#and every picture you see of tanya is in black and white do her eye color is almost impossible to decipher

[kindheartedgummybears]

Random sad before bed thought: do you think the reason Taylor/Tabitha's eyes are brown is because Anthony forgot Tanya's eye color?

[thatfanfictionchick]

MysMe : 707 x OC : Wake Up Call

It’s flirty fluff times here folks no need to break out the crosses.

I just really love Seven okay?

(P.S. I know next to nothing about this game because I’m only getting on to day 4 [and also trying to secure Zen’s route] so we’re gonna call this like, canon divergence or something if necessary)

y’all gotta suspend the knowledge that Seven sends his little personalized emojis or any other photos whatsoever kay

* * *

The first time Seven called her, Tanya was on day 3 of her sudden and bizarre lockup in “Rika’s” apartment. She knew next to nothing about him, other than he was apparently a genius hacker, a flirt, a hopeless cat lover, and an absolute menace to society.

She may have already been falling in love.

“Hello! This is Seven Zero Seven!” It was early, only just after 6am. Pale golden rays of light were starting to filter through the lacy curtains and she rubbed her eyes sleepily.

His voice was deeper than she expected. “I thought you’d sound different...” she mumbled.

“What? Sound different? What am I supposed to sound like?”

“I dunno.” she tapped on the dim screen, squinting at the picture that always came up with his correspondence. A black square with a pair of tortoise shell glasses and a smile. She wondered what he looked like. Outside the grainy black and white photo Jumin had shared of the “cat abuser”, his appearance was a mystery. “You’re a hacker, so...nerdy.”

“Nerdy?! God Seven, nerdy?” He sounded positively aghast. She snickered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

By day seven, Seven was calling her every morning and every night. He was equal shares salty and sweet. He either bragged about his teasing of the other RFA members, teased her, or buried her in flirtatious compliments. He shamelessly used pet names for everyone and she found it more than heart warming.

“You’re a monster.” she grumbled as she answered the phone, hitting the [speaker] button and holding the phone above her head as she rubbed her eyes sleepily. “Why you always gotta call so early, huh?”

“How else am I supposed to see how cute you look first thing in the morning?”

Tanya sprang up in bed, hand stilling as it dragged through her tangled hair and gaping at the phone. “How do you know that!” she yelped. Hacker she thought suddenly, eyes locking on the camera pinhole at the top of the device. With an embarrassed squeal she slapped the phone down on the bed, covering the back of it with her hand. Seven’s laugh rang in her ears.

“Don’t be like that! Your bedhead is adorable!”

“N-not fair!” Tanya croaked loudly. She threw the heavy comforter aside and took the phone up again, careful to keep the cameras covered as it rested on her chest. “I don’t get to see what you look like first thing in the morning so...so you don’t get to spy on me!”

“You think that’ll-hey, do those socks have cats on them??” Her knee high socks did indeed have cats printed on them and she looked around the room wildly.

“Dammit, Seven!” she growled, spotting the webcam atop the computer across the room with it’s blinking red light. Grabbing the t-shirt she’d worn yesterday she rolled out of bed and stomped halfway before lobbing the lump of fabric and covering the webcam. “Stop cheating!” She barely heard the phone beep over the sound of his laughter.

“Alright, alright! I guess it’s not fair to keep such a cutie in the dark.”

With her brow furrowed Tanya tenatively lifted the phone and tapped on the notification. Immediately her face was on fire and she made the verbal equivalent of someone key smashing.

The photo Seven had sent was of him lounging in bed (a place nearly foreign to him). He was wearing a black tank top, one arm under his head. He was as pale as she expected, for a shut in hacker and all, with a mop of bright red hair. He was winking rather cheekily, but the honeyed gold color of his eye was striking, his glasses pushed up on his forehead further mussing his hair.

With a flustered gasp she clasped her phone back to her chest, staring wide-eyed at the opposite wall.

Oh no. He’s hot!

“You all right there darlin’?” He sounded far too amused at her expense.

“F-fine!”

“Cause you’re looking a little flustered to me.”

“Sh-shut up, Seven!”

[breaniebree]

Talking about my love for my OC with @xxqueenofdragonsxx​.  This is my Zahira as best as I can make her, though someone awesome may be drawing me some amazing fan art of her so fingers crossed. 

ZAHIRA ZELENA ZACARIAS (ZEE):

Magizoologist, works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for the Ministry of Magic.

Born 9th April, 1964 to parents Michael Ivanovich (Misha) Zacarias and Magnolia Jackson Zacarias.  Misha, a Muggleborn Russian Auror who is following the trail of a dark wizard and finds himself in Paris where he meets the American witch Magnolia Jackson.  They fall in love and get married and Magnolia moves to Moscow to be with him and then when Zee is six, her mother is killed.  

I think that it was a gruesome death, a curse that tortured her for days before she finally succumbed to her death.  They were living in Russia at the time and Zee was with her Baba and Deda, as she was only six, and her mother had gone into town to do some shopping.  The dark wizard was stalking her and cursed her.  She was left alone in an alley to die and wasn’t found for almost six hours, by then, the curse had taken over too much of her and any attempt at saving her life was impossible.  She’d lost her mind and Zee was never able to say goodbye.  Magnolia didn’t even recognize Misha when he found her which was part of why it hurt Misha so much to lose her in the end.

Misha meets Sorcha Brown when Zee is eight, a freelance journalist from Scotland. Zee grew up travelling between Scotland and Moscow and she always loved animals.  She spent her summers visiting her American grandparents on their ranch in Toccoa, Georgia where her grandmother owns a 50s diner called Flo’s and her grandfather is chief of police.  Her stepmother is the mother she grew up with.  Mama, seeing Zee’s love for animals always allowed her to bring home strays.  Her father continued to work in Russia, travelling back and forth via international portkey every day when they spent time in Scotland.  And when it came time for her to go to school, they decided to send her to the wizarding school in Russia — the Koldovstoretz School of Magic because it had such an amazing Care of Magical Creatures program.  She speaks fluent French, Russian, and Mermish because of her upbringing and her career and a little bit of Greek.

She has 4 tattoos:

Gold and green tribal elephant on right side of ribs

Red and gold dragon across spine

Black niffler on back of her neck

Zee tattoo over scar - deep green vines with bright blue orchids scattered from the top of her left hip down the side of her thigh, wrapping around her knee, Lady Godiva hidden in the vines covering her scar lying on a bed of blue orchids ending at her ankle.  I AM WOMAN written on one side, HEAR ME ROAR, written on the other.

Zee found him napping on the sofa and she smiled at the sight of him, bending to kiss his forehead.  Her curls tickled his face, a small smile on his lips.  Not wanting to disturb him, she hurried upstairs to pack the rest of her bag.  She changed into a short halter dress over her new bikini and was admiring her calf in the mirror when he came in.

His eyes met hers in the mirror and the look in them sent desire raking through her.

“When did you get home?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago?  You looked so peaceful having your nap.”

“I was resting my eyes,” he said, making her grin.

“Right.”

Sirius moved towards her, his eyes trailing down her body.  “You look fucking gorgeous.”  His gaze stopped on her leg, a brow rising.  “You got a new tat?”

Zee held onto his arm as he picked up her leg to examine the new tattoo.  She had gotten Lady Godiva.  She’d done her panther’s sleek form in a dark black outline but other than her golden eyes, she’d coloured the panther in with flowered camouflage.  Purple perennials and pink tulips, red roses and blue lilacs that brightened her leg and covered every inch of the ugly burn scar to the back of her knee.  Deep green vines and leaves surrounded the outline of the panther, framing the words written down either side of the panther in cursive: I Am Woman and on the other side it continued with: Hear Me Roar.

“Fuck, that’s sexy,” Sirius murmured, his fingertips tracing the words. 

“Yeah?”  Zee said.  “I didn’t want to look at my burn anymore so I wanted to cover it with something beautiful.”

“And the Reddy lyrics?”

She grinned.  “Points to you.”

Sirius let go of her leg and bent his head to kiss her.  “I love it.  But you were sexy with the scar too.”

Zee slipped her arms around his neck.  “And that, Mr Black, is one of the many reasons why I love you.”

Sirius slid his hands up her back into her hair.  “Let’s go shag on the beach.”

She laughed as he let her go and picked up their bags.  “Sounds perfect.”

As he walked out the door, she couldn’t help but think that she had never loved anyone more than the man before her.  She didn’t know what the future held for her, but she did know that her future was nothing without Sirius Black and Harry Potter. (Excerpt from A Second Chance, chapter 213)

Zee’s wand was made by Gregorvich and it is chestnut as the wood meshes with her love of animals, I think it’s short like her, only 15 cm  in length and her core is from a coral reef.  Her wand core gives the owner patience, someone with a coral reef core knows how to bring things to fruition, provide protection for all, as well as generate longevity.  They have a knack for deflecting disaster, whatever form it takes.  They are also loving, nurturing, and healing; are a source of enduring friendship and support and often the glue that holds the ship together.  I thought it sounded very much like Zee.

She stands no taller than 156 cm (roughly 5′1 and 3/4) and often wears 4 inch heels as if she was born in them, preferably her heeled cowboy boots.  She has long dark brown hair with golden caramel highlights mixed through it.  Her grandmother on her mum’s side was African-American so her skin is like a caramel toffee.  She loves bright red lipstick and big earrings.  She wears a white gold and turquoise turtle belly button ring and usually has smaller hoops or studs in her ears above the big hoops.  As shown above and mentioned before, she is very curvy, hourglass and I picture her body type like Jaydah Doll, but her face is the gorgeous model at the top (I saw her and thought Zee).

Her pet is a panther named Lady Godiva.  She rescued her from Muggles who were hunting her and her pack in Kenya.  Her parents were killed and she was the only cub that she could find so she nurtured her and kept her safe.  Why Godiva?

“I always admired her bravery; standing up for what she wanted and doing the only thing that she could do at the time to make her stand.  No one would listen to her and she had no power and no ability to use weapons.  She wasn’t a witch with powers to sway them so she set out on a horse, completely nude, and she got the attention she wanted.  She made her mark.  I found Lady Godiva in Kenya, hiding from the Muggles who had shot and killed her family, when I rescued her and confronted the Muggles, she jumped from my arms and stood in front of me, growling at them, almost daring them to fight her to get to me.  I thought that she was making her stand, a cub with no power of her own, but she was trying.  So I named her Godiva.” (Excerpt from A Second Chance, chapter 65)

Her grandfather on her dad’s side was a Muggle and veteran of the Second World War.  He drove a 1937 BSA M20 and it’s hers now.  She loves motorcycles and getting her hands dirty.  She’s an incredible cook.  She likes to read mystery, horror, and romance novels.  She travels for her job and has been all over the world, but has recently been enjoying her time working in the menagerie within the Ministry of Magic and helping to organize it.

As to the Koldovstoretz School of Magic, I like to think it’s hidden somewhere deep in Russia and that it looks like the ruins Balga Castle to prevent anyone from finding it, but when you get through the warding it opens up and looks the Vologda Kremlin and Saint Sophia Cathedral, just gorgeous Russian architecture -- but not as large as Hogwarts’ castle.  It says that they played a version of Quidditch there where they flew on uprooted trees instead of broomsticks -- which is another reason why I think Zee was never big into playing the sport herself.  Also I imagine her as short and curvy, which means she may not have great balance on a broom, and she loves riding the motorbike and likes the Muggle machine more than a broomstick if she has to choose.

As to her family tree:

The Jacksons:

Colten (Muggle) and Florence Jackson

Daughter Magnolia Jackson Zacarias (deceased) married to Michael (Misha) Zacarias with one daughterZahira Zelena Zacarias

The Zacarias’:

Ivan and Anya Zacarias (Muggles – Ivan was the soldier in WWII with the motorbike that he gave to Zee)

1. Michael (Misha) Ivanovich Zacarias m. Magnolia Jackson Zacarias (d) m. Sorcha Brown Zacarias

(a) Zahira Zelena Zacarias eng. Sirius Orion Black

(i) Harry James Potter

(ii) Twin 1 and Twin 2 Black (due January 1997)

2. Olga Ivanova Zacarias Petrov m. Dimtri Petrov

(a) Mikhail Petrov m. Ana Ivanov

(i) Yuri Petrov (11)

(b) Mila Petrov Sokolov m. Nicholas Sokolov

(i) Nastasia Sokolov (9)

(ii) Dinara Sokolov (6)

3. Sasha Zacarias Blok m. Yerik Blok

(a) Tanya Blok Fedorov m. Alek Fedorov

(i) Eva and Irina (twin girls identical) (2)

(b) Tatiana Blok eng. Iosif Kuznetsov

The Browns:

Callum and Fiona Brown

Brian Brown m. Jocasta Fitzgibbons

(a) Dougal Brown m. Ellen Smith

(i) Jenny Brown (24)

(ii) Ian Brown (22)

Sorcha Brown m. Misha Zacarias

(a) Zahira Zacarias

Names for Family Members:

Ivan & Anya = Baba and Deda

Tetya = auntie

Dyadya = uncle

Misha & Sorcha = Papa and Grandmama

Colt & Flo = Grandpa and Grandma

Callum & Fiona = Gran and Grandda

Basically, I love her and I’m so glad that other people have come to love her as much as me.

Zeerius is my canon.

@velvethopewrites​ thank you for loving her enough to put her in your Muggle AU.

[hes-writer]

Just A Little Bit of Your Heart

Summary: Harry and Y/N are in an open relationship

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 1895 words

Harry and Y/N were in an open relationship, that is, they were together for the public but behind closed doors (and non-disclosure agreements) they were far from being the ‘perfect couple’. On the outside, they were completely and utterly enamored with each other.

The press always managed to snag a picture of Harry’s face, melting in adoration every time he looked at Y/N and he definitely used that to his advantage. He managed to create an image of himself; a kind, humble, affectionate gentleman that would do anything for his lady, Y/N. Don’t get this wrong, Harry was the epitome of God in human form. He was everything described, except his affection weren’t only for Y/N.

There were a couple of women—a lot of them, actually—who surrounded Harry whenever they went out to dinner parties together. Like a predator to prey, to which Harry was, and he let them have their way at him. Of course, he always made sure that Y/N was driven home safely before he hitched a ride with his flavor of the night.

Like a few days ago, they were out on a movie premiere on a new Nolan movie. Out of respect and an invitation, Harry had spent days planning his statement outfit. He also set out choices for Y/N to pick from as she would be the final touch of his look that night. While he wore a black blazer with gold embellishments, Y/N dressed in a fitting black dress with dandelion lace and gold beads to match his suit.

The day after the event was met with significant mentions and tags from fans on both their social media accounts. Tabloids and headline articles also stacked on the Google page. “Harry and Y/N: the Golden couple” and various other play on words praised their choice of clothing for the night. It then went on how Harry had placed his hand gently on her mid-waist, pulling Y/N closer to him when a slight mob gathered around them on the red carpet. An action that could only be described as ‘sweet’ and ‘caring’, ‘protective’ even made the list.

The authors went on to flatter both their egos; how perfectly they complemented each other, and not just with the gold and black—but as well as their personalities. Harry and Y/N were public figures, him with singing and her with acting, meaning that everything was out in the open. Criticisms and comments weren’t always the best and the pair had learned to handle the rude fans in the best ways. Treat people with kindness, Harry said. And that they did.

When she was blazed with anger and frustration when a fan harassed her brother through Twitter, Harry was there to steady her by her shoulders and told her to breathe. Somehow, a video of that went viral and indirectly suggested that they were perfect for each other because they knew one another so well.

After the first screening of the movie, all the invited guests were ushered in the dining hall. Round tables filled with celebrities and notable people mingled with each other for business, or for just an awkward couple of hours. Y/N and Harry were lucky that Liam was in the same table as them, as well as Shawn, and a woman who had been moved to their table by accident.

It was lucky—indeed—because Y/N didn’t have to pretend to be okay in front of her good friends as much as she would with strangers. Sitting beside Harry was one thing; his hand lazily lying on her exposed thigh was another. Yet, it all meant that both of them were together. Y/N was happy that he was showing affection, albeit for a show, but it’s been days since he’d even come close to her.

They lived in the same house, it made headlines, of course. It was nothing special, really. If anything, it was only a place for them to rest a night. None of them really hung around that much individually due to their schedules.  It was a surprise, however, when Harry started coming home extremely late and he sometimes didn’t even step foot for the night at all. It was the moment when things changed significantly for both of them.

So when Y/N’s attention shifted from the special thanks speech that the director was giving to the cold breeze caressing the skin where Harry’s palm no longer strayed—she wished that he never even gave her a taste of affection in the first place. Because now, she craved for it more than ever and he single-handedly plucked it out from her reach. Her eyes traced the white of his dress shirt—having taken off his suit jacket—only to find it bent in a sneaky wave to a person a few tables away. And god, she wished that she could go back in time and made up an excuse about not attending the event because then the heartbreak she was feeling right now would be nonexistent.

It was as if a hammer smashed her heart to pieces, beating down the already cracked organ and dwindling to crumbs with no way to save it. A dull throb pounded within her and she squirmed in her seat when her stomach grumbled in the discomfort of the sight. The sound of people clapping threw her off her destructive thoughts and she mindlessly applauded along with them. And with that, people stood up to go on the dance floor, doubling as a bar. She shook her head in rejection when Liam and Shawn asked her if she wanted to join the lot of them. She would rather stay here with her love.

Sadly, the feeling wasn’t mutual. As soon as people dispersed and gradually loosened up with drinks in hand, Harry was quick to lean over and whisper to Y/N. She had been sitting there, motionlessly, hoping that maybe her boyfriend would ask her to dance with him. Or just do anything with him; she would gladly do it.

“Y/N, think ‘m gonna head off tonight,” His breath hit her neck in warm gusts but the chill the ran through her spine was nothing but.

Though she was expecting such an action sooner or later throughout the night, a part of her really believed that they would be heading home together hand-in-hand with smiles on their faces from an enjoyable night. Maybe they’d even reconciled with the act of making love—she wore her black lingerie that made Harry not want to keep his hands to himself. That wasn’t the case because as Y/N moved her head to face him directly, his eyes never watched her hurt expression and instead, focused on the woman in the red dress.

She was beautiful. Her dress made her stand out from the crowd of dark colors and Y/N mentally shamed herself for not wearing something else. The design on her chest made ample of cleavage be visible to the eye and Y/N wondered if that was what caught Harry’s attention. It seemed that both of them were itching to leave the place and do God knows what because the woman barely glanced at Y/N even if she was sitting right beside Harry.

“Where are you going?” Y/N questioned, fully knowing the answer to that. He had done it plenty of times before and there was no use in pretending anymore.

He finally looked down at her, his eyes darkened in lust and dilated in want—not mentioning the hand that was slowly adjusting the bump in his pants. It wasn’t Y/N, however. “Just some hotel,”

“Will you be coming home tonight?”

“‘M not sure, love,” He answered, twisting his body to grab the jacket that hung on the chair. “I’ll text you to let you know, though.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, his soft lips being the last touch she’d receive from him for the night. “Love you,”

Harry didn’t wait for her to respond. Quickly standing on his feet, he walked briskly away from Y/N and towards the exit where the woman had been standing for a bit of time while Harry bid his goodbyes. She greeted him with a nod and kept her distance, knowing full well that they couldn’t be risked being seen touching each other.

She watched as the pair disappeared through the spinning glass doors, his hand hovering over her mid waist like he did with her. Y/N stayed immobilized in her chair, unable to move anything–not even her eyes. Like she said, Harry had done this so many times before that every move he made was predictable, but somehow it still took her by surprise by how easily he moved to leave her behind for another that gave him something she couldn’t–apparently–satisfy.

Every time he left was like a pull to her heart and it was getting repetitive to the point that there was nothing to pull and she was just in a constant state of pain that seemed to have no end. There were nights where she stayed up late waiting for him to enter through the front doors, and when he didn’t, the worry ceased to disappear and she had to cry herself to sleep at night to let her eyes go sore enough that she couldn’t keep them open. Right now was no different, except she wished that she was in the comfort of their shared home and shielded from the prying cameras that documented every bit of her life.

Once she felt the wet drops lingering on her waterline, Y/N knew she had to get out of the venue as soon as possible.

“Y/N! Are you leaving?” Shawn yelled out, calling after her breathlessly.

She wiped the tears carefully–not wanting to smudge her makeup and look even more distraught–to her temples and hairline. “Yeah, I uh have an early morning tomorrow,”

He nodded understandingly, walking to his seat to grab his suit jacket as well. “Where’s Harry? Did he leave?” He looked at her with an intense gaze.

Shawn was one of the few people who knew about their open relationship, aside from the crew that worked with both of them daily. He didn’t approve of it since he didn’t want to see it ‘blow up in her face’ in the end.

“Yeah, she left with that lady in the red dress,” She pointed at the table, and then laid her chin on her forearms.

“Tanya?”

“Is that her name? Actually, whatever don’t make her a real person to me,” Y/N interrupted. “Makes me feel less hurt somehow if I, you know, pretend.”

Shawn bobbed his head, slipping his arms in the holes of the silk fabric. “Let me take you home,”

Defeated and worn out, Y/N agreed–no way was she in a state to travel alone right now. Shawn and Y/N left the building together, and just like Harry, Shawn’s palm grazed the fabric of her lower back carefully to steady her.

Y/N was so done with today that she didn’t pay mind to the man and the blinding flash that captured a ‘provocative’ picture of the both of them. She shrugged it off, knowing that the press will twist the pictures to match their words.

----

new series! let me know what you thought :D

permanent taglist; @ynm1505 @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @calums-sugarbaby @kettxo @send-me-styles @ashkuuuu @queenbeestuffs @ofpeppermintbay @harrysfeastedflower @harrystxleslx @swayingnoodlelove @mendesromano @peter-parkersbb @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem

[neganandblake]

I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a knife in your hand, Peaches... Chapter 200 - When I close my eyes

When Blake finds herself sold out to the Saviours by her abusive fiancé, she realises that she’s certainly not on her own anymore and finds an unlikely friend in Negan. And Negan does NOT like men who beat their girlfriends, one tiny bit….

Chapter 200 - When I close my eyes

[Brandon confronts Blake about his brother’s whereabouts, but is Blake quite able to handle that conversation so soon?]

--------------

Blake stared in horror at the man before her, the man from a life she had thought was long gone.

He was now a mere ghost from her past, a speck of memory, familiar and yet so foreign.

Brandon was stood before her, blue eyes searching her face, oh-so hopefully awaiting an answer to the question of his brother's whereabouts.

But Blake right now was floundering like a fish, mouth hanging slightly agape, still in shock.

For although Brandon had always been tall and blonde with piercing blue eyes just like his brother, he had always been slightly stockier than David, and was always seen with a large amount of facial hair.

But now, looking like he had lost a significant amount of weight in the last few years since the world had gone to shit, and now clean shaven too, Brandon bore a frightening resemblance to his abusive younger brother.

"B-Brandon," Blake managed to stutter out, as Brandon lifted his hand to the blonde's upper arm.

"I am so glad to see that you made it, Blakey," he said, the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly as he smiled down at her, in that moment looking so very much like her deceased fiancé. The man Blake had murdered.

Blake felt her heart begin to race inside her chest, as flashes on those horrible moments where David had hit her, yelled at her, inflicted bruises upon her skin, appeared in her mind eye.

"A-And David, is he-"

But before Brandon could finish, Blake had shaken her head and taken a sudden step backwards, flinching away from his touch.

"I-I'm so sorry, I-I-I've got to go…" she just about managed to squeak out, hands trembling, looking like the epitome of a rabbit trapped in the headlights.

And as quick as a flash, knowing that everyone in the room was staring at her, Blake fled, with Brandon calling after her as she went.

The sound of his voice calling her name echoed after her in her ears as she hurried back across the Sanctuary back up the expansive staircases, finally reaching her and Negan's room just a few short minutes later.

Bursting through the door and shutting it closed quickly behind her, finally here, hidden away from Brandon and the ghost of her ex, Blake was able to breathe again.

She let out a shuddering breath of air, hanging her head for a second before sudden voice spoke behind her.

"Everythin' alright, Darlin'?"

Blake almost jumped out of her skin, turning and blinking several times, shaking herself, to see Negan sat there, a look of concern etched over his dark and handsome features.

He was lounging there now, on the bed beside a sleeping Mia, his back propped up against the headboard, t-shirt back on and large bare feet crossed one over the other. Obviously having somehow, by some miracle, managed to get the antsy toddler back into bed and to sleep.

It was then that Blake finally remembered what she had gone downstairs to fetch in the first place.

"I uh…I forgot Mia's milk…" uttered Blake in a distant sounding voice.

Negan pushed himself from the bed and got to his feet, strolling over towards her. And in a second Blake felt his fingers on her chin, tilting her face so that her gaze finally met with his.

"Somethin' happen down there, Doll-face?"

His dark eyes searched hers for an answer, but Blake right now didn't want to give one. She didn't want to admit that the brother of her ex-fiancé, the man she had murdered, was now stood just downstairs. After all this time, here. Just when Blake felt like her life was finally getting back on track. When her old life, a life before Negan, was just a faded memory to her.

But now here it was, her past coming back to blind her, to haunt her with the stark reality of it all. No longer black and white, but colour now. As clear as anything.

"No….I just…" Blake tore her eyes away from Negan's, and moved over to the bed. "...I got distracted talking to Tanya is all."

But it was obvious from his silence and the way he stared after her, jaw set, that Negan did not believe her.

Blake didn't dare look at him now. She would tell him tomorrow. When she had had a moment to think things over.

Bending over a sleeping Mia and brushing a tuft of hair back from her sticky cheek, Blake pressed a gentle kiss to the toddler's forehead, before standing up straight again and heading into the bathroom.

But she had only just made it to the door, when she felt Negan's strong hand on the crook of her elbow, guiding her firmly into the bathroom, out of earshot of the snoozing little girl.

Inside, he turned her around to face him, his face a picture of pure concern, a frown sitting between his thick brows and his eyes wide and sad looking.

"Peaches, Darlin', we really doin' this again? You keepin' shit from me?" he said with a shake of his head. "Look I know somethin' happened, You're as white as a goddamn sheet, and shit, Doll, I can see you're fucking shaking like a leaf."

With that, Negan reached for Blake's still trembling hands, grasping them tightly in his own.

Before she could stop them, Blake's eyes welled with tears.

Fuck. How was he able to read her so well?

"Peaches…" he sighed imploringly, swiping a tear, that dared to trickle down her cheek, away with his thumb.

Blake took a breath steadying herself, giving Negan's hands a squeeze back.

"Downstairs…Simon and Gavin…t-they just came back from their run-" Blake began.

But Negan scowled suddenly.

"I swear, if that stupid moustache-wearin' son of a bitch said anythin' to you, he is gonna feel the full weight of my fuckin'-"

"No, Negan," said Blake, freeing one of her hands from his and pressing it flat against his heart soothingly. "Simon didn't do anything."

Chewing on her lip, she wavered for a moment before continuing.

"Simon and Gavin, they brought a group back and…well…one of them…"

Blake dropped her eyes momentarily, before staring up at Negan again.

"One of them is David's brother."

For a moment or two, Negan didn't react. So much so, that Blake wasn't sure whether to repeat herself.

She was just about to open her mouth to explain further when Negan spoke.

"An', let me guess, this guy was askin' after ol' Davey boy? All concerned about his fuckin' whereabouts."

Blake swallowed hard and nodded.

As always, Negan had hit the nail on the head.

"An' I'm guessin' you haven't told him what happened?"

Blake let out a shaky breath.

"Haven’t told him that he beat seven fuckin' bells outta you, pushed you down a flight of fuckin' stairs, made you feel like shit each and every fuckin' day?" Negan continued.

A tearful Blake shook her head shamefully once more.

"I didn't know how to tell him-" she started, but Negan cut across her.

"You shouldn' fuckin' have to, Sweetheart. That son of a bitch should've fuckin' known what a piece of shit his damn brother was," said the dark-haired man sounding angry, his tongue reaching his back molars in a look of pure annoyance.

He was silent for a very brief second or two before he lifted his hand to cup Blake's cheek.

"Leave it to me, Darlin'," he said in a soothing voice. "By mornin' he'll be gone an' you'll never have to see that motherfucker again."

But at his words, Blake paled, frowning suddenly and giving a hurried shake of her head.

"No please don't," she said in desperation. "I need to tell him myself. I need to tell him what happened. I-I have to. David was his brother-"

Negan gave a sorry frown, gazing at her.

"Fuck that shit, Peaches," he said imploringly. "You don't owe this guy anythin'. An' after what that asshole did to you-"

Negan shook his head again, unable to finish his sentence.

Blake knew why of course. With the Saviour obviously unable to comprehend just how anyone would be able to do something like that to the woman stood before him. The woman he loved

"Please…" pleaded Blake. "Brandon at least has the right to know what David did. You're right. I don't owe him anything. But I owe myself it."

Blake sighed heavily.

"What David did to me, I thought I'd let it go, thought I'd moved on…but it's still there, when I close my eyes, when I think that everything's ok…"

She pursed her lips, gazing up at the dark-haired man before her.

"I just…I need to tell him, Negan."

Blake held her breath, waiting for Negan's reaction, but he was still. And it was only after a few short seconds that he let out a hard sigh of his own and pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her.

"I know you do, Peaches," he said in a low voice, almost humming the words into her hair, as she tucked her head beneath his bearded chin. "Tomorrow though, alright? Shit, I can see that tonight you ain't in the right fuckin'' headspace tonight to be doin' anythin'."

It warmed Blake to know that despite Negan's initial anger at Blake's depressive incident after the loss of their child, he now understood what triggers had caused her to slip into that painful state of mind. Reluctant to let anything that hurt her, set all that off again.

Blake let out a sigh, pulling back from him and wiping at her own tear strewn cheeks.

"Yeah," she nodded, feeling her stomach lurch at just the thought of telling Brandon just who had been the cause of his brother's death. "Tomorrow."

----------------

Sorry, not the most exciting chapter but I’ve just finished the first two weeks of my new job, so slightly distracted atm.

But yay, we made it to 200!! Thank you for all your support guys, it really means a lot that some of you are still reading after so long (even despite all my typos!).

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[suburbantimewaster]

Blast from the Past Chapter 1 Illustration

First, I should tell you that I did NOT draw this.  I bought this illustration from s2ka on deviantart.  It’s for chapter one of my Batman Under the Red Hood fanfic, Blast From The Past.  I’ve been thinking about working on this one as well because, ever since getting back into Aladdin, I remembered how I once compared Roxanne (the woman in the picture) to Princess Jasmine.  The scene on the left is from the past while the scene on the right is from the present.  Also, I picked Sarah Michelle Gellar as Roxanne’s voice.

Roxanne practiced her moves at the Gotham Park, thankful that it was cloudy today.  Both her parents were still working and the only people back at home were Roxanne's sister and her sister's boyfriend.  It was a thought she  didn't find enjoyable.  Roxanne delivered a swift round house kick with her right leg, trying to take her mind off of what was going on at home right now.

"Nice moves," a voice said, distracting her.  "For a beginner."

"Who are you calling a beginner?" Roxanne asked, getting her left leg ready to kick and keeping her arms in a fighting stance.

"Only ones here are the two of us," the boy said arrogantly.  "So, I'm guessing you."

"I'll have you know that I'm a—" Roxanne began, irritated with the stranger's attitude, only to find herself looking into the eyes of a boy about her age.

With jet black hair that fell into his emerald green eyes, a pretty yet strong face, bad boy clothes and a physique that an adult male model would kill for, she found herself lost for words.

"You're a what?" he asked Roxanne, snapping her out of her daze.

"A red belt," she finished, turning away so he wouldn't see her blush.

The boy scoffed, "You're serious?"

"All right," Roxanne told him, turning to face the boy and crossing her arms under her breasts.  "Let's see you do better."

"Is that a challenge?" the boy asked with a gleam in his eye.

"Y-yeah," Roxanne said, straightening her hair.  "I mean, if that's how you take it."

The boy straightened his body into a fighting stance.  "You're on."

The boy threw a punch at her but Roxanne was quick to block it with her left forearm, her right hand waiting at her hip.  Then she struck her right hand, aiming for the boy's plexus only for him to move to the right, barely grazing him.

"A reverse twist punch," the boy said admirably as he grabbed her wrist with his left hand.  "Not bad."

Then the boy grabbed his left wrist, pushing Roxanne's arm backwards and walking forward, lightly pushing her on the ground.

"But I'm better," the boy told her smugly.

"All right, you win," Roxanne said, feeling ashamed.  "Congratulations."

"Don't put yourself down," the boy said, helping Roxanne up to her feet.  "You have potential, you just need to unleash it."

"Really?" Roxanne said hopefully, gazing into his eyes.

"Yeah, you just need a trainer," the boy told her, shrugging his shoulders.  "If you want, I'd be happy to help you out..."

"Roxanne," Roxanne told him, running her fingers through her hair.  "Roxanne Taylor."

"I'm Jason," the boy told him.  "Jason Todd."

Jason Todd, where had she heard that name before?  It was a common name but Roxanne remembered one particular instance where she heard it over and over.

"Do you mean Jason Todd as in Bruce Wayne's ward?" Roxanne asked, hoping Jason wouldn't get offended if she was wrong.

"Yeah, that's me," Jason told her bitterly.  "And I'm guessing the Taylor stands for Tanya's sister."

"Yeah," Roxanne said bitterly.

"The Queen Bee?" Jason asked.  "Every guy wants to date her, every girl wants to be her?"

"Yeah, that's my sister," Roxanne said, feeling anger seep in her voice.  "Look, if you want a date with her, I'm afraid she's—"

"Already taken?" Jason said nonchalantly.  "Good, he can keep her."

Roxanne stared at Jason like he said that the sky was green.

"You mean.." Roxanne said, struggling to find the right words.  "You're not interested in Tanya?"

"No, not really," Jason told her.  "To tell you the truth, she's not really my type."

"Really?" Roxanne said excitedly.  Then lowered her voice and ran her fingers through her hair.  "I mean, why's that?"

"Let's just say that your sister's not one of my favorite people," Jason told her with a sly smirk.

"Great!" Roxanne said, then lowered her voice.  "I mean, she's not one of my favorite people either."

Roxanne felt like she was walking on air.  A cute guy was talking to her who was not only skilled but also the second adopted son of Gotham's playboy billionaire, and he doesn't like Tanya!  How great was that?

"So, we have that in common," Roxanne said, dragging her right foot on the grass.  "Well, that and we're both martial arts fans."

"What's your number?" Jason asked.

"My number?" Roxanne said, staring at Jason like he just asked her to take her clothes off.

"Yeah, that way we can get together some time and find out what else we have in common," Jason explained.

"Right, of course," Roxanne said snapping back to reality as she retrieved her purse from a nearby parking bench and got her cell phone out, reading her number out to Jason, who put it in his cell phone.

"Thanks, Roxy," Jason said, smiling at her.

"Thank you but could you not call me Roxy?" Roxanne asked, slightly annoyed.

"Why, what's wrong with Roxy?" Jason asked, looking up from his phone.

"I just don't like it," Roxanne said, shrugging her shoulders.

"I think it sounds cute," Jason told her.

"You think I'm cute?" Roxanne said, feeling another blush as her heart pounded like a drumkit and then quickly correcting herself.  "I mean, you think it's cute?"

"Yeah, I do," Jason said, smiling at her.

"Thank you," Roxanne said, turning away from Jason so he wouldn't see her blush.  That's when she noticed the time on her phone.  "Look, I've got to get back home."  Then quickly added so he wouldn't think that she was trying to avoid him.  "It was nice meeting you."

"I'll call you sometime," Jason told her as she left.

Roxanne couldn't believe what just happened.  The hottest guy she could ever imagine with amazing skills that were almost equal to Batman, not only offered to train her but gave her his number and he was Bruce Wayne's ward.  Tanya would flip when she told her. * * *

Roxanne rubbed sun block on her porcelain skin from inside her car, her sky blue eyes shielded by the sun with a pair of dark sunglasses.  She put the sun block in her purse, took her sunhat off the passenger's seat and stepped out of the car, putting it on top of her long straight raven black hair with a blood red streak that stopped at her shoulder blades with the wind blowing a few strands blowing it front of her oval shaped face.  A pink UV shirt with blue UV pants, gloves and a pair of black stiletto heels protected Roxanne's skin from the sun.  She set the boxed cake down and fetched some digging tools, making her way to Jason Todd's grave.

"Hey, Jason, me again and on your birthday," Roxanne said, digging in the grave.  "I managed to get your favorite cake.  Don't worry, I didn't make it.  Even dead, it seems cruel to give you my cooking.  Though you were the only one who could stand it."

As soon as the hole was big enough, Roxanne set the cake inside and went to work burying it.

"Happy Birthday, Jason," Roxanne said with a smile.  "By the way, you would not believe the commotion I came across.  You know my sister Tanya?  Well, a waitress delivered coffee to her at a cafe and she's screaming about how she wanted Decaf and the whole cafe heard it.  Someone took a video of it and posted it on YouTube as White Trashed Housewife Screams at Poor Working Girl.  Though, I'll admit, I do feel sorry for the waitress and it does make me embarrassed to be related to her."  Roxanne flattened the ground, covering the cake with a smile.  "Okay, you have to admit, there's something satisfying about the former Queen Bee becoming the YouTube laughing stock.  It just goes to show that you were right.  As soon as we got out of high school, Tanya had no power over me.  I mean, she's married to Josh, who's got a job as a fry cook now, and I'm a former cop turned children's martial arts teacher."  Roxanne smiled as she imagined how Jason would respond.  "Yeah, I don't know what I ever saw in him either.  Can't help thinking I dodged a bullet on that one."  Then she lowered her voice to a whisper.  "Look, Jason, this is the last time I can come see you.  I can't say much because I don't know where Bruce's cameras are hidden, but I can tell you that tonight is the night.  I can't tell you what my plan is, but, in order for it to work, it has to appear that I've moved on."  Roxanne felt tears form in her eyes but she would not let them fall.  "Good-bye, Jason."

Roxanne was about to leave until she heard a familiar voice.

"Ms. Taylor?"

Roxanne turned around to see an elderly well-dressed man.

"Hi, Alfred!" she said cheerfully, waving at him with her right hand while holding her hat in place with her left hand.

"I see you're still mourning Master Todd," Alfred observed sadly.

"Yeah, for like the last time," Roxanne said with a gleeful smile.  "Then I'm totally starting my new life."

"What new life would that be?" Alfred asked curiously.

"I enrolled in college!" Roxanne told him excitedly, forgetting to keep her hat in place as the wind blew it off.  "Oops."

Alfred picked up her hat that landed on his feet and quickly gave it to Roxanne.

"Thanks, Alfred," Roxanne said, taking the hat from him and quickly placing it back on her head.

"Considering your condition, I would think that you would be more careful about such things," Alfred told Roxanne like he just caught her running around with scissors.

"Alfred, I don't need a lecture," Roxanne said exasperated.  "I get enough of those from my mom."

"Maybe one day you'll listen to them," Alfred said sardonically.  "So, what do you plan do major in?  I do hope that it's indoors."

"I'm getting a teaching certificate!" Roxanne said excitedly.  "Not as great as being a cop, but there's a certain rewarding aspect to it."

"I'm happy to see that you're finally moving on," Alfred told her sympathetically.

"Thank you," Roxanne said.  "Hey, is Bruce around?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid Master Wayne's rather busy at the moment," Alfred said, with only a slight hint about what sort of business Bruce was up to.

"Well, tell him that I like totally forgive him," Roxanne said and then added.  "And I'm sorry for how I acted in the past five years."

"I'm sure Master Wayne will be delighted to hear it," Alfred said.

"Thank you, Alfred," Roxanne said, making her way to the gate.  "I've got to go, it was nice talking to you."

"You're always welcome at Wayne Manor, Ms. Taylor."

Roxanne went to her car and drove off.  She'd be welcome until Bruce discovered her plan, which would be inevitable.

[kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995]

Roadie

I want to thank the lovely @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles she helped me so much with this story and fine tuning it also she has become such a great friend so as I am posting this if everyone can go check out her stories God Is A Woman or Girls Talk Boys that’d be wonderful they’re awesome stories who deserve to be seen.

Ashton didn’t know how it had ended up like this. In the beginning, he was happy ready to take on anything this lifestyle threw at him, but after 2 years of living in Los Angeles he found himself feeling lost and empty. If it wasn’t someone’s birthday party, it was a club opening or any excuse to party really. Another night with another random girl who’s name he’d already forgotten, he could never shake the dreadful feeling of loneliness. He knew why he was unhappy but didn’t know how to fix it.

It helped a bit to try and run away from his problems, at least physically. His feet pounding out a rhythm on pavement, getting lost in his thoughts, drowning out with whatever music was on shuffle on his phone. He drove out to Runyon Canyon Park and slipped his earbuds in and took off. He got lost in the music a bit too seriously and ended up in a part of the trail that was unfamiliar to him. Now he had to find his way out of the woods with only his car keys and no phone service. He was cursing at himself for being so stupid. So he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and counting to ten, trying to regain his focus. He ran his fingers through his unruly brown curls when he heard a faint noise behind him that sounded like whining. Trying not to get even more lost he went to follow the noise. The only problem was every time he would get closer it would sound like something was running from him.

After about 15 minutes of chasing he sees a clearing ahead and beyond the the familiar trail he had wandered off of. Looking back he sees a very dirty and very malnourished beagle puppy slowly edging his way towards him. Leaning on one knee he carefully reaches his hand out to the little pup. When his head was about an inch away from his hand he lifted his face into Ashton’s palm. The puppy was in an awful state, and Ashton didn’t really know much about dogs. They were going on tour in a couple weeks so there’s no way he could take on this kind of responsibility. Looking down at literal puppy dog eyes was just too much for him to take, he picked the little guy up and as soon as he got in the car he called Calum to ask what vet he took Duke to and Calum told him the address and said he’d meet them there. Once Ashton pulls into the parking lot he sees Calum smoking a cigarette by his all black Range Rover.

Once they get inside the building and signed in Ashton can finally take a good look at what the puppy looks like. The dog is white with light and dark brown spots from what Ashton could tell he has little to no hair and is skin and bones. Calum looks at Ashton and says “ what are you going to do with him?” Ashton looks at Calum and replies “ I’m going to see what the vet says and go from there” . The vet walks out calls out “Mr.Irwin” they follow her to the back and then she starts her examination she could tell that the poor little guy has a skin infection that can be cleared with skin ointment. But she also told Ashton that because the handsome pup is so skinny he’ll have to eat twice a day and give him special vitamins through food. Once they left the veterinarian's office Ashton started thinking about how to take care of a dog but at the moment when he pulled into the petsmart to get everything a puppy would need the thought of if he should keep him was still on his mind.

Once they were home Ashton set up everything for the dirty pup to get a bath, a towel, the special shampoo,one of Ashton’s favorite bandanas, a black and white one that says 5 Seconds Of Summer on it,and a small cup to rinse off the dirt and mud. He began to lather his hands with the shampoo and rub it into the dogs skin while he was checking everything over looking for any hot spots.

Once Ashton deemed the puppy clean he got the towel he bought in with him and got him out of the tub and started to dry him off. After Ashton dried him off and the pup rubbed himself all over the carpet, he put the cream and his bandana on his foster dog before deciding to go to bed. While he was changing into a clean pair of boxer briefs he could feel eyes on him so he looked behind him and saw the little puppy waiting patiently in the doorway of his room. Ashton scratched the dog on his head and told him good night and got tucked in himself and turned off all the lights. Just as he was drifting off he felt the puppy squeezing into his arms to feel his warmth.

Flash forward two weeks and he'd named the brown and black spotted pup Roadie, and gotten the dog a collar with a name tag even though he keeps the bandana around his neck. Roadie had made significant improvement, his skin was clearing up enough that he’s not itching so badly anymore. Anytime Ashton is tired or just lounging around Roadie climbs on top of Ashton’s chest and sighs in contentment. He’ll also follow Ashton into his music room and bounce around barking to the beat of his drumming. Ashton takes him running with him at Runyon Canyon He finds himself staying home most nights not feeling the need to drink the night away or lose himself in another pretty face.

Their tour manager, Donna, isn't happy when Ashton informs her he's bringing Roadie on the bus with them. Ashton can't stand the thought of being without his little guy, and, as he explains, Roadie is still on a special diet and will need all the attention he can get. The day came to get loaded onto the bus so Ashton made sure he had everything for Roadie a leash, ointment, dog food, dog treats, several chew toys, a dog bed, and a blanket specifically just for his little man. The boys had been on the bus for a little over a three weeks and Ashton had found himself a routine of having his headphones in to keep from hearing the remarks Donna their manager would make about Roadie. The only time he wouldn’t be wearing them is to bed but in all honesty he didn’t care to Ashton. Roadie was family and he should be treated as such. As for Roadie he had also found company in not only Ashton but the other guys as well they loved having a dog on the tour because it kept their minds at ease. But all of them found that when Roadie was done playing or running around he would be near Ashton at all times.

Ashton started an Instagram page for Roadie posting pictures of his precious beagle on stage in another city, with fans outside the venue, or by a landmark. There was a tour date in St. Petersburg the guys were getting ready for the show Roadie was running around Ashton and the drum kit. Michael had forgotten his ears and he was walking past one of the green rooms when he overheard Donna talking about Roadie, pausing by the door he saw Sierra with an annoyed look on her face.

“Look this is just ridiculous, he should've given the little fleabag away before this whole thing even started,” Donna griped.

Michael was about to step in but Sierra was quick. She was off the couch and in Donna's face “ if you had any decency in your heart you would see how happy Ashton is. That little “fleabag” running around onstage right now is the reason. We’re all happy because of that dog you’re a heartless woman you should be fired” when Sierra was done speaking she was seething. Michael just smiled and went and got his ears and went back onstage and saw Roadie in Ashton’s lap kissing him all over his face.

It was time for them to get on stage and Ashton told Roadie to be a good boy and listen to Sierra while he was scratching him all on his back. The intro was beginning so he kissed Roadies head and passed his leash off to Sierra. Looking back he saw Sierra and Luke kissing and while he was happy with his beloved dog he wished he had a woman to share the happiness with. Every once in awhile when he has a break he looks over to the side of the stage to see Sierra and Roadie jamming out, his pup bouncing to the beat.

Ashton was just getting out of the shower grabbing a clean shirt when he heard Roadie starting to whine. As they returned to the green room Roadie bolted for the door. Ashton ran after him grabbing Roadies leash, but stumbling as he did. He hit the ground hard, wincing as he rolled onto his side. Ashton saw Roadie standing next to a pair of pink Converse high tops. Looking up he saw the most gorgeous girl with blue eyes, dark blue hair,and a flawless complexion, curvy in all the right places and looking quite concerned.

When he went to grab Roadie and apologize to her she stopped him. said “No worries I love dogs and this little guy is too cute. Roadie's a cute name, very inventive” Ashton hopped up and extended his hand “I'm Ashton by the way.”

She shook his hand laughing, “yes I'm aware my name is Tanya and it’s nice to meet you.”

[sprnklersplashes]

Truth of his Dreams-epilogue

AO3

When Alia wraps her arms around Charlie, for what he knows will be the last time in a long while, he feels like he’s suddenly nine years old again, begging her not to go to London. She squeezes him with more strength than you’d expect from a woman her age and buries her face in his shoulder as he stands over her, half a head taller. He holds her as tightly as he can, mindful of her fragile bones.

“I can stay, you know,” he offers in a low voice, his tears already wetting her jacket. “I don’t need to leave if you don’t want me to.”

“Yes you do.” She pulls away from him and cups his face. “You need to go out into the world and see everything you missed out on. You need to be happy.” He wraps his hand around hers, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “I’ll be right here when you get back. And that’s a promise.”

“I know, just…” He heaves a sigh, wiping his cheeks. “It’s that I just found you and now I’m leaving you again.”

“Oh, Charlie,” she says, grabbing his hand tightly. “You’re not leaving forever.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing her hand back and taking in a deep breath. “I know. I promise I’ll call you when we land.”

“Where are you off to then?” she asks. “You and your friends and… your young man?” He doesn’t correct her this time. He didn’t tell her about him and Matteusz but he doesn’t need to; he supposes the pink blush that creeps across his cheeks every time his name is mentioned and the silent glances across the room, the way they stand side by side even when she is present all speak for themselves.

“Paris,” he tells her. “We decided last night.” They had covered Tanya’s eyes with a tie Charlie had been gifted by a Duchess and spun her around before getting her to throw a dart at a world map Charlie had begged off of his grandmother, which in turn had apparently been given to her by the English Royal family. And now he’s using it to throw darts at while giggling on his bed, Matteusz wrapping his arms around him from behind and kissing his shoulder, Tanya, dizzily crashing into April.

“Paris is beautiful,” she agrees.

“Not nearly as beautiful as the Capitol was,” he whispers, his throat suddenly dry. “Or Rhodia used to be.” Alia nods, covering her mouth with her hand and sniffing. Charlie’s heart begins hammering in his chest as his question dances on his tongue. “Grandmother… What Lieutenant Quill said to me about our family history… It was true wasn’t it?” He takes in another deep breath, pushing on despite his wish to stop. “Everything that went on in Rhodia under my parents’ rule-the war and the poverty and-and the children working in the palace-” His voice hitches and he gasps for air. He had asked his friends about it and they all tried to spare his feelings, except for, eventually, Tanya, who broke it all to him as gently as she could. He heard it all, the empty stomachs and her father being sent off to a pointless war over land his family didn’t own, heard about her struggling to keep up with school. She admits that under the Republic it wasn’t much different, he guesses to ease the blow a little. He offers her an apology and she takes it, even though they both know it isn’t enough.

“Your father was a traditionalist,” she admits quietly. “I pleaded with him to do things differently. Maybe he would have, but now… Now I suppose we’ll never know.”

“Maybe I could’ve been the one to change it,” he whispers. His words to Quill echo in his mind.

“You would’ve been,” she assures him, but it feels empty.

“Maybe I still can be,” he suggests. “Maybe we still can be.” Alia frowns at him with her tear-filled eyes. “We have more money than we could ever need or use. What if we gave some of it away? There’s a lot of projects around the world that could use it.”

“Your young man told me the same thing,” she laughs.

“Maybe he’s a good influence on me,” he says. Alia laughs and kisses his head as he runs his fingers over her jacket, making sure every detail of her is etched into his memory. Even if he will call her once they land, he’s lost his memory once before, and taking precautions never hurt anyone.

His phone buzzes, and he knows what it says before he even opens it; the taxi to take him to the airport, where his friends are probably already waiting, is outside. Soon after he leaves, dozens of reporters will flood the building, waiting to hear his grandmother’s statement about the fate of her long-lost grandson, not to mention the promised reward money and the family fortune.

“I have to go,” he says, a wave of panic suddenly taking over him despite his excitement, making his mouth run dry. “Will you be okay if I go?”

“Of course I will,” she assures him. “I’ll be here when you get back.” She squeezes his shaking hands. “Promise. Now go. That taxi won’t hang around forever.”

He throws his arms around her again, holding her as tightly as he can, breathing in her familiar scent, not bothering to hold back his tears this time.

“I love you,” he says. “So so much.”

“I love you too,” she replies softly. “More than anything.”

She sees him to the door, handing his bag to him, not the same one he took from Rhodia all the way from Rhodia. That one had so many holes in it, it barely qualified as a bag anymore, and so he had tossed it in the garbage, letting his pain go with it. He’ll always remember Rhodia, carry it in his heart, but he knows now to move on from it. Or at least try to. He slings his new black duffle bag over his shoulder. It’s small enough, but he’s grown used to travelling light, just a few clothes, his money (complete with a credit card his grandmother insisted he took in case of an emergency) and a gold and green music box, wrapped in three towels, they key hanging on a chain around his neck. With the bag and the dark blue bomber jacket over a blue and green check shirt tucked jeans, he doesn’t look like a Prince anymore, but he doesn’t look like a street rat either. He’s someone new.

“I’ll hear from you soon,” his grandmother promises. “Charlie.”

He finds his friends and boyfriend-the word still makes him blush even when he says it in his head-at the airport easily enough after he checks in. Dash, before being sent to cargo for an hour long flight, is nestled in Tanya’s arms, but jumps out and runs to Charlie, scratching at his legs until he picks him up. Matteusz greets him with a tight hug, kissing his hair, while Ram covers Tanya’s eyes like they were doing something scandalous.

“Not in front of the child,” he scolds. Charlie pulls a face at him and relaxes against Matteusz’s chest, pulling his arm a little tighter around him.

“Come on, let’s get some food or something,” April says. “Our flight’s not for another half an hour, and according to Ram we can get priority access because of his leg.” Matteusz lets go of Charlie’s waist and grabs his hand instead, swinging it gently while Dash rests on his other arm.

“So,” he begins. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” he admits. “Just saying goodbye to Grandmother again was...” He bites his lip gently, but there’s no tears in his eyes this time. “It was hard.”

“If you want to go back to her,” Matteusz says delicately. “It’s not too late-”

“Matti,” he says, stopping them in the middle of the terminal. He places his hand on Matteusz’s chest, right over his heart. “I choose you. I chose you before and I’ll choose you again if I have to.” Matteusz beams and leans in to kiss him. Charlie smiles against him, pecking at his lips as he wraps his arms around his shoulders.

“Come on,” Matteusz whispers after pulling away from him. “Let’s catch up with them.” Charlie nods and moves to follow up, but the TV monitor mounted on the wall catches his eye, particularly the photo on the screen next to the news anchor.

“You go on,” he says. “I’ll catch up.” Matteusz follows his gaze to the TV and nods in understanding. He kisses his cheek before lifting Dash from his arms and leaving, promising not to go too far.

The photo on the screen is him, the last time he was in the palace. Aged nine, he looks at the camera with wide blue eyes and the hint of a smile and although they’ve cut it off, he can see his mother’s white-gloved arm around with. He wonders as he bites his lip how much tears one person can shed in a single day.

“And now the Queen Mother makes her statement to the press on the fate of her presumed-dead grandson,” the news anchor says as the picture changes to a live feed of his grandmother in the ballroom of the hotel, taking her place at the podium, shooing off Count Masters’ attempt to help her. Behind her, Countess Oswald tries not to laugh. It seems he was silly for worrying about her; she can handle herself, especially with Clara by her side.

“It is with a heavy heart,” she begins. “That I confirm my grandson’s death. He died in the revolution in Rhodia alongside his parents.” She takes in a deep breath and adjusts her glasses before continuing. “I will grieve the loss of my Charles every day of my life. And if there is a life after this one, I hope to see him there.” The room bursts into life with the clamour of dozens of reporters’ voices, all fighting for dominance, but they soon fall silent at a wave of her hand. “The reward for Charles’ safe return will be given to charity. As will what would have been his inheritance.” Behind her, Count Masters begins to fume, his face turning red with indignance, and this time Clara doesn’t bother to hide her winning smirk. “The money will be split amongst charities helping LGBT+ children here and abroad, bringing aid to war torn countries, assisting refugees and providing food, water and education to those in the Third World.” Once again, the voices build, and she finally allows one to ask her something.

“Your Majesty,” he begins respectfully. “How can you be certain that your grandson is gone? What if another boy appears tomorrow who could be him?”

“I know my grandson,” she answers. “I feel him, in here.” She pats her heart. “Over the years I’ve grown accustomed to spotting fakes. My grandson is gone. He is with his parents now. There will be no more talk of the Crown Prince Charles.”

“Well isn’t that nice?” a voice says next to him. Once, not long ago at all, that voice would have made him shudder. Now, while it does bring up a memory he’d rather forget, he can turn his head to look at her without any fear. She looks the same way she did the last time he saw her, a long black coat over her uniform, but with one change; a small dark-haired girl clinging to her hand and a pink suitcase in her other. She turns to look at him, just slightly, and the corner of her lip twitches into a smile. “There never was a Charles. Mystery over.”

“Indeed,” he replies quietly.

“Mum!” the girl hisses. He knows he shouldn’t, but he keeps watching them, fascinated by how quickly she changes around her, patting the girl’s hair and answering her question in a soft tone, even calling her ‘darling’ at the end. He fights off a smile.

He looks up at the TV monitor, where the news anchors have begun recapping the recent history of Rhodia and the story from his family, from their rise to their fall. Old family photographs fade in and out on the screen, of his great grandfather, then his grandfather, then his own parents, and him. The last heir to the throne of Rhodia.

Quill looks at it too, her expression unreadable where he had expected a winning smile. When she looks at him, he’d almost say she looked sorry. He gives her a nod, hoping to tell her it’s okay. Not quite forgiven, but at least buried.

The little girl steps forward, looking up at the TV, craning her neck to see until her mother lifts her without so much as a word to give her a better view. One of the last photos taken of him fills the screen, one a day out with his mother. Probably a month before the revolution, maybe less. He’s happy in it, dressed in a white suit, his hair carefully parted to one side.

The little girl squints at the monitor, frowning inquisitively, and turns to him, her mouth half open. She chews on a fingernail as she looks up at the TV and back to him again.

He smiles. Clever girl. Like mother like daughter, he supposes. He presses his finger to his lips before turning away. Some secrets he’s realised, are better left at that.

He knows people will continue to speculate about what happened to him. There will be documentaries and conspiracy theories and papers written on the topic-what really happened to the last Prince of Rhodia? Only a few people will know, and it will likely stay that way forever, and he’s more than fine with that. He has a whole world to see, and a new family (and dog) he wants to see it with.

[degurechaff-tanya]

A Post About Cosplaying Tanya

For the second and third day of Otakon this past weekend, I cosplayed Tanya! It was a lot of fun, and I want to make a separate post talking about the con as a whole and what kinds of things I did, but first, I wanted to start by talking about my cosplay, what it looked like, and how I assembled it for those who are interested!

First, I went to Goodwill and found some great clothes to start with. There was this army green jacket with shoulder pads in it that was just a little big on me, which was perfect! Because it came down to about my mid-thigh, which meant I could put a black belt around it and simulate the tunic-esque look of the WW1 German uniform. Next I found a pair of pants that matched the color quite nicely, and some long black boots that looked pretty close to Tanya’s. It was a really successful shopping trip!

When I got home, I started to figure out what I was going to do about the accessories. I was going to make all of it, so instead of the Elinium Type 95, I ended up deciding to make the cross that Tanya wears around her neck fairly often in the manga (I believe it’s called an iron cross), because I am not a very crafty person and wanted to try to go the simplest route. Also, my jacket looks quite a bit more like manga Tanya’s anyway, so I thought it would make sense to just go for a mostly manga-central look. So, I cut two of the cross shapes out of cardboard, and then my friend and I (but mostly my friend, because I was such a perfectionist about it that I wasn’t getting anything done) painted them black with white trim around the edges. We made two, because I went as Tanya and my friend went as Viktoriya! Below is an example of the cross I’m talking about:

Now that the crosses were done, we needed to make the Silver Wings Assault Badge. How we ended up doing it (this was completely my friend’s idea and it worked super well) was by printing out a picture of the Assault Badge, cutting it out from the paper carefully, and then covering the back in hot glue. This worked surprisingly well! The glue didn’t bleed through the paper. It made it stiff like an actual badge. So then we just hot glued a safety pin to the back and it was done--a little fragile because of all its tiny edges, but done. (TBH, we made the Assault Badge literally the night before the con, at like 1:30 AM, because it took me this long to remember I hadn’t made it yet).

Finally, the costume was coming together. I assembled my jacket and belt, then my friend helped me tie the iron cross around my neck with string that would hide under my collar, and then I pinned the Silver Wings Assault Badge to my jacket! And voila, I was wearing Tanya’s outfit!

Next was the hair, though. The way we ended up doing it wasn’t actually too hard, even though we’d been pondering the idea for quite a while before the con. My friend ended up figuring out (again, literally the night before) that we could attach a wire (which was actually the inside of a pipe cleaner originally) to a bobby pin and then stick the bobby pin in my hair. From there, my friend wrapped a strand of my hair around the wire until it was completely covered. Now I had an adjustable ahoge on top of my head! It worked surprisingly well and actually stayed in! All I had to do after assembling the ahoge was put my hair up in a high ponytail. Luckily, I have blonde hair already, so we didn’t have to worry about the color. That’s the reason why I decided not to just wear a wig in the first place--my hair is a similar color and length to Tanya’s, so I wanted try and use my real hair for the cosplay. I’m not very good at styling wigs, anyway. My friend also used her real hair! She’s a ginger, but she has that sort of orangey-brown hair that I think fits Viktoriya's color well. She also has long bangs and a really similar hair length, so it worked!

And finally, the makeup. It took me a while to let my friend get anywhere near my eyes, but once I finally learned to stop blinking and leaning away every five seconds, she was able to start working on making my eyes like Tanya’s. I believe she first used liquid eyeliner and basically drew on the really thick eyelash points that Tanya has in the anime. Essentially, it looked like three little black points near the end of my eye. Then she caked my actual eyelashes in mascara. I suppose makeup is kind of hard to describe without pictures (and I’m also an ignorant doofus who doesn’t know real terms for eye makeup) but here, I’ll attach a picture for clarification of what I’m talking about:

The eyeliner was for the effect of Tanya’s really dark, intense eyelashes, shown pretty clearly in this picture. But instead of having tons of those little curves that go up into points, I had three little points at the end of each eye. Having all of that eyelash makes sense for an anime character, but doesn’t look quite right in real life (or at least, on me), so we had to tone it down a little. Haha! My friend did a very similar eyeliner style for her Viktoriya cosplay. She made the points a little less long and put them lower in respect to her eyes, I believe, to suit Viktoriya’s eyelash shape better.

So to conclude this super long post, we did end up going as slight manga/anime crossbreeds of the characters, but I think it was a fun project to make our cosplays nearly from scratch and see how accurate we could make them. If you made it to the end of this really long post, I’m proud! If you’re planning on doing your own Tanya or Viktoriya cosplay, that’s super awesome! My friend and I seemed to be the only two people at the whole con cosplaying Youjo Senki, but there were quite a few people who asked for pictures of or with us, so it was a great time and definitely worth the effort we put into making the costumes.

I’ll make another post soon about the details of my time at Otakon. ‘Til then, happy cosplaying!

[southnovel]

DELETED SCENE #6: VISIONS

November 21, 2014

Selma, Alabama

Liv’s House

ZOEY’S POV

It seems to me that my entire life has been filled with chaotic madness; a blur of pain, visions, and endless voices.

When I was little, I just thought they were bad dreams, coming and going. But, it was constant; constant voices say I was going to die, and constant visions of my sister having a better life without me.

Before I came diagnosed with “crazy”, as I called it, I attributed the visions to stress; my mother’s hatred towards Liv, the absence of Daddy, and most of all, my last name being Walker.

People looked, and watched at us as if we were monsters, gearing to attack at any moment.

It was a warm and sunny summer night when I saw a vision for what it was.

A warning.

The vision was vivid; it showed my impending future.

It wasn’t much different than any other night; Liv, Luke, Tanya and I were lounging on our back deck. I was smoking a joint in the hammock, Luke was doing laps in the water, toning up for football season. Liv and Tanya were talking, and watching the sun go down.

Calm.

Then, the air changed; it came alive with a burning current of electricity. Something stirred deep within me, and I jumped up, dropping my joint off the side of the deck, into the lake below.

My sister stared at me in alarm, but her face began to fade. It was coming.

The visions were coming, and I felt alive.

A loud clap of thunder sounded; I heard Tanya scream.

Brightness crept in, a swirl of spinning colors flashed before my eyes; a shiny coffin, white peonies. The room tilted, and I was running, grasping my father’s coffin, wanting to see him one last time.

The memory faded into something else, something more: a playroom. A playroom and a boy; a boy with onyx hair and downcast eyes.

My mother’s eyes appeared next: ocean-like and angry. Oh, so angry. Hurtful words spewed from her mouth, crushing me, killing what little life I had left. With smeared lipstick and a wrinkled uniform, she peeled away, taking my pride with her.

I lay on the hard ground, staring up at the sun until my eyes burned; I felt numb, as if I was nothing. Nothing at all.

The vision twisted and curled into something soft and sweet: a blanket of stars above my head, and a boy’s starlit eyes smoldering mine. He puts his hands on me, and a shiver racks through my body. My belly tickled and fluttered, and something akin to utter happiness sang through my soul. His lips met mine in a needy kiss, and I was floating, and I wanted more of him. In that moment, I fell in love with a brown-eyed boy by a muddy pond.

I was in love. I’m in love with the wrong boy. The eyes were the wrong color; they weren’t supposed to be brown. They should be a mossy green, that crinkled at the edges when he smiled. The boy I loved had played in my visions for as long as I can remember. This boy wasn’t the one.

The vision changed, and I was disoriented; that familiar set of green eyes met mine. His name was Owen Greene, but I didn’t know his name then. And, I didn’t love him.

He was supposed to be my one true love: the man I would someday marry, and have his babies; I would have a real family. I’d seen it. I saw it in all of my visions.

Him and I, and our son, Charlie, with curly brown hair and hazel eyes. I saw Liv as a Godmother, and Luke teaching him how to play football as his Godfather. I saw a future for me.

The vision shifted again; looking down at my lifeless body from where I floated above.

So, which is it?

My visions always came true. Always.

I felt myself begin to fade away; I came face-to-face with the brown-eyed boy again. Mist danced around our heads; he held me against him as I wrapped my legs around his waist, out kiss becoming heated. Conflicting emotions drowned out my desire as he groped me.

I thought about my family. I thought about… Zoey.

I’m Zoey. I’m Zoey. I. Am. Zoey.

The sight of myself running across the lot towards me confused me. I glanced down at my arms, my nails were painted a dark blue; I stared down at my body, my clothes. I pulled my black tank-top away from my body. So developed at only 15.

I saw my legs, and a tattoo upon my right thigh.

A peony tattoo.

I’m Liv. I’m envisioning that I’m Liv.

I don’t love that boy… Liv does.

I feel myself falling.

I argue with the dark-eyed boy, words falling from my lips without my permission; my heart dropped as I realized he was a Reed. My chest seized as I realized I never wanted someone so much.

I’m at the train station; he begs me to let him in, but I can’t. I can’t let myself love him. I can’t because I’m worried. Worried about my family, the problems my love would cause. Worried about my sister, she needs to be my sole priority.

The vision shifts, and I’m floating. I look down, and see a singular white peony in my hand. I smile. He remembered. I’d never been so happy.

I love him. I’ve never loved anyone more.

Nana’s backyard transforms in front of me; I see the psychotic tendencies in Uncle Will’s eyes. They gleam with coldness as he holds his Glock to my temple. I see Abby’s emerald eyes beside me, filled with worry; her and I share a deep secret now. She wanted Noah, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself.

Next, I’m flying.

I’m in Brandon’s arms. He’s strong, and tender, and loving; I let him love me.

It’s love; plain and simple, but there are so many obstacles. The world.

The world is against us, and it’s terrifyingly exhilarating, and oh so deadly.

We’re just children; children in love.

Now, I feel like I can’t breathe. A pale-skinned shark of a man is before me, strangling me until he transforms; battered and broken, he’s thrown into the lake. One less man upon this Earth, and another man is left childless.

It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.

Journal entries, lies, broken promises and picnic baskets come next, and I feel all alone in the world. Alone unless he’s beside me, and he is.

Rebecca Walker is dead to me, and he’s there when I crumble, comforting me.

Loving me.

I feel angry, saddened.

It was just a little bonfire.

I start to fall again; I see a lone girl in ripped clothing, bloody and beaten. I drove her to the hospital, and then he broke my heart by walking away.

Tears build in my eyes as I hear Brandon being beat. Royce wants me dead.

Then, I see Royce dead, Brandon hovering over him with bloody knuckles. Brandon offers apologies upon my lips, and I accept them without thought.

Pain shoots through my heart as I stare down at myself, at what’s left of Zoey Walker. Pale skin and blue lips; bruises.

I was raped.

Was this real?

Why am I dead?

“Reed.” I heard myself say. “The Reeds.”

I gazed at my sister; I only saw her.

Liv’s mouth opened, and she walked to me, trying to shake me from my trance, but I was saved by her ringer. I breathed a sigh of relief. I plopped down on the hammock, and a shiver ran through me as I heard.

Abby was taken.

Everything went black.

I felt a pain in my left arm, a sharp pain striking the center of my chest.

I opened my eyes, my vision slightly blurred.

I was in my bedroom, at home.

I screamed; there was a needle in my arm.

Heroin.

No! I’m clean! I promised Liv I would stay clean!

A rough hand clamped down on my mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Through blurry eyes, I met green eyes; his breath reeked of booze.

He laughed sinisterly. “Yeah. That’s a good girl. Quiet, and I’ll reward you. Don’t wanna wake up that bastard.” My eyes go sideways to a curly-headed man fast asleep in the chair in the corner of my room. “He’ll ruin our good fun.”

“Please,” I begged once he removed his hand. “Please.”

“What do you need, baby?” He purred.

“Let me go-“ He laughed in my face.

“Can’t do that, baby.”

“Why?” I cried, jerking at my confines.

“It’s my job, baby.”

He was my killer.

Every vision, every episode, every little hallucination has led to this moment.

My killer was Aaron Wheeler.

I closed my eyes as tears slid down my cheeks.

Goodnight, goodnight.

No light, no light.

I’ll see you in another life.

That’s when I felt my thighs being spread open.

“Stop!” I screamed, clamping them shut; Aaron growled, snapping my head to the side with his fist.

“Shut up! I know you ain’t savin’ yourself for no one.”

He was right; I lost my virginity at thirteen to a fifteen-year-old boy at a party. I didn’t even know his name.

But, the one man the mattered the most to me, Owen, never got to be loved intimately by me.

I wanted to make love to him; he wanted to wait.

Said I was too special to him.

Aaron gripped my thighs tightly, to the point I began to cry from the pain.

I heard a crack when he hit me, and I couldn’t move my neck.

I think he broke it.

All I could do was stare out my window, up at the stars.

Stars. I sobbed.

I wanted my big sister. I wanted her to tell me more constellation stories; she knew them all.

Livvy.

I’d never see her again; never see her smile, or hear her telling me what to do and what not to do all the time

I’d miss her bossing me around.

I hope she got away.

I hope Brandon finds her, protects her. She deserves happiness.

I’ve been selfish, depending on her like I did. She eased into the role of my mother, and all I did was complain and act like a spoiled brat. Spoiled and selfish.

Until one day, I decided not to be.

I made the decision not to tell her about the vision of my death. I knew she would sacrifice her love for the brown-eyed boy, just as she sacrificed so many other things in her life for me. I kept it from her; every time I thought about telling her, I stopped myself.

I feel a sharp pain in my neck as Aaron flips me over onto my stomach, continuing his assault on my body.

I blinked, tears dripping onto my pillow; I looked at the picture on my nightstand.

My sister and me.

She was my soulmate, and my keeper, and I don’t think I ever told her just how much I loved her

I stared at the picture where she had her arms wrapped tightly around me, both of us smiling. I wanted her to hug me like that again.

Eventually, my heart began to slow before stopping altogether.

Then, I became what I am.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

[elisesole]

Melania Trump calls school librarian who declined 'racist' Dr. Seuss books 'divisive'

First lady Melania Trump called a librarian who rejected her gift of Dr. Seuss books “divisive.” (Photo: Getty Images)

A school librarian who rejected a shipment of books from Melania Trump for their “racist undertones” was brandished “divisive” by the first lady.

Liz Phipps Soeiro is a librarian at Cambridgeport School in Massachusetts and the recipient of an honor bestowed to one high-achieving school library in each state. To coincide with National Read a Book Day on Sept. 6, each library received a package of 10 Dr. Seuss books: Seuss-isms!; Because a Little Bug Went KaChoo; What Pet Should I Get?; The Cat in the Hat; I Can Read With My Eyes Shut!; One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish; The Foot Book; Wacky Wednesday; Green Eggs and Ham; and Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

Melania has called Oh, the Places You’ll Go! a favorite book, reading it aloud to children at a New York City hospital in March for Read Across America Day (also Dr. Seuss’s birthday), much like Michelle Obama in past years.

However, Phipps Serio declined the shipment, explaining her reasoning on the Horn Blog Tuesday. “Dear Mrs. Trump, my students were interested in reading your enclosed letter and impressed with the beautiful bookplates with your name and the indelible White House stamp,” she wrote. “However, we will not be keeping the titles for our collection. I’d like to respectfully offer my explanation.”

Phipps Serio highlighted her “amazing” school district adding, “School libraries around the country are being shuttered. Cities like Philadelphia, Chicago, and Detroit are suffering through expansion, privatization, and school ‘choice’ with no interest in outcomes of children, their families, their teachers, and their schools. Are those kids any less deserving of books simply because of circumstances beyond their control? Why not go out of your way to gift books to underfunded and underprivileged communities that continue to be marginalized and maligned by policies put in place by Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos? Why not reflect on those “high standards of excellence” beyond only what the numbers suggest? Secretary DeVos would do well to scaffold and lift schools instead of punishing them with closures and slashed budgets.”

Then, Phipps Serio turned her attention to the subject matter of the books. “So, my school doesn’t have a NEED for these books. And then there’s the matter of the books themselves. You may not be aware of this, but Dr. Seuss is a bit of a cliché, a tired and worn ambassador for children’s literature.”

She continued by name-checking specific books. “Another fact that many people are unaware of is that Dr. Seuss’s illustrations are steeped in racist propaganda, caricatures, and harmful stereotypes. Open one of his books (If I Ran a Zoo or And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, for example), and you’ll see the racist mockery in his art. … Scholar Philip Nel’s new book, Was the Cat in the Hat Black? The Hidden Racism of Children’s Literature, and the Need for Diverse Books, further explores and shines a spotlight on the systemic racism and oppression in education and literature.”

“You and your husband have a direct impact on these children’s lives,” wrote Phipps Serio. “Please make time to learn about and value them. I hope you share these books with your family and with kids around the country. And I encourage you to reach out to your local librarian for more recommendations.”

Yahoo Lifestyle could not reach Phipps Serio, and her social media channels appear to have been removed. But that didn’t stop people from tweeting their disapproval of the librarian’s gesture.

2. Here's a picture Liz Phipps Soeiro posted actually celebrating Dr Seuss's books, so apparently she likes "racist" reading materials also! pic.twitter.com/F1CY0XJx5f

— Deplorable Tigerfan (@Auburngirlx) September 29, 2017

I'll just leave this here #DrSeuss pic.twitter.com/GPAindqzxn

— Tanya Tay (@realTanyaTay) September 29, 2017

If you believe Dr. Seuss books are racist, you might be a moron.

— Ryan Fournier (@RyanAFournier) September 29, 2017

Stephanie Grisham, White House director of communications, released the following statement to various media outlets. “[The first lady] has demonstrated [her commitment to children] in both actions and words since her husband took office, and sending books to children across the country is but one example. To turn the gesture of sending young students some books into something divisive is unfortunate, but the first lady remains committed to her efforts on behalf of children everywhere.”

Read more from Yahoo Lifestyle:

Plus-size woman says body-positive photo shoot got her fired

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This woman is sewing her own First Lady dresses and they’re super accurate

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day.

[westywrites]

The Teller of Stories and Keeper of Secrets

Chapter 6 - Welcome!

First - Previous - Next

Now that all the introduction folly is over and you have become acquainted with our 5 little friends we get to move on to where the story gets very interesting. Though honestly the only reason I find it interesting is because it has me in it. Let's go to that first day in the late spring of 2013.

While on first sight the quaint little building with its colourful little sign would seem like a wonderful place to be, it truly is not. After the appearance sets in the first time every time after it's like sandpaper to the eyes, with its sandy yellow brick walls and bright red tin roof that reflects the sun on just the right angle that it blinds you no matter how you look at it. Even though the building is fairly new, it is very worn and the sign wasn't even designed to be that crooked, it's just falling apart. What little garden there is is maintained by a teenage boy who gets paid far too much and comes in far too little and honestly the large black iron fence takes away whatever joy they were trying to bring to the patients. The inside is even worse.

However you are picturing the outside, picture the inside a million times worse than that. Its walls are a teal-grey colour, at least I think they were at one point, but the paint is peeling in spots and there are suspicious looking stains on the walls and gross beige tiled floors. The floors are covered in various strips of coloured tape indicating where to go for which thing, but only half of the things have actually happened in the past 5 years. At the entrance way is a faded sign stating which colour means what. Finally you get to the little room that those poor teenagers were fated to meet within. At the end of a short hallway on the right, a door painted red like the line leading to it from the front door. Once inside, that room was the best kept in the building, with freshly painted pale mint walls and a clean tiled floor. 6 large beanbag chairs sat in a circle and one wall was covered in posters with cheery messages, another had a large window that looked out at the "garden".

It was a Friday, a Friday evening at 6 o'clock. That was when the first meeting was. A normal, quiet evening during which our 5 friends were brought to the ugly, overly cheery building and left there for 2 hours. They came in one by one, the first was Tanya, her aunt always far too early or far too late, she was followed soon after by Elise. Jacob and Nathanael both came in a few minutes after 6, out of breath and apologizing for being late, and Christopher was last, very much the last. In fact he didn't arrive until quarter after 6 when he flung the door open causing it to further dent the wall behind it. They all sat in the black beanbag chairs, waiting for the person who would fill the last seat. Waiting, and waiting. Of course the person to fill that seat would be the "therapist", the sole adult in a room of damaged teenagers. It was assumed that the therapist would be the one to arrive on time, if not early, but they were not there. After a while our 5 teenagers started questioning the presence of this therapist, if they were going to even arrive at all. Anyone experienced in dramatic entrances could tell you that this was close to the perfect time to barge in, and so the therapist did. So I did. Out of the closet in the back corner, I leapt with dramatic flourish, extending my arms and laughing as the children screamed. Even Christopher gave a little shout, followed by some cussing, though. That boy has a filthy tongue.

"Welcome!" I smiled taking a bow. "I am Dr. Demority, however you may call me Reggie." I plopped down into the empty bean bag chair. "I'm your therapist."

"You don't look like a therapist." Nathanael said, glancing over my messy appearance. It's true I definitely did not look like a therapist that day, I probably looked more like a kindergarten teacher. My long brown hair was thrown into a frizzy ponytail, my glasses were falling off my nose and I was wearing a floral summer dress with that fancy white coat they gave me draped over top.

"This is so stupid." Christopher moaned staring at the ceiling.

"We haven't even started yet." Tanya looked at him then at me. "Don't be rude."

"She's right, you don't even know each others' names." I could tell from all their faces that none of them wanted to be there, except maybe Nathanael. "Let's start with that!" Maintaining a cheery demeanor was very difficult with the looks of boredom and sadness they had painted on their faces. I sighed. "Here, we should go around the room and say our names, ages and at least one thing about ourselves." As I said that I was met with glares from both Jacob and Christopher. "I'll start. My name is Reggie, I'm 34 years old, and I love kids!" I paused looking at each of them. "You, how about you go." I was pointing at Nathanael who was sitting on my right.

She sighed, but a smile played at the edge of her lips. "My name is Nathanael, I'm 15, and no, I am not a boy." Christopher started laughing, the rudest laugh you can imagine.

"That is a girl?" He asked, pointing at Nathanael continuing his snide laughter. "That is the worst girl I have ever seen. It's like it's not even trying to be a girl." Nathanael bit her lip, anger growing in her eyes.

"Hey, stop that." Elise demanded, getting silence from Christopher immediately. Until he started grinning.

"Whoa, the black girl standing up for the he-she, how original." He snickered again.

Elise stood up. "You will not refer to me as 'the black girl', you pig." She took a step towards him. "My name is Elise and you will call me that or you will never see the light of day again. You got it?"

"Ok, ok. Chill." Even a small child would be able to see the blatant fear in Christopher's eyes as he sunk back into his beanbag chair, pulling his hair down over his face slightly. Elise sat back down, a small smile on her face.

"So, Elise. Do you want to say how old you are?" I asked sort of awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah sure. I'm 16. I'll be 17 in July." Elise smiled. "I'm probably the oldest one here, aren't I?"

"Nah, I'm 16 too." Christopher said from under his hair.

"Oh? And what's your name?" I asked grateful for the participation.

"Christopher." He crossed his legs. "Christopher Marcel, you probably know my dad."

"Didn't you like, murder two people or something?" Jacob asked quietly his mouth hanging open.

"Hey, shut up punk." Christopher sat up suddenly.

"Oh my god." Tanya's eyes were like a deer caught in headlights. "Are you a murderer?"

"Hey, bossy chick can you get these children to shut up?" Christopher was looking to Elise now.

"I am not bossy." Elise frowned as if wondering if she was and Nathanael laughed a little.

"Yeah, I'm sorry but you could definitely be mistaken for it." Nathanael let out another little laugh and Tanya nodded in agreement. "I like it though." Nathanael smiled at Elise.

"So what's your name?" I asked Jacob.

"Oh, uh." He turned bright red as everyone turned to look at him. "I'm, uh, I'm Jacob" His voice was so soft you could hardly hear him.

"What was that?" Christopher leaned towards Jacob a hand held up to his ear. "Did you say that you're a gay cob?"

"Chris." I glared at him. "You do not call people names like that. Besides, that doesn't even make any sense."  

"It's Christopher." He looked very offended.

"Ok, well. Christopher, don't call people names." I nodded and turned to smile at Jacob. "Can you say that again, sweetie?"

"I said my name's Jacob." Jacob looked at his hands which he held on his lap. "I'm 14 as of last week."

"Happy birthday Jacob!" I smiled again and watched Christopher mocking me out of the corner of my eye.

"Where are you from?" Tanya tilted her head. "You sound funny."

"My family's from Russia." Jacob said, again in barely a whisper.

"That's so cool." Tanya stared at him like he was from outerspace.

"Who're you?" Jacob asked her still staring at his hands.

"I'm Tanya Armstrong. I'm 13 years old," She looked around at everyone, "and I can hear all your hearts beating right now."

"What the hell?" Christopher turned quickly to look at Tanya who was sitting two seats to his right. The looks on everyone's faces were a mix of confusion and just plain creeped out and the smile faded from Tanya's face.

"Well then, let's move on." I switched to conversation topic to more therapy related things and that's where it stayed for the rest of that week's session. Everything went very smoothly from there on, despite many wisecracks from Christopher followed by a few minutes of argument from everyone else. A lot was accomplished during that first two hour session and I felt I was really starting to get to know those kids. I couldn't wait to continue the next week and the week after that and so we did. It was many weeks before we get to the next interesting part of our little sessions but that will have to wait.

[agrafenaa]

Undone

This is my contribution for @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash writing challenge. I chose the Mirror, Mirror prompt and I’ve written it in first person narrative. It’s super late due to moving and my boyfriend proposing, but here it is! I loved writing it. The question is, should I continue this or leave it as a one-shot? @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash & @negans-network 

Summary: O/C accepts Negan’s marriage proposal but is jealous and possessive. When Amber makes a comment, it almost sends her over the edge but Negan falls with her. 

Word Count: 2,613 words

Warnings: jealousy, insecurity, fluff, teasing

______________________________________________________________

I see the champagne flutes come together in unison, but the distinct clinking of glass and the laughter that follows is drowned out by the sound of my blood thumping between my ears. And before I can stop myself, I see my hand reaching out, latching onto the first thing I see – the back of a chair, as I try desperately to steady myself.

Funny how a few words could leave me feeling like all the energy had been zapped out of my body, as if I had run a marathon but was left panting miles before the finish line in defeat.

Why am I like this? Why do I always do this to myself?

My other hand grips the flute, filled to the rim – compliments of Tanya, yet I can’t bring myself to take a sip despite the voice inside me begging for courage, pleading for everything to go numb. Instead I stare into one of the many vanity mirrors lining the wall of the dressing room, looking at the reflection of someone who resembled me. The tanned skin, the ash brown hair, the bright hazel eyes, all just as I remembered, but there was a lack, a loss – something that wasn’t quite there anymore, something that not even a bit of blush or freshly painted lips could make up for.

And then there’s a giggle and my eyes find my compatriots, looking carefree as ever, toasting to another night where they can pretend the world outside these walls isn’t forsaken. They all looked so happy and flawless like those girls on magazine covers from long ago and I was horribly jealous of them all – Amber, so polished and a head of lush blonde hair, perfect for running his fingers through…Frankie, tall and graceful with creamy white thighs he no doubt spent many nights losing himself between…Tanya, all fire, sass and the award-winning smile that probably had him smiling back – and there I was, nothing more than the hollow replacement for the favorite, the one that had sparked him to life, the sweetest lamb…dear, old Sherry honey.

Fuck.

I guzzle half the champagne glass before I can stop myself. It tingles going down and warmth spreads throughout my chest, giving me a brief reprieve from the bitter jealousy hacking away at me as the feelings of inadequacy were busy kicking me while I was down. I had wanted him since I first laid eyes on that smug asshole all those months ago, but I wasn’t prepared for whatever this feeling was, watching as he passed me without so much as a glance, watching as he plucked whatever woman he wanted out of the masses hungry for their meal ticket and watching as he seemed to favor every woman but me. And how many of my points were wasted on cold showers trying to forget the way this man made my body react, without ever touching me? Too many. And how often did I shield my flustered face from his inattentive eyes? Too often.

But, when he asked me to marry him seemingly out of the blue, I had tripped over my words trying to say yes without a care of how pitiful I looked. I didn’t stop to ask why me, why now and the fact that he had never looked at me or uttered a word to me faded into the recesses of my mind. I didn’t care that he didn’t know my name, I was beside myself at the idea that he felt anything for me, even if it was just raw, physical attraction. I had been confident, hell, I had felt sexy for once in I don’t know how long…only to find out he was just sad that his favorite toy had her brains blown out.

There goes the rest of the champagne.

Frankie’s eyes catch mine as I set the empty glass down on the vanity amidst a clutter of make-up and expensive looking perfume bottles. She raises her brow, posing a silent question: you okay?

No, I think, but I’ll be damned before I admit it. I manage a curt nod but I know my poker face is shit because she makes her way over to me anyways, her long legs carrying her across the length of the room effortlessly, looking delicate and feminine in a little lace dress and strappy black sandals. I can’t help but look down at myself and a little voice inside my head starts saying all the horrible things I hoped the champagne temporarily would mute. What would he really want with this?

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Frankie explains lowly as we watch the other girls take pictures together on one of the sofas. “Amber doesn’t always think before she speaks.”

“Sure,” I say unconvincingly, crossing my arms as I leaned against the side of the vanity. I’m several inches shorter than her, even with heels, and though I wasn’t short by any means I still felt like a tree stump next to a great redwood.

She takes a seat in one of the empty chairs beside me. “It’s not like that,” she continues, her eyes looking me over carefully. “He’s not like that, even with everything that happened.”

“Thanks Frankie.” I say it to comfort her, I could tell she’s a good person – just trying to help. Unlike you, a voice says, reminding me that I was jealous of everything, including a dead girl.

I open my mouth to say something, hoping that whatever small talk I can manage will make every passing minute less grueling, but whatever I say dies on my lips as the door whips open with a whoosh, banging loudly against the wall. And just like that, everything comes to a screeching halt – the girls scramble to their feet, yanking their dresses into place, smoothing out their hair – someone even turns off the music and the room descends into a heavy silence.

There, in the threshold, stands Negan, his leather clad hand placed squarely in the center of the door, a mischievous glint in his eye with an up-to-no-good grin to match as he watches all of us. I find myself looking at him, trying to memorize every detail of his face, the bit of scruff lining his jaw, the crinkle around his lust-filled eyes – eyes that, when they meet mine, cause me to look away.

“Well,” he drawls as he strides into the room with Lucille in tow, swaying lightly by his side. “I had no idea I was interrupting girl’s night.”

He makes his way around the room, his sly gait resembles that of a predator toying with its prey and I can do nothing else but watch as he circles us. But then, something catches his eye and he stops momentarily to yank a stray polaroid off the couch. He examines it and, after a moment, a slow, infuriatingly perfect smile forms on his face. I imagine what sits between the borders of the tiny image. A coy Amber looking at the camera? A selfie of Tanya with her playful smile? Perhaps the both of them, laughing and enjoying themselves?

He holds the image up between his index and middle finger as he stops in front of Tanya, giving the photo a little shake and murmuring something that draws a smile out of her. My eyes find my reflection in the mirror beside me, my expression an almost comical rendition of the green-eyed monster from my beloved children’s book. How could something so innocent make me feel so small?

He tucks the photo into his pocket – a trophy for him, and he continues to make his way around. All at once, dread claws at my insides. Hadn’t I dreamed of the day he would look at me? That he would come to me? And now the very idea felt wrong, so wrong that I find myself lowering into the vanity chair, praying it would shield me though I know it won’t.

His eyes find Frankie first, and his fingers gently brush her red hair away from the pale skin of her neck, a moment I feel is too intimate for me to witness so I train my eyes on the floor. I stare hard at tips of my shoes and I try to calm my nerves. I was in over my head.

I start to mull over my options. Divorce? I couldn’t do this, not with this man, he’d fuck my brains out and I’d spend the rest of my life trying to pick up the mess left behind. I wasn’t desperate for points or anything, I had an okay job before this, I was only doing this to have him – and that was the problem. I couldn’t have him all to myself, could I? Not with Franke sitting pretty like that or Tanya-

I’m drawn out of my thoughts as I see a shadow form over me and a hand curling around my forearm.

“Sweetheart, you with us?” Negan asks, stopping mere inches from my face.  

Every overactive, impulsive thought coursing through my brain slows and even though he’s right there it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. I try to think of something to say but there’s only static between my ears – nothing comes. It’s too late, anyways, he’s already pulling back away from me, standing tall over my shrunken form.

He drops Lucille unceremoniously on the vanity table and the bottles rattle loudly in protest. “You were somewhere else, for a second there.” I watch him shrug out of the leather jacket, letting it fall on the back of the chair Frankie was sitting on. “But, judging by the white-knuckled grip you got on that poor skirt and that scary ass frown, I’d say it wasn’t anywhere cool. So doll, why the long fucking face?”

Somehow, I find words. “Never been one for parties,” I lie, my nails digging into my thighs. I know he knows that I’m full of shit, but I pray he doesn’t call me out.

Thankfully, he doesn’t and instead pulls the chair close and sits down, facing me, so that the only thing in my line of sight is him. He looks as he always does – confident, so much so that I sharply inhale and try to think of something else because I know if I spend one more second thinking of the slight curve of his lip, I’m going to lean forward and bite it.

“Maybe you can make an exception,” he begins, propping one elbow on his thigh, exposing some of his sun-worn tattoos that I just want to run my hands over. “After all, it is our wedding night.”

“Then what’s the bridal party doing here?” My tone is bitter as bile. I should be swooning, flirting…playful, those were things he probably liked. He didn’t want to deal with baggage…

If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it as he whistles and leans back in the seat, glancing around the room. I’m graced with a perfect view of Negan’s profile, the strong jaw, and a few stray strands of ink black hair that have fallen in his face after a long day of fucking over other survivors.

“Ladies…” his voice trails off and, needing no further explanation, the girls start gathering their things to head out. Amber has the gall to eyeball me as she walks past and her expression is confirmation enough that she said what she did on purpose, for no other reason than to hurt me. Fuck you, I think as she walks past, her long hair swaying with her every step.

When she disappears out the door, I turn to find Negan staring at me.

“Holy shit, you’re fucking intense,” Negan quips, his eyes scanning my face slowly, stopping at my lips. “And – that, right there, that whole lip curl, twitching thing you keep doing…well, I can’t tell if you want to kill me or fuck me, love.”

“What if it’s both?” I offer boldly, tilting my head upwards. Now that we’re alone, I feel more at ease. I wonder if he knew, just looking at me, that I needed this – to be alone with him.

When he laughs, I find myself smiling too.  

“You know, I always knew you were a badass,” he says suddenly. “Scared the fuck out of us when we found you out there all by your lonesome.”

“You were there?” I try to hide my embarrassment, remembering how my introduction was a far cry from honorable. I want to say something like that person wasn’t really me or that I’ve changed for the better, but I’d be lying, I’ve been awful since day one.

His brows lift in amusement as he recalls the event. “You backhanded me, remember?”

Well then.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, all is forgiven…and besides, it was cute as hell – impressive too.” He inches closer as he says it until the distance between us is negligible and I can see every line marring his skin, every freckle that tells me how much the man loves the sun, and the dark circles under his eyes serve as evidence for all the hard work he does for us.

And this time, when my hands reaches out, it’s not to steady myself but to cup his cheek in a silent apology. I try to imagine the back of my hand connecting with his firm cheek and I wonder how I could have missed all of him right in front of me like that. My fingers move across his strong jaw, the stubble pricking my twitching fingers as they hesitate to trace his lower lip. It’s a move that surprises us both but his eyes tell me he doesn’t mind the intrusion.

I slip into a place where I no longer care about whether he prefers Sherry or Amber or Tanya or Frankie because right now, I have him and I hope I can have him the way I want him. An image of him stretched out above me, both of us feverish and desperate, his thighs digging into mine…The thought sends a ripple throughout my body and I scoot closer in my seat.

When his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, parts of myself that seemed to be wound so painfully tight come undone. My hand slips from his cheek, trailing down the side of his neck until my fingers reach the soft fabric of his signature white t-shirt. I fist the fabric tightly and my eyes find his, but I know by the look in his eye that we’re both going over the edge.

I’m not sure who moves first but our bodies make an ugly sound when we both hit the floor. Our chairs topple over ungracefully, Lucille gets bumped from her comfortable place atop the vanity and I lose a heel in the process but when his lips fold over mine, I know the painful bruises will be worth it.

He starts slow, his lips brushing against mine so tenderly I feel like he might not be real but a ghost taunting me instead. And because I can’t tell if it’s real, because I feel so dizzy and lost between his lips, I do what I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes on him – I bite that perfect lower lip, keeping him pinned in place, so that I taste him and soothe the hurting parts inside me, even if it’s brief.

Negan pulls back, a pretty little bite mark staining his lip and he smiles down at me.

“You and I…we’re going to have so much fun together, sweetheart.”

I believe him.

[negans-network]

Cinderella Part 1

Summary: For @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash and her 2nd Negan Writing Challenge, this is for the foot fetish prompt introducing OFC Janine.

Word Count:  3199 (Just a preview)

Warnings: Foul Language, Sexual Imagery and Language.

Author: @genevievedarcygranger

Author’s Note: Lol would you believe me if I told you that I wrote this for like 6 hours straight at like 4 in the morning man. 

Janine had been at the Sanctuary for a while now. She had left her former community and came here for the extra protection. The work for points was hard, but not as grueling as working outside in the garden or with the livestock. Some days it was worth it – like on the days where she got to see the Sanctuary’s fearsome, but admittedly handsome, leader. Janine’s job at the Sanctuary meant being a personal maid for the Saviors’ rooms, which included the wives’ parlor and Negan’s own bedroom.

Most of the time, though, when she cleaned, the Saviors and Negan were gone. The majority of the time she couldn’t avoid the wives, but some of them were nice. Frankie and Tanya were decidedly not.

Just today when Janine was returning their laundry to them – that Janine washed herself – both Frankie and Tanya threw a fit. “This is good lingerie, and you ruined it!” Tanya hissed, tossing the lacy panties at Janine’s face.

Snatching them aside, Janine huffed, more than a little pissed. “Good lingerie is hand washed, Tanya. What the hell do you think I did? Throw this in the river? I hand washed it.”

“If that’s the case then why is there a tear?” Tanya was stamping her foot now, petulant as a child, accusingly pointing a finger at the rip where the delicate black lace was starting to come off.

Taking a deep breath, Janine tried to not let her temper get the better of her. The wives were always right – her new motto to get through the arguments. The mindset was a remnant from when she worked in the service industry during college. “Because,” Janine tried to explain with what little patience she had left, “you gave them to me with a tear.”

Tanya blushed at the underlying implication that was left unspoken between them. “Then why didn’t you sew back?” She squeaked, deeply embarrassed.

“I don’t have sewing supplies!” Janine threw up her hands. It’s not like the Saviors would consider that important when they scavenged. “Even if I did, I’ve never sewn anything more than a button back on my jeans.”

“Stop making excuses and fix it!��� Tanya screeched like a harpy. “Those are Negan’s favorite and he’ll be pissed if you’ve ruined them!”

“But I didn’t –!”

“Shut up!” Frankie cut in as she returned to the parlor. She had deemed her laundry good enough and returned them to her bedroom, but now she was back and ready to boss Janine around. “Where the hell is my shirt?”

“What shirt?” Janine sighed. Tanya was may be bad, but Frankie was infinitely worse. Tanya limited her cruelty to criticisms, but Frankie went out of her way to make lists of chores as if Janine was her personal slave. Honestly, Janine felt a bit like Cinderella that way. The only difference was that Janine was no beauty and she knew better than to hope for a Prince Charming to save her.

In a high-pitched sneer, Frankie parroted her mockingly, “What shirt?” Frankie scoffed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You know the one. It’s grey and comfortable. I gave it to you yesterday to wash.”

“You mean the one you use to color your hair?” Tanya asked, not unkindly.

Immediately, Frankie’s ire was directed toward the rival wife as she whipped around to face the dark-haired woman. “NO! I do not color my hair, Tanya! I’m a natural red-head.” Tossing her obviously dyed hair, Frankie harrumphed.

“Yeah,” Janine couldn’t help but mutter under her breath, “and I’m a fucking super-model.”

Frankie’s neck snapped around so fast at Janine’s words that it almost looked like she got whiplash. Her face was twisted, spitting mad, but before she could open her mouth to shriek at Janine anymore, there the distinct knock of a baseball bat on the door as Negan returned with Michaela, a quiet wife and the only African-American one. Michaela was kind to Janine, but other than that didn’t talk to her much. She preferred to keep to herself.

As soon as she saw Negan, Janine dropped to one knee and stared hard at the floor. “You’re a fucking super-model, you say? I thought I was fucking every fucking super-model here.” Negan drawled as he leisurely strolled toward her, his words making Frankie snicker. Janine, not really bothered by his comment, only knew Negan was approaching by the sounds of his heavy footfalls. She heard a smacking noise – probably Negan spanking Michaela’s rear – and her suspicions were confirmed when she heard Negan murmur to the wife, “You can head on back to your bedroom now, Michaela. You deserve the rest after the fuck fest we just had.” Dutifully, Michael left, and Janine heard her bedroom door close behind her with a soft click. That left just Janine, Frankie, Negan, and Tanya.

“Negan,” Tanya simpered, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thanks, Tanya, girl,” Negan replied, “but I’m actually here looking for Amber. You know I don’t pick favorites, Tanya. I was with you and Frankie yesterday. It’s Amber’s turn.” Janine remained kneeling as she hadn’t been told to stand yet and she hadn’t been dismissed either. “So, where is she?”

“Um,” Tanya stalled.

Not sounding amused, Negan asked again, “Tanya, where the fuck is Amber?”

“Uh,” Tanya began to stutter, and to Janine it sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, quit your fucking crying, Tanya. You’re not in fucking trouble unless you’re hiding shit from me.” Negan sighed, and Tanya sniffled miserably in response.

“Well since Amber is missing her turn,” Frankie finally spoke up, and from where she was kneeling with her head bowed Janine watched Frankie’s stilettos cross in front of her to Negan’s boots. “You can have me again, Negan. I know how much you like my massages.”

Negan snorted, “Yeah, no matter how much you tell me, I don’t think you were actually fucking licensed, Frank.” Janine choked, holding back her laughter from listening to them. “Shit, I mean Frankie. I know how much you hate that nickname.” Frankie sputtered, but Negan’s voice fluidly cut over hers, “Besides, you told me you were gonna color your hair again before we next fucked. Your nasty ass roots are not what I wanna see when you’re sucking me off and my men go through too much damn trouble looking for that hair dye if you’re not gonna use it.” Janine coughed out a laugh now before she immediately lapsed into silence once more.

It was too late, though. He definitely heard her – and so did Frankie and Tanya, doubtlessly. Negan’s shadow fell across Janine, but still she kept her eyes downcast, now riveted on his boots. He had rather large feet. She imagined they were pretty, but she wouldn’t know as she hadn’t actually seen them. Secretly, she had a bit of a thing for feet. “Well, fuck, what’s your name again?” Negan inquired, his rumbling voice breaking into Janine’s daydreaming.

“She’s no one,” Frankie answered for her. She pushed Janine over until she fell backwards, flat on her ass, with an undignified grunt. “She was just here delivering the laundry, and she can’t even do that right.”

 “Frankie!” Negan sharply admonished her. “Don’t do that shit. I already told you that if you have a fucking problem you come to me and I’ll handle it, damn it.”

From where she was sprawled on the floor, Janine scrambled to a kneeling position again. Both Francine and Tanya have smacked her around before, but not much, usually when she got mouthy. That super-model comment probably would’ve earned a bitch slap if Negan hadn’t interrupted.

“Hey,” Negan said, voice low and soothing, “you alright there? Shit, I still don’t remember your name.”

“Janine,” she told the floor in a whisper. Curiously, she wasn’t afraid but she was very unsure. She hadn’t interacted with Negan one on one before. Normally she would be among the crowd downstairs. This was new for her, and intimidating, but he wasn’t being very scary at the moment.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear ya.” Negan shifted until he was standing directly in front of her, and out of the corner of her eye Janine saw that both Frankie’s and Tanya’s pair of stilettos were close together in front of the couch. “You’re gonna have to speak up. You know what? Just go ahead and look at me. I’m always a fucking sucker for a picture of a pretty lady on her knees just for me.”

At his behest, Janine took a breath and slowly looked up at him. Despite him indirectly calling her pretty, in that moment Janine felt like she was anything but that. She didn’t collect enough points to shower regularly, so today her black hair was oily and her brown face was probably shiny with oil, too. Luckily, she hadn’t broken out with acne since the end of the world – probably due to the lack of greasy food in her diet – but she still was no beauty. Janine didn’t have pretty freckles or clear, unblemished skin. She wouldn’t be able to cram herself in a size 0 dress or fit her feet in a size 5 pair of heels either. No matter what, she just knew she would never be pretty, and before the end of the world that didn’t matter to her. Janine had been a great student and she was just about to enter grad school when everything went to shit. Now her BA in History hardly mattered. What mattered now was staying alive, and that meant answering Negan and doing whatever he wanted.

“My name is…Negan?” Janine hesitantly began, unsure if this was a test. Her brown eyes flitted hungrily all over Negan’s unshaven face, admiring his slicked back, black hair and his crinkled eyes framed by enviously long eyelashes and his bright, white smile and those damn charming dimples. He was just too damn pretty of a man. “Or Janine. I’m not sure how you want me to answer.”

“Janine is fucking fine,” Negan’s eyes roved over Janine’s face as well, taking in the full mouth and cute nose. His eyes slipped down lower on their own accord as he saw a teasing peep of cleavage. Janine was chesty, that was for sure. Out of all of his wives, only Michaela was more than a mouthful. The cogs in Negan’s head were already turning. “So, you do the cleaning around here? You do a damn good job of that.” He gestured around at the polished furniture and spotless floors.

“Thank you, sir,” Janine responded, not sure of what else to say. She hadn’t really noticed where he’d been looking, mostly being self-conscious of how filthy she was. “I clean the Saviors’ rooms, too. And yours.”

“That’s fucking right!” Negan snapped his hand as the proverbial lightbulb went off above his head. “Damn, you do a fucking great job then. I should be fucking thanking you for doing that shit for me. So, I will. Fucking thank you, Janine.”

“It’s just my job, sir,” Janine rushed to assure him. A little restless on her knees, she shifted, wondering what the point was to all of this.

“Do you like your job, Janine?” Negan leaned back on his heels, tapping the ever-present Lucille against the heel of his boot.

It was a loaded question, Janine was sure, similar to the kind her manager used to ask her at work. So, she gave him a somewhat similar answer. “I’m grateful to be here at the Sanctuary, sir.”

“Hmm,” Negan hummed, “But I bet the job still sucks ass, huh?” He didn’t bother waiting for her answer. “You made a comment about being a fucking super-model, right?”

Bowing her head in shame, Janine honestly answered, “Yeah, but I wasn’t being serious, sir, obviously. I was a student before all this.”

“Shit, you weren’t in high school, were you?”

“No, no!” Janine was a little surprised by the answer, wondering the relevancy of it. “I was in college. William and Mary. I’m probably 23 now.”

“Damn, you were a smartass college girl then,” Negan actually sounded impressed. “You’re still a smartass now, aren’t cha with the shit you give Frankie and Tanya here. What did you do to piss them off so much?”

“She deliberately sabotaged my panties!” Tanya jumped in before Janine could even open her mouth.

“And she lost my shirt,” Frankie added.

Glancing back at the two wives sitting on the couch, Negan frowned at them. “Ex-fucking-cuse me, but I asked Janine here.” Turning back to Janine, he gestured with Lucille over his shoulder at the wives before asking her, “What they say true?”

Really unsure of how to answer now, Janine nervously glanced back and forth between Negan and the women on the couch. If she said yes, Negan would punish her. If she said no, though, Negan still might punish her for indirectly calling his wives liars. Or, if he didn’t punish her, Frankie and Tanya would surely get their revenge on her later. No matter what she was screwed. So, she decided to answer honestly. “No, I didn’t do either of those things. The panties were torn when Tanya gave them to me and I couldn’t fix them without a sewing kit, so I just washed them and returned them. And Frankie never gave me the shirt she wears when she dyes her hair.” She had to fight to not smile at that last statement.

“Uh-huh,” Negan looked back at the wives again. “Well I believe you about the panty thing. That one is my fucking bad.”

Addressing the wives on the couch now, Negan continued, “Tanya don’t fucking worry about it. You know I like you better without panties anyway. I’ll get you another fucking pair if you want.” Relieved, Janine sighed, and Tanya looked pleased as well. That probably meant she wouldn’t mess with Janine about that later. “Still, you know how I feel about lying, Tanya, so I’m only gonna tell you this once like I told Frankie: you have a fucking problem, you fucking come to me and I’ll fucking handle it.” Tanya nodded frantically. “See? This is me fucking handling it for you.

“As for you, Frankie,” Negan wandered over in her direction, “I can get you another fucking shirt for your hair, too. And I know where that shirt is. You fucking left it in my room. I told you to keep track of your shit and to take it with you when you leave. Don’t blame others for your fucking mistakes. That’s not cool.”

Frankie dipped her head, chin nearly lowering to her chest as she meekly sat there. Her eyes were glaring daggers at Janine, and Janine knew there would be trouble later. It was worth it, though, just to witness Negan talk down to them both.

Walking back over to Janine, Negan rubbed a hand through his scruff, obviously tired of dealing with this stupid shit. “Alright, Janine, on your feet.” With a creak of her tired knees, Janine stood back up. She was good at following orders. He looked her up and down, and from the looks of it, he liked what he saw for some reason. “Yeah, you are a damn good maid, Janine, but the job is wasted on a fucking super-model like you. You’re damn wife material.” Shaking his head with a wide shit-eating grin, he proposed, “Marry me?”

“WHAT!” Frankie screamed, face red like a tomato. Tanya looked just as angry, though her anger competed with the surprised look on her face, too, as her eyebrows lifted up and down and her mouth fell open like a fish.

 Turning around, Negan barked, “Frankie! Tanya! You jealous bitches sure know how to ruin a damn mood! Go to your fucking rooms if you don’t want to see this.” He pointed Lucille at them and made a shooing gesture towards their respective bedrooms. Immediately, Tanya scurried off, fighting tears. Frankie took a different approach, slinking off and giving Janine the stink-eye as she left, her mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “Frankie? When you see Amber again, you tell her she’s not allowed to leave this fucking parlor until I see her again. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

Meanwhile, Janine was a bit in shock herself. She had been expecting punishment not marriage. Catching Negan’s eye was never her intention, and she didn’t think it would be possible either. Comparing herself to the other wives, Janine was nothing like them. Despite Negan repeating it, too, she was hardly the super-model either.

Once Negan turned back toward her, Janine was thinking hard about his offer. Part of her wanted to impetuously say yes just for the opportunity to sleep with him, but then again Frankie and Tanya would make her life a living hell. “So, what do ya say, Janine? Because I would just love to fuck your brains out. Especially considering that wifey number 4 has disappeared on me now. My evening is free for fucking if you’d like.”

“You don’t have to marry me to sleep with me,” Janine gently told him, figuring that was his intentions. If she could sleep with Negan freely while avoiding the other wives, that was what she wanted to do then.

“But I wanna fucking marry you, Janine,” Negan argued. “You’re hot as shit and I appreciate a smartass just as much as I do a hot piece of ass.” He waited for an answer, but Janine still wasn’t sure. “Look, if you’re worried about the others, I’ll repeat myself for the third time tonight and say I’ll fucking handle all your problems if there are any.” But Janine was still indecisive. “Would you like for me to convince you? Come to my room for a quick fuck and once we’re done fucking you can tell me your answer. One free fuck on me, Janine.”

This was a good deal. “Yes,” Janine quickly agreed, and then immediately blushed.

“Fucking fantastic.” Negan smiled even wider. “Well, let’s get down to it, then.” He stepped forward and caught her around the waist. Tilting down he caught her mouth in a kiss that surprised her, and immediately it turned into passionate one.

It had been a while since Janine’s last kiss; and just as she was getting into the swing of things, giving as good as she got (and Negan gave pretty damn well), he pulled away. “Mm, I made a damn good choice proposing to your fine ass. You kiss as good as you fucking clean, and I have high hopes that your fucking is even better.” Flushing with pride, Negan jerked his head towards the exit. “Come on, let’s get back to my room so I can get inside your pussy already. I bet you’re already fucking soaked for me.”

“Well, you’ll have to find out,” Janine teased, gaining confidence, and then she flounced away with a flick of her hair. She knew exactly where his room was. Giving him a coy look over her shoulder, she put a little more sway in her hips and crooked her fingers at him to follow. Hell yes, she was going to enjoy this. 

[shefa]

ANTISEMITISM IN AMERICA: CONFRONTING A NEW REALITY

ANTISEMITISM IN AMERICA: CONFRONTING A NEW REALITY SECOND DAY ROSH HASHANAH SERMON 5778 – 2017 Rabbi Stephen Weiss, B’nai Jeshurun Congregation, Pepper Pike OH

At last count, Tanya Gersh had received 700 threatening, hateful and anti-Semitic messages. Even now, one arrives every few days. That may seem like a lot, but it isn’t. Not compared to before, when they came day and night. Neo-Nazis intimidated the secretaries who answered the phone at her husband’s office. They even tried to contact her 12-year-old son. One message read: “You have no idea what you are doing, six million are only the beginning.” Another read: “You are surprisingly easy to find on the internet… and in real life.”

The Gersh family had be living in fear since The Daily Stormer, Neo-Nazi website, started its harassment campaign eight months ago calling on its followers to intimidate Tanya, publishing her photo and phone number, her husband’s work address and her son’s Twitter handle. The harassment climaxed with a call by The Daily Stormer for an armed march through Tanya Gersh’s town of Whitefish, Montana. Attached to the promoting materials for the march was a photo of Auschwitz, decorated with swastikas and a yellow star, superimposed with images of Tanya Gersh, her son, the local Conservative rabbi and the husband of the local reform rabbi who heads a human rights group.

The march, thank God never materialized in Whitefish. But eight months later, Whitefish’s most notorious resident Neo-Nazi, Richard Spencer helped organize and lead the night march and rally which took place in Charlottesville, NC not long ago. Spencer drew national attention, you may recall, last November when he led a pro-Trump rally in a Nazi salute just after the election. He was joined in Charlottesville by David Duke, former Imperial Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan as 250 white supremacists marched across the University of Virginia campus with tiki torches, deliberately evoking images of medieval mobs and of Klan cross burnings. Then an even larger number rallied the next day. Decades ago they would have marched with hoods to hide their identity, but this time they showed their faces proudly, unafraid, as they chanted, White Lives Matter, Go the F--- back to Africa, Blood and Soil, and The Jews Will Not replace Us.

Then, just last week, a synagogue in St. Louis gave shelter to African Americans protesting a police shooting. Jew-haters took to their social media accounts tweeting anti-Semitic attacks using the hashtag #gasthejews. The hashtag was used by so many people, tweeted and re-tweeted so many times on Twitter that it rose to be trending. Trending means it was one of the most used hashtags globally on the social media site: #gasthejews.

These three events stand out as among the most dramatic this year. But they do not stand in isolation. In 2016, according to the Anti-Defamation League, there was a 34% rise in anti-Semitic incidents. That’s one third more than the year before. In 2017 so far anti-Semitic incidents rose an astounding 86% over 2016. In just the first quarter of 2017 there were 386 incidents of harassment, 155 incidents of vandalism and six physical assaults, putting the year on pace to reach 2000 incidents by its end, here, in America.

For years we have been talking about the rise in anti-Semitism in Europe generally and especially in France and the UK. But at the same time, we have perhaps been in a bit of denial about the reality of the dramatic increase in Jew-hatred right here at home.

Many of us grew up in a time when we did not experience the same level of animosity as our parents. For us it is easy to forget stories we have heard from half a century ago about Father Coughlin’s hatred being spewed over the airwaves, or Henry Ford disseminating copies of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, or the Nazi rally, complete with huge Nazi flags emblazoned with swastikas and ushers dressed as stormtroopers, that filled Madison Square Garden to overflowing in the 1930s. These events feel relegated to history. We live with the illusion that 21st century America has been freed of the fears and discrimination felt by previous generations of Jews.

But it has not. In a shocking article in Time Magazine after Charlottesville, Jon Meacham delineates a detailed history of white supremacist, Neo-Nazi and other hate groups in this country. I urge you to read it. It’s still available online. The upshot of his article is that the undercurrents of hatred in this country have never gone away and have remained a stronger and more pervasive force than we thought, just waiting for the right moment to surface.

So, the question is, now that it has indeed resurfaced, how do we respond to this new reality in which we live?

First, we must call out hatred wherever we see it. We can no longer afford to turn a blind eye. To do so is to risk being caught off guard when the moment comes that this hatred reaches a tipping point in this country.

Many of you will remember the bestselling book In the Garden of the Beasts, which recounts the experience of US Ambassador William Dodd and his family in Berlin in the years leading up to World War II. He came to Germany enamored of the glamor and excitement of Berlin’s social scene, and only slowly came to acknowledge and face the reality of a country descending into unbridled hate, discrimination and violence.

When he realized, he wrote missives back to his superiors in Washington warning them of what was happening, but they were not taken seriously. The West waited too long to get involved in the fight against the Nazis, and even then did too little too late to save Jewish lives.

Second, it is important that we recognize the extraordinary support that we do have from the majority of Americans. In Whitefish, Montana the town rallied around the Gersh family, placing pictures of a menorah in all their windows at Hanukkah time to express their Solidarity. In 2014 the city council passed an anti-discrimination ordinance. Many Whitefish businesses will not let Richard Spencer or his followers enter their doors. Following the events in Charlottesville 150 people gathered in Whitefish for a vigil to honor Charlottesville’s counter protesters. In Virginia, the Governor of Virginia made a statement that white supremacists should simply “leave this country.” As Rabbi Rosten of Whitefish said, “The world isn’t filled with hateful people.” This country is filled with a majority of good loving people who will stand with us. We need to reach out to them, to hold on to them, to support them, and to let them know how grateful we are for their support when we are in need.

Third, we must recognize that hatred is beyond politics. There is hatred and prejudice on both the right and the left. Some political leaders have found it expedient to look the other way when those who support their overall goals also spew hatred. Both conservatives and liberals, Democrats and Republicans have allowed the banners of free speech and academic freedom to serve as a fig leaf for the spewing of hatred. Too many of us are too busy pointing fingers across the aisle, delighting in examples of how much the other side has failed rather than actively targeting the hate within their own parties.

Conservatives need to tackle the white nationalist elements within their camp and Liberals need to tackle the Pro-BDS elements that nurture anti-Semitism in their camp. Both elements in American politics foment anti-Semitism. As Jews, we must learn to stand for the Jewish people and for Jewish values first, and for American political factions second.

You know that when the Jews left Egypt, they crossed the Sea. The rabbis teach that crossing the Sea was a great moment of revelation when we experienced God most intensely. The people were united in spirit as they sang a song of thanks to God at the Sea. And then immediately after, they complained that they had no food and no water. They became rancorous and divisive… and that is when Amalek attacked. Our enemies attack us when we are divided, when we separate from each other and attack each other.

In contrast, at Sinai the Torah says vayichan sham – that the whole people were one, united in heart and mind at Mount Sinai. It was because we were united that we merited the receiving of the Torah and God’s spirit. We have to stand together as Jews first before all else.

Finally, we must recognize that, as Martin Luther King famously wrote from the Birmingham Jail, Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. The battle against anti-Semitism cannot stand in isolation from the battles against hatred of blacks, Hispanics, Asians, women, homosexuals, transgender people, Muslims, immigrants, refugees, those of a different socio-economic class or any other group. Rallying cries of the white supremacists in Whitefish and Charlottesville should remind us that when any of us are in the cross-hairs of hate, we all are. If to the haters there is no distinction, then to us there can be no distinction either.

Pastor Martin Niemoller was a Lutheran pastor in Germany. He opposed the Weimar republic and welcomed Hitler’s rise to power. Even when persecutions first began he did not defend the Jews. On the contrary, he sheltered and protected baptized Christians who were persecuted by the Nazis because they were descended from Jews. But as for the Jews themselves? In one sermon in 1935, he remarked: "What is the reason for [their] obvious punishment, which has lasted for thousands of years? Dear brethren, the reason is easily given: the Jews brought the Christ of God to the cross."

It was only later, when Niemoller himself was pursued by the Nazis, that he understood the error of his ways. I know you recognize these words that he wrote:

First, they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out— Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak out for me.

This morning we read the story of the near sacrifice of Isaac. There are many beautiful interpretations of the meaning of this story. On the one hand, it is at its most basic level a rejection of the ancient practice of child sacrifice. At the same time, we also see it as a demonstration of Abraham’s loyalty to God, of his willingness to sacrifice even that which is most precious to him. Abraham’s story is meant both to inspire our faith and sacrifice and to remind God of Abraham’s devotion. We pray that if we are unworthy of God’s forgiveness and blessings, God should look favorably upon us for Abraham’s sake, because we are his progeny.

But generations of Jews over thousands of years saw something else in this saga. Isaac became a literary stand-in for the Jewish people His near sacrifice was seen as a stand-in for the near decimation of the Jewish people who were martyred again and again by those who could not abide by our very existence.

Indeed, there is one particularly disturbing midrash in which Isaac is really, actually sacrificed. His life taken, he dies on the altar and then the angel resurrects him. Some scholars have seen in this a parallel to Christianity but they miss the point of this midrash in which Isaac is a symbol of the entire Jewish people which will descend from him. Time and again, we as a nation have faced utter destruction but like a phoenix we always rise again from the ashes. The author of this midrash was expressing his faith in the indestructible nature of the Jewish people.

I’ve often quoted Professor Jonathan Sarna who likes to talk about the cover of a 1966 issue of Look Magazine that featured a story titled, “The Vanishing Jew.” Dr. Sarna is fond of saying, “And look at that! Look Magazine has vanished, and the Jews are still here!”

We will always be here. That’s Gods promise to us. Like the moon that renews its cycle month after month, vanishing in the darkness and then reappearing, shining its light, God promises us that, no matter what difficulties we face, God will lift us up and restore us to our glory.

But we have to do our part too. We have to stand against hatred wherever we see it. We must stand against hatred of Jews and stand against hatred of others. We have to demonstrate to the world the meaning of true love of humanity, what it means that we are all children of one God, that we share together a common fate and destiny.

It’s because of that commitment that we are disliked by those who hate us. Let us hold that banner aloft proudly, standing for the values of Torah, the love of humanity and the service of God.

May we see the day when hatred will cease in our midst and the world can truly be filled with love, ad let us say: Amen.

[saundrahuff-blog]

Musings from a lost mind

Before I started typing, all these thoughts were running thru my head. As soon as I wrote out my title, they decide to run and hide. As if to spare me embarrassment in case I'm made fun of for my thoughts. Silly, I know. Ive embarrassed myself so much, I actually am capable of continuing on thru it. I can remember moments that I inwardly cringe and get defensive to everyone, even though they have no idea why I'm being that way. I'm not sure when, but I decided long ago that nothing was going to stop me from living as I wish. Certainly not my own sense of shame. I kind of know when, just not the exact moment. Being a small country girl from the north who was told every day that her worth was not good enough, I decided to break from my mold and go as far away as possible. My only question was how. I'm broke. If I believed my family, I had no skills to survive. So I joined the army. Why? I really was that desperate to get the hell away from home. As far away as possible, to finally find out if what my family told me was true. Also my short white, unknowing, never had to really deal with life, ass joined and went to basic. Met my first black woman. To say she impressed me really doesn't cover how in awe of her I was. I was 18, white, 5'2, from the country. She was well over 6 feet, black, and from Bronx. We couldn't be more different. Tanya Rice. I bless the day I met her. Her knowledge shaped who I am. I was allowed to ask any kind of stupid question I wanted. On any topic. And she did her best to answer them honestly. I learned about being racist and being bigoted. I learned that hating for no real reason made you look stupid. I learned that you can survive your most stupidest moment. Let me tell you an example of just how bad off I was. I learned that I could march with full backpacks, rifle, for hours, and do it while sleeping. But, I could not remember to breath. At first, I would almost black out. You have to understand, when I say I'm white, I mean I'm so white, I'm almost see thru. I'm the picture when they try to explain how white some people are. I never tanned. I burned. That was the only color I could change to. Different shades of red. So, when I turned blue and was passing out, it caught others attention. Being in a daze, I really didn't understand what the hell was going on. I would go into a daze, walking, walking, always walking. Then I would wake up looking at the sky. It was a bit alarming. It was finally brought up that I kept turning blue right before I passed out. After that, I would have people keep an eye out. And it didn't take long before they realized that I was marching in my sleep and not breathing. This was a concern. You do not pass basic if you stop breathing. And I never really knew when I would fall asleep. Everyone going thru basic is tired. I was no different than anyone else. Except that I couldn't remember to breathe while sleep marching. Tanya, in her role of elder, took upon herself the duty of saving me. She would walk behind me. The person on either side would let her know when I started turning blue. She would take her M16 and hit the back of my helmet, waking me up. I've learned, since then, that this is not usual behavior, and I'm just weird. But it's ok. Because if I have to be weird, it's best to be this kind of weird and not the chopping off of body parts and hiding them in trash bins. Everything this woman taught me was gold. And that's the story of how I survived basic. If it wasn't for her, I don't think I would have made it. She shaped my thinking more than my family ever would. From her I learned to wait until you actually understand a person before you hate them. That right there was mind blowing to me. I learned the techniques I would need, years later, to finally be happy with who I am. And to accept my family for who they are. Not for what I expected them to be. So, imagine how shocked I was my first time alone in Germany, while it was common for terrorists to be there and attack Americans by bombing, or driveby shootings. My first three months there, I don't remember. Mainly because during my first week in country, I was present for a bomb to go off. I then proceeded to spend the next three months drunk. I have no memory of that time. Except for pt. Being drunk and or hungover and expected to do all the military work out is just something that will be remembered. But, it was during that time that I made the most startling and freeing discovery. There was no way I was getting out of this country. While there, I've been bombed, attacked, shot at, and almost knifed. There was no way I would get out of this unscathed. So I decided that, fuck it, since I was going to end up dead anyway, I'm going to live my life by doing as much as I could, no matter how stupid or dangerous. I went to neo Nazi bars and picked fights with skinheads. I debated with known terrorists. I went were I wanted, no matter what. An example. When the military community got wind that a terrorist attack was imminent, they would lock down the base. I swore they did it deliberately because this only happened on weekends. Just because they didn't want us to go out and have fun. So, we found a hole in the wall that we could sneak thru and went out partying. Then, when we decided to go home, our retarded ass never remembered to go back in the same way and we would go to front gate. Always asked the same question. How did you get out when we have a lockdown. I would inform them how the hell would I know. I'm drunk and not on guard duty. How in holy hell did that argument work? But it did. I'm still amazed we are not speaking Russian to this day. We used to have long discussions on who was the most stupid. Me for saying dumb shit like that, or the guards who just went along. But, I was damned if I would tell them about that hole in the wall. They would fix it and there would go our only way to freedom. So basically, my getting drunk was more important to me than letting anyone know about the possible entrance or weakness in our defense and that would provide a way in to any terrorist who found it. I wasn't the only one who didn't truly understand the full ramifications. I wasn't the only one using that way. I can excuse it that way if I wanted. And I did. But, I think about that now. How many lives did I endanger because I didn't tell anyone about that hole? Soldiers died all the time over there. A lot of people hated Americans. A lot wanted to hurt us. I knew about this. I had seen it myself. But I never told anyone. This is but one instance of when my own selfish needs were more important than the safety of others. I'll tell more later. Does anyone ever read these?