#Carson concurs

[allthedamnlove]

AQUAMARINE: RAFE CAMERON X SOFIA FANFICTION: CHAPTER 3, PART 1

Previous Chapter

Face claim for a new OC, Victoria Ramirez: Sofia Carson

WORDCOUNT: 7.5K

Radio for the chapter:

Sofia's POV:

“Well, to wear blue or not to wear blue ‘tis the question, what do you think?”

Merrp Merrp

“Oh my God, Sofia, are you still talking to the cat?”

I heard my cousin Victoria Ramirez's voice boom through Facetime. She appeared on camera with a bowl of cut-up fruit on her hands, and I could feel her amusement radiating from miles away. 

“Shut up, Vic. Mishmish is a good and fair judge of character and also has an impeccable fashion sense, aren’t you, my niñita?” I concurred as I threw a sideways look at my tabby ginger cat, Mishmish, with her irresistible chubby face and snow-white neck adorning a cute blue ribbon, positioned suavely in her loaf position on her cat bed as she peered at me with observant eyes. I found this cutie when I visited here for summer vacations four years ago and she was just a lone kitten, probably left astray by her mom, shivering on our family’s porch. My sisters and I felt so bad for her and thought we would send her to the adoption center the next day after we bathed the poor kitten. 

That didn’t happen at all. And now I am a mom to the most adorable, chatty cat ever. 

“I wish I could aww at you but I am just sad that you have no social life and that all you do is bartend and yap to your cat which by the way, doesn't even understand what you’re saying”

“Well, you can stop feeling sorry for me ‘cuz I-” I shot back as I twirled around, clutching my possible outfit for the party by its coat hanger, “-am going to a Kook party. With a special invite” 

“Uh huh, now I am invested.” she came closer to the camera, keeping her food on the table, “whose party is it, anyway?”

“Rafe Cameron invited me to go to his party, Vic. Yesterday night. After I embarrassed myself in front of him by going to a prohibited beach”

“OH! Now why didn’t you tell me that crucial piece of info before, missy? Wait. Hold up, you went swimming in a prohibited area, Where? How? What happened? Oh my God, did you die? Am I talking to Sofia's haunted soul?” 

“Yup I did, and before you start bombarding me with questions again, I’ll just say what happened: basically I was sick of working. Again as usual. And then I wanted to do something out of the blue, something fun and spontaneous. And so I saw the beach and no one was there which I should have thought that through and then I just went in, mind you, I literally stripped my clothes off and was about to dive and then I felt two hands literally pulling me and then I went autopilot mode and then I screamed and guess who it was who grabbed me…” I threw my hands in the air as I recollected that painful memory, “Rafe. fucking. Cameron.” 

God, that was in my top ten moments of Sofia Ramirez being an absolute dumb dumb.” I might not have died from the water, but I sure did when I turned around and saw him. 

Funnily enough, I was thinking about the flirty-not-flirty conversation we had in the bar a week ago. That night when I lay in bed, sleep didn’t even befriend me as I stared at the night light all night, thinking about the teasing smiles he threw at me and my heart shaking as I quipped back at him, the pink light emanating fresh bits and pieces of memories as I mindlessly stared it for hours. For the town’s certified cokehead, he was charming to the T. 

And god I would be lying if I said I didn’t find him attractive. 

When he asked me if I could come to his party after seeing me in my most unattractive set of underwear that had been used for a year, my mind just went circuit. I just said “Yes” I knew that I had met him only twice, that too, never had a proper conversation but this flicker of attraction and child-like curiosity about this guarded man is gnawing me alive. And the way our eyes can’t stop talking to each other in a language I couldn’t even understand, it’s like whenever we both look into each other, my brain just stops its blood flow and the immaterial part of my muscled heart, and my eyes just race to find his eyes and just, stare at him. 

I should probably choose a dress for this damn party. 

Victoria’s voice cut through my reverie, “Ok, so now you’re going to his party, and then what…you just gonna stand there and wave at him…or…” she arched her eyebrows as she said,” You’re actually doing something there…or…someone there, huh?”

I picked up my phone from my table and I narrowed my eyes at her, her jet-black straight hair reflecting light on her screen “Ok, first of all, shut up. And two, I’m going there because he asked me to, okay, and yeah, I’ll probably stare at the wall and drink some wine or probably some beer and say hi to him. I am not going to “do” anyone, so can it!”

“Be real for a second. How long has it been since you actually got your back blown out?” I opened my mouth to make her stop but she continued, “Wait, never. So why don’t you actually get sum by a guy who presumably has fucked half of the Kook’s female population, I mean, he may have some STD but you can still ask him if he’s clean-”

“BYEE, VICKY. REMIND ME TO NEVER CALL YOU.”

“SUA VADIA. And DON’T FORGET, WRAP IT BEFORE YOU-”

The call got disconnected with a soft PLOP.

I threw the damned phone, my outfit, and then myself on my bed, the bedspring squeaking as my body hit the lavender comforter.

I cupped my hands on my face as I groaned as quietly as I could. I hate that she’s right. I hate that my thieving mind wanted to make out with a guy I just met. 

Am I ovulating or is this how it really feels to have a crush on a guy on the daily?

In my twenty years of living and breathing oxygen, it is a joy and a slight humiliation that I have not had a proper sexual experience. I know I am way too young to even utter that sentence and I have all my life to experience “bodily pleasures” but the one time I made out with a guy was not “pleasurable” at all. It turns out that when you’re both eighteen, virgins, and have known each other for three years and then try “explore” each other, it becomes really awkward at some point when the other person can’t do a proper handjob and then you’re unsatisfied. Still, you can’t also tell that person cause you don’t wanna shame him. 

Then the worst part comes. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes the next day without turning beet red or wanting to sprint away from him yet you are stuck with him since he was your dance partner. Yeah, that technically means I am still a virgin. 

However, a dark cloud passed over my memory as I thought about the implications of baring my body and soul if I give myself to a person. Murky thoughts. No, not thoughts but memories.

"Sofía, tienes un pecho perfecto… Para bailar, por supuesto"  (Sofia, you have a perfect chest. For dancing, of course)

"Sofía, te ves muy gorda. No puedo creer que realmente te hayan dado permiso para estar aquí" (Sofia, you look so fat. Can't believe you actually got permission to be here)

"Veamos de cerca el cuerpo perfecto que mi papá nos dijo que tienes" (Let's look at the perfect body that my dad told us you have up close)

“SOFIAAA, I NEED HELP!”

I shot up as I saw Isabella, my youngest sister standing in front of my room, her walkman in one hand and her teddy bear, Beans in the other. The pink plastic tic-tac clips with charms shimmered as the light hit her hair; an adorable pout situated on her face that mirrored my features. Out of my twin sisters, Isabella “Ines” Ramirez has been endowed with my features: her oval face,  chestnut brown eyes, and wavy black hair that curls around winter; my ma always says that she even smiles like me, eyes crinkling, dimples and all. She tumbled towards me and accompanied me on the bed, crashing beside me, sitting cross-legged amidst the mountain of all the clothes that I own.

“Sof, I need you to change this song, it keeps replaying. I wanna listen to Night Changes, not Kiss You.” 

I take full responsibility for introducing Isabella to the best boyband ever, (yes, it is my subjective opinion but also it's a fact, get over it) when she was seven. It’s been three years yet she loves that band to death. Her side of the twins’ room, like any other fangirl, is filled to the brim with 1D merchandise; from her school bag, and pencil pouch to the spoon that she uses for cereal, she has been obsessed with those boys and I, for one, am ecstatic since I can sing along to One Direction in the car when I pick her up from school when Alejandra side-eyes both of us. 

Both Isabella and Alejandra are ten now so my ma and pa are very stringent on using mobile phones or even any electronic devices. Isabella and Ajendra have second-hand walkmans that they can listen to music with headphones for 2 hours, (they can blast music on speakerphone anytime but my ma fears that they may get deaf by twenty-five if they excessively use headphones). Other than that, they can use a common laptop for one hour for “entertainment” purposes and only and only if they finish homework. Theo is sixteen now and so shamelessly uses the excuse “Pa, my homework is in the laptop, so just get me a new one” Well, he got a laptop but again, a secondhand one. We haven’t got the funds to buy him a new one but Theo was happy with what he got. 

Isabella is not as tech-savvy as Alejandra and Alejandra has probably run to the neighbor’s house to do quilling with Brianna, her best friend. Alejandra is the “people’s princess” and befriends people in seconds; she is an extrovert to the core and spends her time folding colored papers into cranes and other crafty shapes, quilling, and being a Girl Scout. Meanwhile, Isabella is not as boisterous as my other sister; sure she is also pretty friendly and has a tight friend circle of five (I don’t even have that many people to call as “friends”) but sometimes she just likes to blast One Direction and Taylor Swift on full sound, dote on my parents, Theo and mainly me; and read books. But obviously, Alejandra is her favorite person in the world; after all, she is her twin. However, being #2 in her favorite list (I love it when she bashfully smiles and says “I love you all” when we joke about who’s her favorite) means she just likes to barge into my room when she’s bored or is confused about her walkman not working. Or sometimes she just comes into my room with the most random questions, expecting an answer from me when I am deadbeat from work.

“Sofi, where do fish go when they die in the sea?”

“Sofi, I wanna go to the big place in my  geography book where there’s so much snow and bears that look white” (she’s talking about the Arctic and the polar bear by the way)

“Sof, why do people call taco, “taco?” (this question haunted me for nights cause same)

But I love to sit and answer her questions as much as I can since I know that time runs as fast as light does and I may regret not spending time with my siblings when they’re scrolling through TikTok ten years later and go non-verbal when I ask them, “How’s life?”. 

The kook kids that I see at the restaurant in the country club make me feel scared for the sake of humanity, let me tell you. Unavailable parents combined with unfettered access to all the riches in the world, I feel so bad for those kids who try to fill the void their parents create but then they get rude with the waiters, and then I immediately lose my shred of empathy for them. 

“Oh, Isa. Gimme your walkman. You probably might have clicked the replay button. Lemme disable it.”

Her hands tenderly gave me her device, the edges of the walkman smudged, losing its nude pink color. The harsh white light of the screen hurt my eyes for a second as I changed the settings in her Walkman, her chin resting gingerly on my shoulder. As I fidgeted to give her device back, she took a once over to my another possible outfit for the party; a spaghetti strap baby blue slip dress, flowery lace patterns stitched at the hem; the scooped up neckline accentuating my decolletage. 

“Sofi, where are you all dressed up and going?”

I am going to a guy’s party to probably drink myself to the point of no return or flirting back at him while he just ends up hooking up with some other hot Kook. 

“Oh, just to see a friend”

“Well, I hope you have fun, Sofia. I never see you going out that much since you came home from Mexico” her innocent voice airing out the pathetic state of my social life

Gosh, that’s a low blow and, that’s coming from a kid. 

I knew her comment was innocent so I had to be the bigger person and say, “I will, thank you, Isa. By the way, stop clicking that button if you wanna listen to the whole playlist” It’s not she’s never been given a phone at all but the big sister part of me can’t help it. 

Still, she listened and shook her head vehemently, “THANK YOU SOFI, YOU THE BEST” she screamed as ran back to her room. 

Kids. 

My attention went back to the task at hand as I helplessly stared at the gargantuan pile of dresses, hoping that an impeccable, show-stopping outfit would just magically appear out of thin air. 

Should I just call Rafe and tell him that I am not coming to the party because I have periods…which I don’t. 

I can just dip out of this very rare occasion of me socializing with people and I can spend my weekend like any other, munching on Takis as I watch YouTube compilations of ballerina dancers or a movie on an illegal website and, pester my ma as she cooks dinner at night and then I crash out on the bed, pensively contemplating about what could have been, should have been. 

Or maybe I could face the music, stop feeling sorry for myself, and, go see Rafe at his party and try being a normal twenty-year-old girl, chat up a pretty boy, try to get sloshed, and maybe dip my toes in his pristine pool that he totally has. And maybe, maybe he’ll keep his word and be my tour guide and show me this “spot” that he was raving about. 

Most importantly I am slightly enamored by his overall demeanor, the air of casual indifference seeping with his mysterious, almost quizzical lore surrounding him rendered me curious. The two times we met, the aquamarine-eyed boy’s ridiculous charm and, smiles and sugary words made me dissolve my barely-existing conscience. 

Screw it, I am going to see what’s all the hype about a Kook party. 

And the fact that I even thought of telling practically a stranger that I have periods…I gotta get better at being a socially functional human. 

So with all the strength I had, I bundled all the clothes lying on my bed and crammed them into the unkempt wooden cupboard which already looked like it survived a hurricane with all of my underwear mixed with my work uniform with my other old clothes. As I closed it with my back facing the cupboard, my eyes caught the makeup box half opened on my vanity, the various shades of blushes, lip stains, and the half-finished concealer tube taunting my mind. 

I walked over to the mirror, my eyes catching every blemish and dull spot on my face. There’s a new minute red spot on the apple of my cheeks and the crease underneath my eye is more prominent. 

Ugh, why do my eyes always linger on the faults and why do I always wanna cover up the imperfections with caked-up makeup till the point that my tears wash away all the hard brushing I do over my face every day when I go to work? 

I wish I would have said I didn’t let my insecurities win over my heart but my fingers grabbed the cherry red lip stain and, slathered it along my chapped lips and then fluffed the excess on my cheeks, hoping that the blush would cover my blemishes. 

Ok, now I look…presentable. I twirled myself in front of the mirror, giving a final look at my ensemble, hoping that I wouldn’t change my outfit again. I took my brush combed the unkempt baby hairs and left my room, hastily climbing down the stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t regret the decision to say yes to Rafe Cameron’s party tomorrow.

That’s when I remembered. I forgot my phone and my purse. 

Yikes. We are off to a good start. 

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

A few hours ago, I promised myself that I absolutely wouldn’t change my dress, right?

That was a lie. I changed my mind and wore another dress. 

As I took a peek of myself in the car mirror, I thought to myself for the millionth time, “How the hell did I end up here?”

My blue dress was replaced by a breezy coral red dress reaching up to the flesh of my thighs, the fabric littered with pink, orange, and yellow floral prints all over it. My red colored bra was playing peek-a-boo underneath the outfit, making my insides feel pretty sheepish. My makeup and hair were completely frazzled now, stray hairs having a party over my forehead and the lip stain lost its magic, leaving me with a very light pinkish-red hue on my lips. My blush was completely smudged off with a bare face and my mind spinning in excitement and anxiety, 

As I parked my car over the spacious parking space adjacent to the lush gardens with trimmed grass and perfectly cut trees, I hoped that I didn’t look like my jaw was on the floor as I gawked at this mansion of a “house” 

Goddamn, this guy’s place looks massive. 

Tannyhill, in all its glory, stood tall and huge. With a capacious balcony and mint green paint radiating sunlight, the mansion screamed wealth and old money. I grabbed my purse tight as I leisurely walked into Rafe’s supposed “home,” hoping that I bump into him. I was in awe as I went in, the interior baffling me more. High ceilings, a chandelier with twinkling glass beads twinkling in the sun, a grand staircase with thick white marble railings in the middle, and a large wooden table in the center of the room with a large fireplace at one corner, the furnished shelf above it housing a plethora of photo frames. 

The house was packed too, unknown faces crowding my view as they walked into the house with beers or solo red cups on their faces, bikini-clad bodies shimmying their hips and bobbing their head to Young Thug rapping on the enormous JBL speakers situated at one of the corners of the massive room. 

I drudged around the crowd, too situate myself near the fireplace where the photos were there. Before I walked over to silently snoop at them, I felt a towering presence behind me. 

“See something you like, Miss Sofia?”

I turned around at lightning speed, his baritone tone made me spin and there he was, the man of the hour, Rafe Cameron walking down the stairs, hands in his cornflower blue trousers and beige polo shirt, gold-lined aviators hiding those cheeky eyes and that smug smirk gracing his berry lips. 

“Oh, I was just looking around, I didn’t mean to snoop.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I’m actually surprised that you showed up” he stood in front of me, his looming energy enveloping my vicinity. 

“Well, I’m not the one for turning down polite offers. And I wanna see for myself how you party, so…” I wanted to thank him for inviting him but I stopped myself short. If we are going to play this back-and-forth game of flirty comments, he better start the serve. 

“Now that you are here, lemme show you how we actually do things in Outer Banks. Follow me,” he beckoned me to join him as his long legs led me upstairs, my feet trying to catch up with his speed. The first floor looked more grand if that even makes sense. The walls were adorned with hand-painted lush flora, green leaves, and blue hydrangeas, and another smaller chandelier hanging in the middle of the room that led to the balcony on one side and four other rooms on the other. 

We both crossed the threshold, now with a solo cup in my right hand as he turned towards me and said, “Now if you kindly follow Miss Sofia, the VIP Section.” he pointed towards the huge balcony overlooking the sea, two big brown sofas encircling a round table and multiple white chairs littering the area. It was so spacious that it could fit a party of thirty on that singular floor. 

“Oh yeah.” 

“Yeah, only very very very special people are allowed in here, as you can see,” he said as he put his hands on my shoulder and in turn, made my legs and arms into jelly. 

 He just casually put his hands on my shoulder and I just want to faint. 

I could have just let my hands go limp but no, instinctually my arms went up to his clothed, chiseled shoulder blades, and smirked at his shameless flirting. 

“Uh huh…” I shot back a teasing smile as I looked up at him.

He led me to the wooden railing; the view in front of me taking my breath away again. A horde of partygoers were just swaying to Drake booming on another speaker on the veranda down below with the DJ throwing random signs at the crowd, and a spotless beach situated just a few meters in front of the colonial mansion. Rafe caging me on one arm, pointed his other hand holding a solo red cup like me, toward the line of trees, its leaves crowning like it was the entrance of a fairyland, azure waters, frothy white waves jumping from a faraway distance. The golden ring, with some indescribable engraving, glimmered as he showed me around his place. 

I was nearly smushed to his chest as he said, “As you can see, there’s the water,” I, too, looked around towards the directions he pointed as he continued, “Then there’s the beach. The next neighbor lives like a mile away from mine, it’s that private.”

Then his eyes went to the ongoing raucous at the party and he howled at the party under the balcony. He looked like he was having the time of his life, with everyone hollering at him, calling his name, and high-fiving him before we even reached upstairs minutes ago. Rafe Cameron seemed he was holding the world in his hands and I was witnessing it. 

“Hey, that’s no Jim Beam Bullshit, alright. That’s Pappy Van Winkle, that’s like a day’s salary bro. AND IF YOU HAVEN’T GOT A DRINK IN YOUR HAND, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE” 

I can’t help but openly laugh at his caveman-esque antics. Rafe was buzzed from alcohol and a flush to his cheeks. His hands were off of me now, leaving a gaping space that I never thought I felt before and then he took off his sunglasses and threw another smirk at me as he took off his sunglasses and slinked them on the collar of his polo.

I couldn’t help but say, “So, this is the VIP life, huh?”

His smile was soft as he said, “Yeah”

“Cool.”

We just looked at each other 

“You wanna see some more?” he suggested. He’s all in for being my gracious host today, isn’t he? I didn’t wanna leave him and his infectious company so I was completely fine with him taking anywhere with me. 

“Yeah, I’m down.” 

His hands found purchase on my body once again as he said, “GREAT NEWS! THAT’S GREAT NEWS. Lemme show you the grand tour.” As we both started leaving the crowded room, a flash of blue nylon appeared on our side, stopping us.

“Don’t go runnin’” a buzz-cut man with harsh brown eyes and blue sneakers mentioned towards Rafe. He abruptly stopped for a minute and let go of me, now gently placing his hands on my shoulders. 

“Hey, give me five minutes, I’ll come see you soon.”

I didn’t want to seem like a clingy pest but I was slightly down that our plans were cut off. 

Stop it, Sofia. It’s only five minutes. Calm down, geez.

I played it safe and just said, “Okay.”

Both men now wore taut expressions as I walked out of the place, but then I heard the other guy screaming, “COUNTRY CLUB!!!”

Feeling explorative, my feet carried me downstairs to the veranda, planning to scout around the party as well as the mansion. They were playing Playboy Carti now, and everyone was slurring their words as the partygoers were all absolutely sloshed or probably coked up or high and it was only 6:30 pm.

Dazed and confused, I saw a girl eating Cool Ranch Doritos in the middle of the dancefloor, bobbing her head as the bass hit her eardrums. 

Now that’s something I can vibe with. 

If I am stuck in a party where I don’t know anyone but the host, might as well have some fun alone I guess. Fun, meaning finding the pantry or snack stash. 

This is going to be a long day.

**********

I’m on my second pack of family-sized Red Hot Cheetos. And still on my first can of some random root beer. 

And, I think most of the people here are mentally floating in some other dimension while I am observing them like some scientist but with toxic red dust on my chin. 

It’s 8 pm. 

Why am I still here, you may ask? Well, it was not like I was completely alone for an hour and a half, Rafe checked in on me every twenty minutes while I was sitting cross-legged on his kitchen counter. He actually came back ten minutes after I left him on the balcony 

“Look who found the secret snack drawer.”

I indeed raided it just two minutes after going downstairs. 

“Oh, is it ok? I don’t drink that much, not when I am alone at a party and don’t know anyone.”

“Yeah, go for it. Hey, I wanna apologize if I don’t stay with you at the party. I really want to but I-” he got cut off by another random person coming up at him and bumping chests with him, “HEYY RAFEE, MAN YOU’RE BACK!” 

His attention diverted to the person in front of him but, his eyes stayed with me, apologetic as he got dragged again by that bleached blonde head who was accompanied by a throng of men who nearly trampled and took him away somewhere else. 

That was an hour ago. He did try his best to come up to me once in a while but in a minute, he got approached by someone and he would bare his teeth for a minute and then switch up to greet them and then get yanked by his Kook friends. However, his vision was always on me even when he was knee-deep in another conversation, both of us playing a silent game of who would peel off their gaze first and, both of us were not backing down. We were both like two ends of a rubber band stretching out incessantly, anticipating when the band would snap, the tension creeping up over Rafe and me. 

I was actually planning to leave fifteen minutes ago but, then Rafe came up to me, trudging through the horde of people across the room, panting and all, eyes glossier than ever, and rushed over his words, “Hey, I am so sorry that I didn’t spend enough time with you when I literally invited you. Just give me…fifteen minutes. I promise I’ll come back and really show the place around and, be with you.” 

He looked so desperate that I couldn’t help but say, “Ok, I’ll wait. But it’s ok. I’ll leave if you are busy, clearly, you seem like the life of the party. And I don’t wanna impose…”

“No! Please, I…I’ll be back. Just stand here and look pretty like you have been doing for the past hour.”

Now, I’m here, hoping that he keeps his word or otherwise, I’m leaving in five minutes. 

I sipped on my root beer; my feet dangling on the counter. If I am leaving without having fun, I’m at least taking this pack of root beer for funsies.

But as per his words, I saw Rafe stroll in my direction with a whiskey glass in his hand; all his attention centered on me. Once again, I felt bashful under his piercing gaze. 

“Finally,” he breathed out, “now…where were we?” he downed his drink in one long gulp.

“I don’t know, it’s your rave, Mister Cameron”

“Well then, I promised you to show you around, right? Before that, let’s have a toast, shall we? Since it’s a party and all,” he maneuvered around the tight space; and took a tequila bottle and two shot glasses from the top shelf above the counter without even trying, his height towering over my relatively shot frame. His biceps bulged as he held the bottle poured two shots into the glasses and offered it to me while sporting a small smile. 

My mind is spinning in circles over his tall frame. And I haven’t even gotten drunk yet. 

He was near me now, his hands inviting me to get off the counter and I took it, the ground underneath me withering for the third time today as he held his hands in mine. His hands felt comfortably warm in contrast to my ice-cold ones. 

“Bottoms up, Miss Sofia"

I was heavily invested in his game now, his risque charm pulling me in at a dangerous speed. 

“Bottoms up, Rafe” We both clinked our glasses, downing our drinks in one go at the same time. 

Game on, I guess. 

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

I lost count of how many shots of neat tequila I had, how many lime wedges my teeth bit into, or even the consecutive gulps of gin I guzzled. All I can comprehend is the calloused fingers digging into my hips as my body is glued against Rafe Cameron who, indeed gave an extensive tour of the house but my conscience was all up in the air. He took me to every room of the mansion and gave a one-line description of each room but I was invested in his booming voice, the way his eyes glimmered underneath the soft lights (which were hurting my eye now, cuz I am so close to getting pissed as hell) and the way he never let go of my hands.  All I did was nod vigorously and throw in some flyaway comments like, “That’s nice,” and “Hmm…interesting.”

We were on the dance floor now, the DJ blasting “Often” by the Weekend, and, both of us stood at arm's length, our inebriated bodies slowly staggering to the beat. The sober me would have been appalled of me throwing my head back and staggering from side to side but here I am, dancing my heart out with Rafe watching me over like a hawk. His eyes were piercing as he stood with a red solo cup, looking at me like he was ready to pounce on me. And I was enthralled by the attention he was showering on me. 

Fuck, for the first time in my life, my twisted heart is carnally desiring something. 

At one point, the minuscule distance between us was reduced to nothing, as he tugged my tipsy self to his chest, his arms seizing my waist and we both started to sway to the sultry beat drops, basically grinding on each other. My arms crept up to his nape, my head discovering my latest favorite place to rest; his chiseled, clothed chest. Air became precious when I could hear our breaths blend in, our chests heaving in insurmountable tension. 

His voice shook me to my core as he deliberately whispered in my ear, “Do you wanna go swimming in the pool?”

No, I want to keep feeling your skin on mine but I was too stunned to say no to his out-of-the-blue proposition. 

“Yeah, ok,” I murmured like no one was present when the party was going on in full swing

I thought I would wobble my way to the pool outside but Rafe Cameron had other plans. 

Effortlessly, he picked me up by my waist and placed me in my his arms. 

Not just anyway. 

Bridal style. 

I was being carried by Rafe Cameron bridal style. 

If I didn’t faint then, I was going to fall into an unshakable stupor now.

My heart weighed as a cloud; his hold on my body was light as a feather. My body softly thudded with each step he took toward the glimmering swimming pool and with it, my adrenaline slowly spiked. My back could feel the chlorine emanating from the water as Rafe neared the pool, his face reflecting the scintillated shine; cerulean blue eyes turning aquamarine in the warm July night. He let me down gently near the steel steps directed towards the pool; the cold tiled floor causing shivers in my feet. 

With no time to waste, he peeled off his polo shirt leaving me no imagination of his sculpted chest; abs chiseled and, a prominent V-line trailing over his limbs. 

Holy smokes. 

“Like what you see, Miss Sofia”

“I’ll let you know later, Cameron,” I shot back as I bared off my excuse of a dress, leaving me with my red bikini. Rafe who witnessed me taking off my clothes in the most unsexy fashion shamelessly stared at me, wandering eyes trying to capture every part of my body.

“Now do you like what you see, Rafe?”

“Very much”

Fuck, he ain’t slick. 

“So what now?”

“Now,” he took a once over at the pool and started to run towards it, body curling into a cannonball as he went airborne and hit the water with a big SPLASH, “we swim. I thought that was obvious, Miss Sofia. I wanted to show you the beach but hey, we both are way too tired to walk till there and swim so why not bring the beach experience, here?”

I just shook my head from side to side, drunkenly giggling and went near the stairs to go into the pool, Rafe also swimming along with me. As I climbed down into the chill waters, Rafe rushed towards me, grabbed my hands, and pulled me into his side for the second time tonight. His body felt warm against the cold swimming pool. My arms found home in his nape again, my nimble fingers softly grasping on the matted buzzcut. A tingly sensation flared up on the inside of my thighs and my heart. 

Space was a foreign concept between us as we both clung to each other, Rafe holding me by the flesh of my thighs and hoisting me up to his level. I was putty in his hands, both of our bodies floating in some random flow like two leaves gliding in a river. 

“So, how was the premium Rafe Cameron experience?”

“It was satisfying, to say the least. But I wish the host was more sober…”

“Heyy…”

“Kidding, kidding. No, but really, thank you, Rafe. This is the most fun I have ever had in a very very long time.”

I have never seen him smile that shyly, eyes downcast as he said, “Well, I’m glad to tell you that the fun has just started, Miss Sofia…” he let go of me as he had a sinister look in his eye.

“What are you scheming…Rafe…”

“Oh…nothing,” his lips turned into an upward chuckle as he started to push the water in my direction with all his might and splashed it in my direction, the buoyancy of the water making me lose my balance; and I slipped into the water. 

“AHHH! RAFE, YOU SNEAK!” 

“HAHA,” his cackle cut through the combined hum of the party as well as the silent night. I staggered for a moment and held my breath for a moment inside the pool.

If he wants to play with me, might as well give him a run for his money.

He caught on to my disappearance and panic slightly flooded his features. I felt the water sloshing as Rafe looked around, silently called me, “Sof, you ok? Hey, Sof. SOFIAAA…”

Poor guy must have thought I drowned or something. Well, I might if I keep staying like this for a few more seconds, 

I rose out of the water, my bangs completely drenched and my face splotched red as I took deep breaths and tackled him, the water swishing in ripples as I latched onto his body. 

“BOO!”

“JESUS SOF, My God, I thought you drowned or something.”

Worry was etched onto his face now, regret filling into those eyes that I can’t stop thinking about for no reason at all. I felt bad now and immediately cradled his head, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you properly, ok. I just wanted to get back at you for splashing water at me. I’m ok, Rafe.”

“Well, don’t do it again, ok”

Fuck, I ruined the mood. Sometimes, I wonder if there’s another nameless entity in my brain forging the most horrible decisions ever. 

I snaked my arms around him, hoping that my hug would at least emulate my regret. He didn’t hesitate to hug me back, his arms imprisoning me in a sweet deadlock. We stayed in that position for a few minutes, nothing but silence speaking our thoughts out into the ether. As much as I loved being intertwined with the blonde who had been afflicting my dreams, I started to shrivel from the freezing cold pool water and let out a small ACHOO. 

He was the one who pulled away, noting my incessant shivering and pruning body, “Come on, we should leave. Shit, you’re trembling.”

We both waggled our way back to the edge of the pool and got up the stairs, aware that Rafe ogled at my drenched body as I left the pool. The bikini lost its opaqueness, the translucent flimsy red material sticking on my body like second skin. He got out of the pool after me, head dripping with water but held a burning fire in his eyes. Rafe wasted no time and began rushing me inside the mansion through the backdoor; I was worried that I would be exposing my body to a bunch of drunk teenagers. However, Rafe quelled my rising insecurities when he snatched his polo shirt and draped it on me when we reached the threshold, quietly putting my hands on the sleeve holes of his shirt. My skin burned whenever he touched, making me shiver in heat. 

“I have some towels in my room, dry yourself off,” he muttered as he took me in the direction of the staircase, bypassing the party which was slowly dwindling down, the DJ playing a very random song in some unknown language and only a few people littering the living space, slowly sipping on alcohol, the stench of weed and cigarette infiltrating my nostrils.

We entered a peacock-blue room up the stairs, a massive bed with a long mahogany bedframe  occupying the space front and center, lustrous teal blue sheets covering the pristine crisp white bed springs. The sofa and chairs was cluttered with clothes and other stuff and a tall sliding door situated right infront of the bed hidden by coffee-colored curtains with a bathroom attached to its left. 

As he shut the door, leaving only the two of us in the confined space; breathing itself became a chore, my lungs caving in and heart thrumming with anticipation and pure desire. I was standing near his wooden drawer as he went in to the bathroom to get two towels. The stretch of the rubber band felt excruciatingly painful; the tension melting my soul every second. My thoughts started to jumble into one mess that craved for his touch on me, my mind wanting him to cross the distance and end my arduous yearning for a kiss from his lips or even, a graze from his hands. His stormy eyes and alluring body rounded on me as he ambled towards me, his walk having a sure purpose; two cotton towels on his hand. His presence cornered me, my back hitting the drawer. I can sense his body heat radiating off of him, the mix of his perfume and natural musk making me heady with want. 

He gingerly gave me the towel, my hands sizzling with current as my hands lightly grazed his. We both looked into each other, square in the eye as we started to dry our bodies by ourselves. I threw the towel on my hair, feeling the dampness of my chlorinated hair transfer onto the soft towel and slowly rung my hair on the towelletel; my vision cut off by the piece of cotton blocking my eyes. When I felt sure that my hair was more-or-less semi dry, I took off the towel from my head and found Rafe heavily breathing down on me, his angled nose nearly plunging into my hair. 

It felt like life rolled in slow motion as he threw the cloth away from my hands, and put his hands on the door behind me. Rafe’s voice purred in my ear as he said, “You look so pretty, Sofia. Fuck, I can’t stop looking at you all night,” he breathed into my hair as he spoke, “You even smell good, you know how hard it was for me to focus on other shit when all I think about was you in those little white bra and panties with the bow. It’s all I have been thinking about since yesterday with kissing you senseless, and fuck, I can’t even erase the memory of you in your uniform. ”

I looked upto him and saw that his eyes were feasting on my picked on lips, my breasts with his digits digging into the flesh of my hips. I was stupefied too; I couldn’t stop memorising every detail of him; the curve of his Adam’s apple, the defined planes of his face, the sharp ears, the matted blonde strands of his buzzcut, the small freckle under his left eye and those eyes. 

Those cereaulean blue eyes glimmering like sapphire; I knew from that moment that they wouldn’t stop haunting me till I am dragged down to my casket. 

I couldn’t even slip out a coherent sentence to his confession but my heart was on fire, but all I could muster was, “Rafe?”

“Hmm,” his voiced with laced with pain as he spoke to me. 

I knew that this was the moment that my life was going to change forever. 

I felt possessed as I said, “Can you kiss me, please, Rafe? I want to stop playing this game.”

The rubber band snapped and recoiled. 

“Thought you would never ask, Miss Sofia” 

Inches of space got reduced to nothing as he crashed his lips onto mine; his mouth lapping mine up with urgent fervor almost as he was worshipping me by pressing his lips on mine with undulated passion. The kiss felt earth shattering, the earth beneath me felt like it was going to break into pieces and take me away and Rafe’s lips and wandering hands were the only thing keeping me sane and tethered to reality. His lips swallowed my mouth, pouring all his fervor onto me, and my lips couldn’t get enough; chasing his lips like we’re both running from a disaster.  The world went utterly still with only the sounds of  our kiss, hands cradling each other hips and heads and mouths nearly gnawing each other with such intensity and devotion. 

I never thought kissing someone would feel heavenly. Well, I wish I told that girl I was about to get my world rocked by Rafe Cameron. 

Forever. 

AN:

My brain and my fingers after typing this chapter:

FINALLY DUN DUN DUN! THEY KISSED. YK WHAT IT MEANS FOR NEXT CHAPTER, your girl is going to try writing mid ass smut...Pls dont stone me to death for this chapter, the next one and the futures ones too.

THE AMOUNT OF LOVE YOU GUYS GIVE ME IS AMAZINGGG. KISSES TO EACH SINGLE ONE OF YOU. MWAHHH. Any comments or likes or reblogs are absolutely appreciated.

The next update...I genuinely don't know when it's happening but I am always thinking about this story so hopefully within this month.

Hope you guys have a good new yearr...BYEEEE

Taglist:

@lostsyren @araybiaaa @cherubfille @didddii589 @popou61 @rafecameronsfavourite @rafesofiapalomo @me-ig1 @beautyinsteadofashes

[dindjarindiaries]

The Dawn of Starlight ➵ Chapter 1

summary: Camellia gets a surprise visit from Captain Teva, who convinces her to bring Din Djarin as hired protection on her mission to Cantonica.

pairing: din djarin x fem!oc

rating: mature (18+)

tags: enemies to lovers, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut, strong language, sexual references

word count: 3.847k

series masterlist ➵ chapter 2

“Senator Marend, I apologize.”

Camellia already tensed at the tone of Mionna’s voice. Her assistant looked as apologetic as her words were, if not more so. Mionna had never been skilled at keeping the honesty of her expression concealed. We’ve got to brush up on that part of her political training. “It can’t be that bad, Mionna.” Camellia was already walking through the threshold of her office, preparing to do the same to her private desk setup.

“It might be.” Mionna squeaked these words, causing Camellia’s brow to quirk up. “I told him you weren’t taking guests after today’s session—,” Camellia sighed, closing her eyes and dropping her head back as the revelation fell upon her, “—but he was insistent upon waiting for you.”

Camellia offered Mionna a small smile and set a hand upon the Mirialan’s shoulder. “Thank you for trying.”

Mionna returned a meager smile of her own as Camellia pressed her hand upon the access pad. It slid the door open for her, and immediately, the man in the room stood at attention.

“Captain Teva.” Camellia widened her arms to the New Republic ranger as she approached him, allowing him to take her hand and place a kiss on the back of it. The senator had long since dismissed Carson’s need for propriety, but he insisted upon it nonetheless. “What a surprise to see you here again so soon.”

Carson’s dark gaze twinkled underneath his gray brow. “As wonderful as it always is to see you, Senator Marend…” Carson paused, waiting until Camellia was seated to do the same across from her, “this visit’s much sooner than I would’ve liked.”

“I concur.” Camellia folded her hands on her lap. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such a surprising visit?”

Carson reached for something on his belt and tossed it on the desk. So, the propriety would be dropped, after all. Camellia leaned forward to take the transceiver. “The news of your visit to Cantonica has already spread.” Carson crossed his arms and raised his brow. “You plan on facing Vondar alone, don’t you?”

Camellia’s jaw tensed. “I only wish to have an audience with him to explore some more beneficial trade options.” She nodded at Mionna to dismiss her. Her assistant bowed her head in respect and left Carson and Camellia alone. Camellia released a deep breath and slouched her shoulders. “That man is too dangerous to leave alone, Carson.”

“You’re right.” Carson leaned forward and rested his elbow upon the senator’s desk. His brow was etched in deep worry for her. “But he’s also too dangerous for you to take on alone.”

Camellia shrugged and let her lips spread wide in a somewhat amused smirk. “You underestimate my skill, Captain.”

The corner of Carson’s mouth twitched upwards in a small smile of his own. “Not at all, Senator. I fought alongside you to liberate your homeworld.” His expression once again became more serious. “That also showed me how much your people need you.”

“And it would be a waste for me not to say that to Vondar’s face.”

Carson’s hand pulled tight into a fist. “Raxus would be a useful asset to him, Senator, and that means he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you for it.” His gaze darkened, his tone lowering in gravity. “Your people need you. Alive.”

Camellia scoffed at that. “An Imperial admiral hiding out on Cantonica is no true threat, Carson.” She opened a drawer in her desk and showed him all the data tapes she had acquired over the past few months. “I’ve read all his files, and I’ve accessed all the intelligence.” She put the tapes away and nodded at the captain. “We’ve seen all the same things. I can take him.”

Carson shook his head. “Not alone. He may not be dangerous, but his security detail—his army—is famed for how it eliminated our troops.” The ranger’s face fell at a memory he left trapped within his own mind. Camellia began to wither with sympathy. “Trust me.”

Camellia stood from her chair, pacing over to the viewport of transparisteel that offered her a view of Coruscant’s bustling airways. “You’ve seen how the Senate reacted to me proposing my diplomatic visit to Cantonica.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh before she faced Carson again. “They would never approve any kind of ‘mission’ to take Vondar down.”

Carson’s expression spelled out the same amount of defeat. “I know.”

“That includes you, Captain.” The corners of Camellia’s mouth tightened. “You won’t be granted any type of approval to venture to Cantonica, especially not after the Seatos incident.”

Carson tilted his head to the side for a moment, as if proving her right. “Well, Senator, if you’re set on it…” the smile that tugged at his lips instantly piqued Camellia’s curiosity, “I have another idea.”

Camellia walked back over to her chair, crossing her arms and resting them upon the back of it. “Go on.”

“Let me walk you through a hypothetical.” Carson’s gaze twinkled, a sure sign that the idea was anything other than a hypothetical. “I wouldn’t be able to go with you, this is true, but let’s say I have someone on my team who can. An operative who’s contracted.”

“Contracted?” Camellia nearly scoffed again. “You mean, someone outside the New Republic’s jurisdiction itself?” The senator raised her brow at Carson. “That would be illegal, Captain Teva.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Carson went on, “this contractor, who’s responsible for Moff Gideon’s death, could go with you in my place.”

Camellia blinked in succession, chuckling in her disbelief as she set her shoulders. “Let me get this straight.” She narrowed her eyes at Carson. “You want to send a Mandalorian gun-for-hire, who’s illegally contracted, with me to face off against an Imperial admiral?”

Carson’s gaze cut to the side for a moment. “Did you miss the part about Moff Gideon?”

“I got that.” Camellia sunk back into her chair, her bewildered stare never straying from the New Republic ranger. “And how exactly is that safer than just letting me go on my own?”

“He’s one of the galaxy’s greatest warriors, Camellia.” Carson’s use of her name alone reveals his true sincerity, particularly the concern that drips into his tone as he goes on. “And he’s… different from other mercenaries. He sprang a prisoner from a ship cycles ago, but also apprehended three people from the wanted register—and he tried to save the lieutenant on board’s life.”

Camellia relaxed her set jaw, but she remained silent. Carson took the opportunity to reach out and hold her hands.

“Like I said before, Senator. Your people need you. Alive.” His kind gaze began to convince her. His eyes were much like her father’s had been, gentle and wise. It made it even harder for Camellia to resist Carson’s genuine plea. “If I can’t be there to fight with you, allow me to send the best I have to offer in my place. You know I would never send you with someone I didn’t trust.”

Camellia considered his words for a long moment, her gaze falling to their entwined hands on top of her desk. Carson had once risked everything to Camellia and her homeworld, and his leadership had been vital to the liberation of Raxus. She, and her planet, owed him more than the New Republic would ever admit. Camellia knew better than to ignore that.

“All right.” Camellia went on before the relieved light in Carson’s gaze could give way to interruption. “But how the hell do I talk around a Mandalorian escorting me?”

“Hired protection.” Carson withdrew his hands from you, his brow raised in slight amusement. “The Outer Rim’s a dangerous place compared to the Core.”

“A bodyguard?” Camellia huffed and gave her head a quick tilt. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Carson gestured to the viewport behind her. “The people, and your adversaries, don’t need to know that.”

Camellia nodded to agree and reached for her datapad, glancing at her upcoming itinerary. “This mercenary needs to be ready to go by tomorrow. Moving my departure date would only draw suspicion.”

“He will be.” Carson stood from his chair and bowed his head. “I’ll personally escort him here tomorrow, before your departure.”

Camellia rose with him, offering a genuine smile as she stepped around her desk to meet him. “Thank you, Carson. Truly.” She invited him into a friendly embrace, grateful to have at least one ranger within the New Republic’s ranks who bothered to help her and the other planets of the galaxy who had yet to see the last of the Empire’s lethal touch. “I’m grateful to have you on my team.”

“And it’ll stay that way, Senator.” Carson gently held Camellia’s shoulders as he nodded at her. “I’ll have him report to me throughout the mission, in case you end up needing any… unauthorized backup.”

Camellia grinned. “That’s the best kind there is.” She patted his shoulder and began to lead the way to the door. Camellia opened it for him, meeting Mionna’s shocked face as she took a few steps away from the threshold. The assistant’s green face flushed with embarrassment.

“Miss Mertil.” Carson bowed his head at her in respect. With that, he found his own way out of Camellia’s office, leaving the two Raxians alone once again.

“You’ve got to be better about learning when to step away from eavesdropping, Mionna.” Camellia’s voice was nothing but teasing as she raised her brow at her assistant.

“I apologize, Senator,” Mionna gushed.

“Please. You know the real reason why I dismissed you from the room.” Camellia tended to some of the plant life that decorated her office. It was all from Raxus, meant to transport her back to her old home along the outskirts of Raxulon—a place very far from Coruscant. “It’s only to prevent—.”

“—Officially being found guilty for conspiracy if something goes wrong.” Mionna smiled. “I know.”

Camellia tilted her head at the Mirialan. “And Carson is the last person who would ever care about an eavesdropper.”

Mionna nodded. “So,” she tapped around her own datapad, “we’re adding the Mandalorian to your itinerary. Correct?”

Camellia’s jaw began to tighten again. She nodded. “Correct.”

“If… I may, Senator?”

Camellia looked up from her plants. Mionna was hardly hiding the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You may.”

“I think it’s utterly wizard we get to go with a Mandalorian.” Mionna’s gaze lit up the more she spoke. “I read about their people in my history classes. Like Captain Teva said, they’re the galaxy’s greatest warriors.” She paused. “Well, other than the Jedi, but…” She shrugged and set down her datapad. “I mean, they just reclaimed their homeworld. We thought they were all dead, but yet again, they somehow avoided being wiped out completely.”

Camellia raised a single brow at her assistant. “Yes, Mionna, you’re right. I’m as caught up on the galaxy’s past and current history as you are.” Mionna’s green skin began to flush again, but Camellia reassured her with a small smile. “It seems like you’re going to have more fun on this excursion than I will.”

Mionna slowly picked her datapad back up. “I guess what I’d like to know, Senator, is why you’re so against the idea of him coming with us.”

Camellia stopped what she was doing altogether, turning her full body to Mionna and crossing her arms over the ornate trim of her dress. “It’s not about him being a Mandalorian, Mionna. It’s about him being a mercenary.” She shook her head and painted her expression with as much severity as she could muster. “You can’t trust them, no matter what.”

Mionna’s brow furrowed. “But Captain Teva trusts him.”

“I know.” Camellia sat down at her main desk and exhaled a troubled breath. “That’s why I’m at least willing to keep the guy around.” She gestured with her hand to one of the chairs in front of her. Mionna took her place without hesitation. “Let’s get the final plans set so we can rest. We’ve got a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow.”

For the next hour or so, Mionna walked through each vital step of their travel plans—lodging, meal reservations, diplomatic meetings, and more—to add their new guest into the schedule. Camellia began to fear what she had gotten herself into. There was no person in the galaxy she trusted more than Carson, especially given everything he had done for her and Raxus, but the uncertainty surrounding his contracted mercenary filled her with a mysterious chill.

That night, Camellia dreamt of Admiral Tantam Vondar’s cruel face, a twisted image of someone who was once a much kinder soul. He seemed to be the only Alderaanian who agreed with the motivation behind their planet’s fate. Vondar would gladly let Raxus and the other planets in his reach suffer the same fate. The weapons he bartered would do just that, if Camellia failed.

This mercenary couldn’t get in the way with the stakes set that high. Camellia would make sure of it.

The morning arrived quickly, and soon Camellia was awaiting Carson’s arrival on the landing pad with her own ship fully prepared for takeoff. Mionna, as well as a member of her own small security detail, waited behind her as Carson’s X-wing landed. It was trailed by a Naboo N-1 starfighter, a relic from the Galactic Republic era that made Camellia’s brow lift in surprise.

Carson hopped out first. He smiled at Camellia as he made his approach, taking her hand and providing a kiss to the back of it as always. “Senator Merand.” Carson’s voice was warm before he stepped back and gestured to the man approaching them. “This is the Mandalorian Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. Camellia tasted the name on her own tongue as her gaze studied him. The man was taller than she had expected, and certainly more broad than any other warrior she had faced—even those who fought against her on Raxus many years ago. His beskar suit of armor was entirely silver, with the outline of a mudhorn attached to his right pauldron. The armor caught Coruscant’s sunlight and danced in the reflection as he continued his approach.

He stopped once he reached Carson’s side. Only then did Camellia spot the tiny green creature standing at his side, only just a hair taller than the Mandalorian’s boot.

“Senator Merand.”

Camellia’s stomach did backflips at the sound of Din’s modulated voice. It was low and raspy, as if it had been sparingly used. Damn. She fought to conceal her unexpected reaction.

He raised his gloved fist to his cuirass and bowed his head. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Camellia bowed her head back at him. “The pleasure’s all mine, Din Djarin.” Her gaze caught the creature at his side once again.

Din’s visor followed her eyes. “This is my apprentice, Grogu.” An apprentice? It was strange for a mercenary to take on an apprentice, much less a… well, a child. He set his hands on his belt. “He’ll be accompanying me, if that’s all right.”

Grogu cooed and lifted his long, petal-shaped ears, his gaze finding Camellia’s. She smiled at the little one. “Certainly.” Camellia gestured over to Mionna. “This is my assistant, Mionna Mertil. She’ll be joining us as well.”

Din nodded, also bowing his helmet in Mionna’s direction. Camellia saw the light of excitement flicker in the Mirialan’s gaze at the gesture.

Camellia shifted her focus back over to Carson. “We ought to get going.”

Carson bowed once more, his eyes flickering over to the extra member of Camellia’s security detail. “Enjoy your time on Cantonica, Senator.” For a brief moment, his gaze darkened in concern, but it was fleeting. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting your return.”

Camellia could only offer her most reassuring smile to him before she nodded at her security. The officer led the way to the open ramp of the ship, with Mionna remaining at Camellia’s side. The Mandalorian and his apprentice brought up the rear, and the senator could feel the warmth of Din’s gaze on her even through his helmet. For a strange, fleeting moment, Camellia thanked herself for choosing a dress that was well-fitting to her form.

Camellia blinked a few times and nearly tried to shake the thought from her head. What the hell is wrong with me?

Though, she reminded herself, there was a reason why she began to distrust mercenaries in the first place. It seemed, unfortunately, that she had a type—and both her heart and her bed had been empty for quite some time.

But a Mandalorian who always kept his face concealed would certainly never find himself in either of those places.

Camellia resisted the urge to scoff to herself. Clearly, it had been too long since she last allowed herself to live the life she once had beyond the walls of her senatorial office. She refused to project that onto the mercenary, and the mission. After it was all over, then Camellia could begin to think about filling those empty voids.

The senator released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The Avalon was Camellia’s most luxurious ship, though certainly much smaller than those of her fellow senators from the Core and the Mid Rim. The main hold was filled with white-and-gold embellishments and cushioned seating, the circular door leading to the cockpit fit with the same decorative swirls as the interior of Camellia’s office.

The ship served the senator enough to feel like something of a home, causing her to release a relaxed breath as she sat on one of the cushioned seats. Mionna sat beside her as the security officer continued on to stand just outside the cockpit. The Mandalorian and his apprentice remained standing across from Camellia. She furrowed her brow.

“Please, gentlemen.” Camellia gestured to the cushioned seat behind them. “Have a seat, relax your legs. This will be a long trip.”

Din hesitated, as if he was going to protest, but he stopped himself and nodded. He bent down to pick up the little one and took his place across from the senator. Din set Grogu next to him and remained at the ready, his gloved hands settling on his armored thighs.

“So, Din Djarin.” The Mandalorian’s visor locked on Camellia the moment his name rolled off her tongue. “Captain Teva told me you had quite a hand in the reclamation of Mandalore.”

Din nodded dutifully. “I was a small part of a greater effort.”

Camellia smiled at his sense of honor. Still, her skepticism remained. “What keeps you away from rebuilding the planet?” She gestured to herself. “Embarking on a New Republic diplomatic mission must put a sour taste in the mouths of your people, who wish to remain independent.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted. Each word he spoke was careful, calculated even. “Bo-Katan Kryze is overseeing the rebuilding of Mandalore. My current responsibility is overseeing Grogu’s training.” He gestured to the child at his side, his visor never once straying from Camellia’s gaze. “It’s Mandalorian tradition that he embarks on his apprentice journeys.”

Camellia focused on her hands as they smoothed out the silk material of her dress upon her thighs. “And you being my hired guardian won’t cause your people to be seen as sympathetic to the New Republic?”

Din’s gloved fingers curled into fists on his thighs. Camellia swallowed hard. “You’re the politician here, Senator Merand.” He nodded at her. “You know the answer to that question better than I do.”

Clearly, Din’s wit was evenly matched with Camellia’s own. He had already far outpaced the past mercenaries she had reluctantly worked with. Fine. She shifted gears. “Have you traveled to Cantonica before?”

Din’s fists relaxed. “Once.”

Camellia raised her brow in interest. “What was the occasion?”

“I’m afraid that’s my private business, madam.”

“Of course.” Camellia bowed her head in apology. Damn it. Trying to get information out of this man was more difficult than convincing the entire damn Senate to send her to Cantonica in the first place. “I was simply hoping you would have a firm grasp on the layout of the planet’s biggest city.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “For my protection.”

“I recall Canto Bight. I also refreshed my memory of its layout last evening.” Din nodded at Camellia. “You’re in safe hands, Senator. I assured Captain Teva of such, and I assure you of the very same.”

Camellia was nearly embarrassed by the heat of Mionna’s amused gaze piercing her side. She returned his nod, maintaining the propriety. “Thank you.” Camellia stood, causing Mionna and Din to do the same. Even Grogu stood on the cushioned seat, his tiny chin lifting to emphasize the movement. “I ought to get some rest, as should the two of you. There’s no doubt you had a long trip to Coruscant this morning.”

Din nodded once again. As Camellia set off to her private quarters and took Mionna with her, she felt the warmth of Din’s gaze, just like before. She tried to fight the way it sent a blaze throughout every inch of her skin that his eyes touched.

Once Camellia and Mionna were alone inside her quarters, the senator heaved out a sigh. “That didn’t go well.”

Mionna couldn’t resist the smile that overtook her lips. “If I may, Senator?”

Camellia simply raised her brow at her assistant.

“I’m not sure questioning a Mandalorian about his possible betrayal to his homeworld was the right way to set the two of you up on good terms.”

Camellia scoffed. “I don’t care about being on good terms with the man.” She sits on the edge of the furnished bed and catches Mionna’s confused gaze. “All I care about is finding out what his true intentions are.”

Mionna held her datapad tighter. “Credits?”

Camellia raised an eyebrow. “A Mandalorian mercenary responsible for killing Moff Gideon wants more than just credits, Mionna.” She gestured with her head to the closed door. “He’s accompanying a New Republic senator to a planet he’s only been to one other time, and he’s working for Captain Teva instead of helping to rebuild his homeworld.” Camellia narrows her eyes and gives her head an aimless shake. “There’s something more he wants out of this.”

“Well, Senator, you know the Empire was responsible for Mandalore’s destruction.” Mionna shrugged. “Maybe he just wants revenge.”

“Maybe.” Camellia’s hand ran over her concealed blaster. “But the black market of weapons Vondar’s establishing in Canto Bight would be much more profitable for a mercenary than a simple protection job.” Her voice lowered in gravity. “And weapons are a vital part of Mandalorian religion.”

Mionna sat across from Camellia. “Do you think this Mandalorian, one Captain Teva trusts, would really subject a young apprentice to all that?”

Camellia chewed on Mionna’s words. Her teeth captured the inside of her cheek as she mused for a long moment. At last, she brought the daunting truth to life, speaking the words even as she prepared herself to rest. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

series masterlist ➵ chapter 2

[azertyrobaz]

Dank Farrik Drabble #49

Another drabble to celebrate the conclusion of The Mandalorian’s third season! I rolled Pog soup/Bored this time, and this made me want to try the recipe. Let me know if you have and if it was successful! Here are the rules for the challenge if you want to participate.

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

“You haven’t visited Mandalore for months, you left without saying goodbye and now you’re finally using your comm station to ask me how to cook pog soup?”

It did sound a bit strange when she said it like that, but at least Bo-Katan didn’t look too cross. Well, her blue image didn’t at least. It had been a relief to learn that Gideon had been the one blocking all communications from leaving the planet, but it didn’t mean Din had suddenly become that much more sociable. And he thought Bo already knew he didn’t do goodbyes. It wasn’t as if he’d completely disappeared from everyone’s radar. He had reached out to the Armorer every once in a while to see if his tribe needed anything, but they seemed all set for now.

“I figured you’d be busy,” Din reasoned, Grogu cooing happily when Bo finally noticed his frantic waves and replied with one of her own.

“But not busy enough to share family recipes?” she remarked with an arched eyebrow. There was a smile there, Din thought. He should update his station to a better one, the quality of the image made it hard to tell for sure.

“Grogu’s been asking for it,” he attempted.

“Your son is talking?”

“You’re the one who said I should learn more about Mandalore’s traditions, and I recall it tasted great.”

This was one more lie, he remembered nothing from that soup. In his defense, he’d been recovering from poisoning at the time. And a concussion.

“Ah bah,” the boy finally concurred with a nod, helping his case.

“Are you really so bored that you’ve taken up cooking?” Bo wondered. “I could definitely put you to work here, there’s a lot – ”

“We’re not bored,” Din immediately said. “We’ve been travelling a lot, and following up on some leads from the New Republic.”

This, on the other hand, wasn’t a lie. Din had been doing exactly what he said he would – taking his apprentice on his journeys and working on a case by case basis for Carson as a contractor, which actually paid very well. They had free time, yes. But they were not bored. What did that word even mean? Their days were full enough when they spent them on Nevarro.

So what if they’d both taken a liking to naps under the sun and leisurely evening walks in town? That was allowed. And what if he’d decided to put his newly earned credits to good use to try out some of the fresh ingredients they sold at the market? He’d never had such a big kitchen before, and barely knew what most of the appliances were for, but the boy deserved nourishing meals. And anything they cooked tasted infinitely better than ration bars – which wasn’t a difficult feat – even when he messed up a bit.

“Fine,” Bo sighed, but Din could tell she didn’t believe him for a second. “I’ll tell you if you promise to visit soon.”

“Fine,” Din agreed.

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #1:

Neil Young's Neil Young

My buddy Greg asked me last weekend, very earnestly, why Neil Young? Why is he your favorite artist? Why?

Greg likes Neil. But he doesn't own 38 different Neil records which are what he'd grab, along with his kids and, I guess, the cat, if the house was on fire; nor has he temporarily and blissfully lost all sense of hearing after seeing Neil in concert eight glorious times, once driving 7 hours each way on a work night to do so; nor did he sing each of his safe-from-the-fire kids to psychedelic sleep every night of their childhoods with a steady diet of Powderfinger (my son always insisted the first line was "look out Momma, there's a white bird coming up the river"; if I sang boat instead of bird he'd sit up in bed, his doll Carson cradled in his arms, and howl in indignation), Lost in Space and Little Wing.

(By the way, that fire scenario really happened: long ago, when the kids were still little and there was no room whatsoever left in our tiny home, all my records were stored in a family cabin in the woods; one time I watched the backside of the ridge behind that cabin going up in flames and then rushed home to get everyone, and all of my Neil, into the car so we could get the hell out of there. Everyone/thing made it out just fine.)

In other words, Greg's not me. Plus, he grew up a Pearl Jam guy so we were listening to Mirror Ball as a common ground of sorts when the question, Why Neil Young?, was asked. At that point Neil was hollering about the place called downtown, where the hippies all go, so my first, slightly inebriated, explanation - "dude, I don't know, he's just the best" - didn't really fly. After all, the hippies were dancing the Charleston; they were doing the limbo.

Greg's question is a good one. What attribute can you insert after the statement "Neil Young is the best _____" that adequately describes his odd and supreme genius?

"Poet" doesn't work. Sure, Neil can write about roads stretching out like healthy veins and wild gift horses that strain the reins, but he can also dedicate a ten minute song entirely to describing one person's surplus of mashed potatoes.

Nor can you get away with "he's the best songwriter" when he's released at least 6 different versions of the song Dance, Dance, Dance and much of his oeuvre from the past 10 years spews hot, Promise of the Real sized chunks.

Even Neil's newest robot will probably concur: there isn't any single thing that Young is the stand-alone-best at. (Well, maybe he is the best at screaming into his guitar's pickups...)

And yet, for me, the truth has never been in doubt since I first heard Side 2 of On the Beach over thirty years ago: Neil Young is, and always will be, my favorite musician.

So I think it's about time this blog started wrestling with Neil "Shakey" Young himself. That's why I'm kicking off this weekend with the first of many Shakey Sundays: I'm gonna write about every one of Neil's studio albums, in order.

Those of you who only show up to see if I have more to say about John Darnielle's cooking skills: relax. I'll continue to post Dollar Bin posts on other artists alongside this new project. I promise. But be warned, Young currently has 45 studio albums to his name and I have a ton to say about all of them. So this will take awhile.

I'm not making any promises of the real here: I'll surely take some Sundays off, these posts will often appear, like this one, in truly Shakey fashion, on the wrong day of the week, and I may keel over or get a life before I ever write about Storytone or Fork in the Road. But it's time to give this Neil Young thing a shot, a shot that will ring all around the border, like a venom in the sky. Will we make it? Hey, who knows where or when. But let the Dollar Bin's Shakey Sundays begin.

Here we go:

Neil Young did not yet know how to be NEIL YOUNG in 1968. When putting together his debut solo album he:

Overdubbed instruments and vocals alike instead of leaving everything as live and raw as an octopus that's just been tossed up On The Beach;

Brought in ace session musicians and back up vocalists instead of the wandering cast of reckless, drunken fools who he's been working with ever since;

Boxed up (nearly) every raggedy edge of his sound into tiny, bite-sized morsels instead of pummeling us into submission;

Bounced around from one real studio to the next over three months instead of doing it all in a barn or in front of a crackling fire in the night;

Waffled between, and deferred to, three different producers instead of ordering everyone around like they were his private army of Jawas; and finally,

He recorded while sober.

And yet the end result is a lovely, under-appreciated record, one you're fairly likely to pick up in any Dollar Bin to this day. I suspect a lot of casual collectors have bought Neil Young in the last 55 years based on the twin false assumptions that Joni Mitchell painted the cover (she didn't) and that it'll sound, you know, like Heart of Gold. Lucky for you, those buyers listened to the album once, understood none of it, then chucked it. So go get it already.

I remember picking up my own copy for a buck or two. It was the summer of 1992 and I had a bus ticket to take me from my grandmother's house in North San Diego all the way to my buddy Ned's parent's house in Coronado. I was 16 and had the day off from my summer camp job. Every cent of my huge $46/week salary was in my pocket and I had zero bills to pay nor any responsibilities to speak of. That sounds so awesome.

Anyway, there I was on the bus, feeling groovy. I'm not too spontaneous a guy but I saw a record store along the way and got out; there was yet another shop across the street. Encinitas, CA, was a cool place to be 30+ years ago; today I'm sure those store fronts are both dedicated to the kind of high end vegan yoga wear I'd need to take out a home loan to get into. But oh boy, just imagine how good I'd look...

Neil Young was included in my Dollar Bin haul from that afternoon, as was Time Fades Away. Who knows what else; who knows why I remember any of this.

Then again, I know exactly why I remember this: it was one of the funnest days of my life. I showed up at Ned's a few hours later and showed off my new records to a pretty big swath of 16 year old boys. No one was impressed; at that point Neil's only real claim to fame with grungy white kids was that Sonic Youth had opened for Neil the previous year. No one really cared about Sonic Youth; they only cared that Nirvana had once opened for Sonic Youth.

Poor Kurt was still alive and well at that point; he was the most famous musician on the planet. Everyone wanted to talk about him, not speculate with me about the fact that one single song seemed to take up nearly all of Neil Young's B Side.

So, instead of talking about Shakey, we spent the rest of the day, and night, driving from one 7-11 to another all over San Diego county, hunting for the most mythical of Slurpee flavors: Cinnabomb. That's a quest that I suspect a lot of 16 year old boys could still passionately get behind. Sadly, we never found Cinnabomb, but I did learn how to jump out of Ned's Vanagon with everyone else at red lights and make a lap around the car while screaming.

Good times. No, Great Times.

At that point I liked Neil but was still a year away from lifelong devotion. In a future post about Weld (uh oh, maybe I will need to do all the live records too?) I'll describe what it was like seeing him live for the first time a year earlier; I think it permanently altered the shape of my face. But I was too young to really know it yet.

After 31 years of pretty regular listening to Neil's debut, I'd argue that it demonstrates just how many different paths were open to him as he transitioned away from what was essentially a big deal boy band, Buffalo Springfield.

Neil Young opens with The Emperor of Wyoming, one of the most unique tracks Young's ever produced. As the strings play toss with Neil's slick guitars, opening a comfortable prairie scene to the sun, the wind and to our cheerful gazing eyes, we're given the immediate sense that Young could have wound up becoming a proper musician: scoring films, producing for others, you know, making music for normal people.

Missing entirely from the track is any sense of underlying menace, and menace is always a hallmark of Young's best work. Rather, it sounds as though the fine people of Wyoming are all holding hands and working together to build their Emperor a lovely barn, a barn no one will ever convert into a recording studio. Rather, everyone will have access; the people's grain will be safe and the Emperor will bestow handfuls of flowers upon every last one.

It's an instrumental track, and how many of those are on all 45 of Neil's albums? There's all of Dead Man, of course, but that's a soundtrack album. Side 2 of Neil Young opens with another instrumental, as well, one that he seemingly had absolutely nothing to do with. And I think that's it! Neil put this great track together, then never made music like this ever again. Wow.

But there's a back story of course: I think The Emperor of Wyoming is a sequel of sorts to a track Young didn't release, in his classic, mercurial fashion, for another 40+ years. Take a listen to Slowly Burning, recorded under the Buffalo Springfield moniker a year earlier. In actuality it's Young in the studio with session musicians, teaching himself how to make beauty.

Next up on Neil Young is The Loner, and we start to hear the Neil Young we know. There's plenty of that menace I was talking about in the song's titular character: this guy is watching you, probably right now, and if you get off the train at your station alone, he'll know that you are.

But Neil wasn't ready to unleash such menace sonically: every sense of the chaos he'd tapped into on Mr Soul a year and half earlier is immediately strangled off on The Longer, leaving room for full strings. Young was ready to sing about creeps. But he had not yet decided to sound like one.

The drums suck on this track; the guy responsible would go off and found the band Poco, together with the album's primary bass player, Jim Messina, who is the sole member of Buffalo Springfield that Young welcomed into this project (and Messina was barely a member of the band, only playing on their last record). My famous brother will probably soon tell me that Poco is a a big deal band I ought to get into. He's wrong; I know this even though I have never listened to a Poco record; I simply have intuited that they are un poco terrible.

But back to Buffalo Springfield. I debated starting this entire project with their first record. After all, that's the first thing Neil properly released. That record is great for a lot of reasons. For one thing, it demonstrates that Stephen Stills, at least for a moment, didn't suck. But Neil Young is where we're starting!

The most important hold-over from the Springfield era on this record is producer and pianist Jack Nitzsche, one of Neil Young's three outside producers. Nitzsche is a figure of significant folklore: he's like Phil Spector's mini-me: almost as prolific, almost as genius, almost as nuts. There'll be more to say about Jack on future Shakey Sundays. For now, suffice it to say that he was once arrested for chasing his, and Neil's, former lady friend, Carrie Snodgrass, around her home with a handgun. And then, years later, he and Snodgrass got back together.

Nitzsche seems responsible for much of the greatness within the very best song on Neil Young, The Old Laughing Lady. Every version Neil's ever done of the song is wonderful. He hypnotized himself and every one else present with his coffee house version, busked it incognito on an Amsterdam street corner, rewrote it almost entirely for his 76 acoustic tour, complete with train effects, and laid it down in isolated, after hours perfection during the credits of his otherwise dull concert film Heart of Gold. Next up I hope there's a children's choir involved, singing through his vocoder.

Neil Young's studio take of Old Laughing Lady is a masterpiece. Nitzsche's piano lines are subtle and deft; his production corrects the amateur flourishes that undercut the previous year's Broken Arrow: everything is dense and sparse at once, and the backing vocals, led by the incomparable Merry Clayton a year before she laid down some of the best vocals in any rock song ever on Gimme Shelter, are a surging, moaning pulse that's, once again, unlike anything else Neil would ever put on tape.

But arguably the best thing of all on the song is the bass line. Take a listen.

That's not Jim Messina. It's Carole Kaye, the only female member of Phil Spector's studio band, later known as The Wrecking Crew. Light years ahead of her time, Kaye is responsible for a bunch of the best notes in all the 60's. She's the bass player on Pet Sounds and Smile; her playing there reset the entire way Paul McCartney played bass. She's on La Bamba, I Hear a Symphony and Love's Forever Changes, plus hundreds of other songs we all know from the late 50's and 60's.

So why don't we talk about her all the time? Sexism people, sexism. The poor woman was abused by her music teacher when she was 13 years old and wound up marrying him and having his child at age 16. Somehow she rose above this all and broke just about every barrier you can imagine in the studio. And good for her: she bailed on the whole hideous scene two years after playing on Neil Young. Now the internet is filled with sweet images of her like this one:

But why doesn't she play on all of Neil Young? After all, she was in the sessions a year earlier that produced Expecting to Fly and Slowly Burning.

I'm guessing that a) she was too expensive for Neil (she once claimed, without bravado, that she made more as a session musician than she would if she were President of the United States), and b) Neil was already realizing that he's happiest and most successful when surrounded by lesser musicians. No offense Jim Messina, but you didn't freak Neil out with your mad skills. Carole Kaye did.

Much of the rest of the album is filler, stuff Young wrote to flesh out the record and stuff he largely has not returned to since. But most of that filler is great.

Take I've Been Waiting For You. If you set aside Young's uptight, anodyne vocals and the fact that this song is little more than a chorus and a guitar riff, you'll discover that Neil was well on his way to Prince-like studio skills. He stacks up his own organ, piano and guitars atop drums that don't suck. The whole thing, even the unfunny Ha's! in the intro, swings.

But we've got to end this first Shakey Sunday by taking note of the most important relationship Young began during the record. Indeed he says it was one of the most important relationships in his entire life. Supposedly, Neil was hitchhiking in Topanga Canyon at some point in 68 when a guy even crazier than him, David Briggs, picked him up. I guess we'll buy into that story and wonder if we would have stopped for Neil in 1968. Before you jump to any conclusions, remember what he looked like at that point.

I don't know about you, but I'd have left his ass on the side of the road.

Briggs had no real qualifications for producing Young or anyone else at the time. But he quickly supplanted both Nitzsche and Ry Cooder in the production booth and helped Neil make more than half of Neil Young. Briggs had exactly what Neil was looking for at the time, and he's still looking for it now: sublime amateurism, both from himself and from his contributors.

Maybe Briggs taught Neil how to run around the car screaming at red lights during their first drive together; maybe not. But either way, he made Neil happy, and he started to get him truly comfortable in front of a microphone for the first time.

Thank God they found one another. Yes, some of what they made on Neil Young is mediocre for Young, and the album's never-ending final track, Last Trip To Tulsa, is one of my least favorite Neil Young songs (except when the Stray Gators are tearing it into wonderful pieces), but most of the best things we'll talk about in these upcoming posts came from the partnership between Young and Briggs.

And so I hope you're out there right now with a similarly sweet partner of any kind, digging your Shakey Sunday.

[thehoneycombdailydevotional]

•●🍯THE HONEYCOMB🍯●•

✝oday's honey🌱

November 12, 2024

Build the Discipline

The Art of Reading 2

🍽️📖📈📈📈📈📈📈📈📈🛐🙏

The story of Dr. Ben Carson, the famous neurosurgeon has lit a flame in the hearts of thousands of people. Erstwhile, a deviant, last in his class and with no prospects, his mother had to take a solid stance. She nurtured in him and his brother a desire to read, making them borrow books from the library weekly and focusing on increasing in learning. His life as a pioneer surgeon in many fatal cases is a testament to how reading can tremendously shape a life.

Reading is a habit for the successful but a luxury for the poor. No man can go beyond what he has read. Don't read because you feel like it; read because your life depends on it. If you feed your physical body daily, then you must feed your soul and spirit daily too. Joseph Addision concurred, "Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body."

There are some who might say, "I just don't like reading." True, but you don't have to like eating to eat; you need to eat. That is also true for reading.

Set a goal and set your gaze thereupon. Decide how often you want to read and stick to it. If you read 1 book a week, you would have read 52 books by the end of the year. If you read a book a month, you would have supped with 12 great minds by the end of the year.

Decide to love reading and make it your heart's pursuit.

Further Studies: 1 Timothy 4:13; Luke 4:16; Deuteronomy 17:19; Philippians 4.13.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

THE HONEYCOMB©

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[casuallyceltic]

asynca‌

Mainstream media is really important in shaping a popular opinion - this movie (the Sound of Music, for people who don’t recognise it) was the first thing I knew about Nazis and the beginning of the war. I’d never heard about them before, and I remember mum having to explain to me what the symbol meant. This movie showed likable, strong and sympathetic characters tearing up Nazi flags and resisting the Nazis. It showed Nazi-sympathizers as intimidating and unfair. It showed us that normal people (Rolfe) could fall for their propaganda and we could lose them. 

I was seven years old when I first watched this and immediately I knew Nazis were terrible, and because of the power of the story and the warmth of the characters this feeling sunk to my core. 

I worry a lot about kids whose first introduction to world events is a movie like ‘American Sniper’.

[donteatthefishtacos]

Okay but- Greta's horny little 'damn' when Carson absolutely hammers the ball during tryouts though. Do you concur?

[stereostevie]

'Brother Robert' Reveals True Story Of Growing Up With Blues Legend Robert Johnson

December 29, 20203:51 PM ET | Heard on All Things Considered | Ben James

Annye Anderson — stepsister of Robert Johnson — published her memoir Brother Robert: Growing Up with Robert Johnson in June.

Blues legend Robert Johnson has been mythologized as a backwoods loner, his talent the result of selling his soul to the devil. Wrong and wrong again, according to Johnson's younger stepsister, who lives in Amherst, Mass. She tells his true story in Brother Robert: Growing Up with Robert Johnson, a memoir about growing up with her brother she published in June.

Her name is Annye Anderson, but unless you're older than she is — and fat chance of that, as she's 94 — you better call her Mrs. Anderson.

"People say, 'Don't you have a first name?'" Anderson says from the couch in her living room. "I say, 'Yes, I do.' And they wait for it. But I tell them, 'Mrs. Anderson will do just fine.'"

Amherst is a long way from the Memphis of Mrs. Anderson's childhood, where she grew up in an extended family of siblings, half-siblings and the guitar-playing older stepbrother she called Brother Robert.

"Brother Robert and I used to do the buck dance," Anderson says. "Because you know he could move. People don't know. He didn't just sit and play like they showed him with that caricature."

Anderson's childhood — back then she was Annie Spencer — was steeped in the tunes played by Johnson and others, along with all the popular songs they listened to together on the radio.

But before his mysterious death in 1938, Johnson's "Baby Sis" only ever held one of his records in her hands. It was "Terraplane Blues," his first release and only record to gain any popularity during his lifetime. After he died, his 29 recorded songs were quickly forgotten.

Anderson became a short order cook, a secretary at the pentagon, a teacher and school administrator. She moved to Washington, D.C. and, later, Massachusetts. In the '60s, amidst the civil rights movement, she began to hear something familiar on the radio: her brother's songs.

"During the movement, people were playing his music everywhere and his riffs everywhere," she says. "Sound familiar, but we didn't know they were copying from — we didn't know about Eric Clapton, and Led Zeppelin, and Keith Richards, the Rolling Stones."

Music and culture critic Greil Marcus has been a fan of Robert Johnson for decades. Now he's a fan of Anderson. Marcus praises her new book — and Johnson's artistry — in the New York Review of Books.

"There is something in Robert Johnson's music that goes beyond, goes above, that is harder, that is deeper, that burrows beneath in ways that other music doesn't," Marcus says.

The cover of Brother Robert shows the third known photograph of Johnson, never before seen by the public. Anderson and her older half-sister, who she called Sister Carrie, kept that photo close for decades, storing it in a box that originally held sewing machine oil.

Anderson's story begins with her family's roots in Hazlehurst, Miss. — including her first memory of Johnson in Memphis when he swept her up and carried her up a set of steps "like lightning" — and spans the decades after her brother's death, when a mostly-white audience invented the story of Johnson selling his soul to the devil at the crossroads, a myth that was more racist caricature than anything having to do with his actual life.

"I'm not saying he was an angel," Anderson says. "And I'm not saying what he didn't and did do. Because I didn't have him in my pocket. But people like to be on the dark side. And that's what they paint. He's brilliant on one side. And he's dark on the other. And I deeply resent that."

The second half of Anderson's book recounts numerous ways in which she and Sister Carrie were excluded from Johnson's estate while white music publishers and other opportunists sought to profit from his legacy.

Anderson co-wrote Brother Robert with historian Preston Lauterbach. She sought him out herself, she says, after his book The Chitlin' Circuit fell at her feet in the music section at her local Barnes & Noble.

"I opened it and then I saw this white face," Anderson says. "And I said, 'Well, what does he know about the chitlin' circuit?'"

She bought the book and read most of it that same night, deciding she needed Lauterbach's help in her ambition to correct the record on the life of Robert Johnson. Anderson talked about the book for years, never believing that it would exist one day.

"She felt that the story had been told badly by outsiders for long enough," says Elijah Wald, author of Escaping the Delta: Robert Johnson and the Invention of the Blues. "And she wanted to tell the story herself."

Wald, who wrote the introduction to Brother Robert, says Anderson's book offers a necessary corrective to the image of Johnson as a backwoods loner playing primal and haunted music.

"Robert Johnson was as much the guy from Memphis who went out in the country and was the hip city guy as he ever was the guy from the dark Delta who went up to the cities," he says.

Marcus concurs, saying what stands out most in Brother Robert is the sheer range of American popular music flooding through Anderson's story. A couple pages in, he says, he started making a list of songs the family listened to or played.

"And the list just grew and grew until there were maybe 20, 30, 40 different examples. And I realized no one could have a richer, broader, more mainstream American cultural life than the one that Robert Johnson lived out," Marcus says.

Some of Anderson's favorites included The Vagabonds, Gene Autry, Clyde McCoy now, Count Basie, Fiddlin' John Carson, Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong.

"Brother Robert is the one that got me into country music," she says. "'Course, Jimmie Rodgers was his favorite. I will never forget 'Waiting for a Train' and doing it with Brother Robert."

The two would bust up laughing at the line "Get off, get off, you railroad bums." And then came Rogers' famous yodel.

"I tried to yodel," Anderson says. "But brother Robert could yodel. He could mimic anything."

In the memoir there's a moment, toward the end of Johnson's life, when a young Anderson walks her brother to a spot on Highway 61 so he can hitch a ride across the Mississippi. He smelled of cigarettes, Anderson writes, and Dixie Peach pomade:

"He would say, 'Well, little girl, this is far as you could go,' Because I wasn't supposed to go but so far. He'd give me a hug — 'Bye Little Sis' — and tell me to go straight home."

Many of Johnson's fans would likely sell their own souls to be able to follow him down that highway to his next house party and to hear his version of "Waiting for a Train." Instead, they've got his 29 recorded songs. And now they have Anderson's memoir.

[creepingsharia]

Exposed: Obama Administration Facilitated Christian Genocide in Nigeria

Exposed: Obama Administration Facilitated Christian Genocide in Nigeria

Source: Exposed: Obama Administration Facilitated Christian Genocide in Nigeria – Raymond Ibrahim

In a bombshell revelation, Goodluck Jonathan, Nigeria’s former president (2010-2015), has accused the Obama administration of meddling with his nation’s politics in order to replace him with its current president, Muhammadu Buhari — whom many blame for facilitating the persecution of Christians. In his new book, My Transition Hours, Jonathan writes:

“On March 23, 2015, President Obama himself took the unusual step of releasing a video message directly to Nigerians all but telling them how to vote… In that video, Obama urged Nigerians to open the ‘next chapter’ by their votes. Those who understood subliminal language deciphered that he was prodding the electorate to vote for the [Muslim-led] opposition to form a new government.”

A 2011 ABC News report provides context:

The current wave of [Muslim] riots was triggered by the Independent National Election Commission’s (INEC) announcement on Monday [April 18, 2011] that the incumbent President, Dr. Goodluck Jonathan, won in the initial round of ballot counts. That there were riots in the largely Muslim inhabited northern states where the defeat of the Muslim candidate Muhammadu Buhari was intolerable, was unsurprising. Northerners [Muslims] felt they were entitled to the presidency for the declared winner, President Jonathan, [who] assumed leadership after the Muslim president, Umaru Yar’Adua died in office last year and radical groups in the north [Boko Haram] had seen his [Jonathan’s] ascent as a temporary matter to be corrected at this year’s election. Now they are angry despite experts and observers concurring that this is the fairest and most independent election in recent Nigerian history.

That the Obama administration may have imposed its will on a foreign country’s politics and elections is hardly unprecedented. Recall the administration’s partiality for the Muslim Brotherhood during and after 2012 presidential elections in Egypt; or its unsuccessful efforts to oust Israeli prime minister Netanyahu with U.S. taxpayers’ money; or its efforts — with an admittedly unverified “dossier” (here, here and here) — to prevent then-presidential candidate Donald J. Trump from being elected, or by discussing an “insurance policy” in the event that Trump won. Moreover, texts by Peter Strzok revealed that Obama “wants to know everything we’re doing.”

So in Nigeria, the Obama administration, it seems, sought to right the apparently intolerable wrong of having a duly elected Christian president in a more than 50% Christian nation.

Two questions arise: 1) Is there any outside evidence to corroborate Jonathan’s allegations against the Obama administration? 2) Is Buhari truly facilitating the jihad on his Christian countrymen?

The Obama Administration’s Pro-Islamic/Anti-Christian Policy

Former Nigerian President Jonathan’s newly published accusations appear to correspond with the former U.S. administration’s policy concerning Muslims and Christians in Nigeria.

To begin with, the Obama administration insisted that violence and bloodshed in Nigeria — almost all of which was committed by Muslims against Christians — had nothing to do with religion. This despite the fact that Boko Haram — which was engaging in ISIS type of atrocities: slaughter, kidnap, rape, plunder, slavery, torture before ISIS was even born — presented its terrorism as a jihad. In one instance it even called on President Jonathan to “repent and forsake Christianity” and convert to Islam as the price for peace. The Obama administration, however, refused to designate Boko Haram as a foreign terrorist organization until November 2013 — years after increasing pressure from lawmakers, human rights activists, and lobbyists.

For instance, after a Nigerian church was destroyed in an Easter Day 2012 bombing that left 39 worshippers dead — one of many such deadly church bombings over the years in Nigeria — Obama’s Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs, Johnnie Carson, said, “I want to take this opportunity to stress one key point and that is that religion is not driving extremist violence” in Nigeria.

Instead, “inequality” and “poverty” — to quote Bill Clinton — are “what’s fueling all this stuff” (a reference to the jihadi massacre of thousands of Christians).

Apparently to prove that it believed what it was saying, the Obama administration even agreed to allocate $600 million in a USAID initiative to ascertain the “true causes” of unrest and violence in Nigeria, which supposedly lay in the socio-economic, never the religious, realm.

Also telling is that, although the Obama administration offered only generic regrets whenever Christians were slaughtered by the dozens — without acknowledging the religious identity of persecutor or victim — it loudly protested whenever Islamic terrorists were targeted. When, for instance, Nigerian forces under Jonathan’s presidency killed 30 Boko Haram terrorists in an offensive in May 2013, U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry (who is also mentioned in unflattering terms in Jonathan’s memoirs) “issued a strongly worded statement” to Jonathan, reported Reuters: “We are … deeply concerned by credible allegations that Nigerian security forces are committing gross human rights violations,” Kerry warned the Nigerian president.

In March 2014, after the United States Institute for Peace invited the governors of Nigeria’s northern states for a conference in the U.S., the State Department blocked the visa of the region’s only Christian governor, Jonah David Jang, an ordained minister. According to human rights lawyer Emmanuel Ogebe:

After the [Christian governor] told them that they were ignoring the 12 Shariah states who institutionalized persecution … he suddenly developed visa problems… The question remains – why is the U.S. downplaying or denying the attacks against Christians?

More recently, Ogebe, of the U.S. Nigeria Law Group based in Washington, told Gatestone in an interview that the Obama administration “State Department actually said they preferred a ‘Muslim majority’ country to explain why Obama chose to visit Senegal instead of Nigeria. Ironically, Jonathan sided with the US on Israel in the UN while Buhari voted against the US/Israel in the UN.”

Muhammadu Buhari’s Role in the Jihad on Christians

Indicators that Muhammadu Buhari — whom the Obama administration helped make president of Nigeria, according to Jonathan — is empowering the genocide of Christians follow.

Read it all.

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 26

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

Negan’s soft humming voice gently rouses Chuck from her sleep the next morning. Turning over onto her other side, she takes in the sight of him. Sitting back against the headboard with a notebook in his hands, he’s dressed only in his underwear and glasses. Chuck takes a glimpse at the clock and discovers it is just past 10am.

“What are you still doing here?” she asks him as she stretches.

“I’m taking the day off today.” He takes his glasses off and sets them on the nightstand along with the notebook he was looking at. “And so are you,” he adds then lays down and puts his arms around her.

“Oh?” she giggles and returns the hug. “I thought I had nothing but days off. Since I’m pretty much a kept woman now,” she jokes.

He laughs. “‘Kept woman?’” He pulls her closer to him and kisses her forehead. “Where’d you get that phrase from? Shit, that phrase was too old for my fuckin’ parents.”

She laughs. “Well? It’s kinda accurate.”

He pulls back and gets out of bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. My muscles are still kinda sore.”

He walks around to her side of the bed and tries to smooth some of her wild hair. “Hungry?”

“Uh. Yeah?” she answers unconfidently.

“Nauseous?”

“It’s not too bad.” She sits up and stretches again.

“Want some pancakes?” he asks as he holds his hand out to help her from the bed.

“Yeah. That sounds good.”

The pair prepare the food and eat their breakfast. After getting dressed, they head to the infirmary since Carson is expecting them for Chuck’s ultrasound. She asked Negan if she needed to change into her wife clothing to go downstairs, but he said she didn’t have to today. She dresses in her normal T-shirt and jeans.

“Knock, knock,” Negan calls out as he and Chuck enter the infirmary.

Carson looks up from his notebook. “Hello Negan. Charlotte.” He moves to shut the door behind the pair. “I have the vitamins on the counter.” He points to the bottle. “If you’ll change into the gown and lie on the table, I’ll get the ultrasound set up so we can confirm the due date and check everything out.”

Chuck picks up the gown and changes in the bathroom. She comes back out and lays down on the table as Carson gets the ultrasound ready. She knows that as early as she is, the ultrasound would have to be a vaginal one, so she tries to keep herself calm. She doesn’t want to freak out about the awkwardness of the situation.

Carson sets a folded blanket over her legs and takes the wand in his hand. “Come forward a bit and put your legs in the stirrups,” he directs at Chuck.

“Whoa,” Negan calls out. “What the fuck is that thing?” He points to the wand.

“She’s not far enough along for an abdominal ultrasound. We need to go a vaginal one.”

“You’re gonna stick that thing inside my wife?!” he asks incensed.

Chuck is a little taken aback. Not by his reaction, but by the fact that he called her his wife so easily. And so quickly after she had decided to move to the fifth floor.

“Sir-“

Chuck interrupts Carson. “I can do it myself.” Chuck figures that it is the least awkward option to just insert the wand herself. She takes the wand from Carson and readies herself.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait! This is something that needs some fuckin’ discussion, first.”

“Negan,” Chuck starts, “it’s a medical procedure. I’ve had one before for ovarian cysts.”

“What the fuck, Chuck? Why didn’t you tell me this shit? I was expecting the fuckin’ goop on the belly, you know. Not some guy sticking a fuckin’ dildo lookin’ thing up my wife’s pussy?”

“Negan,” she says lowly.

He takes a deep breath and looks from Chuck to Carson. “Fine.” He looks back to Chuck. “But don’t spring shit like this on me again.”

Chuck applies the jelly and slowly inserts the wand as Carson focused on the screen. “I think that’s it,” she says when she feels that the instrument is in far enough. “Is it right?”

Carson gently takes the wand in his hand and begins to move it slightly to get the picture to come up. Soon enough, the screen is filled with something more familiar. “There it is.”

“That’s it?” Negan calls out, unimpressed. “That little bean is my baby?”

Chuck giggles at his reaction. “It’s not gonna look like a baby yet.” She looks back at the screen and studies the picture. It doesn’t look like much. Not yet, anyway.

Carson does a few measurements and determines that she is about 7 weeks along.

“Wait. Seven weeks?” Negan questions.

Chuck knows what he is going to ask before he does. “They count back from the last period. Not date of conception. It’s more accurate that way.”

“That’s correct,” Carson concurs.

“Okay. Cuz we didn’t fuck seven weeks ago.”

Chuck blushes at that.

“Date of conception would have been about five weeks ago. Give or take,” Carson provides.

Negan visibly relaxes. “Alright. That sounds fuckin’ right.”

“We should be able to hear the heartbeat.” Carson pushes a button on the machine, sending the sound of a tiny heartbeat through the speaker.

“Holy shit,” Negan whispers as he leans over Chuck, to get a closer look at the screen.

Chuck can’t control herself and lets out a giggle.

  Oh my god. That’s my baby. It sounds so perfect.

That’s my child.

My child with Negan.

 She looks up at Negan’s face and smiles. He looks completely in awe, with his mouth agape and his eyes wide open. She gently pushes under his chin to close his mouth.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he whispers as he brings his hand up to gently caress her head. “You made me a baby.” He chuckles and bends down to place a kiss on her lips.

“Baby looks healthy,” Carson provides after a moment. He finishes the exam and moves the machine back against the wall. “How are you feeling?” he asks Chuck as she sits up on the exam table.

“Not bad. My muscles are still a little sore from... the fight.”

“Why don’t you have Frankie work her fuckin’ magic on you today?” Negan helps her down from the exam table. “Pregnant chicks can get massages, right?” he asks Carson.

“Yes, of course. Though lying on your stomach will get uncomfortable at some point,” Carson answers.

They all say their goodbyes and head to the wives’ lounge after Chuck cleans up and changes back into her clothes. As they enter the fifth floor, Negan stops them.

“Why don’t you go in, get some lunch, and ask Frankie for that rub down. I’ve got some shit to work on.”

“I thought you were taking the day off?” Chuck teases.

He smirks and lets out a chuckle. “It’s mostly off.”

They part ways and Chuck enters the lounge.

“Hey, Chuck,” Sherry greets from the kitchen.

“Hi, guys,” Chuck responds.

Kayla comes forward from the couch she was reading on. “How are you feeling today?”

“Okay. I’m fine.”

“We were just going to eat some lunch,” Sherry calls out. “You hungry.”

“Yeah, actually. That sounds great.”

“How’s the baby treating you?” Tonya asks with a laugh.

“Okay, I guess. We got an ultrasound today and everything’s good. But it’s not really much of a baby yet,” Chuck jokes as she sits at the table to wait for her food. She is happy that the wives are taking the news of her pregnancy well.

The other women sit down at the table, as well, and start to eat the food Sherry had prepared.

“I never wanted children,” Frankie blurts out.

“Really?” Sherry asks as she swallows her bite. “Never?”

“No. I know everyone thinks that’s weird, but I never thought I’d be the mothering type. I like other people’s kids but... I just never wanted to actually raise one.” She finishes with a shrug.

“I’m the same way,” Tonya replies. “Babies seem like too much work.”

“I always wanted a bunch of kids. I love ‘em. Obviously,” Kayla says with a giggle. “But I’m not sure about that anymore in this world.”

“Did you want kids, Chuck?” Sherry asks.

Chuck takes a deep breath and sighs. “I never even thought about it. I’ve never really been good with kids, so...” She looks down at herself. “I’m a little scared about the whole thing.”

“That’s normal, sweetie,” Kayla coos. “But you’ll have plenty of support here.”

The conversation shifts to more lighthearted fare as the women continue to eat.

“I was wondering,” Chuck starts, “if you could maybe give me a massage, Frankie.”

“Yeah, sure,” she answers enthusiastically.

“Frankie is very good with her hands,” Tonya says with a seductive smirk.

Frankie giggles. “I don’t think she wants your kind of massage.”

Chuck laughs along with the other women as they finish their meals.

“So... You’re a full-on wife now,” Tonya asks to Chuck as everyone clears their plates.

“Uh, yeah,” Chuck begins. “Negan was right. It’s safer up here.” She absentmindedly places her hand on her stomach. “And now... I mean, I guess I would’ve come up here anyway.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Tonya walks over to Chuck and gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” Chuck whispers.

The other women come around Chuck and all hugged her, as well, which elicits a giggle from her.

“We’re all in this together.” Sherry says softly. “And we’re all here for each other.”

“You guys are so amazing,” Chuck replies genuinely as the women back away from each other. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys.”

Frankie starts to set up her massage table in the lounge after Chuck had said it was okay for the other wives to be there. Chuck changes into a robe in the wives’ bathroom and pulls her hair up into a messy bun, returning moments later to the lounge.

Frankie gestures to her table. “Lay on your stomach and get comfy.”

Chuck does as she is told and positions herself so Frankie can remove the robe. Frankie pulls the garment from Chuck’s shoulders and folds it over her backside.

“Oh my god,” Frankie whispers as she lightly brushes her fingers over Chuck’s back. “Do these hurt?” She refers to the bruises still adorning Chuck’s skin.

“A little. My muscles hurt worse.”

Kayla looks over Chuck, too. “Gosh. There’s so many bruises. I’m so sorry, Chuck.”

She doesn’t want the women to make a fuss, so she decides to downplay her injuries. “It’s fine. They’re really not that bad.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment until Frankie moves forward to begin the massage. “Tell me if you have any pain.”

After several minutes of Frankie working on her muscles, Chuck feels noticeably better. “Wow, Frankie. I’ve never had a massage before and I’m kinda kicking myself. This feels amazing. I wish I had massages like every day before now.”

“We can make this a weekly thing. I already do the rest of the wives every week.”

“Hey!” Negan’s jovial voice comes from the doorway as he enters. “Is this a happy fuckin’ ending kinda massage?” He walks further into the room and plops down on the couch nearest to where Frankie is working.

“No, Negan,” Chuck says, unimpressed with Negan’s comment as the other women chuckle.

“Do you even know what I’m talking about, sweetheart?”

Chuck picks her head up to give him the “really?” look. “I’m not an idiot. And that’s a super old joke, anyway.”

He gives her the “I’m impressed” face and sits back on the couch with his hands behind his head. “How much longer ‘til you’re done there, Frankie?”

“A few more minutes. She’s carrying a lot of stress right between her shoulders.” Frankie focuses on the spot, pressing hard into it.

It is uncomfortable at first but once the knot releases, Chuck feels so much better. “Mmm oh. That feels amazing,” she moans.

“Watch out now, Chuck,” Tonya calls out with a laugh. “Negan’s gonna pop a boner if you keep sounding like that.”

Chuck can feel her blush creep up her cheeks. “Stop teasing!” she cries out with a giggle. “I didn’t really sound that bad, did I?”

Tonya shrugs. “It got me a little wet so I know Negan’s got at least a stiffy.”

“Alright, alright. Jesus Christ, Tonya. Keep it in your pants.” Negan shifts forward to lean his elbows on his knees.

“All done, Chuck.” Frankie calls out and pulls the robe back over Chuck.

Chuck gets dressed and says her goodbyes, leaving with Negan to go back to his room. He stops right outside his closed office door and turns around to Chuck with a smirk on his face.

“I got a surprise for you,” he says in a singsong voice.

“Oh?”

He opens the doors with a flourish and walks into his office with Chuck close behind, her eyes scanning the room for Negan’s mysterious surprise. She casts her gaze to her right and sees a huge cat tree lining the wall. In the corner beside the door is a big fancy covered litter box. And all the cats from outside are milling about inspecting their surroundings.

Chuck lets out an excited noise and runs over to hug Negan. “Thank you.”

He throws his arms around her, too. “You’re welcome, baby girl.” He kisses the top of her head. “But I’m not cleaning a litter box, so that’s your job.”

“I can’t. Pregnant women can’t clean litter boxes.”

He pulls back to look at her face. “You can’t pull the pregnant card already, sweetheart.”

“It’s true. It says it on every box of litter. I swear,” she replies as she giggles. “There’s something in cat pee that can cause a miscarriage, or something.”

“Goddamnit. I wouldn’t’ve brought them up here if I knew that! Looks like Sam and Jose are getting a new job. As shit scoopers.”

Chuck giggles at his comment and bends down to pet the mother cat who has started to rub up on her legs.

“That’s not the only surprise,” he states and beckons her with his hand to follow him into his bedroom.

As she enters, she sees a huge flatscreen tv to her right on the wall with the seating area rearranged to face it. Under the tv is a shelf with various gaming consoles and both games and Blu-rays.

“Like it?” he asks with his arms outstretched.

“Jeez, Negan. This is...” She looks around trying to think of the right words. “I-It’s great. I mean... I feel kinda weird that you’re doing so much for me. Like... you’re doing too much for me.”

He lets out a sigh and walks toward her. “Nothing is gonna be too much for you from now on. You’re my girl.” He places his hand on her stomach. “And you got my fuckin’ baby in your belly. I’m gonna give you guys everything in the whole world.”

She giggles and turns to look at the tv. “Still... We have the power for all this?”

“Yup. No need to worry that pretty fuckin’ head of yours about all that shit. We actually got somewhat of a power surplus with all the fuckin’ solar panels we got. And this factory was set up with that hydroelectric shit from the river nearby. I have guys that know that shit in and out and maintain it.”

As Negan talks, Chuck scans all the games that he had brought up to her. One of the boxes catches her eye and she makes an excited gasp.

“You okay there?” he says with a chuckle.

“Oh my god! This is my favorite game!” She pulls the box out and shows it to him.

“Last of Us?” he asks. “Never heard of it.”

Chuck rips the box open and gets everything turned on and ready for her to play.

“You’re playing this shit right the fuck now?”

“Yup.” Before she sits down on the couch to start, she opens up the door to the office. “Here kitty kitty kitty-“

“Nope!” Negan jumps up and closes the door. “Nope nope nope. No fuckin’ cats in my bedroom. Fuckin’ clawing at my shit. Getting cat hair all over the damn place.”

“Aww.” She looks up at him with wide eyes. “They’ll be good. And what’s the point of having cats if you don’t let them snuggle with you?” she asks sweetly.

He narrows his eyes at her before he speaks. “You know, you always give me that same fuckin’ look when you want something from me.”

“I do?” she asks innocently. She is unaware of what look she apparently gives him.

He steps in close to her. “It’s real fuckin’ good that you don’t have a malicious bone in your body because you got me wrapped around your fuckin’ pinky finger, little girl.” He opens the door up and yells to the cats. “Get your furry asses in here.” He turns back around and plops himself down on the couch, waiting for Chuck to join him.

Chuck giggles and sits down beside him, starting her game. The cats don’t venture into the bedroom for several minutes, still a little wary of their new surroundings. But after a while, they get more comfortable and jump up on the couch. Even though Negan shoos them away from him for a while, he eventually lets them crawl over him and sit in his lap.

The whole time Chuck is playing, she explains the whole story and game mechanics to Negan, who has very little knowledge of what she is talking about. She has just finished telling him about what clickers are in the game when she looks away from the screen to him. He is looking at her with a wide grin and soft eyes.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t understand a single fuckin’ thing you’re saying about this game, but you look cute as shit saying it.”

She brushes off his compliment. “You say everything is cute.”

“Just you.”

She looks at him for a few moments before shoving him away playfully. “Shut up!”

 The next two weeks go by easily, with Chuck’s bruises fading and her injuries all completely healed. It has taken her a little time to adjust to life on the fifth floor full time, but she has plenty of things to busy herself with, including rearranging her new room to her liking.

She hasn’t brought herself to venture back down to the lower floors, though. She knows she’d have to get all dolled up in her “wife uniform” to mingle with the rest of the population and she isn’t ready for all that. But she finds herself almost missing Dr. Carson and the infirmary.

She also misses Simon, who has been oddly absent. Every time she had asked Negan about him, all he would say was that Simon was too busy for a social visit with her. That made her a little sad to hear; she considers Simon her close friend. And he is going to be the first person Chuck will tell about her pregnancy when she feels it is the right time to. With some discussion with Negan first, of course.

“What are you reading?” Negan asks as he sits on the edge of the bed and takes his boots off. He has been out later than normal in a meeting with some of the heads of the outposts and just came home.

“Return of the King,” Chuck answers and sits up a little more on the headboard.

Negan stands and takes his jacket off, throwing it on his couch. “Did you eat?” He asks as he heads into the bathroom.

“Yeah,” she responds. “But I wish I had some pizza.”

“You craving pizza, baby girl?” he calls out.

The sound of him relieving himself in the toilet makes Chuck scrunch her face up. “You could close the door when you’re in there.”

He washes his hands and comes back out. “What’s the fuckin’ point?” he asks with a laugh and strips down to his underwear.

“Decorum?” she answers with a shrug. “I don’t wanna hear you peeing. Or see it.” She closes the book and sets it on the nightstand.

“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” He snickers and slides under the covers facing her after he turns the lights off. “Turn around, sweetheart.”

She studies his face for a few moments as he lays there with his eyes closed waiting for her to turn so he can cuddle up to her back. “You’re kinda beautiful,” she says quietly.

His lips slowly curve into a smile, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Is that so?”

“How different do you think you would be if you weren’t? I wonder how people would treat you if you looked more... plain.”

He quirks his eyebrow and spies at her with one of his eyes. “What are you fuckin’ talking about?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Haven’t you ever thought about stuff like that? How your life would be changed if you looked different? I think about stuff like that.” She brings her hand up and traces the bridge of his nose lightly with her finger. “ You definitely wouldn’t get away with most of the stuff you do if you weren’t so handsome. I’m sure of it.” She traces around his smiling lips. “Maybe you would’ve gotten a job as an insurance salesman instead a teacher,” she giggles. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been married. Or maybe you would’ve had three ex wives and a ton of alimony payments.” She giggles again. “Do you think all these people would’ve followed you so easily if you weren’t so good looking?”

He laughs. “If I had a beer gut and a receding hairline I’d still be a badass motherfucker. It doesn’t matter what I look like.”

“You think? It always matters what you look like.” She pushes her hair back from her face and brings her hands under her head. “I know my whole life would’ve been different if I were beautiful like you.”

He stares back at her, but doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe I would’ve been married before all this.” She shrugs. “I probably would’ve had more friends in high school. Been more... personable. Took up cheerleading instead of music. Got drunk with all the cool kids on the weekends.” She chortles.

“I would’ve never let you hang out with those dickwads.”

“If I had been born pretty like them I would’ve been one of those dickwads,” she jokes.

“Why don’t you think you’re beautiful?” he asks suddenly.

She shrugs dismissively. “Because I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not fishing for compliments, Negan. I’m just saying... I know what I look like,” she states with another shrug.

“And I’m not fuckin’ placating you, Chuck. I’m looking at the same face you do. You’re just too fuckin’ hard on yourself.”

She chuckles nervously. “I didn’t mean for this conversation to turn into a self esteem thing. You still got some of those pamphlets they used to keep in the guidance office I could look over?” she jokes.

“Stop being a smartass,” he murmurs and pushes his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. “Now turn the fuck around so we can sleep.”

Instead of turning over, she shifts closer to him and kisses him again. She and Negan haven’t had sex since before the attack and she misses the intimacy. She is truly grateful that Negan hasn’t pushed her into anything too quickly, but she feels she is ready now.

He brings his hand up to cradle her cheek, seemingly reading her mind of her intentions. “You sure, baby girl?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” She sits up a little and takes off her tank top, laying back down beside him after.

He gently runs his hand over her hair and down to her shoulder, pulling her into him slowly. Her lips caress over his languidly as she moves her hand down to cup him through his boxers.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve missed you.”

She giggles and tugs at his underwear. He lifts his hips slightly and assists her. She removes the rest of her clothes and cuddles into Negan for a few minutes, just allowing him to hold her.

She starts to place kisses on his chest, working her way up to his neck and finally to his lips. Negan cups the back of her head and fervently kisses her back.

“Negan,” she says breathlessly.

“Yeah, baby?”

She throws her leg over his hip and leads him to her entrance. “Please, Negan. I want you.”

He holds her body close and slowly enters her wet heat. “Fuck,” he growls. “You always feel so goddamn perfect to me.”

She giggles and begins to roll her hips slowly. He meets her rhythm and thrusts into her as he runs his hands up and down her body. The entire time, Negan is soft and gentle, allowing her to set the pace.

Chuck cums easily, moaning softly into Negan’s ear. She holds onto him tightly as he continues to plunge himself into her, seeking his own end.

“Can I cum inside?” he asks breathlessly.

She laughs before answering. “There’s no reason not to now.”

“Fuck,” he groans as he pushes her gently to lay back on the bed, still thrusting into her in a steady pace. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His rhythm falters as he paints her walls with his seed. He collapses on top of her, keeping most of his weight on his knees and elbows. They lay still for a while, breathing heavily as they come down from their highs.

“Don’t fall asleep on top of me,” Chuck says with a chuckle after a few minutes.

Negan rolls off of her and clutches her to his chest. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No. You were very gentle.”

“Good.”

“I’m fine. I’m not made of glass.”

“I know, baby girl.” He kisses the top of her head. “But I’m always gonna fuckin’ worry about you. Even more now that you’re knocked up.”

She chuckles. “Did you ever think you’d knock up one of your students?”

He groans loudly. “Jesus fucking Christ, Chuck! Don’t word it that way.”

Her whole body shakes as she laughs hysterically. “I mean, it’s still kinda true.”

“You’re a former student and you’re twenty-fuckin’-five years old,” he growls, but not really angry at her.

“If someone had time travelled back to my senior year and told you that the actual zombie apocalypse was gonna happen and that me and you would have a baby, which part of that story would you have thought was the most unbelievable?”

“Hmm,” he thinks it through, “as long as there was a stipulation that I would knock you up well after you turned eighteen... I’d say the zombie apocalypse would have been way more fuckin’ unlikely.”

“Really?” she laughs. “I would’ve given just about anything a better chance than us sleeping together.” She lifts her hand up and counts off the list. “Aliens visiting... Winning the lottery... Chris Hemsworth leaving his wife for me... Developing ESP...”

“Who the fuck’s Chris Hemsworth?” he interrupts rather indignantly.

“An actor. A big beefy Australian actor.” She looks at Negan and sees that he has no idea who she’s talking about. “He played Thor.”

He scrunches his face up at that. “That dude?! You like that dude?”

“Uh... yes! Definitely!”

“Pfft,” he dismisses.

“He’s gorgeous and buff. And he seems kinda goofy which is always a plus.”

“He’s probably a fuckin’ dickhead.”

She laughs at his reaction. “Are you jealous?”

“I’m not fuckin’ jealous,” he replies quickly.

She giggles and cuddles into his chest. “I promise that if Chris Hemsworth comes sniffing around, I won’t run away with him...” she pauses, “without saying goodbye first,” she teases.

“Oh no you fuckin’ won’t.” Negan flips Chuck over and begins to tickle her relentlessly. Her frenetic laughs only dissipating into moans as Negan begins to pleasure her again, and not for the last time that night.

[mimelord1]

Get a Rundown of Salley Carsons Chaotic One Hour on Bachelor in Paradise

Get a Rundown of Salley Carson’s Chaotic One Hour on Bachelor in Paradise https://ift.tt/Z2G0XRF As with most things in Paradise, there was trouble lurking around the corner. The trouble, in this instance, came in the form of the aforementioned Genevieve and Shanae Ankney, who thought that Salley’s intentions were not in the right place. “She still sees her ex. She saw him right before she came here,” Genevieve argued. “She’s FaceTiming him at the airport crying. She just lies, lies lies.”  Shanae concurred, saying, “Salley is a liar. I don’t think she’s ready for a relationship and I just don’t trust her.”  So, of course, Genevieve and Shanae decided to confront her. When Genevieve asked Salley if she really had been with her ex just days before arriving on the island, Salley explained that they work together, before also admitting, “I felt like I needed a conversation out of respect for him.” Genevieve and Shanae, to nobody’s surprise, weren’t having it—which caused Salley to become irritated. “If anyone here can’t understand that I have respect for the guy that I was with before this, then I’m out. It is what it is,” Salley said. “And that’s exactly why you don’t trust anyone on this f–king beach.” Things were off to such a good start, Salley! The post Get a Rundown of Salley Carson’s Chaotic One Hour on Bachelor in Paradise first appeared on Suave Media. Tags and categories: Uncategorized via WordPress https://ift.tt/j8FiM36 October 12, 2022 at 03:00AM

[from1837to1945]

In his heyday in the late thirties and early forties, pint-sized Frankie Darro was the lead in a great many low-budget movies.

Today, Darro, with his second wife, lives on upper Hollywood Boulevard in an old hotel inhabited mainly by pensioners and welfare recipients.

Richard Lamparski writes in "Whatever Became Of...?", while under contract to Monogram, Frankie, born in Chicago in 1917, made as many as seven features a month.

Talking about type-casting: To this day, Lamparski says, Johnny Carson, who has never met Darro, constantly refers to the actor as "always playing the jockey."

Darro concurs, suggesting, "I should have been paid by the mile."

His top salary was $1,750 a week.

His chief source of income lately, Lamparski writes, has been unemployment compensation but he is "remarkably free of bitterness."

[inkalife-blog]

Woman in Music

Somehow now that this year is coming to an end there has been a lot new music and a lot of my favorites are from female artists. They are songs and albums that are empowering and filled with confidence.

One of these albums that I am loving is Little Mix’s,  LM5 album which is all about women empowerment. I have been dancing to it maybe more than any other album I know (except the other one on this list...and Disney) I’ve loved to listen to songs that make me believe that I am beautiful as I am and give me the confidence to concur anything that comes my way.

Another album that was released was Sabrina Carpenters, Singular Act 1. This album is all about confidence and embracing who you are and not letting anything stop you. It’s filled with all kinds of songs that just makes any girl feel empowered like Sue Me.

Also a few other songs and artists have made their way to my Empowering women list, such as Ariana Grande with Than U Next, and its music video. Anne Marie with Perfect to Me single which although I loved already when the name was just Perfect and lastly Sofia Carson in a collaboration with Alan Walker and other artists with their song Different World.

These are just few women who are role models to a lot of young girls with their strength and confidence.

[fumpkins]

How a 50-year-old PR strategy influenced the Supreme Court’s EPA decision

It was a bad time to be working for the chemical industry as a public relations manager. In June of 1962, Rachel Carson had published Silent Spring, a soon-to-be-bestseller that prompted a wave of public concern over pesticides and pollution. A young man named E. Bruce Harrison, the newly minted PR rep for the Manufacturing Chemists’ Association, launched a series of personal attacks against Carson (she wasn’t a “real” scientist, she was biased because she had cancer, maybe she was a communist). The tactic failed: The industry was branded as a villain, and it got stuck dealing with new regulations.

Out of that failure, Harrison came up with a new strategy in the 1970s that would inform his work advising polluting industries in the coming decades. The key to sidestepping regulation was not about antagonism, he figured, but compromise, as the scholar Melissa Aronczyk has documented. What if the environment, energy, and the economy would all be given equal weight? Calling for “balance” between these “Three Es” would lend credence to the industry’s position, making it look reasonable and responsible — and leave environmentalists looking like the ones trying to destroy the economy. Through grassroots efforts, media campaigns, and testimonies at regulatory hearings in the ’70s and ’80s, Harrison spread the idea that economic growth and environmental protection should be given equal consideration.

The strategy proved to be an enormous success, to the point that it played a crucial, but quiet, role when the Supreme Court handed down its decision on West Virginia v. EPA last week. The case concerned the Environmental Protection Agency’s authority under the Clean Air Act to force power plants to cut their pollution through the Clean Power Plan — an Obama-era program that never went into effect. In the court’s 6-3 ruling, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote that federal agencies need clearly stated, explicit approval from Congress to adopt regulations that could have wide social and economic consequences, a decision that will likely be used to diminish government agencies’ regulatory powers.

Not even Justice Elena Kagan, who wrote the dissent, argued against the need for balance. Harrison’s framing has provided the backdrop for political discussions around the environment for so long that it goes unnoticed — with sometimes disastrous results.   

“This viewpoint of the ‘Three Es’ has reigned for 30 years, and it has been a catastrophe,” said Robert Brulle, a sociologist at Brown University. “The results of this have been a steady march of inaction. We’re certainly in the range of dangerous climate change, and we’re coming up to the realm of catastrophic climate change. And so when do we call this out as a failure of policy?”

Members of Extinction Rebellion DC and other groups protest climate inaction after the Supreme Court decision on June 30, 2022, in Washington, D.C. Bonnie Cash / Getty Images

The court’s decision on West Virginia v. EPA relied on the “major questions doctrine,” a vague principle invented by judges, with no basis in the Constitution, that federal agencies cannot make decisions of wide “economic and political significance” unless Congress clearly authorized it. 

Some parts of the conservative majority’s arguments rely on the thinking behind the Three Es, emphasizing effects on the environment and economy. Justice Neil Gorsuch, in his concurring opinion, pointed to “suggestive factors” that support the court’s decision: that the rule in question could have closed dozens of power plants, eliminated thousands of jobs, and potentially — according to “industry analysis” — cause people’s electricity bills to rise by $200 billion.

In the dissent, Kagan cited a line from a 2011 case concerning whether corporations could be sued for greenhouse gas emissions. The court dismissed that case because the Clean Air Act gave the authority to manage carbon dioxide emissions to the EPA, which the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg argued was better positioned to assess the needs of “competing interests” than federal judges. “Along with the environmental benefit potentially achievable, our Nation’s energy needs and the possibility of economic disruption must weigh in the balance,” she wrote.

It was Harrison’s Three Es, enshrined in an earlier Supreme Court decision. 

This idea of “balance” has also done little to protect the economy, one of the three pillars. Homes are burning down and flooding more often, causing home insurance to skyrocket; extreme heat is killing cows and crops, affecting our food supply. Climate change is projected to shrink the U.S. economy by as much as 9 percent within 30 years. “Yes, the Clean Power Plan would have had a significant impact on the economy and our energy mix and the cost of energy, but so does climate change,” said Jennifer K. Rushlow, director of the Environmental Law Center at Vermont Law School. “The majority opinion just sort of ignores that fact.”

Witnesses applaud as President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the Clean Air Act on December 17, 1963. Henry Burroughs / Associated Press

Back in the post-Silent Spring 1960s, environmental legislation relied on different principles. The laws that put stricter safety standards on the chemical industry in the 1960s were guided by a moral framework that stigmatized polluters and protected public health. In 1963, the Clean Air Act became the first federal legislation to control air pollution. The ensuing years raised awareness about environmental problems (during the first Earth Day in 1970, an estimated 20 million Americans took to the streets) and brought more legislation, such as the Clean Water Act in 1972 and Endangered Species Act in 1973. Underlying these laws was a philosophy articulated by the biologist Barry Commoner, who argued in the 1971 book The Closing Circle that the ecosystem had unbending limits, and that a sustainable society would restructure the economy to fit inside those bounds.

This put the industry in a hard place. “It took the ’70s to get their act together to counter that,” Brulle said. The oil shortages in 1973 and 1979 caused gas prices to soar and led to “panic at the pump,” providing an opportunity for the oil and gas industry to inject economic and energy concerns into the debate. At the time, Harrison was working for companies that were hoping to weaken the Clean Air Act. Under his guidance, The National Environmental Development Association — a trade group made up of chemical, petroleum, and mining companies — promoted the idea of “balance” in its call for weaker regulations, worked to establish its own standards for assessing air pollution, and gathered public support.

Around the same time, economics was taking a larger role in policymaking. In 1975, the federal government formed the Congressional Budget Office to provide nonpartisan, cost-focused analysis to guide legislation around poverty, health, and the environment. Economics became the predominant lens for evaluating proposals. This all had the impact of dialing down ambition, and the moral framework that guided previous environmental legislation lost its hold, as the sociologist Elizabeth Popp Berman has written.

The new framework favored corporations. In the early 1990s, the fossil fuel industry began commissioning economists to produce research that made legislation look prohibitively expensive. In 1991, for instance, one industry-funded study found that imposing a carbon tax of $200 a ton would shrink the U.S. economy by 1.7 percent by 2020, a finding widely reported in the press. These analyses often omitted important considerations, such as the cost of failing to act on climate change. 

In other words, the “balance” that the fossil fuel industry was calling for lacked a sense of balance. But it has shaped the way that people think about climate change and the economy today, including justices on the Supreme Court.

This story was originally published by Livescience.Tech with the headline How a 50-year-old PR strategy influenced the Supreme Court’s EPA decision on Jul 6, 2022.

New post published on: https://livescience.tech/2022/07/07/how-a-50-year-old-pr-strategy-influenced-the-supreme-courts-epa-decision/

[casuallyceltic]

I posted 3,022 times in 2021

302 posts created (10%)

2720 posts reblogged (90%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 9.0 posts.

I added 5,008 tags in 2021

#untagged - 1821 posts

#cat - 525 posts

#feline - 525 posts

#kitten - 525 posts

#signal boost - 521 posts

#cat adoption - 499 posts

#carson chatters - 370 posts

#snapcats - 138 posts

#carson concurs - 48 posts

#acp - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#and it's like 'cool. well he's dead and is no longer feeling pain so let's talk about his animals instead bc that's still a present issue.'

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Anyone else have a knee jerk reaction to say "Me." or "Same." when they hear ridiculous stuff?

I'm watching Puppet History and this happened:

and I just said "OMG ME." While sitting at my desk, eating my lunch.

@wearewatcher

18 notes • Posted 2021-03-24 06:44:14 GMT

#4

I fell down the Springles fic rabbit hole for the last two hours.

I’m probably going to have to get my favorites printed into a book.

23 notes • Posted 2021-06-07 05:06:50 GMT

#3

I'm losing my shit, Scoob.

Was anyone going to tell me that Barrett Wilbert Weed, Alex Brightman, Jinkx Monsoon, Mara Wilson and Cristina Vee are voices in Helluva Boss???

25 notes • Posted 2021-02-22 12:51:35 GMT

#2

I'm losing my mind.

30 notes • Posted 2021-11-10 14:25:14 GMT

#1

It’s time to cry about animals.

For mobile users:

39 notes • Posted 2021-01-02 21:17:25 GMT

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