#at this point in the story the squad is off on a cross country summer road trip for plot reasons and those two are driving them insane

[arcticmist0324]

Character A: I just want to make sure Character B never goes through that again! *instinctively wraps arms around Character B who has fallen asleep on top of them like a puppy*

Character C: So you’re SURE there’s nothing going on between the two of you?

Character A: It’s not like that……

Character C: Is that a hickey on your neck that wasn’t there yesterday?

Character A: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[fantasticstoryteller]

Kingdoms ch. 43

Peter wasn’t sure what to make of the entity currently residing in his mate. The inky, slithering blackness covered Wade’s whole body, and it didn’t sound like Wade, or feel like Wade or even really look like Wade. But he went along with the entity, because it had promised that when the two of them were safe it would give Wade back.

Every night the entity would find some kind of shelter; an old mine shaft, a cave, something; and then the entity would go out and bring back food. The food was almost always roots and vegetables. When Peter looked at it he could all too easily imagine a poor family starving because their food had been taken—and he tried not to think about it. He prayed, every night, that somehow the goddesses could help the poor people who had no control over what their leaders did.

He would have found it easier to bear, if Wade had been talking. Unable to take the silence anymore Peter began to talk. He started with tales and lessons used to teach the acolytes at the temple. First he went over the creation of the world. “When humans first arrived,” Peter said, “they did not thrive.” According to the ambassador from Mysterio and Wade, humans had literally arrived in the world. “Their crops would not grow, they had trouble eating the food, and it seemed as though the very land was against them.”

The entity, surrounding Wade’s body with the inky blackness that was itself, leaned closer, listening to every word. The firelight in the mine shaft they were in made odd shapes, and suggestions of shapes in the entity. Peter was trying not to look too closely; he was trying to pretend that he was just giving a lesson, teaching someone new. He remembered doing the same thing for Wade, long ago.

“The goddesses saw the humans’ hard work, and looked upon them with favor. They granted the humans blessings—”

“What is a blessing?” The entity’s voice hissed through Wade.

Peter thought about it. Before this mess, before he’d been to Ajax and seen their king, he would have answered that blessings were special powers and privileges given to humans by the goddesses. Now, after all he’d seen, his answer was different. “Blessings are given to us to help us survive,” Peter said softly.

There was an odd sound, almost like Spot’s chirr. “How do they help?”

“Well,” said Peter slowly as he added some wood to the fire in front of him. He tried not to think about how he’d learned that omegas and alphas—the very fact that humans could breed—were blessings. “One of my blessings,” Peter said, “is my ability to climb. I can climb anything a spider can.”

“So blessings are powers.”

That didn’t—sound quite right, but Peter wasn’t going to argue. “Some of them. I think,” he remembered the moment in the cell and pushed the thought away, “I think the weather is a blessing as well.”

“The weather?” The entity turned Wade’s head to look at the mouth of the mine shaft they were in. Swirls of snow danced in the firelight.

“Not this weather,” Peter amended. “Our weather. The mild weather that we have at home.”

“The weather is a blessing?”

“I think so. After all, in the kingdoms still protected by the goddesses, we have good weather. Also, the spiders.”

“The large mounts you ride?”

Peter chuckled. The description was—accurate. “Yes, those too. I was talking to Wade about them, you know,” he continued. He felt a deep pain, a wish to actually be talking to Wade, but pushed it down. “He said that the other countries have nothing like the rider spiders, or even most of the spiders that Arachne has.”

“Creatures can be a blessing?”

“I think so.” The entity was silent for a long time, so Peter began talking about the lessons people were supposed to take from the legend. The entity listened, far better than any acolyte that Peter had taught.

A few nights later, the entity came back from getting food with a set of fur-lined clothes for Peter. Peter tried not to think of how the entity had gotten the clothes, or where they’d come from. He needed the warm clothes desperately, and he had no idea how far they were from the border. He felt warmer almost the instant he put them on.

The entity, covering Wade’s body, shifted nervously. “Mate warm?” it asked in its distinctive, hissing voice.

“Yes,” agreed Peter. “I’m warm.”

“Mate happy?”

Peter smiled. Something about the entity struck him as very lonely. “I’m happy to warm,” he said. It was true.

The entity nodded once, firmly, and then took a seat near Peter as he cooked the food that the entity had brought with the clothes. “How did mate and host meet?” it asked.

Peter smiled fondly at the memory. “King Philip and the king of Reaper had decided to see if MJ, King Phillip’s daughter, and Wade, the prince of Reaper, would connect.”

“You do not use the king of Reaper’s name.”

“I do not particularly like the king of Reaper,” Peter said with distaste. He took a deep breath. “I try not to dignify him with a name. What is your name?” Peter asked, looking at the entity.

“I have no name. Continue.” A pause. “Please.”

“Right,” said Peter nervously before he launched back into his story. “It was summer,” he recalled with a smile. The best things always happened to him in the summer. “I was with the group because MJ threw the mother of all tantrums when she was told she had to go alone, and no one wanted to listen to her scream any more. Harry, Commander Osborn’s son, went because Commander Osborn was going as an escort for the group. Also, I think he wanted Harry there to be a—a buffer between him and MJ. Commander Osborn did not handle children well.”

Done with the explanations, Peter launched into the scene. “The king of Reaper, his attendants, and Wade stood outside the drawbridge of the castle as Commander Osborn introduced MJ to the group. The rest of us,” he confided in the entity, “didn’t matter.” The entity gave a low growl. “Well, Harry was just a soldier’s son and I was just one of the temple children,” Peter explained. “MJ was a princess. She’s a queen now, but that’s way more important.”

“Nothing more important than mate,” hissed the entity.

That was—really sweet, and sounded like something Wade would say. “An—anyway,” Peter said awkwardly, covering a blush, “Wade and MJ walked up to each other, and met each other on the drawbridge. MJ curtsied and said the empty phrase her mother taught her when Wade demanded to know what happened to her hair to make it orange. So, MJ pushed him down and stomped back to the group. Wade looked at us, and met my eyes and…”

There were no words to describe that odd feeling of rightness, of wholeness. As if part of Peter had been missing and he’d never known it until he met Wade’s ice blue eyes. The way that, for a single moment, everything had been right with the world.

A feeling that had been shattered when MJ shrilly declared the mission a failure and that they were going to turn their spiders around and go home.

That night marked a turning point. After that a new part of the evening ritual was Peter telling a story. He’d start with one of the legends and lessons—but he’d end up telling childhood stories. Like the time he was told that his gift with spiders made him qualified for the temple, or when he met the beta couple in charge of the temple children for the first time. Betas Benjamin and May would, forever, be his aunt and uncle, along with the other children he’d been raised with. All the children at the temple received a blessing shortly after they arrived. After Peter presented as an omega, no one expected him to get more blessings—especially not Peter himself.

Maybe it was the conversation, maybe it was remembering all the good things to offset the situation they were in, but the rest of the journey seemed much faster, and warmer than what had preceded it. Soon enough they were crossing the border, shaking snow off their frozen bodies into the sultry autumn heat. Peter was suddenly enveloped in a very spider hug by Spot as the rider spider keened its loneliness. Behind Spot Peter could see, in the distance, the formation of an Arachnid army squad.

“Mate safe. Spiders here. Promise kept.”

Peter turned in Spot’s embrace to see—that the entity looked like it was melting? Long thin tendrils broke away and slowly, slowly dissipated into mist that vanished in the sunlight. Spot hissed and backed away at the display as the blackness evaporated leaving behind nothing but Wade. Wade, who swore colorfully and began to fall.

Peter caught him and momentarily sagged under his mate’s weight as someone, a voice he vaguely recognized as Harry, called his name.

[maria-deamor]

Baby (Part Two)

Baby (Part Two)

(MC x Jake McKenzie)- Endless Summer

Plot:

MC chose Rourke's ending and tried to fix everything.

OKAYYY SO THERE'S A STEAMY PART HERE, BEWARE!

MC's PoV

"What are you doing in my backyard?"

I stared at him on awe. Tears started to well in my eyes and I instinctively put both of my hands on my mouth as if trying to drown out the sobs that threatened to escape my lips.

He's really here...

I slowly walked in his direction but stopped on my tracks. God! He doesn't remember me! He has no idea of what's going on. Only that there's a stranger on his backyard, and crying her eyes out. He looked at me with a poker face, weighing out his options. Thinking if I'm going to snitch or not. I never prepared for this moment and that's very stupid of me. I rushed off to a foreign country, in hopes of finding my love but never thought about what to say to him. To be honest, I didn't have that much hope that I'll be seeing him soon. I thought it'll probably take more days, months, maybe.

"I said, what are you doing in my backyard? I swear to God if you're Lundgren's men, I'll-"

He was interrupted with Rebecca's presence. "How the hell did this girl get in here?! Do you know anything about this, Rebecca?!" His sister looked down and murmured a sorry. Jake threw his hands in his short hair out of frustration. At last, I found my voice.

"I-It's not her fault, Top gun." I said, casting my stare on the sand and suddenly looked at him when I realized what I just said. Goddamnit! I must be forgetting that the man before me doesn't know who I am! I'm so stupid! He looked at me, wide eyed, after he heard what I just called him. There's a glimmer of hope inside of my heart that he remembered me, even just a tiny, little bit.

He regained his composure and crossed his arms.

"Get the fuck inside." He walked passed me, and my breath hitched the moment we were close even if it's only a few seconds. I stood there for a few seconds, shocked about all the feelings welling up inside me and thinking of my next move. Rebecca beckoned me inside. I nodded and went after her. We went inside the cozy living room.

Jake was seated on the couch, his eyes glaring at me as I sit down in front of him. I tried to relax. There's no need to worry right? You should be happy! You're finally reunited! Everything will be fine!

"Who are you?" He looked at me. I remember this expression of his. It was annoyance. Of course I remember every little thing about him. His mannerisms, his habits, his expressions, and the way he thinks. I was married to this man and I have loved him for more that a thousand lifetimes. In every lifetime that I've lived, We always found our way to each other. It was a mistake to trust Rourke after all the effort The Endless have made. I need to make up for everything that I've done.

"I'm MC. I came here to see you." I said calmly. I'll explain everything to him, hoping that he'll listen. Listen to me, and his heart. "The fuck you mean by that?!" He said, shouting at me. His walls are all up. And it's all my fault. We could've been happy together. Before, I thought that was impossible. How could he happy when we may be together but the whole world isn't? We're being selfish. And If I did saved the whole world... I wouldn't be with him. It's one way or another.

Rebecca sat on the arm rest of the chair I was sitting at and crossed her arms to her brother, glaring at him.

"Hear her out, Jake." She said, with a threatening voice. I breathed slowly, trying to calm my nerves. Yes girl, this is it. Don't fuck it up.

"I-I know everything. And I intend to fix it. I-It's my fault everyone is suffering..." Tears welled up in my eyes again but this time, I didn't dared try to stop it. I want to be vulnerable, just like I've always been whenever I was with him.

I continued. "Don't worry... I won't snitch to you and Mike. I couldn't do that to the people that I love the most." I weakly smiled at him. His eyes are showing confusion and uncertainty but he's curious. 

Curious enough to hear me out.

3rd Person's Point of View

Jake's a wreck. He spent all his time trying to stay out of the grid and suddenly a girl showed up in his place, not knowing if she's a threat or not. How could she not be? The whole world is practically eating out of Rourke's hand. He never really knew why he hated Rourke's gut even when it's Rex Lundgren who framed him and Mike. Now, he's sitting in front of the girl whose name was supposed to be MC.

He listened to her, still with doubts but curious if there's anything that she says that'll solve even the slightest bit of his problems. She caught his attention ever since she called him 'Top Gun'. Somehow, the name rang a bell but he can't put his finger into it yet.

"I know about Rex Lundgren. He sold weapons to the people you were supposed to be fighting. You and Mike found out and planned to snitch. But Lundgren knew about your plan and sent you to a reckon mission, an ambush." MC paused. The last lifetime that she lived, Mike wasn't able to eject on time. MC thought that even with all the chaos around and 'His Eminences' supporters, one good thing came out of this new lifetime. Mike survived, he wasn't brainwashed and broken. She gulped and continued. (A/N: I checked again the Rourke ending and Craig mentioned Jake and Mike on the coffee shop so it made sense that he's alive. If he wasn't, then he would be brain washed and the whole squad thing on ES would've happened. With Mike being Mouse, and sacrificing his self.)

"The two of you ejected. MP’s awaited the both of you and you're now on the run." She finished. The only thing that's on Jake's mind right now is how the hell did she knew? And why is she on their side? He gathered his courage to ask. He wanted to be gentle but he thought she's not being completely truthful.

"How the hell did you knew? Who told you? Are you one of the Military Police? Why aren't you on their side? Wh-" He was interrupted by the girl. And he didn't expected this to be her answer.

"Because you told me." Jake got out of his surprise and looked intently on the girl. Told her how? He never met this girl on his life, or at least that's what he thought. He knew he's right but there's still a feeling that they're acquainted.

He glared at her again. But this time, it's just out of curiosity. Jake went on the risk of trusting her. "I was your wife." Jake looked to Rebecca, trying to find some sort of reaction but she stayed quiet.

"You knew about this stupid story? She's a crackhead!" He harshly said, not caring that the woman was inside the same room as them.

"Did you at least hear her out?" She asked her brother. "I did! That's why I'm saying that she's lying!" He retorted. His mind's now filled with confusion. He felt like his head was going to explode with all the information he got in the span of a few minutes.

"Did you, truly? Open your mind..." Rebecca walked over to her brother and put her hand on his chest. "-and your heart. I know for the fact that she's telling the truth. I feel it, Jake. You just gotta try." She pulled her hand away from his heart and walked out of the scene.

Rebecca wanted the two of them to have their privacy. Even if MC wasn't saying the whole truth, the fact that she knows about Jake and Mike's situation is enough for her to trust the girl. The moment that MC told her the story back on the park, she thought about the dreams Jake has been getting ever since he went on the run.

Rebecca's Point of View:

(A few months ago...)

My boss changed my shift from the normal time to this shit. I thought it'll be easy to adapt to it but it's been a week and my body clock is so messed up. Because of this, I lacked on sleep and I was sent home today from work. My new schedule is from midnight to morning. My apartment is farther than Jake's cabin so maybe I'll just crash there tonight. I'm sure Mike won't mind.

I used my key to get inside the cabin. Mike's still up, reading a book on the living room. He smiled at me and continued on his novel. I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took a jug of water. I was pouring it when a shout came from Jake's room, startling me, causing me to spill water on the kitchen floor.

I disregarded it and made my way to Jake's room. He's sitting on his bed, sweaty and panting.

"Jake, are you alright?" He looked at me as if he's expecting someone else to be there for him.

He stared at the air and then suddenly pulled on his long hair out of frustration. He brushed his palms on his face and groaned.

"What a fucked up dream."

"Why? What happened?" I finally found my voice and asked him. "I... Don't remember. All I know is I hate it. I hate this feeling as if I lost someone."

I stared at him. I really don't know how to ease his feelings. I've never felt something like this. I squeezed his shoulder and head out.

"Another dream?" Mike asked and took a sip from his tea cup. I took a seat next to him.

"Huh? This has been happening?" I asked and glanced again at my brother who now lied in bed and stared at the ceiling, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah. It happened a bunch of times already that's why I'm not too shocked anymore."

I looked at the table in front of me, speechless.

"I really don't know how to comfort Jake. I have strange dreams too." I looked at him only to see him wistful and his eyes distant.

"In my dreams, I was brainwashed and became Jake's enemy. But there's this girl that he's with, along with a few more people. They never gave up on trying to get me to their side." I listened intently on what he's saying. Why is it that Mike remembers his dreams but Jake doesn't?

"That girl and Jake though. They look perfect for each other. They're all over each other and I can feel the love through my dreams. I almost thought she's real when I woke up." And he chuckled.

Now, I'm very curious. Never in my life did I see my brother love anyone. Flings? Sure. But my brother isn't like what Mike describes him to be on his dreams as he continued on explaining.

When he finished, I finally asked him a question.

"Does Jake know any of this?" I said and I gripped the hem of my clothes a little bit tighter than I anticipated.

"Hmm? Hell no. I don't want to confuse him more than he already is." Mike is a really great friend. My brother is very lucky to have someone like him.

"Do you remember the girl's face?"

"Yeah. She's very hard to forget. Not that I'm interested okay! She just looks very unique. And I would never forget the woman Jake's with. He's very sappy and sweet with that girl, you know. That's a rare sight."

Mike and I talked through the night as I asked about what he knew about the dream girl that my brother is with.

3rd Person's Point of View

Jake tried. He really tried. But he's afraid that he will be wrong. And he will eventually fuck everything up. If he's the only one going to get caught, it'll be alright for him. But the fact that everyone that he's acquainted with will be dragged with him, it really breaks his heart at the very thought.

This woman in front of him though... She's able to stir feelings inside of him that he didn't even know existed. He may be glaring at the girl but deep inside, his heart is leaping every glance that he took from her.

It's like he missed her after a long, long time when actually he only met her a few minutes ago.

"Anyway... I don't even know why I tried to find you, knowing that you know absolutely nothing of what's happening." She grinned sheepishly at him. His eyebrow shot up as he studied her face, noticing the streaks of dried tears on her cheeks.

"Enlighten me." He coldly said, not trying to let her in. She brightens for a moment after his response but retorted to her anxious manner.

"A thousand lifetimes ago... You and I met." He suddenly felt anger rise up from his body. What is this crappy story? Is this some kind of a prank or a lame ass fairy tale joke?

But just like Rebecca said, try. So he tried and continued to listen.

"You were our pilot. We didn't even know by that time that you were on the run already. You're flying your precious Delilah. You took us to an island called-"

"La Huerta." He finished. The girl looked at him in awe. A memory shot up on his brain and he groaned because of the pain. It's a memory, he's sitting on the cockpit and a blurry faced girl approached him, asking if they should be landing anytime soon. He was annoyed so he gave her a nickname.

"Princess." He called. The girl clasped her mouth with her hand and a tear rolled on her cheek once again. He felt like he wanted to dry those tears away with his own hand but he made no move. He was hurting deep inside but his fear is still there.

The silence is growing too loud for the both of them. The girl tried to break it, even with the feeling, no, a glimpse of hope inside her that he finally remembered her. She's happy. More than happy than she's ever been in all those months.

She continued. "We were stranded in the island, got into fights, but you and I had each other's backs with every problem that we faced. We got married on the Vaanti's village and we promised a year and a day together..." She spoke in between sobs.

'Vaanti'... He tried to find the meaning of that word. And he stood up from his seat, hit with another surge of memory. He remembered those Vaanti shown on the news that Rourke captured who tried to reach out for a man named Diego... and MC.

He remembered being on a huge tree house full of blue skinned people. He's getting married to a girl, she's walking on the aisle with a glowing flower attached on her hair. As she walked closer to him, he finally got a glimpse of her face.

It was the same as the girl who's sitting just in front of him. He knew something that finally made sense. He's overwhelmed by the feeling and was frozen stood on the ground, not knowing what to do. The girl kept on sobbing in front of him with a smile on her face.

In the midst of everything, the door opened and a man came through.

"Man, that line on the grocery is too long for this morning-" Mike strode inside the room, completely unaware of the situation. He heard no response and so, he looked at what's in front of him. Out of shock, he let go of the paper bag that he was holding

"Y-You're that g-girl... You're real...?" He stuttered as he spoke, not caring about the goods that just fell out of his grasp.

"Mike! What the hell are you talking about?" Jake replied, finally snapping out of his daze, and disbelief shown on his face. Why the hell didn't Mike said anything? He looked like he know something and Jake definitely has the right to know if it involves him too.

Mike slowly walked into the girl's direction and he stopped when he's finally in front of her. He put his hands on the girl's cheeks, checking if she's real. Somehow, Jake felt something stir inside of him. Jealousy? Who knows?

Mike pulled his hands away when he realized what he has done. The girl looked shocked to as how Mike is handling the situation. Does he remember me? Jake's reaction is way different than Mike's. What's the difference?

Mike glanced at Jake and sat on the empty seat beside him. Mike was silent but Jake stared at him until he snapped out of his little bubble once more.

"I said, do you know anything? Who's this girl?" Jake insisted. He really wanted to know everything. The situation's giving him a headache.

Mike looked at Jake and replied. "She's... In my dreams." Jake looked at him expectantly and he continued on his story. He sat down on his seat again. "The both of you saved me from myself. The both of you... Are inseparable. She's fought along you when things got tough but, I don't really know her."

A huge pang of pain shot through his head, a lot worse than he's had earlier. He gripped his head and the girl stood up from her seat and went in front of him, worried.

"Jake? Are you okay?" She said. Jake couldn't hear her properly because of the ringing on his ears.

And he passed out.

-

Memories worth a thousand lifetimes flashed through Jake's mind. He haven't realized that he was unconscious. But he's seeing everything, everything that he had done. It was enough proof for him to trust the girl.

He woke up in a haze. All the dreams of his past lives now gone. But he does remember one. His previous lifetime, the one and only successful lifetime that the Endless have created. The one where MC made the choice.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly. He's on his room, lying on his bed and a woman on his right, holding his hand as she slept on a chair beside his bed.

He remembers now.

Oh, how he misses her.

He used his other free hand to smooth out her hair. She looked tired, and skinnier that he remembered her to be. Was she okay on their time apart?

He realized how she felt. The guilt has been weighing in on her ever since she made that choice.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Is it because of sadness or happiness? Maybe both. She stirred and she groggily lift her head up. She looked at Jake and her blue eyes widened when she realized she's been holding his hand. She let go but was shocked when the pilot took her hand back into his.

"J-Jake?" She said, tears welling up on her eyes again. He brought his left hand into her face, drying her tears away with his rough fingers.

"Don't you dare cry now, Princess." He said, his husky voice ringing inside the small bedroom.

"Jake? Do you...?" She questioned and he nodded as he smiled at her. She sighed out of relief and put her cheek onto Jake's palm. She closed her eyes and smiled as she cried tears of joy.

She kissed his hand and looked at him lovingly. "I'm sorry I forgot, Princess. I'm sorry for being rough on you earlier." He said and sat up.

"No! No! I totally get it. You don't remember. I won't fault you for that, Top Gun." She said as she straightened on her seat.

"I missed you so damn much." He said and brought his hands into both of her cheeks. Finally, their lips met. Fireworks burst inside the both of them. They kissed passionately as they both cried their hearts out. They didn't dare stop, thinking if this is just a dream. If this really is just a dream, they would want to make the most of it.

Breathlessly, they pulled away.

"I can't believe you remember me now..." MC said. Jake smiled at her and kissed her forehead.

Their lips connected once more. Jake lifted the girl out of her seat, using his muscles into work. He rested her on his lap and she straddled him as they kiss. He bit her lower lip, asking for consent. She parted her lips and his tongue met hers. They didn't fight for dominance, for she let him take control of her.

The kiss heat up and it was becoming sexual. She rested her hands on his chest while his hands caressed her ass.

They pulled away to look at each other.

"You're so beautiful..." He said and moved the back of his hand into her cheek. She smirked at him. "I know that. And a beautiful woman needs a handsome husband." She wrapped her arms into his neck and they kissed again.

Suddenly, MC pulled away.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked her, worry featured on his handsome face.

"What if someone walks in? Rebecca and Mike is still here, you know." She said.

"Psh. I don't care if they hear. But I don't want to stop either. Just lock it and we'll be fine." He said. He rolled his eyes out of annoyance.

MC climbed down and locked the door. She looked at Jake, who's sitting on his bed and resting his back on the headboard.

"What?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing..." She seductively said. She started unbuttoning her white blouse slowly. He raised an eyebrow again, but this time, he's smirking. "Teasing me, aren't ya?" He said and lifted his hands into the back of his neck. He's definitely enjoying the sight.

Her blouse dropped to the floor and her bra is now exposed. Next, she zipped down her jeans and slowly took it off.

"Come on, that's torture!" He complained, and stood up from his position. He approached her and went to her back. He wrapped his arms on her waist and kissed her back and shoulders.

"Hurry up, Princess. I can't wait any longer." He whispered on her ear. He resumed on kissing her back, and gently bit the side of her neck.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin and she obliged. Her jeans finally joined her blouse, that's lying still on the floor. She felt something hard, rubbing on her ass.

"Feel that? I told you I can't wait." He moved his hand from her waist into her front. If he's turned on, she definitely is too. Actually, more than he is, maybe.

His hand travelled down into her wet core and rubbed it gently. Pleasure coursed through her body and her knees buckled. Her back collided into his chest and she used him as support.

The whole time after this lifetime was created, she never dated anyone. Never even kissed anyone or had a one night stand. She knew it into her heart that her body only belongs to him, to her husband, to her pilot.

The love of her life.

"F-Faster..." She moaned. She felt him smirk on her skin. He took off his hand all of a sudden and she was so disappointed. She looked at him with annoyance.

He chuckled. "Let's get into somewhere more comfortable. I don't want to fuck you on the floor." He said. He brought his fingers into his mouth and licked her juices off.

She saw this and immediately blushed. She smacked his chest and arms multiple times and mind you, HARD.

"Ow! What was that for?!" He shouted as he rubbed his arm because of the sting.

"W-Why did you... T-That was so embarrassing!" She said and and covered her face. He just laughed at her reaction and took her hands off of her face so he could look at her.

"Hey... Don't cover your pretty face. What are you embarrassed for? We're married, baby. And it's not like it's a first!" He teased.

“I know! But why do you gotta- Ugh! I hate it when I need to explain things to you!” She shouted and took his hands off her face. She crossed her arms, covering her breasts so he wouldn’t dare look at them. She knows how much of a pervert Jake is.

He chuckled and amusement shown in his orbs. He’s happy, very damn happy. They’re finally back together and no one will ever separate them again. 

As she was pouting and looking away, he used this chance to take the girl on his arms and carry her onto the bed.

“Hey! Let go of me, perverted husband!” She protested as she kicked her legs, trying to make Jake let go of her. 

“No! I ain’t letting you go! You know you love me too much to not let this happen!” He replied and gave out a laugh. He haven’t laughed like this in years. His wife really is a miracle.

He let go of her, and she landed on the bed with a soft thud.

He smirked at her as he looked at her appreciatively and she immediately felt her cheeks burn hot. Here he go again, making fun of me. Can’t say she doesn’t miss it though. They’ve been separated for too long.

You could say that they had a very wonderful time inside that room, wink wink.

They didn’t mind about anyone else and what those people might say. We all know they probably woke up all the sleeping neighbors from miles away. But that didn’t matter to them.

Because finally, they’re together once more. Forever.

OKAY! I’M FINALLY DONE! I’M SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! I GOT THIS MESSAGE FROM ‘WEB NOVEL’ IF I COULD WRITE STORIES IN THEIR APP AND POSSIBLY MONETIZE MY WORK SO Y’ALL COULD SAY I’VE BEEN BUSY. DO YOU GUYS WANT A THIRD PART? I’M THINKING OF MAKING ONE, WHERE JAKE CAN MEET THE GANG AND MAKE THEM REMEMBER TOO. IF I DID MADE IT, I’M THINKING FOR A FOURTH AND LAST PART WHERE THEY’LL BE RESCUING THE VAANTI AND OF COURSE, DIEGO’S LOVELY BOYFRIEND, VARYYN! 

[tracykestler]

36 and what a world I have seen

Honestly I’ve been terrible at journalling lately. Love handwriting in quill and ink style, but my current life leaves me exhausted after work and most of my time spent in education. But currently the Covid-19 pandemic made me consider the important world events I have witnessed. 

Born in 1984 I lived in a world of rapidly changing technology but still being forced outside to play. We always had an Apple computer in our house for as long as I can remember. Played the Oregon Trail in black and white, then in color. That was the standard computer game of my childhood. Mom got us Mario Teaches Typing, probably the only “video game” I ever played at that point. AOL was a thing. All those CDs in the mail with updates. I never really got into it, but my twin sister did.

Also a child of the Disney Golden Age of animation. Dramatically influenced my life to the point I went to work for Walt Disney World after college. Still a Disney fanatic to this day. 

Apparently my family visited Yellowstone National park (age 4? too young to remember anyway) then not too long after the park had the fire. 

Was alive though not conscious of world events when the Berlin Wall fell. Watch the birth of CNN during the first Desert Storm when my dad was there overseeing some of the first drone flights. The military required a pilot on hand for those flights. He told us later how some Iraqis would surrender to the drone plane, not that it was ever one of the ones he supervised. And according to my mom I frequently asked to NOT watch the 24 hour stream of news because it was too depressing and I knew that’s where dad was. 

Really started to pay attention to news (not that l enjoyed it but that’s the timeline for how chidden develop) during the O.J. Simpson trial. 

By that point I had lived on both coasts of the USA, crossed country twice, lived in many different environments from Washington’s cold wet seasons to California’s deserts California’s coast to landlocked suburbia of Georgia. 

Where I learned to drive, had a single Nokia phone for me and my twin in our tiny Cabrio convertible (I hate convertibles). Got a personal computer for the first time, where before it was a single family computer. The iMacs were coming out right when we were heading to college. My sister got the desktop, I got the laptop and have never looked back. Still have my gumstick shuffle iPod floating around and it still works.

Got to watch the insanity of Indecision 2000 and appreciate political humor for the first time.

I’ve been to 9 different schools for 12 years of school, not including college. That would make it ten. Was a freshman in high school when the Columbine shootings happened. Some weeks later we had a pipe bomb threat at our school which forced all the students out to the football field. From the top of the bleachers we could see the bomb squad and their dogs entering the school. All I could think of was if someone really wanted to kill at lot of people, there on the bleachers would be the place to do it. Then at some point in my adult life someone did it at a movie theater showing The Dark Knight. 

Saw the images of the Oklahoma City bombing. Heard about the Unabomber. Watched the Waco Texas incident.

But my senior year was the time of 9/11. My math class was out in the hallway doing a math related science type experiment, can’t tell you what it was. But that day was the only day I have ever heard a school of nearly 5,000 students absolutely silent during class change. Thus Desert Storm part two happened. 

Right before I headed off to college. So I wasn’t super savvy about applying to colleges. I only applied to one. Didn’t have a clue as to what I wanted to do with my life. I’ve done a wide variety of sports, been writing fiction since at least 10 years old, drew and painted fairly well, thought about doing animation or architecture (did a semester learning thing with a local firm, decided it wasn’t for me). 

Ended up getting a degree in two foreign languages but not fluent in either. It did greatly improve my understanding of the English language. And I had the privilege of an exchange program for a school year to Japan, plus of study abroad summer to Germany. Would never regret any of that. Even if it didn’t get me a degree that got me a job. 

Instead I went to Disney World as part of their internship program. Been in foods and hospitality for a significant portion of my life (thus far). Loved working there. Got to work with the Characters and it was fabulous. Even with the frustrations of all work environments. 

But it couldn’t last. Minimum wage was raised, but the cost of living out stripped the earnings for a single person living alone. Prompting a move back home with parents to get another degree. Then the Housing bubble burst, loans defaulted, mortgage crisis, resulting in the Great Recession. It did get me a house in my name but basically an income property for my mom as her inheritance from my grandmother. All the while I’m going to school to be a nurse.

Now let’s not forget about the many weather crises I’ve witnessed via the news. Hurricanes Katrina, Sandy, Harvey, Maria to name the ones I easily remember. The Class 5 tornado that wiped out a midwestern town. The volcano in Iceland rerouting planes. The tsunami in Indonesia and Sumatra. The massive earthquake in Haiti. These are only the ones that easily come to mind without researching what happened during the years I’ve been alive.

Not to mention the diseases that I’ve seen via the news. First to mind was the Ebola outbreak while I was in nursing school. Saw the hype on the Swine Flue, SARS, Avian flu to name a few easily remembered. Those never reached me personally. Now it’s Covid-19 unfolding. Called SARS-CoV-19 now, but that later.

But its not all disasters. Went to the Atlanta Centennial Olympics still have the t-shirt. Was alive during the first black president. 

Took part in the massive phenomena that was Harry Potter and still love it to this day. It showed me that fiction/fantasy could be a mainstream genre to write for. I started writing FanFiction at that time to fill in the long spaces between books. Started when fan fiction.net had the 7or 8 main characters to choose from for tagging. It was like the Wild West of figuring out what you were about to read. Learned about Slash, yaoi, lemons and such the hard way. But being exposed to it that way did open my eyes to what goes on in other people’s heads. Knew immediately that just because I didn’t like something didn't mean I had to hate on it. I left it alone once found and kept going. Really helped increase my tolerance to other cultures and thoughts.

Met my best friend on a role playing site and we wrote nonstop during our college years. Went to her wedding, have a lovely Renaissance style dress as a bridesmaid gift. Still am in touch with her. We don’t write together any more as we have moved in our lives with adulting. But I still have all those stories and hope to turn them into something.

Had my first camera cell phone in Japan as just a basic free phone. Was shocked to find cameras in the States were not standard. One of my friends in Japan kept doing selfies before they were called selfies. Blind positioning of the camera for pictures. Then came the iPhone and the world never looked back.

Joined Facebook when it required a college email. Used MSN messenger and Yahoo messenger to communicate with people around the world. Didn’t join the Twitter or Tumblr movement until after they became established. Saw the boom and bust of the Dot.Com bubble. Watched the Dow Jones numbers increase without the income to invest the way they said to.

Lived right above the poverty line during the Recession. Not knowing if I could make it the next month. Never being able to claim poverty on the tax forms. Caught in the income dead space of not being able to afford health insurance from the markets but in a state that didn’t allow for Medicaid expansion.

But I do not have the worry now thankfully. 

Jobs wise I’ve been a telemarketer, dishwasher, a line cook, a hostess, server, janitor, assistant manager, and now I’m a nurse. I started on med/surg, ED, Cardiac, and ICU. In a small rural hospital getting smaller in a time when rural were shutting down because of no funding. They serve areas with a high rates of unemployment, uninsured, drug and alcohol abuse.

Worked at a busier hospital were no bed was left empty. Sicker patients. Work in a mid-size place. Some days super busy, some slower. 

Covid-19 had the affect of somehow doing both. First few days was almost empty, now it fluctuates. Mostly rule outs. And the protocols are changing hourly which makes life frustrating for us. It’s the constant unspoken threat of going into work not knowing if you’ll have the right equipment to do the job. I’m not scared of the virus itself, not even of the collapse of the economy. I’m scared of the surge that will put my coworkers at risk.

I live alone (my little sister lives with me now) so very little contact with others. But they have kids and a much closer physical distance to their older parents. I know I will add days to my weeks if they have to stay out for any length of time. 

So this is the first time a world event as truly affected me. It is a terrifying time which prompted this summary of my life so far.

I went into a restaurant and saw no one. I never thought I’d see that day. I don’t want people to loose their income, but if people were to go about their daily activities we would loose so many in one go. All I can do is my job.

The more I watch the more depressed and stressed. At work is worse.

I’m teaching myself a new craft because of this. I have taken up leather working to make masks. It helps the creativity outlet. I started drawing class early in 2020 and was set to continue drawing and add painting when the social distancing started. I admit it felt overblown in the beginning. Now the numbers are changing rapidly and we are really seeing what happens in close communities. Just keep working. It’s part of life now. No matter how much if feels like a movie plot line.

But back to other things I’ve seen.

LGTBQA and others coming into the forefront of society. Saw legalization of gay marriage. Quite thrilled with that.

Didn’t hear the term Asexual in reference to a sexual preference until my early 20s. Immediately recognized similar stories to me. Never had an interest in sex or having a partner. A name did make things more relatable, but I will never fully understand people who seem to base their entire existence on their sexual preference.

I’ve been call sir many times based on how I dress. I still sound like a female. Can’t fault anyone for using the appropriate pronoun for what they see in front of them. But that’s a culture that’s growing. Preferred pronouns. But I have to admit that an online friend referred to me as “they” despite a lady being in my username and it felt nice. So in honor of the Special Snowflake term that floated around, I’m an nonbinary aromantic asexual. Probably with a fem-romanitic leaning. 

Saw the rise of the Millennials. I’m caught between Gen X and the Millennials. Now that all the Millennials are of age to vote, perhaps change is underway?

I’m back in college for my 3rd and then 4th degree. In nursing. Online. Watching the world combat a virus.

A US that is split down the middle politically. A world with more pollution problems than we can handle. Governments preferring to coverup mistakes and corruption than help their citizens. The term Public Servant is obviously not taken seriously in some places. See Flint, MI and their water. Lobbyists creating bills that benefit corporations rather than people. Politicians that never retire and keep getting lucrative reelection donations from those very corporations. 

The rise of narcotic drug use, prescription drugs. Pill mills. 

Sex scandals taking center stage in the news rather than things that actually affect daily life. Among things I will never understand is the fear of Transgender women in the women’s restrooms when it was always a straight conservative man who was the center of all these sex scandals. 

Asexual brain at work. I simply do not understand. Conclusion: If you look like a certain gender, you’ll most often be treated as that gender.

What I do miss were the kid shows and cartoons in the 90s. They were super progressive with great literature themes. I knew the story of some of the greatest classic literature simply by the references in those shows. 

Also the era of War on Drug commercials. Recycling promoted. 

My favorite: Captain Planet. Not only was it pushing for a cleaner earth it had different nationalities. Stereotypical, but a far better representation than what I am seeing in kids shows today. It was diverse in that multiple skin tones were seen on screen together rather than specific skin tones marketed to that specific demographic. Now I do like how many more cultures are represented, I just want them shown in ways where color and culture is not the primary focus. 

It also surged a desire to protect the planet. The knowledge that we need clean water and air. Educational shows like Magic School Bus and Bill Nye explained what is happening in the environment long before Global Warming became political. With the global shut in we see the world cleansing itself. 

Now the marijuana legalization issue. No one has died from overdosing on weed. Unlike Alcohol. Yes smoke isn’t good for your health like cigarettes, but the complications are not as prevalent, well studied, or as life threatening with what is known. The disconnect of state legalization and national illegalities is mind blowing. I hope to see that break so we can study it.

Overall I know I have seen a lot of historical events and I hope to live another 36 plus years to see more. 3 decades, the change of a century and the change of the millennia. Y2K hysteria included. 

The world is changing. The outcome is unknown. Peace be upon us all.

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

.

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

.

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

[thebuckblogimo]

The Faja Essays.

May 22, 2020

We have all met people along the way who have influenced our lives. If I were to do a “top ten” of those who influenced mine, Garry Faja, my high school buddy who died last summer, would be high on the list. The son of working class parents whose father emigrated from Poland and repaired machinery at the Rouge plant, Garry went on to become the President and CEO of St. Joseph Mercy Health System. Recently, I and four or five of Garry’s friends and former healthcare profession colleagues were asked to write essays for a book about him being compiled by a friend from his grad school days at U-M. It is intended to be a keepsake for Garry’s only child. I was honored to be asked to contribute stories about Garry’s early life. Because several people who follow this space knew him well, I’ve posted the portion I wrote below:

First Impressions.

I had heard of Garry when he was an eighth-grader during the 1960-61 school year at St. Barbara’s grade school, near Schaefer and Michigan in East Dearborn. I was also in the eighth grade, attending St. Alphonsus school, just a mile or two to the north. Garry and I both had neighborhood reputations as athletes at our respective schools.

St. Al’s, however, had a much more successful CYO sports program than St. Barbara’s. We won our divisional football championship in the fall, going undefeated; we won our divisional basketball championship in the winter, going undefeated again; and we were 6 and 0 in the league in baseball that spring when we played Garry’s St. Barbara team on a sunny May afternoon at Gear Field.

That’s when--BAM--it happened: “Down go the Arrows…down go the Arrows…to Dearborn St. Barbara’s.” An old news clip from The Michigan Catholic, a popular weekly newspaper in those days, included the following snippet about CYO baseball that spring: “Dearborn St. Barbara’s came through with the upset of the week by knocking off St. Alphonsus, 11-8. St. Alphonsus still holds first place in the Southwest Division with a 6-1 mark.”

Neither Garry nor I could ever recall how either one of us performed on the field that day. We did recall, however, that we both looked forward to joining forces and playing sports together in high school. St. Barbara did not have a high school; St. Alphonsus did. Garry had long planned to enroll for his freshman year (1961-62) at St. Al’s, where his brother had been a track star, one of the top high school hurdlers in the state.

When we began high school in the fall of ‘61, I recall standing in the middle of the playground with my close friend Anthony Adams, along with Sam Bitonti and Patrick Rogers. I remember looking over to Calhoun, the side-street on which the high school was located, and noticed a small procession of cars dropping off new students from St. Barbara’s: twins Jim and Mike Keller, Sue Hudzik, Margo Tellish (Garry’s grade school girlfriend) and the “big fella” himself.

At the urging of Garry’s mother, Jim, Mike and Garry wore white shirts to school that day. “The boys” and I, on the other hand, wore multi-colored shirts (mine was purple), skinny ties, tight pants and pointed shoes. Looking like “the Sharks” from West Side Story, we approached the new kids, welcomed them to St. Al’s and shook their hands.

I’ve long thought that the way we were each dressed that day—Garry in his white button-down, me in my bold attire—portended the essence of what we would ultimately take away from each other at the completion of high school: for me, a determination to go about things the right way; for him, a touch of edginess.

The Person. The Scholar. The Athlete.

I never knew anyone who didn’t like Garry Faja. Unless, that is, you count a hulking bruiser by the name of “Bucyk” from Ashtabula, who elbowed our buddy Tony Adams in the chest and tried to intimidate us on the street at Geneva-on-the-Lake, Ohio. (Thank God we talked our way out of that one.) Otherwise, all the guys, girls, parents, nuns and coaches of the St. Al’s community loved Garry. He commanded respect on every level—for his heart, his intelligence, his athletic prowess.

Garry was a born leader. Despite being the “new guy,” he made such a good early impression in high school that he was elected president of the freshman class. He was a member of the student council all four years. And he was elected president of our senior class.

Garry was an excellent student, a member of the National Honor Society. He was neither class valedictorian--that was Lorraine Denby--nor the salutatorian--that was my girlfriend, Leslie Klein—but he had an extraordinary ability to “figure things out,” enabling him to excel at algebra, trigonometry, chemistry, the sciences. Moreover, he was highly disciplined. He had what our parents called “stick-to-it-tive-ness,” and it served him well at everything he did.

Garry was an organizer, a strategic thinker, who rallied for increased student attendance and crowd participation at high school games, involvement in a big-brother/big-sister-type mentoring program by seniors for freshmen, as well as causes he believed in. For example, it was Garry, with support from senior class leaders such as Larry Fitch, Vince Capizzo, Tony Adams and myself who compiled a list of “Ten Demands” that were presented to the school principal, Sister Marie Ruth, on behalf of the Class of ’65. It was, essentially, a protest against what we perceived to be unreasonable rules and disciplinary actions created by the priests and nuns of St. Alphonsus: single-file lines and “no talking” during change of class; locked school doors on sub-zero mornings during winter; mandatory daily Mass attendance, etc.

It was a daring, out-of-the box challenge to religious authority for a bunch of Catholic high school kids in those days. Predictably, our demands went nowhere and we were disciplined by having to stay inside the school for two weeks during recess, and, ironically, forbidden to attend daily Mass for two weeks. (The nuns showed us, I guess.)  

Sometimes I wonder whether our youthful backlash, with Garry at the forefront, was an early tip-off to the kind of student thinking that morphed into the free-speech movement and anti-war protests that developed on college campuses across the country a year or two later.

As highly as Garry is remembered as a person and leader by St. Al’s Class of ’65, he is recalled by “old Arrows” for his basketball playing ability. He was a starter on the JV squad from day one of his freshman year. However, it took just a few weeks for the coaches to realize that he was talented enough to help the varsity. In Coach Dave Kline’s last year at St. Alphonsus, Garry was moved up to the varsity where he became “sixth man,” before being designated a starter at mid-season. That was big stuff, really big stuff, for a freshman at our school.

So what kind of player was Garry?

A mini-version of former U-M standout Terry Mills, in my estimation. He was a shade under 6’2” tall…thick-skinned…had a nice 15-foot jump shot…and an ability to use his derriere to “get position” under the basket. Any former St. Al’s player would tell you that Garry had game and a distinctive way of gliding up and down the court. For some reason, he also suffered severely sprained ankles more often than any other young athlete I have ever known.

Garry and I were starters together for three years under Coach Ron Mrozinski and were elected co-captains as seniors. Garry once said, “Lenny, we gotta be the team’s one-two punch.” I had speed and quickness, often stealing the ball at mid-court, and would dump it off to Garry who could be counted on to fill the lane. If he came up with the ball after the other team turned it over, I was to beat my man and streak toward the basket, expecting to receive the ball from Garry. We pulled that stuff off dozens of times each year. But we never realized our dream of winning the Catholic League’s A-West Division title and competing in the Catholic League tournament at the U-D Memorial Building (now called Calihan Hall).

However, Garry was named to the Dearborn Independent’s all-city basketball team after his senior season in 1965, a particularly special honor when you consider that St. Al’s had an enrollment of just 450 students, while most other first-teamers and “honorable mentions” on the all-city squad came from Class A schools with enrollments approaching 2,000 (Fordson, Dearborn High and Edsel Ford).

Happy Days at Camp Dearborn.

It was prime time for Dearborn during the early-to-mid ‘60s. The city had idyllic neighborhoods, spilling over with kids from the baby boom generation. The Ford Rouge plant was pumping out record numbers of vehicles, including an all-new “pony car” called the Mustang. And it owned Camp Dearborn (in Milford, 30-35 miles away), over 600 acres of rolling land with several man-made lakes, devoted to the recreational interests of Dearborn residents.

One of Camp Dearborn’s attractions was a narrow tract of land along the Huron River, designated for tent camping by teenagers. Dubbed “Hobo Village,” it was “chaperoned”—if you want to call it that--by a couple of disinterested college kids who worked day jobs, cleaning up the camp, and who lived in their own tent on the river.  As 15-year-olds in the summer of ’62, Garry and I got our first taste of independence when we camped there together for a week.

We set up a large tent, with two cots inside, that my Dad had purchased at a garage sale. We hung a Washington Senators pennant to decorate its interior. And we subsisted on Spam and eggs that we cooked in a Sunbeam electric fry pan (we had access to electricity) that my Mom let us borrow.

Every evening we’d cross the camp on foot en route to the Canteen for the nightly dances. We’d get “pumped” every time we heard “Do You Love Me” by the Contours playing in the distance. Our goal, of course, was to meet “chicks,” and we attended the dances for seven straight nights. However, I don’t recall that we ever met a girl. Or even mustered the courage to ask one to dance.

But that all changed in the summer of ’63.

Camp Dearborn had another, larger camping area for families called “Tent Village,” featuring hundreds of tents built of canvas and wood, set on slabs of concrete, each equipped with a shed-like structure that housed a mini refrigerator, mini stove and shelves for storing staples. The mother of our classmate, Patty O’Reilly, agreed to chaperone a tent full of St. Al’s girls, next to the O’Reilly family tent, while Tony’s mother, Mrs. Adams, agreed to chaperone a tent full of boys, next to the Adams family tent.

Tony, Vince Capizzo, Larry Fitch, Dennis Belmont, Garry and I occupied one tent. Our girlfriends occupied the other. Much to my amazement, my parents allowed me to take their new, 1963 Pontiac Bonneville coupe to camp for the week. So we had everything we needed—hot chicks, a hot car, rock ‘n’ roll, the dances and secret “make out” spots in the camp (Garry’s girlfriend at the time was a cute blonde St. Al’s cheerleader, Donna Hutson). It all made for perhaps the happiest days of our teenage lives.

And we did it all over again in the summer of ’64.

During both years we were involved in shenanigans galore: We threw grape “Fizzies” into the camp’s swimming pool…we switched out a hamburger from Vince’s hamburger bun and replaced it with a Gainsburger (dog food)…and one afternoon we took my Dad’s Bonneville out to a lonely, two-lane country road, just outside of General Motors’ proving grounds in Milford, where we floored the accelerator and topped out somewhere north of 100 mph. It scared the shit out of us when we hit a bird in mid-flight that splattered all over the windshield. Thank God for laminated safety glass. Thank God we lived to tell the tale.

Which brings me to the “edgy” side of the teenage Garry Faja.

Stupid Stuff We Did.

When Garry came to St. Al’s, my circle of friends became his circle of friends. And an eclectic group it was. Some were college bound kids. Some were mischievous pranksters. A few were borderline juvenile delinquents. None of us, including Garry, were immune to peer pressure. Consequently, we did some pretty stupid things. Here are a few examples:

The Toledo Caper--On a snowy Friday night after a basketball game during our sophomore year in high school, Garry, Jim “Bo” Bozynski and I trudged down Warren Avenue in our letter jackets, headed for Bo’s house, with the intention of ordering a pizza.

It was, perhaps, ten o’clock at night as we crossed the field in front of Bo’s home on Manor in five-inch-deep snow. As we looked ahead, Bo surmised that because the house looked dark, his parents were already in bed and likely asleep. That’s when he hatched a plan:

Bo proposed to enter the back door of his house, go to the kitchen and retrieve the keys to the Bozynski’s ’58 Mercury sedan. Then, he, Garry and I would quietly open the garage door, push the Merc down the snow-covered driveway and out to the street, where we would start the car…and head for Toledo.

Neither Garry nor I objected to the idea. Ultimately, the plan worked to perfection.

However, we were just 15 years old and had not yet obtained our driver’s licenses. Plus, Bo grabbed a bottle of Bali Hai wine that he had stashed in the garage. And, the snow kept falling…then turned to rain. We drove through slop and glop on Telegraph Road, made it to I-75 and took turns at the wheel between gulps of cheap wine as the windshield wipers labored to clear the mounting sleet piling up on the windshield.

I was sitting in the back seat, the bottle of Bali at my side, when the car slid out of control in the middle of the southbound freeway, somewhere in the downriver area. I don’t recall whether it was Bo or Garry who was driving at the time. But I do recall that the car made a 360, sliding across two lanes of freeway, before coming to an abrupt stop in a snow bank on the side of the road.

We got out of the car. No one had hit us. Miraculously, we had not hit anyone or anything. There was no damage to the Bozynski’s family car. That’s when three stupid teenagers got back into the vehicle, reversed course, headed for Dearborn, killed the engine as we turned into the Bozynski’s driveway, silently pushed the Merc back into the garage, and turned in for the night at Bo’s.

No one was ever the wiser.

The Speeding Ticket—Both Garry’s parents and mine were strict disciplinarians when it came to girls and dating, but they rarely said no whenever we asked to borrow the car. We had already turned 16 when on a beautiful June day we took a bus downtown, filled out some paperwork (or maybe took a test) and obtained our drivers’ licenses. My Dad used his old ’58 Chrysler to get to work that day and let me have the Bonneville for our use when I got home. So, Garry, Larry and I jumped in the car and headed to Rouge Park for some joy riding. As usual, we disconnected the speedometer and took the “breather” off the carb so that the exhaust would make a throatier sound when we put the pedal to the medal. When we got to the park, I turned the wheel over to Garry. It was not as though he ordinarily had a heavy foot, but he did that day. I doubt that Garry was at the wheel for more than a few minutes when he spotted the red flasher of a Detroit cop car in the rear-view mirror. We pulled over. The policeman was all business…and gave Garry a ticket for speeding. Garry’s parents were furious that afternoon when he got home and explained what had happened. Garry went to court and lost his license for 30 days.

The Stolen Cadillac--It was a beautiful summer evening and we were playing our usual game of pick-up basketball in the alley between Tony’s house and Schaefer Lanes. As I recall, four of us were just shooting around—Garry, Tony, Butch Forystek and me. Someone looked up and noticed that a 1963 Cadillac Coupe de Ville had turned off the side-street, Morross, and was slowly making its way up the alley. It stopped in front of us. Our pals, Joe McCracken and Gary “the Bear” Pearson, jumped out of the car. Turns out that the Caddy had been parked in front of a store, with the keys in the ignition. Joe and Bear got in, fired up the Caddy, and drove it to Tony’s. Then we all got in, took turns driving the car, and went to M&H gas station to buy Coke and chips. For reasons unknown, Joe and Bear unlocked the trunk of the car. Underneath the rear deck lid were piles of pressed clothes on hangers in plastic bags, apparently for delivery by someone who owned a dry-cleaning establishment. Also, there was a narrow envelope atop the pile of clothes. Someone opened it. Much to our amazement it contained over $200 in cash. We all got back into the car and headed for a cruise down Woodward Avenue. We stopped along the way at a sporting goods store to buy a new basketball. On northbound Woodward, as it passes over Eight Mile Road in Detroit, Butch grabbed a handful of cash and threw it out the window. (It seemed hilarious at the time.) Garry and I each took a five-dollar bill, reasoning that keeping such a paltry sum would not be considered a “mortal sin.” After taking turns doing “neutral slams” at red lights, we turned the car around, headed back to Tony’s, and continued playing basketball while Joe and the Bear ditched the car. 

Again, no one was ever the wiser.  

The Shotgun Incident—It was a crisp fall afternoon. Garry and I were hanging out with Tony in his parents�� basement, while Mr. and Mrs. Adams were away, attending some sort of event. Tony knew where Mr. Adams, a bird hunter, stored his shotgun, and proceeded to take it out to show us. There were also a few boxes of shells next to the gun. Tony informed us that his Dad owned a large piece of vacant property in an area that was known as Canton Township at the time. Knowing that his folks would not be home for several hours, we took the shotgun, a box of shells and placed it in the trunk of Mrs. Adams’ Ford Falcon. Off we went to the property in Canton. To hunt sparrows. Tony had seen his father load the gun. Otherwise, none of us had ever had any training in the proper handling of firearms. We knew enough to stand behind the guy with the shotgun in his hands. We took turns shooting into the trees. And bagged a couple of small birds. We eventually returned to Tony’s and put the shotgun away. 

Yet again, no one was ever the wiser.

How The 53-Game Streak Started.

Most people know that Garry and I attended 53 straight Michigan-Michigan State football games together—whether in Ann Arbor or East Lansing—from 1965 to 2017. In fact, when the streak ended, we had been in-stadium for 48 percent of the Michigan-Michigan State games ever played.

Prior to the 2018 game, however, Garry determined that he would not be able to negotiate the steep ramps to the second deck of Spartan Stadium due to his failing knees. So, for the first time in our lives—since the days of black and white TV--we watched the game together on the tube. Here is the seemingly unremarkable way a renowned tradition began…plus a closing thought:

As I remember it, Tony Adams, Garry and I were sitting in my bedroom on a hot, steamy, mid-August afternoon, making future plans as we counted down the days to the beginning of our respective college careers. Tony would be going off to Western Michigan University as a business major. Garry would be attending U-M, majoring in engineering. While I planned to attend MSU to study journalism.

We had been athletes. Competitors to the core. Garry and I knew that our respective schools would rarely, if ever, be playing Western, but we certainly understood that he and I would be butting heads in the future, pulling for opposing teams in the Big Ten Conference every year. So, in a spirit of friendship, we mutually decided to get together every fall to attend the Michigan-Michigan State football game until one of us died.

It was as simple as that.

But when I think back to that muggy August afternoon when we made our pact, it seems a metaphor for all the goals, hopes and dreams we so often talked about between the games, joy rides, dances, pranks, parties and school projects we collaborated on at St. Al’s from 1961 to 1965. I often think, for example, about how Garry and I worked alternate days at my uncle’s store, from the spring of our junior year until the fall of our senior year, and shared tips and insights into how we each did our jobs—long before anyone ever used the term “best practices”--so that we could be the best damn stock boys my uncle ever had. As I hinted earlier, I will always be grateful to Garry for making a lasting contribution to my determination to do things the right way in life. And I’d like to think that Garry thought well of my tendency to “push the envelope” on the things I attempted, and that maybe I made a contribution to the release of his creative potential.     

Miss you, Big Guy.

[papapiusxiii]

50 Great Thrillers by Women, as recommended by 10 of the UK’s female crime writers

Sophie Hannah:

Summertime by Liz Rigbey. Follows a woman who loses her baby and whose father unexpectedly drowns. When her husband and sister close ranks against her, she begins to suspect they are lying to her.

The Spider’s House by Sarah Diamond. Also published as In the Spider’s House. When Anna Howell discovers that a 1960s child murderess was the previous resident of her old cottage, her marriage, sanity and life come under threat.

Hidden by Katy Gardner. When a young mother’s seven-year-old daughter disappears, she finds herself questioning everything in her life. Then a police officer starts asking about the murder of a woman 14 months earlier …

A Shred of Evidence by Jill McGown. DI Judy Hill and DCI Lloyd investigate the murder of a 15-year-old girl on a patch of open parkland in the centre of town.

Searching for Shona by Margaret Jean Anderson

The wealthy Marjorie Malcolm-Scott trades suitcases, destinations and identities with orphan Shona McInnes, as children are evacuated from Edinburgh at the start of the second world war.

Val McDermid:

The Franchise Affair by Josephine Tey. A teenage war orphan accuses two women of kidnap and abuse, but something about her story doesn’t add up.

Rubbernecker by Belinda Bauer. The Booker-longlisted author of Snap follows it up with the tale of a medical student with Asperger’s who attempts to solve a murder.

The Field of Blood by Denise Mina. The first in the Paddy Meehan series sees the reporter looking into the disappearance of a child from his Glasgow home, with evidence pointing the police towards two young boys.

A Fatal Inversion by Barbara Vine. Writing under her pen name, Ruth Rendell tells of the discovery of a woman and child in the animal cemetery at Wyvis Hall, 10 years after a group of young people spent the summer there.

When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson. In the third Jackson Brodie book, a man is released from prison 30 years after he butchered the mother and siblings of a six-year-old girl in the Devon countryside.

Ann Cleeves:

Little Deaths by Emma Flint. Inspired by the real case of Alice Crimmins, this tells of a woman whose two children go missing from her apartment in Queens.

The Dry by Jane Harper. During Australia’s worst drought in a century, three members of one family in a small country town are murdered, with the father believed to have killed his wife and son before committing suicide.

Devices and Desires by PD James. Adam Dalgliesh takes on a serial killer terrorising a remote Norfolk community.

The End of the Wasp Season by Denise Mina. Heavily pregnant DS Alex Morrow investigates the violent death of a wealthy woman in Glasgow.

Fire Sale by Sara Paretsky. The inimitable VI Warshawski takes over coaching duties of the girls’ basketball team at her former high school, and investigates the explosion of the flag manufacturing plant where one of the girl’s mothers works.

Sharon Bolton:

Gone by Mo Hayder. In Hayder’s fifth thriller featuring Bristol DI Jack Caffrey, he goes after a car-jacker who is taking vehicles with children in them.

Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris. A murderous revenge is being plotted against the boys’ grammar school in the north of England where eccentric Latin master Roy Straitley is contemplating retirement.

The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. A time-travelling, murderous war veteran steps through the decades to murder extraordinary women – his “shining girls” – in Chicago, in this high-concept thriller.

The Wicked Girls by Alex Marwood. Two women who were sentenced for murdering a six-year-old when they were children meet again as adults, when one discovers the body of a teenager.

Apple Tree Yard by Louise Doughty. Married scientist Yvonne, who is drawn into a passionate affair with a stranger, is on trial for murder.

Sarah Ward:

A Place of Execution by Val McDermid. Journalist Catherine Heathcote investigates the disappearance of a 13-year-old girl in the Peak District village of Scarsdale in 1963.

The Crossing Places by Elly Griffiths. Forensic archaeologist Dr Ruth Galloway investigates the discovery of a child’s bones near the site of a prehistoric henge on the north Norfolk salt marshes.

The Ice House by Minette Walters. A decade after Phoebe Maybury’s husband inexplicably vanished, a corpse is found and the police become determined to charge her with murder.

The Liar’s Girl by Catherine Ryan Howard. When a body is found in Dublin’s Grand Canal, police turn to the notorious Canal Killer for help. But the imprisoned murderer will only talk to the woman he was dating when he committed his crimes.

This Night’s Foul Work by Fred Vargas (translated by Sian Reynolds). Commissaire Adamsberg investigates whether there is a connection between the escape of a murderous 75-year-old nurse from prison, and the discovery of two men with their throats cut on the outskirts of Paris.

Elly Griffiths: 

R in the Month by Nancy Spain. Sadly out of print, this is an atmospheric story set in a down-at-heel hotel in a postwar seaside town. The period detail is perfect and jokes and murders abound. This is the fourth book featuring the fantastic Miriam Birdseye, actress and rather slapdash sleuth.

The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey. A gripping crime novel in which the detective never gets out of bed and the murder happened over 500 years ago. Griffith says: “I read this book as a child and was hooked – on Tey, crime fiction and Richard the Third.”

The Detective’s Daughter by Lesley Thomson. Cleaner Stella Darnell finds herself tidying up her detective father’s final, unfinished case, after he dies. It is the first in a series featuring Stella and her sidekick Jack, an underground train driver who can sense murder.

A Place of Execution by Val McDermid. Griffiths says: “I could have chosen any of Val’s novels, but this book, about a journalist revisiting a shocking 1960s murder, is probably my favourite because of its wonderful sense of time and place. It’s also pitch perfect about journalism, police investigation and life in a small community.”

He Said, She Said by Erin Kelly. An account of a rape trial at which nothing is quite as it seems. Griffiths says: “The story centres around a lunar eclipse, which also works wonderfully as a metaphor and image.”

Dreda Say Mitchell: 

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. The Gone Girl author’s debut follows journalist Camille’s investigation into the abduction and murder of two girls in her Missouri home town.

Dangerous Lady by Martina Cole. Cole’s first novel sees 17-year-old Maura Ryan taking on the men of London’s gangland.

The Mermaids Singing by Val McDermid. Clinical psychologist Dr Tony Hill is asked to profile a serial killer when four men are found mutilated and tortured.

Indemnity Only by Sara Paretsky. A client tells VI Warshawski he is a prominent banker looking for his son’s missing girlfriend. But VI soon discovers he’s lying, and that the real banker’s son is dead.

The St Cyr series by CS Harris. Mitchell has nominated the whole of this historical mystery series about Sebastian St Cyr, Viscount Devlin – master of disguises, heir to an earldom, and disillusioned army officer. It’s a bit of a cheat but we’ll let her have it.

Erin Kelly:

No Night Is Too Long by Barbara Vine. Tim Cornish thinks he has gotten away with killing his lover in Alaska. But then the letters start to arrive …

Broken Harbour by Tana French. The fourth in French’s sublime Dublin Murder Squad series, this takes place in a ghost estate outside Dublin, where a father and his two children have been found dead, with the mother on her way to intensive care.

Chosen by Lesley Glaister. When Dodie’s mother hangs herself, she has to leave her baby at home and go to bring her brother Jake back from the mysterious Soul Life Centre in New York.

A Savage Hunger by Claire McGowan. Forensic psychologist Paula Maguire investigates the disappearance of a girl, and a holy relic, from a remote religious shrine in the fictional Irish town of Ballyterrin.

The Cry by Helen Fitzgerald. Parents Joanna and Alistair start to turn against each other after their baby goes missing from a remote roadside in Australia.

Sarah Hilary:

The Hours Before Dawn by Celia Fremlin. A sleep-deprived young mother tries to stay sane while her fears grow about the family’s new lodger, in this 1950s lost classic.

Cruel Acts by Jane Casey. Leo Stone, sentenced to life in prison for the murder of two women, is now free and claims he is innocent. DS Maeve Kerrigan and DI Josh Derwen want to put him back in jail, but Maeve begins doubting his guilt – until another woman disappears.

Sex Crimes by Jenefer Shute. A lawyer’s New Year’s Eve pick-up spirals into an erotic obsession which leads to graphic cruelty.

Skin Deep by Liz Nugent. Nugent, whom Ian Rankin has compared to Patricia Highsmith, tells the story of a woman who has been passing herself off as an English socialite on the Riviera for 25 years – until the arrival of someone who knows her from her former life prompts an act of violence.

Cuckoo by Julia Crouch. Rose’s home and family start to fall apart when her best friend Polly comes to stay.

Louise Candlish:

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie. Christie’s classic – with a legendary twist. The best Hercule Poirot?

The Two Faces of January by Patricia Highsmith. A conman on the run with his wife meets a young American who becomes drawn into the crime they commit.

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood. The author of The Handmaid’s Tale imagines the life of the real 19th-century Canadian killer Grace Marks.

Little Face by Sophie Hannah. Hannah’s thriller debut is about a young mother who becomes convinced that, after spending two hours away from her baby, the infant is not hers.

Alys, Always by Harriet Lane. Newspaper subeditor Frances is drawn into the lives of the Kyte family when she hears the last words of the victim of a car crash, Alys Kyte.

[awesomelaura1996world]

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[adevotedappraisal]

DNA. By Kendrick Lamar from DAMN.

What is that there, lying in the heart of man?  What is there composing the shifting totality of a person?  Is it that rushing ambition to conquer? To eliminate? Is the heart of man to assimilate this environment around it in order to live with it?  Or is it to be a library of emotions, compiling sights, sounds and snippets of experiences that make up the whole of a person?  Or is it yet the limitations, the things outside of one’s reach that define the person?  You see I think this Compton, California rapper ruminated on questions similar to this and, like the great poet Walt Whitman, concluded that the soul can never be greater than the body and that the body cannot be greater than the soul, and he tried to coincide this with the pursuit of making an album that reaches out to try to be everything to everyone, and I think this approach reveals Kendrick Lamar letting go parts of himself to the hearth of the past in order to become the great American rap artist he needs to be.

What if your life doesn’t flash before your eyes when you die?  What if your life plays before your ears, in uncompressed audio?  Hey what if, like, you died and instead of Saint Peter there was Kid Capri rocking your book of life? Wouldn’t that be unexpected yet ill? And what if you replayed this book-of-life album in the reverse order and it flowed well and you could still tease out some meaning, or imagined meaning from the whole thing? Well some of this is what is going with Kendrick Lamar’s latest album DAMN., an album more open-ended and undefined than his previous releases, even as the songs explore his issues in this bold, concise and direct way.

And what is this talk about this album being ‘everything to everyone’? And what is this ‘direct way’ I speak of? What are these euphemisms in service of? Well, a buncha shiny, well-produced sellout songs to be curt. But hold on now, we gotta unpack that a bit because this is Kendrick we’re talking about, not some genre artist tossing up a hail mary of Pop fluff to prevent being dropped from their label.  This is Kendrick Lamar, who achieved his breakthrough year behind his most experimental and dense album, 2015s To Pimp a Butterfly.(review) It’s like if Stevie Wonder gained a strong following on Songs in the Key of Life but blew up internationally after releasing his obscure, mostly instrumental album Journey into the Secret Life of Plants.  The point being that any foray into contemporary sounds here is not an act of gasping desperation, but a considered and meaningful exploration, because let’s be honest here, after the positive reception from his leftovers EP untitled unmastered, ( he could have launched into his Miles Davis-esque electric period for a couple years and no one would’ve batted an eye.  

So these songs that take a nod to the radio (there go the euphemisms again, look make no mistake, these radio songs condescend heavily to modern sounds, in a near cynical display) must be judged on the ultimate efficacy of the end result.  At the end of the day, does Kung Fu Kenny sound good doing this shuffle? For the most part, yes he does.  It comes off more like the Nile Rodgers produced Let’s Dance album by David Bowie, as opposed to, say, any Mick Jagger solo album, or Hammer’s 2 Legit 2 Quit or something. In fact, you know how every now and then Fat Joe sometimes gets on some modern production of the moment and turns it into a Bronx anthem? Kendrick is like that at times here, like with “ELEMENT.,” a sparse head-nodder with Lamar rhyming, not too complex and rapid fire, but in a nonchalant and playful style, reminiscent of If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late-era Drake, warning “we ain’t going back to broke families selling dope” at one moment and doing a spot on Juvenile “Ha” impression the next, or with “GOD.,” a splendid slice of rap-pop of braggadocio with reverberating shimmering synths, synth bass and understated drums, Kendrick stretching out lines in the ear candy chorus with joyful relish.  He sounds comfortable here, experimenting with his words, slowing the cadence, singing a line here, doing a Quavo-esque ad lib there, making his presence in the radio and streaming playlists of people the way the Rakims and Daddy Kanes had to do in decades of yore.  

You see the great MCs, I mean the ones in peoples top ten, weren’t aloof, reclusive emperors tossing down sprawling, screeds without choruses from the castle tower. Nah, they were politicians, trying their best to get on the dancefloor of the club, shaking hands, kissing babies, prodding you to sing the chorus for them on the count of four.  His grip on this enterprise though becomes shaky on first single “HUMBLE.,” where he’s lumbering in an awkward gait on a Mike Will Made It beat which kinda sounds like a drunk, spastic Thelonious Monk banging keys in a strip club, and he’s the same on “LOYALTY.” with Rhianna.  Over a clean, cosmopolitan groove, with waxy, reversed voices floating by, the two remind us that loyalty and trust are central to any relationship, a prerequisite for love in fact.  Rhianna is fine here, intriguing even with her cool realisations and raps, but Kendrick is near anonymous on the song, reduced to a wallflower mumble on the summer cookout-ready banger.

While some songs are set up to accompany a cool, night at a trendy scene or as perfect driving music, some other songs have a density to them, made ornate and true with the person inside them.  “DNA.” is like this, with Kendrick in full command on a pair of Mike Will Made It beats, telling us all about this things wrought and proud within him.  As confident as he is on the sitar slinking around the cool stroll of the 808 drums, by the second beat he’s barely contained, belittling and dismissing unnamed rivals over a booming beat frenzied with a hectic vocal sample.  The song captures your attention and doesn’t let go.  It’s easily the best opener of any album of his.

“XXX.” with U2 is one of the emotional centers of the album, with the first verse –over some Ice Cube Bomb Squad era beat– showing an incensed Kendrick telling a man seeking advice for a dead relative that he would seek revenge by gun violence if it were him, offering no solace to the inquisitor, only blunt street invective.  The second verse, with Bono crooning about America with a knowing reflection that recalls the slower songs on the Side B of his Joshua Tree album, show Kendrick proposing that the violence in him and around this country are one and the same, existing in him with the same barely constrained ferocity that exists in U.S. domestic and foreign policy sometimes. I always like this conceptual side to Lamar, and we see it again with “FEAR.,” although its middle verse features a too-subdued Kendrick talking about all the things he thought he could die by when he was a late teen.  It’s too elementary, not only in comparison to the fiery and self-reflective first and third verses but to the nature of this beat.   This Alchemist beat would be the darling heart to any number of East Coast MCs winter albums.  With its ruminating bassline, flints of funk guitar, snatches of organ fills and samples of soul vocal lines, runs and hums, the beat was made for blunt wrappers, freestyle sessions and those thick studio monitor  headphones that so often look like halos. Black Thought would’ve kicked the teeth in this beat.  Royce could murder this for four, five verses easy.  It’s in this context that Kendrick falters, the sober nature of his fears blunted by the warm fog of this beat.  

He fares better with “DUCKWORTH,” yet another soul voice and harmony sample chop, this time by 9th Wonder adroitly stitching three different beats together to match temporal and mood changes.  Over this now Kendrick is commanding, telling a story of an up and coming gangster who meets with a wily fast food drive-thru worker, shading in the two characters with tales of hood agility and cross country wanderlust. The ending of the song talks about a choice not taken, and the choice that could’ve been taken and the resultant death that would’ve occurred to our not-so-faithful narrator.  

I mean this album is obsessed with violence, is moody and is suspicious of people when it’s not celebrating the trappings of being the most talked about rapper around.  It’s all over the place thematically but self-assured musically in the way that a lot of self-titled albums were made once upon a time.  You know I think that’s what this is in a sense, Kendrick Lamar’s Kendrick Lamar album, a self-portrait of the artist as young man, all dressed up in a life-flashes-before-your-eyes concept album framework, but there it is, a glimpse of the changing man and his vulpine ambitions, what he gained and what he’s let go of, a launching pad from which he could go in any direction next go around, no doubt engendering questions again. Because he, like us, as the Brooklyn poet Whitman reminds, contradicts himself, for he is large, and he does contain multitudes.

[your-dietician]

Jack Grealish: England’s Golden Boy

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/soccer/jack-grealish-englands-golden-boy/

Jack Grealish: England’s Golden Boy

The Wembley Stadium crowd was calling for him, yearning for him, long before it had seen him. The second half of England’s game with Germany had reached a deadlock. The English had not troubled Manuel Neuer’s goal for some time; the Germans had mustered a single shot, and then retreated into their shell. Stalemate had set in.

England had a wealth of talent on its bench to break it: Phil Foden, with his Gascoigne-blond hair, Manchester City’s great rising star. Jadon Sancho, coming off a devastating season in the Bundesliga. Manchester United’s spiritual leader, Marcus Rashford. The dynamic and industrious Mason Mount, a Champions League winner only a month ago.

England’s fans, though, wanted someone else. They wanted a player who would not even have been in contention for a place on the roster, let alone the team, had this tournament taken place, as scheduled, last summer. They wanted a player who had, at that point, only nine caps and precisely zero goals for his country.

They wanted a player who had never set foot in the Champions League, or even the Europa League, a player who had never won a cup or a league or a first-rate honor of any sort. They wanted a player whose greatest contribution to his national team to that point was a flick — admittedly, a brilliantly inventive one — in a defeat to Belgium late last year.

But despite all of that, the fans knew exactly whom they wanted. They started to sing his name, to demand that Gareth Southgate, the manager, summon him from the bench and send him into the thick of England’s biggest game since 2018 and its biggest game on home soil in 25 years.

They wanted Jack Grealish, and nobody else.

England has spent a lot of time, over the last year or so, thinking about Grealish. At first, it was in the context of one of those classic English either/or debates, the sort of complex issue boiled down to a simple binary that fills all those quiet hours of radio and litters message boards and allows columnists to fulminate and encourages readers to click, click, click.

Should Southgate call up Grealish — the 25-year-old captain of Aston Villa, his boyhood team — or James Maddison, 24, the Leicester City playmaker with the slicked-back hair?

The answer, obviously, could have been both, or neither, or “well, they’re very different players and so this is a bit like asking whether England should play Harry Kane or a goalkeeper.” But that did not matter. What mattered was the question: Grealish, Maddison, either, or?

Southgate, not especially conveniently, settled that one a few weeks ago, when Grealish made his squad for Euro 2020 and Maddison did not. Smoothly, the debate shifted to acknowledge the updated circumstances. Grealish did not appear at all in England’s opening game against Croatia. Should Southgate be picking him? He was only a substitute against Scotland. Should he be starting? He was on the team against the Czech Republic. Should he not be the centerpiece of the side?

And then, 20 minutes or so into the second half of England’s round of 16 game with Germany on Tuesday, as Wembley was starting to fret about extra time and penalties and we all know how that ends against the Germans, the crowd made its verdict known. Pointedly, it started to chant Grealish’s name. It was not meant only as a paean for the player. It was an urgent, unanimous instruction for Southgate.

The England manager had all of that talent — Premier League winners and Champions League winners and stars from Manchester United and Chelsea and Manchester City — sitting on the bench. And yet it was Grealish, with his nine caps and no goals and no real experience in these situations, who the public had decided was the man for the job.

There is, as they say, a lot to unpack here. On one level, there is a very good reason that England — in the sense of its fans, its prominent cheerleaders and the public as a whole — has fallen so hard for Grealish: He is a very fine footballer, indeed.

In many ways, he is not a particularly English one. Or, rather, he is not the sort of player England has produced for a long time, since the heyday of all of those mercurial schemers in the 1970s. With his long hair and his rolled-down socks, Grealish evokes a player who is the antithesis of an English footballer: the Portuguese playmaker Rui Costa. Regular readers of this newsletter will know that, in these parts, there is no higher praise.

Grealish is graceful and strong and relentlessly inventive, among the most creative players in Europe, in fact. He shows for the ball, and he carries the ball, and he makes things happen. But the fact that the acclaim is not misplaced does not mean its pitch is not slightly unusual.

Grealish is good, but so are Rashford and Foden and Sancho. That, in the eyes of the public, they all now exist in Grealish’s shadow is a strange phenomenon, not one adequately explained by his abilities on the field.

Instead, it is hard to avoid the suspicion that part of the affection for Grealish comes not from what he does, but who he is, or what he seems to stand for. First and foremost, he passes the eye test: He looks like a good player. He has something, indeed, of Beckham about him — the on-trend hair; the tattoos; the artful, idiosyncratic style of his socks.

More important, there is the fact that he looks like a player in a way that is recognizable to the fans. A few months ago, a video of four men in their 20s — all from Birmingham, Grealish’s hometown, as it happens — that had been manipulated to make the men look like they were singing a sea shanty (lockdown has been long and weird, hasn’t it?) went viral.

It is not an attempt to pass judgment on their look — musclebound, tattooed, some clothes too baggy, some clothes too tight, unnecessary glasses — to suggest that they were decked out in what is an instantly familiar uniform to anyone who has been out beyond 9 p.m. in a provincial British city in the last five years. It is not an attempt to pass judgment on Grealish to say that he looks like he might be friends with them. He has, in a very 21st century way, an Everyman quality.

That extends below the surface. Grealish plays for Aston Villa, his hometown club. He has had chances to leave but has stayed loyal (so far, at least). He has had missteps and invoked the ire of the tabloids more than once. He has attracted and warranted criticism, but his flaws make him a little more rounded than the image of the devoted, dedicated and ultimately quite boring superathlete that most of his peers cultivate. Fans can see themselves in Grealish. He is not perfect, but he is relatable.

More important than all of that is the simple fact that Grealish, compared with much of the England squad, is fresh. He is, to some extent, a blank slate.

Fans have watched Harry Kane and Rashford and Raheem Sterling for years. What they offer, the things that they can do, the things that make them special, are all well known. But so, too, are the things they cannot do, the flaws in their game. They have all been scrutinized to their very souls. The country knows, or at least thinks it knows, every single one of their shortcomings.

That does not apply to Grealish. Until relatively recently, most fans would only ever have seen him in highlights. Even over the last year, when every game has been televised, the vast majority will not have tuned in religiously to see Aston Villa play. To most, then, Grealish still has a box-fresh air.

That he has not played in the Champions League is, in that sense, an advantage, too. Not only does it mean he is immune to the tribalism that envelops England’s superpowers — fans of Manchester United and Manchester City alike will not feel dirty for wishing an Aston Villa player well — he has not had to cope with the exposure that comes with playing at the very highest level, for the biggest clubs and in the biggest games.

He has not been subjected to microscopic analysis after a disappointing performance against Bayern Munich. He has not endured a rough evening at the hands of Paris St.-Germain. He has not suffered in comparison to Lionel Messi. His limitations have not yet seeped into the national consciousness. England is not yet at the stage where it focuses more on what he can’t do than what he can.

And so, in the middle of England’s biggest game in years, as a country’s whole summer hung on a knife-edge, the Wembley crowd chanted his name, demanded the introduction of its new, unsullied favorite, the player still imbued with that magic of the new.

As he stood up on the substitutes’ bench to put his jersey on, the stadium roared. Here was the golden boy, to save the day. A few minutes later, Grealish slipped the ball into the path of Luke Shaw. He crossed, and Sterling tapped in. Not long after that, Grealish swung a cross onto Kane’s head, no more than 5 yards from goal. When he, too, turned it into the goal, Wembley exulted again.

Neither moment was a spectacular intervention, in truth — a simple pass, an easy cross — but both were taken as proof of the wisdom of the crowd. Grealish makes things happen. Grealish can do anything. Grealish, England’s great summer love affair, is fresh and new and perfect. For now, at least. But for now may be all that matters.

The Copa Curse May Yet Lift

After 1,800 minutes, plus injury time, spread across 20 games and four cities, the Copa América has succeeded in eliminating only Bolivia and Venezuela. Two weeks in, it is possible to feel that a competition that seemed destined not to happen — it was moved from Colombia and then Argentina to Brazil, ravaged by the pandemic — has still not actually started.

Things should, in theory, start to improve from here. The story of the group phase (as is the case every year, and we mean every year, so often do they insist on playing it) has been trying to work out which of Brazil and Argentina is best placed to win it, and which team represents the most likely challenge to that duopoly.

The answers, so far, are a little indistinct. Argentina and Brazil sailed through their groups, dropping points only at the start (Argentina) or at the end (Brazil). The former has Lionel Messi in a determined mood; the latter has the more balanced side, and home-field advantage.

It is, certainly, hard to see Brazil not making the final. Chile, its opponent in a quarterfinal on Friday, started and sputtered in the group phase. The semifinals will bring an encounter with Peru or Paraguay. Argentina’s path is more challenging. A young Ecuador team held Brazil to a draw in its last group game and has a handful of highly promising players scattered throughout its ranks. Uruguay, likely to await in the semifinals, is all gnarled experience.

Messi has suggested he is in the sort of mood that might single-handedly propel his team to the final in Rio de Janeiro on July 10. That should, in theory, bring Brazil into his path, as he tries to end his long wait for an international honor before his time runs out. It has been a long road here. That denouement may just about be worth it.

The Greatest Day of Them All. Maybe.

Unai Simón’s week might have been very different. He might have spent the last five days under the baleful glare of the world’s news media, a target for fury and pity in equal measure, absorbing the blame for Spain’s elimination from Euro 2020. Instead, his quite astonishing error — and the own goal it yielded minutes into his team’s round of 16 meeting with Croatia — had all but been forgotten within a few hours. How fortunate for Simón, really, that he happened to make his mistake right at the start of the most remarkable day of tournament soccer, well, ever.

That was certainly how it felt in the immediate aftermath of France’s defeat to Switzerland on penalties. All tournaments have days when they suddenly catch light, days that sweep you along with them, but as Kylian Mbappé trudged from the field, away from the scene of the greatest disappointment in his young career, it was hard to think of one that had packed in quite so much as this.

Or was that just the shock and emotion and recency bias talking? It is at times like these that Twitter’s hive-mind structure and its willfully contrarian nature come into their own. It is, in effect, a large group of people, all of whom are conditioned to tell you why you are wrong at any given moment.

The alternative suggestions duly flooded in. Most convincingly, Andrew Downie selected two dates from the 1970 World Cup: June 14, the day of all four quarterfinals, including West Germany’s win against England, and June 17, when Brazil beat Uruguay and Italy overcame West Germany in what became known as the Game of the Century.

Mike Martin nominated June 30, 1954 — the semifinals, West Germany beating Austria and Hungary dethroning the reigning champion, Uruguay, with 13 goals spread across two games. Davet Hyland went more modern, pointing to both quarterfinal days in 1994: the one with Brazil beating the Netherlands, 3-2, followed 24 hours later by the one with Bulgaria’s win against Germany.

All valid cases, and all worthy of consideration. I would, though, suggest that the suggestions from 1954 and 1970 fall short for one reason alone: All of those games were played simultaneously. It would not have been possible to watch, and to savor, them both (even, in the case of 1954, on the radio). They may well have been the greatest afternoons in tournament history, but they did not stretch out to occupy most of the day.

Which leaves 1994, and those sweltering, exciting days in Dallas and Foxborough, Mass., and East Rutherford, N.J., and Stanford, Calif. Whether one of those edges it for you over what happened on Monday may well be less to do with the quality of the drama on offer and more to do with how your mind works, whether the freshness of the recent outweighs the power of nostalgia. And that is entirely your call.

Correspondence

Plenty of thoughts on last week’s idea that it may be time for the European Championship to expand. It is fair to say, I think, that it split opinion (both in my inbox and on Twitter), with the balance edging toward a polite but firm no.

Dunstan Kesseler finds it hard to “get behind a tournament in which half of the teams in UEFA would qualify.” Mark Brophy pointed out, quite rightly, that awarding slots to Russia and the Czech Republic based on victories for the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia is problematic. Fayzan Bakhtiar believes that expanding the tournament would only “compound” the issue of players’ daunting workload.

There were plenty, too, who offered alternative ideas. Harry Richards wants to see the abolition of the round-robin format in the groups, instituting instead a hybrid group/knockout system. Stephen Gessner would cut the number of teams that progress from the groups, but then make them play a two-of-three series for qualification. Most convincingly, Tony Culotta thinks things might be improved by a 28-team tournament in which only two of the teams finishing third in their group reach the knockouts.

This is the glory of workshopping, of course. The format, as it exists in my head, has now been refined. There would be no places for historical merit, now; instead, the 16 teams we have seen competing in the first knockout round of this summer’s edition would be given a pass to the finals in 2024. That neatly circumvents the (incorrect) allegation that some countries would “not have to qualify.” They would, it’s just that it would already have happened.

The most convincing element of it, though, is the part that Charles Sutcliffe believes is flawed. The FIFA rankings — the metrics that define who goes into which qualifying group — proved unerringly accurate in predicting which teams would progress to the last 16, he wrote, rather neatly challenging the idea that they don’t work.

My response would be that this is precisely the problem: The countries with higher rankings, according to FIFA, get better qualifying draws, and so they are likely to proceed more comfortably, and therefore they are likely to get better seedings when the groups are drawn, allowing them to get to the round of 16 more easily. Even ignoring how easily the rankings can be gamed, and how they anchor teams to historical performance, it is this that is their greatest problem: They are essentially self-fulfilling. Breaking the spell they cast over international soccer would be the most significant consequence of changing the way the Euros work.

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[iamacolor]

Hey! I don't know if you accept prompts, but if you do could you write something about the first week after Yousef's return from Turkey... like what happens after Sana and Yousef were apart (even though they texted and video called each other) and the dynamics of their relationship once they're in the same city. I hope you decide to write it! Thank you in advance! 😊

Hello Anon!! Thank you very much for this prompt!! I was thinking of writing something like that so I was really glad to see your message! I got a bit carried away and wrote 6200 words so I really hope you like it! As it’s really long I advise peopel who prefer to read fics on Ao3 rather than on tumblr to check it out here

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[S :What time are you arriving at?Y :14:56. Why you planning on coming to pick me up from the airport? S :Elias said there no point since you’re with your family so you don’t need to be picked up Y :Awwww you asked Elias if you could pick me up?S :We talked I didn’t ask Y :Sure S :I hope you miss your plane Y :No you don’t S :No I don’t Y : ok I have to finish packing, have a good night Sana see you in Oslo! S :See you ]

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She stares as her screen for a while and smiles. He’ll be in Oslo tomorrow. After being apart for a month and a half, she was finally going to see him again. She was going to see him smile and laugh and hear his voice. For real not just on the phone. They had talked on the phone a few times. She has called him for a few of their calls, everytime afraid that he might be too busy to reply but he never was. Or if he was he never told her and always took the time to speak with her. They also video called each other and she’ll remember forever that one time all his little cousins arrived while he was talking and he had to do the rest of the call with them jumping on him. She couldn’t stop laughing, the kids seemed extremely proud of themselves and Yousef seemed to hesitate between being annoyed at the kids and looking at them foundly.

They had sent each other texts. So many texts. He sent her a picture everytime he saw something she might like or that he thought was pretty. Once in a while he would ask her if she was over Stephen Curry and she would reply with a link to one of Stephen’s picture saying « hmm I’m not sure ».

She decides to go to his house, the next day, in the afternoon. She asks Elias if he is going to visit Yousef to which Elias replies « Uh, no, I thought I’d see him tomorrow, the guy just came back. Let him chill » Then, he sees the way Sana is looking. All nervous but also excited and he adds :« Do you know what? I think I’ll go see him now. Yeah, he’s just came back but I’ll go say hi. Do you want to come with me? Don’t answer to that, I already know the answer. »She laughs and thanks him.

When they arrive at Yousef’s place, his father is the one to open the door and he greets them with a big smile. He makes them enter the apartment. Sana looks around, curious to finally see Yousef’s home. Yousef’s father calls for his son as he makes Sana and Elias go into the leaving room. A few seconds later, Yousef arrives in the living room. He sees Elias and smiles widely. A smile that grows wider and softer when he sees Sana standing next to his best friend. A smile that mirrors her own as she can finally see him again. Damn, she missed him and his stupid smile and his stupid snapbacks and even the way he walks. He crosses the living room to greet them when his parents suggest that Yousef and his friends should go outside while they finish unpacking. Sana follows the boy into the backyard, her heart beating fast as she can finally look at him after so long. He is talking with Elias on the way but often turns around to smile at her and she smiles back right away every time. Yousef holds the door open for his friend to come out and when Sana walks past him, he brushes her hand with his fingers and smiles at her softly.Once they are outside, Sana find herself at loss for words while Elias is asking Yousef questions. Yousef keeps looking at her and the simple fact of feeling his eyes on her after so long makes her feel like she is losing her mind. She doesn’t realize that she has locked eyes with Yousef until Elias says, a bit too loudly : « Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow ! I’ve done my brother duty, I’ll leave you two to it ! Bye ». And he walks away from them to leave the backyard.

« His brother duty ? What does he mean ? Asks Yousef- Well, I wanted to come here but I wasn’t sure if I should come or not and if I should, should I come alone or not, so in the end he came with me.- Never hesitate again Sana, you can come anytime.- Thanks- I’m serious Sana. Anytime. »If he says her name one more time, she’s not sure she’ll be able to contain the beating of her heart from going frantic. What is happening to her ?

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They are now standing in front of each other, smiling. Yousef can’t stop staring at her. Drinking in the vision of her in a blue hijab, dressed in white and grey. He feels as though he had been holding his breath all the time he was away and now that she is in front of him again, he can finally breathe.She laughs quietly and puts her hands under her chin and he can tell she is a little nervous.As he is about to say something funny, hopefully, to relax her, she takes a step towards him, looks up and let her arms fall to her sides. She raises them again slightly and he understands immediately what she is about to do. He raises his arms as well and, not even a second later, he can feel her hands coming around his waist and settling on his back. He never thought before her that you could tell so much with a hug. His hands are on her back and he rests his chin on top of her head. He can smell her perfume and he doesn’t think he ever felt as much as home as he does now. He sense her relaxing against his chest and presses a kiss on top of her head as if to say « I’m back for good, I’m here now. »

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After a while, Sana raises her head to look up at him and slightly takes a step back. There’s something about being near him, being with him, feeling him next to her, that makes her feel so giddy. She’s high on him and it has only been minutes !« I should probably let you unpack » she says right as he asks : « So where should we go ? »He exclaims : « You already want to leave me ? We haven’t seen each other for 50 days and you already want to leave ? A hug and bye.- No ! But your family surely need your help!I don’t want to leave, I’m trying to help you be a good son.- I’ve been a good son all summer, I can take a break. I am staying with you.- That’s good.- Yeah, that’s good.There is a little pause, then he adds :« - Ah, I missed you so much Sana !- I missed you a lot as well, Yousef.As she says that to him, she raises her hand to take a fallen leaf off his hair . She has been dreaming about touching his hair for so long. She marvels at the softness of his curls and keeps playing with it even when the leaf is long gone. He stays completely still and she wonders if her touch sends chills down her spine like his does to her . He closes his eyes with a tiny sigh and she has her answer. She whispers that if they want to do something, they should do it now . He seems to wake up from a dream and agrees with her.

They end up walking towards the basketball pitch. They don’t have a ball to play with as tehy realize when they arrive. They decide to stay there nonetheless. They don’t have to play basketball, they have so many things to talk about.Sana starts asking him questions about Turkey and what he did while he was there. She already knows many things as they’ve been in touch most of the time. But she doesn’t mind hearing some of it again and he adds more details and speaks about his family. He talks about the town where they live, Ankara. He tells Sana about the old castle that overlooks the city, about the beautiful great mosque with its huge that he is sure she would love. He remember going there as a kid and being in awe of the place. He tells her about all the food you can find and about the games he played with his little cousins and his trips to the country.

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Yousef feels a bit ashamed to have talked for so long about himself even if Sana doesn’t seem to mind as she asked questions and laughed and smiled. She genuinely seems happy to listen to him.He asks her about her summer and listens as she explains what she did with her firends and the troubles her squad got into. Her face lights up when she talks about her friends and their shenanigans. She also tells him a few stories about Elias that he cannot wait to use to make fun of his friend.After a while, Sana says that it’s too bad he is only coming back now because she starts school in a week and a half so they won’t have that much time to see each other again and she’ll be at school and that will be complicated. He laughs and replies :« I’ve only just come back and you’re already sad about what it’s going to be like in two weeks. Let’s enjoy what we have now first , shall we ?- Don’t make fun of me, she says with a smile- No but seriously, it’s going to be ok.How time flies, he thinks, looking back on the afternoon they spent on that pitch a few months ago. He could only have dreamed back then, of sitting in front of her while she talked about wanting to see him again in the coming weeks and months.

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Her phone rings and she answers right away as it is a call from her mother. Scared that she might be crossed because it’s getting late, Sana is surprised when her mother simply asks her if she intends on having dinner at home or eating out. She looks into Yousef’s eyes as she replies :« - I’m staying with Yousef Mama, we’ll eat together »His face lights up« - Can’t get enough of me, is that it ?- Shut up and find me a place to eat.- Yes Ma’am ! »She’s up before him and extends her hand to him to help him stand up. Just as he is about tto be fully standing, she lets go of his hand and laughs as he loses his balance and almost fall flat on his back. She can see him being a little bit shocked but before his ego can be hurt, her contagious laughter wins him over and she doesn’t have to wait long before he stops pouting and joins her.When they’ve calmed down, they decide to go to a kebab place not far from where they are.. While they wait to order, Yousef dares her to let him order for her. When she asks why on earth she should let him do that, he replies that he want to see if she still trusts him after all this time.“-All this time? You’ve only been gone 50 days Yousef.- Only? Only?! Wow. Only 50 days. Ok. Here I was thinking you had missed me but I see that I was wrong. I’ll leave you there if you don’t mind, I have an ego to repair and it might take some time.She is laughing too much to chase after him as he dramatically leaves the restaurant. She knows he will be back soon so when her time to order comes up next, she orders for him as well and goes to sit at a table in a corner. After a few seconds, she hears footsteps behind her and hears a voice saying:“- You didn’t even come after me. You didn’t even look outside the restaurant. I am hurt.- You didn’t even wait 5 minutes to come back.She turns around to face Yousef and his sad pout.- Seems like you’re the one who can’t get enough of me- No lies there, he replies as he sits down in front of herHis confession, which could barely pass as a joke, makes her blush which he notices right away. Of course.- Did I make you blush? Did I manage that? You’re flustered because of me!- Well you can talk! Go back and rewatch that video where you receive my call, you couldn’t even it or stand still!- We will not speak about that video again, he says in a mock-threatening way- Too bad, I thought you were cute in it.Before he has time to react, their orders arrive and he can only try to hide his own blush to the waiter.

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When they leave the restaurant, they naturally head towards Sana’ home. He doesn’t even ask if he can walk her home, he wants to spend as much time as possible with her. On the way back, they walk in silence. Their fingers brushing slightly, their eyes meeting regularly and their lips curving into smiles. Yousef thinks that he could walk to the end of the world with Sana by his side. He’s lost in her smiles and her dimples and her twinkling yes when he suddenly hears a sound similar to the flapping of wings next to him. He turns around with a slight jump and shrieks when he sees a huge seagull next to him, he steps back with fear and a loud “Oooh!!”. He doesn’t even have time to process his fear and what happened that Sana is already bent in two exploding with laughter.

There goes my walk to the end of the earth with her, he thinks as he tries to calm his heart.Unable to stop herself from laughing, Sana asks:“- Are you afraid of everything with wings or only seagulls and swans?- Hey! Swans are really scary ok? They can become violent and bite my fingers. And this seagull just surprised me , that’s all-Uh uh, sure, is all she can reply as she tries to regain her breath- It was huge Sana! And it landed right next to me!- It’s alright, you don’t have to be tough with me. Don’t hide your fear of birds. I accept you just as you are.- I am not afraid of birds- It’s ok, Yousef, I don’t judge you- Stop it- When did it start? I am genuinely curious. Were you attacked by a pigeon as a child?- Stop, I am hurtShe does stop teasing him but she doesn’t stop laughing qiuetly until they reach her door. He doesn’t mind the teasing. He doesn’t mind anything that come from Sana Bakkoush laughing.She turns around to face him and smiles. He smiles back and for a moment, they just stand there looking at each other.

Once again, they don’t need words to speak. Eyes do just fine. Eyes can say many things. They can say “I’m glad to be with you”. They can say “I wish we could stay together longer”. I can’t wait to see you again. I missed you. I am so happy to be near you. I wish I didn’t have to go back inside. I wish we could stay like this forever. I think you’re beautiful. I believe you’re the best thing that happened to me.Eyes can say I like you. They can even say more than that.

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Sana takes one step closer to him and says“Goodbye Yousef”He takes one step closer to her-“Goodbye Sana”They are almost touching nowShe brushes a curls away from his eyes and adds: “Goodnight”He seems starstruck for a second and before he has time to react, she is walking to the door. She looks back at him. He seems to be at loss for words and just smiles at her. She chuckles and waves at him before opening the door.Once she is back inside her room, she leans with her back to the door and whispers in the darkness and quiet of her room: “Be still my beating heart.”

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He gets distracted by her the next day when he is filming a video with the boys at Sana’s house to celebrate his return. He sees her moving round and he can’t concentrate on what the boys are saying which means he misses a lot of questions and gets teased a lot. The hardest part for him is when, after she catches up on what is happening, she comes and stands up right there in the door, in front of him. She isn’t just looking at him, he can see her laughing at what the boys are saying. But she’s so beautiful and he hasn’t seen her for so long (when you’ve been away from San Bakkoush for 50 days, an evening together is not enough to make up for lost time) that he feels like if he turns around she might disappear. He hears Elias telling the camera to excuse Yousef for being distracted as his sister is standing in front of them right now and the poor boy is so in love he can’t get his eyes away from her.

Sana laughs at that, announces that she is going back in her room and leaves. Yousef sighs and hopes she’ll come out before he leaves. He tries to focus on the video as if nothing happened but the boys do not stop teasing him and he suspects that they never will. He doesn’t mind really. Not when he is being teased about something that makes him so happy.

When they’ve finished filming their video, he sends her a text asking to come to the kitchen. He waits for her as he drinks juice. The boys are busy checking something with the camera so he hopes he can have a bit of time alone with her. He doesn’t notice her coming inside the room as he’s observing the boys. He hears a soft voice behind him saying:“-“Meet me in the kitchen”. I don’t know if I’ve told you before but I don’t really like people who think they can summon me whenever they want.”He turns around but she is smiling at him and he immediately feels better. He asks her if she slept well and she says that of course she did. She had troubles falling asleep as she was busy thinking about things but when she did fell asleep, it was very nice. He can guess by her smile that she couldn’t sleep because she was thinking about him. And he can’t think of a better feeling than being the one keeping Sana Bakkoush awake. Well, when it’s for good reasons and not when she is sick of course.- So you had a good evening then?- I had a great evening Yousef.- Good- GoodHe hears the boys calling him and she does as well so she tells him that she’ll see him again soon and goes back t her room before his friends have time to see her.

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And that’s how it goes on. They meet often, to walk around town, to eat together, to play basketball. Sometimes, they plan it. Sometimes it is random. Just a text or a call. “Are you doing anything right now?” “I’m meeting you I suppose?” “And you’re right”.Sometimes, it just happens that at the moment when Sana has to leave her home, Yousef has to go back home . Obviously, they don’t have anyone else to met except each other.

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One day, after spending the afternoon in town eating ice cream and fooling around as well as going to buy a present for Yousef’s mother’s birthday, as they are walking down the streets, they walk pass and open window form which a music can be heard. The song is one that Yousef likes a lot. Sana asks him what kind of songs he likes and they start talking about music. He takes his phone and headphones out to make her listen to his playlist. They keep on walking as they listen to the music.

At first, it starts as simply listening to the music and telling the other what they think about the song they’re listening to, but it soon turns into a sort of game. Yousef tries to make Sana lose her headphone by walking faster or distancing himself from her. When she understands what he is doing, she starts playing the same game. In the end, they don’t really listen to the music as they are too busy laughing.

At one point, Yousef almost walks into a pole, but he avoids it by making a slightly twisted jump that looks like a dance move to Sana. It makes her laugh, but at the same time it reminds her of that time she found him dancing in her living room. She’d like to see him dance again. She only realizes she said it out loud when he replies with surprise :- Really?- Uh well, you’re a good dancer and it just that it kind of looked like you were dancing when you avoided that pole and so it reminded me that you’re a dancer.- Haha, thank you Sana! Dancer might be a bit much though.If you want to see me again you’ll have to invite me to a party!

Before she has time to reply, her phone rings with the call to prayer. She hasn’t seen time running out.- Oh, we have to find you a place to pray!- What?She expected him to tell her that he would walk her home as they weren’t that far from her house.- Yes, we find you a place to pray so you don’t have to go back home right away.She smiles at his obvious desire to spend more time with her. They find a small little garden at the end of the street and, as she’s looking on her phone for the right orientation, she sees him taking his jacket off. When she asks him what he is doing, he replies ,as if it is obvious, that he is going to give her his jacket for her to pray on.- Really?- Well, you need something to pray on and you can’t use your own cardigan, it’s too delicate to put it on the ground.She hesitates but he’s already putting his jacket in her hand and walking away to give her space and peace.

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He waits for her to finish, making sure that no one walks over to where she is.He slightly turns around to see Sana kneeling down and putting her forehead on the ground. On his jacket. He laughs to himself as he thinks of all these romantic comedies showing a boy giving his jacket to a girl when she’s cold. Here he is giving Sana his jacket to pray on. She probably wouldn’t accept his jacket even if she it was really cold. We’re a strange pair,he thinks, we’re one of a kind. She is one of a kind.She comes back when she has finished and hands him back his jacket neatly folded and he can see in her eyes that she is filled with a new kind of emotion. Seeing her so strong in her faith, he feels a sort of pride at the thought that this girl thinks he is good enough for her. Her faith is so beautiful, it shines through her. And it only makes him love her even more to see her so dedicated. She takes her phone out and tells him that it is now turn to listen to her playlist so she can teach him about real music.- “Real music? You seemed to enjoy my “fake” music before.- I didn’t hate it but wait until you listen to what I listen to. You are going to get your mind blown.

Instead of walking around, they sit on the grass and after a while he has to admit that her taste in music is indeed remarkable. The evening goes on until it’s time to go back home. As usual, he walks her back. And as usual, they stops in front of her door smiling at each other, staying silent for a little bit.- “I’ll send you a song to listen to before you go to bed when you’re inside.- Can’t you just tell me what it is now?- No, it’s a surprise!- Well I better hurry then, so I can listen to it.”

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When she has taken her hijab off and changed into her pajamas, she receives a link from Yousef to a 4 hours long track of lullabies with a simple messag that says “Sleep well”.A few seconds later, as she is till laughing, he sends her text with a link to Roo Panes’s Lullaby Love saying “The one before is really serious music but you should still listen to this one.”And she listens to it on repeat until she falls asleep dreaming of a sweet boy singing her a song about angels and love.

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One Saturday, Sana and the girls are wandering around in a park and laughing as they are enjoying the last weekend before school. They decide to settle on the grass near a fountain when Sana, who’s laughing with Chris, hears Vilde asking her-”Sana, isn’t that your brother with his friends?She turns in the direction Vilde is pointing at and ,indeed, here is her brother with Adam, Mutta, Mikael and…- “Oh, Yousef is here as well!”

Sana is now thinking back to the conversation she had with Elias this morning. He asked her if she would be at home all day as he was planning on shooting a new video with the boys. She had told him she had plans with the girls and would be out all day. He had been insistent and asked her where she would be. When she told him she didn’t know exactly what they were going to do, he replied:- “Come on Sana, you always have at least an idea of where you’re going!- OK, we’re thinking of going to the park .- Which park?- The one near Chris’s house.- Great! Great idea!- Why are you so interested?- I’m paying attention, you should be thankful .- Yeah, right. “

Now she understands that he was planning on surprising her and meeting her “by luck” with his friends. She takes the lead as they walk towards the group of boys.

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Yousef is sitting next to Mutta, his eyes semi closed, enjoying the sun on his face, not really listening to whatever Elias and Mikael are arguing about. He feels Mutta nudging his side and without opening his eyes, asks:“- What is it?”- Look! “

He finally opens his eyes and follows the direction Mutta is pointing at to see something he did not expect at all. Someone actually. Sana. Sana and her friends. He sits up right away. What is she doing here? She told him she couldn’t see him today because she was with her friends and now she’s walking towards him and the boys. With her 4 friends on both sides of her, he thinks she looks like a princess in company of her ladies in waiting. Her stride is assured and she’s walking straight to Elias. After slightly glancing his way and smiling at him (a smile that he did not return like a lost puppy seeing his master again whatever Mutta might say in his ear), she stops in front of her brother who looks at her with a smile that Yousef can only qualify as trying to be innocent.

“-"I’m paying attention, you should be thankful”, she says with an exaggerated tone- Hello sister! And sister’s friends!- Hello Elias!- Hello boys!- What a coincidence! What are the odds of you going to the same park I mentioned going to this morning?- Indeed sister what are the odds?”Yousef starts to understand what is going on- “So that’s why you insisted on us going outside when we arrived at your place? You wanted us to meet Sana? He asks Elias- Aren’t you happy to see Sana? asks Mikael with a smile- What a stupid question, of course I am! I am just wondering why Elias set this up.- Seems to me like he wanted to see the two of you together, says Sana’s friend, Eva, pointing at Sana and then at him.-What?? Sana and Yousef turn to Elias at the same time- You are two of my favourite peope why would I not want to see you at the same time?- Stop the bullshit, Elias- Sana can you really blame us for wanting to see you and Yousef together? Asks mikael.- We wanted to see the cuteness and tease the two of you. So get ready, says Mutta- I like your brother’s friend Sana, says Chris- Really? Cool! Mutta stands up to high five Chris- Well, now that we are together, we should do something together! Exclaims Sana’s friend Vilde. Let’s go buy an ice cream!Everyone agrees without waiting for Sana or Yousef to give their opinion and the group starts walking away from the fountain.

He goes up to Sana to assure her that he had no idea about Elias’ plan to reunite them.-“It’s alright Yousef, I don’t mind- It’s just that you were enjoying your time with your friends so…- I’m starting school on Monday, which means I’ll see them everyday.It’s ok if you distract me a little from them.- Good!“

He tries to stays next to Sana as they walk but he is soon forced to stay with Sana’s friend as they apparently need to tell him something really important. Turns out they simply want to know how it’s going between him and Sana. They don’t seem really noisy. More concerned and curious that everything is going well for their friend. Eva asks him about his feelings for her wondering how long he has been crushing on her- Uh, I’m not sure I can tell you that;- Oh come on ! We won’t tell her, we promise! Says Vilde- Why should I trust you?- Hey, we are her friends ! Says Chris- We are really happy that you two are happening, it’s so nice to see Sana smiling so much and being happy! You two are made for each other!- That’s why they’re soulmates Eva! Says Vilde- Soulmates?Did he hear that right?- Did Sana say that?- Uh no, you did, replies Eva- What? I never told her…Wait a minute, Noora!He turns to face the girl who apparently told everyone his secret.- You told them?- No she told Sana! Replies Vilde- Ok, says Noora, don’t freak out, but yes she knows you texted me and she knows what you said.- You told her about the texts??Yousef doesn’t think he ever felt as embarrassed as he does now. Freaking about about a swan or a seagull in front of Sana is nothing compared to this- Well, I showed them to her actually.- So she has read every single one of them?- Yes but don’t worry Yousef they were all super cute!! exclaims Vilde- But still… What do I look like now?- Well, she is still talking to you so that’s what matters! Says ChrisHe looks in front of him at Sana who is laughing at one of Mutta’s joke. So she knows. She knows the extent of his feelings for her and instead of running away because of how strong they are (the only reason why he hasn’t told her yet), she is still there. Which means there’s a chance her feelings for him might be as strong as his for her and he suddenly feels as though he could fly.

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On Monday, Sana is starting school again for her last year of high school. Chris told her she would pick her up before heading to school so they could meet the girls and arrive together to mark the occasion. She is excited at the prospect of it being her last year but she also knows that this year is going to be hard and will demand her full investment.

She steps out of the building but instead of finding Chris waiting for her at the door, she finds Yousef . She stops in her tracks. What on earth is he doing here?- Hello Sana! Ready to start school?- Hi! Are you meeting with Elias?- This early? I’m here for you.- For me?- Yeah, I thought you might like me to walk you to school as it’s the first day and everything.She would love that but she can’t let the girls down, she knows it means a lot to them that they start the year together.- I am sorry Yousef but… Chris should be here any minute now, I’m meeting the girls before going to school. But I would’ve loved to go to school with you! I just have other plans.- Do you really?- Yes, I told you, the girls…At this moment, her phone signals her that she has a new text. It’s from the girls’ group chat, a message from Chris saying “Enjoy your surprise, we’ll meet you in front of the school!”.- Wait, they organized this?- Actually, I wanted to do it so I thought I’d check with them at what time you start and if you usually walked to school with one of them and they came up with the idea to make you believe that Chris would pick you up. Are you happy?- I am…, she can’t finish her sentence as she is smiling too wide. I am really happy Yousef!

She immediately sends a text to the girls: “THANK YOU”. Once she has put her phone in her pocket, she looks up at Yousef and hugs him slightly. He is surprised at first but hugs her back and laughs. She is trying to not show how giddy she feels at the thought of walking to school with him. This is so official. People are going to see them together. People of her school, that she doesn’t know will know about one of the most precious thing in her life. And she doesn’t really mind right now!On the way to school, he makes her laugh with stories about Elias and the boys in high school. When they arrive near the school, she can see the girls looking at them from afar and waving at her. She is excited to start school but at the same time she wishes that it didn’t start so early so she could spend a little bit longer with Yousef.-Thank you for walking with me this morning.- Thank you for agreeing to walk with me.- Well, I couldn’t say no after all the efforts the girls had put into it, could I ?- Ouch Sana!- Did you think I actually enjoyed your company?- Pretend all you want, I know you do! Have a good first day of school Sana, I hope you only get the best teachers.- I have a feeling that won’t happen but thank you. It was very nice this morning.- Likewise- Bye then!As she turns around, he grabs her hand and says:- Just want to ask you something, it won’t take long- What is it?- Are you over Stephen Curry now?- I was not expecting that! She laughs- Hey I just want to know who you’re going to marry, that’s all!- Well, know this: I’ve been over him for a long time now. A few months I’d say.As he gets the biggest smile on his face, she leaves him to meet her friends.

[gadgetsrevv]

PSG vs. Real Madrid is biggest game of CL group stage but behind the scenes, both teams are a mess

This should be about the game. About a club, Paris Saint-Germain, taking yet another crack at winning the biggest prize in club football after three straight seasons of controversial exits by wafer-thin margins. And their visitors Real Madrid, the game’s ultimate blue bloods, halfway in rebuild mode as they pursue their 14th European Cup as an antidote to consecutive nightmarish domestic seasons.

But it’s not. It’s the Dysfunction Derby between two icebergs with far too much going on beneath the surface.

Real Madrid finished third in La Liga last year and the year before, by an average of 19 points: way off the pace of the eventual champions in both seasons, Barcelona. The unprecedented Champions League three-peat alleviated some of the rancour but most expected a revamp, particularly after the departures of Ronaldo and the resignation of Zinedine Zidane in the summer of 2018.

Instead, Zidane is back and rather than a rebuild, we’ve had a minor tweaking, with Eden Hazard and goalkeeper Thibaut Courtois (who arrived last summer and has been less than stellar at times) the only flashy newcomers. Nine of their 10 most frequently used outfield players thus far were also there for the first of their three straight Champions League titles; the other, Vinicius Junior, doesn’t turn 20 until next summer.

– Laurens: Don’t expect PSG to succeed in Europe this year – Summer of unwanted stars: Why Bale, Neymar didn’t move – Ogden: Breaking down the Champions League groups

PSG was supposed to be the rising, Qatar-fueled force in European football, boasting both the heir apparent to the Cristiano Ronaldo–Lionel Messi duopoly (Neymar) and the next in line (Kylian Mbappe). The former tried every which way to leave, the latter is injured. As for the Qatari cash, it may have moved the needle until two seasons back but now, because of FFP and overly optimistic financial projections, they’re forced to break even like any old mom-and-pop operation.

Just this past weekend Neymar, the most expensive player in the history of the game, finally made his return to action for PSG and was met with a cacophony of boos, insults and banners inviting him to get the hell out. Which, of course, he would have been only too happy to do if the club had reached a deal to send him back to Barcelona. Instead, as Neymar himself pointed out, PSG “blocked” the move. (Or, because every story is its own Rashomon with multiple sides, “refused to sell a star player for less than they thought he was worth.”)

Neymar, though, is nothing if not a pro. A maddening, infuriating, occasionally liberty-taking pro with a weird tendency to pick up injuries around the time of his sister’s birthday, but a pro nonetheless. And one who can conjure magic out of thin air, as he did deep in an injury-time with a highlight-reel buzzer-beater that earned PSG a win over Strasbourg.

He won’t be involved on Wednesday — the result of a three-match ban for an expletive-ridden Instagram post berating referees after PSG were eliminated from the Champions League last year — but his shadow will continue to loom large over the club’s fortunes this season.

Less than 24 hours later and some 600 miles away, Real Madrid president Florentino Perez faced the club’s annual general meeting amid murmurs and discontent. “People say I know about numbers, but if there’s something I know about, it’s football!” said Perez. “There are clubs who win a league and then don’t win anything in Europe for God-knows-how-many-years. And why are we great? Because we’ve won the European Cup 13 times.”

Gareth Bale, left, and Real Madrid are in transition even with their star power. The question is whether they can put the drama aside to handle PSG in the group stage.

Perez also had to fend off a question from the floor about club captain Sergio Ramos. The Spanish defender contributed greatly to four of those cups, most recently 16 months ago, but to some he’s become a distraction and Ramos himself had to call a news conference last May to announce that he was going nowhere. Perez’s questioner lamented Ramos’ passion for social media, outside projects (like the Amazon fly-on-the-wall documentary about himself) and the fact that he “wore a pink hat that made him look like a Swedish tourist.”

Tumultuous doesn’t quite do the situation justice at either club. We crossed the “entertainment brand” rubicon years ago, so perhaps the above shouldn’t be entirely surprising. But there’s the collateral damage that comes (along with, let’s face it, collateral revenue via sponsors and brand recognition) from hoarding superstars: both clubs’ rosters groan under the weight of hefty veteran contracts they can’t shed and the self-inflicted hurt these clubs brought upon themselves.

Then there’s the fact that few saw this coming a year ago, which only makes this worse for both clubs.

PSG are on a knife-edge in terms of Financial Fair Play, UEFA rules that regulate each club’s spending. This year and last, PSG’s roster has been made up of a core of pricey superstars — Angel Di Maria, Thiago Silva, Edinson Cavani, Marquinhos — but also a smattering of youngsters and blue-collar role players. Guys like, say, Colin Dagba, who is 21 and made his top-flight debut only last year, or Eric Maxim Choupo-Moting, who made 31 appearances last year after joining from Stoke, a side that finished second-bottom in the Premier League the year before. It’s also why, after years of free spending, they actually made a profit in the summer transfer window, padding out the squad with free agents (Ander Herrera from Manchester United), swaps (signing goalkeeper Keylor Navas from Real Madrid and sending Alphonse Areola the other way) and loans (Mauro Icardi from Inter).

The definitive story of Neymar’s failed Barcelona return

Navas and Herrera were on the bench for most of last season and Icardi was unwanted by Inter to the point that he was suspended for six weeks in the middle of the season last year and was told, publicly and repeatedly, his services were no longer needed. All three are pedigreed veterans with a chip on their shoulder and you can see the logic in tapping into their desire to resurrect their careers. But, perhaps most crucially, all three were also cheap.

Neymar’s summer-long transfer saga has cast a shadow over his relationship with PSG and the fans. He won’t feature in Wednesday’s clash but will be expected to make up for it later in the competition.

Real Madrid had the opposite sort of summer, lavishing nearly $250 million on four players: defenders Ferland Mendy and Eder Militao, winger Hazard and forward Luka Jovic. The problem is that we haven’t seen much of them yet — between them, they’ve started just one game — which makes it hard to get overly excited. Much of that has to do with injuries (Hazard only made his debut on Saturday) but much of it has to do with the fact that this is a side in flux.

Zidane has rotated systems and personnel and you should expect to see more of the same in Paris: Ramos is suspended while Marcelo, Isco, Marco Asensio and Luka Modric, stalwarts of the previous Champions League run, are all injured.

What Madrid fans have seen plenty of instead this season are Gareth Bale and James Rodriguez, two players they spent most of the summer trying to shed. Bale, one of the highest-paid players in the world, was told flat out by Zidane he was surplus to requirements. But unwilling to take a pay cut — and with nobody wanting to match his $30 million-plus annual salary and pay a transfer fee — he went nowhere.

Bale, whose performances have ranged from stellar to anonymous to M.I.A. (due to frequent injuries), was often harangued by fans and media alike for such crimes as failing to learn decent Spanish and being too obsessed with golf. (He has a nine-hole course in his ample backyard and some of his injuries have been blamed on his practice swings.) But when Zidane realized he was stuck with him, he took his lemons and made lemonade: Bale started Real Madrid’s first three games and he, like James, has been one of the better performers.

Bottom line? Things have not been what either side expected and maybe that’s at the heart of the discomfort and restlessness among fans of the two clubs.

In these situations, the Champions League is a respite, albeit a double-edged one. A strong performance and a result and you can start to spin the narrative in your direction. If you’re PSG, you remind folks that Mbappe will be back (though not on Wednesday: he’s sidelined as are Edinson Cavani and Julian Draxler). And if you’re Madrid, you sell the line that you’re still the Gold Standard in Europe, that Zidane is still the alchemist Galactico whisperer and that Hazard is, in fact, a game-changer.

But there’s a downside, too. Take a beating and it’s more salt in the open sores. Restlessness and discomfort live in the same neighbourhood as frustration and anger.

For both these clubs, it’s time to get out of town.

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[dustedmagazine]

Listed: XETAS

XETAS, out of Austin, are a rabble-rousing three-piece, whose second album, The Tower, recalls the melodic aggression of SST-post-punk. In her review for Dusted, Jennifer Kelly wrote, “The hooks bristle with barbed wire abrasion, putting this band more in line with Hüsker Dü than the Wipers, but they’re in there, glinting out of a cyclone of broken glass and diesel smoke.” Members of the band have, to date, gone mostly by their initials, but we are excited to report that they used their real (first) names for this listed.  David, the guitar player, and Kana, the bassist, pick their favorite things for this listed.   

David’s picks

The Lost Weekend by Charles Jackson (1944) 

I read this book towards the beginning of XETAS and the end of my career as a drunk. It’s the story of a man hitting rock bottom, and it really shook me because I saw so much of myself in it. There’s a part where the protagonist gets to the point that “one drink was too many, and a hundred drinks weren’t enough” or something to that affect, and that really struck a chord. I believe this book and getting this band together were huge factors in my decision to put the bottle down. Plus, this book was written before there was much research being done into the psychology of addiction, and Jackson’s novel helped shed light on the mentality of the hopeless alcoholic.

Public Enemy — Fear of a Black Planet (1990) 

This is one of the most important records ever made in any genre, full stop. Chuck D is among the best lyricists to pick up a pen. To quote the man himself, “when I get mad, I put it down on a pad/ give you something that you never had.” Such a huge influence on my approach to writing lyrics, trying to find a clever way to address important issues. The Bomb Squad’s production is so layered, I swear I find something new going on in these songs almost every time I listen. Phenomenal.  

Big Country — The Crossing (1983) 

Like many, I had written Big Country off as one hit wonders for most of my life. Then, somehow or other, I heard the rest of The Crossing. Some of the most unique guitar playing in pop music, equally indebted to the folk music of Scotland and the post punk coming out of England. This album doesn’t get nearly the amount of respect it should. Can’t recommend it highly enough!   

Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979) 

This movie is very hard to explain. It’s a three-hour Russian art film about three men trying to find a magical room in the forest that makes your greatest wish come true But it’s so much more than that. A meditation on what it is to be an artist, what it is to be human, what it is to “want”. Stunning visuals, thought-provoking dialogue, excellent use of sound. Don’t let the runtime deter you, this is a must-watch film!  

Black Marble — It’s Immaterial (2016) 

This is my favorite record to come out in a while. Very 1980’s without being cheesy. The cold, lo-fi production coupled with unshakable hooks gives me a feeling of nostalgia for a past that never was. They’re on tour this summer (2017), go see them! 

Kana’s picks

Arrington de Dionyso’s Malakait dan Singa live @ What the Heck Fest 2011

I was a huge Old Time Relijun fan as a teenager, and I’ve followed Arrington de Dionyso’s career pretty devoutly since then. I found this video online around the time I was going through a very depressed period, where my first “real” band had just broken up — you know, the one you pour your heart and soul into and eventually goes nowhere and makes or breaks your desire to keep playing in music? Anyways, this video made me happy at a time when nothing else did.

Bar-B-Que Killers @ Uptown Lounge (from Athens, GA: Inside/Out)

Yo can we please talk about Laura Carter from Bar-B-Q Killers changing my life? I’m a huge music documentary junkie —I’ll watch anything about a band or music biz person, so while I was searching for threads to follow to fuel my Pylon obsession, I got a tip that they were in a documentary about the 1980s Athens punk scene. After seeking it out and watching it six hundred million times I can officially say I love this movie start to finish, but I gotta say the two and a half, maybe three minutes of Laura Carter on the screen was something that A) blew my mind B) haunted my dreams C) made me feel that elusive “I want to BE her” feeling that can drive one to do insane things. She was like a real life Candy Slice (a rock star persona portrayed by one of my idols, Gilda Radner) but like, REAL and actually COOL. I think about this footage a lot when I watch bands with a front man and I think few people will ever come close to making me feel what I feel when I watch this footage.

Los Hijos del Sol — Carinito 

This is one of my all-time favorite songs. I first heard a version of this song performed by Reynosa, which was a project of She Shreds’ founder and editor Fabi Reyna. Fast forward a couple years, and my dear friend Andres Sanchez, who lives in McAllen, TX (about 5 hours south of Austin, on the border of Mexico and Texas) and I are swapping music with each other. We are both multicultural and often share music we are discovering as we explore our roots so we were trading — I show him Enka style music and we compare it to Tejano ballads, etc. He totally trumped me for life tho by turning me onto Chica style music, and helping me learn more about this song I love so much. I probably listen to this song once a week, at least!

Babes in Toyland — Dust Cake Boy (1991: The Year Punk Broke) 

I literally cried the first time I saw this. My friend Jenny (who is a fantastic drummer and someone I love and look up to very much) found out I had never seen 1991: the Year Punk Broke and made it a priority for me. I was so overwhelmed by Kat Bjelland’s vocals and the giant crowd of people freaking out to music played by women that I CRIED. I was so freaked out and moved at the same time, like both instantaneous lightning bolts of: i want to go play guitar like NOW I need to go learn how to scream like this right this second!!! And also like, a huge wave of relief that this sound I knew could happen in my mind wasn’t a stupid dream. It existed!!!!! I just had to seek it out to be a part of it. 1991: The Year Punk Broke was like my personal Sex Pistols-level awakening. Between the clips of Kim Gordon and these three minutes I was ready to get in the van and make rock-n-roll history ASAP.

Osamu Tezuka — Tales of a Street Corner 

My mother is Japanese, (making me first-generation American on her side of the family) and was really concerned about American culture poisoning my brain as a child. She would have VHS tapes of Japanese TV shows and cartoons shipped over so my brother and I would have Japanese TV shows and cartoons to watch (the only way to do it before computers and the internet) and a compilation of Tezuka short films was one of them, and I became obsessed with it. A lot of the themes in his films have to do with WWII and post-war Japan and exist to serve as a warning against the tragic aspects of the nature of man, and I feel especially connected to it these days with the current political climate.  

[theliterateape]

Ripe for Indoctrination and Thirsty for a Glass of Ice Cold Kool Aid

by Don Hall

It happened my Junior year in high school at a stadium concert in Western Samoa.

The conversion had been a long time coming. I was a bit of an intentional outcast among the more popular kids in my Where-the-Fuck-Are-We? Kansas high school and, being a typical teenager despite my ingrained belief that I was fully non-conforming and different than this cast of Heartland Rednecks, finding inroads to the cool crowd was definitely on my mind.

Krystal Good (name changed because I’m not a complete dick). She was the captain of the cheerleading squad and president of the school’s chapter of the FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes). Turned out one did not need to be an athlete but you had to be a Christian or at least be open to the relentless witnessing and Bible studies. The thing is I wanted to fuck Krystal. She was untouchable but hung out with that FCA crowd.

At one point, I randomly asked her how to join. Her reaction was effusive.

“Oh, Don. I’m so happy you’re asking. You would be such a powerful witness for Christ.” And she held my hand for a moment that, in my head, was instantly underscored by some awful Christopher Cross song. I was hooked.

Remarkably, as I started attending, I mostly listened and kept my built-in skepticism at bey. I wasn’t there to antagonize the Believers — I was there to get a finger into Krystal’s cheerleading panties. Once I understand the language and the right things to say, I went in for the facade.

I was a True Believer in Getting Laid Through Profession of Non-Existent Faith.

Meetings were almost always the same. Krystal would lead an opening prayer that was designed to remind us all of our supplication to the Lord followed by what could only be called vapid confessionals: each of us had to relate a couple of sins we committed during the week and how we repented for them.

“I cheated on my algebra test. I felt really guilty so I went out of my way to be nice to [INSERT ONE OF THE THREE BLACK KIDS IN SCHOOL].” “I lied to my mom about being at practice because I was playing Dig Dug at the Circle K. I promised God that I would be honest next time.” “I felt really angry at Mr. Telfer and wanted to kill him. I guess I didn’t kill him so that’s OK, right?”

At which point, once we had all told our stone-skipping sins (we rarely got into drug-taking, drinking, or sex because, hey, that’s personal and between me and Jesus...) it all devolved into a standard high school gossip session complete with Mountain Dew, Taco-flavored Doritos, and fudge brownies that one of the girls made in Home Ec.

Despite my efforts to cozy up to Krystal, it was never to be. She really was untouchable. On the other hand, my newfound faith became an entry point to many lesser desired vaginas so it wasn’t a total waste.

Close to the end of my Junior year, I was encouraged to audition for a touring mission group called The Continental Singers. Effectively a proselytizing show choir with a six-piece band, the bonus was summer travel. That summer the group was going to Fiji, Tonga, New Zealand, and the Samoan Islands. Plus, we got paid a stipend and had free housing and food.

I put on my best On Fire for the Lord attitude, answered all the questions right, played a few bars on my trumpet and I was in.

What I didn’t realize was that I was now going to spend my every waking hour for three months with True Believers. A few of them spectacularly hot young women. This was going to be a challenge to keep up the pretense and not expose myself for the poser I had become.

Early into the summer, my rooming partner, Steve, started to catch on. When my guard was down, I didn’t seem that Christian in his opinion. Sure, I had all the right answers but got quickly bored with too much dogma and talk of the Bible. Word sort of spread and the indoctrination became a bit heavy-handed.

The show we performed went like this:

Band played an overture

The ‘show’ was an originally written version of Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat but with different music and some really terrible dialogue. Turned out a lot of it was verbatim from the Word of God so I’m assuming God can write a bestseller but not a musical.

Following the show (about 45 minutes in length) our director would come up and do a “Come to Jesus, Won’t You?” sermon followed by an opportunity for anyone in the audience to receive the call, embrace the love of Christ, and publicly commit themselves to God.

The last part was always eloquent and a bit relentless. 

“You know in your heart that you are a sinner in need of redemption.” “Man is born in sin and must accept the saving grace of our lord.” “Jesus died to fulfill the Law of the Old Testament. Confess your sin and it will be washed clean.” “How about a couple of bucks once you’ve joined?”

OK. That last line was more implied than stated but the last section of the night was a prayer and offering plates passed around by the cast while the band played inspiring tunes adagio. People came up in droves to publicly admit they were permanently stained with sin and receive the acceptance of the rest of the herd.

We were mostly free during the day and we would go out in teams to recruit audience members for that night. The teams shifted around and almost every day I was gently nudged toward the idea that, while I was a Christian (wink wink) it was a beautiful experience to re-affirm my faith publicly.

Every day for 45 days or so this message was pounded into my soft adolescent brain and often by these stellar looking women of Christ. The Kool Aid was looking mighty tasty and I began to question whether my resistance to the whole thing was merely my sinful ways fighting back. It was as if they’d heard my objections a thousand times and didn’t need me to say them out loud to pitch their liturgical woo.

Mind you, this was long before smartphones and I was thousands of miles from home. I felt isolated but only because I simply couldn’t intellectually buy into the party line. I missed American food, my car, my friends, television, movies, and books written by living authors without the agenda to convert me to religion. I missed masturbating and saying ‘fuck’. I missed being myself.

One night at a show in Western Samoa in August, as the director was making his emotional pitch, when he asked if there was anyone who wanted to commit themselves to Christ, he looked directly at me. Three or four of the cast members followed his gaze and looked at me with smiles that said “We understand. Take the leap. We approve.”

And I drank the Kool Aid. All of it. In one weepy gulp.

I was dubbed “Born Again.” And I believed it as firmly as I had previously disbelieved.

From that point, I was in the freaking club. Knowing that soon we’d all be back in various states around the country, the talk was that our friends wouldn’t understand but it was our responsibility to show them. I was told that anyone we couldn’t get to see the power of Christ was a poison that we should cut out of our lives. Friends, family, anyone. Either with us or against us with no wiggle room on it.

When I came home I had heard the pitch so many goddamned times it was like a script filled with buzzwords and catchphrases that I could recite with gusto.

Some five years later, the magic wore off. While my mom is the kind of Christian who truly tries to judge no one and feed the poor, too many I encountered were not. She and the people I’ve met through her are the kind of True Believers you read about and by whom you should be inspired (that’s not me being partial to my mom - she started a Food Bank in a closet of a church that has now grown to serve four counties in rural Kansas). Most were either wearing their Jesus Bowling Shirts each week or worse — the kind of Christians who teargas a group of peaceful protesters so they can walk across the street to pose with a Bible and then make a campaign video about it. You know, the pussy-grabbing kind of Christians.

What happened during those five years are stories for a different time but the result of this conversion and the later coming to my senses is this: I know cult-think when I hear it. When it rears its head, I’ve been there.

Faith is a very personal thing. Like watching a Marvel movie or reading the 1619 project, it requires a certain suspension of disbelief. It can be a salve in the human experience as we are creatures born to existential crisis. Turns out, we need something to hang onto beyond our own survival to thrive as a species. It can also be used as a bludgeon for power and cultural control and has often in history been exactly that.

I understand how easy it is, seeking the approval of others, to agree to a guilt that isn’t yours to bear out of a sense of belonging (or to get laid). Of confessing sins you don’t feel at all responsible for but do anyway because that Kool Aid is delicious, ain’t it? The reward of feeling like you’re accepted by the crowd, that you are, indeed, a voice for the word of...whomever is selling the most potent elixir, is comforting.

One of the hallmarks of a cult is that it tries to cut you off personally from anyone who sees the world differently than they do. When you see people urging others to completely cut off their friends and families over an issue, it's a cult. Anyone selling you the idea that you are “born in sin” based entirely upon inclusion in your race, gender, sexual preference is pitching a cult mindset. Any concept that creates a circular maze of proof (If you admit you’re a sinner, you’re a sinner. If you deny you’re a sinner, you’re a fragile sinner) is offering you an ice cold glass of Kool Aid.

Remember that there are, like, fifty different flavors of Kool Aid but they’re all just sugary water with food coloring.

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

5 Lesser-Known Question Blighting The 2016 Summer Olympics

So we’re certainly doing this? After all of the frightful and unfortunate report and advisories emanating from Brazil these days, the whole world is still going to meet up there for sporting grounds? Hell, things have gotten so bad that we don’t even has gone far enough headline infinite to make all of the legends into major report, even if in years past they wholly would be. We talk about a few of the lesser-known questions harassing the 2016 Summertime Olympics on this week’s Unpopular Opinion podcast … … where I’m joined by comic Jeff May and head/ farmer/ professional publicity human Chris Black. It’s likewise what I’m talking about here today. Let’s feign the starting firearm merely went off and get to it! # 5. Habits Employee In Brazil Are Threatening To Strike Terrorism is a huge concern for everyone involved when it comes to this year’s Olympics. Nonetheless, what little word we’ve been hearing fright menace has been mostly positive. I’m referring to that one story that drew headlines on every major word locate about how officials in Brazil thwarted a squad of ISIS loyalists who were planning to kill a lot of people. Sure, “weve heard” in the days following that the individuals in question were completely disorganized amateurs who maybe wouldn’t have been able to achieve their goals even if they weren’t caught, but still, a triumph is a win. What you’ve maybe discovered channel less about is that, only three weeks prior to the commencement of the Olympics, usages proletarians in Brazil went on an indefinite ten-strike. Yes, those practices craftsmen. The ones responsible for obligating sure no nefarious parties or happens cross the border into Brazil. Seems like that should be making a few more headlines, yeah? You can always talking here Toilet Water Bay tomorrow . The reason for the ten-strike, of course, is fund. That’s a resource that isn’t in long quantity in Brazil right now, especially with them having to shoulder the financial encumbrance of hosting the Olympics. That wasn’t always been, though, so at some detail in the not-too-distant past, custom-mades employees were predicted a parent that they are able to take effect this August. A plenty has transpired since then, most notably the impeachment( or ousting by way of a takeover, depending on whom you ask) of President Dilma Rousseff. The new administration is re-examine pretty much everything she ever did, and apparently that includes wage agreements signed with customs workers. Naturally, this along with the financial stres the Olympics are making has left traditions proletarians feeling a little uneasy about the prospects of that parent actually happening. So they’re gone on impres to push the government’s side, on the eve of Brazil hosting one of “the worlds largest” inviting fear targets in recent memory. At least I think that’s what they’re doing. In a terrifyingly representative pattern to seeing how the influx of bad Olympics-related news coming out of Brazil these days is far outgrowing the seat news outlets have to dedicate to it all, I can’t find a single follow-up to this story. It was initially reported back in mid-July, and this history dated July 21 implies that the ten-strike did happen, but I candidly have no plan how a person would know if this is a circumstance that’s still happening, short of rounding up someone who lives in Brazil and questioning them. It surely isn’t being talked about on the major word outlets much. Instead, the headlines are set aside for events like Team USA’s heinous Olympic outfits. Please tell me they have to compete in those . Granted, those are indeed a nightmare and the entire nation should be ashamed, but an update from CNN and the like about whether Brazil is to be able to have customs agents in place to act as the last path of defense between multitudes of tourists and would-be gunmen seems like it would make for bulletin we can use as well, you know? Oh, and speaking of the potential for fright task … # 4. A Suspected Terrorist Went Missing For Months OK, so I’m sure this is nothing, but even so, it’s worth pointing out that, as we are to talk, a former Guantanamo prisoner and suspected terrorist has gone missing somewhere in Brazil. Not “gone missing” as in their own families perturbs he may have fallen victim to a serial executioner, but “gone missing” as in the governments of Brazil and the United States both genuinely wanna know where he’s gone. The subject of the manhunt is a Syrian national mentioned Abu Wa’el Dhiab. Have you seen this humanity ? He was suspected of having ties to militant radicals at the time the U.S. apprehended him. We never formally charged him with any misdemeanours, but we did hinder him at Guantanamo for 12 damn times. So if he didn’t dislike us before, he maybe does now. If nothing else, the facts of the case that either authority were concerned about where he is at all isn’t the most promising mansion. Nor is the admonish issued by a Brazilian airline that he may try to enter Brazil applying a spurious passport. Whether he was ever proven to be a gunman or not, an active fugitive who may or may not be used in the two countries is reason to worry in a country that’s clearly buckled for the resources necessary to ensure anyone’s safety, tourists or otherwise. Update alert! They did actually find this person. He turned up in Venezuela last week. So I predict that is something that was good-for-nothing, but still, that no one could keep tabs on him at a time when defence is supposed to be at the highest level possible isn’t good. The enormity of the security problem in Brazil was documented almost perfectly by journalist Wyre Davies recently over the course of exactly two tweets. The first demonstrates an intersection near a inn that are able to house tourists during the games, utterly jam-packed with soldiers providing security. The second tweet been demonstrated that same intersection completely empty … … after the entire private security force was just going to lunch at the exact same meter . Good fluke, sports fans! # 3. Brazil’s Most-Used Messaging App Might Not Work During The Olympics In times of crisis, communication is vital. I think it’s safe to say the world is expecting a lot of crises to jump off in Brazil over the next few weeks; here’s hoping the people who live there will be able to stay in touch while it’s all going down. Are you familiar with WhatsApp? Sure this is right! Perhaps you even use it, you tech-savvy son of a bitch! You know who else applies it? A whole lot of parties in Brazil, where it’s the most-used messaging app of all. Nonetheless, the relationship between WhatsApp and the Brazilian government has become a bit strained recently, and that’s putting it very mildly. In fact, on three separate occasions over the last few months, the government has tried to cut off access to the app. The ban was lifted before it could take effect in most of those cases, but one of them did result in the app going down for several hours at one point. This is what all of America would look like if “weve lost” messaging abilities for even 1 hour . What, you may be wondering, could be so damn important about an app that government officials who are already extended thin trying to become the Olympics happen in a non-disastrous manner are still procuring time to devote to shutting it down? Well, in December of last year, WhatsApp was prescribed by a adjudicator in Brazil to hand over letters exchanged between believes in a child sex corruption action who’d been contacting expending the app( which is owned by Facebook, for the record ). Lawyers for WhatsApp claimed those themes aren’t stored on their servers, so they couldn’t add them even if they wanted to. That judge didn’t believe them and ordered the services offered to be shut down until the company is in accordance the court’s entreaty. The outlaw was ruled to be a violation of the people’s right to freely express( WhatsApp disagreed this level too ), and it was overturned. That entire process was then recited two more times. WhatsApp is wreaking again in Brazil for now, but the fight with special courts hasn’t resolved. Only last week, Brazil froze $11 million in Facebook assets in relation to the dispute. Yes, I understand that your median Facebook executive is likely to be invest $11 million on shedding stacks of cash in your face to humiliate you without even discovering it was gone, but still, it’s a clear signed the fight isn’t over. If the governmental forces argues that Facebook’s refusal to turn over words between crooks represents a threat to the public safety that’s especially most severe while the Olympics are happening and terrorist attacks are a real possible, tens of thousands of beings in Brazil could be without one of their most relied-upon means of communication for weeks. Read more: http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/09/28/5-lesser-known-problems-plaguing-the-2016-summer-olympics/

[infotainmentplus-blog]

10 best upcoming Android games: Fortnite, Project Cars, Harry Potter and more PUBG Mobile, Tekken Mobile, and Final Fantasy XV: Pocket Edition are just a few of the great Android titles released this year. We expect to see many more in the near future from well-known developers like Ubisoft, Telltale Games, and Niantic Labs. Here are the 10 upcoming Android games we’re most excited about, in different categories like adventure, action, and racing. 1. Fortnite: Battle Royale Fortnite is a free to play third-person shooter battle royale game. It gathers together up to 100 unarmed players and drops them onto an island littered with randomly generated guns, ammo, and equipment. From there, players hunt for loot in abandoned buildings, take each other down, and build shelters and towers, all while racing to avoid the circular “storm.” The eye of the storm — where the game takes place — gets smaller as the game goes on, gradually making parts of the island uninhabitable and forcing players into increasingly closer quarters. Fortnite is one of the biggest games in the world right now. Fortnite is one of the most popular games in the world right now, currently available on PC, Mac, Xbox One, PS4, and iOS. It supports cross-play, allowing PC gamers to join console and mobile gamers to take on other squads. The game isn’t available on Android yet but will be soon. In early March, Epic Games announced it will be ready “in a few months.” While you wait, you can check out a few alternatives like PUBG Mobile and Rules of Survival. 2. Westworld Westworld Mobile Westworld is an upcoming Android game based on HBO’s hit TV series of the same name. You assume the role of a trainee granted access to the official Delos Park Training Simulation (DPTS), developed to help you learn all aspects of park operations and Host maintenance. Part of the job is to build, optimize, and unlock park locations including Sweetwater, Escalante, and Las Mudas. You also have to manufacture, collect, as well as upgrade over 170 AI hosts and match them with guests to satisfy their desires. There’s no word on when Westworld will be released, but the game is already listed on the Play Store. Users can pre-register to get notified when it becomes available. The title will be free to play, with in-app purchases available to speed up your progress. Pre-register 3. Jurassic World Alive This is an augmented reality (AR) title much like Niantic’s Pokemon GO. It lets you collect and interact with dinosaurs around you. The premise of the game is that you’re a new member of the Dinosaur Protection Group (DPG) on a mission to save these gigantic creatures from a second extinction. You can track dinosaurs with a drone and collect DNA samples required to level up and create hybrids in your lab. You can also assemble the perfect dinosaur strike team and take on dangerous threats in real-time PvP battles. The game allows you to explore the world around you with location-based technology, discover dinosaurs on a map, earn rewards like in-game currency and battery life for your drone, and much more. Jurassic World Alive is set to launch on Android this spring, although an exact date isn’t known, though it will probably be out by the time the film Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom releases on June 8. You can pre-register for the game on the Play Store to try it out as soon as it becomes available. Pre-register 4. Project Cars GO Project Cars, a popular racing game released on Xbox One, PS4, and PC, is getting a mobile spin-off. Called Project Cars GO, it will come with loads of exotic cars and tons of customization options, just like the PC and console version. Project Cars is known for offering an authentic racing experience, and the mobile version promises just that. The game has sold over two million copies worldwide so far and is one of the best of its kind in my opinion. Read next: 15 best racing games for Android Gamevil and Slightly Mad Studios are developing the game, but there’s no word on the release date. Slightly Mad Studios CEO Ian Bell said racing fans will be “stomping the gas pedal and burning rubber very soon,” which makes us think it won’t be long until Project Cars GO makes its debut. When it does, it will give all the other titles on our list of best upcoming Android games a run for their money. 5. Hello Neighbor Hello Neighbor is a horror game split into three acts. In the first one, you step into the shoes of a child investigating the house of a suspicious neighbor who has something locked in his basement. You have to sneak through the house and figure out what the creepy dude is up to. If he catches you — and he will — you’ll end up back in your house having to start all over again. Editor's Pick 10 best Android horror games When we first wrote this article a few years ago, the horror games genre wasn't great. There were a few good ones. However, the quality deteriorated quickly after that. The last couple of years have … The game has Pixar-style graphics and can be quite challenging. Your neighbor will set up cameras and bear traps where you last entered the house to make it harder for you to complete the mission. He’ll also analyze your movements and find shortcuts to take you down faster. This keeps the gameplay exciting and tense, even as you attempt to break in for the thousandth time. Hello Neighbor launches on Android July 27. You’ll be able to play the first act for free, while the other two will be available as in-app purchases. A limited beta for the game kicks off soon, allowing you to try it out before its official release — sign up below. Become a beta tester 6. Assassin’s Creed Rebellion Developed by Ubisoft, Assassin’s Creed Rebellion is a strategy game with RPG elements. It takes place in Spain, where you control a fortress of the Assassin Brotherhood, leading a team of assassins. You can build new rooms in the fortress, make new equipment, and even create medicine. You can also team up with more than 40 characters including Ezio, Shao Jun, and Aguilar, train and upgrade them, and send them on missions throughout the country. These missions can get you DNA fragments which can unlock new assassins, resources for better equipment, and more. The free-to-play title has already soft-launched in a few countries including New Zealand and the Philippines. Unfortunately, there’s no word on when it will be available globally. 7. Oddmar This platforming game stars a lazy, selfish Viking called Oddmar who is on a mission to burn down a forest. If he fails, he may be kicked out of his tribe. Yikes! Magic mushrooms give Oddmar special powers. The game features 24 levels riddled with traps and other obstacles. There are various magic mushrooms available which give Oddmar special powers, allowing him to more easily overcome challenges. The game looks like a lot of fun and has gorgeous graphics. Check it out in the short trailer above. Oddmar is already available on iOS and has received great reviews so far. It’s not the cheapest game you can get, as it will set you back $5. The price will likely be the same once the title hits Android devices, although this hasn’t been confirmed yet. An exact release date remains a mystery for now. 8. Harry Potter: Wizards Unite Pokemon Go developer Niantic Labs’s new title is Harry Potter: Wizards Unite. The upcoming AR game is being developed in partnership with Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment. Players will “learn spells, explore their real world neighborhoods and cities to discover [and] fight legendary beasts, and team up with others to take down powerful enemies.” Read next: 10 best AR games for Android No other details are known about the game at this point. Based on the success of the company’s previous titles and the popularity of Harry Potter, it could be one of the best upcoming Android games of the year. We don’t have an exact release date yet, but you can sign up on the game’s official website to get notified when it launches. Sign up 9. The Walking Dead: The Final Season The fourth and final season of the extremely popular The Walking Dead series will be released sometime this year too. Developer Telltale hasn’t shared a lot of details about the game, but it did mention Clementine will be in the lead role. The third season — A New Frontier — ended with Clementine going out to look for AJ. In the last season, the story will revolve around what happens when she finds him. According to the developer, players will also be able to shape Clementine’s future by making decisions about who she wants to be, who she wants to be with, and more. Unfortunately, we don’t know when exactly the game will be released. To learn more about it, check out Telltale’s summer update video above. 10. PayDay: Crime War Already a popular first-person shooter on PC and consoles, Payday is coming to Android. Payday Crime War is a multiplayer, team-based PvP title where two teams go head to head. One team takes on the role of criminals trying to perform a robbery. The other team steps into the shoes of a SWAT team trying to prevent the crime. Editor's Pick 10 best FPS games for Android FPS games (first person shooters) are among the most exciting game genres out there. It is one of the most popular genres ever. Additionally, a variety of high-value games have come from it, including Halo, … Up to eight players can take part in a match, which can take place in different locations. As you progress through the game, you can get new weapons and additional abilities to step up your game. Developer Overkill Software has set up a website for the upcoming game, claiming it’s coming soon. An exact date has not been shared with the public yet. These are the some of best upcoming Android games to keep an eye out for, although we’re sure plenty of other interesting titles will make their debut this year. Have we missed any major ones? Let us know in the comments! , via Android Authority http://bit.ly/2FgCtUE