#the first two games had a lot of north american accents

[cosmermaid]

I'm kind of sighing and shaking my head at discussions of Baldur's Gate 3 being censored for console release in Japan and how people keep bringing up American sensibilities to compare to what is acceptable in Japan.

C'mon... Baldur's Gate 3 is a Belgian game. American culture actually has nothing to do with this discussion.

#baldur's gate 3 #BG 1 and 2 weren't even American #Bioware is a Canadian studio #And Larian is based out of Belgium #though they're kind of obsessed with giving all of their characters British VAs #the first two games had a lot of north american accents #now there's only three characters in BG3 that sound american #Ketheric Thorm #Sarevok Anchev #and Naaber...

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

Dear Heart - CH 12

Dick Winters x Melanie Davis

Summary: Melanie Davis is a nurse from North Carolina who has lived a sheltered life since her father died. Her father’s best friend, Colonel Sink, invites her to experience more as a regimental nurse for the 506th PIR of the 101st Airborne. She embarks on the adventure of a lifetime.

Tag list: @thoughpoppiesblow​​​​​​ @primusk​​ @itswormtrain​​​ @hesbuckcompton-baby​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Word Count: 5k (another doozy but omg a lot has to happen okay? they have to talk, Dick has to be a simp, it’s important to the plot)

A/N: Thank you again to @mercurygray​​​​ for being a wonderful beta reader, as always <3

Warning(s): Descriptions of an assault

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11

Chapter 12 here we go!!

A warm spring began in Germany, welcoming the American invaders with its beautiful scenery and pleasant weather. Melanie wondered how people who lived in such a lovely place could have begun a war that was so terrible. The regiment came to a long stop in a town called Sturzelberg, where there was a hospital, and Melanie finally felt like a regular nurse again. She even got to change out of her OD’s and into her nursing uniform dress. It was wrinkled from the journey in her bag, rolled up at the bottom until she could wear it again. It was somewhat of a homecoming, though it seemed a different girl stepped into it. Not even a girl at all, really. A grown woman. A changed woman. 

Her and Juliet’s billet had a mirror, so she took the opportunity to really look at herself for the first time in weeks. Though she was clean, she looked tired. She didn’t have much color to her face, and she had lost more weight. She frowned at her reflection, hearing her mother loud and clear in her mind. To her surprise, she voiced what she heard. 

“Thin and pale,” she murmured. “That won’t do.”

Juliet looked up from her notebook. “I beg your pardon?” 

Melanie did not reply. She was too busy pinching her cheeks along the bone, giving them a semblance of rosiness. It was an old trick, but a useful one. So was chewing one’s lips to make them red if one didn’t have any rouge, which was her next task.

“Mel, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Juliet demanded, getting to her feet. 

“Making myself somewhat presentable,” Melanie answered. “Now that we’re back in relative comfort, I’ve got no excuse for walking around looking like a rag doll.” 

Juliet scoffed in disbelief. Then she stood in front of Melanie, took her by the shoulders, and looked into her eyes, searching. 

“What are you doing?” Melanie asked. 

“I’m looking for Melanie Davis, I hope she’s still in there,” Juliet returned. 

It occurred to Melanie that Juliet had only known the exhausted, wounded Melanie from weeks at war and no sleep. Already a little jaded from the amount of wounded who passed through. Of course she didn’t recognize the Melanie from before - who lived with constant reminders of femininity and vanity she’d had ingrained in her since childhood. 

She rolled her eyes and dislodged herself from Juliet’s grip. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it’s me.” 

“You’ve been through hell on Earth,” Juliet pointed out. “Who cares what you look like?”

Melanie hadn’t thought of it that way. And she had certainly not had many experiences of criticism being met with compassion. She didn’t always feel she deserved compassion - she was happy to give it to others but for herself? Perfection only. It was hitting her now what an impossible standard she was holding herself to. 

“Oh, I must sound awfully vain,” Melanie sighed. “I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it if I prefer feeling feminine. I can’t believe how much I took for granted just having lipstick or nail polish.” 

“Obviously, you can enjoy those things, but I cannot stand by and let you say that you ‘won’t do,’” Juliet replied. “You’re a beautiful woman, with or without lipstick.” 

Melanie looked at the floor and fixed her clothes. “That’s very kind of you, thank you.”

She was unused to getting such compliments. Her mother had always fixated on Melanie’s looks, though she had never been insulting. It was always reassurance that she was pretty enough to “catch a husband.” But, as she had pointed out to herself, there was more to the world than all that. The war was still on. She had a job to do. 

“Alright, I’m off to work,” she said. “It feels mighty fine to be saying that again.” 

She forced herself to smile, putting all thoughts of her appearance behind her. She just needed to get back to a hospital and work with patients so she could start feeling like herself again. Juliet wished her luck, and then Melanie was off. 

***

As they made their way deeper into Germany, Dick’s inner conflict deepened, too. Melanie’s condition, her moods and general demeanor, seemed to improve, while Lew seemed to get steadily worse. The day of the jump (which he was still a bit bitter to have missed, despite its outcome), when Dick had to tell his best friend about his demotion, he was disturbed by Nix’s non-reaction, followed by flippant remarks to disguise a frustration he clearly would not voice. Dick sought out the only person he felt he could talk to about his concerns - Melanie. 

He went first to her billet. The day was drawing to a close, so he assumed she would be back by now from the hospital. Juliet opened the door and looked surprised to see him.

“Oh! Hello, Major,” she said. 

“Is Melanie here?” he asked, getting right to the point. 

“No, she hasn’t come back from the hospital yet,” she told him. “Is everything alright? Did you have something...important to tell her?” 

She raised a knowing eyebrow at him and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. At this point, he wasn’t sure who was more invested in his relationship with Melanie - Nix or Juliet. He wondered what might have happened if she had been around to help orchestrate the Paris trip. For now, he let it slide.  

“I just want to talk to her,” he said. “Thanks, though.” 

“Worth a shot,” she said under her breath. “Well, let me know if we need to send out a search party.” 

“Will do,” he said, amused. “See you later.”

She nodded in return and closed the door. Dick headed to the hospital. He looked forward to seeing Melanie - he always did. He just wished his friends would see that, and realize it was enough for now. There was enough understanding between them that they were pretty well aware of what they felt for each other. At least, Dick was sure he understood. But there was still a war, and that wasn’t really the place for romance. 

By the time he arrived at the hospital, he had pushed his frustrations with his friends to the back of his mind. In the first ward, he found Melanie, in a chair beside a patient’s bed, a deck of cards between them on a tray, and laughter on her face. The patient pulled a card from his hand and laid it down, which made Melanie’s jaw drop. 

“Another red three?” she gasped. “I think it’s very clear how this game is going to end.” 

“You’ve still got a chance, Miss Melanie,” he replied through a thick Southern accent. “One good hand and you could turn this whole thing around.” 

“Well, lucky for you, my hand isn’t anything to write home about,” she returned, frowning at it. “Draw your cards, Sergeant.”

He reached for the deck and picked up three cards, adding them to his hand. Dick watched the game play out for a moment - the sergeant discarded, Melanie drew two, then she discarded, and the sergeant drew again. All the while, Melanie talked to the man. He was missing his right leg up to the thigh - and a fleeting image of Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye passed through Dick’s mind. But judging by this soldier’s attitude, no one would have guessed anything was the matter with him. The way he smiled and chuckled at Melanie’s praise, he didn’t seem to notice that he was even in a hospital bed. 

Dick’s heart was warmed by the sight. Melanie really was back to her old self. She was off duty, and yet she sat with a man she didn’t know to bring him some small comfort. A simple card game. A chance for him to feel normal again, even for a few moments. Dick wasn’t sure which he admired more - her selflessness or how happy she looked to be where she was. The grin on her face gave away that she considered it no trouble to play a game with a patient when her rounds were over. She was genuinely glad to do it. Dick hoped Toye and Guarnere had similarly wonderful nurses wherever they were. 

“A canasta already?” she cried as Dick approached. “If you go out on me with all this in my hand, Sergeant, I’ll be finished for sure!”

She discarded and then finally, she looked up. She caught Dick’s eye as he took some tentative steps toward her, hesitant to interrupt. But she beamed at him, so he assumed he was welcome. 

“Good evening, Dick,” she said kindly. 

The sergeant turned and saw Dick, so he offered a quick salute. “Good evening, sir,” 

“Good evening,” Dick returned politely. “Sorry to interrupt.” 

“Not at all,” Melanie assured him. “Dick, this is Sergeant Samson - the finest canasta player in the US Army. Sergeant, this is Major Winters.” The two men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Then she met Dick’s gaze again. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, and found himself regretting coming at all. She was busy, and he felt foolish for disrupting her moment of joy. “I can come back later, though -” 

“Actually, sir, I’m about ready for some sleep if Miss Melanie will let me off the hook,” Samson said. 

She cast him a playful look. “I see how you operate, Samson. Quit while you’re ahead, that way you don’t lose.”

He laughed, a bit bashful at her teasing, but she collected the cards all the same, and set them aside. 

“We’ll play again tomorrow if you like,” she offered.

“Of course,” he returned. “That is, if you enjoy losing that much!” 

She feigned offense while he chuckled some more. Then she fluffed his pillows and pulled the blankets up to his chest. Dick watched and felt a familiar stir in his heart of affection for her. She was the most beautiful person he had ever had the pleasure of knowing - and that did not just apply to her pretty face. Melanie was a sweet soul, a nurturing heart, and a bright mind. She was a high quality person. And tiny moments like this showed that to him more than anything. 

“Can I get you anything else before I go?” she offered Samson. 

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” 

“Good night, Sergeant,” she said. 

“Good night, ma’am, sir.” 

Dick nodded in acknowledgement before offering Melanie his arm, which she took, and they left the ward together. It struck him that her touch no longer made him so nervous. It thrilled him - even after knowing each other for years - but it was comfortable now. As if the crook of his arm was made for her hand. It was natural. 

“Is everything alright, Dick?” she asked as they stepped outside. “You seem troubled.”

He didn’t consider himself a particularly emotive person, but Melanie never failed to pick up on what he was feeling. Especially when he needed her. 

“It’s Nix,” he said. “His drinking...it’s become such a problem up at regiment that he was demoted today. When I told him that, he didn’t even seem to care.”

Melanie’s brows furrowed and she looked thoughtfully ahead. “I’m sorry to hear that. Lewis is a good man and a fine officer. I would have thought he’d be more invested.” 

“Well, in his defense, he’d just come back from that disaster of a jump,” Dick said. 

“What disaster of a jump?” she wondered. 

He told her what Nix had relayed to him - that the troopers didn’t even make it out of the plane. The CO was killed. Nix and just a handful of others survived out of sheer luck. 

“Oh, how awful,” she said, heartbroken.

 There really could be no moment between them where the war did not rear its ugly head, Dick thought bitterly. No matter what, there was some news of tragedy. Death sank its teeth into even a simple evening stroll. He decided to steer the conversation back to its original subject. 

“Seeing Lew like this just has me worried,” he said. “I feel like he’s close to spiraling, and I don’t have a clue what to do. I thought it was just a bad habit, but now...” he trailed off, unsure what to call his friend’s profound issue. 

“I’m afraid there isn’t much you can do,” Melanie told him. “Nix is...troubled, and he has his coping mechanism. Unless he wants to quit drinking, there’s nothing you - or anybody - can do to stop him from picking that bottle up again.”

Once again, he was being told to do nothing - frustrating and impossible advice. He had hoped for more from her. 

“What you can do,” she went on, and he felt a glimmer of hope again. “Is make yourself available to him. Let him know - subtly, of course - that you’re ready if and when he’ll need you. Eventually, it will come to a head, and he’ll need people in his corner that he can truly rely on.” 

“It still sounds like doing nothing,” he said, defeated. 

“I know you’re a man of action, Dick, but this will take patience,” she returned, understanding. 

He didn’t answer right away, still a bit frustrated. He also took a moment to look at her. The dim twilight was flattering on her skin. A cool breeze made her flyaway hairs stir around her head. She looked a bit like a painting with the Bavarian backdrop behind her. It struck him again how much he loved her. She met his gaze. 

“Dick?” 

He shook his head to clear it, though appreciating her beauty had eased some of his irritation about Nix. 

“Sorry,” he said. “You look nice tonight, that’s all.” 

“Thank you,” she said, blushing lightly. “I’m feeling much better now that we’ve got more food and I’m back in a hospital.” 

He had noticed her improvement over the past few days. Her cheeks were rounding out again, and she didn’t look so tired. Her bruises were gone, too. 

“I feel a bit silly,” she admitted. “I was fussing over how I looked when we first got here because I didn’t have lipstick or nail polish. What a ridiculous thing to worry about.” 

Melanie always looked natural, so he tried to remember the last time he saw her looking nicer than usual. It was Paris. Which was beginning to feel decades in the past instead of just months.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he assured her. “Silly, I’ll give you, but ridiculous is a strong word.” 

“Alright, silly it is then,” she teased back with a smile, and he ached at how much he adored it. 

They reached her billet, stopped outside the door, and faced each other. 

“This takes me back,” she said. “All the way to Aldbourne.” 

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I don’t think I’d recognize those two kids.” 

“Me neither,” she chuckled. “So much has happened. But, I…” 

He looked expectantly at her as she trailed off and gathered her thoughts. Her brow furrowed, which told him she was searching for the right words. 

“I am so grateful we’re still friends,” she said. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I could have made it this far.”

It was his turn to get flustered. For a moment, he stood there silently, a bit lost for words. It was such an honest and wonderful thing to say. How could he return that sentiment?

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’m grateful too, Mel,” he said, feeling the understatement like an itch on his skin. “Really.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, smiling. “On that pleasant note, shall we say goodnight? Unless there’s anything else?”

He shook his head. “Thanks for listening. As always.” 

They said goodnight, and she went inside, no doubt to chat to Juliet before climbing into bed and settling in. Dick wanted only for Melanie to be safe and comfortable, especially after everything she’d been through. He hoped that after the war, she could end her days in his arms instead of alone, he could tell her plainly how much she meant to him, and that he could be her true refuge. Until then, his mind went to lipstick and nail polish…

The following day, on his way to HQ, he found some. An abandoned drug store sat on the intersection he crossed, and there were a few enlisted men already scrounging around inside, claiming whatever they could find. He normally wasn’t one for taking souvenirs, but he was more compelled by the idea of doing something nice for Melanie. So he stepped through the kicked in door and looked around. The makeup aisle had already been pretty thoroughly picked over - broken bottles and compacts littered the floor, but one last untouched gold tube on the shelf caught his eye. A red lipstick. He took it. 

He glanced around for nail polish too, but the only color left was a dark purple, which he could not for the life of him imagine Melanie wearing. The lipstick would have to do. 

 He intended on giving it to her that day, but he got caught up in several different briefings, which evidently could not be postponed. So many that he sent Zielinski to the hospital with a message asking Melanie to join him in his office for dinner. They hadn’t had significant time together in much too long, and he missed it. So he was grateful when she accepted and agreed to meet him at eight o’clock. 

Dick got worried when eight-fifteen came and went. He checked his watch for the tenth time in the last sixty seconds and sighed, fearing that Melanie had forgotten him. Or worse, something was terribly wrong at the hospital, and she was enduring further tragedy. Finally, when he was about ready to go looking for her himself, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” he called. 

To his great relief, Melanie walked through the door, closing it softly behind her. She looked a bit sheepish as she came closer. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Dick,” she said. “Sergeant Samson and I were just wrapping up.”

“More canasta?” he asked. 

She nodded. “It’s his favorite game. He used to play it with his sisters back home. He’s got three of them.” 

“Three sisters, wow,” he remarked. “No brothers?”

“One,” she said sadly. “But he was killed on Guadalcanal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But I’m impressed with you. You really get to know the men you’re treating.” 

“I certainly try,” she said. “Hospitals can often feel overly clinical and cold. Doctors don’t have much time to spend with patients, and nurses can get overwhelmed. I don’t want the patients to mistake that for not caring.” 

Dick had met very few people who had the emotional capability to invest so much in others. For a fleeting moment, he likened Melanie to a priest or pastor, with a flock of people to look after, but what she did was different. She wasn’t a spiritual guide or advisor. She was a simple comfort. A place to tell someone about your favorite game or your siblings or your life story. A generous ear to listen to you talk about something besides your pain. 

“That’s very sweet of you,” he told her, keeping the true depth of it to himself. 

She took a seat across from him at his desk, and they had dinner together. At first, she asked mostly about him and how he was doing, but he eventually turned it around. He let her talk about the patients she’d met at this hospital, and she shared little tidbits of their lives. She wasn’t burdened by it, either. In each one, she found something of interest, worth remembering and holding onto. He listened, but he knew he’d never be able to recall everything the way she did. But he hoped he helped by doing a little bit of what she did for others, for her.  

When they finished eating, she sat back with a satisfied smile. He loved that look on her face and he couldn’t help but smile a bit himself. To continue that momentum, he went into his desk and pulled out his gift for her. He didn’t have a box or anything this time, so it wasn’t nearly as big as the gift of the dress, but he hoped she’d still appreciate it. 

“I got something for you,” he said. 

She raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

He placed the tube of lipstick on the desk as her mouth fell open. But a sparkle in her eyes told him it was a delighted sort of shock. 

“Where did you get this?” she gasped. She picked it up and examined it, as if not quite believing it was real. 

“There’s a drug store in town that’s...no longer in operation,” he explained. He still didn’t love that he’d technically stolen it, but he wouldn’t let her know. “I think every man in the regiment got something for the women in his life. And you mentioned wanting some.” 

“And you remembered?” she wondered. 

“Sure I did,” he replied with a chuckle. 

“How kind of you,” she said, her grin widening. “I can’t wait to use it! Thank you so much!”

Did anything feel better than making her happy? Dick wasn’t sure. The warmth in his chest told him there was nothing. It didn’t matter that he’d taken it by looting. For that smile, he was prepared to commit highway robbery.  

“You’re welcome,” he returned. 

He watched her gaze at the items in her hand, a pensive, contemplative expression coming over her features. There was something more she wanted to say. Knowing her, she would shake her head, smile again, and mumble “never mind” mostly to herself before moving on. He hoped she wouldn’t, so he remained silent, giving her the space to work through what she was thinking. 

“It seems silly to say this over something so small,” she began, her voice soft, so he had to lean closer in order to hear. “But may I share something with you?” 

“Of course,” he assured her, though the question made him nervous. 

He tried to think of what could make her so serious all of a sudden, but nothing immediately came to mind. A split second of doubt came over him that she was going to confess she had met someone else because she was tired of waiting for him. But that seemed like a rather outlandish conclusion to jump to. He slowed down his thoughts and focused on her. 

“I know you’ve been wondering about what caused me to leave the hospital in Bastogne and come to the front lines,” she began. “And I haven’t been able to tell you. I’m sorry.” 

He was still curious, but he certainly didn’t want her to feel like she had to talk about that just because of a lipstick he didn’t even pay for. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Please,” she cut across him. “Let me get this out before I lose my nerve.” 

“Take your time,” he said gently. 

She nodded and took a deep breath. Tears pricked her eyes as she released it, slow and shaky. He mentally braced himself to hear the worst. 

“Before the hospital was bombed, Terry...made me an offer,” she continued. “For a life together after the war. He told me he had always had feelings for me and basically that he wanted to marry me.” She ran the fingers on her right hand over the ring finger of her left. 

“Naturally, I refused,” she went on. “I wasn’t in love with him.” She paused there, toying with the lipstick tube, as if debating adding something onto that sentence, but decided against it. “I thought my answer was clear, even before the bombing. But the day I was supposed to return to work, he came to my room.”

She stopped again, chewing her bottom lip before swallowing hard. 

“He’d had a bit to drink,” she said. “He wasn’t out of control, but I could smell it when he got close to me. He proposed again. I refused him. He shouted at me that he loved me. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of me with another man. And that’s when he started to throw things.” 

Beads of sweat appeared on her brow and hairline. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, undeterred, though trembling. She rubbed her hand against the fabric of her dress to dry it off.

“I pleaded with him to stop, but he grabbed me by my face,” she said. “Painfully. Then he looked me in the eyes and threatened to...crush my skull against the vanity, to use his words.” 

She looked at him, and suddenly, she halted and met his gaze.

“Am I upsetting you?” she asked. 

If he didn’t know her better, he would have thought she was being sarcastic - trying to remind him just who really had been hurt here, but she wasn’t. She was genuinely concerned about him in a moment like this. Her tone, apologetic. 

Dick’s anger had risen from a simmer to a boil. He’d been trying to maintain composure as she spoke. He did not want her to lose her nerve by seeing him get agitated, but he couldn’t help the set of his jaw. He regretted not fighting Clarke when he’d had the chance because maybe this might not have happened. It’s harder to throw things and grab people with broken fingers, after all. He shook his head and took a deep breath to calm down, intentionally relaxing every muscle in his face. 

“I’m fine, Mel,” he lied. “Please, go on.” 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, but did not protest. 

“I tried to resist,” she continued. “But then he grabbed me by the throat. If he said anything else at that point, I didn’t hear. I was blacking out quickly. And for a moment, I was afraid...I was so afraid I was going to die.” 

She choked on the last word, and she swiped the tear that leaked onto her cheek away quickly. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her lip quiver. He knew it was ridiculous, but overwhelming guilt sank its claws into his heart. He should have been there to defend her. He should have warned Colonel Sink about Terry. He should have done something. Even now, he wished he could protect her from the very memory of it. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “But somehow I found the strength to get away. I remember striking him, but not much else. That was when Colonel Sink showed up. And I begged him to let me go...well, anywhere that wasn’t the hospital. He suggested the Bois Jacques, and I agreed.” 

He sat with it a moment, impressed at her resilience, and a little relieved that nothing worse had happened - and he had imagined much worse, especially when she said the altercation had taken place in her bedroom. But she got away. She rescued herself. There was something to be said for that. 

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Mel,” he said. “You were very brave.”

“Please don’t flatter me, Dick,” she replied. “Dogs have enough courage to fight back when attacked. I acted on instinct.”

“Even so, you did well,” he insisted. He hesitated asking his next question, unsure how she might take it or if she was receptive to being questioned at all. 

“Why didn’t you report him?” he asked, feeling desperate. “That’s a court martial offense, assaulting a fellow officer.”

“Colonel Sink offered to do the paperwork, but I asked him not to,” she told him. “There’s no point, really. It would be my word against his and that rarely goes well for a woman.” 

Dick carefully disguised his distaste for that answer. He wasn’t frustrated by Melanie, but that she was right. 

“Besides,” she said. “He didn’t really do anything. He just frightened me, that’s all.” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” he returned. “He nearly killed you.” 

She shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands, which were in her lap now, fidgeting with the lipstick tube, which made a soft pop each time she opened or closed it.

“You may think you’re being kind by showing him mercy, Mel,” he said. “But Terry should be at the least reprimanded for what he’s done. I know it’s hard, but you’re brave enough to -”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. 

“Dick, stop it!” she cried, looking desperately at him. “I’m not brave or strong or kind or anything else! I’m scared, alright?! I didn’t report Terry because I’m terrified that he will find me again! And how much worse would it be if he had nothing to lose?! It isn’t mercy, it’s fear!”

She lowered her eyes to the floor and tried to draw in a breath. It was shallow and shaky, catching on the lump in her throat. He couldn’t stand that he was not holding her. So he got to his feet, crossed to the other side of his desk, stood before her, and held out his hand. She looked at it, then up at his face, before placing her fingers in his palm. He helped her to stand. Then, he gathered her up in his arms. Her forehead found a resting place on his chest, and she nuzzled into him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. 

“I’m sorry, Melanie,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry.” When she only nodded, he continued. “You’re safe now.” 

“Yes,” she said softly into his chest. “Yes, I know.”

He made a silent promise to himself and her. From here on out, he would be her personal shield. No one deserved what she had endured, but she especially didn’t. This woman, who was all heart and grace and goodness. He would protect her with everything he had.

#band of brothers #dick winters #melanie jo davis #richard winters #dick winters x ofc #band of brothers fanfiction #richard winters x ofc #hbo war #Easy Company #dick winters fic #dear heart series

[fourthwallhateclub]

Help me

Description: Emma is with Phoenix when she is kidnapped, can Bravo set aside their emotions in time to save her, or will they be too late...

A/N: I wrote some things like this over on Ao3 under “FourthWallHateClub”, this will eventually have a second part but with my ADHD I don’t know when that will happen 🙃 please feel free to send feedback on the fix, I know it’s shit but I live for shit so 🤭

@rebelreblogs

Emma's POV

Darkness... Floating... Silence... My eyes fluttered open and started to adjust to the light... where was I? The door slammed open,

"You're awake!" Was that... was that an Afghan accent? Then it all came back to hit me like a freight train...

48 hours before hand

"Sup Dalton." I said.

"Shut it Hayes." He said pissed off.

I turned to Mac with a questioning look, "Who pissed in his coffee?"

Mac smirked, "Don't take it personally, he's not pissed with you, he's pissed with Maddie. He was on his way to a football game with one of our old delta buddies when he got the call."

"It's..." I glanced at my watch, "1300 hours?"

"We we're gonna have a few beers!" Dalton groaned.

'More than a few.' I mouthed to Mac, he just coughed to stifle his laugh.

Matty walked in, tapping the glass creating a privacy screen, and clicked a button bringing an image up on screen. "Amir-Botzwat-Asharu."

"10 of clubs..." I breathed out in disbelief.

"International arms dealer, drug trafficker-"

"and grade-A prick." Jack stated matter-of-factly.

Mac snorted, "You can say that again."

"The guys been evading Phoenix since it was OPS, us personally for years, why are we concerned about him now?" I wondered.

"What's this got to do with us, CIA took over the case, why now?" Jack asked.

"If you’d let me talk, you’d know,” Matty said sarcastically, “He recently kidnapped and murdered an American. Phoenix have had him on our radar for a while now as you’re aware but the higher ups refused to green light the op to take him out, saying CIA had it handled. That all went to hell when their undercover agent was exposed, they shot him and put a bounty on everybody CIA affiliated."She said.

"We're on their SOS list Matty, we outrank some shitty little 'bounty' list." I said.

"Regardless, you, Dalton and MacGyver leave for the Middle East at 1600 this afternoon so you arrive at night, get your affairs in order because the big men upstairs say you don't leave till the jobs is done. You'll be properly briefed on the plane, but there are more pressing issues, you guys have up to date parachute qualifications right?"

"I don't like where this is going..." Jack mused.

"Me either..." Mac agreed.

"As much as I hate agreeing with you two shmucks, me three..." I said.

"Well whether you like it or not your jumping from that plane, there's no where for it to land where you'll keep your cover. Unless you want to walk 13 miles to where you'll be staying?" She challenged.

"WE'LL JUMP!!" We said in unison.

She smirked, "That's what I thought."

"Okay... where exactly are we going in the Middle East, and where are we staying?" I asked.

"You are going to Afghanistan."

"Fucking Trashcanistan?!? You've got to be kidding." Jack screeched.

Ah Dalton and his hatred for that place... he would get along with Uncle Sonny, man has a fear of bloody everything...

"SHIT!!" I yelled.

All heads snapped to me, "What's wrong Hayes?"

"Um... where exactly would we be staying?" I asked biting my lip.

"Navy base in J-"

I laughed nervously, "Would that be in J-Bad by any chance?"

"Yes, why?" Matty asked.

"We have a little problem..." I mumbled.

"And what would that be..." She mused, raising an eyebrow.

"My uh- my family was spun-up there a few weeks ago." I said.

"What do you mean Em?" Mac asked.

"I mean my family, is Bravo team. They are currently in the Middle East, and are stationed in J-Bad for the foreseeable future. What do we do?"

"I'm assuming that they were not among the people you told about your job?" Matty asked.

"No ma'am. Mac, Dalton, Bozer and Riley are the only ones who know..." I answered.

"You arrive at night anyway, you cover your tracks and stay as hidden as possible, don't talk to anyone and stay away from the sailors. Nobody is to know what you're doing there or who you are... to them you three are Black Rose, Hunter, and Eagle." Matty said.

"Yes ma'am."

"Well... get out of here."

We didn't need to be told twice, we were running out the door and to the squad room.

"What the fuck do I do?!?" I yelled as we entered the room.

"Want a hug?" Mac asked opening his arms. I nodded and walked into him tucking myself into his figure, "You'll be ok."

Jack's POV

"Wait! Is your dad the Jason Hayes, like Bravo 1, the legend?!?" I screeched.

"Uh- yeah.." Emma said pushing away from Mac and scratching her head.

"That explains a lot..."

"What do you mean?" She was confused.

"I mean, having worked with your father, I see where you get it from."

She laughed, "You are so old."

I gasped, "You mean we are so old. Mac and I worked together in the Army."

“No. You? You're old enough to be my dad. Mac? Is old enough to be my big brother." She laughed.

"Yeah, and we'll protect you like it too." I said hugging her shoulder.

"You won't have to do anything if my family spots me. I'll be on the first plane out of there and back home, complete with a tracker and navy seal protection detail. They'll never let me out of their fucking sight." She grumbled.

"You'll be ok. Let's get ready to rak out." I said.

"You're right."

I walked into my office and grabbed my rucksack and duffel. I met them back in the main room.

"List it Hayes."

She groaned, "Why???"

I smirked, "We're acting like the older brother and dad we are."

She rolled her eyes but spoke anyway, "I made sure my camping gear, fatigues and survival gear was in my bergan, along with Guns, ammo, knife and spare phones," we looked at her weirdly, "What? I'm sick of Mac breaking my shit. Dalton and I spend way to much fucking time at the Genius Bar creating new and inventive covers to explain what Mac does as is."

Mac raised his hands, "You got me."

She smirked, "I know I do, anyway, I grabbed my go-bag, passport and fake ID's."

"What's in your go-bag." I quizzed.

"Toiletries, Clothes, Cash, Raincoat, Matches, Lighter, Laptop, Flashlight, MRE's, water purification tablets, rope, duct tape, whistle, batteries, knife, and First aid kit. Why do we keep doing this?"

"Good, and we do it because we care." Mac said kissing her head.

“Ugh! Let's go." We headed out to Mac's truck and dumped our stuff in the back. She hopped in the back and we drove to Mac's place.

"Bozer!" Mac called.

"Sup guys." He said bro hugging Mac.

"We're heading out, I need you to take care of some stuff for us." Mac asked.

"Yeah ok, let me grab some paper." He said.

We walked into the kitchen and told him what we needed, Mac didn't need to worry because he lived with Bozer, so Em went first, "My rent is due first of the month, it auto pays but I need you to check on the seventh if I have mail just in case it didn't go through. I need mail collected on the 7th, 14th 21st, and 28th. Plants need to be watered but that can be done when you grab my mail, if anything happens there is a contact sheet folded in the draw of my desk, it'll tell you who to call, in what order. You good with that?"

"All good Em." He said with a smile.

"Thanks Boz."

"Your welcome, Jack anything you need." He questioned.

"I live next to Emma so same as her just no plants to water, if you could check on my place when you water Emma's plants that would be great, and there is a contact list in the box on top of the CD rack."

"Cool, I got it."

“Thanks Boz." Mac said walking back into the room with his bag.

"It's all cool man." He said.

We walked to the door before he called out, "Be safe, I want you back in one piece."

"We'll try Boz."

~Time skip brought to you by Sonny’s Bam-Bam~

We'd been briefed and where currently in our hammocks grabbing what sleep we could before we hit the ground running.

"Drop zone is up in 35."

"Let's go kids." I commanded with a laugh.

We packed up our hammocks and pulled on our jump suits. I strapped my duffel to the bottom of my bergan and grabbed my chute. Strapping my Bergan to my back I pulled the parachute over the top. I walked over to the ramp and waited for Mac and Em to join me.

"2 minutes to the drop zone"

"Ready ladies." I yelled over.

"We're coming." Mac laughed.

We attached to the central line and clipped in, we watched as the light turned on and the ramp lowered,

"5...4...3...2...1..."

The light turned green and we jumped. My drill instructors voice went through my head. Breathing Dalton... in for 2... hold for 4... out for 3... parachute in 3, 2, 1. Pull the cord. Release the parachute. Move your body vertical. Feet pointed down. Legs slightly apart. Hit the deck in 3...2...1. Land crouched. Bend knees and run forward 20 yards. Unclip and pull.

Emma and Mac landed next to me and we packed up our chutes.

"Base is roughly 1 click 228 degrees north east." I said.

"Comms up?" Mac asked.

"Yeah they are." Matty answered.

"Good." I said. "Let's go."

We moved our bergans to our fronts and held our duffel bags. We broke out into a jog eager to get out of the heat. Arriving at the 'base' we were met with our assigned CIA handler.

"Agent Jayden Riggs." He said offering his hand.

I shook it, "I'm Eagle, this is Hunter and she's Black Rose."

"Real names?" He asked.

"That's need to know." Emma answered.

“What do you mean, I'm your handler?"

"Look Riggs, we don't like spooks ok. We work alone, off our own intel. It's important our identities remain a secret." She answered shortly, that's my Hayes.

"Alright then, let's get you set up in cabins, Black Rose, you'll be separated from the men." He said as he started walking away.

"What?" I said.

"Gender sensitivity. Men and women are separated." He said like it was obvious.

"Yeah no, she stays with us. We don't care about gender sensitivity." Mac said before I could, reel in the big brother before you get yourself in trouble Mac.

"It's protoco-"

I cut him off, "Screw protocol, Black Rose stays with us."

"Of course." He relented.

He led us to a cabin as a humvee pulled up, out climbed 6 men and a dog, all in fatigues, before I could see anything else Emma pushed us into the cabin and slammed the door shut behind us as we collapsed onto the floor.

"What was that??"

"That! Was my family." She helped us up.

Jason's POV

We were on night patrol in a neighbouring town to J-bad, we'd been out for 6 hours and it was 0300. I decided it was time to head back.

"Let's move out."

We walked back to the humvee and climbed in. We'd been driving for about 15 minutes when we saw three figures drop from the sky.

"What the hell is that?" Sonny asked.

"I'll find out." I said keying my comms, "Havoc base this is Bravo 1, we've got three parachute jumpers coming towards base."

"Copy that Bravo 1, I'll find out." Blackburn answered, a few minutes later he keyed his coms again, "Stand down, their friendlies."

"What do you mean their 'friendlies'?"

"I'll find out."

I rolled my eyes, cryptic much. We watched as they landed about 5 clicks ahead of us and packed their chutes away, then started running towards base.

"We're not far out now. We'll talk when we get in." I said.

We got to the base gate and rolled through, getting out I saw three figures standing outside a cabin glance at us before one pushed the others into the cabin and slammed the door. Weird. After we dumped our gear in the shed. We walked into the team room where Eric and Mandy were waiting.

"Who were they?" I asked.

"Apparently they work for some government agency, they're following a lead on a case." Mandy said.

"Which agency?" Brock asked.

"I don't know guys. I don't know..." Eric said.

"Why did they jump Eric? Why not just land on the airstrip?" I quizzed.

"Apparently they're meant to be discreet. Nobody was supposed to know they're here." Mandy said.

"Well they did a crap job of that." Ray said.

"Actually Ray, you guys weren't meant to be out tonight, had base been on routine nobody would have seen them come in." Eric spoke.

"Well that's creepy." Clay said.

"What do we know about these guys Mandy?" I asked.

"Two guys, one girl actually." She stated hint of amusement in her tone.

"A girl?!?" Sonny yelled.

"What? Don't think women can do the same jobs as men? Or are you just worried she's going to outshine you." Lisa interrogated.

"No but if she gets snatched we'll be the ones collecting her." He grumbled.

"So? If she's snatched it's going to be for bad intel, and unfair conditions. Not because she's a woman." Lisa challenged.

"Enough! What do we know about them?" I yelled.

"Their handler couldn't tell me much, mainly because he didn't know a great deal. However, their code names are Black-Rose, Hunter and Eagle. Their handler doesn't know their real names and I suspect that's by design." Mandy spoke.

"Ok. First off those why do those code names ring a bell, Second what do we know about the organisation they work for?" Clay asked.

"Honestly? Nothing. None of my bosses know who or what they are and the further up I went the more I was told to stop digging." Mandy said.

"So what do we do?" Trent asked.

"We stay away. We don't talk to them, not only for your safety but for theirs too. You see them walking you say nothing, although I suspect given all the trouble they went to so they weren't seen while getting here, we won't be seeing an awful lot of them." Eric mused.

"Alright then." I said clapping my hands, "We need to sleep." I turned to Eric, "I trust if you find anymore information that could be of use you'll speak to us?"

"Of course." Eric said nodding curtly before walking out of the room.

#jason hayes #ray perry #sonny quinn #mandy ellis #lisa davis #trent sawyer #brock reynolds #clay spenser #eric blackburn #seal team #macgyver #angus macgyer #jack dalton #emma hayes #rebels reblogs #author can't write #author thrives off not knowing what they're doing #author seriously doesn't know how to tag

[seasonsofeverlark]

Fall-ing In Love

Author: @mandelion82​

Prompt:  Fall-ing in love. Picture this on a walk on an Autumn day. Chilly day. The leaves have changed, breathing it in… you notice how a dock is still out in the water. You stand on it breathing in that air… until a dog barks which startles you and you fall in. Boy walking the dog jumps into the semi chilly water to save you. He takes you to his house to warm up….he’s cute, btw. Hope this is something you can work with. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125​]  

Rating: T (to be safe, for mentions of alcohol) 

Author’s Note: Canadian!Peeta x American!Katniss, meet-cute. Some of the places are real, including, of course, Manitoba, Winnipeg and Tim Hortons. Some places (and things) are made-up, obviously, so don’t bust me, my Canadian friends. I tried to be as accurate as I could on things I didn’t make up, lol. So, this was getting much too long for a prompt fic, but I am considering continuing it on A03 in the near future. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for the prompt, @katnissandpeeta125​!      

______________

It was October 9th, and the Everdeens‒Katniss, her sister, Primrose, and their mother‒were currently making the drive up to Manitoba, Canada from their home in Grand Forks, North Dakota. They were traveling to visit their Uncle Haymitch for Canadian Thanksgiving, which fell this year on October 12th.  

Katniss and Prim’s mother’s brother was a solitary man, an alcoholic grump, to put it bluntly, who had no real interest in associating with anyone as far as Katniss knew. But her mother had decreed they should all get to know him better. Katniss knew that her motivation lay in regret, regret that she’d lost touch with him after he moved to Canada, and other things…  And now that her husband had passed, and with Haymitch being her only living older relative, she wanted them all to forge a closer relationship with the man. 

Good luck to them.  

Initially, her mother had tried to get Haymitch to visit them in the US, but he’d refused, saying he didn’t plan on leaving his home, ever.  Stubborn as a mule.  And so, her mother had suggested they visit him. Truth be told, Katniss was shocked that old Haymitch had agreed, and from the sounds of it, it had taken some arm-twisting. But, in the end, Haymitch had welcomed them to stay in his house, saying his casa was their casa. He’d said it was because he couldn’t turn away family, but Katniss suspected it had a lot to do with her mother offering to cook a large meal for him.  

Haymitch Abernathy was basically a hermit, a hermit with a very nice, very large home‒he lived in a rustic, spacious log and stone cabin on Lake Victor in the small town of Panem, just outside of Winnipeg. The trip to see him had somehow turned into a three-week ordeal, their mother having decided they might as well make a vacation out of it.  

Katniss had no idea how this was going to work. Her mother had promised Haymitch they wouldn’t be a burden, that he’d barely know they were there. Given how big his home appeared in photos, that might be possible, if it weren’t for her mother’s lofty ideals of getting to know him better. Katniss could just picture it:  her mother waiting on her uncle hand-and-foot, trying to get them all to bond, organizing family game nights, and consequently, Uncle Haymitch fighting the urge to jump out the window. Well, he might like the being waited on part.  

The reason they could take such a long trip was that their mother had her own business she could take anywhere; Prim attended one of those year-round high schools with the unusual breaks, and as for twenty-one-year-old Katniss, she’d long since graduated.  

Katniss had been accepted to a state university in North Dakota, but admittedly, she was torn about actually attending. For one, the tuition and fees were outrageous; it had seemed like a waste of money they didn’t have. On top of that, she hadn’t qualified for financial aid, and so, she’d been working her butt off for nearly two years to save up enough to get started. Her mom, and even sixteen-year-old Prim, had been scrimping and saving in order for her to go to college, too. It brought Katniss endless guilt, even more upon the realization that she was no longer certain it was what she wanted.  

She didn’t really know what she wanted to study or do with her life; all she knew was that she wanted to take care of her family and see Prim succeed. When their mother shut down for nearly six months after their father died, Katniss had feared everything would fall apart. She didn’t know how to reach her mother, and she hadn’t been prepared to basically become her sister’s caretaker at seventeen. She loved Prim; in fact, Prim was the only person in the living world she was sure she loved, but it had been nearly too much. They’d managed, though, as always.  

Now, Prim had dreams of becoming a doctor. She had real potential, too. Medical school was crazy-expensive, though, and Katniss wondered if perhaps her college money would be better invested in helping Prim reach her goal. Katniss was more of the worker bee, anyway. She’d been thinking about this a lot on their drive up, that is when Prim wasn’t prodding her into singing along with the radio (because she loved her voice) and playing car games. 

The Everdeens had taken an alternative route to Canada because Prim had expressed interest in visiting the International Peace Garden. When they arrived at the border, a friendly guard with an accent not too dissimilar from Katniss and Prim’s mother greeted them. He went about his routine check and sent them on their way with no issue, and they entered their neighbor to the north.  

Although they’d gone out of their way quite a bit, for Katniss, it was worth it to see Prim’s face as they walked through the floral (fortunately still in bloom) grounds of the Peace Garden. They toured the Sunken Garden and saw the Promise of Peace sculpture, a set of hands releasing a dove, which Prim loved and had to snap selfies of herself by, along with the entire family. They moved on to the North American Game Warden Museum, which Katniss found interesting, and then to the floral clock, another favorite of Prim’s. After that, they had a small picnic in the picnic area and finished off their tour.  

______________

Because of the detour, the Everdeens didn’t arrive at Haymitch’s place until well after three. Haymitch’s wooden home was adjacent to the serene blue-green Lake Victor, surrounded by tall evergreen trees and a mix of pine, balsam, ash, and poplar, whose leaves had transformed into a palette of brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges. Upon first inspection, it seemed to be the perfect escape into nature.  

When they pulled up, Katniss saw Haymitch exiting his home and approaching their car.  

“Well, there they are,” greeted her old uncle in his still-Americanized accent. He was obviously trying to sound peppy, but Katniss could tell he was skeptical about all this. So was she.  

Shutting her driver’s side car door, “Hello, Haymitch,” her mother greeted him with a smile. She stepped forward, reaching out for him. Haymitch met her halfway and gave her a squeeze. He also hugged Prim, then reluctantly turned to Katniss.  

There was no need to bother with it or mince words‒they both knew the other wasn’t a hugger, and they accepted that. Haymitch forced himself with his sister and with Prim, and as for Katniss, she didn’t really like being touched by anyone except Prim, and previously, her father. 

“How ya doing, sweetheart?” Haymitch asked, keeping his distance as if she was something venomous. Okay by her.       

“Fine, Haymitch,” she replied. “And you?” 

“Just dandy. Uh,” he turned back to the other two, “why don’t y’all come in,” he offered, motioning with his hand toward the house. They followed him inside, only to stand in the foyer for several awkward moments before Haymitch offered them the grand tour.  

The place was indeed large, with high ceilings supported by long, thick logs and massive windows, which could definitely use a dusting but beheld incredible views just the same. It was refreshingly uncluttered, aside from a substantial collection of alcohol behind his bar and in the liquor cabinet. Surprise, surprise.  Haymitch warned the girls about sneaking some of his liquor, but that was neither here nor there. Katniss had never touched the stuff in her life and didn’t plan to start now, and Prim would never do such a thing. Always sweet as peaches, she’d never even gone through a rebellious teenage phase.

Next, Haymitch showed them to their rooms‒there were enough for all of them to have one to themselves. Katniss took the smallest guest room, giving her mother the largest and her sister the one with the best view. Katniss didn’t plan on staying in the house much, anyway. 

After that, her mother got right to work, settling in and cleaning up around Haymitch’s place before announcing she was going to start dinner. Haymitch grumbled a little, but ultimately, didn’t stop her, especially with the promise of food hanging in the air. And while his sister made herself at home, Haymitch opted for taking a bottle of whiskey and a glass to his favorite chair.  

______________

After a big meal and a little conversation, the Everdeens retired to their respective rooms. Katniss assumed her mother would be reading and Prim would be listening to music or on her phone if she didn’t lose signal, and as for Katniss, she was planning to go out tomorrow morning, so she prepared her bag and went to sleep.  

That night, Katniss dreamt of her father. She hadn’t done so in a long time, but being in this place brought him readily to mind. It was the woods. Being in the woods reminded her so much of him. She wasn’t sure how to feel about her mind suddenly being flooded with thoughts of her dad. On the one hand, her memories of him were cherished, but on the other, sometimes forgetting was easier… 

______________

In the still of morning, just as the sun peeked out over the horizon, Katniss slipped out of bed. The house was peacefully quiet, aside from the typical early morning noises emanating from the wilderness outside. She dressed quickly and took the stairs as softly as possible, avoiding the couple of spots she’d discovered creaked loudly. She walked into the wide-open living room and was surprised to find Haymitch already awake, seated in his green overstuffed chair with his feet propped up on the coffee table, staring out the windows. He didn’t even turn to look at her when he said, “Good mornin’.”  

“Good morning,” she muttered back, stepping into her boots she’d left by the door. She laced them up and grabbed her father’s old, leather hunting jacket.  

“Going out?” he asked in a gruff, groggy tone.   

Katniss shrugged on the jacket. She could tell by the air that slipped in through the cracks of the windows upstairs that it was chilly out, but she had on layers, so she should stay warm enough.  

“Yeah,” she said, hiking her bag up onto her shoulder.   

Katniss expected her uncle to question where she was going (she didn’t really know where) and when she’d be back (she didn’t know that, either) as her mother and Prim would, but all he said was, “There’s some bear spray on the table. Take it with you.” 

She could get used to this, decided Katniss. A quick verbal exchange or, even better, none. She lightly pressed her lips together and thanked her uncle as she snatched the canister of deterrent from off the table and stuck it in her pants pocket. And she went outside.    

It was, indeed, chilly out, but not the unpleasant kind that cuts straight through you to the bone. Katniss observed the morning mist rising on the water and breathed in the perfect scent of trees and distant mountain air. Again, she was reminded of her father. Despite the bittersweet nostalgia, getting back to nature was always a good thing for Katniss. Maybe this place was a good idea after all.  Sticking her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she trudged off, traveling the short distance down to the lake.  

She hadn’t gone far when she noticed a long, wooden dock. She stepped onto the dock and took the walk all the way to the end. The tips of her boots just barely hung over the edge. Around her, it was almost completely silent, aside from the occasional honk of the geese flying in formation overhead. Katniss looked up, then down and out across the reflective surface of the water, now illuminated by the rising sun casting its soft pink and yellow glow. A pair of loons swam by, barely even noticing or caring about her. They must be used to people, she surmised. Not like this was a hopping tourist spot, but clearly, people lived here as she’d noticed several other large homes around.  

Katniss took in the rest of her surroundings visually, then shut her eyes and breathed in deep. It was definitely Fall. Fall had that exact same smell every year whether in the United States or Canada, and once again, it was one she so closely linked with her father.  

As she stood on the edge of the dock, a loud bark pierced the morning stillness. It was so high-pitched, so sudden, and so close that Katniss lost her balance, opening her eyes just in time to go careening into the lake. She was cold and wet, and it took her a moment to realize what had just happened and to get her bearings. By the time she did, a pair of strong arms were wrapped around her middle, pulling her back toward the dock. Somehow, she’d swum out a few yards in the wrong direction, probably disoriented by the shock of the surprisingly frigid-for-Fall water.   

But who had her around the waist?  

She was barely able to register the solid form of a guy before he hefted her onto the dock. Katniss got to her feet and took a couple of steps back, allowing him room to pull himself out of the water. She heard that unmistakable bark again and looked to see the dog (she assumed) that’d startled her swimming up behind the guy. The dog’s owner turned around and pulled it out of the water, setting it on the dock; it licked his face then trotted off toward land, giving her a cursory glance and a sniff along the way. Fortunately, it waited to pass by her before shaking out its thick, reddish-brown fur. 

It was only then that Katniss got a good look at her ‘rescuer.’  Standing at full medium height on the edge of the dock, she noticed he was broad-shouldered and stocky, with ashy blond hair that fell in damp waves across his forehead.  And very blue eyes. He was cute. Really cute, actually. Maybe the cutest guy she’d seen in a while, at least that she could recall right now. But maybe her brain was frozen from icy water. 

“Are you alright?” the guy asked sincerely.

“Y-yeah,” she mumbled, hugging herself as she involuntarily began to shiver. It hadn’t seemed very cold out, but of course, that’d all changed now that she was soaked through and the wind was hitting her. “Wh-why…did…y-you do that?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

The guy didn’t answer but, instead, grabbed his coat lying on the dock and strode over to her. With surprising flair, he whipped it around, draping it across her shoulders. She wanted to protest, but it was so cold, and his jacket was so warm that she couldn’t seem to form one. She shrugged it on, and he helped her slip her trembling arms through the holes. As if that wasn’t kind enough, he even zipped the jacket up for her. It felt like something an overly doting boyfriend would do, and despite her cheeks being practically frozen solid, she felt them heat up. 

And then, when he began brusquely rubbing her arms to create friction through his coat, she blushed even harder. A stranger was touching her‒she barely let her family do so‒in a practical yet affectionate manner, and she wasn’t even resisting… 

Katniss stared briefly down at her soggy boots, then raised her gray eyes to meet his blue ones. “Um, thanks. What about you?” she asked, referring to his lack of coat.  

He dropped his hands to his sides, giving her a small smile. “I’m fine.”    

Clearly, he wasn’t. His burnt orange sweater and khaki pants were saturated, and every few seconds or so, he’d shiver. He was obviously freezing but trying to hide it. A guy thing, she supposed.  

“Why did you do that?” she repeated her earlier question. “You didn’t need to do that. I was fine. I know how to swim.”  

Honestly, she wanted to rant at him. There was no reason for him to jump in; it made no sense at all, and now they were both soaked through.   

He shrugged, then embraced himself for warmth. “I didn’t know that. As for why, it was instinct. I just saw a person in trouble, and when a guy sees that, he’s gotta act.” 

So, he was just doing the decent thing any guy would do… Not any guys she knew. Maybe Canadian ones were different. 

“I’m Peeta,” he said, extending his hand to her. “Peeta Mellark.” 

“Katniss,” she replied, giving it a brief shake. “Everdeen,” she added hesitantly.  

He smiled at her. “Well, Katniss Everdeen, we, uh, probably shouldn’t stay out here, wet like this.” She was surprised he hadn’t said so sooner, and she was surprised neither of them had made any move to leave. “Where’d you say you were staying?” 

She eyed him suspiciously. “I didn’t.”  

“Well,” he exhaled, “if it’s far, maybe you better come to my place.”  

“What?” There was no way she was going off with a total stranger, to his house, no matter how cute or charismatic he was.  

“To get warmed up. It’s just over there.” He pointed, and she followed his finger. It was the house directly across the lake from Haymitch’s.

“It’s really not far to where I’m staying,” she said, not wanting to tell him exactly where.

“Yeah, but it’s a bit nippy, Katniss,” he persisted, briskly rubbing his own arms, “and being wet like that, you could catch your death of pneumonia, eh?” 

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “How do I know you won’t kill me?” 

Peeta smiled wider, revealing a pair of dimples. “Do I look dangerous?” 

She scrutinized him, his innocent little grin, those soft blue eyes crinkled up at the corners. “No, but appearances can be deceiving.” 

“Sure they can. But hey, I promise I won’t hurt ya.” He held up his hand in some kind of scouts’ honor symbol. “We Canadians are very friendly.” 

“It’s really not necessary, Peeta. You should go home and get yourself warm.” 

“Sorry. I would, Katniss, but Canadian hospitality dictates that I see you get warmed up, or at least get to the place you’re staying. I can tell you’re not from around here.”

Was that supposed to be an insult or simply an observation? Even if it was meant to be the former, he’d said it in such a polite manner that she couldn’t take it as such.  

Katniss heaved a sigh. “Okay.” She didn’t need it on her conscience if this nice guy got sick.  

“Good!” Peeta exclaimed, bouncing a little. She didn’t know whether from excitement over her agreement or trying to keep warm. Maybe a little of both. This got his dog excited, too, and it barked from beside him.  

“But, for your sake, I hope you’re harmless because I’ve got bear spray in my pocket.”  

Peeta raised a brow. “I see. Well then, I’d better be on my best behavior, huh? Cause that stuff’ll mess you up!” He grinned at her, and the corners of Katniss’s lips twitched in response.  

“Shall we go, then?” he suggested, motioning. Still being ultra polite, even though he had to be an icicle by now. She nodded.    

Why was she agreeing to this? Katniss wondered. Haymitch’s house was right over there. It wouldn’t take her that long to get there. Was she crazy?  

She didn’t have much time to ponder it, though, because Peeta was already gently leading her off, his hand ever so lightly brushing her back.   

______________

Peeta’s home was nearly as large as Haymitch’s and looked quite similar on the outside. Inside, it was structurally the same, yet completely different. He had art on the walls, a few sculptures, and hockey paraphernalia, the Winnipeg Jets. Overall, the place felt homier, warmer, and definitely more colorful.  

“It’s nice.” She was trying to be polite, though she knew she wasn’t anywhere near as polite as he was. “Do you live here alone?” she asked, glancing around for any signs of others. 

“Most of the time,” was his confusing response. He noticed her bewildered expression and gave a small chuckle. “Sometimes my parents come around, and one of my brothers stays here off and on.” 

Well, that didn’t clear things up much.  

“Long story.” He laughed. 

Clearly.     

“How old are you?” Katniss asked, not knowing where it came from. She hoped that wasn’t considered rude around these parts. 

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “25.” 

Peeta didn’t ask how old she was in turn, only smiled and led her upstairs. Katniss patted her pocket to make sure the canister was still there. Hopefully it still worked. But if Peeta was a killer, he was just about the nicest one she could imagine. Of course, wouldn’t that be the perfect crime?  

He twisted the knob and pushed open the second door on the left, explaining that it was his room. He stepped in, but Katniss lingered in the doorway while he went to his closet. He rummaged around a bit before pulling out a sweater and pair of sweatpants.  

“I’m sorry that this is all I have,” he said. “Not very fashionable, but it’s the smallest I own.”  

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t really care about fashion.” She didn’t, and she was already feeling much warmer. She thought to tell him she should really just go now, but Peeta was insistent, and so, she took the clothes and allowed him to lead her to a bathroom down the hall. “This is the nice one,” he said. “For guests. There are some towels in there. Feel free to use anything you need.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Once more, she nodded, and she stepped inside and locked the door.    

After dressing, Katniss left the bathroom. Peeta was waiting, leaning against the wall with a bag in his hand. “Here, a bag to put your wet clothes in,” he said. He thought of everything.  

It was only then that she caught his accent. Subtle yet noticeable, she heard it when he said certain words like bag, which he pronounced as a cross between ‘beg’ and ‘bayg.’ It wasn’t uncommon for people around her area and in nearby Minnesota to speak that way, so she hadn’t really thought about it, but she did now.  She thought the subtle difference in his speech to be kind of cute, actually.  

Peeta led her downstairs and asked her to wait on the couch. He still hadn’t changed himself, which she felt bad about. “I’ll be right back,” he said, dragging out the a in the word. “Then I’ll make you some tea.” 

“You don’t have‒” she began, but she stopped herself, knowing it was useless to argue. This Canadian stranger’s hospitality apparently knew no bounds.  

While he was changing, Katniss briefly wondered if she should just go, but that felt incredibly rude. He really had been so nice thus far, so she waited. 

He came back, dressed in a hockey jersey and jeans. His still slightly damp, wavy hair was slicked back in some kind of style now. It made him look less boyish, more manly, and she couldn’t deny, quite attractive. 

Peeta offered her tea once more, using his previous line about Canadian hospitality. She accepted and carefully watched him make it for her, so he didn’t slip anything in it.      

“You use that excuse about hospitality a lot,” she quipped.     

“S’not an excuse. It’s practically the law around these parts, sweetheart,” he said, handing her the tea. 

“Sweetheart? Another Canadianism?” She was joking, of course. She knew full well it wasn’t because Haymitch called her that all the time, and he was originally American. It had always seemed like a strange term to Katniss, though, one that only truly fit with couples who’d been married forever, and not even then for her. She was never planning on getting married.  

Then again, she kind of liked the sound of the word ‘sweetheart’ rolling off Peeta’s tongue…   

“Nah, that one’s just mine.” He winked at her, and in spite of how forward she thought him, she smiled ever so faintly over her mug. Then she blew lightly on the tea and took a tentative sip. Just right. 

She watched him prepare his own tea.  

“You don’t take sugar in your tea?” she asked, noticing he hadn’t added any to his cup.  

“Nah. I’m not much for sweet things. Drinks, anyway.” He winked at her again.  

Katniss pressed her lips together. Was he flirting with her?  

“Well, I like them. Sweet drinks,” she quickly added the second part. Peeta grinned at her clarification and took a seat on the couch with her, at the other end. She shifted in her spot, her back digging into the armrest. She was uncomfortable, yes, but not because she didn’t trust him. It was because of his looks and the scent coming from him and infused in the clothes she wore. Like cinnamon and dill.  

“So, you’re from the States?” Peeta asked, taking a sip, then setting his cup down on the coffee table. 

“Yes. How did you know?” 

“I can just tell. From the way you talk and your mannerisms.” 

Katniss picked at a loose thread on the side of his sweatpants. She wasn’t really good at conversation, and she didn’t know what to say next, until she caught sight of his dog over in the corner. “So, your dog…um, what breed is he or she?” 

“Oh, she’s a mutt.”  Peeta laughed. Katniss laughed a little, too. 

“Okay, but a mutt of what?” 

“Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever and lab.”  

Katniss nodded, even though she knew nothing about either type of dog, particularly the first. “I see. What’s her name?” 

“Biscuit.” 

“Biscuit. Really?”    

“What?” He smirked. 

“Well, it’s just…a little generic, isn’t it?” 

“Generic, huh?” Peeta chuckled. “Well, I didn’t name her. My brother did. Used to be his dog, but he found out his wife’s allergic. He was gonna have to give her up, so I took her.” 

“That was nice of you.” 

“I s’pose.” He shrugged. “Figured he could at least see Biscuit this way. I call her Cookie most of the time, though, because that’s what a biscuit is here. My brother’s into American slang,” he explained.     

“I see. Well, it’s…cute.”  

Peeta smiled.  

They talked a while longer, about basic things mainly, and after some time, Peeta cleared his throat. “So, Katniss, I was wondering…now that we’re dry, would you like to have some breakfast with me?”

“Uh…” 

“If you haven’t had any, and you’re hungry, that is.” 

“Well…” 

“I would cook for you, Katniss. I’m a decent cook, but I don’t have much in the house right now. Wasn’t expecting company.” Company. Meaning, the klutzy girl he’d fished out of the lake then dragged home to make sure she got dry and warm, all out of the goodness of his heart.  

“So, I was thinking I could take you out somewhere. Would you allow it?”  

She should turn him down, say she needs to go or that her family is expecting her. Speaking of which, her family…she’d almost forgotten about them. They probably were wondering what happened to her.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said, rather regrettably.     

“Please, Katniss. I’d really like to make it up to you. It was Cookie’s fault you fell in the lake.” 

Peeta put on a smile, and it was so bright and beautiful and hopeful that she hated to wipe it away by saying no.  

“Well…I…should check in with my family first.” 

“So, you’ll allow it?” he asked, grinning like mad. 

“Yeah,” she smiled back, “I’ll allow it.”  

She might as well. If the guy was going to kill her or attack her, he would have done it by now, wouldn’t he? She shook her head at her own thoughts.  

Then, another popped in.   

“Hey, do you have Tim Hortons?” 

Peeta chuckled. “Oh, you like Timmies, eh?” 

“Yeah, I like the timbits.” 

“A lot of Americans do, but let me tell you a secret…” He leaned across the couch, not close enough to touch her but enough that she could see the sparkle in his eyes and feel his breath against her face. “They’re much better here than in the States.” 

Katniss smirked. “I see.”     

“No offense to you guys, of course. And to answer your question, we do have Timmies, but it’s all the way in Winnipeg. I don’t mind taking you there, but would your family miss you?” He was giving her that dimpled grin again.  

Katniss laughed, a little awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, maybe someplace closer?” 

“I know just the place. A local place. Better than Timmies, too.” 

“Okay. Well, I should, uh…”  She rose from the couch, and he bolted upright at the same time. Probably’d been taught it was good manners. “Get back.” 

“May I walk you?” he asked.  

“Uh…” She hesitated. How would it look if she came strolling back to Haymitch’s house with a guy? Then again, how was it going to look when she told her family she was planning to go out for breakfast with the cute Canadian stranger across the lake? She couldn’t believe she was going to have breakfast with a cute Canadian stranger she just met…    

But she actually wanted to go.    

Katniss let Peeta walk her most of the way back to Haymitch’s then exchanged numbers and told him she’d meet him in twenty minutes at the dock. She figured she could ask Haymitch about him. It might be embarrassing, but she needed to find out a bit more information before going somewhere with him. As for her number, well, she couldn’t believe she’d given him that, but at least it gave her the option of blowing him off without in-person contact if she needed to. Then, if worse came to worse and he kept trying to contact her, she could always shut her phone off for the duration of the trip‒she barely used it, anyway‒and then she could get a new number back home… 

______________

When Katniss returned, Haymitch’s place was alive and filled with noise. Prim’s singing reverberated off the rafters, and her mother and Haymitch were bickering like (most) siblings do about some nonsense.  

“Katniss, there you are,” her mother exclaimed when she saw her, sounding a bit flustered. “Where were you?”  

“I sent the bear spray with her,” Haymitch declared, throwing his hands up as if he expected to be blamed and to say it wasn’t his fault.  

As for Katniss, she wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t want to say she was at some guy’s house, nor explain why she was wearing his clothes and carrying her damp ones in a bag.   

“I went out for a walk,” she opted for. The three all turned toward her, examining her curiously.  

“Katniss, what are you wearing?” asked her mother.

Great.

Well, she’d known that was coming. She should have tried to sneak in the back.

“Yeah,” Prim chimed in, “why are you wearing a sweater about three sizes too big for you that isn’t even yours, huh?!”

Might as well rip off the bandaid now. And so, she told the story…  

“Oh, how romantic!” gushed Prim when she’d finished.  

Their mother was staring at her while haphazardly wiping down the table for the third time, and Haymitch looked bored.    

“It wasn’t romantic at all; it was stupid,” Katnis corrected, earning a disapproving look from Prim. “I was right off the dock, and I can swim, as you know, but this guy just jumped in after me. He said something about Canadian hospitality and how he just reacted.”   

“What’d you say this guy’s name was?” asked Haymitch.  

“Peeta. Peeta Mellark. He’s your neighbor.”  

Realization began to dawn on Haymitch’s face. 

“And where’d you say he lived?” 

“Right across the lake,” Katniss answered. “You know him?” 

Haymitch stroked his stubbled chin, and his mouth curled up. “Oh yeah, the boy across the lake. Yeah, I know him. Nice kid. Bakes good bread.” 

“He baked bread for you?” 

“Yeah, when I moved in. Said he was bein’ neighborly.” 

Katniss smiled to herself. Yeah, that sounded like the Peeta she’d met… 

“Wait, what happened after?” Prim interjected. “Are you wearing his clothes?! Did you go to his place?!” Her voice was coming out in squeals; she was getting entirely too excited about the whole thing.  

Katniss sighed. “Yeah. I wasn’t going to, but he was insistent that I go to his place to dry off and warm up,  and I had that bear spray in my pocket, so I figured if he turned out to be a psycho I could use that or kick him in the groin and run.” 

Prim had the widest grin on her face now. “Oh, so he took you back to his place to ‘warm up,’ huh?” Prim used air quotes for the last part.  

“Don’t you dare use the air quotes, Primrose!” Clearly, her sister had been reading those ‘romantic’ novels again. “Nothing happened, Prim.” She was directing that statement at everyone, though. “Peeta gave me some dry clothes to wear, a warm drink; we talked a little, and that was it.” 

There was a group head bob.  

“And…well, he invited me to breakfast.” 

Katniss ignored her sister’s exclamation that she was going on a date and stormed up the stairs to her room, well, the room she was using. While trying to decide what to wear on her not-a-date, she considered the whole thing…  

Was this worth so much harassment? Katniss wasn’t sure, but she liked Peeta Mellark. She liked him a lot. As a matter of fact, if these were more normal circumstances…if she wasn’t in a foreign country, if she hadn’t known this guy for no more than two hours, and most importantly, if she was a completely different girl, she might say there was a chance she could be falling for Peeta…  

But no, it wasn’t possible. Not her. Not so soon. Not ever, really. Katniss Everdeen refused to fall in love or get married. She’d long since decided it wasn’t for her, that she would never go through what her mother did. She rejected the notion, altogether, of letting herself feel so much for another person that she would practically stop living if she lost them.  

But the feeling Peeta gave her today, it made her almost…hopeful. It made her wonder how good it could be… Still, she refused to succumb to it. She would go to breakfast with the Canadian boy across the lake; she would enjoy her time with him, and then she’d tuck the nice memory away for safekeeping. That would be the end of it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mandelion82 #submission #prompt

[nautilusopus]

do you have any favorite books?

Coraline by Neil Gaiman is the obvious answer lol. Still my favourite book to this day, obviously hugely influential in my own bullshit. Seriously check it out if you can find a copy, it’s pretty short and absolutely worth your time.

The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt and its sequel (The Devil’s Other Storybook) are more of an anthology of short stories starring the Devil, who occupies every role from vague background presence to put-upon protagonist that are funny and thought-provoking and genuinely clever and that pissed enough people off that it was a banned book for a while. “The Imp in the Basket” is the kind of short story I wish more people knew about and wanted to sincerely discuss what actually happened at the end.

ugh i haven’t read a book i actually enjoyed in over ten years at this point uhhhhhh

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I think potentially the only classic I had to read in school that I genuinely liked and actually finished in one sitting on my own time. And I think the first time any themes a book had for me actually clicked and I was able to do any kind of meta analysis of it completely unprompted. Baby’s first literary comprehension. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical piece set during the bombing of Dresden in WWII, and also some period in the “future” (the 80s lol), and ALSO on an alien planet as the protagonist is abducted and taken to a human zoo. The story is told achronologically, and I feel is hugely influential to my own shit where it skips around, building a narrative almost entirely by juxtaposing specific moments in time against one another. It's surreal and thought-provoking, and if you only ever make yourself read one classic, it should be this one. *

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. Bear in mind this thing has fuck-all to do with the movie, and while in retrospect I now am able to enjoy the Don Bluth movie as its own thing, I remember being fucking furious when they busted out a goddamn magical amulet. It’s a different kind of story, but is more magic realism than outright fantasy, and the titular rats get a lot more backstory, as does the late Mr. Frisby iirc.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. God that book fucked me up. It is about a snotty porcelain toy rabbit that gets dropped overboard a ship into the ocean one day, and the various owners he has over the years as he changes hands, and the impacts they have on him, and it makes me fucking cry every time and is to date the only book to ever do so so fairly warned be ye. Fucking shit I wish I could dish out gut-punches half as good as that book could.

The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman, which in and of itself is an angry rebuttal against everything the Chronicles of Narnia has to say, as well as Christianity in general. You’ve probably seen shit floating around about the HBO series, which I have not watched. Lyra is a horrible gremlin child running wild around a parallel universe Oxford until she accidentally stumbles onto a conspiracy that goes all the way to the Church which unofficially runs the government and eventually starts an interdimensional war against God. The first two books I think are better than the last one, which really drags in spots (and in a twist of irony had Lyra’s sexual awakening censored from the North American release which like... come on man). Absolutely worth checking out though, especially if you’re an angry pedant like I am.

Tales from the House of Bunnicula, by James Howe. Honestly the entire "Bunnicula Expanded Universe"(???) is great, but in particular I'm mentioning this sub-series because I think it actually kind of taught me to write. The framing device used is that they're being written by Howe's pet dog and sent in to him to publish by proxy. On top of having just a lot of good storytelling tips for beginners (how to create a plot! how to create character motivations! how to write female characters like actual people!), they're also fun little satire pieces of various kinds of genre fiction. Like, the third book is a riff on Harry Potter and making fun of all of JKR's worst writing tendencies, like her compulsion to phonetically write out everyone's fucking accent.

these days i'm just too picky to enjoy books anymore idfk. you have no idea how fucking disheartening it was growing up with actual taste (snooty snooty snoot) and watching everyone go nuts over stuff like divergent and eragon and maximum ride and fuckmothering twilight and shit. like, yeah misogyny absolutely played into why people shat on it because teenage girls aren't allowed to like anything, but lest we forget they were still shitty books guys. that never stopped being true or anything. and you were a social pariah if you didn't like them and that sucked. and then a couple ostensibly good series, like harry potter and artemis fowl and hunger games just dropped the fucking ball for one reason or another as they went on and never picked it back up. i think the mid 2000s almost singlehandedly just killed any real enthusiasm i had for reading altogether (this is not even getting into the fact a lot of really fucking bad "grown-up" novels came out around that period too. whole era was a baaaad time for books). so here i am writing, i guess, because i've decided you fuckers can't be trusted to make anything good yourselves. if you want something done right...

(*I like to think if Cloud wrote a book he’d write something like Slaughterhouse-Five. I think at one point I was even working on a fic along those lines -- a fictional story vaguely based off the burning of Nibelheim and the fall of Shinra that was written, in-universe, by Cloud several years later. Abandoned it just because of how fucking complicated it would be to do. Might come back to it one day.)

#asks #Anonymous

[thegeminisage]

the south is like another country

i have an entire essay on how the current radicalism and steep political divide in this country can be traced directly back to the civil war - rural white southerners here playing the part pre-ww2 germany, the part of a resentful, conquered nation assimilated into the nation that conquered them, because if you think about it the south/the confederacy WAS its own nation for a time, that lost a very bloody war, and paid very steeply for it (not that slavers didn’t deserve every bit of misery the “carpetbaggers” threw at them), and the bitterness from that loss/the lost capital from having their slaves freed has been handed down through the generations, to people who now live in abject poverty while their livelihoods are destroyed by late stage capitalism, and their schools are so broke a lot of people here don’t even know how to read, and their towns are eaten alive with meth, and they’re still looked down upon by most of the country for being racist uneducated backwater hicks (to be clear, we should always look down on racism and racists, but it’s not making them any less bitter/ripe for being drawn into the cult of tr*mp’s america and f*cism).

but anyway this post isn’t about that! this post is about how when i go up north and i say “y’all it really is like i’m living in a different country” NOBODY BELIEVES ME. we speak the same language, we’re all americans, right? PFFFFFT. this amazon van thing just drives it home (pun intended). here’s a list of differences from the deep south* to the rest of the country*:

*the deep south here meaning the RURAL deep south. sorry to everyone who lives in cities/the suburbs and/or in border states like maryland and virginia. i’ve been to maryland and virginia and they are technically southern and some of this applies to them but it is not quite as extreme as it is here. the rest of the country includes the other states i’ve been to (california, washington state, new york, etc), which are in mostly every area except the midwest. i cannot personally vouch for the midwest. sorry, midwesterners! rural midwest probably has a lot of things in common with the deep south because rural life is different and also how easily people move around this country, but whatever

this is a long-ass post get ready

difference #1: DRIVING. driving & pedestrians are entirely different un rural areas vs urban areas. for starters, southern towns often do not even have sidewalks. this is because of 1. budget and 2. racism.

budget: rural towns are very spread out, and it costs major $$$ to put sidewalks in. it’s just not worth the trouble, financially, to put a sidewalk where only 12 people are ever going to use it, AND spend the money to maintain it. never gonna happen. racism: initially, suburbs especially in the south were seen as safe havens where people could get away from the stress of living in “urban” (re: integrated) areas. that the neighborhoods were only accessible by car and NOT by people who were too poor (black) to afford automobiles were just an added bonus. 

as such, the first time i left the southeast, i was SHOCKED to see people walking and biking WITH (or indifferent to) the flow of traffic. down here we are taught that if you are walking along the road (or biking, because bikers get lumped in with pedestrians down here), it is very very very crucial that you walk against the flow of traffic, because you cannot expect drivers to see you and not mow you down. the onus is on YOU to get out of THEIR way. additionally, walking in knee-high grass along the side of the road sucks, and because there aren’t many people here, the roads are usually totally empty. so oftentimes pedestrians just straight up walk ON the road. and if you do that you absolutely have to be able to see a car coming from a long way away, because rural drivers on completely empty roads tend to take them at extremely high speeds just for fun. the people who live diagonally across from me have had to replace their mailbox four times because folks take that blind curve at 90mph. i had a cat get hit by a car on that road. (they all live indoors now.) i even witnessed a car accident happen there when i was just outside minding my own business. ever see a tire fly 12 feet into the air and come down into someone’s windshield? that’s what happens when you hit power line pole driving like that.

the first time i ever encountered one of those pedestrian crossing buttons was in california in the early 2010s. i had literally never seen one before because we simply don’t have them here. they’re not very self-explanatory if you have been jaywalking your whole entire life because all you’re taught to do is look both ways and make sure the street is empty before you cross. northern/urban roadways are made so that pedestrians and drivers can both get to where they’re going. in rural/southern areas pedestrians might as well not bother.

interestingly, while not an entirely southern problem, there’s a loose correlation between rural areas and more problems with drunk drivers.

on the driving side, driving in a city is batshit insane. it’s both faster and slower. there is NO space and you’re expected to go whenever you have so much as an inch to worm your way in. there’s more traffic, and the traffic totally dictates your speed. in the south you can change lanes if you want to drive faster or slower and weave around traffic or let it weave around you, but in a city there’s no other lane to change to and if you don’t drive at the speed of the people ahead of and behind you you will die. you turn fast, you brake fast, etc. whenever i come back from driving in a city the people who ride with me think i’m insane. you don’t PULL ONTO A ROAD if you can SEE ANOTHER CAR THERE, what the fuck? meanwhile i’m like “lol that is six miles of space i have plenty of time” and give everyone in my vicinity heart palpitations until i readjust. 

tailgating in a rural area is something only assholes do (done by people on a two-lane road to encourage the person in front of them to go faster because the only other lane is for oncoming traffic), and if someone gets within one car length of me on a two-lane road i can very passively aggressively slow my vehicle to a crawl until they back the fuck off. in a city you’re lucky if you have a twelve inches between your bumper and the next car’s hood ornament.

difference #2: LANGUAGE. this is a small one, but the southern dialect combined with the lack of literacy means i am learning certain things late in life. phrases i have heard verbally with my ears but had never seen written out include: “chest of drawers” which i thought was “chester drawers” - “seven year itch” which i thought was “seven year each” - “albeit” which i thought was “i’ll be it.” i’ve made a deliberate effort to unlearn mine own accent/dialect but i run into weird shit all the time. remotes are mashers, shopping carts are buggies, you put stuff up instead of putting it away, i fix you a drink instead of pouring you one, we shoot the game instead of play it. my mom LITERALLY can’t understand me if i speak too quickly - she has to remind me all the time to slow down and put on my southern.

difference #3: TECHNOLOGY. issue of whether or not you personally have the creepy amazon vans aside, the rural south is behind the rest of the country on technology. things in cities are AUTOMATED. things like the little button you press to cross the street, tickets you take at parking garages, even the parking meters you find in cities, that’s just the beginning of it. one time i came across a little computer touch screen in a MCDONALDS where you put your order in. you didn’t even go up to the counter. you just put your order on the screen and swiped your card and then they got it ready for you and you never had to speak to a human person. self-checkouts, gas pumps where you can swipe your card and not go in and pay at first...the south got those YEARS behind everybody else. in the mid-2010s i went to DC and visited a target for maybe the 5th time ever and i was BAFFLED by the self-checkout. i had no idea how to use it! it was like less than ten years ago and i was IN MY TWENTIES and i had never seen one before! when we send a package we have to talk to a human person. when we order food we usually have to talk to a human person. apps for places like dominos and subway have not been in use here for very long. my county just got doordash LAST YEAR. 

because i am 31, and because the south is so technologically behind, i am actually old enough to remember how when you used to go to a gas station an attendant would not only pump your gas but wash your windshield for you while you just SAT IN THE CAR. that seems like something from the 50s but it actually was a thing here in my childhood IN the 90s. i wish i was making this up.

difference #4: INFRASTRUCTURE. this sort of goes hand-in-hand w/ the last point because so much of our infrastructure is made of technology, and it’s also more of a rural/urban thing than a south/north thing. but just for fun here’s a non-exhaustive list of things i don’t have in my town:

starbucks* - the first time i went to a starbucks i was in my 20s

a public pool - we used to, but now the only pool here requires a YMCA membership. the only baseball diamond in this county is also at the Y.

walmart

in fact, ANYWHERE to buy clothes that is not a goodwill or other secondhand store. i cannot buy clothing unless i order it online or LEAVE MY TOWN. almost all of the clothing i own is from walmart because it’s one of the only places in my entire county where you can actually PURCHASE clothing.

grocery store chains? pffft. my town has two entire stores and both are small southern chains. i didn’t go into a publix for the first time until two years ago when i went to florida. i’ve NEVER entered a whole foods.

food delivery? yeah, no. like i said, we got doordash last year, but before that the only place you could get delivery from was a pizza chain. we only have two pizza places in my town that deliver, and one is a local place, not attached to any chain, so i can’t spend my loyalty points there. (it’s very expensive there too.) last year it was CLOSED for six months because the manager got caught dealing meth. every last one of the delivery drivers was trafficking it for him. they all got fired and had to restart from the ground up. for that short time, it was not possible to get any food delivered to your house whatsoever.

a hospital/ambulance services - if someone is sick, we have to take them to the hospital in laurens, the town next door (about 15-20 minutes by car). the town i live in lucky - we have our own police and fire departments. (acab but you know what i mean.) joanna is a smaller town next to mine that isn’t a real town - it’s been demoted to a census designated area because only 2000 people live there. if they have an emergency, they have to use OUR fire and police departments, and LAURENS’s ambulance/hospital system

after-school places kids can go to keep from getting into trouble. we have the Y, if you have money (no one here has money), and we have churches, but mostly schools can’t afford to run too many extracurriculars. there’s nothing to do here but church and meth.

food banks: zero. we have food DRIVES sometimes where people will come from further away and bring free food, but if you’re hungry, there’s nowhere you can go for help - you have to wait for help to come to you.

libraries: we don’t have our own library. we have a branch of the county library that’s physically located in our town. but we share books with the rest of the entire county, so everything is always checked out or at the other branch. 

*we technically have a starbucks that’s in the local college campus, but only college students are allowed to be there. they’ll still serve people without a college ID because no one gives a fuck, but you can’t linger and loiter and hang out like you do in a normal starbucks. we also have one in the barnes and noble in greenville, which is about an hour away by car, but again, it’s a mini starbucks that serves a limited menu and none of that weird Starbucks Culture™

here’s a few things i don’t have in my ENTIRE COUNTY:

movie theaters - technically. we have a Historial™ one-screen theater in laurens that shows one movie for two weeks a month after it hits regular theaters and then switches to another, and if you miss it, too bad. this is a VERY recent addition - it wasn’t restores until i was in my 20s as a kid and a teenager i had to ride in a car an hour or more to go to the movies.

target. only commies and yankees have target. down here we do walmart.

malls

arcades

skate parks/skating rinks

bowling

museums

zoos/aquariums

campgrounds

fairs. our county fairground got razed a decade ago because there just werent enough people showing up to justify the expense. so no more fairs. you have to have people to fund things and down here there just aren’t enough people anywhere.

you get the idea. we don’t have entertainment. like i said, nothing to do but church and meth.

CLASSES FOR STUFF: knitting classes, dancing classes, driving classes? nope. gymnastics, karate dojos, golf, knitting groups, books clubs, cooking classes? [GAMESHOW BUZZER]. you can’t even hire a clown for a birthday party out here. we do have a shooting range. ONE. in the entire county. and a race track. and a rather infamous former kkk memorabilia store. they made a movie about that (serious tw for this trailer - they’ve got white hoods, burning crosses, pepper spray, the whole nine), which, yes, takes place in laurens, aka right next door to me. i used to walk by that place all the time when i was playing pokemon go. haven’t seen the movie but the shooting locations in the trailer make laurens look a lot bigger and prettier than it really is in real life - especially the racetrack, which, in the trailer, is actually PAVED. (this is inaccurate to real life.)

EDUCATION: lots of people can’t read. we have two schools for illiterate adults, one religious college, and one branch of one of the state colleges that has a skeleton staff and a fuck ton of computers (you basically just go there to distance learn/e-learn - if you want to take real classes from this college, you have to drive at least an hour.)

support groups/group therapy: almost none. we have al-anon and weight watchers, but that’s about it. there’s only half a dozen therapists in my entire county, and none that operate from my town. mental healthcare down here is bullshit.

on food: we don’t have many sit-down restaurants, where servers bring you your menu and your food. if you don’t count waffle houses, my town has 4. my county has 9. in and out, 5 guys, applebees, ruby tuesday, red lobster, olive garden, panda epxress? forget it. those places were and still are rare treats. i’ve only been to an olive garden twice. red lobster once. whenever i leave my county i BEG for chinese because there’s only two chinese restaurants in our entire county and one of them is crazy expensive and the other one sucks. 

we also don’t have the more important stores you need to like, live. if we need to exchange our router at a charter store? yeah, we don’t have one. need to visit the sprint store to get your phone repaired? nuh-uh, we don’t have any phone stores either. my family recently switched to at&t because it was the only company that had a physical location in our county. before that, we had to drive an hour for even the smallest repair.

on a grimer note: we don’t have homeless shelters! homeless in laurens county? too bad for you. we do have homeless PEOPLE. they just have nowhere to go except the churches

hospitals? only kind of. like i said, our county has one, but it’s not equipped to take seriously sick people. when my mom had a heart attack she had to be driven straight to greenwood, which is 45 minutes away if you’re not in an ambulance. they obviously made it faster than that, but still. that was scary. it took them a long time to get here. i had a distant relative of mine die before the ambulance made it because they were SO far out in the sticks, even further than me.

we also don’t have any specialty stores. sporting goods, gamestops, shoe stores, florists, craft stores, bookstores, best buys...forget it. if you can’t buy it at walmart, you just can’t buy it. the exceptions: my TOWN has one jewelry store, two hardware stores, and two auto repair stores. my COUNTY has three clothing stores, none of which are in my town, one place that sells used TVs, and one movie rental place. thrilling, right? i can rent a movie if i drive out of town. (i know streaming killed the rental business, but we also only had two places when i was a kid, if you counted the rental section in the grocery store.)

so, yeah. i know the term “shithole” is really loaded these days, but rural areas are just plain less developed, and often in seriously poor repair because nobody fucking uses them. there USED to be more stuff here - my mom was on a bowling league, and as a kid i had a birthday party at a skating rink - but late stage capitalism and drugs destroyed it all. people ran out of money to do things like skate and bowl and so those places closed. the south is full of empty store fronts and deserted strip malls slowly being eaten by kudzu. my brother got out of this town and whenever he winds up back here (not often) he remarks on how completely and utterly dead everything feels. “my friends who live in greenwood now think they’re all rural,” he said once. “they complain constantly about how remote it is. but they have no idea. they wouldn’t make it five minutes out here.” greenwood has its own movie theater, mall, starbucks, homeless shelter, food bank, and hospital.

so, yeah! if you were wondering what rural white southerners are so fucking mad about, that’s part of it. propaganda and xenophobia and racism has their anger directed ENTIRELY at the wrong people, but it’s hard to argue that the anger itself isn’t just a little bit justified.

difference #5: CULTURE. specifically culture around food, and the culture around the civil war. i could write an entire other essay about the culture of the church being everything because the church IS the only semblance of infrastructure we have and this is why the south is so homophobic, but we’ll skip that for now.

food: this is a quickie, because i sort of touched on it already, but there are like, almost NO vegetarian options here. there’s very limited choices of cuisine. it’s ALL waffle house and soul food. we have a lot of mexican places because we’re physically close to the mexican border, but aside from that, forget finding like indian or thai or japanese or anything like that. no sushi. forget finding a menu that has meals that are halal or kosher. there’s just. no culture here. no variety. you know? like i said, our entire county doesn’t even hit double-digits for proper sit-down restaurants.

civil war: i’m not going to go into the big stuff since i sort of covered it at the top and also this post is getting way too long, but to other white rural southerners there is legitimate baggage around the fact that my mom married a yankee and that i am half-yankee. and he’s not even a real yankee! he was born up north but raised in southern florida. (florida is weird. the further south you go geographically, the less southern you are culturally.) yet: my family makes jokes that are sometimes not jokes about this. when i drop this information in casual conversation people get that look on their faces like: ah, that explains it. it being that i am not religious and don’t laugh at racist jokes and maybe i am queer?? (strangers tend to be unsure about this last part, even when i’m wearing rainbows.) it’s because i’m half-yank! that explains everything! the xenophobia is SO strong here that white people are even xenophobic at OTHER WHITE PEOPLE. 

so in conclusion when i say the north is like another country, it’s because the people who raised me think of it like another country. and culturally! it is buck wild! the differences that there are! when i leave this town i feel like i step into fucking star trek! if you are not from the rural south, and you have never been to the rural south, please do not come here! i’ve been to a few different places now and this is definitely my least favorite one. 

#personal #i guess #it's ok to rb if you want to though??? tbh i don't think most people will even get to the end lol #anyway here's my college lecture about the south it's not very good or college level actually lmao #this is AIRQUOTE FIELD STUDY AIRQUOTE #the experiences u have as a half-yank white person in the rural south are crazy #bc other white people think you're okay to listen to them say what they REALLY think #and then backtrack rapidly when they realize you aren't #now that i'm grown and woke i can't believe half-yankee is even a thing. #anyway this post brought to you by the maddening realization of how technologically far behind we are #WE DON'T EVEN HAVE THE CREEPY AMAZON VANS #the automated package sending...what i wouldn't give not to have to talk to people to mail stuff #rip. :/

[christophcalledbingo]

The Guessing Game (Dr. King Schultz fic)

I’m not a native speaker of English (I am in fact Spanish), but I do try my best, so forgive me if there is any mistake. I’m also learning German because procrastinating by doing other things rather than college stuff is my jam. I think I’m going to do a second part of this, so I hope you like the first one!

Dr. King Schultz x original female character. 

Warnings: hints of depression, some verbal abuse and attempt of physical abuse and a lot of swearing.

Translations: 

Gute Nacht Fraulein - Good night darling

Sprichst du Deutsch? - Do you speak German?

Bitte - Please

Ja - Yes

Danke - Thank you

Dr. King Schultz is not mine (I wish, duh!)

Another night of pouring drinks for a living. I could not imagine that my life would turn out like this when first I arrived to America with my parents when I was a child. Now I’m completely alone and in a very urgent need of money, so I thought I could handle two jobs… I’m not going to lie, it’s actually pretty difficult being a teacher by day and bartender by night. You might be wondering how I ended up being a bartender, me, a woman. Well, nobody else wanted to do it so there was no objection for me take the part. It is very tiring job and most customers behave like pigs. Some nights I can handle it, other nights I just cry myself to sleep. It’s ok though, I do it for the kids. 

It is a lively Friday night, everybody is out. Being the only tavern open in such a small town is both convenient and a mess. A few bottles are thrown, many spits are being missed and a few tables are being turned in angry poker disputes. Being surrounded by so much uncontrolled testosterone gives me massive headaches, I wish I could go out for a smoke, but today there is nobody than can cover me at the bar. Suddenly someone catches my eye, a stranger enters through the door. I remember every face in this town and no many outsiders come here, but he is in fact a stranger, and quite handsome if I say so myself. He catches me looking at him and I blush slightly. He gets closer to the bar and I can see him clearly now. He looks physically mature but in his eyes look very young, and with a hint of trouble. Blue, brown and green. As if his eyes were a cup of green tea that had been sweetened with brown sugar, and in their reflection I could see a very blue and beautiful sky. He has a very well trimmed greyish beard and mustache, which actually frames his face in a very nice way. I think he is not American and when he opens his mouth my doubts are solved. 

“Gute Nacht, Fraulein.” German, huh. It’s been years since I’ve talked to another European, this is going to be interesting. 

“Good evening to you too, what can I get you?” I say, trying to make him notice that I understood him. 

“Oh! Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“A bit, I can understand it better than I can speak it though.” I feel like I just made a fool of myself, but at least it was a nice icebreaker. 

“So, you are not German, but I can tell than you are not American either.” He is very charming...

“What gave it away?”

“Not many Americans know German, I just took a wild guess.” He is very charming indeed. “From where in Europe are you from?”

“Try to guess” I say with a grin in my face, trying not to laugh. “Oh, wait…”

“Yes?” He says, looking directly at my eyes.

“You didn’t tell me what do you wanted to drink, let me fix it up for you while you guess.” He smiles warmly. 

“Pale ale, bitte.” That hint of German in the end makes my legs shake. 

“Right up!” I say, trying to hide the fact that I’m actually shaking. 

“So, you don’t have an American accent, that’s for sure. You are more like from the south, from the Mediterranean?” 

“Ja!” 

“You’re way of moving is quite rhythmical, not like an Italian though…”

“Nein.” As I say this, a drunk guy comes right at me, right when I’m in the middle of serving the ale, and grabs my hand from the other side of the counter. 

“DaMN! YoU are BEautifuL!” He is grabbing tighter, fingernails and all. I drop the glass, half full of bear, due to the pain.

“Please, let me go…” I say, trying to hold back my tears from the pain, my wrist is starting to bleed. 

Before I can say anything else, the handsome stranger grabs the drunk from the neck, but the latter is not letting me go, in fact he is grabbing tighter, and the wound gets deeper. 

“Let her go.”  Says the stranger with a very deep voice. 

“HeY HoN, Do YOu WanT to Go TO thE BAck aNd SuCk mY-”

Before he finishes that sentence, the stranger grabs the arm that was around my wrist and twists it, I hear a pop and then I’m free.

“MOTHERFUCKER! YOU BROKE MY ARM!” The pain must have made him sober all of a sudden.

“Next it’s going to be your nose if you don’t shut your mouth. I don’t tolerate the rude, even less when it involves hurting others.” He looks at me while I’m trying to stop the bleeding from my wrist. 

Everybody in the tavern is looking at us, not as if they want to start a fight, but as if they were amazed by the stranger, myself included. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!” My boss shouts as he appears from the other side of the room. 

“Sir, she has been hurt, I’m taking her to her home.” The stranger said, while helping me to get up.

“No way, I don’t have-” He shuts in an instant when he sees the other guy’s arm.

“What did you do to him?! Are you insane?! He is a client!”

“And she is your employee.”

“I’m going to call the sheriff!”

“Do it, call him…” I don’t know why, but the stranger is smiling. 

“Tom, go tell Sheriff Cooper that we need him, immediately.” And there goes Tom.

“I just got one question for you.” Says the stranger. 

“Huh? The fuck are you saying?”

“Are you Mr. Frank Last?” Why is he-

“Yes, I am. Why are you asking, old man?” Then, the handsome stranger looks at me, smiling.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Dr. King Schultz, travelling dentist and bounty hunter. And you, my friend, have a price for your head: for breaking, entering and stealing on multiple houses, north of the river.”

“Wait, how the fu-”  He cannot finish his sentence. The strange- the doctor is so quick that I didn’t even notice that he had his gun out. He puts a bullet on my boss's right leg, making him fall to his knees.  

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! SON OF A BITCH! YOU FUCKING SHOT ME!” There is blood all over the floor.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE!!!!!” Sheriff Cooper is at the door, looking at all the mess. The doctor helps me to get to the sheriff, but he looks very calmed, which is a very huge contrast if we take into consideration the ambiance of the bar: tense as fuck. 

“Ah! You must be Sheriff Cooper. My name is King Schultz and I’m here to recover the bounty for Mr. Frank Last, a delinquent that has 500$ on his head.”

“What?!” The sheriff looks genuinely puzzled. 

“He is a criminal.” He hands a wanted poster of my boss’s face to the sheriff. “And also, that guy over there was trying to hurt this lovely lady.” With tears still in my eyes I look at the sheriff and nod. The sheriff sighs.

“Ok people, this establishment is closed until further notice.” Everybody shouts and screams, but there is nothing they can do about it. 

...

The handsome doctor asks me where I live, and I just tell him, no doubts or hesitations, I just want to get home. We enter my cold and tiny home and he asks me for a first aid kit or any supplies that may help to cure my wounds. I tell him that everything he might need is in the bathroom, and so he leaves me alone in my kitchen. 

“Got it!” He shouts in the distance after a couple of minutes. 

As he examines my wound, I look at his face, which is truly focused on my hand. I see his eyes flickering with excited concentration.

“That detestable man had dirt on his nails and now the wound is infected.” Of course it is, all the bad stuff happens to me.

“You said you were a dentist, right?”

“Ja”

“Isn’t curing wounds more of a ‘doctor doctor’ thing?” He bursts into laughter. 

“Of course, but you do not start working in the bounty hunter business if you don’t know how to cure a basic wound.” I just made a fool of myself, again. “And also, dentists also need to know how to cure wounds. If you saw the kind of mouths I’ve seen, truly disgusting.” As he says this, he starts to disinfect, and I try my best to hold the pain.

“...Spanish”

“Huh?”

“I’m from Spain, but I moved here with my family when I was very young.”

“How interesting, I’ve never been to Spain… Is it nice there?”

“I don’t remember much, but I do remember the nature, the sun and the breeze. Much more steady than here, that’s for sure.”

“It sounds lovely.” He has finished to cure my wound and has putted a bandage on my wrist to protect it from further infection.

“By the way, the name is Clara, Clara Valle. However, everybody is so funny around here that they call me ‘Claire of the Valley’.”

“But… we are on a mountain?”

“It makes no sense, I know. It’s just the literal translation of my surname”

“Well, Clara, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He grabs the hand that is not injured and kisses my palm, I blush a lot. No one has never been such a gentleman to me, I quite like it. 

“The pleasure is mine. How should I call you? Is Dr. Schultz ok?”

“Just call me King, if you want of course.”

“Danke, King.” He turns away as if is looking for something, when in truth he is hiding the fact that he is blushing. I can see it in his ears, they are completely red.

“For what?”

“Saving me? Curing the wound? I don’t know, you name it. Most of the times working at the tavern is bearable, but it’s nice to know that someone has your back.” I say, looking at the ground. Half ashamed that I needed help today, half happy that it was him who came to the rescue. 

“You don’t have to thank me, it was the least I could do. They were behaving like neanderthals, absolutely detestable.”

“I couldn’t even serve you your drink!”

“That is the least of your worries. Being completely honest, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.” Oh my Lord, is he flirting with me? I just stay in silence, I don’t know what to say… If I open my mouth it would be to press it against his, but that is a very bold move. I just met him! I don’t know if he finds me attractive enough, no one ever does... “Well, I should get going then.”

“Wait! You could sleep here if you don’t have anywhere to do it. My sofa is quite comfortable. I could sleep in it and you could sleep in my bed. It’s the least I can do…” I stop talking when I realise that he is smiling, a very wide smile, and that he is looking at me in the eyes. “I’m so sorry if that was inappropriate! I was raised that way, I’m very direct!” I’m practically shouting because of the embarrassment. 

“I can see that, but don’t worry. I will go to the inn and stay there for a few nights, preparing for my next travel.”

“Oh…” It was obvious, but somewhere inside of me hoped that he would stay.

“Well, if there is nothing else you need help with-”

“Actually, I cannot move my hand very well as you can imagine. Could you help me untie my corset?” I say, while I grab my hair and show him my back.

He says nothing, he just gets close to me and starts to undo the knots of the corset. It is convenient that I’m no facing him, because my face is red once again. I can feel his breath in my neck. I also feel like fingers brushing my back intentionally, but I’m a bit scared of my own feelings, so I just ignore it. I do everything I can to hide my face and my intentions until he finishes.

“There you go, glad that I was able to provide some further assistance. Goodbye then, dear Clara.” He says, while looking at the floor.

“King, could we meet before you leave town?” He raises his head and he looks at me while I hold my loose corset to my chest.

“Of course. In fact, I can look for you tomorrow. We could go for a cup of coffee, if you want.”

“That would be truly delightful.”

#dr king schultz #christoph waltz #django unchained #fanfic

[lovemesomesurveys]

What battery percentage is your phone on right now? 44%.

Do any medical afflictions run in your family? Cancer and diabetes. 

Who did you last talk to in person and what did you say? My mom. We were talking about the story being covered on 48 Hours on the ID channel.

What's your favourite Mexican dish? I like burritos, especially from this local Mexican restaurant. It’s simple, just beans, rice, cheese, cilantro, sour cream and guacamole, but it’s so good. I like to have this gravy and cheese dip on the side for dipping, too.

Have you ever been to a professional sports game? Yeah, I’ve been to a hockey game once.

How far do you live from New York City? I’m all the way across the country on the opposite side in California. 

How often do you talk to your parents? We live together, I see and talk to them all the time.

Do you prefer pads, tampons or something else? I just used pads. TMI, but I say “used” because I don’t have a menstrual cycle anymore due to health reasons.

What was the weather like in your town today?  It’s supposed to be 77 F today. It’s slowly been starting to cool down. I need it to drop down more for my liking, though.

Are there any phrases or words that you say a lot?  Yes, but for some reason whenever I’m asked this I can’t think of an example.

How many boyfriends or girlfriends have you ever had? One.

Have you ever ordered a specially made cake from a cake shop? Yeah, my childhood birthday cakes were ordered from a cake shop.

What was the last movie you saw and who did you watch it with? In the Tall Grass on Netflix with my mom and brother.

What's the name of your first real boyfriend or girlfriend? Derek.

Do you clean your ears daily? Not daily, but a few times a week.

What accent do you have? As a Californian I feel like I don’t have one, but I guess it would be a Californian one? *shrug* Like I said, I don’t feel like I have one but everyone does. It’s not distinctive like someone from Boston or North Dakota, ya know? Ha, I Googled Californian accent and it even says, “Their accent is indeed similar to General American, meaning it sounds to American ears like it isn't an accent at all. Everyone has an accent, however.”  Then it talks about how we pronounce certain sounds/words differently and some of our sayings and slang. Ha, it also brings up how if anything, non-Californians would probably think of a Californian accent being valley-girl or surfer dude, which yeah that’s true people do tend to associate us with that and words like “hella” and “stoked.”

What scent of air freshener do you keep in your bathroom? It’s a pumpkin cinnamon scent or something like that.

Have you ever dated a model? No.

What's the best job you've ever had? I’ve never had a job.

How about the worst? --

Do you have naturally straight hair? No, I have wavy hair.

What is your ultimate goal in life? I don’t know. 

Have you ever visited someone in prison? Yes.

What months were you and your siblings born in?  I was born in July, my younger brother was born in February, and my older brother was born in November.

Do you write down your passwords in a physical place to prevent losing them?  Yeah.

What are your three favourite vegetables? Potatoes, spinach, and broccoli. 

How many times a day do you check Facebook or any other social network? I check Facebook and a few other social medias a few times a day.

When was the last time you had a blocked nose? It gets stuffy now and then, but it doesn’t tend to last long. I haven’t had a real stuffy nose, like because of a cold, since earlier this year.

Who is your favourite comedian? I don’t have one.

What colour are the socks you're wearing today? White.

What did you have for dinner last night? Wingstop. 

What was the last concert you went to? Green Day back in 2009.

Are you an ugly crier? Yeah. I’m also just ugly.

What scent is the soap or body wash you use in the shower? It’s just Caress bar soap, it smells clean and soapy.

Have you ever had sex in/on a vehicle? No.

Who do you live with? My parents, brother, and doggo.

What letter does your street name begin with? --

Do you do anything to groom your eyebrows? I pluck them.

When was the last time you ate at McDonald's? A few months ago.

What's your favourite Popsicle flavour? Not a popsicle kind of gal, really.

Who was the last person you sent a Facebook message to and what did you say? My aunt. She was just checking in and seeing how I’ve been doing.

Do you have any injuries at the moment? Yes.

Have you ever been to an ophthalmologist? I’ve been to the optometrist numerous times, but I don’t think an ophthalmologist. 

Do you own any animal print clothes? No, not my style.

Are you tall, short or average? Would you change this? I’m short and “I wish I was a little bit taller.”

When was the last time you went to a drug store/pharmacy? Hm, I don’t recall. My mom or brother always pick up my medicines for me, I haven’t gone in awhile.

Do you ever binge-watch TV shows? Yeah. My current binge-watch is Sabrina: The Teenage Witch (the one from my childhood with Melissa Joan Hart). 

Have you ever mustered up the courage to tell someone how you feel only to be rejected? Yep. Twice. Not a fun time...

Do you keep your files and documents organized in one place? Unfortunately, no. I’d like to be organized with that kind of stuff.

What's your favourite sweet treat to bake? I don’t bake anymore, but I used to like making cupcakes or cookies during the holidays.

Are you good at flirting and letting people know you're interested? Ha, no. I’m too awkward. There’s been times I thought it was obvious I was interested only for them to be like, “I had no idea.” 

What did you have for breakfast today? It’s 1:22AM.

Do you prefer sweet or savoury breakfasts? Savory.

Do you like chick-flicks? Yeah.

Have you ever taken an acting class? Yes, which is really shocking for someone as shy and awkward as I am. I actually took two while at community college.

What is your favourite kind of berry? I don’t have a favorite. I really only like strawberries out of the berry choices, but I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had any.

When was the last time you watched one of your favourite movies? I’ve been watching some of my favorite horror movies. I plan on watching a lot this month.

How often do you use Youtube? Quite often.

Do you prefer Prince or Michael Jackson? I like more Michael Jackson songs, but I like some Prince songs as well.

What's the coolest thing you've ever dressed up as for Halloween? Not sure about “the coolest.”

Are you ignoring anyone right now? I guess that’s what it’s called when you don’t respond to messages or make any attempt to contact or reach out to them. :/ That was never the intention and even now it’s still hard to admit that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing the past few years. They eventually stopped trying to reach out and I don’t blame them. I’m such a shitty person.

How do you usually style your hair? I throw it up in a pony tail or bun; not much styling going on.

Do you have any tattoos? Tell me about them. Nope.

Have you ever worked in a store while someone shoplifted there? I’ve never worked at a store. I’ve witnessed it happening while shopping at stores, though.

When was the last time you used a stove? I just made my ramen.

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to eat? Insects, seafood, stuff like bull testicles, etc. 

Are you sitting, standing or laying (or something else) right now? I’m sitting on my bed.

How many hours per week do you typically work? Zero.

What was the last pill or tablet you took? My pain medication.

How far away from your house is the closest grocery store? Just down the street.

Have you ever lived in university/college campus housing? Nope.

Who was the last person you complimented? My mom.

Are you the type of person to take naps, even if you've slept plenty? “Even if you’ve slept plenty” ha, right.

Do you have a crush on anyone at the moment? Nope.

The age old question: dogs or cats? Dogs.

When was the last time you saw your best friend? I see her everyday, all the time. We live together. She’s my mom. 

Do you know any couples who resemble each other? No, but I’ve seen couples who do.

Have you ever been fired from a job? Why? Nope.

Are you tired right now? I always am. <<<

Do you like spring rolls? Yeah.

What do you live on in terms of a street, road, crescent, place, court etc? Lane.

How many purses or handbags do you own? Six. Do you get along with all your aunts and uncles?  There’s one uncle we don’t talk to for reasons, but otherwise yeah. I haven’t seen any of my aunts or uncles in awhile, some I haven’t seen in years, but there’s no drama with them. I have one aunt that I’m really close to, though.

Have you ever eavesdropped and heard something you didn't want to hear? Yes.

When was the last time you used a pen, pencil or marker? I used a pen yesterday.

What's your favourite type of curry? I don’t eat curry.

Do you often go to do or say something and then just forget? It happens. Brain fog.

Who makes you laugh the hardest? My mom and brother.

Have you ever had casual sex? No.

What was the last thing you paid for with cash? Food.

What's the last letter of your middle name? Nah.

If your phone rang right now from a number you don't know, would you answer? Nope.

How long is your hair? Down to my butt.

What was your first pet's name and how did you pick that? The first pet whose name I picked was our dog, Scruffy, when I was about 4 or 5. I’m not sure how I chose that name. Do you drink diet or regular soda? Regular.

Have you ever been to Europe? No, but I’d love to.

Do you worry about your own health? Always. Yet, I admittedly don’t do some things I should be doing. I certainly could be doing a lot more.

Who did you last make plans with, and what plans did you make? Uhh, I made plans to watch something on Netflix with my mom tomorrow haha. Those are the only kind of plans I make nowadays.

Can you smell anything right now? My ramen.

How old were you when you got your first cell phone? 15.

When was the last time you bought a pair of shoes? I got a new pair for my birthday from my mom. All the shoes I have were birthday or Christmas gifts, to be honest. I don’t recall the last time I bought a pair of shoes myself.

Do you like fruit and vegetable combo juices? No. Or any kind of juice, period.

Have you ever been on a spring break trip? Yeah.

Would you rather be warmer or colder right now? I’d like if it were cold enough to need a blanket. We’re still not there yet in California even though it’s almost mid-October. :(

How tall are your highest heels? I don’t wear heels. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

What's your favourite flavour of frosting? Good ol’ vanilla is the best, but I like strawberry, lemon, and cream cheese as well.

When did you wake up today? I haven’t gone to bed, yet, it’s 3:58AM.

Do you change your appearance often? No. I haven’t in quite awhile.

Have you ever blocked someone on Facebook? Why? Yes.

How many people do you work with?

What was the last thing you ate? Ramen.

Do you have any plans for three hours in the future? Probably attempt sleep.

Has anyone ever made a comment about your weight that offended or upset you? Yeah, it’s frustrating.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

[brightbeautifulthings]

Week 1 | Week 2-3 | Week 4-5 | Week 6-7 | Week 8-9 | Week 10-11 | Week 12-13 | Week 14-15

Week 16 (p. 539-580)

[tw: animal death, addiction, drug use]

I don't have a lot of commentary on Lenz's spree of domestic pet killings. He's obviously meant to be a repulsive character, and he is. By contrast, Green and Gately sound like the two nicest guys you could ever meet, and Green's history is much more sympathetic than Lenz's. As gross as it is being in his head, I can see why it's here, since Lenz has a way of justifying just about everything, down to his continued drug use. A handful of funny malapropisms too, which at first seem like typos until I realized that even the narrative style is reflecting Lenz's perspective, and those are his mistakes. Given the scene with the A.F.R. and the Antitoi brothers, Orin's being stalked by men in wheelchairs and seduced by a woman with the same accent seems far more ominous than it did before.

Week 17 (p. 581-619)

[tw: animal death, violence, severe injury]

There are spoilers in all my updates since this a second read, but things are especially spoilery ahead!

Together with the Eschaton game, this scene with Gately marks the thematic center of the novel and the turning point for Gately's narrative arc. It's effectively tense despite what seem like Wallace's best efforts to undermine the tension. This is not a book one can get "lost" in for long periods of time because it's constantly reminding you that you're a human reading a (very heavy, sometimes arduous) book, but it's never more apparent than right here. The novel starts building tension with Green observing Lenz killing a dog and being chased by angry Canadians, and then detours into a couple other unrelated POVs right in the middle of the scene. (There is a lot of inexplicable hostility toward Canadians in this book. Is that a 90s thing? I'm not aware of any particular grievances Americans have against Canada, but maybe I'm missing something.)

The danger has an oddly calming effect on Gately ("his smile now as empty as a pumpkin's grin" p. 615), but I personally was feeling his feelings for him. The violence is graphic and excessive, and it's almost cerebrally painful to see Gately getting hurt while protecting that asshole, Lenz. But also, would Gately be the "hero of action" of this book if he stepped aside? There's a particular moment of sweetness when he recognizes Joelle as Madame Psychosis. I ship it, though this isn't a shipping-type book since basically everything that happens to these characters is terrible.

Questions & Working Theories

Q: Who is mailing out the Entertainment? - Swartz suggests that it’s Orin Incandenza, who later under threat of torture releases it to the A.F.R. This seems well-supported by the text, since the initial cartridge is mailed from Arizona, and it’s conveniently sent to a medical attaché with whom Avril probably had an affair (per J.O.I.’s conversation with Hal). - Some support for this theory during one of Hal and Orin's phone conversations: "'What are you doing going to the post office? You hate snail-mail. And you quit mailing the Moms the pseudo-form-replies two years ago, Mario says'" (p. 244). Why is Orin at the post office, if not to mail more copies of the Entertainment? - However, as Marie pointed out, we don't know for sure that Orin was in Arizona in April YDAU. He's there in October, but there's a flashback of him in New Orleans in July that doesn't mention the year. If it was YDAU, Orin couldn't have postmarked the Cartridge from Arizona in April. - Orin also asks Hal directly about the days leading up to Himself's death, and he seems suspiciously interested in whatever film he was working on. "'Did he have film-related things with him when he flew somewhere? A film case? Equipment?'" (p. 250). However, if he already knew about the Entertainment back in April, why ask Hal about it in November? - This conversation is continued in a lengthy endnote where Orin asks about the definition of samizdat ("the generic meaning now is any sort of politically underground or beyond-the-pale press or the stuff published thereby" (p. 1011) and comments, "'So you'd have no idea why The Mad Stork's name would come up in connection with somebody saying samizdat?'" (p. 1011). Again, it's suspicious that he's even asking, but also, if he already knows about the Entertainment, why bother to ask? Is he trying to find out, or just trying to find out what Hal knows about it? Why? - "...place the likely dissemination-point someplace along the U.S. north border, with routing hubs in metro Boston/New Bedford and/or somewhere in the desert Southwest" (p. 549). Obviously, the Southwest could be Orin, but who's distributing it in Boston? I'd guess the Antitoi brothers, but their copy turned out to be blank (or seemed to be, if it was played on the wrong model). Orin has motive to want the medical attaché dead for the affair with his mother, but why the film scholar, the avant-garde film festival, and the members of the Academy of D.A.S.? Were these Himself's rivals, or people Avril also had affairs with? - "Swiss cuckolds, furtive near-Eastern medical attachés, zaftig print-journalists: he felt ready for anything" (p. 597). Q: Why do Hal's symptoms in the Eschaton game seem more like DMZ side effects than marijuana side effects? Was there DMZ mixed with it? Was it purposely mixed in, or was it the work of the Wraith? - This is the first time we see Hal with similar symptoms as the ones he has in the first chapter, which seems to suggest that--whether or not the DMZ and marijuana are related, whether it was intentional or not--Hal did take the DMZ on Interdependence Day YDAU. - Pemulis goes looking for the DMZ later on, which seems to suggest it wasn't intentional, at least not on his end. Hal also doesn't consciously acknowledge that he's going to take it in this chapter either. - Mario reflecting on his brother: "He can't tell if Hal is sad. He is having a harder and harder time reading Hal's state of mind or whether he's in good spirits. This worries him. He used to be able to sort of preverbally know in his stomach generally where Hal was and what he was doing, even if Hal was far away and playing or if Mario was away, and now he can't anymore" (p. 590). Why the change? DMZ-related?

Q: If Pemulis has Avril's affair with John Wayne to hold over her, why is he still expelled at the end of the novel?

Q: What's up with John Wayne and Hal? - "...John ('N.R.') Wayne opened up the ajar door a little more and put his whole head in and stayed like that, with just his head in. He didn't say anything and Hal didn't say anything, and they stayed like that for a while, and then Wayne's head smoothly withdrew" (p. 560).

Q: Do Pemulis's descriptions of the effects of annulation have anything to do with how DMZ affects people, or the effect the mold Hal ate as a child had on him? It seems oddly similar to how Hal is experiencing time in the first chapter. Is this how J.O.I. stumbled onto it? - "'Accelerated phenomena, which is actually equivalent to an incredible slowing down of time", "relativity of time in extreme organic environments" (p. 573).

#infinite jest #david foster wallace #infinite slow summer #infinite summer #infinite jest readalong #yrstruly

[lowkeyhockey]

cat and mouse (for a month or two or three) - freddie andersen

Pairing: Freddie Andersen/Single Mother!Reader

Mentions: Mitch Marner, Nazem Kadri

Warnings: Curse words, slight sexual innuendo, two POVs

Word Count: 6.5k

Credits: @hockey-reblogs beta’d this for me, and like. thank g od IDEK what i did to deserve her help and support <3

 Summary: Someone can’t wait to get on the ice, someone wants to meet up off the ice, and someone has an unexpectedly intense reaction to coffee. OR: a story of how you two met. 

 Writer’s Note: This is a standalone fic that’s a part of a bigger verse titled Can I Go (Where You Go) featuring [Y/N], a not-very single mother, Lila, your very opinionated daughter, and Freddie Andersen - a man very happy to be invited along for the ride. 

-------------------------------------

The first thing you notice upon arriving at the Mastercard Centre, your new training facility for the next five seasons (if your contract has anything to say about it) is the noise. The words sound about the same, shouts about cellys and sick dangles and benders and dusters, all the words North American players like to throw around to make it sound like they're from a generation older and greater than they are, but the pitch is - different. 

 A lot higher, for once, the voices a lot softer, and you're frowning even before you turn the corner to the Leafs' locker room. Mitch Marner and Nazem Kadri are standing near the doorway, Naz grinning in a way that you know from watching game tape means he's probably going to lay a hit on someone, and Marner looking - well - scared, but they're not looking that way at each other. 

Which, is probably good. Mitch is as new to the Leafs as you are, which means you'd probably have to take his side against Naz, and you've seen Naz's hits. Game tape. It's weird to think of them as teammates now, with how you've memorized the slightest shifts in their stances to figure out split-seconds before the recoil of their stick exactly where the puck is going to go, but you're good at dealing with weird. 

 Dishing it out, taking it. Part of hockey, and part of being a goalie. You're not good at, however - you're not used to - dealing with the sight that had apparently frozen Naz and Marner into caricatures of themselves. 

 About thirty girls, give or take, all of them minors, in green tartan skirts and hockey skates and green and white sweaters. You wonder if the Leafs are taking another PC shift on the ice crew, though the girls aren't even in Leafs colours. But then you see that half the girls are holding hockey sticks, and suddenly you're feeling just as worried - worried, not scared - as Marner's obviously feeling scared. 

You can't blame him, though. Kid looks about twelve, looks like a couple of the bigger girls could beat him up without breaking a sweat. He's probably worried about his voice cracking in front of them or something. 

 It's Naz who sees you first, shit-eating grin in full effect as he calls you over, but his voice is drowned out halfway through "Yo Andy, get over-" (which, thank you, but no) as a girl shouts, "motherfucker, get on the ice and I'll show you roughing." 

 And then you change your mind. 

 Naz cracks up laughing at the threat and you match Marner's smile, but a woman is there in the next heartbeat - this one, thankfully not in uniform, though you wouldn't mind seeing what she could do to a schoolgirl skirt - pinching the girl's nose in a way that you're almost certain isn't part of the school's disciplinary code. 

Or maybe it was. California didn't have corporal punishment, and it didn't have school uniforms either, and judging by the way you were looking at the woman - the teacher? - up and down and trying to picture her in pumps and tiny skirt and blazer, with maybe a green ribbon in her hair, it was probably for the best. 

The girl doesn't look like she's in pain or anything, so you wander over to the boys, trying to not make any sudden movements just in case the girls could smell fresh blood. "School trip, we're teaching them the ropes," Marner says to you before you could ask, and Naz's expression turns a little wry, his smile a little dry as he adds. "Private school girls, so make sure none of them breaks another nail or we could be looking at a lawsuit." 

*****

 You'd been helping one of the younger girls with her skates when you'd glanced up and saw Freddie Andersen - the Great Dane, the Ginga Ninja, the new goalie for the Leafs - approaching through a break in the cloud of girls, and you bite back a grin that was - okay, maybe a little mean. 

 But his furrowed brow-stoicism was an expression you knew well, from the faces of men who just didn't know what to do with a small army of girls - which, good. You girls can handle your own, which is a weird thought to have when you're on your knees in front of an apprehensive-looking sixth grader, but all the other girls had gotten each other laced up and strapped into protective gear and you wonder whether it was actually necessary for the headmistress to insist that the Leafs drop in to "show you the ropes", as it were. 

 It was a school in Canada, after all, and in Toronto to boot, where hockey wasn't so much a pastime as it was a minor religion. An open, accepting religion - you could be both practicing Christian, or Muslim or whatever and a Leafs fan. There was a reason why games aren't scheduled for the same time as Sunday Mass, or Friday prayers. 

 God and the NHL both knew which one people would rather attend. 

 But Branksome Hall's new to allowing hockey to be played and not just watched at the school, and having been a hockey fan for most of your life (not to mention a young and new teacher, which made you an easy target for assignments such as these) you were an obvious pick to get girls into the sport. 

 You probably won't have a school team this season, but it's always nice to get girls on the ice, and your girls could always use an outlet for their excess energy (not to mention aggression). 

 Brianna's all talk and you tell her that, giving a last, gentle tug on her nose before she pushes you away, laughing, and you turn to the boys just in time to hear the tail end of Nazem Kadri's words. 

 Which, ouch. But not at all wrong, and it's your turn to laugh, though Madame Mercier - who's just as suddenly by your side - is looking considerably less amused. 

 "Branksome Hall takes the health and safety of our girls very seriously," she says, her French accent - French, and not Quebecois, she'd remind anyone with a faux-haughty look on her face and a twinkle in her eyes - thicker than it usually is, and you jump in to alleviate the tension before the boys could apologize - or very pointedly not apologize. 

 "We do, but we also understand how dangerous skating and hockey can be, and the girls and their legal guardians have all signed the disclaimers we've passed along to your organization," you say with a smile - not the practiced one you hold in reserve for overbearing parents, because god only knew what you'd do if you ever ran out of those - but something easy and warm. 

 You'd been an athlete yourself, when you were in school, and you hadn't gone to a school like Branksome Hall, where the Board of Governors could up and decide to introduce a new sport to the school and then have the pull to have some of the best athletes in the sport go and teach it to the girls themselves. Never mind that it's still off-season, and that the boys would probably rather be in board shorts than hockey gear. 

 You're just you, a little messy, a little too casual, you have nothing of Madame Mercier's dignified grace as you offer your hand out to the newcomer. Frederik Andersen, who's all ginger scruff in the early light of day, brown eyes looking a little wary even as he takes your hand. 

 His hand's large, because of course it is, and a little rough, because of course it is, and you feel an impulse to sandwich it between your own for a full study. But a smaller hand covers the back of it before you could embarrass yourself, yanking both your hands down - 

 and you look further down to see Lila coming out from behind Mitch Marner's legs, all toothy grin despite the fact that she was clearly feeling ignored, and you laugh again. "Sorry about that," you quickly say, dropping the goaltender's hand and dropping to your knees to scoop up your little girl. 

 Mitch, sweet boy that he is, reaches out to tickle her sides, and you suppose you're thankful that he's learned his lesson about having his hands too close to her teeth. 

 "I'm [Y/N L/N], and this is my daughter, Lila." Lila frees one of the arms you'd pinned to her sides in an attempt to stop her from squirming out of your arms to give the man a wave, looking almost shy, and Freddie in turn - surprise fading into something that almost looks like shyness, too - reaches out to pat her head, as though copying his teammate. 

 God, if you were just unlucky enough the boys might come to see Lila as some kind of lucky charm to be fussed over or petted, like a team mascot in tiny human form. It seemed a little far fetched, but you know hockey players and how superstitious they could be, and you turn around to pass Lila off to your nanny before any of your dire predictions could come into fruition. 

 When you turn back around, Freddie's hand is still hovering in midair, and you can't help but raise an eyebrow at him, watching a flush slowly spread across his cheekbones as though in slow motion. He looks so dumb, looks something like a piece of art. You'd title it: hockey player vs social situations or something like that. 

 You squash the urge to paint him. 

 "Frederik Andersen, right?" you ask, because he hasn't introduced himself, and smile encouragingly when he nods, feeling like you were talking to one of your younger girls. 

 "Call me Freddie," he says, and you grin, turning to include the other boys in it. 

 "Freddie, Mitch, and Naz," you say as though to check their names, though of course you know them all. "Thank you guys so much for coming, I'm sure all the girls are going to love this. Now, are you guys ready to meet the next group of miracles on ice?" 

A little kitschy, a little corny, but Mitch is grinning back at you, and Naz is looking amused, though you suspect that with the latter that's pretty much his default expression. Freddie's not looking at you, though, and you follow his gaze to the near-empty corridor, wondering if he's looking for an escape route - but no, he's watching Emilie and Lila. 

And you feel - jealous? Emilie's very pretty, and she's so good with Lila, and you were only expecting two hockey players with you today and not three and - Frederik Andersen could do whatever he wants, really, it's nothing to do with you. 

Naz gives you a light punch on the arm, like you're a part of the team, though you're just a teacher for the group of girls he's been made to babysit. "Lets get at it, coach," he says, as he follows Mitch to the entrance of the rink, and you give Lila a small wave before following suit

Madame Mercier doesn't even own skates and she's not about to start trying it at fifty-two, and Freddie Andersen - you realise, then, that he hadn't even been wearing skates. He was still in his coat, for god's sake - he was taller than you even though you're in skates so you hadn't noticed. 

But then the girls are calling for you, tapping their sticks against the ice where they all stand in a loose circle on center ice, and you and Mitch and Nazem hurry up to join them. 

*****

 "Freddie," you repeat to the little girl, all brown, windswept curls and a grin that takes up about half of her face, and her hazel eyes look like they understand but all she does is blow a raspberry at you. And then giggle, like it's the funniest thing in the world, and maybe it is, because her nanny laughs too. 

 Emilie, she'd said her name was, in the same accent that the strict-looking teacher had.  The one that wasn't [Y/N]. You didn't even realise that you hadn't asked her name, and now she's ignoring the three of you, leaning against the glass like she's worried one of her girls might actually break another nail. 

"She's only three, Mr. Andersen," Emilie says to you, and that Lila decides to repeat, the lisped "three!" sounding jubilant in her voice. Emilie smiles down at her, expression so fond, and you can see why. "She has one month before she turns three," Emilie corrects herself, as though the one month makes a difference, and you nod a little dumbly because maybe it does. 

"She looks a little older," you say, though she doesn't. "She looks smart." And she does. There’s something assessing in her gaze, more curiosity than shyness or fear.

You've always liked kids, but they've always looked a little fragile, especially compared to you. And the kids you usually meet are excitable boys either starting out in or already playing hockey, eager to show the world that they have what it takes. 

And Lila's just staring at you with her large hazel eyes, squirming for a moment before she suddenly flops back, body going limp all over until her nanny relents and sets her down on the floor. Her little shoes squeak with each step, and you both watch her as she makes her way - just as determined as any young boy you've ever met - to the rink entrance. 

"Too smart," Emilie says with a smile, and you grin as Lila drops to the ground in a deliberate collapse, patting both of her hands against the ice. It looks like she doesn't want to walk in - she's ready to crawl in instead, but Emilie is on her in the next heartbeat, scooping her up and pressing kisses against her little face. 

"No, silly, your maman said to stay here," she tells Lila. 

 You take the chance to step in then and say, "I can take her in, she'll be safe with me," but the look Emilie shoots you is arch, a little too knowing, and you feel heat rise on your cheeks again. 

"If her maman wanted the little one on the ice she'd take her herself, non?" But her grin turns friendly again as she tilts her head to the ice, before swinging around so that Lila isn't pushing out of her arms to take matters into her own tiny hands. "Now go, before her maman wonders why I'm keeping you."

And you're fairly certain that this isn't in your schedule, that no one's expecting you to stay, but you already have your gear and skates in your bag and you wanted to get some solo training in before training camp, anyway, so. 

 You go. 

 *****

 He's easy on his feet, you realise with a pang. Quiet. You hadn't even realised that he was standing right behind you until Wei Yan slammed into his side, not hard enough to make him stumble, but enough to catch your attention, making you turn around with a slight frown. 

 She's not at all apologetic about it, grinning as she says, "inertia" as though that alone's an explanation, even though it isn't. Freddie's looking down at her like he doesn't quite know what to do with a fifteen year old girl suddenly attached to his side and spouting Newtonian principles at him, which, fair. 

 The girls love to show off what they'd learned in class - little teachers' pets, all of them, and you could relate - and usually, it makes you smile. It means you've done a good job. Nut somehow inertia is always the first thing they remember, probably because it allows them to do things like this, and you can't have them breaking the new Leafs goalie before he's even broken in yet. God knows the Leafs need a good man in the crease. 

"Goon," you shoot back at her, waving your hands like you're shooing off some stray chickens. And you might as well be - wherever Wei Yan led, the rest of the girls usually followed, and soon there'd be no one doing the skating drill you had set up. 

Mitch was in the far end of the rink, coaching most of the girls through puck-handling drills, and Naz is on center ice dropping face off puck after face off puck while girls battled for dominance. You could see his grin from here, delighting in the role he's getting to play in the chaos. 

 When Wei Yan doesn't move, leaning against Freddie's side and giving him a narrow eyed look that he seems intent on returning in full measure, you skate over to them to give her a gentle nudge. "Shoo, you know how hockey players feel about a hit on their goalie," you tell her, and she turns to face you, grin unnervingly like Kadri's.

 "There's no D-men on the ice," she points out, sly, and it takes Freddie by surprise - the laugh he lets out is over-loud, and it looks like the sun had broken out just over his face. 

 You're soon giggling too, more from the sound of his laughter than anything else, and Wei Yan skates away looking smug. 

 Silence stretches after that but it's not awkward, not really, the two of you watching as Wei Yan lands another hit - this time against Marie, who's a full head shorter than her and maybe fifteen pounds lighter, but she's so gentle about it that you can't help beaming. 

 They're good girls, and you're so proud of them, and you're so happy that the school's letting them have this outlet. 

 Freddie's apparently thinking along the same lines because when he breaks the silence it's to ask, voice light but sounding just a hint too serious to be properly teasing, "you went to all the trouble of bringing Lila to the rink and won't even let her skate?" 

You turn to him with brows raised, more amused and curious than annoyed by the personal question, and he smiles a little at you, as though encouraged by your expression. "Seems a little mean, is all," he explains, and you laugh. 

"My dad's a diehard Leafs fan," you explain. "He'd never forgive me if I didn't bring her. But she's still a little too young for skates. " 

 There's a beat of silence, and it looks like he's studying you now, as though he's memorizing the planes of your face the way you'd tried to memorize his hand, and you're already blushing - your gaze sliding from his eyes to his lips - when he asks - 

"Would he forgive you if you said no to the Leafs' new goalie taking you out for coffee?" 

And the colour's exploding over your face in full force, now, you could feel even the back of your neck getting warm, it's like you've never been asked out before. And you might be a single mom but you're only twenty-six and still attractive, still in full possession of a sex drive, thank you very much, you're clever and you're articulate and you're athletic. 

You shouldn't be staring up at him looking like you'd just finished a 5k on the treadmill, mouth in a flat line, arms crossed across your chest. 

 He shouldn't be looking down at you, looking somewhere between confused and mortified, but god that was such a pro hockey player question - I have money, I have fame, I can hit a puck really, really hard, wanna come home with me?

And he'd just been talking about your daughter - Lila, of all people, who absolutely doesn't deserve to be around more hockey players. Once burned and all that. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Freddie finally bursts out, and you shake your head. 

"Of course you didn't, Mr. Andersen, I apologize if there's been any confusion," you say, and you know you're using your stern teacher voice, and now he's looking down at you like he doesn't know who you are. 

 Which, of course he doesn't. He doesn't know why you're so opposed to - well, if not hockey players, then hockey players pulling what he'd just tried to pull. 

And you would have let it drop at that but he's moving just a little closer, brows furrowed, looking contrite. "I didn't, I'm not trying to use my position to ask you out. I'm just - I was trying to be funny." 

 He looks half- in pain is the thing, and you believe him. You can certainly believe he's not the best at being funny. You relax a little, make a show of untensing, giving him a small smile and putting a hand on his arm. " It's fine, really. It's just that I'm working - and I have Lila." 

 Not that Lila's really an excuse, with the full-time nanny Sid hired and pays for. But Freddie doesn't need to know that. 

"Can I make it up to you?" he asks, and he still looks like you'd kicked a puppy, and he looks softer than you're prepared for. But when he continues, words tumbling over themselves in the rush to be said, "I can get you tickets for the opening game, you said your dad's a fan and you can bring Lila -" 

 you shake your head, laughing. "I said it's fine, and my dad has season tickets anyway." Honestly, you think it's the biggest family heirloom your family has to your name. 

 He looks like he believes you, he looks like he's relaxed somewhat, and he looks like he's not some pro-athlete dick so you even tease him with an "I'm sure I'll come and see you sooner or later, see if you're any good," 

 and if it sounds like flirting it's possibly because you are, just a little. 

 But he's smiling back at you, looking like you'd given - well, not a puppy, but maybe a dear friend - CPR, and you find yourself smiling back. 

 And become aware, in the next moment, that the girls closest to you have stopped doing their drills, and are looking at the two of you just smiling at each other like idiots with expressions that ranged from surprise to delight.  Which meant that Madame Mercier was probably watching, too, even if you both had your backs to her - which meant you had to disguise what you'd been talking about. 

 "But if you still want to make it up to me," you say to Freddie, voice low, not waiting for him to reply before you skated to the girls. "Line up, ladies, Mr. Andersen's going to get in goal for you. Make sure you show off a little, eh?" 

And the sound of his laughter from behind you, the quiet swish of his skates as he moves to set up between the posts, makes you smile. 

*****

 You go to all the pre-seasons game you have the time to attend with your dad, and once with Emilie, though the poor girl ended up with a headache from all the noise. You - you were in your element, in your old Sundin sweater that still hit you about mid-thigh, usually with blue lines painted under your eyes even though it was just the preseason. 

 After your first game, a young man with a Leafs intern lanyard comes over to your seat with a puck and a kids' jersey, and you're frowning just a little until he tells you that they're both from Marner. You ask the kid to give Marns your number, so you can thank him personally, and when he texts you later that night he tells you that he's just excited to have someone wearing his number in the coming season. 

He's just a sweet kid, and you thank him about ten more times, and you take it to mean that you're going to have to bring Lila in for a game sooner or later. You'd enjoyed watching Marns while he was with the Knights, and you're definitely looking forward to rooting for him on the Leafs - and Freddie, too.

But he doesn't look at you. Freddie, that is. 

 Not during warmups and definitely not during the games, you don't think he sees anything but the puck and there's something almost magical about that degree of hyper-focus. 

It's the night before opening night when he seems to remember that you exist - and it's Marns texting you, not Freddie, and at first you ignore it because Marns has taken to texting you memes you can barely understand, though the girls at your school giggle when you pass it on to them. You won't let him contact any of the girls directly - it would be unprofessional for you to give away any of your students' numbers, and none of them ask you for his - but he seems proud of being the girls' favourite coach. 

 (The girls still practice at the Mastercard Centre, and you're the one chaperoning them more often than not, but with the season coming underway the boys are no longer obligated to show up - the school's hired their own skating and puck-handling coaches, and even a goalie coach though Melanie's the only one interested in getting between the posts, and she far prefers when Freddie's the one to help her.) 

When you finally reach for your phone, deciding that a social media break's allowed after three straight hours of grading physics papers, you're surprised to see a closeup shot of Freddie in his goalie mask - eyes narrowed and staring at you through the grill and phone, like he sees exactly what you're doing and he doesn't approve. It's a little intimidating, more than a little hot. 

You wonder what Marns has done to piss him off - and why Marns decided to send it to you - but the text that pops up after you reply with a simple "???" just says - "he's wondering why u haven't brought lila yet." 

 Which, weird. Also, flattering. Also, weird. You hadn't even been aware that he's noticed that you're there at all.

 "so he can eat her?" you shoot back, grinning a little down at your phone, and marns replies in the next instant with 

"maybe" 

then: 

"rude tho"

then: 

"y don't u ask him urself"

You shoot back a "he didn't ask ME himself", even though it feels at this point like you're two kids passing notes in class, and you're judging yourself for it hard when your phone dings thrice with more text messages. 

From Marns:

"can u imagine freddie taking a selfie"

and then:

several barf emojis, and you don't know why, because Freddie has a pretty decent face 

and 

from an unknown number: 

"Why haven't you brought Lila to any games?"

When your phone dings again, a few seconds later, you see several frowning emojis from the same number, and you hate how you can picture exactly, in your mind's eye, the way Freddie could be frowning at you right then. 

 You save his number under "F.And, L", knowing how hockey players - at least the ones you know - value their privacy, and you wouldn't want his number to get leaked if you somehow lose your phone. Marns is just saved under a frog emoji, and he seemed inordinately pleased about that when you'd told him. 

"Too loud for her," you send back to Freddie, and before you could think twice about it, you send Marns several sweat droplets emojis. You are a teacher - if anyone asks, you could say that you had no idea what they meant, you just know that that's what the kids are texting nowadays.

"Marns is going to be disappointed," Freddie replies, and you're disappointed - despite yourself - because he didn't say that he would be disappointed. 

Another two dings, another two texts, and it's Freddie saying "We'll have to get her in for a practice," while Marns just fills your whole screen with more barfing emojis. 

You shoot them both the okay emoji, and then tell them that you need to get back to work. 

 When you check your phone again before bed, there's two text messages, both of them from Freddie. 

The first: "Good luck with your work, and sweet dreams" 

And then a picture of him, light spilling over him from a bedside lamp, duvet halfway up his bare chest. He looks a little tired, a little shy, but he's smiling up at the camera. 

 A selfie. You wonder what else Marner has told him. 

 And you save the picture.

 *****

 The boys win the first home game of the season, and you couldn't make it because Lila's down with a cold but you send Marns a selfie of you and Lila in Leafs jerseys in front of the TV - you wearing Sundin's number and grinning wide, Lila in Marner's and opening her mouth to show him a mouthful of chewed-up mashed potatoes. You figure it's not too different from a picture of unchewed mashed potatoes, and besides, you're just happy that she's eating. 

 Marns sends back a shot of him flashing a peace sign, flushed with good spirits and (you're pretty damned sure) alcohol he's barely old enough to be drinking, and the way he angles the camera makes you think he's trying to hide the fact that he's in a bar. 

 Which, dumb, but you pass along the congratulations the girls text you to send to him, and there's almost thirty of them, and by the time you're done Freddie's message to you has been waiting for several minutes, unopened. 

 "Thanks for the congratulations," it says, even though you didn't send him one, and you giggle as you lean back to reply. 

 "sorry! had to pass on messages from mitchy's fans first, and there's a lot of them." 

 Freddie: "Yeah? And who were you rooting for?" 

 "david pastrnak," you reply, grinning to yourself as you did it. 

and then before he has time to get into a sulk: "guy has to be a superhero to have gotten one past you" 

 He doesn't reply anyway, not for a good half hour, and you switch the tv to a golf tournament with the volume on low, because of course that's what Lila falls asleep to best. 

And then, from Freddie: "Guess that makes me your kyptonite." 

 Which, okay, he isn't wrong. 

 You're not sure how to reply - you guess this means that he's at least a little bit into you, and he knows you're at least a little bit into him, and - you're not sure how to reply. 

 "you're not wrong," you text him. And then, like a coward, but at least an honest one: "i need to go and tuck lila in. make sure you drink lots of water before bed x" 

 And he sends you a goodnight text, tells you to tell him if Lila's not feeling better in the morning, as though there's anything he can do about it anyway. 

When you wake up the next morning, there's a text from Marns sent at around three am that says, "YOOOOOO WAS TAT SMOOTH OR WHAT" 

Which, okay, he's not wrong. 

 *****

 The boys go through a losing streak like it's nobody's business. Which, is disappointing, but it's the Leafs, and Toronto's a city that's grown accustomed to it. After a home win against Florida that they barely managed by the skin of their teeth (which, it's Florida) Freddie's on your doorstep instead of celebrating at some bar or another, or maybe sleeping the adrenaline off. 

You raise your eyebrows at him, don't move aside to let him in even though you'd known he was the guy at the door when you'd looked through the peephole, and you'd gone and opened the door anyway. He looked rumpled, exhausted, hair a mess but not covered in product - like he'd gone for a shower after the game and then left, not even bothering to swing by his place to change out of his game day suit. 

 And you're in your Leafs jersey still, it's practically a dress on you so you didn't bother slipping any pants on, and the TV's still quietly going over game recaps.

You know this, the look on him, even though you've never seen him this way. He racks up a loss, takes it all on his own shoulders, won't let anyone take some of his burden or even see any of his pain. You've lived this, just not with him, and you're not in the mood for dealing with a moody hockey player. 

It's Lila's birthday tomorrow, and Marns' already said he would come, and he's asked if he could bring some of the boys with him, too. He hadn't mentioned Freddie, and neither had you - Freddie's been on radio silence since the loss against the Hawks, third in a streak that didn't seem like it was going to end. That had been five days ago, which

You're a big girl, you can take it. 

 But you don't particularly want to expose Lila to it. 

 "Look, I know I've been stupid," he starts, the creases in his brow deepening when he sees you're not going to start shit, but he falls silent when you shake you head. 

"Don't make a martyr of yourself, Freddie." It comes out sounding short, impatient, you're a little tired yourself and it's late. 

 And it hurts, just a little, him showing up here and now like you're some kind of fair weather-only friend. You're not even a fair weather fan, or you sure as shit wouldn't still have your Leafs jersey. 

He looks confused, though, raising one hand to rest against the frame of the door, and leans in, like proximity would help. That, or he's too tired to stand straight, which. Idiot. 

 "You lost, and you went and licked your wounds in private. It's fine." You pause, consider that, and decide to go for something a little more honest. "Or it's not fine, I missed you, but if that's what you need to do to get your head on right for your next game then I can live with it." 

 You're a big girl, you've survived worse things. 

 "I'm sorry," he says, and you smile, because - that's one you've never heard before. And you didn't think he'd understand, either, how you needed an apology and not a self-lashing from him, because the latter's designed to make you feel sorry for him more than anything else. 

 Which, you already do. Idiot. 

 You open the door wider, but instead of letting him in you step forward to wrap your arms around him, feeling him do the same to you - one across the back of your shoulders and one around your waist, warm, solid weights holding you in place for a long moment. 

 "I know you were worried about me, I shouldn't have put you through that, all I needed to do was pick up the phone." He pulls back, then, to look you in the eye, and your right hand slips higher to settle on the nape of his neck, to keep him there. 

 "Idiot," you tell him, but you're grinning, and in a moment he's grinning back. "You can come on in. I'm almost done getting things ready for Lila's birthday party tomorrow." 

"Can I help?" he asks, but you brush the offer aside, leading him through the hallway and into the living room, where you give him another push until he's settled on the couch. 

 "Beer's in the fridge, if you want, and Lila's already in bed. We have a spare room if you'd like to use it." He looks a little concerned at that - and, yeah, maybe you are being a little too forward - but you flash him another grin. 

 "What, you're making it up to me, right?" You ask him, voice teasing. "So you're going to do all the barbecuing for the party tomorrow."

He smiles back at you, but then the smile slowly fades, and he says again, sounding like he has to, "I'm sorry. I needed time to myself, but we're - friends, and- " 

 "You shouldn't have gone full radio silence?' You shake your head, amused, but Freddie's still looking at you like you might throw a temper tantrum, so you move to sit on the couch beside him, stretching out your legs so that your feet rested in his lap. 

Physical contact helps. Open communication helps. The slow massage he was giving your left foot definitely helps. After a few minutes: "I was upset, but it's just five days, Freddie. I've gone into radio silence for longer just because I had an assignment due." You give him a nudge with your other foot and he takes the hint, switching feet. "We're still friends," you tell him, the emphasis on the last word unmistakable, and you watch him colour up a little. 

 "Are you free next weekend?" He blurts out, like you figured he would, and you shake your head, biting back a smile. 

 "Nope, I'm chaperoning a school dance." 

 "Can I chaperon with you?" 

And there's no biting back the laugh you have to let out at that, hand covering your mouth so it doesn't wake Lila, and Freddie's looking halfway between amused and embarrassed.

 "The school isn't usually okay with having strangers attend our private school functions. Why don't you come out for coffee with me instead? Say, after your game on Tuesday, even if you lose?"

 The smile he gives you is something like watching the sun coming out, or maybe you're just feeling warm, but either way you'd have liked to be closer to him. 

 And then - voice teasing - "last time I asked you out for coffee you tried to snap my neck." 

 Which, fair, and you shrug a little even as you shift closer, so that you're sitting on the seat beside his on the couch, your bare thighs across his lap. His arm slips down from where it had rested along the back of your couch to around your waist, which. Feels nice. "Nah. Last time it was this kinda arrogant Ducks trade who'd asked me, and I wasn't even sure if he's any good between the posts." 

 A misstep, maybe, because his brows are creased again, and you have an urge to smooth it out with your thumb so you do just that. "So you want to go out with a good goalie," he says, something so uncertain in his voice, something sad in the way he looks down as you as though braced for the worst. Idiot. 

 You kiss his cheek, because you can't help it, then the corner of his lips - pulling back before he could kiss you properly, grinning a little as you drop one last kiss on the tip of his nose. "Yeah, but I'm hoping that's not all you're good at." 

#freddie andersen #freddie andersen imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #v:can i go (where you go) #lyss writes hockey

[shelovescontrol91]

New Camila Interview

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/interviews/camila-cabello-latin-revolution-immigrant-america-industry-got/

The interview is locked unless you have a user so I posted it below. Bolded are some interesting parts

One afternoon in March 2012, Simon Cowell was taking a cigarette break backstage at Greensboro Coliseum in North Carolina, where he was judging auditions for the American X Factor, when he came across a girl lying on the ground, sobbing.

The girl was Camila Cabello. She had just turned 15, and for her birthday had asked her parents – Cuban immigrants living in Miami, who were making ends meet as a shop assistant and car washer – to drive her the 12 hours from their home to the auditions. Cabello explained to Cowell that, having been kept waiting for two days to see the judges, she had just been told by the producers that time had run out and she should go home.

“Apparently she was a reserve,” Cowell tells me over the phone. “So I said to her, ‘Listen, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, or what a reserve is, but since you’re here, come and audition.’ Five minutes later, she sang [Aretha Franklin’s Respect] in front of 7,000 people, and it was sensational.”

Cabello has a pint-size frame and a gigantic, intoxicating voice. What it lacks in technical finesse it makes up in youthful passion and romantic melodrama. Cowell installed his charismatic young discovery as the (unofficial) lead singer of a group comprising four other female contestants, and Fifth Harmony was born. After finishing the competition in third place, they signed to Cowell’s Syco label, becoming a sort of sister act to his other X Factor protégé group One Direction. Within months, Fifth Harmony had racked up a platinum-selling debut album of chart-friendly feminist anthems, a sold-out world tour, two performances at the White House and tens of millions of young fans.

For Cabello, that was just the start. Last year, Havana, the second single from her number one debut solo album, became the sound of the summer. An ode to the city where she was born and raised, featuring slow, sensual vocals layered over a Cuban-style piano riff, Havana made the singer the first female artist to achieve a billion streams for a single song. Whether or not you’re a fan of Cabello, you’ll have heard it.

This summer, the 22-year-old has repeated the impossible. Señorita, a Latino love song from her imminent second album featuring fellow pop star (and, as of July, boyfriend) Shawn Mendes, has once again conquered the charts. Talk about power couple: according to Spotify, the online music-streaming service, 21-year-old Mendes and Cabello, who picked up two MTV Video Music Awards for Señorita last week, are the most listened to artists in the world after Ed Sheeran. “Havana was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of success, and she’s just… done it again,” says Cabello’s manager Roger Gold, who first met the singer while serving as Fifth Harmony’s lawyer. “We never thought it would be this massive.”

When I repeat Gold’s words back to Cabello over an oh-so-millennial oat milk latte in a vegan café in Montreal – the latest stop on Mendes’s world tour – she grins. “It was the same with Havana,” she says, keeping an eye on the windows for the fans that have been camped outside her and Mendes’s downtown hotel since the couple were photographed ambling adoringly around the city together the day before.

“Everyone said to me, this is a Latin song, it could never be the single. Label heads and friends were saying I needed to add more production, that it was too slow,” continues Cabello, before absent-mindedly pouring coffee on her grey cashmere jumper and earnestly imploring me for laundry advice. We dab her sleeve with water as Cabello tries out my accent. “I’ll have a flaaat whiiite,” she drawls, mischievously, again and again until steer her back to the story. Persuaded that Havana would never get radio play, Cabello released Crying in the Club as her first solo single instead. But when the album was released, it was Havana that listeners pounced on. 

“It was surreal: kids were coming up to me asking, ‘Are you Havana?’” she says. The song was nominated for two awards at the Grammys, where Cabello became the first female Latin artist to open the ceremony.

Cabello’s grip on the charts is part of what Gold calls “a ground shift”. “Latin artists have gained enormous global acceptance in the pop world in the last few years,” he says. Until 2017, a Spanish-language number one was vanishingly rare, limited to Enrique Iglesias, Shakira and novelties such as The Macarena. That changed when Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee’s 2017 Despacito, written entirely in Spanish, became the most-streamed song in history.

That same year, the number of Spanish-language songs in Billboard’s Hot 100 jumped from three to 19; this year’s tally is already at 16. Such is the influence of Latin culture on current pop that Madonna’s Madame X album single Medellin, released in April, featured Columbian reggaeton star Maluma, and breakout Spanish star Rosalia’s modern spin on old-school flamenco graced the John Peel stage this year at Glastonbury. In between, of course, came the juggernaut of Havana. 

Cowell says he never really thought about Cabello’s Latin roots when he met her. “And then of course it occurred to me years later, that she was turning things around.” He has since had success with another Latino group, CNCO. “So maybe I owe a lot to her.”

Even singers of non-Spanish heritage are now cashing in on the genre, as Justin Bieber proved with his hugely popular remix of Despacito. “It’s definitely annoying when people take things, but sometimes I’m inspired by things that aren’t necessarily my culture,” says Cabello. “I think with globalisation, genre doesn’t exist any more. It was surreal hearing people sing the chorus to Havana. So many young people had never even heard of the place.” 

Cabello donated the proceeds from the song’s music video to support young, undocumented immigrants known as DREAMers – those who entered the US as minors and are seeking resident status. Her YouTube channel has been inundated with messages from Latino fans thanking her for making them feel more welcome in America. Cabello suffers from anxiety and tends to steer clear of social media but when I mention the messages she clasps her face with both hands and her eyebrows shoot up under her curly fringe. “Really? That makes me so happy. That’s why I want to tell my story, because when I saw pictures of what’s happening at the border, my heart was broken. That’s my story too.”

Cabello was six years old when her mother, an architect, carried her across the Mexican border, telling her daughter that they were going to Disneyland. “I have this one memory of my mother taking me into a gas station, but that’s it,” she says. They were detained for 22 hours before being allowed to proceed to Miami. Her father, originally from Mexico City, joined them illegally a year later after swimming across the Rio Grande. “I didn’t know what was happening,” Cabello tells me. “I just had a Disney calendar and I crossed off every day until he arrived. 

“It’s why my mum loves that film, Life Is Beautiful,” she says, referring to Roberto Benigni’s Oscar-winning comedy about a Jewish father and son taken to a concentration camp during the Holocaust. “Obviously I’m not comparing my story to that in terms of, you know… but it’s the same idea of a parent pretending it’s a game to protect their child.”

Cabello’s as yet untitled new album, out later this year, is a tribute to first love. She describes the experience in terms of the 2001 film Amélie, which she watched for the first time last year. “Before, I was Amélie,” she says, comparing herself to the film’s titular dreamer, played by Audrey Tautou. “I was just living in my own imagination. I didn’t go out and meet people. I didn’t really make any friends. Amélie’s thrills are the smallest things, like being looked at.” 

As a child, she hated attention so much that she would cry when people sang Happy Birthday to her. Her X Factor audition was the first time she had sung in public, and helped her realise she could transform on stage. “Now I’m like Amélie at the end of the film, when she falls in love for the first time and breaks out of her shell.”

Of the 72 songs Cabello wrote for the album, only a small number will appear, each one dealing with the minutiae of relationships. Keen for me to hear some, Cabello summons her mother Sinuhe, who travels with her daughter everywhere and arrives at the café with an iPhone on which she plays me two new songs. One is a heavy, gothic ballad reminiscent of vintage Avril Lavigne; the other, a Latino song carried by a powerful brass section that makes you want to get up and salsa.

As with her last album, Cabello has a writing credit on every track of the new one – a rarity in an era when so many hits are manufactured by teams of writers and producers. Is she making a statement? “No, but I need to tell my own stories,” she says. “I still regret my first single, Crying in the Club, because I didn’t write it and it didn’t feel like me. I had the chorus to Havana, but I went with what was safe, what industry people said had worked before. Turns out, no one has a clue.”

When Cabello uses the word “industry”, her expression, usually warm and trusting, becomes uneasy. The absence of freedom she experienced early in her career as part of a label-curated girl group appears to have bred a distrust of the system. 

“Fifth Harmony was like its own separate person. It’s like we were serving Fifth Harmony,” she says, tugging on the sleeves of her grey cashmere cardigan. After Cabello left the group in 2016, she was accused of betrayal, and things got nasty – when the four remaining members opened the MTV Video Music Awards in 2017, an elevated platform showed the silhouettes of five women, until one was unceremoniously shoved off the stage as the performance began. “It’s so normal for groups to disintegrate. I think it has to be some miracle for five people to stay together,” she says. "I’m so interested to see what makes it different for Little Mix [and X Factor girl group still going strong since they formed in 2011]”. 

In 2020, Cabello will make her next career move – into acting. James Corden personally picked her to star in and contribute to the score of a modern musical version of Cinderella, which he is producing. “He saw my L’Oreal advert where I was basically just being an idiot, and he thought that was cool,” she explains. She sounds a little daunted – and is currently taking acting classes – but it feels like the obvious next chapter in a life that is taking on a fairy-tale dimension of its own. 

“You know what,” Cowell had told me before hanging up. “I would never have guessed, all those years ago, that when I met someone who was having the worst day of her life, who was crying at the back of that arena, that now we’d be having this conversation. Can you believe it?”Camila Cabello’s new single is out on Thursday

#camila cabello #camilizers #shawmila #simon cowell #james corden

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 36 & 37

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

***Acknowledgments for this chapter:

Texas Ranger Woodrow F. Call is borrowed from the Lonesome Dove series by Larry McMurtry; Texas Ranger LaBoeuf is borrowed from the novel True Grit by Charles Portis. I also won't lie when I say that their characterizations are informed by the actors who play them: Tommy Lee Jones as Call in the 1989 Lonesome Dove miniseries, and Matt Damon as LaBoeuf in the 2010 adaptation of True Grit.

Some exchanges in this chapter have been adapted directly from lines in the Red Dead Redemption 2 story mission "American Fathers I."

-gala

Chapter 36 and 37: Stand By Your Man (Pt. I and II)

“So. Texas Rangers, huh?” said Arthur.

It was noon in the high saloon of St. Denis. Arthur, Mary Beth, and Hosea were seated at a round table near the window with two Texas Rangers by the names of Call and LaBoeuf. Hosea had called them in that day to reap their help with the riverboat job, as he was collecting on a favor owed to him from years before. Arthur was smoking compulsively while Mary Beth leaned with her chin in her hands, bored by what she assumed would soon become a show of dueling masculinities. Call and LaBoeuf were both upright characters who took themselves very seriously but in different ways. Call was older and obviously much more distinguished. He had many lines in his worn-out features and a heavy but well-maintained salt-and-pepper beard. LaBoeuf was thirty or so. He chewed on a piece of cocaine gum with a great deal of enthusiasm and carried maybe a little too much weight around his middle section. They both spoke with tough Texas accents that were thick and recognizable but far different from the molasses drawls of Lemoyne.

"Texas Rangers," said LaBoeuf. "That's right."

“You lot still set on shining up your badges as priority one?” Arthur went on. “Or you catch anything worth hangin lately.”

“Forgive him,” said Hosea, straightening his neckerchief, sitting behind a blueprint of the riverboat he had skimmed off the captain's wife some days before. “He’s never had a badge to shine.”

“Not true,” said Arthur.

“We are currently hot on the trail of a man who killed a senator back in Dallas,” said LaBoeuf, unmoved, chomping. “Been on his trail since he left another man dead in Arkansas, husband, and father of one.”

“Killed the poor bastard right in front of his teenage daughter,” said Call.

“Jesus,” said Arthur.

“That’s awful,” said Mary Beth.

“Awful indeed, ma’am,” said LaBoeuf. “We got a tip, says he’s been shacking up here with a gang known as the Lemoyne Raiders. You know of these reprobates?” He said Lemoyne like Lee-moyne.

Arthur smoked his cigarette to the nubbin and stamped it out in the crystal ash tray in the center of the table. “Bunch of old-fashioned hillbilly racists, used to outfit in our camp. I know them all too well.”

“They killed Sarah,” said Mary Beth.

“Who is Sarah?” said Call. He was enchanted by Mary Beth and glanced at her often.

“My goddam prized Foxtrotter,” said Arthur. He reached into his pocket for the tobacco tin. “I don’t like losing animals, Mr. Call, and I got a bone to pick. Even more so than usual.”

“Well, we could certainly use your help, if you’re offering, Mr. Morgan.”

“Oh, I’m offering.”

Mary Beth leaned into him then, whispered into his ear. “You’re hunting Raiders now? What happened to living honest.”

"Gee," he said. He lit his cigarette, smirked at her as he shook out the match. “I don't know, Mrs. Kilgore.”

She elbowed him playfully and resumed her posture at the table. LaBoeuf cleared his throat.

"You got a cough there?" said Arthur.

“No, sir," he said. "Mrs. Morgan, I just overheard your concern."

"Which one."

"I would just like to remind you that bounty-hunting is legal work.”

She glared at him. “It ain’t the legality I’m worried about, Mr. LaBoeuf. Obviously."

"Then what's the worry."

“In my experience, legality don’t mean safe," she continued. "If you drag my husband out on one of your legal missions hunting murderers for the state of Texas, then he’d better not come back shot. That’s all I’m saying.”

Arthur grinned to himself, feeling hot in his cheeks and around the rim of his shirt. LaBoeuf studied her, popped another piece of gum. He had a ripe scar across the bridge of his nose and a superiority complex. “Well then.”

Hosea interjected. “She’s got spunk, our Mary Beth," he said. "Real tenacity. It’s why she needs bodyguards on the job.”

“Of course,” said Call, his voice stern and deep. “And we are happy to provide whatever assistance we can in the way of intimidation, Mr. Matthews, per the terms of our reciprocal agreement. We’d also be willing to enter into new and future negotiations if Mr. Morgan here is willing to assist us on that bounty.”

“The way you law men still rely so recklessly upon the lawless for your enterprise, even as you drive us from the open range and straight to the gallows will never cease to astound me, Mr. Call,” said Arthur. “Nevertheless, I am in.”

“Good,” said Call. He leaned back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other. His coffee sat, untouched and getting cold. He had a canny look about him as he lit a cigarette. “For the record, Mr. Morgan, we ain't Pinkerton Detectives," he said. "We may be law, but we know how the world works. You boys have helped us out of all manner of scrapes, from Arizona to the Dakotas. Mutual respect is in our best interest, and we’d just as soon keep it that way.”

“I admire your nostalgia,” said Arthur, gazing at him. “You keep me and my wife safe on that riverboat, and you and me, we’ll have an understanding. You got my word on that.”

They shook hands.

“Very good,” said Hosea.

"I would appreciate it now," said LaBoeuf, "if we could go over the specifics."

"Of course," said Hosea. He wiped his face with a pale handkerchief and then put it in his pocket. "It's rather simple, really. As a private security detail, you'll have two main objectives at the poker game."

"Go on."

"The first objective is to offer your authority on the manner of Mary Beth's alias. The second is protective in capacity. Mary Beth is playing a rather complex role, and she needs credibility, so as agents of the law in Texas, you can offer that to her. Anyone asks, her father is Larry 'Blue' Johnson, ex-outlaw turned oil man back in Galveston. Old Blue is a real person, or he was anyway, before we put him in the ground back in '91, but the State Government still believes he may be alive. I've had documents forged in his name, deeds of ownership for two fictional oil fields, one in Galveston, and one in Dallas. Those deeds have already been filed with the county assessor, thanks to a couple old buddies I got back in the Dallas City Hall. Those are just secondary insurance, mind you. They exist only as our benefactor at this party, Mr. Angelo Bronte, is a blowhard, but he's got deep pockets, and if he looks into Marie Kilgore's history, this is what he'll find. You two are our frontline defense and pony show. You're bodyguards, contracted by Marie Kilgore's father. Just follow Mary Beth around and stay quiet, looking tough and Texan, badges and sidearms visible. Your presence will be cleared ahead of time, through the riverboat's proprietor and host of the evenings' affairs. He's some local aristocrat or other, young as all hell, entirely harmless, a contact through our associate Josiah Trelawny. What's important is that you are Texas Rangers. Act like Texas Rangers, and everything should go smoothly."

"Sounds easy enough," said Call. "We'll study the blueprint this week and draw up an escape plan in the unlikely event that the night go south."

"Thank you," said Arthur.

"What about Mr. Morgan here," said LaBoeuf. "What's the story on his alias?"

Hosea rolled up the riverboat blueprint into a tight scroll, secured it with a piece of twine, and handed it to Call. "The beauty of Tacitus Kilgore is that he is a known outlaw, reforming as a married man, exactly like Arthur. There's nothing you need to do but keep an eye on him from afar. He'll be cheating cards while performing only minimal sleight of hand. He'll make his winnings believable, but should anybody desire to rustle him up and search his sleeves, you'll let them, and he'll submit. The goal is to make money, and nothing more. Nobody needs to get hurt, but there's gonna be a lot of chips on the table, and so tempers will fly. The priority is Mary Beth's safety. If it comes to throwing hands, exercise your authority, but for the most part, Arthur can handle himself. He gets into a scrape he can't get out of, that probably means the job has gone south, and it's time to relocate."

LaBoeuf nodded. Call studied the scroll as if it were a sacred artifact. Arthur took a deck of cards from his pocket. He had purchased them earlier from the bartender and was now shuffling them with precision. He watched Call through a haze of smoke. "There's one more thing," he said.

Call looked up. "Which is?"

"Angelo Bronte. Hosea mentioned him before. I am concerned that he has an unnatural affection for Mary Beth. We're gonna keep an extra special watch on him throughout the duration of the festivities. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," said Call.

"Bronte?” said LaBoeuf. He had produced a hunting knife from his belt with an ornate handle, took to studying its tip. “What is that, Spanish?”

“I-talian,” said Arthur, unthinking. Then he gave LaBoeuf a kind of strange look. “Spanish? Ain’t you from Texas?”

“Yes, sir.”

Arthur sighed.

"And this will square us away, financially speaking,” said Hosea. “For that time in Denver, the bounty on the train tracks. We let you have the full cake on that, and now you’ll do us the same.”

“Your terms are understood,” said Call.

“Is there anything else?” said Hosea. "Arthur? Mary Beth?"

“If we’re in agreement, then I’m good to go.” He looked at Mary Beth, softened, and took her by the hand. “You good?”

She smiled and kissed him on the nose. “I'm good.”

LaBoeuf smiled then, leaning in and still chomping on that cocaine gum like an addict. “Well ain’t you two cute,” he said, pointing with the knife. “How long you been married?”

Arthur glared at him, but Mary Beth was easy to talk about her romance. “Just a week,” she said, looking at Arthur. “But we known each other a lot longer than that.”

“Well, congratulations,” said LaBoeuf.

“Thank you.”

“You got wives?” said Arthur, pocketing the cards, sipping his coffee.

“No, sir,” said Call.

“Neither one of you?”

“Call here’s got a boy,” said LaBoeuf, casually brandishing the knife in a nonthreatening manner. “Well, more like a teenager at this point. But his momma ain’t no more. Went by the wayside years ago.”

“Thank you,” said Call. He was observing the depths of his untouched coffee. He had his hands folded, gentlemanly, in his lap. “I believe we’re finished here. LaBoeuf and I will be staying at the Parlor House in Rhodes for the purposes of future correspondence.”

“Wonderful," said Hosea, rapping on the table once. "We’ll be in touch soon, gentlemen. The game has been scheduled for one week from Friday.”

“Adios,” said LaBoeuf, saluting the knife as a psychopath.

Arthur, Mary Beth, and Hosea left the bar.

“That man is a veritable moron,” said Arthur. They turned the corner, stopped at the horses. “I ain't one to judge, but goddam.”

“Which man?”

“LaBoeuf."

"Well, I’m not sure about his specific credentials," said Hosea, "but he’s partnered up with Woodrow Call on this one, and Call and I go way back. He’s a good Ranger, an ex-rustler if I remember straight, knows every corner of this god forsaken country and the people in it. LaBoeuf may not be the most cultured among us, but if Call trusts him, then I do, too.”

“Fine,” said Arthur.

“Do you know what happened to his wife?” said Mary Beth.

“I don't believe they were ever married,” said Hosea. “But it was Typhoid that got her. Or, at least I think it was Typhoid. Five or six years ago.”

“Just like my momma,” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, well, sweetheart, a lot of good people have gone that way, I’m afraid.”

“It’s sad,” she said, placing her hand over her abdomen, briefly, like it comforted her.

“I think we’re gonna stay, Hosea,” said Arthur, patting Diana behind the ears—he’d had to take her out in Sarah’s wake. “Kick around the city a little bit. Take in a show, spend the night.”

“You gonna look at the stable for a new mare?”

“Perhaps,” said Arthur. “I ain’t decided yet.”

“Maybe you’ll go back into the wild, break your own.”

“Maybe,” said Arthur, a little blue at the thought of it.

“We'll see you back at camp then.” Hosea mounted up, then glanced down at the two of them as he settled in his saddle. A horse and buggy went by in the background. The streets were starting to bustle with the day. It was warm and muggy, and there as a street fair somewhere. There were children walking around, holding pinwheels, and you could smell the corn-on-the-cob, grilling. “Thank you both,” Hosea continued, his hands on the reins, “for entertaining those men. It’ll be a good score. Of course, it’s still like we said. If, at any time, you get a bad feeling, and you wanna call it off, just say so.”

“Thanks, Hosea,” said Arthur.

Mary Beth smiled, leaning on Watson dreamily, and petting her pretty black mane. “Yes, thank you.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and then Hosea was off, trotting through the city streets, tipping his hat so diplomatically to strangers.

Arthur felt Mary Beth then, her hand on his back. “You okay?” she said, seeming to sense his restlessness.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. He smiled and put his arm around her. He placed a toothpick between his teeth and sighed. “Just a little sad is all. About the old girl.”

“I know,” she said. She put her head on his shoulder.

They took a walk up to the park. On their way, they stumbled upon the street fair, which was along one of the main drags, at the center of the city. There were flags and colorful bunting everywhere, and lots of pinwheels and bubbles, making the world feel pretty and alive. They’d never really been to a street fair like this before. There was a man making balloon animals on the corner, beside a stop sign, surrounded by children. It was something neither Arthur nor Mary Beth had seen in a long time, so they stopped to watch for a little while as the children laughed and clamored for his attention, and then Arthur bought Mary Beth a tulip from a vender in a straw hat, and she blushed.

They bought hot dogs for lunch and a loaf of stale bread and they walked to the park to sit on a bench and feed the ducks. Then, they walked some more. Arthur took out his deck of cards. He showed Mary Beth a couple tricks he’d learned off Trelawny in years past and a couple more he had invented himself. She was captivated and as she sat admiring his gumption in the summertime sun and how it made his hair gold, she thought about how thankful she was to have found a man so good and so true to her, and how for a long time, she had never thought it possible, living the way she did.

“Hey,” she said then, noticing something. She was watching through the crowd in the park and she thought she saw a man she recognized. “Hey, baby. You see that country-lookin guy over there? With them Native men?”

Arthur squinted after her, seeing what she saw. “Yeah, I do.”

“It’s Evelyn Miller,” she said, holding her tulip. “That’s him ain’t it?”

“It is indeed.”

“What’s he doing there? And are those the same men from the party?”

“That there’s a government building,” said Arthur. “But I ain’t sure.”

“Let’s go say hi.”

Arthur thought on it, grinding the toothpick between his teeth and then spat it to the grass. He had a funny feeling. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

He sighed. “Could be they’re busy.”

“They don’t look busy. Come on, Arthur. He’s a famous writer. I wonder if he’d remember us.”

So they walked over, arm in arm. When they got close, Arthur puffed up a little bit and assumed his more proper and upright posture. “Excuse me, Mr. Miller?” he said.

“Yes,” said Evelyn Miller. He turned toward them both in his stately manner. He was a man of the southern tradition and seemed to recognize them at once. “Ah, haven’t I met you two?”

“Yes, you have,” said Arthur. He held out his hand. They shook. “I’m Arthur Morgan. This is my wife, Mary Beth. You may actually remember us as the Kilgores, but that’s a bad alias.”

Miller had kind eyes. He smiled in recognition. “The Kilgores,” he said. “Why, of course. That ghastly party. You escorted a drunken fool from the premises if I remember correctly.”

“That, I did,” said Arthur. "Escorting drunken fools is one of my finer specialties."

Miller laughed. He addressed Mary Beth in a gentlemanly fashion. “Mrs. Kilgore. You are as lovely as I remember.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Miller,” said Mary Beth. She made a curtsy. “But you can just call me Mary Beth. Or Mrs. Morgan, if you’d prefer.”

“Noted,” said Miller. “This is quite the coincidence. Oddly enough, I was just speaking with the mayor about you two the other day.”

“The mayor?” said Arthur.

“That’s right,” said Miller. “I don’t mean to be awkward, but I just—I wonder if I might say something rude about it.”

“Go right on ahead,” said Arthur.

“The mayor, well. He thinks you stole from him.”

The Chief and who Arthur assumed to be his son stood nearby in silence, but they did not seem disinterested. Arthur gave Miller a kind of careful look. He didn’t like the notion of having entered into the casual conversations of polite circles. “Stole from him, huh?”

“To be clear,” Miller went on, “he wasn’t very upset about it. He rather liked the two of you.”

“I see.”

“Do you…well, that is to say…” He removed his hat. He shuffled in his shoes nervously.

“You got ants in your pants, Mr. Miller?” said Arthur.

“No,” said Miller, blushing. “No. I just wondered—is that something you can do? Steal things?”

“Excuse me?”

“I apologize,” said Miller. “I just. Well.” He looked at Mary Beth, seemingly conflicted. “I did not mean to imply—”

“Imply what?” she said, feigning that demure sensibility of hers. “That we’d rob a politician at his own party? That’s some highfalutin accusation, even for us.”

This confused him. He shook out his head a little and then looked at Arthur. “I thought she was an oil heiress from Texas.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, that is the story. In any case I must ask if there is a reason you are asking me to incriminate myself, Mr. Miller. We didn’t come over here to enter into the wrath of the law. We just wanted to say hello.”

“No, no. Well. Not formally at least.” He turned to the chief and his son then, ushering them into the conversation as if he had been remiss. “Have you met? This is Rains Fall, a great chief, and his son, Eagle Flies.”

Arthur and Mary Beth both nodded, said hello. Eagle Flies must have been about twenty-two or twenty-three. A little younger than John. He had some kind of anger in his eyes, but it was not menacing. It was disassociated from man or object and seemed to turn outwardly upon the world as one single, existential atrocity. "How do you do," said Arthur.

“We have not met officially,” said Rains Fall. He wore a dark hat and jacket, as if to hide himself. “We saw you many months ago, however, on the wagon train, crossing the river at Cumberland Falls. Do you remember?”

“I do,” said Arthur.

“Mrs. Morgan, I remember you fondly from the party. Though we did not speak, many spoke well of you.”

Mary Beth smiled politely, seeming surprised. “I didn’t realize I’d made such a splash,” she said.

“Well, I remember.”

“Those are some mighty powers of observation,” said Arthur.

Rains Fall glanced away, heavily beneath the brim of his hat. He had much to say. “Indeed. My people, if we even are a people anymore, were once lead by our powers of observation. We have fought hard, and we have lost a great deal, Mr. Morgan. In the wake of our defeat, we have been repeatedly punished and removed from our land. Now, I am told that we are to be moved again. That is why we are here."

"I thought there was treaties for all that."

"There are treaties," said Rains Fall. "We've made peace treaties. Many, in fact. But those treaties are being been broken."

“In their most recent effort to uproot his tribe, the State Government is clearly contravening one of these peace treaties, proposed and signed only three years ago,” said Miller. "Don't you see?"

Eagle Flies stood by sadly, in deference to his father, seeming unwilling to look Arthur in the eye. Arthur glanced at Miller and felt Mary Beth renew her grip on his arm as if to signal that she was feeling things deeply and that the trajectory of the conversation were about to change.

"What are we getting at here," said Arthur.

“This will lead to war,” said Eagle Flies. He lifted his chin amidst the proposal. His father quelled him with wise words that seemed removed from the situation, high above, but Arthur could see the sort of hot indifference inside Eagle Flies and how he dismissed it. In his heart Arthur agreed with such anger, but he sensed now, too, as if he were tossing adrift in an endless ocean of responsibilities and getting too far from shore to turn back.

“It’s a bad business,” he said to them all, in an effort to end the conversation. “I’m mighty sorry.”

Even still, Miller pressed on. “It’s to do with oil,” he said. “I know it, but I need the proof.”

“What kind of proof?” said Mary Beth.

Arthur cleared his throat, went ignored.

“I believe there were some prospectors who were up on their land a few months ago who have filed reports with Leviticus Cornwall and the State Government, claiming huge reserves of oil under their land.”

“You can do that?” said Mary Beth. “Claim something that’s underneath something else? Ain’t the land just the land?”

“You would think so,” said Eagle Flies.

“Anyway,” said Miller. “If we could just get our hands on those reports. That would be the proof we need.”

There was a dull silence then, filled only by the sounds of the surrounding street fair and all of its ignorant bliss. Arthur was staring at Miller. It all came together and he was promptly put upon. “You want me to try and steal it,” he said.

Miller stared at him, a little slack-jawed. “Well, obviously they can’t, and even more obviously, I would be useless. Listen, I realize this is both a seemingly random and ridiculous request, but Mr. Morgan, we are desperate.”

Arthur was scratching at the back of his head then when he took a step back, as if to leave. Mary Beth watched him closely, still held onto him, waiting to see what he would do. “I ain’t no activist, Mr. Miller,” he said. “I’m real sorry for your predicament, but my wife and I, we’re working folk. We got problems and…a cause of our own. I hope you can understand.”

“We will pay you very handsomely, Mr. Morgan,” said Rains Fall, head on.

"That’s okay,” said Arthur.

But Mary Beth tugged him back. "Arthur," she whispered. "Wait."

This seemed to bring him frustration. “Mary Beth,” he said, lowering his voice. He turned his back to the men for a moment to privately address her. “I ain’t doing this. We got enough on our plate.”

"But you'll help them Rangers hunt that killer from Texas? Don’t you hear this man?” she said. “The government is stealing from him. That ain’t right.”

“I know it ain’t right. And I hear what you're saying, but it ain't the same. Hunting Raiders for the law is easy work I can do with my eyes closed, but going up against the government? That’s a whole other can of worms, Mary Beth and it ain't in our best interest.”

She looked at him. He had a good deal of hefty concern in his eyes and was soft to her. He was talking about her and their future and she understood this time. “Okay,” she said, giving in. She let it go.

But Rains Fall was insistent. “Please, Mr. Morgan,” he said.

Arthur glanced at him over his shoulder. Even still she could tell he was feeling things. He was very conflicted. “You want me to put myself in danger for a damn cause?" he said. "How much we talking then.”

“I told you,” said Eagle Flies to Rains Fall. “They’re all mercenaries.”

“Hey,” said Mary Beth, forcefully. She took a step forward. This surprised Eagle Flies. “It ain’t like that. You don’t know him.”

But Arthur calmed her. “It’s okay, Mary Beth,” he said. He turned to her, palmed her cheeks and smoothed her hair down her neck. She had only been defending him. “It’s okay. He’s right. Not about you, but about me, he's right.” Then he looked back at Eagle Flies. He removed himself from Mary Beth and addressed him man to man. “You wanna know about me?” he said.

“What about you."

“What about this?" said Arthur. "I got a price on my head in two states, my friend. The government don’t like me anymore than it does you, and like you, I been running for as long as I can remember. The same thing goes for my wife here, hence her anger. Like you, our time in this place is coming to a fast finish, and our cause is getting out of here with our lives and the lives of our loved ones. When it comes to any and all things extracurricular to that cause, well, morality is a concept of due relativity, Eagle Flies, and we don’t bend so easy. Now, I agree with you, and I find your dilemma mighty disturbing. But I got a woman and a family, and I gotta get paid for the risks I take, particularly when it comes to stealing from the State Government. Do you understand?”

Eagle Flies said nothing. He looked back at Mary Beth, but she was looking away at the cobblestone now. Rains Fall took over. He said, “We understand, Mr. Morgan. And we will pay.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. He looked away, looked at her. He could not believe what he was agreeing to.

“You’ll meet my son in three days up near Citadel Rock, just west of the oil fields.”

Arthur nodded. “Fine.”

“We are very grateful for your help,” said Rains Fall, with seriousness. He looked at Mary Beth as well. “We are grateful to both of you.”

Mary Beth smiled, weakly. Arthur could tell she was still upset.

“You’re welcome,” said Arthur. He took her hand as Evelyn Miller broke the conversation, bringing up something or other about the senator.

“This whole thing is a waste of time,” grumbled Eagle Flies.

Rains Fall made to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder. He said, “We must try everything, son.”

Arthur looked away. That sentiment he had heard many times before.

Arthur felt himself stretched by circumstance after that. It was an old sensation very familiar to him. Mary Beth spoke little on their return walk through the town. She suggested they visit the stable, but Arthur was not ready for that. He didn’t fancy horse shopping at the time being, and she understood. They had earlier discussed buying tickets to a show, and so they began to head in the direction of the theater. Arthur could tell she was still cooling off. The day had become serious very quickly, and he could sense her processing as they went along, and even as he knew she did not desire to be preoccupied or for it to derail the day, he was grateful to her. Despite what many would have believed he did not have many people in his life who would defend him like she had so casually that day.

When they got to the theater, Arthur paid for the tickets, and then they went inside where it was only about half-full. They sat down in a row toward the back. Mary Beth had begun to loosen up a little at her excitement for the picture show. She had only ever been to one. Arthur waited until the lights went down, and a hush fell over the meager crowd, and then he took her hands into his in seriousness.

“What’s the matter?” she said, quietly, looking at him.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing is the matter. I just—before the picture starts, I wanted to thank you, Mary Beth."

“Thank me? For what?”

“For defending me today," he said, folding his hands over hers, completely. "With Eagle Flies. You didn't have to, but you did. You did it with those Rangers, too. You got my back. You always have, even when we was just friends, and I don't know that I've ever really thanked you for it.”

She smiled up at him, gracious, and she took hold of his ear and kissed him. “I’m always gonna have your back, Arthur,” she said. “This ain’t no one-sided arrangement, and you know that. You're welcome."

It was life-saving. The curtain went up. They turned to see, and the movie was perhaps a most preposterous show of artistic failure. They laughed, made fun of it a little, watched with their heads together, whispering. Even still, as they called it silly, they were having fun, and they had to admit it was sort of neat.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #mary beth gaskill #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #hosea matthews #rains fall #eagle flies #lonesome dove #true grit #not a crossover per se #just some cameos from texas rangers i love #<3 #the lily farm

[blackpinkofficial]

On a modest stage inside a tent in downtown Los Angeles, the four members of the South Korean girl group Blackpink assume a diamond formation and aim their fingers like guns at the audience as they launch into the chorus of their breakout hit, “Ddu-du Ddu-du”: “Wait till I do what I ... Hit you with that ddu-du ddu-du du!”

It’s the afternoon before the Grammys at Universal Music Group chairman/CEO Lucian Grainge’s annual showcase, where he presents the company’s prospective superstars to a crowd of record executives and industry types. (Past performers have included Ariana Grande, Halsey and Shawn Mendes.) With their intense choreography, dance-heavy beats and Clueless-esque high-fashion looks, the four women offer the kind of bells-and-whistles pop production that makes them an anomaly not just on today’s lineup, where rappers like 2 Chainz and Lil Baby abound, but also on the charts, where women like Grande serve up their divadom with an extra dose of realness.

The showcase marks Blackpink’s first stateside performance, though the band made history long before: “Ddu-du Ddu-du” became the highest-charting single by a Korean girl group on the Billboard Hot 100 when it peaked at No. 55 last June, and this April the act will be the first Korean girl group to play Coachella, before embarking on a North American arena tour. “Ddu-du Ddu-du,” sung mostly in Korean, is a boastful warning to those who underestimate Blackpink, with a hook (meant to imitate the sound of bullets flying) that’s also a canny invitation to non-Korean listeners -- anyone can sing the words. The buttoned-up UMG crowd seems a little unsure, but also intrigued: Just as Blackpink’s Jennie -- soft-spoken in person, but onstage a fierce singer and rapper -- slides into a rat-tat-tat flow in the second verse, more and more audience members whip out their phones to capture video.

There’s no longer any question that K-pop is happening in America. BTS, the seven-member South Korean boy band, scored two No. 1 albums on the Billboard 200 in 2018 and became the first K-pop group to sell out an American stadium when it played New York’s Citi Field in October. Yet despite the group’s visibility here, K-pop remains somewhat detached from the mainstream: It receives relatively little top 40 airplay despite fan-army pressure on radio stations, its artists rarely tour with non-K-pop acts, and outside of its intensely passionate fan groups, K-pop stars hardly drive the wider “conversation” that someone like Grande can dominate with a single tweet.

Blackpink represents Korean music’s latest, greatest hope at breaking out of the American K-pop box. The group believes its multinational identity gives it global appeal: Sweet-voiced Jisoo, 24, is a South Korean native; buoyant rapper Lisa, 21, is from Thailand; guitar-playing Rosé, 22, grew up in Australia; and Jennie, 23, was born in South Korea but spent some formative years in New Zealand. “You don’t have to understand Korean to understand the music, the visuals, the vibe,” says Jisoo, through a translator. (Rosé and Jennie are fluent in English; Lisa alternates between English and Korean during our interview.) “We’ve got so much Korean culture and so much Western culture in us,” adds Rosé, her Australian accent still pronounced.

And though occasional English lyrics already pepper their tracks, Jennie notes that recording all-English songs is something they “definitely want to do” in the future. (They’re focused on making their debut album first.) Even their sound -- an omnivorous fusion of fist-pumping EDM and booming hip-hop beats with flashes of house, ’80s pop and harmonica-driven folk -- seems conceived for the widest possible audience. “I was immediately drawn to their fierce and empowering energy,” says Dua Lipa, who asked the group to guest on last year’s bilingual banger “Kiss and Make Up.” “They are not just giving you hit songs -- they are sending a message that resonates beyond the lyrics.”

Last fall, Blackpink signed to Interscope Records, which will serve as both a creative and business partner to YG Entertainment, the group’s Korean home and one of South Korea’s three main music companies along with SM Entertainment and JYP Entertainment. These companies serve as label, management firm and production studio, controlling almost every aspect of their artists’ careers. Interscope chairman/CEO John Janick says that YG’s leadership -- Hyunsuk “YG” Yang, its founder, and Teddy Park, Blackpink’s main producer and creative director -- “runs the show,” but the relationship is collaborative: Sam Riback, Interscope’s pop-rock A&R head, has made multiple trips to YG’s Seoul headquarters and “has been sending them lots of different ideas,” according to Janick. “Our goal,” he says, “is to amplify what YG has been doing globally.”

If Interscope can help turn Blackpink into a truly global superstar act, the partnership could become a model for other labels looking to invest in K-pop and even pave the way for joint imprints. “This deal could be a benchmark,” says YG’s Joojong “JJ” Joe, who heads the company’s U.S. operations from a small house near Los Angeles’ Echo Park. It will also confirm Interscope’s foresight about K-pop. In 2011, the label signed the group Girls’ Generation during one of the earlier waves of K-pop imports, when artists like BoA and Wonder Girls worked with Western producers and companies.

At the time, those artists barely made a dent on the mainstream charts, and their backers took a hit: Despite high-profile promotional appearances, Girls’ Generation’sThe Boys LP sold only 1,000 copies in the United States during its first week in 2012, according to Nielsen Music. Since then, however, streaming platforms have made it easier for fans to discover and support Korean music, while the growth of social media has also allowed them to forge deep connections with artists everywhere. “In this era, people find their music and their talented artists on the internet,” says Susan Rosenbluth, senior vp at AEG Presents/Goldenvoice, who helped book Blackpink’s North American tour and notes that K-pop’s stateside audience “does not follow along ethnic lines.”

To Janick, the success of Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee’s chart-topping Latin hit, “Despacito,” aided by a Justin Bieber remix, made English-speaking listeners more open-minded in general to music in other languages. “We’re going to have hits from all different territories -- more of them, and more often than we’ve seen in the past,” he says.

But the onus isn’t just on listeners to embrace Korean music -- it’s on industry gatekeepers too. At the UMG showcase, the reaction to Blackpink is enthusiastic, but it feels muted compared with the rousing ovation the crowd gives classic-rock revivalists Greta Van Fleet, whose 2018 debut album was notoriously panned by some critics as derivative. The response to Blackpink’s Interscope deal, however, suggests that attitude could change.

“So many artists on our roster started calling, saying, ‘I want to work with these girls.’ Radio stations were asking when new music was going to be out,” says Interscope executive vp business development Jeremy Erlich, who facilitated early conversations between the label and YG (he and Joe attended business school together). “The industry’s ready. When the music comes out, I don’t think there’s going to be many people saying, ‘This is just a fad.’”

The day before the showcase, the ladies of Blackpink are ensconced in a hotel suite high above downtown L.A. Lisa, dressed in a gray fleece and a checkered coat, spies the Hollywood sign through a corner window and bounds off a couch for a closer look. Her bandmates, cozied up in brightly colored sweatshirts and cardigans, admit they weren’t expecting Los Angeles in February to be so chilly. During some rare downtime the previous day, they went shopping in Santa Monica. “It was supposed to be for fashion,” says Jennie, “but we ended up just grabbing anything that was warm.”

This is Blackpink’s first trip to L.A., but it has been almost a decade in the making. The group’s members came to Seoul from all over the world starting in 2010 to take part in YG’s rigorous recruitment and training process. The company and its competitors hold tryouts both within and far beyond Korea (Rosé traveled to Sydney from her home in Melbourne), seeking recruits who are typically preteens or teens, ethnically Korean and fluent in the language, though these qualities are not mandatory. Lisa, who auditioned in her native Thailand in 2010, didn’t speak any Korean when she began training in Seoul in 2011.

For all four women, joining YG meant enrolling in a kind of full-time pop-star academy that Jennie calls “more strict than school” and that Rosé likens to The X Factor with dorm rooms. For 12 hours a day, seven days a week, the future members of Blackpink -- along with, by Jennie’s estimate, 10-20 other aspiring singers who cycled through the project -- studied singing, dancing and rapping, taking part in monthly tests designed to identify their strengths and weed out subpar trainees. “Somebody would come in with a piece of paper and stick it on a wall, and it would say who did best, who did worst, who’s going home,” recalls Jennie, whom YG initially steered toward rapping because she spoke fluent English. “You get a score -- A, B, C,” Lisa explains. “Lisa would always get A’s for everything,” adds Jennie with a laugh.

The process was lengthy. Before Blackpink debuted in 2016, Jennie spent six years in training, Lisa and Jisoo five and Rosé four. For the members who had left behind life outside South Korea, the pace of training on top of the culture shock was sometimes tough. “I’d call my parents crying,” recalls Rosé. “But as much as it was hard for me to cope with all of that, it made me more hungry. I remember my mom would be like, ‘If it’s so hard for you, just come back home.’ But I’d be like” -- she mimics a surly teen’s glare, much to the others’ amusement -- “‘That’s not what I’m talking about!’” Lisa credits her future bandmates with easing her transition. “Jennie would speak English to me, and Jisoo helped me out with my Korean,” she says. Rosé was the last of the bunch to enter training, but she remembers the four of them bonding during an all-night jam session when she arrived. “We just clicked,” she says.

That’s clearly still the case: Rosé sometimes puts her hand on Lisa’s knee when translating for her, and at one point Jennie and Jisoo huddle close together to silently adjust one of their necklaces, displaying the intimacy of close friends. “We don’t really have a day off,” says Lisa. (Once every two weeks, Rosé clarifies.) And because their families are so far-flung, they often spend their time off with each other anyway. “We’re stuck together,” says Rosé, laughing.

While K-pop companies have a reputation for packaging groups assembly line-style, Blackpink’s members insist they have plenty of creative input, despite having no official writing credits on their tracks. Park plays them music he’s working on and “really tries to put our thoughts into our songs,” says Jennie. “He really gets his inspirations from us.”

“It’s important as recording artists that they actually truly own their songs,” says Park. The women all make suggestions about who should sing what, and if a part doesn’t feel right to someone, he will make adjustments. “He doesn’t just bring us a song, like, ‘Go practice,’” says Rosé.

Besides, the members of Blackpink have another creative outlet: Last fall, YG announced that they would all release solo material, starting with Jennie, whose debut single, “Solo,” topped Billboard’s World Digital Song Sales chart in December. Though the music is still created and put out by YG, the idea that group longevity and solo success aren’t mutually exclusive is a radical development in girl-group history -- one that Janick says only “makes the brand stronger.”

Stars who come through companies like YG are called “idols” in Korea and have historically been expected to maintain a squeaky-clean image. When Blackpink debuted, Jennie says YG was very selective about its promotional appearances: “We were trained to be a little more...” “Closed in?” Rosé suggests.

“Closed in” is exactly what the outspoken women ruling the U.S. charts now, from Grande to Halsey, are not -- they make deeply personal, even raw, music. But while Blackpink may well find success catering to an audience craving its kind of TRL-era pop spectacle -- Interscope’s Erlich calls the group “the modern Spice Girls” -- lately the band has been less concerned with appearing perfect, both onstage and off. “We always wanted to be out there, to be more true to ourselves and a little more free,” says Jennie. “Even we can get things wrong sometimes. We want to just show them the real us.”

Jennie and Lisa do just that when I ask how they expect to be received as rappers in America. Lisa lets out an embarrassed groan, withdrawing into her fleece. She has loved hip-hop since childhood and is obsessed with Tyga (“I love his swag,” she says, blushing). But she and Jennie seem well aware that a group of Asian women adopting a style pioneered by black American artists might be a hard sell for some stateside listeners who are keenly attuned to debates about cultural appropriation.

“Me and Lisa don’t talk about it out loud, but I know we have this big pressure,” says Jennie, who adds that she studied artists like Lauryn Hill and TLC when she first started rapping. She looks across the room at Lisa: “She’s going to kill it.” Lisa just scrunches up her face.

That kind of vulnerability may be what ultimately endears Blackpink to an American pop audience. “The artists that are the most successful in these situations are really authentic with how they can relate to a coming-of-age experience” in their music, says Goldenvoice’s Rosenbluth. “There’s a certain amount of authenticity to Blackpink that I really love. The dedication is heartfelt.” 

Back at the showcase, the band finishes its set with the reggaetón-tinged “Forever Young,” featuring an intricately choreographed, hair-flipping dance break. As the beat reaches its booming climax, the bandmembers whip toward each other and strike a statuesque pose with their hands on their hips, just in time for the music to stop. They hold still for a moment as the lights dim, then drop their arms and turn toward each other, catching their breath and grinning like four young women who can’t quite believe they’re here.  

#blackpink #ot4 #m:billboard #press #090103

[lazingonsunday]

Tag Game!!

I was tagged by @gretavanfic and @bigthighsandstupidguys , thank you, lovelies!! 💛

1. What is your middle name?

Starts with G lol

2. How old are you?

20

3. When is your birthday?

Dec 2

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Everyone is putting like moon and sun and rising and I have no idea what that mean lmao, sorry! I think I’m a Sagittarius though

5. What is your favourite colour?

Orange or Yellow 🧡💛

6. What’s your lucky number?

Don’t really have one, but I always tried to be #10 on my volleyball jersey

7. Do you have any pets?

An old border collie named Riley

8. Where are you from?

Canada! 🇨🇦

9. How tall are you?

Like 5’7 ish

10. What shoe size are you?

Usually 9.5 or 10. I got big ass feet :(

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

Way more than one human being needs

12. What was your last dream about?

I went to IT chapter 2 last night so safe to say I was having some freaky clown dreams all night lol

13. What talents do you have?

Um, I can say the alphabet backwards, which is super random lol. I can also kinda play guitar, bass, ukulele, and harmonica, but I’m not very good at any of them yet lol

14. Are you psychic in any way?

I used to think so when I was little, but not so much anymore

15. Favourite song?

Ooh, this is hard. Right now I really love When The Curtain Falls by GVF, but I would say an all time fave might be Forever in Blue Jeans by Neil Diamond because it reminds me of my mom

16. Favourite movie?

Oh, also a tough one! I think either Rocky IV or The Sandlot

17. Who would be your ideal partner?

Jake Kiszka, obviously. But in all seriousness, anyone who is genuinely kind that I feel comfortable and happy around.

18. Do you want children?

I never thought so, but now a bunch of my older cousins are having kids and they’re pretty cool, so maybe one day if I found the right person to raise them with

19. Do you want a church wedding?

No, even though my mom will kill me if I don’t lol

20. Are you religious?

I was raised Catholic, but I don’t consider myself religious anymore.

21. Have you ever been to the hospital?

Yes, I’m asthmatic af lol, and prone to breaking my fingers playing rugby

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

No, I am a well-behaved child

23. Have you ever met any celebrities?

I met the magicians Penn & Teller if that counts haha

24. Baths or showers?

For practical purposes of actually getting clean, showers, but I l o v e baths

25. What colour socks are you wearing?

Black

26. Have you ever been famous?

No

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity?

While I daydream about it frequently, realistically I know I would hate it

28. What type of music do you like?

Literally the most random taste in music, it changes all the time. I don’t even have certain genres that I like, just certain artists or albums from a variety of genres

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping?

Yes. I was very drunk lmao

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?

Three normal ones and a body pillow

31. What position do you usually sleep in?

On my side cuddled up with the pillows

32. How big is your house?

Typical white suburban neighbourhood house

33. What do you typically have for breakfast?

I typically pout in the kitchen for 10 minutes before I give up and make something completely inappropriate for breakfast lmao. Usually grilled cheese. This morning alphagetti. I hate breakfast so much lol

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

Nope. No desire to.

35. Have you ever tried archery?

Yes, we did it in school a few times

36. Favourite clean word?

Love

37. Favourite swear word?

Idk if it’s a swear word, but I say ‘goddammit’ a lot

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?

Not long, I’m a sleepy bitch. Probably 24 hours

39. Do you have any scars?

Yes

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

In 9th grade I found out this guy had a crush on my and told literally everyone but me lol

41. Are you a good liar?

I don’t lie very often, but mostly because I am a terrible liar

42. Are you a good judge of character?

Yes. I frequently get such strong vibes off of people and I can tell right away if they’re the kind of person that’s gonna stress me out

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own?

Not well

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I guess I probably have a Canadian accent, but not super strong. The region I’m from has a pretty neutral North American accent

45. What is your favourite accent?

Certain regions of Irish accent are so beautiful. Like Hozier’s accent

46. What is your personality type?

Quite shy, but generally very kind

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing?

I have a shirt that I got for work that was like a hundred bucks and I never wear it cause I sprayed foundation on it once and now I’m scared I’m gonna ruin it lol

48. Can you curl your tongue?

Yes

49. Are you an innie or outie?

Innie

50. Left or right handed?

Right

51. Are you scared or spiders?

Not really scared of them, but I don’t like them to be close to me if that makes sense

52. Favourite food?

Probably burritos

53. Favourite foreign food?

Mexican

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

Fairly clean

55. Most used phrase?

I really don’t think I have one?

56. Most used word?

Completely. I say it like to agree with someone or acknowledge what they’re saying

57. How long does it take for you to get ready?

Depends what I’m getting ready. For school or something I don’t really care about, maybe half an hour. For work or going out, probably over an hour.

58. Do you have much of an ego?

I don’t think so

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops?

Suck until I get bored and crunch it lol

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Yes, a concerning amount. Like full conversations with myself at full volume, constantly when I’m alone.

61. Do you sing to yourself?

Occasionally

62. Are you a good singer?

Not really

63. Biggest fear?

Never learning how to make meaningful connections , pushing all my friends away, and dying alone.

64. Are you a gossip?

No, I hate it! My friends try to tell me about people we went to high school with, and I just genuinely don’t care and don’t want to know lmao

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen?

Idk what classifies as a ‘dramatic’ movie, but I guess the Rocky movies again

66. Do you like long or short hair?

I love long hair, I’m so jealous of people with really long hair. Mine grows so slow :(

67. Can you name all 50 states of America?

Maybe, if I thought really hard about it? I can barely remember Canadian provinces lmao

68. Favourite school subject?

I always really loved some topics in science, but then hated others. I was probably best at English.

69. Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert af

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

No, even snorkeling freaks me out. The ocean is some scary soup

71. What makes you nervous?

Pretty much everything lol. But mostly any social situation where there’s people I don’t know, or I don’t know exactly what to expect.

72. Are you scared of the dark?

Really depends where I am. Usually no, but if I’m outside then usually yes, and after watching It last night, yes lol

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes?

Depends who it is and what the mistake is

74. Are you ticklish?

Honestly, not really

75. Have you ever started a rumour?

Not intentionally

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Kind of? At work they have like hourly leaders who are in charge of the sales floor, and I did that a lot, but it’s not really a lot of power or responsibility. Also babysitting I guess

77. Have you ever drank underage?

Yes

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Honestly, this is gonna sound so stupid, but I’ve never done anything other than alcohol and cigarettes. I actually high key wanna try weed, but again the whole ‘not knowing what to expect makes me anxious thing.’ Not even so much that I’m nervous to try the drug but that I’m nervous to try to buy it or get it, even though it’s fully legal in Canada and there’s a dispensary on every corner lmao

79. Who was your first real crush?

The first one I remember was a boy named Evan in first grade

80. How many piercings do you have?

Just my ears, and I rarely wear earrings so I always have to stab through them again when I do

81. Can you roll your R’s?

No, and I can’t whistle either! Which is deeply infuriating!

82. How fast can you type?

Fast enough to not look foolish

83. How fast can you run?

Not fast at all. I’m asthmatic and out of shape lmao

84. What colour is your hair?

An ugly medium mousy brown. I always wanna dye it a little lighter, but I go to the hairdresser like once every two years so it would look stupid when it grew out lol

85. What colour are your eyes?

Hazel-y greenish

86. What are you allergic to?

All sorts of environmental allergies; dust, pollen, animal hair, etc. I’m always sneezing and watery eyes lol

87. Do you keep a journal?

I carry a notebook, but it’s more like an agenda than a diary

88. What do your parents do?

My dad owns a drywall company and my mom is a stay-at-home mom, but she volunteers a lot now that we’re older

89. Do you like your age?

No. I think that being in your late teens and twenties can be really stressful because you feel like there’s certain things that you should have accomplished or experienced and it can be very overwhelming, feeling like you’re competing with all your peers to get your life together

90. What makes you angry?

Rude and disrespectful people

91. Do you like your own name?

Not really

92. Have you thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

I’ve definitely thought about it but I don’t really have specific favourites

93. Do you want a boy or girl for a child?

I don’t have a preference. I’d probably like to have one of each

94. What are your strengths?

I think I’ve become a lot more kind and open-hearted in the last few years.

95. What are your weaknesses?

I feel like I have let fear dictate my entire life, and there’s so many things I haven’t done because I’ve been afraid. I need to step outside my comfort zone more often.

96. How did you get your name?

There was a character on a TV show called my name that my parents liked

97. Were your ancestors royalty?

Not that I am aware of

98. Do you have any tattoos?

I changed the question because scars was an earlier one. I have two tattoos on my right arm

99. Colour of your bedspread?

Because it’s summer, I have a lighter blanket that’s light blue. My winter duvet is navy

100. Colour of your room?

Light blue

That was LONG lmao but really fun! I’m too lazy to bold the questions so sorry if it’s hard to read!

Tagging: @frcmthefires @sweetkiszkadreams @okietrish @sammyscherub @gretavanbobatea @jake-thomas-kiszka @mr-stank-i-dont-feel-so-dank and anyone else who wants to do it!!

#tagged #tag game

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S3 Ep 11 pt 2: Seto Discovers Vulture Capitalism

Where were we on this arc that ended up being hella longer than I thought it would be? Oh yeah, Last we left the crew, Tristan’s body, now possessed by Nezbitt, was just racing away with Mokuba. This kid gets abducted so often, it’s never occurred to me that anyone in this show would think this is weird. So, when Noah showed up to intervene with actual common sense it was a good bit of whiplash for me.

It’s like the same whiplash I got back when Noah attempted to forfeit a rigged game (for the first time in this entire series). Like I get that Noah is the villain, but how is the evil kid way better at this common sense thing than...a lot of people who’ve been on this show? Not that Noah’s always smart, of course, he still doesn’t seem totally with it on a lot of things (like interior design, which we will get to in a sec) but wow. Noah actually called out this entire show with “Really? Mokuba? Again?”

And so you know what that means? We get to see Noah’s sweet pad in this VR world where Noah could have created anything. Literally anything. To start, he made himself a fireplace with a tiny tiny stack of wood (pretty sure Noah might not know how fires work) and...some sort of...curse on the mantle.

Maybe the mantle couldn’t read the typeface that Noah wanted to use on the mantle?

The rest of the room is just this. Just this.

You know what this no-walls aesthetic SUPER reminds me of?

Pocket Camp. Like this just looks like a Pocket Camp set up to me. In fact...I’m pretty sure I can make almost this exact room in Pocket Camp.

Noah’s just inviting Mokuba over with the bare minimum of ugly ass furniture he needs to have a person over at his campsite he pretends is a house while he waits patiently for the real version of Animal Crossing to come to Switch.

Leichter has an accent that is very old-fashioned Americana and doesn’t wholly make sense in the context of him living in urban Japan, like there’s a whole story there I’d be curious about. But most likely, they were probably trying to cover up the fact that they were using the same 5 voice actors by having him pull out the Clark Gable impression.

And then Seto did not use a Blue Eyes as his deck Master. Instead he used....this guy.

This is a lot of guy to take in. I...I don’t like it.

During this duel we get a Seto Kaiba flashback--and it’s an honest flashback this time, no clones are going to show up and reenact this performance, this is just a straight up flashback.

We’re transported back to Gozoboro’s long buffet table. He really, really loves this thing. It’s like the only place he and his kids ever seem to hang out. Surprised Mokuba and Seto don’t need glasses after squinting so hard to see their own Father for so many years. Also surprised Mokuba and Seto even know what their Dad looks like up close.

Anyways, he sits down at the table and shouts really loudly so it can reach the other side of the room.

Also, just gonna bring this up, we’ve only seen one other guy obsessed with long tables--let me do some digging to a S1 cap, one sec:

Maybe this is just what evil Dads who wear Salmon do?  They get hella long tables to seat their 0 friends and just sit at one of the ends and monologue until something important happens. I mean y’all know how much I love this storyboarder but boy they have a thing for villains and long tables.

Anyways, back to Season 3.

(bro’s telling me he does not know about Thoroughly Modern Millie and like can you believe neither Hulu or Netflix has that musical? I mean that musical is problematic as hell, as is all Broadway but maybe I want to watch some 1920′s dancing.)

Anyways, cue Gozaboro shuffling in a comedically large pile of money on a very small pushcart. About 1,099,520,000.00 Yen’s worth. But the show will simplify it for the Americans.

This episode of Yugioh was made around 2002, and this just followed the .com bubble bursting in California. (and before that happened, it was preceded by a recession in Japan that affected the .com bubble quite a bit) For those here who were not born yet and do not remember this happening, this was like, pretty horrifying. I grew up in the Bay where 90% of everyone still works in tech, so I remember that after the bubble burst there were kids in our school who’s parents used to have great salaries and a steady income, who suddenly had to pick up shifts at Starbucks to get back on their feet.

So, it’s interesting that we have this kid’s show basically showing us point blank what Vulture Capitalism is and how it works. You’d think this business stuff would normally go over kid’s heads, but at the time, I think a lot of kids wanted to know what happened to their families but maybe didn’t understand it?

So Kaiba is gonna get into investing all of a sudden, which is kind of weird, mostly because it involved no playing cards. Also because this happened:

Yeah, what? He’s apparently not even adopted yet, which means Seto could still turn around and tell the News that he beat Gozaboro in a match but, I guess that old threat has aged out.

It’s inferred that Seto’s been living here like for several years now. You’d think this guy would list some dependents just for the tax cuts, but nah, Gozaboro just shoved these two into the gigantic 5000 sq ft closet under the stairs of his huge mansion and forgot about them for a couple years.

So, armed with money that is printed on single Yen bills and being pushed around Kaiba in a little tiny cart, Seto has to formulate a plan. Problem is, his business skills include a.) beating up other orphans b.) doing math pretty good and c.) playing cards.

When Seto is like “I don’t care what the company sells, just get me a company to buy” that’s like a straight reference to the .com bubble, but minus the complicated stock market stuff.

For the kid’s in the room that don’t know a thing about this era, tech companies were being created en masse, and because the internet was new and exciting, all of their worth was in their stock rather than in their products--if they even had a product. Mostly they just had big overreaching ideas they were pretty sure would make them all millionaires. But the product didn’t really matter since no one ever reads any numbers when all they plan to do is turn around and immediately sell anyway. They just assumed that if they put on the pressure, they would drive up the value, and would sell before anyone figured out it was all worthless.

This actually worked for so many years, up until people at the top all started demanding real money from the people at the bottom, much like how Seto needed 100 million dollars ASAP from an unsuspecting...whatever company this was. Vulture Capitalism at it’s finest, expecting exponential and unrealistic growth from any company, and if, the growth isn’t met, just selling the whole damn thing after driving every employee to the hospital for overwork.

Now, normally Vulture Capitalism is only if an investor buys a struggling company intending to sell directly afterwards, but since Seto made them struggle like immediately after purchasing, I think we can still call this that.

(And we still do this to this day, PS, we’ve learned nothing from the .com crash.)

This really bad child’s outfit is my favorite Mokuba outfit. I mean...it’s so bad. No wonder Mokuba was picked on so often as a child, wow. He’s like a late-80′s news anchor.

Also, I have NO idea how Seto got any money back so quickly. That doesn’t...totally make sense. But, this is a kid’s show and we have to simplify this whole thing into a sensible package. I mean there’s way more to the whole  .com problem but...this show wasn’t literally doing a .com...just a really heavy reference to it.

And much like how people valued stock more than what companies actually were, Seto’s value was a lot of the same. His worth to his Father wasn’t that of a son, it was entirely held up in potential dollar signs. To Gozaboro, Seto's nothing more than a small company he’ll extort straight into...a more emotional type of bankruptcy. Framed alongside the .com crash, this is sort of like, ah, I see what you’re doing, Yugioh. The way Seto was screwing this company was the same way he was already screwed. It’s basically all he knows, and it is a lot of heavy handed foreshadowing.

Anyway, Seto destroyed a company with 10 mill, which is nothing compared to the amount of money vulture capitalists toss around nowadays.

The Big 5 may have honestly done a better job raising Kaiba than Gozoburo since this guy acted as an advisor rather than a boss, but it’s a very, very low bar these boys have set and so far, very few adults have met it. All you have to do is just try and not kill them and you’re already better than all of Kaiba’s father figures.

With the exception of Roland, of course. Youknow, other than Grandpa, Roland is like the only good Dad on this show. Never thought Roland would look like such a shining star. Man, Roland better not screw everyone over or I will be so disappointed in him.

Anyways, the Yugi crew found a fully fueled truck from Soviet Era Russia buried in one of those warehouses.

They censor so much stuff that gives away that Yugioh is from another country, and they kept in the 3-wheeler pickup? As if any North American child would have any idea what they’re looking at right now? Maybe they just assumed we’d think it was sci-fi?

Also, then this happened?

...OK then.

Not sure how Satellite Laser works outside the context of VR. But, at least here in the VR Zone, we can send a Satellite Laser into space because...Space exists here? In VR?

This world is weirdly very small but also very big at the same time. It’s like Katamari.

Anyway, that’s all for this episode, next episode we find out if Kaiba will hack a laser for the second time in this series. Also we find out if Joey can jump a sonic-the-hedgehog broken highway with a 3-wheeled European-as-hell Pickup Truck.

Also...close enough?

Pocket camp really needs more yellow sleeveless puff jackets.

And here’s a link to read the recaps in Chrono order from Ep1 S1

#yugioh #photo recap #recap #S3 Ep11 #Seto Kaiba #Gozoboro kaiba #wait I have been spelling his name wrong this entire time? #damn it #mokuba #yugi muto #a lot of stock trading #so much stock trading for a kid's show dang #You kids like STOCKS? #I like how Yugioh's hot take on capitalism is now every millennials hot take on capitalism #Noah #Tristan's possessed body

[cromulentbookreview]

Bee. Key. Sword. Jackalope.

There is a book reviewer writing a review on a computer.

(The book reviewer is a metaphor for a failed librarian who is also a failed writer who writes reviews of other people’s books because they’ve failed at writing one of their own). 

(The computer is definitely a dungeon of some sort. Or a black hole).

The reviewer writes reviews of a review-y nature considered good enough for the likes of the depths of tumblr. No one reads them.

(That last bit isn’t a metaphor, but a literal truth).

By that, I mean: The Starless Sea by Erin Morning Star Morgenstern!

Zachary Ezra Rawlins is a grad student studying video games at a perpetually snow-bound university somewhere in Vermont. (Since it’s in Vermont, I figure it’s OK to imagine everyone there has a Bernie Sanders accent). One day during the bleak January term, Zachary is in the library searching for something good to read. He comes across an odd, authorless book in the stacks called Sweet Sorrows. 

Quick side note: Morning Star Morgenstern writes that this particular university library in Vermont uses the Dewey Decimal System - since Sweet Sorrows has no author, it’s shelved in the U’s for “Unknown.” It’s strange that a university would use Dewey as most research and academic libraries in the United States utilize Library of Congress. At least, that’s what they taught us in library school. Hey, my MLIS is finally good for something! Anyway, I don’t know if things are done differently in Vermont or what. I do know that Melvil Dewey was a total asshole, though.

Back to The Starless Sea. Sweet Sorrows is a bit of a library mystery: a it’s only ever been scanned into the system once, when it was added to the collection. It has never been checked out. For some reason, the librarians haven’t noticed this and weeded it out of the collection. Anyway, Zachary is drawn to it so he checks it out. Once back in his dorm he starts to read it and is shocked to find that, among some disjointed fairy tales about pirates and tongueless acolytes, is a story recounting, in great detail, like, even down to details concerning his shoelaces, an incident from his own childhood. Something he’s never told anyone about, and had kind of half-forgotten. All laid out in a book that is clearly much, much older than he is. 

When Zachary was a kid he found a painted door in an alleyway near his mom’s house. The door was so detailed it almost seemed real. In fact, when he reached out to touch it, the painted door had an actual doorknob. Zachary almost, but ultimately didn’t, open the door. All this is recounted in Sweet Sorrows. Zachary, of course, is freaked out and wants some answers, but the book has no copyright page or publication information in it. However, when Zachary peels off the bar code sticker (my inner librarian winced at that) he finds a clue: three symbols, a bee, a key and a sword. 

One Google image search later, Zachary finds a photo of a woman at an annual, literary-themed masquerade party thrown by the Algonquin Hotel. She’s wearing a necklace with, you guessed it, a bee, a key, and a sword. It’s all Zachary has to go with, so he snags a ticket to the upcoming masquerade.

Then things get weird, but in a good way. Zachary is brought into this weird underground library/world/place that is full of stories. It sounds like an introvert’s paradise, full of books and cats and a kitchen that make anything you ask if you just send a note down on the dumbwaiter...but this place isn’t entirely safe. There are people intent on keeping others away from it. In fact, those people have a whole secret society with a headquarters and everything where they hang doorknobs everywhere.

Plus, there’s an ocean made of honey, which sounds super sticky.

I told you, things get weird.

Anyway, Zachary finds himself teaming up with a pink-haired woman called Mirabel, who was born in this underground introvert’s paradise and is determined to protect it. Then there’s the guy whose name may-or-may-not-be Dorian - a gorgeous storyteller to whom Zachary is immediately drawn, but who knows what Dorian’s actual agenda (or name) truly is?

Reading The Starless Sea is like reading a transcript of a memory of a dream you had once that may or may not have been a hallucination from that time you had a 103 degree fever from pneumonia or it could’ve been a memory of a thing you actually did, you have no idea...but all in a good way. Plus a book of strange/relevant fairy tales and myths sprinkled in between. It is definitely a bit confusing at first, but if you stick to it, all the weirdness does eventually coalesce into a cohesive story. It does make sense! Eventually.The Starless Sea is definitely one of those books that would make more sense when read twice, and probably all at once. Not over the course of like, two weeks the way I did. Since I am somehow incapable of reading a 400-or-so-page book in one sitting (how do people manage that, really? I mean, I know I’m a slow reader, but who can read a book that fast?) most of the time reading The Starless Sea I felt like Homer watching Twin Peaks.

Perhaps others might understand the story better the first go around and I just missed something - it wouldn’t surprise me, I am a bit of a moron. No, seriously, for the longest time I thought it was just a coincidence that Joe Hill looked a hell of a lot like Stephen King. It was also quite recently that I realized that Jackalopes weren’t a real thing. Which, I mean, come on, Jackalopes seem like they could be a real thing, right? I’ve lived in and traveled around the American West my whole life and I’ve seen some giant-ass jackrabbits, it definitely seems plausible that there are jackrabbits out there with antlers, namely, Jackalopes, living it up somewhere out in the high desert. That seems possible! I mean, maybe they’re just cousins to your regular old jackrabbit! I mean, have you ever seen a white-tailed jackrabbit? 

They’re huge! I mean, I know the Alaskan and Arctic hares are technically larger but those live up North, I’m talking about the giant-ass bunnies I’ve seen around in the Pacific Northwest. They look a little bit like mini kangaroos! 

I mean, come on! Look at this black-tailed jackrabbit/mini kangaroo!

So one of those but with antlers seems like something that could be a real thing and it’s not at all dumb to sort-of peripherally believe that they were, indeed, a real thing, they just live in the desert and the desert is the worst and it takes too long to get there...So, OK, Jackalopes are actually a myth and I didn’t figure that out until I was a grown-ass adult. But hey, in fairness to me and my brain, Jackalopes are technically based on a real thing, if you’ve ever seen a rabbit with Shope papilloma virus. So, I mean, I’m not 100% a moron, right? I mean, definitely not a Class-A Moron, maybe like a Class-D or a Class-E Moron...

Where was I before all this?

Oh. Yeah. The Starless Sea. This is still, somehow, technically a book review. Whatever, this blog promises cromulent reviews, not reviews that remain focused and on topic.

Video games play a huge role in the story, as Zachary is a graduate student studying emerging media, focusing on - you guessed it - video games. My knowledge of video games is, er, not great - I used to play with my brother’s old 1989 Game Boy when I was a kid in the early 2000s. All those hours of Tetris really did pay off.

And sometimes I did beat Super Mario Land.

Anyway, the whole novel does have a dreamy, video-game-esque quality to it - there’s a lot of wandering around, acquiring objects, going on quests, that sort of thing. The imagery Morning Star Morgenstern features throughout the book would certainly make a gorgeous, kickass video game, definitely something I’d stand over one of my gamer friend’s shoulders and watch them play.  Morning Star Morgenstern is quite good at giving us a whole picture of what the world of the underground library/introvert’s paradise is like - utilizing not just descriptions of what’s there, but descriptions of all the different smells, textures and tastes - plus she manages to do it without making the writing sound clunky or interrupting the flow of the story itself. You can almost feel the stickiness that underground honey sea. 

Speaking of which, what would a sea of honey smell like? I don’t imagine it would smell great. Also, sailing a wooden boat on a sea of honey sounds like a nightmare. I mean, you’d spend pretty much all your time cleaning crystallized honey out of the woodwork.

Anyway, if you were a fan of Ms. Morning Star Morgenstern’s previous novel, The Night Circus, it goes without saying that you’ll definitely love The Starless Sea as well. 

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of The Night Circus, anyone in the mood for a weird, trippy, timey-wimey video-game-esque novel that takes a while to make sense.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone easily confused or looking for a straightforward narrative

RATING: 4/5

RELEASE DATE: November 5, 2019

JACKALOPE:

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