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Bloody perverts.”

“You’re overreacting, Da,” Mary said from the kitchen. Joe scoffed in disbelief.

“Overreacting? That lad’s got no trousers on, for Christ’s sake.” Michelle grinned at the detail that had been pointed out.

“He’s wearing too much still, if I’ve anything to say about it.” She muttered to the girls, who giggled apart from James and Clare.

“Why do they keep touching themselves?” Grandpa Joe asked the telly, as if it would provide any answers.

“‘Cause they’re artists, Granda,” Erin said, but he just grumbled.

“Dirty English bastards is what they are.” He turned to look at James. “No offense, son.” Although he didn’t really sound like he cared whether or not he had offended the boy. Y/n patted James’ thigh in comfort as the scene on the TV changed from the girls’ beloved boy band to a news anchor.

“Come on, girls. Time to hit the road here.” Gerry announced as he came in. He gestured at James. “Have they roped you into going as well, son?” Y/n laughed, leaning against James to look at her father.

“Hardly. He’s practically riding Gary Barlow. Aren’t ya, Jamie?” He rolled his eyes at the statement, as if they had had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“I’m not! I just respect him as a songwriter, that’s all.” Michelle rolled her eyes at him, as if she had also had this kind of conversation a hundred times.

“Aye, dead on, James, so you do.”

“Will we need our passports, Gerry?” Orla asked, giving her lungs a break from blowing on her mother’s spray tan.

“For Belfast? I don’t think so, Love.”

“Belfast?” Joe asked, but was ignored.

“Are we not a bit early, Daddy?” Erin asked, checking the time on the wall.

“It’s a two-hour drive with traffic, love.”

“This thing’s in Belfast?” Sick of not being acknowledged, Grandpa Joe stood from his favorite chair to stand with the girls and Gerry.

“Da, it’s eight hours till the doors open,” Y/n said, almost laughing at her father’s sense of urgency.

“I know. We’re cutting it fine.” He seemed completely serious about the matter, which just made Y/n want to laugh more.

“Belfast?” Joe said again, now effectively catching the room’s attention. “Sure, why didn’t you just sell the wains into white slavery and be done with it?”

“Gerry will be with them, Da.” Mary tried to reason, but that just seemed to set him off even more.

“Well, that’s worse. Sure, they hate his kind there.”

“My kind?” Gerry asked, not knowing what Joe could possibly be talking about.

“Pricks.” Y/n laughed, shrinking in her seat when Gerry whipped around to look at his daughter in offense. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“That is enough!” Mary finalized, still working in the kitchen. “They’re going to the concert, Da, and that’s the end of the matter.”

The news switched to another topic again. Something about how a polar bear escaped from Belfast Zoo. Hearing the name, Y/n started to worry.

“Now, will you see sense?” Grandpa Joe asked his daughter, pointing at the TV. Erin snorted.

“Aye, Granda, ‘cause an escaped polar bear’s gonna track us down and kill us. As if Mammy’s bothered by that.” There was a beat of silence, and suddenly, all the girls were panicked.

“Wise up, Mammy!” Y/n squealed frantically, shooting up from her seat on the couch to get a good look at her mother. “As if a polar bear’s gonna rock up a Take That concert!”

“He wouldn’t get a ticket for a start,” Orla added. “They sold out months ago.”

“You’d be surprised, girls,” Mary said.

“The concert’s nowhere near the zoo.” Gerry tried to reason. As usual, Joe countered him.

“But he’s not in the zoo anymore, is he, Simple Simon? He’s sauntering about Belfast without a care in the world!”

“Aye, keep up, Gerry,” Sarah said, blowing on the wet tan that coated her fingers.

“What I’m saying is that it would be quite a lot of ground for him to cover.”

“They’re quick on their feet when they wanna be, love,” Mary said. Y/n sped to her father, grabbing him by the shoulders to make him face her.

“Daddy, please, don’t listen to her.” She pleaded. “We should go now so we’re not late. Please, Da!” Gerry put his hands on his daughter’s wrists, rubbing his thumbs over the joints while giving her a sympathetic look.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry, but I’d rather keep my head.”

“Come on, Mary.” Michelle pleaded with the girl’s mother. “If you don’t let Y/n and Erin go, then our ma’s won’t let us go.”

“Well, neither they should, and I’ll be ringing them to say as much.” The teens looked at Mary in despair as she went to the phone, likely to ring everyone’s mothers. While dialing, Mary looked back to the living room. “Look, girls, I know how much you were looking forward to seeing This and That.”

“Take That.” Erin corrected.

“But there’ll be other concerts.” Y/n laughed humorlessly, resting her head on her father’s shoulder momentarily before letting go of him completely.

“No, there won’t.” She felt hysterical. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. Months of looking forward to this concert just to be banned by her mother because of a polar bear. Only something like this would happen to her. “The fact that this one’s happening is a miracle ‘cause no one good comes here ‘cause we all keep killing each other!” James shifted on the arm of the couch to make room for Y/n to sit next to him. He rubbed her back as she leaned against him for support, devastated.

“And now we’re overrun with polar bears.” Sarah sighed, pulling out a cig.

Frustrated, Y/n stormed up to her room, the girls and James close behind. They had found her face down on her bed, screaming into a pillow. James sat beside her, pulling the pillow out of her grasp before she could suffocate herself. While everyone settled in Y/n’s room, she rested her head on James’ thigh. Her anger and sadness were slowly washing away from James rubbing her back.

“This is so fucking unfair.” She muttered.

“I know,” James responded, brushing hair out of her face.

“Well, I dunno about you lot, but I’m not letting that fat furry fuck ruin the biggest day of my life,” Michelle announced harshly, pacing the floor.

“What can we do?” Erin asked, lying across her sister’s legs.

“Right, listen, girls.” Michelle drew their attention. They hoped that she had come up with a plan to save the day, but were quickly let down. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but… sometimes, when Robbie’s being interviewed, it’s like he’s sending me messages through the TV. You know, like telepathically or whatever, It’s like he’s saying…” She sighed, clearly in a dreamy daze. “We’re meant to be together.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Aye, maybe don’t tell that to anyone again, Michelle,” Erin said. “Ever.”

“I think she might be more cracked than Orla,” Y/n muttered to James, who snorted.

“What?” Orla looked at Y/n after hearing her name.

“Nothing, love.”

“Look, this is too important,” Michelle said. “I’m going to that concert. I’m not afraid of a fucking polar bear!” Everyone enthusiastically agreed. They shouldn’t pay mind to a random bear or what their parents have to say about anything. Nothing would stop the girls and James from seeing Take That.

“I’ll kill it with me own two hands, if I have to.” Orla declared.

“Bring it on!” Erin egged on.

“Okay. We seem to have gone down a weird road here, people. I think we just got a bit confused.” Ever the realist and anxiety-riddled girl, Clare tried stopping her friends from the odd discussion. “We don’t actually have to fight a polar bear, and if we did, I wouldn’t fancy our chances because, well, they’re massive.” Orla looked around, confused.

“But there’s six of us.”

“Aye, I think we’d have a real chance,” Y/n said, albeit slightly sarcastically.

“The point is, the polar bear’s not the one stopping us from going to the concert. It’s our mothers, and we’ll never get them to change their minds.” Y/n gasped, sitting up suddenly, seeming to have an idea.

“So we fight Mammy.”

“No, definitely not.” James shot down the idea immediately and welcomed his once again pouty girlfriend to rest in his lap. Michelle leaned toward the group like she was gonna tell them a secret.

“We’re not gonna try and change their minds.” She smirked, and everyone became slightly fearful because Michelle always had less than bright ideas that she’d have them execute. “We’re gonna do something else.”

“What?” James asked.

***

“I’m still trying to figure out whether or not this is a good idea,” Y/n muttered to James, who she clung to while sitting on his lap. Michelle had somehow convinced everyone to sneak away and get on a bus to Belfast. The group sat in the back of the bus to avoid anyone who may be suspicious of six teenagers traveling by themselves. There wasn’t enough seating for all six of them to sit together, so everyone squished together, and Y/n sat on James’ lap. No one said anything about it besides the comment from Michelle about how James must be giddy to be so close to a girl. He told her to fuck off.

“Same here.” He sighed, hands gripping her closer as the bus crossed a few bumps on the road.

“We’re gonna get caught; I just know it,” Clare said anxiously to the group.

“We’re not gonna get caught, Clare, because as far as our ma’s are concerned, me, you, and James are ’round Erin’s, and Erin, Y/n, and Orla are ’round mine,” Michelle explained, trying to calm Clare down.

“But we’re not ’round yours, Michelle,” Orla responded, confused. “We’re on the bus to Belfast.”

“Christ.” Y/n rolled her eyes, having heard her cousin say this multiple times since they left the house.

“I cannot explain it to her again. I’m gonna scream.” Michelle looked away from Orla, probably because she would strangle her if she had to deal with the confusion for another second.

“What’s in the suitcase, Michelle?” James asked, staring at the case his cousin had set on the remaining seat near the group. Y/n could’ve sat there, but Michelle wanted a close eye on whatever was in the suitcase without holding it in case they got caught. Everyone stared, curiously waiting for an answer. There was a beat of silence.

“Vodka.” You brought an entire suitcase full of vodka?” Erin asked incredulously.

“Jesus, Michelle, you’ve got a problem,” Y/n added.

“No. There’s mixers as well. I’m not a savage.” Michelle took a second to think, looking down at the case. “You can mix vodka with cider, right?”

“God, I am boiling.” Clare sighed, fanning her face.

“Gee, I wonder why, Clare.” Y/n laughed, looking at her friend who was completely bundled in jackets and scarves.

“What are you wearing?” Erin asked.

“Yeah, you look like a fucking Provo.”

“I don’t want anyone recognizing me, okay?” The bus paused its venture, opening the doors for people to come in and out.

“No one’s gonna recognize you, Clare.” Michelle chastised.

“Clare Devlin, is that you?” Panic ran through everyone. The voice sounded very familiar and fear-inducing. The girls looked towards the front. Sister Michael was moving past the seats and right for them.

“Jesus Christ.” Clare squeaked, trying to hide in her mountain of clothes. Erin leaned into her.

“Relax, Clare.” She said. “She has no authority over us at the weekend. She has no right to question us, and if she tries to, I’ll tell her as much.”

“Aye, I’d like to see you try, Erin.” Y/n hissed to her sister before Sister Michael reached the group.

“Morning, girls.” She said.

“Morning, Sister Michael.” Everyone said in unison.

“What takes you to Belfast?” There was a heavy pause. The girls were silently trying to decide who would speak and what they would say. Erin volunteered herself, speaking quietly from nervousness.

“I’m not really sure that’s-”

“Speak up.” Sister Michael interrupted her. Erin gulped.

“I’m not really sure that that’s any of your business…” Sister Michael stared blankly at her. Everyone waited for her to jump and murder Erin for saying such a thing. Soon, she found words.

“I’m going to assume that was an ill-judged attempt at humor, Miss Quinn.”

“Yes,” Erin whispered, sinking into her seat. Y/n silently prayed that the bus would start moving so Sister Michael would be forced to leave and find a seat somewhere. But God never seemed too kind to the girls.

“Now, answer the question.”

“... We’re going to the museum.” Erin devised a good lie; the girls just hoped they could keep up with the inevitable follow-up questions.

“Which museum?”

“Ulster Museum,” Clare answered.

“What for?”

“A project,” James responded.

“A history project.” Y/n amended. Sister Michael looked at the two. It seemed like she was about to ask why Y/n was in James’ lap, but she decided against it, not wanting to go through the trouble.

“What about?”

“Ulster,” Erin answered once again. Sister Michael gave an unconvinced hum and turned around to find a place to sit. Everyone sighed in relief as the bus started to move again.

“A history project,” Clare said in disbelief. “This web of lies we’re spinning is getting out of control now, girls.” Y/n put a hand on her friend’s shoulder to take her attention.

“If it makes you feel any better, Clare, I actually have a history project due soon.”

“I thought we finished that,” James said quietly to her. She turned to him.

“Yeah, but now I’ve gotta put it all together.”

“It’s grand, Clare,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes at Clare’s constant anxiousness. “I think she bought it.”

“Of course, she didn’t buy it. She’s onto us, I’m telling you. Oh God, I’m sweltering here.”

“Then take it off,” Erin said.

“I can’t take it off; I’ve nothing underneath it.” Everyone paused, looking at her confused.

“What, not even a bra?” Erin asked.

“Jesus, Clare, you’ve no bra on?” Michelle asked incredulously.

“I haven’t got a bra on,” Orla commented.

“Aye, me neither,” Y/n said.

“What?” James practically choked. Suddenly aware of his girlfriend’s body and this new information, he moved his hands down to sit at her hips. Y/n shrugged.

“They dig.”

“What’s she doing now?” Clare asked, and everyone looked at Sister Michael, who sat a few rows ahead of them. She was reading a book, laughing every now and then.

“Reading her book,” James answered, as if they all couldn’t see it. She suddenly turned to the woman in the seat next to her. She had a look of disgust while the woman ate a sandwich. “Now she’s looking at the woman beside her.” Sister Michael stood from her seat. “Now she’s getting up.” She moved towards the back of the bus, closing in on the girls. “Now she’s coming this way.” Soon enough, Sister Michael stood before the group, staring at them. “Now she’s standing right in front of us.”

“What’s he doing?” Sister Michael asked, looking weirdly at James.

“Now she’s-” James’ words were halted by Y/n putting a finger to his lips.

“Stop narrating, Jamie.”

“I want to sit here.” Sister Michael said with finality, pointing to where Michelle’s suitcase sat. Michelle started to panic.

“What? Why?”

“Well, you’re just such wonderful company, girls, what with your stimulating conversation and razor-sharp wit.” Everyone knew she was being sarcastic. Except for Erin.

“Really?” She asked, seemingly flattered. Sister Michael rolled her eyes.

“No, not really. The woman next to me is eating an egg and onion sandwich, and the smell is enough to turn an Orange March.” The girls cringed at the description. Sister Michael grabbed the suitcase, trying to move it. But she was evidently struggling. “Christ, but this is heavy.”

“Sister, no, let me,” Michelle said, leaning over to grab the case.

“What do you have in here, girls?”

“It’s not ours!” Clare quickly responded with a shriek. Everyone glared at her lie.

“Not yours?”

“We have never seen it before in our lives, have we, girls?” It was better to just agree, so that’s what the girls did. They nodded, giving different mutters of confirmation.

Sister Michael turned to look at everyone else on the bus.

“Excuse me, everyone. Can I have your attention, please?” She raised her voice to get everyone to listen. Confused, the passengers looked at her while she pointed to Michelle’s suitcase. “Does anyone own this red suitcase?” No one claimed it. “Now, let me be clear. No one can claim this bag, is that correct?” Everyone confirmed her question. She looked down at the suitcase. “I think we have a Code Red on our hands. Driver, pull over!”

***

The girls were definitely fucked. Everyone had to evacuate the bus while they waited for the military to come and extract the suitcase. Now, a crowd watched as a military robot examined the case.

“Jesus Christ!” Clare squeaked in a panic.

“Aye, this isn’t great,” Erin said, watching the commotion. Michelle shrugged.

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“They’re about to blow up an entire suitcase of vodka, Michelle.”

As Michelle and Erin quietly argued, Y/n leaned into James’ ear.

“And here I thought Clare’s paranoia would be our biggest problem.” James rested his head on Y/n’s, eyeing the situation in front of him in disbelief.

“Why is this place so mental?” He asked. Michelle scoffed.

“That’s enough, James. You have serious fucking anger management issues. Do you know that?” Before anyone could give a rebuttal, there was an explosion. The robot had successfully eliminated the threat in the red suitcase, which was the girls’ ticket to a good time.

There were lots of talks among the soldiers over the radio. The girls silently celebrated when one said they could pack everything up. Soon enough, they’d be back on the way to Belfast.

“Powerful smell of vodka down here, over.” The girls froze in their places as they heard the soldier over the radio. God really did seem to have it out for the teens.

“Vodka, did he say?” Sister Michael asked, slowly turning to her students. “Interesting.” The girls gave her nervous smiles. Suddenly, Y/n pointed over Sister Michael’s shoulder.

“Oh my God, Sister! What’s over there?!” Sister Michael whipped around, and Y/n made a break for it. All of her friends followed after her.

They ran like hell, not knowing where they were going. After a while of wandering around, they slowed to a walk down a dirt road, all trying to catch their breath. The girls debated whether or not they could reach Belfast on foot, especially with that polar bear on the loose. But the conversation dwindled as some men came into view on the side of the road.

“Is it just me, or is that g*psy an absolute ride?”

“As usual, I think it’s just you, Michelle,” Y/n said, groaning at her sore legs.

“Michelle, you cannot say that.” Erin scolded.

“What?”

“They’re called ‘travelers now. Y’can’t say ‘g*psy’ anymore. It’s insulting.”

“Okay, but you just said it, Erin.” Y/n pointed out. Michelle and Erin continued arguing over the correct word to use for the men. It continued for a while, and only stopped when they had gotten closer to the men.

“Howya, girls.” One of them said, with a bit of a slurred speech. The girls politely greeted him and continued walking. They got a few feet past them when the one who greeted them started calling after them. “Hey, hold on.”

“What does he want?” Clare asked in a panic.

“I don’t know,” Erin replied, just as nervous.

“I’m talking to you!” The man shouted. The girls ignored him, but he kept walking after them. “Hey, are you deaf or what?”

“Just keep going.” Y/n urged her friends, grabbing James’ hand to yank him along while she pushed her tired body to go faster. The teens started walking more quickly, and soon enough, the shouting man and his friends were all tailing after them.

“Get back here!”

“Faster. Walk faster.”

“Am I gonna have to come after you, am I?”

“Jesus Christ, he’s following us,” James muttered, now being the one to pull Y/n further.

“Run!” Y/n yelped, breaking into a sprint and out of James’ grip because the sudden change in pace had caught him off guard. Everyone ran after her, the teens to catch up with Y/n and the travelers to catch up with the teens. The girls were terrified, except for Orla, of course, who could always find the fun in a fucked up situation.

“Piss off!” Erin went to the edge of the dirt road and came back to the strange men waving a giant stick around. They backed up in alarm, and the girls stopped to stand behind Erin.

Except for Y/n, who was still running like hell. James yelled for her, but she couldn’t hear him over the thumping of her feet and heart. She didn’t even notice that her friends had all been left in the dust behind her.

“Jesus fuck!” Y/n screeched when she was grabbed suddenly by the shoulders and yanked back into someone’s chest. The person who caught her breathed heavily, slightly using her as a crutch. Y/n immediately recognized the whines and groans of exhaustion and smacked the man in the arm. “Scared the fuck out of me, James.”

“I know, ‘m sorry.” James brought her closer to him, back pressed against his chest as he rubbed her arms up and down to comfort her. “Can’t run off like that, love. Could’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.” She apologized sheepishly, and James kissed her head to show she shouldn’t be. When the couple regained strength, they turned around and started walking back to the group that was currently arguing with the strange couple of men when they abruptly ran to the side of the dirt road. A van sped past them as if they weren’t even there, honking the horn and stopping in front of the stand-off of travelers and teenage girls. Y/n and James hesitantly watched, not knowing what was happening.

Soon, Erin stuck her head out from behind the van so her sister was in her view. She waved her over frantically.

“Y/n, come on!” Erin then disappeared, likely into the strange van. Knowing everyone else was probably in there, and not wanting to be left stranded, Y/n broke out into another sprint, leaving James in the dust once again.

“Not again.” He mumbled.

***

When Y/n had snuck away from her family and hopped on a bus to Belfast with her friends, she obviously didn’t expect the bus plan to go to shit, and she and her buddies would be riding around in someone’s van. Yet here she was, jostling around in the back, surrounded by half-assed Take That shirts. Erin was trying to converse with the driver; Rita was apparently her name. Meanwhile, Michelle hogged a cardboard cut-out of Robbie Williams, and Clare and Orla were sifting through all the different merchandise.

“Robie?” Clare said to herself as she held up one of the shirts to look at before frantically digging through the rest of the boxes. In the driver’s seat, Rita seemed to have some type of drunken meltdown. Clare turned to Y/n, panicked like always. “Y/n, what are we gonna do?”

“Pray.”

“She’s spelt ‘Robbie’ wrong on every single t-shirt.”

“Huh?”

“How are we gonna break it to her?” Y/n snorted. That was not what she expected her dear friend to be worried about.

“Clare, we’re being driven around by some crazy tipsy woman, and I bet she doesn’t even know which direction Belfast is in. And yet you’re worried about a spelling mistake?”

“I find it disturbing.”

“I find your priorities disturbing.” Rita continued talking in her drunken, weepy state, leading to another discussion between Erin and Michelle about the correct label to use for the intimidating men they had run into.

But everything was cut short by the van ramming into something, causing everyone to jerk forward. There was a moment of silence as everyone tried to figure out what had just happened.

“Jesus Christ.” Michelle groaned, rubbing her head as she sat up.

“What was that?” Erin asked no one in particular.

“Did we hit something?”

Orla opened the sliding door of the van and stuck her head out. Everyone heard a gasp of both surprise and delight.

“Oh my God, it’s the polar bear!” The sentence made everyone, excluding Rita, who smoked her cigarette in the driver’s seat, jump out of the van and surround the body.

“Orla, this is not a bloody polar bear.” Y/n sneered, looking down at the dead sheep that lay before her feet. Everyone slowly looked over at her.

“You’re soundin’ like James,” Michelle said in slight disgust.

“Shut up.”

“Get it shifted, girls!” Rita commanded from the van, taking another drag. Reluctantly, the girls grabbed the sheep carcass and tried carrying it to the side of the road to clear their path. There was a lot more struggling than they intended.

“Why’s it so heavy?” Erin said with a strained voice. “Aren’t they meant to be ninety percent wool?”

“Just put your back into it. The sooner this is done, the sooner we’re back in the van and on our way to see Robbie.”

“Shut it about Robbie, Michelle!” Y/n groaned, trying to pull the sheep. There was much more arguing, and after a very short while, the girls decided they were officially over this task.

“Fuck this!” Michelle shouted. “Let’s just make James do it, the lazy bastard!” Everyone dropped the sheep on the ground and waited for James to do all the work.

But he never did. It was just the girls on an empty road with a dead sheep and a crazy woman.

“Wh… Where is James?” Clare asked, looking around, hoping he’d suddenly pop out of a bush or something.

Y/n thought long and hard. She might have been the last one to be with James. Backtracking to her last known moments with James, Y/n gasped and raised a hand to her mouth. The girls looked at her expectantly, waiting to find out where he was. Her response was an embarrassed and horrified whisper.

“I left him with the travelers.”

***

It took much persuasion, mainly for Michelle, but the girls had gotten Rita to go back for James. It was primarily the revelation that James was the one who had the concert tickets. After a long drive, the van skidded to a stop in front of the traveler’s stands of vegetables and fruits. James was among the men, helping them. Y/n yanked the van door open, relieved that her boyfriend hadn’t been mugged or stranded or something else of the sort.

“James!” She yelled in delight, immediately catching his attention. He grinned but stayed stuck in his place.

“What are you playing at? Get in the van, fucko.” Michelle commanded, less thrilled to see James than Y/n was. The man who first chased the girls put a hand on James’ shoulder.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, James.”

“With all due respect, this has nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah!” Y/n added, desperately waiting for her boyfriend to get into the van.

“The way you treat this fella, it’s disgraceful.” The traveler reprimanded.

“Fucking excuse me?” Y/n felt beyond insulted.

“What’s going on, James?” Michelle asked.

“Jonjo and the lads…” James looked at said lads with a smile. “They just get me. And it turns out, I’m a really good salesman.”

“He’s a natural,” Jonjo said.

“So, what, you’re a g*psy now?” Michelle asked, clearly thinking this was an unfunny prank.

“Traveler.” Erin and Y/n corrected in unison, Erin louder than her sister.

“Actually, g*psy’s fine,” Jonjo said. Michelle smirked, finally being able to prove to Erin that she was right. Rita yelled at everyone to hurry up, and Michelle nodded.

“Right, get in the van, come on. And do not test me ’cause we’ve already missed PJ and Duncan.”

“Is that who was supporting them?” Clare asked. When confirmed, she pouted. “Oh, I really like them!”

“I’m not leaving, Michelle,” James said with finality.

Y/n sighed, stepping out of the van. The tense gaze James had for his cousin softened when his girlfriend walked up to him.

“Not even for Gary Barlow, Jamie?” Y/n knew she made the right move because now James looked unsure of himself.

“I don’t really rate him as a, as a songwriter, y’know?” Jonjo said. The horrified look James suddenly had painted on his face made Y/n smile, both because she knew that the girls would now be leaving with him and because he looked so adorable.

James took off his fanny pack and handed it to Jonjo in disappointment, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Jonjo, but you’ve just crossed the line there.”

Y/n wrapped an arm around James’ back and guided his sad self to the van, where the door was just behind them. She brought him to the back of the van so he could mope a bit in peace. The girls all talked excitedly amongst themselves about the concert.

“I’m sorry I stranded you,” Y/n said quietly, moving her hand down James’ back to squeeze his hand. He squeezed it back and smiled softly down at her.

“I’m just glad you came back.”

“Of course, I came back. You have the concert tickets.” James shoved Y/n away and couldn’t hide the growing grin from hearing her laugh. “Kidding, kidding.”

After a long drive, long lines, and a big fight to get to the barricade, the Derry girls were finally able to enjoy Take That in all its glory. They screamed the lyrics, jumped to the beat, and danced all together in excitement. They didn’t care about the consequences when they would get home to their parents, who were probably worried sick. They didn’t worry about how they’d get home that night. All that mattered was that they were currently in the presence of one of their favorite bands of all time.

Somewhere in the middle of the set, the excitement winded down a bit as a piano intro played. Y/n squealed, tugging on James’ sleeve, as she recognized what was dubbed as her and James’ song, A Million Love Songs. James grinned at her excitement.

“Oh my God! I have something for you!” Y/n exclaimed over the music, digging around in her pockets. James looked down curiously as she brought out a folded piece of paper. “If it’s bad, you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“What is it?” James leaned down so he was closer to eye level with Y/n, making her blush. She pinched the edge of the paper, creasing it a bit.

“Do you remember when Erin became magazine editor, and we were going through those essays and… and Michelle found mine?” James nodded, remembering the day clearly because he was devastated when he heard the title of her little essay. “Well, I figured, since it’s our third month together and all… I wanted to give it to you.” He was gentle when taking the paper from her, so incredibly curious about what she had written. “Especially since my fancy isn’t so one-sided as I thought.”

All Y/n could focus on was the beautiful song in the background and the beautiful boy in front of her, reading words that had come straight from her heart when she thought her love for James was just a hopeless crush. She didn’t know if it was a good sign, seeing him become more flustered and blushy as he read on. When he was finished, he slowly and carefully folded the paper back up while Take That started to play a more energetic song.

“Again, you can’t make fun of me if it’s bad!” Y/n shouted over the noise. “I know Erin’s the writer or whatever, but- oof!” She was interrupted by James pulling her to his chest, arms wrapped tight around her and face buried in the crook of her neck. She immediately returned the affections.

“It’s amazing.” He said in her ear. “Amazing, and lovely, and perfect. Just like the girl who wrote it.” Unable to help herself, Y/n brought James’ face to hers and kissed him with such passion, a passion he reciprocated instantly. It was as if it was only them existing at that moment.

Of course, it wasn’t. Clare would later tease and squeal at the two and interrogate them about when they had finally gotten together and why they didn’t tell her. Too enamored with the men just feet away from them, the rest of the girls didn’t even notice the couple.

And somewhere in Derry, while the rest of her family was fighting, Y/n’s father Gerry smiled fondly at his television where he saw his daughter having the time of her life at a Take That concert with her best friends and boyfriend. A boyfriend he’d absolutely be asking her about in private when he had the chance.

~~~

TAG LIST: @mistahjsfunnygirl @etherealdisneyvillainness @crystalsoobin-m @raggedyoldwitch @rosetintworld @regretthatsme @neenieweenie @allexiiisss @drmeghanjones @eli-com @anything-for-our-moony-toast @ilovespideyyy @eddisaurus @imagines--galore @imastabu @emma-is-a-nerd @sir1usblacksgf @kaz-2y567 @ventingtostrangersontheinterwebs @spidercrush3 @humanoid-freak14 @the-lonely-raisin @miilkshakess @underthebatcape @dear-jamespotter @brithedemonspawn @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

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181 notes · View notes

brookston · 1 year

Text

Holidays 1.1

Holidays

Baby-Boomer Day

Betsy Ross Day

Black Nazarene Fiesta (Philippines) [thru 9th]

Bonza Bottler Day

Buckle-Up Day

Celebration of Life Week [1st 7 Days]

Commitment Day

Daddy Frost Day

Daisy Day

Daydreamers' Day

Day of Universal Brotherhood (Brazil)

Diffendoofer Day (Dr. Seuss)

Emancipation Day

Ethics Day

Euro Day

Flag Day (Lithuania)

Founding Day (China)

Get a Life Day

Global Family Day

International Nepali Dhoti and Nepali Topi Day

Jump-Up Day (Montserrat)

Kalpataru Day (Ramakrishna)

Kamakura Ebisu (Japan) [thru 1.3]

Kissing Day (Chippewa Tribe, Minnesota)

National Day of Resolutions

National Ellis Island Day

National Tree Planting Day (Tanzania)

New Life Festival (Elder Scrolls)

New Year's Day (a.k.a. ...

Amanor (Armenia)

Amateur Hangover Day

Ano Nova (Cape Verde)

Año Nuevo (Spain)

Anul Nou (Moldova, România)

Apple Gifting Day

Día de Año Nuevo (Puerto Rico)

Draw ng Bagong Taon (Philippines)

Bad Hangover Day

Dita e Vitit të Ri (Albania)

First-Foot Day

Grandfather Frost Day (Russia, Ukraine)

Jaungads (Latvia)

Mummers Parade (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Navy God Day (Russia)

Nieuwjaarsdag (Suriname, Sweden)

Nova Godina (Croatia, Macedonia)

Sjoogwachi (Okinawa)

Tahun Baru (Indonesia)

Viti i Ri (Kosovo)

Yangi Yil Bayrami (Uzbekistan)

New Year's Banished Words List Day [ 2022 list ]

Party Party Day

Paul Revere Day

Penguin Plunge (Rhode Island)

Polar Bear Swim Day

Public Domain Day

Scout’s Day (Burma)

Shogatsu (Japan)

Snake Eyes Day

Tournament of Roses Parade (Pasadena, California)

Triumph of the Revolution (Cuba)

Z Day

Zygmunt Gorazdowski

Food & Drink Celebrations

Apple Gifting Day

Hangover Handicap Run (Cover d’Alene, Idaho)

National Bloody Mary Day

National Hangover Day (UK)

1st Sunday in January

Feast of the Holy Family [Sunday after Xmas]

Trappist Beer Day [1st Sunday]

Independence Days

Cameroon (from France & UK, 1960)

Haiti (from France, 1804)

Sudan (from UK, 1956)

Feast Days

Adalard of Corbie (Christian; Saint)

Another Friggin’ Year Day (Pastafarian)

Basil the Great (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Dabucuri assaby, (Initiation Rites of the Young Men; to Jurupari, South American Guarani/Tupi God)

Day of Volos (god of pets and farm animals; Slavic Pagan)

Day Sacred to Janus (Ancient Rome)

Eighth Day of Christmas

Feast of Fools (Medieval Europe)

Feast of the Circumcision of Christ (Christian)

Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus (Anglican Communion, Lutheran Church)

Feast of the Human Sacrifice (Church of the SubGenius)

Fulgentius of Ruspe (Christian; Saint)

Giuseppe Maria Tomasi (Christian)

Goddess Fortuna's Day (Ancient Rome)

Jesus Christ Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Jupiter & Juno's Day (Old Roman)

Kalends of January (Ancient Rome)

Kwanzaa, Day 7: Imani (Faith)

The Kamu (Celebrating Nature Spirits; Shogatsu/Shinto New Yea’s Festival)

M’Moreal Day (The Season of Bob’s Nativity, which is Everyday; Church of the SubGenius)

Octave Day of Christmas

Prometheus (Positivist; Saint)

Radish Dude (Muppetism)

Sacrifices to the Wind Gods (Ancient Greece)

Season of Chaos begins (Discordian)

Shichi Fukujin (Seven Deities of Luck Celebration)

Shusho-e Matsuri (Japanese Buddhists)

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, the Octave Day of Christmas (Catholic Church)

Taos Pueblo Turtle Dance (Native American)

Telemachus (Christian; Saint)

Tewa Turtle Dance (Tewa Native Americans)

Twelve Holy Days #7 (Libra, the adrenal glands; Esoteric Christianity)

Twelvetide, Day #8; Feast if the Circumscision [Anglican, Lutheran] (a.k.a. the Twelve Days of Christmas or Christmastide) [until 1.5]

World Day of Peace (Catholic Church)

Zygmunt Gorazdowski (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Dismal Day (Unlucky or Evil Day; Medieval Europe; 1 of 24)

Egyptian Day (Unlucky Day; Middle Ages Europe) [1 of 24]

Evil Day [1 of 32]

Fatal Day (Pagan) [1 of 24]

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [1 of 53]

Lucky Day (Philippines) [1 of 71]

Perilous Day (13th Century England) [1 of 32]

Tycho Brahe Unlucky Day (Scandinavia) [1 of 37]

Uncyclopedia Bad to Be Born Day (because born with a hangover, and you will probably end up breaking your new years resolutions before anyone else.)

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [1 of 30]

Very Unlucky Day (Grafton’s Manual of 1565) [1 of 60]

Premieres

Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy (Novel; 1873)

Antony and Cleopatra, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1607)

Barry Lyndon (Film; 1975)

Bay Psalm Book (Book; 1640) [1st book printed in North America]

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath (Novel; 1963)

The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (Novel; 1940)

Blue Suede Shoes, by Carl Perkins (Song; 1956)

The Book of the Five Rings, by Miyamoto Musashi (Book; c. 1645)

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley (Novel; 1932)

Cannery Row, by John Steinbeck (Novel; 1945)

The Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut (Novel; 1963)

The Color Purple, by Alice Walker (Novel; 1980)

Das Kapital, by Karl Marx (Book; 1867)

Day-O (The Banana Boat Song), by Harry Belafonte (Song; 1956)

Dead Souls, by Nikolai Gogol (Novel; 1842)

The Faerie Queen, by Edmund Spenser (Poem; 1590)

Five Weeks in a Balloon, by Jules Verne (Novel; 1863)

Flatland, by Edwin Abbot (Book; 1884)

The Four Seasons, by Antonio Vivaldi (Violin Concertos; 1725)

Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus, by Mary Shelley (Novel; 1818)

Gigi, by Colette (Novella; 1944)

The Golden Notebook, by Doris Lessing (Novel; 1962)

If A Man Answers (Film; 1962)

Journey to the East, by Herman Hesse (Novella; 1932)

The King James Bible (Book; 1604)

King Solomon’s Mines, by. H. Rider Haggard (Novel; 1885)

The Magic Christian, by Terry Southern (Novel; 1959)

Manhattan Transfer, by John Dos Passos (Novel; 1925)

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, by Howard Pyle (Novel; 1883)

The Mick (TV Series; 2017)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1605)

Moving Pictures, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1990) [Discworld #10]

The Naked and the Dead, by Norman Mailer (Novel; 1948)

Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo (Novel; 1862)

Looking Backward, by Edward Bellamy (Novel; 1887)

The Magnificent Ambersons, by Booth Tarkington (Novel; 1918)

The NeverEnding Story, by Michael Ende (English Translation of the Novel; 1983)

Of Human Bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham (Novel; 1915)

Paradise Lost, by John Milton (Poetry; 1667)

Pensées, by Blaise Pascal (Book; 1670)

Le Pont de la Rivière Kwaï (The Bridge over the River Kwai), by Pierre Boulle (Novel; 1952)

The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli (Book; 1532)

Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1597)

A Room with a View, by E.M. Foster (Novel; 1908)

Samuel Pepys’ Diary began (Diary; 1660)

The Sandman, by Neil Gaiman (Comic Series; 1989)

Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen (Novel; 1811) [#1]

Silas Marner: The Weaver of Raveloe, by George Eliot (Novel; 1861)

Songs of Innocence, by William Blake (Poems; 1789)

Sons and Lovers, by D.H. Lawrence (Novel; 1913)

The Swiss Family Robinson, by Johann Wyss (Novel; 1812)

The Sword in the Stone by T.H. White (Novel; 1938)

Three Men in a Boat, by Jerome K. Jerome (Novel; 1889)

Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche (Book; 1883)

Top of the Pops (BBC Musical Variety TV Series; 1966)

The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera (Novel; 1984)

Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E.M. Forster (Novel; 1905)

Whose Body?, by Dorothy L. Sayers (Mystery Novel; 1923) [1st Lord Peter Wimsey]

The Winter’s Tale, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1611)

A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle (Novel; 1962)

Today’s Name Days

Maria, Wilhelm (Austria)

Vasil, Vasilena, Vesela, Veselin, Veselina (Bulgaria)

Fulgencije, Marija, Raimund (Croatia)

Nový rok (Czech Republic)

Sylvester (Denmark)

Algo, Alo, Esmo, Uno, Uuno (Estonia)

Maria, Neujahr (Germany)

Telemahos, Vasiliki, Vasilis (Greece)

Fruzsina (Hungary)

Maria (Italy)

Laimnesis, Solvita (Latvia)

Masław, Mieczysław, Mieczysława, Mieszko (Poland)

Vasile (Romania)

Courtney (Slovakia)

Emmanuel, Jesús, Manuel, María (Spain)

Basil, Bohdan, David, Vasylyna (Ukraine)

Arleen, Arlen, Arlene, Arlette, Pablo, Paul, Saul (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 1 of 2022; 364 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 7 of week 52 of 2022

Celtic Tree Calendar: Beth (Birch) [Day 8 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Dōngyuè), Day 10 (Ji-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Tiger (until January 22, 2023)

Hebrew: 8 Teveth 5783

Islamic: 8 Jumada II 1444

J Cal: 1 Aer; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 18 December 2022

Moon: 77%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 1 Moses (1st Month) [Prometheus]

Runic Half Month: Eihwaz (Yew) [Day 8 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 12 of 90)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 11 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Aer (Month 1 of 12; J Calendar)

Gantan-sai (Shinto New Years)

January (Gregorian Calendar) [Month 1 of 12]

Moses (a.k.a. The Initial Theocracy) [Month 1 of 13; Positivist]

#calendar #Holidays

0 notes

brookstonalmanac · 1 year

Text

Holidays 1.1

Holidays

Baby-Boomer Day

Betsy Ross Day

Black Nazarene Fiesta (Philippines) [thru 9th]

Bonza Bottler Day

Buckle-Up Day

Celebration of Life Week [1st 7 Days]

Commitment Day

Daddy Frost Day

Daisy Day

Daydreamers' Day

Day of Universal Brotherhood (Brazil)

Diffendoofer Day (Dr. Seuss)

Emancipation Day

Ethics Day

Euro Day

Flag Day (Lithuania)

Founding Day (China)

Get a Life Day

Global Family Day

International Nepali Dhoti and Nepali Topi Day

Jump-Up Day (Montserrat)

Kalpataru Day (Ramakrishna)

Kamakura Ebisu (Japan) [thru 1.3]

Kissing Day (Chippewa Tribe, Minnesota)

National Day of Resolutions

National Ellis Island Day

National Tree Planting Day (Tanzania)

New Life Festival (Elder Scrolls)

New Year's Day (a.k.a. ...

Amanor (Armenia)

Amateur Hangover Day

Ano Nova (Cape Verde)

Año Nuevo (Spain)

Anul Nou (Moldova, România)

Apple Gifting Day

Día de Año Nuevo (Puerto Rico)

Draw ng Bagong Taon (Philippines)

Bad Hangover Day

Dita e Vitit të Ri (Albania)

First-Foot Day

Grandfather Frost Day (Russia, Ukraine)

Jaungads (Latvia)

Mummers Parade (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania)

Navy God Day (Russia)

Nieuwjaarsdag (Suriname, Sweden)

Nova Godina (Croatia, Macedonia)

Sjoogwachi (Okinawa)

Tahun Baru (Indonesia)

Viti i Ri (Kosovo)

Yangi Yil Bayrami (Uzbekistan)

New Year's Banished Words List Day [ 2022 list ]

Party Party Day

Paul Revere Day

Penguin Plunge (Rhode Island)

Polar Bear Swim Day

Public Domain Day

Scout’s Day (Burma)

Shogatsu (Japan)

Snake Eyes Day

Tournament of Roses Parade (Pasadena, California)

Triumph of the Revolution (Cuba)

Z Day

Zygmunt Gorazdowski

Food & Drink Celebrations

Apple Gifting Day

Hangover Handicap Run (Cover d’Alene, Idaho)

National Bloody Mary Day

National Hangover Day (UK)

1st Sunday in January

Feast of the Holy Family [Sunday after Xmas]

Trappist Beer Day [1st Sunday]

Independence Days

Cameroon (from France & UK, 1960)

Haiti (from France, 1804)

Sudan (from UK, 1956)

Feast Days

Adalard of Corbie (Christian; Saint)

Another Friggin’ Year Day (Pastafarian)

Basil the Great (Eastern Orthodox Church)

Dabucuri assaby, (Initiation Rites of the Young Men; to Jurupari, South American Guarani/Tupi God)

Day of Volos (god of pets and farm animals; Slavic Pagan)

Day Sacred to Janus (Ancient Rome)

Eighth Day of Christmas

Feast of Fools (Medieval Europe)

Feast of the Circumcision of Christ (Christian)

Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus (Anglican Communion, Lutheran Church)

Feast of the Human Sacrifice (Church of the SubGenius)

Fulgentius of Ruspe (Christian; Saint)

Giuseppe Maria Tomasi (Christian)

Goddess Fortuna's Day (Ancient Rome)

Jesus Christ Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Jupiter & Juno's Day (Old Roman)

Kalends of January (Ancient Rome)

Kwanzaa, Day 7: Imani (Faith)

The Kamu (Celebrating Nature Spirits; Shogatsu/Shinto New Yea’s Festival)

M’Moreal Day (The Season of Bob’s Nativity, which is Everyday; Church of the SubGenius)

Octave Day of Christmas

Prometheus (Positivist; Saint)

Radish Dude (Muppetism)

Sacrifices to the Wind Gods (Ancient Greece)

Season of Chaos begins (Discordian)

Shichi Fukujin (Seven Deities of Luck Celebration)

Shusho-e Matsuri (Japanese Buddhists)

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, the Octave Day of Christmas (Catholic Church)

Taos Pueblo Turtle Dance (Native American)

Telemachus (Christian; Saint)

Tewa Turtle Dance (Tewa Native Americans)

Twelve Holy Days #7 (Libra, the adrenal glands; Esoteric Christianity)

Twelvetide, Day #8; Feast if the Circumscision [Anglican, Lutheran] (a.k.a. the Twelve Days of Christmas or Christmastide) [until 1.5]

World Day of Peace (Catholic Church)

Zygmunt Gorazdowski (Christian; Saint)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Dismal Day (Unlucky or Evil Day; Medieval Europe; 1 of 24)

Egyptian Day (Unlucky Day; Middle Ages Europe) [1 of 24]

Evil Day [1 of 32]

Fatal Day (Pagan) [1 of 24]

Fortunate Day (Pagan) [1 of 53]

Lucky Day (Philippines) [1 of 71]

Perilous Day (13th Century England) [1 of 32]

Tycho Brahe Unlucky Day (Scandinavia) [1 of 37]

Uncyclopedia Bad to Be Born Day (because born with a hangover, and you will probably end up breaking your new years resolutions before anyone else.)

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [1 of 30]

Very Unlucky Day (Grafton’s Manual of 1565) [1 of 60]

Premieres

Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy (Novel; 1873)

Antony and Cleopatra, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1607)

Barry Lyndon (Film; 1975)

Bay Psalm Book (Book; 1640) [1st book printed in North America]

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath (Novel; 1963)

The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler (Novel; 1940)

Blue Suede Shoes, by Carl Perkins (Song; 1956)

The Book of the Five Rings, by Miyamoto Musashi (Book; c. 1645)

Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley (Novel; 1932)

Cannery Row, by John Steinbeck (Novel; 1945)

The Cat’s Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut (Novel; 1963)

The Color Purple, by Alice Walker (Novel; 1980)

Das Kapital, by Karl Marx (Book; 1867)

Day-O (The Banana Boat Song), by Harry Belafonte (Song; 1956)

Dead Souls, by Nikolai Gogol (Novel; 1842)

The Faerie Queen, by Edmund Spenser (Poem; 1590)

Five Weeks in a Balloon, by Jules Verne (Novel; 1863)

Flatland, by Edwin Abbot (Book; 1884)

The Four Seasons, by Antonio Vivaldi (Violin Concertos; 1725)

Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus, by Mary Shelley (Novel; 1818)

Gigi, by Colette (Novella; 1944)

The Golden Notebook, by Doris Lessing (Novel; 1962)

If A Man Answers (Film; 1962)

Journey to the East, by Herman Hesse (Novella; 1932)

The King James Bible (Book; 1604)

King Solomon’s Mines, by. H. Rider Haggard (Novel; 1885)

The Magic Christian, by Terry Southern (Novel; 1959)

Manhattan Transfer, by John Dos Passos (Novel; 1925)

The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, by Howard Pyle (Novel; 1883)

The Mick (TV Series; 2017)

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1605)

Moving Pictures, by Terry Pratchet (Novel; 1990) [Discworld #10]

The Naked and the Dead, by Norman Mailer (Novel; 1948)

Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo (Novel; 1862)

Looking Backward, by Edward Bellamy (Novel; 1887)

The Magnificent Ambersons, by Booth Tarkington (Novel; 1918)

The NeverEnding Story, by Michael Ende (English Translation of the Novel; 1983)

Of Human Bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham (Novel; 1915)

Paradise Lost, by John Milton (Poetry; 1667)

Pensées, by Blaise Pascal (Book; 1670)

Le Pont de la Rivière Kwaï (The Bridge over the River Kwai), by Pierre Boulle (Novel; 1952)

The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli (Book; 1532)

Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1597)

A Room with a View, by E.M. Foster (Novel; 1908)

Samuel Pepys’ Diary began (Diary; 1660)

The Sandman, by Neil Gaiman (Comic Series; 1989)

Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen (Novel; 1811) [#1]

Silas Marner: The Weaver of Raveloe, by George Eliot (Novel; 1861)

Songs of Innocence, by William Blake (Poems; 1789)

Sons and Lovers, by D.H. Lawrence (Novel; 1913)

The Swiss Family Robinson, by Johann Wyss (Novel; 1812)

The Sword in the Stone by T.H. White (Novel; 1938)

Three Men in a Boat, by Jerome K. Jerome (Novel; 1889)

Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche (Book; 1883)

Top of the Pops (BBC Musical Variety TV Series; 1966)

The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera (Novel; 1984)

Where Angels Fear to Tread, by E.M. Forster (Novel; 1905)

Whose Body?, by Dorothy L. Sayers (Mystery Novel; 1923) [1st Lord Peter Wimsey]

The Winter’s Tale, by William Shakespeare (Play; 1611)

A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle (Novel; 1962)

Today’s Name Days

Maria, Wilhelm (Austria)

Vasil, Vasilena, Vesela, Veselin, Veselina (Bulgaria)

Fulgencije, Marija, Raimund (Croatia)

Nový rok (Czech Republic)

Sylvester (Denmark)

Algo, Alo, Esmo, Uno, Uuno (Estonia)

Maria, Neujahr (Germany)

Telemahos, Vasiliki, Vasilis (Greece)

Fruzsina (Hungary)

Maria (Italy)

Laimnesis, Solvita (Latvia)

Masław, Mieczysław, Mieczysława, Mieszko (Poland)

Vasile (Romania)

Courtney (Slovakia)

Emmanuel, Jesús, Manuel, María (Spain)

Basil, Bohdan, David, Vasylyna (Ukraine)

Arleen, Arlen, Arlene, Arlette, Pablo, Paul, Saul (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 1 of 2022; 364 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 7 of week 52 of 2022

Celtic Tree Calendar: Beth (Birch) [Day 8 of 28]

Chinese: Month 12 (Dōngyuè), Day 10 (Ji-Wei)

Chinese Year of the: Tiger (until January 22, 2023)

Hebrew: 8 Teveth 5783

Islamic: 8 Jumada II 1444

J Cal: 1 Aer; Oneday [1 of 30]

Julian: 18 December 2022

Moon: 77%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 1 Moses (1st Month) [Prometheus]

Runic Half Month: Eihwaz (Yew) [Day 8 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 12 of 90)

Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 11 of 30)

Calendar Changes

Aer (Month 1 of 12; J Calendar)

Gantan-sai (Shinto New Years)

January (Gregorian Calendar) [Month 1 of 12]

Moses (a.k.a. The Initial Theocracy) [Month 1 of 13; Positivist]

#Holidays

1 note · View note

swldx · 2 years

Text

Voice of America 0356 3 Oct 2022

6080Khz 0327 3 OCT 2022 - VOICE OF AMERICA (UNITED STATES OF AMERICA) in ENGLISH from MOPENG HILL. SINPO = 45344. English, "Daybreak Africa" in progress. @0330z VoA news via remote read by Tommy McNeil. Russia attacked the Ukrainian president’s hometown and other targets Sunday with suicide drones, and Ukraine took back full control of a strategic eastern city in a counteroffensive that has reshaped the war. With the death toll from Hurricane Ian rising and hundreds of thousands of people without power in Florida and the Carolinas, U.S. officials vowed Sunday to unleash an unprecedented amount of federal disaster aid as crews scrambled to rescue people still trapped by floodwaters. Burkina Faso's ousted coup leader Lt. Col. Paul Henri Sandaogo Damiba left the country for Togo Sunday two days after he himself was overthrown in a coup, while the new junta urged citizens not to loot or vandalize. Yemen's warring sides have failed to reach an agreement to extend a nationwide cease-fire, the U.N. said Sunday, endangering the longest lull in fighting since the country's bloody civil war began. The U.N.-backed truce initially took effect in April and raised hopes for a longer pause in fighting as Yemen’s civil war entered in its eighth year. The devastating conflict began in 2014, when the Iranian-backed Houthis seized the capital of Sanaa and much of northern Yemen and forced the government into exile. Haiti on Sunday said at least eight people have died of cholera in a surprise return of the disease (not seen in 3 years) that comes as the nation is paralyzed by a gang blockade that has triggered shortages of fuel and clean drinking water. Brazil's top two presidential candidates were neck-and-neck late Sunday in a highly polarized election that could determine if the country returns a leftist to the helm of the world's fourth-largest democracy or keeps the far-right incumbent in office for another four years. It appears increasingly likely neither of the top two candidates will receive more than 50% of the valid votes, which exclude spoiled and blank ballots, which would mean a second-round vote will be scheduled for Oct. 30. Britain's King Charles III will not attend a summit of world leaders on climate change in Egypt next month, a royal source said on Sunday, as the new monarch stepped back from his previous campaign duties. Buckingham Palace sought government advice on the COP27 UN summit and it was unanimously agreed that it would not be appropriate for Charles to go there on what would be his first visit abroad, the source said. @0335z "International Edition" begins. 250ft unterminated BoG antenna pointed E/W w/MFJ-1020C active antenna (used as a preamplifier/preselector), Etón e1XM. 100kW, beamAz 350°, bearing 84°. Received at Plymouth, United States, 14087KM from transmitter at Mopeng Hill. Local time: 2227.

0 notes

isthisthingeven0n · 3 years

Text

understanding that time : j.w

during your period, jeff decides to provide some comfort eventhough he’s partially clueless as to what is happening (900 words)

requested: yes by the sweetest anon, just some lovely fluff for a sunday warnings: none that i’m aware of

all my links

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Curling up in another blanket, you could barely move as another wave of cramps hits you with full force.

“Y/n?” You hum in response as Jeff shifts beside you, sitting upright as he notices your body tense up. “What’s wrong?” He asks quietly as you swallow the lump in your throat, tugging on the blanket covering you tightly.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” You attempt to brush it off, but as the words leave your lips your ovaries go into overdrive and a groan escapes you.

Now kneeling, Jeff sighs. “Well, it’s clearly something.” He states, catching you rolling your eyes as you shuffle to lie down. “Who do I need to hurt?”

Laughing lightly, you stretch your arm out and cup his cheek with your hand. “No one, I promise.” You mumble and reach for another cushion, hugging it against your stomach.

“Wait,” Jeff pauses for a moment before reaching over and grabs his phone. “oh baby, is it that time already?”

“Yeah,” You respond as you roll up into yourself, hugging the blanket closer. “it’s day one so mother nature is giving me hell.” A dry laugh follows, but Jeff furrows his brows, hating to see you in pain like this.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, his voice filled with concern as you bury your face into the pillow. “Erm, chocolates? A massage? Me to go away?” He suggests anything that comes to mind, yet you remain silent. “Are you alive in there?”

“I am,” Your voice is muffled by the cushion as your hair covers the cotton cover. “but it feels like I’m dying inside.” You add, and Jeff just nods along, still having no real idea what it is that happens to you every month.

“I know I don’t have a mensical cycle every month, Y/n, but if you need anything at all, just ask.” Jeff explains, and slowly you lift your head up, weakly smiling.

“It’s called a menstrual cycle, babe.” You chuckle, causing Jeff to scoff.

“I knew that.” He remarks. “Do you want me to go grab that hot water bottle that’s shaped like a polar bear?”

Nodding in response, Jeff peels himself from your side and rushes into the kitchen as Nerf follows behind him.

Whilst Jeff remains occupied, you lie back down on your back, but within seconds you rise to your feet and rush to the bathroom.

“-there’s only milk chocolate is that okay?” Jeff walks back into the bedroom, seeing you absent from the pile of sheets you were previously cocooned in.

As he steps closer, he can see a few spots of blood, and the sound of the toilet flushing.

Shyly, you emerge from the bathroom with your leggings in hand. “I’m sorry,” You sniff, dropping the leggings as you bury your face into your hands. “I’m a mess, I, I’ll just change and go home.” You explain, moving to bypass Jeff, but he holds his arm out, bringing you into his embrace instead.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jeff mutters as he runs his hand over your hair whilst you cry into his chest. “we can clean it up, it’s no big deal.” He ensures as your cries ease ever so slightly. “And I’ve got some pants you can wear, they’ll be a bit big on you though.” He adds, feeling you snigger lightly.

“Are you sure?” You quietly ask, lifting your head up to see him smiling down at you.

“Of course, come on.” Jeff lowers his arm and takes his hand in yours, guiding you to perch on the edge of the bed whilst he rummages for some suitably sized pants. “Aha!” Revealing the pair, Jeff hands them to you and kisses your forehead. “You go get changed, I’ll sort this out.”

Disappearing into the bathroom once more, Jeff quickly removes the bloodied sheets and changes them with ease. By the time you’ve finished freshening up, the new bedding awaits you as Jeff hovers in front of it.

“I’ll go grab some snacks and tablets for you, yeah?” Jeff squeezes your shoulder before running into the kitchen, leaving you with a fresh face and easing cramps.

Unable to keep still, you follow behind Jeff to witness him frantically grabbing all sorts from his mostly bare cupboards. “Jeff?” You call out, crossing your arms over your chest as he pauses. “Can I just have a hot water bottle please?”

“I, sure,” Jeff stumbles over his words as he lowers his chocolate protein powder. Within a matter of minutes, Jeff secures the screw on the water bottle, now filled with hot water and passes it across to you. “come on, babe.”

Walking back into his room, Jeff keeps his arm around you until you both sit back down on his bed with you instantly humming in content. "This is nice." You mumble whilst Jeff grabs a glass of water for you.

“Now, wanna watch something, or just cuddle?” Jeff asks, but as he glances back at you, a smile crosses his lips at the sight.

You're now lying down, eyes growing heavy with ease as you snuggle closer into Jeff, barely able to form a response.

Chuckling to himself, Jeff lifts his arm up to tug you against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from the polar bear in your arms as your breathing slows down.

“Cuddle it is.” He whispers, closing his eyes knowing you're okay - for now at least.

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quentinblack · 3 years

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Smoke and Mirrors

Word Count: 3K words

Chapter 11: Hestia II - The Lost Boys (link to full story on FF.net)

Warnings: Reference to Suicide and Rape

Featuring: Hestia Jones & Jordan Turner (OC)

Hestia looked down at her list.

The name read “J TURNER – MGL – 18 – 07/05/1990”

This was the last one of the day.

Jordan Turner was only just eighteen years old when Hestia had first spoken to him at the tail end of last week, a mere few days following his birthday.

By both muggle and wizarding law standards he was now a man, but with his swept over greasy hair, fearful, mistrusting eyes and skinny frame he had seemed far more like a boy. A much worn and faded brown leather belt was the only thing that ensured his oversized, ill-fitting trousers sat near to his waist and did not fall down to his ankles.

It was difficult to believe that he was in-fact older than Harry Potter, who less than a fortnight prior had ended You Know Who’s reign of terror on Great Britain.

It had been You Know Who that had inadvertently destroyed the life of Turner, who had been taken in for questioning with a host of other captured snatchers and Death Eater associates following The Battle of Hogwarts.

Jordan had spent the vast majority of his life working on his father’s farm, which was situated in a sleepy village town a few miles south of Yeovil in Somerset.

From what Hestia had managed to gather from him in his interrogation, he would often do various chores for his father in the field late at night – and it was one fateful night last November when he’d been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Fenrir Greyback and his pack of hungry, disgruntled werewolves had been prowling the British countryside for the best part of two decades. For the vast majority of the time their disruption had been kept to a minimum, with Greyback himself often in and out of Azkaban for various offences, primarily resolving around breaking the statute of secrecy by illegally recruiting new victims.

However, both in the years prior and during You Know Who’s rise to power, Greyback had, for want of a better phrase, had his leash unshackled.

It seemed that his reward for unblinking loyalty to The Dark Lord had been free reign to more or less indulge in whatever recreational activity he felt like. This was bad news for British farmers, as his werewolf pack preyed mercilessly on livestock all over Britain.

Hestia had suspected as much even when she was in hiding with Dedalus and the Dursley family. Where they were stationed in Wrexham picked up all of the local regional news, which for many months focused on the extraordinary story of wild wolves supposedly ravaging sheep farms all across Wales.

There were all manner of eccentric oddball farmers and locals getting interviewed by BBC, ITV and Channel 4 presenters, with each interviewee adamantly proclaiming they’d seen a giant wolf or multiple wolves going after one flock or another. One crazed man even professed he’d seen a werewolf.

Needless to say, muggles across the country, excluding the farmers and locals unlucky enough to grab a sighting themselves, did not take it altogether too seriously.

In-fact, much of the coverage was framed in such a manner that the presenters back in the metropolitan London-based studios were downright laughing at the ludicrous tales from the backwards country-folk.

Hestia even recalled Vernon Dursley, in-between laughing along at the coverage with his wife, making several offhand remarks about the Welsh being a load of ‘stupid bloody sheep shaggers’.

But the Welsh farmers and locals had not been stupid at all.

They’d simply seen and witnessed things that no sane muggle would ever be able to comprehend or understand.

Jordan Turner had been one of these poor muggles.

His only problem had been that he hadn’t simply spied or eavesdropped on Greyback’s gang from a distance, no, he’d actually been brave enough, or indeed, foolish enough to try and take them on.

Once the werewolf pack had pillaged their way through Wales it seemed they’d headed out to Bristol, Bath and then eventually made their way south to Yeovil and stumbled upon the Turner family farm.

Jordan had been bottling up some fresh cow’s milk ready for the morning Sunday market when he’d heard a commotion coming from their sheep herd. At first he had not been too concerned, assuming it was probably just a fox, or maybe even a badger.

But as he peered out into the distance he saw several large shadows on the sheep field, which was followed by a blood-curdling howl and a scream of pure terror from a sheep, which caused the others to quickly disperse.

The Turner family had followed the news for the last few months and knew all about the rumoured wolf-pack preying on local farms.

At first his father had laughed it off like most of the rest of the country, but in the last few weeks he had grown slightly concerned. There had been reports from other farmers, ones that he trusted, who were based in Bristol that had given more credible reports of something very strange and sinister happening.

Jordan had thought of running back to the main house and calling for his father when he’d heard that first sheep scream, but he’d thought better of it, as it was a good five minute run. By the time they’d both come back the wolves could’ve been long gone and taken or killed half of their herd.

He’d instead reached for the shotgun in the outhouse and fearlessly sprinted towards the defenceless sheep.

What he had seen when he’d got there had horrified him to the bone.

A big, vicious looking brown wolf with teeth as big as knives was sinking its teeth into the side of a terrified sheep.

Luckily for Jordan the wolf had been so preoccupied in feasting on its flesh that it hadn’t notice he was watching it.

The beast hadn’t noticed when Jordan had raised the gun, nor when he had taken his aim and it was only when the deafening shot had been fired that Jordan’s presence was finally known to it.

It had been too late for the wolf though, as Jordan’s shot had penetrated straight through its neck and fatally wounded it.

The blast had been so loud that it had caused Jordan’s hearing to be temporarily reduced to nothing more than a loud ringing noise, so he was unsure whether the wolf had let out a whimper or not, but after a few moments it fell to the ground, dead.

Jordan had momentarily been quite proud of himself.

His Dad would be happy with him when he ran back to the house and told him that he’d caught a wolf in the act – and put a bullet right through it for good measure, but Jordan never got to tell his Dad what he had done.

As his hearing had returned he had been greeted by the sound of fierce, loud growling behind him, which was coming from the rest of the fallen wolf’s pack – and needless to say, they were not best pleased.

He had thought that the wolf he had shot dead had been big, but many of the other wolves that surrounded him after that had absolutely dwarfed the one that he had just killed.

It had been the one in the middle that had been the most terrifying.

It looked more like a bear than a wolf.

This wolf had been massive.

This wolf had been menacing.

This wolf had been Fenrir Greyback - and he had dived for Jordan Turner, knocked him unconscious and then sunk his teeth deep inside his neck, thus forever cursing the young muggle boy with the blood of a werewolf.

Jordan had recounted to Hestia how Greyback had explained everything to him in the morning when he’d come back around.

She thought how it must be bad enough for a wizard who is aware of werewolves to be bitten and then turned into one, but she sympathised with Turner who had previously never even known they existed outside of horror movies and folk tales.

It was one thing to be told all about the magical word as an excited muggle-born receiving a Hogwarts letter on your 11th birthday, but Jordan’s sorry entry into the magical world had been the polar opposite of that happy childhood experience.

Greyback had bullied the young muggle into joining his pack, under the guise that he was one of them now – a monster, who his family would ostracise should they ever find out the truth. Unable to fend for himself, Jordan was left with little choice but to enlist within Greyback’s ranks and do his bidding for the indefinite future.

The young farmer and many others would join a growing portion of teenage boys and young men reported as missing in the UK. The police would launch various man-hunts and missing person investigations, but to no avail, as the families would be left forever wondering what happened to their lost boys.

The next six months had seen the pack continue to ravage the country as Fenrir Greyback, quite literally, raped and pillaged his way through it. A few lost sheep paled in comparison to the number of teenage muggle girls who also began to go missing, with Turner reporting that Greyback, much like a black widow spider, would feast on and kill his helpless victims after he was finished with them. A corpse would often wind up in a local ditch, forest or river, with the police generally left baffled as to what cruel fate had fallen upon the deceased.

Turner had not understood why Greyback hadn’t held any interest in recruiting the females to join the pack, but Hestia had studied werewolves enough to have a good understanding of what his probable reasoning had been.

A female werewolf, unlike a male, can morph their body to almost three times its normal size during a full moon, as well as that they often develop twice as much of a lust for death and destruction. A she-wolf in the pack could have certainly threatened Greyback, especially if younger males within it lacking a mother-figure possibly gravitated towards her. An Alpha such as Fenrir would have never risked the possibility of having his pack taken over from within.

But now Greyback was behind bars – and, if the whispered rumours were true, he was first in line for execution following what would eventually become the Wizarding equivalent of the Nuremberg trials.

This had left many of the young and newly recruited werewolves without a leader.

A decent percentage of the werewolves that Greyback had turned in the last year were already dead of course, with many being killed in various skirmishes that their Alpha’s snatchers had encountered whilst parading around the countryside.

Those that had survived those battles, like Jordan, were then enlisted in as The Dark Lord took Hogwarts. Nothing could’ve prepared them for such a battle and with just knives, bats or their bare hands to defend themselves it was no surprise that a great number of them had fallen in the fray.

Yet just shy of 100 of them had managed to survive, which had given The Ministry a bit of a problem.

Hestia’s makeshift team had been given the job of at least partially dealing with it, as if they didn’t already have enough on their plate.

The short-term initial plan for these muggle werewolves was fairly simple. They were to have all memory of their previous life as a muggle erased.

At first it had seemed quite a drastic and harsh policy, to have them completely forget all of their family and friends, but it was deemed a necessary precaution to maintain the integrity of the secrecy act.

Hestia thought it may also in some ways be quite cathartic for the misguided young men, as they would no longer be as depressed about their fate. They could not long for the warmth of their previously loving families if they did not remember them.

The art of erasing the memory of a loved one from someone’s mind is a difficult craft to master, but Hestia had a fair amount of practice in the discipline. She had once spent 3 months on an internship in Ohio at the illustrious Munroe Hills Mind Centre, which controversially specialised in just that very branch of memory magic.

Munroe Hills’ team of highly trained, and indeed, highly paid, privately contracted Obliviators spent their time removing memories of former lovers, as well as helping people forget abusive experiences or traumatic events that they had witnessed.

There was good money to be made in the memory game in America, Canada and even closer to home in Switzerland, but Hestia was too much of a homely girl to want to move that far away. She would miss her Mother too much, even if she was only just an international Portkey away.

Hestia knocked on the door to the room that Jordan Turner had been allocated, noting that there was a bit of a foul smell lingering in the hallway.

A whole mini apartment complex had been knocked up temporarily whilst they decided upon where they would rehouse or base the remaining pack, yet, given the smell, it seemed that the former muggles had not taken to life back indoors too comfortably.

The door remained shut and there was no hint of noise emitted from inside.

Hestia knocked once more, with more power this time, but yet again, no response.

It hadn’t been a full moon the previous night, so it wasn’t as if the young wolf would be tired after being up all night.

They generally brought them their evening meal in around half an hour, so Hestia couldn’t have imagined that he would’ve wandered off anywhere.

She gave the door one last try, but still nothing.

The nasty smell felt a little more pronounced now, with Hestia guessing that it was actually coming from inside Jordan’s room.

He hadn’t seemed particularly unhygienic when she had spoken to him earlier in the week, in-fact despite his greasy hair and generally unkempt appearance, he had probably been one of the most civilised and reasonable of those that she spoke to.

“Jordan!” Hestia requested. “Jordan – It’s Hestia. Remember we spoke last week?”

Jones gave the door several further thuds, which, much like her earlier knocks, were once again met with no reply. She pulled on the knob but it seemed that Turner had locked the door.

“Jordan! Please don’t make me force my way in there!” she pleaded, but to no avail and thus she was left with little choice.

“Okay I’m coming in – I hope you’re wearing some clothes….Alohomora!”

The door swung open and Hestia saw him immediately.

He was wearing the same clothes that she had seen him in last week, save for the worn and faded brown leather belt, which was not holding up his trousers to his waist, but instead held up his snapped neck and the rest of his limp, dead body from the coat-hook on the back of the door.

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olehistorian · 4 years

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https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/the-interview-imelda-staunton-is-tight-lipped-on-playing-the-crowns-future-queen-pkzpb76b2

Have you watched Vera Drake lately? Obviously, you have to be in a certain Saturday-night mood to turn off The Masked Singer and choose to put on Mike Leigh’s tale of a big-hearted backstreet abortionist in the East End in 1950. But it’s worth another visit. It’s one of the great British films and turbo-boosted the careers of many a character actor. Leading the ensemble cast in the title role — in an Oscar-nominated, Bafta-winning performance — was Imelda Staunton, who would become queen of them all. And possibly even the Queen. We’ll come to that.

“Just the best, best, best job of my life,” is how Staunton reflects on Vera Drake now. “Yeah, it was very hard to continue after that.”

After Vera Drake, Staunton had the little-old-lady role pretty much sewn up. The “little” is unavoidable. She’s 5ft nothing. In the hotel sideroom in which we meet, she fidgets on the edge of an armchair, sipping a juice a similar shade of green to her blouse and trench coat, which she keeps on throughout the interview. The “old” is perhaps more unfair: she was in her forties when she played Drake. We meet the day before her 64th birthday. “I think a lot of women now don’t think about their age because it’s changed for women, hasn’t it?”

She did “harrowing” again last year in ITV’s true-crime A Confession, playing the mother of Sian O’Callaghan, the 22-year-old from Swindon who was murdered in 2011. But otherwise, of late, she’s been — in the nicest way possible — British cinema’s arch biddy: in the gay-rights drama Pride; in Nanny McPhee; in the Downton Abbey movie alongside her husband, Jim Carter, who plays the long-suffering butler Carson; and as Professor Dolores Umbridge in the Harry Potter films. It all comes back to Mike Leigh. “I wouldn’t have got Harry Potter if my profile hadn’t been upped with Vera Drake,” she says. “They might have wanted me, but I wasn’t, you know, hot enough.”

At the end of last year, it was reported that the ultimate little-old-lady part was coming Staunton’s way: succeeding Olivia Colman as the Queen in series five and six of The Crown. Netflix played it down as “speculation”. But at a charity event at the Ivy before Christmas, Grant Tucker, the Sunday Times entertainment correspondent, asked Staunton’s husband, Carter, what it was like being married to royalty. “Thankfully I don’t have to start bowing to her for another two years,” he replied, “so I have plenty of time to practise.” So it’s true? Staunton’s reply is immediate, polite and professional: “I can’t discuss anything to do with that.” Which isn’t, you’ll note, a no.

She tells me she woke up at 4am today, thinking about her next big gig — Hello, Dolly! at the Adelphi Theatre. It isn’t on until August. Rehearsals don’t start until June. But “to me, that’s 10 minutes”, she says. “I just know the process is beginning. As Jim said, ‘This is the rest of the year, is it?’ I think about it and think about it. ‘How the hell am I going to do that?’ [Past success] means nothing at all, because it’s the next challenge. The more people say, ‘Ooh, it’s going to be great,’ the more I just get so depressed.”

And what success. In the West End, she’s busted free of the twinsets to become a bona fide, big-lunged musical star — a pocket rocket with a trail of five-star reviews and awards in her wake. Her first Olivier was back in 1991, for Into the Woods. In 2013, she won one for Sweeney Todd, in which she appeared alongside Michael Ball. Stephen Sondheim saw her performance and told her she should take on a revival of Gypsy next. The 2016 Olivier followed for that.

Her dog, Molly, a terrier, appeared on stage with her in the early performances of Gypsy, at the Chichester Festival Theatre. One time, during the West End run, a mouse snuck into her costume. “I did the whole first 20 minutes with a mouse inside the sleeve of my coat, singing the song, carrying on the scene. It’s good what your head can cope with, isn’t it?” It’s not the sort of thing that should happen to a Harry Potter star, surely? “That’s what you want. That’s the reality of the glamour of the thing.”

Staunton grew up in Archway, north London, above her mum’s hairdressing shop. Her dad was a labourer. Her mum, a first-generation Irish immigrant, was a big fan of the Queen. She died just before her daughter received her Oscar nomination for Vera Drake, and before Staunton collected her OBE and later CBE from the palace. “She’d have bloody loved all that,” she says.

She went to a convent school — “a really nice one because we had a lot of lay teachers”. Her report cards read: “Imelda could try harder, but she was very good in the play.” Her elocution teacher, Mrs Stoker, pushed her towards Rada, where contemporaries included Alan Rickman, Timothy Spall and Juliet Stevenson. When she got her first job in London, in 1982, it was in a musical: Guys and Dolls at the National Theatre. Staunton, by now used to lead roles, was only in the chorus. “I was thinking, ‘I just played Electra, what am I doing? Oh God.’” But Ian Charleson, Bob Hoskins, Julie Covington and Julia McKenzie were higher up the bill. “That’s what I was doing there: learning, really, really learning. That was wonderful.”

Also in the cast, seven years her senior, was Jim Carter. They married the following year. In 1986 they appeared together in Dennis Potter’s classic TV musical The Singing Detective. But, until the Downton movie, their working lives seldom intersected. “We don’t ever try not to work together — we just haven’t,” she says. “On the Downton film, we got completely overexcited, as we went to work for three days at the same time. What was lovely was doing the publicity together: travelling, just being in a hotel. We made sure we enjoyed ourselves.”

They have had a long-standing pact not to spend more than a couple of weeks apart, a rule Staunton broke to film Ang Lee’s Taking Woodstock (no, me neither). “I think it was five weeks: I was in America and thought, ‘Yep, that’ll do.’”

She enjoyed last summer filming Flesh and Blood, a new four-part ITV drama, on the coast near Eastbourne. “The sea does do something different to you, doesn’t it? I do think it would be brilliant to have somewhere by the sea, but it’s not going to happen.” She’s happy at home in Hampstead with Carter, walking the dog, spending days at the Test match and doing the gardening: “That’s probably an older person’s thing to say. Well, f*** it, you know? It’s healing, really healing. Having a stable place to come back to is quite necessary for me and for Jim, I think. It nourishes us. It allows us to go into a place that isn’t comfortable because you know you can get back to a more comfortable place.”

Flesh and Blood is an example of good parts being written for older people, especially women. “I’m encouraged by it,” says Staunton. “Very encouraged.” It’s not so much a whodunnit as a whodunnwot. In its rather gripping first episode, there’s a mystery body on a beach and a recent widow (played by 74-year-old Francesca Annis) starting a new life with a new fella who has a whiff of the gigolo about him. Staunton is back as the little old lady, Mary, a creepy next-door neighbour with a pair of binoculars and penchant for opening other people’s mail. This primetime drama does contain scenes of pensioners smooching.

“It’s not just for the sake of it,” says Staunton. “This isn’t trying to be ‘Oh, we’re beautiful things having sex later in life.’ There’s a loving relationship developing. The fact that [in one of Annis’s scenes] the dressing gown slips off is not extraordinary.” Would Staunton ever want a crack at being the older woman getting the, ahem, action? “I don’t think that would be required,” she replies. “I don’t think so, no — not unless it was funny.”

We talk about the trial of the film producer Harvey Weinstein. What experience has Staunton had of that grim — and criminal — casting- couch culture? “None. Absolutely none,” she says. “I’m not surprised [that it goes on], but I’ve always been in situations where women are treated equally. In the rehearsal room, women behave as they wish to behave and are listened to, and that’s normal. I never thought, ‘Oh, isn’t this marvellous, somebody’s listening to me?’ I’ve never witnessed it, but I hope good will come out of this. The irony of that” — she pauses to choose the word carefully — “situation is that that man [Weinstein] has made good things happen now. Hurrah.”

It won’t come as too much of surprise that she voted Labour in last month’s election — her MP, Tulip Siddiq, has a 14,000-vote majority in Hampstead and Kilburn, Glenda Jackson’s old seat. Staunton voted for remain. She also featured in a video last year for Extinction Rebellion, organised by Richard Curtis. “It was a friend who said, ‘Could you come along, they’re just doing it today, this bit of filming.’ Well, I was doing nothing else. I’m not climbing up the side of a building, so I’ll go and do that. If I can help, I’ll do that. As much as we can all do, every little bit helps.”

Does she worry about putting her head above the parapet like that? “No, not at all. That’s the only bloody point of any slight fame: you’ve got to use it, to put it to good use.” She has also provided the voice for some polar bears for Greenpeace. “Trump is just an absolute … It’s just a nightmare, and the climate’s a nightmare and Brexit’s a nightmare. And yet I wake up thinking about Hello, Dolly!”

At 64, Staunton seems to recognise that a Vera Drake or Hello, Dolly! might not roll round again. Even Harry Potter was, she says, “a very serious piece of work, weirdly”. She feels lucky that an actor’s life goes on. So no plans to retire? “I don’t think people do, do they? Name me an actress! No, you won’t get bloody Maggie Smith retiring. It’s a very nice job, if you can get it.” Plus, she’s still hoping someone will cast her alongside her 26-year-old daughter, Bessie, also an actress. “I’d love that. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

I hope they do give her the Queen job. If there’s anyone who could add some plausibility and empathy to the madcap past 12 months of royal history, from Megxit to the sweat-free antics of Prince Andrew, it is Staunton. I would pay good money to watch her, in standard-issue HRH lemon-yellow frock and tight-curled wig, look up, fix her aide with a stare and utter the words: “A Pizza Express … in Woking?”

Flesh and Blood is on ITV in February

#imelda staunton #interview #new projects #jim carter #real life otp #the crown #downton abbey film

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darkelfshadow · 4 years

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Session Summary - 81

AKA “Arauthator - Old White Death”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 81 (Date: 21st March 2020) - Online Session

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

Absent Players

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Rob>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Sunday, 21st Pharast in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Spring.

- The party begin this session, in a long ice chamber, well lit by whale oil lanterns. Though mostly empty, this chamber does hold a most unexpected sight. A large shelter is seemingly built of scraps, and in the style of the tents used by the desert nomads many hundreds of miles to the south west.

- The party cautiously approach, the sounds of whimpering heard coming from the colourful tent, and pull aside the draping wall rugs to enter. The interior of the shelter is surprisingly warm, thanks to a small stove and simple lamps burning aromatic whale oil. Carpets are heaped on the floor in thick layers, and tapestries from every culture hang suspended from a sturdy frame of whale ribs. Books and scrolls are stacked neatly on tables and reading stands made of hide and whalebone. The only furnishings in the shelter not made from these natural materials are the carpets and tapestries, and a portable writing desk that appears to have been taken from parts of a sailing ship.

- Seated behind the writing desk is a female Tiefling wearing a blazing crimson cloak over tailored furs. The cloak is fastened with a silver and ivory brooch bearing a design reminiscent of a stylised, branching tree - the symbol of the Arcane Brotherhood. Two Kobold attendants crouch nearby, glancing nervously between the Tiefling and the party. The Tiefling looks up with an expression of both resignation and hopelessness and asks, “Have you come here to save me or kill me? Not that there will be much difference between the two.”

- The party confirm that they have found the elusive Maccath The Crimson and learn much from her. She was captured here three years ago by “Old White Death” Arauthator, an adult White Dragon, when she had come up here searching for information about the Draakhorn. Maccath had found more than just information about the Draakhorn, she had found the very item itself.

- Arauthator, recognising Maccath for an Arcane scholar and researcher, instead of killing Maccath kept her alive and a prisoner, to research the vast collection of arcane books that the Dragon stole centuries ago from the Hosttower of the Arcane Brotherhood. For a year and a half, Maccath did indeed decipher and unlock many of the ancient and powerful stolen tomes, but she also took time to continue her study of the Draakhorn. But then a group of humans, wearing distinctive robes and armour of purple, arrived at the ice plateau flying on Dragon back. This group spoke to Arauthator for some time, Maccath was not privy to what was discussed or who these people were, but after some lengthy negotiations this group took the Draakhorn with them, to where Maccath does not know.

- The party also learn that most of the treasure on display in these ice caves are warded by magic and if anyone were to touch it, then Arauthator would instantly know, including who and how many were in the group. Maccath also tells the party that she too has an enchanted placed upon her by the Dragon, that if she were to leave then the Dragon would immediately know. She can not leave here unless the Dragon is dead.

- The party convince Maccath that they do indeed intend to face Arauthator and upon hearing this, she hands over some items to assist the party: two Arrows of Dragon Slaying that Varis takes, and a Ring of Cold Resistance that Naillae places onto her finger. She warns them the Arauthator’s Lair below is extremely cold and a human cold not stay long in there before they start to become affected. She suggests staying no more than one hour below.

- Next Maccath leads the party into an adjacent room. Three shelves stand in this otherwise empty cavern, cobbled together out of salvaged wood, whale bone, pieces of giant’s armour, and even the frozen limbs of yetis. A number of scrolls, books, parchments, and folios are carefully arranged on the shelves, all bearing the markings of magical writing.

- One the far side of this room is a 15 foot wide hole of darkness in the floor, the cold that flows from it is harsh. Maccath warns the party that this is one of two ways into the Dragon’s Lair. Maccath goes around the shelves and gathers ten scrolls to give to the party. Unfortunately most of the scrolls are unusable by the party but Ragnar does take two: Wall of Fire and Fire Shield. Varis takes two: Protection From Energy and Water Breathing. Trenchant takes one: Hold Monster.

- The party move back to Maccath’s tent and rest for an hour. The two Kobolds, who have been tied up and secured, are questioned and the party learn that the second hole into the Dragon Lair is the safest one. The Kobolds give crude directions to this second hole.

- The party leave Maccath behind, as she states she would be useless in any combat, and they follow the directions given by the Kobolds. They arrive a small chamber, that feels far colder than it should be. The cold issues from a yawning pit in the floor that twists down into the darkness, and above which a heavy iron hook is anchored in the ice of the ceiling. A five foot wide walkway extends around both sides of the pit, connecting to two opposite entrances into the room. Carved into the ice of the walls are detailed images of dragons in flight.

- The party take some time to carefully plan and prepare to make their way down this 60 foot deep pit. Using a two ropes tied together, Labarett uses his Mage Hand to attach the rope to the iron hook in the ceiling. Then using some equipment from Sir Krondor’s climbing kit, they set up a carabiner and another rope to allow one person at a time to safely descend below. The party also take time now to prepare themselves: rubbing Polar Skin alchemical liquid onto their skin, casting Protection of Cold spells, and making sure that the Ring of Cold Resistance is worn.

- The vast cavern below that the party now finds itself in is painfully cold. Even with their cold weather gear they can feel the cold already painfully stinging their skin. Pillars and platforms of ice jut up from the icy floor and the party are standing atop a tall one, the hole in the ceiling above them. The cavern is so large that they can not see the size of it. Varis can detect a Dragon somewhere to the west and Gim hears distance movement to the north.

- The party slowly climb the icy platform they are on and make their way down, a level at a time, until they are standing on the icy cavern floor. Trenchant and Naillae sneak off to the side, whilst the party decide which way to go. Suddenly two Scrags, Troll like creatures that have adapted to living in watery environments, rush towards the party, surprising Labarett, Gim, Trenchant, Shadow and Ragnar.

- The party respond well to the sudden threat, like the well seasoned adventurers they are, and push back the Scrags quickly and easily. With the help of burning candles dropped onto the downed Scrags, they keep the beasts from regenerating.

- The party regroup and decide to push on, not wishing to waste time, as they all remember the warning of Maccath about staying too long down below in this extreme cold.

- Moving westwards, Varis and Shadow set off an enchanted ward but luckily both manage to jump back in time to avoid it. But the trap gives off a loud high pitch sound and from the west comes the sound of something large splashing in water.

- The party prepare for battle, just in time to see the large shape of a winged beast, just on the edge of their Drakvision, perched above them on one large icy outcrop. The shadowy, indistinct form moves but before it can do anything, Varis lets loose one of the Arrows of Dragon Slaying and hits it in the chest. The Dragon roars in rage and then Varis starts running away from the Dragon and towards the rest of the party shouting, “My work here is done!”

- He starts to move towards Trenchant and Naillae, who are crouched hiding in the shadows, but from their frantic shaking of their heads, he changes his mind and runs another direction.

- Gim moves upwards towards Varis, “What’s happening? I could no hear ya over that bloody roar!”

- Varis doesn’t stop but keeps running past Gim, just pointing backwards over his shoulder. Gim looks up to see the shadowy figure move and the form of an Adult White Dragon appear towering over him. As the party see the Dragon clearly now, the Dragon Fear washes over them. All but Sir Krondor manage to over come their fear and ignore it.

- The Dragon opens his jaws towards the fleeing Varis, now with Gim standing in the way, and icy particles start to form and whirl in its mouth. Trenchant tries to distract the Dragon with a minor illusion but Arauthator has his eyes locked onto Varis.

- Gim starts to move but it is now too late. He can’t move out of the way as Arauthator breaths out a cone of intense cold and frost that hits him directly. Varis, the intended target of the Dragon’s wrath, manages to roll towards an icy wall and avoid most of the cold.

- Gim is still standing but his armour his covered in frost and some of his hear, including his beard, has been frozen off. His skin his blue and he starts to slowly back up, grabbing his heavy crossbow.

- A cat and mouse game commences, with the Dragon leaping around, never staying put and striking whenever he can towards Varis, the greatest threat to the Dragon. Meanwhile, Varis is reinforcing his position as number one target, by letting loose another Arrow Of Dragon Slaying that hits the Dragon in its neck.

- The rest of party is responding: Labarett lets loose his Javelin of Lightning but it misses, Gim is firing bolts from his heavy cross bow, Varis sends his animal companion Shadow in to leap at the Dragon whenever it lands, Naillae rushes in with her daggers trying to sneak a deadly blow but can’t land a hit, and Trenchant yells insults to distract the mighty beast. Sir Krondor, still unable to overcome the Dragon Fear, is firing arrows into the air in the general direction of the Dragon but most are missing due to his shaking hands.

- Arauthator is waiting, biding his time, until he can once again feel the force within his chest telling him that his Breath is ready. Using his mighty claws and jaws against individual foes, or his long tail to swipe or his wings to batter down those around him with blasts of air. He does not have to wait long however and leaping back into the air he begins to once again open his jaws. The icy jet flies towards Varis, Naille and Shadow. Shadow is instantly killed, frozen to ice, Varis and Naille however, their trained Rogue skills kicking in, giving them just enough time to roll out of the way of most of the blast.

- The party are wounded, especially Varis who is barely standing from taking the brunt of the Dragon’s assault. Varis knows one more swing from Arauthator and he is a dead man. With this knowledge he looks towards the Dragon as it leaps off an icy platform and extends its wings to dive towards him at speed. Varis knocks a single sheaf arrow. All his Arrows of Dragon slaying are gone now.

- A single sheaf arrow.

- With death staring Varis in the face as the mighty form of Arauthator now looms over him, strange thoughts drift through his head, as his fingers play and linger over the soft fletching of the sheaf arrow: I wonder if the fletcher who made this arrow ever thought it might end up in a dragon?

- Arauthator raises his head up, his jaws opening wide, a roar of pure rage trumpeting out that deafens Varis.

- A single sheaf arrow.

- The Dragon begins to raise one large paw, with foot long razor sharp talons extending out. The muscles of the Dragon constrain, ready to unleash furry upon Varis.

- Varis raises his bow, knocks the arrow and lets it fly without aiming, trusting his instincts and knowing that he doesn’t have time to aim.

- A single sheaf arrow.

- The arrow flies directly up, into the open mouth of Arauthator and disappears inside. The arrow plunges into the fleshy upper part of the mouth and penetrates through muscle and bone, directly into the Dragon’s brain. The large creature shrieks in pain, as it falls to the side with a crash.

- Arauthator, “Old White Death” lays dead. Brought down.

- By a single sheaf arrow.

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- Quest Milestone: Locate Maccath The Crimson = 500 XP

Creatures Overcome

- Arauthator (Adult White Dragon) = 10000 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

Nil

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)

Rob : 98918 + 1875 = 100793 (Level up to Level 12)

Arthur : 79386 + 1125 = 80511

John : 72502 + 1125 = 73627

Travis : 90241 + 1500 = 91741

Paul : 79117 + 1500 = 80617

Bob : 86445 + 1875 = 88320

NPC (Naillae) : + (750)

#D&D #DnD #5th #5e #ROT

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

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Chapter 6

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Sunday 26 March 1944

My Dearest Arthur,

Bonjourno! (That's Italian for hello, you know.) This letter is being sent courtesy of the Italian resistance. The world really does work in weird and wonderful ways sometimes.

Not a day after I sent my last letter to you, Matthew and I met this friendly group of Italians while visiting the local village. There we were, chatting away, when I noticed that one of them looked really familiar… it took me a moment to realise where I had seen him before. The German's photo! He was the young man with the dark eyes and the wild hair! I pulled him aside and asked if he knew a German fighter pilot named Ludwig. Oh, Arthur. The look of shock, then joy, then utter despair. He obviously knew him… and obviously knew what it meant that I knew of him as well.

His name is Feliciano, he is a part of the Italian resistance, and he speaks English really well… unlike his brother Lovino who tends to just yell at us in Italian real loud and angry like. Their grandfather (who is known as Rome) leads the movement and they are very skilled at moving Allied prisoners of war to Spain where they can then make their way home. Feliciano does not seem to be as fervent about the cause as his grandfather or his brother, but he is cheerful and sweet and seems just a little scared. When we first met him he jumped out in front of us frantically waving a small white flag and yelling "I surrender" in four different languages.

Feliciano met Ludwig while the Germans were stationed near his village and fell immediately in love. He didn't care about sides or allegiances… he just met him and loved him. And it was mutual. Feliciano is so helpful to us but he knows at the same time that I helped shoot down Ludwig and imprison him… and yet Feliciano was fighting against the Germans the whole time. It seems there are no sides when it comes to love.

The village here really is very beautiful. One day, when all of this is over, we'll come back here and see it together… without the tanks and the flattened buildings and the burning fields.

I miss you so much. I spend every day thinking about how much I can't wait to get back to you. You're the one, Arthur - the one I want to spend every day of my life with. And the longer I'm here the stronger the conviction grows. I love you. It feels so good just to be able to write the words!

Things might not be going perfectly, but I'll make sure I come back to you, Arthur. I'm the Magician, after all!

Love always, Alfred.

Arthur ran his hand gingerly over the letter, folded it, and placed it carefully in his top dresser drawer beside all the others. It was the last letter he had received from Alfred, arriving the morning after the heartbreaking news. The letter was dated a few days before that awful news broadcast. Alfred must have written it only hours before he was captured.

For days Arthur had tried to stop the evil thoughts which assaulted his mind; but he found it impossible. What had the SS done to Alfred? Did he talk? Did he scream? Was he scared? Or did he laugh defiantly and play the hero that he always thought he was? Arthur tried desperately to shake the fears from his head. But God, why Alfred? Why the most honest, cheerful, wonderful person he'd ever known; why the one person in the world who least deserved it?

Once again, Arthur pulled himself together and headed downstairs to work. He plastered on a smile as he walked into the pub and one of his regulars nodded to him as he passed. "How are you holding up there, old chap?"

Arthur waved a hand. "I'm fine, the doctor says it was just exhaustion."

"Ah, you work yourself too hard! Slow down or you'll make yourself ill like last time!"

Arthur laughed and nodded. He'd managed to pass off his reaction to the radio broadcast as a fainting fit brought on by overwork. Nothing more. Everyone had accepted it, and life went on.

Arthur glanced around the pub as he reached the bar. There weren't so many American soldiers around these days, much to his relief. Just the sound of an American accent was enough to pull at Arthur's heart so strongly he thought it might break. Every soldier grinning at him and asking for a bourbon tore him in two once again. Every young, green American with those stupid idealistic views and naive ideas brought back memories of Alfred and shattered the hours Arthur had spent trying to forget. But it was quiet today, and he was grateful.

Arthur got through the rest of the day the way he always did. And every day after that. And through each one, Arthur tried not to think, not to remember, not to feel. Life went on and Arthur tried to go on with it. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week, month by month. Everything blurred together, one day into the next. He maintained his composure and carried on the same as he always had before. He smiled at the customers. He poured the drinks. He wiped the tables. He did his job.

But everything seemed grey somehow. Arthur hadn't realised how dull life had been before Alfred. Alfred was life: vibrant and real. Though he had only been in Arthur's life a few short weeks, he had quickly become the greatest thing in it. He was sunshine and reality and beauty. And he was gone. So life went on. Dull, and grey, and empty. And though every day Arthur tried his hardest to forget, every night he pulled out that last letter and read those final paragraphs over and over, the ones he had memorised word for word.

"I miss you so much. I spend every day thinking about how much I can't wait to get back to you. You're the one, Arthur - the one I want to spend every day of my life with. And the longer I'm here the stronger the conviction grows. I love you. It feels so good just to be able to write the words!

… I'll make sure I'll come back to you, Arthur."

Autumn, 1944 London, England

Another evening ended the way it always did, with Arthur not quite knowing where the time had gone or what he had done with it. He busied himself cleaning and when he reached the table by the second front window, Alfred's table, he tried to wipe it down as fast as possible. After all these months, strong memory still hit him, of Alfred sitting there grinning and winking and raising his bourbon glass for another refill. Arthur tried to shake the memory away. He glanced up at the sound of the front door opening.

A jolt of shock shot through him so strongly it was almost painful. Alfred walked into the pub. Arthur's heart hammered against his chest and he clutched tightly onto the cloth in his hand. His head swam in a sudden wave of unreality. Alfred smiled sadly at him, but there was something wrong. His hair was too long. His eyes were too dark. He had a polar bear attached to his lapel. Arthur's stomach sank to his feet. He went back to wiping the table and fell back into the manner he had accustomed over the last months. Calm. Composed. Emotionless.

"Hello, Matthew."

"Hi, Arthur. How are you?"

"Bloody marvellous. How are you?"

Matthew shrugged. "About the same."

"Oh good." Arthur felt small stab of guilt for his cold welcome, but an irrational wave of anger suppressed it. Why did Alfred's friend and wingman have to come back here? Why was he here to remind Arthur, when all Arthur wanted was to forget?

"Are you just closing?" asked Matthew as he walked to the bar and looked around.

"Yes," said Arthur as he walked back to the bar and threw the cloth down onto the counter. Looking around, he realised that the pub was empty and he hadn't even noticed. He reached for the bottle of rum and poured two glasses, passing one to Matthew and swiftly downing the other. He poured himself another.

Matthew nodded in thanks as he took the glass. "I suppose you… I mean, it's been so long, you must have heard…"

"Yes," said Arthur, saving himself the pain and Matthew the unease of trying to complete that sentence.

"Oh." Matthew took a long sip of rum. "How? If you don't mind my…"

"Radio," interrupted Arthur. "One of our friend Haw Haw's informative broadcasts."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Matthew looked genuinely dismayed. "What did you hear?"

Arthur sighed deeply and took a large gulp of his rum. Did he really have to say this out loud… "Shot down. Captured barely alive. Taken by the SS to be…" Arthur choked out the last word. "…interrogated." The words were engraved in his memory.

Matthew looked down into his glass. "I'm sorry," he said again. "He went down behind enemy lines. We haven't heard anything since, but since it's been so long… there's very little hope."

Arthur nodded. He knew this. What he didn't know was why Matthew was here to voice Arthur's fears and make it so much worse.

And Matthew continued. "It was a trap. He was surrounded. But he was amazing… none of us have ever seen anything like it. He shot down seven of them. That's unheard of. He drew their fire away from the rest of us, and…"

Arthur couldn't stand it. "Is this where you tell me he was a hero who fought and died bravely and I should be very proud? I'm quite aware of that. And it isn't as though I am his widow. Perhaps you should be telling all this to his family."

There was a moment of silence as a spasm of hurt passed across Matthew's face. Arthur looked away, feeling a little guilty. "I'm sorry, Matthew."

"It's all right." Matthew stood in silence for a moment. "You know, he didn't actually have a family. He didn't have anyone. Until you." Arthur couldn't bear the words... why was Matthew still talking... "You were all he talked about. Arthur this, and Arthur that…" Matthew smiled sadly. "'I'm gonna take Arthur up in Lady Beth one day... I bet Arthur would love this village... when this war is over, I'm gonna show Arthur America...'" Matthew almost laughed. "I tell you what, he nearly drove me insane with it." Arthur closed his eyes tightly. "He loved you, Arthur. Please don't ever forget that."

Arthur breathed deeply before finally opening his eyes. "No. I don't think I ever will."

"I'm sorry. I've just caused you pain coming here." Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Arthur gasped as he saw what it was. Matthew looked almost apologetic as he handed it over. "We found it in the wreckage."

Arthur's hand felt leaden as he reached out and took the handkerchief. He swallowed heavily and, unable to say anything, he just nodded. He looked down at the embroidered handkerchief, the gift he had given Alfred to serve as a good luck talisman. The irony was too cruel.

"And one more thing." Arthur's heart flipped as Matthew handed him a battered envelope. "He wrote this the morning before… well, you know. He never got to send it. I'm sorry I waited so long, but I thought I should give it to you personally."

Choked up, Arthur nodded again. Here Matthew was just trying to make him feel better, trying to help, and Arthur was being horrible. Arthur wanted to apologise but he simply could not speak.

"We're heading to France soon. I'll come and say goodbye before we head over." Matthew finished his drink, put down his glass, and headed for the door.

"Matthew," Arthur finally managed to choke out. Matthew turned. "Thank you."

Matthew smiled and nodded, then left.

Arthur looked down at the handkerchief, ran his fingers over it, then held it up to his face. He inhaled deeply, clutching desperately for the slightest touch of Alfred from the small piece of cloth. Had it touched Alfred's skin? His lips? Had Alfred been holding it when his plane crashed down? Arthur quickly held back the dark thoughts and ripped open the letter.

My Dearest Arthur,

I have done something. It may have been incredibly stupid. It may have been treason.

I don't know if it was wrong. It didn't feel wrong… but now I don't know what may happen to me. All I know is that I don't regret it.

Arthur… whether I come back to you or not… I will love you forever.

My love always, Alfred.

Arthur stared at the page, completely unsure what to make of the words. He read them what felt like a hundred times. Eventually he did the only thing he could really do. He poured a glass of bourbon, drank it, then poured another. Bourbon was Alfred's drink. It felt appropriate.

Arthur walked slowly to the mantelpiece and carefully placed the full glass on its surface. Memories started to flood his mind unbidden. The first time this fresh faced American pilot stood at his bar, grinning widely and asking for a glass of bourbon… Bourbon, straight over ice… you Brits have bourbon over here, right? The first time he introduced himself… Alfred F. Jones, American hero, here to save England! The first time of many he asked Arthur to have a drink with him… I've never drunk with an Englishman before! That fateful time he finally succeeded… Arthur, buddy, how about you come have that drink you promised? And of course the night Alfred tried desperately to grasp a glass of scotch off a customer at this very mantelpiece, terrified of the story of the ghost of the Emerald Lion.

Arthur laughed as he looked at the single glass of bourbon sitting on the mantelpiece. Alfred always was so fanatical, so passionate, so boisterous in everything he did. Arthur shook his head as the smile fell from his face. "Alfred, you bastard… you promised you'd come back."

It took only a few seconds for Arthur's composure to fall to pieces. All his carefully constructed, calm self-control fell apart, and his despair overwhelmed him for the first time since those moments he heard the heartbreaking news on the radio. He couldn't stay in this room. The memories were too overwhelming. The bedroom would be even worse. With nowhere else to go, finally Arthur fled down the stairs to the cellar, and headed straight for the rows of bourbon. Taking a bottle from the shelf, he looked down at it for a brief moment, then in a sudden fit of impulse he hurled it as hard as he could at the stone wall. He wanted to shatter the memories, shatter the pain. He watched as the bottle smashed into a million brilliant glass pieces. Just like his heart.

And then Arthur finally let it all come out. Grasping two more bottles from the shelf, he didn't pause to think before smashing them both against the wall, one after the other. Why did this bloody war have to happen? Why did he have to meet someone so amazing only to have him snatched away? Why did he have to find such happiness only to lose it and then know forever what he was living without? Why were there no bloody answers to any of these questions?

Arthur screamed, he yelled, he cried. He wanted this feeling gone. He wanted Alfred back. He wanted it so badly it hurt. He didn't notice as a shard of glass flew back and sliced his cheek. He simply grabbed more bottles and smashed them as hard as he could. Turning to grab another bottle, he finally fell to the ground, pulled off the lid and drank. It took only seconds to down a bottle of bourbon and reach for more. He didn't stop. When one was empty, he reached for another.

Perhaps an hour passed. Perhaps a day. Perhaps more. People may have been speaking to him, but Arthur ignored them. He simply grasped for more bourbon. The dark turned to light, then back to darkness. Arthur reached for more of the liquid void. Blackness. Blessed oblivion.

Arthur was dreaming. The soft melody of 'We'll Meet Again' wafted through the air. Alfred was there… grinning, winking, laughing, smiling. "I'm gonna show you it all, Arthur!" "You'll love it you really will!" "I like that… when you smile…"

The air was thick and the cellar floor hard and cold beneath him. Arthur finally opened his eyes… and there he was, right in front of him. That golden hair, that golden skin, those bright, blue eyes. Arthur looked up into Alfred's beautiful face and smiled. "I knew you'd come back to me."

And then oblivion took over once more.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 6

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ledenews · 4 years

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Events Not to Miss This Week

Not sure what to do this week? Think there’s just nothing to do? Bored of the same old circles you run in? We’ve put together a short list of events that are sure to get you out of the house and experiencing our region. Want the whole list? Head over to the Events page.

Friday, January 24

Jim Berze Live Music 8PM, River City, Wheeling, WV Jim Berze Acoustic Show at River City, 8PM FREE admission!

Saturday, January 25

WinterFest Wheeling, WV Get ready to celebrate winter while helping your local community at the area’s newest wintertime celebration- WinterFest! EVENT WEBSITE www.oglebay.com/winterfest EVENT HIGHLIGHTS - Free ski lift ticket with a donation of two nonperishable food items - Polar Bear Plunge at Schenk Lake http://bit.ly/2FkcuxC - Free beginner ski clinic - Live entertainment - Contests and prize giveaways

Usual Suspects - Live Music 9PM - Amy's Candlelight, New Martinsville, WV Enjoy a great evening listening to our Live Band, Usual Suspects play songs from Classic Rock to Pop. Always a great time at Amy's Candlelight!

Buckwild - Live Music 10 PM – 2 AM, Generations, Wheeling, WV Buckwild is Pittsburgh's premiere rocking new country cover band! playing all you favorite new country hits as well as timeless classics. Come on out for a night of great music and drink

Sunday, January 26

Antonio Croes at the WJS Jazz Brunch - Live Music 11:30Am-2:30PM Hosted by The Washington Jazz Society at President's Pub, Washington, PA Enjoy great live jazz over brunch! Bloody Marys, bottomless mimosas, and Great brunch selections. Featuring Antonio Croes.

Thursday, January 30

Film: Jamestown’s Dark Winter Grave Creek Mound Archaeological Complex, Moundsville, WV When archaeologists find the remains of a young woman buried in a trash layer in a cellar, a picture emerges of how brutal life in the new colony could be. With the help of forensic anthropologists, the extraordinary and grim story of this young woman who lived 400 years ago is brought to light. This 60-minute film is part of the Secrets of the Dead series aired on PBS.

Having an Event? Do you have events that you would like featured? Send them for consideration to [email protected] or fill out our contact form HERE. Please include contact information, press release, photo(s), and links to your website or event. Read the full article

#jazz #ledenews #livemusic #music #Oglebay #winterfest

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dweemeister · 4 years

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2019 Movie Odyssey

Welcome to the new decade, to the new year 2020.

This is usually posted on New Year’s Eve, but I was watching the final movie of the 2019 Movie Odyssey last night. For those of you who do not know, the “Movie Odyssey” refers to all films that I have seen for the first time in their entirety - no rewatches. We’re going to go in a different order this week, so some for-fun awards will be posted later this week and the 2019 Movie Odyssey Awards will be on Sunday, January 5. As I go through things like The Irishman, Little Women, 1917, and Parasite, I will be posting some very tardy “Best of 2010s”-related posts. Hey, I may be from the Greater Los Angeles Area, but those Hollywood theaters that show all those prestige movies are far from where I live. I don’t always get to see those movies in a timely fashion. I digress...

The number of short films I saw this year increased dramatically (from 2018′s number of 107 to 2019′s 166) because I was on the 2019 Viet Film Fest’s curatorial committee, in addition to the fact that Turner Classic Movies (TCM) is continuing to show a Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) short and a Popeye short every Saturday morning except in Februaries, Augusts, and select holiday weekends. Developments in my professional life - and probably exacerbated by the fact I was on the Viet Film Fest’s curatorial committee and had to see many shorts and the presence of vacation and the 2019 FIFA Women’s World Cup - saw a nosedive in the number of feature-length films and serials watched (108 feature-length films and serials this year compared to 156 last year). The total number of films actually increased, probably because of that uptick in shorts.

In addition to having the privilege of having seen many films made by and/or starring Vietnamese and Vietnamese from around the world and learning more about my heritage, I saw many more documentaries - in short and feature-length form - this year compared to others. But yet again this year (and we’re going to chalk this up to the clashes of professional developments at Viet Film Fest), there is a distinct lack of African and Latin American films for the 2019 Movie Odyssey. Knowing a handful of titles I have in the DVR, the former should be represented this year, but I have to make a better effort on searching for and finding films from Latin America.

Like every year, I thank all of you for being supporters of myself and for this old blog. I didn’t write too many Movie Odyssey reviews last year; if ever a Movie Odyssey review engages one person, that is a wonderful thing. So whether you have read, liked, reblogged, commented on, or shared a review, my thanks. And for those who have talked to me about movies we have both seen, are anticipating, or asking questions about something that appears on this blog, my thanks to you too. This blog, slower though it may be these days, would not be possible without you.

The 2019 Movie Odyssey has closed. With that, the 2020 Movie Odyssey has begun. The movies that comprised 2019′s are listed below. We began with an iconic American gangster film and ended with something different from the Czechoslovak New Wave.

As many of you know, all ratings are based on my imdb rating and half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here. A 6/10 is considered the borderline between “passing” and “failing”. Feature-length narrative films, serials, documentaries, and short films are rated within their respective spectrums. Without further ado:

JANUARY

Little Caesar (1931) – 9/10

Ventriloquist Cat (1950 short) – 6/10

Let’s Get Movin’ (1936 short) – 6/10

Mary Poppins Returns (2018) – 7/10

Modest Heroes (2018, Japan) – 6.5/10

Tit for Tat (1935 short) – 8/10

The Ascent (1977, Soviet Union) – 10/10

The Lost Chick (1935 short) – 7/10

Little Swee’pea (1936 short) – 6/10

Smokey and the Bandit (1977) – 7.5/10

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) – 6/10

The World’s Greatest Athlete (1973) – 4/10

The Last Flight of Noah’s Ark (1980) – 4/10

Barney Bear’s ‘Polar Pest’ (1944 short) – 5.5/10

Hold the Wire (1936 short) – 7/10

Green Book (2018) – 6/10

Hell to Eternity (1960) – 6/10

The Curse of Quon Gwon: When the Far East Mingles with the West (1916 short) – scored withheld; film is partially lost

How to Play Football (1944 short) – 7/10

Gus (1976) – 4/10

BlacKkKlansman (2018) – 9/10

The Great McGinty (1940) – 8/10

FEBRUARY (2019’s 31 Days of Oscar)

Vice (2018) – 3/10

The Informer (1935) – 9.5/10

O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) – 7.5/10

Late Afternoon (2017 short) – 8/10

Animal Behaviour (2018 short) – 7/10

Weekends (2017 short) – 8.5/10

One Small Step (2018 short) – 7.5/10

Wishing Box (2017 short) – 6/10

Tweet Tweet (2018 short, Russia) – 6/10

Lost & Found (2018 short) – 7/10

Street Angel (1928) – 7.5/10

Thousands Cheer (1943) – 6/10

Fantastic Voyage (1966) – 6/10

Hale County This Morning, This Evening (2018) – 8/10

Madre (2017 short, Spain) – 7.5/10

Fauve (2018 short, Canada) – 7/10

Marguerite (2017 short, Canada) – 8.5/10

Detainment (2018 short) – 5/10

Skin (2018 short) – 7/10

Henry V (1944) – 8.5/10

Minding the Gap (2018) – 8/10

Black Sheep (2018 short) – 7/10

End Game (2018 short) – 7.5/10

A Night at the Garden (2018 short) – 7/10

Lifeboat (2018 short) – 7/10

Period. End of Sentence. (2018 short) – 8/10

MARCH

What Price Hollywood? (1932) – 7/10

Anastasia (1956) – 7.5/10 (31 Days of Oscar ends)

King of Jazz (1930) – 7/10

How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World (2019) – 7.5/10

Captain Marvel (2019) – 6/10

The Chinese Nightingale (1935 short) – 6/10

The Spinach Roadster (1936 short) – 6.5/10

Ginger and Fred (1986, Italy) – 6/10

Wee Willie Wildcat (1953 short) – 6/10

I’m in the Army Now (1936 short) – 5/10

Officer Pooch (1941 short) – 6/10

The Paneless Window Washer (1937 short) – 7/10

Us (2019) – 8.5/10

APRIL

Rock-a-Bye Bear (1952 short) – 8.5/10

Organ Grinder’s Swing (1937 short) – 7/10

The Great White Hope (1970) – 6/10

The African Lion (1955) – 8/10

Yellowstone Cubs (1963) – 7/10

Shazam! (2019) – 7/10

The Flying Bear (1941 short) – 6/10

My Artistical Temperature (1937 short) – 7/10

Ocean’s Eight (2018) – 7/10

The Hick Chick (1946 short) – 6/10

Hospitaliky (1937 short) – 8/10

One Foot in Heaven (1941) – 8/10

MAY

Sons of the Desert (1933) – 10/10

Lonesome Lenny (1946 short) – 7.5/10

The Twisker Pitcher (1937 short) – 7/10

The Country Cousin (1936 short) – 7/10

Barnyard Babies (1935 short) – 6/10

Morning, Noon and Night Club (1937 short) – 6/10

Avengers: Endgame (2019) – 7/10

The Calico Dragon (1935 short) – 7.5/10

Lost and Foundry (1937 short) – 7/10

Detective Pikachu (2019) – 6/10

The Wild Country (1970) – 6/10

I Never Changes My Altitude (1937 short) – 7/10

Murder, She Said (1961) – 7.5/10

Farewell to Dream (1956, Japan) – 7/10

The Human Comedy (1943) – 7/10

A Better Life (2011) – 8/10

Booksmart (2019) – 7.5/10

The Goose Goes South (1941 short) – 6.5/10

I Likes Babies and Infinks (1937 short) – 6/10

The Hound and the Rabbit (1937 short) – 6/10

The Football Toucher Downer (1937 short) – 7/10

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019) – 6/10

JUNE

A Rainy Day with the Bear Family (1940 short) – 6/10

Protek the Weakerist (1937 short) – 7/10

Rocketman (2019) – 7/10

The Rookie Bear (1941 short) – 6/10

Fowl Play (1937 short) – 6/10

Let’s Celebrake (1938 short) – 7/10

Hoài (Ongoing, Memory) (2018 short) – 7.5/10*

Pelvicachromis (2018 short, Germany) – 6.5/10*

Screen Time (2019 short) – 5/10*

The Bridge Between Vietnam Traditional Music and the World (2018 short, Vietnam) – 6/10*

Journey of Wanderers (2019 short, Vietnam) – 7/10*

Toy Story 4 (2019) – 8/10

The Homeless Flea (1940 short) – 6/10

Learn Polikeness (1938 short) – 6/10

Abandoned Ones (2017, United Kingdom) – 8/10*

Jasmine Lane (2019 short, France) – 7/10*

Cosmic Beauty (2019 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

Blue Noise (2018 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

The Undeniable Force of Khó Khăn (2018 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

Push (2018 short) – 7/10*

Sorge 87 (2017 short, Germany) – experimental film; score withheld*

Embarko (2019 short) – 5/10*

Tiger Child (2019 short) – 5.5/10*

The Wedding Dress (Áo Dài) (2019 short) – 5/10*

Thanksgiving (2018 short) – 7.5/10*

Little Father (Petit Père) (2017 short, France) – 6/10*

While I Breathe, I Hope (2018) – 7/10*

The House Builder-Upper (1938 short) – 7/10

Edge of Tomorrow (2014) – 7.5/10

Creed II (2018) – 7/10

JULY

The Garden of Mr. Vong (2017 short, Germany) – 7.5/10*

Made in Vietnam (2017) – 7/10*

The Mechanical Butcher (1895 short, France) – 6/10

Lively Pillow Fight by Children (1898 short, France) – 7/10

Win My Baby Back (2019, Vietnam) – 5/10*

In Full Bloom (2019 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

Flagged (2017 short) – 6.5/10*

An American Family (2018 short) – 6/10*

Two Paper Nightingales (2019 short) – 6/10*

The Kite Under the Rain (2018 short, Thailand) – 6/10*

Table Stakes (2019 short) – 6/10*

Alexa and May (2018 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

Tôi là thằng khốn (Miserasshole) (2018 short, Vietnam) – 4/10*

Influencer (2018 short) – 5/10*

Pure, Like Flower (2019 short) – 2/10*

Searching for the None (2018 short) – 7/10*

Hiệu (2018 short) – 8/10*

The Man with the Wooden Face (2017 short, Vietnam) – 4/10*

Finding the Virgo (2018) – 6.5/10*

Thạch Thảo (2018, Vietnam) – 6/10*

Tundra (2018 short, Canada) – 7/10*

The Colors You Can’t See (2019 short) – 6/10*

Touching the Moon: The Ngo Thanh Van Story (2019 short, Vietnam) – 5/10*

Cold Fish (Cá Đông) (2018 short, Vietnam)* - experimental film; score withheld

Gold (2018 short) – 5.5/10*

The Immortal (2018, Vietnam) – 6/10*

Le Van Khoa: A Lifetime of Arts (2018) – 6/10*

No More Than This (2019 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

Little Sunny (2018 short, Vietnam) – 7/10*

Song Lang (2018, Vietnam) – 8/10*

Roommate (2018 short, Vietnam) – experimental film; score withheld*

The Bloody Hand (Bàn Tay Máu) (2019) – 6/10*

Ephemeral (2018 short) – experimental film; score withheld*

New Year’s Dream (2019, Vietnam) – 5/10*

Sister 13 (2019, Vietnam) – 6/10*

The Moment (2018 short) – 5/10*

Ramadan (2018 short) – 7/10*

American Girl (2018 short) – 5/10*

Red Thread (2019 short, Canada) – 6/10*

Like an Old House (2017, Vietnam) – 6.5/10*

If Beale Street Could Talk (2018) – 8/10

Walk Run Cha-Cha (2019 short) – 8/10*

Picking Things Up (Nối Lại Tình Xưa) (2019 short, Canada) – 6/10*

Seadrift (2019) – 7/10*

Big Chief Ugh-Amugh-Ugh (1938 short) – 4/10

I Yam Love Sick (1938 short) – 6/10

It’s Always There (2019 short, Vietnam) – 7/10*

Scandal Sheet (1952) – 7/10

Poultry Pirates (1938 short) – 5/10

Plumbing Is a ‘Pipe’ (1938 short) – 6/10

Tom Turkey and His Harmonica Humdingers (1940 short) – 6/10

The Jeep (1938 short) – 8/10

AUGUST

Pavarotti (2019) – 7/10

Overlord (1975) – 8/10

The Perils of Pauline (1947) – 6/10

The Moon-Spinners (1964) – 7/10

Dr. Mabuse the Gambler (1922, Germany) – 7.5/10

The Littlest Horse Thieves (1976) – 7/10

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) – 8/10

Design for Living (1933) – 7/10

Barnali (1963, India) – 7.5/10

The Whales of August (1987) – 7.5/10

SEPTEMBER

The Farewell (2018) – 8.5/10

Fun and Fancy Free (1947) – 5/10

Donald’s Tire Trouble (1943 short) – 7/10

The Uninvited Pest (1943 short) – 6/10

Bulldozing the Bull (1938 short) – 6/10

The Love Bug (1968) – 6/10

The Old Pioneer (1934 short) – 5/10

Mutiny Ain’t Nice (1938 short) – 7/10

La Pointe Courte (1955, France) – 7.5/10

The Happiest Millionaire (1967) – 6/10

The Art of Skiing (1941 short) – 7/10

Ad Astra (2019) – 8.5/10

Goonland (1938 short) – 8/10

The Peanut Butter Falcon (2019) – 6/10

Toyland Broadcast (1934 short) – 5/10

A Date to Skate (1938 short) – 7/10

OCTOBER

Joker (2019) – 8/10

Two Little Pups (1936 short) – 7/10

Cops Is Always Right (1938 short) – 7/10

Growing Home (2019 short) – student film; score withheld*

Come Again (2019 short) – student film; score withheld*

Hard (2019 short) – student film; score withheld*

Love Your People (Thường dân) (2019 short) – student film; score withheld*

Returning (2019 short) – student film; score withheld*

The Tree Surgeon (1944 short) – 6/10

Customers Wanted (1939 short) – 6/10

House of Usher (1960) – 7.5/10

The Wayward Pups (1937 short) – 6/10

Leave Well Enough (1939 short) – 6/10

Horror Hotel (1960) – 7/10

The School for Postmen (1947 short) – 7/10

The Hockey Champ (1939 short) – 7/10

Kuroneko (1968) – 8.5/10

The Pups’ Picnic (1936 short) – 6/10

Wotta Nitemare (1939 short) – 7/10

The War of the Worlds (1953) – 8/10

NOVEMBER

Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964, Japan) – 6.5/10

Woodstock (1970) – 10/10

Happy-Go-Nutty (1944 short) – 7/10

Ghosks Is the Bunk (1939 short) – 7/10

Victor/Victoria (1982) – 9/10

Pain & Glory (2019, Spain) – 7.5/10

Honeyland (1935 short) – 6/10

Hello How Am I (1939 short) – 7/10

The Lighthouse (2019) – 8/10

Jour de Fête (1949, France) – 7.5/10

Ford v Ferrari (2019) – 8/10

Jitterbug Follies (1939 short) – 6/10

It’s the Natural Thing to Do (1939 short) – 7/10

Frozen II (2019) – 6/10

Little Cheeser (1936 short) – 6/10

Never Sock a Baby (1939 short) – 6.5/10

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood (2019) – 8/10

The Red Badge of Courage (1951) – 7.5/10

The Westerner (1940) – 8.5/10

Sitting Pretty (1948) – 7/10

DECEMBER

An Autumn Afternoon (1962, Japan) – 9/10

Little Buck Cheeser (1937 short) – 6/10

Shakespearian Spinach (1940 short) – 6/10

Bobby Bumps and His Pointer Pup (1916 short) – 7.5/10

Bobby Bumps’ Fly Swatter (1916 short) – 6/10

Bobby Bumps Gets a Substitute (1916 short) – 5/10

Bobby Bumps Helps a Book Agent (1916 short) – 5.5/10

Bobby Bumps Adopts a Turtle (1917 short) – 6/10

Bobby Bumps at Fido’s Birthday Party (1917 short) – 6/10

Bobby Bumps Starts for School (1917 short) – 7/10

Bobby Bumps, Chef (1917 short) – 7/10

Bobby Bumps. Surf Rider (1917 short) – 6.5/10

Bobby Bumps at the Dentist (1918 short) – 6.5/10

Bobby Bumps Caught in the Jamb (1918 short) – 6/10

Bobby Bumps’ Last Smoke (1919 short) – 8/10

Bobby Bumps in Hunting and Fishing (1921 short) – 5/10

Bobby Bumps in Their Master’s Voice (1921 short) – 7.5/10

Mama’s New Hat (1939 short) – 7.5/10

Females Is Fickle (1940 short) – 5/10

Knives Out (2019) – 8/10

Niagara (1953) – 7/10

Pitfall (1962, Japan) – 7.5/10

The Screwy Truant (1945 short) – 7/10

Stealin’ Ain’t Honest (1940 short) – 6/10

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker (2019) – 5/10

The Holly and the Ivy (1952) – 8/10

The Racket (1928) – 7/10

Knute Rockne, All American (1940) – 7/10

Jewel Robbery (1932) – 7.5/10

The Vikings (1958) – 6/10

Something Different (1962, Czechoslovakia) – 7.5/10

#My Movie Odyssey

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sofeyhh · 7 years

Text

Six Blind Dates

Protagonist: Min Yoongi Main Pairing: Yoonmin Ships: Yoonseok, Namjin, Namgi, Taegi, Yoonjin, Yoonkook Genre: Comedy, fluff, mild smut, semi angst

Summary: Min Yoongi has been a hermit during his first year in college; mostly keeping to himself, burying his head in his studies and holing up in the school’s radio station. Now that he’s entering his second year, his brother has been riling him up to get experimental, since it is college. So he joins a dating website, for men, and waits for his 6 blind dates.

Part 4 / ?

The ear-splitting sound of his alarm pierced in his ears like a thousand nails. It rudely tore him away from the comfy deep sleep he was in, making Yoongi groan into his pillow. He peers out of his puffy sleepy eyes to check the time.

6:05 am

“What the fuck!” Yoongi yells into his pillow. He lets out a deflated whimper as he frustratedly kicks around.

6:05 am is most definitely not a humane time to wake someone up. It was something only office workers and housewives did. So why the hell was he summoned at this goddamned hour?

Another screeching alarm goes off, this time a reminder on his phone. He lazily lifts up the screen to read. It said ‘Hike Date with Jung Hoseok. Be there at 7’ in white bubbly letters. Ah fuck, he thought.

His date had sent him a pinned location of a hiking trail along with the caption ‘7am! Don’t forget to set your alarm and to bring lots of water! Tomorrow’s gonna be fun!!’ Yoongi grimaces at the reminder of having to walk up a hill under the hot sun for at least an hour. His warm duvet cover pulled him back to dreamland, back to visions of swimming in a pile of money.

Swimming in a non-existent pile of dirty green paper sounded so much better than sweating under a hot ball of fire. And so he drifts back to sleep, mumbling an apology to his date. No one can come in between him and his sleep. No one. Yoongi could feel his body getting enveloped by the dollar bills, tugging him in like quicksand when suddenly his phone starts blaring in his ears.

“For fucking fuck’s sake of fucking fuck gods!” Yoongi bellowed as he tried killing his phone with his pillow. The repetitive hits did nothing to silence the damn device of course.

Tears were threatening to spill as he whines to himself. The gods above must love fucking him over. It was Sunday, and Sundays were meant for him to wake up at 5 pm, not bloody 6:07 am. He grudgingly picks up his phone, biting his tongue from wishing the person on the other line an early death.“Syubbbbbbbb!”

Of course. Of fucking course. If it there was one thing in the universe that was flipping him off, it would have to be his brother. It just had to. Yoongi puts on the loudspeaker and lets his phone fall from his hands, wondering how his brother managed to swallow Jim Carrey’s soul at 6:07 am. Oh right, it was currently 7:07 pm back in Korea.

“Are you ready for your date?!”

“Hyung,” Yoongi croaked. “How long have you known me?” He rubs his face, trying to get the sleepy haze out of his eyes.

“Uh...since you were born…?”

He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face, muffling his voice while he chatted with his brother. “What’s the one thing you should know about me?”

It was a very easy question, and he had high hopes for his goldfish-brained brother to remember. Mind you, it has even been written down on his school profile by teachers and students alike.

“...you love your sleep?” his brother squeaks.

“Ah!” Yoongi exclaimed as he raises his arms. “Hallelujah hyung! You got the right answer for once.”

The silence over the phone could only mean his brother was busy rolling his eyes at Yoongi’s exaggeration. His brother’s next words made him want to physically row back to Korea and personally strangle him.

“Ok, but have you gotten ready for your date though?”Ok but have you gotten ready for your date though?”

---

Yoongi was already sweating just by walking from his car to the hiking area and it wasn’t even sunny out. He squinted and looked around while fidgeting in his clothes; also known as the sportiest outfit he could find in his closet. Namjoon had said that his upcoming date had a million-watt smile, not that he knew what that meant. A smile was just a smile, wasn’t it?

“Ahhhhh!”

The monstrous scream came before Yoongi was attacked by a bear - or at least he thought it was- almost getting down tackled down to the ground. It came out of nowhere, leaving him dazed while being stared at onlookers. Yoongi squirms out of the tight embrace, looking distressed by the sudden human contact.

“You’re Yoongi aren’t you?!”

In that second, he knew exactly what Namjoon meant. The boy’s smile could give the damn Sun a run for its money. It took a second for Yoongi to get his bearings as he calmly detaches himself from the walking ball of sunshine.

“I’m guessing you’re Jung Hoseok?” Yoongi asked with a timid smile.

“Eugh you sound like my Math teacher in High School,” his date cringes at his full name. “Hobi, if you will.”

Hobi, what a peculiar nickname, Yoongi thought. Then again, he had his brother calling him Syub and Yoongi still don't know where it came from. In all seriousness, the name Hobi weirdly suits his date’s personality. It had a tinge of adorableness, or back in Korea they’d called it aegyo, and an all around fun name.

With energetic motivations from Hobi, Yoongi managed to go through the hike without even once grumbling about the heat or the bugs colliding with his face every few seconds. There was something about the boy that Yoongi found comfort in. He always had a smile on and was so open about everything, even talking about his sexuality like it was no big deal despite the homophobia still going around.

“I guess it’s because my family’s pretty chill about everything so being gay wasn’t a big issue,” Hobi explained while walking backwards. “It was over dinner and I casually talked about liking dicks while eating Grandmama’s famous chilli. My parents were like ‘Yeah? Have you found anyone you like? Don’t forget to use protection Hoseokie. Even guys need to’.”

Yoongi blushes at his date’s brazen words. The topic of dicks at Grandmama’s famous chilli can never go hand in hand during his family dinners. He’d get an ass-kicking from his father just for saying the word ‘dick’. But he still had to give it to his parents for being accepting of their son’s sexuality. Not many Korean parents are particularly fond of their sons talking about wanting to ride dicks.

“What about you? You told your parents you’re gay yet?”

They reached the midpoint of the hiking trail where a crowd of people were busy gawking over a 3-story high waterfall. The narrow bridge was jam packed with sweaty hikers that Yoongi subconsciously retreated backwards. Him getting sweaty wasn’t something he fancies but being slathered by gross sweaty shoulders of other humans? Yeah, he would cut off his leg to avoid that at all cost.

Hobi chuckles when he sees Yoongi’s appalled expression. “C’mon,” he says, taking Yoongi’s hands as he leads them to a small path away from the bridge. Though, it could barely be considered a path.

“Trust me,” Hobi nods his head as he gestures for Yoongi to follow the steep path upwards into the dense forest. “It gets you a better view of the waterfall.”

With a reluctant heart, Yoongi treks up the dirt path, pulling onto tree trunks to support his non-existent arm muscles. Now was the time that he regrets not committing into the gym schedule he had drafted back in his first year. So much for wanting to get a six-pack.

“So?” Hobi huffs as they closer to the top. “Does your parents know?”

“Well, first of all, I’m not gay. Or, not officially one. I may consider myself a bisexual but I’m still experimenting. This is only my second date with a guy.”

Finally, after getting slapped in the face by multiple branches, Yoongi reaches the top. He collapses on a boulder and groans until he could feel the nerves coming back to his toes. His numerical age may be 21 but ever since he hit puberty, he’s been possessed by a hundred-year-old man.

“You’re adorable, baby,” Hobi chuckled as he slapped Yoongi’s ass.

His entire body tenses as the heat prickled up his neck. It took a while for Yoongi to register the ass slapping and the pet name calling. By the time he recovers from that sinful act, Hobi had already moved on as if nothing happened. He was sat at the edge of the cliff admiring the waterfall.

What the fuck, Yoongi thought. This guy is mental. He couldn’t come up with words to describe his date’s bold personality but he knew for sure it was so different from Namjoon’s. At the back of his head, he could hear his brother commenting on how this guy would be a good fuck. And surprisingly, he was a little turned on by the idea. He coughs away his dirty thoughts and takes a seat by Hobi.

“So what’s Korea like?” Hobi wondered out loud. “I was born there but my parents migrated when I was two so I’m pretty much clueless.”

Yoongi leans back, resting his head on the boulder as he mulled over Hobi’s question. “Korea’s....something else,” Yoongi sighed fondly. “Indescribable really.”

Hobi leans back and watches Yoongi with a smile. He could see the love for his native country in Yoongi’s eyes. America may be the country where dreams come true, but every foreign student he knows would always prefer their homeland over manufactured burgers and fries.

“I was born in Daegu, a rural city in the north. It’s surrounded by beautiful rocky mountains and can get really cold in the winter. But then we moved to Seoul after my dad got promoted to manage an office branch in the city. And it may be in the same country but Seoul’s vibe is a contrast to Daegu. Polar opposites even, like me and you,” Yoongi chuckled.

“Hey now, you know what they say, opposites attract. Like magnets,” Hobi piped up with a wink.

They spent the rest of the hour slopped in front of the giant boulder and admiring the waterfall. It was decided that they wouldn’t hike up the last half of trail after Yoongi groaned and whined, begging Hobi to have mercy on his old ass. The pair managed to forge a bond with blessings from the 3-story waterfall and the giant boulder. Yoongi came to find that they had a few things in common, but that didn’t change the fact that their personalities were on opposite ends of the scale.

On that Sunday, at 8:10am, Yoongi had one of the best laughs after a long time. His gruffy chortles boomed through the forest; even catching the attention of the people on the bridge. He realised that Hobi mirrored his brother perfectly. He was a jokester, he was crazy and he was loud. The thickness of his skin was no joke because this boy went all out to make a show for Yoongi without a hint of embarrassment.

“Be prepared Yoongs,” he said with a straight face as he pointed at Yoongi.

His phone was plugged into his portable speaker, blasting out a poppy girl song Yoongi was unfamiliar with. With passion, Hobi sticks out his ass, twirling it to the beat with a smirk on his face. Yoongi watched with his mouth hanging open as his date danced to the song with such precision. He hit every move at the right time without breaking a sweat, looking majestic as fuck. The song ended and Yoongi gave him the loudest applause followed by a standing ovation.

“You were bootylicious, for sure,” Yoongi teased, his gummy smile on full display as Hobi bowed dramatically.

The poppy music gave way to a trap beat as Hobi regained his composure. This time, Yoongi wailed a loud yes as he flails his arms around. He’d be lying if he said that this song wasn’t on the top of his playlist. As soon as the song started, Hobi switched from being a sassy ass-jiggling dancer to a sexy rapper. He rapped out the lyrics with full force, not holding back even once. It was a mind blowing switch that got Yoongi staring in awe.

“Yah...I didn’t know you can dance and rap! Fucking hell that was amazing!” he exclaimed.

Hobi chuckles as plops down. His breaths were irregular as he sucks in the much-needed oxygen. Yoongi’s eyes catch the trickle of sweat as it falls from his temple down to the corner of his lips. Without him realising, he lingers onto the sight of his date’s lips longer than necessary.

“Curious?”

Yoongi was startled out of his trance and comes to face with a smirking boy. He was rudely biting his lips as if knowing that it would make Yoongi’s lips dart out involuntarily. With red cheeks, he nods to answer. He had been pondering on how it would taste to kiss a boy ever since his date with Namjoon. Would it be rougher than a girl’s or just as soft? His heart started to race as Hobi leans in - this was it, he was about to find out.

It was electric. It was hot. It was heart-fluttering. And it felt soft and firm at the same time. Blood rushes up to his ears as the kiss picks up; it went from light hesitant kisses to a needier make-out. Yoongi feels Hobi’s hand brushing past his shoulders, up to his neck, tugging him closer. He lets out a small whimper, melting under his touch. His hand comes up to clutch at Hobi’s collar, pulling him above him as he feels the warmth of the ground on his back.

There was a possibility he might be a bottom.

If you want to follow this fic, just use the tag sofieyoonmin fic. It’d be easier to find it :)

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micaramel · 6 years

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Holidays, generally speaking, are times of celebration or commemoration.

From Christmas to Independence Day, every holiday has traditions, history, and customs associated with them. But not all have happy origin stories.

For instance, Thanksgiving is known as a time to be grateful, but it's built on the dark and violent relationship between American colonists and Native Americans.

Think about your favorite holiday — do you know the story behind it is? Despite how it may be celebrated today, it may have a surprisingly dark history.

Take Valentine's Day for example — apparently it started as a commemoration for a priest who was murdered for performing marriages in secret. Today, it's all about candy and flowers.

And while Purim is celebrated with costumes and booze, really, it's celebrating narrowly avoided mass murder.

Keep scrolling to learn about the dark and potentially unhappy origin stories of some of your favorite holidays.

Labor Day

Labor Day was recognized as a national holiday in 1894. It honors the workers of America, and all the contributions they've made to society, as well as all of their sacrifices. Today, it's best known as a three-day weekend that signifies the end of summer and wearing white.

As The History Channel notes, Labor Day was recognized as a holiday during one of the darkest chapters in American history for laborers. The average American worker at the time was working 12-hour days for seven days a week, in unsanitary and dangerous conditions that included poor ventilation and lack of access to bathrooms. There were also little-to-no restrictions on child labor.

Labor Day itself was established to placate the American Railroad Union, who had organized a nationwide boycott of Pullman railway cars, derailing both shipping and passenger travel across America. The strike resulted in riots in which more than a dozen workers died. To restore the relationship between the government and workers, Labor Day was created.

Purim

Purim is a biblical Jewish holiday that is today celebrated by dressing up in costumes (much like Halloween), drinking wine, and eating triangle-shaped cookies called hamantaschen.

But the backstory is dark. Purim, which means "lots" (as in lottery) in ancient Persian, has been celebrated as early as 124 BCE. The story goes that King Achashverosh of Persia wanted his wife Vashti to show off her (naked) beauty to everyone in the kingdom. When she refuses, he decides to find a new wife by holding a beauty contest. Esther, a Jewish orphan raised by her uncle Mordechai, becomes the new Queen of Persia.

At around the same time, one of the king's advisers, Haman, becomes power hungry, demanding that everyone bow down to him. When Mordechai refuses, claiming that, as a Jew, he would bow to no one, Haman decides to kill all Jews in the kingdom, choosing the date of this future genocide via lottery, which is what gives the holiday its name.

Esther, whom the king hadn't known was Jewish, comes clean and pleads with him to spare them — and he agrees.

So while the story has a happy ending, it is based on attempted mass murder.

Good Friday

Good Friday marks the day that Jesus Christ was painfully flogged and crucified by the Romans.

The Christian holiday falls on the Friday preceding Easter Sunday, which also isn't as happy as the pastel colored eggs and chocolate bunnies would lead you to believe, but since it's about someone coming back to life, as opposed to a gruesome execution, it doesn't make the cut.

Columbus Day

Columbus Day, which commemorates the landing of Christopher Columbus in the Americas, was celebrated unofficially for years before becoming an official federal holiday in 1937.

Most kids across the US are taught that Columbus "discovered" the United States of America when, in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. In reality, he didn't discover America because people had already been living there (also, he landed in the Bahamas). In fact, his arrival decimated the population of natives that were already living there by exposing them to disease, forcing them to convert to Christianity, and turning them into slaves.

It's no wonder people are calling for a name change, like Indigenous Peoples Day.

St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day is a polarizing holiday. While most see it as a day to drink green beer and celebrate all things Irish, in fact it was created to honor the death of St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland.

St. Patrick's life wasn't a particularly happy one either. He was kidnapped and sold into slavery in Ireland at age 16. He later escaped, but eventually returned to Ireland as an adult, and is credited with "bringing" Christianity to the Emerald Isle. While Ireland is one of the only countries to peacefully convert to Christianity, it still bears remembering that much of their culture was wiped out once they assimilated.

Thanksgiving

Almost every American student learns about the story of the original Thanksgiving in school: that in 1621, the new American colonists were struggling to survive in the harsh weather, and that the Native Americans helped out and shared food out of the kindness of their hearts.

The darkness of the holiday stems from two things. First, things were truly harrowing for the new "Americans." They were suffering from exposure, scurvy, and outbreaks of contagious diseases. Second, the way students are taught about the holiday makes it seem like the colonists and the indigenous people had a healthy, mutually beneficial relationship — that wasn't the case. In fact, the two became embroiled in a devastating, bloody war just a generation after the famous feast.

To this day, people are so upset about the holiday and the way it is portrayed that protesters congregate every year on Thanksgiving, and have taken to calling it a "National Day of Mourning."

Passover

Passover is another Jewish holiday that revolves around drinking wine — four glasses, to be exact. And it is, sort of, a happy holiday. It celebrates the freedom of the Jewish people after escaping slavery in Egypt.

But, according to the Torah (the Jewish Bible), before the Jewish people could escape Egypt, God sent 10 plagues upon the Egyptian people, including turning the Nile River into blood, pitching darkness all over the country for three days, and, most tragically, killing the first-born child in every household. It's hard to celebrate freedom when reminded of the innocent children that were killed.

Valentine's Day

Even though Valentine's Day has emerged as a kind of Hallmark holiday that celebrates love and romance with candy and chocolate, it's not entirely clear how this came to be. According to The History Channel, there were three separate St. Valentines, all who were martyrs.

The first Valentine was a priest in the time of Emperor Claudius, in 3rd century Rome. Claudius reportedly banned marriage, but Valentine defied him, secretly marrying couples anyway. Legend has it that his surreptitious activity was discovered, and that he was put to death for it on February 14.

Another Valentine is believed to have helped Christian prisoners escape from harsh Roman prisons, and was also killed for his actions on February 14.

And another legend still is about an imprisoned Valentine that fell in love with a woman, perhaps the jailer's daughter, and sent her the first Valentine's card, signed "From your Valentine."

But whether Saint Valentine was killed for performing secret marriages, for helping people escape from abusive prisons, or in prison himself, no story explains why we celebrate the holiday the way we do today.

Halloween

Halloween originated from a Celtic festival called Samhain, which was celebrated 2,000 years ago and revolved around lighting bonfires and wearing costumes to ward off spirits and fairies — yes, Halloween began because people truly believed that it was a time when dead spirits would rise again, and walk among them. Back then, costumes acted as protection, not just a an excuse to show off your Pinterest skills.

Not much is known about the ancient holiday since there are no written records, though per Encyclopedia Britannica, "it was a time fraught with danger, charged with fear, and full of supernatural episodes."

Visit INSIDER's homepage for more.

Join the conversation about this story »

NOW WATCH: A company in Oregon makes decorative tile and hand paints each one

from Design http://bit.ly/2yaSfiG

#micaramel

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alaruine · 7 years

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baby polar bears #dog #cat #bunny #hamster #panda #monkey #bird #turtle #horse #puppy #animals #nature #cute #love #catlover #doglover #pet #furry #kitten #adorable #precious #woof #cutie #bestfriend #family #meow

baby polar bears

#dog #cat #bunny#hamster #panda #monkey #bird #turtle#horse #puppy #animals #nature #cute#love #catlover #doglover #pet #furry#kitten #adorable #precious #woof#cutie #bestfriend #family #meow

Tears are the most true expressions that describe the sadness and pain that is within us. It reflects the extent of the wound within our hearts. Tears are the only thing we can not control or prevent; they reveal our secrets and the secrets of our souls, the extent of our longing and weakness, and the extent of regret and regret, this is the words of tears and sadness. Words of tears and grief the most precious tears in the world tears of the mother, and the most sincere tears of the oppressed, the most innocent tears of children 0 Who said that the eye tears, tears are the real tears of the spirit of pain. I thought I could light my candle again, I forgot how to light the candles from a long time ago, I thought I could write words of joy, but when I wrote I felt that something inside me had been wounded. I cried the day I was born, and days explained to me why. Tears are a human language that only the gentle hearts and the compassionate feelings can do. The tears are the fires of great grief. I did not create tears for nothing in vain, God knows with sadness. Why do you turn your face on me? Have you decided to leave? And my tears, which flow to those who left them? Who is my sweet dream? Eat rust rust and eat heartache. When you kill the tear in its cradle you are no doubt a harsh person. Tears are not sadness, grief is that you can prevent yourself from crying in front of one for this Sunday. Sad my mind .. my words are desperate .. I stole my whispers to the erasure of my soul. But do you find me the lines .. Will turn the administrator .. Many are the tears and hope without a return. I saw a different era revolves ... There is no sorrow lasts and pleasure .. The kings have built it with shortness ... What remains kings and shortcomings. All cities are equal if we enter on a sorrowful visa. No one deserves your tears, anyway that person who deserves it will not make you cry. I am surprised that some people are surprised by the tears of men, wonder that they have no hearts. Often tears come from the eye instead of the heart. Sad wings fly by with time. The sorrowful, grieving soul finds comfort by joining with another soul, similar to the feeling and sharing it with the feeling, as the stranger strangely resorts to a land far from their homeland. The hearts that are reduced by the grief of each other are not separated by the joys and joys of the joys, the sadness is stronger in the soul than the bonds of joy and pleasure. The eyes wash with her tears and remain pure and beautiful and immortal. So the days deprived me even of dreams, I loved loneliness and torment, the joys between me and her veil, how long my heart, how long will the days of me? How long will I shut my sorrows? Good humor is the food of the soul and sadness is its poison. You can not prevent birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from nesting in your hair. When we fail and shed tears; they either turn into candles to illuminate the path of the future and learn from our mistakes, or that these tears sink us into the sea of dark despair. Sadness is only a wall between two gardens. When I bend down to kiss your hands, I shed tears of weakness above your chest, and beg your pleasing glances from your eyes, I only feel the fullness of my manhood. My tears were scattered between the lines. My sadness was engraved among the flowers. My tears were chanting: I wish I had not lived that feeling. The lines will not forget those smiles, has scattered fragrant perfumes, has come to leave pulls his ears bloody knocking doors of ages, here is life robbed the warmth of hearts and leaves us spilled tears of the sea. Sadness causes darkness in the heart more than any sin. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by sadness until we get used to it, forgetting that in life many things can make us happy. The tears are the fires of great grief. The most honest sadness is a smile with tearful eyes. Long silence is the road to grief, because it is a picture of death. Sadness is the blackness of the muzzle in your chest, the mute of your breath, the feeling of tightness of breath, and the tear of your heart until it closes the tears of the eyes. The heart is full of grief like a warm, hard-to-carry cup. Tears save you from the fire, it is a tear of fear of God. The smiles are digging the channels of future tears. Anger, tears and sorrow are surrendering weapons. If you have tears, prepare to shed them. Sadness is that you love madly, violently and lovingly but at the moment you discover that all this is just an illusion. Unleash your tears whenever you want to start and maintain your pride. Often the facts of life are a mixture of tears and smiles. The tears of joy are tears of sorrow that were boiling inside us, and in the hour of joy, we bid farewell to sorrow, to come out with the tears of sincere tears

baby polar bears #dog #cat #bunny #hamster #panda #monkey #bird #turtle #horse #puppy #animals #nature #cute http://ift.tt/2r7nMNW

#ltr #text-align: left;#on #.8.0.0.0.2.1.0.0 #<div dir= style= trbidi=> <h1 data-reactid= style="bac

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darkelfshadow · 4 years

Text

Session Summary - 80

AKA “Oyaviggaton - The Island Of Eternity”

Adventures in Taggriell

Session 80 (Date: 6th March 2020)

Players Present:

- Rob (Known as “Varis”) Elf Male.

- Bob (Known as “Sir Krondor) Dwarf Male.

- Paul (Known as “Labarett”) Elf Male.

- Travis (Known as “Trenchant”) Human Male.

Absent Players

- Arthur (Known as “Gim”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Bob>

- John (Known as “Ragnar”) Dwarf Male. <Played by Rob>

NPC

- (Known as “Naillae”) Elf Female. <Controlled by Travis>

Summary

- Sunday, 21st Pharast in the year 815 (Second Era). Late Spring.

- The party begin this session, on the dangerous remote ice lands of the Sea Of Moving Ice.

- Through good luck, the party have managed to locate the large plateau, having randomly picked the right direction to travel. They clean up after their last battle and the party is thanked by the lone tribal ice hunter they saved from the Polar Bears. The hunter gives a carved bone pendant of an animal totem to Ragnar, who places it around his neck, proudly displaying it.

- The party continue walking towards the enormous plateau and reach it an hour later. Stretching far beyond their sight to the left and right it raises one hundred feet above them, the top almost lost in the snow. A small raised shelf on the ground level has numerous tied up canoes, and a large skeleton of a whale is visible. The bones of the beast show large teeth and claw marks.

- The party look silently at the dead whale and the gigantic bites marks on the bones. Trenchant whispers out what everyone is thinking, “Dragon teeth marks.”

- Seeing a well made set of stone and ice steps carved out of a natural chasm in the cliff face, the party ignore this and instead use Trenchant’s Levitate ability to have him take each member of the party up, one by one, and well away from the stairs. They have to leave their Charmed Polar Bear behind as he is too heavy to lift up.

- At the top of the plateau the party find a rugged, uneven and broken landscape filled with rock outcrops and large mounds of ice. The party walk around the top of the plateau for some time, keeping near the edges, until they realise with horror that most of the ice mounds are filled with the dead frozen bodies of dozens and dozens of victims. Men and women of different races, some warriors and some simple folk, but all killed without mercy. Frozen forever.

- With a somber air, the party decide to head into the centre, where the faint smells of cooking oil drift on the winds. Sneaking through the snows and ice formation, the party come across a village of tribal ice hunters set in an enclosed and protected area with larger rocks. The party watch for some time, and observe a seemingly normal village with people going about their daily chores and children running about playing.

- This is not what the party expected. There appears to be no aggression going on, and there isn’t even a proper guard on duty. All the villagers get on with each other in a pleasant and cooperative manner.

- The party huddle up and decide what to do.

- Sir Korndor looks around, “Right group. What’s out plan?”

- Gim speaks, sharpening his axe, “Simple, we go in, kill everything that moves and then find this Maccath lady.”

- Naillae speaks, “Hang on, we can’t do that. Those people aren’t evil. There are children here too!”

- Varis speaks, “Those people could be working for the Dragon. We should sneak in and not reveal our presence. See what’s in that large hut.”

- Gim speaks, “Yes they could be working for the Dragon. So we go in, kill everything that moves and find this Maccath lady.”

- Trenchant shakes his head thoughtfully, “We know nothing about this village but something weird is going on. They are making way too much food for that size village. And we kept seeing them bring food into that large hut in the centre of the village. Where is the food going?”

- Sir Krondor nods, “Yes, we need to find out what’s going on. We have to be careful.”

- Gim nods, “Right, they’re acting suspicious. We go in, kill everything that moves and then find this Maccath lady.”

- Everyone turns towards Gim and glares. Labarett speaks, “That would be no. We wait for night, go in, we talk, we determine what these people are up to and their connection to the White Dragon and Maccath.”

- Everyone turns away from Gim and begins to check their gear. Under his breath Gim mumbles, ��I thought it was a good plan.”

- The party wait until nightfall, which in this far northern land turns out to be nothing more than a dimming of the sky as this part of the land at this time of year does not truly have a night.

- The party walk to the village and their presence immediately draws the men of the village who shout out in their strange tongue that none in the party understand. Soon most of the village stands looking fearfully at the strangers to their village. When the Chieftain of the village, Barkingseal, sees the animal totem worn by Ragnar he begrudgingly speaks to the party in broken common and agrees to let the party in for a meal and to stay for one night.

- The party catch the eye of a plain but well dressed female, the village Shaman, Bonecarver, who can strangely speak common very well. As the party try to get away to somewhere more secluded to speak to the Shaman, a large behemoth of a man walks up to Sir Krondor and grabs his shoulder. This giant speaks out in the local tongue and Bonecarver translates that he has challenged Sir Krondor to a one on one duel to prove his bravery.

- Sir Krondor accepts the duel, the terms of which are no outside interference or help, and no magic. Soon most of the village surround the party and make room for a duelling area which Sir Krondor and the giant Ice Hunter, Orcaheart, stand within.

- After Orcaheart nods his head to his opponent, he rushes in and the battle starts. Sir Krondor and the giant man trade blow for blow, each refusing to yield and each holding nothing back. The villagers are shouting and cheering for both sides, as each gets a successful hit.

- Sir Krondor is brought down as Orcaheart tackles him down to the snows, then dropping his simple spear starts to punch into the Dwarf’s head again and again.

- Sir Krondor, his head spinning, reaches out blindly for his shield and grasping it, swings it round to smash into the giant hunter’s head, knocking off him. Both of them get up slowly and arming themselves anew continue the fight.

- Orcaheart is quick, and sneaky, his skill with the simple spear is remarkable, the weapon almost appears to dance in his large hands. But Sir Krondor, trained Knight Of The Anvil, brings his superior training and knowledge of battle to bare, and in the end knocks Orcaheart to the ground with one final blow to his head.

- Immediately the village explodes in cheers and clapping, shaking Sir Krondor in a show of respect. Bonecarver, administers healing to the Orcaheart and the injured hunter gets up and walks over to Sir Krondor. Orcaheart smiles, a tooth now missing from his bloody mouth and speak, “Unna ca hak, tu in hina. Maki”

- Bonecarver smiles and translates, “He says you are now his worthy brother.”

- Sir Krondor smiles and bows his head, bringing his battle axe up to his head in salute. Orcaheart steps towards the Dwarf and before he knows what is happening almost crushes him in a friendly bear hug.

- The party now follow Bonecarver into her private large hut, filled with brewing supplies and equipment. Various potions line the shelves. She explains to the party that the village is under the watch of the “Old White Death”, the White Dragon known as Arauthator. The people were forced here by the dragon and they must do his bidding or else be killed. They grow food for him and his helpers, Kobolds, Ice Trolls and blue frog like creatures that the party are not sure exactly what they are. They now call this place “Oyaviggaton” which in their language means the “Island Of Eternity” because of the many victims that the Dragon has frozen on the plateau, to be on display forever.

- Bonecarver tells the party she had a vision they would save the village but the Chieftain does not believe the vision and will not risk any more lives of his people. He intends to tell the blue ones about the party in the morning and they will be taken and captured, so as not to anger the Dragon. Bonecarver reveals a hidden pit and stairway in her hut, that leads down into the ice caves below and eventually into the lair of the “Old White One”. She begs that the party free her people. She confirms that the “Horned Lady”, which must be Maccath, is down below somewhere.

- The party accept some potions from Bonecarver and then make their way down into the ice caves. The floor is very slippery and the they are having trouble walking about. The walls here are carved with beautiful and detailed imagery, showing scenes of dragons. Whoever carved these walls was an artist of some skill.

- Exploring the many rooms and passages, the party come to a large chamber where a group of sleeping Kobolds rest peacefully. The party sneak in and begin butchering the unarmed and sleeping Kobolds. The small, defenceless creatures awaken and try to flee but the unrelenting party show no mercy, cutting down the unarmed small creatures. They kill all but one, who manages to flee, screaming in terror at the brutal slaughter.

- The party start to search through the belongings of the dead Kobolds and find no weapons or armour, but instead carving utensils and artisans tools. A quantity of tusks are found, each carved with the same intricate and skilled level of detail as shown on the ice walls all around them.

- The party look around at each other. Labarett speaks, “I think we just killed a bunch of unarmed artisans.”

- Naillae looks pale, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

- Trenchant speaks, “We keep doing this. Are we the bad buys? Are we racist against Kobolds?”

- Ignoring the moral dilemma for now the party continue searching and discover the Kobolds are wearing leather thongs and straps with small animal beaks inserted into them on their feet to help walk on the icy ground. The party strap these to their feet and can now walk easily.

- Before they can leave however, two Ice Trolls walk into the chamber and a battle ensues. Though large the creatures are very dumb and the party quickly bring them down, using fire to stop the trolls from regenerating.

- They continue exploring the ice caves, coming to numerous caverns. One of which is filled with frozen animals and creatures that show obvious injuries from a large beast, like a Dragon. These frozen animals are displayed like trophies. When the party see a reassembled wooden sailing ship, with a large open chest filled with treasure, they do not touch it, suspecting a trap.

- Continuing to explore they eventually come to a well lit room with a colourful tent to one side. But before they can investigate the unusual presence of this tent, they are attacked by two more Ice Trolls. Once again the party finish them off and keep the creatures down, thanks to using lit torches, but how many torches do the party have?

XP Allocation

Group - Combined (This is equally divided by the number of players who were involved)

Quests (Only quests that are completed or rendered undoable, during this session, are shown here)

- “Not all who wander are lost” Reach Oyaviggaton = 500 XP

- “Danger is the source for prayers” Enter Ice Caves without alerting Arauthator = 3000 XP

Creatures Overcome

- Kobolds = 500 XP

- Ice Trolls = 7200 XP

Individual (This is only given to that person and is not divided amongst all players)

Special Bonus (Outstanding Role Playing)

- “I’m not left handed” Accept & Defeat Orcaheart in a Duel = 500 XP <Sir Krondor only>

XP Levels and Player Allocations

Player : Start + Received = Total (Notes)

Rob : 96918 + 2000 = 98918

Arthur : 78186 + 1200 = 79386

John : 71302 + 1200 = 72502

Travis : 88641 + 1600 = 90241

Paul : 77517 + 1600 = 79117

Bob : 83945 + 2500 = 86445 (Level up to Level 11)

NPC (Naillae) : + (800)

#D&D #DnD #5th #5e #ROT

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