#did white southerners contribute anything good

[sokkastyles]

I never saw the zuko and jet parallel, but after you pointed it out it makes sense. I always thought azula and jet looked more alike. They're both malipulators.

Zuko and Jet are intentional parallels and foils, shown in their interactions with each other and their interactions with Katara. Both have arcs in book two of trying the change, and both ultimately fail. Both are people Katara feels betrayed by, and both are people she was unable to save. Jet is even brought up again in "The Southern Raiders," the Zuko/Katara bonding field trip episode. You can't convince me this isn't intentional.

I never made the connection between Jet and Azula, but you are right, both are manipulative characters. And both are antagonists to Katara. And no, before anyone asks, I'm not saying that means they are exactly the same, obviously Jet is a lot more sympathetic than Azula and is on the side of good, but his "ends justify the means" approach is what makes him an antagonist, plus the fact that he lies to and uses Katara for his own ends.

Azula is manipulative as well, but it's not Katara she manipulates. Mainly because they were never on the same side, like Katara and Jet. Azula does manipulate Zuko, though, in a way that leads to Katara feeling betrayed by him.

Katara's arc has a lot to do with reconciling her strong sense of justice and compassion towards others with the cruel realities of the world. Jet, Zuko, and Azula, and her relationships with these characters, all contribute to that. Jet used Katara's compassion and readiness to join what appeared to be a righteous cause to manipulate her, and despite this, when she meets him again, she still feels a need to help him when he in turn is manipulated and used by the government that he thought would protect him. She later reaches out to help and feels betrayed by Zuko, but after he joins the gaang and she forgives him, she comes to realize that he was being manipulated by Azula. And she won't let it happen again. That scene in TSR where both Zuko and Azula are falling and Katara catches Zuko, Katara is standing over Zuko protectively and glaring back at Azula. And then when Azula challenges Zuko to an agni kai, Katara immediately tries to warn him that she's trying to manipulate him again.

Azula and Jet are similar in the way that they are able to justify their own actions and how they bully others. Jet is more sympathetic because he did want to change, whereas Azula never realizes there is anything wrong with her actions, but the connection does give new meaning to Katara's look of sadness when she sees Azula screaming and crying while tied to that grate at the end of the series. She's learned a lot about the nuances of human behavior and how good and evil aren't as black and white as they might initially appear.

#zuko #katara #jet #azula

[max1461]

Have I talked about my primary/secondary school experience before? Well maybe I should because I think it's relevant to various things. So basically from kindergarten through 12th grade I went to a tiny progressive school in southern California. I should clarify what I mean by "progressive" here—I don't mean that in the sense of "woke", because largely it wasn't. Concerns like race and gender were mostly just not on the radar of the administration. I mean progressive in the sense of like, the educational philosophy, which I don't know that much about in general other than how it manifested in my own experience there.

There was a focus on learning through hands-on projects and very free-form classroom activities. Up through 8th grade there was basically no homework, and none of the work was graded at all. I had my first experience with letters grades in my freshman year of high school. There was also no standardized testing throughout, and indeed no tests at all prior to high school. There were no advanced or AP classes, as there was a desire to avoid institutionalized hierarchy.

The large majority of the students were there on some kind of scholarship, mostly from low-income families, and the whole thing was basically subsidized by a much smaller number of wealthy families who were dissatisfied with traditional education and wanted to send their kids somewhere radically different. My subjective impression is that the student body was about a 50/50 split between white and Latino, but I never looked at the numbers. There were around 200 students at maximum, though the number fluctuated year by year, and only about 40 in high school (most left for more traditional education after middle school). Altogether it was a very interesting social milieu to grow up in.

Oh, right—"circles"! How could I forget about circles?

Basically, there was a philosophy at the school which was against any kind of punishment for misbehavior or so on. If you were goofing off in class you'd be, like, asked not to, etc., but you wouldn't get any formal reprimanding. If any interpersonal issues between students arose, such as bullying, they were solved through the most hippy means imaginable: getting everyone involved to just sit down and talk it out. Specifically, while sitting in a circle. Thus—"circles". The school had a big emphasis on "social/emotional wellbeing", which basically meant that if anyone was upset about anything it was Time For A Circle. Frankly, I don't know how well this worked or didn't, because I was a social recluse who was never involved in drama. For me, "ok class, we have to have a circle about this" meant "Max you get to go hang out in the computer lab for an hour or two while we Resolve Our Issues". Fun times.

Anyway, there were many things I liked about my experience there. Given my anxiety, and the mental health struggles I had especially in high school, I think the unorthodox nature of the education there is one of the only reasons I was able to academically survive that period of my life. If I had gone to a traditional school, with tests and mandatory essay assignments and whatever, I think I would have crashed and burned and failed every class. As it is I was able to do well, and get into a good college, were I also did very well (side-note: I thought the transition to traditional schoolwork would be hard for me, but actually it wasn't!). Now I am going to fucking graduate school, which I think would absolutely not have been possible had I gone to a normal school during my Teenage Brain Owch Years.

On the other hand, I had various struggles there. The small size of the student body made it difficult for me to make friends, and in general I felt very socially isolated, which probably contributed to my bad mental health in HS. As soon as I got to college my ability to function improved dramatically, and I think this was in no small part due to the fact that I was actually making friends for the first time in my life. Also the lack of advanced classes meant that in the subjects where I did do well be traditional metrics (math) I was still stuck at a pretty rudimentary level academically. Of course this is half of what inspired me to intellectually strike out on my own in these areas and decide to just start teaching myself math, which is how I started learning topology and abstract algebra in high school and gave me a huge head start on math in college. Not sure if I would have done better or worse had my math abilities been focused down institutional pathways; I suppose I'll never know.

So that was my educational experience prior to college. Some good, some bad, but largely I am a fan of the general progressive education style that I was exposed to, especially for young kids. I have retained from that time of my life a strong impression that grading schoolwork is in some sense terribly evil, that it instills a kind of deference to authority that I think should never be trained into young kids, and that a system of education (at least on small scales) can absolutely function without it. I was largely spared from the bureaucracy of school until I went to college, and I'm very glad about this fact. Also the phrase "do we need to have a circle about this" is burned permanently into my vocabulary.

Probably relevant info for you all in terms of getting my deal.

#personal

[redleatherlesbo]

bukola's blog #2: on citizenship

how an encounter with a neighbor convinced me of my worthiness of a high school award (tw/reference to su*cide)

when i was a teenager, the high school i attended had a monthly assembly before school where students selected by their teacher would receive the “Good Citizenship” Award. each month, a different department would give the award. in september, teachers from the english/language arts department would select a student; in march, the math department would do so, and so forth. from what i remember, the qualifications for a student who demonstrated good citizenship in a classroom context were thus: enthusiastic participation in class, timely submission of assignments, genuine inquisitiveness, willingness to help classmates, etc. by the time i graduated, i had received this award five times.

the most memorable of these five awards was the one i received from my ap world history teacher, mrs. ewans. it was during my sophomore year of high school, one of the first school years i remember more for the mental and emotional anguish i was experiencing than for anything i said or did in a class to deserve any acknowledgement. it was the first year that i was completely uninvolved in any extracurricular activities since elementary school, having chosen to disengage from a few activities wherein i felt mistreated by my peers. the years preceding my sophomore year were full of the kind of serious bullying that you would expect a dark-skinned black girl (and the only african girl in school) to experience in a southern school district.

unfortunately for me, it was in disengaging from these activities where cruelty was taking place that i had the opportunity to reflect on them for the first time. i spent every day that year going straight home after school to sink into my loneliness, wondering what i did in a past life to be given this one. having attended middle and junior high schools filled with hundreds of southern, majority white, american preteens experimenting with racism for the first time through their interactions with me, choosing to pull back was probably the better decision. but beyond the internal turmoil caused by the solitary experience of oppression, the social awkwardness of youth that we all went through made things even lonelier. i remember looking for a table to sit at on the first day of that year, lunch tray in hand, realizing i could no longer sit with the basketball girls. i remember wandering through the halls to find an alcove to sit in by myself, eventually calling my dad to share my predicament. he immediately offered to drive to school and eat lunch with me on one of the benches outside or even in the car. i wish i had accepted, but youthful embarrassment kicked in at the thought of eating lunch with my dad because i had no friends. i declined, and hung up the phone almost immediately. i settled into the library, where i would eat my lunch nearly every day for the rest of the year.

it’s a hard place to return to emotionally still, so i can’t fathom how the version of me that i was at that time managed to convince any teacher that there was anything useful—let alone praiseworthy—about me. i don’t remember being my usual bubbly self that year, or even making a single memorable contribution in any class. i spent all of high school and most of the years since thinking those citizenship awards, the one from my world history teacher especially, were undeserved.

—

earlier today, i was taking my dog for a walk in brooklyn before sitting down at my laptop to work from home for the day. my dog is [very cute and] on the small side, so he often wears a sweater in the wintertime to keep him warm. he was wearing it today when someone behind us complemented him. i turned to accept the compliment, and inadvertently began a conversation with a very talkative neighbor about my dog’s sweater. i had not noticed when our conversation began, but as we continued speaking and i observed the missing fingers on his gloves and the callused skin underneath, i realized i was speaking to one of the unhoused men i often see in the neighborhood. as if on cue, he shifted the topic of conversation from my dog’s sweater to the fact that he was in need of money to pay for a meal and transportation to the shelter for the day. i told him i didn’t have cash and apologized, but he continued to follow my dog and me across and down the street while suggesting places i could stop into to get cash for him. i told him i didn’t even have my card and so i couldn’t get cash at the moment—having only grabbed what i needed to take my dog out for a quick stroll around the block—thinking this would end the conversation. instead, he began to describe how bad his mental health had gotten lately. he thanked me for even talking to him and addressing him like a human being but said that he feared he might k*ll himself because it was his birthday, and he was on the street having to ask strangers for their change for a place to stay. he finally offered to stay in front of the kfc on the corner we were standing on and wait for me to take care of my dog and get cash. i agreed, and we finally parted ways.

on my way home with my dog, my brain was a mess of thoughts. i was pretty sure i didn’t even have any cash at home, so i needed to find the nearest atm. i couldn’t go far to find it because i had a meeting on zoom that would start within an hour. i was also limited in which direction to go looking for an atm because the kfc that the man was waiting for me at was so close to my apartment building. given his willingness to follow me when i was crossing the street and down the block, i thought it best not to give him any indication of where i lived. this line of thinking made me ashamed of myself, and i wondered if i would feel the need to take so many precautions after a similar conversation with a member of my community if i knew they had a permanent address. i recognized myself at the crossroads of intersectional experience, remembering i am a woman and that i smile when strangers speak to me and wondered if a man would have been followed. while trying to decide if this made me a bad person, i also began to wonder if the “i am going to k*ll myself if you don’t come back with cash” method of solicitation typically yielded him much success. it probably isn’t his birthday, is it? would i assume a housed person was lying about their birthday?

after wiping my dog’s paws and giving him a treat to occupy himself with, i headed back out to the atm, still grappling with all my thoughts. in the chaos of it all, one thought came to the forefront: i think it makes me a pretty good citizen to still go get the cash despite all of those considerations especially regarding my safety as a woman. and then, for the first time in almost a decade, i remembered that year of deep unworthiness. the certainty on mrs. ewans's face as she read the paragraph she had written about why she had selected me during that early morning awards ceremony all those years ago returned to my mind. only this time, it did not bewilder me.

—

i’m not fully sure why i wrote this. the rest of the encounter was mundane: i gave him the cash, we bumped elbows, and we parted ways. part of this feels embarrassingly self-congratulatory. i hope the more painful memories of my sophomore year demonstrate that any positive sentiment i express towards or about myself was hard-won. i also wonder if my experience would be relevant to educators considering the merits of rewarding students in similar ways. even though the award might even have seemed corny to me at the time (telling other students that i received this award more than once felt like asking to be labelled a Teacher’s Pet and a ‘tryhard’), in the elevator on my way down to the atm, i remember thinking that i wanted to prove mrs. ewans right. even almost ten years later, i wanted to prove worthy of my Good Citizenship awards.

more importantly though, i think the lesson in the story is that our essence always shines through. even amidst immense trauma that made me incapable of seeing any positive traits present in myself, my teacher was able to see it. for years i thought i fooled her, though i now realize it was myself i had fooled into thinking that depression would take the essence of who i am away from me. there is a light that shines in us, even when we cannot see it ourselves.

#literature #black women #blog #queer writers #writers on tumblr #wlw #eldest daughter #writers and poets #writeblr #bullying #high school #reflection #brooklyn #added asterisks to avoid content suppression fyi

[queer-leftist-nerd]

#meme #southern #change my mind #black culture #black history #southern culture #blm #did white southerners contribute anything good? #i genuinely can't think of anything

[enthusiasticharry]

the one where harry visits france for the summer, and you end up falling in deep.

author’s note : bonjour mes chéris! i'm back again on my french shit, and i hope you enjoy! this is my contribution to @theharriediaries​‘s fic challenge. i chose the photo which i've used in the banner and the prompt ‘i think i loved you in a past life’ thank you for creating this amazing challenge! 

word count : 16.1k of frenchness, fluff, discussion of triggering concepts and smut. i had a lovely time writing this, and i truly think it is my favourite thing that i've ever wrote. 

let me know what you think of twisted in bedsheets here. let me know what you think. 

Walking down the cobbled streets of Nice, you know that you’re going to be a little late for your shift, but you also know that you weren’t going to get in too much trouble. You rush down the cobble streets and look down at your watch as you move, feeling a little flustered but you know that it’s your own fault that this is happening, and if anything, you probably should have been a little more careful in the way that you were doing things, but that wasn’t how you did things, and if you didn’t before you certainly weren’t going to start now. 

You smiled at people as you passed them, ducking past them as you weaved your way through the groups of people on the main streets before you slip into the back streets that were much quieter and made it so you were able to quicken up your pace without bumping into anybody whilst you did so. Having lived in Nice for the majority of your life, you knew the backstreets like the back of your hand, and that’s why you were able to cut almost ten minutes off your journey just by using them. 

It did mean that in less than no time you’re slipping your way inside the restaurant’s doors and making your way into the kitchen, where you know your dad will be, preparing everything that needs to be done for when the restaurant opens in less than five minutes. You slip past your father, into the back, trying not to make it too obvious that you were there because you knew that you would get a very stern talking to if he did notice. When you passed him, though, he didn’t turn around to look at you and you see it as a win. You slip into the back room and place your bag in the corner of the room that you’ve chosen to be yours, and pick up your apron from the table, wrapping the black material around your waist and tying it in a knot. You were wearing the normal uniform for when you work in the restaurant, a pair of black trousers and a white button up which has the logo: ‘Fais de la mer’ [Fresh from the sea] written in the top right hand corner with a small boat below it. It wasn’t the most flattering uniform, or the nicest to say the least in the heat that sits in southern France in august, but it’s manageable, and that’s what you have learnt to do over your time working in the restaurant — manage it. 

“You’re late.” You stop still in your tracks when you’re hear your father’s voice, turning slowly on your heels so that you’re looking directly at him, “Five minutes.” 

“Désolé, papa.” You walk over and place a kiss to his cheek, “I got caught up with Hugo and it seems as though everyone is out and about tonight.” [Sorry, dad] 

“C’est vendredi!” Your father explains and you shake your head, “Best night of the week if you own a restaurant, kid, and the worst night if you’re the one trying to find somewhere to eat. Somewhere that’s decent, I mean. You should be here on time.” [It’s Friday!] 

“I know.” You smile, “You tell me every week.” 

“And you seem to forget every week.” 

“I don’t forget.” You chuckle, “I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget.”

“Bien.” He looks over his shoulder at you and a smile crosses his face, “Now, go and open up. Find your mother. I think she’s in the wine cellar.” [Good] 

You slip out of the kitchen and back into the main restaurant with a smile on your face. Your mother is already out of the wine cellar and stocking up the bottles in the fridge and you greet her with the same kiss to the cheek as you did your father. She smiles and asks why you’re late, and you tell her the exact same thing that you had told your father, to which she responds with a placing her hands on her hips and sighing at you. It wasn’t the first time that you were late to your shift, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last and they would just have to accept that, you supposed. It was the perks of being the child of your boss, you guessed. 

Your parents had moved to Nice when you were only three years old, from England, meaning that French culture and the French way of life is all you’ve known. You can’t remember when you lived in England, but you didn’t really mind. Your father is from Lille originally, but decided that when they moved back to France they would go to Nice so he could fulfil his life-long dream of running a fish restaurant, and who were you and your mother to crush his dreams? After a lot of hard work, your father finally found himself a place to start his restaurant and a fishing boat that he could use to get some of the fresh produce that he needed directly from the sea. All in all, your father’s fish restaurant became something that was quite well known by the locals in Nice, and tourist, and you absolutely loved working there and helping your father and mother out with it. It would one day be yours, and the thought of that did excite you. 

The second your turned the opening sign, it felt as though you would never get a break. It was always like that on a Friday though, where you felt as though your feet never stop and people upon people stumble through the door hoping for what they have been told is the best fish around. It’s a lovely thought, but it doesn’t stop you from finding yourself growing tired as the night continued on. 

You were giving an order to your father, passing him your scribbles so him and the other chef could start on the preparation when you heard your mother call your name from the front of the restaurant. You throw another quick smile at your father and slip back into the front. You can’t help the smile that crosses your lips when you notice who’s stood by the door, and you don’t even hesitate to rush over to him. 

“Laurent!” The boy stood in front of you immediately opens his arms for you, and you slip in to them, accepting the three kisses in French greeting that they give, “Quand est-tu rentré? I thought you were in London.” [When did you get back?] 

“I was.” He nods, pulling back slightly with a smile upon his face, “Decided to come back early. I missed you too much.” 

You smack your hand upon his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, turning your attention to Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, “Bonsoir, comment vas-tu?” [Good evening, how are you?]

The two of you return your greeting with smiles on their faces, and it’s at this point you remember how much you have missed the family that lived next door to you. Even though Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont had still been living next door to you, when Laurent isn’t there, you don’t see them as frequently as you would. It’s probably because their son is one of your best friends, and not them. When you pull away, it’s at this point that you notice that there isn’t just three of them, but instead, there’s a fourth person — someone who you hadn’t met before. 

He looked as though he had just stepped out of a time machine from the seventies, a pair of high-waisted beige trousers on his bottom and a billowy, white shirt on his upper body. His hair is tousled in brown waves, and if you wasn’t already staring, the second you meet his eyes you knew that you would be. They’re mysterious, yet enticing, and you don’t even know who this man is but you’re already lining up question upon question of things that you want to ask him. 

“Ah!” Mr. Beaumont smiles and places a hand upon the unknown man’s shoulder, “This is Harry. A friend of Laurent’s. He’s spending the summer with us.” 

Harry. You have name to match the face. 

“Bonsoir.” You offer him a smile and hold your hand out, “Enchanté.” 

He lifts his hand up to scratch the back of his neck before holding his hand out. He looks physically nervous and that’s when you hear Laurent chuckle from beside you. 

“She said good evening and that it’s nice to meet you.” He translates before turning to you, “He doesn’t speak much French. Any for that matter.” 

“Sorry.” You turn back to Harry, “It’s nice to meet you. After the summer I’m sure you’ll know more.” 

“I hope so.” He smiles, “It’s nice to meet you, too.” 

You throw him one last smile before picking up four menus and showing them to their table. The Beaumont’s, no matter what, always get the best table in the restaurant. They were as close to family friends as you could get and your family certainly wasn’t going to change that any time soon. You and Laurent had been friends from being around seven, going to the same school and then later moving into the house next to him, and your friendship had only grown since then. The only time you had been apart from each other had been in the last few years, when Laurent decided to go to University in London and you decided to stay in Nice and work in the restaurant. You wonder whether that had been where he met Harry, in University. If so, you wondered what he studied. You wondered a lot of things, actually. 

When you find a quiet moment, after serving them their main courses, you rest against the counter behind the bar with your arms crossed, a glass of lemonade by the side of you. Your mother joins you not long after, crossing her arms and looking over in the directions which you were, which happened to be at the back of both Laurent and Harry’s head. You weren’t proud that you were staring, but you just were. You couldn’t help it. 

“Who is he?” She asks, lifting her own glass of water up to take a sip. 

“He’s called Harry. He’s Laurent’s friend from university. He’s staying with them for the summer.” You explain with your arms crossed. 

“If he’s a friend of Laurent’s, then he’s a friend of ours.” She smiles, placing one of her hands on your arm. 

You smile and nod, “He seems okay. I’ll probably learn more tomorrow. We’ll be going to the beach.” 

“I would be surprised if you didn’t.” She nudges your shoulder slightly, “And anyways, il est beau.” [He is handsome]

Your lips part in shock slightly as your mother laughs and shakes her head. You thwack her arm with yours slightly and she grins. Even though you were pretending to be shocked, you certainly weren’t. If there was anything that you knew about him, which wasn’t a lot, was that he certainly had a handsome face. His features were hard, and his jaw was sharp, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a softness to them, because there most certainly was. When you could see him smiling, there was a boyish charm to it that could have anybody watching with butterflies in their stomach, and you weren’t surprised at all that your mother had already found herself in that trap. 

You had been around boys like that all of your life, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t find yourself too feeling as though there were so many questions to ask that the only way you knew you would be able to fix the wondering in the pit of your stomach was by asking them, but you knew that was easier said than done. No matter how many times you had been in the mix with men that you knew were going to break your heart, men like Hugo, it didn’t stop you from continuing to find yourself falling into that trap. 

There was no way of knowing whether this was going to be a similar situation, but if there was one thing that you knew was that you and Laurent’s friends were never a good mix, and you knew that you were probably going to find yourself in that situation again. 

Maybe this time it would be different. 

The sun beams down on your skin as you walk out of the house, your beach bag over your shoulder and sunglasses perched on your nose. You had woken up a few hours earlier, and you had spent all morning lounging around with a book in your hand before you decided that it was time to start getting ready for going to the beach. It had been a tradition of your friendship group to go down to the beach in the summer on a Saturday since you were all in high school. Of course, when people were away they couldn’t come but whether or not everyone was there, somebody always was, and that person was always you. 

Now that Laurent was back, you finally had your friend back to walk down to the little private beach that you had found when you were younger. It made you excited for the day, and that’s probably why you’d been stood at the end of the two of your drives for the past five minutes waiting for him and his new best buddy to join them. 

When Laurent and Harry do join you at the end of the drive, their almost five minutes late from the time that they normally meet. When the two walk down, swim trunks on and towels over their shoulders with smouldering smiles on their faces you almost want to crash their heads together. 

“À quelle heure tu appelles ça?” You ask, holding your arms out as you look at Laurent mainly, because you know if you look at Harry from the slight glance you had you wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t say anything and ended up drooling. [What time do you call this?] 

“Shut it will you.” Laurent walks over with his arms wide open and you don’t even hesitate to jump into them. He lifts you up from the ground and spins you around, causing a squeal to escape your lips as he places you down and presses three kisses to your cheeks. 

You pull away and walk over to Harry, greeting him with three kisses on his cheeks and a smiley, “Salut!” 

There’s a small grin on his face when you pull away, but you don’t linger on it for too long because you know that not only will you not be able to draw yourself away, but you know that it would probably make him uncomfortable and you certainly weren’t wanting to do that. You walk back over to Laurent and slip your arm into his and the three of you make your way towards the beach. It’s about a ten minute walk from your house, down a hill and down a path that if you aren’t careful will probably kill you if you’re not careful, the three of you find yourself at the beach. The majority of your group were already there, so the three of you were able to just slip right in. 

The reason you and your friendship group loved the beach that you were on so much was because it was untouched by the millions of tourists that visited Nice during the year. It was in a place that not any tourists would ever think of going, meaning that it was quiet and everything that you wanted. You knew what it was like to go to a beach that was crowded by tourists and it just wasn’t as enjoyable as what it was like at this beach. 

You split off from Laurent and Harry and go sit with the girls who have set their towels out and were sunbathing. You set out your towel next to Juliette and start to apply some sun lotion to your skin to protect you from the sun. Instead of keeping your father’s genes of tanning like an absolute saint, you had picked up your mother’s genes which mean you burn at a crisp whenever the sun is on you for even a little while, and there were people that you needed to impress without looking like a tomato. The boys were already in the sea, throwing a ball and it seemed as though Harry had already fit in with them as though he wasn’t even new. 

“Le nouveau garçon.” Juliette says from the side of you, and you turn your head so that you’re looking at her, “Il n’a pas l’air d’être réel.” [The new boy. He doesn’t seem to be real] 

You chuckle at her words and nod your head, “Il est trop sympa. Trop beau.” [He is too nice. Too handsome] 

After a few seconds you hear her let out a small sigh, “I think he’d be good in bed.” 

Your lips part in shock as you look at her, and you can’t help the shocked laughs that escape your lips. You loved Juliette, mainly because she said what she wanted to without any worry in the world. It certainly got her into some trouble when they were in school but it made her the lovable character that she was today, and you hoped that she never changed. 

“Juliette!” You exclaim, “Je ne te crois pas!” [I cant believe you] 

“What can’t you believe?” 

You jump out of your skin at the sound of Laurent’s voice from the side of you, dropping down so that he’s sat beside you. He’s dripping wet, having just been in the sea, and you move yourself to the side slightly so you won’t be dripped on by him. He sees your movements and shakes his head, causing droplets to land on your skin and you squeal. Laurent could be annoying when he wanted to be, but that was just what you loved about him. 

“Nothing.” You shake your head. 

“We’re just discussing how good we think your new friend is in bed.” Juliette says, not an ounce of hesitation on her face. You lips part in shock as you look at her and you can’t hear Laurent coughing to cover his laughter, “Have you heard anything?” 

He raises his eyebrows, “Even if I had, what makes you think I’d tell you?” 

“Laurent.” Juliette deadpans, “On vous dit tout. Spill.” [You’re told everything.]

Yet again, Juliette is telling the truth. Laurent is such a likeable and trustable person that you wouldn’t be surprised if random strangers came up to him on the street and told him all of their deepest, darkest secrets. He knew all of your secrets, and all of your worries but the thing that made your relationship so close and so special was that you knew his as well. Whilst Laurent listened to everyone else’s problems, he only ever told his to a small number of people and it seemed as though you were one of those few people. You had been for the majority of you life, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“There isn’t much to tell.” He shrugs, “He had just broke up with a girlfriend when I met him, so he was quite mopey. He slept with a few girls when we went out but they were just one night stands. I’ve never been able to ask them how he was. Like I would anyway.” 

“So he’s single?” 

The words tumble out of your lips before you can stop them, and you have to grin and bear the fact that you had without getting embarrassed. When it came to people you had a curiosity about, you often found yourself not being able to hold back some of the things that you say. You knew that Laurent had picked up on it straight away, because he raised his eyebrow and sent a look your way. 

“Yes.” He furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, “Tu l’aimes bien?” [Do you like him?] 

Your shrug your shoulders, “ Je ne sais pas. Ça m’intéresse. Curieux.” [I don’t know. I’m interested. Curious] 

He raises his eyebrows at you and your squint your eyes at him. It was true, though. You didn’t know him well enough to say whether or not you liked him, but that didn’t mean you weren’t curious to find out. He had this quiet, mysterious persona that you couldn’t wait to be able to chip away at until you got to the true nitty gritty of the person. Even though you loved finding things out about other people in this way, there hadn’t been one person that had been able to chip away at you and you were ready to keep it like that for the rest of your life. 

Even though you enjoyed the company of another person every now and then, you hadn’t met someone that you wouldn’t mind having around forever, and whilst you are still young and enjoying being single, you didn’t see the need to be searching for your person. You were sure that they would come at some point, but you just didn’t think that would be any time soon. You know that in the past you’ve been described as closed off, but you are closed off to a certain degree to people that you don’t really know or trust. You knew that if the people who said that you were closed off asked your friends and family whether you were, you knew that they’d get a completely different answer. 

“He’s a nice guy.” Laurent says after a few seconds, “He’s got a good heart. Just a little closed off, just like you.” 

You roll your eyes and nudge his shoulder, “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“There isn’t.” He agrees, “He does open up when he trusts you, though.” 

“Donc, c’est la version féminine de YN?” Juliette interrupts and you dramatically roll your eyes at her words. [So, it’s the female version of YN] 

“Exactly.” Laurent agrees, and you thwack his shoulder again.

Just as you’re about to say something else, you’re distracted by the sight of the man of your conversation walking towards you. His body is wet, just like Laurent’s had been, and the green swim trunks that he had on hung low upon his hips. It was at this point you noticed the black ink that sat on his body, in intricate designs that you couldn’t quite make out from how far he was away but you knew were probably beautiful. He pushed his wet curls off his forehead and as he continued walking, you quickly realised that he was making his way directly over to where you were. 

You heard Laurent gasp from the side of you and you turned your head to look at him, “Are you drooling?” 

For what felt the thousandth time today, you thwack him on the shoulder. He groans but has finished just in time for Harry to make his way up to the three of you and sit down. His chest is heavy up and down at a quick speed, and you can finally make out what seems to be a butterfly on his torso. It’s absolutely beautiful, but when Laurent elbows you in the rib you stop looking at his body and look at his face again. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Laurent asks and Harry nods. 

“It’s amazing.” He smiles, “Don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere like this in my life.” 

“It’s one in a million.” You add. 

Harry catches your eye and you can’t help the smile that dances across your face. There are butterflies in the pit of your stomach and you immediately start to realise that there was possibly something about this man that you hadn’t quite picked up on but it certainly gravitated you towards him, probably more so than any other person you had met in your life. 

“Laurent.” You friend hums from the side of you, “I was thinking of going to the ice cream shop we passed coming down here. Do you want anything?” 

You end up drowning their conversation out with thoughts about Harry’s tattoos and you’re only brought back when you hear your name brought top in the conversation. You furrow your eyebrows at Laurent. 

“You’ll go with him, won’t you?” 

“Go where?” You ask, a puzzled look on your face. 

“The ice cream parlour.” He responds, “There’s a list and he’ll probably need help.” 

A part of you wants to curse Laurent out and the other parent wants to hug him but you settle for a nice smile and nod, saying that you’d join Harry on the trip to get ice cream. It certainly was ice cream weather, and you found yourself not minding the idea of having a slight want now for a fruity ice cream. You offer Harry a smile and stand up, grabbing your purse out of your bag and following him towards the steps that go all the way back up to the street. 

“So.” Harry starts as you get to the top of the hill, resting his hands on his hips as he tries to catch his breath. You chuckle at the sight, watching him whilst you don’t even break a sweat. You’ve done the walk too many times now to be effected by it, “Have you always lived here?” 

“In Nice?” You ask and Harry nods, “No. I was born in England actually, in York, but I moved here when I was three.” 

He turns to look at you and raises his eyebrow, “I wouldn’t have expected that, but then again, moving at three means that you do become more of where you go then where you came from. Why did you move?” 

You felt as though you were doing twenty questions, “My Dad’s original from Lille, and he moved to York when he met my mother. He always wanted to own a fish restaurant, and he found a boat for sale here when he looked on the internet. It didn’t take him long to find the restaurant either. It was his dream, and then it became my mother's as well. I just came along for the fun of it, being three and all.” 

He raises one of his eyebrows as he looks at you, and you can’t help the small smile that dances over your features at the sight of the one on his. This was the first proper time that you had spoken to him, and the first proper time that you had been alone with him. You can’t say that you minded it, to say the least. 

“It obviously worked out for him.” Harry smiled and you nodded. 

“For a while it was slow. I’m forever being told stories from when we lived in the apartment above the restaurant and we didn’t have one bit of money to our names, but we got through it.” 

“I though the upstairs of the restaurant was more seating? I saw a sign yesterday.” 

“It is now.” You nod, turning onto the street that you know the ice cream parlour sits on, “When my parents finally had enough money, they bought the house we live in and converted the upstairs into more seating. They were right doing it, seeing how busy it gets nowadays.” 

“Vincent said that it always was.” He throws you another smile, “At first, I didn’t know how it could be as good as he said it was, but then I tried the food and. . . wow.” 

“Tell that to my papa.” You chuckle, “Anyway, Harry Styles, now that you know about me, I think it’s only fair that I get to ask you a few things, but, just hold that for a second.” 

You do plan on asking him things, but they had just arrived at the ice cream parlour and you know that instead of letting Harry try to order with his broken French, that the best idea is for you to probably take the wheel on this, especially since you knew the people at the shop. 

“Bonjour Celeste.” You smile at the woman who works behind the counter, “Comment allez vous?” [Hello Celeste. How are you?] 

“Ça va, merci, et vous?” She smiles back. [I’m alright, thank you, and you?] 

“Bien, merci.” You lean forward and rest your hands upon the counter, “Est-ce que je peux avoir deux chocolats, une mangue et une. . .?” [Good, thank you. Can I have two chocolate, one mango and. . .?] 

Turning to Harry, she raises her eyebrows at him, “Oh, uh, can I have vanilla please?” 

You look at him with a questioning look on your face, “Really?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, “Please.” 

“Okay.” She turns back to Celeste, “Et une vanilla, s’il vous plaît?” [And one vanilla, please?] 

You watch as she starts to scoop the ice creams, doing Harry’s first which you pass to him and then the chocolates. You pass one of them to Harry and hold the other one whilst you take yours. You pay Celeste and thank her, and then the two of you start your journey back to the beach, walking quicker than you had been because you knew that if you didn’t the ice cream in your hands would certainly melt. 

“So.” You start again, after having a lick of your ice cream, “Harry Styles, back to your questions, how did you and Laurent meet?” 

“At University.” He nods, “We put an application in at the same flat. It turned out that he was alright and we became roommates.” 

“You thought he was alright?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows as you did so, “Enough to become roommates?” 

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his, “He’s your best friend isn’t he?” 

“He is.” You agree, “Doesn’t mean I’d want to live with him. That actually seems like hell to me, not going to lie.” 

“He’s not too bad.” He smiles, “But anyway, we became roommates. Fast friends, and the rest in history.” 

“Do you study English Literature too?” You ask. 

“No.” He shakes his head, “Law.” 

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows, “I have a future big shot lawyer in my midst. If I would’ve known, I would’ve made an effort.” 

He chuckles, “It’s not as glamorous as it seems. I’m up most nights. It’s why Laurent wanted to bring me here. He said I’d be able to get the rest and relaxation that I need here, and that because he’d be here with me, I wouldn’t be able to miss him.” 

You chuckle, “He truly has got you in his trap.” 

“He has.” Harry looks at the ground before looking back up at you with a smile, “I can’t say that I mind though.” 

Ever since that day at the beach, you and Harry had only become what people would say as friends, possibly to the point of being inseparable. The only time that you were every fully away from each other was when you were working shifts. You joined him and Laurent on their little adventures out and about, doing all of the sight seeing from a residents perspective instead of a tourists so Harry truly got the full experience of Nice. You enjoyed it, you really did. 

Today, though, was a different day. You had woken up bright and early and done everything in the house that could make you look like an amazing daughter before your parents woke up, making them breakfast and doing some of the cleaning so that you were in the good books. When your parents had woken up, the first thing that your father said to you was, “Qu’est-ce due tu veux?” [What do you want?] 

It had tab quite a while, but you had finally convinced your father to give you the keys to his boat and now you, Harry and Laurent were able to do the day that you had promised them. There hadn’t been many times that your father had trusted you with the boat when he was still working with it, but now that he employed fishermen to do it for him, he didn’t have a use for it apart from letting his daughter take it out for a spin every now and then with her friends. 

You would never admit it to anyone, but you had taken a little extra time when you were getting ready this morning, even adding a little bit of make up to your skin and curling your hair a little bit. Underneath the floral summer dress that you had dressed in, you didn’t hesitate to put on one of your more risky bikini’s, a white on that left very little to the imagination. You knew the reason why you were doing it, and you knew Laurent would tease you a bit for it, but you knew that it would probably all work to your advantage. You hoped that it would, to say the least. You packed your bag with everything you’d need, placed your glasses on top of your nose and left. You collected the keys for the boat from your papa on the way out, and the excitement bubbled in you about what the day was going to hold. 

You were a little early when you waited by the end of Laurent’s drive, but you didn’t have too long because before you knew it Harry was walking towards you. He was wearing beige shorts that had stripes down the sides of them and the same billowy t-shirt that she had seen him wearing that first night but this time it was in a nice blue colour. Vivienne smiled when she saw him, but her eyebrows furrowed when she realised that Laurent wasn’t with him. 

“Where is his royal highness?” You ask, standing up straight from the wall that you had been rested on. 

“Unwell.” You look at him and raise your eyebrows, knowing that he certainly wasn’t telling the truth, “Hungover.” 

You nod, believing that what he had just said was the truth, “So it’s just us?” 

He grins, “It’s just us.” 

The walk down to the harbour where your father’s boat is kept isn’t too far away, but it’s still a long enough walk for the morning to fall into the afternoon. When you finally do make it to the boat, Harry offers to help you but he has no idea what he’s doing, so you order him to sit down and wait for you to be done. You had gotten your boating licence when you were fifteen, and you hadn’t been so happy that your father had forced you to get it up until this point. Having it meant that you could impress someone who you were trying to impress, and you certainly weren’t going to give up that opportunity. 

Harry sits in the front of the boat whilst you steer it, taking it away from the harbour and into the sea. You know exactly where you’re going, and once you find it, you drop the anchor and turn of the engine, leaving the wheel and walking to the front of the boat so that you’re sat with him. It’s at this point you notice that he’s laid two towels down on the deck, and he had removed his shirt and was applying sun lotion to his skin. You tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. 

You bit your lip as you pulled your dress over your head, not wanting to turn around and see what he looked like because you knew that it would embarrass you. Instead, you folded up your dress and put it in your bag before you sat down on the free towel. He handed you the bottle of lotion with a smile. You accepted it and lathered it on to your body. There weren’t many people that you’d sat on the boat with like this, and they certainly hadn’t been like Harry was to you. He made you nervous, even in the times where you were starting to feel confident, he made you feel nervous. You sat beside him and hugged your legs to your chest. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” He grinned at you, leaning back on his hands as his legs extended out in front of him. 

You chuckled, “What do you mean?”

“Well.” He started, “I have a list as long as my arm of things that you do and now I can add being able to steer a boat to it? It’s never ending.” 

“My Dad owns a fish restaurant and used to catch his own fish.” You deadpanned, “Of course I’m gonna know how to drive boat.” 

He grins and you tilt your head to the side slightly as he does so. You couldn’t help as your eyes drifted down to his bare chest and more to the tattoos that littered his skin. There were so many of them, in so many different designs. You wouldn’t mind having a tattoo of your own in the future, but you just don’t know what you would get. Your mother has a tattoo of a bird that matches with her friends from university but that’s the only person who has a tattoo in your family, and you wouldn’t mind being the second. 

“How many tattoos do you have?” You ask, your eyes moving up from the butterfly that rests on his torso. You were so close to him that you could see the intricate detailing that made it look so much more beautiful that it already was. 

He looked down at his body and shrugged, “I lost count. It could be over fifty by now. I’ve been getting them since I was sixteen.” 

“They’re cool.” You nod, before your eyes drift down to his knees, “Oui. Non.” 

Without really thinking, you reach over and run your fingers over the ink on his knee, especially over the word that sits their in the language that you speak. You feel him tense slightly beneath your touch, but then once the goosebumps have risen onto his skin it’s as though his whole body relaxes underneath your touch. 

“Do you like them?” He asks and you nod. 

“I do.” You smile and look up from his knees until you’re back up at his eyes again, “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo.” 

“Why haven’t you?” He asks and you shrug, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“I’m not a fan of. . .” You think for a second about what you’re going to say, “Commitment. And anyway, even if I was, I wouldn’t know what to get.” 

He nods his head and tilts his head to the side, moving the leg furthest away from you back and forth, “Laurent said you had commitment issues.”

Your mouth drops open in shock as you look at him, “How. . . why would he tell you that?” 

“He says a lot of things when he’s drunk.” Harry explains with a shrug of his shoulders, “I thought you’d know that.” 

“I do.” You deadpan, “He’s a blabber mouth when he’s drunk, I just didn’t know that his blabbering included me.” 

“It does.” Harry nods, “When we were back in London you were all he spoke about when he was drunk. Here, not so much.” 

You nod your head, “What else did he say?” 

“He would say lots of things.” Harry explained with a smile on his face, “He was worried about you, the majority of time. He always blabbered on about something to do with the friends you were with, I don’t know.” 

You nod and turn your head to the side, looking down at the deck of the boat as you did so. You knew you couldn’t blame Laurent for spilling everything that he did whilst he was drunk, because you knew how he got. In France, kids drink glasses of wine with their parents at meals from a very young age, and you were no exception, but the first time that both you and Laurent got really drunk it was a disaster. You thought that you and Laurent would be funny drunks, or jolly drunks but that wasn’t the case at all. The two of you ended up sobbing, sat on the balcony that looks over Laurent’s garden with your head on his shoulder and his head rested on yours. It was that day, when you were sixteen, that Laurent told you that he was gay. It was that day that you finally told Laurent what had happened when you were both in High School. 

“They just. . .” You say, wrapping your arms around yourself, “They just weren’t that nice.” 

He nods, “Kids can be assholes.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips, “They can, yeah.” 

The boat ripples slightly in the sea and you look out at it, your eyes drifting over the masses of blue that you can see. There was always something so peaceful about being out on the boat, and being in the water, but whenever this topic came up you just couldn’t find peace with it. You don’t think you will ever be able to find peace when you think about it. It truly shaped you as person. 

“Hey.” He says, knocking your knee with his, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders, and then you nodded your head lifting your hand up to scratch your forehead. You had only ever told one other person what happened, Laurent, and here you were, ready to tell someone that you had known for a few weeks everything about you. It was so unlike you that you had to take a step back for a few seconds and look at what you were about to do, but then you internally shook yourself and decided that it was a good idea. If you were feeling like you could tell him, then there was obviously something right about it. You just couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was right now. 

“I, uh.” You clear your throat, hugging your legs to your chest tightly, “I was, uh, a bit of a social butterfly when I was younger. I was friends with everybody, and I loved it, you know? I had all these friends but Laurent was my true friend, he always has been.” You cleared your throat again, “One summer, Laurent and his family went away and I was left on my own. I thought I’d be okay, I had all of these friends but I wasn’t, I was lonely. I met Luc one day at the beach. I knew of him, because he was in the year above, but I didn’t know him. I thought he wanted to be my friend, since everyone was my friend. He didn’t.” 

Harry notices how you hesitate and look down at your knees, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to.” You nod, looking up at him, “I do.” 

“Okay.” He nods, “Take your time.” 

“He, uh, took me to his one day and I was just an innocent fifteen year old, I didn’t know what he was doing. I learnt what he was doing, and I wanted to.” You shrug, “Nobody had ever looked at me like he did, spoke to me like he did, and I thought that maybe he felt the same way that I did about him. The next day, I went to the beach like I always did on Saturdays and everyone was already there, and everyone was staring at me.” You sigh and shake your head, “He had told everyone. Every single detail of what had happened. Everyone knew. The boys started to all crowd around me, as though I was going to. . . and the girls, well, they looked at me as though I’d just killed their puppies.” You lift your eyes up to look at him again, “Laurent wasn’t there. I didn’t tell him until a year later. He had suspected something but nothing like that. I thought it would just stay in the summer, but when school started again everyone knew. They, uh, would call me easy and the boys would make up all of these rumours about the things I’d done with them but none of them were true. Nobody believed me, though.” 

Harry didn’t say anything for a while, and you were thankful for that. Laurent had been so apologetic when you had told him, and you couldn’t work out whether or not it was just him or the alcohol in his system but you had to make him swear to you that he’d never apologise for it again because it really isn’t his fault. He hadn’t listened straight away, but he did end up listening in the end and you were thankful for that. 

“No one deserves to go through that.” He says after a while, “Especially not you.” 

“I’m nothing special, Harry.” You shrug, “It could’ve happened to anyone. It just happened to me, and it changed me. I don’t like commitment, and I certainly don’t like telling people things. I guess, until you.” 

You swear you can see the hint of a smile dance over his lips, and you watch as he lifts his body up so that he’s now upright and his face is at the same height as yours. You couldn’t lie and say that your eyes didn’t glance over his lips for a few seconds. You couldn’t help it, they were just so pink and inviting. 

“I think you’re special.” He mumbles, his voice barely over a whisper, “I haven’t met anyone like you before.” 

You smile, “I haven’t met anyone like you either.” 

His eyes leave yours and you swear he’s looking at your lips. You don’t know what it was about Harry that was drawing you to him, but you just couldn’t help it. Everything that you’d told yourself to stay away from, to protect yourself, had been seemingly thrown out of the window for someone who you’d really only recently met. You knew things about him, and you were certain that’s why you liked him so much, but you would never truly know unless you let yourself think about. 

It was probably why you mumbled, “Embrasse-moi.” 

“What?” He says, a small smile dancing over his lips. 

“Kiss me.” 

He doesn’t even hesitate to lean forward and place his hand on your cheek, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. He obviously sees the content expression on your face and he leans forward, placing his lips onto yours with a softness that you haven’t felt before. The kiss isn’t urgent, or harsh, its soft and simple but it still holds all of the emotion that lets the other know what they’re thinking. Your hands move forward so that you slip your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, between all of the curls that you feel at your fingertips. His lips are just as soft as you thought they were going to be, and the feeling of his hands on your skin sends sparks all the way down your body to the tips of your toes. Goosebumps litter over your skin when you pull away, and his finger dances over your cheek as you rest your forehead on his. 

You let out a shuddered breath and closed your eyes, just enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours for the slight time that it was there. You knew that the second you started to tell him what had happened to you, that you were already too far gone. He was only here for the summer, and there was every chance that he’d leave and break your heart but the more you thought about it, the more you came to terms with the fact that you really do only live once and if you weren’t going to enjoy the rest of the time that you had left with Harry this summer, then you knew that at some point you were really going to regret it. 

You were fed up regretting things. 

It was Friday night, and you’d just walked home after your shift at the restaurant. Your parents were still there, chatting away with a couple that had arrived for a meal that they knew with smiles on their faces and glasses of wine in their hands. You had managed to slip away at the time that the store was supposed to close, and the entire way home you found yourself humming a little tune as you walked through the streets. You truly hadn’t been this happy in a long time, and not even a long shift at the restaurant on the busiest night of the week could ruin that for you. 

You hadn’t been at home long, only just having changed from your work clothes into a pair of your pyjama shorts and a shirt that was a few sizes too big that you slept in because it was comfortable. You had just gotten yourself settled into bed with your book, the lamp that sat on your bedside table on and a glass of water ready for when you woke up in the middle of the night gasping for water. You were content, happy even. 

That was until someone threw a stone at your window and you felt as though the whole thing was going to smash. You jumped and nearly threw your book at where the sound came from, but instead you held it up as though a book could do anything to protect you at this moment in time and walked towards your window. You were ready to throw the book out of the window, but when you spot who’s sat on the grass down by your window, you immediately drop your arms and let out a sigh. 

Harry was stood there, a dazzling grin on his face and his hands clasped behind his back. Even though you want to be angry at him for scaring you to death, you can’t help the smile that dances over your face. Walking over to your window, you throw it open and lean your head out so that you can see him better and so that you’d be able to talk to him. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, “I nearly attacked you with a book.” 

You watch as he furrows his eyebrows slightly, “Is that supposed to scare me?” 

“No.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “It’s supposed to let you know how annoying you’re being. A stone at my window? Really?” 

He shrugged his shoulders, “I thought it was romantic.” 

“It is usually.” She says, “In the movies. And not in real life, in the dead of night when the person you’re trying to get the attention of is home alone and jumpy!” 

“I’m sorry, okay?” He asks, and you take one look at his face and your know that you can’t be mad at him. He helps with that when he pulls out what he had been holding behind his back, “Maybe this will help you forgive me?” 

You wouldn’t say that red wine was the key to your heart, but you’d certainly say that it helped you in life. Having grown up in France, drinking wine with every meal is expected but you only started to truly understand the benefits of said drink when you were older, and you weren’t limited to just one glass at a time. 

“It might.” You mumble, running your finger across your bottom lip before motioning your head behind you, “You coming up?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” He grins, placing the bottle under his arm as he starts to walk towards the side of your house. Your eyebrows furrow and your lean further out of the window so you have a direct view of what he was doing. “What are you doing?” You can’t help but ask him. 

He takes a step back from the side of the house and looks up at you with a confused expression on his face, “I’m. . . coming up? Like you said.” 

“Not up the vines.” You shake your head, “Did you not hear me say that I’m home alone?” 

“I did.” 

“Then use the front door.” 

“It’s less fun that way.” 

“Harry.” You say his name in quite a stern voice. 

“Okay.” He nods his head, “I’m going.”

He enters the house and whilst you’re downstairs you pluck two wine glasses from the cupboard and show Harry the way up to your room. It’s the first time that somebody other than yourself, your parents or Laurent will have been in your room. It was your place, and it was private, but a part of you didn’t mind sharing that with him. Over the past few week, after the kiss on the boat, you had started to hate the idea of opening up to Harry less. He knew the main reason that you were so closed off, but like anyone, there was more than one reason and he now knew those as well. He listened to every word that you said with no judgement, and you listened to everything that he said with the same back. You really can’t remember the last tine you had felt such a way with a person who wasn’t Laurent. 

Walking into your room, you immediately place the two glasses down of your dresser and take the bottle from Harry. Whilst you’re pouring for the two of you, it gives him time to get his little nosey around your room out of the way. There wasn’t that much to nosey at, only books and records and photos of you and Laurent from over the years. It had everything that you loved in it, albeit that wasn’t a lot, but it was enough for you. 

Once you had finished, you held Harry’s glass out to him and he accepted it with a small smile across his lips before dropping down on the end of your bed. You were still stood by your dresser. 

“It’s very. . .” He starts, raising one of his eyebrows at you. 

“Me?” You say for him. 

“Yeah.” He nods, a small chuckle leaving his lips once he had agreed with you, “But I’d also say there’s just a hint of Laurent in here as well.” 

“There should be.” You explain, “He helped me decorate.” 

Harry nods his head again, “That’s it. It all make sense now.” 

You nod your head and take a sip of wine, letting the substance immediately calm the slight butterflies that you always felt when you were around Harry. No matter how many times you tried to tell yourself that you had nothing to be nervous about, there would always be something that you found yourself getting nervous about. You just couldn’t help it. Taking one step at a time, you make your way over to the record playing that sits in the corner of your room, opening it up so that you could start playing one of your records. It was one from when your father was a child that you enjoyed listening to, a bad that you didn’t know the name of because it wasn’t on the sleeve but it was what you’d class as easy listening. When you were in school, you’d often find yourself listening to it to help you concentrate — even though nothing could really get you to concentrate at school. You smiled as the light sounds of the music fluttered through your room, and you turned around and made your way towards the bed. 

Harry had moved so that he was sat against the headboard, and you smile and sit on the end of the bed in front of him, your legs crossed underneath you. As you looked at him, you noticed a curl had fallen forward onto his forehead, and you wanted nothing more than to reach forward and brush it out of his face but you hold yourself back. It takes everything for you to hold yourself back.

“Where are your parents?” He asks, and you can see his finger tapping on the side of his glass as he asks. You wonder whether or not he’s nervous. He had no reason to be. 

“At the restaurant.” You run your tongue over your bottom lip, “They’re getting drunk with a couple that they know. I left before I ended up staying as long as them.”

He raised one of his eyebrows at you, “Do you know how long that would be?” 

Just by the way that he is looking at you, the butterflies erupt in your stomach involuntarily, “Long enough. We have time.” 

“We do.” 

You nod, a small smile dancing over your lips, “We do.” 

A part of you certainly knew what that meant, and although you normally would have avoided a situation like this like it was the plague — you couldn’t. Not with him. Saying that you had fallen for Harry in the short time that you have known him would be an understatement. If you were able to be honest with yourself, you would probably say that there had been feelings since the first time you had been on your own with him, when you went to go get ice cream but you weren’t honest with yourself. Not when it came to something like that. You were unsure of what this meant for you, what all of these quick feelings with him meant for you and, more importantly, what it meant for you in the future. Although you had been living in the present, and loving living in the present, you knew that there was going to be a time where the future would spring up and change everything about that life that you were learning to love. No matter how much you didn’t want it to, you knew that it would, because nothing nice that you had every stayed for longer than necessary. The optimistic side of you wanted to believe that Harry would be the one to come along and change it all, but the more realistic side of you knew that certainly wouldn’t be the case. Even though you knew that your days of happiness were numbered, it didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy it whilst they were still happening. 

Knowing this information, it was probably the reason that you found yourself leaning forward and placing your glass on your bedside table. Harry looked at you with confusion all over his face, even more so when you leant forward and took his glass out of his hand and placed it on the table next to yours. It was probably why you moved your body forward so that it was inches away from his, and your finger danced across his chin to tilt it up and you placed your lips to his. Whenever you kissed Harry, you completely forgot about the world around you and all you could think about was him touching you, and more importantly, his lips on yours. He kissed her back softly at first, just in the way that she had kissed him before it transferred to a deeper, and harder kiss, one that you couldn’t help causing a little whimper to leave your mouth from. Harry’s hands only seemed to grasp your body closer when he heard it, his hand moving to the small of your back, dangerously close to where the hem of your shorts started. 

“Harry.” You mumbled against his lips, your fingertips dancing across his cheek slightly as you pulled away, “Harry.” 

His eyes fluttered open to look at you, and you could tell that he was going to open his mouth to say something but you silenced him with your lips on his again, hungrily moving your lips against his as your hands slipped into the curls at the nape of his neck. Harry took it upon himself, and you certainly didn’t mind, to wrap his hands around your thighs and manoeuvre you so that you were straddling his hips, his hands then moving north to squeeze the flesh of your ass that slipped out of the bottom of your shorts. Just the feeling of his hands touching your flesh in such a way had small breaths escaping your lips, certainly ones that urged him to carry on with his movements. His lips parted from yours for a moment, before they attacked themselves to your jaw and wasted no time nipple at the flesh there. 

“YN.” Your name slipped out of his lips as he mumbled it into the flesh at your jaw, “We don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to.” 

You nodded your head, moving your lips towards his again, kissing him with the same force that she had done not that long ago. It was him who moaned, the sound sending little shots of electricity across your entire body and causing your nipples to harden beneath the thin material of your shirt. Harry drew his fingers across the small of your back that had been exposed to him due to it having rode up with your movements. It didn’t take long for you to want all of his clothes off, and to see him naked for you, to which you reached forward and grasped the top button of his shirt between your fingers and started to open them one by one until you could push the material off his shoulders and throw it across the room in a random direction. You reach forward and place your hands upon his shoulders, before dragging your hands across his torso until you rest them upon the skin that sits just above the hem of his trousers.

“You’ve got too many clothes on.” He mumbles against your lips and you smile against his, pulling away slightly so that you could look down at him. Her eyes drew across the thin hair that sat between his pecks, and then to his defined stomach and abs and where the ink he had sat upon his skin. He was truly a masterpiece, he really was. 

Bringing your bottom lip between your teeth, your watched as his fingers fumbled with the hem of your shirt. Nodding your head, you lift your arms up, moving your head so it can slip out of the material once he had done so. This was the first time that you had been naked in front of him, and although you would normally feel an abundance of things all rolled into one, but this time all you could feel was a slight confidence. You suspected it was because of the way that Harry was taking in every detail of her bare torso with hooded eyes. He let out a shuddered breath as he looked at your breasts, and you didn’t know whether to smile or to worry. You don’t have much time to think because before you know it, his hands are curling around you and flipping you both over so that you’re sat down and Harry is hovering above you. He quickly hooks his thumbs into the corner of your shorts and pulls hem down your legs, throwing them on the floor to join the rest of your clothes. 

“Lay down, baby.” 

You inch your bum down on the bed so that you’re properly laid down, and Harry hovered above her with a small smile crossing his lips. He looked at you and you nodded, and that was when he pecked your lips. You couldn’t help but lift your hands and place them on either side of his face, bringing him closer to you if it was even possible. Small whimpers left your lips when he moved from your lips, to your jaw and then down to your neck and then down your body. The further down he moved, though, the more that you started to have nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach. You knew that you were starting to get more and more clammy and hot all over your entire body the further down he moved. She had never wanted to be with anyone as much as she wanted to be with Harry right now, and she believed that was the reason that she was getting more and more anxious as time grew on. 

That all flushes away from you when he places a kiss to your nipple, his eyes looking up at yours as he did so. You inhaled slightly at the feeling, even more so when he wrapped his lips fully around your nipple and sucked lightly on it. He seemed to know exactly what to do to elicit a feeling from you that nobody ever had before in your life. The feeling was so overwhelming, insanely so. He started to kiss further down your body, and she could feel every part of him as he did so. He lips left a trail all the way down your body, using his tongue every now and then before he reached the them of your panties. He pressed a quick kiss to the material before hooking his fingers isn’t the side and easing them down her legs. The cool air against her warm centre sends a small whimper from her lips, one that she can’t help. 

“YN.” You hum as you hear your name slip from your lips, “Show me what you like.” 

Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him, “What?” 

“Show me what you like.” He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, “I need to know what you like, then I can do it for you. Show me how you pleasure yourself, darling.” 

You couldn’t help the flush that crossed over your cheeks as you listened to his words. This certainly wasn’t something that she had ever shown, or discussed with anyone before, but it was Harry and after registering what he had to say you realised that it made sense what he was asking and you just had to get through the nerves that you felt and carry on. You looked up at him, and he obviously sensed that there were nerves coming from you so he nodded and grabbed your hand, placing a just to the back of it. That little kiss was all you needed to be spurred on, and find yourself slipping your hand between your thighs and feeling the wetness that had gathered there. It was all for Harry, all of it. Your chest started to heave up and down slightly as you ran your finger across your lips, making sure that your fingers were wet enough so that it would be easier for you to slip them inside. Harry’s eyes upon you were enough to gain the confidence to slip two fingers inside, your chest heaving up and down as you did so. You slipped your other hand down your body so that you could rub your clit. 

You weren’t unfamiliar to pleasuring yourself, but it was the first time that you had done it with somebody watching you. It was normally an act that you kept for yourself, usually in the dead of night or when your parents were out so that you could be as loud as you want and go for as long as you wanted. Having Harry watching you was a completely different experience, but one that you found yourself becoming more and more comfortable with the more that you did it. Harry’s fingertips danced up and down your thigh as you continued to move your fingers and rub your clit at the same time. He watched with a look on his face that you hadn’t seen before, but one that you wouldn’t mind seeing again and again as time moved on. Your orgasm starting to bubble in your quite quickly, obviously due to the fact that you hadn’t felt pleasure like this in a long time, but it didn’t stop you from moving your fingers faster and faster. You managed to hit a particular spot within you that had your back arching off the bed. You were close, ever so close, but before you could jump off the edge Harry’s wrists grasped your own, pulling your hand out so that you couldn’t come. Without even thinking, a small whimper escaped your lips, one that caused a chuckle to escape from Harry’s lips. 

“Wanna taste it.” He mumbles, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist, “Wanna taste you.” 

If your head wasn’t already spinning, it certainly would be now. You let out a shuddered breath as you watched your fingers slip through Harry’s lips and into his mouth. You were sure that you were on the brink of a heart attack from how quickly it was beating from in the restraint of her chest. The fact that he even wanted to taste her had her head spinning, but the feeling of his tongue running around her fingers caused her to nearly pass out. Your fingers slipped from his lips with a loud pop and you smiled. 

Harry stood up from the bed and you were left there in your daze, the feeling of your orgasm still in the pit of your stomach and waiting to be released. You watched from your place on the bed as Harry shrugged his trousers off, and then picked them back up so that he could grab his wallet out of his pocket. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your lips when you watched him grab a condom out of his wallet. It was such a boyish place to keep a condom but at the same time the best place to put it. You watched as he opened the packet and he rolled it on himself, and all of a sudden the nerves were back. He knelt back onto the bed and moved so that he was hovering over again. 

He looked directly into your eyes and whispered, “Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been so sure of something in my life.” 

He leant down and captured your lips in another kiss before lowing himself down so that he could line himself up with you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he pushed into you, a burn residing in your stomach as he pushed slowly into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you could only hope that you weren’t hurting him. He didn’t make any sounds to make you think that you did hurt him, in fact, he groaned slightly at the feeling of your nails on his skin. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, mumbled against her neck where his head sat. 

“Keep going.” She nodded, “Je suis parfaite.” [I’m perfect] 

Once he had pushed himself all the way inside of you, he gave you a few minutes before starting to move in and out of her slowly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move as you did so. Your forehead pressed against his shoulder, pushing slightly as small whimpers left your lips. You were trying so hard not to be loud but it just wasn’t working, and you truly couldn’t help it. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you knew that you were squeezing yourself around him. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” You mumbled back to him. 

“Open your eyes.” He mumbled against the top of your head, “Look at me.” 

Your eyes flutter open, immediately finding his green ones staring right back at you. You never wanted your eyes to leave his again, you never wanted them to. You were too focused on the feeling of being there with him, and how it felt to have him with you. The more that you found yourself growing comfortable, the more that you remembered how long the two of you had left together, and how it was only mere weeks. You didn’t want this time to end, but you knew that it would and no matter how much you tried to push it to the back of your mind you just couldn’t. 

“Fucking hell.” Harry mumbles, his eyes prying away from yours so that he could render himself in the feeling for a while, “You feel so good, darling, so fucking good.” 

“So do you.” You mumble, pulling him closer if it was even possible. You were sure that it weren’t. 

He moves again so that this time your foreheads were leant against each other, his hips still thrusting forward to yours as you lifted yours up to meet his. You both were a mess of limbs and teeth and everything else but you didn’t mind. The moans that left both of your lips proved that whatever was happening, was working. It was the first time that you’d had sex and you actually felt pleasure. A part of you was starting to believe that it was all a myth, but here Harry was proving that you were wrong. 

“Harry.” You whimpered, your back lifting up from the bed. 

Your stomach met his as you did so, and you knew that you were there, right on the edge. Nobody had ever made you feel like this before, and it was certainly overwhelming and you knew that you would getting used to it too soon already. It came over you in a large wave, scooping you up and spinning your head as you gasped for breath and tried to calm yourself down but it didn’t work. You entire body felt as though it was on fire, the spark coming from the bit deep within you. Harry came not long after you, his hips jerking forward to yours and small groans leaving his lips. You rested your forehead on his again as he came, spilling into the condom as heavy breaths escaped both of your lips. 

It took you a while to come down from your high, and you could feel Harry softening inside of you as you did so. His body dropped over yours and his head rested on the pillow next to your head, his finger reaching out to dance over your cheek as you did so. You never wanted to leave, you wanted to stay right where you were and stay twisted in bedsheets forever with Harry. You knew that he would leave, and you would carry on how you had been without letting anyone in because you didn’t want to. You closed your eyes, knowing that tears would start to fall if you thought about it for much longer with her eyes open. 

“Stop thinking about it.” Harry mumbled, pecking your cheek as the words slipped from his lips, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

And whilst you were there, you believed him. 

For the next week it seemed as though there wasn’t a single day that you spent without Harry in your bed. If you were completely honest, the days merged into one and the more time that you spent with him the more comfortable you felt about everything to do with just being with someone. The only times that you left your house, and more specifically your bed, was to go and do your shifts at the restaurant. 

You had never, ever felt anything about someone like you do about Harry. It was as though something within you had flipped and all of a sudden you were the person who never wanted to be without someone and loved having all of these deep conversations that you were with him about your life and the things that had happened and why it had changed you the way that it had. You really couldn’t get enough of just being with Harry, and having his company with you all of the time. 

One of the things that you had only realised when you arrived at your shift on Friday, and the Beaumont’s walked in with Harry in close, was that you hadn’t seen Laurent at all during the week that you had been with Harry. He was your best friend, and you had been with him when he had found a boy that he had liked and wanted to spend time with instead of you and you had understood that, so you could only pray that was the same for him. When he greeted you to kisses on either of your cheeks and a large smile on his face. You had pulled away from him and walked over to Harry with wide eyes, and he had immediately greeted you with the same look on his face. When Harry had leant forward to greet you with kisses on each of your cheeks, though, you weren’t able to help the small giggles that threatened to escape your lips. Harry had the exact same smile graced over his lips when he pulled away from you. 

The meal had gone without any hiccups, and later on when your shift was about to end you joined them. You pulled a chair up next to Harry, probably making it painfully obvious by the way you sat so close to him that something was truthfully happening between the two of you and even more so when Harry’s arm dropped behind you to rest on the back of your chair. 

“Tu viens toujours demain?” Laurent had asked when the adults had fluttered off into their own conversation and had left the younger ones to do as they wished. [Are you still coming tomorrow?]

“Où?” You asked, reaching forward to pick up Harry’s glass of wine and take a sip of it. [Where?]

“Excuse me, what?” Laurent held out his hand and widened his eyes as he looked at you, “Did you just ask where? C’est samedi demain.” [It’s Saturday tomorrow] 

“Oh, yeah, the beach.” You say, all of sudden becoming more and more distracted by the feeling of Harry’s fingers fluttering up and down your clothed thigh from beneath the table, “Je ne sais pas. Je sense que ça pourrait me manquer.” [I don’t know. I think I might miss it]

“Miss it?” He asks, “Did I hear you right, miss it? You never miss Saturday’s at the beach.” 

“I have. . .” You look down at your thigh, where he was before smiling, “Autre plans. Je suis désolé, Laurent.” 

“What are these ‘other plans’ you speak of?” He asks, raising one of his eyebrows and his glass of wine to his lips. 

“J’avais aller au centre commercial.” You explain, “With maman and some of her friends. I’ve been putting it off for weeks and I finally agreed on tomorrow.” [I was going to go to the mall]

“Okay.” He nodded, “I’ll tell everyone. What about you, H?” 

“I, uh.” Harry lifts his hand up from your thigh to scratch his chin, “I, uh, I thought I’d start to pack, take it easy.” 

Laurent look at Harry and furrows his eyebrows, and then he looks at you with the same expression on his face before flickering back to Harry. You don’t know what it is about the entire situation that was making you so nervous, but, you just were. You knew that Laurent liked Harry as a person, and you weren’t exactly doing the best at hiding what you were doing, but you think the abundance of questions that you would be asked and everything that he would bring up about the past would be the thing that made you the most nervous. 

“The two of you are fucking shit at lying, I hope you know that.” You let out a breath that you didn’t even even know you were holding and you shake your head, your eyes rolling as they fall on Laurent again, “The mall? Really? You won’t even step foot on the same street that it’s on, YN and you, H? Packing? I’ve never known you pack more than a few hours before you’re set to leave.” You turn to look at Harry slightly and he has a small smile on his lips, “So. The two of you are going to tell me what you’re up to, because I sure as hell know that it isn’t what you said.” 

“Laurent, I—” You start. 

“— I think I’ll make this easier for the two of you. How long have you been fucking?” 

Your lips part in shock and you can hear Harry choke on the sip of wine that he had just taken, “Laurent, we’re—”

“Gonna stop you again.” He holds his hand up, “I think sometimes you forget that I know everything. You were getting to be friends, I know you were, but then it changed when you went on the boat when I wasn’t there. You were more. . . touchy feely. Take now, for example, don’t think I haven’t noticed that his hand has been on you.” 

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry, “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.” 

“Don’t be.” Laurent shakes his head, and the sigh of relief just slips out of your lips, “I know why the two of you did it. But that doesn’t matter anymore.” He shakes his head, “I just want to know one thing: where are the two of going tomorrow?” 

You told him your plans and he said that you were to enjoy yourselves, which you were thankful for. The next day, you executed your plans without even a blink in your direction from your parents or from Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont. 

You had asked your parents a few days before you planned to go on the trip whether or not you could borrow their car, which they said that you could. It meant that the day that you planned for everything to happen you already had your transportation and the time you were leaving. When you woke up, you quickly showered and plaited your hair because you knew that where you were going would be windy and you then dressed yourself in your favourite pair of flared jeans and small halter top, pairing it with a denim jacket. You thought you looked cute, and you hoped that Harry thought the same. 

Once you had driven the car out of the garage and parked it in front of the Beaumont’s house, you couldn’t contain your excitement as you watched Harry walk down from the house and towards the car. He opened the door and sat down and you physically couldn’t help but pull on his shirt and pull his lips towards yours. He smiled into the kiss, and you couldn’t help but smile also. He pulled away and rested his forehead against yours. 

“Salut.” He mumbled, leaning forward to place another kiss onto her lips. 

“Salut.” You mumbled back before he moved himself back down in his seat. You nodded at him and started the car. 

The place you were going was quite a drive away from where you lived in Nice, but it was one that you certainly didn’t mind. Your father used to bring you to where you were going when you were younger, and you still remember what it was like when you made the journey’s when you were just a little girl but it had been a long time since you had made it, a few years or so, but you couldn’t be happier that you were making the journey with Harry. It was filled with the sound of music coming from Harry’s phone that he’d specifically curated so he could show you his favourite songs. You enjoyed every second of it, more so when you listened to his singing. He was good, and you wished that he sung more often for you to listen to but you had a slight suspicion that he wouldn’t.

After about an hour or so of driving, you arrived at your destination and parked up the car. It was just how you remembered it to be. The beach itself hadn’t changed, and you could still remember how to get down the slightly steep hill like it was written on the back of your hand. Harry’s hand sat lightly in yours as you made your way down and every so often you turned around to offer him a smile. You found yourself with excited flutters in your stomach at the fact that you were showing Harry this place, one that you’d only ever been to with your farther before. It made this all seem so much more real than it already seemed, which you didn’t think was humanly possible.

When the two of you made it down to the beach, you quickly shrugged off your shoes so that you wouldn’t get sand in them and be uncomfortable and watched as Harry did the same. You rested your hand on his shoulder as you unfastened your shoes, giggling when he nearly fell over which caused your to nearly fall over. He grabbed your arm to steady you, and you couldn’t help but place a kiss on his lips once he had done. Once you were carrying your shoes in one of your hands, and he was doing the same in his — you reached out to grab his hand and drew him over to the space between the rocks which was your favourite. 

You put a towel down on the floor when you arrived for yourself, as well as one for Harry, and sat down on it. You hadn’t brought much with you, only some water and some fruit that the two of you would maybe fancy a little later on. Everything seemed different, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint why but you knew that it was something to do with the fact that you and Harry only had a few more days together before he’s leaving. It was almost as though whatever you did, whenever you did it, the fact that he was leaving just loomed over the two of you and everything that you did. 

Sighing, and closing your eyes, you brought your knees up so that they were underneath your chin and you hugged them close to you, allowing the slight breeze to blow the strands of your hair that had fallen out of your braid. Harry’s curls seemed to have a life of their own, and they were constantly falling over his eyes. 

“I used to come here when I was younger.” You explained, your eyes drifting across the waves that were crashing into the shore, “My Dad would bring me when the restaurant was still being made. I haven’t been in years, though.” 

“It’s beautiful.” He murmurs, looking out at the water before turning back to look at her, “You’re beautiful.” 

You don’t know whether to smile or to roll your eyes, “Flattery, Mr. Styles. Never thought I’d hear that come out of your mouth.” 

“Lots of things come out of my mouth when it comes to you.” He grins. 

With a smile on your face you manoeuvre your body slightly so that you’re closer to him, wrapping your arm through his and resting your head on Harry’s shoulder. He grasps your hand in his and lifts it up so that he could place a kiss to the back of your flesh. A small smile crossed your face as he did so, and everything was calm around you and in the world. 

“Harry. . .” He hums as your say his name, “I think I loved you in a past life.”

“Past life?” He says, looking down at you with one of your eyebrows raised, “YN. I love you in this life.” 

The whole world stops around you, and the only thing that you can probably hear is the word ‘love’ and the sound of the sea crashing on the shore. Nobody had ever said those words to you before, and you hadn’t ever wanted anyone to as much as you wanted Harry to say those words to you. You truly did love him with every fibre of your being, but you had three or so days left with him before he left to back to school hundreds of miles away from where you were, surrounded by people that you didn’t know that could be a hundred times better than what you were.

“Harry. . .” You say again, this time with tears starting to collect in your eyes, “I don’t want you to go.” 

“I know.” He says, lifting his arm up and wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest, “I don’t want to go either, but I promise you that I will be back. I love you, YN, I really do.” 

Letting out a shaking sigh you nod your head, “Je t’aime Harry. I do.” 

He turns to look at you and places his hand upon your cheek, leaning forward to press his lips to yours. You physically couldn’t hold in your hum of pleasure as he did so. You slip your tongue into his mouth and press your hands upon his face, trying to move his body even closer to his if it was possible. 

You didn’t want him to leave, but you had a slight suspicion that he was going to and you wouldn’t know whether or not you’d see him again. 

The night before Harry and Laurent’s flight back to London you didn’t sleep. Harry was fast asleep, laid next to you in bed with soft snores escaping from your lips. Every so often you’d lean forward and brush some of his curls that had fallen out of his face away from his forehead. The night prior the two of you had done what you could only ever describe as making love, in the truest of its form. 

Every so often the tears would fall down your face as you looked at him. You had never felt what you felt about Harry for another person in your life, and you never want to again. When the sun started to rise, you just sat and stared at him. The sun slipped through the gap in your curtain and danced across his bare skin, lighting up every inch of his skin as he slept. You had to swear to yourself that you wouldn’t cry when Harry woke up, and you knew that you had to keep that promise. 

“Morning.” Your eyes are drawn from the blanket to Harry, who’s now looking at you with a smile on his face. You hadn’t even noticed that he was awake yet. 

You smile back, “Morning.” 

He grunts and turns so that he’s on his back, and you take your position with your head on his chest. His finger starts to dance up and down your shoulder as he did so. You were going to miss the times like these the most, when the two of you were alone and just in each others company without anything around to distract you. You were going to miss having him in your bed. He was still here and you couldn’t sleep, and you truly couldn’t imagine what you were going to be like when he left. 

“Have you slept?” 

You tilt your head down, mumbling: “A little.” 

“You’re lying.” He says, pulling you closer towards him, “I know you are.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” He says, “You look away when you lie. Come on, tell me.” 

“I haven’t slept. You’re right.” You say, looking up at him with a sad smile on your face, “I was just thinking. About today, and I couldn’t sleep.” 

He sighs and pulls you closer, placing a kiss to your forehead, “I’m sorry, darling. You know I’d stay if I could, but I can’t.” 

“I know you can’t.” You mumble, “I know.” 

“But I want you to remember that I love you.” He says, tilting your head up so that you were looking at him, “And that we’ll talk everyday and I’ll come and visit you as much as I can.” 

You nod and place a kiss to his lips, hoping that you could stay like this for a little longer but his phone pings on the bedside table and you know that it’s time to leave. The tears collect in your waterline but you manage to pull them back, and not let them fall. You knew that the second that you saw Harry walk away from you, the tears would fall. You wouldn’t be able to help them. 

As Harry was getting ready to leave, you followed him around like a lost puppy. You would have been embarrassed if you had been like you were around anybody else but this man knew you better than anyone, and you knew why you were doing this. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew that you were never going to see Harry again. He’d forget about you whilst he was in London, and he’d meet someone better that he loved more than he loved you and you were okay with that. Of course you were upset, but, you were thankful for the summer that you had been given with him, and you’d never forget it for the rest of your life. 

The drive to the airport you were sandwiched in the back of the Beaumont’s car with your hand in Harry’s, your fingers aimlessly running circles on the back of his hand. Laurent was singing along to whatever song was on the radio and it allowed for a little distraction the entire way to the airport. You knew that you were going to miss Laurent when he’s away again, but it’s a completely different situation and you knew that he understood. 

When you made it to the gate, the first person you wrapped your arms around was Laurent, pulling him close to you in a tight squeeze before pulling away with a smile upon your face. 

“Tu vas me manquer, mais tu sais que.” You mutter, pulling away from him with a sigh. [I’m going to miss you, but you know that] 

“YN.” He warns, “Don’t you be soppy with me.” 

“I can’t help it.” You shrug, “I just love and miss you, and I’m jealous that you’ll be having all thus fun without me.” 

“You can come.” He raises his eyebrow at you, “It’s not too late.” 

“Nah.” You shake your head, “I’m better staying here, watching over maman and papa, and your parents.” 

He nods and pulls you in for another hug, and you sigh against him, “Love you, kid.” 

“You’re the same age as me.” You thwack his shoulder, “But I love you too.” 

When you pulled away, you saw Harry saying goodbye to Mr and Mrs Beaumont before turning to you. With a sigh, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head upon his chest. The two of you didn’t say anything, you were just there for a few minutes in each other’s presence. You wanted to remember the feeling of him on your skin, for as long as you would be allowed to. 

When you did pull away from the hug, you placed your hands on his cheeks and placed your lips on his, relishing in the last few minutes of being together. You didn’t care that you were in a crowded airport, and that there were people that were probably watching you. All you cared about in that second was Harry’s lips, and what it was going to be like for you when he left. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his. His eyes were closed but then they opened, only for him to look at you and nod. You nodded back, knowing exactly what he was saying and why he was saying it. 

This summer had been the best summer of your life, and you couldn’t thank Harry enough for everything that he had done for you. Your entire life you had spent it with-holding the things that made you who you were, and all of a sudden this man from London had come in and chipped away from your walls so much that they had completely crumbled, but you only had to thank him for it. 

Harry leant forward and placed a kiss onto your cheek before walking away. He didn’t turn around to look at her again, and the fact that the summer had truly ended came washing over you. 

You sighed and watched as he walked away, and the words that you already knew were true flowed through your mind: He was never yours, and you had accepted that. You would never forget this summer, and you hoped that Harry wouldn’t either. 

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles

[elfdragon12]

My brother-in-law put on the first Michael Bay Transformers movie for my reactions and...

Imma punch everyone in that universe. With one exception.

Ranting below

There is nothing likable about Sam Witwicky, nothing that gives him anything of substantial worth, and the only thing he does through the movie is run away.

... Mikaela Banes is the only good thing to come out of this movie. She is valid and every male around her is a disgusting pile of filth, especially the Sector 7 guy who was actively sexually harassing (what is supposed to be) a high schooler by referring to her as "training bra" and being really creepy about calling her hot while listing off her juvie record! She's smart, pro-active, and deserves better than the stale white bread that is Sam... Which seems to be the norm for human women in the Transformers franchise--smart, daring, proactive, and deserve better than the bland obligatory love interests foisted upon them (except Astoria who got a robot bf and Charlie for at least having decent chemistry with Memo).

(As an aside, I was vocally bemoaning Sam's weak lines and that Mikaela actually sat on his lap. My older sister--not the TF fan, that's baby sis--made a "if he was hot enough" line. Two problems, the kid was a lame loser with a sweet car and you severely overestimate my audacity and how willing I am to sit on the lap of someone very obviously attracted to me whom I've never gone on a date with.)

Everything about Sector 7 was dumb. Like, the instant all the weird stuff started happening, they should have been called in. But no.

The army guys were really clinging on to their thread of relevance to the plot for dear life by the end of the movie... The Defense Secretary dude was alright.

That one chick with the team and the outside hacker guy... Contributed very little. They could have been written out with very little effort.

As for the actual Transformers characters... Can I say anything that hasn't been said? Aside from the fact I wanna hunt someone for everything they did to Jazz. The only recognizable Decepticon was Barricade and that was solely due to his alt mode. Was the scorpion thing supposed to be Scorponok? I kinda figured everyone involved didn't know enough about the franchise to include Beast Wars. And the little bots??? What??? Bumblebee as a wingman needs work. The Autobots are mostly recognizable by alt mode... Except Ironhide. The only thing Ironhide about Ironhide was that he was a weapons specialist. Didn't even have a southern drawl! Or was red! Not even the barest minimum effort was spared to make him mildly recognizable. Optimus's face was hideous.

Also, for being a TRANSFORMERS movie, we did not get nearly enough time with them--especially the Autobots. Like, it's really frustrating that all these monster/alien movies take their sweet, sweet time in getting around to what any of the audience is actually there for. For a horror/thriller/suspense movie? I get it. For an action or franchise movie though? No. They don't put enough effort to make the human/"every man" characters actually likeable and then wait 40-70 minutes into the movie to get to the good stuff.

The humor is also just plain bad. Like, there was one bit that made me chuckle but it was some one-liner or something. And, like, I'm not totally above potty humor. I am not above laughing at baby farts. The piss stuff though? No. No. No thanks. Put it back. I don't want it. It's not funny. (Nor is it decent enough punishment to the Sector 7 guy sexually harassing someone who is not only a detainee but a high school student. I really hated this guy, can you tell?)

I have many questions about the Cube/Allspark and none of them were answered. Why was it called 'the Cube" at all when it was clearly the Allspark? (Did the writers not know when originally writing the script but forgot to fix every mention?) Why was every machine it turned into a bot become evil and start attacking everything in sight? The Allspark is a neutral power. The bots should be neutral.

There are other things--script things in particular--that I'd rant about, but I'll leave it here for now.

#Transformers #long post #rant #personal opinion #If you like the movie fine #But I don't understand why and don't care to hear about it

[electronicgrowth]

Can’t Get Enough Part 2

Hi friends! What do we think of Billie and Lee? How will Lee keep Billie? Only time will tell *evil laugh*. 

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 1.9k

Billie awoke the next morning nervous. Not nervous that she was going to be pregnant, she may have been a small town girl but she wasn’t stupid. No, she was nervous because she knew she had crossed a line the night before. It was something she had dreamed of doing, for almost a full year. But she had plans to leave Knockemstiff and she couldn’t be deterred. She figured there was no sense in worrying about it for the time being. Knowing Lee Bodecker, she knew that he never paid a girl attention for very long. And she had to get ready for church. 

Being part of a family of eight meant that trying to pile everyone into the car on Sunday morning was an event. Wesley sat between his parents. And the three girls sat in the back. Joseph and Thomas sat in the trunk area. It was plenty big for the two of them. Joy fussed over her children. Straightening the boys ties and attempting to keep the girls’ dresses from getting rumpled. She had recently focused much of her attention on Billie. Billie was at the age where she needed to think about finding a nice fella to settle down with. John and Joy didn’t approve of Billie’s plan to leave Ross County. They knew she could find a nice boy in town and have wonderful grandchildren for them. 

Today Joy was especially grating to Billie. She thought about faking sick and skipping the church services. She didn’t know why her mother made the family listen to both services. They weren’t the same, but they were similar. Billie thought one service was plenty. But no, they had two every Sunday and Joy insisted that her daughters help serve lunch between the two services. The local women who could find some room in their budget to contribute a dish or two each week ran the lunches. She hated that everyone expected her to help. But she never put up a fuss about it. 

Lee awoke that same morning very excited. Excited about his future with Billie and today he would start to woo her. He knew the entire family would be at the Sunday church service. So, he went to the Sunday service and actively sought out the Dechswaan family. He saw Joy in one pew, she was toying with Billie’s dress. It’s white with pink flowers embroidered on it. Joy is obsessively running one hand over the dress, as if she think there’s wrinkles in the fabric. Billie looks entirely unamused. Lee walks over to the family as they’re starting to sit down. 

“Deputy Bodecker,” Joy beamed, “How are you on this fine Sunday?”

“Doing well ma’am,” he responds. 

“Good, good. Why don’t you sit with us today,” Joy grins, sitting down. 

“I would love to,” Lee smirks. 

“You and Billie can sit next to each other,” Joy suggests. He was used to mama’s shoving their daughters at him. What mama wouldn’t want a nice man with benefits to marry their little girl? 

Lee grinned to himself as he sat. If Joy was already trying to push Billie on him then this would be easy. Billie hesitantly sits between Lee and her mother. Lee’s legs spread open so his thigh brushes Billie’s. She strains to take a deep breath in. The air in the church was sweltering. You couldn’t expect much more from a stuffy church in Southern Ohio in June. 

Sweat was pouring down Billie’s back. She could feel her heart beating out of her chest. Lee moved his leg up and down so it rubbed on Billie’s leg. She wanted desperately to lean into it. The preacher asked the congregation to stand and sing. Billie stands with the rest of the family, she felt all the blood rush to her head. She stumbles back into Lee a bit. He rights her, he’s not sure what to make of her stumble and the intense blush in her face. She moves her hair off of her neck. She can’t feel the tips of her fingers, there’s ringing in her ears, and she can’t breathe. She starts to see little black dots hopping across her visual field. They’re halfway through Amazing Grace when Billie’s vision goes black and she collapses. 

Lee catches her before she hits the floor. There’s gasping and panicking. The preacher’s wife jumps to action.

“Let’s get her to the kitchen, we can get her some water,” she says, coming to the rescue. Lee carries Billie and Mrs. Dechswaan follows closely behind, ordering the other children to stay with their father to finish the sermon. Billie’s loss of consciousness is very brief, before they even get fully downstairs her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t fight Lee holding her. He manages to get her downstairs to the church kitchen, where he gingerly sets her on a countertop. 

“You feeling alright, sweetie?” Her mother coos with concern. Billie nods, not trusting her own voice. “I told you to eat breakfast,” Joy admonishes, handing her a glass of water provided by the preacher’s wife. Lee gathers Billie’s hair off her neck and starts to fan her with a church bulletin. If Joy wasn’t so concerned with her daughter fainting she might have noticed that such an action was too familiar. Billie sipped the water for a moment. 

“Thank you for catching me Deputy Bodecker,” she whispers. 

“Of course,” he responds.

“Mama, I just wanna go home,” Billie begs. 

“We can’t, honey. I’m signed up to serve luncheon between services,” Joy sighs. 

“Well, daddy or Joseph or Thomas could drive me home between,” Billie counters. 

“Honey, you know they’re going straight to that hog auction from here,” Joy says, clearly irritated that the three are skipping a church service. 

“I could take her,” Lee offers.

“We couldn’t impose,” Joy argues. 

“No, really. It’s quite alright. I was going to duck out between services anyway. I have a shift down at the station,” Lee promises. 

“Mama, just let him take me,” Billie urges. Joy looks at Lee, studying him.

“If you’re sure, I would really appreciate you helping us out,” she exhales. 

“Of course. It’s no problem,” Lee smiles. 

“Alright,” Joy allows, “Thank you Lee.” Billie slides off the counter and onto her feet. The four sneak back up to the main level. The preacher’s wife and Joy go back to the chapel for the remainder of the service. But Lee leads Billie outside with a tight grip on her arm. He opens the passenger door for her, before going around to the other side of the car.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as Lee starts the car. 

“You feeling any better?” He asks, eyes straight ahead on the road. 

“Still a little light-headed, but yeah,” she says. 

“You scared me there,” he tells her. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. Lee nods. He’s silent for a moment. 

“I wanted to chat with you about the other night, actually,” Lee says. 

“Are you going to lecture me?” Billie wonders aloud. 

“No,” he laughed, “I just want to make myself clear going forward.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I would like to start dating you,” he responded.

“Huh,” Billie hummed. 

“You’re a beautiful girl and you deserve someone who can provide for ya and treat ya right,” Lee murmured. 

“Sounds like you’re ready to settle down.”

“I am. The sheriff’s gotta have a lady on his arm.”

“And you want me… to be that lady.”

“I do. You’d be good at it. Already help serve Sunday luncheon and you could volunteer to work with the little kids during one of the services. Until we have our own babies, of course.”

“I think you’re moving too fast, Lee. I intend to go my own way for a time. I want to experience the world.”

“Baby,” he shakes his head, “The only experiences you need are right here. I can give you a good life. Once I’m sheriff, anything you want I can get ya. The fanciest house. The prettiest dresses. I don’t care. We’ll be so happy.” Lee stops the car, they had finally arrived back to the old farmhouse that Billie’s family lived in. Billie’s eyes are wide. She seemed almost panicked by what he had to say. 

“Uhmm, do want to come in? Have a glass of lemonade?” She asked, politely. 

“Of course,” he smiled. He was glad that she was already catering to him. She’d make a pretty little wife. He followed Billie up the steps of the house, she stumbled a little and he caught her by the elbow. 

“Thank you,” she sighed. She opened the door and led him to the kitchen. The table where the family ate was scuffed and scratched, all the chairs were mismatched. He would buy her a much nicer dining room set. He sat and waited for her to join him. She gathered two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade before sitting down at the table. She poured them each a glass. Lee drank from his glass deeply, while Billie sipped. 

“I appreciate what you’re saying Lee, I really do,” she began, “But I really want to go to college. I want to be a teacher and live in a big city.” 

“I know, honey. But my plan is better for you. You don’t have to work. You just gotta take care of me,” he explained. It was simple to him. He couldn’t fathom what it was that she wasn’t getting. Billie was quiet. 

“Didn’t you have fun last night, sugar?” He asked, his voice was gravelly and low. 

“I-I did,” she answered. Lee reach his hand over to rub her thigh. 

“I could love on you like that every night, baby,” he told her, “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Billie nodded dumbly. It did sound nice. Her heart was beating quickly again. She fought to control her breath. Was he going to do that again? Right now? Part of her really hoped so. 

“Well, we don’t have to get married anytime soon,” Lee reasoned, “We can take it slow and maybe next summer we get married. Just give me sometime to prove to ya that I can treat ya right, okay?” Billie nodded again. Lee leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. 

“I gotta head to work, baby,” Lee downed the rest of his lemonade, “Let’s meet tonight. Go through your woods over here and I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Alright,” Billie nodded. She didn’t know why she was agreeing. 

“Good, I’ll see you at ten, then. Now give me a kiss and walk me out,” he commanded, standing up. Billie stood and reached up on her tippy toes to kiss Lee. He was at least six foot and she was just five feet five inches tall. She pecked his lips. But he wrapped his arms around her, and held her to him. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue against hers. She kissed him back eagerly. Her tongue fought his for dominance. His hand snaked down to her ass to palm it. He pulled away from her with a gasp and released her. Billie walked him to the door and pecked his lips a second time. 

“Bye,” she smiled. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby.” She watched Lee drive away before closing the door. She went back to the kitchen to clean the two glasses, before slinking up to her bed. If she was meeting Lee tonight then she would need to get some sleep. 

@greeneyedblondie44

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker smut

[gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat]

You are my home💚💙

Happy Valentine’s Destiel Wedding Day everyone!

Part 2 of my Destiel wedding series.

Click here for the masterpost.

Thanks @bonchickabelle for your support

~2,8k words

“Are you nervous?” Sam teased Dean, who stood in front of the mirror, tugging his tie straight. He thought about it for a moment “Excited? Sure, can’t wait to see Cas again after you forced us to spend last night apart for some stupid tradition. Nervous? No. It’s Cas I’m marrying.” Sam smiled knowingly, already half out the door. “I’m very happy for you two!” Alone again, Dean’s eyes drifted back to the mirror and he placed his hand on his shoulder, right over Cas’ handprint. He meant what he had said to Sam. It had been the first night they had been apart since he got Cas back and he barely slept. He had just felt wrong without hearing Cas’ gentle breaths, without being able to wrap his arms around the former angel and without feeling the weight of Cas’ head on his chest. But was he nervous? Not at all. He was almost surprised at how calm he felt. He’d never been this sure about anything in his life. After today, he would never have to spend another night without Cas.

Everything was perfect. Everyone they knew had insisted on helping with the wedding in one way or another. Sam wanted to officiate them, he got his license as soon as he heard the happy news. Eileen had taken the grooms separately to shop for wedding suits, Jack had promised them a warm, sunny day and handmade the invitations with Claire. Jody and Donna had baked their wedding cake, Ellen and Jo contributed a dozen homemade pies, Bobby took care of the bar and the catering. Garth and Bess promised to capture the whole day on their cameras. Gabe offered to be their DJ and Ash took care of all the technical stuff. Rowena had promised them truly magical fireworks at night, while Crowley and Benny were in charge of the security, although that shouldn’t be necessary ever since Jack became god.

Charlie and Dorothy had not only offered their vast, beautiful property as their wedding venue, they had also taken care of the decorations. The ceremony was set to take place on the Southern side of their house. An aisle led through rows of white chairs up to a little lake in front of which they had placed a rectangular wooden arc, decorated with greenery and big white flowers that stood out brightly against the blue water in the background. The Western side of the house was already equipped with a big dance floor around which tables, a big buffet and a bar had been set up. To top it all off, Charly and Dorothy had hanged fairy lights in every single tree on their property, which would create a magical atmosphere at night.

Lost in thoughts, Dean adjusted the flower on his lapel and smiled at the mirror. He never thought that he – Dean fucking Winchester – would ever get married. And yet here he was. His phone buzzed and his smile became even wider as he saw who texted him.

[Cas 10:34] Dean?

[Dean 10:35] What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now😉

[Cas 10:37] No, my feet are perfectly fine, why would they be cold?

Dean rolled his eyes, amused at his fiancé’s confusion.

[Dean 10:37] Not literally, that’s an expression for someone who has second thoughts on their wedding day. What’s going on?

[Cas 10:38] Oh. I see. I’m nervous that I might act weird because I don’t know all wedding customs. So I wanted to ask if you could maybe help me out when I’m about to make a fool out of myself.

[Dean 10:39] Sure thing, sunshine, but don’t worry about acting right, it’s your wedding day, all you have to do is enjoy it. And everybody here knows you’re a little weird😉

Without a knock, Charlie barged in. “What’s up bitch, you ready? Cause your fiancé is and he’s smokin’ hot.” She winked as she noticed Dean’s blushing cheeks. “Yeah, I’m ready. Where’s Bobby?” “Already waiting downstairs for you. I have to go, see you in a few”.  As quick as she had come, she disappeared again. Dean took another glance at the mirror to make sure everything was perfect before he left the room.

Downstairs Bobby and Ellen were laughing over a glass of scotch. When Bobby noticed Dean, he smiled and reached up to adjust his baseball cap, scoffing when he realized that he didn’t wear one today. “Lookin’ good” he grumbled. Ellen gave Bobby a quick peck on his cheek and winked at Dean as she went to take a seat. “I’m glad ya two idjits finally got the sticks out of your asses. Took ya long enough.” Dean chuckled nervously, his cheeks turning red again. “Thanks Bobby. Truth is I still don’t know how I got this lucky.” “Well, ya really deserve this, ya know? You’re a good man. He’s lucky to be with you. And I like him. Never seen you this happy.” After a pause he added “I’m very proud of you son.” Fumbling with the empty glass Ellen had left behind on the table in front of him, Dean replied “Bobby... Thank you. You’ve always been a father for me, unlike John, who... Anyways, thank you. For everything.” Dean swallowed, unable to put his love and gratitude for this man into words, but as he looked up at Bobby’s face, he caught him wiping over suspiciously wet eyes. “Idjit” he grunted, pulling Dean into a bone crushing hug. He nodded at the clock. “Ya ready? We gotta go.” “Ready” Dean replied, and he meant it. He was more than ready for this.

Or maybe he wasn’t. He was more than ready to marry Cas, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight of all his loved ones in one place, alive – thanks to Jack – gathered to celebrate with him. He always thought the only occasion where they’d all come together would be for his funeral, and he didn’t even expect that since most of them had been dead until a few months ago. Grateful and touched to see how many people where there because they loved him and Cas, Dean fought back some tears. While Garth’s kids waddled down the aisle, scattering white rose petals, Bobby squeezed Dean’s arm, as if he could sense all those thoughts whirling in his head. Dean nodded, linked their arms and let Bobby lead him down the aisle where Sammy already waited with a big grin and an even bigger stack of notes for his speech.

Back in the house, Charly gave Cas an encouraging smile and handed him a gorgeous bouquet of white and yellow flowers. “Thank you for leading me down the aisle, I was made aware that that would usually be the responsibility of one’s father...” “There’s nothing usual about this wedding..” Charly teased him. “Besides, you’ve been my bestie ever since we first met, of course I’m gonna walk you down the aisle!” She linked their arms. “Ready?” Cas nodded. “Ready...” Leaning in, he added with a proud smirk “...bestie”. The doors swung open and they stepped outside.

All heads turned around to see Cas, but he didn’t even notice. He was completely captivated by the sight of his fiancé, who let out a little gasp before breaking into a wide smile. His eyes made those cute crinkles that Cas loved so much and as he came closer, he could see a tear roll over Dean’s check. Usually, although Dean had become way more relaxed over the last months, Cas could always sense a lingering alertness in him. But now... he seemed completely at peace. Cas quickly blinked away some tears. He didn’t want anything to cloud his vision, he needed to preserve this image in his mind. His navy-blue suit combined with a simple black tie and a white flower on the lapel suited Dean incredibly well. He was beautiful and Cas’ heart skipped a beat at the thought that it was him who caused the pure adoration and happiness on Dean’s face.

Charlie led Cas towards him with excruciatingly slow steps. Dean could barely restrain himself from running towards them. Cas was indeed smoking hot in his black suit, the baby blue tie perfectly matching the color of his big, loving eyes. Their eyes locked and Cas smiled at him with his adorable alien head tilt. Dean took a deep breath in, smiling at his fiancé, whose eyes glistened suspiciously. Cas seemed completely awestruck, and Dean felt a little lightheaded like he always did when Cas looked at him like that... like he meant the world to him.

Charly placed Cas’ hand in Dean’s. “Hey handsome! Missed me last night?” Dean whispered with a wink. “Hello Dean. I missed you very much indeed”. Murmuring “Me too”, Dean softly leaned his forehead against Cas’. The grooms stood there for a moment with closed eyes and fond smiles on their faces, the longing for each other almost unbearable. Cas finally pulled away and stated softly: “You are incredibly beautiful”. He turned towards Sam. Dean blushed at the seriousness in Cas’ voice and slowly turned to face his brother as well, not without glancing at Cas’ concentrated face once more and shooting him a loving smile from the side. While Sam held his unsurprisingly deep and thoughtful speech, Cas slipped his hand into Dean’s, who squeezed it lightly in response.

When it was time to say their vows, Dean took Cas’ hands in his and started shakily: “So, uhm, I’d like to start if that’s okay. Cas – you’re my best friend. And you’re the love of my life. I never thought I’d ever say something like that, I didn’t exactly think love was in the cards for me. I never let anyone close. But you...” His furrowed brows softened, and he broke into a fond smile, adopting Cas’ little head tilt. “You immediately got to me – well, right after I stabbed you... Sorry for that, buddy.” He winked and Cas chuckled softly. Dean continued, his voice overflowing with love: “I love your weird, quirky personality. I love that you’re such an openhearted, adorable little dude and at the same time you’re brave, strong and one hell of a badass. You never stop surprising me. You have the most loving, pure and beautiful soul.” Dean’s voice started to crack. “You know me better than anyone, heck, you probably even know me better than I know myself. You looked into my soul and you love me for exactly who I am, which is the best gift you could have ever given me.” Firmly holding Cas’ gaze, he added seriously: “I promise to always love and support you unconditionally, in our human life together and beyond. I’ve been yours ever since you first laid a hand on me. And I swear I will be yours for all of eternity. I love you Cas, so damn much.”

Cas looked at him completely lovestruck, tears glistening in his eyes. In a low, gravelly voice he declared: “I never truly belonged anywhere. I never... functioned the way I was supposed to. And you made me realize that that’s okay. That freedom and free will were more preferable than being a brainwashed soldier of heaven. You gave me your friendship, you made me part of your family. You taught me to love.” He cupped Dean’s face, gently brushing his thumb over Dean’s freckled cheeks. Squinting his eyes in adoration at the miracle before him, he added: “You are the most perfect, selfless and loving human being I have ever known.” Tears started rolling down Dean’s cheeks, he still had a hard time accepting that someone – especially Cas – would think so highly of him. Receiving this praise in front of such a big audience made him blush. “Dean, you are my home. I love you. Forever.” He pressed a soft kiss on Dean’s forehead and wiped away his tears. Dean almost drowned in his loving eyes, completely overwhelmed with affection.

Claire and Jack came up to give them their rings. Claire handed Cas a ring and whispered: “Congrats Ca... Dad”. Cas froze up for a second, tilting his head, squinting his eyes, trying to understand if she really just meant that or if it had just slipped out on accident. When she gave him a shy confirming smile, he pulled her into a strong hug. Jack handed Dean a ring with a “Hello Dad” and a short hug, before tugging on Claire’s hand to pull her back to their seats. The almost married couple shared a confused look after what just happened, Dean opening his mouth to ask “Did they just call us..?” “I believe they did”, Cas replied happily.

Sam moved on with the ceremony and let them repeat some more promises to each other before posing the final question: “Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester as your lawfully wedded husband?” Cas answered earnestly “I do.” Sam turned to Dean to repeat his question: “Do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel as your lawfully wedded husband?” Dean grinned widely, eyes crinkling around the edges: “Hell yeah, I do!” Sam asked them to exchange their rings to seal their bond and Cas took Dean’s hand gently in his. He slipped the ring on slowly, looking deeply into Dean’s beaming green eyes. Dean then slipped a ring onto Cas’ finger, his fingertips lingering longer than necessary. Sam finally pronounced them “...husband and husband. You may now kiss your groom!” Under the roaring cheers of their loved ones, Dean cupped Cas’ face while his husband pulled him close, arms wrapped around his waist. Their lips found each other easily, all of their adoration blooming into a chaste, soft kiss. Cas spontaneously bent Dean backwards, who gasped into his mouth in surprise, before letting himself fall into the strong embrace. Their kiss deepened, both too far gone to hear the excited cheers and whistles around them. It took them a while to gather the strength to break apart, foreheads resting against each other for one more moment before turning to the cheering crowd. Dean linked their hands and raised them up, as Sam exclaimed loudly: “I present to you Mr. and Mr. Winchester!”

The party afterwards was one for the books. Everyone had a blast and surprisingly enough, everyone got along perfectly, which wasn’t exactly a given on a party were hunters and supernatural beings came together. Donna’s and Jody’s wedding cake was mind-blowingly delicious. It was a white cake with three tiers and a figurine of the happy couple on top, wearing their trademark flannel and trenchcoat. When they cut the cake open, it revealed a colorful surprise. The top tier was colored like the bisexual pride flag. The second tier was chocolate-brown and the bottom tier looked like a rainbow flag. Dean insisted on feeding Cas with some cake and “accidentally” smeared frosting on Cas’ face. After he had kissed it away shamelessly, which earned them loud cheers and whistles from their guests, Dean pulled his husband onto the dance floor for their first dance.

They both didn’t exactly know how to dance, but it didn’t matter. They were just happy to feel the comforting warmth of their bodies against each other and melted into a tight embrace. As they were swaying gently, eyes closed and faces buried in each other’s necks, they didn’t realize that the first song had long blended into the next one. After a couple of songs, Dean opened his eyes for a moment, watching all the people he loved enjoy themselves. Jody and Donna slow-danced next to them and Eileen tried to teach Sam how to dance, hoping not to get her toes crushed. The brothers exchanged a big smile that said: “We’re so damn lucky”. Rowena stood at the DJ-table with Gabe, brushing a hand over his arm and whispering something in his ear. Crowley and Benny seemed to hit it off at the bar and Claire and Jack tried to teach Sonny some “tictoc-dance”, whatever that was, while Miracle excitedly jumped around their feet. Dean closed his eyes again and sank even deeper into the feeling of Cas’ arms wrapped around him.

The party carried on deep into the night, roaring rock classics long having replaced the quiet couple-dance music, everyone partying on the dance floor or sharing stories and laughs at the bar. As the newlyweds sat down to chat with Sam and Eileen over some drinks, Cas looked at his husband lovingly. He was overjoyed to see Dean beaming happily from being among all the people he loved, no danger in sight. As Dean caught Cas starring, he gave him a gentle peck and got up. He linked their hands as they strolled towards the lake, the party sounds fading into low background noises. They leaned up against each other, the reflections of stars and fairy lights glistening on the water as they held each other close in the cold night air. Dean nuzzled his nose into Cas’ hair and pressed a gentle kiss on his head. Cas turned to see Dean’s glowing eyes and pulled him into a long, achingly tender kiss. They were home.

#I've been working on this for 2 weeks now #destiel wedding #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #castiel winchester #destiel wedding fic #deancas wedding #supernatural wedding #spn #supernatural #supernatural family #happy destiel wedding day #spn wedding #saileen #destiel fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfic

[the-melting-world]

Strength | Side B: “Chasing Dials”

Art by @ligiawrites

~ In which a secretive barhand brings in the new year…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Lucio | Valdemar

Track Origins: “Chasing Dials” by Blanco White

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: Strength

Khleo is Non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably

cw: alcohol, implications of vampirism, mentions of blood

~  2.3k words

***

Fireworks broke and rained hot glitter over the southern border of Center City and Goldgrave. A handful of bartenders were off duty and on the move.  

Khlee von Heine walked among them. She was the only one who hadn’t taken the time to change out of her work clothes. Her coworkers were loud, merry, and prone to recklessness as they stumbled from one pop-up bar crawl to the next. 

“Another year,” Gabe managed to roar over the next round of fireworks. “Can you believe we fucking did it?” He took a deep swig from the communal growler. The night was far from young and the barhands had lost track over how many times they refilled it. Gabe reluctantly handed it off to the next coworker so they could say their piece.

Khlee hung back in order to stand under a wooden arch whose sign was eclipsed in dead vines. But Khleo had committed its message to memory years ago.

Der Biergarten.

The plot of land overgrown in weeds and other invasive species was still up for sale, to Khleo’s relief. Though it was out of the way on most of her delivery routes, Khleo did her best to stop by every now and then. Just to make sure no one had bought up the property.

The barhand checked to see that her coworkers were distracted as she stepped up and snatched a flyer with the lot info off the gate. She folded it up and quickly tucked it in her pocket before the arm of a good friend looped around her neck. 

Basil leaned on Khleo as he pressed the convex surface of the growler against her sternum.

“Your turn.”

Khleo playfully shoved him off of her, but kept the growler. She took a sip. Basil and the other barhands chided her — she was supposed to make a toast.

“Fine. Fine.” Khleo held up the bottle. “To progress.”

They made a show of peering into the depths of the amber glass. “Maybe this year we’ll get lucky and actually make some, yeah?”

Someone snatched the growler out of their hand. Gwendolyn? Max? The streets were too dark to tell.

Khleo’s friends were off. They blended in with the city’s bar crawlers as they chased down the next booze cart. People wanted refills that night, not whatever Khleo was about to say next.

Later when Khleo had returned to her apartment, she traded her work clothes for something softer and more comfortable. Then she dug through the pocket of her discarded jacket and retrieved the folded up flyer.

It was a short walk from her kitchen to the bedroom. There was no bed frame or vanity, just three lumpy mattresses stacked on top of each other that she rescued from the alley when she first moved in.

The room was already small, but it felt even more congested thanks to the uneven piles of text, of which there two types — loose leaf recipes or pages ripped out of cookbooks and cheap serial novels with depictions of bejeweled dragons on the covers.

The only piece of real furniture around was an antique dresser, the drawers of which were broken and jutting out like crooked teeth.

All except one.

Khleo took a deep breath before crouching and using both hands to work the bottom drawer open. Like always, it did not come quietly, but with a little patience and a lot of swearing, Khleo managed to pull it out.

Most of the drawer’s contents belonged to her late adoptive father, Hans von Heine. However, it was an unmarked jar that Khleo reached for. She screwed it open and tucked the flyer for the piece of real estate between old flyers and newspaper clippings back when the garden used to host events. The jar had cash in it too. Whatever Khleo could spare went into the jar. Most of it came from what was left of her tips after paying rent, bills, and whoever she needed in order to keep certain people off her back and out of her business.

Khleo sealed the jar and did her best to ignore the tightness in her chest as she struggled to get the drawer to shut all the way. Once she had, she found that her breathing had become more than a little unsteady. It only got worse when she heard the fireworks going off outside.

Khleo shut their eyes and leaned their forehead against one of the crooked drawers, trying not to dwell too much on where they were this time last here. As it turned out, they were right here, drunk and crying at the foot of this very dresser.

Khleo curled up on their side. Yes, tonight their head was buzzing from the alcohol, somehow both heavy and light. Yes, the tears had found their way to the surface again. Khleo was never one to hold them in as long as they could find the space to spill them. 

Things would be different this year, Khleo told themself. They would make sure of it this time.

***

(Lucio’s POV)

Lucio hated the smell of this place. Rotting and damp. It was hard to believe that they were still in Vesuvia.

“You always have such a sour expression on your face whenever I come to feed. Why so, my Count?”

The silky, sardonic voice belonged to Lucio’s host, Quaestor Valdemar. 

“Don’t call me that,” Lucio snapped. He wanted to fold his arms and stifle some of the shivers running up his back, but he couldn’t as long as he was hooked up to Valdemar’s device.

“My apologies, Lucio,” Valdemar corrected themself coolly.

Another shiver climbed up Lucio’s neck as he bit back the urge to say, I don’t want to be called that either.

“Tell me, what plagues you?” They added with a chuckle. “Don’t you like your living arrangement?”

Ever since cutting a deal with the scientist turned demon, Lucio had been living out his days in the lowest cellar of the Lazaret. When he was first brought back from the Devil’s realm, he had been too weak to demand anything else. At the time, all he cared about was that he was alive and wouldn’t be devoured by the courtiers.

Lucio glanced at the tube looping around his forearm, its transparent pathways already inflated with his blood.

But at what cost?

Lucio grinded his teeth. It was too late to consider that now. 

This was how it always went anyway. Lucio would be presented with an opportunity — a way to improve what he could not on his own. He would leap at it, no questions asked.

Why, after all this time, after all those treacherous dealings could he not bring himself to stop and think things through?

As the last of Valdemar’s toll left his body, Lucio started to wonder what his mother might say about all of this. But he’d rather eat another shitty bargain than go down that road right now.

“Your contribution to our arrangement hasn’t been as satisfying compared to when we first began.”

“What are you trying to say?” Despite his nasty tone, Lucio was grateful for the distraction. “My blood’s not tasty enough for you?”

“It used to be,” Valdemar said. “I’ll be honest with you, Lucio, I agreed to keep you around as an energy reserve primarily for that reason. The notion of devouring you in one sitting and having to share with my dear contemporaries was not nearly as attractive as the possibility of having your flesh to dine on whenever I needed to during this indefinite campaign in your current reality.”

Lucio hissed as Valdemar unceremoniously removed the needle from his vein. He wasn’t sure how to react to what he had just heard. Thanks to Valdemar’s mask, all Lucio could read from their expression was the growing crow’s feet at the corners of their blood red eyes.

“So?”

Valdemar applied a cotton wad to the puncture wound and dug it in with their thumb.

“Ow! Hey – Owie!” Lucio yelped.

“So, my Count,” they sweetly clarified as they kept up the pressure, “I need you to find a way to restore that vitality you once possessed. Technically, you’re in peak physical health. I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but the evidence of your tussle with the plague has all but disappeared from your eyes. Your hair has been growing…” they took a moment to scan their critical gaze over the pale blond patches clinging to Lucio’s jaw. “You could easily blend in with the citizens.”

Lucio swallowed. “B-blend in? Why the devil would I want to blend in?”

Valdemar made a less than human sound as they peeled back their mask and bared their needle-sharp teeth at the former Count. 

“Right now you taste like a boneless, gutless, gill-infected inferior breed of mackerel. And I prefer to have rare, mercury-rich, vinegar-glazed bluefin tuna. Captivity is poisoning your blood. So I’m giving you permission to get out there in your beloved city and find a way to sweeten it.”

The Quaestor gave Lucio a not-so-gentle shove in his chair. They replaced their mask as they straightened up. The former Count’s eyes widened as he covered his hand over his arm. The last thing he wanted was to piss off Valdemar. But he didn’t know the first thing when it came to what they were asking him to do. 

“What happens if I can’t, erm… make my blood taste better? What if spending time in the city doesn’t work?”

The Quaestor sighed, their emotions back in check. They were already half occupied with cleaning their instruments and storing the sacks of Lucio’s blood in a portable cooler for later.

“Then I will have no choice but to invite my courtier companions over for a nice potluck dinner.” They glanced up. The crow’s feet were back. “And you’ll be the forgettable appetizer that no one asked for.”

Later, when Valdemar was kind enough to row Lucio across the stretch of water to the mainland, they suggested, “You should find some people who are very healthy. Outside of captivity, fish are the most robust when they’re in competition with other capable anatomies.”

Lucio hugged what was left of his royal uniform – a tattered speckled cape – around his shoulders. He grumbled, “Would you, for fuck’s sake, stop comparing me to a fish, Quaestor?”

Unperturbed, Valdemar said, “We’ve arrived.”

Lucio lowered his hood and blinked out at the morning overcast sky. His top lip curled into a distinctive snarl as he recognized where they were.

“Not here. Anywhere but here.”

Valdemar gestured to the nearest dock. “Get out, Lucio.”

The former Count wanted to blot out the images of the slumped architecture and purge his nostrils of the stale watery stench. 

“Not the Flooded District. I can’t stand this place. Can’t you see that it’s a failure that I don’t need reminding of?”

“Lucio, don’t be so foolish,” Valdemar said almost tenderly as they nudged him out of the boat. “The entire city is your failure. Much of which is hard to see. Oh, but it’s there. Now go on,” they said as if encouraging a child at the fairgrounds, “go find someone healthy. I’ll come to retrieve you in a fortnight’s time.”

Lucio couldn’t believe he was watching Valdemar row off into the mist. He tried to take a deep breath, but the air was so bad that he just ended up coughing. 

Even though Valdemar had been correct about Lucio’s appearance, looking nothing like he did in the days when he was the Count, he still found himself trying to crowd off his features with his hood any time a resident passed him by on the floating, rickety streets. But to his relief, no one seemed to know or even care about who he was or might be. 

As soon as Lucio relaxed his shoulders and began walking with more confidence, the inner walls of his stomach suddenly contracted. Then he remembered. He had just given blood. Lots of it. Usually, the Quaestor supplied him with something to eat, but this time they hadn’t.

“Damn them,” Lucio hissed. He cradled his abdomen like it was made of glass as he tried to make his way towards some kind of common plaza. He had no money, but perhaps he would be able to find a dumpster to rummage through.

He was passing by a narrow alley when he caught a glimpse of the impossible out of the corner of his eye.

A lion.

Its coat was creamy and short all over. Its size was nothing short of mythical. 

Lucio was tempted to shout at the two idiots occupying the alley with this beast on the loose, but they seemed both aware of its presence and entirely calm about it.

One of them was slumped against the wall of the grimy building. Despite their threadbare attire and weary expression, they were smiling at the other. 

“No, Khlee. Please don’t. You’ll be late for work.”

The person squatting before the first seemed to be focused on the task of sewing up what appeared to be rips in a heavy cloak. Even with their short jacket, Lucio could detect the shape of their arms. Their brown curls had enough volume to hide most of the details in their profile.

“Nah. I’m already late. This’ll only take a minute.”

There wasn’t much time to take in the rest of their features before the big cat stepped up, blocking Lucio’s view of them.

< Can I help you? >

Lucio ran. He nearly tripped over himself getting out of there so fast. But he didn’t go far. He gripped the edge of a building and poked his head out, waiting for the lioness and her human to emerge. When they finally did, Quaestor Valdemar’s words from earlier echoed in Lucio’s mind.

Go find someone healthy.

Well, the individual strolling confidently down the street with a full grown lion at their side was definitely looking like the healthy sort.

At the moment, Lucio wasn’t really thinking about what would happen to him if he failed Valdemar’s taste requirements.

Right now, his stomach was hurting. 

If the body of this lion tamer was any indication, they knew where Lucio could find himself a meal.

#the arcana #khleo the barhand #arcana albums: strength #arcana albums #count lucio #lucio #lucio the arcana #quaestor valdemar #valdemar #valdemar the arcana #montag morgasson #the arcana fic #the arcana fanfic #the arcana fanfiction #my writing #cw alcohol #cw blood mention #cw vampirism

[chiseler]

Hero of Our Nation

I first encountered Roger Ramjet on a Chicago public access station in 1983. It was part of an early morning show apparently aimed at stoner insomniacs. The show came on at five and also included episodes of Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, that awful Beatles cartoon, and a weather report clarified by some appropriate pop song (“Here Comes the Sun” or “Here Comes the Rain Again”). I was usually up and around that early for some godforsaken reason, and originally started watching on account of Lancelot Link. Always did love that Lancelot Link. But Roger Ramjet was, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.

Roger Ramjet, “ that All-American good guy and devil may care flying fool” (as he compulsively introduces himself) was a none too bright and none too coordinated drug-dependent space age superhero in an ongoing battle against the assorted forces of evil (or more specifically, N.A.S.T.Y.) to preserve the American Way of Life. He was square-jawed, straight-laced, straight-faced, and True Blue if little else, so hyper-patriotic that nearly every time his name is spoken aloud an American flag, a bald eagle, or a rotating ring of stars appears on the screen. After catching one or two episodes, I forgot all about Lancelot Link.

The show was easy to overlook, especially when squeezed between the Beatles and some secret agent chimps with a psychedelic band. The episodes were only five minutes long (maybe seven with the abrasive theme song filling out the opening and closing credits), and were so crudely drawn and animated it might at a glance seem like something a couple of junior high school kids threw together in their basement one weekend. The shows were so primitive they hardly bothered with niceties like “backgrounds” satisfied instead to settle for rudimentary suggestions of a setting. But the writing was so sharp and the voice talent so good what it really felt like, if you paid attention, was a spoof of a ‘40s radio serial like Sky King or Gangbusters, complete with a soap opera organ and illustrated by a handful of jerky drawings scratched out by someone’s kid. People who thought Jay Ward’s Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right were crude when compared with the output from Disney or Warner Brothers had no idea what “crude” meant. 

Looking at it today what it reminds me of more than anything are the paper cutout animations of the earliest episodes of South Park, before they upgraded to Flash. Along with the lo-fi stylistics, the humor was clearly aimed at an adult audience while pretending otherwise.  You may not find any child molestation jokes or crass religious cracks in Roger Ramjet, but for 1965 the lightning-fast humor was pretty hepcat and sophisticated, with undisguised satirical references to the Cold War, Central American turmoil, and the  Vietnam War (“Hey kids, this is Roger Ramjet,” demanding that you stay tuned to this station to see my next adventure,” Roger announces in his commanding superhero baritone. “Or I’ll see to it that all you little rascals are drafted.”) . Mixed in with the topical jokes we also get some highly unlikely name drops, from Noel Coward and Henry Cabot Lodge to James Joyce and bawdy nightclub performer Rusty Warren, as well as film parodies and  literary nods to the likes of Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye.  It’s also a little less than what you might call racially sensitive by modern standards (consider Mexican revolutionaries The Enchilada Brothers, Beef and Chicken).

While a lot of the more timely jokes might be lost in the murk of the over 50 years since it first aired, there’s plenty of rapid-fire absurdity that’s timeless, from the misspelled title cards punctuating the narration to the self-consciously dumb coked-up adventures.

Bullwinkle aired from ‘61 to ‘64. Roger Ramjet came along a year later and Jay Ward’s influence is undeniable. The difference was Roger Ramjet crammed the equivalent number of bad jokes, references, and plot twists of a typical 8-part Bullwinkle serial into each five-minute episode, both mirroring the rapid-fire screwball dialogue of the ‘30s and the frenetic quick-cut comedy to come along a year or two later in shows like The Monkees and Laugh-In.

The episodes were produced with essentially no budget and were cranked out very quickly by a small team of writers, voiceover artists and animators with solid day jobs in radio and TV. They were all seasoned pros, some dating back to the days of classic radio, who worked on the show after hours as a way of letting off a little steam and tossing around a few cynical, subversive  cultural jabs their day jobs wouldn’t allow. The show was created originally by animator Fred Crippen  (who went on to work on some pretty dreadful crap like the Extreme Ghostbusters  and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and Ken Snyder, an ad exec who moved over into producing cartoons. They brought in a remarkable team of voice talent and comedy writers, including Gene Moss (the voice of Smokey the Bear) Jim Thurmam (who did a lot of kids shows including Sesame Street), Dick Beals (the original voice of Gumby), and the great Gary Owens, a drive-time deejay in LA who would get national recognition soon enough as the on-screen announcer for Laugh-In. Although they would all get specific credits in the end (Crippen as director, Moss as a writer) it was a communal effort, in which everyone contributed to the writing, and everyone, even the executive producer, did a few of the voices. Apart from the regular crew, careful listeners might also catch a few uncredited guest appearances by some surprisingly big names (I’m told Sinatra and Dean Martin appear in an episode, but I’m still looking for that one). Owens was the star, though, as his ability to read the most ridiculous lines in a dramatic deadpan made him the perfect Roger Ramjet. Together they made 156 episodes (about 150 still exist), which were sold directly into syndication in ‘65 as half hour shows, each containing three unconnected adventures. I can’t say as I’m exactly sure who they thought their target audience was at the time, except maybe each other.

Much like William Conrad in Bullwinkle, each show opened with our narrator, Steve Allen alum Dave Ketchum, setting the mood and the scene (“In today’s depressing episode,” he’d begin with dramatic enthusiasm, or maybe it was an “existentialist episode,” “phlegmatic episode,” “rickety episode,”  “hairy episode,” or “ethnic episode”). Then we’re out of the gate at a breakneck pace, with a flurry of gags coming from every direction. “Ramjet rode into Boot Hill,” we’re told,  “where the men were men and the women were men, which can get pretty old after awhile.”

While none of the shows are connected, there are a few recurring characters and locations worth remembering: Roger hails from Lompoc, an actual California town (“where nothing ever happens, and seldom does”) and  takes his orders from General G.I. Brassbottom, a no nonsense military man who “hadn’t had an original idea since he was a civilian.” He’s also assisted by Yank, Doodle, Dan, and Dee, the unusually chubby  kids who make up the American Eagle squadron. Like Roger, all the members of the squadron wear their white jumpsuits and flight helmets at all times (Roger even wears his helmet on dates), and in true superhero sidekick fashion, their primary job is to get Roger out of scrapes and make sure his drugs are handy. 

That’s one little detail more than a few casual viewers have taken umbrage with. Roger, see, is a pretty hapless character most of the time, but he repeatedly saves the world thanks to a little help from his Proton Energy Pills (PEP), which take five seconds to kick in, then give him the strength of 20 A-Bombs for 20 seconds. Modern viewers seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of a superhero gulping amphetamines in order to function, but all I can say is, well, it was a different time, and hey, it worked for Roger and Elvis both.

The proton energy pills come in handy when dealing with his arch-nemesis Noodles Romanoff, the short, trench coat and fedora wearing head of N.A.S.T.Y. (the National Association of Spies, Traitors, and Yahoos). Romanoff may not have a Natasha, but he does have a gang of cronies and thugs who all mumble in unison (save for one, who can’t seem to get the rhythm). 

Along with Romanoff and his gang, Roger also has to contend with some lanky alien robots, the Solenoids (voiced by executive priducer Ken Snyder), and their repeated efforts to invade the planet in assorted ridiculous ways (in one episode, they begin kidnapping all the Miss America contestants, who “were disappearing faster than co-eds at a Dartmouth weekend.”)

When not saving the world, Roger found himself competing with the smarmy hotshot test pilot Lance Crossfire (who sounds an awful lot like burt Lancaster) for the affections of Lotta Love, the fickle Southern belle with a taste for the finer things in life.

Then there are the adventures themselves. Some seem standard superhero fare, but only to a point. Earth is besieged by flying saucer attacks (sort of). Roger’s hometown is terrorized by a werewolf (sort of). Roger plays tennis with a kangaroo, or becomes the first man to surf in space,  or, in a personal favorite, attempts to stop the flow of bootleg comic books into America’s drug stores.

Actually, there’s an interesting moment in that one that revealed just how subtle you could be even with animation this unsophisticated. Okay, so Noodles Romanoff, see, is replacing real comics in drug store racks with bootlegs in which popular superheroes are humiliated, all in an effort to destroy the morale of America’s children. After Brassbottom shows Roger a few examples (the issues include “Superman Gets Beat Up by a Chicken!” and “Ratman Stubs His Toe!”) he explains that if this sort of thing continues, “America’s kids won’t have anyone to look up to except YOU, Ramjet.” Then, for just an instant in that crude and jerky style, Roger cuts his eyes toward the camera, revealing in that moment everything we needed to know, namely that it’s what he’s always wanted.

Thirty years on and that still sticks with me.

In the end, though, the characters and storylines are secondary at best In Roger Ramjet. At heart it’s  a matter of trying to keep up with all the lightning-quick  jokes and wordplay, the non-sequiturs and references. In the five minute span of one cowboy-themed episode I counted nods to at least seven classic Western films, from High Noon to She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and I suspect I missed a few. It really is such a dizzying blur of dialogue and bad puns and cultural references, sometimes, christ, even just references to old jokes that take the form of bad puns (“Waiter, there’s a spy in my soup” or “how many angels can swim in the head of a beer?”), that absurd as it all is, repeated viewings are a necessity to catch everything. It’s a bit like having the complete contents of an issue of MAD magazine jammed onto a single page. It can make your head hurt after a while, but it’s worth it. Whether the density and the pace make it better or worse for stoner viewing is something, I guess, each stoner will need to answer for him or herself. Lots of bright colors, though.

In 1965 there was nothing new about making cartoons with adult sensibilities in mind. Betty Boop and Bugs Bunny were made to be shown as short subjects to largely adult audiences. Jay Ward’s cartoons a few decades down the line were near-revolutionary for smuggling hip, subversive political humor into what had become an exclusively child-friendly format. What made Roger Ramjet so radical was it’s blend of ‘30s radio style with mid-’60s cynicism, as well as its foreshadowing of our shrinking attention spans, a hyper-condensed proton pill of comedy and commentary disguised as just another dumb, low-rent superhero cartoon. Although it’s barely remembered today, its influence is still evident in most any subversive animated show you can name, even if they’ve slowed things down a bit.

by Jim Knipfel

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste’ comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

#febhyurary #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: rereha reha #oc: kleio the archive node #dt's writing

[chemicalmagecraft]

A Black Wind Howls Chapter 5: Winter Solstice Part Two

Previously on Avatar...

The fireballs tore through the smoke cloud, but the Black Wind was nowhere to be found.

"He's invisible!" Zhao shouted.

"What was that about you killing us?" he asked the black-clad man before kicking him into unconsciousness, then grinned.

The door suddenly creaked shut. When everyone looked at it they saw a rather short old woman with long white hair appear with her hand on the white lotus design in the middle of the door, as if out of thin air.

"Bending is connection to an element," Dorji said, her hands on Appa's reins. She held her hand out to a passing cloud, causing a miniature funnel cloud to form from it.

"By restricting one of the senses you use the most, you will unconsciously draw on other senses. And once you begin to feel the elements more, your control over them will only increase."

Dorji took a deep breath. "The reason I can't hear in the spirit world... is because I was born deaf."

oOoOo

"So that's why you have trouble hearing," Katara said. Dorji had decided to tell them what she'd told Aang while they were flying to the Fire Nation.

Dorji nodded. She looked nervous, her hands were shaking. "Y-you don't... think less of me, d-do you?"

Katara hugged her until she stopped trembling. "I don't," she reassured her after letting her go, "and I'm sure Aang and Sokka feel the same way!"

Aang and Sokka nodded.

"I don't think anyone would think less of you for being deaf," Sokka contributed.

Dorji's face fell. "Thank you, but..."

Sokka's face scrunched up in regret. "It'd be great if I could go a day without sticking my foot in my mouth."

"No, no," Dorji shook her head. "It... wasn't anything that you could've known about."

He sighed. "Yeah, thanks, but I still should've guessed."

"I... would understand if you were wary of having me accompany you, still," Dorji muttered nervously. "M-my ability to sense noise, w-while more expansive than a normal person's, requires me to actively decipher sounds. I don't think that's normal, anyway. I'd like to say I'm normally good at using my air sense to hear, but it's not perfect. Strong winds and rainstorms can sometimes interfere with my ability to make out sounds, and if I'm distracted..." Dorji absentmindedly touched at her hair, her hand shaking slightly. She bit her lip. "It... that was how..." She took a deep breath, then muttered, "I was too focused on what I was practicing. Didn't notice him until he had grabbed me by the hair..."

"Oh, that must've awful," Katara said. "But don't worry, we'll be here to watch your back from now on."

Dorji smiled at her. "Thank you."

"Uhh, speaking of watching your back..." Sokka said fearfully, pointing to something behind Dorji. Everyone turned to see a Fire Nation ship sailing in their direction at full steam.

"They're gaining on us!" Katara shouted.

Dorji squinted at the boat. "It looks like an outdated cruiser. I haven't seen one of its make before, but it's much too small to be a current Fire Navy ship. I've heard that they focused more on speed than power at the start of the war, though. Is... is that Prince Zuko?"

Katara tapped Dorji's shoulder. "He probably is," she said when Dorji glanced over to her. "He's... kinda been chasing Aang."

Dorji made a small noise, then looked back at the boat. "Didn't think he'd find the Avatar that soon..."

"How can you see someone that far away?" Sokka asked. "And how do you know about Zuko?"

Katara went to tap Dorji's shoulder. "I 'heard,' don't worry," Dorji said. "While my hearing is... not, my eyesight is, thankfully, very good. Though to be honest I can only recognize Zuko from this distance because of his very identifying facial features. I've only had him described to me and it's too far away to really make out fine details. As for why I know him, my father is... a member of the Earth Kingdom army. I know at least the general descriptions of most Fire Nation persons of interest, banished princes included. Speaking of which, I think that's Uncle Iroh yelling at Zuko."

"Uncle Iroh?" Katara asked.

Dorji stiffened slightly. "Z-Zuko's uncle, Iroh. He was originally the heir apparent to the previous Fire Lord, but his younger brother, Ozai, somehow managed to usurp his claim." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "They're loading something into a trebuchet. I think Iroh is fanning his face, so it might have some form of flammable, but pungent oil on it. Get ready to take evasive maneuvers, I'll try to block it." She pulled out her staff halves.

"Hold onto something!" Aang shouted, gripping Appa's reins.

Dorji slashed the air with her staff halves as the now-flaming ball of... something hurtled towards them. It was smashed way off course by a blast of air.

"I'll try to disable their catapult without harming anyone now," Dorji said. "It'll take them some time to reload, so hold Appa steady."

"We've got a problem with that!" Aang shouted, pointing ahead of Appa.

Pointing at the Fire Nation blockade to be specific.

"That's bad," Sokka said.

"This is why I wanted to come alone!" Aang shouted. "It's way too dangerous!"

Dorji, too focused on Zuko's ship to hear, had planted her feet in a stance very unlike traditional airbending. She swirled the two halves of her staff around the air fluidly, then combined them with a flourish and slashed sharply at Zuko's boat. She could barely see the catapult slashed into as if by a giant, invisible blade while the crew of the ship was only knocked over by the blast of air. Just after she did that, Appa darted off to the side to dodge a flaming ball. She only barely managed to stay on Appa's back

"What did I say about-" Dorji started to say, then trailed off when she saw the Fire Nation blockade. "Oh, that's the blockade. It's usually not this bad, they must have been worried you'd go to Crescent Island on the solstice."

"We can't go around, there's not enough time!" Katara said.

"Hang on, everyone!" Aang shouted, gripping Appa's reins and steering him away from another volley of fireballs, up into the clouds.

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure if it'll work," Dorji said, starting to dig through the bag of scrolls. "For now I'll try to ward off the fireballs. Someone alert me if it looks like I'm distracted, though." She pulled out a particular scroll, then quickly unfurled it. When the next volley of fireballs flew, though, Dorji managed to do something to blow them away from Appa just with a single wave of her hand.

"What's that scroll about, Dorji?" Sokka asked.

"A... unique airbending technique my grandmother made a long time ago," Dorji answered after a moment, eyes still on the scroll. Every so often she waved her hand or flicked her wrist, and the fireballs flying around them missed Appa. The wind seemed to get more lively as she kept it up, causing the clouds to shift around. "I haven't managed to learn how to do it yet, but if I do learn it might help out. You might like this one, Aang, it's pretty pacifistic. Potentially."

"Really?" Aang asked, still trying to keep Appa away from the fireballs even though they were mostly being deflected away by Dorji's winds. "How does it work."

"It's..." Dorji squinted at her scroll, then shrugged. "It has... something to do with air and light. Have you ever noticed that, when you stick something in water, it looks a little distorted?" She waved a hand at a fireball, knocking it back down at the blockade.

"As a member of the Southern Water Tribe," Sokka butted in, "I've noticed."

"Thank you, Sokka," Dorji muttered flatly. "A long time ago, my grandmother noticed that as well. After some research she came to learn that while light mostly travels in a straight line, it can be distorted when it passes through clear things. This includes water and glass, but it can also include..."

"Air," Katara finished. "So is that where those mirages come from?"

"There can be mirages in the South Pole?" Aang asked. "I thought they only happened in the desert or something!"

"Apparently," Dorji said, effortlessly directing yet another fireball away from Appa. "So my grandmother managed to figure out how to use that with airbending to cause light to pass around objects, usually herself. The technique, once mastered, allows the user to become more-or-less invisible, as well as potentially create mirages to trick someone into thinking something is where it isn't." She looked back down at the scroll, then started concentrating. "It's harder to do over a larger area, but hopefully..." She started swirling the arm she wasn't using to hold the scroll around, making the air around Appa start shimmering.

"And you think I'd like it because using it means I could sneak around people without fighting?" Aang asked.

"...Possibly," Dorji muttered, still reading from her scroll. "Fair warning, this is where I might start getting more dis... distracted."

True to what she said, the next few fireballs came dangerously close to hitting Appa. He managed to dodge the first, but then the next two collided in midair and exploded near Appa. Unfortunately, Sokka slipped off the side of the saddle when the bison jerked away from the explosion, screaming as he fell.

"Sokka!" Katara yelled.

"I'm going down!" Aang shouted, spurring Appa into a dive. "Dorji, try to slow his fall!"

"Right, sorry," Dorji muttered. The shimmering around Appa got lighter as she waved her hand at Sokka. Some of the nearby clouds started to swirl around him as his fall slowed down. Appa managed to fly below Sokka long before he hit the ocean, allowing Katara to catch him.

"You okay?" Katara asked.

"That... was not fun," Sokka whined.

"He's fine..." Katara rolled her eyes.

"Good, because it looks like they're about to fire again!" Aang shouted, pointing at the blockade. "Dorji, if you can do that invisibility thing you'd better do it now!"

"H-hang on," Dorji said, putting the scroll away and waving her arms a little frantically. The air around Appa started to shimmer even more, though it didn't quite look like the technique was working.

"Fire!" the commander of the blockade shouted. The ship he was on shot another fireball at Appa. It looked like the aim was a little off, but it would still hit Appa if he continued flying straight.

"Whoa!" Aang shouted, steering Appa to dodge the attack. He also threw a blast of air out, knocking it even further to the side. With that last fireball dodged, Appa was able to fly past the blockade. It seemed that the ships were only readied to fire on one the one side of the blockade, as the ships failed to fire on the group as Appa got further from them.

"Everyone okay?" Aang asked. "That last one was a little close, Appa wouldn't have been able to dodge it if it was any closer." He turned around to look at the rest of the group. "We should be there soon, so get... Where is Dorji?"

Katara and Sokka looked to where they last saw Dorji, but didn't see her. "She was right there," Katara said. "Where did she-" Katara was cut off when an unseen, shaking hand tapped her on the arm. "What was that?"

"I-I... I s-saw..." Dorji's voice, distorted for some reason, came from the spot next to Katara.

"Did she... become invisible?" Sokka asked. He carefully poked at the air where Dorji's voice came from until he hit something solid. He caught a flash of black cloth from under his finger for a moment when he lifted it, though the effect quickly reasserted itself.

"D-did I?" Dorji asked. "It... shouldn't work like this."

"What's wrong with it?" Aang asked.

"Nothing," Dorji muttered. "But that's the problem. This is a technique that requires concentration, and I'm not even concentrating on it. I can feel that it's working, but... It shouldn't be."

"Is there anything that you can think of that... might have caused this?" Katara asked. "Sorry, I have no idea what's going on."

"I... s-saw the man that snuck up on me," Dorji muttered. "Wh-when my father was captured. He was o-on the blockade. I-I panicked for a moment when I s-saw him."

"Hey," Katara said, grabbing where she thought Dorji's hand might be. It felt like she grabbed her wrist instead. Good enough. She felt her way down to Dorji's still-shaking hand, then squeezed it. "Take a deep breath, please."

They heard the sounds of an invisible girl taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. "Thank you," Dorji muttered. "I feel better now."

"Do you think you can turn it off?" Sokka asked.

"At the very least, I can disrupt the technique by flowing air around my body in a way counter to how it's currently flowing..." Dorji muttered. "But I don't think I'll try that yet. Whatever happened here, whether it's related to the solstice, my panicking, or a mixture of both, I think it's safe to assume it's not going to happen again, or at the very least something that I can't reliably trigger. I can feel how the technique is working even though I'm not concentrating on using it, so my hope is that if I let it stay I might figure out how to actually use the technique. Plus we're going into enemy territory, so I think I'll take my chances hoping it lasts until we get out of here."

"That makes sense," Katara said. "By the way, how's your ankle?"

"It's better," she answered. "I should be able to walk and even fight, but I might have trouble running too fast. Don't be afraid to leave me behind if it comes to it, I can fend for myself even if I'm not invisible. And by myself it should be a simple matter to sneak by any guards that might be posted."

"We'll try not to leave you behind, though," Aang said. He pointed at the island that they were approaching, or rather the tower-like temple standing on it. "We're here, I'm gonna land Appa."

oOoOo

The grand door to the entrance of the temple opened, seemingly on its own. After a moment a quiet, distorted voice sounded from the door. "There isn't anyone in the main room, but I sense some people nearby. Fire sages, from their breathing and spiritual affinity."

"Good job, Dorji," Katara whispered.

"I'll scout ahead," Dorji said, now in the temple. "Try not to get spotted."

"We need to hurry, though," Aang said, walking into the room. "I need to get to the room at the top of the tower before sunset."

"Then we should avoid confrontation so we don't get caught- hide!"

Five old men in fire-themed red robes and hats walked into the room from one of the hallways around it. "We are the fire sages," the leader, the oldest-looking sage in the fanciest-looking robes, said. "We are the guardians of this temple."

"I don't suppose you're here to take me to the top of the temple?" Aang asked, smiling sheepishly.

The head sage shot a blast of fire at Aang. "No." The other sages also threw fire at him.

Aang quickly twirled his staff in front of himself, using airbending to form a shield of air in front of it that blocked the fire.

"Run," Aang shouted, "I'll distract them!"

Before he could do anything he was swept away by a strong gust of wind, getting knocked into Sokka and Katara and then pushed to one of the hallways that the sages didn't come from with the two. "You're the one that needs to reach the top," Dorji said. About half of her staff had turned visible when she made the gust, but it quickly faded again. "Run. Now."

Aang grimaced, then sighed. "Be careful. Meet back up with us as soon as you're done." He ran, dragging Sokka and Katara off with him.

The head sage sneered at the air next to where the staff disappeared. "I don't know how you're doing that, but you made a mistake by revealing your position. Split up, I'll deal with the ghost." The sages, at their leader's command, split off while the leader threw a blast of fire where he thought Dorji was.

A low but powerful gust of wind swept the sages that ran after Aang and the others off their feet while the fire that the leader shot hit only air. "What!?" the leader exclaimed, seeing the end of Dorji's staff fade away at the other end of the room, between the now-prone sages and the hallway. The head sage growled and threw more fireballs where the staff was, trying to keep Dorji on the defensive by constantly attacking her. The first few didn't seem to hit her so he started throwing his fire in random directions, trying to catch her. It didn't seem to work, but at the very least it seemed that it distracted her a bit judging from how one of the sages was able to quickly get up and dart to the hallway the Avatar went down.

"Good job, Shyu!" one of the other sages, who was still trying to get up, said. Another gust of wind tore through the room, knocking the remaining sages back down. They just barely saw the tip of a black staff flying down the hall the sage went down.

"Alright, who said that?" the head sage grumbled.

oOoOo

Shyu, the sage who had gotten past Dorji, somehow managed to catch up to Aang, Katara, and Sokka in a dead end. "Avatar, I wish to help you!" he told them.

"Why should we trust you?" Sokka shouted as they got ready to fight.

Shyu bowed in front of Aang, placing his hands on the floor. "I know what you must be here for, and want to help you. It's going to be hard for you to reach the Avatar's chamber before the rest of the sages without help." He started to get up but slammed back into the ground, the imprint of an invisible foot appearing on his robes and a surprised expression sprouting on his face. "Wha-"

"I assume from the fact that he was on the ground in a position that greatly limited his choices for attack that this sage is the only one who remembers his ancestral duties," a calm voice sounded from the air above him.

"Of course, Lady Raava," Shyu said. "Now please, we must hurry before we are caught."

"I'm not... right, what do you need to do?" The invisible foot lifted from his back and he was hauled up by the unseen Dorji.

Shyu quickly walked over to a lamp, slid it back to reveal a small hole in the wall, then placed his palm over the hole. Fire flashed from under his palm, then a secret passage opened up in the wall. "Inside, quickly," he commanded.

"Thank you," Aang said, then followed his orders. Sokka and Katara quickly followed after him.

Shyu entered the secret tunnel last, closing the door behind him. "They hopefully shouldn't consider the fact that I brought you in here," Shyu whispered, "but we should stay moving, and stay quiet. I'm not the only one who knows of these tunnels."

"What did you call me earlier?" Dorji asked as they walked.

"Lady Raava, the name of the Avatar Spirit from before she merged with the first Avatar," Shyu answered. "Are... are you not she? I had wondered, when you first attacked us, if the talk of the Avatar Spirit walking with each Avatar was more literal than we thought..."

"No, I'm not Raava," Dorji answered.

"I see," Shyu said, though he still looked puzzled. "How is it that I can't see you, then?"

"A long story that, no offense, I am not willing to share with a fire sage at this time."

Shyu nodded. "I understand."

"Hang on, did you just say that the Avatar Spirit is a girl?" Sokka asked.

"I've never heard the name Raava before..." Aang said.

"I was lucky to learn that name at all," Shyu said, rubbing his chin. "It was mentioned in a scroll about the Avatar that I found a while back. I attributed the lack of knowledge on her to Fire Lord Sozin's regime, but if you only know her as the Avatar Spirit... I suppose it makes sense. The text said that she merged with the first Avatar thousands of years ago, so I suppose it might not be common knowledge..."

"I guess I should add that to the list of things I want to ask Roku about..." Aang said.

"These secret passages are actually Avatar Roku's work, you know," Shyu said. "Once upon a time he called this temple home. Though that was before my time, of course."

Aang stared at the walls of the tunnel. He quietly ran his hand along the cave-like wall. "It feels... strange, being told about all these things about my past lives, about myself, that I don't remember..."

"I can imagine," Dorji said. "I don't have any past lives, or at least I don't have any past lives that I can remember, but... Let's just say that some of my ancestors have done noteworthy things. Hearing about them, knowing that I'm related to them... It's a lot, and I imagine that being the Avatar is like that, but with more pressure. But..." An invisible hand squeezed Aang's shoulder lightly. "You have us. I... I do hope that that helps."

Aang smiled at where he thought Dorji's face was. "I think it does. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Though my eyes are up here."

Aang jumped. "Ah! Sorry!"

Dorji snorted. "That was a joke, you're good."

He sighed. "Thanks..."

"Hey, I thought that Air Nomads didn't know about their families," Sokka said.

"They don't. I was talking about my grandfather's lineage, however, and my grandfather is no Air Nomad."

"Your grandfather?" Katara asked.

"My father's father," Dorji answered. "He was an Earth Kingdom general before he retired. He still helps out, though certain situations even aside from his age prevent him from taking to battle anymore... He is still a powerful earthbender, though."

"Was... was he disappointed you're not an earthbender?" Sokka asked.

"Of course not!" Dorji said sharply. It was louder than her normal speaking voice, but thankfully only echoed a bit off the walls. "He would never be disappointed by something like that! He was delighted to learn that my father and I are airbenders, even if there was only so much he could teach us!"

Sokka backed up a bit, putting his hands out defensively. "I'll take your word for it," he said quickly.

"We're almost to the room," Shyu said. "Please quiet down, in case there's anyone up there already." He thought, then said, "I'm sorry, I never caught your name..."

"I'll scout ahead," Dorji said, anticipating what he wanted to ask.

Shyu nodded. "Yes, thank you. I can do it if you don't want to, but..."

"As I am currently invisible I'm the most logical choice," Dorji rationalized. "Plus if you're staying here with the others then you won't have an opportunity to set up an ambush, in the event that you're plotting against us."

"I would never do that," Shyu objected.

"No offense, but after a century of war and the genocide of my grandmother's people I reserve the right to not trust a Fire Nation official I have just met."

He sighed. "I suppose that's only fair... For the record, though, that thought hadn't occurred to me."

Dorji didn't answer.

"Did she leave already?" Shyu frowned.

Katara shrugged. "Maybe. She's pretty quiet..."

"Sorry about her," Aang said.

Shyu shook his head sadly. "It's... not like she's wrong, is she? You were wary of me, as well..."

"I mean, yeah," Sokka said. "The Fire Nation is pretty much the worst. Our mother died in a Fire Nation raid. You weren't the one who killed her, obviously, but stuff like that makes it hard to trust people from the Fire Nation..."

The sage chuckled sadly, his shoulders slumped. "You know, this is the first time I've ever spoken from anyone from outside the Fire Nation... I didn't know what to expect, but I suppose I can't complain with what you've said... I don't know what I can do to even begin to make up for the sins of my nation, aside from what I'm doing now, but after today I will do my best!"

"An admirable goal," Dorji's voice suddenly sounded from nowhere. "If you're serious about it, you'll find an opportunity soon. Now, the room and the route to it is clear, so let's hurry."

oOoOo

Shyu fell to his knees. "The doors are closed," he whispered. Sure enough, the massive, ornate doors in the middle of the room were shut, the five dragons on its face seeming to glare at the intruders and "traitor."

"Can't you just open them with firebending?" Sokka asked. "It looks a bit like a door in the Southern Air Temple that Aang opened with airbending."

"Maybe it has a similar mechanism," Shyu said, "but this door is made so that only a fully-realized Avatar can open it by themself. It needs five simultaneous fire blasts that otherwise need to be provided by five fire sages."

"I think I have an idea," Sokka muttered, rubbing his chin and looking at a lamp.

"I also have an idea," Dorji said. "Care to share notes?"

Sokka nodded. "Something my father showed me, once. We take some oil from those lamps and put them in animal skin pouches. Soak some twine in the oil and Shyu can light them all up at once!"

"Makeshift bombs," Dorji noted. "It sounds like it might work, at least in theory. My idea is to try to use my airbending to amplify and guide Shyu's firebending. It's actually a concept my father once told me about, as well. How about you set your idea up while we try our thing?"

"Sounds good," Sokka said. "Katara, can you give me some help? And... you probably want Aang, right?"

"He might help, hopefully. At the very least it might be good to introduce the concept to him. Approach the door, Shyu and Aang."

At Dorji's order, the sage and the Avatar approached the door. "Where do you want us to stand?" Shyu asked.

"You take a few steps back and face the door." A bit of dust kicked up behind where Shyu was standing, presumably where Dorji wanted him to stand. "Aang, you stand back. Try to feel what I'm doing to the air, but don't do anything unless you're absolutely sure you can help." A current of wind started to blow despite the lack of open windows in the room. "I am creating pathways of air that will contain and stoke your fire. In theory, this will make the fire powerful enough to trigger the mechanisms even with just your fire. Still, I'm going to need you to use as much fire as possible or it might not work."

A circle of air shimmered in front of Shyu for a moment. "Is that where I'm supposed to hit?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll tell you when it's ready, of course, but you have to shoot inside that circle, as close to center as possible."

Shyu nodded, starting to concentrate. He breathed deeply; in, then out. In, then out. He clenched both of his fists, raising them slightly and entering a firebending stance. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to.

"I take it you're ready?" Dorji asked.

He nodded.

"I'm almost ready, too. Once it's established it shouldn't be time-sensitive, so don't try to rush it once I say so, but..."

He nodded.

Dorji concentrated in silence for a few more moments. Finally... "There, it's ready when you are."

Shyu nodded again, took another deep breath, then punched as hard as he could with both fists. A large blast of fire sprouted from his fists, but most of its heat was funneled forward by Dorji's airbending. The flames spiraled forward and split into five branches that hit the five dragons on the door directly on the mouths. The dragons, thankfully, reacted to the fire, moving up to a position that allowed the doors to open. Shyu beamed at the door as it slowly opened, revealing a statue of Avatar Roku. However it started to slowly close as soon as it was fully opened. "Now, Avatar! Before it closes again!"

Aang nodded and quickly dashed through the doors. He sat down in front of the statue as the doors closed behind him.

"Aw, I wanted to try out my idea!" Sokka said, carrying over three of his makeshift bombs. Katara was walking behind him with the other two.

"Sorry, maybe next time," Dorji said. "Though now you have a few makeshift bombs."

"How is Aang supposed to get back out, actually?" Katara asked, a little concerned.

"There's a similar mechanism on the other side of the door," Shyu said. "Hopefully Avatar Roku can help with it. What do we do now, though?"

"You wander the halls, pretending to be looking for us," Dorji said. "Give them no hint that you have helped us." An invisible hand grabbed Shyu's and pulled it into a handshake. "We'll hide near here until Aang emerges. Good luck."

Shyu looked at his hand with surprise, then smiled at where he thought the girl might be. "Thank you, I wish you luck as well."

oOoOo

Aang waited in the sanctuary until a beam of sunlight hit the statue. He watched light engulf the statue, smoke pouring out of it. He stood up as the smoke engulfed him, seemingly transporting him to a mountaintop. The statue of Roku was gone, replaced by the spirit of the past Avatar.

"Avatar Roku," Aang said with a reverent bow.

His predecessor gave him a smile. "Avatar Aang. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too. Is the reason you brought me here related to that vision you showed me when you called me?"

Roku nodded. "The comet. One hundred years ago Fire Lord Sozin used the power of that comet to wipe out the Air Nomads."

Aang frowned. "I heard about that, actually. Sozin's Comet, it supposedly comes around once every century and gives firebending a boost." His frown deepened. "Hhhey, I don't suppose you know when, exactly, the comet showed up?"

Roku nodded. "Your fears are, unfortunately, correct. The comet will return by Summer's end, and it is unlikely that the current Fire Lord will do nothing with the power it will grant him." Roku bowed contritely. "I apologize for the mess that I have left you, Aang, but now it is up to you. You must end the war before the return of the comet, or I fear the Fire Lord will end it for you."

"I... I don't know how I can do that," Aang said. "I haven't even mastered all four elements, and that normally takes years!"

"That is true, yet you must master the elements by the comet. It is a tall task, but not impossible. If you trust in your friends and make allies, you will be able to avert this disaster."

Aang nodded, though he still looked nervous. "If you believe I can do it..."

Roku moved forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you can, Aang. You have done it in each of your past lives, even through hardships, and your past lives will forever be with you."

Aang gave him a nervous smile. "Thanks... Hey, speaking of past lives, have you ever heard the name Raava?"

Roku nodded. "Of course. She is the Avatar spirit, after all. However, I only learned her name after my death, when I met her in person. Well, as 'in person' as you can get between two spirits..."

"Why didn't you learn her name until then?" Aang asked.

"It is always easiest for an Avatar to communicate with more recent past Avatars, hence why the most recent Avatar is usually the current Avatar's spirit advisor. Raava first bonded with us thousands of years ago, with hundreds of Avatars between then and now. It's not impossible for you to contact Raava, of course, but it will require effort on your part. You might not be able to until much later in your life. For now, I suggest you worry about the war for now."

"Of course," Aang nodded. "How will I meet you again? I don't think I can come here every time I want advice..."

He nodded. "When you need me, you will find a way. I only used the power of the solstice to contact you because I wanted to make you aware of the comet as soon as possible. Otherwise, you should eventually learn to contact me through meditation. Now, the solstice will soon end..." He waved a hand, showing a vision of outside the sanctuary. The five fire sages stood at the ready in front of the doors, Shyu looking slightly uneasy. Armored Fire Nation soldiers bolstered their numbers, led by a helmetless man that looked quite pleased with himself. Aang could just barely see Sokka and Katara hiding behind a pillar, though he also noticed Zuko hiding behind another. "It seems that your enemies are anticipating your exit." He smiled. "Why don't you let this old man help you deal with them, to make up for dragging you all the way out here?"

Aang returned his smile, then his eyes and tattoos glowed. "Thank you," he said.

oOoOo

"Bathe him in fire as soon as that door opens!" Zhao ordered. As soon as the dragons on the doors started to move, the firebenders all took aim. They threw a wave of fire at the doors as soon as they started to open, before they could even see what was inside. The fire obscured the contents of the room... and then a tall, white-haired man in red robes emerged from the fire completely unscathed. His eyes glowed pure white as he glared at his countrymen. With a single wave of his hands he gathered all the fire that the firebenders had thrown at him and made it explode outward in a wave that knocked all the firebenders down or at least back, but barely pushed Katara and Sokka.

Zhao growled at the phantom Avatar as he braced himself against the wave of superheated air, then blinked when he saw a familiar shimmer in the air. His scowl turned into a predatory grin as he lunged at the shimmering air. The grin widened when he managed to grab something solid, perhaps a wrist, even though she tried to dodge. Dorji squirmed, but he quickly wrapped his other arm around her waist and switched the arm at her wrist to holding a fire dagger to her neck. The heat of the flame disrupted the smallest amount of Dorji's invisibility, revealing a small patch of the skin of her neck just a hair's breadth from his "blade."

The commander chuckled into Dorji's ear, or at least where he thought it was. "You can't cut your hair to escape this time, kid," he whispered. Zhao turned his attention back to Roku and sneered. "I have a hostage, Avatar! Give up the kid's body or I'l-"

His demand was cut off by a squelch and a spray of blood. He released Dorji and screamed, clutching the now-bleeding arm that he had used to grab Dorji. Roku used the distraction to blast him to the floor with another wave of fire.

"Go, now!" the Avatar ordered, looking at Katara and Sokka.

The siblings hesitated, but an invisible force dragged them towards the exit by their hands.

"We can't leave Aang!" Katara yelled, digging her feet in and forcing Dorji to stop with Sokka's help.

She noticed, though, that Dorji's hand was shaking. "A-a-avatar... R-roku... w-will..." There was a sound that, even muffled and distorted by the altered airflow around her, Katara and Sokka recognized as shallow, panicked breathing.

Sokka and Katara exchanged a look. "I'll make sure Aang gets out safely, you take care of Dorji," Sokka said.

Katara nodded and squeezed Dorji's hand. She noticed that the air around Dorji was starting to shimmer, enough that she could make out the rough outline of her body. "Let's go, Dorji," she said softly, then pulled Dorji along. She frowned at Avatar Roku, who was still throwing around the helpless Fire Nation fighters.

oOoOo

Appa flew as close to the now-melting temple as he could, guided by Katara at the reins. Sokka ran out of the temple. dragging an exhausted Aang over his shoulder. He quickly climbed onto Appa's saddle. "Yip yip!" he yelled, even though Appa was already flying. Katara got the message and had Appa fly up and away from the temple immediately.

"Where's Dorji?" Aang asked, looking around the saddle. He saw, in the back of the saddle, what appeared to be a ball of shimmering air. As he watched, Dorji seemed to shimmer back into existence as her invisibility "technique" finally failed. Dorji was curled into a ball, clutching the back of her head. Tears streamed down her face, her eyes closed.

Aang silently crawled over to Dorji and cautiously put his hand on her shoulder. Dorji jumped a bit, then looked up at Aang. She sniffed, then leaned forward and pressed her head onto Aang's shoulder. Aang hugged her as she sobbed, stroking her hair.

He waited until she looked back up at him to speak. "I'm sorry," he said. "Today was too much of a risk, and all I really learned from Roku was that Sozin's Comet is coming at the end of Summer. In hindsig-"

"N-no," Dorji muttered, shaking her head a little. She took a deep breath. "Even... even if you didn't learn much, the first meeting between an Avatar and their predecessor is still important. And as far as you knew he could've told you about a secret tunnel into the Fire Lord's palace. And it's not your fault that Zhao was there." She then slumped over and laid down. "Now if you excuse me, I need to sleep now..."

Aang nodded. "Thanks. Good night, Dorji."

She didn't answer, though Aang couldn't tell if it was because she had fallen asleep already or if she just stopped listening.

#fanfiction #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar the last airbender oc #A Black Wind Howls #ABWH CH5

[96thdayofrage]

The push prompted a series of sweeping apologies and broad action plans, shifting the goalposts for what would be expected of corporations in their relatively new status as “corporate citizens.”

Nearly a year later, many major corporations have assumed a similar posture following Chauvin’s conviction on murder charges, reminding the American public of their purported commitment to diversity, equity and inclusion. Amid mounting evidence that many police departments routinely display both implicit bias and outright racism, reports show that corporate America continues to pour millions of dollars into the police.

One way corporations funnel money into law enforcement is through police foundations. As nonprofits, police foundations allow police departments to raise unregulated slush funds from undisclosed sources, generally meaning corporations or private foundations associated with wealthy families or individuals. Police have historically used this money to expense weaponry and special equipment that is not covered by their municipal budgets.

“Police foundations are really good at hiding what they’re actually spending their money on,” Arisha Hatch, vice president of Color of Change, told Salon. ��These foundations exist completely off the books.”

According to Nonprofit Quarterly, there are about 251 police foundations across the U.S. A report last year by the government watchdog LittleSis found that a whole host of well-known corporations have been intimately involved with police foundations throughout the nation.

One notable example is AT&T. Last year, Sludge found that AT&T was “an active donor” to the Seattle Police Foundation, which according to IRS filings amassed more than $1.5 million in contributions and grants in 2019 alone. Gothamist reported in 2019 that AT&T made an appearance as a “deep-pocketed donor” at the New York City Police Foundation, which collected $9.2 million in contributions and grants over the fiscal year ending in June 2019. Because these foundations are not subject to typical IRS disclosure laws, neither of them reported how that money were spent.

AT&T is also a “Platinum Partner” of the National Sheriffs’ Association, a pro-police lobbying group that fights to preserve the 1033 Military Surplus Program, a government-run initiative that distributes surplus military-grade weaponry and supplies to police departments throughout the nation. In order to become a Platinum Partner, a corporation must donate at least $15,000.

Asked about the company’s relationship with law enforcement, an AT&T spokesperson told Salon that the company supports “many civil rights organizations” and is “working with them to redefine the relationship between law enforcement and those they serve to advance equitable justice for all Americans.”

Kevin Walby, an associate professor in the Department of Criminal Justice at the University of Winnipeg, told Salon that any company that makes strong rhetorical commitments to racial equality should not donate to police foundations at all, saying that in doing so, “they are actually backstopping very racist policing practices.”

Target is another corporate giant with deep ties to the police. On Tuesday, Target CEO Brian Cornell postponed a speaking event in anticipation of Chauvin’s verdict, later telling his employees in an internal memo: “The murder of George Floyd last Memorial Day felt like a turning point for our country. The solidarity and stand against racism since then have been unlike anything I’ve experienced. Like outraged people everywhere, I had an overwhelming hope that today’s verdict would provide real accountability. Anything short of that would have shaken my faith that our country had truly turned a corner.”

One might assume such concern for racial justice would translate to the company’s spending habits. However, according to government watchdog LittleSis and Sludge, the Minnesota-based retail giant has donated to at least nine police foundations since 2015, including those in Atlanta, New York and Los Angeles. Back in 2014, Target quietly donated $200,000 to the Los Angeles Police Foundation so that its affiliate department could gain early access to surveillance software engineered by Palantir, a company accused of whitewashing systemic racism with its supposed data-driven solutions to policing. Target has also supplied thousands of dollars in grant money to various law enforcement agencies throughout the country. The company reported that by 2011, it had given “Public Safety Grants” to over 4,000 law enforcement agencies. In that same year alone, Target said it had distributed more than $3 million in grants to “law enforcement and emergency management organizations.”

A Target spokesperson declined to provide more recent figures on grant money. The company also declined to clarify whether its relationships with police foundations remain active, instead providing the following statement: “We also believe that team members and guests should feel safe in their engagements with law enforcement. We support holistic changes in policing that advance more equitable, community-centric policing that is grounded in innovative law enforcement reform best practices.”

Numerous tech giants, including Amazon, Google, Facebook and Microsoft, also support the police in ways outlined above. Amazon, for example, which claimed to “stand with [its] Black employees, customers, and partners” following Chauvin’s verdict, has supported the police in a variety of different ways. In 2019, the tech giant reportedly donated up to $9,999 to the Seattle Police Foundation. A company representative told Salon that the company has not donated to the Seattle Police Foundation within the last two years. Salon was unable to confirm this, since the foundation reportedly scrubbed all information pertaining to its corporate sponsors shortly after LittleSis released its report.

Additionally, Amazon board member Indra Nooyi serves as a trustee on the board of the New York City Police Foundation, according to digitally archived information on the foundation’s website from last year.

Meanwhile, AmazonSmile, the company’s charity initiative — which allows Amazon to donate 0.5% of proceeds from a sale to the buyer’s chosen charity — has helped pass along donations from customers to numerous police foundations, including those in Chicago, Los Angeles, Seattle and Cleveland. (This relationship has been publicly advertised via Twitter.)

A company representative said that Amazon defers to guidance from the U.S. Office of Foreign Assets Control and the Southern Poverty Law Center on what organizations meet AmazonSmile’s eligibility requirements. These requirements state that eligible organizations cannot “engage in, support, encourage, or promote … intolerance, discrimination or discriminatory practices based on race.” Just this year, however, the SPLC published a feature calling racial bias in policing a “national security threat.”

Neither the Seattle Police Foundation nor New York City Police Foundation responded to Salon’s request for comment.

Coffeehouse giant Starbucks has visibly attempted to go above and beyond in demonstrating its commitment to racial justice. Last year, at the height of the racial unrest following George Floyd’s death, the coffee chain said it would distribute 250,000 shirts bearing the “Black Lives Matter” slogan to employees, flouting its existing ban on any apparel that “advocate for a political, religious or personal issue,” according to the Wall Street Journal. Just this year, Starbucks invested $100 million in “small business growth and community development projects in BIPOC neighborhoods.”

Following the Chauvin verdict, Starbucks the company released a statement from CEO Kevin Johnson, which read in part:

Today’s jury verdict in the murder trial of ex-police officer Derek Chauvin will not soothe the intense grief, fatigue and frustration so many of our Black and African American partners are feeling. Let me say clearly to you: We see you. We hear you. And you are not alone. Your Starbucks family hurts with you … We will be here for our partners in the Twin Cities and for each and every BIPOC Starbucks partner as we try to understand the systemic wrongs that lead to inequality.

One might argue these “systemic wrongs” have been exhibited by the Seattle Police Department. In a 2019 “Use of Force” report released by the Seattle Police, the department revealed that it used force against Black residents at a disproportionately higher rate than white residents. According to the report, more than 31 percent of cases of police force used against males involved Black males, even though they make up around 7 percent of the city’s population. A subsequent “Disparity Review” that year found that residents of color were frisked at higher rates than white residents, even though white people were statistically more likely to be carrying a weapon, and that Seattle officers drew their guns in encounters with residents of color at a higher rate than with white residents.

In that same year, Starbucks donated two grants totaling $15,000 to promote “implicit bias training” within the Seattle police and help the department host its “2019 banquet gala,” a spokesperson told Salon. The company also “contributed $25,000 to the New York City Police Foundation to help provide protective equipment such as masks, gloves and hand sanitizer, and coordinated the delivery of meals to precincts.” The representative did not say whether there were any accountability mechanisms in place to ensure the money was used appropriately, but did note that the company does “not currently have any funding with the Seattle Police Foundation.”

When corporations like Target and Starbucks give money to police foundations, it not only presents an ideological contradiction; it also presents a conflict of interest within the department itself, noted Walby, of the University of Winnipeg. “We only hear about donations” to police “when corporations want to celebrate them,” he said. “They want that halo effect. However, there are lots of instances in which the transfers and purchases aren’t made public. It’s an even bigger problem if they’re spending it on money that pertains to the corporation.”

In 2014, for instance, the Los Angeles Daily News reported that the Los Angeles Police Foundation received $84,000 in donations from stun-gun maker TASER International (now known as Axon) prior to TASER’s contract with the LAPD. In another case, Motorola, a donor to the New York Police Foundation, was later awarded several NYPD contracts, as reported by Politico in 2017. “There’s a real potential for private influence in public policing through police foundations,” Walby said. “It’s appropriate to call this money dark money. Because we can’t really see this money going in. We can’t really see this money going out.”

As the negative impact of police violence and criminalization becomes increasingly apparent in communities of color, Walby and Hatch argued, continuing to donate to police undermines corporations’ claims to awakened social consciousness. “Police departments across this country have plenty of money,” Hatch said. “They are well-resourced in a way that undermines other programs that could lead to safer and healthier communities.”

“Any money for police reform just enhances the power base of police as an institution,” Walby said. “The institution can’t change conduct that is institutionalized. The funds should be given directly to community and social development groups, groups that actually have a chance of creating something like equality in our world.”

[adapembroke]

Talking Electional Astrology with Erin of Trine the Streets Astrology

I recently had the privilege of interviewing Erin of Trine the Streets Astrology about electional astrology. I am a huge fan of her electional astrology posts on Instagram, and I’m delighted to share our conversation with you.

Erin is an astrologer from Southern California who balances an astrology practice with a full-time job and being a mom. 

In this conversation, we talk about her background as a traditional astrologer, the Uranus/Saturn square that’s contributing its unique flavor to 2021 and 2022, and her tips for getting started with electional astrology.

Ada: You are in my personal top 5 list of astrologers I think of when I think of electional astrology. Your posts on Instagram are just so fantastic. 

How did you get into electional astrology?

Erin: Thank you so much for inviting me to do this. Electional astrology is one of the 3 branches from the Hellenistic period: Natal, Electional, and Horary. After I learned the “traditional rules” by practicing natal astrology I knew the next step in expanding my studies would be electional. I feel like they very much go hand in hand. The 3 branches are very enjoyable to study together. Also, as my friend Kate brought to my attention one night, electional astrology gives you a sense of control that just isn’t there with natal astrology. 

You don’t like the current planetary weather? Electional astrology allows you to wait for something better. 

Ada: I love that philosophy! One of the things I appreciate about your work is that you’re so grounded in tradition, and you’re not fatalistic about it. When I read your stuff, I feel like the emphasis is on: What do we do with this?

I love traditional astrologers, but it seems to me that your type of pragmatism is unusual. 

What got you interested in traditional astrology?

Erin: [laughs] t’s a balance for sure to use traditional astrology and not come across as pragmatic. I definitely got exposed to traditional astrology through Chris Brennan’s The Astrology Podcast, then I realized the amount of ancient texts available which I’m still enthralled by.  I am also a huge fan of Ben Dykes and am looking forward to starting Debra Houlding’s Horary class in February. I am thinking that will open some different perspectives on the traditional astrology I’ve learned. 

I know that a lot of traditional astrology comes across as very black and white, very good or bad, but I think it really depends on who’s reading the chart and adding their own touches.  

So I’m still very interested in studying the subject, and I have much more to learn. I always think I’d like to learn some more modern techniques, but then something about the ancient stuff sucks me back in and has my full attention. I enjoy studying and practicing astrology that I discovered at a time when I needed a hobby so it’s worked out pretty well for me I think. 

Ada: The subtitle of Chris Brennan’s book on Hellenistic astrology is “The Study of Fate and Fortune.” Fate is a big subject that always comes up in discussions of traditional astrology. 

What is your position on fate, and how does it come into your practice?

Erin: I think of the positions of the planets as an omen of things that may happen on earth. And I relay information that way when dealing with astrology for someone else. I think there is always free will, choices to be made that don't set the astrology in stone. Which is why it’s such a powerful tool. It can influence the decisions you make and the paths you take. Each chart has a promise,  a path of least resistance, and if you’re not aware of this it will seem fated, but awareness of the natal chart shines light on the options. 

However, some of the techniques such as zodiacal releasing when used kind of freak the free will out of me at times. Even still I do believe there’s always a choice, a response, that changes things up. I don’t think there’s anything in any chart that can’t be worked with and shaped to better suit the native. 

Ada: How have you been handling the astro weather in 2021? Have you been working with the Uranus/Saturn square, or do you prefer to focus on the traditional seven planets? 

Erin: I do focus on the seven traditional planets especially when looking at a natal chart. I always include outer planets when considering transits and I don’t ignore them for electional purposes. I think the tension of the Saturn/Uranus square in the air has been a prominent mood in our society, a very obvious battle of responsibility and freedom going on, a fixed square, too--both sides standing their ground. The conflicts and topics are very stressful to me, actually, and I just try to stay busy and healthy. 

Ada: You mentioned that the Uranus/Saturn square is a fixed square. I have 5 planets and my AC/DC axis in fixed signs, so the fixity of that aspect feels like business as usual for me. 

You’ve mentioned to me that you identify as a mutable person. I’m curious how the fixity of that transit feels to you? 

Erin: Yes, I do think I am pretty noticeably mutable. Though I do have a fixed chart ruler in Aquarius, and Venus in Taurus is the most dignified planet in my chart. I have mutable angles, one of which houses my sun and mercury. 

It’s really longevity. I really feel like can’t we just be on a new chapter already? Now that could very well be just that slower moving planets are involved in the square or the fixity of the whole thing. Hopefully, it leads to lasting results though. 

Ada: What is your relationship with Uranus and Saturn like overall?

Erin: Well, I do have Uranus in the 1st house, so I’m very random and abrupt. But as for Saturn, I am so grateful for Saturn. I have Saturn in the 12th where he rejoices. Maybe he keeps my hidden enemies quiet. 😂 He’s really been easier on me than I’ve seen others experience,  which makes me lean even heavier on sect. 

Ada: I’m guessing you have a day sect chart where Saturn isn’t as difficult to work with? 

Erin: Yes! I do have a day chart, though my sun is in the 7th. So, it’s darn close. 

I really love clients in their Saturn return having Saturn explained to them and knowing they feel a lot better after understanding. For me, I’ve come to enjoy solitude more than the company of others, and this came with age so that’s something I credit to Saturn.

Ada: I reached out to you to do this interview with me because my Patreon patrons have developed an interest in electional astrology, and I wanted them to hear from someone who specializes in it.

One of my patrons would like to know about times when electional astrology has worked well for you personally and when it hasn’t met your expectations.

Erin: You know sometimes you didn’t know you needed an election and life just happens. So when something good happens I always pull the chart of the moment to see what it’s looking like. Same when something unfavorable happens. That way when I do have something to prepare for. I know what has worked out better in the past. The chart for the beginning of anything is known as an inception. And the one thing that comes to mind is starting something with a particularly bad inception. I was buying a car online and completed the process and looked at the chart of the moment as soon as I finished. I think mercury was in retrograde, angular malefics. It was a chart I would’ve avoided had I prepared. Well, long story short I didn’t end up with the car due to an odometer discrepancy, which, of course, I’m glad I didn’t buy a car with that issue, but I really did want to make the purchase. So the outcome definitely wasn’t what I wanted.

Electing and being patient has almost always had a better outcome than when I do things hastily. I’ve learned parties or social events I host are so much more enjoyable when elected or at the very least the condition of the moon is considered. So, that’s always worth an election to me. A lot of time, the time frame is small and you have to work with what you have, but I think working with the most decent election in said time frame is better than using no election for things that matter to you. 

Ada: What do you recommend for people who are interested in getting into electional astrology and are overwhelmed by the available resources and techniques? Where do you suggest they start?

Erin: I would recommend technique wise learning to identify maltreatment and  bonification, Chris Brennan’s explanation of this in his book is very digestible and includes visuals. It’s an ancient concept, so it can be hard to grasp by reading translations. He breaks it down very well. it’s important because when electing there are certain things you will want bonified and things that can’t be maltreated. As well as quickly identifying applying and separating aspectsFor some reason that second one was harder for me than it should’ve been. 

If you have knowledge of dignities and good and bad houses the next step would be to study the stuff that goes on in your own life. Try electing small things and see how it worked. Adjust as needed. I still do this. 

As far as books, Ben Dykes (of course) “Choices and Inceptions” on traditional electional astrology.  I am also willing to tutor on the subject. Natal Astrology is extremely popular and knowledge of it is very sought after. I’d love to help someone understand some electional stuff though, it’s an equally powerful tool. 

Ada: Do you have anything exciting coming up that you’d like to share? 

Erin: I actually just got a website and I am really hoping to devote some time to blogging on there so checking that out will encourage me to write more. 

I currently offer natal and electional services as well as tutoring through the website, and I am fairly active on Instagram. I post some positive elections for the month ahead with an explanation of what makes them positive, so check that out as well. 

Ada: Thank you so much for having this conversation with me! I’m looking forward to watching your blog as it develops.

[gongju-juice]

9. Once Upon a Southern Night

Not So Far-Fetched

Warnings: SMUT, language, fluff, and a little angst

The wedding was absolutely perfect. Of course, Alice designed the entire affair, everybody else but you and Jasper a slave to her incessant ordering.

You got married on a sunny day back in the country, just a few miles Jasper’s old home town which was nestled far out into secluded woods with a grand, wooden barn and southern mansion nearby a quiet stream

Your dress was sleeveless and made of immaculate white silk that trailed behind you in the rose petal walkway to your groom, standing under a flower arch of candles and flowers. Alice, Rosalie, and Amelia were your bridesmaids—and Ivy, though she whined and cried from home—was not invited.

And when the wedding was over, Jasper flew you out to Havana where a pastel yellow house waited on the shoes of the beach. Little antique cars zoomed past on the streets, people danced in skimpy swimsuits, lovers toured the old buildings, hands entwined.

But you weren’t even interested in all of that. That was second priority. All you wanted was to be underneath the man you’d been lusting for over two years now. And he seemed to sense your urgency, for he immediately rushed the both of you to your villa without any side trips or excursions.

He got busy taking care of the luggage and dealing with the house attendants as they stocked the kitchen with food. Meanwhile, you made a nest of the bathroom. 

Dropping your suitcase on the tiled floor, you laid out all your supplies and filled the tub with bubbles and hot water. Alice and Rosalie had packed an “essential” bag of lingerie, but you thought it would be best to save it for later. Tonight, there would be no lace or fancy ribbons. You would be yourself, and you would reveal yourself to your husband just like you shamefully imagined yourself doing before. 

You opened the french style bathroom doors and stepped into the humid room. The ceiling fan whirred uselessly overhead, creating more noise than comfort, adding only to your anxiety and nervousness. You tightened your arms around your waist and moved forward.

Jasper was on the other side of the room staring out over the balcony. The moon shone down on his wavy hair, creating a silvery effect that slowly faded into the warm candlelight of the bedroom. 

When he turned around, you were already tugging at the ties of your robe. The candles flickered and in a heartbeat, he was standing in front of you, his icy breath on your lips. He lowered your hands and began undoing the fabric himself.

To his delight, there was nothing underneath. It was silent as he took in your bare form, his piercing gaze sweeping over the hills of your breast, the curvature of your hips and thighs. Never before had you felt so exposed, so completely and utterly vulnerable and especially nervous.

What if you did something wrong? What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if you accidentally humiliated yourself?

“Y/N,” he hummed, putting his hands on the top of your shoulders. “I can feel everything you feel. And, you’re worried. I won’t go any further until you tell me you’re ready. We can stop now, and I won’t touch you like that at all, if that’s what you want. I just want you to be okay.”

You bit your lip but vehemently shook your head. Of course you were nervous. It was your wedding night. To not feel anything at all was a sign of trouble. 

But you wanted him. Your feeling of desire overwhelmed any sense of anxiousness, and it made you breathless with how tangible it all seemed. It was often you could lay awake at night and think of being with him. With seven other vampires around, your every move was heard and monitored even if they didn’t intend to invade your privacy. And Jasper sat on the edge of your bed as you slept, too traditional to venture under the covers most of the time. The want had been building and boiling inside of you, waiting to be unleashed.

“I want you,” you whimpered. “Please, I can’t wait any longer.”

Gracefully, he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the canopied bed where he had already rearranged the pillows at least twice. 

Perhaps, you thought, he was nervous too.

But before you could contemplate this theory any longer, his eyes dropped dangerously to the apex of your thighs where your arousal had obscenely gathered. He licked his lips and cradled your hips with his strong arms. 

“Fuck, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since you walked down that aisle,” he declared, admiring your writhing regions in his deepest drawl yet. It was funny, the more excited Jasper became, the thicker his accent became. 

Before he continued, however, he began by kissing every inch of your skin. He started from the vein just behind your left ear before making his way down the crevice of your collarbones, down the valley of your breasts, slowly and teasingly trailing down to the place you really wanted him to be.

But once he made it to your pelvic bone, he placed your legs over his shoulders, a smirk on his face. You’re sure you were wide-eyed, your features twisted into a blissful grimace of unfulfilled need and throbbing ache.

He delved his tongue into your folds, sucking and kissing hungrily like a predator bearing down on its prey. His eyes darkened into a shade of burnt umber. It must’ve been so tempting to be that close to all those vital vessels and not give in to the burning instinct to drink you dry. Instead, he channeled all of that desire and yearning into eating your pussy like a starved man.

“Jasper,” you screamed, “Oh god, I—you’re so—it’s so—”

“You’re feeling everything I’m feeling,” he admitted, ripping through the buttons of his shirt. “And everything I’m feeling is you.”

You understood. It was a continual, never-ending loop of love and pleasure that he had shared with you. This was exaltation, better than any human drug or stimulant. It was just you and your husband making love for the first time, consummating your marriage as countless other lovers had done before but infinitely different and unique.

“I can’t take it anymore! Please, just do it! I want you inside me so badly, Jas,” you hyperventilated as you assisted him as he undid his belt and zipper, the rest of his offensive attire falling to the floor. Now there was nothing standing in between you and your man.

“Patience, darlin’,” he hummed, pushing you up against the headboard in a way that did not seem so patient in itself. By this point, your vision was beginning to go white from the sheer excitement, and in that moment, you hated him for deriving you from the immediate pleasure. He was taking his time, savoring the image of your desperate expressions in his photographic mind.

He pressed his cock unto your clit, rubbing tiny little circles with the tip of his dick—only contributing to your frustration and utter annoyance. 

“Just do it, please! I want you to fucking ruin me.”

His eyes widened. “My baby girl has a dirty mouth, doesn’t she? I’ll have to deal with that later, but since you asked so nicely—”

He thrust into you suddenly, knocking the air sensuously from your lungs. Your fingers crept up to his hair, grabbing a palmful to yank and hold on to. The pain was noticeable, but somehow you suspected he had lessened the intensity by using his ability. He stilled inside you, brushing his lips against yours as he waited.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a while.

“Yes.”

He began moving, his thrusts deep but firm as he pinned you down in the warm candlelight. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting brought heat to your cheeks. It was so delicious and utterly filthy that tears accumulated in your eyes. He uttered a string of curses in your ear, quiet and intended only for you. 

“This sopping pussy, so wet. So sweet. You want me to fix for ya, darlin’? Does it feel good when I’m stroking you like this?”

It was so startling and unlike what you imagined. Jasper had always been the quiet Cullen, the one who never spoke unless spoken to. Even in your relationship, he opted to listen to your voice rather than lead the conversation. It was something you thought would carry over into his bedroom tendencies. But here he was, spitting naughty, dangerous words to you, unabashedly and so god damn sexy. 

His pace changed. Now it was fast and shallow. You looked down to where your bodies connected, your arousal dripping down onto the cotton sheets and shining against his lower half. You cried into his throat, trying to hide your face.

“No, Y/N,” he commanded, “Look at me. Look at what I’m doing to you. I want to watch you cum for me. Look into my eyes.”

You did as he said, and it was utterly too much. He growled as you came undone underneath the sheets. His seed, slightly warm, gushed inside you, filling your womb with his love. Your tongues clashed together as he bared his hands on the mattress and hunched over you.

You laid together in the romantic darkness, your head relaxed against his chest. You could hear cars honking in the streets, music floating up from the partying crowds below. It was so tranquil and perfect that if a hurricane blew over the island in that instant, you truly believed you wouldn’t care. All the while, his breathing slowed in your ear—not out of necessity—but from pure leisure.

“I can’t believe,” you started before taking a deep breath and starting over, “I can’t believe you waited over a century and a half to be with me. With someone you never met. I feel like I’ve robbed you years of laughter and joy when you should have been out living your life. If I had been there, then Maria wouldn’t have. . .she wouldn’t have—”

He sat up suddenly, bringing you with him against the headboard. 

“All of it, all of the years of waiting and suffering—every painful moment of it was worth it. It groomed me to become the man I am now. I used to be cold, unsympathetic, and callous. I had a backward ideology and knew not how to love another person for I could not even love myself.” he placed his large hand over yours, brushing the iridescent diamond band glimmering colorfully in the candlelight.

“But Carlisle and Esme, all of my adopted siblings—they taught me to cherish myself, even in spite of all my flaws. They never gave up on me when I struggled with my thirst, and they never judged me for the life I used to have. Little did I know, you had made your second arrival in the world not long after. I was learning to love, and well, you were learning to live.”

“The way your mother looks at you, Y/N, it’s a look of pure love and adoration. I decided then when I first sat at your dinner table that I would never let anything happen to that bond. I would protect you with my life. You were the final piece to my heart, darlin’. I had learned to love myself, but I didn’t trust myself. It wasn’t until you realized I was capable of loving others, that I could control myself enough around people.”

You didn’t realize you were crying but you were. Tears streamed down your face, some rolling down your cheeks and others falling unto his skin. 

“I don’t care what Edward believes.You are capable of loving in any way you choose; as a friend, as a brother, as a son—”

“As a husband?”

You smiled. “Yes. And, maybe, if you wanted—as a father.”

He froze, his golden eyes widened in surprise. “You mean. . .you want to adopt?”

“We could if we wanted,” you whispered quietly. “But Ava told me something about witches, something I thought you should know.”

He nodded, beckoning you to continue.

“Witches can have children with humans, vampires, werewolves, and shapeshifters. Because of our magic, it is immediately passed on to the offspring so that the children automatically retain human characteristics until they are old enough to learn what they are. And as for me, as long as I choose, I will never age. Of course, if we do have children, then I might need to create an illusion to change my appearance a little so people won’t be sus—”

He pulled you to his lips, and once again the two of you were reunited. It felt warm in his arms. Safe. 

“I would be honored,” he answered breathlessly. “Perhaps that dream of our farm life isn’t too far-fetched at all.”

“Oh no, it’s totally far-fetched,” you cried, laughing. “Yes, I grew up in Alabama. Yes, we’re southerners at heart. But I do not want to smell like cattle and chase chickens around for all of eternity. Maybe let’s just get a summer farm and we can have people to maintain while we’re gone.”

He shook his head, laughing, as you cradled his chin in your hand. 

“We’ll need a big house for the farm I plan to create with you, Mrs. Whitlock,” he drawled seductively, grabbing your hand by the wrist and bringing it slowly to his chest. 

You moved him so that you were on top, straddling him, the sheets pooling at your waist. 

“Well then, cowboy, we’d better get started.”

And this completes this series! Hope you enjoyed! I’m planning on doing some blurbs and drabble with our happy couple in the future. . .send me some ideas, will ya?

Twilight, despite all of its many problems and kinks, is one of my favorite nostalgic stories to this day. Jasper has always been my favorite character, (Seth Clearwater next) and since we’re all either quarantined or protesting, I thought I could bring light to our lives in such a dark time.

Part Six   Part Seven   Part Eight

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight scenarios #twilight imagines #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #edward cullen #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #alice cullen

[thatbanjobusiness]

I want to briefly talk bluegrass fashion.

I appreciate and enjoy bluegrass from its roots to its present. I think creative growth over the decades has allowed for incredible and diverse music. Whether it’s disco influenced jamming, rock-bluegrass fusions, or classical music inspiration, there’s cool stuff to be had anywhere in the timeline. That said, one thing I wish contemporary bluegrass bands did more of was take fashion tips from the first generation bands.

In the 1920s, barn dance type radio programs featuring hillbilly music and rural style entertainment became popular. Some of these radio shows like the WLS National Barn Dance and WSM Grand Ole Opry had stage shows where you could watch the program in person. Costuming and presentation of the performing cast tended to be rough rube depictions, even caricatures, of rural people. George D. Hay, who founded and hosted the Grand Ole Opry, himself named the bands things like “The Gully Jumpers” and “The Possum Hunters.”

But when Bill Monroe and his Blue Grass Boys auditioned and were made members of the Grand Ole Opry in October 1939, Monroe detested this rough presentation that could quickly engender degrading opinions of hillbilly stereotypes. He opted instead to dress in a more classy manner. His band came out in white shirts, ties, jodhpurs, and boots.

This is something Bill Monroe bragged about even as the decades went on. For Monroe, it was important to dress well and in dignity when you got onstage. You respect yourself and you respect audiences when you come out in your best.

By the mid-1940s Bill Monroe’s band had accumulated a number of musical features that today our ears would recognize as bluegrass. It’s interesting to notice that bandmembers who left Monroe and went on to do their own bluegrass music often... took with them some of Bill’s ideas about stage presentation. Flatt & Scruggs, when they left Monroe and started their own band, are sometimes seen in early images wearing jodhpurs.

Early bluegrass bands on occasion might have had an “exception” to the rule. At the very least, you see this in Flatt & Scruggs in the late 1940s and first half of the 1950s. But I believe what they were doing reflected a trend that existed in the broader hillbilly music industry. I’d like investigate that more later to understand better. Unlike today’s concerts that involve music and only music, in those times, comedy was a more expected part of a show. White banjo performers, prior to bluegrass, were essentially all comedians; and in ensembles, someone (as I’ve often seen, the bass player) might take a comedy role. So you could’ve gotten a well-dressed band... and then the bassist dressed in comic rube garb.

That said, each first generation bluegrass band ended up creating their own unique presentation. It’s variation around a theme: dress up nice to respect audiences and put your best foot forward. How you present yourself onstage has impact. Audiences aren’t coming out to see some tattered everyday person; they’re coming out here to listen to music stars.

And so you see bands and acts coordinating their outfits in classy ways like...

(The 1958 screencap above doesn’t 100% evoke this, but I’ve noticed Flatt & Scruggs in the mid-50s through mid-60s would often do a 2-2-2 coordination. Everyone would wear hats. The band leaders would wear matching jackets and string ties. Two band members would wear the same collared shirts and the same string ties as the leaders. The last two band members, who were a duet and comedy team, would wear vests or different hats or some other distinguishing marker. Everyone’s clothes would carry the same overall color theme. Very well-thought out wardrobe presentation.)

SEE? EVERYONE IS DRESSED UP AND LOOKS GOOD.

You can tell they’re an act. You can tell they’re professional. You can tell, the second they step up to perform, they mean business. It helps elevate them into STARS.

As new generations took up bluegrass, the social context of how to dress changed. The Folk Revival of the 1960s brought many Northerners, urban people, and hippies into the bluegrass world. I haven’t read up as much on this part of bluegrass history, but I believe it was starting here that new bluegrass ensembles quit thinking about dressing up to be onstage. I’ve certainly seen photos of the early bluegrass festivals of the late 60s and 70s, and some second generation bluegrass groups would wear extremely casual things onstage. Other groups would coordinate by wearing the same collared shirt, which meant they were matching, but also (to me) making less of a “statement.”

It makes sense. First generation bluegrass performers were seeking to dress to impress and get away from crappy hillbilly stereotypes. Later generations of bluegrass performers might not have been from the South or a country lifestyle at all, and would feel more inclined to try to evoke a “working class” vibe by wearing everyday or ragged clothing. Today, I feel many bands do this to evoke their own form of an authentic stage presentation.

This means that today, many groups wear rather casual clothing. I feel I see this especially in jamgrass. And for the record, these are all VERY talented, well-known ensembles; I’m not comparing pros to locals or something.

And they’re dressed better here than what I’ve seen for bands at concerts.

I think it’s ironic that Bill Monroe, the Father of Bluegrass, sought to escape tattered clothing that actual country people wouldn’t wear on the fields, let alone onstage... only to have bluegrass musicians half a century later revert to costuming concepts Monroe had rejected. Today’s clothes of course aren’t the torn-up straw hat and single-strapped overalls of the early Opry, but it’s the same idea: dress down to look “country.” I don’t think there’s any objective disrespect to bluegrass’s history to dress like that, but I do think there’s a point that everyday clothes don’t make as much of an impression for your band.

Now of course not all groups have gone this route. In any generation of bluegrass, you still see bands that dressed more “traditionally.” But it’s certainly been a trend—since at least the 70s—to see bluegrass groups, either at the local or professional level, wearing everyday clothes. Get jeans, maybe some flannel, and you’re good to go. I see it oh-so-often now.

It doesn’t resonate as much to me. I get the point of their presentation, trying to evoke a casual non-mainstream working class image, but I feel there’s other ways you can set a vibe for your ensemble that doesn’t come off as lazy, everyday, or unnoticeable.

I’d be much more interested seeing:

YEAH!!!!! YOU GO RHONDA VINCENT AND THE RAGE!

I think it’s interesting to see this mindset about proper bluegrass performance attire recur in interviews. I’ve watched a number of 2000s and 2010s interviews for first and early second generation bluegrass performers, and one common thing the old-timers complain about is how people don’t dress up anymore. They feel it doesn’t respect the audience or make a good impression for the ensemble. How you present yourself onstage is half of the performance; it can be an effective means of enhancing a show when you do it well.

And I’ve seen it in conversations with people like Steve Martin, showing how in the 2010s, there’s still negative “hillbilly” images to butt against:

INTERVIEWER: Does it bother you that quite possibly the most famous banjo song in pop culture is "Dueling Banjos" from "Deliverance"?

MARTIN: It doesn't bother me at all. Actually I might argue with that because another most famous song would be the theme from "The Beverly Hillbillies" or "Foggy Mountain Breakdown," the song from "Bonnie and Clyde." So there are a couple of 'most famous' banjo songs.

INTERVIEWER: But still… the theme song from "The Beverly Hillbillies"?

MARTIN: It's just something we have to face. And everything changes. That's why I always wear a suit and tie when I play bluegrass.

INTERVIEWER: Do you feel like you're helping changing the face of bluegrass?

MARTIN: I don't know. That's what I do when I go on stage. I don't make hillbilly jokes or things like that. I'm just playing it as the person I am, not pretending to be anything else. The band I play with, we all dress in suits and ties.

One of my favorite contemporary bands also has one of my favorite wardrobes. What they choose to wear is a huge element of their stage presentation, amplifies their show powerfully, and contributes to the entire vibe of their music product. Good costuming can be part of marketing, and they market themselves spectacularly.

The Dead South almost marries the best of both worlds between “dress up” and “dress as the everyday man.” Their clothes aren’t “formal” in the sense of suits and ties. There’s more casualness to it. At the same time, what they wear—blatantly Southern and Western gear that matches with variation across the band—isn’t something everyday Joe or Janet would put on to go to Walmart. It’s got a little more of a “period” feel to it while also being modern enough to feel authentic. Altogether, it makes them classy without being formally classy.

It’s perfect for them. This is a “controversially” bluegrass band who knows that, while they play string band music, its creative reach extends beyond what you’d expect of something labeled “bluegrass.” They have called themselves “a rock band without a drummer, a bluegrass band without a fiddler.” Elsewhere, they’ve marketed themselves as “a gold rush vibing four-piece acoustic set from Saskatchewan [that] infuse[s] the genre's traditional trappings with an air of frontier recklessness, whiskey breakfasts and grizzled tin-pan showmanship.” This is a band I’ve always said plays to a “degenerate” image, songs filled with cowboy shootouts, barfights, gun-wielding robberies, alcoholic nights, and more.

And doesn’t their wardrobe evoke that spotlessly? There is CLASS and INTENTION with how they present themselves, to the point the band almost always stands in that order left-to-right, and has used their unique wardrobe choices for album covers and stage design.

Check out how the stage’s stained glass window lights behind them evoke both images from their songs, and have the tie, beard, skull, string tie theme on them. Every band member stands in front of his respective window.

That is *WAY* cooler, more effective, more impacting, more resonating, more memorable, more vibing, than simply tossing on my latest t-shirt. 

(And yes, the last photos are from when I went to their concert last year. One of the best concerts I’ve EVER been to, and it’s because they knew how to put on a SHOW.)

Performance entails everything from the sounds you make to the personality you evoke to the clothes you wear. It’s why I prefer the first generation bluegrass bands’ approach to “dress well” over some modern string band trends. And again, bands like The Dead South show alternate ways you can dress up and rock out.

#long post #that banjo business #thatbanjobusiness #Country Music History #Haddock Deep Dives #General Banjo Business #The Dead South #Bill Monroe #daddy boi billiam #Flatt & Scruggs #bluegrass #first gen bluegrass