#top ten quotes that r in my head

[jjkyaoi]

it’s so funny how they try to portray merlin as this embarrassing loser fool who brings chaos wherever he goes as if he didnt have like. a genuine harem. like all the knights of the round table are so unashamed of how they prefer him over arthur. gwen basically had a brief crush on him. morgana literally said “you’re not like merlin. he’s a lover” everyone who knows him is constantly talking about how pure and brave and selfless he is. lancelot knew he had magic and was js like okay with the idea of constantly lying, placing his own life in danger for him cuz that’s his little buddy. gwaine was LITERALLY in love with him. i don’t know what merwaine had going on but they probably hooked up the night they first met and don’t even get me STARTED on arthur pendragon

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 36)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (34)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN enjoyed her morning and flight back, still trying to comprehend what was happening. She’d wished she had time to go through Edinburgh itself but had been swamped all morning with emails relating to the expansion of staff. Lumos management were also a lot more vocal with her now that they’d all met and decided she should be directly involved with their meetings and decisions.

Once she’d landed, she’d Ubered to her and Jordan’s house to pick up Miles and give Blu a pat before she drove to the conference room in town. She’d arrived just after midday and was delightfully pleased to see the entire team was already there with canapes just working and bantering away. She greeted them all as she entered and as she walked to her seat, she realised there were a large bunch of flowers sitting in her space. She was a little confused. Was this from Catherine? From the team for the first round? From the hotel the conference room was in? She looked around for an explanation and only received a few grins in response. She gently touched one of her flowers and leant in to smell them before taking the card out of the top.

Hi little one,

Well done on your first round of women’s football!

I’m so proud of you, always, in everything that you do.

I can’t wait to see you soon in Spain.

I love you.

Lucy x

She blushed as her heart fluttered, again finding a few of those grins, yet now they were teasing. She didn’t mind being teased for it. She was proud of her relationship with Lucy. She moved the flowers more central in the table and took her seat, setting up her laptop and notes before sending a quick photo and text to Lucy.

She knew they had a lot to cover and made sure to text Jordan, asking for a heads up when she was headed home. She wanted to be there for her. She put her phone on the table and they began. They spoke about the first round, each team member talking about their experiences and ideas. They spoke about the interviews, the posts, the equipment, all of it. When they were done, YFN made sure they were all comfortable and confident with their roles and then dropped the bombshell. They were expanding. Already. She told them how happy and ambitious management were. They’d expanded from ten including YFN to fifty. This was a shock to everyone of course, however YFN managed to ease them.

“Fifty?!” Ruby almost yelled. “How much money does this company have?!”

“The company has a lot of faith in us…and they were very impressed with the first round.”

“But that’s mainly because your interviews were amazing…” Ethan countered.

“No, we all did amazing work.” Bridget disagreed.

“Fifty sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t,” she assured. “We have six games a week. Fifty is our new number so that we can have three videographers, three photographers, one editor and one interviewer per game. That’s forty-eight people. The extras will be Noel for IT as our posting and editing becomes even more sizeable, and myself.”

They thought this was definitely a lot more reasonable when it was put like that.

“Management are throwing money into us to not only expedite the process of growth, but to make sure we’re training and preparing for the international fixtures as well,” she explained. “We won’t just be doing WSL the entire time. Plus, there are the other leagues in Europe, and the other minor leagues in the UK.”

“But the training…” Emily almost whispered.

YFN nodded, running a hand through her hair a little stressed. “Oh, trust me, I know. We need to be fully prepped and confident for our games so we make the mistakes in practise rather than onsite.”

“Prior planning prevents piss poor performance.” Sam quoted.

“Exactly and I have a plan for that. Now we’re all new here but we’ve all been in the field, we’ve researched and prepped and decided on how to best create a product that suits our brand image. It’s because of this that my plan is to have you all in supervisory roles for the new team coming in. The new hires will arrive next Tuesday which gives us time to prep with them prior to our third round. I’ll put you into game groups and you can work together to prep during the week, with this group supervising each game group and taking a bit more responsibility. Teach them what you’ve learnt. Next week is going to be a long week, but we can do it. I’ll expect progress reports also as I can’t monitor fifty people. If someone is excelling, or not quite up to scratch, I expect to be told so we can sort it out prior to our game. Also…” she looked around the conference room. “…we’ve just acquired an office space in London. I understand that not everyone will live there, and I just want to state that when we’re up and running more comfortably, the people who live further away will be able to zoom our meetings instead if they choose. In the meantime, we’ll continue with our face to face meetings, though don’t neglect yourselves. If it becomes too hard to travel; let me know. We’re going to have enough people to cover each other, it’s okay.”

The rest of the meeting was fairly better as YFN had decided they would only start to worry about the new hires later on. Right now, it was about prepping for the next games.

Their schedule set out for the upcoming week was as such:

Man United vs West Ham (Leigh Sports Village, Manchester): 12th Nov 1200 – YFN and Ruby.

Spurs vs Liverpool (Brisbane Road, London): 12th Nov 1230 – Sam and Olivia.

Everton vs Chelsea (Walton Hall Park, Liverpool): 12th Nov 1300 – Ethan and Daniel.

Man City vs Brighton (Joie Stadium, Manchester): 12th Nov 1300 – Bridget and Emily.

Bristol vs Aston Villa (Ashton Gate Stadium, Bristol): 12th Nov 1400 – Matt and Noel.

Leicester vs Arsenal (King Power Stadium, Leicester): 12th Nov 1845 – YFN and Ruby (relocate from United vs West Ham); Matt (relocate from Bristol vs Aston Villa in Bristol est arrival: 1900).

The scheduling was tight because all of the games were on the same day, and she needed to be carefully logistically to make sure she didn’t have people driving out of their way unnecessarily. Luckily, Matt lived in Birmingham and would be able to get to the Leicester vs Arsenal game for YFN to get some good interviews of the players, one she was hoping would be Kyra and Courtney.

Before she knew it, the clock had ticked over to 5pm and Jordan had messaged.

Dory: Training just finished. I’ll be home in 20.

YFN: I’m coming. I’ll get take-away for us. What would you like, Dory?

Dory: Anything I’m not supposed to eat.

YFN: You’re amazing. See you at home soon, roomie x

YFN walked through the front door, pizza in one hand and flowers tucked under the other arm, her work bag slung over her shoulder. Regardless of this, Jordan was on her from the moment she opened the door, wrapping arms around YFN’s waist. After a cute little hug, YFN spoke when she felt Jordan getting emotional.

“Okay, firstly, I love you. Secondly, we’re eating before we talk. We need to get this comfort food into you before it goes cold.”

They settled onto the couch and devoured the pizza quickly, having to snatch it away from Blu at times. Then, Jordan spoke.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why? For having sex with someone you love? Someone who knows you and loves you too?”

“I guess it does sound better when you say it like that…”

“What happened? Tell me everything.”

Jordan sighed. “We dropped you off and came back home. We didn’t speak much in the car. She put her hand on my thigh, but I think it was more of a reassurance thing than a sexual thing. Then we spoke when we got home. I did exactly what you said, I sat far away so I wouldn’t be tempted by anything. She said the nicest things, YFN.” Jordan began to cry. “How much she loved me and missed me and how badly she’d screwed up. I couldn’t help myself, I cried and I couldn’t stop. I tried to hold it together. She comforted me and…” She put her hand on the back of the couch, presumably where they’d been sitting.

“Did you have sex right here?”

Jordan’s tears paused as she gave a cheeky, embarrassed smile.

“Ooookay I’m going to pretend I didn’t ask.” She reached out and brushed some of Jordan’s tears away. “Was it…bad?”

“No,” she admitted. “No, it was incredible. Probably the best sex I’ve had in my life. It was so desperate and passionate. I don’t know what happened, I missed her touch, I just melted.”

“Ah…and you cried after it?”

“No, I cried during it. It felt so good and to have her back so close to me. I missed her so much, YFN. I think after we’d been…doing it a while…the lust faded a little, and I just got scared. Scared that she made me feel so happy, made me feel so loved and then I got scared she’d leave again. I panicked and cried. She didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I told her to go.”

“She tried to stay?”

“Yeah of course but I was just a mess, I needed to be alone.”

YFN hesitated. “You pushed her away before she could leave you…”

“Is that what I did?” She whispered.

“Oh Dory, come here.” YFN pulled Jordan into her lap and wrapped her arms around her, stroking her supportively. YFN and Jordan were both very, very affectionate people, especially physically.

“I don’t know if I can trust her again. I th…thought I c…could.” Her crying increased and she clung to the front of YFN’s shirt.

“Did you tell her why you wanted her to go?”

“That’s the worst part…she begged me to stay. She was on her knees at one point. On her ACL torn knee…but I couldn’t look at her. I wanted her to go. I knew she had a long drive back to London. I knew it was late. I still kicked her out.” She shook her head. “She begged me all the way out of the door to explain what was happening. I just remember telling her, “I can’t handle you leaving me again.””

YFN’s stomach dropped for Leah. She finally got close to Jordan again. Close enough for sex. For intimacy. She must have been so happy…and in a split second it was all taken away from her because of that insecurity she’d planted in Jordan with her previous mistake.

“It’s okay…it’s okay. Leah will understand, trust me. Has she messaged you?”

Jordan nodded into her. “She’s sent me multiple messages since.”

“And have your feelings changed?”

“That fear of her leaving? It’s not going away anytime soon.”

“I think she needs to win your trust back. You two made a mistake by diving into sex.”

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You need to let her know that if she wants you, she needs to build that trust back. She needs to know that it may take a long time but it’ll be worth it because she’ll get to have you back.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re right…”

“If I’ve learnt anything over the past few days it’s that communication is key…”

“I just need a little space.”

“Okay…look, I’ll be at the Arsenal game on Sunday in Leicester. I’ll talk to her if you want? Explain a little…”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“Okay, I think you should message her asking for your space for the moment.”

“Can you do it?”

“I think this one is best coming from you, Jords.”

 She sighed but took her phone out and texted Leah without reading the messages the other woman had sent her.

“You won’t be at the Aston Villa game this week?”

YFN shook her head. “No, I’ll be covering Untied vs West Ham and then Leicester vs Arsenal.”

“But aren’t you going to Spain?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah…I was planning on going Friday. Lucy has a game Saturday and then I’d fly back for the Sunday games.”

“You’re not staying for long, then? Lucy’s going to be upset.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know, I planned on doing zoom for my meetings next week, but we’ve just expanded our employees by five hundred percent.”

“What the-”

“Oh, please don’t ask anything. I’m stressed and besides, tonight is all you, Jords. I think a phone call with Lucy and then with Katie and Caitlin may be just what you need, hm?”

Jordan agreed. “Yes, please! I’ll get rid of this rubbish and get us drinks while you message them.”

YFN opened her phone, hovering her finger above Lucy’s message before she remembered their phone call from last night. She bit her lip as she opened Instagram. Sure enough, the first posts were of Lucy boxing and YFN could feel her skin getting hot, and she squirmed as she also felt herself getting wet for her. God damn. Lucy. Those biceps. Lucy. That determined look. Lucy. She groaned.

“You okay?” Jordan asked from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” She called back and liked the post. She considered commenting and decided against that. She was worried how forward she would be in front of Lucy’s 750k followers.

YFN: Hey Luce, are you free for a call with Dory?

Lucy: Hi, little one. I’ve been waiting for your text. I smile when your name pops up on my phone. Yes, I’m free whenever you want me.

YFN: I always want you. And you’re always busy.

Lucy: Lies.

Jordan passed her a drink over the couch and she took a sip.

Lucy: Come to Spain and fuck the busy out of me.

She choked on her drink. Jordan gave her a look before she rolled her eyes as she made her own drink.

YFN: Behave. I’m barely hanging on with your Instagram posts.

Lucy: I hoped you’d like them…can we have a late-night call tonight when you’re free?

YFN: Yes, please.

It’s crazy how naturally they fell into teasing each other. She sent another message to the messenger with Katie, Caitlin and Jordan.

YFN: Hi! Are you all free for a group call with Dory and I in the next hour or so?

Caitlin: KEEN.

Katie: Only if we see your faces.

YFN: Done. I’ll message you soon!

Jordan joined her on the couch then and she called Lucy, giving Jordan the phone. Obviously, Jordan had Lucy’s number, but this was more convenient. She watched as the two old friends spoke, Lucy not failing to make Jordan grin and laugh. Of course she could. At one point they were even speaking about her, and YFN rolled her eyes, working a little on her laptop while they had their talk.

Their talk ended after about forty minutes, Jordan hanging up before YFN could talk to Lucy. She frowned. Lucy immediately texted.

Lucy: Call me in bed?

YFN: Okay, I’ll be about an hour, love. Thank you for that, she really needed it. You managed to cheer her up a lot.

Lucy: I know her too well. You’re welcome, though. Talk soon. x

YFN messaged the girls back then telling them to call whenever they were free. Apparently, that was immediately. Jordan and YFN on one end, Katie and Caitlin on the other. It was a hilarious conversation after Jordan had been honest about what happened with Leah to them. They’d given her support and told her to take her time which reassured her a little bit more. Katie had changed the mood of the conversation after that by introducing Coopurr by holding the cat up to the camera. Jordan responded in kind with Blu, of course. Then Caitlin surprised her fellow Australian with a question.

“Hey chicken, do you know what’s happening with Kyra? She’s been a bit off and we figured you might know…”

YFN hesitated. She didn’t want to keep anything from them, but knew it wasn’t her place. “Uh…yeah…it’s not really my place to say though…”

Katie turned to Caitlin. “I told you.”

“You were right,” Caitlin rasped. “It’s about Courtney then.”

They watched as YFN practically glued her mouth shut. Of course they knew. Courtney was a Matilda. Caitlin was a Matilda.

“Is that why you’re coming to our game now?”

“Oh, that's right! You two were so obvious when Kyra asked what game you were going to.”

“Mmnhmn. Yeah, look, all I can say is that I plan on interviewing them together. We’re going to start interviewing players in groups more, and also interviewing opposition together. So this weekend I’ll do a young interview with those two if I can catch Courtney, and then I’ll do an-”

“An old person interview? Rude.” Caitlin laughed.

YFN rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, we’re happy to do an interview with you, but I assume you want someone you haven’t talked to yet?”

“Yeah, you know, I was thinking Kim or…” She stopped herself as she looked at Jordan.

Jordan frowned. Leah. There was a moment of silence.

“That’s okay, you know.” Jordan reassured. YFN gave a grateful smile.

“…or Jen Beattie?”

“Are you in those little sleeping shorts of yours?” Lucy asked.

“Yes,” she almost whispered.

Lucy hummed. “Good. Take them off.”

YFN did as she was told, wriggling them off and turning back to her phone propped up against Lucy’s pillow.

“Shirt too.”

She pulled her shirt off, now fully bare beneath the sheets besides her socks. Lucy knew she loved her socks, though.

“I wish you could understand how much I want you right now.” She said a little exasperated.

“Tell me…” She whispered, looking at Lucy through the camera. She allowed herself to begin playing with one of her nipples and Lucy noticed, groaning.

“If you could feel between my thighs, you’d know just how much I miss you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you…I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”

“Good.” She said almost harshly. “That’s where I belong. Inside your mind. Inside you. Now I need you to touch yourself. I need your hands to do what I wish mine were right now.”

“Guide me where you want me, Luce.”

“Put your free hand around your throat. Good girl. Squeeze a little. Argh…yes. You like that, hm? Two days and that’ll be my hand.”

“God I need you, Luce.”

“I have no idea how I didn’t fuck you silly the other night.”

“Because you love me,” she whispered, her hand moving down over her body and under the sheets. She knew Lucy would enjoy that visual.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

YFN paused. “No…”

“Hm.”

“Can I…?” She trailed off as she saw Lucy’s darkened eyes through the screen.

“Use your words, love.”

“Can I touch myself?”

“Yes, but don’t go inside. Not yet.”

She felt through the wetness of her body, not realising just how ready she was. She was tempted to slip a finger in, but Lucy told her she couldn’t just yet, and so she didn’t. Her fingers found her little bundle of nerves and began to play.

“That’s my girl,” Lucy groaned. “T…that’s my girl. Feel that.”

Lucy stuttering a little was proof to her that she was also touching herself. Her eyes rolled back at the thought and her body was twitching and getting tingly at the stimulation of her clit. They worked themselves up like that for a while, both moaning and shakily breathing. Hearing Lucy losing control was one of her favourite things. She just wished she were right there, rather than across a phone.

“Luce, c…can I go inside?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

She bit her lip and her back arched at the question, her fingers speeding up. She whimpered. “You, Luce. I belong to you.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t you ever fucking forget that. Two fingers inside, now.”

YFN eagerly thrust two fingers inside herself, her body jerking and her legs automatically widening.

“I want to hear you.”

YFN released one of her nipples to drag the phone down and place it on her left thigh. She could hear Lucy groaning from the other end. She threw the sheet off so she could hear her better.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” she repeated. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m yours, Luce. And I…I’m the l…lucky one.” She had no idea how she managed to get the sentence out. She was so wound up, her body arched into her hand, hips automatically thrusting against her fingers.

“I want you to come like this, fucking yourself. Don't move the phone, I want to hear it.”

YFN did as she was told, and sped up her assault, her body becoming a shaky, uncontrolled mess. It didn’t take long for her to get right to that edge, and she could hear Lucy getting closer. Lucy wasn’t very vocal, that was something they were still working on, however her moaning and panting betrayed her. She was close. She just needed to be tipped over the edge. So YFN gave her that.

“Arghh…Luce…Lucy…can I come?”

She knew asking permission would be Lucy’s last straw.

“Y…yes,” she gasped. “Come.”

YFN sped up her efforts once more as her body unfolded and that electric shock of ecstasy shocked her body into a tense spasm. She heard Lucy whimpering on the other end of the phone and that just made it last longer.

She let herself come down and reached for a tissue near the bed to wipe herself clean. She took the phone and put it back up near her face as she rolled to the side and looked at her girlfriend. Lucy pushed the glasses up her nose, giving a satiated grin. She couldn’t help but return her own.

“This is becoming a regular thing for us.” YFN said.

“I need this just to be able to think during the day about something other than fucking you.”

“Ah, but I thought you liked thinking about me.”

Lucy laughed incredulously. “Yes, but I also have a profession I should be thinking about. Mapi managed to kick a ball into me today while I was zoned out thinking about how good you look under me.”

The visual was hilarious. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s never been a problem until you. I feel like I’m losing a battle of urges.”

“Keep talking, please, you’re making me feel very loved right now.”

Lucy laughed and YFN continued. “But if it’s any consolation, I also can’t stop thinking about you. The one time I managed to not, was when I was walking into my meeting but then I saw your flowers…”

Lucy grinned. “You liked them? I thought it’d be romantic.”

“Oh, it was. And just so you know, your surprise will be there tomorrow also.”

Lucy’s eyes widened with excitement. “You sent me something?!”

“Last night. I just wanted you to know that I sent it BEFORE I received your flowers.”

“Who’s the romantic one, now?”

“You, always you. I may be a romantic, but I’ll never have anything on you, Luce.”

[inducedmadncess]

Step 1: Basic OOC Information

Please start by providing the following details:

Your Alias, Timezone, & Pronouns- Min, EST, She/her, Activity Wise I can be fully on thursday-saturday, Mon-Wed I'm studying to be a medical assistant/practice test (Labor Day and holidays of that nature being exceptions)

Muse’s Name(s) Byeol-nim Beryl Choi

Tagging System Link so I will be using r;beryl or m;beryl

First Part of Your App ( Optional! ) Read that disaster here

Content Warnings: death tw , violence tw

Step 2: Muse's Statistics

Next, fill out the following statistics for your muse:

Full Name: Byeol-nim Beryl Choi

Nickname:Beryl, Berry, Byeollie (use this one with caution

Date of Birth:October 15th 2375

Gender: Cis Woman

Pronouns: She.her

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Romantic Orientation:Demiromantic

Current Age:Twenty six

Modification: sighir

Affiliation:X Academy and Overseers

Birthplace: Mawar District

Current Neighbourhood:Sora Between X headquarters and Jakarta General

Occupation: Scientist Informant

Known Languages: Korean, Japanese (for Jaito), Cia-Cia (Austronesian dialect used with hangul letters, using this for personal notes and extra confidental recordings)

Step 3: Choose Your Creation Style

OPTION A) TRADITIONAL BIOGRAPHY

October 15th 2385

The ten year old adjusted her device with the help of her father. There was a look of axcitement in her eyes. "Hiiiiiiiii." She said with a hint of enthusiasm. "I'm Byeol-nim. And I will be your next top idol!" She said with a laugh. Her father with his salt and pepper hair appeared on the screen. "Byeollie maybe have two goals." Byeollie looked at her father in awe. "Then I will be just like you Apa." Byeol said with a smile. "A scientist." There was a shared laugh between the two of them a sort of promise.

December 15 2387

The fifteen year old Byeol came to the camera. She showed the acceptance paper on screen.There was a laugh before she had a slight look of mischief in her face. She went down stairs before hiding the camera. "Dad I got in." There was a tired look before her father realized. Her dad gave her the tightest hug. "That's my Byeollie." There was laughter. But she didn;t know it was the last time.

October 15 2395

The twenty year old was on camera she was on her knees. There was a bite mark on her arm. "I-I-I don't know if I'll make it." She said her voice hoarse. "Whats going on." SHe turned her camera everyone was gone but she saw her dad. "Apa...APA..." The video cut off

Octiber 16th 2395

The twenty year old was sobbing in the hospital bed. "I'm alive but-" Byeol couldn't finish her sentence. "Apa. I hope-" She was cut off by the doctor. "I have your tests resules." And the doctor covered his hand on the camera. Byeol can be last be heard repeating nos and denials.

October 15 2396

The twenty one year old looked more hardened more out garish. She was still wearing the same lab coat from the day before, her cheeks guant. "Everyday feels the same and different. Like my mind desires more. To see everything ruined." She shook her head. "No I don't want that. I'm still Byeol." The tears streamed down her face. "Nothing can change that!"

October 15 2397

It was the net year and Byeol looked healthier, there was a sneer to the camera. "Why the hell I do this again?" She asked. "I could be setting up explosions but my doctor said to keep doing this to monitor my condition-" There was a maniacal laugh. "You tell them you want to be called Beryl and all hell breaks lose." There was a look at the camera. "I'm better now."

Present day

There was a look on her face as she watched the videos, it was something she did every year on her father's birthday. She saw the young naive self and she saw the image she wanted to be. The tears streamed down her face before she heard a knock. "Can't having these assholes think I'm weak." She said

OPTION B) INSPIRATIONS

Quote: Although I've made quite a few "Mutually Assured Destruction" Buttons, it's not like I'm going to blow up everything I see…

Label or Archetype: Mad Scientist, Clipped Wing Angel, The "Why Wait?" Combatant, Trap Master

Tropes : (Broken Bird, Didn't Think this Through, Creepy Good, Public Hater, Private Fan, Dont you dare Pity me

Media Parallels: Sparkle (Honkai Impact: Star Rail), Seiko Kimura (DanganRonpa 3: future arc), Dr. Neiko Arach (Tsukihime), Flandre Scarlet (Touhou Project)

Theme Song: U.N. Owen was her?

OPTION C) PERSONALITY

Points: Strength 3, Dexterity 3, Constitution 3 , Wisdom 4, Intellegence 6, Charisma 8

Positive Traits: ambitious, charistimatic, brave

Neutral Traits: independent, reflective, esoteric

Negative Traits: brash, vengeful, impulsive

Peeves: Overly preppy people, rebels, the word toliette, being underestimated

Fears: to die alone, for people to see the her scars, being vulnerable enough to touch someone again

Skills: blueprint production, meets deadlines, quick on their feet with weapons

Goals: Find their father figure out what they really want out of life

OPTION D) YOUR MUSE’S APPEARANCE

Faceclaim:Go Minsi

Height: 5'1

Eye Colour: brown

Hair Colour: black with red streaks

Clothing Style: labcoat, ironic tee, steam punk ventallor, finger less clothes, mad scientist/pokemon scientist core will wear change it up to trench coats

Jewellery: Nipple Piercings (svg episode)

Tattoos: A star on her right shoulder

Marks/Scars: The bitemark on her arm, laced injuries on the small of her back

Modifications:Nah

Scent/Fragrance:Lavender Epsom Salt and Brown Sugar

Other fun facts

Beryl essentially jailbreaked a virtual vocolaid assistant to do all her break ins

Very choatic neutral

If you tell her not to do something she definetely will do it just to annoy you

Secretly loves movies like Dilan 1990, Dilan 1983, and The Sinking of van der Wijck but if you mention them she will pretend not to know those movies

Is not allowed to drive so she skateboards to work

Beryl actually hates berries with a passion

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 17-18

CHAPTER XVII

LIKE beefsteak and potatoes stick to your ribs even if you're working your head off, so the words of the Good Book stick by you in perplexity and tribulation. If I ever held a high position over my people, I hope that my ministers would be quoting, from II Kings, 18; 31 & 32: "Come out to me, and then eat ye every man of his own vine, and every one of his fig tree, and drink ye every one the waters of his cistern, until I come and take you away to a land of corn and wine, a land of bread and vineyards, a land of olive oil and honey, that ye may live and not die."

Zero Hour, Berzelius Windrip.

DESPITE the claims of Montpelier, the former capital of Vermont, and of Burlington, largest town in the state, Captain Shad Ledue fixed on Fort Beulah as executive center of County B, which was made out of nine former counties of northern Vermont. Doremus never decided whether this was, as Lorinda Pike asserted, because Shad was in partnership with Banker R. C. Crowley in the profits derived from the purchase of quite useless old dwellings as part of his headquarters, or for the even sounder purpose of showing himself off, in battalion leader's uniform with the letters "C.C." beneath the five-pointed star on his collar, to the pals with whom he had once played pool and drunk applejack, and to the "snobs" whose lawns he once had mowed.

Besides the condemned dwellings, Shad took over all of the former Scotland County courthouse and established his private office in the judge's chambers, merely chucking out the law books and replacing them with piles of magazines devoted to the movies and the detection of crime, hanging up portraits of Windrip, Sarason, Haik, and Reek, installing two deep chairs upholstered in poison-green plush (ordered from the store of the loyal Charley Betts but, to Betts's fury, charged to the government, to be paid for if and when) and doubling the number of judicial cuspidors.

In the top center drawer of his desk Shad kept a photograph from a nudist camp, a flask of Benedictine, a .44 revolver, and a dog whip.

County commissioners were allowed from one to a dozen assistant commissioners, depending on the population. Doremus Jessup was alarmed when he discovered that Shad had had the shrewdness to choose as assistants men of some education and pretense to manners, with "Professor" Emil Staubmeyer as Assistant County Commissioner in charge of the Township of Beulah, which included the villages of Fort Beulah, West and North Beulah, Beulah Center, Trianon, Hosea, and Keezmet.

As Shad had, without benefit of bayonets, become a captain, so Mr. Staubmeyer (author of Hitler and Other Poems of Passion— unpublished) automatically became a doctor.

Perhaps, thought Doremus, he would understand Windrip & Co. better through seeing them faintly reflected in Shad and Staubmeyer than he would have in the confusing glare of Washington; and understand thus that a Buzz Windrip—a Bismarck—a Cæsar—a Pericles was like all the rest of itching, indigesting, aspiring humanity except that each of these heroes had a higher degree of ambition and more willingness to kill.

By June, the enrollment of the Minute Men had increased to 562,000, and the force was now able to accept as new members only such trusty patriots and pugilists as it preferred. The War Department was frankly allowing them not just "expense money" but payment ranging from ten dollars a week for "inspectors" with a few hours of weekly duty in drilling, to $9700 a year for "brigadiers" on full time, and $16,000 for the High Marshal, Lee Sarason... fortunately without interfering with the salaries from his other onerous duties.

The M.M. ranks were: inspector, more or less corresponding to private; squad leader, or corporal; cornet, or sergeant; ensign, or lieutenant; battalion leader, a combination of captain, major, and lieutenant colonel; commander, or colonel; brigadier, or general; high marshal, or commanding general. Cynics suggested that these honorable titles derived more from the Salvation Army than the fighting forces, but be that cheap sneer justified or no, the fact remains that an M.M. helot had ever so much more pride in being called an "inspector," an awing designation in all police circles, than in being a "private."

Since all members of the National Guard were not only allowed but encouraged to become members of the Minute Men also, since all veterans of the Great War were given special privileges, and since "Colonel" Osceola Luthorne, the Secretary of War, was generous about lending regular army officers to Secretary of State Sarason for use as drill masters in the M.M.'s, there was a surprising proportion of trained men for so newly born an army.

Lee Sarason had proven to President Windrip by statistics from the Great War that college education, and even the study of the horrors of other conflicts, did not weaken the masculinity of the students, but actually made them more patriotic, flag-waving, and skillful in the direction of slaughter than the average youth, and nearly every college in the country was to have, this coming autumn, its own battalion of M.M.'s, with drill counting as credit toward graduation. The collegians were to be schooled as officers. Another splendid source of M.M. officers were the gymnasiums and the classes in Business Administration of the Y.M.C.A.

Most of the rank and file, however, were young farmers delighted by the chance to go to town and to drive automobiles as fast as they wanted to; young factory employees who preferred uniforms and the authority to kick elderly citizens above overalls and stooping over machines; and rather a large number of former criminals, ex-bootleggers, ex-burglars, ex-labor racketeers, who, for their skill with guns and leather life-preservers, and for their assurances that the majesty of the Five-Pointed Star had completely reformed them, were forgiven their earlier blunders in ethics and were warmly accepted in the M.M. Storm Troops.

It was said that one of the least of these erring children was the first patriot to name President Windrip "the Chief," meaning Führer, or Imperial Wizard of the K.K.K., or Il Duce, or Imperial Potentate of the Mystic Shrine, or Commodore, or University Coach, or anything else supremely noble and good-hearted. So, on the glorious anniversary of July 4, 1937, more than five hundred thousand young uniformed vigilantes, scattered in towns from Guam to Bar Harbor, from Point Barrow to Key West, stood at parade rest and sang, like the choiring seraphim:

"Buzz and buzz and hail the Chief, And his five-pointed sta-ar, The U.S. ne'er can come to grief With us prepared for wa-ar."

Certain critical spirits felt that this version of the chorus of "Buzz and Buzz," now the official M.M. anthem, showed, in a certain roughness, the lack of Adelaide Tarr Gimmitch's fastidious hand. But nothing could be done about it. She was said to be in China, organizing chain letters. And even while that uneasiness was over the M.M., upon the very next day came the blow.

Someone on High Marshal Sarason's staff noticed that the U.S.S.R.'s emblem was not a six-pointed star, but a five-pointed one, even like America's, so that we were not insulting the Soviets at all.

Consternation was universal. From Sarason's office came sulphurous rebuke to the unknown idiot who had first made the mistake (generally he was believed to be Lee Sarason) and the command that a new emblem be suggested by every member of the M.M. Day and night for three days, M.M. barracks were hectic with telegrams, telephone calls, letters, placards, and thousands of young men sat with pencils and rulers earnestly drawing tens of thousands of substitutes for the five-pointed star: circles in triangles, triangles in circles, pentagons, hexagons, alphas and omegas, eagles, aeroplanes, arrows, bombs bursting in air, bombs bursting in bushes, billy-goats, rhinoceri, and the Yosemite Valley. It was circulated that a young ensign on High Marshal Sarason's staff had, in agony over the error, committed suicide. Everybody thought that this hara-kiri was a fine idea and showed sensibility on the part of the better M.M.'s; and they went on thinking so even after it proved that the Ensign had merely got drunk at the Buzz Backgammon Club and talked about suicide.

In the end, despite his uncounted competitors, it was the great mystic, Lee Sarason himself, who found the perfect new emblem—a ship's steering wheel.

It symbolized, he pointed out, not only the Ship of State but also the wheels of American industry, the wheels and the steering wheel of motorcars, the wheel diagram which Father Coughlin had suggested two years before as symbolizing the program of the National Union for Social Justice, and, particularly, the wheel emblem of the Rotary Club.

Sarason's proclamation also pointed out that it would not be too far-fetched to declare that, with a little drafting treatment, the arms of the Swastika could be seen as unquestionably related to the circle, and how about the K.K.K. of the Kuklux Klan? Three K's made a triangle, didn't they? and everybody knew that a triangle was related to a circle.

So it was that in September, at the demonstrations on Loyalty Day (which replaced Labor Day), the same wide-flung seraphim sang:

"Buzz and buzz and hail the Chief, And th' mystic steering whee-el, The U.S. ne'er can come to grief While we defend its we-al."

In mid-August, President Windrip announced that, since all its aims were being accomplished, the League of Forgotten Men (founded by one Rev. Mr. Prang, who was mentioned in the proclamation only as a person in past history) was now terminated. So were all the older parties, Democratic, Republican, Farmer-Labor, or what not. There was to be only one: The American Corporate State and Patriotic Party—no! added the President, with something of his former good-humor: "there are two parties, the Corporate and those who don't belong to any party at all, and so, to use a common phrase, are just out of luck!"

The idea of the Corporate or Corporative State, Secretary Sarason had more or less taken from Italy. All occupations were divided into six classes: agriculture, industry, commerce, transportation and communication, banking and insurance and investment, and a grab-bag class including the arts, sciences, and teaching. The American Federation of Labor, the Railway Brotherhoods, and all other labor organizations, along with the Federal Department of Labor, were supplanted by local Syndicates composed of individual workers, above which were Provincial Confederations, all under governmental guidance. Parallel to them in each occupation were Syndicates and Confederations of employers. Finally, the six Confederations of workers and the six Confederations of employers were combined in six joint federal Corporations, which elected the twenty-four members of the National Council of Corporations, which initiated or supervised all legislation relating to labor or business.

There was a permanent chairman of this National Council, with a deciding vote and the power of regulating all debate as he saw fit, but he was not elected—he was appointed by the President; and the first to hold the office (without interfering with his other duties) was Secretary of State Lee Sarason. Just to safeguard the liberties of Labor, this chairman had the right to dismiss any unreasonable member of the National Council.

All strikes and lockouts were forbidden under federal penalties, so that workmen listened to reasonable government representatives and not to unscrupulous agitators.

Windrip's partisans called themselves the Corporatists, or, familiarly, the "Corpos," which nickname was generally used.

By ill-natured people the Corpos were called "the Corpses." But they were not at all corpse-like. That description would more correctly, and increasingly, have applied to their enemies.

Though the Corpos continued to promise a gift of at least $5000 to every family, "as soon as funding of the required bond issue shall be completed," the actual management of the poor, particularly of the more surly and dissatisfied poor, was undertaken by the Minute Men.

It could now be published to the world, and decidedly it was published, that unemployment had, under the benign reign of President Berzelius Windrip, almost disappeared. Almost all workless men were assembled in enormous labor camps, under M.M. officers. Their wives and children accompanied them and took care of the cooking, cleaning, and repair of clothes. The men did not merely work on state projects; they were also hired out at the reasonable rate of one dollar a day to private employers. Of course, so selfish is human nature even in Utopia, this did cause most employers to discharge the men to whom they had been paying more than a dollar a day, but that took care of itself, because these overpaid malcontents in their turn were forced into the labor camps.

Out of their dollar a day, the workers in the camps had to pay from seventy to ninety cents a day for board and lodging.

There was a certain discontentment among people who had once owned motorcars and bathrooms and eaten meat twice daily, at having to walk ten or twenty miles a day, bathe once a week, along with fifty others, in a long trough, get meat only twice a week—when they got it—and sleep in bunks, a hundred in a room. Yet there was less rebellion than a mere rationalist like Walt Trowbridge, Windrip's ludicrously defeated rival, would have expected, for every evening the loudspeaker brought to the workers the precious voices of Windrip and Sarason, Vice-President Beecroft, Secretary of War Luthorne, Secretary of Education and Propaganda Macgoblin, General Coon, or some other genius, and these Olympians, talking to the dirtiest and tiredest mudsills as warm friend to friend, told them that they were the honored foundation stones of a New Civilization, the advance guards of the conquest of the whole world.

They took it, too, like Napoleon's soldiers. And they had the Jews and the Negroes to look down on, more and more. The M.M.'s saw to that. Every man is a king so long as he has someone to look down on.

Each week the government said less about the findings of the board of inquiry which was to decide how the $5000 per person could be wangled. It became easier to answer malcontents with a cuff from a Minute Man than by repetitious statements from Washington.

But most of the planks in Windrip's platform really were carried out—according to a sane interpretation of them. For example, inflation.

In America of this period, inflation did not even compare with the German inflation of the 1920's, but it was sufficient. The wage in the labor camps had to be raised from a dollar a day to three, with which the workers were receiving an equivalent of sixty cents a day in 1914 values. Everybody delightfully profited, except the very poor, the common workmen, the skilled workmen, the small business men, the professional men, and old couples living on annuities or their savings—these last did really suffer a little, as their incomes were cut in three. The workers, with apparently tripled wages, saw the cost of everything in the shops much more than triple.

Agriculture, which was most of all to have profited from inflation, on the theory that the mercurial crop-prices would rise faster than anything else, actually suffered the most of all, because, after a first flurry of foreign buying, importers of American products found it impossible to deal in so skittish a market, and American food exports—such of them as were left—ceased completely.

It was Big Business, that ancient dragon which Bishop Prang and Senator Windrip had gone forth to slay, that had the interesting time.

With the value of the dollar changing daily, the elaborate systems of cost-marking and credit of Big Business were so confused that presidents and sales-managers sat in their offices after midnight, with wet towels. But they got some comfort, because with the depreciated dollar they were able to recall all bonded indebtedness and, paying it off at the old face values, get rid of it at thirty cents on the hundred. With this, and the currency so wavering that employees did not know just what they ought to get in wages, and labor unions eliminated, the larger industrialists came through the inflation with perhaps double the wealth, in real values, that they had had in 1936.

And two other planks in Windrip's encyclical vigorously respected were those eliminating the Negroes and patronizing the Jews.

The former race took it the less agreeably. There were horrible instances in which whole Southern counties with a majority of Negro population were overrun by the blacks and all property seized. True, their leaders alleged that this followed massacres of Negroes by Minute Men. But as Dr. Macgoblin, Secretary of Culture, so well said, this whole subject was unpleasant and therefore not helpful to discuss.

All over the country, the true spirit of Windrip's Plank Nine, regarding the Jews, was faithfully carried out. It was understood that the Jews were no longer to be barred from fashionable hotels, as in the hideous earlier day of race prejudice, but merely to be charged double rates. It was understood that Jews were never to be discouraged from trading but were merely to pay higher graft to commissioners and inspectors and to accept without debate all regulations, wage rates, and price lists decided upon by the stainless Anglo-Saxons of the various merchants' associations. And that all Jews of all conditions were frequently to sound their ecstasy in having found in America a sanctuary, after their deplorable experiences among the prejudices of Europe.

In Fort Beulah, Louis Rotenstern, since he had always been the first to stand up for the older official national anthems, "The Star-Spangled Banner" or "Dixie," and now for "Buzz and Buzz," since he had of old been considered almost an authentic friend by Francis Tasbrough and R. C. Crowley, and since he had often good-naturedly pressed the unrecognized Shad Ledue's Sunday pants without charge, was permitted to retain his tailor shop, though it was understood that he was to charge members of the M.M. prices that were only nominal, or quarter nominal.

But one Harry Kindermann, a Jew who had profiteered enough as agent for maple-sugar and dairy machinery so that in 1936 he had been paying the last installment on his new bungalow and on his Buick, had always been what Shad Ledue called "a fresh Kike." He had laughed at the flag, the Church, and even Rotary. Now he found the manufacturers canceling his agencies, without explanation.

By the middle of 1937 he was selling frankfurters by the road, and his wife, who had been so proud of the piano and the old American pine cupboard in their bungalow, was dead, from pneumonia caught in the one-room tar-paper shack into which they had moved.

At the time of Windrip's election, there had been more than 80,000 relief administrators employed by the federal and local governments in America. With the labor camps absorbing most people on relief, this army of social workers, both amateurs and long-trained professional uplifters, was stranded.

The Minute Men controlling the labor camps were generous: they offered the charitarians the same dollar a day that the proletarians received, with special low rates for board and lodging. But the cleverer social workers received a much better offer: to help list every family and every unmarried person in the country, with his or her finances, professional ability, military training and, most important and most tactfully to be ascertained, his or her secret opinion of the M.M.'s and of the Corpos in general.

A good many of the social workers indignantly said that this was asking them to be spies, stool pigeons for the American Oh Gay Pay Oo. These were, on various unimportant charges, sent to jail or, later, to concentration camps—which were also jails, but the private jails of the M.M.'s, unshackled by any old-fashioned, nonsensical prison regulations.

In the confusion of the summer and early autumn of 1937, local M.M. officers had a splendid time making their own laws, and such congenital traitors and bellyachers as Jewish doctors, Jewish musicians, Negro journalists, socialistic college professors, young men who preferred reading or chemical research to manly service with the M.M.'s, women who complained when their men had been taken away by the M.M.'s and had disappeared, were increasingly beaten in the streets, or arrested on charges that would not have been very familiar to pre-Corpo jurists.

And, increasingly, the bourgeois counter revolutionists began to escape to Canada; just as once, by the "underground railroad" the Negro slaves had escaped into that free Northern air.

In Canada, as well as in Mexico, Bermuda, Jamaica, Cuba, and Europe, these lying Red propagandists began to publish the vilest little magazines, accusing the Corpos of murderous terrorism— allegations that a band of six M.M.'s had beaten an aged rabbi and robbed him; that the editor of a small labor paper in Paterson had been tied to his printing press and left there while the M.M.'s burned the plant; that the pretty daughter of an ex-Farmer-Labor politician in Iowa had been raped by giggling young men in masks.

To end this cowardly flight of the lying counter revolutionists (many of whom, once accepted as reputable preachers and lawyers and doctors and writers and ex-congressmen and ex-army officers, were able to give a wickedly false impression of Corpoism and the M.M.'s to the world outside America) the government quadrupled the guards who were halting suspects at every harbor and at even the minutest trails crossing the border; and in one quick raid, it poured M.M. storm troopers into all airports, private or public, and all aeroplane factories, and thus, they hoped, closed the air lanes to skulking traitors.

As one of the most poisonous counter revolutionists in the country, Ex-Senator Walt Trowbridge, Windrip's rival in the election of 1936, was watched night and day by a rotation of twelve M.M. guards. But there seemed to be small danger that this opponent, who, after all, was a crank but not an intransigent maniac, would make himself ridiculous by fighting against the great Power which (per Bishop Prang) Heaven had been pleased to send for the healing of distressed America.

Trowbridge remained prosaically on a ranch he owned in South Dakota, and the government agent commanding the M.M.'s (a skilled man, trained in breaking strikes) reported that on his tapped telephone wire and in his steamed-open letters, Trowbridge communicated nothing more seditious than reports on growing alfalfa. He had with him no one but ranch hands and, in the house, an innocent aged couple.

Washington hoped that Trowbridge was beginning to see the light. Maybe they would make him Ambassador to Britain, vice Sinclair.

On the Fourth of July, when the M.M's gave their glorious but unfortunate tribute to the Chief and the Five-pointed Star, Trowbridge gratified his cow-punchers by holding an unusually pyrotechnic celebration. All evening skyrockets flared up, and round the home pasture glowed pots of Roman fire. Far from cold-shouldering the M.M. guards, Trowbridge warmly invited them to help set off rockets and join the gang in beer and sausages. The lonely soldier boys off there on the prairie—they were so happy shooting rockets!

An aeroplane with a Canadian license, a large plane, flying without lights, sped toward the rocket-lighted area and, with engine shut off, so that the guards could not tell whether it had flown on, circled the pasture outlined by the Roman fire and swiftly landed.

The guards had felt sleepy after the last bottle of beer. Three of them were napping on the short, rough grass.

They were rather disconcertingly surrounded by men in masking flying-helmets, men carrying automatic pistols, who handcuffed the guards that were still awake, picked up the others, and stored all twelve of them in the barred baggage compartment of the plane.

The raiders' leader, a military-looking man, said to Walt Trowbridge, "Ready, sir?"

"Yep. Just take those four boxes, will you, please, Colonel?"

The boxes contained photostats of letters and documents.

Unregally clad in overalls and a huge straw hat, Senator Trowbridge entered the pilots' compartment. High and swift and alone, the plane flew toward the premature Northern Lights.

Next morning, still in overalls, Trowbridge breakfasted at the Fort Garry Hotel with the Mayor of Winnipeg.

A fortnight later, in Toronto, he began the republication of his weekly, A Lance for Democracy, and on the cover of the first number were reproductions of four letters indicating that before he became President, Berzelius Windrip had profited through personal gifts from financiers to an amount of over $1,000,000. To Doremus Jessup, to some thousands of Doremus Jessups, were smuggled copies of the Lance, though possession of it was punishable (perhaps not legally, but certainly effectively) by death.

But it was not till the winter, so carefully did his secret agents have to work in America, that Trowbridge had in full operation the organization called by its operatives the "New Underground," the "N.U.," which aided thousands of counter revolutionists to escape into Canada.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN the little towns, ah, there is the abiding peace that I love, and that can never be disturbed by even the noisiest Smart Alecks from these haughty megalopolises like Washington, New York, & etc.

Zero Hour, Berzelius Windrip.

DOREMUS'S policy of "wait and see," like most Fabian policies, had grown shaky. It seemed particularly shaky in June, 1937, when he drove to North Beulah for the fortieth graduation anniversary of his class in Isaiah College.

As the custom was, the returned alumni wore comic costumes. His class had sailor suits, but they walked about, bald-headed and lugubrious, in these well-meant garments of joy, and there was a look of instability even in the eyes of the three members who were ardent Corpos (being local Corpo commissioners).

After the first hour Doremus saw little of his classmates. He had looked up his familiar correspondent, Victor Loveland, teacher in the classical department who, a year ago, had informed him of President Owen J. Peaseley's ban on criticism of military training.

At its best, Loveland's jerry-built imitation of an Anne Hathaway cottage had been no palace—Isaiah assistant professors did not customarily rent palaces. Now, with the pretentiously smart living room heaped with burlap-covered chairs and rolled rugs and boxes of books, it looked like a junkshop. Amid the wreckage sat Loveland, his wife, his three children, and one Dr. Arnold King, experimenter in chemistry.

"What's all this?" said Doremus.

"I've been fired. As too 'radical,'" growled Loveland.

"Yes! And his most vicious attack has been on Glicknow's treatment of the use of the aorist in Hesiod!" wailed his wife.

"Well, I deserve it—for not having been vicious about anything since A.D. 300! Only thing I'm ashamed of is that they're not firing me for having taught my students that the Corpos have taken most of their ideas from Tiberius, or maybe for having decently tried to assassinate District Commissioner Reek!" said Loveland.

"Where you going?" inquired Doremus.

"That's just it! We don't know! Oh, first to my dad's house— which is a six-room packing-box in Burlington—Dad's got diabetes. But teaching—President Peaseley kept putting off signing my new contract and just informed me ten days ago that I'm through—much too late to get a job for next year. Myself, I don't care a damn! Really I don't! I'm glad to have been made to admit that as a college prof I haven't been, as I so liked to convince myself, any Erasmus Junior, inspiring noble young souls to dream of chaste classic beauty—save the mark!—but just a plain hired man, another counter-jumper in the Marked-down Classics Goods Department, with students for bored customers, and as subject to being hired and fired as any janitor. Do you remember that in Imperial Rome, the teachers, even the tutors of the nobility, were slaves—allowed a lot of leeway, I suppose, in their theories about the anthropology of Crete, but just as likely to be strangled as the other slaves! I'm not kicking—"

Dr. King, the chemist, interrupted with a whoop: "Sure you're kicking! Why the hell not? With three kids? Why not kick! Now me, I'm lucky! I'm half Jew—one of these sneaking, cunning Jews that Buzz Windrip and his boyfriend Hitler tell you about; so cunning I suspected what was going on months ago and so—I've also just been fired, Mr. Jessup—I arranged for a job with the Universal Electric Corporation.... They don't mind Jews there, as long as they sing at their work and find boondoggles worth a million a year to the company—at thirty-five hundred a year salary! A fond farewell to all my grubby studes! Though—" and Doremus thought he was, at heart, sadder than Loveland—"I do kind of hate to give up my research. Oh, hell with 'em!"

The version of Owen J. Peaseley, M.A. (Oberlin), LL.D. (Conn. State), president of Isaiah College, was quite different.

"Why no, Mr. Jessup! We believe absolutely in freedom of speech and thought, here at old Isaiah. The fact is that we are letting Loveland go only because the Classics Department is overstaffed—so little demand for Greek and Sanskrit and so on, you know, with all this modern interest in quantitative bio-physics and aeroplane-repairing and so on. But as to Dr. King—um—I'm afraid we did a little feel that he was riding for a fall, boasting about being a Jew and all, you know, and—But can't we talk of pleasanter subjects? You have probably learned that Secretary of Culture Macgoblin has now completed his plan for the appointment of a director of education in each province and district?—and that Professor Almeric Trout of Aumbry University is slated for Director in our Northeastern Province? Well, I have something very gratifying to add. Dr. Trout—and what a profound scholar, what an eloquent orator he is!—did you know that in Teutonic 'Almeric' means 'noble prince'?—and he's been so kind as to designate me as Director of Education for the Vermont-New Hampshire District! Isn't that thrilling! I wanted you to be one of the first to hear it, Mr. Jessup, because of course one of the chief jobs of the Director will be to work with and through the newspaper editors in the great task of spreading correct Corporate ideals and combating false theories—yes, oh yes."

It seemed as though a large number of people were zealous to work with and through the editors these days, thought Doremus.

He noticed that President Peaseley resembled a dummy made of faded gray flannel of a quality intended for petticoats in an orphan asylum.

The Minute Men's organization was less favored in the staid villages than in the industrial centers, but all through the summer it was known that a company of M.M.'s had been formed in Fort Beulah and were drilling in the Armory under National Guard officers and County Commissioner Ledue, who was seen sitting up nights in his luxurious new room in Mrs. Ingot's boarding-house, reading a manual of arms. But Doremus declined to go look at them, and when his rustic but ambitious reporter, "Doc" (otherwise Otis) Itchitt, came in throbbing about the M.M.'s and wanted to run an illustrated account in the Saturday Informer, Doremus sniffed.

It was not till their first public parade, in August, that Doremus saw them, and not gladly.

The whole countryside had turned out; he could hear them laughing and shuffling beneath his office window; but he stubbornly stuck to editing an article on fertilizers for cherry orchards. (And he loved parades, childishly!) Not even the sound of a band pounding out "Boola, Boola" drew him to the window. Then he was plucked up by Dan Wilgus, the veteran job compositor and head of the Informer chapel, a man tall as a house and possessed of such a sweeping black mustache as had not otherwise been seen since the passing of the old-time bartender. "You got to take a look, Boss; great show!" implored Dan.

Through the Chester-Arthur, red-brick prissiness of President Street, Doremus saw marching a surprisingly well-drilled company of young men in the uniforms of Civil War cavalrymen, and just as they were opposite the Informer office, the town band rollicked into "Marching through Georgia." The young men smiled, they stepped more quickly, and held up their banner with the steering wheel and M.M. upon it.

When he was ten, Doremus had seen in this self-same street a Memorial Day parade of the G.A.R. The veterans were an average of under fifty then, and some of them only thirty-five; they had swung ahead lightly and gayly—and to the tune of "Marching through Georgia." So now in 1937 he was looking down again on the veterans of Gettysburg and Missionary Ridge. Oh—he could see them all— Uncle Tom Veeder, who had made him the willow whistles; old Mr. Crowley with his cornflower eyes; Jack Greenhill who played leapfrog with the kids and who was to die in Ethan Creek—They found him with thick hair dripping. Doremus thrilled to the M.M. flags, the music, the valiant young men, even while he hated all they marched for, and hated the Shad Ledue whom he incredulously recognized in the brawny horseman at the head of the procession.

He understood now why the young men marched to war. But "Oh yeh— you think so!" he could hear Shad sneering through the music.

The unwieldy humor characteristic of American politicians persisted even through the eruption. Doremus read about and sardonically "played up" in the Informer a minstrel show given at the National Convention of Boosters' Clubs at Atlantic City, late in August. As end-men and interlocutor appeared no less distinguished persons than Secretary of the Treasury Webster R. Skittle, Secretary of War Luthorne, and Secretary of Education and Public Relations, Dr. Macgoblin. It was good, old-time Elks Club humor, uncorroded by any of the notions of dignity and of international obligations which, despite his great services, that queer stick Lee Sarason was suspected of trying to introduce. Why (marveled the Boosters) the Big Boys were so democratic that they even kidded themselves and the Corpos, that's how unassuming they were!

"Who was this lady I seen you going down the street with?" demanded the plump Mr. Secretary Skittle (disguised as a colored wench in polka-dotted cotton) of Mr. Secretary Luthorne (in black-face and large red gloves).

"That wasn't no lady, that was Walt Trowbridge's paper."

"Ah don't think Ah cognosticates youse, Mist' Bones."

"Why—you know—'A Nance for Plutocracy.'"

Clean fun, not too confusingly subtle, drawing the people (several millions listened on the radio to the Boosters' Club show) closer to their great-hearted masters.

But the high point of the show was Dr. Macgoblin's daring to tease his own faction by singing:

Buzz and booze and biz, what fun! This job gets drearier and drearier, When I get out of Washington, I'm going to Siberia!

It seemed to Doremus that he was hearing a great deal about the Secretary of Education. Then, in late September, he heard something not quite pleasant about Dr. Macgoblin. The story, as he got it, ran thus:

Hector Macgoblin, that great surgeon-boxer-poet-sailor, had always contrived to have plenty of enemies, but after the beginning of his investigation of schools, to purge them of any teachers he did not happen to like, he made so unusually many that he was accompanied by bodyguards. At this time in September, he was in New York, finding quantities of "subversive elements" in Columbia University— against the protests of President Nicholas Murray Butler, who insisted that he had already cleaned out all willful and dangerous thinkers, especially the pacifists in the medical school—and Macgoblin's bodyguards were two former instructors in philosophy who in their respective universities had been admired even by their deans for everything except the fact that they would get drunk and quarrelsome. One of them, in that state, always took off one shoe and hit people over the head with the heel, if they argued in defense of Jung.

With these two in uniforms as M.M. battalion leaders—his own was that of a brigadier—after a day usefully spent in kicking out of Columbia all teachers who had voted for Trowbridge, Dr. Macgoblin started off with his brace of bodyguards to try out a wager that he could take a drink at every bar on Fifty-second Street and still not pass out.

He had done well when, at ten-thirty, being then affectionate and philanthropic, he decided that it would be a splendid idea to telephone his revered former teacher in Leland Stanford, the biologist Dr. Willy Schmidt, once of Vienna, now in Rockefeller Institute. Macgoblin was indignant when someone at Dr. Schmidt's apartment informed him that the doctor was out. Furiously: "Out? Out? What d'you mean he's out? Old goat like that got no right to be out! At midnight! Where is he? This is the Police Department speaking! Where is he?"

Dr. Schmidt was spending the evening with that gentle scholar, Rabbi Dr. Vincent de Verez.

Macgoblin and his learned gorillas went to call on De Verez. On the way nothing of note happened except that when Macgoblin discussed the fare with the taxi-driver, he felt impelled to knock him out. The three, and they were in the happiest, most boyish of spirits, burst joyfully into Dr. de Verez's primeval house in the Sixties. The entrance hall was shabby enough, with a humble show of the good rabbi's umbrellas and storm rubbers, and had the invaders seen the bedrooms they would have found them Trappist cells. But the long living room, front-and back-parlor thrown together, was half museum, half lounge. Just because he himself liked such things and resented a stranger's possessing them, Macgoblin looked sniffily at a Beluchi prayer rug, a Jacobean court cupboard, a small case of incunabula and of Arabic manuscripts in silver upon scarlet parchment.

"Swell joint! Hello, Doc! How's the Dutchman? How's the antibody research going? These are Doc Nemo and Doc, uh, Doc Whoozis, the famous glue lifters. Great frenzh mine. Introduce us to your Jew friend."

Now it is more than possible that Rabbi de Verez had never heard of Secretary of Education Macgoblin.

The houseman who had let in the intruders and who nervously hovered at the living-room door—he is the sole authority for most of the story—said that Macgoblin staggered, slid on a rug, almost fell, then giggled foolishly as he sat down, waving his plug-ugly friends to chairs and demanding, "Hey, Rabbi, how about some whisky? Lil Scotch and soda. I know you Geonim never lap up anything but snow-cooled nectar handed out by a maiden with a dulcimer, singing of Mount Abora, or maybe just a little shot of Christian children's sacrificial blood—ha, ha, just a joke, Rabbi; I know these 'Protocols of the Elders of Zion' are all the bunk, but awful handy in propaganda, just the same and—But I mean, for plain Goyim like us, a little real hootch! Hear me?"

Dr. Schmidt started to protest. The Rabbi, who had been carding his white beard, silenced him and, with a wave of his fragile old hand, signaled the waiting houseman, who reluctantly brought in whisky and siphons.

The three coordinators of culture almost filled their glasses before they poured in the soda.

"Look here, De Verez, why don't you kikes take a tumble to yourselves and get out, beat it, exeunt bearing corpses, and start a real Zion, say in South America?"

The Rabbi looked bewildered at the attack. Dr. Schmidt snorted, "Dr. Macgoblin—once a promising pupil of mine—is Secretary of Education and a lot of t'ings—I don't know vot!—at Washington. Corpo!"

"Oh!" The Rabbi sighed. "I have heard of that cult, but my people have learned to ignore persecution. We have been so impudent as to adopt the tactics of your Early Christian Martyrs! Even if we were invited to your Corporate feast—which, I understand, we most warmly are not!—I am afraid we should not be able to attend. You see, we believe in only one Dictator, God, and I am afraid we cannot see Mr. Windrip as a rival to Jehovah!"

"Aah, that's all baloney!" murmured one of the learned gunmen, and Macgoblin shouted, "Oh, can the two-dollar words! There's just one thing where we agree with the dirty, Kike-loving Communists—that's in chucking the whole bunch of divinities, Jehovah and all the rest of 'em, that've been on relief so long!"

The Rabbi was unable even to answer, but little Dr. Schmidt (he had a doughnut mustache, a beer belly, and black button boots with soles half-an-inch thick) said, "Macgoblin, I suppose I may talk frank wit' an old student, there not being any reporters or loutspeakers arount. Do you know why you are drinking like a pig? Because you are ashamt! Ashamt that you, once a promising researcher, should have solt out to freebooters with brains like decayed liver and—"

"That'll do from you, Prof!"

"Say, we oughtta tie those seditious sons of hounds up and beat the daylight out of 'em!" whimpered one of the watchdogs.

Macgoblin shrieked, "You highbrows—you stinking intellectuals! You, you Kike, with your lush-luzurious library, while Common People been starving—would be now if the Chief hadn't saved 'em! Your c'lection books—stolen from the pennies of your poor, dumb, foot-kissing congregation of pushcart peddlers!"

The Rabbi sat bespelled, fingering his beard, but Dr. Schmidt leaped up, crying, "You three scoundrels were not invited here! You pushed your way in! Get out! Go! Get out!"

One of the accompanying dogs demanded of Macgoblin, "Going to stand for these two Yiddles insulting us—insulting the whole by God Corpo state and the M.M. uniform? Kill 'em!"

Now, to his already abundant priming, Macgoblin had added two huge whiskies since he had come. He yanked out his automatic pistol, fired twice. Dr. Schmidt toppled. Rabbi De Verez slid down in his chair, his temple throbbing out blood. The houseman trembled at the door, and one of the guards shot at him, then chased him down the street, firing, and whooping with the humor of the joke. This learned guard was killed instantly, at a street crossing, by a traffic policeman.

Macgoblin and the other guard were arrested and brought before the Commissioner of the Metropolitan District, the great Corpo viceroy, whose power was that of three or four state governors put together.

Dr. de Verez, though he was not yet dead, was too sunken to testify. But the Commissioner thought that in a case so closely touching the federal government, it would not be seemly to postpone the trial.

Against the terrified evidence of the Rabbi's Russian-Polish houseman were the earnest (and by now sober) accounts of the federal Secretary of Education, and of his surviving aide, formerly Assistant Professor of Philosophy in Pelouse University. It was proven that not only De Verez but also Dr. Schmidt was a Jew— which, incidentally, he 100 per cent was not. It was almost proven that this sinister pair had been coaxing innocent Corpos into De Verez's house and performing upon them what a scared little Jewish stool pigeon called "ritual murders." Macgoblin and friend were acquitted on grounds of self-defense and handsomely complimented by the Commissioner—and later in telegrams from President Windrip and Secretary of State Sarason—for having defended the Commonwealth against human vampires and one of the most horrifying plots known in history.

The policeman who had shot the other guard wasn't, so scrupulous was Corpo justice, heavily punished—merely sent out to a dreary beat in the Bronx. So everybody was happy.

But Doremus Jessup, on receiving a letter from a New York reporter who had talked privately with the surviving guard, was not so happy. He was not in a very gracious temper, anyway. County Commissioner Shad Ledue, on grounds of humanitarianism, had made him discharge his delivery boys and employ M.M.'s to distribute (or cheerfully chuck into the river) the Informer.

"Last straw—plenty last," he raged.

He had read about Rabbi de Verez and seen pictures of him. He had once heard Dr. Willy Schmidt speak, when the State Medical Association had met at Fort Beulah, and afterward had sat near him at dinner. If they were murderous Jews, then he was a murderous Jew too, he swore, and it was time to do something for His Own People.

That evening—it was late in September, 1937—he did not go home to dinner at all but, with a paper container of coffee and a slab of pie untouched before him, he stooped at his desk in the Informer office, writing an editorial which, when he had finished it, he marked: "Must. 12-pt bold face—box top front p."

The beginning of the editorial, to appear the following morning was:

Believing that the inefficiency and crimes of the Corpo administration were due to the difficulties attending a new form of government, we have waited patiently for their end. We apologize to our readers for that patience.

It is easy to see now, in the revolting crime of a drunken cabinet member against two innocent and valuable old men like Dr. Schmidt and the Rev. Dr. de Verez, that we may expect nothing but murderous extirpation of all honest opponents of the tyranny of Windrip and his Corpo gang.

Not that all of them are as vicious as Macgoblin. Some are merely incompetent—like our friends Ledue, Reek, and Haik. But their ludicrous incapability permits the homicidal cruelty of their chieftains to go on without check.

Buzzard Windrip, the "Chief," and his pirate gang—

A smallish, neat, gray-bearded man, furiously rattling an aged typewriter, typing with his two forefingers.

Dan Wilgus, head of the composing room, looked and barked like an old sergeant and, like an old sergeant, was only theoretically meek to his superior officer. He was shaking when he brought in this copy and, almost rubbing Doremus's nose in it, protested, "Say, boss, you don't honest t' God think we're going to set this up, do you?"

"I certainly do!"

"Well, I don't! Rattlesnake poison! It's all right your getting thrown in the hoosegow and probably shot at dawn, if you like that kind of sport, but we've held a meeting of the chapel, and we all say, damned if we'll risk our necks too!"

"All right, you yellow pup! All right, Dan, I'll set it myself!"

"Aw, don't! Gosh, I don't want to have to go to your funeral after the M.M.'s get through with you, and say, 'Don't he look unnatural!'"

"After working for me for twenty years, Dan! Traitor!"

"Look here! I'm no Enoch Arden or—oh, what the hell was his name?—Ethan Frome or Benedict Arnold or whatever it was!—and more 'n once I've licked some galoot that was standing around a saloon telling the world you were the lousiest highbrow editor in Vermont, and at that, I guess maybe he was telling the truth, but same time—" Dan's effort to be humorous and coaxing broke, and he wailed, "God, boss, please don't!"

"I know, Dan. Prob'ly our friend Shad Ledue will be annoyed. But I can't go on standing things like slaughtering old De Verez any more and—Here! Gimme that copy!"

While compositors, pressmen, and the young devil stood alternately fretting and snickering at his clumsiness, Doremus ranged up before a type case, in his left hand the first composing-stick he had held in ten years, and looked doubtfully at the case. It was like a labyrinth to him. "Forgot how it's arranged. Can't find anything except the e-box!" he complained.

"Hell! I'll do it! All you pussyfooters get the hell out of this! You don't know one doggone thing about who set this up!" Dan Wilgus roared, and the other printers vanished!—as far as the toilet door.

In the editorial office, Doremus showed proofs of his indiscretion to Doc Itchitt, that enterprising though awkward reporter, and to Julian Falck, who was off now to Amherst but who had been working for the Informer all summer, combining unprintable articles on Adam Smith with extremely printable accounts of golf and dances at the country club.

"Gee, I hope you will have the nerve to go on and print it—and same time, I hope you don't! They'll get you!" worried Julian.

"Naw! Gwan and print it! They won't dare to do a thing! They may get funny in New York and Washington, but you're too strong in the Beulah Valley for Ledue and Staubmeyer to dare lift a hand!" brayed Doc Itchitt, while Doremus considered, "I wonder if this smart young journalistic Judas wouldn't like to see me in trouble and get hold of the Informer and turn it Corpo?"

He did not stay at the office till the paper with his editorial had gone to press. He went home early, and showed the proof to Emma and Sissy. While they were reading it, with yelps of disapproval, Julian Falck slipped in.

Emma protested, "Oh, you can't—you mustn't do it! What will become of us all? Honestly, Dormouse, I'm not scared for myself, but what would I do if they beat you or put you in prison or something? It would just break my heart to think of you in a cell! And without any clean underclothes! It isn't too late to stop it, is it?"

"No. As a matter of fact the paper doesn't go to bed till eleven.... Sissy, what do you think?"

"I don't know what to think! Oh damn!"

"Why Sis-sy," from Emma, quite mechanically.

"It used to be, you did what was right and got a nice stick of candy for it," said Sissy. "Now, it seems as if whatever's right is wrong. Julian—funny-face—what do you think of Pop's kicking Shad in his sweet hairy ears?"

"Why, Sis—"

Julian blurted, "I think it'd be fierce if somebody didn't try to stop these fellows. I wish I could do it. But how could I?"

"You've probably answered the whole business," said Doremus. "If a man is going to assume the right to tell several thousand readers what's what—most agreeable, hitherto—he's got a kind of you might say priestly obligation to tell the truth. 'O cursed spite.' Well! I think I'll drop into the office again. Home about midnight. Don't sit up, anybody—and Sissy, and you, Julian, that particularly goes for you two night prowlers! As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord—and in Vermont, that means going to bed."

"And alone!" murmured Sissy.

"Why—Cecilia—Jes-sup!"

As Doremus trotted out, Foolish, who had sat adoring him, jumped up, hoping for a run.

Somehow, more than all of Emma's imploring, the dog's familiar devotion made Doremus feel what it might be to go to prison.

He had lied. He did not return to the office. He drove up the valley to the Tavern and to Lorinda Pike.

But on the way he stopped in at the home of his son-in-law, bustling young Dr. Fowler Greenhill; not to show him the proof but to have—perhaps in prison?—another memory of the domestic life in which he had been rich. He stepped quietly into the front hall of the Greenhill house—a jaunty imitation of Mount Vernon; very prosperous and secure, gay with the brass-knobbed walnut furniture and painted Russian boxes which Mary Greenhill affected. Doremus could hear David (but surely it was past his bedtime?—what time did nine-year-old kids go to bed these degenerate days?) excitedly chattering with his father, and his father's partner, old Dr. Marcus Olmsted, who was almost retired but who kept up the obstetrics and eye-and-ear work for the firm.

Doremus peeped into the living room, with its bright curtains of yellow linen. David's mother was writing letters, a crisp, fashionable figure at a maple desk complete with yellow quill pen, engraved notepaper, and silver-backed blotter. Fowler and David were lounging on the two wide arms of Dr. Olmsted's chair.

"So you don't think you'll be a doctor, like your dad and me?" Dr. Olmsted was quizzing.

David's soft hair fluttered as he bobbed his head in the agitation of being taken seriously by grown-ups.

"Oh—oh—oh yes, I would like to. Oh, I think it'd be slick to be a doctor. But I want to be a newspaper, like Granddad. That'd be a wow! You said it!"

("Da-vid! Where you ever pick up such language!")

"You see, Uncle-Doctor, a doctor, oh gee, he has to stay up all night, but an editor, he just sits in his office and takes it easy and never has to worry about nothing!"

That moment, Fowler Greenhill saw his father-in-law making monkey faces at him from the door and admonished David, "Now, not always! Editors have to work pretty hard sometimes—just think of when there's train wrecks and floods and everything! I'll tell you. Did you know I have magic power?"

"What's 'magic power,' Daddy?"

"I'll show you. I'll summon your granddad here from misty deeps—"

("But will he come?" grunted Dr. Olmsted.)

"—and have him tell you all the troubles an editor has. Just make him come flying through the air!"

"Aw, gee, you couldn't do that, Dad!"

"Oh, can't I!" Fowler stood solemnly, the overhead lights making soft his harsh red hair, and he windmilled his arms, hooting, "Presto—vesto—adsit—Granddad Jes-sup—voilà!"

And there, coming through the doorway, sure enough was Granddad Jessup!

Doremus remained only ten minutes, saying to himself, "Anyway, nothing bad can happen here, in this solid household." When Fowler saw him to the door, Doremus sighed to him, "Wish Davy were right— just had to sit in the office and not worry. But I suppose some day I'll have a run-in with the Corpos."

"I hope not. Nasty bunch. What do you think, Dad? That swine Shad Ledue told me yesterday they wanted me to join the M.M.'s as medical officer. Fat chance! I told him so."

"Watch out for Shad, Fowler. He's vindictive. Made us rewire our whole building."

"I'm not scared of Captain General Ledue or fifty like him! Hope he calls me in for a bellyache some day! I'll give him a good sedative—potassium of cyanide. Maybe I'll some day have the pleasure of seeing that gent in his coffin. That's the advantage the doctor has, you know! G'-night, Dad! Sleep tight!"

A good many tourists were still coming up from New York to view the colored autumn of Vermont, and when Doremus arrived at the Beulah Valley Tavern he had irritably to wait while Lorinda dug out extra towels and looked up tram schedules and was polite to old ladies who complained that there was too much—or not enough—sound from the Beulah River Falls at night. He could not talk to her apart until after ten. There was, meanwhile, a curious exalted luxury in watching each lost minute threaten him with the approach of the final press time, as he sat in the tea room, imperturbably scratching through the leaves of the latest Fortune.

Lorinda led him, at ten-fifteen, into her little office—just a roll-top desk, a desk chair, one straight chair, and a table piled with heaps of defunct hotel-magazines. It was spinsterishly neat yet smelled still of the cigar smoke and old letter files of proprietors long since gone.

"Let's hurry, Dor. I'm having a little dust-up with that snipe Nipper." She plumped down at the desk.

"Linda, read this proof. For tomorrow's paper.... No. Wait. Stand up."

"Eh?"

He himself took the desk chair and pulled her down on his knees. "Oh, you!" she snorted, but she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder and murmured contentedly.

"Read this, Linda. For tomorrow's paper. I think I'm going to publish it, all right—got to decide finally before eleven—but ought I to? I was sure when I left the office, but Emma was scared—"

"Oh, Emma! Sit still. Let me see it." She read quickly. She always did. At the end she said emotionlessly, "Yes. You must run it. Doremus! They've actually come to us here—the Corpos—it's like reading about typhus in China and suddenly finding it in your own house!"

She rubbed his shoulder with her cheek again, and raged, "Think of it! That Shad Ledue—and I taught him for a year in district school, though I was only two years older than he was—and what a nasty bully he was, too! He came to me a few days ago, and he had the nerve to propose that if I would give lower rates to the M.M.'s—he sort of hinted it would be nice of me to serve M.M. officers free—they would close their eyes to my selling liquor here, without a license or anything! Why, he had the inconceivable nerve to tell me, and condescendingly! my dear—that he and his fine friends would be willing to hang out here a lot! Even Staubmeyer—oh, our 'professor' is blossoming out as quite a sporting character! And when I chased Ledue out, with a flea in his ear—Well, just this morning I got a notice that I have to appear in the county court tomorrow—some complaint from my endearing partner, Mr. Nipper—seems he isn't satisfied with the division of our work here—and honestly, my darling, he never does one blame thing but sit around and bore my best customers to death by telling what a swell hotel he used to have in Florida. And Nipper has taken his things out of here and moved into town. I'm afraid I'll have an unpleasant time, trying to keep from telling him what I think of him, in court."

"Good Lord! Look, sweet, have you got a lawyer for it?"

"Lawyer? Heavens no! Just a misunderstanding—on little Nipper's part."

"You'd better. The Corpos are using the courts for all sorts of graft and for accusations of sedition. Get Mungo Kitterick, my lawyer."

"He's dumb. Ice water in his veins."

"I know, but he's a tidier-up, like so many lawyers. Likes to see everything all neat in pigeonholes. He may not care a damn for justice, but he'll be awfully pained by any irregularities. Please get him, Lindy, because they've got Effingham Swan presiding at court tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Swan—the Military Judge for District Three—that's a new Corpo office. Kind of circuit judge with court-martial powers. This Effingham Swan—I had Doc Itchitt interview him today, when he arrived—he's the perfect gentleman-Fascist—Oswald Mosley style. Good family—whatever that means. Harvard graduate. Columbia Law School, year at Oxford. But went into finance in Boston. Investment banker. Major or something during the war. Plays polo and sailed in a yacht race to Bermuda. Itchitt says he's a big brute, with manners smoother than a butterscotch sundae and more language than a bishop."

"But I'll be glad to have a gentleman to explain things to, instead of Shad."

"A gentleman's blackjack hurts just as much as a mucker's!"

"Oh, you!" with irritated tenderness, running her forefinger along the line of his jaw.

Outside, a footstep.

She sprang up, sat down primly in the straight chair. The footsteps went by. She mused:

"All this trouble and the Corpos—They're going to do something to you and me. We'll become so roused up that—either we'll be desperate and really cling to each other and everybody else in the world can go to the devil or, what I'm afraid is more likely, we'll get so deep into rebellion against Windrip, we'll feel so terribly that we're standing for something, that we'll want to give up everything else for it, even give up you and me. So that no one can ever find out and criticize. We'll have to be beyond criticism."

"No! I won't listen. We will fight, but how can we ever get so involved—detached people like us—"

"You are going to publish that editorial tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"It's not too late to kill it?"

He looked at the clock over her desk—so ludicrously like a grade- school clock that it ought to have been flanked with portraits of George and Martha. "Well, yes, it is too late—almost eleven. Couldn't get to the office till 'way past."

"You're sure you won't worry about it when you go to bed tonight? Dear, I so don't want you to worry! You're sure you don't want to telephone and kill the editorial?"

"Sure. Absolute!"

"I'm glad! Me, I'd rather be shot than go sneaking around, crippled with fear. Bless you!"

She kissed him and hurried off to another hour or two of work, while he drove home, whistling vaingloriously.

But he did not sleep well, in his big black-walnut bed. He startled to the night noises of an old frame house—the easing walls, the step of bodiless assassins creeping across the wooden floors all night long.

[hotkoyo]

SFW Howie Alphabet Headcanons

Author's Note: When will my husband come home from war?

Disclaimer: These headcanons are based on how I imagine Howie to be based on the game. You don't have to agree with what I say here as everyone is free to have their own ideas.

𝄥 𝄞 ── 𝄇

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

VERY affectionate. I honestly feel like he grew up surrounded with so much love and now he’s just overflowing with it. Howie is all about showing his love through warm hugs, having his arm around you, swinging your hands as you walk, head pats, you name it. Another one, in my opinion, is words of affirmation. He'd tell you how much you matter to him through words, like quoting lines from his favorite movies and saying "I love you" before you both go to sleep.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Affectionate. Lots of play fighting and cuddling during movie sessions. Singing to Disney songs at the top of your lungs. You guys make friendship bracelets for each other (and he never takes off his). Definitely one of those dudes who drive their best friend everywhere.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

If it’s not apparent already, this dude is a giant golden retriever and he lives for the cuddles. He is born to cuddle, baby. Due to his size, it’s natural that he ends up as a big spoon more often than not but he definitely loves the moments he gets to be the small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

So domestic, even when you guys just started dating. It’s easy to imagine yourself settling down with someone as warm and comforting as Howie. He would love to settle down and build a home with you and you guys love having conversations about your dream house and how your life would be like in five, ten years. He’s alright at cooking in general but can cook some amazing Chinese dishes that his mom taught him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be hard for him to get out of a relationship, to be completely honest. He’s one of those people who easily gets attachment issues and finds it hard to move on from a relationship. If he really has to be the one to end the relationship, he would want to talk it out with you and try to end your relationship on a good note. I feel like he’s one of those people who really values respect, even when things aren’t working out anymore between you two.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Howie is a hopeless romantic and while he does have his insecurities, I feel like he would really love to commit to someone. In terms of marriage, it really depends on you. I don’t think his career would hinder him much when it comes to popping the question, to be honest. If he feels like he’s comfortable enough with the relationship and sees that you are, too, I think he’d propose to you when he feels like the time is right.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Howie is a textbook example of a gentle giant. He knows he’s strong so physically, he knows when to hold back a bit. Emotionally, it’s canon that he’s a soft and caring boy through and through and he would never hurt you on purpose.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Ugh, he LOVES hugs. It’s canon that the Yan fam is really good with hugs so if you need a pick-me-up, he’s your man. Whenever you guys are alone, he acts like an overgrown koala because he can’t get enough of hugging you. If hot chocolate is a hug, it’s what Howie’s would feel like. Warm, familiar, and comforting.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows he loves you when he does but holds back a lot in fear of coming off too strong. If he feels that you feel the same, then he would say it pretty quickly into the relationship or during a spur of a moment. If it seems that you need more time, he would hold back just so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s the type who’s less jealous and more insecure. His jealousy isn’t going to make him act rashly and put you on the spot. It’s slow and creeping and you might not notice at first because of how well he conceals it but it becomes apparent by the way he starts to act distant.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm and gentle. His kisses make you feel so safe and loved and he likes to take the time to show you how he feels through the gesture. He loves to kiss you everywhere but his favorite places to kiss you are your nose and temples.

Also, kiss him on the forehead and he’d melt into a puddle. Another one of his hotspots is at the back of his neck. Kiss him there and watch him sputter as he tries to gain back his bearings.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids, kids love him. He humors the kids a lot and is a great impersonator so prepare yourself for some improvised skits in front of the kiddos. Can’t say no to the kids, though, so you might have to step in from time to time. Kids treat him like a human jungle gym. Which he actually is.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I definitely see him as a morning person. Also, he’s so fit that you can’t tell me he doesn’t workout every single morning. Probably goes on an early jog and is one of those people who seems so chipper even if it's only seven in the morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Have you seen actors with their stage makeup on? There’s no way Howie’s skin stays so smooth and supple without some form of skincare routine. Has his own skincare routine and loves doing it with you together in front of the mirror (while making faces at you). After a good skincare session, he'll sit on the couch or in bed with you cuddled up to him as he reads scripts from his new upcoming projects.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Depending on how much he trusts you, it could be sooner or later. The thing with him is that he keeps things bottled up to himself. It’s hard and it’s tiring and the moment he feels safe with you, the dam breaks and he starts to reveal things about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It’s definitely hard to annoy Howie and even harder to provoke him. He has the patience of a saint and unless something is very wrong, you can always find him just chillin lol.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s quite sentimental so he definitely remembers your relationship milestones. He remembers a lot of small things about you; like how you like your cereal and your best friend’s name from high school. Some of the details can be fuzzy at times but he tries!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Canonically: The moment you said yes when he asked to be your boyfriend at Luca’s "sister's wedding".

Headcanon: The time you both visited his family in Chicago for the holidays. You were walking home from dinner when the snowfall turned into a snowstorm. It was terribly cold and windy but you both kept on laughing at the situation and you looked so gorgeous with snow stuck to your hair under the waning streetlight that he didn’t even care that he's freezing his butt off.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Isn’t too protective in the traditional sense because he knows you can take care of yourself. More protective of how you feel because of his words and actions so he’s careful in what he says and how he says them because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Highkey loves to be protected tho. Thinks it's kinda hot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Puts a lot of effort in his career, obviously. Howie is always so passionate and ambitious when it comes to being a top actor. Relationship-wise, he’s a simp. Dates are mostly casual with him but he puts extra time and effort in choosing or making gifts. All the extra and expensive bits goes into your anniversary dates.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A lot of times, he leaves his wet, sweaty workout shirts at the corner of the room and somehow always forgets no matter how many times you’ve scolded him. Sometimes doesn’t close or tie snack packages properly so when it's your turn to eat them, they’re often stale. A terrible snorer when he’s had a long day on set.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Quite concerned. He likes to highlight the nice parts of his body through the clothes he choose to wear and tries to follow a healthy diet in general. He worked hard for his body and as much as embarrassing as it is to admit, he loves to show off and be admired for it (especially by you).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

A strong believer that every person is complete and whole on their own. He believes that every person is their own and just because you love someone, it doesn't mean that your life must revolve around that person. Even so, he is a romantic. So even if he knows that he's complete without you, he does prefer to have you by his side.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He can play the piano really well. Aside from dance lessons, his parents put aside a lot of money to sign him up for piano classes when he was younger. Now, he plays them whenever he’s deep in thought and it’s always relaxing to hear him play.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In general, Howie doesn’t like broccoli. Keep those away from him. Please. When it comes to partners, Howie stays away from people who make him feel less. Basically people who put him down for being who he is and liking the things he likes. Narcissists, if you will.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He’s a snuggler and he nuzzles into your side a lot when he sleeps. Whether you get too warm is your problem because this dude is Strong™ and won’t let you push him aside that easily. And, God, I hate to say this but he’s definitely a snorer. Not all the time but when he’s really tired.... let’s just say you won’t be getting a decent sleep.

[killerlookz]

it's me again, girl who sends insufferably long asks aka metalhead elitist hater.

I totally agree, ESPECIALLY when it comes to deathmetal-heads, and honestly I want to add thrash metal guys to the list too as being so unbelievably annoying.

I think what I find so incredibly annoying about the whole thing is how guys who listen to metal always seem surprised or shocked when a girl is also into the same type of music. It irks me so much because I want a sweet partner who I can share similar music tastes with (I want eddie....) and for them to like.. not question me about it LMAO.

God forbid I meet an elitist ever in my life (thankfully have not had the pleasure in person because I don't go out much), and they somehow find out my top favorite band is Nirvana and I get asked the age old jokey question of name five songs.

Guys can listen to some band named Fart McStinker and know only one song from them but say they're a huge fan and nobody questions it because "oh man it's a guy!" But the second a girl is into the same band it becomes a whole "oh I bet you just wear the shirt for aesthetics, you probably can't even name a song other than their most popular"

Like, I don't know if this part of what I'm about to say will completely turn my whole standing around.

But I feel like the only time someone should be an asshole in defense of the band you listen to is if someone is completely skewing the point of their meaning (I'll use Insane Clown Posse as an example) and turning it into something it's not. Or trying to push ideals onto said band that isn't what they actually stand for or believe in.

OH MY GOD trash metal fans...... pllllssss i cant.

yeah being a girl or fem presenting in the scene is literally so annoying. pretty much in any capacity, even outside of just metal. like a little outside the realm of metal - but i posted a tiktok about a month ago and i was like "as a goth who loves paul dano why do goths love paul dano so much" because in my time in the paul dano fandom and even my own friend group ive come to find goths FUCKING LOVE paul dano

and some rando dude who didnt even follow me commented, and i quote, "youre probably not even goth u think that being an e girl is goth , goth is a subculture based on music" and when i asked how he possibly came to that conclusion based on a ten second video his response was "its not a conclusion bc youre literally saying that u r goth and im tryna explain what it is and u r not goth bc u listen to mgk or billie"

LIKE WHAT?????? how did u even COME to that assumption ive been listening to the cure since before i could even walk- ive been listening to goth music FOR LITERALLY FOR FUCKING EVER..... ???? the subculture is literally SUCH a huge part of my life - men are so stupid i cant

[sukifans]

KEEP THE CHANGE // sokka

SUMMARY: this very attractive guy comes in every night during your graveyard shift at the 24-hour diner you work at, always doing something on his laptop. he might be selling organs on the black market, but he tips, like, really well.

WARNINGS: language, mentions of sex, guns/robbery, panic attacks, generally darker themes, all characters are 20+

WC: 5.5k

A/N: anotha one. 5.5k words accidentally. i plan on doing a part 2 and maybe more at some point, but for now i just had to get this idea out

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

Things I Know About Him:

1. He’s very attractive.

The bell above the door jingled and you looked up expecting to see an exhausted, slightly smelly middle-aged trucker like usual. When instead it was a cute guy around your age — tall, smooth tan skin, dark brown hair in a ponytail with shaved sides, wearing black joggers and a white t-shirt that showed tribal-style tattoos inked over the toned muscle of his arms — the smile you usually had to paint on for customers was genuine for once.

“Hey, how are ya?” you asked, standing from the table where you’d been rolling the cheap silverware in paper napkins.

“I’m fine, how are you?” he responded politely, shifting the weight of the backpack strap he had slung over one shoulder.

“Better now that there’s a new face in here. Just you tonight?”

“Seems that way.”

“Alright. Grab a seat wherever you’d like and I’ll bring you a menu.” You waved your hand out to gesture at all the open tables in the empty diner.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Just a coffee would be great, thanks,” he said as he made his way to a booth in the corner.

“You got it.” You moved behind the bar top to fill your pot with coffee and brought him over a chipped ceramic mug on a plate. You met his eyes when you set it down in front of him and you were almost struck frozen by how beautiful they were. They were the color of the sky on those perfect cloudless summer days when the sun seems to shine a little hotter; the color of the ocean in those tourist trap vacation agency promotional posters. You shook yourself to quickly recover, though given the opportunity you would’ve gladly stared into his eyes for the rest of your shift.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing you a small smile that revealed a peek of white teeth. The hell was a specimen like that doing in a place like this? He looked he belonged in one of those Calvin Klein ads.

“No problem. Let me know if you need something else.” You turned away when he nodded an acknowledgement as he pulled a laptop from his bag, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt.

2. He takes his coffee weird.

The first time you saw him make his coffee you were horrified. You watched from behind the counter, amused at first, as he poured white sugar from the dispenser into the drink for a nonstop ten seconds. Sure, some people had a strong sweet tooth; that wasn’t too bizarre. You had to cover your mouth to stifle your irrepressible groan of disgust when he started drinking without even stirring to dissolve the crystals.

After some time it stopped being so horrifying and just became funny. You always had to avert your gaze to choke down your laughter when you spotted him crunching down on the undissolved sugar. If he hadn’t been so attractive it would’ve been creepy, but when he did it, it was... almost endearing.

3. He has money.

Every morning as the sun started rise you would turn to look at his table only to find him gone, leaving only neatly stacked dishes and a twenty-dollar bill behind. Even if he only drank coffee (total: $2.43, with tax, free refills), he would leave the bill. The first couple times he came in and did this you scanned the parking lot to look for him but it seemed like he’d vanished into thin air. After a week, you confronted him.

“You know, the coffee is only like two bucks,” you commented as you refilled his mug.

“I know,” he said.

“You’ve left a twenty here every night.”

“I know.”

You furrowed your brow. “We can give change here, y’know.”

“Keep it.”

“That’s a lot. Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He obviously wasn’t a man of many words, so you dropped it. If he had money to burn and decided to burn it on you, you’d take it. “Starving artist” isn’t just a saying, after all, and this shift didn’t exactly rake in the tips.

4. He has something either illegal or important (or both!) on that laptop.

He always sat in the same spot: a booth all the way in the corner with his back facing the wall, computer sitting close to his chest. It looked very suspicious, for someone who was probably trying not to look suspicious. No matter how many times you tried to sneak a glance at the screen while you refilled his cup you couldn’t catch anything. You’d have to practically be on his lap to see something and, well, it wasn’t that kind of establishment and you weren’t that desperately curious.

At least you knew it (probably) wasn’t some sort of freakish porn — he never wore headphones and his hands were always above the table either typing, lifting his mug, or scribbling something in chicken scratch in a worn moleskin notebook. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time someone had tried to use the diner’s free wifi for something like that. You would’ve hated to have to ban him for life.

Things He Might Be Doing:

1. Selling organs on the black market

2. Making a new-age tech startup selling GPS microchips to helicopter parents

3. Running the r/TheRedPill forum

4. Investigating conspiracy theories

5. Starting new conspiracy theories to hide The Truth

6. Solving crimes/murders online à la Don’t Fuck With Cats

7. Anonymous

8. Undercover detective trying to crack the cold case of a family member’s/close friend’s/lover’s suspicious and untimely death that was ruled an accident

9. Government whistleblower putting together a groundbreaking report

10. Robot gaining sentience and plotting uprising

11. Clone seeking revenge on his creator

12. Robot clone gaining sentience AND seeking revenge now that he can Feel

13. Studying/writing/doing a project/anything else realistic and boring

With a sigh, you looked up from your scribble-filled notepad. There he was in all his glory: laptop out, half-drunk coffee to his right, notebook under his elbow to his left, a pen stuck behind each ear and one in his hand that he tapped thoughtfully against his chin. What he didn’t realize was that the cap of the pen was off, leaving dark marks on his skin. The sight made you shake your head with a small smile. You turned to fill your pot with “fresh” (quotes added out of legal obligation) coffee for the trucker that sat at the bar top with a patty melt.

“Ah, fuck,” you heard from the corner booth. When you glanced over you saw him wiping his tongue with a handful of paper napkins, black ink all down his chin and the front of his shirt. The pen must’ve exploded while he was biting on it (a habit of his, you’d noticed). Even the trucker guffawed when he saw the mess. You headed over to his booth after refilling the other man’s coffee.

“I’d offer the Tide pen I keep in my purse, but I don’t think it’d do much for you,” you commented as you replenished his coffee. He glanced up at you with a grimace.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he sighed, huffing when he realized the napkin dispenser was empty. You scooped up the pile of ink-saturated paper.

“I’ll get a few rags.” He nodded in thanks and closed both his laptop and notebook, shoving them out of the way on the seat next to him. You brought out a couple rags soaked in warm water and wiped up the mess on the table while he scrubbed his face. Even after his skin was rubbed raw, there was a tinge of black around his mouth.

“Thanks-” his eyes flicked to the plastic name tag you wore on your chest, “-(Y/N).” He knew your name from how often he’d come in but he wanted to be extra sure.

“Sure thing,” you said, waving your hand. “I see you in here a lot but I’ve never gotten your name.” When he only hummed in agreement and didn’t provide a name you pursed your lips. “So, what is it?”

“What’s what?”

“Your name,” you giggled a little.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s not that important.”

Okay, weird. Maybe he had an odd name and he was embarrassed. “If I guess it will you tell me?”

“Sure.” He visibly seemed to relax a little. So definitely an uncommon name that he didn’t expect you to guess, then.

“Can I at least know what it starts with?”

He hesitated. “An ‘S.’” You smiled.

“Righty-o, Steven. Can I get you anything else while I’m here?” You pulled out your small notepad from your apron pocket and held your pen at the ready.

“Ah, no. I’m alright, thanks.”

“Alright, Shawn. Let me know if you think of something.” The corners of his mouth quirked up into a grin at your little game as you pocketed your notepad and walked away, soiled rags in hand. When you came back out from disposing of the rags, the trucker was gone and it was just the two of you left in the diner. Soft music crackled from the old speakers hung from the ceiling and he was back to typing away. You felt a little panic in your chest — he’d been coming in every night for the past month and a half and that was the most conversation you’d ever had with him. You had your in and you couldn’t let it go to waste now.

He looked up from his screen, eyebrow quirked, when you slid into the seat across from him. “What’s up?”

You shrugged. “Nothing. Just talking to my best customer named... Sam?” He shook his head and you groaned.

“Best customer?”

“Of course. I think you singlehandedly paid my utilities this month, Simon.” You folded and unfolded a paper straw wrapper idly as you spoke.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded. “Is that all it takes to get in your good graces?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like you need a sugar daddy.”

“Are you offering?” You gave him a teasing grin that made his cheeks color pink.

“I, uh-“ he stammered and you laughed.

“Seth, I’m kidding.” You rolled the straw wrapper up into a little ball and flicked it at him around the laptop screen. It bounced off his chest and he chuckled nervously.

“Right, of course.”

“So, what do you do all night on that computer, anyways?” Self-consciously, he lowered the screen and you rested your cheek on your palm, propping your elbow on the table.

“Just some work,” he answered evasively. Right, illegal or important or both — the age old question with this guy.

“At night?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, you work at night.”

“Because I have a day job, too. And I like nighttime.”

“Me too.”

“Which one?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

You sat back in your seat, a little embarrassed at getting carried away and prying. “Sorry, I’m just curious. I don’t have a lot of regulars on this shift and I just think you’re... interesting.”

“Interesting? How so?” He smirked in a teasing, knowing way that made your heart flutter and your face burn.

“A cute guy that comes in at the same time, every time, to do work in the middle of the night and always leaves a massive tip is pretty interesting, at least by my standards.”

He faltered. “You think I’m cute?”

“You’re alright for a nocturnal weirdo, Sebastian.” You winked and stood up, smoothing down your uniform. “I should probably get back to work. If Mack sees me sitting down with someone he’ll watch back the security footage and clock me out for however long I was here.” You jutted your thumb out behind you to indicate the cook and manager of the diner who you could both hear clanging around in the kitchen.

“Sounds like a hardass,” he said as he pulled his screen back open.

“Yeah, well...” You shrugged again. “It is what it is, y’know? Anyways, just shout if you need anything. It was nice talking to you, Shane.”

When he left at sunrise as usual, there was an extra five dollar bill on his table along with the usual twenty. You grinned when you picked it up and saw that on it he’d written down a phone number and simply signed it from “S.”

5. His name starts with S.

“What are you so happy about?” Zuko asked when he saw Sokka’s grin as he came through the door.

“What? Nothing,” he said, purposefully setting his mouth into a neutral mask. Zuko rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What did you do, Sokka?”

“Nothing! What, a guy can’t just be in a good mood?”

“No,” he deadpanned. Sokka scoffed.

“Right, I forgot I was talking to the guy who hasn’t had a good mood in like ten years.”

“Thirteen, actually.” Sokka shot him a look but Zuko’s face was serious. “Just tell me what you did. You’re usually tired and grouchy when you get back in the mornings, not smiling to yourself.”

“Christ, fine,” he huffed, yanking open the fridge to get a water bottle. “I gave a girl my number. The one at the diner.”

Zuko set his tea down and crossed his arms over his chest. “You did what?”

“Look-“

“Are you fucking stupid? With what we do, you’re just out and about giving your number to random women?”

“I’m sorry, we? You just got here, Prince Pouty. I can do what I want.”

“You’re putting everyone at risk, and for what? To get your dick wet?”

“I gave her a burner number for an app on my phone and she doesn’t even know my name. No one’s at risk.”

“You’re being selfish. This is bigger than you.”

“I’m allowed to have a life outside of this bullshit, whether you like it or not.”

“If it’s such bullshit then why do you still do it? No one’s forcing you to stay up all night digging for information and hacking people.”

“I can’t exactly do anything else now, can I? What am I supposed to tell employers I’ve been doing for the last few years, sitting with my thumb up my ass?”

“That is basically what you do, isn’t it?”

Sokka slammed his hands down on the counter angrily. “You can go fuck yourself, Zuko. You have Mai-“

“Mai is for appearances only.”

“-and Aang and Katara are together, and ever since Suki...” Sokka trailed off and then shook his head. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Just for your shitty attitude, I’m gonna take her out on a mind blowing date, and bring her back here, and fuck her on your stupid little trundle bed.” Zuko opened his mouth to respond but Sokka cut him off. “Don’t bother. I’m going home and going to bed. Tell Aang and Katara I stopped by,” he grumbled, slamming the door behind him as he left. He felt a little bad about probably waking up his sister and her boyfriend, but Zuko had been grating on his nerves since he got himself tangled up in their business and his misplaced self-righteousness about a little flirting was the last straw. The prick didn’t need to overcompensate for being Ozai’s son by meddling in his love life. He could do without that, thanks.

Sokka was still grumbling to himself as he jiggled the key in the door to his small and slightly dingy studio apartment a few blocks down from Aang and Katara’s. Once he was in, he kicked off his shoes and bag by the door, stripped down to his briefs, and flopped into bed to immediately pass out despite the slats of sunlight filtering in through his ratty blinds. As he fell asleep he couldn’t help but think of you; you and your playful banter and your pretty smile (the real one that made your eyes crinkle, not the fake one you gave to creepy travelers passing through) and your many questions that he had to carefully evade. One day maybe he’d be able to explain himself, even if it would take a while to get to that point. That is, if you gave him a chance in the first place. He couldn’t exactly blame you for turning down someone whose name you didn’t even know.

He just really hoped you wouldn’t.

The next night at the diner was as achingly slow as any other Tuesday. So far only “S” had come in and still he just sat in the corner, drinking his coffee and doing whatever he does. You had texted with him briefly once your shift ended in the morning, but you had to sleep and then get to your other job before your shift at the diner so there wasn’t much time for flirty messages. Instead, you sat at a table nearby to roll silverware, offering small smiles whenever he glanced up and met your eyes. The warmth in your cheeks whenever he smiled back was becoming achingly familiar. You vaguely wondered if your face might as well just get stuck like that.

Finally, someone new came in a few hours after midnight. He wore a ball cap and a large black jacket, hands stuffed in the pockets. You gave your usual spiel in your syrupy-sweet customer voice as you rose from the table to slide behind the counter and prep a cup of coffee for him. As you talked, you noticed he kept glancing around shiftily and had yet to remove his right hand from his jacket. There was something about him that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Sokka had been half-listening to the one-sided exchange when a sharp intake of breath and the sound of shattering glass made his eyes snap to you. You stood frozen behind the counter, hands raised to your shoulders, staring at the men who held a handgun level with your chest. His stomach dropped as he took in the scene, blood running cold when your terrified gaze drifted to him and then shot back to the gun trained on you.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna need you to empty the cash drawer for me, if you don’t mind,” he said in an eerily cool, level voice that made your skin crawl. “Don’t try anything, I just want to get the money and get out. I‘d hate to have to hurt you.” You nodded, trying not to let your hands shake, as you shifted over to the register. Out of the corner of your eye you could see “S” subtly reaching for his phone, hopefully to call the police. This also caught the man’s attention and he trained the gun on him now. “Don’t think I don’t see you, pretty boy. Give me your phone.”

“Alright, man. Take it easy,” “S” said as he stood slowly with his hands up, holding his phone in one. He carefully made his way over.

“Here,” you said to distract the man. He looked over at the paper bag you held that looked like it only had a couple hundred dollars in it at most.

“That’s it?” the man barked. “I know you have a safe somewhere, you bitch. Open it and give me the fucking money.”

You stared, wide-eyed, and willed the tears welling up in your eyes to go away. “I- I don’t have a key-“

“Fucking figure it out!” he shouted, making you jump. Sokka felt white-hot anger bubbling in his chest when he saw a tear slide down your cheek as the man unlocked the safety on the gun. Without pausing to think, he leapt the last few feet between himself and the guy to knock the gun away. You screamed and ducked down when a shot fired off, but the man missed widely when his arm was hit and instead blew out one of the panes of glass at the front of the diner. Sokka kicked the gun across the floor and grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket before slamming him against the bar top. While he was winded he yanked his hands behind his back and shoved him to the floor on his stomach, shoving a knee into his kidneys.

“(Y/N), call the police,” Sokka said, trying to keep his voice calm. You peeked over the edge of the counter and then jumped up when you saw the state of the two men.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll, um- I’ll do that.” You fumbled with your phone, struggling thanks to how badly your hands shook. You screamed again when Mack burst out from the kitchen wielding a sawed-off shotgun. “Jesus fucking Christ, Mack! Took you fucking long enough to get out here, didn’t it? Poor Stanley had to take care of it!” You gestured angrily to the situation in front of you and Mack rolled his eyes with a huff.

“I was calling the cops, kid. Relax, you’re fine,” he said and you balled your hands up into fists.

“Relax?! I swear to God-“

“(Y/N),” “S” interrupted gently and you whirled around to face him. “It’s under control now. You’re okay.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt or worse and I-“

“But I didn’t. See?” He gestured to himself as Mack secured the man’s hands together with some zip ties from the back office and then to one of the barstools that was bolted to the floor. You didn’t respond to that and instead furiously wiped away the few tears that had tracked down your face.

“After you give the cops your statement, go home for a few days,” Mack said, sitting heavily in a chair that faced the man and holding the shotgun in his lap. You opened your mouth to protest but he silenced you with a hard look. “You’re shaken up, kid; can’t have you working like this. Besides, it’ll take a couple days to get insurance to replace that glass.”

You relented with a sigh and dropped yourself into a booth seat, folding your legs against your torso and resting your forehead on your knees to hide your face. You squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a few deep, steadying breaths to hopefully push out the panic that still pierced your chest. You tilted your head up when you heard someone sit down across the table from you to see “S” giving you a concerned look. Self-consciously you wrapped your arms around your shins and pulled yourself into a tighter ball.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I know you’re okay, but are you, like... okay?”

You put your head down again and shrugged. “I guess.” You knew it was obvious to him that you weren’t, but you were thankful he didn’t push. Both of you were quiet for a few minutes and you could faintly hear sirens in the distance. All you wanted was to give your statement and go home.

“My name’s Sokka,” he said, finally breaking the silence. He drummed his fingers against the table nervously. You looked up at him again and gave him a small, watery smile.

“That’s a nice name,” you whispered with a sniffle.

Once you gave your statement and the police had taken the guy away in cuffs, you left the diner and were surprised to see Sokka sitting on the curb in front of the doors. He looked around at you when the door opened and he stood.

“You didn’t have to wait,” you said as he dusted off his pants.

“I know. I wanted to,” he said and looked you up and down. “You sure you’re alright? I can sit with you for a bit.”

You shook your head. “No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.” You both looked up at the sky in silence. The horizon was starting to fade from the inky black into a rich purple, stars still glinting above your heads. Dawn would be coming soon. Without a word, you walked side-by-side to your cars that were parked next to each other. When you popped your door open he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he just gave you a closed-mouth smile and a small wave. You gave him an affirming head nod and slid into the driver’s seat. He waited until you drove away, car disappearing around a corner, before getting into his own.

As you walked up the stairs to your apartment, keys clutched in your hand, your heart was pounding again. Your eyes started to sting and you quickened your pace until you were practically sprinting to your door. After fumbling with the lock for a second you threw yourself inside and slammed the door shut, breath now coming in hard gasps. You slid your back down until you collapsed onto the ground. You curled yourself into a ball again, pressing the heels of your palms harshly against your closed eyes and feeling the tears spilling from them. You were not okay, you were not alright, you were not fine. Not at all.

You could barely see your screen through your tears, but you made the call anyways. It made you feel silly and weak but, God, you were so fucking scared. You just needed someone’s voice to ground you back in reality and he was the first person you thought of.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Sokka.” You winced at the way your voice cracked; how it wavered.

Obviously, he noticed. “What’s wrong? Did you make it home okay?” Guilt and regret panged in your chest when you heard how worried he was. You shouldn’t’ve called, you were being stupid.

“Yeah. I-I don’t know why I’m s-so upset but I’m really f-freaked out. It’s st-stupid, I’m sorry for b-bothering you,” you whimpered to the relative stranger on the other end of the line. You screwed your eyes shut and pressed a hand to your chest; you felt like you had been sprinting and you couldn’t catch your breath.

“You’re not bothering me, (Y/N), and it’s not stupid. What happened tonight was fucked up and you’re having a perfectly normal reaction. Just take some deep breaths, okay? You sound like you’re having a panic attack.”

Doing as he said, you tried to even out your breathing to bring your heart rate out of the stratosphere. “Okay, okay. I, um- Sokka?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, this might s-sound weird, but... do you think you could, um, come over? I‘ll make you breakfast.”

“Oh, uh-“ he hesitated and despite yourself you started to panic again.

“You d-don’t have to. I-I know you’re probably t-tired. I shouldn’t’ve asked, I just don’t want to b-be alone right now.”

“Hey, hey, stop that. It’s okay, (Y/N). I just don’t want to make you, like, uncomfortable or anything. Strange guy in your apartment, and all,” he chuckled nervously. “Not that I’m... strange, or anything.”

You giggled through your tears. “Oh, you’re strange, alright; but I like that about you. Besides, I know your first name now. We’re practically best friends.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He laughed a little and the sound made you feel a bit better. “Just text me your address and I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?” The tenderness in his voice made your damp cheeks warm.

“Okay,” you sniffled. “Sokka?”

“Mhm?” You could hear him rustling around at the other end of the line along with the faint jingling of keys.

“Can you stay on the phone with me?” you asked sheepishly.

“Whatever you need, princess.” The pet name slipped so easily from his lips that he didn’t even notice. You, however, felt your face burn hotter and a twist in your belly. From anyone else’s mouth you would’ve thought you were being made fun of, but he said it so earnestly that you just felt warm and tingly, like you were talking with a grade school crush.

“What?”

“Hm?” he hummed distractedly and you cleared your throat.

“You called me princess.”

“Oh, sorry.” You hoped he was blushing as badly as you were. It sounded like he was, if one can sound like they’re blushing. “It’s just... something I call people sometimes. Habit.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s nice. I like it.”

“Interesting,” he responded. You could hear the suggestive lilt to his voice and it made the corner of your mouth turn up a bit.

You used to think that Sokka was a quiet man. Now, you knew you were wrong and he had always been too heavily focused on his work those many nights at the diner to properly flaunt what a motor mouth he was. He had no trouble sitting on the phone with you while he made his way over to your building, chatting away about... something — many somethings, for that matter. The details weren’t important; all either of you cared about was his almost prodigious ability to keep your mind distracted with idle talk. Despite your state he even made you laugh a few times. You were feeling better by the time he softly knocked on your door, although your legs still felt wobbly and weak when you stood to let him in.

When he saw your puffy, bloodshot eyes and the tear tracks that shone on your cheeks he felt an odd squeezing in his chest that left him a little winded. You had changed into a large faded t-shirt and leggings, your hair loose and falling delicately around your tired face, which had been scrubbed clean of makeup. He realized this was the first time he had ever seen you outside of the context of your work. Even though you surely felt like shit, in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think you still looked adorable. He felt a strong urge to wrap you up in a tight hug, but held off. This was still new territory for you both and he had no idea how you would react to physical affection from someone so new in your life.

You greeted him with a tiny smile and closed the door behind him. He suddenly became acutely aware of how sweaty his palms were now that he was alone with you in your apartment.

“Do you want any coffee or tea or something? Water?” you asked. “I- I started making waffles, if you want one. Or do you want something else to eat? I have-“

“(Y/N), please,” he chuckled. “You clocked out. You don’t have to serve me.”

“I know,” you sighed, twisting a strand of hair around your fingertips. “You came all the way over here, though.”

“It was less than a ten minute drive.”

“Still.” You stared at him expectantly and he rolled his eyes as he sat on your couch.

“Just make me one of whatever you’re drinking. I’m not picky.” You nodded and turned into the kitchen to prepare a second cup of lavender chamomile tea with honey. He accepted it graciously when you handed him the mug with some tourist location stamped on it. He took a sip and was surprised when he actually liked it – he had never much been one for tea. You sat down in the armchair adjacent to the couch and set your mug on the coffee table.

“Thanks, Sokka,” you murmured. He waved his hand dismissively.

“Seriously, (Y/N), it wasn’t any trouble. I’d rather be here and know that you’re okay than sit in bed and worry.”

“Not that. Well, yes; thank you for coming over, but... I was talking about at the diner.”

“What about it?”

You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again and you swallowed thickly. “You saved me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there.”

“I’m sure you would’ve handled it.” His eyebrows shot up when you shook your head aggressively.

“He might’ve shot me before Mack came out if you hadn’t knocked his gun away. And you didn’t even have anything to defend yourself with!”

“I was okay, princess; I’ve trained in fighting in stuff. I had to do something. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d hurt you and I hadn’t at least tried to help.” At this admission, your tears fell freely again and you choked out a sob. Sokka looked panicked and he leaned forwards, fluttering his hands uselessly. “Oh, fuck. Are you okay? Did I say something?”

You shook your head. “No, no. You’re just really sweet and I’m really emotional. And tired.”

“Do you want a hug?” he offered hesitantly. You looked over at him and saw his cheeks had gone pink. With a nod, you stood from your chair and curled up with him on the couch, letting his strong arms wrap around you while you cried into his shoulder. He squeezed you tightly against his chest and said nothing. He just closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of your head, trying to ignore his own tears that threatened to spill when he felt the way your whole body shook like a leaf.

Even once your sobs subsided to sniffles you made no move to get up. Your very bones felt heavy with exhaustion and the way Sokka held you was warm and comforting. You both eventually fell asleep like that, embracing on your couch, your mugs of tea and the bowl of half-prepared waffle batter on the kitchen counter forgotten for now.

[luminous-shifting-vibes]

*sequel* to actual fucking quotes from the shiftblr coffeehouse discord server

once again, it's out of context because x1000 funnier

also x1000 longer than previous post

"ur satan is gnc af"

"Bestie I’m already having gender envy over a fucking demon please"

"O_O ODEPIJHFbavevisdpvfhzdcnjawedsidjksjdkoeirjfmkdsoeirujdksodifjndmksoidfjdksidfj ITS" NOT IN MY FRAFTS IS SPEDNT 1 hour PN THAT SHIT"

"AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

"ohoho sexy"

"I am very proud of myself"

"himbo x edgy fuck"

"YOU COULD SQUISH HES CHEECKS"

"he has teefs"

"SQUASH"

"good for biting 📷"

"he's a himbo basically"

"B͂̒̄iͫ̍̈tͧ̓ͯè̄̇"

"bifth"

"i havent watched blue exorcist in years but mr okumura my beloved </3"

"MY LIFE QUESTIONS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED"

"is it important information to mention that the person i put up for my turn is the son of satan" "I know like 1 thing about everyone who isnt ranboo lmfao"

"crimes"

"tumblr sexyman"

"idk why but my first thought was cowboy onceler"

"I vibe with him but he is very long and twisty"

"steampunk e-girl"

"steampunk tumblr sexyman"

"Canonically bi crimelord I agree!!"

"OOO FRIEND SHAPED"

"ARTIST SIGHTED"

"they look like someone i would want to be friends with but is way cooler than me so i'd never actually talk to them"

"babby..... would die for him"

"honestly i probably kin him"

"i'm sure he's lovely but he looks way too much like my ex i'm sorry-"

"i'd be down for another rotation! i have another twink to show y'all"

"Also :00 blonde friend"

"Let us all infodhmo"

"Hsjagdvbs shhh im on phone"

"Nix woukd you like to joon?

"skitters away"

"I have two braincells and they both drink dumb bitch juice"

"oof wait whats the order again i have 0 memory"

"i want to bond with him over cosplay-"

"Awkwardly watches in band kid"

"One day I'm gonna a broadway star"

"which isnt to say they were bad. they were just fortnite dancing during rehersals"

"I threw it so hard my glasses flew off and slid under the stage right divider"

"anyway heres my boi"

"emo"

"haha emo"

"virgil sanders kinnie"

"he looks like he listens to my chemical panic at the fallout boy"

"Bro I bet he'd kick my ass with his deck"

"bird man my beloved"

"fuck i had so much to say and then i forgot it all"

"Birds!!"

"guiguhuh"

"crabrave"

"She sounds like someone I would end up stealing her personality"

"yess name collector gang"

"alias glass aiden haven absinthe fish brick rice"

"But I have Cypress, Remure, Genesis, Lemres, and Comet"

"And she's named after a mars candy bar bc alien"

"Hey, if plato went by plato, you can be king thief"

"im not dissing my gramma like that shfojd"

"My dad has seven legal names" "bitches be like *looks at fictional character* *steals their name* it's us we're bithces"

"coraline lowkey traumatized me but i adore it regardless"

"mmmmmm magic man :]"

"°0° green man"

"criminal (affectionate)"

"he would shoplift a candy bar from walmart and then brag to all of his friends about the sick stealing he did"

"despite the fact he's canonically been capable of overpowering a minor deity"

"i would commit so many crimes for him"

"Very babey"

"Yes please tell green man he is very pog"

"he also keeps a lot of dumb secrets"

"but I will sorely miss the chaos and energy of this here chat until I wake again" (by request XD)

"i just say words and if they're funny then they're funny"

"* or extremly chaotic either works"

"at this point we are just taking turns rambling"

"oH--"

"bc my brain has a schedule"

"Hopefully they have gyoza there or I will lose my mind"

"hehe yes spooky man"

"my ghost glucose guardian"

"the head of the undead group that lives there, and we end up dating. (yes I date a ghost, no I will not be taking constructive criticism /lh)"

"ghosts r just inherently sexy"

"i mean im becoming a squid thing so"

"Raven quirk raven quirk!!"

"ł â m p"

"łæmp"

"mothman: ooh lamp you look very nice today! do you come here often? mothman: wait shit no"

"I'd date a ghost"

"mine is still accurate, i am still sobbing (/j)"

"p e e p e e"

""@nick wilde is a tumblr sexyman" is the best thing i have ever seen"

"im sorry im cackling like a dying hyena"

"you're all 12 year olds"

"PEENIE"

"He once caused global warming on accident so he could get a tan"

"god, what a himbo. i love him"

"that reminds me of my friends kin assigned me jesus"

"Man outside of battle be like: princely crying but then in battle hes like: "CATACLYSM! DISASTER! DEVASTATION!" Chill out man"

"Every time I talk about satan it never fails to shock people it's my favorite thing to do"

"im kin assigning him roman sanders" ""Oh yeah he caused global warming because he wanted to get girls" "he what""

"oh damn i forgot satan was straight"

"twink appreciation club"

"give us the twinks"

"my first thought was bottom-"

"so many people to try and get his dad to love him"

"daddy issued"

"OH MY GOD ITS WILBUR"

"Big boy but"

"anyways janus is swagggg"

"........................."

"gib twink"

"give twink then i will share"

"holds him gentle like hamburger"

"This dumb bitch opened a book that said "do not open" and got possessed by a little bastard"

"he is. fragile creachur"

"klug is beauty klug is grace i would let him step on my face"

"If I'm playing swap and I have to hear one more "Pwanet Powew" Im gonna lose it"

"Who is to blame? Pandora or the box?"

"Bakugo isnt my type but I respect the drip"

"i say like my type isnt long-haired pretty boys and girls that look so gnc that people have a history of confusing them for men"

"hes a gremlin and i can appreciate a pretty gremlin"

"that is to say i am attracted to VFlower vocaloid. This is a confession."

"note i am a lesbian"

"You may like Schezo wegey"

"why does he have one single expression"

"soul soul eater passes the vibe check"

"magic wand"

"I Want To Hold His Hand"

"i would commit a war crime for him any war crime idc which one"

"my favorite one is when he sounded rlly gay because he said "Muscular bodies keep me satisfied""

"p e a n u t"

"Klug is a homophobic homosexual its just facts"

"grug from the croods is peak male performance"

"jaw drops to floor, eyes pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, heart beats out of chest, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware, whistles loudly, fireworks shoot from top of head, pants loudly as tongue hangs out of mouth, wipes comically large bead of sweat from forehead, clears throat, straightens tie, combs hair Ahem, you look very lovely."

"tag yourself im the fireworks shooting from the top of the head"

"i like essays"

"central time gang"

"11:11 pog-" (wait... is that a suprise angel number?? yes it is lovelies just for you <3)

"Then again im also a dumbass bitch who wonders what the souls in soul eater taste like. SERIOUSLY THOUGH. THEY LOOK TASTY AS HELL!!!! LIKE GODDAMN BRO YOU'RE MAKING ME FUCKING HUNGRY. Like. that shit- it's Bone Apple motherfucking Teeth. hell yea my guy. Im hongy now.... shlorp I'm seriously considering this. Like. They seem kinda like a liquid? But a solid? Are they like jello? The fuck they taste like my guy???? I keep imagining they're like sour, like sour candy maybe? Or do they taste salty? Sweet? Maybe some combo of two? Do they even have a taste or is it about the texture? The sensation? God my mouth is watering what the hell. I am starving. I think I need to go get a cookie. I'm gonna go get a cookie. Brb. I'm better. I'm still craving souls though. Which is a weird-ass cringey thing to say but I'm being dead-ass rn. They just.... look tasty???? And I wanna eat one. Thus. I am shifting to Soul Eater for the express purpose of satisfying my fucking cravings. enjoy"

"points were made"

"jello? more like helloooo schloooAHFJDSDAIDWNALDHSJKDAIDANDM"

"WAIT I THINK I HAVE AN ANIME GIRL BITING VIDEO TOO"

"anime girl voice: mmm! mm... ahhhhmp!! mmm, mmm... aaahmp!"

"i think it sounds great i'm going to start eating like that"

"several people are typing"

"do these look edible to you"

"forbidden gummies"

"when I was on lsd I couldn't eat my fruit gummies because I thought they were alive because they had little faces on them"

"oh shit yeah don't do drugs"

"anyways general consensus is puyos are edible, ty for your input everyone"

"everypony is a word so powerful it can bring nations to its knees"

"pls the self control it's taking me not to say "hewwo everypony" in gen chat when someone new joins-"

"hewwo evewrypony uwu deaw cewestia i hopwe it doewsnt wain owo"

"ive cooked up a sowution wiwth the knowwege ive acwued. they say a kitcwen time saves niwne, but im just savwing two. Ive gathewwed the inwedients to make a time sowbet. Thewe's hawdly woom fow seconds when the seconds mewt away."

"I had a ten year old sister... you know what happened to her??? very sad, very tragic... she turned eleven....."

"NIIICE"

"Guts dont say the secks word :( /j"

"watch your fucking language in front of the president"

"im so sorry lumi"

"i think you're like ehhhh 8/10 funny"

"now me???? 10/10. Hilarious"

"sometimes i have to take a step back and remember that this is the same guts i follow on tumblr /lh"

""ok every here's some good shifting advice!!! uwu have a good day" "yeah i did lsd and ate fruit gummies""

"i have one setting and it's whatever this is"

"my bitch ass cat just pushed the door open with his fuzzy face and now my sleeping dad is being lulled into dreams by Cosmo Sheldrake's 'Pliocine'."

"me on discord: nick wilde"

"me on tumblr: shifting water! haha funne! me on here: my hermit crabs are cannibals also i want to eat souls."

"im sorry yOUR VIBESA RE JUST SO DIFFERNT"

"u give off older cousin ive never spoken to but always admire at the family gatherings vibes"

"what the fuck"

"BC I HAVE LIBERTU"

"If you adopt me then yes"

"am I qualified for dad jokes???"

"we're all a lot smarter on tumblr"

"I'm like "awww... sweet... sweet little shiftlings... posting such sweet shiftling content... so pure, so wholesome... does not even know abcs....""

"can't think before you speak if you never think B)"

"I'm not responsible enough to be a mom"

"cat pet"

"show us pictures of the cat or i will do Crime"

"maybe thats me being a coward tho"

"MOTH!!!! MOTH MY BELOVED"

if y'all want I can make this a series bc shiftblr keeps giving me more content

[veliseraptor]

hii do you have book recs for enemies to lovers trope?

lordy lordy, you’re just handing me a challenge here. It’s funny because the first thing I thought of was the Coldfire Trilogy but in retrospect I’m pretty sure that’s not actually lovers, it just feels like it really, really, should’ve been. 

some thoughts, I guess - I went hunting for recs just in case I was forgetting anything, and what I discovered is a lot of them are YA (which I just...don’t read a lot of). this is what I could think of that I’ve read that worked for me, to greater or lesser extents:

Steel Crow Saga by Paul Krueger. This one is probably the weakest w/r/t this trope on the list, but it does feature a main pair who start out as enemies (from enemy nations, one of whom conquered and subjugated the other but that has now been overthrown). Might give you a little bit of what you’re looking for.

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell. I guess honestly this is probably more ‘rivals to lovers’ but...it’s ‘declared nemeses to lovers’ so I’ll count it. This was a book where I’m a little embarrassed by how much I read it and felt ‘oh, yeah, you saw where I live and went for it.’ I mean! It does very much feel textured “young adult” which is a style I really have to be in the right mood for, and I really do feel the thinly veiled Harry/Draco fanfiction coming off it, but that being said it was a lot of fun.

Captive Prince by C.S. Pacat. There are a lot of criticisms people make of this series - I don’t want to recap them, you can google if you feel like it - but hot damn if C.S. Pacat didn’t take the Lymond OC of her dreams and throw him into a slave fic premise and boy howdy if it didn’t work for me. Honestly I feel like I could’ve had more of the trilogy be the ‘enemies’ side of things, but I blitzed through these books (there are three) in about a day each. Content warnings for rape and incest. 

Folk of the Air Trilogy by Holly Black. The main pairing of this series spends the first book absolutely loathing each other and handed me a frankly very aesthetique quote for my ideal relationship dynamics (in fiction, obviously):  “Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.”

I feel like Deathless doesn’t...exactly qualify? but might scratch some of the itch.

Honestly, that’s about all I’ve got. By and large I get my enemies-to-lovers satisfaction from fanfiction and fanfiction only.

And I guess the Coldfire Trilogy, in my head.

Edit: Someone in the tags pointed out two others that I could’ve mentioned! Gideon the Ninth by Tasmyn Muir is, again, more rivals to lovers than enemies but I loved and would say it’s worth it - hits the same notes, more or less. This Is How We Lose the Time War by Amal el-Mohtar and Max Gladstone is, however, exactly this and also just a lovely book - on my best of 2019 top ten, if I recall. 

Also, @kaisidony noted that Paul Krueger has been accused of harrassment - I know nothing about the details of this and frankly am not going to go wading into it because a cursory google search turns up nothing but Twitter threads that I don’t particularly want to dig through, but heads up if that’s a deal-breaker for you.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 23

"When I'm in a bad mood It's good to know I have you You got niggas from your past that still ain't pass you But you're on my time But you're on my time now, and our past through

Now that we finally got them out the way All the decisions that I wanna make I want your body in a million ways Nobody ever makes me feel the same…"

DVSN—"A Muse"

Erik practiced playing poker online. When work was finished with Tony for the day, he would take himself to his apartment and cook a simple meal of plain brown rice with sautéed vegetables and boneless skinless chicken breasts.

Food consumed, he'd check personal emails, call his grandfather, and then hunker down on his laptop and play three hours a night. He was going to use the money Tony paid him that he had saved to get him in at the bottom: half a million dollars. Minus the other half a million he gave away to his family, he was willing to bankroll his spot at the high stakes poker table with no help from Tony.

Work had gotten serious. After Tony's cover story appeared in Forbes, the focus of his company turned toward escalating weapons manufacturing, and Erik finally saw the bread and butter of Stark Industries. His days were spent working with Tony at his subsidiary company AccuTech designing a new missiles system that he called Jericho X. The man spent hours of brainpower trying to create an experimental model that he wanted to manufacture and have on the market within five years. Inking a new contract with the United States Armed Forces, Tony was under pressure to deliver the hot-launched missiles sooner than the five-year deadline he gave AccuTech. The man was hands-on and Erik's education at the Naval Academy was useful to him. Erik had the mind of a soldier, and his training was meant to prepare him for his forthcoming Naval career. Those military eyes helped him on the job.

Erik had to concede once more that Tony was a smart motherfucker and his focus on work was just as laser-sharp and obsessive as Erik. Working around him on the Jericho X project was eye-opening and the long hours pushed Erik's mind to its limits. He was allowed to work at AccuTech and give up a lot of his assistant tasks which he was all for. He acted with restrained professionalism, and that allowed him to hang around after hours to do his own experimentation with the vibranium.

It did take the heads of AccuTech a couple of weeks to be accustomed to a Black teen having so much access to a secret project. If he had been some lanky white teen with an overly ingratiating personality, no one would question his presence. He would just be viewed as a white boy genius and "Atta boy!" accolades would've been thrown at him along with pats on the back. Instead, he was a Black boy genius faced with bias and suspicion. He endured the usual bullshit just so he could get his hands on equipment, testing space, and cutting-edge STEM knowledge.

Sitting on his bed and winding down from playing online poker, he checked out the housing available to him at M.I.T. In six months, he was leaving for grad school and he was already designing his life there. He checked out restaurants and clubs, searched for areas that had Black people and Black cultural things he could access. He searched for any capoeira spaces and the ones he found were white-dominated and he wanted Black people to practice with. He needed Black touchstones to keep him sane after his experience at the Naval Academy and Stark's internship.

Checking the M.I.T. website he found an alumni link that helped new students transition to the Institute. A few hyperlinks found him peeping the on-campus radio station, WMBR, that served the Cambridge-Boston area. Listening to a few archived music shows, he stumbled across one that was deejayed by someone called ButtaFly. The show was called Cosmic Café and when he listened to the first ten minutes, he immediately bookmarked it and added it to his listening rotation. The music was Blackity Black and spanned generations, and the DJ did live mixes that had Erik head bobbing.

For two months he laid on his bed from twelve midnight until two in the morning just being carried away by the sounds and also the voice of ButtaFly, a woman who made Erik's entire body relax. She opened her show with a positive quote or a bit of poetry and then she had themes that she created stringing songs from the field hollers of Black chain gangs to the Black Neo Soul of 90s British R&B, or any type of current African diaspora music she could blend with Hip Hop, Deep House, or Electronica.

He tried looking up personal details or even pictures of ButtaFly, but she was a hidden ghost, just words and rhythms and vocal soothing that helped him sleep before heading off for the grueling hours of AccuTech.

She became his brain muse, expanding his mind so he could juggle the science he worked with every day.

Stretching on his bed, Erik closed his eyes and put in his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café. I am your host, DJ ButtaFly bringing you that good nourishment, that savory food for your mind, body, and spirit. Tonight's theme is going to run us into the realm of quantum physics. A little Afrofuturism to get us through Black History Month…"

Erik felt his shoulders loosen up and he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine what type of face went with the sultry voice blessing his ears. The modulations and changes in tone she used as she spoke hypnotized his ears. Muscles throughout his body relaxed and he wondered what kind of musical journey she would take her listeners on that night.

"I want to open the show with a piece from a sister whose work I adore, Alexis Pauline Gumb. I feel like someone out there needs to hear it. I know I do. This is taken from her book of experimental poetry called 'Dub: Finding Ceremony'. This particular joint is called 'Commitment'. Are you ready, Fam?"

Erik nodded his head as he grew more comfortable, slipping deeper into a state of mental ease. He rolled his right hand down his chest and rested it on his stomach. Lying nude in the dark he could almost hear his heartbeat.

"We promise to wake you if we think you won't get the point of the dream. We promise to show up if you show up. Everyday. We promise to make you feel sick if you lie to yourself. We promise to let love through if it's love you came to do…"

Soft. Soothing. Safe.

Her voice cradled and held him in a warm place. She wrapped his thoughts around her words.

"We promise to make time flexible if you give us your time. We promise to think of you more often than you think of us. We promise to remember you when you forget. We promise to be wherever and in everything you haven't noticed yet. We promise to be we, even one by one…"

Erik's body floated. He was still firmly pressed on his bed, but the eternal part of himself seemed to rise above his tired flesh and hover at the beckoning of ButtaFly's mouth thousands of miles away.

"We promise to outsmart your mind. We promise to overlove your heart. We promise to echo over your voice. We promise you everything. Everything. All we ask."

An image formed in his mind.

Full lips. Feline eyes. Skin rich and dark and made for touching and deep kissing.

His hand slid to his manhood.

ButtaFly spun dreams, drums, and breakbeats, sounds and rhythms that kept him floating above himself even as he stroked a growing erection in his hand. He tried to create a more detailed rendering of what he imagined the DJ to look like, but as pre-cum beaded at the tip of his swollen glans, his brain substituted Devika's face and body as a placeholder and he ran with it.

He tugged hard on his dick, keeping a tight grip right under the ridge of his tip. He imagined Devika's ass wiggling as he slapped his dick on her ass cheeks. ButtaFly's music urged him on and when she spoke to her audience about the songs she was about to mix in next, he latched onto her voice and grunted hard.

"Fuck!"

His hand was slick and more pre-cum spilled onto his fingers.

"Fuck this dick!"

"You ready for more?"

The haunting track ButtaFly flooded his ears with dragged him to the edge. He jumped up and turned over on his bed. Grabbing his pillow, he jammed it under his waist and ground his dick on it, pumping his hips as his glutes flexed hard. Eyes squeezed shut he conjured up images of a shapely ass clapping loud because of his thrusts.

A disembodied voice had him humping his pillow, the casing growing damp from the amount of pre-cum he was shooting out from his sensitive tip. He jammed his right hand on top of his erection to create a tunnel, allowing him to pretend he was in ButtaFly's pussy. His hand was slippery and he pushed down on the pillow to get more friction. The music in his ears was made for fucking and he thrust harder imagining some tight pussy yanking on his dick as his balls pounded into a nice soft ass. She sounded like the type who could throw it back on him and make him cry because it was so good. He lost it then.

He yelled like he was knee-deep in gushy pussy.

His thighs grew taught and his orgasm rushed across his ass and up over his back and neck before any semen flooded all over his pillow and sheets. A long groan blew out from his throat as he rubbed out another smaller nut. His fingers touched the pillow. The whole thing was soaked and sticky.

Leaning on his thighs he threw his head back to stretch his neck.

The moment he got to M.I.T. he was going to look for that DJ. There was no way in hell she could make him cum like that and he not find out what she looked like. His dick was still hard, and she kept the music going. He reached for his cell and searched through some old files. He pulled one up.

Athena.

She allowed him to film her as he hit from the back while she held onto her bedroom dresser. He watched Athena's big titties hang down and bounce in the mirror as he pounded her pussy. Jacking off again he allowed the music in his ears to narrate the fucking he watched himself do on his phone. Cradling one overly full breast in his hand on film, he watched his video self cum inside of her, calling out her name as she released on his dick screaming his. His eager hand worked his dick on the bed, the hard strokes slowed down until his cum splashed all over his stomach. He fell back on the bed feeling wiped out.

During his lunch break the next day, he downloaded the book of poetry, ButtaFly shared from the previous night, and read the piece at least five times. The words resonated with him. And they did something else: reminded him of his purpose.

Inside the work labs at AccuTech, Erik studied the mock-ups of new guns and smart weapons. He toyed with experimenting with vibranium and creating sonic weapons.

"We promise to outsmart your mind."

The line of the poem came back to him.

Staring at the new gun design that Tony had posed with on the Forbes magazine cover, Erik thought of converting it and somehow using the properties of the vibranium on it. As he listened to the best weapons designers grapple with the Jericho X missile prototypes, Erik memorized what he saw so that he could sketch it out later in his apartment. He wanted to compare it to the designs he saw in his father's old journals. He asked to work on the Stark sonic canon, a non-lethal long-range acoustic device. Granted permission to do so, he studied how the LRADs could be modified with the ideas he had swimming in his head. He looked for cheap and easy ways to mass manufacture devices that could be shipped around the world undetected. But he had to figure out how much vibranium it would take to modify Stark's LRADs. He only had six months left to absorb all he could.

He stayed diligent with his work and Tony visited AccuTech often giving his thoughts on their progress. Stark was preoccupied with some politicians giving him grief, and also preparing for the new batch of summer interns. He stripped down the number of interns he would have from 100 to fifty. That meant it would be even more competitive. Summoned to Tony's Los Angeles office from Palos Verdes where he had been working, Erik stepped into the outer sanctum and found Devika speaking to some assistants from other higher-ups. She took one look at him and paused for a long time. He realized then that they hadn't seen one another for a couple of months, his time spent in Palos Verdes cutting off contact between them in person.

He was about to step into Tony's office, but she held up a hand signaling for him to wait. When the assistants left, she walked over to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hi."

Her eyes stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"What?" he said feeling self-conscious.

"Something about you is different."

"How so?"

He sat on her desk.

"There's a swagger about you that is different…hmmm, more confident maybe?"

"When have I ever been less confident?"

"You look…good. Sophisticated."

Her eyes flitted away from his face. She was acting bashful all of a sudden.

"How's Wyatt?" he asked.

Her eyes regarded him carefully.

Wyatt was her new boyfriend, an older dude from Seattle she met at a mixer in Los Feliz.

"He's doing well. Thanks for asking."

He let his eyes linger on hers. She was still checking him out.

"He better be treating you like a Queen. Let me know if he doesn't," he said moving off of her desk and heading into Tony's office.

"Stevens. Good, we can get this intern stuff sorted. Come with me."

Tony swept past him and Erik followed. They only went around the corner from his office and into a mid-sized conference room. Pepper was inside the space along with two other executives Erik was not familiar with.

"Awesome, we can finish up now," Pepper said.

Tony and Erik took a seat at the end of the oval conference table facing a blank wall. Pepper handed them touchpads and turned on a floating screen.

"We've narrowed down applicants to just under three hundred. You need to choose who you want to be interviewed."

Erik and Tony scrolled CVs on the touchpads. So many names.

They painstakingly went through every CV, staring at applicant photos floating in front of them. Tony was open to Erik's suggestions, and this fact alone opened up the pool of applicants from ones Tony would've overlooked from his own biases. He tended to court favor with those from Ivy League schools and who had the same boring backgrounds. Mainly white and East Asian applicants who all did the shit that they thought would make them stand out. How many classically trained pianists/violinists who played La Crosse, Tennis, Chess, and water polo did one need? Sometimes too many extracurricular activities signaled a follower. A simp that did things not because they enjoyed it but because it padded their resume. He forced Tony to consider graduates from non-Ivy Leagues, those who did community-based work where they lived. More women applicants of color, especially Black and Latinx ones. He even suggested Tribal Colleges and lower-tiered public universities and colleges. He also mentioned looking at people who didn't have perfect Dean's Lists grades.

"I tell you what. I'll give you three weeks to open up the pool and bring in those types of potential interns you suggested. Pepper, give him access to the advertising bulletins," Tony said.

"That's cutting it close, Tony, we need to have interviews lined up and applicants chosen by the beginning of May."

Pepper and the other two Execs looked annoyed.

"Stevens can get it done. Give him the bulletins," Tony said, standing up.

Erik followed Tony out of the conference room.

"Let's go have lunch," Tony said.

Tony drove them to a restaurant in Pasadena. A small French café with excellent crepes filled with savory meats and sauces.

"Are you enjoying AccuTech?" Tony asked.

Erik nodded as he chewed a forkful of chicken masala crepes.

"I'm getting good reports about you. You've adjusted to the pace."

"It's cool. The LRAD work is right up my alley. That's what I'll study at school. Hands-on work will have me ahead of the curve."

"Grimaldo keeps hitting me up. He is ready for this re-match."

"I am too,"

"You sure you don't want me to bankroll you?"

"Nah."

"He tends to be at his best on his home turf."

"I'm good."

"Some things to know…"

A waiter brought over a glass of wine for Tony and sparkling water for Erik.

"We will be among a lot of royalty. I know you have excellent sartorial choices, but I need you to step up even more and have some formal clothing for at least a week—"

"A week? We'll be gone that long?"

"I'm making some business deals while I'm there, so work will be happening. You can use that time to work on the intern stuff. Pepper isn't coming with us, so I will slip you back into your old personal assistant role. She'll guide you from here. You'll need to be extra discreet while we are over there, and also be prepared for last-minute changes."

Erik ate his meal and listened.

"You sound kind of nervous," Erik said.

"Not nervous. This Jericho deal is very important and we'll be among some other industrialists and even some nefarious characters that want to see me fail. Things have to be tight and not attracting negative attention."

Erik nodded.

"I like the things you brought up at the intern meeting."

"Pepper and the others didn't sound so delighted."

"They'll get over it. It's why I put it in your hands for new outreach. Hey, are you sure about leaving for school after August?"

"Yeah. Gotta get that graduate degree."

"You should stay on at AccuTech."

Erik shook his head.

"M.I.T., Navy. That order."

Tony finished up his wine and glanced at his watch.

"Back to work," he said.

Erik stopped at Tony's office before picking up his car in the Stark garage. Devika was alone there, and her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him again.

"How was lunch?"

"Good. What do you want me to bring back from Monaco for you?"

"You don't have to bring me anything—"

"I want to."

"A t-shirt is cool-"

"T-shirt? That's so gauche. I'll bring you something classy."

"Don't spend a lot, Erik."

"I'll bring you back something that won't make your man jealous. How 'bout that?"

"Okay."

He smiled at her. The aroma of her perfume hit his nose suddenly and the scent took him back to her bedroom and the smell of her on his skin.

"I'm out," he said walking away quickly.

When his work was over for the day, he spread out on his bed nude and slipped on his earbuds.

"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café…"

Erik's muse took him away once more. Soothed his spirit. Steadied his mind.

He was ready for Monaco.

###

Chapter 24 HERE.

###

Tag List:

@fd-writes​​ @soufcakmistress​  @cherrystainedlipsbaby​  

@tclaybon   

@thadelightfulone​

@allhailqueennel​ @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot​  @shookmcgookqueen​ @yoyolovesbucky​

@raysunshine78​ @the-illlestt​ @terrablaze514​  @l-auteuse​ @amirra88​ @jimizwidow​  @janelledarling​

@chaneajoyyy​  @sweetestdream92  @purple-apricots​  @blackpinup22​  @hennessystevens-udaku​

@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade​ @bugngiz​ @stariamrry​  @honeytoffee​ @meilintheempressofdreams​

@tyees​  @eye-raq​  @writerbee-ffs​  @chocolatedream30​  @childishgambinaa​  @mygirlrenee​ @thewaysheis​—awkward

[tomcat-acaphe]

CPR Masterpost

Roughly 54% of Americans know CPR. That is shockingly low.

So, for those who don’t know, only half know, need a reminder or think they know but don’t, let ya boy educate you.

Pre-Physical CPR: Remember DRS (Doctors!)!

D: Danger. Is there danger nearby? Oftentimes people go into cardiac arrest due to, say for example, touching an electric fence and getting electrocuted. Following on from that example, are they still attached to the electric fence? Is the patient still in danger? If they’re in danger, leave them and don’t do CPR. Still call an ambulance though.

R: Response. Shake em, shout at em, call their name, anything! If they respond with words, don’t do CPR. They’re probably just out of it.

S: Shout for help. You’ll ideally want as many people who can do CPR around as possible. ALSO, CALL AN AMBULANCE.

Physical CPR: Remember ABC.

A: Airway. Lay their head back and open their mouth. Make sure the airway is clear.

B: Breathing. If they aren’t breathing, they’re in danger. Lay your head down on its side near their cheek. Use your eyes to also look if their chest is moving up and down. While doing that, if you can’t hear/feel the breath after ten seconds, they aren’t breathing.

Please note there is also a thing called Agonal breathing. If they’re gasping like a fish out of water or not breathing properly, THEY ARE DYING. It’s a brain reflex, they aren’t actually getting any oxygen.

C: Chest Compressions. Start 'em. Do them until you either physically can’t or the ambulance arrives. This is why shouting for help is important. Compressions are very exhausting and if you’re not physically fit you’ll tire quickly and need to alternate.

Extra Note:

Sometimes, if you’re really good and really lucky, the person may wake up. Often this is temporary. Still keep doing compressions. If they become verbal and tell you to, quote enquote ‘piss off, geroff me!’ There’s a good chance they’re alive now.

How To Do Compressions Properly:

Place the heel of the hand on the breast bone at the centre of the person’s chest. Place your other hand on top of your first hand and interlock your fingers.

Position yourself with your shoulders above your hands.

Using your body weight (not just your arms, trust me, if you just did your arms you’ll get very tired very fast,) press straight down by 5-6cm (2-2.5 inches) on their chest.

Keeping your hands on their chest, release the compression and allow the chest to return to its original position.

Repeat these compressions at a rate of 100-120 times in a minute until either: an ambulance, you get exhausted or you feel slightly tired and have a friend who can take over.

If all this is too complicated to remember, don’t worry. If you put your phone on speaker, the person on the other end will walk you through it in real time. If you can’t take away anything else from this, please take away this fact.

Misconceptions:

Q: Do I have to do mouth-to-mouth?

A: Nope! In fact, I’d advise against it. Mouth to mouth actually does little to help the patient and is arguably detrimental due to an exchange of germs. Just stick to chest compressions.

Q: Do I have to sing Nellie The Elephant?

A: Also nope! Any 100-120 BPM song is fine. There’ll be a list below.

Q: Am I pressing hard enough?

A: No. Unless you’re pressing 5-6cm or 2.5 inches down, you are not. It looks weird and wrong, but that’s because you’re literally acting as their heart for them. If you’re questioning if you’re pressing hard enough, you probably aren’t. If you think you are, push a little harder. It’s possible and very easy to not push hard enough, but there’s no such thing as too hard. Push them so hard they make a hole on the floor if you have to.

Q: Oh no! I heard a rib crack!

A: That’s good! Oftentimes, the ribs have to break in order for you to actually have any hope of successful CPR. Don’t stop because you heard a rib crack. There’s no such thing as pushing too hard. There is such a thing as not pushing enough. It’s better to have a friend alive with a few broken bones than your friend dead.

Q: The patient is a woman and I’m scared that if she wakes up she’ll sue me for touching her breasts. Should I risk it and perform CPR anyway?

A: Don’t worry. You’re protected by the Good Samaritan Law. I’m not a lawyer, so if any one who knows the law could possibly fact check me on this personally, but the Good Samaritan Law states:

“The Good Samaritan Law offers legal protection to people who give reasonable assistance to those who are, or whom they believe to be, injured, ill, in peril, or otherwise incapacitated.”

So even if the patient does wake up and your vital readings were wrong, the law should be on your side.

If you think someone needs CPR, don’t question the legal trouble it’ll get you in later. Just do it.

Q: Don’t I have to check for a pulse?

A: You could, but breathing is much more reliable. Locating a pulse can take a while. (Sometimes people can only feel it in their wrists, some people only feel it in their neck. There’s no one guaranteed location. Everyone is different. Unless you know that person extremely well and know their best pulse spots fir some reason, (I’m not judging your friendship,) chances are it’ll take at least 30 seconds to locate a spot. This is especially hard when someone doesn’t have a pulse.) Breathing, on the other hand, is much more reliable and quicker to do, (10 seconds check, let’s say you were slow and took 2 seconds positioning, that’s 12 seconds max.) Time management is extremely important during CPR and every second counts. I understand most American places recommend checking for a pulse, but everywhere in the UK, (including NHS.gov and the British Resuscitation Council (used by all nurses and doctors as gospel, pretty much unheard if outside of professionals apparently?) My mum also said so.

Songs that are 100-120 BPM to sing instead of Nellie The Elephant: (Feel Free to Add!)

Sweet Home Alabama (Lynyrd Skynyrd) (100bpm)

Tainted Love (Straight No Chaser) (100bpm)

Through The Fire And Flames (Dragonforce) (100bpm)

Breaking The Habit (Linkin Park) (100bpm)

This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race (Fall Out Boy) (100bpm)

Dancing Queen (Abba) (100bpm)

Hips Don’t Lie (Shakira) (100bpm)

Gives You Hell (All American Rejects) (100bpm)

Icicles (The Scary Jokes) (100bpm)

Rock Your Body (Justin Timberlake) (101bpm)

Steppin’ Out (Joe Jackson) (101bpm)

Welcome To Tally Hall (Tally Hall) (101bpm)

Cecilia (Simon and Garfunkle) (102bpm)

Semi Charmed Life (Third Eye Blind) (102bpm)

99 Luftballons (DDR) (102bpm)

Stayin’ Alive (Bee Gees) (103bpm)

Stronger (Kanye West) (104bpm)

All Star (Smash Mouth) (104bpm)

Hard To Handle (The Black Crowes) (104bpm)

Rolling In The Deep (Adele) (105bpm)

Good Day (Tally Hall) (105bpm)

Are You Gonna Be My Girl (Jet) (105bpm)

Numb (Linkin Park) (107bpm)

Set Fire To The Rain (Adele) (108bpm)

Stronger (Britney Spears) (108bpm)

Eye Of The Tiger (Survivor) (109bpm)

Just The Way You Are (Bruno Mars) (109bpm)

Hollaback Girl (Gwen Stefani) (110bpm)

Another One Bites The Dust (Queen) (110bpm)

Till It’s Over (Tristam) (110bpm)

Grenade (Bruno Mars) (110bpm)

Never Gonna Give You Up (Rick Astley) (113bpm)

Under Pressure (Queen and David Bowie) (113bpm)

Banana Man (Tally Hall) (113bpm)

Two Trucks (Lemon Demon) (114bpm)

Uptown Funk (Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars) (115bpm)

What Doesn’t Kill You (Kelly Clarkson) (116bpm)

Once In A Lifetime (Talking Heads) (117bpm)

Call Me Maybe (Carly Rae Jepsen) (118bpm)

Don’t Stop Believing (Journey) (118bpm)

Bad Romance (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Just Dance (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Poker Face (Lady Gaga) (119bpm)

Tik Tok (Ke$ha) (120bpm)

Teenage Dream (Katy Perry) (120bpm)

DJ’s Got Us Falling In Love Again (Usher) (120bpm)

Revenge (Captain Sparklez) (120bpm)

If you want to check your favourite song is one you can use but it’s not here, go onto the website tunebat.com and type in the title. It will tell you the BPM and other fun facts like what key it’s in.

Sources:

http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/first-aid/cpr/

http://www.resus.org.uk

My Mum (Registered Band Six District Nurse (Going for Master’s Degree currently.)) (She read and fact checked this for me. Thanks, Mum!)

http://tunebat.com

My own knowledge having this drilled into me from a young age. (From sources above, especially ‘My Mum.’ You can’t find that website anymore.)

[brokenbuttonsmusic]

Howard Tate: A Philadelphia Soul Resurrection

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 1, side B). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the great Philadelphia soul singer Howard Tate, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Music history is packed with bands and artists that had the talent, the songs and even the fully realized recordings to make it big, only to be passed over. Some miss their window, or worse, some get their big break, but somehow  self-destruct or fail to capitalize on it. It’s the reason why I decided to do this show. There is so much overlooked and under appreciated music out there to be found and enjoyed.

This next artist doesn’t quite hit any of those scenarios exactly though. Howard Tate got his break and made it happen. Howard Tate hit big and he hit fast. Tate said he came home from work one day and a big limousine was sitting in front of his door. 

“You gotta get in here right away. You gotta get a suit. You’re playing with Marvin Gaye tomorrow night.”

Between 1966 and 1970 Howard Tate had six top 40 R&B singles. And then he disappeared. Plunging into obscurity, almost as quickly as he soared within sight of the summit. Tate never completely crossed over. While he regularly appeared on the R&B charts, the highest he ever placed on the Pop charts was #63. 

Let’s start our dive into Tate, by hearing his highest charting single. One of three top 20 R&B hits in his catalog. This is Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate. 

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Ain’t Nobody Home by Howard Tate.

Here’s what the Rough Guide to Soul & R&B has to say about that recording and the chemistry of the whole crew who made it happen.

“With a groove laid down by keyboardist Richard Tee, guitarist Cornell Dupree, bassist Chuck Rainey and drummer Herb Lovell, the production of Ain’t Nobody Home by Jerry Ragovoy both borrowed from and influenced the music coming from Memphis and Muscle Shoals, and set the precedent for Atlantic’s first recordings with Aretha Franklin. While the music was great, however, it was Tate’s vocals that made the record. Sounding like a less overwrought Percy Sledge, Tate’s simultaneously Northern and Southern phrasing was impeccable, and economical use of his falsetto made it all the more effective.”

Tate had the voice, which many compared to Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye. He also had a distinctive gospel-blues delivery that sticks with you for days. But the tunes came from somewhere else.

Before his quick ascent, Tate was singing in a group with Garnet Mimms. Mimms was the original singer of the Janis Joplin hit,  Cry Baby. He also introduced Howard to record producer Jerry Ragovoy, who co-wrote Cry Baby. Ragovoy is known for writing Time is On My Side for the Rolling Stones and another Joplin hit, Piece of My Heart. Clearly Janis liked the songwriting of Jerry Ragovoy. In fact, she also performed this Ragovoy composition that you’ve probably come across at one time or another.

That’s Janis Joplin singing Get It While You Can from her massive second album Pearl in 1971. What you might not know is that Get it While you Can was originally performed by Howard Tate, five years earlier in 1966.

Ragovoy was taken with Tate’s voice and began recording him as a solo artist for Verve Records. Ragovoy’s memorable, punchy Northern soul production paired with Tate’s soulful blues phrasing was a perfect match.

Here’s Howard Tate’s version, the original version, of the Jerry Ragovoy penned Get It While You Can.

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That was Howard Tate with Get It While You Can from the 1966 album of the same name.

American rock critic Robert Christgau had this to say about Tate and his collaboration with Jerry Ragovoy.

“Tate is a blues-drenched Macon native who had the desire to head north and sounds it every time he gooses a lament with one of the trademark keens that signify the escape he never achieved. He brought out the best in soul pro Jerry Ragovoy, who made Tate's records jump instead of arranging them into submission, and gave him lyrics with some wit to them besides. In return, Ragovoy brought out the best in Tate.”

Despite the magical team up on early singles and a debut album, Tate recorded his second album without Ragovoy, instead working with Lloyd Price and Johnny Nash. Released in 1969, Howard Tate’s Reaction is more uptown soul than the grittier southern soul of its predecessor, but it’s another recognition worthy collection of performances.

Ragovoy and Tate reunited for 1972’s eponymous Howard Tate. This time an Atlantic release. Critics knock this album as being a notch below Ragovoy’s best songwriting, but I think it’s a worthy piece of Tate’s catalog. Tate sounds great, as always, and there are a couple of really explosive, interesting covers. The Band’s Jemima Surrender and this one.

Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North Country. Listen to this voice.

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Howard Tate covering Bob Dylan’s Girl From the North County from 1972.

After recording a handful of additional songs—one single for Epic and a few for his own label—Tate retired from the music business. Frustrated with his lack of crossover, but downright bitter about how little he was paid for his successes, which again, included 3 top 20 R&B hits—he quit. Disappeared, really.

But not everyone was ready to forget. And while his name would fade from memories over the coming decades, Howard Tate’s impact was undeniable.

One of Tate’s heroes, BB King, covered Ain’t Nobody Home. So did Bonnie Raitt.

Ry Cooder and Grand Funk covered Look At Granny Run Run

Jimi Hendrix covered Stop

Foghat covered Eight Days on the Road and so did the one and only queen if soul.

And not everyone forgot. Tate’s old partner, record producer and chief songwriter Jerry Ragovoy made many attempts to track down his old friend over the years. He contacted old business associates and got them in on the search. They all came up empty.

A New Jersey DJ named Phil Casden had developed somewhat of an obsession with Tate’s whereabouts. Casden hosted a weekly radio show, spinning soul, blues and R&B and had taken to asking his listeners for any information about the missing (by this time) cult soul legend.

Even Verve, Tate’s old record company, had given up trying to track down the long retired crooner. The 1995 CD reissue of Tate’s Verve sessions included liner notes that flat out said: Howard Tate is probably dead.

''It wasn't sufficient to leave a story like that open-ended,'' Mr. Casden said. ''I had to find out: 'Is the guy alive? Is he dead?' There had to be something more than, 'He just rode off into the sunset.' ''

In 2001 the mystery was solved. Ron Kennedy, singer of Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes recognized Tate at a grocery store and the old pals played catch up after nearly 30 years. They exchanged numbers. Kennedy put the New Jersey DJ, Casden, in touch with Tate. Casden enthusiastically announced the good news to his listeners and the soul fanatics across the internet. Howard Tate was alive! He even put Tate in touch with a lawyer to help him recoup past royalties from his reissues.

Apparently Tate had quite a loyal following overseas. Eventually, a British journalist reached out to Tate’s old partner-producer Jerry Ragovoy for a reaction. The only problem was, Ragovoy didn’t have a reaction to give because he didn’t know Tate had been found. Ragovoy was elated at the news. After reconnecting with his long lost friend and confirming he was doing well, the next thing on his mind: could Howard Tate still sing?

Before we answer that, let’s answer this: where had Tate been all those years after walking away from the music?

After becoming resentful and disheartened by his missing paydays, Tate decided to go missing himself. He didn’t intentionally go into hiding, he just bailed on the industry that he felt wronged had him.

He worked as a securities dealer with Prudential for a while and then darkness hit. He lost his 13-year-old daughter in a house fire. In 1981, after 20 years, his marriage fell apart. Soon after, Tate unraveled too. He tumbled into drug addiction and lost everything. He lived on the streets for years, struggling to get by and feed his habit. Finally, in the mid 90s, he started to climb out of the hole. He cleaned up and found god. He became a minister and dedicated his life to helping the poor and homeless.

And that brings us up to the moment of his big reunion with Jerry Ragovoy and loyal fans awareness that Howard Tate was alive and well after all those years. But now more than your die hard R&B/soul enthusiasts were interested.

But did he still have that voice? Could Howard still sing?

undefined

Uh, yeah. Jerry Ragovoy was stunned at how strong Tate sounded after decades of being out of the game. And he was REALLY out of the game. Howard claims he never sang a note all those years. Not until Jerry approached him about recording a comeback album and got him into the studio. Tate also says he had no clue that Janis, B.B., Jimi, Ry or any of the others had ever covered his songs or took an interest in his music.

Howard and Jerry recorded a new album in 2003. It’s called Rediscovered. And remember that Elvis Costello quote from the intro to this episode? Elvis called Tate the missing link between Jackie Wilson and Al Green. Tate asked Costello to write a song for his new album and he agreed. 

Let’s here that now. From his comeback album, Rediscovered, more than 3 decades in the making, here’s Howard Tate with Either Side of the Same Town, written by Elvis Costello.

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That was Either Side of the Same Town from Howard Tate’s first album after 30 hears away from the music business. But not his last.

Tate had quite the victory lap. He made numerous tv, radio and festival appearances in the ten years after his reemergence. He recorded two more studio full lengths and a live album. On December 2nd, 2011, Tate passed away of complications of multiple myeloma and leukemia.

With a superb first act and a spectacular resurrection that led to the near doubling of his recorded output, there’s plenty of Tate music to check out and enjoy.

Other sources for this segment are listed below.

I referenced several NPR features in this episode, including the obituary they did for Tate. 

Deep Southern Soul - This blog did a great post on Howard Tate. Lots of other good stuff here, but they recently announced they are closing up.

Gadfly Online - Another nice write up on Tate and his back story.

New Jersey new feature - The clip of Howard talking is from this segment. They did a feature on Tate’s rediscovery.

Trunkworthy - Post about Tate and his comeback. This site digs into music, movies and TV you might have missed. They also did a post about the Elvis Costello song featured in this episode. Elvis’ version is on The Delivery Man album. 

New York Times Obituary for Howard Tate

The Guardian Obituary for Howard Tate

Billboard Magazine, July 26, 2003 - Article about Howard’s return after 30 years.

[shewritestheblues]

The Elevator Bae x Chapter 5

Chapter FIVE

Erik x Black OC (Phoenix)

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

Phoenix checks her phone. It’s a little after midnight. She has a few notifications from her social media but nothing important. This is her third day in a row that she’s been in the studio. She hadn’t been home except to sleep and shower and she’d be right back in the studio. Thank God for DoorDash because leaving for food was out of the question. All she could do was make music. Trap, R&B, Soul… she was making some of the best music she’s ever created. This was the most she’s used her own voice to sing on some tracks.

Her and Coby were currently working on their fourth song of the night. As Phoenix sings along to the beat, it feels like the base is moving chills through her soul. It takes her over and she does something she’s never done before. She opens Instagram, swiping right. Her tired, yet satisfied face pops up on the camera. Holding the screen to record, she lets her voice ring out. Without a care that maybe someone would disapprove. She didn’t even bother to listen back. She posted the video on her story and got back to work.

Whenever she would get stuck writing, her mind would wander off to her last moments with Erik. Their talk, their small moments of touching, that feeling, the look in his eye. He would be just what she needed to find the words needed to make her music. Coby would add a few bars in and Phoenix took note every time. She was waiting until she had used all of her inspiration to ask him about her best friend.

As the night continued and more music is being made, Phoenix saved a few songs to keep just for her. She wasn’t sure just yet what she’d do with them but she felt way too connected to them to send them to some other artist to sing. Anything else was fair game. She let one song play. It wasn’t one she’d keep but she still liked it. She played it on repeat trying to figure out who she could picture singing it.

“Yo, you know who would do right by this?” Coby asked. He leaned back, sitting on the table that sat next to Phoenix. She was so into the song, she didn’t notice he had moved from his seat on the other side of her. She stops the song, relaxing into her chair.

“Who?”

“LaShay. The one with the purple hair.”

“Yeah, I like her. She’s out of Atlanta right?”

“Yup. I’m cool with her manager. I could send it to them and see what they think.”

“Cool.” Phoenix hit play on the song again. Just listening and trying to picture the new singer’s voice. A thought hit her. Her and Coby make some amazing music together. They have never made something that flopped. Every song, every beat was always a hit.

“Coby,” she stops the music, turning her chair to him. “Have you noticed that whenever we work together, we don’t miss? Like we both have made some shit songs on some solo shit, but together, it’s always good.”

He definitely noticed. “Yeah. We’re like a dynamic duo or some shit like that. It’s funny you mention this because I was just talking to Ava about how I think we could become like a producing team. Me and You.”

JACKPOT! Phoenix’s smile grew at the sound of her best friend’s name. he brought her up so this was her moment to ask him about it.

“We could definitely pull that off. We could have a cool ass name too, like--- Or like-- Okay, I can’t think of nothing right now but we can put a pin in that. What we can talk about is Ava.”

“Oh my God, Philly! Don’t do this.” He walks over to get water from the mini fridge and sitting back in her chair on the side of her.

“We’re doing this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was there to tell?”

“Umm, I don’t know Coby. Maybe tell me that you like my best friend and that y’all are hanging out.” She makes quotes with her fingers.

“I’m sorry, Phoenix. I’ve been hanging out with your best friend.” he says very sarcastically.

“You are such an ass.” He shrugs. “I don’t care to know about those other girls you mess with but Ava.. that’s my girl. You know how I feel about her.”

“Yeah, I do. Which is why I was trying to wait to tell you. I already knew you were gonna be on ten about it. I wanted to see how serious this was going to be.”

“Serious? So wait, like y’all are dating, dating?”

“To me, we are. I mean, we’re still getting to know each other but so far, I like what I know.”

Phoenix squeals, pinching at Coby’s arms. Coby shakes his head, trying to hide the small smile on his lips.

---------

Erik sits in his office, staring at the book in front of him. It was his father’s book. He studied this book, front to back. He sat here, doing it again for the second time this night. He moved the ring on his necklace around his finger as he read. His breathing picked up and he could feel his anger rising quickly as he sat there. His thoughts taking him back to the very day he saw the bright lights in the sky. The day he ran upstairs to find his father dead. That day was why he is who he is today. Everything he’s done up to the point and going forward was because of that day and because of who he KNEW killed his father. It’s not everyday that someone is killed with panther claws in Oakland. He knew. Never speaking of that day with anyone. He silently planned how he would handle it.

He slammed his fist on the desk, pushing the book on the floor. Breathing heavy, he got up and headed into the kitchen. He drank a bottle of water in what seemed like one gulp. He needed air. Stepping out onto his balcony, he sat in one of the black, cushion chairs. They were modern rocking chairs and the motion of the chair moving back and forth as he closed his eyes, soothed him for the moment. The breeze hitting is bare chest cooled his hot blood. The small sounds of the night life filling the air. He rocked and rocked, until his phone buzzed in the pocket of his joggers. An unknown number texted him.

Unknown: Next Tuesday two weeks. Heading out 600hrs.

His jobs were becoming longer. Before he would be able to handle his work in a matter of days. Now, they were lasting a week and now two weeks.

With his phone now in hand, he absentmindedly goes to Instagram. At the very top of his screen, Phoenix’s profile picture glows red and orange. He taps to watch her story. He was expecting a cute picture or maybe even a boomerang, because damn that girl loves making boomerangs. But his eyes caught her in all black, her face so clear in the video as she sings. This was a few hours ago. The next part of her story was, of course, a boomerang. She was sticking her tongue out as Coby laid back against her chest, not paying any attention to the camera. Erik bit his lip and tapped the screen to go on to the next story. He couldn’t identify the slight tightness of his chest when he watched the short video. Was this jealousy? Why did this nigga have to be all up on her like that? Why was this even bothering him? Phoenix wasn’t his girl. They were just scratching the surface as neighbor friends. Erik wasn’t too familiar with jealousy. He never cared what the women he involved himself with were doing after him. He took what he wanted and that was that. There were never any feelings left for him to feel. Maybe that one time in high school, his crush had a crush on someone else but that only lasted a few hours because he found himself having sex with her friend by the end of the day. This was a new one for him and he wasn’t trying to feel that shit again.

He put his phone away, going back inside his place. Sleep wasn’t on the menu but he needed it. He took two melatonin pills and made himself get the rest he needed.

-------

The bright clock sitting in the studio read 3:45. Cobi and Phoenix were wrapping up their session. Phoenix sat on top of the large speaker, swinging her feet.

“Are you coming out to Camren’s birthday party?” she asked Coby.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Are you coming with Ava?”

Coby cuts his eye at her, catching her making kissing faces.

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you anything. But NO! Y’all coming with Ava.”

Phoenix jumps off the speaker and gathers her backpack and making sure she has everything. “Will you be coming to my show Sunday?”

“Didn’t know you had one. Where is it?”

“It’s at X again. I guess they loved me that much.” Phoenix follows Coby out of the studio, closing the door behind her.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. You know I got you,” He puts his arm around her shoulder, walking her out to her car. “You make sure you text me when you get in.”

“Okay. Night.”

He closes her car door and makes sure she’s good before getting into his own car. Being so late, Phoenix was able to get home in record time since there’s no one on the road. 15 minutes to be exact. When she made it into her apartment, she wasn’t sleepy at all. It’s after 4 am and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She scrolled up Instagram, she couldn’t find any interesting YouTube videos to watch. She was just up and bored. Well, until she thought about what she was going to wear for Camren’s party. She searched through her closet but she wasn’t focused on that at all. Her mind wandered to thinking about her hair. She looked at herself in her full length bedroom mirror at her curly ponytail. It’s been three days since she last touched her hair. She’s been sporting this pony under a dad hat since the night her and Erik went to the studio. She forgot to put on her scarf that night and woke up to dry, matted curls but refused to do anything to them.

What if I straightened it? She thought. It had been over a year since the last time she’s put any heat on it. Her curls had grew long and she was definitely curious on how it looked straight now. That’s what she was going to do. She headed to the bathroom, turning on the shower. She finally set her hair free of the ponytail and got in. She washed and conditioned her hair. She left the conditioner in while she washed her body and got out. She put on some fresh clothes before rinsing the conditioner from her hair. Now it’s time for the toughest part of straightening her hair… blow drying it. Having so much hair and it being so thick, Phoenix had to part her hair into six sections to properly spray her heat protectant in and fully blow dry her hair. This alone took an hour.

The sun was coming up now and Phoenix’s arms were ready to fall off. She still had to actually flat iron her hair. The went out to the kitchen to get some water and a few Oreos to push herself to finish. Coming back into the bathroom, she looked at her wild hair in the mirror and smiled. “We’ve come a long way hair.” She picks up her phone and takes a picture. She sends it to her friends group chat. ‘Ya girl got inches.”

She swings her hair around, dancing in the mirror, practicing what twerking would be like with her hair swinging around. She had to admit to herself how goofy she looked doing this. Once getting that out of her system, she finally began flat ironing her hair. It didn’t take as long as she thought it would. About another 45 minutes. Phoenix wrapped her hair as best as she could. It’s been over a year so her hair wasn’t really having it with her trying to comb it into a circle. But she combed and combed until she ended up with her head tilted to the side and using her whole left arm to hold most of it down. She used her right hand and front teeth to hold her scarf in place so she could slip her left hand from its secured spot and tie it around her head.

Finally getting that done, it was now well into the morning and her phone was barely surviving on 1%. She did her face routine and headed into her bedroom. Putting her phone on charge on her nightstand and climbing into bed. She laid in the middle of her six pillows and her casper mattress seem to engulf her body. This was heaven. She curled up under her thick comforter and rubbed her feet in bliss. Within minutes, sleep had taken over her.

-------

Phoenix is woken up by the sounds of construction outside. At the same time, her phone starts to ring. It’s Mica.

“Hello.” Phoenix says into the phone. Her voice is raspy and low.

“I know you’re not still sleep.” Mica’s voice sounds like she’s standing on top of phoenix.

“I’m up. I just got up.”

“What time are you going to pick up the cake?”

“Damn it!” Phoenix sits up, rubbing her face. “It’s supposed to be ready at 4.”

“You know it’s 3 o’clock right?”

“No, it’s not,” she takes the phone from her face, looking at the time. It’s for sure 3 o’clock. “Oh, it is. Shit! Okay, I'm gonna leave out now.”

“Okay. Just take it to the restaurant. Don’t worry about anything else. Me and Ava got it. I know you probably got in late. I want you to have enough time to get ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dinner starts at 8. We’ll be there around 7 to pick you up.”

“Okay. I’ll text you when I got the cake.”

“Okay.”

Phoenix ends the call and jumps up from her bed. She changes into some leggings and a cropped t-shirt, completely forgetting her scarf on her head. She rushes out and magically the elevator was just opening, letting someone off on her floor. She gets in, hitting the garage button. The cabin stops and she rushes out, getting into her car and driving out.

Traffic is ridiculous as she tries to get to the bakery. Her patience is running thin and the feeling of having to rush is triggering her anxiety. Phoenix has been doing well for months with managing her anxiety. She has learned ways to keep herself calm but moments like this where she isn’t able to grasp some type of control over how things are going for her, she doesn’t do well. One second she’s hot as hell and turns her air on blast and the next minute, she’s freezing.

She been in traffic for 3o minutes, but the bakery is only 20 minutes from her apartment. Just when she thought she had come to terms with LA’s traffic, she realizes, she never will. She can feel the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Her palms are sweaty. Phoenix doesn’t want to be the reason that tonight is a fail. But she can’t help but think that she will. Her thoughts are moving a million miles a minute. She should have set an alarm. She shouldn’t have stayed at the studio that long. If things don’t go right, Camren will hate her. Phoenix takes a few deep breaths. “Relax, Phoenix, relax.” she says to herself.

Traffic began moving a little bit faster and Phoenix could finally catch her breath. She made her way to the bakery and picked up the cake without any more issues. Thankfully, Phoenix knew a back way to the restaurant to drop the cake off.

------

Ava and Mica did their best to keep Camren out of the loop by having her girlfriend, Tiana, take her out for a spa day. Camren kept texting the group chat asking questions. What are yall up to? What are we doing tonight?

Phoenix, Ava and Mica all ignored her, keeping the plans for the night in a separate text.

Ava and Mica were at the restaurant setting up decorations when Phoenix walked in with the cake. Phoenix let the hostess know she’s there to drop off the cake for later. The hostess took the cake in the back and Phoenix lead herself up to the rooftop where the dinner will take place. Walking up the stairs, she could hear Ava and Mica laughing.

“What y’all up here laughing about?” she yells, catching their attention.

“Phillyyyy!” Mica sings, walking up to her and hugging her. They rock back and forth before Ava yells out. “Cut the lovey dovey shit and help us finish so we can all go get ready.”

“Damn girl, you literally rolled out of bed didn’t you?” Mica pointed to Phoenix’s scarf.

“Yeah. I forgot I was wearing it.”

“I can’t believe you straightened it.”

“IF Y’ALL DON’T BRING Y’ALL ASS!” Ava yelled out.

An extra set of hands helped get the decorations done quick with enough time for the three of them to have time to get ready.

Phoenix made her way home. She came in and immediately connect her phone to her bluetooth speaker. Music blast through her apartment as she went into the bathroom and started the shower. She raps along to Flo Milli’s x Beef as she undresses herself, stepping in the shower.

I like cash and my hair to my ass

Do the dash, can you make it go fast?

Fuck the fame, all I want is them bands

If she keep on muggin', I'ma steal her man

She made her shower quick to make sure she didn’t sweat out her hair. She got out still singing along to her music. She covered her body in shea butter and danced around her her towel. She made her way into her room, going through her closet. Phoenix wasn’t feeling any of the items she had until she noticed a shopping bag on the floor, all the way in the back. Grabbing it, she pulled out an orange, latex dress. She had completely forgotten that she bought this dress months ago and it was perfect for tonight. She paired it with some clear, strappy heels. She struggled for a moment trying to get the dress to move over her thick thighs but being that she has had these thighs her whole life, she has a few stretches and tricks to get them to act right.

Ari Lennox - BMO starts playing on the speaker as Phoenix begins doing her makeup. She stops to sing her heart out in the mirror.

“Break me off

And gitchi gitchi yaya

When the lights is out

I'm summertime crushin' put that game on pause

And do it how I like it

Baby, nice and slow

Break me off--”

Her singing was cut short from her phone ringing. “Yo, who in the hell is this? Messing up my song.”

Picking up the phone, it’s Mica.

“Hello!” Phoenix barks into the phone.

“Damn, what’s wrong with you?”

“You calling me and interrupting my song.” she walks back into the bathroom to do her makeup, putting the phone on speaker.

“Well, excuse me. I was calling to tell your dusty ass we’re on our way.”

“Ya’ mama dusty.”

“Oh, bitch. I’m telling her that when I see her.”

“She won’t believe you.”

“Whatever,” Mica laughed. “You got 20 minutes. Be ready.”

“I’m doing my makeup now. I’ll be ready.”

“K.”

They hang up and BMO starts blasting through the speaker again. Phoenix moves her hips as she finishes her makeup. She didn’t do too much. A simple beat with mink lashes and a glossy, nude lip. She finished her look with some large, gold hoops, a few layed, gold necklaces and a gold watch. Satisfied with her final look, she unties her scarf, combing down her tresses. You could never go wrong with a middle part, so that’s what she did, pushing her hair behind her ears. Phoenix was more than feeling herself. She walked into her bedroom to get a full view of herself in her full length mirror… taking a few pictures of course.

Ava text her.

Ava: We’re pulling in the garage.

Phoenix: Coming down.

Phoenix puts her necessities into a small, nude clutch and heads out the door. She pushes the call button for the elevator and hums as she waits.

DING!

The doors slide open and standing before her is Erik Stevens. Phoenix couldn’t contain the smile on her face.

“Hey Erik.” she waves at him as she steps into the cabin.

He smiles and nods, “Sup, Philly,” he looked her up and down. Taking note of how the orange dress hugs her curves in all the right ways. “Damn.” slips from his slips. Phoenix pushes her hair back behind her ear, blushing at his reaction.

“You looking good tonight. You got a date or something?” he asked.

She looks up at him, “Thanks. But I wouldn’t wear this on a date though. It’s my friend’s birthday.”

“I wouldn’t mind you wearing that on a date.”

“Where could we go with me wearing this?”

Erik smiles at the thought of them going on a date. He shrugs, “A nice dinner or something.”

“You wanna take me out to a nice dinner, Stevens?”

“If you want me to.”

The elevator stops and the doors open. Erik motions for Phoenix to step out first. She does and her follows. There’s a Jeep Wrangler parked near the entrance of the garage with Ava and Mica waiting.

“You have a good night, Philly. Have fun.” Erik starts walking to his own car.

“Hey, Erik,” he stops and looks back to Phoenix. “Are you busy Sunday?”

He smiles at her and starts walking closer to her. “That depends. What’s going on, on Sunday?”

-----

Ava and Mica are watching from the truck. “Ain’t that Erik?” Mica asks.

“Yeah. What you think she just said, ‘cause you can see all this nigga teeth from across the street?”

“Shit, i don’t know. But we’re gonna find out when her ass get in this car.”

-----

Erik holds one hand in his other in front of him waiting for Phoenix’s answer. She tries to avoid making eye contact with him by looking around him and at the floor. “Well… I have a show Sunday night, if you would like to come. If you’re busy, you don’t have to worry about it. Just figured I’d ask--”

He cuts her off, “I’m free.” He holds his hand out and motions to her phone in her hand. She looks confused, looking at her phone and back at him. She gives it to him, not fully sure of what he’ll need it for.

“Unlock it.” he laughs, handing it back to her. She unlocks it and gives it back to him. He types in his number and saves it as ‘Erik😛’ and gives it back to her. “You can send me all of the details later.”

She looks down at his contact name, eyebrows raised. “Tongue out emoji?” she asks. She was curious.

“I have my reasons.” he licks his lips as Phoenix watches him. He smiles, showing off his golds.

Ava honking her horn, scares Phoenix. She almost jumped into Erik’s arms. Ava and Mica laugh hysterically at her reaction.

“That shit ain’t funny. Fuck y’all.” Phoenix holds her chest.

“I don’t wanna hold y’all up. Have fun, baby girl.”

Phoenix walks to the car cussing Ava out for her bullshit. “Y’all get on my damn nerve.”

They were still laughing as she got into the backseat of the Jeep. Ava starts the car and pulls around and as they pass Erik’s car, Mica rolls down her window, “Byeeeee, ERIK!”

He waves at them, laughing.

“You bitches are annoying.” But Phoenix had to admit, it was funny. She found herself laughing with them.

“You gave him your number didn’t you?” Ava looks back at Phoenix.

“Nope, he gave me his.”

“Wait… what happened?” Mica says turning her whole body to face Phoenix in the back.

Phoenix tried to hide her blush, covering her face with her hand, “I invited him to my show, Sunday.”

“BITCHHHH!!!” Ava and Mica screamed. “Just wait until Cam hear about this in the morning.”

Mica put on their ‘Hot Girl Summer’ playlist and they all rapped along as they set out on their way to pick up Camren and Tiana and make their way to Camren’s surprise dinner.

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

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

True Religion (Favored Ones, Part 23.)

Series description: Many things were surely fucked up in the year 2038, but no-one ever told anyone how all of it went down. What happened before a group of people left for Seattle to handle personal matters? Why did one girl refuse to leave all of it be? And why there were so many dead in the end?

Quote for the chapter:  “So I've become the bringer of death. A lover of life. The one who guards from the dark of the night.” - Shawn James

Part summary: As Dina repaired the old radio you and Ellie had found, Tommy and Nora’s whereabouts started to get clearer with every conversation she heard. But you didn’t know what can all of that cost you. 

A/N: I think you’ll kill me boys, but, honestly, I do not care at this moment anymore. This is intense shit and you knew what you were signing tf up for. 

Warnings: Gore, blood, murder, infected, guns, shooting, angst.

Word count: 5.8 K

Tagging:   @nemodoren @xxgoldenhour @missdictatorme​​ @peakymarvels​​ @davnwillcome​ @pickleriiick​ @jodiereedus22​ @gladiosamicitias​ @tamkashi​ @eternallyvenus​ @avengerssstuff​ @fangirl-inthe-us​ @avery-miller​ @mikah-writes​ @mad-hatter-98​ @sadiaafrin99​ @flavorishy

Series master list: H E R E

Joel Miller’s playlist for the bonfire occasions: H E R E

Youtube playlists: JACKSON DAYS | SEATTLE DAYS

Seattle, day two - midday:

You've woken up with an uncomfortable ache in your head. Dina's things were carried away somewhere, so you were laying alone in the room with the door closed. Joel was there as far as you could say - you could hear a song being played on the guitar being played. It could be Ellie, sure, but she was never into Johnny Cash to play some of his songs. Slowly, you sat up and looked around. It took you another while to gather at least enough strength to get on your feet. Maybe Joel was right - you most probably had some slight concussion or stuff like that, because the whole theatre was spinning around you from side to side, making you sick from your stomach. Even walking up to Joel was enough problem on its own.

"Goodmorning." - Your raspy voice mumbled to Joel as you slowly sat down into one of the plushy seats next to him, disturbing his small guitar concert. With that, Joel gave you a small smile. - "You snored a lot." - He stated, making you shake your head.

"You're snoring all the time and I'm not whining about it. Stop being such a pussy." - You teased the man back, having him chuckling at you. This was the girl he knew and fell in love with - the one who was bitching him down daily, poking fun of him daily.

"I take it as a sign that you feel better now, huh?" - The man hugged his guitar, trying not to stare at you too much because you were the prettiest lady he had ever seen. Your eyes were playfully shining as you couldn't take your gaze off the man. But slowly, you nodded with a grin on your face.

"Where's Dina? Is the baby too much these days, huh? And Ellie? Did they leave us here because I was snoring too much?" - It was meant to come around as a joke, but it didn't quite hit off that vibe. You were worried about the girls since you couldn't see them around. Joel shook his head with a smile of a boy, looking at you.

"Ellie has gone after Tommy because the other girl had repaired the radio and made some connection here and there, so we now have a pretty good idea about what's WLFs doing at the moment. But she's feeling better now, I made sure of that." - The man put the guitar down - and as he did, you put your feet there right away. He sighed but started to smooth your shins, leaning his back into the seat as well.

"What are you doing here, then? You wouldn't let her go alone." - You sighed, leaning in and catching his palm to play around with his fingers. He knew that you knew him - you knew he wouldn't let her go alone, but, maybe it was the time to start putting more of his trust to her.

"Someone had to keep an eye out for you, baby. And for Dina." - Joel smiled sheepishly, making you grin even more. Against all the painful grunts coming out of you, you sat up and climbed on top of him - which was certainly an unexpected turn to start with. Maybe you meant what you've told him the previous night. Maybe, even though all of his sins, there was still a small way of hope.

"You were just staring at my boobs when I was out. Let's be real here." - A smile appeared on your lips once again as you put his hands on your hips. - "I dunno what you're talking about, miss. Must be in your head." - The man teased you back, sliding his palm on your butt, palming it to bring you even closer to him. Gently, you felt first kisses on your neck as you hugged him tightly, having this lazy smile on you as you embraced him.

"I mean, you shouldn't think of yourself that low, Joel, you could've just asked me. I would show them to you anytime you'd like me to." - Jesus, you were in one particular mood that night, weren't you? But to be honest, he was glad for every second of the endearing light-hearted moment.

"Go on." - The man leaned his back into the seat, still keeping your ass in his hands as a grin spread all over his face. - "I'm askin' you. Rite now." - And with grace, you did exactly what you implied on doing, slipping the t-shirt on the floor. And of course, it all ended up in a pretty heated up make out session. Just as you were about to undo his buckle, someone had opened the door.

Shocked, you shot your look at Dina, having a horrified expression on your face. And what should Joel say? He was already getting hard to take you right there on the very seat. Holy fuck. - "I'm-I'm sorry, guys! I was just checking if everything's alright. I'll fuck off now!" - Dina yelled at you with her cheeks heated up, already leaving the room. Well, it didn't mean much since the mood was ruined beyond recovery in your opinion.

"I'll go check on her, okay?" - You mumbled and Joel nodded without hesitation. Swiftly, you made your way through the building as you tried to smoothen out your clothes and try to look as if you weren't horny beyond socially acceptable. It must've been the nerves the whole situation which made your body overly seeking out some good old fucking. Yet to your bad luck, you hadn't got exactly the circumstances, time, or a space to do this stuff at. Soon, you were knocking on the radio room where Dina was residing.

When you entered the room, she was just puking into a metal bucket as you poked your head in. To be honest, it was still a better sight than seeing your girlfriend's dad figure touching your best friend in a rather inappropriate way, no matter he's her man. So this wasn't anything that would make you turn on your heels to leave - you just tiptoed in and sat on the other side of the map, waiting for Dina to gather herself back together.

"You're not looking exactly spectacular, babe." - You whispered when she straightened again and got her hair off of her face drenched in a cold sweat. Swiftly, she put her hair into a ponytail, smiling back at you. - "You're not at your best either, pal." - Then, Dina coughed to the top of her palm, jumping at the radio coming to life. And you did so as well. Last you remembered, the radio was out of order. The girl stretched out for a marker, writing something down on the map as she grinned at the sight of you staring at the old piece of technology.

"Loosened connections and antenna. No wonder you and Ellie didn't figure that out since neither of you is exactly an electrician miracle." - The girl explained shortly. - "And what you're looking at... Are the WLF zones here in Seattle. I mean, when you look at it, it's pretty impressive." - "They're singlehandedly ruling over Metropole with limitless potential. Woah." - You finished for her, looking at Dina. The girl nodded, but something told you that this isn't everything she had to say.

"Not necessarily. I heard that Joel told you that WLF is having a full-blown war here with someone. He told me that he heard some people talking about some assassination." - The girl explained quickly and you nodded to let her know that you're listening. - "They call these people Scars. I don't know who they are, what are they doing here or what's their deal... But I heard a whole patrol getting murdered like ten minutes ago. That was why I was looking for Joel."

"Do they know we're here, or what's the deal?" - You mumbled with horror in your face. While the theatre was your biggest source of safety in Seattle, you could get surrounded fairly easily. Dina shook her head to calm you down, whether that would help or not.

"But we have information about this girl right here." - Dina picked up a polaroid from the ground, giving it to you to look at. To be honest, you didn't remember the girl's face in the slightest. Sure, she could be here... Oh. Wait. She, this woman, was the one who told Abby to end all of this already. Nora. Her name was Nora. - "Ellie is in Hillcrest right now, looking for Tommy, and Joel wants to take off to search for Nora. She should be... Here, I guess." - Dina pointed her marker at a hospital building marked down as 'Zone 2'. It was quite a stretch from where you were at the moment, but it wasn't the furthest either.  

"She was assigned there just an hour ago and her group is gathering medical supplies there." - Your friend looked down on her palms leaning into the table as she sighed loudly. - "I don't know what's happening here, but it seems as if something nasty is about to go down any minute here in Seattle. From what I understood about all of there operations WLF is running, it's supposed to be some sort of gathering process because they are planning on launching some huge attack. Where? I don't know. But sooner we get this over with, the sooner we'll be able to go home." - Dina finished and caught her belly.

"Can we meet Ellie somewhere halfway? We can search the perimeter, clear the area up, and then meet up with Ellie." - An idea left your lips which had Dina watching you with her mouth slightly opened up. Clearing up the area. You were talking about killing people without a doubt, which Dina could read one thing from. That was the adrenaline rush Dina talked about. The acceptance of the things being as they were. It was the survivor slowly waking up inside of you.

"I mean..." - The girl sighed again, fetching the map you were having all of your directions written on since day one. - "You'll be going to the Lakehill hospital, which is right here." - As she spoke, she circled the spot with her marker, watching the big map she had on the wall. - "The nearest spot you can meet on is this park over here, you see it?" - Dina asked, pointing at a small orange circle on your map and dark-colored spot on the big map. - "You might be prepared to spend the night there because I don't know when Ellie's planning on coming back from Hillcrest." - With that, Dina marked the park on your map as, giving it back to you.

"Are you sure you'll make it if we leave now?" - You asked, smoothing your friend's shoulder. At that, Dina snickered and shook her head. - "I've survived a lot worse shit than a bit of stomach sickness, trust me. In the worst case, I'll barricade myself in here with some snack and I'll wait for your arrival, your majesty. What about you?" - Dina knitted her eyebrows and waited for your response.

To your surprise, you knew exactly what Dina was asking about. Will you handle murdering another tens of people, groups of survivors? But, for real, had you any other option there? No. This was the only way around it. These people shoot on sight without mercy. Why should you be worried about killing them if you were the one making it in the end?

It was good to know that you weren't as sensitive around the topic as you were before. Sure, it wasn't exactly feeling the best knowing you've ended the lives of people which was more or less violence coming in vain yet... This was the only way you could go from the point you were at. Also, you needed more ammo, food, and other supplies because most of it was stolen by the people looting your horses while you were out - and you couldn't gather everything from Sadie's saddlebacks. Some fresh clothes would help a ton as well, but you couldn't complain about what you had.

The last thing with which you reasons the WLFs members with was that... Each of them was a friend of Abby's. What better message could you send other than killing each of them, making the woman realize that someone's after her, thirsting for seeing her in pain - in the same pain she had caused you. So, to summarize it all, you didn't tell Dina a single word. You just nodded, assuring her.

Quickly, you ran down to find Joel already packing his backpack. As it seemed, he wanted to take off on his own and unnoticed, which didn't exactly play out as he thought it will. Instead of confronting him off the bat, you tiptoed to the doorframe, leaning into it with your shoulder. - "Sneaking somewhere, Miller?" - You asked and narrowed your lips to a line. - "It seems so for sure."

The man let his backpack fall to the ground again, turning his head at you. He was worried. About what, you didn't know, but understandably, in this situation, he didn't need to have a specific reason to be worried. - "Dina already turned you in, so, no lies here. We're taking off immediately. Ellie will catch up with us later." - You told him just when he opened up his lips to speak. Without further explanations, you packed your stuff as well, looking at the hollow magazine of your gun. Now you knew you can hit the target sometimes - the other side of the fact consisted of your inability to shoot properly. At least, you had your knife, bow, and arrows - which could prove quite useful if you'd need to attack some patrol from the shadows.

"Are you sure," - "Sure up my ass, Joel. I have nothing to be sure of because this fight is my fight. I was the one for this cycle was started for and so, I will be the one to end it. By any means necessary." - You answered just when Joel was about to start his typical 'I just want you to be safe' pouting show. With that, the man shut up, nodding at your decision.

Just ten minutes later, you were hugging Dina as you and Joel were leaving. It wasn't raining anymore, but the air was sultry and humid just like the clouds were sending a clear sign - it could start raining any minute again. Rather than standing there without a clue of what to do there, you moved forward to make your way through the mostly abandoned city. The closer you got to the downtown again, the crazier it was looking around you. There was tall skyscrapers with beaten out windows, ravaged cars and stores, deep pits and cracks in the asphalt full of water and surely, it could be seen how quickly nature overtook the whole city.

"What did you mean by saying that you've started all of it? You weren't the one who started at all." - Joel suddenly spoke into the silence, having this question on his mind for quite some time at that moment. First, you spared him a quick over-the-shoulder glance while making your way through a corroded building before you gathered some normal-sounding answer.

"Tommy went MIA because of me in the first place. Ellie is obsessed with the image of having all those people dead because of what they did to us and her choice made Dina wanting the same. You left by my side because I couldn't sleep at night. This was started by me in so many ways, Joel." - You sighed back, opening another door to the third floor. This time successfully. And as far as you could say, you could safely cross a big mass of water from this floor on some kind of a wooden structure.

"Nothin' of what you've listed ain't your damn fault." - The man huffed out while you both scanned the area for possible supplies. This place seemed to be already cleared out and infected-less, so you didn't worry about keeping your voices down too much. - "But you can't deny it all just a big fucking cycle repeating again and again. And to be honest," - You stopped to look at him with a tired expression. - "I'm just tired of that."

Joel knew exactly what you meant, so he only nodded and didn't ask further questions. It was a cycle in a way - a cycle of violence and revenge of some sort, repeating just like life itself. There will be always someone seeking revenge on other people, just like there will be people who will be trying to escape it. And putting an end to all of it? That seemed like a reasonable and mature choice. Which could bring consequences?

It wasn't too long after that when Joel caught the sleeve of your jacket, pulling you to the ground. His palm pointed your head in the direction of a dying fireplace in the middle of the room which had each window beaten out, so the air was coming in. Someone didn't leave the place recently, oh no - they were on the same floor with you. Which was terrifying, because these people didn't make a single sound the whole time. Neither of you kept your voice down, you searched through the room rather carelessly. And these people were watching you from afar, most likely, waiting for you to walk into their trap.

"We need to move now." - You instructed Joel. The man wanted to resist, but you held his palm in yours. - "We can't win in this situation. They have us outnumbered and they knew where we last were. We need to make a run for that bridge." - You motioned your head forward, reminding Joel for what you've been there. And just when Joel was about to answer, a high and long whistle sounded through the room, accompanied by at least ten other whistles.

Without a lot of thinking through, you tugged on Joel's jacket as you got on your legs and ran through the room, hearing the first arrows fly by you in the next second. By a miracle, neither you nor Joel got shot, but it was just inches between you and tips of it. The office building you were crossing through was a labyrinth and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't find any logical solution to it. To make it even worse, any of the people firing at you couldn't be seen - they were hiding in the shadows, communicating by some system based on different whistle sounds. Which terrified you. The whistles were dissolving in the number of rooms you were making your way through, so you couldn't find at least one of the persons based solely on the sound of it.

Both you and Joel hid behind a thrown over bending machine - the wooden bridge was just across a long, well-lit hall. Something was telling you that there's going to be most of them. But there was no other option. You couldn't hold positions at the moment and even if there was a long time since the last arrow flew in your direction, you were somehow sure that these people knew exactly where you were.

"Listen." - Joel turned your face at him, holding it in his palms. - "Now, you have to run. Don't look around, don't look behind, just run straight forward, 'kay? I'll be rite behind you." - The man kissed you briefly, tugging you our of your hiding spot in the direction of the bridge. His palms pushed you in front of him to put your tired body into motion. Abd it helped - even if you were out of breath, you needed to keep in motion so Joel would stay right behind you. The bridge was nearer and nearer, just like the ducking whistling. The people seemed to go over the top with it, panicking because you were almost there.

It was just when you ran to the end of the bridge when you realized something's off. It wasn't finished. It didn't lead anywhere. There was this huge mass of water under you, thanks to the rain, and a broken-down wall, where you could jump to. It was now or never situation, so you backed a few steps back, hoping Joel will see what you were after; not realizing that it would be there with you, he'd be already telling you what to do. Yet your mind didn't make that connection as you tried to hype yourself up before the jump. But just as you sprinted towards the edge, you cried out when spasm tensed your muscles up on the leg which was fucked up by Abby, making you fall down before you even made an attempt to jump.

You screamed for your dear life - you were just falling down to the water from the height of the fourth floor of one of the skyscrapers. Your palms were stretching out as you desperately tried to catch any ledge, but it was pointless. Nothing could help you now. And so you, you fell into the water with a loud splash. For a second, your body fell into a deep shock. The water was ice-cold, making your tensed and heated up muscles hurt as you regained the control over your muscles. You've fallen, but at least you crossed at least three savage-looking-like barricades you and Joel were making your way around. Something told you not to surface just yet - you swam in the water to another collapsed building on the other side of the street, climbing out in the basement.

There was no way around it - you had to cough loudly to get the water out of your lungs as you gasped for all the air you could get. First, you started to check yourself. Were you hurt? Did some arrow hit you? Did you hit a bone or broken anything? And there was a long, relieved sigh when you realized you're still doing good. But that was when it hit you at full speed. You stood up and looked around through the collapsed wall to the mass of water, upon the bridge. But you couldn't see or hear literally anyone. Where the fuck was Joel?

The panic attack took over you almost immediately. Where the fuck was he? Why didn't he jump after you? You were all alone now while the whistling people were after you. Right at the moment. The paranoia and fear made their way into your system rather quickly as you jumped at every small sound around you. He had to figure out another way out, right? He was safe for sure. He was just fine and you couldnt stay on one spot for too long. They knew you fell right into the water. It won't take them too long before finding you. Without too much thought put into it, you moved forward to take at least some stand on the situation. The only thing leading your steps were your instincts.

Now, you were on your own. Joel sure as hell was fine, you hoped so, and he knew where you were supposed to meet Ellie. He sure will appear on the meeting point, so there was no point in waiting for him. Somehow, you made your way into the first floor and except torches lighting up the place, it was pitch black. But the less your eyes saw, the more your ears heard. There was someone right in front of you, so you slowly took the knife out, listening to the pace and loudness of their footsteps, realizing where they were. And once you did, oh boy, they had it coming.

It was a woman in a brown coat, you guessed, facing away from you. She was struggling a lot, but not as much once you stabbed her abdomen before stabbing her neck open. With shaky hands, you let the hand slip to the ground, watching her face. The scars leading up from the corners of her mouth up to her earlobes was what caught your attention immediately. These were the Scars Dina told you about. These were the people who killed a patrol of WLFs in a gruesome way. No matter how stressing was that, there was no way for you to slow down for at least a bit. So you moved around in the sheer light, mostly helping yourself with listening to your surroundings, carefully touching it with your palms so you'd know where's solid wall and where's something else.

One man walked just a foot from you with his bow ready, looking for you. They knew about you, they surely did. It was impossible not to hear the warning whistles of their friends. Okay, okay, you had to get your facts straight. So, there were the Scars for sure. And they communicated by whistling. Which was amazing in a way - fucking every pinch of hope you had in many others. With a shaky breath, you closed your eyes and waited until the man crossed the few rooms you crouched through. Just when you moved forward again and saw a door opened enough for you to squeeze through, you heard another sharp whistle cutting the silence. The man found his dead friend.

As you climbed out of the building, you tried to memorize this sign at least. It surely meant that they were warning others about a dead body they had found. Quickly, you put the knife back in, thinking about where to go next. The adrenaline was really pushing you over your limits as you climbed on a trunk of an old picked up, over to the front side and jumping off, sliding on a muddy hill. When you ran for another three blocks, you finally stopped to catch some breath, leaning your back to one of the concrete buildings.

Joel wasn't there. Joel was MIA. He could be even dead. And while you knew and realized all the possibilities that could meet him on his way out of the office building, your brain didn't seem to sort them out. It still didn't seem to click inside there. Also, you didn't have any ammo or arrows, since all of them fell out of the quiver once you took the deep dive into the mass of water. And as it seemed, the hunters were now after you - you could be anyone in their eyes. They didn't care much if you were a civilian, a WLF, or a trespasser. They wanted you dead now as well. Great. The whole situation was fucking up more and more while you just watched it going downhill.

At least the map was partially intact, so you were still able to orientate around the city - or pinpoint where you were. As before, there wasn't any time for you to stop just like that. You were more or less a hunted prey at the moment, so you had to move quickly before having an arrow shot up to your ass. The paranoia didn't leave you for the slightest moment - you now knew the Scars were capable of being extremely quiet when they had to be and as a reaction for that, your ears responded to every small sound they caught. The light was starting to fade away, but because you were too afraid of using your flashlight, it was only adding up to the tension of the situation because soon, everything seemed like a person moving around.

Yet by a miracle, you made it to the edge of the park. There, you were finally calm enough to find a small place to reside for a moment, eat and drink a bit, rest up before Ellie makes her way to you. As soon as you bumped into an opened canalization shaft, you took it as a sign. This was your place to hide despite the smell and rats. You made a fire to warm yourself up without being terrified of it catching some attention since you were in an abandoned underground area, ate a can of baked beans, and drank almost all the water you had while trying to dry your jacket. It was really no surprise you drifted off right on the spot.

The kid had some cool music taste, which made you like her a lot more. She caught your eyes here and there when she was hoarding the food in her pockets, quickly pacing out of the dining room soon after each time she has done it. The girl was underweight-slim, always disappearing as if she was only an illusion hanging on the backside of your head. But there was something about her which made you smile.

Maybe she was just scared of all of you, which could be pretty reasonable when you acknowledged what happened to her. Or at least the things you've heard about the girl. Sure, most of them were pure works of fiction, but some of the stories made you scared of her too. So you decided to be the first one to break the silence, coming up to her house and befriending the scared-to-death kid. And you heard some pretty dope music from the inside when you did so. You couldn't believe how nervous you felt when you were about to knock on the door, just when she opened them up.

"Joel, what are you," - The girl grinned at you before she realized you aren't that Joel of hers. - "Oh." - She whispered and looked back at you the same way you were looking at her. For a moment, you both stood there uncomfortably, looking down on each other. She was the first one to speak.

"Hey, whatcha doing out here?" - Her voice muttered quietly and you watched as the played around with the tip of her back shoe, watching it. Her forearm was wrapped up in a piece of white cloth, her red hair was put to a messy ponytail and dear lord, she seemed to be weirded out.

"Heard the cool the music, so I came to ask who you're listening to." - You explained with a nervous giggle at the end, pointing at her radio in the corner. A white CD was put in there, rotating as the song progressed. The girl nodded with insecurity in her face, but she still stepped aside to invite you in, fetching you the CD cover. Foster the People was what the cover said. - "It's called Pumped Up Kicks. They're dope." - She nodded nervously when you read the song names on the back of it, but suddenly, she pointed her finger at you. You arched your eyebrows while slowly looking at her.

"Wanna hear a joke?" - She wondered. She'd swear that you could hear her heart beating with nerves at that point. Pumped up Kicks slowly faded into another of their songs, which you maybe liked even more. Slowly, you nodded at the proposal, still standing there since you didn't know what else you should do. - "Okay." - She chuckled and nodded, blushing slightly at those actions. - "What's golf's club favorite music genre?"

This question made you furrow with a growing smile as you shook your head unknowingly, watching the girl as she leaned her ass into the edge of her table. - "Swing."

There was an awkward silence as you tried to understand the joke - and suddenly, you started to laugh out loud so much, you had tears in your eyes. - "Dude, that's so bad!" - You whispered between the laughter, seeing the girl smiling right back at you. - "Name's Y/N, nice to meet you finally." - You offered the girl your hand, watching her approaching you with an unbelieving smile on her face. Did you want to talk to her sooner? You and your group of friends sure as hell caught her eyes before and to be honest, she was desperate to join you. All of you seemed cool and fun, around her age, but... She didn't know how to approach any of you. In her eyes, you were maybe too cool for someone weird as she was. But you came to her with an offer of friendship on your own, which was kinda dream-like for her. - "I'm Ellie. Nice to meet you too."

Ever since that day, you learned how to recognize the girl's voice and touch anywhere. So you realized it's her who's waking you up from your unplanned nap. The fire had already died out and Ellie was stinky, covered in mud, wet dust, the sewers water, and blood. Which didn't stop you from hugging her tightly, breathing out to her neck. Slowly, everything that happened had popped in your head again, making you terrified once again. - "Oh, God." - You muttered to the crook her neck, tugging her even closer.

"Focus on me. Where's Joel? Why you're alone?" - Ellie asked with worries in her eyes, palming your jaws gently. Disoriented, you looked around and tried to catch at least a slight gasp on reality before realizing what happened. - "We bumped into the Scars on our way here. We were running to the bridge, trying to get away when my fucked up leg tensed up and stopped me, so I fell into the water under. I didn't see him since then."

The nape of Ellie's neck got sticky from cold sweat as she realized what you were telling her. You and Joel separated, and you didn't know where the fuck he could be. He could be possibly dead, kidnapped, or something like that. It happened hours ago so there was no meaning in searching for the man. Which made her feeling sick from her stomach. At the same time, Ellie did know that with all the chaos she just managed to start by entering the sewers, anyone could've heard her. At the moment, there wasn't time to grief over his loss. You could do that later. - "Listen to me. It's only you and me now and we will make it outta here no matter what. We're coming for Nora, okay? It's you and me not. We're the last ones who remained on the battlefield." - She mumbled as she helped you into your jacket, packing all your stuff up. Trying to understand the meaning of her words, you nodded and sighed, pointing to the exit.

"The park's just above us. It's probably the quickest route straight to the hospital." - You instructed her and both got out of the building, seeing the dying daylight. And the coverage over the park didn't make your sight conditions better in any possible way. The only thing you could hope for was that the fucking park was empty.

Yet as soon as you heard a sharp whistle, you pushed Ellie to the ground, taking in a deep breath. You were in some knee-deep shit at the moment.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Stranded in Manhattan

Description: You are stranded inside of the building your publishing agency is housed in. A snowstorm hit New York without warnings and you can’t leave for a few hours. What sounds like a boring afternoon ends up being quite the ride. Prompt: Stranded somewhere due to inclement weather (Seb x Reader) Length: 2,6k+ Warnings: Reader is written as someone with a skin tone that makes blushing visible. Just shoot me an ask if you want me to write something specific with a WoC reader. Always open for that.

M A S T E R L I S T

You had just finished your meeting for the next magazine. Writing articles for a lifestyle magazine was your favorite part of being a freelance writer. Well, not completely freelance. You were kind of part of the main team but not with a permanent contract. A look outside of the window had you roll your eyes and grumble. “You shouldn’t go outside for the next 2-3 hours. There is a warning out.” a female colleague outside of the meeting room looked at you. “Great. I’m just gonna draft my article in the foyer then,” you muttered before saying goodbye with a few kind words.

In the lobby of the building, there already were a lot of people waiting for the storm to calm down. There was only one couch left that wasn’t already occupied by at least one person and you let yourself fall onto the soft furniture with a small sigh. Laptop opened, the document opened and there you went writing the magazine article for next week already. At least you had WiFi in here and could research for your draft. Every ten minutes one or two new people came down in the elevator and sat down beside someone else. After an hour there were only 5 seats left in the entire lobby and you would probably be one of the next ones.

“Excuse me? Could I sit here?” you heard an oddly familiar voice and looked up. “Sure.” you smiled and pushed your bag to the side. There was a long moment of silence and you staring at your screen before you finally said something. “What were you here for?” you asked with a little smile and got one back. “My acting agency is here. Meeting.” he shrugged, “You?” “Publisher meeting with the magazine I write for,” you answered. “Sebastian.” he held out his hand. “I know. Y/N.” you smiled back at him. Contrary to your belief he didn’t change much after you told him you knew him. “Which magazine do you write for?” he asked curiously. “Flow magazine. Lifestyle, personal development, mindfulness. That kinda thing.” you blushed a little. It always made you nervous to talk about your job with people that weren’t writers. His natural cuteness didn’t help. “That’s cool. And what are you currently writing about?” he looked at your hands on the laptop that was half-closed. “Mindful Dating. It’s pretty weird to research and hard to not make it sound hippie.” you opened the laptop again to show that you had written half a page for your 2-3 page spread on the topic. “I assume it starts with mindfully picking the right person to ask out.” he chuckled and picked his water bottle from his backpack. “Actually starts with finding out what you even want and where to find it but that’s definitely a part of it.” you smiled a bit awkwardly. “This sounds so cool compared to my few pages of script that I currently have to get into.” he sent a shy smile back. “Does it become less fun to get into a character when you do it longer and professionally?” you ask to steer the conversation away from you. “Sometimes. Especially when I don’t have a lot of backstory for my character to get into.” he shrugged his shoulders. “I always loved doing plays in high school.” you looked away in thought about your high school years. “What did you have?” his head dipped to the side a little in curiosity. “Romeo & Juliette, Beauty & the Beast, some play local college students wrote and the last one was...Cinderella.” you counted them. “Any big roles?” he smiled with shimmering eyes. “I had the main role in the college student one.” you giggled. It was a really dumb play and your memories of it are really chaotic. “God, I’d love to see videos of that. You definitely seem like you could pull off a lot of different characters. I mean, the appearance.” he got a bit unsure at the end if he worded it right.  You couldn’t help but giggle a little, “Yeah, could pull that black wig off better nowadays tho.” “Um, what plans did that blizzard ruin for you? Never asked,” he said with a one-sided smile while scratching his neck. “Not much. Wanted to go write in the library or meet a friend but that clearly won’t happen,” you shook your head looking outside of the window before your head went back to him, “You?” He played with the strings on his hoodie, “Technically the rest of my day was finally a free day. So only ruined my Netflix marathon.” He saw you smile when he looked up from the strings again, “Well, I have WiFi and this building probably has a more chill area. We technically COULD watch Netflix.” Another unsure smirk from him with an almost apologizing smile coming back from you made the short silence weirder than it needed to be. “Sure.” he shrugged. If somebody would’ve told you, that you would be in an empty meeting room with one of your Top 20 favorite actors, watching Netflix because you were snowed in, you would’ve flipped them off. You were both sitting on the table beside each other and had spread out the food and water you had with you. Weird circumstances called for weirder actions in response. The Netflix logo popped up, then your name with a Jessica Jones icon staring at you and after that the list of movies on your big list. “What do you wanna watch?” you looked up at him and he was already looking at you. “You can choose whatever you want. It’s your account.” he held his hands up. “Brooklyn 99 it is.” you nodded and clicked on the next episode you needed to watch. You were a few episodes in when you just needed to let go of the thought, that you had held prisoner in your head for two episodes. “You're the perfect mixture between Jake & Boyle,” you mumbled. “Definitely more Jake,” he mumbled back, his eyes darting to look at the smile that had formed on your lips. You didn’t notice. And then Jake came in with his legendary guitar scene full of screaming. “Jep, definitely more Jake.” you laughed. He lightly nudged you with a small laugh. You weren’t wrong. Another 2 episodes went by and you checked your phone for the time. It’s been 2 hours now. Maybe you could go soon. “Another one?” he asked with a big smile on his face. “Of course.” you put your phone away and jumped over the outro to the next episode.

“It’s been over two hours. Let me check the warnings in Manhattan.” you took your phone after another two episodes and stopped the show with the other hand. Your weather app was showing an orange warning instead of a red one. “Well, orange should be enough to get home, right?” you looked up at him. “Depends where you live.” he smiled one of those half smirk, half innocent smiles. “Queens,” you muttered. “That’s quite a long ride in that weather.” his right brow went up. “I definitely don’t wanna stay in this uncomfortable and way too air-conditioned building,” you said neutrally. “I live 4 blocks away and there is a café on the ground floor we could stay in.” now the smirk turned into a real smirk. “Are you flirting with me?” you raised your eyebrow. “Been trying for almost three hours. Thanks for noticing.” he laughed lightly and saw you get a little flustered. “Umm.” with a shy expression on your face you put the laptop into your bag. “Don’t leave me hanging here after I asked you for a date.” he pouted playfully. You opened your mouth at the mention of a date but closed it again after no sentence your brain formed came out. “Sure,” you said with the biggest blush on your face after a few seconds. With a smile on his face and you biting your lip you both stood up and slowly left the building through the lobby that was much emptier now. An arm found its way around you, making you flinch a little. “Did you always live in New York?” his voice was harder to hear with the big jacket on. “No, moved here from Y/C.” you answered and got a soft smile in response while you held the hood of your jacket to stay on in the wind. “God, I hate this weather.” you stomped in the snow on the sidewalk like a child having a tantrum. “You kinda look like you enjoy it though.” he laughed at your attempt at kicking the snow. “I love winter. I hate that it gets so ugly and depressing so fast. I’m just here for the snow.” you pointed your tongue at him. If he had voiced his feelings at that moment, he would’ve probably told you that he wanted to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way for you to stop complaining about the wind. “Do that again and you have that snow flying at you,” he said trying to pinch you. “Don’t you DARE!” you played into it. “Watch me do it.” he smiled picking up snow and you started running. “He’s fast, strong, had snowballs.” you quoted laughing and a snowball hit your back. “The Winter Soldier is coming for you.” he made himself bigger but had a snowball landing on his chest after a few seconds. You looked at him innocently and he blinked before running for you and catching you with a growl that made you squeak. “Help!” you said giggling at this absolute dork moment you just had. “Target acquired. Bringing it to drop off location,” he said near your ear and started giggling like an idiot with you. The bell of the café door had the waiter in the almost empty room look up at the both of you. “Hello, Sebastian.” the man smiled at the tall brunette beside you. “Hey, can you make us two hot chocolates and two pieces of the chocolate cake, please?” came back at the waiter. Having someone help you out with getting out of a jacket felt weird. You weren’t used to gestures like that anymore and mumbled a small “Thank you.” You sat down on one of the tables and he leaned forward with a, “I won.” “There never was a competition, Stan,” you said putting down your bag.

“Didn’t mean the snowball fight.” he winked and watched you blush. Before you could say anything mugs and plates were set down in front of you. “Tell me about yourself.” he gave you an encouraging smile and you started talking. About your creative roots, what else you wanted to become when you were younger and how you felt about the things you did now. Some sentences had a vague political orientation in it and your stances on social issues. “Sorry, I’m talking a lot.” you noticed yourself rambling and looked down at the half-eaten cake. “No, I like listening to you.” he picked up the mug. “I’d like to know more about you too.” you smiled with some confidence from what he just said. He started talking about what he was currently doing, his mother, a bit about his roots and what his future plans were. He was good at this whole talking on a date thing. “You like astronomy?” he asked out of the blue with his fork pointing at you. “Yeah.” you grinned. “What’s the coolest thing about it?” he asked. “Nebulas. And I recently learned about hot Jupiters. Super interesting.” you mentioned the article you recently found while researching for a personal project. “A woman of class, I see.” he chuckled before taking his last bite of the chocolate cake. “No, a woman of space,” you smirked and got warm laughter back. You checked the phone again. The warning was on red again and a look outside of the window checked out with it. He noticed your look outside, “You can stay at my apartment. If you...want.” he said a bit unsure himself. “Uuuh.” you didn’t really know how to answer this. “Not in a weird way.” he distanced himself a bit from the table into his seat. “I guess I wouldn’t have another choice, even if I wanted to say no.” your soft expression had him visibly relax. You stood up, he gave the waiter on the counter the money and then you both made your way to a pair of elevators. “This feels mildly awkward.” you spoke out what both of you felt. “Doesn’t have to.” he smiled, snapping out of it. The moment the elevator opened you snapped out of it too. You knew there wasn’t anything to be afraid of. Yes, this was weird because you just met him but the circumstances were not in your hand. He was respectful, and if he wasn’t you knew how to kick his ass. Everything was fine. Even with both of you not talking in the elevator there was still a comfortable silence. That was until fingers started searching for yours and capturing your hand in a gentle manner. It’s not that you didn’t want this but it was very unusual and sudden. Like everything else today. Sure, you didn’t mind holding hands with pretty much anyone you knew but this wasn’t just anybody. This was someone you just had a proper date with and that kinda had your brain go in circles. “Relax, I’m not trying to get you into my bed.” he gently nudged you and locked down at you with a soft smile. “Sorry, I’m just not used to this...normality.” you tried to find a word for it, immediately shaking your head a little at choosing this particular word for it. “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.” he said while you walked past him holding the door open. “Nice couch.” you pointed at it. It was one of those expensive, big, soft ones that everybody secretly wanted. You let yourself fall on it. He let himself fall next to you after throwing his jacket and yours over a chair. “Almost too conveniently placed.” you squinted at him beside you. “Hey! Don’t judge!” he laughed. “Too late. I judged.” you giggled before noticing his stare. “What?” your brow went up. “Nothing.” his eyes went away from your eyes and lips and looked at the ceiling again. “What are we going to do the rest of the evening now?” you asked. “More Netflix?” he returned a question. “Fine. But I only accept documentaries.” you grinned. Of course, the documentary he put on was about space and you both just absorbed the information you got. You didn’t even notice the arm around you after a while or the gentle pull towards him that had you cuddled up by the end of the documentary. “You’re a sneaky little asshole.” you said sleepy. “Only with pretty women.” his hand went through your hair. You looked up at him “Thank you for making this day much less boring.” you smiled and caught him staring again. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered so close to your face, his hand going from your hair to your jaw. With rosy cheeks, you nodded and had soft lips on yours a moment later. A normal thing to happen after a date but you still weren’t used to it. The thumb going over your cheek got you out of the overthinking again. Right now, all you wanted to concentrate on was those soft lips and that slightly scratchy skin. The hand cupping your face, the arm pulling you closer and the tongue brushing against your lower lip. Everything is perfect right now, no need to overthink it.

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

House Sets Impeachment Vote to Charge Trump With Incitement (NYT) House Democrats introduced an article of impeachment against President Trump on Monday for his role in inflaming a mob that attacked the Capitol, scheduling a Wednesday vote to charge the president with “inciting violence against the government of the United States” if Vice President Mike Pence refused to strip him of power first. As the impeachment drive proceeded, federal law enforcement authorities accelerated efforts to fortify the Capitol ahead of President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s inauguration on Jan. 20. The authorities announced plans to deploy up to 15,000 National Guard troops and set up a multilayered buffer zone with checkpoints around the building by Wednesday, just as lawmakers are to debate and vote on impeaching Mr. Trump. Federal authorities also said they were bracing for a wave of armed protests in all 50 state capitals and Washington in the days leading up to the inauguration.

National Guard inauguration deployment (Military Times) The Defense Department has authorized as many as 15,000 troops to be deployed to Washington, D.C., for the inauguration of President-elect Joe Biden. National Guard Bureau chief Gen. Daniel Hokanson said that there will initially be a deployment of 10,000 troops—an increase of about 4,000 from those in D.C. now. That figure is twice the number of U.S. troops in Afghanistan and Iraq combined. The general declined to specify whether the guardsmen will be armed, stating that “we will work very closely with the federal agency, the FBI and law enforcement to determine if there is a need for that.” A D.C. National Guard spokesman told Military Times on Sunday that while some troops came to town with their weapons, carrying them on the streets had not yet been authorized.

Companies cutting off Trump and GOP (Yahoo Finance) Marriott and Blue Cross Blue Shield are just a few of the companies that are halting donations to GOP lawmakers who objected to certifying Joe Biden as president, while other businesses move to cut ties with President Trump directly. The actions come on the heels of Friday’s permanent suspension of Donald Trump’s Twitter account and Amazon’s move to cut off social media platform Parler’s servers. (NYT) The backlash is part of a broader shunning of Mr. Trump and his allies unfolding in the wake of the assault on the Capitol. Schools stripped the president of honorary degrees, some prominent Republicans threatened to leave the party and the New York State Bar Association announced it had begun investigating Mr. Trump’s personal lawyer, Rudolph W. Giuliani, which could lead to his removal from the group. And the P.G.A. of America announced it would strip Mr. Trump’s New Jersey golf club of a major tournament.

Virus deaths surging in California, now top 30,000 (AP) The coronavirus death toll in California reached 30,000 on Monday, another staggering milestone as the nation’s most populous state endures the worst surge of the nearly yearlong pandemic. Newly confirmed infections are rising at a dizzying rate of more than a quarter-million a week and during the weekend a record 1,163 deaths were reported. Los Angeles County is one of the epicenters and health officials there are telling residents to wear a mask even when at home if they go outside regularly and live with someone elderly or otherwise at high risk. California has deployed 88 refrigerated trailers to use as makeshift morgues mostly in hard-hit Southern California, where traditional storage space is dwindling.

A never-ending scandal (Bloomberg) Lockheed Martin Corp.’s F-35, the fighter jet already being flown by the U.S. and eight allies, remains marred by 871 software and hardware deficiencies that could undercut readiness, missions or maintenance, according to the Pentagon’s testing office. The Defense Department’s costliest weapons system “continues to carry a large number of deficiencies, many of which were identified prior to” the development and demonstration phase, which ended in April 2018 with 941 flaws, Robert Behler, the director of operational testing, said in a new assessment obtained by Bloomberg News in advance of its publication.

Pompeo Returns Cuba to Terrorism Sponsor List (NYT) The State Department designated Cuba a state sponsor of terrorism on Monday in a last-minute foreign policy stroke that will complicate the incoming Biden administration’s plans to restore friendlier relations with Havana. In a statement, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo cited Cuba’s hosting of 10 Colombian rebel leaders, along with a handful of American fugitives wanted for crimes committed in the 1970s, and Cuba’s support for the authoritarian leader of Venezuela, Nicolás Maduro. Mr. Pompeo said the action sent the message that “the Castro regime must end its support for international terrorism and subversion of U.S. justice.” The action, announced with just days remaining in the Trump administration, reverses a step taken in 2015 after President Barack Obama restored diplomatic relations with Cuba, calling its decades of political and economic isolation a relic of the Cold War.

Brexit sandwich problems (BBC) A Dutch TV network has filmed border officials confiscating ham sandwiches and other foods from drivers arriving in the Netherlands from the UK, under post-Brexit rules. Under EU rules, travellers from outside the bloc are banned from bringing in meat and dairy products. The rules appeared to bemuse one driver. “Since Brexit, you are no longer allowed to bring certain foods to Europe, like meat, fruit, vegetables, fish, that kind of stuff,” a Dutch border official told the driver in footage broadcast by TV network NPO 1. In one scene, a border official asked the driver whether several of his tin-foil wrapped sandwiches had meat in them. When the driver said they did, the border official said: “Okay, so we take them all.” Surprised, the driver then asked the officials if he could keep the bread, to which one replied: “No, everything will be confiscated—welcome to the Brexit, sir. I’m sorry.”

Merkel sees coronavirus lockdown until early April: Bild (Reuters) Chancellor Angela Merkel has told lawmakers in her conservative party that she expects a lockdown in Germany to curb the spread of the coronavirus to last until the start of April, top-selling Bild daily cited participants as the meeting as saying. “If we don’t manage to stop this British virus, then we will have 10 times the number of cases by Easter. We need eight to 10 more weeks of tough measures,” Bild quoted Merkel as saying.

‘A Stalin with double meat’ (Foreign Policy) A Moscow kebab shop named after Soviet leader Joseph Stalin has closed after just 24 hours of opening after a string of complaints from angry residents. In its brief existence Stalin Doner served items like “Stalin with double meat” and “Beria with tkemali sauce”—a reference to Stalin’s notorious secret police chief. The shop’s owner, Stanislav Voltman, was interviewed by police for three hours following complaints. “They asked me if my head was screwed on straight,” Voltman told Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. “It’s not like I had Hitler as the face of my brand,” Voltman said. Despite public outcry about the kebabs, support for Stalin is on the rise in Russia. A Levada Center poll in 2019 found that 70 percent of Russians think Stalin played a completely or relatively positive role in the life of the country.

In Kashmir, Hopes Wither (NYT) Kashmir, the craggily beautiful region in the shadow of the Himalayas long caught between India and Pakistan, has fallen into a state of suspended animation. Schools are closed. Lockdowns have been imposed, lifted and then reimposed. Once a hub for both Western and Indian tourists, Kashmir has been reeling for more than a year. First, India brought in security forces to clamp down on the region. Then the coronavirus struck. The streets are full of soldiers. Military bunkers, removed years ago, are back, and at many places cleave the road. On highways, soldiers stop passenger vehicles and drag commuters out to check their identity cards. Conflict in Kashmir, India’s only Muslim-majority region, has festered for decades. And an armed uprising has long sought self-rule. Tens of thousands of rebels, civilians and security forces have died since 1990. India and Pakistan have gone to war twice over the territory, which is split between them but claimed by both in its entirety. Now, as India flexes its power over the region, to even call Kashmir a disputed region is a crime—sedition, according to Indian officials. Many say that the political paralysis is the worst it has ever been in Kashmir’s 30 years of conflict, and that people have been choked into submission.

India’s top court suspends implementation of new farm laws (AP) India’s top court on Tuesday temporarily put on hold the implementation of new agricultural laws and ordered the formation of an independent committee of experts to negotiate with farmers who have been protesting against the legislation. The Supreme Court’s ruling came a day after it heard petitions filed by the farmers challenging the controversial legislation. The court said that the laws were passed without enough consultation, and that it was disappointed with the way talks were proceeding between representatives of the government and farmer leaders. Tens of thousands of farmers protesting against the legislation have been blocking half a dozen major highways on the outskirts of New Delhi for more than 45 days. Farmers say they won’t leave until the government repeals the laws. They say the legislation passed by Parliament in September will lead to the cartelization and commercialization of agriculture, make farmers vulnerable to corporate greed and devastate their earnings. The government insists the laws will benefit farmers and says they will enable farmers to market their produce and boost production through private investment.

First came political crimes. Now, a digital crackdown descends on Hong Kong. (Washington Post) HONG KONG—The police officers who came to take away Owen Chow on national security grounds last week left little to chance. Determined to find his phones, they had prepared a list of mobile numbers registered to his name, even one he used exclusively for banking, said the 23-year-old Hong Kong activist. Officers called each number in succession, the vibrations revealing the locations of three iPhones around his apartment. By the end of their operation, police had amassed more than 200 devices from Chow and 52 others held for alleged political crimes that day, according to those arrested, as well as laptops from spouses who are not politically active and were not detained. The digital sweep showed how Hong Kong authorities are wielding new powers under the national security law, introduced last summer, far more widely than the city’s leader promised. Since the Jan. 6 raids, authorities have blocked at least one website, according to the site’s owner and local media reports, raising concerns that Hong Kong is headed for broader digital surveillance and censorship akin to that in mainland China. Hong Kong police have begun sending devices seized from arrested people to mainland China, where authorities have sophisticated data-extraction technology, and are using the information gleaned from those devices to assist in investigations, according to two people familiar with the arrangement who spoke on the condition of anonymity to protect their safety.

26 missing, at least 13 dead in Indonesia landslides (AP) Rescuers are searching for 26 people still missing after two landslides hit a village in Indonesia’s West Java province over the weekend, officials said Tuesday. At least 13 people were killed and 29 others injured in the landslides that were triggered by heavy rain on Sunday in Cihanjuang, a village in West Java’s Sumedang district. Some of the victims were rescuers from the first landslide.

Leading human rights group calls Israel an ‘apartheid’ state (AP) A leading Israeli human rights group has begun describing both Israel and its control of the Palestinian territories as a single “apartheid” regime, using an explosive term that the country’s leaders and their supporters vehemently reject. In a report released Tuesday, B’Tselem says that while Palestinians live under different forms of Israeli control in the occupied West Bank, blockaded Gaza, annexed east Jerusalem and within Israel itself, they have fewer rights than Jews in the entire area between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River. “One of the key points in our analysis is that this is a single geopolitical area ruled by one government,” said B’Tselem director Hagai El-Ad. “This is not democracy plus occupation. This is apartheid between the river and the sea.” That a respected Israeli organization is adopting a term long seen as taboo even by many critics of Israel points to a broader shift in the debate as its half-century occupation of war-won lands drags on and hopes for a two-state solution fade.

Uganda bans social media ahead of presidential election (Reuters) Uganda banned social media on Tuesday, two days ahead of a presidential election pitting Yoweri Museveni, one of Africa’s longest-serving leaders, against opposition frontrunner Bobi Wine, a popular singer. Internet monitor NetBlocks said its data showed that Facebook, Twitter, WhatsApp, Instagram, Skype, Snapchat, Viber and Google Play Store were among a lengthy list of sites unavailable via Uganda’s main cell network operators. Campaigning ahead of the vote has been marred by brutal crackdowns on opposition rallies, which the authorities say break COVID-19 curbs on large gatherings. Rights groups say the restrictions are a pretext for muzzling the opposition. At 38, Wine is half the age of President Yoweri Museveni and has attracted a large following among young people in a nation where 80% of the population are under 30, rattling the ruling National Resistance Movement party.

Coronavirus-spurred changes to global workforce to be permanent (Reuters) Sweeping changes to the global labour market caused by the coronavirus pandemic will likely be permanent, policy makers said on Tuesday, as some industries collapse, others flourish and workers stay home. The pandemic, which has so far infected at least 90.5 million people and killed around 1.9 worldwide, has up-ended industries and workers in almost every country in the world as tough lockdowns were imposed. The International Labour Organization (ILO) has estimated that the impact of huge job losses worldwide is creating a fiscal gap that threatens to increase inequality between richer and poorer countries. The ILO estimated that global labour income declined by 10.7 per cent, or $3.5 trillion, in the first three quarters of 2020, compared with the same period in 2019, excluding government income support. India’s Foreign Minister Subrahmanyam Jaishankar said the pandemic had created an “accidental challenge” under which the government delivered food on a regular basis to 800 million people and provided sustained business funds. Philippines central bank Governor Benjamin Diokno said it was clear some industries will not survive, others will not be as dynamic as before, and yet others will be boosted by the massive changes. The need for a more nimble and innovative approach to education will remain long after the pandemic ends, said Helen Fulson, Chief Product Officer at educational publisher Twinkl. “How many children today will be doing jobs that currently don’t exist?’ she said at Reuters Next on Monday. “We don’t know how to train for these jobs.”