#if I had a team comprised of absolute favorites of mine

[xgoldenlatiasx]

I want everyone to know that this thing is probably one of my new favorite pokemon

[your-write-or-die-blog]

It had been a while since my last casting call. Looking around me now at the que of girls wearing 90’s style windbreakers, crisp new vans, and highlight on the tips of their noses, I felt as though I had been thrust into a world of Instagram models and I’d received an invite on accident. The open call was massive, for a pop band music video coming out in the summer. The line of girls snaked halfway around the Hollywood studio lot, adjacent one set comprised of six or seven fake houses that looked vaguely like something I’d seen on television. I squinted at them for a moment and racked my brains. Dexter, maybe? The girl in line behind me caught my eye and craned her neck in the same direction, eager energy exuding from her. I turned a little bit to smile at her, but couldn’t tell if she’d noticed behind her dark aviators. Maybe she was as nervous as I was. Maybe she was just so flat out gorgeous and cool that she didn’t think I was worth her acknowledgement. I knew from past experience how ruthless Hollywood was. Even though this was my fifth casting call this month, and even though I’d been working to put some weight off and had even gotten up early to do my hair, I began to feel more and more unprepared and out of place in my plain black jeans, doc martens and casual spaghetti strap top. I realized I hadn’t even taken time to read the email from the casting company. Convinced I wasn’t going to make any friends in line, I pulled it up on my smartphone. My stomach sank a bit. The company was looking for a “love interest” role, and warned that actors should be prepared for the audition to include “physical touch” and other possible “romantic gestures”. The coffee on my breath became brutally apparent and I considered ditching the audition entirely. How and why did I not stop to read the stupid email before driving here and freaking out over the lack of parking for almost an hour? My mind began to race. What if the lead singer was gross? “Romance” wasn’t exactly my forte either – I had never gone out for a “love interest” role. This is why I needed an agent. After a few deep breaths, I found a stick of gum in the bottom of my purse along with my resolve. I was already here and I needed the money, I thought. Waiting tables at the Mel’s on Sunset simply wasn’t cutting it, and if this band was as big as this massive turn out led me to believe, I knew it would mean a nice chunk of cash if I somehow landed the part. Plus, music was a huge part of my life – I’d been writing songs on piano since I was 12. To help make someone’s music come to life on screen would be an absolute pleasure of mine… I just hoped their music was good. The sun began to set and the temperature dropped a bit, a refreshing and welcomed change that seemed to help calm my nerves. To help pass the time I put on my headphones and cranked up my favorite 80’s music: Depeche Mode, Oingo Boingo and Fleetwood Mac. Before too long I found my way to the front of the line. The clipboard lady gestured for me to pause as she held her ear to a mess of static through her walkie. She eyed me and my plain face and smiled patiently, then sighed and shook her head. “I’ve got no clue what he just said,” she admitted. “You’re adorable honey, you’re gonna do great,” she said as she checked my ID’s. She looked like she’d been on her feet for hours now, but the sentiment seemed genuine and I smiled back appreciatively. She handed me a ticket. “You’re number 412,” she said, “don’t lose that ticket.” My stomach sank again. 412, I thought. There’s no way I’m getting this part. The next clipboard-person was a tall gay man, head bald as a bowling ball. He singled me out as I walked by and asked if I had my portfolio. I handed it over and he flipped through it, looked at me somewhat indifferently and then directed me to a room off to the left. My palms were sweating. What if I didn’t fit the part and this was the end? The situation became more and more real. I jumped when he began instructing us, not realizing that he had followed along behind me. “Okay, ladies, watch your step - NICE shoes, file in loves, careful now” he said in a thick British accent, ushering myself and a few other girls into a dark, cool room.  The entrance to this stage had a little sitting area – I found a seat and stuck my hands between my legs, praying that they dry before something important started happening. I looked up – the ceiling was very high like a warehouse, the lights along it stark and expensive-looking. To break the silence I leaned over to the girl on my left, who had waist length blonde hair that looked incredible with her yellow corduroy miniskirt: “With the lights and stuff, it’s sort of like Costco in here, isn’t it?” She looked back at me confused and I decided I wasn’t going to speak anymore. The first part of the audition was more of a group interview – the bald clipboard guy picked me out with three other girls and I felt a surge of relief. I’d experienced auditions like this before – it was a great way for casting to get through more people more quickly. This casting team in particular thankfully seemed a lot friendlier than most I’d encountered, casual even. They only asked us our names and to tell them about ourselves – the blonde girl laid it on thick, charisma oozing out of every hand motion and inflection. The second girl seemed almost disinterested, explaining that she went to school in the area and that her friend had told her to come. Finally, they got around to me. A kind-eyed but important looking woman dressed in linen asked what had inspired me to audition. “I love music and I love to create,” I answered easily. She straightened a little bit and asked me to talk a little more about that. I suddenly felt very honest. "Music is such an important part of my life...and of society, it allows us to communicate what could otherwise be lost in a boring old conversation. People talk too much, I think..." I trailed off and became very aware that everyone's eyes were fixed on me now. I felt like I had somehow answered... correctly? She nodded agreeably and motioned for me to go on. "Well I like to write my own songs and I perform open mics sometimes when I'm feeling brave," I continued, "It's hard for me to bear my soul like that...working with someone who is brave for a living would be incredible."  The woman looked up from her notes and leaned over the table, smiling ear to ear. "Anything else, darling?" This audition was suddenly much different than any I had gone to before. My ears were burning. I untucked my curls to cover them.  "No," I laughed. "I guess that's it." The three directors laughed along with me, which felt amazing. The woman in linens stood up suddenly and removed her glasses so that they hung down on her neck. "And," she started, raising her eyebrows, "what do you think of Matty Healy?" The atmosphere in the room shifted at the name. The director lady smirked knowingly as the girl next to me melted just a little bit into her boots. I realized they all knew something that I didn't. Before I could embarrass myself by asking who Matty Healy was, suddenly he was there.  "Did I hear my name?" He was holding a cup of coffee without a lid, a large plastic clip holding his dark curls away from his face, which was scrunched up into a cheesy grin that sent butterflies rippling through my stomach. To complete the actor-on-set look he wore a gray sort of bathrobe over his wardrobe, charmingly mismatched with a beautiful pair of shiny black shoes.  The girls on either side of me unabashedly began to squeal. The directors smiled patiently as he came over to greet us. I watched three girls fall in love with the same man at the same time. "We're taking five," he said in a beautiful accent, taking the blonde girl's hand and kissing it very lightly.  "God, it's cold in here when you're not dancing about like a lunatic, innit?" he murmured to the group of us, explaining the bathrobe. He was so adorable that I couldn't help but hold the back of my hand over my mouth. He caught the motion and looked over at me now.  "Hi," he said, nodding to me as our eyes met. His were warm even in the harsh warehouse lighting.  He introduced himself: "I'm Matthew." Embarrassment froze me for a moment. Oh God, I thought. How long had he been standing around that corner?  He had probably heard the whole audition. But those eyes were so reassuring. Despite not knowing his name a mere ten seconds ago, I felt immediately comfortable with him. "Hi," I replied quietly with a laugh, surprising myself by leaning in to politely hug him around the shoulders. Matty did not seem surprised as all; catching my arms for a moment and holding them there. He smelled like hair product and cigarettes.  "Thank you," he hummed warmly near my neck so that only I could hear. "I needed that today." He sounded sincere. When he pulled away, I was grinning like an idiot.  "Erm," he started, tearing his eyes from me. "This project is very important to me and I've very grateful to you all for coming out and being a part of it. We're having a bit of a party for the next part of the audition so I hope to see you girls there," he smiled again and waved sweetly to everyone, murmuring something quickly to the director before shuffling back around the corner.  I continued desperately to try and calm the redness in my face as the rest of the models openly fan-girled to one another, glancing over at me with a mix of delight and envy.  "Okay, ladies," the woman with the glasses chuckled, waiting for us to settle. "Like Matt said, this next part of the audition we're going to have a sort of mock-shoot just to test if you're compatible - " The bald man threw his hands up in exasperation. "Nora means we want to see some chemistry, duh." Nora rolled her eyes good-naturedly as we all turned to "ooh" at each other, "right, exactly, so there's going to be some dancing involved, we're going to play a little clip of music and we just want to see you interact with Matty and have a good time. As specified in the email if you're not comfortable with this we thank you for coming out anyway. Go ahead and have a seat in the waiting area and we'll come grab you when we're ready for you, there should be water and snacks in a couple minutes." Out of 412 girls auditioning, the waiting area only had a couple dozen. The vibe was different from before, the ice had been broken and all the models chatted excitedly, sipping water, munching grapes and crackers. Not all of them had been there to meet Matty, and they teemed up around me after hearing that we'd had a little moment. Thirty minutes went by and only one girl had been asked to the set. Nora popped in and my heart sank. An extra-cautious layer of professionalism coated her voice this time.  "Hello ladies, just a reminder that we had a massive turn out today and unfortunately we can only consider a few of you. We really are grateful to you for showing up but Matty and the team are looking for someone pretty," she paused, "specific ... when it comes to this video in particular and we are doing our best today. Thanks again for your patience." She smiled dryly and dipped out, hateful eyes amounting on her back. I swallowed dryly.  Another ten minutes went by and two models had already given up, packing up their things with heels clack-clacking through the stage door. The quintessential Hollywood phrase was "hurry up and wait", but forty minutes had never felt quite so long to me. Finally, Nora reappeared and pointed at me with that knowing smile. It was only then that I realized I'd been holding my breath - I sighed out in relief and hurriedly grabbed my jacket, ignoring the stares behind me.  While it was small, the set was much less "mock" than I anticipated: full lights and camera surrounding a simple white backdrop where a crew member sat in behind the drum set. A few other crew members were buzzing about, setting marks with tape on the floor, discussing angles, scrutinizing their notes. Matty sat on a director's chair behind the mic stand without his bathrobe this time, legs crossed. Before I could catch his eye I had a round brush in my face.  "Just a little shiny there," the makeup artist said to me, motioning my chin up to her. "God, you've got great skin... how old are you?"  I stumbled over my words, still getting my bearings. She waved in a "never-mind" motion. "You're over 18 though, right?" I nodded carefully as she dabbed rouge along my cheekbones with her ring finger. "There... just so these lights don't wash you out too much." She smiled and gave the hair around my face a couple twists and a spray. "Beautiful. Good luck!" Someone clapped their hands a couple times to get everyone's attention. "Alright, welcome Miss..?" I squinted past the lights and called out my name to who I assumed was the video director.  "Very nice, hi, yes," he sighed in the exasperated sort of way that directors do, "Okay! So - we're going to play some music and have you sort of perform with Matty here - dance, flirt, pull his hair, whatever you want, ok? Are you ready?" I nodded and a surge of confidence shot through me as Matty looked up with that smile, scooting the chair out of the shot and putting his hand on my shoulder as if we'd known each other for years.  "I do hope you don't pull my hair," he joked, "it took an awful long time to fix."  "I mean it's your video, Healy," I shrugged. My God, I thought. What a face.  The audition had already started and I didn't even realize. The audio was much less professional, a boom box off to the side started playing a song that I immediately recognized from the radio and I realized that the man who had decided just now to dip me was probably worth millions. I recovered from the dip and followed his lead as he whipped the mic around and began sort of half-singing, half mouthing along to the lyrics. Although the mic was off, up this close I could tell that his voice was absolutely lovely.  As he made his way behind the stand-in drummer he eyed me, still gauging. I took half a second to collect myself and followed the vibe of the song, deciding the sort of alt rock guitar riffs called for some hair shaking and punk-posing.  He took my hand and spun me into him as he propped one shiny shoe up onto one of the toms. I slid my hands along his shoulders and came up behind him; making eyes at camera 3 as he sang directly to it. Before the verse was over, I decided i couldn't help myself: I tugged his curls lightly and he sang the remainder of the verse directly to my face before making some sort of explosion noise and racing around me to get back to the mic stand for the guitar solo.  I was in awe of him. Once we made it back to the front I felt him switch to full-on performance mode, trusting that I could keep up with him now. And I could. Before long I realized we had gone through almost the entire song like this and the director looked significantly less bored than he did when I first walked in. The music stopped and the crew applauded us.  Matty tucked me under his arm and whisked us away from the lights for a moment. I was still catching my breath, yet he had barely broke a sweat. "That was, you were -!" "That was so fun!" I finished for him. He laughed and my heart melted.  "Really though, like -" He had the cutest way of tripping over his words. "Ugh," he gave up, hugging me instead. His face was so close to mine I felt his breath.  "And I heard what you said earlier in the group about music and, and erm - that was you right?" I nodded and he lit up like a little kid for a second. Seeing him happy like this was well worth the impossible parking, the waiting and the hours of nerves. He went on: "So, right, listen - I think we're doing a couple quick little callbacks but, dude." Matty Healy had just called me dude.  He fumbled in his trouser pockets for something and then motioned for me to wait, jogging over to behind the set. The crew members were all in a bunch now, reviewing the footage and speaking excitedly. When he returned he handed me a pen and a scrap of paper. "I've lost my - bleeding - phone again but please, would you write your number for me?"

to be continued

[kateyes224]

In My Silence

Author:  KatEyes224

Rating: R

Timeline:  Post-This, but before Plus One

A/N:  This story wouldn’t have seen the light of day were it not for a couple of very important people. Namely @mldrgrl, who didn’t ever let me give up on it, and @sunflowerseedsandscience and @mangokiwitropicalswirl who offer their unwavering support even when I don’t deserve it.

She loses him somewhere in the kitchen department, letting him disappear from her line of sight while she lingers, waylaid by a particularly handsome backsplash. Which they absolutely do not need, she reasons after three solid minutes of arguing with herself before finally moving on. But she’d been wanting to update the kitchen since they’d first bought the house; bullet-riddled drywall, she figures, is as good an excuse as any. And their ridiculously expensive homeowners’ policy is apparently finally going to pay off, so they may as well take advantage.

By the time Scully wanders over to the dining area to check out the table they’d picked out together online, she knows Mulder has probably given up on trying to find her. He stubbornly refuses to backtrack at IKEA, claiming it only gets him more turned around. And despite his alleged accrual of Indian Guides merit badges, the proof of which Scully has yet to see, he scoffs at conventional wilderness survival skills like staying put and waiting for help to come to him whenever he gets lost. They’d agreed in the car ahead of time to meet up at the cafe on the second floor if they got separated, so Scully starts heading that direction.

She immediately suspects ulterior motives. Mulder has once again managed to plan this outing to take place around lunchtime, and Scully assumes that his timing is calculated so that he can satiate his unaccountable love of Swedish meatballs.

Meandering through a maze of living room and bedroom furniture, Scully consciously quells the urge to quicken her pace when she finds herself walking past bunk beds and brightly colored children’s rooms, college corner desks and bins of extra-long twin bed sheets.

William would be looking at colleges this year, wouldn’t he? Studying for his SATs. Maybe courting college scouts for water polo or basketball or baseball. Or maybe he’d been an academic, in math league or on the debate team or winner of the science fair. Or maybe he’d been a thespian, or maybe he’d been a loner, or, or, or...

Next to a wall of framed mirrors, Scully closes her eyes against row upon row of her own fractured reflections and breathes deeply through her nose, trying to banish the onslaught of potential iterations of her son as quickly as they apparate. Fifteen years later and he is still every dark-haired, long-limbed boy she sees out of the corner of her eye until she dares to look twice.

William has never stopped being a residual image that appears, Turin-like, in every negative space in her meticulously constructed world. But Scully has learned to allow herself to feel the ebb and flow of both her guilt and her gratitude in these moments. Cognitive dissonance, if nothing else, at least drowns out all the other voices in her head; the ones that whisper about what she did to Mulder when she left him to wrestle with their ghosts all alone in their drafty old house, instead of what she did to William when she gave him away to a future without her, perilous and uncertain.

She cannot, however, stop herself from intentionally averting her gaze when she passes by the children’s play area just outside the IKEA cafe, where a very pregnant mother is loudly compromising with her young son for just five more minutes, and then it’s time to go. Scully squeezes her eyes shut as the woman cradles her swollen belly with one hand and digs the other into the small of her back.

Some reminders still hurt more than others.

She spots Mulder near the front of the line queued to order and is just to about to call out to him when another voice beats her to the punch.

“Mulder? Fox Mulder?”

Mulder turns to the source of the voice, a woman standing several people behind him in line, and Scully sees him quirk a smile of recognition that reaches all the way to his eyes.

She freezes, watching the interaction unfold from a distance with an almost clinically detached interest. Mulder’s social circle, she knows, has dwindled over the years to just a handful of people, mostly acquaintances. As she racks her brain to place this woman, Scully realizes with a pang of regret that she has comprised the bulk of that handful for the last decade or more. And, until recently, she had been doing her level best to leave Mulder behind.

She notices the woman’s blonde hair first, a lustrous mane that falls in golden waves around slender, tanned shoulders. Not a hint of gray, Scully discerns, biting her lip so hard it nearly bleeds. 

Mulder lets the few people between them go in front of him until he and the mystery woman are standing next to one another in line. He crosses his arms as they begin to converse, and Scully flushes hotly as she takes note of a typical Mulder maneuver when he dips his head and leans into her space so that he can hear her better. At one point, the woman turns into him to allow the person behind her to go ahead, and Scully catches a glimpse of her profile. A deep dimple appears in the woman’s cheek as she laughs at something Mulder says.

The two must reach a mutual decision to just order their food together because they finally approach the same register but pay separately. They then head over to a nearby table where a bored-looking blond boy of about six or seven in a baseball uniform is sitting.

Making her way closer, Scully takes in the woman’s tall, fit figure and makeup-free face. She has a wide, easy smile, which she unabashedly flashes up at Mulder as they continue talking.

As Scully nears, she begins to hear snippets of conversation.

“-eb’s little brother is already outgrowing the toddler bed, so we’re here looking at bunk beds. The boys are really excited about the idea of bunk beds, aren’t you, Caleb?”

Caleb smiles tightly and nods, obliging his mother, and throws his small fist into his baseball glove a few more times.

Mulder bends down, muscular arms resting lightly on his bent knees, looking up into the boy’s eyes. Someplace deep within Scully’s chest starts to ache, the twinge old and familiar. Mulder has always been wonderful with children, has always given due deference to their personhood no matter their age.

It was one of those things about him that Scully had always thought would have made him a wonderful father.

“What position do you play, Caleb?” she hears Mulder ask.

Caleb’s little boy voice is swallowed by the cacophony of knives and forks clinking against plastic plates and soda machines spitting ice into cups, and Scully finds herself leaning forward slightly as she continues towards their table, straining to hear.

“-na learn how to pitch.”

Mulder nods and glances up at the boy’s mother before meeting Caleb’s eyes again.

“You know, I pitched a couple of years. I used to be good at curveballs and changeups. But you’re gonna have to practice a lot if you want to be a pitcher. You think you can do that?”

Caleb nods down at Mulder, solemn.

The woman tugs gently at the bill of her son’s baseball cap. “I can’t keep him away from the baseball diamond. And if he’s not there he wants to be at the batting cages.”

Mulder’s smile widens. “I was the same way when I was his age.”

Scully sees the woman’s eyes sweep over her partner’s frame appreciatively. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Caleb stares at Mulder now with naked admiration. “Who’s your favorite pitcher? Mine’s Zach Britton.”

Mulder chuckles. “Britton’s pretty good. I’m a Yankees fan, myself. So I’m liking Severino these days.”

The boy wrinkles his nose. “Ewwww, the Yankees? Traitor.”

Mulder and the woman both laugh.

“Well, maybe one day…” his mother cocks her head, biting her lip as she glances between her son and Mulder, “Mulder here can show you how to throw a curveball, Caleb.”

Mulder chuffs as he rises, crossing his arms even more tightly across his broad chest as a blush creeping over his features. “I’d probably end up in the hospital if I tried to throw a curveball these days, Annie.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Annie says, reaching a tentative hand out and wrapping it around Mulder’s right bicep. “You look like you’re in pretty good shape to me.”

Scully, done observing, quickens her pace and plasters a smile on. “Mulder,” she says, still several feet away. “Here you are.”

Mulder startles, jerking his arm from Annie’s grasp. “Scully, hey. This is, uh, you remember, right? Annie. Anne. Anne Woodward. She was, uh, she was…”

A look of dawning comprehension flits its way over Annie’s face as she gauges Mulder’s stammering reaction with Scully’s sudden appearance. Annie glances down at Mulder’s left ring finger, then Scully’s, before she brings her eyes back up to Scully’s.

Subtle, Scully thinks. “No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” she says instead, smiling wider but barely unable to unclench her teeth. The woman is even more stunning up close. Glowing jade-green eyes and full lips. Gorgeous body.

Jesus.  

Scully holds her hand out. “I’m Dana-”

Annie reaches out to shake it firmly. “Agent Scully. I know. You probably don’t recognize me, but I was at Agent Mulder’s house last weekend. I’m an investigative technician with the Bureau. I was part of the team mobilized to collect evidence after the Purlieu incident last week.” She drops Scully’s hand. “Crazy stuff.”

Combing through her memory of the multitudinous faces and comings and goings of all the investigators that had torn their house apart for almost 48 hours, Scully thinks she might remember a blonde ponytail poking out of an FBI cap, gathering evidence. Scully had been in and out of their house herself during those few days, giving multiple statements to multiple agencies, appearing before a review panel.

“Right. Thanks for your help on that,” Scully says. “Agent Mulder’s house,” she emphasizes, “is quite literally a disaster, as you know, so I told him I’d help him pick out some replacement furniture. And I owe him a table.”

Mulder’s brow furrows. He starts to interject, but Scully shoots him a pointed glance. His mouth slams shut, but the confused crease in his forehead deepens.

Just then, Annie’s order number is called, then Mulder’s. Scully makes a show of looking at her watch, clearing her throat.

“Mulder, I’ll just go get the stuff from the warehouse and meet you at the car, okay? You can drop me off at my place on your way home.”

Scully turns and walks away before he has a chance to respond. She throws one last glance over her shoulder and swallows past the lump that rises in her throat as Annie beams up at Mulder. Scully nearly bumps right into the pregnant mother still arguing with her obstinate son as she stumbles towards the elevators.

xxx

As she waits for Mulder in the car, the silence humid and thick, Scully’s memory calls to mind an instance when she was quite young, perhaps ten or twelve years old, when her mother had driven her daughters to the coast after picking them up from school one afternoon. Maggie had stared out the windshield at the crashing surf until Melissa had finally asked what they were doing there. Maggie had blinked, glanced in the rearview mirror, and confessed to her daughters that she was jealous. She was jealous of the sea for the sway it held over her husband. 

As a girl, Scully had been stunned, and had said as much. She was surprised at her mother’s confessing such a thing, for wasn’t envy one of the seven deadly sins?

“Oh, Dana,” her mother had explained with a sad smile, as she’d turned her gaze away from her daughter and back to the green-blue curve of the horizon, “jealousy and envy are not the same thing. Envy is when you covet something of someone else’s that doesn’t belong to you. Jealousy is longing for what’s already yours.”

It’s taken years, but in the cabin of Mulder’s pickup, waiting for him to amble outof the store, Scully finally thinks she understands the distinction.

Apart from herself, Scully knows, Mulder has led such a loveless existence. But hasn’t she also done her best, even unwittingly, to ensure that his histrionic cycle of love and loss just keeps going, ad infinitum? Maybe Mulder has come to believe that a life with Scully is what he has earned, part of his unending doomed lot in life. To be loved by a woman who was not supposed to be able to bear him any children. To be loved by a woman who was destined to give him an impossible son only to give him away.

Scully is startled out of her reverie when Mulder opens the driver’s side door and slams it behind himself. He lets the silence stretch in the cab before speaking.

“What the fuck was that, Scully?”

“You tell me,” she answers, hating how petulant she sounds.

“Scully…” Mulder’s voice is low, dangerous. He twists the keys in the ignition with a jerk of his wrist and pulls out of the parking space. “Come on. You know me better than that.”

Scully doesn't respond. Does she know better? She and Mulder hadn’t really talked about where things were headed between them after the terrorist attack at the Ziggurat in Texas. She’d started staying over at the house with him more and more since her latest hospital stay, after her bout of unexplainable seizures. Remembering the surprisingly new heft of Mulder above her, the way he used their bed frame to leverage the angle of his thrusts, his head between her legs that very morning, she certainly knew where Mulder had been hoping things were heading.

But Scully had always doubted whether Mulder’s known what’s in his own best interests, especially when it came to her.

For her part, she hates herself for needing him as much as she does. He is her fatal flaw, her Achilles heel, the forbidden fruit that has been her undoing. You’d think she’d have learned her lesson by now, but here she is, twenty-five years later, still waging war with herself over him, holding him at arm’s length with one hand while drawing him closer with the other.

Mulder has pulled onto the highway before he starts talking again. There’s a plaintiveness in his voice that Scully can’t remember hearing in years, not since they first started working together. It burns, hearing him trying to convince her of something she knows shouldn’t be plausible, but probably is.

“Annie and I got to talking when she was at the house. She saw my bat and glove in the corner and asked if I was coaching Little League or something.”

Annie. 

Annie is tangible. Attainable. And obviously more than willing. She could probably still give Mulder another child, a little sister for her two boys.

Scully refuses to respond, allows the silence to unspool, become uncomfortable. Mulder struggles to fill the void, like he always does.

“I just, I told her I liked baseball, and we got to talking about Caleb, and how-”

“Mulder, I think this was a mistake.”

Mulder quiets. He stares at her profile. “Okay, fine. We’ll go to Pottery Barn.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Scully looks out the windshield. She can feel the phantom pressure of Mulder’s jaw clenching and unclenching.

“I think,” she begins, glancing at him and pressing on when Mulder closes his eyes, “I think we may be rushing back into this for the wrong reasons.”

“No, Scully.”

“No?” she asks, turning fully in her seat to look at him, incredulous. “No? When have we not been the worst possible option for one another?”

“Scully, where is this coming from?!” Mulder practically shouts at her. “Are you PMSing or something?”

“I’m perimenopausal, Mulder,” she retorts, “and maybe it’s time you started thinking about why we’re even together in the first place. And why we keep continuing to be together when it brings us nothing but heartache.”

Mulder lets another half a mile pass before he speaks again, and the gravel in his voice scrapes her heart raw.

“Are you really that unhappy with me?” he asks quietly, taking the turnoff towards her place.

“Are you really that happy when we’re together?” Scully asks. “Or are you just less miserable because you’re not all alone by yourself?”

“That doesn’t even make sense, Scully!” Mulder yells, slapping a hand against the steering wheel.

“Could you just stop being stubborn for a moment, Mulder,” Scully implores. “Just divorce yourself completely from the idea of you and me and think about it. Could you be happy with someone like Annie? Raising a family, having little boys to play catch with, someone to teach how to throw a curveball? A wife who actually stands a chance of getting pregnant again?”

Her heart feels like it’s withering in her chest, atrophied after so long without him and weary from trying so hard to hold on to what it was about him that made him so irreplaceable. But this is where she’s always failed where he has succeeded: Mulder has a knack for loving the memory of someone unconditionally, in spite of the many ways they’ve let him down.

He pulls up to the sterile, ridiculously overpriced townhouse that she’s insisted on maintaining since she moved out. It’s in a gentrified part of D.C., an industrial park that’s been modernized, and she knows Mulder hates it, even though he’s never said a thing about it. He slams on the brakes so hard that she winces when they screech. Mulder throws the car in park and stares out the windshield, refusing to look at her.  

“I know the difference between losing people and watching them leave, Scully.”

Scully stares at his profile. The strong line of his jaw has softened over the years, but it’s no less dear to her now than it was decades ago, shadowed by 5 o’clock stubble and the sherbet-colored light filtering in from the streetlamps half a block away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mulder,” she whispers, and she’s out of the passenger seat, slamming the door of the truck and turning the lock of her own place in less than thirty seconds without sparing a second glance behind her. 

He’s been watching her leave for years, she figures, as the automated front door beeps shut behind her. She leans into it, inviting the small measure of pain when she lets her skull thud against the hard wood. The sound of his truck idling lingers until he finally puts the car in reverse and crunches back down the driveway, giving her the space he knows she needs. 

One more night won’t kill them.

[nextstarblazers]

EPISODE 11

“Gamilon has the greatest scientists in our galaxy, but you all made one great mistake. Sometimes simple solutions are the best. And I guess the barbarians know that. They did it with their bare hands.” - Leader Desslok

The third week of STAR BLAZERS broadcasts began with an episode that was really kind of a stinker. Now that the Star Force has left our solar system and entered intergalactic space, we begin a cycle of adventures in which Derek Wildstar behaves like--there’s no easier way to phrase this--a flaming asshole. Whether this is due to his experiences with the crew last Friday or maybe just the pressures of the mission getting to the poor kid, the fact remains that he comes across in a number of these episodes as petty, juvenile, vindictive, spoiled, whiny and just not very heroic. I get the whole notion of the hero’s journey, but it’s really remarkable just how bad the show makes him look for the next week or so.

But before we get to that, let’s look in on our favorite enemy nation, Gamilon. With Colonel Ganz and Bane having been reduced to free-floating atoms, the Star Force needs a new nemesis--and for the next couple of episodes, it’s going to be the big guy, Leader Desslok, himself. This is a valuable decision, as we begin to get a sense of the man, and his particular style and quasi-nobility begins to present itself. As these qualities develop, Desslok will become one of the more fascinating villains in animation, and the template for many who would follow him.

It’s also at this point that the YAMATO production team made some retroactive decisions about the Gamilons, chief among them being the fact that they will henceforth be depicted with blue skin. In order to hand-wave away the fact that for ten episodes now the enemy has looked as Caucasian as the heroes, this episode opens with a sequence in which Desslok walks through a cheering crowd to his throne, moving from the “bad lighting” he’d been in that made him appear to be pale-skinned into proper Gamilon lighting, showing off his proud azure pallor. One must assume that the light on Titan and in both the Pluto Base and on Ganz’ command ship had the same properties as that of Desslok’s citadel up to this point.

General Krypt has also metastasized into the proper Gamilon hue, and he gives Desslok a rundown of the Star Force’s activities up to this point before turning the microphone over to a new character, General Talan. Considering what an important player Talan will be in the second series, he gets relatively little screen time in the first. Here, he informs Desslok that they plan to prevent the Star Force’s advance by creating an impassible barrier comprised of the new subtly-named Desslok Space Mines. 

Now, the idea that you could block off a ship’s trajectory in deep space with a minefield is a ridiculous idea, absolutely absurd. But still, Desslok is flattered by the attention, and the plan is put into effect. But when one of his subordinates interrupts Desslok’s toast to the occasion with a burst of maniacal mustache-twirling laughter, Desslok throws a switch and the soldier is trap-doored out of the room to an uncertain fate. “I can’t stand a man who laughs at his own jokes”, comments Desslok.

Approaching the minefield, Nova detects it on her radar, and the Star Force sends out an enormous “balloon dummy” Argo to probe the minefield. When it gets blown to smithereens, Venture moves to avoid the minefield altogether. But it’s too late for that, the mines are now attracted to the ship, and close in around it from all sides.

Cue Wildstar beginning to act like a know-it-all asshole. He gives Venture grief about his handling of the ship, suggests that they try to warp out of the minefield (”Think you’re a cowboy, Wildstar?” replies Sandor), then he gets in Venture’s face again about what the pilot’s bright solution might be, and Sandor has to restore order as the two bicker. Nova computes the current distance between the mines, and Venture is sure that he can navigate the ship through the field safely.

As Venture attempts the delicate maneuver, with everybody’s lives and the fate of Earth on the line, Wildstar decides that this would be a good time to give his buddy the business. “Hey, hotdog, do you really think you can make it?” says Wildstar, and it’s astonishing that the Captain doesn’t tell him to sit back down and shut the hell up. “You get us through those mines, and you’ll be a heeeero!” What an ass.

Seconds later, as the mines begin to move in faster, closing up all of the available gaps, it’s Wildstar whose nerve cracks first. “It’s too dangerous, stop the ship! If you stop, I promise I’ll never call you a space-jockey again!” Now trapped at the center of the minefield with the mines closing in on the Star Force, all eyes turn to Sandor for a solution. He in turn requests the help of IQ-9.

IQ-9 is having his own problems. When he shows up in the launch bay, he’s suffering from a case of the hiccups. “My new human characteristic” he explains to Sandor. It’s a weird beat, but no weirder than the explanation for it. Because in the original YAMATO episode, IQ-9 isn’t experimenting with a change to his programming, he’s drunk. That old reprobate Dr. Sane poured sake onto him, and this in some fashion has caused him to become inebriated. Making IQ’s hiccup’s self-inflicted was the best solution the dubbing team could come up with.

So Sandor and the somewhat-incapacitated robot set out in a search plane looking to track down toe control center for the minefield. As the web draws in tighter around the Star Force and Wildstar and venture continue to behave badly, Captain Avatar has finally had enough. He just about chews off poor Venture’s head when informed tat a mine is about to touch the ship, and orders him to tilt the Argo on its axis to avoid this. Strangely, he does nothing to reprimand the far-more-out-of-line Wildstar. 

From here, the rest of the mission is relatively perfunctory, cutting between Sandor coaxing the malfunctioning IQ-9 through locating and disarming the control mine while the Star Force continues to tilt the Argo five degrees at a time so as to not set off the minefield. Eventually, the inebriated/hiccupping robot manages to get the job done, and the mines stop moving. But Captain Avatar warns that they’er still dangerous. And maybe now is where he gives Wildstar his comeuppance, as Derek and the Black Tiger fighter pilots must venture outside the sip and clear away the still-explosive minefield by hand.

They do just that, as the Gamilons watch in astonishment. His trap a failure, Desslok needles his senior staff and makes them squirm: “Krypt. What was the name of your wonderful new weapon? It seems to have slipped my mind.” But Desslok isn’t really all that angry, he thinks it’s a good thing for his Generals to be humiliated from time to time--keeps them from getting big heads, you know. And despite having referred to Captain Avatar by name earlier in the episode, Desslok asks Krypt who the Captain of the Star Force is as he leaves the room.

This leads to the wrap-up, and probably the best beat in the episode. Eager picks up a message being broadcast to the ship--and why this is Eager and not Homer, who’s the communications officer, I couldn’t tell you. This may be why he doesn’t know enough to trace the vector of origin of the transmission and locate its source, the Gamilon base, which Captain Avatar chastises him for overlooking. It’s a message from Desslok to his foes, the first time that any Earthman has heard the name of the Gamilon leader.

“I salute the Star Force and its brave crew. We shall meet again. Signed, Desslok of Gamilon.” (That should probably have been Argo and its brave crew, but in the zeal to change all of the references to Yamato to Star Force in STAR BLAZERS, sometimes the translators got carried away.) Wildstar enthuses about the possibility of getting his hands on the enemy leader, a sentiment that will come back to bite him in the future, before Captain Avatar orders the Argo to get under way again. Conditions back on Earth are growing more dire, and now only 311 days remain for all life on Earth.

[dischordant]

rules: name your top ten favorite female characters from different fandoms, then tag ten people

Tagged by @athingofvikings tagged me with this a long time ago, and @themanonthecouch tagged me with it recently, so I decided to get it done finally.

Bonus, the husband edition alongside mine! His are in bold. If we share the same favorite character, it’s italics! He didn’t do the last three though, because of things cropping up as we tried to finish, so his list is incomplete. I don’t have a group of followers, so I’m not tagging anyone; if you see this, feel free to do it and tag me!

In no particular order:

1. Flemeth/Asha’bellanar – Dragon Age  

I mean.. it’s Flemeth. || She’s got a lot of layers and she’s a badass.

2. Luthien – Lord of the Rings / Unohana Retsu - Bleach

Probably one of the most incredibly depicted women I’ve seen in fiction. A lot of that is expanded out in the Silmarillion.. || There’s a lot to her, and she’s has a sort of interesting dichotomy to her.

3. Velvet Velour – VtMB / Jeanette - VtMB

Toredeaor solidarity, plus she made me ridiculously thirsty the first time I played through. || She is crazy. And I dig crazy chicks.

4. Xena – Xena: Warrior Princess / Callisto – Xena: Warrior Princess

She is beauty, she is grace, she will overthrow the wicked and kick ass with Gabrielle. || It’s almost like I have a thing for crazy chicks.

5. Evangeline A.K. McDowell – Negima / Tsukuyomi – Negima

Eva’s a vampire in a child’s body with an interesting history. And I adore her attitude. || I think you’re going to find there’s a pattern here.

6. Harley Quinn – DC Universe / Amanda Waller – DC Universe

Harley is intensely psychotic, but she snapped for a reason. She’s deeply disturbed, but we see flashes of her being saner, and those are interesting. I also severely ship her with Poison Ivy, so… If I had to pick or could pick any other DC character as well, I agree with the husband, it would definitely be the Wall. || What isn’t to like about her? She’s a big woman, doesn’t trade on her looks, has the brains to match wits with Batman. She has multiple law enforcement ages and secret groups under her thumb, has more blackmail on anyone than anyone could ever get. And she came up from nothing. She’s a completely normal person that supervillains are scared to death of.

7. Raven – Teen Titans / Tsunade – Naruto

Raven is a character I absolutely adore. And yes, I count the TV Universe as separate from the overall comics. || I mean.. there’s too much to start. She’s got so much going on.

8. Claire Nuñez – Trollhunters

From love interest and maybe sidekick, to a hero in her own right. I love her. She doesn’t back down, and she doesn’t really fall into the damsel in distress blanket like some female characters tend to.

9. Samantha Carter – Stargate SG1/Stargate Atlantis

Samantha was a character who always struck me as complex. She also didn’t fall overwhelmingly victim to a romantic subplot. She was highly intelligent, highly driven, and an anchor point for the team while simultaneously not being the ‘overly emotional’ one in the bunch.

10. The Charmed Ones – Charmed

Okay, each of the girls that comprise the Charmed Ones; Prue, Phoebe, Piper and Paige, each have a special place for me, so I’ve kind of lumped them together. They were girl-power and feminism before I understood what those phrases meant in regards to my life. They were strong and independent, while still being vulnerable and not emotionally shuttered. Their stories had an impact on me both growing up, and as an adult, raising my expectations of what I wanted in life, and in love.

[rhona738simsmobile-blog]

10 Top secret Stuff you Didn't Know About SIMS 4 Cell

sims mobile 5 Game Release Date, Functions And News

The sims mobile four added a new form of further content, game packs. 1. Login to the Origin client making use of the identical account that you use to play The sims mobile four on Computer. An account is required to play The sims mobile four. Not all sims mobile 4 cheats want this enabled, but considering the fact that so a lot of do, it really is worth receiving into the habit of setting it active at the get started of any sessions so you are not caught out.

On June 12, SimGuruDuke announced on Twitter that the planned release of Legacy Edition had been postponed. 15 SimGuruDuke gave no updated release date for Legacy Edition. He also confirmed that The sims mobile 4: Island Living expansion pack would be accessible to all players, even these operating non-Metal Macs or 32-bit PCs. There is lots of choice if you do go down this route, with six expansion packs accessible to download alongside seven Game Packs and 14 Stuff Packs.

The sims mobile 4 has been around for practically 5 years now, but in that time has spawned a entire host of expansions and is nonetheless immensely preferred. With the news that The sims mobile four is absolutely free on Origin for a restricted time , a complete new group of players are flocking to verify it out. If you happen to be right here, then that implies you have heard about The sims mobile four cheats you can enter to make your life much easier, and are seeking for a lot more information. We've got the pick of The sims mobile 4 cheat codes laid out proper here for you, so if you want to get no cost simoleons, edit your Sim's desires, or grab some specific products without the need of putting the work in 1st then look no further.

There are several alternatives available to alter the lip color to pink, pale or dark by applying the lipstick of the exact same color. Tattoos can also be added so that it is much easier for the characters to alter into modern day style. The face mask selection in the sims mobile 5 would be valuable for producing the lovely faces of the characters. It can also be produced in 3D.

You can get into a festive mood no matter the occasion, receiving presents from Father Winter (who essentially visits your house on Christmas Eve - you can even befriend him), sending out appreciate notes on Really like Day, or generating an official vacation of your own. You can assign timeframes and activities for sims mobile to get into the vacation spirit. Treat Yo'Self Day and Purge Day are private favorites of mine due to the fact who does not want to spoil their sims mobile or dedicate a day to duking it out with their noisy neighbors? You can dedicate the day for gift-providing rituals or even encourage sims mobile to engage in a complete-on brawl for holidays. It really is up to you.

Captivating SIMS MOBILE

A glitch in the common video game The sims mobile four is causing players to have their youngsters taken away from them. In a game that's supposed to be about representing people, it is so cool to see individuals represented. The sims mobile, one of the largest franchises ever, just put an actual transgender Sim into their game… and she's beautiful,” Lilsims mobileie mentioned. Express your creativity as you customise your sims mobile' distinct appearances and exceptional personalities. Opt for their fashions, select their hairstyles, and give them life aspirations.

The November three, 2015 patch added a new repairman Service to the telephone who will come to the sims mobile property and repair products. The patch also added 6 new products from the Halloween #TeamTreat and #TeamTrick event three #TeamTreat things and three #TeamTrick things comprising of two Doors, 2 Fish Bowls and 2 Storage Chests every themed right after Group Treat and Team Trick.

With patch 34 , The sims mobile 4 became the very first game in the series to function gender customization as properly as the alternative to have all varieties of clothing and hair sorts be out there for use by each genders. With magic now confirmed, it is likely that quite a few in the sims mobile neighborhood will be hoping for a university pack subsequent. If you want to play The sims mobile four on consoles then you'll nonetheless have to pony up, alas, as the supply is only available on Pc.

An additional thing that would have an effect on my Whole life in the sims mobile series is a LAN mode. Being able to play with good friends is my second favorite issue that could ever take place in the sims mobile series. As part of a new promotion, EA is giving away free of charge downloads of The sims mobile four in May well 2019. You will get the selection to sign up for EA's Origin Access passes when you do this, but you can safely ignore them and just click the button at the bottom to get The sims mobile four for cost-free with no them.

My son, who is 12, recently recieved this game for his birthday. I was worried from sims mobile two, a game I have played just before, that it would be way to inappropriate. I was hugely impressed with the way it has upgraded. Yes, the sims mobile can have "sex" but nothing is shown. Though they are doing this act, you cannot even see the sims mobile at all. All you see is a blanket. They do kiss, but it really is not nearly as terrible as any little ones television or movie kiss scenes. This game is a good expertise for kids. It show them how to handle revenue well.

Create a Sim is revitalized, making it additional intuitive, versatile, and detailed than in preceding games. sims mobile' physical characteristics are customized by clicking-and-dragging on different components of the physique. It is described as getting like clay by various men and women in the neighborhood. General physique size and quantity of muscle are adjusted by sliders, but the size and shape of person physique components can be adjusted individually, enabling players to make sims mobile with exceptional physique shapes. sims mobile' facial options are also customized by the identical click-and-drag mechanic. There is also a "detail mode," which makes it possible for extra precise modification of certain facial capabilities. All alterations produced to 1 side of the physique or head are automatically made to the opposite side.

[rbeatz]

Bob Marley’s Son and The Reggae Collective, White Tiger Society

White Tiger Society is a New York-based Soul, Reggae, and Hip-Hop collective comprised of vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Dajla “The White Tigress” and Grammy Award-winning engineer/producer Comissioner Gordon Williams. They recently released their new single, Why, featuring Bob Marley’s son, Stephen Marley.

Why is from their debut album, Sound of the White Tiger, set to be released on September 15th via Lalabela Music Group.

Comissioner Gordon Williams adds, “Stephen and I have a long relationship in music, going back to the days of The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill, all the way up to Welcome To Jamrock, on which we worked together, as well as his latest album, The Fruit Of Life. Stephen actually picked Why to collaborate with us on, and we are thankful to have ‘Ragga’ as part of the White Tiger family!”

The song combines reggae, heart-felt soulful vocals and that positive feel similar to what we’re used to hearing from the music legend himself, Bob Marley. It’s difficult to listen to Why and not feel that uplifting feeling.

Comissioner Gordon Williams is a legend in the music industry, with his nickname given to him by KRS-One. He’s won multiple Grammys including two Album of the Year Grammys for The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill and Santana’s Supernatural.

Dajla is a musician to the core. A student of classical and jazz piano from ages 6 to 16 at the national music conservatory in France. She also found inspiration at home, listening to her parents’ Soul, Jazz, Reggae, and Blues record collection. Dajla has released two albums and an EP to date, while sharing the stage with the likes of Angelo Moore from Fishbone,De La Soul, Nneka, Sa-Ra, and The Brand New Heavies.

White Tiger Society was born in In 2013 when Gordon and Dajla met in New York City through their work as a writing/production team.

We had the pleasure of interviewing White Tiger Society below. Play their new single, Why, featuring Stephen Marley and read the full interview below for the FULL White Tiger Society experience. Dajla answered some and Comissioner Gordon Williams did others as noted.

  Where does the name White Tiger Society come from? 

DAJLA – It comes from an Asian legend – The White Tiger is a mythical creature that appears when the world goes off balance. It represents Justice. Although it does not harm people, it becomes angry when the ruler of the land conducts evil deeds.

How many musicians are in your group? 

DAJLA – WTS is a collective fronted by Gordon Williams and myself, and we work with musicians in the studio and on stage. For live shows, we have different line ups, DJ sets, or a full band.

 Where are you from and how has that shaped the musician you are today?

DAJLA – I was born in France, on the west coast. The great thing about my hometown was that I could attend the national music conservatory, so I studied classical and jazz piano and music theory there from age 6 to 16. It gave me solid music foundation that I would use years later for songwriting. But my influences were shaped at home, as I grew up listening to my parents’ reggae, soul, rock, funk and jazz record collection, and artists such as Bob Marley, Ray Charles, James Brown, Michael Jackson and Carlos Santana.

What instruments did you play when you were younger?

DAJLA – I started playing piano age 6 at the conservatory, also did Oboe for a couple years but it gave me migraines lol. I taught myself the bass age 17.

Are there an instruments that you currently wish you COULD play?

DAJLA – I would really like to learn to play the guitar. Great for some writing and performing solo.

Tell us the story of how you started creating music on your computer?

DAJLA – In 2005, a producer friend of mine introduced me to Digital Performer (music software) and showed me how to use it. I slowly started making simple beats and used it to make demos of the songs I’d write. I had a very simple set up, good enough for me. My Macbook Pro, an M-Box, a couple of Genelec speakers, a Brauner microphone, a Nord Electro and my Fender Precision bass. It was great!

What was your favorite studio moment when producing your newest single, Why?

DAJLA – My favorite moment was to go visit Stephen Marley in his studio in Miami. He and Comish go way back, and it was the first time I met him, so I was really honored. After listening to the track a couple times, he just went in the booth and instantly came up with his part. Truly amazing and memorable experience!

What was it like working with Bob Marley’s son? 

DAJLA – It’s like a childhood dream come true.

What do you like to do when you’re simply hanging out – aside from music?

DAJLA – I like to spend time with my close friends and family. Love to go dancing too. NY has some good club nights (Timmy Regisford, Tony Touch…).

Are you involved in any extracurricular activities?

DAJLA – I coach young artists – piano, vocals and songwriting, to help them prepare for recordings or live performances. Gordon has a music Academy – The Lalabela Music Academy that teaches music and music engineering to under-privileged children and teenagers, in the US or abroad. I am joining the Academy as a music instructor and to create a brand new modern, fun and hands-on approach to teaching music. Music can also act as “therapy” for some of the children I work with. Music heals!

Who are your musical influences?

DAJLA – Each period of my life helped me discover amazing artists – There was reggae from early age, and funk/RnB with James Brown, all the jazz greats, too many to mention…From Billie Holiday to Thelonius Monk – a solid hip-hop foundation in the 90s, with bands such as Public Enemy or the  Fugees, Lauryn Hill of course…Also hung a lot in the ska scene and absolutely love Jamaican music (The Skatalites, Ken Boothe, and the electro scene, Drum and Bass, House, Garage…Most recently I have been listening to a lot of Ethiopian Jazz – Mulatu Astatke is one of my favorite artists.

What DAW do you use and why?

COMISSIONER GORDON – Pro Tools. I have been a Pro Tools user many years. I am the most comfortable with it, but I do like Studio One as well.

Do you have a typical music production process? If yes, can you explain it?

DAJLA – I usually write songs on the piano, basic chord progression and lyrics. I let Comish hear the song, think of a style or direction, i.e. reggae, soul, ska…depending on the beat he hears. He then gathers a team of musicians to cut it in the studio. He then adds beats/effects, and finally mixes it, adding his magic touch of course.

Who has been one of your favorite artists to collab with?

DAJLA : So far Comish is the best artist I’ve collaborated with. His vision with regards to my songs is always on point and his experience in recording and writing pushes me to another level.

What is your favorite MIDI Controller or instrument to produce with right now? 

COMISSIONER GORDON – Can’t say that I have a specific controller. I have worked with so many. I still use my original MPC 3000 from time to time. And I like the MPC Renaissance

What is one of your favorite or go-to VST Plugin? 

COMISSIONER GORDON – mmmmmm trade secret lol

Do you have a key production tip for our young producers out there? 

COMISSIONER GORDON – Be true to the music that is inside of you.

What are some of your favorite venues to play and why?

DAJLA – I really like medium capacity venues, which are more intimate and create a great experience and bond with the audience.

What is your favorite color?

DAJLA – I love all colors

What food do you eat the most?

DAJLA – Mainly vegetables and fruits, nuts, seeds… At home, I mainly cook North African/ French Mediterranean dishes, and I also enjoy Caribbean food…And Tunisian cookies

Do you have a favorite in-studio snack?

DAJLA – Does Pinot Noir count as a snack? lol

What is your favorite social media platform and why?

DAJLA – Each media has something great to offer… Facebook because it allows fans to reach out directly to us, and it’s very practical too for events. It is also a great tool to find and connect people.

What is next for White Tiger Society?

DAJLA – We’ve just dropped our new single Why ft Stephen Marley here in the US, and more music will come out this fall. The next step for us right now is touring the US and Europe, this fall and in 2018.

from rBeatz Radio http://ift.tt/2g1V92W

[6four1-blog]

June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.