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aprilthewriter · 2 years

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Best books I read in 2021 (and also in the 2nd photo, 2020, bc I wanted to do this last year but forgot)--none of which were published in 2020 or 2021, haha!

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver: This is one of those books where the voices (as the story is told in different first-person perspectives depending on the chapter) are so, so strong! The story follows the sisters and mother in a evangelical Baptist missionary family (there is their awful preacher father too but thankfully we never read anything from his pov) in the Belgian-occupied Congo of the early 1960s.

An Altar in the World by Barbara Brown Taylor: Technically started reading this in Sep. 2020 when the Seattle Service Corps received it as one of our faith formation books. But since I was also reading something else at the time I set it aside and picked it up again during Lent this year. It lays out really fresh ways to think about spirituality and spiritual practices, ways of being grounded and finding God.

A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans (by the end of these lists you'll realize yes, I read every single one of RHE's works for the first time only after she passed away--before, I had just followed her on Twitter and had seen her speak at the Evolving Faith Conference): Rachel manages to poke fun at Biblical literalism while also doing seriously good Bible interpretation in her journey of exploring what the Good Book says about womanhood.

For All Who Hunger by Emily Scott: An expertly written memoir with beautiful theology embedded in each moment. It tells the story of how the church Emily helped plant, St. Lydia’s Dinner Church, came to be. It is a book about "gestation," of dreaming and trial and error, and God creating something from nothing.

Inspired by Rachel Held Evans: If you struggle with some stories in the Bible, whether it's because they are horrific (the genocide narratives in the Hebrew Bible) or a little too far-fetched (miracle stories, or the big fish that swallowed Jonah) this book is for you. She doesn't dismiss any questions and doubts but opens up a way to view the Bible with imagination and wonder, alongside the guidance of scholarship.

You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost) by Felicia Day: Although the memoirs I read are typically spiritual and deal with heavier subject matter (Felicia does talk about depression and gaming addiction, but that isn't the majority of the content), this was a nice change of pace! She is so funny and I could relate to a lot of her struggles as an artist (though she is a filmmaker/actor so the field is different than publishing).

The Face of Water by Sarah Ruden: I don't think I realized just how different Biblical Hebrew and Greek are than English before I read this book. Sarah came from a background of translating Classics (non-Christian Greek and Latin literature), and is also a Quaker, so her perspective on Bible translation is very interesting, and she even puts forth her own translations of several passages that made me think about them in a different way. It's very dense and I didn't always understand everything she was talking about, but I'm glad I read it.

Persepolis, French Edition, by Marjane Satrapi: I read Persepolis in English when I was in 9th grade. When my sister told me the original was in French and that there was also a French film adaptation, I became fascinated with all of Satrapi's work, and even did a project on her my first semester of college. I bought this big lovely French edition when I was studying abroad in Paris in 2018, and finally got to reading it a few weeks ago (got behind on my books-for-fun list when I was in college). It tells the story of Satrapi's life growing up in Iran in the late 70s/early 80s, her adolescence in Austria where her parents sent her to escape the fundamentalist regime, and her return to and young adult life in Iran in the late 80s/early 90s.

Ok, so the books from last year...

Undivided by Vicky Beeching: This tells the story of how Vicky, a prominent Christian singer/songwriter and journalist, came to terms with her lesbian identity, after years of disassociation to the point of her developing health issues. She writes so bravely about what internalized homophobia does to the mind, body, and soul of someone who is LGBTQ+, and how God led her on a journey towards affirming herself.

A Nearly Infallible History of Christianity by Nick Page: I bought this when I was in London in 2018. This book delivers a lot of fascinating facts about the Christian church's history along with a lot of dry British humor (making fun of organ music, for example). Definitely recommend to folks who want to learn church history but don't really want to read a textbook.

Out of Sorts by Sarah Bessey: I can never put anything by this woman down, period. Her style of writing is so inviting, she's just sitting beside me while we drink tea by a fireplace. She is so wise in talking about her winding spiritual journey and I especially loved the chapter "Obey the Sadness" where she states this beautiful truth: "[God's] sovereignty is redemption, it's not causation."

Faith Unraveled by Rachel Held Evans: This is Rachel's first memoir, where she talks about the issues that first kicked off her spiritual evolution-namely, the scientific theory of evolution, and the question of the eternal destiny of the "unsaved." I will never forget how she describes seeing the execution of a Muslim woman named Zarmina on TV. And I'll never forget her metaphor about the "cosmic lottery."

Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans: The experience of reading this memoir about Rachel's church experiences during a pandemic where I had not attended church in months was...interesting. I kind of got to live my greatest longings through her as I read--taking communion, being in community with others. It's so well-written. I definitely want to visit the St. Bernard Abbey in Cullman, Alabama, which she writes about in this and Year of Biblical Womanhood.

The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr: As I face the task of expanding my senior honors thesis into a full memoir, I need all the advice I can get, and Mary Karr knows what she's talking about (has several bestselling memoirs). She offers really practical advice in how to engage more in sensory detail, how to write through a scene when takes a lot of emotional work, and how to cultivate voice (which is what a memoir lives and dies on).

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel: Yes, I read a book about a post-pandemic world during the time in the pandemic where we did not yet even have vaccines. It was actually strangely comforting--their pandemic is a lot worse than ours, with a 99% death rate. And the book isn't really about a pandemic. It's about the possibility that there can be joy and art after destruction, that there is a point to creating art even if no one/not a lot of people will see it. The writing is so detailed and engaging and the characters are so well developed. There's also this interesting element of the plot where there's a cult run by a man who is fascinated by both the book of Revelation and an unpublished science fiction comic strip about a man named Doctor Eleven. I'm watching the TV adaptation of the series as it's been premiering on HBO Max.

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years

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Six countries of your choice (separate) with an S/O who grew up in poverty and has vehemently clung to their stingy ways even after moving in with their boyfriend. Like, the countries will leave the lights on in a room they’re not in and their s/o will damn near teleport to the scene of the crime saying stuff like “Where the heck do you think we live, Versailles? How will we afford to pay for food?” Then gets embarrassed when they remember how wealthy the countries are.

HAHAHA! THIS IS ME!

Ok, I didn't grow up poor, poor but that's mainly because some of my other family members helped my parents out, but even they say things like "save money with coupons and sales! We need to turn lights off!" Then again... We're the bottom of the middle class... Which can still... Suck....

:')

Russia (of course), Japan, Romano, Hungary, Austria, And Canada With a S/O who's stingy!

Russia (ask me to pick he will most certainly be here):

He thinks it's rather cute they care so much about saving money.

Will sometimes purposely leave an extra light on to see them get riled up over it.

He thinks it's even cuter when they stop mid sentence and remember his wealth status.

Will tell them it's no big deal and thank them for reminding him anyway.

Even if he is rich, he shouldn't be leaving lights on. It'll burn the bulbs out... And no one wants to go out in the snow to get more...

Japan:

He thinks it's quite nice of them to be so concerned with his electric bill.

He also thinks they sound like China because he's like this too!

Will just nod and turn the light off

Will give them some reassurance if they get embarrassed over it.

But they're right. Money is money, and the world forbid something happens and he needs to be even more savy.

Romano:

He partially freaks out as soon as he gets called out on.

Not on his S/O but getting in trouble with them makes him immediately turn the light off.

They're both red in the face when it dawns on them that he can actually afford the bills.

Now he's laughing about it.

He's not trying to be mean, but he does poke fun of his S/O acting like a mom!

Hungary:

She jumps at their sudden appearance, and apologies.

She might have the money for it, but that's no excuse!

She knows what it's like to be in her S/O's shoes they once wore, so she understands.

Tries and help them laugh about it to get over it.

She's just happy she can take care of them ♥️

Austria:

Will immediately say something like (and oh gerd I can hear him in his silly posh accent) "I don't know why it's such a big deal, I can afford these things Ya' know..."

(I can still hear his voice ahhhh-) He gets a bit pouty

Like a small child but flicks the light off none the less.

He's not going to remember to turn lights off so his S/O is going to have to learn quickly to just leave it be or turn them off themselves.

It's not exactly his fault, he's just very use to being waited on.

Canada:

He nods and flicks it off, not really giving a second thought.

He lives kind of basically anyway, and he was taught manners and stuff.

He might also be a little picky over certain things as well.

So it surprised him when his S/O caught him leaving the lights on.

He chuckled a bit when his lover remembered how rich he was. Which is extremely easy to forget since he lives in a house that fits two, plus a polar bear. So it's a rather small home.

#hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia russia #hetalia japan #hetalia romano #hetalia hungary #hetalia canada #hetalia austria

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365days365movies · 2 years

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War November I: The Last of Mohicans (1992) - Recap: Part Two

What exactly is the Seven Years’ War?

This is the moment where I bemoan the American education system, yaddayaddayadda, we all know the deal. But OK, what exactly is it? We learn about it very little in primary schooling, since we focus more on the Revolutionary War most of the time. Which sucks, because this is the FIRST war that crosses oceans! Arguably, this is the first intercontinental war the world had ever seen!

See, as the kinda self-centered nation that we are...OK, the VERY NARCISSISTIC nation that we are, we only focus on the American campaign of this war, which was the French and Indian War. And that actually lasted 9 years, not seven. But this war not only involved England and France, but several other nations. Fighting with the British were the American colonies, the Holy Roman Empire, Portugal, and a bunch of territories that would eventually become Germany (Prussia, Brunswick, Schaumburg, Hesse). And against them with the French were the various Native American nations, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Austria, and India. Yeah, India!

In fact, this war was fought ALL OVER the goddamn place. As each empire attempted to spread their influence at lightning speed, battles were fought in most of North America, the Caribbean, ALL of Europe, Argentina, Senegal, India, Sri Lanka, and the Phillipines. Yeah, uh, this was a HUGE-ass war! And the ending results were monumental.

See, by the time the British won (which they did), they had accomplished quite a few things. France and Spain lost ground in the United States, with France losing BIG, and being pushed solely west of the Mississippi, losing Louisiana in the process. They also lost their territory in Canada, India, and much of the Caribbean. Spain gave up Florida as well, and India gave up the entire eastern region (Bengal) to the British Empire. Yeah. This is the war that gave the UK control over India. Which went...awesome...

The Seven Years’ War is a major part of world history, and should be known as well as any other by your average American student. What’s worse, arguably, is the fact that there are so few films that cover this conflict. Outside of adaptations of The Last of the Mohicans, I was able to find 21 films that cover the whole thing. The most famous of these are TLotM and the classic Stanley Kubrick historical epic, Barry Lyndon.

And yes, this is on my list...even though it’s 3 hours long.

Eventually. I’ll get to it eventually. Anyway, with all of that said, let’s get back to this story, shall we?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap: Part Two

Cora makes her empassioned plea, tells Duncan to fuck off AGAIN (which is fantastic), then goes to make out with Hawkeye through the prison cell bars. And then, AS IF THAT WEREN’T ENOUGH, the French attacks the fort so badly, Munro is immediately forced to surrender. Which, again, actually happened! However...it’s about to take a turn. And it’s about to become a grisly part of military history.

See, Munro decides to surrender once he learns that Webb, the other general, has decided not to send him reinforcements, because ever British officer in this movie is an asshole, apparently. With this, and with the generous surrender terms provided by Montcalm, Munro decides to surrender to the French. This sits VERY poorly with Magua, who desperately wants to kill somebody, especially Munro.

Montcalm tries to talk him down, but Magua wants revenge for the death of his people, and especially for the death of his children and his enslavement by the Mohawk allied with Munro. His wife left him, his life was destroyed, and it’s all Munro’s fault! Yeah, shit, Magua’s gonna fucking destroy this dude, huh? Montcalm tells Magua that the French cannot break the terms of the surrender, and will not harm the British forces. But, uh...Magua ain’t French, now, is he?

The next day, the British forces and their allies are shepherded out of the fort unscathed, as promised. But as they walk through the upstate New York wilderness...

youtube

Looks like it’s ambush o’clock.

The Huron, led by Magua, come out of the forest and start attacking the troops, who are accompanied by the three Mohicans (one of whom is a prisoner). And it’s a LOT of Huron, all armed with guns and ready to kill. And lemme tell ya, they FUCK the British up. It’s a massacre...and it actually happened.

Yeah, in one of the most infamous events in the French and Indian War, and in the Seven Years’ War, the Native American allies of the French killed Munro’s men after they’d already surrendered. In reality, this was motivated by communication problems between Montcalm and the Native Americans, and happened within the fort. Munro wasn’t there at the time, and would die later that year of unrelated causes. However, in the movie...

Oh, shit, Magua made good on that fucking promise, huh? While Hawkeye and his family save the other Munros, and the Colonel gets his heart eaten (Jesus), the rest of the army gets slaughtered, with the exception of Duncan and some men. They all escape on canoes, pursued by the Huron, and Duncan STILL THREATENS TO KILL HAWKEYE. DUDE! NOT THE FUCKING TIME YOU ASS

Everybody escapes and hides in a cave behind a waterfall, and Duncan continues to be an asshole about BEING ALIVE! God, I hate this dude. They save his ass, AGAIN, and hide in the cave to throw the Huron off of their trail. Hawkeye tells Cora about her father, and she asks him not to tell Alice about it. However, Alice is clearly, like...NOT FUCKING OK RIGHT NOW, and almost walks straight into the waterfall before being saved by Chingachgook.

Realizing that their powder is soaked, Hawkeye and his family decide to take off in order to get more so that they can save them. He pledges to come back and find Cora, and then the three of them jump into the waterfall to escape. And at that point, well, the Huron find the Munros and Duncan and take them prisoner. They’re brought to the main camp of the Huron, and Magua consults with an elder chief, or sachem, speaking only in Huron. Just then, Hawkeye arrives in the camp, assaulted by the people there as an outsider and enemy. He makes it to the Sachem to address him himself, and tells them the truth about Magua’s ambush, with Heyward translating for him in French. He also offers himself in place of the girls.

Basically, Hawkeye and Magua both attempt individual diplomacy checks, and go up against each other. Hawkeye does OK, but Magua rolls a 16 and has a better bonus. The GM rules that Hawkeye be allowed to leave, Heyward will be brought back to the British, Alice will be given to Magua is right the wrongs done to him, and Cora will be burned alive. Damn, dude, that’s a roughie. However, Duncan...Duncan rolls a nat 20, because he translates the statement as sacrificing HIMSELF instead of Cora. Um...damn, dude. Fucking credit where credit’s due, holy shit.

He’s taken and burned, while Cora and Hawkeye are allowed to leave. Looking on from afar, Hawkeye shoots him dead, in order to put him out of his misery. Meanwhile, Uncas and Chingachgook look on as Magua takes Alice away to do God knows what. Uncas rushes in to intercept and save her, getting into a fight with Magua on his own. And it goes...poorly. Magua kills him and throws him OFF THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN.

Alice sees this happen, and walks to the cliff face. Magua tells her to come back, and Alice...OH FUCK WAIT

oh shit alice just jumped off a fucking cliff

That was...Jesus, man. And Cora saw that shit? Fuck me, man, that got brutal fuckin’ FAST! Chingachgook watches his son die, Cora watches her sister die, the sound mixing in this movie is FUCKING HORRIBLE...sorry, had to get that out. It’s SO BAD, guys. I had to change the volume on my TV, like, 20 times.

Chingachgook and Hawkeye catch up to Magua’s Huron party, and Chingachgook murders the ever-loving FUCK out of Magua, godDAMN

Cora and Hawkeye reunite, alive and severely traumatized, and they take off with Chingachgook and reconvene on a mountaintop. I have to turn the volume up again, because of that sound mixing issue, and we hear Chingachogook pray to the Great Spirit to watch over Uncas. He then declares himself Chingachgook...the Last of the Mohicans.

Roll credits.

Yeah, wow, that was...a lot in the last 30 minutes there.

I’ll talk more about this in a review post, but overall, I liked it...mostly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the ending music is SO LOUD, I have to turn down my TV again. The sound mixing...is garbage.

See you in the Review!

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mickstart · 3 years

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what do you think are some iconic/memorable schumi moments? i just got into f1 and would like to know more about him bc somehow i can’t really find anything like that about him.... just stats which are incredibly impressive but i can’t find anything about how he behaved or just anything about his personality..... thanks <3

:) Hi anon, thank you for unleashing the beast.

Ok I love you for asking me this thank you SO MUCH. Welcome to the circus I’m glad you’re here! Also yeah, Schumi is often talked about in terms of statistics and not as a human, Which is a shame bc like! Schumi is fascinating and the dynamics on the grid in late 90s F1 is so much fun! Also, this is mainly going to be late 90s -> early 2010s stuff bc I was born in 98 so uhhh I didn’t properly witness ANY 90s stuff and had to learn about it.

OK so I got super carried away but I’ve divided this into 3 sections: Drives/races that I think showcase some of his talents, human moments we need to talk about more, and Chaotic Little Bitch moments. The key thing to remember w/ Schumi is that he personally tends to be nice but as soon as you put him in a competition, Bastard Mode activates like a cat’s pupils going wide.

I am so sorry for the following short essay. Also some crashes are briefly mentioned but only ones with absolutely no injuries and there’s no details.

Chaotic Little Bitch Moments

Schumi debuted as a SUBSTITUTE driver for Jordan when one of their drivers was in police custody (yes. really.) The highest a Jordan had qualified all year was 10th and in his DEBUT at SPA, one of the toughest tracks, in the middle of the season, Schumi qualified that Jordan 7th! THEN his clutch failed before the first lap was even complete, but Benetton and Jordan WENT TO COURT to fight each other to sign him for their team before the next race in Monza. He couldn’t debut normally he HAD to cause a scene and set the tone.

The Red Strings of Fate: He qualified 7th, his iconic 7 starred helmet, his first victory next year was ALSO at Spa - his first complete race would be at Monza, Ferrari Holy Ground, and he finished 5th which 👀 1) he was immediately racing with The Greats. 2) Mr 5 Championships With Ferrari.

Winning a race by taking a stop and go penalty on the last lap, crossing the finish line in the pits, and making such a complicated argument about said penalty that in a hearing that was SUPPOSED to be Mclaren protesting the race result the stewards scrapped the entire penalty and the 3 who awarded it handed in their licenses??? Iconic.

Austria 2002 where Rubens was ordered to give the win to Michael. And then Michael fucking made him stand on the top step on the podium like “oh no no no RUBENS deserves this” and made a big SHOW out of it and its like “Michael stop you’re not making it heartwarming you’re making it WORSE Michael STOP” The Tension of germany 2010 podium VS the theatricality of THIS podium.

Team orders were banned because of this which also makes this indirectly responsible for Fernando Is Faster Than You having to be a coded message. You can’t escape him,

Blocking Alonso in Monaco qualifying and then, years later in 2010, overtaking Alonso technically illegally at Monaco (the race was ending under safety car, but the safety car doesn’t lead them over the line it pits and they’d crossed the safety car line and the regulations were NOT specific about the rules) and getting a 20 second penalty bc Damon Hill was a steward. Haunting FERNANDO specifically at Monaco like the ghost of christmas past? Getting a harsh penalty because ANOTHER driver he’d fucked over was a steward? Forcing the FIA to rewrite the rulebook to account for his nonsense when he was in his FOURTIES? I don’t know another chaos king.

Winning the 1995 championship by crashing into Damon Hill, getting AWAY with it for some reason, and then trying to do the same thing in 1997 to Villeneuve, failing to do so and simply rebounding off of him harmlessly, almost COMICALLY, and beaching his own car in a gravel trap at which point the FIA said “I have had ENOUGH of you Wacky Races Man!” and disqualified him from the entire championship

Forcing Mika off the track so bad at Spa 2000 that Mika realized the only way he was gonna be able to get past him was to re-invent the overtake and go for it whilst they were passing a backmarker. (The overtake itself is at 2:05 in the video but the build up to it is Important bc the key part it’s not just badass, it only happened bc Mika knew who he was dealing with.)

Spa 1998 was a Ridiculously Chaotic race it truly was the Mugello 2020 of its year, and after a crash at the start that took out almost the entire grid Schumi accidentally collided with Coulthard later in the race. (The teams used to have a spare car at every race then, so the race was able to continue after a restart.) This wasn’t a racing thing, Coulthard was getting lapped. So something in Schumi SNAPS, and he storms down the pitlane and tries to fight Coulthard while the mclaren and ferrari mechanics both hold him back and finally drag him away. He projected into the future, saw Coulthard was gonna talk non-stop shit about Seb, and acted accordingly.

Monaco 2012 Pole don’t talk to me about this I still can’t believe the audacity of this man to get the only pole of his comeback, at MONACO, at the ONE RACE where he had a 5 place grid penalty to take!!

In general, I know Cheating Bad but. I HAVE to admire the brainpower it must take to have the rulebook so memorized that whilst driving an F1 car Schumi could spot a loophole the size of the eye of a needle and then dance through it, forcing the FIA to add ANOTHER page to the rule book specially for him bc nobody else even REALISED that loophole existed.

Human Moments

A quick rant about Mika and Schumi’s entire friendship. After Spa 2000 Mika goes up to Michael, says something like “Don’t ever do that again” then they’re friends again. They had this mutual understanding that Racing was not Reality. This goes all the way back to their F3 days they were rivals AND friends for their entire career. They truly were the Sewis of the era if Sebastian was like 50% more evil. Their entire dynamic is “You’re the only motherfucker in this pit lane who can handle me”. Schumi would do some bullshit and every other driver would throw up their hands in frustration and Mika would just go “Okay” and drive better to put him in his place bc he was the only one who could keep up, and Schumi very visibly LOVED that he’s grinning after Mika owns his entire ass with that overtake at Spa. They were unstoppable force meets immovable object and I’m so sad their rivalry isn’t more talked about bc the way Mika is the only driver who can get him to behave like a normal human being is SO entertaining.

This is a sad one so I won’t link it but he started crying in the 2000 Monza press-conference with his brother and Mika when he equaled one of Senna’s records. The press kept trying to ask questions about it and Mika just has this death grip on his shoulder and tries to get them to stop or let them take a break and it’s so sad but also important to know about.

Once said he didn’t want Mick to race in F1 bc the pressure of his name would put Mick under so much stress and he wanted his son to be happy. (He fully supported Mick in his endeavors! But only after making absolutely sure it was what Mick wanted, and making sure he knew he could just race for fun if he wanted and it didn’t have to be F1)

This whole interview just after Mick was born with the Schumacher family. Special shout out to Gina on his head the entire video and also Corinna talking to the press while Michael is captivated by Mick. Me too Michael.

Once allegedly pleaded to take a stray kitten home from the track?

I reblogged this yesterday but. Sticking like glue to Sebastian at an F1 test and immediately being like “This is my new son he’s gonna go far”. There’s a lot of pictures out there also of Michael being a guest at the karting races Seb went to as a kid and baby Seb visibly losing his fucking mind at being given a trophy by his idol. Every day of my life I think about him trying to ruffle Seb’s hair through his helmet at Brazil 2012

WInning the championship in 2000. Him thanking the entire team individually and pausing mid-celebration to kiss his wife Corinna so tenderly it’s in the F1 opening. Also, the way it literally cuts from the rest of McLaren looking like they’re attending a funeral to Mika grinning at him and hugging him fucking SENDSSSSS me.

Schumi was a little shit in all the 2010-12 press conferences like, lowering Lewis’ chair, playing with a microphone wire, but ESPECIALLY corrupting baby Seb and getting him to mess with Nico Rosberg.

He’s just GOOFY! Like I refuse to let him be remembered as a terrifying force of nature he was so goofy kind of similarly to Seb. PLEASE watch this incredibly awkward interview he did with Coulthard on a golf buggy where they both had to pretend they hadn’t thought about murdering each other at least once. I think Sky F1 should force Brocedes to do this when covid’s over. “Do you mind if I drive?” “Yes.”

EDIT: I CANNOT BELIEVE I forgot the 1999 Canada press conference where Eddie Irvine and Mika Hakkinen get into a water fight and Schumi immediately grabs a towel and hides behind it and is like “I had NOTHING to do with it” 🥺 adorable, actually

A lot of people at Ferrari, including Rob Smedley (who was on the other side of the garage with Felipe Massa so not in his inner circle) have said that a lot of the success of the team came from Schumi’s LEADERSHIP more than anything, that he’d make the team get together to bond all the time. When Schumi moved to Ferrari in 1996 they were NOT dominant. He did the same thing Lewis did - went to a team that everybody said would be a huge mistake and helped build them up behind the scenes.

THIS bit of the Canada 2011 Rewind where his engineer gives him the strategy and he’s like “... OkaAaAaAay?” and then when it turns out to be the wrong strategy he cheerfully tells them it’s too late. Little shit.

Speaking of Mercedes I also wanna say that like. They were a MESS in 2012 and his car DNF’d because of a failing on their part MULTIPLE times. (In Canada qualifying his DRS was stuck open and they couldn’t close it.) He did not say a single bad word about them EVER even though the press used this to attack him non-stop as washed-up and bad without Ferrari to cheat for him. At Ferrari he was the exact same with the team, any bastard antics Schumi had for his rivals did not extend to the engineers and crew.

OK this one is soured bc Top Gear is trash BUT if you were like, a kid in England who followed motorsports? Schumi’s fake reveal as The Stig on Top Gear was like the coolest, sickest thing,

Please view this image of Schumi and Mika when they were young and stupid

Iconic Races

ok so I have limited myself to a few races that show off some of his key strengths!

Hungary 1998 / France 2004 - STRATEGY/SPEED - Schumi switched to a 3 stop strategy in 98 and a FOUR STOP strategy in 04 and won both races. In order for the strategy call to work he’d have to basically make every single lap a qualifying style ‘flying lap’ and you best fucking believe he DID THAT. God I fucking miss when Ferrari was the king of strategy.

Argentina 1998 - has it all. Talent, battling Mika, pit lane mind games with mclaren, and bullying coulthard xxx

Spain 1996 / a majority of the wet races - RAIN - One of Schumi’s nicknames was Rain Master bc he was so fucking good in the wet. If it started raining and you were a Schumi stan you were cackling evilly before the red lights even went out. I single out 1996 bc it was his first win for Ferrari and it was unexpected but in most wet races, even Canada 2011 post comeback, you can see Schumi thriving.

Malaysia 1999 - Schumi missed pretty much the entire second half of the season with a broken leg, came back for the last 2 races with everybody murmuring about whether he would struggle, and immediately put the Ferrari on pole. Also worth noting is that he was the number 2 driver for these 2 races bc his teammate Irvine was fighting Mika for the championship and he went along with that without complaint, allowing Ferrari to win the constructor’s championship if not the driver’s.

Monza 2002, 03, 04, or 06 just because it has the energy of the tifosi kneeling at the feet of an idol to their red god.

Brazil 2006 - Fuck All Y’all - Schumi’s last race for Ferrari. He got a puncture and ended up almost lapped, and then drove his way back from that to 4th bc he couldn’t go out without reminding us he’s a bad bitch.

Monza 2012 - Defending - Don’t tell F1 Twitter that there’s actual footage of Lewis and Michael having a genuine lengthy battle on track but DO watch Michael defending like a motherfucker and Lewis breathing down his neck for half the race we need to talk about this more.

Valencia 2012 - This isn’t necessarily anything special but I cried in my living room over the only podium of his comeback so it goes on here. It doesn’t have the same impact if you haven’t been watching him struggle with the car for years, DNF-ing from car failure most of 2012, and having BBC F1 telling you he’s washed up every single weekend, but you can just enjoy one of the best drives of FERNANDO’S entire career as he DRAGS that Ferrari by its hair to a home grand prix win and then watch the crowds embrace him like jesus and also Schumi being happy on the podium. Also, the very start of this clip from the press conference: him forgetting what language he’s supposed to be speaking

Basically, Schumi was a hyper-competitive ambitious bitch who turned into a goofball as soon as he switched the engine off. This is by NO MEANS everything if I was making an exhaustive best races guide I’d do more research and another post but I hope this is what you were looking for?? THANK YOU SO MUCH for letting me go MAXIMUM SPECIAL INTEREST and I apologize.

#asks #Schumi #Mika #Alonso #long post #god I'm so fucking sorry #Anonymous #This is not comprehensive bc I didn't want to accidentally turn this into a whole research project especially if you're new to it!

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lewis-winters · 3 years

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I'm gonna hit you with two....

I'd like to request a love languages for:

Nix/Roe (I dunno it just speaks to me)

Lieb/Grant

Ok, so I had a bit of a Think and I came up with some stuff-- under the cut, though, because it got long.

Nix/Roe (truly a rare pair, though I'm not mad at it, just pleasantly confused)

The thing is, love languages don't change just because you're with a new person. Not right away, anyway. Nix's giving love is very much still gifts and his receiving love is still quality time. And Roe's giving and receiving love is still acts of service.

But Nix has always been somebody who compromises quite easily-- with Roe, his love languages become quite malleable. He isn't stubborn at all, despite what he likes others to believe. And he does take care of people a lot, though he never makes a big show of it and doesn't like it when others call attention to it.

He takes care of Roe (acts of service) and is very subtle about it. Roe sees it all the same, and even through the haze of being needed by everyone, he sees it.

His gift giving also kind of takes a different form-- instead of gifts that remind him of Roe, he gives Roe gifts that would help Roe take care of everybody else. Which are the gifts Eugene prefers.

And he wants to reciprocate, he really does, but like I said before-- he's a little clumsy in love languages that don't come naturally to him.

Which would be so funny, oh my god, can you imagine.

He tries to words of affirmation. It comes out awkward. Even in French. "You look... nice," is not as romantic as you think it is Eugene.

He tries physical touch. Nix is confused because? Sorry, you want it now? Here? No, Nix, he just wanted to hug you but if you're offering--

He tries gift giving and... oh it's so funny. Nix is so so confused, what is he going to do with a porkpie hat in the middle of a war? He can deal with the occasional cup of rationed coffee or maybe a stray piece of chocolate, but Eugene tries so hard to make it grand because Nix comes from money and he's got it in his head that maybe Nix misses that somehow? No, Eugene, he doesn't, but thanks for the hat.

He tries quality time but is... so so jumpy. And that's where the road gets bumpy, because quality time is Nix's receiving love language and it leaves him a little sad that Eugene doesn't seem to enjoy his presence as much.

That's not true, of course, it's just that Eugene is so used to being called on or being needed all the time that when he gets some peace and quiet, the repressed anxiety just... bubbles up.

Luckily for them, when Nix finds that out, he switches to caretaker mode, which is their compromise.

Nix takes care of him by helping him forget the world for a bit, and Eugene gets to spend time with Nix.

Lieb/Grant (honestly, idk why there isn't any more of this pairing. personally, I prefer them as friends but they make more sense ship-wise than the crackship that is Webgott (don't come for me ya'll you know it's true), so this wasn't difficult)

They are inseperable.

Like seriously.

Quality time is their receiving love language. It's Lieb's giving love language (alongside acts of service and physical touch, but out of the three, quality time wins), and as I said before, Chuck's giving love language is malleable.

But because it is malleable and because Lieb thoroughly takes advantage of this fact, they just are... never apart.

If you want the Lieb, you look for Chuck and vice versa.

And like. Alright. So I know this post is a love language post so we should talk about what the love languages of the boys are but I'm going to go on a tangent and talk about what Chuck's receiving love languages aren't and I'm telling you it's acts of service.

Which is hell when Lieb comes back to him to take care of him after that bullet in Austria (shhhhh Lieb doesn't disappear after the war what're you talking about he's fine)

So they fight a little bitterly about it because Lieb wants to take care of Chuck, not because of some selfish need to feel loved or feel needed, but because Chuck actually needs help. Chuck refuses to see that, though, and would prefer to be let alone.

They manage to find a compromise but... by accident?

Like, Lieb found that if he disguises taking care of Chuck as quality time (i.e. talking to him while he exercises Chuck's paralyzed left arm, gladly dragging Chuck to the store to run errands and sneaking in his prescribed walking miles, or getting in the bath with Chuck to help him wash and then play it off as wanting to have shower sex), Chuck actually lets him do whatever he likes.

Chuck is none the wiser. And if he is, he doesn't care because he feels very loved and very comfortable and would rather not move from this weird ass hostage situation Lieb has somehow orchestrated. It makes me laugh.

#ask #nix/roe #chuck/lieb #bob hcs #love languages

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race-week · 3 years

Note

All 4 has a highlight which I think is OK if you need a catch up occasionally? It’s free, but they got DC and they don’t do live.

I’m not sure how F1TV is operated in live because I never watch it, but I use VPN to watch Servus TV and I can guarantee a VPN to access free streaming is way cheaper than any TV package. I got NordVPN which provides a very wide range of countries, even Austria (I need it for Servus) - it’s less than £4 per month, and there may be cheaper options if you just need an IP outside the UK.

Finally, a silly feline creature says hi:

Hiya, firstly I love your cat.

Thing is there’s definitely ways that I can get around it and be able to watch it, most the time I’m just I make myself available at the time that the races or the qualifying session is on.

Today I just kind of just wanted to meet up with a friend, more than watching quali.

There is definitely ways that I can get around it, at the moment it’s not a big deal because I’m I’m not paying to watch it, it’s just if dad for some reason stopped wanting sky sports which is unlikely because he loves F1 more than I do, but a massive thanks for the recommendations I’ll definitely look into it. 💕💕

#Al’s asks

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punishedalexandar · 4 years

Text

so the organized Belarusian opposition has recently published a list of demands and i thought they’d be worth going over in addition to everyone who is covering the protests themselves.

the manifesto can be found here in russian (archive.org link as i’ve started getting a 508 error in between compiling this and writing it as a tumblr post). i will not go over every word there but i encourage you to read it yourself if you feel my summary is incomplete.

the second paragraph of the introductory section starts out saying “To create a modern labor market with low unemployment, opportunities for young people, economic potential for investors and entrepreneurs, it is necessary to establish a new balance of interests.” here it bears emphasis that according to the world bank belarus’ unemployment rate (source, world bank) is 4.5%, putting it on par with Austria. remember that low unemployment is the first thing listed by opposition economists, as this will be relevant later. when they tell us they are looking to reduce unemployment and create opportunities for investors in a country with regionally normal unemployment rates, what they mean is they want to create opportunities for investors only.

we now move on the the first bullet-point in the section “Problems to be Solved by Our Reforms”

“The labor market is over-regulated. Difficulties in hiring and firing employees“ this is for sure an odd criticism to make considering we were just told unemployment is apparently the main problem. i don’t know about you guys but i sure wish the labor market here was over-regulated and it would be more difficult to fire people. im not one to use reaction gifs but this would be a great place for a confused sassy black woman.

the bullet-point list is concluded by a repeated statement of grievance against the state for overstepping its bounds in determining the terms of an employment contract “reducing the incentive to work.” if your employer was lobbying for their right to increase the “incentives to work” in their contract with you, what do you think that’d look like ? what does that term mean in a practical sense, would your employer have to lobby the government to offer you lucrative overtime pay or would they rather lobby to reduce your base wage and then add a performance-adjusted “bonus” ? the second point simply states that “The government's job creation and retention policy focuses on maintaining large state-owned enterprises through cash infusions, though the resources of the state in the economic crisis are declining.” again as if a job retention scheme is inherently a bad thing.

on to the next list, “Goals and Objectives of the Reform”

“Development of a promising system of full and productive employment based on the priority of generally recognized principles of international law.“ it would be nice to know what is meant here by “recognized principles of international law” unless of course that means selling off of the before mentioned state jobs to international businesses at below-market value as was done in virtually every country in eastern europe in the last 25 years, in that case i would not like to know what they mean by that expression.

“support for the unemployed and workers at risk of job loss” just seems further contradicting all the previous grievances of how hard it is to let people go, so is your plan to jeopardize their position and then give them training and assistance to make up for the loss of job security you caused or ???

(TOP - “5. Modernization of infrastructure (roads, electricity, thermal energy, telecommunications, water supply, waste collection and environmental protection”

BOTTOM - “to attract investors”)

the rest of the list is really just more repeats or meaningless terms like “fighting corruption”

now we’re getting to the meat of the reforms: how they are proposing to realize them. in order to generate employees, they are proposing to: support the liberalization of hiring practices (most likely meaning introducing zero hour contracts), threefold reducing the individual tax rate, adoption of the patent (as a practice), threefold reduction in rental rates for objects owned by the state, reducing administrative burden by half.

as a result of these changes, 300k jobs will be created in the next two years. the plan says verbatim “These places will be occupied by both young people and workers dismissed from state-owned enterprises.” now i must confess i did not go to business school but i feel like if you fire 300k people, and then re-hire (most of) them with worse contracts, while paying less to rent the factories or land they worked on before anyway, you really cannot say you “created” 300k jobs. idk tho just how i see it.

other highlights include “we should be allowed to sell you shittier quality products so you have to buy more of them”

gotta have a section on Small Businesses. everyone loves mom and pop stores and cool startups, best not think about how its precisely their smallness that makes it so easy for large (foreign and domestic) companies to buy them because they don’t have the overhead to withstand larger companies operating at a temporary loss to compete. precarious small businesses trying to not be pressured into bankruptcy are going to be an excellent sponge to soak up all those employees we dismiss from state-owned enterprises and force to move cross country to get jobs (it literally says labor migrants from other regions and cities in belarus will fulfill this demand for workers. why do they have to migrate ? i dont know)

ok now that we’ve fried the small fish here comes the big boys. “3. Take all possible measures to attract foreign investors, including transnational corporations (TNCs).” finally a chance for the proud and appropriately-valued youth of belarus to work in call centers and machine tool manufacturies owned by T-Mobile and Volkswagen.

here’s what they simply have to do to get those charitable transnational corporations to toss these cold slavs a penny: large-scale privatization, land market (ie. privatizing forests or areas with natural gas or mineral deposits), creation of legal guarantees for property rights, acceptance of EU-given standards for goods an services (shout out to the real ones who know the EU literally has regulation allowing the use of cheaper and more dangerous pesticides and perservatives on goods meant for export to the eastern part of the EU “in order to be able to sell at competitive prices in countries with lower relative value of the same currency we forced you to use”)

im gonna start skipping around more because there’s a lot of repetition, a lot of “once we fire all these people we can re-hire them, and that means we’ll create another 100k jobs” but this phrase specifically stands out and demands having attention called to it. detoxification of assets is business talk for when you steal something and then just say it wasnt stolen and everyone agrees that was very cool actually.

and here we have the experts who developed this proposal.

Lev Margolin - a Belarusian economist who regularly prostrates himself in public begging the IMF to impose privatization, even calling for public unrest in 2016 in order to force the international community to intervene and force those measures.

Yaroslav Romančuk - a libertarian politician, president of the Mises Center for Scientific Research thinktank. in an interview with Radio Free Europe - Georgia published Aug 15th, openly stated that there were interests in ukraine associated with the pro-EU euromaidan movement interested and willing to oversee transition to a free society. he also named Mikheil Saakashvili as someone who he would like to be a mediator between the opposition and president lukašenka. Saakashvili is the former president of Georgia, having come to power during the 2003 Rose Revolution (hi mr Soros), whose tenure is highlighted by a strong push towards NATO membership, increasing the military budget by a multiple of 30, and starting joint drills with the US Army. he also privatized georgia’s healthcare system, leaving a great deal of the population without healthcare as they were stranded between being able to afford private, but not being poor enough to qualify for the public option. a short five years after becoming president, allegations of corruption, money laundering, extortion, and abuse of power were made against him, in response to which he had early elections which he won amid widespread accusations of voter fraud. hmm. later he would be so popular he had to flee to ukraine in 2014 after euromaidan where he was appointed governor of odessa and given ukranian citizenship (yes, in that order). crazy how ukraine doesnt allow its citizens to be extradited or something. anyway yeah thats the guy the opposition wants to be the mediator between them and lukašenka

Stanislav Bogdankevič - former chairman of the Belarusian National Bank ousted on suspected embezzlement and money laundering charges and also an IMF beggar. hobbyist advisor to ukrainian politicians and belarusian politicians acting in ukraine.

Mikhail Čigir - former prime minister of belarus, seems to be household name soft opposition, has interviews with RFE Belarus but doesn’t seem openly linked to the IMF or calling for widespread privatization like the rest on this list.

if you’ve made it to the end or this is the last thing you see before scrolling by, i want to emphasize that i am in no way contesting the accusations of voter fraud. there is not a chance lukašenka got 80% of the vote as he claims, nor am i defending treatment of the protesters. the people in the streets are overwhelmingly participating an organic social movement against the government. however it is rarely the people in the street who get to make the decisions following this sort of toppling of a system of power, rather well funded and well organized groups with ties to foreign interests who have something to offer to the international community (political and financial) in exchange for approving and orchestrating regime change. it is worth talking about what their plans are, and how similar plans have affected people in neighboring countries that were in similar situations. what i wish for the people of belarus is the ability to pursue fulfilling personal lives that are not marred by choices like “can i afford to start a family ?”

#belarus #alyaksandr lukashenka #yaroslav romanchuk #sviatlana tsikhanouskaya #will prob edit and add tomorrow luckily im being paid big lukašenka rubles so i can say whatever as long as it ends with IMF kill yourself

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inkstaineddove · 4 years

Text

Loneliness and Alcohol

Ships: PruHun, SpaAus, GerIta; blink-and-you-missed-it USUK

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Hungary, Germany, Italy, Spain, France, America; mentioned Britain, the Netherlands, Belgium, Romano, and Belarus

Summary: Every year America sends all the nations invitations to his New Year's Eve party and every year Germany, Hungary, and Austria decline. Until 2019, when America finally invites Prussia, and they're all dragged along. It's Roderich's worst nightmare, but Gilbert and Erzsébet have plans to cheer him up.

Berlin, 2019.

Germany entered his home, grumbling and shuffling through the stack of mail in his hands. Trash, trash, bill, trash. He scowled at the sparkles sticking stubbornly to his fingers. “America’s New Year’s Eve party invitations arrived.” He glanced over at Hungary and Austria, sitting at the dining table and gossiping with Prussia. “I don’t know why he continues to send me one. I’ve been declining the damn things since the fifties. Have you two gotten yours?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been here all weekend.” Hungary wrinkled her nose at the thought of attending. “I don’t want the hassle of flying over there. I’ll send him a bottle of champagne to be polite.”

“I received mine before I left this morning.” Austria sniffed, sticking his nose up. “I can only imagine what kind of parties he throws. They’ve got to be houses of debauchery and sin. I loathe going to New York for the U.N. meetings enough as it is. I will not be heading there in my leisure time.”

Prussia nodded vigorously. “Yeah, his stupid little shindig isn’t worth the airfare!”

“Calm down, he sent one for you too this time.” Ludwig slipped the little piece of paper before Gilbert, watching his brother’s expression change.

Eyes wide open, then blinking in disbelief, to a steely determination. This changed everything. “Actually, I’ve heard from Francis that he’s got fountains of beer flowing. Isn’t that amazing?” He took Erzsébet’s hands in his, turning his whole body towards her. “We should go! It would be fun!”

She jerked her hands away from him. “No! I refuse to go on principle! You can’t stand the guy, the only reason you want to is because he bothered to remember you this time!”

“Not true!” He felt everyone’s disbelief boring into his skin. He bowed his head, hoping humility would work in his favor. “I never get invited to anything anymore. This feels special.”

“Aw, cheer up. You still do,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek. A teasing smile inched the corner of her mouth up. “As my plus one.”

This solicited a chuckle from Roderich, who was silenced by Gilbert’s heel digging into his toe. Gilbert sighed dramatically. “I liked it better when it was the other way around.” He tucked a strand of hair behind Erzsébet’s ear. “We could go for an hour and then leave. Dance the night away far away from him. Have a picnic under the stars. Let me have my fun and then the night’s yours.”

What would be the harm in it? And, really, a night with him traipsing through New York could be rather romantic. It would make up for having to deal with everyone else. “An hour, tops, to feel like a hotshot. I don’t want to stay longer.”

Ludwig sat down, coffee in hand, in the empty seat besides Roderich and Erzsébet. “I can recommend you two a hotel close to his home. There’s a few good ones.” He looked up from his drink, meeting Gilbert’s gaze. There was an incomprehensible look in his brother’s eyes. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, wait, actually. Lean over.” He forcibly wiped away a speck of dirt from the other man’s cheek, paternal instinct kicking over. It made Gilbert feel useful and Ludwig completely embarrassed. “I’m just surprised you’re letting me go to one of these things unsupervised. This’ll be fun for me. I’ll be on my best behavior as the representative of Germany there. If his boss is there, I might ask about helping us get back some land to the east. In our best interest, of course.”

“I would consider it a victory if he even knew what Prussia was, Gilbert.” Ludwig could feel the vein in his forehead beginning to throb. He hadn’t considered this unintended consequence. He would have to trust his brother. He could do that. He could manage to trust Gilbert for one night.

Roderich gently tapped his fingers against the table, understanding what Gilbert was trying to do. “Excellent idea! And, while you’re at it, let Feliciano know not to look for Ludwig.” He turned his attention to Germany. “Afterall, he will be so gravely disappointed at your absence. My heart breaks for the poor man.” He clutched his chest for dramatic effect.

Realization dawned on Ludwig. So that’s what they were getting at. “Anything left from the third stooge, Erzsébet? Or is that enough from the peanut gallery?”

She did have something but didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. He was chewing through his cheek enough as it was already. “What was that? I don’t speak German.” She spoke, naturally, in perfect German. This won her groans from Roderich and Gilbert, who had received that joke many times before, and a stare with deadened eyes from Ludwig.

“Fine! I’ll go! Are you both happy?” Ludwig got ready to chew them both out before something clicked. “Wait. Roderich, you can’t stay here. If we’re all gone, who are you going to freeload off?”

“Must you be so rude in your phrasing?” Roderich crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you considered that having all of you not even on the same continent as me might be what I want? I would enjoy a quiet New Years with a glass of champagne while strolling through the city.”

Erzsébet rubbed a hand along his forearm. “It’s ok to say you’ll miss us. You’re the one who wanted to see us all today.”

Ludwig nodded. “And you typically show up here, unannounced.” He chuckled, remembering something. “Once you’ve had a few drinks, you start blathering on about how lonely it is in Vienna and how lovely it was during the war to have everyone living together.”

Roderich opened his mouth to protest. That sort of thing was supposed to be private and never mentioned again! Unfortunately, Gilbert reentered the room, shaking his phone in his hands. “Just got word back from the boys that they’re all going. And you know what that means, Roddy? The only person to make you feel like a man-”

“Fine, you lot win! I’ll go! We’ll all go!” He buried his head in his hands. “That is the last time I confide in either of you two. Blackmailing me like that, how low.” He shook his head.

Gilbert clapped him on the shoulder hard, causing Roderich to wince. “Relax, this really isn’t so bad.”

---

New York.

The four of them sat in complete silence, cramped in the back of a taxi. They had landed only four hours before and found themselves completely jetlagged. Gilbert had his head buried in Erzsébet’s shoulder. They both were propped up against the window. “Why did you drag me to this thing?”

She was too drained to fight back. “Because I’m an idiot.” If she closed her eyes, the continuous stopping and starting of the car felt like being rocked to sleep. There was a certain peace and rhythm to it. Her eyelids began fluttering down, down, down.

“Sir, pull over here please. We can walk the rest of the way.” Ludwig handed the man a twenty, jerking awake the drowsy trio besides him. As the most accustomed to making this flight, he was least affected by it. “Come on, get out. We’re a block away. This will perk you three right up.”

This displeased Roderich greatly. Walking, in these shoes? They were meant for completing an outfit, not for any sort of movement. “Oh, why do we care to be on time. This damn thing will be lasting the whole night.” At Ludwig’s aggrieved look, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, we’ll have it your way.”

“Of course, the one time I’m wearing heels. They’re worthless, you can’t do anything in them but stand around uselessly.” Erzsébet was having her own version of the same problem. She leaned against a wall to take them off. “Now I’ll have to walk barefoot in this grimy place.”

“You won’t. Your knight in shining armor is here to save the day.” Gilbert scooped her up bridal style, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Nothing to fret about now, Liebling.”

She gently caressed his cheek. “Quite the gentleman tonight, huh?” She leaned in against him, laughing against the crook of his neck. “I could get used to traveling around like this. I may have a job for you.”

Hearing their giggling and affectionate words, Roderich couldn’t help rolling his eyes. With all his might, he caught up to Ludwig to put further distance between himself and them. Hearing Gilbert’s low voice singing something indecipherable sent a further wave of nausea through him. “Don’t they make you sick too? It’s disgusting.”

“Hmm? Oh, them.” Ludwig chuckled. He’d been born into that weird triangle, and yet, it never ceased to amuse him. “Please, they’ve been doing that in front of me since I was a child. You get used to it.” A pause. Another chuckle. “Why see them so often if you can’t stand it still? One might think you’re a masochist.” The last word lilted up another octave. He couldn’t help it; he’d inherited his brother’s love of for annoying Roderich.

“Don’t imply things. It’s unbecoming.” Roderich shoved his hands into his coat, partly from the bite of the wind and partly to give him something to do. “Who else would I spend my time with? I have no other friends.”

Ludwig gave him a pitying look. Thankfully, before he could say anything in response, they were before Alfred’s door. Loud music could be heard booming from the other side. He politely rang the doorbell. No answer. He rang it again. “He must not be able to hear. Maybe I should call someone to let us in.”

“For Christ’s sake, Lud, we’re not vampires! Just open the damn door!” Gilbert pushed him aside and shoved the door open. Inside the home laid a different world. Sparkling balloons kissed the ceiling. Strobe lights flashed in the center, creating a dance floor. Glitter clung to the floor and women’s bodies. Some big singer, none of them knew who, stood on stage, performing her biggest hits for the receptive audience. The smell of smoke hung in the air as fireworks went off in the backyard. It was lavish, it was gaudy, it was quintessentially American.

Gilbert’s eyes traveled immediately to the promised fountain of beer. He thirstily filled a cup with some and took a sip, only to spit it back out. “My God, this is revolting! It tastes like piss!” He took out a flask of the good stuff he’d smuggled in from home out of his pocket to take the rancid flavor out of his mouth. His first goal of the night was already ruined. “Where did Ludwig go?”

“He raced off to go find Feliciano. He went…” Roderich’s voice trailed off as he tried remembering where in the sea of people Ludwig had been absorbed. His bearings were completely lost. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Erzsébet sidled up to Gilbert, a devilish smirk on her face. “You know, Alfred’s got plenty of rooms here. What do you say about sneaking away and having a good, long nap?”

He snaked his arms around her waist. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” They began laughing like school children, enjoying their little conspiracy.

Roderich’s irritation grew further. He began tapping his foot, needing somewhere to put his frustrated energy. “You two don’t need to play so coy. Or, if you must, I would expect you to be more creative than using napping as a euphemism.”

Blank stares met him. “Roddy, we’re literally going to take a nap. We’re both exhausted.” Gilbert began elbowing him in the side. Roderich didn’t trust the glint in his eyes. “If you’re so worried about our sex life, I can fill you in on the details.”

Before Roderich could even respond, Erzsébet was dragging Gilbert away, his guffawing thankfully swallowed by the noise of the crowd. Roderich sighed, relieved to be alone. A new problem arose. Now, what would he do, who would he follow? He looked around the room, hoping for some familiar face. No one. A mass of strangers, swaying along to the music and spilling their drinks. Nothing he wanted to be apart of.

Where were his manners? He’d been graciously invited to another person’s home and he hadn’t even thanked the host yet. Being around all these ruffians had caused him to forget himself. Straightening his suit jacket, he began braving the throngs of people. Along the way, between getting nudged around by delirious dancers, a glass of wine had made its way into his hand. He didn’t mind. Surprisingly, it was of excellent quality. He suspected it must’ve been the Italians’ gracious donation to the festivities.

There in the backyard was the host. Alfred was bumping and grinding away in the center, dirty dancing with an incredibly inebriated Arthur. Francis was yoking them up, benefiting himself from the hordes of beautiful men and women attending. Roderich would rather avoid them, but it would go against the rules of decorum he so stringently followed. Mustering up all his courage, he approached.

“Alfred. Alfred! America!” Finally, America’s attention was caught over the music. “I sincerely want to thank you for the invitation. I wish I had attended one of your parties sooner, but I’m usually quite busy this time of year, what with the holidays.” He was lying through his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to be back in Vienna. This was the kind of nightmare scenario only Gilbert could drag him into.

“Yeah, dude, no probs. You’re totally invited here whenever. Me casa, is your casa.” It appeared that Alfred was long gone as well. “Dude, you should’ve been here hours ago. We’ve been pregaming it since nine this morning.” His laugh, which was always obnoxious, was even more grating. “Tomorrow’s gonna be the most intense hangover in the history of hangovers, right Artie?”

Arthur had lost the ability to speak and was only able to communicate in a series of grunts. Sensing Roderich’s horror, Francis swooped in. “Come, let’s go inside to the bar there.” He began steering them away from the center of the party, tutting his lips. “This is no good, why did you come? Your weak constitution can’t handle these sorts of events. Who dragged you here?” He shook his head, knowing the answer already. “No, don’t tell me. You have to stick up for yourself more.”

“I’ll have you know, perhaps I wanted to come on my own. I’m capable of deciding things for myself, unprompted.” He didn’t have to see Francis’ face to know the reaction to what he said. He sighed. “Who else would I have spent my time with? No one wants to spend New Years alone.” He realized they were still speaking English, instead of switching to French like Francis preferred in one-on-one conversations. Despite not showing it, the other man must’ve been drinking heavily too.

Suddenly, Francis turned around. His index finger traced Roderich’s jawline. “No, you are too beautiful to ever be alone. It’s good you came tonight. Come with me, I can make you forget all your worries for the night.” He allowed Francis to kiss his cheek, his breath stinging of stale booze. “It’s been too long since we’ve been together. Please, honor me with the memory of how you win with love.”

Despite himself, Roderich had to admit it was tempting. If everyone else was going to have their fun tonight – or, so he assumed, he had no plans on asking – then why shouldn’t he? “My apologies, but it seems that memories are all you’ll have tonight. From me, anyways.” It wouldn’t feel right. Not when he was so clearly off his game. Leaving him staring after him, Roderich took a spot at the bar.

Nursing a glass of wine, he considered that this wasn’t so bad. At home, in front of his favorite café, he enjoyed people watching. It was a peaceful way of passing the time, to see all the people rush by and create little stories for where they were going. Normally, it was quite easy to get into it, but he saw too many people he knew. Romano with his arms around two women’s waist. The Netherlands being yelled at over money by an irate woman. Belgium shimmied to the bar and back, laughing with a group of girls she’d befriended. Everyone was here, everyone was having a good time. The only mystery was why wasn’t he.

Before the full wave of self-pity could sweep him, he spotted Germany and Italy chatting on a couch. It was a sign, a sign that he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of the night in the corner. Never in his life had he been so excited to see Feliciano. He even greeted the man with a warm hug, ignoring the frustration rolling off Ludwig in waves.

“Austria! Ludwig was telling me you were here, but I didn’t believe him! How exciting, having the both of you here!” Feliciano was practically vibrating with joy. He was overcome with emotion, but that came as no surprise to his companions. It’s how he always was. “Sit down next to me, I can sit on Ludwig’s lap!”

Roderich complied, ignoring the daggers Ludwig was shooting at him. “Well, it would be rude not to.” He full attention was on Feliciano. “Tell me, how have you been? Did you only recently arrive?” With that, he was off to the races. The Italian could talk a mile a minute, filling up all the space in the room. For once, Roderich didn’t find it annoying. It gave him something to focus on, something to find enjoyment in. And he was having a good time. The kid had grown up to be entertaining in his own way.

The same could not be said for Ludwig. The vein in his forehead was throbbing. Before this, he had been having a nice evening, much to his chagrin. Having his cousin tag along was not something he wanted. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Gilbert and Erzsébet? Did you lose track of them?”

“They ran off as soon as we got here to sleep together.” Roderich realized his mistake. “To nap! Supposedly they’re jet-lagged.” His face felt extremely hot.

“I guess they woke up cause there they are. Gil! Erzsi!” Feliciano jumped up, waving towards them at the bar. They began waving them over. “Let’s all go over to them! I wanna say hi!”

While his date was preoccupied, Ludwig had been furiously shaking his head at them. “No!” This didn’t need to become a family affair. He wouldn’t have it become that. “Actually, France is looking for us. Let’s go find him.” Not waiting for an answer, he dragged away a very startled Feliciano.

Once again abandoned, Roderich slinked back to the bar. As soon as he arrived, he was ensnared by Gilbert’s arm. He could smell scotch on his breathe as he spoke. “What have you been up to, Roddy? You better be out there, mingling with everyone, making me proud.”

His silence was telling. Erzsébet put a hand to her chest, sighing. “Oh, he’s so lonely. Gil, we have to take him in.” Much to Roderich’s dismay, they both were far gone. They couldn’t have been sleeping for long to be this drunk. That, or they kept downing drink after drink in short succession. He wasn’t sure which was more comforting.

His protestations that he wasn’t some stray puppy were drowned out by Gilbert. “Of course, we can! Who else would take care of him? Oh, don’t look so depressed, Roddy.” He leaned over the bar. “Can we get a round of kamikazes?”

Roderich stared down at his little glass. He sniffed at it and scrunched his nose up. What a foul concoction. “I appreciate it, but I don’t see how this will improve my mood.”

“It’ll help you loosen up. You’ve been uptight ever since we were on the plane.” Erzsébet gently elbowed him in the side. “I know this isn’t your thing. Try to have a little fun, Roderich. No one here is going to judge you for it.”

She herself looked so at peace, didn’t he want a little bit of that? Besides, the two of them were staring at him so expectantly. Did it matter this much to them that he felt included and part of their little group? He had thought they only kept him around out of pity, perhaps it was more than that. “You two are a horrible influence on me.” He knocked the shot back, met with rapturous cheering from them.

Another three rounds and Roderich himself was now feeling the effects. His ears were so warm, his feet so tingly. It took all his balance to lean into the bar counter for support. His vision was a little fuzzy, but he still felt aware of everything around him. That awareness was spent on watching them – their arms intertwined, feeding another shot to each other, foreheads pressed together while giggling. “Doesn’t that get tiring?” Maybe it wasn’t for them, but he found it exhausting.

That snapped them out of their fog. Gilbert was grinning like an idiot. “Why would it get tiring? I’ve spent lifetimes waiting for her. I’ve got her now, so completely. You want me to back off for your comfort? Please, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He had been staring into Erzsébet’s eyes as he spoke. He leaned in, only to find he was kissing air.

Erzsébet had been speaking at the same time as him, giving Roderich difficulty in following along with them both. All her usual inhibitions in speaking on this subject towards her ex were gone. “I had a crush on him growing up and now I get to live out a fairy tale. He’s right, we’re made for each other. And,” a devilish look settled on her face. When Gilbert went in for his kiss, she had pulled Roderich towards her to whisper in his ear. She dished on all the vulgar reasons for their behavior.

“Good God, Erzsi! I don’t want to hear all that!” He gently pushed her away and stole her drink, finishing it in one gulp. He hoped to forget what she had said, but she’d painted too vivid of a picture for him. “Why would you think that appropriate?”

“Wait, what did you say?” Gilbert leaned down so she could repeat it. “You tease.” They locked lips, grabbing at each other’s clothes.

Roderich didn’t know whose tongue he was seeing, but he knew he wanted it gone. He pulled them apart. “Holy shit, enough! Enough! Are you two forgetting that I’m here?”

“You’re right, Roderich, I’m sorry.” She pulled him into a deep kiss. Once satisfied, she let him go with a laugh. “There, now it’s just like old times. Oh, but what were we saying before? Right! I wouldn’t mind if you told me whatever you got up to. It’s been, what? A hundred years since the divorce? What happens in our personal lives now doesn’t matter.”

At the mention of their divorce, Gilbert ordered another round of shots. He shoved one onto Roderich, who certainly didn’t want to be drinking to that. At this point, why did it matter? Why did anything matter? Seeing whatever that mess was in the backyard, hearing in detail about Erzsébet and Gilbert’s sex life, becoming completely wasted. There was no meaning to this night. “Well, if we’re being honest, there’s nothing to say. I haven’t been with anyone in years.” He clinked glasses with his shocked companions. “Cheers to the life of a bachelor.” He enjoyed his drink.

His admission was a surprising one. Hadn’t this been the man who, during his days of empire, was willing to lie down with anyone if it served his purpose? How could this behavior have so suddenly ceased? It was no wonder he was so perpetually grumpy; it was a much deeper problem than Roderich’s baseline snootiness. Gilbert and Erzsébet shared a look of understanding. A moment of clarity provided them with a new purpose for the night.

Erzsébet began straightening his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles with her hands. Once she felt her work completed , she combed his hair with her fingers, tucking loose strands behind his ears. “Oh, Roderich, you poor thing.”

For his part, Gilbert ran through a list of people he knew in his head. “Francis would be an easy one. But then you run the risk of catching syphilis and that’s no good. You shouldn’t go near strangers, you can’t talk to anyone.” He drummed his fingers against the bar counter. “Natalya’s gorgeous, but no one can handle that.”

This was ridiculous. Roderich didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this. Why did he allow himself to be strong-armed into this night? “Stop it, I never asked for this. Both of you, you’ve completely lost it.” His head felt woozy and it wasn’t from the drinks. Their pity was dizzying.

If they heard him, they didn’t care. Something else had caught their attention. “Spain!” Damn Prussia’s voice and how it always carried. Spain was snapped to attention and began waving them over. As he was pushed along, Austria decided this was the worst possible outcome of his life. Forced to travel to a country he found the bane of the civilized world, his only company his ex-wife and the man who was quickly becoming his worst enemy again and humiliating himself before his ex-husband. It would almost be comical if it wasn’t reality.

“My life is a tragedy of errors.” Austria sighed wistfully. He suddenly missed the days where he was on top of the world and wouldn’t be made to suffer such indignities. Though, if he allowed himself to be honest, how much they cared was oddly charming if they weren’t so overzealous.

Spain was equally thrown off by the sight before him, but for much different reasons. “Oh, you three are still keeping up with that getting along thing. I would’ve thought all of you would be tired of each other by now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. “I miss the fighting, it was much more interesting.”

“If it’ll get you in the mood, we can start hitting each other.” Gilbert shrugged, ignoring the horror on Antonio’s face. “Put the lust back in bloodlust, you know.”

Roderich was staring intently at the floor. He thanked the dim lighting for hiding his blush. “Gilbert, I swear to god. If you keep speaking, it’ll be like the old days in more ways than one.” He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to control the outburst that was begging to be let loose.

Gilbert tried to wink, but due to his intoxication it appeared more as a twitch. “I understand completely. New tactic. I’ll help you loosen up instead.” He started vigorously massaging Roderich’s shoulders. “Shit, you’ve got a lot of tension. What’s got you so stressed out?”

To make matters worse, Erzsébet began giving him a pep talk. She was bouncing around on the balls of her feet with her fists in front of her like a prize fighter. “Rod, you’ve got this. You’ve done this before, you can do it again. Give him the full force of your charm! Start smiling, it makes you look pretty!”

Antonio had not moved from his spot. He watched them closely, unable to contain his laughter. For him, this was an amusing little skit. A performance that could be fully enjoyed. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he smiled. “Are they alright? What’s going on here?”

“They think I’m pathetic so they’re trying to be my wingmen.” Roderich shrugged Gilbert off, glaring at him. “They’re so out of it, I don’t think they realize how much more harm than good they could be doing.”

“Oh, who are they trying to set you up with?”

The three stooges ceased their nonsense. Could Antonio really be that oblivious? Was it not painfully obvious? Then they remembered who they were dealing with. Of course he would be like this. Slowly, acting as if they were dealing with a startled animal, Erzsébet and Gilbert backed away. Roderich could still feel their eyes on them, but for the first time didn’t care.

“That part doesn’t really matter.” Despite the shift in the mood, he wasn’t about to admit his hand so early. That would be more embarrassing than everything that had happened previously. No, not while a spark of hope just reignited itself. “What I’m more interested is in you.” His tongue was too loose. “In what’s been going on with you! How’ve you been, why you’re here.” It was a lackluster recovery, but Antonio didn’t seem to pay it mind.

“You’re really only interested in small talk with me? Roddy, I think we know each other better than that.” Antonio gently bumped him with his shoulder. “I’m not the mystery here. You’re out here, partying, drinking the night away. I couldn’t believe it at first. I thought it was your evil twin.”

Roderich swirled his glass of wine in his hand. “I don’t quite believe it myself. But the mark of a good man is in his acceptance and willingness to change, to be open to experience.” He chuckled, a crass joke coming to mind. “And you know me, I’ll try anything once.”

That won him a surprised and appreciative laugh. Roderich forgot how comfortable Antonio was, how easy his presence was. A part of him had missed this, a part of him he had tucked away many years ago. This was the man that started it all for him. There was a nostalgia there, a sense of belonging and home. Was it memories as substitute for any remaining chemistry? Who was to say? Certainly, he didn’t find himself caring at this moment. Hard questions could be answered tomorrow. Let tonight be for spontaneity.

As they spoke, the physical and emotional distance kept growing smaller. It was only when their arms were brushing against each other that Roderich fully noticed the lack of personal space. He found himself appraising Antonio’s figure, starting from his toes to his calves to his thighs to his…assets to his chest and lingering in his eyes. “I forgot how nicely you cleaned up. You’ve always looked-” Divine? Beautiful? Stunning? Flirting had never been his forte, much to aggrievement of both his spouses. “Resplendent.”

“Oh, don’t make me blush. Wait, here.” Antonio began futzing with Roderich’s tie, chuckling. “Didn’t get someone to tie the knot for you this time? Let me fix it for you.” In a fluid motion, he made the tie a bit tighter than needed. Their eyes remained locked the whole time, a smirk on the corner of Antonio’s lips and a blush darkening Roderich’s face.

Uproarious cheering broke out throughout the home. The ball had dropped. The new year had begun. Without saying a word, Antonio pulled him in. Their lips met and it felt like renewal. Whatever remained of Roderich’s restraint fell away when Antonio tugged at his lip. What brought him back to reality was the overjoyed sounds of Erzsébet and Gilbert, celebrating in their victory.

He rolled his eyes, a thousand different things coming to mind. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish. What could he bark at them? Their actions had been maddening throughout the whole night. And, while he found how they had behaved degrading for all involved, what did it show him? That, in their very strange way, they truly cared about him. That they didn’t view him as the third wheel who continued to tag along out of habit, but as part of their weird little group was. Whatever the result of the rest of the night, he considered this to be more important.

Friendship. It was the only kind of friendship either of them were capable of – messy and complex and interwoven in ways no other parties could ever fully understand. He valued it most of all.

Roderich held up his watch and tapped it. He couldn’t believe himself. “It’s midnight. You two better catch up with the rest of us.” For the first time in his life, he actually laughed as they grabbed for each other and began kissing (he supposed that’s what it was, it was far too animalistic for his tastes) with frantic energy.

Antonio looped his arm through Roderich’s and began steering him towards the door. “Come on, Cinderella. I’ll walk you back to your hotel room.”

“Such a gentleman.” What a way to ring in the new year.

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justgeorgeharrisonfic · 4 years

Text

HELP

25th February 1965

The Bahamas

The sky was an unclouded blue, but it was nowhere near as hot as it looked as if it should be, and nowhere near as hot as they all thought it would be. The Bahamas, yeah! But in reality, no. The Beatles were disappointed. But still, they weren’t there for a holiday anyway, they were there to work, and so there they were, in the middle of a dusty road each holding on to a bicycle. It’s a good thing, what they say about riding a bike. It had been a long time for all of them, but they all remembered.

Not that they had to ride them yet. As always, they had to stand around and stand around and stand around, waiting for they knew not what and cared even less.

“Come onnn…” John sighed.

“Better than hanging around at Marylebone though,” Ringo suggested encouragingly. It was true, the Bahamas were better than Marylebone Station, but the breeze was cool and the waiting seemed far worse this time around. Maybe the novelty had gone, disappeared over the space of a year, along with a lot of other things. Like time off.

“Right, we’re all set,” Said director Richard Lester, at last. “Get ready to ride the bikes forward, when I say.”

“Not backwards?” enquired John, and Lester shot him the briefest of glances.

“Get ready,” he said, checking over his shoulder that the cameras were lined up to take the shot. Each Beatle climbed onto the saddle and steadied the bike with one leg, the other ready on the pedal. “And… Action!”

The four Beatles shot forward. It would perhaps have been impossible for four young men, in the prime of life and permanently oozing testosterone, not to look on it as a race, and off they went, hunched over the handlebars and peddling as though their lives depended on it. Had they known, had they bothered to read the script, they would have found out that in the film their lives actually did depend on it. But it could not be said that that was the reason for their Olympic efforts to reach the lead. Lester regarded his stars in some dismay as, ignoring his yell of “Cut!!” they shot past him at high speed and disappeared into the middle distance, clouds of dust flying up and around them and gleeful Liverpudlian shouts and obscenities reaching his ears as the four eventually wobbled and collided and crashed to a halt, almost out of sight of the astonished film crew.

Richard Lester took a deep breath.

This was only day one.

They’d calm down. Eventually.

He walked along the road to find them, enjoying, despite the irritations of the day, the bright blue clear sunshine, and reached them in a surprisingly equable mood. He looked down at them where they sprawled grinning on the wide deserted road. They were covered in dust and Paul’s face was unaccountably grubby. Continuity, he reflected wearily. They never seemed to grasp that essential.

“I won,” George beamed, his face guilelessly happy and his eyes sparkling below the thick dark fringe.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lester replied, and the sarcasm was not lost on the four. “But we need to get you back and tidy you up. For the shot. Okay?” He didn’t think he sounded too pleading.

The four scrambled to their feet; Ringo started to wheel his bike back but the others simply rode back and he followed suit. By the time Lester reached them they were being brushed, dusted down, combed and scrubbed and were soon returned to their pre-race neatness. Lester found himself reminded of a lioness licking her cubs into shape, and shook his head to erase the odd image. “Right,” he said, hopefully. “Let’s get ready to go again. Lights?” He turned back to the crew.

“Who’s that?” asked one of the cameramen, pointing back along the road and Lester followed his gaze.

“Who the ‘ell’s that?” echoed John. Everyone turned to look at the odd figure approaching. It was a man, of indeterminate age, dressed in traditional Indian garb of tunic and broad loose trousers, and he was carrying a large bag. He was also very obviously making for the little film unit on the road.

“Oh no,” the beleaguered director sighed under his breath. He, along with everyone else, waited until the man had plodded right up to them and paused with them, a smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” Lester began. “We do have to get on…”

“I am Swami Vishnu Devananda,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Paul put in. “How d’ya do.” The man appeared to ignore him, and instead reached into the bag which was hanging on his shoulder.

“I wish to give you a gift.”

The Beatles were unimpressed. They had gifts thrust upon them wherever they went, whenever they paused for breath, and the only thing that made this different was the strange appearance of this one out of nowhere. They stood, motionless, holding the bikes and waiting. The man brought out four books. “I wish you to have them,” he went on, and handed each Beatle a book. George frowned as he looked at it.

“Yoga?” he said to the man.

“Sivananda yoga. A way of life.”

George frowned again. “How come? I thought it was just exercises.”

Swami Vishnu Devananda looked carefully at him. “Not just exercises. You will find out.”

George suddenly grinned and looked around at the others.” Hey! It’s my birthday. He’s given me a pressie!”

Dick Lester decided that enough precious time had been spent on this man and his books. He nodded at the swami, and said, “Well, I am sorry, but we do have to carry on now. Shall I take the books for now?” he added to the four, and he reached out his hands to take them. George flipped through the pages briefly and then handed the book over. He turned back to the swami.

“Thank you for my pressie,” he said with a smile, and the man smiled back and bowed a ‘namaste’, before turning back the way he’d come and plodding off through the sunshine.

“That was weird,” said John into the new silence.

“Ok,” called Lester, yet again. “Let’s get on. Boys, ready with the bikes. Set off when I say. And, don’t have a race!!”

They grinned in reply. And Lester sighed, again.

Much later that day saw George curled up on his bed, and he was managing telephone, drink and cigarette with practised ease. The phone was resting on his shoulder and he was leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed, listening closely.

“Are they doing anything for your birthday?” Pattie was asking. She sounded as sad as he felt.

“They did a cake,” he said. “And the crew gave me a bottle of rum. One of those big ones, you know?”

“Have you finished it yet?”

“Ha ha,” was his reply. He took another sip of the rum and coke from the glass by the bed, and another drag of his cigarette. “It’s ok.”

“Was the filming ok?”

“Yeah, you know.” And then he smiled to himself and went on, “And there was this weird man, this Indian man. He turned up in the middle of nowhere and gave me a book. Well, all of us. About yoga.”

“Yoga?”

“Yeah. I thought it was funny. Strange you know. This man giving me a book on my birthday when he didn’t know who I was.”

Pattie laughed. “Are you sure he didn’t know who you were?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Well, most people do.”

“Oh, I get you. Well, I don’t know. But anyway. That happened today. That’s it really. I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

“Hmmm?”

“What were you going to say?”

He hesitated again, feeling uncomfortable.

“George? What?”

He exhaled sharply, and took another swig of his drink. “Oh… we were sitting around, with the guitars, you know?” And he paused again, and Pattie nodded, and he knew that she had even though he couldn’t see her. “And you know I’ve been working on a new song?” Another pause for her unspoken assent. ” It was… oh you know. Nothing really. But…I was trying to talk about the idea I had for it, what I was trying for, and they weren’t paying any attention at all, you know.”

“Which song?”

“Think for Yourself.”

“I like that one.”

“They don’t.”

“Oh, they probably do. They were just…”

“Ignoring it.”

“George, I’m sorry…”

He wished he was with her, not just talking to her from thousands of miles away. He wished he was curled up with her, not just with a drink and a ciggie. He missed her desperately and all the grass in the world couldn’t obliterate his sense of desolation right now. “I wish I was home.”

“So do I.”

“I know. But, hey, guess what?”

“What?” Her voice sounded brighter at the sound of his sudden cheer.

“They said you can come to Austria when we do the next lot! All of you, Mo and Cyn and… Paul’s not sure if Jane can come, she might be working, but you can come! So that’ll be soon.”

“Oh George!!” she squealed. “That’s great!! Oh…”

“Oh god what?”

“No no, it’s ok, I’m coming. I just need to get skiing clothes.”

“Course you do.” But he was smiling and she heard it in his voice.

“Well I do! I can’t turn up in…”

“I know! You can get that sorted while we’re still here?”

“I will. I’ll see if Mo wants to go with me.”

“Ok.”

The conversation lapsed, and both stayed with their thoughts for a while. George drained his drink. “Do you need to go to sleep? It’s late there.”

“Not really. Not yet. Can you stay on a while?”

George smiled again, and shifted the phone receiver nearer his ear. “Yeah, I can.” He paused again, his eyes closed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m in bed.”

His smile turned decidedly mischievous. “What are you doing?”

“Well, nothing.”

The mischievous smile broadened. “P’raps you should be doing something.”

There fell another pause, as Pattie caught on to the drift of the conversation. Then “What do you suggest?” she asked him, her voice almost a whisper.

19th March 1965

Obertauern, Austria

Richard Lester lit a cigarette and stood for a while in almost despairing solitude. The barrage of criticism and demands in the phone call from Walter Shenson, the film’s producer, still rang in his ears and, the unfair part, there was nothing within that barrage that he didn’t already know, that he wasn’t already heavily aware of. Lord knows, he was dealing with the problem, well, the four problems, every day at close quarters and he’d been doing his best. He really had. But, his best was not apparently good enough, and he was being paid to deal with it.

He stubbed out the cigarette and, with a heavy heart, he turned and plodded through the Edelweiss Hotel towards the suite which the Beatles had staked out as their quarters for the duration of the filming. He arrived at the door, sent up a brief prayer, and knocked and went in.

The music, faintly heard from outside the door, became louder. It was in truth not playing so loudly that it would prohibit conversation, but still he pointed at the record player and gestured to ask for the volume to come down. The Beatle nearest, Paul as it happened, complied, and four sets of eyes regarded their director. Richard Lester looked back at them.

What he found somewhat off-putting was that none of them seemed inclined to ask him what he wanted, why he had visited their abode. The four simply regarded him from wherever they were seated or sprawled. Their body language was relaxed. Their eyes were somewhere else altogether. They were, inevitably, stoned. Very stoned.

“I’ve just had a phone call from Walter Shenson.” Lester decided that someone had to kick off the conversation and they certainly weren’t going to.

“Oh yeah?” That was John. With anyone else it might have been encouraging that there had been a response, but not with John. That could be leading anywhere.

Lester decided to sit down. He found a spare chair, and carried on. “He wanted to know why the filming is behind schedule.”

A response. You had to know the group to detect it, but Richard Lester, veteran of one and a half films with them, did know them reasonably well, well enough to feel the almost imperceptible change in the room. The four men knew that they were being criticised; that was for sure. Were they concerned? Not at all. However, what Lester did become aware of, though he didn’t know how he was aware because there were no moves, changes of expression and certainly no words, was a tightening of the bond of unity between the four. It was as though an invisible net, one that was in fact always there but not so evident as right now, had been tightened, strengthened, and the people in the room now comprised four people who functioned as one entity, and Richard Lester, who was so far outside it that he may as well have been in a different hotel.

He had no idea how that happened, but happened it had and it did not bode well for his proposed motivational speech about speeding up the filming. He leaned forward in his chair, to show he meant business. If you had to identify any response to that from the Beatles, they perhaps seemed vaguely amused.

“Look,” he began, predictably. “I know…” What did he know? He knew that they were off their combined heads for most of every day. And he knew that they were simply not as interested in this film as they had been in the last one. However, they were now committed to the film and it had to be finished. “I know you don’t feel a lot like working at the moment, well, these days…” He paused, and looked directly into their placid and indifferent faces. There was only one way forward. He could of course insist; he knew how far he’d get with that ploy. So… “All I can do is just ask you to get on with it. For me? For whatever reason. But please, boys, please – smoke whatever you want if you want but please could we get through the days’ work so that Shenson stays off my back and we can get this done.” He paused again. “Please?”

He subsided.

A silence fell. Eerily, Lester became aware that there was unspoken communication going on between the four of them, on a level that no-one else could reach or understand. He saw George cut glances with Ringo, who was the Beatle next to him. He saw a slight smile appear on the face of Paul, and it was not an unkind smile. And then he saw John look around at the others, and knew that that was the signal that a conclusion had been reached. But, what was the conclusion?

John smiled. An ordinary smile. “We’ll ‘ave to see what we can do then. Won’t we,” he announced, and the unspoken concurrence from the other three rippled around the group. Some blessed instinct had led Lester to simply appeal to their good natures, and it had worked.

For now, sounded the voice of caution in his head.

Later that evening

George opened the door to the main suite and moved slowly through the fug of the cigarette and joint smoke to the sofa he’d recently been sharing with Pattie. Pattie herself was tucked up in bed; in fact George had just tucked her up himself, having carried her there amidst giggles and squeaks of alarm lest he drop her. She had been forced, unwillingly, to plead an early night, being laid low by the pain of a seriously twisted ankle after she’d slipped on the snow a couple of days before, and by the combination of alcohol, grass and the heavy duty pain killers she’d been given. George had deposited her in their bed, leaving her with a cup of hot chocolate by the bedside and with the promise that he wouldn’t be late coming to bed himself. Now, he curled himself up on the corner of the sofa and reached for the album cover on which were scattered papers, tobacco and grass. He began to assemble the next joint.

“Is she ok?” Ringo enquired kindly, and George smiled at him and nodded.

“She’s fine. Just tired.”

“I think Mo’ll be next.” Ringo gestured with his head towards his wife, who was sitting next to him and in fact looked as if she’d already dozed off.

“No I won’t!” came the sleepy rejoinder from the lady herself, but she did in truth think that it sounded like a good idea. She’d been waiting to feel the spring-like energy that she’d been told would come in the early stages of pregnancy but, in truth, between bouts of nausea and novel reactions to food she never seemed to feel much like anything these days.

“Go on. Go to bed. I won’t be long,” said Ringo, and it seemed to be all the urging she needed. She stiffly uncurled her legs from under her and pushed herself to her feet.

“Night all,” she said, and left the room to a chorus of ’night night’s and ‘sleep well’s.

“Oh well, if they’re all gone…” said Cynthia, as she too clambered to her feet and drained the last of her drink. “I’ll leave the gentlemen to pass the port and tell dirty stories.”

“Eh?” asked George, as he finished assembling the joint and looked for his lighter.

“Never mind.” She yawned. “See you all bright and early.”

“Don’t remind us,” muttered Paul from the corner of the room. “You’re lucky, you don’t have to get up.”

Cynthia ignored the complaint, since she and the other girls had heard it several times every day since filming had begun, and she too left the room, leaving the four Beatles together, to pass not the port but the hefty joint that George had just rolled. An onlooker in the room, of which there were none, would have sensed a change in the atmosphere. Not one of relief, or release, but simply a return to that entity that was just-the-Beatles. The impenetrable club of four, observed by recording managers, road managers and anyone else having anything to do with them. Paul poured himself another drink. John stretched out full length on his sofa. The four sat for a while, silent and s

“How much longer have we got of it?” The question had come from John, prone with eyes on the ceiling. They all knew what he was referring to.

“Dunno,” answered Paul, after a lengthy pause. The pause had been lengthy because no-one could be bothered to think about the answer.

“A month?” ventured Ringo. John groaned.

“Well,” offered Paul, in a lazy and slurred version of his customary earnestness, “some of it is up to us, isn’t it. From what Dick said this morning. We need to just get on with it.”

“It’s a fucking drag,” commented John from the depths of his sofa.

“It’s alright,” said Ringo, in a tone which suggested that he thought it was more than alright. “I think it’s good.”

“You’ve got the best part,” said Paul. Was there a hint of resentment in his voice? George looked at him as carefully as the joint would allow, and concluded that there was.

“It’s shit. It all is.”

George peered at John from across the room. “Do you mean the film?” he asked. “Or do you mean everything?”

John turned his head to look at George appraisingly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

John continued to stare at George, who handed him the joint and then sat back with his drink. Paul and Ringo looked on with interest, everyone being gradually aware that a significant conversation was being had.

“I don’t know. I…” That was as far as John got, and the others waited. “The film’s stupid, for a kick-off.”

“I like it,” said Ringo, predictably.

“You like acting. And you’re good at it.”

“I like filming,” he concluded, simply.

“We do have to do it,” Paul put in.

“Why?”

“Contract.”

“But they could have picked something better.”

“Or written us better.” George spoke up for the first time.

“That’s not so bad,” said Paul.

George turned to look at him. “Well yeah, you’d like it, wouldn’t you. They’ve got you down as the cute one who gets the girl.” George was smiling as he delivered this comment; deliberately. But Paul took it seriously.

“No, not cos of that,” he protested, but the other three laughed and he felt he had to defend his position. “I mean, that could have been any of us.”

“Obviously Paul, but it wasn’t.”

“Would you want that then?”

“God no,” said George, and meant it. “You can keep the romantic lead, it’s okay.” In his stoned mind he turned over the thought of playing that role and actually shuddered. He reached out for the stuff and started to build another joint, and as his fingers were kept busy he found himself thinking around another thought, which took a while to formulate. When he had, he broke the silence and spoke up again.

“We’re all playing roles though, aren’t we. All the time.”

John peered at him again through the smoke. “What d’ya mean?”

George struggled to express his befuddled half thought out idea, head on one side and his eyes shut. “I mean – none of it’s real. None of it. Not just the film. The whole thing.” He paused again, and said it. “The Beatles.”

“The Beatles is real,” said Paul.

“Yeah, I know, but we aren’t. We…” He got stuck for words again; not surprisingly, as he didn’t remember thinking such things before. “You know. We’re trotted out on stages and film sets and sing tunes and play songs…”

“That’s what we do!” Paul interrupted, but George jumped back in.

“Yeah, it’s what we do, but it’s not who we are! Is it?”

“It’s who I am,” said Paul.

George paused in his joint-making activity and stared across at Paul and reflected on his last comment. He thought about Paul on stage. He thought about Paul out in public anywhere, on the film set, in interviews. He nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said eventually. He looked back down at the papers and grass and then back up at Paul again. “Yeah. It is who you are.”

From across the room John gave a harsh laugh. “Well it sure as fuck isn’t who I am.”

George looked at him. “Nor me,” he said. He lit the joint and inhaled deeply.

Paul sat up and reached forward for the joint, which George handed over. “Oh come on! We’re doing what we’ve always done. We’re still doing what we were doing in Liverpool, and Hamburg. We haven’t changed.”

“Yes we ‘ave,” said John. “I have.”

“Okay,” demanded Paul to George. “If you’ve changed, who’ve you changed into? Who are you now?”

George leaned back into the softness of the sofa and closed his eyes. He thought for a while. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, eyes still closed. “I don’t know. But I’m not…” Another pause. This was truly too complicated for him after that much grass, but he did feel it was important to work it out. For himself, if not for the others. He shook his head. “No,” he said eventually. “We’re not the same. None of us are. So it’s not have we changed. It’s who have we changed into. Or,” and he opened his eyes and looked around at the others and it finally dawned on him what his point was, “who are we changing into. Where are we going? Where are we going to?”

“Fucking ‘ell George,” Paul laughed. “You’ll be asking next what’s the meaning of life!”

“Yeah, but what is it?”

“I don’t know!” And Paul was still laughing.

“I like what we’re doing. I like the shows and I like the filming.” Ringo was pouring himself another drink, and George waved his glass at him to ask for a refill. “I’m fine with it, as long as it lasts.”

“So am I. And so are you George, whatever you say. You’re just stoned. That’s all this is.

George wondered whether it was worth trying to argue or to refine his point, but decided it wasn’t. Paul could think what he wanted, and he would anyway. He looked across at John again, and met an answering and understanding gaze. George knew John was dissatisfied, he made no secret of it. But that angry dissatisfaction wasn’t the root of George’s self-questioning, not really. Thinking about the characters in the film had nudged at something in his brain, something that wasn’t going away. He knew he was more than the money obsessed boy in the film, though presumably lots of people would think that that was who he was. But he also knew that he was more than the guitarist on the stage, with one song per show and two songs on each album. He knew he could do more. He knew he was more. He just didn’t know what yet.

But he would.

“What’s the time?” It was John who wanted to know. Ringo squinted at his watch.

“2.20.”

George groaned. “I told Pattie I wouldn’t be late,” he said, starting to push himself to his feet.

“So did I.” George peered at Ringo as he tottered to his feet.

“Why did you tell Pattie you wouldn’t be late?”

“No! I mean…!”

“I know.” George was smiling as he made his way across the room towards his bedroom door. “See you all tomorrow. Bright and early, six o’clock.”

“Fuck off,” snarled John. And George grinned across at him before opening his door, stepping inside the darkened bedroom and closing the door quietly behind him.

7th May 1965

Kinfauns, Esher.

George Harrison was sitting cross legged on his bedroom floor and in front of him was an open suitcase with clothes spilling out of it onto the carpet. He was looking at the clothes with little enthusiasm. He reached over to one side and picked up the glass of wine and took another procrastinating gulp.

“It’s easy. It’s all dirty washing. All you need to do is put it in the wash.”

“If it’s that easy why didn’t you do it for me?”

“Why on earth should I?” Sometimes Pattie sounded like Lady Muck, he reflected, silently. Which was probably unfair; she couldn’t help having a posh voice. “It’s your luggage. I’m not your servant.” She softened the strictness of her words with a warm smile, and then passed him the joint she’d been smoking. “If you’d done it when you got back…”

“I didn’t have time,” he bleated, unconvincingly. He took a drag at the joint, and then tugged out a folded black pullover. “I never wore this.”

“You might as well chuck it in. It won’t smell very nice after being with your old socks for weeks.”

“Oh ok,” he muttered and, getting up on to his knees, he reached into the case and pulled out a big armful of clothes and dumped them on the carpet. As they landed he heard a quiet thump and reached under the clothes. He pulled out a book. “Oh yeah” he exclaimed with a big grin, turning to Pattie. “I’d forgotten this. It’s my birthday present!”

“Your what?”

“You remember I said? This weird Indian guy turned up out of nowhere on my birthday and gave us all a book. It’s about yoga.”

Pattie leaned forward curiously. “Let’s see.” He slid it across the carpet and she reached down and retrieved it. “It’s not just exercises.”

“That’s what I said.”

“It looks quite serious. All about the religious side.” Pattie was flipping through the book as she spoke. “Who was he?”

George shook his head. “Dunno. He just turned up.” He held out his hand and Pattie gave him the book back, and he sat back down cross legged again and had a look through some of the pages. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

He looked up at her and passed back the joint and then settled back down. “The other day I found that instrument I really liked. That sitar. I loved the sound it made. I was thinking I might try and get one. And then I get given a book about Indian stuff.” He smiled up at her through his long fringe. “It’s like I’m supposed to be thinking about Indian things.” He looked down at the book again and then back up at her. “Like a sign, yer know.” Pattie smiled at him as she took a puff of the joint, and then she got to her feet and moved towards the door.

“What’ya doing?”

“Music’s stopped,” she called back over her shoulder and she went to change the record. George meanwhile, his expression a combination of distaste and annoyance, grabbed all the clothes he could carry and took them across to the washing basket. “What don’t you just take the case over there?” prompted Pattie as she returned.

“I said you should have done it.”

“And I said…”

“I know.” He finished bundling the washing into the basket and put the lid on, and then back turned to her. “Do you think I could use the sitar on a song?”

“One of yours?”

He nodded, as they left the bedroom together and walked along the hall towards the large sitting room. “I could.”

“Yes you could.”

“I like the sound, I could build a song round that.”

“What would they think?”

George shrugged, as he dropped down onto one of the large floor cushions and started to roll another joint. Pattie came to sit next to him. “Same as they always think? Not much.”

“Oh George. I’m sure…” But she trailed off, not at all sure if she was sure; it was an old well-worn discussion. She lapsed into a silence which she hoped sounded sympathetic, but he turned his head and looked at her with a smile. It was a smile that said that he knew she was on his side in whatever issues he had with the others. Well, with two of the others. She shifted closer to him and snuggled against his side and he left the business of making the joint and put both of his arms around her. They sat, quiet and close, and he kissed the top of her head. And then the silence morphed into another sort of silence, and George moved his head back slightly so that he could look at her properly.

“What?”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Pattie took a breath.

“I just wondered… I just wanted to know…” She looked up at him and looked directly into his eyes. “Has she been in touch with you again?”

George made no effort to avoid her gaze, and simply shook his head. “I told you. It’s finished.”

“But she keeps calling you…”

“And I keep ignoring her.” Silence fell again. “What?” he asked again. “What’s in your mind now?”

Pattie looked up at him, her expression almost defiant. “She’s just your type,” she declared. George raised his eyebrows.

“So are you.” Pattie opened her mouth to speak again but George jumped in first. “I’ve said, it’s finished. She might have had a chance if I didn’t have you, but I have and you’re the one I want. Not Joey. You.” He smiled at her and then kissed her again. “She can leave me her number and I can call her when you and me are finished. Which is never.”

She stared at him. “You won’t…”

“I won’t.”

“But you did.”

George chewed at the inside of his mouth but didn’t try to break her gaze. “I know.”

“So why…?”

George interrupted again. “Because I’m a shit. And because I didn’t realise how much I love you. I didn’t know how it was going to grow. I should have stopped her hassling ages ago, I shouldn’t even have started it. But I didn’t know what you and me were going to be.” He paused, and drew some strands of her hair back from her face where they were trailing. “You know all this. I’ve said it and you know it.” Pattie looked down at her lap. “Now you have to just believe me.” He smiled at her again. “I could write a song for you about it. Couldn’t I. I could say I love you too much and so she’ll just have to fuck off and leave me alone”

Pattie managed a small smile. “They wouldn’t let you say that in a song.”

“Well, maybe I’ll change the words a bit. I could try and use the sitar on it as well.” He paused and thought. ”Or maybe not. No, I’ll use the new Rick. Yeah?”

And that, reflected Pattie as she finished making the joint and looked for the lighter, was the best she was going to get. He was her boyfriend, and they’d both decided he was going to be her husband. He was also a musician, and the creating and the making his music was embedded into his every thought and action. And, overarching all that, with all its joy and its frustration and all the laughing and all the tears, was the Beatles, that closed entity which neither she nor anyone else could never fully understand but which was always going to claim the lion’s share of his heart and mind.

As she nestled back against him again and squeezed her arms around his slender waist and kissed his neck, she reckoned that that was a deal she was more than prepared to accept.

It was a pretty good deal.

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