#Hoosier Politics Today

[themichaelbeebe]

Rockets Red Glare

This morning I should be waking up for the day, right around the time of this 9AM posting, with a dehydration headache and a sunburn. It’s become an annual tradition that came to an abrupt end last year. I know, sunburns aren’t healthy and I need to drink more water when I’m in the sun all day, but it’s one day a year so please, cut me some slack. Last night should have been the annual fireworks…

[atinylittlepain]

Firehouse Harrington - Chapter 6

fireman!Steve x f!reader/f!oc

series masterlist

It's Thanksgiving and Steve is trying to be better for his girl (what's new?) but he's going to be tested when someone from his past comes to visit.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, actually pretty sweet sex but also some nasty stuff too bc... it's steve, angst, EMOTIONS everywhere, my lord

a/n | um, this one is long, babes. but it's also very sweet, at least for steve. enjoy :)

It’s Thanksgiving day, and Steve’s at the station, and in the doghouse. He was supposed to be spending today with his girl, but when he got back to work on Monday and the chief was asking who could pick up Thanksgiving, Steve had volunteered himself like he always did, not even thinking about how this year he actually had someone he could spend the day with. When he called her that night and admitted what he had done, the disappointment in the sigh she let out went right down his spine. Since last week, Steve had been trying to be on his best behavior. It had scared him, watching her get ready to walk out the door and never come back, mostly because he hadn’t realized just how much it’d destroy him if she actually did it. He knew it was inevitable, she’d find something better, if not someone better, and she would leave. But Steve wanted to hang onto her as long as he could, keep chasing that ray of sun until he was left back in the shade. However, it was seeming that no matter how hard he tried, he just kept fucking up.

“Well, okay, Steve. I guess we could do it on Saturday instead? Why don’t we invite Robin to join us too? She told me she’d be back in town after Friday.” Steve had tried not to groan at that. He really didn’t like that she and Robin seemed to have become fast friends. His jaw had all but dropped on the floor when she had jokingly called him “king Steve” one day, telling him with a laugh that Robin had shared a few memories with her. But, he was trying to be better, and being better meant agreeing to having Robin over for their makeshift Thanksgiving.

The actual holiday was always a bit of a clusterfuck for the station. Idiots trying to deep fry their birds seven different ways, grandmas setting off smoke alarms with cigars from the “old country,” and for some reason, hoosiers had a particular affinity for setting off fireworks after they were good and stuffed with butter and carbs. They had several calls throughout the day, but by the time seven o’clock rolled around, the city of Indianapolis seemed to be good and sedated by turkey, and Steve and the other men working that day were finally pulling back into the station for hopefully the last time that night. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was to see someone sitting on the stoop outside the door to the station. As they’re stepping down from the truck, the person rounds the corner of the garage and Steve’s heart kicks in his chest when he sees that it’s his girl, all bundled up in the frigid night and carrying two large bags that Steve recognizes from the burger joint down the block. He’s left speechless as she toes her way into the garage, a small smile on her face as she tilts her head at him, lifting up the bags.

“It’s not exactly turkey, but I figure it’ll do under the circumstances.” The other two men Steve’s working with tonight are young rookies, all the older men having family to be at home with, and they're watching her like she’s a damn angel descending from heaven. Steve finally cracks into action, a grin splitting his face as he takes one of the bags from her and wraps an arm around her waist.

“Miller, Thompson, this is my girl.”

…

Luckily, because they are rookies, the two other men have yet to get steeped in the misogyny that runs rampant in the station, and are nothing but polite to her as they welcome her in and help her lay out food on the kitchen counter. Steve would normally hate the idea of her coming around here, but with the rest of the crew gone, and after another stupidly tedious holiday shift, all he can do is smile like a dope as she feeds him a french fry. His two coworkers thank her profusely, loading their arms up with food and heading to their bunks to give the couple “some alone time.” Steve barely nods at their words, too focused on her leaning back against the counter and sipping a milkshake. Once the two men are gone, Steve finally clears his throat.

“Um– I wasn’t– you” She just laughs, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Just eat your burger, Harrington. You can thank me later.”

They sit on the grubby sofa in the station, eating and talking quietly. Steve tells her about the man who had tried to build his own deep fryer and ended up setting off a small explosion in his backyard that sent his turkey flying through an upstairs window of the house next door. Her laugh is contagious and they both end up gasping for breath at the ridiculousness of the story. Steve can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. 

Food wrappers abandoned, they both slump back into the couch, heads tilted lazily to look at each other. He brings his palm down to stroke up and down her thigh, letting out a sigh.

“Thank you. For this. You didn’t have–” She cuts him off, scooting closer and resting her hand on his chest.

“Steve, I wanted to. And you’re very welcome.” For once, he drops it, simply smiling and dipping forward to drop a quick kiss to her lips before pulling back.

“Did you, uh, talk to your folks today?” She nods. She had explained to him that her family lived across the country on the west coast and while she was still on talking terms with them, she avoided going home as much as possible. Steve could certainly understand that.

“Yeah, I did. I told them about you.” His heart jolts up into his throat at her words, eyebrows raising. He squeezes her thigh.

“You did?” She smiles, nodding again.

“Mmhmm. My sister thinks it’s hot that you’re a fireman.” He sputters out a laugh, shaking his head, but she seems to have something else in mind, carding her fingers through his hair to get him to look at her.

“I’m inclined to agree with her.” With that, she’s shifting on the couch to swing her leg over his hip, straddling his thighs and wrapping her arms around his neck. Steve’s hands instinctively go to the plush of her thighs, fingers flexing. She’s already nosing along his neck, making Steve shiver, but he collects himself enough to speak, making her still in his lap.

“Hey, hey. We can’t, baby. Not here with those guys just a wall away.” She whines into his neck.

“Steve–”

“No. I’m serious, doll, you better watch it.” She huffs, and when she finally pulls back from his neck, she gives him an actual pout that he can’t help but surge forward to kiss away. But when he pulls back, there’s a new glint in her eyes. She leans forward, grazing her lips along his ear before whispering.

“What if we took this somewhere else, Stevie?” He both hates and loves it when she calls him that and it makes him groan. 

“You know I can’t leave the station, baby.” She grins.

“Who said anything about leaving the station?”

That’s how Steve finds himself in the jumpseat of one of the firetrucks with her in his lap, gasping between sloppy kisses as he squeezes her ass to grind her down against him. He pulls back with a lewd pop, looking into her wild eyes.

“You know, doll, I didn’t get any dessert.” She doesn’t seem to follow where he’s going with this, scoffing and rolling her eyes.

“Are you serious right now? Steve, you had a milkshake, was that not sweet enough for–” She’s cut off when he lands a harsh smack to her ass, making her gasp and lurch forward into his chest.

“Watch that tone, pretty. And what I want a taste of is a lot sweeter than any milkshake.” His other hand digs into the front of her jeans, cupping her wet heat and she seems to get it now, whimpering out a soft “oh” at his harsh touch. He strokes through her folds, dipping his fingers into her entrance and dragging the wetness pooling there up to her clit as she grinds down into his palm. He presses a kiss to her temple before dragging his lips along her cheek to speak into her ear.

“Stand up, baby. We’re gonna switch spots and then daddy’s gonna have his dessert.” He helps her up, not missing how shaky she seems to be on her legs, before helping her peel off her jeans and panties as she sits back in the car seat. Steve kneels between her legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of each of her knees before drawing them over his shoulders and dragging her ass to the edge of the seat. It’s cramped, there’s no two ways about it, her feet pressing into the wall of the cab behind him and her hands trying to find purchase on the roof of the truck as he starts to work her over. She’s a writhing mess as he licks long, lazy strokes through her folds, sighing and huffing above him. He leans back just to spit on her cunt, watching the way it drips down to mix with her own wetness. She whimpers under his hard gaze.

“Daddy, please don’t tease me– need it bad.” He chuckles before landing a slap to the inside of her thigh, causing her to yelp.

“Don’t be pushy, doll. Daddy’s gonna take all the time he wants. Because this pretty little pussy is all mine, yeah?” She nods, letting out a breathy “mmhmm” when he kisses her clit.

“And I can do whatever I want with it, right, baby?” She nods again, but he wants more from her and lays a quick smack against her clit that makes her hips buck in his hold. It’s a whine when she speaks.

“Yes, daddy. S’all yours– you can do whatever you want– just, please–” He shushes her.

“S’okay, pretty. I’ve got you. So fucking sweet. Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” His last words come out a murmur as he dips back into her cunt, licking into her before sweeping up to her clit and sucking hard around the little bud. The moan she lets out makes his brain go hazy with her as she drags her fingers through his hair, pulling lightly at the roots as he continues to lick at her clit. She starts to grind her hips against his mouth and Steve groans.

“That’s it, doll. Take what you want. Fuck, you taste so good.” She preens at his words, arching out of the car seat as he slips two fingers into her. 

“Feels so good, daddy– p-please don’t stop.” He can feel her already tightening up on his fingers as he pumps them into her.

“You close, baby? You gonna come on daddy’s fingers?” She nods frantically, her eyes scrunched shut as she lets out a high-pitched “mmhmm.” 

“I want your eyes on me when you come. Open those pretty eyes for me, doll.” When she doesn’t listen, he slips his other hand up her front to harshly grip her jaw, making her eyes shoot open as she gasps at the pain.

“That’s it, pretty. Eyes on me.” He dips back down, sucking and nipping at her clit while he fucks her with his fingers. She comes with a broken sigh, hips jerking in his hold as she spasms around his fingers. Steve thinks he could die happy in this position, between the softness of her thighs with the pretty sounds of her breathy whimpers ringing in his ears. He finally pulls away, leaving a sloppy kiss to each of her thighs. As he wipes her slick from his chin with the back of his hand, he takes in the sight of her, flushed and slumped down in the seat. She quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Your sweet tooth satisfied now?” He grins palming his aching hardness as he looks her over.

“Way better than pumpkin pie.”

…

“Steve? Can you go pick up the pumpkin pie this morning? The bakery opens at ten but I need to get to work on all this cooking.” He cranes his neck from where he’s sitting on the couch, his heart squeezing at the sight of her in his kitchen. She’s the sweetest image in one of his sweatshirts, an apron tied around her hips hiding the fact that she’s also only wearing a pair of his boxers. But his attention is quickly pulled to the seeming bomb of ingredients that’s gone off across his countertops. He gets up, shuffling into the kitchen and watching her poring over a cookbook.

“Yeah, I’ll go, um– are you sure we need to make this much food? S’just you, me, and Robin.” She stills where she had been flipping through the book. 

“Babe? It is just you, me, and Robin, right?” She finally looks at him, offering a very nervous little smile. Steve feels like he’s going to blow a gasket already but she’s quick to slide over to him in her socked feet, pressing her palms into his chest and rubbing lightly.

“Look, don’t freak out, ok? But Robin told me one of your other friends was in town this weekend and I may have told her to invite him.” Steve blinks hard a few times.

“You what?” She huffs.

“Steve, don’t get weird. He’s a friend of yours after all.”

“He? Who– who is he?” She furrows her brow.

“Crap, I can’t actually remember his name. Um, something Munyan– wait, no– uh, Munroe?” Steve’s jaw goes slack.

“Are you telling me Eddie Munson is coming to dinner?” Her face splits into a grin and she slaps his chest lightly.

“That’s it! Robin told me it’s been a while since he’s been back in Indiana so it’ll be nice for you all to catch up.” She’s smiling so brightly at him it’s hard to stay mad at her. Steve’s taken to counting to ten to keep himself from saying things he knows he shouldn’t. It works, sometimes. He finally huffs, scrunching his eyes shut before looking at her again and nodding.

“Alright, alright. I’ll um– I guess I’ll go get that pie.” She lands a quick kiss to his lips, grinning up at him again.

“Good. Be quick, yeah? You’re on turkey duty.”

…

The later in the day it gets, the tighter the knot in Steve’s stomach winds. He hasn’t seen Eddie in years, not since Steve went overseas. All he knew was that Eddie had moved down south, seeking the money that was to be made working the oil rigs in the gulf of Mexico. He never wrote, never called, and he figured that Eddie liked it that way, putting everything behind him and Steve couldn’t blame him for that. 

The only thing keeping Steve sane is her, dancing around him in the kitchen, a swirl of chopping vegetables and filling up casserole dishes. He’s never cooked a turkey before, never any reason to, but he takes to the task diligently because he wants to impress her. The sun is just starting to set as he leans back against the counter, bird in the oven and dish towel over his shoulder. He swats her hands away as she goes to peek into the oven and she scoffs at him.

“S’almost done, baby, go get changed.” She smiles, looking down at her now smudged-up apron over her pantsless legs.

“Get changed? What’s wrong with this?” He slides over to her, grabbing her hips and squeezing as she laughs in his grip. He plants a few mushy kisses to her lips, murmuring about how she’s “such a menace” in between them until she finally pulls away to saunter into his bedroom with a huff. A sting runs through his chest as, for a moment, he can imagine them doing this for the rest of their lives, his mind wandering to the image of a baby on her hip as they shuffle around their kitchen. He has to scrub a harsh hand through his hair to clear the thought from his mind. 

His brain is further scattered when the doorbell rings. Steve freezes, but luckily she’s just then coming back out of his bedroom wearing that dress he loves, fixing an earring as she marches over to the door. 

Steve hears him before he sees him. First there’s the sound of her and Robin greeting each other. But Steve would recognize that raspy voice anywhere.

“Well, hello. You must be the catch Robs has been telling me about. Blink twice if Harrington’s holding you against your will.” Yep, that’s Munson alright.

Eddie comes flouncing into the kitchen, her and Robin following behind. Steve thinks that he looks about the same. His hair is a little shorter, but otherwise, he’s still got that shit-eating grin that Steve remembers. Eddie’s eyes crinkle when he sees Steve, already opening his arms up for a hug that Steve was not expecting.

“Long time no see, big boy, bring it in.” 

They get all the food laid out on the dining table, everyone humming at how good everything looks and Steve feels a warm bloom of pride in his chest that he did this, with his girl, together. She squeezes his hand as they all sit down, offering him a smile and Steve thinks for a minute that it’ll be alright after all. And then Eddie opens his mouth.

“So Robin told me you’re, like, super smart. Is that why you’re with Steve? Are you running experiments on him?” Steve would like to drag him across the table and knock his lights out right then, but she takes it in stride, laughing politely.

“Oh, god, no. It’s, um, actually kinda funny how we met. Steve was on duty when there was a fire in my dorm and, uh, the rest is history I guess.” It’s a total lie, and Steve loves her for it as she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, a small reassurance. 

The rest of the dinner goes off as smooth as it can. Eddie tells them about his time down in the gulf (“back-breaking stuff, man. I still get the heebies anytime I fill up my car”) and explains that he’s planning on coming back to Indiana for good, using the money he saved up to go back to school to become a teacher. Steve can’t help but snort at that and Eddie tilts his head at him.

“Something funny, Stevie?” Steve shrugs.

“Can’t imagine you being a teacher, Munson. I don’t remember you caring much for school.” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head.

“People change, Steve, you know that better than most. Besides, I’ll be teaching music, not boring bullshit.” Her eyes are darting between the men, Robin looking on a bit nervously as well. It’s meaningless jabs, but Eddie’s “you know better than most” has a weight to it that everyone seems to pick up on. She eventually clears her throat, squeezing Steve’s hand as she smiles at Eddie.

“Well, I think that’s great, Eddie. You know, there’s really interesting MRI research coming out about how good music is for our brains. They’re starting to use it as palliative treatment for people with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease.” It’s a successful maneuver away from whatever the elephant in the room is. Eddie rests his chin in his palm as he looks at her.

“I’ll be damned, is that right? Tell me more, sweetheart, that sounds wild.”

It’s over dessert that Eddie excuses himself for a smoke break. She and Robin are chatting easily over cups of coffee and slices of pie. Steve squeezes her shoulder, murmuring that he’s going to go keep Eddie company.

Steve gets outside just as Eddie’s lighting up, leaning up against the wall of his apartment building. He grins around his cigarette.

“You wanna bum one, Harrington? Or did you quit?” Steve waves him off, leaning on the wall next to him.

“Been trying to at least. She’ll kill me if she smells it on me.” Eddie laughs, whistling lowly.

“So you’re whipped, huh?” Steve scoffs, going to protest  but Eddie continues.

“It’s a good look on you, man. You seem– I don’t know– lighter.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but Eddie just shrugs.

“I’m just saying. You better hold onto that one. She’s the real deal.” Steve sighs.

“Yeah, I know, Ed.” There’s a beat of silence before Eddie speaks again.

“Robs told me you had another close call.” Steve huffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re getting older, Harrington. Don’t you think it’s time you–” Steve turns on him, his eyes flashing and Eddie puts up his hands in surrender.

“Did she put you up to this?” Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion.

“What? No, man. But I can’t blame her if she’s saying the same thing. Listen, Steve, I get it, really. Why do you think I went running down south to work my ass off on a fucking rig? It wasn’t exactly for the scenery.” Eddie sighs, blowing out a puff of smoke before going on.

“But, it’s just stupid. Trying to keep running, to keep fighting. You– we deserve to get on with life.  At least that’s what I figure.” Steve sighs, plucking the cigarette right from Eddie’s mouth and taking a long drag before handing it back to him. Eddie glances at him.

“What did you wanna do? Before?” Steve laughs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t have a fucking clue what I wanted to do. I was working shit jobs that went nowhere, even before.” Eddie offers him the cigarette again and Steve takes it with a muttered “don’t fucking tell her” that makes Eddie laugh.

“Well, listen, as your friend? I’m telling you that you deserve to figure out what the fuck you actually want to do, not what numbs your brain out enough to forget the past.” Steve just nods, stamping out the butt before glancing back at Eddie.

“So, you’re really back for good?” Eddie grins, nodding.

“Certified, man. I’m starting at IU after the holidays.” Steve chuckles.

“Eddie Munson, a college man. Who would’ve thought.” 

“Hey, if I can do it, so can you, Harrington. Think about it.” They both sigh and Steve kicks off the wall.

“I will, really. C’mon, we should head back up. I fear what those two could accomplish left alone together.” Eddie chuckles, clapping Steve on the back.

“It’s good to be back, Steve. And it’s good to see you found someone. She’s a keeper, man.”

“I know, Ed. I know.” 

…

She sends Robin and Eddie off with tin-foil wrapped plates stacked high with leftovers and Steve tries not to blow a fuse when Eddie lays a wet, smacking smooch to her cheek, grinning like the devil he is before slinking out the door. Robin huffs, smiling apologetically at her.

“Apologies for the large man-child, he means well. Thank you guys for Thanksgiving part two though, it was great!” Steve draws his friend into a brisk side hug before she’s out the door as well. His girl shuts the door, turning and looking at him with a broad smile.

“Well?” He raises his eyebrows at her as she pads over to him, drawing her palms up his chest to wrap behind his neck. She presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Was it a good thanksgiving?” Steve huffs, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer against him.

“Munson aside? First good one I ever had, doll.” That earns him a grin and she leans in for another kiss that he tries to deepen, chasing after her lips but to no avail.

“We make a good team, baby.” Steve hums at that, once again trying to steal another kiss but she slides her palms down to press into his chest again.

“Gotta clean up, team.” He groans, but reluctantly follows her back into the kitchen to tackle the mess of dishes that’s been left in the aftermath of dinner. It’s quiet and it’s easy as they work. She washes and he dries, and again Steve feels that sting in his chest imagining them doing this after putting their imaginary kids to bed. He knows it’s ridiculous to even think this way. She’s never even mentioned wanting or not wanting kids, and why would she? Still, part of him can’t help but hope that there’s even a small chance she’d want her future to have him in it. He’s brought out of his head by the sound of her humming as she scrubs another pan. He sets down his dishtowel, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he digs his nose into her neck, breathing her in. She huffs under his attention.

“We’re not done, Steve.” He groans, his voice coming out as a mumble into her skin.

“There’s only, like, two pans left, babe. I say we’re done for tonight.” She gives in, setting the pan she had been working on down in the sink and drying her hands off on a rag before letting her palms rest over his forearms circling her waist. Steve starts to press kisses up the sweep of her neck, his teeth grazing the hinge of her jaw as she shudders in his arms.

“Look so pretty, tonight, honey. Wearing my favorite dress.” She sighs, letting him sway them a little side to side as he continues to nip at her skin.

“Wore it for you. Was trying to distract you from being so pissed off at Eddie.” Steve huffs into her neck, drawing his hands down to palm the swell of her thighs.

“It worked. Think I would’ve throttled him if I didn’t have you next to me.” She sighs as his hands continue to run up and down the outside of her thighs, ghosting over her hips before dipping back down to thumb at the hem of her dress. She twists in his hold, threading her fingers through the back of his hair and looking up at him in a way that makes his hands shake. Her voice is just a whisper when she speaks.

“I love you, Steve.” He feels his face melt into a smile, pulling her closer by her waist.

“You do?” She grins, nodding, and they kiss around their shared dopey smiles. Steve pulls away, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Fuck, baby– I love you so much.” And with that he’s diving in for a deeper kiss that makes her gasp into his mouth as he licks into her. Without knowing it, he’s walking her back until she’s pressed into the counter, hoisting her up onto it and settling between her legs. Her fingers start to fumble with the buttons of his shirt and Steve’s quick to help her, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Her palms smooth up his chest, and she hooks her legs behind his thighs to draw him in closer. He breaks away to lay kisses along her shoulder, reaching back to tug the zipper of her dress down until it’s loose enough for her to shrug out of the sleeves. Taking in the sight of her, Steve lets out a low groan.

“Baby, no bra?” She grins and shrugs.

“Doesn’t work with the dress, Stevie.” He huffs, not really answering as he’s already dipping down to lay harsh bites across the tops of her breasts. She gasps as he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, teeth grazing the bud until she’s tugging lightly at his hair to pull him back up for a kiss that’s all pressing tongues and harsh gasps. Her hands wander again, this time down to his belt but Steve’s quick to grab hold of both her wrists in one palm.

“Hey, hey. Lemme take care of you first, doll.” She sighs, her brow furrowing.

“Just want you, daddy. Wanna feel you.” Steve feels like his head is going to explode at her words and the way she’s looking up at him from under her eyelashes. He tries to steady himself, guiding her palms to rest on his bare chest.

“Just Steve tonight, alright, pretty? Want you to say my name while I fuck you.” She smiles at that, dragging her hands up to clasp behind his neck and pull him into another kiss, pulling away just so their lips are barely brushing and whispering “ok, Steve.” Something in him snaps at her sweet words and he grips the plush of her ass, murmuring for her to wrap her legs around him, and he hoists her up off the counter as they continue to smear sloppy kisses into each other’s skin.

He starts to pad out of the kitchen, but his foot gets caught on the rug in front of the sink and they both wind up on the floor. She’s dissolving into laughter underneath him as he presses up onto his hands to check that she’s not hurt. She’s not, but Steve’s ego might be. She catches the furrowed look on his face and sighs.

“Don’t pout, baby. You were just being efficient. Now we don’t have to go all the way to the bedroom.” He can’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head at her words.

“Always such a smart mouth.” She doesn’t get a reply in as he dips down to steal another sloppy kiss. Steve thinks fleetingly that they probably look like a mess. They’re sprawled out on his kitchen floor, her dress all rucked around her hips, his belt buckle hanging open. But he doesn’t care, not when she’s drawing his hips down into hers by hooking her leg around his ass. Steve smacks one more kiss to her lips before leaning back to drag her dress the rest of the way down her hips, his hands skating back up her legs to slide her panties off too. He sits back on his haunches, fumbling with his belt, taking in her splayed figure as she tilts her head and grins at him. His hands still.

“What’re you looking at, doll?” 

“You, Steve. So lovely like this.” He huffs at her words, knowing that if he thinks too hard about them he’ll dissolve right on the spot. He quickly shrugs his pants and boxers down enough to slide his aching cock out, leaning back over her and running the tip through her folds. They both sigh at the contact, and she rucks one knee up to his hip, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he dips into her. He stills for a moment, searching her face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to work you open first, pretty?” She scrunches her face, tilting her hips to try to coax him deeper but he brings one palm down to the softness of her belly, pressing her into stillness.

“Hey. Need your words, doll. Be good for me, huh?” She frowns, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

“I just wanna feel you, Steve. Want you inside me.” He presses a kiss to her pouted lips, letting his hips roll forward with a deep groan. She arches up into him when his hips finally press against hers, offering up the arc of her throat for him to nose along as she sighs. 

“Always so perfect for me, doll– fuck– tell me when I can move.” She tells him on a breathy exhale that she’s ready and he lets his lips smear over hers as he pulls out, slowly rolling into a rhythm that pushes and pulls both their bodies. It feels different, and not just because they’re splayed on his kitchen floor. Something heady is pulling at the hilt of his spine, pressing his thrusts deeper as she cants her hips to meet him. He’s devouring her, swallowing her gasps and whimpers as he licks into her mouth. It’s embarrassing how quickly the pleasure is closing in around him. 

“Feels so good, Steve– so full– fuck, don’t stop.” She dissolves into a cracked chant of his name and Steve’s head is swimming in it.

He brings his hand up to her jaw, skating his thumb along her bottom lip. She’s quick to wrap her mouth around the digit, laving her tongue over the pad of his thumb and it makes Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. He takes his thumb from her mouth with a lewd pop, bringing his hand town to swipe over her clit. Her hips jerk in his hold and he feels her clench down hard around him.

“Fuck, baby– need you to come for me– need to feel it so bad.” She whimpers his name, eyes scrunching closed as her nails dig into his shoulder blades. 

“Eyes on me, pretty. Wanna see you when you come– c’mon, baby.” Her eyes blow wide as she lets out a broken cry and the way she pulses around him as she comes undone sends Steve over the edge with her, pressing his hips deep into hers as he spills inside of her. They’re both panting, a slick sheen of sweat keeping them stuck together in their embrace. Steve dips his face into her neck, leaving light kisses as he trails up to her jaw, and then to her lips. When he pulls away she’s grinning beneath him.

“I love you, Steve. I really mean it.” For a moment, Steve stills, taking in the sight of his girl. His girl. He almost can’t believe it’s all real, but when she pulls him back down for another kiss, for once all the thoughts muddying his mind go quiet. He smiles against her lips.

“I love you too. Fuck, you’re incredible.” She hums, carding her fingers through his hair. As they stay there, sprawled on his kitchen floor, probably for longer than they should, Steve feels something spreading in his chest. A notion, a hope really, that for her, he might be able to be better. He really wants to be better.

[ozma914]

This is the tenth anniversary of one of my favorite blogs, and also of this one. I reran it a few years ago, but few people read it because it's about history. As I said in the opening to our book "Hoosier Hysterical", history would be a lot more fun if it was made ... well ... fun. So I had fun with this. (It's been changed slightly, because I'm older.)

            Ever since Christopher Columbus first landed in the New World and hid all the Viking artifacts, America has been a land of opportunity, independence, and smallpox.

            Eventually the British colonists decided to go off and form their own country. (Except for Canadians, who were too polite to leave.) Since our schools don’t teach enough history--there’s so much more of it now--here's a quick timeline of how we, the people, went from tea to coffee:

            1756: The French and Indian War

            This was probably the first World War. Seriously: Over here we just mention the French and Indians, but the rest of the world called it the Seven Years War. It spread all over the globe, like a viral YouTube video, but with more cannon fire and disease. Nations involved included Austria, England, France, Great Britain, Prussia, and Sweden. Oh, and the Indians, who had their own list of nations.

            (Later Prussia, not wanting to be confused with Russia, changed their name to Germany.)

            The war cost the British government so much, they began taxing the colonists to help pay for it. Yet they didn’t allow the colonies to raise their own armies, plus there was that whole taxation without representation thing.

            Oh, one more thing: The whole world war began (mostly) because a young Virginia militia leader ambushed a French scouting party in the far western wilderness … near Pittsburgh. In later years, George Washington would be more careful to start battles after war was declared.

            1770: The Boston Massacre:

            No, it wasn’t a sporting event. It started when a group of colonists began throwing snowballs at a squad of British soldiers (In Boston. Sheesh.). That’s not so bad, is it? Then the colonists starting tossing sticks and stones, which can indeed break bones.

            This is why you shouldn’t throw stuff at people with guns. Five colonists died and the soldiers were arrested, but they were mostly acquitted thanks to the crafty defense by a young lawyer names John Adams.

            1773: The Boston Tea Party

            Tired of high taxes, an unresponsive government, and Earl Gray, colonists (In Boston—sheesh) dressed up as Indians, sneaked aboard ships (In the harbor—sheesh), and tossed 342 chests of tea into the water. In today’s dollars, they turned Boston harbor into the world’s biggest cup, with $750,000 worth of tea. They were led, of course, by the famous Boston patriot Folger “Starbuck” Maxwell.

            But why blame the Indians? They didn’t even drink tea.

            1774: The First Continental Congress

            They didn’t get much done. But in their defense, they were a Congress.

            1775: Patrick Henry stirs the pot

            With the grievances of the colonists ignored by a remote government—sort of like today, only without Facebook—a radical named Patrick Henry, upset because he had two first names and no last one, began making fiery speeches and resolutions.

            The truth is, Henry was kind of a deadbeat. Worse, a lawyer. But man, he sure could talk good, and his actions helped ignite the American Revolution. You’ve probably heard one line of his big speech: “Give me liberty or give me death!” Luckily, he got liberty.

            1775: The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.

            He rode through the countryside yelling, “The British are coming!”

            Sleepy residents yelled back, “Shut up, fool! We are the British!”

            Then he got arrested, probably for violating the noise ordinance, and the ride was completed by William Dawes. Unfortunately for Dawes, the name “Paul Revere” sounded better in poetry.

            Also 1775 (busy year, there): The Battle of Lexington and Concord

            Revere discovered the British were marching by sea, which slowed them down considerably because the horses didn’t swim well. That gave the Minutemen almost a full two minutes. It was plenty of time to gather in Lexington, to protect stores of arms and gunpowder, and Concord, to protect the grapes.

            1775 (saw that coming, didn’t you?): The Second Continental Congress

            Didn’t get much done. They made up for it in 1776, though.

            1775 or so: The Battle of Bunker Hill

            GPS misdirected the troops, who actually fought on Breeds Hill.

            177—wait for it—5: Patriots occupy Montreal, Canada

            Things were looking up, up there. And that’s the last time things looked up for the Revolutionaries in the north, who discovered Canadian hospitality didn’t extend to invasion.I wrote about both the American Revolution and Canadian hospitality in Hoosier Hysterical. Did you know Indiana was the location of the westernmost naval battle of the Revolution? You didn't? It's in the book. I'll go sulk, now.

            1776 (finally!) Egged on by the British, Cherokee Indians attack along the entire  frontier

            They were still upset about the whole Tea Party fraud. Also, they were mad about getting named for a country on the other side of the world.

            June 7, 1776: Richard Henry Lee reminds the Continental Congress that they’ve been rebelling for more than a year, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to actually declare themselves to be rebelling?

            June 11: Five Congressmen are appointed to draft a Declaration of Independence. The other four talk Thomas Jefferson into doing the writing, pointing out that he’s the only one who’s invented a portable desk, and they left theirs at home.

            June 12-27: Jefferson writes a rough draft, only to receive a rejection letter from the committee.

July 1-4: The entire Congress rips apart the Declaration. (Not literally. Sheesh.) Jefferson quits writing and goes into politics.

July 2: Congress declares independence, just as the British fleet and army arrive to invade New York. Talk about timing. John Adams declares that July 2 will forever be celebrated as Independence Day.

July 4: Having already declared independence, Congress now adopts the Declaration of Independence, declaring something they’ve already declared. John Adams’ head explodes.

July 9: George Washington has the Declaration read before the American army. The soldiers nod politely and ask when they’re going to get paid.

There was much more to it, of course. In fact, you could say the American Revolution went on until the US Constitution was adopted in 1788, or even until we fought the second Revolutionary war in 1812, which might also be related to the real second World War.

Now, that’s a funny story.

What's that, you ask? Why yes, of course you can celebrate July 4th, or any date, by buying Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hoosier-hysterical-emily-hunter/1123866879

[latibvles]

LET ME DOWN EASY.

right so today @almost-a-class-act brought up Hoosier in a band and naturally any sandbox Sam creates I also must partake in. So now we have uhh *reading off of hand* Chucker/Runner/Sid/Hoosier rock band, reporter Vicki, and some mentions of music Snob Bob Leckie. And also some implied SidSledge. Vicki/Hoos Meet-Cute except it's more like Meet-Embarassment. Read it all under the cut! also I was listening to uh , this , while I was writing this .

She managed to grab Lew… or rather, Chuckler, for a quote before they got in the studio, and she got Runner in between takes. In sharp contrast, Sid didn’t have much to say — the bassist was quiet and polite, a southern drawl and dusted cheeks, shy smile. Chuckler and Runner liked to talk, but whereas the frontman expressed a sort of… unabashed gratitude, the drummer seemed to have a joke for anything and everything.

The guitarist comes in about thirty minutes after the other guys start messing around on the drums and the strings, throwing suggestions in the air for lyrics and the like while Sid scribbles in a notebook. Vicki finds a spot on a stool, notepad in hand, jotting bullet points down for later use. She didn’t want photos yet, not until all four of them were present. 

The guitarist is squinty-eyed and messy-haired, she can’t tell if it’s intentional or if he just rolled out of bed. He’s gripping a water bottle like someone might try and steal it from him otherwise. He’s got a white t-shirt on, faded jeans, and a pair of beat up trainers. She wonders if that furrowed brow is out of irritation or if it’s just his face.

“Well look who decided to show up,” Chuckler greets, with one of those big grins of his and a light fondness to his voice.

“Go to hell.” he grunts. Grumpy, then.

“Rough night, princess?” Or hungover. Probably both. She looks over at Runner, and then at Chuckler, who’s looking at her with a smile that’s bordering on apologetic.

Bob’s article had been bordering on scathing, but then again it’s Bob, who could give a sermon on his Feelies records without so much as stopping for air. Of course, their last album still did great, and Bob was definitely an outlier over matters of opinion — even if some of his criticisms were fair. I critique music, not sales, he justified, when the album went gold.

The grumpy one follows Chuckler’s gaze, landing on her on her corner-stool.

“You’re not Lucky.”

“Nothing gets past you, cobber.”

There’s a snort, probably from Runner, that he pays no mind too. He walks over, sticking out a hand for her to shake. She takes it.

“Bill Smith.” She watches his gaze move up and down her, examining but not otherwise suggestive. At least, not yet.

“Vicki Graves, Fusion Magazine.”

“Lucky’s friend then, I’m guessin’?” Vicki looks back over at Chuckler, who nods, and then she mimics it, reverting her gaze back to Bill as she releases his hand.

“Something like that. Does he make a habit of showing up thirty minutes late? It’s for the article.” She spares Bill another momentary glance, as the tips of his ears turn red, and Chuckler just laughs.

“I think the man can speak for himself.” She reverts her attention back to him.

Bands had certain… molds that they needed to fit into, in some way, in order to find success. The ones that work hard, party hard or the enigmatic indie bands who all wore matching shades — something digestible. Vicki was accustomed to that. She was used to rock stars in big fur coats walking in, their breath already smelling like whiskey and their clothes already smelling like weed. They liked to act like their amber-tinted aviators were suitable coverage to brazenly eye her like the next notch on a tour bus bedpost.

In comparison, Bill no longer looks grouchy, but almost embarrassed. Like he’s trying not to express it, but the color flushing his cheeks and ears betrays him. She arches a brow, waiting for his answer as he coughs into his hand. They never expect her to be as blunt as she is. Bob found it funny.

“Try not to, at the very least.” They stare at each other a moment longer. Vicki narrows her eyes. Now that they’re opened fully — she sees that they’re a vibrant shade of blue. He returns the stare.

“Well! Nothing we can do about it now,” Chuckler claps his hands, disrupting their momentary standoff. “Get your ass over here. Sid’s got a couple ideas he’s been meaning to play with.”

It takes a while, but she watches as slowly but surely, the four of them seem to come to life in a way. They exchange ideas, talking in between. Sid’s got someone flying up from Alabama, a Eugene, and she watches as his cheeks seem to flush. Runner pats him on the back, then gives his shoulder a firm shake. She snaps a photo of it before the moment’s past. None of them seem to pay her any mind as she continues to jot down things that she deems noteworthy.

There’s an introductory paragraph forming in her head, a hook and a spread she’s envisioning. She’ll have to ring Bob later to get his feedback on it.

The guitarist, Bill, comes into himself a bit more too. They call him Hoosier, or Hoos, rather than Bill. Their stage names feel less like stage names and more like affectionate nicknames, in that way. She can’t help but stare at times. When he plays a lick on a beat-up looking acoustic, and his lips pucker as he goes over it again and again. Sometimes Chuckler or Sid will hum the melody over it, or some kind of adlib to figure out how the song goes. When he catches her stare, he grins before looking away — but not in that smug and self-serving way she’s used to. 

Chuckler carries a melody, and Sid takes the harmony, Runner’s hands tapping away on the percussion box he’s sat on. She watches as Bill’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and he licks his lips in concentration.

He looks almost otherworldly like that, like this man wasn’t still nursing a hangover just a few hours prior. He could’ve fooled her.

Vicki lifts her camera again, snaps a picture of it. She doesn’t miss the grin that forms on his face as she lowers it. He opens his eyes and looks at her, she forces her gaze down into the notepad. She tries not to stare too much after that.

Another hour goes by, Chuckler lays his own guitar down in its case, then points to Bill with both fingers.

“Since you were the last one here, you get to run and grab lunch for us,” Vicki bites back a snicker as that grumpy frown returns to Bill’s face. Chuckler then looks over to her. “And uh, if the lady’s willing to tag along with you, you gotta answer all of her questions, even if they’re way too personal.” She snorts at that.

“What kind of article do you think I’m writing here?” He shoots her a wink, gives her another smile.

“Hopefully a nice one.”

She rolls her eyes, but shifts her gaze once again. Bill’s no longer scowling, but somehow the bordering-on-expectant look he’s giving her makes her almost squirm in her seat in the corner. She doesn’t, though, and she doesn’t miss the way he grins as she rises to her feet, shrugging her jacket over her shoulders and walking towards him to look him in the eye.

“Let’s see if there’s a redemption story somewhere in here, yeah?” Bill grins unabashedly, like he’s won the lottery.

“I promise not to disappoint, ma’am.” Vicki looks him up and down, before brushing past him.

“We’ll see.” Is all she supplies him with, hoping that it’ll be cold enough to serve as an excuse for her flushed cheeks.

[cksmart-world]

SMART BOMB

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

August 8, 2023

THE SEINFELD DEFENSE & KETCHUP DOESN'T LIE

Former President Donald Trump won the 2020 election. Despite no evidence of voter fraud he actually believes it, his attorney said, invoking the old “Seinfeld Defense.” George Costanza, the character in the 1990s sitcom “Seinfeld,” came up with the novel defense: “It's not a lie if you believe it.” That's now the brilliant legal response to a four-count indictment that accuses Trump of conspiring to overturn U.S. democracy. Trump's attorney, John Lauro, said prosecutors can't prove the former president believes he lost the election. Presto: not guilty. Well Lauro has a point there — who could possibly tell from minute-to-minute what's going through that guy's head. But there is compelling evidence that Trump did know he lost: Ketchup. That's right, White House aide Cassidy Hutchinson told the Jan. 6 House Special Select Committee that when then-Attorney General Bill Barr told the Associated Press there was no evidence of widespread voter fraud Trump threw his lunch and it splattered ketchup on the wall in the West Wing. Trump's attorneys no doubt will seek to undermine prosecution witnesses who told the former president he lost, but how do you undermine ketchup on a wall. Heinz may well be the best answer to the “Seinfeld Defense,” because, after all, ketchup doesn't lie.

PIGSKIN PIGOUT — IT COULDN'T BE ABOUT THE MONEY

Don't let anyone tell you that college football has become all about money. Sure, it looks that way but just because universities are jumping from one conference to another for bigger TV bucks doesn't mean we've lost what's really important about college football. We'll get to that in a minute. University of Utah football coach Kyle Whittingham makes $6 million a year. But it's not so much compared to Alabama football coach Nick Saban, who pulls in $10.6 million. Alabama football, in the Southeastern Conference (SEC), brought in a record $130.87 million last year. In Sept. 2022, the Big Ten Conference announced a new TV deal worth more than $1 billion per year. Last week in something like football musical chairs the PAC- 12 became in reality the PAC- 4, as schools bolted. The Big 10 added two schools and the Big 12 grabbed another three college teams, including Utah. USC, UCLA — Colorado left earlier. Jack Dickert, Washington State head coach said TV money will destroy college football and the school rivalries that have been central to it. “We'll look back at college football in 20 years and be like 'what are we doing'” What's really important about college football? It molds young men and prepares them for the pros where they could become millionaires. But it's not about money.

HOW MIKE PENCE GOT HIS GROOVE BACK

Mike Pence is from Indiana so it's no surprise he's got lots of charisma. Indiana is the “Charisma State.” Residents there are known as Hoosiers, from the Greek χάρισμα — “who's yours.” Pence was a gregarious young man from a good Catholic family of Democrats. Then something happened — the future savior of American democracy became an evangelical Christian and a conservative Republican and along the way landed a statewide radio show, cleverly called “The Mike Pence Show.” He said his program was like Rush Limbaugh on downers. It launched his political career where he was elected to the House for six terms and then governor of Indiana. But when Trump picked the charming Mike Pence to be his running mate, the Hoosier had to promise never to be charismatic again. Only Trump could be charming. Pence took on the persona of a mud fence so well that some believed he was an android. Then came Jan. 6 and “Hang Mike Pence.” The vice president and his family had to run for their lives. It was a reawakening. That's why the Mike Pence we see running for president today is the old fun-loving jokester who used to say his radio show was the political answer to “Pee-wee Herman's Playhouse.” Mike Pence rocks, relatively speaking, of course.

Post script — That'll do it for another historic week here at Smart Bomb where we keep track of our bizarre politics so you don't have to. It's now clear that Donald Trump is running for president so he won't have to go to prison. More than two-thirds of Republicans believe Trump is the rightly elected president and that stuff about the Jan. 6 insurrection is all made up. Trump continues to run far ahead in the race for the Republican nomination. Utah Sen-For-Life Mike Lee said prosecuting Trump for things he did on Jan. 6 is “dangerous” because he was president then and had immunity. In essence, a failed coup is not punishable by law. Great. Hey Wilson, do you ever get the feeling we've collided with a parallel universe where black is white and right-side-up is upside-down. Meanwhile Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis is campaigning against Mickey Mouse while extolling the great benefits of slavery for Black people. It's not going too well, so he raised the rhetoric by saying as president he would start “slitting throats” in the federal bureaucracy on day one. It sure is nice that we're setting the example of true democracy for all those Third World countries — bunch of heathens.

Songwriter Randy Newman once penned a number called, “Short People,” which was really about prejudice of all kinds. These days it seems like no one likes homeless people — many of whom are families and single moms. So Wilson, get the band to put down the hookah and take us out with a little something for the downtrodden:

Short People got no reason Short People got no reason To live They got little hands Little eyes They walk around Tellin' great big lies They got little noses And tiny little teeth They wear platform shoes On their nasty little feet Don't want no Short People Don't want no Short People 'Round here Don't want no Homeless People Don't want no Homeless People 'Round here They're always camping out on the street Don't wear no stockings on their feet All their junk is piled in grocery carts They're all rumpled up and got no smarts

Why don't they find someplace else to stay Seeing them is a bummer and ruins the day Don't want no Homeless People Don't want no Homeless People 'Round here

(Short People — Randy Newman, modified by the Smart Bomb staff)

[televisionboy]

The Type Of Look They Want

Authors note: what is angst lol I’ve experienced too much irl idek what it is anymore. This is dedicated and inspired by @pxpeyewynn ily my wife and ur amazing

Taglist: @adamantiumdragonfly @raven-has-no-gender2272 @thatsonefishyboi @punkgeekchic @inglourious-imagines @legendarics @prvtbullshit @liebegott @damngoodgirl @3milesup @noneofurbusinez @gutsandgloryhere @sunnyshifty @meteora-fc @band-of-bitches @alienoresimagines @murphyism @wexhappyxfew @we-always-hit-our-ass @deldontplay @lovingunderratedcharacters @contrabandhothead @tremendousjudgesuitcasestudent @georgeluzwarmhugs @sunflowerchuck @sodapop182 @hoosiers-blanket @speirs-crazy-ass @mrseasycompany @vat69nix @stressedinadress @tyenesnakes @ohmydazeee @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mavysnavy @rarmiitage

Blood, blood was covered on his hands, adorning his fingertips and some had been splattered on his neck. Eugene tossed the rag down rather harshly, running his fingers through his hair. Frustrated and upset at himself because he had let another family down, a family who would be expecting their son but would be empty handed. He stared out the window that was fogged. Cobblestone sidewalks were ruined after being bombed, you were on that sidewalk when it was. He remembered last night vividly, a memory that would never leave him, a memory he would have nightmares from.

“Get her on the table, Liebgott. Hurry up” the Cajun voice growing deeper and more snippy. Liebgott lowered you on the table, blood from your leg was rushing out fast and thick streams at once. Your head started feeling faint and while Eugene started grabbing bandages, Liebgott held on to your hand. Eugenes heart pounding in his chest distracted him. His heart truly only beated for you, but he didn’t want it so sad and loud like this. He didn’t want to feel his heart breaking for you.

“She’ll be fine, doc?” Dick’s voice called from the front entrance of the room. Roe looked at you, your glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry over the pain. He could feel his heart cracking “She’ll be fine, get her to a bed to rest” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. Gene had a tight lipped smile and politely nodded at Liebgott.

He wiped anything that was forming in his eyes away and ignored the feeling of his heart breaking.

Your cough broke the silence and Eugene turned around immediately to be faced with you and your cot. “Are you okay?”

You nodded and smiled at him, his face relaxed when he saw you relax more “Can you sit with me? Or are you busy with something” Eugene’s heart fluttered and he smiled and placed his bandages down

“Do you see me doing anything?” He walked over to sit next to your cot, fingers slowly brushing over yours. You took notice of his callousy fingers and a little bruised from working so much. “I just see you staring out into space”

“Guess I was thinking about how I felt. You gave me quite a scare last night” he continued to run his fingers over yours. You stopped his hand and looked at him, with a smile “I’m okay, Gene. It’s just a little pain today but I’ll be okay. Can’t get rid of me that easy”

He smiled “I want you to take me to France, remember? You said you had cousins there and you knew a great cafe. I’m still going to take you up on that offer, Eugene Roe”

Gene began to re-bandage your leg and he remembered that conversation you had with him. When you had said your dream was to go to France so he promised you he would take you. He had promised his mama he would find a girl after the war but what about during it?

“Am I the kind of girl to make you want to move to France?” You had asked one night, the coldness of Bastogne had made you be closer than ever to Easy’s medic

“No” he had muttered “You’re the kind of girl to make me want to move back to Louisiana with”

Eugene finished wrapping up your leg again and gulped, staring at you “I was scared last night, I love you. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N” the shy boy’s cheeks heating up, red and growing hot with embarrassment

Your lips curled into a smile not saying anything

because he was looking at you the way everyone wanted to be looked at

like the world could crumble, and he wouldn’t even blink

[order-of-river-phoenix]

...For Someone Like Me; Lew “Chuckler” Juergens

Fandom: HBO War; The Pacific

A/N: this is a long one guys. Also, this is a part 2 to this imagine, so it might be helpful to read that one first. This was actually requested by @alienoresimagines so thank you bc I rlly liked writing this one, and I wouldn’t have written it if you hadn’t said anything. (Honestly, I just rlly love Chuckler)

Warnings: some language; also a crude joke is thrown in bc it felt in character, but just know I cringed as I typed it out

Taglist: @liebegott @stressedinadress @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @floydtab @hbohmygodx @meteora-fc @punkgeekchic @vintagelavenderskies @hoosiers-hoe @mavysnavy @alienoresimagines

__________

"Hey, Marshall, right?" Chuckler wore an unnervingly cool grin as he gripped into the other guy's shoulder.

The guy frowned up at him, seeming to immediately take the defensive. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

His answer came as a literal punch to the face.

Marshall, now clutching his bleeding nose, backed away from the larger man. "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," Chuckler loosened his fist and shook it, "was for a friend." Ignoring the many eyes on him, he turned on his heel and walked away.

__________

"Knock knock," a cheery voice announced.

You looked up from the wound you were rebandaging to see the bright smile you had come to look forward to. "Hey, Chuckler." You quickly tied off the bandage and patted the Marine. "You're good to go, Nealy. I'll check it again tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright. Thanks, Y/N," he said before leaving the medical tent.

You turned your attention back to Chuckler. "Are you here to bother me again today?"

"I don't bother you," he scoffed. His smile dropped for a split second. "I don't bother you, do I?"

"No," you laughed, "you don't. I'm just surprised you have as much time to hang around as you do. I don't know what you're going to do when we're all actually doing our jobs."

"I'll be running around hoping to get hurt so you can fix me up."

"That's not funny." You looked up at him, trying your best to convey a serious tone, though his grin made it so hard to be stern. "The last thing I want to see is you with a gaping hole in your side."

"What about a small injury?"

"Like a bruised hand?" You carefully grabbed his hand and held it out to check. "What'd you do to get this?"

Still smiling like an idiot, he lowered his head. "If you wanted to hold my hand, you could have just asked."

You blinked. "What did you do to your hand?"

"It's really nothing." He tried to slip his hand out of yours, but you gripped his wrist. "It's fine."

You let him take his hand back, which he quickly shoved into a pocket, but you didn't miss his slight wince at doing so. "Are you and the boys wrestling for fun? Or did you just deck a coconut tree because it looked at you funny?"

"I guess you could say it was a coconut tree," he mumbled. "Has about as much brains."

You frowned a little, thinking back to the other night. He had never really come off as a fighter—current situation withholding—so the idea that he had been in a fight with someone that wasn't an enemy Japanese soldier was difficult to believe. You remembered the way he had reacted when he found you crying, and you couldn't help but wonder...

"Lew..." your voice trailed off as you decided on what to say and how to say it.

His eyebrows furrowed a bit at this—you hardly called him by his given name anymore. "Yes, Y/N?"

"Who was it?"

"I don't think I understand."

"Yes, you do."

"Who did what?"

"Who did you punch?"

He had yet to master the art of the poker face. "You know what, I think I'm going to leave you alone now. Enjoy some peace and quiet."

Before you could protest, he was walking away.

You tried to tell yourself that you didn't care. You rationalized everything about your reaction. Why were you so upset about his bruises? Chuckler was your friend, and you were never fond of your friends getting into fights. Why did you want to know who he fought with? Despite taking his role in this war seriously, he wasn't exactly the easiest person to upset; you wanted to know who surpassed the threshold. Why did you want it to be Marshall? Let's face it, you'd want anyone to punch him right about now. Your heartache was still a little fresh, and it wasn't like you had much alone time to work through it all.

But no matter what answer you gave yourself, there was still something gnawing at you. You needed to talk to him.

It never occurred to you that it may be difficult to find him among the many other men, but you were at a loss as you wandered around the allotted area of the island. Instead of finding him, you found some of his friends.

“You guys seen Chuckler?”

Hoosier blew a cloud of smoke out before looking over at Runner, who appeared uneasy.

Leckie, glancing between the other two, groaned a little as he sat up, and a tight smile stretched across his face. “You looking to thank him for his chivalrous act?”

You frowned slightly, watching as Runner smacked Leckie’s arm and Hoosier held back a laugh. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, you know,” Hoosier replied, seemingly amused by the topic—hardly a great sign, as you had learned. “Are you gonna sleep with him since he defended your honor?”

Appalled, you quickly responded with, “What the hell are you talking about? Just tell me where he is.”

Runner, who had given up being the good guy, controlled his giggling. “We haven’t seen him for a while. I figured he was with you.”

“Thank you,” you grumbled. Just as you were about to continue your search, you stopped yourself. “What did you mean when you said he ‘defended my honor’?”

Sid, having politely kept himself out of the conversation, now took the liberty of answering. “You mean you didn’t hear about him knocking out that guy in I Company? Chuckler told us that guy hurt you or something.”

That little inkling in the back of your head was right. “Oh.” You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry, laugh, or scream. You did absolutely none of those, standing there with a blank expression.

“You know what, Y/N,” Runner announced when they were starting to get concerned, “How about you stay here, and we’ll go look for him?”

You absently nodded while Sid helped you sit down.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hoosier offered, flicking his cigarette butt away.

The other three took off to find Chuckler, and you tried to wrap your mind around it. You kind of had an idea that he liked you, but did you like him back? Lord, it was difficult not to like him. Even when you were still holding out for Marshall, Chuckler had been the face you looked for everyday you weren’t running around trying to tend to wounds and illnesses.

“He didn’t knock him out,” Hoosier spoke up. “That old boyfriend of yours. Chuckler threw one punch.” As if to punctuate his statement, he held up one finger as he said it. “Bloodied the poor bastard’s nose, but he never hit to ground. Never hit back either.”

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to respond to that... but thank you, I suppose.” You watched him pick at his dirty nails, making you suddenly aware of your own rust-colored nails—months of blood and dirt packed in. “Why’d you offer to stay with me?”

“You want the honest answer?”

“Sure.”

“Didn’t feel like getting up,” he shrugged.

You nodded in acknowledgement. “Right.” Before you could think of some other way to awkwardly make conversation, Chuckler was standing above you. Quickly springing to your feet, you stared up at him.

“You wanted me?” he mumbled, trying to sound aloof.

“You tell me about the weather, even when I’m experiencing the same thing. You go on and on about how you saw coconuts falling. You even tell me about the shells you find littered on the beach.” You exhaled. “But you can’t tell me that you punched Marshall? Doesn’t that seem like the kind of thing I’d want to know?”

His mouth opened and closed as he struggled for words, and as if on cue, the other men slipped away, looking for somewhere else to be.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was gentler now, but there was still an edge to it.

“I like seeing you smile, and that didn’t seem like something that would make you smile,” he answered quietly. “My mom used to tell me that jealousy wouldn’t get me anywhere, but I couldn’t help it.”

Your heart twinged, and your stomach did cartwheels. “Chuckler, you cheeseball.” Grinning, you playfully shoved him in the chest. “Could you stop being so cute for even a minute?”

That smirk you loved so much grew on his face. “Aww, you think I’m cute?” He took a step closer, and his hands found their way to your waist.

“Shut up. You know you’re cute.” You looped your arms around him. “Next time you decide to beat up someone for me, let me know. I want to see your technique.”

His laugh rang out, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this.

[orangerosebush]

[Fowl Fest 2020] Free day

Here is my personal take on a soundtrack for an Artemis Fowl movie, and I’ve included the scenes (in no particular order) during which each song would play under the cut.

[Youtube link]

Journey Of The Sorcerer - the Eagles

Title sequence song! Parts of this song were used as the theme for the Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and as Colfer also wrote for that series, I thought it’d be fun to have a kind of easter egg reference to that.

Tenebre - Goblin

This would be for a sharp cut away from the opening title sequence. I think it would be interesting to open with the manor in ruins from the troll fight, the gold being wheeled in, and Foaly about to press the button to deploy the biobomb. Everything is chaotic, Artemis is playing up the whole “I am an evil mastermind, not even your most lethal weapon in your arsenal is going to be enough to beat me today” — and then we are shot back to earlier in the plot, signalling that we are going to see what it took to have things fall apart so spectacularly.

Overture “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, op. 21 - Mendelssohn

We flashback to a paper-animation version of all the fairy tales that Artemis’ father told him as child. From there, we are given glimpses of what type of criminal empire that Fowl Sr. ran — only what Artemis would have known. Finally, the song ends as we see the Fowl star sink.

Навстречу ветру - Эстрадный Оркестр

At some point in the film when we learn about Angeline’s depression, this plays during a dreamline sequence where she recounts how she and Fowl Sr. met — it closes as the dream shatters and we learn she doesn’t remember that the Fowl Star sank.

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) - Kate Bush

This song follows the hostage negotiation sequence Artemis has. He’s decided that he’s willing to go through with anything he must in order to have this plan succeed — even if he wonders if the actions he’s taken to save his family and their legacy have fundamentally changed him such that his mother and father wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye if they learned of what he’d sacrificed for them.

Business Man - Mother Mother

A more upbeat Artemis villain song — perhaps it plays during a montage of Artemis’ successfully executed crimes that Foaly is showing Root as he flicks through the file on the history of the Fowl family.

Perfetto Non So - Mina Mazzini

This is definitely another Angeline song — it’s bittersweet and full of emotion in the best way.

Cem Karaca - Asri Gurbet

This would be the song that plays as Holly is getting ready to go to work and we see a montage of her going through Haven and interacting with other fairies.

Home Town (Instrumental) - WITCH

This plays as Artemis and Butler go through possible reports of fairy existence. We seek Artemis navigating abandoned internet forums, Butler calling old contacts, and dead ends that come out of this.

The Four Seasons: Summer (presto) - Vivaldi

Finally, something comes of Artemis’ search. He has the book — now all he has to do is translate it. Haven won’t know what hit them.

The Wren’s Nest - De Danann

This plays as Holly describes how so many fairies are trying to sneak aboveground to complete the ritual during this full moon. Maybe there are a few shots of Tara!

My Lagan Love - The Chieftains

It’s a full moon over Ireland. Butler and Artemis wait by an old oak tree growing near the bend in the river. It’s a clear night, and thousands of stars speckle the sky. In the distance, a figure lands on the hill (spoiler: it’s Holly).

Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy - Tchaikovsky

The tranquilizer wears off. Holly wakes up, confused and groggy in a cell in Fowl manor. Artemis explains the gravity of the situation; as expected, he is a smug, overly-pretentious 12-year-old.

Waltz op. 70 in F minor - Chopin

Now all Butler, Juliet, and Artemis have to do is wait for the People to realize Holly is missing. In the lull, Butler wonders if he can swallow his conscience long enough to pull this off. He’d never tell Artemis this, but privately, he doesn’t think that Fowl Sr. is ever coming home — the person his charge is becoming to chase after ghosts gives Butler pause in a way his training hasn’t prepared him for.

Occhi di Bambola - Giovanni Vicari

This plays as Root and Cudgeon engage in passive aggressive office politics surrounding how to approach the Fowl situation.

99 Luftballons - Nena

As a classic song about atomic weapons and nuclear war leaving nothing but ruin in their wake, this would of course be the song that plays when we reach the scene where Foaly deploys the biobomb.

In The Hall Of The Mountain King - Grieg

This song is about how Peer Gynt (the main character) is trying to sneak away from the Mountain King undetected. This would definitely be the music that plays as Mulch breaks into the manor and tries to find Holly.

Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92: Il, Allegretto - Beethoven

This plays as Holly leaves and Artemis + the Butlers are left to celebrate their victory. Artemis suggests that they share a bottle of champagne in recognition of the feat they’ve accomplished, and Butler realizes that his charge is up to something. He drinks the sleeping pill laced drink anyway, in the end.

Goodbye, Mr. A - The Hoosiers

End credits sequence song! A fun, poppy song (with the “Mr. A” possibly being a jab at Artemis himself)

[berniesrevolution]

DISSENT MAGAZINE

Over the course of the presidential primary campaign, we’ve seen a similar scene play out over and over: candidates giving regionally specific performances meant to convey their relatability and authenticity. This May, for example, at a Wisconsin town hall event televised on Fox News, presidential candidate Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota attempted to woo her overwhelmingly white audience by underscoring her sensible Midwestern roots. Dubbing herself “Heartland Amy” (the subtitle of her campaign book is A Memoir from the Heartland), she peddled what she termed “heartland economics”—policies that supposedly reflect the concerns of regular voters, as well as their innate conservatism. Klobuchar has not only embraced the prairie put-on the media has come to expect from certain candidates; she’s also foregrounded her (white) Midwestern identity. Because she hails from the nation’s geographic middle, Klobuchar claims, she and her campaign possess unique insight into the needs and desires of “average” American voters. “I am from the middle of the country,” Klobuchar proudly declared in her closing remarks during last week’s Democratic debate. “And I believe, if we’re going to get things done, that we have to have someone leading the ticket with grit, someone who’s going to not just change the policies, but change the tone in the country, and someone who believes in America and believes it from their heart because of where they came from.” Fellow Democratic contenders Pete Buttigieg of Indiana and Tim Ryan of Ohio have echoed some version of Klobuchar’s appeal to Middle-American decency.

Former Senator Claire McCaskill, a Missouri Democrat who was hired as an analyst for MSNBC after losing to Republican Josh Hawley in 2018, employs a similar style to admonish her party’s insurgent left flank. After the July debates, McCaskill claimed that “free stuff”—Medicare for All, free college, a Green New Deal—“does not play well in the Midwest.” (McCaskill, it’s worth noting, lost her election even as Missourians voted for ballot initiatives that rejected the state’s so-called right-to-work laws, legalized medical marijuana, and raised the minimum wage.)

Although you wouldn’t know it from Democrats who conflate the geographic and political center, the Midwest has a left-populist tradition that stretches back to the mid-nineteenth century, when small farmers embraced a politics critical of corporate capitalism. Even today, the region is not somehow uniquely opposed to mass redistribution. Programs like Medicare and Social Security are as popular in Ohio and Iowa as they are anywhere. And, of course, the corporations and big agriculture that make up so much of the Midwest’s commercial fabric consume a disproportionate share of government subsidies.

The imaginary Midwest of media stereotype—a place of bucolic cornfields and good-sense politics—also obscures its nonwhite past and present. From its legal origins in the Northwest Ordinance, the region has always been multiracial: American Indian, African, and European. It became even more racially and ethnically diverse in the age of railroads, urbanization, and machine-based manufacturing. With the movement of global capital and its rapacious demand for cheaper labor, populations from Latin America, Africa, and South and East Asia have remade—and continue to remake—the demography of not only the region’s major cities but also its restrictive suburbs and former sundown towns. Descriptions of an authentic white Middle America, by contrast, launder the processes of ethnic cleansing, xenophobia, racial segregation, and violence that created and sustained the heartland. Midwestern states that are overwhelmingly non-Hispanic white, like Iowa (at 85 percent), didn’t end up that way by historical accident. Neither is it an accident that black Iowans are incarcerated at eleven times the rate of white Iowans, or that an explicitly white-supremacist congressman, Steve King, has found consistent electoral success in the state.

But the fact that the Midwest is not a political or racial monolith is beside the point. McCaskill’s “free stuff” is not meant to draw empirical scrutiny; it is meant to summon fears of poor and working-class people of color. Likewise, Klobuchar’s “heartland” is not intended to foster a critical debate about geographic inequality; rather, it seeks to evoke whiteness. As historian Toby Higbie puts it, “what people usually mean by the heartland is the Midwest without Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, and the kinds of people who live in those big cities, without Native American reservations, and without rural poverty.” This is the same exclusionary Midwest that New York Times reporter Jonathan Weisman conjured when he tweeted: “Saying Rashida Tlaib (D–Detroit) and Ilhan Omar (D–Minneapolis) are from the Midwest is like saying Lloyd Doggett (D–Austin) is from Texas or John Lewis (D–Atlanta) is from the Deep South.”

The trope of an ostensibly racially neutral and politically reasonable “Middle American heartland” is a historical fiction, juxtaposed with a purportedly backward (and multiracial) South. The notion of an American “center” was popularized in the nineteenth century by editors and politicos and adopted by Ohioans, Hoosiers, Illinoisans, and Iowans who, through the restriction and banishment of black people, wished to navigate a “middle way” between slavery and racial liberalization. Its modern iteration reflects conservative political strategies and elite discourses of the 1960s. Whitewashing the region’s radical history since the abolitionist movement, liberal journalists made sense of white hostility toward civil rights and the counterculture by flattening much of the U.S. interior and branding it as hopelessly reactionary. At the same time, right-wing politicians exploited the grievance politics of the white petite bourgeoisie, beginning with Alabama segregationist George Wallace’s 1964 presidential campaign (which performed well in Wisconsin and Indiana). This connection of white middle-class victimhood with regional imagery culminated in the resounding electoral success of Richard Nixon’s more implicit “Silent Majority” coalition.

In the wake of these developments came the rise of the “Reagan Democrat” in the Rust Belt. Ronald Reagan couched his anti-statist message and vows to dismantle the New Deal state in racist terms, lauding the industrious white worker (who had benefited from the racially exclusionary New Deal) while denigrating the fictive “welfare queen” and her accomplices. That political formation continued into the twenty-first century, as political scientist Katherine Cramer showed in her book The Politics of Resentment, which examines how former Wisconsin governor Scott Walker deployed a racist, anti-intellectual, and anti-statist ideology to remake his home state according to the designs of the Koch Brothers and American Legislative Exchange Council.

By contrast, Donald Trump has promised to protect (white) Midwesterners and guarantee their livelihoods with decisive federal action—whether through protectionist trade policies, job creation, generous healthcare benefits, or otherwise. However empty those promises were, they resonated with Michigan and Wisconsin voters—many of whom had cast their ballots (twice) for Obama—and helped topple the Democrats’ “firewall” in the Upper Midwest. Trump won the heartland in part by promising “free stuff.” (His actual economic policies, of course, have followed recent Republican Party tradition.)

(Continue Reading)

[dweemeister]

McFarland, USA (2015)

In Hollywood, certain sports have dominated the sports genre. The proportions reflect their popularity as Hollywood’s Studio System reached its zenith. America’s national pastime, baseball, is well represented. As is boxing, which was once arguably one of the United States’ favorite sports alongside horse racing. American football and basketball had been underrepresented until the last few decades; soccer and ice hockey – perhaps given the demographics of the average Hollywood executive past and present – have not gained much traction among major movie studios (how I hope that changes soon for soccer, but among all the sports I have mentioned, it is the hardest to “fake”). Track and field and distance running occasionally have their moments, like Chariots of Fire (1981) and Race (2016). Simulating amateur or professional running comes down to correcting an actors’ running form – a far cry from teaching someone how to kick a soccer ball properly and strenuous boxing training.

McFarland, USA, directed by New Zealander Niki Caro (2002’s Whale Rider, the pandemic-delayed live-action adaptation of Disney’s Mulan), is the first Disney live-action film on a track and field/distance running story since The World’s Greatest Athlete (1973) – a film that slathers on the slapstick and the cultural stereotypes. Set in the small town of McFarland in California’s Central Valley, McFarland, USA looks at a community glanced over by Hollywood and independent filmmakers. A few hours’ drive from Los Angeles and the Pacific Ocean, McFarland is an agricultural community that is heavily Latino, with limited economic opportunities for its residents. That, of course, makes McFarland and places like it the butt of derision from some of its residents and those who do not know any better. It can be a difficult place to live, but even here, the film says, Americana thrives and the American Dream abides.

In the late summer/early fall of 1987, football coach Jim White (Kevin Costner) loses his job at an Idaho high school after losing his temper, accidentally injuring a smack-talking player. He and his family – wife Cheryl (Maria Bello), elder daughter Julie (Morgan Saylor), and younger daughter Jamie White (Elsie Fisher from 2018’s Eighth Grade) – pack their belongings and settle in McFarland, California. Even on their first day, the Whites are frightened of their new home. The place is unkempt, and it is difficult for the daughters to believe they are in America. Jim takes his new job as assistant football coach and PE teacher at McFarland High School, but is soon stripped of assistant coaching duties after a dispute with the head coach. Noticing how many of McFarland’s boys are excellent runners, he convinces the high school principal to support boys’ cross country running – the first year it is sanctioned by the California Interscholastic Federation (CIF, the governing body of California high school sports).

The team, some more skeptical than others, assemble: Thomas Valles (Carlos Pratts), Jose Cardenas (Johnny Ortiz), Johnny Sameniego (Hector Duran), Victor Puentes (Sergio Avelar), and brothers David (Rafael Martinez) and Danny Diaz (Ramiro Rodriguez).

When one thinks of the word “Americana”, certain things come to mind. Small towns with everybody knows your name and white picket fences, children playing baseball in the park, and the corner store/malt shop are elements of Americana, exported to the world via films and television shows made in the United States. But these images are specific to an America of an earlier, more monochromatic time and is arguably geographically specific (not reflecting the diverse Southwest, let alone Alaska and Hawai’i). The country, no matter the time period, is too large to distill into a single idea.

McFarland, California of the late 1980s looks a lot like what it is today. Instead of burger joints, there are taquerías. Quinceañeras are celebrated; there’s a group of men who get together to cruise their classic cars through town (they are mistaken by the White family as “gangbangers” their first night there); and much of the population works throughout the week picking fruits and vegetables in the fields – work that is backbreaking, sweltering, honest, essential.

What makes McFarland, USA most appealing is its normalization and celebration of life in McFarland. Though dramatized, the cinematic reality of this film’s McFarland, California is largely the reality for small agricultural towns up and down California’s Central Valley. The narratives of McFarland deserve to be considered as “American” as equally those from Bedford Falls (1946’s It’s a Wonderful Life), the middle of nowhere in Iowa (1989’s Field of Dreams); and Greenbow, Alabama (1994’s Forrest Gump). Conflict and personal discontent always simmered in these places, despite the idyllic community in Bedford Falls (minus Mr. Potter) and the natural beauty of the middle of nowhere in Iowa and Greenbow, Alabama.

Those things exist, too, in McFarland, California. Jim White, in his first days at McFarland High, obviously does not want to be there nor does he plan on staying longer than he needs to. In forming and coaching cross country, he contends with the familial, economic, and other cultural factors facing his student-athletes’ lives in addition to learning how to coach a sport he has no experience in. As the film reaches the end of its first act, the screenplay by Christopher Cleveland (2006’s Glory Road), Bettina Gilois (Glory Road), and Grant Thompson (his screenwriting debut for a feature film) strays from the White family to show us the familial and peer pressures the student-athletes face. Here, McFarland, USA captures the vulnerability, confusion, friendship (or lack of it), and desire to forge one’s own fate that high schoolers can easily identify with. Many sports movies focusing on a team rather than a single person would allow those individuals to be dramatically indistinguishable (a major problem in 1986’s Hoosiers, a personal favorite). That is not the case in McFarland, USA, which allows its young Latino characters to occupy their unique niche in this film. Thus, in conjunction with its normalization of McFarland’s heavily Latino culture, the film becomes a rousing slice of Americana. Certain people who might be defensive over what “Americana” entails might find issue with what I just wrote, but their definition is exclusionary by default.

With a white coach named White (if this was a professional sport, headline writers for sports sections might be having a field day) training and mentoring seven Latino cross country runners, some people might dismiss McFarland, USA outright as a “white savior” movie even though it avoids such trappings. The “white savior” narrative is one where a white character enters a difficult situation created or exacerbated by the personal/sociopolitical/cultural qualities of a non-white character(s) – the former, by exemplifying traits unlike the latter’s, rescues the non-white characters from that situation. The term “white savior” originated from academic analyses of narrative art and has passed into the political liberal vernacular. Too often among political liberals, the label of a “white savior” narrative is enough to dissuade certain individuals from even considering to consume such a narrative – this reviewer is guilty of using that term in a dismissive fashion.

McFarland, USA circumvents the tropes of white savior narratives by framing Jim White as a flawed character, its post-first act glimpses at life among the boys’ families, and White’s attempts to understand the lives of his student-athletes and neighbors. White, who comes off as an impersonal and stubborn ass with a short-fused temper at first, is played wonderfully by Costner. His character learns, through cultural and neighborly diffusion, how those qualities fail to resonant with his student-athletes, their elders, his wife, and two daughters. Over time, he learns more about the boys’ lives and – on his own volition – the difficult work their families tend to. He acknowledges their personal and familial sacrifices, acknowledging that his hardscrabble life is fundamentally different than theirs. In a final pep talk before the inaugural CIF state championships for cross country, White says:

Every team that’s here deserves to be, including you. But they haven’t got what you got. All right? They don’t get up at dawn like you and go to work in the fields… They don’t go to school all day and then go back to those same fields… These kids don’t do what you do. They can’t even imagine it… What you endure just to be here, to get a shot at this, the kind of privilege that someone like me takes for granted? There’s nothing you can’t do with that kind of strength, with that kind of heart.

It is a beautiful moment made possible by the acting from all involved. That though someone like Jim White may never understand the poverty or the anguish that comes with these boys’ lives, their dedication and work ethic is equal to, if not surpassing, that of their affluent counterparts. To whom much is given, much is required. Jim White has given the boys his dedication to themselves as athletes, students, and human beings; the boys of McFarland’s cross country team have given to their coach lifelong respect and the embrace of community.

As a sports film, McFarland, USA is neither innovative nor does it shake off the coil of predictability that almost every sports film is plagued with. Quite a few of its elements are simplified and sanitized (White revived a cross country program that had been dropped rather than establishing it, he also revived the girls’ cross country team that is not depicted at all here, among other things) but that might be expected given the studio (Disney) behind it. But this film is based on a real story and hews as closely as it can to the spirit of the actual story when it can. If I saw the pitch for this film without any prior knowledge, I might have dismissed it as fantasy. McFarland High School’s boys’ cross country team won nine state championships under White until his retirement in the early 2000s, and qualified for consecutive state championships from 1987 to 2013.

Prior to Jim White’s pre-meet speech, there is a montage set to “The Star-Spangled Banner” – commemorating the boys’ brotherhood now linked inextricably with their coach. The attendees’ and athletes’ singing gives way to a solo guitar, showing the audience scenes of that brotherhood. We see the team on a late afternoon run just outside the barbed wire fencing surrounding the prison located near their school. After that run, we see them, talking with their coach amid the crepuscular Central Valley sun, taking a moment to catch their breath. They are all sitting and relaxing atop a tarp-covered mound of almonds ready for market. If that isn’t an example of Americana at its finest, I don’t know what is.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, click here.

[tobeornottobehistory-blog]

The Light of Pride

            I figured this week’s blog post would be dedicated to all the pride going around this June. We think of Pride and the LGBTQ+ community being a relatively new thing. After all, “Stonewall” only happened in 1969. However, if one looks closer, quiet little stories appear. One I want to talk about today is the story of Harriet Colfax. 

           Harriet was born in 1824 in New York. She lived there for quite some time and made a living as a piano teacher. In the 1850's, Harriet moved from the East Coast to quit a different coast, the Indiana Coast. Harriet and her younger brother settled in the growing town of Michigan City. However, after her brother died in 1856, Harriet decided that she needed a job. The position of lightkeeper was available, but obtaining this position involved politics. Luckily, her cousin Schuyler held many political strings and assisted in helping out Harriet

           Harriet became the lightkeeper of the Michigan City Lighthouse in 1861. Every day she would light the multiple lights of the area. Tending to the East and West Pier lights would prove to be most difficult. Sometimes, Miss. Colfax would have to take a rowboat to the West Pier. The East Pier wasn't any easier. In fact, in the winter the waves would even freeze over the pier. Despite these harsh conditions, Miss. Colfax loved her job. In fact, she once said she would rather die than live anywhere else than her lighthouse.

           Never married, Miss .Colfax did this job alone and relied on no one but herself. That being said, Miss. Colfax didn't go through life alone. For around 40 years, Miss.Colfax lived with Ann Cartwell. Ann was a teacher, and like Miss. Colfax, never married. It was suspected that two had more than just a friendship. The two were supposedly inseparable. They regarded each other highly, often speaking softly and endearing to each other. In fact, the two died just 12 days apart. One can only speculate their relationship, as standards and morals were different than they are now.

           However, Miss. Colfax's sexuality or personal relationships shouldn't matter. The matter of the fact is that Miss. Colfax was ahead of her time. She didn't view life as a woman just marriage and making babies. She forged her own path and lived by her own rules. She took on a job that usually a man would have. She relied only on herself and her will power. As far as her relationship with Miss. Ann is concerned, it is an amazing example of an everlasting love, whether it is platonic or romantic!

06/23/2019

Sources

Stephen J. Taylor, Hoosier State Chronicles, 2015

Matthew Werner, Dig the Dunes

[themichaelbeebe]

The Six Families

Last Tuesday was the Primary Election in Indiana for municipalities and in that light, it’s time for our post-primary healing. I’m not sure if it’s by design, but primaries splinter our party into factions and then afterwards, we need to work together for a common goal of winning for our candidates. We need to let our wounds heal and put aside the differences that divided us and be a whole party…

[kemonos]

would it be annoying if i said 1-50? i wanna know all of it

no it’s v sweet...... kis...

1. what’s the best thing that happened to you today?

i just relaxed and kinda just didnt do much!! love it when i get a day Off. my cat laid next to me and it was so cute that might be the best part. also just had a nice phone call with u a bit ago was rlly nice

2. where do you see yourself living in 10 years?

the city that i currently live in. i will be 29! yikes!

3. apartment or house?

house. i need places to go and space to exist in and apartments make me feel v cramped

4. has your aesthetic changed at all in the last year?

i change it every season!

5. what is something you’re proud of?

im good with kitty cats..... also being a published poet and having 2 years of government work experience at19!

6. name three books that changed your life.

warriors: into the wild, the haunting of hill house, and persepolis

7. do you have a favorite podcast?

i love taz!! (thanks for introducing me to it) and wtnv is my forever love.

8. what three songs can you not get enough of right now?

i don’t trust u anymore

the guillotine

cuz i love you

9. favorite quote?

“I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.” and yes that is a FNV quote

10. state an unpopular opinion that you have.

i gotta think on this one? i hate potatoes? but as for like more controversial/political stuff i gotta think on that

11. if you could live in any other decade, when & where would you choose?

medieval germany just so i could understand how horrifically people smelled

12. describe your ideal date?

going to a place where i can pet goats and having flowers brought to me... hehe

but as for like a date i havent done? i think just like. being surprised with a small gift/flowers because i love gifts/flowers and then going for a nice walk somewhere pretty and then doing some activity like pottery or shopping or like.. just an activity that’s a good time!!! and then having a nice dinner or lunch (no ideal date of mine starts early bc that’s cuddling time) and then going home and watching a movie and hangin out!

13. are you currently crushing on anybody?

yeas! you know who!!

14. if you could have dinner with anybody, who would it be?

my grandma cause i never met her. or like a grandma further up in my lineage and idk anything abt my heritage tbh

15. what time do you usually go to sleep & wake up?

i sleep from 10:30-1:00 and wake up around 9

16. what’s your favorite instrument?

cello, viola, or mandolin

17. what song do you love dancing to?

i will get down to just about anything. in stores, restaurants, anywhere. u have seen me do this.

18. what’s a topic that you wish you knew more about?

hmm how to make change using activism. i see so much injustice in the world and im not sure how to fix it

19. got a random fact you’ve been holding on to?

i have only had animals that had black fur as pets!

20. favorite fruit & vegetable?

i like mango and tomato

21. what’s your favorite dish to cook?

im so bad at cooking so a dish i CAN cook that i like is chicken soup made from scratch

22. favorite beverage?

screwdriver

23. how are you feeling in this moment?

pretty okay!

24. are you reading a book at the moment? what do you like about it?

i should be... eek

25. name three songs that stir up the deepest emotions.

a pearl by mitski

running up that hill by kate bush

i dont have a third one, these two songs rlly bring out tears in me tho. esp the second one

26. what’s your favorite season & why?

winter cuz i love snow and holidays, spring cause im happiest then, fall cause it smells good and new things happen, summer because i can be lazy and actually see sun?

27. when is your birthday?

you know >:)

28. what do you do when you need to de-stress?

play viddy game

29. do you prefer spontaneous or pre-arranged plans?

both are grEAt

30. name an experience in your life you wish you could do over?

high school, i wasted far too much time being sad

31. do you like the name you were given? if not, is there a different one you’d prefer?

nope! and im not sure yet!

32. what’s your favorite weather?

snow !!!

33. are you satisfied with how your life is going right now?

i think so!

34. describe a time that you were brave.

i stood up to a rlly abusive partner at some point and i paid dearly for it but i stopped letting myself be a doormat

35. is there a movie you like better than the book it was based on?

uhhh not particularly 

36. do you have a place you go to when you feel stressed/sad?

lake

37. what was the last thing that made you laugh?

thicc furry women google search

38. what time is it where you are?

night

39. what is something you’re excited for?

seeing you tomorrow, our next date, and finishing fire emblem.

40. got any summer plans?

work, get sun, hang out

41. when was the last time you intentionally went out to see the sunrise?

never 

42. favorite film genre?

psych thriller

43. coffee or tea?

u and i both love tea and that’s why we fell in love

44. describe your body without using any negative adjectives.

soft, so very soft. olive. stronger than it seems!

45. is there a cover song that you like better than the original?

make you feel my love by adele

46. are you on good terms with your parents?

it’s complicated

47. are you in a relationship? if not, are you looking to be?

i am!!!!!!!!!!!!

48. do you typically look for a partner with the same traits as you or someone to complement yours?

hmmb.... think both? i couldnt be with someone similar to me. but i think like someone who shares some traits with me and also challenges me. like someone who can enjoy quiet moments and likes to stay in but also someone who encourages me to communicate in my life and takes me to new places!!!! hm.. who could i be describing......

49. describe your aesthetic.

forest lamb moss bitch

50. put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs to play.

in the deep woods - sdv soundtrack

northern downpour - panic! at the disco

fire editorial - the mountain goats

jolene - dolly parton

a sadness runs through him - the hoosiers 

pool boyz - diet cig

sleepyhead - passionpit

teenage dirtbag - weezer 

When the Catholic Girls go Camping - Giraffes? Giraffes!

Horchata - vampire weekend

[apartyofone]

Who is this guy?

Read in the NYT about the mayor of a medium sized town in Indiana who has announced his candidacy for Democratic Primary in 2020.

For President.

Huh?

And then I saw his uncommon name - Pete Buttigieg - and remembered this very memorable post on Medium after 2016:

Take a read. And open your mind to the crazy, longshot possibilities...

https://medium.com/@buttigieg/a-letter-from-flyover-country-5d4e9c32d2ac

A Letter From Flyover Country

Most people have trouble pronouncing my name, so they just call me “Mayor Pete.” My surname, Buttigieg (Boot-edge-edge), is very common in my father’s country of origin, the tiny island of Malta, and nowhere else. Dad came to America in the 1970s and became a citizen; he married my mother, an Army brat and umpteenth-generation Hoosier, and the two of them settled in South Bend, Indiana, shortly before I was born thirty-five years ago. At the age of 29, the city elected me mayor. Being the mayor of your hometown is the best job in America, partly because it’s relatively nonpartisan — we focus on results, not ideology. Yet, precisely because of what it means to my community, I am paying closer attention than ever to national politics and the direction of my party.

The Democratic Party matters more than ever, now that a hostile takeover of the Republican Party has brought to power a thin-skinned authoritarian who is not liberal, nor conservative, nor moderate. Yet the party today stands at its lowest point of national and statewide influence since the 1920s, just when a robust opposition is needed most. Much will depend on whether Democrats can organize and deliver a consistent alternative — principles, proposals, and candidates — in the face of what is about to come out of Washington and various state capitals under unchecked Republican control. They will keep some of their promises and break others. Things they will do, and things they will allow, stand to hurt America and Americans. We need to be ready to put forward a better way.

Among Democrats responding to the last election and organizing for the next one, the conversation, inevitably, is moving in the direction of organizing and tactics. This is vital, but it cannot come before the fundamentals. We need to begin with the values that make us Democrats in the first place. If we don’t talk about values, many Americans will tune us out. Again.

I am a Democrat because I believe in protecting freedom, fairness, families, and the future.

(Emphasis is mine)

First, freedom — not just the thin idea of freedom from overregulation but the freedom to choose our destinies, not to mention our spouses. Freedom from things like crushing medical costs and student debt, from dishonest banking practices and anything else that affects the most basic of freedoms: freedom to live a life of our choosing.

Next, fairness, in the sense Democrats have always cared about deeply, fairness in access to voting and to public accommodations, fairness in the face of discrimination and privilege, fairness in our systems of distributing financial and political power. Donald Trump got elected because, in his twisted way, he correctly asserted that there is great unfairness in our economy and our democracy.

Next, family: because we are made happy or unhappy mostly by what happens in our families, because you can’t raise a family on less than an adequate wage, because shaping our families is a personal right, and because you can’t raise a family at all if your government doesn’t have your back.

And finally, the future: because the national security of our people, and the habitability of our land, almost totally depend on those we elect, their judgment and wisdom and willingness to pay attention to facts and evidence when making decisions that will have consequences for centuries.

None of this is theoretical for me. I didn’t see Afghanistan on the news, I saw it through the armored windshields of the vehicles I drove or guarded on dozens of missions outside the wire, and as a Reservist I could be sent back to war if a reckless president leads us into peril. I don’t think about gun violence as an abstraction, not when I’ve had to attend funerals and console the mothers of victims in my city — and swear in police officers alongside family members who pray they will come home safe every day. Marriage equality isn’t a political rallying cry for me, it is a legal fact without which my future family cannot even exist. Obamacare isn’t a political football for me, it’s a matter of household finance: it’s how my partner pays for his health care and how his mother pays for the chemotherapy on which her life depends. Climate change isn’t about polar bears for me. It’s about the South Bend families whose homes I stood in last summer, their basements flooded with muck and excrement while children wandered around the porch the night before school started, because our city had just experienced one of those unprecedented rainfalls that science kept warning us about.

Commentators have focused on candidates and their antics as though that mattered most. But politics, for our city and for most Americans, isn’t about The Show. Its consequences don’t happen in the Beltway or on Twitter or on television. Politics happens in, and to, our homes, in the lives of the people we care about, like the people in my household, my family, and my community. That’s why this all matters so much. The process matters because of what it means to us voters as human beings, not the other way around.

At home, I ran and won, twice, by telling my blue-collar community that Studebaker was never going to come back and make cars in our city, and that it was all right, because there is a way forward. Now Democrats need to absorb the fact that winning the popular vote is not enough, see that the future trends of the electoral map alone will not save us, and know that it’s all right, because there is a way forward.

Our values are American values, and a values-led strategy (backed by a formidable organization) will prevail if we are true to it, and if we keep it close to the earth. I am not a candidate for a position in the national party, but I am watching closely to see if any of the declared candidates will articulate this message: it is time to organize our politics around the lived experience of real people, whose lives play out not in the political sphere but in the everyday, affected deeply and immediately by how well we honor our values with good policy.

With over 40 per cent of voters in my generation describing themselves as independent, our future as a party will depend on reminding people how their lives have been improved by good Democratic policies, and when a voter thinks that isn’t true in her life, we had better listen closely and try to understand why.

When it comes to my part of the country, we will recover our ability to reach people only when we take them seriously, connecting our plans to their actual, personal lived experience rather than focusing on The Show. We need to invite individual people to assess how their individual lives changed — how their safety, their income, their access to health care, their gun rights, their marriages — have actually been affected, if at all, by what goes on in Washington.

Taking people seriously also means treating the constituency groups that traditionally support Democrats as more than a disconnected patchwork of interests to cater to, served by a great political salad bar of something different for everyone. The various identity groups who have been part of our coalition should be there because we have spoken to their values and their everyday lives — not because we contacted them, one group at a time and just in time for the next election, to remind them of some pet issue that illustrates why we expect them to support us. Laundry lists will not inspire.

Democrats need a true turnaround, just like my city did when I ran for mayor. In the last five years, my “rust belt” city went from being described by Newsweek as one of America’s ten dying communities to seeing its fastest pace of population and investment growth in recent memory. That’s how I got re-elected with 80 percent of the vote last year, in the seat of a county that would split its vote evenly between Clinton and Trump a year later. We earned support from residents on both sides of the aisle, not by becoming ideologically conservative but by listening to people about what matters to them, facing our problems, and delivering results on the ground to earn confidence and trust. In the same way, I am convinced that, for our politics and for our nation, salvation begins with the local.

[mariomassillamany]

Watch my today at 9:00am discuss national and local politics on All Indiana Politics. All Indiana Politics from WISH-TV is your premier source for Indiana Politics and Policy, and now available to listen, on-demand, from the All Indiana Podcast Network. All Indiana Politics cuts through the noise to focus on the issues that matter to you, the future of the Hoosier state, and the people with the vision to take us there. Get in-depth, non-partisan coverage of the state’s top campaigns, exclusive interviews with Indiana’s political leaders, and expert analysis of critical legislation. (at Indiana) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgHUJFPOI_j/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ozma914]

The Land of Independence, Opportunity, and Smallpox

Flags are cool. Of course, these flags hang at the Albion Fire Station, so maybe they're hot. Your flag may vary.

I originally wrote this seven years ago, but few people read it because it's about history. Ironically, it was one of the last pieces I wrote before my newspaper column became history.  As I said in the opening of our book "Hoosier Hysterical", history would be a lot more fun if it was made ... well ... fun. So I had fun with this. (It's been changed slightly because I'm six years older.)

            Ever since Christopher Columbus first landed in the New World and hid all the Viking artifacts, America has been a land of opportunity, independence, and smallpox.

            Eventually the British colonists decided to go off and form their own country. (Except for Canadians, who were just too polite to leave.) Since our schools don’t teach enough history these days--there’s so much more of it now--I thought I’d give you a quick timeline of how we, the people, went from tea to coffee:

            1756: The French and Indian War

            This was probably the first World War. No, seriously: Over here we just mention the French and Indians, but the rest of the world called it the Seven Years War. It spread all over the globe, like a viral YouTube video, but with more cannon fire and disease. Nations involved included Austria, France, Great Britain, Prussia, Spain, and Sweden. Oh, and the Indians, who had their own list of nations.

            (Later on Prussia, not wanting to be confused with Russia, changed their name to Germany.)

            Why does this involve American Independence, which came decades later? Because it cost the British government so much to defeat their enemies (and the Indians) that they began taxing the colonists to help pay for it. And yet they didn’t allow the colonies to raise their own armies, plus there was that whole taxation without representation thing.

            Oh, and one more thing: The whole world war began (well, partially) because a young Virginia militia leader ambushed a French scouting party in the far west wilderness … near Pittsburgh. In later years, George Washington would be more careful to start battles after war was declared.

            1770: The Boston Massacre:

            No, it wasn’t a sporting event. It started when a group of colonists began throwing snowballs at a squad of British soldiers (In Boston. Sheesh.). That’s not so bad, is it? Then the colonists starting tossing sticks and stones, which, contrary to popular belief, can indeed break bones.

            This is a perfect example of why you shouldn’t throw stuff at people with guns. Five colonists died and the soldiers were arrested, but they were mostly acquitted thanks to a crafty defense by a young lawyer names John Adams.

            1773: The Boston Tea Party

            Tired of high taxes, an unresponsive government, and Earl Gray, colonists (In Boston—sheesh) dressed up as Indians, sneaked aboard ships (In the harbor—sheesh), and tossed 342 chests of tea into the water. In today’s dollars, they turned Boston harbor into the world’s biggest cup, with $750,000 worth of tea. They were led, of course, by the famous Boston patriot Folger “Starbuck” Maxwell.

            But why blame the Indians? They didn’t even drink tea.

            1774: The First Continental Congress

            They didn’t get much done. But in their defense, they were a Congress.

Things are starting to heat up.

            1775: Patrick Henry stirs the pot

            With the grievances of the colonists ignored by a remote government—sort of like today, only without Facebook—a radical named Patrick Henry, upset because he had two first names and no last one, began making fiery speeches and resolutions.

            The truth is, Henry was kind of a deadbeat. Worse, a lawyer. But man, he sure could talk good, and his actions helped ignite the American Revolution. You’ve probably heard the last line of his big speech, which was “Give me liberty or give me death!” Luckily, he got liberty.

            1775: The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.

            He rode through the countryside yelling, “The British are coming!”

            Sleepy residents yelled back, “Shut up, you fool! We are the British!”

            Then he got arrested, probably for violating the noise ordinance, and the ride was completed by William Dawes. Unfortunately for Dawes, the name “Paul Revere” sounded better in poetry.

            Also 1775 (busy year, there): The Battle of Lexington and Concord

            Revere had discovered the British were marching by sea, which slowed them down considerably because the horses didn’t swim well. That gave the Minutemen almost a full two minutes. It was plenty of time to gather in Lexington, to protect stores of arms and gunpowder, and Concord, to protect the grapes.

            1775 (saw that coming, didn’t you?): The Second Continental Congress

            Didn’t get much done. They made up for it in 1776, though.

            1775 or so: The Battle of Bunker Hill

            It was actually fought on Breeds Hill.

            177—wait for it—5: Patriots occupy Montreal, Canada

            Things were looking up, up there. And that’s the last time things looked up for the Revolutionaries in the north, who discovered Canadian hospitality didn’t extend to invasion.

I wrote about both the American Revolution and Canadian hospitality in Hoosier Hysterical. Did you know Indiana was the location of the westernmost naval battle of the Revolution? You didn't? It's in the book--I'll go sulk, now.

            1776 (finally!) Egged on by the British, Cherokee Indians attack along the frontier

            They were still upset about the whole Tea Party fraud. Also, they were mad about getting named for a country on the other side of the world.

            June 7, 1776: Richard Henry Lee points out to the Continental Congress that they’ve been rebelling against the British for more than a year, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to actually declare themselves to be rebelling?

            June 11: Five Congressmen are appointed to draft a Declaration of Independence. The other four talk Thomas Jefferson into doing the writing, pointing out that he’s the only one who’s invented a portable desk to use.

            June 12-27: Jefferson writes a rough draft, only to receive a rejection letter from the committee.

July 1-4: The entire Congress rips apart the Declaration. (Not literally. Sheesh.) Jefferson quits writing and goes into politics.

July 2: Congress declares independence, just as the British fleet and army arrive to invade New York. Talk about timing. John Adams declares that July 2 will forever be celebrated as Independence Day.

July 4: Having already declared independence, Congress now adopts the Declaration of Independence, declaring something they’ve already declared. John Adams’ head explodes.

July 9: George Washington has the Declaration read before the American army. The soldiers nod politely and ask when they’re going to get paid.

There was much more to it, of course. In fact, you could say the American Revolution went on until the US Constitution was adopted in 1788, or even until we fought the second Revolutionary war in 1812, which might also be related to the real second World War.

Now, that’s a funny story.  --------------------------------------------------------------------------- What's that, you ask? Why yes, of course you can celebrate July 4th, or any date, by buying Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All:

http://markrhunter.com/ https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"