#so i had to shell out $400 to go private

[sandumilfshou]

AFTER OVER HALF OF MY LIFE SUFFERING THROUGH EVERY SINGLE SYMPTOM OF ENDOMETRIOSIS BUT NOT GETTING A DIAGNOSIS OF IT BC OF NO VISIBLE CAUSE AND 8 YEARS OF BEGGING FOR A HYSTERECTOMY WHICH KEPT GETTING DENIED BY THE MEDICAL SYSTEM I AM FINALLY HAVING THE SURGERY IN THREE WEEKS TIME!!!!!!!!!!

#i cant fkn believe it #i was meant to have the appointment for this on 22 may 22 #only for it to be canceled 2 hours beforehand bc the doctor was sick #it was meant to be rescheduled but the system fucked up and so did the gp i had at that time #meaning it was canceled entirely and they refused to let be submit for a new one #so i had to shell out $400 to go private #and finally got the appointment feb 2023 #which was when i signed the surgery paperwork #and it took this long for them to have a free surgery date #but the nz medical system works FINE #and all problems will be solved by magically summoning new healthcare workers says pm christopher luxon

[mostlysignssomeportents]

$100 billion later, autonomous vehicles are still a car-wreck

Autonomous vehicles were always a shell-game. The last time I wrote about them was a year ago, when Uber declared massive losses. Uber’s profitability story was always, “Sure, we’re losing money now, but once we create self-driving cars, we can fire our drivers and make a bundle.”

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/30/death-to-all-monopoly/#pogo-stick-problem

But Uber never came close to building an AV. After blowing $2.5b, the company invented a car whose mean-distance-to-fatal-crash was half a mile. Uber had to pay another company — $400 million! — to take the self-driving unit off its hands.

It’s tempting to say that Uber just deluded itself into thinking that AVs were a viable, near-term technology. But $2.5b was a bargain, because it allowed the company’s original investors (notably the Saudi royals) to offload their Uber shares on credulous suckers when the company IPOed.

Likewise Tesla, a company that has promised fully self-driving autonomous vehicles “within two years” for more than a decade. The story that Teslas will someday drive themselves is key to attracting retail investors to the company.

Tesla’s overvaluation isn’t solely a product of the cult of personality around Musk, nor is it just that its investors can’t read a balance-sheet and so miss the fact that the company is reliant upon selling the carbon-credits that allow gas-guzzling SUVs to fill America’s streets.

Key to Tesla’s claims to eventual profitability was that AVs would overcome geometry itself, and end the Red Queen’s Race whereby adding more cars to the road means you need more roads, which means everything gets farther apart, which means you need more cars — lather, rinse, repeat.

Geometry hates cars, but Elon Musk hates public transit (he says you might end up seated next to “a serial killer”). So Musk spun this story where tightly orchestrated AVs would best geometry and create big cities served speedy, individualized private vehicles. You could even make passive income from your Tesla, turning it over to drive strangers (including, presumably, serial killers?) around as a taxicab.

But Teslas are no closer to full self-driving than Ubers. In fact, no one has come close to making an AV. In a characteristically brilliant and scorching article for Bloomberg, Max Chafkin takes stock of the failed AV project:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2022-10-06/even-after-100-billion-self-driving-cars-are-going-nowhere

Chafkin calculates that the global R&D budget for AVs has now exceeded $100 billion, and demonstrates that we have next to nothing to show for it, and that whatever you think you know about AV success is just spin, hype and bullshit.

Take the much-vaunted terribleness of human drivers, which the AV industry likes to tout. It’s true that the other dumdums on the road cutting you off and changing lanes without their turn-signals are pretty bad drivers, but actual, professional drivers are amazing. The average school-bus driver clocks up 500 million miles without a fatal crash (but of course, bus drivers are part of the public transit system).

Even dopes like you and me are better than you may think — while cars do kill the shit out of Americans, it’s because Americans drive so goddamned much. US traffic deaths are a mere one per 100 million miles driven, and most of those deaths are due to recklessness, not inability. Drunks, speeders, texters and sleepy drivers cause traffic fatalities — they may be skilled drivers, but they are also reckless.

But even the most reckless driver is safer than a driverless car, which “lasts a few seconds before crapping out.” The best robot drivers are Waymos, which mostly operate in the sunbelt, “because they still can’t handle weather patterns trickier than Partly Cloudy.”

Waymo claims to have driven 20m miles — that is, 4% of the distance we’d expect a human school-bus driver to go before having a fatal wreck. Tesla, meanwhile, has stopped even reporting how many miles its autopilot has mananged on public roads. The last time it disclosed, in 2019, the total was zero.

Using “deep learning” to solve the problems of self-driving cars is a dead-end. As NYU psych prof Gary Marcus told Chafkin, “deep learning is something similar to memorization…It only works if the situations are sufficiently akin.”

Which is why self-driving cars are so useless when they come up against something unexpected — human drivers weaving through traffic, cyclists, an eagle, a drone, a low-flying plane, a deer, even some pigeons on the road.

Self-driving car huxters call this “the pogo-stick problem” — as in “you never can tell when someone will try to cross the road on a pogo-stick.” They propose coming up with strict rules for humans to make life easier for robots.

https://www.theverge.com/2018/7/3/17530232/self-driving-ai-winter-full-autonomy-waymo-tesla-uber

But as stupid as this is, it’s even stupider than it appears at first blush. It’s not that AVs are confused by pogo sticks — they’re confused by shadowsand clouds and squirrels. They’re confused by left turns that are a little different than the last left turn they tried.

If you’ve been thinking that AVs were right around the corner, don’t feel too foolish. The AV companies have certainly acted like they believed their own bullshit. Chafkin reminds us of the high-stakes litigation when AV engineer Anthony Levandowski left Google for Uber and was sued for stealing trade secrets.

The result was millions in fines (Levandowski declared bankruptcy) and even a prison sentence for Levandowski (Trump pardoned him, seemingly at the behest of Peter Thiel and other Trumpist tech cronies). Why would companies go to all that trouble if they weren’t serious about their own claims?

It’s possible that they are, but that doesn’t mean we have to take those claims at face-value ourselves. Companies often get high on their own supplies. The litigation over Levandowski can be thought of as a species of criti-hype, Lee Vinsel’s extraordinarily useful term for criticism that serves to bolster the claims of its target:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/02/euthanize-rentiers/#dont-believe-the-hype

Another example of criti-hype: the claims about the risks of ubiquitous drone delivery — which, like AVs, is half-bullshit, half self-delusion:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#droned

Today, Levandowski has scaled back his plans to build autonomous vehicles. Instead, he’s built autonomous dump-trucks that never leave a literal sandbox, and trundle back and forth on the same road all day, moving rocks from a pit to a crusher.

$100 billion later, that’s what the AV market has produced.

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

Gartner (modified): https://www.gartner.com/en/research/methodologies/gartner-hype-cycle

[Image ID: A chart illustrating the Gartner hype-cycle; racing down the slope from the 'peak of inflated expectations' to the 'trough of disillusionment' is the staring eye of HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey, chased by speed-lines.]

#pluralistic

[indecisivepsyche]

Dracula: The Evidence

Well, now that we've finished reading Dracula, I'd like to highlight yet another upcoming way to read Dracula! This one is Dracula: The Evidence by Beehive Books, a small press imprint in Philadelphia currently available to preorder. Let me preface this by saying that I'm not affiliated with the creators of this project. I'm just discussing it because I think it's cool. I'll also warn that the two cheapest options for purchasing these items are $400 (for the complete artifactual experience) or $100 (for a hardcover version). If that's too much for you, I'd still recommend taking a look at the neat prototype images and information about the creation process found on their product pages and project updates.

Dracula: The Evidence is a project recreating the primary sources that make up Dracula. As they describe it, "In our edition, you are not merely a reader – you are an explorer making your way through this archive of first-hand evidence, retracing this nightmarish story through the remnants it left behind: correspondence, charts and diagrams, memoranda, artifacts, photographs, and much more."

That means you'll be receiving items like Jonathan's journal and letters from Lucy to Mina in their complete (and unburnt) form.

For people willing and able to shell out the $400, these items will come in a suitcase. For those who can commit $100, you can purchase a hardcover art book with pictures of the artifacts and transcripts of their contents.

There's also the option to purchase a vinyl record of Seward's phonograph recordings (also for $100).

I'm going to ramble a bit more about the project under the cut, but before that here's a link to a post I've made with links to the project. One of them is a promotional Twitter thread written by a fictional archival intern hired to process the Stoker Papers. It's pretty fun.

Edit: It slipped my mind that there was a PDF preorder on offer on Kickstarter for $25. It's not currently on the Beehive Books storefront, but it might be sold once the preorder period is over.

Beehive Books has been transparent about supply chain issues and events like the calligrapher they cast to write for Jonathan Harker being conscripted in the army causing delays. However, it is currently projected that the products will ship in early 2023.

Speaking of calligraphers, they've hired over a dozen of them to write for the different characters. It's neat to hear that they've put a lot of consideration into how the personalities of the characters should be reflected in their handwriting.

If you want to hear a sample of their recordings for Dr. Seward's diary, check out the September 12th Kickstarter Update on either edition. The updates are open to the public, and they've posting a link to a Dropbox with a two-minute sample from Jack's May 25th entry.

Check out the update from January 10th, 2022 to hear how they're tackling the fact that most of the documents that make up Dracula are originally not written in standard English. Here's an excerpt from it:

"For Mina, we've had her switch back and forth between shorthand and longhand throughout her diary. We've used it to enhance character building and storytelling. She's using the journal as an opportunity to learn and practice shorthand -- so which sections does she feel most urgent about, and might she scrawl down in her natural hand without translating into her shaky shorthand? Which sections might she feel private about, and want written in an alphabet that someone who comes upon her diary might not understand?

And then we have Mina's typescript, which transcribes every word of every document contained therein, and more. This allows readers to work with the two documents side-by-side, decoding shorthand or Russian with the help of the typescript."

On the update from October 29th, 2021, they discuss how the Captain of the Demeter wrote his log before the modernization of the Cyrillic alphabet and how they had to find a linguist to rewrite their Russian translation.

Seriously, even if you can't afford to buy this, there's a lot of fun to be had in poking around the project updates and looking at the prototype images they've shared.

That's all from me! It's time to see some of the adaptations for myself, starting with Dracula (1931).

#dracula daily #dracula #jonathan harker #mina harker #john seward #psyche speaks

[springfieldblues]

my long ass review for S32E03 Now Museum, Now You Don’t

warning: LONG because i rambled about history more than i thought i would

id been looking forward to this one because i like art history, especially after seeing how they tried their best to stick to historical accuracy in the previous episode I, Carumbus. this time however….they didnt try that hard. i dont know why i thought theyd go through that sort of trouble again LMAO

but its okay, i dont really expect the simpsons to be the paragon of historical accuracy or anything. especially in anthology episodes told through a particular character's lens (in this case, lisa, whos already feverish so whatever)

first i just wanna say that this is, i guess, less of a review and more of an accidental list of history fun facts. so im just gonna get my general thoughts out of the way first.

the episode was fun! to me at least haha. i mean it got me to think and do a lot of research on my own so that must count for something. besides a couple of really weird ones, the jokes were good. anthology episodes tend to be….not that good but i thought this one was one of the better ones so far. idk.

anyway on to lisanardo da vinky its the renaissance! jesus christ the italian accents in the beginning of this segment were annoying as hell but i also feel like that was the joke lmao. ill be real i kind of tuned out for a second there when grampa started rambling so idk what he said.

i told myself i wouldnt get nitpicky with historical accuracy if the jokes were funny (final edit: so that was a lie) but this meh bit with the pizza guys and mascots was really not worth ignoring the fact that its impossible for italy to have any tomato-based food in the 15th century (tomatoes were brought to europe from the americas in the 16th century, and pizza as we know it today—flatbread, cheese, tomato—originated in the late 18th century)

oh this next part was kind of legit tho. lisanardo, like the real leonardo, became andrea del verrochio's apprentice at his workshop. i loved this next bit:

"Whoever paints the sweetest cherub will have the honor of having MY name signed on their work. That's what great artists do!"

SO YEAH as it turns out, lisanardo painted the sweetest cherubs. the painting here is called The Baptism of Christ, and the real leonardo assisted verrochio in finishing it. specifically, he painted the cherubs in the corner.

this causes verrochio to quit and go someplace with less talented people: a music school (yes, verrochio did quit painting after getting owned by young leo and his mad angel painting skills. he never did anything with music tho, he was more of a sculptor)

alongside lisanardo, in mr largo-verrochio's workshop we have barticelli (botticelli bart), dolphatello (donatello dolph), ralphael (raphael...ralph) and mediocrito (no one that i know of. sorry milhouse) (and kearney i guess but they dont refer to him by name). botticelli and donatello are said to have also been apprentices at verrochio's workshop, but raphael came a couple of decades later so he couldnt have been there. and donatello was too old so that claim is a bit questionable. but anyway

it IS true that leonardo's peers envied him, to the point where he was anonymously and purposefully accused of being gay (a major crime punishable by death in 15th century florence) while he was still working at verrochio's workshop

we are then treated by what im pretty sure is the fourth time the show has used 'at seventeen' by janis ian, this time sung by a dejected lisanardo (man they really do keep making yeardley sing these days huh) who only wishes to be appreciated and not envied.

"I'll show them all! I'll show them all in a secret diary that no one will decipher for 400 years!"

some of lisanardo's future inventions. who wouldve known

so after barticelli, for some reason (revenge??? or something?? what was his plan here idgi) steals lisanardo's diaries full of blueprints of her inventions and takes them to mr burns who i have to assume is pope alexander VI here, they decide to use her inventions for war.

"With these, we can kill the most evil people in the world!! ....Slightly different Christians."

leo actually did this of his own accord. im surprised this is what they decided to do with lisanardo instead of talking about leo's love of nature and vegetarianism (not a single mention of that in this episode? come on...) then again, trying to do good only to end up indirectly making things worse is a very standard lisa storyline. i guess they didnt want to miss the chance to have evil pope burns (very fitting, especially for that era since they were all about money and controlling the people)

so lisanardo decides to leave for france, unlike the real leonardo who was more or less persuaded by his ultimate fanboy king francis I to move to france.

"Lisanardo, I have many questions. Why are you hitting yourself? A nerd says 'what'? And how is it possible that I am rubber and you are glue? Et cetera, et cetera."

that line may seem a little random, like hes just nelson saying nelson things (and i mean, obviously he is) but the real francis also "had an unquenchable thirst for learning, and Leonardo was the world’s best source of experimental knowledge. He could teach the king about almost any subject there was to know, from how the eye works to why the moon shines." so yeah, he did have many questions and lisanardo, finally being appreciated for her intellect, was happy to answer them all. its very interesting how lisa assigned this role to nelson in her retelling of da vinci’s life :^)

and so she lived the rest of her days in france, nat king cole's 'mona lisa' plays because duh, and they make a da vinci code reference because duh. and the segment ends. and not a single time did they show the actual mona lisa painting. the fuck?

(ngl i was fully expecting bart to say 'leonardo da vinky' for a second here)

so this next segment is about french impressionist painters, most likely the batignolles group, a name adopted by the early representatives of impressionism. its much more vague than the lisanardo segment since no one here is referred to by name (except moe, more on him in a sec) but i dont feel like it really matters in this case. bart is prrrrooobably claude monet but its hard to say, this segment is kind of a mish-mash of a lot of things. also i gotta say i really liked how lisa introduced the story to bart with an 'if you hate the formal study of art' and not 'if you hate art' because thats exactly my headcanon. i LOVE the concept of artist bart and whenever its referenced it just makes perfect sense to me.

anyway the segment opens in 1863 at the école des beaux-arts (back then it was actually known as the académie des beaux-arts), preserver of traditional french art styles. skinner reviews his students’ paintings one by one. praises the plain, unimaginative paintings depicting your typical european countryside landscapes. very run-of-the-mill (haha get it...cuz theres….a windmill) (although the real académie didnt approve of such basic stuff, they wanted artists to draw epic historical and mythological scenes) then he gets to barts painting and he gives him an F- because the painting made him think.

(the paintings in this scene arent real famous paintings as far as i know but they are inspired by real paintings enough to get the point across)

in comes barney dressed as bacchus as a model for the students to sketch, which i just loved:

barney: “You prefer robe open or robe off?” skinner: “Just cover your privates with this walnut shell.” barney: “Whoa!!! So roomy!”

skinner gasps in horror at bart’s sketch, which “looks nothing like him” and bart explains that “it shouldn’t; we’re making the art that we feel because we can’t compete with a camera.” damn, you go bart. take that, realism. draw what you feel!!

(also no, you didnt need to hold still for 17 hours for a daguerreotype. 30 min tops.)

nelson haw-haw of the week: FOIE-gras!

so here they are at the moulin rouge (“enjoy it before baz luhrmann ruins it” hey shut up. i love that movie), which wouldnt be built for another 26 years, but it is the most widely known gathering place for bohemians in the public consciousness so i can understand why they went with the moulin. nelson delivers this anachronistic line:

“This époque keeps getting beller and beller!”

which alludes to la belle époque, the golden age of france usually dated from 1880 to 1914. made me snort so ill let that slide

and heres moe! as henri de toulouse-lautrec, who was actually born a year after the year this segment is set in. yo moe szyslak he was just 1

toulouse-moetrec introduces himself as the chronicler of the demimonde (not an actual job). an iconic figure associated with the moulin rouge (largely due to his affinity for alcohol and prostitutes), toulouse-lautrec was also a painter, having illustrated a series of posters for the moulin himself. he simply had to be in this segment, anachronisms be damned, just because they decided to include the moulin. cant have one without the other.

and yes he did have a walking cane where he kept his liquor.

i love how everyone drinks absinthe in this place. theyre bohemians what else would they drink

toulouse-moetrec points out that barts paintings are the greatest thing hes ever seen (and hes seen like five things!) and that hes a genius. milhouse realizes that they should stop doing what the teacher says and use their own minds to instead...start doing what bart says lmao. to the easels!

next we have skinner hyping up chalmers about the art his students made for the salon de paris, an art exhibition that the emperor of france will attend. he assures him that none of these paintings will encourage debate, provoke thought or be out of place at a dentist’s office. when they unveil the art, theyre both SHOCKED at how scandalous the paintings actually are.

this reaction was kind of accurate. impressionism was severely rejected at the salon de paris, due to paintings not looking finished enough to them, they thought they were ugly and vulgar for depicting nudity in a contemporary setting (historical and mythological nudity was fine). these impressionist paintings were sent to the salon de refusés, which is. yeah. the place where they sent the rejects. the salon de refusés does not make an appearance but this scene makes a reference to it when the artists get expelled from the royal salon. also:

“What about our student loans?” “Oh they’ll be refunded. We are not barbarians, I mean, come on.”

(god if only)

so the painters are down because they want the emperor to actually see their paintings. toulouse-moetrec pipes in once again with an idea.

“There is one thing the emperor loves more than anything.” “France?” “No, he hates France.”

apparently the emperor really loves cheese, which makes sense since its napoleon III (who loved cheese) and homer (who loves cheese.) so the painters roll into the salon inside a giant wheel of cheese (obviously.) as lenny said, “Eh, you know French cheese. Very runny.” napoleon III chases after the wheel into a room, where the wheel falls apart after getting chomped on by the emperor. now that they got his attention, the painters proudly show the emperor their impressionist art, which he couldnt be more indifferent about because he just wants to eat his cheese dammit, and he awards them with the royal medallion just to kind of get them out of his way. skinner immediately starts kissing ass (as he does) until marge’s like ‘hey wait a minute. you expelled these students from the royal salon’ and an executioner immediately starts ominously measuring skinners neck.

“Uh, sir...is your tongue sticking out because you’re dead or because you’re mad at me?”

and thats the end of that lmao (gore in this episode, gore in the last episode, and next week we’re getting gore too cuz its THOH, what the hell is goin on)

we get a short intermission with maggie, who wants a story for her too! lisa tells her that renaissance artists loved to put babies in their paintings, especially baby angels.

here she is showing her The Triumph Of Galatea by raphael:

King David Playing The Harp by peter paul reubens:

and a very simplified version of pretty much any depiction of hell by hyeronimus bosch lmao:

not much else to say about this one, really. but i really liked that sky!

the last segment is about frida kahlo and diego rivera. or as bart puts it ‘the one about a fat guy whos wife is too good for him.’ i was REALLY looking forward to this one because i love frida and i thought itd be a cool opportunity for animators to go bonkers and do really cool shit with her art as inspiration…..but the segment is not about frida, its about diego and his selling out to capitalism. and its also yet another story with homer and marge drama. no funky cool animation here. sigh i guess i’ll take it

the story begins in 1929 at la casa azul, frida’s home (now museum dedicated to her life and work.) frida and diego are getting married. this courtyard definitely did not look this way yet back in 1929. also theres something very cringy yet funny about lovejoy saying spanish words the way he does, i honestly cant decide how i feel about that one

the writers know theyre being cringy with their gringoness so they go along with it.

moe: “Spanish for ‘best wishes’!” mel: “Spanish for ‘congratulations’!” bumblebee man: “Spanish for ‘muy bueno’!”

OH YEAH BUMBLEBEE MAN this is his new voice actor, eric lopez! hes not mexican but its still great to finally have a latino actor voicing a latino character and hes very excited to be part of the show so i hope to hear more of him!! im rooting for him

el barto/zorro makes an appearance which i am very confused about. he has jack shit to do with frida and diego and mexico in the 20s-30s. el zorro was set in the spanish california of the early 19th century. their use of the original theme song makes me think they just wanted to flex their disney privileges tbh

lets not talk about that that whole scene was bad

anyway diego announces he and frida are going to new york, without even asking her first. frida is obviously pissed.

“Don’t worry, as a woman, you’ll be treated with much more respect in America.”

so in new york, diego is having a bit of a business meeting with mr burns as one of the members of the rockefellers, who is commissioning him to draw a mural for the rockefeller center. its kinda funny how he refers to him and frida as socialists even though they were very much communists lmao its okay you can say it. ok so far, but then frida says ‘yes, we hate the capitalists! right now, a young socialist is being born who will take them down! mr. bernie sanders. i hope hes quick about it’ and that was a simple enough joke and couldve been left at that but then its immediately followed by this weird as fuck family guy-esque cutaway gag to bernie as a baby:

“Getting a cootie shot should not cost your lunch money. And if you don’t listen to me, listen to the Bernie Babies! What? Everybody’s got goons.” *larger babies start beating up this other baby* “I disavow that, and welcome it.”

this confused me so much that i had to ask one of my american friends to help me understand, but even she was like ‘uhhh yeah thats a weird joke,’ especially now that hes been out of the race for months (then again these episodes take almost a year to produce. i guess they couldnt be bothered to replace it with something more relevant.) whatever that was weird and confusing and unfunny moving on

frida is pretty irked that diego is going through with this deal. after all, it goes against everything they believe in. im not sure how the real frida felt about diego doing the mural, but she did feel a bit of rage during her visit to the united states, especially the obvious disparity between rich and poor. she hated having to interact with capitalists and found americans very boring. in this segment, frida seems to be acting more like the american communist party, which diego got kicked out of for accepting commissions from wealthy patrons. in any case, frida is pretty upset about this whole thing.

and finally we get the first and only kind of surreal frida moment. kinda. maybe. its more cartoonish than anything but im desperate ok

interesting how they felt like they had to add a “don’t smoke” in big letters after showing patty and selma flying away on their giant cigarettes. i wonder if this is something theyre making them do now? i remember hearing something about them toning down patty and selma’s smoking

diego comes home to frida, drunk as hell, followed by the marx brothers. i cant believe they didnt make a marxism joke come on it was RIGHT THERE. THE MARX BROTHERS. KARL MARX. COME ON

frida paints her feelings.

this makes diego realize that frida is a genius and he is not half the artist she is. he proclaims he will now show his awe of her by sleeping with other women, starting “an hour ago.” to which frida replies, “and i will start sleeping with other women, starting two hours ago.” yes this was pretty much their relationship. though im just wondering how the hell did diego not know frida was this kind of artist until now? i know homers an idiot but jeez. art was how frida and diego met, diego knew from the get-go that frida was an incredible artist. i guess the fame got to his head or something. again, homer just being stupid.

“well enough already, while the art is still deco, okay?”

its time for the mural diego painted, Man At The Crossroads, to be unveiled:

rockefeller examines it. good and great so far, and then...uh oh

“Who’s that fellow…? With the beard, and the bolshevik smile…” “That’s the founder of Soviet Russia, Lenin!”

“B-b-but he’s a communist!” “Oh he just attended a couple of meetings.”

rockefeller will not have this communist in the temple to capitalism that is the rockefeller center, so he orders diego to paint over it. diego stands his ground and refuses. despite rockefeller’s threats, diego says that theres only one person he wants to be proud of him no matter what and in true homer & marge fashion, frida is touched by this. they happily leave the rockefeller center.

now, the real story of Man At The Crossroads and the rockefeller center was actually not that different. as soon as the rockefellers found out diego had snuck in a portrait of lenin into the mural, they ordered him to paint over it, to which he refused. diego even offered to include abraham lincoln and even american abolitionists in the mural as a compromise, but the rockefellers simply did not want any references to communism whatsoever. they did not complain about the hammer and sickle, though. yes, they did know diego was a communist and hired him anyway. what did they expect? lmao. diego said:

"Rather than mutilate the conception [of the mural], I shall prefer the physical destruction of the conception in its entirety, but preserving, at least, its integrity."

so they decided to destroy the mural before it was even finished and they never talked to each other again.

diego then repainted the mural at the palacio de bellas artes back in mexico, this time known as Man, Controller of the Universe. this new version included even more communist leaders and a depiction of john d. rockefeller jr. drinking at a nightclub, right underneath a depiction of syphilis bacteria. cue nelson haw-haw:

this was the version they used in the episode also, since the original was, well, never finished and also destroyed. only a black and white photograph of it exists, taken by diego before it was destroyed so he could remake it.

right so, homer!diego then pulls a Barthood and finishes the episode with a large mural summarizing the entire episode. he says some rick and morty thing i didnt get because i dont watch the show idk idc

the end

ALRIGHT NOW ITS TIME FOR THE STORY OF VINCENT VAN MOE

#if you read all of this bless you #the imageless gdocs version of this is 8 pages long #hope you...enjoy?!?! these art history fun facts?!?! #dont let me do something like this again but also let me know if i should do something like this again #i was really only motivated to do this because im already passionate about the subject so idk if i could do it otherwise #anyway. this took me all day yesterday because the power kept going out #but im finally done #bye

[peachyteabuck]

treason against kingly youth, pt i of ii

summary: somehow, you survived the 2020 election. now, all you have to do is get a know-nothing white man into the senate. should be easy enough. 

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3223

trigger warnings: rpf, white dudes doin White Dude Things

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

For a moment, just a moment, you allow yourself to breathe, really breathe. One, big breath in that clears the stress from your muscles, drops your shoulders, lets your whole body sag against the decade-old chair that you’re surprised hasn’t crumbled under the weight of your ever-tense body and its corresponding sins.

It’s a mere six feet away that everyone else you’ve worked with for the past three years with – the people you went through sleepless nights, long road trips, greasy food from mom and pop diners with the middle of assfuck nowhere, registering voters and writing up another plan for every fucking thing wrong with America (low teacher pay? Check. Electoral college ruining democracy? Check. Criminalization of homosexuality? Check. Private school sucking the life out of public schools? The monopoly artificially inflating prices on glasses up to 400%? The disparity between the number of men’s and women’s bathrooms in federal buildings? Check, check, check) – each and every person celebrates with wine and whiskey and any other alcoholic beverages they can get their underpaid hands on. It’s not even the cheap stuff, no, this is top shelf liquor. This is D-Day, “we’ve got an hour before the nuclear missile hits” liquor.

There are two times people go this all-out on their spirits – the end of the world, and the end of an election (though, to some, they’re the same thing).

But not you. Never pitiful little you. Pitiful little campaign manager you doesn’t rest, doesn’t get to stop pulling rabbits out of hats and money from single moms and votes out of college students.

There’s three TVs in front of your desk, each playing a different news station and each anchor drowning the others out. It’s a cacophony of white noise, and not because

The only voice, the only singular voice that has cemented itself into this far, previously blissfully unattended corner of your brain. You can hear her, feel her own on your shoulder – you can see her leaning against her old desk nestled in her home back in Massachusetts.

“I want you to be my chief of staff. You ran my campaign better than I could have asked for, and I would be incredibly lucky and blessed to have you run my White House.”

Your own voice rings next, always shakier than the time previous.

“I can’t do that,” your sigh gets deeper each time, too. “You know I can’t.”

Somehow, her voice always gets more confident. It’s one of those things about her, about the way she carries herself. If she’s faking that confidence you’d never know. “I know, but I’ll always tell you that there’s a place for you at the White House as long as I have something to say about it.”

In the sea of blue and red and white confetti and streamers and all the other shit people use to celebrate when their party wins an election, the thick, bleached white of your laptop screen stares back at you more menacingly than any Republican – winning or losing - you’ve ever met.

You’d like to think you are the kind professional that is never caught off guard, the kind of woman who can expect anything. But as the email that’s derailed your plan for the next four years stares back at you, the all-caps subject line feels more like the headlights of an 18-wheeler to a deer in the middle of a highway than an excellent career opportunity.

Still, with malt liquor in hand, you allow yourself a moment to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll make all of this just a little bit easier.

A little less than five hundred miles away, Christopher Robert Evans is the drunkest he’s ever been, surrounded by the same men he’s known since his freshman year of high school, yelling nonsensically as one of his current senators becomes the president-elect of the most power country on Earth.

The only coherent thing to leave the man’s mouth the entire night is oh so wonderfully caught on a friend’s iPhone and will – quite likely – be posted to some social media site by the next morning.

The video (which you will eventually be seeing at your first meeting with the Boston native) shows him in a Harvard sweatshirt (a university he did not attend), deep blue skinny jeans, and a Patriots hat balanced just enough to show his (possibly) thinning hairline. There, between his two best friends, he screams in his played-up Boston accent at the top of his lungs:

“I’M GOING TO BE A SENATOR, BITCHES!”

But you, back in D.C., are blissfully unaware of the long road ahead of you. So, you enjoy your malt liquor, and your small bit of quiet on election night – a sign of the muted calm before the political shitstorm ahead of you.

You end up not replying to said email the next morning (see: seven hours later after falling asleep in your chair for about five hours and then browsing angry GOP Twitter accounts while cackling into a cup of the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted for the other two), confirming you’d be willing to work for Christopher Robert Evans’ campaign to run for the current president-elect’s soon-to-be open senate seat.

Or, at least confirming you’d speak to the Evans family to talk about running the campaign of the whitest man under the age of forty you’ve ever seen. Whether or not you ended up attempting to control what is likely another dumpster-fire campaign in a series of dumpster-fire campaigns. Harris is the one that comes to mind, but drawing any parallels between that woman and this man feels borderline offensive.

Plus, her senate run was successful. And she held elected office before that.

Why did you agree to do this again?

Right, you need money. So much money. All of the money. At least enough money that you can be bought from straight under the White House, which just so happens to be the amount the Evans estate offered you in exchange for your services.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself in a conference room in an expensive office building, looking up at Chris Evans as his face turns red and your heart rate picks up.

“I’m Massachusetts’s best choice!” he screams, slamming his hands onto the table – a rich brown you sort of wish you could afford to have in your own home back at the capital. Your estate sale table, even with the coat of white paint you gave it after buying it, still can’t hold a candle to the beautiful grooves and smooth top.

But this isn’t time to yearn for better interior design prospects. Now is the time to put this moderate democrat man-child in his upper-middle-class place.

“Chris, you’re the best choice for an internship for the fucking EPA,” you nearly hiss. “You’re in the intern in Vice who watched Dick Cheney make deals with those fucking oil businessmen. You’re the shiny faced bastard who watched the world burn while listening to a Walkman. Do you understand me?”

His teeth are barred like he’s about to bite at your face; luckily that man comes with an electric collar and you’ve got the controller.

“Your biggest qualification is you got a five on the AP Gov exam. You have a single living family member who has held elected office in the last five years, and he was in the House of Representatives. The House! He wasn’t even in the chamber you’re gunning to be a part of. You were an econ major with a minor in, what? Poli sci? At a mid-tier university because your family doesn’t have Kushner money to bribe your acceptance letter out of a better one. Your main job after college was working as an accountant for old fraternity because they get audited so often the IRS had to release a public statement saying they were changing their processes for such matter on college campuses. You’re so moderate you’re in the aisle playing legislative mad-libs while everyone fawns over your B+ facial hair and C- chest tattoo. You’re a cute puppy at a for-profit rescue, you’re eye candy on a political television show.

“You’re the type of person who didn’t think that Gillibrand was done for before the second debate. That’s the problem with you. I mean there are lots of problems with you, but that’s the one I’m most annoyed with right now. It’s not that you can’t understand patterns or see what’s going on around you. It’s that you were never forced to. When you walk outside in the dark, I bet you don’t look behind you, you don’t clutch your keys like claws to protect yourself. You know how much pepper spray costs? Do you know what a noisemaker does? No, you’ve never had to. You’ve never had to shield yourself from danger because the rest of the world did that for you.”

It’s then that you realize you’re both standing, your finger jabbed into the Windsor knot of his tie. Still, you don’t stop.

“You are the shell of an actual politician; you represent a safe option for right-adjacent Democrats and moderate Republicans who hate the president’s coalition and women. Especially women of color. You’re the perfect option because you stand for nothing of substance, you do nothing on your own. You’re a cover for old racist white men and moderate white women who need something to attatch their lack of political knowledge to during dinner conversations. Either you shape up, or I’m leaving this campaign and watching your inevitable fall from my office in the White House. I will drink a martini in the West Wing the day you lose, I will release a glowing endorsement of the first liberal who so much as whispers about taking your ass down. Do you understand me?”

The longest few seconds of your life pass with bated breath as you two stand there, chests rising and falling in a synced rhythm with your jaws set. It’s a stand off, neither of you willing to look away from the other’s eyes.

“Do you understand me, Evans?” you bite, getting angrier at each passing Chris says nothing. It’s not the self-reflective kind of silence, it’s the generic peanut butter when you’re too broke to afford the real stuff. It’s pasta before a marathon. It’s ads the radio station plays when they’re out of loops of the latest rape-adjacent pop hit.

It’s a filler. And it’s a bad one.

“¿Te comprende?” You’re almost yelling now, screaming in his face louder than you’ve ever screamed before. “¿Me necesitas para decirlo de nuevo?”

Another heavy pause. Chris’ voice is rough as he speaks, like ten grit sandpaper. “Yeah, I get it. I fucking get it.”

And with that, he grabs his side bag and stomps out of the conference room, grumbling something about high school Spanish and Despacito. You ignore his tantrum – unlike his father, who moves to run after him. You shoot daggers into the silver-haired ca, and he sits back down.

You push the too-sweet aftertaste of canned fruit to the back of your mouth. The thick resume paper slides out of your laptop-case-slash-important papers-folder with ease, the heavy five-hundred word essay on why you hate your job detailed in 12-font Times New Roman, pristine black letters nearly shining in the low light.

“That’s my letter of resignation,” you say, looking your boss dead in the eyes. With his jaw set the way it is, you expect to hear his teeth cracking before you could leave the boardroom.

“You know we can’t accept this,” his father says with a tone that’s much too close to a laugh. A nervous laugh, but one that makes you feel like he’s treating you as if you were a joke nonetheless. “You’re our only hope for this race.”

The second sheet of paper - or, rather, the small stack with a staple in the top right corner perfectly perpendicular to the nearest corner - hits the table next. “Then, these are my demands. Let me know by midnight tonight if you can meet them or not so I know whether or not to accept a job somewhere else.”

With that, you pick up your coat and leave.

The driver, a single mom in her mid-forties who is helping put her only son through college, laughs when you enter the backseat of her vehicle. It’s not condescending, not something you feel offended by. Rather, shame paints your face.

“Did Mr. Evans-Junior snap?” She asks as she pulls away. Her tone is knowing, too knowing. How long has she worked for the Evans anyway?

You sigh, then scream into your hands. The woman in front of you doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move a muscle as she waits for your reply. “He’s an idiot.”

The woman laughs. “That’s not what I asked, and I know you know that.”

You’re tempted to scream again, only a little louder. You don’t. “He snapped. I snapped,” you sigh again as you watch out the window. It’s late, too late for traffic to be like this. Fuck Boston. “Now I want to go home and take off my bra and wash off my make up and ger super drunk and shave all my hair off and quit my job and become a sheep herder in Iceland.”

The woman doesn’t disagree, doesn’t negate. She gives you the wonderful gift of silence until she drops you off, waving you goodbye.

“You have a good night,” she calls.

“I’ll do my best,” you shout back.

You’re alone in your apartment, dressed in the most comfortable (and expensive) pair of pajamas you own with red wine and some playlist titled an artsy version of “my life is very sad and my world is falling apart so I bought a $200 bottle of alcohol and hope I cry off my name-brand make up before I have to reemerge into the eyes of polite society,” when you get the text you’ve been dreading. It’s Chris, with his perfect capitalization and punctation and lack of emoji use. You’ve seen the way he texts the rest of the team, his family, his friends. He only pulls that shit with you.

Fuck, you think as you open the message. That kid’s really gotta loosen up. Isn’t weed legal in Massachusetts? He’s a Democrat, there’s no excuse.

He’s asking if he can come over, because of course he is. You’re just lucky the message is something closer to “I feel bad and wish to speak about it with you in person” instead of the crass “u up” you expected. Still, when the three dots at the bottom of the screen appear once again, you assume it’s going to be a picture of his junk that loads.

“Please,” is all the text says.

You acquiesce, sending him something akin to a “Fine but if you step out of line again your ass is going to be explaining why you fucked up to the cold-as-fuck pavement outside.”

You hear the knock at your door thirty minutes later (you often forget how shitty Boston traffic is), opening it to reveal the saddest white boy you’ve ever seen in your short life.

His chestnut hair is disheveled enough to indicate he’d had half of a sleepless night. This is the most casual you’ve seen him – basketball shorts with another Godforsaken Harvard hoodie with Nike sneakers – bags under his eyes completing the “sad frat boy who probably just flunked a chem exam” kind of look.

“Can I come inside?” he asks.

You sigh, trying to figure out how your life came to this. A jerk of your chin allows him entry into your small apartment, every surface littered with physical copies of presentations and a map of Massachusetts covered in stickers and sticky notes and scribbles of poll numbers from past campaigns. To Chris’ untrained eye it all looks like the homestead of a serial killer, but to anyone else on his campaign it’s his ticket to the senate. Politics is a game, a game with very public winners and losers and those who fall between; anyone who doesn’t study all of those outcomes is destined to find themselves either a) in a vacation home in the hills of Vermont drunk as hell, or b) running for president.

(You’ve considered how likely both of those possibilities are, and part of you fears he’ll do both).

There’s a heavy, awkward silence that falls over the room as you both sit down, facing each other.

“So,” you ask awkwardly. “Do you want, uh, a beer…or something?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m, uh, I’m alright. Thanks.”

You sigh a little, relieved. “Good, because all I have is very expensive red wine and judging by our past interactions it is not worth having it spilled all over my white carpet.”

For a moment it’s obvious he doesn’t realize that you’re kidding, but after a few seconds of a facial expression that’s a perfect blend of concerned, rejected, and confused – he lets a little smile get past his façade.

“Yeah, uh,” he laughs. “That sounds like a bitch to clean up.”

What follows is a few minutes of incredibly awkward silence as he looks around your house once more and you take the opportunity to look at him.

It’s weird to see him in this state – it’s weird to see him as something human.

Still, you want to snap at him when he breaks the quiet.

“I want to do better,” he says, voice small. He avoids meeting your eyes, wrings his hands while he looks at the floor. “I thought about what you said and I,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I want to do better…for you.”

You sigh, placing your red wine on the side table next to you before clasping your hands together. “Look, if you’re winning this election for me-“

“I’m not,” Chris says way too defensively. You let it slide for your own sanity.

“If you’re doing this for me, you’re going to be disappointed. Mostly because what your father wants and what I want are two very different things,” Chris opens his mouth to speak again but you hold you hand up to silence him. “Listen, I have a few rules with my clients. The first one is don’t lie to me. We can talk around this all day outside the boundaries of this home, but if you can look me in the eye on my couch while I drink my wine and tell me you’re doing this for a love of the people or whatever, I’m going to need you to leave.”

Chris gives you a single silent nod.

“But, if you want to win this shitshow…” you drink the rest of the glass in a single gulp. “Then, yeah. Let’s fucking do this.”

Chris lights up.

“But, I have some rules.”

He nods silently, allowing you to continue.

You count off on your fingers. “Don’t lie to me. When I ask a question, answer it. If I don’t ask a question, answer it anyway. I want to know everything, got it?”

Chris nods.

“The only time I don’t want you to speak is when I tell you to shut the fuck up. You got that, too?”

Chris nods again.

“Good, then I have a sneaking suspicion this will work out just fine.”

#chris evans x reader #lukis writes stuff #senator evans #chris evans smut #chris evans imagine

[ohtheseboysilove]

Timid little creature [Ben Hardy x F!Reader]

Words : 3, 000 K +

Warnings : smuuuuuut (reader’s on the pill)

Summary : Reader is very shy and need a little push to try new things in bed.

Note :  I just hit 400 followers so I thought a littler smut with our Benny boy could be a nice thank to you my cuties !! love writing about shy!reader, I used to be very timid so it’s easy to do it ! Maybe I will write more about it, we will see ! Hope u enjoy this one love :)))) And thanks again for ur comments, likes, reblogs and messages, love u 🥰✨✨✨

🌼Requests are open🌼☀ Masterlist ☀

@/none of these gifs are mine xx

You hummed happily as you jumped out of the bus, walking toward Ben’s flat. You and him were seeing each other for the last four months and every thing was more than fine with the blonde, he was funny, smart, kind and incredibly handsome. His blond curls and greenish eyes made you head dizzy the first time you saw him, his well defined abs were just the cherry on the top.

It wasn’t rare that you slept at his place on the thursday night as it always the day where you finished your shift late in the evening and his place was way closer than your own flat. You knew he had some mates around tonight but he told you to come anyway, you used the copy of the keys he gave you to entered in the building then in his flat. The sound of the t.v was blasting as the boys were apparently playing video games, you scrunched your nose at the thick smell of cigarette, pizza and sweat, a typical boyish evening. You gently patted Frankie’s head and took your shoes off quietly, you were a bit shy, okay maybe super shy and you didn’t know all of Ben’s friends so if you could avoid to meet them with your work look, it would be better.

“Come on Ben, you pussy ! That the third time in a row you lose !”

“Fuck off Jeff, you’re a cheating bastard !”

You giggled quietly at your boyfriend’s voice, he took the video games very seriously, you could picture his red face, frowning like a grumpy baby.

“You lost, you know the deal Benny Boy. A shot and a bed question”

You stopped in your track, curious to hear about the rest of the conversation. You stayed in the hallway, still hiding from Ben and his friends, waiting for the bed question, you cheeks flushing a bit. The blond groaned and gagged a bit, probably because he took his shot.

“Go on, what do you want to know ?”

“Alright, (Y/N)’s hot”

You cheeks burned at his comment.

“I knew you were checking my girl last time, you better stop that” Ben warned him but you heard the amusement in his voice.

“I was about say that I bet (Y/N) is loud in bed, the shyer are the most savage in bed”

You bit the inside of your cheek, chuckling awkwardly. Thanks god no one seemed to know you were here or you would have been so embarrassed. You were rather timid and private person. Chatting about your sex life with Ben’s friends was the last thing you wanted.

“Well...she’s not really...vocal” It was true, you were a bit ashamed of the sound of your moaning so most of the time you stayed quiet. “I mean she’s shy, really shy, even with me ya know ? I wish she would be more comfortable around me, especially in bed” His friends let wolf-whistles echoing in the room and you gulped quietly, you didn’t know Ben was bothered with your timidness.

“Aw Benny, come on are you saying she’s boring in bed ? It would such a waste, she’s a gorgeous girl” Your breath hitched in your throat as you waiting for Ben’s answer. He stayed silent and you felt like a tone of brick just fell in your stomach. Did Ben just confirmed he found boring sexually speaking ?

“I didn’t say she was boring !” You pinched your lips furiously, the embarrassment rushing over you. You and Ben had sex for the last three months and you didn’t even notice he wasn’t having fun like you did. You felt incredibly stupid. “She’s just...fuck, I sound like a real asshole, she is an incredible girl and I like her, a lot but in bed...she’s even shyer” You were sure you face was crimson by now. “We don’t do anything...exciting. Always the same kind of boring position, last time I tried the doggy style but she was so tense, we ended doing the missionary like every time. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, that definitely not the point of having sex”

They kept talking but you weren’t listening anymore, too embarrassed to focus on something else than Ben’s words. Boring. The worst part ? He was right, you never did something new in bed and until now you never thought about it. You needed some time to get comfortable and trying new sex positions was a bit out of your comfort zone. You put your shoes back on and grabbed your bag before silently leaving his flat, you were too ashamed to face Ben tonight. You quickly texted him saying that one of co-worker offered you a ride home, promising to see him soon.

*****************************************

The two following weeks you couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with Ben. Your self-esteem was too low to even took your top off in front of him. Of course you wanted to sleep with him but knowing now that you weren’t an interesting lay made you even more timid than usual and the blond quickly noticed your weird behaviour. He knew you were a sensitive girl so he didn’t push to talk about whatever was bothering you but tonight he had enough, he was feeling a bit put aside as you didn’t tell him what was wrong.

His hand was slowly rubbing your thigh as you were currently watching the t.v in the sofa, he glanced at you but you didn’t react, you eyes glued on the screen. He tilted his head and let a trail of light kisses on your exposed shoulder, biting gently the thin skin. You sighed quietly at the nice feeling and didn’t push him away when he moved to your mouth for a hot steamy kiss. Soon you ended up laying on the sofa under his broad body, your hands lost in his hairs as you were in intense making-out session. You moaned lowly when his hand brushed on your clothed nipples, your hips bucking involuntary into his.

“Should we move to the bed room ?” The husky voice of Ben gave a shiver as he warm hand palmed cheekily your breasts, his hard bulged throbbing against your thigh. “Want you so bad, love”

You froze as his fingers found the zip of your jeans, immediately pushing him away. You sat and cleared your throat awkwardly, giving him a small smile as he looked at you questioningly.

“I...I’m feeling a bit tired I think I’m gonna go to bed”

“Okay, what’s wrong (Y/N) ?” You pretended to be confused and he shook his head. “I know something wrong for days now, I thought you would talk to me at a point but you still hiding in your shell” You blushed furiously and stared at your fidgeting fingers. “Hey, it’s me, you can talk to me you know that, right ?”

His voice as soft as he gently caressed your burning face, turning your head toward him. You didn’t were it was coming from but you were a bit frustrated about his words.

“Coming from someone who complain about our boring sex life to your friends, it’s pretty amusing” His eyes widened at your sudden burst of confidence.

“How–“

“I was in your flat the other day and I heard the conversation” You shrugged and gave him a little smile, pretending you weren’t hurt.

“Oh love, shit, I...I shouldn’t have say that, fuck I’m so stupid” He sighed deeply, running a hand in his messy hairs. “I didn’t...it wasn’t– I’m sorry...“

“I’m not mad Ben, you are right, I...always stay in my comfort zone, it’s hard for me to try new thing” He nodded quickly, relieved that you finally opened to him. “Even if I want, I just...I always think about the worst things, like you wouldn’t like that or I would embarrassing myself because I’m very clumsy and– I overthinking everything”

You lowered your gaze under Ben’s intense staring and melted against his warm touch on your even warmer cheek.

“(Y/N), I know how you’re feeling, I was timid too when I was younger and I’m still not the most comfortable in public but that my job so I’m sued to now but I really like you, ya know ?” He brushed a sweet kiss on your swollen lips and felt your heart puffed at his words. “But I want you to be comfortable around me, I would never judge you, about anything. You can talk to me about everything (Y/N), anytime”

You nodded timidly and he smiled softly.

“I just wished you would have talk to me rather than chatting to your friends, it was...embarrassing to hear.” You murmured.

“I know and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again” His voice was confident and you smiled back, your finger tracing random patterns on his hand. “I just...I didn’t wanted to push your limits, I was planning on waiting a little bit longer before talking about it but you’re totally right, my comportment was stupid and disrespectful to you”

“Thank you Ben” You replied. You tucked a strand of hairs and blinked nervously. “I...you know, I do want to try other things with you, I’m just...not sure what to do ? You’re so much more experienced than me and I don’t want to ruin what we have with my hesitation...”

“Hey, ‘s alright love. It’s just me, no need to feel nervous” He pressed a delicate kiss on your jaw and you couldn’t repress a shiver. Your fingers softly grazed on his neck, bringing his mouth on yours for a soft yet long kiss. “We don’t have to do anything right now (Y/N)” He murmured weakly as your tongue teased his lower lip, your hands tugging at his soft hairs.

“I want to” You said in a low tone, heart beating heavily against your ribcage. There  won’t be the perfect moment for to finally pass over your shyness so why no try right now ?

Ben grinned and followed you to his room, hands tangled together. You both fell on the bed, hot kisses exchanged, his shirt and pants flying somewhere in the room as well as you tight jeans and he quickly ended up between your thigh, eating you out like a starving man, earning muffling moans from throat. He made sure you were wet enough before stopping and looking adoringly at you.

“Do you think being in charge would make you less nervous ? You decided what we do and at your rhythm” He gently rubbed your clothed back as you nodded timidly, not capable to keep eyes contact with him, your shy nature never far away.

“What...what I’m supposed to do ?” You asked with a low voice, he or every men you frequented were always in charge and you didn’t have to ask this kind of question to yourself.

Ben chuckled gently and pushed away the locks in your face. “What do you want to do, love ? Just...whatever you feel like doing, don’t put too much pressure on your yourself, kay ?”

A small smile curled on your features and swallowed tightly, thinking about what to do next. Ben patiently looked at you, his beautiful green eyes dilated with lust, his swollen lip trapped between his teeth, you could have cry of how pretty he was.

“Can...can I ride you ?” You blurted suddenly, a spasm of boldness rolling through your system. You already saw scenes in movie where girls were ridding their lover and you thought that was super hot but once again, too shy to propose the idea or afraid that Ben would laugh at you.

“’f course you can” His voice was huskier than usual and the effect on your words on him was more than visible, his breathing increasing immediately. “’s super hot”

You giggled shyly and kicked out your panties before hesitantly straddled his thighs, pressing your hands on his bare chest to keep your balance. He happily let you be in charge, an encouraging smile on his round face. Your bare core was right behind his covered throbbing bulge, both of you panting at the slight brushing.

You cleared your throat and shakily unbuttoned your shirt like if you were a shy virgin, Ben, feeling your hesitation and nervousness, sat back, lowering a bit your body to reach your hot neck, kissing it teasingly. You sighed as his teeth sunk in your skin, making you shivered but not enough to hurt you.

“Smell divinely good, love” You threw your useless shirt somewhere in the room and focused back on the beautiful man in front of you. His hard cock was pulsating painfully against you, still restricted by his underwear and lightly tugged on it, asking for the permission to take it off. “Please” He cried when you hand hovered over it, brushing it in a teasing way you that he didn’t know you had in you.

“Lay down Benny” You whispered as you gently pushed him to the bed before taking you bra off, exposing your bare breasts to a marvelled Ben. He licked vigourisly his lips and caressed slowly your hard nipples.

“They’re even prettier from this view” He hummed appreciably and you blushed even harder.  

You finally tugged down his underpants, freeing his aching member, already dripping from pre-cum. He whined at the gesture, his beautiful features twisted in a mix of relief and pain. You started to stroke him, gently and slowly, savouring every little noises coming from his plumpy lips with burning cheeks. You already gave him handjob and blowjob, of course, but usually you were on you knees, at his mercy. This time you had the power and it felt great.

“Love, if you– oh fuck, I’m going to come really soon if you keep doing that” He managed to say. You admired how some of his hairs was stuck with the light coat of sweat on his forehead and one of his arms bended behind his head, showing his strong biceps tattooed, he was truly gorgeous.

You bowed and pressed a kiss on the little blue vein popping up on his muscle then slid your hands on his torso to slowly raise yourself. Your finger, trembling a bit, from excitation and nervousness, grabbed softly his hard length and lined it with your enter, giving a last glance at Ben before slowly sunk down on him. Your head fell back as his shaft stretched deliciously your walls, your mouth opened in a perfect O shape.

“Holy shit, love, feel so good” The blond breathed as his eyes devoured every inches of you, his two large palms found their way to your waist.

After few seconds you gave an experimental rolling of your hips and the pure ecstasy on Ben’s face could have made you come here and right now. So you quickened your pace, lifting your body a bit before slamming back on the blonde, your eyes closed and mind lost in pleasure.

“Ben” You cried as the pressure in your lower abdomen increased heavily at every movements. Your lip roughly trapped between your teeth to muffle your moaning but when the blond hit a particularly sensitive spot you can’t contained the loud groaning coming from the back of your throat.

You immediately opened your eyes, crimson with embarrass and Ben stared at you with so much intensity, you slowed your movement, already sure that you were ridiculous and broke the atmosphere.

“I’m sorry...I–“

“What you’re sorry for sweetheart ?” Ben cocked his head and squeezed your hips. “That was bloody hot, please I want to hear you more, love” You hid your face in your hands but the blond immediately pushed them away, kissing each of your palm. “I’m serious, you can’t imagine how it’s turning me on to hear you moan, so fucking hot”

You swallowed nervously but the look on his face gave you enough confidence to keep going. You moved again, adding two fingers between the both of you to rub your clit and left your mouth hung open as the noises of pleasure escaped freely.

“Yes, dove, just like that, sing for me” His hands glued around your hips helped you keeping the quick pace as you felt your orgasm coming closer. “So, so hot, my love ! Look at you, tits bouncing up and down, shit, you’re fucking perfect” His praising boosted you as you moaned louder, your walls clenching ferociously as your orgasm washed over you, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Shit Ben, that was...” You panted heavily as your movements became sloppier, most of them coming from Ben’s hips, bucking against you, chasing his own release. “Something else” You couldn't put words on it but you were grateful that for once your fought against your shyness, it was more than worth it.

“I know, love. Bloody amazing you were up here” In a last shaking movement, the blond cum inside you, swearing loudly and you couldn’t take your eyes of from him, looking incredibly pretty and aroused. You never saw him so panting and satisfied than right now. “I’m so proud of you, dove. Did you enjoy being on top ?”

“Yes” You murmured timidly the steamy and boldness moment was gone, you shyness was back but you knew you will certainly doing it again. “Very much”

“Me too” You slowly moved from him and cried at the sensation of emptiness, he grabbed your waist and put you close to him, breathing heavily. “Can you think next time we can do the doggy style ?” He asked with an amused smile, savouring the immediately timidity painting on your face, he loved making you blush.

You hid your face in his shoulder as you giggled childishly. You pressed a light kiss on his sweaty skin and nodded quietly, earning a massive smirk from your boyfriend.

“Can’t wait to see this pretty ass of yours sticking up in the air just for me” He slapped playfully your bare bottom and you gasped, surprised but amused.

You sighed deeply and nuzzled comfortably against Ben, drained out of all energy but very proud of yourself.

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #queen #masterlist #borhap

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 4)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 4k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: There’s some action in this.

SERIES MASTERLIST

July 28th, 1944

Dear Dean,

Guess who got promoted? You’re writing to Sergeant Sam Winchester now, jerk! I expect to be called that forever and always. Other than that, we’re sitting here quite comfortable on the bed you guys made for us. I have to handle a lot of logistics. Sending back POW for camp and shit, Dean, I have pity for them. They’re not doing anything wrong. They fight as we do, they follow orders. Some of them are only 17! Can you imagine? I don’t think that I’ll ever forget them, and I can’t say it out loud but yeah, they deserve better.

Shit, Dean, I’m sorry about that kid. I bet it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault, but you have to go and make it harder on yourself every fucking time, don’t you? I know you. Let it go. Move the fuck on. It’s war Dean, you can’t save them all.

You call the new private Bambi? You’re such a dick, you know that? I bet you do. Btw, how are Sneezy and Dopey? Seriously, Dean, stop giving them nicknames. But yeah, that new private sounds like a treat. Just think that every time he looks at you, that it’s me judging you, alright? I hope he rolls his eyes at you too, you totally deserve it. And hey, if he does, don’t punish him. I swear if you do, I’ll never write to you again, are we clear? I try to sound like someone with authority now. Doesn’t really work all the time, but I’m getting there.

Stay alive, Dean, alright? I miss you, too. Hey, remember Winchester Surprise? That’s better than the K-ratio sitting in my bag since the day we left England. I said I always hated Winchester Surprise, but that thing would be a damn treat right now.

See you around, Dean

SERGEANT Sam Winchester

***

They were preparing to leave Saint Lo and move south to Vier. Fucking finally! As much as Dean enjoyed the rest, his body was itching to fucking move out. He wanted to go home and in order to do that, they need to keep on moving. Need to keep on fighting. Need to win.

The weather could’ve been better for the march. The clouds hung heavy in the sky and there was a dribble of rain and Dean knew that they should’ve considered themselves lucky if it didn’t pour all the way to Vire.

“29 Let’s go!” Captain Mills shouted ever so enthusiastically and apart from the occasional groans of disappointments, they go. Dean chose to ignore Dopey who groaned the loudest. They moved in companies. Baker company were some 400 odd men that were probably going to be hard to miss should the Germans spot them.

As if on cue, it started to rain the moment they moved out, and Private Fitzgerald mumbled something that he’d rather a broad is wet and not him which earned him a punch to the helmet from Harvelle with a low, “Now’s not the time to joke, Fitzgerald!” The others cheered Harvelle on. Dean walked in the middle of the platoon and chuckled at Fitzgerald and Harvelle who were still arguing in front of him.

They marched towards Vire, raiding farm houses in between. It was easy, there were no casualties from his side and they kept on moving with German POWs. Battalion staff would come collect them once they settled into their harbor area.

Dean always felt bad, capturing German POWs. More often than not, they were scared shitless. He would be too, having 10 rifles pointed at him and knowing that one of them could shoot anytime. Some of them were young. Younger than they looked, because war made the men look older than they really were.

“So, who’s up for a joke?” Corporal Barnes asked as he felt morale dropping the further they got. They’d been out there for four hours and it hadn’t stopped raining yet. If anything, the rain even picked on.

“Barnes, no!” Dopey said from the back. “Your jokes are the worst.”

“Barnes, yes!” Barnes shouted back to Dopey. “If you think you can tell better jokes, be my guest.”

“Barnes, no.” Dean needed to end this as their leader. Besides, Barnes’ jokes were really the worst, everyone knew that except of Barnes himself.

Barnes turned to Dean, “Come on, Lieutenant. Not fair. I saw your lips quivering at the last joke I told.”

Dean’s face remained straight. “That’s just because I was holding myself back from barfing.”

“That’s a good one! See Barnes, the Lieutenant is funny!” Dopey called to the front and others agreed.

Dean took a look back and smirked when his gaze fell on Bambi who was a couple lines behind him. He was busy the last couple of days, preparing for his platoon to move out that he didn’t have the time to check how the new privates got along, including Bambi. If he was being honest, Dean avoided Bambi in the first two days after Jim left. He didn’t even know why he did it. He just knew that he couldn’t be around Bambi. He wasn’t ready to feel that weird thing in his stomach again. So, he did what he could do best, keeping himself busy and helping Mills plan their next mission.

But now, in the rain, Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bambi. The small private looked tired and it was like all the life had been sucked out of him, despite the men getting a bit of a rest. If Bambi was bothered already, the way they still keep a tight schedule when they are supposedly resting, then boy, he was going to be in for a freaking treat when shit goes down.

“Bambi on me!” Dean shouted to the back and he could see that at his call, Bambi’s face lit up and Dean watched as the private scrambled to the front to catch up with him, metal of his rifle clacking against his canteen. Dean was glad that they weren’t on noise discipline.

“Yes, sir!” The short guy said, looking up to him and the rain splatter in his face made his eyes stand out even more than they normally would. Even in the grey of the rain, Dean could see the brown orbs clearly, glowing curiously.

Dean kept his voice low as not to raise suspicion on why he called up a private with an order, but has nothing to say in regards of their mission. “How are you?”

Bambi lowered his gaze then, looking down as they march through gravel and rain, their boots splashing through puddles and Dean kind of hoped, that his socks would stay dry. “I’m ok. Just.. missing my brother, is all.”

Dean knew the feeling of missing a brother. He’d been there and experienced it every day since they got on the LCVP to cross the channel over to France.

Still, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with the small private. Bambi was different. He watched Bambi, when he talked to Jim. Dean was standing maybe 20 feet away, pretending to listen to Balthazar’s rant about his boots that didn’t fit him anymore and Battalion were not able to provide him with new ones until they would arrive in Vire. Balthazar went on and on and Dean was clinking out of the conversation then. Instead, he watched. He watched, as Jim put an arm around Bambi. Watched, as Jim pulled Bambi close and gave him a peck on the head. Now he doesn’t know how other brothers are doing this because apart from a hug, Sam didn’t get jack from him, but also it wasn’t really his place to go there, but something was weird about it. The way Bambi leaned into the kiss and closed his eyes. They were close, Dean could tell. And it might have been a totally stupid thought that stemmed from deep in his gut, but Dean had to admit, that he felt jealous. He didn’t even know why.

Dean shook his head, trying to get the thought out of his mind. “Good. You’re doing good. We’ll be in Vire soon.”

He didn’t dismiss Bambi, and Bambi didn’t fall back. They kept walking comfortably side by side.

***

July 30th, 1944

They were so fucking close to Vire when they got cut off by German battery. It was just a small village, consisting of 5 to probably 6 farmhouses. Dean knew that it would be too good to be true if they would just get from one city to another without being shot at, but one could still dream.

Now, he found himself jumping out of the way of mortar shells.

The rounds were raining on them, mortars and shells flying over them from somewhere high above and Captain Mills was shouting to Get the fuck down and duck into cover.

Dean couldn’t fucking see anything as the rounds touched the earth and whirled up clouds of dusts. They ducked down and Dean shouted to his men. “Be ready to shoot as soon as the smoke lands!” He pulled his rifle up into his shoulders, his finger ready on the trigger. He fired click click click.

Dean heard how a bullet tore through Private Spengler’s thighs. He could hear Harvelle shouting for a medic. Another round of shells hissing above them and then there was Dean; finger on the trigger. Click click. The counter fire stopped then, all of a sudden, which wasn’t suspicious at all.

“Where are they?” Dean shouted at nobody in particular and then he scrambled up. He swung himself against something that used to be a truck. Only it was riddled with bullet rounds and it probably was on fire at some point not too long ago.

“Balthazar, take three platoon around east of axis, use the trees and high grass as covers. Two platoon, support them with suppressive fire!” Captain Mills was huddled behind the big tree with a couple of new privates who were shaking visibly. It was the first combat they run into after they’ve been replaced.

Balthazar and Novak moved out, leaving more room for Dean and Gabe’s platoons. They heard them. There was shouting and firing and someone screamed for a medic. Shurley, the T-4 Medic of the company was about to get up but Mills pulled him back down. He couldn’t risk it, besides there’s a medic with two platoon. They laid low, listening to the fire of guns, shouting of Germans and their own men. They waited until they clearly heard Balthazar shout out an “All clear!” And that’s when Dean noticed that he’d been holding his breath all along with occasional short gasps.

“It’s not clear.” Someone mumbled. Dean craned his neck over the two bodies next to him to see Bambi pressing his back against the old truck.

“What’s that, private?” Dean asked before he pointed his chin to Bambi. “Bambi, on me!”

Dean watched as the men made way for Bambi to move to him. They were shoulder to shoulder and he turned his head, looking Bambi in the eye. His heart was pounding and his breathing was heavy. So was Bambi’s.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked him lowly and even though Bambi was breathing hard, he was completely composed. At ease.

“It’s not over. Platoons two and three? They went around the right but some stray bullets also came from the left. Clearly they only cleared the right path, and I bet there’s at least one sniper up somewhere. Permission to get up and take a look, Sir?”

“The hell you will,” Dean growled turning around and got on his knees to take a look himself, but Bambi was next to him already.

The private pointed his chin in the direction of an old Barn, standing maybe 200 yards away from the rest of the houses. It was big with a high attic. “There,” Bambi whispered. “That’s where I’d be.” There was a little window that almost wasn’t visible. “Probably about 450 yards, sir. 500 tops. If you give me the go, I can take him out, sir.”

Dean turned back to Captain Mills. “Sir, where our marksman?” Not that he didn’t want to give Bambi a chance, but he really didn’t want to give Bambi a chance when there was a marksman in their ranks who could maybe do a better job. Bambi was a freaking greenhorn, for fucks sake.

“They’re up around, Winchester. Do I need to radio for them to come back? Radio, on me!” Mills was already calling out for the radio man to come over and when the private got up to run towards the CO, his head snapped back and Dean thought that he might have even broken his neck by sheer force. “Shit, Crawford!” Captain Mills shouted and scrambled over to check on Private Crawford.

“Captain! Stay down! Everybody stay down! Sniper!” Dean screamed in his deep voice and the ground shook from everyone who planted themselves on their stomachs and ducked for cover.

“Harvelle! Get me a sniper rifle.” Dean knew that Sergeant Harvelle was always carrying an extra sniper rifle since they lost their shooter some days ago. He shouted his command at Harvelle while he looks at Bambi and sure as hell, Bambi smirked at him.

“Sir.” Harvelle was winding himself in the dirt as he handed Dean the rifle.

Bambi was ridding himself off his haversack and musette bag and put his own rifle on the ground before he took the sniper rifle from Dean, still with a stupid grin on his face. “Thanks, Lieutenant. You won’t be disappointed.”

Dean watched as the small private braced himself and the rifle on the door of the truck and then he adjusted his visor. Dean watched, when the private’s tongue darted out to lick his lips as he concentrated and all of a sudden, Dean’s lips felt very dry and he mimicked Bambi.

“Oh, hi there.” Bambi was whispering to himself, smiling even.

Dean watched as Bambi little fingers pulled the trigger as he huffed out another whisper. “This is for shooting at me, fucker!” A shot hissed through the air and then Bambi turned around, smiling brightly at Dean. “Done.”

Dean grinned then and his men cheered behind him.

“Where the fuck did you learn that from?” Dean was still chuckling and he held out a hand to help Bambi up.

“I have three brothers and they do all kinds of weird shit.” Bambi shrugged, handing the rifle back to Sergeant Harvelle and put on his haversack and musette bag before picking up his rifle from the ground.

“Shit, you’re good.” Dean exclaimed as he put his hand on the private’s shoulder, squeezing. Caught up in the moment, almost forgetting himself, he was tempted to pull the private in for a hug, but he caught himself last minute. “Remind me to never shoot at you, alright?”

“Or you’ll see what will happen, Lieutenant.” Bambi said with a wink.

August 1st, 1944

Jamie dug into the ground with her entrenching tool. They had to dig up foxholes and shell scrapings for the night. The ground wasn’t hard but the deeper she got, the wetter it got, too. It had been raining non stop for the majority of two days and the ground is soaked. She didn’t even know if she wanted to sleep down in a wet and damp foxhole to be perfectly honest. but what other options would she have?

Captain Mills stopped by while she worked on her foxhole and she paused, standing up at attention before the Captain put his arm on her shoulder telling her to be at ease with a calming voice and Jamie relaxed. He then began to praise her for her skills. Jamie felt good, real good. She smiled as the praise rained down on her which is the first time that she really thought that she could make a difference there.

The Lieutenant came back from the briefing with the Captain a little later and he stopped by every shell scraping and manned foxhole, making sure that the men had everything they need and to just randomly talk to them. Listening to their rant, taking in their gripes and even joke around. It was to keep their morale up, Jamie knew that much and Lieutenant Winchester was doing a good job. It would be a while until he would reach her anyway because she chose a place far back, not that she was anti social but she just sometimes needed a break from the amount of testosterone lingering in the air.

She could hear Sergeant Lafitte and Corporal Tran talking about the sweetheart they left at home and how eager they were to finally kill Hitler and go back so they can fuck them and make them pregnant - their words, not hers.

Private Trenton was curious, asking Lafitte and Tran to see the photographs of their girls at home and they compared them; which was a little gross, because then Trenton was saying that he’d been horny all week and asked if he could borrow the photographs to jack himself off. This, of course, angered Tran and Lafitte and it nearly ended in a fight had it not been for Lieutenant Winchester. He happened to walked by and ask how they were, and if they needed anything he could provide. Trenton then asked the Lieutenant a question that got Jamie’s attention. She stopped digging for a brief moment, so she could hear better. “Sir, you also have a sweetheart at home?”

“If yes, don’t give the picture to Trenton!” Tran tried to warn his Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Winchester chuckled at that, but didn’t answer in which Lafitte jumped in jokingly. “The Lieutenant has his Sam, Trenton.” Suddenly Jamie felt as if she was intruding, listening in on them, so she tuned out the talking and returned her focus to her digging.

Jamie dug her foxhole deep and decided to go down and rest. She was not on sentry tonight. Maybe it was some kind of reward. She’d take a nap and maybe if the fire was still on later, she’d make sure to go get coffee, but for now, she just wanted to close her eyes and forget for a moment that she was Private Blum. That she was a woman at war. A woman amongst men. That her family were all out in the field. That she was alone there.

“You alright down there, private?” Lieutenant Winchester’s voice rumbled above her and she opened up her eyes hesitantly.

“Fine, Sir.” She tried to smile, but she felt weak. She wasn’t used to walking for miles with heavy bags hung around her body and a freaking rifle slung on her shoulder.

“Permission to come in?” He asked with a smile so wide, she could see his perfect teeth through the dirt on his cheeks. Jamie didn’t pay much attention before, but then in the hazy light of the evening, when the sun was painting the sky all shades of purple, she could see that Lieutenant Winchester was breathtakingly handsome. How did she miss that before?

“Sure.” She moved a little to press herself to the far side of the wall in order to make room for him. He didn’t need to ask for permission actually. She witnessed before how he slides into a foxhole without asking, for a short nap, whenever one of the occupants was on sentry. The Lieutenant was always too lazy or too busy to dig his own hole and some of them were staying together in foxholes so Lieutenant Winchester could always find a place to nap whenever he wanted.

He placed his bags and rifle at the opening and scrambled down and then he lost balance and almost landed gracefully on his face. Jamie let out a wheeze before she put her hand over her mouth.

“Yeah, ha-ha.” He mocked before she even got the chance to say anything. “Shut it, Bambi!” Lieutenant Winchester took off his helmet and sat himself down beside her in the dirt. Shoulder to shoulder. Jamie noticed the folded picture neatly tucked into his helmet as it was lying upside down in between his feet.

She looked over to him and saw the line of the helmet that dug into his scalp and the bead of sweat that was on his forehead. The crinkles by his eyes. She could watch as a droplet of his sweat made its way down his jaw and dribble down his neck. His heart was pumping fast, she could see the pulsing on his throat. Lieutenant Winchester had freckles on his face. His hair was greasy and slicked back and he smelled like tobacco and wait, was that whiskey?

“You want a smoke?” He asked and Jamie politely declined. She had never smoked and even though she could here, because the cigarette came as a part of their ratio, she didn’t pick up the bad habit. She was never good with shaking off bad habits. But goddamn she could use whiskey. “Oh.” The Lieutenant said, stashing away his tin of cigarettes and didn’t light up one and it surprised her that he had manners. The way he breathed out the word ‘Oh’ that carried the sweet scent of whiskey with it, didn’t slip her mind, though, but she didn’t dare to ask.

He pulled out a big flask from his webbing and paired it with a wicked grin while he raised his eyebrow at her. “Then maybe this?”

She smiled back and tsked. “Lieutenant!” He shushed her immediately, holding a finger to his lips.

He quickly unscrewed it and took a sip before handing it over to her. She held it to her lips and he watched, as she tipped it back, and let the warm liquid go down her throat. It was harsh and it burned, but it was also warm. It was just what she needed. She handed it back to him, coughing a little as the last drop of it got lost in her windpipe and Lieutenant Winchester giggled at that.

“You’re weak.” He said but he didn’t meant it, Jamie knew.

She felt her eyes roll toward the sky in feigned annoyance, before she could really process what she was doing. She didn’t mean to disrespect him, but she was caught up in the moment, and she hoped she wouldn’t be dressed down for it. She was still when she realized what she’d done and the Lieutenant just stared at her warmly, as if his mind was trying to process something. Something important.

They looked at each other and he leaned in a little. Their noses brushed gently. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol or something else all together, but her head started to spin and she wanted to pull away, but she couldn’t, not when he’s breathing hotly against her lips. They were breathing the same air that smelled of sweet whiskey. Jamie closed her eyes briefly, as if she was giving him permission to kiss her and she didn’t even know why she did that, because she was a man and Lieutenant Winchester was a man, too, and he most likely wasn’t queer. The Lieutenant stalled, his face so close, their foreheads touched, their breathing mingled.

Lieutenant Winchester widened his eyes in shock after a moment, and he scrambled away to the other end of the tight foxhole. “Shit, Bambi. I..I..uh.. shit, fuck I’m sorry.”

He grabbed his flask in a hurry, putting it back into his combat jacket and got out of the foxhole. “Sorry…” He said again, his back to her.

Jamie couldn’t say anything. There was no sound that made it past her lips, despite them parting.

He turned around and back to look down at her but his gaze was anywhere, but on her eyes. “You did good the last few days. Keep up the good work.” With that, he was gone.

CHAPTER 5

#dear dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester x oc #dean x oc #dean winchester fan ficiton #dean winchester au fic #nathalie writes

[abeanblogs]

Bakugo = bug boy

Okay, I was prompted by @quirkify to do this so fuck it, it’s an excuse to talk about two of my favorite things: Bugs and Bakugo!

First, a bit of history on just HOW IN LOVE WITH BUGS I AM. I volunteer/work at a butterfly house in the summer. I have for 3 or 4 years! My parents always say I should be an entomologist. There aren’t any bugs that...*ahem*...bug me. I’ll pick up daddy long legs. I’ll pet bumble bees. I’ll watch beetles for hours. I’ll try and catch crickets. I’ll put a spider in a cup and take it outside if it’s in my house. I just....bugs.......

Anyway. So Bakugo. I imagine as a little kid, he would often go outside and hang out in his backyard to escape the stresses of his home life. There, he found himself fucking INFATUATED by the little harmless bugs he would find. Pill bugs? They have a little shell! They curl up when they’re scared! It’s like they have their own little quirk! And there’s big long ones! Millipedes, with a thousand teeny legs that ripple when they crawl! Bakugo would find them crawling on the cement and I imagine they caught his interest when they curled up because what the hell, how does something so small do anything cool?

One day when Bakugo gets mad and storms out of the house, he kicks over a little flower pot or watering can or pail that had been sitting in the dirt for a while, and he sees dozens of bugs scurry everywhere from under it. He’s immediately interested, because where are they running to? Are they scared of him? If the little rolly polly pill bugs have a defense mechanism, maybe these other bugs do too. He starts lifting up other flower pots and things that sit on the cement or dirt and he finds those pill bugs, but also crickets, and centipedes, and slugs, and worms. He watches where they go, and he follows them to the grass, where he finds other bugs, like flying bugs, moths and butterflies. And now NO PLACE is safe from this little boy searching everywhere for new bugs!

Once he’s old enough to actually explore places other than his own yard, he gets a bug net and some traps to go on hikes. He never keeps the bugs or kills them, he just observes them. Sometimes he’ll get bitten or stung by something he’s holding and that will set off his quirk by reflex, but he tries to never purposely kill a bug. They have so much against them in nature and so many people try to hurt them, he’s doing them a favor by letting them go back into the grass one last time.

Over time, he starts educating himself. He learns about all the different bugs he can find. When he starts infodumping and people complain about bugs they hate, he goes out of his way to find information and fun facts about that bug. He knows a lot about spiders and centipedes and bees and mosquitoes and all the bugs everyone HATES, just to prove that they aren’t as bad as they seem. Plus it’s a good way to impress people. He also educated himself on different bugs and their life cycles, and he wants to see it for himself. Butterflies or moths are a good place to start. He’d always seen them in different stages. Lots of caterpillars and butterflies, and even a few little jewels hanging from trees he found out were chrysalises. For monarch butterflies specifically, a female can lay up to 400 eggs. But only 1% of those might survive in the wild. Bakugo learned that by raising them, he drastically increases those stats to a 90-99% survival rate, and aren’t those some sweet statistics? So he starts raising them. He started small, with one or two caterpillars at a time, but over time it became almost a tradition to find caterpillars and raise them. He learned about different diseases that can kill them, different species and how they differ in raising techniques. Monarchs have a very ritualistic life cycle. The egg is laid. 3-7 days later, it hatches. They spend 2 weeks as a caterpillar, constantly eating and molting up to 5 times. Then they climb and make a silk button, then they hang in a J for about 24 hours. Then they make a chrysalis. They stay in their chrysalis for about 2 weeks, then they emerge. A day later, they can be released. Ritual, ritual, ritual. Bakugo loves knowing what to expect and when to expect it. For some other butterflies, like swallowtails, there’s no telling when they’ll come out of their chrysalis. It can be anywhere from 2 weeks to 2 years. Somehow, they can survive freezing temperatures. And god damn, are they elegant when they finally come out.

I imagine after Bakugo starts living in the dorms at UA, he keeps leftover chrysalises that overwinter and bug habitats in his room. He probably has an ant farm and a couple of displays of taxidermised bugs. He’ll still collect what caterpillars he can in the gardens and yard around the dorms and raise them. He tries to keep this interest to himself, because whenever he would get distracted by new bugs or would start infodumping to his “friends” when he was little, they would either get grossed out or be weirded out by him. His mom certainly didn’t like bugs in the house. So it kind of became his own private little thing.

His classmates had no idea about Bakugo’s interest in bugs until one day they found a spider in the dorm, a pretty good sized daddy long leg. One of the girls was going to kill it, but Bakugo stopped them by yelling at them to back the fuck up. Then he walked over, scooped up the spider in his bare hands, much to everyone’s horror, put it in a cup, and took it outside. He returned as if nothing had happened, because nothing did. He genuinely couldn’t understand the shocked looks on everyone’s faces.

The only people who dared to ask him about it were his close friends, Kaminari and Kirishima, when they were hanging out that night. He was pretty guarded about talking about why bugs were cool because his interest had been shunned by everyone before. At first he just kept it to, “Yeah, I just think they’re neat.” But they showed genuine interest and intrigue as to why these bugs were so neat, and why Bakugo, of all people, liked them. They were the first people to see his bug collection. They were the first people to actually LISTEN to his infodumping. They were the first people who didn’t shut him down for talking about this special interest. This really helped build his trust with them. Eventually, not only are Kaminari and Kirishima interested, but Sero hears about it, and Kyoka actually doesn’t mind either. And now they’re actually allowed to hang out in his room because they don’t mind the bugs, and Bakugo loves any chance he can get to explain them. Maybe one less person will hate them too.

That’s all I can think of to say about this right now, but yeah. Bakugo bug boy.

Thoughts?

#gem talks #quirkify #My Hero Academia #bakugo #bugs #bnha #infodump #i never write my own metas #but i got to project a little #like how i got into bug hunting #and how i started raising butterflies #its pretty similar to what i wrote here

[eatvangelist]

Eating Like Royalty on a Princess Cruise

My travel partner in crime and I got an interesting opportunity to visit a few places in North America.  We selected particular places we wanted to see - Cuba (yes, I know this one isn’t North America), Belize, Savannah (GA), and Charleston (SC).  My friend went on to propose we go on a Caribbean cruise with Princess, as this expected route would cover Belize and add Mexico and the Bahamas to our journey.  I had never been on a cruise before, and on top of that, she pitched me this right when omicron was announced, so I was especially skeptical but agreed to our new plan.  I was extremely nervous about this leading up to the trip, especially as the CDC warned against going on cruises and the ship we were boarding is under observation.  Once I got on board, however, I was surprised by how well-sanitized everything was and all the measures the crew took, especially around the dining areas.

Right before boarding the cruise, my companion who had been on nearly a dozen different cruises previously, dropped a warning on me. First-time cruise passengers usually gain about 10 pounds.  It’s hard not eat continuously on the cruise, as there were dining rooms, cafes, buffets, poolside eateries, and 24-hour room service, all included in the trip.  On top of that, most of the activities onboard the ship really weren’t for me.  I thought I would be sequestering in my stateroom most of the time and ordering room service for the whole trip as I wanted to limit my exposure to other passengers, but I ended up having room service for only one meal.  The staff was not messing around with sanitizing the dining areas, and seeing how much effort they put in made me feel more at ease about eating at each location.  My three favorite locations were the Island Dining Room, International Cafe, and the Marketplace (buffet).

Island Dining Room:

There were three dining rooms, but our cruise was only 25% full (the crew actually outnumbered the passengers), so only two were open. One of the fun aspects of traveling was meeting others, but given COVID-19, we opted for a private table and typically went either early or late, avoiding peak hours, which did definitely get packed. Each night, the dining rooms offered 4-6 different entrees to choose from, as well as starters, a couple pastas, and desserts.  Since all the meals were included, we usually got multiple starters, entrees, and desserts so that we didn’t have to choose or limit ourselves if multiple dishes looked appealing.  On one night, we ordered 3 dishes of escargot, 2 seafood Louie, 1 dish of ravioli, 4 lobster tails, 1 beef Wellington, 1 duck, and 2 chocolate bombe desserts.  We still drool over our memory of that lobster tail and the overall experience - the perfection of the texture, subtle sweetness of each bite, and service and presentation (our server pulled the meat out of the shell for us tableside).  I could be wrong, but by our estimate, this dinner alone would cost about $350-400. We ate like this almost every dinner.  

The amazing food was one piece to why we liked the dining room, but you could also order everything from the menu using room service. We enjoyed the dining room, specifically Island Dining Room, because the staff.  Our main servers were always very friendly and trafficked the pacing of each course well so that our foods were always served at the right temperature.  They really enhanced our dining experience.  Dinner was the most impressive service of the dining room, but it was also open for breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea.  We were unimpressed with the afternoon tea, and while breakfast and lunch were fine, we preferred other places on the ship, specifically the International Cafe.

International Cafe:

Unlike the dining room, the International Cafe was open 24 hours.  The coffee bar here served the best lattes on the entire ship, and the barista made some pretty detailed latte art upon request.  While food and regular coffee and tea were included with the cruise, the lattes here were not, but they weren’t too expensive ($2-5).

It wasn’t just the coffee that got us to keep going back to the cafe.  There were two display cases of desserts, pastries, salads, and sandwiches.  Stopping by here for a small bite or snack was way better than afternoon tea in the dining room.  As International Cafe was located in the piazza of the ship, there were usually performers (musicians) providing entertainment.  When I was enjoying my quiche and tea there one day, I got to enjoy a pianist going through her Gershwin songbook.  This very quickly became one of my favorite spots on board the ship.

Marketplace:

Ever since the pandemic, I had become weary of buffets, but shortly after I boarded the ship, I was starving and it was the place my companion said we should hit up first for lunch. To enter Marketplace, we had to wash our hands at the entrance.  Additionally, the staff handed us a plate and other than a couple mini bites served in martini glasses and little saucers, staff was at each station to serve us to minimize exposure from breathing on foods or touching shared utensils.

Marketplace was convenient, but it had its flaws, too. To accommodate guests, the griddle station prepared pancakes, waffles, and french toasts in advance. Since they were sitting there for a while, these three became rubbery. I tried the customized omelet station on my last day, and for whatever reason what was brought to me had none of the ingredients I asked for.  The server even brought out my ticket to confirm and became as baffled as I was on the huge miss. Nevertheless, I still liked Marketplace. A lot of the staff from the dining room dinner service also worked there in the mornings, so it was nice to see them again. On the last few days, there was masala tea available, which was quite good. For me, especially after the heavy dinners, Marketplace’s fresh fruits and yogurts were a must.

Honorable Mentions:

There were other eateries on the ship, too, near the pools. I thought my friend was exaggerating when she raved about the pizza there, but she was accurate.  The thin crust pizza was so good.  There weren’t a lot of choices though - Margherita, Pepperoni, and whatever the daily special was.  

I also enjoyed one of the bars, Explorer Lounge. While I didn’t eat anything there - not sure if they even had food options, though we could have ordered room service and had them deliver to the bar or anywhere on the ship really - I did have a couple drinks there.  Alcoholic beverages again cost extra, but my bartender made me a fruit mocktail that was quite refreshing.

When it came time to disembark, I was actually sad to leave.  I got spoiled by ship life, but at the end of it all, I do prefer being on solid land more.  My waistline also appreciates the end of the gluttony.

#princess cruises #cruise #covid_19 #ship food

[dsghnzda]

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[rulystuff]

https://servicemeltdown.com/greece-remains-the-european-unions-favorite-whipping-boy/

New Post has been published on https://servicemeltdown.com/greece-remains-the-european-unions-favorite-whipping-boy/

GREECE REMAINS THE EUROPEAN UNION'S FAVORITE WHIPPING BOY

Editor’s note: In my frequent travels to Greece on business, I have witnessed firsthand the devastation which has been visited on this beautiful land by the nation’s European lenders. But the legacy of the corrosive and misguided actions of the nation’s former Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras – an atheist and former member of the Communist Youth of Greece – and his government in dealing with the nation’s fiscal crisis, and his fecklessness in dealing with the Troika particularly, makes him complicit in the spoliation of the country. Tsipras lied to his nation as he came to power on an anti-austerity platform. Yet, despite the fact that 61% of the nation voted to reject the European conditions for a bailout only days after the vote he agreed to the suffocating conditions of the bailout. For his part, Mr. Tsipras was more concerned with whether the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM) – a largely Slavic and Albanian nation with no claim to the legacy of Alexander the Great and with perhaps irredentist ambitions for a united Macedonia – could keep the name “Macedonia” in its country name than in navigating the nation through its perilous economic shoals.

The assault of the Troika – the triumvirate of the European Commission, the International Monetary Fund, and the European Central Bank – on the sovereignty of Greece was harsh, unrelenting, and meant to punish the small nation. Ten years after Greece received the first tranche of bailout monies, the nation remains under strict supervision to repay its foreign lenders, principally Germany and France, at the expense of further impoverishing its people, and strangling its economy. As a result, Greece will remain forevermore under scrutiny by its lenders until the approximately $400 billion debt is repaid – which is to say forevermore.

“The fundamental reason why the Greek crisis [has, my italics] lasted so long was the extreme level of austerity that was imposed.” So, says, Ashoka Mody, a former deputy director of the IMF, in his book, Euro Tragedy: A Drama in Nine Acts. Mr. Mody, has gone on to say that the IMF should have “…insisted on a restructuring as a condition of its participation.” It was, however, mind-numbingly irresponsible of Mr. Mody and others at the IMF that they didn’t raise a loud and bloody hell at the time knowing full well that Greece’s debt was unsustainable as many of us on the outside understood.

THE CRISIS IS OVER!

Disgustingly, some Greek politicians are hailing the “end” of the crisis and disingenuously claiming, as Euclid Tsakalotos did, that “…things are improving and people can see that they are improving.” Mr. Tsakalotos, Minister of Finance in Tsipras’ Syriza radical-left government and a student member of the Communist Party of Greece, was reacting to a debt relief deal struck with the Eurozone that would allow Greece to begin to repay its debt in 2032. But, no amount of debt relief – “relief” is merely a euphemism for digging a deeper grave – will make up for a shrinking economy. In any event, that “things are improving,” as Mr. Tsakalotos alleges is more a statement of political expediency than of economic reality, and is the furthest thing from the truth. According to the Organization for Economic Cooperation (OECD), nearly one-third of the population of Greece is living near poverty. Retirees are living with reduced pensions; employers are “hiring” without contracts to avoid making social security and health contributions; and employees with bona-fide jobs can go months without pay while always keeping an eye on the calendar as their one-year anniversary approaches after which it becomes more difficult for them to get fired.

“CONTAGION” IS SCAREMONGERING BY THE EUROPEAN UNION

It has been my position for years that Greece should unilaterally repudiate its debt as it stands and restructure existing bonds at no more than, say, 20%. Interest arrears would be off the table in my scenario.  Clearly, easy credit fueled the socialist practices of current and previous Greek administrations and it is clear, as well, that no one was minding the shop as the nation lived well beyond its means. What is done is done. But, make no mistake about it, the longer a voluntary default is forestalled the greater the cost will be to both Greece and its European lenders. And, an involuntary default might be inevitable anyway.

The strongest expressed argument coming from the Eurozone against a voluntary default is that it would lead to “contagion” that would spread to other countries. But contagion is precisely what is being precipitated by straight-jacketing the Greek economy with austerity measures that will deepen an already deep recession. These austerity measures will almost guarantee that the growth needed to pay an increasing debt obligation is precluded. And, rest assured, the Greek economy is flat-lining if not eroding. Unemployment currently stands at over 18% (the highest in the European Union), with youth unemployment running at twice that rate. The nation also faces serious long-term demographic challenges. Since the height of the financial crisis to the present, Greece has seen approximately 500,000 of its citizens – mostly young and educated citizens – leave the country. And, it is not likely to get better anytime soon as the nation’s fertility rate of 1.35% is much below the required rate of 2.1% needed to maintain the population stable. A scarier demographic scenario can hardly be imagined as the nation will continue to atrophy in size.

No bailout is worth the loss of sovereignty that is in full bloom in Greece at the hands of the bureaucrats in Brussels and who already are making noises about not having enough control over the sovereign nation’s budget. The United Kingdom which had a lot less to lose than Greece voted 52% to 48% to exit the European Union in June of 2017 precisely because they didn’t want Eurocrats calling the shots.

I would give the Eurozone lenders a take it or leave it offer. Either they take the proffered haircut at 80% or Greece returns to the drachma, converts the remaining debt at the old exchange rate, prints money and thus ends up in in a better place financially. Meaningfully, credit-card-toting bureaucrats will not be telling Greece how it should run its internal affairs. This path of devaluing the currency will work by ratcheting down prices across the board and thus encouraging entrepreneurs to again take measured risks in lieu of running to offshore locations. It is true, the country will be excoriated in the European and American press and the economic, social, and political flak in the short term will be unceasing. Creditors, too, will have their day in court. Nerves of steel will be the order of the day.

IS ARGENTINA THE MODEL?

The roughly 50% write-down agreed to by Greek bondholders as part of the bailout has proved to be a Faustian deal.  Again, with little or no economic growth all the debt swaps in the world will fail to work miracles. And, for all of the talk about how Greece cannot be trusted to pay its debts unless it puts up sufficient collateral – some countries have suggested including the Parthenon and some Greek islands as collateral – the country has begun mortgaging its infrastructure by disposing of airports, seaports and highways. Clearly, fire-sale privatizations were also part of the bailout scheme. But it doesn’t end there. The esoteric shell game cooked up by the European Central Bank known as the Securities Market Program, allowed the bank to buy Greek bonds in secondary markets at deep discounts while selling them at par. The profits, which should have been returned to Greece are in arrears to the tune of nearly $10 billion.

The unarticulated reason for protecting Greek bond-holders throughout Europe, and the raison d’être for the Eurozone, in the first place, is that Germany covets as many captive, non-manufacturing country markets for its products as it can stand on the backs of its own citizens. It is clear that what Germany did not accomplish with tanks during World War II it is accomplishing with the complicity of the euro. In fact, it is an undervalued euro – in combination with relatively low wages – which in large measure explains Germany’s world-leading trade surplus of nearly $300 billion in 2019. Lest there be any doubt in anyone’s mind about German designs, it must be remembered that beginning in the late nineteenth century prominent German economists, politicians, and scientists held the view that it fell to Germany to “organize” the continent of Europe. That is hardly a faded dream. To this day that theme persists. German Sociologist, Wolfgang Streeck, author of How Will Capitalism End? Essays on a Failing System, for example, hails what he calls a “consolidation state” where a nation state’s market-conforming fiscal policy, a policy of austerity, and debt service take precedence over public policy.

There is no ignominy in being associated with an Argentine-styled default. Certainly, no more scorn could possibly be heaped on Greece than by those who have taken to the airwaves, social media or their print presses across the globe and spoken of the country’s “moral collapse.”  There is life after default. Argentina is proof of that. Argentina’s 2001 default restructuring offered investors a 70% haircut, which three out of four investors accepted. That was a wise decision on the part of investors as the country was not open to further negotiation.  The restructuring was also a wise decision on the part of Argentina as GDP subsequently soared. That Argentina has suffered additional defaults since 2001 speaks as much to creditor greed as it does to the fiscal mismanagement of South America’s second largest economy.

CAN ANYTHING ELSE GO WRONG?

Adding to Greece’s financial woes are two other exacerbating factors neither of which are of Greece’s doing: The first is the migrant crisis which has seen over one million refugees transit through the country. An equivalent percentage of migrants into the United States, by way of example, would amount to over thirty million people. The migrant crisis was born of German Chancellor, Angela Merkel’s open border conceit and financial leverage over a diffident Greek government but it is aggressively fueled by Turkish smuggling bands. Many Greek islands of the Eastern Aegean – Kos, Lesvos, Samos, and Chios have been particularly hard hit – have been turned into public sewers by the migrants which have overrun historically pristine beaches, desecrated Christian crosses, complained about Greek food and free accommodations, caused civil disturbances, and helped fuel a surge in prostitution. The European Union, an amalgam of 500 hundred million people, now finds reason to rebuke a nation of eleven million for not doing enough for the migrants.

Now comes the onslaught brought on by the Chinese Communist Virus. The current Prime Minister, Kyriakos Mitsotakis, panicked and overreacted by taking a heavy hand to impose severe lockdown conditions on the country such as banning inter-city travel, closing schools, shuttering places of worship, and enforcing early evening curfews. Violating lockdown restrictions can cost a citizen up to $600. This, despite the fact that Greece’s death rate is one of the lowest in the world at 642 deaths per one million population.  The Prime Minister, however, has seen fit to re-establish diplomatic relations with the murderous regime of Syria’s Bashar-al-Assad whose civil war has cost the lives of approximately 500,000 people.

LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING

Against this backdrop, I would move to reopen negotiations with the European lenders. The point of departure for a new set of negotiations would start by taking account of the Romans’ endless pillaging of Greece; or the Venetokratia, following the sack of Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade, which lay waste to the Byzantine capital. The looted art treasures served to adorn Venetian churches such as St. Mark’s with friezes, enamels, columns, capitals, mosaics, and the four copper-gilded horses stolen from the Hippodrome; or the horrific savaging of the Parthenon, destruction of its statues, and plunder of the Piraeus Lion – which majestically but most shamefully stands guard at the Arsenal in Venice – by the sadistic Venetian Doge, Francesco Morosini, who was hailed at home for his bestiality; or by the thievery of ancient Greek marbles by Lord Elgin who to this day is defended by British Prime Minister, Boris Johnson for his actions; or the theft by French historian Emmanuel Miller of caryatids from Thessaloniki in 1864 and which are still housed in the Louvre Museum; or the depredations of the Franco-British legations who attempted to destabilize the nation during the First World War; or by the savage and site-damaging excavations by amateur archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann including the demolition of Frankish treasures at the Acropolis; or the incalculable death and destruction suffered at the hands of the Germans and the Italians leading up to and during the Second World War. Clearly, if Greece calls in all of these IOU’s, Greece and its European lenders will be all fair and square.

[k2kid]

With special thanks to Kristen Den Hartog who made me aware of this soldier. She is currently researching this soldier. Please reach out to her if you can assist her.

The impact of physical and psychological injuries to the soldiers that served with the 18th Battalion will never be full understood. These injuries were, however, fully realized by the men and the people they associated with family, friends, co-workers, and the range of people they interacted with throughout their lives. Some of these injuries were persistent and present for the rest of a veterans’ life and some were “resolved” by treatment and healing, though the memory of the action of wounding, injury, or illness would always be present.

One such soldier of the 18th Battalion was Private Hugh Russell, reg. no. 54180. His story illustrates the social and psychological impact of his wound poignantly.

Hugh William Russell was an Irish born British Home Child. Born March 13, 1895 he arrived in Canada at the age of 13 in October 1902. He ended up near Wingham, Ontario,  at Turnberry and the records from the Wingham Advance newspaper pre-war indicate that he may have lived with a family that considered his needs to include and education as the paper lists several news articles indicating the scholastic levels he achieved at is school under the guidance of teacher named L.H. Vanstone[i].

On February 4, 1915 at London, Ontario this 19-year old man, standing 5’3” tall enlisted with the 18th Battalion. He indicated his next of kin as James Wray, the farmer to whom he lived and worked with, and his service card from enlistment to April 15, 1915 indicates no demerits or notations relating to abhorrent behaviour. His record was clean.

Arriving with his comrades in England he trains with the Battalion at West Sandling he is docked 2-days pay for being absent without leave (AWL) on May 13 and August 18, 1915. This was quite common as many men of the Battalion had family and friends in the British Isles and these absences may have been to see them.

With the battalion prepared and ready, along with the 2nd Division, to go into active service the Division moves on masse to serve in Belgium in the latter part of September 1915. Russell serves through the initiation period of the Battalion a Ypres and survives unscathed from the disaster that was the action at St. Elois.

On May 18, 1916 he sentenced to 2-days of Field Punishment No. 1 for being absent from a fatigue on the previous day. On May 17, the Battalion sent 400 men to make general repairs and strengthen the front-line from 9 AM to 2 PM that day. Perhaps this was the motivation for being absent. One of the challenges of soldiering during the Great War is that the work never seemed to end. Once they were in reserve, be it Brigade or Corps reserve the army found all sorts of tasks and jobs to keep these men busy and one can imagine the back-breaking and riskiness of working close to and at the front-line.

Casualty list B168 signalled a change in Private Russell’s military service. On September 18, 1916 he was listed with shell shock and was at the 2nd South General Hospital, Bristol, England.

His case notes on that date indicate that he “went sick” on September 14, 1916, with the inability to speak. He could understand when spoke to and they were able to confirm he was not deaf. He was suffering from lassitude as it was noted that he lies half asleep “most of the time.”

The notes indicate that there appeared to be no organic reason for his condition and he was “put under gas,” then “partly hypnotized,’” and finally treated using galvanic electrical treatment with “faint result.”

Later in February 1917 Russell was transferred to the Duchess of Connaught Canadian Red Cross Hospital, Taplow and there the case notes reveal:

“February 4, 1917

Disease: Shell Shock

Complaints ‘Cannot Speak’

‘History (obtained thro’ a friend)

September 15/16 was blown up and recollects nothing further until found himself in hospital [Southende] Bristol Sept. 16/17.

He has not been able to speak since accident. On admission to Bristol was in a highly nervous state and unable to walk. Troubled with insomnia and nightmares and almost constant headaches which tend to persist even at this time. He has always been able to understand what is spoken to him, but cannot reply. His general condition has improved and he entered this hospital Feb. 14/17.

[Condition] no prev. diseases. No venereal disease. Never of a nervous disposition. Does not abuse use of alcohol or tobacco.

[unknown] no hearing.

Exam: Not of a very high type of intelligence. Cannot speak. Understands everything said to him. Can whistle a trifle and can place lips into position to form sounds. Sleeps and eats well.

April 7, 1917

Now employed about the stables (was formerly a jockey). General condition good. His general nervousness and fear of M.O. is disappearing. (He was frightened by former methods to

Has been to several horse races did not speak even under excitement.”

From this report the medical bureaucracy decided that he boarded medically and sent home. It was apparent to them that he was not improving to the point he could be reintegrated to a fighting or support battalion.

It was time to go home for Private Russell.

The medical board met on April 7, 1917 and reported his condition:

“Cause of disability – Aphasia following shell shock

Condition which prevents the soldier form earning a full livelihood – Is rather poorly nourished but seems to have a fair appetite. Think he has improved somewhat of late. Was buried by shell 15-9-16 and following this was unconscious for 3 days. After recovering consciousness he was unable to talk or walk and suffered terrifying dreams. At present he has no trouble in walking but he still sleeps badly and frenquently has bad dreams. Is still “jumpy” in hearing a sudden noise. Suffers from frequent severe headaches over frontal region, but this is function, no organic lesion being present. All reflexes exaggerated, especially the knee jerk. Slight degree of ankylosis being somewhat more marked on the right side than on the left. Tactile sense does not seem impaired Mentally shows some retardation in train of thought. Slight degree of mental apathy is evident.”

The report indicated that he incapacitated by 75% and that the duration of such incapacity would be for 6-months. It further recommended that he be “Sent to Cobourg for special treatment.”

It is interesting to note some items from his file. The cause of his debility appears to have been listed incorrectly as an injury occurring on September 14, 1916, and appears to be corrected to being buried by a shell on the fateful day of the Battalion’s attack at Flers-Courcelette at the Somme on September 15, 1916. Further, when he enlisted, he indicated that his trade or calling was as a farmer, but this document  and his letters indicates he was a horse trader. Russell shows his affinity for horses as he has a tattoo of a horse, his observations in his letters, and he worked in the stables at this facility and it was noted he went to the horse races. The notifications on his mental state are indicative of the bias the medical establishment had towards shell shock cases. As there was no organic physical problem the problem had to lie somewhere else. This assessment of “retardation” or not demonstrating a “high type of intelligence” were subjective observations made to place cause with affect. The service records of many soldiers of other ranks other than officers suffering with shell shock mimic Russell’s. Some of the claims made in these medical notes can be so strong that they appear to put into question that soldiers’ moral and mental make up. The issues of battle fatigue, what we now know as PTSD, where not well defined and some doctors’ insensitivity and lack of empathy towards these soldiers are shocking by today’s standards.

If this assessment is contrasted by the letters Russell wrote below, they illustrate an articulate, well educated man. These letters are not typical of the letters written by many of the men. The are long, descriptive, easy to read, and maintain a flow and theme that is pleasing and informative. The show an educated man in contrast to the assessment made by the more highly educated doctors.

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Letter published in the Wingham Advance on March 16, 1916.

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Letter published in the Wingham Advance on August 24, 1916.

Private Russell returns to Canada and attends treatment for aphasia at Cobourg, Ontario as of July 7, 1917 where his records indicate that on December 1, 1917 he had had enough. He requested the be released from the military as he was refusing any further treatment. He passed into his own control. Here, again, the bureaucracy records the following excerpts:

“Cause – Stress of campaign on slightly subnormal mentality.

Mentally:- At present his only trouble is complete loss of voice and he refuses any treatment for this says he was tortured enough in England by treatment. He works at the Vocational Building daily, and is a good worker.”

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Coburg Military Hospital circa 1920.

Coburg Military Hospital circa 2016.

On the last day of 1917, Private Hugh William Russell was able to collect some of his dignity back as he was discharged from the CEF at Kingston, Ontario.

His records show that he was release from service in England on June 29, 1917 and was sent home to Military District No. 1 at London, Ontario. On July 18, 1917 he was able to attend an event at his home, described in detail in the news article below.

A sample of watches from the 1917 edition of the Eatons catalogue.

RETURNED HERO WATCHED[ii] Presented With Beautiful Gold Watch By Old Friends

On Wednesday the 18th of July a very interesting event took place at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Jas. A. Wray, 6th con. Of Turnberry, when a large number of neighbours and friends assembled to do honor to Private Hugh Russell. Pte Russell was shell shocked on the 14th of September and was rendered unconscious for several days, and when he finally came to, his speech was gone. He is being taken care of at Cobourg Military Hospital and spent the past week at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wray, with whom he lived before enlisting.

The chair was taken by Mr. W.J. Greer, who in an eloquent address called the gathering to order. A short patriotic program commenced with singing The Maple Leaf Forever.

Solos were rendered in excellent voice by Misses Abraham and Gallaher. The following address was read by Mr. W.E. Mines and Pte. Russell was presented with the watch, chain and locket by Mr. E. Higgins.

Dear Friend;-

We, your neighbours and friends assembled here to show our admiration and esteem for you in a small way for the noble and heroic services which you rendered your King and Country on the battlefields of Europe, bid you a cordial welcome back to the land of your adoption.

We are proud of very loyal son who has risen to defend our great Dominion and to secure liberty and justice for the world at large, but our hearts go out more particularly to you when we have known and respected, and would therefore ask you to accept this watch and chain as a slight token of our esteem for you.

While we are overjoyed to have you with us again, we all sympathize with your in your great affliction, but trust that An-all-wise-Providence will see fit to restore speech to you.

Although for lack of forethought we did not acknowledge your bravery when you enlisted alone and went to London to train yet we followed you with our prayers and best wishes and our fervent prayer now is that you may log be spared to enjoy the comforts of life and when your warfare in this life is over you will have a triumphant entrance into the Heavenly Kingdom.

Signed on behalf of your friends;

Although Pte. Russel was taken by surprise he wrote the following very able and neat reply.

Kind Friends:-

I take great pleasure in thanking you for this address of welcome and presentation. In the trenches we often used to wonder if the people did appreciate our services, but now I know the people of this community do. I may say that I did not really expect this for I only did my duty which is expected of every able bodied man in this Empire. I thank you one and all for this gift and for your kindness and good wishes.

Hugh Russell.

After the presentation the speech of the evening was give my Mr. A.H. Musgrove, M.L.A., in his usual sincere and fluent manner. The pleasant evening was brought to a close by the ladies serving a dainty lunch.

Source: The Wingham Advance. July 26, 1917. Page 1.

This news clipping repudiates the assessment of the doctors in England and Canada.

First, the family that he was resident with before the war takes him in and helps to honour him with an event that is publicly recognized by the local paper. This man is well respected and considered an important member of the community. The residents attending the event even recognize the circumstances of his enlistment with what appears a touch of regret like Russell left without the support or approval of his host family. The sentiment in the speech, “Although for lack of forethought we did not acknowledge your bravery when you enlisted alone and went to London…” belies a collective regret that would have been palpable with such a close knit community.

Second, the speech is eloquent and well written. The effort to present the watch and the speech reflects the esteem the community held for this man. Such a public demonstration was common for returning soldiers, but the strength and personal remarks of this speech emphasize a larger community desire to make it clear to Russell just how they feel.

Last, his reply, written in response to such a speech is succinct, to the point, and more than an adequate response for what would be an emotional reunion with his community. Not the words of a dullard. Private Russell could read and write, and well.

Time would advance and with his refusal for further treatment on December 31, 1917 would mark 472-days of silence.

This silence was to continue until his…

SPEECH RETURNS Hugh Russel Talks After Two Year’s Silence

Hugh Russell an Irish home boy, who has for several years worked with farmers in Turnberry and who has been unable to utter a word for the past two years has regained his speech.

On the 14th of September, 1916, Pte. Russell was shell shocked and for several days lay unconscious, when he finally came to, his speech was gone. He was for a time in English Hospitals but returned to Canada on June 30th, 1917. He spent the winter in Wingham and has for some time been employed with Mr. R.J. Breen[iii], Turnberry.

He was taking his horse to Toronto exhibition, when she scared while in the car and Hugh very excitedly shouted “Whoa” much to his own delight and astonishment. Mr. Edgar Higgins saw him in Toronto and spoke to him when much to his surprise he answered by voice instead of by pencil.

Source: Wingham Advance. September 5, 1918. Page 1.

A further 228-days would transpire before this event. Private Russell, responding to a stimulus while doing a vocation that he had expressed an interest before, even during his treatment in England, responds to a horse that was scared and in an effort to calm and control the animal makes his first utterance since that fateful day in September 1915.

His life may have begun to normalize after the trauma that led to his silence, nightmares, and distress. As he relates to the authorities, he felt very strongly that the medical efforts to “cure” him were tantamount to torture. Given his evident intelligence and the high regard he was held by his friends his life was, perhaps, being directed to one where he would be able to compartmentalize and cope with the mental and physical forces that made him mute. No amount of thanks or displays of appreciation with gifts could compensate this man but one hopes that this recognition for his service helped assuage the demons in his soul.

How and would this man suffer in the future after the horrors of war?

[i] The Wingham Advance. April 4, 1907. Page 5.

[ii] The title of this article is curious.

[iii] Breen’s son was a friend of his.

Mute But Not Retarded: The Case of Private Russell With special thanks to Kristen Den Hartog who made me aware of this soldier. She is currently researching this soldier.

#Cobourg Military Hospital #horses #PTSD #shell shock

[maydei]

sociopolitical facebook rant on the 1% as requested you cannot compare the harmfulness of “stereotyping” the corporate elite and the 1% against the systematic harm and oppression of the lower class because of the corporation-protecting structure put in place by our “democratic” government, which serves the highest corporate bidder. you cannot compare poor people commenting on inequality and entitlement of super-rich people interacting with those in service-providing jobs to the inequality of those very same hiring practices, the increased taxation on minimum wage compared to the tax-breaks on those making billions. you cannot compare the shared experience of thousands of poor people commenting on the unfairness they’ve faced to the same sort of prejudices as racism and sexism, which benefit those who ALREADY IN POWER (see: Hollywood, and how sexism contributes to the rape culture that is obviously pervasive there), compared to the social commentary of those already oppressed by the system. those denied living wages and sick days. those employed only at part time so their employers do not have to provide health insurance or benefits. those whose part time jobs are so unpredictable with their scheduling that it’s almost impossible to find a second job to work just to make end’s meet, but if they just quit their job and looked for something else, they’d be out on the street. whose schedules are so demanding there’s no way in hell they could ever find time for an interview, and who haven’t had a day off between their multiple jobs in weeks, months, years. playing the devil’s advocate in favor of those who are in a position of power only shows how much they’ve manipulated the american public into thinking they deserve their wealth through hard work, when in reality it’s a combination of outsourcing labor to the cheapest bidder, destroying excess product that could otherwise be donated, and using tax shelters. by cutting taxes on the rich, we’re furthering the gap between the rich and the poor. those billions of dollars stay in their pockets instead of funding infrastructure, public education, and increased wages for the very people working for the CEOs who are getting a pay raise. i’m not talking about doctors who drive a nice car, who worked for a hospital for 30 years and made a million dollars doing it, who have a six bedroom house and a comfortable life that they worked hard to earn. i’m not even talking about those who make $500,000 a year in an urban area WORKING for a corporation. i’m talking about billionaires. people who make more money than we can even conceptualize, who have more money than they could literally ever possibly spend. people who, by existing and delegating their responsibilities to others, sit in an office and make in excess of $3000 per hour to culminate in their yearly salary.  people who could buy a yacht and a private jet and a mansion in one day and shrug, because they have that much more left to spare. people to whom five million dollars is a vacation home, not five thousand times more money than my entire life is worth and then some (and i’m lucky enough to have a semi-comfortable existence where i can live by myself and work a single job). the kind of people who don’t pay taxes because their NAME is a corporation and everything is a write-off, the kind of people who are getting enough of a tax break that they could fund free public college tuition for the country several times over with the money they’ll all be saving. what most of america conceptualizes as rich is actually upper-middle class. that’s how much of a disparity there is between the well-off and the 1%. those are the people i am talking about. those are the people who believe service people should pull themselves up by their bootstraps and get a real job, like the service they provide to society isn’t one that’s simultaneously being demanded by the public, and therefore categorically NOT worthless. those are the people who outsource their labor jobs to a place where they won’t even HAVE to pay minimum wage to the people who would desperately and happily stand in line for a chance at a job to work 40 hours a week. the fact that some of our own coworkers work multiple jobs should be proof enough that there is something fundamentally broken in our system. (from google)

“The American federal government requires a wage of at least $2.13 per hour be paid to employees that receive at least $30 per month in tips. If wages and tips do not equal the federal minimum wage of $7.25 per hour during any week, the employer is required to increase cash wages to compensate. Many waiters and waitresses are paid less than the federal minimum wage by their employers and rely primarily on tips to earn a living. Including both tips and wages, the average hourly rate of pay for a server in the United States was $10.05 as of May 2011. This is the equivalent of about $20,890 per year.“ “US companies are allowed to pay tipped employees pittance because customers are expected to tip well enough to surpass at least the federal minimum wage of $7.25, and, if they don’t, companies have to chip in the rest. But that’s not how things always work in the real world. “The servers who make ‘good money’ are in the minority,” says Maria Myotte, a spokesperson for Restaurant Opportunities Center United, which aims to improve conditions for workers in the industry. She notes that tipped workers are hit especially hard by “wage theft,” whereby restaurants don’t make up the difference when the tips aren’t rolling in. Between 2010 and 2012, the Wage and Hour Division of the Department of Labor conducted nearly 9,000 investigations in the restaurant industry, and discovered that 83.8 percent had some kind of wage and hour violation.” “Like millions of Americans across the United States, 23-year-old Anna Hovland worked a waitressing job earlier this year to make ends meet. Her restaurant in Washington, DC, paid her the local minimum wage for tipped workers, $2.77 an hour, which meant that after taxes, her paycheck was usually zero. Her tips, never dependable, ranged from $20 to $200 a shift. “In a city as expensive as DC, I’ve been able to make ends meet by the skin of my teeth,” Hovland says. “Sometimes it will only be in the last week or two of a month that I’ll realize I’ve made enough to pay all my bills.” source one additional source one more for the books i’m lucky. i know i’m lucky. last year i was below the federal poverty level, and this year i’ll be above it. but because of being below the federal poverty level, i qualified for medical bill forgiveness through UVM. i still received a $400 bill for a procedure to find a problem with me that can’t be treated or made better. without that bill forgiveness, my bill would have been $3000. my deductible through my insurance provided by my job is $5000, which means i would have to pay that full $3000 by myself plus another $2000 before my insurance company would cover anything. $400 right before christmas still stung. $3000 would have been unimaginable. and in my current situation, i have no option to get better medical coverage through work. i get what i get, that’s my only option, take it or leave it, and without health insurance, i would be penalized on my taxes. i pay more then $200 a month to have the privilege of only having to shell out $5k in case of emergency, not covering my monthly medications, doctor’s appointments, blood panels (most of which is not covered! surprise), etc. and i am one of the lucky ones. i have a full time job. i have a car that rarely needs repairs. i can afford my rent (though i take a loss during the winter months because of my pay structure) and i can feed myself and my pets without having to ask for help. i don’t have to crowdfund insulin or hospital bills, because i’m fortunate enough to have some savings to mitigate my expenses. i certainly don't die because of it. i’m lucky. and it’s my duty as someone who is lucky to speak up for those who are not lucky. the people who work multiple part time jobs to make end’s meet and still don't have insurance. the people who end up with five-digit hospital bills that will bankrupt them. the people who come out of school with a four year degree and hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loan debt who can’t find a job making anything more then $8 an hour, and who get slapped with $800 bills they have to pay back per month because they’ve graduated. this is to say nothing of those who are not able to be hired because of age, disability, or other outlying factors—the people whose medicaid and entitlements are about to be cut, who already live in low-income housing and rely on the assistance of the state to survive, and whose benefits are about to be hacked in half. is this meme about pizza drivers and bad tippers? yeah, it is. does it generalize that rich people are bad tippers? sure. but that’s not exactly news. if you were to mention it to someone else, they’d say “well that’s how the rich stay rich!” and we'd all laugh it off and go our separate ways. but we’re not talking about the people who live in a cul-de-sac or a gated community, we’re talking about a symptom of a much larger problem, which is the growing gap between the ultra rich and the ultra poor in america. and it’s not only college-aged kids. it’s single parents, it’s people who are laid off from their jobs of 30 years, it’s people who lose their jobs to outsourcing, it’s everyone. i haven’t even gotten into the systematic prejudice against POC. i'll leave that for another time. even though you and i are sitting here thinking “hey we have it pretty good”, the point stands that things are less than ideal in america right now, and having it pretty good is actually an incredible privilege. i have strong opinions that can be stereotyped pretty easily by saying “eat the rich”, but you should know which “rich” i’m talking about. and no, i don’t actually want to eat them. but i think it would be pretty nice if everyone could afford groceries (even with food stamps or SNAP cards, which don’t cover diapers, soap, vitamins, toilet paper, or any hygiene products), and if service workers could make end’s meet for a modest life on a single full-time job. if health insurance covered dental work and optical needs, because we’ll never need glasses any less. if public education funding didn’t depend entirely on the value of the property in the neighborhood, which presents a disadvantage to poor neighborhoods. if grad students wouldn’t now have to pay taxes on the tuition allowances they get from teaching as part of their degree, which was never actually cash they had in the first place--and undergrads wouldn’t now have to pay taxes on scholarships (see above). our financial system in a nutshell is highway robbery, and if we all had each others’ backs on a social scale, a lot of these problems wouldn’t even be problems we have yet to solve, they would be completely moot. assuming you’ve gotten to the end of my sociopolitical rant that’s gone wildly off-topic, here’s a youtube video.  it’s a really good one to watch. a bit old, yeah, but the figures he’s talking about certainly haven’t gotten any better. and here’s a newer one, just to be fair, that’s incredibly relevant to our current situation.  i guess that’s my contribution to the “thought experiment”.

#long post #capitalism cw #politics cw #eat the rich #lifeblogging with luc #oh my god update he literally just said ''well by that logic sometimes stereotyping is ok but where do we draw the line?'' #and all i can fucking hear is ''if we let gay people get married what next? where do we draw the line?'' #but if i say that i know i'll be starting a fucking war but oh my god #''if we start punching nazis what's next? where do we draw the line?'' #this just in: centerism 100% does not work and gets people killed

[dailykhaleej]

Dubai’s Gold Souq retailers want six-month rent waiver

A picture from the previous… Retailers at Dubai’s Gold Souq are hoping landlords will flip beneficiant of their upcoming negotiations. For a lot of, it is a query of sheer survival. Picture Credit score: DailyKhaleej Archive

Dubai: Jewelry retailers at Dubai’s Gold Souq are calling on their landlords to supply a six-month waiver on rents – till vacationer customers return in power to the centre of UAE’s gold commerce.

And for subsequent 12 months, these landlords ought to think about as much as a 50 per cent discount on rents. Retailers say it’s the naked minimal requirement to make sure they survive via this disaster.

“There are no incoming flights as yet – and even after flights do start, we do not expect to see many tourists coming,” mentioned Anil Dhanak, Managing Director at Kanz Jewels. “Our sale to vacationers from the Gold Souq retailer was at 93 per cent final 12 months.

“This determine is predicated on the numbers who purchased from our retailer after which claimed VAT (worth added tax) refunds on the airport. Different retailers on the Gold Souq too would have kind of comparable numbers – that location is a must-see for a majority of holiday makers to Dubai and it’ll return to being that.

“However it would take time for that to occur – and we’ll want some assist from landlords to see us via this era.

“We certainly do not expect to make sufficient revenues with the remaining 7 per cent of local buyers as they will look to any jewellery purchase as a last preference and only after all their essential needs are fulfilled.”

What are rents like at Gold Souq?

A single-shutter retailer of 300-400 sq. toes at present begins from about Dh500,000 yearly. Retailers sometimes function a number of areas inside the Souq, and till 4 or 5 years in the past, they might additionally need to shell out tens of millions of dirhams as “key money” for entry to an outlet.

We actually don’t anticipate to make ample revenues with the remaining 7 per cent

– Anil Dhanak of Kanz Jewels

Stark actuality

After street-side jewelry shops began re-opening in Dubai from April 25 – after a month-long break – retailers found customers had been in no temper to return to their gold shopping for methods. Customer visitors has averaged lower than 15 per cent and over the previous couple of days have dropped even additional as gold shot up at seven-year highs of $1,740 an oz. plus. (The Dubai Gold Price for 22Ok touched Dh200 a gram on Monday (Could 18), and is now at Dh199.)

Will landlords pay attention?

Gold Souq retailers will, by the seems of it, face an uphill wrestle to persuade landlords on waiving rent for as much as six months. Even getting them to drop their rents drastically will probably be one powerful process.

“They just don’t seem to understand the situation – they were willing to reduce by 2-3 per cent when we made the request,” mentioned Deepak Soni of Marhaba Jewellers. “We’re pondering of closing down two to 3 outlets within the Gold Souq from the present six.

“My request is pretty straight ahead – the Gold Souq has all the time relied on the vacationer purchaser. So, please don’t cost us till flights are again to regular and the vacationers return.

“Right now, even a 50 per cent reduction in rents for a certain period won’t make sense – because there’s no footfall at all.”

Strain piles up

The subsequent few weeks will probably be important for the Dubai gold commerce – nobody has a transparent outlook on when customers, resident and vacationers, will return to the shops. And present costs will show a deterrent to purchasing. There are solely a restricted variety of customers wanting to purchase at Dh199/Dh200 a gram now on the expectation that costs will shoot up additional.

It’s undoubtedly not that sort of market now.

The Gold Souq has all the time relied on the vacationer purchaser. So, please don’t cost us till flights are again to regular and the vacationers return

– Deepak Soni of Marhaba Jewellers

Wave of closures

With out satisfactory cashflow, extra retailers within the commerce are pondering of decreasing the variety of shops reasonably than maintain handing out a number of cheques to landlords. A lot of them consider that the worry of vacant shops would be the solely approach landlords could be satisfied to make modifications.

“Many companies are in the planning stage of store closures,” mentioned Vishal Dhakan, Managing Director of Dhakan Jewellers. “There are a number of who’ve already began giving vacating notices.

“In the coming months, there will definitely be a consolidation phase where retailers will reduce their number of outlets.”

That might apply even for the larger retailers with shops throughout the UAE. Senior sources at these firms have privately confirmed {that a} discount of their community measurement will probably be a right away precedence. “We sent out feelers to landlords during the shutdown phase, we continued to do so during Ramadan, and we will remain hopeful,” mentioned the pinnacle of selling at one retailer.

“I don’t think anyone wins if landlords keep turning a deaf ear to our requests.”

A disaster like by no means earlier than

Dhanak says that nobody can afford to have a blinkered imaginative and prescient of what the instant future holds. There’s no level in pondering the issues will resolve by themselves.

“Over the last four decades landlords at the Gold Souq have only seen a crisis twice – during the Kuwait War in 1991 and later during the 2008 Global Financial Crisis.,” he added. “However this time it’s a world disaster that’s going to final very lengthy.

“No one can escape its consequences.”

Can the gold grouping assist?

In line with market sources, the Dubai Gold & Jewelry Group, which represents greater than 400 members, has been attempting to work out some rent aid packages.

“The Group has approached the government departments and most malls – but individual landlords at the Gold Souq are not being approached,” mentioned Dhanak. “I’ve approached a number of landlords in a person capability over the cellphone.

“I have not been able to meet any of them in person and that will only be possible after Eid. There is a feeling that they are waiting for the government to give guidelines.”

A six-month waiver

Ever for the reason that COVID-19 disaster struck, retailers from each class has been on the cellphone with their landlords asking for some kind of rent aid.

Most of those discussions have been a couple of three-month rent-free aid, whereas others have made requests/calls for for a rent discount till companies get again to normalcy.

A six-month rent waiver continues to be the exception as tenants and landlords begin counting the price of the virus assault. However one landlord in Saudi Arabia has already introduced a six-month aid for its tenants. Raza Inc, the true property arm of Saudi Public Pension Company (PPA), introduced versatile rent funds and rent deferrals for a interval of as much as six months.

The rent deferral programme advantages companies that function in Raza’s property portfolio throughout Saudi Arabia. Between March 1 and August 31, Raza will maintain off from issuing any rental invoices to companies and won’t need to pay any late fee charges throughout this era.

“The pandemic is uniquely challenging and unprecedented that puts immense pressure on managing business cashflow,” mentioned Waleed Aleisa, CEO.

The Raza portfolio contains the Digital Metropolis in Riyadh, a 450,000 sq. metre growth.

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[funkywerks]

New York Pity

I'll never forget the day they sent me to New York City. It looked gorgeous from the window of the jet. It was the afternoon of June 15th 2016; the sunset hit the Empire State Building in a perfect orange and golden glow. That day was the start of my biggest accomplishment to date. I went to flight attendant training for 7 weeks in Dallas, Texas. I was hoping to get as far away from the east coast as possible; I was going to be Miley and hop of the plane at LAX with my dream and my cardigan. of course we’re talking about Los Angeles. My instructor was so pleased to announce that I was going to New York City that it made me sick. I was no longer miley ? But I still wanted to party ? I wanted my instructor to think I was happy too- so I faked a little celebration and started brainstorming how I was going to work this into my 5 year plan! I am the queen of the bright side and I can run a beer pong table like a pro. I could fit in anywhere ? Right ?

-I was almost excited.

I had no home, no money, and no clue. I was still excited to start my dream life. Optimism has always been my strong suit and I was going to need every bit of it to survive this experience. My family was very supportive and would help me out sometimes by buying my Uber to work ( a huge luxury in New York . I want you to imagine Uber but expensive and then more expensive than you thought ) or sending me care packages when I was homesick. But I never wanted to take money from them. I took out $1000 loan from the bank before my first paycheck and made it work. I had 1000 dollars in my bank account and was 1000 miles from home. I never in a million years wanted to end up in New York City, but I did.

The Crash Pad

I saw the pictures of the rooftops and the parties and the luxury apartments; but I found myself looking at the empty walls of a flight attendant crash pad in Queens, New york. It was just that to me : Empty. A world famous city full of people, and I couldn't find a familiar face, place or feeling. My Gossip Girl dreams died in less than a month. Crash Pads are in between houses for commuter flight attendants, It’s basically a dorm room. I tried to make the best of the rickety old bunk bed and the shared living spaces- but I didn't make a single friend or memory there. It's a great resource that I am very thankful for, but in no way a home. I paid 200 dollars a month to live in an illegal housing operation next to Laguardia Airport for 4 months.

The First Floor

Everything in New York is expensive and time consuming: the people, transportation, housing and even the fun. It requires more effort than I had ever given anything in my whole life. I remember getting on the subway after work one day and publicly bursting into tears after realizing I was going in the wrong direction. At least “New York City is one of the only places you can cry in public without being bothered” (Taken from @jcally’s Brilliant Twitter feed) Let a girl have her mental breakdown in peace every once in awhile! I started to collect a few friends from work and started to build meaningful relationships with my surroundings. I graduated from a 1 bedroom with 6 people I didn't know, to a 1 bedroom with 4 people I barely knew. Astoria, Queens is one of the coolest neighborhoods in New York and one of the most under appreciated. It’s just off to the right of the East river, above Long Island City and green point, Brooklyn. It was the perfect place to start growing as a person. Two people slept in the bed and two people slept on couches in the living room. My couch was cheap and uncomfortable BUT IT WAS BETTER than the crash pad. I needed comradery in my life, I was less miserable sleeping on that cheap couch than alone in my mind on the top bunk. When I was comfortable with my surroundings, I started to drown myself in what I do best = party and work. Two of the four girls left New York City ( for reasons stated above) and the remaining girl and I became very close friends. It was the first close friendship I had since moving to the City, and we traveled and laughed and partied. Progress was slow, but progress was happening. Life was better but far from perfect.

My biggest lesson this year was that living with roommates is just as hard as trying to make it in New York City. It is so easy to blame your roommates for any number of minor inconveniences in your life that most of the time people do. Don’t get it twisted, if you're annoyed and have not asked nicely: That is your problem. If you spread rumors or private information to others, you are just as bad as the minor inconvenience that started a feud in the first place. If you live together make it your personal responsibility to be on the same page with your roommate; or not. Pick your poison. I've been the annoying roommate and the annoyed roommate and it has no reflection of who I am as a person. My living situation is it healthiest when I let things go, understand others, and be a team player. Understanding each other with an open line of casual communication ( no hostility ) is more important than the mess they left in the living room after a drunken night out. Wake them up,ask them to clean up their mess and move on.

The first floor on 34th street was close to work and bars and food. I really loved that home with 1 bedroom and 4 people. It really meant something to me. As I’ve mentioned before I’m just about happy anywhere and material objects mean very little to me. I did my best to feel grateful for a safe place to sleep. Although mostly positive, I was busy in a way I’ve never been before and had pushed aside my mental health for just a little too long. During my year there I was dealing with the aftermath of my “big trauma” .

Everyone has a big trauma ,

it’s the event in a person's life that affects them in the most negative way. All traumas are important and often are never spoken about or never properly heard and processed. I never said I was dealing with it well; but any progress was just comforting enough to see the light at the end. I specifically felt hesitant to have close relationships with anyone. I held people at arms length and set them up to disappoint me. I was sure I was going to keep to myself and not let anyone in. ( if you know me you’re rolling your eyes, because I am the biggest personality you know ) its those people who believed my problems had value, they saved me. I had imposter syndrome for most of my first year, I didn’t think what I went through was bad enough to be important. I had enough people listen to me chatter away about my problems to me help me start healing in my own way. It can be very confusing to have it all and still be sad. I traveled non-stop and used every bit of youth I had to keep the party going. This was my dream life, almost. I paid $400 dollars a month to sleep on a couch in Astoria, Queens.

The Three Bedroom

Next we moved into a three bedroom on 47th street in Astoria, Queens . I was living with my remaining roommate, her new husband, and random roommate who reached out to us through a friend. Not ideal. But I had my own bedroom and I was proud. It was smaller than most suburban bathrooms; not an exaggeration. I had no room for anything more than a bed and a mirror. I had a dresser and place to hang my coats in a walkway across the hall. I thought that by having my own bedroom I could start to work on my mental health. I was going to create a safe space. It would have my film and my records and my shells from the beach back home. Unfortunately I didn’t think about how lonely it was going to be. My mental health was the worst living in the three bedroom with 4 people. I felt alone, I might be the only person on earth who truly loves to be around people all the time. So what did I do? I partied too much , I worked a lot and ignored that I was sad again. Are we noticing a trend? I’m super good at pretending I’m ok. I feel like I can’t remember a lot from that year, I don’t know if it’s because nothing happened or if too much happened. I wanted to be around people so badly that I started spending most of the days in coffee shops. I always wondered what project everyone was working on and what their coffee order was. I wanted to know why they had work off the afternoon of a weekday; what did they do for work? I imagined all the possibilities without speaking to a single soul. I wonder if anyone else was looking for someone to talk to too. This is New York, and people in New York hate small talk or anything that doesn’t make them money. I would even drink multiple lattes in one sitting just to buy time away. I started putting my smarts to use; I became an expert planner. I made budget spreadsheets, planned vacations, and set goals. I am still to this day fascinated with the logistics of travel. With a will there is always a way. I learned to prioritize my wants and needs and how to make everything happen for me. I was incredibly productive until my mac-book crashed and I had no money to replace it. Life happens, I thanked Mac for his 8 years of hard work and said my goodbyes. That's what that lady on Netflix said to do right ? I think it rings true that everything is always worse before it gets better. The following year I was to move back into a huge 2 bedroom with four amazing girls and it would be The best year yet. But then I would go on to live in a little apartment in Lower East Side Manhattan with an amazing view like I had fantasized that first day flying in. The year I lived in a three bedroom apartment with four people for $800 a month. Would be the last time “ New York sucks” would ever drop from my mouth.

I was coming up on almost 2 years living in New York. I was so happy at work and to this day love my job so much. it was my biggest reason to persevere when I had no other reasons. I had so many new friends going through the same struggle and working out their “ big trauma “. it was nice to look back and see progress. I found myself identifying as a New Yorker. I was a fast worker, walker and problem solver. I wanted to cut the bullshit, I didn’t want to make excuses, I wanted to make it happen. I don’t know how to explain how much I deeply hated New York at first and then did a miraculous 180; an Olympic figure skater would be proud. It was a place I felt most like an outsider (at first); and everyone I met there seemed to love it so much. I was jealous that I couldn’t love it the same. Then at that magical 2 year mark , everything began to fall into place. I always wondered what would have happened to me if I had gotten my transfer to Los Angeles in that 2 years. Would I be more socially relevant or have plastic surgery ? Who would my friends be? I finally had great friends, no drama, and plans. Lots of plans. Plans of travel and life goals and plans of mischief. Above all I had a purpose. There I said it. In the end New York City gave me a purpose. I started to form friends that weren’t even flight attendants and we started throwing the best parties and had so many events to attend they overlapped. Loving New York isn’t possible without hating New York. It’s awesome because it took all I had. In the famous words of American song writer “Jay-z” If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere”. After all this emotional turmoil I will have to eventually write about “ New York City” and drop the P. And how I couldn’t live without it. My biggest accomplishment to date was the day I removed my transfer request to Los Angeles.

[panicinthestudio]

Wearing a grandfatherly smile, Yau So is always ready to tell visitors stories about his corner of Hong Kong — Cha Kwo Ling village, at the eastern end of Kowloon.

The 74-year-old has been village head for decades. These days, his stories end on an uncertain note, with no happily-ever-after, as time is ticking.

Cha Kwo Ling has been earmarked for redevelopment by the government, which plans to build 3,000 new public flats. Two other urban squatter villages are also being taken back by the government for public housing.

A hub of granite quarry activity from the 19th century to the period before World War Two, the 4.65-hectare village in Kwun Tong district is home to just 400 people.

Built at the foot of a hill and along the coast, it has been a Hakka settlement for several generations.

The place is somewhat run-down and quiet now, as many residents have moved to public housing estates elsewhere.

Most of those still living there are the elderly and some new arrivals from mainland China.

The villagers seem resigned to their days there being numbered, but Yau is serious when he says: “We just have some demands: to keep our historic landmarks and treasures – village office, Tin Hau temple, school and our dragon boat. We also request appropriate compensation from the government.

“I love the village. I know it’s not within my control, but I hope to settle things before I die.”

So far however, the villagers are in the dark about what will happen, and when. Yau says nobody has come to explain since Chief Executive Carrie Lam Cheng Yuet-ngor included the plan to take back the villages in a raft of measures she announced in October to boost Hong Kong’s land and housing supply.

Yau is filled with pride as he relates how the villagers worked at the granite quarry from the mid-19th Century, producing rocks used for buildings coming up as Hong Kong developed.

Stone from the village was used for landmarks such as the Old Supreme Court in Central – now the Court of Final Appeal – as well as some buildings in southern China.

He recalls being told from childhood that stones from the village were used for a cathedral in Guangzhou and some forts in Humen.

In the village itself, the Tin Hau temple, dedicated to the Chinese goddess of the sea, is still standing, built with local stone.

Cha Kwo Ling’s Tin Hau temple was built with local stone. Photo: Tory Ho

“The whole village worked for the same business, and my family had a factory that hired around 300 workers,” Yau says. “We also built houses nearby. At that time, land was abundant, but we could not afford to buy it all.”

That was the period before 1898, when villagers were allowed to buy public land from the British colonial government, and be registered as private owners. That is how parts of the village ended up as private land, while others are public.

The earliest records of Cha Kwo Ling go back to the 1840s, around the time Hong Kong was opening up for trade, according to historian Tim Ko Tim-keung.

It was one of four old villages in Kowloon, of which only Cha Kwo Ling and Lei Yue Mun remain.

Interior of the Cha Kwo Ling Villages Fraternity Association. Photo: Tory Ho

The quarry business declined from the 1940s. When the colonial government started to develop an international airport at Kai Tak, with a new runway and reclamation work in the 1950s, the Cha Kwo Ling factories were no match for foreign companies, which were more efficient and better equipped.

As the quarry business died out, villagers found new jobs when a Shell oil depot arrived at Cha Kwo Ling. Others set up their own businesses. Yau’s family moved their business to the western part of Kowloon.

In the 1950s and 1960s, the population boomed with an influx of mainland migrants.

Ng Po-wo, 65, owner of Mou Fat noodle shop, arrived with his parents from rural Tai Po in the 1950s, when he was a year old.

“Cha Kwo Ling was rather isolated by that time. We had to take boats to reach Ngau Tau Kok and North Point. At that time, Kwun Tong didn’t even exist,” Ng says, referring to the “new town” built on reclaimed land next to the village in 1957.

He says thousands of people lived in the village, and newcomers built squatter homes of metal sheets and stones among the old granite buildings.

“Shops opened all along the main street and the village was very lively. We even had a primary school that served the whole district,” he says.

The school, as well as most shops near Ng’s small shop, closed in the 1990s, as many villagers moved into public housing.

Today, the village is much quieter, but Ng says it provides residents some tranquillity amid Hong Kong’s hectic city life.

Among the abandoned homes, some old granite houses still stand, including Law Mansion, a grade-three historic building built in 1900.

Ng, who is married and has a daughter who lives elsewhere, is calm about the changes to come. “I have been here all my life,” he says. “Maybe it’s time to go somewhere else. Hopefully, if we are going to a public estate, our cat will like it.”

His friend, village head Yau, lives in the village with one of his daughters in their ancestral home. His three other children visit once a week for dinner, with their families.

According to Yau, the liveliest time of the year is during Tin Hau’s birthday, in the third lunar month, when dancing lions and dragons bow to the goddess at her temple, and incense and confetti fill the air.

“Former residents living overseas still come back to celebrate,” he says with a smile. “These are traditions we hope to carry on.”

A government study of the area is expected to be completed late next year, and it still unknown whether the historic features treasured by the villagers will be protected.

Ng Mee-kam, director of the urban studies programme at Chinese University, says it is important to record the history of the village, and understand the villagers and their concerns about the impending redevelopment.

“But since the government has already decided to clear the village and build new houses, there might be little room for the locals to express their wishes,” she says.

Noting that the village grew with Hong Kong, historian Ko says: “It’s a unique, homogeneous Hakka settlement, and the government must find a way to conserve this aspect of the culture and history of Hong Kong, although I am not hopeful.”

RTHK

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