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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years ago

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Defying expectations, challenging Hollywood’s norms and facing one’s own fear of failing emerged as central themes when Michelle Pfeiffer, Kate Winslet, Rashida Jones, Vanessa Kirby and Andra Day met virtually in December for The Envelope’s Actress Roundtable. Collectively, they represent four decades in film and more wild experiences than we can fit in one discussion — and they’re also behind some of the most complex characters in film right now.

Pfeiffer is eccentric, wealthy New York widow Frances Price in the quirky drama “French Exit,” which opens this week in limited release. When Price blows through most of her inheritance, she flees to Paris, where she attracts an odd assortment of friends. Winslet is rough-hewn paleontologist Mary Anning in “Ammonite,” a period drama that explores the hardships of a female pioneer in 19th century England’s patriarchal science world and the challenges she faced hiding her love for another woman.

Jones is Laura, the dutiful daughter of an eccentric father in the comedy-drama “On the Rocks.” Despite their complicated history, daughter and father embark on a covert mission to find out if her husband is cheating, but self-discovery may just be the biggest reveal. Kirby conveys anger, sorrow and grief following the death of her newborn baby as Martha in the emotionally wrenching “Pieces of a Woman.” And singer Day makes her film debut in “The United States vs. Billie Holiday,” a period drama streaming on Hulu later this month that chronicles Holiday’s battles with law enforcement, drugs and the crush of systemic racism.

Their conversation here has been edited for length and clarity.

Your films are built around narratives of complex women, many of whom face challenges that aren’t often explored on screen. “Pieces of a Woman” is a great example of a film that is so specifically female, it would have never made it to the screen in the past.

Vanessa Kirby: It definitely feels like a different time right now ... we want to represent women that we identify as being us and the weird parts of us. In the movie, my biggest intention was to make it not a sanitized, movie version of a birth. So [she] felt super sick and burped a lot. She was really nauseous ... things that we might think are unpalatable or not comfortable. That’s all the facets of being human, and particularly being a women. I’ve read so many scripts where it was a version of a woman that I don’t know. It was a film version as opposed to my sister or my best mates or me.

Kate Winslet: That’s what is great about now ... the world is making space for all of these stories. We’ve always tried to tell these stories, but the world is more receptive to hearing them now. That is a shift.... It’s such a moving, seismic time to be doing this job.

Michelle, your character Frances Price is the perfect example of an imperfect female protaganist. She is a mess, and fantastic, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Michelle Pfeiffer: I was just was so curious about this woman, and I thought she was so odd and not like a character that I had seen or that I had played. And then the dialogue is very stylized. So you have to give in to it but, at the same time, not too much. It was made up of these disparate tones of absurdism and melancholy, and it was funny, and it was tragic — these oddballs sort of living on the fringe of society and trying to make some sort of human connection, all of them, in some way.

Rashida, in “On the Rocks,” you play a reserved writer with a charming, flamboyant father. Your real father is Quincy Jones. What sort of parallels did you feel playing Laura?

Rashida Jones: I very much related to this idea of coming of age with a larger-than-life father who commands presence and changes the atmosphere of any room he walks into, and how that in itself can be something you have to untangle from. Because in order to be your own person, in order to find your life, in order to figure out who you are in the world, not relational to anybody else, you have to separate yourself from all that charm and the warm light of your father’s love. That part of it I very much related to. But Laura is unlike me in the sense that I’m pretty outspoken. This character, I think, has a lot of restraint. That was a challenge.

Andra, stepping into the shoes of Billie Holiday must have been a huge challenge, and this is your first film!

Andra Day: It was definitely terrifying. First of all, I’m a fan of hers. And I’ve always loved movies and had such a great respect for the craft of acting. My biggest terror was that I was going to suck. So I was like, “OK, I’m going to take two to three years off of music just to study and focus on acting.” I auditioned at the end of 2017, landed the role at the beginning of 2018, and then we shot at the end of 2019. So I had time to really live in her [shoes]. The film isn’t a sanitized version of Billie Holiday. She is raw. She is a fighter. She’s a hero, in all of her real humanness, even as a fractured figure. All of the emotional pain. It was the most challenging and rewarding thing I’ve done in my life — and the most terrifying.

Winslet: It never goes away.

Day: That’s actually my question. I mean, do you ever really, really shed all of it or let it go?

Winslet: Honestly, it does not go away. But I feel so excited for you, Andra, that in this moment you are connecting with other people, having these kinds of conversations, because we all learn on the job. All of these experiences that we are sharing are the things that will hold you up and buoy you through, and this is a time when we have to hold each other up. But it doesn’t get any easier. And I’m afraid you will always be terrified. I f—ing am.

Pfeiffer: When I first started acting, probably for the first 10 years, I literally on the first day would shake so terribly that I was sure you could see it on film. Fortunately, you couldn’t. I don’t shake any more, but I still have those jitters. I still think the first week of shooting I’m going to be fired and replaced.

Jones: Yeah. So congratulations on that, for a lifetime.

Day: This is a roundtable, but also a therapy session.

Let’s talk about the risks that jangle those nerves. Those of you who have been doing this a while have tackled a wide variety of characters and survived, and thrived. That’s unusual in Hollywood, especially for women.

Pfeiffer: Like all actors, you sort of choose the best of what is available to you, and go for as long as you can without working, until you need a paycheck. It’s also that thing where, depending on what your last role was, that’s how the industry sees you. It’s really up to you to try to find those things that shift it in the direction you want it to go. I did “Grease 2,” and that was one thing, and then was lucky enough a year later to get cast in “Scarface.” People were very upended, because nobody expected that turn. And then when I did “Married to the Mob,” that [was] another seismic shift, like, “Whoa, wait a minute; who’s that?” I remember when I met Marty Scorsese for the first time, he expected this dark-haired girl from New Jersey to walk in. That was one of the most flattering things anyone ever said about my work. It’s just looking for those opportunities, and sometimes they’re very small, but those small opportunities end up having the biggest impact on the direction that your career goes in.

Jones: I just want to interrupt and say how cool this is. Michelle, obviously, you’re an icon and a legend, but the fact that you did [those films] back to back; such different things, such different audiences, such different characters. To me, that is the success of the art form.

Pfeiffer: Well, thank you. I spent lots of time being unemployed and waiting and really stretching it out, but it is, for me, the most exciting thing about being an actor. And that’s why we’re always terrified, because we’re always trying to do something different.

Day: As music artists, people are always trying to put you in a box, like, “This is what you do,” and we’re constantly rebelling against that, because life’s not like that. I can’t be the same. This role changed me, and I wouldn’t have been the same [person] as three years ago anyway. As a fan of yours, [Michelle], it’s exciting not to know what you’re going to come out with next.

Kate, your recent leap into the unknown is playing Mary Anning.

Winslet: She was a woman of scientific brilliance who made pioneering discoveries in the fossil world. But she was an unsung hero, because she lived in the early 1800s, and the world of science and geology was, like so many worlds back then and still now, dominated by men. And those men would buy her finds and claim them as their own discoveries, actually put their names on them. But there was something incredibly stoic and accepting of her lot in life. Mary was self-taught. She was extremely working-class, actually impoverished, lived a very harsh life. I just loved her even though she is cantankerous at times and quite difficult.

Vanessa, in “Pieces of a Woman,” Martha is emotionally distant and hard to read even after going through significant trauma. Was that challenging?

Kirby: In her nature, [Martha] tries to never show anything she’s feeling. So I was really scared, because I thought, “Oh, my God, what if it looks like I’m feeling nothing or nothing’s going on?” I just had to trust that if I really felt it, and I really thought those thoughts [it would come through]. I’ve never given birth ... so a lot of women spoke to me about their experiences of miscarriage or stillbirth or losing children. I owe them everything, because they allowed me to sit with them and try and understand how it really felt. At the end of the shoot, I was like, “I hope it’s done them justice,” because it’s definitely something that’s not spoken about. There’s so much silence around it. I hope that the film will help start conversations that really need to start happening.

Andra, Billie had an exceptional life that was also quite brutal. How did you go about trying to convey that while still honoring her greatness?

Day: She is musically, my foremost inspiration. I already knew a lot about the government going after her. The early war on drugs, and the subsequent wars on drugs, were wholly entrenched in race. I was aware of that, but I didn’t know about how deeply they went after her, even up to her death. Yes, she was an addict and, yes, alcohol and drugs ... but they wanted her to die. And not just kill her, but to actually eradicate her legacy. It’s why I call her the godmother of civil rights, because she was doing it alone. Her singing “Strange Fruit” and the death of Emmett Till reinvigorated the civil rights movement. She was innately a fighter, a character with resilience and tenacity.

Kirby: Kate, can I ask what it was like being so young in “Titanic”? Did it like blow your mind after it came out and you realized that that many people were watching you in the cinema? Did you know at the time when you were making it —

Winslet: I didn’t. I was playing an American for the first time. And working with Leo, who I’d seen in "[What’s Eating] Gilbert Grape” and “Basketball Diaries.” So it was like, “Oh, my God, I’m Kate from Reading.” I was the overweight girl who would always be at the end of the line. And because my name was a W, sometimes I wouldn’t even get in the door of the audition because they’d run out of time before the Ws. And I was in “Titanic.” It’s mad.

Jones: How were you smart enough to know, even with all of that pressure and then getting hit with all of that fame, how did you know to back off and not take the big paychecks? You were so young. How did you know to shoot for longevity?

Winslet: The honest answer is I was scared of Hollywood. A big, scary place, where everyone had to be thin and look a certain way. And I knew that I did not look that way or feel like I fit there, so if I was ever going to belong, I had to earn my place. And to me, I hadn’t earned it. “Titanic” might have been a fluke. I had done “Heavenly Creatures.” I had done “Sense and Sensibility,” which I was nominated for an Academy Award for at the age of 19, but still I had this feeling of “maybe that was just luck.” When I became a mother at 25, all of that stuff evaporated completely. Then two years after she was born, I was asked to do “Eternal Sunshine [of the Spotless Mind].” I do believe that was a huge turning point in my career, because from then on people suddenly went, “Oh, she can do that?!”

Kate, what if anything did you learn from “Ammonite”?

Winslet: It really opened my eyes to wanting to take responsibility for this sort of shared voice that we have as women. To try harder to not be objectified.

Jones: But we take it for granted that things will be the way they’re supposed to be. And that’s what’s been cool about the last five years is there has been a complete and utter subversion of just having that existential moment of like, “Wait, what is it that I’m supposed to do? What are the societal norms? What are the professional norms that I’ve agreed upon that actually don’t feel comfortable?”

Kirby: I remember when I first started reading scripts, the character descriptions. The man, it would always be “articulate, intelligent, high-powered.” And then the woman would be “attractive, dark, beautiful hair, and all eyes look at her when she comes into the room.” It was so subtly objectifying. Often, the woman would be just ever so slightly moving the man’s story along, rather than necessarily having her own journey.

Day: I think we so often write this [young] generation off as like, “Oh, it’s the social media generation, and all they care about is selfies and dah, dah, dah.” But I think we can partly attribute this shift to them. I don’t think this generation wants the glossy, clean, the sanitized version of life. Also, with the internet and social media, everyone’s still connected; the globe is so much smaller now.

Rashida, you’ve not only acted, you’ve written, produced and directed. Do you think that kind of representation behind the camera is making a difference in what we are seeing?

Jones: The good news now is there definitely is an appetite, at least within Hollywood, for female content creators. And what’s nice is what all of you have been saying is the more women there are around, the more comfortable women feel advocating for themselves. If you don’t have that representation around, you’re less likely to speak up, because you don’t feel like you have any backup.

Day: One of the things we learned is that certain audiences would wince at [Billie] getting beat, but I was like, “If we don’t have that in there, then we’re continuing to retool her narrative, the thing that she’s been a victim of her entire life.” Suzan-Lori Parks cowrote this movie with Lee Daniels. Women’s stories have always been told through the lens of masculinity, through how they view us or how they want us to be. Most of our stories need to be told by women, written by women, done by women. Not to write men out of the picture, but for them to understand that it is a collaborative effort.

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #Kate Winslet #Michelle Pfeiffer #Rashida Jones #Andra Day #Interview #Articles #Roundtable #Videos

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hireath24 · 5 years ago

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Everything Wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant Part Four

Disclaimer: This is the fourth and final part of this series and will continue from pages 151 to 229. Part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part three can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. However, if there is something you pick up on about these subjects, feel free to comment them and I will add them to the post with credit. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 152: ‘...felt like a decadence.’ I’m sorry, felt like a decadence? That’s not how you use that word.

Page 153: Feyre is drawing Rhys in the nude and all I can think of is draw me like one of your french girls Jack.

Page 154: Whilst I’m happy that SJM is showing everyone suffering from a hangover because of all the drinking they did in the previous chapter, I want to know why Feyre couldn’t just use her magic to get rid of hers. And everybody else’s. If she’s said that she could use her magic to remove the pain of grief, why can’t she do this?

Page 155: The paragraphing in this book is so messed up. I’m going to type out this little bit exactly as it is printed in the book, look: ‘But two massive figures filled the archway of the dining room, and Rhys paused.

Azriel and Cassian, having crept up on cat-soft feet, were also wearing their Illyrian leathers.

And from their shit-eating grins, I knew this would not end well.’ What is this? It’s such a mess.

Page 155: ‘Tradition indeed.’

Page 156: Everyone keeps going on about how wealthy the Night Court is and I still don’t understand where they’re getting their money from. Do the people of the Night Court have to pay tax? Does Rhys have an amount of money that he puts back into Velaris for the upkeep of it? And why is Feyre saying that ‘paperwork could wait’? Uh, no. No, it can’t. The people of her court can’t spend the Solstice like she is because their homes are wrecked, they’ve lost family members. Feyre abandons her duties as High Lady to fuck around with friends and we’re supposed to believe that she’s a decent ruler? I don’t think so.

Page 164: ‘What is.’

Page 165: So Rhys upset Tamlin when he went to go and yell at the poor sod over in Spring Court a few chapters back and it upset Tamlin so much that it made him throw out all of Lucien’s clothes because he ‘wishes to remain in solitude’? So, basically, this was all Rhys’s fault and he doesn’t face any consequences for it.

Page 167: I’m so happy that Elain is making it very clear that she doesn’t want a mate, but I wish Feyre would stop going on about how good of a male Lucien is to her. And she says to Elain ‘You couldn’t say a single word to him’ as if it’s Elain’s job to make him feel comfortable? Elain wants nothing to do with him! Feyre needs to stop pressuring people.

Page 167: ‘Solstice. It was Solstice.’ WHY

Page 168: Aaaaand they’re drinking again. Feyre abandoned her work for friends and alcohol. I’m not okay with it but I’m even less okay with how common and casual wine is used here.

Page 169: ‘Tell me what.’

Page 171: ‘Illyrian babies indeed.’

Page 172: Do you remember a couple of years ago when high school AUs were all the rage in fanfiction? That is what this book reads like, only high school AUs managed to make me cry on a few occasions.

Page 172: So it’s an ‘Illyrian custom’ for the heated shed, birchin, and a bunch of naked warriors ‘sitting in the steam, sweating’. But... Why? And can somebody please tell me what a birchin is?

Page 178: One of the characters gets red sexy underwear as a present, which is fine. But in a kid’s book? No, no, no, no. No!! A twelve year old could be reading this! What the fuck?

Page 179: ‘Against the onslaught of Nesta.’ Wow, SJM is really trying her hardest here to villainize Nesta.

Page 184: ‘rare, vibrant paint from the continent.’ This line was just thrown in here without any explanation at all! Why is the paint rare? How did Azriel get it from the continent? Why is it only available on the continent?

Page 193: These last couple of pages really did it for me with Cassian’s character. He follows Nesta home after she says she doesn’t want him to? He yells at her and tells her to ‘go somewhere else’ even though he knows she can’t? He reaches for her hand after she’s told him many, many times to leave her alone? This is creepy. This is stalker behavior. And if they get together (which we all know that they will), this is fucking borderline abuse. It’s controlling and toxic and unhealthy, which could be said about all of SJM’s romances but heigh ho.

Page 194: What is ‘faelight’?

Page 201: ‘Would it indeed be a gift for you?’

Page 201: Also, why is the mountains with the stars the Night Court’s symbol? What’s the history behind it?

Page 201: Feyre’s toes have ‘curled’ three times in this book and I’m just thankful that the Fae can’t develop arthritis.

Page 202: I can’t... I can’t read this sex scene. I can’t do it. It’s too much. ‘My breasts turned achingly heavy.’ OH MY GOD. Not only is this a kid’s book but.... It’s also just disgusting.

Page 202: ‘Brazen possessiveness.’ This can’t even be read as sex positivism anymore. It’s violent, possessive smut. Did somebody say BDSM? (Wait, wait. BDSM requires consent and safe words.) Also, if you want to write about sex positively then talk a bit about protection? And consent? And making sure that everyone is comfortable? And for goodness sake, don’t add this to a kid’s book. I made a post that goes into more detail about this here.

Page 204: ‘How you let me do such naughty, terrible things to you.’ FUCKING WHAT?! DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN HOW BAD THIS IS?!??!

Page 205: ‘Undiluted, utter predator’ You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that this was SJM’s attempts at adding in some sex positivity. To be honest, I’m, starting to think that this whole book was just fan service. SJM knew that her readers wanted the wall scene and here we have a whole book dedicated to the build up of it. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS FUCKING BOOK!

Page 206: Rhysand just climaxed at a picture of his child.

Page 209: It’s incredibly sweet that Rhys bought a house for Feyre. Really, no, it is. And the ‘build a nursery, Feyre’ is also sweet. But A) the money side of things needs explaining. B) Why does nobody want to be at the House of Wind and what’s the point of even having it if nobody uses it? C) Rhysand bought Feyre a house when many of his people are currently homeless due to the wars... Right.

Page 211: At this point, Rhysand should just leave Tamlin alone. I don’t care what his intentions were. And seriously, is this the way that High Lords act with each other? There should be guards there, there should be people there to protect their own High Lord. There should be advisors and- What does the Fae government look like? What are the rules? Is there a jail? A judge? The High Lords act like spoiled, rich children.

Page 214: ‘Alive. It was all alive.’

Page 214: Mor has an estate that sits on ‘three hundred pristine acres.’ I want to know the geography of the courts. Yes, I know, we have a map. But that’s all we have. I want to know about borders (and if there are physical borders that need to be guarded to stop people from coming in to separate courts). Is a passport thing or even papers required to travel between courts? Buckingham Palace has 39 acres of land, including what it sits on. Did SJM do any research? There are whole countries smaller than three hundred acres.

Page 215: ‘She didn’t want to take his joy away from him. Anymore than she already did.’ Mor feels guilty about her sexuality because she won’t be with Azriel and, somehow, fans of the book are okay with that.

Page 222: This may just be me being stupid but I’m confused about ‘Illyrian.’ Rhysand said their children would be Illyrians, Feyre calls him an Illyrian baby. They wear Illyrian leathers and follow Illyrian customs but here: ‘Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.’ What does this mean? I’m so confused.

Page 222: Do you know what might be a better act of feminism then having girls train to fight? Having the boys of all the camps be allowed to leave. Being allowed to stop fighting and go and have families.

And that’s it from me, folks! I’ve read this book twice now and my opinion hasn’t changed. It’s boring, problematic, addresses things very poorly. It’s too sexual, there’s too much talk about alcohol and sex. And it really did nothing at all.

Thank you for joining me on this little series! It’s definitely been interesting. Again, if there’s anything that I’ve missed then tell me and I shall write it in. I may do this again with more of SJM’s books but it’s surprisingly time consuming.

#anti sjm #anti sarah j maas #anti feysand #anti acofas #anti acomaf #anti acowar #anti acotar #anti roawaelin #anti feyre #anti rhysand #anti cc city #anti crescent cty #anti tog #my post

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monkeebratz · 5 years ago

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Dad Eddie Brock Miraculous Ladybug AU - Initial Idea

OKAY SO THAT WAS A WILD FUCKING RIDE HOOOO BOY SO LETS GET INTO THIS EVEN WILDER RIDE OF DAD EDDIE BROCK

SO. At the very start of the Eddie Brock Report. Show? Whatever its called. Eddie goes to Paris to report on a corrupt SOMEONE. I’m going to say somebody in the medical industry since that seems to be a theme here. And, of course, Eddie manages to fuck up and ends up loosing his tickets, papers, phone, and what have you. And is left stranded on the streets of Paris.

Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, newly married bakery owners, find this American stumbling around, clearly struggling, and invite him in. Because, honestly, its the good thing to do. And Tom’s a fucking GIANT of a man, even if Eddie DID try something, he wouldn’t get very far. Now, Sabine doesn’t speak English, but Tom speaks it a little, on behalf on Gina. So there’s a lot of miming and broken English and the handful of words Eddie picked up wondering around Paris.

... I’m not entirely sure how, but, they strike up a friendship while Eddie is there. And when he goes back to San Francisco, he and the Dupain-Cheng’s stay in touch. Eddie works on his French and Tom and Sabine work on their English. This friendship grows into a long distance relationship. Which, once the Brock Show picks up, grows into an actual relationship! Now, I’m going to keep this purposely vague as to who is actually Marinette’s father bc honestly? It doesn’t REALLY matter. And by that I mean, it matters less if Eddie or Tom is Marinette’s biological dad, both are her fathers. So, feel free to pick and choose who is biologically her dad, but for this au, it doesn’t really matter!

Anyway. When the Dupain-Cheng’s hear that they’re expecting, they tell Eddie, who is ecstatic! They’re having a baby! Yes!! Eddie, of course, knows that this kid is probably not his, but they will be in spirit. Annie, of course, knows about Tom and Sabine, and vice versa. Everyone’s very happy with the current situation.

A few years pass, with frequent visits to Tom, Sabine, and baby Mari. Tom is Mari’s Papa, and Eddie is her Daddy. Later upgraded to ‘dad.’

And, when Mari’s about 8? Lets say 8. The events of Venom happen. And since this all obviously happens over the course of, lets say, a year, a lot goes down. Tom and Sabine hear about what happens with Eddie losing his job bc of that interview, and then they have trouble getting into contact with Eddie. He’s depressed and struggling and he doesn’t want his partners to see him like this. Doesn’t want his daughter to see him like this.

But then VENOM happens and shit all goes. Like it does.

Venom obviously has access to Eddie’s memories and he gets a call from Tom and Sabine and starts thinking about them and its its just. Eddie? Eddie you have offspring? Why are they not here? Eddie let us to go them and your mates. Eddie lets go.

And Eddie, of course, is like IF, and that’s a BIG FUCKING IF, we go to Paris, there’s none of. THIS. none of that. (There is of course, lots of THAT)

They go to Paris, and Mari is about 9-10 now and she’s so excited to see her Daddy! Tom and Sabine were just so worried its just big bear hugs. Also Tom is about the size of fully out Venom. Its hilarious.

Venom, also, loves the idea of such a tiny child. So little. Very delicate. Much love. Pokes his head out and Mari is just. Screams. But not the bad scream, the excited child scream that comes with seeing something they love but nobody can tell the difference. So there’s panic. But then Mari has her hands full of squishy Sybiote face shouting “SLIPPERY PUPPY!” ANd all the adults are screaming.

There is, of course, and explanation of what happened and who Venom is and what’s been going on. So Mari gains ANOTHER dad, who is very eager to sit with her and have fake tea parties and have deep, kinda concerning children conversations about right and wrong and which is the best flavor of chocolate. (Venom likes dark chocolate and Mari loves milk chocolate and they will forever argue over which is better. Eddie stays out of it.)

Now, when asked, Mari says she has three dads and one mom. That two of her dads are married and live in San Francisco and she lives her her Papa and Mama here in Paris. Nobody is ever really sure how to take that, but just kinda accept it? Mari’s whole class is weird. Though, considering how shy and isolated it seemed Mari was during her school years BEFORE the events of Miraculous Ladybug, I assume only a handful of people actually know this.

(Also Gina gets along swimmingly with Eddie and they occasionally do reports together. And ride their motorcycles together. And drink and talk about how disappointing it was to miss so many moments of Marinette growing up.)

Anyways, Marinette becomes Ladybug, yada yada. Except this time, there’s no secret identities. Not in the family, at least. Eddie and Venom are hero’s (or at the very least anti-heros or whatever you want to call it) and now all four of her parents are aware that she’s a superhero.

Actually, scratch that. Marinette doesn’t become Ladybug. She becomes Lady Noire. Bc seriously this girl was clumsy as all fuck and being incredibly unlucky is like. Her THING. And also you have Venom and Plagg shenanigans. Father and daughter can bond over having these dumbass’ constantly all in their space.

Eddie and Venom may or may not threaten Plagg that there will be NO dating. Mari is a baby and specifically THEIR baby. None of that. Plagg screeches bc SHE’S PRACTICALLY AN INFANT. A FETUS. ALSO ROMANCE IS GROSS AND HE IS MARRIED TO HIS LOVELY SUGAR CUBE NOT THIS TINY KITTEN. HE’S LIKE, THE YODA TO HER SKYWALKER. GROSS. WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS. CHEESE AND HIS SUGAR CUBE ARE BETTER THAN ROMANCE.

Tom and Sabine ask that Eddie and Venom stay with them, now that Mari’s a superhero and obviously needs their help.

So then you have Venom and Eddie (as its full on Venom training the fledgling hero’s) kicking Lady Noire and Mister Bug into shape. And shutting down this flirting bc Mari is clearly not having it. There shall be respect in this relationship!

(Venom; Can we eat Hawkmoth?

Eddie: ... Maybe.)

And this is. Honesty all I got so far. Here you go.

OH NO, wait, there’s also Mari have Eddie’s sense of humor and they’re both incredibly kind so take THAT.

And the ring/bracelets Eddie wears during the movie are from the Dupain-Cheng’s. The ring was Tom’s, the beaded bracelet is from Sabine, and the braided(?) bracelet is one that Mari made him.

and now i’m done.

I have no idea if i’ll continue this BUT here’s the tag list. If you’d like to be added, send me an ask for next time. IF there’s a next time. Or if you have questions, drop those too, I’ll see if I’ve got anything.

@zalladane @sassydepression @virgil-is-a-cutie

#miraculous ladybug #venom #venom au #miraculous ladybug au #eddie brock #marinette dupain cheng #sabine cheng #tom dupain #eddie brock and venom are dads two and three au

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gotatext · 5 years ago

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claws my way out of the dirt like the goblin i am ..... hello thots, its nora, once again bringing you a revamped version of a muse i played yonks ago n some of u may have even written against... here is her pinterest.....

this is margaret greta, she’s a whole can of trauma spaghetti plastered over with a toothy grin and a lot of dad jokes. the only reason she’s in gifford really is bcos shes been put there as part of a witness protection program cos lots of police r monitoring livingstone so its deemed relatively safe.... haha... anyway she changes major all the time. she started off doing fine art but since then she’s done modules in architecture, film, bio-chemistry and is now dabbling in medicine.

CIS-FEMALE — ever hear people say GRETA O’DRISCOLL looks a lot like DIANA SILVERS? I think SHE is about 21, so it doesn’t really work. The MEDICINE major is a SOPHOMORE that is from DEADWOOD, SOUTH DAKOTA. They can be +CHARMING, but they can also be -EVASIVE. I think GEE might be SHEEP. They are living in YATES. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her )

this bitch is the most restless creature u ever seen. before she came to livingstone, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

goes through phases of being intensely feminist and tweeting “men are trash i don’t need them” before flipping into being lonely and needy n wanting male attention again. tends to gravitate towards men who are just pieces of shit tbh like her friends are always like hun.... pick a nice boy..... but no.... she’ll go for the boxer with several arrest records for gbh or the small-town drug dealer just trying to hook her onto pills for a little extra cash, or the reformed sinner who thinks he’s being protective by reading all her texts and always knowing where she is..... n she always finds a way to spin it so that they Just Care About Her and aren’t a p.o.s

left school at 18 n didn’t go to uni, moved in w her boyfriend of the time instead, but soon got bored, n then went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was playing bass for a country n blues band. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea... pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming..... also this happened in 2017, he was mixed race and greta is white so naturally the police totally took her side. she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch

pretty easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be enthralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her

is That Girl who always knows where the parties are, and is always there, on the sofa, talking about institutionalised racism and trying to coerce you into a game of beer pong that she’ll definitely win. doesn’t really have one solid group of friends, just kind of on good terms with everyone and social butterflies about

has changed her major so many times. decision? who is she. currently studying medicine, but doesn’t rlly enjoy it. she’s very unmotivated and lazy and probably wouldn’t ahve bothered going to uni if she hadn’t been placed in one by a witness protection program. will probably change on to history or gender studies soon n just make up the extra credits by volunteering

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps. i hate her

plays bass guitar, has a teal green fender and it is her BABY. it’s covered in stickers about saving the planet and ending fracking and going vegan. she’s in an all-female punk band w agnes (n mayb jade i think) n they play gigs every now n then in grotty club basements full of druggy sweaty college kids

PERSONALITY: easy-going, sociable, observant, blunt, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent, unmotivated, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring. ESTP and a leo

LIKES: art, music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, karaoke, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, zip-lining, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, boiler house DJ sets, magnolias, decorative lamps, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

DISLIKES: bananas, coffee, Woody Allen, mental mathematics, children, Trump, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, Wes Anderson films, spoken word poetry, the general mentality of cheerleading squads (despite being on one)

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots: since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships, and girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight, and I want like, fellow medicine students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. ppl she did a few modules with before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with, like she did a few art modules, a bit of film, n some architecture before switching to medicine, though she’ll probs switch course again soon. ppl who she runs track with. someone she’s trying to make a zine with. here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#livingintro #this is such a long boi....... waht the fuck.... u dont need to read the bio the summary notes are long enough fuking hell

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switchysmythe · 5 years ago

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First Date |Killiot

WHO: Elliot Smythe and Kirin Rhodes ( @kirinrhodes )

WHEN: 3rd August 3019.

WHERE: Town/Kirin’s dorm.

WHAT: First date.

NOTES: I never posted this cause I’m trash but it’s just first date feels between these losers.

Elliot was definitely nervous for tonight because this was an actual real first date and he doesn’t think he’s ever had one of those. He goes for casual clothing, though, because it’s drinks and drinks are easy. He can drink. He’s not running late, not really, he just had been freaking out a little and got himself all worked up because he was going on a date and his nerves were getting the better of him. He needed a damn shot. He did make his way to the parking lot when he was finally ready, dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with a black bomber jacket. He spots Kirin there and he smiles, feeling his nerves lessen ever so slightly.

Kirin too had never been on a proper date, but he’d been on so many awkward social engagements he figured that this couldn’t be any worse. Besides, any time spent with Elliot was always less awkward than his normal life. Sitting behind the wheel of his green Maserati he spotted El and revved the engine, and smirked. He waited for El to get in and leaned over to kiss him. “Hello Gorgeous,” he chirped, throwing it into gear and peeling out of the school.

Elliot easily kisses the Dom back, smiling into it. “Hey,” he replies, laughing softly. “Nice car,” he teases. Of course Kirin had a stupidly flashy car, the switch wasn’t even surprised by that at all. He literally screamed rich stereotype, expect for how awkward he sometimes was but that was just adorable and endearing and he liked that side of Kirin. Even if Elliot was awkward himself so it made for extra awkwardness. “I am so ready for a drink,” he tells him.

Kirin chuckled, “could do with one myself,” he agreed, “but first, dinner.” He drove into town and parked near the park. “I’ve ordered food for us, it should be here,” he explained with a sly smile as he got out. In the park a small tent was set up with a kitchen set up and handful of people dressed in white bustling around. A picnic table was laid out with a table cloth and proper table setting. “Shall we, gorgeous,” he asked, offering his hand as they walked up to the table. A waiter met them and seated them, pouring champagne.

“Oh, yeah, can’t drink on an empty stomach,” the switch says with a laugh despite the fact he does that almost every single time he drinks. Elliot notices the tent and the strangers before he gets out of the car, he turns to look at Kirin once he gets out of the car. “Oh, my god, Kirin,” he says with a grin as he takes the Dom’s hand and walks towards the table. “This is... so cute,” he says biting down on his bottom lip as the champagne is poured for them.

Kirin smirks. He loves making Elliot squirm. “The staff is all French, so you’ll have to do the talking,” he explained and then added with a say smile,”and probably very tired, they just flew in this morning”

Elliot lets out a laugh, eyes wide. “You’re unreal, do you know what?” he asks, unable to stop smiling. “You flew in French waiters for our first date?” he asks. He can’t even comprehend it, honestly. He had no idea how their date was going to go but he really hadn’t expected this at all.

“I have been told that before yes, although, usually with less of a smile and more of a eye roll,” he said pleased with himself. “No, that would be silly,” he said, “I flew in a French cook and he brought the waiters.” A waiter came over and offered them bread and cheese and said something Kirin didn’t understand.

“I definitely mean it as a compliment,” the switch assures him. He doesn’t think he deserves this, in all honesty, but he loves that Kirin has done it for him anyway. This is definitely a good first date and it’s barely even started. “Oh, my bad, of course that would be silly,” he says with a laugh. Elliot turns to the waiter and smiles, “je vous remercie,” he says to the waiter once he’s placed the bread and cheese down.

Normally, people speaking in another language around him made him feel uncomfortable mostly because he didn’t like that feeling of not being in control, but it pleased Elliot and he was fairly sure that he was paying the staff enough that they wouldn’t be talking shit behind his back. “You should most definitely speak French more often, Gorgeous. It’s pretty on your lips.” He buttered some bread and unfolded a napkin on his lap. “Does it feel like home yet?” “Yeah?” Elliot replies with a grin. He didn’t speak French very often mostly because nobody here could speak France so it was kind of hard to speak a language where no-one expect your brothers would understand. He liked that Kirin liked it on him, though. “Maybe I will, and I’ll just translate it for you so you know what the hell I’m talking about,” the switch says. “I just said thank you, then by the way,” he explains. He thinks about the question for a moment before he nods his head. “It does, yeah,” he confirms with a sort of longing sigh. He missed Paris too much.

Kirin chuckled, “that would be much appreciated.” He was far from home as well, not nearly as far, but definitely out of his element but he didn’t miss home. It was obvious from the sigh that Elliot did. “Tell me more about it. About Paris. Your favorite places”

“Then expect more French from me,” he tells him, knowing it probably wouldn’t happen all of the time but he could definitely slip it in every now and again. “I just love all of it, I’m super biased but it’s just such a good place to be.” He would recommend it to anyone. “There was a cafe me and my best friend always used to go to, The Hood Paris, it’s amazing. It sometimes has live music and the staff are the nicest, honestly. I don’t know how they could be so nice, it would drain me,” he laughs.

“I look forward to it. The only language my father encouraged me to learn was Mandarin. The plan backfired when the tutor was hot and had sticky fingers.” He listened as El spoke of home but more he watched the Switch’s face. “Sounds nice. I bet you and your friend raised a lot of drinks and havoc. I can agree with that. I’m not cut out for customer service. All the niceties and small talk. No thank you.” The waiter returned with appetisers that looked incredible especially for something made in a tent.

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like it worked out well. Why did he want you to learn Mandarin?” he questions. He doesn’t know how he feels to have Kirin’s undivided attention, having someone just watch him as he speaks. He thinks he likes it, he’s just not used to. Especially in a date setting. Elliot laughs and hums in agreement. “We really did. I miss her,” he says with a soft smile. “Honestly, small talk is not for me. It makes me super awkward so it was food I went that often it stopped being small talk and they just talked normally to us. Made it a whole lot better.” He thanks the waiter again when the food comes and it honestly looks amazing. And kind of familiar.

“Because we do a lot of business with China,” he shrugged. “Everything is about the business. But let’s not talk about that.” Kirin sampled the food. It was nothing like food in Texas, but delicious in its own way. “What’s her name? Was she a school mate?” He tried to think of thoughtful questions as he’d read up on proper date etiquette and it had been big on asking questions. “It sounds nice. You’ll have to take me there one day. Do you plan to move back after school?”

That made sense but he knew business was a sore spot for Kirin so he was happy to respect his request of not talking about it. “No more business talk, got it,” he says as he mimes zipping his lips and then grins at Kirin. “Yeah, we met in high school. Her name’s Simone,” he tells him. “I’ll take you there, definitely,” he says before he nods his head. “I want to, but I guess it depends on my future here, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t force someone to move to Paris with him but that is literally all he wants, to go back home.

“Well don’t zip them. I quite like your lips,” he said. “Simone- Pretty name,” he shrugged as the conversation veered close to small talk. “Well, I could make that very easy for you, you know,” he said. His feelings varied day to day, but his father hadn’t bothered him this week and he was back to sure he could claim Elliot and have happiness. Rather than the ‘I can never have any happiness’ route he usually was on after speaking with his father. “After dinner I thought we could go get proper drunk. I hope that’s not breaking too many date rules.”

Elliot smiles at the compliment. “Thank you, I’m glad you like them,” he replies. “You could?” he asks, eyebrows raising as he speaks. Things were Kirin were never the same, sometimes he was a glass half empty kind of person about his future, and sometimes it seemed like he might realise he doesn’t have to be his father but it never stuck. Elliot laughs. “Who cares about dating rules? We should just date how we wanna date and I am so down for getting proper drunk.”

“So far your lips haven’t done anything I don’t enjoy.” Kirin sipped some champagne frowning when the bubbles tickled his nose and setting it far away from him, wrinkling his nose. “Yes. If you were mine. I’m sure I could make a case for moving the head quarters to Paris. Or at the very least having a vacation home there.” Kirin spoke very matter of fact about this as if it were more a business transaction that he had faith in, than their future. “I suppose I thought everyone did? This isn’t actually my expertise, I specialize more in disposable food related dry goods, than dates. Oh that sounds like perhaps I’ll get a second date. Have I sealed that deal so soon in the first date?”

“Likewise, your lips are also pretty awesome.” He watches Kirin sips the champagne, a small smirk on his lips as he watches the scene unfold. He doesn’t understand Kirin most of the time, especially with his matter of fact he was being right now. The fact Kirin is saying he would change his plan, even slightly, for Elliot makes him feel some sort of way. “You should get a vacation home there anyway,” the switch replies. He’s not sure he wants to hold onto Kirin doing that for him even if it would be really nice. “No idea, honestly, I don’t date,” he says with a shrug. “So it’s also not my expertise either.” He sticks his tongue out between his teeth when Kirin asks about the second date. “I should have kept you hanging a bit longer,”’he teases. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t want a second date with you.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to show you what else they can do later.” He hopes that didn’t come off creepy as he fought off the bubbles. “Perhaps I will. You speak so highly of it. I’ve always thought it was quite a dirty city.” It did make him feel more at ease that Elliot had no standard to judge him by. “Ah but you have been seduced by my Wiley ways,” he laughed, “ah the meal.” The waiter arrived with quite the spread smelling of pure deliciousness. “I had worried this would be...too extravagant.”

Elliot presses his lips together, eyebrow quirking. “Is that so? I think I’d enjoy that,” he tells him. He laughs. “Like I said, I’m biased but you still should do it.” Elliot is kind of stuck on Kirin, it’s frustrating honestly because he hasn’t even known him that long and he also doesn’t think he’ll have a future with him. Not that he thought about the future much but Kirin did. Elliot thanks the waiter again as the food comes and it looks amazing. “It’s not too extravagant, I mean I totally wasn’t expecting anything like this but I love it. A lot so thank you.”

“I’ll look for real estate tonight,” he agrees. They’d been looking to open a branch abroad and expand, why not Paris, he thought. But he was just a kid with no real power, yet. It was still fun to pretend he did though. “I’m glad,” he nodded, “you deserve to be spoiled.” They ate with less conversation and more humming at the deliciousness until the waiter returned with dessert. Kirins eyes big and stomach full he whimpered, “oh I couldn’t possibly.”

Elliot doesn’t know why he’s surprised, Kirin has said before he’s not the type to joke but still, he’s surprised. “Wait, really?” he asks. “Like, that easily?” Elliot can’t even decide what he wants to eat on a day to day basis never mind just decide to get a house somewhere. He rolls his eyes fondly, he definitely didn’t deserve to be spoiled. He thanks Kirin anyway. He laughs at Kirin’s reaction to dessert. “Dessert goes to the heart, not to the stomach,” he jokes.

Well it doesn’t hurt to look, now does it?” The food was amazing and well worth the thousands it had taken to get the chef over on short notice just for them. “Oh that’s quite the saying,” he said, liking it quite a bit. “Alright then, I suppose it is rather small and we’ve come this far.” He would just have to hit the gym hard tomorrow. Once they were finished he sat back in his chair. “I think perhaps we should walk to the bar, maybe walk some of this meal off. I’m not sure how you French do this every day.”

“You make a good point,” Elliot agreed easily. He smiles when Kirin says he likes the saying, he heard it on a vine himself and he literally quoted at the damn time cause it was relatable. After the meal was over, and Elliot has thanked the waiters again. He turns to Kirin as he speaks and chuckles quietly. “Walking to the bar is a good idea,” he agrees. “I personally don’t do it everyday but we totally just build up a tolerance to it,” he teases.

Kirin hummed happily as Elliot spoke French to the waiter. He moved closer, casually letting his hand run over Elliot’s ass before paying the chef and thanking him. They started to walk and Kirin kept Elliot close, hand in hand. “I think that much butter would have me dead by 30,” he chuckled, “I’m surprised you’re not 300 pounds,” he teased, tickling Elliot’s side. “I’ve yet to be out in Lima. I’m sure the night life is...rather disappointing. Where do you recommend we go?”

Elliot smirks and doesn’t miss the way him speaking French affects the Dom. He does lean into his touch all too easily. “It’s a good job you don’t eat that much butter all the time, then, isn’t it? We wouldn’t want you dead so young,” he responds. He laughs when Kirin tickles his side, squirming away from him but he’s soon putting himself back at Kirin’s side. “It’s not the best,” he admits. “There’s a bar we can go to, though.” They know Elliot’s order by now, it’s kind of embarrassing.

“If I died who would take you on dates?” He realized that sounded weird so added, “kidding, they’d swarm if I wasn’t here scaring them all away.” He laughs rather cutely as Elliot squirms then clears his throat, not sure where that girlish giggle came from. “Lead that way, Gorgeous.”

Elliot laughs and rolls his eyes. “Are you scaring everyone away?” he asks with a smirk. He was pretty sure that people didn’t even know about him and Kirin, not that he was keeping it a secret. He grins at Kirin’s laugh. “Yes, Sir!” he says as they make their way towards the bar.

"Well not everyone, I allow your family contact," he joked, "But the ones who just want you for your body, I swat like flies." Of course he was doing nothing of the sort and for the most part had kept to himself since arriving, a bit too nervous to jump into the school with both feet. On the plus side, his new hobby of painting had emerged and was slowly taking over his suite. "Ooh don't tease me like that," he said, loving when El called him Sir for some reason. He held the door for the other as they walked into what seemed like a dive bar to Kirin, but by normal person standards was probably just fine. The bartender seemed to know Elliot and Kirin found it quite amusing. "Is this your other boyfriend then?"

Elliot rolls his eyes at Kirin’s response, shoving at his shoulder. “Idiot,” he mutters but he’s smiling. He doesn’t think there’s anyone wanting Elliot for more than just his body anyway. That’s how it’s always been or how Elliot’s made it to be, maybe. “You like it when I call you Sir?” he asks with a smirk. When they arrive at the bar, Elliot is greeted in his usual fashion and he sticks his tongue out at the Dom’s question. “Yeah, got boyfriends all over me.”

"I like when you call me Sir quite a bit, yes, "he said a little blush tinting his cheeks. "Is that alright?" Kirin smirks that he managed to slip one by Elliot and that he didn't notice he said "other " boyfriend, implying he was one as well. "I should have brought a leash," he teased, pulling Elliot closer to him by his belt loop. He ordered a gin and tonic and warns him " Keep that tongue in your mouth unless you plan on using it on me"

Elliot laughs softly and he doesn’t miss the slight blush on Kirin’s cheeks which is kind of really adorable. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. He may not be completely onboard with the whole system but he doesn’t mind using titles. He smirks when Kirin pulls him closer by his belt loop, his stomach swooping at the action. “You want me to use it on you, Sir?” he asks, unable to stop himself smirking cockily at the Dom.

Kirin rolled his eyes hard. “Oh please. The leash is for you. Keep you close,” he said shaking his head. He took his drink from the bartender and gave him a card to keep a tab open. “So what do you do here...”

Elliot looks around the pub for a moment before he looks back to Kirin. “I usually just come with Kurt and we just drink and talk and get really drunk,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. He moves closer to Kirin after he’s ordered his own drink and has it in hand. “Nothing special but,” he trails off. “It’s alright.”

“Talk.. mmm,” he hums, wondering if Kurt was better at conversation than he was. His eyes scan the room. “Perhaps you should show me your billiards skills, Gorgeous,” he said eyeing the tool table.

“Yes, talk,” Elliot confirms. He follows Kirin’s gaze before he looks back at the Dom and shrugs his shoulders. “Okay but I’m not the best,” he warns.

Kirin narrowed his eyes. "For a man who spends enough time in this bar that the barkeep didn't even need to ask you what you wanted, you certainly seem like you haven't taken full advantage of this amenities." He wandered over to the pool table and started to chalk a cue. He'd played a decent amount, mostly as a child on the pool table at his father's office. His father would bring him in, but then mostly just leave him to entertain himself. The pool table had been a good source of fun for most his childhood . "Come on, Gorgeous. I'll help you," he said, slipping up behind Elliot and handing him the cue, then leaning into his back side as he reached around to put help El hold the cue properly. He had no doubt Elliot at least knew how to hold the cue, it was all just an excuse to be this close to him.

Elliot rolls his eyes. “I come to the bar to drink, why do you think they know my order?” he asks with a laugh. He only ever played pool as a kid and then if he ever won or came close to winning it was always a fluke. He follows the Dom to the pool table. He’s placed his drink down before Kirin comes up behind him. He huffs out a laugh. “I’m not completely hopeless, I can hold a cue,” he tells him with a laugh as he takes the cue from Kirin. “Not that I mind you being this close to me,” he adds art a smirk on his lips.

Kirin uses the position to his advantage and leans into Elliot, breathing hot on his neck. "No? I was really hoping to make you very very hopeless...helpless...mine," he whispered, kissing up his neck as his hand wandered south to grab the Frenchman's ass. "You sure you don't need my help..."

Elliot relaxes into Kirin, feeling those stupid butterflies in his stomach once again. He lets out a shaky, content sigh. “Will you only have me if I’m hopeless?” he teases as he feels a shiver run down his spine from the Dom kissing his neck. He presses his ass back into Kirin’s touch. “Uh, actually, I think I definitely need your help.”

"No, Gorgeous, but it would make things a lot easier," he teases with a chuckle straightening up only slightly, body still pressed into El's back. "Oh yeah? Well then...let's clear this table and start our own game, yeah?" He reached around holding the cue around Elliot's body and taking a shot. The sharp pang echoed as the cue sent the balls flying towards the pockets, sinking one of the three balls left on the fuzzy table top. He shifted, moving Elliot with him, and shot another in the corner pocket. The cue ball curved right back to his stick ready for the last shot. "Mmm this one will be difficult," he explained, as if shooting around an entire person wasn't challenge enough. "You'd better turn around," he said, gently turning Elliot in place so they were face too face> "And scrunch down a little...might be best a little lower,..."

lliot just lets Kirin control his moves, where he should be, and honestly he’s not paying that much attention because Kirin is so close to him and that’s all he can focus on right now. He laughs when Kirin turns him around so they’re face to face. “Idiot,” he says with a fond smile on his lips as his hands come to rest of the Dom’s hips. “You want me to get on my knees for you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows with the question.

Kirin simply give a smirk as he lines up his shot awkwardly around Elliot. "Well if you think that would be best, then perhaps yes, "he said, smirking the whole time. "Just while I shoot. You understand, don't you Gorgeous?"

“I’m not sure that I do,” Elliot teases, feigning innocence as his hands move from Kirin’s hips to the front of his jeans. “Just while you shoot?” he asks, repeating the Dom’s words as he presses the palm of his hand against his crotch.

Kirin shuttered as El’s hand touched him. They’d yet to get into bed together but if the night went on like this, Kirin doubted he’d be able to resist. “Tonight..tomorrow... the rest of your life...” he said with some strain in his voice

Elliot couldn’t help but feel smug when he heard the strain in Kirin’s voice, knowing it was because of him. “Yeah?” he asks. “Think you could deal with me for the rest of my life?” He asks as he undoes Kirin’s jean button and zips his jeans down so he could feel more of him.

“I co-“ he started, but Elliot’s hand made him freeze and try to catch his breath. His eyes darted around the bar. There were people but not so many they could be lost in a crowd and not so few no one would notice shenanigans happening. He swallowed and took a few quick breaths as El grabbed him. “Not if you kill me first,” he breathed, wrapping a hand around to grab El’s ass. “Naughty naughty. Don’t make me punish you in your bar,” he said, trying to gain any control.

When Kirin falters, Elliot smirks. He knew they were in public and it wasn’t like Elliot hadn’t done things in public before but he came here all the time so he was being brave, or an idiot. “Oh, I don’t want to kill you, that wouldn’t be fun,” he laughs. He raises an eyebrow. “I can stop,” he says as he pulls his hand away slightly. “Not sure I want to be punished,” he adds with a laugh.

Kirin’s eyes were scanning the room again, but this time for doors not people. “You’re going to If this keeps up,” he said under his breath, then grabbed hold of Elliot’s hand pulling it away and pinning it on the edge of the pool table. He knew he was going to regret this, but he didn’t have a choice, “...bathroom. Now,” he ordered, pulling Elliot towards the back of the room

“Hm, does that mean I can’t touch you?” he teases. He hadn’t really expected this to be how their date went but he’s not mad about it, honestly. He should be bothered that Kirin is pulling him into a bathroom he’s been on his knees in way too many times, drunk and with strangers. But he doesn’t care because he wants Kirin. “Fuck,” he practically groans. “Okay,” he says as if he would have ever even considered saying no as he’s pulled away from the pool table.

Kirin practically dragged Elliot into the small room shoving the door shut and then pushing Elliot back up against it. He leaned into El, a hand braces on either side of his body against the door. “You. You are a tease,” he growled, the Dommy side of him creeping out more and more, but he couldn’t help it. “

Elliot looks at Kirin with wide eyes, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. He swallows thickly and despite being desperate to touch Kirin and feeling a little dizzy, he manages a small smirk when Kirin calls him a tease. “But you like it, right?” he asks

He’s not used to having to hold back. Before school he was almost always fucking and scenening with someone he’d hired. No need to hold back anything much then. But Elliot was important. He had to temper himself because god only knows how El would react to his unleashed dominance, seeing El didn’t even believe in the system. In answer, Kirin grabbed Elliot’s hand and pushed in on to his hard cock again. “You could say that.” He lunges in, kissing the boy hard, running his hands all over his body, and trying to strip his shirt off.

Elliot keeps his hand on Kirin’s cock as the Dom kisses him. He groans into his mouth, palming at his length as the kiss heats up. He pulls back ever so slightly, having to move his hand, so his shirt could come off but then his hips are back on Kirin’s and his hand his back on his length. He pushes his hand into his underwear so he can actually touch him. His fingers wrap around his length and he strokes him.

What was he thinking? Hooking up in a dirty bar bathroom? How very pedestrian. But Elliot already was shirtless and that hand on his cock was threatening to drive him mad. His lips crashed back into Elliot’s and he shoved his own hand down the back of Elliot’s jeans, teasing his fingers over the Switches hole. “You deserve better than a quickie in a toilet stall,” he grumbled.

Elliot moans into the kiss as Kirin teases at his hole. He lets out a breathless laugh at the Dom’s words because he wasn’t stopping. “I don’t care,” he tells him without hesitation. He didn’t think he deserved better but he wasn’t about to say that and ruin the moment.

That moan just about drove Kirin insane, and almost convinced him to drop the argument. But he knew he was right. Elliot deserved far better than this. He kept kissing the boy but pulled his hand back, whining. “I will not...” he paused to kiss him again, “...tell our children.... our first time was in a bar bathroom.” He finally, breathlessly, pulled back from El’s lips. “Let’s get drunk and go back and at least allow me to bed you in a proper bed.

Elliot almost pouts when Kirin stops this. He can’t be mad, not that he would be anyway, especially when Kirin is being so nice about it. Though, children? Elliot was not about to touch that. “Fine, okay,” he says but he isn’t really annoyed, he’s smiling. He kisses Kirin again, slow, and then pulls back. “I plan on getting stupid drunk cause I need to focus on something that is on mine boner, or yours,” he says with a laugh as he grabs his shirt and puts it back on.

Kirin is sure he's lost his mind. He'd been dreaming of fucking Elliot for weeks now, nervously dreaming,but still. And here he was turning him away. It was the right thing to do though and this bathroom was grossing him out. "My tab is open, but I don't wish to carry you home, yeah?" He kissed Elliot's lips again, not eager to give him up. "Maybe I can help with that," he said, just as knock came at the door and they had to vacate awkwardly. Kirin lead them back towards the pool table and their drinks on small high top table. He took a big gulp of his gin and tonic to try and ease his nerves and lust. "You will be the end of me, I just know it," he sighed.

‘Hmm, okay,” Elliot replies with a smirk. “I’ll not get too drunk that you’ll have to carry me home, promise.” He kisses the Dom back, and wishes it could continue but he can wait. He’s never been the most patient guy but he’s sure Kirin will be worth the wait. He coughs awkwardly as they leave the bathroom. He smirks as Kirin takes a large drink of his gin before he takes a sip of his own. “Sounds fun,” he jokes, grinning at him.

Kirin eyed the Switch and the smiled. "I suppose, if you're the death of me, I can lay back in my grave with a smile on." He pulled Elliot in by his shirt, kissed him and then pushed him gently towards the pool table. "Come on, show me what you've got, Barfly," he teased. They played a few games of pool, drank, laughed, kissed..a lot, but finally the darkening sky told them it was time to head back. "Balls. It's nearly curfew. We need to hussel," he said, downing the last of his drink.

“Well that’s adorable,” the switch replies with a shy smile before he’s being pulled in. He hums happily and kisses the Dom back. He rolls his eye at the nickname. “Yes, Sir,” he teases. He’s pretty impressed with how long he’s able to last without just dropping to his knees for Kirin, he manages to even forget about it for a little while as he gets more and more drunk, but not too drunk that he won’t be able to get it up when they get back. He turns to look at Kirin and actually pouts because he kinda of really doesn’t want the date to be okay. “I suppose we should go,” he says as he slides up to Kirin.

Kirin put his arm around El's waist, pays his tab, leaves a decent tip and they walk back to campus with a decent amount of laughter and tripping. Maybe even falling off the sidewalk once or twice. "You're drunk," he teases, though he is clearly just as drunk. "Shhh going back to campus, we have to be good or they'll spank us, "he says, laughing loudly then shushing himself as they get up to the gates and show their ids to get in.

“You’re drunk,” Elliot quips back as they make their way back to campus. He definitely feels drunk and he’s back to just wanting Kirin. “You want them to spank you?” he teases, he’s loud though, always gets louder when he’s drunk. He shows the guards his ID and then walks, stumbles mostly, to the Dom’s dorm.

Kirin's face got red and his eyes huge and he grabbed El pulling him close and covering his mouth. "No. Shush your mouth now," he said sternly, then laughed at himself. They're laughing when they tumble into the door and Kirin accidentally slams it closed behind them, sending them both laughing again. He pulled El in tight, kissing him hard and fast, hands going to strip the other's clothes off him fast. "You need to be in my bed, right now, naked."

Elliot feels dizzy, and not from the booze. He’s so desperate and needy for Kirin in this moment and god does he want to be in his bed. “Yes, please,” he breathes against his lips before he kisses him again, needy and rough and he doesn’t care.

Kirin's tempted to shove the boy to the floor and demand his mouth, but he forced some control on himself. He groaned into El's neck as he kissed over his chest. He paused to strip his own shirt off revealing his ripped chest and abs. He walked El backwards towards his bed and then shoved the switch backwards on to it, letting El bounce on the bed as he slipped his jeans off and then with a devious smile, climbed over El, holding himself up with one arm, using his free hand to cup El's face. "You're so sexy...such a tease though....driving me crazy all night.

Elliot’s eyes fell to the Dom’s chest and abs, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide a she took in how good Kirin looked. “Fuck,” he hisses out as the other climbs over him, he’s still looking up at him with wide eyes. “I wanted to see if you’d cave and just fuck me there,” he teases. He leans up to kiss him as his hands trail down the Dom’s chest. “Fuck me,” he says into the kiss as one of his hands palms at the other’s cock.

“I told you...you deserved better than that. You deserve better than this too, but it’s what I’ve got at the moment,” he said, wondering why Elliot couldn’t see that a bathroom was no place to fuck anything but a whore. Kirins eyes roll back and his cock goes rigid as Elliot touches him and begs so softly. “Are you sure,” he asked coyly, pressing his hand down between them, teasing El’s cock. “Are you positive that’s what you want?”

Elliot didn’t care, as long as he had Kirin, he didn’t care where it was . “This is perfect, Kirin, because the date was perfect and you’re here,” he replies. They could be anywhere and Elliot wouldn’t care as long as he had him. He lets out a groan at the touch and nods his head. “I’m sure, I want this. I want you,” he assures him. He doesn’t think he’s been more sure of anything in this moment.

Kirin softly shook his head. "You deserve better than a bathroom fuck," he said simply, "So do I. " He leans in kissing El again, their bodies writhing against each other. Kirin groaned at the request. God he wanted to fuck this man. "Ah ah ask nicely, "he teased, losing all domminess as Elliot palmed his cock and made him whimper. He returned the favor, moving to tease El's hole. "I think I want that mouth first."

Kirin wasn't wrong about that. "You do deserve better," he agrees without hesitation. He rolls his eyes when Kirin tells him to ask nicely as if telling the Dom he wanted him, and this, wasn't nice enough. He moans as Kirin teases his hole. "Kirin," he practically whines because god he just wanted him. "Okay, fuck, you can have my mouth," he agrees.

"As do you," he corrected, not willing to let Elliot weasel out of that. With their bodies so close, Kirin feels like the world has gone and time has stood still for them. The way Elliot whines his name makes his heart flip in his chest. "Elliot," he whispers back, teasing his finger into his hole gently. "Good boy..." he whispers gently, lovingly, "But ...I realize now...I don't wish you to move from my arms. I quite like your body so close to mine." He continued to kiss El's neck and back, holding him tight to him. "I believe I could be quite happy if you never moved again." Elliot, once again, does not comment. He also doesn’t let on about the fact he doesn’t like to be called good boy because this moment is too good to bring up that. “How are you being so cute with your fingers when they are?” the switch asks. He lets out a quiet laugh as his twists his fingers in the Dom’s hair. “I think I would be quite happy if I never moved again as well,” he says and he’s smiling fondly at the Dom on top of him because he’s ridiculous and Elliot can’t seem to get enough of him.

“It’s one of my many talents,” he whispered, making his point by gently kissing El’s skin and making him moan by finding that sweet spot with his fingers. “Well...perhaps a little moving wouldn’t be awful,” he said, taking his fingers back and quickly grabbing lube from the side table and slicking his cock. Gently he lined up with El’s hole, kissing his neck. “You ready Gorgeous,” he asked, hips barely containing their excitement.

Kirin was definitely going to be the death of Elliot. He shifts to watch the Dom as he applies the lube and then he’s there and this s about to happen. He looks at Kirin and nods his head, he’s more than ready. “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” he confirms eagerly, eyed wide and his body tingling with anticipation and excitement.

Kirin smiles softly. The booze still tingling in his system is making this moment feel good ls a little extra. Like a movie. Something he needed to get perfect. Slowly, he eased in steadily, until his thighs met Elliot’s ass.

Elliot tenses around the Dom’s length before he lets himself relax, groaning at the feel of Kirin inside of him. “Fuck, Kirin,” he moans as he grips hold of his forearms, looking up at him with lust blown eyes. This was really happening and Elliot was delirious with how food it felt to feel so full by him.

Kirin gasped as he bottomed out inside Elliot. He'd never done this this slow before, never stopped to savor the sensations. "FUck" he echoed, kissing Elliot's warm skin and wrapping his strong arms around the other. "You feel even more amazing that I dreamt you would," he whispered, starting to very slowly ease out and then back in.

#face to face: kirin #kirin: 003

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softboywriting · 7 years ago

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After All This Time // Werewolf!Shawn & Hybrid!Reader AU

Summary: Shawn is an alpha werewolf and you’re a half breed with little wolf ears. You’ve worried about finding a mate for a while now and Shawn just so happens to be the alpha you grew up with as a kid. Could you be mates?

| Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn is the alpha of your dreams. The mate of your dreams. The two of you grew up together until you were about twelve years old and his family moved away. Now he was back and in your english lit class and you are just the weird half breed with the wolf ears that no one paid attention to, and surely he wasn’t going to now that he was Mr. Popular.

You stare at him from across the lecture hall everyday, imagining what it would be like to have a mate like him. Remembering the crush you had on him when you were twelve. He stares at the pretty beta girl behind you everyday, looking right through you, and thinking nothing of you. Rinse and repeat week after week.

So it’s sort of a surprise the day that Shawn slips into the seat next to you and pulls his books out. You don’t say anything, just glance over and see him making himself comfortable. Going about your own business, you ready your notebook for notes and look to the front of the room where Mr. Daily is setting up his projector.

“Hey,” Shawn says softly and you startle a bit, not having expected him to speak to you.

“Yeah?” You look over and he’s got his chin on his hand that's propped up by his elbow on the table. Why was he looking at you like that?

You flatten your ears back a bit and Shawn’s face changes, going from smiley and cute to concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes going from your ears to your face. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“But your l’il ears,” he makes a little motion with his hand to his own regular ears, “they went all down and stuff. You’re upset?”

A blush rises from your neck to your cheeks and you look away. Of course he would remember how your ears changed. “What do you want?” you ask a little meaner than you intend to but it doesn’t phase Shawn.

“I wanted to see if you would go with me to a party this weekend.”

You look back up, mouth pinched and face red with annoyance. This was some sort of trick and he was being mean to you. No one invited you anywhere, specially not to parties. “I don’t know what you’re getting at but I’m not falling for it, Shawn.”

Shawn looks confused as he says, “What? I’m not getting at anything. I think you’re cute and I want you to come to my friend’s birthday party with me. Come on, I haven’t gotten to hang out with you in years.”

“Y-you think I’m cute?”

“Well, you’re small and you have a cute little nose,” Shawn says, reaching out and booping your nose. “And you’ve got those adorable ears that I love.” He reaches for your left ear and you duck away.

“Why would a boy like you like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I like you? You’re adorable and cute, come on, we used to be friends.”

You sigh and look down at your notebook. The teacher starts to talk and you just shake your head at Shawn. He doesn’t like that response and starts scribbling on his notebook.

No jokes i promise. Please come with me to the party. I just want to spend time with you again.

Swear to me it's not a joke. I want collateral. Something youll miss if your lying and i get to keep it

Shawn drops his pen and undoes the leather bracelet on his wrist that he’s had for years and hands it to you. “It’s yours. I promise I’m not tricking you.”

You turn the bracelet over in your hands. You’ve never seen him without it so you think it’s must be worth something to him. Pocketing it, you say, “What time is the party?”

“Ten on friday night. I can pick you up.”

Ten o’clock rolls around and you’re standing outside your house in a pair of skinny jeans and one of your old French Club hoodies. It’s not cute but at least it’s comfortable and you can pull the hood up over your ears.

Headlights round the corner of your block and it’s Shawn in his Jeep. He pulls up and you open the door to see him smiling at you. “What?” you ask as you get in and fasten your seatbelt.

“You’re just so cute and you have no idea,” Shawn says as he pulls away from the curb and head for the party. “I see you’re wearing a hoodie to cover those cute ears.”

“Yeah, because you’re the only person who thinks they’re cute,” you mumble and face the door a bit to stare out the window. “They aren’t cute.”

“They are,” he says and he sounds so damn adamant about it.

The party is...well...it’s a goddamn mess. There are people everywhere, as far as the eye can see from the lawn to inside the house. People and werewolves crammed into this big ass house with music and drinks galore. It was definitely not your scene and you felt nervous as hell walking in with Shawn. Nobody says anything, not right away. No one even notices you, not until Shawn goes to get drinks and you’re left alone by the stairs. A girl you recognize from one of your classes comes up and says, “What are you doing here?”

At first you ignore her, pretending you didn’t realize she wasn’t talking to you. She waves and asks again. “I was invited,” you mumble, shifting your weight back and forth nervously. “Shawn brought me.”

“Shawn? Mendes?” she ask disbelievingly. “Why would he invite you?”

“Because I like her, Lauren,” Shawn says as he walks past her and hands you a coke. “Is there a problem with that?”

Lauren shifts her weight nervously now. She looks down and then back up at Shawn, almost pouting in a way. “I guess not.”

Shawn waves her off and turns his attention to you. “I didn’t know if you liked to drink so I just got you a soda. I hope it’s okay. I can get something else for you, there’s a full bar in the dining room.”

“No, this is fine,” you say down into your coke. “But maybe I could use some rum or something? To help me relax?”

Shawn’s face lights up and he grabs your hand, leading you to the dining room. He grabs a bottle off the bar top and pours a bit into a glass before taking your coke and mixing them together. “Let’s have some fun, yeah?”

Three hours and four drinks later you’re laying on a bed upstairs with Shawn while the music drones on in the background. You’re laying sideways with your head on his stomach while he runs his hand through your hair. He rubs over your ears every few minutes and gives then a really good rub that makes you close your eyes. You’re drunk. He’s slightly less drunk. Everything feels warm and fuzzy.

The two of you ditched the party after it started getting too loud to hear each other talk. Shawn pulled you up the stairs and you asked if that was okay. He assured you it was. This was his house after all. You hadn’t expected that at all. He’d said it was his friend’s party, not his, but you couldn’t be concerned with semantics because his bed looked so soft and you were so dizzy.

“I’ve had the biggest crush on you since we were kids,” he mumbles, fingers working over your ear and making you purr. “I can’t believe I have you in my bed now.”

“Me too,” you smile and he pats your chest, wanting you to sit up. You do and he turns on his side, patting the bed for you to lay beside him. You turn around and lay on your side facing him and he looks so good. His cheeks are so rosy from the alcohol and his hair is a mess from running his hands through it all night. “You’re so big now,” you giggle, touching his chest slightly.

“You’re still so small,” he grins and his eyes are a warm honey color, a stark contrast to his usual brownish color. “I really wanna kiss you right now.” He reaches up and touches your lower lip, running his thumb over it and you nip at it playfully. He grabs your chin gently and tilts your head up a bit as he leans in. Stopping and hovering over your mouth, he licks his lip and stares at you with those gorgeous eyes.

“Do it,” you whisper and he closes the space between you. His lips are soft and warm. A hand slides into your hair and you put yours into his hair. You dare to open your eyes and he does as well, mouth working against yours, he smiles at you with his eyes somehow and you can’t help but smile back into the kiss.

He pulls back and rubs over your ear and you close your eyes. “Do you think we could be mates?” he asks quietly and you open your eyes. “I mean, you feel it right, the connection we have?”

“I feel it. I feel it so hard and I can’t believe that you like me.”

“You’re hard not to like.” He tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles as you duck your head down into the pillows. “Seriously, I’ve thought about you non stop for months since I saw you the first day of class.”

“Shawn, please,” you laugh and he catches his mouth with yours. His arm slides around your back and he pulls you against him, tangling his legs with yours. You break the kiss in favor of tucking your face into his neck and smiling against his collarbone. You close your eyes and the alcohol finally catches up with you as you fall asleep, snuggled into his chest. All those years you spent worrying about finding a mate one day were for nothing. Shawn had been under your nose the whole time and you didn’t even know it.

#shawn mendes au #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes werewolf au #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes writing

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aliensnipe · 6 years ago

Text

Tagged by: @soysaucevictim

Rules: Write the first 10 songs that come up on shuffle and quote your favorite lyrics from each. Then tag 10 people.

(I do not tag. I am tag-agnostic. But I want YOU to do this. Yes, YOU. Pleaz. =3)

I had to skip instrumentals, natch. They’re in italics below, if you’re curious.

Kenzo - “Sora ni Hikaru” (Neo-Progressive)

1. They Might Be Giants - “Fingertips” (Comedy / Alternative Rock)

I heard a sound

I turned around

I turned around to find the thing that made the sound

(...John and John, you utter trolls. X3 The ONE song (or series of songs... or series of three- to four-second musical phrases) that makes this meme break down. I could infodump about “Fingertips” all day, but we’re short on time, so just message me or something if you wanna know what I’m rambling about.)

2. Angelique Kidjo - “Try Everything” (Afropop)

Birds don’t just fly

They fall down and get up

Nobody learns

Without getting it wrong

(I’m really beginning to like Angelique Kidjo, but I need to track down more of her original work, because most of what I’ve heard from her is covers. Like, say, the above.)

Toby Fox - “Reunited” (Chiptune)

3. Serenity - “Wings of Madness” (Symphonic Power Metal)

Out on the silent battlefield

While the killing work is done

And the crimson haze is gone

Still lies the deadly sword I wield

And I’m dreaming of your face

Have begun to count the days

4. Eskaton - “Automute” (Zeuhl)

Je mate et puis j'imite

Ceux qui creent, ca m'epate

Moi je sais pas j'imite

Je copie, j'automate

(...this is less “my favorite lyric” than “the one thing I can find a reference for with my utter ignorance of French”)

5. Rush - “Halo Effect” (Hard Rock)

What did I see, fool that I was

A goddess with wings on her heels

All my illusions projected on her

The ideal that I wanted to see

6. The Psychedelic Furs - “Pretty in Pink” (New Wave)

The one who insists he was first in her line is the last to remember her name

He’s walking around in this dress that she wore

She’s gone, but the joke’s the same

7. Joe Dolce - “Shaddap You Face” (Comic)

What’samatta you, HEY! Gotta no respect

Whaddaya think you do, why you looka so sad

It’s a not so bad, it’s a nice-a place

Ah, shaddap a-you face!

(...cut me some slack. It can’t be multi-layered prog rock and death metal alla time)

8. Yes - “Parallels” (Art Rock)

It's the beginning of a new love in sight You've got the way to make it all happen Set it spinning turning roundabout Create a new dimension When we are winning we can stop and shout Making love towards perfection

9. Elvis Costello - “She” (Singer-songwriter)

She may be the reason I survive The why and wherefore I'm alive The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years

Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears

And make them all my souvenirs And where she goes I've got to be The meaning of my life is she

10. The Smashing Pumpkins - “Bullet with Butterfly Wings” (Alternative Rock)

The world is a vampire

Sent to drain

Secret destroyers

Hold you up to the flames

And what do I get

For my pain

Betrayed desires

And a piece of the game

11. Spock’s Beard - “Afterthoughts” (Progressive Rock)

To keep them out, I keep me in

‘cause they don’t get to hear the things I know

The bats up in this belfry

Fly in circles ‘cause they don’t know where to go

12. Opeth - “The Drapery Falls” (Progressive Metal)

Pull me down again

And guide me into

ah ah ah, ah-ah ah ah, ah-ahhh...

The Seventy Sound - “Bluephoria” (Library Music)

13. Premiata Forneria Marconi - “Geranio” (Progressive Rock)

Balla piano nella via Balla il vento della notte Balla un sogno che non c'è più Balla l'ombra della luna Sfiora il tempo la fortuna Balla piano, balla laggiù

(I don’t speak Italian, either, so this is the same situation as the Eskaton lyrics. Though I will say that these refrains are quite pretty in translation.)

Brand X - “Red” (Jazz Fusion)

14. The Psychedelic Furs - “India” (New Wave)

All the women form a line

Put your face upon a line

This is for the discotheque

This is stupid, I object

15. Alabama Shakes - “Gimme All Your Love” (Funk)

So much is goin’ on

But you can always come around

Why don’t you sit with me just a little while

Tell me what’s wrong

If you just gimme all your love

Gimme all you got, baby

Gimme all your love

15. Golden Earring - “Radar Love” (Classic Rock)

Radio playin’ that forgotten song

Brenda Lee comin’ on strong

And the newsman sang his same song

One more radar lover gone

16. Wolfmother - “Joker and the Thief” (Garage Rock)

Can you see the joker flying over

As she’s standing in a field of clover

Watching out every day

Wonder what would happen if he took her away

(...and they NEVER TELL US ALL THE STORY ‘BOUT THE JOKER AND THE THIEF IN THE NIGHT. NO, I’M NOT LETTING THIS GO.)

Gryphon - “Second Spasm” (Symphonic Rock)

17. Sonata Arctica - “My Land” (Power Metal)

My own land has closed its gates on me

All alone, in world that’s scaring me

I am here to prove you wrong

I’m accused of something, I live on

(...having been kicked out of home at a relatively young age, this song gives me Feelings)

Yes - “Mood for a Day” (Art Rock)

18. Yes - “Heart of the Sunrise” (Art Rock)

Love comes to you, then after

Dream on, on to the heart of the sunrise

Lost on a wave that you’re dreaming

Dream on, on to the heart of the sunrise

Sharp distance

How can the wind with its arms around me...

Sharp distance

How can the wind with so many around me...

(damn! Spotify shuffle really hittin’ the Yes tonight!)

19. Barclay James Harvest - “Who Do We Think We Are” (Progressive Rock)

All around we're travelling the universe Do we believe there's someone watching over us Can we be sure? Who do we think we are?

20. Rush - “Heresy” (Hard Rock)

The counter-revolution

People smiling through their tears

Who can give them back their lives

And all those wasted years?

All those wasted years

All those precious, wasted years

Who will pay?

#music meme #necessary readmore #lyrics

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yesimgoingtopeacecorps · 7 years ago

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If you’re going through hell, keep going.

Peace Corps is two years.

Well… to be exact, it’s 27 months. Three of those months are spent doing pre-service training. The remaining 24 months are when you are actually at your site location as a volunteer. A sworn-under-oath-US Government employee-serving overseas- Peace Corps volunteer. I still have trouble wrapping my head around that part.

I pride myself on doing a good job of making the outside world believe that my time here is a crazy and amazing adventure. And some days it is just that: a wild journey through the eyes of a healthy, twenty-something, determined American girl. Peace Corps is what I’ve wanted since I can remember and this is the kind of work I want to be doing; on the continent I’ve come to adore, respect, and love.

One of the things they stress to us in those first three months of training is that, during your service, there are going to be a decent amount of great days, quite a lot of average days, and sprinkled there will be some really horrible days- days where you feel like the world is against you and you’ll think about how all it would take is making one phone call and you’d be on a plane back home.

Yesterday, I had one of those really horrible days.

There was nothing extremely unique about this day- nobody rubbed me wrong way and I didn’t do something foolish. Funny thing is, I didn’t even leave the house. Yet, it was honestly the worst twenty-four hours I’ve had since getting here.

It started out as a very average morning. I woke up, ate my breakfast, fed my kitten, and worked on my community assessment report, due during our In Service Training coming up in May.

Maybe it was the two cups of strong coffee that gave me the shakes and gave me nausea.

Maybe it was the hot sun and migraine I could feel forming behind my eyes.

Maybe it was the frustration I was feeling about being here and the pending loom of this assessment due, with questions I didn’t know how to ask in French.

Maybe it was the homesickness I was feeling that had been building up, with the knowledge I won’t see my Mom and Dad and best friends for at least another seven months.

Or maybe it was all of those things, a soupy, lukewarm gross mess of “maybes” that had been slowly building up inside.

For one reason or another, it hit me: I wanted out.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, and for me, it’s pretty normal to feel twenty different emotions in the day- sometimes these are all within a span of an hour or minutes: fear of failure, anxiety, nostalgic, happiness, sadness, disgust, frustration, admiration, love, excitement, etc., etc., etc.

Yesterday, I felt all of these feelings, repeating and toppling on top of each other in a vicious cycle of emotional turmoil. I could sense a panic attack building up, a feeling I hadn’t felt since before I left the United States.

I was fed up.

Fed up with trying to learn two languages at the same time and not being able to communicate what I want to say, especially when I’m tired.

Fed up with marriage proposals and being looked at as an object of desire and piece of meat because of my gender and my nationality.

Fed up with having to interact with people when I go to market day, when all I want is to buy my damn groceries and go home.

Fed up with washing my clothes by hand for hours and trying to keep my house clean.

Fed up with feeling alone.

The list goes on and on.

5:00pm came fast. I sighed and looked at my phone to check the time. After about two hours of trying to take a nap and relax through the heart-palpitations and coffee throbbing through my veins, I finally got up and went to help Megan, my site mate, give our doctor at the health center computer lessons. I had to break myself out of the funk.

On our walk home later, Megan said to me “the sun will rise again tomorrow”.

And it did.

This morning I woke up and went to my health center and met with Mamadou Bah, a man who runs one of the major local NGO’s here in Donghol-Touma. My French was actually coming out correctly today and I was actually understanding what he was saying back to me. After a short discussion, we decided to hold a mosquito net sensitization next Saturday at the health center for pregnant women and new mothers.

Spirits lifted, I went with him to the central government offices and met with some different local officials and talked about what I’m doing here, and I actually was able to get information I needed for my Community Assessment. At the end, the director looked at me and told me my French was fantastic and I should be proud of how much I’ve accomplished since coming here.

Later in the afternoon I went around home visits with my counterpart, Nassirivu, who I’ve aptly nicknamed “The Queen of Donghol-Touma”. She gets things done and is a force to be reckoned with. People like her are what make this worth it and they’re what make being here possible. Us and one of our “Sage Femmes”, Djenabou, set off and spent five hours walking around and meeting with families and women to discuss HIV, the importance of visiting the health centers during pregnancy, and inviting people to my sensibilization on mosquito net use and malaria for next Saturday. I finally was able to contribute to these sensibilizations and conversations, and actually was understanding a good amount of what was being said around me. Eventually we headed back home, a bag full of gifted mangoes, oranges, and carrots.

As we walked back, my coworkers spoke in rapid Pular to one another. Tired, I fell silent and let my mind wander. Broken from my train of thought, Djenabou looked at me and asked “What are you thinking about?”

“Amerique?” Nassirivu guessed with a smile.

I laughed and shook my head. “No, I’m thinking about how happy I am to be working here with you two.” in a mixture of Pular and French that I have become so accustomed to.

Nassirivu squeeze my arm “moi aussi” she said back at me.

Peace Corps isn’t a walk in the park. Some aspects of it will get easier, like the language, while others will get harder, like missing home. But as Megan said, “the sun will rise tomorrow.”

“Most of life is hell. It’s filled with failure and loss. People disappoint you. Dreams don’t work out. Innocent journalists die. And the best moments in life, when everything comes together, are few and fleeting. But you will never get to the next great moment if you don’t keep going. So, that’s what I do. I keep going.”

I have this quote written above my bed, and I read it now every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to bed. It’s from an old TV show that Sigourney Weaver starred in, who’s name escapes me. The show absolutely tanked and didn’t even finish out a full season. But this quote, though not upbeat or exactly motivational, does inspire resilience in me. It reminds me to remember that when you’re going through hell, keep going…

…. Even if it’s on a road never traveled.

#peacecorps #travel #keepgoing #theroadnevertraveled #guinea #howiseepc #homesick #resilience

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brightestwitch333 · 7 years ago

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he is eleven and he knows he has chosen his own path. as soon as he was freed from them his first act was one of defiance. this will not be lost on them. he hasn’t written home telling them yet but he knows they already know. they have connections. & so he isn’t surprised when he sees the family owl fly directly to him, a bright red envelope attached to it’s leg. he unties it with shaking fingers, terrified of what he knows it will say and at the same time completely unbothered. the triumph of the previous night has not completely faded from his mind, he knew there would be repercussions and had deemed them worth paying. the envelope begins to smoke and his new friend, james, glances at him questioningly. there’s no use putting it off and so he opens it. his mother’s voice rings out, and despite himself he flinches at the sound of it. she calls him a disappointment, a blood traitor, a friend of mudbloods and filth. she claims that he has disgraced his family, that he has forever tarnished the noble name of the blacks. her rant goes on and on and he does his best to appear unbothered, although his face is a sickly shade of white. not until the very end, when suddenly his father’s voice cuts in, does he let his mask down. for while his mother was screeching anger and righteous indignation and terrible wrath, his father is low and cold, hard and sharp. he does not waste time screaming insults but instead, in the quietest, most terrifying voice possible, promises that sirius will pay, and then he whispers in french, toujours pur, always pure, the family motto. & that is what shakes sirius down to the bones. the envelope disintegrates in his hands and he, with all the effort in the world, manages to control himself. the whole great hall is staring at him, and over at the slytherin table he sees his cousins laughing and jeering. they booed him last night. they know what is to come to him. he tears his eyes away from them and instead glances at james who is gaping at him in open mouthed astonishment, his horror evident in his eyes. the teachers are whispering hurriedly to each other, no doubt wondering what to do and how to regain order, a stern looking witch with her hair in a tight bun has her eye trained in him, concern coloring her face. a pudgy little boy is staring at him, apparently not noticing that the yolk of his egg that is dripping onto his lap. slowly the great hall resumes to its usual chatter, although people continue to shoot him looks, intermittently. another first year gyrffindor, a boy with scruffy brown hair, warm eyes and a scarred face, keeps staring at him intently, making him slightly uncomfortable. “you okay, mate?” james asks solicitously, concern shadowing his face. sirius, swallowing down a lump in his throat and wishing more than anything to move past the moment, nods silently and attempts to continue with their earlier conversation as if nothing had happened. james, although still looking sickened, allows it without comment and slowly the pace returns and it is as if nothing has happened. at the end of that day, though, it is clear that something indeed did happen. by the end of that first day, although he did not know it yet, he found another family. a family that would not shame him and punish him and and hurt him. a family that would not send him howlers and thinly veiled threats. a family that would love him unconditionally. james, his new friend who would become his brother. remus, the scruffy boy with the intent stare who would become his lover. & peter, the pudgy little boy who would become one of his best friends. the day he knew that he would lose his family, was the the day he found a new one.

he is twelve and he comes back from summer break with a bruised face and even more bruised ego. he spent all summer paying for the crime of being sorted into gryffindor the previous year and nobody can miss the stiffness of which he walks and the way he pulls his robes around him to conceal his injuries. he can’t quite hide his black eye and busted lip but he manages with the help of James to heal it before any of the teachers notice. he is sullen and moody to his friends and shrinks back when they touch him. but mostly he is worried about regulus. he doesn’t know what to hope for. he wants regulus to join him in gryffindor, to go down the right path because he knows he has it in him. but he doesn’t know if regulus can handle the sting of rejection the way he can, if he can take the blows that accompany righteousness. & so as regulus is sorted anxiety clenches his heart. it seems to take forever, every second a minute. regulus is trembling and suddenly reg blurts out “no!” causing sirius to wonder what exactly he was refusing. after regulus’ exclaimation the sorting hat almost immediately calls out slytherin. as regulus takes off the hat he seems both relieved and doubtful and sirius manages to catch his eyes. sad grey eyes reflect each other for a moment before regulus turns away. it shatters sirius. after dinner he runs after him and catches up before regulus can leave, he asks regulus why he said no. after a moment of hesitation regulus confides that the hat thought he belonged in gryffindor. they both stare at each other for a moment & suddenly brothers are hugging each other tightly, both immensely aware of the implications of this day and both clutching each other like nothing would ever be the same again. & it wouldn’t. but for a moment it doesnt matter and they are just brothers, holding on tight, fearing the moment they’ll be forced to let go. the next day the family owl lands near regulus, showering him in packages and letters of pride and before it flies away it pecks sirius sharply, and rakes its talons down his cheek leaving a bloody gash, no doubt on his mother’s orders. the snub could not be more clear. but sirius could not care less.

he is thirteen and he can’t wait to get to school to escape them. he barely holding on. he’s finally deemed old enough to find a potential suitor and the parties he’s been forced to attend since childhood are even worse. after he failed to show the proper table manners at one such event, his mother made him balance books on his head for a solid 7 hours, charming a stick to hit him anytime he began to slouch. he hasn’t quite managed to shake off the habit and it seems to add several inches to his height. he sulks at the edge of parties, bored and sullen, he knows nobody will interest him. boring pure blooded girls who recite the same poison his parents do. besides, sirius isn’t interested in girls anyways, no the scruffy boy from first year has caught his eye, although neither of them will admit it yet, each sure that they are reading into it too much, letting their imaginations get the best of them. he is intensely unhappy and can not wait to return to school. but school only offers limited relief as the darkness and fighting afflicting the rest of the world slowly creeps in. his home and sanctuary is polluted, gradually and inconspicuously. & so he redoubles his efforts, if the world insists on being darker he insists on being brighter. his pranks get bolder, his laughs get louder, his energy triples. he will beat this world if it’s the last thing he does. & they almost succeed. him and the marauders, together they light the world on fire. they radiate with boundless energy, sirius and james in the lead, remus and peter close behind, intent on showing the world what they’ve got. & so together they practice advanced magic and attempt daring stunts. their bonds of brotherhood standing steady against the weight of the world.

he is fourteen and he has run away from home for the first time, showing up on the potter’s doorstep at 2 am, bruised and battered. he offers no explanation for what happened but they don’t require one. it’s horrifyingly clear. they accept him in wordlessly, for he’s been their son since james brought him home first year for winter break. he stays for only three days, just long enough to regroup and regather himself, despite the pleas of the potters for him to remain with them. he can’t, not yet. & so he returns to the home that imprisons him and allows justice to be served for running away. it is brutal but he can take it, he can hold on just a little longer for regulus. just a little longer. he repeats it like a mantra. just a little longer. once back at school sirius and remus finally find each other, years of hidden tension and pining spill over. they finally allow their true feelings to come out and they love each other fearlessly, with an intensity that suggests they both know their days are numbered. their love lights up a loveless world; the charming heir of the blacks, and the scruffy half blood, the lawless rebel and the broken werewolf, fate tying them together, assuring that their destinies will forever be intertwined. theirs is a love story written in the heavens, but one that will be lost between the stars and the moon, forever floating in empty space, beautiful and tragic, falling through the cracks. remus and sirius walk a parallel line, side by side forever and ever, but destined to never truly cross.

he is fifteen and he has made a dire mistake. he can’t redeem himself for this, and although he doesn’t regret it, not really, he does regret hurting his love. he told snape a secret that wasn’t his to share. snape, the disgusting boy who sought the darkness, the boy who had a choice and still chose wrong. the boy who wasn’t pressured and beaten and threatened into joining the dark side but rather did it on his own. unlike sirius, unlike regulus, nobody was forcing him down the wrong path, instead he chose it willingly. he did it of his own accord. sirius HATED him for it. it seemed so unfair. he had been cruel to them all their school years and he stood for everything sirius was against. for sirius it was personal. & so he told that scheming, vindictive jerk to go to the whooping willow during the full moon. served him right for always being in their business, for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. he wasn’t thinking of the consequences for remus, of what would happen to him if he had accidentally hurt snape, of how he would feel. he was only thinking about getting snape back, of revenge. but james, stupid noble james, who would save his worst enemy, found out. he chose to play the hero. he saved snape, risking his own neck along the way. and they were all so mad at him. james was horrified that he was willing to let snape die, and even more horrified that he would dare use remus for that pursuit. remus was beyond angry, he was downright furious. he had entrusted sirius with his deepest secret and he had almost blown it. sirius had tried to use him to hurt someone else, and that was remus’ worst fear. peter, too, was disgusted. remus immediantly told him that they were done, and refused to speak to him. james was cool towards him and clearly took remus’s side but he couldn’t bring himself to hate his best friend and so he forgave him reluctantly. the thing was, sirius didn’t regret it if he was honest with himself. he still thought that snape deserved it. sirius had been raised in a black and white world, he managed to escape the poison of his family but couldn’t quite change his perspective. in his mind snape was evil and evil people get what they deserve. simple. but he did feel bad for hurting remus, that was never his intention. he apologized again and again and again. nothing he did could fix it but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. eventually remus caved in, and they were friends again, although nothing more. remus wasn’t ready to go that far. sirius accepted it reluctantly, it was better than nothing.

he is sixteen and he is free but not really. he’ll never be free. he wakes up in cold sweats, throat raw from yelling, blankets twisted around him from his thrashing. he’ll never be free. he finally left them, his family. but they’re still with him. you can cut off branches but you can never leave your roots. he flinches when people raise their voice at him, he shudders at the lightest touch. when he looks in the mirror his reflection mocks him. because he sees his mother’s darkness in his eyes and his father in the sharp, hard set of his jaw. he is still one of them. he never knew of their capacity for cruelty until he tried to leave. he never knew how truly terrible they could be. he is so thankful for james and his family, he can’t even begin to describe his appreciation. he owes them an explanation, he knows he does. he showed up half dead on their doorstep, beaten to a pulp. blood traitor carved across his arm, nothing behind his eyes. listless and broken. but he can’t give it, he can’t bring himself to tell them everything that happened. he can’t even think about it himself. & they understand. they are horrified and sickened and worried but they understand. his friends rally around him and with the potters he truly is free. he truly is happy. he can’t control his blood but he can control his choices. & he chooses them 100% of the time. & that’s all that matters. now that he is free from them he can finally be his own person without fear of retribution. he can finally express his beliefs and values and self.

he is seventeen and he is absolutely terrified. the war is more intense than ever. his brother is a death eater. he sees the mark on his arm. he has failed him, but it’s too late for amends. it is his final year at hogwarts and he is scared to leave his safe haven, to make his way in the real world. school is no longer simply about receiving an education, now it is about training for battle. he is not a student but rather a soldier. & so he trains like his life depends on it, because it does. finally among his chosen family, among his best friends, that is where he is set free. he knows of the war, he’s aware of the consequences and the weight and all of the choices, but he is ready, he is prepared. for him life is black and white, there is no grey and he is ready to fight for what he knows is right. he doesn’t truly come alive unless he is in the action, unless he is fighting for his beliefs. so despite the deaths and the tragedies and the war he still believes. he believes in the ideal, in hope and equality and righteousness. in a way he is naive in his views, in his boundless, unrestrained hope. he looks into the future and sees gold, he sees possibility. he has no idea of the imminent collapse, that things must get much much worse before they get better. for now he just enjoys his last year before he enters the real world, his last year of peace. sirius black will take the world by storm, but the world is destined to have the last word.

#harry potter #the marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #wolfstar #peter pettigrew

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sinrau · 4 years ago

Link

How the American Idiot Baffles, Bewilders, and Horrifies the World

Warning: this essay might make you angry. I want to share with you the kinds of conversations that I have with people from around the world lately. Maybe that will give Americans a window into how bewildered, baffled, and horrified the world is by what they’ve let their country become. If you’re American, you may want to say, “But I’m not stupid!” Fair enough, you may not be. But the entire world can hardly be wrong either. The question is whether in America, stupidity has become a kind of institution, way of life, cultural value — whether it’s the only system left that governs anything at all. The question isn’t about you — the well-meaning, intelligent, good American. It’s about systemic stupidity, going thermonuclear.

I have these conversations almost every day. With people from Europe, Asia, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and beyond. And today’s particular conversation went a little bit like this.

“Humair!” Claudine cried, spying me strolling into the park with Snowy the magic wonder puppy.

“We have a question pour vous.”

I sighed. It was too early for this.

“We want to know — ” asked Helen. And then she paused.

“Go play, buddy!” I said to Snowy. Off he sped, overjoyed, towards the doggies running happy circles around the green. I, on the other hand, was exasperated.

“Well?” I asked. “It’s not another question about Americans, is it?”

They tittered. They were from all around the world, my new friends at the dog park. Claudine from France, Wolfgang from Germany, Helen from Oxford, Massimo from Italy. Everywhere but America. And watching America imploding, they had question after question. For me.

“Mate,” said the Ben, the London copper. “They want to know — “

Claudine cut in. “Don’t they teach Americains about fascism at school? We don’t understand it.”

“Don’t understand what?” I asked, still baffled. All I wanted to do was play with my dog.

Helen said: “Look. We’re all taught about fascism in grade school. How it goes from demonizing minorities to concentration camps to mass death. So…”

I waited.

“So why don’t Americans get it?” I asked, finally.

They all nodded.

Wolfgang cut in. “I’m German. Of course we are taught about fascism. It is something we still feel guilty for. But America…they act as if they are not taught about it in school. Aren’t they? When you go to school in America, don’t they teach you this about fascism? The cycle, the sequence, from hate to — to death?”

“Yes!,” cried Claudine. “That is the question we have.” She pronounced question in the French way. “It isn’t sensible. Americans must not be taught about fascism in school.”

“They are,” I said. “Just like you. They’re taught about the Nazis when they are children. And then again when they are young adults. The appeasement, the escalation, the steady trajectory towards concentration camps and mass death.”

Massimo frowned. “Impossible. If they are taught about fascism, then why don’t they understand they are going through fascism?”

Helen said, in her dry, precise, posh way: “Exactly. They can’t be taught about fascism. Look at America. It has undergone just what we’re taught. First, minorities are hated, then camps are built, and finally, mass death happens.”

“Mass death,” muttered Wolfgang, darkly.

Helen replied, “Isn’t that what a hundred thousand dead of Coronavirus, and counting, many of whom are minorities, is? OK. Trump didn’t start Coronavirus. But he is totally indifferent to it killing people. So are his Red States. They even cheer it on. That’s exactly what we’re taught: fascism is indifference to mass death.”

“Well — “ I began.

“Stupid,” said Ben, like a copper talking to a drunk driver. “They’re just stupid. They don’t wear face masks, even though it could stop spreading Coronavirus. They protest lockdown, even though it could save lives. They go to pool parties during a pandemic. They don’t care about the greater good. What else is that, except stupidity?”

“No, Ben,” Wolfgang replied, in his clipped way. “They can’t just be stupid. Stupid is not knowing something. But Americans are taught about this just like we are, according to him.” He pointed at me.

Ben replied, laughing. “No, mate. Stupid is when you know something, but you pretend not to know it, anyways.”

That one cut them like a knife. They all fell silent.

Ben expanded on his theory. “Everyone’s taught about fascism by now. Think about the kinds of people I arrest. Not shoot, like an American copper, by the way. They know what the law is. They just…break it. Stupid. Americans know what fascism is. They just won’t say the word, even when Trump is taking over their country. Stupid.”

Massimo objected. “But that doesn’t make sense! How can a person be educated about fascism and not speak up about it?!”

He was baffled. They all were. Was Ben right?

I said, weakly, “Guys. I think Ben is right. Maybe Americans are just stupid. Obviously not all of them, not every single one. Certainly not oppressed minorities, who are simply trying to survive in a fascist state. I mean something more like the Red Stater, who prides himself in not wearing a face mask. The spring breaker who jumps in a pool during a pandemic. Unfortunately, there are enough of them — the American Idiots. They’re educated about fascism, just like you. But they just don’t…just don’t…”

“Seem to care?” cut in Helen.

“Maybe they’re not able to care,” said Wolfgang. “Maybe if they say it, they will pay a price, like in Germany before. You couldn’t really challenge the Nazis much. They would beat you up, you would lose your job, maybe your home. Maybe it’s like that in America.”

Claudine laughed. “It can’t be like that in America.”

“It is for minorities,” said Ben, gruffly. A real copper. He hates two things most of all: injustice, and violence.

“OK, OK,” Claudine sighed. “But the average American can say fascism and no one will get him, no?”

Massimo nodded. “Of course they can. That is the point. Right now they can say it. But if Trump steals the election, then they won’t be able to say it. He will build secret police forces and crack down and monitor people. They prevent not being able to say it then by saying it now.”

“But they don’t,” said Wolfgang, reminding them of the question.

“Like I said,” Ben replied, “Stupid.”

Helen, the most analytical, said. “So far, we have three theories. One, Americans are uneducated. We ruled that out. Umair says they’re taught about fascism just like us. Two, Americans can’t say this is fascism, because they’ll pay a price for it. We ruled that out, too, and decided they prevent Trump taking over by saying it now.

That leaves us with one. Ben’s theory. They’re just…”

Ben grinned. He didn’t even have to say it.

“Fou,” said Claudine. Crazy.

“Vahnsinn,” said Wolfgang. Insane.

Massimo spiraled his finger around his head.

“Come on, guys.” Helen needed to play devil’s advocate. There had to be a better reason than this.

She looked at me, expectantly.

“Guys,” I said. “I’ve been trying to teach Americans this is fascism for years now. And they still refuse to say the word. Trump keeps doing awful things. They refuse to say the word. Just this week, he purged the Voice of America, he used an actual Nazi symbol in his campaign ads, he banned entire groups of people from entering the country, he declared himself anti-anti-fascist… and that’s just in the last week or two. And—

“They refuse to say the word.

“Honestly? I’m on Ben’s side, even if I don’t want to be. Maybe they are just stupid. Isn’t denial a kind of ignorance? A deliberate one? And what’s ignorance but…”

“Stupid,” Ben said, grinning.

That brought us full circle.

“Do you mean,” Claudine said, pressing, “that they are really taught that fascism is all these things that have already happened in America? The camps, bans, raids, purges…the…the hate coming from the President? The President tweeting a supporter yelling, ‘White Power’?”

I nodded.

“They’re really taught that fascism is a cycle that goes from camps to mass death?” Asked Wolfgang, still suspicious. “Like the mass death of Coronavirus? They’re really taught that mass death is the goal, culmination, desire, of fascism?”

I nodded.

“Actually?” Massimo said. “They’re actually taught all this? That fascism is everything that has happened in America over the last few years.” He struggled for the words. “They learn this in school?”

I nodded, and shrugged. “Of course they do.”

“They really learn that a fascist is someone who thinks of themselves as superhuman, and doesn’t care if the subhumans die,” asked Helen, carefully, narrowing her eyes, trying to make the definition as precise as possible. “Just like all the logic behind reopening all those Red States? They’re even taught the moral logic of fascism’s cruelty and brutality and violence?”

I nodded. “They’re even taught that.”

“ARRRUUGH!!!!,” Claudine shouted, stamping her feet in frustration, and throwing her hands up to the sky.

They all laughed. And then they joined her. All except Ben.

“It’s like I said,” Ben chuckled. “There’s no other explanation for it. You’ll be much less frustrated once you understand that Americans are…”

“Trump’s going to win again, isn’t he?” asked Wolfgang, worried, before Ben could finish.

“You mean he’s going to steal the election.” Massimo corrected him.

“They’re going to let him get away with it,” added Helen, frowning.

“Because they still don’t challenge it as fascism, which it is, and they should know it, because they are taught it, but they don’t?” finished Claudine, trying to unravel all the knots America ties a thinking person’s mind in now.

“AUUURGGH!!!” She shouted again.

I laughed. They all did. It was frustrating. “Guys. Here’s one thing I’ve learned over the last five years. Forget about it, OK?

“Nobody — and I mean nobody — can make Americans understand things they deliberately don’t want to understand. They learn all this at school. From fascism, to the hygiene that can save lives during a pandemic. About the greater good. But they are still in willful denial. That only leaves one way out.”

“They’re going to have to learn it the hard way,” said Ben grinning, emphasizing each word.

Wolfgang looked at me, his eyes wide. Massimo stared past me. Claudine looked at me as if to plead. Italian. German. French. They knew all this in a deeper way, the price of it, the ruin of it, of traveling to the place beyond stupidity, that has no name, how hard it is to return from that wasteland, what horrors take place there.

I looked back at them with a kind of sadness in my eyes. I’d seen it, too. In country after country, of poorer people. Strongmen, violence, hate, brutality, ruin. What made us different from Americans? We’d all seen it happen to us. We understood the price of denial, the bitter reality of fascism, in a way that Americans had yet to learn, and seemed to be begging daring history to teach them. Not just from textbooks. But from life itself.

“This is how history repeats itself,” I said.

The puppies circled around, laughing in delight. The sun shone over the ancient city of poets and kings, revolutionaries and dreamers. And on this little patch of green, where I’d made these unlikely new friends, I understood something new. These gentle, decent, humane people, I’d come to know and love a little bit, wanted only the best for everyone they met. And nothing surprised them more than people who didn’t. Like Americans. That was what it had always meant to be civilized, in the final analysis. That is why we shared something, me this frail exile, and these gentle, wise Europeans. And America, perhaps, had never crossed that line at all.

Umair June 2020

#IFTTT #WordPress

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fashiontrendin-blog · 7 years ago

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The Complete Etiquette Guide For The Modern Gentleman

https://fashion-trendin.com/the-complete-etiquette-guide-for-the-modern-gentleman/

The Complete Etiquette Guide For The Modern Gentleman

Chatting about etiquette seems a quaint, old-fashioned concept, like courtship, landline telephones and Myspace. It’s a stuffy old word that conjures up images of sour-faced aristocrats sneering down their bespectacled noses at people for holding fish knives incorrectly, or something equally arbitrary and ridiculous.

Unless you’re a researcher for a BBC period drama or a butler for the Queen – and we’re willing to hazard a guess that you’re neither – these kinds of fusty, Victorian-era rules have little place in today’s society. However, in a broader sense, etiquette is still remarkably relevant. Because, well, we should all aim not to be a douchebag on a daily basis.

Consider this comprehensive guide your virtual finishing school, helping to equip you with all the essential knowledge and modern manners required to go out into the big wide world without making a complete and utter prat of yourself.

The History Of Etiquette

The story goes that when King Louis XIV’s gardener at Versailles discovered noblemen were trampling his flowers to death by walking through the garden, he put up signs, or ‘etiquets’, to warn them to keep off the grass.

But it turns out 16th-century French noblemen aren’t the most obedient bunch and eventually the king himself had to insist that nobody was to go beyond the boundaries set by the gardener’s signs.

Over time, the meaning of the word evolved to include various other codes of conduct, until we eventually arrived what we define as etiquette today – the rules of engagement for everything from a business meeting to Netflix and chill.

What Does Etiquette Mean For The Modern Man?

When you consider how much social norms have evolved over recent years, it’s little wonder the traditional model of ‘gentlemanliness’ looks more than a little outdated. Dress codes have all-but dissolved. We communicate more online than in person. Sexual politics and gender equality are making some long-due progress. And each cultural paradigm shift has left our old approach to etiquette in drastic need of an overhaul.

Luckily, the foundations of good manners boil down to common sense and simply being a nice person. In short: engage your brain and take a moment to consider what consequences your words or actions might have.

For example: is that woman you’re about to congratulate/offer a seat to definitely pregnant? Make sure you know the answer to that question without a shadow of a doubt before you go trying to do anything ‘chivalrous’.

Etiquette For Different Settings & Situations

Unsurprisingly, the way you behave when wining and dining a potential love interest is going to be a bit different from how you conduct yourself when playing video games with your mates – we hope. In light of that, here are some key social settings and a handful of protocol pointers to help you be the best you in each one.

Dating Decorum

In this post-Weinstein age, most men have probably given their behaviour with the opposite sex a quick MOT. The #MeToo movement is brilliant and long overdue, but it’s a mistake to think that it’s changed dating etiquette. Because that shit was never okay. Still, if your next Tinder meet-up has you more nervous than usual, follow these simple rules to boost your chance of a second.

1. Offer to pay on the first date, but never insist. If she wants to go 50-50, the gentlemanly thing to do is to agree. Or the other way to play it is to forget gender politics completely and work on this rule: if you requested the pleasure of their company, then you should pay. Done.

2. Take the initiative in organising the first date. Few things are less sexy than asking: “So, what do you fancy doing?”

3. Even if you can see instantly that a blind date is a blind alley, stick around for a couple of drinks at least. It won’t kill you, and they might be feeling the same.

4. Message the day after a date, if not sooner. Even a disastrous one.

5. Use a recent, representative profile photo on dating apps. That snap from five years ago when you still had hair and hadn’t discovered Deliveroo yet doesn’t count.

6. Message first and say something specific pertaining to their profile. As long as it’s not “nice rack”.

7. Offer your date the seat with the best view. Or whichever seat she/he wants for that matter.

8. Put your phone away, FFS.

9. If you’re in a restaurant, treat service staff respectfully. Being rude to waiters and waitresses, even bad ones, is a dead giveaway that you are a wrong ‘un. Your date will notice, and so will everyone else.

10. Don’t leave more than a day between messages if you want the correspondence to continue.

At The Office

You may not like it, but the grim reality is that you probably spend more time with your co-workers than you do any other person in your life. With that in mind, it’s probably best to do everything in your power to ensure that they don’t want to dropkick you through a cubicle wall every time they see your face. These simple codes of conduct should help keep the passive-aggressive Post-It notes to a minimum.

1. Don’t follow up on unanswered emails and texts within 24 hours. If it’s especially urgent, call them.

2. Don’t passive-aggressively CC somebody superior into an email chain. It’s the ultimate arsehole move (aside from BCCing). Even if you achieve your desired result, they will remember, and they will continue to make your life difficult in whatever way they can.

3. Don’t call people unless it’s really, genuinely urgent. Phoning someone is like walking into their office unannounced, putting your feet up on their desk and saying: “So, I just wanted to talk to you about…” Whatever they’re in the middle of, you just interrupted it.

4. Return phone calls. If you don’t want to speak to them, email. Or ring back when you know they can’t answer.

5. Don’t call people “mate”. I’m not your mate, pal.

6. Stand up when being introduced or when introducing yourself.

7. Shake hands firmly, but don’t overdo it. You’re not impressing anyone with your bone-crushing, kung-fu death grip, you’re just making yourself look insecure.

8. Don’t bitch about other co-workers. You’re not an overly manicured receptionist from a 1970s American soap opera. If you’ve got a problem, ask for a meeting or coffee and raise it with them.

9. Never throw someone under the bus in a meeting. If you need to give someone a suggestion relating to the way they conduct their work, do it one-to-one, in private.

10. You might love the smell of those steamed kippers you brought in for lunch. The rest of the office, not so much.

Out & About

If you’re no stranger to hearing phrases like “I can’t take you anywhere”, or are responsible for almost all of your friendship group’s collective eye rolls, you might want to hang around this section for a minute. These are the need-to-know tips for making it through a night out, or even just a trip to the shops, without showing yourself (or anyone else) up.

1. If you’re sitting in the priority seat anywhere (trains, cinemas, waiting rooms) and don’t need to be, then get your arse off it, pronto. Staring at a newspaper or your phone is not an excuse for staying put.

2. Hold the door open for women, men, children, dogs and anybody else just behind you who would be inconvenienced and possibly injured otherwise. But don’t hold it for them so far ahead that they feel pressured to do a funny little jog out of politeness. That’s not helpful, it’s awkward.

3. Don’t look at your phone in the cinema, dimly lit exhibition or the like. Even if you’re bored. You may as well light a distress flare.

4. Don’t broadcast videos or music in public. When did this become acceptable? Answer: it never did.

5. Use common sense when deciding whether or not to give your seat up for someone. Most will appreciate the offer, but some may think you’re insinuating that he or she is out of shape or old. If in doubt, don’t take up a seat in the first place.

6. Need to get out of your window seat to use the aeroplane toilet? Gently tap the person next to you on the shoulder to let them know you want out. Don’t try to clamber over them while they sleep. If you hit turbulence and end up in their lap, it won’t go down well.

7. Give the person in front of you some space at the cash point.

8. Don’t bellow down your phone in public places. Nobody cares about your conversation apart from you and maybe the person on the other end of the line. Maybe.

9. Don’t outstay your welcome in the coffee shop. The purchase of one flat white at 9:30am does not entitle you to a rent-free workspace for the remainder of the day/week/month.

10. Control your temper. Flying off the handle in public makes you look like a toddler having a tantrum. Probably not the best vibe to replicate as a fully-grown, adult man.

Manners With Mates

‘Manners’ and ‘mates’ aren’t two words that always go together. But while it may be cool to laugh at each other and tell mum jokes in each other’s company, there are still a few things you should bear in mind when it comes to how you treat even your nearest and dearest pals.

1. Pay your way. Skipping rounds or over-ordering when you know you’re splitting the bill is textbook douchebag behaviour. And while nobody said anything, everybody noticed, and they all hate you for it.

2. If someone tells you some good news – a new job, the birth of their child – don’t steal their thunder by publicly congratulating them on social media before they’ve posted it themselves. They might not want to announce it yet or in that way. And whatever you do, don’t post the picture of their baby that they sent you. At least not without asking.

3. It doesn’t matter if you’re 5-0 down after 89 minutes and your opponent is showboating like it’s a Barcelona training session, or 1-0 down after five minutes and they’re just passing it around the back. Never, ever quit a game of Fifa. This is an absolutely inviolable rule.

4. Got a pal who’s moving house? If you live nearby and are free that weekend, you’re duty bound to help them out. Just as they are duty-bound to get the pizza and cans in once you’re finished.

5. A mate’s ex is always off limits. Now, in a year, in five years. Even if they’ve said they don’t mind, they do.

6. Don’t borrow money unless you have to. And when you do, always make sure it is paid back on time and in full.

7. Never under any circumstances poke fun at a friend to make yourself look good. If you do, then you’re not much of a friend, are you?

8. You know that mate who always pays up front for the five-a-side pitch rental or the stag do accommodation? Reimburse them promptly and next time, pip him to it.

9. In a group of mates, don’t let one person do all the organisational work. If you’re going on a group holiday, help to plan. Don’t just sit back. They’re probably getting sick of organising your life for you.

10. Granted, you have a little more leeway with your mates when it comes to rocking up late than you would on a date, but don’t waste their time. Because they don’t have any more of it than you do.

On Matters Of Style

Tom Ford once famously said that “dressing well is a form of good manners”. And while that may sound like a load of codswallop, there are some links to be made between good etiquette and good dressing. So, before you rock up to your next black tie optional soiree in a hoodie and a pair of joggers, take some time to reacquaint yourself with the rules.

1. In a modern world of caps that are as well-cut (and often from the same material) as your best overcoat, taking your hat off indoors is somewhat outdated. Just use the head it’s sitting on to decide when and where it’s acceptable. A wedding: no. In a burger bar: yes.

2. ‘Black tie optional’ doesn’t give you carte blanche to rock up to an event in swimming trunks, a football shirt and a cowboy hat. It just means you have the option to wear either a dinner suit or a dark suit.

3. Giving unsolicited style advice is the same as saying: “I don’t like what you’re wearing.”

4. Like your friend’s new jacket? Great, tell them. A compliment can make someone’s day. However, imitation is not the sincerest form of flattery. Ask before ripping them off and buying the same one.

5. Take off your sunglasses indoors and at night. No exceptions.

6. If you’re going somewhere nice for drinks, don’t be the guy who gets the whole group turned away because he decided his right to wear running shoes was more important than everyone else’s night out.

7. When it comes to tailoring, know your measurements like you know your PIN number. The fit is everything. “That’ll do,” should not even be in your vocabulary.

8. If you’re unsure of how formal an event is, always dress up rather than down. You’d rather be the only guy in a shirt and tie than the only guy in a T-shirt and shorts.

9. It’s common knowledge that female guests should never wear white to a wedding so as not to steal attention away from the bride. As a man, you should do the same. We’re not saying don’t wear a white dress (that much should be obvious), but do avoid stepping on the groom’s toes style-wise.

10. If your partner asks whether or not something looks good on them, it always does.

The Gym Code

For a newcomer, the gym can be a confusing place. What does this medieval-looking contraption do? Is it socially acceptable to take my boxers off in the changing room? Why is that giant man with the spider web tattoo on his chin grunting like that? The answers to the majority of these sorts of questions can be found right here. Stick to these gym etiquette tips, and you’ll blend right in. Well, maybe not with the spider tattoo guy.

1. Don’t play on your phone while hogging a machine or bench. If the gym is busy, let someone else sit in between sets rather than taking up space fiddling on Facebook.

2. Always wipe down any equipment after you’ve finished using it. Nobody wants to find a sweaty arse-print planted on the seat of whatever machine they are trying to use.

3. Put things away once you’re finished with them. Barbells are the perfect shape for someone to trip over and hurt themselves. Don’t let it be your fault.

4. Don’t roar and loudly drop your weights at the end of a set. You aren’t the Incredible Hulk, even if you do smell a bit like him.

5. See those big floor-to-ceiling mirrors? They’re for studying your form. And by that we don’t mean the horseshoe shape of your triceps, big guy.

6. Remember those video game levels where you’d have to make it past a series of swinging obstacles or be knocked to your death? That’s the environment you’re replicating for everyone when you do your kettlebell workout next to the treadmills. Find your own space and leave others to theirs.

7. Be clean and wear clean clothes. Nobody wants or deserves a waft of your #gains every time you lift your arms up to do a rep. Your gym kit bag should be emptied every time you use it.

8. Stay out of a lifter’s ‘bubble’. Unless you’re spotting them, you need to give anyone using the squat rack, bench, or lifting platform a buffer zone of a few feet.

9. Don’t stare.

10. Never give out unsolicited training advice, or if someone gives some to you, simply smile, thank them and continue your workout exactly how you were doing it before they stuck their nose in.

Net-iquette

It’s easy to forget that interactions on social media are probably the most visible and public interactions we have. Maybe you’re attempting to slide into someone’s DMs. Perhaps you just want to join the #conversation. Whatever. Brush up your online etiquette using the advice below and avoid making a twit of yourself on Twitter, or a dick anywhere else.

1. Learn your privacy settings inside out before getting trigger happy. Do you honestly want your boss (or potential employer) to see that photo of you drinking Carlsberg out of a shoe at university? In fact…

2. Think carefully before letting co-workers, bosses or relatives into your social media bubble. Sometimes what is seen cannot be unseen.

3. When it comes to online homewreckers, Instagram is up there with Ashley Madison. What are you gaining from leaving a double tap and a tongue emoji on a randomer’s post? Nothing. Cut it out.

4. Don’t hang your dirty laundry out to dry online. Your arguments are your business. Don’t make them everyone else’s; you’ll always come off worse.

5. Don’t tag people in photos they clearly wouldn’t want to be tagged in and don’t post a picture just because you look good if your mate or, worse, significant other doesn’t.

6. Keep your politics to yourself (or at least certain times of day on Twitter). There’s no better way to put people’s backs up than with incessant political rants.

7. Not everyone is as interested in your baby as you are.

8. Had a few drinks? Fine, as long as you don’t start posting. It’s the drunk dialling of the modern day and equally hideous.

9. Don’t fire out friend requests to people who don’t know you personally without a note explaining who you are. If you do send unsolicited friend requests to strangers, don’t be surprised when you don’t get anything back.

10. Don’t like or comment on old photos or posts. It’s weird and stalker-ish.

As A Guest

There are special rules for when you’re in somebody else’s home. So before you go barging in there with your half bottle of supermarket wine, traipsing mud and dirt onto the hallway carpet, take a minute to get familiar with the manners that maketh the guest, or expect never to return.

1. Don’t even think about arriving empty-handed, even if the host hasn’t asked you to bring anything. A decent bottle of wine is never unappreciated.

2. Offer to help with dinner (or anything for that matter). Nine times out of 10 your host won’t let you get your hands dirty, but it’s the thought that counts, eh?

3. If you’re staying over, don’t turn the guest room into a bomb site with used underwear and wet towels strewn about the floor.

4. Familiarise yourself with the house rules. Are shoes allowed? What dishes can and can’t go in the dishwasher? Should you leave the door unlocked? Get to know it all straight away to make your presence as stress-free as possible.

5. Don’t arrive too early. This is the perfect way to freak your host out.

6. Equally, be careful not to outstay your welcome.

7. If you have stayed anywhere for a prolonged period, offer to take your host out for dinner or at least cook as a way of saying thank you. If in a pinch, a bottle of their favourite spirit wouldn’t go amiss.

8. Pack a dressing gown. You don’t want to have to jog nervously from the bathroom to the bedroom every morning, bollocks to the breeze, covering your plums with both hands.

9. Don’t expect your hosts to cater to any ridiculous dietary requirements you may have. Allergies? Fine. But “Oh sorry, I can eat that. It’s got salt in it.” Get out.

10. At the end of your stay, make sure the room you stayed in is spotless, strip the bed and offer to load the linen into the washing machine.

As A Host

As a host, your primary aim is to make your guests feel at home and leave wishing they could stay longer. Here are a few hosting etiquette hints to help keep you on the right track and ensure that people go away talking about their visit for all the right reasons.

1. Always greet your guests at the door and make them feel welcome in your home immediately.

2. Take people’s coats and jackets for them and tell them where they are should they need them.

3. Circulate, participate in conversations and introduce your guests to one another, especially anyone who has come on their own and may not know anyone.

4. Make sure everyone’s drinks are topped up. Half-pissed guests are way easier to impress anyway.

5. If you’re having a large number of guests over, you can probably knock the ‘shoes off at the door’ policy on the head. There’s something a bit weird about a big party where nobody has their shoes on.

6. You shouldn’t be expected to cater to particularly unusual dietary habits, but it wouldn’t hurt to do a veggie option if you know that one or more of your guests aren’t meat lovers.

7. Don’t just play music you like, but don’t make it a free-for-all or you risk people cutting off songs halfway through to play their own. Assess the crowd and the mood and make a playlist accordingly.

8. If having guests to stay, make sure their room is tidy and that the bed linen is fresh.

9. Everyone loves a drink, but also ensure you’re stocked with alternatives for those who are driving and guests’ children. The last thing you want is a bunch of wasted kids running riot.

10. Always see your guests out and thank them for coming.

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bastardtravel · 7 years ago

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November 10, 2017. Athens, Greece.

I headed out to the google-recommended Syntagma square to see what it was. Turns out, it’s a little quasipark in front of a municipal building, which is not the Platonian ideal of “sightseeing”, but there was a decently sized hunger strike going on.

A local told me that the strikers are Syrian refugees who have become disconnected from their families traveling across Europe, since there are so few countries willing to accept refugees. They want the Greek government to… find them, somehow. Talk to the other European nations, track down, and reunite the refugee families.

Obviously, the Greek government said “That doesn’t even approach being our responsibility dude and also, how?” so they’ve been hunger striking for a week and a half in central Athens.

After telling me this, ironically, she recommended me some excellent local restaurants.

I hustled off to the remaining ruins in central Athens, Hadrian’s Arch and the Temple of Olympian Zeus:

Nice ruins, if you’re into that sort of thing. I also went to the Acropolis museum, which did not permit pictures. I took one anyway but my phone deleted it. Welp.

(imagine a picture of a sculpture from the Acropolis’ relief of the Gigantomachy, where Athena squadded up with a bunch of Nikes and made an afternoon of whooping rebellious giant ass. the picture was of a giant trying to climb back to his feet, li’l giant ding-a-ling fully visible. caption: “dont look so giant to me”)

Angling on down to the recommended restaurant (which was written entirely in deep Greek and I didn’t have a shot in hell of comprehending, let alone pronouncing), I stumbled onto this gem:

With the lamp and everything! I don’t know about you, but when I think fine dining, my mind goes right to the dude who liked to whack off in the marketplace.

no the other one

I’ve been eating well in Greece, better than in Italy, far better in Madrid, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

I didn’t even know there WERE that many meats, let alone that you could put them all on sticks. It was incredible. That pile of tomatoes is alleged to be a “Greek salad”, which I suppose I can be on board with. Lettuce is a waste of time. What I could not comprehend was how the tzatziki was spicy.

Despite my racial handicap, I like spicy food a lot, but tzatziki is just cucumbers and yogurt. What did you do? How did you do it? Tell me.

sorry fam but these meat sticks are fuckin incredible

I toured, I excursed, I fed, and it was almost happy hour at the hostel. I called it a day and headed back to prepare for the night.

On the roof I struck up a conversation with an Aussie lady who was a little older than me and much more sophisticated than the lads I’d met the previous night. She was in town for a pool tournament that I’m pretty sure she won. She had heard of shoeys, but found them disgusting. Right there with ya, sheila. Hoodies are jumpas and emo was never big in Australia.

The cast and crew from the previous night puttered out onto the roof, along with the four Australian kids.

“If it isn’t the ghost squad!” I shamed them.

“Right, sorry mate,” they said unconvincingly, “We were ganna go for a walkabout but we just passed roight out.”

C’est la vie. Nine of us around the table passed happy hour comparing cultures and travel stories, then made plans to reconvene on the roof terrace at 10.

“All roight lads,” one of the australian kids said, “Let’s go to the store, get some pay-sta for dinner. We’ll meet you back up at here at 10.”

“I’ll hold my breath,” I promised, perhaps a touch peevishly.

The Australian girl did not care for them. The word drongo may have been used. Also, bogan. They’re deeply contextual terms, but they did not seem affectionate.

She was fun, but we lost her before our vaguely defined plans to “find a club”. It was four of us now, me, the Austrian artist, a dude from Wisconsin, and a Canadian bro hellbent on crushing beers wherever they may hide.

The bouncer at the club was the first man I’d met in Europe who genuinely frightened me. He was discernibly Russian, had killed people recently, and there was no way his name wasn’t Ivan. An older guy with a neck like a bull, a shaved head, and bulging, rolling, crazy eyes.

“All right, I have 2 free tickets to get in,” said Wisconsin. “It’s 10 euros admission, so if we all pool up, it’s only 5 each.”

“Drinks are gonna be crazy expensive in there,” Austria said. “They always are in these dance clubs.”

“Yeah, but look at these girls!” Canada said. I did. They looked like almost all the girls I’d seen in Athens, which is to say, slight, dressed in black, purple lipstick, smoking cigarettes. I realized I was the only person wearing grey.

Wisconsin approached Ivan, told him about his free tickets. Ivan considered tearing his head from his shoulders and hurling it to Crete, then said, “Needink girls.”

“What?”

“Men pay unless come with girls,” he said, with finality.

My hustle sense started going crazy.

“All right,” said Canada, “Let’s go across the street, crush some beers, then find some girls to help us get in.”

I surveyed the crowd in line again. It would be possible, for like… two of us. Four rogue foreign dudes trying to skive their way into a trendy club for free, not even speaking the language? I didn’t love our odds.

While beers were crushed, I ordered a currywurst at a skeevy hot dog vendor. They gave me a hot dog sliced into disks with curry ketchup and limp french fries. Any port in a storm. I ate them with fond remembrance of the giant meat-stick platter I had put down six or seven hours before.

The boys asked some of the girls in the traditional American way: direct, civil, transactional. We looked like beggars. I cranked up the charming smile to 75% wattage and made another cluster of Grecian goth girls giggle, recounting how the terrifying man at the door gave us a provisional No Boys Allowed.

“We are waiting for someones, but they may not come,” they said. “If they do not come we will go with you.”

Well, there were two of them. Mathematically, that could’ve panned out, but it was obvious Ivan had no interest in acknowledging Wisconsin’s free tickets, or anything else beyond arterial spray.

“There are other clubs,” I said. “A block down the street. Let’s try that.”

We approached one that, to the undiscerning eye, looked like a ritzy Japanese restaurant. In the line, there were robots.

I suggested maybe one of the girls could get Daft Punk into the club. Meanwhile, Canada was hard at work ingratiating himself to one of the bartenders who was on his smoke break. He made us an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime offer: If we buy a 90 Euro bottle of liquor, we can get in for free.

“You figure, you’d be going in, and then buying like, what, five beers anyway…” Canada rationalized. It was getting too distasteful for me.

“Gentlemen, listen,” I said. “I think we should just go to a bar.”

“But the girls!”

“There are girls literally everywhere,” I said with an expansive hand gesture. “They’re more than half the population. There are beautiful women in bars, in parks, in the grocery store. We don’t need to be going through all this.”

The robot danced and flashed behind me, as if emphasizing my point.

“Yeah, me too,” said Austria.

The bartender returned like a particularly skilled fisherman that sensed his catch was about to slip the hook.

“Just tell them my name,” he said. “They will let you through, say I sent you.”

We thanked him and approached the bouncer, said the magic word.

“Who?” the bouncer said. I laughed, but nobody else thought it was funny.

“The bartender. He was just out here on break, he told us you’d let us in.”

The bouncer considered, then waved us through to the roped off front desk, whereupon a beautiful Asian girl leaned over the counter and said, “10 Euros each, please.”

“I’m out, fellas,” I said. “Hate to poop the party, but I was really only looking for like one drink anyway. I’ll see y’all back at the hostel.”

I crossed the street to talk to the girl we had spoken to previously, in front of the cigarette kiosk, who had originally suggested “Just go find girls! There are girls in every line and there are many clubs.”

“Hey, real quick,” I asked. “You’re working out here every night, right? You know these clubs?”

“Yes.”

“Are we trying to find girls for the opportunity to pay 10 Euros? Like, you find a girl, then you pay 10 Euros anyway?”

“No,” she said, looking puzzled. “You go in free with girls. 10 Euros for boys. But I don’t know this club well, it is new.”

“That’s what I figured. Good night.”

I headed back to the hostel and slept like a rock until the middle aged Asian man in the corner bunk had to scream into his cell phone at 6 AM in the bathroom.

I’m hesitant to talk too much shit here but it’s my blog and if you don’t like it you can GIT OWT so: that whole gendered dance club scene strikes me as kind of desperate. If you’re the kind of dude who’s about to pay $30-$50 for the opportunity to look at, not talk to, and maybe hook up with women, cut out the middleman and go to central Madrid.

Welp, that’s enough for one morning. Time to go exploring.

Love,

The Bastard

Athens: Ruined Temples and Nights November 10, 2017. Athens, Greece. I headed out to the google-recommended Syntagma square to see what it was.

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chrisrunsthemarathon · 8 years ago

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How I (hopefully) ran The Marathon – Part IV

The update..

So the consultant said yes and we’re back on. Well, I say yes, he sort of shrugged his shoulders, exhaled dramatically and said in a terrific French accent (he was French) “well, I suppose you could”. He expects me to be slower than I wanted to be before I was ill (when examining my time, if I finish at all, let’s not forget just how ill I’ve been) but he said I could do it. CC, Sorry mate, looks like 3 and a half hours is out, can we sort a repayment plan? Maybe a pound a week for the next 20 years?

I’m not sure how I feel about the news if I’m honest. At first I was pleased, now I’m not so sure. The main thing is that I don’t want this hanging over me for another year. I just want to get it out of the way and get it done so I’ve decided to press ahead and not defer it. Everyone I’ve spoken to thinks I should defer it and thinks I’m mad. I’ve been told by lots of people it’s stupid, in fact there’s only one person who thinks I should crack on. When I saw my boss for the first time in 6 weeks having been off work he asked if I was still doing it, when I said yes his exact words were “good, no one likes a pussy”. To be honest, I’m beginning to think I’m mad as well but I just want the sodding thing over and done with.

I’ve also decided running is crap. It’s just totally, totally shit. It’s not like other sports. If you play golf (as you’ll know I do), you get better at that. The more you practice and play, the better you get and it gets harder for your opponents to beat you. If you play cricket, the more you practice the better you get and you get more runs/wickets. Tennis, football, rugby, it goes on. Running NEVER gets any easier. OK you get a bit faster, but the pain never gets any less, your lungs don’t hurt less, your legs don’t hurt less. You just get a bit faster. I know getting faster is the point and it sounds like I’m contradicting myself, but the other sports get easier AND you get better, this doesn’t.

I’m also sick of running stupid miserable lonely miles. I’ve still not seen a single one of these elusive people who’ve offered to run with me. Mike did come to see me but I was still out of action but other than that, mile after lonely bastard mile. Plodding along with sore legs and exhausted. I don’t mind doing it on my own, it’s my commitment, I guess it’s the same as the offers the time before last when we moved house and then my poor old dad and Geoff ended up hauling sofas about! When it comes to it they don’t fancy it really. I don’t mind really, it’s just after they offered. The family members have been as supportive as ever. My brother in law sent me a text that said he can’t run with me as he’d have to slow down. I’ll remember to take him out on the golf course at some point and repay the favour by not looking for his ball. If you can’t hit it straight, etc…..

If you’re wondering if I’m struggling after being ill, the answer is yes. My mood probably gives it away. I’m really struggling. The most I’ve run so far is about 8 miles. So pretty much just a third of the way round, and on top of that my legs hurt like hell again as I’ve been trying to get out so often. I think I’m getting shin splints again so it must be something I’m doing and I’m not running right. I didn’t even know that could be a thing, is it possible to not run/walk properly? I’m off to physio again next week, so wish me luck. I need to look at the positives if I can. I’ve had cold after bloody cold constantly since recovering. That makes it’s harder as you always ache. I’m keeping Kleenex in business at the moment (no sniggering at the back) and I’m desperate for the colds sod off and let me just feel normal again as it feels like forever since I last did. Two weeks ago when I started up again I was only running 1-2 miles. Now I can do 6-8. I’ve still got 10 weeks. If I can get up to a half marathon/15 miles then I might just be OK, albeit not very fast. The progress is there, it’s just hard and seems miles off. I realise this isn’t the most cheerful update, but as with the last one it’s reflective of my thoughts around it at the moment. Putting on the gear mornings/evenings/weekends, heading out into the freezing cold and struggling with the runs is definitely turning me into a cantankerous, miserable old sod.

I do however look at the other people I know doing it and they’re all trotting round 15 miles nice and sprightly on a Sunday now and I’m beginning to think I’m in trouble here. I’m going to be turning up on the day and winging it at this rate. I’ve thought about taking the pressure off by turning up dressed as the Honey Monster. Nobody expects the Honey Monster to post a good time. The way things are going though I am going to be that bloke GMTV interview on the Tuesday morning as I trot over Tower Bridge. “Yes Alison, I’m feeling strong, it’s for a great cause…” you get the drift. It basically looks like I’m going to be putting a lot of stock in adrenaline, the crowd and the occasion to help get me round. Not the best strategy, I can’t think that’s what that Kenyans will be doing. Needs must…

I need to think of the bigger picture and why I’m doing it and look for positives. What I’m doing it for and all the good things that’ll come from the money I raise. Thanks again to everyone who’s sponsored me and the continuing donations. I’ve managed to secure a load of prizes for a raffle including a signed Manchester United football and various tickets for football/rugby/golf plus a 4 ball at Hayling Golf Club. It’s just £1 a ticket so if you fancy it, let me know and I’ll be more than happy to sell you some. I’m focussing on raising as much as I can still.

Tash and I also managed to get ourselves some tickets to see Ed Sheeran in May, literally the week after this stupid, silly bollocks run I’ve decided to do. It’s a focus point for me and something I’m really looking forward to, a good night out when it’s all done and dusted and something we can go and have a laugh at together. Added to that, albeit slowly, the nights are starting to get lighter and spring and the golf season is on the horizon. I’ve got a month of training after the clocks have gone forwards so that’ll help. All we need now is for it to warm up a bit and these colds to bugger off and it’ll be a completely different outlook. I’ve also got the trip to Wembley in two weeks to finally see Saints win something . This is not a humble brag section of the blog (look at what I’m doing), it’s just me trying to cheer myself up and I did say it was my own thoughts and musings on here from the start.

Then there’s Gav’s wedding. Whilst I’ll have to be careful not to go too mad on the booze at the stag/wedding (let’s not be silly and say I’m going to abstain all together) that’s going to be great and as I’ve been able to organise the whole stag I’m looking forward to some 6 Nations rugby in Cardiff and 3 days of golf as well. I should say that he wanted to do that too, I didn’t just choose it. That reminds me, I need to go and do some work on my speech so I’m going to wrap this up…

There we have it, a truly miserable and difficult time for the marathon attempt. I know people do them all the time and I’m making a right fuss but I did say I would.

Please remember if you want to buy any raffle tickets and win some great prizes, let me know and you can pay me in person or wire me the cash and I’ll put your tickets in the hat. 100% of everything collected goes to Anthony Nolan.

And if any of you elusive bell ends that promised to come for a run do change your minds, I’m going 5 days a week so I’m pretty sure we can go at a mutually convenient time, I really would appreciate the company..

Over and out,

Mo Farrah Chris xx

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kepesh-yakshi · 8 years ago

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My life story.

My earliest memory was around the age of three, when I was staying at my father's mom's house for the weekend. Gran got home from work, and I was so excited that I bolted from the couch to give her a huge hug. On the way to her wide-open arms, I tripped over something on the floor (probably my shoe lace) and bit a hole in my lip that required a dozen stitches in several layers. There's an image of a memory before that, too. I think it was my first birthday, because I remember feeling the annoying rubber strap around my chin when I recall the image. Anyway, I was sitting in the floor of my mom's mom's house (I call her "Gran," too), and there was a plastic red and blue ball with a yellow handle, and some plastic yellow shapes all over the floor. Of course, I didn't know that was "plastic," back then, but I recall the memory enough to know it was plastic. I think they still sell those things at toy stores. Probably at Wal-Mart, too.

I only have a scar from something I don't remember that almost changed my life. I nearly cut my left thumb off while playing outside around sheet metal (where Mom told me not to play, of course -- that suddenly became the place to play). They sewed it back on after resetting everything, and the doctor told my mom I'd never be able to use that thumb, again. Glad to prove them wrong, as I am left-handed. Incidentally, when I was five, I closed the car door on the same thumb. It didn't hurt until Mom opened the car door. We found out I was a pitch-perfect soprano at that point.

By the way, did I mention that I am accident-prone?

Church-wise, I split my time between the Church of Christ on the mom's side and the Baptists of my dad's side. My mom's side didn't attend church regularly (if I remember correctly, they weren't active in any church), and my dad's side was loaded with clergy and elders and Sunday school teachers...and Uncle Erwin, who drove the Jolly Green Giant Sunday School bus for First Baptist Church of Abilene. (on a side note, my dad's side is also loaded with military veterans. So far as I know, nobody in my family is presently active duty). I went to church because it was fun, and not yet because I understood what it was about.

My life before second grade wasn't special, aside from all my early-stage clumsiness and multiple trips to the doctor for repairs. But in the second grade, everything changed, both for the better and for the worse. I remember coming home to Gran(ny Hall's) house, and when I got off the bus, I looked up at the sky and said "God, are you real?" Or something like that. But I remember asking Him something like that. Because all these kids and people and old people were always so happy to be at church and sing to this God guy, and I didn't get it. Who's God? Or, in my seven-year-old mentality: why the heck are all these people singing to some guy I've never seen at church? Doesn't he need to be there, too? Maybe he needs the bus to come get him.

I got my answer in an unconventional way. Shortly after my mom remarried a now-awesome guy (you'll understand what I mean by that, soon enough), I started attending a non-denominational charismatic church with his parents (who, by the way, I have a lot of love and respect for, as they taught me the power of embracing the way you perceive Jesus Christ as opposed to following the masses to the biggest church in town just because everybody else goes there -- I go to one of the biggest churches in town, so I'm not judging big churches). Something else I noted at this church was the fact that people who claimed to be speaking in tongues during prayer were, in fact, speaking French. I knew this because I watched Pinwheel's Playhouse specifically to see the segment that had Chapi Chapo in it. (that was slightly sarcastic, but they were speaking French).

On one Sunday, a prophetess by the name of Nita Johnson came to give a "word of knowledge" from God to anyone who wished to receive it from her. Not being bashful, I stood up almost immediately, and she started crying as soon as she touched my forehead. This woman was getting upset. Like breaking down in tears as if whatever she was hearing from -- again -- this guy named God who I'd never seen, before -- was telling her something that I suddenly wasn't sure I wanted to hear.

In a nutshell (I have the printed copy of what she said, somewhere, and when I find it, I will share it on here in the form of a separate post), she told me that I was about to endure tremendous pain at the hands of many, and I would not understand why they would do these things to me, and that I'd even taste death. But somehow, I would learn to use what I went through to spread the Word of God. That I'd come back to recall what she was telling me that night, and be blown away by what she said (this happened about 10 years ago), and that I would still not be shaken enough. That I would have to witness His overwhelming spirit one more time before it finally hit me hard enough to seriously desire to seek Him. He would hit me so hard that I'd be unable to speak. This actually happened in mid-December of 2012, again, in the most unconventional of ways.

Life is good, right? Well, not after this Word of Knowledge. See, Nita, if you look her up on Google, has a lot of apologetics calling her out as a false prophet. I am only going on what has happened to me, but so far, she is pinpoint accurate. A week after this "session" with Nita at the now-disbanded Church on the Rock was the first time I experienced sexual abuse. Not just by one person, but by two. One of them is currently serving a sentence in Ohio for exposing himself to children. The other one was a lengthy ordeal that happened on an almost weekly basis. I won't say who did this, specifically, but I am sure you can gather by "weekly" who had access. This one was also an alcoholic, and was fine until he was drunk. I remember the details of what happened vividly, and I'm sure if I sat here long enough, I could recall all of the times they happened. "Just do it and get it over with," I remember thinking. I don't think it was the abuse that caused the emotional damage, though. I think it was the fact that he kept saying "I love you," while it was going on. That's not the kind of "love" that is supposed to happen in that kind of relationship. And this is probably why I am still a virgin to this day...so maybe it has affected me more than I let myself believe. Single for life, but only as a form of self-protection.

And...then there was the physical abuse that started about two weeks after that, when the dog got out and I was the easiest to blame. This particular person is now one of the strongest supporters in my life, right now. So I will again refrain from pointing out which "he" I'm talking about. You can draw your conclusions if you know me, personally, but disclosing names of people who had problems some 28 years after the fact can be traumatic for those people, and this is my story, not theirs. (in other news, 28 years ago, I was seven years old). I was thrown about my room, beaten with a stick, and left immobile on my floor until mom came home. Later that year, I was chased out of the house with a shot gun (some people deny this, but a bus full of witnesses -- including the driver -- saw it). And in the winter time that year, I was made to stand outside in the snow until Mom came home for a reason I don't really remember.

All of these are from the first six months after that Word of Knowledge. The sexual and physical abuse both carried on until I was old enough to leave the house. But there were other abusers, as well. When I was eight, the lady at the day care center chewed me out for not claiming kindergarten homework that belonged to an "ADAM" (name clearly written on the page). The gas station attendant locked me in a closet until I agreed to do unmentionable things for him. I was able to unlock the back door and leave. A friend's father tried to lure me into his house. The kids at school, who I'd been really good friends with, up to this point, suddenly became very aggressive toward me. Even my softball team mates were rude and uninviting. It was like everyone around me started shunning me. And all of this started after that Word of Knowledge. Which I'd completely forgotten about by my tenth birthday.

The funny thing about all of this is that I was already a natural loner. I spent a lot of time writing, drawing, listening to music, singing, playing video games, but I wasn't much of a socialite, though I loved to meet new people and make small talk. I was, and still am, horrible when the conversation gets deep. My conversations become massively one-sided, and come across quite like the words I am writing now. Everything is like a grand story that needs to be told, no matter how mundane the topic. I was fixated on the details of things. For instance, with flowers, I loved to look at the pistils and anthers and how the grains of pollen sat in the center of the petals. With bugs, I loved the ones who were iridescent in the sunlight. And there was something about music. I liked to try to dissect the instruments in each song. I'd listen to a song over and over until I could focus on, for instance, only the bass or only the backup vocals. Classical music was my favorite. So, if the pain of dealing with people was a problem, I was, by my nature, making it hard to detect.

I was a straight-A student in school. When I was nine, I stopped doing my homework. I told my fourth grade teacher "I did this last year, why do I have to do it again?" And that pretty much set the tone for the rest of my educational career. I lost interest, and because of that, never put forth any effort, except for test time, where I aced it and still passed with a baseline 75%, since that is what is required to pass. I was a teacher's nightmare. Smartest, most active student in class. Never did homework. Never had a reason. But give me a topic I am interested in, and I will research it into the ground until I am satisfied. Then, I'll tell you all about it in the form of a six page dissertation. Sometimes, I wish my fixation on things would be more technical, like cars or airplanes and not things that included people (like sports or cultures...or just people, for that matter). Maybe I should have been an anthropologist.

Anyway, as a result of my "odd" classroom / interpersonal behavior, I was given several tests in the sixth grade. I was 11. The school district's counselor tested me for a lot of things. Out of the tests came the discovery that my IQ was 147 (157, now) and a statement that I was too intelligent to have ADD or anything on the autism scale. I swear to you that I have, at the very least, Asperger's Syndrome. I was given a "PDD-NOS," which stands for "pervasive developmental disorder - not otherwise specified," and sent back into mainstream education, where I continued to rack up goose eggs and ace my tests. I graduated high school in the bottom 25% of my class, but with a 1580 SAT and a perfect 36 on the ACT, I was among the top 10% in the nation on national test scores. And even though it took four and a half years to graduate, I have the words "graduating junior" on my diploma. So it still looks good on paper.

The whole church thing was out of the window by the time I was in high school. My mom started attending a Seventh Day Adventist church, and something about them saying "THE Church" (meaning the ONLY church) of God's choosing turned me off. That, and the demand of getting baptized without taking time to consider it was odd. Don't get me wrong, the people were very nice, and the pastor was awesome. But...I just couldn't buy into what they were selling. I'd tried out several different churches in Abilene (which was rumored to be in the Guinness Book of World Records for having more churches per capita than any other city at one time) on my own, and almost all of them required baptism into the church. It seemed too much like "used car lot" tactics to me. And there were a lot of places that claimed to know angels by names, places that looked pretty and welcoming on the outside, but made me feel very dark and fearful on the inside -- something I'd learn later is a spiritual gift I have called discernment. Despite the church shopping and denomination hopping, with no success for a longterm fellowship, I stuck with my bible and developed an understanding on my own, avoiding anything that had to do with fellowship, since I just couldn't place faith in places that wanted submersion before submission. To me, it needed to be the other way around. Learn, then lean back, so to speak.

Very shortly after I graduated, I moved to Durango, Colorado to work for my uncle at his construction business. Talk about epic job. My title was “Executive Assistant,” and my job duties were just about everything one could think of. I took care of the house boat, the house, the bulldogs, and carried thousands of dollars in cash to the bank for the company. I’d assist my aunt with various um…personal needs. By that, I mean I’d go shopping with her and carry all her bags (and get my own outfits, out of the deal, too). On Saturdays, I’d clean the office and make sure certain supply orders were properly placed. On weekends, it was almost always at Navajo Lake or Lake Powell, depending on the time of year. And Lake Powell – wow. The scenery is so awesome, and the fishing was second-to-none. I even caught a 60lb striper, there. Well, it caught me – after a tiresome 45 minute fight, I fell over the rails on the stern of our house boat and into the water, but I got my hands wrapped around the beast. Just couldn’t save myself and the fish at the same time, so I had to let it go. I lost my Diawa rod and reel, too, in the whole mess.

But Durango, the year and a half that I was there, was such an amazing experience. I called the scenery “car crash beautiful,” because you’re always looking up at the La Plata mountains and you often forget to watch the road. And the residents were awesome. You knew everyone, and if you didn’t, you almost always had a one-degree connection. Which, being a small town, meant that if someone got into trouble, everyone knew about it within a week. I likened it to church gossip. People didn’t talk to be mean; rather, they talked because they actually cared…and to pass the time. Or, usually because there was nothing else worthwhile to talk about than other people.

Anyway, sometime while I was in Durango, and I don’t recall the trigger point, nor do I remember actually doing it, but I “came to” at about 6:30am on a Saturday, and my legs were aching and wrapped in towels. There was dried blood all over the place, all over my hands, all over the floor. What happened?!? I was clueless and scared. I took the towels off my legs, revealing very long, deep gashes. Some were still bleeding and in need of medical attention. I drove myself to the ER and got a hundred or so stitches while the nurses and a chaplain calmed me down and talked with me. This was my first personal exposure to self-injury. Actually, up until that day, I hadn’t heard of it. I didn’t black out due to drinking — I was very much so a non drinker, because I saw how negatively it affected family members, and how it turned a few of them into monsters. I did not want that lifestyle or problem for myself, so I avoided alcohol like the plague. But why on earth would I want to harm myself? I knew my stress levels were through the roof, and had been building for some time, but why would I ever want to do something like this to my own body? It served no purpose, other than to hurt like hell and leave some nasty scars. I started counseling shortly after this, but I was far too deep into denial in regards to my problems for anything to work. After a year and a half in Durango, I left for home.

When I returned to Abilene, I went back to a counselor I was going to shortly before I moved to Durango. I’ll call her J on here, if she comes up in future posts. She’s a friend, now, and I’d like to keep our counseling relationship private for that reason. But in our counseling, I was able to gather some reasons for why I would do this to myself. We noted that, at this point, I’d done this once. But through the sessions, it was noticed that it happened every 6 months, usually in April or May and October or November. These were when the seasons change. And it also seemed like I would contain my stresses until I literally could not hold them, anymore. I’d let these things pile up around my mind until my head would pop. Being that I was so accustomed to being the guilty party all of the time as a child, I blamed myself for everything that happened around me as an adult. So when I popped, I ended up punishing myself and getting stitches for all of it. It was, then, very important for me to learn to let go of these small problems as they happened, lest they grow into a pile so big that I could not handle them.

The last time I cut myself was April 19, 1999. I remember the date because it was the day before the shooting at Columbine High School. And again, I don’t remember the trigger, except that everything was so piled up that I couldn’t handle it, and I popped. I ended up with over 300 stitches and 127 staples in my arms and legs. Odds are, the trigger was something small like dropping the shampoo bottle in the shower, but out of the hundreds of thousands of other tiny straws that I’d piled up on myself, it was the straw that broke my inner camel’s back. And, for some reason, cutting seemed like the proper punishment for all of these small nuances that happened in my life.

I had a friend, who I was very close to, suggest that I go to church with her, which I did. It was a Church of Christ — and one of my favorite churches to this day, though I don’t go there very often, anymore. And I wasn’t a “regular,” though I was a member. Through my own study, along with the sudden influx of really nice people in my life from this church, the whole ‘relationship’ aspect of my Christian faith started to click. I began to pray regularly (read: all the time. In the car, when I woke up, hugged people, took a shower, went to bed, etc). I began to be very open about my beliefs. Everyone started to take notice of how much I was glowing about it, too. I felt really good, and it poured out onto others. Someone said “Suzie, you’re truly filled with the spirit! Everywhere you go, you light people up!” I wasn’t so humble to brush it off. I was proud of myself. But not in a prideful “look at me!” sort of way. I was doing things right, and it was showing. This was the first time I wrote a testimony about my life, and also the first time I shared it from the pulpit with a church fellowship (that was scary).

Shortly after this, my workplace had a FISH! Philosophy seminar, and I was reeled in — hook, line, and sinker (pun) — to the whole “leadership” phenomenon. I started to reflect the four standards of the FISH! Philosophy (among them were “be there” and “have fun”). I worked at a hospital, and it seemed like a corporately-thankless job — but there was so much mutual gratitude between peers, patients, visitors, and nurses that it more than made up for the lack of attention from upper-management. The patients must have loved me, because I earned a “You’re A Keeper” award, complete with my own Pete the Perch, which is something the hospital gave out to employees that the patients nominated. Mine was for customer service and leading from my position (which was far from a leadership role). So far as the self injury was concerned, I had gone from that day in 1999 to July 31, 2002 without any hint of wanting to do anything to myself. I give massive credit to learning to talk to God about everything, and really putting my faith where He was, which at this point, I placed Him everywhere in my life. An interpersonal conflict at work forced me to feel the need to quit, which was devastating. My side of the story is that I trusted a person way too much, and she tried to force me to go from Patient Services to the dish room. For the first time in my life, I was torn between being the people-pleasing girl who was scared to make anybody mad and standing up for what I loved (helping the patients) and saying no (which meant letting someone down). I said no, and it went downhill from there. I ended up feeling so much shame over it that I quit on July 31. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting outside with a razor and arguing with myself over whether or not I should condemn myself yet again to that kind of punishment. I felt like I deserved it. In desperation, I shouted out “If I am useless, Father, then kill me. Please kill me. I am worthless like this. If I am useful, then make me useful!” I woke up the next morning, and for some reason decided to open to Isaiah, where for the first time I read chapter 53 verse 5: He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our inequities. The chastisement for our peace was upon Him; by His stripes we are healed. That was the last time I considered self injury as an option. I’d already been talking with the pastoral staff of my church, and and through our discussions and a LOT of prayer, I made a commitment to Christ and was baptized on my birthday, August 7, 2002.

With a lot of effort (and a little bit of luck), I landed a great job with the federal government. It was September of 2002, with a new administration created in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. I felt like I was finally able to do my part to keep our country safe. And after some of my experiences with this admin, I feel like I did just that — there is almost no greater fear than that of when you’re standing next to a bag with a possible IED in it. I learned even more about leadership, there, too. Since I loved to write, I started suziehall.com to share what I was learning, translating it to a more personal level, so that anyone could use the skills that were so instrumental to my own development and recovery. I wrote for my administration’s regional newsletter in a section called “Keep it Positive!” and got a lot of compliments for it. I also got employee of the year 2006 for my efforts, which I took as a sign that, again, I was doing things right. All glory to God! In 2007, I transferred to Denver, where I realized being an introvert in a place that was like Black Friday at Wal-Mart all the time wasn’t so bad; actually, it was kinda fun! I was right at home in such a stressful environment, and was frequently called on to diffuse tense situations. I got several awards and recognition for my customer service skills, and was promoted to a real leadership position in 2008. Everything was going so well! I was on top of the world doing something that I love to do (helping others in any way I can).

On Christmas Day 2008, several of us were working together to get around a server issue on the computers, and I got the phone call that would change my life forever. My mom said “are you sitting down?” “Yes,” I answered, knowing that when Mom asks this, it means something very bad has happened. She told me that my uncle David was in the hospital, and that he had a heart attack. Now, I haven’t mentioned him, yet, but David was my hero. My best friend, closest confidant, the only person in my family that actually knew me well enough to answer me before I spoke. We could get into the kind of fights that were full of — pardon my language — “F*CK YOU!” and would end with “hey, wanna get a pizza?” And we’d gotten into an argument around my birthday that was so bad that we weren’t talking. On the way to work that morning, I was driving down Pena Boulevard, blasting Chris Tomlin, praising and praying to God, telling him to wish David a Merry Christmas, and that I’d call him as soon as work was over. I couldn’t wait, because it was a good day to forgive someone and ask their forgiveness as well. But when Mom said David was in the hospital with a heart attack, she couldn’t bear to tell me that my grandfather found him dead in his house on Christmas morning. There are no words to relay the immense hole that immediately filled my heart. Only that I felt such deep sadness that the tears couldn’t climb their way out for another month. His favorite song was New Years Day by U2, and it was almost appropriate that his funeral was on January 1. I met so many people from his life that I’d only heard of, up to that point, and had several of his coworkers laughing hard – even at his funeral. One told me I was just like him, with my ability to make even the saddest days slightly enjoyable. That was a sincere compliment. David had this unique ability to make the darkest days a lot brighter. He was a firm believer in Christ, and we’d spent so many nights playing dominoes (aka “bones”) and doing bible trivia, and praying for my very skeptical grandfather’s salvation. David’s biggest fear was that he’d see my grandfather (I called him Peep) die an unbeliever.

The day David died, Peep began to read the bible, and he started taking it seriously. He asked me a LOT of questions. With my ability to retain information like a sponge, I was able to answer the majority of them, and even squelch his ideas about religion being created for the sole purpose of greed. While I agreed with him to an extent (that people use it as an excuse for war and seizing land and oil rights), that’s not the reason for religion — it’s a method of conveying the dire need for us to have a relationship with God. A relationship that, up to this point in my life, was on a baby-needing-milk maturity, even though I was on fire for it. Peep was already saved (at age 13), but he was finally affirming it in his early 70s. Sometimes it takes that long, but David’s pleas and prayers to God were not unheard — he never saw Peep die an unbeliever. And Peep did not die an unbeliever. A year and a day after David passed, Peep died in his sleep of natural causes. These were the first two deaths in my family — the only deaths, actually — that I was old enough to comprehend. I’d just turned 30 in 2008, and this was not how I expected this decade of my life to start, and I was not at all prepared for what would happen, next.

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