#no way did that many people actually vote for us!!! we’re the laughing stock of europe

[fingertipsmp3]

I really feel like eurovision this year was rigged, and not even because of the mic stuff or ABBA’s 50th anniversary. I just don’t believe Austria got that few votes from the public

[sopeacefulandquiet]

Je Veux Être ta Lumière

Genre: Idol!Johnny, Idol!FemReader

Member:  NCT Johnny x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: In which after your first encounter at an award show, Johnny starts to take an interest in you.

A/N: This is my first fan fiction/AU (?) ever, so i hope you do enjoy it. Also, this was originally supposed to be a Johnny x OC but i decided to change it to a Johnny x Reader.

“...And I promise that we will work harder from now, to make our fans extra proud of us.” She bowed down at 90 degrees as finished the speech, thanking the audience quietly and smiling brightly as they clapped and cheered out for her. The award grasped tightly in another one of your member's hand, the name still standing out brightly, ‘Artist Of The Year’.

You stood still and you held your sobbing group member in your arms as another member took to the mic to talk about your hardships since the beginning and how thankful you all were to all your fans and the people that have supported you since the start - you were slightly shocked she even thanked the haters for helping you get to where you are.

You smiled out into the crown, your eyes a little glossy as you refused to cry in front of masses of people staring at you - you were known for that, not crying. You were the emotionless, mysterious member of the group; some people even made jokes that you cried ugly or that you were part of the mafia, which was why so little was known about you. All you did was laugh it off.

Now as you stood on stage, a sobbing 22-year-old in your arms, having won an award many idols can just dream of, you didn’t know if you had the willpower to not cry.

You watched as your members finished giving their speeches and bowed at the crowd as they clapped. You gently pushed her away from you and wiped her tears away. “Jiyoon bro,” you grinned at her, “we just won an award, no more crying, yeah?”

She nodded, sniffling a little, and directed a small smile towards you, which you returned. You grabbed her hand and faced the audience who had watched the whole ‘escapade’ go down and aimed a forced smile at them, your own eyes still slightly blurry with the tears you refused to spill. You looked up and blinked a few times continuously, getting rid of the tears.

You bowed down at the crowd with your members, still holding Jiyoon’s hand as tightly as you could, you were sure you were going to get a little telling off as soon as you sat down in your seats away from the prying eyes of the other idols (most of them anyway).

You looked back up as your group started walking off the stage, still holding Jiyoon’s hand, staring down at your feet intently as you walked, afraid that you’d trip and make a laughing stock of yourself in these 6-inch heels that you were forced to wear -  you could barely walk in them for god's sake.

“I can’t believe you actually listened to her and wore those hideous heels,” Jiyoon grimaced, referencing your horrible stylist, in a low voice as you both walked back to your seats.

“I really had no choice, it was either put them on myself or have them forced on me by some 40-year-old woman,” you replied, “should have seen the glare she gave me when I told her I wasn’t the best at walking in heels, she was about to bury me six feet under, alive at that too,” you added, placing the blanket you had been given over both your laps as soon as you sat down, keeping your eyes on the stage in front of you, trying to give your best reactions to the group performing on stage.

Jiyoon scooted closer to you, making sure the blanket covered both of your legs fully before speaking again, already giggling at what she was about to say. “You should wear heels more often, you're finally tall. It looks good on you my friend.” Giving you an exaggerated smile and a pat on the back, she returned her attention to the stage.

You gave her a playful glare, “Can’t believe we’re friends,” you mumbled, shaking your head at her antics, the grin on her face growing wider indicating that she had heard you,

Both of you immersed yourself with the performance that was going on stage, your group member, Ava, and you coincidentally slapping Jiyoon on her thighs when KARD’s BM ripped his shirt off in the middle of his collaboration stage, Monsta X’s Shownu and Exo’s Kai and Chanyeol following shortly after. You were sure your reaction would be used for one of those videos you always saw going around, the title of the video already floating around in your mind, ‘Enigma’s Y/N Loves Those Abs?!’ you giggled lightly at that. Your fandom had an unusual way of naming videos, that, you could agree with any day.

A nudge in your side brought you back to reality as Jiyoon pointed at the big monitor by the stage, which was playing a replay of Ava and your reaction to the stage, causing you to blush slightly. Embarrassed, you lifted the blanket on your lap and held it in front of your face with one hand, fanning your self with the other, you were sure your face had gone beet red.

You heard laughing and slowly lowed the blanket placing it back on your lap as you leaned forward, glaring playfully at your members.

“Oh shut up, don’t tell me you didn't enjoy it either,” you paused and mouthed,” They were HOT,” you fanned yourself for extra measure (and to also make sure they understood what you were saying). Your members rolled their eyes, shaking their head at your antics. You shook your head back at them, moving to sit back in your seat comfortably, leaning back and watching the performances, dancing the choreography in the limited space you had or just mouthing the lyrics and clapping your hands to the beat when the cameras came around to record your reactions.

Some time had passed, more awards were given out and more performances had taken place and you and your group members were getting more tired and bored. They even showed your leader, Soyeon, yawning during the performance of a popular group; that was something your group and the people sitting around you had a good giggle about as your leader shied away from in embarrassment.

You wished something exciting would happen soon, or you were going to end up falling asleep from boredom. You never did like attending award shows, this was the first time in 4 years you had done so - back then your fans argued that they (award shows) were always doing you wrong, as during the voting for the awards you were leading in the first place, but those awards were given to other people. You would be lying if you said you weren't even a tiny bit upset, but you couldn't blame the groups.

Looking down at the mini screen placed on your table, you noticed the time and cheered quietly, nudging Jiyoon who in return nudged Ava, both turning to look at you. You pointed towards the time on the screen and they both widened their eyes.

“Guys, the break starts in a few.” you cheered.

“The break was supposed to start half an hour ago,” someone from behind you spoke up. The three of you turned around and simultaneously bowed your head at the stranger, who continued to speak, “The time on the monitor is 30 minutes behind, at this rate no one knows when they're going to announce the break.”

Confusion struck you and you furrowed your brows at the stranger.

“Sorry?”

He took out his phone and turned it on, holding it out to you. You were sure he intended to show you the time, which was indeed half an hour ahead, but you couldn't help noticing his lock screen - the literal back of an iPhone - which caused you to burst out in a giggle but you quickly covered it with a cough, which quickly turned into a fit. Ava and Jiyoon leaned over to have a look at what had caused to go into a coughing fit but he had taken the phone away and slid it into his blazer pocket before they could see.

You placed your hand on your chest, patting harshly to calm yourself. You bowed your head at the male sitting behind you before turning to face your group mates.

“He’s right. They moved the clocks back,” you said, defeated, slumping into the sofa. Jiyoon patted your back in sympathy. “Now we’ll never get a break, and I’ll be bored for the rest of eternity,” you called out dramatically.

You turned around again, hoping to talk a little more to the male behind you and maybe get to know his name, but he wasn't there; it was someone else. Before you were able to question the whereabouts of the stranger sitting there before, the one present spoke up.

“Names Mark,” he said suddenly in English, putting his hand out. You clasped his hand in both of your giving it a firm shake before letting go and aiming a warm smile at him.

“I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“Yo, you know English?” he questioned you, sounding a little bit too excited, placing his hand in front of his mouth as he leaned back, in what you assumed was shock.

“Yeah,” you nodded your head at him, hoping to turn around and end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Where are you from,” he questioned, once again before you could fully turn around, “America? Australia? Canada?” He added, continuing to list of different English speaking countries.

“The UK,” you answered him briefly, cutting his rambling off in the process.

His lips formed an ‘O’ as he nodded his head slowly.

“But where in the UK?”

“England”

“Ohhhhh, I thought I sensed a British accent.”

You raised your eyebrow at him or at least tried to. He laughed when he noticed your facial expression.

“Hey, I’d be raising my eyebrow at you if I could Mark.” You said, squinting your eyes at him, in return he just laughed. You smiled at him, finding his laugh to be a little contagious.

You turned around, fully, placing your right leg under your left thigh, trying to get comfortable before realising you were very much still at an award show and then resorting to placing your legs at an angle as you continued to talk to Mark.

“Where are you from?” You questioned him.

“Canada.”

He was quick to reply and you were sure he had been waiting for you to ask him that question as soon as you had started talking to him. You simply smiled at the male, nodding your head again, wondering why it hadn't fallen off with all the nodding you were doing.

“If I'm not being rude, may I ask what group you're from?” You spoke., studying his features as he stared at you, that stupid smile glued to his face.

he nodded his head, before holding his hand out again. You held it, shaking it slowly as he talked.

“Hi, I’m NCT’s Mark,” he responded, holding your hand firmly, still shaking it.

You nodded again, “I’m-”

“Your Enigma’s Y/N,” he cut you off, “I know what group you're from.”

You bowed your head, giving him a bright smile and letting go of his hand.

“So you know my group but not my name and where I'm from?” You question him playfully.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by an approaching figure.

“Mark, move over.”

You looked over at the person who had just approached and realised it was the guy from earlier (the one who had ruined your mood by telling you that there probably wasn't going to be a break throughout the award show anytime soon). You gave him a small and quick bow hoping to turn around before Mark started speaking but of course, you were hit with bad luck.

You stared at Mark as he moved over, giving the guy some room to sit back down before talking again.

“Johnny Hyung, this is Y/N,” he continued to speak in English, to which Johnny raised an eyebrow before nodding slowly. He stared at you for a short while and there was no way you were looking away first so you stared back, sending a small, awkward smile his way, to reduce the awkwardness between the two of you.

“I’m Johnny,” he spoke out suddenly. in an American accent, startling you. You jumped a little as Mark started laughing, throwing his body everywhere and you suddenly felt sorry for the boy sitting next to him, who suddenly had to hold his weight as he was cracking himself up.

“Hyung...Suddenly..” he started before losing it, leaning against the other guy as he continued laughing,” I’m Johnny,” he said once he’d calmed down a little, shrugging his shoulders and pushing his head forward.

You smiled at his antics before shaking your head and smiling.

A light continuous tapping caused you to turn your head, only to come face to face with your leader who looked at you questioningly. You gave her a small smile and looked around confused as you noticed that many people were starting to stand up.

“It’s the break,” Soyeon said, answering your unasked question, “It’ll only last for around 30 minutes, I think, so if you want something time to get it now.”

Your lips formed an ‘O’ shaped as you nodded your head slowly.

“Can we get something to eat?” You asked her, as your stomach let out a small growl. It was speaking to you, begging for food, and you couldn't deprive it of the one thing it had only, always wanted.

Soyeon nodded before taking your hand in hers and pulling you up.

You glanced at the two boys, giving a quick nod of the head and smiling at them, even waving at them as you walked off with your leader, in the quest to get some food - in those godforsaken heels of yours.

[glammackay]

Under a Blanket of Blue - 14/03/21

Synopsis: George and Alexa settle in on their first day in Finland. (Warning: a lot of cuteness) @alexadem​

Alexa: Was the idea of catching a flight to go on a spontaneous vacation with a guy she'd just met a bit of a crazy idea? The majority would vote yes, but honestly, this was the sort of stuff Alexa wanted her life to be made up of. She didn't like to waste any time on the couch, twiddling her thumbs and trying to imagine herself having fun when she could just go out and experience it. Besides, there were literally no red flags surrounding George - to the naked eye, he seemed like the most unproblematic person on the face of the planet, and any qualms she /may/ have had about any potential awkwardness diminished the moment she had spotted him at the airport. One of Alexa's most prominent traits was that she was outgoing, and loved meeting new people, so she had absolutely no issue with running towards the man and greeting him in a tight embrace, nor within anything that followed, not even when the taxi driver had turned out of the city centre and led them more out into the sticks, where that dreamy lodge George had booked was situated. In fact, that had only excited her more. The potential this accommodation and this week, as a whole, had, was enough to keep her smiling the entire journey there. "Well...fuck me" Alexa announced, snowflakes dusting her eyelashes as she looked up at the place they'd be calling home for the forseeable. "Shotgun the biggest bedroom". She shot a smirk over to the actor, crunching her way through the snow up the pathway and stomping out her boots once she'd made it undercover. "So, how does this work? Did they tell you they'd left the key somewhere, or something? I mean...this place /definitely/ has enough places to hide something-" no matter which way she looked, Alexa spotted a new thing to excite her - at the moment, it was the sheltered fire pit that she would definitely be insisting they light up one night.

George: This vacation was somewhat out of character for George. He’d spent time in remote locations with people he hardly knew before, but usually it was some kind of bonding experience with co-workers, not somebody he was coming to know as a friend, and especially not somebody so seemingly different to himself. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to it all. Alexa was a lot more outgoing and forthright than he was, but when talking to her they just seemed to get along so well. She seemed to be doing a good job of bringing him out of his shell a little bit, whilst he was allowing her to just feel comfortable being herself around him. This was the recipe for a great friendship and travelling buddy, no matter how little time had passed since first speaking. He’d been trying to keep the details of the place under wraps, just so he could watch her reaction when the lodge came into view. “It’ll do us, huh?” he grinned, knowing full well the place could sleep thrice as many. “Yeah, I think the secret entrance to the crazy sex dungeon is ‘round the back,” he tried to say seriously, but almost immediately began laughing to himself, his cheeks flushing at the mere notion of him saying such a silly thing. He felt comfortable with at least saying these things aloud to Alexa, even if he didn’t commit to the bit. He could never commit to the bit. “No, umm, there’s a key box somewhere...” he started looking around the entrance way, before spotting what he was searching for. “There it is. Then we just enter the code and...” there it was, the keys in his hand. Front door, back door, sauna door, hut door - they were sorted. “Right, let’s get this thing open, because I’m freezing my tits off.”

Alexa: Raising both her eyebrows as she glanced back and forth between George and the lodge that looked like it could host the Weasley family, Alexa scoffed "ch'yeah, I think it'll do us. We're going to be living like kings and queens, MacKay, I'm /so/ glad I left you in charge of the planning". With her breath visible in the brisk air, the actress shifted from foot to fit in a lame bid to keep warm - maybe she hadn't planned her airport outfit as well as she'd thought she had, but the extent of how cold the country was had come as somewhat of a surprise, although, nothing compared to the shock she felt as George cracked a joke that could've come from her very own mouth. "Oh, oh, I get it. Is this where you bring all your girls so you can act up here, and then re-enter Great Britain as a saint again? Solid plan, I'm almost going to be disappointed if there's not a secret sex dungeon now". Of course, any disappointment would quickly be remedied by all the amenities that this place /did/ have, and once George had got the front door open, Alexa couldn't help but dump her suitcase right in the entrance way, like an eager child who just wanted to run around taking full advantage of everything. "Holy shiiiiiit, this place looks like it's fresh off of MTV's Cribs, you did good. I don't even know where to star-" cutting off short as she remembered her plea for the best room, Alexa side eyed George for a moment, wondering if he was on the same wavelength before dashing off upstairs to check out the bedrooms. She didn't even care what the others looked like really, the first one she laid her eyes on was more than cute enough, with it's slanted roof, cosy decor, and best of all - view out the window, where you could see nothing but miles of snow-topped trees and hills.

George: “Oh no... you’re onto me...” George laughed, stepping aside as he let Alexa make her way inside first, before he enthusiastically followed suit. The place looked even nicer than it had in the photos, and in the photos it looked pretty remarkable. It wasn’t huge, but with the big windows looking out onto the nearby frozen lake - at least that’s what it looked like to George - and the open landing on the floor above, it felt spacious enough. Once again, he keenly watched his company as she dashed around the place, very clearly enjoying herself far too much whilst exploring. It was like letting a child loose in a sweet shop, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He was a little slower at settling himself in - he took the time to shuffle their cases so they were out of the way and ready to go to their respective rooms, before making his way into the small kitchen in search of a kettle. Naturally, the most important thing of any holiday rental was whether or not they had a kettle, which thankfully they did. Once he filled it with some water and put it on, he finally went to see where Alexa had ended up. “So... I take it I did good with finding this place, then?” he smiled at her and sat himself down on her now designated bed. “What do you want to do first? Chill out and settle in or go straight for the hot tub? Or something else? I  think we've got another two hours of daylight.”

Alexa: Fingers dragging themselves over countertops as her eyes took in the room, Alexa immediately made her way over to the window where she allowed herself a moment to let it sink in that she was actually here. About to tick off what had been at the top of her bucketlist for as long as she could remember, and she was almost lost in a sentimental moment when George's voice came from behind her. "You did good," she assured him with a soft smile. "I almost can't believe I'm here, especially not so soon, I wasn't sure if you were just making friendly conversation when you said you were interested, so - thank you for coming with me". Plopping herself down on the edge of the bed, Alexa ran her hands over her knees as she weighed up the options. "Well, you know I'm dying to get in that tub, so why don't we grab something to drink, hop on in, then find somewhere to see the lights from when the sun starts going down? Or, if we're feeling too sluggish, we can always save the venturing further afield for tomorrow night, and just stay cosy tonight? I'm honestly good with either".

George: George’s smile spread from ear to ear at Alexa’s reassurance. He had a feeling he’d done a good job with the location, but her confirming it made him feel even more confident of it. “Hey, now, thank you for coming with me! You know... to my secret sex hideout, that I definitely bring all the ladies I’ve known for two weeks to...” he let out a laugh at his own joke again, this time not blushing quite so much. It seemed he was becoming even more comfortable with his jokes to her. “Yeah, I mean, we’ll probably get a good glimpse of the lights just from here, with the views we’ve got, especially with those big windows downstairs, so maybe we can enjoy them from there with some blankets and music,” he mused, throwing out whatever ideas he thought might sound inviting to his travel companion. He jumped to his feet and made his way to the door, before turning on his heels and pointing his fingers in her direction. “So hot tub first... and we’ll feel our way from there. I just put the kettle on, would you like a hot drink? Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? The owners seem to have stocked all the vitals.”

Alexa: Hair falling across her face as she shook her head with a laugh, Alexa swayed into George, enjoying the fact he was becoming more comfortable with making jokes of the sort. "At least now I know why you really don't have social media, it's a John Tucker Must Die situation, you don't want all your conquests tagging you and being able to find each other". The thought of being able to see the lights from just outside the lodge hadn't even occurred to her, she had assumed there were certain spots that you'd be able to see them from the best, but then she supposed that had been extremely naive - they were in the sky, after all. "At the fire pit?" She suggested hopefully, eyebrows raising. "Sounds perfect to me. And you know, considering we're being all adventurous - I think I'll go for a tea. I've honestly never had one that isn't iced, and I trust you're well trained in the art of tea making. I'll have it however you have it". Following George back downstairs, Alexa practically skipped towards her case to retrieve her bikini - a white, Louis Vuitton one, of course. Admittedly, she was a bit of a brand whore - before taking it into the nearest bathroom and changing into it. She re-emerged a few moments later wrapped in one of the robes that were provided and leant on the kitchen countertop, face in her hands. "Just came to see the master at work. This better be the best damn hot bev that I've ever tasted or I'll severely judge you brits and your obsession".

George: “Tea it is, then,” George nodded his head in agreement, pleased Alexa had made the right choice to him. “And the fire pit, we can definitely check out in a bit. I think it’s called a Lapplander hut or something like that? Don’t quote me on it, though. But it looks really cool,” he spoke, almost to himself as they both went downstairs, and then their separate ways to prepare themselves. He managed to find all the right ingredients for a basic, good cup of tea, and poured them all in to some snow themed mugs for them. He’d just finished removing the tea bags before Alexa joined him once more. He placed her mug in front of her, before looking up and smiling. “Give it a minute to cool down, or you’ll burn your tongue,” he said, before realising that it sounded like he was talking to a child. “Sorry, I suppose that’s common sense. But I’ve lost count the amount of times I’ve burnt my tongue because I’ve been too keen to have a sip.” He lifted his own drink up to his mouth and blew on it, before setting it down on the counter again. “Maybe I should quickly get changed into my trunks whilst I wait for it to cool down. I’ll be back in a minute,” and with that, he left to fetch his swimwear from his suitcase and get changed in the bathroom. He soon emerged sporting a clearly well worn pair of rainforest themed swim shorts - about the craziest his wardrobe got - and his respective robe, undone.

Alexa: "Nope, no, I needed that. I always dive into everything too soon, so your caution: hot bev warning was /very/ needed" Alexa smiled, drawing the mug closer to her yet behaving by not taking a sip. She was softly blowing on it when her eyes averted from the steam onto George's reappearance - noticing the body first, then the iconic shorts afterwards. Honestly, it was hard to pick which one to comment on first, though the fact he had tried to deny the existence of his abs was too impossible to ignore. "Ah, and there it is, that so-called dad bod that you seem to think you have. D'you know how frustrating it is for hot people to not think they're hot when everyone else around them can see it as clear as day?" Realising she had to have been staring, Alexa turned her attention back to the tea and finally had her first sip, though she had to admit she wasn't fully concentrating on the taste. "Sorry. Don't mean to check you out but...I totally do".

George: George went bright red at Alexa essentially calling him hot and commenting on his abs. Not that he minded, of course, but the blushing was instinctual whenever anybody complimented him in such a way - it was as subconscious to him as breathing. He wasn’t sure whether to cover up or let her keep looking, because he couldn’t help enjoying the attention. He opted to leave his robe open, and grabbed his cup of tea, which was now at the perfect drinking temperature, and took a sip. “It’s okay. You’d think I’d be used to it, with having to be on film sets where I’m walking around with people looking at me shirtless all day, but nope. It still bewilders me,” he shrugged, before smiling at her. “I’ll try not to stare as much when you disrobe,” he teased, winking at her. Once again, the confidence to say such a thing was only because of the company he was in - he was just letting whatever he thought she’d enjoy hearing flow out of his mouth, without a second thought.

Alexa: The blushing definitely didn't pass by unnoticed by Alexa,  it took everything in her not to tease him for it, and she was doing so well until he so confidently commented about her losing her robe, even with the wink, it was all too much to be able to resist. "Oh, is that so?" She set down her mug once more, fingers going to the knot on the robe to slowly untie it, eyes focused on George in a bid to catch him falter. "Do you promise? I'm actually real shy"- probably the biggest lie she'd ever told, one quick Google search and you could see she had absolutely no issue getting her body out, it wasn't arrogance, just a strong belief that you should love the body you were given, and shouldn't have to hide it. Letting the robe fall from her shoulders, Alexa knew damn well she'd just sacrificed a warm walk to the hot tub, but whatever, it was worth it. "Come on then" she spoke in an overly sweet tone, grabbing her tea with one hand, and his own hand in the other to lead him outside.

George: Not quite believing how he’d managed to get himself into such a situation, George was biting down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stop himself from smiling like an idiot, but it definitely wasn’t working. “You’re mad, you are,” he said, shaking his head as Alexa disrobed in front of him, his cheeks managing to redden even more than he thought possible. He wanted to be overly polite and not look, but he knew she wanted him to, so he glanced her up and down; his gaze lingered a little too long, until it was interrupted by her taking a hold of his hand. He snapped out of it, and instead tried focusing on just walking to the door that led out to the hot tub. Opening the door, they were hit by the bracing cold of the outdoors - a stark reminder that they were very close to the Arctic Circle, and the sun was setting soon. “Quick, get in, I’ll figure out all the buttons,” he said, offering his hand up to help her balance as she climbed in. Thankfully, it wasn’t complicated, so within seconds, the tub started bubbling.

Alexa: More than satisfied with the reaction she had got, Alexa was glad she was the one walking in front so George couldn't see the smile on her face...that was until the door actually opened, and she was immediately hit with the cold air like someone had bitch slapped her. Assuming George knew what he was talking about - he had one of those faces you could just trust - Alexa set her drink down in one of the holders and hopped into the tub with his help, which was admittedly warmer than the outside air, yet not at it's full potential, like it had been on some power saving mode. "This is fucking cold too, you...shithead!" She exclaimed with a laugh, splashing a little out the tub at him, figuring they probably should've turned it on fully a little before they intended to get in it. "But it's better than out there, for sure. It's gonna be /so/ nice". Submerging herself to the shoulders, Alexa used her arms to push herself backwards onto one of the corner seats and kicked up her feet a little, probably enjoying the novelty of a hot tub a little too much considering they were hardly needed in LA.

George: George grimaced at Alexa mentioning the tub was still cold. “Ah, yeah, shit. We were just a bit too keen, huh?” he spoke, taking a big swig of his tea, before placing his mug by the side of the hot tub. He watched her enjoying herself for a moment, a huge grin on his face as he did so. “You having fun in there?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, her answer very much evident without a word leaving her lips. After a few more moments, he figured it was time he joined in on the fun. He took off his robe, hanging it up nearby, and turned to face Alexa. “Fuck, it is a bit nippy out here, isn’t it?” he said, exaggerating the temperature even more by tensing all his muscles - the toning of them becoming even more apparent than before. And then he climbed into the hot tub, sitting opposite his company, so they both had a bit of space. “Oh, this is alright actually. It’s not putting the hot in hot tub, but it should warm up pretty quickly.”

Alexa: Unaware that her enjoyment was so apparent, Alexa grinned with a nod, feeling like a little child who'd just come on their first summer vacation away from school. Having never heard the term 'nippy' before, the actress immediately cast a glance down to her chest, figuring he must've meant she was showing actual nip, rather than referring to the cold, yet once she figured out he was just being British, she let out a laugh. "Fuck, you can't say things like that without giving me a quick Urban Dictionary style definition, that means something completely different where I come from..." Still, she hoped that wouldn't make him intentionally try to dial the slang or the accent down. That, mixed with the way he looked right now made her certain that George was the kind of guy who would get plenty of female attention without even realising it. One of the most eligible bachelors in any room, yet still one of the most modest. "Here - we should play a game. Like, a would you rather: culture edition. So like, you can say two of anything, one has to be American, one has to be English...whether it's food, movies, actors - whatever. And then you have to pick which one you'd rather eat, watch, sleep with - you know? Like, I could start with...Hugh Grant or George Clooney?".

George: “Oh, shit, sorry,” George shook his head, forgetting he was talking to an American who wouldn’t understand all his British colloquialisms, but he didn’t mind explaining them as he went. “It just means really cold - originates from... well, you can probably guess,” he trailed off, figuring he didn’t need to go into the etymology, too. He listened intently to Alexa as she described the game she wanted them to play. He rather liked the sound of it - their cultural differences had already been apparent the short time they had spent with one another so far, so why not combine it into a fun way to learn more about each other? “Ooh, I like this. Hmm, which would I rather eat... Hugh or George...” he pretended to look like he was thinking carefully, before laughing at his terrible joke. “Okay, I don’t know if it’s a terrible reason to discount somebody or not, but I don’t know if I could cosy up to George because we share the same name. That would just feel weird. Would you find that weird? It’d be like when Taylor Swift dated Taylor Lautner. Each to their own, but I couldn’t do that. So Hugh it is. He seems like a good laugh, anyway. What about you?”

Alexa: Well, at least she was on the right brainwave with thinking it had /something/ to do with nipples, maybe she wasn't being quite so stupid after all, though she wished she could rewind the clock a little and not check out her own tits. Thankfully, the water was already beginning to heat up a little more, and though her arms were still adorned with goosebumps, it was becoming more tolerable. "You are a literal dork" She should've known he'd have some smartass answer to her suggestion, though once he actually answered it properly, she nodded her head. "Good choice, good choice. I totally get what you mean, I even find it weird having to talk to my Amazon Alexa, like I'm going around the house talking in first person, makes me feel a little crazy". Reaching for her tea once more as she thought to herself, Alexa figured she should at least /pretend/ the question was difficult for her, when in reality Hugh Grant easily won for the accent alone. "I think I'd go for Hugh, too. I've had a thing for him since he played the prime minister in that christmas movie - which...I can totally imagine you in, by the way. I feel like you'd be that guy that goes to America because he can't pick up girls in England. In...the best way possible".

George: “If I ever need to ask you a question randomly now, I’m going to open with ‘hey Alexa’ and see how long it takes for you to get mad at me,” George teased, knowing full well he probably would do it once or twice at most. He fetched his mug and sat sipping at it as he listened to Alexa explaining the reason behind her choice, which he could definitely understand. “Yeah? You think I’m a Colin Frissell?” he asked, playfully raising an eyebrow at her. “I mean... when I’m in the States, I do find that people are fascinated by my accent and the way I pronounce certain words. I’m yet to have been invited back to an attractive stranger's place to stay the night, though. Well... no, that’s not wholly true. I’ve had a couple of propositions but not gone along with it, because it didn’t feel right,” he found himself rambling on, so he stopped himself with another sip of his tea, before placing it back where it was. He stretched his arms up, and shimmied his way further into the gently bubbling water, as he attempted to come up with his own ‘would you rather’ question.

Alexa: "I'm already mad at you for even thinking about it", Alexa teased setting the tea down once more and making herself more comfy in the water that was now hot enough to warm her completely. She didn't want to even think about having to get out anytime soon, especially not thanks to her need to tease and leave the robe discarded on the living room floor. Present her /hated/ past her. "Maybe a little, but as I've said, a much cuter version - which was why I was about to call you out on that bullshit. I don't believe for a second you haven't been hit on in bars, or anything like that. American girls can be...well, we're a lot. And I gotta say, I'm impressed you haven't just gone along with it for easy sex. I don't think I've ever really met a man who wouldn't when someone was offering it to them like that. Remind me again, who manufactured you?"

George: “It was Bill Gates himself,” George joked, trying to play it cool, despite his cheeks reddening - at this point he was surprised they weren’t just bright red the whole time. “I don’t know, it just feels too weird for me. I prefer getting to know somebody before we’re intimate. Like, I’ll make out with a stranger, sure, but sex is different. For me, at least,” he shrugged, realising his way of thinking probably wasn’t something Alexa was used to hearing. “It’s different for everybody, though, right? We all have certain things that we find difficult to share with someone until we know them better, and that’s just what it is for me,” he shuffled slightly in his seat, perhaps for the first time actually feeling slightly uncomfortable around Alexa, if only because he wasn’t used to opening up about such personal things so quickly, even if he was still doing it willingly.

Alexa: For probably the first time in her life, Alexa wasn't quite so quick to share her own views on sex as she knew all too well it was off putting for some guys. Usually, she'd be defensive about it, but there was no need to be, it wasn't as if George was judging her for having an opinion that was different to his, he was just sharing his own. Biting down on her lip as she nod her head to his 'different for everybody' statement, 'you can say that again' she thought to herself, though she wasn't about to make herself come across as some kind of harlot - despite it being true. "No, that makes total sense, I totally get why you'd prefer to refrain from it. Casual sex isn't all that great anyway in the grand scheme of things, 9 out of 10 times the guy won't be able to make you cu-" once again catching herself before getting too NSFW, Alexa turned her open mouth into a sheepish smile. "Sorry. We don't need to talk about orgasms, I guess that's just where my mind tends to wander when I'm still waiting for /someoneee/ to come up with a 'Would You Rather' question".

George: “Really?” George asked, a little surprised by Alexa's statistic. He knew that a lot of guys could be selfish in that respect, but not to that extent. He smiled a little at her attempting to censor herself, perhaps in order to make him feel more comfortable. He appreciated it, but he also didn’t want such a conversation to be completely off limits. “I don’t understand it when blokes don’t make an effort, in that department. Like, not even tried to figure out what their partner wants. I’ve always been the sort to ask a woman what they like and don’t like, sort of, as we go. I mean... god, this is gonna make me sound like a square to you, probably, but I usually ask a person if it’s okay to even kiss them, instead of just leaning in and hoping for the best. Well... I try to, and then I get kissed before I have the chance to ask,” he continued on the topic, even though she’d tried to brush it off slightly. He wasn’t necessarily avoiding coming up with a would you rather question for her, more that he was continuing to delay it whilst he thought of something good. And anyway, this conversation felt more interesting to him, for the time being.

Alexa: "Well Georgie, that just means that you have what most men lack...communicational skills. I don't think I've actually slept with a single man whose asked me what I've wanted. Most of them just kinda...grunt like cavemen and it's all pretty underwhelming. And I -" Okay, she was prepared for everything he had said thus far, but the fact he asked permission before kissing took her a few moments to wrap her head around, and she hoped he wouldn't take her silence as a bad sign, like she was inwardly mocking him or anything like that. The complete opposite, actually, she was more so wondering how it'd taken her 30 years of life to come across a man who asked for consent to kiss. Realising she hadn't said anything for a while, Alexa voiced the main thing that was swirling around in her mind, even though, for once she didn't feel like being outspoken, it was as if she couldn't help herself. "Well, just so you know, for...future reference or whatever, you wouldn't need to ask me. The answer's already yes".

George: George noticed the silence, but he had somewhat anticipated it. Whenever he told people this small detail about him, it seemed to take them by surprise. He took it as a good sign, more than anything else. He simply watched Alexa patiently, awaiting whatever response she may have. He expected a question or two maybe, or even just a comment about how rare it was. So her response managed to have the same effect and take him by surprise. He hadn’t been able to gauge how she felt about him, up until now. Sure, she’d complimented his appearance, but he didn’t know whether to take that as her genuinely being attracted to him, or simply a superficial thing. Not that he minded either way, but the truth was that he had had the thought of kissing her cross his mind... if only to be locked behind a door in his head for a later date, so he could just focus on getting to know her for the time being, and seeing what happens. “That’s... good to know. I’ll keep it in mind,” he said leaning in a little closer to her, as if to tease her that it had already very much been on his mind.

Alexa: Maybe, just maybe, throwing that into the mix already was a bad idea, but Alexa didn't know how to act if it wasn't bold and brazen, and it didn't seem to have put him off completely, so she allowed herself a breath, smiling at his response. "Just thought I'd save you some breath, you know, incase you were thinking about it". Of course, there was a very good chance that George continued to surprise her by being one of the only guys not interested - and that wasn't even being narcissistic, just that most guys were easy, and that meant a statement like that was actually usually followed by a kiss, so she was at a loss for words or any idea how to follow something like that up now. This never happened, the whole second guessing/feeling somewhat shy, and boy did she hate that it was happening now. For once, maybe she was the one blushing rather than George. Or maybe it was the heat from the steam. That had to have been it.

George: George continued with keeping his gaze on Alexa - he couldn’t help noticing a slight change in her demeanour. He was a little taken aback by it, as she probably was, too. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of what he had said or not, but he didn’t want to say anything about it. He’d hoped by now he had created a comfortable enough environment for her that she would tell him if she was bothered by anything he was saying or doing. When he finally looked away, and began glancing at their surroundings for the first time in what felt like a good few minutes, he realised that the sun was getting lower and lower in the sky. “Right now I’m thinking if we wanna see the lights tonight, we’d better start getting ourselves ready soon. Well, we don’t have to, because they should be at their brightest in a couple of hours, but I figured we could sort out some food beforehand so we can just sit and watch them for as long as we like after. How’s that sound?” he asked, his thought process managing to go past the realisation that he’d completely changed the topic of conversation without intending to.

Alexa: Alexa wasn't sure if the shift in her body was solely due to the hot tub or if her body temperature would've just knocked itself up a few notches regardless, but once George had broken the tension with reminding her what it was they were actually here for, it dawned on the actress that she clearly /was/ feeling some type of way about him. Not even in any deep way, it was far too soon for that, but maybe the attraction did hit a little closer to home than she previously thought. It wasn't so much, yeah people would find him attractive and much more of a...'/you/ are attracted to him, Alexa'. "Right, yeah, we should...definitely do that". Honestly, she couldn't get out of the tub quick enough now, eager to forget her entire thought process and focus on something else. Standing up, the drastic temperature change washed over her once more, so she wasted no time in heading back into the lodge. "Do you think we have time to go to a supermarket to get some ingredients, or are you thinking take out?"

George: George nodded at Alexa’s motion to start getting themselves ready. She seemed a little quick to get out of the water, but before she had a chance to get far, he, too, had gotten out and grabbed his robe that was hanging up nearby. “Here, take this,” he offered, placing the robe over her shoulders, figuring that would take the edge off until she got to her room and could warm up properly. “Well, actually, not to blow your freaking mind or anything, but I asked the owners if they could go to the shop to get a few things and drop them off before we arrived, so they’re already in the kitchen. At least to tick us over til tomorrow when we can make our own way out there,” he smiled at her once they had stepped inside. He tried to be cool but was noticeably tense from his body being exposed to the cold for even a brief time. “How about we get ourselves dried and changed, and have a look through the supplies when we’re warm and cozy?” he raised an expectant eyebrow at her, before walking over to grab his suitcase, ready to make his way to his bedroom.

Alexa: Clutching his robe around her, Alexa shot George an astounded look - not only was that a chivalrous act that she hadn't expected, but it seemed he had thought of everything while planning the entire thing. "Nope, consider my mind blown. That's some forward thinking brain you've got yourself there", embarrassingly enough, had it been the other way round and Alexa in charge of the organising, they definitely would've been raiding the cupboards to see if they could make a meal out of hot chocolate powder and eggs for the night. "Sure, you go hurry, you must be fucking freezing" she encouraged, retrieving her own case and taking it to the room where layers were the only thing on her mind. It didn't matter what the hell she looked like, as long as she could stay outside for as long as possible tonight, so once she'd taken her bikini off and dried herself she pulled on a matching set of loungewear ( with admittedly about three tops underneath ) and a pair of fluffy socks. The ends of her hair were wet, so she pulled it all into a high pony before grabbing a package out of her case and making her way back downstairs, hoping she'd miraculously managed to beat George back, though the odds were against her.

George: George was the kind of person who would practically over plan everything. Most of the time, it was a good thing, and it seemed to be for him so far on this trip, but he always had to remind himself to allow some freedom and leeway with his plans, especially if they included others. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom that was nice and warm, and began drying himself down with it, as he wandered into the downstairs bedroom, claiming it as his own. He made sure his top half was bone dry before he took his trunks off, and wrapped the towel around his waist whilst he hung up the trunks and began rummaging through his case for something warm and comfortable for him to wear for the evening. He settled on a pair of black sweatpants, a burnt orange jumper, and a t-shirt underneath, with socks that happened to match his jumper. He looked like he was about ready to join the Weasleys for Christmas, but he didn’t mind because he knew it’d do the job. Once he’d hung up his towel to dry, too, he ventured back to the open living space, surprisingly only beating Alexa to it by several seconds. “We meet again,” he teased, beaming at her, before making his way to the kitchen to see what they could start preparing for dinner.

Alexa: "Fuck me, hello to you too, Ron Weasley" Alexa teased, clearly on the same wavelength as it was undeniable that his sweater looked like it had been knitted especially for him. Following him through to the kitchen, before she'd even have a chance at checking out what he had ordered in, the actress placed the package down on the counter, beaming proudly up at George. "You didn't think I'd forget what yesterday was, did you?". Considering she hadn't known George for too long to know roughly what he already owned and what he didn't, she figured she'd make up a care package that would come in handy for the right now. A selection of ales as he'd said he liked them, a glass tankard with his full name engraved on it, ingredients for smores, a meditation set with candles and the likes in, and best of all - a game of twerk pong, which she figured would really help him finesse his twerking skills. "You don't have to open it right now, we can wait until whenever, but just so you know it's here, and that I didn't forget. So...happy birthday for yesterday".

George: George let out a small laugh at Alexa calling him a Weasley. “You read my mind,” he shook his head, almost in disbelief she was thinking the same thing about the jumper. He was even more in disbelief when she presented him with what he inferred was a gift. He figured she would remember it had been his birthday, but he wasn’t expecting more than maybe a card or one small gift, not a whole array of things. He bit his lip, trying to contain his huge smile, and managing to fail horribly once again. “Thank you so much,” he uttered, still trying to catch his breath from the shock. Before he could think of anything else to say, he practically blurted out “can I give you a hug?” Almost immediately, he realised asking permission was probably silly, since a few minutes ago she had said she would say yes to him asking to kiss her, and a hug was a few steps of intimacy down from that, so the answer would likely be yes, too. He didn’t give her much of a chance to reply, before he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re so sweet.”

Alexa: Alexa was glad that George left hardly anytime between asking and doing, as she couldn't help breaking out into a giggle, though he could probably /feel/ it regardless. "You really are something else, MacKay". Very quickly the giggle subsided into a satisfied smile, her cheek pressed into his chest thanks to the very present height difference. "You don't need to thank me, of course I was going to get you something. I wasn't just expecting you to put in all the hard work of the planning and then /not/ get you a birthday present". She pointed out, pulling back and glancing up at him with a playful eyebrow raised. "And don't tell anyone else I'm gross and capable of sweet things, okay? I got a rep to protect".

George: George’s smile kept growing when he felt the warmth of Alexa pressing against him. Noted, he thought, for if they found themselves having to keep extra warm whenever they ventured outside during the trip. He nodded acceptingly as she told him it was a fair bargain between them - him sorting out the vacation, and him getting a gift; he certainly couldn’t argue with it. “Well there goes my plans of telling everybody on social media,” he joked, the chance of which was extremely unlikely, since he didn’t use it at all. “If anybody asks about this trip, I’ll tell everyone you ignored me most of the time, I couldn’t even sit near you or been in the hot tub with you. Anything else you want me to mention? Just so I definitely don’t ruin that reputation you’ve got going on?” he asked, a playful eyebrow returned right back to her.

Alexa: Pursing her lips as she pretended to be deep in thought, Alexa wandered around the island in the kitchen, peeking into the cupboards nonchalantly. "Hmm, that you cooked for me every lunchtime and every evening. You don't have to, of course, I don't even know if I trust your cooking yet-" glancing back over her shoulder to convey that she was teasing, she soon resumed the nosing around before hopping up onto the counter herself, completely at a loss for what George had been planning to throw together. "But I want everyone to think you did, like you were catering to my every whim. And I'm a quesadilla at 4am kinda girl if I wake up hungry, too. So it must've been a real nightmare for you. Anyway, what are we whipping up tonight, chef?"

George: “Ugh, you’re just so demanding,” George playfully rolled his eyes, more than happy to go along with this facade, knowing full well that it wouldn’t actually come to life. “I can do that. I can even add that you made me walk to the supermarket in the snow by myself every day so you only had the freshest ingredients,” he nodded along, already enjoying this far too much. “Just tell me if I have to rein it in. Don’t want you looking too bad,” he smiled at Alexa, before beginning to look for the ingredients of the meal he had in mind for the evening. “Okay so... one of the dishes I’m best at is paella. Specifically chicken and chorizo paella. I don’t know if the owners managed to get every ingredient, but as long as we’ve got the basics, we can still make a delicious meal. Wait... did I ask you if you eat meat? I feel like I should’ve asked you that and accounted for it beforehand,” he pouted, suddenly looking a little concerned that he hadn’t taken everything into consideration.

Alexa: Clicking her fingers together, like George had just come up with the greatest plan ever, Alexa nodded. "Yes, that too. I like that. Meanwhile I was in the sauna, just waiting for you to come back from your treacherous journey". It was as if her stomach wanted to give away the fact paella was one of her favorites the way it rumbled in response to George even uttering it's name, but she wasn't going to say it loud, what are the chances he'd believe her rather than just thinking she was saying it to be polite? Besides, with the opportunity to tease him some more presenting itself to her, Alexa feigned an awkward look, shoulders slumping and eyes looking apologetically over at her counterpart. "I...I am a vegetarian, actually. And a celiac so I can't eat gluten. Plus I don't like any vegetables. And I'm allergic to /a lot/ of things, so really all I can eat is...potatoes". Letting that linger for a moment, she soon shook her head, a smile back on her face. "Nah, I'm totally fucking with you. Paella's amazing, and I'm sure yours is going to be one of the best ever". Though she did partake in the making of their dinner, she would give George most of the credit due to it being his version, and although she couldn't wait to dig in, she left it steaming on the side while she ran over to collect their coats, tossing George's over to him before jamming her feet into her boots haphazardly. "Come on, we gotta eat this outside. I've had paella on the beach before, but I've never had paella in the snow under the northern lights before".

George: George nodded his head, making a mental note of all these supposed demands from Alexa - he knew they’d have plenty of fun telling everybody about what happened on their trip and keeping an air of mystery about it. He sort of liked that idea. When she first said she was a vegetarian, George looked a little concerned, like all his meal ideas had flown out of the window very quickly because he’d been inconsiderate enough not to ask beforehand. And then as she continued, he began squinting at her suspiciously, before she admitted she was just messing with him. “Fuck me, you nearly had me for a moment there, I was about to trek out to the supermarket for real to get you something you could eat. So... thank god we’re not making that tale a reality just yet,” he sighed, shaking his head at her, pretending to act annoyed, despite the smile on his face. He was happy to do most of the cooking himself, but the help of Alexa was certainly welcomed - it was the first time in a while he’d prepared a meal with somebody that wasn’t a family member. He seemed a little surprised when she went to fetch their coats, rather than tuck in to their meal, but he picked up on what she wanted to do pretty quickly. “I’ll be honest, I doubt many people have had paella in the snow under the northern lights before - we’re about to be a part of a very exclusive club,” he smirked, before fetching his own boots and putting his coat on, readying himself to brace the cold.

 Alexa: "The mile high club will seem /so/ overrated once we join this one". Alexa stated, matter-of-factly before darting off once more to bundle up an armful of pillows and blankets. "D'you think you can carry both the dishes out for me?" She requested, barely able to keep the top cushion balanced as it wobbled precariously. Still, she managed to transport them all to the hut that provided just enough shelter from the bitter winds, but was completely open at the front so they still had a clear view of the sky. Which, she hadn't even glanced up at yet. She'd purposely kept her face practically buried in the blankets with one eye on the floor as she made her way over. She'd waited so long to see the northern lights in person, she'd be darned if she wasn't going to make it into some big reveal. With her back still to the entrance, Alexa dumped down the load she was carrying and jiggled on the spot excitedly. "Can you see them already?!" She asked George, on the off chance he wasn't doing the exact same thing as her.

George: “From what I hear, the mile high club isn’t even all that exclusive anymore,” George shrugged - despite not being a member of it, he knew plenty of people who were. He never really saw the appeal; he liked to feel comfortable and not like everybody on the plane knew exactly what he was doing, because that sort of thing rarely went unnoticed. “Of course, darling,” he nodded, taking both of their plates and walking carefully behind her to the hut, hoping very much he didn’t ruin such a big moment for her by spilling her paella all over the snow covered ground. Thankfully, he managed to set their plates down on the table in the middle of the hut with every drop still on them, and he looked up to see how Alexa was getting on. He had focused all his concentration on not spilling their food that he hadn’t dared look up at the sky at all, until she mentioned it. “Yeah, look,” he pointed up, “you can see the green just over the top of those trees. They should get brighter and cover more of the sky over the next couple of hours.”

Alexa: Without even realising that she had placed her hands over her eyes, Alexa turned so she was facing the right way, and parted them like a scared teenager watching a horror movie, though the moment she did and caught a glimpse of the green through the trees her arms dropped down to her sides and she did a little bounce of excitement. "Holy shit, that's so cool". Already it was unlike anything she'd ever seen, without it even being at it's full potential yet. Before they let the paella get too cold, Alexa got snuggled up on the wooden seat, holding up a corner of the blanket so George could sit down and she could drape it over their laps. Surprisingly, it didn't feel too cold to sit out in yet, though she knew that would change the longer they remained there without hot food in their belly. Which, her attention turned back to then, and she began to tuck in, giving George verbal affirmations for between the first few bites. "Jesus, that's good, too." and "I need to get you to cook for me more often".

George: George looked down at Alexa just as her eyes laid upon the lights, and the way her face lit up with pure joy made George grin like an idiot, knowing that he had had some part in making this experience happen for her. He had seen the northern lights a few years before, up in the far reaches of Scotland, but he knew they were in for an even more incredible experience tonight. His attention then focused back onto their food. He hadn’t even for most of the day, so by now he was famished. He grabbed his plate, and quickly settled down next to Alexa on the seat, and placed the blanket over his legs, before taking a big bite of food. He let out a small laugh when he heard Alexa’s intermittent comments about his cooking. “Paella is very much my piece de resistance when it comes to cooking. It probably won’t get any better than this,” he said, before taking another mouthful. “Well, no, I have made paella even better than this before, but this is definitely up there with the best I’ve made. Must have been my charming sous chef's help that made it so good.”

Alexa: No matter how charming he was being, Alexa knew nothing she had done in the kitchen had benefitted the taste, having been on mostly chopping duty which really anyone and their ten year old siblings could do, but she knew that was just the sort of person George was - modest and always looking to share the praise, that much was evident already. Soon enough, her plate was cleared, and Alexa set it to the side and brought her knees up, hugging them beneath the blanket while with every passing moment the lights grew brighter above them. If she were honest with herself, it had kind of been the perfect day, and who could've thought up a better ending than to be sat underneath something so epic? Feeling overcome with emotion in that moment - which admittedly, was very unusual for her - the actress let her head fall to the side until it came into contact with George's shoulder, and she smiled to herself as she took it all in. "So, what do you think? Was this worth missing mothers day for, or have you been pining over Mama MacKay's company the whole day?".

George: George was impressed by how quickly Alexa managed to clear her plate - he was a fast eater, but she still managed to beat him to it. Once he was done, he placed his plate above hers and settled back into his seat. He smiled when she decided to rest her head on his shoulder - he’d always seen this as something very intimate only people who felt really comfortable around him did, and considering how long they’d known one another, and this being their first time meeting properly, he felt pretty accomplished that she felt so comfortable so soon. He let out an almost inaudible laugh when she asked her question - somewhat surprised it was something on her mind, because it hadn’t crossed his since they’d arrived at the lodge. “I spoke to her yesterday about it, actually. That I felt a little bad that I’d planned this trip, forgetting I’d be missing Mother’s Day with her. But when I explained where I was going and why, she said that she’d probably have ditched me, too, if it meant seeing the northern lights in Finland. So... that definitely made me feel a lot better,” he smiled, leaning his head down to gently rest upon hers. “She always knows exactly what to say.”

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Fan Novel (Book 1, Chapter 7)

Notes: In non-canon scenes this chapter, Alodia gets flirty over dishes. Also, as encouraging as likes are, I love comments. (Shameless fishing for comments over) :) 

Somehow, that night, I manage to eventually fall asleep. When I wake the next morning, Murphy is curled up next to me, kneading me with his paws like a kitten. I stay beside him for a moment, rubbing behind his ears. Then, with a sigh, I push back the blankets. No sense in staying in bed. It won't fix anything.  Nnnnnn

I brush my teeth and take a shower. Before dressing, I dry myself thoroughly and change the bandage on the claw marks. They're not bleeding anymore, and there is no sign of infection. I dress and run a comb through my damp hair. I've just finished making the bed when there's a knock at the door. I go to open it, and find Diego outside.

“Hey, Allie. Ready for breakfast?”

“You know I'm always ready for breakfast.” I grab my key and step outside, shutting the door behind me. “Do you think things are going to be cool in there? That fight yesterday was pretty heated...”

“Heh. You made a temperature pun.”

“Oh, hush. It's a serious question.”

He shrugs. “People fight all the time. How could anyone stay mad in a paradise like this?”

“...Maybe you're right.”

We take the elevator down to the restaurant level. The moment I step inside, the tension rolls over me like a wave. Everyone's there, but no one is speaking. The only things on the buffet table are cold bagels and dry cereal. The laughter and banter of yesterday morning are gone. The beach crew sits on one side, with the group who went investigating on the other. Jake and Sean head their respective tables, eyeballing each other icily. Diego sighs.

“...Welp...I was wrong. Come on. Let's get something to eat.”  

Jake stands and heads over to the buffet table, cutting in front of me. Sean stands sharply, putting himself in Jake's path.

“And where do you think you're going?”

“Getting myself another bagel, Sergeant Buzzkill,” Jake growls. “Got a problem with that?”

“Not everyone's gotten a bagel yet. Since you're not big on contributing to the team, the least you could do is wait till everyone else has had a turn.”

“What are you, the breakfast police? Get out of my way.”

Sean doesn't budge. “Sit. Your. Ass. Down.”

“Sean!” I snap. “Did I miss an election where we voted you Supreme Leader? Because I don't know why you think you can tell people what they can and can't do! There are plenty of bagels to go around, so why don't you relax and enjoy yours instead of worrying about everyone else?”

Jake smirks. “Well, look at that. Even Princess is on my side. That's how you know you're wrong.”

Sean frowns at you. “Really, Alodia? I thought you were better than this.” But he steps out of the way. Jake continues towards the buffet table.

“Can I grab you a plate, Princess?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Forget it!” Sean snarls. “I'm going to go see if I can find a working radion in this place. You wanna help me, be my guest.”

Michelle, Grace, and Aleister go with him as he storms out. A leaden silence settles over the rest of us. I manage to get half my bagel down before my appetite leaves me completely. I stand.

“Everything okay, Allie?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I...just need some air. You finish your breakfast.”

“Yeah. Sure...”

With Murphy at my heels, I head out into the courtyard and stand for awhile, breathing in the air. The smell of saltwater mingles with the scent of the jungle's plantlife. I hug myself, trying to calm the anxious tremors running down my body.

“Alodia!” I turn to see Raj bounding over to me. “Hey, can we talk?”

“...What's up?”

“I'm not gonna mince words. I'm worried about our group. If we keep up this whole feud, we're never gonna get off this island. We need a way to come together. I think I might know how to do it. But I'm gonna need your help.”

I nod. “I'm listening.”

“This is going to sound kind of crazy...but we need to throw a feast.”

“A...feast?”

“Look. My grandmother had this saying: Words make war...but pies make peace.”

For a moment, I can only blink at him. “...Raj, that...is genius!”

He grins at me. “You think so? Most people just stare at me confused when I say it.”

“...How...many times have you been in this situation?”

“Oh, you know. That one time at Chi Sigma Alpha...and in my a capella group...oh, and junior prom...Hoo boy, that was a doozy...” He shakes his head. “Look, the point is, I've actually got a lot of experience bringing folks together. And there's nothing that does the job like good food, strong drinks, and a lot of laughs.”

“I am totally sold. So what's the plan?”

“I'll handle the cooking. I was poking around the kitchen earlier, and there is a lot of good stuff in there.”

“What do you need me for?”

“Come on, Alodia. What's the most important thing for a feast?”

“Uh...friendship? Family? A community coming together in unity and support?”

Raj actually facepalms. “Booze, Alodia! Really, really good booze! I need you to hit up every bar in the resort and make sure tonight's party is stocked!”

“Don't we have a bunch of stuff down here already?”

“Well...” He rubs the back of his head. “We've managed to put a surprisingly large dent in that already. But more importantly, you can't just serve your average pool bar swill at a feast like this. We need the top shelf stuff. The crème de la crème. ...Literally. I'd like a bottle of Creme de la Creme.”

“So, you're sending me on a scavenger hunt of all the bars in the resort to get some special booze for you?”

“I knew I could count on you! Now listen, I've got a few drinks in mind that I wanna make, but I'm going to need some specific ingredients. I'm gonna need that Creme de la Creme, a bottle of McLellyn's Whiskey, and a bottle of Armand de Fleur champagne. You got that.”

“Got it.”

He takes my hand between his large palms and looks earnestly into my eyes. “Good luck, Alodia. The fate of the party is on your shoulders.”

I head back into the hotel, aiming to check the directory on the first floor, when someone sidles up beside me.

“Hey there, buddy!” Zahra's voice is just slightly syrupy. “Heard you were going on a bar crawl.”

I stare at her. “Were...were you eavesdropping on me an Raj?”

“You call it eavesdropping, I call it conveniently overhearing while hiding in a corner. To-may-to, to-mah-to. I'm in.”

“...You are?”

“Look, let's just say I'm a pretty experienced drinker, okay? I've got one hell of a discerning palate. You want this to be some run-of-the-mill frat party beer run? Be my guest. But if you wanna come back with the best of the best, I'm your gal.”

Just then, Craig rounds the corner, appearing in front of us.

“What's this I hear about a beer run?”

“Does anyone on this island not eavesdrop on people?!” I cry.

“Come on, Alodia. You're gonna need someone to carry all those bottles. Someone big and strong...”

“Hey!” Zahra protests. “I called going with Alodia first!”

“Yeah, well, I called it second. And everyone knows first is the worst, second is the best!”

“Who?! Who knows that?!”

I press my fingers to my temples. “I'm sorry, could we back up a moment? ...Are you two just trying to get drunk?”

“Yeeeeeeah, A-dogg! You get it!” Craig holds his fist out for a bump, but Zahra slaps his hand away.

“You really need to learn how to read tone, Craig. And yes. We're just trying to get drunk. It's hot. We're stuck on this island. And we're all probably going to get eaten by a sabertooth tiger. Can you blame us?”

“...Well, I guess when you put it like that...” I sigh. “Okay, fine. You can both tag along.”

Both their expressions shift to something that suggests I've asked them to cross Mount Atropo on a tightrope.

“What?!”

“No, that's...”

They look at each other a moment and then sigh simultaneously.

“Fine,” Zahra mutters. “But I still get the first sip.”

“And I get to drink the most!”

I grin wickedly. “See? You two are getting along already. Seems Raj knows what he's talking about. Now come on. Let's get him what he needs.”

We head through the hotel with Murphy trotting eagerly after us. Remembering the vintage wine we discovered on the first day, I lead us to the ballroom first. I throw open the ornate double doors and suddenly stop short, a strangled scream escaping my lips.  

...The ballroom is gone. On the other side of the doors is a rickety catwalk over a lake of bubbling, blood-colored magma. Smoke and oppressive heat surround me, choke me, encase my body in a suffocating layer of sweat. I can just barely make out the figure of a man on the far end of the catwalk. ...A man wearing an ornately decorated lion mask...

“Wha...who...?”

He looks at me, cocking his head to the side. Then, man, magma, and catwalk dissolve in a blinding white light.

...I'm back in the hotel ballroom with Craig and Zahra. They're both staring at me.

“...What the hell was that?” I ask dazedly.

“What was what?” Zahra asks.

“You okay, Alodia? You just...totally spaced out there for a second...”

“I...I'm fine. Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment, I guess.” I flash them a bright smile. “Let's go find us some alcohol!”

“This doesn't look like a bar...” Craig remarks, eyeing the wedding decorations skeptically.

“Guessing you haven't been to many fancy weddings. Rich couples go all out on nice wine and champagne.”

“Alodia knows what's up. The two of us came here on the first day, and hoo boy did we find the good stuff.”

“Yeah, well, where I'm from, the only thing they serve at weddings is cheap beer and moonshine.”

“I've always wondered,” Zahra says. “Do you actually drink it out of a jug labled XXX, or is that just a stereotype?”

“Okay, stay on target, you two. We're looking for a champagne called Armand de Fleur.”

“Oooo, I've heard of that,” Zahra says. “I'll give Raj credit, boy knows his booze.”

Craig is already poking through the bar fridge. “And we've got a couple bottles right here!” He pulls out a few bottles and tucks them into his backpack.

“Perfect. Next let's check the re--”

“Hold your horses, Alodia,” Zahra cuts in. “It's not a bar crawl unless you're actually drinking.”

“You know, I don't really recall saying this was a bar crawl...”

But Zahra has already popped open a bottle and taken a sip. “Mmmm. Tastes like horrific wealth disparity.”

“Gimme that!” Craig snatches the bottle from her and takes a swig. “Tastes like champagne. What's the big deal?”

“The big deal is that it's one of the finest, most flavorful champagnes in the world!” Zahra shrieks. “You are such a philistine!”

“Racist much? My family's from Taiwan!”

“How about you, Alodia? Gonna drink?”

I sigh and roll my eyes, but I feel a smile playing around my mouth. “Ah, what the hell. Let's do this.”

“That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, y'all!” Craig passes me the bottle, and I tip it towards him in a toast.

“Cheers!” I put it to my lips and take a good, long swallow. Bubbly sweetness rests on my tongue. I detect a hint of pear and an aftertaste of honey. “Ohhhh, wow, that is good...”

“Another! Another!” Craig cheers.

We pass the bottle around for a couple minutes. As I cast my eyes over the ballroom, the world takes a few seconds to catch up with the motion of my head.

“Ooookay, I am definitely feeling that. We should...check the next bar on our list.” I stand carefully, blinking through the mild alcoholic buzz. “Just don't let me drive there.”

Zahra snorts. “Come on. I know where to go next.”

She leads us through the hotel until we come to a thick double door. A sign hangs on the wall nearby. I read it aloud.

“'Club Skullkid'?”

“The hell is this?”

Craig throws open the doors, and reveals a dazzling, high-end nightclub. Soft velour chairs and benches surround gleaming tables, and the whole place glows with multicolored neon lights.

“Oh, whaaaaaaaaaaaat?” Craig cries. “No one told me there was a nightclub here! Why are we not tearing this place down every night?!”

“Because I can think of no worse way to spend my time than listening to crappy EDM while watching your sweaty ass fumble around?” Zahra mutters.

“Pfft. You're just jealous cuz you don't have my moves.”

Craig does what might be intended as a dance...but he looks more like a spastic bunny rabbit. Zahra rolls her eyes and wanders over to the DJ booth. She scoffs.

“What is this, like, retro night? All this equipment is from the mid-90's. Not to mention the music...”

“Come on, guys. The bar's our target. Should have plenty of cocktail supplies.”

Zahra slides over to the bar and starts rummaging through bottles. “Sure does. We've got blackberry liqueur, absinthe, hot chili vodka...”

“We're looking for Creme de la Creme.”

“Yup. Got some of that, too.”

Craig picks up a bottle and reads the label. “ 'A premiere flavored liqueur with hints of chocolate, vanilla, and a dash of cinnamon.' ” He pops open the bottle and takes a chug. “Gah! So...sweet...and...creamy...”

Zahra shrieks in exasperation. “You're supposed to mix a tiny bit of it into a cocktail, you ape, not chug it like cheap beer!”

“Well, where's the warning label, huh?!”

Zahra sighs. “Just give it to me. I'll show you how it's done.” She swings around the bar and starts mixing. I settle onto one of the valour couches to watch. With a flourish, she slides a tall glass of multicolored booze into Craig's beefy hand. He takes a sip.

“Oooooooooooooooh, yeah. That's good.”

“It better be. There's like, six shots in there.”

“There's no way I'm keeping you two sober, is there?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Zahra agrees. “Want one?”

I sigh. “What the hell. You only live once, right?”

“YOLO, baby!” Craig crows. “I've got that tattooed on my butt!”

“We all remember, Craig,” Zahra mutters.

“I don't! I've never seen Craig's butt!” I catch a cocktail as Zahra slides it down the bar to me and take a sip. “Mmm, delicious. And...incredibly strong.”

Zahra offers me a lopsided grin. “Gotta say, Alodia. You're all right.”

“Uh...thanks?” I swallow the rest of my cocktail in three gulps. “Come on. We've still gotta get that...the whiskey.”

“Sure thing,” Craig says, giving me a thumbs up. “After I finish this cocktail. And the one after that.”

It takes us an hour to get out of the nightclub. Partially because we keep drinking awhile, but mostly because the floor has started to become tippy under my feet. Craig's backpack bulges with clinking bottles.

“Hey, guys? Is one of the island's mysteries that everything is spinning? Or is that just me?”

“Nyah! Craig's drunk!” Zahra drawls. “He's as drunk as a drunk guy who's always drunk and is like, 'Hey! Look at me! I'm drunk!'”

I snort, dissolving into giggles. She blinks at me.

“Um...I'm pretty drunk, too, aren't I.”

I nod, still giggling. “You guys...you guys are...yeah...this was...yeeeeeeeeeeeah. I'm not wordsing good...”

Craig slings an arm over my shoulders. “Alodia's feelin' it, Zahra. Gotta looove this woman!”

I shake my head and give the world a few seconds to catch up. “...I think we'veit ev'ry bar in the rzzort. And we got a lot of alcohol. But we never did fin' that McLellyn's whiskey.”

“Well,” Zahra says. “There is one more bar.”

“There is?”

“Saw it when I washgoin' ov'r the blueprints. Somethin' called the V.I.P. Lounge.”

“V.I.P Lounge?” Craig says. “I didn't see anything about that in the brochure...”

“That's cuz you're not a V.I.P., Dummy. Unless it stands for Vomiting...Idiot...Poo-head...”

He snorts. “Sick burn, Z. Really got me with that one.”

“Juss shut up and follow me.”

She leads us through the halls until we come to a locked door with a keypad in the handle. Zahra scoffs.

“Simple one-source keypad authentication? It's like they want me to break in...”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“Saaaaauuuce,” Craig drawls. “It's the V.I.P. Lounge. You know they've got the best shizz in there.”

“The drunker you get, Craiggers, the more you sound like your old self. Remember that time freshman year when you...when we...” Zahra trails off, frowning. “...nevermind.”

“Less just get inside,” I mutter.

“Yeeeeeeeeah!” Craig yells. “Let's. Break! This! Door! Down!” He rams the door with his massive shoulder, but it stays put. Zahra rolls her eyes.

“You never learn, do you, big guy?” She pries open the keypad panel, examining the wires. “Alodia, keep Craig busy. I gotta work my magic.”

“Are you sure you oughta be doing that drunk?”

“Meh, what's the worst that could happen? I trip the wrong wire and 10000 volts of electricity surge through my body, leaving you idiots screaming at the charred husk that is my corpse?”

“...Craig, is she kidding? I can't tell if she's kidding.”

“I can never tell with her,” Craig says resignedly.

Zahra squints, focusing on the wires. A single drop of sweat trickles down her forehead as she mutters to herself.

“Okay...red to green...watch the breaker...careful...careful...aaaand...” There is a spark, and the doors slide open. “Aw, yeah! Slap my ass and call me Snape, 'cause I just worked some magic!”

My drunk brain won't let me hold a straight face. I break down in a fit of ungraceful giggles. Zahra glares at me.

“Tell anyone I said that, I will kill you both.”

I bite my cheek and nod, but I can still feel the smile tugging at my mouth.

The V.I.P Lounge lives up to its name. From the guilded marble fountain at the center of the room to the fancy gold curtains to the LCD screens and the glass case behind the bar that displays top-shelf alcohol.

I whistle, going to sit down on one of the couches. Murphy hops up beside me and settles onto my lap. “Good call, Zahra. This was totally worth it.”

“Uh, duh! Let's see what's this places got!” She steps towards the bar, but ends tripping over a chair and sprawling onto a couch. “On second thought...Imma juss lie here for a li'l while. If someone could just pour a drink into my mouth, that'd be swell...”

Craig makes it over to the bar. “Lessee what they got here. Some nice-ass vodka...like a crystal ball full of gin...and down in the fridge...” He lets out a whoop. “A cheese tray! Oh hells yeah, they've got a cheese tray!”

“Wait, Craig, you don't know how old it is. Maybe you should--” I stop when I hear him gulping noisily. “...Never mind.”

“Mmm...colby-jack.”

“Don't bother, Alodia. Craig's a human garbage disposal. One time freshman year, he ate a candy bar he'd dropped in a public hot tub.”

“The water's hot!” Craig retorts. “That means it's sterile!”

Zahra balks, sputtering for a moment. “Who taught you science?!” she finally shrieks.

“So...you guys knew each other freshman year?”

Instantly, there is a palpable shift in the mood in the room. Zahra and Craig glance uneasily at each other.

“We...uh...well...you know...”

“I mean...there was...”

I look between the two of them, putting two and two together.

“Wait...were you two a couple?”

“What?!” Craig yelps. “No! No no no! Definitely not! What a crazy thing to say!”

Zahra rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, Craig. Don't have a hernia. Yeah, we hooked up a few times. What's the big deal?”

“I thought you didn't want anyone to know.”

“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I just don't have the energy to lie about it.”

“Huh. I gotta admit, I have a hard time picturing you two together.”

“Yeah, well,” Zahra sighs, “we were different people back then, just two dorky freshmen with no idea what to do...stuck in the same hall...”

Craig sits down next to Zahra, handing her a scotch on the rocks. They tap their glasses together.

“You had that long blonde ponytail, remember? And you always wore that nerdy pony sweater.”

“Yeah, well, you were a total dork. You had glasses and a bowlcut and all you ever talked about was World of Warcraft...”

“Please! Like you didn't totally make a character just to we could raid Scholomance together.”

“...I forgot all about that,” Zahra admits softly. “We wasted so many hours together...”

“Yeah...”

She scowls. “But then your stupid football team started winning, and you and Sean became kings of the school. And all you wanted to do was go to frat parties with perky little cheerleaders.”

“You coulda come with me, you know,” Craig says sullenly. “But no. You just wanted to hang out with those creepy hackers in the CS department.”

“At least they listened to me. They got what I had to say.” She sighs deeply. “...You think our Warcraft characters still exist? Just waiting around on some dusty server, remembering the good times?”

“They're probably pretty lonely.”

They sit in silence for a long time. I curl up on a couch and watch their faces until Zahra stands up and scrubs at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Sun's setting,” she mutters. “We should probably get back to Raj.”

“Yeah,” Craig agrees, getting to his feet. “Time to go.”

I stand as well. “Hang on a sec. Let's see if we can find that whiskey Raj wanted.” I make my way over to the shelf, scanning the labels. “Here it is. McLellyn's.”

I grab a couple of bottles and stuff them into Craig's backpack. I am zipping it up when something catches my eye.

“Huh...that's weird...”

“What's up?”

I pick up a half-full glass of whiskey sitting on the bar on top of a small paper napkin.

“Everything else is neatly put away. What's this doing here? It's like someone was here after the bar closed. Just...having a drink by themselves.” I take an experimental sip. “...Unless this is incredibly weak whiskey, it was on the rocks...but the rocks melted.”

Murphy, sitting on one of the stools, puts his paws up on the bar, raises his hackles, and growls at the glass.

“Spooky!” Zahra drawls. “Maybe it was a ghoooooooooost!”

“There's something written on a piece of paper here...” I pick it up and squint at it. “ 'Project Hermes activation codes. Utilizes satellite uplink at the L.H.O.'...And then a bunch of random numbers and letters. Anyone know what this means?”

“No idea. Now come on. Let's get out of here before it gets sentimental in here again.”

I snort. “Yeah. I thought Diego was a sappy drunk.”

I split off from Zahra and Craig and make my way to the kitchen, Craig's backpack on my shoulders. The heavy bottles clink loudly as I walk. As soon as I enter the kitchen, I am nearly overwhelmed by a dozen intoxicating smells. I inhale deeply.

“Oh, my God! Raj, it smells delicious! What are you making here?”

Raj pops up from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.

“There's kahlua pork on the grill, fries in the fryer, oysters are ready to go, and the samosas are stuffed and spiced.”

Murphy yips excitedly and scampers around the kitchen, greedily licking scraps off the floor.

“Slow down, fella. You don't want to get sick before the feast! Here.” I hold out the bag to Raj. “Your booze, oh master chef.”

Raj comes to take the bag. “Tell me you got the good stuff.” He opens the bag and looks through its contents. “All right, Alodia! You got everything!”

“I take my job as booze brigadier very seriously.”

“I knew I was right to count on you!” He sniffs the air curiously, leaning forward. He grins. “You sample the goods on your way back?”

“Not on the way back,” I say with a syrupy grin. “But I might've had a sip. Or two. Or three. ...Looks like you've got things handled down here, though.”

“Well, I had some help.”

He nods at a spot behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Quinn vigorously stirring something in a bowl.

“Quinn!”

“Yeah. She offered to help. She's an amazing cook.”

“Nah, I've just been following instructions. This feast is all Raj.”

Raj grins. “Aw, thanks. Now, I'm going to work on the set-up out by the pool. Everything's on a timer, so don't worry about a thing, Quinn. You just keep on with what you're doing, and I'll be back in a bit.”

He starts to leave, then pauses by the door. “Hey...Alodia. You're keeping track of all the crazy stuff on this island, aren't you?”

“Uh...kinda, I guess...”

“Maybe this isn't a big deal, but I did find one weird thing in the kitchen.” He holds out a frying pan. “All the other frying pans are normal. But this one had a...symbol on it...”

I take the pan and examine the symbol etched into the bottom. My stomach does a flip-flop. Still heady from my multiple cocktails, I can't be sure...but I think I've seen it before. Crude archery arrows with a couple extra legs...

“I don't know why,” Raj says, “But something about that symbol...it really stands out to me. Feels important for some weird reason. Like it's calling out to me. ...I sound crazy, don't I?”

“Yeah...” I admit. “But everything about this island is crazy.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and snap a quick picture.

Raj chuckles. “Touche. You see anything else like that, you'll let me know?”

“Sure thing.”

He heads out. I slip my phone back in my pocket and turn to Quinn.

“How's it going here?”

“Great! I'm working on dessert now.” She gestures in front of her, to the trays of fluffy cupcakes lining the countertop. “Wanna stick around and help? I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Count me in!” I say eagerly. “Though...I should warn you, I'm a little drunk.”

She giggles. “I don't need you sober to frost cupcakes.”

She smiles sweetly at me, blue eyes sparkling. Her cheeks are high with color from the heat in the kitchen. For a moment, I can only look back with what feels like a very goofy smile on my face. She tips her head at me.

“Just gonna stand there staring?” She pats the counter beside her. “Come around to my side.”

I don't hesitate to do as she tells me. I look over the trays of cupcakes, trying to count them, and giving up at twenty.

“Think we've got enough?”

“Well, at this rate, we've got four apiece.”

I shake my head with a grin. “Except I'm a six-cupcake kinda gal.”

She laughs. “Well, I've always said there are only two certain truths in this world. We're all gonna die, and you can never have too many cupcakes.”

“Kind of a good-news, bad news kind of scenario, huh?”

“Exactly. Well, I've got enough batter for another dozen or so. But in the meantime, it's time for the most important part of baking any cupcakes.”

“The eating?”

“...Okay, the second most important part. The frosting! What do you think we should go with?”

“Vanilla. No question.”

“Oh, interesting. I never pegged you for the traditional type.”

“What can I say? I like my burgers warm, my drinks cold, and my cupcakes vanilla.”

“Well, you're in luck. This place has the fanciest, creamiest, most incredible vanilla frosting I've ever tasted.”

She opens the cabinet and takes out two jars of frosting. The two of us get to work, using rubber spatulas to smooth the soft white frosting over the rounded tops of the cupcakes. Quinn applies the frosting with a practiced hand, creating elegant mounds.

“You bake a lot?”

“I used to when I was younger. My mom and I were home a lot, so we used to spend the whole day in the kitchen, whipping up pies and souffles and gigantic trays of cupcakes.” She smiles down at the cupcake she's frosting. “My dad would come home from work, and he'd pretend like he was so flustered every time. 'Darn it, you two! Where's my steak and potatoes! A man can't live on cupcakes alone!' ...Then when we weren't looking, he'd stuff himself silly.”

“Sounds like you had a pretty great childhood.”

“...Yeah...parts of it were...”

I apply the last stroke to my half of the cupcake pile and turn to her with a grin. “So...does the Frosting Assistant get a free sample?”

“Only because you were so cute when you asked.”

She hands me the cupcake she has just finished. I take a large bite. Fluffy sweetness fills my senses. The frosting melts across my tongue, blending with the soft, warm cake into a mush that is just sweet enough without being overpowering. I push the mush against the roof of my mouth with my tongue, savoring it before it dissolves and slides down my throat.

“That...might just be the best cupcake I've ever eaten.”

“Might be? Oh, no. That was definitely the best cupcake you've ever eaten.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay. If we had internet here, I would totally write Quinn's Cupcakes a five-star review.”

“When I was a kid, I dreamed of opening my own bakery. It was going to be called For Goodness Cake, and we'd serve nothing but cupcakes.”

“And would you personally bake every single one?”

“For you? Absolutely.” She turns to me with a smile. “Thank you for helping, Alodia. This was fun.”

Her smile makes me feel dreamy. “...Yeah...yeah, it was.”

Our eyes lock. For a moment, a delicate silence hangs over us. ...I realize what's about to happen only seconds before it does. I capture her open lips with mine, tracing the inside of her mouth with my vanilla-coated tongue. She winds her arms around me, slipping her hands under my shirt. I press forward, sliding her up onto the counter. My hand creeps under her shirt, drifting up to cup her breast. She moans softly against my mouth and I feel her legs wrap around me, pulling my hips against hers. I bite her lower lip gently, then let my mouth journey down her neck towards her collarbone. She arches her head back, grinding her hips against me.

“Oh, God...Alodia...”

“...Quinn...”

We're moving faster now as the hunger takes us. She tugs off my shirt and reaches under my bra to grip my breast. I unbotton her blouse and pull it open. Her mouth meets mine again. I slip the button of her shorts out of the buttonhole and tug down the zipper.

“What if someone sees us?” I murmur against her lips. Even as I ask the question, I'm slipping my hand into her shorts.

“I don't care,” she answers, gasping as my hand starts to move against her pubis. Her hips rise. “Oh, god...don't stop...”

“Not a chance in hell.” I move faster, grinning as she moans with pleasure.

There's a bang as the door swings open and Raj sweeps back in.

“Hey, guys. Just wanted to see how it was--” He cuts himself off with a yelp when he sees us. “Oh! Oh God! I didn't realize you two were...I didn't mean to...sorry!”

He turns and flees, leaving me and Quinn frozen.

From just outside, we hear Raj call, “I know you're supposed to cook with love, but I don't think they meant it so literally!”

Quinn and I lock eyes and dissolve into giggles. I ease my hand out of her shorts and help her off the counter.

“Oh, god...did you see his face?”

“I've never seen him so flustered!” She collapses against me, weak with laughter.

“We...should probably catch up with him...see if he needs any help with the party...”

“Yeah...we should...” She slides one hand down the back of my jeans and cups my buttock. “...in a few minutes...”

I grin, running my hands along her ribs. That's when I catch sight of the long, pale scar running the length of the right side of her torso. I pause for a moment, trailing my fingers along it.

When she realizes what I'm touching, she pulls back slightly, averting her eyes. “...Oh...that...it's weird, huh?”

I grin wryly. “No weirder than the ones I'm gonna have,” I say, touching the bandage over the claw wounds on my own ribs. “...How did you get it?”

“Surgery. I was in the hospital a lot growing up. But I'm better than ever now.”

Still, she tugs her blouse closed, hastily doing up the buttons.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Oh, I'm not embarrassed. Actually, I kinda like it. It reminds me how, no matter what, I'm not going to let anything stop me from living my life.”

I smile at her. “...It's beautiful, Quinn. Really, it is.”

“...You're beautiful, Alodia. ...Should we go catch up with Raj? Or...?” Her eyes twinkle mischeivously. She slips one button back open.

I can still feel desire swirling in my belly, still feel fluttering between my legs. But another desire is overpowering it. I pull her into my arms, cradling her head against my shoulder.

“...Let's stay like this. Just for a few minutes.”

***

As evening falls, Raj calls us all out to the pool. A party playlists blasts out of the speakers, and tiki torches set up around the pool flicker with a beautiful ambient light. Two long tables have been pushed together and draped with a floral-printed oil tablecloth. And the length of the table is filled with a magnificant feast. I can smell sizzling roast pork, savory sauces, juicy fruits, and sweet desserts.

“Holy crap!” I cry. “I thought it smelled good in the kitchen!”

Diego laughs. “Allie, you're drooling.”

“Can I eat it all now? Please?”

Raj bounds over to us, grinning like a maniac. “I can't throw a ball or fly a plane, but you'd better believe I can cook a mean feast.”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Eat. Now. Please.”

“Have a seat, everyone, and dig in.”

Diego and I make our way to the table, where most everyone is already seated. I slide into a seat beside Grace. I glance around the table, and my heart sinks a little as I realize that except for Diego and I, the table is still split with Jake's group on one side and Sean's on the other. Still, as we start in on the feast, tensions on our end of the table start to thaw.

“Ohhhh, goodness,” Grace sighs happily. “These coconut shrimp are divine.”

“You should try the pork,” Michelle says. “Raj really outdid himself.”

I murmur my agreement around a mouthful of cinnamon-dusted Caribbean fruit salad. I glance down at the other end of the table, where Sean and Jake sit across from each other. It seems that the closer it gets to that end of the table, the more tension remains.

“Pass the fries,” Sean demands.

“Grab 'em yourself,” Jake shoots back.

I look around for Raj, hoping he didn't hear that. But I don't see him. Then suddenly, he reappears, pushing a cart filled with drinks in a variety of glasses. As he makes his way around the table, placing one in front of each of us, I realize that no two people have been given the same drink. In front of me is something red in a champagne flute, topped with cherries and blackberries. Diego has something dark in a sugared martini glass.

Aleister eyes the greenish substance in his brandy glass warily. “Dare I ask what is happening here?”

“I have brought every single person a signature drink!” Raj replies. “One that I think is right for just them. Alodia found all the ingredients.”

“With a little help from some friends,” Zahra adds.

“Can we drink now?” Craig asks. “I wanna drink!”

“Dude, how?” Zahra groans. “It's taking every ounce of willpower I have not to yuke on the floor.”

“We can drink in a sec,” Raj promises. “But first, let me make a toast. Right now, we're sitting at this table, and every single one of us is holding a completely different drink. That's not just because I like mixing up cocktails. It's also a pretty good metaphor. When you look at us from a distance, we all look pretty different. And on the surface, we are. Jocks and nerds, hackers and bullies...well, you'd think none of us have anything in common.”

“...Who's the bully?” Craig asks.

Raj ignores him. “But that's just the surface, just the glass. Because deep inside, these drinks all have a lot in common. They're delicious. They're full of alcohol. And they were all made for one important purpose: to bring us together again.

“We all want to get off this island. We all want to get back to our homes, our families, our lives. But we're never going to accomplish that unless we can overcome our superficial difference and work together as a group. The fact is, everyone here has a role to play. Some of us are natural leaders, confident and assertive. Others are rebels, who test boundaries and find new solutions. Some of us are quiet, studying the way the world works. Others are loud and strong and they keep us all safe. And some of us...well, some of us are insanely cute blue foxes with crazy ice powers.”

Murphy trills happily from my lap. I hold up a piece of pork for him, which he eagerly snaps up.

“If we keep fighting,” Raj continues, “if we keep focusing on our differences, we're going to tear each other apart. But if we come together, if we focus on what we have in common, we can figure this mystery out. We can get off this island. And we can go home with a memory of the most amazing adventure of our lives. So what do you guys say? Can we come together for a toast?”

The table is quiet for a moment. Then, Sean raises his glass towards Jake.

“...To coming together.”

Jake is still for a moment. Then, he raises his own glass and taps it against Sean's.

“...To getting back home.”

I raise my own glass. “To Raj!”

He grins at me. “Aww, thanks, Alodia.”

All together, we raise our glasses and drink.

“Thank you for putting this together, Raj,” Sean says. “We needed it.”

“Yeah,” Jake agrees. “This...this was nice.”

At last, all the tension that has gripped our group since last night finally dissolves. We're as lighthearted and jovial as on that first morning, sharing stories and telling jokes. Soon, we begin discussing the events of the day.

“So, Shooter, any luck radioing for help?”

“Not so much,” Sean admits. “Every radio signal I try just brings back static. It's like we're trapped in some kind of communication bubble.”

“It's clear this island is cut off from traditional communication channels. We'd need something more sophisticated.”

“Grace and I believe a satellite uplink could be a strong enough signal to get through the interference,” Aleister says.

“Wait...did you say a satellite uplink?” I ask. “I saw a note about that earlier today in the V.I.P. Lounge. It said there was a satellite uplink at some place called the L.H.O.”

“L.H.O...” Lila repeats thoughtfully. Then, she gasps. “The La Huerta Observatory! That does make sense. The Observatory is a state-of-the-art facility, with direct contact to Mr. Rourke's satellite relay. ...But we still don't know where the observatory is...”

“Uh...” Jake puts up a hand. “Would this be a good time to mention that when I was jet-skiing yesterday, I saw a big domed building with a giant telescope? Maybe seven miles north of here, up high on the slopes of the volcano.”

Stunned silence descends over the table. Diego finally breaks it.

“...I think we just figured out what we need to do next.”

***

The mood shifts after we realize our next move. But though the festive atmosphere dies down, the determination and purpose in the group now is invigorating. We all agree to get some rest and regroup in the morning to come up with a plan. Before going to bed, I help Raj wrap up the leftovers and put them into the fridge. Yawning, he suggests we leave the dishes until morning, but once he's gone, I start loading the dishes into the kitchen's three industrial dishwashers. Murphy finds a dry corner of the kitchen to curl up in and take a nap.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

I look up and find Sean standing in the door of the kitchen, smiling at me. I smile back.

“Wouldn't say no.”

He comes over and picks up a plate, using the knife and fork to scrape the remains into the garbage disposal.

“Seems like this could have waited until morning. You must be exhausted.”

I shrug. “I can't leave dirty dishes in the sink. It's like a pathological condition. Just ask Diego what I nightmare I am about dishes in our apartment. I can leave dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but if there are any in the sink, then I am probably seriously ill.”

He laughs. “Duly noted. If I ever visit your apartment and find dirty dishes in the sink, I'll call an ambulance.”

I snort, rinsing out a bowl before tucking it into the dishwasher. Sean is quiet for a moment.

“...Listen, Alodia...I'm sorry about what I said earlier.”

“...What did you say earlier?”

“At breakfast. When you told me to let Jake get a bagel and I said I thought you were better than that. I'm sorry for that. And all it implied.”

“...Oh. Well, I accept you're apology. But I was never really angry about that.”

“No...I kinda gathered you were angry with me before you accused me of acting like I was elected Supreme Leader.”

“That...might have been a little harsh of me.”

“Well, I was probably overreacting. ...Something about Jake seems to put my teeth on edge.”

“You have been pretty hard on him. ...And by extension, anyone who associated with him. That's why I was angry with you. You may have been directing your anger at Jake yesterday, but you were implicity yelling at my best friend, too.”  

“...And mine.”

“Well, Craig might have deserved it,” I admit. “But Diego didn't, all right? And neither did Quinn, or Jake for that matter. Quinn almost drowned before we got out of that shelter. Would you really fault her for wanting to relax and forget for a little while?”

“I suppose not...”

“And for all you accuse him of lying around and not helping, I don't think any of us would have left that shelter alive if not for Jake.”

“...Alodia...”

“I know he comes across all gruff and misanthropic, but I think there is more to Jake than you give him credit for.”

“What makes you say that?”

I pause for a moment, considering the question. Finally, I shrug. “People are complicated, Sean. There is more to most people than what meets the eye. Look...I've known a lot of people who put up fronts. Goofy fronts, grumpy fronts, even kind fronts. ...Or brave, noble fronts. First impressions are rarely the whole truth of a person.”

Sean is silent for a long moment. “...So...what's your story, Alodia?”

“...My story?”

“...I've seen you on campus, you know. I've noticed you.”

“...You have?”

“Yeah. ...I remember when I first saw you. Last fall, third game of the season. I was warming up on the field, and you were with the dance team, setting up a table on the sidelines.”

“Right...the dance team decided to sell bratwurst at the football games last fall as a fundraiser.”

“Yeah. ...And you were showing off some pretty impressive moves. I remember wondering why you weren't in a cheerleading uniform.”

I make a face. “Because all I would be doing then is cheering on the football team on the sidelines. I'd rather be center stage or competing myself.”

He chuckles. “Hey, no disrespect. You probably deserve to be center stage.”

“...So...you actually noticed me?”

“Yeah. ...And then I realized you were in my European history class.”

“Well, I am a history major.”

“I know. ...Alodia Chandler. History major, member of the dance team, and best friend of one Diego Ortiz Soto.”

“Those are my basic stats, yes.”

“Yeah, that's what I could find out by casually asking around.”

“...I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't really know who you were before this trip...”

“Hey, I'm not mad or hurt. ...A little impressed, I admit...”

“...Yeah. I've since managed to gather that you're the star of the school. I...guess I didn't really have much reason to notice the football players...”

“So, who do you tend to notice?”

“Um...I don't know...people who put themselves in front of me, I guess.” I shrug. “...That probably makes me sound pretty self-centered, but...my world is pretty small. I don't actively push people away or anything, and people seem to like me. But getting close to me takes time. ...The easiest way to make friends with me is to get thrown in a metaphorical jar with me and shaken up.”

“Sounds like an easy way to become your enemy, too.”

“Well, yeah.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “That's a risk you take if you decide to throw yourself into my jar.”

“Well...at least it sounds like getting stuck on this island might work to my advantage in one way. If I actually have an opportunity to get a little closer to you.” At my startled glance, he seems to realize what he just said. He clears his throat. “I mean...get to know you better.”

“Yeah...”

He is silent for a long moment.

“...Maybe that's why I got so worked up over Jake.”

“What's why?”

“Jealousy. I see now he's put himself in front of you. Got himself noticed. Guiding you through the shelter...saving you from the exploding plane...basically being your hero...”

“Does that idea appeal to you? Because frankly, I'm not hoping to meet another sabertooth tiger or exploding plane...”

“No, Alodia. I'm not wishing any danger on you. That's the last thing I want.”

“...You don't have to save me from anything to get yourself noticed. I'm noticing you now.”

He grins. “As I save you from mental strife at the thought of a sink full of dirty dishes.”

“Okay, I admit that's pretty heroic.”

“...Alodia...when all this is over...when we get home...I'd like to see about taking you out sometime.”

It's my turn to be silent for awhile. I think of Quinn and our escapades in the kitchen, though somehow they aren’t enough to make me turn him down on the spot. I have to admit I am surprised to think he might be jealous of Jake. I can’t deny that the pilot is attractive, of course. And I suppose he and I do seem to be on the same page most of the time, but I would chalk that up to us having similar personalities more than anything. On the other hand, Diego seems to think Jake is into me, and he isn’t often wrong about that sort of thing... 

“...We'll see, okay, Sean?” I say at last. “...I know it wasn't that long ago that you and Michelle broke up.”

“...True...”

“And in the meantime, we've got to think about getting off this island. But...when this is all over, and we're back home...” I smile at him. “I'm guessing I won't mind if you take me out sometime.”

* * *

We finish the dishes and ride the elevator together up to the penthouse floor. We say goodnight and head into our rooms. Murphy follows at my heels, immediately jumping up onto my bed. Between the food, drinks, and the dizzying conversation with Sean over the dishes, I am surprised by my ability to shower, put on pajamas, and brush my teeth. But there is one more thing that I still manage to do before dropping off.

I pull out my phone and load up the picture I took of the frying pan Raj showed me. Then I pull out the dossiers I had hidden under my mattress. When I look at Raj's page, my heart begins to pound.

...The sigal stamped on his page is the same that was on the frying pan.

I turn my eyes towards the window. Suddenly, I feel exposed. Vulnerable. I leap out of bed and yank the curtains closed, but the feeling does not subside. Somehow, I feel certain that someone or something is out there, watching me.

[elizabethsharmon]

All my dreams are coming true (The perfect ending to a wonderful year)

@yousanaexchange gift for the lovely Jennifer (@lo-cotidiano​) <3 Hope you’ll like it! <3

↳ just the girl squad spending wonderful afternoons together + a surprise birthday party for Sana

Read on AO3

“Okay, just tell me one reason why you don’t want to do this.” Eva said as she and other girls entered the Bakkoush’s household.

“Why?” Noora repeated. “Because it’s stupid? Is it enough of a reason?” she asked holding her shoes in her hands.

“No, it’s not. And besides, it’s not stupid.” Eva insisted.

“I actually agree with Noora, I don’t really like this idea.” Vilde said while hanging her coat on the hook.

“Seriously?” Eva asked surprised. “I thought you would have my back on this, Vilde. After all you were the one who wanted to be a Russ in the first place.”

“Yeah, but not at all cost. Not like that and not now” Vilde frowned.

Meanwhile Sana and Chris were standing in the hallway, amusedly watching the girls banter. They were fighting over this since yesterday and frankly it didn’t look as though they’re going to stop any time soon.

“Are you done?” Sana asked when they finally shut their mouth for a second. They looked at her and Chris, and then at each other, and finally nodded. “Good. Come on then, let’s get something to eat.”

The girls silently followed Sana to the kitchen, only to bump into her when she suddenly froze. Muttering silent “ouch”, the girls followed Sana’s look to find a familiar figure in her kitchen.

“Jamilla!” Sana exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey there” Jamilla smiled at them, closing the fridge and putting some vegetables on the counter. “Your mum had some errands to run so I volunteered to babysit you and Elias.” she smirked and walked towards Sana to hug her.

“Babysit me?” Sana asked surprised. “I mean I get babysitting Elias, but me?”

“Ask your mother, not me. I’m just working here.” Jamilla laughed and said ‘hello’ to other girls. “So, are you hungry? A friend of mine gave me a recipe for risotto and I was thinking about trying to make it.”

“Yes, please.” Chris said a little bit too quickly and all the girls burst into laughter.

“Someone called the sanitary inspection to come and check the school’s cafeteria.” Noora explained.

“We managed to get to the nearest café and buy some sandwiches during the lunch break but that’s all we’ve eaten all day.” Eva added.

“So yes, please.” Chris repeated and smiled at Jamilla who still had her arm wrapped around Sana.

“Okay, so we definitely need to do something about that.” Jamilla shook her head. “Can you help with the vegetables?”

“Yeah, of course!” Noora said excitedly. Girls knew how much she loves cooking. Contrary to Sana who wasn’t really that eager to help in the kitchen.

The girls sat around the table, equipped with knives, peelers, cutting boards and vegetables, while Jamilla took care of chicken, rice and stock.

“I still don’t understand why you’re so against taking part in it.” Eva said, once again bringing the hot topic to the table.

“Ugh, Eva. We’ve talked about this already.” Noora replied, clearly bored of having to explain it again.

“I know, but I just don’t get it why you think it’s stupid.” she insisted.

“Because it is?” Noora replied.

“No, it’s not. Only you think it is. Come on, Chris, back me up on this.”

“Yo, you know that I’m all in. It’ll be fun.”

“Vilde?” Eva asked and Vilde looked at her. Her eyes were wet from tears. “Wait, Vilde, are you crying?” she asked and all the girls looked at her concerned.

“What? No, it’s because of the onion.” she laughed and passed the chopped onions to Jamilla. “And I already said it earlier.” she continued as soon as he sat back on the chair. “I agree with Noora on this.”

“Ugh, come on girls! We’ve got to do this!”

“No, we don’t” Noora smiled at threw a bit of the celery stick at Eva.

“It’s a tie now.” Vilde noted. “And since we live in a democratic country, the best way to stop this discussion is to vote.”

“Fine.” Eva agreed. “All those who want to do Russeknuter raise your hands.” Eva and Chris both raised their hands. “And all those who don’t want to do Russeknuter raise your hands.” This time Vilde and Noora raised their hands.

“Sana?” Noora threw another celery stick at Sana who was currently peeling (or more like trying to peel) a carrot.

“You have to pick a side.” Vilde said once Sana looked at them from the carrot.

“Nei, Vilde, I don’t.” Sana smiled.

“Yes, you do.” Eva insisted.

“Nope. I abstain from voting.” she laughed and took another carrot to peel from the pile.

“Sana, come on! Now we’re at the starting point again.” Eva frowned.

“Are you seriously fighting about Russeknuter?” Jamilla snorted. The girls looked at her, carefully stirring rice with a spoon and adding another portion of the stock.

“I’m not.” Sana said. “They are. Since yesterday.”

“Ehh, girls, trust me. You have better things to worry about than knots. How’s it going with those vegetables?” she asked smiling at them and the girls passed them to her.

“So Jamilla… You were on the russebus, right? How was it?” Noora asked leaning on the counter.

“It was fun.” Jamilla answered smiling at the memory of her time in Nissen. “My bus actually managed to win more knots than the bus of those stupid boys from my year. Which definitely makes the whole russ thing fun when I think about it.”

“Wait. You were doing the dare for the knots?” Sana asked surprised.

“No need to sound so surprised, habibti.” Jamilla laughed. “We weren’t doing any immoral stuff, of course. For example, we got a knot for being sober for the entire Russ time. Or we got challenged to wear bread for shoes for a week.” they all burst out with laughter when they heard this.

“And did you do this?” Chris asked amused.

“No, we didn’t. I think some other group did it after all. But we declined. There are so many people who have nothing to eat that it didn’t seem fair for us to waste food like this for ‘fun’.” she emphasized the last one with quotation marks. “Instead we made our bus a safe place. We had plenty of water and fruits and blankets so basically we were rescuing all those who drunk too much and realized that partying like that is not as liberating as they thought it is.”

“Wow. That’s a cool idea.” Eva admitted.

“You never told me about this.” Sana noted.

“Well, you never asked.” Jamilla smirked and continued to stir the risotto.

They were talking and laughing over the empty plates, when someone opened the front door and out of the sudden the whole house was filled with loud voices of Elias and his friends.

“Guys, guys, wait.” they heard Mikael’s voice from the hallway. “What is it?”

“Fy faen, it smells so good.” Mutta sighed.

“Wait, I’ll ask my mum if we can get some.” Elias said and soon started to walk to the kitchen shouting “Mum! Mum, did you left some of that delicious food for us?”

“Unfortunately not, habibti.” Jamilla said with a straight face as soon as Elias and the rest of the boys entered the kitchen, while the girls burst out with laughter. “But there’s still some stock left on the stove so I guess you can have it.”

“Jamilla? What are you doing here?” Elias asked surprised.

“What am I doing here? Well, your mother asked me to babysit you.” she replied and Adam and Mikael laughed, while Mutta and Yousef seemed to only focus their attention on Chris and Sana from the moment they entered the room. “Oh look at them, they’re so unbelievably cute.” Jamilla smiled and rested her face on her hand while looking at Sana and Yousef.

“Yes, they are.” Noora crinkled her nose and smiled at them. As soon as Sana and Yousef noticed that suddenly they are in the center of attention, they looked away (clearly embarrassed that they were exposed like this) and blushed.

“Well, these two are not that bad either.” Eva nudged Chris with elbow and the girl giggled while Mutta just looked at them dumbstruck with a goofy smile.

“Fy faen, can you lovebirds just get a room or something or at least give us something to eat and drink before you disappear in the void of each other’s stares, okay?” Adam said and sat down heavily next to Vilde.

“Well, you parasites treat our kitchen as some sort of a free dining room so why don’t you for once either buy something to eat or prepare something for all of us?” Sana asked with her typical death stare and a little smirk visible on her face.

“Wow, Sana. You’re not going to let your boyfriend starve to death, are you?” Mikael asked offended.

“First of all, I’m pretty sure that he can cook so if he’s hungry he can prepare something for himself. I wish I could say the same about the rest of you but we all know the truth. And secondly, humans can survive a whole month without eating anything before they die from starvation so ask me this question in 29 days.” she replied. She could see with a corner of her eye that Yousef was trying really hard to hold back laughter.

“Man, she’s a monster.” Adam said to Yousef. “Run while you still can.”

“So you said that there’s stock left?” Yousef asked Jamilla, completely ignoring Adam’s comment.

“Yep. On the stove.”

“Do you have any noodles?” he asked Elias.

“Why are you asking me, man? Do I look like someone who would know?” he asked back.

“Certainly not.” Sana interjected.

“Oh like you’re such a great cook yourself, aren’t you Sana?” Yousef winked at her.

“Okay, that’s not cool.” she said offended. “You should be on my side. I actually did plenty of things here today. You can ask girls who peeled all the carrots for the risotto if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh yes, Sana’s help was invaluable.” Jamilla laughed wrapping her arm around Sana and placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“No okay, know you’re all just making fun of me.” Sana cringed. “Come on, girls, we’ve got work to do.” she stood up, took her things and started to walk to the kitchen’s door.

“Oi, Sana, come on. We are joking you know that.” Adam said.

“Yes. I know.” she said. “But I’d still like to be excluded from this narrative, thank you very much.” she walked out of the kitchen and Chris and Eva followed her, while Vilde and Noora stayed in the kitchen and sat closer to Jamilla.

“Okay, listen.” Noora whispered. “We’re making a surprise birthday party for Sana. The day before Christmas Eve, my place.”

“You’re coming, right?” Vilde asked.

“Yes, of course!” Jamilla said excitingly. “Do you need me to help you with anything or ...”

“Noora, Vilde, are you coming or what?!” Sana shouted from her room, interrupting Jamilla’s question.

“Yes, we’re coming!” Noora shouted back to Sana and got up on her feet. “I’ll send you all the details and add you to the groupchat later, okay?” she whispered to Jamilla who nodded and smiled. They couldn’t wait for it.

                                                          ***

“Remind me again why I agreed to go ice-skating with you.” Sana inquired, putting the skates on her feet.

“Because it’s fun!” Vilde exclaimed.

“And because you wanted to spend some time with us.” Noora winked at her. “And we all know that spending time together is always a good idea.”

“What’s taking you so long?” Chris inquired from the ice rink. She and Eva have already started skating.

“Ask Sana!” Noora shouted back and smiled at her.

“Sana, come on!” Eva walked out of the rink, grabbed Sana’s hands and helped her get up from the bench. “Let’s go!”

Sana, Eva and Noora joined Chris on the ice, laughing at Noora who fell over as soon as she got on the ice.

“Noora, are you alright?” Eva skated to her and helped her get back on her feet.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” she assured them and laughed.

“Where’s Vilde?” Chris asked and all of them started to look around, only to find out that Vilde is still sitting on the bench.

“Vilde! Come on! Why are you still there?” Eva asked and walked towards her.

“I… I haven’t told you that earlier, but I kind of… don’t know how to skate?” she said quietly.

“Oh, Vilde.” Eva said softly and hugged her friend. “Come on, I’ll teach you everything. We’ll take these fun skating penguins! I’m the master of ice skating, don’t you know?” she winked at her, making Vilde laugh.

After two hours on the ice rink – quite literally, as all of them (except Eva) ended up on ice so many times – Noora invited the girls to the kollektivet for a hot chocolate.

“Ouch!” Vilde exclaimed. “I don’t know how I’ll get of the bed tomorrow, everything hurts me.”

“Ugh, same”. Chris nodded.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Eva said, wrapping her arms around Chris and Vilde.

“Says someone who hasn’t fallen over even once?” Noora asked amused.

“What can I say? I told you I’m a great skater.” Eva said proudly.

“I’m never going skating with you again.” Sana said.

“What? Why?” Eva inquired offended.

“It’s because Sana doesn’t like when someone’s better at something than her.” Noora said before Sana even opened her mouth.

“Well… yeah. True. That’s the reason, I guess.” Sana giggled as Noora opened the door to her flat.

It was unusually dark and quiet inside and it seemed as though no one was there. Sana saw the disturbed look on Noora’s face and could sense that something’s going on. Noora started to walk towards the living room, girls right behind her. When she turned on the light, suddenly the people shouting “SURPRISE” jumped out from behind the couch and doors of Linn’s and Eskild’s bedrooms. They all started singing “Happy Birthday” and only then Sana noticed the “Happy Birthday Sanasol” sign pinned to the ceiling.

“Aah, I can’t believe you’re here!” Sana said hugging Jamilla tightly.

“Of course, how could I miss this? Anyway, this is from me and your brother.” she said and gave Sana a beautifully wrapped present. When Sana opened it, she was speechles. Inside was a gorgeous red hijab with star pins.

“This is so beautiful, Jamilla!” Sana exclaimed and hugged her again. “Thank you so much!”

“I had a feeling this colour will suit you.” Jamilla winked at her.

And she was right. Sana could already imagine what she will wear on the first day of school after New Year. Black jeans, black sweater, black shoes. Red hijab and red lipstick. She is going to look totally badass. For the last couple of months she changed her style completely, she started to wear colourful outfits again, to the surprise of some people (for example her mum). But every now and then she loved getting back in her old black clothes. She used to use them as her shield, they were her defense against everything and everyone, but now whenever she wore all black she just felt so good, so badass, so bitchin’. She put the gift from Jamilla and Karim on the pile of other gifts – custom-made bracelet with a little gold sun tag with “Happy 18th birthday, Sanasol! We love you!” she got from girls, four volume set of Wreck This Journal from Elias, Adam, Mikael and Mutta (she wasn’t sure if they thought it’s a cool gift or they wanted to annoy her as she specifically told them once that she doesn’t see the point in paying lots of money to buy something as ridiculous as this), Christmas sweater with squirrels from Eskild and Linn (“Everyone needs at least one ugly Christmas sweater in their closet.” he said. Not that it matter she’s a Muslim and doesn’t celebrate Christmas at all), the star mug with tea bags set from Isak and Even. But she still hasn’t received a present from one person. She looked around the room, trying to find him. The girls and Eskild and Linn were decorating a Christmas tree while singing some songs, the balloon boys were recording something on their phones, Even and Isak were making out on the couch, and Jamilla was talking on the phone. But the person she was trying to find wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Sana started to walk towards the kitchen (‘if he is anywhere, that’s probably the place’ she thought), but then she saw with the corner of her eye the figure standing in the hallway. He was leaning against the wall under the mistletoes. She walked towards him and stood on the opposite side of the room. She could see him smile as soon as she approached him, but he was still looking at his feet instead of her.

“So…” she began and he finally dared to look at her. “I still haven’t got one present.”

“Is that so?” he asked grinning at her.

“Yes.” she nodded. “Anyway, why are you here and not there with the boys?” she asked.

“Because you were there…”

“Okay…” she was really confused at his reply.

“…and you look so beautiful today that I began to worry that I might die from the amount of cuteness.” he finished and blushed while Sana burst out with laughter.

Indeed, she was looking exceptionally beautiful today – black skinny jeans, beige oversized sweater and hijab of the same colour. As soon as she put on these clothes in the morning she knew this outfit was on point.

“What’s up with that mistletoe by the way?” Yousef asked just as S Club 7’s “Perfect Christmas” started playing.

Sana looked at the ceiling and giggled. She was here when Eskild hanged them up. He said that he’s not going to take the risk of someone passing right next to him and not kissing him (“We all deserve love during Christmas”, she recalled him saying), so instead of just one mistletoe he attached around seven of them to the ceiling so that they were in one line and no one could go inside without walking under them. Now Sana and Yousef were standing on their two ends.

“Eskild.” Sana said thinking it would be a sufficient explanation and indeed it was. “So… what about my gift?” she smiled at him.

“Fy faen, Sana, you’re so impatient! You’re aware of that, aren’t you? You can’t just wait five minutes, can you?” he laughed.

“Nope. You know that. And you love that in me.” she said, showing off her dimples.

“Yeah, I do.” he blushed, took his backpack from the ground and get the present out of it. He walked closer to her so that now they were standing just centimeters away from each other. “Happy birthday, Sana.”

She hesitantly peered into the bag and inside was a box tied with ribbon.

“Really?” she asked annoyed.

“If you thought you could get your present so easily, you were wrong.” he grinned at her and she just rolled her eyes.

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. When she saw what’s inside she just started laughing.

“Have you become his fan or what?” Sana asked amused.

“Nei. I just thought it would match perfectly my jersey and I didn’t want you to stand out in the crowd once we go and see him play one day.” he said.

“Oh, so basically you bought this for me so you wouldn’t look stupid because you came to see a game with someone not wearing anything from the official store?”

“Yeah, basically.” he winked at her as inside the box was nothing else than a Golden State Warriors Stephen Curry black hoodie. “Come on, you have to admit it. I gave you a lot nicer present than you gave me.”

“Excuse me but what’s wrong with the plush swan I gave you?” she asked offended. “Is it because it’s plush or is it because it’s a swan?”

“No offence, but both.” he laughed.

“Ah, how can you say something like this to me?” she poked him in the arm and pouted.

“Oh come on, Sana, don’t be mad.” he begged.

“I won’t but only because I know from Elias that you sleep with it.” she grinned at him.

“I’m…. what??? I’m not…” he mumbled, trying to think of some excuse and make Sana believe that it’s not true, only to come to the conclusion that she can see through him either way so there’s no point in trying to lie. “I don’t have any words. I’m so going to kill him.” he said making her laugh. “Just… Damn you and your brother. Why are you like this? Seriously though, is this hereditary? Should I be worried? Are our kids going to be like this, too?”

“Our kids?” she asked astonished.

“You know what I mean.” he blushed.

“I do, but I still want you to say it.” she said showing off her dimples.

“I…”

“Oh la la, look at these two lovebirds!” they heard Adam’s voice.

When Sana and Yousef turned their heads, they saw Adam and Mikael standing in the corridor and filming everything on the phone. It seemed they wanted to add something more, but they went back to the living room as soon as they saw Sana’s death stare, Mikael just patted Adam on his back and whispered “Okay, man, we’d better get out of here asap.”

“I am seriously going to kill them one day.” Yousef shook his head. He looked at Sana who was grinning at him. “What?” he asked confused.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about that mistletoe…”

“Yeah? And what about it?” he smiled shyly.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.” she shrugged and put both of her arms around Yousef’s neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist. They were standing like this for a few minutes, the verses of “Perfect Christmas” still echoing in Sana’s ears.

 All our dreams are coming true at last… oooh

 The perfect ending to a wonderful year

“Happy birthday, Sana Bakkoush.” he whispered into her ear.

 Would be to celebrate the good times with you here

“Thank you, Yousef Acar.”

 Cuz I know

 For sure

 I never wanted anything more

‘Yes’, Sana thought, ‘it sounds about right’.

                                                         *** 

Okay so first of all, I'm not Norwegian so all the things I know about Russ come from the internet so I'll just copy+paste links I used during my research for this fic here: - explenation of the knots - bread shoes - Jamilla's bus inspired by Jennifer's answer and this

The presents Sana received: - ugly Christmas sweater from Eskild - mug from Isak and Even - hoodie from Yousef

Finally, Sana's look on the birthday party inspired by Iman's photo

[megacircuit9universe]

Shades of 2008

FRI MAR 13 2020

So, today Trump declared a national emergency... which is quite warranted under the circumstances, but also kinda scary... as that’s a technical step closer to martial law, god forbid.*

Meanwhile, today was another historical first for the markets... the first time ever that all US bonds, regardless of their length, fell below 1%.  It makes that inverted yield curve from last year look like a little walk in the park.**

At his press conference today, Trump had on hand, not only health officials, but leaders of different corporations... attempting to convince them, and get them to convince us, that the economy’s gonna be just fine.

But it also broke today that the reason why Covid19 testing is so scarce and so impossible to get is... by Presidential order.  No testing... no rise in the number of infections.  And while this is still hearsay... it’s perfectly in character for this callous criminal President, and we all know it’s true.

...which is why the markets aren’t gonna rally back, no matter how many speeches he makes, or what governmental levers he pulls to try and stimulate the markets.

I normally go shopping for groceries every two weeks, and I go after work, which is  midnight, to a 24 hour grocery store which is normally nearly empty except for stockers hard at work in the aisles.

I’d been hearing about people making runs on the supermarkets this week, hoarding toilet paper, and other paper products, thanks to a rumor that we may run out of such stuff because it all comes from China.

But I didn’t think I’d actually see it here, where I live.  That kinda stuff only happens in big cities far away, but not around these parts.

Yet, lo and behold, when I got to my store tonight, at midnight, the parking lot was full, and a long train of people were rolling out the front doors with shopping carts overfilled with food and... bulk paper products.

They were being forced out of the store and nobody else, including me, was being allowed in.  This 24 hour supermarket, that I’ve been shopping at for twelve years, was closed.

The guy at the door told me they still had plenty of product in the stock room but had to close in order to actually restock the shelves overnight.

I asked him if it tomorrow night would be better.

With a bit of a laugh, he said, “Tomorrow night?  Right now, we’re just taking it hour by hour.”

I drove to the only other 24 hour store in town... the big chain drug store on the main strip.  They have a small section for groceries.  They were open, thank goodness, but their toilet paper section was stripped bare.  Nothing at all... just like all the pictures I’d seen online today from other parts of the country.

Thankfully, I wasn’t here for toilet paper... my main concern was cat food... and thankfully they did have a 12 pack of Fancy feast, cat litter, and milk.  As far as paper products, they still had facial tissue, so I bought three boxes of that, just in case there’s still no toilet paper next week.

I said a few entries ago that the panic was worse than the virus, and this was firsthand evidence of how true that is. 

I’ve only seen this kind of thing a couple other times, when a big blizzard is approaching... the old bread and milk thing... when people panic about being stuck at home for several days.  But that’s always a local thing.

This is a nationwide panic, that isn’t just clearing the supermarket shelves of toilet paper and hand sanitizer, but crashing the stock and bond markets.

It’s difficult to imagine how such a visceral experience, for every citizen on the ground this week... does not affect the voting on Tuesday. 

Last Tuesday, the fear of the virus was there, but daily life was going on as usual. There were groceries on the shelves.  The President hadn’t declared a state of emergency.  Schools were in session.  TV shows had studio audiences. Sports were doing their normal thing. 

Last Tuesday it was, “wash your hands, everybody, and... by the way, Biden’s the guy for the job, so vote Biden.”

It’s only three days later (!)  and the fucking world is ending because of a public health crisis. 

Now it’s two days until the debate between, “Good Time’s Joe,” and “FDR of Health Care.”  What do you think the focus of that debate is gonna be about on Sunday night?  And who do you think is gonna have better answers about how to deal with a global pandemic?

My guess is that Bernie is gonna crush Joe in such a debate, no matter how early in the morning they do it, and no matter how many uppers they give Biden beforehand to keep him lucid enough to speak in full, connected sentences.

The asshole already said if a Medicare for All bill ever came across his desk as President, he’d veto it.  How’s he gonna backpedal on that when half the viewers at home are down to their last roll of toilet paper, terrified to go out in public for fear of Covid19?

Then it’s gonna be two more long days of pandemic hysteria before we actually go to the polls... so... as I said in the last entry... if this does not turn the tide to Bernie... nothing ever will.

That said, It’s worth reviewing that all of this panic not only stems from Trump’s fundamental inability to deal with a global pandemic... but also the terrifying realization that Biden may be even LESS competent to deal with it, or any other existential threat that may be waiting in the wings for us.

The latter, as evidenced by the market’s downturn beginning immediately after Super Tuesday... when the media was attempting to coronate Biden as the Democratic nominee.

Rich people and Corporations may not like the idea of having to pay their fair share of taxes, but they are a little bit more allergic to the specter of a global economic collapse... which last reared it’s ghoulish face into the skies back in 2008.

This does, to me... now feel more like 2008, than any other Presidential election in modern history. 

That time around, it began with the housing bust in early 2007, which brought on a recession, and inevitably lead to the near banking collapse of 2008.  

That year, Hillary Clinton was, around this time in March, presumed to be the Democratic nominee, with her only opponent, Barack Obama, starting to be treated as an, “also ran,” in the mainstream media.

But the scarier things got, the better Obama did... not only winning the nomination... but then going on to win the  Presidency... taking over from GWB in one of the darkest hours this country has seen since 1929.

Rich people and Corporations knew then, what they must still know now... Republican governments are great for letting everybody have fun on the playground, amassing mountains of wealth at the expense of the lower classes...

...but, when they break the game... as they always do... Democrats must be called in to fix it, before all of civilization collapses.  And in such a case, the more progressive the better... hence, Barack over Hillary.

And fix things, Obama did, over his eight years.

Fixed the economy so good, it was now a self driving money machine that could not be crashed even if you had the worst, most drunken driver at the wheel.

That meant a big green light for Republican government!  And this time... permanently!  No more Democrats necessary ever again!  Trump 2016.  Trump 2020.  Trump 2024, 28, 32, 36... impeachment means nothing.  Senators can be bought.  DOJ can be fixed.  No more regulations.  Hahahaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

And then a pandemic plague came out of China... like they always do.  Like they’ve been doing since the Black Plague of old. 

And this one just happens to be hitting the upper class the hardest... because it’s hardest on the elderly, in this historical moment of peak elderly power.  And it’s hardest on those who travel the world, and love to hang out in huge crowds... as the powerful elderly love to do...

...cruise ships... jet setting... political rallies... awards events... back room meetings... shaking hands with every motherfucker they see all day long.

For them, Covid19 doesn’t just threaten their lives directly... but their huge piles of money, if it triggers the collapse of the dreaded, “everything bubble,” economists have been warning us about for a few years now... in the few venues where their voices have not been stifled completely.

This week, they are beginning to realize... they’ve crashed the self driving economy.  And they did it in only four years of Republican government.

Only an FDR can save this.

Only an FDR can halt the collapse of the everything bubble, and save them from dying of a pandemic disease for which there is currently no cure.

I’m sure they’re not happy about that.

But... as the TikTok meme goes... “it is what it is.”

I’m going to bed.

* I’ve learned the day after writing that marital law is not on the table here because it can only happen in a time of war.. and only when the judicial branch no longer exists? 

Neither of those scenarios are coming down as the result of this current pandemic... which is no threat to babies, children, teens, or young adults at all.

Yes, it may be a threat to the boomer voter base... but they do not have the power to enforce anything close to martial law. 

**Let us not forget the Pronunciation Book warning about Dalton (Donal T):

“...He is rich.  He is strong.  And he is going to crash the stock market. Sidewalks crack, and streets go dark.  Ten Thousand bankers shake and scream for Dalton’s pyramid.”

The last video on the channel, published on September 24th, 2013... six years prior to the date that Pelosi would announce formal impeachment hearings.

And even though he made it through that... boasting about the great economy the whole time... here we are.

[bevioletskies]

20 questions [6/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: the nominee list comes out, mantis has some romantic ideas in mind, and peter and gamora continue to learn about each other.

word count: 3572 | total word count: 118k

a/n: i’ve never been to new york, so i hope there aren’t any glaring inaccuracies over the next couple chapters that they’re there!

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

Thankfully, the rest of the week had gone by quickly - no life-threatening events or earth-shattering catastrophes, just a build-up of school commitments that had left all the students physically and emotionally exhausted. Even Elektra seemed tired after her practical weaponry exam at the Blasting Range, and likewise with the usually composed T’challa, who nearly had an incident during his explosives lab with Professor Pym.

Peter barely had a moment alone with Gamora, but eventually did find the time to tell her of Mantis’s plan. She agreed to the trip, though she had other concerns on her mind - she had apparently spent Wednesday evening with Adam at Club Galaxy, where he had helped her fix her equipment, which had made Natasha suspicious.

“Adam laughed it off, told her that you and I were happily together,” Gamora had said. “It’s ridiculous - am I not allowed to spend time with other people?”

Peter had sighed in response. “She’s a spy, she’s suspicious of everybody. If anything, she might eventually sniff us out.”

On Friday afternoon, the teachers took pity on the students and let them out early, allowing Janet to make her announcement in the quad. “Hello, Avengers Academy,” she hollered, her tone and words not unlike Gamora’s opening lines when she played at Club Galaxy. “Just letting you all know that I have posted the nominees for the yearbook superlatives contest on my blog and the school website! There's also a copy here at the bulletin board and a few posted up around campus. Remember that voting starts in two weeks, you have one month to submit your vote, and then one month after that, the yearbook will be published!”

Everyone began pulling out their phones and tablets, scrolling and letting out exclamations of joy, surprise, and occasionally, disgust. Gamora stared down at “Cutest Couple - Peter Quill/Gamora”, the words still looking rather foreign to her.

“Babe, we should go pack,” Peter said, gently wrapping his hand around her elbow to get her attention. “We finally have the chance to be tourists in New York!”

“You two heading somewhere?” Janet had somehow popped up by their side despite being on the other side of the quad thirty seconds ago.

“We got permission for an off-campus weekend trip,” Gamora said, leaning into Peter slightly, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands. “We need to stock up on supplies for the Milano anyways, and it will certainly be more relaxing than last weekend.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Janet gushed, clapping her hands together. “Send me pictures? I’d love to get some cute couples selfies for a little collage I want to put together for the yearbook.”

“We can do that,” Peter replied, sliding his arm around Gamora’s shoulder. He turned to kiss the side of her head, a light pressure that she wasn't used to. His stubble was itchy, even through her hair. Janet let out another ‘aww’ before letting them go. Turning back to Gamora, he began to list things off his fingers, though his other arm remained around her as if he’d forgotten it was there. “So we've got a shopping list, an itinerary from Mantis, hotel booking thanks to Pepper, and one of a million of Tony’s cars.”

“And apparently you still need to pack,” Gamora said dryly. “I finished yesterday.”

“Aw, crap.”

______

It turned out, packing took a while. Saying goodbye to the Guardians took even longer. Peter put Drax in charge which made Rocket angry, Gamora lectured Nebula and Yondu about playing nice, and Groot, predictably, pouted and asked them to take him along (or at least, that's what Mantis had interpreted. Rocket snarkily told them he was tears of joy that they were finally leaving).

Eventually, they drove off, both in sweatpants for once instead of their uniforms or training duds. Gamora, in particular, had her hood up, feeling self-conscious about her skin in a way she never had before. As expected, Peter found an oldies radio five minutes after they were on the highway and got excited at a Jackson 5 song he'd never heard. After about ten minutes of attempting to sing along to songs he didn’t know the words to, he eventually gave up and allowed Gamora to switch to the traffic report.

“We should finish that game of 20 Questions tonight at the hotel,” Peter said. “I think we maybe only got through six each.”

“Why only at night? Why not now?” Gamora asked, peeling her eyes away from the skyline. She never realized how isolated the school was until they were here, in the actual city.

“People tend to be more honest at weird hours. Plus it makes it more fun,” he replied, his eyes flickering over to her for a moment. “Besides, I wanted to ask you something now, but I don’t want it to be part of the game.”

“Go ahead.” Gamora steeled herself for the inevitable - a question about Adam, most likely. Peter had been oddly calm about Natasha’s accusation and the fact Gamora had been with him in the first place. He had pried so much during that night in the medbay, almost like he was instructing her to date Adam, was he really gonna let that go?

“That outfit you wore to the funeral, I don’t think I’ve ever seen those clothes before. They yours?”

Oh. That was unexpected, though pleasantly so. It was an easy question to answer.  “The top and skirt are Janet’s, the cape is mine. Why?”

“It wasn't what I thought - honestly, I assumed you were going to wear your usual, since it's all black anyways,” Peter admitted. “You looked really nice. I mean, not that you don’t usually look nice, I’ve just gotten so used to your normal clothes that - ”

“Quill,” she interrupted. “I understand. Thank you.” He nodded, looking abashedly grateful she had stopped his word vomit. “So, we get to the hotel at six, and then what are we doing for dinner?”

“I was just gonna order pizza, to be honest. I figured you wouldn’t really want to eat in public for this trip?” he guessed.

Gamora looked down at herself for a moment. Sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, gloves, sunglasses, a baseball cap. She had regular clothes for their impending “dates” in public spaces, but Peter had cautioned her against dressing the same way for when they were just walking around or going into stores.

“People get...weird about different skin colours,” Peter had told her. “In places like the art galleries and museums, we have special Academy passes, so people’ll know we’re from the Guardians, but I just think it’d be safer to cover up if we’re just out and about.”

She couldn’t really fathom what he spoke about - many planets far beyond Terra, though they had their issues, took little notice when it came to physical appearance, only putting stock into strength, knowledge, wit, and possessions. “I don’t really think being out in public in general is a great idea,” she said carefully, “but if it helps boost our reputation as helpful, reliable members of Terran society, I will do it. Having pizza in our hotel room does sound more enjoyable, though.”

Peter hummed in agreement, and they fell silent for a moment as they listened to the traffic report, helpfully informing them that were a couple car accidents that were thankfully nowhere near their route. “By the way, I feel like I should warn you - obviously, since I didn’t book the room, we have one king size bed, not two doubles like I was thinking of.”

“WHAT?!” Gamora exclaimed loudly, causing Peter to jump and almost hit the horn in the process. “Could you not have told Pepper that we aren’t at the bed-sharing stage yet?”

He looked guilty. “I was talking to Pepper about getting reservations, Stark was there, so he asked about how we were doing. I may have told them the story we came up with about how we started dating, and I may have exaggerated and added on a bit about how we fell asleep in my room together that night because wow, emotional talk, and I am really glad I’m driving right now and you can’t hold a knife to my throat - gah!” Gamora had prodded him in the side with a sharp fingernail instead.

“You are unbelievable,” Gamora hissed. “You couldn’t have told me this before?”

“Would you believe me if I said it slipped my mind?” Peter said, chuckling nervously. “It’s just three nights, Gamora. Besides, it’d look kinda weird to people if they found out we had separate beds.”

“We could have made a believable story about why we did if you had told me,” Gamora grumbled, reluctant to admit he was kind of right. Peter was definitely more right than she wanted him to be sometimes.

The rest of the drive was somewhat tense, though Peter managed to joke his way back into Gamora’s good graces as he usually did. They arrived on schedule, in which Peter checked in, batting eyelashes at the middle-aged receptionist while he asked about their complimentary breakfast, Gamora hovering behind him with their bags, her hood and sunglasses still firmly on her head.

“Is your girlfriend alright, Mister Quill?” the receptionist asked kindly, glancing over Peter’s shoulder. “She looks...nervous.”

“We’re from the Guardians of the Galaxy, ma’am,” Peter said confidently, and Gamora could practically see him puffing his chest out a little as part of his declaration. “She’s just a bit worried about being stared at or attacked in public.”

The receptionist nodded, satisfied with his answer, and handed him two sets of room keys and their receipt, along with a map of the city. “Enjoy your stay!”

“We will, thank you,” Peter said cheerily, pointing Gamora in the direction of the elevators.

Their room was relatively nice, as Pepper had managed to talk Fury into letting her book them one of the fanciest Best Westerns in the city (“Don’t waste our budget on extraneous nonsense, Potts!”). There was a full kitchen, a leather couch and a flatscreen TV, and yes, one king-sized bed with an excessive amount of pillows and a towel folded to resemble a zoo animal (today was an elephant).

Gamora wandered out onto the balcony, finally pushing her hood down and removing her hat and sunglasses. She let her hair out of its ponytail and allowed the breeze to rustle through her hair. Although the air wasn’t particularly pleasant, it was better than the muggy air of the highway. “We should take a picture for Janet right here,” she decided.

Peter joined her on the balcony, fussing over his hair for a moment until Gamora slapped his wrist, telling him he looked fine. “So I’m not terrible-looking?” he joked, and she rolled her eyes in response. He wasn’t going to let that go, was he?

They awkwardly rotated in one spot for a few moments to find the best angle to avoid sunlight, before Gamora held up her phone, arm outstretched as far as possible (Peter was too tall in comparison when she was going barefoot). They took a few different ones, trying to be as close as possible without literally being back-to-chest.

“We have arrived at our hotel room. Quill already wants pizza,” Gamora texted to her girls’ group chat. “I smell like car exhaust.”

Peter chuckled as he read her message over her shoulder, moving back into the room to strip off his jacket and shoes. “This’ll be fun,” he called to her. “Like a team-building exercise without the rest of our team here. You’re practically the co-leader of the Guardians with me, so maybe we’ll be better at the job afterwards.”

“We still have so much time left to keep up this ruse,” Gamora said as a series of “OMG CUTE” messages flooded in from Janet and Kamala. “I would hope we’re better teammates after this.” She turned, only to realize Peter was also changing into a more relaxed T-shirt, unlike the training undershirt he had on before. Her eyes flickered briefly over his abs (how the hell was he so well-defined, he avoided the gym at all costs) before turning away again. “Pizza?”

______

“So what did you have planned for ‘em, bug-girl?” Yondu was in his usual spot on the couch, dirty boots on the coffee table, chewing thoughtfully on a toothpick. It was the first night without their leaders, and despite them all putting on a brave face, it was weird without Peter’s humour and background music, and Gamora’s brisk efficiency and deadpan nature.

“I searched up ‘romantic date ideas in New York City’ and have picked some of my favourites that I think Peter and Gamora will like,” Mantis said. Groot was sitting on her forearm, attempting to scroll through her list. “After getting supplies tomorrow morning, they will go for a walk through Central Park tomorrow afternoon, a musical in the evening, and then the museum and a light show on Sunday.”

“Sounds like a bunch of cliches t’me,” Rocket said, setting aside one of his blaster guns to grab the tablet out of Mantis’s hands. “You really think Gamora’s gonna go for this kinda stuff?”

“The museum they are going to has a large exhibit on weaponry and armour that I have directed them to,” Mantis said, snatching it back so she could open up pictures on The Met’s website. “And the musical I chose is based on a movie that was recommended to Peter, and he quite enjoyed. It will be a good mix for them both.”

“Is this a movie that Quill and Gamora have watched together? What is it about?” Drax approached her, curious.

“It is about love,” Mantis said, her eyes growing even wider in excitement. “I am not sure if they have watched it together, though. But I think it will be a good first step in getting them to think of each other in a romantic way!”

“Ugh,” Nebula groaned from the corner. She couldn’t believe she was thinking this, but things might have actually been better when Gamora was around. At least they wouldn’t talk about this stuff so loudly if she were near.

______

Peter tossed the last of his crust into the greasy box with a groan. He couldn’t possibly eat any more. He and Gamora were seated on the floor of the living space with their backs against the couch, the pizza box on the coffee table, their shoulders pressed together, both already changed into their sleep clothes. It had been a relatively short drive, but they were already physically drained from being cramped in the car, unused to traveling in a vehicle that wouldn’t allow them to walk around freely.

“I think I’m only awake enough for two questions of twenty tonight,” Gamora admitted, taking a swig of water.

“Are you awake enough for a movie? I was gonna show you Groundhog Day, since we’re watching the musical tomorrow,” Peter said, holding up the flash drive Stark had loaned to him.

“Movie first, two questions, then sleep,” Gamora decided. When Peter didn’t immediately react, she turned to look at him, and that odd smile of his was back again. “What?”

“I like this better than us fighting all the time,” Peter grinned. “You actually want to spend time with me.”

She turned away for a moment, shy. “Well, I have decided that you’re my best friend, too.”

“That’s awesome,” he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin deepened. “I’m uh, glad you feel that way.”

She nodded, smiling tentatively back. “Just start the movie, Quill, before I fall asleep on you.”

______

Two hours later, Gamora managed to drag herself to her feet and clean up their garbage, then collapse onto the bed where Peter was already lying face down. She poked him to double check he hadn’t suffocated in the mountain of pillows.

“Argh - oh hey.” He had shot up like a rocket and nearly hit her in the face on the way. “Two questions, then bed. But first, lights off.”

Gamora watched him carefully as he sluggishly moved around the room to turn everything off, the only light source being the city life twinkling through the window. It felt intimate at first - though her body modifications gave her quite good night vision, there was something about the surrounding darkness that made everything feel more...significant. “I want to ask a question similar to your last,” she decided. “Are you happy being the leader of the Guardians? And I don’t just mean for our team specifically, but also just...being a leader in general. Does it feel like something you’ve always wanted to do?”

He settled back down on the bed, and though there was a relatively decent amount of space between them - and they had stood much closer before - the feeling of lying down next to someone, falling asleep next to someone, and trusting nothing would happen in the night, was a foreign feeling to Gamora. It felt like an eternity ago that she was living in Sanctuary with the other children of Thanos, afraid to fall asleep at the risk of being murdered the moment her eyes fell shut. She and Nebula especially seemed prone to targeting from the others, being the most outwardly strong and beloved (if you could call it that) by Thanos.

“Not something I ever thought I would do,” Peter said, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling. “But my mom, she was always scolding me for picking fights with people who hurt the little guys. So maybe being a leader came from that? Wanting to be the first to help people? And, y’know, in the context of the Guardians, I'd say I’m team leader because the rest of you are terrible with people.”

“I'm getting better,” Gamora protested. He reached over to pat her hand.

“You totally are,” he agreed. “Especially since you're like Groot’s mom or something - it's good practice.”

“We’re practically raising him together,” Gamora said. “He calls us his parents.” For some reason, Peter found himself thinking of he, Gamora, and Groot in some odd version of the American Gothic painting. But instead of Peter holding the pitchfork, Gamora would be holding her Godslayer (Groot would be sitting on the handle).

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

She hummed softly. “I don't think I ever saw life that way, even before Thanos,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn't grow up wealthy, so I didn't think I had a lot of prospects on my homeworld. I probably assumed I would own a shop or be a teacher at most.”

“Never had dreams for anything bigger?”

“There was no bigger to begin with,” she said, her voice tinged with sadness. “Being a Guardian - it’s a whole new dream altogether.” They had somehow shifted closer between questions, their arms and hands grazing each other casually. She could see freckles forming on Peter’s nose, a result of exposure to the sun. Peter had been bragging to a few girls a couple months ago that he liked spending summers working on the Milano with his shirt off. At the time, she had rolled her eyes as the other girls giggled and said they'd like to watch. Now, she was vaguely curious if he was going to follow through. “You must've had some interesting dreams as a child, then.”

“Same question again, huh? I was a typical kid - cop, astronaut, pirate. I guess in a way I'm kind of a combination of all of them. I mean, Ravagers are straight up space pirates. And the Guardians of the Galaxy is just a super fancy name for space cops.”

“I suppose it is,” she said. Her voice was near a whisper now, as sirens and car alarms sounded outside, flooding the otherwise dull hum of the AC working its way through their room. “Your turn.”

He stared at her consideringly, contemplating his next question. Even in the darkness, his grey-green eyes were still bright with the sort of frenetic energy people had come to expect of Peter. “If you had to change one thing about me, what would it be?”

She supposed he thought it would be difficult, yet funnily enough, she found it one of the easiest to answer. “Your discipline,” she replied. “You are good at focusing on things - sometimes to the point of fixation - but you still let other things distract you from the goal. It's something to work on, I think.”

“Interesting,” Peter said softly. “I thought you were gonna say something about how annoying I am.”

Gamora huffed. “You are annoying, but it doesn't mean I'd change that about you. Who else managed to confuse Ronan and the Chitauri and Ayesha and - ”

“Alright, I got the point.” He reached over to squeeze her hand again, and Gamora really shouldn't be getting used to the feeling of Peter’s hand in hers. “Hey, I’m glad you like doing this with me. I know you aren't the most talkative person in the world, but I like that we're getting to know each other like this.”

She smiled, squeezing back. “I'm enjoying it, too. Just don't tell anyone. Or - ” She was interrupted by Peter’s gentle laugh, as he pulled his hand away to bury his face in a pillow. It was an endearing sight. “I really should stop saying that,” she admitted with a chuckle of her own. “Goodnight, Quill.”

a/n: i’m a sucker for bed-sharing. also, it’s really hard to headcanon anything about gamora’s childhood when literally the only thing known about zen-whoberi is that it’s “moderately advanced” ;_;

[bertievi]

I am unwell today so go easy on me XD . I woke up to a hung parliament and just went back to bed because nope. It was a selfish idea to hold an election, TM did make a mistake but if she had won the majority then she would have been able to take the stance she's wanted with brexit. While a soft exit would have been grand and dandy, it's something we're never going to have. I posted on another blog about the brexit mess and what triggering article 50 actually means. While we have EU *friends* they don't give a potato about what we want, they know what they want and with 27 other countries to negotiate with, a soft approach just... well it won't work for us. I mean come on, who pulled the £50bn number out their arse??? 

Next is the young vote for Labour with regards to university fees. I was entering my first year when Cameron lifted the cap on fees. That was £9k a year for me as appose to the £3k my sister paid and that bloody sucked! But to abolish fees altogether? Are you mental? It's a nice fantasy that higher education is free for all and I wish it could be done but how would universities fund themselves? The government? (Oh I'll be throwing poop from that below too). How would they function? Research isn't cheap, highly qualified researchers and lectures aren't cheap either. Already I've seen my university struggling and having to make cuts. I'm aware they're in significant debt but add the lack of that potential funding from students themselves and my 200+ year old university that supports a student population of roughly 60k (that's big in Wales) would struggle or even close. Then no one gets a degree, free or not. But that's just one university, right? Right? I would worry over the start of a brain drain, why would top lecturers stick around here if they could get paid more elsewhere? Patriotism doesn't do well against a higher wage in a sunnier setting.

Next was the promises over the NHS, yes it's in a mess at the moment and we seriously need to look into helping it as much as possible but the promise of extra funding, while dreamy, where would it have come from? If they had already taken student funding from universities, which would have the universities crying out for funding on top of the struggling NHS, not even ludicrous taxes on the rich would be able to support that sort of funding pool. Yes, I totally agree that a lot more money and thinking needs to go into our health service and that is really something I hope we hold onto even while attentions turn to Brexit negotiations in 12days time.

The next was promise of extra policing, again, where would the money come from? While we all want to feel safe and after their terror attacks we have had a surge of volunteers joining the police force, again it was a lovely fantasy that it could all be done, free universities, funding the NHS, paying for more training, equipment and police officers. But they were still pulling numbers from the sky.

And higher wages!! Dreamy! But the unemployment rate would rocket, employers can't afford £10 an hour as a minimum wage. Those that get those free degrees don't get anything for them in the end, if you enter a specialist environment with your hard earned degree yet can still only be paid minimum wage? Well, wouldn't that feel like a bit of a kick in the teeth after all that stressing over deadlines?

The promises were fanciful, yes lovely and I wish it were possible and believe me if it were I'd be ranting about how happy I was about it all but it's simply not possible. The numbers involved are in the billions and I have no clue where JC and crew were going to pull them from without throwing us into bankruptcy. It's something of a tradition that they mess up the country financially and the Tories inherit the problem and have to fix it. 

Personally, I believe that a lot of the promises from JC and TF for that matter, were ploys to snatch votes. Knowing they wouldn't have the majority, in promising such happy things that would honestly get people to dream about it, they could gain seats without ever having to worry about delivering on those promises. The party gains but the country flails... much like the stupid decision to hold a referendum in the first place and then an election less than two weeks before negotiations. 

I'm glad TM isn't stepping down if it meant that BJ got the Tories. We would seriously be the laughing stock with JC as PM and BJ as leader of the opposition. *shudders* 

The Tories made their mistakes too, true it was an arrogant move but I can see the logic behind it. From the outside with labour fighting itself, Lib dems seemingly trying to take their back seats again Tories seemed like the most stable and strongest party to go in and sort out this Brexit business. It was an unworthy gamble though, now they don't have the majority and HM The Queen should damn well scold TM for making a move in the first place. They were plucking numbers form the air too and trying to brush policies like care for the elderly in with the doom and gloom suggestions in the hope no one would notice it as a big issue.

Policians are slimy, we all know that. I said in the tags of a previous post that I know far too many that blindly vote because they have always voted for a certain party, or that their parents told them who to vote for. And sadly I think that's what's a lot of them count on you doing. It was good news to learn of the turn outs in constituencies, but 60-70% is still not 100%... honestly you have no excuses not to vote! But that's a post for another time.

I actually really like Welsh Labour, if Mr Jones was party leader in Westminister, I'm actually pretty sure he would have won. For the Assembly elections, I vote for him because I know I can trust him with his level and honest head to look after Wales with some common sense. I cannot trust JC though, his promises are so nice and he can lure you in with them, but they just make no sense. TM is brutal in her ways, her talks and promises are not sunshine and rainbows but in the current climate, they're honest. We can't have free universities, we desperately need to find a better way to run and fund the NHS and we do need to worry about security on all fronts. I think if JC had won and was going into Brexit talks, I would have applied for my Irish passport and left. 

[nickireadstfc]

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 2 - Twinyards!

In which we reveal Exy’s origin story, my namesake appears, Andrew has some Serious Issues™ and the Twinyards pull off the oldest twin trick in the book of twin tricks, however their punny name totally redeems them.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

Not gonna lie – I’ve been dying to read on since the last chapter. God, I just wanna sit down and burn through the entire book in two days. No. Patience, Nicki.

We start off the second chapter with yet another new character – Aaron Minyard, who is an all-black unfriendly fucker like his twin, minus the murder tendencies.

              “Neil,” Aaron said in lieu of hello, and he pointed. “Baggage claim.”

            “Just this.” Neil tapped the strap of the duffel bag hanging off his shoulder. The bag was small enough to be a carry-on and large enough to carry everything Neil owned.

What the fuck, this is the saddest thing I’ve read all day.

Aaron proves to be exactly the same shade of Extra and Dramatic as everyone else so far as he doesn’t give a flying hoot about lung cancer, polite conversation, or basic traffic regulations.

            “It’s too nice of a car to wreck,” [Neil] said pointedly.

            “Don’t be so afraid to die,” Aaron said as the car kept gliding across the four-lane road to an exit ramp. “If you are, you have no place on our court.”

Literally chill out, Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.

Neil, unbothered by the waves of Extra currently rolling around, takes this car ride as an opportunity to talk about his favourite subject: Kevin.

            “Kevin stays on campus?” he asked.

            “Where the court is, Kevin is. He can’t exist without it,” Aaron said derisively.

What a nerd. I love it.

However, Kevin’s immense nerd-love for Exy is actually explained shortly after and answers my most burning question from last chapter: WHAT THE FUCK IS EXY IT MAKES NO SENSE SPORTS DON’T GET FAMOUS THAT FAST BLA BLA BLA.

Shut up, past!me. Nora Sakavic is gonna learn you a thing.

            Kevin’s mother Kayleigh Day and Riko’s uncle Tetsuji Moriyama created the sport roughly thirty years ago while Kayleigh was studying abroad in Fukui, Japan. What started as an experiment spread from their campus to local street teams, then across the ocean to the rest of the world. Kayleigh brought it home with her to Ireland after completing her degree and the United Stated picked it up soon after.

OKAY. First of all, thirty years is a long time and it’s fully plausible for a sport to develop this kind of following and news’ coverage in that time. For example, snowboarding was only developed in the late 70s/early 80s, yet today it’s even a Olympic discipline.

(Also, my comparison with competitive cheerleading from last chapter might have been unfair. Cheer counts as a minority sport in the US as well, yet fangirl/boy-level stalking is fully possible with American teams. Soz.)

Second of all, KEVIN AND RIKO’S PARENTS INVENTED EXY??? WHAT?!?!?

I’d be an arrogant son of a bitch too if that had happened to me. Holy fucking what.

            Riko and Kevin were the face of the Ravens. To many, they were considered the future of Exy. (…) Except Kevin Day signed with the Foxes in March – not as a coach, but as a striker.

[fergie’s ‘london bridge’ voice] OH SHIT.

            His fans went from feeling heartbroken to feeling betrayed. Palmetto State hat borne the brunt of that rage since. The university and stadium had been vandalized upwards of a dozen times and there’d been numerous fights on campus. It would only get worse when the season started and people saw Kevin wearing the Foxes’ colours.

Fictional Sports World gets Actual Sports World’s obsessive fan violence spot on.

Also, I feel sorry for the students going to Palmetto State Uni who don’t give a fuck about Exy. Like, can y’all crazy sportsballheads stop vandalizing our campus like some people are trying to get an education here thank you. It’s like going to Hogwarts and just trying to live a chill regular life. Not happening.

As they arrive at Wymack’s house, a much-needed ray of sunshine appears: Nicky Hemmick.

            Nicholas Hemmick was the only one who looked genuinely happy to see Neil. (…) “I’m Nicky.” Nicky gave Neil’s hand another hard squeeze before letting go. “Andrew and Aaron’s cousin, backliner extraordinaire.”

            (…) “By blood?”

            Nicky laughed. “Don’t look it, right?”

I would like to point out that this is the first time a character genuinely laughs in this entire book. And we’re on page 22.

What a guy. I’m honoured to be his namesake (with minor spelling differences). Please don’t turn out to be an aggressive fuckwit as well please.

Some predictions on Nicky’s character:

- his kink is bein’ friendly and havin’ a good time

- drama kid

- g l i t t e r

- super open abt his sexuality, just loves love, essentially pansexual

- can fuck u up but does it nicely because he wants to support you and help you grow as a person

- would die for his friends (and dogs)

- essentially my headcanon courfeyrac from les mis okay shut up

Ahem. Moving on.

            “You have a nice car for someone who thinks he’s poor,” Neil said. (…)

            “Aaron’s mother bought it for us with her life insurance money,” Andrew explained.

Okay but - Aaron’s mother? What? Surely Aaron’s mother is Andrew’s mother as well if they’re twins?

I don’t believe this is lazy writing. What is going on there.

            “It’s not the world that’s cruel,” Neil said. “It’s the people in it.”

I don’t even want to know how many fangirls use this as their blog headline/Facebook status/moodboard caption/wrist tattoo.

            [Neil] was too busy staring at Aaron’s pants pockets. They were much too flat to be hiding a pack of cigarettes, but Neil had seen Aaron put the pack away before crossing the street at the airport.

Are you telling me Neil is too busy staring at Aaron’s ass (which is actually Andrew’s ass, spoiler alert) to notice when to walk into Wymack’s apartment because that might be the best thing that’s happened so far.

(Unless we’re talking about front pockets, in which case, nevermind).

And then this happens:

            “What was that all about?“

            Neil’s blood turned to slush. It wasn’t the words that got him but the language Nicky used. German was Neil’s second language thanks to three years spent living in Austria, Germany, and Switzerland.

GERMANY! The mothercountry! Land of beer, sausage, and superfluously-stocked hardware stores!

Now the only thing I can imagine is Aaron and Andrew as coldmirror’s Torsten und Torben. I’m not even sorry.

            “Team’s still split fifty-fifty on whether or not [Coach Wymack and Abby] are boning. Andrew refuses to vote, which means you’re the tiebreaker. Let us know ASAP. I’ve got money riding on it.”

To no one’s surprise, Nicky is Ultimate Shipping King. I love him more by the minute.

However, these short moments of glee are immediately overridden because this happens:

          Too late, Neil remembered Nicky’s exasperated accusion in the living room: “What the hell did you say to him, Andrew?” Neil had assumed Nicky was referring to their first meeting in Millport, but Nicky had been talking about the car ride from the airport. It wasn’t Aaron who picked Neil up from the airport after all.

WHAAAAAT.

I mean… this is the oldest twin trick in the book, really. What is this, the Parent Trap?

No kidding, I’d pay to see the Twinyards with ginger pigtails dressed in early 20s fashion.

Also, Twinyards!! How did I not see that before!! Thank you, fandom, for finding the punniest names for everything ever.

(If you’re wondering whether I’m still laughing over this name as I type this: I am.)

Apparently, Andrew has some serious anger management issues and enough court-regulated drugs in his system to kill a small child, effectively making him a hardcore drug addict against his will.

WHAAAAAAAAAAT. No, seriously, WHAT.

The angst just does not stop, you guys.

Also, Wymack is back!

#dicksoutforwymack

          Neil looked down at the key in his palm, at the security Wymack so easily and unquestioningly gave him. Maybe Neil wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, and amybe he’d spend the next couple weeks waking up every time Wymack snored a little too loud, but maybe Neil really was okay here for now.

Oh don’t mind me I’m just crying in the corner whilst stabbing myself with my own materialized emotions.

What. A. Dude.

On a last note: How sexual was the elevator scene. I can’t even quote anything or I’d need to just slap the entire thing here because dear god, the gay is not even subtle at all.

          Neil couldn’t anticipate Kevin. (…) But Andrew was just a psychotic midget, and Neil had grown up around violence. Handling him would be easy.

Two things:

1. 20 bucks says it’s not gonna be fucking easy ho boy

2. Maybe chill on the m word, my dude.

Ughhhh. Is it Sunday already?

[theultimateclare]

Pasting the interview below, as it’s behind The Times’ paywall:

Mortimer is wearing a grey blazer, a brown Argyle jumper and a blue denim shirt. “I was like, ‘God, I’d love to be a femme fatale’,” she says. “I never get cast as a femme fatale.”

She tends to play charming, bubbly, earnest characters. Early in her film career, in Notting Hill, she played an English rose, who is referred to in the script notes as the “perfect girl”. And even as a hard-charging truth-seeker in Aaron Sorkin’s television series The Newsroom, she still had this wholesomeness about her. Viewers could fall in love with her without worrying that she might murder their bunny rabbit.

Then along came the Indian director Ritesh Batra with a proposition. He was adapting Julian Barnes’s book The Sense of an Ending. “Something got lost in translation,” says Mortimer, and they spent an hour talking at cross-purposes, about entirely different parts, before Batra realised that Mortimer was angling for the role of Sarah Ford, a character who appears only fleetingly, but dominates the story.

Sarah Ford sticks in the memory of Tony, the book’s narrator, as the mother of a girl he dated at university. He remembers a weekend spent at this girlfriend’s family home in Kent. Coming downstairs on a Sunday morning, he finds everyone has gone for a walk, except Mrs Ford, who cooks him breakfast and tells him that he ought not to let her daughter “get away with too much”. That’s almost all there is in the book; a few vivid memories of Mrs Ford cooking eggs, tossing a hot pan into a sink and offering a strange wave of goodbye as he leaves for the station, “a sort of horizontal gesture at waist level” as she stands leaning against the porch, “sunlight falling on a wisteria climbing the house above her head”. Nearly everything else is implied, and there’s so much there that you end up constructing an entire life for Mrs Ford, once the book has done its work.

In the film Mrs Ford is given an extra piece of dialogue. Smoking a cigarette at dinner, she quotes from the Philip Larkin poem Aubade: “I work all day, and get half-drunk at night./ Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare./ In time the curtain-edges will grow light.” Against the backdrop of an awkward, clanking family dinner, it’s dynamite. What a woman, Tony thinks. The rest of the poem, left unsaid, is about the thought of death that “rages out/ In furnace-fear when we are caught without/ People or drink.”

Mortimer is a big fan of Larkin too. “He’s the sort of writer that most evokes that thing, that [idea of] scratch the cynic and there’s a romantic underneath,” she says. “I feel like I’ve had weekends like that myself, in draughty English houses in the countryside, where there’s a lot more than meets the eye going on in these weird, repressed families.”

She has not yet experienced this scenario as a parent. “My oldest kid is 13,” she says. “It’s not that long before it’s upon me too, [the moment when] for the first time your children are sexual beings and coming home with their first girlfriends and . . . what that means for you and seeing your own child as a sexually active person in the world and how weird that is and how in some ways, feeling you’ve lost your child and you’ve lost your youth at the same time.”

Can you ever imagine telling a young man to be careful of your daughter?

“Yeah, I mean, no,” she says. Although she did think of her own mother, Penelope, who came from solid pig farming stock in Kent. The pig farmer’s wife, Mortimer’s grandma, was a feisty woman who “had a lot of her own sadness” and got by with the aid of purple hearts, a combination of speed and barbiturate. Grandma slipped Mortimer’s mother a few to help her to revise for her finals at the University of Exeter, and instructed her to take two at the start of an exam. “She said she couldn’t touch the pen to the paper, she was in such a state,” says Mortimer.

She thought of her mother at home, raising a family, in the early 1970s — roughly the period in which part of Barnes’s book is set — and “how people coped with things in those days. How there wasn’t such a thing as a shrink, really. I mean, it was only for people that had really, really lost their mind, or were so posh.”

I have never heard much about Mortimer’s mother. When Emily has spoken of her family in interviews the conversation tends to be dominated by her father, John Mortimer, the barrister, writer and national treasure. Penelope was his second wife; they married in 1972. “She’s got definitely a bit of a punk-rock soul, my mum,” says Mortimer. “Kind of quite proud and feisty . . . and funny, really funny.”

Mortimer says that her mother recalls “this terrible day” when Mortimer was 14 and the two of them were walking down a street. A builder whistled as they passed, Penelope turned reflexively and saw that the man was whistling at her daughter. “It had always been at her, until that point, and she realised it was at me.”

It wouldn’t be human not to feel a little disappointed, Mortimer says. “Of course, the builder shouldn’t be whistling at anyone. We shouldn’t enjoy being objectified by a builder.”

No, absolutely.

“At the same time, there is definitely a feeling of one’s being used to builders whistling, and then they’re suddenly whistling at your 14-year-old daughter. You couldn’t help but notice it and wonder what it means about you. I think that all that stuff is really interesting.”

Years later, when Mortimer was a mother and working in Los Angeles, an acting coach told her: “Get angry, darling, like you would only get angry at your own child.” Meaning she should draw on the special kind of fury that seizes any parent “when you’re trying to get their arms in their coats in the morning and they’re late for school. There’s a feeling that you might just go completely f***ing mental . . . That feeling doesn’t really bubble up in many other moments of your life,” says Mortimer.

Mortimer met her husband, Alessandro Nivola, in 1999, while shooting a Kenneth Branagh film of Love’s Labour’s Lost. He was the King of Navarre, while she was “one of the many ladies-in-waiting of Alicia Silverstone”. They moved to America in 2003, to Los Angeles and later to this nice bit of Brooklyn where we are sitting, and Mortimer became a daring young film star, taking on challenging parts involving nudity, spanking and Ewan McGregor, and sometimes all three at the same time. She also got a call summoning her to the offices of Woody Allen in New York.

“I was warned it could be unusual and I should expect anything in this audition,” she says. She remembers walking along Fifth Avenue “trying to ignore everyone’s warnings that it might be odd, this experience, and thinking that I’ve just got to think about something else”.

She focused on her hat. It was “this little woollen hat that my mother had given me for Christmas. I knew I looked quite good in this little hat.” Then, seeing her reflection in shop windows, she began to worry that “maybe I’m trying to look like Annie Hall, or something, and he’ll be disgusted by the hat. Anyway, I went back and forth about this hat.”

She arrived in Allen’s offices, met his casting lady and went to the lavatory for some more fretting about the hat, looked at herself carefully in the mirror and settled on a plan of action. She would walk into the audition with the hat on, but take it off when she sat down, to give Allen a full sense of her with “the hat on and the hat off”.

So, she was ushered to meet him. Allen emerged from “some sort of slightly dark screening room . . . shook my hand very warmly and said: ‘I really wanted to get to know what it’s like to see you in the flesh. And now I have. So, thank you very much for coming.’ ”

And that was that. “I walked out of the audition and I just thought: ‘It’s the f***ing hat,’ ” she says. A few hours later she was offered a part in his film Match Point. “He’s very easy to talk to, which you wouldn’t have thought,” she says. “He’ll talk about anything apart from the thing itself. He does not want to talk about the film itself. In fact, he looks very sour if you start asking a question about the actual job or what you’re meant to be doing in the scene, or what’s the point of your part.”

It was only later, when the film was at Cannes, that she heard his side of the hat story. Allen, she says, told her that he had been thinking: “ ‘I’ve got to get her out of here quickly, before she decides that I’m a complete loser’,” she says. “Which I think was genuine . . . You think, ‘How could Woody Allen think that?’ There was something about this meeting between two very neurotic people.”

This and other film roles made Mortimer known, although it may have been her part in The Newsroom that made her more famous in America. It featured a fictional cable news team, tackling real stories from the recent past, which often allowed Sorkin to endow his leading characters with extraordinary prescience. Critics accused him of perpetrating a liberal fantasy of what cable news ought to be, although many of the notes he struck sound louder now, in this era of fake news.

“I had this one line in the pilot episode where I say, ‘The single most important thing in a democracy is a well-informed electorate,’ ” she says. “I didn’t realise how true that was. Of course, you take it for granted until you actually live through the dangers of people being ill-informed and wrongly informed and lies being spread by people who are in positions where it seems like they wouldn’t be lying and couldn’t be lying.”

I think we’re talking about President Trump. Did you vote for him, I ask.

She laughs. “No I didn’t, but I do think . . .” She stops herself, then shrugs and continues. “Who cares about what I think about any of it, [but] I do think there was a wake-up call. It did really feel, in some way, that all that was left for the liberal agenda was transgender bathrooms and criminal justice reform. Definitely, there were too many people being shot by policemen. Too many unarmed people being shot. That really seemed to be all. Once we’d done that, we’d achieved our goal . . . It’s staggering how unaware we all were of the fact that there was so much else going on. There were an awful lot of people that weren’t really feeling that they were being seen and heard.”

Her present job finds her zipping back and forth to London to be the adult Jane Banks in the new Mary Poppins film, although the work is top secret. Do you dance on any rooftops, I ask.

“I don’t.” Nor does she go up any chimneys. This is almost all I could get from her. “I’d be burnt to death,” she says. Although not, apparently, in a chimney fire.

Do you sing?

“Possibly,” she says. “Very briefly.”

She is also writing something with her friend Dolly Wells — not another season of their sitcom Doll & Em, but something else, that she can’t talk about yet either. She wishes she could write the way her father did, relentlessly and with iron discipline, every day of the year and even when they were on holiday. “I suppose it was like medicine, in a way, for him,” she says. “I feel like if I could do it, it would feel like that too, but I just can’t be bothered.”

Watching The Sense of an Ending, where the plot hinges on an old diary and family secrets, I wondered if Mortimer reads any of the biographies of her father, who led a grand life from which long-buried secrets sometimes surfaced. In 2004, for instance, her father learnt that he had another child, a son from an extramarital affair with the actress Wendy Craig.

That doesn’t compare to the secret in the film, she says. “It wasn’t as seismic, you know. It was a lovely secret, really. Suddenly you’ve got a bigger family who we see and spend time with and have Christmases with.”

And there were other, albeit smaller, revelations in Valerie Grove’s authorised biography. Mortimer says it was written as her father was nearing the end, and that after his death, in 2009, she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. “There’s a feeling, when you’ve lost someone that you were really close to and love, it’s almost that you need time out from thinking about them because you might just expire from grief yourself.”

At first she couldn’t even read things he had written. “Now I feel like I can. I’m starting to pick things off the shelves.”

It must feel as if he’s talking to you, I say. Particularly as he often said he wrote in a single draft.

“I think it was his lawyer’s training. He just thought in fully formed sentences.” Reading his work now, “it’s lovely, it’s amazing. What an incredible thing to have, that a lot of people don’t,” she says. “You can still hear the voice, without having to conjure it out of nowhere.”

Now “it does not feel quite so painful,” she says. She could probably manage a biography. For a while, “I was scared to think too much about it, or him”, she says. “Maybe now is the time to have another look.” The Sense of an Ending is out now

[edmorrish]

JFSP Production Notes 6.5

Firstly, thank you if you voted for JFSP in the comedy.co.uk awards; we’re delighted to have won the ‘Best Radio Sketch Show’ in such a strong field.

However, that award was for the last series (I assume; only one episode of this series went out last year). So here are some production notes for episode five of this as yet awardless sixth series…:

David Starkey

Nothing to note here, really, except that it’s quite unusual for us to do impressions. That’s probably best left to the specialists (Dead Ringers), because if you don’t get them right, you can’t even look like them as a back up. 

We’ve done Alan Bennett, Ian McKellan and Roger McGough as far as I can remember. Plus Churchill, Lady Astor, Dorothy Parker, Artur Rubenstein, JFK… 

Tufty 1 & 2

You’d be surprised at how many FX for barber shops don’t work very well - the chair, the swish of the thing that goes around your neck… even persistent snipping sounds odd. So we’ve put a few FX in here, but hopefully you get it from the context.

Also, note that the trailer for Logan sees Wolverine without his little tufty hair ears. Irritating. We should have broadcast it last series (we did record it).

The Tube

We lost quite a lot in the edit from the top of this, just to get to the central idea quicker. We didn’t put office atmos on it because that didn’t feel right - to pin down exactly where it was would detract from the absurdity, I think.

What’s He Like?

Apparently John’s worked with Benedict Cumberbatch, from off of Sherlock! Who knew? Listening back I think the dinner party atmos - where, when people find out you have worked with famous people, this sort of question tends to get asked - was a little too cutlery/crockery-y. Should have been more light music and burble. But this originally went later in the episode, but I moved it back because to me it feels like Tufty 1 & 2 are a 4-minute item, followed by another - so after two longish sketches, it really had to be something short. Ideally we wouldn’t have put this in the same episode as Tufty 2 - we have an informal rule about not putting too many meta-sketches in - but I think we get away with it.

But A Man

Simon sort of doing Gladiator here. I like the triumphal music that introduces it - it’s a good way to establish a mood rather than a specific location. (How would you aurally recreate the aftermath of a battle?)

Behind Closed Doors - Ferry

Ideally this would have gone out before the Bouncy Castle sketch two weeks ago, because this was the first one we recorded and therefore explained the premise better. We did try to swap the intros around in the edit, but it didn’t quite work. It came in quite long, but because of the anti-punchline, wouldn’t work as the last sketch to a show (we usually aim for something of a crescendo), so we placed it near the end. A few bits had to go to get it down to even this long, including a lorry-swapping club. The ballroom music was played in afterwards, more of a timing issue than anything else, but it didn’t seem to affect the audience in the room, who laughed on ‘beautiful’, right on cue. (When you add stuff afterwards, you usually time it to the audience laughs, because if it’s a funny FX people at home would wonder why the audience didn’t laugh at it earlier…)

King James

Another bit of meta at the end, but we’ve spaced them through the episode so, again, I think we get away with it. The music at the top we worried about for a while - does it sound Tudor/Stewart? But the one in the middle is a stock fanfare FX - exactly the same as in the Three Guards sketch in series one…

Truckers

Does this count as an impression? It’s clearly Noel Coward. Anyway, we’ve disrupted our usual method of runners here, because normally - say last week with Fire Brigade / House on Fire, or the week before with One Hit Wonder / Loose Canon, you would put your linked sketches at even intervals through the show to create a sort of balance and/or rhythm. But because the Ferry sketch was so long, it had to go in the second half of the show, meaning that the amount of space we could put between them was restricted. We did consider making the song actually part of the sketch - we float around, Under Milk Wood-style, so it would have made sense - but it felt overlong and, in itself, imbalanced. We’d have had to cut a section to stick it in, basically. So hopefully it feels like a lovely little extra treat, rather than going back to an idea you just heard…

Since You Ask Me - Fortune Teller

Obviously you need to hear the continuity announcement (which John wrote) for the joke to work. We thought about getting one of the cast to do it, but then thought, “The continuity announcers are right upstairs; would they be up for it?”. So Kathy Clugston very kindly came and pre-recorded a version for us, which we played to the studio audience, but cut on the show we delivered to Radio 4. But we also realised that this is going to go out as a CD/download - and the end will be really, really confusing. So we’ve given a version with Kathy on to the publishers - you’ll hear it if you buy the show.

Next week’s show is the best we’ve ever done, so stay tuned…

[emouradian]

Grief: 1 Year Later

Well, it’s been a year. I’m all better now. 

I don’t know what I thought was going to happen, as if the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing was really an inordinately-sized, ceremonial switch that was going to flip, once I had succeeded in - what? - surviving the first year without him? Would balloons fall from the sky, and sirens blare, celebrating me as the 1,000,000,000,000th person to have a dad who died a year ago? It seems ludicrous now, standing on the other side of this milestone. To paraphrase Tig Notaro, it was just a day - another day, slightly smaller, because my dad wasn’t in it.

I woke up nervous, like you do when you drink too much the night before. I slowly opened my eyes and took stock of the situation around me: Am I hungover? Did I throw up? Ugh, did I throw up on myself? Are there any clues of another person in here? Wait, am I fine? Wait, no I’m not. Wait, yes, I am.

Bad days, when grieving, have a tendency to sneak up on you like a really good twist from a really great TV show. That lady falls down the elevator shaft, Buffy sacrifices herself, we’re in a flash-forward not a flashback (I called that one, btw, and to date, its my greatest achievement. In life.). It’s not the days that you expect. His birthday, for example, came and went, while my birthday, was a day I was completely overcome, grief washing over me like Robert Redford shampooing Meryl Streep’s hair. My birthday, unexpectedly was a day I fell into that familiar and oddly comforting grief quicksand, where the harder you struggle to get out of it, the further into it you sink. I didn’t see it coming – like finding out we’ve been in the Bad Place all along! – and that shock added to my inability to cope with the day. 

After a weekend in New York celebrating my father and this milestone with friends and family, I ached to be alone.  This, in of itself, is odd, because I live alone, fairly isolated from the bulk of my vast network of support, something I have been homesick for all year, if you can still be homesick at 35 years old (and if ‘homesick’ can be used as an adverb). My cousins, who live nearby, invited me over for dinner, but I declined. My friends called and texted, while I replied with heart emojis saying that I didn’t feel like talking. They were all reminders of why, despite the constant hum, the seemingly endless current of missing my dad, and the distance it has put between me and my life, I am so lucky to have people ready to lift me up. Being alone for me is a choice, a choice many others don’t have. I’m thankful for that. 

I spent the day of the anniversary at the movies. It is an escape I’ve sought out more and more these past few weeks, I suppose a way to be alone, without being completely alone. I saw La La Land, a movie about dreamers and movie magic that I loved despite the current swell of backlash, and Fences, a movie about fathers and sons, so, you know, ouch (But Viola Davis FTW!). I ate McDonald’s for breakfast, like I did when I was a kid going fishing with my dad and cousins, and popcorn for lunch. I got home and went down a pretty deep rabbit hole of Dying Loved One movies: Other People (mother, cancer, dead), One True Thing (Meryl Streep, cancer, dead) and Miss You Already (Toni Collette, best friend, dead). They were all oddly comforting and cathartic in a weird, self-mutilating way. Dazed from so much time spent in the dark, I went to sleep and woke up on the anniversary of the day after my dad died. I FaceTimed with my mom and niece, and agreed that yesterday was just another day. Today would be better, worse, the same - it just wouldn’t be January 24th. 

Years ago, when I first started working with my old boss Jenn, we had a lot of drive time, which is how we forged a bond so strong that I once threatened to drive us both off a cliff in retribution to a piece of feedback she gave me and all we did was laugh about it so hard that I almost did accidentally drive us off a cliff. Once she asked me, maybe a year into working together, if I was close with my parents. I was stunned. I turned to her and stated, simply: We are the Mouradians. It’s kind of like how when people ask me if I like living in Maryland, my answer is a simple: It’s fine, but, I’m from New York. It’s a non-answer that I think is actually the best answer, but, in the end, is the answer that most makes me seem like a dick.

It was shocking to me that someone wouldn’t know that we were close within the first 90 seconds of meeting me. It’s part of my brand - big Armenian family, tight-knit, adorably corpulent. To be fair, I’m not close with my parents in a Lorelai-Rory Gilmore kind of way (Side note: there is a whole dissertation coming on how watching Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life, with my mom after I had back surgery, was like watching my life unfold on screen), but rather in a Coach/Tami/Julie Taylor way. They are my parents and we are close because they are my parents. I never thought of needing more than that, of that not being enough. Closeness to my parents was about proximity, endless reservoirs of support and love – it’s hard to define and that’s what makes it special, irreplaceable, and as it turns out, unbearable, when missing. 

To that end, as I continued to struggle with the loss of my dad, it was my mother who said to me that she didn’t realized how close I was to my father. And I had to stop, pause for a second and think about what that meant, because I guess, it was something I hadn’t realized either. I didn’t call my dad to talk about the ‘game’, we both would’ve been lost on that front, although sometimes we did that with Survivor;  He loved fishing, I loved reading while he was fishing. In the end, we had more in common, more core traits and similarities than a love of the same things. As it turns out that brought about a closeness that is deafening in his absence because it could only exist once he was gone. I had never made any kind of important decision in my life without talking to my dad, without knowing he was in my corner, without his support.  Without that I feel lost, even unsafe, and untethered. Less so every day, sure, but still there, a part of me, a voice hollow and echoing, rattling around my brain like a movie quote you can’t quite place or a commercial jingle you keep humming. 

There are a lot of things that I’ve learned this year, things I’ve tried to work through with all these essays. Sharing my grief, to a point, felt very selfish. On the one hand, I had too much to say, too much to feel, to keep it all to myself. Here is my gift to you all, share my grief – you’re welcome! I feel confident when I say: people preferred it when my gifts were personalized Christmas stockings. On the other hand, it was an easy way to answer a whole series of questions about how I was doing, without having to answer any of them directly. Mostly, though, it was the easiest way to keep my dad with me – tangibly, literally at my fingertips – for as long as possible. This is perhaps the biggest lesson to learn of all, that for all my might, for all my trying, he will never be as close as I want him to be, which is, of course, here, with me. And each day, I feel him slipping further and further away. And writing this post in particular, finishing this story – A Year’s Worth of Grief – is him finally slipping through my grasp. I am not saying I will forget him, that I won’t think of him, but maybe it won’t be every day, maybe it won’t be as detailed as it has been. How cracked the heels of his feet were compared to how soft his bald head was. I keep a blanket that was my grandmother’s in my guest room closet, but I don’t let anyone use it, because it still smells like her. I don’t remember what my dad smells like anymore; it’s not something I can summon immediately to my mind like a magic trick, as I can his laugh - the peaks and valleys of it, the perfect shades of it. This, in some ways, is a different kind of ending, a different form of loss.

My 12th favorite movie of all-time is Billy Elliot. In the movie, Billy lets his dance teacher read a letter his mother wrote to him before she passed away. Mrs. Wilkinson says: “She must have been an amazing woman.” Billy, only a kid, responds, “She was just my mum.” People say to me all the time, how incredible my dad was or must have been, how proud he surely was of me. My dad wasn’t some super human, I know that; He was funny, and nice and stubborn and far too set in his ways. I wish he was a little more of a fighter because when I give up on something, I think that it’s my worst trait and I wonder if I get it from him. He was averse to risk and might’ve voted Republican in this election but his heart was bursting with love and support and kindness (Well, maybe bursting is the wrong way to put it, considering he died of heart disease, but you get the idea). He was a good friend, a good man, and I know he’s proud of me without anyone having to tell me (although, nice to hear, of course), and that’s the greatest gift he left me with: Just missing him, simply him - no regrets, no deep-seeded issues other than him being gone.  He was just my dad. And that was amazing.

Thank you to those who’ve read these posts, who’ve encouraged me and shared them. It’s been hard, but worth-while, along the way, I hope I helped someone, somewhere. 

[whereithappens-theroom-blog]

The Cuban struggle does not overshadow the current American struggle.

I am a daughter of Cubans who migrated to this country in the 60s. My parents were under the age of 10, so the Cuban struggle is something only my grandparents really understand. I would never take away what my grandparents went through. They were imprisoned multiple times, family members were murdered, they lost businesses; all truly horrific things they had to endure on top of having to leave their homeland for another country.

 I was raised hearing these stories and feeling an immense sense of pride knowing that my own blood was so strong and resilient, something that has rung true to even the youngest of my family members and I like to think that genetics plays a huge part in this, that what my grandparents did, their courage is something we've all inherited through more than just stories but cells as well. The Cuban struggle is something that any one like me knows is a huge part of their story, and something they must always remember. I am grateful to my grandparents for doing what they did and coming here, had it not been for that, my parents would of never met at a sporting event between rival high schools and my sister and I would never have been born.

My whole life and still today, my grandmother (mothers mother) like to tell me stories of her other life and what she went through. I think she does this because I am so fascinated by our ancestry and I believe this is her way of letting me know where I come from, and I thank her for this. I thank my grandfather (mothers father) for living in some camp in Cuba where he braved the elements, amongst other things, to be able to “pay his debt” to leave the country. I would never take this away from him ever. That being said, I am not sorry that President Obama lifted the wet foot dry foot rule; I believe that it is about time. I believe that, while Castro was truly human scum, he is not the only face of evil, for evil has many layers, many faces.

My reason for writing this is not to discuss the issues with Cuba, because frankly I don't care nearly as much about Cuba as I do to what is happening in my country and other countries where their situation is atrocious. I am tired of discussing how terrified I am for my country and the world with this new administration and being told “oh its not bad. You don't know bad. Cuba, that’s bad.” 

Like I said, I am well aware of Cuba’s history and its not a pretty one, but again CUBA IS NOT IN THE SAME NEED FOR HELP AS IT ONCE WAS. PLEASE BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT. But one thing I have noticed about Cubans is that because of Castro, they feel superior to the human race, as if they are the only ones suffering and that kills me to admit, but its something I've become aware of recently. For instance, Cubans won't vote democrat because it is a leftist idea, therefore must be communism, so we've got to vote Republican, hence where we are now with a Trump presidency. Now, I am not giving all the Cubans in this country the credit for electing Trump, but a mentality like that is why he is where he is and that really sucks for millions of others and myself. I am tired of the ignorance of so many of my family members who tell me I need to stop complaining because I am not living what the Cubans lived, but just like Castro took away your rights, Trump is threatening to take away mine. 

News outlets are already starting to become silenced by the administration with audacious claims like “fake news.” Health care is looking to be repealed therefore leaving thousands of people without quality health insurance and some will most likely die in the next 4 years. Women are looking forward to a future where we have no say over our own bodies, women who have suffered some form of domestic abuse are looking at a future where they will get no help because of the organizations put in place to help them will be defunded. News networks like NPR might be a thing of the past. LGTBQ rights, will soon be rights for whom? Children in the public school system might suffer under religious oppression if we don't vote against Trumps pick for secretary. Also global warming/ the Paris agreement act, will no longer get funding either. 

Why is it to my family and so many others that my life, mine personally has to be at risk for me to care about what is happening to my country, to my planet. Why do I have to hear “be glad this isn't Cuba” when ever I express my grief. My family in Cuba isn't suffering anymore than my stepfathers’ family in Colombia is and I'm glad for that. I am tired of a country you had to flee almost 50 years ago is priority number 1. I am your daughter, your granddaughter, niece, cousin, sister, my fears, my legitimate fears should be more important than an old act that was revoked/repealed. 

The United States of America was always looked at as this great country, this country the world wanted to be a part of, now look at us, the laughing stock of the globe. So many of you should be ashamed of yourselves for behaving so nonchalantly towards the dismantling of our republic. So many family members care more about the Cubans of today that are fine compared to other poor Caribbean nations then other people, children from around the world who are actually suffering and losing their lives. Haiti for instance, why aren't so many of you crying for Haiti, the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, or Syria where children don't even cry anymore they've become so numb to the atrocities, or Venezuela, Mexico, Colombia etc. I just don't think I can stand another day with another family member or fellow Cuban telling me to “stop whining” that things are not as bad as they seem, because they are as bad as they seem and it will only get worse. Why must a country be run by a communist to be considered dangerous but not when its run by an alt right wing con artist. So many people I know wouldn't vote for Obama because they believed he was a Muslim immigrant who was also black. So many people I know wouldn't vote Hilary Clinton because of an email scandal but voted in a man with zero experience, who has openly admitted to molesting women. A man who has ties to Russia, who escaped the draft, a man who is a business man but has filed for bankruptcy countless times. A man who won because of an archaic voting system and the help of Russian Hacking. I am so tired of hearing how I don't understand or how I don't know what I am talking about when I know for a fact that I am better educated on our current situation than most people I know, family included. I am tired of Cubans I know playing the Cuban card and telling me I am crazy and have no need to worry, because I do. This man is dangerous and a disgrace and I hate truly hate that he is the next president and that till the end of time he will always be the 45th President of the United States. 

America is in crisis right now and you would think that the Cubans who warned me of crazy politicians would be aware of what is happening. You would think that the Cubans of this country would all stand together against Donald Trump rather than arguing with the Cubans who voted against him. You would think that they would all be less preoccupied with their homelands history than with the future of the country they currently live in. I am just so tired of being told not to complain or freak out because it is what it is and Trump wont be a Castro. I don't need someone to be like Castro for me to fear for my future and that of my family, and the rest of the world (the actual planet included). Why must anyone be like anyone to be concerned? Shouldn't his agenda be reason enough to throw up the red flag? 

I don't believe that Trump= The end of the world, nor do I believe that Trump is going to send anyone to my home and murder me and my family or send us to camps then kill us. I know that even this crazy government wouldn't allow that, but why do we have to wait and see till if it gets that bad to fear? All of the people he has put in place to run this country are either millionaires or billionaires. None of them care about the majority of Americans. Everyone keeps saying he’ll run the country like a business but must I remind you AGAIN that multiple of his businesses filed for bankruptcy. Or I say again, repealing ACA, defunding numerous agencies, not giving a rat’s ass about the planet. This man became President all while telling people to “beat the crap” out of anyone who didn't agree with him, while disgracing women, Muslims, the disabled, the country itself. Our country may have its flaws, but to have every single one of those flaws now be in the next leader is just baffling on top of heartbreaking. How can the Cubans who talked so much about the Cuban struggle still not see how terrible and dark our future is looking? My heart breaks a little every day knowing not only that this country voted in an unqualified pig man for President, but that so many tell me and others “its not that bad.” And to end it, ill say this:

      Dear whomever,

I am aware that this isn't Nazi Germany. I understand that this isn't Cuba in the late 50s and 60s, but while these countries and so many others have seen dark days in their past and those times are something we have learned about in history class, this current period to which we are about to enter, will most likely be our darkest of times. The difference between us right now and Cuba and Germany, is that we’re aware of the dying carcass and we aren't waiting till it’s died before we panic. 

And to my grandparents: I will never take away your struggle or your pain. I will never (hopefully) understand the pain one must feel when needing to escape their country. You're struggle has marked you and our family and it is a more beautiful mark than the one found on my left leg. That mark is what makes us all who we are, fighters. I don't ever want you to think that because I don't agree with you on things regarding the homeland that I do not care, because I do, I care a lot, hence why I am so agitated about what is happening. You taught me to care, to fight for what is right and to call out our oppressors and I am doing that. Please just understand that your struggle and the one millions of others and myself are going to soon encounter may be different but it is just as important. Please understand that this doesn't need to be Cuba for me to fear for my future and that of my family and the people on this planet I love. You taught me better than that, that patriotism and country is worth caring and crying for, and that is what I am doing. Please, don't ever forget what you have taught me: thank you for teaching me. 

[96thdayofrage]

During the 19th century, there were many freed slaves that went on to lead extremely noteworthy lives despite all the adversity they faced in their lifetime, such as the world famous Frederick Douglass, who not only played an important role in fighting for black people’s rights, but also championed women’s rights, particularly playing an important part in the fight for the right for women to vote. Not everyone can be so accomplished as the great Frederick Douglas, but that doesn’t mean they don’t at times do noteworthy things. This brings us to the subject of today- one Jordan Anderson, a former slave who received a letter from his former master requesting he come back to work. Jordan’s reply was a deliciously satirical letter in which, when reading between the lines, he essentially told him in the most polite and eloquent way possible to kiss his derriere. Widely published throughout the United States and parts of Europe, the response made Jordan a media darling overnight.

Given his background as a slave, we unsurprisingly know very little about Jordan’s life prior to being taken from his parents and sold as a boy. What little historians have managed to piece together is that Anderson was born in December of 1825 “somewhere” in Tennessee. In fact, we know so little about Jordan that we’re not even sure if that’s how he actually spelled his first name, since it’s written as “Jourdan” on some documents, such as an 1870 federal census of Dayton Ohio where he lived at the time, and “Jordan” on others.

This said, historians are confident that Jordan was sold into slavery at around age 7 or 8 to one General Paulding Anderson.  Anderson then took Jordan and gifted him to his son, Patrick, who went by his middle name, Henry, for most of his life. Exactly what role Jordan served during his formative years isn’t clear, but we do know that at the time it was common for slave owners to give their children similarly aged slaves to function as servants who doubled as playmates; so it’s likely Jordan served such a function for Henry who was around his age.

As he grew into a man, Jordan took a more active role on the Anderson family plantation in Big Spring, Tennessee, apparently becoming one of Henry’s most reliable and able workers. At an unknown point in time in 1848 while working on the plantation, Jordan married a fellow slave named Amanda McGregor with whom he eventually sired 11 children.

When the American Civil War began in 1861, Jordan’s life changed very little and he still continued to dutifully work the plantation for his master with his wife until one fateful day in 1864 when Union Soldiers happened upon the plantation. Upon encountering Jordan, the soldiers granted him, his wife and children their freedom, making the act official with papers from the Provost Marshal General of Nashville, documents Jordan would treasure for the rest of his life.

Upon being granted his freedom, Jordan immediately left the plantation which angered Henry to such an extent that he shot at Jordan as he was leaving, only ceasing to fire when a neighbor grabbed Henry’s pistol from him. Reportedly, Henry vowed to kill Jordan if he ever set foot on his property again.

Following his departure from the plantation, Jordan worked briefly in a Nashville field hospital, becoming close friends with a surgeon called Dr Clarke McDermont. When the Civil War ended in 1865, McDermont helped Jordan and his family move to Dayton, Ohio and put him in contact with his father-in-law, Valentine Winters, an abolitionist who helped him secure work in the town.

For the most part, Jordan’s life in Dayton was uneventful, with his time spent working with a stoic sense of quiet dignity, supporting his family and making sure his many children received a good education, something the illiterate Jordan was never given the opportunity to have. (In fact, it was noted that while still a slave, when an unspecified white girl tried to teach one of his children to read, the girl was beaten for it and forced to stop.)

Jordan’s quiet life was briefly shattered in July of 1865 when out of the blue he received an urgent letter from his former master, Henry. As Jordan couldn’t read, he took the letter to Valentine Winters and asked him to read it to him. As it turns out, following the Civil War, the Anderson Plantation had fallen into complete disrepair, as is wont to happen when your entire workforce leaves pretty much all at once. Deeply in debt, in a desperate attempt to save himself from total financial ruin, Henry reached out to the only man he knew who not only had the skills needed for the harvest, but also potentially the clout to convince some of the other slaves to return for paid work- Jordan Anderson. The letter also promised that Jordan would be paid and be treated as a free man if he returned.

At this point, most people would have screwed up the letter and thrown it in the trash while taking some sordid satisfaction in that karma was doing its job, but Jordan had a better idea. After several days of pondering the letter’s contents, he invited Winters to his home and dictated an exquisite response:

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,—the folks call her Mrs. Anderson,—and the children—Milly, Jane, and Grundy—go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, “Them colored people were slaves” down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. (About $178,000 today)  Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams’s Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq.,[267] Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve—and die, if it come to that—than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson.

At Jordan’s behest, Winters sent the letter to Henry with the simple, informal title, “Letter from a Freedman to His Old Master”. Winters later had the letter published in an edition of the Cincinnati Commercial with the same title. The letter proved to be immensely popular, both because of the sheer level of snark displayed and the eloquence with which Jordan had told off his former “boss”. The letter was later reprinted in papers across the country and even published in parts of Europe, making Henry a world-renowned laughing stock.

Unsurprisingly, Henry never took Jordan up on his offer to pay him 50 years of wages in one go and the letter likely stopped any of his other slaves being tempted back when he wrote to them as well. As a result, the crops that year were never harvested. Henry, deeply in debt, had to sell the plantation for a fraction of its worth and he died penniless and destitute a few years later at age 44.

As for Jordan, he lived and worked in Dayton for the rest of his long life, dying at the age of 81 in 1907.

[gaiatheorist]

“Gammon.”

When it’s less 3am, I’ll go back onto Facebook, and thank the man in my peripheral circle for making an impassioned, and articulate, if somewhat sweary post about ‘gammon.’ He’s responding to the Poppy Noor article in The Guardian from earlier this week, more so, the “Don’t call names, be nice.” tone of it, and the way that every time ‘we’ are told to shut up by the powers-that-be, more of our agency is stripped away by authority. 

Yes, it’s nice-to-be-nice, and the world would be a happier place if everyone was kind to each other, I accept Ms Noor’s point, but, personally, I’ve reached a stage in my own life where “Taking it lying down”, to preserve an illusion of peace, for the benefit of other people just isn’t an option any more. (Yes, that’s a dig at the ex, no I still haven’t ‘let that go’, I probably never will fully, that particular power-imbalance was allowed to continue for far too long. I’m as angry at myself as I am at him, and his family, they were only one step above barefoot-and-pregnant ideology in terms of their women-folk.) 

Dan’s post on Facebook resonates with a couple of other articles I’ve read this week, the “I apologise on behalf of my gender” ones, that GOTN has been mentioned in. They have expanded out, that “I’m sorry that happened to you” is hollow without follow-through, that it can often, though not always spread into the defensive not-all-men, and “I would never do that!” conversation. Right, fine, I’d never kick a puppy, and I’m 100% certain that if I saw someone else kicking a puppy, I’d stop them, see where I’m going with that? We all have a duty of care to each other, wherever we cling to the privilege-ladder, to prevent harm to those ‘below’ us, that’s why I worked in Child Protection all those years. That wasn’t just to ‘rescue’ children, as knights in shining armour go, I’m probably riding a donkey, with an ice-cream wrapper stuck to my shoe, but I did manage to assist in influencing and turning some adults out of repeating harmful behaviours. “That’s not OK”, and “There are other ways”, on a loop, in the face of some incredibly angry, sometimes aggressive adults. My ‘privileged’ status there was that I was wearing a suit, so the assembled professionals tended to take more notice of my carefully worded arguments than the often incoherent blurtings of the families we were trying to stabilise. The suits were all Primark or charity shop ones, because I’d end up on my knees in the playground at least once a week, splitting up fights, or administering first aid. I came from the same streets as those fractured families, there’s no sense in throwing good money at clothes that are going to end up ruined.   

Poppy Noor equating ‘gammon’ with ‘the feckless masses’ offended me, I suppose that in her world-view I’m one of ‘them’ now, on Universal Credit, living in a postcode with Indicators of Multiple Deprivation. (Raised eyebrows from professionals on some occasions, when they’d voice their opinions on how ‘rough’ they’d heard the area was, and I’d casually drop that I’ve lived here most of my life.) If I have ‘branded’ clothes, they’re from charity shops, or have slashed labels because they’re ‘seconds’ from Everything5pounds,com, I have an iPhone, but it’s 2 or 3 models behind the current one, and I paid for it while I was working, I have a ‘fucking massive telly’, left behind by the ex when I threw him out. (It malfunctioned last week, if I hadn’t been able to fix it, I couldn’t have afforded to replace it.) Christ, I’m going not-all-benefits-claimants, aren’t I? I cook from scratch, Jamie Oliver, and I’ve managed to survive on Universal Credit, Theresa May and Iain Duncan-Smith, at great detriment to my Mental Health and credit rating. Maybe Ms Noor is looking down, and I’m looking up, I couldn’t say, because I’m not her. ‘Gammon’, from my perspective are the stock-shots from Question Time, the ‘feckless masses’ that the right-wing media likes to demonise don’t go on Question Time, I doubt most of them voted in the EU referendum, between the disenfranchisement from politics in general, and multiple house-moves meaning many won’t even be registered to vote. I could pick out the few people on my Facebook ‘friends’ list who voted leave, they’re the ones I placed on ‘hide all posts from’ at the start of this period of fragility, as a self-preservation tactic.

What Dan has pointed out, is that every time ‘we’ “know our place”, that ‘place’ is diminished, weakened, denigrated. Every time we defer to the judgement of our ‘betters’, in blind obedient obsequiousness, we allow the imbalances to continue, and what precious little control we have slips further from our grasp. Whichever ‘we’ category I take as my perspective-point, female (albeit non-binary), disabled, unemployed, unpartnered-and-ambivalently-oriented, working-class, having mental health issues, Dan has a very valid argument. Being ‘told’ that ‘gammon’ is a ‘playground insult’, and that its use invalidates any potential discussion or debate misses the point. (I’m fairly certain I’ve never actually used it, but I know I’ve thought it.)

The ‘playground insult’ element is part of the point, to borrow from Margaret Attwood, “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” Whichever-’we’-we-are, we’ve deliberately picked a lowest-common-denominator playground insult, the ridicule is very much a part of the impact, especially when so many people are being suspended from Twitter for using less jocular terminology. It’s not ‘nice’, and it’s not ‘kind’, I’m unpicking my reasoning for not using it, and I think it comes down to my usual aesthetic-issue, I do try not to base criticisms on characteristics of appearance, with the exception of ‘diet-mommy’, and that objectionable orange horror. 

‘We’ aren’t pointing ‘Ha-ha!’ or yelling ‘triggered!’ at the contingent offended by the use of the word gammon, we’re stepping back, logical-methodical, and hoping against all hope that some of ‘them’ reflect on what behaviours or characteristics are being called into question. What we usually get back is hate, not hope, but we keep plodding on, ‘patriots’ aren’t Pokemon, we know we can’t catch them all. What ‘we’ don’t want is a perpetuation of this perversion, where Farage, Johnson et al promised the nation a bike for Christmas, and now there’s no bike-shaped-present, or tree, and Christmas might well be postponed indefinitely, pending fruitful discussions. 

If and when we throw out the word ‘gammon’, there’s a tendency to respond in kind. ‘Snowflake’, ‘Millennial’, ‘Social Justice Warrior’, ‘Do-gooder’, and the old favourite ‘fat ugly lesbian.’, the ‘gammon’ are quickly roused to ire, and generally not particularly thorough in their prescription of pejoratives, there’s a tendency to fall back on a stock-range of ‘Your Mum’-level responses. ‘We’ are used to them, water off a duck’s back, after years in minority categories, sticks and stones may break our bones etc. The ‘gammon’ aren’t used to being ascribed a category, they’ve always assumed themselves to be high enough on the social ladder to be exempt, they don’t know what to do, how to respond, because they never had their pigtails pulled, or their bra-straps twanged. Their school-books didn’t have foot-prints on them, they were never followed home by two bigger boys spitting on the back of their blazer the whole way, knowing there’d be no way to wash and dry it properly for school the next morning. (Yes, that happened to me, the boys did it because they could, I was a scruffy poor girl, walking home alone.) What the ‘gammon’ are doing is telling-the-teacher, and what the ‘liberal elite’ are doing is telling everyone to play nicely together. We tried that. It didn’t work. The bullies still exploited their power-status, so we underdogs are turning the tables, given the evidence that there’s precious little chance of this monumental cock-up of a government taking ‘our’ side. 

We don’t throw out ‘gammon’ lightly, if we do it at all, being in a minority category teaches you to reserve your ammunition, because you have precious little of it. If or when we go for the jugular it’s a precisely intended strike, none of your “We are very clear that...” waffle, or the virtually indecipherable word-salad spewed out by the chap who didn’t want to go out in the rain. ‘We’ don’t have power-status, we do have something of a magic word, that has precisely the effect we intend it to, and we’ll use it as we see fit. The misguided mediators, telling us to play nicely with the bullies they’ve allowed to subjugate us forever, right under their noses are on a different status-strata, our lives are alien to them. They haven’t experienced the same prejudice and challenges that we have, their perspective of our ‘childish’ terminology is profoundly offensive, it isn’t that we don’t have more intelligent or articulate words at our disposal, it’s that we’re deliberately choosing the ones that we know will hit hardest, ‘laughing at the man.’ 

To Poppy Noor, and anyone else who wants to demean our demeanour and dismiss it as ‘playground insults’; They started it, you watched and did nothing, now, we’re doing something. Tell the bullies that sticks and stones will break their bones, but words will never hurt them, like you told us all of our lives.        

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Remembering Advice Animals, one of the internet's first viral memes

It’s Viral Market Crash week on Mashable. Join us as we take stock of the viral economy and investigate how the internet morphed from a fun free-for-all to a bleak hellscape we just can’t quit.

Today's internet is an endless buffet of memes. Bountiful GIFs, viral videos, and an innumerable amount of tweets are bestowed upon us on a daily basis. But before that wide and glorious selection was available to us, there was really only one entree on the table: Advice Animals.

Remember Advice Animals? Those early internet memes like Scumbag Steve and the Overly Attached Girlfriend, that consisted of a picture and two lines of text delivering a rudimentary joke. In 2006, these guys started spreading snarky jokes, embarrassing stories, and musings. They positively dominated sites like Reddit, Tumblr, and 4Chan in the late aughts. 

SEE ALSO: The Origins of the Word 'Meme'

Now, however, Advice Animals have largely fallen out of favor. It's not really surprising, given the short shelf life of a meme in the wild world of the internet these days. What's more shocking is how long Advice Animals lasted — and how they met their demise. 

A brief history of Advice Animal memes

Advice Animals are a category of memes originally derived from the Advice Dog meme — hence the name, though they aren't just limited to animals.

The Advice Dog meme first appeared in 2006, according to Know Your Meme, an online database dedicated to cataloguing all internet phenomena. Advice Dog's construction is simple: a goofy dog's face was placed in the center of a bright rainbow pinwheel, and (typically) terrible advice was superimposed on the top and bottom of the image. The use of the image macro format  — a general term for a captioned image — made the meme fairly easy to replicate and expand on.

Soon after Advice Dog's popularity grew, so did its spin-offs, dubbed Advice Animals.

Some of the most popular Advice Animals: Business Cat, a cat sporting a tie and offering advice fit for feline co-workers; Socially Awkward Penguin, a penguin lacking in self esteem and social graces; Scumbag Steve, a youth known for his sideways cap and flair for getting into precarious situations; and Bad Luck Brian, a braces-clad teen wearing a vest who suffers from perpetual bad luck. 

(Know Your Meme has an extensive Periodic Table of Advice Animals if you want to dive deep). 

In 2009, Memegenerator.net became one of the first websites to allow users to create memes with their own desired text, according to Know Your Meme, with copycat sites like Memebase and Quickmeme following. 

By 2010, Reddit had become a hotspot for sharing Advice Animal memes with the addition of the r/AdviceAnimals subreddit. In 2014, the subreddit had 4.2 million subscribers and was featured prominently on Reddit’s front page, according to the Daily Dot. 

And then ... people slowly lost interest.

Did Reddit kill Advice Animals?

On May 7, 2014, the r/AdviceAnimals subreddit was removed from the front page. The platform issued a statement explaining that its old defaults were determined by popularity and that the company wanted to shake things up a bit with some new subs. 

Amanda Brennan, a Know Your Meme alumna and current Tumblr employee who has been dubbed the "librarian of the internet," told Mashable that Advice Animals' removal from Reddit's front page could have definitely contributed to a decline in the subreddit's reach and the memes' appeal.

"Having something removed from the Reddit front page, you lose that audience that you would get from someone who is logging into Reddit, or who may just come casually," Brennan explained. 

Instead, people would have to intentionally seek out the group in order to see it. 

The subreddit brought in 83.7 million page views and 8.3 million uniques one month prior to its removal from the front page. The following year those numbers went down to 29.8 million page views and 3.5 million uniques, according to a 2014 report from Kernel.

Google Trends also point to a decline in "advice animals" searches after May 2014, when r/AdviceAnimals was removed as a default subreddit.

There are a handful of things that could have encouraged Reddit to remove the Advice Animals sub from its front page.  

The Quickmeme Scandal

In 2013, Advice Animals faced one of its biggest scandals — the infiltration of Quickmeme.

Quickmeme, a popular meme-generating site, was launched by brothers Wayne and Stephen Miltz in 2010, generating about $1.6 million a month, according to the Daily Dot. Quickmeme links were frequently submitted to r/AdviceAnimals, though other generator sites like memegenerator.net were submitted somewhat regularly.

By June 2011 r/AdviceAnimals began looking for a new moderator to help run the growing subreddit, and Redditor gtw08 was voted into the position. Everything seemed to be going smoothly until 2012, when fellow r/AdviceAnimals moderator ManWithoutModem started to notice that gtw08 was deleting links from Livememe. 

Livememe, which debuted in 2012, was one of Quickmeme's largest competitors due to its ability to support GIFs. It struck ManWithoutModem as odd that only Quickmemes were getting upvoted while Livememe's were being deleted. 

ManWithoutModem's concerns were dismissed by the other mods, but after talking to suspicious members of the subreddit in a private chat they decided to go some digging. In 2013, it was discovered that gtw08 was actually Quickmeme owner Wayne Miltz, clearly gaming the Reddit system. The Miltz brothers and Quickmeme ended up being placed on a site-wide ban.

Brennan believes that the perceived manipulation of the Reddit subculture could have created a sense of distance.

"Seeing someone try to manipulate it [the subreddit community] and being called out for manipulating it gives that hive mind a, 'Oh, I don't want to get involved with someone that's trying to manipulate our culture for their own personal gain,'" Brennan said.

Advice Animals saw an influx of bigoted content

Like many internet communities, Advice Animals fell victim to racist and bigoted comments and memes.

According to a recent  r/TheoryOfReddit thread dissecting why Advice Animals have become less popular, racism was cited as a big contributing factor.

"Years ago around when the Racist Unpopular Opinion Puffin was starting to take over the sub and they were starting to build a certain reputation, Reddit expanded the default subs from 25 to 50 and dropped AA as a default," wrote u/diiejso. "It's possible that at this point new users weren't automatically seeing the sub and it started a gradual decline then."

Racist Advice Animal memes are still found on the subreddit, though the community now has strict rules against using Advice Animals (specifically the Unpopular Opinion Puffin) to make bigoted statements or remarks. The new rules were instated by its moderators July 14, 2015 and have been pinned to the top of r/AdviceAnimals for newcomers and old subscribers to see. 

"We're here to have a laugh; hate speech, bigotry, and personal attacks are not allowed," state r/AdviceAnimals' rules in bold. 

But with millions of subscribers it's not easy for unpaid mods to catch every crude meme or remark.

Reddit has had a longstanding struggle dealing with hate speech and controversial communities. So, it's not a surprise that a subreddit as popular as r/AdviceAnimals got tangled up with the bad side of Reddit.

Brennan explained that often times people will use use popular joke structures (like those of the Advice Animals) and language online to make racist statements to see if others agree with their ideology.

"As Advice Animals get more mainstream, more people are shown that structure of language and it's like, 'Oh people are joking about this stuff, maybe let me just test the waters and see if my ideology lands with people and then I can find my racist friends,'" Brennan said. 

This can create a kind of snowball effect, gathering more and more people through the use of mainstream language and mainstream attention, according to Brennan. 

We can't blame it all on Reddit 

Now in 2018, the still active Advice Animals subreddit has risen to 5 million subscribers, so it seems strange and a little bizarre to hold Reddit solely accountable for the decline of Advice Animal memes.   

Though, even with such a high number of subscribers the interest in Advice Animals just isn't there like it once was. Memes evolve on a daily basis, reaction GIFs became a form of communication, and Advice Animals became tired, and almost juvenile.

Now, memes tend to avoid the goofiness of their predecessors. Instead they're digestible bites of complex and surreal content, think Change My Mind meme, or the Gym Kardashian memes. They're in conversation with pop culture, current events, and nuanced human emotions in ways Advice Animals never were. The crude and sophomoric language of Advice Animals just can't compete with the offbeat and irreverent memes of today. 

"It is full of low effort content that just isn't enjoyable," said namer98, in a r/TheoryOfReddit thread, a year ago. 

Advice Animal memes are played out and unoriginal: the pumpkin spice latte of memes.

Brennan offers an explanation for the subreddit's continued userbase: "I think that it still has subscribers out of nostalgia, people who are maybe a little older, who really participated in the 'memey-ness' of it [the subreddit] in its heyday and don't want to unsubscribe because they still find them funny."

The likelihood of Advice Animals seeing a full resurgence is slim, according to Brennan, in large part because the technology we use to view and absorb memes has changed drastically.

"If you think back to 2012 or 2011 and the way that we spoke online and the power our phones had, it was easier to download a photo than it was to download a GIF," Brennan explained. "And now WiFi is everywhere. Our phones are faster, we can make more videos with our phones. Cameras are getting better."

Still, there's a little bit of Advice Animals to be found in all present day memes, says Brennan: "There's always iterations of Advice Animals that you can find. Like, you can find some evolved version of it [Advice Animals] no matter where you look in meme culture, because all the archetypes are there. It's all about fleshing out what you understand about these ideas of people through whatever the structure of the language is."

As far as the future of memes goes, it's unclear. But Brennan says that she knows one thing to be true: people will always use memes and their language to connect to others, in addition to connecting with themselves.

WATCH: Drake's 'In My Feelings' challenge has gotten completely out of hand