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the-diary-of-bernard-sims · 7 months ago

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At last... progress.

I will elaborate.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States.

So! The trip to Bedelia's nursing home was... eventful. I initially suspected all we'd need to do is speak to Bedelia, have her point us in the direction of the book, and be on our way, but such was not the case. My compatriots floated the idea of a stealthy entry, but I waved off the idea. After all, this was the haven of the ostensible Prince of Atlanta! Surely with enough ceremony and gladhanding, an easy resolution could be found!

How very wrong I was.

Even before entering the site, we found a ghastly statue outside the entrance of Bedelia's son Benison. I'm not terribly good at spiritual matters, but I have a bit of insight; that said, it was new information for me when I was told it was acting as a feta fetter, chaining down a number of spirits which circled overhead. We never addressed that; too happy to be gone, once events were done. We sadly may need to leave that little chunk of slavery be... for now.

Upon entry, we were invited in by distressing, disembodied voices behind us, beckoning us in and welcoming us. A note for the Prince - that may invite someone in in the literal sense, but it is INTENSELY offputting. We introduced ourselves to the nurse at the front desk as family (which in the strictest sense is somewhat true), but apparently I was not initially believed (which is strange; family should transcend all boundaries! Why can't Miss Bedelia have a strange British nephew or somesuch stop by to greet her? Ridiculous). Thankfully, Dorcas was on hand to smooth things over; I suspect a local accent helped sell the ruse. So... off to the Scarlet Room with us.

The room was your standard affair for an elderly Malkavian... filled with the dead and defaced portraits of her contemporaries. She, of course, was wishing to waste our time, so, we played bridge. I'm only familiar with whist, so I struggled through, but she decided to tip the scales in our favour (cheat) and link my eyes to hers and hers to mine.

This will be relevant.

Once our game was complete, we retired to her room of horrors, and that was when things... soured. Please believe me when I say I did all I could to reach a peaceable solution, but the situation escalated out of my control. When we inquired about the situation, she retrieved a book labeled Memories or somesuch from her chair (her ass, her ass, I must be firm with this, IT WAS UNDER HER FUCKING ASS) and started to reminisce about the good old days of her being a racist old bitch landowner from the time of America's infancy, as if looking over old pictures from days of yore.

But the connection between our eyes was still intact, so I saw what was in the pages.

It was the Codex.

The damnable Codex was under her WRINKLED MALKAVIAN ASS CHEEKS THIS ENTIRE TIME.

I, of course, asked if we acquire (temporary!) access to the tome to resolve the situation, but she refused, screaming "The Codex is mine!" like a spoiled child and setting her minions on us. Thankfully, the minions were a human manservant, an animated corpse, and a middle aged nurse, so it wasn't the most difficult encounter, but the fact that at least I wished to end things without bloodshed likely complicated matters, as I was hesitant to take violent action. But things did end peaceably, as desired, but in a fully frustrating way (how shocking).

Now, I admit that I am behind the times when it comes to technology. Every new piece of equipment developed past my siring seems to never find purchase in my mind. But just prior to that, I remember a device called a mimeograph that was used to make copies of printed pages. I remember working one briefly to assist the London sheriff at the time with a task dealing with our unembraced colleagues.

Apparently the home had a new version of that device that could copy books. Silas brought up the device (a Zur-Oks? Seer Ox?) and Bedelia was fine with us making it.

All that battle and all we had to do is make a trip to her office. Unbelievable. At least her manservant is embraced now after we had to put him down. I'm not sure why Bedelia didn't do that earlier.

In any event, after the Seer Ox was done making the copies (and after Bedelia twisted the knife by having us assist with the mess caused by the melee), we made haste to Mr. D's manse to deliver the paper, and he was more than happy to accept the miserable pile of pulp, as Lorenzo would be incensed at the slight, and an incensed Lorenzo (I remembered his name. It can be done!) is a controllable Lorenzo. I did inform him surreptitiously that it was plain that the ghoul was jockeying for power, but he was understandably aware. That said, it may not have been an entirely hollow gesture; if it was obvious to an outsider, perhaps that means patience is thin and prudence is necessary.

As long as they don't start a war before I leave.

At long last, though, we have our invite to Mr. Willow's court! ... which grants us passage through the north... so we can FINALLY deal with the anarch threat, whatever form that may take.

Bloody hell, nothing is simple here.

Signed,

Bernard Sims

#vampire the masquerade #Appalachian anarch free state

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thornsent · 2 years ago

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I don’t type out characters’ accents because I feel like no matter how I tried to do it, it’d come off as. cheesy and bad lmao so I don’t do it! but, on the subject of accents:

dag, despite being raised ambiently in the southern us (think rural, nearly stereotypical), has beaten any semblance of an accent out of himself. he speaks about as stilted as he writes, if not quite modestly worse. if he’s drunk enough or really frantic and speaking quickly, sometimes it’ll slip through, and if someone points it out to him he shrinks. it’s a class thing. he’s an academic, of sorts.

dag remembers nott as having a rather thick accent- one that’s somewhere between a southern us accent (more appalachian, for him) but almost dips into sounding Irish at the end of some words and sentences. one that is clearly bizarre and, if it was the real way he spoke, one that must’ve been the result of a strange upbringing. he never speaks anything other than english in front of dag. whether or not nott truly had an accent (or spoke, in english) at all is dubious.

#black desert glass #dag also probably speaks with Tall Vowels sometimes. it's because of how he was taught to sing in his church's choir.

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lewmagoo · 2 years ago

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28, 33, 43, 47, 55 💐

what type of music do you like?

my music taste is very...diverse. i like weird things by indie artists no one's ever heard of. i also like mainstream indie/rock. select hip hop artists. select country artists (select meaning like, john denver and johnny cash, lol), i also love classical music in almost any form

what do you typically have for breakfast?

a banana and a protein bar

can you do any other accents other than your own?

my family is from west virginia and has a pretty heavy appalachian drawl that i can imitate. i can do a southern accent as well. i can also do an english accent, more specifically an essex accent. i can do australian if i try really hard

what is your most expensive piece of clothing?

i don't even know. most of my clothing is either thrifted or i don't remember how much i paid for it lol

most used phrase?

for whatever reason i've been using the term girlypop a lot? not even sure where that came from

thanks for the ask, babe <3

#asks

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guyinireland · 3 months ago

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I’ve been going for a lot of walks lately.

Today, I walk in the late-day sun with a handful of cherry tomatoes picked from the garden that my dad and I grow in the front yard. The air is cool, for August, in the mid 70s; much more pleasant than usual for this time of year.

The city I’m from, Knoxville, exists in a strange limbo. As you wander through it, it seems as though you weave in and out of the South. There’s a man with chewing tobacco in his mouth using a Mountain Dew bottle as a spitoon, a stand on the side of the road selling boiled peanuts. You can’t hear your thoughts for the cicadas. The roots of Appalachia spread under us, too, though we’re nestled in the valley; we aren’t quite hill people ourselves, but they’re our neighbors. Many people who live here have Appalachian blood, you can tell by the way their grandmothers read Tarot and make spell jars in the name of Jesus Christ.

Sometimes, it seems like Knoxville just wants to be Nashville. For every baccy-spittin’ old man, there’s a 27-year-old in cowboy boots and Carhartt who’s never so much as mowed a lawn. He passes you, and he doesn’t smile or nod, and you think, he must be one of those newcomers from California. But, for all you know, he could have been born and raised here. Just not in Karns, or Halls, or even Bearden.

I didn’t think I belonged here, growing up. It’s strange to see people desperately posing as a culture you tried to rid yourself of for most of your life. But I do get it, now. The appeal of the working-class southern aesthetic. Only, it isn’t something you can adopt intentionally. You can wear a cowboy hat, but cowboys aren’t from Tennessee. Being a Southerner, or Appalachian, whichever I am, seems to just happen upon you, even if you don’t want it to. You simply wake up one day and find that your cupboard is full of mismatched mason jars and tupperware with spaghetti stains, and walk outside to see that the fender of your car has been duct taped back on. You start to like the way that the words tumble out of your mouth with a twang sometimes, and smiling at strangers doesn’t seem so weird anymore. You eat grits and greens and chicken fried steak and think, wow, why doesn’t the rest of the world drink sweet tea?

And then, if you’re me, you leave.

I’m leaving for Ireland in six days. I’ll be going to school there. I’ll come home for Christmas and summer, but, for most of the year, I’ll be away.

I think it’s why I’ve been taking so many walks. I need to remember the sound of cicadas, feel the hot asphalt on the soles of my feet. It isn’t like I’ll never be back, but I’m terrified to leave the place that I only just started seeing as home. I keep asking myself why I would leave, how I was meant to ever find myself fitting in somewhere else. I don’t know. But I find a little bit of comfort in carrying Tennessee with me, knowing that people will hear my accent and clock me immediately as foreign. I can have both homes at once, maybe. I hope so.

I walk back inside and up to my kitchen, where my mother is standing in her denim shorts, trying to get a worm out of a hole in a tomato. Another one from the garden. I always miss the tomatoes when summer ends.

#writing #southern writer #southern americana #queer writers

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daydreambelievcr · 11 months ago

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Straightening at the compliment, despite the teasing tone used to deliver it, the blonde's smile brightened at the notion that her personality could serve as a beacon. "Aww, shucks. Aren't you sweet as sugar?" she joked, her Appalachian accent exaggerating the vowels in her speech. "Look at it this way: at least you'll never have to worry about losin' me in a crowd." Barely resisting the urge to run her fingers over the details on his costume and ask him a million questions about how it was constructed, a childlike curiosity nearly eclipsing the social niceties that would warn her from doing something so forward, Valerie brought her hand back down to her side. "You had some help? It definitely shows. I feel like I'm always doin' little projects when I have spare time. I can't stand not havin' somethin' to do."

Letting out an unrestrained laugh at the mention of Lou's commitment to the role of Ken, she ran a finger along the sparkly tassels dangling down from the brim of her cowboy hat, grinning as the gems glittered between them. "Well, I certainly have the wardrobe to play Barbie. It's the hair too, isn't it?" the performer wondered, reaching for the bleached ponytail tied back at the nape of her neck.

"Oh wow, you trained for the Olympics? That sounds really intense," she remarked, considering Seojun with newfound wonder. Though it shouldn't have been much of a surprise, that he had a life full of ambitions long before he landed in Anchorage, she'd never really pictured him as the athletic type, much less a fighter (especially when she remembered the way he'd balked at the stunts in her circus act). "What made you decide to focus on your academics instead? Did you lose your love for boxing?" She'd asked the question before thinking better of making such a potentially invasive inquiry. How could she communicate that she understood how that felt without revealing too much? "Yeah, that makes a lot more sense—why Lou would call you that. But it seemed like a decent leap in logic; you're a good lookin' guy," she reasoned simply, the compliment slipping past her lips without much thought, uncomplicated and sincere.

Brown eyes blown wide at the sight of all the sweets scattered about the table, she debated over which festive treat to grab for. Even after half a decade left to her own devices, the novelty of being the one in charge of when and what she ate never quite lost its appeal. "Depends on the occasion and the company. I love goin' out, but I like a cozy night in too. With how shocked Louie was to hear that you visit the carnival, is it fair to assume that you're more lowkey?" she sought to confirm, reaching for a themed cupcake for herself and glancing back at him, a brow lifted with curiosity.

"No glitter necessary, trust me. Your personality and whole persona are impossible to miss", Seojun teased...? complimented? The words were nice, but with the tone he used to say almost everything it was almost hard to tell ( he did mean well, though ). Now, compliments about himself or his abilities left him a bit flustered. Growing up in an overachiever family within a rather hypocritical community had adapted him to take fake smiles and superficial nice words as real ones; it had been like placing a plant under a bright lightbulb instead of the real sun. "Ah... thank you", Seojun chuckled shyly as he tried to follow her with the eyes as she looked at his costume closer. "Yeah... well, I got some artistic direction from some friends, but yes; I can get kinda obsessed with little projects sometimes", he admitted. Her enjoyment of his costume was contagious and so, he smiled. Hm, so this is how sunlight felt like.

"If Lou and you had dressed up as Barbie and Ken, you would have killed it for sure! You'd both play the parts in an excellent way", he stated, "he even commits to the dense part", Seojun added with half a smirk as he lost the bouncing blond head of his friend amongst the crowd. His eyes returned to Valerie and he nodded as they headed to the snack table.

At Val's question, he froze up for a second thinking of a good answer that didn't make him look like a savage. "I train with my dad". Okay, good. That's not a lie. What else? "He was training me for the Olympics... boxing; but I decided to focus on my studies instead. I still practice, though", he explained before laughing at the late realization of her words, "I don't know if I'm a real knock out but it's been years since I last heard that. I'm good at knocking people out in the ring".

As they reached the table, Seojun immediately stretched to grab a sandwich; one of those that come in little triangle shape and are more delicious for whatever reason. He took no time to shove one into his mouth, chew fast and swallow — ah, men. "So are you the party type or are you more of a stay-at-home person?"

#( threads ) — seojun cha #disordered eating tw

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riality-check · 2 years ago

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I have GOT to know more about your Eddie wip (Born to Run) 👀

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING because I have SO MUCH TO SAY!!

So far I’ve drafted:

How Eddie learns to love reading

How Eddie learns to love metal

Books as a constant in Eddie’s life while he moves around

Eddie getting to Wayne’s

Eddie realizing he likes boys

Eddie’s one and only try at dating a boy in Hawkins (pre-canon) and his coming out to Wayne

How Eddie gets the nickname of “The Freak” (spoiler alert: Steve gives it to him)

Eddie’s reaction to him needing to do senior year for a third time

I have the following planned but I need to write it:

Eddie’s reaction to him needing to do senior year a second time

Eddie’s tattoos over the years

How Corroded Coffin starts and continues

How Eddie gets into drug dealing (featuring Reefer Rick as an actual character lmao)

How Eddie gets into D&D (also featuring Rick)

Eddie in choir before he dropped it for drama freshman year

More on Eddie’s parents and growing up with them

How Eddie starts hanging out at Thatcher Tire (featuring an OC that I’m so excited to share!!)

Eddie hiding his Appalachian accent in Hawkins

Lots more that I can’t think of right now!!

I’m thinking I’m gonna split it up by location/year, and I’m thinking it’s gonna end up 8 chapters. It’s massive, for me. I’m 8k words in and it doesn’t look like I’m stopping anytime soon.

And I’m gonna sign off with a short snippet:

Mama and Pa are fighting again.

Eddie’s on his mattress in a room on the other side of the house, door closed, and he can still hear them. It’s not as loud and scary like this, but it’s still loud and scary.

It’s the end of summer, and it’s starting to get colder at night, so Eddie knows they’re moving again soon. He thinks they’re gonna find another house like this, a big one with lots of rooms and new people who have the same little baggies as Mama and Pa, but they could be staying in a motel again. He isn’t really sure.

His parents are still fighting. Eddie thinks he hears the word “rent” from Pa and his name from Mama.

He turns over and covers his ears. It’s a shame that school starts next week and not today.

Then, something makes a loud crash. Mama screams, and Pa starts shouting loud enough for Eddie to make out his words, even though he doesn’t want to.

“I know he starts school soon, but I can find a place and a job by then!”

“What if I can’t?” Mama shouts back. “We can’t afford to live anywhere without both of us working.”

“I guess you better find a job, then.”

“Oh, because that’ll be so easy-”

Another crash cuts Mama off, and then both of them are screaming made-up words, words Pa taught Eddie and Mama told Eddie not to repeat.

Eddie rolls off his mattress and onto the floor - it’s not a long drop, the mattress is on the floor - and races to the beat up stereo on a table in the corner of the room. He turns it on and starts flipping through the stations that don’t have static, trying to find the loudest one. He flips the tune dial one more time and lands on it.

It is drums so loud they crash in Eddie’s head. It is bass that thumps the stereo so hard the table it’s on squeaks. It is a voice screaming about life and love and other things Eddie can’t understand. It is music.

It is a dazzling guitar, shifting from one note to the next so fast Eddie has to race to hear it.

He listens to this station for the rest of the day, tapping his feet to the beat and playing air guitar during the solos. He listens to the DJs during the breaks and makes sure to remember the names of the bands: Black Sabbath, KISS, Judas Priest, Rush.

He listens to this station and itches for a guitar to run his hands over, for a microphone he can scream into. He listens to this station and can’t hear if Mama and Pa are fighting anymore until Pa comes into the room, unsteady on his feet, and turns the stereo down halfway.

“Just a little quieter, Ed, I got a headache and people are trying to sleep,” Pa says. His words are unsteady, too.

When he leaves, Eddie sits closer to the stereo so his head is full of nothing but music.

#ask games #asked and answered #tag games #rejectofsociety

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notquitecanon · 4 years ago

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Ohhhh or maybe one where the reader just makes jasper talk for a while just cuz she adores his accent 🥺

Jasper could feel your bad mood from outside your house- he was always so attuned you you. If his abilities were anymore developed he would probably be able to see your mood like a dark storm cloud hovering outside of your bedroom. Alice had a vision in the middle of their hunt of how your day would go, but with the sunny weather and the face they were already in the Canadian wilderness- he could do nothing but hope it wasn’t too bad. After stopping by his house to change clothes, he made a beeline to the tree line that surrounded your yard like a natural property line. He’d seen your silhouette in your window starting at five pm, but couldn’t make a move until the sun had gone down. The last thing his family needed was Chief Swan getting called because your neighbor caught him climbing into your window. The moment the sun dipped below the tree line, he raced up and into your bedroom.

You had been wallowing in self pity: already showered, in pajamas, and lying face down in bed with your computer playing some of your music quietly. The moment he crossed into your room, you felt his presence like a calming wave washing over you. Eyes fluttering shut as some of the tension left your body, you muttered, “Jasper.”

“Evenin’ Darlin.” His voice was like honey-warm, sweeter than sugar, slow, and sticky. Drawing you into his words and keeping you there while he lingered on the edge of your room. Ever the gentleman, waiting for your invitation. Prying your head out of your pillow, you faced him.

While you observed his freshly glowing golden eyes, slightly disheveled blonde hair, statuesque posture, and heavenly face- he did the same, taking in your tense muscles, dark under eye bags, flushed cheeks, and the general feeling of resignation and annoyance in your emotional map. He didn’t fail to notice you’d been crying- you didn’t fail to notice that he noticed. You were the first to break the silence, adjusting yourself to meet his eyes easier, “Good hunt?”

Jasper breathed a quiet laugh, such an abnormal question asked so nonchalantly, but entertained the notion nonetheless, “Most of us went up into Canada, into the mountains. Emmet took on a pretty big grizzly so he’s in a particularly good mood. I got a Moose and a couple deer.”

You didn’t know what truly constituted a “good hunt” but his thirst seemed appeased so you nodded. The head ache that came after a long day hadn’t put you in a particularly chatty mood. Jasper filled the silence, “Alice told me you had a bad day- well, told me you would have a bad day. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, doll.”

Shaking your head, you brought your knees up to your chest before wrapping your arms around them, “Not your fault, Jazz, bad days happen.”

There was a beat of silence as the two of you stared at each other, him trying to dissect every emotion you were feeling and you mentally begging him to just drop it. Finally, you just patted the spot beside you, motioning for him to join you. Talking waant something you wanted to do, but just having him close would be a big step towards feeling better.

As always, the vampire had a hard time saying no to you. So with the mattress dipping beside you, he easily slid beside you- staying perfectly still until you were situated. As usual, you bunched up a blanket where you cheek would rest against his chest- thick enough to cushion against his stone chest but thin enough to be close enough to smell the comforting scent he always had on him. Cologne, cedar, leather, something woodsy, and a sweet scent you could never quite put a finger on. After letting you settle, he looked down to you, “Wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He felt you shake you head before you nestled closer to him, so he just wrapped his arm around you alternating between tracing patterns up you arm and running cold, graceful fingers through your hair. One of your arms flopped across him just to have more phsyical contact, and Jasper frowned out of your sight. Besides truly changing your emotions (which felt invasive), he didn’t know how else to help. So for the moment, he just let you curl into him. Golden eyes raked across the room before landing on a book on your nightstand so without jostling you, he easily snatched it up.

Not bothering to read the synopsis, he began flipping through the first chapter- quickly becoming amused at the scandalous historical fiction set during the Civil War in Mississippi. Now that he thought about it, he remembered Angela passing it off to you during third period. He chuckled at a particularly inaccurate and racy part. His laughter was deep and reverberated through his hard chest which roused you, at your movement, he tried to quiet himself, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. This book is just so terrible.”

His amusement made it hard not to smile as you tried to snatch the book out of his hands, the racy novel had been on lend from Angela and after the second chapter had been collecting dust on your nightstand. He easily kept it out of your reach, amusement growing at your protest (and quiet proud that he’d got you laughing again, he could already feel your mood lightening up). Listening to his laughter made you long to hear him talk in the smooth southern accent, about anything (anything other than that awful book), “Well, if the book isn’t up to par, how about you tell me what it was really like?”

As his chuckling was dying off, he thought about it before tossing the book back on the nightstand. It wasn’t that his past was an off limits topic, there was just a lot of it and he preferred to live in the moment with you. But you were staring up at him with hopeful eyes, and he could feel the remnants of sadness and frustration so he just nodded. “Well, first of all Mississippi didn’t see battle until The Spring of 1862, and union soldiers didn’t make any head way until a year later. So the notion that a this woman met a union soldier celebrating victroy in New Albany is just wrong. Even if it was true, she wouldn’t be so eager to fall into any soldiers tent considering Conderate troops would of torched her father’s plantation for being a sympathizer or vice versa.”

“Hmmm.” You hummed in response to the history lesson, before he continued going back and forth between learned history and personal experience until he hit where he was changed. You’d heard this story, traced the silvery scars on his arms, so once he went quiet you didn’t press any further. “So where were you at the turn of the century?”

“I was still with Maria, we were going back and forth across the border in Texas and New Mexico, I honestly didn’t now it was the new century until 1905, but we were the cause of the Austin Dam failure.” He mused, thinking pack, “I left shortly after the start of the First World War, to search for my friend Peter and because I was tired of fighting Maria’s battles- she starting to lose trust in me and me in her.”

You’d heard him talk about Peter and Charlotte, the only two he ever let escape, “Did you find him?”

“No, not until the late 1930’s, so I mostly just wandered around the South and the West as a nomad. The roaring twenties were fun between Chicago and Mexico City, I’d like to go back to New Mexico someday.” He thought aloud, cold lips ghosting on the crown of your head as his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. The hand laid over him searched for his so you could intertwine you fingers with him. He squeezed for a moment before detaching just to play with you fingers, burning hot compared to his cold touch.

“Where’d you go next?” You asked, letting him gently tug and curl your fingers with his. Jasper laughed bringing your knuckles up to his lips. When he had just fed, it was so much easier to be so close- which is where he preferred to be.

“You’re mighty full of question tonight, ma’am.” He teased, dropping you hand in favor of lightly digging his fingers into your side. The quiet squeal, laughter, and weak attempts at fighting him off was so delightfully human that he couldn’t help but do it every now and then. Jasper gave you a moment to calm down before continuing, “I spent some time in Tennessee and then Kentucky, the Great Depression hit those areas pretty hard, but it was better than being involved in a territory war.”

“Peter and Charlotte ran into me in the Appalachian mountains- that would be the late 30’s- it was easier to hunt without gaining attention up there.” He paused to gauge you reaction, carefully checking for any fear. Finding none, he sighed in relief before continuing, “They told me about Coven’s in the North, how there weren’t many territory disputes and how in some areas they could even go out in day light...”

You let your eyes slip closed, tension melting as you listened to his honeyed words, and his fingers toyed with your hair. Jasper kept going, talking about traveling with Peter and Charlotte through the Midwest and Northern states before breaking off from them too. Then it was the Fifties, going into a diner and meeting Alice. You’d always envied Alice a bit for her closeness to Jasper, even though you knew neither of them felt that way for each other, but you were also incredibly grateful to her- who knows where Jasper would be without her.

“I remember she said that I’d kept her waiting long enough and I thought to myself I’ve never seen this woman in my life, but I sat down with her regardless and she told me about ‘vegetarianism’ and our future family. I could feel her excitement but I thought she was crazy.” He laughed to himself, a beautiful sound. You’d heard this story a few times from him and Alice. “I was about to go on my way, leave Alice in the wind when she told me something I couldn’t ignore.”

You perked up, neither of them had ever mentioned this part of the story. Craning you’re neck up, you saw he was watching you expectantly with a soft smile tugging those perfect lips up- waiting for a reaction, “She told me that she’d seen me with my soulmate and her future family. She couldn’t tell me when, or where, or how, but she’s seen it and I had to trust her. She felt so sincere and I’d been lonely for so long that I left with her that very afternoon.”

You sat up very suddenly, blood rushing to your cheeks ass you turned around to him, “Jasper, you’ve never told me that before! What are you doing with me then?”

Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the flash of indignation and feisty anger, but quickly frowned when it morphed to hurt. His movement was much faster and infinitely more graceful than yours as you took your face in his hands, “You were the girl in the vision, (Y/N), you’re what I’ve been waiting for.”

It was like someone pulled a plug on your negative emotions as they drained out to be replaced by jittery happiness, and he didn’t need his brother’s telepathy to see the wheel’s turning in your head, “Oh.”

Meanwhile, you were trying to figure out the appropriate reaction to being told your someone’s soulmate. You’d never really imagined life without Jasper, you’d long since admitted to yourself that he was the love of your life, “Well, I’m glad you believed her otherwise I could be with Mike Newton right now.”

It was a bad joke, but he laughed nonetheless and pulled you back down with him, now wrapping both arms around you-effectively trapping you to his chest, but you had no reason to be afraid or even attempt to break free. There was a long pause of silence, him sending off soothing vibes, (it was getting pretty late) listening to the sound of your heartbeat as it slowed, and waiting for you to doze off. It did surprise him when you spoke back up.

“Where’d you go next?” It was quiet, sleepy, but a request he wouldn’t deny. He’d pay you back by asking a hundred inane question about your childhood tomorrow.

Pulling your comforter over the two of you, he adjusted you to what would be a more comfortable sleeping position. He continued, “Well, in took a few years but eventually we met Carlisle who welcomed us to the family with open arms. It took a bit to adjust to the new life of going to highschools and colleges, being around humans. Alice would occasionally drop little hints about you, your hair color, eye color, things you would do in her visions, and that was enough to encourage me to stay with it.”

You only hummed in response, turning over a bit as you let him nudge you towards sleep. Jasper was more than surprised when you made it to the mid-seventies without falling asleep, but was satisfied that he could no longer read any anger or frustration on you. Brushing a lock of hair out of your sleeping face, he silently laughed at your unconscious reaction to his cold touch. Yes, he had waited nearly sixty years for you.

“Good night, darlin’. I love you.”

Bad moods and all, he’d wait a hundred years more for moments like these.

#jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock x reader

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unusualbill · 4 years ago

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Nothing For Us

@goblincxnt it’s here 👀

Warnings: Compulsive behaviors, mentions of death

Last exit in Pennsylvania

The words repeated in Roman’s mind. The sign was a warning telling him this is your last chance, turn back now.

He glanced at Peter, who was busy timing for their exit. He caught the wolf’s eye, who in turn flashed him a warm smile.

How did he end up here? Driving down the interstate with the boy who broke his heart. Left for hours in an aching silence, save for the stereo.

He couldn’t bear to say a word, not yet, not until they were somewhere where they could truly be alone. As Roman traced mindless circles on the upholstery, Peter took one last look at him before making their exit, offering one final chance to leave and go back home. Roman attempted to speak, the words catching in his throat and leaving him breathless for a moment.

It was too late.

Gentle drops of rain began to fall as they made their way down the highway, picking up soon after Peter took one last exit through small town, West Virginia.

“You hungry?” The wolf asked, breaking the lasting silence.

Roman nearly didn’t recognize that he was being spoken to, lost in thought about the day’s beginning.

“Hmm? Yeah, I could eat.” He answered, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

Peter pulled into the parking lot of a local burger joint, smiling softly at his traveling companion. He clicked off the radio, leaving them in silence once more.

Roman braced himself for the frigid rain as he stepped out of the car. The cold air burned his lungs as he took a breath, stretching his legs. As he looked at Peter, his mind drifted back to the night before.

“We should go,” The wolf’s voice echoed the heartache of many moons ago “There’s nothing for us here”

“Go where?”

The wolf cracked a smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wherever the wind takes us.”

“You coming inside?”

Roman snapped back to reality, standing in the freezing rain next to a littered french fry carton.

“Yeah,” He nodded “Yeah…”

He followed Peter into the restaurant, a silver bell on the door jingling behind them. He glanced around at the sea of shabby tables before finding a spot that was vaguely clean.

The restaurant appeared to have been nice looking once, 30 years ago, though it was styled after a 1950’s diner. Done up in over-the-top cherry red, and black and white checkerboards.

Roman mindlessly ripped apart a discarded straw wrapper as he watched Peter give their order, his leg bouncing. He thought about asking to turn around or hitchhiking back home, but Peter returned to the table with their food and a smile. Damn that smile. Roman decided he’d stay, for now.

“You alright man?” Peter asked, settling in at the seat across from Roman “You’ve been quiet the whole ride up here.”

“Yeah, just thinkin’.”

The upir picked at his fries, silently refusing to look at Peter.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to, you know.” Peter said, watching Roman closely “You could’ve stayed.”

Roman shook his head

“Nah...It’s just that—” he chewed his lip for a moment “I’ve never really been this far from home before, y’know?”

Before Peter could answer, he was interrupted by a stout redheaded waitress, —whose name tag read Louise— arriving at their table, coffee pot in hand

“Can I top y’all off?” She asked, gum popping and fake southern accent layering heavy over her New England own. “Fresh cuppa coffee?” Her cherry red press-on nails tapped against the stale coffee pot.

“Uh, water. Thanks.” Roman replied, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

“Cherry Coke.” Peter smiled, taking the last sip before passing his glass over, along with his half empty coffee mug.

Roman looked around the restaurant, watching the other patrons and reading the road sign decor before his eyes finally landed on the wall beside him, which was covered in grayscale photos of people looking both miserable and triumphant.

“That’s our hall of fame” Louise beamed “If you order the Appalachian Avalanche apple pie and eat the whole thing in under fifteen minutes, your meal’s free! Y’all wanna try it?”

Roman eyed Peter, and then their waitress, shaking his head. He wasn’t in the mood for something sweet.

“Nah, not this time.”

As their waitress left his gaze returned to the wall, gravitating towards a specific picture. It was Norman, in his younger years, looking as though he was about to lose his lunch. Roman wasn’t surprised by this, surely he had a life before Roman was born. It was the hand on his shoulder that caught his eye, the smiling face next to his sickly looking uncle.

It was J.R., he looked to be around Roman’s age, and was smiling brighter than in any picture Roman had seen of him before.

“Y’know, my cousin actually finished one of these things before,” Peter said, interrupting Roman’s train of thought.

“I was about seven or eight, and my cousin Tommy��Scrawny little guy, no meat on him at all—had gone with us to this little hole in the wall down south. And there was this huge burger, bigger than your head-” Peter paused to pantomime just how large the burger had been, taking some creative liberties, of course “And Tommy- Tommy always thought he was hot shit, so he orders this thing and they set a timer on the table. Twenty minutes.”

Roman watched as his companion told his story with great passion, laughing and smiling as he spoke. He found himself lost in that smile, the rest of the world tuning out.

“So now he’s one bite away and looking a bit green in the gills, one bite. He’s only got forty-five seconds left. So we’re all banging on the table and screaming ‘Come one Tommy! You got this! One more bite!’ and the rest of the joint joins in and he got it down with two seconds to spare! Two!”

Roman sipped his coffee “He get his picture on the wall?”

“The whole family did!” Peter beamed “There’s a hall of fame for people who can keep it down for at least thirty minutes afterwards. Tommy didn’t make it to that one…”

Roman snorted, popping a french fry into his mouth.

“It’s still hanging there, I’ll have to show you when we make it down that way.”

The last fleeting thought Roman had about turning around vanished with that proposition.

“I asked Nic if I would ever have to do that and he told me only if I was the kind of man who needed an ego stroke. He said ‘The bigger the ego, the smaller the courage.’”

Nicolae’s words of wisdom hung in the air before Peter started laughing upon realizing what his grandfather had meant.

“I’ve known some guys with some pretty small courage then” Roman quipped.

“Oh, like you don’t have the biggest ego.” Peter teased

Roman rolled his eyes.

“Let’s just get going, alright?”

Roman began to pull out his credit card when Peter grabbed his wrist. He tensed up at the feeling of the wolf’s calloused hand on his own.

“You said your mom was gonna try and find you right? She can track that.” Peter said, referencing a conversation they had the night prior.

“Sheeit,” Said Roman “You’re right.”

Roman counted the cash in his wallet, only a couple thousand.

“How far will this get us?” He whispered, flashing his cash.

“Further if you quit waving it around.”

He tucked it back into his wallet, scanning the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed. The patrons seemed to be unbothered by his wealth, caught up in their own conversations.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter pulled out a wad of crumpled cash, counting out enough for their bill and leaving it on the table next to their trash.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Peter reached into the ashtray and pulled out a quarter, handing it to Roman.

“What’s this for?” The upir asked

“Flip it. Heads Carolina, tails California.”

Roman raised a brow, unaware of what his friend was referencing.

“Just flip it so I can pick which direction I’m going.”

Roman ran his thumb across the embossed face of the coin before flicking it into the air. Heads.

“Alright, we’re headed south.”

As miles of open road stretched out before them, the radio began to fade. Pop songs turned to garbled static as the town grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

Peter fiddled with the knob, switching to the cassette tape that was inside the stereo. A song from the eighties began to play.

The car was somewhat of a family heirloom, passed around to whichever family member needed it at the moment. Most recently it had been Destiny’s. Peter had made arrangements to borrow it in case Roman had wanted to come with him.

Although its pale brown color and faux-wood paneling were enough to nauseate the average man, Peter had fond memories of him and his mother traveling across the states in the beat up old station wagon.

Roman stared out the window, watching as trees turned to blurs of green as they drove.

“Horses.” Peter pointed to a nearby field of horses and goats.

“What about them?”

“I dunno man, that’s just what you say when you pass horses. They’re pretty or some shit.”

“Oh…” Roman looked back at the horses in question. Peter was right, they were pretty.

Roman’s eyes threatened to close as he stared at the open road. The sun was beginning to set, and the upir had been awake since the previous night. He had intended to sleep that morning but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

“If you’re tired you can sleep in the backseat,” Peter offered “Just let me find somewhere to pull over first.”

Roman nodded, trying to stay awake. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen asleep on a car ride.

“There should be a blanket back there somewhere,” Peter said, slowing to a stop on the side of the road.

The backseat was cluttered with soda cans and other gas station garbage. Roman swept it onto the floorboards, stretching out on the velour seat covers.

The seats had gone years without a deep clean and thus were slightly crunchy to the touch.

Roman traced his finger along a small hole in the fabric, left there by a cigarette butt many years ago. The feeling of melted plastic was oddly calming to him.

The blanket was thin and rough, and the edges were frayed from years of use. It was once a gift, made with love, but had long since lost its luster. Roman thought it impossible to find a comfortable position with the scratchy mess.

He was asleep before Peter even hit the highway.

When Roman awoke it was dark. The rhythm of the windshield wipers brought him back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“About three o’clock”

“Sheeit.”

Roman sat up slowly, shaking the remaining sleep from his head. He rested his head against the window and watched the rain fall.

“I just realized there’s a few things I need to get, you wanna come in with me?” Peter asked, gesturing to the sign for a nearby supermarket.

“Yeah, sure. I need to get a pack of smokes while we’re at it.”

“What state are we in?” Roman asked as they pulled into the parking lot.

“West Virginia still, we’ve still got a while ahead of us.”

Roman checked his hair in the rearview mirror before stepping out of the car. He covered his head with his blazer and waited for Peter to join him in the freezing rain.

Peter locked the car doors and tucked the key into his pocket.

“After this, I figured we should get a motel, the storm is only going to get worse and I don’t think we should drive in that.”

Roman nodded and walked with Peter into the smalltown supermarket.

The air conditioning hit Roman’s wet skin and sent a shiver down his spine. The air smelled like stale bread and lemon cleaner. Roman found himself wondering where the employees were.

Peter grabbed a shopping cart and placed his wet jacket inside. After a moment, Roman did the same.

“So, what do we need?”

“Food, stuff we can eat in the car.”

“Beer?” Roman asked

“Nah, not here. Too expensive and we’ll need to get some new IDs.” Peter’s fake ID only said he was 18, since his mother was usually the one buying alcohol for him.

“Right.”

Peter pushed the cart towards the snack aisles, one wheel spinning loosely on its own accord.

The sound of wet footsteps on the linoleum floor felt like little knives inside Roman’s brain. The squelching was enough to make his eye twitch.

“You okay man?” Peter asked, looking up from the potato chip shelf.

“Yeah, yeah. Tired.” the upir lied. Truthfully he felt as though he could feel every sound in the universe through his teeth, the fluorescent lights assaulting his eyes.

Peter studied two bags of chips carefully before shrugging and throwing both in the cart.

Roman stared at the checkered floor tiles, making a conscious effort to only step on the white ones. He didn’t know why, all he knew was that the idea of stepping on a green tile filled him with a deep sense of dread.

“Playing hopscotch?” Peter asked, moving on to the aisle that contained beef jerky.

Roman shook his head.

“No, I just have a bad feeling about the green ones I guess.” He said, feeling rather silly for admitting it. But despite his rationality, he knew deep inside that the danger was all too real.

“Ah, Okay.” Peter looked across the aisles “The deli doesn’t have any green ones, wanna get us some sandwiches while I ask someone to get one of those coolers down for us?” He gestured to a row of coolers that sat atop the freezer aisle.

Roman nodded and began walking carefully in the direction of the deli.

“What kind do you want?”

“Nothing fancy, anything with meat so none of that veggie crap.”

Roman held his breath as he skipped over the green tiles until he arrived at the deli, its flooring a solid mustard yellow, it appeared to be either faded or incredibly dirty, Roman wondered if that was intentional.

He smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She did not smile back. She had a vacant stare and her nametag was falling off.

Brenda, Roman read.

He waved awkwardly before putting his hands in his pockets and looking over the prepackaged sandwiches instead.

Each sandwich was wrapped in white paper with a date stamped across it. Roman grabbed two at random, checking to make sure neither was vegetarian, before heading off to find Peter.

Peter was talking to a store manager and trying to fit the cooler into their cart.

Roman started towards him but stopped in his tracks as the mustard yellow tile ended, a sea of checkers before him. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself but he also didn’t feel safe stepping on the green tiles.

He took slow careful strides towards Peter, trying his hardest to nonchalantly avoid those evil squares.

Peter saw him and ended the conversation with the clerk, meeting Roman halfway.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t come find you. You okay?” Peter placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Roman looked at his shoes and the white tiles underneath them “The whole thing is pretty stupid anyway.”

He offered Peter the sandwich in his hands, Peter took it and inspected it before placing it in the cart next to a 12 pack of orange soda.

“No, it’s not. Not if it makes you feel safer.”

Roman opened his mouth to argue but couldn’t find the words. He was so used to his mother telling him that his actions were nonsensical and embarrassing that he had never thought that they could be anything else.

“C’mon, let’s go check out. We need to make it to the motel before this storm gets any worse.”

Peter stood near the open trunk of his station wagon, pouring the remainder of a bag of ice into their new cooler. Roman was sitting on the bars of the cart return smoking a cigarette. The rain had let up for a moment, the pavement still freshly wet under Peter’s feet.

Roman flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby puddle and grabbed a soda from where Peter was stocking the cooler.

“Man, c’mon! It’s not even cold yet.”

Roman shrugged and cracked it open, taking a sip. He eyed the orange label, wishing he had grabbed a Cherry Coke instead. By the third sip, it began to grow on him.

Peter finished stocking the cooler, setting it in the corner and closing the trunk.

Roman slid into the passenger’s seat, waiting for Peter to start the car. As he shut the door the rain began to fall once more, starting softly but quickly picking up.

“Shit,” Peter started the car, turning on the windshield wipers

“I saw a sign for a motel back that way” Roman gestured helpfully.

Peter nodded and put the car in gear.

Roman watched out the window as the city lights turned to watercolor blurs in front of his eyes. He’d never seen so much rain in one night.

Peter followed the main road until they arrived at a motel whose sign proudly boasted that they had color TV. He put the car in park, counting out enough money for two rooms. He instructed Roman to stay in the car and watch their stuff while he went to the front desk and got their keys.

Roman closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain against the windows. The steady rhythm of the windshield wipers and the low rumble of the engine was almost enough to put him to sleep again.

He had almost drifted off when Peter knocked on the window, gesturing for him to get out.

“They were down to one room,” He yelled over the heavy rain “You don’t mind sharing do you?”

Roman weighed his options: sleep in the same room as another man, or sleep in the parking lot of a seedy motel in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The upir answered with a shrug, grabbing his bag from the backseat and taking the key from Peter’s hand.

“Are you going to help carry stuff in?” the wolf asked.

Roman was already on his way to the motel room.

As Roman opened the door to room 227, he noticed a smell. A foul, sour smell. He turned away in disgust, gagging before he covered his nose with his shirt sleeve and trudged forward. He was almost afraid to touch anything in fear of locating the source of the stench.

As he set his bag down, he forced himself to take a breath, and in doing so he realized that he knew that smell.

It was the smell of death.

#bri babbles #nothing for us #hemlock grove #hemlock grove fanfiction #Romancek #roman godfrey #peter rumancek #this is my absolute favorite story to write and I'm so excited that it's finally here

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deathlygristly · 4 years ago

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I read so much on here about identity, so I was thinking....what’s my identity?

After this year, I’m not so sure that I’d put “writer” in there. Maybe in the future, because that’s how things go and the words will come back, but at least this year “writer” is not part of my identity.

“Cat caretaker” always has been and always will be part of it. I love cats and they are so important and good and perfect, and it’s my job to take care of them and keep them happy and safe.

Part of it is being with the spousal person, but not in like a “wife” or “partner” sense? Like I don’t have any forms in my thoughts for a “wife” social role? I just really like being near the spousal person and hugging him and trying to be nice and supportive to him and things. I didn’t marry him because of some weird social stuff that I’ve never understood, but just because I like him a lot and I want to be around him always for the rest of my life.

For some reason most of the people I like the most on here are trans and/or nonbinary, so I read their stuff about gender, but I...I don’t really get it. Like I’ve said a couple of times before, I just don’t think there’s much of a gender button in my brain. I like having my hair long, but just because that’s what I’m used to. I haven’t changed my hairstyle...ever, lol. And I just wear clothes that are comfortable and affordable and that I think look passably okay, and I don’t care about clothes beyond that. I also stopped wearing even basic foundation a few years ago. My body doesn’t make me any kind of -phoric.

As for how I want to be perceived by others - I don’t? Like the spousal person can perceive me, and close friends can perceive me, but other than that I don’t want people noticing me or thinking about me at all. When strangers notice you it’s usually because they’re going to start/participate in a hate campaign against you, so no, I don’t want that.

I remembered a time I had feelings about my body! During the ulcer, the nine weeks of the worst pain I have ever experienced, I wanted to not be trapped in it. Once that was all over and I was home with the IV and blood drawing bruises on my arms and I had survived, I felt more like, hey, we made it through that together, didn’t we, and it was sort of like I made peace with my body.

At the moment we are kind of struggling again due to it not being safe to go to the gym for so long, but the last couple of weeks I’ve been trying some basic casual beginner yoga routines with an app I downloaded, and it’s been interesting. I definitely feel better after the yoga.

Also it is very important to be a lap for kitties to sit on. Midnight is sitting in my lap right now, and it is good and right that I can provide a nice warm comfy lap for her.

I reckon being from where I grew up is another part of my identity that I value. I like my accent and I like the values I learned from my culture, and I do get kind of mad when I see people being nasty prejudiced assholes based on what bit of land someone was born on, and in the US it’s popular to hate on people born in the region of land where I was born.

So maybe my identity is “Southern Appalachian working class cat caretaker and life partner.”

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years ago

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One of the poorest, most desperate regions in Appalachia is experiencing an economic miracle thanks to fiber run by a New Deal-era co-op

Kentucky's Peoples Rural Telephone Cooperative came out of a local electrification co-op set up during the New Deal, and in 1949 it was expanded into a telephone co-op with more federal infrastructure money. Today, the PRTC has used Obama FCC funding to expand into public broadband delivery, wiring up all of Jackson and Owsley Counties, some of the poorest places in America, using a mule called "Old Bub" to haul fiber through inaccessible mountain passes and other extremely isolated places.

Fiber buildout has created an economic miracle for the people served by the PRTC; working with the nonprofit Teleworks USA (which trains people for remote work, especially tech support and customer service), the coop has created high-paying, sustainable jobs in the counties, taking local unemployment from 12-16% to below 5.5%. People work doing customer service and tech support for "Hilton Hotels, Cabela’s, U-Haul, Harry & David, and Apple," and some people get paid to tutor wealthy Chinese children in conversational English ("We joke that there are going to be all these kids in China with Southern accents").

The fiber buildout cost $50k/mile, a price-tag that reflects the coop's commitment to serving every person in its region, no matter how remote. The result wasn't just hundreds of good jobs paying much higher than the counties' median wage, but also a closure of the regional "homework gap."

The region's blazing fast broadband has made it a desirable place for siting all kinds of businesses, bringing in both call-centers and a helicopter rotor factory. Cheap land and a trained workforce, combined with amazing internet have turned the county around.

The grant money and loans for the broadband service came in large part from Obama's Connect America Fund, which Trump FCC chairman Ajit Pai renamed the Rural Digital Opportunity Fund, riddling it with loopholes that allow the big cable and telcoms companies to reap massive federal subsidies by connected as few as one household in the regions targeted by the plan.

The region is still saddled with the long-term effects of poverty, especially opioid-related effects, thanks to aggressive targeting by opioid manufacturers like the Sackler family's Purdue Pharma. In Owsley county, the school superintendent says more than a third of his students are not being raised by their parents, who are either "in jail, addicted or dead." Teleworks has been able to alleviate some of this, helping those incarcerated over opioids get work with call-centers that do not require background checks.

Sue Halpern's longread for the New Yorker is the kind of Appalachian coverage that I'd love to see more of: portraits of good people, hard done by, figuring it out through a combination of solidarity and smart federal spending targeting improved infrastructure, rather than subsidizing for-profit monopolies to do work we know they'll skimp on, or cheat their way out of altogether.

Remember that preventing government provision of broadband is priority #1 for the Republican Party, from Red State legislatures that have banned cities from creating fiber networks to Trump's FCC, which has blocked cities and states from creating broadband solutions to the nation's deplorable, failing, overpriced network infrastructure, a creature of monopolists who would rather spend billions on stock buybacks than fiber.

Monopolists opposed electrification under the New Deal, just as today's broadband monopolists would have spent lavishly to defend their right to starve the country of broadband. But fiber is the 21st Century's copper, and it is a public utility, and monopolists will never deliver it.

Bernie Sanders has pledged $150b for universal high-speed for all. I am a donor to both Sanders' and Warren's campaigns.

https://boingboing.net/2019/12/08/opiods-vs-fiber.html

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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Anonymous asked: Occasionally, when I travel to England I have a hard time understanding a person's accent. Granted, I speak Californian, but I was wondering do you ever have a difficult time understanding a person with an American accent ? Thanks

Actually I don’t for the simple reason of how deeply embedded American popular culture is through the film and television shows that one can’t avoid. But speaking for myself I am well traveled and I have been in quite a few parts of the United States for work or vacation reasons - genuinely admire the genius of the American Founders (they were educated as English gentlemen and some were even educated as Classicists) and the landscapes are breath taking.

I love the cosmopolitan flavours of New York and the down to earth humour of New Yorkers themselves; I am charmed by the preservation of civility and manners of the South; I respect the indivudual and community frontier spirit of those in the Mid West. But I have to confess California remains a mystery to me. I know not everyone speaks like a stoned Keanu Reeves but I find it far too laid back for my tastes. That is not to say I don’t understand the way they speak because I do by virtue of having friends from there. The only time I had difficulty understanding anyone was in Boston when I went to give an academic paper there at Harvard. I just found the Boston accent terribly hard to follow.

This is ironic when you really think about the issue of English and the origin of American English began in New England.

The first English people to colonise the land that would become the United States came over in 1607, and they brought the English language (and accent) with them to New England. So most of us can picture the idea of the original Pilgrims talking like Benedict Cumberbatch only to have their future descendants talk like Keanu Reeves.

Except it’s not true.

Afew years ago I had a friend who was a Shakespearian scholar at Cambridge where we both studied and he surprised me once over dinner. He told me that the modern American accent is a lot closer to how English used to be spoken than the British accent is.

The main difference between the British accent and the American one is rhoticity, or how a language pronounces its "Rs." What you might think of as standard American (or "newscaster voice") is a rhotic accent, which basically means "R" is enunciated, while the non-rhotic, stereotypical English accent drops the "R" pronunciation in words like "butter" and "corgi".

Of course, there are a few American accents that drop the "R," too — Bostonians "pahking the cah in Hahvahd Yahd," for example, or a waitress in the South who calls you "Suga.'" And some accents in Northern England, Ireland, and Scotland retain their "Rs" as well.

But Americans didn't find a treasure trove of Rs in their new country.

Instead, British speakers willingly lost theirs. This is where it gets interesting.

Around the time of the Industrial Revolution, many formerly lower-class British people began to find themselves with a great deal of money, but a voice that instantly marked them as a commoner. In order to distinguish themselves from their lowlier roots, this new class of English gentlemen developed their own posh way of speaking. And eventually, it caught on throughout the country.

It's called "received pronunciation," and it even influenced the speech patterns of many other English dialects — the Cockney accent, for example, is just as non-rhotic but a lot less hoity-toity.

Meanwhile, English-speakers in the United States, for the most part, did not change with the times and kept the Rs in their speech.

Although pronunciation has changed on both sides of the Atlantic, some Americans began claiming that their particular regional dialect is actually the original English pronunciation, preserved for all time in a remote pocket of the country. Unfortunately, most of these claims don't really pan out. Indeed sholars now believe many have tis idiosyncratic speech as a result of isolation instead. One popular candidate is the Appalachian accent, which is distinguished by some archaic words such as "afeared," but otherwise doesn't seem to have much connection to the language of Shakespeare.

But on the topic of English speakers making a conscious choice to drop their Rs, there was an interesting blip in linguistic history around the time that radio became popular.

Like received pronunciation, the ‘Mid-Atlantic or Transatlantic Accent’ was deliberately invented to serve a purpose. You almost certainly don't know anybody who speaks it, but you've definitely heard it before. It's the voice of Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, and Pierce Brosnan (Bahnd, James Bahnd).

In the Transatlantic accent the Rs are dropped, the Ts are articulated, the vowels all softened to an erudite drawl. It's also an ambiguous combination of the British and American accents.

Taken together, all of the factors made it the perfect voice for broadcasting at the time. The unique pronunciation was easy to understand even on early audio equipment with poor bass frequencies and could appeal to listeners in multiple English-speaking countries. But it fell out of favor after World War II, and one of the first accents to be immortalised on audio recording was consigned to another piece of wartime nostalgia. Today it’s confined to British film stars who make their living in the US.

As an aside when I was a small child growing up in India my parents insisted we enunciated properly and spoke clearly that was the Queen’s English. And that is indeed how I speak to this day but I was helped by the surrounding Indian culture because they also spoke the Queen’s English. This was simply because they retained the English language textbooks from the days of the British Empire (even to this day).

The rich irony wasn’t lost on me when I had a hard time going back to England because - outside of my boarding school environment and social circles - I just couldn’t always understand the many commoner regional accents in England that were now coming back in vogue. It’s everywhere now especially on the BBC. So in effect it is Indians (and Pakistanis) who are preserving what we have been burying for some decades now. I remember how shocked my well educated friends from India or Pakistan who came to study at Cambridge or Oxford to find the way they spoke naturally with the Queen’s English was now considered a quaint anachronism in this Age of championing regional diversity.

I think the erosion of the Queen’s English is a travesty as well as a tragedy. To speak ‘proper’ English is considered elitist and privileged. To me it’s just a sign of civilised discourse. Of course there is a place for regional accents and they should be preserved because it is part of the tapestry of our culture but I fear it has been at the expense of clarity of speech and the coherence of thought.

Thanks for your question.

#question #language #english #american #linguistics #accents #regonalism #queen's english

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curious-minx · 4 years ago

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Hollywood Hillbillies, The Ballad of the Boomers.

This image turned Norman Rockwell into a socialist.

Hollywood fed and bred celebrities are finally starting to wane much like franchise family restaurants, simple no-frills shotgun weddings, Budweiser, and egg-based mayonnaise, and for the most part, most American lives are probably not feeling impacted by this loss. In a world of Amy Adams and Glenn Closes two women in make believe professions whose biggest hurdle remains whether or not they will reap the Industry awards they so richly deserve, and seeing as real life underdogs give you fleas you might as well root for these Queens. For starters, one of these talented performers has BIG EYES, while the other is elegant and old, but not too old, and they are both perfectly fine at what they do. One thing millennials and mineral-based Americans are not kidding around about are award shows, because we’re all stabbing and shaving ourselves with all of the trophies that line the walls of each and every day spent doing our best. Egad, Josh Gad will one day get an Egot and a new species of animal is eradicated each and every day.

Wait I thought that the new Dark Crystal series was cancelled?

The trailer for the Ron Howard picture Hillbilly Elegy is coming in hot off the tepid and apathetic trails of a Star Wars film more forgotten than the Life Day special, Ron Howard also feels like a man awarded more and more opportunities for simply doing his best. Come gather around the Battle of the Boomers! In Netflix’s corner is a conservative personal parable of someone born and raised in Ohio warding off the festering influences of his parents Appalachian Kentuckian upbringing. According to the great powerful Wiki the book is concerned something of a conservative doggrel beating the same wife beater wearing fiction about the horrors of the Welfare Queen. As someone who recently became a welfare queen himself, as well as someone overcoming substance abuse issues I feel like a venture capitalist from Ohio and Okie’s golden son Ron fucking Howard are really going to get down to the real truth about poverty and substance abuse.

There are three types of Terminators in the World: Neutral Terminators, Good Terminators, and Bad Terminators. I’m Glenn Close.

Netflix and friends are the only buffet any of us without a death wish can frequent in the 21st century. As of the date of this writing Netflix has already released 85 a total Netflix Productions (not counting documentaries). This noticeable leap in quantity benefits from the amount of international non-English language movies spanning languages from Akan to, Netflix has gone from releasing only 2 movies to its name in 2015 up to 105 movies by the end of 2020. How many of these exercises in funny accents, prosthetic transformations, Horse Girls, Lost Girls, Tall Girls, Sweet Girls and The Girls I’ve Been can we claim to be really moved by? Will you remember me come next Girlfriend’s Day? You could keep stringing Netflix titles along and find some meaning or come up with nothing but a Bird Box. Nobody but Netflix has been releasing a movie or two or three a week, and that’s because Netflix dueling CEOs Ted Sarandos and Reed Hastings are cut throat dynamos of Men of industry who dared to ask, “What if movies, but on TV?”

Oh the Caucasity!

////////

Whereas, HBO asks no questions, stands completely nude (as ordained by HBO’s Ministry of Nudity) , and proud. HBO does not need to ask any questions, because they are the answer. HBO is the movies (as of 1982). HBO has been quietly churning out direct to TV movies in the years where the cineplex was becoming strictly for the Haus of Mouse and the Captain Reboot was dealing with his worst bout of necrophilia yet! This other movie I am discussing isn’t an HBO movie though, but an HBO Max feature. The first of a strange new breed. The other trailer in question to drop this week is by yet another historically Hollywood director is Bobby Zemeckis, who let’s be very clear is not directing the upcoming Roald Dahl Witches adaption he is only humbly re-imagining the material. So if this movie tanks like Marwen don’t blame Zemeckis, because he only re-imagined this one. As someone who has no soft spot in my skull for Dahl I am not coming to this project with anything but cautious fascination.

The look people give me when I tell that my favorite movie of all time is Alice Through The Looking Glass

Anne Hathaway and Amy Adams both talented actors that get under a lot of people’s skins in the way peculiar to successful women. I will say that Hathaway looks like she is having a lot more fun these days. At the very beginning of the year I had watched one of her more recent leading lady vehicles Colossal an indie movie dealing with alcoholism through emotional kaijus, a big foolish swing. Hathaway really succeeds for me whenever she is in Rachel Getting Married fuck up mode , and it looks like here on the Witches she’s back at being an actor having fun getting themselves dirty for the sake of expression. This looks like a performance built around a silly accent and prosthetics, but Hathaway is too startling a screen presence to be drownedout. Maybe I am actually really hyped for this frivolous dark family fantasy comedy? Or maybe I’m just really into horrifying animal transformations which the trailer doubles down on, which makes me believe that this is just the tip of the green screen abominations!

So if you’re am embittered actor out there that feels spent and drained of all naturalistic energy as the horizon of live performance fades further and further out of view. I implore these thespians to reach down into their silliest accent cabinet, for God’s sake make sure you’ve gotten rid of your racist silly accent drawer, and most importantly be very pretty so that the process of uglifying you is more of a process. Accomplish both of these grand feats, and maybe you too could be working alongside the classic American directors and studio wizards keeping the Dream alive by slathering their dolls and action figures in enough digital magic to close the circle. Movies are Dead! And the coroner is sorting through her wigs.

#netflix #hbo #Hillbilly effigy #the witches #Roald dahl #hollywood #americana #anne hathaway #Amy adams #glenn close #halloween #movies #trailers #upcoming

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docplop · 5 years ago

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I have bipolar type 2, so I think that may have had something to do with it. The delusions were severe. It started with thinking I was being group stalked. I worked for a local taxi company and I thought people who worked for Uber were following me and deliberately making my life a living hell. It's difficult for me to remember the exact reasons I believed this, but it was a belief I had for a pretty long time. One day after this delusion had developed quite a bit, I started believing that the people following me were omniscient. I ran away from my city, I drove to my dad's house which is about 3 hours away. While there, I felt like my dad was initiating me into a secret society that could use magic to do almost anything. We were watching the Daily Show and I believed I had a conversation with Jon Stewart through the TV. I couldn't find the cameras on my end so I thought it was more of the magic that I was being introduced to. After a while I went to the guest bedroom where when I looked out the window, I thought of a thunderstorm, and then suddenly lightning started but striking pretty rapidly. I believed I created the storm from my anxiety. I lay down, closed my eyes and tossed and turned all night with. no sleep. The next morning, I got up before my dad, talked to my grandma, who also lived there, and left to go back to my home city. But when I left, I got side tracked. I had the radio tuned to A.M. talk stations and I believed that the radio was communicating directly to me. I got the wind idea to just start driving aimlessly, believing it would take me somewhere meaningful. I heard songs on the radio from some of my favorite artists from the 90s, but they were versions I had never heard with lyrics that spoke to me like never before. I believed it was Jesus talking to me. I decided to drive to California (from Virginia), and started heading west. I saw a sign outside of a farm house that said "Longview", and having been a huge Greenday fan as a kid, I thought I should stop there. I pulled up to this big house on a beautiful property, and thought, "I'm home!" Or rather it would be my home some day. The grass had recently been mowed. I took off my shoes and walked around the property in pure Bliss longing for this house to be my home. I picked a peach off of a tree out front and to this day it was the best peach I've ever had. The house had a pool with a cabana next to it. On either side of the pool, there were three rubber snakes on each side. I had all kinds of crazy theories about the snakes. I walked over to the cabana, and inside was full of relics from my childhood. It dawned on me that I hadn't earned my stay at such a beautiful sanctuary, so I got my shoes and walked back to my car. I looked up at the sky which had turned gold and purple and all kinds of colors in between. I saw planes overhead, and thought, "the only thing keeping me from being able to fly like those planes is my belief in gravity. Someday I'll fly.".

As I drove, I saw numerous lights in the sky that I believed were alien space crafts abducting people all over the map. I started following signs that had seemingly significant names and numbers on them. I passed under a giant overpass, and when I say giant, I mean like it was an overpass for humongous cars driven by 30 foot tall giants. Suddenly I thought I had passed through a dimensional gate and was going to meet these giant people. I found a row of normal sized townhouses and decided to ask where I was ( my phone lost all service, including GPS). There was a chair next to the road that was the size off a small house. I knocked on a few doors, but nobody answered. So I decided to press on.

Being in giant land, I thought that maybe I belonged there, so I started driving down wooded roads looking for my new home. It was night time by this point, and the radio was sending me messages more than ever. I thought the late Dave Brocky of Gwar fame was telling me to find his house. I drove up to a house that had a light on in the upstairs room. I parked, and when I got out of my car, a spotlight shined down on me. I looked over too my right, and a light came on under a newly finished porch. I walked over to it, and when I got there a green light turned on by a staircase, so I decided to climb the stairs. Another light came on at the top of the stairs over by a door to what looked like someone's living room. I called out, "Dave?" As I knocked on the screen door. A thin man with no hair walked out from behind a counter carrying a glass of red wine and in a polite English accent said, "I think you have the wrong house, mate.".

I apologized for the disturbance and ran back to my car and drove away.

After that the memories are a little fuzzy, but I spent most of the night driving aimlessly through George Washington National Forest. I parked at one point and decided I wanted to sleep under the stars. I grabbed a jacket from my trunk and some clothes I fashioned into a pillow and lay down in the grass and started stargazing. I remember seeing two sets of three stars in triangular formation moving around in the sky. I was pretty sure they were two triangular UFOs floating silently above me. The sky was beautiful, but I felt vulnerable, so I got back in my car and continued driving aimlessly.

After a few more hours and a few more attempts at finding Dave Brocky (who, again, was already dead at the time, and it's not like I knew him personally) I was extremely thirsty, and was looking for some water. I found a quaint little church, and thought, "Perfect! I bet they have a spickett somewhere outside.". When I got out of the car, I heard what sounded like huge amounts of water flowing through what I imagined to be a giant organism. I wondered if I had been abducted by one of the UFOs that I saw and was on some kind of holodeck. I walked over to the church and sure enough found a spickett. I had a beer mug in my backseat that someone had given me, so I grabbed it and filled it with water from the spickett. The water was warm and it tasted like how I imagined female ejaculant to taste. It was salty, cloudy and viscous. I spit it out and yelled," What the fuck?!"

I got back in my car and drove without any kind of destination in mind until the sun started to rise. Having no idea where I was, I started looking for a gas station so I could get some gas and a drink. I ended up in a small mountain town and found a gas station who's sign read "Liberty". I wanted to get a beer to calm my nerves and hope for some sleep, but they wouldn't sell it to me. I asked for a cup for some water, and filled it up at a sink by the coffee maker. The water that came out was cloudy, salty, and viscous just like the water from the church spickett. At this point I was sure I was on an alien space craft, and was in some kind of simulation. Everyone I saw seemed to be both staring at me, and evading eye contact at the same time. I left the gas station and continued my aimless drive.

As the sun rose above the horizon, I marvelled at the beauty of the Appalachian mountains. I found my way to Rte 66 and started seeing signs for towns that sounded familiar. I got off rte 66 at a stop where I found a Starbucks. Still thinking I was in a simulation on an alien ship, I thought everyone I saw was a lizard person in disguise. Terrified, I ordered a cup of tea that was supposed to be infused with peach. The tea tasted like it was the same salty, viscous water as before but with some other flavors. I pulled the tea bag out and thought I saw little pieces of meat in it and assumed it was human meat. Trying to not react, I looked at my phone and finally started to get service again. I called my girlfriend and told her what had been happening to me. I was terrified. I was sure that there were people or aliens or something monitoring my every move. The only option I had was to trust that I was actually talking to my girlfriend. There were many phonecalls made between my girlfriend and one of her friends that we figured out lived near where I had ended up.

I want to wrap up this story now.

My girlfriend figured out my location. She told me to stay put and that she'd come get me. Miraculously she found me a few hours later and took me to her friend's house. When we got there, her friend told me I could sit in her kids' backyard tent while they figured out what to do. Before getting in the tent, I looked into the front window and thought I saw one of my ex girlfriends inside talking to my girlfriend and her friend. This scared the shit out of me, because that ex was a sociopath and couldn't figure why she'd be there. I got in the tent, and after a few minutes I started hearing some kind of liquid being thrown onto the tent. I assumed it was my ex throwing gasoline on the tent and that she was going to burn me alive in the tent. I freaked out and broke the zipper to the front flap while trying to escape. When I got out there was nobody there. My girlfriend and her friend invited me in for dinner and an Ativan. This calmed me down and we spent the night there. The whole time I was there, though, I heard that rushing water that I first started hearing by the church. I still thought I was on an alien ship. The following morning I was driven to a hospital where I was admitted to a psych ward for several days. The whole time I was there, I believed I was being kept away from Earth where there was a global Holocaust being perpetrated by the aliens. I believed they were replacing everyone on Earth. I probably should have spent a lot more time in the psych ward, but was released about a week later with a new prescription for anti psychotics. I've been taking them ever since. For probably a year after this, I was still unsure about everything in my reality, and to this day (6 years later) I still have fleeting doubts. I have wanted to write this experience into a book ever since, but haven't had the motivation or focus to do so, as my ADHD is still bad, and haven't been able to structure what needs to be told. This is probably the longest version I've written thus far, and still feel like I'm not doing the experience justice. Thanks for reading, if you've made it this far. Feel free to ask me any questions.

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years ago

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To be Her O.A.O. (one-and-only)

written by: @noneyabidnes

Rating: Mature (in future chapters)

Prompt 73: Katniss marries Gale before he’s sent to fight WWII. Gale sends home his buddy Peeta to break the news to his wife and family that he’s fallen in love with someone else in Europe and is staying there after the war… Peeta is under the impression Katniss is a cold woman that only married his friend out of obligation but finds out the other side of the story soon enough. [submitted by @alliswell21]

Tags: era-appropriate derogatory terms for Axis powers, amputation, angst

A/N: I got permission from @alliswell21 to shift from Europe to the Pacific Theater of Operations, since I geek out over that side of WWII history (my Pop was in some of the places mentioned in this story.) This was intended as a one-shot. I didn’t want to commit to chapters, but it’s spiraled out of control and now I can’t stop myself. I’ll cross-post it on ffnet (ryebrewster) and hopefully will find some closure. If you find some of the language awkward or somewhat un-PC, I was attempting to be era and region appropriate, but it’s hard to write an Appalachian and a Philly accent without both coming across pretty hick. Guess I never listened to myself talk before. -rye

–//–//–//–//–//–//–//–

Chapter 1

At the moment, I can’t believe this road ever ends. It rolls away from me, ever higher, ever rockier, taunting me with each uneven step I take. Foolish me had thought I would just hitch a ride. I should have guessed from the name that it would be a ‘road less traveled by.’ Rocky Ridge doesn’t exactly sound welcoming, but Gale had always made it sound like the closest a man could get to heaven. At least, until he met a certain honey-tongued Polynesian girl whose hips swayed like the island breezes. Then heaven made a quick detour to places on her that we best not discuss in public and I definitely won’t be discussing whenever I find the end of this infernal road.

I pause, resting on a particularly large boulder off the side of the narrow road. Hard to believe any car could make it up the path. Certainly not my Dad’s old Tudor, scraping its fenders on each slight turn to avoid the next large rock too heavy to move, and barely jeepable given how narrow. Briefly my inability to drive doesn’t seem like such a bad thing, but then the throbbing in my left leg reminds me that walking isn’t a great alternative either. I’m still getting the hang of my prosthetic, despite all the weeks (oh God, it’s been months, hasn’t it) spent in rehab in San Diego.

Gazing around me, I can begin to see what Gale always beat his gums about. These forests are beautiful, and so peaceful. Such a shift from the tropical forests in which we stewed. The proximity of my memory is enough to shake me from enjoying the moment. The color green took on such an ugly connotation during the war. Sitting on this boulder, I feel like I want to reclaim the hue and give it back its fresh and lovely place in my mental palate, but I do wonder if there will ever be a time when I won’t associate lush forests with machine-gun fire and jungle rot.

As the leaves flutter in the breeze, I catch a brief glimpse of metal roof in the distance. Finally, I may be making progress. Once more I pull the wrinkled and cracked photo from my pocket. Katniss. Her scowl hasn’t changed since he first handed me the image three years ago. At the time, it was to boast about the girl waiting back home. When he handed it to me again five months ago, it was to beg me to explain to her. To get her forgiveness, if not her blessing, for him not coming home. I hope the lump of cash in my rucksack would help to secure it, but her scowl challenges me each time I look at it. He’d said she was an easy woman to love, but an impossible one to live with. I can only imagine how she’ll feel about a crippled stranger appearing on her doorstep.

Righting myself again, I’ve renewed hope that the distance isn’t much farther. It’s as I round another bend that I hear the arrow whizzing past and striking a tree several feet to my left. My gaze slides to my right as I’m reminded that I’ve no firearm.

“I don’t miss twice,” the voice growls from the foliage. It’s feminine and angry, a combination I’ve been warned about but didn’t think I would confront quite so soon.

“I don’t intend to be aimed at twice.”

“Could hear you coming from a mile away. What business you got up Rocky Ridge?”

“Gale sent me.”

I can hear the air sucked out of her lungs despite the distance. The silence stretches on before she quietly emerges, her bow lowered at her side. Immediately I know it’s her. I’ve stared at her picture long enough that I would know those high cheekbones and quicksilver eyes anywhere. Her braid is loose with fly-aways and her neck shows the proof of a battle with some clawed creature. For a moment my memory jumps back to Philadelphia and the unfortunate circumstances of my own childhood, but I think these scratches aren’t human. Katniss clearly is of the forest, part dryad, part fairy, Artemis herself standing before me, at home in nature in a way I’ve never been.

“Gale? Is he…?” she breathes out, fear seeping into the short syllables.

“He’s alive.” It’s all she needs to hear for now. Her head drops and she lets out another long breath.

“I guess you’ll be wanting something to drink. Doesn’t look like you packed for the hike.”

“I am a bit parched. My canteen dried up two clicks ago. You’d think I’d be better at rationing, but I had no idea the road was this long.”

“Clicks? You talk funny. Where you from?”

“Philadelphia, ma’am, but clicks is how we measure distance in the Marines. Kilometers. Gale never mentioned you guys live so far out of town.”

She just nods, turning her back to me and heading off through the greenery, on a path only she sees. I follow her on the assumption that it must be a short-cut to the house, not because I’m keen to test my prosthetic out over the exposed roots and downed branches.

“I can’t walk as fast as you, ma’am. The Japs took my leg along with a bunch of my friends.”

She stops and slowly turns back to face me. “And you walked all this way? Why didn’t you catch a ride in town?”

“I didn’t realize no one would be coming out this way. Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia. There’s always traffic everywhere you look. Never occurred to me that I might walk out of town and never pass another car.”

“I can walk slower. I’m not getting any hunting done with you making all that racket. My sister’ll check your leg when we get up there, then I can give you a ride back.”

“I did come to speak to you.”

She nods again, turning away from whatever I might have to say. Silence descends upon us. Normally I would fill it, but I’m struggling enough just to stay upright, that I don’t bother to engage her, and I figure her for the quiet type anyway. She’s alert, taking in the sounds of the forest around us, and I find myself remembering following Gale in much the same way through the mountains of Okinawa, the resemblance both eerie and comforting.

After longer than my leg would prefer, a clearing opens up before us with a handful of houses and barns dotted across the ridge. Sheep and goats graze below me in a field while a couple horses stand in the shadow of the closest barn. It appears to have seen better days, needing a fresh coat of paint, but it’s obvious that someone has been attempting repairs on it from the ladder propped against the side leading to relatively fresh boards. She catches me staring at it as she turns around to check my progress.

“We had a bit of a storm a couple weeks back. Some branches took out an old window. Took forever to clean up all the glass, but at least none of the goats ate any.”

I take it that she performed the repair herself, a fact that would surprise me if she were any of the women I grew up around, but seems perfectly normal given what I’ve already learned of her. I search the hillside for any sign of a man, young or old, and come up empty.

“Do Gale’s brothers help you out at all?”

Her eyes narrow at me, clearly not suspecting I had knowledge of the younger boys. Her scowl settles as she explains, “Rory’s taken up working for the lumber yard in town and he takes Vick down with him. Vick runs deliveries for the grocery. They both pull their weight around here. We all do.”

She’s offended, that much is clear. “I would never doubt that you do, ma’am. From everything Gale told me, you’re all a well-oiled machine up here. I just don’t think he knew the boys had taken up jobs while he was gone. I think he hoped his pay was enough to keep you all afloat, along with your hunting of course.”

Her scowl deepens as she steps closer to me. “You say he’s alive but you keep talkin’ bout him in the past tense. You gonna tell me what you’re doin here, soldier? You seem to know an awful lot about my business.”

I can’t help but stumble back at the intensity of her ire. It draws her attention to my leg, still unstable on the steep ground. Her face softens briefly before the scowl returns. “Let’s get you inside and off that leg.”

The house is just a handful of rooms lumped together with a porch across the front. It’s clear at a glance that as space was needed, they just built on with whatever materials were available, but there’s a pride that’s been taken in the appearance nonetheless. Flowers bloom along the front of the porch and herbs hang drying from the rafters. Two rockers with flowered cushions are tucked against the house, sheltered equally from the sun and any rain that might roll through.

As we step through the door the only light filtering through comes from a handful of windows of varying sizes. Gauze curtains blow gently at the open panes, reminding me of mosquito nets. I shake the memory off before it drags me down, instead turning my attention to the closest chair quickly being vacated by a young woman with delicate features similar to Katniss’s.

“Prim, let him sit. He’s a bad leg. Might need you to look at it. Walked all the way up here.”

“Why didn’t he ask Haymitch for a ride? Not like the man has anything better to do.” The young woman I’m guessing is Prim glances at me with equal parts scowl and concern as she makes room for me to sit.

“Not from around ‘ere, so he doesn’t know Haymitch from Adam,” Katniss offers. “Says he knows Gale.”

Prim halts in her movements as she takes me in. I’m dressed in my civvies and my hair has grown out a bit from my time in San Diego, but the duffle on my shoulder gives me away.

“You were with him? Is he okay? Where is he?”

It strikes me this is the first time the question has been asked and the unspoken one that follows. Why isn’t he here instead?

Katniss slams a tea kettle down on the fire box in the corner, breaking the tension with the clatter. “Prim, can you grab some of the tea from over there? I’m steep up some sweet tea quick while you check him out. Then I can give Mister—” she cuts off, realizing she still hasn’t asked my name.

“Mellark,” I supply, rising out of my seat to stand at attention. “Corporal Peeta Mellark, 3rd Battalion, 14th Marines. Pleased to make your acquaintance Mrs. Hawthorne, Miss Everdeen.” I nod to each in turn. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer it up sooner. I was with Gale for a good chunk of my tour. We made it through Guam and Okinawa together. Even ended up side-by-side on the USS Hope being ferried back to Tongatapu after our artillery backfired. I promise you, he’s alive Mrs. Hawthorne.”

She had turned back to face the kettle, but with my final announcement, I can see her shoulders have risen to her ears.

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbles quietly, and I strain forward to hear her.

“Katniss,” Prim begins to scold.

“No, Miss Everdeen, it’s okay. Actually, it makes the rest of what I have to say easier.”

Katniss turns and I can see for the first time that tears line her eyes, just waiting to fall.

“He’s not coming back, is he Corporal?” she whispers, as though saying it too loud will make it true.

I shake my head slowly, wishing all of this had gone differently. “He doesn’t want a divorce. He figured you’d prefer it that way. But no, he’s not going to coming back to Virginia.”

“So there’s not another woman?”

I glance at Prim, unsure of how much Katniss wants me to reveal in front of the younger woman, but it’s clear the two are close.

“Um, I’m afraid to say, there is. She’s from the islands, Tongan, a sweet girl. He…” I stumble, unsure of whether I should finish the thought, knowing it might cause her more pain. “He said what was between the two of you was a partnership. That you had always said he deserved someone who loves him. She loves him plenty. He’s going to go back there, to Tongatapu, as soon as the clean-up is done in Japan and his tour is over. So, whether you get divorced or not doesn’t really change things for him. He still wants most of his pay to come here. He knows you’re looking out for his family.”

She nods at what I say and sinks into a chair by the stove. “He had stopped sending letters after Guam. I didn’t…I didn’t even know he’d been injured. Did he…? Is he okay?”

“He didn’t lose anything important, if that’s what you mean. Lost a little chunk of his ear. His hearing’s not so great, not that it ever was.” She chuckles lightly at my jab. “I’d still be out there helping with the clean-up if it wasn’t for my leg. They had to send me stateside to learn to walk again. I last saw him in Tonga when he was shipping back out.”

“And he asked you to find me.”

I nod though I know she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is out the window, toward the houses down the ridge, where I presume the rest of his family lives.

“Said he couldn’t write you a Dear Jane letter. He wants me to write him when I know you’re okay.”

She stiffens at the sentiment. “Okay? As though I’ll be perfectly fine with a complete stranger just showing up and telling me my husband has abandoned me for another woman?”

I can’t help the lump that forms in my throat, but I cough to try to dislodge it. “Pardon my forwardness ma’am, but was he ever really your husband?”

At that her eyes snap back to me. The pot behind her is obviously boiling so she stands to move it off to the side of the stove and sets about putting tea into cheesecloth. “What Gale was to me is really none your business. Seems like he must’a told you an awful lot though, you coming here like this. What’s in it for you?”

I sigh, knowing this was coming. “He saved my life on Okinawa. He realized the ordinance was about to backfire and tackled me out of the way. If he hadn’t, I would have lost a lot more than just my leg. I don’t really have a home to rush back to. I promised I’d check in on you and his family. Make sure that you understood it wasn’t anything you’d done wrong.”

The pot slams again and before I know it Katniss is out the front door. Prim watches her stomp out, but makes no move to follow her. I take my cue from the younger woman. I’m in no shape to chase Katniss across the hillside anyway. Prim shifts her gaze to me and tentatively starts asking me questions. Where am I from? Where did I fight? What was it like? Some I can answer easily, others leave me speechless. For all the rehabilitation they did for my leg in San Diego, no one ever really talked to me about how to deal with coming back home. No one talked about the nightmares we all wake from at night—or the ones that haunt us throughout the day. I fall silent eventually, when it gets to be too much, but in my focus on all her questions I haven’t noticed how she’s lifted my leg and been examining the spot where my prosthetic rubs against the stump, just below my knee.

“I’ve had miners who’ve lost hands and arms come through here. Mining means workin’ with TNT and it doesn’t always turn out s’good. I haven’t had any legs though. You’ve got your stump mighty irritated. I’m gonna clean it up and wrap it for you. You need to stay off it a coupla days to keep it from gettin’ infected. You can take my cot here in the living room. I’ve been sleepin’ in Katniss’s room most nights anyways s’as we don’t have to heat the whole house.”

She bites her bottom lip as though she’s said too much. I can’t fight the questions swirling around in my own brain.

“Did Gale ever live here?”

Her eyes widen as she takes me in.

“What did he tell you about the two of them?”

“That she’s easy to love but hard to live with.”

Prim lets out a soundless laugh. “He would say that. He thought it was love but she always knew better. They were great together—as hunting partners, as friends. When our Pa’s passed away, it was just us and two other families up here on the mountain. We had to band together to get through it all. My ma, well, she just couldn’t handle it. She was a nurse down at the clinic in town, but after…we couldn’t get her to leave the house. Gale’s Ma, she’s tougher. She buckled down and started taking care o’all us kids, but there were six o’us and only one of her. Wasn’t long before Gale and Katniss stepped up. They already knew how to hunt, had been going out in the woods together for years. Ma and I used to go out and pick herbs—we use them down at the clinic to help out people who can’t afford the expensive medicines. But I knew there were others that were edible, that we could live off of. I took Rory with me. We sold the goat and sheep’s milk down in town, though ain’t many people got a taste for it since they can get cow’s milk at the grocery for cheap. We make cheese out of it too.”

She peters out, unsure where her train of thought was going, and focuses to gently wrap my stump having already cleaned it. In a moment, the thought returns to her.

“He asked her to marry as a matter of convenience. He was shippin’ out and knew that if they were married it would be easier on his ma—and frankly I think he trusted Katniss to take care of all of us more than his ma. The woman is amazing, but she’s got a bit of a weakness for the drink, but then, most of the folks ‘round here do. They never stopped moonshinin’ ‘round these parts.”

She glances at the pot on the stove. “She never finished makin’ the tea, did she? You want something stronger? We have a little ‘shine around. Ma and I use it for our patients, but I’d say you fit the bill.”

I consider the offer before shrugging her off. I’ve never had moonshine, but there was some camp swill that would get passed around whenever we stayed too long at one post. Didn’t take much to get things to ferment in the jungle. Would rot your gut, but took the edge off the misery of sitting in a swamp day and night. And then there was the hooch at the clubs. Enough to make every Jane look like a pinup but all it took was one tale of Cupid’s Itch to scare us young GIs away from the women who hung around. Well, most of us anyway.

“I should stay sober. I don’t know what state she’s gonna be in when she gets back here and I can’t imagine she’s gonna be too pleased with you telling her I’m staying the night. I’m about the last person she wants to see.”

I find the thought makes me sad. I’ve been carrying her picture so long, there’s a part of me that feels like I know her. I’ve traced her scowl with my finger. I’ve practiced what I would say, though it didn’t come out that way. I’ve tried to imagine her smiling. Gale made it sound like an impossible feat, but I have a feeling there has to be a way to bring out that side of her—not that it’s my job to do that.

Prim’s voice cuts through my silent misery. “She’s not angry at you. She’s not even angry at him. And you seem like a nice guy. I mean, if Gale trusted you enough to send you all this way, you have to be a good guy. Usta be he’d kill anyone that came close to Katniss.” She pauses for a moment before looking me straight in the eye. “You don’t think he’ll ever come back?”

I shake my head. “I honestly can’t be sure. I don’t know that he’s thought it all through, but this girl of his is pregnant and his tour’s up in another month. He’s already gotten approval to stay in Tongatapu. They can’t live together on the base since they aren’t married, but he’ll be part of a skeleton outfit that maintains the place until the Navy decides it doesn’t need it anymore. By then, he’ll be through his commitment so he could go anywhere, but after all the things he said about him and Katniss fighting about having kids, I can’t imagine he would just take off if there’s a little one in the mix.”

“He’s like a big brother to me, y’know? After Pa died, Gale did a big part of raising us. I’m gonna miss him.”

“He talks about you guys all the time. He didn’t just carry Katniss’s picture, he carried all of yours.” I pull the well-worn photo of Katniss out of my pocket and her eyes widen in recognition.

“Why do you have that?” She snags it out of my hands.

“He gave it to me. Has your address on the back, or at least you used to be able to read it. It’s been through some things. He wanted to make sure I found her.”

“’Easy to love but hard to live with.’ That’s what he says?”

“Yep.”

“Well, she’s not going to get any easier now.”

With that, Prim straightens up and tosses the photo on the table, and begins re-organizing her supplies from cleaning my leg. My fingers itch to reach out and reclaim the picture. I’ll never admit it aloud, but that photo means something to me. The stories Gale told and the ones I’ve created in my own mind, the happy world they’ve built on this mountain despite all the hardship. I’m not ready to let that go. The door slams behind me before I find the courage to grab for it though.

“We need to go tell Hazelle,” she tosses the words at Prim, ignoring my presence completely. Prim acknowledges her but continues putting away her supplies.

“Peeta’s gonna sleep out here for a coupla nights while his leg heals up. He can’t be walkin’ on it til it’s calmed down some.”

I can feel Katniss’s glare on my cheek but can’t peel my own eyes away from my hands, still fighting to resist the urge to grab the photo.

“I could give him a ride into town so he could find a room to lay up meantime. Why’s he gotta stay here?”

Prim’s tone allows for no discussion. “He’s Gale’s best friend and he’s my patient. He ain’t gonna hurt us. You wanna kick him out on one good leg? God have mercy on your soul, big sis. It’s my bed I’m offerin’ up. He’s stayin’.”

I can feel the blush building up my neck at the insinuation that I might want anything untoward from them. Prim’s right. I would never want to take advantage. After all Gale has told me about these women, I could never, but another part of me is happy at the thought of being here—in a place that sounds more like a home than anywhere I’ve lived.

Katniss takes a step in front of me, forcing my attention up to her cold stare. “Don’t know what Gale was thinkin’ sendin’ you instead of a letter, but you best be on your Sunday behavior. I know how to skin a stag. You ain’t much of a challenge, Marine or no.”

Instinctively I know I shouldn’t smile, but I can’t fight it no matter how hard I try. “Mrs. Hawthorne, I’ll be a choir boy just for you.”

She smirks slightly before returning her attention to the forgotten tea. “I don’t need no choir boys ‘round here. Gale certainly ain’t one. But if you can carry a tune better’an him, that would be much appreciated.”

Prim’s smiling at me from across the room, so I know the awkwardness has passed, at least for the moment.

“And please, stop calling me Mrs. Hawthorne. Ain’t nobody ever called me that. No point in startin’ now when we all know what Gale is up to.” She pauses in her work before turning back to me. “There’s a baby.”

She states it as fact. She’s not looking for confirmation, but I nod nonetheless and watch as she swallows a lump in her throat before continuing.

“Yeah, he would never abandon a kid. Posy’s the only one on this mountain that we still have to worry about and he knows Hazelle and I won’t let that little girl down.” She shakes her head, as though to remove the thought. “ So, do you sing, Corporal Mellark?”

“Peeta, it’s Peeta. And to be honest, not very well, but I can play the guitar and the harmonica okay. My talents lie more with wrestling, baking…and painting.”

“Seems like an odd combination for a Marine.”

“If any of those islands had been a giant cake, I coulda taken out the Japs with some fancy frosting tricks. Instead I was just the guy everyone came to for their camouflage. Guess I’m good at making people look like mud.”

“Don’t think that would take much talent, no offense.”

She’s poured me a glass of sweet tea and I lean forward to claim it. “No, I s’pose not when you’re surrounded by mud and can just smear it all over yourself, but the guys seemed to prefer when I did it.”

“You must have a gentle touch.” As soon as the words are out her mouth, the blush begins. “Not that…oh hell, nevermind. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

I let the chuckle rumble out of my chest. The hospital in San Diego wasn’t exactly a cheerful place with most of us still fighting phantom limbs and shell-shocked from being sent home. And it’s as I’m enjoying the first laugh I’ve had in months that I finally see it. She cracks a smile, small, secretive, and the single most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. It takes my breath away so quickly I feel light-headed. And now I can see why Gale found her so easy to love.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #noneyabidnes #Alliswell21 #prompt 73

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