#had a massive influx over the weekend

[brewed-pangolin]

Gentle yet firm reminder that this is a mature domain.

Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

No exceptions.

[ellephlox]

Lights Out

Summary: You’re touring a haunted house with Matt, and the entire building loses power when a thunderstorm arrives. On the bright side, you’ve got Matt to lead you out (when he’s not taking advantage of your inability to see). 

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Creepy haunted house imagery, swears

The sign for local attractions on the highway was battered and scratched, bearing the words HAUNTED HOUSE — EXIT 64. Rain pounded on the windshield as you drove; it was a long seven hours from the weekend holiday you’d taken with Matt back to Hell’s Kitchen, and you were only halfway done the drive. There was obviously no way for Matt to switch off with you, so instead he kept pushing for rest stops so that you could stretch your legs from the driving, despite your assurance to him that it was okay. 

You pulled into a parking spot outside the attraction, mud and dirt grinding under the tires. Once the key was out of the ignition, the silence of the engine was eerily fitting for the view of the haunted mansion in front of you, especially with the pounding of the rain on the roof. 

“Wow,” you said, peering up at it. “This thing’s actually pretty big. It looks Gothic — there’s a rounded tower-like part on the left, with bay windows, I think. In the center where the roof is highest, it’s pointy and there’s a weathervane with a skull on top. The outside is painted a really ugly purple. Oh, and the decorations are awesome. They look genuine, too; gravestones, a body sticking out of the chimney, blood splattered all over the front porch. Ha. There’s even a hearse parked next to us.”

“Scary or corny, overall?”

“It looks pretty good. I’d say it’s scary but you’re here with me,” you said, grabbing his hand. “Ready?”

You paid at the ticket booth and then entered the mansion. Only once you were safely inside, far from any of the workers, did Matt drop his hand from your arm. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just you and me.”

You nodded at a skeleton sitting at a piano. “And Mr. Bones right there.”

Matt tilted his head. “There’s a motion sensor ahead. Probably there’s going to be a jump scare.”

“Well, it’s not a jump scare anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How much of this can you sense, anyway?”

“It’s... kind of a confusing influx of sensory details. Different machines behind the walls for all the animatronics and music, weird smells coming from everything, and I can feel the shifts in air pressure when something’s moving. It’s all kind of a... bonfire of input.”

Sure enough, a vampire sprung out of a coffin moments later, and even with Matt’s warning you still flinched, heart skipping a beat when it shrieked at you. The layout of the mansion was narrow and winding; different hallways took you through a variety of different rooms and scares. Some of the sights were admittedly scary; an animatronic girl with stringy hair and an axe came flying out of the shadows, and even the floorboards and doors beside you would buckle unexpectedly as you passed by them. To your delight, one of the picture frames turned to life and even caught Matt off guard — you felt him stir slightly beside you. The path through the mansion took you up two flights of stairs, all the way to the top floor of the house. 

“It’s a kitchen!” you said, admiring the decorations. “With — ew. Blood coming out of the faucet. And fingers baking in the oven.”

But Matt had his head tilted slightly towards the window. “Lightning’s about to strike,” he said suddenly, and true to his word, a massive flash lit up the entire room only a second later. The clap of thunder that followed was nearly simultaneous with the lightning, and rattled the mansion so hard that the window shook. 

And that was when the mansion lost power. Everything, all at once, fell silent as though it had been muted, and you were plunged from shadowy, dim lighting into absolute pitch blackness. 

“Matt?” you said uncertainly, reaching out for him and only finding empty space. The thought of all the things around you — amusing only moments ago — suddenly made your heart spike. 

“Right here.” Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Any light coming in at all?”

You waved your hand in front of your eyes. “Nothing. It’s like a black hole in here. And of course we left our phones in the car,” you grumbled, shifting closer to Matt. “A flashlight would be nice.”

“No light is coming in through the window?”

“Only when there’s lightning. And I don’t think there are many windows in this labyrinth.” Gingerly you stepped forward. “This is... not fun.”

“I’m personally very offended by how opposed you are to being visually impaired.”

You frowned. “You make fun of my bad hearing all the time — which, by the way, is not bad hearing, it’s simply normal-person hearing.”

“I think it’s bad hearing.”

“We’re allowed to make fun of each other’s senses,” you continued. “That’s the most important tenet of dating someone.”

“Oh, really? Then I’m free to tell you that you’ve got absolutely terrible common sense?”

“Ha, ha. You’re so clever,” you deadpanned. “Are we out of the creepy kitchen yet?"

“Yeah.” Matt nudged you to the right. “This way.”

“Are we close to the exit?”

“No. It’s probably another ten minute walk, at the very least.”

“Lovely. Why doesn’t this place have a generator?”

“It should. This could be a huge liability. If someone got hurt and decided to sue, the owners could easily get in trouble.”

“Only someone who had to endure the trauma of a bar exam would think about liabilities when the power goes out,” you said appreciatively. “So... we’ve got two flights of stairs to go down?”

“Three. The exit’s in the basement,” Matt said. “Watch out. There’s fake cobwebs ahead of us.”

You were glad for the warning, because the revolting sensation of gossamer threads brushing against your face would have otherwise been disturbing. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hallway, and for a moment you were face-to-face with a ghastly clown that was grinning beside you. You yelped, nearly falling backwards into Matt. Adrenaline soared through you, and you couldn’t help but squint through the darkness in an attempt to make sure the clown wasn’t moving. It was to no avail — when the lightning was gone, so was any visibility.

“Take a deep breath,” Matt said, nudging you with his shoulder. “Your heart’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

“There’s a clown, Matt.”

“And he’s made of rubber, wood, and plastic.”

Lightning flashed again, and you winced at the clown’s companion, a bloody jester gloating on your left. “Are the haunted house workers coming in to help?”

“No. There’s only one worker, and based on the way her heart jumped with the power going out, I highly doubt she’s going to walk alone into a haunted mansion with all the lights off. Careful, the hallway twists a bit right here.” Matt gently guided you to the left. You went forward reluctantly, feeling that you were about to walk into something at any second despite your trust in Matt. “And there are two steps down right here.”

“Right where?” you asked, slowing to a halt.

“Right here, in front of us.”

Anxiously you edged your toe forward, feeling for the drop of the step. “This is incredibly creepy.”

“I’ll tell you when to step. Just keep going, and step downward when I say.” Matt tugged you forward, and you resisted, moving as carefully as possible until you were down the steps. 

“I don’t like this,” you informed him. “Because I know for a fact that there are probably zombies or vampires or something in here.”

“Dolls, actually.”

“Oh, God. Are you serious?”

Matt laughed. “At least, I think they’re dolls. Ceramic faces, stringy hair, small size.” He took your hand and guided it in front of you. “Here. Want to feel one?”

“No!” 

“There are lots of dolls in here. And it feels... dark. Wait.” Matt’s hand suddenly held yours more tightly.

“Well, I could’ve told you it’s dark in here.”

“No. I mean... a different type of dark.” Matt was silent, and you imagined he was cocking his head. 

“What is it?” you asked, squinting around as though it would suddenly help you to see the surroundings. 

“Something’s moving,” he whispered. “One of the dolls.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean a doll is moving,” he repeated. “Wait here—”

And then he pulled his hand away from yours, lost in the blackness of the house.

“Shit!” you yelped, hugging yourself. “Matt! Don’t leave me here!”

There was a small crash to your left, and then footsteps, slow and creaking, from behind you. Holy shit holy shit fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk—

“Matt!” you shrieked. “Come back!”

And then, you felt something behind you, and the warm exhale of someone breathing near your ear. “Boo,” Matt said, in a low voice, and you automatically swung around so quickly with your fist that you would have socked him in the face, had he not caught your wrist first. 

“Shit – sorry, I didn’t mean to almost punch you—” You stopped yourself, mid-apology. “What the hell, Matt? You’re awful! How could you do that to me?”

To your indignation, he actually chuckled, sounding so damn pleased with himself that you would’ve marched away and continued on your own if you could actually see. “You know, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever heard your heart go.”

“Yeah, because you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.” Matt wrapped an arm around you as he continued steering you forward. “But you must have known that this was coming, sweetheart.”

“Um, no, I didn’t think I had it ‘coming’ because I thought I could trust my boyfriend to lead me out of a freaking pitch-black haunted mansion without trying to prank me like a five-year-old—”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“You couldn’t resist. Oh, well, that justifies it,” you grumbled, pushing at him again. “How much longer until we’re out of here?”

“Stairs to the first floor are right in front of us. Then we’re almost to the basement.” Matt dropped one of his hands so that it was on your lower back. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted at all?”

“I think the clouds are too thick for any moonlight to come through. And, of course, the lightning now decides to not flash at all.” You wished you could simply sense your surroundings like Matt could. “You’re amazing.”

“Weren’t you just saying I was awful?”

“No, really. I mean, the fact that you’re able to do all that you do, considering you can’t see; and me, the second I can’t see, I’m completely useless. It just makes me admire so much more the way that—”

“Stairs,” Matt warned. “Thirteen steps.”

“Thanks. But it just makes me admire so much more the way you... honed your senses, I guess. I mean, how many girls can brag that their blind boyfriend easily led them out of a haunted house with the navigation skills of someone with night-vision goggles?”

“It’s easier than you’d think.” Matt stopped suddenly, his fingers lightly raising to brush your upper arm and spin you so that your back was pressed into his chest. “Listen.”

You obeyed, falling as quiet as possible. Even this close to Matt, though, you couldn’t hear his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m not going to magically have your ability to hear well—”

“You don’t need my level of hearing,” Matt said. “Sometimes you just need to listen more closely. Hear that whistling?”

You focused. It was faint, but audible. “Yeah.”

“What’s that coming from?”

“Sounds like the wind coming through a vent.” Realization dawned on you. “Which means that there’s a wall in front of us.”

“Exactly. And did you hear that scuffle above us?”

“Yeah, that thump?” You hadn’t even paid attention to it until now. “It was probably that worker, right? Which means... we’re in the back lefthand corner of the house.”

“See? Easier than it seems,” Matt said, leaning in and kissing your temple. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

You smiled, feeling heat rise up your neck. “That’s really nice of you, but I know what you’re up to. You feel guilty for scaring me earlier and now you’re trying to make up for it with flattery.”

“Floor gets squishy right here,” Matt said suddenly, and you were glad for the warning as the wooden floorboards beneath your feet unexpectedly transitioned to foam. “They really went all-out with this haunted house.”

“Too bad we’re missing most of it. And... Matt, I love you for guiding me, but can we please slow down?” you said, leaning backwards to reduce the speed Matt was leading you at. “I feel like I’m about to walk into a wall.”

“Sorry.” Matt slowed his pace. “We’re almost out. You know, I’ll miss this a bit.”

“What, me being temporarily blind?”

“Yeah. Because you can’t see things like this coming.”

“Things like what—?”

But then Matt’s lips were on yours, passionate and hard, as he pressed you backwards into what was presumably a normal wall and hopefully not an upright coffin or anything gory. You made a small sound of surprise and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Matt’s left hand cupped the back of your head, and his right groped underneath your shirt on your lower back; goosebumps ran up and down your arms.

And then, without warning, the lights flooded on, machines and animatronics beside you whirring to life. You jumped, heart skipping at the massive demon leering on the ceiling above you. Painted flames danced on the walls and a horned mannequin, eyes blinking and head rotating back and forth, grinned at you deviously. “Oh, God. We’re in Hell, I think.”

“We are? I wasn’t really paying attention.” Matt leaned in and kissed you one more time. “Your body was just a bit distracting.”

“Okay. New idea, Matt,” you said, staring at the fiery devil as it continued to sneer at you. “I see a really, really, really amazing photo opportunity. If the attendant lets me, I’m going to run and get my phone from the car quickly, then I’ll be back.”

“You’re going to abandon a blind man in a haunted mansion? How will I ever know where to go if you’re not allowed back inside to guide me?”

You laughed. “I’ll convince her to let me back in.”

And that was how, a week later, you happily received a photo print in the mail: Matt standing beside an animatronic devil, pointing at it with his thumb and smiling widely.

A/N: This is based off of a really neat haunted mansion that I visited on Prince Edward Island awhile back. Happy almost Halloween, everyone!

[jovialtorchlight]

The Nokia Phone Underneath the Bleachers

In 2004, I slipped out of the pocket of Ian Thomas’ denim JNCO jorts and fell into the darkness deep beneath the gym bleachers at Cumberland Hills Middle School. ( For the record, Ian’s jorts had a bulldog patch on the back pocket. They were sick.) For Ian, the consequences of my neglectful disappearance were fleeting; he had to wash his dad’s car and couldn’t play Halo for a weekend.

Me? I faced a solitary prison. My battery stayed alive for a month, and everytime someone called Ian, “Come Out and Play” by the Offspring rang out in the cavernous purgatory. My neighbors? A crumpled up Gogurt wrapper. Dust. A desiccated Cheeto. A clove cigarette that fell out of Ryan Ashbin’s pocket in 2006; crumpled up detention slips; later, an influx of Silly Bandz. Livestrong Bracelets. For nineteen years, I could smell only buttsweat and Axe; in 2007, a gym sock fell a few inches from me and I prayed for the vicious odor to be fumigated.

The massive quaking and reverberations from pep rallys ; the secret conversations. Usher on loop during school dances.

I have been a silent witness.

A witness to conversations soaked in the melodrama of existing, for a moment, as a thirteen year old. To them, it felt like forever, like it was everything. But I saw them pulled away by time, out of the school, away and into the world. A collection of tiny moments, faded into the ether, that at one time, to some kid, mattered more than anything else.

Vince Garcia scrambling up the bleachers, tears in his eyes, huddled at the top corner, hyperventilating. Mr. Bennet following shortly behind him, his massive body creaking up the bleachers, gently coaxing Vince to come back to class.

“It’s my dad,” Vince croaked. “He’s dying.”

Rosie Blair admitting to her best friend that she cut herself. Tom Gatlin coming out to his best friend. Macie Howard breaking up with Danny Evans and dating Howie Grant and then getting back together with Danny and Danny’s ex-Tracey Young jumping Macie and pulling her hair. A debate that almost devolved into a fistfight over whether Bigfoot existed in San Andreas.

I have seen the years pass by through the cracks in the bleachers. On a cold December afternoon in 2023, light permeated the darkness. A hand grasped me, and pulled me out of the catacombs.

I guess I had it better than most old phones; discarded in a landfill, resting beneath piles of junk in a drawer. And I don’t know where I am going.

Phones today are fragile, glassy, imperceptible to me. I cannot fathom what they can do. I don’t think I’ll be returning to the workforce.

Maybe I’ll write a book? Maybe they’ll run me over with a truck and film it, just to see how indestructible I really am.

But when September rolls around, and the nervous sixth graders fill the gym, waiting for orientation, I won’t be underneath the bleachers.

My tomb has been unsealed.

[leviathangourmet]

Senator Kyrsten Sinema said Wednesday that she is furious that $100 million in federal aid for migrants is being distributed to New York City instead of Arizona, which she says is bearing the biggest burden of the border crisis.

Arizona, her home state, and Texas have been hit with massive influxes of illegal immigrants seeking resources and shelter for months, she said.

“What we’re experiencing here in Arizona is matched only by what folks are experiencing in southern Texas,” the now-independent senator said during an event in the Yuma sector of Arizona near the southern border, according to the Hill. “Those are the two communities that are experiencing this crisis. The rest of the country is seeing some elements of it, but we are facing the brunt.”

Democratic Senate majority leader Chuck Schumer and House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries announced Wednesday that $104.6 million in Federal Emergency Management Agency funds will be sent to New York City to help accommodate the thousands of migrants pouring in.

“It is wrong and unfair that the money is going to places other than south Texas and south Arizona,” Sinema said. “The fact that a yeoman’s amount of this money went to New York City, in my opinion, is wrong because they are not a border state and they are not facing the kind of pressure that we are facing here. I want you to know that I am continuing to fight this, and I am livid.”

Mayor Eric Adams and 54 other NYC Democratic lawmakers have repeatedly pleaded with the federal government to help New York City, which has been overwhelmed by an inflow of illegal immigrants, and to improve border enforcement. Some 93,200 migrants have arrived in the city since spring 2022, according to the New York Post. More than 2,500 migrants are still arriving in the city weekly.

In January, Adams said the city was at its “breaking point” with the arrivals. He toured the border town of El Paso, Texas, and demanded that the Biden administration address illegal border crossings.

“We’re pointing the finger at our national government,” Adams said. “This is a national problem. We must have real immigration reform, and we must immediately have a short-term fix of making sure that the cost of this does not fall on our local cities.”

The White House responded to Adams’s plea by offering a federal liaison, but no additional money.

Earlier this week, dozens of migrants were seen on video sleeping on the ground outside the Roosevelt Hotel in New York City after the hotel, which has been serving as a makeshift processing center for asylum seekers, reached capacity over the weekend. There were so many migrants waiting to be taken into the shelter that many slept shoulder-to-shoulder across three full blocks, the New York Post reported.

Illegal border crossings surged in July despite the sweltering heat, according to preliminary U.S. Customs and Border Protection data obtained by the Washington Post. This defied a historical pattern that holds that migrant apprehensions typically decrease in the summer.

The uptick in migrant apprehensions was most noticeable in southern Arizona, where temperatures reached above 110 degrees for much of the last month. In the Tucson sector alone, Border Patrol agents arrested around 40,000 illegal immigrants, the highest one-month total for the area in 15 years, CBP data indicate.

Mark Krikorian, executive director for the Center for Immigration Studies, told National Review that much migrant traffic that had been entering the U.S. via the Rio Grande in Texas has been redirected to Arizona because of Texas governor Greg Abbott’s crackdown on illegal border crossings.

“Why are numbers going going up in Arizona instead of Texas?” he said. “That is due at least in part to the fact that Abbott is doing everything in his power to disrupt illegal immigration in the Rio Grande.”

Texas border personnel have been cutting down vegetation often used for cover along the border, expanding the state police presence, and erecting razor wire and other physical obstacles along the Rio Grande riverbank, he said.

They’ve also positioned a chain of buoys typically used for maritime harbor security on the water, he said. They roll over when a person tries to climb on them, and they have netting underneath to prevent people from swimming under. Last week, the Justice Department sued Texas over the floating barriers, asking the court to order the state to remove the 1,000-foot stretch of buoys installed near Eagle Pass, Texas. It is also sought an injunction to bar Texas from installing new ones.

[olko71]

New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on http://yaroreviews.info/2023/04/eurovision-2023-airbnb-host-tried-to-increase-rent-from-465-to-over-2000

Eurovision 2023: Airbnb host tried to increase rent from £465 to over £2,000

CORINNE CUMMING / EBU

By Jemma Dempsey

BBC News

Airbnb hosts in Liverpool are being warned not to try to hike prices on stays already booked ahead of the Eurovision Song Contest.

Roy Henry said his host tried to raise the price from £465 to £2,046 when they realised his stay was for the event.

Airbnb said it had “zero tolerance for this behaviour” and was taking action to stop hosts cancelling bookings and relisting at a higher price.

Liverpool is expecting an extra 150,000 visitors during Eurovision.

All tickets have sold out for the two semis and grand final of the international music competition from 9 to 13 May.

With only 84 hotels in the city centre, Airbnb partnered with Visit Liverpool to encourage more people to list their properties to help cope with the massive influx of visitors.

But both organisations said they were concerned about “price gouging”, where prices are increased to levels much higher than what is considered reasonable or fair.

‘An unpleasant experience’

After securing his tickets Mr Henry, who lives in London, booked an apartment in the city for five nights “for a steal” at £456.

But a day later he received an email from the host who asked him to cancel the booking so the price could be amended to £2,046.

“It was unbelievable,” said Mr Henry. “If the host said, look, I made a genuine mistake, can I increase it by a small amount, say £50 a night, I would have been fine with that.

“But my mortgage in London is less a month than what people are being expected to pay for a few days.”

Roy Henry

Airbnb has since allowed Mr Henry to cancel his stay and is helping him to cover the costs of finding alternative accommodation. Airbnb said his host is not allowed to relist the property for Eurovision.

In a statement it said: “We take a range of actions to deter host cancellations, including applying fees, penalties and blocking Hosts from accepting a new booking for the same dates.

“The average price per night of a booked stay during Eurovision is £260, providing affordable accommodation for guests and helping local families boost their income.”

Reuters

Airbnb said it had seen an increase in people listing their properties since Liverpool was announced as the Eurovision host city because it would be “an economic lifeline for many battling rising living costs”.

The city is used to hosting large events but Chris Brown, director of Marketing Liverpool, said Eurovision was “probably the biggest, high-impact, high-profile event we’ve ever had”.

“The area we have a problem with is landlords and private bookings, we have no ability to regulate them. Our advice is: If it’s expensive, don’t buy it,” Mr Brown said.

‘Hotel prices going beserk’

But Simon Bennett, secretary of the Eurovision Fan Club OGAE UK, said “everybody needs to take a deep breath”.

Hotel prices were stabilising at around £200 to £300 per night after going “berserk” when Liverpool was first announced as the host city and people made precautionary bookings, he said.

Many fans had simply booked accommodation elsewhere, in nearby Manchester, Warrington or Southport and would drive or take public transport, the 59-year-old added.

“Prices are starting to settle because not everyone got tickets,” he said.

Delegates from the participating countries, broadcasting media and associated organisations are all now accommodated and city hotels are releasing any remaining availability, but weekends are sold out.

Vacation rental data analytics company AirDNA said the median rate for available properties for the night of the final was nearly £1,000. It said many will have to reduce their rates as the competition nears.

Booking.com is listing a two-bedroom apartment in the city centre for the five days of the contest for £8,145. The following week it is available for £2,218.

‘No idea what to charge’

Other property owners are advertising on social media and say renting to the public is a “new thing” for them.

Sara Roberts said she had only ever let out her flat to “family and friends for football weekends” or the races at Aintree.

“How much do people looking for accommodation think is reasonable to pay?” she asked. “Many people have never rented their homes before… let’s all be transparent from both sides.”

Tom Jackson, who is also letting out his home, said: “I have no idea what I should charge, so I just put open to offers.”

Meanwhile, Mr Henry, who has been to other Eurovision contests in Europe where his accommodation was much cheaper, is still looking forward to his time in Liverpool, wherever he ends up staying.

“Eurovision may never come back to the UK again. I just love it, I’ve got the bug,” he said.

Related Topics

Eurovision Song Contest

Airbnb

Liverpool

More on this story

When is Eurovision and where is it being held?

9 March

Community grants for Eurovision events up for grabs

15 March

Lottery to release free Eurovision party tickets

11 March

[accapitalmarket]

Banking turmoil continues, VIX up 11%, UBS nears deal with CS

Banking turmoil continues, VIX up 11%, UBS nears deal with CS

 Banking turmoil continued to spoil through the weekend as troubled Swiss banking giant Credit Suisse is now close to reaching a deal with UBS, according to WSJ. What will this take over mean for UBS and the Swiss banking system is hard to predict at the moment, but merging the two biggest banks in the country may consolidate their positions as more banks are put on life support in the US. A fourth bank, First Republic Bank from California, had received $45 billion cash injection by other 11 banks, and these funds are uninsured.

Edit: UBS has reached a deal to acquire Credit Suisse for more than $US 3 billion, raising hopes of stabilising Europe’s banking system amid current crises. As a result, $US 17 billion of Credit Suisse’s AT1 (Additional Tier 1) bonds have been wiped out, making it the biggest loss in Europe’s history.  

Although governments and regulators are taking a proactive approach to these emerging problems, markets seem to focus on something completely different – pricing in a last hike before the Federal Reserve starts to reduce rates again. This is because the Fed had just injected $300 billion liquidity into the system to rescue the failing banks and this essentially means the Fed is no longer tightening.

BTC H1

 With the turmoil still yet to fully unfold, we saw money flowing into the defi (decentralised finance) space and cryptocurrencies made gains as its flagship BTC shot up nearly 10% in the past week to reach $27,197.10, highest level since June 2022. However, we must not ignore the fact that this influx of cash is driven by fear, not fundamentals, and market sentiment can shift in a blink of an eye.

VIX

Instead, we should look at the good old SPX500 as it is one of the most widely used gauge for the US economic and financial conditions. The Volatility Index (VIX), also know as the fear gauge, had pumped up 10.96% in the past 5 days and is now sitting at 25.51, its highest level in 5 months.

SPX500 H4

On the technical side, SPX500 managed to find momentum and temporarily breached its 3,930 key resistance level but soon lost the battle and dived down below. If we watch closely, plenty of upper and lower wicks on 4-hourly candles are flirting with 3,800 and 3,930 key levels. I wouldn’t be surprised to see more of these this week as the FOMC goes tick tock.

DXY Daily

On the dollar side, USD faced more uncertainty as massive trading volumes of Treasury bonds sent the greenback into chaos. The USD index is now back to 103.530 from last week’s high of 105.843, this is of course exacerbated by strength in EUR, GBP and JPY.

USDJPY H1

And speaking of JPY, those who bought the Yen and sold the Dollar are now entitled to put on a smug face as USDJPY declined rapidly from just under 138 all the way down to 131, a 5.34% decline even before the BoJ signalled any hawkish moves at all.

The biggest beneficiary of all is of course Gold. The yellow metal has been fully exploited as fear chews through market sentiment and the USD is sliding the hill (gold is priced in USD hence the negative correlation).

XAUUSD H1

Venturing into this week, our ultimate focus will be on the FOMC interest rate decision. If the Fed lands another 25bp hike, then we might see increased anxiety which may lead to markets switching to defensive positions. On the other hand, if a pivot is born and raised in the air on the Pride Rock, then markets may turn this rout into a celebration and party on.

Either way, this week will be big.

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[nitewrighter]

You used to be into Hetalia too??? Or is this a case of tumblr shoving stuff down your throat

Fun fact! I was in high school, and I became president of our school's anime club the year we got a massive influx of freshman--like my class was the biggest freshman class in years, but then this class came in and it was like 20% bigger, and meeting for 2 hours once a week, we were the most active club on campus, and get this: this was like the year Hetalia became a huge thing. I was dealing with our biggest anime club yet and the strongest leadership decision I made was forcing everyone to watch Blood+ on my birthday.... Also letting other girls choose the anime on their birthdays. But like it didn't matter in the end because all these girls really wanted to watch was Hetalia. So I'd show like.. 2 token episodes of the anime we meant to watch that week (because you know, variety) but we'd spend the rest of the time watching Hetalia. Except I wasn't really watching Hetalia, I was in the back of the room, hunched over my AP English and AP world History homework so that I would be free all weekend to compulsively write. I'll admit that at the time, because I was into world history, I thought it was a clever (albeit terrifyingly reductive) concept. Like when you're rushing through world history in an AP class, your brain kind of tends to default to literal dialogue between countries to understand complex international events. So like, when you're reading about these vast events taking place over months of time, your brain can kind of reduce it to "This country said 'fuck you' so this country said, 'Fuck you, bitch.'" Which again is like... very reductive and is ultimately a grossly ignorant narrative but when you're in the american schooling system and everything is hinging on this one fucking insane test, to pass a college-level workload class, your brain tends to break things down into easily memorizable things and then add in all the "howevers" and the "buts" as necessary paper-padding. Plus when you're a teenager, you have a very different concept of time: everything is shorter-term and higher stakes this is a critical time in your life and everything is pressed together and you're young so 15 minutes is an eternity. Did you know I mentally memorized multiples of 60 to count down how many seconds were in a class? I did it for this particularly agonizing spanish class I was in. Our teacher would just talk in spanish and look at you expectantly. She wanted us to learn by immersion but immersion means nothing with no context. I am adrift in a sea of words whose latin roots I am struggling to catch hold of. 15 minutes is 900 seconds. Therefore 45 minutes is 2700 seconds. The class is 80 minutes. 4800 seconds... I've gotten sidetracked. What were we talking about?

Anyway, one time I cosplayed as Switzerland because I had a little green peacoat and a beret but it turns out we messed up the dates for our cosplay meeting so I was the only one dressed up but no one noticed because hey it was just a peacoat and beret in late winter. I was just being fashionable.

[morgana-ren]

For Anon: Just the alleyway scene! Here you go! 

There was no better display of the sickening plethora of filth that was ‘hero culture’ than the mall.

Hoards of humans crowding inside a concrete cage to throw their money at any cheap, shitty knockoff item with a famous face plastered on it. Kids ran amok, screaming and crying and leaving a trail of crumbs and slobber in their wake. Teenage girls and boys huddled around the hippest stores, fawning over the latest heart throb and shoplifting trinkets while no one was looking. It was absolutely disgusting.

They flocked to the stores like rats chasing poisoned peanut butter. Endeavor t-shirts, Uwabami makeup. Midnight lingerie. Fucking All Might everything. They all flew off the rack as fast as they could be stocked. Moronic NPCs shoveling every ounce of garbage they could find into their inventory. Every bone in his body longed to run his hand along the wall and just watch it all turn to dust.

His hatred of the general populace was one of many reasons Shigaraki didn’t make a habit out of leaving the bar. Assuming that Father had kept enough of his face hidden during his exploits for it to be somewhat safe, he still didn’t particularly enjoy crowds. People of all sizes, shapes, colors, smells, cultures, ideals, and morals but they all had one thing in common.

They all looked down on him.

In public, he always kept his head down, hood and hair covering his marred face. Hands steadily in his pocket, eyes on the ground. He pulled himself into his own body, doing his best to not draw any undue attention. It wasn’t for their benefit, of course, but his. If one more NPC stared at him, a single person let their eyes linger too long on his chapped lips, dry skin, scars, or emaciated form, he would snap and ruin everything. A massacre that ended in his incarceration would probably throw a massive sized wrench into the gears of All for One’s plan, and that was the last thing Tomura wanted.

Regardless, it made him so angry.

Not that he cared what they thought. They could drown in their own filth as far as he was concerned. He just didn’t like being stared at. It was so rude. These pack animals always pretended like they were so much better than everyone else, with their laws and their heroes. So superior. But the way they looked at him, the way their eyes crinkled in disgust, mouths agape, looking at him like he was a wet rat who crawled out of a sewer grate.

How would they look at him when their expressions were melting from their faces as they disintegrated into ash?

The situation made his fingers twitch and lip curl. Wasn’t it enough that idiot Stain had polluted the minds of the city’s villains with his ridiculous ideology? Did everything have to be such a pain in the ass?  

Luckily, Shigaraki had a few hobbies that helped to calm his mind. While drinking at the bar and crisping newspapers was always a quick and easy stress relief, he had always been particularly taken with video games. Not only did he enjoy them, but he was good at them. No one could look down at you for your appearance or ideals, the only thing that mattered in the end was victory, and that was a strategy he could work with.

It didn’t matter the genre, the rating, online or off, he knew he could dominate it. He never had much trouble climbing the rankings or leveling up. Nothing mattered but his prowess, his skill, both of which he had in spades. Not to mention, it allowed him to exercise his destructive and domineering personality without drawing any real attention to himself. In fact, it even made him cool. People would fight for his allegiance during battles or races, sending him an wave of friend requests and messages with offers from their guilds or promises of friendship from their groups. He didn’t care about that. He deserved the recognition. He was only getting what was coming to him.

But even video games weren’t completely safe from the influx of hero paraphernalia pandering garbage. Gaming companies flocked to video games featuring heroes like a fly to shit. It was easily avoidable, sure, but it still pissed him off that heroes could infect the one thing he genuinely enjoyed.

Still, he had to admit, it fun wiping the floor with famous heroes in those games sometimes. Even if the villains were hideously under powered. In fact, that made it even better. If he could win a fight with a nobody villain against a famous hero in a video game where there were limited controls, can you imagine what he could do in real life where the possibilities were endless?

Soon the whole world would see. This was only the beginning.

Frankly, there was only one downside to gaming. Most new releases from the companies he liked didn’t come out with PC ports for a little while after the game’s initial release, which meant he had to leave the safety of the bar and adjourn out into the world to get brand new games. Sure, he could send Kurogiri to do it, but more than once he had come back with the wrong game in the series, or even the wrong one entirely. It was a frustrating mess, and it was easier to just avoid it all together by going himself.

Besides, sometimes walks helped him clear his head. Sometimes.

That was how he found himself here. One of his favorite companies had just released a brand new action and adventure game that he’d been dying to try ever since he saw the trailer. He’d even had Kurogiri call in advance and reserve a copy. At least he could do that right.

Shigaraki needed this. Needed to get his mind off of the Hero Killer Stain and All Might and fucking all of it. He was driving himself mad going around in circles in his own head asking himself questions he knew he didn’t have the answers to. He needed to put his head in the clouds, if only for a little while.

So he dodged through the crowds of people, weaving in and out of families and groups trying to get into the game store before he finally lost his last ounce of sanity. There seemed to be more people here than usual, which just soured his mood even further. He should have known better than to come on a weekend. He grunted past several bystanders, biting his tongue to hold back the onslaught of insults fresh in his mind. It was only when he reached a rather impenetrable wall of people that he inhaled sharply, ready to start grabbing.

A large group of pedestrians had gathered in a circle around something, which was blocking off a large portion of the walkway and therefore his path. He mumbled under his breath, tempted to forcefully move them out of the way. What in the hell was going on that was so important that it saw fit to hinder him?

“Hey, isn’t that the hero class from UA?”

“Yeah! Wow! I saw them compete in the sports festival! So awesome!”

“You guys are so cool! What’s it like at UA?”

Shigaraki stiffened. So they were here. He peered upward for a moment and saw the class huddled together, some blushing, others posing, obviously basking in their new found fame. That kid was here too. The mop of hair and splattering of freckles was visible even from where he stood. That one willing to put himself in danger over and over again for All Might. Midoriya.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely a negative thing that he found himself here on this particular day. That boy obviously had his pulse on hero culture. Maybe he could explain why people were so taken with Stain and yet completely ignored him. An ear splitting smile cut through Shigaraki’s face, irritating one of the blisters on his lower lip. He wiped the blood and waited for the crowd to disperse as the students each went off in their own direction.

When it was only him and one other student, a young girl with short brown hair, he made his move. He started heading in the direction of Midoriya, grinning wider when the young girl sped off, leaving the kid all by himself. It was so perfect. He was about to reach out and make his move when he heard it.

A voice. A voice that made his blood pound in his ears.

He stopped cold, hand stopped short of the oblivious Midoriya’s shoulder. Instinctively, his head turned in the direction of the voice, heart thrumming in his chest. Surrounded by a couple of fellow UA students, she was standing in front of a window, joking around with one of the people nearest her.

Her. She was here

His fingers began to shake as he withdrew them from Midoriya, stuffing them back into his pocket before anyone noticed him. She was here. He should have known. She was in the class too. These kids stuck together like glue. If they were here, it was certain she was nearby. Stupid stupid stupid. He had almost blown his chance.

But he hadn’t.

He turned and stalked in her direction, staying only far enough back as to not draw attention, crimson eyes glaring into the back of her head. She was laughing at something some blonde idiot in her class had said. He felt his temper go through the roof, and allowed one hand out to scratch and dig at his neck. Why was she talking to him? Why was she laughing so hard? What he said probably wasn’t even funny. He didn’t like the way that guy was looking at her. Did he like her? Did she like him?

He felt a thin trickle of liquid down his neck as his scar reopened.

He managed to tame his anger just enough to keep from rushing him. Instead, he followed the group at a distance for a while, waiting for his opportunity. He overheard something about a camping trip and something about training. Interesting. He would have to make a mental note of it. However, right now, he had other things on his mind.

The opportunity finally came when a few of the students rushed ahead to drool over some restaurant while she stayed behind, digging in her bag for her wallet. They ran off ahead, yelling at her to catch up and complaining about hunger. He heard her laugh and tell them she’d be there in a minute, she just needed a second to get some cash out. She was alone. It was time.

He came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder, doing his best to mask his voice.

“Hey, you’re one of those kids from UA, right? You’re practically famous! Do you think I could get an autograph?”

He felt her stiffen underneath his hold. She knew something was off, a shiver rolling down her spine as she tried to turn and look at him. He was just out of the reach of her peripheral, hair and hood hiding his features.

“Y-yeah, I am.” She raised her hand as if to pry him off, but thought better of it. “If you’ll just let me go for a second, I’ll get in my bag and get out a pen and some paper.”

Her voice was on edge, her shoulder muscles clenching. He couldn’t help but smile again.

“I saw you compete in the sports festival. You came in fourth, right? It was so cool. I bet you got so many offers from agencies. I bet everyone wants you to be their hero.” He could feel her breathing getting more shallow, feel her neck flex as she swallowed.

“I-um-Sir, I don’t really feel comfortable being touched by people I don’t know, but if you’ll remove your hand, I’ll get you an autograph or a picture if you want.”

Sir. She had called him sir. It was adorable. He wanted to hear it again.

“I noticed you got your costume fixed too. I liked better it the other way, but that way is fine too.” He chuckled. “Hey, you’re a little tense. It’s okay, we’re friends, remember?”

Realization hit her like a truck. She inhaled, biting her lip as she turned her head as much as she could in his direction. “Shigaraki!”

He leaned down, perching his head on her shoulder. “Careful, you don’t want to make a scene. All Might might not be busy this time, but there certainly a lot of civilians around. A lot of your friends too. I’d hate for something to happen.”

“What do you want?” She snarled, making a slight effort to jerk away. He didn’t let her.

“I just want to talk. Is that so bad? Or are you too cool now to catch up with an old friend?”

“We are not friends!” Growling, she reached up and dug her fingernails into his wrist.

He giggled. She had certainly gotten more feisty since their last meeting. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. I thought we hit it off pretty well.

Before she could respond, the same blonde classmate came running towards them from inside of the nearby building. Shigaraki sneered, tightening his grip on her shoulder in warning. He was no doubt coming back for her.

“Hey! We got a table and be-Woah! Who’s this guy?” The kid stopped a bit short of them, shifting between looking at her in confusion and peering suspiciously at him.

Shigaraki leaned further in and whispered under his breath. “Unless the next time you want to see him is in an urn, I suggest you get rid of him. Quickly.”

She pulled herself together, smiling happily while waving at him. “It’s cool, Denki. He’s an old friend.” A sly smirk pulled at Tomura’s mouth. “We ran into each other and thought we’d catch up a bit. Don’t wait up! I’ll meet you guys there!”

Denki continued looking back and forth between the two of them, eyes lingering on Shigaraki for a brief moment before retreating. “Okay, then. I’ll save you a spot. Don’t take too long or I’ll eat your food too!”

As they watched him walk back into the restaurant, Tomura hummed. “You’re certainly a good actress. If I hadn’t known better, I wouldn’t believe you were lying.”

“Say what you need to say and then leave.” She hissed quietly.

“Walk forward and turn into that alleyway on your left.” He gripped her with his hand, careful to leave his middle finger levitating.

“Like hell! You think I’m just going to walk into a dark alleyway with the leader of the league of villains? You’ll kill me!”

“You don’t have a choice, hero. Assuming that’s what I’m planning, it’s either you or everyone else in this area, starting with Denki.” He began walking, shoving her forward lightly. “And if I start feeling anything funny, I’ll dust you first and then move on to them.”

She exhaled in defeat, shuffling her feet forward as Shigaraki steered her toward the desolate alcove. That rendered her quirk completely useless. Shigaraki would know if she was trying to use it on him, and she didn’t want to test his promise. She had no doubt in her mind that he wouldn’t hesitate.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t get the drop on him though.

Remember your training. Duck and jab. Get out of his reach!

Not quite halfway down the passageway, she ducked and lurched back, sending her elbow careening into his stomach. He grunted in pain as he was driven back several feet away from her, taken too much by surprise to bring his hand down. She turned to face him, readying her defensive stance as he recovered from the blow.

“This again?” He wheezed, rolling his neck.

“I’m not going down without a fight!”

Sighing, he straightened his back and held his hands up. “Have it your way, then.”

She sent a few punches his direction but he dodged the brunt of them, only landing one on his injured shoulder. It was exponentially stronger than the last time they met, enough to send him reeling backwards while grabbing at his weakened limb. He coughed a few times, quickly evading her other jabs.

“You’ve been practicing.” He noted.

“I train with Midnight every week in hand to hand combat to keep people like you away!” She sent another loaded punch towards his face, which he easily sidestepped.

“Looks like it’s going well.” He deadpanned, seeming unimpressed. “I’m getting bored.”

She ignored his prodding, sending a few low kicks to his shins. He brought his own foot up, catching on the back of her knee and yanking, sending her toppling to the ground. She growled in frustration, pushing herself away from where he stood and standing back up, immediately taking stance again. She charged him one last time, sending her leg on a collision course with his hip in the hopes to knock him aside, but he simply raised his arms, catching her leg and holding it.

Her eyes widened as she began to lose balance, but before she could fall again, he slammed her into the wall closest her back using her own leg as leverage. She cried out, letting her guard down. He used the opportunity to move on her, pressing against her and pushing her further into the brick as one hand slid up from her calf to her thigh, never relinquishing its grip, while the other calmly wrapped around her neck, middle finger flexing.

He could feel her erratic breathing. She had lost to him not once, but twice now, and it barely even took any effort on his part. Her frightened eyes searched underneath his hair, but it was too shadowed beneath his hood to see much of anything. All she could make out was his teeth, visible underneath his simpering lips.

“Quiet now. Your little outburst is bound to have attracted attention.” He placed his forehead to hers, leaning forward slightly to cover her face in a curtain of his hair. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her neck “Unless you want a whole lot of nice people to die, you’ll play along.” He pressed her harder into the alley wall, crushing her body with his. He hiked her thigh up around his own and held it there with the hand that still had a grasp on it, maneuvering his hips between her now open legs.

She made a sound of disgust, trying again to turn from him, but he dug his fingernails into her thigh, eliciting a shocked gasp from her. Through the tendrils of his hair, she could see a few curious people beginning to peak into the alley entrance, drawn by the sounds of their fighting. He pushed his face so close to hers that she could feel him smile.

“You’re not making this very convincing.” He whispered. “All it would take is one little touch and I could dust them all.”

She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and preparing herself for what she had to do. Slowly, she raised her arms up over Shigaraki’s shoulders, one hand resting uneasily on the back of his neck, the other tangling up into his hair. She let her leg rest up in his hand instead of squirming, wrapping her knee around his thigh and relaxing her stance so it appeared more natural.

Shigaraki was absolutely not a fan of being touched. In fact, casual brushes in the street were often grounds for a permanent ashing. But this? Oh, he could make an exception for this.

“Good girl. Make it seem like it’s just two lovers in an alleyway looking for a little privacy.” He could smell her again, that scent he’d been dying for, trying so hard to emulate over the past few months. His heart rate was reaching peak levels, but the blood was beginning to divert away from his brain. He couldn’t help himself. He ground into her a little bit, the front of his jeans scraping against her body as he rutted, feeling the warmth of her body.

“You’re despicable.” She seethed, swallowing down a wretch.

He giggled, letting his thumb run small circles over her exposed thigh. “Prove how heroic you are, Hero. Convince me these people don’t deserve what I could do to them.”  

He pushed his mouth to hers, instantly trying to snake his tongue into her mouth. At first she was unresponsive, until he brought the fingers on her neck together and clasped at a necklace she had been wearing. It crumbled instantaneously, sending a splay of ash down onto her chest. Almost immediately, she allowed him access, pliantly opening her lips for him to invade and slowly responding to his ministrations.

She tasted like she smelled, and it took every ounce of self control he had not to push her further. Although her movements were unenthusiastic and light, it didn’t matter to him. He knew he wasn’t exactly experienced in any of this, going off of tips he’d learned on Internet forums or books. He tried a few things, like biting and sucking on her bottom lip or fighting her tongue for dominance, but it seemed to make little difference to her besides the occasional tightening of her fingertips in his hair.

Despite that, he was almost beside himself. He could learn how to make her react to him in time. He was too focused on engraving her into his memory to care. He could feel every last bit of her body pressed against his own, every movement and muscle. Every curve she offered up to him and him alone and it was just like how he had imagined it would be in the dreams that had haunted his few dreaming hours ever since their first meeting.

Shigaraki had certainly not woken up that morning with the belief that he would have his tongue shoved halfway down her throat that day. If he had, he likely would have been in a much more amicable mood. Right now, he felt absolutely ecstatic. He had her right where he wanted her. 

Well, not right where, but close enough. She was submitting to him because he knew her weakness. He wondered, in time, how far he could push that weakness. How far was she willing to go?

But he was nothing if not a strategist. He wouldn’t push it too far too fast. He wouldn’t risk it. He would chip away at her resolve slowly, breaking away her boundaries one at a time until there was nothing left but her submission. If it meant threatening her friends, her family, random children on the street, he didn’t care. She would be his. He decided that a long time ago. She belonged to him, and frankly he didn’t really care what she had to say about it. It wasn’t her decision.

Eventually, the last of the onlookers had left, leaving behind a handful of heckles from teenagers and reprimands from angry parents ushering their children away while covering their eyes. Her hand was yanking at his hair erratically, not in lust but in a likely plead for him to back off of her finally so she could breathe. He gave himself a minute longer, cherishing the moment before withdrawing himself, unable to stop the grin that crawled up his face.

“See? It’s not so bad now, it is? You just saved all those idiot’s lives and all it took was a few minutes.”

She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands were shaking in rage, stomach churning. She’d never felt so violated. So utterly disgusted. She could taste him in the back of her throat and feel his leftover saliva on her lips and it made her want to vomit.

She looked directly up at him, and spit in his face. It landed with in an undignified blob sliding down his cheek.

It took Shigaraki a moment to fully register what happened. He unhanded her leg, bringing it up to his face and squelching the small plop of liquid between his fingers. Slowly, he raised his head up, finally giving her a full view of his face for the first time.

She immediately regretted her actions.

He looked enraged, eyes open with beady pupils staring down at his hand. His cracked mouth was contorted in rage, snarling while rubbed three of his fingers together, spreading the coating around. His eyes flashed up at hers, and his hand clamped down on her throat, fourth finger twitching unsteadily.

“You little brat.” He spat, tightening his grip more and more by the second until she could no longer breathe. “You think you’re all high and mighty, that just because you’re a Hero that there’s no consequences for your actions. That you can treat people like trash.” His fingers dug in with bruising strength, and the longer he held them, the more little black dots began dancing in front of her vision. Her chest was trying desperately to inhale, but she couldn’t with his palm crushing her windpipe. Fear welled up inside her, and the longer she struggled for breath, the more overpowering it became. “I can show you how wrong you are.”

“I-I’m So-orry!” She croaked out, pleading with him for air. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he loosened his grip only enough that he could make out her words.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry! It was-” Her mind raced, searching for the right words to placate him. “It was rude of me, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I beg your forgiveness, Shigaraki. Please forgive me!”

He let his hand sit firm for a few more seconds. He was still twitching with anger, but something about hearing her beg, beg him for forgiveness sent a wave of pleasure through him. Of course she was going to be defiant at first. He could forgive her this once. After all, she would be making it up to him in the end regardless.

He smiled down at her, ghosting his fingers on her neck as she coughed and sputtered, trying to catch her breath. “Just don’t do it again. I hate people with no manners.”

She shook her head, eyes bright and fearful. After that, she didn’t dare try using her quirk on him or bothering to fight him again. She was entirely at his mercy. This guy was insane. He didn’t even need to use his quirk to kill her. He would just suffocate her and leave her body in the alley way. What was his deal? Was he still harboring a grudge from their last encounter? Why was he here now?

Finally regaining her breath, she peered up at him hesitantly, studying his face. “Did you follow me here?”

He seemed taken back for a minute, before chuckling a little underneath his breath. “Follow you here? No. I was actually here for a completely separate reason and just happened to run into you. Isn’t that lucky?”

“Yeah. Lucky.” She grunted, lamenting her choices. She knew she should have stayed in bed today

“I was actually about to grab Midoriya when I saw you. I just couldn’t help myself.”

She furrowed her brows. “But why?” She didn’t understand what this man wanted with her. He didn’t seem to outright want her dead, but wasn’t content letting her live in peace either.

He let out a heinous cackle, letting three of his fingers on his free hand wander up to his neck and scratch. Why was he telling her any of this? “I guess I just find you intriguing.” He tore at his neck anxiously for a moment while she stared at him. The way she was looking at him was making him feel itchy and hot all over. Underneath his hoody, he felt like it was one hundred degrees, which given the weather, might not have been far off. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, anxious, stomach twisting in knots. He hated that she had this control over him.

He pulled his hand away from his sweating neck, reaching up to touch her face once more. He wanted to feel her skin, how soft it was. Just wanted to graze his fingers across her face so he could remember how she felt even after she’d gone. However, when he raised it up by her head, the sleeve of his jacket rode up his arm, revealing the piece of cloth he had tied around his wrist.

Immediately her eyes were drawn to it, and she gulped hard, a horrified expression etched on her features. “Is that… Is that my…”

Shigaraki realized what had spooked her. Tied around his wrist was the unmistakable pattern of her costume, ripped from her torso during the attack on U.S.J. His eyes darkened. There was no sense in lying to her now.

“You recognize it, huh?” He lowered his hand down, bringing it between both of their faces. “I’ve kept it on me since.”

Her breathing became inconsistent and staggered, mouth agape in terror. “W-why?”

He leaned in again, scraping the cloth against her neck, hoping to siphon some of her scent back onto it. “I think it helps keep me focused.”

Her vision spiraled. She could ignore a few consistencies but this was all to much to be a coincidence. Something she had done had gotten his attentions enough to keep it on her, even endear herself to him in some twisted way. He wasn’t just doing this because it made her uncomfortable or to spite her like she initially thought. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was something resembling a crush.

“S-Shigaraki, I don’t-” She cut herself off. What could she possibly say? ’Hey supervillain, not interested?’ ‘Thanks for the flattery but I’m a hero?’ Our careers kind of make it impossible for us to be together but thanks for the interest?’

It didn’t really matter, she had a feeling he wasn’t interested in her opinion on the matter.

“You’re everything I hate, you know.” His voice was soft, gentle even. He had hidden his eyes behind his hair again, and despite refusing to move away from her, he seemed a few miles off. “You heroes. You piss me off. If I had my way, I would have killed every one of you the first time we crossed paths.” There was a distant cold in his voice that made her shiver. “I wanted to. Kill you. It would have been easy too. All I had to do is wrap my fingers around your pretty little neck and squeeze and you’d have been gone before you could even scream for help. I bet that really would have thrown one over an All Might too. One of his precious students turned to dust while he was in the same room. Sometimes I think I should have.”

There was no deception in his voice. He was telling the truth. Somehow it terrified her more than when he had gotten violent. He lowered his hand back down, grabbing her chin with his thumb and index finger.

“But I have better ideas now. There are worse things than death.” He lifted his head, and she felt her soul plummet. His eyes were manic and deranged, boring down into her with the promise of unknown horror. His smile was wide and frenzied, nearly breaking his cracked lips into shards all over again. There was a strange flush across his pallid cheeks, something almost akin to a blush, like he was flustered even thinking about it.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl away. Find a rock somewhere and hide under it, anywhere where he couldn’t find her. Something told her he wasn’t saying this just to frighten her. The possibilities that could run through a madman’s mind were things she didn’t want to consider. Things that he considered worse than death were beyond the realm of what she wanted to realize herself. He placed another soft kiss to her mouth, and she was too paralyzed in fear to stop him.

He looked like he was about to speak when Denki’s voice rang through the alley way. “Hey, what gives? We’ve been waiting forever!” Both she and Tomura turned their heads toward the entrance to see Denki standing there with a beaming smile, eyes closed and holding up several bags of food in his closed hands. “We didn’t wait for ya, but we got you leftovers! Took us forever to find you! What the hell are you doing down here anyway?” He opened his eyes and nearly dropped the food, face red with embarrassment as a few of her classmates crowded around as well with equally shocked expressions.

“Someone’s getting’ some.” Eijiro whispered to a blushing Mina who was giggling behind her hand. Momo scowled over at the pair, giving them a death glare.

“Are we interrupting something?” Fumikage asked, trying to be as polite as possible in the given situation.

“I didn’t realize you were with so many people!” Shigaraki immediately withdrew his hands, stepping away from her but taking care to keep his face shadowed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to keep you held up.”

Eijiro chuckled at his words and she felt like she could just die.

“I’m off then. It was nice catching up. Don’t worry, we’ll see each other soon!” He spoke loud enough for them to hear before he leaned inconspicuously and whispered in her ear. “If any of you follow me, I’ll get angry. I’d hate to kill half his class without All Might here to see it.”

He started walking but stopped short a few seconds later. “Oh! One last thing, hero.” He pulled her in close to his side, hands fishing his phone out of his pocket. “You promised me a picture.” He held his phone up, getting one snapshot with her in frame. Although his features were still almost entirely hidden behind his hair, she was completely exposed, expression like a deer in headlights. It would do for now. He placed his phone back in his pockets, giving her one last look before turning away and ambling off down further into the alleyway, turning out of her sights after a few seconds.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Mina called, still giggling behind her palm.

“No!” She shook her head vigorously, trying to hold back the tears and the sick that were clawing their way up her throat, acting as natural as she could. “Look, can we just get out of here? Please?”

Her friends all looked at her confused for a moment, shrugging before following her as she took off.

As he heard their voices drift further and further off, Shigaraki brought his fingers up to his lips, grazing where hers had been. He still tasted her, and he was trying to savor every moment. He didn’t know for sure how long it would be until she was in his arms again, only that she would be. He needed to calm down. He needed to be patient.

He forced himself down the streets and passageways away from the mall, farther from her but thinking of nothing but all the while. His head didn’t feel any clearer, if anything it felt more clouded and stimulated than it had before, but he was fine with that. He didn’t get to ask Midoriya what the difference between him and Stain was, but that mattered little to him now. There would be other opportunities for that. He did curse himself as he remembered he had forgotten to pick up his game, but he shrugged it off. If his estimates were correct, it wouldn’t be available for much longer anyway.

The sun sank behind the horizon, giving way to the darkness of the night sky. When he felt secure enough, he placed Father back on his face, making his way back home under the cover of shadow. His body was shivering, but not from the cold. He could hardly believe anything that happened today.

When he finally turned the knob to enter the bar, Kurogiri immediately turned towards him in a panic.“Tomura Shigaraki, is all well? The mall you attended today has been shut down. I was worried that you were detained and perhaps incarcerated.”

“Don’t be stupid, Kurogiri. I’m right here.” He lumbered over to the bar, sitting half-haphazardly in the seat. Kurogiri decided it was better not to question him, opting to pour him a drink instead. He turned towards the TV, which was playing news footage of the mall, giving minimal details about the incident but describing a notorious villain spotted there. “So she told.” He muttered under his breath, smirking. “I figured she would.”

Kurogiri heard his words, but decided it would go against his mental health to question Tomura on the incident if it was indeed what he thought it was. Revealing his face would have far reaching consequences for the league. Judging by the way he was lovingly picking at the ratted material tied around his wrist, he had found that girl again. So his obsession hadn’t in fact died. This would not bode well.

The rest of the night continued on relatively average. Tomura drank and cussed and ranted about All Might and the Hero Killer Stain, staring down at his phone in the intervals. Kurogiri polished his glasses, offering advice where he could and bearing the brunt of Tomura’s abuses when he couldn’t. It almost gave him hope that maybe Shigaraki could put this whole incident behind him instead of obsessing over it like he often did.

That is, until most of the way through the night, Tomura stumbled off the bar stool, clinging onto the counter as he shambled towards his room in the back. He paused momentarily, turning to face Kurogiri for a few seconds before slamming his door.

“Hey Kurogiri, you know those old storage rooms we have? I need them cleaned out. We’ll be having a guest soon. I want to make sure she’s comfortable.”

[cicinicole-14]

it’s always the darkest before dawn

hey listen, the entire jolexgroupchat fucking bULLIED ME into writing a part two for ‘denial isn’t just a river in egypt’ and that was very rude, but y’know it yielded results somehow, so like ??? take that what you will… anyway here’s this. enjoy.

Relief floods her entire body as soon as her eyes land on him. The feelings of dread and worry that had been wracking her body at the thought of returning to an empty loft with a baby that she had nothing for, by herself, terrified her. But just the sight of him brought relief through her.

She couldn’t cross the loft fast enough, practically catapulting into his embrace, grateful he was on the couch, fearing she’d knock him over if not.

She melts into his arms, burying her head into the crook of his neck, holding him so close, so tight.

The feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist and back, holding her against him, just like he used to. She inhales his scent, letting it flood her senses and relishes in the fact that he’s real; he’s here, for her, for them.

She pulls back, with tears in her eyes, but still, a sad smile on her face. “Come meet our son.” She says, pulling him up as she stood, leading him over to the bed where his carrier lay.

Meredith gently unclips the straps from his chest and between his tiny legs, adjusting the hat from covering his eyes and carefully lifts him out, presenting him over to Jo. Jo cradles him gently against her chest, tucking her head down to look at him and then back up at Alex.

“This is Luca. Luca, meet your Daddy.” She says, passing off the baby to Alex.

Meredith takes the moment to excuse herself, wishing the two a congratulations on their baby before slipping out of the loft, leaving the new parents to themselves.

Alex takes the baby from Jo, supporting his tiny, jello-y body in his massive hands.

Jo takes a step back, taking in the sight of how tiny Luca looked in Alex’s arms, the sight of Alex holding his son, the sight of seeing her family together. It resonates through her and she lets out a breath she’d seemingly been holding in, letting the calm feeling course through her.

She was happy. She felt whole. Everything was right.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Alex mentioned he was leaving the following week, on Sunday morning. Because he had a job, and kids, and an Izzie, and a life, all back in Kansas, where he didn’t belong. A life that she didn’t fit into.

And the feelings of dread resume. The feelings of denial come back, except this time, she isn’t able to deny the fact that she has a child, not with the way that he’s waking her up in the middle of the night every few hours to nurse. His constant crying to be held or soothed, or changed. The need of just being a newborn, and she just doesn’t have the energy anymore. Her world is cracking and crumbling, threatening to fall apart, only three days left until her shred of happiness will disappear again.

The three days pass in a blur, and she deteriorates even further.

The knocking at the loft door is almost concealed by the sound of Luca’s cries, but she doesn’t care. Whoever’s on the other side will go away eventually, she hopes.

Her hopes are crushed when there’s a key in the lock and the door slides open, and she can hear Meredith talking to her, but she doesn’t listen to her. And then Luca’s cries grow quieter, into soft whimpers and then smooth sounds of suckling.

“Jo! When has he last eaten? How long has he been crying?”

She doesn't answer, only clutching the pillow closer to her chest, taking a deep breath and inhaling the lingering scent of Alex still left on the pillowcase where his head lay, just that morning, mere hours ago.

Meredith paces the loft, feeding the baby and quietly getting him to sleep before putting him back in the crib across the loft, Ellis’ old one.

Meredith stays, the day, the rest of the week, stays every night, sleeping right next to Jo in the bed and seemingly takes care of them both, watching Jo slip further. She watches as Jo’s routine of getting up with Luca to feed him, clothe him, bathe him, all falter. She sleeps longer, harder. Her appetite fades and her mood fluctuates between being alright and conversing with Meredith to downright anger with her.

Meredith watches the light drain from Jo’s eyes, further and further every day. She watches as Jo starts refusing to take Luca from her for feedings, thus resulting in her having to give him formula. She watches as the bond she knew Jo had with her son, slips right out from under them.

She calls in reinforcements, in the form of Link, who Jo just ends up yelling at them both and barring Link from even being in the loft entirely after stating he was worried about her and concerned for Luca’s well-being.

She yells at Meredith for having the audacity to call Link in the first place, but ultimately decides to let her stay, having no energy to continue fighting with her, or energy to deal with the screaming child in the crib due to the influx of loud voices in the tiny home.

Meredith steps out late that night, calling Alex to inform him on what’s been going on. To ask him for help, to see if he would know what to do.

They gave Jo until the end of the week, gave her room to improve on her actions before Alex returned, but she hadn’t.

She had still been withdrawn and distant. Her son had barely seemed to know her by the end of his almost first month of life. And it broke Meredith’s heart to see such a close friend of hers going through so much heartache.

Alex returned on a Thursday, late in the evening, with a suitcase in hand, to see for himself just how worse for wear Jo really was.

“You left, again.”

The sound of her voice makes them both freeze as Meredith looks up at Jo just as Alex settles himself into the loft, ready to take Luca from his friend.

They both turn and stare at her, not knowing what to say. She’s still lying in the bed, unmoving, not even looking in their direction, he’s surprised she even knew he was there due to the lack of acknowledgement.

She doesn’t say anything else after that, and he apologizes, but there’s really nothing else he could say other than sorry.

He leaves early Monday morning, and Jo’s slight rise in demeanor fades again, and she goes back to the detached shell of a human she’d been.

She doesn’t eat again, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even flinch when Luca cries anymore, and Meredith’s grasping at straws, looking for answers at this point.

“She’s got PPD, Mer. I’ve seen the signs in parents in the NICU. It’s hard, but she was a huge candidate for it. The history of depression, the abandonment issues and past trauma I forced upon her by leaving her,  pregnant and alone. The medical complications with his birth. Almost every risk factor I could name, she’s got.” He says into the phone.

“What do we do? I can’t keep doing this. I can’t watch her as she throws away her life like this, Alex. I can’t watch her become this shell of a person when I knew how happy having a family with you would make her. I know she loves Luca, but I can’t watch her do this to herself anymore.” She’s got the phone wedged between her ear and one shoulder while she props Luca up on the other, patting his back to burp him.

She knows Jo can hear her, and she feels bad, initially, but maybe hearing how this was affecting her too, maybe it would spark something in Jo, she hoped.

“I’m coming back on Friday, I’m taking them both here. I can’t keep missing work, or leaving the kids, but I’m worried about her. I know she does better when I’m around. I don’t know if it’ll help, but they’re both coming here to live with me.” He says, “She doesn’t have a choice. I can’t watch her go through this, knowing I’m the reason why.”

“What about the twins? Have you told them? Izzie?” Meredith questions.

“Iz knows. I told her everything once I came back from the last trip. She’s the one that suggested moving Jo out here, since she’d seemed to do better with me around. And we’d sat the twins down together the other night to tell them about Jo and their baby brother Luca coming to stay at Daddy’s house, and they’d get to see them both when it was my days with them.”  He sighs, and Meredith can only assume he’s rubbing his hand over his face, thinking about the upcoming adjustments for them all. “Izzie even pulled out boxes of old baby things she still kept from the twins. And the new crib will be here on Thursday before I leave. I just need her here, them here. I need her to be okay.”

“She will be, it’s always the darkest before dawn. It’s Jo. You know she’s going to be okay. She just needs a little help.”

Friday hadn’t come fast enough for any of them. And it left Alex in a whirlwind of emotions and things to accomplish and do before the very short weekend was over.

Meredith had helped him so very much. Even Schmidt and Link had too, helping get things from the lot packed quickly, all while Jo had yelled and protested about leaving her home. About how she didn’t need anyone’s help and that she hated each and every single one of them for doing this.

But the moment that Sunday afternoon had rolled around, and Alex stood at the loft door, baby carrier in one hand and suitcase in the other, all hell had broken loose.

Jo had screamed at him, yelling how he couldn’t just take her son away from her. How he was ruining their family and how she hated him.

But Alex had just calmly set the carrier down onto the ground, careful not to wake his sleeping son, and reached out for Jo. He was careful of his actions, making sure she knew he wasn’t going to grab at her making her think he’d hurt her, but instead, he reaches out his hand and rubs her upper arm before she stills, and he takes the moment to pull her fully into his embrace.

He holds her, firmly, yet gentle, as he begins to swipe wisps of hair from her face that had fallen from the tangled bun on the top of her head. “Jo. Jo, listen to me.” He says softly, trying to get her attention. “I’m not taking him from you, I told you this, I promised you this. You’re both coming with me. I can’t be in two places at once, but you need me with you, so I came back here for you, to get you. We’re going to Kansas. We’re going to be a family there, together, remember? Remember what we talked about last night? You’re going to get to meet Eli and Alexis, and they’re going to get to know you, and grow up with their baby brother. They can’t wait to meet you.” He promises.

Her shaking anger starts to dissipate, and his tight embrace loosens as he backs away from her, just enough to look into her eyes. “Can we go now? We don’t want to be late for our flight.” He says softly.

She only nods in response, wrapping both her arms into his, fearing to even let go. He struggles for a moment, wondering how to juggle the baby, Jo, and the suitcase at the top of the loft stairs before ultimately deciding to leave the bag to walk Jo and the baby down to the car before returning to put the suitcase in after.

They return to his house later that evening, and he welcomes her home, hoping that the change of scenery might help.

He settles her in, showing her around before leaving her suitcase in the guest room, watching as the first thing she did was crawl into the bed to sleep.

He lets her, knowing that just traveling alone could wear her out in this state.

He decides on making dinner, her favorite boxed macaroni and cheese, in hopes it would entice her to put something in her body besides the protein bars they’d all been forcing her to eat just to basically survive.

He walks up the stairs with a sleeping, full Luca in one arm and a bowl of the macaroni in his other hand, leaving the bowl on her nightstand before putting the baby in the new crib in his room.

He turns in for the night a few hours later, and just as he’s drifting off to sleep, he feels her slip in bed next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close, inhaling her scent as he begins to drift off to sleep.

A cry startles him awake, and he turns to roll over and slip out of bed to sooth the baby, but she’s beating him to it, already halfway out of bed.

“I’ve got him.” A quiet whisper into the night.

And he watches as she shuffles across the room in the dark, lifting the baby out of his crib and reaching for the water bottle and container of formula on the changing table next to them, preparing a bottle like it was second nature to her. He watches her pace the room, feeding their son in the dead of night, as if nothing had been wrong.

The three simple words echoing in his ears that change his world. Three simple words that gave him the hope that everything would be okay again.

[uppastthejelliclemoon]

“Are we… are we in your junkyard?” Mistoffelees asked, suddenly very nervous, and Tapper nodded happily.

“This is my pipe! It’s where I sleep, and also where I store all the things I like, so you can stay here if you want!” he said happily. Mistoffelees blushed furiously, but Tapper simply gripped his paw tighter and pulled him out of the pipe. “Munkus! Munkus, come meet my awesome magician!”

Munkustrap was standing over with Alonzo, probably talking to him about something important by the way his tail was swishing back and forth, but he turned around so quickly when Tapper called out his name. “Tapper?”

The silver tom was a blur as he raced across the Junkyard to pull his little brother into his arms.

“Hey, Munkus!” Tapper said with a laugh, returning his brother’s hug. Munkustrap pulled back, looking Tapper over furiously as he made sure his brother was safe and in one piece, straightening one of his necklaces and his hat.

Munkustrap then leveled him with a stern look. “Everlasting, Taps, we were so worried about you! You went into the pipe, and Coricopat saw you go in, but it had stopped glowing by then, so we were just waiting!” He looked over Tapper’s shoulder, and spotted Mistoffelees, trailing off. “Who’s this?”

Tapper bounced, pulling Mistoffelees close proudly. “This is my magical Mr. Mistoffelees! He’s wonderful, and isn’t his jacket just the greatest thing you’ve ever seen? He’s the coolest cat in the world, and he’s got a magic wand and a magic hat, Munkus! Honestly, he’s just absolutely brilliant!”

i'm answering this PURELY because you were my beta for this fic so SIGHHHHHHHH

listen I'm just a sucker for combining the 2019-verse with other Cats universes (which reminds me that i REALLY need to work on my 1998/2019 swap au because i haven't posted anything for it in a year)

This fic was just supposed to be PURELY a crack fic. I wrote it because one weekend the Forbidden Tuggoffelees ship just took over my tumblr, and I got this MASSIVE influx of submissions for them, and I just decided to write something for them because why not? and now it's one of my favorite ships and it's adorable.

I really don't think anyone picked up on this, but when Tapper says "also where I store the things I like, so you can stay here!" he's also referring to Misto as something he likes because he's a sappy lad.

Throughout this scene, Mistoffelees is very nervous, mainly because he's worried about how Tapper's family will react to meeting him and seeing his magic, mainly because he only knows negative reactions to his magic, except for Tapper's reaction.

Tapper just thinks Mistoffelees is the most wonderful thing in the entire world, so of course he's going to talk a mile a minute about his wonderful amazing new companion, and Munkustrap knows his little brother, and even though he's friendly and dramatic, he doesn't trust just anyone, so Mistoffelees must be someone special for Tapper to go on and on about him!

[bee-kathony]

Kneading Love | Ch. 3 “Hot Buns” 

a/n: thank you so much for reading! as always, thank you to @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard! 

Chapter One |  Chapter Two 

April 17th, 1946

Weeks had passed since their picnic, but Jamie had thought of it nearly every day. He fell asleep at night picturing Claire in her bonny blue dress, and his hands itched with the feeling of her skin on his.

At work, Jamie was slower than usual and even Jenny noticed. His head was not on the dough in front of him, but imagining what it would be like to kiss Claire Beauchamp. They had seen each other in the village, but only in passing. Claire’s shop was taking all of her attention, and the bakery had an influx of orders.

Jamie was in the kitchen now, working on a brioche bread. He found that his mind instantly cleared whenever he was in the kitchen, hands deep in dough. As a young boy, he used to sit on the counter and watch his grandfather and father make all the bread. He was fascinated by the science of it, and how just a few minutes too soon or too long could completely change the texture of the bread.

He was thinking about his father whenever Jenny walked in with a vase of flowers.

“Where did ye get those?” Jamie asked, leaving his dough on the counter.

It was a beautiful assortment of flowers — white roses, purple Scottish thistles and heather with other bits of greenery. He knew where it’d come from, who it’d come from.

“Claire Beauchamp just dropped them off,” Jenny said and Jamie raced towards the door, hoping to catch her before she was gone.

“She’s left already!”

With no sight of the curly brown hair, Jamie walked defeatedly back into the kitchen. He wanted to see her badly, but the bakery was keeping him busy and by the looks of the bouquet before him, so was Claire’s shop.

“Tis a beautiful arrangement,” Jenny smiled. “I take it her garden is comin’ along quite nicely.”

“Aye,” Jamie said quietly and touched the petal of one of the white roses.

Jenny smacked him on the side of the arm and Jamie jumped, staring down at his ferocious sister.

“What’d ye do that for, Janet?!”

“Because yer a wee numptie, that’s why!” Jenny scoffed. “If ye are goin’ to mope around this bakery all the live long day, then I won’t be here to see it. I ken ye have feelin’s for the lassie.”

“What?” Jamie blinked. “We’ve only had a few conversations.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, “Sure, but she’s sent ye flowers and ye’ve been sendin’ her bread of no charge these past weeks. I reckon ye both have feelin’s for each other, but don’t know how to go about saying it!”

“Maybe yer right,” Jamie said under his breath and leaned against the counter, catching a whiff of the flowers.

“I ken I’m right, James Fraser,” Jenny smirked. “I always am.”

“So, what should I do then?”

“Ye should go and talk to her, Christ, do anythin’!” Jenny begged him. “I dinna think I can stand bein’ here much longer if all yer goin’ to do is wallow.”

Making up his mind, Jamie crossed the room and found a pad of paper and a pen. He wrote a short note, asking Claire to come to the bakery tomorrow. “I’ll drop it off at her place tonight when we walk home.”

“That’s a step,” Jenny nodded and feeling her job was done, went back to the storefront, leaving Jamie on his own.

With Good Friday in just two days, Jamie knew exactly what he wanted to bake with Claire — that is, if she had time to come tomorrow. Hot Cross Buns were the traditional baked good and they always sold loads over the Easter weekend. Tomorrow he would be in the kitchen all day, but hopefully Claire would be willing to help and keep him company.

++++++

When Claire woke the next morning, the last thing she expected to find when she went downstairs was a piece of paper that had been pushed under the door.

Claire’s stomach did somersaults as she read it.

“Meet me at the bakery for your first lesson… J.F.”

Her shop had been taking all of her attention, so she thought at least for today, it could be put on the back burner. While she was anxious to open her shop — which would be happening in two weeks — she desperately wanted to spend time with Jamie.

Claire went into the small tiled bathroom to assess the damage. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest, but that wasn’t new. She piled it on top of her head in a loose bun, tugging on small curls near her face to fall free. Normally, she could care less about her appearance, but she wanted to look nice today.

“He’s just a man,” Claire said to herself in the mirror as she powdered her nose for the second time. Sure, he was just a man, but a very attractive, kind and lovely man.

She was surprised with herself, with her feelings for Jamie. There was only one time during the war that she felt remotely this way, and that had been with one of the officers, Frank Randall. He had charmed her and dined with her one evening that ended up being the night she lost her virginity. Claire thought she was in love with him, but when she woke up the next morning, the man was gone without a trace. She’d been broken, and alone, lying there wondering what she’d done wrong. Mostly, she blamed her inexperience, but she also blamed her naiveté.

Claire was wiser and older now, and had learned to practice patience when it came to love. Perhaps that’s why she was taking things with Jamie so slow. So slow that she had almost been avoiding him for fear that she would pounce on him when she had the chance or worse, mess up a perfectly good friendship.

Even now as she rode her bike to the bakery, her hands were sweaty and her stomach fluttered with butterflies at the mere thought of seeing him. He might be just a man, but he was a man Claire was falling in love with every passing day.

There was a sign that read “Closed” as she walked up to the door. Jamie had told her to meet here though so she tried the door and it opened with ease. The bell rang as she entered an empty shop.

“Is that ye, Jenny?” Jamie’s voice came from the kitchen. “Did ye go all the way to Glasgow to deliver the parcel?” He said with humor in his voice.

Claire walked behind the counter and towards the kitchen. “It isn’t Jenny,” she said, “It’s me… Claire.”

He turned quickly, nearly dropping the ball of dough in his hands on the floor at the sight of her.

“Och, of course,” he grinned broadly. “To be honest, I wasna sure ye’d show up.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Claire asked, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

“Perhaps ye had a flower emergency,” Jamie chuckled. “Anyways, I’m glad ye came. Jenny is out on a delivery and as ye saw we’re closed for today. We have to make a lot of hot cross  buns for this weekend.”

“Oh, I love those!” Claire smiled and walked further into the kitchen. Now that he mentioned it, she could smell the fresh baked buns that were sitting out to cool. “Is that what you’re going to teach me today?”

“Aye,” he plopped the dough on the counter. “Lots and lots of it. Come here.”

She took a tentative step towards him and faced the counter. “You should just know now that I’m not very skilled in the kitchen. So, don’t blame me when this batch comes out very poorly.”

“Well, it won’t come out poorly, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He stood beside her and began to knead the dough in front of him, moving his hands back and forth. Claire watched the muscles in his arms flex with every push and pull of the dough. Her mouth was watering, but not because of the bread.

“Do your arms every get tired from doing that all day long?” She asked.

“Aye,” he nodded. “By the end of the day, I’m fair loused — tired that is. Would ye wanna try?”

“Sure,” Claire nodded and reached for the dough in front of Jamie.

“First, cover yer wee hands wi’ a bit of flour so they dinna stick to the dough,” he said and picked up a small handful of dough before rubbing his hands over hers. “Then ye just move yer hands like I did for a few minutes until it isna so sticky.”

“Like this?” Claire asked, pressing her hands gently into the dough.

“A wee bit firmer,” Jamie said and stepped behind her, wrapping his arms over her to touch the dough. “Like this, ye ken.”

Jamie had massive hands, and he pressed them over hers into the dough, showing her how to knead it. He was all too aware of how close his body was to hers at the moment and he hoped she couldn’t hear how rapidly his heart was beating. Their hands began in a sort of dance, firmly moving the dough together. It took all of his self control to not lean down and place a kiss to the back of her neck where he could see a small freckle.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Claire said a moment later.

“Aye,” he cleared his throat. “It’s lookin’ bonny enough to eat!”

“Not before we cook it,” she laughed. “I don’t know how I feel about eating raw dough.”

“Trust me,” he chuckled. “It doesna taste too good.” They continued to knead the dough until it was ready. “Alright, now we’ll cover that dough and let it rise for about an hour.”

“Great,” Claire said and took her hands off the dough. Jamie’s arms were still wrapped around her and she was unable to move. Sensing this, he took a step back and reached for a towel to wipe his hands on. “Do we need to make more dough while this rises?”

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. “Now I can teach ye from the beginning. Ye walked in right in the middle.”

Jamie pulled out another large bowl and began to explain to Claire what ingredients they would be using. It wasn’t very complicated, but it took precision. Too much yeast and the bread might rise too quickly and then collapse in the oven. Too much kneading and the buns would be hard as rocks. Baking was a science, and Jamie was thrilled to be sharing it with Claire now.

As he instructed her with the ingredients, letting her pour each one into the bowl, he couldn’t stop watching her. Seeing how she bit her bottom lip in concentration as she measured out the salt, and then looked to him for confirmation. Seeing how her face would light up as the ingredients became a proper mixture.

“Surely we don’t need all these raisins?” She asked, scooping out a small handful to eat before Jamie poured in the rest.

When it came time to knead this mixture of dough, Jamie told himself he would let her do it. That there was no reason for him to show her how again, so he was surprised when it was Claire that asked him for help.

“Can you remind me how to do it?”

“Hmm?” He blinked, having been lost in his thoughts.

Claire laughed, and pressed a flour covered hand to her cheek leaving a print. “Can you show me again?”

“Of course, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned and came to stand behind her. She was so small and fit perfectly against his chest. The urge to touch her was strong, but he settled for simply her hands. “Like this, aye?”

They kneaded the dough together again, only this time slower. Claire kept turning her head to look back up at him. Jamie’s hands stopped and then so did hers as they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Ye’ve a wee bit of flour on yer cheek, a nighean,” Jamie pointed out, his finger brushing against her face.

“Do I?” She turned in his arms until she was facing him, her back to the counter. Jamie’s heart was beating so fast he thought it might actually burst.

He cupped her face, his thumb rubbing softly over her cheek until the flour was gone. Jamie was drowning in her whisky eyes, and then Claire wrapped her arms around his waist and he gladly surrendered to their depths.

“Claire,” he said softly. “I would verra much like to kiss ye. May I?”

“Yes,” she nodded, not able to contain the smile that spread across her lips. The very lips that Jamie kissed half a second later. Claire was intoxicated by him, the vanilla taste of his lips and the warmth of his hand on her cheek. For someone so strong and large, he was a very gentle man.

Her hands slid up along his back, feeling grooves that created a question as to how he got them. Before she could ask, however, his tongue parted her lips and pressed against hers. Claire melted like butter against his body, feeling limp and absolutely splendid.

She had never wanted someone as badly as she wanted him. It was there in that bakery that Claire fell for Jamie. And unbeknownst to her, Jamie was falling head over heels in love with her in that same moment.

His hand squeezed her waist, and his body pressed her up against the counter. Their breaths mingled, hot and quick. Jamie looked at her, a silent question between them and Claire nodded — she wanted this. He picked her up, setting her on the counter and stood between her legs.

“Oh God,” Jamie sighed. “Sassenach.”

“Jamie,” Claire said against his lips. She latched her hands into his curls, tugging slightly. Jamie’s hands rested on her bare knees and he began to push the material of her dress up her thighs, exposing the milky white of her skin.

Just then, the bell from the front door dinged. Jamie and Claire broke apart, both panting and looked to their right. Hopping down from the counter, Claire had just enough time to rearrange her dress before Jenny walked in.

“Oh, Claire!” She smiled. “Tis good to see ye again. Hopefully ye’ll come round more often.”

“Good to see ye too, Janet,” Jamie nearly scowled. Lord knows what would have happened next had she not walked in when she did.

“Yes,” Claire coughed and knew that her cheeks were a bright shade of red. “I think I’ll be visiting a lot more often. My shop opens in just two weeks!”

“Och, will it?” Jamie smiled. “Did ye need help wi’ the paintin’ still?”

“I do actually! That’s one of the last things and I just can’t seem to get myself to do,” she laughed. “You’re welcome to come and help too, Jenny.”

Jamie eyed his sister, willing her to turn down the offer.

“Paintin’ does sound like fun,” Jenny said and then saw Jamie’s look. “But, I dinna think I’ll be able to. I’m sure Jamie’s up for it, aren’t ye brother?”

“Always,” he grinned proudly. “Just let me know when,” he told Claire.

Jenny gave her brother a wink and then picked up a few envelopes on a nearby desk. “I’m headin’ home early to help Mam wi’ dinner, Jamie. Can ye lock up by yerself?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “We’ll just finish up here first.”

“Twas lovely to see ye again, Claire,” Jenny said and hugged her goodbye. “Please dinna be a stranger around here.”

Once Jenny was left, they both stood there quietly, not sure what to say after their recent encounter.

“So,” Claire said.

“I hope ye realize I would never ha’ done anythin’ here in the bakery,” Jamie said, feeling flustered. “I told myself I wouldna even kiss ye! But then ye looked so bonny wi’ the flour on yer cheek and —“

“It’s alright!” Claire laughed and took a step closer to him, sliding one hand around his waist. “I liked it.”

“Ye did?” One ruddy eyebrow raised.

“Very much,” she said through a smile. “And as much as I would have liked for Jenny to not have walked in when she did, I don’t think this counter would have been very comfortable.”

“Indeed,” Jamie blushed.

“I would appreciate your help with the painting,” Claire said looking up at him. “Would you be able to come by after the Easter holidays and help?”

Jamie wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Aye, Sassenach.”

Claire stood up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away. “We’d better get back to baking if you’re going to make it home for dinner in time.”

“Well, how about ye come home wi’ me for dinner?” Jamie asked as he picked up the dough they had been working on earlier.

“And meet your mother?” Claire’s eyes went wide.

“Och, aye,” Jamie grinned. “Ye’ve lived here almost two months, Sassenach. My mam’s dyin’ to meet the wee lassie wi’ the garden shop.”

There was no time like the present, and if she was honest with herself, Claire had been wondering about the woman that raised Jamie. What was she like? Would she approve of Claire?

“Sure then,” Claire agreed. “I just wish I’d worn something better to meet your mother in.”

“She’ll love ye,” Jamie cupped her cheek. “Ye look bonny, Claire. Just bonny.”

[vlgeo439019-blog]

Farming in Northern Ontario?

I love a good adventure. In the past two years I’ve travelled more than I have in my entire life. I’ve been to the east coast of Canada, scrambled up mountains in the west, lived in Cornwall, England for several months on exchange for school and canoed on more lakes and rivers that I can count on my fingers and toes. Most importantly however, I’ve had the privilege of camping, hiking, and exploring northern Ontario for most of my life. 

I grew up with the opportunity to spend a few weeks every summer at a cottage on Whitestone Lake in Dunchurch, Ontario. Although the cottage has been gone and sold nearly ten years now, I still get the opportunity to travel to the same area on occasion. Just last weekend for instance, I planned a cabin trip with the Outdoors Club and naturally spent hours of my time snowshoeing and hiking all around this area yet again. 

I’m privileged to have had each of the opportunity to explore the north in my lifetime. Still, this begs the question - what does all of this have to do with the blog topic this week?

While taking part in the Rural Symposium this past Wednesday, Sara Epp’s presentation regarding northern Ontario and the barriers to livestock production in the clay belt region really got me thinking. As I’ve illustrated in countless other posts, agriculture is something that has been thoroughly engrained in my life. Primarily in southern Ontario of course, but there was a time when I once experienced the realities of farming and travelling in the very same area in which Epp’s chooses to discuss - the great and cold Canadian north. 

Sound familiar? 

Two weeks ago I chose to focus my blog topic on the importance of value in agriculture. I discussed the fact that my family relocated to New Liskeard for a year as a result of an extensive gravel pit outside of Shelburne. Although this project was merely proposed at the time, my family made the decision to pack everything up, jump ship, and take a massive leap of faith, hoping that life in this remote community would be a little more forgiving and less impactful on the land. 

Map of southern and northern Ontario, particularly the locations of Guelph (blue) and New Liskeard (red) in relation to one another. 

I don’t want to be a negative Nancy - I really don’t - but there’s no beating around the bush with this topic. Although I spent most of my time hiking, canoeing, and exploring the outdoors in the north as per usual, I find it difficult to think back on my experiences with agriculture in New Liskeard with a positive frame of mind. As I reflect back to this particular time in my life I sincerely sympathize with Epp’s focus on the barriers to agriculture and livestock production in this region.

As Epp’s discusses throughout her presentation, there’s a number of barriers farmers must face when choosing to pursue agriculture in northern Ontario, those of which touch base with the environment, economics, and the array of social issues rural communities typically face. 

In terms of the environment, the success of agriculture in areas such as New Liskeard is unpredictable; the weather in the north creates a high risk for a wet spring and early fall accompanied with frost. This creates a growing season that’s significantly shorter when compared to those particularly fertile lands in the south. This creates an increased likelihood of crop failure, reduced yields, and soil damage. 

In the brief year that I spent in New Liskeard my family experienced this, particularly my Dad. I remember the look on his face when he’d come home from work defeated, so frustrated with the fact that the weather wasn’t cooperating. Intense rain was making the harvest nearly impossible, forcing farmers to face large losses in yields. Even worse, the quality of the top soil was being heavily affected - despite the weather many farmers in the region continually attempted to harvest their crops. Wet clay and heavy farming equipment are not a great combination, so naturally the top soil was sheared away and severely damaged.

Weather aside, economics are a challenge as well. Facing low yields is one thing, but the costs of clearing land in such a forested area? Drainage in soil that is so prone to containing excessive amounts of water? The costs of supplies? Access to agricultural markets in an area where Highway 11 is the only reliable gateway to southern Ontario? Costs quickly add up!

The social scene isn’t terrible of course, but communities in isolated areas do face a lack of access to resources that are easily available in the south, those of which relate to poor health care, lacklustre opportunities for employment, and education. Unfortunately New Liskeard doesn’t fall out of reach of this particular phenomenon. 

For medical emergencies individuals must travel over two hours to reach North Bay or be air-lifted via helicopter to Toronto. In order to provide adequate health services, many of the communities in this area - Kirkland Lake, Englehart, Timmins, and Cochrane specifically, work together and collaborate to offer programs that tackle substance abuse, mental health, and minor injuries.

Employment opportunities are limited as well, jobs largely restricted to the mining or forestry industries, much like other small, rural towns or villages in Ontario. Farming is common, but has yet to grow in popularity due to the issues illustrated above. With the lack of chances for young adults to have a reliable income or learn new skills in different fields of work, it’s of no surprise that many of these individuals retreat to the south. 

Epp’s discusses all of this throughout her presentation, perfectly framing my family’s year long experience into what I would constitute as one giant mess. 

Photo of New Liskeard.

If someone was to ask me right now whether or not I would recommend farming in the north I’d likely laugh, shake my head, and offer a loud “no” as a response. Even my father agrees me, a fully certified crop advisor who has been working in the field for over twenty years. In a conversation I had with him after the conference he told me, “It’s still too much of a risk to grow many acres in the north, especially corn and soybeans - common cash crops. With the potential of a late spring and late summer frost its a gamble.”  

At the conclusion of Epp’s presentation however, I was forced to think over my resounding negative opinion a bit more. 

Why? 

She briefly mentioned the importance of perceptions within society and how they shape our choices, especially in regards to rural communities and opportunities. In many ways we are not even aware of how our opinions and biases can shape the way that we may think of something. In my case, this is agriculture in the north. 

Yes - it’s a bit of a mess at the current moment, but that doesn’t mean that my positive perceptions of agriculture in southern Ontario should overshadow any developments and changes in agriculture that are occurring in the north. I have no right to glorify rurality in the south to make up for what’s lacking in New Liskeard. Neither does anyone else for that matter. 

As Epp’s illustrated throughout her presentation, land in the north is under-utilized. There is unknown potential in the landscape, potential that should be actively explored. Unknown to me until now, but the University of Guelph is making an effort to do this. There is currently an active agricultural research station in New Liskeard, one that tracks the success adapted plant species and perennial forages, those species of plants like alfalfa and clover that act to absorb water and reduced the need for tilled landscapes. 

University of Guelph New Liskeard research station. 

Research such as this paves the way for farmers to better tackle the challenges associated with agriculture in the north. Solutions may be generated that eliminate the problems associated with the environment and economics, those of which were illustrated a bit earlier within this blog. It may be possible to also open doors to new employment opportunities and forms of learning as well. 

As Epp’s suggests, it may even be possible for farmers to take a different approach and focus on livestock production instead, rather than focus entirely on agriculture alone. My father agrees. I didn’t even have to mention this topic in our conversation - he merely stated, “There should be more sheep and cattle in the area. Hay and other cereals grow best in this area in a long rotation with canola and grass pasture.”

It is clear that the discussion surrounding agriculture in the north is far from over. There are certainly many issues associated with farming in this region, but hidden behind all of this negativity are opportunities for positive agricultural development, especially in New Liskeard. With more research and eyes opened to the possibilities, it’s more than feasible for northern communities to experience some level of change - change associated with the creation of new jobs, an influx of people to a remote areas where people are desperately needed, and a new source of income, ending a complete reliance on natural resources. 

Hiking to and up Beaver Mountain.

Despite the faults associated with my year away from my traditional home, I can say with certainty that it was another crazy adventure to add to my list. I saw some pretty amazing things and experienced a season of agriculture that was completely unlike the norm in southern Ontario. I may have considered this as pretty negative at one point in time, but Sara Epps’ presentation gave me the opportunity to criticize my own beliefs and consider agriculture in the north with a more positive lens. 

- Vanessa 

[sexydeathparty]

Photos of The Citizens Stepping Up To Defend Ukraine

February 28, 2022

Ukraine had a troubled past on its way to statehood. Even though the nation can claim its fair share of credit as a participant in shaping the history of Europe, it has had very little time to enjoy its independence.

The country has been invaded and reinvaded for centuries, often passing between empires. Ukrainians have endured a wide variety of tyrants, and now they hold their breath as they battle another.

Amid the new and possibly much more horrific stage of the ongoing tensions, Ukrainians have flocked to territorial defence units ― a reserve branch of the military that trains civilians to defend their cities in case of a full-scale invasion.

Such units accept and train volunteers between the ages of 18 and 57, who, upon signing up, commit to weekend drills, target practices and occasional weeklong training camps. Army instructors, often veterans who have already seen the front line in eastern Ukraine, administer the training.

A recently passed law, with the unambiguous title “Foundations of National Resistance,” has given these civilian units a supporting role to the Ukrainian army in case of war, and envisions them having partisan duties in case of occupation. It also benefits the volunteers, allowing for the purchase of arms and legalising their privately owned weapons in the event of mobilisation. The Territorial Defence Units have seen a massive influx of recruits since the law was passed in January. Ukrainians have also been arming themselves at an unprecedented rate.

Maryana Zhaglo, 52, is a Kyiv native, a marketing analyst and a mother of three. She is one of the people who recently purchased a weapon, the Ukrainian-made rifle Zbroyar Z-15. Zhaglo says she became a reservist out of a desire to defend her birthplace. “Territorial defense for me is defending my city, my home,” she said. “My motivation is my family, my city and my country.”

Zhaglo enrolled in the territorial defense on a dare from her friend from Donetsk, who had to move to Kyiv after Russian-backed separatists took over his city in 2014. “If anything starts, I’ll show up and be ready to follow orders,” she said. “My whole family is here. We have nowhere else to go, and we shouldn’t be going anywhere. This is my country, I was born here and I want to be ready to defend it.”

The process of joining a civilian unit like Zhaglo’s is not as simple as just volunteering. If a person is interested, they can first attend an intro training session. If they want to join, they have to undergo a rigorous health and psych evaluation, supply copies of numerous documents, and then sign a contract to become a reservist. The process might take two to three weeks before the volunteer gets sworn in.

Borys Cherkas, 45, went through this process long before the current crisis. In 2017 he volunteered as a reservist. Now he is preparing for an exam to become a junior lieutenant of his local Territorial Defence Unit. Cherkas has a history Ph.D., works as a researcher at the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, and is a part-time teacher at a school in the suburbs of Kyiv.

Cherkas is pleasantly surprised by the number of middle-aged and older recruits in the last few months. “You know that Cossacks would not send out their young to fight when they’d go on military campaigns,” he said. “So I think the youth should not be left out as the last line [of] defence ― it should be older folks taking the punch.”

Yuriy Boyko, 68, is a retired army colonel. He started his military service in the Soviet army in 1970, took part in Soviet military involvement as an adviser during the Iran-Iraq War in the ’80s, and finished his career in the Ukrainian army after the fall of the Soviet Union. After his retirement, he went into information technology and started his own firm.

Quoting Sun Tzu, Boyko said: “The greatest victory is one which requires no battle.”

.

.

See more photos of the citizens helping to defend Ukraine below:

Art Directors: Isabella Carapella and Christy Havranek Senior Photo Editor: Chris McGonigal Copy Editor: Alexander Eichler

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from HuffPost UK - Athena2 - All Entries (Public) https://ift.tt/cg5Dndi via IFTTT

[blackkudos]

Aaron Henry

Aaron Henry (July 2, 1922 – May 19, 1997) was an American civil rights leader, politician, and head of the Mississippi branch of the NAACP. He was one of the founders of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party which tried to seat their delegation at the 1964 Democratic National Convention.

Early life

Aaron Henry was born in Dublin, Mississippi to parents Ed and Mattie Henry, who worked as sharecroppers. While growing up, he worked on the Flowers brothers' plantation, which was twenty miles east of Clarksdale in Coahoma County. Henry detested everything about growing cotton because of the hardships that it brought upon the African Americans working on the plantation. Henry’s parents believed education to be essential for the future of Henry and his family; therefore, he was able to attend the all-black Coahoma County Agricultural High School. After graduating from high school, Henry worked as a night clerk at a motel to earn money for college, but ended up enlisting in the Army. Three years in the army taught him that racial discrimination and segregation were common, many instances of which he described to Robert Penn Warren for the book Who Speaks for the Negro?. At the same time, it confirmed his feelings that the desegregation was worse in his home state. He decided that he would work for equality and justice for black Americans as soon as he returned home after the war. When he returned to Clarksdale in 1946, a Progressive Voters' League had been formed to work for the implementation of the 1944 Supreme Court decision abolishing white primacy.

As a veteran, Henry was interested in the decision that the Mississippi legislature had exempted returning veterans from paying the poll tax. Under the poll tax laws, a person had to have paid his poll tax for two years prior to the time that he voted. Therefore, he tried to get black Mississippians to go down to the courthouse to register to vote. However, several veterans, who were non-white, were unable to register. When Henry went to the circuit clerk's office to register, he was rejected, as had been other black Americans. The clerk asked Henry to bring a certificate showing that he was exempt from the poll tax. Although he brought the certificate, the clerk said that Henry still needed to pass various tests to show that he was qualified to vote. He was finally able to register to vote after he read several sections of the state constitution and went satisfactorily through more tests. Henry used the G.I. Bill, a law that provided educational benefits for World War II veterans, to enroll in the pharmacy school at Xavier University. When he graduated in 1950 with a pharmaceutical degree, he married Noelle Michael and went into his own pharmacy business. As a businessman in Clarksdale, he became involved in local and state activities, particularly events such as African-American voter registration. He decided to organize an NAACP branch in Clarksdale because of the incident where two black girls were raped by two white men who were subsequently judged not guilty. W.A. Higgins, who was the principal of the black high school and already a member of NAACP, made the suggestion, and the NAACP national headquarters encouraged Henry and Higgins to organize a local branch of the NAACP. In 1959, Henry was elected president of the Mississippi organization, and served in the NAACP for decades. Henry became close friends with Medgar Evers, who worked as a secretary for the NAACP in 1950. On June 12, 1963, Evers was assassinated in his driveway in Jackson, Mississippi and his assassination had a great impact on Henry.

Regional Council of Negro Leadership

In 1951, Henry was a founding member of the Regional Council of Negro Leadership (RCNL). The main instigator and head of the organization was Dr. T.R.M. Howard, a prominent black surgeon, fraternal organization leader, and entrepreneur in the all-black town of Mound Bayou, Mississippi.

The RCNL promoted a program of civil rights, voting rights, self-help, and business ownership. Instead of starting from the “grass roots," it sought to “reach the masses through their chosen leaders” by harnessing the talents of blacks with a proven record in business, the professions, education, and the church. Henry headed the RCNL's committee on "Separate but equal" which zeroed in on the need to guarantee the "equal."

Other key members of the RCNL included Amzie Moore, an NAACP activist and gas station owner from Cleveland, Mississippi and Medgar Evers, who sold insurance for Dr. Howard in Mound Bayou. Henry aided the RCNL's boycott of service stations that failed to provide restrooms for blacks. As part of this campaign, the RCNL distributed an estimated twenty thousand bumper stickers with the slogan “Don’t Buy Gas Where You Can’t Use the Rest Room." Beginning in 1953, it directly challenged separate but equal policies and demanded integration of schools.

Henry participated in the RCNL’s annual meetings in Mound Bayou between 1952 and 1955, which often attracted crowds of over ten thousand.

Frequently a target of racist violence, Henry was arrested in Clarksdale repeatedly, and in one famous incident was chained to the rear of a city garbage truck and led through the streets of Clarksdale to jail.

Civil rights movement activism

While Henry remained active in the RCNL until its demise in the early 1960s, he also joined the Mississippi branch of the NAACP in 1954 and eventually worked his way up to state president in 1959. He started the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party (MFDP) and the Council of Federated Organizations (COFO). In 1961 he organized a boycott of stores in the Clarksdale, Mississippi area that discriminated against African Americans both as customers and employees. He chaired delegations of Loyalist Democrats to the 1968 and 1972 Democratic National Conventions.

In 1962, he was arrested for picking up an eighteen-year-old young man from Memphis, Tennessee. By 1968, after several appeals, the charge was not voided. In 1972, he was arrested again for soliciting sodomy from two undercover policemen.

Freedom Vote Campaign

While Henry served as president of COFO in 1962, he made an effort to organize the "freedom vote", which was the mock participation in the state gubernatorial election in November 1963. Henry worked this campaign with Allard K. Lowenstein, and they thought that showing black voters' willingness to vote in the mock election would make the nation realize that black Americans would in fact participate in the electoral process if given the opportunity. In this mock election, Henry was the candidate for governor, and Edwin King, who was a white Methodist minister at Tougaloo College in Jackson, was candidate for lieutenant governor. With Bob Moses, who managed the campaign, Henry and King tried to raise awareness of how Paul B. Johnson Jr. and Rubel Phillips, who were candidates of the actual election in 1963, ignored the Freedom Vote campaign and potential strength of black Americans' will to vote. Since they had only little experience in the political field, Henry and King needed people who knew about political elections. At that time, Joe Lieberman, who was an editor of the Yale Daily News, was in Mississippi to work with a series of reports on the activities and programs of SNCC. Lieberman found the Freedom Vote Campaign interesting, so he spread the word at Yale about what type of help the campaign would need. After a few weeks, students from Yale, Harvard, Dartmouth, and Fordham came to help with the campaign. With their participation, the Freedom Vote Campaign gained enough awareness and was reported in a newspaper, "The Free Press", by Bill Minor and R. L. T. Smith. To tabulate the result of the campaign, ballot boxes were placed in churches, business, and homes. Voting took place over a whole weekend so that many church congregations could vote at Sunday services. Although there were incidents where several voters were arrested, the campaign finished as a great success in demonstrating the willingness of African Americans to vote, with the participation of more than eighty thousand people. Within a week of the freedom election, college volunteers by Lowenstein's efforts made plans for a massive influx for Freedom Summer in 1964. The campaign also encouraged Paul Johnson to hint at a change in Mississippi's official line on race. After this campaign, Henry helped to create the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party to address civil rights in Mississippi.

Later life

Henry was elected to the Mississippi House of Representatives in 1982, holding the seat until 1996. He died in 1997 of congestive heart failure at a hospital near his home in Clarksdale, following a stroke.

Wikipedia

[jamesbyerj]

Blizzard will implement player queue in Diablo II: Resurrected to handle server woes

For those who tried playing some Diablo II: Resurrected, there’s a chance you noticed some problems. The game’s servers have been struggling, keeping people from making or joining games, and more. I was on as well, and my friend and I did notice a lot of rubberbanding as we paved our way through Act II. Blizzard is perfectly aware, and has narrowed down the causes. Indeed, there’s more than one reason behind the chugging. To counteract the ongoing server issues, the company is implementing safeguards like rate limiting and creating player queues for online play in Diablo II: Resurrected. Adam Fletcher, Diablo community manager, was on hand to explain what happened over the weekend. To be brief, the servers saw a massive influx of players on Saturday and Sunday, more so than when the game launched. According to Fletcher, the problem on Saturday was “exacerbated by an update we had rolled out the previous day intended to enhance performance around game creation... Published first at Blizzard will implement player queue in Diablo II: Resurrected to handle server woes

[johnboothus]

VinePair Podcast: Is Happy Hour Back?

VinePair, in partnership with Rémy Martin, presents the Bartender Talent Academy, an exciting Cognac cocktail competition. Showcase your most creative Sidecar cocktail recipes to compete for a chance at the grand prize: a trip to Cognac, France in October to test your bartending skills against the world’s best. All you need is a shaker and a passport. Visit www.bartendertalentacademy.com for all competition details.

This week on the “VinePair Podcast,” Adam Teeter, Zach Geballe, and Joanna Sciarrino discuss the return of happy hour. But first, Teeter recaps his trip to Louisville, which involved lots of bourbon, Geballe posits a new cocktail recipe, and our hosts dive into a discussion about the sudden cessation of to-go cocktail programs in New York and other states.

The trio then debates whether or not bars should continue offering happy hour deals during these uncertain times. They also discuss the role office culture plays in happy hour attendance, and whether or not those returning to in-person work will be the driving forces in the return of happy hour.

If you have any thoughts on the future of happy hour, please send your ideas to podcast@vinepair.com.

Listen Online

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Or Check out the Conversation Here

Adam Teeter: From VinePair’s New York City headquarters, I’m Adam Teeter.

Joanna Sciarrino: And I’m Joanna Sciarrino.

Zach Geballe: And in Seattle, Wash., I’m Zach Geballe.

A: And this is the “VinePair Podcast.” It really feels like summer now. It’s crazy out there.

Z: It’s supposed to be over 100 degrees in Seattle this weekend. I know we are trying to avoid too much weather conversation, but that is going to suck. That is about 15 to 20 degrees above where I stop going outside.

A: Well, speaking of it feeling crazy. Earlier this week, I was in Louisville, Ky.

Z: Yes. Tell us, how much bourbon did you drink?

A: A good amount. A little bit regretfully, I probably didn’t need one bourbon at the end of the night on Tuesday. Anyway, it was interesting. This was my first time on the plane since Covid was over. It’s not over, sorry, but since we are coming out of it and in Louisville, it felt like Covid was over. It was really weird. I definitely think different parts of the country are very much doing different things. I mean, no one was wearing masks. I think I got weird looks everywhere. I wore a mask. My Uber driver on the way back to the airport on Wednesday told me he thought I should take my mask off. I said “I’m good with it on, thank you.” He said, “I’m vaccinated, aren’t you? Then, take it off.” I said, “No.” It was just weird, but it was interesting to be in Louisville for sure. The city definitely feels very dead in certain ways. All of the downtown areas where there are offices were pretty quiet, but then in the evenings when the bars were at their fullest, it looked like a very normal city. No sidewalk shelters in terms of people dining outside. Everyone was inside, no windows open for ventilation. Windows were closed to conserve air conditioning in the Southern heat, and no one with masks. It was really crazy.

Z: Joanna, have you been to Louisville?

J: I have been to Louisville for a wedding.

Z: That’s when I was there.

J: I think I went to the baseball museum?

Z: Yeah, the Louisville Slugger Museum.

A: You were close enough, they make baseball bats.

J: That’s it. It was nice, but I didn’t get to explore much.

Z: I went there for a wedding as well and definitely drank a lot of bourbon, but one of my great regrets in life and frustrations occurred at the rehearsal dinner held at Churchill Downs, where they hold the Kentucky Derby. It was not just beer and wine, there were cocktails and all that. The thing you could not get, which is the one thing you would think going to Churchill Downs you would be able to get, is a Mint Julep. My good friend, who was the groom, his mom because his parents were the ones hosting the rehearsal dinner, was worried that people would get too drunk if they had Mint Juleps. We were not allowed to have Mint Juleps but I could go get shots of bourbon, mind you, and did.

A: Funny.

Z: I was so annoyed. I may well be back in Kentucky and may well go to Churchill Downs at some point in my life. There’s also a decent chance I’ll never be there again. It is the drink that is so iconic for not just the town, but literally the place I’m standing and yet I can’t get it. Yeah, I may have complained about that all night.

A: I could see you complaining about that all night. I’m not surprised.

Z: It’s in keeping with me.

A: Yes, it’s your brand, but it was interesting, though. It’s crazy. There’s been an influx of distilleries that have opened in Louisville. I guess that’s always the case, right?

Z: No, it was surprising to me when I was there that I thought I would be able to go to distilleries. No, you can drive to Lexington, right. I’m not renting a car to go to the distilleries, that seems like a bad idea.

A: That’s definitely more of where they are. I’ve actually been to Lexington before for work. This is my first time working in Louisville, but there are a few now. They have Rabbit Hole, which I think was just bought by Pernod Ricard. They have a huge facility. It’s a massive steel and glass facility in this neighborhood of Louisville called Nulu, which was interesting. Obviously, Angel’s Envy is right downtown. It was interesting to see and they take bourbon very seriously. The majority of people that were in town were definitely there for bourbon tourism reasons and checking it all out.

Z: Didn’t Old Forester open down there too, right?

A: They have tasting rooms. There is this one street and they call it Bourbon Row. A lot of the distilleries have “the Old Forester Experience,” “the Maker’s Mark Experience.”

Z: OK, so they don’t make anything there.

A: No, you can still go to their distillery, but I think they’re just trying to catch anyone who just happens to be in town.

Z: Someone coming across the bridge from Ohio, whatever.

A: Yeah, exactly. I think that was the thing that was interesting, too, is that there were a lot of those that felt like going to the Jameson Experience in Dublin. Nothing’s being distilled there, but you can go there and experience the brand. The only operating distilleries were those three, and there might be another one I’m forgetting. And Stitzel-Weller is close to the city, but not in Louisville. Everywhere we went, it didn’t matter where you were, they had insane bourbon lists.

Z: Did you have a single best bourbon? I know that’s impossible, but for the sake of our running conceit here that we talk about what we drank.

A: I had some interesting stuff. I had the Wheated Wilderness Trail. They are the distillery that’s being hyped more than anything else by the geeks right now. I thought that it was good. Again, it didn’t blow me away, but it was good. I still think that Larceny does really great stuff. I had a Larceny single barrel that was really delicious and very well priced. Also, you look at these lists now, and it’s like, holy crap. For a one-ounce pour of some of these liquids, we’re getting over $50, $60, or $70 a pour. That was crazy to just see how exorbitant the prices have been. You can also tell, just like anything, that whatever is currently hot is what everyone’s asking for. I would say at least three different people just assumed we were looking for Blanton’s, since that’s the thing that everybody wants. One of our Uber drivers said, “Hey guys, I know three liquor stores that have Blanton’s.” People get in your car and ask who has Blanton’s and where they can get it? It’s just so funny that that’s the bourbon that exploded recently, because I used to be able to get it very easily at liquor stores all over New York. I know it’s good, but I don’t really understand how that gets hyped all of a sudden. And now, no one could find it.

Z: I thought you were going to say your Uber driver is going to offer you a little nip from his bottle. I mean, maybe. You gotta take the mask off for that one, though.

A: Yeah, so that one was quite tasty. I had an Evan Williams and that was pretty delicious. I had the Old Forester 117 series. That was pretty amazing. It was really, really tasty. It was $35 for a one-ounce pour, which is, again, exorbitant, but it was what it was. Besides that, we had wine and beer because those were the things that people were looking for. Tim was my guide, so I was asking him what I should drink. Two of the people I was with had the Elijah Craig Toasted Barrel, which apparently people are crazy for and the geeks can’t find it. It was also really tasty. Yet, the whole thing with bourbon is so insane with the limited releases, exclusivity, and scarcity thing. It’s crazy. However, it was fun to go down to Louisville. I’m glad I saw it. What about you guys?

J: This past weekend, we went to one of our favorite local bars, Brandy Library. If you’re familiar with it, it’s a really wonderful spot. It has a really extensive selection of fine spirits, and it’s really beautiful inside there. The walls are completely lined and they’re illuminated. It has a lovely lounge setting. I saw on the menu that they had Westland Whiskey. I wanted to try it, obviously, after your chat with Matt Hofman, Zach. I tried the Sherrywood Single Malt Whiskey, which was really lovely and aromatic. You can really pick up the sherry in it. I also tried the Starward Nova single malt Australian whiskey, which I’ve had before, but the bartender poured it for us, and that’s also really interesting. It’s aged in red wine barrels for two years.

A: Oh, very cool.

J: It was really warm and spiced. Yeah, they were both just really interesting, beautiful expressions.

Z: Very cool. If you guys haven’t listened to the interview I did with Matt Hofman, I like to think that all of our “Next Round” episodes are great, but what they’re doing at Westland is very interesting to me and has been for quite some time. It helps that the whiskey is also, I think, quite good because interesting is one thing, but it has to taste good.

J: I agree.

A: Totally. What about you, Zach?

Z: Well, there are two things that I had this last week that I am most excited about or was most excited about. Adam, you and I did an interview or a podcast episode a while back talking about the wines of Ribera del Duero and Rueda. I had one of the bottles that they sent, the Martinsancho Rueda, so white wine made from Verdejo. For Father’s Day, we went out to my dad’s house and my dad, as he almost always does when he has a group of people over, makes paella, which is good and bad. My dad’s paella is tasty, but it takes for f*ckin’ ever. I always try to bring some wines to go with it and actually brought a couple of wines. One was an Assyrtiko from Santorini, from Estate Argyros. Then, the other was Martin Sancho Rueda. I was very pleased with how well it paired. I think paella is a complicated dish to pair with because there’s a lot going on. Sometimes I’ve paired it more with a lighter-bodied white wine, but you need the richness and unctuousness of something like this to hold up the richness that is really a big part of paella. Even though it’s got some seafood and stuff like that, which we’re still talking white wine, I think it paired really nicely. The other thing that I made recently that I’ve been obsessively tinkering with is — because we talked about modern classic cocktails — I’ve been trying to come up with a drink. It takes the template of the Paper Plane but does something different with it.

A: Interesting.

Z: I’ve long been a big fan of drinks that combine aged tequila, Cynar, and lime juice. I think the three of those work really, really well together. Three of the four ingredients, conceptually at least towards a Paper Plane in that you have your brown spirit, in this case tequila. You have your citrus juice and you have a bitter liqueur. Obviously, Cynar is pretty different from Aperol, but tequila is pretty different from whiskey. It’s really been that last ingredient that’s been bedeviling me so far. Part of it is just that I have a limited range of amari at home. My first attempt was a Fernet because maybe a minty thing will be interesting. That didn’t work so well. It tasted like an ashtray, unfortunately. I like Fernet, but it doesn’t always play well in cocktails with others. Then, I tried Amaro Montenegro, which was pretty good. I tried Nonino, but it can get lost in there. I’m open to suggestions from you guys or anyone else out there if you’ve got a herbal but not overly minty amari, or something else that I should try as this last part of the cocktail. It’s close to being what I wanted to be. It’s just not quite there yet.

A: Well, so here’s my question with this. Do you think the Cynar, because it is so much of a fuller flavor than even an Aperol, maybe it makes it harder to then also add another amaro?

Z: That could be. It’s possible that what I need to do is find another ingredient that goes in a somewhat different direction. I haven’t done this yet, but I’ve thought about doing something like dry Curaçao. I would like to get more of that orange note that you also get from Aperol, but not as intense. Yeah, that might be the next iteration because it’s true that Cynar lends more bitterness and impact than Aperol. Stay tuned.

A: Yes, please keep us updated.

Z: I will.

A: The other thing I think is worth talking about before we jump into this subject is, I don’t know if you guys saw. I know Joanna did, but Zach, it’s not as impactful for you. It is really interesting to see the city of New York or the state of New York actually just decided to immediately cancel ready-to-go cocktails, effective today.

Z: Pennsylvania did that a week or two ago.

A: Just really stupid. I get that it’s feeling a lot more normal, but that doesn’t mean that the places that were hit the hardest have recovered. Do you know what I mean? I don’t understand why it’s hurting anyone for these restaurants to be able to still sell cocktails to-go. This seems like another kick in the gut, right? Restaurants are just trying to do what they need to do to survive. They are given this lifeline. They make investments to make sure it’s safe and is high quality, all this stuff. Now, with no warning, “Oh, this is done tomorrow.” It just really sucks.

Z: It really does. I didn’t see specifically what Cuomo said about this or the people who are either pushing for this or directing it from the state level. As you said, who is this hurting, and what is the reason to not only end these policies but end them instantly? It’d be one thing if they said, “Hey, we think that by Sept. 30 we can wrap this up.” Fine, you get through summer. There’s probably a lot of interesting ready-to-go cocktails in the winter, etc. Yet, to drop that on everyone with essentially zero notice and zero lag time, whose interests are being served by that? Seriously, I wonder who behind the scenes is lobbying on this because that doesn’t seem like something that happens suddenly without at least a little bit of pressure that maybe we’re not aware of.

A: Yeah, it has to be right. I mean, someone had to have lobbied. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense at all.

Z: Yeah. If you know podcast@vinepair.com, we’ll call them out.

A: Yeah, totally. It is very strange. The whole thing is very strange. Why it’s so abrupt is very strange. I was super bullish that the shelters or the outdoor seating in the street were going to be here to stay. Now, I really wonder if that’s the case.

Z: Yeah. Although, those things are so much more visible. I think there might be more pushback from people who’ve really enjoyed having that, including the restaurants and things. If they go away, to-go cocktails are visible in a sense, but they’re not something that New Yorkers see all day, every day. I’m sure both of you walk outside your door that you’re seeing these structures on the street anywhere you go. I think that probably lends them a chance of being more permanent. However, I agree. “Back to normal” sometimes means losing things that we thought we had gained in this period of time.

J: Yeah. Also just to Adam’s point, these were such significant investments on behalf of bars and restaurants to erect these — in some cases — full structures. It would just be such a shame, and abruptly? That would be horrible.

A: Yeah, it would just be the worst. Well, today’s big discussion is all about happy hour, and what the future of happy hour is going to look like now that we are slowly starting to make our way back to the office. I think we’re going to see more and more people go back to work. That’s my hypothesis. I think a lot of you’re already hearing from people who have tried the hybrid model. For a lot of businesses, they’re saying it’s not working. It’s very hard for there to be a group of people in the office and a group of people on Zoom and to feel that the meeting is productive or that there’s a collaboration happening. It needs to be all of one or all of the other. I think that’s what you’ll start to see is some people who will permanently work from home or from home on these days specifically, whereas everyone else on other days is in the office. However, I do think we are going to start seeing more and more people come back to the office. As that happens, the question then becomes, are we going to see this massive return of happy hour? And what will happy hour look like? I think it’s an interesting thing to ponder, so what do you guys think?

J: I think another question that I’ve been thinking about just in this conversation is, should there be a happy hour? I mean that more from a financial point of perspective, with businesses just getting back on their feet, does it make sense for them to have happy hours? Should we be expecting that as patrons, or should we all just be willing to pay full price for the next while?

A: That’s a very, very interesting thought. Should we actually have happy hour? I’m not sure. This goes back to the conversation we had a while ago, Zach, about pricing models and whether the happy hour is beneficial because it brings new people into the bar at a time when maybe they wouldn’t come into the bar. I don’t know. Happy hour originally existed because it’s a time when the bar’s not that crowded and you want to get more people to the bar. But are people going to go to happy hour at all?

Z: Well, a thing that was always interesting to me is that Seattle has had an alarmingly vibrant happy hour culture for a long time. Here, I think it’s born out of maybe two interrelated things. One is the truth of it, which is that here in Seattle, especially in the fall and winter, it gets dark really early. There’s always been this thing where, as compared to New York, people just in general are done with their evenings earlier, bars close earlier, all those sorts of things. That all naturally shifts the business earlier in the evening. On top of that, you have widespread frugality or cheapness, whatever you want to call it. What’s interesting to me is talking to people I worked with over the years who moved to Seattle from other places, and their happy hour is maybe getting a dollar off a beer or two dollars off a glass of wine. It’s not what it was in Seattle for a lot of restaurants, where there is an extensive menu. There are real drink specials. It is more of what we talked about, as you said, with dynamic pricing. You come in and eat a full meal but eat it at 5 o’clock, not at 7 o’clock. Then, you have this back and forth about whether those things are really fundamentally different. However, I think the thing that I’m curious about feeds back into your initial question, Adam, about whether office culture will affect this. Many of the restaurants here and I think this is true for a lot of the country, especially places besides New York, where you just have incredible density. The downtown areas are, as you said in Louisville, the slowest areas to recover. There’s not a lot of business there during the day. I think the question is these places that maybe built a lot of their business around the idea of capturing happy hour business and then maybe that transitions into the dinner business. If people aren’t in the office, will they still come to these parts of the city for happy hour if the pricing is good enough? Maybe. Well, maybe if they’re only working in the office two or three days a week, maybe those two or three days are their “go-out nights,” right? They’re in the office Monday, Wednesday, Friday, so Wednesday and Friday nights, they go out. This isn’t an answer, I guess. I will be curious to hear what you both think. I do think that if I were an operator in a lot of these places, I would be cautiously dipping my toe back into happy hour promotions, and maybe we can address that profitability side of it in a moment. I do think that we’re just going to have to wait and see in some sense, because I really think — whether it’s business lunches, happy hour — how the business community responds and returns to restaurants and bars is a huge unanswered question yet, one that is going to be hugely impactful for a lot of these businesses. I will just add the last piece here, which is that my wife, who works for a big accounting firm, has just started to get some of those first, “Hey, we should have a work group happy hour.” Her business has been pretty conservative about coming back to the office. Everyone is still working from home until after Labor Day at the earliest. I mean, they’re allowing people to come in on occasion, but basically, it’s all still work from home. Yet, you can see there’s a lot of desire for this, and getting everyone together for a virtual happy hour just ain’t cutting it anymore. Understandably, those are not super fun.

A: Yeah, I think it’s going to come back in a big way. I think it’s going to come back in a big way just based on what I’m already seeing in terms of people who are asking to meet up in person. I was supposed to have a call tomorrow with someone and literally as we’re sitting here because obviously as we record, my email’s open.

Z: That is not a surprise.

A: The person says, “Hey, Adam, would you like to meet in person tomorrow? I see we’re meeting towards the end of the day, it would be great to grab a drink instead of sitting on Zoom.” I think there’s a lot of that that’s going to happen, and people who are gonna be really excited about it. I think that dipping your toe back into happy hour is not a bad idea, whether that happy hour has some food or a discount on drinks, maybe even the first drink and not the second. Maybe there’s some limit that’s not the time window. Maybe you get two drinks at this price and then we go to full price with you. I don’t know if restaurants are worried, but I think there’s going to be such a slam that most restaurants and bars usually have made a lot of money at happy hour in the past. I think it’s something where going back to that is going to be really exciting for a lot of people.

J: Yeah, I think you also make a really good point, Zach, about the places like the downtown areas that have been so depressed over the past 16 months. For the ones that have managed to stay alive and stay open, this will probably be a really big part of their strategy to draw people in the ones who are returning to the office.

Z: To the question that you raised, Joanna, about whether we should be doing this and profitability, Adam makes a point that I think is a good one, which is that you can definitely make money at happy hour. Happy hour is a different financial model than fine dining dinner service. Look, I remember being not astonished by this, but impressed by it. Some of the most profitable bars and restaurants that are out there are places that are churn and burn. It’s fast-paced. They get people in and get people out. Maybe you’re paying less, but you have volume, and that adds up quickly. I think the questions that we can’t yet answer are how will this be affected by what we’ve all been seeing and hearing about, issues with a labor crunch? Fast-paced services are demanding and challenging. It requires a decent amount of staff, in a lot of cases, to get through to just get things cooked, get drinks made, poured, on tables, and the payment process. This is one that I wanted to mention in this context. There’s also this upcoming other crunch that I don’t know if you guys are fully aware of, but I’ve been hearing about it from people I know on the supply side, which is we have a huge wine crunch coming, and it’s almost all concentrated in the kinds of wines that are poured at happy hour.

A: You mean there’s going to be a ton on the market, or none?

Z: No, there’s going to be a tremendous lack of it. Again, what has not been talked about a ton is how much less wine got made in 2020 in Europe than in previous years. Some of that was Covid, weather, and the broader economic uncertainty surrounding Covid. The problem is, if you don’t make the wine, it doesn’t exist. It’s not beer, it’s not spirits. You can’t always ramp up production. Some things you might have back inventory on, certainly some suppliers and distributors here in the U.S. might have that. However, between tariffs and shipping issues, there is an incredible crunch right now. I was talking to a friend who works for a distributor. He said, “I have almost no under-$10 European wine.” Sparkling wine, white wine, and rosés are just starting to arrive, but it’s also been delayed. If you’re pouring wine at happy hour, you’re relying on that category, right? Your wholesale cost has got to be $5, $6, or $7 a bottle. Sure, there’s some really big- production stuff that you might be able to get, and in some places, that might be just fine. However, if you’re not trying to pour the really big-production stuff, or at least that’s recognizable to people from stacks and stacks in the grocery store, you have limited options right now. It’s unclear, as far as I can tell, if any of that stuff is going to make it to the U.S. in time for the summer. We’re already in summer, as you pointed out at the beginning, Adam, and so we are facing this other crunch that is real for restaurants and bars. Now, you might ask, “What the hell do I pour for people?” There’s some stuff out there, but there’s a lot of competition for it, obviously. I don’t know what the answer is going to be. It would be a thing for domestic producers to think about, but opportunities abound because there’s obviously a demand for happy hour pours. I think there’s a lot of struggle meeting that demand and will be going forward for at least a few more months.

A: OK, let me ask a question. What percentage of people do you think order wine for happy hour?

Z: A lot, depending on where you are. When we did a happy hour in my restaurants, I would say at least 40 to 45 percent of what we poured was wine.

A: Interesting. But it was a restaurant, not a bar.

Z: Yes. If you go to a dive bar, people are drinking whatever, their $5 well drinks. That’s a different story. There is plenty of that stuff, I promise. Again, you think about what we’re talking about. There are the happy hour places that serve 23-year-olds who are looking for one thing. Then, there are happy hour places that serve us or people like us. There, I think you’re much more likely to see people drinking wine. I mean, that has always been my experience.

A: I think it’s so weird for me that I never really, in New York, got out in time to have happy hour. The time I left the office, it was not happy hour. I’m not aware of what bars or restaurants where I would have had wine, even did at happy hour.

Z: Joanna, what about you?

J: I mean, similar to Adam, that was a special occasion if we were out of the office early enough to partake in happy hour, but I often would get wine at happy hour.

A: Interesting. I think it’s going to come back in a very strong way. For the people that live in the city, are we going to have as many people trying to hit a happy hour location before they go to the train? No, because I think people who left these cities for the suburbs may try to negotiate some way to work from home. Whether they’re at a company that will allow that is up for debate. I’m sure a lot of people over the last week have seen the really famous speech that went around from the CEO of JP Morgan who basically said, “If you can come into the city to go out to eat, then you can come into the city to go to work.” It’ll be really interesting to see who takes that approach. If you want to make a New York salary, you need to live in New York. Then, which companies take other approaches and basically say, “No, this is fine. We’re saving so much on the office space and we’re still cool with you working from home.” How does that impact happy hour? When I was working from home during the pandemic, I don’t think I would have left my apartment at 5:30 and hit a happy hour location in my neighborhood. For me, happy hour is very transitional, leaving-the-office-on-your-way-home experience. I don’t know if happy hour takes place in a smaller town in the suburbs where people are still working from home. But in the core business districts of cities where people are going to go back to the office, I think it’ll boom.

Z: One last related question. Do you think we’re going to see the continued return and resurgence of the bottomless Mimosa brunch?

J: I think so. Did it ever go away?

Z: It was Covid-related. You couldn’t get a bottomless Mimosa to go, I’m pretty sure.

A: I don’t know. I feel the bottomless Mimosa came back with a force last summer. What really happened because of Covid, which I think we’re going to continue to see, was the rise of massive amounts of day drinking. All of these places had outdoor spots, and that’s where people felt safe, and they didn’t really want to do it at night. Then, as it was getting into the fall, it was getting cooler, so everyone was drinking during the day. There were several occasions where I remember having to come into the city for something and walking through the East Village or Murray Hill and tripping over very inebriated people who clearly had a lot of fun at bottomless brunch.

Z: What do they say? Nature is healing.

A: Exactly. I think that’s going to continue to be just a huge thing, especially in the cities that have always taken brunch seriously. New York likes its brunch.

Z: The bottomless Mimosa thing I’ve never been able to get behind. personally.

A: Me either.

Z: I’ve seen what goes into both the orange juice and the sparkling wine, and I want no part of either personally.

A: I mean, it’s never been my thing, but I’m going to say something crazy. I’m not the biggest day drinker.

J: Me neither.

A: I like to day drink once in a while, but I’m really not a day drinker. I’m really bad at it. Joanna, you said you are bad at it, too?

J: I am so bad at it.

A: It’s terrible. All of a sudden, I’m really tired.

J: It’s time to go home.

*A: I’m not good at it. I know I’m from a big college town, but I was a bad tailgater. I was the guy that didn’t want to drink before going into the stadium because then you didn’t get to watch the game.

Z: I guess with Auburn, at least that was a reasonable concern. In some college towns, that might’ve been the point.

A: Right, exactly. I’ve never been the best day drinker. Even for this weekend, I have a little party that I’m having.

Z: Yeah. Happy birthday, by the way.

A: Thank you. I just want everyone to know it is my birthday. By the way, if you are a Champagne brand and would like to sponsor my birthday, reach out to podcast@vinepair.com. Anyways, I want to have a picnic in the park with some of our good friends, but I wanted it to start at 4:30 or 5 because I don’t want to day drink. I want an evening drink and then go home.

Z: In early summer, it’s going to be light out plenty long. You are not exactly cutting it at 7 p.m.

A: Exactly, but I am just not a great day drinker.

Z: Well, none of us are perfect, Adam.

A: None of us are perfect. Anyway, a really interesting conversation. I actually am looking forward to a happy hour. I’m going to have my first happy hour, actually, next Tuesday.

Z: Well, maybe if I ever make it to New York, we’ll have an official podcast happy hour.

A: That would be awesome.

Z: Sponsors… podcast@vinepair.com.

A: Yeah. All right, guys. Well, I’ll see you next week.

J: Yes, happy birthday!

A: Thank you!

Z: Sounds great.

Thanks so much for listening to the “VinePair Podcast.” If you love this show as much as we love making it, then please give us a rating or review on iTunes, Spotify, Stitcher, or wherever it is you get your podcasts. It really helps everyone else discover the show.

Now for the credits. VinePair is produced and recorded in New York City and in Seattle, Wash., by myself and Zach Geballe. He does all the editing and loves to get the credit. Also, I would love to give a special shout-out to my VinePair co-founder, Josh Malin, for helping make all this possible and also to Keith Beavers, VinePair’s tastings director, who is additionally a producer on the show. I also want to, of course, thank every other member of the VinePair team who is instrumental in all of the ideas that go into making the show every week. Thanks so much for listening, and we’ll see you again.

Thanks for listening to the show, and just as a reminder, VinePair in partnership with Rémy Martin, is presenting the Bartender Talent Academy, an exciting Cognac cocktail competition. You can showcase your most creative Sidecar cocktail recipes to compete for a chance at the grand prize: a trip to Cognac, France in October to test your bartending skills against the world’s best. All you need is a shaker and a passport. So visit www.bartendertalentacademy.com for all competition details and to enter. Hope to see you there.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

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