#and texted it to me. i politely thanked her but said that due to ethical reasons i'd rather she not make me in that kind of software

[sonderdream]

my mom is fangirling over ai art and refusing to believe that it's unethical or even read my numerous sources I offer because "it's blending it! it's original :)" fuck my stupid baka life

[kiyomitakada]

“Thank you for escorting me all this way, Lidner-san,” Kiyomi says politely.

“Of course.” Lidner nods.

“I’m sorry I made you carry so much of the fan mail from the post office,” Kiyomi continues. “A friend suggested I look through it, but I wasn’t quite anticipating the sheer volume…”

Stop me, she wants to scream. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me…

She can’t even think it. What’s wrong with her? Isn’t this what she wanted?

The note paper feels like it’s burning a hole through her handbag.

Lidner hesitates for just a second. Something halfway between terror and relief surges in Kiyomi’s chest—

“Have a good night, Lady Takada.”

Thank god. (Damn it.) “Goodnight.”

She stands stock still as Lidner disappears down the hall. It’s only when the sound of her flats clacking against the marble floor fades into the distance that Kiyomi exhales, fishes out her keys, and enters her apartment.

She’s been getting paranoid ever since Light pulled out that drawer in the hotel room to reveal all the wires. She conducts a bug check herself. It takes about ten minutes to determine that no, none of her adoring fans have broken into her home yet, unless she’s missed something — she glances at the vent — no, that’s too much, she can’t afford to be so neurotic. And the landlord would complain if she unscrewed it.

Still, she walks into her bedroom to avoid what feels like eyes on the back of her neck. Sits down on the bed, sets the box of fan mail on her dresser.

She doesn’t bother opening it. She’d seen T’s letter the second she stepped into the post office.

The email had said: Delete this man at 8:23 p.m.

Then after that, as though trying to reassure her: He was a highway robber and was almost accused of manslaughter three separate times. He was let go due to bribery from his family. I am certain of this.

Kiyomi exhales. She takes out her pen. She opens her handbag.

The envelope feels perfectly normal, not light or heavy, under her fingertips. She unseals it. There’s the encoded confirmation that her sender is who she believes it to be; a page titled Rules for Usage and covered in neat handwritten text; and her murder weapon.

If she had heard it from anyone other than Light Yagami, she would have laughed. This? This high-school style lined note paper can kill remotely with a heart attack?

Kiyomi swallows. Her pen suddenly feels too heavy for her hand.

We can make a world filled with only kind people, Light had said. Eyes wide, sparkling, genuine. Like we talked about in college.

What is Kiyomi hesitating for? It’s just paper. It’s just a name. It’s just a life with net negative worth to society. She’s studied utilitarianism; she knows how the calculations work out. This is the right thing to do.

When Light had first asked her to kill, she’d stumbled so badly that she knocked a chair over.

Stupid. Weak. Unintelligent. Kiyomi Takada will be the goddess of the new world. What is she hesitating for?

Had she thought divinity would spare her from the need to stain her own hands? No. She knows better than that. She just doesn’t want to, because—

She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She doesn’t.

Her ethics professor, freshman year: Some of the scenarios we’ll discuss will be disturbing. If the faint of heart would like to sit out, be my guest.

He’d looked at her. And at some of the other girls sitting in the front row, she suspects, but she still remembers sitting up straighter and glaring right back because he was wrong and she was better, she’d aced all her classes every single term, she was smart and refined and practical and she’d always known she was better than everyone else because she was.

And yet here she is, staring at a blank piece of paper like a fool, proving that bastard more correct every second.

Kiyomi clicks the pen and, in a single rush of movement, writes the name and time.

There. It’s done. There’s still half an hour to 8:23, she knows, but for all intents and purposes it’s done.

She wants to throw up.

Instead she puts the pen away neatly, folds the papers into five origami cranes to place on her drawer, and stands. She’s fine. She’s going to take a relaxing bath, actually, to congratulate herself for personally helping the world take one step closer to utopia.

She’s still good. She’s better than ever. Why wouldn’t she be?

[ @deathnotetober day 5: first kill ]

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

Five years ago, while a student at Columbia, Sulkowicz lugged a dorm-issue, extra-long twin mattress around campus for as long as she had to attend school with her alleged rapist. This was Mattress Performance (Carry That Weight), a globally viral art piece that made visible the weight of campus sexual assault. It transformed Sulkowicz into an icon. Since then, her artworks have regularly roused the internet: a video of her reenacting her assault, a bondage performance at the Whitney that doubled as institutional critique. This past spring, she tweeted an image that was perhaps even more provocative: a photo of her grinning alongside two of her libertarian critics — not performance art, she insists, but a byproduct of her new curiosity about other views.

“All my clothes are in boxes,” she tells me, gesturing apologetically to her oversize charcoal hoodie. She’s in the midst of moving from a sublet owned by a tantra instructor (mirrors surrounding the bed to create an infinite regression — that kind of thing) to an apartment in lower Manhattan whose location she asks me not to reveal, since “there’s some really scary people who are obsessed with me.” Her hair is short-cropped and coffee black, its natural color after years of bright dyes, and her voice is buoyant, laughter always bubbling underneath. Since 2016, Sulkowicz has identified as gender fluid, and she sometimes uses they/them pronouns. When I ask what to use for this article, she texts me, “Lol I’m not clear about it either,” before settling on she/her.

During the summer of 2018, Sulkowicz tells me, she was single for the first time in years. Swiping through Tinder, a man she found “distasteful” super-liked her. “It smelled like Connecticut,” she says of his profile. “He was very blond, law school, cut jawline, trapezoidal body figure, tweed suit kind of vibe, but something inside of me made me swipe right, I don’t know.” They began messaging, and she found him witty. “He was actually way more fun to talk to than any other person I matched with.”

Eventually, Sulkowicz stalked him on Twitter and realized that he was conservative — “like, very conservative.” At first, she was repulsed and considered breaking it off. But then she thought, “Wait, actually, that’s kind of fucked up because he’s the most interesting person I’ve come across, shouldn’t I be open to talking to him?” After dispelling her initial fear, she texted him that it would be “interesting (progressive? Powerful?) for two people who might be the antithesis of each other to go on a Tinder date.”

Ahead of this date, they traded reading assignments: Sulkowicz gave him the password to protected areas of her website, and he sent pieces he’d written for conservative magazines, which she printed, annotated with her critiques, and brought to their date. This man expected Sulkowicz to be “the patron saint of wokeness,” but when he met her, he found that she wasn’t actually trying to litigate the issues — she was mostly just “curious about this different perspective that she had not been as familiar with.” The two “sort of dated” for a while and then realized that their chemistry was more conversational. They became “amazing friends.”

Not having known conservatives before, Sulkowicz had to play catch up. Early in their friendship, she asked him to recommend one book to help her understand him, and he picked Jonathan Haidt’s The Righteous Mind. It’s a book that explains, in evolutionary terms, the human tendency toward political tribalism and the importance, in light of that, of learning from one another’s beliefs. She calls the book “mind-opening.” Its resonance with her new friendship did not escape her.

Shortly after, Sulkowicz attended a book talk of Haidt’s. This was for The Coddling of the American Mind, which diagnoses the campus left with the kinds of cognitive distortions that addle the chronically anxious and depressed: a tendency to blow everyday problems out of proportion, or to believe that one’s negative feelings reflect reality. This book kicked a hornet’s nest on the left, and when Haidt learned that Sulkowicz was at his talk, he didn’t assume she was a fan. “I expected her to be the sort of person who sometimes asks the angry question when I give lectures on campuses,” Haidt tells me. “And when I first saw her and she had blue hair, that fed my assumptions and expectations about what her views and values would be.” But Sulkowicz surprised him. “It changed the way I think about politics,” she said about The Righteous Mind, “and I wanted to thank you for it.” The two became friends.

Soon, she began attending house parties and happy hours with conservative and libertarian intellectuals, reading Jordan Peterson and articles from the National Review. In the past, Sulkowicz dismissed opposing views without understanding them, but now she sees intellectual curiosity as intertwined with respect: she wants to disagree with people on their own terms. This is an ethical position, but one with personal resonance. “I’ve always been upset,” she admits, “that there are people out there who assume that I’m a bad or mean person without ever having met me.” When she describes her political journey, she fixates on the experience of surprising people, of walking into a group who might otherwise dislike her and “disrupting their expectations.” At these parties, she reflects, “I can become fuller to certain people rather than staying the same caricature. I’m going from flat to round.”

- - -

A couple weeks after our lunch, Sulkowicz brings me to a book party at a dark bar on Bleecker Street. Here, she introduces me to her friend from Tinder, who asks that I not use his real name for this article. (It might be a distraction at his white-shoe law firm and, besides, “Emma is inured to online hate, but I am not.”) When he asks if he can choose his own pseudonym, I tell him sure. He picks Chad. It’s a reference to the incel term for men who, due to serendipitous genetics, are attractive enough to have oodles of sex. All of us laugh, but Sulkowicz laughs loudest, her voice tinkling, bell-like, and leaping between octaves.

Chad is a Chad, by the way, and he does “smell like Connecticut”: he has cornsilk hair, a shieldlike chest, and a jawline that an incel might show his surgeon for inspiration. But Chad is also a different kind of conservative than I imagined. Rather than a bowtie-sporting William F. Buckley type thumbing his nose at populism, he finds Reaganism laughably passé and aligns himself with Tucker Carlson’s anti-elite drive to regulate markets. He says that he would support some of Trump’s policy agenda, if only the president were competent enough to achieve it.

This party is for Robby Soave, a libertarian reporter on the snowflake beat whose new book, Panic Attack: Young Radicals in the Age of Trump, is — per Soave’s own description — “a book that is extremely critical of [Sulkowicz] and that I don’t wish her to read.” Soave met Sulkowicz a month or so before at another libertarian happy hour. Initially bewildered, he warmed to her, finding her to be inquisitive and even fun to talk to. “We exchanged contact information,” he tells me later, “and talked about maybe becoming, I guess, friends or something?” He laughs incredulously as he says this, sounding a bit on edge.

As Sulkowicz swirls around the party, her presence stirs an obvious question: whether this is performance art. Soave brings it up twice when we speak on the phone afterward, acknowledging the possibility that he’s being set up. While he’s inclined to believe that Sulkowicz is moved by earnest curiosity, he’s aware of her background in “elaborately planned performance art” and her reputation as a provocateur. Since graduating from Columbia in 2015, Sulkowicz has done around a dozen performances touching on issues like consent, anti-institutionalism, climate change, trauma, wellness, and female sexual desire. It’s natural to wonder if she’s currently breaking bread with this crowd to lampoon civility politics or to expose views she hates. Honestly, it might be harder to believe that she’s simply trying to learn.

But Sulkowicz is adamant that this isn’t performance. In fact, she insists that she’s quitting art altogether. After one of our lunches, she bikes off to return the keys to her studio, which she’s emptied and swept clean. “For many years,” she explains, “I wasn’t interested in listening to other points of view. I was very emotional and making performance-art pieces that were very reactionary and fiery.” Without disowning them, she describes these artworks as something she “got out of her system.”

Having found the art world humorless, narrow-minded, and grotesquely competitive, Sulkowicz says she stopped making art about a year ago. She quit a fellowship at a museum, ceased teaching art classes, and was essentially unemployed for a time, drawing income from occasional speaking gigs, mostly about campus sexual assault. (Her remarks on Me Too have been fewer; she supports it, but wants a clearer path to forgiveness.) She has been working on a memoir that draws on her diaries from Mattress Performance, and last month, she started a full-time, four-year master’s program in traditional Chinese medicine. There, she’ll learn skills from acupuncture to herbalism, which have been her “personal healing modality” for years. Sulkowicz has parried assumptions that this is performance art, too. It grates on her. “I’m a human and humans can change,” she says, insistently. “I’m telling you that I don’t want to make art anymore.”

But in some ways, it’s easier to assume that Sulkowicz’s political posture is performance art: this provides a clear motive, one that’s politically straightforward. If Sulkowicz is not making art, then it’s much harder to grasp why she’s doing this and what it means. Part of the confusion, Sulkowicz assumes, springs from a pervasive misunderstanding about who she is, rooted in the dissonance between her public image and private consciousness. While many assume she’s at Soave’s book party for some admixture of art and progressive politics, Sulkowicz says she’s mostly there for fun.

[redemptiionss]

TDP’s portrayal of Deafness & Deaf Culture through Amaya: PART ONE

So.. yesterday was the last day of Deaf Awareness Week lol. I’ve been working on this & part 2 and was planning on posting it yesterday, but obviously that didn’t work out as I didn’t finish them on time.

I know I said in my previous posts that this one would be about lipreading, but I decided that I would also talk about Deaf culture & TDP’s portrayal of Amaya. This post will be split into two parts: the first part will be about the authenticity of her portrayal, and the second part will be about how it is imperfect.

First. The portrayal of Amaya’s character & her deafness, while imperfect, is honestly incredibly refreshing to see compared to other portrayals in media. The entertainment media often will “cut corners” when it comes to portraying deaf people. They portray them as being able to hear some, speak some, & lipread as their primary mode of communication. This results in very little use of ASL, because it’s easier that way. Ta da! Less effort needed. Essentially, dDeaf people who are able to lipread/speak/hear some, are more likely to appear on television than Deaf people who cannot hear or speak & rely on ASL.

So yes, while TDP’s portrayal is imperfect, Amaya’s character is very refreshing to see. They actually put in effort to make Amaya appear as authentic as possible. For once, I’m seeing a Deaf character on television who doesn’t speak, can’t hear, & uses ASL as her primary mode of communication. Like me!! I really, really didn’t expect that, & least of all for her to use ASL. So yeah I’m stoked about her.

Now, it’s important to know that the Deaf community is diverse. Not all dDeaf/HoH people are the same! Some dDeaf people are profoundly deaf, like me, then others may have some hearing that varies on differing levels. Some are raised in oral education, others mainstream (public schools), or in deaf schools. Many are born to hearing families, others to strong intergenerational Deaf families (these Deaf people usually are very VERY strong, culturally & ASL-wise). Not all people with hearing loss are involved in the Deaf community/culture/world. 

I don’t want it to seem like I’m ignoring or excluding all the dDeaf/HoH people involved with the Deaf culture/community; who may be here on Tumblr & fit those descriptions lol.

To me, Amaya comes across as someone who is culturally Deaf. She practically screams, I’M DEAF AND PROUD. She isn’t some character that they just halfheartedly slapped the “deaf” label on for bonus points. This is great, as it shows that they really did their research & listened to the Deaf people they consulted. Honestly, they & the ASL interpreters deserve all of our thank-yous.

Oh, and I posted a translation of Amaya’s signing a while back as well btw.. COUGH COUGH. Lol.

The Good Parts:

Pretty accurate usage & portrayal of ASL syntax.

This shows their understanding that:

ASL is not just “English in sign”, or a “translation” of English. It is its own legitimate language: completely different with its own grammar structure, morphology, phonology (known as the 5 parameters), etc.

Examples of ASL syntax, courtesy of Amaya:

“BREAKFAST MOST IMPORTANT MEAL DAY.”

“FOOD HERE IS... *bangs stale bread on counter* HARD LIKE STEEL.” {weapons-grade}

[Rayla’s interrogation]

“YOU TWO? *gesture* MANY THERE YOU ARE?”

“LIE YOU” *points at Rayla*

[Escape scene]

“CALLUM, EZRAN, COME” *points at the space next to her*

“OKAY, YOU. I KILL MONSTERS BEFORE.”

“IF ELF KNOW WE FOLLOW THEM, KILL BOYS. NEED CAREFUL.” *points in their direction*

[Memorial/Grave scene]

“HELLO BIG SISTER. YOU MY HERO. PERFECT, STRONG, ENDURING, HEART-SOFT {compassionate/gentle}, AND REALLY SORRY BIG SISTER. I FAIL YOU. I SONS SAFE WITH BUT GONE/MISSING.”

Note: ASL grammar does not use BE verbs (am, is, are, was, were) or articles ( (a, an, the), & it does not use tenses like English does either. Word order is different from English as well. More info on ASL grammar here if anyone is interested. 

How to get a Deaf person’s attention.

Hint: you don’t yell. The best (and polite) way to get a Deaf person’s attention is to gently tap them on the shoulder.

We’ve only seen one scene of this so far, where Callum and Ezran is behind Amaya as she walks into the lodge. Because Amaya is deaf, with little to no hearing it seems, obviously Callum can’t just call her name to get her attention. So what does he do? He goes up and knocks on the shield Amaya is wearing on her back, and Amaya feels the vibrations and reacts immediately by turning around. This was a very tiny, quick scene, but I liked seeing that. :)

The job of the interpreter. (Psst. The correct terminology is INTERPRETER, not translator. Interpreters translate languages orally & in this case, into ASL. Translators deal with written text. This is just a peeve of mine since I am seeing many people refer to Gren as a “translator”.)

Contrary to [apparently????] popular belief, interpreters are not necessarily “stoic”, monotonous, etc. (I read that they were originally going to make him into comic relief.. I’m really glad that they didn’t.) Gren’s profession is a sign language interpreter. It is his job to interpret what Amaya is saying (and his job should be ALSO to interpret FOR Amaya at all times tbh... but I’ll get to that later in Part 2).

While it is the interpreter’s job to voice for Deaf people, this also means that they shouldn’t merely just say the words but to emote vocally as well, otherwise it’d appear that the interpreter & the Deaf person have no personality. It is their responsibility to deliver the appropriate emotion & tone that best fits what/how the Deaf person is conveying through ASL. So yeah, that is literally Gren’s job.

It is also his job to interpret what other people are saying, for Amaya’s benefit. Which is why I thought that the scene when Gren immediately jumps in to interpret for Amaya when she had her back turned towards Viren was an excellent demonstration of appropriate interpreting ethics. I would honestly like to see more of that in TDP, as that is the only scene we’ve gotten of Gren interpreting for Amaya.

Name Signs.

They are not nicknames. They are personal names, unique to each person who is a member of the Deaf community. This is an important & traditional aspect of Deaf culture. One isn’t just born with a name sign, of course-- it is assigned to them. It is a part of the Deaf cultural identity.

ANYONE can become a part of the Deaf community, including hearing people. However, hearing people/non-native signers should not pick or invent a name sign for themselves, as that is something reserved for a Deaf person to do. And in Deaf culture, it would be considered improper as well. Essentially, a culturally Deaf person assigns a name sign to a new non-native member of the community. It is considered a gift, something that is given to someone else and could be seen as a way of welcoming them into the community. The reason why it is like this, is because the creation of name signs actually has rules. << A link to an article/video that explains this, if anyone is interested lol.

However, not everyone has a name sign. Some may even choose not to have one-- meaning that their names would be fingerspelled, especially for those with names that have less than four letters.

There are two types of name signs: initialized/arbitrary & descriptive.

Initialized name signs use the first letter of your name from the manual alphabet. Descriptive name signs use classifier handshapes. Both may also be based on the receipent’s physical characteristics (this however, is more common in descriptive name signs. Initialized name signs usually doesn’t really have a meaning).

In TDP, it is shown that some characters have name signs (initialized), likely gifted by Amaya herself. Examples:

Callum: Initialized, in the handshape of a “C” & location is on the forehead  towards the side. [In Amaya’s introductory scene, his name was initially fingerspelled & now I think it was done as to emphasize Amaya’s bewilderment at Callum’s yelling.]

Ezran: Initialized, hand in the handshape of a “E” & location is on the side of the chin.

Corvus: Initialized, in the handshape of a “C” and tapped once on the head near the forehead.

Viren: Initialized, in the handshape of a “V” and tapped on the forehead near the brow.

We’re seeing a trend here huh, lol. They showed the sign names so fast, I had to rewatch the scenes several times to make sure I got them. No sign name for Gren yet... but then, his name is only four letters.

Facial expressions and mouth movements.

In Deaf culture & when using ASL, facial expression is a must. The expressions one makes when signing will affect the meaning of that sign. It is also a part of ASL phonology, also known as the Five Parameters of ASL. Within the 5 parameters, facial expressions are known as non-manual markers.

I personally thought that for this type of animation, they did a decent job with Amaya’s facial expressions and using that to further convey her intended message through ASL.

(For example, when she says “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day”, that was a comedic moment but you could see that she was serious, due to her facial expression and body language. And then when she said “Don’t worry, I’ve slain monsters before”? Her facial expression as she signs “I’ve slain monsters before”... that was superb & chilling imo!)

As for mouth movements.. she moves her mouth of course, accordingly with her facial expressions. But she doesn’t mouth out the words as she signs. Many Deaf people DO mouth words [occasionally, sometimes, or frequently] as they sign-- I am guilty of this actually. But not all of them do... I know that her not speaking & this has likely confused many people into thinking that she’s mute, but this is in fact common for many culturally Deaf people (aka those who were born & raised in intergenerational Deaf families and thus are extremely strong in their identity, language, and culture). So I thought it was absolutely excellent that she didn’t mouth words at all. I’m aware it was probably also because it was easier on the creators lol.

PART TWO

[This one has the section on lipreading btw lol]

[muva--milaje-blog]

librarian.

t'challa x black!reader (college au)

an: this was requested by @xclusvnani. thank you so much for requesting this. had a lot of fun writing this.

reader takes a trip to the library everyday just to see the handsome librarian t’challa.

warnings: fluff, sexual mentions, mentions death

"Y/N, you need a break, baby." Your mother, on the other end of this telephone conversation, pleads with you. Her naturally worrisome spirit coupled with her missing you and needing her only child around her is the basis for her call. Life just had not been the same for your mother since the death of your grandparents. "I am so proud of you. And, I know that you are taking those classes this summer so that you can graduate a semester early but I think you should come home. Even if it is for a weekend."

This is not, and will not, be the last time you hear your mother pleading for you to come home. The drive home from the college campus is approximately three hours. Not too long of a drive. However, you are on a mission to graduate from undergrad as soon as possible and get your Bachelor's degree. You welcome the calls from your mother daily. You miss her just as much as she misses you. You two have an extremely close relationship because it has always been just the two of you (and your grandparents). The ass that is supposedly your father skipped out before you were born. Your mother raised you as best as she could in that small ass two bedroom apartment in your hometown. As small as the apartment is, it is home. She worked a couple of jobs just to help you get to where you are now. The first couple of semesters, your tuition was paid for in full due to your mother's dedicated work ethic. It is only right that you work just as hard in your college classes.

"Mommy, I know...thank you, but I know." You assure her. Most of the time, you wish you were somewhere else. Rather than living on campus during the boring Summer semester and taking three classes, you'd rather be somewhere tropical, festive, and surrounded by your girls. Hell, at this point, you would take your childhood bedroom as a vacation spot. "Classes are almost over in July, then I'll be home. Just me and you, the couch, and our favorite movies." Your faves included almost every movie with Angela Bassett.

Your mother practically squealed and sighed in delight at the idea. She wanted to further your daily phone conversation but you told her that you had to go. You were heading to your college's library, your favorite spot at this school. You told her you loved her and hung up right before you walked in, pass the metal detectors, and straight to your regular location: the second floor. Due to the lack of students on campus for the summer, you knew that your regular spot would be available. There was a small nook on the library's second floor that included a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. It is your hideaway from the rest of the library. You like to read, study, and write in that area. Also, it's where you can usually locate the man of your dreams as your friend Brie likes to refer to him as. As much as you do not want to admit to yourself and your friends, he is another reason you frequent the library.

You noticed him last Fall. He was following around one of the librarians, taking in information and nodding profusely. From what you could tell, he was eager to learn. Whenever he had a question or concern, he pressed his lips tightly together, quirked his eyebrows, and squinted his eyes. Whenever he learned something new, he nodded his head and smiled. It is a sexy, crooked smile. Of course, you know all of this because in between your reading, studying, and writing, you watch him. You noticed him way before he noticed you. You were sitting at your favorite spot when he breezed pass you with several books in his arms.

"Hello," He said to you. You looked upward at him from your position on the couch and nearly melted into a puddle that matched the one that was growing in between your thighs just at the sight of him. That accent, the way he said hello, you were taken aback. You were loss for words. He seemed to wait for you to say hello before he walked away.

"Hi," Your voice squeeked. You were immediately embarrassed. He did not laugh at you like you thought he would, he just smiled at you before walking away. You wanted to creep into a corner and disappear.

He would come over and say hello to you whenever he saw you. After the fifth time, he finally came over to you to say more than just a hello. But you couldn't hear him. You were listening to sweet R&B love songs of the 90s and 2000s through your earphones. Toni Braxton was making you miss a lover you never had when you felt a tap on your shoulder. It was him, Mr. Librarian, a nickname your friends dubbed him. You extracted your earphones from your ears, "Hi...?"

He smiled downward, in your direction, "Hi. I apologize for disturbing you during your studies but I wanted to ask a question,"

You thought he was going to ask you on a date. Maybe you two could have coffee together, preferably at the campus coffee shop. You are in love with their vanilla cappuccinos. However, he just wanted to know your reasoning for constantly returning to this same spot in the library. "Oh, well, I am an English major with a minor in Africana Studies. Most of the books that I need to use are in this section." You shrug. You did not let him know that his cosistent appearance in this section was another reason for your predictable return to this same nook.

"Africana Studies, eh?" He seemed pleased with your choice of study. "May I ask, why did you chose Africana Studies as an area of study?" He quirked his brows, pressed his lips together, and his eyes squinted at you. You play with the ends of your braids to calm the newfound nervousness. At this point, he sat down in one of the chairs.

You steadied your nervousness. He has an aura that commands your undivided attention. But, he gave you his undivided attention. "Why not be verse in the past, present, and future of my people? Black people, black culture, black histoty, blackness in its entirety is so rich. There is much that we know now but I'm sure there is much more that we have to learn." Any hint of nervousness you had detered. "So to answer your question, it was a necessary choice."

The smile that graced his lips did not falter. His smile was contagious. His smile, in turn, made you smile. And every time you saw him, your lips automatically curved into one. You two would have conversations about life on campus (including where are the best places to get good food), areas of study, and the library. You found out that he is a Graduate student studying International Relations. He is working in the library for financial reasons but also, he thoroughly enjoys literature. His love for literature began as a child. His mother forced him to read various literary texts to have a rich education and understanding of points of view that were similar and different than his. His father agreed that it would make him a better man and a better leader once he enters into the politics after college. When you found out his name, T'Challa Udaku, you had to know more about him.

You tried to Google search his name but nothing too juicy came up. He has a twitter where he discusses politics specifically foreign policy, soccer, threads with friends from back home, and how much he misses home. There was nothing hotepish. From what you could sumise, he does not currently have a girlfriend. He seemed to have threads with a someone named Nakia but those threads were older. Funny enough, you were able to find his sister. She seems like a jokester. You assume she probably makes fun of her brother but loves him dearly.

You dug a little deeper and asked your friend, Tiff, if she could find anything on him for you. Tiff was your roommate during your freshman year. You two have a sistership. She works in one of the university's offices. Simple enough, she had a way of looking at T'Challa's file. No it was not right but her helping you out was for research purposes. She could not provide much detail but that he is twenty eight years old, he's an International Student, and he attended school in England for his undergraduate studies. "And he is fine as hell. I see why you are stalking...I mean conducting research."

You learned so much about him during your conversations. You are thirsty and eager to learn more about him so you would find yourself in the library, looking for him. You figured out his work schedule on your own. You knew when he would clock in and out of his shifts.Your attention bounces around the second floor for him. You do not immediately go to your nook. However, he is nowhere in sight. You let out a frustrating sigh and venture over to your normal spot. As you approach, you notice him sitting in one of the chairs next to the couch. He is intently reading a novel: Chinua Achebe's A Man of the People. You recommended this book to him. There were two to-go coffee cups from the campus coffee shop on the table. The adrenaline that pumped inside you, calmed down. You cannot help but to smile at Mr. Librarian.

Your fingers tap his shoulder. He does not flinch. Instead, he looks up at you with a coolness that cannot be unmatched. "Y/N, hi."

"Hi, T'Challa. 'Got started on the novel already?" You sit down on your usual spot on the couch. You place your backpack next to you.

"I thought it was imperative. The way you described the novel, it was thrilling. I can already see such from the first couple of pages."

"Achebe was a genius," You grin. You can feel T'Challa's eyes search you. You catch a glimpse of him looking at your face, then your body, and back up to your face. You let him do so without any disturbance. At some point his stare made you nervous, now you lowkey bask in it. You crave it.

"I can already tell. Thank you for the recommendation. It is much needed to level out my course work and my position here. As a thank you, I went to the coffee shop. Vanilla cappuccino, right?"

He hands you one of the coffee cups. You take it, excitedly. Although it is summer, and it is hot, you will not deny yourself the flavor of a vanilla cappucino. You hum at the taste of the vanilla when you take a sip. "Thank you, T'Challa, you did not have to do this,"

"It is my pleasure Y/N." He pauses for a brief moment. He seems to mentally contemplate his next words. "Any way that I can bring you pleasure, I wish to do so." You sense that his words have a double entendre. He wants to bring you pleasure in the simple things like making you laugh, smile, and buying coffee for you. And, he wants to provide you a pleasure that awakens the sexual goodess within you. He wants to taste you on the tip of his tongue and make you come undone by the feel of him sliding inside of you. Your eyes meet his again, and they are lustful and hungry.

You contemplate your next move: either you pounce on this advancement or you act as if this conversation is not occurring. As many times as you have come to the library to see him and conducted as much outside research on who T'Challa is, you are not going to let this opportunity pass you by. You reach for his hand, so mighty, grand, and rich of chocolate. All you can think about is if his dick has the same description. You are sure that you will find out soon. "Is there anywhere that we can go that is private?" As much as you want to have engage in a public library fantasy, you want to be careful. You did not want T'Challa to lose his job or for your business to float around campus despite the lack of students on campus at the moment.

He takes your hand, enveloping into his. You follow him with your backpack and coffee in tow. Nearby, there is a media center room. There is a sign on the door that says: DO NOT USE. THANK YOU! You used one of these rooms before while working on a group project. It is difficult to book one of these rooms. However, Mr. Librarian has the ultimate access. He unlocked the room with a key. You slide pass him, feeling the hardness of his body against yours. You cannot help but to bite down on your lip at the feeling. He locks the door behind him. "No one is going to come in here, right?"

"This room has been unoccupied in months." He assures you, he places his coffee cup and novel down on a nearby desk. You do the same with your things. You two stare at each other, daring each other to make the first movement. "Come here." He challenges you with a confident smirk.

You shake your head, "No. Come here."

"Are you challenging me, Y/N?" He inches closer to you. You playfully shrug. He is now grinning at you. "So, you can come to the library, almost daily, to see me but you cannot come to me now? I am sure that you are tending to your studies but I have an inkling that your studies are not the only reason you are here. Admit it; you are here to see me."

T'Challa knew what you were up to, you have been caught. You could not back down from his challenge. Actually, his questioning and accusations excites you. Mr. Librarian is nasty, in the best way possible. He is now in front of you, staring into your eyes. He grabs you by your waist and firmly wraps his arm around you. His hand rests on the small of your back, right above your ass. You can smell his cologne - faint but intoxicatingly clean. His skin is perfect, chocolate and flawless. You can smell the scent of honey in his perfectly defined coils. Damn, this man is a dream.

"I come here to study, T'Challa. And, yeah, I come here to see you too." You admit.

"I knew it!" He wags his finger, feeling righteous in his suspicions about you. He did not want to come out and ask you if you only came to the library just to visit him. It would be rude of him. But he decided to take a chance. He checked out your book recommendation, bought your favorite cup of coffee, and with the spirit of Bast decided to take make his feelings known. "Can I ask another question?"

"Go ahead," You say.

"Can I kiss you?" Your heart damn near beat out of your chest. This beautiful, sexy man just asked could he kiss you? You'd never been asked before, by a man, if he could kiss you.

"Yes, please," T'Challa lifts up your chin slowly. His eyes travel down your lips. He examines your lips before pressing his against yours gently. The kiss is passionate, slow and sensual. Your tongue encaptures his, moving back and forth, making its own beautiful rhythm. He parts from you but you need to feel him again.

"One more question?"

"Wha...hm? Yes, T'Challa?"

"May I take you out on a date?" You cannot help but to grin with glee. Who knew practically stalking....conducting thorough research on this man would ultimately pay off?

[jennycalendar]

regarding honor and honesty in the workplace (6/?)

read on ao3!!

so i was GOING to wait to post this bc i wanted to like...space out chapters...but i love @sih muchly and i thought they deserved something nice to read and as such this chapter is for them. because i love them.

from the personal files of Jenny Calendar:

Lilah and I are on for this Saturday!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, also Rupert and I got in touch with UC Sunnydale about our closest client. Probably should have opened with that, seeing as it’s the thing that’s actually relevant to the case, BUT I’m going out with an attractive woman for the first time in YEARS, even if it is technically just business. And I know I said I’ve dated before, but there’s a difference between brief hookups and actually going out to a high-end club in a good part of Los Angeles. As much as I do love office flirtations, it’s rare that I’ve felt so much genuine chemistry between me and another person.

Well. Obviously I feel that kind of chemistry with Rupert, too. But not—oh, wow, I just played that back in my head and it sounds like—I mean, you know, you basically have to have chemistry with your partner if you’re a detective—you don’t need romantic chemistry for detective work, though—I don’t know why I went off on that tangent. God, I’m glad I call these things “personal files” and not “case files.” I’d be mortified by Rupert reading this.

It’s just that a lot of the people that come to us for help, no matter how attractive to me they are, don’t ever seem to be as interested in me as they are in their case. Most of the time, the people who show up in my office are more concerned with their stolen art or their loan gone bad or something like that, but not only did Lilah show up with a hugely important case, she showed up with a hugely obvious interest in me. As a person. And potentially as a romantic partner, if I play my cards right.

Maybe that’s why Rupert was put off by her at first? Because she didn’t seem interested enough in the case she was giving us? Probably something like that. Almost definitely.

Shit, this is supposed to be about the case. I’ll just sum up the case by saying that we’re going to Skype with Kendra and try and collect some info before we set off in search of the mysterious Tara Maclay. I might bring Faith along for that second part, since she and Tara are kind of close in age; maybe they’ll hit it off.

Faith was feeling better, and had been sent off in the morning with an excuse note (courtesy of Jenny) and a healthy breakfast (courtesy of Rupert, who had come over early to drive Jenny to the office). Jenny was very much comforted by this; even though she knew Faith was a tough kid, there was always that little thread of worry every time her daughter got sick.

“Thanks for all your help these last few days,” she said, turning to look at Rupert as he drove.

“Oh, it was nothing,” said Rupert shyly. “You—you helped out, last year, when Buffy and Dawn had the flu, and then you got sick and didn’t tell me until you were better—”

“You worry, Rupert,” said Jenny affectionately. “I didn’t want you driving over at midnight to fuss.”

“That’s what partners do,” Rupert answered in a way that seemed almost reflexive, but Jenny saw his blush and the way his hands tightened nervously on the wheel. She was about to say something—she wasn’t entirely sure what—when Rupert added a bit too loudly, “Have you asked Lilah out yet?”

“What?” Jenny blinked, startled by the abrupt change of subject. “I didn’t realize you were in support of me going after Lilah. Mostly you’ve just been restraining yourself to advice about dating in general.”

“You did make me promise to not be weird about Lilah,” said Rupert, and the conversation felt solidly in normal terrain after that.

They pulled into the office a few minutes earlier than usual, and as Jenny was getting her bag out of the car, she happened to see Lilah walking up the steps of Wolfram and Hart. Lilah was dressed sensibly but fashionably, as always, and she looked noticeably different from when she was looking at Jenny. More guarded, maybe, and something about that made Jenny feel all shy and fluttery, and—

—and Lilah had seen her staring. And Lilah was turning with a quiet, deliberate smirk, crossing the street and saying, “Fancy meeting you here, Ms. Calendar.”

“Thought you said you didn’t want your coworkers knowing what you’re up to?” Jenny managed weakly.

Lilah shrugged. “They’re not going to think too much about me talking to a beautiful woman,” she said. “I’ve had a few girlfriends in the past.”

“Me too,” Jenny blurted out, because it suddenly felt very important for Lilah to definitively know she wasn’t straight. Lilah gave her an amused look, and Jenny added, “Um, you know, just—we were talking about girlfriends, so—”

“I should go inside,” said Rupert uncomfortably, hurrying past Jenny and Lilah and into the building.

Jenny tried to direct an apologetic smile in Rupert’s direction, but he didn’t look back. “He can be—a bit difficult in the mornings,” she said awkwardly, twisting her hands and trying to look like the attractively unflappable detective she was. Or was trying to be.Same difference. “We were actually just going to get started on some research for your case.”

“That’s good to hear.” Lilah smiled. “I really am looking forward to our date this Saturday.”

“Date?” Jenny echoed, surprised but not at all displeased.

Lilah looked down, then coquettishly up at Jenny through her lashes, then said, “Unless that whole me-being-your-client thing is too much of a hurdle for us to jump?”

“I don’t even know why that’s a rule in the first place,” Jenny answered without hesitation, grinning widely. “I think it’s more of Rupert’s personal ethics thing. Something about us getting too involved in the case, but, uh—” She stopped. She didn’t at all feel ready to tell Lilah about Faith’s history with Wolfram and Hart, even if Lilah wasn’t on their side anymore.

“But?” Lilah prompted.

Jenny was nothing if not quick on her feet. “But when someone as beautiful as you comes into my office,” she said, smiling with the easy grace of a compliment genuinely meant, “I kinda get invested pretty fast anyway.”

Lilah’s smile in return was thoughtful and appreciative. She reached up, lightly tucking Jenny’s hair behind her ear, and Jenny’s eyes fluttered momentarily shut at the touch. “Good to see you, Jenny,” she said, and let her hand drop slowly, grazing Jenny’s shoulder as it fell. “Saturday night can’t come soon enough,” she added over her shoulder as she headed towards Wolfram and Hart.

Jenny stood there on the sidewalk for a few moments, smiling at nothing in particular. It took her a good thirty seconds to remember Rupert upstairs, probably failing miserably at setting up a Skype call, and fifteen seconds more to tear her eyes away from Lilah’s retreating figure and head into the office building.

Rupert was on the phone with Kendra when Jenny entered the office. “No, I’m not jealous, why does everyone keep saying that—” he was saying indignantly.

“Hey,” said Jenny, still too elated from Lilah to really register what Rupert was talking about. “Sorry I’m late. You want me to set up the laptop?”

“Please do,” said Rupert somewhat irritably. “Yes—she just walked in, we should be calling you in a minute. Yes. Yes, of course.” He hung up. “Jenny,” he said reprovingly.

“Look, she works right across the street!” Jenny objected. “I really will try to tone the staring down, but I can’t stop her if she wants to come over and talk to me.”

Rupert forced a smile. “I just—don’t know how to talk to her,” he said finally. “She only seems interested in you, and that—I’m glad for you, of course, and she, she has top-notch taste, but it still does sting a bit.”

“I can bring it up if you want,” Jenny offered tentatively.

“God no, I don’t want her feeling as though she has to interact with me for your sake,” said Rupert immediately.

“Is there anything I can—”

Rupert looked up at Jenny. “She is very clearly important to you,” he said, “and I want to be able to understand why. If she and you are compatible in the long run—and I very much hope you both are, because you deserve someone who will make you happy—I am sure that this situation will resolve itself in due time.”

“How can you be sure?” Jenny asked tentatively.

Rupert smiled a bit, and this time it looked genuine. “Because you are one of the best people I know,” he said, “and you are an excellentjudge of character. Whoever you end up in a long-term relationship with is bound to be a good person as well.”

Jenny, wordless for a reason she wasn’t sure how to define, drew in a soft breath. Taking two steps forward, she crossed the room, stood on tiptoe, and pulled Rupert into a hug. Rupert made a startled noise, then hugged her back, resting his chin on the top of her head.

Jenny’s phone went off.

“Shit, I forgot about Kendra!” Jenny yelped, jumping away from Rupert and scrambling to open her laptop. “Damn it, that’s gotta be her texting me, okay, can you throw together some notes while we talk? She’s got a really busy schedule, lots of classes—”

Rupert was still standing in the middle of the room, looking a bit dazed. “Oh,” he managed weakly. “Um. Yes. Yes, of course, my—my apologies.” He pulled up a chair, sitting down next to Jenny at her desk and watching as she opened up Skype.

It took a few moments, but Kendra’s slightly pixelated face appeared on the computer screen. “Ms. Calendar, Mr. Giles,” she said in her usual grave yet sweetly polite fashion, “is there anything in particular you wished to talk to me about? Buffy indicated your call involved detective work.”

“We really only have a few questions,” said Jenny carefully. “Um—have you heard of Wolfram and Hart?” Kendra frowned, and was quiet for such a long time that Jenny started to think the connection might have cut out. Finally, she said carefully, “In a sense.”

“In a sense?” Jenny echoed.

“They contacted me last week with a request that I leave my studies to come work for them,” Kendra explained. “When I replied that I would prefer to remain at Oxford, they grew…persistent.”

“Persistent,” Jenny repeated.

“Kendra, are you in any danger?” Rupert asked worriedly.

“No, not at all!” Kendra gave them both a confused smile. “Not that I know of, at least. They did mention that they do not appreciate their recruitment efforts being turned down, but I have not heard from them since then. I do feel some doubt at turning down such a prestigious opportunity, but—I wish to at least finish my studies before joining any law firm, and I told them as such.”

“All right,” said Rupert slowly. “Kendra, this may be a bit hard to believe, but Wolfram and Hart, they—”

“They hurt someone I care about,” said Jenny. She heard Rupert’s startled noise next to her and tried to focus on Kendra’s surprised expression instead. “I don’t know—how, exactly, or what, but it was some kind of manipulative courtroom politics and she doesn’t want to talk to me about it. We got called in by a Wolfram and Hart lawyer to help her take the establishment down from the inside out, and apparently you know some kind of information that Wolfram and Hart finds valuable.”

“You didn’t say anything about Wolfram and Hart hurting—” Rupert began.

“I’ll tell you later, Rupert, it’s just, it’s really personal,” said Jenny tensely, because it was and because she wasn’t getting into the situation with Faith while Kendra was there.

“I do not know any valuable information,” said Kendra, sounding genuinely bewildered. “Wolfram and Hart gave me a small pamphlet, but that is all.”

“Oh,” said Rupert, looking somewhat worried.

“What?” Jenny turned expectantly to him.

“Well,” said Rupert, “from the research you’ve been doing, didn’t you say that Wolfram and Hart wants to keep their existence as secret as possible? If Kendra knows that they’re recruiting people out of college and trying to convince them to abandon their studies, that’s not—strictly incriminating, exactly, but with carefully collected evidence, that could be very useful to a court case.”

“Oh,” said Jenny, getting it. “So Kendra’s not in any danger right now—she’s just someone who could testify against Wolfram and Hart if there was some actually incriminating evidence of wrongdoing on their part.” She grinned. “Honestly, Kendra, you being a genius who caught Wolfram and Hart’s attention makes a lot more sense than you being involved in something shady.”

“I appreciate that, Ms. Calendar,” said Kendra, but she still looked a bit troubled. “Should I be concerned for my welfare?”

“Not unless you have any intention of bringing this information to people who intend to ask you to testify in court,” Rupert answered, “and since we’re still compiling a database of witnesses for this case, that seems as though the process should take a good amount of time.”

“Just stay out of the spotlight, avoid talking about evil law firms, and you should be totally fine until we need you in LA,” Jenny chimed in. Trying to lighten the mood, she added, “And good luck on finals! Willow tells me you two are trans-Atlantic study buddies.”

Kendra beamed, looking somewhat cheered by the shift in conversation. “We are! She’s very good with mathematics help.”

“See,” said Rupert with a small smile, “someone else says mathematics instead of just math, Jenny, that five minutes of teasing you put me through two weeks ago was completely unwarranted.”

“Wow, trashing me in front of a client, Rupert?” Jenny teased. “Totally unprofessional. I’m cutting your pay.”

[howtogirlrachel-blog]

THE PITCH → solo para

Tagged→ Rachel Berry, Kitty Wilde, & Tina Cohen-Chang 

Location→ Steinem Publications/Tina’s Apartment, New York City

Time Frame→ Friday, August 24th

General Notes→ Rachel Berry is Scarlet magazine’s “How to” girl. In an attempt to save a friend in need, Rachel winds up with an assignment that’s unlike anything she’s ever done before. 

"Where’s Tina?”

Rachel’s co-worker and best friend, Kitty, interrupted. The tiny blonde had barged into her cubicle with her arms crossed over her chest and an arched eyebrow that read ‘this is a rhetorical question’. And it was rhetorical because it was always the same answer any time Tina was extremely late for work- she’d been dumped. 

Groaning in agony, Rachel swiveled in her desk chair to face Kitty. 

“How many times are we gonna have to go through this drill?” she responded. 

Kitty shrugged her shoulders and slapped a fake smile on her face. “Until Tina can learn how to act more like a twenty-something woman and less like a twelve-year-old who just found out her crush likes her back via a handwritten note. Now come on, we have a staff meeting to get to in a half hour and you know April likes to cold call on those who are late.”

Shuddering at the thought of their editor in chief April Rhodes and her interesting work ethic, Rachel sprung into action. She grabbed her favorite Kate Spade purse and slung it over her shoulder, making sure she had her phone, keys, and wallet on her. “I’ll go grab the coffee if you grab the beauty samples?”

Kitty nodded her head and without saying another word, headed towards the beauty closet while Rachel visited Steinem Publications in-house Starbucks. The two were crammed in the back of an Uber share in no time and ten minutes later were knocking impatiently on the door to Tina’s apartment. 

The door opened a crack to reveal their friend, her beautiful eyes bloodshot and puffy. 

“Oh, Tina,” Rachel began sympathetically. Before she could finish the waterworks began again. She shared a look with Kitty before wrapping her free arm around their heartbroken friend in a comforting hug. 

“It was just so unexpected. Everything was going so well. So well!” she emphasized, shaking her fist in the air. 

Kitty patted her soothingly on the back before brushing past her and into her studio. “Geez, Tina. Maybe you should hire a maid,” Kitty immediately said. Rachel looked over Tina’s shoulder at the empty bottles of wine and Chinese takeout boxes that littered the floor. 

“Oh my God,” she mouthed to Kitty who simply shook her head and rolled her eyes. 

“Alright, Cohen-Chang, we can cry about your latest dating misfortune but let’s do it later. Like after work? April’s staff meeting is in fifteen minutes and if you want to keep your job, I suggest you change into that cute olive green jumper everyone loves, wash your face to get all of that tear-dried mascara off and try out these new samples I copped for you.”

Tina turned towards Kitty and hesitantly grabbed the bag as if she couldn’t believe it was true. “Bobbi Brown lipstick?” she asked, peering inside. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

While Tina dressed, Rachel and Kitty began picking up some of the trash on the floor. She made sure to pull open the curtains near her bed to let in some natural light and made her bed, even fluffing the pillows for a little extra TLC. When Tina emerged from the bathroom, it was like she was a new woman. Her hair was straight and sleek and her tanned skin popped against the strapless jumpsuit that adorned her body. She even had managed to put on a pair of wedges. 

Nodding their heads in approval, they rushed Tina out of her apartment before she could start sobbing again and back to their Uber. 

“Why does this always happen?” Tina began after they arrived at Steinem. “I’m serious, why does this always happen to me? Everything starts out so great and then a week and a half later I’ve somehow driven them away. I’m mystified! Rick and I had such a great connection. I mean when we had sex it was so beautiful that I cried.” 

Rachel choked on her coffee. “You cried? You mean like one glistening tear on your cheek, right?”

“No, I was really emotional. I even told him I loved him!” Tina crowed proudly. 

Kitty stared at her with eyes as wide as saucers. “Tell me you did not sabotage yourself like that!” 

Before Tina could take offense, Rachel interjected. “I think what Kitty means is that it’s a little intense to be crying during sex, especially with a guy you haven’t even dated for an entire week.”

“Why is it intense? It was how I felt, I wanted to express myself.”

“What did he say to you?” Kitty asked. 

A tiny smile settled on Tina’s face. “Rick didn’t need to say anything. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he felt the same way. But then he started to get weird. He stopped responding to my texts so I started to call him. Then after getting his voicemail fifteen times in a row, I called his office.”

“You called his place of employment?” Kitty repeated, her voice getting louder and louder. 

“Of course, how else was I supposed to know he hadn’t gotten hit by a subway or something?” Tina defended. “Anyways, I know why he broke up with me. It’s because I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat!” Kitty and Rachel disagreed at the same time. 

“Tina, even if the most beautiful woman in the world acted the way that you did any normal guy would still go running in the other direction,” Rachel reasoned. 

Tina scoffed, rolling her eyes liberally in Rachel’s direction. “Easy for you to say, Rachel. You could literally puke on a guy and he’d still want to date you.”

Kitty began to laugh hysterically and Rachel shook her head in disbelief. “As if, Tina. I haven’t even been on a date in two months. And the point is if I did the things that you did I’d get dumped too.”

Rachel truly couldn’t believe how bad at dating her friend was. No wonder she drove every guy she dated away! As Tina continued to delve the details of her short-lived relationship with Rick, Rachel was beginning to see just how oblivious her friend was to her dating missteps. She didn’t seem to understand that what she was doing was a guarantee to drive anyone in their right mind away. As they entered the conference room, Rachel was almost relieved that she could have a break from hearing about it. It was starting to make her head spin. 

April entered and sat at the head of the table, the only thing in hand a single martini glass. 

“Alright ladies and gents, what do we have on the menu for today?” she greeted in her southern accent. 

Sugar’s hand shot straight up into the air and she bounced in her chair like she couldn’t contain herself. Rachel kept quiet, not having any good ideas to share for the week. She was getting stumped on relevant topics to discuss in her “how to” columns. That was certainly the downside of working for a women’s magazine. Even though women were interested in politics and serious topics, Steinem Publications still had ancient opinions on what was appropriate to include in Scarlet. They still thought the fact that they dedicated pages and pages to sex was revolutionary despite it being 2018. So while Rachel had a list of things she’d love to cover, she knew better than to pitch them. She’d learned that lesson the hard way after her first month as a columnist when April humiliated her in front of her colleagues. 

“Ms. Rhodes, I’m almost finished with my piece on deadly bikini waxes, about that one girl who died from an infection due to unsterilized equipment and reuse of wax,” Sugar rushed in her nasally voice. Taking in everyone’s disgusted faces, Sugar quickly added, “But it’s still surprisingly upbeat.”

“I love it,” April responded. “Who’s next? Tina?”

Rachel’s head snapped up towards her friend, watching Tina flip through her notebook for an idea to pitch. There was no way she’d had the time to prepare for the meeting between the drinking, crying, and binging of Chinese food. 

Clearing her throat and bowing her head shamefully, Tina began to mumble. “Actually, April... I was just dumped and I didn’t exactly have the time to generate any good ideas.”

The entire room broke out into a chorus of “aw’s”, attempting to share their sympathy with Tina. 

“I’m sorry, Tina,” April replied sincerely, their meeting’s agenda long forgotten. “But you’re looking fabulous. Isn’t Tina looking fabulous?” she looked at the rest of the room expectantly before everyone chimed in agreement. 

“Thanks, I’ve lost a couple of pounds,” Tina added bashfully. 

April began to clap her hands in a weird way. “That’s wonderful news, Tina. Well, why don’t you write about your break up? Heartbreak is always an excellent material for Scarlet,” April offered in an executive decision. “Next?”  

“Wait, what?” Tina interrupted. “With all due respect, I-I can’t write about my failed relationship. It’s too soon!”

April pouted, reaching her hand across the table and resting it comfortingly atop of Tina’s. “I completely understand. Who will write about Tina’s failed relationship?

“Oh! Oh! I’ll write about it!” Sugar exclaimed, bouncing in her seat again. 

Rachel shared a look with Kitty as Tina began to panic. There was no way Tina could handle Sugar writing about her sad love life. Biting her lower lip nervously, Rachel wracked up the courage to raise her own hand. 

“No, I’ll write about it,” she determined, ignoring the angry look that Tina shot in her direction. “Not about Tina, necessarily. She’ll be my inspiration.”

“How exactly does that fit into a “how to” column?” Sugar complained, her dark eyes narrowing. 

Rachel hadn’t thought things through that far, but with the entire room staring expectantly at her she had to come up with something. “Look at Tina,” Rachel gestured to the girl. “She’s beautiful and she’s a great girl. But she has a problem hanging onto relationships and doesn’t really know what she’s doing wrong, which is like a lot of our readers.”

April cocked her head and squinted her eyes, “Uh huh, continue.”

“So... I was thinking that I could start... dating a guy and drive him away using the classic mistakes that women like Tina,” Rachel paused and shot a sympathetic look in Tina’s direction. “make all of the time. I’ll keep a log of it and it will be a dating how-to in reverse?” 

 “A guide on what not to do... I love it. How about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?”

Rachel cocked her head to the side, “Why 10 days?”

“Because seven days is too short and we go to press in 11. Can you manage?”

“Of course,” Rachel responded confidently despite panicking internally. How on Earth was she going to make this work? There was no way she could find a guy, hook him in long enough to want to continue to date her, and drive him mad to the point of breaking up with her in ten days. It was going to be a long week...

[astorytellerforthatgirl]

Maine as a Bearer of Light

Maine Mendoza becomes a household name in both the world of social and mainstream media for her numerous feat—-viral dubsmash videos, various local and international brand ads, 5th most tweeted celebrity worldwide in Twitter last 2017, #1 best selling author for NBS non-fiction section for some months, Favorite Pinoy Personality at Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards back in 2016, and Mac Cosmetics’ beauty influencers to name few of these feat spanning from 2015 to early 2018. Needless to say, she successfully traversed print, broadcast, mainstream, digital, and social media in that short time frame for a celebrity. 

Yes, self-confessed fans showed their love and care while non-supporters express their admiration and respect for Maine, for That Girl due to these achievements. Aside from her magnificent milestones too in her career, a lot of people vouch for her self-discipline and for her pure heart.

As a random storyteller and a silent observer myself, I read articles, heard interviews and stories about people from the entertainment industry whether they are artists, directors, production staff, executives, etc of how she values her work ethics so much. She appears for a scheduled commitment way ahead of the call time. In addition, she’s very fun-to-be-with as they claimed. She’s one of the most genuine ones in the industry for her unassuming character. Also, fans who have luckily encountered Maine shared how she is so humble, warm, and outgoing personally. If only she can talk to everyone who wants to see her, I feel she will do so. This is how a pure heart Maine is. 

But more than the Maine Mendoza everyone knows, what I want to emphasize here is how she become a bearer of light for anyone who needs it. Before I proceed further with this blog entry, allow me to explain first what I meant by a bearer of light. Light here, in its metaphorical context, means inspiration, motivation, encouragement, uplifting, enthusiasm, passion, love, care, and warmth. To be a bearer, one should have a pure heart that will make him or her credible to share and radiate this light. The bearer should have the ethos or authentic character, the pathos or the emotional appeal and connection, and the logos or rational and intellectual approach. In short, the bearer of light should have a discerning mind and a compassionate heart to be a true inspiration for anyone.

How does Maine Mendoza become a bearer of light?

First, she taught us how to conquer our fears and doubts. In the audition clip of Maine for Eat Bulaga, she was asked if she sings or dances into which she answered both with a No. That answer along with her timid body language reflects someone with doubts and limitations still hindering her. Fast forward to present time, how many times did we already witnessed Maine singing some songs and even dancing energetically to them? She is not as talented as the other mainstream artists out there but she conquered her earlier doubts and fears that she doesn’t sing or dance. She shared her skills too in playing the drums even if she feels she needs more practice. There’s no harm in trying for we have nothing to lose but everything to gain, that’s how Maine did it.

Second, she taught us to be true to ourselves and speak out the truth at the right time. Out of the many reasons why she trended in Twitter without an organized hashtag, the open letter she released last Nov. 26 is one of the most talked about. Polarizing reactions spurred out since then. It is expected because of the different focal lens each tried to use to comprehend that letter. It feels like I’m seeing an actual application of a Reader-Response literary theory, wherein the meaning of the text lies in how the readers perceived it subjectively due to their schema, emotions, and other related factors. Maine know the possible aftermath of what she did…she is willing to lose it all at that moment just to send her message of truth across everyone. That “kahit sampu na lang matira” is a testament to her assumption she’ll be hated by all for speaking the truth. Yes, there are several interpretations after but from my personal observation, the open letter did help Maine to release every unsaid words in her heart. She has finally explained the truth without using euphemisms or sugarcoating. In fact I am impressed she still has a calm tone in the open letter and not letting her emotions to take full control of her. It takes a lot of guts to do that mind you. “Speak the truth even if your voice is shaky”, she reminded us of that.

Third, she taught us to stand up for our beliefs even if we are the lone messenger in a given circumstance or situation. Remember the depression issue with another host Joey de Leon? In that “Juan for All, All for Juan” segment, a brief exchange of conflicting opinions persisted. De Leon has a different take on depression that it isn’t real while Maine insisted in a respectful tone that it isn’t a joke and those who are suffering from it needs support. This is another moment Maine trended in Twitter without an organized hashtag. Netizens rallied behind her for standing up for her beliefs even if she is the lone messenger in that situation. She did not flinch or back down. She knew her silence may mean an indirect agreement with De Leon hence she became firmer in her stand. Some netizens even claimed they are not fans or they barely know Maine but they commend her bravery for speaking up. I’m surprised even my favorite political satirist applauded Maine in his Twitter account for that matter because he rarely tweets about mainstream celebrities. That’s the game changer for you folks. Fight for your belief even if you will fight alone, like how Maine speaks up.

Fourth, she taught us fight back again despite of the challenges. What happened after the open letter? Swarms of clashing opinions flooded from different camps. Others did not like what Maine did while there are also those who applauded her. Speculations came from nowhere said she might consider quitting. Her one month hiatus was the longest time to endure for her fans. No one knows what will be her next plan of actions. December passed and while she got back on her social media accounts, it is still a mystery back then how will Maine come back after this most challenging part of her career to date. The Maine who returned on Eat Bulaga is one with a more positive, more cheerful, and more relaxed aura. Her sunshine smile and expressive eyes dazzled that day. She was finally free of the inner turmoil in her heart brought by the challenges. She did not let anything stopped her from returning and it feels like seeing a Maine Mendoza with a clean and brand new slate—a perfect way to greet the new year for sure. We can’t control how people will react or how big is the magnitude of the challenges but we can learn how to go through it all with a resilient spirit. Thank you for this reminder Maine.

Fifth, she taught us how to be grateful for everything. From the most simple things, actions, gestures, efforts to the outpour of blessings, Maine showed her gratitude for it all. From a perspective of a fan, her biggest gestures of recognizing the support she got is by the allowing us to see her for who she is through various forms like in her social media accounts, her blog, and her autobiography. For a mainstream celebrity like her who has tons of commitment, it’s heartwarming to see she exerts efforts to reach to the fans in her own special way. Add to these are the humbling personal interaction with Maine by some lucky fans. Her heart is overwhelmed indeed with gratitude that at times, she’s trying to contain herself and holding back her tears—pure bliss indeed. We have to be thankful for everything we have in our life now as how Maine has shown as well.

Sixth, she taught us to smile and laugh amidst all problems. Her dubsmash videos, witty catchphrases, funny replies in ask.FM, and wacky pictures are some of her subtle reminders to always find the sunshine despite the cloudy or stormy days in our life. Can you recall that clip from “I Can See Your Voice” she shared? She mentioned there “para sa mga nalulungkot…” Maine just want to remind us always to smile, laugh, and find happiness in any possible way. We don’t need to look far for it is our choice to let ourselves be infected with that contagious happy virus. Life is greater with happiness in our hearts. *

Seventh, she taught us to empathize with others. Despite being a mainstream celebrity and a daughter of a Class B family, Maine wholeheartedly accept the taong grasa social experiment before in Eat Bulaga. She was incognito as a rugged beggar asking for help. She didn’t mind going through the streets being avoided by everyone. It was an Eye-opener for her and made her more empathic for the less fortunate. Likewise, in some of her retweets for Jan 2018, she noticed those who are asking for assistance for their medical concerns. There are fans who responded too after she retweeted them. That ripple of empathy and compassion from her was passed on to her fans like how a light gets through a dark room. Again, this is another way that Maine is a bearer of light. 

Eighth, she taught us to give it all we got. One of her most unforgettable performances on “Eat Bulaga” was that Dabarkads challenge wherein she and Ryan Agoncillo became a tandem. I didn’t know the song “Alarma” is now a stimulus for me to reminisce those heart-stopping performances. (KASI NAMAN DI PA AKO NAGKAROON NG IDOL NOON NA BINABALIBAG, HINAHAGIS,INIITSA!!!???? SI MAINE LANG!!! HAHAHA!!!) How far can she really go? Not even the sky is the limit for Maine. She wants to always give better than the best expectations from her. If she did feel fear or hesitation in those jaw-dropping productions, I wouldn’t know for she stamped them all with her enthusiasm and passion. Go for the gold. All or nothing. Go home or go big. Maine wants to give her all more than just her best because her best is just a part of her all. Let’s take that cue from her. 

Ninth, she taught us to freely express our ideas and never suppress it. Even before the open letter, Maine is very expressive in her blog. For me, it feels her blog is like a diary in reverse. She writes down her experiences, stories, and just about anything that crosses her mind. The difference with a diary though is these blog entries are not in secret and she let us read them too. This random storyteller became a fangirl of Maine because of her blogger side. She has a knack for writing but she needs to develop more techniques to add depth in her style. Nevertheless, even if Maine didn’t take up creative writing as her major in college, she has a distinct tone in her writing. (Para sa akin yun ang tono na kapag binasa mo ang sinulat ni Maine, parang maririnig mo mismo ang boses niya, ramdam mo ang puso niya sa lahat ng blog entries niya) Maine can be a good writer for creative non-fiction as her strongest genre. I can see her the potential of writing not simply “I went to the beach” but rather describing it like “The salty smell of the cerulean sea soothes me as the gentle breeze and morning sun touches my skin. My feet are magnetized to the fine white sands. I love coming back to this faraway home.“ I’m excited to see Maine trying more in her writing skills especially for creative non-fiction, poetry, or flash fiction. She’ll do well for sure. Just like her, let us find ways how to express ourselves in the most comfortable medium for us.

Tenth, she taught us to be self-independent. She got her internship in New York for 6 months, away from her family and friends in the Philippines. She made that place like her own home and stood on her own feet. When she entered the entertainment industry too, her various commitments demand more places to travel for her. Finding the right balance between responsibility and making the most out of each moment, Maine savors these experiences as room for growth and development. Being self-independent strengthens us more while we enjoy the journey we chose.

Eleventh, she taught us the value of financial literacy. Maine did not let the glamour and luxury of the entertainment industry blind her from financial literacy. A friend of mine who has an idea of approximate ranges of franchises of popular food chains said that McDonald’s needs a huge capital investment. The McDonald’s in Sta.Maria, Bulacan is owned solely by Maine as evidenced from the OR(official receipt) with “NicoMaineDei Corp.” in it. She does not want to see her hard earned money go to vain hence she’s investing it. It’s nice too to learn more about financial literacy for us because at the time where inflation accelerates in our country, saving only is not enough anymore. We also need to invest. Maine is a role model too for this matter.

Twelfth, she taught us to value our education. As sad as I can say but the truth is we live in the times that access to education is a privilege and not a right anymore. Not everyone who wants to go to school can afford to do so, thus, for those who have the opportunity to finish their studies, do well and please don’t waste the chances given. Maine valued her education and she even attained honorary excellence in a specific term back in Benilde. It’s a reminder for her diligence in studying. I won’t be surprised if Maine gets back to studying by enrolling in short courses like filmmaking, communication arts, foreign languages, etc. or even in master’s program. For the youth especially teenagers looking up to Maine, have this as an inspiration as you finish your studies.

Thirteenth, she taught us the significance of family, friends, and loved ones. One of my favorite random moments Maine shared about her family is when her sister passed the CPA board exam. She excitedly shared to Twitter how grateful and celebratory was the atmosphere when they found out about the result. To be happy for a family member’s success means you want the best for them. I remembered too her first TV interview in Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho. It was just few days after she became Yaya Dub. Her parents proudly showed their support in the interview for as long as their daughter is happy, free, and responsibly growing in the entertainment industry. Also, Maine never forgets her friends as well. She finds time to catch up with them despite of her busy schedule. There’s no place like home when we are with our loved ones so we must take every opportunity to express our care for them like the actions of Maine.  

Fourteenth, she taught us to not get even but to have love and courage. She knows when to keep mum and when to speak up. The most painful words in the form of fabricated maligning stories, crab mentality, sensationalized intriguing hearsays, below-the-belt allegations coming from loathe, envy, rage, and hatred can easily make anyone, even a celebrity, to think of getting even. Maine remained mum after the open letter for she knew she already said everything she wants to convey there, nothing more and nothing less. Her mark of love and courage emerge in the one-month hiatus she took and even more in the time now that she came back to work. This is one of my favorite defining moments of Maine—she is like a raw metal that the Blacksmith forged under fire into the sharpest sword. God sent her that forging process to test her heart, as painful as it gets but it helped Maine seek more in herself—that she has a pure heart and only love and courage should be the anchor. The bearer of light like Maine radiated brightly in this deep darkness. Like her, we should not let any negativity took control of our hearts and minds, even if we are provoked to do so.  

Fifteenth, she taught us how to believe in ourselves and to have faith in God. I read an excerpt of her book from cosmo.ph. (https://www.cosmo.ph/entertainment/maine-mendoza-yup-i-am-that-girl-book-a1205-20171128) 

 “Things may go from bad to worse and you might feel like it’s never going to change, but believe me when I say it will get better. Everything will be all right, I promise you. We may have our own different battles, but remember there is only one God. He is always looking down on us wherever we go and whatever obstacle we face. You may currently be in a lot of pain, but you never know what God has in store for your future.”

Maine is persuading her readers to believe in themselves and trust God for their battles. No matter how dark, painful, troublesome, and endless the challenges are, there will always be a better tomorrow. All we need is a stronger faith and to always believe in ourselves. 

Sixteenth, she taught us to “Fly high with our kite but keep our feet back on the ground”. Maine achieved all these feat in a short time and there are no signs stopping her from soaring further. Since her early dubsmash videos to the present, her humility remains. She isn’t letting anything go into her head. There is always a continuous process of learning and improving for her. She doesn’t let arrogance, narcissism, and ego become her center. In all the opportunities she received, she never forget to thank the people who are with her in this journey. That humility is another distinct mark of a pure heart and a bearer of light.

Lastly, she taught us to live our life to the fullest. She has her bucket list to fulfill. The “bucket list” as explained to me before by a friend who studies language transformations said that this is a list you want to fulfill before your lifetime ends. It came from the idiomatic expression “kick the bucket” which means to pass away, thus, having a bucket list is like a checklist with your whole lifetime as the time frame. Maine is truly enjoying her life to the fullest as she’s living her dream of becoming a celebrity and checked out some of those in her bucketlist. We must bear in mind that like Maine, our life is more than just work or studies. We have to find the right balance and seize the wonderful moments too.

These 17 are just some marks as to how she becomes a bearer of light coming from a random storyteller like me who silently fangirled for her alone since 2016 up to the release of the open letter. I decided to proudly reveal I am a fan of Maine to void her first assumption that “sampu na lang” will be her remaining fans after she dished out the open letter. I am pretty much certain this list of 17 will be longer for those who are die-hard supporters for they can share more what I just did.

If ever this blog entry reaches you Maine, I in behalf of all your fans, would love to express our gratitude for embracing the role of a bearer of light. Please continue doing so. You have so much more to offer….You even made this storyteller to remember God’s word of self-control, understanding, compassion, and forgiveness by putting it into action. Through you, friendships were formed and initiatives of advocacies started. Because of you, the silent and scared voices starts to speak up for themselves. For all those moments you stayed true to yourself, you become a universal happy pill for everyone who loves you. With your posts and messages, those who are on the verge of giving up felt God is persistently reminding them they are loved and they must hold on and propel in life. 

 Yes Maine! You are indeed a true bearer of light. :)

This time allow us to recall how worthy you are to be loved in spite of your flaws and imperfections…how worthy you are to be appreciated for your genuine character…how worthy you are to be reminded of your significance for us. This time allow us to be grateful for your mere existence and presence in this lifetime we have. This time allow us to shout with all our might how many of us stayed despite of your earlier fears “kahit sampu na lang matira” whether fans from affiliated groups or fans like me acting like a lone messenger. This time allow us to answer your questions “Ano ba talagang meron sa akin? Ano ba ang ginagawa ko?"  Lahat-lahat ng binanggit ko dito Maine ginawa mo, may liwanag ka na nagpasaya sa amin. At kung minsan hindi mo alam kung paano pasasayahin ang sarili mo, hayaan mo, ipapaalala naming paulit-ulit kung gaano ka kahalaga sa amin. 

...This time, please allow us to give back to you the light you radiated towards us… :)  

And I wish one day, when fate smiles upon this random storyteller and the universe conspires with me, I can smile personally at you, look into your expressive eyes, and say with a cracked voice but a convincing tone: 

 “Maraming salamat sa lahat Maine, ibabalik ko na yun liwanag na binigay mo sa akin.”

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[marwarassas]

Blog Post 17/18

If you think of a few recent purchases what were the main factors that influenced your purchase?

Since lately I’ve been shopping online more often, the main factors that influenced my purchases are the low price, free shipping and the reviews from other people.

What was your last music-related purchase?

It’s hard to think about this one. I’ve never bought a CD or a music instrument so maybe I can say Spotify?

What were the main reasons/motivations behind the purchase?

Because I am listening to music all the time and it’s kind of annoying when you have to keep youtube open to listen to it or not being able to listen to music offline.

What kind of music do you like?

I listen to different kinds of music depending on my mood. But recently, the music I listen to a lot is Arabic music and my favorite one is Mabalash.

How do you consume music—i.e., how do you buy it/ when do you watch/listen to it/where do you watch/ listen to it?

As I said before I use Spotify to listen to music and sometimes Youtube when I’m using my laptop.

What are your opinions on the current music industry as a whole? 

I feel like music lost her value recently since now literally everyone can produce music and sing. Even if this allow us to have a large choice of what to listen to but it also affected negatively a lot of talented artists.

• How much of an influence would your favorite musicians have on you as a person? 

Sometimes even when I’m at the bottom feeling depressed and demotivated when I listen to some musicians like Eminem I feel like a total person it just give me a lot of energy and motivation. Some of them make me feel very happy and proud especially Arab ones.

• How about on your purchases? 

It doesn’t have any influence on my purchases

• Do you consider social responsibility and/or ethical considerations when making purchases of products/ services in the area of music? 

No, I usually don’t make purchases in the area of music but if I do I would do it because I will benefit from it without considering anything else.

• Can you think of ways that musicians/bands currently engage in socially responsible behavior?

 Some of them donate to charities, give free concerts to young children who can’t afford to go to a real concert .

• Do any recent examples of socially responsible behavior within the music industry come to mind?

During this pandemic, a lot of famous musicians made live concerts for free to tell their fans that they’re here for them in happy and hard moments and also to encourage people to stay home.

• Have you considered aspects of socially responsible behavior when you have attended live music events? 

The most recent concert I attended was a performance by The Real Group in Augustana College.

• Have you engaged in socially responsible behavior at live music events? 

I was actually working (selling their CDs to people) so I made sure to dress formally, be as friendly and helpful as I can with people and be sure that everyone is satisfied. I think I did very well since at  the end of the performance one of the musicians came to me to thank me and gave me a signed CD for free.

• How would you define a socially responsible musician? 

A socially responsible musician is someone who isn’t arrogant and doesn’t only care about himself. It’s someone who try to be close to his fans respect himself and is a good model to follow.

• Do you think it is important for them to act in a socially responsible way?

 Yes, definitely! Especially if they have a large audience because they represent them.

• Would you be more likely to buy an album/attend a concert of an artist that you perceive to be engaged in socially responsible behavior? 

Usually, I don’t read about a certain musician before buying or listening to his music. But if I found out that he’s not a good person and that he’s not engaged in socially responsible behavior I won’t support him by buying his albums or attending his concerts! He doesn’t deserve our support.

• Have you attended a live event due to the socially responsible aspect of the event?

No, I haven’t.

• How would you compare the role that social responsibility plays in everyday consumption decisions to music consumption decisions?

I would say social responsibility play a very important role in everyday consumption since people tend to buy more from companies that share values because they feel more responsible and that they are contributing in a way or in another in changing the world to the best.

1. Discuss how authenticity is important to an artist’s efficacy in promoting a social or political.

An artist’s authenticity is very important in promoting a social or political cause because they can easily influence their fans and their audience.

2. Cite an example from the text.

“  For example, the American musician Macklemore was cited as being illustrative of a socially responsible artist based on his campaigning for equal rights and holding a ceremony to marry Gay and Lesbian couples as part of his Grammy Awards performance.”

3. Can you think of an example you have witnessed of either an artist promoting something that didn’t seem authentic and one promoting that did? Post a link or video if you can.

I don’t have an exact example in mind but for the first example I can say the million ads made by celebrities everyday on social media that may not have any benefits but people still buy them just because they’re used by a certain celebrity that they love. For the second example, I can say the help that all the artists gave during these times by encouraging their audience to donate and raise the funds to help fight the coronavirus.

4. Write a paragraph on what you think makes a good protest song. Reference the article and choose to agree or disagree with something they said.

A good protest song  is a song with a purposeful message to deliver. I agree with the article in terms of it doesn’t have a certain format to follow since the goal is not to make good music but to express what we feel and make a change. Protest songs can be so powerful at the point that they can led peaceful wars. In 1975, there were a big movement in Morocco called Green March where 350,000 moroccan went to free the Moroccan Sahara from Spanish colonizers holding only Qurans and Moroccan flags and singing protest music. As they arrived to the borders, the Spanish soldiers were ordered to not shoot and Morocco was able to get back his territory without blood or violence.

2. Look up a favorite artist (keep going until you find something) and find some ways in which they are trying to make a positive impact. This can be either charities, benefit concerts, lyrical messages, etc. Share you findings.

I was amazed by the author J.K. Rowling that fell off of the Forbes billionaires list after donating an estimated $160 million to charity.

3. Discuss if you think they are effective, why or why not.

Obviously, she’s effective because she thought about others and her big donation affected a thousands of people and showed that she really care about others.

[donmichaelpoyaoan]

Blog #3: Pro Vs(ausage). Con

Hello fellow classmates and avid Palm Springs attendee! I hope you all had an amazing Labor Day weekend and enjoyed eating hot dog sausages at any gathering that was held in that period of time.

In lieu of such nationalistic views, I must say that argument is used by a society that “values democracy and equity” (64). This quote comes from University of Tennessee English professor Rebecca Jones’ publication “Finding the Good Argument OR Wh Bother with Logic.” The need for a “good argument” would call for logic, or the lack thereof in many arguments that we may find ourselves in today. Pressing issues are to be resolved only when both sides of an argument now what it is that they are arguing about and are passionate about the cause that they believe in. It takes a lot to pursue one side and not think about the other. The use of counterarguments provides for a solution to that specific problem for I think that in order to debate a crucial topic one must understand both sides of it and be open to multiple perspectives. Otherwise, opponents would just be ignorant as information from the counterpart comes in one ear and out through the other. An example being news shows when “prepared speeches are hurled across the long distances” (62) rather than actually engaging in the skirmish to resolve the conflict. This metaphorical war provides for two sides and no middle ground, which only means that progress would be at a standstill until a compromise is made. Like Jones stated, news shows would be considered as a “four ring circus” where the host as analogous to the ringmaster and the other three political advocates would be the lion, trapeze artist, and fat lady who sings until the show is done. I’m not saying that it does not make for good media, but there is a shift of focus from actual politics to entertainment. The video of Jon Stewart on Crossfire would basically replicate what I said in actuality for he calls out the hosts for putting politicians on edge with their ethics in the way they deliver their questions. How do you call that for “fake news?”

Alternatively, Jones may be appealing to her primary audience of first-year university writing students with certain devices that I have seen throughout reading the introduction. At first glance, one may notice that the diction used in the publication is similar to that of a first-year college student’s vocabulary. Her reading would well be in the range of what we are capable of understanding due to prior knowledge or context. I could tell that she would try to make the transitional period from high school to college a great one. Along with diction is the use of a political cartoon, which in my case shows how she can portray her argument with a cat fight. Terminology is implied to the point where a basic human being would be able to discern what the main idea of the text is about: argument. One last thing that Jones might have used to appeal to us would be the use of the television sitcom The Brady Bunch in relation to our age and generation where “Netflix and Chill” was relevant for a time. More like “Hulu & Commitment” if you would have asked me!

Well, I would like to thank all two of you(if not more) who took the time to read this saucy sausage post and have a wonderful rest of your day & night!

DISCLAIMER: I accidentally erased my first version of this blog post so hopefully I can get by with this new and improved one 

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[persuadedproject-blog]

Chapter 8

     Wentworth was coming to see Virginia as a home. The Admiral’s research in Norfolk expanded as he discovered a system riddled with problems, so the Crofts rented a small house in the heart of Uppercross (just across from the gazebo). The Admiral, brotherly and welcoming as always, insisted that Wentworth should stay with them, as long as he liked or maybe longer. Although the initial plan had been for Wentworth to spend a couple of days with the Crofts and then head up north to visit with Eduard and his new wife, the charms of Uppercross held him in place. Besides the butter-slathered southern cuisine, the whole town practically embraced him. The old were hospitable, the young were enjoyable, and Wentworth had found in the town a worthy enough reason to put of his trip north to Eduard’s. 

As important as getting to know a new sister-in-law is, when a person is being flattered by an entire town, new priorities sidle into place. He was at the Musgrove’s Great House almost every day. It was impossible to tell who was more enthusiastic about the arrangement - the Musgroves to invite him, or Wentworth to be invited. Mrs. Musgrove was convinced that he as a single man must be incapable of fixing himself a decent meal when the Crofts were out and about, so with every visit she stuffed him full and sent him home with a plate of leftovers. Ever since she had earned her eternal seal of approval by playing with Oscar (he even got a happy yap from the rotund canine), the plate was joined by some form of baked goods.

     All of the Musgrove’s thoughts towards Wentworth were total and unwavering admiration; a fact made abundantly clear to Cap and to everyone looking on. This had just been established when Chuck Hayter, Hazel’s insignificant other, came to town to interview for a position as an associate veterinarian. He was confused to find out that distance had made the heart grow apathetic, even to the point of eyeing greener pastures. The poor guy had reason to regret leaving his relationship undefined and nebulous, particularly once he saw Hazel’s altered state of mind and - even worse - the handsome, job-having Frederick Wentworth. The loose state of affairs that had appeared to offer him freedom one minute was exactly what threatened his happiness the next (ah, commitment, you sneaky thing). The Musgrove parents liked CHuck well enough. He wasn’t brilliant in any way - he was medium height, medium build, medium talent, had a bit of ambition, and an alright but far from dazzling sense of humor. But he was a decent person, with a work ethic that put him through veterinary school on a combination of scholarships and gas station jobs. If Hazel liked him, that was enough for all of them. And she had genuinely thought she liked him - until Wentworth turned up. From that time on, Chuck was like a somewhat bland distant memory she texted once in a while, until said memory reappeared in her hometown.

    Which of the two Musgrove girls Cap prefered was still a mystery, despite Anne’s observational skills. Hazel was probably prettier (in a curly hair, effortless cut off jeans kind of way), but Louise had more nerve and a bigger personality. She did not know what he would find more attractive now, a more easygoing or proactive girl. Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove had taken a hands-off approach when it came to their girl’s romantic life (either because they trusted their daughter’s judgement or had a misplaced trust in the young men they befriended), so the topic was not discussed in the Great House. It was of great interest at the junior Musgrove’s house, far more than the real headlines that it was Anne’s business to read. Cap had been in town for all of a week and a half, and Chuck for a day, when Anne began to be subjected to a nightly debate. After the boys went to bed, and before the older people scattered to their own interests, they would gather around the island in the kitchen to keep asking the same questions and making the same points. Every move Wentworth made was scrutinized, every blink, laugh, and look was somehow a sure sign he was going to ask out one girl or the other These debates were accompanied by ice cream (chocolate for Anne, banana pudding for Charles, and mango sorbet for Mary, who was trying to avoid dairy), but Anne found it difficult to swallow with the lump in her throat. Charles’ money was on Louise, but Mary was convinced he was after Hazel. Both agreed that he would be a great husband to either one. To the readers who are surprised that marriage was coming up this early in the non-relationship I would say that, unless they are part of an impossibly progressive society, a couple is immediately assessed for long-term endurance. Charles claimed he had,

    “Never met a more good-natured man in my life, and from what I have heard him say the government is paying him well for his work. I’m sure he’s only on the way to more recognition and higher positions. He’d be a catch for either one of them.”

    “He might could even run for Senate, plenty of ambassadors have done that. It would be a nice thing for Hazel, although she would enjoy lording it over me. Senator and Mrs. Wentworth! It doesn’t sound too shabby. Of course, he has no real Washington or political background, and I never know what to do with those farmer-turned-politician types.”

    “Like George Washington?” Anne asked dryly. She normally would have let Mary go on, but having to discuss the marriage of your soulmate can make you say and feel and do things that are out of the ordinary.

    It fit Mary’s state of mind to see Wentworth pursue Hazel, because that put an end to Chuck’s pretentious aspirations of being with her. She had decidedly looked down on him from the first time he came home with Hazel in his beat up sneakers, West Virginia accent, and wait staff job. He had taken two extra years to finish vet school due to a lack of funding, and even then he only managed to finish thanks to a loan from a kind friend.

    “After growing up in that house on the hill, with her father’s business and everything, I just don’t think they would be right for each other. She would be throwing herself away for a life of budgeting and part time jobs and...and I just don’t think a girl should make a life choice that will be a disappointment or inconvenience to the majority of her family. It would be giving the needy a connection to people who aren’t used to them.” Her husband could not agree with her - besides generally liking Chuck, he had had a helping hand himself to get the job he was in.

    “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Needy is not the word I would choose, try hard working maybe. He has a good shot at taking over the vet office here, a job his is perfect for by the way, and in a couple of years he can pay off that loan if he’s smart. He has more experience with farm animals too, which would be an asset to the whole county. Hazel could do much worse than Chuck, and if she ends up with him, and Louise gets Wentworth, I would be totally satisfied.” He then scooped up his bowl and went to eat his ice cream in peace, in front of a baseball game. As soon as he was safely out of earshot, Mary turned to Anne and said,

    “He can say what he wants to, but I think it would be awful if Hazel married Chuck Hayter. Bad for her, and worse for me - so we can only hope that Wentworth puts any thought of him right out of her head. I think he has already, she hardly noticed Chuck last night at the pool. I wish you had been there to see it, she trailed Wentworth around the pool, splashing and trying not to get her hair wet. As for Wentworth liking Louise, I think it is complete and utter guesswork. He definitely likes Hazel.” After a brief pause for reflection, she fumed, “But Charles is so sure! I wish you had been there, because you could’ve decided it finally. I am sure you would have taken my side, unless you were just determined to contradict me.”

    A cookout at the Musgrove’s was the next opportunity when Anne was supposed to observe the romantic rectangle, but the combined excuse of a raging headache and CJ’s shoulder feeling a bit sore was mercifully enough for her to stay home. The overall motivation was to avoid Cap and the maelstrom of emotions that surrounded him, but dodging the job of referee was an added bonus to her quiet, documentary-watching evening. Her conjectures on his feelings were without definite results, she thought the more important issue was that he make up his mind quickly, before either one of the girls got their hearts attached enough to be broken. Both of them were good-natured and had kind streaks, and she had to admit either of them would be an affectionate, warm partner. Where Chuck Hayter was concerned, she was by nature embarrassed by association when she saw girls flitting from guy to guy, or treating a relationship (undefined or not) frivolously. As if Anne did not have enough embarrassment or awkwardness on her plate, her sympathetic heart took on the cringing the whole situation warranted and she understood the bruising that flirtatious thrashing about could bring to both people. If Hazel was confused about her feelings for either man, Anne thought it would be best for her to get them sorted out in short order.

    Chuck had seen enough to be uncomfortable about his relationship status. Hazel had liked him for long enough, and he had been gone for a short enough time that he was sure it could not be totally over. He was perturbed at the rapid change that had probably been inspired by a mysterious but friendly stranger. The last time they had parted ways, it seemed like the thing she wanted most was to see him brought on by the local vet, Doc Shirley, who had been caring for the community’s pets for forty years now, but who was looking to train a replacement. It would be a good deal for both of them, and Hazel and her whole family had been awaiting his interview with suspense. At least, Hazel had seemed to be elated at the thought of Chuck having a local practice, but after just two weeks the wind had gone out of her sails. Even Louise could not listen to him long enough to hear how the interview had gone, because she kept flitting back and forth to the window to keep a lookout for Wentworth. Hazel could only at her least distracted give him divided attention. She seemed to have forgotten there were any other qualified candidates, or real interview.

    “Well, of course I’m glad - but I always knew you would get it. Dr. Shirley needs someone to take over, and he practically told you you had the job - is that him coming up the driveway, Louise?”

    The next morning, after her observational skills had been desired, Anne found herself in the company of the unavoidable. He appeared out of thin air in the living room, where Anne was trying to work and keep an eye on CJ (the miniature Charles had decided to use his aching shoulder to transform once again into a saddened invalid). Wentworth was just as surprised as she was. She was so surprised she started to stand up, then squat back down, then stand up again, all while mentally cursing the fact that they lived in the South, where no one locked the front door. Startled out of his normal suave, he said a little too loudly,

    “I thought Hazel and Louise would be here - Mrs. Musgrove told me they were with Mary.”

    “They are all upstairs, the girls are helping Mary pick out paint colors for the office, I’m sure they’ll be down in a minute,” Anne responded in one uncomfortable run-on rush. If she had not been in the middle of trying to diagnose CJ’s possible fever, she would have left the room to spare both him and herself. He graciously pretended to be fascinated with the view of Mary’s back yard at the window. Pine trees have never before merited the kind of attention he gave them.

    “I hope CJ is feeling better,” was all he said over his shoulder, and then he wisely stuck to the pine trees. She stayed, sitting cross-legged on the ground while CJ explained his symptoms. The screen door creaked, signaling the entrance of another person (what a relief! thank goodness the door was unlocked). Anne looked over, hoping to see Charles, but finding Chuck instead. Alas, she had looked for her reprieve too early. Chuck was about as pleased to see Wentworth as he had been to find Anne. This time, Anne did not try to get up, but she did offer Chuck a seat. His hands stuck in his pockets, Chuck said,

    “No thanks, I actually came to check on the goldfish?” Goldilocks was the children’s only pet due to Mary’s concern for her allergies, and she was much-beloved. Swimming had become a droopy activity recently, so Anne was glad she was getting some attention, even if the timing was not the best. Cap was finally lured away from his window, and tried to strike up a conversation with Chuck, who promptly wet-blanketed all conversation starters, and set himself to intently watching the fish.

    Another minute brought another (smaller) addition. Walter, a stout little guy with a fearless nature, whirled into the room. He made a beeline to the couch, to stake his claim on anything good or interesting there. He found nothing sweet or processed to eat, so he started to look for a playmate. Anne would not let him tease his sick brother, so he fastened himself to her, climbing on her back and hanging on for dear life. All her attention was on CJ, so she had a difficult time shaking him off. Once she tried, it became a game to him, and he hung on with all his might.

    “Walter, get down!” she commanded to no avail. “You stinker! Get down!” Walter found this hilarious, giggling and imitating Anne.

    “Stinker! Get down!” he shrieked gleefully.

     “Let her go now, Walter,” Chuck joined her entreaties employing the same tone he used on stubborn cows. “Come on, you can help me fix Goldilocks.” The little parasite only tightened his grip, but in an instant, Anne found herself released from his sturdy hands. Walter had been resolutely taken away to examine the fish before Anne realized it was Cap that had done it. After figuring that out, she was speechless, at first out of surprise, then because it would have been awkward to say anything after the time had passed. All she could do was keep paying attention to CJ while her feelings ran wild and shrieking around her head. It was so nice of him to step in to help her, but his complete silence during the act and the racket he and Walter were now making together made her completely sure that he was avoiding her thanks. Talking to her was clearly the last thing on Wentworth’s list of things to do, right under ‘kiss a Wookie’ and ‘burn my record collection’. These contradictions made for a confusing, painful bout with her own thoughts, which she could not really address until Mary and company finally came down. 

     Anne transferred the care of her patient and slipped upstairs. She could not stay. It might have been an opportunity to watch the four in all their sparks and jealousy, but she couldn’t stay for one second of it. It was abundantly clear Chuck had no desire to be friendly to Wentworth. It was almost funny how determined he was not to be impressed with him. But poor Chuck’s feelings, or anyone else's for that matter, were uninteresting to her until she could get a grip on her own. She was ashamed of herself and felt ridiculous at once again letting something so miniscule get under her skin. But, humiliating as it may be, she had to spend the rest of the morning in a quiet place, carefully directing her own thoughts until she recovered a more peaceful frame of mind.

Chapter 9: http://bit.ly/2uDSGyb

[hiraeth-doux]

Untouchable (3/8)

Summary: A fresh-out-of-the-NAVY widower Owen Grady knows everything about the war. His own child? Not so much. He settles in his home town with his 5-year-old daughter in hopes of piecing their shattered lives back together. And then they meet Claire Dearing…

Fun fact: this story was meant to be a one-shot to the prompt “Anon: My ex comes home to pick up his/her things and you came by after your shift at work and now my ex thinks you are my new girlfriend/boyfriend, so let’s play it cool” that I received a very long time ago. How it turned into what it is now I have no idea, but since the scene is coming up, I thought I’d mention it :) 

This part wasn’t due until next week, but it’s done so you can have it earlier. Thanks for all the love, guys! You have no idea how much it means to me ❤♡ Feedback is always much appreciated! 

AO3  |  Fanfiction.net

“You did what?” Owen gaped at Claire in disbelief, his jaw hanging open.

It was a Tuesday night in March, and a stormy one at that, with the wind howling outside and the snow lashing out angrily at the world, furious and enraged by the prospect of having to step back and give way to the spring soon. Harper was watching Sponge Bob in Claire’s living room, a box of crayons spilled in front of her on the carpet, after talking Owen into giving her ‘5 more minutes’ three times in a row.

It took them several weeks to settle into a new routine – if Owen was running late, Claire would give him something like 40 minutes during which she’d tidy up the place or teach Harper a move or two. The girl was a natural, throwing herself into the practice with abandon and chatting a mile a minute while doing so. She never shied away from an extra challenge, mesmerized by Claire’s majestic grace and the techniques she’d showed her in the past month or two.

Afterwards, if Owen still was not there, Claire would text him, gather Harper’s stuff and drive them both to her place. They’d eat, finish up on Harper’s homework if necessary and watch TV or play Go Fish, or she’d simply give the girl some paper and pencils to keep her entertained as they waited for Owen to come get her.

“We had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner,” Claire repeated, if a little cautiously this time. “Is that a problem?”

Once they agreed on their arrangement, Owen provided her with the basic information and phone numbers – his, even though she already had it, his mother’s, his next door neighbor’s who was watching Harper now and then, as well as her school’s, just in case, assuring Claire that his daughter had no allergies, to his knowledge, or any other dietary restrictions. He asked her to maybe steer clear of anything age-inappropriate on TV and not allow Harper to play with her makeup (apparently his wife had a thing about that), but that was it.

In retrospect, maybe there were healthier food options for a five-year old other than buttery bread stuffed with cheese, Claire had to admit that much, but he was looking at her like she’d talked his kid into jumping off a bridge or… okay, she was fresh out of analogies here. He was freaking out, and it was freaking her out, even though she could not, for the life of her, see why.

Owen rubbed his cheek, the stubble scratching the palm of his hand that smelled faintly of gasoline even though he all but scrubbed his skin off an hour earlier, trying to wash it off. He craned his neck to peek at Harper across the hall, singing along with the into song, and then turned to Claire who was filling the dishwasher with cups and plates, her hair veiling her face every time she looked down. “It’s not a problem,” he said, dumbfounded, after a long pause. “It’s a miracle.”

She scoffed, relieved, and slammed the dishwater door closed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t think you understand the definition--”

“No, you don’t understand,” he dropped his voice. “It’s been Cheerios for breakfast, PB&J sandwich for lunch, and goddamn pasta for dinner. Every. Single. Day. For months! I didn’t even know she was capable of eating anything else.”

Claire hummed and folded her arms over her chest. “Well, did you try giving her something else?” She asked, which earned her a tight-lipped grumble in the back on his throat and a dirty look. Hands raised in surrender, she shook her head. “You did.”

It was an odd dance they were doing, and half the time she felt like she didn’t know the steps.

In the month since she’d offered to let Harper play in her living room now and then, Owen was undeniably going out of his way to be at the Community Center on time to collect his daughter after the practice, barely ever a few minutes late. Like he didn’t trust Claire, although she could clearly see it wasn’t the case. More like he was trying to prove to her that he could, after all, easily juggle his two jobs, the school runs, and Harper’s extracurricular activities as if it was no big deal. Or maybe to prove it to himself, Claire couldn’t quite decide.

As a result, Harper only came over a handful of times, giddy and excited whenever it happened. It was obvious she craved interaction that went beyond the one she had with her classmates and her father. She adored Owen, that much was clear, but in the absence of a mother whose memory was still fresh in her mind, she latched onto Claire, her eyes sparkling alive every time she’d step onto the ice or get to chat with her for a few minutes and share a story or two about her school or going to Owen’s work or her neighbour’s poodle named Marcel. It was impossible not to get attached to her, and before she knew it was happening, Claire started to feel the claws of affection toward Harper Grady sink deep into her soul.

As for Owen, Claire’s relationship with him morphed into something akin a cautious friendship that consisted of bantering about nothing and walking on eggshells around everything else.

She told him about snagging an internship at Masrani Design after graduating from the Art School of the University of Wisconsin seven years ago, which eventually turned into a career, and explained that she started teaching a while back because it gave her unrestricted access to the rink at all times in-between. It terrified her at first, her inexperience in dealing with the children seeping out of every crack in her armour, but she grew to enjoy it, delighted by their energy and genuine eagerness to learn even when there was no reward waiting for them down the road.

Owen, in his turn, shared a few stories from his time in the NAVY, telling her about the training base in Japan where he got to try boiled locusts and whale meat, and about living in a tent for several months during an operation in the Middle East – he vowed to never underappreciate the indoor plumbing ever again. He answered her curious questions patiently, peppering his tales with hilarious anecdotes about the language barriers and the lack of proper navigation in the places that didn’t know what GPS was.

And in all this time, he hadn’t mentioned his dead wife once, which only made her looming presence so much more notable. Claire wondered sometimes if he could feel it as sharply as she did.

Yet, there was easiness to their conversations, the light jokes that somehow didn’t seem forced or overbearing. However, Claire chalked it up to the fact that he was simply grateful for her involvement with his daughter. Once, he even asked her to join them for a movie, but it was clearly nothing but a polite gesture, and obviously Harper’s idea, so she declined the invitation, offering him a quick excuse she forgot five minutes later, uncertain of whether she saw a flicker of relief or disappointment on his face and choosing not to overthink it.

“Owen Grady?” Karen stared at her for a solid minute when Claire mentioned their situation to her a couple of weeks ago when she came over for dinner. “The Owen Grady? My-shoulders-are-larger-than-life Owen Grady?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Maybe. His full name never came up.” She shrugged, feeling inexplicably defensive and oddly jealous of her nephews who were fighting over a video game in the living room instead of having to endure Karen’s speculative scrutiny. “And what was I supposed to do? Leave the little girl alone in the parking lot?”

“So you decided to adopt her?”

“Why are you complaining?” Claire countered. “ You are always on my case about having a child of my own.”

“I didn’t mean it like--” Karen cut herself off when she realized it was a joke. “Stop deflecting. I thought he was married.”

Claire flinched a little, feeling trapped and kicking herself mentally for bringing it up at all. “Well, not strictly speaking…”

Karen leveled her sister with her best unimpressed look. “You’re making no sense.”

“He lost his wife… ah, that would be about nine or ten months ago now, I think? Cancer.”

Karen’s face fell. “Oh, his poor kid.” She propped her chin on her hand, studying Claire across the table as the timer on the oven kept ticking the seconds away. “And then there’s you.”

“Yup, babysitting. You can bond a lot with people when you do a 12-year-old’s job for them,” Claire deadpanned. “It’s not like that, I swear. We’re just friends.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s--”

“Work ethics. Lots of it.”

“You’re no fun,” Karen sighed.

Clare flashed a bright smile at her. “I have you for that.”

It was easier that way, Claire decided in the end. It was easier to pretend she didn’t care rather than to admit that she wasn’t entirely unattaracted to a very emotionally unavailable man with a seriously messed up life and a baggage so heavy she wondered sometimes how he wasn’t crumbling under its weight with every step he took. Wondered how he kept on breathing without suffocating.

Owen was funny and charming, and he loved his daughter, and he also seemed to be as attainable as the moon. Jesus, the man had been looking right through her for as long as she’d known him. And so Claire pushed those thoughts away, shoved them into the darkest corner of her heart, locked the door, and threw away the key. There was no one else to know the truth but her, and she liked it that way.

“What’s your secret?” Owen asked meanwhile, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Hm?” Claire blinked at him.

He leaned against the cooking counter, watching her with a curious expression – like he was trying to read her mind. (The thought resonated with an unsettling tug in her stomach.) “You’ve done something I didn’t even think was possible, and I really wanna know how.” He picked up an apple from the bowl sitting next to his elbow and sank his teeth into it.

Claire grinned at him. “You never said that pasta was mandatory. I didn’t think to offer it.”

Her phone started to chirp at the same time as someone rang the doorbell, startling them both.

“Could you…” she began, her eyes darting toward the hallway as she reached for her mobile, and Owen nodded and peeled away from the counter. “Beware though, it might be my sister,” she called after him before pressing Accept. “Hi, Mr. Masrani… No, of course, not… I actually finished it and sent it for confirmation.” She rubbed her forehead, listening to Simon Masrani ramble on about his meeting with a potential corporate client scheduled for tomorrow and nodding occasionally even though he couldn’t see her.

“Claire?” Owen called from the hall a few moments later, and she quickly wrapped up the conversation, promising Mr. Masrani to double check everything first thing in the morning.

Jason Reed was standing by the door when she stepped out of the kitchen, sizing up Owen with one measured look after another. Tall and lanky, he seemed to be taking up whatever little space was left there after Owen Grady filled the rest of it, the air around them charged with tension that almost buzzed like electrical static. He turned to Claire – not with hostility exactly, but with a certain air of betrayal and disbelief, a deep frown creasing her forehead, which was odd, coming from someone she’d been broken up with for over four months.

“Jason?” Claire found her voice somehow, her stomach uncomfortably hollow. Then glanced at Owen who seemingly grew a foot taller in the presence of a stranger, his gaze heavy. Then remembered to introduce them. The men nodded to one another, but neither made an attempt to go for the handshake. If anything, both seemed to be tempted to reach for one another’s jugular, and if she could understand it in Jason, with Owen it made no sense whatsoever. “What are you doing here?” She asked at last, her chin tipped up and her arms folded over her chest.

Jason was a representative of one of Claire’s former clients about a year ago. One day, he stopped by to sign some papers and left with her phone number in his pocket. Their relationship was comfortable and convenient, if nothing else. No tides, no currents, just a smooth surface of a lake on a sunny day, undisturbed by the breeze. It wasn’t that they were comfortable in their silences – it was that they didn’t need anything else, and not in a good way. For her, it was a red flag. For Jason, for some reason, it seemed to be a sign of success.

He was so surprised when she offered to call it quits about six months later it would’ve been funny had the moment been slightly less dramatic. For all Claire knew, he still had no idea what pushed her to do it, harbouring a hope she’d come to her senses one of these days.

“You mentioned my stuff…” Jason started, and she jerked her head toward a plain cardboard box without any markings sitting under the hook rack, choosing not to comment on how she said it to him two months ago and he was lucky it was still here and not in the trash. “Right.” He picked up the box, then gave Owen another once-over. “Well, you seem to have moved on quickly, Claire.”

“Thanks for calling before stopping by,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t--” He began and cut himself off with a cough. “I didn’t expect to interrupt anything important.”

��Claire!” Harper burst out of the living room. “Come here! You have to see--” She skidded to an abrupt halt at the sight of a stranger, and Claire habitually reached for her, picking the girl up. Harper’s arms wrapped tightly around her neck as she peeked at Jason from under her hair that fell on her face, her small body tense.

“In a minute, honey,” Claire promised.

With a snicker, Jason pulled the door open without so much as a goodbye, allowing the cold air mixed with a handful of snow to rush into the house, and then slammed in with a loud bang behind him. And Claire finally remembered to exhale, her ears ringing for a second or two.

“Who was that?” Harper whispered, her fingers tangled in Claire’s hair.

“No one,” Claire turned to her, a smile in place. “Just an old friend. So, you were saying….”

The girl looked at Owen whose eyes were still locked on the door, his hands flexing ever so slightly, curling into fists and then uncurling and then tightening again, although it was impossible to tell if he knew he was doing it or not.

“Daddy, did you tell her?” She demanded.

“Tell me what?” Claire eyes shifted from the one to another.

“Oh.” Owen pressed a palm to his forehead. “Of course.” The line of his shoulders relaxed at last, the crease between his eyebrows smoothed out, and a tight set of his lips curved into a one-sided grin. “Ms. Dearing, you’re hereby officially invited to--”

“My birthday party!” Harper finished for him with excitement, her eyes sparkling. “Next Saturday!”

“I am? Really?” Claire felt her smile stretch wider as something warm blossomed in her stomach spreading all over her body like honey melting in the sun. “I’d be a fool to say no.” When Harper ran back off to her cartoons, she straightened up and turned to Owen. “I’m sorry... for this—I had no idea he was going to show up like this.”

“I gathered that much,” Owen said. “Everything okay with you and…” His gaze flickered toward the door, the territorial look on the other man’s face seared into his memory, flaring up something dark and scary and hot inside him, making his blood boil.

“Yeah, it is, actually. Which, I think, is the problem.” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose with a huff of frustration. “Jason and I, we ended our whatever on rather good terms and apparently he decided that it was still salvageable.”

“Is it?”

She dropped her hand to her side to find Owen standing closer to her than she anticipated, his blue eyes pensive and clear, and more than a little troubled. She didn’t even need to try hard to convince herself that there was more to it than idle curiosity to his gaze. And there it was again, a nervous flurry in her chest that was growing progressively harder to ignore.

“No. God, no!” She let out a short, unsteady laugh, shaking her head. “Look, Owen, I shouldn’t have allowed him to think that you and I… That we--” There was no way to make this not sound awkward, and now that the whole incident was over, she could feel her cheeks grow hot, making her wish the floor would open beneath her feet and swallow her whole. Jesus Christ... “I’m sorry for dragging you into my personal issues. I crossed the line and it was unacceptable.”

“Nah, glad I could help,” Owen told her easily and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his sweater stretching over his chest, damn you, Karen! “Also… you don’t have to do the birthday thing if you don’t want to, Claire, or if you have other plans. I swear it’s fine.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her mouth dropped open in mock-indignation. “Six-year olds get the best cakes!”

---

Claire started swimming after her first surgery. It was meant to be a part of her physical therapy aimed at bringing the life back into her sore muscles and weak joints after several months of being practically bedridden. Her doctor kept going on and on and on about building up her strength through low-impact exercises to speed up the recovery.

At the time, it didn’t matter. At the time, Claire didn’t care. Her life was falling apart before her eyes, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t see any future beyond tomorrow. One day after another was all she had. Anything else was either frightening, or downright dreadful.

Claire succumbed, though, more for the sake of getting everyone off her back than anything else, and before long, the pool became her new escape. She loved the velvety touch of the water to her skin, loved feeling that for an hour a day she was more than a broken doll or one grim prognosis after another. It was only in the water that the pain disappeared. Before she could walk without help again, before she could even dream about the ice, she found a way to move without constrains, to feel at home in her own body again.

By the time her physical therapy came to an end, Claire was addicted to swimming. Her therapist explained to her once that people tended to be drawn to the water because it was the most natural environment for them. It was the first memory human bodies had. It meant safety. It meant peace.

Claire liked that theory. If she closed her eyes and allowed the gravity to take her, sinking below the surface, she could never tell where up or down was. It made her think of being in outer space, suspended in zero gravity, floating weightless in a place where the sounds were muffled and world didn’t look as sharp.

She pushed away from the board and took a perfect dive, slicing through the water in a wide arc despite the protest of her muscles, allowing it to envelop her body and push all thoughts out of her mind. She surged forward, kicking furiously with her feet and propelling herself straight ahead in the sea of air bubbles that clung to her arms and tickled her back. Her toes brushed against the tiled bottom before she angled her movement up and toward the surface again, breaking out with a gasp.

After ten laps, with her muscles burning and her lungs screaming for a proper inhale, she drifted off to the middle of the pool and flipped onto her back, her chest still heaving but the rest of her body pleasantly limp. It was still early, and if the place had a glass roof, she’d be able to see the stars.

She closed he eyes, marveling at the contrast between the cool touch of the water and her heated skin, waiting for her heartbeat to get back to normal and hoping her inner turmoil would sort itself out as well in the process. The uncomfortable tug in her knee started to melt away. Last night, she forgot that she was not a real girl anymore and threw herself recklessly into the one thing that made her feel grounded and in control until every inch of the ice beneath the blades of her skates was scarred and dented and she could no longer feel her legs.

Well, she was paying dearly for it today. And for what? It didn’t change anything. It didn’t help her regain her balance. If anything, pushing her limits only made everything worse because she kept looking at the goddamned door, waiting for it to open, but it never did.

It had been a while since she felt this fragmented, this scattered and all over the place, and it was making her antsy and restless, like she was about to jump out of her own skin.

If she tried hard enough, Claire could almost pretend it was about the new project she picked up at work, or the winter that was feeling particularly endless this year, and be done with it. If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend it was not at all about the territorial glint in Owen’s eyes on the night when Jason showed up at her place unannounced – the one that probably wasn’t there because it couldn’t be there - that stirred something inside her. Something she didn’t know how to put into words for ethical, moral, and logical reasons. And the worst thing was that it wasn’t even the possibility of it that bothered her, but how much she wanted it to be real, and quite frankly, she had no idea how to feel about it.

She didn’t even know his middle name.

Claire stayed afloat until she cooled down enough for her teeth to start chattering and her body to grow heavy as a stone, and for a brief moment she even panicked, worried that she would sink right to the bottom and never find it in her to come to the surface again…

She thought she’d be the first one in the office when she stepped out of the elevator half an hour later, her damp hair gathered into a sloppy twist, threatening her with an imminent pneumonia. Instead, she spotted Lowery messing with the coffee machine in their tiny kitchen at the end of the hallway while he hummed something under his breath.

He was not bald, like Karen stated, but his hairline was receding and the thick-rimmed glasses added another layer to his already established geekiness. He was wearing a superhero t-shirt today – Claire didn’t recognize the characters but didn’t dare ask because the last time she made that mistake, he dumper roughly 50-years’ worth of history on her and she still hadn’t recovered – that made her own stretched-out vintage sweater look rather sophisticated. Mr. Masrani was right not to push any dress code on them, she mused. They would wilt and die if he did.

Lowery noticed her out of the corner of his eye and looked up, giving Claire a small wave. She nodded her hello.

“What are you doing here so early?”

He emptied at least five packets of sugar into his black coffee and stirred them with enough enthusiasm to create a mini vortex in the cup. “Just finishing some updates,” he shrugged with disinterest, then picked up his drink and followed Claire to her office. “Hey, Claire, some of us are going out for drinks tomorrow night. Wanna come?”

She set her bag onto her desk and shrugged out of her coat, leaving it draped over the back of her chair, then booted up her computer before crossing the room to open the blinds and let the first rays of the morning sun in, allowing them to paint the walls in yellow stripes. “Can’t, sorry.” She shook her head absently and pulled off the hair-tie, ruffling her hair with her fingers. “I have plans.”

Lowery’s eyebrows perked up over the rims of his glasses. “Do tell.”

Claire ignored his curious look and the hunger for gossip in his eyes. They wee starved here, she knew it. Ever since Zara, a junior designer, dumped her boyfriend three weeks ago, there was nothing to talk about near the water cooler, but she was not going to save them at her expense. Instead, she leaned against her desk, making a mental note to de-clutter it and regarded Lowery thoughtfully.

“What would you give to a six-year old girl for her birthday?” She asked him and tilted her head to her shoulder, tapping her fingers on a stack of papers.

The question was more rhetorical than anything else. Still, Lowery took a gulp of his coffee and scrunched his face in concentration. “A Barbie?” He offered uncertainly.

Claire sighed.

This was not helpful.

---

If Owen knew that a handful of first- and second-graders could cause so much ruckus, he would probably pay more attention to buying earplugs instead looking for a perfect set of Disney-themed paper plates.

After having to reject the Space and Underwater Kingdom party ideas, for obvious reasons, and also because Owen knew there was no way he could pull them off on such a short notice, they finally settled on the Rainbow theme, which was a blessing, as far as he was concerned. Basically, everything had to be rainbow-colored – balloons and paper lanterns, banners, candles on the cake, party hats. Even Harper’s overalls and leggings sported every colour of the spectrum. Granted, all of the parents in attendance were about to drop dead from this visual assault, but the kids found it delightful.

His mother helped him decorate the living room this morning while Harper was still asleep, allowing Owen to have a quick run to the bakery to pick up the cake he ordered a week ago – rainbow-layered, of course – and a handful of cupcakes so rich in food colouring he wondered if it was safer to gorge on a Chemistry Set instead.

This was so not how Jenny would have handled any of this, he thought as he fingers moved swiftly to tie the last of the balloons in the hallway and give everything a cursory look before the guests arrived. Jenny would have planned this in advance and probably thought of healthy snack alternatives, too. She would’ve made the Space theme possible. She wouldn’t have forgotten about Harper’s birthday until two weeks ago when the girl casually reminded Owen about it, stressing the importance of inviting her friends. And Barry. And Claire.

He was ecstatic beyond himself that she wanted it at all – after the months of barely leaving her room, let alone the house, his kid wanted to socialize. With people. It was going to happen even if he had to tear the world apart and put it back together.

Except it was a goddamn nightmare and now Owen feared they might have to move after the party was over because there was no fucking way he would ever clean this place up and make it acceptable for living again. But Harper’s smile was worth it, a million times over, even if the noise was giving him a raging headache.

“You’re so lucky she didn’t ask for karaoke,” a father of one of the kids told him. Owen was. He really and truly was.

And they still were hours away from the cake part, which his mother told him usually signified the end of the event.

He was on the way to the bathroom to find a bottle of aspirin when someone rang the doorbell, and when Owen pulled it open, his first thought was – Here it is, I’ve finally lost it. Filling the whole doorway was a huge grey teddy bear, the one from cheesy greeting cards. And sure enough, it had a greeting card of its own sticking from under a giant pink bow tied around its neck.

“Man, is that you?” Owen heard Barry’s muffled voice, and when he opened the door wider, the latter nearly fell into the hallway, having a hard time walking with the stuffed toy the size of a truck in his arms.

“Please tell me there’s booze in there,” Owen muttered, eyeing yet another present with a mixture of awe and disbelief – who on earth decided that the toys twice bigger than kids were a good idea? They might need to build a separate room for it – it sure as hell was not going to fit in Harper’s.

“That fun, huh?” Barry smirked.

“You have no idea,” Owen breathed out. The parents tried to be engaged, but after an hour or so, most of them started to look mildly shell-shocked from the noise, probably happy beyond themselves none of this was actually their concern. There was nothing Owen wanted more than to join them on the back porch, screw the cold. “Hey, Harper!” He called out instead, and the girl snapped her head up, her curls bouncing up and down her back. “Look who’s here!”

Barry waved at her with a dazzling smile plastered on his face and she waved wildly back before going back to… whatever it was they were all doing there that, surprisingly, didn’t involve shrieking or demolishing the house.

“This isn’t so bad,” Barry told him meanwhile, swiping the living room with a wide glance as he pulled off his jacket.

Earlier, Owen pushed most of the furniture to the walls to clear the space for Harper and her seven guests to play. There were snacks and an assortment of beverages of every color he could find on the table by the window, half-consumed by now, as well as a stack of all possible board games and drawing supplies he could think of to pull out of Harper’s room, feverishly trying to remember if this always was such a hassle. Last year, Jenny was already sick, mere weeks away from her final trip to the hospital from which she never returned back home, so they had a quieter celebration, just the three of them, and before that… well, Owen couldn’t remember it ever being this much.

A week ago, he hoped the weather would break at last, allowing him to kick the whole crowd into the backyard for a while. Instead, the storm that had hit them a few days ago effectively messed up that plan, and he suspected that doing so now would be a complete disaster, and maybe he didn’t need them all to get sopping wet after a snowball fight or something of that kind.

“Wait till the sugar kicks in,” he told Barry while his friend set the bear in the corner in the hallway, propping it against the staircase.

And then he nudged Owen in the ribs and jerked his chin toward a small gathering by the couch. “Who’s that?”

Sitting cross-legged on the floor among the congregation of kids was Claire. She had an open bag of mini-marshmallows in front of her and a pack of toothpicks, and right now she was showing them all how to build things, connecting marshmallow to one another with said toothpicks. To him, it all mostly looked like elaborate molecule models that resembled the stuff one would find in a chemistry book, but whatever it really was they were doing, they all seemed to be finding it fascinating.

Her hair was tied loosely at the nape of her neck, a few strands brushing against her cheeks. And Owen had to make a physical effort to remind himself not to smile at the sight of her, patiently playing with his daughter and the other children, her bright red lips moving as she explained something or another to them, her voice too soft for him to catch what she was saying, but everyone seemed enthralled, and he couldn’t blame them.

“That’s Harper’s ice-skating instructor,” he responded with a nonchalant shrug, folding his arms over her chest. “I told ya, remember? My kid invited her to come.”

“That is her instructor?” Barry’s jaw hit the floor, and he smacked Owen on the arm with the back of his hand. “Man... Wait, is that…” His eyes narrowed. “Is she…?”

Owen chuckled. “Yup. The one and only.”

Another smack on the arm. “Man!” Barry shook his head.

Owen’s phone let out a high-pitched shrill, a familiar caller ID blinking on the screen. “Harper,” he called out again. “Come talk to Grandma Sylvia.”

The girl leaped up from the floor and ran over to him, taking the phone from his hand and going to sit on the stairs to chat with Jenny’s mother who lived in Michigan, dumping everything on her in one endless sentence that didn’t require breathing – from the bright party hats and a seven-tier cake to the list of presents she received.

Claire rose to her feet as well. She brushed her palms to her grey slacks, smoothing out the creases, and then, after promising the adoring crowd to come back soon, she picked up an empty lemonade pitcher to refill it, carefully navigating her way across the minefield of discarded pieces of LEGO and colouring supplies.

“Oh, hey,” she smiled at Owen when she saw him hovering in the doorway with a mildly panicked expression on his face, the same one that prompted her to take charge of the entertainment twenty minutes after she walked through the door and found him in a state close to shock. “We’re good, really,” she promised him and patted him on the shoulder. “A couple more hours, and they’ll be too tired to cause any trouble.”

“You don’t have to do it,” he told her quietly.

“I know. But it’s fun. We’re building a tower.” And then her gaze shifted past his shoulder and fixed on Barry. “Hi.”

“Oh, right.” Owen introduced them quickly.

“Madame.” Barry took her hand and brushed his lips to her knuckles.

“Enchantée,” Claire replied, practically curtsying.

He arched his eyebrows. “Vous etes vraiment magnifique.”

“Show off,” Owen muttered, glaring at his friend as Claire squeezed past them with a giggle, heading for the kitchen. “The hell did you say to her?”

“None of your business,” Barry snorted good-naturedly, and then turned to him. “I can’t believe your daughter has a real-life Barbie.” His eyes widened and his voice dropped. “You and her… right?” He hissed, pointing over his shoulder. “Please tell me that you and her--”

Owen waved him off. “What? No, dude! Jesus, she’s… I don’t know, a friend. It’s not like that.”

Harper skipped over to them and tucked Owen’s phone into the back pocket of his jeans before giving Barry a quick hug and running over to her guests, and Barry dropped his hands on Owen’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “Owen, my friend, you’re crazy. Do something about it.”

---

It was only in the late afternoon after the cake had been eaten, the presents opened, and everyone except Owen’s mother headed home that he found Claire in the kitchen, pulling the cling wrap over the leftovers to put them in the fridge.

“Hey, there you are.” He offered her a tired smile, feeling the weight lift off his shoulders, struck by how comforting her presence in his house felt. “Honestly, Claire, you don’t have to bother with any of this,” he gestured around with a wide swipe of his hand, already mentally prepared for the long night of cleaning the house.

She scoffed. “This is where you say thank you and let me finish.”

“Thank you.” He ran a weary hand down his face and leaned against the sink. “Was it obvious I’ve never done this before?”

“I thought you’d be hiding in a coat closet by the end of the first hour,” she admitted and stuffed a plate of cupcakes into the fridge. A Tupperware container filled with mini sausage rolls followed suit.

“Damn, I didn’t know it was an option.” He rubbed his eyes, honestly wishing he’d thought of it sooner. “How’d you know about this kind of stuff?”

“Two nephews,” she shuddered dramatically and moved to stand next to him. “And trust me, it’s worse with the boys – they want to set everything on fire.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Owen hummed dryly.

“Don’t worry,” her eyes softened, “you’ll get a hang of it. Probably by the time she’d rather die than have you anywhere near her friends, but still.”

His laughter morphed into a desperate groan and he buried his face in his hands. “Wonderful.”

Claire elbowed him lightly in the arm. “You did great. Harper loved it. The cake, the balloons, everything.” The worry lines in the corners of his eyes smoothed out. “Your mom is very nice,” she added nonchalantly, watching him squirm a little.

That was a very polite understatement, and he was painfully aware of the fact that Claire knew it.

Colleen Grady was a groupie. If he knew how comically his mother’s eyes would pop out when she found out that ‘a friend’ he mentioned was not only a woman, but a local celebrity of sorts, he’d have a camera close at hand, if only because he knew for a fact that he would never surprise her like this again even if he spent the rest of his life trying. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so embarrassing. He should have warned Claire, or his mother, or both of them. There was no way he was going to live it down.

“Whatever she said to you… it’s not true,” he told her solemnly, struggling not to laugh.

Claire’s eyebrow quirked curiously. “Even the good stuff?”

“Especially the good stuff.”

“Daddy,” Harper appeared in the kitchen and scrambled up onto the barstool near the counter. “Look what Grandma gave me!” She thrust her hand at him, rolling her wrist to show him a silver charm bracelet with a few charms on it, glinting in the light of an overhead lamp. “Isn’t it the prettiest?”

“It sure is!” He confirmed.

“And Claire didn’t bring me anything.” She turned expectantly to Claire.

“I didn’t?” Claire pressed her hand to her chest, appalled.

Harper shook her head vigorously. “I checked twice!”

“Well, it’s because my present is a surprise.” Claire told her, leaning closer to the girl over the counter as her voice dropped conspiratorially.

Harper’s face lit up and she also leaned forward. “What kind of surprise?”

“Your dad told me that you asked for a pony--”

“Please tell me there’s no horse in my backyard,” Owen muttered with unmasked terror in his voice. “Please tell me there’s no--”

“There is no horse in your backyard,” Claire told him and shook her head before turning back to his daughter. “But I would love to take you,” she tapped the girl on the nose with her finger, “to the stables tomorrow and you could ride one as much as you want.” And then added, “If that’s okay with your father, of course.”

They both turned to Owen.

“Daddy, please, can we go? Please, please, please?” Harper pleaded, practically holding her breath.

He looked between her and Claire for a long moment, putting an almost inhuman effort into keeping a straight face. “Can I come with?”

Harper shrieked and pressed her hands to her mouth before sliding off the stool and taking off on, “I gotta tell Grandma!”

“What?” Claire asked, straightening up when she saw him watch her like she’d just fell out of the sky and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re scaring me now. Should I have asked first?” Her brows knitted together in concern, slight worry creeping into her voice. “I should’ve asked, haven’t I? I’m sorry, Owen, I just really wanted it to be a surprise--”

“No, no!” He stopped her. “It’s, ah…” Owen let out a long breath, and ruffled his hair with his hand, not sure how to put into words the magnitude of her gesture. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for Harper, or me. Or both of us, combined.”

She relaxed minutely. “It’s nothing, I assure you. I know someone…”

“Yes, it is, Claire.” His voice lowered to a low, velvet husk that caused the goosebumps to spring along her skin. “It is.”

She wanted to say something deep and profound, or better yet – laugh it off altogether, self-conscious under his gaze. Except his face was suddenly very close to hers, and she could smell chocolate cupcake on him and his cologne and man, and the world shrunk to the size of this kitchen. She heard him swallow, her own senses sharpened and amplified, and for a moment, Claire couldn’t hear anything past the blood rush in her ears.

Owen’s gaze dropped to her lips, and she tilted her face up—

Something fell and shattered in the living room, startling them. A concerned and then reassuring murmur followed, the voices low and the words indistinguishable. Claire turned away, causing Owen’s mouth to brush briefly against hers, a feather-light touch that left her lips tingling with an electric undercurrent coursing beneath her skin.

“I should… go,” she stepped away from him, jittery from a jolt of adrenaline.

“Yeah, and I should… check what they broke there,” Owen nodded numbly and cleared his throat. “Claire….” Say something. Something smart. Or funny. Anything. Say anything. “Thanks for coming.”

She nodded, too, and picked up her purse from the counter. “Thanks for the cake. And, Owen?” She paused, catching his eyes and holding his gaze. “About tomorrow…” His heart plummeted into his stomach. “You’re driving.”

---

Later that night, after he drove his mother home, almost successfully managing to avoid her questions, and loaded dishes into the dishwasher, after he removed party banners from the walls, took out the garbage, and returned the living-room furniture where it belong, after he helped Harper haul her presents into her room and then tucked his daughter into bed, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her, Owen collapsed onto the couch and finally allowed himself to breathe out a sigh of relief.

This day was officially over, and he was so drained his brain hurt. 

There was a wedding photo of him and Jenny sitting on the dresser in the bedroom, and he couldn’t bring himself to step into the room. Normally, seeing it a few times a day felt like a relief, if a bittersweet one. Like it was a testament to her presence in his life. But after what happened between him and Claire earlier, he couldn’t bear the idea of facing it, his thoughts a jumbled mess he wasn’t sure how to deal with, or even where to start.

He almost kissed another woman today. The woman who loved his daughter. The one whose smile was like magic. The one he knew he would have kissed if they weren’t interrupted.

The one who wasn’t his wife.

Owen let out a long breath and ran his palm over his jaw, his stubble catching on his wedding ring and giving him a start, and all of a sudden, it felt too tight on his hand, squeezing the life out of him. He twisted it around his finger, and the sensation was gone.

“So,” he dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling lined with shadows from the reading lamp in the corner, “now what?”

To be continued... 

PS Head-canons are welcome! 

[caveartfair]

Missing Monet Discovered in Louvre Storage Space—and the 9 Other Biggest News Stories This Week

01 A Claude Monet painting lost during World War II was discovered rolled up in a Louvre storage space.

(via artnet News)

The National Museum of Western Art in Tokyo announced on Monday that Water Lilies: Reflection of Willows (1916) will go on view at the institution after undergoing major conservation efforts. The painting was discovered by a French researcher in 2016; it was heavily damaged after spending six decades in storage at the Louvre, artnet News reported. Japanese collector Kojiro Matsukata had purchased the piece in the 1920s, one of roughly 25 Monet paintings owned by the businessman who had hopes of opening a museum of Western art in Japan. That dream was dashed by a series of catastrophes, including a London fire that destroyed 400 works owned by Matsuka and stored in the city. His collection in Paris, however, remained under the care of an art advisor until being “sequestered” by the French government during World War II, artnet News wrote, and while much of it was returned to Japan in 1959, Water Lilies: Reflection of Willows had been missing for nearly six decades.

02  A £112.7 Million Picasso spending spree buoyed big sales at Christie’s and Sotheby’s in London.

(Artsy)

The 2018 auction season season appeared to begin with a bang as the Impressionist and Modern evening sales at Christie’s came squarely within its estimate and Sotheby’s surpassed its high estimate, thanks to sales of work by that longtime industry stalwart, Pablo Picasso. A portrait of his mistress Marie-Thérèse Walter sold for £49.8 million ($69.2 million) at Sotheby’s on Wednesday, making it the most expensive painting and the second-most expensive artwork ever sold in Europe. The 1937 painting Femme au béret et à la robe quadrillée (Marie-Thérèse Walter) was purchased by a client on the phone with Lord Mark Poltimore, deputy chairman of Europe for Sotheby’s. According to industry newsletter the Baer Faxt and Bloomberg, the client on the phone was the London advisory outfit Gurr Johns, whose executive chairman Harry Smith had already calmly snapped up nine Picassos at Christie’s on Tuesday and finished Wednesday with three more on top of the portrait of Marie-Thérèse, a total of 13 works in two days for a combined £112.7 million ($155.2 million). It is unclear why the advisor was snapping up so many canvases by Picasso—Gurr Johns did not respond to emails and calls—but Smith was bidding on every single one. There was more good news for Sotheby’s this week when the auction house reported better-than-expected earnings in the fourth quarter and strong full-year profits thanks to higher auction sales, robust private dealmaking, and a growing presence in Asia.

03 The Richard Avedon Foundation claims an unauthorized biography of the photographer includes hundreds of factual errors.

(via The Art Newspaper)

On Wednesday, a banner appeared at the top of the Richard Avedon Foundation’s website: “Foundation pushes Spiegel and Grau to immediately cease publication and correct the record; publisher says facts don’t matter.” The text refers to Something Personal, an unauthorized biography published by a Penguin Random House imprint, Spiegel and Grau, last year. The account of Avedon’s life—described as “part memoir, part biography and part oral history” by the book’s dust jacket—was penned by the photographer’s former studio director Norma Stevens and long-term book publisher and editor, Steven M. L. Aronson. But the Foundation is arguing that, despite Stevens’s close relationship with the artist, just one-third of the account contains about 200 factual errors. Some major points of contention are whether or not Avedon shared an intimate relationship with Marilyn Monroe, and if Avedon himself made an unsolicited call to the Smithsonian museum to offer a donation of his prints and negatives. While the Foundation’s list of errors is likely to grow with the help of an online correction submission system built into the site, the publisher’s lawyer, Matthew Martin, recently told The Art Newspaper that disagreements have emerged due to Avedon being “well known for embellishing stories or simply fabricating,” and that the Foundation has “no evidence” to back their accusations.

04  A mobster suspected of having ties to the notorious Gardner heist will serve 11 months on gun charges.

(via The Hartford Courant)

Robert “The Cook” Gentile, an 81-year-old Mafia gangster, was sentenced Tuesday to a 54-month sentence for gun charges, of which he has already served around 35 months while awaiting sentencing. Since 2010, Gentile has been suspected of involvement with the 1990 heist in which two thieves, disguised as police officers, made off with 13 paintings from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. According to the Courant, “When the FBI searched Gentile’s house in 2012—the first of four searches—agents found police hats, badges, $20,000 in cash stuffed in a grandfather clock, what a judge called ‘a veritable arsenal’ of weaponry and, significantly, a list of the stolen Gardner pieces accompanied by possible black market prices.” Two years prior, the widow of one of his mob partners had told FBI agents she witnessed her husband give Gentile two of the stolen paintings roughly a decade prior. Gentile told the Courant he did not have any art, “but probably obtained the list in connection with a plan to swindle someone who was trying to buy it.”

05 Malaysian artist Fahmi Reza was sentenced to one month in prison for his political cartoons of the country’s prime minister.

(via Artforum)

41-year-old Fahmi, a political cartoonist, is known for portraying Malaysian prime minister Najib Razak as a ghostly clown with arched eyebrows and scarlet lips. Najib, who faces a general election this summer, remains tainted by a 2015 scandal over siphoning millions from Malaysian investment funds. This week, a court in the northern city of Ipoh sentenced Fahmi to one month in prison and demanded $7,700 in fines for his cartoons of the embattled prime minister, who is still expected to win the upcoming election. On Twitter, the artist wrote that his portraits are an “act of protest against this corrupt government that uses the Sedition Act and other draconian laws to silence dissenting voices.” The Sedition Act, a law enacted in Malaysia by British colonial administrators in 1948, prohibits any publication, action, or language displaying disapproval of the government. While Fahmi was able to raise funds to cover the entire amount of his fine, the artist’s lawyer, Syahredzan Johan, says they plan to appeal.

06  The 2017 NBA champions, the Golden State Warriors, toured the National Museum of African American History and Culture on their trip to Washington, D.C.

(via The Washington Post)

The Warriors had been disinvited by U.S. President Donald Trump from visiting the White House, a customary honor for a championship team, after their star Stephen Curry said he wasn’t interested in going. Instead, the team went to the city’s National Museum of African American History and Culture, part of the Smithsonian Institution, with a group of kids from Prince George’s County, where fellow Warriors star Kevin Durant grew up. Durant told the Washington Post he was thrilled to be able to provide the opportunity for those young people to hang out with him and his teammates. “To be able to provide them that type of experience, it’s going to do a lot for those kids,” Durant said, crediting his teammates and the team’s general manager for having the idea. Durant said he found inspiration in the museum’s displays, and is looking forward to returning on his own. “It was just impactful. There was so much that you hear and I learned in elementary school, and through school, but just some of the photos…my mom, my parents, they wouldn’t let me see as a kid,” he said. “Some of the stuff you probably had to wait until you were older to see. It was good to get that history.”

07  The Mauritshuis Royal Picture Gallery in The Hague is using advanced new technology to uncover the secrets of Vermeer’s Girl With a Pearl Earring.

(via The New York Times)

Johannes Vermeer’s 1665 painting, which has been on view at the museum since 1881, will come off the wall and out of its frame for the first time in decades, as a team of researchers from conservation institutes and universities use advanced X-ray and optics technology to analyze the masterpiece down to each coat of paint. Experts will create computer visualizations and dive deep into the pigments’ minerals to better understand how Vermeer created the glowing hues of the woman in a turban, without having to physically touch the work. To appease the tens of thousands of visitors who come to the museum to see Vermeer’s painting, the project will take place not in a restoration studio but in the museum, where attendees can see it being studied through a glass partition. And the whole thing will wrap-up quickly to get the famous work back on the wall; as paintings conservator Abbie Vandivere told the New York Times, “We’ll see how much information we can gain with the technology at our disposal in a very short period of time—two weeks, working 24 hours a day, day and night.”

08 The National Gallery of Victoria has terminated its relationship with Wilson Security following criticism of the security contractor.

(via The Guardian)

Wilson Security has come under fire for allegations that its employees repeatedly breached ethical standards at several Australian offshore detention facilities where the firm operates, including those located on Manus Island in Papua New Guinea and Nauru. Following public reports that guards subjected asylum seekers and detainees to sexual, physical, and mental violence, a group of artists formed The Artists’ Committee to protest the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV)’s employment of Wilson Security. The Artists’ Committee’s actions have ranged from placing a veil branded with Wilson’s logo over Pablo Picasso’s Weeping Woman (1937), which is held at the museum, to dyeing the gallery’s moat and “water wall” blood red. Last August, 1,500 people from the arts community signed an open letter calling for the gallery to cease its contract with Wilson Security. On Wednesday, the NGV released a statement with no mention of the protests or petition. However, it stated that Wilson Security was “the NGV’s interim security service provider while we were in a Victorian government procurement process to secure a long-term security services provider,” and that “we have commenced the short transition to our new provider.” The NGV’s new contractor has not been publicly announced.

09  A New York judge appointed a new executor for the estate of Chinese artist and collector C.C. Wang.

(via ARTnews)

The new executor will be the artist’s daughter Yien-Koo Wang King, who succeeds the artist’s grandson Andrew Wang. Andrew stands accused of stealing over 20 paintings and has been linked to the “suspicious dealings in the sale of nearly 100 works,” ARTnews reported on Tuesday. An earlier trial had found that Andrew had manipulated C.C., who suffered dementia towards the end of his life, into making Andrew and his father the executors of an estate once valued at $60 million before C.C.’s death in 2003. C.C. was a collector of Chinese art as well as an artist, and ARTnews reported that “The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York acquired various works from Wang over the years and went on to stage a 1999 exhibition of objects from his collection.” The judgment from the Manhattan Surrogate Court came earlier this month.  

10 A member of the mafia has claimed that a stolen Caravaggio painting was sent to Switzerland.

(via The Art Newspaper)

While testifying to the Italian parliament’s standing commission on organized crime, mafia member Gaetano Grado claimed that a missing Caravaggio painting, Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence (1600), was handed off to a Swiss art dealer after it was stolen in 1969. The theft of the painting from a Baroque chapel in Palermo, Sicily, has remained on the FBI’s list of top 10 art crimes. Grado said that the original thieves were petty criminals, but after the uproar following its disappearance, the mafia realized the painting’s worth, and it was handed over to the head of the Sicilian Mafia Commission, Gaetano Badalamenti. Badalamenti sold the work to an art dealer from Switzerland and, Grado claims, decided to cut the painting into pieces in order to transport it. This is not the first time a wild claim has been made about what the mafia did with the painting––according to TheArt Newspaper, previous mafia members have alleged that the painting was “stored in a stable and eaten by mice,” and even “used as a bedside carpet by a mafia boss.” The name of the Swiss dealer has not been released, but the head of the government commission on organized crime, Rosy Bindi, is following the lead and hoping for international cooperation.

from Artsy News

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 1 December 2017

And we are now in December!  Christmas time!  Trees, lights, inflatable penguins!  And drama!  Soooooooooooo much drama.  It is the season for sharing mulled wine with people you like, and who like you back.  So grab a mug of warmed wine, cider, or chocolate and let’s see what sort of problems I can make worse for people I don’t know!

I live in a close-knit neighborhood. In October, my neighbor’s 16-year-old daughter ran over my family’s beloved cat. She was driving irresponsibly and texting, and she was horrified by what she’d done. I have tried not hating her, and I’ve tried telling myself that there’s always a risk that a cat allowed outdoors will be hit by a car. But I’m angry, and the best thing for me now is to keep my distance from the girl and her family. The parents won’t back off, though. Their daughter is traumatized, and they want me to comfort her.

Dear Cat Killer, unexpectedly losing a beloved pet sucks.  And to have it happen because of the negligent actions of a person you need to continue interacting with is doubly sucky.  I’m going to disagree with Newdie though about it not being awful for you to continue to want to emotionally punish your neighbor’s daughter.  You don’t have to forgive her for her actions; she killed a member of your family afterall.  But is “making a child feel terrible and refusing any kindness towards her,” really the hill you wish to die on?  You say you live in a closely-knit neighborhood, so here’s how it’s going to play out.  You’re going to continue to hold this over your neighbor and their daughter.  They’re going to talk with your other neighbors and, eventually, it will come around to the point where you’re being petty, vindictive, and emotionally cruel to not move on.  It was “just a cat” and you did “know what could happen” if you let it roam outside in an area where cars traveled.  In the not-too-distant future you’re going to lose the very loose and sandy moral high ground on which you’re standing, and it’s not going to be fun for you.  I recommend you think long and hard about what sort of acts of contrition you want to see from your neighbor’s kid as a way to earn your forgiveness, and when she achieves that provide it.  At the end of the day the girl is going to eventually forgive herself and move on.  Whether you do or you allow this anger and resentment to eat away at you and your relations with your neighbors is up to you.

I’m a single woman with a large extended family. I cope with the enormous project of buying Christmas presents by getting them very early. Everyone in my family knows this; it’s the family joke that I have all my presents purchased by Halloween. My brother’s wife “Jean” sent out a group text last week saying they have decided not to exchange gifts with the extended family and would only be getting gifts for each other and their own kids. They have five kids, both together and via previous marriages, so I understand, but would have appreciated more notice. My mom asked what I was going to do, and I said I’d keep the gifts for the kids but return the ones I got for my brother and Jean. Unfortunately, my dad, the family big mouth, overheard us and told my brother.

Dear Christmas Gift Drama, Jean is not right.  Christmas is not about gift-giving.  It’s about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ.  That we have turned it into a celebration of eating, basketball, giving and exchanging gifts is ancillary to whatever the “meaning” of the holiday is.  Grown-ass people getting their panties in a wad because their grown-ass sibling didn’t get them something after they said they’re not getting the sibling something are pathetic.  You are morally and ethically in the right to return their gifts.  Send them a nice card with a friendly and caring message of love for the holidays.  Although do send the kids their gifts; it’s not their fault their mother acted rudely.

How do I cut off my seemingly well-intentioned family? My whole life, my little sister was the favorite. Growing up, other adults even commented on it to me, which actually helped because it showed me it wasn’t all in my head. On the outside they are a well-meaning Southern family, but to me they are suffocating.

Dear Just Want Out, you’re not going to be able to ghost your own family.  You’re, eventually, going to need to tell them why you’re ignoring them.  Or, you’re going to tell someone why and they’re going to tell them.  So, sack-up and tell them you’re not going to be joining them because it’s not in the budget, whether due to money or time.  Send a polite card wishing them well for the holiday and move on with your life.  Hit “ignore” on the Family Gift Wish List text as well.

I have been struggling with my son for a long time and just don’t know how to get through to him. He started out being very impulsive as a young child, not thinking things through, getting aggressive with other children, and not listening. Once he entered grade school the aggressive behavior toned down significantly, thank goodness, and he appeared to be listening to his teachers. At home is a different story. I’ve been divorced from my son’s father since he was 2-1/2 years old but up until recently he still maintained contact with him. I attributed many of his behaviors to his father’s leniency and lack of discipline. However, my son is nine now and no longer has contact with his father, who is a deadbeat.

Dear At Wits’ End, oof.  This is a heart-breaking letter on several levels.  There’s a whole lot of hurt, pain, and problems in not a lot of space, and much of them are far beyond the capabilities of NuPru or me to address.  As much as I’d like to join in NuPru’s condemnation of your actions and the consequence it has had on your son I’m not going to.  Parenting is hard, single-parenting harder still, and even the best, most wonderful, and well-intentioned people can fail when pushed hard enough.  Hitting your kid in anger is a terrible thing to do, your 9 year old cannot have done anything to justify such violence, it’s not going to result in the behavior you want, and will likely get you seriously hemmed up by the law.  Maybe she’s right that your actions have left your son unable to form friendships or fail to hit developmental milestones, but it’s also possible there are some underlying medical issues which could be at play, and the healing power of “and” is always at work.  Certainly your actions and attitude towards him aren’t helping, but without identifying that possibility you’re going to be swimming against the stream even more than you are now.  You need to get yourself some help to deal with your anger and stress.  You need to get your son some help as well; his school district almost certainly has some resources to identify if he has a developmental issue.  And it’s not likely his teachers haven’t noticed his behavior, so it’s probably something someone there is considering.  After you get yourself some help for the anger and control issues it might be worth trying to reestablish a relationship with the boy’s father.  That he became a “deadbeat” while you were belittling his parental choices and escalating the emotional and physical abuse of your shared child might be connected.

I’m a trans woman who’s been in a relationship with a queer cis girl for a couple years. It has slowly come out that my partner wants to “date people who have vaginas.” She’s told me before that she sees herself as having been historically deprived of the ability to date people with vaginas because society has primed her relationship life to involve “people who have penises.” I feel hurt by this analysis, because I honestly have never seen any societal
forces compelling anyone to date trans people like me. This line of logic also seems disingenuous given that she was raised in a cis lesbian household. I feel hurt and inadequate. When we have conversations about this, the conversation always unfolds with her in the role of the victim. This is a difficult dynamic to escape, because she is better than me at using sound social justice rhetoric.

Dear Just Want to Feel Normal, you’re not taking this too personally.  Once we strip away all the gender identifying text this is about your significant other no longer being attracted (as attracted?) to you, wanting to date other people, but wanting to keep you around for their own satisfaction.  Oh, and there’s also a bit of mind-fuckery going on where she’s trying to blame you for not wanting to be her doormat.  Your girlfriend can deploy all the social justice rhetoric she wishes, but it doesn’t change that she’s behaving like an asshole.  It sucks when someone you love reveals they no longer feel the same, and it’s a suck-multiplier when they exploit your own feelings of inadequacy and emotional vulnerabilities at the same time.  Just because you’re trans doesn’t mean you deserve to be treated like your hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend is treating you.  You deserve to have a supporting, caring partner who is totally into you, and I hope you find them.

I recently became good friends with “Absalom” and “Richard.” Richard is queer and non-binary but very masculine-presenting, while Absalom is a straight cis man (I myself am a gay cis man). When we first became friends, Richard and I both developed small crushes on Absalom before we knew his sexuality. We both subtly and innocently flirted with him a couple times. After Absalom offhandedly mentioned he was straight, I backed off, no big deal.

Dear Looking for Straight Talk, much like Wanting to Feel Normal, let’s go ahead and strip out the genders, orientation, etc.  Bottom line is one of your friends is romantically pressuring one of your other friends in a way which the object of the affections doesn’t seem to appreciate, is noticed and negatively remarked upon by another group of friends, and which is making you uncomfortable.  You passed the point where Richard’s behavior was “not OK” a while ago.  Actually, you know what, let’s call him Dick.  Absalom is not enthusiastically consenting to Dick’s come-ons and Dick is either not picking up on this, thinks he just needs to apply the right amount of pressure to make Absalom come around, is getting his jollies out of making Absalom have to take his unreciprocated advances, or the healing power of “and”.  Let’s put the genders, orientation, etc back into the question.  Despite what Kevin Spacey says, being non-heteronormative isn’t carte-blanche to behave boorishly.  Honestly, had this situation involved a man making unwelcome advances towards a woman Bad Pru would have been much more straight-forward in her advice and the condemnation of Dick’s behavior.  So I will.  What you’re describing is the sort of sexual impropriety we really shouldn’t tolerate.  Let Dick know it’s “Not Okay”, or, preferably, let Dick know that he’s being a fucking creep.

[evelyntransitions-blog]

Day 3ish

            Yesterday was full of unexpected surprises. It started off with school, and I presumed that we’d start picking topics for our argumentative essay that’s coming up and start writing. Instead I was met with the lovely surprise of movie day. I never expected to get a “random” movie day in college, but it happened. We got to watch a video on fracking and were told to take notes on the narrators arguments and if they were good or not good and do an online journal assignment. This was much easier than starting an essay.           After school I decided to spend more time Pokemon hunting while I still had free time, before I got into it however I went home to clean my room, make lunch/dinner and change over my laundry. Bam! A wild new surprise appeared. My mom had went out of her way to clean my room, do my laundry and cook food, left by sticky notes with smile faces on them. She received a promt “THANK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUU” later that day.            The Pokemon hunting/raiding adventure that I partook on was generally the same as always, hatch some eggs, look for good Pokemon that are examined with the breathtaking and stat exceeding traits and meet up with the raid group. The good news was that I was able to evolve my Chansey into a Blissey after getting enough rare candies, and also managed to get a Bannet with good stats that I named “Cheshire” because of the Cheshire Cat grin from Lewis Carolls Alice in Wonderland.            The bad news took form in another unexpected surprise; one of the raiders in my group, a middle aged mom had asked why my profile pic for the raid chat was female and why I had (what’s looked at in Murica’ as) a girls name (Evelyn). The middle aged mom stated something along the lines of it being unfair and not very nice, due to it being misleading. With some of the members of our raid group staring at me I blurted out without thinking “Oh i’m transitioning to female.” There was a short awkward silence followed by the mom saying “Oh that makes it a little bit better.” this was followed with a conversation of me trying to justify having a beard (i’m dressing up as Jesus for halloween and using the humour of the costume to bypass the dysphoria of the beard itself. Being able to laugh at yourself seems to make things easier, plus might as well give my beard a going away party) and her saying something like “Yeah a beard wouldn’t work well with a girl.” I was both flattered by her gendering me correctly, but also a little annoyed because some girls out there may like beards. If a person wants to identify as female, or are just born cis female and they want to grow a beard, that’s cool, if it makes them happy and they present it with confidence, that action within itself is attractive in it’s own right. Nevertheless she’s entitled to her opinion *shrugs*, I can’t change what she finds attractive, though I wish she wasn’t so nosey.                After the raid was done I promptly drove back home, but before I exited the parking lot we were in she said goodbye Evelyn, which may seem normal, but the group itself hardly refers to anyone by their names directly, only to talk about how great or silly someone is, it’s this weird formality that just kind developed. So her saying my name directly may have been a polite gesture, i’d hope so, either way not everyone in the county knows me by Evelyn and for some reason i’ve got a reputation here because of all the silly shit I do, so hopefully this doesn’t come back to bite me.       When I got home I got a text from my best friend with plans to hangout late overnight, I told him that i’d be taking a short nap and he could just call me. I set an alarm just in case as a fail-safe. Furthermore I took the dankest mini nap of my life, my cool ass cat chillin’ up by my arms, had chillhop playing in the background, all the good shit. I woke before the alarm went off about an hour and a half later and turned my alarm off and sat at the computer, just taking in the music and just letting it further fill the room and deciding to leave it on. The peace was interrupted by my parents arguing about my Dad working too many hours at his job. Now, my parents are in excellent finical standing with more money than the bills, while they’re just getting done paying off their debt.  *THIS PART DOESN’T HAVE TO DO WITH MY DAY BUT PROVIDES SOME BACKGROUND AS TO MY SITUATION WITH MY PARENTS*

          The problem more lies with two major things. Supporting me to some extent living here, which is one of the reasons i’m moving. The other thing lies in my Dad’s past where as a child he was put in a not so good situation ( I won’t say what out of respect for his personal privacy), and had to work his ass off just to get away from his own father and make something of himself. He tries to cope with this by making himself seem stronger than he is, flaunting his ego and making connections with people in high places. By the very nature of his personality and hard work ethic this has led him to the top of the food chain so to speak. This has also led to him not being able to deal with me, a person who takes shit personally and has this weird uncontrollable fear of doing new things, which is just stated as part of my anxiety. If I do things i’ll get distracted or make dumb mistakes at best and at worst will avoid doing them at all. This is not to be confused with laziness or procrastination, it’s ABOSLUTE FEAR. He’s hated my inability to be coherent in the past, maybe out of concern for me and/or feeling like he’s not in control of situations presented to him. This has led to a lot of yelling from him, and by default over time the indoctrination of my mom yelling alongside him (she had a very similar background but without the ego). This in the past had me being a cross between manipulative shithead who lied all the time to get away from bullshit, and an avoidant recluse who spent all their time playing video games. I’m now in the future and trying to do everything possible to get my lack on track between school, getting a promotion, transitioning (it’s sort of like working 2 jobs because I work in two departments) doing volunteer work, and now moving out.         With all this in mind, they got into it over my Dad working too many hours and not taking care of himself. This isn’t all due to him but also his employer who I won’t state the name of not respecting him despite him busting his ass for the company. My mom being both lonely over me moving out and not being home very much due to wanting to escape from being inside to combat depression and also not feel trapped due to some mental things that I won’t explain here and my Dad working all the time. She got on my Dad’s case about him working too much and he jumped to the defensive being the breadwinner (though my mom makes a good amount of money too, and I also pay for rent, insurance and most of my food).             *THIS PART IS BACK TO MY DAY*

                  The argument my parents had start as a “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!” argument in reguards to my Dad’s job and lead to a “I’M NOT MAD AT YOU, I JUST FEEL HELPLESS BUT I’M GOING TO EXPLAIN IT THROUGH ANGER.” argument. In short my mom just wanted to spend time with him and quit his job or do something else and he felt hopeless because all he knows about coping with anything is through work (with the occasional party). I believe the adult fear of having to go back to having less is what got him the most, that he regressing being on the bottom and starting with nothing scared him so much that it led to his outlandish anger. The fear of not being in control of a situation being a bonus. (This also happens outside of financial situations and just normal situations as well. Even ones that have nothing to do with my success or the success of him or mom.) The argument itself of just dissolved into this passive angry stew and then there was silence. I got a message about ten minutes later from my best friend that he arrived and I told him to just come to the door, that if I answered things might get hairy. Having to deal with many of these scenarios before, he did just that and we got ready to leave. Before I left I told my Mom that I loved her and asked her if anything was wrong (it obviously was, but I was wanting to see if she needed to talk). She lied and said it was fine and waved goodbye. After this me and my best friend headed off into the night. 

[ionecoffman]

When a Company Is Making Money From the Opioid Crisis

In a year of big stories, the opioid crisis has become one of the biggest, though it’s been a problem since the early 2000s. Around then, people in Kentucky, West Virginia, and southeast Ohio started referring to Percocet, OxyContin, and Vicodin as “hillbilly heroin.” The pills were easy to get and easy to abuse. Between those, and heroin and synthetics like fentanyl—which many have since moved on to—West Virginia in 2015 had the highest overdose mortality rate in the nation, with 41.5 deaths per 100,000.

“We were texting when he OD’ed” and died, an Ohio acquaintance of mine told me in a May catch-up phone conversation about a young man we both knew. “He’s, like, the third one in the last 10 days,” she said. She’d had a relapse, too, while she’d been pregnant. Her baby, like her other children, was removed from her care, becoming one more in a wave of children flooding child-services agencies.

The crisis can be attributed to many parties—drug manufacturers, drug distributors, unscrupulous doctors, and, of course, drug dealers, smugglers, and users—some of whom are profiting from it. Last month, a group of shareholders of one distributor strove to bring the company's goals more in line with society's.

On July 26, at the annual shareholder meeting of McKesson, the nation’s largest distributor of pharmaceuticals, including opioid drugs, shareholders refused to approve the company’s generous executive-compensation plan after the International Brotherhood of Teamsters—which holds stock in McKesson—campaigned against it, citing the company’s “role in fueling the prescription opioid epidemic.” McKesson rejected that characterization, and denied that it had any such role. Calling the opioid, heroin, and fentanyl epidemic “complicated,” Jennifer Nelson, a spokesperson for McKesson, told me that “in our view, it is not to be laid at the feet of distributors.” The Teamsters, she charged, were trying to use the addiction crisis to their advantage in their ongoing labor dispute with the company involving the union’s efforts to represent workers at a McKesson distribution center in Florida.

The shareholder vote, which isn’t binding—McKesson says it’s still reviewing its current compensation plan—may seem like a minor slap over an esoteric bit of corporate governance, but it was a notable exception among public companies. According to the consulting firm Compensation Advisory Partners, of 447 say-on-pay votes among S&P 500 companies this year before early August, only five, including McKesson, suffered rejection. The Teamsters view the outcome as a success, especially at a time when unions’ power has waned. “Unions have been pushing for years for standard good-governance practices” in companies, says Michael Pryce-Jones, the union’s senior governance analyst. “This has importance across political divides.”

During the Progressive era, Americans concluded that companies could not be counted on to prioritize the greater good. So they passed laws like the Pure Food and Drug Act. Over the decades, the country kept developing new ways to keep business in line, with agencies like the Federal Trade Commission, the Securities and Exchange Commission, the Environmental Protection Agency, and, more recently, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. All along, the animating idea has been that, without oversight, corporations can do significant social damage.

But starting around 1980, the gospel of “shareholder value,” the assertion promoted most famously by the economist Milton Friedman that a company’s only responsibility is to its investors’ financial return, became ingrained in corporate thinking. The dogma lent a simplistic, and welcome, cover to executives. They found their decision-making ruled by a binary choice: It was either good for shareholder value, or bad.

The Friedman doctrine further took hold as it was adopted by business schools training future leaders. “They did a great job of claiming business ethics is different from ethics,” the journalist Duff McDonald, the author of The Golden Passport: Harvard Business School, the Limits of Capitalism, and the Moral Failure of the MBA Elite, says of business schools like Harvard’s. “Like it’s such a complicated thing to be CEO of a company?” he says sarcastically. “Like some [CEO] decisions are harder than the rest of ours?”

If shareholder value is agreed to be the only priority, it’s easy to see how a broader ethical question can become a dilemma. Take McKesson. Establishing rigorous systems to prevent drug diversion and illicit sales is expensive. It requires employees, investment in technology, and a willingness to rat out customers—some of the most lucrative ones. Selling lots of pills adds to the bottom line; opioids now account for about $4 billion per year in sales for McKesson, about 2 percent of the company’s overall sales. (Earlier in the decade, the opioid pills accounted for even more, both in terms of percent and absolute value.) So, doing what it takes to create an effective clamp on opioid diversion could be destructive to shareholder value, despite being good for society.

Nelson, the McKesson spokesperson, insists the company feels no tension between its bottom line and social responsibility. Its very purpose, she says, is to deliver better health. She cited an acronymic corporate motto: “I CARE,” which stands for “Integrity,” “Customer first,” “Accountability,” “Respect,” and “Excellence”—the implication being that the company’s practices embody these values.

John Paul Rollert, who teaches ethics at the University of Chicago’s Booth School of Business (and who writes frequently for The Atlantic), agrees with McDonald that there isn’t—or shouldn’t be—any real difference in standards between “business ethics” and human ethics. “If you pass someone, and they are drowning in a shallow pool of water, and you will not be in danger from saving them, must you save them?” Rollert asks, posing a classic ethical hypothetical. He says the law’s answer is no, but morally, he argues, the answer is yes. And he says that’s as true of companies as it is of people, even if that cuts against the material interests of shareholders. “To me, that’s easy. It’s a shame we would see it as any more complex than that,” he says.

But shareholder-value reasoning has led many companies, and the people who run them, astray. Cases of corporate malfeasance and outright lawbreaking are numerous and ongoing. As McDonald notes in his book, citing research quoted in a 1989 article in Time, between 1975 and 1985, two-thirds of Fortune 500 companies were convicted of serious crimes. Time after time, corporate executives have proven that they’re willing to lie to protect revenues. In 1994, tobacco executives testified under oath before a congressional panel that nicotine in cigarettes was not addictive, though plenty of research showed it was. The turn of the century was plagued with scandals—most famously at Enron, WorldCom, and ImClone. More recently, Wells Fargo revealed that its employees had opened 1.4 million more unauthorized accounts than had been previously estimated (making the latest estimate roughly 3.5 million in total), and Volkswagen continues to reel from the emissions-cheating scandal first revealed in 2015.

To stay with Rollert’s metaphor, many people in America were drowning in pills. As a stunning Pulitzer Prize-winning exposé by Eric Eyre in the Charleston Gazette-Mail revealed, in 2007 and 2008 drug distributors shipped almost 9 million hydrocodone pills to one pharmacy in the town of Kermit, West Virginia, population 392. “In six years, drug wholesalers showered the state with 780 million hydrocodone and oxycodone pills, while 1,728 West Virginians fatally overdosed on those two painkillers,” Eyre wrote. McKesson contributed to the flood. Data that Eyre obtained from sales records sent to the state’s attorney general by the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) showed that in 2007 alone McKesson sent 3,289,900 doses of hydrocodone into Mingo County, West Virginia, whose population in 2007 was 26,679. That was about 124 pills for every man, woman, and child in the county.

Distribution of opioids is supposed to be tightly regulated by the DEA, and companies are required to take steps to ensure that the pills are not diverted for illicit use or sale. But in 2007, the government charged McKesson with failing to report suspect opioid orders from some of its customers. In 2008, the company paid a $13.25 million penalty for its failures and entered into a memorandum of understanding with the government. It promised to develop a controlled-substance monitoring program, or CSMP, and to report any suspicious orders.

According to the government, McKesson did not keep its word. The Department of Justice charged that the company “failed to follow the procedures and policies set forth in the McKesson CSMP to detect and disclose suspicious orders of controlled substances”; it did not conduct due diligence of customers, did not keep adequate records, and did not follow requirements for reporting suspicious orders, the DOJ alleged. McKesson did acknowledge that “it did not identify or report to DEA certain orders placed by certain pharmacies which should have been detected by McKesson as suspicious.” Meanwhile, the company’s CEO and board chairman, John Hammergren, realized $692 million over the past nine years, thanks partly to the run-up in the company’s stock as its business thrived.

In January, McKesson paid a $150 million penalty and agreed to suspend distribution from some of its centers. In a statement, McKesson says that it acceded to the financial penalty “rather than engage in time consuming, contentious and expensive litigation.” Instead, it “chose to … devote our resources and focus towards expanding and enhancing our CSMP and sharing the details of our enhancements with the government, and brainstorming potential solutions for this nationwide epidemic that has many causes.” A company representative told me that McKesson has been working on diversion prevention for many years, that its role is merely to supply drugs to doctors, pharmacists, and hospitals, and that there was a misunderstanding within the industry’s supply chain—the links being drug makers, distributors, prescribing doctors and pharmacists—of how to define a suspicious order.

Cardinal Health, AmerisourceBergen, and others have also been forced to pay penalties. All three of the big distributors have been, and are being, sued by a variety of jurisdictions, including cities and states.

As it happened, the Teamsters owned stock in distributors of opioids, including McKesson, and the union was concerned with the $150 million penalty and the reputational damage to the company. The Teamsters also had heard from union members who’d been personally touched by the addiction epidemic, and figured they had a way to hold McKesson responsible. The union mounted its campaign against the compensation plan and on another issue, to separate the jobs of CEO and board chair. (That one failed, though the company subsequently announced it would split the jobs anyway, but only after Hammergren leaves.) Many reformers have tried to correlate good governance with improved returns, Pryce-Jones, of the Teamsters, says, “but I look at it another way. Jobs, society, communities suffer from bad governance. Boards were asleep at the wheel in this opioid crisis. Poor governance has collateral costs to many segments of society.”

Indeed, many economists, researchers, executives, and activists have over the years explored alternative frameworks for corporate decision-making. A paper released last month by the Booth School of Business suggests one way to weave human ethics into companies. In the paper, titled “Companies Should Maximize Shareholder Welfare Not Market Value” Oliver Hart, a Harvard economist, and Luigi Zingales of Booth, argue that benefiting shareholders should not necessarily be just about financial gains. Shareholder value is a narrow criterion, and investors, as is true of the Teamsters, also ought to have ethical and social concerns.

But, as Hart and Zingales point out, “proposals which deal with general political, social, or economic matters” do not accord with SEC regulations and court decisions on what’s suitable for shareholder voting, citing the example of New York’s Trinity Church, which attacked Walmart’s sales of guns with high-capacity magazines. When the church tried to force a shareholder vote on board oversight of products representing a threat to public safety, the SEC and the courts allowed Walmart to keep the proposal off the table. (Months later, Walmart later banned them, and assault rifles, anyway.) “Law and regulation,” Hart and Zingales write, “have not helped to prevent the amoral drift.” So they suggest allowing shareholders to vote on some such proposals, to accept responsibility for the actions of the companies they invest in. By doing so, shareholders may reveal that they’re willing to sacrifice a little profit in the name of their own, and society’s, greater welfare.

Article source here:The Atlantic