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infoactionratio7 · 10 months

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(you) on my arm - s. adamu

summary: sydney is at a wall, she has no ideas when it comes to the new menu at the bear. she decides to go to a bookstore for some new inspiration, she finds it, but not in the way she was expecting.

pairing: sydney adamu x fem! bookseller! reader

word count: 2,514

note: annoying! carmy bc he literally is insane, kinda fluffy meet cute vibes, reader just moved to chicago, inspired by the song (you) on my arm by leith ross cause the song is rlly cute! also sydney gives me sapphic vibes, she definitely would have a crush on a girl!

monday morning -

Sydney was pissed, she had sent at least ten messages to Carmy in the last twenty minutes. Some about the new menu they were working on together, some about the fact that he had been a bitch the night before when he kicked everyone out because Claire just had to see the new restaurant. She ran her hands down her face in frustration as she sat at her dad's kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the blinds into the apartment. It warmed the floor as she got up from the table, debating what to do. She had no ideas left, everything was either not working out, or it just didn't fit the menu for the new revamped restaurant.

"Sydney, where are you headed off to today?" Her dad walked into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed from a new coffee blend she had found shopping the day before.

"Uh well Carm is not responding so I'm gonna head over to The Bear and meet up with him for a little then see where the day goes from there I guess." She walked out of the dining area and put her breakfast dishes away.

"Okay honey, have a good day. Hope he stops being an ass." She laughed, "Me too... me too."

Sydney grabbed her shoes out of the closet she had thrown them in last night, slipping them on and grabbing her bag. "I'll see you later dad." She grabbed her keys, and started making her way to the restaurant where she could deal with Carmy in person.

You looked around the bookstore, you had only been open for a month but it had been a hit within the community. You had almost any book anybody could want. There were teens coming from the school a few blocks away to get some cheesy romance novels to bring to the park and read with their friends, and there were grandparents coming in to get their grandchildren a new picture book about god knows what. You even had some people come in and request books you had never heard of before, you promptly ordered two copies of any book you didn't have. One for the customer, and one for you, to read and explore the pages.

It was a beautiful space, tall ceilings strung with fairy lights and lanterns, trying to bring some sense of whimsy to the dull days in Chicago. The books were arranged in every which way, requiring the customers to truly search for a book they wanted to read. You had tables full of recommendations, from people online and the employees of the bookshop. You really enjoyed curating all the titles you had in your collection. Tourists looking for a cute little magnet or souvenir adored the hole in the wall place, a safe space to just cuddle up and read a book.

You had a few customers that day, a mom and her son looking for his first chapter book to read. You had suggested he read The Magic Tree House, a series, about a brother and sister and their time traveling tree house. There was a tall guy with a buzzcut, who said he worked just down the street and was looking for a book about how to get rid of mold in the structure of a building. He seemed in dire need of some help, so you found the best book possible, The Toxic Mold Recovery Guide. You had no idea you had the book but it was meant to be. He thanked you immensely, leaving his name and number just in case you ever needed anything. His name was Richie, he seemed pretty nice.

Low music played as you restocked a shelf, you hated the idea of having Colleen Hoover books in the store but they were a big source of income. They absolutely flew off the shelves. The least touched section of the store were the cookbooks, it seemed like everyone in Chicago was moving too fast to just dedicate one hour of their day to making a meal from scratch. It was disappointing, because you had a large selection, from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child to Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan. You knew that someday it might come in handy and you would be lucky to have all the cookbooks.

Sydney walked into the restaurant in a sour mood, Carmy had still not responded to any of her texts and she knew he was here. She walked straight into the office, passing the locker room, sans lockers and covered in black powder. Richie furiously flipping through a book that said something about mold on the cover. He glanced up at her

"Shut the fuck up." She was taken aback

"I didn't even fucking say anything Richie," he scoffed at her

"Well I was preparing for you to say something dumb as hell, and you did so I stand by my first statement." He looked back down at the book and mumbled something unintelligible to himself. She rolled her eyes and made her way into the office.

"Carm are you here?" Turning the corner she saw the chef, surrounded by papers and various file folders. He had his phone in his hand and was about to dial a number, "You little bitch, you fucking had your phone this entire time." She couldn't believe what was right in front of her.

"What do you mean chef?" Carmy looked confused, "Of course I had my phone, I'm about to call the fridge guy."

Rolling her eyes she brought her hand up to her face, holding her forehead in her palm. "I texted you at least ten fucking times, you couldn't even bother yourself to respond!" Shaking her head she sank down into the office chair Carmy had abandoned an hour ago.

He looked around the room, trying to get her to understand how much work he had been doing, "Syd I've been trying to make sense of this paperwork for hours, I haven't had time to respond to your messa-"

Fak's head popped into the doorframe, "Carmy I got your text about helping Richie clean up the mold but he's being mean to me." Sydney turned from Fak to the red faced chef sitting on the floor. He had been caught in a lie, of course Fak came in at just the right time for this to happen.

"Okay fuck you chef, I'm leaving." Sydney shrugged, stood up and left the room. She heard heated words from Carmy as she walked out of the office and passed the locker room again, now he was pissed at Fak, as usual. She heard her name as she turned around,

"Sydney, wait a sec come here."

"What do you want Richie, I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up." She crossed her arms tight and shot him a pointed look.

"You should go to that bookstore a few blocks down, I got this damn mold book earlier and saw a shit ton of cookbooks. You should check it out." She sent him a tight smile and turned her back to him. "Thanks Chef."

You had just finished restocking the shelves for the day when the little bell above the door rang. You went behind the desk and called out, "Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything let me know!"

You heard no response so you just busied yourself cleaning up the case that was behind the checkout, it housed all your special edition signed or first edition copies of books. It needed to be dusted pretty often because you wanted to keep the quality of the books at their highest, just in case anyone would ever want to purchase one.

You heard a thud come from behind you, and turning around you looked down at the counter. There was a stack of six cookbooks placed on the counter in front of you. Looking up you saw one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen since you had moved in to the city. Her hair was long and perfectly braided, her eyes a beautiful shade of umber catching the light in a hypnotic way. She had a grimace on her face, yet still looked stunning. You had no idea how to react, so instinctively you started to enter the books into the register as you made some small talk,

"So how has your day been," She sighed and looked up to meet your gaze, "If I'm being honest, shitty. My fucking partner wouldn't respond to my messages and when I went to talk to him he had is phone in his hand about to call someone. So yeah really fucking shitty." You looked back down at the book at disappointment, of course she had a partner and of course she was straight.

Awkwardly smiling you tried to think of a good response"Oh, um, wow. That's pretty shitty I'm sorry." She seemed to sense your disappointment, trying to save the conversation, "Shit uh, my business partner I mean, he's a little bitch sometimes. We're uh, opening a business- or I should say um," She rubbed the back of her neck, "We're kinda rebranding his brother's old restaurant, its a lot." You had finished entering all the books into the system, your chest had filled with warmth when she rushed to clarify that he was her business partner. You thought that maybe, just maybe it might be because she wanted to make sure you knew she was single, and not exactly straight.

"I guess that explains the cookbooks then," You looked at her, she had been staring at you in a flustered state of shock. "What, oh, uh, yeah! I'm kinda stuck making the menu so wanted to get some inspiration."

Sharing an understanding smile, you read her total out to her. She grabbed her wallet and pulled out some cash, as she handed it to you her fingers brushed along yours. It sent chills down your spine, no matter how cliche it might be, you knew that she was someone to keep close. Your face flushed red as you took the cash and put it into the register, printing her receipt and giving her any change she needed back.

You decided that since she got so many books you would give her a free tote bag, just so she could carry all the books out of the shop. You pulled one off of a hook behind you and started to put the books into a bag. You decided to quietly slip a business card with your cell number and a little note into a book so she could find it and contact you. A subtle way of screaming, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen I want to spend the rest of my life with you, without being too forward. As you finished packing the bag, the two of you both happened to say something at the same time.

"Do you wanna come see my restu-"

"Do you work at the restura-"

You flushed

"No you can go-"

"No you can go - sorry um. Do you want to come to the opening of the restaurant. It's uh, the one down the street, we're not opening for a while but, if you want to come to the friends and fam-"

You cut her off, wanting her to know you really wanted to go to her restaurant, "I would love to go... what was your name?"

"Sydney, It's uh Sydney" Her face got hot, nervous about the fascinating bookseller she just had the pleasure of meeting.

"Well Sydney, I would love to go. Just let me know the details," You softly smiled as you gave her the bag filled with books. She looked to you and grabbed a bookmark you had as a display that happened to have the shop's phone number on it. "I'll call you, um when we get closer to the open date, promise." You smiled, hoping that she would get in contact with you sooner than she expected to. She turned to leave.

"Thanks for coming in, really good to meet you Sydney." The door rang again and she sent you a wave through the glass, walking away quickly.

You were frozen, you had just given a random girl you just met your number, and had openly flirted with her for all the world to see. You crouched down onto the small stool you had behind the desk, tucked your head into your knees and screamed. You were feeling rushes of emotion and didn't think you would ever recover from that interaction. The bell rang again just as you finished screaming, you shot up and saw a group of teenagers heading to the new books you had just set out.

"Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything just holler!"

Sydney rushed back to The Bear, she was so utterly mortified, she had never seen someone so radiant and in their element. The chef couldn't contain her emotions as she stormed into the restaurant, Richie was the first person she saw, he started to say something,

"Not right now Richie I swear to God" The tall man was taken aback but threw his hands up in surrender, not wanting to get involved.

She might as well have ran into the office at the speed she was going, throwin the bag of cookbooks on the ground and closing the door, sliding down the back of the door she groaned,

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, fucking, fuck," dragging out the last word as she hit the floor.

Carmy stared at her from the floor a few feet away, "Yo Syd what happened to you? Looks like you just ran a marathon." He chuckled at the expression on her face.

"I just met the most beautiful girl and totally fucked up my chances with her cause I left so quickly." Sydney put her hands into her face and just sat there marinating in her embarrassment.

Carmy had some strong suits, his attention to detail one of them. He noticed something poking out of one of the books. He grabbed it, hoping that it was something that would change Sydney's mood before he had to work with her for more hours than they could count. He grinned taking the note out of the book and reading it,

"Hey Syd," He reached out to give her the note.

She looked up from behind her fingers, "What?"

He shook his hand, implying he wanted her to take the note from his grip. She groaned, then leaned forward to forcefully take it out of his hand.

She read the note, and smiled. Thank God you slipped her this note.

cookbook girl -

i hope you enjoy your SIX cookbooks, i have some more you could borrow for some inspiration. text me

Sydney's face heated up as she leaned back into door and scoffed.

Carmy had saved the day, one again.

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sierraraeck · 3 years

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Ancient History and Open Wounds (Pt.2)

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: In an effort to save Aundreya, the BAU has to turn to some unlikely allies before it’s too late. Story twenty.

Category: Angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Kidnapping. I don’t explicitly talk about torture, but it happens. Someone gets shot. Quick mention of previous sexual abuse and drug abuse.

Word Count: 4.8k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“I do not think this is a good idea,” Derek asserted as the team grabbed their go-bags.

“I’m with Morgan. How can we even trust them?” JJ seconded.

“Think about it,” Spencer tried to explain, “The only people who care about her more than we do, is her ring. And that Deen guy already had the chance to ambush you and I, JJ, and he didn’t because she told him not to.”

“Doesn’t mean he won’t abush us now,” JJ pointed out.

“I don’t think he will,” Emily stepped in, “I bet they’re already working on how to find her without us, so we might as well work together.”

“But we have to fly out to them?” Derek asked.

“We are the ones with the private jet,” Rossi interjected. “And besides, she was taken from Chicago, so there’s a good chance she’s still in Chicago.”

No one else was given the chance to argue because Hotch said, “Dave has a point, and it doesn’t really matter because I scheduled us to leave in ten. We have to go, now.”

The moment they landed, they headed straight to the bookstore. Morgan made some comment about feeling weird that they weren’t going to a police station or crime scene and is it even legal for them to work behind local PD’s jurisdiction, all of which Hotch or Spencer waved off. When they got to the store, Deen was already outside waiting outside of the large glass doors for them.

“Come in,” he said, opening the door. It was about 2am wo the streets were almost completely deserted. “Look, a lot of the people here are not excited about you all showing up, so I’m going to ask you to put your weapons in this.” He gestured toward a safe on the back wall, right next to an ‘Employees Only’ sign. The team exchanged a few looks. “I get it, okay? You don’t trust us, and we don’t trust you, all for good reasons. But we both have a goal of finding Alionth, preferably alive, so please just put them away. I’ve told everyone to put thier’s away as well, so let's just all agree that we want brains and not fire power involved here today.”

Spencer was the first to give up his gun, followed by Emily and the rest of the team.

“Alionth?” JJ whispered.

“Alionth, Aundreya, Cassy, Clara, I don’t know they’re all the same person,” Emily answered with a shrug.

When it was Penelope’s turn to enter, she just walked right past the safe.

“Woah woah woah,” Deen stopped her, “The pretty lady doesn’t give up her gun?”

Penelope, who had her nose buried in her computer still typing with one hand, looked up at him. “I’m their tech analyst.”

Deen’s eyes grew, “Wait. You’re the Black Queen?” Penelope’s shocked face was all he needed for confirmation. “Oh wow. It’s an honor to meet you,” he extended his hand. Penelope hesitantly shook it, looking over at her teammates who seemed in just as much shock as she was. “Alionth’s talked about you.”

“She has?”

“Oh yeah. We all knew who you were, with your massive skills and all, and were actually about to recruit you when you got hired by the FBI. But when we found out Alionth was going to work with you, we all made sure she told us everything,” Deen was giddy, flashing her his bright smile.

“That’s … wow. I had no idea,” Penelope stumbled out.

“Wait, what do you mean you ‘found out she was going to work with the FBI?’ I wasn’t under the impression she was still in contact with you,” Hotch asked. Leave it to him to overlook the flirtiness.

Deen’s mouth ran dry. They aren’t supposed to know about the deal with Archer. “Uh… just a little bit. Um, why don’t I show you to our work space.” He turned back to Garcia, “And don’t worry, we already have the type of technology that will be compatible with yours.”

They all started following him into a back room, but Derek hung back to talk to Penelope. “Was he just hitting on you?”

“I have no idea, I don’t want to talk about it,” Garcia rushed out.

“Oh my god,” Morgan commented, shaking his head. “And they were going to recruit you?”

“I don’t know, I’ll have to Aundre- Alionth, or whatever, about it after we save her life.”

“Right,” Derek replied with a small eye roll.

They entered the massive warehouse and were blown away. There were multiple levels overlooking the main one, and there were so many people watching them as they entered. It was dead silent as Deen stopped. He turned around and gestured for them to stay where they were while he walked forward to stand in the middle of the room.

“As you know, the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI has joined us today,” Deen started, addressing at least the 200 eyes on him, “This was the unit that Alionth was a part of, and they are here to help us find her, so I expect all of you to return the favor. If they need something, you get it to them. If we need a team of people to go with them for something, you will do that. If we want our leader back safely, we are all going to cooperate as one today. Understand?” A perfect chorus of ‘Yes, Deen’ radiated throughout the room. It sent chills down the team’s spines. They’d never seen first hand how some of these things worked from the inside, and were in a daze that at some point, that chorus was responding to the girl they knew. “Good. Proceed.” The groups of people dispersed, turning back to whatever they were doing beforehand, some even sparring on the mats.

“This is…” Emily started in disbelief.

“Yeah, it is,” Deen said with a nod, seeming to get the point, “She does it better than me, if you’re wondering.”

They filed into the conference room along the wall from the enternece where three people were already waiting. “BAU, meet Roman,” a short, thin girl with dark hair waved at them, “Niko,” a very tall, young, dark man nodded, “and Mateo.” Deen ended with a sigh as Mateo just sat there, arms crossed, just staring at the group.

Niko rolled his eyes at Mateo and extended his hand, “Please excuse my brother’s manners.”

“Manners?” Mateo bit, “You wanna talk about manners? How about them walking in here like they deserve our help, like they’re not the reason she’s in trouble right now.”

“Mateo,” Deen warned.

“What? You heard DeLeon! He said ‘the team’ not ‘the ring.’ Pretty sure he’s referencing them.”

“Mateo, do not-”

“It’s okay,” Hotch interrupted. “Can you show Garcia where she can set up and tell us what you have so far?”

“Absolutely,” Deen said, ushering Garcia over to the corner of the room, while Niko took over.

“As you probably know, she went after an old enemy of hers, Xena.”

“Yeah, we saw,” Emily said.

Niko smiled, “We know.”

“How?” she asked. He just smiled at her. “And how did you know what DeLeon was saying to Aundreya? I thought we were the only ones with a live feed.”

“She’s wired, which DeLeon is clearly okay with but, we’ll get there,” Niko said. “She was going after Xena because she figured out that she and DeLeon were behind everything that had been happening, including your imprisonment.”

“What?” Spencer was shocked. Suddenly he wished he’d paid closer attention to Xena’s face. It would be nice seeing with his own eyes, not just his eidetic memory, who did that to him.

“Yes, and that’s why she took the fall for you. Anyway, she got into it pretty bad with Xena, and walked away with some injuries-”

“What injuries?” Spencer asked.

“Her stitches were opened back up, the ribs refractured, a concussion, along with a sprained ankle and small cut on her throat,” Niko answered. “We took her to our doctor, who runs her operations out of her basement, to answer your next question,” he said, looking at Reid, “We knew that DeLeon was our next target, but after finding out that his partner, and apparently his girlfriend, was killed, Alionth was also his next target. So we gave her a small wire that would transmit everything said back to us, along with her location. However, while the wire is still intact, he must’ve been smart enough to turn off the GPS.”

“So you have nothing?” Spencer hissed. Hotch gave him a warning look, but was cut off.

“Guys,” Penelope interrupted, “The feed is back on.”

Looking at the screen, everything looked the same, except for Aundreya who was visibly drenched.

DeLeon flashed the camera a toothy grin, “I was hoping they would do that.”

“Do what?” Aundreya asked.

“I told you they would, too, you just refused to listen.”

She leaned her head back against the pole, “Fuck.”

“I wonder how they’re all getting along, you know? Especially how your boyfriend is getting along with…” he laughed, “well, your other boyfriend.”

“What?” both Mateo and Spencer asked at the same time. They spun toward each other and locked eyes. Looked like they got their answer.

“What? Nothing to say to that?” DeLeon pouted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aundreya tried.

“I’m sure you don’t. You never were good at identifying your own emotions,” he commented, “Do they know about your past relationships, though?”

“They know,” she answered, voice hard.

“Do they all know everything?”

“What game are you playing?” Aundreya asked instead.

“Why don’t you answer the question? Do you want more of that?” he gestured to her soaken state. She just stared holes through him. “Or do I have to remind you, yet again, of what’s at stake?”

“Why does he keep saying that?” Mateo angrily asked.

“Fine,” Aundreya’s voice came over the speaker. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Where do you think?”

She rolled her eyes. “They all already know that I had a dead-beat dad, was seen by the Slaughterer, went into witness protection, lost my family-”

“Blah blah blah. Get to the good stuff.”

“What do you consider ‘the good stuff?’ It’s hard for me to determine the highlight reel of my life,” she hissed.

“How about you start when you met Xena and I.”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath, “I met Xena outside the MMA gym. She introduced me to her grandfather, Rafael, the leader of the gang, and got me initiated. I started dancing and was recognized for my skills as a pick-pocketer and investigator. That’s when I met you.” Spencer and Mateo glanced over at the other to see if they knew about everything that went on with DeLeon and his friends. They shared a mutual look of hate that expressed they knew exactly what she was skipping over. Aundreya continued, “I moved up the ranks and eventually overtook Xena. She wasn’t happy about it, so she challenged me and lost. She was kicked out.”

“Okay so we have one motive for her anger,” Prentiss interjected.

“That and Alionth’s leverage with her grandfather,” Niko added.

Prentiss was about to ask him to expand on that, but as if on cue, Aundreya answered. “Rafael did everything he could to make sure I won, so that Xena would be as far away from the gang as possible. Of course, she didn’t know that he was protecting her, because about a week later, he told me the FBI was closing in. Specifically, the BAU. So to save his legacy, he killed himself and told me-”

“You mean you killed him,” DeLeon cut in.

“No,” Aundreya was adamant, “I didn’t. That’s what you thought, I mean you blamed me for it and tried to kill me over it, but I didn’t. He killed himself.”

“No. You see, I know for a fact that it was you. You’re one hell of a liar, and it seems you’ve even convinced yourself, but it's not true,” DeLeon seemed oddly calm for the occasion.

“DeLeon, I’m telling you, I didn’t kill him.”

“You did. Rafael was a surprisingly giving man, but he would have never done that. You knew your options. It was the two of you at the top and it was either you or him. One of you had to go down and take the fall, so you chose him. You knew that he was going to pin it all on you and give the gang to me, but you didn’t like that plan, did you?”

“DeLeon, that’s not-” she tried.

“Shut up!” he shouted, “You don’t get to talk. You killed him which made it easy enough for the FBI. They believed that the gang had crumbled, the leader was dead, and everyone else scattered. But they didn’t know about you. You slit his throat and told everyone to find you in a few months, taking over leadership of the gang, and then you tried to pin his murder on me. When you couldn’t, you wrote a letter that made it seem like a suicide. You held onto it all these years as leverage over Xena, which she stupidly believed, and then you killed her too.” Aundreya was silent. She just stood there, looking down. He walked over and grabbed her face, forcing her to look up at him. “Say something!” She just stared at him.

He walked out of the frame and returned with a lighter. “You’re pathetic.” He switched it open and brought the flame to her stitches. Slowly, one by one, the flame burnt through the thread keeping her together.

Hotch looked at the faces in the room, and every one was completely entranced by the video before them. Penelope had tears welling in her eyes, and some of them, namely Spencer and Mateo, seemed to be burning right along with her. To pull their attention away from what was happening, he asked, “Do any of you recognize anything in the room that might help us?”

It seemed to grab most people’s attention, and he could see them slightly snap out of it, and focus on anything but the horrors in front of them.

It was Roman who spoke up, “Do those windows behind her look familiar?”

“What?” Niko asked.

“Yeah, the windows. A-and the wood floors,” she continued. “You said you checked Madden’s place?”

“Yes, everywhere,” Deen confirmed.

“But doesn’t that look like Madden’s place? I mean the floor pattern is the same and she always talked about her fake windows because of how stuffy it was. Those are boarded up,” Roman pointed out.

“We checked everywhere,” Deen repeated.

“Even the attic?” Roman asked.

“Madden doesn’t have an attic. We looked for an entrance but there wasn’t one,” Niko said.

“Are you sure?” Roman asked.

“I’m telling you, I looked. I didn’t see an entrance.”

Everyone was silent for a moment before Mateo’s face lit up with dread. “There’s a secret entrance.”

Then, without another word, Mateo sprinted from the room. Quick to follow was Spencer, followed by Derek. Niko sighed to himself before taking off after them. The whole group started to follow, but then Deen yelled up to the groups of people, “JT, Dalton! Go!”

Two men jumped from the first floor into a dive roll, and sprinted after them.

“Wait, Dalton?” Rossi asked. “As in Dalton, Aundreya’s police escort when she joined the team for the first few months?”

Deen nervously chuckled, “Yeah, that’s him.”

“What the hell else do we not know about?” Rossi sounded exasperated.

“A lot,” was all Deen offered. They headed back to the room while the five men chased after Mateo to the doctor’s house.

When they got there, Mateo had already kicked the door in, and was taking the massive marble stairs two at a time to get to the top level. Derek and Niko were right behind him, followed by Spencer and the other two men.

When they all got there, Mateo had already started tossing books off of shelves.

“What are you doing, man?” Derek yelled at him. Mateo was in such a frenzie that he didn’t respond. Derek ran up to him and pushed him up against the wall. Like deja vu, he was on the ground in a matter of seconds. “What the hell!”

Niko walked up and grabbed Mateo by the shoulders and pushed him up against the wall just like Derek had. “Why are you throwing books?” It was the first time they’d heard Niko raise his voice.

“I don’t know! All I remember is that the entrance had something to do with the books or the bookshelves or something!” Mateo fired back, eyes crazed.

Niko released him and returned to his calming voice, “Thank you. That was all we needed.”

The four men started tossing books and moving old wooden shelves, while Niko offered his hand to Derek.

“Sorry about that,” Niko apologized.

“I get it,” Derek said, brushing himself off. “You know, Aundreya did the exact same thing to me when I met her?”

“You pushed her up against a wall?” Niko asked.

“It’s a long story,” Derek admitted.

Niko smirked. “I’m sure you realized that was a mistake pretty quickly. But to answer your question, we all trained together. She actually taught Mateo that.”

Derek gave a small smile and nodded, then turned to help Spencer with a bookshelf.

After about 20 minutes of messing with them, Mateo huffed, “This isn’t working.”

“Are you sure you remember correctly?” Spencer questioned, but it came across more like a challenge.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing. Just sometimes our minds can make things up when we’re desperate, that’s all,” Spencer said in that piercingly calm voice.

“So you think I’m lying?” Mateo snarled.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just questioning how accurate your information is.”

“Spencer,” Derek warned, as if Spencer hadn’t just seen him get taken down by the same man who he was currently pissing off. Spencer just waved him off.

“Because, if you just wasted our time, who knows what could be happening to her right-” He didn’t get a chance to finish, because Mateo punched him right in the jaw. Spencer’s head shot to the side, and his eyes focused on the ground. He was about to retaliate when something caught his eye.

“Wait, that’s it,” Spencer said, crouching lower to the ground. There on one of the floorboards were two small Chinese symbols meaning ‘attic.’

“What, what’s it?” Mateo demanded. Spencer ignored him, running his finger over the symbols. They were slightly raised, and there was a faint outline of a square around them. He pushed two of his fingers down on them, and the small square section of the floor went down as well, revealing a keyhole in the wall.

“Kid, what is it?” Derek asked, much nicer than Mateo. Again, without answering, Spencer rushed down the stairs. “Reid!”

“I’ve seen those before!” he called back. There was a picture frame with Chinese art on the main level that had those symbols painted in the corner. Taped to the back was a single key that to Spencer’s eyes, seemed to be an exact match to the one upstairs. The rest of the men were about halfway down the stairs when Reid came pushing back up through them. He walked over to the keyhole and pushed it in. Immediately, the bookshelf swung open, inviting them in. Spencer looked over at Mateo and arched an eyebrow. Then he marched in, pulling a switchblade from his back pocket.

“I thought Deen confiscated all of your weapons,” Mateo pointed out.

“Yeah, our guns in our holsters,” Spencer shot back. He turned around to look at Mateo, who was also holding some sort of dagger. He snorted, “Like you’re one to talk.” Mateo just shrugged.

They headed up the creeky, barely carpeted stairs slowly, and when they entered the room, realized that it looked like an exact copy of where Aundreya was being held. Then they saw a female laying on the ground, tucked up behind the protruding metal pole. Spencer rushed over to her and let out a small sigh when he realized it wasn’t Aundreya.

“Oh my god it’s Doctor Madden,” Niko recognized.

“But Alionth isn’t here.” They could hear the sound of defeat in Mateo’s voice. A screen across the room roared to life, causing all six men to walk over to it. It flickered to the live feed of Aundreya and DeLeon, her stitches completely burned off along with some of her skin.

“Congratulations, you screwed yourself,” DeLeon said to the camera. On cue, the door to the attic slammed behind them. “Wow! Things just get more interesting by the second!”

“Damn it!” Mateo yelled. Derek ran back down the stairs to try and push the door back open, but the sound of DeLeon’s voice stopped him shy of kicking it down.

“I wouldn’t do that, Agent Morgan. You see, if you try to get out, I’ll just kill her.”

“Don’t listen to him, he wouldn’t,” Aundreya said nonchalantly.

“I would.”

“No he wouldn’t. Look he needs me for some sort of game he’s playing, and it would just kill all the fun if I was dead. So just leave,” she said with a shrug. Morgan was about to listen to her and force his way out when he heard a gunshot, followed by a whimper. Taking the steps two at a time, he faced the screen to see that DeLeon was holding a gun aimed at her foot. Blood was already seeping onto the floor.

“We can’t leave,” Spencer whispered.

Niko was on the phone with Roman, filling her, and the rest of the BAU in on what was happening. While he was doing that, DeLeon continued talking, “So, where were we? Ah, that’s right, you killed Rafael.”

“I didn’t.”

“It’s either honesty from here on out, or I won’t give you an option,” DeLeon threatened, waving his gun at something out of the frame.

“Fine. I killed Rafael and tried to pin it on you. But can you blame me?” Aundreya asked, “You know you would’ve done the same.”

“Maybe, but I can blame you.”

“Sure, then, blame me. But you’re only spiteful because it almost worked,” she smirked.

“Why is she taunting him?” Niko asked.

“She has to,” Mateo responded. Derek arched an eyebrow, realizing there were now three of them that had an idea what went on between DeLeon and Aundreya, some probably more than others, but it wasn’t his place to call it out.

“You’re smart, wouldn’t you say?” DeLeon asked. She just glared at him. “Let’s say you are. You’ve been studying me and your surroundings for the entire time you’ve been here, but you haven’t tried to send your buddies a message yet. You’re also smart for not trying that. And you quickly figured out what my little game was, but what I’m sure you don’t have figured out is why.”

“I killed Xena and Rafael, made you look like a fool and took the gang that was supposed to be yours. Plus, you’ve had it out for me since the beginning,” she quickly refuted.

“Oh, speaking of, have you told them what went on between the two of us?” he taunted. When she broke eye contact, that was his answer. “You haven’t, have you?”

“Only some of them,” Aundreya admitted.

“So do you wanna tell them, or should I?”

“Go ahead.”

“She and I met and became quite close. We actually dated for a while,” he smiled brightly.

Aundreya scoffed, “I’d hardly call it that.”

DeLeon whipped around and hit her with the gun. “Then what would you call it?”

She spit some blood at his shoes before answering, “You’re a coward.”

“Does anyone know what happened between the two of them?” Hotch’s voice came over Niko’s phone. They must’ve never hung up, “Reid, I know you said he gave her that scar but no one here knows anything else.”

Spencer and Mateo looked at each other yet again regarding this same issue, but neither moved to speak. The rest of the group wasn’t blind, though.

“What’s happening here?” Niko asked, gesturing between them. Still, neither responded.

“If any of you know anything, it might help us find her,” Hotch reminded.

Spencer was about to answer when Mateo beat him to it, “He was some super high ranked person in the gang, so when he invited her to some party with his friends, she couldn’t exactly say no. She was new and super good, so he and his friends were … well they were very interested. Th-they, uh-”

“They took advantage of her. M-mainly him though. It went on for all four of the years she was there,” Spencer finished. A deafening silence fell over the room and the line.

Luckily, or unluckily, DeLeon filled the silence, “Do they know that you got your best friend killed? How about that the reason she died was because you were high out of your mind?”

“Actually, it was Xena who killed her,” Aundreya tried, but they could hear her voice waver.

“Sure, but it was your fault she walked in there in the first place. If you could’ve recognized it was a trap, maybe we wouldn’t be here today. She’d be alive, and Deen’s leg wouldn’t be wrecked. Sydney’s poor little daughter might have a mother-”

“Stop!” she shouted, finally struggling against the chains.

“There she is!” DeLeon proudly stated, “The angry girl who couldn’t save her friends. She couldn’t even save herself.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m a monster? That you violated me? That there’s no hope for me?” her voice broke.

“I want them to know how weak you are!” he screeched back.

Then, flipping a complete 180, she burst out into hysterical laughter. It was bone chilling, because despite the gut-wrenching chuckles, this had absolutely no humor to it. She managed between a bitter smile, “They already know that. Oh god, trust me, they know. They know that I’m weak, that I’m a liar, that I’m a manipulator, that I’m a criminal, that I run from my problems, that I ignore them at all costs, that I’m closed off and that the moment I open up, I get screwed over, so I shut down and fuck things up. And if they didn't know that well, then they're pretty shitty profilers,” she let out a couple more laughs and finished, “And pretty shitty friends.”

This totally threw DeLeon off guard. Clearly, that was not the reaction he was expecting. “What’s so funny to you?”

Aundreya finally calmed down enough to casually respond, “Just that you thought you could chain me up and make me look all weak and pathetic in front of them when the only version of me they’ve ever known was the pathetic one. Like, you thought this would come as a surprise to them, but it won’t, and you know what? I don’t care what they think. They don’t know who I actually am and it’s better that way. The ring knows who I truly am and where I belong, and they know the strong version of me. That’s what matters.” Despite how terrible the situation was, Mateo had the thought to smirk over at Reid. Sure, she was under duress, but she’d said it. She’d basically said that she would come back to the ring, where she belonged, and forget about the BAU when this was all over.

That was enough to push Spencer over the edge. He launched at Mateo with zero regard for how much better he was at fighting, and pinned him to the rotting wood wall by his throat. Mateo easily removed his hand, and kicked him to the floor. He pounced on Spencer’s vulnerabilities, going straight for his bad knee and gunshot wound. Before things could get too serious, both Niko and Derek were on Mateo, yanking him off of Reid. Even after being shoved to the ground, Reid was going in for another round, but Derek stepped in front of him before he could get himself more hurt.

“This is not helping anybody!” Surprisingly, it was Dalton who spoke. “Look, I don’t know her nearly as well as all of you do, but I’ll tell you that getting to work as her ‘police escort’ or whatever, was such an honor. She kept things interesting and fun, and neither the ring nor the FBI will be the same without her. So if either of you care about her, even a shred, which it’s blatantly obvious you both do, you will pull yourselves together, get your heads out of your asses, and focus on finding her! Because if she doesn’t get out of there alive, she won’t be picking either of you!” He sighed and mumbled to himself, “Jesus Christ.”

On the other end of the phone, Emily was saying, “They are going to kill each other.”

“Not if Alionth gets to them first,” Deen joked.

Series Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl @kris-stuff @blameitonthenight21 @wooya1224 @unded-bride @swiftingday @dezzxmx

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purple-dahlias · 3 years

Text

murdermystery!au

I realised I haven’t really said much about this au, so I’m going to try and provide some detail about it now. You can also find the moodboard here btw :)

Sarah just finished pre-med and in the summer after she found out she was pregnant

her boyfriend, Joey, didn’t really know what to do and because he was moving away things were difficult, but in essence, he just wasn’t ready to be a father so he kind of just upped and left her

Sarah’s mother wasn’t too supportive either (like literally not at all), especially after Sarah’s decision to keep the baby, so that left Sarah basically alone

She impulsively just packed up and left, taking only what she could fit in her car, which was like 5 boxes and just drove and drove

She ended up stopping in this small town called Gaffney because eventually she just got too tired, and ended up staying there, altogether forgetting about med school and everything she had planned out for herself

In Gaffney, Sarah meets April, Connor, Crockett, Will, Maggie and a few others. They’re all really supportive and help her get set up (Sarah is very confused at first because to her it’s like wow there are people who actually care and they want to help me

Quite quickly though Sarah realises she needs a job. She’s been working a bit at Maggie’s diner in town, but she needs something that’s a more permanent

Gaffney has a bookstore, Molly’s, which is really just beloved by the whole town. The owner, Molly is retiring to Florida and is closing down, much to everyone’s disappointment. Sarah volunteers to take it over, just before Delilah is born.

Almost five years pass and things have been going okay. Sarah’s managed to rebuild everything for herself and Delilah, and they’re doing fine for the most part

And then, one day, April’s brother Noah, who moved back to town just under a year ago after losing his job in New York, and has been helping Sarah out in the bookstore ever since, is found dead just outside the shop

Sarah, in some ways, feels responsible, and takes it upon herself to try and figure out who killed Noah

Detective Ava Bekker arrives in town to help the Gaffney police force (Connor Rhodes, Isidore Latham, Sam Zanetti) with the case because they’re just a small town and haven’t ever had to deal with a homicide before and Ava’s a bigshot detective from Chicago (she’s also Connor’s friend since they trained together)

Ava is basically just really annoyed with Sarah because she keeps turning up and trying to investigate what happened (although really she’s just worried Sarah is going to put herself in danger)

In the end Sarah does end up almost single-handedly solving the case (I’m not going to say who did it because I’m going to try and write this out fully as a mystery at some point!)

But over time Sarah and Ava become really close (Sarah also had a huge crush on Ava from like the first time she saw her), and Ava decides to stay in town. At first she’s staying in the town’s only hotel, a B&B, but then she ends up moving in with Sarah, and Ava is also really (surprisingly to Sarah) good with kids and Delilah just loves her

#murdermystery!au #my aus #sarah reese #ava bekker #reesker #mum!sarah #delilah tag

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lydia-bell · 3 years

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The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Happy TBTP Holidays, @mysugarglidersrox! I wrote you a bit of AU Stragan fluff (mostly). I hope you enjoy it!

[Edit: now with AO3 link!]

The Twelfth Time’s the Charm

Alex finally made it to the front of the line for signings. She'd let everyone else go ahead of her because she wanted to have a bit of fun without worrying that she was holding anyone else up. Handing the hardcover to the author, she said "I'm really looking forward to reading this. The chapter you read was pretty compelling."

"Thank you," he said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. He was even prettier up close, those bright blue eyes catching and holding her attention.

"So, to whom shall I make this out?"

"Alex Reagan." She waited to see if he would make the connection.

"Is that spelled with..." his voice trailed off. He looked up at her, his brow slightly furrowed. "Alex Reagan. Have we met?"

"No, we never did quite manage it," she replied lightly. Maybe if I'd called a twelfth time."

He actually looked abashed. It was a good look on him. "Of course. The reporter." Then his eyes narrowed a bit and he said, "I hope you aren't still trying to get me to agree to an interview."

"Nope. We wrapped on that story months ago. I just thought it would be fun."

He relaxed then and started to sign her book. "Is 'Reagan' spelled with or without an 'a'?"

"With. It used to be pronounced like the president but I guess my dad's family decided they didn't want the association. It was easier to change the pronunciation than the spelling."

He laughed, signed the book, and handed it back to her.

"I hope you didn't take it personally when I didn't call back, Ms. Reagan. But at the time, I was very much focused on finishing this book, and in any event I'm afraid I've never enjoyed talking with the press."

"It's OK, lots of people don't."

"I presume you were able to find someone else to talk to."

"Oh, sure. Though the whole 'paranormal investigator' well ran a little dry after that. Maybe if you'd returned my calls, we could have done a whole series on it," she teased.

"I'm sure I'm not that fascinating," he demurred.

"Oh, I don't know."

He chuckled. "You have a way with flattery, Ms. Reagan."

"Alex."

"Alex. I haven't had dinner yet. Would you be interested in joining me?"

"I think I'd like that a lot, yeah."

***

Strand—he'd said to call him Richard but she was struggling a bit to adjust—wanted some good, fresh seafood because "it's not the same in Chicago." That was fine with Alex, so they found an oyster bar a couple of blocks from the bookstore. Once they'd placed their orders, and thus run out of obvious small-talk fodder, she wasn’t sure what to say next. She was feeling oddly nervous, like this was a date with stakes instead of a spur-of-the-moment meal with a (granted, hot) former prospective interview subject.

She decided to ease into the conversation by asking about something she knew he would want to talk about.

"So, what inspired you to write your book?"

"I'm trying to do my part to encourage rational thinking in the world, against the tide of all of the forces that seem to be pushing in the opposite direction."

It was really unreasonable, Alex reflected, to be attracted to someone who talked like that all the time. But here she was. "Sure, but I meant more like, why this particular book, and why you?"

"Let's just say that I have experience with," he paused, "family members who have turned to the occult in times of crisis. It didn't provide the answers they were looking for, and it probably prevented them from doing something more useful."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

They both fell quiet for a moment as the waiter brought their food. When he'd gone, Richard continued as if he'd never stopped.

"The impulse to turn to paranormal explanations is understandable in some ways. Especially for people who have suffered trauma, or who lack a proper understanding of science and statistics. Other people have a psychological need to feel that they're special, that they have secret knowledge of some hidden aspect of the world. Some people are just looking for a break from the mundane. Of course there are other outlets that for these impulses—things like conspiracy theories or radical political movements, for instance. Either way, if people aren't careful about how they get their needs met, they can become targets. They can delude themselves. I want to prevent that, as much as I can."

"Wow," Alex said. "I guess that's...I don't know, deeper than I expected it to be?" Off his raised eyebrow she added, "That may have come out wrong. I guess I just expected something more along the lines of the videos I've seen you in."

"Ah, yes. Less human nature, more ripping apart the claims of charlatans."

"Something like that, yeah."

"Well," he admitted, "there's some of that too."

Alex laughed.

"Speaking of charlatans," Richard continued, "I certainly hope you found someone to represent the rational point of view on your show."

"We couldn't really find another person with your particular profile, but we did talk to a couple of skeptics. And a woman named Arianna Asadi called me..."

Richard groaned softly.

Alex laughed. "What? She said she heard I'd been calling around to paranormal researchers, and she wanted to make sure I didn't get the wrong idea. She warned me off of them!"

Richard huffed. "Ms. Asadi is an odd case. She purports to be a serious researcher. She even offers very well-founded debunkings of the ghost hunters and so-called psychics who prey on people looking for answers and meaning. And then she publishes books about 'historical hauntings'. I believe she's actually sincere, but it's all very frustrating."

"Well, she thinks highly of you."

"And what makes you say that?"

"That she said she admires your body of work." He actually blushed a little. Alex grinned and continued. "Anyway, you're right about the debunking. She asked who I'd talked to so far, and when I told her, she immediately listed off all these tricks they do to make it seem like lights are going out on their own and things like that. It was amazing, she basically described everything that happened with Emily Dumont and the old psych hospital. I think Dumont must do the same stuff a lot."

"Oh, I assure you, she does."

"See, it could have been you, explaining all this to our listeners," she teased.

"It could. But to be honest, knowing that you'd been talking to people like Dumont and Abruzzi, I wasn't sure what kind of show you were making or whether I wanted to be part of it. And anyway, I needed to focus on my book. I'm trying to reach as wide an audience as possible."

"Well, that episode was only downloaded 100,000 times, so I can see how that might not be a big enough audience."

His eyes widened. "I apologize. To be honest, I have no idea how many people listen to shows like yours. I'm not really familiar with the podcasting medium."

"I'd noticed."

"I shouldn't have assumed."

It was fun having him a bit on on defensive, a bit flustered. "It wasn't very intellectually rigorous of you."

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"It did help that we got a big boost from the mothership—from Pacific Northwest Stories," she admitted. "But yeah, the show's doing pretty well, and we have enough sponsors these days to keep us in plane tickets and free socks, so I have no complaints. Well. I might want to do something a little more substantial at some point. But this is fun."

"So if you were to do something a little more substantial, as you say, what would it be?"

"I don't know. Maybe people who are working on climate change mitigation. Like, we still have to think about reducing emissions, but there are lots of people who've just basically decided that's not going to work or it's not going to be enough and are figuring out how they're going to live in the new climate. It's kind of depressing? But also kind of hopeful. There's a lot of people doing that work around Seattle. A lot of Indigenous people, in particular. I don't think it would be hard to at least get a mini-series out of it."

"That's a big departure from interviewing Emily Dumont."

She laughed. "It is! Don't get me wrong, I definitely think there's room for both kinds of stories in the world. All kinds of stories. But I just feel like I want to branch out a little."

"Well, I hope you get a chance to do that show sometime soon," he said. "It sounds like a subject worthy of your talents."

OK, wow. And he'd said she had a way with flattery. "Thanks. So, um. What about you, what's next for you?" she asked.

"I had to basically put the functions of the Strand Institute on hiatus while I finished the book, so I'll work on getting that running again," he said. "Also, as it happens, I'll probably be back in Seattle a few times in the next few months."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my father lived here before his death. No condolences necessary," he said, pre-empting her, "it was almost 20 years ago now. But there are still some aspects of his estate that need to be dealt with, including the sale of his house."

"Oh, well. I can show you around, if you'd like. When you come back."

"I would like that very much."

The waiter came with the check. Alex started to say something about paying her share but Richard said "Please, allow me. I did invite you to dinner, after all." She had to admit to herself, as she watched the waiter show Richard how to settle the bill on his iPad, it was something of a relief; the prices had been frankly terrifying on a journalist's salary.

As they were walking back to her parking spot, they passed a quiet-looking bar. Richard stopped in front of it.

"Would you like to get a drink?" he asked.

Yes. She took a deep breath. "It sounds nice, but, I don't think that's a good idea. I had that beer with dinner, and it was a while ago so I should be OK, but I have to drive."

"Of course." He hesitated for a moment. "Although, if you don't want to drive home...you don't have to."

"Ah." It wasn't a complete surprise, but—OK, yes, maybe she was stereotyping because of his age and his manner, but he hadn't struck her as a sex-on-the-first-date kind of guy.

She must have come across as pretty unenthusiastic, because he added, "That's not why I paid for dinner."

"I know." And she did. He wasn't really smooth enough to be a manipulator...unless, of course, he was such a good manipulator that he was only faking the bluntness and questionable social graces in order to lure her into a false sense of security.

It didn't seem likely.

Did she want to have sex with him? (Well, yeah.) Did she even like him? Everybody had said he was kind of a prick, and they weren't wrong. But he wasn't just that, either. Maybe it was his obvious passion for his work, or maybe it was just that she'd seldom known anyone quite so confidently, exasperatingly himself—even if that self might be, well, a little stuffy and self-important. He wasn't even a little bit charming but he was somehow still endearing. (He'd also been very respectful to the waitstaff, and that was always a good sign.)

She was pretty sure she liked him. He was a challenge, no doubt—but Alex was never deterred by a challenge. But she had a stupidly early morning tomorrow and also, God, she hadn't worn her pretty underwear or shaved or anything, and it was silly, yes, but she liked to make a good first impression.

And then she imagined saying that out loud and how ridiculous he would find it. "The male libido," she imagined him saying sternly, "isn't deterred by those things. Women are far more concerned about their body hair than men are."

God help her, the thought made her giggle. She suppressed it, though—it didn't seem polite to start laughing right after someone asked you to sleep with them. "I'm very, very tempted," she said. "But it's late, and I have an 8am meeting for some ungodly reason."

"I understand."

"But," she continued, poking him gently in the chest, "I'm going to hold you to that promise to look me up the next time you're in Seattle."

He smiled, probably the warmest smile she'd seen on him all night. He really was very attractive, damn it. "Good."

In a couple of minutes they were back at her car. Neither one of them seemed to be sure what to do next, so she unlocked it, but didn't make a move to get in.

"Do you want me to drive you back to your hotel?"

"What? Oh. No, thank you. I'll be fine." He seemed very distracted all of a sudden, like he was looking past her, or just a bit over her head. She turned around, but there was nothing there. Just deep shadows.

"Everything OK?"

"Of course. I just thought I saw something."

"OK. Well. Good night?"

"Good night." A bit hesitantly, he bent toward her.

He was so tall, she had to almost get on tiptoes to kiss him. It started out light, but they both lingered and it quickly became intense. Not sloppy, do-me-right-here-right-now intense, more like... like there was a lot of feeling under that buttoned-down exterior. They stepped further into each other's space; he was so much bigger than her that his embrace was like being wrapped up in a cloak, and it could have been intimidating but it wasn't, it was warm, it was hot. He ran one hand through her hair and gently cupped the back of her head to pull her closer. Fuck, it was good.

To hell with 8am meetings, she thought. To hell with next time. She deserved some fun.

She pulled away, not far, but far enough to look him in the eye and say, "I think...I think I'd like to take you up on your offer after all."

His hand was still in her hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They got into the car to drive back to his hotel. She fumbled her keys a bit, making them both chuckle in that high-strung way of people who know something's about to happen. As they pulled away, she noticed that Richard was looking back at that same spot.

It was weird—all she could see were shadows.

#the black tapes holiday fic exchange #the black tapes #the black tapes podcast #TBTP

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untilspringdays · 5 years

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Catalyst: Chapter 1 Encounter

Summary: You were the catalyst, the start of it all. They would have found each other eventually but you brought them together sooner, faster than expected. Then you vanished from their lives and they were determined to get you back.

Pairings: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Mafia AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut (Eventually)

Warnings: Violence, Underground Fights, Dark Themes, Torture, Blood, Swearing. Its a Mafia AU so read at your own risk!

A/N: Sorry for taking longer than intended on this chapter. It took me a bit to get to a point I was satisfied with it. Also I’m not the best with warnings so I tried to give general warnings. So please if a topic associated with Mafia AU’s makes you uncomfortable read at your own risk!

Also thanks for all the interest! I never expected this to get the attention it did! I’m starting work on chapter 2 right away!

Master List || Next

Taglist:@jooheonbee (Ask me to be added!)

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” You echoed.

Your eyes glaring at the man that was in front of you. Someone you didn’t recognize. “The hell you mean he is gone?”

A sigh escaped the man’s lips as this was another time he had to explain this. He was tired of the repetition. “He went somewhere and asked us to look after his operation.”

Us? You questioned in your head. “If he left then why isn’t Laine watching the bar and the arena?” You asked. As much as you didn’t want to speak to the man he was your only source of information on the two men who looked out for you.

“Laine went with him. Some business back in Chicago.�� Ah that cleared it up somewhat, but why couldn’t have they told you that before they left? “Anymore questions?” The man asked with disinterest, not wanting to explain more than he had too.

“The fights are still running right?” You asked, confident you already knew the answer but your anxiety made you ask anyway. Just in case, you told yourself.

The man let out a scoff. “Of course they are. Mason would kill us if we lost him money. Also my boss would kill us if we didn’t arrange the fights as entertainment. Who was this guy’s boss if not Mason? Who the hell did Mason trust enough to run his place? That man trusted no one, not even you who he had been close with for the past few years.

“Speaking of which he is coming to watch you fight tonight. He likes to place his money on you, so you better not lose.” The man behind the counter stated with a slight grunt, interrupting your thoughts.

Oh man.. He shouldn’t have told you that. It put pressure on you to perform better in a fight if you knew someone was placing good money on you. Someone that liked to see you fight regularly. With a sigh you ran your hand through your hair. “And who exactly is your boss?” Hopefully it wasn’t that old creep that tended to follow you around this place.

The man gave a shrug, acting like his boss wasn’t a big deal. “Park Jimin.”

At the mention of that name your blood ran cold. Annoyance that had run through you a moment earlier was entirely replaced by fear.

Quickly you replied to the man with a soft, “Okay.”

Turning away you headed for the exit as quickly as you could without giving away that something was wrong, not that he would have cared. Walking up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, you pushed open the heavy metal door that marked the entrance to the underground arena.

The cold wind was the first thing that greeted you as you stepped out into the back alley. Not that it bothered you too much, with your mind focused elsewhere. Unconsciously you tugged your jacket closer to your body, as you headed down the alleyway. Your feet moved on auto-pilot, taking you to the book store you managed. Not even bothering to look at the spray paint that covered the buildings walls or the occasional person or group you passed. It was all the same. A ‘Long Live the King’ here, mafia signs there. The groups never bothering you if you didn’t bother them. Nothing here stood out to you. It was usual.

What was new was the name you had just heard. At least it was new considering you hadn’t heard that name in a few years.. It scared you that you were hearing that name again.. But you were a fool to think their influence wouldn’t have spread this far. Living blissfully unaware in Mason’s ‘Safe Haven,’ you ignored BTS and anything to do with them for as long as you could.

Clenching your teeth, eyes locked on the sidewalk in front of you as your fear turned into irritation, and anger. How did they find you? What were they going to do to you now? Were they even aware it was you? Ever since the incident you appearance wasn’t the same as it used to be. Your hair changed in length, the color changed away from its natural color many times over. Not to mention the scars.. It was still you.. but it was very hard to tell. After everything healed and the scars set it even shocked you how much you changed. Even the fire that once burned in your eyes was gone without a trace. The fact that you didn’t look like what you did before should have brought you some peace but it didn’t. The fear that was instilled in you kept you from believing such a thing.

Questions about BTS plagued your mind. Running a hand through you hair you tried to recall anything that could have given you away.. Last they knew of you, you were dead in their eyes. After all it was them that wanted you dead in the first place, or at least one of them did. So why were they reappearing in your life now? Something wasn’t adding up..

Your hands fumbled with the keys to the bookstore. Lost in thought, mind swirling with unanswered questions, not really paying any mind to others around you. As soon as you heard the door unlock you stepped inside. The smell of books, and the slight smell of coffee settling your racing mind for a moment. Placing your keys behind the counter, you let out a shaky breath, taking a moment to calm yourself more. You didn’t need the panic messing you up as you started your daily routine of opening the store.

As you feel into your routine, your mind started to settle more. Able to focus on how it was all muscle memory at this point. You started with the little cafe in the back of the store. You didn’t sell too many types of coffee like the big chain stores, but you liked to think your coffee had a certain quality to it that couldn’t be found anywhere else. Once the cafe was done came the sitting area nearby. For anyone that wanted to just sit and read and enjoy a cup of coffee. Afterwards you moved to the front bookstore organizing shelves, setting out a few as ‘Owner’s Choice’ that you liked to recommend sometimes. In the middle of organizing you heard your co-worker walk in. You nodded a greeting to them, getting a quick wave in return before they headed to the back to run the cafe.

After everything was done you settled behind the counter pen in hand to write down your to-do list for the day. Your little set up ready to sell any books you could for the day. Despite the work you needed to do, your mind was still riddled with thoughts and questions about the name you heard earlier.

Park Jimin… You hand cliched the pen tightly as your mind recalled memories that you wanted to forget. Of course out of all seven of them it would be him to find you first. If that truly was the case. If they for sure knew it was you. He wasn’t the first one out of the seven you had met.. But he was the one you consider yourself to be closest too during that time period. You never knew if he thought the same way.. Never dared to ask. At the time, the anxiety of not knowing was easier to deal with than the depression of finding out the real answer.

Well now you knew the answer.. None of them cared about you. Not one of them was in your life even slightly up until now. Did they want to mess with you again? Did they just want to use you again? You weren’t sure, you were afraid to find out but you couldn’t go hiding away.. Mason would kill you if you didn’t do your fights, he would also kill you if you didn’t run the bookstore like you were supposed to. Was he the one who set this up? After all he was the one that allowed Jimin’s lackeys to watch the arena. Was this his way of telling you to get your shit together and face your stupid problems? Or was he not aware that Jimin had taken notice of you?

One thing was for sure, Mason wouldn’t sell you out. Even if he couldn’t trust you, he wouldn’t do that to you. That man may seemed like a crazed lunatic sometimes but he had a set of values he liked to follow. And if he sold you out, then he would be losing money and that was a big no in his book.

You shook your head, clearing the thoughts away from the two men that had major parts to play in your life at some point. Despite the nagging fear in the back of your head, you couldn’t let this mess up your day or your plan in general. Working for Mason, becoming an underground fighter.. All of this to be safe. You weren’t the push over you used to be that was for sure. Yeah. You were safe. You could protect yourself.

The door dinged, and you looked up from your notepad. A bright smile on your face as you greeted the first customer of the day. You are safe. You told yourself one last time to set it in your mind, hoping you could believe it.

✦✦✦

You looked out the glass window nearby your counter. The sun in the midst of setting. Almost time to close for the day. The cafe in the back had been shut down an hour ago. Your co-worker returning home for the day, leaving you as the only one in the store.

You only had a little longer to go before you could return home. A little longer to go without incident. A little longer before you could end another day without them.

Throughout the day you had settled on the fact that they didn’t know it was you in the arena, or at least the you they used to know. Perhaps Jimin just liked to watch you fight. Once he had settled at Namjoon’s company, he always told you about how he liked to watch fights. You never knew that entailed underground fights until that last bit of time you spent with them until you disappeared.

Honestly that is a piece of information you should have remembered before agreeing to Mason’s deal. You had called yourself stupid many times today for choosing to be a fighter. You should have known Jimin would have shown up eventually, but after a few years without anything from them you gained a false sense of security. You cursed at yourself for not remaining on edge.

You stood up from the stool that sat behind the counter. Slowly you made your way around the counter heading for the nearest shelf to straighten up a bit. There wasn’t much else for you to do until close, and you could only sit in that chair for so long.

Your left hand lightly traced the spines of the books as you walked past, before finding a section that needed your attention. Quickly grabbing one of the books that got placed back the wrong way you fixed it and slid it back with practiced ease. Other books were just slightly out of order. An easy fix in your mind.

A few books were adjusted by the time the bell by the door rang, signaling that someone else had walked in. You looked up from the shelf blinking in surprise for a moment. It was rare for you to get a customer at this time. Well if they needed you they could ring the bell at the desk. You continued to straighten the books and arrange them as needed.

Once the shelf was almost done did you hear the chime of the bell at your counter. “I will be over in a minute!” You called out into the small store. Hearing no reply confused you.. Normally people would respond. Odd.. You let out a small grunt as you stood up from the kneeling position you were in, quickly dusting yourself off. You hurriedly walked past a couple of shelves before you approached the open space that lead to the check-out area.

“What can I help you wi-..” You stopped talking, freezing in your spot as you recognized the figure standing at your desk. After all this time you could still recognize him no matter what. Your hand shot out grabbing a nearby book, ready to defend yourself if needed even if it wouldn’t do anything to help you. One word running through you mind over and over again. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The figure turned towards you. That same smile, that you knew too well, on his face. The very same smile that hid lies, anger, and many other things behind it. A smile that fooled many people before, including you, but not this time. He was irritated.. At who? You weren’t sure but it was most likely at you.

“Good evening Y/N, or should I say King?”

“J-Jimin.” You greeted back, silently cursing yourself for the stutter. You shouldn’t be showing fear in front of him, but facing the situation that was the only thing you felt.

He looked down at the book in your hands, a smirk forming on his face. “Do you think that book will help you against me?” He asked approaching you, his hand coming up softly holding the book you had gripped tightly in both hands. You watched as he studied the book for a moment before the smirk on his face was replaced by a frown. Something going through his mind.

You both stood there for a moment before he pushed the book away from your chest before wrapping his arms around you. His voice in our ear making you shudder in a moment as you took in what was happening. “Why are you afraid of me? What did I do to make you fake your death and disappear on us?” He asked his voice genuinely sounding hurt, and upset, causing you to snap out of your frozen state.

You pushed him away, dropping the book in the process, backing up at the same time to put a somewhat safe distance between you and Jimin again. “Wait.. What do you mean?” You asked looking at him with confusion on your face. Did he not know? He must not have considering that his face reflected your confusion.

You didn’t even know how to begin explaining this, or even what words to say that wouldn’t piss him off. You pushed your hand through you hair as you looked down to the ground, an unsteady sigh escaping through your lips. “I…” You paused your words, trying to be delicate about the situation but at this point you didn’t need to be. One of his brothers order your death. He deserved the truth from someone.

With a renewed anger you finally found your words. “I didn’t fake my death Jimin.” You said your voice becoming stern as the anger in you grew. Finally able to take it out on those who were responsible for your current life, for the scars on your body. “You did this, BTS did this. I was attacked by one of you. One of the seven of you wanted me dead for whatever reason and they almost succeeded.”

At this point, the memories were back in your head of the event. Of how you were beaten and cut within an inch of your life by one of their grunts. How you barely escaped. How Mason found you and took you in and helped you. Tears had welled up in your eyes at this point and with the emotions you were feeling, you weren’t going to hold anything back anymore.

“I disappeared. I hid. I go by a different name. All because of you, and how I knew you didn’t want me in your life anymore. And I accepted it.” You paused a moment to take in a breath, your eyes turned up to face a stunned Jimin, your gaze turning into a glare to show him how much you resented him. How you resented BTS. “And now here you are, making me afraid for my life once again, just when I stopped checking over my shoulder every five minutes. Thinking we are still on good terms? Its bullshit Jimin. The second I disappeared was the second I stopped mattering to you.”

You studied his face for a second, watching a swirl of emotions cross over his beautiful features as he processed the information you had given him. Finally he found words. “Who..? Who ordered the hit on you? We… We would never do that to you.” Betrayal. HIs tone said it all. Whether he was thinking you lied to him, or one of his brothers did, you weren’t sure, and it didn’t matter.

“It doesn’t matter who did it. The damage is already done. BTS isn’t apart of my life anymore..” A dull pain sat in your chest as you finally admitted it out loud, your tone reflecting that pain but it was better for you this way, and clearly it was better for them. “Just… Just get out of my store Jimin. Pretend you never saw me.” You said, steeling your voice. It hurt to kick him out of your life again but it needed to be done.

“But..” He started before you interrupted him.

“Just go!” You shouted. You didn’t want to deal with this anymore.

You watched has looked at you for a moment. His eyes studying you for any sign that you didn’t want him to leave but he found none. He turned his eyes away from you before walking out of the door. The chime of the door signalling his exit from your store, from your life. Hopefully for the last time.

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1105

surveys by seachaange

What do you do when someone is talking to you about something you don't care about? I listen and try to ask questions or add my own input so that they can see that even though I personally don’t care about the thing they’re talking about, I’m invested in them.

What is the best pizza place in your neighbourhood? Erm, we don’t really have a lot of independent pizza joints, actually. Most of the ones I see are chain restaurants like Pizza Hut and Domino’s. The best pizza I’ve had is from Vu’s at Marco Polo, but it’s been a whileeeee since I’ve had their food. Mama Lou’s pizza is also good.

Do you have Photoshop installed on your computer? I do but I only had it installed for school. I have no personal interest to learn it.

Are there any teachers you have that you are close with? I wouldn’t say that. I’m kinda chummy with one of my English teachers from high school - like he knew about me and Gab and supported us, I show my support for his art, we greet each other every now and then, etc - but we’re not ‘close.’

Do you have friends that play field hockey? No.

What about soccer? Not friends but I do know a number people who play football, yeah.

Do you think homosexuals are leading a bad lifestyle? This question aged like milk, didn’t it...

What do you think of the iPad? I remember when it blew up like crazy. It was such a revolutionary thing back when it was new, so much so that my dad even felt the need to buy one. It was fun when the hype lasted; but nowadays I don’t know people who would still seek out an iPad other than artists and law/med students, lmfao.

Do you put lotion on after you get out of the shower? I don’t.

Do you have any concerts on dvd? A lot, but they’re of concerts from a time when DVDs were still a thing. I haven’t had a new DVD in around 7-8 years.

Do you still have a VHS player? I think my parents have thrown theirs out already.

Has anyone ever given you a promise ring? No.

Do you send postcards to people when you go on vacation? I don’t. But aw, this made me remember when Jo did a summer exchange program in London and she sent postcards to Aya in the few months that she had been away. I thought that was sweet.

What do you think is the most comfortable shoe? Out of the pairs I have, my Onitsuka Tiger shoes for sure.

Have you seen Lady Gaga's music video for Telephone? That was suuuuuuch a big deal when it came out. Yes, I definitely have and I must’ve watched it a thousand times. Also rude, Beyoncé was in there too lol

If so, what do you think of it? It was so creative and a lot of fun to watch, especially for 2009 when artists weren’t exactly daring with music video concepts yet. I can’t believe they never collaborated again since.

What do you think of the septum piercing? It’s great.

Do you frequently skip class? Depends on my interest in the class/the professor, OR how tired I am that week. I skipped my psychology elective a lot because I didn’t think the instructor was all that great; and as much as I loved every single one of my history classes, there were a few sessions I voluntarily had to skip because I wasn’t doing mentally well. It really depends.

When you're really thirsty, what do you enjoy drinking most? Water. Anything else wouldn’t be able to quench my thirst as well.

What do you find inspirational in the world? I think it differs based on what I need to see at a given time, I guess. At this point in my life, I like hearing from people who have risen from their trust and abandonment issues, because it’s what I’ve been going through as well. I probably never would’ve found something like that inspirational, say, 6 months ago, so it really depends.

When hanging out with your bf or gf, what do you like doing most? I’m a very ‘let’s spend time in silence’ type of person. I cherished it the most when my ex and I would go to a coffee shop and work for hours, in complete and comfortable silence; or when I would be driving and no words would be exchanged for nearly the entire ride. Even though I stay quiet, in those moments I’m actually very happy. Of course new experiences are great too, but I personally enjoy the conventional ‘boring’ stuff the most when with a partner.

What do/did you think of your high school? Teeming with homophobia, bigotry, and just your typical Catholic gatekeepy judgmental environment. I look back at high school fondly because of the friends I made, not because of the toxic environment they nurtured in there.

What is the dirtiest rap song you have ever heard? I don’t listen to a lot of rap. But as an 11 year old listening to Nicki Minaj’s Itty Bitty Piggy, I was immediately traumatized lmao. I still can’t listen to that song.

What about a dirty song in any other genre? Uhhhhhhhhh probably Drunk in Love?? Lmaoooo I’d die for Beyoncé a million times but I always skip that song. My asexual ass just can’t deal.

What is a genre of music you simply can't stand? One of them is techno.

What is, in your opinion, the best way of dealing with a break up? Being kind to yourself.

What flavour of Doritos do you like best? I’ve only ever tried the nacho cheese flavor, but I love that one.

Where do you do your grocery shopping? I don’t do the grocery shopping in the family but my parents usually do it at SM or at this local store we have nearby.

Would you ever go to a comedy club? Yes, with a friend so I’d be more comfortable.

Do you think Victoria's Secret is overpriced? I haven’t been in one of their stores in a while, so I can’t really say.

Do you still have a VHS player? Again, I don’t think so.

Do you have a tumblr? :))))))

Why is it that photography is becoming a trend? So this survey was made in 2010 and I can definitely confirm it was a crazy huge trend lol. Even I got into it and asked my parents to get me a DSLR back then. Anyway, I think it was because during this time, DSLRs had been slowly becoming a thing? and they were kiiiiiiiinda cheap - at least cheap enough to be accessible to a large amount of people - so it allowed people to play with different styles that were very unfamiliar at the time, like light painting, fisheye, close-ups, etc. And then at one point everyone had DSLRs and it just wasn’t as enjoyable anymore because everyone was doing the same kinds of trendy shots lol.

What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? I’m gonna go with The Proposal - Sandra Bullock was gold in that movie.

Did you watch American Idol this past season? No. Do they still air new seasons of that?? I stopped watching when the same guitar-playing, country-singing white men kept winning.

If so, how did you feel about the winner? It’s been more than a decade since I last cared for the show.

Don't you hate it when one of your earbuds stops working? Sure.

Do you have a normal landline, or do you use MagicJack? Holy shit I have not heard of MagicJack in a goddamn WHILE lmao, what a throwback. We had one, I’m pretty sure...but I never knew what it was for.

Do you even use a house phone anymore? Landlines are still common in the Philippines. Are they not in other countries? Hahahaha.

Would you ever consider dating someone who lived across the country? If I loved, trusted, and was committed to them enough, yes.

What was the most expensive restaurant you've ever eaten at? I wasn’t able to track the name but I’m pretty sure it was the fine dining restaurant in our cruise trip that my parents treated me to for my birthday.

Do/did you take foods classes in high school? My school didn’t offer such a class, but we had home economics and we were occasionally taught how to cook and bake certain dishes.

Do you have a tattoo? No, not yet.

If you do, describe the pain you went thru when getting it done. Eugh this is what I’m scared of :((((

Do you enjoy making hemp necklaces and bracelets? I’ve never tried.

Have you ever watched the show Strangers With Candy? I’ve never even heard of it before, I’m sure.

What is your favourite bookstore? Fully Booked, because their collection is expansive, always complete, and they let you take a book of the shelves and read it if you’d like.

Have you ever used torrents? Mostly throughout high school. I did use a torrent to download Midsommar recently, though.

How can we tell if you are in a bad mood? I go quiet.

How are you when you're in a really good mood? Complete opposite - I will be bubbly and chatty, especially in instances when I’m not really expected to be.

Are you nice to everyone, even people you don't like? Yes.

When you're bored in class, what do you do? I seldom found myself bored in class because I’m constantly furiously taking notes. But if the prof themselves are very boring and there’s nothing to take notes about, I go ahead and check my social media either from my phone or laptop.

Would you rather go to Lollapalooza, Warped Tour, or Bonnaroo? As a teenager, I had always wanted to go to Warped Tour. As I’ve gotten older, though, the lineups for Lollapalooza have appealed to me more. Plus it’s in Chicago, soooooo a million more brownie points for that.

Do you have anything that is autographed? By who? Yeah, I have an autographed poster of AJ Lee. It was my most prized possession and I even placed it on a big picture frame and had it up on my wall for yearsssssssss, and then my mom had to take it down because of course it’s my mom and of course she had to do it.

Can you sleep when it's really hot? Welcome to summer months in the Philippines.

Do you know anyone who works at McDonald's? I think Carley does, but idk if that’s changed in the last few months. I don’t stay updated about her life, haven’t been for years.

Do you have a debit card? Yes.

What bank do you (or your family) use? I am not sharing that lol.

Would you ever hitchhike? I think I’m mostly open to it, though I will say I’ve read enough stories about murders that involve hitchhiking that make me a little scared of the idea, hahah.

Have you ever been kayaking? We did a boat thing in Palawan a few years ago but I’m not sure if that was kayaking or canoeing. Anywho, the experience was breathtaking.

Do you have a problem with swimming in a pond or lake? In the context of my country, yeah, because our natural bodies of water aren’t exactly...the cleanest, lmao. I’d feel much more comfortable swimming in a private beach.

Does anyone in your family go hunting or fishing? Nope. But maybe some of my relatives living in the US do?? Idk for sure.

What do/did you do when someone you barely knew asks you to sign their yearbook? We don’t really practice that. Only the really expensive, bougie, international schools here that have foreign students to begin with do that, I think.

In high school are you/were you in the plays and musicals? No.

Do you have a birdbath in your yard? No, we don’t.

Is the house you live in old or new? It’s fairly new; we had it first built in 2005 and we officially moved in 2008.

Where do you go when you need a new pair of sneakers? Depends on what brand I’m in the mood to buy.

Do you make New Year's Resolutions, or do you not even bother? I typically don’t.

Most annoying commercial? Haven’t been paying attention to them lately.

What does your favourite bathing suit look like? It’s just a simple black bikini but its overall shape and design is super cute and chic.

Do you like Silly Bandz? No.

If you do, how many do you have and what are your favourite shapes?

What do you think of My Super Sweet 16? I never watched it because I feel like I’d only get stressed if I did.

Do you have mini-blinds in your house? I have pull-down window shades in my room, not blinds.

Do you rent your home or do you own it? My parents own it.

What is your favourite song right now? Trigger by Hayley Williams.

Do you use Firefox? Nope.

Do you have a pool in your backyard? We don’t.

Do you have a gym membership? No.

Favourite field trip you've ever been on? Freshman year of high school when we went to two museums :)

#survey #surveys

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rustbeltjessie · 4 years

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Belmont and Clark

I clicked the link Meg sent me, and saw the headline I’d dreaded for years: Demolition Underway at Corner of Belmont and Clark. I read the article, and read another, earlier article on the same topic. I’ll spare you the dull details, but the gist is this—all the buildings on the corner of Belmont and Clark are being bulldozed to make space for some hulking monstrosity of glass and steel, yet another ugly, shiny building where rich people can live, park, eat, and shop. (Just think! One day rich people might be able to live in a completely encapsulated world and not have to breathe the same air as us riffraff!)

I cried a little, and then I got angry. Later that night, I drank whiskey and tried to explain to my partner why I was so upset. My partner attempted to placate me by telling me that it didn’t matter if they tore those buildings down or covered up that parking lot (don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone—they’re building over my favorite parking lot), because the memories will live on in my heart. “No!” I shouted. “You don’t fucking get it!” “I don’t want the memories! I want my Punkin’ Donuts!”

* * *

I’m not drunk, or as emotional as I was that night, but to tell you the truth I don’t know if I can explain anything. I can’t explain why I loved that street and that corner so much. I can’t explain why I’m so fucking pissed that they’re erecting this new building. I know I shouldn’t be this upset. Like I said, I dreaded that headline for years; part of me knew it was coming. My favorite cafe—which had been across the street from Egor’s Dungeon—shut down in 2001 and by 2002 was a trendy shoe boutique (now, it’s a gyro place). Punkin’ Donuts became a combined Dunkin’ Donuts and Baskin Robbins in 2003, and at the same time they started having attendants patrol the parking lot (not that that did much to dissuade either teenage loiterers or drunken brawlers)—and I was mad about that. I wrote about it in the final issue of Safety Pin Girl. I called it the “Death March of Progress.” Less than a year later, Clarke’s remodeled and tried to make themselves seem fancier by doing things like having Daily Specials (but a diner where drunks and weirdos congregate that has Daily Specials is still a diner where drunks and weirdos congregate). Condos and other signs of gentrification started appearing on Belmont a decade ago, and I wrote about that, too: I kicked at the walls of condominiums that now rise to great and ugly heights on the spots where there were once little stores, cozy walkups, and greasy spoons.

So I sorta saw it coming. Not to mention, I never lived in the Belmont/Clark neighborhood, and I haven’t really hung out there since early 2009. Why, then, does this feel like a great personal loss? Why do a few overpriced and overrated “punk rock” shops and a shitty parking lot in front of a crappy chain donut joint still feel so much like home?

* * *

The closest I got to living in the neighborhood of Belmont and Clark was the apartment I lived in during the first half of 2004. It was just off Belmont, but about two miles farther west, much closer to Western than to Clark. That was close enough. On chill winter days, I hopped on the bus (the Belmont bus!) and rode east, disembarked across from Clarke’s. That was around the time they were trying to make the place a little more upscale, and Maggie and I bitched about it. “Clarke’s sucks now,” we said. “Why do we still go there?” One night, we went to Clarke’s for fries and coffee ‘cause we had nothing better to do, and we ran into a group of old friends and new friends and realized that was why we still went there. Because everyone in town went to Clarke’s. Because none of them had anything better to do, either.

On warm spring days, I took a travel mug full of iced coffee and wandered on foot, no hurry. Sometimes I’d stop to roll a cigarette or browse in a record or bookstore—to drool over all the things I’d’ve bought if I had money to spare. I’d stop and talk to strangers, maybe stop for a bite to eat if I’d scrounged up enough change from my coin jar. Mostly, I just wandered—I had no money to spare but all the free time in the world. I was young and broke and unemployed, and something about swaggering down Belmont in the springtime sunlight made me feel good about being young and broke and unemployed.

And on warm spring nights, Maggie and I hopped astride our bikes and headed east. We sang along to the songs that blared through the shitty handheld tape player she’d duct-taped to her handlebars, and flipped off pedestrians who told us to get off the sidewalk, or flipped off drivers who almost hit us when we rode in the street. Sometimes we stopped at Clarke’s, other times we kept going, and I swear if Lake Michigan weren’t there we could’ve ridden forever.

* * *

See, my love runs the length of Belmont, from California Avenue east to the lake. It runs from the corner of Belmont and Clark northwest to Cabaret Metro, despite the existence of Wrigley Field and its attendant Cubs fans. And that one little area, from the Belmont Red/Brown/Purple Line stop to the corner, and around the corner to The Alley, is the nexus. It is where my love is at its highest proof.

My love for those streets and the place where they intersect is a swig of cheap vodka. It’s a gut feeling, a flutter and a punch. It is something I’ve been trying to explain for years, which is why I write about it so often. In a piece I wrote years ago, I said: Belmont Avenue is my favorite fucking street in the whole world. I read it at a zine reading, and some people teased me, told me that Belmont was cheesy and overrated. One friend said: “I used to love Belmont, but after I got a citation for smoking cigarettes on the Red Line platform, my enthusiasm waned.” I only smiled and nodded, because those people obviously didn’t get it. I knew Belmont was cheesy and overrated. I loved it anyway. And no matter what fucked-up shit happened to me in that neighborhood, I continued to love it. I continued to love it because…and here, wait, could it be? I finally have an explanation:

It was the first place where I felt comfortable in my skin, accepted and celebrated as a weird artsy kid and as a punk. You know, I could sit on the filthy sidewalk for hours, chain-smoking and writing in my journal, and no one thought I was pretentious or a nerd. I could wear my blue hoodie covered in shoddily sewn-on patches and more often than not, someone would say to me: “Hey, I love that band,” and I’d make a new friend. And it was the first place where I felt accepted not only as a weird artsy punk, but as a queer person. Because there were gay bars, there were same-gender couples kissing and holding hands, there were boys in lipstick and high heels and girls with shaved heads and hairy armpits. So the story of my love for those streets is also a queer coming-of-age story. And it is the story of the girls I knew.

When I think of my days and nights on Belmont and Clark, I remember the girls. Oh, there were boys, boys I dated and slept with and had crushes on; boys I met on Belmont Avenue or hung out with there—but the girls are the ones that stand out in my mind. Girls who were my friends, girls who were my lovers and significant others, girls I only saw once.

There was Annie, my first real-life girlfriend, the person who first took me to Belmont. We walked around holding hands. We went to thriftshops and punk clothing shops; we modeled clothing for each other, bought jars of our favorite Manic Panic hair color—hers Carnation Pink, mine Pillarbox Red. We got coffee from the Punkin’ Donuts to warm our hands against the raw-wet late-winter wind. When I was brave enough, I kissed her and felt a warmth tingle my veins, a warmth greater than any that coffee could produce.

There were the older punk rock girls I met in the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot that first time I was in Chicago all on my own. They were glorious in their spiky, neon-colored hair, their tight jeans and short skirts, their high-top Chucks. We walked together to the MTX/Queers show; they gave me sips of their booze and shouted down catcalling Cubby Bros.

There was Beagan, who sat with me on the summer sidewalks, smoking cigarettes; who walked with me in the soft snow flurries of two-days-before-Christmas. We kissed and giggled. We pointed out the passersby we thought were cute, and assured one another we’d always think the other was the cutest one of all.

There were the girls of my Kokomo Caffe days: Schuyler, who I encountered my first time there. She charmed me with her stick ’n’ poke tattoos and her messed-up hair and her brash attitude. I played “Rebel Rebel” on the jukebox, she knew all the words, and I was in a whirl. Polly, the gorgeous old-school gothpunk. She had flawless Cleopatra eyeliner, her favorite bands were The Slits and The Damned, and she always offered me one of her clove cigarettes (which she kept in a silver case, shaped like a coffin). Winnie, with her shock of red hair and a smile like a match-flare. She gave the best hugs, they were one of the things that helped pull me through that hellish time in my life. Parker—we were both white girls with Chelsea haircuts and steel-toed boots. We bonded over trying to find ways to show the world that, though we looked like skin byrds, we definitely weren’t byrds of the Nazi variety. The girl whose name I never knew—I thought for sure she was gay or bi. She always made eyes at me. She had a leather jacket and a fucking rainbow mohawk. Then I found out she was not a queer punk, she was a Christian punk; she wasn’t trying to flirt with me, she was trying to convert me.

There was Latisha. Though we were on-again/off-again as a couple, there was never any bad blood between us. The night we met, we hung out on Belmont. We went into sex shops where we annoyed the employees by tickling each other with feather dusters and trying out various floggers and whips. We went into clothing stores; I bought a purple plaid dress that I wish I’d held on to, though I’m sure it wouldn’t fit me—it was too tight and too short even then. We parted ways, that night, at the El station—she had to get on the southbound Red Line, I had to board the northbound Brown Line. As we stood on opposite platforms, waiting for our trains, we blew kisses to each other and waved at one another with imaginary perfume-scented handkerchiefs. Over the next four years, much of our time together was spent on that street. We yelled at cops who harassed the homeless who gathered on bus benches and in the Dunkin’ parking lot. Some nights, we got coffee at Clarke’s after queer punk shows. This was when I was young and brazen enough to consider a second-hand slip and torn-up fishnets appropriate show attire, and I know all eyes were on us when we spilled into the diner on those nights—scruffy punk girl me, falling out of my slip, high femme Latisha with her high high heels and her pin-up girl dresses, both of us half-drunk, with make-up smeared by pogo-sweat. Other nights, we danced at the Belmont gay bars. Our favorite nights were ‘80s nights, when we could writhe, melodramatic and strange, to new wave and New Romance. Sometimes we did shots with drag queens. Sometimes one or the other of us picked up a hot butch and left with them, or let them fuck us in the bathroom. Usually, we just danced; usually, we went home together.

Once, walking down Belmont with a friend of mine, a punk girl looked me up and down, from the top of my short black hair to the booted toes of my red and black striped tights. She gave me such a lustful look that my friend turned to me and said: “Damn. That girl looked at you the way a Gossip song sounds.”

There was Filia—every time she visited my neck of the woods, we bummed around Belmont and Clark. Usually, it was summer. We drank iced coffees until we thought we might puke. We smoked endless cigarettes, though the sodden summer air was so thick in our lungs we choked on it. We ogled skinheads and picked up bottle caps we found on the ground. We sang “Summer in the City” at the top of our lungs, convinced that a Chicago punk band should cover it because it was the anthem of Belmont in the summer, and the backs of our necks were dirty and gritty. Babe, don’t you know it’s a pity…

There was Maggie, who I mentioned above, my long-time partner-in-crime from the moment we met. Maggie and I on the bus, on our bikes, on foot. Maggie and I headed east on Belmont. Maggie and I stopping into Schuba’s to drink afternoon beers and take silly photobooth pictures. Maggie and I staying up all night at Clarke’s, or loitering in the parking lot of the Punkin’ Donuts. Maggie and I stopping into Blue Havana to buy Bali Shag; Blue Havana which we referred to as HomoSmoke, because everyone who worked there was gay as hell. There was a cute butch gal who worked there, she had a tiny ‘hawk and a face full of piercings and we both awkwardly attempted to flirt with her. Maggie and I—I’ll stop now, because I have so many Maggie/Belmont memories that I could fill up a whole fuckin’ book with those.

And there were others. Other girl friends and girlfriends, other girls I flirted with, other girls I was too nervous to even talk to. Out-of-town pals I took to Belmont when they came to visit, and in-town friends who loved that neighborhood almost as much as I did. Zine-writing girls and rock’n’roll girls. Goth girls and punk girls. Girls with mohawks and girls with dreadlocks and fuzzy-headed baby dykes. Tattoo artists and hairstylists and baristas and diner waitresses. I love(d) them all.

* * *

After I read the articles, I read the comments. The commenters fell into three different categories. 1. The balanced, rational people. They said they were ambivalent about the proposed building but thought that progress was good for the neighborhood. 2. Those who said: “Good riddance! There are muggings in that neighborhood that are probably perpetrated by the teenagers who loiter in that parking lot!” Those who said: adios crappy Dunkin' Donuts and nasty Ally [sic] building. That corner has been nothing but a hangout for hookers and troublemakers for years. 3. The nostalgia-keepers, who shared stories of hanging out there before and after punk shows or raves. They said: “Yeah, there were problems, but the place had character.” Someone responded to one of the nostalgia-keepers, and said: are you saying you are sad to see a dunkin donuts [sic] and its parking lot go? If so, that’s fucking weird.

Well, then I’m fucking weird, too. I could try and give you some arguments against gentrification, some reasoning behind why I think it’s important to leave a space for the wacky teenagers and their crime, for the troublemakers and the hookers, because that’s part of what’s making me angry. What I’m even angrier about is that they’re destroying a piece of my history, and I don’t like change. I like change when it means gaining new experiences and interests and friends, but when it means losing people and places? Fuck that. I get grumpy when places I love get remodeled, and I get downright livid when they’re torn down. I can’t remember the last time a girl looked at me the way a Gossip song sounds, and most of the girls I mentioned above are no longer part of my life. I’m fucking selfish, and if I can’t have the girls and the moments back, well—I would rather see those buildings and businesses vacant and crumbling than see them razed. That way, at least, they would stand as a monument to my past. That way, I could visit them and see the ghost of my old self peering out from the empty windows, my old self with her slip-dress and her smeared make-up, her endless cigarettes and scribbled notebooks, gazing out the windows, waiting for the girl(s) she loved to pass by.

My partner was right, in a sense. The memories do live on in my heart. All the girls, all the people I encountered near that corner, will live in the Belmont and Clark of my heart forever. All the people and a hundred moments and a thousand small things. The cracked sidewalks covered in broken glass, the secret graffiti, the heavy silver-green trees of Chicago in the summer. The stench of car fumes and donut grease and diner grease, cigarette smoke and beer and that weedy lake-smell when the wind is blowing in from the east. The abrasive honking of taxis, drunks singing their favorite songs, “Belmont is next. Doors open on the left at Belmont.” Sometimes, I think I’m okay with everything going away from me forever—girls, places, everything—but right now, I’m not. It’s all tattooed on my fucking heart, but that’s not good enough.

I want a tattoo of the CTA map, with the Belmont stop blown up bigger than the rest. I want a brick from the rubble of Blue Havana and Architectural Revolution. I want to stand on the corner and chug a 40 oz. of Old Style; I want to pour the dregs onto the cracked hot sidewalk. I want to scream: “Fuck Building a New Chicago! I want the old one back!” I want to sing, with Chain and the Gang backing me up: “Devitalize!” I want to save that brick from the rubble of my past, and when they build that hideous new building, I want to send it hurtling through the shiny windows. Attached will be a note that reads: “Fuck you. You’ll never fucking get it.”

—Jessie Lynn McMains [originally published as a mini-zine in early 2015; also appears in the collection What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk]

#jessie lynn mcmains #chicago #lakeview #writers on tumblr #essay #memory #clark and belmont #my writing #queer stuff #girls #love #loss #what we talk about when we talk about punk

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katelynrushe26 · 4 years

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Welcome to Everworld

If you were a kid in the '90's, chances are you crossed paths with the book series Animorphs in some way. Written by K.A. Applegate and Michael Grant, this sci-fi/action epic about kids turning into animals to fight off an alien invasion was one of the Scholastic Corporation's most popular IP's of that decade, rivaled only by Goosebumps. It had sixty-four books, numerous video games and toy lines, a TV show that ran for two seasons on Nickelodeon, and even cross promotions with fast food chains like Taco Bell and Pizza Hut that sold Animorphs collectibles with their kids' meals. An official graphic novel adaptation is now in the works, and the series still has a devout fanbase.

And rightly so. I started reading Animorphs at age nine, and to this day, it's easily one of the most powerful and formative works of literature that I've ever read. It was funny but tragic, relatable but imaginative, entertaining but horrific, and it often hit you with a sobering dose of reality that made the message of each book stay with you long after you finished reading. Best of all, its mature themes and ideas about the morality of war have made it just as meaningful and relevant to read as an adult as it did as a kid, so I highly recommend the series.

With that said, I want to discuss another book series that Applegate and Grant wrote during that same time called Everworld.

I occasionally saw ads for this series in the backs of the Animorphs books (exactly four of them), but the ads were always vague, and eventually those back pages were used to advertise other things. A promotional CD called The Everworld Experience was given out in bookstores upon the third Everworld book's release, but if the series was ever sold in Scholastic's monthly school catalogues or at any of its school book fairs, I can't find evidence of that. Botton line, it barely had any of the exposure or success that Animorphs did, and the series came to an earlier-than-planned conclusion after two years and twelve books.

This is a real shame, because now that I've finally sat down and read all of Everworld, I think the series is great. It deals with four Chicago teens (David, Christopher, April, and Jalil) who are dragged by a witch named Senna to a parallel world where the gods, monsters, and famous figures from all of Earth's mythologies live at constant odds with each other. The teens exist in this place, called Everworld, and on Earth simultaneously, with their consciousnesses jumping back and forth from one world to the other whenever they go to sleep. In addition to staying alive, their main goals in Everworld are to save it from an invading alien god named Ka Anor and to keep Senna from transporting more dangerous people to—and from—Earth.

I should start by saying that Everworld was written for an older audience than Animorphs; for high schoolers instead of middle schoolers. As a result, it has a much darker and grittier tone with less, shall we say, innocent protagonists. It shares a few themes with Animorphs, such as the stress of leading a secret double-life and having to compromise personal values for the greater good, but it also deals with themes like letting go of old perceptions as you grow up, realizing the cost of your deepest desires, and deciding whether to keep to the safe life you know or venture into a greater unknown.

Everworld's premise is clearly a metaphor for coming of age, a representation of the crossroads between childhood and adulthood where you need to start finding a direction for your life. For all of its fantastic settings and elements, the series is really about the four main characters' internal conflicts, not the external conflict around them. The external conflict is just a device that serves to make the characters deal with their internal conflicts, and this is important to keep in mind when reading the series. We don't see much of how the teens change Everworld by getting involved in its dealings, just how much deciding to get involved changes them.

As for the characters themselves, I think we're given a pretty well-rounded and relatable main cast. We have David, the self-appointed leader who feels unfulfilled in his normal life and is desperate to prove his worth due to his toxic masculine upbringing; Christopher, the less-than-sensitive class clown who leans on immature humor and sitcoms to cope with his problems; April, the wily, religious idealist who takes care of business when she needs to; and Jalil, the level-headed skeptic who tries to learn the science of everything so he can master it. A huge part of the overarching conflict is these four learning to get along and work together, and once that starts to happen, they become a fun group of friends to go through all of these crazy adventures with.

I've read complaints that some of their early character flaws (especially Christopher's tendencies towards xenophobic humor) turn off a lot of readers after the first few books. That's understandable, but the point of giving the characters those flaws is that they eventually see the error of their ways and reform. I don't approve of Christopher's intial brand of humor, but I actually like him the most out of the four because he undergoes the biggest and most dramatic transformation throughout the series. You see how finding a life goal in a world where he can't tune out reality so easily makes him a better person.

The other major character is Senna the witch, who really serves as the main antagonist of the series. Not that she's a villain; a major part of the story is trying to figure out her motives and allegiances, since she seems to help the four leads as often as she gets them in trouble. We even get a book narrated by her eventually, and that does a great job of swaying you to feel one way about her right before the series yanks you in the other direction. She's not as complicated as Snape from Harry Potter or Gollum from Lord of the Rings (even though she does shape-shift into him in one rather amusing scene) but I found her arc just as engrossing and its conclusion extremely rewarding. The whole series is worth reading just to get that rush at the end.

And that level of engagement is the ultimate reason why I recommend Everworld. It's one of the most immersive works I've read in a while, both in setting and tone. It takes you right back to the '90's from Page 1 with its now-nostalgic pop culture references and laid-back view of the world, and then it slowly pokes at that bubble with an ominous undertone until all hell finally breaks loose. The descriptions of Everworld effectively capture the feel of every location and threat, and Applegate and Grant's tongue-in-cheek humor goes a long way in keeping the series self-aware enough to avoid turning hokey. One of my favorite parts is in Book 4 when the teens try to catch a wild boar for food, only to have it beat them up and then suddenly order them in English to give it what little food they do have. It becomes a running joke after incidents like this for David, Christopher, April, and Jalil to mumble, "W.T.E. Welcome to Everworld," and then move on with their business.

Also, borrowing so many of its settings and characters from preexisting mythologies (with the authors' own creative twists, of course) builds anticipation as you wonder what other pantheons the series might explore as it goes on. It also gives the protagonists some prior knowledge going into each conflict, especially when some of them start using their "visits" back to Earth to research mythology. This helps endear them to readers by showing their proactive sides, as well as their overarching growth throughout the series as they start trying to help Everworld instead of escape from it.

What's interesting though is that the scenes on Earth are also very descriptive and immersive. It's easy in cross-world narratives like this for the "real world" to take a back seat to the more creative fantasy world, but the Earth scenes in Everworld have their own overarching story that also builds into a genuinely suspenseful conflict. This really sells the idea that David, Christopher, April, and Jalil still have some grounding in their normal lives that keeps holding them back from fully embracing their new lives in Everworld.

With that said, I do wish that their families had more of a presence in the series. The families in Animorphs were very well defined and prominent in a lot of the B-plots of some books. This made us like them almost as much as the Animorphs themselves by the end of the series, which raised the stakes tremendously whenever things started to escalate. In Everworld, we see the families occasionally but get very little sense of their personalities or the teens' relationships with them.

I don't think either of David's parents ever makes an appearance throughout the whole series, and I actually forgot for a while if Jalil's mother was even alive until he mentions her in one of the other characters' books. Things like this make it hard to feel the full emotional weight of certain events near the end of the series. I guess the idea is that teenagers going through major life changes like these just aren't always that close to their families, but it still feels like this particular element of the story could have had a little more focus to sell how torn the characters are between their two lives.

It's worth noting that Christopher's parents and brother probably get the most character out of all the families, with scenes as early as the second book showing their interests and personalities as they banter with him. Given his similarities to Marco, the main comedic character from Animorphs, I'm starting to think Christopher was the authors' favorite lead as well.

Also, one of the Earth antagonists in Everworld is named Mr. Trent. This was also the human alias of the main villain on the Animorphs TV show, which predates Everworld. I can't find any information on how both of these characters came to have the same name, as Applegate and Grant didn't write the TV show, but it certainly has me conjuring all kinds of theories about the two book series existing in the same universe.

So why wasn't Everworld more successful if it's so good? Why didn't Scholastic advertise the hell out of it to at least try and hook the millions of Animorphs fans back then?

Sadly, I think the answer lies in the reader demographics. When you're dealing with kids, a couple of years can mean a huge difference in maturity and what's considered appropriate material for them. Animorphs was surprisingly graphic and intense for a children's book series, but it was still written for children. I can't recall a single swear word ever being said in it, and things like drugs, sex, and xenophobia were either very vaguely implied, disguised in metaphors, or presented as problems that the alien characters (not the humans) struggle with.

The very first Everworld book features flashbacks where David recalls seeing a camp counselor molest a child and hearing a football coach call a player the "F" word for not being tough enough on the field—and they don't just say "the 'F' word" in the book either. Add a few dollops of religion, sexuality, infidelity, teen alcoholism, and other adult language throughout each book, and there was no way Scholastic could promote this series to the same kids who read Animorphs. The Everworld books don't even have that bright red Scholastic logo at the bottoms of their covers; there's just a tiny, inconspicuous logo on the spine and an even less conspicuous trademark credit on the back.

Again, I can't currently find any information about this. I'm very curious to know how this situation came to be though. Did Scholastic give the authors more leeway for Everworld because of Animorphs' success and then found out too late how far the pair had run with that? Did the company want to experiment with publishing more adult material but then started getting cold feet closer to Everworld's release?

The worst part of this, if it's true, is that Scholastic may have been right to worry. According to some of the YouTube comments and online book reviews I've read, a lot of kids who read Animorphs in the '90's were barred by their parents from reading Everworld. Some say their parents found the series too dark and inappropriate. Some say their parents took issue with it for religious reasons, due to all the pagan deities that it shows to exist. One person even said they were almost barred from Animorphs too after their parents vetoed Everworld. Not the kind of thing a Scholastic executive in 1999 would have wanted to hear.

I know that Scholastic would go on to publish the Harry Potter and Hunger Games series over the next decade, and both of those saw their share of controversy too. All things considered though, I do side a little with the parents when it comes to Everworld. The topics that I listed three paragraphs ago are important for teens to discuss, and it's realistic to include them in a story about teens, but I feel like the series presents them a little too bluntly for me to totally disagree with the parental discretion. There's an entire book about a lustful underworld goddess who does nothing but capture men and force them to "please" her under threat of castration, and there's an ongoing subplot where April questions what the existence of all the different pagan deities in Everworld means for her own Catholic beliefs. Even if this series had come out today, there would be a legitimate reason for the concerns.

I'll never say to bar your kids from reading anything, but here's a thing to consider: the main characters in Animorphs are roughly thirteen years old at the start of the series, they're sixteen by the last book, and the Everworld characters are sixteen throughout their series. Maybe letting your kids read Animorphs first and giving them a chance to mature alongside those characters is a good gauge for when you think they'd be old enough to read Everworld.

And if they decide for themselves that they don't want to read Everworld, then that's them choosing a direction in life, just like the series would want them to make.

#ka applegate #michael grant #everworld #animorphs #book series #scholastic #young adult #scifi #fantasy #david #christopher #april #jalil #senna #gods #goddesses #mythology #loki #ka anor

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hub-pub-bub · 5 years

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Wage theft is when your boss doesn’t pay you what you’ve already earned. When I learned that Massachusetts had “blue laws,” that my bosses weren’t obeying them, and had shorted me around three thousand dollars, it was wage theft.

This was the law: retail employees were to be paid at a “premium” rate on Sundays and holidays, time-and-a-half, the same as overtime. But none of the booksellers where I worked had ever been paid it. And while not being paid overtime is a textbook example of wage theft, when I tell people, they are happy to qualify it for me with a “Well…” or an “Okay, but…” I don’t know where this instinct comes from. Maybe it’s because “wage theft” makes it sound premeditated, more like a crime. (But it was a crime!) Or maybe it’s because I worked at an independent bookstore, and indie bookstores are beloved pillars of the community. (What would that mean about the community?) Maybe it’s because it doesn’t makes sense that an independent bookstore would do something like this. Everyone knows indiebookstores are thriving! (Which is true—it’s the people who work in them who are struggling.)

I found out when I was trying to see if I could afford to take a sick day. I felt like I was coming down with something, but taking a day off meant losing a not-insubstantial chunk of my monthly take-home pay ($11.50 an hour). Since there were sick hours adding up in a box labeled “time-off accrual” on my pay stubs—and surely they had to amount to something—I went to mass.gov to check the law. But they amounted to literally nothing, as it turned out: Massachusetts businesses only have to provide paid sick leave if they have more than eleven employees, and we had ten. My “sick days” meant I couldn’t be fired for staying home sick (as long as I wasn’t sick more than five days per year).

But I learned something else. There were links to related pages and I clicked the one about “blue laws,” which I didn’t know we had in Massachusetts.

Later that day I emailed the bookstore’s owners. Is there a reason our bookstore is exempt from blue laws, I asked, or was this an oversight?

They responded the same night. They’d heard that other area bookstores had to pay the premium rate, they said, because their booksellers were unionized, but that otherwise there was some exemption. They said they would investigate, that they’d talk to their lawyer and get back to me.

After that the story gets so routine you could probably write it yourself. When I followed up a few days later, they said their lawyer was on vacation but that they’d update payroll and we’d receive the premium pay on Sundays and holidays from then on. When some of the other booksellers and I contacted the Attorney General’s Fair Labor Division, they only sent a form letter saying the matter was too small for them to investigate personally, but we were welcome to pursue legal action (on our own time and at our own expense). I found some free legal clinics on wage theft, but only once-a-month and while I was scheduled to work. Ten days after the first email, I followed up again; “still the same conflicting intel,” they said, “but when we told our lawyer that we started paying 1.5 for sundays and holidays, the matter dropped. (lawyers are expensive!) let me know if it’s not reflected in your check.” A coworker who already planned to quit asked the owners specifically about back pay–which I hadn’t had the courage to do—and they told her no, they weren’t going to pay it, and they said it in writing.

I ended up speaking to a lawyer, who offered to represent me on a contingency fee basis: I wouldn’t have to pay if we lost, and the bookstore would be responsible for my legal fees if I won. But he recommended I not move forward until I got a new job. It isn’t legal to retaliate against an employee for bringing a case, he told me, but, you know, it also isn’t legal to ignore blue laws.

I said thank you, I’ll consider my options.

One day in November one of the owners called me into the office at the bookstore. She gave me $500 in cash and $500 in store credit, about a third of what I was owed. I spent the store credit on gifts for the holidays and I looked for a new job. I ignored a follow-up call from the lawyer and tried not to wallow in the humiliation. I was not successful. Even now it feels like admitting something shameful: I was fooled, maybe, or I’m some kind of miser. A few people asked me, what if they can’t afford to pay back pay and they go out of business? You hear it more than once and it’s easy to forget it’s not a ransom, that you didn’t pluck the number out of nowhere.

It’s hard to compare independent bookstores to other kinds of retail stores. Bookstores sell a cultural product and booksellers insist that bookstores can’t be compared to other retail stores because they sell a cultural product. And bookstores don’t exploit their employees more than other retail. But what grates is when bookstores market themselves as more than stores, as community hubs.

“Independent bookstores act as community anchors,” the American Booksellers Association declares, at the bottom of every page on their site; “they serve a unique role in promoting the open exchange of ideas, enriching the cultural life of communities, and creating economically vibrant neighborhoods.”

This same lofty idealism justifies why booksellers don’t need to be paid a living wage, like employees of nonprofits or teachers: because bookstores are so vital for the community, the assumption goes, the job should be reward enough itself. The work is so important that maybe booksellers should make personal sacrifices, working well below the value of their labor.

I spoke to around twenty booksellers while I was writing this, and I was struck by how many are willing to make trade-offs. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. “Independent booksellers consistently describe their work as more than just a way to make a living, and more than just a means of escaping the constraints that come from working for somebody else,” writes Laura Miller, in her 2006 book, Reluctant Capitalists: Bookselling and the Culture of Consumption; “These booksellers see themselves as bettering society by making books available.” Plenty of the booksellers I spoke to saw bookselling as a calling. Because of course they do! If they weren’t willing to make sacrifices, they couldn’t still be booksellers. And how else could bookstores get away with paying them—they, who generally have to have a college degree; who have to spend a lot of unpaid time reading across all genres and topics; who have to have at least a little knowledge about everything, from the ancient Greeks to Dog Man 7: Brawl of the Wild; who, at at least one store, famously have to correctly answer quiz questions before being hired—so little, while so successfully preserving an image as a (generally progressive) force for social good?

And it is so little. A bookseller in Southern California with eight years of experience still earns less than $20 per hour; “I can’t think of another industry where you could work for eight years and still be making that little,” he said. A different Southern California bookseller/assistant events manager earns $17.50. A bookseller/assistant events manager in the Boston area is earning $14. A former bookseller in Northern California was making $14.25, a quarter above the minimum wage. A part time bookseller in Chicago makes $13, the city’s minimum wage. A former bookseller in Minnesota was salaried after two years at $30,000 while a bookseller and events manager in Tennessee started at $25,000, six years ago, and now makes $31,500.

I started at $11 per hour and ended around eighteen months later at $11.50, and as far as I know, none of the booksellers at that store even earned $15. The median rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Boston is $2400 per month, which I could cover if I worked 50 hours a week, didn’t pay taxes, and didn’t need money for food, utilities, medical care, or literally anything else.

The booksellers I spoke to reported quite a range of benefits—in one year, for example, a Bay Area bookseller accrued three weeks of vacation time, and in the same time period a Pennsylvania bookseller got three days. But some booksellers told me that their benefits were mostly on paper. Not being fired for calling in sick or going on vacation doesn’t make it financially viable, after all. A Minnesota bookseller told me she has ten paid vacation days per year, but the store has so few employees that taking time off means she’d have to make up the missed hours working overtime. A bookstore in California offered a health insurance program, but gave employees a fifty-cent raise if they didn’t enroll.

It’s not so bleak for everyone. Unionized stores generally fight for better benefits and act as safeguards against labor law violations; I talked to a handful of booksellers whose stores had some kind of profit sharing, which can make a big difference.

But… I don’t know. There’s a bookstore owned by people who, all evidence suggests, really give a fuck and want to do right by their booksellers. They pay at least $15 per hour, and I heard one of the owners say on a podcast how much is required of booksellers; “If you’re a college graduate, and you’ve spent all this time reading, in addition to going to college—yeah, you deserve $15 an hour. Period.” But when his interlocutor mentioned a bookstore that had profit sharing, the owner was quick to say it wouldn’t work at his store. (And it wouldn’t, yet—the store is young and not yet profitable.*) But “It’s also a matter of loyalty,” he said, and explained that he couldn’t envision employees staying longer than a year. “I would love to find a bookseller who I know would be around long enough. Right now it just hardly seems even worth doing all the work. No one would qualify, because they won’t stick around long enough.”

Tell me, what are they going to stick around for? The bookstore owner said all of his employees are part-time—they’re either in grad school or working other part-time jobs. Are they supposed to stick around for a part-time job that pays $15 per hour?

What is there to be loyal to?

IndieBound—an ABA project—has a section on its website dedicated to answering Why Support Independents? One answer is that “Local businesses create higher-paying jobs for our neighbors.” But you can also find a page at the ABA website on “The Growing Debate Over Minimum Wage,” warning that “a minimum wage increase that is too drastic could result in reduced staff hours, lost jobs, or, worse, a store going out of business.” There’s also an “Indie Fact Sheet” to print out and give to local politicians; “Many indies pay more than the current minimum wage already for senior and full-time staff,” it says; “They do this because offering superior customer service is one of their competitive advantages—it is what separates them from their chain and remote, online retailing competitors. This also helps indies retain and attract good employees.”

See? Many bookstores pay their booksellers more than the minimum wage! It’s not their problem that that same minimum wage isn’t enough to cover a one-bedroom in any state in the country. It’s not their problem that inflation has eroded the value of the minimum wage. It’s not their problem that low wages are an affront to basic dignity or that higher minimum wages save lives. They’re just fiercely committed to their neighbors and their communities.

The ABA is happy to help its member stores fight even modest wage increases. “If the minimum wage is raised,” the Indie Fact Sheet continues, “it inevitably means indies will have to increase the wages of senior and full-time staff, in addition to increasing the wages of any minimum-wage workers. This increases the ripple effect. A seemingly ‘insignificant’ wage increase can have a dramatic effect on the bottom line, sending a profitable store into the red.”

There’s no mention of the dramatic effect an increase in the minimum wage could have on employees.

At Winter Institute–an annual ABA conference for independent booksellers–there’s a town hall where members can share their concerns. According to the ABA’s coverage of the event, an independent bookstore owner went to the mic to speak about the minimum wage. “I’m very happy the staff is getting a pay bump,” she said, “but that’s a huge adjustment to make every 12 months and once you get a handle on it, then it’s going up again. I feel like this seems to be going countrywide and that is something that is extra important to our nonexistent margins.”

Why this framing? Why not ask how other stores are handling the adjustment? Why not pay employees a living wage now so as not to have to change business model every year? Why does a bookstore owner feel comfortable getting up and saying this in front of an audience of booksellers?

If your local indie bookstore skirts labor laws or advocates against them, at the expense of its employees, can you still be sanctimonious for shopping there? Is your local indie bookstore thriving if its employees skip doctor’s appointments they can’t afford? If your local indie bookstore’s trade group doesn’t have resources for booksellers on paid sick leave, health insurance, or wage theft–in an industry famous for its tiny margins–is it an industry you’d recommend joining?

“We find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of being believers in social and economic justice while struggling to pay our employees a salary they can survive on,” writes Elayna Trucker on shopping local and running a bookstore; “We urge our customers to Shop Local but make hardly enough to do so ourselves. It is an unintentional hypocrisy, one that has gone largely ignored and unaddressed. So where does all that leave us? Rather awkwardly clutching our money, it seems… All of this brings up the most awkward question of all: does a business that can’t afford to pay its employees a living wage deserve to be in business?”

I am so glad I don’t have to come up with an answer. I have no idea. I haven’t the faintest idea at all.

In the end it was a tweet. I left the bookstore after the holidays and started a new job in January. In February, after a night of shitty sleep, I tweeted, “I have been spending hours lying awake at night doing nothing but feeling this intense shame like a stone in my chest about experiencing wage theft at my last job and I am sincerely just hoping that tweeting about it is enough to make it stop so let’s see if it works.”

A day or two later I got an email. “It’s filtered back to me that the $1000 we gave you to settle the Sunday pay issue,” they said, “didn’t resolve it.” They said some things about how they hadn’t known until I told them. They cut me a check for the back pay that same day.

I didn’t delete the tweet. I don’t know if any of my coworkers got back pay.

A little later, I read an article about the student-run Harvard Shop in Cambridge. The Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office found that the store owed almost $50,000 in back pay to their employees and $5,600 in fines for violating blue laws. “In this case, we unknowingly did make a mistake in how we were paying our students for Sunday and holiday pay,” the store’s manager said.

I only saw the article because the union I joined at my new job shared it on Twitter.

In Seasonal Associate, Heike Geissler’s barely-fictionalized account of her time working at an Amazon fulfillment center, she writes: “What you and I can’t do, because you and I don’t want to, is to think your employer into a better employer, and to compare these conditions to even worse, less favorable conditions, so as to say: It’s not all that bad. It could be worse. It used to be worse. We don’t do that. You and I want the best and we’re not asking too much.”

I loved bookselling. I loved it for the same reasons everyone does: the community of readers and booksellers, the joy when someone came back into the store and says I recommended the perfect read, the pride when authors reach out directly to say how much my work meant to them. The free books, the discounts, the advance copies, all of it. And I do believe that bookstores can be forces for social good, insofar as bookscan be forces for social good, which I think they can. It is self-evidently better to get your books from a local store than from Amazon, and for precisely the reasons the IndieBound website gives.

But it’s not enough to Not Be Amazon, and framing bookstores as moral exemplars regardless of how they treat their employees isn’t to the benefit of booksellers. Bookstores “thrive” by hiding how much their booksellers struggle. “Any thriving I do personally is in spite of my store,” one of the booksellers I spoke to said. Working at a bookstore is not as bad as working at an Amazon warehouse; I didn’t walk dozens of miles per day and my bathroom breaks weren’t monitored. But are we willing to let that be the baseline?

*clarification added after publication

#bookshops #book seller #wage theft #living wage #unions

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kootenaygoon · 5 years

Photo

So,

The Nelson Star office was located right downtown, half a block off Baker Street, in a quaint little brick building at the top of the Stores to Shores development. It was within a short walking distance of my house, though I still drove most of the time, and right above a coffeeshop called Sidewinders that I haunted every day. Next door was a small park that desperately needed some attention, with a concrete staircase leading through a shaded forest slope strewn with garbage and scrub bushes.

The newsroom was on the second floor and was smaller than your average bedroom, which meant I was in ultra-close proximity with Calvin and the two other reporters. Downstairs was the advertising department, our front desk lady Cheryl and the publisher, Sharon Carpenter. One half of a power duo in town, Sharon worked closely with her husband Cam, who was the regional publisher. They were fiercely career-driven, well-connected socially and politically, and had recently become intimately involved in the local soccer league — which meant I was going to end up writing many, many stories about soccer.

Before the Star was born, there had been a century-old institution in town: the Nelson Daily News. Beloved throughout the Kootenays, it had crumpled under its own weight — though most people felt Black Press was to blame. The Carpenters helped finagle the deal to purchase and rename it, a move that left long-lingering resentments in the community. It was about thirty pages an issue, twice weekly, with a regular supplement called the West Kootenay Advertiser and a monthly arts publication called Vurb. When I first picked it up I noticed there were an alarming number of photos with people smiling self-righteously behind big cheques — we called them grip n’ grins — and some of the submitted copy was embarrassing, but there was also an eclectic smorgasbord of different things to read about.

As I flipped through the pages I felt myself getting giddy over the prospect of doing things in a new way. I wanted to bring my literary sensibilities into even the simplest of stories, and stamp my personality proud on the page.

Because I was hoping to create a sustainable future at the Star, I knew I had to make an effort to get along with Calvin. The real problem between Cass and Calvin, I figured, was they had incompatible personalities. Maybe it was a gender thing. It only took a day or two before I had a pretty good read on the guy, though: he was desperate to please, always making vaguely inappropriate Dad jokes, and operated in a near-constant state of panic mode. His ambition was to put in a couple of years as an editor out in the booneys, then leap-frog up to a similar post in the Lower Mainland. Calvin had come over from the Abbotsford News, and he couldn’t have been more out of place in the Kootenays. He had a round face, small glasses and a neat silver goatee. His right-wing politics matched nicely with the Carpenters’, and he was a big fan of Dooley, but I couldn’t believe the editor of a Nelson newspaper could routinely be heard murmuring “fucking hippies” and questioning whether climate change is really that big of a deal. He wore Chicago Blackhawks shirts nearly every single day, ate fast food at his desk, and often wrote his editorials in the mad-scramble final moments of production day.

He was going through a tough period in his life, routinely commuting across the province to visit family, and I knew Nelson didn’t feel like home to him. Eventually I decided he was a dude, doing his best, just like everybody else.

My favourite piece of Calvin advice had to do with job titles. He didn’t believe they should ever be capitalized, a stance which had gotten him into trouble with the public in the past.

“This one guy got so mad at me, told me ‘I’m the president of the company, you have to capitalize my title’,” Calvin said, after putting the paper to bed. He grinned, remembering.

“There just happened to be a garbage man walking by the window and I said ‘he’s the garbage man, you’re the president. I don’t capitalize his job title, why would I capitalize yours?’”

Just before I was hired the Star picked up Tamara Hynd, a world-traveling adventurer a few years older than me. She was a tall and slender brunette, with kind eyes, and an ultra-healthy lifestyle that contrasted dramatically with Calvin’s. Her journalistic instincts were on-point, and I was awed by her ability to shoulder her way into situations to get the story. She started mostly reporting on the school board — there was a teacher’s strike going on — but she also got intimately involved in the Nelson Commons project, a condo development downtown that was struggling to find buyers. She cultivated relationships quickly, was professional to a fault and fearless when it came time to bull into new surroundings. She would eventually be the first person on scene during a deadly shooting incident in Slocan, she traveled by herself to cover the Shambhala Music Festival, and she became a regular on the slopes of Whitewater Ski Resort. She knew how to do the job in ways that I was still learning, and she was entirely modest about it. Sometimes I felt sorry for her, the only woman among three dudes, but she always held her own.

Then there was Greg Nesteroff. During our drive, Cass had called him her favourite person in Nelson, and I quickly learned why. Mild-mannered and polite, he was like a character from a different time. He was easily the most respected name on our masthead, and was also well-known as a local radio personality. At first I had scoffed at some of the prose being produced at the paper, but Greg’s stories were gorgeously rendered and book-ready. He wrote historical features about characters people had never heard of, illustrated with incredible black and white photos, while also covering some of our most pressing crime stories. By the time I arrived he’d already won a number of newspaper prizes for his work, and the plaques were proudly displayed down at the front desk.

One thing I decided to do, right on my first day, was create a new personal Facebook page. I didn’t want my friends at home inundated with Nelson news, and I wanted a professional account that I could connect with any contact without worrying about them glimpsing too much of my personal life. I’d learned about social media marketing through my internship the year previous, and I was keen to mobilize those skills. I searched “Nelson, BC” and then added every organization, every business and every group I could find — effectively turning my newsfeed into a list of story ideas. I was aggressive about adding friends. My plan was to funnel all my content through my newly created Tumblr, Kootenay Goon, so I would have a digital archive of my work.

When I checked out the Star’s Facebook page, I found it barely active and seriously lacking in photos. The Twitter account was even worse. I made it a personal goal to make sure every story of mine was posted on social media, something that wasn’t currently happening in any organized way under Calvin. He was too busy with laying out the print issues while playing catch-up with his editorial duties to really give much thought to the paper’s online presence. If somebody was going to bring the Star into the 21st century, it wasn’t going to be him.

When it came to divvying up the stories, it became clear that the primary hole I was there to fill was in arts reporting. Greg had crime and city hall covered, Tamara was all over the school board, and there was a summer intern helping Calvin with the sports stuff — he himself covered all the Nelson Leafs games. I eventually learned that the arts section was routinely comprised of press releases, published exactly as submitted, that often featured the same photos being used for that organization’s advertisements. The second half of the paper was often devoid of real bylines, with the phrase “Submitted” splattered all over the page, and all these institutions in town had gotten used to funnelling their content into the paper free of any editorial interference. Annoyingly enough, that relationship was symbiotic — there was no way we’d be able to fill the whole 30 pages otherwise. I figured the more stories I wrote for the arts section, the more we could elbow out this embarrassing content and elevate our game.

Calvin gave me the task of laying out the entertainment page, a chore I quickly grew to loathe, though it introduced me to many of the organizations I would come to rely on for leads — Selkirk College, Oxygen Art Centre, the Capitol, the Civic, On the Road Management, Spiritbar and the Royal. It was often the last thing I did on production day, scouring my e-mail and the internet for details on upcoming events. I quickly figured out that the larger I laid out the picture, the less work I would have to do filling the columns. While I poured my soul into my writing and reporting, this part of the job meant nothing to me. I knew that nearly nobody was turning to the hard-copy newspaper to figure out what was going on around town, while meanwhile there were a number of online calendars that were far superior. The entertainment page was a relic of the print past, and I was interested in the digital future.

One columnist who stood out to me right away was Anne DeGrace, from the Nelson Public Library. She was in nearly every issue, and she always seemed to have some cutesy or experimental element to her prose. The woman obviously knew her way around a sentence. I would later learn that she had been a single mother who had come to Nelson decades earlier, eventually starting a bookstore called Packrat Annie’s and authoring a series of novels. She was one of the masterminds behind ArtWalk, a yearly collaboration between artists and the business community, and she was an organizer for the Elephant Mountain Literary Festival. A powerhouse. Calvin recommended that I meet her in person and I did, at Oso Negro coffeeshop a few blocks from our office. She seemed a little wary of me, perhaps because I was planning to edge in on her literary niche, but happy to share her expertise. She told me stories about the Nelson Daily News before it died, and about how editor Rob Wall was the only one to successfully make the transition to the Star. According to her, people were still getting used to the new paper in town. There was animosity, for sure. She told me no matter what kind of journalist I was or what kind of work I did, I would be perceived as working for “The Man”. And in a community like Nelson, constructed on an ethos of default defiance and grassroots activism, that was tantamount to being the enemy. She sipped her coffee.

“Now you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The Kootenay Goon

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ficsxreaderr · 6 years

Text

Ballroom [6]

Pairing: 40′s Bucky x reader

A/N: If anyone was waiting for this part to be posted, which I highly doubt, I’m sorry it took so long. These past weeks have been insane at college and I barely made it through last week, I finally had the time to finish this and it may not be the best part but I hope it will lead to some better things!

Warnings: None really but there’s slightly jealous Bucky!

Complete Masterlist

Reblogging and feedback are welcome and appreciated! Tagging is open!

Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Part Six

“So I was thinking, we haven’t been to the movies yet, would you like to go with me?” Bucky asks as you have a walk at the park, it’s Sunday afternoon, your day off, and he’s already taken you out for breakfast and lunch. You’re holding hands, and you’re clutching his upper arm gently with your free hand.

“Of course I would, but you have to tell me first what movie we are going to watch.” You joke, making him laugh.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Or you can pick it, honey, it’s your call.” He gazes at you with his big blue eyes, and even after all that has happened, you still can’t believe how lucky you are to have him. Even if every night you go to sleep, afraid that he’ll have to leave in the morning. It scares you to make long term plans, because it would hurt more if you couldn’t get to finalize them, so you’re taking this step by step, in some aspects, because none of you knows what tomorrow holds.

“No, you pick it, I’m okay with whatever means being with you.” He glances at you and kisses your cheek briefly.

You keep walking and you’re distracted by a couple of girls sitting on a bench staring at the two of you with huge smiles on their faces and what seems to be some whispering among them. You frown as discreetly as possible and glance at Bucky, who happens to be smirking at them too. You hadn’t been unsettled by the girls’ attitude, but you were certainly not going to let Bucky’s slip away.

“Who were those girls, Buck?” You ask once you’ve walked past them.

“I—I don’t know, I just smiled out of courtesy.” He shrugs.

“Who were them, James?” You ask, again, unable to believe his answer.

“I—” He stops walking and faces you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I went out with them, a couple of times, that’s all.”

“With both of them?” You cross your arms and lift an eyebrow, unpleasantly surprised.

“It was something like a...we went out as friends, or that’s what I thought, but they were just too into this whole triple date thing and I…I wasn’t.” He shrugs.

“James?” You insist, knowing there’s more to it, and deep down you feel a little guilty for accusing him of anything, but you really feel like there’s something you need to know.

“Alright, Y/N, I kind of led them on and then realized it was just not right and…I cut it off.”

“Jesus, Bucky, dating two girls at once? Two friends? What—what is wrong with you?!” You ask, being afraid for a second of changing your feelings for him.

“Y/N!” He says, grabbing your upper arm. “It was a long time ago, I—I’ve changed, okay?” He frowns, trying to make you see he knows it all was a mistake. “I’m different now and knowing that I…walked up to you, because I knew since I saw you that you were just…something else.” He almost whispers the last three words, staring at you with his shiny blue eyes and his brows almost knit together. You sigh, unable to change your expression, pressing your lips to avoid saying something wrong or hurtful that would ruing everything. “Doll, come on—”

“Don’t call me that, James, how many girls have you called that way?” He remains silent for a moment, briefly opening his mouth to respond but closing it in two seconds. “I thought so.”

“Y/N, please, everything’s great between you and me, I—had never felt like this with anyone, I don’t want to mess this up for something stupid I did so long ago.” He strokes your arm up and down, and then draws his hand to your wrist, making you put your arms down. “Please, baby.” He says, tangling his fingers with yours.

“You’re lucky you talked about the movies first.” You roll your eyes and smirk, making him draw the biggest smile you’ve seen on him yet. He cups your face with both his hands and kisses you deeply. “And that you kiss like that.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, there are many things I did, and they’re in the past, okay? But I really don’t want to lose this.” He says, resting his hands on your waist, staring at you.

“How many girls you dated are we going to run into?” You ask making him laugh.

“You know, I could answer any question you wanted, but that’s something I really don’t know.” He frowns sarcastically, pecking your lips. “I don’t care how many girls were before you, Y/N, you’re the first girl I’ve had real feelings for, and you’re the first girl I want to spend my whole day with, the one I want to know everything about, the one I would never forget.” And when he says the last words, your heart stops beating for a moment, and then you feel it sinking on your chest. It breaks your heart that one day he’ll have to go, and that’s why he’s saying he could never forget you, because he knows too that he’s not going to be here forever, as much as he wants to. A tear starts showing at the corner of your eye, but you try to smile through the feeling of hearing the hardest words you could in your head. I have to leave.

“What is it, sweetie?” He draws his thumb to the corner of your eye and wipes the little tear gently, frowning in concern. Your lips start shaking and you hate yourself for it, because you want to make it look like you’re handling things well, and you don’t want both of you to be sad about something that hasn’t even happened.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You chuckle, trying to hide your feelings, drawing your hand to his wrist. “I’m just so happy.” He chuckles. “I’m happy that you’re in my life now.” You whisper.

He rests his hands on your waist and kisses you softly, “I am, too, honey.”

***

I’ve been around for the past days now, since I’m back in Brooklyn I haven’t stopped thinking about her whereabouts, about what she’s chosen to do with her life. I’ve tried not to be a stalker, but I can’t help but look for her around the city. I’ve tried everything to remain unseen, the newspaper I pretend to read is working in this moment. I’m a few feet away, but close enough to see the way he holds her, the way he embraces her and how she seems to be so comfortable in his arms. She smiles so brightly, genuinely and wonderfully. She only has eyes for him, the way she wraps her arms around his neck lets me know she never wants to let him go. Who is he? How did she end up with a soldier? She deserves someone that will be with her always, not someone who will leave anytime.

They walk away, her hand hanging from his arm, and the other one squeezing his upper arm, as if she never wants to be separated from him. She’s laughing, he smiles at the sight of her eyes narrowing as her smile reaches her ears, and the sound of her chest rumbling in content. I remember that feeling.

The bookstore she seems to be working at is open, I watch from across the street, through the glass window as she and her coworkers walk around busily, each of them focused on their job. They exchange small sentences and smiles on their way to the different bookshelves, and she really seems happy at what she’s doing. I don’t remember the last time I saw her like that. It’s Monday already, and even if I saw her yesterday, I can’t help but feel the need of seeing her, knowing she’s fine now.

It’s 4:00 PM, and the minutes seem endless as I make up my mind about going inside. I’m not sure if what I’ll tell her is right, but I know I need to talk to her, I need to hear her voice. I stand up from the bench and clear my throat, making sure my voice won’t come out weakly when I speak to her, and I walk slowly but firmly across the street. I glance through the window one last time, and enter the bookstore. The small bell that rings when I open doesn’t seem to call anybody’s attention, which gives me comfort in knowing she won’t see me until I stand in front of her.

I walk inside cautiously, and head towards the hallway I saw her walk into, and find her browsing through a book, as usual. I try to be silent, but I also don’t want to scare her, so I speak lowly.

“Y/N?” I say as she instantly looks up from the book. Her expression is unreadable, I haven’t seen her in so long I can’t tell what she’s thinking anymore. After a moment, she blinks and speaks, and I can’t help but swallow as if I had seen a ghost.

“Hi.” She says, simply, still not expressing anything.

“How are you?” I ask, taking a step closer, and I loosen up after I see she doesn’t try to take a step back. I keep my hands in my pockets, fisting my hands inside them.

“I’m—I’m good.” She says, closing the book and placing it on the shelf. “You?” She asks frowning, I can already tell she’s not that comfortable.

“I’m good, too.” She nods and stares at me, and I can only look down at my feet for a second, grabbing the courage to say what I’ve been meaning to. “I—I have…I have seen you around these days.”

“What do you mean seen me around?”

“I’ve been walking around lately and I—I’ve seen you, I just didn’t…didn’t know how to talk to you, or if I should.”

“It’s okay, I guess.” She pauses. “Um, have you been following me?”

“Not following you exactly, but I have…I’ve just seen you so much I kind of found out where to see you.”

“Oh.”

“Are you…with someone right now?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but I decide to ask not to make her uncomfortable, if she isn’t already.

“I guess if you’ve seen me, you’ve noticed I am. I…am seeing someone.” She nods, and a trace of a smile appears on her face, at the thought of him, I assume. She pauses for a moment. “What are you doing in Brooklyn?”

“I…had some time off from Chicago, I wanted to see how things were back here…and how you were. I was hoping we could talk.”

“What about? I thought you and I had made things clear…” She pauses for a moment, probably thinking of the next thing she wants to say. “Getting back together, is that what you want?” She catches me off guard, I didn’t think she’d react this way, and now I know, I can’t handle this. She seems fine without me, she doesn’t seem to have feelings about what we had. I remain silent, frozen, barely breathing steadily, and she stares at me, waiting for an answer.

“When I came here, I didn’t think of the possibility of you being with someone, I wanted to see how things worked.”

“You and I—we don’t work.” She sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair. My heart stops for a moment, at the realization that I already lost her, that even if she wasn’t with him, she wouldn’t come back to me. She’s happy now. I see it.

“I know. I know it now.” I nod in defeat. “Do you love him?”

***

What does he mean do I love him? What kind of question is that? He just came back, out of the blue after he broke up with me and he wants to know if I love Bucky…After everything we went through. Whom I love is not his business.

“That’s not something you need to know.” You reply already upset about his out of place question. You stare at him to realize he hasn’t changed much, his blonde tall hair is still combed backwards as it was when you dated, his green eyes don’t look at you the same way, they don’t shine anymore, and neither do yours.

“Does he know about me?”

“What? No, we haven’t talked about our ex-partners. That’s not us.” You change your expression, trying to hold the urge of kicking him out of the place. You cross your arms on your chest and sigh deeply, hoping he will end his questioning. “What do you want from me?” You ask, and he opens his mouth for a second to start talking but he’s interrupted by Bucky’s voice calling your name as he stands behind him.

“Bucky, hi.” You say, feeling a little bit more at ease with his presence. You drop your arms to your sides and Bucky walks around Mark to stand beside you and your eyes follow him as he so graciously strolls towards you with the firm pace you’re so attracted to; Mark stands still, frozen at the surprise of your new partner appearing when he least expected it. Bucky places his arm around you, tightening his grip at your waist, pulling you closer to him. “James, this is Mark, my…former boyfriend.” You say, glancing at Mark for a second. Bucky nods, holding a straight face, tracing his fingers against the waistline of your skirt. “Mark, this is James Barnes, my…”

“New boyfriend.” Bucky states, simply but clearly. The tone of confidence in his voice provokes a smile to curl up on your face in half a second, you glance at him and for a moment the world stops around you, it’s like everyone else is gone and there is only you and him. This is the first time in four weeks that he’s called himself your boyfriend, and he couldn’t have chosen a better moment to say it. It makes your heart bigger on your chest to know he’s decided to formalize what you have in order to show a man that you’re with him and him only. In response you rest your hand on his abdomen, feeling like the luckiest woman on Earth. “Nice to meet you.” Bucky continues as he offers his hand to stretch your now-speechless companion.

Mark responds to his gesture, “Likewise, sergeant.” He says, recognizing the badge on Bucky’s left arm. Bucky stands straight, keeping his hand in his pocket and turns to look at you.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” He grins, a totally different expression from the one he had when talking to Mark. Your heart beats at the pace you feel so familiar when Bucky is around, the rhythm that results from peace and warmth.

“Yes, Buck, Mark seems to be around town for some days, he came by some moments ago.” You respond, turning to look at Mark.

“I just passed by and saw a familiar face inside the store, I wanted to say hi, that’s all.” You wonder whether he’s decided to back off now that he sees Bucky’s reaction, or he’s just being a jerk that wants to appear innocent to avoid a punch in the face from the soldier at your side.

“If you’ll excuse us, James and I have plans, Mark. He’s here to pick me up.”

“Please, go ahead, I should go, too. Enjoy your date.” He nods and steps aside to let you and Bucky walk out of the store.

Bucky lets go of your waist and grabs your hand, tangling his fingers with yours, he holds it tight, and you walk feeling safe and happy with him. Once you step out of the store, Bucky stops to stare at you, with a different expression on him, you can’t read him, you can’t understand why he just stopped.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” You frown, and wait for his answer, unsure of wanting to hear it. You hoped he wouldn’t get mad at you, in fact, you didn’t think he would, or should.

“Did you know he was here before?” He asks, barely opening his mouth to speak, he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t doubt for a second before saying it. He bites and licks his lower lip, telling you he’s anxious and upset.

“What? Of course not, Bucky, I’m as just as shocked as you are.” He lets out a breath and looks up at the sky for a second before looking at you with a completely new expression on his face, he seems to have relaxed at your answer, but he’s still not amused Mark is around.

“Was he bothering you before I came in?” He asks taking your hand in his.

“No,” You shake your head. “Well, he was asking stupid questions he doesn’t deserve an answer to and it was kind of upsetting me but I was handling it.” You respond, avoiding telling him about the one that bothered you the most, and not because you want to lie or hide things from him, but you can’t tell him someone asked if you loved him when you can’t even answer that to yourself yet. You’re completely certain that James Buchanan Barnes drives you crazy, yet you can’t rush into anything and tell him you love him out of the blue, and you can’t dare be so selfish to say it knowing you could be separated any minute, and he could leave with his heart hurt, knowing he left someone who loved him…or worse, someone he loved.

“What happened between you two, should I be worried?” He lifts an eyebrow in concern, he’s now giving you the feeling that he’s afraid Mark could hurt you or take you away from him. Bucky may be the biggest ladies’ man and the most confident soldier in town, but with you, everything is different, you’re the one girl he never wants to let go of.

“Nothing important, okay? You definitely shouldn’t be worried, if he’s here to win me back, he’s totally wasting his time. I’m with you now…I’m…”

“My girlfriend.” He states, finally beaming at you. The way the corner of his eyes crinkles and his blue gems gleam directly at you make you forget about everything else, nothing really matters when he’s around. You smile broadly, not caring how dumb you might look or the way people may stare. You smile at him because he now decides to name your relationship, to say it regardless of how much time you’ve known each other for.

“If you say so, I won’t mind.” You joke and reach up to kiss him, placing your hand around his nape. He chuckles against your lips, and cups your face with his hands to stop kissing you.

“Will I ever know what happened with him?” He knits his brows together, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

“You will, but there are a lot of things you need to know about me yet that I will gladly tell you about, and that will eventually lead to his appearance in my life.”

“I could hear about you for years, sweetie.” He shakes his head in disbelief, pecking your lips and putting his hands down to rest them on your waist. “Please tell me whenever he approaches you again, okay? I got to take some advantage of this uniform.” He smirks at you, with his eyes glistening and his heartbeat so steady, as it always is when you’re around.

Tagging: @writingcroissant @sergeant-james-bbarnes @myrabbitholetoneverland @padackles2010 @immajustread

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meterteller4-blog · 5 years

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Those Who Care and Those Who Don’t: Children and Racism in the Trump Era

DECEMBER 14, 2018

This piece appears in the latest issue of the LARB Print Quarterly Journal: No. 20 Childhood

To receive the LARB Quarterly Journal, become a member or purchase a copy at your local bookstore.

“Trump does some bad things,” 10-year-old Kenny tells me one afternoon. I’m sitting across from him at a coffee shop in a small town in Mississippi. Kenny is black and loves soccer. As he talks, he anxiously spins a pen cap on the table between us. “Trump talks about racist things … and he does racist things! He puts inappropriate things on Twitter. Like, people won’t admit it but saying, ‘I’m going to build a wall from Mexico,’ and saying bad things about Mexicans is racist and [people] won’t admit it!” Kenny pauses, looks down to the ground, and shakes his head with disbelief. “To me, that’s something.”

Kenny is just one of the millions of children growing up in the United States under the Trump administration. And he, like many of these children, is experiencing a shocking moment in American history. These are young people who have otherwise been taught that America is making progress when it comes to issues like racism and sexism. Their childhoods unfolded during the “post-racial” era of President Obama; their television programs celebrate multiculturalism and diversity; their T-shirts have girl-empowerment slogans; their schools conduct anti-bullying and inclusion campaigns. For the youngest generations in the United States, racial progress was the common narrative across the political spectrum. This changed during the 2016 presidential election, which marked a drastic turning point in this narrative. Things were suddenly different, and the election of Donald Trump deeply complicated how many children in America understand their country.

As many people have pointed out, Trump began his political career by propagating a racist conspiracy against President Obama. Sociologist Matthew W. Hughey argued that the effect of “Birther” movement was in fact twofold: it stoked white fear of a black man in power and encouraged fantasies of a white ethno-state as a remedy for those fears. Trump perhaps noticed its effectiveness. He went on to use explicitly racist rhetoric and antisemitic dog whistles in his presidential campaign ads. Even after taking office, Trump has continued to stoke racial division and white fear. He has used racist, derogatory language to refer to Mexicans, Muslims, and entire nations in Africa and the Caribbean. He has insulted a long list of black celebrities, politicians, and athletes. And his rhetoric is also backed up by action. Within its first year, the Trump administration advanced a ban on Muslim people and refugees entering the country; it has more recently enforced family separation at the border, taking children from their parents and putting them in cages; Trump has pardoned former Arizona sheriff Joe Arpaio, a man with a long history of racial discrimination. Trump also famously refused to denounce white supremacists after their racist and antisemitic rallying and violence in Charlottesville. His racist rhetoric has only escalated in the run up to the midterm elections.

In October 2017, political scientist Cathy J. Cohen and her colleagues at the University of Chicago reported findings from their GenForward Survey of Millennial Attitudes on Race in the U.S. They found that across all racial groups, Americans between the ages of 18 and 34 believe that racism is one of the three most important problems in the United States today and that this problem is getting worse (Cohen, Fowler, Medenica, & Rogowski, 2017). However, nearly half of the white young adults in this research believed that “discrimination against whites has become as big a problem as discrimination against Blacks and other minorities.” Across all racial groups, very few young people thought racial relations were improving in the United States, and when asked if they believed Trump is a racist, 82 percent of African-American respondents, 78 percent of Latinx respondents, and 74 percent of Asian-American respondents said they did. White respondents were split almost exactly down the middle: 51 percent believed he is racist while 48 percent disagreed.

My conversation with Kenny was part of my ongoing research with youth and racism in the United States. My work as a sociologist focuses on racial socialization — I study how children learn about race and racism in the context of their families, communities, and everyday lives. Part of my work involves speaking with children directly about their experiences and perspectives of the social world. I knew from my previous research that for many white children who grew up in the Obama era, they believed that racism was “no longer a problem in America.” In many ways, it made sense for these children to feel this way. Although the United States has a long history of racism and white supremacy, in more recent years, social scientists have found that racism at the individual level has not disappeared but, rather, is expressed in more subtle and implicit ways. The circumstances, however, have clearly changed, and these same children are now confronted with explicit and overt forms of racism in the public sphere. I wanted to know what young people, particularly children in middle school, are thinking about racism in the new Trump era. What are their views on this matter? How are they feeling? What do they have to say?

Over the past year, a team of graduate students and I interviewed children between the ages of 10 and 13 in two distinct geographic locations: Mississippi and Massachusetts. We asked them a range of questions about current events, their schools and families, and their reaction to Trump’s words and actions as president. After interviewing more than 50 children, we found that children of color in both states expressed a great deal of anxiety, stress, fear, and anger about the present moment. The white children’s responses, however, surprised me. For many, their acknowledgment of Trump’s explicitly racist words and actions seemed to mark a rearrangement of empathy, and a rearrangement of how they thought about racism — and, perhaps more importantly, how much they cared.

One day after school in Mississippi, I talk with 10-year-old Crystal, who describes herself as “African American and mixed.” Crystal tells me what she remembers from the night of the 2016 presidential election. “We were very scared the night before…When I was sleeping, I did have a bad dream so I think I could kind of tell that it wasn’t going to end up as I expected.”

“What happened the next day at school?” I ask. She brings up race right away.

“Some black boys and girls were saying that that, like, they really didn’t want Trump to win or that he had won and [that they] didn’t really like him. And then some people who did vote for Trump were like, ‘I’m so happy!’ and they told their friends who also voted for Trump. … It was like allll day.”

I ask her if the kids who supported Trump were black.

Crystal replies immediately: “No. They were all white.” For Crystal, the connection between whiteness and support for Trump is clear.

At the coffee shop, Kenny has similar ideas: “When Barack Obama was the president, I wasn’t thinking about politics,” Kenny explains. “I didn’t really talk about Barack Obama because there’s nothing to talk about! He didn’t do anything bad. He didn’t start anything. So I mean, when he was president, I didn’t get into politics because I didn’t have to. Because he was a good president.”

Later in our interview, I ask Kenny, “What do you think is a big problem in America?”

“Racism is one of the main things that this country has always had problems with. And I’m scared Trump will make that worse,” he adds.

In Massachusetts, children of color express similar fears and anxieties about this moment of reemerging racial animosity. Mariana is 10 years old and identifies as “Mexican-American and white.” She and I sit together talking in a small classroom at her afterschool program.

“Do you think Trump is doing a good job or a bad job leading our country” I ask Mariana.

“I don’t like Donald Trump!” she shouts as she slaps her hand on the desk. “He is terrible! I want Obama to come back. Obama is a better president. In my head, I’m like, Trump is going to get us all bombed. Like, after he won the election, at school, everyonewas like screaming, ‘Ahhhh!’ People were running around and then someone started crying and said, ‘I want Obama to come back!’” Mariana goes on to tell me how “Trump is racist” and a “bad president.”

I also talk with 11-year-old Dominick who identifies as “black and Cape Verdean.” “I have heard him say something bad about black people,” Dominick tells me. “Donald Trump shouldn’t build the wall. … It’s just weird and just like, you’re making fun of a certain region because they like look different? Really?”

I ask him how he feels when the president says bad things about black people.

“I feel like if the president says something racist, I think that they shouldn’t be the president,” he replies.

I hear this opinion echoed in Massachusetts, over and over again. Suzannah tells me that she thinks Trump is “very racist” and that “we need someone [who is] both of our colors so they can be more fair ’cause he only likes really the whiter people.”

Devion, an 11-year-old black boy, responds so quickly I can barely finish asking the question. “He’s said stuff about Mexico, and he’s basically just racial-profiling people! … And people have been joining him! I’ve heard some things on the news and what he says isn’t right!”

I ask him how he felt the day after the election.

“I felt just sad for America. … I was very surprised.” He goes on to tell me about white kids chanting, “Build a wall,” and harassing Latinx kids at his school.

“I honestly think that it’s crazy that kids would say that. I’ve had, um, a kid in my class that I was just fully ashamed by that kid ’cause he was saying some racist stuff [after Trump won] and that was the kid that has [previously] said racist stuff to me.” Devion tells me that he absolutely thinks the election of Trump has emboldened the already-racist bullies at his school.

These conversations reveal that these particular children of color are deeply affected by the state of the country and the larger events and conversations happening around them. My findings are reinforced by a recent survey conducted with teachers by the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC). This survey, held in the immediate aftermath of the 2016 presidential election, described what the Center referred to as the “Trump Effect. “The report found that more than two-thirds of teachers noted increased anxiety on the behalf of students of color, immigrant students, Muslim students, and LGBTQ students. The report also found that 90 percent of teachers surveyed indicated that their school climate had been negatively affected by the political campaign and election of Donald Trump. This was also reflected in the news: during the past two years, headlines from across the nation have described instances of white youth engaging in forms of racial violence and other forms of harassment — chanting “Build the wall!” in the faces of Latinx kids at athletic competitions or in the school cafeteria, bringing Confederate flags into classrooms to taunt their black peers, sexually assaulting and “grabbing” girls, inflicting physical violence such as pulling hijabs off Muslim students, and so on (SPLC Hatewatch, 2016).

White children are also thinking and engaging in the current political moment, of course, though our conversations are notably different. With white children, I notice a profound divide between how much some children seem to care about Trump’s racist words and actions and how much some don’t.

Paige, 12 years old, was one of the children I talk to in Mississippi. I sit down with her in her living room on a Saturday morning. “We had an assignment after the presidential election,” Paige tells me. “We had to draw a picture of what we think the future is going to look like under our new government…The teacher actually made half the class redo it because she was unhappy with the results because she got a lot of walls and cities in flames or like evil-looking politicians.”

“What did you draw?” I ask. “I personally drew Trump behind a wall of fire,” she says, matter-of-factly. I ask her why she drew that particular image. “I just felt like we were making so much progress with Obama. Like on everything. Like women’s rights, gay rights, racism, like things like global warming. Then, like, now that we have the new president — it’s like a million steps backward.”

A bit later, I ask her if she thinks the election of Trump has had any immediate impact on kids.

She nods. “I think that him being elected has made some people think, ‘Oh, well, since our president has these beliefs, it’s okay.’…Like him being disrespectful to women, some people are like, ‘Oh [if ] the president did that in his past, it’s okay for me to do that,’ … and that’s not okay.”

Zena, another white 12-year-old girl growing up in Mississippi talks to me about some recent changes in how some of her friends are relating to their parents.

“Trump’s not the best person and I think we all know that,” she tells me. “I have friends with parents who are like, ‘We need to raise you like this, and you need to do this, and you need to be a big supporter of Jesus and Trump and racism, and [my friends] are like, you know, ‘I’m going to need you to take a few steps back.’…These kids are like, ‘I should do some of my own research before I jump headfirst into his big agenda.’”

Zena goes on to tell me about one friend who is outraged by Trump’s racism despite her parents’ full support of him. “She argues with her parents all the time,” Zena explains. “What about you?” I ask. “Do you think we still have racism in America?” “I think we are 100 percent not past racism,” she states definitively. “I think recently everyone has had this realization that we are not past this because there are people … who sit in the big chairs and say, ‘No. I don’t want that law [that would help racial minorities] passed,’ and I feel like it’s a problem because the people who have power … they like use it for the wrong reasons. I don’t think we are past [racism] because people in power like Trump aren’t allowing us to get past it. And that sucks.”

Trump’s election has made 12-year-old Charlie, who is also white, rethink aspects of President Obama’s time in office. “I knew President Obama was the first black president, but I didn’t understand the significance of it until Trump became president,” 12-year-old Charlie tells me one afternoon at a restaurant in Mississippi. Charlie attends a public school that is almost 70 percent black. Like many of the white kids I interviewed, Charlie tells me that lately he has been talking about racism with his parents, his friends, and his teachers “all the time.”

“Trump has definitely done something to make things worse,” he tells me.

I ask him what it was like at his school around the time of the election.

“I was surprised [when Trump won]. We did this vote at our school and it was 16 people who voted for Trump while the 360 other people voted for Clinton. But I heard that at this other school [nearby] … the vote was so Trump.”

“How is it that these two schools that are located pretty close to each other have such different results?” I ask him.

“Well, I think our school is more racially diverse than that school,” he responds. Based on his experience growing up in Mississippi — like Crystal — Charlie could also see a connection between support for Trump and whiteness.

A number of white children, in both Massachusetts and Mississippi, tell me they are shocked and outraged by what they perceived to be racism radiating from the highest seats of power. For these kids, Trump’s presidency not only challenges their understanding of the country but also sheds new light on previously held notions about race in America. In addition to their outrage, these children also exhibit racial empathy for people of color, immigrants, women, and other groups that they perceive to be under attack by the Trump administration. In fact, part of what they dislike so much about Trump is how badly he treats the vulnerable and how he seems to bully the marginalized.

Other white children I speak with have a different reaction. They don’t all consider Trump’s racism to be a problem. Children, in both Massachusetts and Mississippi, tell me that even though they recognize Trump’s racism, they ultimately don’t care.

Twelve-year-old Erin lives in Mississippi and attends a former segregationist academy that is still almost entirely white. Erin knows she is white, she explains, because “I was born in America and my skin is white.” I ask her how she felt after Trump won the election. “I was happy he won because I think he knows how to handle, like, people who threaten us and stuff.” She describes kids at her school making jokes about building a wall at recess, but she says she did not tell the teacher because she “did not think it was a big deal.” Like many of the kids, Erin also shares her views on the differences she has observed since President Obama was in office: “When Barack was president, like, there was a lot of tension going on ’cause he was, like, the first black president … the people didn’t think it was right that he should be president because he was black. Now we have a white president again.”

When Erin is asked if she recognizes the rise of racial tension in the United States right now, she acknowledges that Trump “has said racist things,” but she isn’t too bothered by it. “I honestly think it’s fine,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t really care.”

Erin’s attitude echoes what contemporary social scientists have found when studying the racial attitudes of white Americans. White people in the United States have found more subtle ways to express their prejudices toward people of color over time. These new forms of racism often help people maintain the external appearance of not being racist even as they continue to engage in practices and behaviors that reproduce racial inequality — a way of “saving face” so to speak. Drawing on findings from a large, national survey of racial attitudes spanning 40 years, sociologist Tyrone A. Forman finds evidence for an increasein what he defines as “racial apathy” in the United States. White racial apathy, he argues, “refers to lack of feeling or indifference toward societal racial and ethnic inequality and lack of engagement with race-related social issues.” In his research, Forman finds an increase in whites’ use of “I don’t know” or “I don’t care” when asked survey questions about racial integration.

When it comes to young people specifically, Forman and his colleague, sociologist Amanda E. Lewis, explore expressions of racial apathy in white high school students over time. They find that instead of new generations of white kids being less racist and more tolerant than generations before them, this population instead embraces more subtle forms of racism like being indifferent to racial inequality. Data from this important research suggests that racial apathy is actually on the rise.

In talking with some of the white children in my study, I find similar patterns. For instance, Blake, who is 10 years old and lives in Massachusetts, tries many different ways to avoid identifying his race. Eventually, though, he tells me he is white. After talking with him a bit about his hockey team and upcoming game, I ask him what he thought the day after Trump was elected.

“I didn’t care,” he tells me, shrugging.

When I ask him if he thinks Trump is racist, he responds, “I don’t know ’cause I’ve never heard him be racist. But he said um, that we’ll build a wall between Mexico. … Mexico is like part of our world so you shouldn’t try to keep them out.” Blake tells me that there is racism still in America, but that he doesn’t really know much about it. “I’ve never heard anybody say [anything racist],” he tells me. He explains he does not talk about race or racism with his family members. Generally, he says, he does not think much about racism — but he knows that it exists.

“Yeah.” He tells me. “But I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

Betsy, who is 12 years old, white, and lives in Massachusetts, is more engaged with politics than Blake. She tells me that she loves knowing what is going on in the world. In fact, she gets up early to drink a cup of tea and watch the news before school every morning.

“I feel like I’ve heard stuff on the news about [Trump] being racist, but like, the [news anchors] exaggerate stuff. But I don’t really think he’s racist. I think when he does one thing wrong, people turn it against him.” She can discuss many of the issues that have come up while Trump has been in office, like the wall and the Muslim ban. “Overall, I’m not saying he’s the best president, and he’s definitely not the worst. But he’s not racist. There might have been one or two incidents when he was racist, but he’s not racist.” Betsy tells me that even though she wishes we could have elected a woman for president, from her perspective, Trump is “fine” and even though he is racist sometimes, she does not think that it is a major problem.

Back in Mississippi, 12-year-old Ellie, who is white, tells me about voting in a mock election at her private school, complete with mock voter ID cards that students had to show before casting their mock ballot. “Everyone wanted Trump to win and they were like, ‘If you want Hillary to win, then you’re terrible.’” Ellie was not surprised when Trump won the actual election. “I knew he was probably gonna win,” she tells me. “I didn’t really think anything about it [when he did.]” Ellie talks about how she liked one of the other Republican candidates better than Trump but that ultimately, she was happy Trump won.

When Ellie is asked about her thoughts on racism in the United States today, particularly in light of Trump’s election, she says she has heard people say he is racist, but she “do[esn’t] really know.” She also explains that her family does not talk about racism. “There’s not really any [racism] going on in Mississippi but there might be in like, other states, I just haven’t noticed anything. … I don’t really know. … It’s not something I care about.”

Kids offer different versions of this opinion. James, a 12-year-old boy who identifies as “Caucasian” and who goes to the same school as Ellie, “felt good” after Trump was elected because he supports many of Trump’s positions, even the more controversial stance on the wall between the United States and Mexico. James understands that Trump’s policies may upset people, but he ultimately cares more about other things. For example, he spends a lot of time discussing the conflict between the United States and Muslim countries. “I think it’s silly that [conflict] is still going on,” he says. “They’ve been fighting since 1999 and nobody’s won. Why [hasn’t the United States] dropped an atomic bomb on them? It would just end them, so they wouldn’t like, come at us again.”

In terms of racial politics at the national level, James recognizes that racism exists but does not think that it is serious enough to merit a solution or any political action. Regarding football players kneeling at NFL games, he says, “Some people are doing it because they don’t like the president. They don’t like racism. They don’t like the way some people are getting treated. … But if [they] want to live in America, why [are they] kneeling instead of like, loving our country that people fight for every day so we can be free? If they don’t like wanna stand for the Pledge of Allegiance or the National An

them, why are they living here?” James makes it clear that he understands these protests to be about real racism in America, but he ultimately concludes that racism is not a legitimate reason to protest.

Ava, who is 12 years old and white, also likes Trump but finds him “embarrassing” at times. Sometimes, he “acts like a kid,” she says explaining that her family and friends share the hope that he “straightens out soon.” Despite how embarrassing he is, Ava goes on to say that she was happy Trump won. But, she still thinks “he seems kinda mean.” When I ask her what she means, she says: “Well, I don’t really want him to build a wall even though it keeps some mean people out,” she explains. “There’s usually nice people who want, like, a better life too.”

When Ava is asked if she thinks that the president is racist, Ava replies, “Mmm, maybe, sorta, kinda because he built the wall and because like, he wants to keep some religions out. And I think if it’s just because of like, the religions, we could try to teach them like, about God and like that Jesus Christ came for our sins.” For Ava, racism is, again, not an important issue. Even if Trump’s wall and Muslim ban are “maybe sorta kinda” racist, the real issue with these policies is that they might prevent people from converting to Christianity.

Jason, who is 11 years old and identifies as white, views Trump in a similar “kinda racist” way as Ava. His reaction to Trump winning the election was, “I didn’t care.” When asked if he thinks Trump is racist, Jason replies, “Trump is kind-of racist, kind-of not. He kind-of is building a wall so other people won’t come in.” I ask him what he would say to Trump if he had the opportunity.

“I would make a joke like, ‘Hurry up and build that wall!’” Jason goes on to say that during recess, kids made other “jokes” about immigrants. To Jason, even if Trump’s wall is “kind-of racist,” he does not see a problem with making jokes about it, or replicating the racism in his own conversations or playful interactions with his peers.

The views of children like Ellie, James, Ava, Jason, and others are in direct opposition to those of children who are fearful of or outraged by the Trump administration. Even when this group of kids identifies racism in the words and actions of the president and his administration — even when they agree that Trump is doing something racist — they do not really seem to care. Although they are aware of racism, they would prefer to not think about it.

Indeed, racial apathy is not new, and I found signs of it among the many children I spoke with during the Obama era. But, in my previous work, kids who expressed this apathy embraced a “colorblind” racial logic — they believed that because a black man was president, American society didn’t have to worry about racism anymore. This is different from the apathy I observed in many of these white children today. Based on this new research, it seems that some kids are learning not to care about racism or racial inequality in any way, even when it is explicitly present. The narrative seems to be shifting: “I don’t see racism, so I don’t care” is becoming, “I see racism, and I still don’t care.”

Social science research makes it abundantly clear that, across the board, children today are growing up in a country with increasing economic inequality and “deep differences of opportunity” (Kids Count, 2017). Race and wealth disparities between children are well documented in a wide variety of realms like education, health, the criminal justice system, the child welfare system, the labor market, housing, wealth holdings, and so on. American children are growing up in this context, among tremendous race and class inequality and deep powerful political divides. Based on my new research, however, it seems that there is another type of division separating today’s younger generations: how they respond to explicit forms of racism.

Why is this division important? As psychologist Derald Wing Sue puts it, rather than expressing a “conscious desire to hurt,” racial apathy conveys a “failure to help.” That failure is twofold: it is not just a failure of action, it’s a failure of empathy — it’s the failure to even care about the persistence and consequences of racism in the United States. This “failure to help” — this failure to concern oneself with the suffering and humanity of others — is a powerful tool, used to reproduce and perpetuate existing racial oppression. As Forman and Lewis ask:

If, in the face of entrenched, systemic, and institutionalized racial inequality, most whites say that they have no negative feelings toward racial minorities but feel no responsibility to do anything about enduring racial and ethnic inequalities and in fact object to any programmatic solutions to addressing those inequalities, is that progress, or is it rather a new form of prejudice in its passive support for an unequal racial status quo?

White peoples’ disinterest in racism — or the more active refusal of interest in human suffering — dramatically increases the stakes for racially marginalized people. Every child of color I interviewed not only articulated disgust and outrage with the president’s racist language and actions but also described feeling scared, angry, anxious, upset, and worried because of Trump’s presidency and specifically what his racist actions might mean for themselves or the people they love. They told me about their nightmares and about drawing violent images. They talked to me about feeling fearful and not being able to relax when out in public or around authority figures. As one 11-year-old told me, “When Trump got elected, I was actually kind of nervous. My dad isn’t a citizen. If [Trump] sends him back, he’s not going to be able to come back and I won’t be able to see him. … Like, like [one time recently] we were just driving and the police were behind us and I got scared because if he were to get pulled over, they would arrest him and they’ll send him back. I am scared.” She was on the verge of tears.

Empathy alone will not solve racism and racial injustice in America. But, in the Trump era, when children are confronted with the stark reality of the legacy and persistence of racism in the United States, it appears that they respond in different ways. For black, brown, and other marginalized children, this reality seems to be connected to feelings of stress, fear, anger, and anxiety. For some of the white children I spoke with, this reality seems to be connected to empathy, anger, and a sense of concern for their peers. But, for other white children, this reality simply does not matter, even though they know and can acknowledge that it exists. If children cannot develop empathetic perspectives, if they cannot learn to care about the suffering or humanity of their peers, what does that suggest for our future? Collectively, we must identify, acknowledge, and resist the power of racial apathy — and recognize the destruction it brings to our democratic society, to our political efforts, and to the children growing up in this world.

Margaret A. Hagerman is an assistant professor of Sociology at Mississippi State University. She is the author of White Kids: Growing Up with Privilege in a Racially Divided America (NYU Press.)

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/care-dont-children-racism-trump-era/

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voldiebuns · 6 years

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HalLUDOween!!

So last weekend I went to HalLUDOween, aka Ludo's one night only, first time in six years concert! They're my favorite band and since I didn't think I'd ever get to hear them again in concert, of course I had to go. Even if it was in St. Louis, an approximately 11 hour drive from home lol But @biffelderberry and I figured it would be worth it, and it so was :D

We started out early Friday morning since it was going to be a long drive and we had to pick up a rental car since neither of our cars was up to such a drive. Of course we found out like an hour into the drive that the model we got had had a recall put out that very morning, but thankfully we didn't have any problems with it. The drive was actually not too bad, despite being so long and being mostly a drive through boring wilderness. We'd put together an approximately 13 hour playlist, so we had plenty of music to sing along with. And we made lots of stops at Taco Bell so I could get their potato tacos bc I'm apparently obsessed lol I ended up eating Taco Bell for every meal Friday, which was probably not a good idea, but it tasted fucking awesome.

(Me, left, and Biff at the beginning of the drive.)

Made it to the hotel around 8 maybe. There were two guys from Chicago in the check in line in front of us who we think may have been there for the concert as well, but the cool part was when we went down to breakfast in the morning, we met two other ppl who were there for the concert! They were from Wisconsin and California, so it was cool to talk to them for a bit about how much we all love Ludo and were so happy we were getting to see them again. We'd planned to use most of Saturday to explore St. Louis, since we'd come so far anyway. We'd wanted to do a ghost tour, but that didn't end up working out, but we did do a few other cool things. We went to an antiques store where we couldn't afford anything, but it still had some really interesting stuff. Then we went over to Grand Street, which I gather is kind of the popular downtown street. We ate at Lulu's Local Eatery, which is a small, hippster-y vegan place. I got the mac n cheese and Biff got the sliders, both of which were fucking delicious. Also very filling, which was a little disappointing bc we'd hoped to share the carnitas loaded tots after lol After that we went to a nearby comic book store. The owner was super nice and we talked to him about Ludo a bit (I was wearing my Ludo shirt) bc apparently everyone in town knew about this concert lol He'd had some other ppl in earlier who were going, I think from New York? Or maybe Arizona. We basically spent the whole weekend hearing from ppl in town about ppl coming in from out of state for the concert. Anyway, after that we did a little more walking around, mostly bc we wanted to look at all the pretty trees, and then went to Walmart to pick up some food (they have a So Delicious cashew milk chocolate cookies and cream ice cream that is to die for!). And crosstitching stuff bc Biff wanted to do an AO3 inspired bookmark design, and I thought it sounded fun as well. Also got some face masks bc why not. Which actually turned out not to be the best idea... When we got back to the hotel, I tried out my clay mask and it didn't go well. I did put a little too much water in it, but I don't think that accounts for how I apparently had an allergic reaction to it. Seriously, when I took it off, I looked like I had a rash all over my face. Thankfully my makeup skills were enough to cover it up, but I did end up sitting with a cool cloth on my face for awhile just to be sure the only reaction was the rash. Here's a picture of me post concert with half my makeup wiped off (the red side was waaaay better than when I first took off the mask):

So got ready, blah blah blah. And then it was time for the concert!! Costumes were encouraged, but since we didn't actually bring any, we just dressed up. My outfit of the night, which I loved bc I'd been waiting for an excuse to wear that crop top:

We took a Lyft to and from the venue since we didn't want to deal with parking or driving back at who knew what time. Which was probably a good thing bc the whole area around there was packed. More so for the second show, where the lines were literally down the block, but even for the first show. Bc of my trying to deal with a sudden allergic reaction rash, we were running a little late, so we got there like halfway through the opener. He was pretty good from what we heard, so I'll probably look up his music at some point. We had assigned seats in the balcony, which I was really glad of even if they cost more than GA down below. We would have had to get there hours early to get a good place there and would have had to stand, which I really am not up to for long amounts of time. But our seats were actually really good and we had a fantastic view of the stage. Except for the railing being right at eye level lol Since the concert was Halloween themed, they of course had some Halloween elements for the stage and their costumes. There were a couple of big, glowing blow up ghosts on either side of the stage. When the show started, about a dozen ppl came out in sheet ghost costumes and ran away around for awhile until it was just the band and they took off the sheets to show they were wearing skeleton onesies. Which I really really want one of now tbh.

Here's the vid I took of the intro. It was honestly so so awesome to see them in concert again. The first and only time I saw them before was in 2011, which was right before they basically broke up (ie they all just drifted away to other things and the band was no more). They did pretty much the song set that I'd been expecting, though there were a couple of things they sang that I hadn't expected. (They'd done a poll on twitter with Topek, Girls on Trampolines, and a couple of others, so since Topeka won I wasn't expecting them to play Girls on Trampolines.) And they did my top three favorite songs of theirs! Including Andrew going solo on my absolute favorite, Horror of Our Love! I took a vid of that too of course, which you can prob hear both Biff and I singing along to. They ended the concert with a cover of the Ghostbusters theme song and having a bunch of kids come out to throw candy to the crowd, which was a fun way to end it. There was no new music, aside from the two covers they did, which I think all of us had been hoping for. Even though we knew it was unlikely since the week before was the first time they'd all been in a room together in years. Still, the music and the experience of being part of the crowd was just as fantastic as last time. So yeah, the concert was amazing all around and totally worth the ridiculous drive :D After, we went down the block to the merch store, bc there was definitely no way I was leaving without something. We stood out in the cold for an hour waiting in line, which was fine except for the couple behind us was being really critical of the show and really annoying. We found out the reason it was taking so long was that the band was in the merch store talking to fans and signing stuff and taking pictures, which I hadn't expected. Of course their handler started telling them they needed to leave basically as soon as we got up to the front of the line. But! They were being pretty slow about it bc they wanted to keep talking to the fans, so Matt, the drummer, ended up at the door at the same time we were and he gave us hugs! He also said thanks for coming again, which made it sound like he recognized us? But idk. Anyway, as awesome as that was, the best part was apparently the girl behind us really wanted a hug from him and we were the last ones he hugged before leaving. Vengeance is sweet :D Anyway, I ended up with a t-shirt and a poster for the concert, plus a couple smaller ones from previous tours that they were giving away for free. There was a really cool tree print that I wish I would have gotten, so I hope they put that up online. There was a vinyl of the last CD as well that I wanted, but I really didn't feel like I could justify that as well. Maybe they'll put it up online too.

We took a Lyft back, which was a bit of an experience bc we had to cross the street to get to our ride and some asshole apparently was tired of waiting in traffic and tried to speed around while we were in the crosswalk. He stopped in time, but Biff really thought he was going to hit me :/ But we made it back to the hotel safely and met the lady from breakfast again. We ended up talking to her for awhile, which was fun bc she's been following the band for a long time and is apparently knows them personally bc of that. Sunday morning we slept in a bit bc we'd been out so late. We were both very glad we had decided not to drive home that day lol We went back out to Grand Street and had lunch at Lemongrass, a Vietnamese place there. I got the tofu summer roll and sesame tofu, and the sesame tofu was seriously good omg. After that we did some more walking and went to a bookstore we'd seen on Saturday. It was really cool and had a pretty fantastic variety of stuff spread out over three levels. We met a local Ludo fan there (we were both wearing the shirts we bought) who hadn't gotten to go to the concert and talked to her a little. Afterward we went over to the St. Louis Art Museum since they were supposed to have a textiles exhibit that sounded really interesting. We didn't end up finding it, and we only got to stay about half an hour before they closed, but it was still really fun. Plus they had some gorgeous views out front, some beautiful fall maples, and a statue of, apparently, Saint Louis.

We thought about going to the zoo after that, since it was literally across the street, but they were having some Halloween event and there were hundreds of small children everywhere. We decided that wasn't something we wanted to deal with lol So we went and picked up lunch from Fred and Ricky's Plant Delicious Foods, a lttle vegan grab and go place, instead and took it to eat at the hotel. The food was pretty good, though probably the best part is that I found out they ship nationwide, so I can order from there sometime if I want. Which is nice bc we really don't have many vegan places here. Monday it was time to leave. Because the drive home was long and we had to get back before the rental place closed at six, we got up at 5 am to head out. It wasn't too terrible, but we were definitely still tired. And I fell coming down the stairs with my suitcase and bruised my ass. It still hurts :/ Drive home seemed longer than the one there, probably bc I didn't really want to be going home lol It's so interesting how every time I go away for a fun weekend, it hits me when I get back how much I hate living at my house and in my city and in Texas in general. So I guess good motivation to try to find a way to move out sooner rather than later. So the weekend was fantastic! There were a few other places we would have liked to go, like the City Museum and some more vegan restaurants, but overall we hit some good places and had a lot of fun. Plus just the landscapes up there were so so pretty. We don't have trees like that in Texas lol But we're definitely thinking of going back to St. Louis sometime to see some more stuff. And maybe see Ludo again, if this concert was a sign of things to come! But of course it coudn't be all good. My throat was feeling a bit scratchy on the way home Monday, and by Tuesday I was pretty sick. Thankfully I had the whole week off plus Monday and Tuesday this week (I'd been hoping to go to a Star Trek meet up this weekend, but I couldn't afford it after all). I'm hoping I'm well by the time I go back to work, but it's been kind of a sucky way to spend my time off! But still worth it for Ludo lbr :D

(If you want to see the food pics I took, they’ll go up on my food blog: @foodandmind)

#Ludo #Ludo Rock #HalLUDOween #Night of the Living Ludo #personal #literal GPOY #image heavy #long post

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johnboothus · 4 years

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We Asked 12 Drinks Pros: What Cocktail Should be Considered a Modern Classic?

As bars and restaurants continue to navigate the coronavirus pandemic and reopening phases, VinePair asked the bartenders and drinks professionals below to provide a virtual tip jar or fund of their choice. More resources for helping hospitality professionals are available here.

Cocktails such as the Old Fashioned, Martini, and Daiquiri — all indisputably classics — have been found on bar menus for over a century. Simplicity and balance lie at the heart of their enduring appeal. But considering the recent revolution in mixology, what are the new libations ready to challenge the dominance of old-guard cocktails like the Margarita and Manhattan?

To find out, VinePair reached out to beverage pros across the country to weigh in on what they consider to be the go-to recipes of the past several decades. From old-school cocktails updated with new flavors or techniques, to entirely new creations destined for greatness, keep reading to find out the modern classics that should be on every imbiber’s radar.

“There are cocktails that are simply old, and then there are those that are classics. You’ve got to differentiate between those two. But staying power is contingent on a variety of factors, from a catchy name to an iconic serve to an easy-to-replicate ingredient list. … Here is a short list of modern classics that can be reliably ordered around the world: Cosmopolitan – Toby Cecchini’s pink Kamikazee riff brought back V-shaped Martini glasses and helped make cocktails cool again; Penicillin – Sam Ross made Scotch cocktails cool again with this spicy, smoky, honeyed Whiskey Sour; Oaxaca Old Fashioned – Phil Ward’s brown and stirred homage to agave put the pioneering Death & Co on the cocktail map.” — Jason Cott, Managing Partner, Bedford Post Dining, Bedford, N.Y.

“The Paper Plane cocktail should stand out as an exceptional modern classic. Equal parts lemon juice, bourbon, Amaro Nonino, and Aperol make this a boozy, citrusy, and downright delicious beverage.” — Kaitlyn Gibbs, Beverage Director, Louie, St. Louis

Donate: Kaitlyn Gibbs Venmo

“Though it may already be considered a ‘modern classic,’ I would cast my vote for the Ultima Palabra. A riff on the classic Last Word (though some variations of the Ultima call for an additional juice component), mezcal takes the place of gin in a cocktail that really showcases the excellent versatility of the agave distillate.” — Carlos Baz, General Manager and Beverage Director, Goosefeather, Tarrytown, N.Y.

“Currently, I am also seeing a resurgence of tiki cocktails, which for a long moment were just considered the drink of your vacation, meant to be enjoyed on the beach or by a pool, but now we are seeing bars open that are fully dedicated to tiki cocktails and it isn’t just bottom-of-the-barrel spirits used to make them. It seems that cocktails are much like clothes and style — they all come back as trends at some time.” — Julie Masciangelo, Sommelier and General Manager, Il Posto, Denver

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“The one definite modern classic cocktail is the Paper Plane. It does everything a good cocktail should; it’s lively and refreshing and can be used as an aperitif. … The ‘Naked and Famous’ comes in close second. The lime [juice] and yellow Chartreuse play nicely off each other, while smoky mezcal fills the palate and Aperol provides a bittersweet finish. Considering the variety of mezcal on the market, both home and professional bartenders can have fun experimenting. Try one mezcal that is lighter and vegetal with one drink and a fuller smokier mezcal on the next. Both cocktails are equal parts, making them easy to remember. Also, there’s something beautiful in the simplicity of an equal-parts drink. — Eddie Riddell, Bar Manager, Montelupo, Portland, Ore.

“The Gold Rush was one of the first cocktails to come about during the first years of the cocktail revolution. It’s gained a lot of traction over the past few years, and who can blame it? It’s a wonderfully simple and balanced cocktail that’s perfect for both warm and cold weather. It combines sweet and sour flavors with the warmth and structure of a well-balanced bourbon. It should be considered a modern classic based solely on its simplicity and balance. In an age where everyone is trying to show their creativity and artistic skill with cocktails, it’s important to remember that not everything has to be esoteric and experiential. A simple creation can sometimes speak the loudest, [and] that’s fundamentally what a Gold Rush is.” — Warren Koguc, General Manager, Thompson’s Bookstore, Fort Worth, Texas

“For me, the Jungle Bird is a definite modern classic. It always comes in a fun glass, with some delightfully crazy fruit garnish and a mountain of crushed ice. It’s about as tiki as one can get without having to find the time to go on vacation!” — Kit Still, General Manager, Main Street Tavern, Amagansett, N.Y.

“The Revolver is my first choice for modern classics. Starward Australian Whisky ‘Nova’ expression pairs amazingly with black coffee and orange bitters to bring everything to life. It’s an early-2000s drink from San Francisco. That’s been one of my go-to cocktails behind the bar whenever someone is looking for a ‘whiskey drink’ but has no idea what they want. And it’s a great gateway cocktail into many other fun things. It’s also my favorite batched cocktail to keep in the freezer at home.” — PJ Wagner, Bar Lead, Guild Row, Chicago

“I love the classic Boulevardier, which is whiskey, sweet vermouth, and Campari, and [I] modernized it using one of my favorite bourbons, Orin Swift’s The Burning Chair. The bourbon is combined with [Carpano] Antica Formula vermouth, orange bitters and orange blossom Aperitivo. The drink is then aged in oak barrels for 60 days.” — Al Fiorenza, Bar Manager, Cafe Chameleon, Bloomingdale, N.J.

“You can never go wrong with a Negroni. Talk about a cocktail that has so much room for creative influence. After spending time in Florence, Italy, its city of origin, I realized this carefully balanced cocktail can be customized to anyone’s taste. The Negroni is a timeless classic being reimagined again and again in cocktail bars around the globe.” — Arielle Natale, Bar Manager, Elaia Estiatorio, Bridgehampton, N.Y

“A Whiskey Sour – a classic one, with [a] dry-shaken egg white before the rest of the ingredients are added. I will only have mine with fresh lemon juice, and a nice rye whiskey, preferably Old Hamer Rye from West Fork Whiskey Co. I love it as a ‘modern classic’ because it has remained simple in recipe, but allows the opportunity for the drinker to choose their favorite whiskey or take a recommendation from their trusted bartender to add a dash of a sweet liqueur or drop of red wine for fun. New York gets the credit for the egg white addition, adding a nice soft foam fluff to top off the tart beverage.” — Lindsay Jo Whirley, Certified Cicerone and Culinary Arts Operations Manager, Newfields, Indianapolis

“It’s a little difficult to select a drink I think should be deemed a ‘modern classic,’ mostly because I’ve been trained in the classics, modern and otherwise, and I’m not sure how many of them are universally considered ‘classics’ in the bar community. … If I was to nominate a drink that perhaps is one that I see ordered a bunch as of late, and is not one that was taught to me or published in a book by some well-known modern bartender, I guess it would have to be the Mezcal Negroni. Mezcal itself has only recently gained popularity outside of Mexico and South America, and for that reason there are no ‘classics’ per se that contain it, but it is a growing force among the spirits world. Granted, it’s simply a riff on a well-known classic and doesn’t necessarily have its own unique name, but the Mezcal Negroni is definitely becoming a ‘household name’ among bartenders and customers alike.” — Stephanie Reading, Bar Manager, Birdie G’s, Santa Monica, Calif.

The article We Asked 12 Drinks Pros: What Cocktail Should be Considered a Modern Classic? appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/12-best-modern-classic-cocktail-recipes/

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wineanddinosaur · 4 years

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We Asked 12 Drinks Pros: What Cocktail Should be Considered a Modern Classic?

Donate: Kaitlyn Gibbs Venmo

Donate: Il Posto Emergency Relief Fund

The article We Asked 12 Drinks Pros: What Cocktail Should be Considered a Modern Classic? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/12-best-modern-classic-cocktail-recipes/

0 notes