#egg on my face for forgetting the louisiana purchase was a thing

[just-french-me-up]

I only watched Knives Out two days ago because I wanted to understand all the Glass Onion memes, and maybe that's a huge bias on my part but I knew Daniel Craig had an accent in the movies, i just didn't know which one, and I 110% expected a butchered french accent, because, come on, Benoit Blanc!

And nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for my reaction the first time he opened his mouth

[hannahrose130]

Devilish Daydreams

Everyone Deserves a Classic

Waking up is the first step in everyone’s daily schedule. Leaving a dream can feel haunting to the human mind as it goes throughout the day. They try so desperately to put the puzzle pieces together in order to relive in the forgotten land. Some try so hard to remember they distract themselves from their jobs. Using daydreams to complete the story, see what happens, and to break down the plot twist. 

On the other side of the spectrum, one could find themselves waking up in a sweat. Fear coursing through their veins, the amygdala pulsing with adrenaline as the brain rushes out of the nightmare. A self-induced illusion of terror and horror. As the person sits up in bed, hurrying their gaze around the room, wondering if the threat was real. If the shiver running down their spines were justified. They hurry out of bed, hoping to forget the night terror they just experienced. They calm their heart rate and finish the first step of the day.

Alastor McCarthy’s first step of the day had been tampered with and compromised. When he opened his chocolate eyes every morning at 5:30 am on the dot he didn’t long to return to the land of paradise or fret over imaginary monsters his mind created. Alastor simply woke and got ready, for he can’t understand anymore the difference between a daydream and a nightmare.

Now, each individual’s daily routine is unique. Some like order while others prefer the livelihood of chaos. To live by the moment, not knowing what will happen next. Alastor McCarthy was not overly fond of those types of people. He liked the order, he liked to keep things consistent. 

Step one of Alistair’s daily schedule: Wake up and get ready. This can include - but not limited to - washing his face; brushing his teeth; combing his straight chestnut hair; putting on his work clothes. Step two: Eat a nutritious breakfast. Alastor cooked two eggs sunny side up with a side of bacon and whole-wheat toast. A glass of orange juice. The warmth of Louisiana allowed the glass to fog with condensation.

Step three: Go to work. Mr. McCarthy worked downtown in a semi-tall building, around four or five stories. It was a dirty red brick building with ivy running up the side. It led to small insects finding home within the walls of the studio Alastor worked at. He was granted his own channel a few years back. 

Alastor was a well-respected man in Louisiana. Men laughed at his witty jokes, women swooned at his symmetrical face, and children adored his upbeat taste in music. They danced whenever he played their favorite songs. Drivers listened to him as they sped around the city. And while the fame wasn’t a plus in his eyes, Alastor loved his job. He worked from 6:30 am to 11:00 am, giving him enough free time to do as he pleases for the afternoon. On rare occasions, he gets asked to stay late to plan out the next week’s script. 

Step four: Leave work and relax. Alistair’s idea of relaxation was a thing of mystery. More often than not he liked to be alone, strolling through the town, having short friendly conversations with bystanders. Sometimes Alastor would visit his bartender friend, Henry. The young man way, to his dismay, Alistair’s best friend. The two men were close in age (Alastor being 26 and Henry a strapping 24) and in relation. Step five: Return home and prepare. The radio host preferred to keep his nights open, in case anything were to arise or if he was preoccupied, then he would have enough time to get done what needed to be done. 

He followed this schedule without fail every day (on the weekends he followed it the same besides for the work). And for a while, Alastor McCarthy thought nothing would change that. Little did Alastor know that he was very wrong.

It was a weekend, Saturday, to be precise, and Alastor already had a plan for his week. To understand what Alistair’s plan was one must know Alastor was an addict. A “junkie” - as the term would later form - in need of a fix. While it may have looked like it from the outside, Alastor McCarthy was not a perfect man. He had flaws, major ones. And his excellent plan was to indulge in this bad habit. The bad habit that condemned him to hell. Now the first step of his plan was to go to the bookstore.

It wasn’t a large book store nor was it well known. Alastor came across it on one of his afternoon walks, it wasn’t too far from his own house, a ten-minute walk at most. It had a green-blue wooden sign above the door with snow-white print. There were books displayed in the glass windows and advertisements on the glass. As soon as he laid eyes on the small hole in the wall store, a familiar itch nipped at the back of his mind. An itch he hadn’t scratched in some time - too long of a wait. And he needed to scratch, oh so bad. 

Inhaling the air filled with the smell of the street, Alastor kept his bright smile and ventured inside. As he opened the door, bells chimed indicating a potential new customer had walked inside. He walked further, his dress shoes softly tapping against the short carpet.

Alastor immediately saw her, what he came here for. She was across the store, looking at a magazine. Her lipstick was a shade of red that complimented her eyes. Her fingers flipped through the pages carelessly. She didn’t seem to mind if there was damage. Her short flapper hairstyle was modern, sleek against her head. Clearly from the way she stood, hip stuck to the side, she wasn’t exactly pro-women. The term “flapper” was meant to show a strong side of the female gender. To prove they weren’t little things to abuse and that they were strong. The woman holding the magazine was most likely following the trends. 

For a moment her eyes flickered toward him so he walked behind a bookshelf. He grabbed a random book from the shelf and turned his head down, sneaking glances at the women who moved onto another magazine. 

He was observing her when a light tap was felt on his left shoulder. Alastor tensed, he did not like to be touched. Whipping his head around, he snapped the book closed and faced the person who was desperate enough for his attention to invade his personal space. Why didn’t people get the concept of personal bubbles?

Alistair’s eyes peered through his small oval glasses at a figure smaller than his own. A woman. She wore no makeup but was wearing a plain dress with little accents. She had an apron on with the name of the store hand-stitched onto the left breast of the cloth.

“Hi, can I help you, sir?” What Alastor noticed was how angelic her voice was. He shook his head no, perhaps she could satisfy his scratch. The worker nodded and was about to move away when she noticed the book in his grasp. “You’re reading The Great Gatsby? It’s my favorite. What’s your favorite part?”

Alastor smiled stiffly and looked back at Magazine Woman, who was still happily reading and looked back to the woman in front of him. “I enjoyed the ending quite a bit.”

Miss Worker’s listening smile shifted into an unfamiliar, slightly opened smile. She nodded, her hair bounced with her movement, “Ah, yes. I just loved how the robbery didn’t uproot Nick’s life so much.”

Alastor nodded in agreement when he saw the smug look on the woman’s face. Ah shit, he had been caught in a lie. The chestnut-haired man laughed into his chest. “That’s not how this story ends, I presume?”

The worker shook her head, an ever-growing smile on her face. “Not in this book. If you were looking for a book with that ending, I recommend the back shelf at the top.” Alastor changed his smile from a forced one into something genuine. This little darling was very interesting. “I’m Y/n. I’m the manager, can I help you find something you are actually looking for?”

“Well, darling, I’m not quite sure what I am looking for if I’m being honest. I just wandered in here, in hopes of finding something worth my time. Perhaps a cookbook? Or shall I stay here and pretend to read this?” he held up the thin book. 

Y/n fake gasped and snatched the book from his hand, “How dare you say such horrid things. This will be a classic.” He informed her it was published only last year. “I am well aware of that, sir,” she opened the book and flipped through the pages. He watched as her fingers danced across the flutter of the paper. He could tell she was entranced by this object. “People generations from now will read this book and fall in love with the story.” She looked at him teasingly, “So don’t expect me to condone someone insulting this masterpiece in my bookstore.”

He chuckled, “My dear, my name is Alastor.”

“I’m aware of your name Mr. McCarthy. I listen to you on the radio from time to time. So I know who you are, Mr. Radioman.” Alastor chuckled at the nickname. Y/n turned to go back to where ever she planned to go. “And Mr. McCarthy?” He perked up at his name. “The cookbooks are behind you.”

Turning around, Alastor saw the books on the lowest shelves. 

Time had passed, no more than fifteen minutes, when Alastor felt as though he were lingering too long. He found it hard to not stare at the woman who teased him as she went about her business, helping other people as they needed it. Finally, it was time to check out. 

With two cookbooks in hand, Alastor walked to the front counter, his smile never leaving his face. He set the books down and dug into his pocket for his wallet. Y/n picked up the books, placing them into a paper bag with twine handles. She offered her smile as he handed over the amount owed. 

“Did you find everything okay?” Y/n asked as she put the money away. 

The radio host nodded, “I’m not sure I found what I intended to, nor what I sought out in the first place, but I’m pleased with my purchase nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m glad,” she handed him the bag with a smile. Their fingers grazed each other’s and for once, Alastor didn’t mind the light contact. “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Radioman.”

“Likewise, Ms. Y/n,” Alastor bowed his head as he opened the door, the bells chiming as he left. 

As he walked down the street, humming a happy tune, Alastor noticed something odd about his purchase. There was a third book. And not just any book, it was The Great Gatsby. Confusion made its way into his eyebrows as they furrowed slightly. He parked on the side of the sidewalk, as so to not bump into other people, and reached to grab the book. Sticking out of the book was a note. 

Everyone deserves a classic.

He silently chuckled at her neat cursive. He flipped open the book when he saw writing on the first page after the cover. It was originally blank but was used to take another note. The same pretty cursive that was on the small loose piece of paper. 

Alastor,

I hope you find what you are looking for. In the meantime, I feel you would enjoy this story’s ending better than the last.

She signed at the bottom. His finger ghosted over the writing, not wanting to cause any smears from the blue ink. Alastor smiled, this time his eyes held more than just a facade. He put the book back and carried on. 

Alastor thought about it for a moment. Maybe he did find something. Not what he was looking for at the beginning, oh no. Something much different. The reason he could tell? The mental itch nipping at the back of his mind was gone. 

[spiritsflame]

#egg on my face for forgetting the louisiana purchase was a thing #THANKS napoleon

how could you leave this in the tags?

I only watched Knives Out two days ago because I wanted to understand all the Glass Onion memes, and maybe that's a huge bias on my part but I knew Daniel Craig had an accent in the movies, i just didn't know which one, and I 110% expected a butchered french accent, because, come on, Benoit Blanc!

And nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared me for my reaction the first time he opened his mouth