american countryside

On History and Pie

Summary:  A nonathletic!Jack fic, where grad student and history nerd, Jack Zimmermann meets the cute Samwell student/baker Eric Bittle at the Bread and Butter Bakery.  Will the two make a love connection?  For @devereauxsdisease and @victorineb who love this incarnation of Jack as much as I do.

Originally posted by butteryplanet

They’d chatted at the bakery enough times that Bitty was able to pull the information from Jack. He’d started coming to the bakery about four weeks ago, and during that time Bitty became more and more charmed with the second year grad student.

He always sat in the corner armchair, ordered a black coffee, two macarons and a slice of whatever the pie of the day was. Bitty first noticed him when he came in to order a slice of Weary Willie cake.

Bitty loved his job at the bakery, it gave him some extra cash while he attended Samwell. Whenever Bitty was there, he was the de facto person in charge. Shirley and Spencer, the owners of Bread and Butter adored Bitty.

“We never had any kids of our own, so you’re the closest thing to it, Bitty,” Shirley said to him one evening over a cup of earl grey tea.

So Bitty stood there, face to face with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen the first time Jack walked in. The Clark Kent glasses in front of them did nothing to hide the fact that they were beautiful. It was a good face, a handsome face. He was burly and tall, and Bitty loved that. He smiled, and Bitty’s body language invited Blue Eyes to speak.

“Can I get a slice of the Weary Willie cake?”

“Sure can, handsome,” Bitty said as he began to ring up Blue Eyes’ order, who blushed furiously. “What else can I do you for?”

“Coffee. Black. Medium, please,” he replied looking down at the counter.

“Why don’t you go find yourself a seat and I’ll bring it out to you,” Bitty said with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” Blue Eyes said softly and then turned to walk toward the corner armchair.

When Bitty approached, Blue Eyes had pulled out a laptop and several textbooks, the one on top of the pile was called Foundations of Modern European Intellectual History.

“Doing a little light reading, huh?” Bitty said as he put the cake and coffee on the side table.

“Oh, haha. Yes.”

“Do you go to Samwell?”

“I’m finishing up my masters in history there,” he said as he held up his book.

“That’s great. I haven’t seen you here before,” Bitty said wanting to know more about History Blue Eyes.

“I saw the chalkboard outside listing the Weary Willie cake and the history nerd in me became curious.”

“Look at you! You certainly are a history major.”

“Did you make the cake?” Jack asked raising his eyebrows.

“Sure did. My moomaw had the recipe from her mama.”

“Well, it’s not often I find a somewhat obscure historical reference on my way back to the history building.” 

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Creepypasta #1230: Do You Have A Cigarette?

Length: Medium

Some time ago, I went with my family to India to spend a few months with my family. Life’s more laid back for people who earn in America, since the equivalency of things like food, clothes, and cleaning is in our favor. Electronics and internet access are comparable or more expensive in certain cases, and so we decided to stay relatively tech-free.

We ended up going to spend some time in my mother’s family’s village, where her mom had grown up. Riding on some of the roads in the middle of Gujarat was definitely an interesting sight. It’s almost like the American countryside, but without paved roads, rest areas, and towns with nice restaurants. It was definitely fun, though, seeing some wilder forests and old bridges on our way out there. I had a good time with my cousins and my mom’s cousins, so I decided to stay a little longer after my parents and brother went back into the city.

Nights went by and we shared stories. We talked about how life was different across the world and the topic eventually came around to the supernatural. Rural India has a lot of interesting different kinds of ghosts and ghouls. Vetaals are sort of between zombies and vampires, for example.

My mom’s cousin started to talk about how when he was young, he’d go off with his friends and play in the woods, and one day they met a jhand. These particular ghosts were spirits of travelers lost on the road, who usually asked for some assistance. You wouldn’t really know anything was wrong until you looked down and saw their feet were on backwards. 

Him and his friends found a stray boy in the forest with a lost look in his eyes, asking for the road to the fort. They sort of got creeped out, because the only thing he could have been talking about was the city of Ahmedabad. It was a fort a few hundred years ago (there are still gates all around the city that are now monuments to its history), but it’s been a city instead for a while.

They noticed his clothes were a little funny, his dhoti was torn, and then they saw he had his feet on backwards. They freaked and booked it home, staying away from the woods for a long time after that. We all kind of laughed at the ridiculousness of the story, but gave the woods on the edge of town a wary look. On the whole, though, it was a great time.

A week flew by, and I had plans to meet up with my brother and cousins for shopping early the next morning. My cousin in the village, Gopal, said he’d be happy to take me into the city that night. He started up his motorcycle (two-wheelers are abundant in India because they’re cheap transportation). I got on back and we made our way slowly and carefully along the road back to Ahmedabad. We saw some people walking around in the villages we passed and a few cars on the road, but not much more.

We passed a section of road that went through the forest. I hadn’t remembered that from the drive out, but Gopal probably took a different route knowing what was safer and what wasn’t. We eased up a bit around a sharp bend, and suddenly, his engine died. We stopped in the middle of a dark road right in front of a small bridge over a stream.

Confused, he asked me to get down and help him take a look to see if there was anything wrong. No leaks, no stray problems. He goes to give it a kick-start, but the engine won’t turn over.

“Do you have a cigarette?”

We both jumped nearly out of our skin. There was a guy leaning up against one of the vaad trees nearby (peepal, or Sacred Fig tree). He looked a little creepy and was standing in the shade just off of the road so we couldn’t see him very well.

“Sorry?” I managed to ask.

“Give me a cigarette. I’m lost and had a bad day. I just need a smoke.”

Gopal motioned for me to back up towards the bike. “Sorry, man, we don’t smoke.” He kicked again, and the engine came to life. I hopped on, feeling very weirded out and glad to leave.

We were crossing the bridge and I let out a sigh, and just then, a feeling of dread passed over me. The wind was starting to pick up speed, as were we, but then out of nowhere-

“WHY DIDN’T YOU GIVE ME A CIGARETTE!” A harsh voice, rasping out a shout that was stifled enough to be a whisper. Loud and soft at the same time, it came from right behind my left ear. I jumped a bit, and snapped my head to the left to see a gruesome face filled with rage and demanding sympathy.

You know, I almost felt for him, too. Then I noticed that his head was floating next to me, and his neck and torso stretched over the bridge back to where that guy was standing. His fucking legs were still under the tree. I swear, if I could see his feet, they’d have been fucking backwards.

I couldn’t move or talk out of fear. I must have thrown off Gopal’s balance a bit when I was snapped my head around because I noticed we slowed down a bit.

Frantically, I started to smack his side with my right hand. Lucky for me, he looked over his left shoulder instead of his right. If he hadn’t… Anyway, he looks over his left, his eyes widen with fear, and whoosh.

He give it a hell of a lot of gas and we got the fuck out of there. We ended up making it home safely, though all kinds of shaken up. Gopal stayed overnight and left during the day, and since the village doesn’t really have internet access or reliable phone service, so I didn’t really know if he’d gotten home okay.

A week later, Gopal and his dad came to visit us before we left the city, and I was obviously glad that he was okay. I had told my mom the story, but no one else. It wasn’t until she saw the fear on Gopal’s face when I mentioned it that she believed me. They decided to pick up a carton of cigarettes on their way back to the village. Just in case anything happened in the future.

Credits to: jivanyatra (story)

America. South Bend, Indiana. 

People Of 1939 View The World of Tomorrow - Photo: Corbis (via WIRED)

General Motors’ Futurama exhibit let visitors view the world of tomorrow from comfortable, moving chairs while touring a vast scale model of the American countryside. Covering more than 35,000 square feet, Futurama was the largest scale model ever constructed, including more than 500,000 buildings, 1 million trees and 50,000 motor vehicles — many in motion.

In Poppyland
John Ottis Adams (American; 1851–1927)
Oil on canvas
David Owsley Museum of Art, Muncie, Indiana

reasons why “The King Is Dead” by The Decemberists is one of the most Raven Cycle album ever*

  • the title.
  • it was the first American folk-influenced/sounding album of the band after three albums that were more British folk revival ish.
  • Honestly it just sounds very folk countryside American? and what I pictured reading the books.
  • Don’t Carry It All is a Gansey song:
    • Buried wreath of trillium and ivy
      Laid upon the body of the boy
      Lazy will the long come from it’s hiding
      Return his quiet certitude to the soil
      So raise a glass to turnings of the season
      And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
      And you must bear your neighbor’s burden within reason
      And your labors will be borne when all is done

  • Rise To Me is just. such an Adam song:
    • Hey Henry, can you hear me,
      let me see those eyes
      this distance, between us
      can seem a mountain size
      but boy, you are gonna stand your ground
      they rise to you you’ll blow them down
      let me see you stand your ground
      they rise to you you’ll blow them down

  • All Arise! is the Ronan song:
    • You spit thick and you cross your heart
      But the culvert’s all run dry
      From keeping shotgun shy all arise
      Just be mine tonight
      So the dollar shot shot broke the law and they knocked you down
      Better call the coppers if you need someone to push you around
      But you keep on stealin’
      You keep on stealin’
      Yes, you keep on stealin’
      Well, there’s nothing left to steal
  • June Hymn is Blue’s song; also, just Henrietta and its magic in general:
    • Here’s a hymn to welcome in the day
      Heralding a summer’s early sway
      And all the bulbs all coming in,
      To begin
      The thrushes bleating battle with the wrens
      Disrupts my reverie again
      Pegging clothing on the line
      Training jasmine how to vine
      Up the arbor to your door,
      And more
      You’re standing on the landing with the war
      You shouldered all the night before

  • … and January Hymn is Noah’s.
    • Hail the winter days after dark
      Wandering the gray memorial park
      A fleeting beating of hearts
      What were the words I meant to say before she left?
      When I could see her breath lead where she was going to
      Maybe I should just let it be
      And maybe it will all come back to me

  • The rest of the songs can definitely fit minor characters or just the gang in general, too (especially Dear Avery, could fit any of the main characters, and Why We Fight)
  • it’s just a great album

* that I’ve known and listened to numerous time. It might be because of how important this album is to me, though, and I love linking things I like together.