#i went to public school in the US & we lived with my american aunt

[menalez]

you have no right to throw shade at redberryterf for having the money to travel when you yourself have cosplayed as poor for several years when in fact you lived in the states, the uk, and now germany and get to study in these countries as well. your parents likely paid for your studies as well and paid your mental health care. so shut up about wealth privilege

wait u think studying in a public university in germany makes me rich?? hahahaahahah 😭😭😭

[josendlessmonolouge]

Jo’s grandpa appreciation post bc I just made some overnight oats for tomorrow that he would love.

my grandpa is pretty well my father figure since my dad sucks majorly and anyway heres all the amazing wonderful stuff about him that makes me wish the entire world could have someone like him

He always told me stories when I was little. my favorite was jack and the beanstalk but because he modified it so the giant had a giant cat that in the end when the chop down the bean stalk, jack and his mom sell to a zoo and get a bunch of money.

He believes rhythm is one of the very most important things you can teach a child he used to bounce all us grandkids on his knee to the beat of music and he always encourages me to tap my foot to songs

he’s very dyslexic but currently writing a book

he likes to talk about folk music with me

I’ve dated two boys in my life my first relationship was long distance and he still sometimes calls my grandpa for car advice. When I was dating my ex once him and grandpa talked on my phone for over an hour about stock car racing

if he hadn’t had a family he was going to pursue being a nascar driver

he can build anything, he built me an American girl doll bed when I was a kid and his sister (my great aunt) who lives right next door to him sewed me a mattress for it

he loves vintage western wear

he has my mom cut his hair bc he got mad that his barber kept cutting his hair too short, he says she thinks everyone should have cop cuts but he’s a product of the 50s-70s he likes a longer haircut

he completely replaced the floor and even did the plumbing in our bathroom just recently. ;he’s in his 70s)

once he said he didn’t feel well at dinner with our friends after the nhs ceremony and had us worried about him but actually he was late walking his dogs and didn’t want them to be sad but didn’t want to be rude about leaving

he always signs his title as grampa instead of grandpa bc that’s how I pronounce it. So when I was 13 and he got heart surgery and it was still Covid regulations so I was too young to visit him he wrote a thank you note to my card and signed it that, he always signs off every text message with it

he loves fruit and always keeps apples at his house. He told my mom “I’m a good diabetic.” While eating apple sauce. Still think about that lol

his little westie is the most spoiled dog to exist

Babies always smile at him in public

once I ran into him at lunch at school bc my friends went to the Walmart deli and he was grocery shopping and he apologized to me that he wasn’t dressed nicer (he was in his overalls)

he practically lives in overalls

when I was little my soccer team called him the man in the yellow hat bc he wears a straw hat almost everyday.

he dropped out of highschool.

I bought him a roy rogger tie as a present bc he got really teary over how important Roy roggers was to him as a child and at church that week he really proudly showed it to me.

he can look at anything and measure it

once he fell off a ladder working and had to stay home so we had to go shopping for him he told my mom and I the dimensions of the box of shrimp my grandma likes not the color or price or the brand or amount, but the dimensions.

oh when he fell off the ladder? The person driving the ambulance got lost and he had to tell them where to go.

his dad likes to collect rocks and so does he

he picks my grandma flowers from his garden.

he tells me about people from his childhood he realizes where probably on the spectrum like him and I are. He realize he was on the spectrum after I was diagnosed.

He makes the very best fry bread

he loves perry mason

once I called him in tears because a very baby bird had fallen out of it’s nest in a storm and I wanted him to come and try to save it (I couldn’t as I had cats at my house) or put it out of its misery and he drove out to my house and tried to nurse it to health (sadly it didn’t live)

When I was in upper elementary school I had a lot of meltdowns because I was bullied, other kids where starting to not like school so they were yelling being disruptive my little autistic self couldn’t take it and sometimes I’d have to go home early if it was really bad (eventually I got meds and accommodations) but mom and grandma worked jobs where the couldn’t pick me up so he did and he’d just take me along his errands to Walmart or something. Sometimes we’d get a doughnut. He always understood I wasn’t misbehaving I really wanted to do good and be good.

[yessadirichards]

Three years after George Floyd: Hopes dashed, progress mixed

MINNEAPOLIS

It's been three years since a white police officer put his knee on George Floyd's neck, asphyxiating the African-American man and sparking mass protests against racism and police violence.

On the anniversary of the May 25, 2020 killing -- which was captured on video and went viral around the world -- AFP came back to ask his aunt, a protester, and one of the leaders of an organization dedicated to his memory to describe what has changed, and what hasn't.

Angela Harrelson

For George Floyd's aunt, among the most notable developments after her nephew's death is "the acknowledgement that systemic racism exists."

"The conversation is different. People are more open, especially white America, about talking about race relations," Harrelson tells AFP in front of "George Floyd Square," the makeshift memorial erected where the 46-year-old was killed in the northern U.S. city of Minneapolis.

"People always ask, 'Do you think it's getting better?' Yes," she says.

She points to the conviction of the police officers involved in Floyd's death, the reforms in Minneapolis law enforcement, and diversity programs at universities.

"Is there more work to do? Yes. Will there be more police killings? Yes, there will," she says.

That is why the work must go on.

"Twenty years from now, 50 years from now, 100 years from now, the goal is not to hold a sign that says 'Black Lives Matter.' And until we can do that... that's when we know we have arrived. That's the goal."

Bethany Tamrat

AFP first encountered Bethany Tamrat, now 22, at a protest in Minneapolis in 2020. At the time, she says, it was essential for her to participate in the movement because she wanted "to be able to say, 'I saw it with my own eyes.'"

"In the moment, during 2020, it felt like there was a shift.... There was a lot of hopefulness... that there was going to be positive change," she says, speaking on her university campus.

"And I can confidently say three years after that, it was really a facade," she said. "It almost feels like we took five steps, only for us to lose 15 steps back."

The heated debate in schools and universities over Critical Race Theory -- which holds that racial bias is inherent in many parts of US society, and often embedded in legal systems and policies -- is a glaring example, she says.

On May 15, nearly a month after AFP's interview with her, Florida's governor signed legislation to end diversity programs at public universities in his state.

"I don't think people are ready to make the change," she says.

Talking about diversity and inclusion within a private company is one thing, but when you "really sit in with yourself and reflect on how you have contributed to racism, how you have these personal biases against certain communities, that takes harder work."

"Even as a country, we can't all be on the same page when it comes to history.... We all have varying versions of what happened in this country... then how can you make change?"

Maybe, she ponders, it is by "truly listening to the people that are affected."

Cofounder and executive director of the George Floyd Global Memorial, Jeanelle Austin preserves every single item left at the scene of his murder.

The signs, flowers, notes and other items will one day be displayed to ensure that people "remember what happened for the purposes of continuing the pursuit of racial justice," she says amid the curated items from the scene that are catalogued and stored.

For her, real change was possible, but "people won't do it," she says, "because we have a system and an industry in our country that requires Black people to be at the bottom."

The anti-racism protests of 2020 saw Americans take down Confederate statues and fight for legislative change in a campaign for justice.

But "all of that was not going to solve the problem of racism in the country if people weren't willing to change," Austin says.

The nature of policing is also an issue, she notes.

For example, when Tyre Nichols, a young Black man from Memphis, died in January after being beaten by African-American police officers, "people said, 'Well, what is this?' This is Black-on-Black crime,'" she says. "Policing culture is policing culture, regardless of your skin."

Some people then reverted to business as usual, "and business as usual is what caused harm," according to Austin.

These issues do not revolve exclusively around policing, but churn in the country's media, education and health care, she says.

"It's always a state of emergency. Because lives are at stake. People are dying."

[xtruss]

Living in Two Cultures! The Asian American and Pacific Islander Experience

— American 🇺🇸 Experience | NOVA—PBS

Andrew Lam is a California-based journalist, short story writer, and National Public Radio commentator. In this interview, he shares his thoughts on Vietnam and America.

How did you come to the U.S.? I left Vietnam on April 28, 1975, two days before communist tanks rolled into Saigon. My family and I were airlifted in a C-130 cargo plane out of Tan Son Nhat airport and a few hours before Vietcong shells bombarded the runway and effectively stopped all other flights from taking off. My father was an officer in the South Vietnamese government and he got us passage out of the country. He himself stayed behind and left on a Navy ship on April 30, 1975 when he heard on the radio that General Duong Van Minh, acting president of South Vietnam, had surrendered.

I remember spending a few hours at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, wondering what had just happened. I also remember eating a ham sandwich and drinking milk, my first American meal. It was the best sandwich I ever had in my life though I didn't like the milk. Next we flew to Guam where a refugee camp was already set up to receive tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees. I was confused, frightened, and from all available evidence -- the khaki army tents in the Guam refugee camp, the scorching heat, the long lines for army food rations, the fetid odor of the communal latrines, the freshly bulldozed ground under my sandaled feet -- I was also homeless. I was 11 years old.

My family and I spent three weeks in Guam and then we went on to spend another week in Camp Pendleton in Southern California. It was freezing there. I had never been out of Vietnam before, and it being a tropical country, well, I was not used to the weather, to say the least. We all wore army jackets given to us by the GIs and mine reached down to my ankles. Luckily, my family was among the first few families who were sponsored out of the camp. My mother's sister was living in San Francisco at the time and she drove down and took us back to San Francisco with her. I went to summer school and entered the 7th grade in autumn and became an American.

Andrew Lam

What was it like for Vietnamese in America when you came? What is it like today? There were no Vietnamese in San Francisco to speak of when I came here in 1975. There was my aunt's family and five other families, and there were diplomats or foreign students who remained in the U.S.. That's how small the Vietnamese community was here.

In school, kids always asked whether I had killed anybody in Vietnam or had seen dead bodies and helicopters being blown up. It was interesting: Vietnam was the first television war and though traumatized by that war, everyone in America knows something about Vietnam. It gave me an entry to the American imagination that was not otherwise available to a kid, say, from Sri Lanka. The truth was that I had not killed anyone but yes, I have seen dead bodies, and had seen burnt out helicopters and villages during the war, being an army brat. I became a story teller. But after a few years, I fit in so well with my American life that I stopped telling my stories. I stopped speaking Vietnamese altogether. Not until college, not until I started dreaming about Vietnam and my childhood again, not until I wanted to become a writer that words came back, language came back, dreams came back, Vietnam came back.

The America that received my family in the mid-70s was not an America that could have imagined a Pacific Rim future. It was an America which had retreated from the Far East, traumatized by its latest adventure abroad. Vietnamese living in America had little access to Vietnam. It was the height of the Cold War. It took six months, if at all, for a letter to reach that country. We were cut off from our homeland in the United States. We adjusted quickly to life in America because of it.

Luckily the first wave of refugees were among the crème de la crème, as they say, of the south -- doctors, lawyers, government officers, professors -- and, having experienced far less trauma than what Vietnamese boat people experienced later on, and having no experience of life under communism (where children of the bourgeois class were deprived of schooling) we adjusted rather quickly in the United States. But we also managed to create a little community and gathered for various occasions, most of which were very political. We rallied each April 30 in front of City Hall in San Francisco and demanded freedom and democracy for Vietnam and so on. We celebrate Tet, Vietnamese new year, together. We mourn the loss of homeland and the fate of being an exile. In other words, we share a particular history, and were very close.

Andrew Lam as a child

Much has changed a quarter of a century later, in a globalized and post-Cold War world...

Today I can e-mail my cousin in Vietnam and I can send him money via a bank. I do not have to hide it in a tube of toothpaste. And movement back and forth between Vietnam and the U.S. is the norm after normalization. Vietnamese newspapers in the States freely advertise flights to Vietnam and phone cards so you can call home to talk to your grandmother anytime you like. If we all considered ourselves exiles in the late 70s, only a small percentage do so now. Now the picture of the Vietnamese community in the United States is a very diverse one. There are still a staunchly anti-communist faction, especially those who suffered life in re-education camps and whose family members were killed by the Hanoi government. But there are also foreign exchange students, tourists from Vietnam, American-born Vietnamese who have no memories of the war, people who go back and forth, and even those who went back to live and work in their homeland, and so on. It's estimated that more than 200,000 Vietnamese living abroad return to Vietnam every year during Tet. I myself have gone back eight times as a journalist. I am more familiar with Saigon than Los Angeles.

America, too, has changed dramatically. Years ago, for instance, it was impossible to find fish sauce, the prime element of Vietnamese cooking. Now you can go to Safeway and get it. Vietnamese and other Asian populations in California have indelibly changed its cultural landscape. America is more accepting of Asian cultures than ever before. When the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh spoke at Berkeley last year, there was standing room only, and most of the people who attended were white Americans. Buddhism is on the rise here and the longing for the Far East is growing. Witness the number of Asian directors now working in Hollywood. What was once considered private or ethnic culture is moving into the public sphere... I was interviewed on NPR when Campbell soup decided to make Vietnamese pho -- beef and noodle soup. "How did you feel?" The interviewer asked. "Well," I said, "it seems inevitable. Think of pizza and burritos. Grandma still makes it best, but in America, if it's good, it's appropriated and mass produced." If I associated pho with a particular geography, I have to change my mind. It's an age of open borders and perceptions are shifting very quickly.

As a journalist, what is your perspective on Vietnamese-American community issues? There are several issues that the community is struggling with. There's the language problem. The older generation speaks Vietnamese and the younger English. This is particularly problematic when a person from the older generation speaks no English and the younger person speaks no Vietnamese. How can you communicate? There is a communication gap. Many books written by Vietnamese in the United States are written in Vietnamese, but a generation of Vietnamese born in the United States can not access them. Many turn to libraries as a way to find out about their own history. But books in libraries don't address the South Vietnamese experience. The South Vietnamese are losers in history and very little is devoted to their plight. North Vietnamese have the upper hand. Hanoi rewrites history and that history is now being accessed in the U.S. I met several Vietnamese American kids who asked me to tell them how they got here. "Don't your parents tell you?" I said. And they said: "No. All they said is that we lost a war and that's why we're here. I want to know more." And they should know more. The responsibility of the older generation is to translate or have their works and testimonies, i.e.. life in re-education camps, boat peoples' experiences, adjustment to American life -- translated so that it's accessible to the new generation.

The other issue is the question all diasporas tend to ask: how to sustain a community over time? There are several diasporas that the Vietnamese community can learn from: the Chinese, the Jewish, the Indian. These have been in existence much longer and can provide models for fledgling ones.

What are some of the areas of difference between Vietnamese and American cultures? I think Americans are fond of saying "I love you." Vietnamese are not. Vietnamese don't share words of affections very easily. In fact, it was unusual to see in Daughter from Danang the mother being overly affectionate and saying "I love you" repeatedly. My mother who loves me dearly never says "I love you" in such a way.

It's more typical for Vietnamese to demonstrate affections through gestures. When I went home to visit my parents, my mother would fry a fish as it's my favorite dish. And to show her I love her I would have to eat the whole fish. When I won a journalism award a few years ago, my father was very proud. But he couldn't find the words in Vietnamese to say this so finally he shook my hand (which in itself was very unusual) and said in English: "I'm very proud of you, son." It was the first time I heard him saying something like this and it was in English. In some way, English is used when Vietnamese words fail us. And they tend to be words like proud or love.

Many American-born Vietnamese have complained to me that their parents don't love them. "They never say 'I love you' to me," they'd say. But they don't understand: it's not the standard practice in Vietnam. You have to read affection through gestures and actions.

When I first came to the United States, I also failed to look at teachers in the eyes. In Vietnam it's a sign of disrespect when you look at someone in the eyes. In the United States you are shifty if you don't look at people in the eyes. Even now I tend to shift my focus when I look at someone too long in the eyes. I feel as if I am invading their privacy. Strange but true.

What cultural differences have caused the most difficulty for Vietnamese immigrants to the U.S.? Vietnamese culture puts a strong emphasis on being part of the We. Your individualism is below the need of the many. This is how families survived traditionally. Children are duty-bound to take care of their families. When I went to school at Berkeley, more than half of the Vietnamese student population majored in computer science and electrical engineering. Many told me they didn't want to. It was competitive and difficult. A few wanted to be artists or architects and so on, but their parents were poor or were still in Vietnam. They needed to find a solid footing in America in order to help out the rest of the family.

America, on the other hand, tells you to look out for number 1. It tells you to follow your dream, to have individual ambition. Take care of yourself first. Go on a quest. The Vietnamese American conflict is one where he has to negotiate between his own needs and dreams with that of his family.

I myself was lucky. My parents found jobs and moved us to the suburbs when I was in high school. I didn't have to make money to send home to someone in Vietnam. I was the youngest in the family. There were no big demands on me. I was free to decide what to do with my life. But if my parents had been stuck behind in Vietnam and living in the New Economic Zone, I would have been an electrical engineer by now.

In some way, for Asian immigrants, to learn to negotiate between the I and the We is the most important lesson to learn, a skill much needed in order to appease to both cultures.

Immigrants always face the challenge of how much to assimilate to American culture and how much of their native culture to keep. How has this played out in the Vietnamese American community? I think in many ways normalization with Vietnam has helped boost a revival of Vietnamese culture dramatically. I know young Vietnamese Americans who went back, or visited for the first time, and came back speaking Vietnamese whereas they didn't speak a word before. These totally Americanized kids suddenly feel connected to another place and it gives them an edge over their American counterparts.

I think all Americans would love to have another country connected to their history. Ireland, Italy, China, whatever. To have a hyphen connected to your identity makes you feel cosmopolitan and sophisticated, a bridge to some other place. You have something that you can call your own. This is a recent phenomenon. Before the idea of a melting pot was still the aim, at least by the institutions. But now it's chic to be ethnic, to speak another language, to feel connected to another culture, to another set of values, to a sensibility. It's a post-modern age where options are far more available than they were to someone who lived in America in the mid-20th century. And far more individualistic. You pick and choose. Stay traditional as you want or be as modern as you want. Options are available at your beck and call.

Besides, the pressure to assimilate is no longer as heavy as before. If anything, all Americans are learning to assimilate to new cultures that keep showing up at the American shores. In San Francisco, blacks, hispanics, whites, all know how to use chopsticks. Go to Bolsa in Orange County and see non Vietnamese eating pho and buying Vietnamese groceries. My mother complains that I speak to much English in the house, but as the most conservative member of our family she, too, has changed. She goes to the gym, does aerobics. She prays to Buddha, but bets on football. I don't watch football, but she's fanatic. So who's more American than whom?

Is it true that one of the areas of cultural divergence is the relationship with authorities such as police? Yes, that's true. The problem is that in Vietnam you cannot trust the authorities. In dictatorial countries, there's no good news when the police come calling. You function best when the authorities leave you alone. And worse, in poor countries like Vietnam, petty corruption is a daily event. A cop might stop you and say that you have violated some traffic law. What he means is: "Give me five dollars for breakfast and I'll let you go." The idea that the authorities are on your side is such a novelty that it does not occur to the newly arrived refugee or immigrant to the United States. If you call the police they might arrest you instead of the criminal. There's always a risk as everything could be deemed illegal in Vietnam (and nothing is). Everything can be settled with grease money.

It takes a while to learn to live in a civil society. It takes a while to have the idea that the police work for you sink in. At least that's the idea. In some neighborhoods, the inner city, for example, that may not be true. Also, many Vietnamese are afraid to fill out forms. Census or otherwise. They have this fear that the government will know everything about them and will use the information against them. And even in the United States, given the post 9-11 scenario, there is some valid justification for that fear.

Another is in the difference in health and mental health issues? There's a big difference. You must understand that traditional Vietnamese are Confucian bound. We worship ancestors. We light incense and pray to Grandpas and Grandmas long dead. That is to say, we talk to ghosts. Once I worked as an interpreter and there was a case where a Vietnamese woman was suffering from depression and told the psychologist that she kept seeing her dead husband. He thought she was having some kind of disorder. But I told him it's actually typical. Mind you, I was stepping out of bounds as an interpreter, but I couldn't help myself. My grandmother, when she was alive, saw her dead husband, in dreams, or late at night sitting in his old chair for a brief moment, and there was nothing wrong with her. Practically all old people talk like that lady. It was a way for her to say she mourns her losses. It took a while, but I think the American psychologist came around. They have to: they can't put an entire population in the insane asylum, can they?

The other classic example in terms of health problems is the one that I'm sure that's well recorded in medical school. A little Vietnamese boy showed up in school with red marks on his back. "Who did this to you?" the teacher asked. "My father," he answered. His father was immediately arrested. Having no idea how to explain what he did, his English limited, and lacking money to hire a lawyer, he ended up serving time in jail. He was so frustrated he hung himself. What he did was a typical thing: Vietnamese practice cao gio -- a kind of therapeutic massage for people who come down with a cold. They scrape the skin on your back with a spoon or a coin, using an ointment. He wasn't abusing his child. He was helping him, but nobody believed the man.

Had the U.S. prepared at all for addressing any "culture shock" that the airlifted Vietnamese children might have experienced? I think there was an assumption on the part of the Americans who wanted to adopt those Vietnamese children. That they will assimilate and become Americans. That they will forget Vietnam. That their personal history is not as important as the new reality in which they found themselves. What they were not prepared for is the hunger of memories. Many of those babies may adjust well to America as adults but they also long for their Vietnamese past. They want to know where they come from, who are their relatives, and how can they learn to connect to that past. They will always look, they will always search, they will never be satisfied until they have all the fragments of their life put together. It's an inevitable human impulse.

What parts of Vietnamese culture do you see thriving in Vietnamese-American communities? The wedding is the biggest event in Vietnamese American community. It's the time where people dress up, meet, exchange information and show off their children, meet new people, and so on. Vietnamese in the U.S. live for weddings and a typical wedding has about 300 people at the reception. Five hundred people came to my brother's wedding and it's not the biggest. People invite themselves. They want to come.

Vietnamese newspapers, television shows and magazines are thriving. So much so that the San Jose Mercury News has a Vietnamese language weekly. Vietnamese read quite a bit and they thirst for information regarding Vietnam. Go to any Vietnamese restaurants in the Bay Area and you'll see three or four give-away newspapers full of news on Vietnam.

Vietnamese love their Vietnamese singers. Some Vietnamese American singers make quite a bit of money singing in Vietnamese communities in Los Angeles, San Jose, San Diego, Dallas, Houston, New York. Tickets can go as high as $40 a pop.

Food is thriving. Vietnamese restaurants are packed. I know a Ph.D. student, an American-born Vietnamese. She speaks very little Vietnamese and is a feminist and a vegan. But she has a dark confession: she eats pho soup. Sometimes she can't help herself. She's got to have that beef broth

In a newspaper article, Heidi Bub's adoptive mother, Ann Neville, dismissed the importance of cultural differences, saying, "...we're all part of the human race..." Do you agree? I think we are all part of the human race, but differences will always remain. That's what makes the human race interesting. If everything is merged all you get is a bland, uninteresting picture. It's easy to dismiss other cultures when yours is the dominant one. It's easy to dismiss other sensibilities when you assume yours is the only one that's important, and that it's the only one that matters. We're all part of the human race, but we are different by degree -- and that difference will never go away.

In the film, Heidi rejects her brother's request for financial help. Is Heidi's response personal or cultural? It's expected of you to help your family out, no matter what culture you're from. In the Vietnamese case, it's even more so considering that those who left for the U.S. are in general far more wealthy than those they left behind. An average income in Vietnam is around 400 dollars a year. A Vietnamese American coming home for the first time will always save a few hundred if not a few thousand dollars to give to his family and relatives. For him to leave Vietnam in the first place the family had to sacrifice quite a bit -- gold, land, dollars -- to purchase a seat on a boat for him to escape. He owes them. Many Vietnamese living overseas become an anchor person — someone who will help the rest back home when they make it abroad.

Heidi doesn't understand that tradition or that kind of arrangement at all, having been raised in an American family. And her Vietnamese family didn't understand that she barely knew them. That, in essence, she was a stranger, not someone who was raised by them and shared their belief system. But I think Heidi was also overwhelmed by the needs of her family and though she didn't say it, she herself is not wealthy, or so that was my impression when I watched that movie. She held on to her fantasy of being reunited with her original family without being open to the possibility that it's not all rosy, that they have fantasies of their own.

Heidi did not experience much family closeness growing up. In Vietnam, she was amazed at the love and unity her family there showed. What are the ties that bind a Vietnamese family together? Love and a shared belief system and in many ways poverty. You don't leave at 18 just because you reach 18. You live with your family until you're married and even then you might not have enough money to buy a house for yourself and your spouse. So you create a three-generational family and to do so you must learn to suppress your individualism. You cannot get everything you want because you have to share resources to survive. You learn to live well together and you learn to suppress your own desire. You learn to sacrifice a lot to live in harmony with a large family. But in return, what you get is a kind of insularity that many Americans don't have. You know you'll never be alone. You know that you will be taken care of no matter what. You make that kind of promise to each other. You make that kind of promise to your ancestors' spirit. When you break away from all that, you are seen as selfish or unfilial, and of course, anti-Confucian.

Is it true that opening a gift in front of the giver is considered rude in Vietnam? Does this explain Kim and Vinh's awkwardness in the film about Heidi's gifts? I suppose it might be rude, but I'm also very Americanized and my family and I open Christmas gifts in front of each other all the time. But it's true, traditionally you don't open it in front of the person who gives it to you, though you can ask for permission to open it. I don't' know if Kimand Vinh's awkwardness came from that or rather that they had never received gifts from America before and they were simply awed by the experience. I was, when I was a child in Vietnam and received my first Sears catalog gift from an uncle in the U.S. It was like a miracle. The gift wrap was so beautiful. And the smell of my new pair of jeans was out of this world.

Toward the end of her stay in Danang, Heidi says, "this is not what I had pictured." Was there a way to prepare her for her experience? Hers is not a typical Vietnamese reaction. Vietnamese Americans gossip among themselves and prepare each other for the "shock" of returning. The heat, the mosquitoes, the smell, the needy relatives. You come back with a certain level of cynicism built in. But Heidi, being so disconnected from the community experience, did not have any of that. I think Tran Tuong Nhu, the journalist and interpreter, should have prepared her for it instead of just teaching her "I love you" in Vietnamese. Nhu should have been more savvy as to what happens to the naive returnees.

Do you think Vietnamese Americans might have a different response to the film than non-Vietnamese Americans? I can't say for sure. In some ways Heidi is a non-Vietnamese American with a Vietnamese American dream. Non-Vietnamese Americans can watch her experience unfold and say: yup, I would feel that way too if I were her. I would feel overwhelmed. I would probably run out and look for a McDonald's and get away from the heat. But a Vietnamese American who watches the film might say she should have known better. She should have prepared herself. Poor naive woman. What do you expect when you go to a Third World country that is yearning for a better life. Of course, they would have seen you as a life saver in the middle of a turbulent sea. Between Heidi and her birth family is a gap and it needs to be filled with stories: stories that Heidi needs to tell and stories that her mother and sisters and brother need to tell. They need to bridge that gap before they can make familial demands on one another.

[veenixdreamjournal]

Took a break from this, was kinda tiring-

Well, at least I bring thee a clusterfuck today. First dream had something to do with Code Lyoko. Can't remember much but I was constructing a scene. I was sorta inside it and could manipulate everything. I distinctly remember putting the main characters on a bridge that was inside Lyoko somehow, way too detailed of a place for any virtual world from that show, looked more like a factory. It was also an older version of my bedroom/living room. Quite the odd configuration.

I was still inside the scene but was drawing it instead. It was just a drawing while still being there. I was conceptualizing a comic and redesigns while I noticed a sort of waiting line for an event that was based around being stuck in a single place for a day. You were assigned a leader who could move the place you were stuck in a partner that just was there with you. You could exit the area for a short while but you'd lose HP. We just chilled like that for a while but then the leader decided we should take a bath. We weren't ready of course and didn't bring clothes so we just chilled there in our underwear thinking about getting back inside disgusting sweaty clothes after a bath. But we came up with a plan! Detach our legs and make a dog robot that could bring us extra clothes out of them. Genius if I say so myself. No, really, that was actually a good idea because our legs were made out of blocks that could be detached withs some help. Took us an entire day somehow and even though the challenge was technically over we still persisted. My mom even took a peek inside the bathroom to wave at us and I scared the hell out of her with a detached leg. We decided to be friends after that as both of us never had one. It makes me kinda sad because the partner was one of the only people who interacted with me positively at my middle school irl. I don't think the dream ever actually finished, I just remember us wondering how the hell we were gonna pilot this thing.

The next dream had nothing to do with the previous one. I was visiting my non existed aunt in the US. We were in her van trash talking american roads. Yes. That was the dream. At least the first half because we also went on a walk around the neighborhood and spotted a pupper and barked at him. He ran up to us and wouldn't go away so I stopped and gave him some pets. We had to go unfortunately and we didn't want him sticking around so he wouldn't get lost. Aunt grabbed him and YEEEEETED him in the right direction and he LANDED MAJESTICALLY WHAT A GOOD BOI and happily obliged. I'm not even sure what breed he was but he was smol, brown and supper fluffy with curly fur.

This last dream actually happened before all the other ones but I only remembered it just now. I was in a classroom. We were messing with some guy I think? He then decided to turn literally toxic and touched us, infecting us with parasites. They could be washed off before then entered our bodies so everyone rushed to the public showers. I somehow got in as another person was exiting. They were men's showers and I found some funny facial hair stuff. The pictures on it reminded me of Mumbo Jumbo's stache. I hurried but never really properly showered because taking clothes off took me very long and the lock was broken so people were just barging in with me half naked. One of these people was a doctor who stayed around and gave me checkup. Yeah I don't get it either.

I also had a few short dreams in between all those. You could call them interludes. One where a man had to pick a kid who made the best meal to go with him and the rest would die. There was an entire table where the kids didn't even try and came with nothing. It was kinda sad. Two of them managed to escape when nobody was looking but it was winter so they probably died anyway.

Well, another wasn't as sad BCAUSE I WAS TURBO SHITTING TAPEWORMS AS MY FAMILY CALLED THE HOSPITAL YEEHAW. WHAT.

[the-other-art-blog]

Did Amy really wanted to marry rich?

Amy receives a lot of hate for wanting to marry a rich man as if she were a gold-digger. And I get it, it’s wrong, even if she’s doing it to help her family. But it’s not like she wants to do it since she were a child or even as a grown up woman.

1994 adaptation has 12 year-old Kristen Dunst saying that she already knows she will marry rich. And 2019 movie has Aunt March placing this big responsibility on Amy since she’s just a child.

The book is quite different:

In Chapter 13 Castles in the air, all Amy says is that she wants to be a famous painter.

‘I have ever so many wishes, but the pet one is to be an artist, and go to Rome, and do fine pictures, and be the best artist in the whole world,’ was Amy’s modest desire.

She never says she plans on marrying rich or anyone for that matter.

Then in Chapter 15, she says this,

‘Jo and I are going to make fortunes for you all. Just wait ten years, and see if we don’t,’ said Amy...

These aren’t the words of someone who plans on living off her husband’s money. It rather sounds like a girl who plans on working to bring money into the house. She is the one who would make a fortune, not her husband. She’s going to earn it, just like Jo wants and just as Louisa and May did in real life.

Then, everyone thinks Amy went to Europe to catch a rich guy. Really, her sole purpose is to see if she has genius or not to make art. And even if she doesn’t have it, she plans on working. Like May, she wants to be an art teacher.

‘It isn’t a mere pleasure trip to me, girls,’ she said impressively, as she scraped her best palette. ‘It will decide my career, for if I have any genius, I shall find it out in Rome, and will do something to prove it.’

‘Suppose you haven’t?’ said Jo, sewing away, with red eyes, at the new collars which were to be handed over to Amy.

‘Then I shall come home and teach drawing for my living,’ replied the aspirant for fame, with philosophic composure. But she made a wry face at the prospect, and scratched away at her palette as if bent on vigorous measures before she gave up her hopes.

She doesn’t jump excitedly at the prospect of being a teacher not because she doesn’t want to work, but because it would mean she didn’t have genius to WORK as a painter. Cause yeah, painters are also hard working people! It takes a lot of effort to compose a canvas, A LOT of training. Furthermore, she would need to earn her place in expositions like the Salon and be a good businesswoman to sell her works.

The reason why everyone believes Amy planned on marrying rich is because of Jo.

Jo had just lost the Europe trip due to her own lack of self control. She bought it on herself. But it’s normal she is angry and bitter at Amy, so she says this,

‘No, you won’t. You hate hard work, and you’ll marry some rich man, and come home to sit in the lap of luxury all your days,’ said Jo.

I don’t even think Jo believes this completely. She’s angry, more with herself than with Amy. We all say hurtful things when we are in a similar situation, things that we end up regretting. Even if Amy has had luck, Jo has seen her working. Actually just before she learns that Amy got the trip, she acknowledges her virtues and apologizes to her,

‘I understand now what you mean, and I’ll never laugh at you again. You are getting on faster than you think, and I’ll take lessons of you in true politeness, for you’ve learned the secret, I believe. Try away, deary, you’ll get your reward some day, and no one will be more delighted than I shall.’

But Amy keeps defending her plan on being an artist or a teacher and even a patron!

‘Your predictions sometimes come to pass, but I don’t believe that one will. I’m sure I wish it would, for if I can’t be an artist myself, I should like to be able to help those who are,’ said Amy, smiling, as if the part of Lady Bountiful would suit her better than that of a poor drawing teacher.

Just as Jo always dreamed of opening a school for boys, Amy always dreamed of being a patron of the arts.

Back in the XIX century the image of the American girl traveling to Europe to get a rich bachelor was very common. Both Louisa and May traveled a few times, never with that intention in mind (even thought May did ended up finding love in Europe and Louisa had a quick rendez vous with Ladislaw). They were there to work and learn. And they both rejected that negative stereotype. May even wrote a guide for women who wanted to pursue an art education for real. So no way Louisa would have portrayed Amy as one of those women.

Ok, so in Europe Amy meets Fred Vaughn. Again, her thoughts never go to marriage until he brings her serenade! Honestly, she didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend before that. Was she a bit naive? Sure. But it shows that Amy didn’t go around Europe flirting with every bachelor on purpose. She knows how to flirt, she did it pretty well with Laurie’s friends and Laurie himself! So if she wanted to flirt with Fred, she would have done it consciously.

It’s until then that Amy realizes Fred has other intentions. Then she starts considering the implications of the courtship and eventual marriage.

It breaks my heart that Amy knows her family thinks of her as a cold person.

Jo says I haven’t got any heart. Now I know Mother will shake her head, and the girls say, ‘Oh, the mercenary little wretch!’,

And it’s when she writes those words that will condemn her forever by public opinion and by JoxLaurie shippers,

I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don’t mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us must marry well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make everything okay all round. I wouldn’t marry a man I hated or despised.

Even then, she sees it as a duty. Her three older sisters failed to provide enough money for her family. Jo is in New York and she’s trying, but she sells her stories (which she doesn’t even like and cause her psychological distress) for only $20 each! No one else is willing to do this, so she must.

She sets firm on her resolution until Laurie reminds her of her family values. And later when they get married, she is ashamed that she ever thought of marrying for money!

So people thinking Amy is a gold digger who only cares for luxury and comfort, they need to stop looking at the story from the POV of a petty Jo. The story is not even told from Jo’s perspective, it’s an omnipresent narrator.

For god’s sake, would you like people to just hear the things others say about yourself, or would you want people to know you? Well, Amy deserves the same.

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect• 

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

  The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

  Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

 Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

  You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

  Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

  Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

  Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

   Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

  Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years.  Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

 The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

 The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

 Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

    Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

 Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

 Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

  Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

  Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

 The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

  The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

  Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be,  so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

 "Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

 His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

 Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

 I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

 Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"

[dwellordream]

“In theory, Victorians concerned with troublesome issues on the margins of respectable fiction for girls could deal with them within the family reading circle. Reading aloud was perhaps the most common domestic entertainment within the Victorian family, used as reward, improvement, or therapy for life’s challenges. The sisters taking turns reading to accompany their needlework, the matron at the sickbed, the daughter reading to her father at the end of a business day—there were myriad arenas in which families used reading to ease, amuse, and instruct.

At its most basic, reading aloud enabled the sharing of resources (a book, or a fresh installment of a periodical) among many. But beyond that, it was a profoundly social way of responding to the lessons of history, current fiction, or poetry. The critic Andrew Blake suggests that the novel, in particular, was ‘‘a most important point of contact between the public and the private’’ because ‘‘it gave people a chance to discuss domestic ideology in public without touching on domestic secrets.’’ The semipublic sphere that was the family circle provided an important venue for the discussion of reading. Within this context, instruction in morality could be accomplished informally, gently, impersonally, with reference to fictional characters rather than through direct criticism and rebuttal.

The convention of the family reading circle generally restricted polite novels from treating illicit sexuality or immoral characters, but if any lapses occurred, the family circle could deal with them most effectively. Thus Elizabeth Gaskell said of her own novel Ruth, which features an orphan who has been seduced by an aristocrat: ‘‘Of course it is a prohibited book in this, as in many other households.’’ The one circumstance that would change its unsuitability for young people, she opined, was if it was ‘‘read with someone older,’’ perhaps with an older female relative within a family reading group.

The kind of family conversation which could improve all who participated was explained by Sarah Browne in a private diary in 1859. ‘‘Albert brings [Harriet Beecher Stowe’s] the Minister’s Wooing. We sit quietly and hear how James is brought back to the living, we calmly rejoice with Mary, plan and maneuver with Miss Pressy, call Parson Hopkins in very truth a Christian and wind up the evening by wishing to see Mrs. Stowe, knowing how she would seem and if she would talk at all, like other women.’’

Albert Browne Sr. was generally the reader in the Browne family, sometimes of ‘‘superior articles in the Atlantic Monthly.’’ In these moments of quiet, Sarah Browne most idealized her shared family life, ‘‘sitting as we do in our little western chamber, Father, Alice and I storing in the rich thoughts of others as a life element of our own.’’Reading aloud enabled a submersion of family tensions in a focus outward on the problems of others.

The idealization of the shared reading experience suggested stylized familial communion to daughters as well as parents. During the final days of the Civil War, as she anticipated her own marriage, Helen Hart thought to memorialize the evenings reading aloud together. ‘‘I think I never enjoyed evenings more in my life. First Bertie reads, then Hady, and then Mother and I; from History, Shakespeare, the Atlantic, and other miscellany. Such peaceful, happy winter evenings at home! Something for us to look back upon in after years when we are scattered. I have treasured up each one as it passed, as a sweet and sacred memory.’’ The pleasure came from the contrast between ‘‘our quiet harbor’’ and ‘‘the world with its commotions, its struggles.’’

Never did home seem so secure and safe as when implicitly contrasted with the adventures and misfortunes of fictional characters, warring nations, or past princes. Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s biographer noted that Charlotte and her destitute and emotionally distant mother were at their best when reading aloud to each other, their fraught intimacy dissolved in their shared focus on the lives and feelings of others. Those moments of community might even be resurrected by rereading books so experienced. (‘‘It seems as if we were gathered around the nursery fire again. I can almost hear Aunt Mary’s voice.’’) The pleasures of reading aloud were those of reading mediated—reading mediated by the fiction of shared purpose.

Reading aloud did not have a single simple meaning, however, nor did it model only one kind of power relationship. The Browne family’s shared reading was patriarchal, with father reading and other family members (according to the hardly impartial mother) celebrating familial harmony. Alice Stone Blackwell, in her irreverent and spritely diary, offered another example of paternal reading aloud, lightly satirizing her father, the noted reformer and women’s rights advocate Henry Blackwell:

‘‘Papa sat with his feet on the top of the stove, saturated with laziness, and rated me for enjoying stories [fiction], and formed plans to give me a taste for instructive literature, and ended by making me bring Plutarch’s Lives, and beginning to read them aloud.’’ This depiction of a well-respected father indulging in playful tyranny of his only child suggests a quite different emotional shading—if a similar actual structure—to the idealized portraits of patriarchal reading circles.

Daughters also read on their own, though, and given the risks of immoral reading and the gains from uplifting reading, good parents attempted to mon- itor what they read. The goal in choosing reading, as in all the lessons of character, was to instruct gently and surely so as to encourage daughters to make familial lessons their own. Advice to parents ranged from the relatively cut and dried—‘‘Parents should choose the books that their children read until the age of 15’’—to the more subtle: ‘‘Wise parents put so many good books in the way of their children that the taste for them is formed unconsciously, and there is never any feeling of restraint.’’ (The latter piece of advice, made in 1901, was clearly advice for the book-wealthy.)

Ellen Emerson’s correspondence with her mother while away at boarding school suggested the appropriate supervisory relationship of parents over girls’ reading. Explaining that she was reading Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford, which she found ‘‘a very funny book,’’ she went on, ‘‘I never read any that I am not sure you would be willing to have me,’’ and recorded her assumption that Scott, Gaskell, and several others were ‘‘not forbidden.’’ She went on to query, ‘‘May I read [Margaret Oliphant’s] ‘Head of the Family’?’’ Middle-class or elite parents who participated in genteel Victorian culture assumed an important role in controlling the reading of their daughters—its quantity, its contents, and its circumstances.

In the elite midwestern Hamilton family, a family with a strong and eclectic reading tradition, novels were doled out prudently like candies during vacations from school, so as not to interfere with schoolwork. When her daughter was fifteen, Phoebe Hamilton gave her ‘‘Ivanhoe for my holiday reading, she always gives me one of Scott every vacation.’’ The next year her mother was more liberal, providing Scott’s Quentin Durward for a Christmas book and giving permission for the reading of Dickens’s Little Dorrit and Jemima Tautphoeus’s The Initials. As January arrived, Agnes lamented, ‘‘I have finished the latter but I am afraid as I go back to school next Monday I shall have to let Little Dorrit wait till summer.’’

There was a hierarchy within Hamilton family reading, and despite her voraciousness, Agnes felt that her tastes fell short of her family’s preferences. ‘‘Oh! why haven’t I the love of learning of the family?’’ She indicated what was expected in her next breath: ‘‘Knight’s England vol. III has been read all but two chapters since last fall and during two months I have read but four books of the Odyssey.’’ She forced herself to be realistic. ‘‘During this next week [probably a school vacation] I want [to] finish half a dozen or more books which I have begun but I dare say the novels are the only ones that will be looked much in.’’

Like the Hamilton reading regimen, other family routines, too, involved matters of both quality and quantity. There were appropriate ages for the reading of different books. At fifteen, Margaret Tileston wanted to read George Macdonald’s Alec Forbes of Howglen, an homage to the dignity of Scots country life. The author was certainly approved, but Margaret’s mother didn’t want her to read the book ‘‘yet.’’

At eighteen, Margaret was still reading under adult scrutiny. Sick at home she was ‘‘allowed’’ to read Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, considered excessively charged for young girls, and polished off 340 pages on the first day. Reading was one way of being inducted into family ideology; when Margaret reread Pilgrim’s Progress in 1883, she was conscious that she was reading a book that had been important to her mother when she was young.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Reading and the Development of Taste.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

[bndz]

(normani kordei, twenty-two, cisfemale, she/her) * hey, i’m looking for the office of adrianna king. they’re the intern who’s known around the office as the airhead, if that helps? not to be a gossip, but i’ve heard that they’re humorous but talkative, is that true? i also heard that they’re the one who brought her pet fish to work. anyways, here’s the coffee they ordered.

&  i’m  back  at  it  again  with  another  character  !  it  me  ,  tay  !  i  have  another  child  &  her  name  is  adri  .  she’s  my  bubbly  little  baby  &  i  love  her  chatty  ass  down  !  i  have  some  points  about  her  below  &  i  am  so  excited  that  i  got  to  bring  her  here  .  tw  :  religion  ,  homophobia  ,  toxic  parents  &  mentions  of  physical  violence  .

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒔  !

NAME   :    adrianna  king  . NICKNAMES  :  adri  . GENDER   :   cisfemale  . PRONOUNS   :   she  /  her  /  hers  . AGE   :   twenty-two  (  22  ) BIRTHDAY   :   23  september  . ZODIAC   :   libra  . HOMETOWN  :  miami  ,  florida  . CURRENT  RESIDENCE  : new york city  , new york  . ETHNICITY   :   african-american  . SEXUAL ORIENTATION   :   bisexual  . OCCUPATION  :   intern  .  (  the  art  department  ,  but  more  so  visual  art  )

𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅  !

FAMILY   :  born  &  raised  in  the  city  of  miami  ,  adri  grew  up  in  a  household  that  was  highly  religious  .  her  family  was  heavily  involved  in  the  church  with  her  mother  also  being  a  pastor  herself  .  because  of  this  ,  her  parents  were  very  strict  &  super  controlling  .  they  monitored  almost  everything  surrounding  adri  since  she  was  their  only  child  ,  trying  to  prevent  anything  they  deemed  negative  &  wrong  to  consume  their  daughter  .  

this  caused  for  adri  to  at  first  obey  them  because  she  was  a  child  ,  but  as  she  reached  her  teenage  years  she  saw  how  toxic  her  parents  could  actually  be  .  they  were  the  definition  of  religious  hover  parents  &  it  was  slowly  starting  to  cause  adri  to  resent  them  .  they  would  spend  hours  lecturing  her  if  she  wore  something  they  thought  was  inappropriate  .  they  would  call  her  names  &  say  she  was  being  fast  for  her  age  .  they  would  tell  her  she  was  going  to  go  to  hell  if  she  didn’t  listen  to  the  word  of  god  .  

it  all  came  to  blows  when  adri  was  figuring  out  her  sexuality  .  all  her  life  she  was  told  that  liking  the  same  sex  was  wrong  ,  but  she  was  having  feelings  for  the  same  sex  .  at  first  she  felt  internalized  homophobia  ,  but  as  she  started  to  grow  into  her  own  person  &  renounce  the  teachings  that  were  drilling  into  her  head  ,  she  started  to  accept  herself  .  she  knew  that  her  parents  were  going  to  condemn  her  ,  so  she  didn’t  ever  plan  on  coming  out  until  she  moved  out  .  sadly  ,  her  father  did  a  random  check  of  her  phone  &  found  texts  that  she  didn’t  delete  to  a  girl  she  was  dating  at  the  time  .  it  was  literally  a  shit  show  in  the  king  household  .  slaps  &  many  sessions  of  trying  to  pray  the  gay  away  later  ,  adri  had  to  pretend  as  though  she  was  not  bisexual  .  she  had  to  break  up  with  her  girlfriend  &  was  removed  from  public  school  to  be  home  schooled  at  sixteen  .   to  say  she  hated  her  parents  was  an  understatement  .  

as  the  years  went  on  ,  adrianna  was  counting  down  the  days  until  she  could  be  off  to  college  .  during  her  senior  year  she  applied  to  the  furthest  schools  from  miami  .  she  had  to  beg  her  parents  to  let  her  attend  an  out  of  state  college  ,  but  because  her  act  at  home  was  convincing  ,  they  allowed  her  to  stay  with  her  aunt  in  new  york  to  attend  college  .  they  were  still  going  to  be  as  controlling  as  ever  ,  but  it  was  a  step  closer  towards  freedom  .

SCHOOL   :  adrianna  attended  hofstra  university  &  majored  in  art  .  while  she  was  in  grade  school  ,  adrianna  gravitated  towards  painting  because  it  was  the  best  way  for  her  to  get  what  she  was  feeling  out  .  attending  college  was  the  best  thing  for  her  .  although  her  aunt  was  as  strict  &  religious  as  her  parents  ,  she  used  college  as  a  way  to  wild  out  .  she  was  sneaking  out  easier  because  her  aunt  worked  overnight  shifts  as  an  rn  .  she  was  enjoying  the  ounce  of  freedom  that  she  had  even  if  her  family  was  on  her  neck  24  /  7  .  she  had  a  lot  of  pressure  to  graduate  &  get  a  job  ,  so  that  she  could  live  on  her  own  &  she  knew  that  the  arts  wasn’t  the  best  major  to  find  a  joke  as  quickly  as  she  wanted  .  but  graduation  came  quick  &  adri  was  literally  scrambling  .

MASTER’S  :  after  college  ,  adri  was  literally  running  all  over  nyc  trying  to  look  for  a  job  .  it  took  her  months  to  finally  land  a  job  interview  at  master’s  &  she  honestly  thought  she  flopped  .  when  she  got  the  position  as  an  intern  she  was  literally  over  the  moon  .  she  absolutely  loves  working  at  master’s  &  she’s  hoping  she  can  move  up  the  ranks  .  being  that  she’s  new  at  the  position  ,  she’s  trying  her  best  to  fit  in  &  get  things  done  in  a  timely  manner  .  she  does  struggle  a  bit  because  it’s  her  first  big  girl  job  ,  but  she’s  working  on  it  day  by  day  .

𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚  !

BUBBLY   :  you  could  easily  describe  her  as  someone  that  lights  up  the  room  with  her  smile  alone  .  adrianna  is  super  cheerful  &  very  positive  majority  of  the  time  .  she  has  a  hint  of  pep  in  her  voice  that  almost  sounds  like  she  talks  with  a  smile  &  she  usually  does  .  she  just  loves  to  talk  &  interact  with  others  .

FLIRTATIOUS  :  due  to  her  personality  ,  adrianna  is  naturally  friendly  &  flirtatious  .  she  will  flirt  with  ya  boo  &  it  won’t  even  be  intentional.  that’s  just  who  she  is  .  some  may  call  her  a  thottie  because  she  does  live  her  best  hot  girl  life  ,  but  she  truly  does  not  care  .  she  does  what  she  wants  because  she’s  poppin’  !  (  see connections  for  some  mess  surrounding  this  trait  )

TALKATIVE   :  honestly  ,  she  will  never  shut  up.  she  talks  very  fast  &  says  a  lot  &  it  can  also  be  alot  .  she  just  loves  to  talk  y’all  .  she  will  talk  anybody’s  ear  off  who  will  listen  .  she  can’t  help  it  .

DITZY   :   def’  has  her  moments  where  she’s  super  lost  .  it  takes  her  a  few  seconds  to  understand  jokes  sometimes  &  can  def’  lose  her  train  of  thought  as  well  .  she  can  be  a  little  dumb  ,  but  she’s  just  all  over  the  place  .  somebody  help  her  ,  please  ! 

in  general  she’s  like  a  bimbo  ,  but  not  to  the  worst  degree  .  she’s  v  aware  &  just  has  her  moments  .  she  doesn’t  like  when  people  try  to  be  condescending  towards  her  because  of  her  personality  ,  so  she  can  get  a  little  defensive  &  snappy  when  pushed  to  that  degree  .  it  takes  her  a  lot  to  snap  ,  so  i  doubt  she  will  be  popping  off  unless  she  is  truly  offended  .  she’s  also  not  that  confrontational  ,  but  if  she  has  to  defend  herself  ,  she  will  .  (  she  lowkey  can  get  creative  tbh  )  she’s  just  here  to  befriend  people  ,  okay  !

𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔  !

001  .  enemies  .  i  feel  like  because  she’s  genuinely  nice  it  would  have  to  be  a  huge  reason  for  her  to  dislike  someone  .  so  ,  pick  your  poison  . 002  .  friends  with  benefits  .  we  always  love  these  ,  don’t  we  ?  she’s  with  all  the  shits  ,  okay  .  head  hot  girl  at  your  service  ! 003  .  exes  .  not  to  be  that  garbage  bag  ,  but  i’m  pretty  positive  adrianna  probably  cheated  on  all  of  her  exes  due  to  boredom  .  she  is  someone  that  needs  change  in  her  life  bc  of  how  she  was  treated  at  home  .  if  she  feels  stagnant  ,  she  will  just  pull  some  bs  like  cheating  &  move  on  to  the  next  .  truly  her  biggest  flaw  &  someone  gotta  smite  her  ass  for  this  fr  ! 004  .  besties  .  someone  give  her  a  baddie  bff  pls  ! 005  .  a  work  boo  .  v  self  explanatory  . 006  .  a  muse  .  since  adri  likes  to  paint  ,  this  could  be  someone  that inspires  her  artwork  or  even  let’s  her  paint  them  on  occasion  . again  ,  i  am  terrible  at  thinking  of  connections  ,  so  i’m  down  for  all  the  plots  !

𝒇𝒖𝒏  𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔  !

001  .  she  is  type  one  diabetic  . 002  .  is  a  huge  bad  bunny  stan  . 003  .  a  bratz  doll  collector  . 004  .  is  into  art  &  loves  to  paint  . 005  .  her  guilty  pleasure  is  watching  bad  girls  club  . 

[notruercolors]

Adult Retrospection on Harry Potter

At five-years-old I was first exposed to Harry Potter by my godmother. I was slightly horrified by Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, total BS they changed the name thinking Americans wouldn’t understand what the philosopher’s stone is. I digress. There was something about the thing behind the turban that terrified five-year-old me. I only knew the movies until I was in middle school and high school. I got into the books a lot older than my peers as my reading level took longer to develop, I would discover in university I had dyslexia. I struggled getting into the books due to the descriptive style Rowling uses that I would get lost in therefore getting bored. It was by far easier to read than Twilight was, I never got past chapter one in that series. I recently re-read the series as an adult with aid of technology that makes reading easier for people with dyslexia, thank goodness for technology. With doing so I realized the true problems with the Harry Potter series. I vaguely remember all the issues back in the day with Christians banning and even burning the books. That never an issue I felt was apparent because children the books are meant for are aware of reality versus fantasy and if you are confident in young religious teachings that children should be able to be exposed to opposing views without being swayed away from those teachings. The problems I noticed were a problem when I was young, and it will continue to make the series more problematic with the younger generations more aware of these issues than I was as a child. The issue I have with the series stems from out-of-date unhealthy perspectives that are portrayed in the books. What are these unhealthy perspectives? I have noticed prevalent fat-shaming, acceptance of bullying. and acceptance of abuse.

 Someone out there is going to question me about the fat-shaming aspect, just hear me out on this one. Yes, there are characters that are overweight and portrayed as good characters. I must mention these characters I not described directly as fat. For example, as Neville Longbottom and Molly Weasley were described as plump which equals chubby in most people’s mind. The exception is Professor Slughorn; however, he was portrayed as a bit of a coward and vain. Otherwise, the fat characters in the story are Dudley and Vernon Dursley. They are betrayed as bullies and otherwise horrible people. There was a lot of description into Dudley and Vernon’s weight, way more than was necessary. It was nice that you saw Dudley’s weight be addressed during the series, but it was also not necessary for the story, so I never understood why it was included other than to make fun of Dudley. I would have preferred to have seen a transformation where Harry realized that Dudley had changed both physically and emotionally to a better person. I was always an overweight child. I didn’t think anything about this portrayal of fat people as a kid. This wasn’t the only form of media I consumed that had this view on fat people. It was all over during the 90’s and the early 2000’s. The media we consume has a significant impact to the formation of our identity and confidence as young children. I am not saying Harry Potter is the only factor in my issues of confidence surrounding my weight. It cannot be denied that Harry Potter had an enormous impact in the lives of children during my childhood and even now. It was a problem back when I was young. It is even a bigger problem for the current generation that is at age to enjoy the series.

 Bullying is a huge topic for Harry Potter. From an early age Harry was bullied by Dudley even physically assaulted by Dudley and his friends. Harry didn’t like his family. But it was clear nothing ever happened to Dudley for bullying Harry. Then there is the issue between Draco Malfoy. It kept increasing in intensity until it escalated to physical assault. Harry did face consequence for this incident, and never made that mistake again which is the only redeeming factor of this incident being in the book. This issue between Draco and Harry went both ways in the series, which is often how bullying works in real life. I do give credit for it at least being accurate in that aspect. Hogwarts appears to have zero polices regarding bullying. As it was very prevalent in the 1960’s during the time of Marauders and was still an issue in the 1990s. The set up of the four houses even encourages this behavior separating the students into cliques that have rivalries with each other that have gone on centuries. It is simply accepted as part of wizarding life. No one does anything to try to change it. That is ridiculous that centuries old rivalries still rule the wizarding world. The next aspect is directed towards bullying boy against girl versus girl against boy. Ron Weasley learned a harsh lesson in bullying Hermione when she almost accidently got killed by Troll in their first year. However, Hermione would go in their sixth year to physically assault Ron with the Oppugno spell. She was a Perfect, meaning she is supposed to be the model student. No one reported this incident. She faced no consequences. She should have at least had detention and her Perfect status should have been revoked. It doesn’t matter how much of a jerk Ron had been. There is zero tolerance for any physical assault in my moral system. Ron continued being her friend. It was as if nothing ever happened. This just helped support the old concept that if a boy bullies a girl, he should be punished severely but if a girl does the same, he must have done something to deserve it. What does this instruct young children? Domestic abuse against men is an issue that still swept under the rug in society. Boys and men cannot possibly be abused by the women in their lives. Men just like women die in domestic abuse situations. The fact that a children’s book indirectly supports that old fashion ideology bothers me deeply. This double standard will continue to exist as long as media, TV or printed, continues to support it.

 The acceptance of abuse in the series is also rather alarming. Harry was at the never least neglected, but frankly the treatment he received by his family was abuse. It is important to note that the UK was behind the rest of the world when it came to protecting children against abuse. There were no laws for child abuse until 1981. However, Harry went to public schools as a child. Why didn’t anyone realize what was happening and report it? I’m not completely sure how well reported child abuse was in the UK during the 80s and 90s. Corporal punishment was allowed in schools in 1986. However, it was mentioned that at Dudley’s school the students would use canes on each other, and the staff did nothing. When Aunt Marge visited, she asked Harry if they used canes at the school Petunia and Vernon made up that Harry went to, and he said they did every day. This was of course a law, but this made Marge happy to hear. In 1995-1996, Dolores Umbridge used Black Quill, which inflicted physical pain and semi-permanent mark, on students. It was highly illegal, but it still happened in the series, and no one could do much about it. I cannot end this section without mentioning Severus Snape’s treatment of Harry. He harassed a child for the actions of their father. What he did equates to emotional abuse. Professors were aware of his bias towards Slytherin students, and that Harry had conflicts with Snape. No one did anything about it or question Harry about why he disliked the Potions Professor so much. Harry does forgive Snape for his behavior. But that doesn’t make it any better. In fact, it encourages a concept that victims should forgive their abusers as Harry would have felt pressured to forgive him because of the circumstance Snape was in when he apologized. No one is required to forgive their abusers. Dolores did eventually get punished for the abuse inflicted on the students. It still bothered me it was even in the story. Just because wizards have their own society that does not mean that UK’s laws don’t apply to them. They may be wizards, but they still are citizens of and reside in the UK.

 I did enjoy Harry Potter in my youth, and I do not mean to take away from anyone’s childhood enjoyment of the series. But it is important that as adults we acknowledge the issues with the series as we begin to have children of which we may want to share our love of Harry Potter with. We need to be aware of the dark side of the series and what we may indirectly exposing our children to. This goes to anyone who wonders if they should allow their child to read Harry Potter. The views and portrayals of society is rapidly becoming old fashioned and by the time the children of the fans of the series become old enough to read the series may be comply inappropriate for young children. If you are having debates about the series based on religion, I feel this is a non-issue. Children are aware of fantasy versus reality. But there are aspects of the series parents should be aware of before making decision.

[papermoonloveslucy]

TIME: A CLOWN WITH GLAMOUR

May 26, 1952

TIME: The Weekly News Magazine ~ Lucille Ball: Prescription for TV; a clown with glamour.  May 26, 1952.  

On Monday evenings, more than 30 million Americans do the same thing at the same time: they tune in ‘I Love Lucy’ (9 p.m. E.D.T., CBS-TV), to get a look at a round-eyed, pink-haired comedienne named Lucille Ball.

An ex-model and longtime movie star (54 films in the past 20 years), Lucille Ball is currently the biggest success in television. In six months her low-comedy antics, ranging from mild mugging to baggy-pants clowning, have dethroned such veteran TV headliners as Milton Berle and Arthur Godfrey. One of the first to see the handwriting on the TV screen was funnyman Red Skelton, himself risen to TV's top ten. Last February, when he got the award from the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences as the top comic of the year, Skelton walked to the microphone and said flatly: "I don't deserve this. It should go to Lucille Ball."

By this week, the four national TV rating services (Nielsen, Trendex, American Research Bureau and Videodex) were in unaccustomed agreement: each of them rated ‘I Love Lucy’ as the nation's No. 1 TV show.

Lumps & Pratfalls. The television industry is not quite sure how it happened. When Lucy went on the air last October, it seemed to be just another series devoted to family comedy, not much better or much worse than ‘Burns and Allen’, ‘The Goldbergs’, ‘The Aldrich Family’ or ‘Mama’. Like its competitors, Lucy holds a somewhat grotesque mirror up to middle-class life, and finds its humor in exaggerating the commonplace incidents of marriage, business and the home. Lucille's Cuba-born husband, Desi Arnaz, is cast as the vain, easily flattered leader of an obscure rumba band. Lucille plays his ambitious wife, bubbling with elaborate and mostly ineffectual schemes to advance his career.

But what televiewers see on their screens is the sort of cheerful rowdiness that has been rare in the U.S. since the days of the silent movies' Keystone Comedies. Lucille submits enthusiastically to being hit with pies; she falls over furniture, gets locked in home freezers, is chased by knife-wielding fanatics. Tricked out as a ballerina or a Hindu maharanee or a toothless hillbilly, she takes her assorted lumps and pratfalls with unflagging zest and good humor. Her mobile, rubbery face reflects a limitless variety of emotions, from maniacal pleasure to sepulchral gloom. Even on a flickering, pallid TV screen, her wide-set saucer eyes beam with the massed candlepower of a lighthouse on a dark night.

What is her special talent? TV men credit Lucille with an unfailing instinct for timing. Producer-Writer Jess Oppenheimer says: "For every word you write in this business, you figure you're lucky to get back 70-80% from a performer. With Lucille, you get back 140%." Broadway's Oscar (’South Pacific’) Hammerstein II, hailing Lucille's control, calls her a "broad comedienne, but one who never goes over the line." To her manager, Don Sharpe, Lucille is "close to the Chaplin school of comedy—she's got warmth and sympathy, and people believe in her, even while they're laughing at her."

Western Mirage. Lucille explains that the TV show is important because "I'm a real ham and so is Desi. We like to have an audience. We like being up on our toes." But the show also allows her some time with her ten-month-old daughter, Lucie Desirée, and for the first time in eleven years of trouping, gives her a home life with husband Desi. Says she: "I look like everybody's idea of an actress, but I feel like a housewife. I think that's what my trouble was in movies."

Actress Ball was a long time arriving at the calm waters of motherhood and housewifery. The daughter of Henry and Desirée Hunt Ball, she was born in Jamestown, N.Y. (near Buffalo) at what she calls "an early age." Pressed, she will concede that it was quite a while ago: she admits to being 40. Her father was an electrician whose job of stringing telephone wires carried him around the country. When Lucille was four, he died of typhoid in Wyandotte, Mich.

Lucille spent her childhood in Jamestown (1920 pop. 38,917), but managed to see very little of it. Mostly, she inhabited a dream world peopled by glamorous alter egos. Sometimes she imagined herself to be a young lady of great poise named Sassafrassa, who combined the best features of Pearl White, Mabel Normand and Pola Negri. Another make-believe identity was Madeline, a beauteous cowgirl who emerged from the pages of Zane Grey's melodramatic novel, ‘The Light of Western Stars’. To get authentic background for Madeline, young Lucille corresponded with the chambers of commerce of Butte and Anaconda, Mont. She read and reread their publicity handouts until she felt she knew more about Montana than the people who lived there. It was the powerful spirit of Madeline that caused her for many years to claim Butte, Mont., as her birthplace. Only in the most recent edition of Who's Who did she finally, grudgingly admit to being born in Jamestown, N.Y.

Horrses to Warter. While she lived there, Lucille did her best to rid Jamestown of dullness. Sometimes she gilded reality by imagining that the family chicken coop was her palace ("The chickens would become my armies"). She remembers that she was always unmanageable in the spring. "I'd leave the classroom for a drink of water and never come back. I'd start walking toward what I thought was New York City and keep going until someone brought me home."

By the time she left high school at 14, she had staged virtually a one-man performance of ‘Charley's Aunt’ ("I played the lead, directed it, cast it, sold the tickets, printed the posters, and hauled furniture to the school for scenery and props"). In a Masonic musical revue, she put so much passion into an Apache dance that she threw one arm out of its socket. Jamestown citizens still remember her explosive personality with wonder: it took quite a while for the dust to settle in Jamestown when Lucille finally left for Manhattan at the age of 15.

Probably because of the dreamy mental state induced by Sassafrassa and Madeline, Lucille is not too clear about dates, events and people. In New York,

she headed straight for John Murray Anderson's dramatic school. At the sound of her voice ("I used to say 'horrses' and 'warter' "), her teacher clapped hands to his forehead. Anderson tactfully told Lucille's mother that her daughter should try another line of work. Lucille made a stab at being a secretary and a drugstore soda jerk, but found both occupations dull. She answered chorus calls for Broadway musicals with a marked lack of success. When she even lost a job in the chorus of the third road company of ‘Rio Rita’, a Ziegfeld aide told her: "It's no use, Montana. You're not meant for show business. Go home."

Periodically, Lucille did go home to Jamestown. But she returned again and again to the assault on New York. She managed to get into the chorus of ‘Stepping Stones’, and held on until the choreographer announced that she wanted only girls who could do toe work ("I couldn't even do heel work"). Lucille turned to modeling, progressed from the wholesale garment houses through department stores to the comparative eminence of Hattie Carnegie. She still has a warm feeling for people in the garment trade, because "they're the nearest thing to show business in the outside world. They're temperamental and jealous. I like them." She had a great many admirers. One of them, Britain's actor Hugh Sinclair, says: "She disarmed you. You saw this wonderful, glamorous creature, and in five minutes she had you roaring with laughter. She was gay, warmhearted and absolutely genuine."

As a model, Lucille called herself Diane Belmont, choosing her name in honor of Belmont Park Race Track, where fashion shows are sometimes staged. But it was another few years before Lucille finally got her break. She was walking up Broadway past the Palace Theater when she met agent Sylvia Hahlo coming down from the Goldwyn office. Sylvia grabbed her and cried breathlessly: "How would you like to go to California? They're sending a bunch of poster girls there for six weeks for a picture. One of the girls' mothers has refused to let her go."

$50 to $ 1,500. The movie was ‘Roman Scandals’, starring Eddie Cantor, and it was six months instead of six weeks in the making. Lucille was grimly determined to keep her foot in the Hollywood door. She got a succession of bit parts in such movies as ‘Moulin Rouge’ and ‘The Affairs of Cellini’, worked for three months with the roughhouse comics known as The Three Stooges ("It was one continuous bath of Vichy water and lemon meringue pie").

When RKO picked up her contract, she gradually emerged as a queen of B pictures, then began making program movies with comics Jack Oakie, Joe Penner and the Marx Brothers (’Room Service’). Her salary rose from $50 a week to $1,500 and her hair, already turned blonde from its original brown, now became a brilliant but indescribable shade that has been variously called ‘shocking pink' and 'strawberry orange.' While she was in ‘Dance, Girl, Dance’, and being hailed by Director Erich Pommer as a new 'find' (by then,

she had been playing in movies for six years), she met a brash, boyish young Cuban named Desi Arnaz.

Gold Initials. Desi had come to Hollywood to make the movie version of the Broadway hit, Too Many Girls. Taking one look at luscious (5 ft. 7 in., 130 Ibs.) Lucille, who was wearing a sweater and skirt, he cried: "Thass a honk o' woman!" and asked: "How would you like to learn the rumba, baby?" He took her for a ride in his blue convertible, with the gold initials on the door, and she shudderingly recalls that the only time the speedometer dipped below 100 m.p.h. was when he rounded a curve. On the way home, Desi hit a bump and, as Lucille tells it, a fender flew off. He simply flicked the ash from his Cuban cigarillo and sped on.

Lucille was as dazzled by his full name (Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y De Acha III) as by his history. The only child of a prosperous Cuban politician who had been mayor of Santiago and a member of the Cuban Senate, Desi had fled to Miami with his mother during the revolution of 1933. His father, a supporter of President Machado, was put in jail, and the Arnaz possessions disappeared in the revolution.

After six months, Desi's father was released from jail and rejoined his family in Miami, where he went into the export-import business. Desi, who was 16, enrolled in St. Patrick's High School (his closest friend was Al Capone's son Albert), and got a part-time job cleaning canary cages for a firm which sold birds to local drugstores. He soon found steadier work as a guitarist in a four-piece band incongruously called the Siboney Sextette. The critics agreed on Desi's meager musical gifts. "He was always off-beat," says theater owner Carlos Montalban. "But he's an awfully nice guy—a clean-cut Latin."

Conga Line. Whatever Desi had, it was something the public liked. He began beating a conga drum in Miami and soon nightclub audiences, from Florida to New York, were forming conga lines behind him. His good looks and unquenchable good humor interested producer George Abbott, who was searching for a Latin type to play a leading role in ‘Too Many Girls’. "Can you act?" asked Abbott. "Act?" answered Desi, expansively. "All my life, I act."

The courtship of Desi and Lucille was predictably stormy. Says a friend: "He's very jealous. She's very jealous—they're both very jealous." They were married in 1940, while Desi was leading his orchestra at the Roxy in New York and Lucille was between pictures in Hollywood. She flew in from the coast; they got up at 5 a.m. and drove to Connecticut, where they were married by a justice of the peace. Since they had no apartment, Desi compromised by carrying his bride across the threshold of his dressing room at the Roxy. Hollywood offered odds that the marriage would not last six weeks.

The marriage lasted better than six weeks, but after four years trouble blew. Desi kept moving about the country with his band, and Lucille, when not making pictures, mostly sat home alone. Their marriage was drifting on the rocks, and only World War II averted immediate shipwreck. Desi refused a commission in the Cuban army and was drafted into the U.S. infantry. He was moved on to Special Services, and spent much of the war shepherding USO troupes from one base to another.

In 1944, Lucille filed suit for divorce. She won an interlocutory decree but never got around to filing for her final papers. The reason: she and Desi were in the midst of a new reconciliation. But all the old difficulties remained. Lucille would sit night after night at the clubs where Desi's band was playing, but that resulted in rings under her eyes rather than a new intimacy. She tried cutting down on her movie work by starring in a CBS radio show called ‘My Favorite Husband’, and Desi also took a flyer at radio. They worked out a vaudeville act and toured U.S. theaters with their new routines.

Lucille credits Desi with being the one who was willing to take a chance on TV. "He's a Cuban," she says, "and all Cubans gamble. They'll bet you which way the tide is going and give you first pick." But it was a real gamble. Movie exhibitors do not look kindly upon movie stars who desert to the enemy. If the show flopped, Lucille would have no place to crawl back to. They told CBS that they would give television a try only if both of them could be on the same show. At first, they wanted to play themselves. They compromised by turning Desi into Ricky Ricardo, a struggling young bandleader, and letting Lucille fulfill her lifelong ambition of playing a housewife.

The decision to film the show also made CBS bigwigs uneasy. It would cost four times as much as a live show, and the only interested sponsor, Philip Morris, wasn't prepared to go that high. Again there was a compromise. Desi and Lucille agreed to take a smaller salary in return for producing the show and keeping title to the films.

Real Plumbing. Long years in the practical business of orchestra leading had given Desi considerable organizing ability and business sense. He set up Desilu Productions (Desi president, Lucille vice president), and leased a sound stage from an independent Los Angeles studio. Because Lucille was ‘dead' without an audience, a side wall of the studio was knocked out to make a street entrance, and seats installed for an audience of 300. When a show is ready for the cameras, the audience laughter is picked up on overhead microphones and used in the final print.

Though ‘I Love Lucy’ is filmed, it is more like a play than a movie. All of the lines and action are memorized and, whenever possible, the show is played straight through from beginning to end, and not shot in a number of unrelated scenes. The action takes place on four sets; two of them represent the Ricardos' Manhattan apartment, a third shows the nightclub where Ricky's band plays and the fourth is used for any other scenes called for by the script. Says Desi proudly: "We have real furniture, real plumbing, and a real kitchen where we serve real food. Even the plants are really growing; they're not phony."

Desilu Productions hired a pair of veteran troupers, William Frawley and Vivian Vance, to play the family next door and serve as foils and friends for Desi and Lucille. Academy Award-winning Karl (’The Good Earth’) Freund supervises the three cameras, and Director Marc Daniels (soon to be replaced by Bill Asher) gives Lucy its rattling pace. The writers—Jess Oppenheimer, Bill Carroll and Madalyn Pugh—turn out scripts that do not impose too much on the audience's credulity and are reasonably free of clichés. The writers are held in an esteem not common in TV. Lucille bombards Jess Oppenheimer with photographs flatteringly inscribed to "the Boss Man," and Desi has presented him with a statuette of a baseball player and a punning tribute, "To the man behind the ball."

"Wanta Play Cards?" Desi and Lucille live an unpretentious life on a five-acre ranch in the San Fernando Valley. The only Hollywood note is a kidney-shaped swimming pool, and the most recent addition to the house (a wing devoted to daughter Lucie and her nurse) cost $22,000—more than the house and land cost originally. Neither Desi nor Lucille has ever been socially ambitious, and their friends are the same ones they have known for years. Both Desi's mother (now divorced from Arnaz Sr., who still lives in Miami) and Lucille's Mom live nearby.

At home, Lucille, who collects stray cats and dogs, is an amateur painter ("I use oils because it's easier to correct mistakes than with water colors"), and generally considers herself a lazy, lounging homebody. She is fascinated by Desi's boundless energy.' He spends weekends fishing on his 34-foot cabin cruiser, Desilu; plays violent tennis; likes to cook elaborate dishes. Says Lucille: "Everything is fine with him all the time. Wanta play cards? Fine. Play games? Fine. go for a swim? Great." There's only one problem: "Desi is a great thermostat sneaker-upper and I'm a thermostat sneaker-downer. Cold is the one thing that isn't great with him."

Sex & Chic. Though life has grown noticeably more placid for Desi and Lucille, it promises more money than they ever made before. Desilu Productions has already branched out beyond ‘I Love Lucy’. It is filming TV commercials for Red Skelton, and is at work on a new TV series, ‘Our Miss Brooks’, starring Eve Arden. Three of the best 30-minute Lucy shows are being put together in a package and will be experimentally released to movie theaters in the U.S. and Latin America. This year, ‘I Love Lucy’ has grossed about $1,000,000, and sponsor Philip Morris has signed a contract for 39 more shows beginning this fall. All of the old Lucy films can be sold again as new TV stations go on the air (eventually there will be 2,053 TV transmitters in the U.S., compared to today's 108).

In reaching the TV top, Lucille's telegenic good looks may be almost as important as her talent for comedy. She is sultry-voiced, sexy, and wears chic clothes with all the aplomb of a trained model and showgirl. Letters from her feminine fans show as much interest in Lucille's fashions as in her slapstick. Most successful comediennes (e.g., Imogene Coca, Fanny Brice, Beatrice Lillie) have made comic capital out of their physical appearance. Lucille belongs to a rare comic aristocracy: the clown with glamour.

[yourklaw123]

Allen Gabriel Frost (SHARED) For all you mask wearers (especially those of you who think wearing it outside is NOT stupid 🤦🏼‍♀️). I know I’m about to burst your “google doctor degree” bubble, but here goes nothing. So Masks? I am OSHA certified. I know some of you are too. I don’t really know WHY OSHA hasn’t come forward and stopped the nonsense BUT I want to cover 3 things • N95 masks and masks with exhale ports • surgical masks • filter or cloth masks Okay, so upon further inspection, OSHA says some masks are okay and not okay in certain situations. If you’re working with fumes and aerosol chemicals and you give your employees the wrong masks and they get sick, you can be sued. • N95 masks: are designed for CONTAMINATED environments. That means when you exhale through N95 the design is that you are exhaling into contamination. The exhale from N95 masks are vented to breath straight out without filtration. They don’t filter the air on the way out. They don’t need to. Conclusion: if you’re in Target and the guy with Covid has a N95 mask, his covid breath is unfiltered being exhaled into Target (because it was designed for already contaminated environments, it’s not filtering your air on the way out). • Surgical Mask: these masks were designed and approved for STERILE environments. The amount of particles and contaminants in the outside and indoor environments where people are CLOGGING these masks very, VERY quickly. The moisture from your breath combined with the clogged mask will render it “useless” IF you come in contact with Covid and your mask traps it, YOU become a walking virus dispenser. Everytime you put your mask on you are breathing the germs from EVERYWHERE you went. They should be changed or thrown out every “20-30 minutes in a non sterile environment.” • Cloth masks: I can’t even believe I’m having to explain this, but here it goes. Today, three people pointed to their masks as they walked by me entering Lowe’s. They said “ya gotta wear your mask BRO” I said very clearly “those masks don’t work bro, in fact they MAKE you sicker” they “pshh’d” me. By now hopefully you all know CLOTH masks do not filter anything. You mean the American flag one my aunt made? Yes. The one with sunflowers that looks so cute? Yes. The bandanna, the cut up t-shirt, the scarf ALL of them offer NO FILTERING whatsoever. As you exhale, you are ridding your lungs of contaminants and carbon dioxide. Cloth masks trap this carbon dioxide the best. It actually risks your health, rather than protect it. The moisture caught in these masks can become mildew ridden over night. Dry coughing, enhanced allergies, sore throat are all symptoms of a micro-mold in your mask. -Ultimate Answer: *N95 blows the virus into the air from a contaminated person. *The surgical mask is not designed for the outside world and will not filter the virus upon inhaling through it. It’s filtration works on the exhale, (Like a vacuum bag, it only works one way) but likely stops after 20 minutes, rendering it useless outside of a STERILE ENVIRONMENT (correct Becky, they don’t work in a bar, not even a little bit). *Cloth masks are WORSE than none. It’s equivalent to using a chain link fence to stop mosquitos. The CDC wants us to keep wearing masks. The masks don’t work. They’re being used to provide false comfort and push forward a specific agenda. For the love of God, research each mask’s designed use and purpose, I bet you will find NONE are used in the way of “viral defense.” Just like EVERY Flu season kids, wash your hands. Sanitize your hands. Don’t touch stuff. Sanitize your phone. Don’t touch people. And keep your distance. Why? Because your breath stinks, your deodorant is failing, your shoes are old and stink, that shirts not clean, & I like my space. Trust me I can hear you from here. Lots of reasons to keep your distance and work on body hygiene. But trust me, the masks do not work. *Occupational Safety & Hazard Association sited. The top American organization for safety. They regulate and educate asbestos workers, surgical rooms, you name it. I know, facts suck. They throw a wrench into the perfectly (seeming) packaged pill you are willingly swallowing. Facts make you have to form your OWN OPINION, instead of regurgitating someone else’s, and I know how uncomfortable that makes a lot of you. If your mask gives you security, by all means wear it. Just know it is a false sense of security and you shouldn’t shame anyone into partaking in such “conspiracies.” If select politicians stopped enforcing it, no one would continue this nonsense. Don’t drink the kool-aid. Ya this is pretty spot on.... HOW DID THEY CONVINCE THE US TO: ▪️social distance ▪️mask up ▪️have no funerals ▪️forcibly home-school while still taxing us for public education ▪️stay in our homes ▪️stop going to church ▪️forfeit incomes and personal businesses ▪️turn on our friends and neighbors with a phone number ▪️hug our grandparents through plastic ▪️thoroughly have us on the verge of civil war with each other. ALL TO TURN AROUND AND TELL US THAT MOST OF IT IS NIXED AND COMPLETELY NEGATED, IF WE WANT TO: ▪️protest ▪️riot ▪️kill even more people ▪️loot businesses (many already on the brink of bankruptcy) ▪️deface national monuments ▪️destroy our cities ▪️de-fund & disband our police ▪️set everything on fire ...and all the while, we're allegedly at tremendous risk of an oh-so-deadly virus that can be diagnosed without official testing, or with so-called testing being counted & reported dishonestly, and reported on death certificates even if we die by falling off a cliff... ...and even though it's super "dangerous", the things that actually keep us healthy, like: ▪️health food stores ▪️farmers markets ▪️garden nurseries/seeds ▪️gyms ▪️health facilities ▪️chiropractic centers ▪️naturopathic health centers ▪️outdoor activities and parks are taken away. But: ▪️cigarettes/alcohol ▪️fast food joints ▪️Walmart ▪️abortion centers were deemed "essential"... And now our children are being forced to go back to schools that will feel like the prison result of a war zone, with a (guaranteed, just wait for it) mandated, un(properly) tested vaccine pushed by yours-truly, BILLionaire Gates - that's already shown severe reactions in so-called "testers". How did America, Home of the Free become a fascist, communist regime - destroying lives and creating dependence so quickly? Global totalitarianism over a so-called virus that's becoming more & more questionable to more & more people. WHAT WORLD ARE WE LIVING IN, AND HOW COME SO MANY ARE COMPLYING? THINK ABOUT IT. THINK HARD. IT'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. WAKE UP AND THINK ABOUT IT.SHARE THIS Jamie Lynn White

[mcrmadness]

Color asks: coral, cream, coconut, honey, and scarlet

Color Asks.

coral: an animal you wish hadn’t gone extinct

Either quagga or thylacine. And yeah, thanks to humans, both species went extinct... It’s super weird to look at photos of these species and to know neither of them exist anymore. A human really is the worst species on this planet.

Thylacine was a marsupial but super weird looking one, almost like a dog but then not. It’s Finnish name actually is “pussihukka” which basically translates to a “bag wolf” - the front part of the name is because marsupial in Finnish is “pussieläin” (”a bag animal”) because, you know, they have this pocket instead of a womb where the offspring grow :D And thylacine was very canine-like looking so it was only natural to add there an old word for “wolf” in Finnish.

Quagga then was an equine species closely related to zebras. It’s very weird looking because it was partially dark brown but with stripes. I think some zebra-horse hybrids actually can look a bit like quaggas but unfortunately it’s not the same thing + usually those equine hybrids are born sterile anyway. I don’t remember for sure if there’s been attempts of “cloning” a quagga or so, all I know is that the Przewalski’s horse almost went extinct at some point but with the help of zoos etc., humans were able to save them from the same fate. (Faith in humanity restored... for a moment.) But apparently even those might not be 100% descended from the real Przewalski’s horses. Anyway, most if not all of the other “wild horses” nowadays are usually descended from tamed individuals. E.g. all the American Mustang horses are like that and none of them descend from the real American wild horses that once roamed free.

(Both photos from Wikipedia.)

***

cream: any piercings or tattoos? do you want any?

Nope. I had earrings but I then had a rebel phase and let the earholes to grow shut(?) and wanted everyone to see that and say “oh poor you” but no one did and now I’m annoyed because NOW I wish I had earholes so I could use earrings again :DDD But I’m afraid of needles and doing piercings is not too unrisky with a congenital heart defect (because it literally is creating an open wound, and those are always risky if not taken care of properly). But the biggest issue is the needles and pain. Idk, if they can use numbing cream for piercings, maybe I’ll get earrings one day again. Back then I dreamed that I would have had 3 earholes on both instead of just 1. I also like how lip piercings look like but that might be way too much.

Tattoos I have never really cared about so that’s a no.

***

coconut: a subject you enjoy learning about

Oh there’s so many! It’d be easier to answer to what I DON’T like learning about :D But as you already can see from the first answer: zoology.

I grew up as a zoology nerd, I loved dinosaurs (they’re still cool tho) and anything to do with evolution. I watched just any movie or series with dinos - Jurassic Park, The Land Before Time, BBC Walking With Dinosaurs (a document series), Disney’s Dinosaur and so many others. I loved these but my siblings were maybe even more into them than I and I already was very much into them :D My sister had a proper special interest in dinos. We also had so many dinosaur figurines we used to play with all the time.

There was also another series like this, called Walking with Cavemen, but I never found the apes as interesting as other animals so I didn’t watch that one too much.

Later on I loved playing Zoo Tycoon! I actually learnt a lot about mammals that happened between dinosaurs and modern animals from there. The Dinosaur Digs EP had also lots of different modern-day animals’ precessor species like the giant sloth, saber toothed cat or macrauchenia. Back in the 90s it was actually hard to find any info about these, dinos were everywhere but not really these so I was always excited to find new info - I had a couple of books and then also really enjoyed BBC’s Walking With Beasts that was about those species especially. I still don’t know too much about these creatures so I still enjoy browsing animal “family trees” and reading about where did everything come from, and to which dinosaur/extinct animal any modern-day animal is related to.

***

honey: your thoughts on magic- does it exist?

I was obsessed with magic as a kid, much before even getting into Harry Potter (idk if those were even released yet back then? At least not the movies and I started with them.) and me and my cousin were convinced that I was a witch. I don’t remember for sure what was it that convinced us of that - I can remember only one thing: we were to an art school as a hobby once a week and sometimes I “wished” so hard that her mother aka my aunt would come and pick us up by a car and they would bring me home. And sometimes that actually did happen! Normally I used to take a bus home, she would walk to the bus stop with me and wait there with me until the bus came, and she walked to her home. She lived at the downtown area unlike me. (I didn’t live far away tho, it was just a bit too long way to walk home, took about 10-15min by bus.)

In a way I still believe in some sort of magic. I’m supr skeptic nowadays, before I would just immediately think of everything as something magical or paranormal. Sometimes it’s not good with my anxiety and its tendency to do ocd-like “magical thinking”, e.g. feeling like saying something scary aloud will make it happen. Also I have to say that the horse business, at least the harness racing field, is super superstitious profession :D There’s lots of money and betting involved and we always had this saying “It doesn’t survive the compliments.” meaning you should never say “This horse has never had problems with their legs!” because that will definitely cause the horse to injure itself sooner than you’d even guess. I also always always avoided saying “We will win today.” because if I said that, we definitely did not win. So I always asked the horses “Are we gonna win today?” or was talking to the horse and told them how we should win today. But never said “We WILL win.” and I always felt like bad luck was happening when my coworkers started chanting how we’re gonna win today.

But more than magic, I kinda believe in intuition. There were a few cases when I was to the races with the horses and I just had this feeling that we’re gonna go home with a win. I don’t know where did it come from, I just knew it. I felt it somewhere deep inside that this is the day. And usually that feeling always was right. I never said it aloud tho because of course it would have not happened if I did. Or so I believe :D

***

scarlet: favorite holiday

I don’t really have any. They are all the same anyway. When I was working, we didn’t really have any public holidays with horses. I mean, someone’s gotta take care of the animals no matter what the calendar says :D But I actually really liked that! Only time I had a proper holiday was during Christmas. Basically that could be my favorite holiday because of the presents I get to give to people.

Another one that’s nice is the Midsummer day, it’s a huge thing in Finland. Tho, for me it doesn’t really mean anything else but my birthday (which can be negative thing too because I have an age crisis :D) since it’s super common for people to go out to get wasted, but I don’t drink alcohol nor do I have friends :D So usually I just stay at home or visit my family.

[ruminantminds]

me, my dream, my desire, how it's killing me, like i laugh at it.

SIOBHAN BLAKE ( SHE / THEY ) is a NON-BINARY FORTY * year old TOWN MAYOR who has been living in Moorbrooke for THEIR ENTIRE LIFE. Right now, they are currently residing in ELMSETT GREEN. It has been said that they look suspiciously like ROSAMUND PIKE and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose VOILA by BARBARA PRAVI.

                 * they were originally forty-one on the app but after working out the birth chart i have decided their forty-first birthday is the fourth of june ! just in case you want to plan birthday things for her <3

mun introduction ;

hi everyone ! i’m shannon, i’m a non-binary autistic lesbian, i’m twenty-one && i never fucking learned how to sleep ! 

BASICS —

NAME: siobhan adrienne louisa blake.

AGE: forty.

GENDER: non-binary.

BIRTH DATE: fourth of june, nineteen-eighty.

BIRTH PLACE: moorbrooke, maine, usa.

SEXUALITY: lesbian.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: married to alante patterson.

ZODIAC: gemini sun, aquarius moon, libra rising.

MBTI: enfp-a.

ENNEAGRAM: four, with a three wing.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: hufflepuff. 

THEME SONG: voila by barbara pravi.

FAVOURITE SONG: no plan by hozier.

OCCUPATION: mayor of moorbrooke ( 2020 - present. )

PAST CAREERS: english teacher at moorbrooke high school ( 2004 - 2020. )

EDUCATION: bachelor’s degree in literature at yale university, the only period of time they’ve spent not living in moorbrooke. 

DREAM JOB: senator for maine.

PARENTS: ciara & severin blake ( deceased. )

SIBLINGS: none.

SPOUSE: alante patterson ( m. 2015 ; together since )

PETS: two cats, vita && virginia.

PREDOMINANT TRAITS: wholesome, compassionate, ambitious, unconventional, humanitarian, self-critical, discerning, sociable, curious.

BACKSTORY —

apart from a few years at yale, siobhan has never lived away from moorbrooke. it’s where she was born, it’s where they were raised, it’s the place where she feels most at home. it’s filled with the people who watched them evolve into the who they now confidently are. but growing up with parents with massive expectations was never easy. 

because while they moved from new york, severin blake’s old money attitude never left him behind. 

( tw: fertility struggles ) and with old money, conservativism often follows. this is no exception. siobhan spent most of their childhood trying to be the golden child their parents wanted, even when it felt wrong. hopeful that some other sibling would come to take some of the weight off their shoulders, it never came to fruition, and she was their only child. severin blake — french-american businessman’s — only legacy.

siobhan was always more compassionate than their parents. when new people came to the town, she would always try to offer them a leg-up, no matter who they were, why they had come, or how long they were planning to stay. they had no issue playing chameleon to make others comfortable: wasn’t that what she’d always done, regardless? 

this rang true when alante patterson came to town. a few years younger than her, split from her siblings in the foster system, it just made sense for siobhan to try to be the other girl’s constant. the beginning of a close relationship that still runs stronger than ever, thirty years later. 

alante was always refreshingly honest, and always made siobhan feel safe to be . . . themselves, even if they were pretending to everyone else.

siobhan’s chameleonic tendencies made them highly popular as a teenager, her parents’ pride and joy, but the latter half began to fail when siobhan began to understand — began being operative, as it was a process that took them many years — their curiosity about their sexuality and gender. this relationship, and her parents’ desire for them to hide this evolving part of themselves, was a behind-closed-doors battle which led to anxiety & depression. 

a vicious cycle, because the attitude to mental health on severin’s part was also quite . . . medieval, and ciara certainly never intervened to stop him. 

( the blakes had always been protestant, though siobhan was reluctant to take part in any acknowledgement of such. siobhan has considered themselves agnostic since the age of thirteen, though she supports her wife in her faith as much as she can. )

siobhan came out when she went to yale at the age of eighteen, and her experience had been mixed. college took her away from her friends, estranging them from their high school friends and temporarily moving away from alante. when they returned from college studies and took up a job as an english teacher at the local highschool, her best friend was . . . married. 

which made feelings that began to blossom particularly problematic. especially when over the years that followed, no matter how hard they tried to let it go, those feelings persisted. and — eventually — became an affair so passionate that alante left her husband for siobhan some thirteen years ago. 

their relationship with alante is what made them truly decide to — and make them able to — exist fully as themselves. who they wanted to be. so now, they’re not quite as chameleonic, but she’s endearing to the people who are truly interested in her and that’s all that matters, isn’t it? ( isn’t it? they’re still learning, though they pretend the self-doubt is entirely gone. )

this part of their town-iconic relationship is not public knowledge, and thankfully never came to siobhan’s parents’ knowledge before their deaths five and seven years ago.

siobhan and alante married as soon as possible in 2015, but siobhan always had a dream of washington politics, buried for many years because the political climate of their youth would never take them. now... it’s possible, but alante likes this life, this town, their two cats, and wants to have children. 

as a compromise, siobhan ran for mayor of moorbrooke this recent cycle, and won. but here’s the kicker: will it be enough for them?

CONNECTIONS —

family: while she has no siblings, she does have cousins on ciara’s side, so if you’re interested in that then feel free to let me know & we’ll explore it! i love a good family tree, especially in town rps where i imagine it a bit more interconnected like broadchurch !

family-esque: if your muse has been living in moorbrooke a while, it’s likely siobhan knows them quite or very well. you know those people you call your aunt/uncle out of respect because they’ve been friends with your family as long as you can remember? a bit like that! it’s also a habit because siobhan has been . . . distant from her own family since she was a teenager. they never outright disowned them for what they were calling their ‘ ideas ’ — i.e. being non-gender conforming & lesbian — but their disapproval was... clear enough. she doesn’t want anyone else to feel like they’re without support. 

therapist friend: the thing about siobhan is that they are the ceo of telling other people to look after their mental health while letting their own degrade. ( see: she can’t help taking on other people’s problems & wanting to solve them. )

high school it squad: yes, this is my not-so-subtle way of pleading for more older muses here. these people were siobhan’s friends when they were trying to be who everyone wanted them to be, not who she herself wanted to be ; they were the popular clique, and she adjusted herself as necessary to ‘ ringlead ’ them. i’m thinking they split up when they all went to college, and the rest of them have only just come back to town. the siobhan blake they’re going to meet is . . . very different than the one they once knew. someone who is now comfortable ( at last ) unapologetically in their own skin.

ex-student: if your muse was in high school in moorbrooke anywhere during their tenure it’s likely that siobhan could have taught them! she was the emotional support english teacher. sapphics, you know what i am talking about. 

ingenue: someone interested in politics who siobhan is sharing their passion with !

neighbours: anyone who lives in elmsett court, who wants to live next to moorbrooke’s favourite sapphic it couple? it comes with invitations to dinner and two adventuring cats called vita & virginia that they might have to retrieve from your house.

TAKEN CONNECTIONS

confidante: the only person, aside from alante, who knows the truth. that siobhan and alante’s relationship first ignited in a blazing, letter-ridden extramarital affair, eventually resulting in alante leaving her husband all those years ago. the person siobhan confides her worries in, sometimes. [ alec barlowe. ] 

OTHER TRIVIA

owns a motorbike.

they can still write in anne lister code from letters to alante.

of course, she is a democrat. we do not fuck with republicans here.

watches vita and virginia three times in your average week.

has an eclectic music taste, but frequents the record store because there’s nothing like vinyl. 

( yes, they have hozier on vinyl. )

will only drink white wine. don’t ask them why. they don’t know. 

would have zero wardrobe sense if it wasn’t for alante. money just doesn’t equal style.

the only social network she knows how to use is twitter. please, someone, teach them how to use instagram. bestie needs a social media guru because the people who run the rest of her platforms don’t get it, either.

allergic to banana. but eats it anyway for the mouth tingles.

has kept a diary religiously since the age of twelve.

[paulinedorchester]

Hodgson, Vere. Few Eggs and No Oranges: A Diary Showing How Unimportant People in London and Birmingham Lived Through the War Years 1940-1945, Written in the Notting Hill Area of London. London: Dennis Dobson, 1976. Reprint (as Few Eggs and No Oranges: The Diaries of Vere Hodgson 1940-45), with a new preface by Jenny Hartley, London: Persephone Books, 1999.

Winifred Vere Hodgson (1901-1979) was born in Edgbaston, Birmingham, into what seem to have been shabby-genteel circumstances. On the one hand, after her father’s death in 1907 her mother was obliged to run the family home as a boarding house in order to make ends meet; on the other, she was educated at King Edward VI High School for Girls before reading history at the University of Birmingham. She was a niece of Thomas Vere Hodgson, the marine biologist on the H.M.S. Discovery during its voyage of 1904-6.

After graduating, she taught for several years at – wait for it – L’Istituto Statale della Ss. Annunziata, Florence, Italy, where – wait for it again – Edda Mussolini was among her pupils, and then for several more years at schools in (apparently – I’m a bit confused about this) Folkestone and Wimbledon. Deciding on a complete change, in 1935 she answered a “positions available” advertisement placed by a philanthropic body. Thus began her career as a social welfare worker, which seems to have been deemed important enough to have kept her from conscription during the war.

The organization for which Hodgson worked, the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, was located at 3 Lansdowne Road – still standing, this building was referred to at that time as The Sanctuary – and served primarily the Notting Hill and Holland Park areas, both of which seem to have been pretty down-at-heel at the time. They operated a night shelter for homeless women and gave grants of money and needed goods to the poor. (The Greater World, as its staff called it, doesn’t seem to me to fit the definition of a cult, so I’ll refrain from making any value judgements; you can read more about it here and here. It is still active.)

Hodgson’s job involved a good deal of secretarial and clerical work, but she also worked directly with the association’s beneficiaries as well as making nice with its benefactors. She often spent nights at The Sanctuary, either to be present for the women sheltering there or, once the war began, to take her turn as a fire-watcher. Although in her diary she always expresses gratitude for any free time she had, the job clearly brought her a great deal of satisfaction:

Went to see one of my poor old souls today. She has been getting a bit of chair-mending to do, and was better. She dreads the winter – as last year she was compelled to beg in the streets; but now we shall help her. The dread of complete destitution is terrible.

Like Clara Milburn, another wartime diarist whose output was published in the 1970s, Hodgson wasn’t writing primarily for her own benefit. Mrs. Milburn kept her diary with an eye to creating a record of the home front for her son, Alan, an officer in the British Expeditionary Force who was taken prisoner in Belgium in 1940. Miss Hodgson initially wrote for a cousin, Lucy Hodgson, who when the war began was in England on sabbatical from her job as an education officer in what was then known – to some people, at least – as Northern Rhodesia, and returned there in the Spring of 1940 “with grave misgivings,” according to Vere Hodgson’s introduction to the book.

Hodgson began sending installments of the diary to Lucy, who returned them to her and also sent parcels of cheese, tea, and other rationed foods. At some point Vere began mailing the pages to a round-robin of friends and relations, the last of whom would then send them on to Africa. (Amazingly, only one installment went missing.) Another thing that Hodgson’s diary has in common with Milburn’s is that she didn’t actually use printed diaries, allowing her to write very long entries at times.

The diary first came to public attention when Hodgson answered another advertisement, this one from the journalist Leonard Mosely, who was looking for first-hand accounts of life in wartime London as source material for his 1971 book Backs to the Wall (which is clearly something that I need to read). He quoted her entries for September 3rd, 1939, and May 7th, 1940. This resulted in a request from the publisher Dennis Dobson that Hodgson prepare an edition of her wartime diary as a whole. According to a publisher’s note in the Persephone reprint, “This she did, cutting by about three-quarters and editing substantially.” Since the reprint runs to 590 pages, one has to wonder what the original was like!

Few Eggs and No Oranges begins on June 25th, 1940, with the announcement that “Last night at about 1 a.m. we had the first raid of the war on London.” Air raids were at the very center of Hodgson’s war. She details, blow by blow, each and every raid and alert that she experienced. Indeed, she offers so much granular information on raids – where bombs fell, how many people were killed, etc. – and other topics that British newspapers weren’t permitted to discuss in any detail that it’s a wonder that the diary was never censored on its way out of the country. (At one point she reports that the censor returned to her a letter that she’d sent to a friend in Canada, so clearly this was something that really did happen! At the same time, she records many major events of the war all over the globe, seeming to assume that Lucy won’t have heard or read about them and leaving me wondering whether Northern Rhodesia can really have been that isolated by 1939.) Her preoccupation may have had something to do with the fact that she always found herself living on a building’s topmost floor: when the war began she was renting a room in a boarding house at 56 Ladbroke Road; in October, 1941 to her great delight, she moved to a “flatlet” across the street at 79 Ladbroke Road, the process of furnishing which she recounts with relish. Among other advantages, this allowed her to shelter friends who needed it: one of her friends was bombed out three times over the course of the war. To be sure, Hodgson did develop a good deal of sang-froid: “Very blitzy indeed last night,” she remarks off-handedly on January 10th, 1941.

When bombs weren’t falling, Hodgson simply recorded everyday life, often hilariously:

Spoke my mind to the cat. It is disgraceful that all the Cats have joined some sort of Pacifist Organization. To keep a cat in these awful days of food scarcity, and then have to catch the mice yourself, is a bit thick. I explained this to our animal.

As you might guess from the book’s title, food was another of Hodgson’s central preoccupations. There seem to be two conflicting narratives about food rationing in the U.K. during and after World War II. One is that pre-war Britons were overfed on a fatty, starchy diet, and that the nation’s overall health improved as a result of rationing. The other is that rationing was not only damaging to the nation’s morale, but led to widespread borderline malnutrition. Hodgson was inclined to the latter view. She repeatedly details all of the edibles she’s having to do without (fresh fruit was a major lack), either because they’re simply unavailable or, in the case of unrationed goods, because their prices have skyrocketed. On the other hand, she takes great joy in her own and other people’s ability to make whatever food could be had go further. (She writes about her Auntie Nell’s jam-making activities with obvious pride.) And whenever she had a windfall she was happy to share it.

And about those windfalls: Hodgson gleefully records each of the “gifts” of extra food she received from retailers – which included oranges that only children were supposed to get – and items bought from roadside vendors on trips out of London. It’s really quite shocking how common fiddling the system seems to have been, and how unrepentant people were about doing it:

Went for my bacon ration and while he was cutting it had a word with the man about the Cubic Inch of Cheese. He got rid of the other customers and then whispered, ‘Wait a mo’.’ I found half a pound of cheese being thrust into my bag with great secrecy and speed!

Then going to the Dairy for my butter ration I was given four eggs and a quarter of cheese!

Despite the housing and food problems she and her friends and neighbors had, Hodgson seems to have enjoyed a lively social life throughout the war, with neighbors, co-workers, former pupils, visiting relatives, and complete strangers she encountered over lunch at the Mercury Café. She saw plays at the Mercury Theatre and wrote about them as well as the films she saw. (She seems to have had no objection to American adaptations of British literature – How Green Was My Valley was a favorite – but did complain that American films were too fast-paced for her liking.)

Hodgson’s answer to the iconic question “Is Your Journey Really Necessary?” was nearly always an emphatic “Yes!” Throughout the war she made frequent trips to Birmingham to see her mother and sister (there, too, she recounted air raids and the damage they caused); to Brede, Sussex, where two more aunts lived; and occasionally to other places in search of fresh air, quiet, and a change of pace. Although she makes note of the bad travelling conditions that she often endured, she almost always persevered.

Her politics are difficult to pin down. She idolized Winston Churchill (“The bravest of us all!”), even though his policies led to the internment of a close friend, and on weekdays she read The Daily Telegraph. But on Sundays she read The Observer and The People, and once Germany invaded the Soviet Union she became a great fan of the Russians. Hodgson was also enthusiastic about Americans: she expresses equal admiration for Roosevelt and his 1940 opponent, Wendell Wilkie, and remarked that “Really the Americans seem to give the best Postscripts,” after hearing one from Dorothy Thompson in August 1941. (She seems never to have actually met any Americans, however.)

On religion, too, she is very vague. She greatly admired the altruism and sheer energy of Winifred Moyes, the founder of the Greater World Christian Spiritualist Association, and at least in the published version of her diary she never criticizes Moyes’s Spiritualist “meetings,” but neither does she ever seem to have attended one. She appears to have been only an occasional church-goer, more often listening to broadcast services. However, she did regularly read her horoscope, as well as Edward Lyndoe’s predictions in The People, and was irritated by a Mass-Observation report that disapproved of the finding that 40% of the British public had some degree of interest in astrology.  

A couple of aspects of Few Eggs and No Oranges did make me uncomfortable. One is Hodgson’s enthusiasm for what could be called “air-raid tourism”: as soon as possible after learning where bombs had fallen during a recent raid she went to have a look at the damage, telling her readers about what she saw. This seems to have been a popular pastime, as she rarely seems to have been alone in her rubbernecking. People probably wanted to be reassured that others were worse off than they were, which is understandable but doesn’t make the behavior any less creepy.

And then there are the bits that brought me right up against the limits of my Anglophilia. On several occasions Hodgson mentions off-handedly, and for no apparent reason, that someone she encounters is Jewish: “Met Ivy [Croucher, an actress and elocution teacher; she’s the one who was made homeless three times] coming back from her lunch at the Grosvenor with her Jewish pupil.” Later, during a visit to Birmingham, she notes that she “got four [oranges] from a Jewish trader by spinning him a yarn.”

What exactly is the point? Did she enjoy inducing the produce vendor into actions that could easily have landed him in court? How did she even know that either of these people were Jewish? The distinctive dress of those now known in the U.K. as the strictly Orthodox would have been a rare sight at the time, especially away from London; and if Crompton’s pupil was eating at the Grosvenor Hotel, as is implied, then he or she can hardly have been Orthodox at all. And then there’s this:

Went to see The [Great] Dictator today. How I enjoyed it! Superb satire! For all its tomfoolery written with a profundity of serious purpose. The speeches of Hynkel, half-German, half-English, are there. People who understood German were even more convulsed than I was. ... The palace scenes, where Hynkel did not waste a moment, were all in the spirit of German thoroughness. But Mussolini in real life does not smile so much. All done by an East End Jew! [emphasis added]

One hardly knows what to say — other than “Wrong on both counts, sweetheart.”

When Persephone republishes a book, they don’t simply reprint it from the original, but set it into type anew. (Their reprint of Mollie Panter-Downes’s London War Notes 1939-1945 features a row of tiny U.S. flags at the top of each even-numbered page and a corresponding row of British flags on each odd-numbered one.) The original Few Eggs apparently included illustrations that aren’t in the reprint. All we get is a hand-drawn map of Notting Hill and Holland Park; while beautiful to look at, it’s reproduced here on such a small scale as to make it essentially useless. I’m slightly sorry that I didn’t try to find a used copy of the original publication.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed reading Few Eggs and No Oranges, and recommend it to anyone who’s looking for a (very long) first-hand account of the British home front.

[rosierocks30]

Hidden: Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Always and Forever 

(Eve)

Eve or Natasha was staring at the amber liquid drink in her mug. She had been into deep sorrow of heartbreak. Ever since he left, she hasn’t left the room. Today, it was my first time being out of the room since that day. Natasha couldn’t tell what day it was. To her, it felt like years had passed by. Maybe this was for the best. They both are generations apart. She’s from the future and Eren is from here. What business does she have here anyways? The grey eyed woman should focus on trying to get back her timeline before encountering her grandmother or grandfather. Shit, if grandpa Levi finds out, she’ll get a beating in their spars. 

Eve took a sipped from her mug. She sighed then pulled out some change to pay the ale. The Ackerman from the future couldn’t enjoy her beer. Once she paid, the woman started to walk away to who knows where. 

Her life before ending up in the past was basically what the life of an New Yorker heiress was. There were parties, going to the best prestigious private schools, and of course any high class social events. It was every debutante’s dream. She never liked it but it was her medicine in dealing with her ill grandmother and her PTSD. 

Natasha remembered that tragic day when she lost her mother and baby brother. Her father had died a year before their death. He was an assassin like their ancestors were before. When she was a little girl, Eve had wanted to follow her father’s footsteps including her grandfather’s, but they never allowed. It had frustrated her. Both her grandparents had told her to just be a normal girl with careless dreams and living life to the fullest. Whenever she had visited Paradis during her vacations, there were many arguments between her and grandpa Levi and grandma Historia. They see things way differently than her. At first, she doesn’t get why they are preventing her from choosing the path she wanted to take. 

The last time she saw them, a huge fight had led their relationship delicately. 

(Flashback) 

It was a normal evening in the palace. She was spending time with her grandparents and her aunts and uncle along with her younger cousins. Everyone was enjoying their meal. Usually the kitchen staff cooked their meals, but tonight her grandmother Queen Historia decided to cook. At one time, the staff gave up in preventing her grandmother from doing anything, especially cooking. 

“Natasha, I’m so happy that you decided to make time to visit us from your studies at the University.” Her grandmother, Historia began to speak. 

The young woman glanced up at her grandmother. Queen Historia was in her late 50’s about to reach her 60’s soon. Her grandma still has her angelic beauty that she was known for as her age hasn’t ruined her beauty. Her blonde hair shined with some silver strands but she was still a goddess, well in the eye’s of the public. 

“Well, I need to be away from the city life in NYC for a while.” The American sipped her wine. She heard a familiar scoff from the head of the table on the right. Her grandfather, the once famous Captain Levi Ackerman of the Survey Corps and Assassin Master of the Brotherhood Paradis stared at her. Natasha frowned then set her glass of wine with a bit of force. 

“Ok, what now, grandpa?” Her tone sounded annoyed from her own grandfather’s attitude. 

“I’m not stupid for the real reason you decide to come to visit all of the sudden.” Levi glared at her oldest granddaughter. Oh great, here we go again. The college student rolled her eyes at him since she knows where this is going. 

“Praise tell oh dear grandfather.” Her sarcastic tone was showing. Now, the rest of the family groaned as they knew there would be a fight between Levi and Natasha. 

Historia sighed but continued sipping her wine. Levi was now in his 70s. His face had aged well even though he had scars on his face during the war.His once raven hair was now grey. No matter how he looked, Historia had and always will love her husband. They both had gone through so much that their bond was too solid to be broken. There were times in their marriage, both older couples did unthinkable things that would have caused their relationship to end. But their love story will be known for centuries.

“You came here not because of your studies. Instead, you’re here from another scandal you decided to get away from. You can lie to us, but your grandmother and I know what happened in New York.” Levi said in a stern tone which the atmosphere became heavy. 

Before Natasha could say anything, her uncle interrupted the conversation. 

“Dad, I don’t think it’s the best time right now. The children are here.” her uncle reminded Levi that the younger kids are here listening to this argument. Natasha adores her uncle since he was the most understanding out of his siblings. Her aunts are a bit too modesty. They always reminded her to be ladylike with modest manners. Do her wrong she loved all her family, but they always find something that’s not up to their standards. It just drives her so insane. The only reason she is still visiting them because they are the only thing close to her father, Atticus Ackerman the eldest child of her grandparents.

It’s not her fault that she was raised in a society that you can express freely to be who you are. But in her case, she can be a bit too wild even her grandma Virginia Stark nee Potts aka Pepper, the CEO of Stark Industries. In a way, her nana had once told her she was just like her grandfather, the late Tony Stark who she had never got to meet. What she learned about him. He was wild, eccentric, very intelligent that he had the tendencies of hacking into governments top projects to benefit his cases when he gets into trouble or just cause. After all, her being a smart mouth had always ended up into an argument with Levi as he’s the type not taking anyone’s bullshit even hers. 

“Tch. We’ll have to cut this family dinner short. Natasha, you will meet me and your grandmother in my office in 10 minutes.” He said as his chair was pushed back to get up. He glanced at his wife who nodded at him and got up too. They walked out of the dining room. Now only her uncle, aunts, cousins were still here. 

“Tsk tsk niece. If you would have acted a lady not a hussy-” Aunt Frieda Ackerman said. Uncle Erwin hissed at his older sister. “Frieda that’s enough! What’s got into?” 

Frieda scoffed then got up and called her son who’s 10 years old to follow her. The little blonde child obediently goes after his mother. Meanwhile Natasha was looking at her meal from trying not to lose control and snapped at her auntie. Her other aunt had been too quiet. The good thing, she’s not too bad compared to her Aunt Frieda. Aunt Krista finally broke her silence. 

“Sweetheart, she doesn’t mean that. She’s just worried about you.” Her blonde aunt was always the peacekeeper in the family. Her hand was on her huge belly as she’s not that long to be due. Her husband, Aaron Arlert, one of brightest soldiers in his generation and the son of the late Commander Armin Arlert of the Survey Corps and Master Assassin; his wife former Marley’s Warrior and Assassin Master who died long ago too. Both of them had passed on due to the Titan’s curse. Her auntie is excited for her first child. 

“Are you sure? She seems so convinced I’m ruining our family’s reputation again. She needs to stop being so bitter around everyone just because of her marriage problems.” Natasha mumbled. Both her uncle and aunt gave a disappointing look as it was uncalled for her to bring up Frieda’s marriage issue with some high class dickhead who happens to be a Marleyan. Natasha believes her estranged uncle is only using her aunt because she’s a princess, the next heir to the throne. By law, it was supposed to be Natasha as she’s the only surviving child of the late crowned Prince Atticus. Since the government officials had passed a law to prevent her from taking the throne after her grandmother either abdicated  the throne or passed away. 

To be honest, she doesn’t want the throne. If she chooses between the throne or being the next CEO of Stark Industries then she’ll prefer being the next CEO. If there was a third choice it’s neither. The Eldian-American wanted to find her own path. She doesn’t like her future being planned for her. She’s a free-spirited woman, but to certain relatives apparently she’s a rebel brat. 

“Natasha.” He scolded at his niece. Natasha sighed and got up from her chair. “Goodnight by the way if I don’t get to see you for the rest of the night.” Before leaving she goes to hug her twin cousins from her uncle who are around 7 years old. Both boys hugged her back and said goodnight as she finally walked out of the family dinning room. 

The brunette walked through silent hallways which in her opinion it gave her the creeps sometimes. Some halls have guards on duty. The heiress just ignores them since her grandparents are probably waiting for her to scold. Ugh! She’s passed 18 and yet; they treat her like some misbehaving kid. Whatever had happened on the video was not what it seems. The media loves to fuck her over since she’s a royal and a Stark. They enjoyed milking out every ‘scandal’ she has been in.

The grey eyed heiress made it to the doors of grandpa’s office. The old man had been retired for a long time after the war. Seriously, why can he find some hobby instead of getting up on her case. She grabbed the handles to open the doors. Her grandparents are already sitting down while sipping their cup of tea. 

“Tch. Finally, you were taking your time to get here.” Levi said as he set his cup of tea on the coffee table. 

She rolled her eyes at his comment then went to sit on the couch to glance at both older couples. Her eyes landed on the already cold cup of tea for her to drink. The heiress doesn’t mind since it’s basically drinking iced tea without sweetening or added flavor. She waited for them to speak while sipping the cup. 

Historia took a glimpse at Levi then back to her granddaughter. “Sweetheart, we’re worried for you. This is not just any light scandal you have been in. This scandal involved you and some man being taped while having sex. Of all the things, this I can’t tolerate anymore of your wild party life. You forget you’re a royal and a member of the Ackerman clan.” 

The younger Ackerman wanted to scream from the frustration she felt. That tape was not how they think it happened. She didn’t know the guy was filming her. It's a crime for what that asshole did, but of course they don’t understand. Her grandparents are from different generations with different perspectives than hers. 

Don’t they understand how this made her feel? On that morning, she was watching tv at her apartment eating cereal when the headlines started to show. She felt sick and betrayed. How could he do this to her? The guy, Darren, is nice and charming. She thought he was different. Nope, her taste in men is like a pattern of bad karma. Natasha had texted him but didn’t respond. When she decided to go to his place, he was busy entertaining some friends. Oh the rage in her came out. She made everyone leave and once it was just her and him; there were arguments and some plates thrown at him. Low key she could have given an old Ackerman ass kicking, but that would lead to getting arrested.

After the drama, she didn’t come out of her apartment due to paparazzi and noisy people. Her poor grandmother was expecting her to visit. It was too much to the point her PTSD returned. Her psychiatrist suggested she go to the safest place for her. So she packed up to spend some time with her paternal grandparents and prayed they would listen and understand her what she was going through. Sadly, none of those didn’t happen. Her other grandmother doesn’t know yet. She made sure it keeps it that way. The heiress doesn’t want her nana to get distress since her cancer has returned and is becoming worse. Now, all she hears was their rants as she zoned out from all these events had happened. 

“Natasha? Natasha? Are you even listening?” Historia tried to get her granddaughter’s attention. 

“Oi, brat. Answer your grandmother.” He used his infamous authoritative tone. The college girl snapped and glanced at both of them. 

“You know, only Uncle Erwin had asked me how I was feeling. He listened to what really happened and didn’t judge me. Both of you, had not once asked me how I am feeling since the scandal was broken. I was hoping my family would be a bit understanding and listen to me because I would never sink myself to that. All I got here was I should be ashamed of myself or take responsibility. And guess what, I had been feeling ashamed and disgusted because the whole world saw me exposed and it was without my consent. If this conservation will lead to more scolding and family’s reputation then I’m done here.” She gets up to roughly palace the cup on the saucer then walks to the doors to open. The heiress slammed the doors. 

Fuck everything here. If she can go somewhere to be safe and herself, then it will help her not to lose insanity. Natasha didn’t feel her tears were falling. The heiress kept going until she was outside in the royal private garden. The distressed girl sat on the bench to let the tears become sobs. 

“Mom...Dad..if you were still alive, would you believe me? Would you understand me when I need it the most? I’m just tired of everything. I missed you both…” The brown haired woman whispered as her eyes stared up at the stars. 

Natasha loved to be in the garden whenever she’s alone. It’s helped her clear her thoughts and calm her emotions. Right, in front of her a mini section of lavenders. It was her 16th birthday present. Its scent was soothing and relaxing. They’re one of her favorite flowers along marigold and winter roses. While enjoying the stars and the flowers, her phone rang. She pulled out from her pocket jeans and answered. 

“Hey Stella, what’s wrong?” her tone instantly changed to concerning. 

On the phone a woman who’s one of her friends and coworkers for S.H.I.E.L.D. “Hey Natasha, I know you’re on vacation but you need to come back. The Time machine had not been working.” Stella said on the phone. 

“Have you tried rebooting or shutting down the machine?” Natasha said, trying to figure out the solution. 

“Yes, I did it a few times. Also, I add fuel before doing anything. I need it to have it running by tomorrow.” Stella said with anxiousness. 

“Just send me the data on my phone and I’ll check it out what’s the problem. If it’s something too serious, I’ll fly back to the Headquarters to fix it.” Already, browsing her phone to check the data that was being sent to her. 

On her mother’s side, she got the brains, but on her father’s side the physique of a fighter. Growing up without alive parents had made her determined to learn to be prepared to protect herself and any loved ones that matter to her. The heiress had joined S.H.I.E.L.D around after high school. At first, she was stubborn to be part of the next generation of the Avengers until Director Maria Hill gave her old videos of her late grandfather, Tony Stark aka Ironman. 

Beside being named after one of the original members, Natasha Romanoff aka Black Widow, also gave her another reason to join. Both of them had made sacrifices to save the planet and the population. The least she could do was to honor them and not to let their death be in vain. 

After searching up to find any problem that was causing the machine not working, Natasha sighed and called back Stella. 

“Hey Stella, it’s a bigger problem than we thought. I’ll catch a flight asap. I’ll see you later then.” Once the call was over, the woman got up to go back to the palace to pack up to leave 

By the time she got to her room packing up, a knock was heard. “Come in.” She said. 

Historia opened the door to enter then closed it. “Natasha...we owed you an apology.” The queen noticed her granddaughter packing up her things. 

“Are you planning to go back home already?” She was concerned. 

“Yeah, there’s an emergency that needs me.” the heiress sounded vague.

“Oh dear, is Pepper getting worse?” Historia frowned from being worried for the older woman.  

“No and thank god it’s not that emergency. I just need to go.” The truth was only nana knew about Natasha being part of the Avengers. If her Eldian grandparents were aware, they would become overprotective and prevent her from joining. It’s best this remains a secret plus she’s a grown woman who can make decisions. 

“Honey, if your leaving became the argument earlier, we are sorry. Please don’t leave. We’ll hear your side of the story in the morning.” The blonde queen pleaded with her only granddaughter to stay. Historia had missed her. They may have differences, but her love for her is big as the rest of the family. Her fear was seeing her granddaughter going into a dark path. 

Natasha sighed as she finished packing. “It’s not a fight, grandma.” 

“Then what is it?” She said as trying to understand Natasha. She has become very mysterious and distant towards everyone except her only remaining son and her youngest daughter, Kuchel who is taking an internship in Hizuru for political foreign affairs as her major. To the rest, Natasha shuts them out. 

“It’s just work. A colleague of mine called me and said that they found some documents but it’s in some ancient language they haven't seen.” The heiress said. 

“Can they send it to you through your phone or laptop?” Historia said. 

“No, they are old and ancient so they’re fragile. I will have to look at them closer and decode into English.” The young woman hated lying to her grandmother. If she told her the truth, more drama would erupt and right now; the young Ackerman wasn’t in the mood for another drama. 

Of course, Historia felt her granddaughter was not being honest to her, but she will let it slide. Maybe after she comes back, they will talk about it. 

“Alright then. Do you need the driver to take you to the airport?” Historia offered her help. 

“Yeah that would be appreciative. Thank you, grandma.” The dark haired woman said. 

After she left the palace, Natasha arrived at the International airport. The heiress got through security measurements until she finally entered her terminal where the plane awaits for passengers. She goes find her seat number. As Natasha Ackerman took her seat, a man who was already seated by the window had taken a glance at her. The heiress was minding her own business until she saw the man staring at her. 

“May I help you?” She said annoyingly. If this is some under covered paparazzi, she’ll throw him out of the window. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare at you.” He went back to reading his book.

The brunette also went back to reading but she took another quick glance at the man which by the way, he was hot. He probably has long hair since it was tied into a bun only a few strands of hair sticks out from the forehead. The one thing that caught her attention was his emerald green eyes. 

For hours the flight was boring. Not once has that hot guy haven’t started a conversation. She probably made a bad impression. She made a yawning sound since dawn is about to rise soon. The heiress can take a couple hours nap before the plane arrives at her destination. Her eyes slowly closed as she fell asleep. While in a deep sleep, her head slowly leans to lay on the hot stranger’s shoulder. A light deep chuckle was heard along a few words. 

“Always and forever, Eve.” Natasha doesn’t know whether it was a dream or not. The way it sounds had made her feel safe and sound. It was the best two hour nap she ever had. When she woke up, almost everyone was gone including the hot guy. She was about to get up, but the woman saw a winter rose on her lap. The heiress picked it up and smelled the rose. This strange man was mysterious and smooth. Whoever was this guy, he made her day. 

(End flashback)

Eve had looked back from the events that lead to now. The time machine that she helped to make it work had glitched which sent her to this era. Luckily, it was in Paradis, but it was the time where this side of the world was going through a huge change that caused a huge war. She remembered World History about Eldian history along with those affected. What’s worse is that she encountered and fell in love with one of the notorious historical figures, Eren Jaeger. The brunette let out a frustrating scream then kicked the poor little rock on the ground. 

“Damn you, Eren. Why did you have to walk into my life?” She sighed. How long had she been here? Weeks? Months? It felt like years and Eve just missed home where she can cuddle up in her bed while eating coffee flavor ice cream with oreos while watching some cheesy romantic movies on Netflix. 

She saw a group of people with green caped hoods. The Ackerman from the future quickly hides within the trees. The heir decided to climb up to hide better. As she was about to grab the branch close to her reach, it snapped which she fell from the tree. Eve closed her eyes to wait for the hard fall. Instead, she opened her eyes to see a very familiar green eyes. 

“Eve, you should be careful. These woods are dangerous. What are you doing here by the way?” Eren said while carrying her in bridal style. 

The heiress realized Eren had caught her from falling. This feels awkward and painful. His hurtful words were still fresh on her mind. She glared at him then scoffed. 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you so I would appreciate it if you would put me down.” She said with a cold tone. 

Eren wasn’t amused with her coldness towards him. After all, he did leave things on bad terms. “Did you follow me? Damn you woman. You just can’t take a hint of rejection.” 

Oh no. He did not just say that. Natasha’s pride begins to boil with rage. That asshole has some nerves.

“Excuse me? Like hell, I would follow you! Seriously, are you this much of a dick? You know what. I’m just gonna leave.” She humped, then turned around to leave. Eren stopped her by grabbing her arm. 

“Hey, wait. It’s best to come with us since you’ll get yourself lost here.” She glanced at him annoyingly. 

“I can handle myself, thanks.” She said stubbornly. 

“Eve, I’m serious. I don’t want you to be alone in the woods especially when we’re at war.” His tone had become a bit aggressive due to her stubbornness. 

“Why do you care? You left me at the inn. You made it clear that all I was someone to warm up your bed.” Tears were threatening to come out, but she was holding in. 

“I care enough for an innocent being in the crossfire when shit goes down.” Eren said. 

“How fucking noble you are?” She said sarcastically. 

Eren grunt from her attitude. Without saying much, he gripped her arm to drag her to where the Garrison and MPs soldiers were making campgrounds for the night. 

“Hey, let go! Eren, where are you taking me?” She was trying to free herself from his strong grip. 

“You ask too much.” He grumbled. They reached the campsite. 

“Jaeger! Who do you have here?” One of the garrison soldiers shouted as they were spotted. 

The heiress gave up the struggle as Eren took her. “Just a bratty acquaintance that I know back at Trost.”  This made her scoffed at him. 

“Oh hello there, dollface. I’m Rick. What’s your name?” Great. This random soldier is hitting on her. She was about to say something, but Eren beats to it. 

“She doesn’t like being called a dollface.” Eren was getting irritated. 

“But I don’t mind introducing myself. Hello there, I’m Eve. it’s nice to meet you.” Her tone became too flirty for Eren already glaring at her. She finally jerks her arm off from his grip. 

Rick blushed from Eve’s bold gesture. “That’s a pretty name.” 

Eve gave one of her man-eating smirk. “You don’t mind showing me around the campsite, soldier.” She wrapped her arms around the garrison soldier’s arm which he gladly led her to the campsite leaving a very moody Eren behind.  

(Eren)

Oh the inner conflict he’s struggling with not grabbing Eve and claiming those addictive lips. This isn’t just a cute jealousy that he usually gets. This is the angry jealousy. Damn her, she definitely can get him under his skin. Eren closed his eyes as he took a deep breath to calm down. 

“Don’t lose it. Fight.” He mumbled to himself. 

Eren started walking. Connor stopped him. “What’s wrong? You look like a bobcat ready to attack.” 

“It’s nothing. I just have a headache.” The titan shifter walked away. Connor glanced to see the strange girl talking to the fiery red hair soldier. 

While Eren was walking to start making his tent, a cough sound was heard behind him. He turned around to see it was Commander Dok. 

“Oh hello Commander Dok. Is there something you need to talk about?” Eren gave his attention to the Commander of the Military Police. 

“Yes. Matter in fact, why did you bring a stranger to our secret campsite? We don’t know if the girl is a spy for the invaders. Her accent is not from here or even Marley. I know you want to redeem yourself for the betrayal and the atrocities you have caused in Marley. You’re making it difficult to have my complete trust in you and it’s not just me feeling this way. Commander Rico Brzenska of the Garrison branch also had her mistrust with you.” Niles said. 

“Commander, I understand you and Brzenska are on edge, especially the templars that took over the island. Eve is not a spy I assure you. She probably followed me since we left on bad terms. She’s harmless. Both of you have nothing to worry about.” Eren took a glimpse at his ex who was still being too friendly with the other soldier. 

Niles sighed and nodded. “She’s your responsibility if she does anything suspicious, Jaeger.” 

Eren nodded in response. “Of course, sir.”  

Niles walked away to let the titan shifter finish setting his tent. Again, the Eldian man took a sneak peak at the spunky woman. She was finally alone which it ease his agonizing heart. He knew this was his fault for leaving her after the promises he told her in their pillow talks. Eren felt the guilt for breaking her heart as the scene of her reaction when he told her off. 

It’s like the Path pulled them together. He can try to distance himself from her, but in the end she will always be in his thoughts. When he met her, Eren was frustrated and distracted. His distraction became curiosity to finally get to know her. Eren quickly focused back on his tent as Eve glanced back at him. Both are stubborn when it comes to their relationship dynamics. He always was the strong, protective alpha hero while as for her; she was playful, fun, and loving. There was another side of Eve that he noticed in their weeks of being together. 

The sky started to get a bit dark as the sun slowly set on the horizon. Rico Brzenska glanced at the new girl. 

“You. Go be useful and bring firewood.” She ordered Eve which the heiress became annoyed but got up to go into the deeper woods. 

“Jaeger, go make sure she does it.” Rico said to Eren who already started walking to follow Eve into the deep woods. 

Eren kept walking on the thin path of the woods as it gets dense the further he’s away from the campsite. The woods looked lush green with trees and old huge trunks that laid on the ground for centuries covered in green plants and wildflowers. The moist made the temperature drop a bit cooler, but to the titan shifter it doesn’t bother him. He was getting irritated from not finding his girl- no, she’s not his...anymore. 

“Where is she?” He whispered then a familiar purple skirt caught his attention. He turned to spotted Eve picking up a couple of sticks. Slowly, Eren walked towards her. 

Eve was aware Eren was tailing after her. She gets up and pretends he doesn’t exist. It only took a few steps for the atmosphere to change between them. Eren felt his predator desiring his prey. All she was a manipulative, promiscuous, vixen. Eren may be the type to get mad easily, but with her it was another level. He remembered earlier the way she flirted with Richie or was it Ricky? He doesn’t care to know about the soldier’s name. Eren watched her pace speed up  until she sprint into running. She had dropped the sticks to speed further. Eren ran after her. The adrenaline of chasing her made his bloodstream pump more. 

Eren smirked when Eve trip but recovered from placing her hand on the tree. Her breathing was shallow from the running. He was already behind her pressing his chest on her back which she became stiff. 

“I know what you were trying to do earlier with that soldier.” His voice became raspy. He can hear her heart beating faster. His warm breath tickling her ear and neck. 

The heiress bit her lips from not letting out a single moan or sound. Oh god, he’s making it harder to hate him. Of course, she can’t hate him. He’s always known how to drive her crazy for him. How his sexy voice made her panties ruin. She let her eyes closed to continue listening to his godly husky tone.  

“You have been pissing me off, baby. Trying to make me jealous huh?” A growl had escaped from his lips. 

“Trying? I had no intention of making you jealous.” Eve finally speaks. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Eve. I know you. I gotta give it to you. You’re persistent. There’s one question that’s bothering me the most.” He said

“What would that be?” She said. 

“Why didn’t the power of the Founding Titan work on you to erase your memories of me?” Eren had that question from the back of his mind since he caught her from falling from the tree. 

Eve had stayed quiet again. She is trying so hard to not want to answer that question. It should affect her since she has Eldian blood in her. Unless, she is a descendant of the Ackerman clan like Mikasa and Captain Levi. 

“I want you to be honest with you, Eve.” He tried to change his tone to softer for her. All she did was laugh like it was the funniest joke. 

“Honest? You are a funny guy to be demanding me to be honest with you, Eren Jaeger.” Her grey eyes glared dangerously in a way that’s familiar to him again. 

“Ever since I met you, you haven’t been honest with me either. You didn’t want to tell me of your plans whenever you claimed you had meetings to go. Recently, you have been pinning me on the tree because you got possessive of me. For a man who claims to have no feelings for me; this shouldn’t bother you whether who I flirt with.” Both lock their eyes in a staring contest. 

“So if you want me to be honest then you fucking better stop with your bullshit of pushing and pulling my heart. I know you still love me and feel that desire just as much I feel for you. Eren, whatever this secret it is, I will share your burden. I love you so much that I don’t want you to feel alone in this secret plan you needed to do. Maybe, I can offer you another alternative if you need it.” Now, her tone became compassionate. 

“There’s no alternative way if there were I would choose the best and safest one.” He said. 

“How would you know that? Have you considered it?” She said. 

“No, but trust me I know. I have the knowledge of truth. I saw how the future will become if I don’t do it.” He was getting frustrated. A part of him wants to tell her, but it’s too risky for anyone to know even for her. Eren doesn’t want anything terrible to happen to her. Just as she said, he loves her. 

“Then tell me what did you see in the future? I want to understand you. Let me in, please.” Her hands are placed on his cheeks to gently caress them.

“I can’t. Please, understand that. I want to protect you and our people. It’s better than my brother’s method on saving Eldians.” He scoffed at the idea that Zeke had to save the Eldians. 

“What was your brother’s plan? Can you at least tell me that?” She was curious what his brother had in mind to save the Eldian race?

“He wanted to sterilize all Eldians in order to stop the curse by dying out slowly and peacefully.” He explained. 

“That’s an indirect genocide.” She was a bit distrubed. 

“We don’t deserve to die out so in a way I betray my brother by doing this. That’s the future I want to see where Eldians are free from the curse and are at peace to live and enjoy this world that’s our birthright.” He said. 

“No, we don’t. Nobody deserves to be annihilated as well…” She whispered. This caught his attention. Does she….had she figured it out what’s his plan?” His green eyes glared at her. 

“You knew it. How did you figure out my plan? Eve, you have been mysterious since we met. So tell me, who are you for real? Is Eve even your real name?” His tone was skeptical. 

“I...Eren, if I told you, you might think I’m crazy or making shit up.” Her eyes looked afraid  but not because of him. 

“I don’t think whatever you’ll say will top for the crazy shit I have seen through the Path, but you can try to humor me.” Eren still giving a pinning stare. 

“First of all, Eve is my name. Well, my middle name. I’m Natasha Eve Ackerman-Stark. I’m the granddaughter of Queen Historia Ackerman nee Reiss and King Consort Levi Ackerman. Basically, I’m from the future.” Natasha waits nervously for his reaction. 

Eren blinked at first taking in this information. He doesn’t know what to say. It kind of made all sense how she had strengthened, sharp aiming skills. Now that he observed better, she got Levi’s colored eyes but her eye shape could be more on her mother's side. He would have not believed her if he hadn’t seen her Ackerman traits that gave away. That also makes sense in why she was immune to the Founding Titan power. He can’t believe she’s from the future. What actually happened? Did his plan work? Are we free? These questions were taking over his thoughts. 

“Eren...please say something.” Natasha whispered in worry. 

“I’m just taking all in from what you just said. So their baby survived? Wow, if Levi finds out I slept with his granddaughter; I don’t think he’ll let me live.” He chuckled at that thought. The heiress grumbled at that thought. 

“Yeah well, he got no saying about my love life.” her tone sounded resentment. 

“Do you have a good relationship with Levi?” He was curious. 

“Not really. I don’t have a good relationship with them. Our mindsets are a bit different.” She doesn’t want to talk about her issues with her grandparents yet. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said. “So what happened or is that against  the rules when you traveled to the past?”

“We are still cursed but with good foreign relations with the rest of the world, the United Nations are now involved in managing to make sure who gets to inherit the nine titans so any babies with the blood of Subject Of Ymir won’t inherit when they are born. There’s still discrimination but segregation like in Marley had become illegal including every nation since a special law was passed to protect ever Eldians.” She explained. 

“Ah I see. So what happened to me?” If he somehow tried to wipe out the rest of the world except Eldians then there’s a chance he would not live. 

“What the history books say, you were executed for treason to the military and to my grandmother as she represents the nation of Paradis, but I heard rumors that they fake it to please the other nations as their agreement for the treaty Paradis have with the rest of the world. You were known as a war criminal and anti- humanity to everyone who studied history. Some say you are still alive and locked away in the deep deep grounds in a secret lab being studied like a labrat until the curse kills you.” Eren grunted. In the end no one was free. They were still cursed and he probably was a slave to be a test subject for titan science. 

“That doesn’t sound right. I should be dead either way since I have a few years left.” Eren said. 

“I wish it was true the rumor so when I do go back my time, I can free you.” her tone sounded sad. She thought what the future Eren will be like? Is he cold? How do they treat him? But like he said, he’ll be gone way before her existence. 

 It’s best to just appreciate he is here and ok. She grabs his hand to press her palm to his. Eren looked down curiously at her. He let her do whatever she tended to do with his hand. 

“I’ll be dead so you don’t have to worry about freeing me.” He whispered. Eren pulled her gently to have their bodies pressed against each other. 

“When are you going back to your time?” He continues. 

“Um, I don’t know...the thing is I came here accidentally. I was helping a colleague with a time machine, the facility I worked at. So, I’m stuck until I figure out how to get back home.” She doesn’t want to leave even without him. 

“You know, I never planned to fall for you, Eren Jaeger. You are nothing like what history has taught us. You’re much more humane than most people my nana used to deal with as a CEO.” Her arms wrap around his neck which his hands place on her hips. 

“Same, you have been a distraction to my plan. In a way, history has changed because of you. The world better be thanking you for that.” He said jokingly. Eren kissed her forehead affectionately. “Eve or I should call you Natasha?” 

“To be safe, let’s stick to Eve.” She said. 

“Alright, but I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. I don’t mean to say these words at the inn. I thought it was best for you to hate me so you don’t get closer to me when I did plan on going through eradicating the population except Eldians. WHen I realized that I have fallen for you, I got scared thinking of losing you. I did the same with Armin and Mikasa. Armin forgave me but Mikasa; I don’t think she will ever.” Eren confessed. 

“Eren, I forgive you. I felt relieved you still feel the same way about me as I do to you. Don’t give up on Mikasa, a person who has cared about you for a long time will not easily hold a grudge against you. Just give her time, but don’t be scared to tell how sorry you are and as for her forgiveness.” She punched his arm which he rubbed his arm. 

“Hey what was that.” He pouted. 

“That’s for you being an idiot in believing all the people who cared about you will hate you easily for planning an apocalyptic disaster. I know you said there’s no other way, but can you try to consider it? I don’t want to lose my other family. I know they didn’t do anything wrong. Some didn't deserve it.” Eren sighed. If the outcome hasn’t happened as he hoped for then maybe he’ll consider it.  

“The only thing I want to know is how will the curse be broken?” Eren wants to be cursed to be destroyed to free their people from being hated and feared by the rest of the world. That's one of his big concerns. 

“We’ll figure it out together. Plus, I have a talent for finding very hidden documents. So we’ll make sure our people will not have to worry about it.” She assured him and gave one of her warmth smiles. 

“Jaeger! Eve! Where are you?” A familiar voice was heard by those two. Eren pulled Eve to hide behind a very wide tree as they saw Ricky or whatever his name was. Now Eren’s mood had shifted to annoyance. 

“Seriously, why does he have to come? He’s probably volunteering to be close to you.” He grumbled. Eve blushed embarrassingly. Yeah, she does have flaws to pissed off people or make them jealous. She felt guilty for making him feel that way, She was so hurt that she wanted to see him be hurt too. 

Eren noticed her face blushed which made his annoyance become irritated. He possessively wraps his arm around her waist to hold her closer to him. Once the garrison soldier gives up and goes back to the campsite, both are alone again. This time Eren turned her to face him. She was about to speak when his lips crashed against hers. The fiery feeling spread all over her body. She moaned how passionate and deep his kiss had become. Her fingers move up to his long hair to run through it. Low key, seeing Eren this jealous made her belly flutter. The way his green eyes become intense and darken; it’s just too irresistible for her. Eren pushed her against the tree to pin her again. The pleasure consuming both as the lusting feeling drunkenly blinded them. 

Eve was her own person that Eren knows, but he’s possessive. He wanted to leave his markings on her so others would back off. Their dynamic is like those impulsiveness couples that are addictive and passionate with each other. He loved how her body responded to his touches. It’s like only he has the power to make her tremble and beg for more. The same vice versa as how Eve acts towards him. In a way they are both similar. They made be in the woods but that won’t stop to go further. Their bodies already yearn for each other. His hands had unbuttoned her blouse to run his tongue all over her exposing breasts. 

Soft moans were coming from her own lips. She was panting loud and heavy. It made Eren’s prides swell from seeing her looking like a hot mess. His hand goes under her purple skirt to feel how soaking wet her panties are. His lips hovered to her ear. 

“My dollface is so wet for me. Isn’t that right, baby? Come on, speak.” He said huskily. 

“Mmmm I-I...Eren.” She struggled to form a sentence. He chuckled how lost she is from his touch. His finger slides her panties down as one of her legs is removed so only her panties dangle on the other leg.  

“Come on, babe, answer my question.” He teased her. Eren resumed attending her nipples with his mouth which Eve let out a squeal. 

“Fuck...Eren I-I a-am w-wet for y-you.” Finally she completed her phrase. 

“Good girl. Remember I’m the only one who can make you wet.” He continued whispering to her. All she could feel was his fingers inside her deep. She started to rock her hips grinding in and out of his fingers. Eren is amused at how eager she is for him. His finger was covered in her warm slick when he pulled out to see. 

“Eren, I need you.” She began to make way to his pants from undoing it. He stopped her then pinned her hands over her head on the tree. “Why should I allow you to get what you want? You've been a bad girl earlier.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll be a good girl.” Eve biting her lips. She’s definitely a seductress. Eren’s manhood throbbing to be free in his pants. He grunts at being allured to her desire. He planned to just tease her to learn her lesson. 

He subconsciously begins to unbutton his pants to pull down a bit low enough for his cock to be free.  Eren hiked up her long skirt to have her leg lift to be placed on his hip while inserting his cock into her hole. The heiress tilted her head up to moan how good it feels to have him stretching her walls. He stared into her eyes as his hips began to thrust hard and deep. They feel the blissful sensation from being so intimated with each other. He kisses her neck as the woods are now dark but the moonlight shines on where they stand. To Eren, Eve looked like a goddess of the night seducing a man like him. He loved how the moonlight soaks into her skin that gives off a glow. He continues thrusting into her with a bit more roughness. He doesn’t want to speed up to make this mystical sight before him last longer. Her chocolate brown hair spread on the tree trunk. He listens to the echoes of her moanings  and whimpers. 

Yes, she is his. No matter the outcome; they always belong together. He’ll fight for that. 

“You’re always mine. Even when we get separated, you’re mine. I love you always and forever.” He proclaimed. 

“You’re always mine too. Just don’t ever pull that shit on me again. I love you always forever.” The titan shifter saw her tears fall and he kissed it from the guilt he felt how he treated her even if it was for her sake. 

Eren sped up a bit more to increase the high of pleasure for both of them. “Ohh god ohh fuck Eren.” Her moaning became loud while he growls and groans. Finally, he let out a moan when he made a release inside her soon after Eve came as well. Both stopped to rest for a second then slowly Eren pulled out to clean his tip before tucking his cock back into his pants and button again. 

Eve started to slide her panties back up then button up her blouse. She fixes her long skirt appropriately and her hair to look presentable. 

“Oh shit, it’s dark and I’m gonna get yelled for not bringing sticks for the fire.” She forgot what was her main purpose being in the woods. “You can be such a distraction.” 

Eren winked then grabbed her hand to lead her back to the campsite. “I’m not sorry. We’ll get some on our way back to the camp.” 

Along their way back, both of them gather many sticks of wood to burn for the fire. By the time they got to their destination, Rico glared at the both of them. 

“Well well, are you both done fucking like two animals during heat season? Next time, bring the woods when I order too. Seriously, you both have some weird kinks in being loud enough for anyone very close to hear.” Luckily, her voice wasn’t loud for anyone to hear her calling both couples out. Eren and Eve blushed embarrassingly from being scolded like misbehaving teenagers. After Rico finished scolding, she left them alone for them to place the wood close to the pit. Eren let Eve for her to put some wood into the fire to make it big to warm around the campsite. He walked to where Connor was resting against the log. “You look happy for once.” Connor glanced at him. Eren had a smile from the event that happened in the woods. “Yeah.” 

“Good, don’t let her get away. I had a woman like her, but I was stupid enough to push her away. Don’t make the same  mistake I did, kid.” The Assassin closed his eyes to resume his nap. 

A/N: My fingers are hurting from typing so much lol. I’ll just leave it like this and let you think about how you guys like this chapter. I know guys wanted to see more of Levi’s ancestor journey. I will do that in the next chapter and add more of Historia too. Enjoy this chapter everyone and happy valentine’s day!!!! Thank you for the reviews and kudos! Also, I have been planning to add Avengers into the crossover. I am just waiting for the right time in the story.