#polish beer representation

[cheerpuppy14]

Camping

[mariacallous]

Stressing laissez-faire economics at the expense of ultra-nationalism, the two young leaders of Confederation have made the far-right alliance popular enough to be the probable ‘kingmaker’ in October’s parliamentary election.

Dressed in a perfectly pressed white shirt that almost glows under the neon lights, 36-year-old Slawomir Mentzen, the most popular of the two young leaders of the far-right Confederation (Konfederacja) alliance, is pacing up and down at the side of the stage rehearsing his upcoming speech.

Taking place on August 18 in an exhibition hall in Kielce, a town of 180,000 in southern Poland, this is the first event in an election campaign (dubbed “concert tour”) that the two leaders of Confederation, Mentzen and 41-year-old Krzysztof Bosak, are planning to keep up until the general election set for October 15.

As multiple speakers take their turn on stage, the audience keeps an eye on the pacing Mentzen – he is without doubt the star of the night. Mentzen has built his popularity largely on social media: in January, his posts on TikTok garnered a staggering 40 million views, compared with just 5 million for the politician in second place, Janusz Korwin-Mikke, an older politician also from Mentzen’s party.

When Mentzen’s turn comes, he doesn’t disappoint. His speech can be better described as stand-up comedy, with self-deprecating images or memes about his political rivals projected on a large screen behind him as he cracks joke after joke. The audience, made up primarily of young and middle-aged men (though there are some women in the hall), is visibly excited, laughing out loud with each snarky remark.

Mentzen, a tax adviser and craft beer producer, advocates for radical cuts in tax and social security contributions, and an associated reduction in the size of the welfare system. At one point during the evening, he pulls out a thick stack of 10,000 pages on which he says is printed the text of all Polish laws setting out taxes on companies, and then tosses them into the air in a grand gesture.

“If you work hard, then you will be free,” Mentzen tells his audience, describing his vision of the future. “Rather than depend on bureaucrats, you will be free and dignified. This is a beautiful idea.”

Support for Confederation entered double digits at the turn of 2023, and by the beginning of summer the alliance, which is made up of three different extremist parties, was polling around 14 per cent. Because of Poland’s particular form of proportional representation (the d’Hondt method) and the overall balance of power between the governing Law and Justice (PiS) and the liberal opposition, Confederation could find itself in the position of ‘kingmaker’ after the election. Both PiS and Civic Platform are reported to be considering adding MPs from Confederation if that is what it would take to form a governing majority.

Given how close the alliance is now to power, some observers say it’s important to emphasise that Confederation is still very much a radical far-right political force, despite the ‘civilised’ face adopted by its young leaders. And one of the areas where Confederation in government could have its biggest impact is Poland’s unwavering support for Ukraine in its war against Russia.

‘Gays’ over taxes

Mentzen and Bosak used their respective speeches in Kielce to talk mostly about economics and system change; they presented Confederation as a third party challenging the political status quo that is dominated by PiS and Civic Platform. Yet, from time to time, they let slip phrases that, like a nod and a wink to the audience, betrayed their ultra-Catholic and ultra-nationalistic values.

“I prefer even gays to taxes,” Menzen said after explaining some tax reform he would introduce that would collaterally benefit unmarried people too.

“I am not racist or xenophobic,” Bosak said in turn, “but it cannot be that after one week of living in Poland one gets the same rights and privileges as Polish people who have lived here for generations.”

Bosak began his political career over 20 years ago in All-Polish Youth, an ultranationalist group, and now leads the National Movement, an alliance of nationalist and ultra-Catholic groups which co-organises the annual Independence Day march on November 11, at which anti-Semitic and racist slogans are the norm.

His wife works for the ultra-Catholic organisation Ordo Iuris, which spearheads attempts to restrict reproductive and LGBT rights in Poland.

Mentzen is newer to politics. He sparked controversy in 2019 during the campaign for the European Parliament when he described the five objectives of his group: “We don’t want Jews, homosexuals, abortions, taxes and the European Union.”

Mentzen defended himself by claiming his words had been taken out of context, as he was merely explaining what would theoretically work to garner support. However, numerous statements made by Confederation members, widely available online, show that these are indeed key topics for Menzen’s political movement.

Rafal Pankowski, head of the Never Again anti-racism group in Poland, told BIRN it would be a mistake to judge Confederation by the tamer type of discourse that Mentzen and Bosak have indulged in lately. Pankowski said the Confederation electoral list is full of “known hardcore extremists”, pointing out the key role in the far-right alliance of two notorious politicians, Grzegorz Braun and Janusz Korwin-Mikke.

Braun heads the Confederation of the Polish Crown, one of the three parties in the far-right Confederation alliance in addition to Mentzen’s New Hope and Bosak’s National Movement. As BIRN has previously reported, Braun is known for opposing the opening of Poland’s border to Ukrainian refugees at the start of the war and expressing support for vigilantes who attacked non-white refugees from Ukraine on the streets of the border town Przemysl in early March 2022. He has also been central to the Polish anti-vax movement.

Korwin-Mikke, who was formally replaced as leader of New Hope by Mentzen but is still active in campaigning for the party, is described by Pankowski as “the politician with the longest record of making outrageous statements about every minority and in praise of Vladimir Putin”.

War weary

Despite a majority of Poles maintaining support for Ukraine and its refugees, anti-Ukrainian feelings could still prove to be a trump card for Confederation in the upcoming election.

Among those attending the Kielce event interviewed by BIRN, most said they were there because they shared the economic or worldview goals of the two leaders. Yet some expressed interest in a separate issue.

“Confederation is the only party in Poland to have a different position on the war in Ukraine,” 21-year-old Tomasz told BIRN. “I count on an open discussion today to be able to ask questions about this. I think we should be watching out for our own interests and stay neutral in relation to the war in Ukraine.”

Some studies and commentators have noted a sense of gradually rising fatigue in Polish society with helping Ukrainian refugees and supporting the war effort. And provocations from Russia and Belarus, such as the two Belarusian military helicopters crossing into Polish air space in August, are aimed at accentuating that trend. Confederation is well positioned to take advantage if that happens.

“Confederation made a decision early on to hold an anti-Ukrainian refugee position, which at the start cost them a lot, as their support was at below 5 per cent,” Pankowski explained. “But it may have been a clever decision to play a long-term game and they are now reaping the benefits.”

“Confederation plays a role in accentuating anti-Ukrainian feeling and is benefiting from that,” he added.

Katarzyna Zimolag, who is running for parliament on the Confederation list, denied that her party was anti-Ukrainian. However, the politician told BIRN that the support Poland has provided to Ukraine should be reassessed, as the economic situation in Poland means Poles are struggling too and their needs need to be put first.

When asked what could be the policy implications of having Confederation in government, Pankowski replied it was hard to say, as Poland is already ruled by a party with very right-wing views, even if there’s always room for more.

“Confederation in government could really have a negative impact on how comfortable Ukrainian refugees feel in this country and could also undermine Poland’s overall support for Ukraine,” he said.

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part three Word count: ±2700 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other   trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result.      Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.”      They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly. 

     “Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work.      “Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?”      Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.”      Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.”      “You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.

     The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either. 

     As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.

     Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.

     Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake. 

     Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so. 

     Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her. 

     The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock. 

     At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.

     Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.

     Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W

     Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.

     Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough. 

     “We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time.      “Me first,” Dean demands, childish.      “What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.”      “Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.

     Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him. 

     “That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?”      “Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.”      “Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly.      “Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.

     “And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again.      “Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”

     Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal.      “This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”

     “You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone.      “And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns.      “I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.

     Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years,  and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at?      “How?” he questions, suspicion rising.      “I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states.      Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”

     The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.”      “She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers.      “She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.

     Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke.      “You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant.      But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.” 

     Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. 

     “Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone.      “I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him.      “Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”

     “You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.

     “You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!”  he continues cynically.      “He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.”      “It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”

     Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.

     “I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”

     Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's.      “I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.

     For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two.      “I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”

     Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride. 

     Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father.      Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”

     Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.

     The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again.      “C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.

     But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.

With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white.       “Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.

     His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him. 

     Take care of Sammy. 

     He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.

Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part four here

[bluekaddis]

Today is 11/11 which marks 101 years of Poland regaining independence and I thought it is a perfect time to publish a post that I’ve been working on for a while. 

Ferelden from Polish Perspective aka Why We Can Relate to Dog Lords So Much. 

This is a sort of compilation of my own thoughts I had while playing the games and various talks with my Polish friends. It is not supposed to force any ideas or teach others how to interpret the game. I just thought it could be entertaining for anyone interested in history and culture. I was trying not to elaborate too much on the subject here but it still ended up being A Very Long Post TM. To make this post a little neater to read, I divided this post into 4 sections:

1. History

2. Fashion and Food

3. Politics

4. Relationships with Other Countries

I will be very happy if you find a minute or two to read some of my points. If you have any additional questions or comments feel free to leave me a message :)

And once again - enormous thanks to @aeducanka​ for proofreading. I would be a poor mess without you. 

DISCLAIMERS

1. Yes, I know that Ferelden is based mostly on Anglo-Saxon England and I have no problem with that. True, I may be a little disappointed that the game includes references to so many European cultures and countries (France, Byzantine Empire, Venice, Roma culture etc.) and yet practically ignores Central and Eastern Europe completely, BUT this post is not meant to be a “Where is my representation?!” rant. If I wanted a game with Slavic culture vibes, I could always play the Witcher trilogy again. We are doing alright. 

2. I am in no way an academic specialist on culture or history, even these of my own country. I did some research, but most of facts and figures can be easily found on wikipedia. You can treat this as just some observations and headcanons of a 29 y/o Polish woman, who has grown up and lives in Poland. 

3. The main focus of this post is Poland in different moments of history. However, when talking about fashion and political system I will mostly refer to Polish culture between the 16th and 18th century. During that time Poland and Lithuania formed a dual state known as The Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. So, whenever I refer to this particular period, I will use the term “Commonwealth” instead of “Poland”. 

PART 1 – HISTORY

The country’s name origin

Ferelden means „fertile valley” in Alamarri tongue [WoT vol. 1], Poland most probably comes from the Slavic word „pole” meaning „field”. They both refer to land that can be cultivated.

History of unification

Ferelden lands were divided between many tribes until they were unified by Calenhad Theirin. He fought and defeated other Alamarri tribes’ leaders, proclaimed Andrastianism as the new official religion of his kingdom and started the Theirin dynasty.  

A similar story can be told about Mieszko I of Poland – the leader of the Polans tribe (one of many Slavic tribes of that time) who, by means of war and diplomacy, united many Slavic tribes and created the Polish country in 965. In the same year he was baptised, abandoning native paganism in favour of Christianity. Mieszko started the Piast dynasty which ruled Poland for over 400 years. He never officially became a king, though – his son, Bolesław, was crowned king in 1025.

Also, Ferelden is a relatively young country compared to countries like Orlais or Tevinter. Even if Poland has over 1000 years of history as a country, it has to be noted that some Western European countries have a longer history (eg. the Carolingian Empire or the Visigothic Kingdom). Polish lands have also never been a part of the Roman Empire. 

Fun fact – the half-legendary sword of the first king of Poland, Szczerbiec, was stolen by Prussian troops during their invasion on Poland in 1795. Calenhad’s sword, Nemetos,was lost during the Orlesian invasion on Ferelden [WoT vol. 1].

Ostagar

Now, I will tell you a story. It is about a young king (in his twenties), a little reckless, wanting to be the leader who stood against the great invading threat to his country, a little blinded by the perspective of glorious victory. Just before the battle one of his allied forces betrayed him and did not provide the promised aid. The enemy army was too strong, too large. The king’s army was defeated, the king was killed in battle and his body was taken by the enemy. The king did not have children and his younger brother had succeeded him.

No, I’m not talking about Cailan, this is the story of Władysław III of Poland.

PART 2 – FASHION AND FOOD

Fashion

All cultures in Thedas have their own style and fashion. Ferelden is supposed to be this “We like fur and warm fabrics” culture, opposite to the extravagant Orlesian style. However, I have few problems with how Fereldan fashion is shown in the game.

1. It is too early-medieval looking. I know, it is a fantasy, you can mix ancient Egypt with steampunk and nobody should care. But we see, from cultural and technological perspective, that Thedas in Dragon Age is more renaissance/baroque than your typical medieval. Heck, some elements, like the infamous Formal Attire, look like clothes from 18th or even 19th century! In comparison, outfits like Arms of Mac Tir or Robes of the Pretender (though good looking) look like something from the Vikings era.

2.  We do not see many good looking Fereldan outfits in the games. I like Alistair’s royal outfit and some of Fereldan armors and clothes from DA:2 but remember this?

Or this?

Yeah, Dog Lords can do better :/

And that’s why I like to headcanon Fereldan fashion as something more resembling the Commonwealth fashion between the 16th and 18th century. It was an interesting mix of European and Asian influences and I think it would work perfectly with canon Ferelden because:

1. People LOVED fur elements in their clothing. Fur lining on coats, fur caps decorated with feathers, pelts of wild carnivores (lions, wolves, bears, etc.) on armour  - fur was everywhere.

2. It is simple but regal. The quality of materials and patterns were more important than volume and the number of layers. A typical male noble outfit consisted of a long garment (żupan), a long, ornate sash, one of two types of cloak (delia or kontusz) and a fur cap decorated with feathers and jewels. If you compare it with the baroque fashion from France it is less extravagant and more practical. No wigs, no flounces, no man tights. 

Compare these two dudes – the older one is dressed Commonwealth style, the younger – in French style. 

The Deluge, 1974

Of course some wealthy noblemen who spent a lot of time in France or other Western countries tended to adapt their style, but from what I know it was not that common. Women, on the other hand, tended to dress more similar to their Western counterparts (especially when they wanted to look fashionable) but their everyday dresses were not that much elaborate. They also wore kontusz (though the female version was shorter) and fur caps when outside. 

Below I post some more costumes to better illustrate my point. They all come from Polish movie adaptations of H. Sienkiewicz’s novels (I looove both the books and the movies).

With Fire and Sword, 1999

The Deluge, 1974

Fire in the Steppe, 1968

And I could not NOT to mention the wonderful interpretation of Fereldan armor and clothing for my OCs drawn by @ankalime​ - I still can’t get over how beautiful they look :3

Food

From what we know, Fereldan food is very similar to traditional English cuisine (lamb and pea anyone?), HOWEVER, I can totally see some traditional Polish dishes on Fereldan tables. Let us look at this part of Alistair’s banter with Leliana:

“Now here in Ferelden, we do things right. We take our ingredients, throw them into the largest pot we can find, and cook them for as long as possible until everything is a uniform grey color. As soon as it looks completely bland and unappetizing, that's when I know it's done.”

Dishes like bigos, flaki or goulash (mostly associated with Hungary but also present in various forms in Slavic countries) totally fit this description. Tasty and hearty but I know some foreigners see them as totally unappetizing :P

Poland is also culturally more into beer than wine  (high five, British Isles!), so Fereldan ale fits this image, too.

PART 3. POLITICS

When I first played DA:O and heard about choosing the new queen/king on Landsmeet I was like “omg, they have wolna elekcja!”

The canon Ferelden is a feudal country, however, there seems to be less focus on the king's absolute power – instead, the nobles can choose the king they like, the hierarchy inside this particular social class is also less striking than one can expect. 

And this brings me to the concept of Golden Liberty. (I will quote Wikipedia here, I am not that smart to explain this well in English on my own).

The Golden Liberty was a unique political system of the Commonwealth – a mixture of monarchy, oligarchy and democracy. The most distinctive elements of that systems were:

- All nobles regardless of rank or economic status, were considered to have equal legal rights (and you did not have to own a town or two to be considered a noble – a large part of the nobility owned nothing more than a farm, often little different from a peasant's dwelling, and some did not even have that much). The rights were, for example:

-  Neminem captivabimus ("We shall not arrest anyone without a court verdict").  

- right to vote – every nobleman, whether rich or poor, could vote. Of course if someone was rich, they could bribe others to gain more political influence, but it is the same as today. 

- religious freedom – unlike many other European countries of the time, people in Commonwealth were legally free to follow any religion. The Commonwealth became a common refuge for people who were persecuted for religion in their homelands. The religious freedom was not restricted to nobility but to all social classes. 

- rokosz - the right to form a legal rebellion against a king who violated nobility freedoms.

- the monarchy was elective, not hereditary, and the king was elected by the nobility. That “democracy” was not, of course, perfect, as only male noblemen had the right to vote and elect the king. However, it was still between 10-15% of the population who could vote. In comparison, “in 1831 in France only about 1% of the population had the right to vote”

The Landsmeet in DA:O is basically the free election (well, maybe minus the duel :D) and I would say the Fereldan nobility does not feel obliged to be obedient 100% of the time. 

PART 4. RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER COUNTRIES

Orlesian occupation

We know from the game that Orlais invaded Ferelden in 8:24 Blessed and occupied it for decades. The Fereldan forces were rebelling against the occupant and finally, under the command of Maric Theirin, they won their freedom.

Again, it is a huge topic, so to summarize: Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth suffered a similar fate in 1795 as it was conquered and divided between Habsburg Austria, the Kingdom of Prussia and the Russian Empire. For 123 years Poles have been trying to regain their country, have started several uprisings and lost many lives in their fight for independence. Finally, at the end of WW1, independent Poland reappeared on the map of the world. Then came the WW2, probably the most tragic event in Polish history – the cities were razed to the ground, a vast part of national heritage destroyed or stolen, and over 6 million people (1/5 of the pre-war population) were killed.

So yeah, a country invaded and occupied for decades by its neighbour sounds way too familiar to be ignored. 

Ferelden in the eyes of Orlesians

The Fereldans are a puzzle. As a people, they are one bad day away from reverting to barbarism. (...) They are the coarse, wilful, dirty, disorganized people [DA:O Codex Entry: Culture of Ferelden].

Yeah... this, unfortunately, sounds familiar. I fear that the stereotype of a drunk, stupid, poor, thieving Poles (and other Slavic nations), which originated from WW2 propaganda, is somehow still alive in the West. I will not dive deeper in this subject because I want to believe my followers have their own brain cells and I do not need to explain how hurtful and offensive those stereotypes are.

My point is – I could identify easily with a fantasy country that is located east from the “centre of culture and civilisation” and is unfairly believed to be more barbaric.

So – for all two of you who bothered to read the whole thing - thanks for coming to my TED talk.I really appreciate the time you spent here :)

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Blood is Thicker Than Water

Summary: Steve Rogers is a vampire slayer. Bucky Barnes is a vampire. They’re not meant to be no matter how hard they want to change that.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags: angst, blood, mention of past abuse, pining, star-crossed lovers, boys in love, ambiguous ending

written for @captain-rogers-beard​‘s  Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge June 9th prompt

Prompt: Vampires

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long, slayer.” 

Steve glances up from his beer, his heartbeat picking up at the sudden company. All the noise in the bar probably isn’t enough to cover the sound of it either so no doubt Bucky can hear it with those perfect ears of his. 

He tries to avert his gaze but can’t. He never can. Bucky is just so striking in every way. Five years ago, when Steve first laid eyes on him, he thought he’d been carved out of his own dreams. He’d never seen anyone like him. Long, lean limbs. Those lips the color of sin against his smooth, alabaster skin. Fluffy hair the color of a fawn and twice as soft. And his eyes. Good God, his eyes.

Steve had tried to dismiss them as gray. Just the color of a dreary day before it storms. But the more Steve’s seen them, the more he looks into them, the more he needs to acknowledge how wrong he’d been.

They aren’t gray. They’re silver, though, really, neither word does them justice. They are so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of a precious gem, and when Steve looks closer like he does just now, he sees the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges.

“You always keep me waiting,” Steve says, hoping to keep his voice even. “What else is new?”

Bucky’s mouth curves up in an amused grin as he helps himself to the seat across from Steve. 

“Is that a turn of phrase,” he asks, “or are you really asking?”

He wasn’t asking, but now that Bucky brought it to his attention, Steve does want to know. 

“It’s been two months,” Steve says. “What’ve you been up to?” 

Before responding, Bucky pulls a flask out from beneath the folds of his overcoat, adjusting his silk cravat so that he doesn’t suffer the horror of having anything out of place. Always so impeccably dressed no matter how outdated some of it might be. 

A touch of a more romantic time in history, Bucky always says. I can’t blame the world for losing its taste, but that doesn’t mean I have to.

Steve can’t help watching as Bucky takes a sip. A hard lump lodges itself in his throat when a bright red sheen left itself on Bucky’s lips. As if knowing Steve’s watching, Bucky makes a slow, sensual show of licking away the remnants.

“Want some then, slayer?”

Steve forces himself to look away. He tries to clear that lump but catching himself locked in Bucky’s gaze again doesn’t help with that. Bucky smirks. 

“I’ve kept busy,” Bucky finally answers the question at hand. “Teaching, actually.”

“Teaching?”

“Mhm.” Bucky nods. “Artistic Representation of the Underworld, The Bible as Literature, and War, Lit, and Politics of the Italian Renaissance. Took over for a few professors at the university when they suddenly needed some…time off.”

Time off. That probably means Bucky made a very convincing suggestion. A simple whisper in their ear that now would be a perfect time for a vacation. Very hard to resist the suggestive power of a vampire, especially when unaware of it. 

Taking a handful of peanuts, Steve chuckles with a shake of his head. He unshells one of the nuts and pops it into his mouth.

“All things you have personal experience with.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’m not that old, slayer. I was not around for anything written in the Bible.” 

Steve doesn’t know Bucky’s exact age. In fact, he’s not even sure Bucky knows his exact age anymore. He does know that he was around for the Renaissance and shows up in a few, more obscure, paintings from the era. 

“And you, Steven?” Bucky asks. “What sort of trouble have you been getting yourself into lately?”

“None.”

Eyebrows arching, Bucky clicks his tongue in that knowing sort of way and Steve shrinks into his shoulders. He knows that look. Knows he’s done something that’s about to get him scolded.

“No?” Bucky says, and waits for Steve to amend his answer but, for the life of him, Steve can’t think of what answer he’s looking for. “Then what’s this I hear about you jumping out of a glass elevator?” 

“You know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that.” When Steve doesn’t say anything else, Bucky huffs. “Would you care to share why you jumped from forty stories?”

This accusation makes Steve wince. Yes, he did jump out of a glass elevator, and from a very high height, but he did have a good reason.

“I was surrounded,” Steve argues, “by vampires. What’d you want me to do, let them–”

The growl in the back of Bucky’s throat cuts him off and Steve snaps his mouth shut. 

“Are you being a smartass, Steven?”

“N-no, Bucky.”

“Good,” Bucky grumbles. “Why were you there in the first place?”

Steve scoffs. The answer to that is obvious and Bucky already knows it. It’s painted beneath the skin of Steve’s forearm. 

It is in our blood, to slay every last one

“You know why I was there,” Steve whispers. “I had to be there.”

“Killing more of my brethren?” Bucky asks. “More monsters like me?”

Eyes dropping to the table, Steve’s brow furrows and he slowly shakes his head. 

“I don’t think you’re a monster, you know that.” Steve looks through his lashes to see that Bucky’s crossed his arms. Still waiting for an answer to his more pressing question. “I wasn’t there hunting. I was there doing research.” 

Bucky’s head tilts slightly to the side. “Research at a public building?”

“That’s right. I got wind that there was a Hydra Coven there.”

This makes Bucky fall back against his seat with a more understanding, if not surprised, look on his face. He drums his fingers across the table, those manicured nails tap, tap, tapping as he does. 

“I see.” He’s dropped his gaze. Seeing things Steve can’t. A time before all this. Before he knew Steve. Before they were a them. “And did you find him?”

“No. But his War Dog was there. Gives me reason to think he’s in town, too.” Steve twists his lips. “I guess you still won’t tell me where he is.”

“You guessed correctly.” 

“You’re impossible.”

Bucky sighs and peers up through thick lashes. That look makes Steve’s heart pound even harder. So innocent and anything but at the same time. 

“Steve,” he says, softly, “you’ve got to stop this. You’re going to get hurt.”  

“I’m a slayer,” Steve mutters. “It’s my job.”

Slayers have been around almost as long as the vampires they hunt. People born with the innate ability, the strength, the speed, to hunt the hunters. They joined forces to hunt together under one banner they called the Black Rose for the same sole purpose, pursuit, calling.

Generations have continued their sacred mission: kill all vampires. They’ve handed down one message: despise all vampires. They valued one truth above all others: all vampires are evil. 

Each new generation is taught the arduous and painstaking art of slaying at a young age. Steve, like all slayers before him, had these three absolutes instilled in him ever since a vampire killed his mother when he was just three-years-old. 

But Sarah Rogers, a slayer like him, hadn’t been part of the Roses, he learned later. Sarah Rogers, like Steve after her, defected. Became a traitor. Wanted to raise her son full of tolerance and acceptance. And would have, had she not been killed. 

Of course, the Roses took him in after her death and never spoke a word of this, indoctrinating him into their way of life. 

Vampires, he believed, were vicious bullies who preyed on the weak. They murdered and maimed for the thrill of it. They were mindless animals that didn’t care about the pain and grief they left behind. 

A belief that changed drastically ten years ago when Steve had been sent to Romania–how so very cliché–in search of a particularly nasty coven. Only when he surprised them in a predawn attack, Steve didn’t find a coven of monsters. He found a family, the matriarch and sire willing to die if Steve promised to spare the others. 

Steve couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Any of them. It wouldn’t’ve been right. He hadn’t gone back to the Black Rose after that. If he did, and if he told them when he’d found and done and now believed--that maybe not all vampires were the monsters they thought--they’d just brand him a traitor. Which they did anyway, eventually. When they found out what he’d been doing.

The inner workings of the underground vampire world are just as convoluted and corrupt as any human governing force, including the Black Rose. Steve had been raised and taught to fight injustice. He didn’t like bullies. To him, it didn’t matter what they were or where they came from.

Vampire or human, they all deserve someone to fight for them against oppression and persecution. 

For the Roses, however, life is black and white. Good versus evil. Right and wrong. Vampires, to them, are a blight on humanity. Something unnatural. They refuse to see what Steve had come to discover that night all those years ago. Steve isn’t so sure they weren’t the ones actually responsible for his mother’s death.

Plenty of vampires are content to just live their lives. They hold jobs. Go to school. Have homes. Families. Friends. They don’t all kill those they fed from. In fact, most don’t.

Other slayers have joined Steve and his cause. So have vampires. Enough that they could officially call themselves a team. People who know of their existence like to call them the Avengers. A bit much, in Steve’s opinion, but who is he to argue on such matters.

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, reaching across the table to place his hand over Steve’s wrist. His skin is slightly cold to the touch. “You don’t have to keep doing this. I’m okay.” 

Jaw tightening, Steve turns his hand enough to lace their fingers. Across from him, Bucky’s gaze lifts to meet his. 

“I do have to,” Steve replies. “He needs to pay for what he did to you.”

That last part is just a slip of the tongue. Steve doesn’t mean to say it. He does mean it. With all his heart. But his dedication isn’t meant to be reserved only for Bucky. In this, though, he can’t help it. Not after what’s happened.

Taking his hand back, Bucky drops his gaze to the table and sighs, his countenance vastly different than when he first sat with Steve.

“But he’s my sire.” 

Bucky says this softly. Almost to himself even though Steve knows he’s meant to hear it. There’s a part of him--albeit a very small part--that sympathizes. He doesn’t understand, and unless he’s ever turned himself, he won’t ever. 

It’s a strange relationship, the one between a sire and their vampires. The bond between them is said to be unbreakable except by death. Steve’s seen just how wonderful that bond can be. The protectiveness and companionship and love. 

But he’s also seen the abuse it can lead to as well. The mistreatment. The manipulation. The loss of free will. Steve has witnessed vampires forced to do horrible things they’d never do all because their sire took control of their mind. 

The same way Bucky’s did last year.

And many times before they met. 

“I don’t care,” Steve mutters through clenched teeth. “He hurt you.” 

As if this means absolutely nothing to Bucky, he shrugs and takes another swig from his flask with a shake of his head.

“He’s my sire, Steve,” he says in a way that makes Steve’s stomach turn, a way that suggests it’s simply okay to be hurt by his sire based solely on the fact that he’s his sire. “It wasn’t the first time. It probably won’t be the last. Definitely not a reason for you to be throwing yourself out of an elevator.”

“Bucky--”

“Because you do realize that you’re neither immortal nor invincible,” he reprimands. “My blood gives you strength but you still have limits.”

He did have limits. Not many, but some. Bucky’s blood gave him strength. It gave him speed. It gave him heightened abilities altogether. But, just as Bucky said, it neither made him immortal nor invincible. 

The only reason Steve ever consumed vampire blood in the first place was out of pure necessity. Without it, he’d’ve died. Bucky saved his life the day they met. 

Steve clears his throat and tugs on the neck of his sweater. He knows what Bucky’s doing. That he wants to change the subject. 

“You saved me once,” Steve says. “Why won’t you let me do the same for you?”

“By allowing you to kill my sire?” 

“He’s cruel, Bucky. He is manipulative and vindictive.” Steve’s jaw stiffens. “He’s the monster.”

Bucky blinks. A smirk curves up one side of his mouth. “Do you expect an argument?”

 “Then why do you always defend him?” 

“He’s my sire,” Bucky says again. “I don’t expect you to understand.” 

It’s unusual, the way Bucky both hates and loves his sire. He’s never physically tried to stop Steve from killing him yet he still defends him. 

“I wish I did.” 

Steve shakes his head. He’s not exactly lying. He does wish he could understand. If he did, maybe it would make this easier.  

“Why don’t we just get down to business, shall we?” Bucky asks. “You did have your reasons for wanting to meet with me tonight, I assume.”

Of course, he has a reason. He always does. One more than any other. Steve wants to see Bucky, always. If he ever decides to join him by his side, to stay with him and the Avengers, it’ll be the happiest day of Steve’s life.

Until then, Steve can only remain satisfied with the small doses a year he gets. When Bucky agrees to meet with him. Sometimes overnight. Sometimes a little longer. And Steve knows, with absolute certainty, that he’s safe. 

 ~~

Bucky believes Steve when he says he wishes he understood. To be honest, Bucky wishes he understood the bond between him and his sire as well. It’s a physical presence. A constant reminder that he feels all the time. His heart may not actually beat any longer but that tie he feels to his sire is close. It gets weaker when they’re apart. When they’ve not seen each other in some time, but it’s still there. Just…dulled.  

It’s always there, though. 

A tether that binds them together. 

Or a chain that Bucky is incapable of breaking. 

It’s warped, the way he feels about his sire, and he knows it, but he also knows it’s the same for most vampires. He has no love for the man. He won’t particularly care if Steve does kill him. In fact, he’s sort of hoping he will. Bucky just can’t bring himself to take an active part in seeing it happen. 

“What is it you’d like to know?” Bucky asks. “Aside from where my sire is.” 

Without another word on the subject of sires, Steve sets a manila folder down on the table and pushes it in Bucky’s direction. Bucky opens it. Finds pictures of a vampire in a prominent role of the human’s government. He smirks. 

“Senator Stern, huh?”

“Did you know?”

“Only that he was a vampire.” Which Steve undoubtedly knew as well. “Is he Hydra?”  

“According to new intell, yeah.”

This presents something of a problem. While the Black Rose wants to eliminate all vampires, Hydra wants to enslave humanity. With an agent of the Hydra Coven so high in the government, there’s no telling how far they’ve infiltrated. 

“Okay, well.” Bucky slides the folder back to Steve. “I’ll find out what I can. In the meantime, have you had any luck with the Roses?”

The first time Bucky Barnes ever saw Steve Rogers, Steve had been lying in a pool of his own blood. The scent of it had caught Bucky’s attention when he’d been walking down the midnight streets of London. He followed it. Found the infamous slayer that had defected from the Black Rose. Bucky knew him on sight. Most vampires did. 

Steve had already lost too much blood to be turned that night, so Bucky did the next best thing he could think of short of trying to get him to a hospital before he died. He probably could have gotten him to a doctor, but if he survived that way then questions would have been asked. Suspicions raised. Police called. A world of trouble for both of them. 

So Bucky cradled the slayer in his arms, hoped he didn’t cause him too much extra pain--by the way he tensed and gasped and cried out, Bucky’s hope was for naught--and bit his own wrist. He held it to Steve’s lips. Steve shook his head and mustered up enough strength to push the offer away.

“N-no…” he groaned. Dangerously pale and trembling all over and dripping in perspiration. “I don’t wanna be--”

“Relax, slayer,” Bucky said. “This won’t turn you, only save your life.” 

That was Bucky’s first brush with Steve’s stubbornness. When he brought his wrist, blood dripping out of the bite, back to Steve’s mouth, he shoved it away again. Bucky scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, slayer,” he scolded. “Just drink.” Eyes drifting up to meet his, Steve whimpered when he tried to move. “C’mon, now, you’re in pain and you’re going to die. Let me save you. You’ll be no worse for wear when you come to next, I promise.” 

Bucky could see the conflict that waged through him then. Steve didn’t want to die. He also wasn’t sure about accepting help from a stranger vampire and in such a manner. No doubt he heard all sorts of rumors about what it meant to drink a vampire’s blood. 

Some were completely convinced that consuming vampire blood would turn them. Which was wrong. Without their venom to complete the process, it wouldn’t happen. Some thought it would make a human their slave. If that’s ever happened in the history of ever, Bucky wasn’t aware of it. Some said it would kill a human outright. That one made no sense. There didn’t seem to be any point in killing a human by having one drink blood when feeding from one would do the job a lot quicker. 

This time, when Bucky lifted his wrist again, Steve took it and drank. 

And drank.

And drank.

He drank until he moaned against Bucky’s cold skin and shivered pleasantly in his arms and finally collapsed. Not out of fatigue or weakness. From the rush. The adrenaline and overwhelming sensitivity caused by Bucky’s blood spilling into his veins. Something similar to when Bucky was turned, though not nearly as intense. 

The next time Steve opened his eyes, he stared up at Bucky with lust and hunger in his eyes. Another feeling Bucky knew. When he first woke up in his sire’s bed, all he wanted to do was fuck. Then fuck again. And fuck some more. 

Steve wanted to as well. Even begged him. They did fuck, eventually. Not that first day. Not when Steve only wanted it because of the rush of endorphins and increased hormones. 

They will again, Bucky hopes. 

“No more than you have,” Steve replies. “It’s black or white with them. They don’t see any of the gray.”

“But they leave you alone?”

Steve shrugs. “For the most part.”

He’s unconcerned with them, Bucky knows, except for when they might do harm to a coven simply minding their own business. Because according to the Black Rose, they’re all monsters. 

When Steve doesn’t say anything else and doesn’t indicate that he has any other news he needs to share, Bucky taps his hands at the edge of the table and pushes away. He can’t just sit around waiting for the slayer he’s in love with all day.  

“You’re leaving?” Steve asks when he stands. “Already?”

“Did you have more business to discuss?”

Years of practice make it easy to keep the sacrifice out of Bucky’s voice. It sits there, though. Right in his throat. But he knows better. Knows better than to want what he can’t truly have. He’s a vampire. Steve is a slayer. They are eternal enemies no matter what shifts between them. It’s natural. The natural order of things. 

How they feel about each other--or how Bucky feels about Steve, anyway--doesn’t change generations of beliefs. Even if Steve does love him, which Bucky suspects he might in his own way, they don’t work. Bucky’s life is eternal. Steve’s life, while prolonged by his slayer blood, is finite. Steve has no desire to be turned. Bucky has no desire to be without a mate his entire existence. 

Together, they make two halves that will never be a whole. 

“N-no,” Steve says, just above a whisper. “Not really. But…when will I see you again?”

“Sooner I suppose,” Bucky tells him, “rather than later. I’ll be around.” He walks away from the table then, about to disappear in the crowded bar. Bucky waves over his shoulder just before he’s swallowed by the throng of humans. “Au revoir, slayer.” 

People part for him. An instinct. A chill that runs up their spine. A shiver that runs down their limbs. A sinking feeling that runs through their bellies. 

As an apex predator, however, one right look--a smile, a beckon, a reach--his prey would follow him almost every time. Bucky hasn’t fed on warm blood for quite a while, choosing, instead, to buy it from those who collected and bottled it.

So as not to give in to temptation--too many bodies in one place made the scent of blood hard to resist--Bucky hurries outside. The second he’s out the door, he lights a cigarette. He isn’t exactly sure why he still smokes. It gets nothing out of it other than the comforting and familiar rise and fall of his chest as he breathes it in. Then again, it won’t harm him either, so he reckons there’s no point in giving it up either. 

It’s snowing tonight. Soft, gentle flakes that glide out of the thick clouds above and glisten in the moonlight. Bucky’s feet don’t make prints in the bit of snow that’s settled softly on the ground. Other prints are there. People. Together. All sharing their loneliness in the company of others. Not like Bucky, who walks alone, not even able to leave his mark behind. 

Unlike his sire, Bucky misses Steve when they’re apart. This has nothing to do with any physical link between them. Despite the bit of Bucky’s blood that runs through Steve’s veins, it’s just an ache within him. If Steve chose to walk away and never meet again, Bucky’s unbeating heart would break, but there’d be nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t either, even if he could. 

Bucky knows all too well what it means to have his mind wiped and new images placed within it. To be at the total mercy and control of another. It’s one sin he’d rather not tick off. If there truly is some sort of afterlife for him, he’d rather not be totally corrupted.

Still, he wants to be near Steve, but knows it’s a fool’s errand to chase such a desire so he doesn’t. Regardless of Steve’s beliefs, Bucky knows what he is. He’s a monster. And monsters don’t get happy endings.

Cigarette between his lips, Bucky sighs, and heads for the end of the block. Before he gets there, he can hear the unmistakable sound snow crunching under the snow. An instant after his ears make out the sound, his nose recognizes the scent. He can’t help the way his mouth tugs itself into a smile.

“What are you doing, slayer?” he asks, turning as he does. “I thought you said--”

“I lied.” 

Steve doesn’t pause. He doesn’t hesitate. He captures Bucky’s face between those strong, slayer hands, and kisses him. He kisses him like this kiss will have the passion and love to drown out all the voices that try to destroy them.  

Eyes still closed when Steve inches away--leaving his brow against Bucky’s--Bucky breathes him in. That sweet, sunshine that radiates from his every being. The warmth of his touch. The sound of his heart beating...thump thump thump. 

Steve is breathless and panting. Bucky is not, though, he remembers such a sensation. The way the world could so easily take his breath away when he was alive. Alive in an entirely different way. 

“Stay with me,” Steve whispers. “Please. Please, don’t leave me, Bucky.”

If Bucky’s heart could beat, it’d be trying to break free from its prison he’s locked it in beneath his ribs. Bursting from his chest to declare to the entire world how much he loves this man and the world would kneel before them in wonder and awe. 

But Bucky lives in a world rooted in reality, while Steve--Steve and his dizzying optimism and ideals and warmth--lives in one rooted in fantasy. They don’t belong together. They are nothing but two hearts forever out of beat. 

Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky can see the trail of footprints he left in the snow.

One set of footprints. 

“I can’t.”

Bucky remembers crying. He can feel it deep within his gut--a hurricane rushing through his chest and up his throat, even though no rain can no longer fall. 

“You can.” Steve, forehead still against Bucky’s nods. “All you have to do is say yes.” 

A tear does slide down Steve’s cheek. He understands the enormity of such a request. The sacrifice. The struggle. The risk. 

“Please, don’t, Steve,” Bucky says. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do. I do know. I’m asking for forever with you.” 

Gaze lifting to meet his, Bucky brushes a thumb at the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve, eyes closing, kisses the finger before Bucky takes it away. 

“Forever is a long time, slayer.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “And I want to spend it with you.” 

Bucky breaks away from Steve and all his kindness and tenderness and all the peace he holds out in offering. He shakes his head and begins to walk away, leaving Steve and his confession hanging in the air to crystalize and crash to the ground. Before any shattering can happen, he pauses. Catches his breath which does not really catch for he has no real need to breathe. But he pauses and catches his breath nonetheless. 

He goes no further. He doesn’t go back. Instead, Bucky stands there, holds his hand out, and waits. Steve’s fingers slide between his and they walk hand-in-hand. To where, Bucky’s not sure. Toward forever, maybe. Whatever that may be. If it can be at all.

As they do, Bucky glances over his shoulder. Sees in the snow only one set of footprints beside the empty spot where his should be. 

“What is it?” Steve asks. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers as he turns to face forward again. “Nothing at all.”

And they say no more than that as they walk together into the all-consuming night of their forever.

[lordbhreanna]

RE3 Ramblings

I finished a second playthrough and felt like sharing some random thoughts about RE3make. Mostly things I have been mulling over the past few days. As usual, don’t expect many organized thoughts, this is just me rambling away about certain things from the game (mostly the story and characters, to be honest). Spoilers under the cut!

— One thing I love about the initial sequence in Jill’s apartment is that it lets you know her more intimately than we’ve ever known any other main RE character. It shapes her personality a bit, as well as her current mental state after Arklay… which isn’t very good. Her place is a mess, there’s beer everywhere which might mean she’s been drinking more, the board tells you she’s obsessed with her investigation, she’s not sleeping well and resorts to pills, the whole nightmare thing. But there are other minor details that I truly loved, and what I mean is: the girly stuff. OH YEAH. There’s this trend to remove any trace of “femenine” elements from female characters that supposedly fit the mold of “strong female characters” (I hate this phrase with a passion). Because, sadly, more often than not, the masculine stuff is valued as cool or positive (things like strength, power, violence) while femenine stuff has more negative connotations. So I was gladly surprised that Jill was allowed to have the kind of stuff that most likely a 23 year old woman would have in her apartment, like make-up products and nail polish bottles scattered all over her bathroom, a fancy handbag in her wardrobe, even panties, those fashion posters on the wall. I know it’s a very minor detail, but I appreciated it. Jill is allowed to be human in this game, to be caring and compassionate while feral and a true action hero. This just adds more to that; she’s a supercop, but she’s also a regular young woman in her twenties.

— Talking with a friend, I came to realise that the reason why this game feels shorter sometimes is because of the pacing. RE2 initial sequence was shorter and you were quickly left out in the open at the police station. But from Jill’s apartment to the subway, a lot more happens and it’s very quick. Now, I think that part is well done because this is Jill’s escape and this is when the city is falling completely apart. So it feels right that it is so desperate, especially because Nemesis is pursuing Jill already at this point. My only wish would have been that the time spent roaming the city, before fixing the subway, was longer. Mostly because I enjoyed exploring the city and its surroundings. But, in any case, I still think the pace fits the game well and the internet tends to turn these things into an echo chamber, so it seems that it’s a bigger problem than it actually is. (I lived through Mass Effect Andromeda’s disastrous release, and I enjoyed the hell out of that game.)

— Let’s talk a bit about the story. I think all the changes made are there to tell a more consistent tale of the last days of Raccoon City, why it fell and what the city represents as a whole. As I mentioned before in other metas, RE is not particularly subtle with its themes, and it’s not really the point. That’s why I think Jill’s last words are so important to understand every other piece of the story: it’s a story about how true horror is human greed, and how it clashes against selfless people like Jill, Carlos or even Brad. It’s not a cynical story, by any means. As much as RE is horror-oriented, I always find its stories quite hopeful and its endings reflect that. Look at RE2R ending too, or RE5. It’s always daylight, because the heroes have escaped the nightmare, and there’s usually a line about never giving up because it’s worth it, despite all the troubles. 

This game deals heavily with the corruption that runs through Umbrella, the US government and the city of Raccoon City itself - which is something that already showed up in RE2R. I find that Bard is the perfect example of said corruption, and to be honest I believe that he is the worst of them all - because he’s the most real one, the kind of upper-class bastard that was part of the problem from the start, but would actually get away with it had he escaped Raccoon City. Yes, he had the vaccine - but he was complicit in all of Umbrella’s experiments, only took actions when Umbrella turned on the researchers and, well, he was a sexist pig. I don’t think the writers added that particular convo with the nurse for nothing, if only to highlight what a douche (as Carlos says) he is, and how this kind of person can do whatever they want without any consequences to their actions. (Luckily he got a bullet to the head. Nicholai is trash, but he’s trash husband material for things like this.)

Carlos is a super interesting case because he starts on the bad side, but you see clearly that he wants to do good, just like Mikhail. He’s honest about wanting to help people. And he does think they’re there helping, so I appreciated a lot how we got to witness this time his slow realisation that maybe he’s not working for the right people here. It adds so much more nuance to him, and it makes you root for him even more. I also appreciated his comment about how Jill even trusted him, despite knowing what Umbrella did. It speaks volumes about the trust and bond these two characters develop throughout the journey. And Carlos is also there to represent that kind selflessness we saw in rookie Leon, for example: he’s willing to stay in the city if it means saving people. He moves heaven and hell to save Jill, when he’s just met her. 

But Jill is obviously THE hero of the story. And one trait we get to see immediately about her is that she’s devoted to helping others - first she tries to convince Dario, then decides to help the UBCS (despite ALL her hate towards Umbrella, and we shouldn’t play that down) because she wants to save the civilians. Then, once she discovers there’s a vaccine, she rushes to get it, because she wants to help as much as she wants to escape the city. She doesn’t trade one thing for another, and she tries to get the vaccine up to the end. 

Then we have Nicholai, who is the main villain. I know a lot of people consider Nemesis the big baddie, but for me Nemesis is just the product of human greed & hubris, it’s a tool - monsters in RE are never the actual villains, they’re just there to have something to shoot at (there’s a great post around Tumblr that also explains why Nemesis may even have the saddest of stories, but that’s another topic altogether). But Nicholai IS the representation of said greed - he shows us to what lengths people can go for personal profit. This is something that is carried over from the original game, but the way it’s presented in the remake is more tonally coherent with the rest of the story, in my opinion. It becomes his main trait because that’s the underlying theme the story is talking about. Jill even calls him “greedy son of a bitch.” I think it’s super interesting that all his conversations relate to that and being selfish, basically. He wants Jill to see that you should only care about yourself and we see throughout the story that he only values things in terms of money and his own survival. He’s the kind of person who puts a price to everything. “There’s a price tag for everything, even letting the world burn.” “You can’t put a price on life” (meaning his own, as he decides to leave instead of getting the combat data of Jill’s fight with Nemesis’ last form.)

Which is the opposite of what Jill stands for and represents - her literal job was in law enforcement, she cares about protecting others, helping people, bringing justice. She’s a selfless person who can’t be bought by money, which is something that a greedy bastard like Nicholai can’t see. That’s why he tries to convince her to save him because of the information he has, adding that he would pay her anything. But that doesn’t work on her, because she’s not like Nicholai. Unlike the rest of Raccoon City, she remains “incorruptible.” She refuses to be part of that, and leaves victoriously while every other evil character dies along with the city (well, Nicholai’s death is debatable, but you know what I mean). In the end, she doesn’t get the vaccine and Raccoon City’s citizens aren’t saved, but Jill wins in a metaphorical way, I would say, and her resolve is stronger than ever. Her words highlight what was Raccoon City’s demise: 

“All this death wasn’t caused by a monster-making virus. It was greed. Human greed.”

[yourmandevine]

Some stuff that made me happy in 2020, in no particular order

God send you no greater loss. It’s something my grandmother said a lot — a bit of highly Irish Catholic wisdom intended to remind you, warmly but sharply, that whatever you’re currently suffering through isn’t all that bad compared to what lots of other people are dealing with. That it probably isn’t too much to complain about, in the grand scheme of things. That you should, instead, be grateful for what you’ve got, big and small and everything in between.

God sent a great many people a great many unfathomable losses this year, and as hard as it felt at times, our family wasn’t among them; we’re lucky, in the big picture. In the past, people have recommended I try writing those reasons down, to give myself a list of stuff to be thankful for, for the times it’s tough to summon up the gratitude. I figured the end of the year was as good a time as any to make that list, to highlight the stuff that helped me get through this year — the reasons big, small, and in between.

So: here goes.

Peanut butter and jelly

I haven’t counted how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’ve eaten since March 11, which is good, because that would be an absurd thing to do, and a sure sign that I have succumbed to a very specific kind of madness. It’s also good, though, because I would undoubtedly be ashamed by the number; the figure would be titanic, like the unsinkable ship of same name, or the iceberg that sunk it.

Or, at least, I would be ashamed under normal circumstances. This fuckin’ year required whatever flotation device you could find, and you know what I found in the fridge and cupboard? A couple of slices of bread, some strawberry jam, and some goddamn Skippy.

Need a weird mid-morning “brunch” after not having breakfast because you went right from waking up to remote school with the 6-year-old? Crank up a PB&J with that third cup of coffee. Need to pack something in the diaper bag to feed everyone while you’re out at the playground for the afternoon? Stack ‘em up, son. Need a late snack after working the overnight shift filing weird bubble playoff columns? Three letters, one ampersand, one love.

I need to eat better in 2021. But I kind of needed to eat sort of like shit to get through 2020, and time and again, when your man needed it most, PB&J was there.

Sunday night Zoom sessions with college friends

I know that most of us started something like this back in March; I’m not sure how many have stuck with it. I hope the answer is “a lot,” because honestly, knowing that I’m going to end the week by seeing a few friends — some here in Brooklyn but mostly beyond our reach for safety’s sake, some who’ve moved away — has felt like a stabilizing agent on more than a few occasions. It’s important, and no small blessing, to have people in your life who really know you, weird messy ugly bits and all, and in front of whom you can let everything go.

That gallery view’s provided a place to vent, to seethe, to laugh, to cry, and to try to find some semblance of center before heading back into another week. I’m grateful for it, and for the people in those little boxes. Except for the time they reminded me that, when I was 18, I was pretty sure I was a Pacey, and they were all extremely confident I was a Dawson. They were right, but still: a bitter pill to swallow, then and now.

Olivia calling herself “Dr. Bloody”

She took out her little toy doctor kit and just turned into a cackling villain.

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Deeply disconcerting, yes, but also adorable.

All Fantasy Everything

What got me in the door was the conceit: three very funny stand-up comedians (Ian Karmel, David Gborie, Sean Jordan), often with a very funny guest but sometimes without, pick some topic or another and engage in a fantasy draft of their favorite aspects or representations of that topic. (It is, crucially, a serpentine draft. Now what is that? That’s a great question.) Some favorite examples: Mikes; Words That You Think Make You Sound Smart, vols. 1 and 2; Things You Yell After You Dunk on Someone; Fictional Athletes; Crimes We’d Like to Commit. Yeah. It’s that kind of podcast.

What kept me around was the friendship. Listen to an episode and it becomes really clear really quickly just how much the three hosts love each other, how much fun they have being around each other and making one another laugh. The warmth radiates, just pours out of the speakers; in a year where I sorely needed some good vibes, I appreciated my regular check-ins with the Good Vibes Gang to just ... unclench for an hour and a half or so. 

Drinking beer

OK, I’ll admit: This doesn’t sound great for me. It’s true, though. I really like beer. (We brewed one in our kitchen, which I realize is something of a “bearded guy in Brooklyn” cliche, but here we are. It was exciting to complete a project, and it tasted OK-ish.) At some points this year, it didn’t feel like there wasn’t much to look forward to, and sometimes drinking some High Lifes or Narragansett tall boys — with my wife in our living room, with friends on the computer, whatever — helped take the edge off a shitty day/week/month/year. I look forward to being able to do that outside with people again.

The Good Place

I am sure some very smart cultural critics and political thinkers and social revolutionaries have forwarded compelling arguments for why this show is Bad, Actually, because that seems to be more or less true about most things, whether because said thing is Actually Bad or because the economics of the attention economy on the internet functionally necessitate the composition and publication of pretty much every position on pretty much every issue, and especially ones that present a counterargument for why you shouldn’t like the thing you like, and might be kind of a piece of shit for liking it. But I liked this half-hour comedy about the way the universe might be put together, why we should try to take better care of each other, and how doing so might be a pretty great way to take better care of ourselves.

Andrew let me write about it a little bit for a big project we did before the series finale aired, which was really nice of him. I found myself thinking about this part a lot this year:

I also thought a lot about Peeps Chili, but that happens every year.

Taking pictures of my dog

Check out this flumpy goddamn champion:

“Lugar is a good boy” is the main takeaway here. They don’t all have to be complicated.

Schitt’s Creek

I know we’re not alone in this, but we inhaled this show this year. A half-hour comedy about people being laid low, learning how to deal with who they actually are, and finding some grace and community and opportunities for growth kind of hit the spot, I guess.

One of the most wholesale enjoyable ensemble comedy casts I can remember; Catherine O’Hara was already in Cooperstown, but what she made with Moira Rose only polishes her plaque. I’ll never be able to describe with any specificity the thing Chris Elliott does, but I know it has made me laugh since I was a child too young to understand the Letterman bits or see Cabin Boy in the theater, and it’s probably going to make me laugh until I am dead.

I love that people who, for years, never got to see themselves or people like them on screen got to see David Rose on screen and maybe recognize themselves a little bit. The idea that seeing the David/Patrick relationship might make them maybe feel a little more at home, a little safer and more whole, makes me happy. Sad, about the before, but happy, about the now and the what comes next.

Past that, I just love how what was ostensibly a family-and-friends production for a Canadian channel just got absolutely everything right—the tone, the look, the sound, the theme song, the cast, the jokes, my goodness, the jokes—and before long, the rest of the world just got it. Like catching a fastball square on the barrel. Something the show clearly knew a little bit about.

Finding new outdoor places it was safe to go

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the need to give the kids a place to be that wasn’t unnecessarily dangerous but also wasn’t inside our two-bedroom apartment led us to do more exploring than we had before. Shirley Chisholm State Park is great. Canarsie Pier was a fun place to spend a Sunday morning; so’s Canarsie Playground. If we got there early enough or made our peace with some rain, the beaches at Jacob Riis Park and Fort Tilden were pretty rad this summer. I lived in Staten Island from ages 8 through 18, and during breaks throughout college, and don’t think I ever hiked in High Rock Park — that’s dumb, because it was nice!

Even if all those little excursions did was kill a little time and reduce the overall stress level of the four humans stuck in our four walls, that’s not nothing. Some days this year, it was everything.

Cobra Kai

I know I’m late here; I didn’t rush to seek it out because I don’t consider myself a huge fan of The Karate Kid, or at least not a big enough fan to sign up for YouTube’s premium service. I checked it out when it came to Netflix, though, and I honestly can’t believe how much I enjoyed this show. Give me “dumb, but with heart” every day of the week.

I believe in Miguel Diaz; I believe in Johnny Lawrence; I believe I will be firing up Season 3 next month, and perhaps drinking some Coors Banquets in its honor. (I cannot, however, believe how the “get him a body bag” thing came back around, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Closing unread tabs

I’m a serial hoarder of links, and I am bad at finishing all of them. I’ve tried to get into Pocket and Instapaper, but I’ve never been able to turn that sort of workflow — open link, save to third-party service, go back to third-party service later to read, then delete from there — into something that felt instinctual, natural, or habitual. So: lots of tabs. Like, lots of tabs.

This was a dicier proposition than usual in 2020, because cutting my work week in half to be able to more effectively coparent two kids who didn’t have school or day care for most of the year meant less time to read things.

I tried to do my best to keep up with the important stuff for work, and to read at least some stuff about how other parents were dealing with their anxiety/anger/depression/frustration at having to be on 24/7 and work, and to stay abreast of (at least some of) what was happening in the world. Sometimes, though, I would wake up and realize I’d been holding onto blog posts about Really Interesting Rotation Decisions on the 11th-Seeded Team in the East or whatever for literally nine months, and I would go against my nature and just hit the eject button on a 25-deep window, and something amazing would happen: I wouldn’t get fired for being shitty at my job. I would move on with my day, and I would feel about 10 pounds lighter.

I still keep too much stuff open. (As we speak, I’ve got three different Chrome windows open on two different laptops. I choose not to count the total tabs.) But I do so knowing that, if it gets too heavy, I can experience the momentary joy of surrendering to the inevitability that I can’t catch everything. In that moment, I feel OK with my decay.

Reading writers I wasn’t familiar with before

Two in particular stand out in my mind: Nekias Duncan, now of BasketballNews.com, who does excellent film breakdowns and statistical analysis, and Katie Heindl, who writes basketball stuff of all types all over the place, and strings sentences together in a way that scratches an itch inside my brain. I’m grateful I got more chances to read them this year, I look forward to bigger and better things for both of them, and I’m hopeful that, if things calm down and our schedules go back to something approximating normalcy, I’ll have more bandwidth to hunt out more new voices in the year ahead.

The time I ambushed my wife as she was trying to break down and put away the girls’ space tent

Pretty good.

Siobhan learning to ride a bicycle (with training wheels, but still)

The moment passed pretty quickly; Not Exactly A Mechanic over here can’t get the training wheels to reliably work right without either loosening them too much or tightening them so much that she can’t pedal it. In that first moment, though, and for as long as it lasted, it was really great to see her get excited about doing something new, big kid shit, for the first time.

She was proud. I was proud of her. And then we went to a playground for a few hours. Pretty good day.

Tyler Tynes roasting me

Tyler did some incredible work this year — The Cam Chronicles is getting deserved praise as one of 2020′s best podcasts, and his reporting on the Movement for Black Lives was exemplary. It’s hard to top this, though:

You know what the messed up part is? I was excited to tell him what I was doing, just because I knew the reaction would be so violent. Like a body rejecting a transplant. So lucky to have such a dear, dear friend.

PUP

I’m late on everything, so I didn’t start listening to PUP until the spring of 2019, but I haven’t really stopped since. This year has been too sedentary too often; this band is too kinetic to allow me to stay there.

“Bloody Mary Kate and Ashley Kate” is never more than about 20 minutes away from returning to the front of my mind. I would fucking love for it to be safe enough to watch these guys live at some point, and I am absolutely going to take Steve up on his offer.

Someone sending me a shirt based on a joke I tweeted

First:

Then:

Then:

I’m not sure you should be rewarding my behavior, SnoCoPrintShop, but I appreciate it all the same.

Which reminds me:

Family dinner/family movie night

My wife works in Manhattan and commutes back on the train, and we've tried to prioritize getting the girls to bed early since they were little, so that doesn’t leave much of a window between when she gets home and they go in the tub for us all to connect; before everything shut down, we almost never really ate together. We’re still not great about it, but for a while now we’ve carved out Saturday as family dinner night, where we sit down to eat and talk about our “up” from the day — something that happened that made us feel good or happy, or something we’re looking forward to. (We used to talk about our “down,” too, but that kind of seemed like overkill. Why try to focus on more bad shit right now, you know?)

Then we settle in for a movie, with who gets to pick rotating each week. It’s mostly been Pixar, which has been great but also has its drawbacks; after she caught me crying during one of them (maybe the Bing-Bong scene in Inside Out? or Miguel singing to Grandma Coco?), Siobhan straight up told me, “You need to get yourself together, man.” We just watched My Neighbor Totoro, too, which they loved, so we’re probably going to try some more Miyazaki soon. It’s a really simple thing, but it’s one we rarely made time for before, and it’s been really nice to manufacture something positive that we can share and look forward to together.

Sometimes looking like a shiftless drifter

No shade to anyone who felt strongly about getting a lineup or whatever, but I haven’t really felt like going to the barbershop was worth the risk, and I continue to refuse to believe that my wife can actually pull off the fade she’s long wanted to give me. (It is also possible that she just means she’s intending to run my fade, and that I will before long wind up cold-cocked and slumped by my bride of nine years.) So I’ve just kind of been growing out my hair like it was when I was single, and sometimes been letting my beard get kind of out of control too, and, well, I sort of like looking a little bit like a Wildling, it turns out.

I have since trimmed things up a little. It didn’t go over well with my youngest. Oh, well. I’ll try to do better next time.

My wife and daughter singing the Pixies

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We don’t know all the words to too many lullabies, so we sing the ones we do know the words to. This will probably come back to bite us in the years ahead. For now, though: Pretty good.

Doughboys’ Tournament of Chompions: Munch Madness: Mac Attack

I can’t believe how invested I became in Nick Wiger and Mike Mitchell’s quest to determine the best menu item at McDonald’s in a 64-seed tournament that spawned hours and hours of delightfully funny audio featuring all-time home-run guests like Jon Gabrus and Nicole Byer, who gleefully feed into the often warm, sometimes antagonistic, always entertaining chemistry between the two hosts. I have also never found myself wanting to go to McDonald’s more in my entire life. I have hit the drive-thru a couple of times since, and the boys are right: The McDonald’s fountain Coke does just hit different.

Sound Only

I’ve lost track of whether or not a 38-year-old is considered a millennial, but I’m quite confident that I’m not exactly plugged into “the millennial lifestyle” as my teammates Justin Charity and Micah Peters discuss it on their podcast, which relaunched this summer. Doesn’t matter, though, because I love hearing Charity and Micah talk to each other even if I don’t know what they’re talking about.

Their conversation about Dave Chappelle was great. After listening to their Travis Scott episode, I felt like I kind of understood who he is and why he occupies the space he does in pop culture now. I had no idea how they were going to get me to give a shit about set photos from The Batman, but this they not only got me there, but wended their way toward blaming 50 Cent for needing to know who Groot is to have a conversation on the internet, which is something for which Abraham Lincoln did not die. The show is good, it's getting better, it’s fun to hear them talk their shit, and Charity’s regular bellowing of “I, TOO, AM AMERICA” has made me smile for four straight months. 

Siobhan’s letters and notes

She’s in first grade now, and she’s taken to communicating her feelings through the written word. A lot.

I won’t pretend that I loved all of these in the moment. I can only get so upset, though, when she’s already writing with such a clear voice. (And trying to use proper punctuation. (And drawing little cartoons to drive the point home.)

Palm Springs

I’m having a hard time remembering too many specifics about it right now, which probably means it’d be a good thing to rewatch over the holidays. But, as I’m sure many people noted many months before we got around to watching it, a comedy about living the same day over and over again, and about trying to figure out how to make your life mean something when everything seems meaningless, scratched a pretty particular, and particularly important, itch this year. It could’ve been twice as long, and I would’ve eaten up every second of Andy Samberg and Cristin Miloti together.

I’m pretty sure I cried, although this year, that doesn’t necessarily mean much.  Also, put Conner O’Malley in more things.

Joining our union’s bargaining committee

I won’t say too much about this, but I will say that becoming an active participant in the process of a labor union negotiating its first contract with management has been an extremely educational experience. It’s pushed me to have conversations, sometimes difficult ones, about our priorities as a staff and a company. It's helped me get closer with the other past and present members of the BC, and has led me to start developing relationships with members of our staff that I otherwise might not have had much of an opportunity to get to know.

The organizing work takes time, effort, and energy, but trying to do what I can to help take better care of my colleagues has been well worth all of that. Here’s hoping that in 2021 we can reach a deal that helps make our workplace even better, stronger, and more equitable for all of us.

Publishing a story about Stevie Nicks’ Fajita Roundup

I swear this is true: After I accepted my offer to work at The Ringer, but before I started, I told a friend that one thing I was excited about was that you had the chance to work on offbeat stuff here, in both the “kind of weird” and “not about the NBA” senses. That, I thought, might maybe open the door to me getting to write a story about a Saturday Night Live sketch I saw when I was a teenager about Stevie Nicks from Fleetwod Mac running a cheap Tex-Mex restaurant in Sedona, Arizona — a sketch that I wasn’t sure anyone else remembered, but that was stuck in my head forever.

That story ran on May 26.

A lot of people seemed to like it.

Accomplishing this goal was, as dumb as this might sound, a highlight of my year, and, honestly, a highlight of my career. I’d like to do some more stuff like this next year, time permitting; we’ll see. Whether or not I do, I got to do this. I’ll always have that.

[daesungfmd]

hwang daesung + home!

headcanon / wc: 743

daesung is a believer that everything in your life should reflect something about yourself:  your clothes, your accessories, your demeanor, your social circle, your home. naturally, his apartment is as much of a well-planned but poorly-executed mess as he is. he had the best of intentions when he started living on his own, but every month of boredom has contributed to the slow but sure collection of useless things in his space. he doesn’t spend much time at home, so he doesn’t think it’s a big deal. basically living in a storage unit at this point.

daesung’s apartment is a very strong representation of who he is as a person. however... he’s only been moved in since march ‘19 and while that seems like a long enough time to get his shit together, if he had done it on his own, he’d still have boxes everywhere. had the help of professional movers & an interior designer in getting his place set up. (i say “help”... daesung didn’t lift a finger LOL)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment, really wanted a roommate, but that’s complicated when you’re an idol and none of his friends agreed and he ended up turning the second bedroom into a home studio even tho he’s def not skilled enough to warrant that. he just thought it’d sound cool to tell people “yeah i have a home studio haha” and also what the fuck else was he gonna do with a whole spare room

his studio is usually the neatest part of his home because that’s where he keeps most of his instruments, his record collection and some other music equipment which he keeps surprisingly organized, so that’s also the only room that he tends to show off <3 if he’s doing a livestream, he’s prob chilling in there. 

as for the rest of his apartment...

it’s hell

always messy. anyone who has visited his place has definitely walked in and been the embodiment of the “damn bitch, you live like this?” meme, so he simply stopped inviting people over. only his best best best friends can come over now

for the most part, it’s just ‘cause he has such a ridiculous amount of shit. he grew up poor and now that he has money, he buys everything that he wants. everything. this results in him not having anywhere to put his belongings, and he ultimately started mounting things on the walls because he has no other space!!!!! you think the shoe racks, guitars and skateboards hanging from his walls are stylistic decisions but really they’re desperate pleas for floor space.

he has a lot of ~nifty~ repurposed amps around his apartment that serve as cabinets. you can never guess what you’re gonna find in there. jewelry? snacks? dirty laundry? nail polish? childhood pictures? his dog’s chew toys? who knows...

one of them serves as a mug cabinet. why is his mug cabinet in the middle of his living room? idk... don’t ask. most of the time, there aren’t any clean mugs in it. they’re all piled on top with thin layers of coffee that he didn’t finish just chillin in ‘em... marinating.. yk

has a lot of random knick-knacks all over the place. weird antique shit he picked up while shopping on tour, little clown figurines, cute tea-light holders, half-dead plants in hand-painted pots, empty coke and beer cans that he keeps for ~sentimental purposes~ (aka he has his blinders turned on and doesn’t see them anymore)

has two tvs, one in the bedroom and one in the living room. has a collection of gaming systems stored in the hall closet (wii, xbox 360, xbox one, ps2, ps3, ps4). his gaming preferences are constantly changing but rn he likes the ps4 the best so that’s what he has hooked up in the living room. has decided that the living room tv is for gaming and the bedroom tv is for watching movies

artwork everywhere. he’s the type of person who sees empty space and immediately thinks about how he can fill it so he’s constantly adding even MORE stuff to the walls as if they aren’t cramped enough already. has some framed album covers, some movie posters, but mainly it’s like. paintings he picked up while on tour or gifts from fans

every drawer is a junk drawer

has a few randomly-placed lava lamps. does he need a lava lamp in the bathroom? probably not. but he thinks it creates a nice ambience

uses diffusers to scent his apartment. mainly prefers bright/fruity scents for cologne but surprisingly he prefers earthy scents for his home. likes palo santo the most

but imagine palo santo mixed with 3-day old takeout because this man never cooks

overall... his apartment isn’t that bad? probably expected if you already know him & it has potential to be really nice actually, but he NEEDS to start getting rid of the stuff he doesn’t use / doesn’t need anymore.

[cameronspecial]

The Marriage Games (Ch.3)

Pairing: Prince! Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: (Y/N) (Y/L/N) grew up in the palace with her brother and the royals; her and her brother are practically apart of the royal family. The Queen decides to help her eldest son find his own queen by inviting ten female suitors to live in the palace. What happens when through this process he finds love with a woman that is not one of the contestants?  

Word Count: 3 413

Disclaimer: This series is inspired by The Selection by Kiera Cass and Yellow Roses by @h-osterfield.

Warning: Sexual assault, swearing, and possible trigger warning.

A/N: I am sorry if this isn’t an accurate representation of being a victim, but this is how I think Y/N would handle a situation like this. To be honest, I am not very sure about this chapter, so depending on what you guys think, I might rewrite this chapter. 

Tom waits for Darcy by the front door, after they had finished golfing he had asked her if she would join him to go out for dinner. She said that she was pleased to go out with him. He was able to make a reservation at Restaurant Gordon Ramsay just like Y/N had recommended and now he couldn’t wait to head over there with Darcy; it’s one of Y/N’s favourite places to go for fancy events. Y/N walks down towards the front hallway wearing a black over the shoulder romper that was adorned with daisies. Her hair was perfectly curled and her neck bore the pearl necklace that she always wore. She’s wearing light gray ankle high Vans and a white over the shoulder clutch. “Wearing are you heading too?” Tom asks his friend who had positioned herself beside him to wait as well. Y/N looks at him and gives him a smile, “The boys and I are heading to a club, I’d ask you to join but I know you’re going out with Darcy. By the way, if you see Gordon, tell him thank you on my behalf for Yorkshire rhubarb soufflé that he sent over last week. I haven’t had a chance to see him, tell him that it was superb.” Tom tells that he’ll do that, but he was not capable of saying anything else because Darcy came towards him ready for their date. Her orange hair was curled nicely while the front pieces were pinned back. She wore a plain black dress with a white collar. Her fingers were adorned with multiple rings and her bull ring had a heart on it. Her perfectly polished leather boots were vastly different from the old worn out pairs that she wore when he first met her. Tom smiles at her and walks over to greet her, “You look lovely, Darcy.” Darcy mumbles a thank you and hooks her hand with his. They both say goodbye to Y/N and head off to the restaurant. A few minutes later, Sam, Harrison, Harry, and Georgy finally come and they head out to the club.

The restaurant was packed with well-known people and people of status, however, Tom had requested for them to have a separate room in order to not be bombarded with paparazzi. “You picked a really fancy restaurant,” Darcy comments as she lets Tom pull out her chair for her. She thanks him and he sits across from her. “I hope you don’t mind. If you don’t feel comfortable here, then I can see if we can make a reservation somewhere else. It’s just that this is Y/N favourite place to go for fancy events, and I thought that this would be a good place to go. I am sorry,” he rambles on, nervous that she was not happy with his choice. Darcy giggles at how cute he is and places her hand on top of his in a soothing way, “Tom, this places is fine. It’s very lovely. You don’t have to worry. So you and Y/N seem pretty close.” Tom smiles at the mention of his best friend before responding. “Yeah, we are. She’s my best friend. I trust her with my life and all my secrets. We have been through a lot together and she really means a lot to me,” Tom explains to Darcy as he glances over the menu. Darcy looks up from the menu, “Yeah, I get that. Back in Ireland, I have a best friend that I would also trust with my life. We helped each other through some tough times.”

“Thanks for the ride, Janson,” Y/N thanks the driver as her and the boys get out of the limo. The group walks into the club with booming music and dim lighting. The club was crowded with mostly drunk people, so nobody really recognized the group. Even though they were not immediately recognized, a group of bodyguards still had to disperse themselves all around the club and at a visible distance of each group member. “I am going to go get some drinks with Harrison. You guys okay with beer?” Georgy questions the boys and just as Y/N was about to interject, “Yes, I know you want a virgin Sex on the beach, sis. I have been living with you for your whole life.” Y/N just shuts her mouth and nods with the two other boys. Harrison and Georgy leave the group while the rest make their way to the dance floor. Y/N dances with Harry for a few songs and when her brother and other best friend return with the drinks, she starts dancing with Harrison because Harry and Sam have found other people to dance with. She could feel someone staring at her from behind and when she notices that a man was indeed doing so from the bar; she decides just to brush it off and turn her focus back to Harrison.

“I don’t believe the fish jumped out on its own,” Darcy laughs as she takes a sip from her glass. Tom finishes chewing whatever he was chewing before responding, “It did. If I had knocked it over the glass would have fallen and I would have said that, but I am serious the fish just jumped out of the tank. I had no idea what to do, so I just picked up the dead fish and put it back in the tank. When the president came back into the room and saw the dead fish, she asked me what happened and I just said that the fish was liked that when I came in. I feel bad to this day about lying, but I don’t think anyone would have believed me if I said that the fish jumped out.” Darcy chuckles at the cute story that she was just told. “Okay, my turn. The most embarrassing thing you have ever done during a private event. Like a gala or a charity event,” Tom questions the girl. The young adult thinks for a little bit then answers, “I accidentally ate a whole bunch of weed brownies at a charity event. It was a charity event that was raising money for cancer and they had some patients with cancer at the event. It was medicinal brownies for them and I didn’t know they had that, so when I snuck into the kitchen I ate a bunch. It was only a matter of time before I got as high as a cloud. The organizer of the event was making a speech and I went on the stage, took the microphone, and started singing row row row your boat.” Tom could not stop laughing at the very unfortunate event that had happened to her. “That really does sound embarrassing! What happened next?” He urges on.

“I am going to go get another drink. Did you want anything?” Y/N questions Harrison as she slowly starts making her way towards the boy. Harrison shakes his head and starts awkwardly dancing by himself. Y/N squeezes through the crowded club and finally makes her way to the bar. “Can I please get a Shirley Temple?” Y/N asks the bartender who nods his head and gets to making the drink. Y/N messes around on her phone while she waited for the bartender to make her drink. Once she finally got her drink, she hands it to her brother who had come to join her so that she can go to the bathroom. She makes her way to the bathroom and she was quite surprised when she saw the man staring at her from before waiting in front of the women’s bathroom. “Excuse me,” she mutters as she tries to make her way around him, but he doesn’t move. She says excuse me a little bit louder and tries to maneuver around him one more time. However, he just keeps staring at her and that made her feel a little uneasy. “You are really pretty, you know. How about you come over to my place and I can show you a better time than those guys,” the man whispers in her ear. He was so close to her that she can smell the alcohol on his breath and she was absolutely disgusted. As he gets closer to her, she shoves him away from her, “I don’t want to go anywhere with you, jackass.” He was far enough from her so that she can run off towards one of the many security that they brought.

Y/N didn’t get that far away from him because of the fact that it was hard to move in the crowded club. The man grabs on to her wrist and starts pulling her towards the handicap bathroom. She wonders why none of the security guards or her brother had noticed what was happening, and all she can feel is fear in her chest. The young woman tries to wiggle her way out of his hands and screaming at the top of her lungs, but she was unsuccessful because of the loud music and he just slaps his filthy hand on top of her mouth. She bites his hand as hard as she could, but he doesn’t even much flinch. She feels tears start to form in her eyes as he forcefully pulls her into the bathroom. He slams her against the wall and mumbles into her ear, “Now, be quiet and let me finish my business. She is not done putting up a fight, so she starts thrashing and kicking as hard as she could but he doesn’t even react. Y/N lets the tears run down her face as she continues to struggle against him. The man harshly pulls down the top of her romper and she can feel her necklace being ripped off.  He had gotten the romper to around her waist and she had tears streaming down her face when the door of the bathroom is kicked off its hinges and several security guards flood into the bathroom. Her coarse throat lets out a sigh of relief while the guards pull the lad off of her and put him against the wall.

Y/N is still in tears as she slides down on to the floor and picks up her broken necklace. The guards try to get her up, but she wouldn’t let them touch her. It only took a minute for the four boys to come rushing in to console her. Georgy kneels beside his sister and brings her close to him. He runs his hands gently through her hair and whispers sweetly into her ear, “It’s going to be okay. We got you. He can’t hurt you anymore.” She couldn’t say anything at all. All she could do is bury her head into her neck and let the tears out. Harrison takes off his sweater and hands it over to Georgy so that he can place it over his sister’s almost nude body. She’s shivering out of fear and the boys hated themselves for letting it happen. Georgy stands up with his sister still in his arms and the group makes their way out of the club. By now the music had stop and the crowd had made a path towards the entrance by order of the Royal Guards. The club no longer had this exciting vibe, but a sombre one as everyone watches the Royals make their way out of the club. When they got into the limo, Y/N is still crying her eyes out and she is surprised that she still had enough tears left in her. “You are okay, sis. I promise nobody is going to hurt you. The guards have him and he can’t hurt you anymore,” Georgy comforts his sister. All she can do is nod her head in close her eyes to try and get some sleep to heal the headache that has formed.

Tom walks down the street with his hand in his pockets and Darcy walks beside him with her arm hooked with his. They had just finished dinner and were now having a peaceful walk around town just talking about everything and anything. Their conversation is interpreted by the ringing of Tom’s phone. “I am so sorry, I have to take this,” Tom informs her while putting a little distance between the two of them. Tom takes out his phone and answers it, “Hey, Harry. Is everything, okay?” Harry clears his throat and once he speaks, Tom can immediately hear the worry in his brother’s voice. “Tom, it’s Y/N. A man sexually assaulted her and she won’t talk to us. She won’t let anyone into her room and we are worried about her. Georgy is freaking out and we really need you to come. Please, we can hear her crying and it’s tearing us apart that we can’t do anything.” Tom’s face feels his smile drop and he quickly reassures his brother that he’ll be there as fast as he could. He ends his call and quickly makes his way over to Darcy, “We have to go. Something happened to Y/N and she needs me. I am so sorry.” Darcy nods in understanding and the two of them make their way over to Tom’s car.

As soon as Tom got home, he ran as fast as he could to Y/N’s room because he hated the thought of her being sad and alone. Once he was in front of the door, he gently knocks on the door and announces that he was coming in, but the door was locked and that frustrated him. Y/N slowly gets out of the bed at the sound of her best friend and makes her way to the door. Y/N slowly opens the door from him and he quickly brings her into a hug. She immediately breaks down into his arms. Tom caresses her hair and leaves a gentle kiss to the temple of her head whilst he moves them towards her bed where Tessa sat on.  “Hey, you’re okay. I won’t let anyone ever touch you like that again, I promise. You’re okay, just let it all out, love,” he reassures her as he rubs her back. She looks up at him and wipes her tears, “I was so scared. I kept thinking this couldn’t be happening that there were several security guards that would stop this, but he was still able to touch me. Tommy, he hurt me and now I don’t think I can ever go out again. I am so scared that this isn’t over that somehow it’s going to happen again. I felt so weak and I never want to feel like that again.” Tom’s heart breaks when he hears just how she felt and he vows that he’ll make sure that he will do whatever he can to make sure no girl will ever feel like that again. “I am going to make sure that you and any other girl feel that way again. I promise. How about we head to bed? Tomorrow, I promise that we will get everything sorted out so that you never have to feel that way again,” Tom promises her. Y/N nods her head in agreement as she wipes her tears away and starts getting ready for bed. Tom left the room for a few minutes so that he could get ready for bed.

Y/N had finished getting ready for bed before Tom had returned, so she settles herself into the bed and cuddles up next to Tessa. Tom came into the room and he was relieved that she was finally able to stop crying. He makes his way over to the bed and lies down beside her. She shuffles her way closer to him and lies her head on to his chest. She closes her eyes and lets herself fall asleep. In the middle of the night, Tom wakes up to the sound of Y/N’s whimpers. He gently shakes her awake and tells her that she is okay. All she can do is nod her head and head back to sleep. In the morning, Y/N went about her business like nothing had happened and Tom is concerned. “Y/N, you know it’s okay to be scared. If you want to cry, then cry but you have to let it out and you have to tell us what you are thinking,” Tom begs knowing that she is probably hiding her true emotions. She puts on her shoes and looks over her shoulder to him, “I am fine, Tom. I just want to make sure that nobody will ever have to go through that. Now, leave me alone. I need some time alone.” Tom sighs knowing exactly what was happening. She was shutting everyone out just so that she can prove to everyone that she was strong even after last night’s events. “Y/N, please don’t shut us out. You can talk about what happened, it doesn’t make you weak if you feel something. You need to talk to us,” Tom frets over her. Y/N just puts a smile on her face and tells him that she is fine. “Tommy, I just have a lot of things to do. Can you please let me get my business done,” she answers him.

“Mum, I am worried about her. Last night all she could do was cry and now today all she wants to do is pretend that nothing happened. I don’t know what to do,” he confides to his mother. “Tom, what happened to her last night terrified to the core. You know that’s how she gets when she is terrified. Remember when Georgy got shot, how when she first learned about what happened, all she could do was cry. Then the next day, she pretended like everything was normal. That’s how she processes things and we can’t do anything to change it. I am worried about her as well, but we can’t do anything about how she heals. We can’t do anything else unless she asks us to,” Nikki advises her son. Tom sighs and takes a sip out of his teacup, “I know you are right, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t hurt the son of the bitch that did this to her.” Nikki nods her head in understanding of what he felt because she too was going to make sure that the bastard could never touch her daughter again. “Good morning, love. How are you?” Nikki questions Y/N who had just walked into the room. “I am fine, thanks for asking. I just thought up a new project and I am going to run it by Dom. Hopefully, he will give me some funding for it today,” Y/N tells her mother as she takes a bite out of Tom’s toast and quickly makes her way to Dom’s office.

“I want to make sure that no other girl has to feel how I felt in that moment, but I don’t know exactly what I can do. So, for now, I want to start a support group for victims of sexual assault, sexual harassment, and rapist. I haven’t really worked out the logistics yet, but people to have a place where they feel safe. We can do fundraisers and brainstorm different ways that we could prevent these horrible events from happening. I know you probably can’t give me a lot of money because of the fact that I don’t have anything planned yet, but anything you can give me to kick starts the program would be great,” Y/N finishes pitching her idea to the board members and Dom. Dom smiles at her with a proud look on his face, “I think this is a great start, Y/N. I am so proud that you’d rather help other people rather than exact violent revenge on your assault. I would be glad to give you a quarter million pounds, once you figure out exactly what you want to do and once you have found people to help you out. I want to assure you that one thing that I have already done to make sure this never happens to you again is I have fired all of the irresponsible security guards that were on the scene of the crime.” Y/N nods her head and there was a small smile on her face, “Thank you so much for the money. I’ll go start a plan right away.” Y/N says her goodbyes and quickly makes her way to her office so that she can start planning.

Taglist:  @tmrhollandkay @embrace-themagic @whereartthouwakanda @smexylemony @bookgirlunicorn @mysteriouslydelightfulwolf @melancholland @casualprincess77 @notes-from-my-journal @katiekitty261 @spidermansmj14 @redrebecca @deranged-sewer-rat @loverofthingscool @jackiehollanderr @iamthescarlettwitch @parkeret @i-bitch-you-bitch @furiouspaperfarmegg @arrantsnowdrop @loxbbg @hollandechart @converseskyline @musicandbokkslovingweirdo @holypizzafestivalfire @youllbemineandillbeyours @lydiasbxtch @tomshufflepuff @bookgirlunicorn @spideysimpossiblegirl @starlightfound @softspideyboy @captainbuckyy @arrantsnowdrop @timelock97 @ophcelia @mendesmusical @the-tales-of-ck @tchalameme @thequeensardine @inlovewith3 @alovely-day @racewife2004 @fangirllegacy

[tipsycad147]

Hathor - Eye Of Re

Hathor's many titles include, "The Eye Of Re", "Lady of the West", "The Mistress of Heaven", "The Lady of the Stars", "The gold that is Hathor", "Lady Of Denderah", "Lady of the Sycamore" and "The Golden One".

Hathor, was the daughter of Re, the Sun God, and was at times known as the "Eye of Re", and identified as an avenging deity in the form of a lion called Sakhmet. Sent out by Re, in the form of a large all seeing eye, to watch over mankind, When she was too fiercely aroused she could become savage and destructive. Hathor, was probably the origin of the concept of the 'evil eye'. The Ankh, is thought to have been derived from Hathor's Eye and is a symbol of good luck, keeping fortune dwelling on the inside.

Hathor was a cow-goddess of ancient origin, as "Mistress of Heaven", she was seen as the celestial cow, whose four legs supported the vault of heaven and her star spangled belly was the sky itself. In Predynastic Egypt, however, it is uncertain if a cult was dedicated to Hathor or Bat as the most likely candidate for the cow-heads on the Narmer Palette (approx 3000BC).

She is also a mother goddess and closely associated with the kings and pharaohs, at the temple at Deir el-Bahri, she is shown as the heavenly cow suckling the pharaoh. Royal ladies often took the title 'priestess of Hathor' in her honour.

She was also the goddess who protected women during pregnancy and childbirth. As a Goddess of fertility and moisture, she was associated with the inundation of the Nile, in this aspect she is linked to the Dog-star Sothis whose rising above the horizon heralded the annual flooding of the Nile. She ruled the month of Athyr, 17th September (the birthday of Hathor) to 16th October, being the third month of the Inundation Season. As the goddess of music and dancing her symbol was the sistrum.

Hathor, on the column capitals in her shrines is often depicted with the ears of a cow and a crown formed of horns supporting the disc of the Sun. The crown symbol was later adopted by Isis. She is also depicted as the papyrus reed (a ritual of plucking up papyrus stalks was performed in her honour), a snake 'who laughs with Wadjet', or a sistrum (a type of rattle).

The sycamore was sacred to Hathor, this association was later assumed by Isis, who took over most of the associations of Hathor. The sycamore was a sacred tree that offered shade and refreshment to the dead as they undertook their journey from this world to the next.

The entry to the underworld, was thought to be on the western horizon, the place of the setting sun, and the kingdom of the dead was called the "Land of the western Ones", hence her title as "Lady of the West". In the Book of the Dead she is refered to as 'Lady of the headland of Manu' (the western mountains) and is joined by the Sun God Re as he sinks below the horizon. Her protection extends to those deceased in the Underworld, in the form of a garment known as the 'tjesten', which affords a safe path, past enemies dwelling on the Island of Fire.

Hathor as a Goddess of Love, Music and Dance

In ancient Egypt Hathor is seen as the supreme Goddess of sexual love, as a Goddess of Heavenly Charm, it is easy to see how the Greeks, linked Hathor with Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love. In love poetry, she is described as 'golden' or 'Lady of Heaven'.

I built a house for the Goddess, Made of the wood of the sycamore tree.

Under the leaves of the palm tree, I eat bread in honour of her.

Hathor, Hawk of the Sky, Rest in the limbs of my tree.

Hathor, House of the Sun, Live in my house forever.

The Eye Of Re

"There came a time when the people began to drift away from the worship of the God. Re, in vengeance, sent his daughter, Hathor, in the form of a lion, to punish mankind.

After a time, Re decided that mankind had suffered enough and ordered Hathor to return, she, being sated with blood lust refused. The Sun God ordered a vast quantity of beer to be made, coloured with red ochre, which was then poured into the field where Hathor-Sakhmet lay sleeping. On waking, Hathor seeing the fields reddened with what she thought was blood, began to gorge herself, falling into an intoxicated stupor, Re was able to return her.

To mark the occasion, so that mankind would not forget their narrow escape from annihilation, Re ordered a festival to be held each year in Hathor's honour."

This was a very popular religious festival and was celebrated (August 7th) at New Year, at all the shrines dedicated to Hathor, throughout the kingdom. Hathor was worshiped as the "Seven Hathors": Hathor of Thebes, Heliopolis, Aphroditopolis, Sinai, Momemphis, Herakleopolis, and Keset. Her primary shrine was at Denderah, the "Place of Intoxication", she was also worshipped as principal deity at temples in the modern cities of Atfih and Gebelein. At Edfu, she is the wife of Horus, here her name means "Mansion of Horus", signifying her role as sky Goddess and protector of Horus. At Thebes, Hathor takes on the role of Goddess of the Dead.

The Seven Hathors

In the tomb of Nefertari (Dynasty XIX) and in the Book of the Dead, the Goddess Hathor is depicted as seven cows whose role is to determine the destiny of a child at birth. Each of these different aspects of the Goddess as her own name:

i/   Lady of the universe. ii/   Sky-storm. iii/   You from the land of silence. iv/   You from Khemmis. v/    Red-hair. vi/   Bright red. vii/   Your name flourishes through skill.

Several alternative names for the seven Hathors has been found in papyri concerning Mythology, these are:

i   Lady of the House of Jubliation. ii + iii   Mistress of the West. iv + v   Mistress of the East. vi + vii   Ladies of the sacred land.

Hathor's Mirror

Ancient Egyptian mirrors, unlike our modern counterparts, were not constructed from glass and a silver layer, but from a flat oval of polished copper or bronze, with a wooden or bone handle, the handle was often shaped into the form of a Goddess. The metal Copper is still today linked with the Goddess. This same shape can be seen in the Sun Disc symbol that represents Hathor.

Of the nine 'bodies', the Egyptians believed all animals and creatures consisted of, Hathor was associated with Sekhem - the form body, this was the representation of the form of power of a man or woman. It is the vital spark or energy contained within the individual, that can be built up and projected in Magic. Looking into Hathor's Mirror, your own individual power is reflected on one side, while the thoughts or energies of friends/enemies are reflected on the other. Used as a ward of protection, the energies of an attacker is reflected back to themselves, sensing a power from their intended victim equal to the strength that they feel they possess.

Correspondences

Animal: Lynx, sparrow, swan, dove, cow Astral Body: Sekhem - the form body Body: Eye Colour: Emerald, turquoise Day: Festivals: Aug 7th, Sept 17th, Festival of Het Heret - November 2nd Flower: rose, myrtle Gems: emerald, turquoise Minerals: Copper Month: Athyr, 17th Sept - 16th Oct Musical Instrument: Sistrum Perfume: benzoin, rose, red sandal, sandalwood, myrtle Plant: Papyrus Tarot: The Empress, Sevens Tree: Sycamore Weapon: Lamp, Girdle

http://www.thewhitegoddess.co.uk/the_goddess/hathor_-_eye_of_ra.asp

[alsjeblieft-zeg]

395 of 2022

sunflower: if there was a door that went to a city that was a good representation of you, what city would it be and would you go through the door?

Amsterdam, 100% yes.

pink: sunsets or sunrises?

Sunrises. I'm in love with sunrises.

freshly cut grass: are you an early riser? if not, is this because you stay up late?

I am an early riser, it's just in my nature. I'd rather give up on some sleep stan sleep in.

journal: would you dye your hair if you had the opportunity? why or why not?

I've done it many times before and yes, I would do it again.

painting: in what ways are you creative?

Photography and some photomanipulation, but I haven't done the latter in ages.

waves: is there one music genre you can’t listen to?

More than one, but my #1 will be always dubstep. I like some electronic music, even things like aggrotech and powernoise;, but dubstep just gets on my nerves.

writing: do you write letters? if not, would you like to be?

I haven't written a letter on ages. I wouldn't even know what to write about.

waterfalls: describe your perfect date.

Guys night with lots of beer. Just hanging out. I'm n ot a 'date' person anyway.

freckles: what’s something that makes you happy? describe the first thing that comes to your head.

My cats with their silly and funny behaviour sometimes.

dimples: would you rather be inviting on a hike or a night out?

Both sound fun.

blushing: describe a rad person you know.

One of my friends, she's like 12 years younger than me and she's a woman, but she's so cool and likeable that I think I would have a massive crush on her if I wasn't gay. She's just such a badass lady. Recently I've been to her wedding and it was so beautiful.

watercolour: talk about something someone you are interested in can do that never fails to make you find them attractive?

He has such a warm personality in general. And he actually pays attention to what I say and he remembers it weeks later.

pine: if you could only smell one scent for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Vanilla.

pink eyeshadow: pasta or pizza?

Pasta.

icy: homemade or takeout?

Both, but I do homemade more often.

rosè: what’s your opinion on shyness?

It's cute, but to an extent.

clouds: list your top 5 songs at the moment and how they make you feel:

Meau - Dat heb jij gedaan

Katatonia - My Twin

Lange Frans & Baas B - Supervisie (Live)

Lange Frans & Baas B - Topper

Assemblage 23 - The Noise Inside My Head

They all make me feel nostalgic.

silk: list songs you listen to for a jam?

I think I don't understand this question.

white sheets: where’s somewhere you would love to travel to? why?

Finland. I've always been drawn to this country and language.

black nail polish: what do you do to pamper yourself?

I do some microtravels and I buy hoodies.

hidden beaches: do you prefer to hang out in a big group or one on one?

I like both. It depends on how I feel.

crossed fingers: using no negative words, describe your hair.

Dark, short, freshly washed, getting wavy when longer. I don't think there's anything negative here :P

mocktails: cold weather or hot weather?

Hot because the beach.

[maverick-werewolf]

Greetings! I'm going to use the same numbers to keep this simple, since I'm asking about not one, not two, but THREE of your original characters. Hopefully this won't be too much of an imposition. Sir Tom Drake, Caiden Voros, and Plexaura Voros, please; with numbers 16, 17, 18, 22, 31, and hmm, 48 to round things off. Much obliged!

Still got some of these left in my askbox! And gosh darnit, I’m going to answer the last few that I have. Thanks for asking, Cappy. :D

Tom

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest - become a legend. Become one of these amazing, Golden Age of the Empire heroes, the ones who’ll survive forever in songs and tales, the ones people will always look back to, read about, and who will forever be inspirations and shining beacons of goodness. At heart, Tom really just wants to be a hero. Then lycanthropy happened and now he just wants to be human.

Smallest long term goal… keep his journal consistently updated. And yes, he has a journal.

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Preferred is his armor; the only ritual surrounding it is keeping it polished, shiny, and impressive. Otherwise, the only requirement Tom has is that he absolutely hates sleeves. Gotta be sleeveless. If it’s got sleeves, he’d probably prefer to just go shirtless, because who needs shirts, anyway?

Favorite beverage?

Tom’s not terribly picky about beverages. He grew up on cheap as piss ale and beer, then started trying out the more expensive wine. He likes it to have a bit of a kick, that’s his only real requirement for putting it among his favorites.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

DRAGONS. Dragons would happen. All kinds of dragons, immaculately detailed and incredibly drawn. Tom has spent way, way too much time thinking about, studying, and drawing dragons, and he is very good at it.

Most prized possession?

His amulet. The deepsilver heraldic dragon on a leather cord, always kept around his neck. He wouldn’t part with it for the world, and if someone takes it, he will absolutely start breaking necks if that’s what it takes to get it back.

How do they express love?

Well, I mean, this is Tom. He expresses love in very… ah… passionate, physical ways, if you catch my drift.

And if that’s not the kind of love we’re talking about, then lots of bear hugs, friendly shoulder-punches for some people, undoubtedly plenty of teasing…

Caiden

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest long-term goal, find a way to make peace with himself. That, and let himself settle down somewhere nice, cozy, quiet, and preferably at least a little secluded. Hopefully with someone he loves (even if he’s now convinced he lost that chance). But he doesn’t see the settling down happening, either, because he can’t rest if he feels like there’s still work he has to do - and, let’s face it, there always will be.

Smallest long-term goal… Improve his reading skills. Caiden wasn’t ever properly educated, because he’s a commoner by birth and didn’t have time for all that. And while he’s now made time to teach himself how to be literate, he wants to get better at it and be able to read fast.

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

One word: efficiency. Caiden prefers to wear what he considers his uniform at all times. He has a strong military background and that really stuck. Whatever he wears, it’s going to be protective and it’s going to be well-kept (and probably short-sleeved, even if that can fly in the face of the effectiveness).

Favorite beverage?

Whiskeys, easily.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Something useful. Plans to build something, or maybe a rough sketch of the last monster he encountered, so he can have a proper representation for his next Venator report, especially if it was a less common monster.

Most prized possession?

His eyepatch that Plexaura gave him.

How do they express love?

Caiden’s unspoken (because most everything IS unspoken with him) motto is that actions speak louder than words. But since he isn’t the kind of guy to go around handing out bear hugs, either, it’d be in the little things. A touch on the shoulder, for instance. At least, unless he cares about that person so very much that he’s actually willing to cuddle. He’s a snugglebear (don’t tell anyone), and he’s ready and willing to snuggle for hours if needed.

Plexaura

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest long-term goal is to figure out how to control her magic, so that she can stop being a nervous wreck all the time and living in fear of lashing out and hurting someone - anyone - or destroying something… or otherwise landing herself in Karak du Vide, no matter how she would have been found out.

Smallest long-term goal, get one or more kittens and raise them, then keep the cats forever (she loves cats, never grew out of wanting one as a child).

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Anything that isn’t uncomfortable. She’s big on comfort, and otherwise not terribly picky. She generally gravitates toward clothes that’ll keep her comfortable while she runs errands and helps her mother around the house, and that usually involves pants instead of a dress (no matter how many looks she might get for it).

Favorite beverage?

Plexaura’s got a grudge against anything very alcoholic, thanks to her brother’s tendency to drink those with abandon. But given her family’s social status, they can’t afford clean water, so it’s often ale to drink anyway. That being the case - Plexaura’s favorite drink is just… water. Nice, clean water.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Random shapes, or shapes based on some of the things she’s seen while studying/staring at/carefully leafing through the arcane tome she has. It’d be a page covered in some very strange-looking, intricate designs… that probably make no sense at all.

Most prized possession?

An ancient, arcane tome she was given by her mentor - one she can’t even read yet, but she’s learning to, with her mentor’s help.

How do they express love?

Plexaura is pretty straightforward about it. First of all, she hugs. A lot. So many hugs. Second of all, worrying over them constantly. Not in a motherly sort of way, but in the way of always wondering what they’re doing, where they are, if they’re okay, etc. It may be an odd way to show love for someone, but she’s always been a bit paranoid, and her big brother living a life in the military, the Venatori, or some other dangerous line of work has never helped.

[whitemoonkitteh-blog]

Honoring Aegir

💙I'm posting a spell within the next couple hours that I just made in honor of Aegir it's called "Aegir's Kiss". You can use this spell to honor Aegir.

💙Offer Aegir gold, he loves gold.

💙Offer Aegir something special that has sentimental value to you, something you consider treasure.

💙Offer Aegir some treasure.

💙Ride, appreciate, feel, and love the waves in honor of him, he controls the waves.

💙Feel and appreciate the breeze of the wind, he controls the wind.

💙Create a spell in honor of him.

💙Brew a cup of seaweed tea in honor of Aegir. After all Aegir is the patron of brewers.

💙Dedicate your prosperity and wealth to him.

💙Pick up any trash/harmful items you see on the beach.

💙Accomplish something you've been putting off for awhile. For example is your room dirty? Don't wait to clean it, clean it now. Aegir appreciates prosperity, success, and well-being.

💙If you take medication on a daily basis, set reminders on your phone to take it so you don't forget. Aegir needs you to take care of yourself in order to prosper and Aegir is the god of prosperity.

💙Make a sigil for Aegir.

💙Make a moodboard in honor of Aegir.

💙Sing a song dedicated to Aegir.

💙Honor him on Thursday, Thursday's Aegir's day.

💙Pray to him.

💙Plant oak, polybody, white mulberry, sea anemone, seaweed, ferns, mosses, or rose in honor of him.

💙Create artwork for him.

💙Write a poem about him.

💙Create an online shrine of him.

💙Set up an altar dedicated to him.

💙Dedicate sea water to him.

💙Dedicate beach sand to him.

💙Dedicate any sea witch type spells to him.

💙Take a walk on the beach in honor of him.

💙Decorate your altar with a chalice filled with wine with flecks of gold in it,  representations of dolphins, nets, figures of fish, sea floats, treasure, representations of whales, seashells, gold, driftwood, sea glass, old coins (sailors once carried them in case they drowned, so that they wouldn't arrive in Aegir's realm empty handed), and art of the sea/waves.

💙Take a long warm relaxing bath with sea salts, willow, seaweed, rose petals, jasmine, and/or lavender.

💙Dedicate keeping coral, turquoise, amethyst, aquamarine, sapphire, jade, or gold with you or on your altar in honor of him.

💙Wear sea-blue, sea-green, purple, white, and/or turquoise in honor of him.

💙Light incense, candles, or use oils that remind you of the sea. I've personally found he likes cedar, jasmine, lavender, or rose.

💙Listen to music that reminds you of him, something you would listen to on a dark, cold, rainy day.

💙Use the runes Laguz and Naudiz in your practice or altar.

💙Whenever you use your cauldron, use it in honor of him. His attribute is a gigantic cauldron in which he brews mead and ale.

💙Learn the songs of sirens and sing them for him. 

💙Whenever you go into the water make sure to carry gold and/or old coins with you in honor of Aegir.

💙Dedicate singing songs about the sea to him.

💙Collect seashells and found objects whenever you go the beach.

💙Make a sea themed spell jar to keep on your altar for him or even wear it as a necklace!

💙Learn the songs about the sailors lost at sea and sing them for him.

💙Offer a drop of your blood to the ocean in honor of him.

💙Learn about how the Norse utilized the sea and travel by water.

💙Alternatively, do research on the lore and creatures that are involved with the sea in Norse mythology (undines, etc).

💙Offer metals to him of pewter, iron, neptunium, and bronze.

💙Plant a willow tree.

💙Offerings to Aegir might include bread, brewed mead, brewed ale, berries, pies, polished stones, or anything that he would not be likely to get otherwise. If you don’t live near an ocean, make a large bowl of salt water and drop food into it for him. Don’t try to give Aegir “corporate” beer, he seems vaguely offended by modern chemical-soaked beers. Home-brew or locally brewed beer is better.

[itshaejinju]

Gotta Catch Them All | FF15 | Crack Post P2 |

First post is: Part One the Bros

Remember this is just for shits and grins. :D

Want to catch the FF15 Characters? Got to collect them all in your personal lair! Only need a few simple ingredients for it all! No need to learn special spells or hire a Wiccan off of Craig’s List. (Remember that Supernatural episode with Kevin’s mom and the witch on Craig’s List? LOL)

The basics you need for all of them is a picture (accurate as possible to them!!) and a doll. (plush, action figure, voodoo doll or made of toothpicks some physical representation of them!)

Note: I had to grasp as some straws for this one due the face that SE gave some of these characters such short screentime …..so not many things to go on. ┐(ﾟ～ﾟ)┌

I couldn’t think of thing for Clarus, Drautos or Regis. *sigh* I tried staring at the screen for like twenty minutes and couldn’t come up with anything that was mentioned in the games, movie or web-series that would make sense. If you come up with something reply or reblog or send me a ask with the suggestion!

Tagging: @stephicness @zacklover24 @rubyphilomela @blondechocobobutt @mandakatt @eternallydaydreaming2015 @sweetchocobae @neko-otaku13 @cagedbycravings @lady-asuka @roses-and-oceans @waifuthewhite @mistressoli @diadyn @ardyns-jabberwocky @valkyrieofardyn @insomniacapples @insomniasix  @nyxswaifu @nykamito

Ravus:

Bluebells or violets (similar to sylleblossoms!) 

Rapier and a whet stone, so he can sharpen his sword when you aren’t around.

Cake, silver, white or a good strawberry cake is preferred.

Cor:

Cherry Blossoms (they are associated with samurai and Cor is associated with that often.) 

Lion Plush to glower at when you aren’t around. (Leonis means lion…) 

Books, mainly books on war tactics, historical romances, self help books.

Lunafreya:

Bluebells or violets (similar to sylleblossoms)

Hair pins, fancier the better diamonds and pearls are nice. NO TRACKING DEVICES OKAY.

Notebook, so she can write in them while you are gone, leaving cute notes all the time and pressed flowers.

Aranea:

Lance or a javelin 

Armor polish, gotta keep the armor clean while you are gone!

Dragoon Helmet preferably a metal wearable one, but a cosplay one is okay.

Nyx: (Thanks to @nyxswaifu for the help here!! She also mentions gift card to tattoo shop!)

Beer, lagers and dark ales are preferred a hard cider will do in a pinch. (Guinness……thirsty)

Motorcycle or parts, gives him something to rebuild/fix while you are away. Prefers Harley’s the best but any good Chopper will make his day.

Daggers, rare collectible ones are preferred.

Ardyn:

Black Chocobo Plush, or a Moogle Plush something for him to hug while you are gone.

Collectible Coins, anything foreign or looks unique.

Trash Can (lol j/k)

[guyawks]

For the Want of a Nail

Why did someone have to go and invent fingerless gloves?

When I’d originally decided on what I would do this week, it seemed pretty innocuous. After all, I didn’t have make any prior arrangements or worry about people bailing on me. Women all around the world did it everyday and none of them experienced any consternation about the process. Not to mention it was always something I kind of wanted to do. Painting your nails was just another avenue of self-expression and I was certainly down with that. I’d pierced my ear, shaved my head, tattooed my skin, worn colour contacts and experimented with facial hair. I’d been to Pride. I’d visited drag bars on at least three separate occasions. I was hardly the embodiment of raw, beer-swilling masculinity.

So how did I now find myself hands-deep in coat pockets, shuffling around public transport in my very own metaphorical straightjacket?

It’s not like I hadn’t anticipated that I might get cold feet/hands. So naturally, I planned a contingency. Worst came to worst- if the glares and comments from strangers were too much to bear- I could throw on my gloves and no one would be any wiser that I was wearing a full coat of Silver Moonlight underneath. It was still early spring. Gloves were still a thing. My plan seemed equally foolproof as I darted out the door this morning, a pair of winter gloves balled up in my bag. It is only as I board the tram and the first pair of commuter eyeballs strike me that I remember. Fingerless gloves. I always wear fingerless gloves. Crap.

I take a seat on the relatively empty tram. No one else really seems to care about my nails, thankfully. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m living in Melbourne, my apartment a mere 10 minutes out of the city. This was supposed to be the mecca of alternative hipsterdom. What on Earth was I afraid of? Just as the thought starts to take hold in my mind, I spy a pair of curious eyes trained on my nails. They belong to a middle-aged woman in a black down jacket, her brows quizzically furrowed. Ah yes, that’s what I’m afraid of. Even though her eyes have now relocated, the damage is done. I’m already doubting my immersion idea and I don’t even have any gloves as a security blanket. My silver, glitter-encrusted fingers retreat into my pockets.

The significance of keeping my nails hidden gnaws at the back of my mind. I remember that first Caitlyn Jenner interview with Diane Sawyer, where Caitlyn revealed that she used to paint her toenails and keep them concealed. The first episode of her docuseries, where the camera would often linger on her painted magenta nails in a way uncharacteristic of talking heads: a symbol of how far she’d come. It occurs to me how much meaning painted nails have and just how much of a self-representation they are.

Suddenly my nails feel off, like I’m hijacking something important that’s not mine. Even as I reassure myself that I’m doing this in good spirits, I can’t shake the feeling that this is more of a dare than an experience, akin to a bloke wearing a bra to a buck’s night. A thousand questions spin around in my mind as the tram shudders to a halt at my stop. The doors open, unleashing an exodus of the now crowded tramcar onto the street. Unlike on my other commutes, I take in every pair of painted nails I see. There’s French tips and nail art and stiletto nails that would make Lana Del Rey proud.

And then it finally hits me, the reason why they’re wearing their nails proudly and I’m not. Their nails are a reflection of them. Mine aren’t. I’d chosen mine for shock value. Someone else had painted them for me.

If I’m going to wear nail polish, I need to wear the nail polish I would wear.

Back when cracked nails were all the rage, I remember hounding my sister about how awesome she’d look wearing them. In hindsight, me playing backseat beautician was probably my not-so-veiled way of saying how much I wanted to wear them instead. To me, cracked nails were the cosmetic equivalent of those little porridge eggs that magically turned into dinosaurs when you added milk: a harmless and fun novelty. Yet, it had never actually occurred to me in my 14-year-old mind that I’d ever be in the position to wear them and get away with it.

Now that I’m actually invested in the process of painting my nails, it occurs to me that I don’t even know where to begin. I’d always seen sections for them at pharmacies but I can’t imagine a pharmacy having a particularly large selection. I finally settle on the idea of Big W. I know they have a cosmetics section and if anywhere would have a great, affordable selection of nail polish, it would be a giant department store.

The cosmetics section of Big W is divided into five or six stations, each for a different major brand. I stand there overwhelmed. How had I not already decided on the brand I was going to buy beforeshowing up? I inconspicuously file down the aisle, giving each section the Goldilocks treatment. Maybelline- too expensive. Garnier- not enough range. L’Oreal- don’t they test on animals or something? Revlon… this could do it. A large display of wholesome and diverse colours spans out in front of me- it’s a nail polish display that takes up at least a third of its section and has at least three separate categories. The prices? 14 dollars each, apparently. I bite down a wave of stinginess. It’s an investment, Jeremy, it’s an investment.

The freedom feels maddening, like I’m a child picking out face paint at a strip mall. It’s a curious question to ask myself: what colour do I love enough to literally paint myself with? It has to be blue, I think instinctively. Ice blue, specifically. My eyes immediately begin skimming the shelf in search of it. I’m fascinated with how something as simple as this, as mundane as this, is already filling me up with glee. I’m going to get to look at my favourite colour all the time.  I’m wondering how arbitrary it is, that something this hedonistic is limited to one gender, when-

There.

A greyish, slate blue. Not too bright, not too dark and just matte enough. If you could bottle an overcast day at the beach, this would be it. As I turn the tiny glass bottle over in hands my mind flashes back to that episode of Lizzie McGuire where Miranda gets arrested for shoplifting. Self-consciousness in over-drive, I grab a shopping basket from the pile near the entrance and dump a few non-descript items in it. Good. Now at least if I look questionable, I’ll look law-abiding and questionable. I go back to the Revlon aisle, basket in tow. The blue alone isn’t quite enough. It’s too plain and straightforward, so I add a standard black bottle to the mix. Perfect.

Half the battle won, I turn around to pay at the makeup counter like the sign had directed me to. Except- I can’t find the makeup counter. Yep. As I pace through the Pac-Man maze that is Big W cosmetics, the vital “cosmetics counter” only becomes more elusive. After nearly two straight minutes of attracting the subtle attention of onlookers, I manage to locate an abandoned money till shrouded by a pile of boxes. Wait, so there’s no cosmetics counter? But the sign explicitly said that I needed to come here to pay for cosmetic products.

“There’s no cosmetics counter” chimes a grinning 20-something girl with dip-died hair, apparently sensing my confusion. “Just ignore the signs”.

I hushedly thank her, still taken aback at the sudden interjection.

“Oh and- nice choices” she adds encouragingly as I carry my basket over to the register.

I feel half-embarrassed, half-assured as I pay for my things. On one hand I’d come off looking like a complete novice, which is never a nice feeling. But on the other, I’d just found encouragement where I’d expected judgement. Maybe, this whole time, I’d been getting myself worked up over nothing.

I click open the first nail painting tutorial that comes up on YouTube. The perky voice in the video tells me that I need to start off with a base coat. I borrow a bottle of my mom’s that apparently doubles as a topcoat as well. This is starting to feel more like a game of Jenga than a beauty ritual. How many layers will I need to put on? Trusting the chirpy voice, I proceed to paint on a layer of base coat, followed by two layers of each respective colour on every other nail, and finish up with topcoat. After about 10 minutes of waiting, curiosity gets the cat- and the “cat” trawls straight through the wet cement I’d spent half an hour applying. Yep, my nails are still wet.

A further 30 minutes later, I sit back and admire the final result. It’s pretty sloppy. The colour flows out of and around my nails, swallowing up my cuticles.  My lack of patience is embroidered on every nail in the form of various fingerprints, indentations and scratches. Each surface undulates and ripples as if it were hand-painted by a tiny Jackson Pollock. If my nails were a colouring book, I’d have drawn quite decidedly outside of the lines. Yet, somehow, I love them. For the first time I’m actually grateful for this experience, for giving me the running jump I needed to get out of my comfort zone.

My following week wearing the 2.0 version of my nails is surprisingly enjoyable. The excess polish on my skin even moults off after a couple of showers, much like arthropod assuming its final form. Despite this, the rest of the polish somehow remains intact. Nail polish: 1, Entropy: 0.

Walking into my first lecture of that week with my nails on full display, I feel completely at ease. I stroll in- comfortably on time for once- along with everyone else and spot not even one pair of pupils aimed at my nails. How about the guy sitting next to me, sporting a magnificent mane of thick brown hair? Nope, he’s scrolling through Facebook on his laptop. It’s at this point that I realize that I myself hadn’t stopped to gawk at his long hair. Here we both are, defying gender norms in our own understated ways, and neither one of us could care less. Pulling my laptop out of my bag, I let my hands roam free. Be they clacking on the keyboard or resting inquiringly on my chin, my fingertips are out and staying out. It’s not exactly “woman wears pants in the 50s” but it feels cool to be a pioneer in my own miniscule way.

By the end of the week, I realize that I’ve pretty much dropped the guise of an immersion essay entirely. When people ask why I’m wearing nail polish, I tell them it’s because I want to: that’s not untrue, after all. The last day of my week comes and I finally receive a question from a friend that I’ve been putting off asking myself.

“So now that your assignment is done are you…is that it for the nails or…?”

I stop and think for a moment about the prospect of parting with my slate-blue companions.

One might be interested to know that slate, in addition to being a shade of blue, is also a low-grade metamorphic rock. What this means is that, despite its hardy appearance, slate is one of the finest-grained rocks around. In fact, a well-placed knock is enough to split apart its surface entirely. However, far from rendering it useless, this fragility uncovers a vast array of layers hidden beneath its surface. Slate is a surprising rock- an unconventional and sensitive rock but ultimately, one that is profoundly useful and unique.

“You know what?” I reply. “I think I might hang on to them for a few more days.

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

POST #19 - Tyler Childers - Builds His Country Squire One Song at a Time

How do you follow up the break out record, Purgatory?

You release what visual artist, Jimbo Valentine (more on him in a minute) called “Dark Side of the Holler”.

Tyler Childers released his sophomore album, Country Squire on August 2nd. A collection of 9 songs that seamlessly transition from one to the next with the help of Miles Miller (Sturgill Simpson) on drums, Stuart Duncan (various artists) on banjo, fiddle, and mandolin, and Russ Pahl (various artists) on acoustic guitar, electric guitar, pedal steel, jaw harp, and baritone. With Childers raw writing talent and distinctive voice, the album takes the basis of Purgatory to another level. Childers returns with producers Sturgill Simpson and David Ferguson.

The album opens with the title track, “Country Squire”. Childers has honed this tune over the past few tours and it is pure country gold. The verses go back and forth between Childers’ plans for his wife and their future home and the road dog life he knows so well. The chorus hits hard, “Spendin’ my nights in a bar room Lord, turnin’ them songs into two by fours”. The song harkens back to Merle Haggard’s, “Working Mans Blues” and the nights drowning beers in a tavern and working to buy his kids shoes. Where Haggard sings the blues, Childers’ song envisions his future kids playing around the family cabin. Coming full circle, the song starts with a road-dogging lifestyle to buy things for his wife and by the end he’s road dogging in the Country Squire he built for his wife

The second track is another story of a long gone time, this one about riding a school bus up and down a holler. Gone are the days of a bus driver being able to “blister punk kids alive” with a “paddle that he carved from pine”. Many readers may never have had that experience, but I can guarantee you this was everyday life in the not so distant past. Listeners will notice a slower paced version than has been featured on YouTube. The slower tempo and yearning fiddle highlight Childers pining for the “prettiest little girl the same age as me”. The jaw harp is also a nice addition to the track. One thing is for sure, Ray Dixon is not a man to be messed with.

“Bus Route” flows seamlessly into “Creeker”. Last school year my wife decorated her classroom door with words her Senior Home Room students use to describe themselves. Among the normal adjectives sits the word, creekers. While my wife was raised on Turkey Creek, these guys were actually referring to the next creek over, Stinking Creek. They lovingly describe themselves as “Creekers”. I can’t help but think there are a handful of former students out there who are proud as peacocks of having a song about them. “Creeker” features some of my favorite lyrics on Country Squire. I also feel that Creeker is the best representation of Childers’ voice on the record. The live version absolutely slays.

I like to think Gemini is a companion piece to the title track. While “Country Squire” describes life on the road as a means to an end, Gemini describes the author’s love of the road as what his significant other loved about him in the first place. I had to look up the traits of a Gemini as I am not what you call an expert in astrology. I would try to quote some definitions and articles but there is definitely not enough space in this review to include the intricacies. It’s safe to say that the actions written about in this song are a pretty accurate view. When I woke up early on Friday, August 2nd to begin listening to the album I remember posting the lyrics, “Now I’m lit up like a Christmas tree, Check one-two can ya’ll hear me”. As they accurately describe the jubilation I felt when I heard this song for the first time.

I’m glad I decided to review this album after hearing “House Fire” in the early stages of its inception, then polished on Jimmy Fallon, and ultimately a jam session at “Kickin’ It On The Creek”. Childers has his whole Bob Dylan going electric at Newport Folk Festival moment when he broke out a shiny new Telecaster for the tune on The Tonight Show. You can definitely tell the band has been tinkering with the jam since the album was released as there is now an extended jam highlighting Childers electric guitar playing before launching into “House Fire”. What the song lacks in storytelling, it makes up for in musicianship. It seems that every instrument is highlighted, but most notably is the addition of the Hammond B3 organ.

“House Fire” bleeds into the most honky tonk song about masturbation you will ever hear. “Ever Lovin’ Hand” is another song that has been tested out on the road the past few months. Although it seems out of place on a record filled with love letters to Appalachian life. “Ever Lovin’ Hand” is a love letter to Childers’ wife and reaffirms his dedication to her while on the road. One day, not so long ago, my wife was listening to the album on the way home from work when my 11 year old son (both of our youngest love Tyler) asked what the song was about. Most parents would move on to the next tune as quick as possible, not in our house. She asked him to listen again and really pay attention to the lyrics. Needless to say, he figured it out.

“Peace of Mind” is the one song that has drawn the most ire of listeners. A short dive in the YouTube universe will dig up a solo version that is really the inception the song. The solo version is uptempo and seemingly more happy. As I write and listen to the song right now, I can’t help but think that it was slowed down on the album for a purpose. A song about the laments of “what could have been” cannot be an uptempo, happy song. The tempo is perfect for the subject matter. “The days are dark, down in the holler, waiting for the sun to shine” hang up there as another set of lyrical favorites.

“All Your’n” started as another song featuring Childers playing solo acoustic. The album version is another rollicking love letter to his wife. In the vein of “Lady May” that closed the 2017 album “Purgatory”, Childers playful songwriting describes his courtship of his significant other and their love of fried morels. For those that don’t know, a morel is a mushroom (better known as a hickory chicken or dry land fish) that takes a keen eye and perfect conditions to find during a small window in the spring months. The video for “All Your’n is a perfect match to the song featuring Buffalo Wabs and the Price Hill Hustle drummer, singer, and Childers buddy, Casey Campbell stumbling through and Alice in Wonderland style landscape. It is also the introduction to Childers cheetah print wearing alter ego, “Tammy Chiggers”. All Your’n will definitely make its way to weddings and wedding receptions everywhere.

The album closes with a rendition of “Matthew” that introduces Childers brother-in law and father in law. “Matthew” describes a veteran who spends his time “guarding missiles and counting white tail” at the Bluegrass Army Depot between Irvine in Estill County and Richmond, Kentucky. The song is an observation of the lives of two men in Eastern Kentucky. “And he worked them hands to splinters, and he raised them young’uns right, on a little bit of scripture, and an acreage of paradise” is one of the most vivid descriptions of fatherhood I’ve seen put on record. Childers has a way of bringing real life to a song like no one else in music today.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the album artwork done by Kentucky native, Colonel Tony Moore of Walking Dead fame and frequent Childers collaborator, West Virginia artist Jimbo Valentine. The cover art for Country Squire is departure from the hillbilly psychedelic artwork of records past. It is there, though, inside the gatefold with Valentine’s depiction of the original Country Squire. The yin yang-esque artwork would make an amazing framed poster (wink-wink). The album cover designed by Moore is a comic book rendition of a zen hillbilly Childers. It is the most unique album art I’ve seen in quite some time. I am a huge fan of album artwork and this is one of the best. No wording on the cover, simple, powerful.

Give Country Squire a listen. It isn’t Purgatory. It isn’t Bottles and Bibles. It’s the story of a Lawrence County native going to the big city, moving to the country, courting and marrying the love of his life, and a look to a future life pulling behind that 53 year old camper.

You can find Country Squire on all major streaming services or do what I did and order the LP from www.tylerchildersmusic.com

The artwork of Tony Moore can be found at www.coloneltonymoore.com

The artwork of Jimbo Valentine can be found at www.amalgamunlimited.com

-Josh Trosper, Hillbilly Hippie Music Review Contributing Writer

*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.

*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).

* This artwork and the quoted lyrics are not ours, nor do we claim the min any way. They are under copyright by Hickman Holler Records, under exclusive license to RCA Records, a division of Sony Music Entertainment.