#my favorite flavor of obsession is irony

[are-we-really-doing-this]

[lestappenforever]

Lestappen fic - Ice cream shop owner!Charles AU

I don't typically get excited by AU ideas for Lestappen because Lestappen in canonverse is so appealing to me in and of itself. But, while AO3 was down yesterday, @thearchercore received and answered a whole bunch of asks from lovely anons about a Lestappen AU fic where Charles owns an ice cream shop (as inspired by the news that the man is actually going to open an ice cream shop in Milan.) And, well, for the first time ever, I got excited about a Lestappen AU. So, I wrote something.

This is, obviously, dedicated to the incredible @thearchercore, a true pillar of the Lestappen community, and to each and every anon who has sent in asks about this AU. And because this was entirely inspired by people on Tumblr, you can read the whole fic in this post. ❤️

---

Max realizes that he has probably let this whole thing go too far. Way too far. 

What had started as a chance encounter after the Monza Grand Prix, where Max had gone on a drive and ended up in a small, lovely ice cream shop - LEC - in Milan that served the most delicious vanilla ice cream Max had ever tasted, had spiraled and developed into what was now practically a weekly occurrence. Every chance he got, when the race calendar, his PR and training schedule would allow it, Max would fly to Milan, spending ridiculous amounts of money and contributing an unnecessary amount to further pollute the environment, just to go back to that ice cream shop.

And yes, although the vanilla ice cream was divine, that's not the real reason Max kept coming back. 

No, the real cause of his travels was the ridiculously beautiful shop owner, with the fluffy brown hair, the captivating green eyes Max kind of wanted to drown himself in, and dimples that Max saw every single night when he closed his eyes. And what’s more, the shop owner — Charles — didn't even seem to like Max, because the Monégasque was a die-hard Ferrari fan and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to put all the blame of Ferrari’s lack of success for the past fifteen years on Max. Even if Max hadn’t been in F1 for the entirety of those fifteen years.

Not that he was surprised, really. The passion of the Tifosi did, on more than one occasion, seem to seriously impact their sense of logic and capability of rational thinking. 

And apparently, the beauty, sass and stubbornness of the shop owner did the exact same thing to Max's. 

The irony of that is not lost on him.

The fact that the two of them had discovered they were on the same page about the superior ice cream flavor the first time Max had been in that ice cream shop — “vanilla is my favorite” Max had said at exactly the same time Charles had said “vanilla is the only right choice” — had not been enough to endear him to Charles. His allegiance with Ferrari and Max currently on yet another dominating winning spree with Red Bull was too strong. (Even if there had been the flicker of something in those green eyes when Charles had learned that he and Max were on the same page about vanilla ice cream.)

After yet another failed attempt at charming Charles a few weeks ago, Max had gotten so desperate that he had genuinely started considering a move to Ferrari, even starting to subtly ask around about the possibility, Red Bull’s superior car and strategies be damned. But then word had reached GP and his race engineer had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be moving to Ferrari to impress ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’. Which Max had taken offense to, because Charles was not just ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’, thank you very much.

(Max really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut around GP.)

So yes, his obsession with the ice cream shop and its owner has gone way too far. And yet, on a warm August afternoon, Max finds himself walking back into that ice cream shop. 

Summer break has finally arrived, and Max had genuinely considered renting an apartment in Milan for the next three weeks so he wouldn't have to fly back and forth so much. But then he had come to the conclusion that that would be excessive. 

(Because flying back and forth between Monaco and Milan definitely wasn’t excessive. No, sir.)

Charles is there when Max walks in, as he is every single time Max walks in. The guy never seems to leave his beloved ice cream shop, and Max finds himself wondering if the other man gets enough sleep. Or if he even goes home to sleep, or if he has a bed set up in the back somewhere so he never has to waste time going back and forth between the ice cream shop and his home. 

He may not know Charles all that well, despite seeing him regularly for the past few months, but he does know that the man must have an incredible work ethic. 

The little bell above the door announces his arrival, and Charles looks up from behind the counter. For a brief second, Max is sure he sees a flash of excitement cross those gorgeous features, but the Monégasque quickly schools his expression into one of exasperation and indignation, complete with an overly dramatic eye roll. 

“No Red Bull Racing team members allowed,” Charles tells him with a huff, as he puts a brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream in the display freezer. 

Max snorts as he walks towards the counter. He had expected a frosty — pun intended — reception following Ferrari’s double DNF in the last race before the summer break, so Charles��� grumpy demeanor doesn’t deter him.  

“Hello to you too, Charles,” the Dutchman sing-songs, ignoring the way a couple of teenage girls at a table by the window gape at him. “Let me guess, Ferrari’s double DNF in Belgium was somehow my fault?”

Charles meets his gaze and narrows his eyes. He points an ice cream scoop at him. “I am not sure how, but yes.” He waggles the scoop accusingly. 

It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because the two of them crashing into each other in turn two, while in P8 and P9 respectively, while I was at the very front definitely had something to do with me?”

“Obviously,” Charles confirms with a sniff. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Max laughs, shaking his head in a manner that can only be described as fond. He comes to a halt in front of the cash register at the counter, and waits for Charles to ask him what he wants. 

But Charles never does; instead busies himself with rearranging the different bowls of topping on top of the display freezer, wiping down the counter, and restocking the ice cream cones, all the while completely ignoring Max’s presence. Or general existence, even.

Eventually, Max runs out of patience.

“I’d like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, please.”

Charles doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t even look at him. “We’re all out of vanilla.”

Max stares. At Charles, then at the almost full tub of vanilla, with its little sign labeling it as vanilla sticking out of the fluffy ice cream. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, I can see the vanilla ice cream. It’s right there,” Max insists, pointing at the flavor through the display glass. As if Charles isn’t completely aware of its existence, as if he’s not just being a little shit and punishing Max for something that isn’t even remotely his fault. 

Charles pauses in his bustling to look at Max. Then, he follows the length of Max’s arm to where his finger is pointing directly at the vanilla. His gaze returns to Max’s eyes as he says, deadpan: “That is only a display ice cream.”

Max blinks repeatedly.

“A display ice cream?” he echoes incredulously. 

“Yes,” Charles confirms, raising his chin. “It’s only for display, it is not to be served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like this,” the Monégasque says, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. 

Max doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. 

(That’s a lie, he knows damn well that he wants to kiss that smug look right off of Charles’ stupidly beautiful face.)

“Fine,” the Dutchman sighs, moving his finger slightly to the right. “Then I would like three scoops of the chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but that is also only a display ice cream,” Charles tells him with a completely straight face. 

“You’re not serious.”

Charles raises one full eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m joking?” he asks.

And, well, Max has to admit that it absolutely does not. 

He stands there in silence for a while, wondering why the hell this infuriating man has been the object of his deepest desires for the past few months. Wonders why Charles’ face is the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and why he is the one person that keeps appearing in the majority of his dreams. Wonders why, when his mind wanders as he has a secure grip around himself in bed, it keeps wandering to the mental images of what Charles would look like, feel like, sound like if he was there with Max, when all Charles seems to want to do is get under Max’s skin and infuriate him in ways and for reasons Max hadn’t even known he could let himself be infuriated. 

Oh, who is he kidding? Those reasons, coupled with Charles’ overall appearance and being, are exactly why his mind never seems to tire of Charles whatever-the-fuck-his-middle-name-is Leclerc, and only him. 

Max has always been a sucker for challenges. And Charles is definitely a challenge. 

Had Charles been an F1 driver instead of the owner of an ice cream shop, Max just knows their on-track battles would have been epic. Their rivalry would have been one for the ages; their names and lives so intertwined that people could not have mentioned one without also mentioning the other. Because Max is sure that Charles’ passion, his stubbornness and his outright refusal to give in to anything or anyone would have translated into a fierce, unyielding, unapologetic driver. 

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Max gives a quick shake of his head to clear is racing mind. Then, he fixes Charles with a hard stare. 

“Let me guess, these are all ‘display ice creams’?” he asks, gesturing with a hand at the numerous tubs of flavors in the display freezer. 

“Of course not,” Charles scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous statement that has been made in the ice cream shop in the past few minutes. “That would be a horrible way to run a business. We have one flavor that is not only for display.”

Max is almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway. “Which is?”

Charles doesn’t answer the question with words, just points to the bottom tub at the far left. The little sign reads ‘Mint chip’.

“Who the fuck eats mint chip ice cream?” Max asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “That’s like eating toothpaste.”

For the first time since Max stepped through the door, Charles smiles. A beautiful, self-satisfied, mischievous smile that does things to Max’s body, mind and soul. It makes his heart rate pick up and his skin tingle with an excitement he has no business feeling. 

Pathetic. He’s absolutely pathetic. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. That's all I have to offer today.”

And Max, proving just how completely gone he is on this ridiculous man, lets out a long, tired sigh. 

“Three scoops of mint chip, please,” he requests in a voice that is completely resigned. 

Charles’ face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and he scurries to get one of the small glass bowls reserved for customers who want to eat their ice cream in the shop, not even needing to ask if that’s what Max is planning to do, or if he wants his ice cream in a cone. And although Charles is doing his damnedest to make Max believe that his general existence on this earth is causing Charles physical pain and emotional turmoil, the fact that Charles remembers his preference doesn’t go unnoticed by Max. 

He won’t even entertain the idea that Charles might just be adamant on making Max sit in his shop and eat his mint chip ice cream so Charles can watch him suffer with every spoonful. 

Charles is generous with the scoops — incredibly so — and Max is sure those three scoops he requested actually equal the size of at least six regular-sized scoops. He realizes that he probably should have asked for one scoop instead of three. He watches as Charles sticks a spoon in the ice cream and places the bowl on the counter in front of Max with the biggest grin on his face.

“It’s on the house,” Charles tells him, probably just to further add to Max’s suffering. 

The Dutchman eyes the bowl of ice cream warily, quietly cursing it and himself, before picking it up with a hesitating hand. Charles watches him expectantly the entire time as Max makes his way to a small table in one corner of the shop. Behind him, a small child, probably around five or six, had entered the shop with his mother while Max was waiting for Charles to finish scooping, and Max hears the boy ask for two scoops of strawberry ice cream. And Charles — the fucking asshole — makes a point out of saying ‘coming right up’ in both Italian and English just to fuck with Max some more.

Max takes a seat with his back to the window so he can face Charles. Because if nothing else, he’s not going to let Charles win.

The first spoonful really does taste like toothpaste with a hint of chocolate, and it’s an awful combination. It takes every ounce of willpower Max has not to let the disgust he’s feeling show on his face. He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing the disgusting liquidized ice cream, all the while maintaining a completely unaffected expression. 

Charles watches him eat the entire bowl of ice cream, and Max never breaks eye contact. With every expressionless swallow, Max can see the thinly veiled disappointment on Charles’ face and the satisfaction he gets from that is enough to motivate him to finish every single bite. He even makes a point out of scraping the melted remains of the ice cream from the sides of the bowl, scooping it up into a mint green coloured soup in his spoon, and eating it. He even briefly considers licking the bowl clean just to get a rise out of Charles, but the Monégasque turns away from him with a huff before he can put his plan into action.

Which, thank fuck, because Max is starting to feel a bit sick from the ridiculous amount of toothpaste-flavored ice cream he has just consumed out of spite and spite alone. He pushes the bowl forward and away from himself on the table with a frown.

Charles goes back to ignoring his presence for the next fifteen minutes, and Max waits. Just because he can — just because he knows this wasn’t the outcome Charles had expected and he wants to revel in the satisfaction of finally getting under Charles’ skin for once for a little while longer. 

Eventually, Charles comes to collect his empty bowl and gives Max a disapproving glare. 

“Well? How was it?”

And Max, unable to resist, gives Charles his biggest, brightest smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”

If looks could kill, Max would have been dead. Then, Charles turns on his heels and walks away with Max’s empty bowl and spoon. 

Taking the win, Max gets to his feet and waits for Charles to look over at him from behind the counter. When he does, he gives the other man a wave. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“You’re not coming back tomorrow!” Charles shoots back.

“Oh, but I am,” Max counters. It sounds like a promise, and it is. 

As he walks out of the ice cream shop, feeling Charles’ gaze boring into the back of his head as he does, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts looking up hotels in the area with available rooms.

***

Max stays in Milan for two weeks, and he goes to Charles’ ice cream shop every single day. 

Every day, Charles tells him the only flavor he can serve him is mint chip. By day three, Max has stopped trying to argue with him. By day five, Max orders vanilla and Charles responds with ‘three scoops of mint chip coming up’. And every day, Max sits at his little table by the window to eat his ice cream while Charles stands behind the counter, watching him eat the entire time. 

Every. Single. Day. 

And every single day, Max can see Charles’ resolve crumbling, little by little, convincing him that his tragic efforts are not in complete vain. They might be mostly in vain, but Max is in far too deep at this point to care.

On the eighth day, Max stays until closing and Charles spends the majority of his free moments actually hanging around Max’s table and engaging him in conversation. It's a step in the right direction, even if Charles does end up kicking the Dutchman out when he has to count the register.

And on the eleventh day, as Max is about to leave after finishing yet another disgusting, massive portion of mint chip ice cream, Charles finds himself looking at the blond from behind the counter, watching as Max smiles down at his phone. Those piercing blue eyes are crinkling in delight, causing adorable smile lines to appear at their corners, his full, inviting lips stretching to expose his straight, white teeth. A wave of something — jealousy, Charles would define it as if he wasn’t a pigheaded dick when it comes to four-time F1 World Champion Max Emilian Verstappen — washes over him at the thought of whatever or whoever it is that puts that smile on Max's face. 

It makes the Monégasque realize that all of his attempts over the past few months to convince himself that he doesn’t find Max attractive or charming as hell, and that he definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Max likes vanilla in bed, too, have been for naught. 

And so, with an overwhelming feeling that he's losing a battle he's been fighting for months, Charles throws away the paper towel he had been using to dry his hands and resigns himself to his fate. Because sometimes, perseverence needs to be rewarded.

And he's not just referring to Max's.

“You can take me out to dinner tonight,” he tells Max, and it sounds like the statement pains him. Which it kind of does.

Max stops dead, one hand on the door handle, half-turned to face Charles. The look on his face is one of utter surprise.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that it should probably make Charles change his mind. But instead, it makes him want to close up the shop immediately and let Max take him out to dinner right fucking now.

Which is pathetic, really. But then again, so is the way Charles has been waking up every day hoping Max Verstappen would walk through the door of his ice cream shop for the past few months.

But, having no intention of showing his hand, Charles maintains a stoic expression as he nods. 

“Pick me up here at nine.”

Max's smile is so wide that Charles wonders if it makes his cheeks hurt. He also wonders if said cheeks will feel as warm to the touch as they look.

“Okay,” Max says, still smiling. “Then I'll see you again at nine.”

And with that, Max turns, pulls the door open, and walks out of the shop. 

When Charles can only just see the back of the Dutchman through the window, he sees Max stopping briefly on the sidewalk and pumping his fist in the air in the same celebratory manner Charles has seen after so many victorious races over the years.

He looks ridiculous, and Charles might just be falling a little bit in love with him.

Charles doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

***

It turns out that Max's preferences in bed are far more adventurous than his taste in ice cream.

Which turns out to be yet another thing they're on the same page about.

[knickknacksandallthat]

if you don't mind me asking, what got you into kevin's character?

for me it was actually your fic, but since its so normalized in the fandom to dismiss his trauma and call him a coward and annoying for doing things that other characters are loved for, i didn't really care about him when i first read the books

now hes my favorite

Oh, anon, I love this!! What an honor, I’m so glad to have helped you join the Kev lovefest 😊 (Welcome to the dark side lol!) It makes me so happy that the A Fallen Star series has awakened this in you! 💖

And wow, what a good question. I don't mind at all! I actually had to think about this for a while to try and remember…how the heck did I get here???

So here is my ridiculously uncalled-for POV on Kevin’s character and slow descent into madness below:

(Disclaimer that these are just my thoughts and anyone in the aftg fandom can hc or think whatever they like about Mr. Day 😊)

Like you, anon, I was easily swayed by Neil’s perspective of Kev on first read. It makes sense and is a credit to Nora how we so fully buy into Neil’s opinion of Kevin that many of us just run with it. And to be fair to the fandom, it’s canon – Andrew, Neil, and all the Foxes tell us he’s a coward and annoying and so we assume it must be true.

So, I created many fics that played into this image and focused on andreil. (Because who isn’t enamored with andreil??? Legit, deranged obsession and couple goals lmao). Using that lens, it was easy to make Kevin the punching bag because he is the quintessential “straight man” in comedy (and yes, I do hear the irony in that) – the foil to other characters to make them seem better, braver, funnier, smarter, etc. It’s an age-old trick/trope in fiction that works very well. And it was an easier transition for Nora to make, I think, once she made the decision to remove Kevin from the main narrative of her story.

This character setup works well enough when you’re doing a fic from Neil or Andrew’s POV, providing an easy source of humor to fall back on. So, for me, I think my thinking shifted once I started working on Flavors of Fall and delved into Andrew and Kevin’s storyline there. That fic forced me to think from Kevin’s perspective, and I found at the time I had a shallow understanding of what made Kevin tick. It totally threw me once I really started considering sequels for that fic and the 12 Day Program for Courtship, both of which have Kevin cast as a main character. I had to dive deep into his makeup, seriously considering his motivations, his likes/dislikes, his personality traits, his relationships, and how he would react in any given situation.

Because I was interested in his character development, I started delving into fics like orionauriga’s just pretend , @likearecordbb's Long Walk in the Woods, @thetrojeans daylights, sunsets, and @dayurno's the age of no regret series. They are all brilliant, fascinating character studies of Kevin Day and his relationships that are extremely well done. There’s many more, of course, but I was searching for fics that specifically delved into Kevin’s thought process and choices and stayed there a while.

That’s what led me to feeling like I needed to tell his story with Dead of Night. Of course, it turned into a larger series with my flavoring of Kerejean added because I’ve never been a huge Kevin/Thea relationship fan. (But that's a discussion for another day which you can start here and here for that adventure.)

Now all that I’ve described above gives you the mechanics of the descent – the when, the where, the how. But it crucially misses the why. What is it about Kevin that got me in the end?

Ironically enough, it was his potential.

I think when Nora stripped away any kind of romantic narrative (RIP Kandreil OR Riko/Kevin/Jean) or a chance for a tragic storyline (Kevin dying in the end) it resulted in removing a lot of Kevin’s emotional vulnerability. We don’t get to hear what he’s feeling or thinking unless it’s related to Riko, the Moriyamas, or Exy. This means his storyline is consumed by the stereotypical sports underdog story, with us following his rise to champion (which is still a powerful enough narrative on its own that shines even in the midst of Neil’s crazy plotline. Switching that racquet to his left hand in the championship game? Iconic.) 

However, it leaves us very much with a shell of a person. Kevin’s character outside of Exy is reduced to a handful of facts – there’s a passing comment on his like of history, and the stark evidence of an alcohol addiction as a coping mechanism. We’re told he used to dance. That he learned French because Jean Moreau taught him. That he has no qualms about taking (mild?) drugs (cracker dust). Despite how much we’ve run with it as a fandom, the only allusion I’ve found in the books to him being strict with diet is this section from The King’s Men:

“No one needs to eat this before a game,” Kevin said. “Eat some granola or protein if you’re that hungry.” “Hello, there’s protein in the peanut butter,” Nicky said. “Let go of me before I tell Andrew you’re outlawing chocolate. I said let go. You’re not the boss of me. Ouch! Did you seriously just hit me?” … “Kevin, just let him go,” Neil said. “It’s not worth fighting over.” “When our defense is sluggish, we all suffer,” Kevin said.

From what I can find in the books, Kevin never once denies Andrew eating ice cream. (Which I’m 100% able to admit I might have missed something so feel free to quote me where that scene is because I was totally searching for it). In fact, every time they go to Sweetie’s, it’s implied Kevin orders ice cream with them. In the infamous kissing scene in The King’s Men, we actually have proof that Kevin got ice cream:

Kevin still hadn’t messaged Nicky by the time they reached the ice cream aisle, so Nicky gave in and called him. Neil half-expected Kevin to ignore Nicky’s call, but Kevin wasn’t so sour with them that he’d turn down a free snack…Nicky grabbed spoons from the kitchen and distributed pints to their hungry owners. Neil checked his expression when Nicky came back from dropping Kevin’s off….

Now I do think it’s in line with his character and his upbringing to have issues with food, so I’m all for buying into that specific hc. But we have very little evidence of it in the text.

His personality is reduced mainly to anger, arrogance, or cowardice (all traits that don’t make us sympathize with him). The only facts we have about his Tragic Past™️ are two things: his mother’s death, and his hand injury. Everything else we assume is based on Neil’s knowledge of the mafia, Wymack’s hearsay, Andrew’s deductions, and Kevin’s reactions to Riko and Tetsuji. We have literally no idea what happened to Kevin in the Nest. His trauma and his time spent there is a complete mystery. The closest we get is Riko’s comment to Neil in The Raven King:

“I am going to love hurting you,” Riko said, “like I loved hurting Kevin.”

This, I think, is one of the main reasons many of the fandom “dismisses” Kevin’s trauma in comparison to Neil’s because we can’t see it. We don’t know what happened and we don’t get to experience it, so this lack of explanation or motivation leaves us only with very cold personality traits. We’re unable to root for him as a character because we can’t sympathize. We can empathize because we know Very Bad Things™️ must have happened in the Nest, but we don’t see them happen the same way we do Neil or Andrew. Even Kevin’s hand injury is old and “healed” when we’re first introduced to the character.

The only true canon moment where Kevin appears “human” is in The Raven King with Kevin’s “then run” and “you should be court” conversation with Neil. His admittance that Neil’s life is more important than Exy is instantaneous – he doesn’t even pause to throw his Exy dreams down the drain if it means Neil can survive.  In a weirdly parallel way, we see Kevin’s thought process implicit in his conversation: “at least you’d have a chance.” It is strikingly similar to Neil’s internal conversation of: one of us should make it. (And there’s another whole separate discourse I could get into on how Kevin and Neil are two halves of the same coin, but we’ll save that for another day.) But even the revelation of Wymack as his father has more shock value than true emotional weight – we never see what that conversation looked like or how either party actually reacted. (In some ways, I feel like Dan being pissed at Kevin is given more “screentime” than Kevin’s response to telling his father and how Wymack reacted.)

So with Kevin’s emotions and past firmly locked down, we’re left to brush off Kevin’s reactions (or lack thereof) as part of his indifferent personality. It is what it says on the tin. (And that’s not to say Kevin is a perfect character by any means. He has flaws just like every other character.)

Now some people very accurately depict and buy into those limitations as simply being Kevin’s character/personality – I’ve read some awesome fics where Kevin is Ace/Aro and/or on the spectrum. These are completely valid, extremely well done, and I could totally see why others see and write him this way. Canon practically sets them up for it.

For me, though, it circles back to our skewed view of Kevin given to us by some deeply loved but also deeply flawed characters (cough, Andreil). Those same characters that we’re told time and again not to judge them by their cover but to try and understand how they’re affected by (and make choices because of) their trauma.

While Andrew and Neil end up giving each other this grace through a hard-fought battle of truths and exchanges, they do not extend this same courtesy to Kevin, and neither are we given the chance to do so. We literally can’t because, again, we don’t know what the full extent of Kevin’s trauma is.

Kevin doesn’t talk about his time in the Nest to any character, meaning we know nothing about it. Ergo we don’t know what choices Kevin makes because of it. In The Foxhole Court, Wymack specifically tells us Kevin was Riko’s pet. In fact, there is so much specific language that Kevin himself uses around the concept of ownership, and that Nora uses when referring to him that it jarringly sticks out in the text.  He has no sense of personal space or proper boundaries, viewing people only as assets to be used for the good of the team, which at the very least is a sign of mental abuse. But the fact remains that we just don’t know. We don’t know how far this mental abuse was taken, how often or severely he was injured, if he injured or was forced to injure others – we don’t know.

But it’s obvious whatever happened to him started as a child and built from there. Which means he has years of abuse and power dynamics embedded into him. He has every right to be afraid. In fact, we are demonstrably told and shown often in canon that Kevin is afraid…but fear does not equate to cowardice. In fact, we know that bravery often means being scared and doing something anyway. And in many cases, that’s just what Kevin did (with a crutch named Andrew). But even before he entered his deal with Andrew, it's important to remember that even though he was brainwashed and beaten from a young age to understand that he would die if he betrayed the Moriyama family in some way, he left them.

This is always so significant to me because so many abuse victims stay in their situation thinking/hoping/praying it will get better – either because of an idea that their abuser will change (“they’re just having a hard time at work rn”) or that the victim will fix whatever flaw the abuser finds lacking. Or alternatively, they recognize the situation is bad, but they can’t leave because they feel like they have nowhere to go, no one who will help them, trapped by their lack of skills/contacts/money. In Kevin’s case, both situations rang true. And yet he left. He left, and in only a year and a half’s time he recovered from his injury and led his team to the championship.

But he is only at the start of his recovery. I think he’ll need years of therapy to recover from all that happened in the Nest. I think many of his emotional and social shortcomings are a direct consequence of that timeframe and he did not have the freedom to address them until the threat of the Moriyamas was removed. I do not think they are permanent parts of his personality – I think in time, he will be allowed to grow and recover and contribute much more to his relationships than he’s capable of doing at the end of The King’s Men.

Though the series finished, I think Kevin’s story is just beginning.

That’s why I think he’s fascinating to explore as a character. That’s why I love writing him right now because in many ways, his possibilities are endless. There’s so many opportunities to explore different facets of his story that we never get a chance to in canon. Kevin’s character and narrative is a tantalizing tease which many of us have fell hook, line, and sinker for. (Including yours truly.) We want to rabidly sink our teeth into it and shake it, like a dog with a bone.

So we do. 😉

Phew. Okay, that’s enough. None of what I’ve written above is new I’m sure to those of the fandom who have been here since the beginning or have become diehard Kevin fans. But thank you for letting me ramble in this ask, anon. Writing about Kevin has been a very fun and therapeutic adventure for me. So I’m so glad that there are others out there who are enjoying it too 😊

[full-loup]

From Fame to Fat: How Krystal Let Herself Go

This story contains slob, gas, and hints of health issues.

"Her association with team Star Fox would soon make her a household name, and her contributions to defending Corneria and Lylat at large would cement her place in history. Eventually however, all the wealth that would follow such fame would take a heavy toll in many ways for the pilot, and she found herself struggling with a life of pampered luxury during a time when peace was plentiful and mercenary jobs few and far between. Before long, she would wind up in a similar position to many successful Lylatians, plunging headlong into a life of decadent indulgence and ease. Now at nearly 800 pounds, Fay finds herself struggling with the simplest of tasks…"

Krystal snorted as she sat there watching the broadcast, causing herself problems as she nearly gagged on the flow of sweet sludge filling her mouth. In a move that was now akin to instinct, her plump fingers flipped a switch on the nozzle of her feeding tube, shutting the flow of what could loosely be called "dinner" off as she pulled the apparatus from her lips.

"Goodness, that's what she looks like now? Oh my dear, you really went hog wild, didn't you?"

Licking her lips, the blue-furred vixen grinned with smug self-satisfaction as she watched her new guilty pleasure unfold on screen. The camera crew seemed to take sadistic delight in the cocker spaniel's condition, zooming in on her wobbling backside as she struggled to climb a flight of stairs. The next shot was a close-up of the white furred canine's red-tinged face, the interview clearly taken as soon as she'd finished her climb as she was still out of breath.

"It's just… so easy, you know…?" Fay panted into the camera, her eyes never really looking directly at the lens, "To kinda just… lose control? I mean… I was already set for life before the whole Venom thing and we really thought Andross was gone that time… hnnf… uggh… there just wasn't much to do for me but eat I guess, and there's just so much good food these days… you… unnff… you know?"

"Many do know all too well, unfortunately…" The host of the show, a slim gazelle, continued as she stood on a stage among numerous holograms depicting Fay's corpulent form that were soon replaced by a singular holo of a planet, "Thanks to the combination of its rich agricultural resources and the technological advancements enjoyed by many in its more industrialized settlements, a sort of gastronomic renaissance has blossomed especially on Corneria…"

Krystal snickered again as the television program showed before and after holos of Fay, the irony of her amusement somehow lost on the fox. The last Cerinian had herself fallen prey to the culture of excess that her favorite TV show so eagerly exploited, and in many ways she had fallen harder than most… Now pushing a thousand pounds, Krystal had to have been one of the heaviest women on the planet, if not in the entire Lylat System.

Finding herself distracted, her grumbling belly reminded her that she needed to eat, and Krystal began to suckle once again on her feeding hose as she watched. The device it was connected to was able to synthesize hundreds of flavors of processed mush for her to consume, each one more delicious than the last. There was a time where she'd been obsessed with the turkey dinner flavor, drinking nothing else for a week straight, but now strawberry milkshake had taken her fancy. Nutritionally, the slurry was little more than empty calories, its only purpose to fuel the needs of her bulky body and to satisfy the vixen's near-constant hunger. Heavy folds of blubber weighed her down now, pinning her in place to her bed and making most clothing impractical for her. She now didn't bother much with appearances, finding it pointless now that she couldn't even walk without assistance. Bathing was also a chore in the extreme to the fox girl at this point, leaving her fur and hair a filthy mess, and she wore only a set of ill-fitting undergarments that clung to her as much as she clung to what little decency she had left. She hadn't changed out of them in about a week now, the hassle of getting Fox to help her out of them too much for her to really bother…

"Finding herself bored and with little to do, Fay flitted from one dalliance to the next: Painting, dancing, and finally… eating." The host continued, "Within only a couple of years into her newfound retirement Fay began to consume the Cornerian gourmet scene… until it began to consume her."

As she watched and ate, Krystal's eyes began to glaze over. She began to focus less on the television and more on eating itself. Soon her mind was filled with the pure bliss of the act, the taste, the swallowing, the digestion… She started to grab the thick rolls of her belly in her paws, fondling them eagerly and squeezing the soft, doughy flesh. A moan escaped her lips, gurgling past the nozzle and the flow of sustenance as a chill of pleasure shuddered through her corpulent body. Soon though, the pleasure in her belly was replaced with discomfort… Medical and pharmaceutical technology had eased some of the more serious complications that could be reached at more massive levels of obesity, but there were some things that still couldn't be eliminated completely…

"Fay's story is like so many others who have found fame and success across the Lylat System… Stay tuned now to see the reactions of next season's participants as we introduce them to viewers on our live, interplanetary broadcast of 700 Pound Lylat: Celebrity Edition!"

Flicking the off switch on her feeding hose once again, the fox groaned as the discomfort filling her guts grew. The bed beneath her creaked loudly as she leaned forwards, her flabby rolls shifting and pressing against one another to create new folds as she pulled the nozzle from her lips.

"Ughh… come the fuck on…!" Krystal panted between gritted teeth before lifting her tail to release a massive blast of flatulence loud enough to cover the sound of her bedroom door sliding open with a hiss. Krystal moaned with relief as the fart dragged on, the delirium she felt as the pressure was released enough to dampen her already dulled psychic abilities so that she didn't register the presence of the camera crew behind her…

Krystal smiled lazily as her eyes returned to the glowing screen of the television, once again eager to indulge in the shame of others, not knowing that soon she would no longer be able to ignore her own…

"Wonder who the whale they caught this time is…"

Was working some more on practicing a faster style when I took this sketch a bit too far in more ways than one. Hopefully this isn't too much for some of you, though I'm happy with the results of my experimentation. Hope you all enjoy as well!

[hiccanna-tidbits]

*kicking at your door, smashing it* DING DONG

Hello! 🥰🌸

from "Questions You Should Be Able To Answer For Any OTP" 1,3,4,5,9 and 10 for moanida!😅💜 But you can answer all of them or only few of them is it's too much ahaha

Ily, take care!!

YEAH BOIIII

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

I'm just imagining Moana being a barista at some hole-in-the-wall authentic Polynesian coffee place by the beach, and of course Merida because she damn well needs her caffeine in the morning or she'll pass out, and Rapunzel insists on starting these fucking Squad Beach Days early. Merida was honestly willing to take the first cup of coffee she could get when the gang first went into town, but uhhhhhh oh GOD that girl behind the counter is cute!!! Merida starts "ending up" in there quite a lot, although initially she can barely string a coherent sentence together in front of that cute barista and can't make eye contact for more than half a second. Extroverted as she can be, Merida dissolves into an absolute mess as soon as a pretty girl is involved XD

Merida also pretends to only like black coffee to make herself seem tough, but in reality she kind of hates it and prefers sugar-laden lattes and sweet teas. After a while, when she and Mo have established kind of a friendship, and Merida can have an conversation with Mo without imploding and making an idiot of herself, Mo notices Mer making a face every time she sips her Plain Black Coffee and kinda smirks and is like “You know, there’s no shame in adding sweeteners. I mean, for god’s sake, my favorite drink here is the blonde vanilla coconut latte, and I’m still pretty tough.” Merida is just like “OH THANK GOD” and finally admits that she’d much rather be ordering an Irish crème, toffee, buttered rum, cinnamon, or caramel latte. If the seasonal flavor selection offers any apple-accented or apple pie-esque lattes, Merida’s all about that shit, too! Probably the most “intense” drink Merida actually enjoys is a pretty spicy cinnamon latte. She ends up ordering this pretty frequently to impress Moana with her spice tolerance, even though she really doesn’t need to.

Also, in case there’s any question about it--yes, Moana absolutely memorizes Merida’s orders! Moana also memorizes what flavor syrups Merida seems to like best (i.e. spicy cinnamon, apple pie, caramel, toffee, butterscotch) and gives them extra shots of them in her drinks. When the manager complains about all of Merida’s favorite flavor syrups running out frequently, Moana is like “Oh nooooo, I have no idea why THAT could be! That’s terrible!”

Rivals to lovers AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

I love the idea of them having a super-petty sports rivalry in a modern AU! Merida strikes me as being competitive as hell, so I’m betting anything she’d be the one to take it way too seriously and get increasingly annoyed with Moana outdoing her, while Mo kind of gives in and indulges Mer but is also secretly amused and kind of flattered that Mer is like...that into their rivalry. Moana’s just like *Regina George voice* “Why are you so OBSESSED with me???”

Like maybe in a modern-day college AU, Merida has been the star of her college’s archery team basically since freshman year. She wins the championships!!! She gets the trophies!!! She’s very well-known within the tiny niche community that is college archery!!! Then, come junior year, this girl in Merida’s year who Merida’s never even SEEN before shows up out of nowhere and makes the cut for the team. She’s honestly way better than she has any right to be (like judging by how she is with that harpoon gun, Moana’s aim is pretty damn good) and is constantly stealing the spotlight, and Merida is a very angry lass. Like it seems like no matter what she does, Moana can always one-up her, and Merida wants to tear her hair out in frustration. Doesn’t help that every time Moana does ridiculously good on a drill and gets 7 bullseyes in a row or some shit, she’s insufferably smug and cocky about it. Merida very-nearly throws a fit every time Mo outdoes her, and Moana honestly finds the whole thing pretty amusing. She’s sort of flattered that apparently only she can get such dramatic reactions out of Mer, and that just tempts her to push Mer’s buttons all the more.

Then, come the annual Big Archery Tournament Finals! As usual, Merida’s college’s team wins--although this time, it’s through a combination of Merida’s and Moana’s skills rather than just Merida kicking archery ass for like 2 hours straight. On the individual evaluations, Moana scores higher than Merida, but only by a little bit. Merida is, of course, extremely salty, but she’s also grudgingly grateful that Moana being there was able to give their team a definitive edge in the competition.

Afterwards, the team goes out for celebratory drinks. After probably 3 drinks too many, Moana finally works up the courage to try and actually like...have a straight conversation with Merida for once, instead of just communicating with passive-aggressive show-offery. She wanders over, sits next to Mer at the bar, and half-slurredly asks if she can declare a truce just for one night, in honor of their kind-of-teamwork winning the tournament. Merida is also a few drinks in, so she’s just like “sure, fuck it, maybe yer not so bad after all. Now prove to me you’re not a pain in the arse!”

They chat for a while, and it turns out Moana is actually pretty easygoing and fun to talk to when she’s not mega-flexing with her archery skills. After a few more drinks, Moana is like “...can I tell you something?” and Merida’s like “why not?”

And then Moana just goes bright red and looks away and admits that the whole reason she got into archery and boosted up her skills enough to join the team in the first place was because she saw Merida making like 50 bullseyes at the previous year’s tournament, and developed a huge crush on her--to the point where she did all this extra-ass shit just so she could join the archery team and get to know Merida better. Also, every instance of Moana acting smug and cocky after acing a drill or perfectly hitting a target? It was honestly because she was trying to impress and show off to Merida, and also because she’s awkward as hell and has no idea how to actually flirt without being joke-mean and joke-cocky. Merida, a much more emotional drunk than she will ever admit, starts crying and gets super apologetic, because oh god, she was being so mean and rude to this girl who only ever thought she was cool and wanted to impress her from the jump??? How COULD she??? Moana lowkey loses her shit laughing because how mad Merida got at being upstaged was honestly kind of hilarious, and she was actually really flattered that Merida was, again, that obsessed with their rivalry. It made Moana feel weirdly special that only she could get to Merida that much, and she honestly liked the attention, even if it...wasn’t the most positive XD And Merida starts laughing, too, because she’ll admit that in hindsight, this whole thing feels a little ridiculous, and extracurricular college archery really isn’t that big of a deal.

Finally, Merida just rolls her eyes and says “C’mere, yeh bloody show-off yeh” and grabs Moana by the front of her archery uniform and smooches her!!! The entire archery team hoots and hollers because OH SHIT, DAT GAY!!! Merida holds out her other hand and flips the entire team off, which honestly just makes them cheer more.

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

Depends a lot on the conflict, I think! Maybe a war breaks out in an AU where someone other than Moana is chosen to return the Heart of Te Fiti--I’m gonna say Tui, for irony’s sake! Moana and Sina take over as co-chiefs while he’s gone, but he takes significantly longer than Moana did in the quest, so Moana’s tribe is eventually forced to flee Motunui to find new fishing grounds before their island is overtaken by darkness. The people of Motunui sail across the world, trying to find a new place to call home. Unfortunately, every time they find a habitable place, it’s already occupied, and the people who live there are uninterested in sharing their already-scarce food.

Eventually they stumble upon Dunbroch, far enough away from Motunui that the seas aren’t affected by the spreading darkness, and fish are plentiful. Naturally, Moana’s tribe sets up a camp on the shores and starts catching as many fish as they can, hoping they’ve finally found a place where they can have enough to eat again. Unfortunately Fergus and Elinor aren’t too crazy about this, and are like “yo, these oceans and these fish and other game belong to the people of Dunbroch and you gotta leave” and Sina and Moana are like “Pls we don’t have any place to go and we’ve been barely eating for a long-ass time, can’t you spare some food?” and Fergus and Elinor are like “sorry bro, it’s almost winter and we have our own entire kingdom to look after, we don’t need more mouths to feed. You gotta be on your way or shit’s gonna get real.”

So Moana thinks this sounds sketch as fuck because like...there’s an entire forest full of deer, rabbits, and other game, and they have NO food they can spare??? That night, Sina sends Moana to spy on the kingdom, since she can be pretty sneaky when she wants. Moana manages to climb the castle battlements and watch through a window, and she sees a bunch of people enjoying a massive feast in a huge dining hall. Her eyes are particularly drawn to a girl about her age with a head full of bright, fiery curls, wearing a nice dark green dress and gorging herself on pastries adorned with white icing and raspberries.

Moana heads back and tells Sina “actually it looks like these assholes have PLENTY of food to spare, and they just want to keep it all for themselves” and Sina is like “well shit...why don’t we raid their food store, then??? They’ve gotta have one somewhere!” And so the Motunui village storms Castle Dunbroch at dawn, catching them almost completely by surprise.

The first thing Moana does is seek out the redheaded pastry girl, whom she’s developed a particular disdain for. When she rushes her, she’s surprised that the ginger girl whips around and immediately sends an arrow sailing into her shoulder. When Moana gets close, the redheaded girl pulls out a sword. Moana takes out a long, sharpened wooden spear made from a particularly tough oar.

She turns out to be much more competent than Moana expected, especially for someone who was shamelessly shoving sweets into her mouth not 7 hours earlier.

They go toe to toe Raya-and-Namaari style, and the redheaded girl admittedly gives Moana a run for her money. The longer the battle goes on, the more Moana’s rage grows. She taunts the redheaded girl the entire time, calling her a spoiled, selfish brat who’d rather gorge herself with all the sugar in the world than share even one grain of it. Merida, who hasn’t exactly heard good things about these people from her parents, is just like “well, you’re no better, showing up and thinking you can just steal what belongs to Dunbroch and we won’t put up a fight!”

And thus the war begins. Motunui is never quite strong enough to get through the guards and raid the food stores, and Dunbroch is never quite strong enough to fully drive Motunui out of the kingdom. Fergus and Moana are both far too stubborn to surrender (despite the fact that Sina is kind of ready to), and so the battles continue. Casualties start to pile up. Dunbroch seeks help from the other clans, but they refuse--they did not take their leaders’ sons being scorned by the Dunbroch princess lightly.

Over and over, Moana can’t help but be drawn to the redheaded girl. She realizes after a few battles that this girl isn’t just anymore, but the Dunbroch princess--her resemblance to the king and his protectiveness over her can’t be a coincidence. It only makes Moana hate her more--but time and time again, she isn’t able to get the better of the princess. Moana can fight hard, and she can be vicious--but so, she’s discovering, can the Dunbroch girl. The princess is clever and cunning, and underestimating her has almost gotten Moana a blade in the throat one too many times.

Merida would be the one to change sides eventually, I think (wooo! Finally got to the actual question!). Once she finds out her parents didn’t tell her the whole truth about their first meeting with the Motunui village and sorta fudged what happened, Merida is livid that they turned away people who needed help. She said if she had known there were people who were tired and hungry and just needed a place to rest, she would have gladly given up some of her own meals for them! To prove this, she gathers up her dinner--plus some apples and some pastries she was going to have for dessert--and puts it in a basket, taking it to the Motunui camp as a peace offering. Moana ambushes her and very nearly slices the basket in half, if only because Moana was convinced it was filled with venemous snakes. After some bickering, Moana finally snatches the food away and, after testing it to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, brings it to Sina.

Unfortunately, one basket of food isn’t enough to feed the village, and the fighting continues. Merida tries to convince her parents to share their food stores with Motunui, but they still refuse, saying they need those stores for their own people and the Motunui people killed any chance of goodwill they might get when they attacked. Determined not to see people starve, Merida starts stealing from the reserve herself and sneaking the food out to the Motunui camp. Moana is feeling a lot more kindly towards Merida at this point, and feels a little bad about being so quick to judge her initially.

Eventually, Fergus and Elinor notice the food in the stores going missing, and figure some of the Motunui villagers must be running stealth operations to sneak in and get it. Dunbroch launches a full-scale attack on Montunui--while Merida is at their camp sneaking them food, in fact. Fergus makes a beeline for Moana. Word has gotten out by now of the times she managed to spy on the castle, so her sneakiness is well-known--and Fergus is all but certain she’s the thief. He charges at her with his sword, aimed to kill, when his own daughter steps in the way.

He barely manages to stop himself, but he does just in time. Merida admits she was stealing the food the whole time, and she can’t let Fergus hurt Moana. Fergus demands to know why, and Merida tearfully admits “Because I love her!”

Fergus, in a rage, takes out his sword again and charges Merida. Swords clash between father and daughter, and Merida looks like she’s just about to be overpowered. Moana can see the fear and betrayal in her eyes, appalled that her father would actually contemplate hurting her.

Not wanting to see whether he actually would, Moana steps in and helps Merida to fend Fergus off. “Enough!” she screams. “How can you live with yourself? My father risked his life to try to save his daughter and his people--and you’re willing to fight yours because she doesn’t agree with all this senseless violence?! You make me sick! I’m standing with Merida, because...because I love her too. I’ll leave if you want, but I want this to end.”

This finally snaps Fergus out of it, and he and Elinor decide that maybe the fighting has gone on long enough--and maybe it’s not worth it anymore, if it’s pitting them against their own daughter now. They end up trying to work out something with Motunui. Establishing a peace treaty and figuring out how to proceed forward is a long and messy process, but everyone is willing to put in the work--for the sake of Merida and Moana, if for nothing else.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Neither of them want to meet their soulmate XD Merida has just been repulsed by the idea of marriage and commitment since she was young, mainly because she can’t not see it as just a means of taking her freedom away and making her be subservient to someone. Besides, given the, um...heteronormative culture of Dunbroch and all, she assumes she’ll get not just stuck with, but cosmically bound to a man and that idea just...doesn’t do anything but fill her with unadulterated disgust XD Like please no, she’s perfectly happy to go where she pleases when she pleases with no one but Angus for company. The last thing she needs is some stuck-up, snot-nosed boy telling her what she can and can’t do.

Moana has similar concerns, although maybe a bit less extreme. She’s mainly worried that when she meets her soulmate and, as per expectation, marries them, she’ll be expected to “mature” into a full adult and fully embrace her responsibilities as chief, leaving behind her childhood dreams of exploring the ocean. Same as Merida, she’s worried the person she’s destined for will tie her down and prevent her from exploring and going on the adventures she craves so badly. She’s also, like Merida, worried she’ll get stuck with some lame, boring dude who she’ll be destined for because...he loves her!!! And will be really nice to her!!! But will not stimulate or interest her in any way whatsoever!!! And Moana is pretty uninterested in romance and dating regardless, so the idea of any kind of romantic partner who she’d hypothetically have to run crazy ideas by before just doing them doesn’t sound too appealing to her. Like, she’s happy where she is and having her friends and family for company, what does she need an SO for??? It just feels like the whole “soulmate” business is just the universe attempting to give her a babysitter, and Moana ain’t about that. She can do things on her own, dammit!!! And what makes the great elder love gods think she wants another person to keep track of on her escapades, anyways?!? It’s enough effort keeping herself safe without worrying about someone else!

Imagine their shocked delight when each finds out their soulmate is a) a girl and b) a girl arguably just as chaotic, adventurous, and rebellious as they are!!! They meet and they’re like “huh...maybe the universe wasn’t being some big dumb fucking idiot binding us together after all. I can work with this!!!”

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Merida is the pirate! Or at least...the one who becomes a pirate first! XD Maybe to escape her betrothal she steals a ship and flees Dunbroch, and BOOM trouble on the High Seas time!!! Eventually she sails to the south Pacific on her naval escapades, and stumbles on Motunui. When she finds out Moana is a chief’s daughter, she naturally kidnaps her and holds her for ransom--because screw it, she hasn’t successfully pillaged any merchant ships recently and she needs some cash. But instead of being like “Noooo take me home!” Moana is like “Actually this fucks, I’ve always wanted to sail the ocean anyways and my dad wouldn’t let me before, so you’ve accidentally given me an avenue to achieve my dreams!!! Thank you!!!” And Merida realizes that a first mate would actually be a lot more useful in the long run than a handful of hostage money, so she just kind of shrugs like “aight, yer on the crew.”

Merida is a bit salty because Moana takes to the pirate lifestyle excellently--so much so that before long, she’s arguably a better pirate than Merida XD While Merida is a bit cranky about being outdone in the art of piracy, she also can’t help but admire Moana’s natural aptitude for sailing and propensity for mischief on the High Seas!!!

Their ship is called “The Arrow,” and Merida definitely uses her bow during pirate-to-pirate combat! She teaches Moana how to shoot a bow, but discovers Mo is pretty nifty with a harpoon gun as well!

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Oooooh, this is a fun one!!! Admittedly I don’t usually think about these girls in a Childhood Friends to Lovers AU (very possibly due to...geographical constraints lol) so this’ll be a cool thought experiment!

SO in order to fix my unfortunate geographical constraints, I’m gonna say that this is an AU where the people of Motunui were wayfinders from the jump, and while voyaging (admittedly a LONG way), they stumbled upon Dunbroch. Moana’s parents and Merida’s parents immediately hit it off, and established a political alliance of sorts.

Moana, meanwhile, pulled the classic “little girl on vacation/at an event immediately seeks out other little girl and becomes best friends with her.” Moana and Merida naturally also hit it off immediately, and are both pretty bummed out when Tui and Sina want to leave and continue voyaging and such. However, they make plans to visit as frequently as they can and Merida and Moana are super hyped about this! They both always get extremely excited for said visits, and Little Moana nearly falls off the front of her family’s boat several times because she’s leaning over so far and squinting so hard to try and see Dunbroch.

I love the idea that Moana was the one who was totally smitten from the jump, to the point where it took her years to realize she was aspec because she was like “Of course I can fall in love!!! I’m in love with Merida!!!” She just didn’t realize most people have romantic inclinations toward more than one person over the course of their lives XD

It absolutely does not help that Merida is extremely romance-repulsed when they’re kids--mainly because she associates romance in general with being docile and acting stupid to impress some annoying macho guy, and that thought kinda makes her want to puke. That, and given how, er...heteronormative things are in Dunbroch, it doesn’t reall occur to her that romancing girls is like...an option. So poor Moana has always kind of resigned herself to thinking she has no chance with Merida, and keeps her feelings under pretty tight lock since she doesn’t want to ruin their close friendship and all and she doubts Merida even swings that way.

THEN when they’re in their early teens, Merida is like “hmmm...I wonder what it would be like to kiss Moana?” but then IMMEDIATELY feels weird for thinking that and tells absolutely no one. She’s definitely starting to feel something a little different than just platonic friendship though, and of course she’s also convinced Moana only sees her as a friend and probably doesn’t like girls.

Then one day they’re wrestling around out in the woods, like they have since they were little, and at one point Merida leans down and just impulsively kisses Moana. She’s super flustered and apologetic afterwards, but Moana just stares in shock before being like “holy shit, I never thought you’d actually want me too. Holy shit!!!!” After that, they start secret-dating and everyone around just thinks they’re still “very good friends” XD

When Merida turns 16 and gets the news of her betrothal, she’s devastated. It takes her several days to process her emotions, and several times she tries to protest to her mother, but Elinor steamrolls her and talks over her at every turn. Finally, when Merida can get a word in edgewise, she tearfully bursts out that she can’t go through with this because she loves Moana. Elinor, traditionally-minded woman that she is, is horrified by this.

When Fergus finds out, he GOES OFF at Elinor and sticks up for Merida. He basically says that she’s their daughter and they should want her to be happy, and they should be happy for her that she did find someone she loves, even if it’s a bit...unconventional.

Later, at the betrothal ceremony, Merida picks an archery contest for the suitors with the hopes of cheating the system and winning her own hand. Imagine her surprise when Moana rushes in late with a makeshift bow on her hip, shouting “I am Moana of Motunui, and I’ll be shooting for the princess’s hand as well!”

Luckily, due to Moana’s years and years of informal archery training from Merida herself, the other suitors really don’t stand a chance.

It turns out that Elinor and Fergus set this whole thing up, deciding in the end that their daughter should at least be able to marry who she loves if she had to get looped into a political marriage. And honestly, they weren’t going to say no to a stronger alliance with Motunui at the end of the day. Merida is so pleasantly shocked by the whole thing that she forgets to be mad about the fact that she’s still being pressured into a marriage pretty young XD Luckily, Moana has no intention of trying to hold Merida back or take her freedom away! Their relationship really barely changes after they officially become wives, and they’re still just as in love as they’ve basically always been.

As for the issue of heirs, Elinor and Fergus just make Merida’s brothers the heirs of Dunbroch, and Tui and Sina are fine with Moana and Merida choosing an heir for Motunui who isn’t necessarily their biological child. Neither Moana nor Merida are crazy about the “leaders have to be from the chief/monarch’s bloodline” rule anyways, so they’re more than fine with this!

This is in reference to this post! Still answering these questions for Moanida and Hiccanna, if I haven’t done so already!

@takaraphoenix come get your daily dose of Moanida!

[magnoliawhetstone]

h e a d c a n o n s, pt. 1

( tw: mentions of eating disorder )

When Lia is drunk/ tipsy she likes to act our favorite movie scenes—even if she’s alone.  Most recently was the titanic scene (where she also got her knee suck in the balcony). She can quote all of the legally blonde courtroom scene and definitely knows the mean girls Christmas dance as well.

When Lia bakes, she has this small habit of humming or singing when she does so. Interestingly enough, for how involved baking is, she’d done it for so long she’s relatively good at shutting her brain down for a while when she does it. Or, at least, it takes all her energy to bake instead of overthink. It’s why she stress bakes so frequently and it’s also why she hums/sings when she does it. It’s mindless and she’d be embarrassed if anyone heard it–but she doesn’t always realize she’s doing it.

Surprisingly, while Lia’s favorite book is Pride and Prejudice, her favorite movie is Love Actually. She can quote most of the movie–as she can with most things she loves–and her favorite scene is when Hugh Grant dances to “Jump (For My Love)” by the Pointed Sisters. This is another scene she sometimes recreates when drunk.

Lia is not the biggest fan of Harry Potter. She doesn’t even know what house she’s in (its Ravenclaw but she can’t remember that). She never got into the series, never found it to be that interesting–magic didn’t quench her thirst the way some other books did…

Yes, that’s right. Magnolia Barnes was absolutely a Twi-Hard. You could not pull her away from these books–it was even worse since, at age 18, you’d think she would have had better taste. But no, she was #TeamJacob all the way. And yes, she did go see the movies when they came out. And yes, she did cry at the end. Don’t judge her.

Lia loves watching home renovation shows, though she literally has no reason to watch the show. She’s never had to do a home reno in her life. But she likes to imagine a day when she would–she thinks she’d be quite good at it. Sometimes about being able to use her hands in a meaningful way strikes her as soothing–its why she likes baking so much. She doesn’t have proof she’d be good at it, but she has a feeling she’d be pretty good with her hands if she can make delicate pastries so well.

Lia loves college football. Like absolutely adores it. Big Clemson gal, Tiger Rag is her jam. She remembered spending fall weekends at their Lake Keowee home so they could easily drive over to Clemson and go to a home game. Hates the Gamecocks with a passion. Rivalry weekend was her favorite time of year growing up–it was so full of excitement and energy. In fact, the most heated you might ever see Lia out of an argument is walking a Clemson football game. And yes she knows exactly what’s going on down on the field and if you ask her one more time if she’s sure–she will throw a piece of pie in your face.

Speaking of Clemson, Lia wanted to go there for college–get her degree in English. But she also had high dreams to be the baton twirler on the field–the one who dots the i with whatever family they’re celebrating that day in the pregame ceremony? Yeah, she wanted that. She thought that maybe she could mix the two worlds of hers, her two areas of interest–but no, that was never to be the case.

Lia grew up going to State fairs every summer–but never an amusement or theme park. She has never been to a planetarium, and her first trip to an Aquarium was with Beckett. Her first trip to a Zoo was with Ryder. So sure she’s ridden some rides, but it’s never been like most people have. It’s her dream to go to DisneyWorld one day and somehow, someway, stay in the Cinderella Suite. she’s watched enough youtube videos to know that not one gets to stay there but contest winners and celebrities, but still–a girl can dream.

While her peers took their vacations in Paris, Nice, Monaco and Italy, Lia’s father preferred north–like Amsterdam. Which, to be fair, was really very nice and Lia liked going. She even had a friend, Tess, who she’d hang out with when they would go on holiday as they called it. Tess was cool–she was into collecting model trains and really liked to read also. But then Tess’s parents sent her to boarding school after they had found out that she had been chatting with people online that she shouldn’t have been. Lia thought that sounded awfully harsh and hoped her parents would never do something like that to her. (Oh, irony)

When she’s sick, she doesn’t want chicken noodle soup, she wants wonton soup. Why? She doesn’t know, but she’s never liked chicken noodle soup. She thinks its the mushy carrots and celery. But wonton soup is essentially the same thing, but with a wonton and better flavor. She likes hers with spinach.

If toast is cut diagonal, she can’t eat it. Vertical squad for the win.

Big Bon Appetit fan. The quickest way to make her smile is to make her watch an episode of “one of everything” or “gourmet makes”. she might have a small crush on alex delany but we don’t talk about that.

Lia believe in aliens but not ghosts. She’s not big on conspiracy theories either–but she might be tempted by the stories at Denver Intentional Airport. She just can’t accept that humans are the only living things in the universe. That’s a lot for her–but she doesn’t go actively searching for them. Ghosts, on the other hand–she just never believed in them. Why would anyone want to haunt someone? Seemed like a weird power play to her. And no, despite what some people at the Malnati think, the moon is not made of cheese.

Lia is obsessed with spreadsheets. If you asked her what the dorkiest thing about her was–she’d tell you it was her planner and spreadsheets. She has a spreadsheet for probably every aspect of her life. her planner–which is really a bullet journal–is how she keeps track of things when she can’t get on her computer, but she has one for chores, her books, work, her bucket list, hell–even a bachelorette watch party she had a few years ago. She loves being organized.

Office supplies are her kryptonite. She absolutely loves blank notebooks and pens. She has a favorite pen for different things. Pentel RSVP RT Retractable Ball Point in black for everyday items, Staedleter fine tips felt pens for her bullet journal, sharpie pens for when she wants her notes to stand out, Zebra Mildliner for headers in her bullet journal or giving the pages shape. She is incredible persnickety on who can borrow what pen, and even keeps less important pens in her pencil bag just to lend out. And under very few circumstances will you ever see Magnolia Barnes using a pencil unless she has been required too. She hates the darn things.

Lia doesn’t swear–her mother taught her ladies don’t swear and while she doesn’t believe language as a gatekeeper for femininity anymore, the expectation still holds. So if you do hear her use a curse word, something is very very wrong.

Go to coffee order, you ask? Easy. Grande White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha with Blonde Espresso and Almondmilk and yes whipped cream. Sometimes she’ll get it with Raspberry instead. If its iced, it’s a tall and no whipped cream. However, she can also be bought over with a Venti Iced Guava Tea Lemonade with 8 pumps sweetener.

Lia has seen the Chatworth House–the house used as Pemberly in the Kiera Knightly version of Pride and Prejudice. While its not her all time favorite movie, she sure loves it still and begged her parents to take her one summer. They relented and it was everything she had dreamed of seeing.

It’s well known that Lia cannot dance–she often tells people she can only line dance and Viennese Walz, and the former only happens when she’s tipsy on PBRs.

Lia loves sleeping with windows open because she can’t sleep in silence. The white noise of the city helps relax her and and makes her sleep easier.

However, she must read in silence–any noise will distract her and she gets relatively grumpy if anyone interrupts her reading. She also adores reading by a window. She likes the way the natural lights illuminates the pages.

Words are some of Lia’s favorite things–she thinks they’re magic. So loves the way they sound and likes to think about the way they feel in her mouth and how they roll off the tongue. She does her best to take her time when speaking too–because if words are so important, its better to get them right the first time. (Although perhaps she would learn that getting it right may not always be nearly as important as saying something at all).

(tw: eating disorder) Not many people know this, but after the book incident, Lia has begun to go to therapy. Her counselor, Tonya, has been helping her try to work through what things are Lia and what things are Lia’s mother. They haven’t gotten to the eating disorder conversation yet–and Lia dreads it. because Lia has never used the term out loud–in fact, the only time it was ever spoken was by the doctor the night of the incident. She has never named it and technically never claimed it out loud–though she knows its true in her heart.

Lia hates pickles. Don’t know why, but she thinks they are gross. Also parmesan cheese.

Magnolia loves horses–perhaps not the extend of others, but she had grown up riding them and when she rode them, she always sensed a freedom that was just out of reach at home. Perhaps that was because who was always riding wit her, but she doesn’t like to dive deep into that. It complicates things (that maybe needed to be complicated, just sayin’). Leaving her childhood horse Butternut was like leaving a pet (something the Barnes did not have as Lia grew up). Butternut and her went on a lot of adventures together, usually along side Buttersquash and Jack. It was good squad.

Lia’ favorite dessert is Mrs. Whetstone’s peach cobbler–and she has pour her life’s work into recreating it since she never asked for the recipe before she left. Every time she tries, she feels like she gets a little closer, but its never quite right. But it does remind her of home and its one of those memories she loves dearly. Anyone who asks her, though, what her favorite dessert is, she’ll say cheesecake because nothing even compares in her mind to that cobbler and she doesn’t want something to try to do something that will never reach what she expects. And she does love cheesecake.

Favorite flavor of yogurt? Chobani Raspberry Lemonade. Its only available in the summertime, but boy is it worth the wait.

[rudicancho]

Ratatouille is Rad

I’ve found that in my personal experience that everybody loves Pixar films whether you’re old or young, but not everyone likes just any old “kids” movie. Disney and Pixar makes their films with so much meaning and heart in their films that of course they are going to stand out amongst other studios and stand the test of time. One film that is special to me in particular is Ratatouille, a drama/fantasy movie that Disney Pixar made in 2007 directed by Brad Bird. Ratatouille takes place in Paris, France and is about a countryside  rat named Remy (Patton Oswalt) who is obsessed with gourmet food and cooking, gets separated from his family, ends up in Paris at his favorite late chef’s Parisian restaurant called Gusteau’s, and meets a dishwasher named Alfredo Linguini (Lou Romano) who he befriends and helps become a successful chef with his (Remy’s) natural cooking gift and together they save the restaurant. For someone who has never seen the film this may sound silly, but the movie is beautiful and meaningful. Every minute watching this film you wish you were in Paris falling in love with a gourmet dish and mixing new flavors in your mouth and getting lost in the Paris that they wonderfully portrayed in the movie and dancing to the romantic cheerful film score, making this film rewatchable forever. The way the animators represented taste with colors and shapes when Remy closes his eyes to taste strawberries and cheese was very creative to me. I love how it shows exactly how our brain reacts to delicious flavors. I also love the colors they use in the movie like blush, golds, coppers, beige, greys, blues and soft greens. It fits the setting of Paris and makes a calming natural look that also has contrast with the warm blush tones and cool blue and grey tones. Despite Remy being in a strange new land we are pleased to beautiful night time Paris views from Remy’s brand new perspective and excitement about the big city. Another fun factor is the soundtrack that follows Remy’s every step and turn with a lighthearted yet thrilling pace and sound, with the classic french accordion tunes, upbeat violins, and loud big band action songs. The voice acting was also great, I loved the french accents, all the rat’s New York accents,  and just the casting choices in general were good, especially the nerdy helpless sounding Alfredo Linguini, the dishwasher turned chef played by Lou Romano. The plot of the movie was very original and i love the irony in the fact that rats are considered dirty garbage eaters, but this rat is a clean gourmet little chef. The motto throughout the movie said by the late Gusteau is “anyone can cook” which proves true in the end. It really is a beautiful film and the computer animation is done wonderfully. 

Citation

Ratatouille (20017, June 29) Walt Disney Company Film

[cutiecrates]

Cutie Reviews: Tokyo Treat May 18

Ahhhh, I took a bit longer than I would have liked to. But with good reason.

Sorta.

Basically, I spent the past few days going through all of the old crates to sort the items and dispose of the boxes/crates. They take up a lot of space when you order so many, and I bought some cute little boxes to sort the items by type and take them to my room.

I still have some to go through, but I made a lot of progress. I think I threw away about 20 boxes. But I did keep a handful of them either because I had use for them, or someone I know did. It’s actually been kind of fun going through them :3 and oddly therapeutic.

Anyway, let’s get on with it! If you like anime, manga, and video games, this box is perfect for you!

Theme: ANIME SNACK ATTACK

So, as you can see, we’re having an anime (and manga and video game) theme. Three things I adore!

LUCKY TREAT

The Lucky Treat is full of anime inspired items, and Pokemon! One of the most popular merchandising brands you find in these boxes lately. Like literally, nearly each box I've gotten recently seems to have some form of Pokemon item in it (not counting the makeups. But I know they have pokemon beauty products.)

MINUTE MAID CRAFTZ CHERRY & PEACH

I'm putting this here because the image of this is the very first one in the post. You can see it on the right-hand side there. Anyway, this is a drink by Minute Maid, a very popular juice brand that I like x3 It combines the sweet, flowery tastes of cherry and peach- I think this would perfect for spring time!

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

If you like Peach then you'd like this drink, basically. The Peach is overwhelmingly strong, and there is a faint cherry-ness to it, but it mostly blends into the peach. It was refreshing~

Sriracha Rice Chips & Don Taro Udon Snack

First up we got some delicious looking Sriracha chips made from brown rice and soy beans. As you can see on the bag in the pic. These are gluten free and flavored with a spicy kick! Perfect for those intense scenes; or when you start feeling yourself getting tired and need a wake-me-up.

Although, there was one little problem with mine...

Seeing this nice, big clean slice in the bag had me worried a teensy-bit. It came like that out of the box and it wasn't tampered with as far as I know- so I can only assume it was a last-second manufacturing thing that went unnoticed. It happens.They seemed fine, so I just put them in another bag.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Besides a tiny bit of staleness they tasted really good x3 They had a "deep crunch" to them, being sorta soft (which was either staleness or due to being made out of bean and rice) but still crispy. Oddly they reminded me of chicken-flavored ramen.

They are spicy, but it has to build up. It sort of lingers on the tongue for a few minutes but otherwise you won't notice it just eating a couple. It wasn’t really hot though for being made with sriracha. But I really like eating it so maybe I just didn’t notice?

Our next item in the pic is a snacking noodle dagashi, flavored after a real udon bowl.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥

Honestly they tasted a lot like those chips did. Minus the rice-bean texture. They're not bad or anything, but I'm not super-obsessed with snacking noodles; or noodles as a whole. I have to be in the mood for them. But they didn't taste bad, as I said, and if you really like crunchy snacks (or ramen) you would probably like these.

MENTAIKO UMAIBO & SENZU BEAN EDAMAME

Oh, our usual Umaibo and share pack snacks! How I love and sometimes detest you~

Depending on the flavors that is.

Our Umaibo is one I've had, maybe two other times by now. Mentaiko is "salted, creamy pollock roe", or fish eggs if you're not familiar with the term.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥

Not being a fish person, I've never tried fish eggs before. They haven't appealed to me. So I can't say if this tastes accurately or not- to me it reminds me of their cheese-flavored ones. I’m not a big fan of this, but it’s not bad either. It's not as strange to me as it originally was the first time I tried it.

Now, I've already given my opinions of these "share packs" so I won't waste time doing it again. For this month we get packs of this edamame themed snack with a light flavoring on them. First of all, each bag is 64 calories, making this a nice snack for those who worry over their weight or just want something a little healthier.

Apparently chosen to represent the "Senzou Bean" from Dragonball. Each bag also has a cute design, made to look like a mesh bag or pouch filled with edamame!

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

If they reminded me of anything on smell alone, I'd say "cheez-its and some green vegetable". Their taste and texture is about the same too, but I do get an edamame vibe. I think its adorable how they look like them too x3 and they have a light saltiness to them that is pleasant.

Besides the snacking noodles, I’d say these were the top in crunchiness.

DRAGON BALL CHEESE PUFFS

You read that right: Dragonball Cheese Puffs. These are 91.9 calories for the bag, and include a fun card as part of a game series. I know they've made these, but I'm used to seeing the gummy ones; but because I only buy those types, it was neat to try another kind.

So... as you can see, I got Vegeta! He's my favorite x3 I can't ever use the card for its intended purpose- but I'm happy regardless.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

They're basically like any other cheese puff-based snack. However, the flavoring was actually very light on the cheese and tasted more like the corn its made out of. But it didn't taste bad, and the crispy texture is nice. These are good as long as you're not expecting a huge, cheesy flavor.

ALMOND TOFU CHOCOBI & CHOCOPIE

I think I'll swap things around and start with the Chocobi; it hasn't been in the box for a while. This time, rather than a fruit it's flavored after a specific dish: Almond Tofu, a smooth and healthy Japanese dessert. I've never tried it before but I assume it's like yogurt or pudding with a jelly texture.

The box is 139.4 calories, and was made in celebration of yet-another Crayon Shin-chan movie. This one features stickers from different regions in Japan, the one I got says Aichi. But to be honest, the only one of these I recognized was Hokkaido. I kinda wish I got that one~

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥

As usual Chocobi as a texture is pretty nice. It's crispy, and they come in such a cute shape!

However... as usual, they also go stale VERY quickly.... So I've never been a fan of them.

Now these, the flavor isn't as odd as past ones I received. It's kind of like sweet, very light coconut, maybe a tiny bit almond x vanilla-ish. I really like almonds and tofu, but I didn't come to this snack knowing what to expect so I can’t say I’m being picky.

Our other item here I was a lot more excited for, meanwhile. The Petite Chocopie by LOTTE! It's basically chocolate covered cake and marshmallow cream- but since when has that ever been a bad thing??

Per each cake/pie its 74 calories, which isn't that bad if you want something sweet. According to the back they also have a type that features a chocolate drizzle rather than coating, and has chocolate and marshmallow cream inside~

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Right off, if you don't like dark chocolate then you probably won't like these. I don't think they're made with it, but they certainly tasted like it. My mom thought so too, and she hates dark chocolate- which is a shame because I really like it. But at least I know it'll be safe from her ;3

These were pretty good, but I did have one complaint. As you can see in the picture I took they don't really sync up with the photo on the package. Which is common, I know, but what the actual item lacks in thickness it also lacks in taste unfortunately. With the rich chocolate and cake/cookies under it, the marshmallow cream is too thin- you barely taste it, if at all.

SHIN-CHAN GUMMY, SPLATOON GUMMIES, AND THOMAS THE TRAIN CHEWY CANDY

This single piece of Shin-chan Gummy is available in soda/ramune, and cola flavors. As much as I enjoy soda/ramune, I really, REALLY wish I got cola. Or maybe one of each. The image in the booklet is a tiny bit misleading because you only get 1.

I kinda had to leave it in the package because by the time I got to it (a week ago, just about) it had like... melted into the plastic. At least I assume. I tried to remove it and it was not coming. I took the picture, then I mangled it to get as much as I could out.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥

I LOVED how this tasted. Exactly like the soda/ramune flavor I like. However, I couldn't necessarily judge the quality of the gummy due to unforeseen issues. As noted above...

The next item I got was another one I was excited for cus who doesn't love Splatoon, am I right?

I only have the first game for now, but I'll be getting the Switch VERY SOON, so I'm excited to get the second on x3 I also have a cute pink water-filled squid I got from the toy store like a year or so ago.

Anyway, these gummies are available in Orange and Melon. There's also a very rare gummy shaped like an octopus that can be found in certain bags. Mine wasn't one of them. One bag is 155 calories, which is kind of lame due to how small it is. BUT at the same time, I've seen worse.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Not only are the gummies really cute, but they taste very good too. I was also happy to see that the bag is zip-lock style and they lasted for 4 months with no sign of aging!

I was so excited when I got them back in May that I couldn't resist trying them then (=´3`=)

The gummy texture... I can’t really describe. It's chewy, but not hard, and they don't take five minutes to eat either. More like a few seconds.

Our last item in this picture is the Thomas the Tank Engine Chewy Candy!

The inner-child in me was really excited to see this. Not only because the candy itself sounded good, but I grew up on the Thomas the Tank Engine stop-motion cartoons x3 Ironically, now that I'm older he seems a lot more popular. That or I just never noticed it before. There's also another sense of irony here though. Back in August, I was re-watching the super old original stop-motions I grew up on; not for any real reason, I was just bored and like the background noise.

Okay, so anyway the candy is a grape chewy candy by Lotte. It looks a lot like gum but it's kind of thicker, and what's fun is that each piece has a little puzzle on it, or you can fold the wrapper in certain ways to make shapes or "toys". Each stick, or the whole pack is 85 calories. I can't actually tell.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

It pretty much tastes exactly like grape hi-chew, the only difference is the texture. So if you like Hi-chew or grape candy you'd like this. If you don't then... you probably won't.

(Oh, and if you're curious my favorite is/was James~)

BORUTO GUMMY & BORUTO PINEAPPLE JELLIES

Our last items of the box are these two "Boruto" snacks! Boruto, if you never heard of the series is essentially a sequel to "Naruto". A series I was very fond of. However, I don't like Boruto. It's not because of the characters or anything, but because of some "decisions" they made I just didn't agree with. Besides the cute packaging and decorative detail on the bag, the jellies each feature a decorative lid design based on various Boruto characters. Each Jelly is 19 calories, and are pineapple flavored, with real pineapple juice!

This box was essentially full of nostalgia for me x3 when I was younger I loved eating little jellies. They became pretty scarce as I got older though, and one day they kind of just stopped showing up. It's a bit disappointing.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

They taste really good, it's not an overwhelming Pineapple flavor. I love the slippery, soft, squishy texture~

Our final item is this Boruto energy-drink flavored Hand Gummy :3 Hand Gummies are popular and fun, being based on the game Rock-Paper-Scissors. I've gotten one or two other gummies like this before, but if I recall they were much smaller- but I got scissors both times, including this one!

That's usually my go-to gesture and always has been ;D But you can also look at is as "peace sign" too if you wanted. Anyway, these are energy-drink flavored, but the booklet assures us that no energy drink ingredients were actually used in making this. It's simply BASED on a fizzy, sweet-and-sour pineapple energy drink.

That rested any concerns I had, because I'm one of those who people who avoids energy drinks at all cost. If I want energy I'll just eat sugar.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

It pretty much tastes like the jelly, but the flavor was stronger. I also really liked its super-soft texture x3

♥ Cutie Ranking ♥

Quality - 4 out of 5. The only real reason why I marked it down was because of that slice in the rice chips bag. I'm sure this was an extremely rare thing though, I usually don't have any problems with any of the items I get in this box.  

Content - 3 out of 5. I didn't hate anything at all this time around- which is almost as rare as the above mention. Usually I find one item I detest, and I pretty much only disliked one item, and even then it wasn't that bad...

Theme - 5 out of 5. Besides a couple of items, it was pretty much covered in anime stuff!

Total Rank: 12 out of 15 Cuties. I genuinely LOVED this box in comparison to the April box. It had a couple of faults but nothing serious that I couldn't overlook. Considering how excited I was for this, I feel like they could have done better- but they did really good! Maybe like a... B+

♥ Cutie’s Scale of Yummy ♥

1. Cherry x Peach Drink - It was so refreshing~

2. Splatoon Gummies - I can't say I prefer orange or melon flavors in comparison to ramune, grape, or cola- but they tasted so good and looked adorable!

3. Thomas Grape Chewy Candy - Loved. Loved. Loved!

4. Hand Gummy - I liked this just a little bit better than the jelly. It's very soft and chewy, I'd recommend these if you can find them, they come in many flavors.

5. Pineapple Jellies - I loved their soft, wiggly-jiggly texture~

6. Chocopie -  I loved the soft, cakey texture and its dark chocolate-esque taste~

7. Rice Chips - Delicious!

8. Shin-chan Gummy - I was disappointed with this because it was delicious! I just wish it hadn't stuck to its packaging. Well, that and I wish we got maybe one or two more~

9. Edamame snack - They tasted good but I just liked other stuff better.

10. Dragonball Cheese Puffs - I liked how they tasted, but I felt like it might have been a tiny bit misleading cause it didn't taste like cheese to me. I don't know if its because the information in the booklet was wrong, or... I’m very happy with the card I got though!

11. Mentaiko Umaibo - It tastes better than when I first tried it. But I can't say it's in my top 5 Umaibo list...

12. Udon Snacking Noodles - As I mentioned, these I have to be in the mood for. They don't taste bad but it's not something I'd probably reach for.

13. Almond Tofu snack - I really am not just a fan of Chocobi...

Alrighty, here we are at the end of another review. I'm sorry if it seemed like the quality started lowering so far down. I'm feeling kinda tired and my head hurts suddenly, and after trying to write these twice I really didn't want to have to try again you know?

Anyway, I hope you'll stay tuned for the next review :3 it'll be May's Doki Doki crate, then we'll be moving onto June stuff!

Until then, stay cute!

[projectalbum]

Radio songs. 189. “Green,” 190. “Out of Time,” 191. “Automatic for the People,” 192. “Monster,” 193. “New Adventures in Hi-Fi" by R.E.M.

For R.E.M., signing to Warner Bros Records meant reaching more people, in the U.S. and abroad. It meant a bigger promotional push behind their albums.

It meant an exponential increase in their touring schedule, to the point where all four were pretty burned out by the idea after being on the road for most of ’88-’89. But for me, it was a move that meant my favorite music in existence was allowed to sprout from the fertile loam of commercialism.

If you’ll remember from my previous post, it was a compilation of songs from the WB era that first made me a fan. And it was the first few albums under that banner that made R.E.M. superstars, i.e. a band established enough that I would be aware of them growing up. It’s hard for me to grasp the amount of R.E.M. saturation that existed from roughly ’88 - ’94. By the time I was humming “What’s The Frequency, Kenneth?” and “Orange Crush” in high school, it was 2005 and the band’s incandescence had faded to the soft, respectable glow of “Dad Rock.” They were hipper than the Billy Joel & Electric Light Orchestra discs that they had replaced in my repertoire, but as far as my peers were concerned, barely. 

The first Christmas after I had announced myself as a fan brought, in shiny happy gift wrapping, Green (#189) and Out Of Time (#190). A veritable Mandolin-apalooza: in the campfire folk trance of “You Are The Everything,” mournful character study “The Wrong Child,” and midnight hippie spiritual “Hairshirt” that are scattered through the mix of Green, and powering the über-hit that secured their legacy, “Losing My Religion,” on Out Of Time. My relationship to those tracks has dipped and risen through the years— I was much less open to strange acoustic explorations back then (or in the case of “LMR,” its overfamiliarity), so I tended to skip them. I grooved on the electric menace of “Turn You Inside-Out” and the poptimism of “Untitled.”

“World Leader Pretend,” in which all the band’s instruments, including Stipe’s voice, seemed tuned to a lower register than ever before (now THAT’S some counter-programming to the bubblegum of “Stand”), has become a God-level composition in my mind. It’s gained some resurgence recently, seen as a pointed critique of the venal and power-hungry who are obsessed with controlling geopolitical barriers. "I raised the wall / And I will be the one to knock it down,” the protagonist intones, and yeah, “the Wall” has a connotation for current events in 2018, as it did 30 years ago (roughly a year after the album’s release, Berlin’s concrete schism was demolished). But I hear the divided self in “World Leader Pretend”: the man erecting the walls of his own isolation chamber, shoring up his fragile ego against outer pain, denying the possibility for connection. "I decree a stalemate, I divine my deeper motives / I recognize the weapons / I've practiced them well, I fitted them myself.” In other words, I hear myself.

Fortunately, he concludes that it’s within his power to level these barriers he's constructed, and I feel I can learn the same lesson. There’s a triumphant slide guitar in the bridge, an iconically Country-Western flavor that the band returns to on one of the most indelible tracks on Out of Time— the descriptively-titled “Country Feedback.” Heartache on an epic scale, deliberate, hypnotic tempo but bubbling like a volcano, the words a stream-of-consciousness chant over Peter Buck’s searching electric guitar and Mike Mills funereal organ. “It’s crazy what you could have had,” Stipe laments, his voice rising, and then, “I need this. I need this.” Is it the confession that he needs, or the connection slipping away from his grasping fingers? He’s called it his favorite song in the band’s canon; they’ve performed it with Neil Young providing the wailing guitar counterpart, like a Dead Man end credits song that never happened, and there’s a clever mashup on the Unplugged set that bowled me over (I’ll mention it when I get there).

The acoustic arrangements and sonic experimentation continued on Automatic for the People (#191), with a purge of the bubblegum (“The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite” is a notable exception, but for a goof, it’s gorgeous.) Much has been made of the album’s apparent preoccupation with mortality and loss. For sure, there's the straight-forward teen suicide deterrent “Everybody Hurts,” predating It Gets Better by a couple decades; “Sweetness Follows,” about the steady, plodding journey through mourning, and the peaceful plateau you can reach; “Monty Got A Raw Deal,” a steely Western ballad inspired in part by the tortured, bisexual film actor Montgomery Clift. But it’s a hopeful album, not a dour slog.

To me, the common thread is The Past: that personal history that’s less about the agreed-upon facts and more about the feelings tied to events, coloring your reminiscence. “Drive,” the darkly insinuating opening track, takes inspiration for its rhythmic Beat poetry vocal from David Essex's “Rock On,” a song that Stipe might have heard as a teenager, one that itself looks back a further 20 years to the birth of rock n’roll. Add the string arrangement by rock royalty, John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin, and it’s nostalgia brined in nostalgia.

We’re looking at the reflection of the old photograph as caught by the passing streetlights: several layers of removal from the events. But in looking back, our feelings strike us clearer than whatever life we’ve built for ourselves in the interim; we’re still dwelling on whatever innocence we think we’ve lost. "I have seen things that you will never see / Leave it to memory me,” are the parting words of a person at the end of their life in “Try Not To Breathe” (often in the running for my favorite R.E.M. recording). "I will try not to burden you,” they promise, holding in secrets of a time gone by in hopes that the listener will forge a new path.

“Find The River,” which draws the book to a close with accordion and harmonizing voices, is another in a line of R.E.M. songs drawing on the river as a symbol of lost harmony. In youthful exuberance, there was “Nightswimming,” but "The ocean is the river's goal / A need to leave the water knows,” and time moves inexorably forward. The past feeds into the unfathomable depths of the future. Automatic for the People draws its title from the slogan at a soul food joint in the band’s hometown. It’s that sense of their own history, 8 records in and on top of the world, that merges with their innate creative restlessness, compelling them to shoot off in a new direction.  “I have got to leave to find my way."

This fuels their mission statement with each album since the WB era began: “Let’s write songs that don’t sound like ‘R.E.M. songs.’” If Automatic is self-reflective, Monster (#192) is about adopted personas. The sound of a middle-aged Art Rock band pretending to be a 20-something Glam Rock band, adding more neon and guitar distortion and posturing than you can shake a Mott The Hoople at. “What can I make myself be? (Faker!)” 

The video for “Crush With Eyeliner” furthers that sense of playful irony: the band members pushed off to the corner of the bar as a new generation, from a different cultural background, expresses the song for them. The entire radioactive orange LP kind of encapsulates every messy teenage feeling I've had since high school. I'm still a "faker," pretending to sing this song. And looking good doing it. (Though, full disclosure, the first time I did karaoke I went with “Bang and Blame.” I don’t mind telling you I nailed it.)

Monster is marked by the most prevalent sexual overtones in R.E.M. canon, as if they were embracing that self-aware Rock Star trope. It’s hard to get more on the nose than the title “Star 69,” but “I Don’t Sleep, I Dream” wins the prize with “Are you coming to ease my headache? / Do you give good head? / Am I good in bed?” As the public debated Michael Stipe’s sexuality, he parried the question in the press and played with his image in the lyrics. The topic of his “Crush” is gendered “she,” giving hetereos like myself plenty to appropriate for our own impossible Cool Girl daydreams— never mind that it’s an ode to his friend Courtney Love. “King of Comedy” addresses a legion of Rupert Pupkins getting their big shot by whatever means necessary, but it also contains the lyric "I'm straight, I'm queer, I'm bi,” a few years before he revealed publicly where the needle pointed on that dial for him. “Tongue” is a lilting, falsetto performance: piano-driven cabaret written for a female protagonist lamenting her inconsiderate lovers. More masks for a closely-scrutinized celebrity to find freedom behind.

New Adventures in Hi-Fi (#193) felt as appropriate a title as any for my first year at a university— trading my hometown for a cinderblock dorm-room, starting down my career path with all the film courses they’d allow me to sign up for. The road-grit guitars, open road expansive sound, Stipe’s tour-shredded front man vocals: the album is alternately weary and electrified. Choruses and riffs fit to fill a stadium (as many basic tracks were recorded at live soundcheck) beside intimate 3AM tour bus confessionals. I scored this huge chapter of my young life with the strutting, T. Rex glam of “The Wake-Up Bomb,” arena-ready choruses of “Bittersweet Me” and “So Fast, So Numb,” felt inspired by the dreamlike inscrutability of “How The West Was Won and Where It Got Us” and darkly-reflective poetry of “E-Bow The Letter.”

I’m not overly surprised to hear that this LP didn’t hit with the same impact as the previous ones— it’s always felt like an acquired taste that I couldn’t impart to anyone else. “You haven’t heard 'Leave?’ Ah man, it’s over 7 minutes long, and there’s a constant siren loop in the background! But trust me, when you hear the acoustic riff from the opening interlude reprised by double-tracked electric guitar, the goose pimples will be visible from space.”

Where Monster boasted the straight-arrow torch song “Strange Currencies,” the hushed, surrealistic “Be Mine” seemed as if it emanated from my own bruised heart. "I'll be the sky above the Ganges / I'll be the vast and stormy sea / I'll be the lights that guide you inward / I'll be the visions you will see”— it’s a cross-spiritual devotional that funnels the tenets of world religions into a promise for total intimacy. I would pay top dollar for the raw footage of Thom Yorke’s guest interpretation. 

Despite the public’s anemic response, the band’s estimation of Hi-Fi’s strengths is justifiably high. It’s an accomplished, energetic record that shows every member playing at his peak. It’s now frozen in history as the last document of the band as a foursome. In the next entry, I’ll delve into the CDs released after drummer Bill Berry retired and R.E.M. dramatically changed gears, rocketing into the 21st century.

[dramabus2-blog]

Comedian John Early Doesn't Love Working With Tahini - Grub Street

“I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after.” Photo: Scott Heins

Two years ago, actor and comedian John Early moved from New York to Los Angeles for a television show, and while the project fell through, he stayed and planted roots. Now, when you do see him over on this coast, it’s to tape his TBS show Search Party, in which he plays Elliott, or for various other projects, including next week’s Padma Puts on a Comedy Show at the Bell House, benefiting the Movement Voter Project. Though Early didn’t have as much opportunity to cook this week as he’d like (“I became obsessed with making pasta at a very young age”), he still found time for copious amounts of cold brew, homemade burgers with radicchio buns (“they are divine”), and pizza passing itself off as an hors d’oeuvre. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, October 11 I like to start every day with a cold brew and a Propecia. The cold brew comes from Primrose, my neighborhood coffee shop while I’m in town shooting the zero-time Emmy nominated Search Party. It’s these temporary pillars of familiarity that create some much-needed structure amid the formlessness of my bicoastal lifestyle. #theunbearablelightnessofbicoastiality #bicoastalvisibility

For breakfast, my boyfriend and I salt some watermelon — just like my very southern dad does, except he’s never heard of Maldon™. I’m a little too proud of how meager this meal is. It’s no coincidence that this is my very first entry. My daily cold-brew-induced panic begins, and I find myself immediately paralyzed by the performative nature of the whole endeavor. Will I accurately represent myself as the passionate eater that I know myself to be? Will I bring attention to the restaurants and small businesses that truly need it? Is it braggy to talk about my boyfriend? It feels so transparent to include him (“I, too, am loved!”), but dishonest to leave him out!

Did I mention he’s an artist? We take the train into Tribeca and stop by the iconic the Compleat Sculptor to get him some modeling clay for a project. We are starving and a block away from Trader Joe’s, so we pick up some premade salads and a peanut-butter-cookie Lärabar. I can already feel the walls of my hard-earned gourmand identity crumbling around me. I vigorously shake my salad in its plastic container to dress it. I consider lying and saying that we were beckoned into “the most unpretentious red-sauce Italian place by its adorable elderly owner.” The salad explodes in my lap.

For dinner, we drunkenly pick at a tray of falafel toppings with our bare hands at a reception for a friend’s photography show. Damn.

Friday, October 12 I get another cold brew from Primrose and take a Propecia. My boyfriend makes me a smoothie of frozen berries, banana, green apple, and kale for breakfast, and I wonder, Is it 1998? I keep it to myself because the smoothie is truly good, and ultimately I resent diet trends that look down on them.

I pace around the apartment rehearsing what I’m going to say on a very confrontational call that I have to make at the end of the day. I willfully enter into conflict about once every 400 years. A truck could be driving on the wrong side of the road, barreling toward me, and I would not honk. I am so nervous that I forget to eat lunch (so chic), and around 3 p.m. I throw together all that is left of our groceries: a Monsanto apple and banana, and some curried chicken salad that I bought on the previous day’s Trader Joe’s trip but didn’t mention here because of y’all’s relentless judgment.

I make the call. No one dies. I go to Roman’s in Fort Greene with my boyfriend to $elf $oothe. It’s worth the goddamn bill — perfect Martinis, orange wine, gorgeous fava-bean purée, radicchio with anchovy and Parmesan, tortelli with a butter and sage sauce, chicken al diavolo, panna cotta, and chocolate sorbet. I swear to god Keri Russell is eating at the bar just like us. I’ve heard rumors that she lives in this area. It’s definitely not her, but for that split second I feel that life in New York can feel as good as an episode of Felicity.

Saturday, October 13 I am hungover. I pop a Propecia and drag my gay ass to Primrose for a cold brew on my way to shoot a short film by a friend from college. When I get to set, I eat a truly exquisite whole-wheat everything bagel with cream cheese. It helps a lot even though I’m trying to “cut back on grain.”

The catering on set is Frito pie with vegan chili, chicken-salad sliders, and other such church-camp delights. The thematic cohesiveness of the meal is a little oppressive, but I soldier on.

After the shoot, my boyfriend and I go to a play called Slash by Leah Hennessey and Emily Allan (of Zhe Zhe glory) at MX Gallery. The show is astonishing and perfect, and we ride our cultural high to Kiki’s, a Greek restaurant in Chinatown. We have lemony potatoes, smoky eggplant dip, orange-peel sausage, lamb fricassée, and a waitstaff that doesn’t care for my jokes.

Sunday, October 14 I chomp down on a Propecia and head to Primrose where my boyfriend and I collect a free cold brew, having loyally filled our card with the required nine stamps. I playfully tell the cashier that I wish there was a little more ceremony — a siren, confetti, etc. She, too, doesn’t care for my jokes, and my boyfriend generously reassures me on the walk home that she’s probably a Pratt freshman consumed by her new life in Brooklyn.

We get some groceries and make burgers with pepperoncini, avocado, caramelized onions, mayo, Dijon, and radicchio buns (LOL). I laugh out loud, but they are divine. If you can pull off a radicchio leaf without tearing it, it’s very cuplike. And Goddamn it, reader, I swear if you caught me on a different week you’d be shocked by my cooking. I started early. What’s nice about being a gay boy is, before you become cripplingly self-aware about your gayness, you have no shame just following your mom around the kitchen and asking her questions.

In the afternoon, we go to the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me, thanks to tickets from queen Dolly Wells, who is in the movie and is characteristically genius in it. While sitting BEHIND JUDGE JUDY AND IN FRONT OF JOEL GREY (!!!!!), we eat popcorn and a couple of bourbon-flavored chocolates. At the after-party, we piece together a free dinner of mediocre mushroom and prosciutto cut-up pizza (��flatbread”) hors d’oeuvres, and marvel at the grace with which Judge Judy interfaces with her adoring public.

Monday, October 15 The usual cold brew cut with Propecia. I have to work today, but only for a couple of hours starting at 4 p.m. My schedule is so easy breezy this season that I wonder if I’m like Valerie Cherish slowly being phased out of Room and Bored. But I’m secretly loving the domesticity. I pick up some groceries and make some lunch for my boyfriend and me. A baby-kale salad with sunflower seeds and a tahini, olive oil, lemon zest, and juice dressing. I’m so bad at “working with” tahini. Why is it always so fucking chunky? I thought I added enough water to smooth it out. Maybe the citrus curdled it? I can feel the ghost of Kate Berlant, my comedy partner and undisputed tahini queen, cackling over my shoulder as I whisk to no avail. The salad is still pretty good — the flavors are all there, gang! — and I serve it with some scrambled eggs and a side of grilled preserved artichokes.

I go to Search Party to take some sort of photo that will be used as a prop in the show. I get to my trailer and am horrified to find no costume, but sweatpants, a hoodie, and big boxers. This can only mean one thing: partial nudity. I react to the horror by eating half of one of those god-awful RXBARs and some Earl Grey tea with almond milk. I imagine this is what Carey Mulligan does when she’s “feeling peckish.” As usual with this show, the partial nudity is truly worth the joke. I am made up like a cherub, my body is oiled, and I pose with a lyre. It’s extremely funny, and I also leave feeling a stronger sense of connection to Anne Geddes, which is frankly something I’ve been after my entire Goddamn life.

For dinner, we order (“We … we! I’m still getting used to saying it!”) some Neapolitan-style pizza — one with soppressata, the other a classic margherita — from a place that truly does not need my help. My boyfriend makes a salad with the leftover radicchio and a vinaigrette with minced pepperoncini and the juice from the jar. It’s really major.

Tuesday, October 16 I should mention that I’ve been trying to make my own cold brew recently to avoid spending so much money and using so much plastic. I can’t figure out the right grind though, so I throw back a Propecia and once again head to Primrose. Love brazenly making choices like these in the face of recent climate science!

I come home, and while absolutely soaring on cold brew, I see that there’s a 50 percent off sale on the Criterion Collection website. A mere two feet away from my boyfriend, I order six titles that I will never watch and a $30 Blu-ray player off of Amazon Prime, and I don’t tell him because I know this behavior is unhinged. This is why cold brew is bad. Once, while drinking one during a meeting, I told an executive that I was the “Robyn of comedy” with zero irony.

I go to Pequeña for a late lunch after my manic purchase. I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after. I also get my favorite menu items: the pork burrito and the chicken soup.

Their margarita truly packs a punch, and I put on a great show for my therapist (that’s what therapy is for, right?). I meet the great Nicole Spiezio in Madison Square Park. We share a weed gummy because we are going to see A Simple Favor starring Blake Lively and everyone’s favorite Scrappy Little Nobody, Anna Kendrick (or as my boyfriend calls her “Anna Kendricks”). We eat at Shake Shack, naturally. I eat a double Shack Burger with fries and order my cheese sauce on the side. We get to the theater for the 7:45 showing, and the edible kicks in right as we receive the news that the screening is sold out. Maybe it’s the edible, but the stakes feel so high that I feel like we’re in Argo, which I’ve never seen. We get in a cab and head to the Kips Bay AMC to try to make it in time for the 7:55 showing, but there is only one seat left. I beg the woman at the box office, “Is there anything you can do?” She looks at me like I’m crazy — obviously, there is nothing she can do. We are stuck in Kips Bay, high as hell, but still wanting to hang. We are beckoned into the most unpretentious Mexican place by its adorable elderly owner. Everyone in the restaurant seems to be on straight Tinder dates that aren’t going well. I drink a tequila on the rocks.

I go back home and eat frozen raspberries while relaying this story to my boyfriend. It does not land.

See All

Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2018/10/comedian-john-early-grub-street-diet.html

[coffee-and-kpop]

my ice cream asks answers

chocolate: when was your first kiss? - I haven’t had it yet :) french vanilla: how old are you? - 19 cotton candy: three places you want to travel to? - Asia, Iceland, Spain strawberry: a language you wish you could speak? - German, French coffee: favorite cosmetic brands? - Wet N Wild, Nyx, Mac (when I can afford it lol) mint chocolate chip: indoors or outdoors? - depends cookie dough: do you play any instruments? - nope rocky road: favorite songs at the moment? - Not Today by BTS, My Baby Don’t Like by NCT, Shape of You by Ed Sheeran butter pecan: favorite songs for life? - Lotto by EXO, The Irony of Choking on a Lifesaver by All TIme Low, Well Oh Well by Mayday Parade, You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful by 1D cheesecake: what's your zodiac sign?  - Aries toasted coconut: the beach or the pool? - the pool chocolate chip: what's your most popular post? - Here (tumblr says this is my most pop. post in the past 7 days) bubblegum: books or movies? - books pistachio: manga or anime? - i haven’t looked into either, really, but I want to start watching anime! salted caramel: favorite movies? - Odd Thomas, Tomorrow When the War Began, John Dies At the End birthday cake: favorite books? - Full Tilt, The Rides of the Apocalypse series, Fallen series moose tracks: favorites for manga? - i haven’t read any! orange sherbet: favorites for anime? - i haven’t watched any! peanut butter: favorite academic subject? - i’m a bio major, so science black raspberry: do you have any pets? - lol yes a kitten named Ramsey mango: when and why did you start your blog? - i started it with my cousin because we were both obsessed with ships/kpop mocha: ideal weather conditions? - rainy and cold black cherry: four words that describe you? - vain, adventurous, dreamy, unempathetic  neapolitan: things that stress you out? - my GPA, boys, my family, money raspberry truffle: favorite kind of music? - lol kpop, but i also love alternative music and anything acoustic chocolate marshmallow: favorite brands of candy? - i just really love twix and reece’s toffee: a card game that you're good at? - ughhh uno? lemon custard: do you eat breakfast? - sometimes, i try to make a habit to dark chocolate: turn ons? - mouths/smirks, collar bones, skinny fingers, veiny arms fudge: turn offs? - too much body hair peach: how do you relax? - reading or blogging praline: a popular book you haven't read yet? - i haven’t read Divergent or The Maze Runenr superman: do you like sweaters? - hella cherry: do you drink tea or coffee? - both, but mostly coffee dulce de leche: an instrument you wish you could play? - violin blackberry: have you ever laughed so hard you cried? - for sure. i cry every time i laugh for some weird reason ginger: a new feature you wish tumblr could have? - i wish i could have different accounts logged in on the app blueberry lemon: favorite blogs? - so, so many omg almond: favorite mean girls quote? - “it’s october 3rd” butterscotch: what color are your nails right now? - they’re not painted rn cinnamon: have you ever been confessed to? - nope blue moon: have you ever had a crush on someone? - of course. i have a crush on someone rn.... cappuccino crunch: do you take naps? - like every day mint: the most embarrassing thing you've ever done? - one time i tripped through the front door at work with a case of beer in my hands (i’m a server) brownie batter: do you like sushi? - more than just about anything key lime: where do you want to be right now? - lol in bed, or with my crush, or both.... red velvet: do you wear prescription glasses? - nope green tea: favorite flavors of ice cream? - key lime pie, coconut, coffee, hazelnut, butter pecan

[sarenthestalwart]

WAITING, a short story about the waiting room for the afterlife

I opened my eyes, and there I saw a light at the end of a tunnel.

           I blinked my eyes twice more, then twice again, and the tunnel around my vision blurred away, and I saw the light was coming from a small pen.

           “Right eye’s reacting normal. So is the other one.” The man in the all-white outfit said. “You successfully crossed over. Congratulations, ma’am.”

           Huh? Is this a doctor’s office? Why is it so monochrome? Everything in here was so sterile and blank. Not a picture, not a decoration, not one little hint of color.

           “Oh. Looks as if you’re still suffering from the whiplash of crossover.” The white-jacketed man told me, only confusing me more. “Ahem. You are Miss Jane Dodge. Unemployed, on disability, volunteer extraordinaire, and your kidney failure finally caught up to you after ten years of dialysis.”

What?

“And yes, this is the afterlife, Miss.” He said casually. His tone was only possible for people who’d spent decades seeing and doing what would’ve been odd, abnormal, or out-there to anyone on the outside. Like a coroner who eats pizza and burgers after they just got through examining a body.

I didn’t speak a word when the woman, just as plain and non-descript, helped me off the table that was a solid block that rose from the floor. I was dead? I am dead?

“I know this is a shock, Miss Dodge, but this is in fact the hereafter.” The doctor-looking man told me again. It was odd, but I felt no drop in my stomach or like a weight of a ton had toppled on top of me. It could’ve been that it hadn’t sunk in yet. Although more likely, maybe I’d already accepted that I’d die. I’d been fighting my own body for years and I’d been kept alive through a machine that cleaned my blood and a hope that happenstance would deliver me a new kidney.

Is this really what the land of the dead looks like? It’s so… I’d say plain but plain is plastic, plaid dinner cloths and wall paper that’s the solid yellow of a rubber duck. Ice-flavored popsicles had more than this setting. It was more like, devoid. Empty, bare, and vacant of any signs that someone was or will have been here.

I didn’t comment though and continued to follow the woman away from the room, on to a hallway and toward another door. It had no knob but it opened regardless by a force unknown and not seen, by me anyway. This is where I came into a relieving sign that I’d not be left to solely the company of the glacially dispassionate woman guiding me.

The room was gigantic, the size of a football mega-dome. It was packed, wall-to-wall, or horizon-to-horizon, from left to right. “Go on ahead and choose a spot to get comfortable, ma’am,” the quote-on-quote nurse told me in a voice as hollow as an echo-chamber. “Someone from one of the ladders will call on you.” She then closed the door the moment she ushered me out onto the floor of this oceanic titan of a room.

With no further instruction or clue, I just followed her last piece of advice and waded through the sea of dissimilar faces for a place to try and get situated. I recalled that the woman mentioned a ladder. What ladder? I don’t see any ladders. Forget ladders, I don’t see anything resembling furniture. Everyone I listlessly passed by were either standing up or sitting on the floor. I spotted one man in jacket that was layered with three shirts underneath laid down in what I believed was a concentrated effort to nap.

I was so lost in my torn focus to locate a hint for either an area to recline or the supposed ladder that icy woman mentioned I never noticed how close to the opposite end of the room I had gotten. That’s when I saw the doors. They looked like the sliding doors from the original Star Trek show, and they had this emblem on them that looked like two solid, parallel lines going top to bottom, with nine more lines running perpendicular like bars between those two. A ladder, basically.

“You’re not going to find anything, ma’am,” a man’s voice called out from behind. I whipped around to see the man, who was barely past the thirty-something milestone, with dark hair and an olive complexion. He had a hard-boiled tone of voice and a face to match, but his eyes looked as if he’d switched his old ones for a softer man’s. “Only way that door opens is if the operator on the other side hits the button.” He told me.

“Uh,” I began. Not my first choice of words, but this place wasn’t exactly the first thing I thought of for the afterlife. “What… what are these doors?” I ask finally, once my lips decided to follow one of my brain’s mess of one hundred other questions.

“They’re the way out.” He said simply.

Out of here?

“And not out right away.” He added, like he’d told that to several other people before me.

“So… those go…” I started once more, pointing upward to the ceiling. Or faded dome of light above everyone in here’s head, would be more accurate.

“Up to where the Lord is. Or down into the fiery pit.” I turned and saw another man. This one had a kept appearance, his salt and pepper hair combed back with gel and a pair of thin, straight eyebrows that obsessive grooming had to be responsible for. As for his face, I could see no blemish and he had the kind of cheeks that men with practice in flashing a trustworthy smile could only have. He looked incredibly recognizable, especially as I looked over his suit.

“Wait. I’ve seen you.”

“I bet you have, miss. Ted Leo,” he said, introducing himself, showing off the white clickers in his chompers. “Speaker for the Almighty, a messenger of the good word, entrepreneur of the gospel, and voted most likely to succeed in his senior class.” Now I knew who he was. He was a televangelist. He died in a plane crash on his private jet. The Soaring Prayer Machine, he called it in a TV interview.

“Got anymore titles for yourself, Leo,” the first man addressed neutrally, unmoved from his spot. Ted Leo’s expression, or his response, was not neutral.

“Yes,” the preacher said pointedly. “It is, gentleman. And a gent always introduces himself, Mr. Deangelo.”

“Forgive him, Miss,” Ted Leo spoke, his attention back to me. “Some people just do not have enough patience.” I didn’t care, honestly. I turned back to the dark-haired Deangelo.

“Um, how long will it take to get called?” I asked him, referring to his comment of the departure from the room not being immediate.

“Good question, ma’am,” another voice chimed in. This time it was another woman’s voice. She was a little brown in the face, from a tan, more likely than anything else, and she had this lopsided haircut that hung over the right ear and left the other exposed. She also had on a hospital gown and was skinnier than a sunflower’s stalk. Cancer. Had to have been cancer. “Don’t ask for specifics on how long some of us have been in this stadium. He,” she pointed at Deangelo, “might as well have just gotten here but I swear we’ve all been here for the same long length of time.”

“Stephanie,” another female voice chimed in, this one clearly more elderly. “Don’t have such a rude tone of voice.” She scolded.

“Jesus, Shirley. You and I are both dead and you still treat me like I’m fifteen.” She responded back.

“Don’t blaspheme, Stephanie!” Shirley scolded again, harsher. The younger woman simply didn’t respond and turned back to me.

“Steff,” she firmly introduced herself to me so that the older Shirley heard it. “Shirley over there’s quote-on-quote favorite, and only disappointment.” The mother, Shirley, shot who I think was her daughter a look as if something foul had passed under her nostrils. “Don’t mind the hospital gown.”

“I was actually a doctor when I was alive. Irony of ironies, I get killed by liver cancer, the very thing I was trying to avoid.”

“Sorry about that,” I offered, although she seemed to wave it away.

“And it looks like you already met Deangelo and the one-balled bandit over there.” She pointed her eyes toward Ted Leo, who was quick to straighten the suit he had on at the remark.

Oh wait, yes. Ted Leo was a prosperity preacher. Those TV-host priests that told his watchers that surrendering their savings to him would mean double in “rewards” for them. I suddenly had the taste of dried vomit in my mouth.

“Jane.” I finally responded back in intro, and that’s when I got a friendly grin from Stephanie. Or Steff, as she seemed to prefer. “What was that about… just got here.”

“Exactly what I said. I got in here,” she gestured to the entire room. “And short and dark over there arrived shortly afterward.” Deangelo shrugged his shoulders when I looked over at him.

DING

I swung my head at the sound and the door I’d inevitably stepped in front of slid open. Inside the cubicle room behind that door was a man dressed in all white, his head as smooth as a polished cue ball, and smirk that looked plastered onto his lips.

“Miss Marguerite Delany.” He called, voice powerful and tone even. The woman he called for, a lady in a pink tracksuit, jogged forward and entered. “Toward your destination,” the indiscernible man told her, loud enough that I heard it, and the door shut. I turned back and I saw a moment of frozen anticipation from every face I could register. Like a perfectly caught picture of apt attention for something that had been promised to every subject in the photo.

“And like that,” Deangelo spoke up as everyone, almost torturously, tore their eyes off that one door. “The waiting game resumes again.” He finished.

“Is there a list, or someone to talk to?” I asked, although part of me was measuring up that there just might not.

“Sorry, ma’am,” yet another new voice chimed in, another man. This one had a smoothness to it that could nearly convince someone to use a gravel road as a slip and slide. And when I saw him, his trimmed and deliberate appearance said he would attempt to sell ice to an Eskimo. He was similar in attire to Ted Leo, but I saw the tiny American flag pin on the lapel of his suit jacket. “I’m afraid there’s no such person.” He filled in.

“Now, I don’t try to tell divinities how I think they ought to run things,” the sly man went on, “but I do make this promise. To petition the Man Upstairs for one of those things. Can’t be right, making all these good people so nervous as they wait.”

“That your new campaign slogan, Bobby?” Deangelo asked, voice about as passive as a supercar driving by at a hundred miles an hour.

“I’ll have you know,” the man started, as politely as possible. “That I am in fact, concerned for the well-being of all.” That statement got a scoffing blow of air out of Steff, or maybe Deangelo. “And I do not simply say things, for the sake of currying favor.”

“Miss Jane, say hi to Bobby, the blowhard, Wilkinson.” Deangelo told unceremoniously, with no shame. “Former state governor, and former shoe-in for the House of Representatives.” Geez, how many people would I know down here? Wilkinson, infamously, had an aneurysm during a townhall meeting after he initiated a shouting match with a PE teacher. Tumbled off the edge of the stage and got impaled under the chin by the bayonet of the model musket he brought with him.

“Ma’am, a little advice. Do not, at all, mix yourself with those. That call names.” Wilkinson said to me. Normally I don’t dislike anyone, but Wilkinson, he was someone who made me want to cross my index fingers over each other in an attempt to ward him off. I turned my body away like just having it face him would cause me to catch whatever repulsed more than some away from him.

“Mister… Deangelo?” He looked at me, ears open. “If it’s not too much… how did…”

“How did I kick it?” He finished for me, and I nodded. “Gas leak in my house.”

“Couldn’t smell the damn stuff because I’d gone… nose-blind, I think. I turned into Robert Duvall from Apocalypse Now.”

Oh yeah. My grandfather worked the pump at a gas station and got so used to gasoline stink his smeller couldn’t smell the stuff anymore.

“It wasn’t the fumes that killed me, though. It was because one of my yuppie neighbor’s kids decided to shoot a firework into my house.” Deangelo than made an exploding noise, including a gesture for emphasis.

“Whuh… what made them do that?” I asked, appalled.

“I had a sign in front of my house that told anyone passing by that I was a veteran.” Deangelo pulled out a pair of dog-tags from under the shirt he had on, jangling them on those bead-like chains. It read ZANCA, DEANGELO, 822-46-7475, O POS, CATHOLIC. “And that explosive fireworks could set off an episode. For some reason assholes take politely asking to not be assholes as a reason to be bigger ones.” That filled out the numbers in the picture for me.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized.

“What’re you saying sorry for? Unless that little punk-ass grew his hair out and they stacked another foot of shit on top of him, you sure weren’t the one who blew me into this place.” Deangelo defined to me. He sure had a potty-mouth. Then again, I guess being dead is a bigger issue than someone possessing a colon-cave, as my dad called it.

DING

Another toll of a ghostly elevator bell called out, and the door in our pocket slid open, revealing the weirdly grinning man inside. “Mister Van Lowe.” He inquired, that voice of his reverbing like his mouth was encased by an invisible tube. A black man in a pastor’s collar and colors passed us and plotted to his fate.

“Praise be to you, good brother,” Ted Leo signaled to the passing preacher, thinking perhaps that they might of one mind and one soul, joined in their equal professions.

“Bless you, Mr. Ted,” The man responded, his spread evenly and with no implications. “And I pray you now see the light, since it seemed you didn’t while you were alive.” Ted Leo’s smile suddenly cracked as one corner seemed to droop, like a comedian’s when he saw his joke wasn’t landing. The black man in priestly garb then continued, entering the cubbyhole of could be called an elevator to the final destination, and he was gone as curtly as that last woman. Once more, all the anticipating watchers turned away in disappointed after a second of held-breath and dashed hopes.

“Good Lord’s a good tease, I tell you,” Ted Leo japed, attempting to step back up in his pep.

“I can wait. I’ve been patient and I know my place is assured,” Shirley guaranteed in a gone over tone.

“Sure, it is,” Steff commented severely. The quality in that statement of hers told a dozen tales that fit into a how-to manual of being a family. And the way I heard Shirley blow out an insulted fume of breath told a dozen counters to those tales. “Did he tell you at those AA meetings you never went to?”

“Why do you do that, Stephanie?”

“What? Ask questions? Point out bullshit?” Steff bit back.

“Say those miserable. Cruel. Things about me!” Shirley indicted.

“You know they’re all true.” Steff retorted. “And not some of them or most of them. All of them. That’s why you hate it when I say them.”

“Stephanie, I might not have lived the most virtuous life, and yes I slipped a few times but I always remembered what God taught me. Unlike you.”

“Did he teach you to drag around your three-year-old baby girl so hard she broke her arm that one time?” Steff criminated, but Shirley looked prepared to put up her fortifications.

“That was an accident, and you don’t know how awful I felt for doing that!”

“Did he also say somewhere in the scripture or some hidden passage that you could get more glazed than a rum-cake? And then throw things at your flesh-and-blood’s head when she told you to please, please stop?”

“Okay,” Shirley conceded, “I drank a little and… yeah, I lost control sometimes.”

Anyone with at least one working ear could tell that whatever guilt she truly felt was tepidly acknowledged. That was more evident when she blurted when I listened to her blurt another defense.

“But the Devil had a grip on me!” Shirley screamed. Steff irked at the screech with a head-shake.

“I can’t be held accountable for that because it wasn’t me,” Shirley pleaded, but it was more like a plea to herself more than it was at her daughter. “Not me, just some other, version of me. I told God of my sins and he forgave me.”

“Really?” Steff dissented in a hurt tone full of old pains. “Did he also happen to forgive you when I was seventeen, you locked me in my room for two weeks straight just because I gave the girl I was friends with a kiss on the cheek?”

“Whuh… Stephanie that act was more than an innocent peck,” Shirley opposed. “The look in your eyes, there was desire. Terrible desire for something unwholesome.”

“It was a kiss on the cheek!”

“And that would’ve led to more. I did what I had to, to keep you from making a choice you’d regret. Just like my sister had done a year earlier.”

“By locking me in my own room?”

“Stephanie, you’re twisting things again.” Shirley attempted calmness but Steff bared an intensity that wasn’t having it, and I don’t think I would either even with all my politeness.

“You shut me away in my room for two whole weeks! I had no light because you put those blockers on my windows for no reason!”

“The neighbor was a deviant, and she produced a deviant daughter that got you to kiss her.”

“I needed to go to a therapist for three years because of everything you put me through! Those two weeks was just an example!”

“I didn’t want to do it!” Shirley altercated. “I didn’t! But what was I supposed to do!?”

“Understand.” Steff countered. “Love your daughter like you’re supposed to.”

“I say she understood perfectly.” Ted Leo asserted all of a sudden, pushing himself into the argument. “Any mother who sees her daughter about to fall toward those unnatural temptations.”

“Will you cork it, Teddy.” Deangelo intruded. “There’s no choir for you to preach to anymore.”

“And to you,” Ted Leo responded, not even losing the pizzazz he could have brand-named in life. “I say, you no longer have any basis to be rude to anyone, seeing as we are all due to meet our judgment.” Deangelo flung a dismissive hand at the small screen sermonizer, and Ted directed himself back towards the quarreling daughter and mother.

“Miss Stephanie,” Ted Leo charmed. “I see there is resentment between you and your mother.” Steff sucked on her teeth to express her attitude of the understatement the tube-box pastor stated. “But she is your mother. The reason you exist. I can tell she was scared for you out of love and sought to aid you.

“Your sister, was it, she had the same afflictions as your daughter?” Ted Leo asked Shirley. The older woman gave a solid, affirmative nod.

“And she bit at me like a bear when I voiced my disapproval.” The strained mother relayed, and the video-taped minister nodded in comprehension.

“You gave her a bible, correct?” Steff capitalized, answering for Shirley.

“She stood at the door and made me read Genesis 19 and Leviticus 18 and 20.” She bitterly recalled.

“Perfect,” Ted Leo congratulated. “Those passages spell it out plain, simple, and beautifully, thank you Jesus.” I don’t know if it’s due to me being itchy in the foot or a restless mind, but listening to Ted Leo talk like that was rustling my jimmies.

“The people of Sodom chose to turn to relations against the natural way of things and social oppression and injustice reigned, by God. And I know and do not believe that the Good Lord can get any clearer than the word ‘abomination’ to clearly say what activities such as laying with another of your sex are.” He articulated.

“Didn’t Jesus…” I began. I had no chicken in this fight, and some of my cowardice toward unrest in torrid discussion appealed to me to withdraw. But no, I’d placed my prized cock down and I pushed myself to let it crow. “Didn’t Jesus also say that a camel has an easier chance of passing through the eye of a needle than for… for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of heaven?” Now Ted Leo’s eyes were on me now. His smile didn’t break but his brow knitted.

“Forgive me, Miss Dodge,” he set up. “But, while I do know my scriptures, thank you Jesus, and I am glad to see you know it well, I am also afraid that I have failed to understand the purpose of that interjection.”

“She means,” Deangelo spoke up from behind me. “You got about as much to worry about as the nice dyke you’re aiming your crosshairs at.”

“Well then, mister, by God. Why not humor this old prophet and enlighten me?” The televangelist put that out like it was a dare.

“Here’s your enlightenment; you’re a thief.” Deangelo visibly declared, leaning his whole body forward to punctuating each word of his statement. “A fraud. A shyster. A scam artist. A clown with fake promises and an even faker doctrine of gospel. That good enough an enlightenment for you?”

The preacher’s grin, one that had been a sign that he’d won at a competition that everyone else wasn’t in on, went into a dimpling straight line after Deangelo had concluded.

“That is an awfully bold accusation, Mister Deangelo. I am honest man and I thank Jesus for such strength of character.” Ted Leo parried.

“Honestly greedy.” Deangelo matched. “You stole honest people’s money.”

“I took donations.” The televangelist played.

“And put them right in your pocket.”

“If you follow the paper trail, my son,” Ted Leo continued, getting Deangelo to give the man an embittered scoff. “You will find, by God, that those seeds went to good use. The International Fellowship, the Sacred Heart Priesthood, the US Heritage League, the Assemblies for the Impoverished, and good golly Jesus the Jesuit Aid Foundation, mm-mm.” The preacher flourished his finish with a bow, but Deangelo wasn’t impressed from the stare I could see him giving.

“And, uh, what about that luxury worship hotel?” The dark-haired opponent put forth. “The one you promised your congregation? I think, oh, how much of it was finished before the Hillwater Herald started looking your way. One… Yes, just one.”

“There were some complications roadblocks, forgive me, oh Lord.” Ted Leo dismissed. “We needed to keep the construction contractors for their effort, thank you God.”

“You raised two times more than what was needed, wise man.” Deangelo gobbed. “And you exceeded capacity for that luxury resort spot, too.”

“We got more than what was needed.” Ted Leo just shrugged and pouched his lip, as though it was as meaningless or as unimportant as a accidental brush in a school hallway. “If God was watching, and I know he was, thank you Lord, he would applaud them for their generosity.”

“And you exploited the Hell out of them.” Deangelo shot back. “Just how much did you actually give to those charities, hm? One? Maybe, two… Pennies? And how’d you like that limousine, or that ski resort, or that plane of yours?”

“Son, by God, if you do not cease—” The preacher warned.

“Oh,” but Deangelo continued, not threatened at all. “And how did that court case treat you? You know, the one that indicted you for wire fraud and tax fraud after three current employees admitted that you’d pocket the money in prayers requests and not actually read them?”

The Preacher got real quiet all of a sudden. The kind of quiet that’s required when you need to think of a good excuse for being caught in not just a lie, but a fib to bury the facts.

“Son. You have to realize,” Ted began, rationalizing clear even at that start, “that a ministry, God forgive us all, can’t run itself on good words and faith alone.” I fought to not scoff at those words, but Deangelo did my suppressed, desired action for me.

“And I don’t recall God, praise him, ever forbidding his servants from indulging in the good things every now and then.”

My abhor started to rise, and I thought to myself that I could not recall Him condoning the practice of profiting off of the problems of vulnerable people. The preacher rarely just went for small gifts and little fulfillments. It was skiing trips, hunting expeditions, a garage with four luxury rides that all had six digits to the price tag, and house too big for just him alone.

“I gave them something to believe in,” he continued to dig in. “They gave and gave and could, could… Well so what if I took a bit off the top?” He snapped, his preacher’s bravado dissipated and supplanted by a man who was a defendant in the court of mankind. “I was spreading the word of God. Shouldn’t I get a little something for that hard work?”

DING

We were silenced again. Another door opened. The gigantic quiet that washed through the waiting area was so palpable it was like the lack of noise was its own person, patiently and religiously waiting for what the herald of the other side would say. The Operator called out, “Stephanie Bridges.”

A pause, a frozen moment came and went, and I turned to Steff. I was seconds behind everyone else in the circle I’d found myself in. But I was only one she made eye contact with. She began her walk toward the Operator, looking at Shirley one final time. Without saying it, Steff was bidding her mother goodbye. A goodbye for good. Then when she began her departure again, she looked back at me and Deangelo. That look was a praying glance. An invisible deal with a divine that she might see us later. Death makes people from every corner of the spectrum become long-lost friends it seemed.

There was one less of us now. Really though, I thought of us in two halves. I and Deangelo, and then the other three. It was a dehumanizing distinction, I knew, but I couldn’t keep myself from dreading that if Deangelo was the next to leave, I’d be the last to stand eyeball to eyeball with and outside of the ring from the others that’d be left.

“I normally avoid speak ill of somebody,” Wilkinson suddenly spoke up after keeping his lip zipped for most of the exchange, “when they’re not in the same room to defend themselves. But I do say, it’s best that one negative influence. Is now departed.” I had every reason to commentate by simply looking the man in the eye, but I kept to looking at Deangelo who provided the action for himself.

“I may have said it once, perhaps even twice or three times, or even hundred,” Wilkinson prattled. “But it’s those kinds, those kinds of people, that make the everyday, average, good person hesitant to be as such.”

“Amen,” Ted Leo agreed, so did Shirley as she silently raised her hand and nodded with closed, contemplative eyes to praise the notion.

Deangelo blew a raspberry at the trio and shook his fist in front of an area that made me avert my eyes. Shirley’s mouth dropped open like it was a stone in water and her eyes bugged out. I’d have been offended at the gesture too if I wasn’t too preoccupied with finding some comedy in that face.

“And what, exactly, was the whole purpose behind that? That obscenity?” Wilkinson asked.

“Oh, sorry,” Deangelo insincerely apologized. “I thought people from Asshat-Vania knew the gesture of congratulations for speaking out the ass so well.”

“Sir. Does every sentence that falls out of your mouth need to splice in a cuss? Every single time?” Wilkinson implored.

“Aw, did my freedom of speech hurt your fee-wings?” Deangelo mocked in a baby-voice. “I thought you were all about letting people say what they wanted.”

“I. Am, sir. Like when I condemned NPR for removing Patrick Pearl from their lineup.”

“And bravo for defending your endorsement, Bobby.”

“That is completely, totally disconnected.” The governor nevermore diverted. “But, even if, though it was gladly appreciated, Patrick Pearl had not spoken for my campaign for the proud, venerated position of Senate, I would have still been on his defense for merely, simply expressing his thoughts, ideas over the tragedy at Kennedy High School---”

“By thoughts-ideas,” Deangelo interrupted. “You mean crack-, no, splintered-pot conspiracies.”

“Opinions are protected under our constitution, sir.” Wilkinson steadily countered.

“And how do you think the parents of those murdered kids react to that? Or those whack-jobs that chased them around the country saying they lied it ever happening?” Deangelo snipped.

I remember that wretched event. A crazy with a handgun… no, crazy would give him an excuse. Angry and spiteful is what he was. A hateful monster who had to show everyone just how much hated by turning a pistol on a bunch of kids who never did nothing to warrant the thought of execution.

If my brain still works like it did in life, I recall that this Patrick Pearl was a pundit that had enough raging bile to fill a lifetime supply of chemically-questionable energy drink. He accused the parents of those poor children of staging the massacre to push an agenda. Then his listeners went out on personalized crusades, though I’d argue that Pearl personally spear-headed their operations, and harassed the grieving parents to force a confession out of them. A confession that their departed children are un-dead and admit they’re part of a conspiracy.

Crazy. Insane. Inhumanly uncaring and blindly hateful.

“Those people, who you have described as whack, were apprehended by police. And, I am for, no matter how disgusting, the expression of beliefs. By all.” Wilkinson punctuated. “It was written by our Founding Fathers and it’s justly defended by our troops.” He spoke. All he was missing was the podium.

“Thank you, Senator Suck-up,” Deangelo replied sarcastically. “For being such a stand-up guy and having such a boner for the military.

“In fact, seems to me that you’d would have loved for there to be nothing but boners in the ranks.” Wilkinson coughed like he’d taken a sip of an imaginary drink and was caught off guard once Deangelo said that brazen tidbit. Then the passed-on veteran went on.

“But what am I talking about, you’re a consistent man. So, you must’ve had a good reason to propose that standing during the national anthem should be a requirement.” Oh, now that I could not forget. There was this wave of protest started by a 49er boy against police brutality and how much the departments were not doing to, at the minimum, reduce the frequency. I recall that a boy, Jalal Holmes, did just that at a football game for his high school. My neighbor Dwight, nicest man I ever did know, and with a comedy routine that consisted of fart jokes, stood in front the boy’s house and set fire to the jersey he owned that had Jalal’s name and player number. That boy’s father Zakariah stormed out his house like God Almighty called down the thunder toward Dwight. I had never heard that man cuss but I heard him, clear as a polished trumpet, swearing so much I believed Jesus felt a headache come on. And him and he were the best of friends.

“Those athletes showed spite, hostility toward a national treasure of a symbol. And, thus, showed the men who fought to make sure those colors still fly.” Wilkinson pitted. “How could you go say to me, to all people still alive right now, that they should do such a---”

“He never said they should have done it,” I cut in, suddenly and loudly, breaking Wilkinson from his word-twisting statement. “And don’t try to say that is what he was saying because it wasn’t.” Wilkinson was stunned, like how any politician appears when he answers a tough question only for it to be asked again, and with just a yes or a no.

“Yeah, I never said they should’ve done all that kneeling,” Deangelo echoed. “I thought it shouldn’t have been done. That player who started that whole movement was given the suggestion to kneel by a fellow vet like me and I still think he and anyone else shouldn’t have done it.” Wilkinson opened his mouth again to push back into the debate, but Deangelo was quicker.

“But all I ever heard from you, your cult-followers, and your bought buddies is what he… what anybody, can’t do and you wanted to make it a law.”

“So, you still approve of flagrant scorn---”

“Bobby,” Deangelo halted Wilkinson once again from putting words in his mouth. “I’ll phrase this so that there’s no way for you or the rest of the Stooges can mistake or misuse it.” He told the late politician, while insulting Shirley and Ted Leo for extra measure. “I fought for my country so that anyone back home could express what they wished to express, not so that cowardly assholes could use me as a hand puppet to zip the lips on people for saying something they don’t want to hear.

“Do I think there are some things people shouldn’t say? Yes, I do, there’s actual consequences to words. I don’t think total strangers should yell faggot or retard at everyone, and yeah, I’ll tell them they shouldn’t. But do I try to shove a kind of allegorical gun in peoples faces demanding they say or do what I want them to? No, I don’t.” Deangelo finally closed out his statement and then took a stand that looked as though he was ready to outlast whatever rallying defense Wilkinson might try to playback to him.

DING

Same as before, any bustle that was happening slammed on its breaks. Seemed to me that the single door we’d been in front of was now “our door,” and I and the four that remained invoked a wish that needed no words spoken or hands clasped. The operator, they’re shining head smoother-looking than a boiled egg, stood unflinching out towards the open-eared crowd with his mismatched smirk.

“Deangelo Zanca,” the Operator called. Deangelo looked over at me and the look he gave said that it was he who was beckoned for passage. I didn’t say a word but my voice hitched nonetheless. Time meant nothing in this place meant to be a rest stop before the first real step into the beyond, yet I felt like my best friend since forever was going away and all means of staying in touch were obliviated. “Deangelo Zanca,” the Operator repeated, as though they were a voice on a cassette tape on playback.

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Deangelo said to me, quoting Humphrey Bogart. He walked toward his destiny and stepped into the hands that would show him his fate, and the Operator closed the door to leave all of us to wait once again. For minutes that’d feel like hours that felt like days.

The doors slid shut, and now my last peer was gone and was stuck behind.

“As that saying, that phrase goes,” Wilkinson piped in once the loud silence returned to droning, distracting debate. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.” I heard Ted Leo and Shirley readily sound off in agreement to him, even echoing his words. I kept quiet then, as I was not invested in engaging those three in anything, especially not Wilkinson.

“The man may have been a soldier for our honorable, our strong military,” Wilkinson continued. “But it’s exceptionally clear and upfront to me that Mr. Deangelo is that type that makes it hard for the good, the decent folk who just want to live, to speak, and to stand up freely.” He went on, as though he was standing above a crowd of his adoring supporters who hung on to every word. Ted and Shirley certainly were filling in those roles as they gave their affirmations from the first consonant to the last beat.

“And if it’s on your minds, yes, yes, I refer to the people who cried war when I personally shut down those altars for murder.” That statement kicked me from inside my stomach. The metaphorical altars he was recounting were the women’s medical centers that were around my part of my home state. That was the fancy term for an abortion clinic.

Wilkinson was, while he still had the lungs to breath his hot air, a staunch man’s man of the right wing, as he would want his people to believe. America was first, the rest second, and carried a list in his head and on the tip of his tongue any number of things would be the crack to shatter an already fracturing American society. Men marrying men, women kissing other women, women putting on big boy pants to do a man’s job, and individuals of Hispanic or non-Caucasian descent taking jobs that few white people truthfully wanted.

And that abortion was no less than the malicious severing of a life that had been horrendously deprived a chance to do great things, good or ill.

I’m not pro-choice, myself. I had two unplanned daughters at a time where I was making barrel-bottom bank in teaching and tutoring and probably should’ve had more abundant resources at the ready to ensure their futures. I had them anyway because I always planned to have little children. Just came earlier than planned, but plans change. But I knew how lucky I was when my girls still became the incredible people they were, because it could’ve been worse. And I claim only so much credit for that outcome, as much as my older sister who had Jesus’ heart on her shoulder, as I believe that she carried me through those stormy days and hard nights.

Wilkinson made an oath on his campaign trail for governor of my state that he’d combat the opioids and other narcotics that were in his state, and ensure the greater well-being of the people he would be looking over in both health and happiness. I’d heard politicians make those kinds of pleas to the public to get themselves a shiny new office with a shiny new desk. And my dear old Dad said I’d be better off praying to the sun to not burn no one then to trust those kinds of words. But, when life was tougher than trying to sift sand through a colander, where in my county we had so many poor folks we were like a colony, I just had to believe that maybe, just maybe, perhaps for once, I could put my faith in Bobby Wilkinson to uphold his end of the bargain when he got my vote.

“There is not, by God, not anything that can justify those horrific institutions, with He as my witness.” Ted Leo swore. I could think up two. Like if a woman couldn’t tick down their list of things that said their unplanned baby could be a wanted child, or if it was a baby that was having a baby.

However, for me, I had another, more personal, close to my heart, reason, to have wanted those clinics to stay open. And it was why, as much as I deeply wished I didn’t possess such a poisonous emotion, I hated Bobby Wilkinson.

“It’s their own fault for getting knocked up in the first place.” Shirley jumped in, wanting to be in on the crowd. “Take responsibility. It might not be your plan, whore, but it’s His plan.” She bespoke on her Lord and convenient Savior’s behalf, ringing her blazing tone aloud like a blaring crow.

“I do my best, my absolute best to keep myself a humble, a respectful, an unpretentious soul, but I saved the lives of many a soul.” I clenched my fist when Wilkinson declared this false victory.

“Saved the lambs from the slaughter.” I clenched my toes.

“Averted a massacre, a genocide time and time over.” I clenched my jaw.

“Yes, indeed, by the grace of God.”

“Amen.”

“Be quiet,” I exclaimed at the triad. “You miserable vultures.” They all looked at me as if they just felt a butterfly bite them with a wasp’s sting. “You didn’t save no one, you liar.” I accused.

“Uh, uh, ma’am, madam” Wilkinson recovered, bringing his guard back. “I am afraid that I do not understand what that outburst was for.”

“I voted for you,” I told. “You promised that you’d help clean up the drugs that flooded the state you called home,” I recounted bitterly.

“Ma’am, what in the world—” Wilkinson tried to speak his piece, but my mind was not at enough peace to let him speak until I spoke mine. And he was going to have a piece of my mind.

“Jovanni Dodge, my brother, uncle, math teacher, advocate, husband to a wonderful and father to a beautiful, and a recovering addict,” I testified to him. “And that clinic was what could’ve saved his life.” Wilkinson, and his two yes-people, looked at each and then looked at me. Like they were wondering if maybe the quiet woman they believed I was had walked away and a look-alike of her came in.

“Beg your pardon, young lady,” Shirley began, asking of me, “Why would a place of murder be a thing that could save a life?”

“The Ketch Women’s Clinic, in the county that he lived in, that was the only HIV testing place within miles.” I told to Wilkinson, because he was who had to hear this. “And it also provided clean needles for addicts who were wanting to be rid of their terrible habit. My brother had been fighting heroin for two whole years, and he was so close to finally beating it.”

“But then,” I continued, my scowl deepening to where it could be there forever. “And then you shut it down. Jovanni fought so hard and so long and thanks to you, he went cold turkey and fell right back into his death spiral.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Bobby Wilkinson tried to divert. “My condolences and I’m sorry for your loss, by the way, but he chose to reinsert that needle in his veins.”

“Yes, he did, I concede to that. But because you shut it down, no one could get clean needles. Jovanni was infected with HIV after he had to share a needle and like a case of the flu, nearly half the people in Ketch got infected.” I spelled out to him.

“Uh-hah,” Wilkinson guffawed, which he attempted to cover up as a cough. Although the preacher and the ex-drunk weren’t so mindful.

“Ms. Jane, God bless you, that doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Wilkinson did right by closing down that ill place of infanticide.” Ted Leo shielded.

“And you, Mr. Leo,” I retorted. “Ought to know that women’s clinic in my county never provided termination services to begin with.” In fact, over a quarter of those places didn’t actually provide those services Wilkinson had sought to cut off.  

“Ma’am, once more, deepest apologies and sympathies, but I quickly turned around and halted the outbreak. I asked my commissioner to tell me seriously what ought to be done and—”

“You went home and prayed on it and a month later God answered you shall restart the clean needle exchange, I know the thread you spun, Bobby Wilkinson,” I spat his words back at him. “And I still believe your words as much as I believe a rat is a squirrel.”

“Now hold on, Missy.” Shirley scolded at me, as if I was her child. “He may have struck a small number of places that had nothing to do with those murder castles, but he still struck a righteous blow against the ones that did. Bobby Wilkinson was, and still is, the good, spiritual, worthy man that he always said he was.” She grinned in self-assurance, taking home a hypothetical gold medal for debate against her lesser opponent, me. But I wasn’t fazed. I was alive long enough to witness the governor’s fall from the stage that ended his life, and the bombshell tip that shred his legacy that Shirley and Ted still clung to in shreds.

“Would a righteous man, or just a decent person, have ignored the warnings that told him what would happen if he did close those places and ended that program, hm?” I responded, my sass creeping into my voice. “Because after he’d stuck his skull with the sharp end of that revolutionary rifle, a former aid of his came clean to the press that they had, in fact, warned Wilkinson that shutting down those health centers would have the consequences that came afterward.”

“Yes.” I cut in again sharply. “Wilkinson was told that an infection could break out and he went ahead and closed them anyway.”

“Well, ahem, Ms. Dodge. You see,” I could see sweat on his brow, as he thought of what line he could use in his handbook of handwaves to pardon or distract. This was what Wilkinson would do if someone snagged his line. He was good at laying it on thick when he spoke, but once he was caught with his hand in vault box, that silver knife in his mouth found out it was spreading him too thin.

“You must understand. Miss Dodge. I had a lot of promises to keep… They couldn’t give up their lifestyles and then… Well, I promised my people I’d improve the public’s health, and closing those places had to do with protecting women’s health, yes?” I could hear the quotation marks around women’s health when he said the words, and my eyeballs, my lids, and my brows told him visibly as a lit flashlight in a blacked-out room that I was still waiting for a hunky-dory conclusion to his defense.

“What was I supposed to do?” Wilkinson appealed, petitioning for compassionate accord. “You do know, at least remember, how many evangelicals and others lived in your state and how loud they are, right?” He argued, earning him the unnoticed judgment of Ted Leo and Shirley as they could hear him trying to throw them under the bus. “I needed to do something to get them on my side, and even those moderates are on the pro-life side if you ask them about it, so—” He took a big pause, like he was reminding himself that people need to breath to live. That was a weird thought, considering we were all dead in this big room.

“People like results that are immediate,” the could-have-been senator told in words that weren’t written for him. In other words, he was making an attempt at being honest. “That was the most obvious way to get results. Shallow results, yes, of course, sure, but still it needed to be done. I was warned, clear and simple, and I possibly could’ve tried to use the scalpel over the hammer but my heart was in the right place, and I was thinking about what I thought was the most evident, most undeniable path forward so— Oh why do you keep giving me that look?” He asked desperately, as that look was the one that grown people recognized too much. It was the look their mama’s and papa’s gave them when their little kids keep avoiding saying yes or no to a question, serious or not. Like I said, he attempted to be honest.

“Don’t try to yank me down with that.” I scolded him. “You expect me to see it through your eyes when you can’t even see past your own nose.” Wilkinson wanted sympathy, but I and everyone else who had no fog in their heads had none to give him. The man himself had none to give, withal, even when he still had the life and the power to do more than pray for solutions and think sympathetic thoughts.

“You didn’t care about your state, one bit. Not one, single, little, bit. You just cared about how you could throw your weight around with that shiny desk and pretty governor title.” I accused him.

“But, ma’am, madam… miss. I stopped the infection, I overturned my mistake, I learned my lesson, I---” He pled his case, missing his own urgency to get me to zip my lip. No such progress.

“Like bull, you did. My two baby girls and the rest of their class, half the school, had to transfer to one a district over because you made another cut to teachers’ pay at their middle school. Then you got the children again when you made teaching sex ed illegal. Three teenage girls in just my neighborhood had babies in their bellies before they were fifteen! Oh, and lest we forget,” I phrased eloquently, as if I was speaking a captioned quote to him, complete with my index finger in the air. “You banned churches from sheltering the homeless. Just before winter. What the hell did the homeless ever do to you?

“And each time your aids told you it was a bad idea. They won’t miss that school, you said. It’s what my parent constituents want for their angels, you told them. Who actually wants to host a person who got themselves kicked out their own house, you lied. So much for that promise that you’d look out for the health of your people, huh!” And I had been dumbed down by convicted hope that Wilkinson would uphold the bigger promises, I thought to myself.

“Well—”

“And, you had this to say to your aid about ‘druggies’,” I stopped him hard, with one more, closing sting. And it would make it hard to not get why I had such animosity toward him for the death of my brother.

“They’re drug addicts. People care about them as much as a house cleaner cares about rat shit.” And those were the words that branded Bobby Wilkinson’s good, honest, reprehensible name, under the sky, and six feet under, one that never deserved his power. A late tin-pot tyrant, my smarty-pants youngest baby would’ve called him.

“That seat, our state, it’s people, my people, friends and family. It was a stepping stone to get closer to more power. And that stone was made up of all our necks.”

Bobby Wilkinson clenched his fists and reopened them. He did that again, while grinding his teeth. He had to be trying to push out an assemblance of a reply. Because he just had to save himself, somehow. Save himself in the eyes of his own self-judgment that he was good, or at least not bad. Same as what Shirley and Ted Leo had to be doing, in this place without defined space or precise time.

DING

Our door opened up, like clockwork. And as likely as a good clock will tick down the seconds, the Operator called out for the next soul to reach their spot in the afterward. “Zari Khalili.”

A small, rail-limbed woman in a hijab with her eyes to the floor directly before her passed us, obviously heeding her name. And I could obviously feel the thinking stares of the three-ring circus.

“I know where she’s going.” Shirley said spitefully.

“Personally, even if I know the Lord’s got his reasons, his will be done, it’d be so that the willfully ignorant to his light just went there immediately.” Ted Leo added, his mercy clear as an unwashed window. All I did was sigh for the both of them as I hated that I’d predicted what their thoughts had to be.

“Why…” Bobby Wilkinson chimed, suddenly, incompletely. “Why won’t they just call…” Once more, he didn’t finish his phrase. “I’m sick, done with waiting here.” He protested weakly.

“Yes…” Shirley agreed. “I been here longer than that no good— why can’t they just say our names? I’ve been good, I’ve said my prayers, begged for my absolution, I should be in my right place by now.” The woman listed, as if she expected it to work like a magic spell and at last summon the Operator with her ticket to the good life thereafter.

“Be patient in affliction, my children.” Ted Leo encouraged with a hand on Wilkinson’s and Shirley’s shoulder. “He has a room prepared for all of us here, and we have not been wearied in doing good. We did right by the Lord, our God, and any moment that door will open, our names will be called, and we’ll earn our reward.” The late preacher pontificated, assuring Bobby, Shirley, and himself that they’d receive their compensation for lives superficially well-spent.

“Of course,” Shirley chimed in, wanting in on the affirmation circle like she was the last one who got picked for any ball game. “I— we did our part. He forgives, and bequeaths accordingly. I know He does. He has to— I’ll be— We’ll be called on.”

“Are you really so sure.” I droned; my look averted from them still. “Do you believe that, or do you know it?”

“Guh-hah,” Ted Leo laughed in his throat, a restrained guffaw as if there was some nerve in my question. “Ma’am, bless you, but do I detect doubt in your voice?” Yes, you do, I answered in thought. And doubt’s no bad thing. It’s made sure that I didn’t listen to hucksters done up in cloth of a clergyman.

“Just see me as a kooky woman for a second and humor my thought process.” I petitioned, now turned around so I could do the talking and my back not required to do the listening. Ted rolled his neck and stood with his feet apart in a ready stance, so I spoke my notion. “I just met you. Met all you three. And at this moment you’re telling me you’re sure that your place in paradise is a cinch. All sewn up, a sure bet your fate is with Him.”

“You bet, ma’am.” Ted Leo answered, with no stammer or stutter to emit that he had any irresolution at all. “I’m no betting man, as it is forbidden. But I safely bet, that as sure as there’s a God in Heaven, that I… as well as these two… am due to walk into His arms when they call our names and enter those doors.”

“Definitely. Assuredly.” Wilkinson mirrored.

“He’s got to.” Shirley parroted.

“Very well,” I conceded. “Then why wait.” They all peered at me as if to beg for my pardon. “Don’t wait for them call your name. Walk up to those doors and just, invite yourselves in.”

“Uh, sorry, I apologize, but I don’t think those are rules.” Wilkinson vouched.

“I don’t see a whiteboard. No blackboard either. Or even big screen with a long list.” I pushed. “Maybe you got it all wrong. Go, take a seat in front of that door and wait.”

“It, it might be awful rude if we presumed.” Ted Leo distrustfully reasoned, trouble laced in his speech. “It’s all part of a plan, and it’d be terrible to go against what He might wish for.”

“I think He’s flexible,” I countered. “He’s lived so long He knows how unpredictable we can be as His creation. I don’t think three people coloring outside the lines will do a thing to his mood.”

“Now, now, wait, wait, that ain’t true,” Shirley interjected, her defenses starting to enfeeble once more, as though she might be fighting to not do what I was suggesting. “So many people have gone outside His boundaries and He sent His wrath on them. Uh, um, Sodom and Gomorrah. The Egyptians. AIDS, the fires on the East coast, uh, uh, muh…” Shirley searched for more examples, something to rebalance herself and say why the last word had to be hers. Or someone that wasn’t me.

“Nah, come on, go on. We’re already dead, right, so this is your chance. Stand in front of that door and run in when it opens.” I dared, spearing my cuticle right toward the gate that would take us all, as far we, and they, believed. “Go on! Do it! It’s right there!” I held my ground for several seconds, waiting for them. A fraction of me was truly waiting for one of any of them to do what I was risking of them, but the rest of me already predicted that none of them would try it. And I, like a goose aiming its bill southward to get away from cold winter, knew why.

“You’re scared.” I told them. “Scared that when— if you did, it’s gonna go the other way. You’re scared to see what could be waiting if you go in and it opens to the other place.”

“And who are you to judge us!?” Shirley screamed at me. “Are you really so righteous, hm? Have you never made mistakes or begged for forgiveness or done nothing wretched!?”

“Sure, I have.” I responded simply. “I wasn’t the best sister I could’ve been. There was a time I was so uninterested in working I became a leech to my big sister, and I didn’t think twice about how much she had to be doing to help me out when I was barely doing anything. I even cheated on my husband for a man that I wasn’t really in love with. And I neglected my health until it was too late, and it cost me my liver. Now my baby girls will have to go on without their mama.

“But I cleaned up my act and got back on feet, paid back my sister the great motivator for all she tolerated. My husband and I couldn’t recover from the hurt I’d put on him, and we split, but he and I promised we’d never resent each other and now he’s out there, still breathing, ready to take care of my girls even if they’re grown.” I told them all with absolute faith.

“And all that is exactly what you three didn’t do,” I addressed to them, altogether. “I made some wounds on the world and I did my best to heal them.

“You all hurt the world you came from and had done too little to heal it.” I explained to them, as they tried to utter something that could keep up their denial of what pain they’d caused. But no words were coming out of their lips.

“You ran your state like your personal plot of land and said it was for the greater good. You coaxed people out of their money and labeled it charity. And you, you may have only directed your abuse to one person, but you got the nerve to say that locking away your baby and throwing bottles at her head was love. I’ve seen love, even heard it and held it and tasted it, and what love you had was rinsed out with the backwash at the bottom of a bourbon bottle,” I pointed at them, Wilkinson, Ted Leo, and Shirley all.

DING

The threesome whipped their heads to the door, like deer who just heard a twig break in the distance. I took slightly longer, turning to face the door and reserved myself to listen to who the Operator called.

“Jane Dodge.” I froze for fifteen whole seconds as if I’d been blasted in the ear by a trumpet. The Operator looked at me with that unchanging smile that wasn’t made to make friends. That face never changed by even a muscle twitch, but the look they had made me imagine they had a raised brow of awaiting. Waiting for me to respond and enter.

I took timed steps into the vehicle that’d deliver me to my soul’s final destination, holding myself to my words from before. I meant what I said, that fear or stressful tension would not hold me to this waiting room. I didn’t spare the three one look of goodbye or an acknowledging side glance over the shoulder as I stepped within the box, but I turned around in time to see those threes’ faces just before the doors closed. All of them were different, but they all waved signs with the exact same message; next time, next time for sure it’d be one of them, for sure next time.

I stood behind and to the left of the Operator as they pushed the lone round button to start the journey. I heard no strain of a cable, felt no upward pull or downward slack. I had to assume that we were moving. The Operator didn’t attempt conversation and they didn’t flex a single joint as this blank box went whoever knew which way.

“What does it look like?” I asked, out of a need to cut the silence and sate an urgent curiosity. “Up… up there?” The Operator didn’t answer me, nor did they acknowledge my words.

“Or… or the other place?” I asked again, hoping that they’d answer this time.

“Isolated, cut-off, empty, with the noiseless barrage of weeping and gnashing of teeth.” They responded this time. I wished they hadn’t now. What made the regret all the more was how they seemed to take a measure of pleasure out of telling me, even if they wasn’t facing me.

Now I was scared. I’d been so before but now there was no crossed agitation to mask over it.

I ran movies in my head over my life that was no longer.

What had I done during my living years to believe that I actually think I may stand alongside my mother and father in that afterworld my pastors always said was promised to the good folk? Did I leave a little heaven behind on my way to next life? What exactly was counted as good? How much help had I given to others? Have I hurt or hated less people than I aided and loved? What if hating just one person was enough to undo my chances? Yes, I was piqued at Bobby Wilkinson but I didn’t actually hate him, did I? But if I did, I had a good reason to, right? Am I being selfish thinking I should be getting go to a good life in the hereafter?

What was I going to see when those doors opened?

I imagined a burst of flame that would fill this box and leave the Operator on his lonesome with not even my ashes remaining. No, I was already dead, so maybe it’d be this red, soot-dusted claw, bigger than me, that would reach in faster than I could scream to drag me away. Or I could end up in yet another limbo. A gray valley where there’s no sound and only phantoms of what could’ve been.

“We’ve arrived.” The Operator announced. Not one part of me challenged to move. My eyelids turned down the instinct to blink and my lungs rejected any offer to fill up on oxygen.

The doors parted.

A gold, pearly light shined in, blinding me. I had to toss my arms in front of my eyes thinking the shine might just singe them for real. Then calm overtook me. Then peace, and then assurance. I let my arm fall back to my side as blazing light faded into a friendly glow of warm embrace.

I took two steps forward, and looked out. There was a sky so blue it was like not one gloomy cloud of grey ever appeared in it once. Tall, green grass that looked as soft as the kindest heart that I could make a silk blanket out of it. A wind that blew just right that it seemed like it was singing hello to me. In the distance, too, was a house. I knew it couldn’t be that one, with the same stories spiced into every coat of paint and laid into every brick, but someone here made the effort to make it look just like my sister’s home.

“Hey! Ms. Dodge!” That was Deangelo’s voice. I took another step and saw him waving at me with a German Shepherd dog jumping at his side. “Check it out! It’s Raff, my old dog from my army days!

“And look, look!” He got the canine to calm down and held it’s head like a papa who wanted to show off his brand, spanking new baby to the whole world, and I saw that the doggy had this pink mark over one of its eyes. “I know it’s him because he’s got the same scar from his missing eye! I mean it’s not gone anymore but still it’s him!”

I heeded at the Operator, my dark browns asking what my mouth couldn’t.

“It is real.” The Operator responded clearly.

“They’re right.” Oh Lord, is it? It was. Steff showed up at the entrance, her hospital gown disappeared and replaced in a best dressed for a music fest.

“Come on,” Steff urged. “This place isn’t just everything we thought it was. It’s more.” She held out an inviting hand, wide open to take mine and show a place where there was no more strife, and just the goodness that what meant for all in life.

I took her hand. She didn’t need to pull me as I seemed to float with my feet buoying on top of lush, warm air, and my heart increased in peace. Steff smiled at me and began to try and take me to whatever wonder there might be to see, but I didn’t budge yet.

One question, a noisy demand for an answer rattle against the back of my skull until it dinged into the front of my mind and caught me to stop.

“Hey?” I asked, tentatively, of the Operator. They stopped and looked to me with gaze that didn’t blink, not once or ever.

“I saw so many entrances down in that waiting place. Why can’t you just get everyone in a line and send them where they should go? Either up where I am or down there.”

“Down there?”

“You know---- down, down there.”

“Miss. Where do you think they are right now?”

And then the doors closed.

And for those three and the rest like them, that had hurt and excused it with no anguish for its infliction, the gates wouldn’t open They’d be isolated, cut-off, empty, and left to weep and gnash their teeth. Their want for a just reward will stay as a want.

END

[nancygduarteus]

America Blew It on Arugula

In hindsight, there were plenty of indications over the past decade that American politics were headed toward the partisan sniping and low-stakes media obsessions that crowd the news cycle today. Take Arugulagate. In 2007, Barack Obama was in Iowa, speaking as a presidential hopeful to a group of farmers who were worried about the stagnation of their crop prices while America’s grocery bills continued to rise.

In his speech, Obama referred to the inflated cost of arugula at Whole Foods, which was a small gaffe: Iowa didn’t have a Whole Foods, and the leafy vegetable wasn’t then familiar enough to be name-checked while making a broad point about American grocery costs. But political media turned arugula into its own news cycle, with conservatives charging Obama with elitism. Around the same time, lattes were also being slandered. It was a big moment for food as proof of one’s true ability to govern.

Obama went on to win the 2008 election, but arugula never quite recovered. According to Google Trends data, kale and arugula were of similar popularity in America at the time, but shortly thereafter, kale gained a decisive lead over its counterpart in the competition for America’s Next Top Leaf. Today, arugula trails far behind both kale and spinach in popularity. Americans who heard about it for the first time via political gaffe apparently didn’t leap to give it a try, and it has also been usurped by more novel choices in the progressive corners of food culture that first embraced it as a European crossover. Arugula is neither enduringly trendy, like kale, nor so lame that millennial irony breathes new life into it, like it has with iceberg wedge salads.

In spite of all of those obstacles, arugula persists in quiet superiority as the best-tasting, most versatile, and easiest-to-prepare of the common greens. All it has ever done is help make things delicious: It’s great as a crunchy topping for sandwiches, piled atop a Neapolitan pizza, or as a nutritious base for a salad. It shouldn’t have to provide all that pleasant, peppery flavor just to reside in a vegetal purgatory between the broad commonality of spinach and kale’s trendy coastal dominance. The vegetable has brought more than enough to the table to earn the ubiquity it’s never had.

Arugula was put through the ringer during the 2008 presidential election because Obama’s opponents claimed it was intolerably fancy. In reality, it just lacked broad American name recognition, which might make something seem more exotic than it really is. It was also vaguely associated with Europe, which is not the same thing as “fancy.”

The plant has been around for approximately a zillion years, and it’s even mentioned in the Bible and Talmud. Geographically, that makes sense: Arugula originates in the coastal Meditteranean. Rocket, rocquette, or rucola, as arugula is more commonly known outside the U.S., is widely eaten in Europe, and especially in Italy. That commonality translates to America, to a certain extent: Google Trends data suggests that the most interest in the vegetable is concentrated in states with significant Italian-American populations.

Price-wise, arugula isn’t any less accessible than any other fresh green in the country. At the grocery store in my neighborhood, which is so unimpressive that it regularly lacks at least one essential ingredient for my favorite chicken soup, both the organic and conventional varieties of arugula cost the same per pound as baby spinach, kale, and “spring mix” greens. I don’t know how it compares in price to frisee; there wasn’t any in the store, probably because no one has ever wanted to eat frisee.

Arugula also offers something none of those greens do: It has a distinctly pleasant flavor all its own, even before you dress it, sauté it, or layer it on top of a burger. The plant is frequently described as peppery or even spicy. That might be overstating it a bit, but it still provides more than just a bit of crunchy nutrition to the meals it joins. Even better, it doesn’t quickly get limp and soggy, unlike chopped romaine. Arugula’s small, tender leaves and thin stems are ready to eat with just a quick wash, instead of requiring the preparer to dismantle it and beat it into submission, unlike kale.

Arugula should be such an easy sell, if not tarnished by political backbiting. To understand what was holding it back and what could be done, I spoke to Darby Hughes, the brand strategy director at quench, a marketing agency focused on the food and beverage industry. He said the solution might lie in the foreign markets where the plant is already a dietary staple: a different name. “What if we embrace the name ‘rocket?’ That might very well destigmatize it,” he says.

Hughes cautions that before growers rebrand their entire business, they should run some tests on potential names to see if the idea is indeed wise. “I don’t want to hurt my existing sales to arugula fanatics,” he says. But I feel like us leafheads (if I may) would seek out our fix no matter the name. And rebranding has had huge upsides for other fresh foods. Hughes notes that the Chilean sea bass got its name after its real moniker, “Patagonian toothfish,” failed to connect with anyone. With its more stylish title, the species has become a well-known symbol of seafood sophistication.

If arugula (excuse me, rocket) were to gain the American dietary prominence it so richly deserves, it would probably be relatively simple for the country’s farmers to keep up with the demand. In an interview for PBS in 2017, the arugula farmer Carl Glanzman said that cultivating the green is simple. “It thrives well on total abuse,” he says, which is maybe why arugula still stands a chance at all in America. “It doesn’t mind growing with grass, it doesn’t mind growing with other weeds.” It grows all year and is resistant to cold weather.

That hardiness might give the plant an additional edge on a popular green competitor: Much of the country’s winter romaine lettuce availability stems from just one part of Arizona, which has made it vulnerable to food-borne illness outbreaks that have wiped out availability across America for months.

When you look at the particulars, it sure seems like the vagaries of partisan politics have once again denied Americans the full potential of a thing they might have otherwise enjoyed. But there’s still time for people to let arugula into their hearts. Glanzman’s farm—and many of his rocket-buying restaurant clients—just happens to be in Iowa.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2019/03/arugula-rocks-come-at-me-spinach/585571/?utm_source=feed

[ionecoffman]

America Blew It on Arugula

In hindsight, there were plenty of indications over the past decade that American politics were headed toward the partisan sniping and low-stakes media obsessions that crowd the news cycle today. Take Arugulagate. In 2007, Barack Obama was in Iowa, speaking as a presidential hopeful to a group of farmers who were worried about the stagnation of their crop prices while America’s grocery bills continued to rise.

In his speech, Obama referred to the inflated cost of arugula at Whole Foods, which was a small gaffe: Iowa didn’t have a Whole Foods, and the leafy vegetable wasn’t then familiar enough to be name-checked while making a broad point about American grocery costs. But political media turned arugula into its own news cycle, with conservatives charging Obama with elitism. Around the same time, lattes were also being slandered. It was a big moment for food as proof of one’s true ability to govern.

Obama went on to win the 2008 election, but arugula never quite recovered. According to Google Trends data, kale and arugula were of similar popularity in America at the time, but shortly thereafter, kale gained a decisive lead over its counterpart in the competition for America’s Next Top Leaf. Today, arugula trails far behind both kale and spinach in popularity. Americans who heard about it for the first time via political gaffe apparently didn’t leap to give it a try, and it has also been usurped by more novel choices in the progressive corners of food culture that first embraced it as a European crossover. Arugula is neither enduringly trendy, like kale, nor so lame that Millennial irony breathes new life into it, as with iceberg-wedge salads.

In spite of all those obstacles, arugula persists in quiet superiority as the best tasting, most versatile, and easiest to prepare of the common greens. All it has ever done is help make things delicious: It’s great as a crunchy topping for sandwiches, piled atop a Neapolitan pizza, or as a nutritious base for a salad. It shouldn’t have to provide all that pleasant, peppery flavor just to reside in a vegetal purgatory between the broad commonality of spinach and kale’s trendy coastal dominance. The vegetable has brought more than enough to the table to earn the ubiquity it’s never had.

Arugula was put through the wringer during the 2008 presidential election because Obama’s opponents claimed that it was intolerably fancy. In reality, it just lacked broad American name recognition, which might make something seem more exotic than it really is. It was also vaguely associated with Europe, which is not the same thing as “fancy.”

The plant has been around for approximately a zillion years, and it’s even mentioned in the Bible and Talmud. Geographically, that makes sense: Arugula originates in the coastal Meditteranean. Rocket, rocquette, or rucola, as arugula is more commonly known outside the U.S., is widely eaten in Europe, and especially in Italy. That commonality translates to America, to a certain extent: Google Trends data suggests that the most interest in the vegetable is concentrated in states with significant Italian-American populations.

Price-wise, arugula isn’t any less accessible than any other fresh green in the country. At the grocery store in my neighborhood, which is so unimpressive that it regularly lacks at least one essential ingredient for my favorite chicken soup, both the organic and conventional varieties of arugula cost the same per pound as baby spinach, kale, and “spring mix” greens. I don’t know how it compares in price to frisee; there wasn’t any in the store, probably because no one has ever wanted to eat frisee.

Arugula also offers something none of those greens do: It has a distinctly pleasant flavor all its own, even before you dress it, sauté it, or layer it on top of a burger. The plant is frequently described as peppery or even spicy. That might be overstating it a bit, but it still provides more than just a bit of crunchy nutrition to the meals it joins. Even better, it doesn’t quickly get limp and soggy, unlike chopped romaine. Arugula’s small, tender leaves and thin stems are ready to eat with just a quick wash, instead of requiring the preparer to dismantle it and beat it into submission, unlike kale.

Arugula should be such an easy sell, if not tarnished by political backbiting. To understand what was holding it back and what could be done, I spoke to Darby Hughes, the brand strategy director at quench, a marketing agency focused on the food and beverage industry. He said the solution might lie in the foreign markets where the plant is already a dietary staple: a different name. “What if we embrace the name ‘rocket?’ That might very well destigmatize it,” he says.

Hughes cautions that before growers rebrand their entire business, they should run some tests on potential names to see if the idea is indeed wise. “I don’t want to hurt my existing sales to arugula fanatics,” he says. But I feel like us leafheads (if I may) would seek out our fix no matter the name. And rebranding has had huge upsides for other fresh foods. Hughes notes that the Chilean sea bass got its name after its real moniker, “Patagonian toothfish,” failed to connect with anyone. With its more stylish title, the species has become a well-known symbol of seafood sophistication.

If arugula (excuse me, rocket) were to gain the American dietary prominence it so richly deserves, it would probably be relatively simple for the country’s farmers to keep up with the demand. In an interview for PBS in 2017, the arugula farmer Carl Glanzman said that cultivating the green is simple. “It thrives well on total abuse,” he says, which is maybe why arugula still stands a chance at all in America. “It doesn’t mind growing with grass, it doesn’t mind growing with other weeds.” It grows all year and is resistant to cold weather.

That hardiness might give the plant an additional edge on a popular green competitor: Much of the country’s winter romaine lettuce availability stems from just one part of Arizona, which has made it vulnerable to food-borne illness outbreaks that have wiped out availability across America for months.

When you look at the particulars, it sure seems like the vagaries of partisan politics have once again denied Americans the full potential of a thing they might have otherwise enjoyed. But there’s still time for people to let arugula into their hearts. Glanzman’s farm—and many of his rocket-buying restaurant clients—just happens to be in Iowa.

Article source here:The Atlantic

[canvasclothiers]

Holiday Gift Guide 2018, Part One

Apparently, many of you love our gift guide but think it’s been getting too long.  So this year the guide has been split into two. This is the first edition, with the second –the holiday wine guide– coming out in early December. 

Have a great Thanksgiving!

Keith Wallace, Founder Wine School of Philadelphia

Cool People Deserve This

The irony of my job is that I’d probably drink a lot more if it wasn’t for the high-caliber of our students. Self-obsessed wine snobs depress me, which is why we are always looking for more of folks like you. 

Outside of human cloning, the best way is a bit of holiday matchmaking. If you have wine-loving folks on your gift list, maybe send them one of our gift certificates?  They will love it, and I won’t resort to freebasing Zoloft.

A Free $25 Dollar Gift Certificate for New Students

Haven’t attended a class at the school yet? Are you awesome? Well, we have a sweet little gift for you. Bring a friend, and this gift code will take $25 off your first class. Gift Certificate Code: wsop31z8si  

Terms & Conditions: This code will expire in December 2018, you must register for two seats, not valid with other offers, and don’t be a self-obsessed wine snob.

Sommelier  Inspired Gifts

Old City Canning Co.

When Stanford told me his plans for Old City Canning Co, I was skeptical. Why’s this dude making candles?  But then he busted one out, and it all made sense.

The guy’s aced his Sommelier certification and is only a few months from earning his Advanced Somm degree, too. He knows scents as few people do.  And he’s killing it.   “Campfire” is a personal favorite, but the “Driftwood & Moss” is a fantastic background scent for dinner, especially if you pop open a bottle of Pinot Noir.

Locally made candles hand-crafted by a Sommelier? This is an awesome gift.  Check it out here: https://oldcitycanningco.com/

Swarovski Encrusted Wine Key

During last summer’s Wine Instructor Certification program, one of the top sommeliers in the program pulled out this bad boy, and I was smitten with the bling. I’ve been using one ever since, especially when famous winemakers visit. It’s pretty much guaranteed to banish all snobbery from the proceedings.   Check it out here:  http://3marie.com

Wine & Spirits Books for 2018

Is it wrong to still love books so much? 

Hungover: The Morning After and One Man’s Quest for the Cure

A delightful trip down memory lane. Or more precisely, a stumble down the murky recollections of one saucy author. Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall delves deep into the myths and traditions of the morning after. Written with wit and backed with solid academic research, Hungover is the book we all will need this holiday season.   Via Amazon.

Tasting the Past: The Science of Flavor and the Search

Science writer Kevin Begos (Scientific American, New York Times) has crafted an epic journey into the center of wine history. This book is now the defacto standard for teaching wine history at the Wine School.  A deep and compelling book that barbecues some sacred cows while serving up some much-needed scientific rigor. Bravo! Amazon Link

How to Import Wine Second Edition

Starting in the early 90’s, Deborah Gray was importing top-tier wines from Australia to the United States. She introduced Schild Estate and Torbreck to American wine lovers long before the low-rent kangaroos jumped across the globe.

Since released in 2011, the first edition has been the essential guide to wine importing. A lot of laws and procedures have changed in the past seven years, and this edition is a welcome update. If you are thinking of importing (or exporting) wine, this book will be a critical part of your education. Amazon link

  101 Wines to Try Before You Die

This year, some of our suggestions for wine books have been extremely geeky. That comes with the terrior, kiddo. If you are looking for a more hedonistic read, I’d suggest 101 Wines. Be warned: make sure you have a few bucks in your pocket before you pick it up: you’ll be tempted to buy each and every wine in this book.

I have a deep respect for Marget Rand, and her wine choices are well considered. If all you drink are these 101 wine, then you’ve lived well.   Amazon link

Whiskey America

If you’ve been around the world of whiskey, then the name Michael Jackson will drop you into the golden realm of single-malt nostalgia. He was the poet laureate of all things whisk(e)y, and his book, The Complete Guide to Single Malt Scotch, was the trade’s bible.  

With his passing in 2007, the authorship of the tome went to Dominic Roskrow. Over the past few years, he’s come out of Jackson’s shadow and is rightfully known as the greatest living whiskey writer.

If you want to keep up with ongoing trends in American Whiskey, pick up this book. It is one of the top reference books I use for my bourbon tasting classes.   Amazon link. 

The Bourbon Bible

Eric Zandona has an awesome job. He’s the Director of Spirits Information for the American Distilling Institute, a trade group for craft distillers.  He also writes for their in-house publishing group, White Mule Press. The Bourbon Bible is perfect for the new –or newly passionate– drinker of fine bourbon.  The history, the essential bottles, and a compendium of great cocktails are between the pages.  Amazon link.

That’s it for now! Hope to see you soon!

Cheers,

Keith

PS.

The best Thanksgiving wine is the one everyone enjoys at the table. Know your audience! My in-laws love a touch of sweetness in their wines, so I go with a demi-sec Vouvray, a single-vineyard Zin, and a Lambrusco Grasparossa.

    The post Holiday Gift Guide 2018, Part One appeared first on Wine School of Philadelphia.

Source: https://www.vinology.com/wine-gifts/

[jackiedluke]

Holiday Gift Guide 2018, Part One

Apparently, many of you love our gift guide but think it’s been getting too long.  So this year the guide has been split into two. This is the first edition, with the second –the holiday wine guide– coming out in early December. 

Have a great Thanksgiving!

Keith Wallace, Founder Wine School of Philadelphia

Cool People Deserve This

The irony of my job is that I’d probably drink a lot more if it wasn’t for the high-caliber of our students. Self-obsessed wine snobs depress me, which is why we are always looking for more of folks like you. 

Outside of human cloning, the best way is a bit of holiday matchmaking. If you have wine-loving folks on your gift list, maybe send them one of our gift certificates?  They will love it, and I won’t resort to freebasing Zoloft.

A Free $25 Dollar Gift Certificate for New Students

Haven’t attended a class at the school yet? Are you awesome? Well, we have a sweet little gift for you. Bring a friend, and this gift code will take $25 off your first class. Gift Certificate Code: wsop31z8si  

Terms & Conditions: This code will expire in December 2018, you must register for two seats, not valid with other offers, and don’t be a self-obsessed wine snob.

Sommelier  Inspired Gifts

Old City Canning Co.

When Stanford told me his plans for Old City Canning Co, I was skeptical. Why’s this dude making candles?  But then he busted one out, and it all made sense.

The guy’s aced his Sommelier certification and is only a few months from earning his Advanced Somm degree, too. He knows scents as few people do.  And he’s killing it.   “Campfire” is a personal favorite, but the “Driftwood & Moss” is a fantastic background scent for dinner, especially if you pop open a bottle of Pinot Noir.

Locally made candles hand-crafted by a Sommelier? This is an awesome gift.  Check it out here: https://oldcitycanningco.com/

Swarovski Encrusted Wine Key

During last summer’s Wine Instructor Certification program, one of the top sommeliers in the program pulled out this bad boy, and I was smitten with the bling. I’ve been using one ever since, especially when famous winemakers visit. It’s pretty much guaranteed to banish all snobbery from the proceedings.   Check it out here:  http://3marie.com

Wine & Spirits Books for 2018

Is it wrong to still love books so much? 

Hungover: The Morning After and One Man’s Quest for the Cure

A delightful trip down memory lane. Or more precisely, a stumble down the murky recollections of one saucy author. Shaughnessy Bishop-Stall delves deep into the myths and traditions of the morning after. Written with wit and backed with solid academic research, Hungover is the book we all will need this holiday season.   Via Amazon.

Tasting the Past: The Science of Flavor and the Search

Science writer Kevin Begos (Scientific American, New York Times) has crafted an epic journey into the center of wine history. This book is now the defacto standard for teaching wine history at the Wine School.  A deep and compelling book that barbecues some sacred cows while serving up some much-needed scientific rigor. Bravo! Amazon Link

How to Import Wine Second Edition

Starting in the early 90’s, Deborah Gray was importing top-tier wines from Australia to the United States. She introduced Schild Estate and Torbreck to American wine lovers long before the low-rent kangaroos jumped across the globe.

Since released in 2011, the first edition has been the essential guide to wine importing. A lot of laws and procedures have changed in the past seven years, and this edition is a welcome update. If you are thinking of importing (or exporting) wine, this book will be a critical part of your education. Amazon link

101 Wines to Try Before You Die

This year, some of our suggestions for wine books have been extremely geeky. That comes with the terrior, kiddo. If you are looking for a more hedonistic read, I’d suggest 101 Wines. Be warned: make sure you have a few bucks in your pocket before you pick it up: you’ll be tempted to buy each and every wine in this book.

I have a deep respect for Marget Rand, and her wine choices are well considered. If all you drink are these 101 wine, then you’ve lived well.   Amazon link

Whiskey America

If you’ve been around the world of whiskey, then the name Michael Jackson will drop you into the golden realm of single-malt nostalgia. He was the poet laureate of all things whisk(e)y, and his book, The Complete Guide to Single Malt Scotch, was the trade’s bible.  

With his passing in 2007, the authorship of the tome went to Dominic Roskrow. Over the past few years, he’s come out of Jackson’s shadow and is rightfully known as the greatest living whiskey writer.

If you want to keep up with ongoing trends in American Whiskey, pick up this book. It is one of the top reference books I use for my bourbon tasting classes.   Amazon link. 

The Bourbon Bible

Eric Zandona has an awesome job. He’s the Director of Spirits Information for the American Distilling Institute, a trade group for craft distillers.  He also writes for their in-house publishing group, White Mule Press. The Bourbon Bible is perfect for the new –or newly passionate– drinker of fine bourbon.  The history, the essential bottles, and a compendium of great cocktails are between the pages.  Amazon link.

That’s it for now! Hope to see you soon!

Cheers,

Keith

PS.

The best Thanksgiving wine is the one everyone enjoys at the table. Know your audience! My in-laws love a touch of sweetness in their wines, so I go with a demi-sec Vouvray, a single-vineyard Zin, and a Lambrusco Grasparossa.

 The post Holiday Gift Guide 2018, Part One appeared first on Wine School of Philadelphia.

Source: https://www.vinology.com/wine-gifts/

source https://meself84.wordpress.com/2018/11/21/holiday-gift-guide-2018-part-one/ from Sommelier Courses https://sommeliercourses.blogspot.com/2018/11/holiday-gift-guide-2018-part-one.html