#not going to talk about why priest outfits are so elegant but hear me out…

[r-aindr0p]

Ok so I found this finished illustration while scrolling through sketches, it’s been sitting in the dust for 2/3 months ??? It would be really dumb to post this next year so here you go

More ocs of mine, a duo of exorcist priest more precisely ! Names are Stigma (flipping you off) and Antonio (ridiculously big hairbun) they work for the Vatican but have been directly sent from heaven. Stigma can morph into the holy lance and Antonio wields him. Soul eater like but priests basically

Aaand Antonio was based on Antonio Vivaldi, so I made him other priest robe designs based on the 4 seasons aswell (but the specific art is old they need a redesign.)

[crowleyellestair]

Your recent Jaskier FanFiction was so beautiful! I love it! Would it be possible to request a second part with the wedding, and perhaps a possible third part with the birth of their first child? Thank you so much for writing it!! 💜

AN/// Thank you! You’re making me blush with that ‘beautiful’ stuff. Thanks for asking! And yes, I will make a part three as well. I tried, and I hope you like it

If you want to be tagged for that or any other Witcher stuff, just ask!

Masterlist

  It had only been two days, but Jaskier was impatiently pacing the length of their small homestead. He could hear the liveliness of the pub bellow, and somehow it had made him more anxious. There was a large assignment due the next day that he hadn’t started, but all he could focus on was Y/n. She had been acting out of character, and had left abruptly.

Y/n was kind enough to tell him exactly where she was going on her so called ‘business trip’, but something gnawed at his heart. He trusted her more than he could put into words. He knew that she would never be unfaithful, nor would she be vile towards any living thing, so that leaves her being on an actual business trip. The problem wasn’t her, but the world around them. Jaskier hadn’t seen Geralt in years, but he assumed that the world was just as cruel as it had been- or tenfold due to the war. Y/n was much like Jaskier in her hard headedness, but didn’t give many details when it came to what was happening.

So, there Jaskier was, pacing the floor. After a while of hip holding and talking it through, he found a seat at their desk. His eyes flew over everything scattered there, herbs, potions, ink and music covered it. So much so that he couldn’t see the actual surface of the desk. It brought a small smile to him, their separate lives colliding on this small workspace, creating a beautiful mess of them. It was poetic, and he was already working on trying to create the symbolism into something. He looked around the room, noticing that the entire place was like the desk. Sheet music scattered the floor, some hidden under Y/n’s apothecary notes. The small dresser by the door had clothes shoved into it, most of its items falling out of the drawers.

With a sigh, he got up to tidy the area. Jaskier was surprisingly the clean one of the two, but usually he was so focused on Y/n when she was around that he would tune the rest of the world out. Nothing mattered when she was with him, except her. The heartbreaks of the past and the opportunities of the future would melt away while he got sucked in to their present.

Their life right now was admittedly a hot mess. Jaskier was attending the university and Y/n was an apprentice under the town mage. She didn’t have powers, but in the words of the mage himself, “no one else is qualified to be [his] student.”

Between his classes and her endless errands, the two barely had time to see each other. The only time they had was after the sun fell out of the sky and though it would take a while to rise the next day, it still wasn’t enough.

On Fridays, however, Jaskier and Y/n would sprint to middle grounds and have lunch together. They could only spare fifteen minutes, but it was enough for them. It was enough to know that the two would try and gain more time together if they could, and it drove them both through the end of the day after a long week.

He had finished cleaning the room before plopping back down on the chair at the desk. Jaskier’s hand brushed under the table at the far end to shift the loose board there. A small pouch fell into his open palm, and he brought it into the light. In the bag was a ring. It wasn’t expensive and there weren’t any jewels in it, but he thought it was perfect. It looked to be more of a man’s ring, but he wanted Y/n to be able to wear it while she worked. If there were protruding parts, she’d need to take it off, and he hoped she never would. On the inside of the ring was an engraved flower, because he was her dandelion.

Jaskier had the ring for about a year. He actually got it before they moved into the shared stead above the pub. He was so sure that she was the one that he forgot some of the steps in between asking for her hand.

The sun falling brought on a new wave of anxiety. Y/n had said she’ be back before then, but the only noises he heard outside of the door were the students begging the barkeep to let it slide that they were students. He had made space to sit on the table itself, so he’d have a perfect view of everything outside of the window it was in front of. The darkness hadn’t helped him see any better, yet he stayed, trying to decipher faces.

When the door swung open, a smile spread over his face, but fell just as fast. The love of his life stood there, but Geralt was right behind her. His eye pierced into hers, and saw a shyness in her.

This was her business trip.

To try and lighten the air, she pushed out a soft laugh as they entered and asked,

“Why are you on the table?” Jaskier didn’t laugh or reply, his arms staying circled around his knees on the desk. There was a long moment of his blue eyes flicking between Geralt and her. Y/n looked nervous, scared even, while she looked back at him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke of Geralt, but he had remembered telling her a while ago that he missed him. Y/n dropped the bag that was slung over her shoulder, Jaskier noticing that it was actually Geralt’s bag. She motioned the Witcher to sit on the bed, nowhere else to really sit. She looked between the two, not pulling off her cloak yet.

“I’m sorry Julian. I know I said I was on a business trip, but this was important. I know it’s been months since you’ve said anything-.” Jaskier finally piped up.

“It was over a year ago.” Her shoulders sagged, and he wished he didn’t interject.

“I know, but you two were best friends.” Geralt’s brows drew together before his gravelly voice filled the room.

“So, you’ve been tracking me for over a year?” Y/n cast her gaze to the floor, a flush forming over her cheeks. A small nod could be seen, and the two men were baffled.

Jaskier’s heart hurt. He remembered telling her that if he had the chance, he would try and be friends with the Witcher again. Not necessarily travel, but he would open his arms. Putting the pieces together, he realizes that since then, she’s been looking for him. Jaskier knew she had a secret project she had been working on, but she wouldn’t tell him what it was. She had made it her mission for the last year to try and make him happy.

He was, but in that moment, all he knew was that he only needed her to accomplish that. Y/n was his key to happiness.

 Without that year of searching, Geralt wouldn’t be standing there. He thought, like he always does with everyone, that once Jaskier moved on, he would have found someone better to call his ‘best friend’. He was wrong, obviously, as he looked down to Jaskier kneeling in front of him. He looked to Y/n, who was kneeling next to Jaskier, both of them facing the priest. Geralt watched as a long tapestry wrapped around their conjoined hands, a sign of their marriage.

It was only a month ago when Jaskier had asked Geralt to be his Giver, and he couldn’t really say no. So, there, he stood behind the two, sneaking a glance at the woman standing behind Y/n, her Giver in a ceremonial physician’s cloak. Geralt hated them, but he had decided to purchase doublet and matching trousers for the occasion. Looking around, every seat had been filled, people having to stand to be there.

The ceremony wasn’t long, but like the two, it was dramatic and elegant. It took place on the edge of a cliff. The forest near Oxenfurt had an opening at the edge, the canopy of leaves refusing to grow more as if it wants the spot to be flooded with the sunset light. Logs had been fashioned into benches and leaves had fallen just so to give the illusion of an aisle. Lanterns hung from low branches, but still high enough to give a natural ceiling to the onlookers of the ceremony. Thin, shinning tule hung from higher branches, giving the trees a blurred, sparkling haze.

Geralt wasn’t surprised when he showed up in a light pink outfit. There weren’t constraints or traditions to what’s worn at ceremonies, but he assumed it was because he was showing it as a sign of comfort. Jaskier could be himself around Y/n, so why not go full out? The dusted pink doublet had gold embroidery covering it, and he had a short, white cape that hung off of one shoulder. It was a nice contrast to Y/n, who wore a blue dress. She chose the color on purpose, only accepting this color because of the resemblance to Jaskier’s eyes. She had a favorite color before meeting Jaskier, but since the first night with him laying on the guest bed, it had been his eyes. Eyes like the sea after a storm. A clouded blue, but always seeking brighter times.

The flow of the dress gave her an ethereal look, the flowing material long and loose. Her dress was different from most, as there were no sleeves or corsets, just the same material as the skirt, coming up and resting over her shoulders. Thin gold bands kept the dress to her body, looking like a pantheon goddess. She had a gold band in her hair that braids wrapped around, giving a small twinkle in the sunset haze.

The two looked perfect together sitting there. Jaskier had tuned out everything the priest had been saying, never taking his eyes off of Y/n. The bard had lost himself looking at the smile she tried to throw from her face. After the first minute or so, Y/n’s face started to hurt by smiling that big for so long, but she couldn’t stop. At one point, she looked over at him, her gaze telling him to look at the priest. When he gave a small shake of his head, her shoulder gave him a little nudge. He let out a giggle, nudging her back. Geralt rolled his eyes when he heard multiple people in the crowd give ‘awes’, but he still gave a small smile.

When the dark tapestry had wrapped around their hands, and they said binding vows, they stood. Jaskier and Y/n shared words before she giggled and gave a gentle ‘no’, before being dipped anyways. Their lips connected just as the last light of the sun peaked over the mountain line, and cheers could be heard.

When he brought her back up, she was laughing, and she lightly hit his chest. He caught her hand before it could make contact, and he brought her knuckles up to his lips. He placed the softest of kisses there, their gazes locking. Geralt watched as the world fell away, and they got sucked into just each other. People around started to converse and move, speaking of the pub under their home being open for a party, but it didn’t phase the two. They stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, staring.

Geralt used to be annoyed at Jaskier for his grandiose stories of love. He would scoff at how unrealistic it is, saying fairy tales should stay in children’s hearts. He’s lived long enough to know what the world is really like. He was surprised at how even after their adventures, Jaskier would still find the brighter side of life. This was something he didn’t expect. Jaskier truly had a fairy tale ending, and Geralt was… content. He felt satisfied that his friend was so happy with his life.

[codyfernaesthetic]

Unholy: The Wolf’s Invitation

Summary: Father Langdon invites Mallory to finish what they started.

Warnings: Harsh, explicit language, blasphemous situation(?)

Author’s note: Surprise suckers, it’s a three parter! I want the...consummation to be perfect. Enjoy!

Mallory had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from her sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on her tongue, the wine of communion was souring in her stomach. Even her outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. She sat at the end of her usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read her mind; because all she could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged her so completely. The hymns she sang erupted from constricted breath as she imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between her legs and bringing her to ungodly bliss. She felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels. 

She was thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to her ability to stay calm. When the service ended, she gathered her purse and rushed towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.

“Mallory!”

The voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to her with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting.

She didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of her mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”

He cocked his head, offering her a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, Mallory, there’s nothing to forgive.”

Her lips parted in surprise, “But…”

He motioned for her to walk with him a bit farther away from the exiting crowd, which she did reluctantly.

“Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at her, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, Mallory?” She shook her head. “Brilliant writer,” they stopped, their eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”

Heat bloomed in her chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”

He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”

As irregular as it was, Mallory took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as she thought of anyone else being “helped” by him.

“Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”

His eyes lazily rolled over her figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”

Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through her; along with a sharp pang of desire.

“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”

Confused, she tucked her hair behind her ear, “Then why...?”

“Why you?” He finished for her, gazing at her with an admiring look, “You’re different, Mallory. There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re...genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down her spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”

She blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”

His took her hand between his, The comforting warmth intoxicating.

“Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head.”

He looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”

Her heart jumped.

“I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”

He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, Mallory.”

She had a flashing thought of him with her pinned against the pew, but threw it away.

“And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of her hand, leaving a trace of abandonment,”I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”

Her mind demanded she say no. What kind of woman was she to be alone with the priest she lusted over?

“How so?”

He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?” She knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”

“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.” She nodded, “That sounds great.”

He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”

__________________

She stared at herself in the mirror of her bathroom for an hour; her makeup, her dress, her hair, even practicing how she would say hello.

“Good evening, Father,” she smiled at her reflection before shaking her head. Too formal.

She gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on her heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” She groaned, cringing. Too peppy.

She took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.”

She sighed, frustrated with herself, and shut off the light, heading into her room. She grabbed her purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving.

She didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as she pulled into the driveway.

It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the blinds closed. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky.

She locked her car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside.

After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming her.

“Hello, Mallory.”

He was everything she expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once her eyes drawn up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. She was hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in her chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together.

She mumbled a hello under her breath.

“I’m so glad to see you.”

She managed a squeaky, “You too.”

He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.”

She noted the large square ring on his middle finger as she stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor.

“You look beautiful,” he commented looking over her simple dress.

She breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look...different.”

He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?”

She gulped, “I do, it looks…” she held herself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.”

He smirked, as if reading her thoughts, and invited her to the dining room.

Dinner went by normally. They talked about life. How Mallory was fairing in her senior year of college, how her family was doing back in Georgia, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when she would ask. He only told her that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable she  knew him to be at the Cathedral.

Afterward, they’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed her the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?”

She stopped her lips parted over the rim of her glass.

He grinned sympathetically, “Come on, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.”

She swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re...very attractive, charismatic, charming,” she glanced up at him, “you command a room.”

He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?”

She thought of her youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; she became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys her age just didn’t appeal to her all that much.

“Some.”

“Do you like being dominated?”

He asked it so brazenly, it hit her like a slap to the face. She shrugged, stuttering, “I...I guess I have a proclivity to...follow the rules.”

His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.”

Heavy heat settled between her legs at his tone; she yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.”

His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?”

She shook her head, her voice maintaining a tinny as she confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” she looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying her up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.”

A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, Mallory?”

She cleared her throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been...penetrated.” Her face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.”

He tilted his head, waiting for her to explain.

“Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.”

That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.”

Her pulse was pounding in her ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence.

He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?”

A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced her core, “I’m sorry?”

His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?”

She released an audible gasp, her body trembling. She swallowed hard, “What you just said.”

He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?”

She felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away her inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.”

“Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.”

She watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge. She licked her lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?”

She nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?”

Her voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.”

He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.”

She set her glass on a counter, dropping to her knees and crawled to him slowly, her eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon her, and she sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against her wet slit through her panties. Her hips rocked slowly, earning her a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing her ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?”

He pulled her closer, making her move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on her neck. She smelled like citrus, her skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth.

“The things I want to do to you,” he growled.

His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of her neck to her ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, Mallory? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?”

Her hands clutched his shirt, her head thrown back; she intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made her feel. Without warning, his hand was at her throat; gripping just tight enough to cause her eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust.

“You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up Her body to cup her breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?”

His lips hovered just above hers, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.”

She moved her hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched her closer, their warm breath passing between them, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.”

She looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire.

“Get on the floor.”

She slipped off of him, her bare knees hitting the carpet.

“Take out my cock,” he commanded.

She undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook her as she wrapped her lips around the head, sucking gently.

He gasped, “Eager little slut.”

She massaged his balls, taking more of him into her mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through her hair. She gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of her mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as she moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at her eyes as she pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited her mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking.

He caressed her cheek, as she dragged her tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum.

“Come here,” his raspy voice told her.

She propped herself on his knees, her eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped her chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”

She responded quietly, “Please?”

He cupped the back of her head, bringing their foreheads together, their lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of her hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.”

His gaze focused on her glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze her bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.”

He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.”

He delivered a swift, hard slap to her ass, her tiny yelp making his cock jerk.

“Follow me.”

[kcourtney01-blog]

Social Media and Literacy Learning

Author: Kali Courtney

Date: 02/26/19

Literacy is the quality or state of being literate which means having the ability to read or write. Having that ability is important within this day in age due to that a lot of information we receive as people is put into forms where knowing how to read and write may be beneficial. Different sources such as books, newspapers, magazines, scholarly journals and much more have given people access to an abundance of knowledge. Since the peak of the 21st century there has been rise to a new source of information which is social media. Social media has various forms of digital platforms where individuals can express themselves and stay connected with people across the globe from them. Just like there are multiple different versions of newspapers such as, The New York Times, StarTribune etc. There are different social media platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Blogs, and so many more. Within each of those social media sites they each present their own forms of communication and information outsourcing. People who use Instagram make personal profiles and share their world through the use of pictures and filters. Twitter is more of a platform where individuals really can be personal as a online diary of sorts. As times have changed and continue to change, the way we collect our information is as well, so the question is “How does social media help with literacy learning?”

I want to showcase within this passage some of the ways that literacy learning can be aided through the use of social media. Within this article I will be addressing how social media has helped me within my literacy learning. I also will be pulling from great writing scholars such as Deborah Brandt and speaking on behalf of literacy sponsors within social media and how those sponsors are linked to literacy success. Lastly, I will be speaking on behalf of Malcolm X pulling from snippets of his autobiography; I will be showing that if Malcolm had access to social media his literacy journey would have been much different. To start off  I have been lucky enough to see the evolution of social media and the internet being that I was born at the beginning of the 2000’s. When social media first arose  it was used as more of a source for people to stay interconnected with one another. Facebook was used so every once in a while I could see what my cousins in Puerto Rico were up to and stalk their daily hilarious posts. Instagram was used just primarily by younger people where I could post a picture of my daily outfit or a cool scenic picture. In terms of actual information such as news and things of that nature I would get from watching Fox News or reading the latest newspaper. Now in terms of literacy, anything that involves reading or writing is engaging in the act of being literate. By me engaging in Facebook or Instagram, in writing captions under my pictures or writing daily post on Facebook I was sharing a form of my own literacy work. I will say that now since social media platforms have changed drastically they offer much more sources of information. I have learned new literacies just from scrolling through my explore page or recommended on Instagram. Due to instagram I was able to learn how to take care of my naturally curly hair by reading about what products helped certain women and men and which products worked on my curl pattern. I also follow many blogs that speak on women empowerment and self-growth which have given me the tools to be more self sufficient and boost my confidence by seeing what these other women post and talk about. By seeing their literary works I was able to learn many things (new literacies) for my own personal use that I don’t think books or newspapers or your daily magazine would have been able to show me. 

As I mentioned in speaking on behalf of my personal connections and experiences with social media, I spoke about blogs or pages that helped me in learning new information; sources that aided me along my literacy learning and are still helping me to this day. Those pages and blogs are what you would call “Literacy Sponsors”. Deborah Brandt, whom is a Professor emerita in the Department of English at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, thoroughly explains what literacy sponsors are and their importance in writing. Deborah states “sponsors seemed a fitting term for the figures who turned up most typically in people’s memories of literacy learning: older relatives , teachers , priest , supervisors , military officers , editors , influential authors.”(Brandt, 2017, p.73) As Brandt stated sponsors are people or things that have helped shape your literacy outcomes and in my case and, I’m sure in the case of many others, social media has played a crucial sponsor in literacy learning and outcomes. Further into the chapter, Brandt touches on some key concepts in relation to sponsors and sponsorship . Brandt states “people throughout history have acquired literacy pragmatically under the banner of others’ causes.”(Brandt, 2017, p.74)  I really appreciated what Brandt spoke about in terms of sponsors spreading their messages to others without even the slightest idea that their doing so and same goes for the individual taking in the sponsor's information. Social media sites are so big and vast and there is an abundance of different sponsors that people come across on a daily basis. Just from scrolling through my feed on Instagram or twitter I come across thousands of posts from people I know to people I’ve never seen before. Then next thing I know I’m reading about  a strangers opinion on if cats are better than dogs; or on someone's political views. Social Media is a new wave of how people are accessing different information and learning constantly. Since the uprise of social media, I’ve seen an increasing number of individuals becoming more vocal in social and political issues and it’s because they see others posting about those things and others are sharing their knowledge about those topics and the learning just continues. One thing will pass from one platform to another and eventually it becomes accessible to many around the globe! Just as I can testify to social media being a avid sponsor for me in my literacy journey it is one for many others and they don’t even realize the power in what it’s doing for them.

 Although social media is this great source of information some may argue that it isn’t that great. For as long as I can remember I’d always hear my Dad say or my Grandmother “all that facebooking is frying your brain!” They would say that because sometimes I would find myself not knowing how to spell words properly because I relied so much on automatic spell check from using digital platforms so much that I began to use less of my natural brain power. So in certain aspects I could see as to why some would think social media doesn’t help in literacy learning. I also think that a part in those opposing views in generational changes and shifts. Many whom I’ve asked this question to who opposed it were older (30 or older). I know many times my father has voiced to me that all this technology is making this new generation lazy and when he was younger they didn’t have all these fancy machines to do a lot of work for us. I think that like with anything being used for learning whether it be books, textbooks, teachers learning style, social media etc. Everything will have it’s pros and cons but I believe that because we are in an ever evolving technological time social media is very useful in helping with literacy learning. 

Now lastly, Malcolm X whom in many eyes was one of the greatest figures within Black History, was influential beyond all means and many saw him as very intelligent. He was an individual who spoke with elegance and poise and who knew how to strategically convey his message and voice to millions upon thousands. The snippet of Malcolm's autobiography shows his struggles of not be able to know how to read and write when entering into prison; Malcolm had stated “I became increasingly frustrated at not being able to express what I wanted to convey in letters that I wrote, especially those to Mr.Elijah Muhammad.”(X, 2017, p.107) He expressed much in the beginning of the passage how being illiterate was very frustrating for him and how in the streets he was able to gain and earn respect by words but now his vocal articulation doesn’t do much for him as being literate in reading and writing would more. In another passage, Malcolm X expressed “I saw that the best thing I could do was get a hold of a dictionary -- to study to learn some words. I was lucky enough to reason also that I should try and improve my penmanship.”(X, 2017, p.208) Within that, Malcolm X pointed out something important and that was a literacy sponsor. Going back to what Brandt was speaking on behalf of in the earlier paragraphs, Malcolm himself, Mr. Muhummed, his yearning to become literate and more importantly the dictionary were avid sponsors within his literacy journey. Without those resources Malcolm probably wouldn’t have converted to Islam, nor led great social political movements across the nation/world. Although I do believe and feel that if Malcolm would have had access to the resources of social media his literacy journey would have been easier but also I think the basis of his message of Black empowerment would have reached the hearts of many more. Malcolm himself would have been a great literary sponsor to many if Malcolm would have had access to let's say Instagram, he would have been able to post his flyers and messages for many to see! Beyond even him being a literacy sponsor he would have gained quick access to different resources providing him aid and information of literacy. He would have been able to get practice writing through social media platforms and I think and believe his literacy journey would have been much faster if he would have had those technological resources at hand. Although I am making assumptions, I think some can start to come to the conclusion that social media is a very useful tool in many individuals literacy journeys and those platforms have helped many start affluent careers and make marks on the world in numerous of ways. Malcolm was able to leave a mark in spite of not having those sources but imagine if those tools were at his disposal what he’s mark would have looked like.

In conclusion, between my personal experiences with social media, Brandt’s literacy sponsors, and through the story of Malcolm X’s literacy journey, we are able to see how social media can make a positive impact on literacy learning. Although many people (typically older generations) might see social media as a negative platform for communication because of how lazy it can make some people, social media gives people a place to share and read new information in which they may have not known or heard of before. Social media will continue to grow and I think it is important for people to continue to use it as a place where people can exchange new information to spread across the globe. Having this at your fingertips ensures that you won’t have to just go to the library all the time just to get some information about something so little. All of this is positive for the community despite social media’s negative connotations.    

[thatmexisaurusrex]

The Shotgun Angel: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: THE SHOTGUN ANGEL

 Wisteria was built around the Undying Forest. Buildings made so that when the trees grew, they had room. Buildings weren’t built by cutting down to create a flattened plain, no, they were built around whatever was there, indoor spaces and green spaces one and the same in the Old parts of town, high on the mountain top where the Heavens meet the earth. People came from all over the world to see a city created to compliment its natural biome, meant to accentuate and appreciate the awe-inspiring fauna and flora on top of the Endless Mountain.

And then there were the edges of Wisteria, New Town. Temporary bungalows made to withstand perhaps a season if they were lucky, tin thin and lacking the elegance of the city that loomed above it. Most tourists tended to ignore New Town. It wasn’t exactly a prime destination, after all. It wasn’t something many people spoke of unless bemoaning a poverty that felt too immense to wipe clean from their eyes or if you lived there and simply couldn’t ignore the nature of your habitat. However, deep in the heart of New Town, hidden near a crumbling chapel, it was said their lives a daemon spawn who will help anyone for the right price.

The first thing Pearl noticed about Noel Baird was her eyes. Pearl didn’t know eyes could be that color. As if someone concentrated the jewelry shine of a polished shell, moving between a seafoam and aqua depending on the light. She seemed to endure forever bedhead, despite trying to comb her short hair into some presentable shape. She wore a suit as if she knew she needed to look professional, yet the suit was too big on her, too unwieldy, making her seem like someone playing adult. Maybe she was. She looked younger than Pearl expected.

“You just going to stare at me all day or do you want something from me? If not, Stop wasting my time,” grumbled Noel, and Pearl didn’t expect how garbled the voice was, as if this thin, small young woman had irreparably burned her throat leaving whatever croak of a voice that was.

Perhaps that was the daemon in Noel.

Pearl straightened, trying to palm down creases in her own outfit as if her body were rejecting whatever Noel’s clothes were doing entirely.

“Yes. Quite. Well. My name is Pearl Morin and I had heard that Noel Baird would help anyone for a price – that you might be able to help me with my…complicated situation,” Pearl responded.

At first, there was a curdling of the face, a souring in the air when Noel heard “anything”, perhaps the tone Pearl had (it wasn’t as if Pearl hadn’t heard before that her tone wasn’t exactly “friendly” nor “amiable”). But there was a shift, as if Noel’s general rule was to always not judge a book by its cover, and the bristle softens as she stalks around Pearl.

“Your empty money, aren’t you?” asked Noel, her eyes devastating as they read Pearl in ways she felt uncomfortable in admitting, “Nice clothes, but worn, well-kept. You’re one disaster away from New Town. I see why you’re coming to me instead of, say, Holy Agency? Or, perhaps it’s the nature of the ‘problem’ you come to me with. Too embarrassing for the gossip hounds? Willing to risk them for New Town trances, but not the actual problem itself?”

Pearl squirmed under the judgement. She loathed it, some daemon spawn judging her, but she couldn’t say the girl was at all wrong. Which gave Pearl some solace for coming to her for aid in this grave matter.

“Do you have an office? Or will we talk amongst the miscreants in the alleyways and pray they don’t sell my secrets for fortunes?” Pearl said coldly.

Pearl was taller than this girl. She used her height as a point of pride, made sure her back, straight, made it pointedly clear that she would not be harassed by this pay-for-help creature. All Noel did was laugh, glancing over at the muddied children ogling them and shooing them off.

“They’ve never seen clothes so dazzling, but if you’re really so worried, we can meet inside,” explained Noel like Pearl was an idiot, vaguely gesturing for Pearl to follow her into the crumbling chapel behind her, which, strange.

Pearl couldn’t fathom how the structure was still standing, with how little upkeep it seemed to have in terms of the building itself and how archaic the building was. It even had stained glass of angels, surprisingly pristine and untouched unlike the rest of the building, something Pearl had never seen herself in person. It felt as if one particularly strong wind could bring this place down, which would be a shame due to the rare specimens of stained glass.

“I didn’t know such a place existed here,” mumbled Pearl, sensing a faint waft of smoke.

“That’s because no one quite cares for the chapels of yesteryear, left behind as you choose more interactive places of worship,” Noel explained, stepping into eyeline.

Pearl flinched when she noticed that it was Noel who brought about the smell of smoke. She was literally smoking in the church, yet seemed completely relaxed in between the pews.

“You’re, y-you’re,” Pearl stammered as Noel smiled at her, her teeth only slightly pointier looking than the average person – or perhaps that was a trick of the light, Pearl’s brain assuming there had to be something physically demonic about this cursed person.

“You think of daemons,” Noel replied without even needing to hear the answer, “You see, an ancestor of mine some five-hundred years ago offered up her soul as well as the souls of five-thousand of her offspring to the Daemon Azazel, Fallen Angel of Mercy, for gifts beyond her wildest dreams. She got the gifts. The rest of us were lost before we were ever given the choice. So, no. I’m not daemon spawn. I’m merely damned.”

She gestured to the smoke as if it was all settled, that reasoning was set. Maybe it was. But such a horrifying thought. To have your fate sealed before you were even alive, so far in the past that nothing could be done, there was no one to be angry at but probably those who birthed you thinking you could still have some semblance of a happy life.

“Is that why you do what you do?” Pearl asked.

Noel laughed again, more bitter.

“There’s nothing that can save me, you fancy mess. I do this because I want to,” Noel replied.

Noel glowered at the pity, so Pearl allowed herself to shut down such feelings. It wasn’t her fault a strange soul was given no chance. Noel leaned onto the pew, crossing her arms.

“Now, what seems to be your issue?” asked Noel.

There was no running from it, Pearl supposed. She let out a stifled sigh, sitting down in one of the pews.

“My brother, Aria, went missing some three weeks ago. He sometimes will do this. A few days, a week maybe, off partying around, drinking, gambling, but…not three weeks. I fear for him. Especially since he maintains a level of, well…rage against the fact that I seem to be the one keeping us afloat,” Pearl said, trying to find her words in her fidgeting hands, “Our father had drilled into his head that the man is supposed to keep a house afloat, and, well…I’ve always been better at the books. I even made sure he could go on his sprees with no dent in our finances, but he seems desperate to prove himself to be better than I and, from notes I found sprawled in his room, well…I fear for his soul.”

Noel bristled, moving away from the pew she leaned on.

“You’re telling me he’s going to make a deal with a daemon because he feels his fragile masculinity is threatened by you making sure he doesn’t burn through all of your funds?” growled Noel in a way Pearl never saw someone do for her, as if it was okay that she was the way she was and it was her brother in the wrong.

Pearl stuttered a nod. Noel roared, kicking a pew, the pew skewing sideways and awkwardly leaning onto the pew behind it. Noel froze, staring at what she had done.

“Oh, halos and harps,” grumbled Noel.

Pearl startled as a stumbling giant of a man hobbled out in undone priest clothes out from the door to some office Pearl didn’t notice hidden in the back corner. He didn’t look drunk like Pearl expected. More lacking sleep. He had stubble that didn’t quit, hair gelled to the heavens, and a piercing gaze to rival that of Noel. He pointed at Noel accusatorily.

“You break it, you buy it, kid,” the man rumbled, a voice both deep and authoritative with an edge of “kids have to listen to me if I sound like this, right?”.

Noel surprisingly panicked at his reaction, arms flailing.

“I didn’t mean to! This place is a crapshoot.”

“You say that when I let you into my home, I let your shotgun angel stay here?”

“I get it, I get it, I’ll pay for it, okay?”

They gabbed like a dad to a daughter, or maybe more like a disgruntled uncle to a turbulent niece. It juxtaposed the mysterious work-for-hire that made Pearl shiver, almost scared.

“Don’t be so hard on her. The blemish on her allows for a stronger vessel, you know she doesn’t know her strength sometimes,” grumbled a voice from in the office, stretching as he walked out.

This other man, dressed a lot like Noel, carried a hundred-meter stare in his October autumn eyes, voice deep and velvety and just a bit horrifying. Everything about him felt a little too put-together, especially with the two disasters he seemed to keep company with. As if he was born to wear a suit but hates it.

“She has a guest. Don’t embarrass her,” this too-put-together man said, pointing straight at Pearl, making Pearl squirm.

Then she realized why his gaze unsettled her. She turned, surprised to Noel, avoiding eye contact with the organized man.

“Oh of Cupid’s bows, why do you have an angel here? Why is he so easy to hide?” whispered Pearl as if that could make her unhearable, which she knew wouldn’t work but a girl could dream.

“Ortega doesn’t count anymore, don’t worry,” groaned Noel as if for the millionth time, “Stop focusing on those weirdoes – what will you give me in return?”

Pearl remembered why she was there.

“So, you’ll help me, then? With my, um…” Pearl stumbled, glancing at the two strangers in the room, “…situation?”

Noel’s eyes darkened, as if Pearl was truly making a deal with a devil, moving slowly towards Pearl, drawing shivers up Pearl’s spine, making her wonder if Noel’s tale was a lie.

“Depends on what you offer,” said Noel, “What do you think I am owed?”

She was prepared, though. For this pact. Clutching the amulet on her neck, Pearl, broke its chain, holding it out to Noel.

“I heard rumors of you looking for protection from heaven. This is a sliver of a maelstrom. From the Darker Days. I heard it hides a person from the eye of a beholder, so maybe this will help? I don’t know if it hides from heaven, but you can try it.”

She held it out for Noel, only to pull it away. Good. Pearl needed to feel some semblance of power in this agreement. Noel glared as Pearl placed the amulet in her dress’ pocket.

“You’ll get it once you find my brother. Before he does something he’ll regret,” said Pearl.

Noel sighed, nodding.

“That’s fair,” said Noel.

“Does that mean you need your shotgun angel? She’s still sleeping, last I checked,” echoed the still-messy maybe priest.

“Ugh, shut up, Iker. Nobody asked your opinion,” said Noel, stomping towards spiraling stairs behind them.

Pearl followed Noel, glancing over at the eyeing sort-of angel and possible priest.

“Hey, who are those two?” whispered Pearl, hesitant to get on the rickety spiraling staircase.

“Iker and Ortega? They own the chapel. Or run it. I don’t know how landowning works. They let Dru stay here, that’s all that matters,” said Noel, the stairs opening to a lofted room filled with soft pillows, fuzzy blankets, and a young woman sleeping, IV attached to her.

Noel crawled slowly to her, cautious. She touched the girl. Shook her a few times. No response. Pearl wasn’t sure what to make of this. What was happening. She wanted to ask, but she also didn’t want to be tangled in anything shady Noel might be doing. That was when she saw Noel clasping her hands to pray.

“Dru. It’s Noel. I hope you’re listening. I need you to come back, if you can. It’s your choice where you are. Don’t let them choose for you.”

And Noel just watched. Hopeful. Watching that breathing body before her. They snuck up from behind without Pearl even hearing them.

“You’re going to scare her, awakening that shotgun angel of yours,” growled Iker.

Noel glared at him.

“W-What’s a shotgun angel?” asked Pearl.

“Nephilim. A child of blood and bone and holy fury,” said Ortega, leaning a little too familiarly onto the strange almost-priest, “Their essence is tied inextricably to both the body birthed to the mortal coil and to the holiest plane, so their pith is shot from earth to heaven whenever those above call upon them.”

“But angels need hosts,” said Pearl.

“Not when they are half-mortal,” said Ortega, “A rarity, yes, but not unknown to be certain. And heaven, well…they like such soldiers in their garrisons.”

Noel kept her hands clasped, pulling Dru’s hand into her clutch.

“Come on, come on, come on. Didn’t you say you’d come when I call?” whispered Noel in a way that Pearl was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear.

And then it happened. A startle. A stop. A deep breath in, as if life dragged itself back into the body, dazzling topaz eyes lighting as her eyes opened wide, wider than they should. Noel’s hands flung up, cradling Dru’s face gently. Her hands smoked more – Pearl was sure it was probably her touching one most holy. Dru’s eyes fluttered, always on Noel.

“What are you doing?” said Dru, and it was if her voice was both raspy yet like a million relaxing wind chimes.

“Platonic face holding?” suggested Noel.

Dru smiled.

“You called, Noel?” asked Dru, her face still cradled.

“We got a job,” answered Noel, grinning.

[paperprinc3]

Kylux shotgun marriage

You: Meet me in the chapel in ten minutes. H

Stranger: Ten minutes. All right. KR Did something happen? KR

You: Yes. You're going to be a dad. H So we need to get married. H

Stranger: I was going to marry you, anyway. KR We'll have to go planetside before the birth. KR

You: Oh. Well that's good. I love you. H Why do we need to go planetside? H

Stranger: I love you more. KR You weren't planning to raise a child in the Finalizer, were you? KR

You: What do you mean? H I want the child to stay with me while it's small. H

Stranger: Of course. You're coming with us. KR

You: I'm very confused. Where are we going? H Surely I am needed on the finaliser. H

Stranger: Anywhere. Sibensko. Naboo. We'll see. KR Someone else will be in charge. KR

You: Are you suggesting we leave the First Order? H Or is this something you've talked to Snoke about? H

Stranger: No. I still will go to missions when needed, and you can work on other projects, just not on the Finalizer. KR I haven't talked to the Supreme Leader about this. KR

You: I see. You want me to play house alone in the middle of nowhere while you go on missions. H I shouldn't be demoted for having a baby. H

Stranger: I won't leave you alone, Hux. When I'm not with you, at least one of my knights will look after you. KR You won't. That's not a decision that the First Order will make. This was my idea. KR

You: I see. H I want a house on my homeworld. A big one if your knights are staying there too. H

Stranger: Oh. Yes, of course. KR We'll have a big house in Arkanis. KR

You: It's a good place to raise children. H And I can focus more on my designs there. H

Stranger: Of course. KR Have you thought about names? KR

You: No. Not yet. All I've thought about is how we should be married before it arrives. H

Stranger: Well, we are going to get married at the chapel in about seven minutes. KR Are you going to wear white? A veil? Flowers? KR

You: ...I didn't think you'd agree so easily. H I didn't actually book the chapel yet. H

Stranger: Hux. I love you. Why wouldn't I agree easily? I adore you and want you to be mine. KR Ah... KR

You: Ah? H I'm not good with this sort of thing. H I suppose I keep thinking you'll be like my dad. H

Stranger: Let's go to the chapel. If someone is there, we can wait until they leave. KR I'm not like him. KR

You: Are you sure? I kind of sprung it on you. I can borrow some flowers. I have my dress uniform. I could wear that.. H I know. I'm sorry. I've always worried no one would want me. H

Stranger: Yes, I'm sure. Your dress uniform is fine. I'll have some outfits that could work for me, too. Don't worry, Hux. I'm not worried about what we dress, as long as you like the wedding. KR Hux, even after all this time, you still doubt that I want you? KR

You: As long as you're there holding my hand I'll like the wedding. H The chapel is pretty. H Yes I doubt. You're wonderful. I don't deserve you. A baby will be a hindrance to you. As am I. H

Stranger: Yes, I'm sure. Your dress uniform is fine. I'll have some outfits that could work for me, too. Don't worry, Hux. I'm not worried about what we dress, as long as you like the wedding. KR Hux, even after all this time, you still doubt that I want you? KR

You: As long as you're there holding my hand I'll like the wedding. H The chapel is pretty. H Yes I doubt. You're wonderful. I don't deserve you. A baby will be a hindrance to you. As am I. H

Stranger: I will hold your hand at all times. KR Yeah? I'm glad you like it. I'll be there in a moment. I just got dressed. KR Please, don't say that. Don't you know how amazing you are? I'm a lucky man. You are not a hindrance, Hux. I can't wait to see our baby. KR

You: You're going to make me cry. You're so sweet. I belive you. H I have got a hold of the priest. Do you want a jedi service or something? H

Stranger: Good, because what I said is true. I adore you. KR No. Not Jedi. KR

You: You're my everything. H Sorry. I didn't mean to offend? H

Stranger: You've got no idea how you make me feel when you say things like that. KR It's okay, love. Don't worry. There was no harm done. KR Are you okay? KR

You: It's true. I never before you. H For me this is my one and only wedding. H I'm sitting on the bench waiting for you to arrive. H

Stranger: This is my one and only wedding, too. You and our child are everything I need. KR I'm on the corridor outside. I'll be there in a minute. KR

You: Hux smiled as he read Kylo's messages. He felt reassured and happy about the baby and their relationship even as he had rushed to get into his wedding outfit and to the chapel on time. Hux was neatly dressed in his white formal uniform, with a bunch of pink flowers in his hands. He was wearing the expensive silk veil that was used by most weddings in the chapel, mostly to hide his blush as Phasma and Mitaka and one of Kylo's knights sat beside him. His wedding was apparently hot gossip. Not that any seemed to know of his teeny tiny bump. Hux stared at the flowers and wished Kylo would arrive soon. Despite his protests he was looking forward to finding a home for them on Arkanis.

Stranger: Kylo blinked in surprise when he saw his knights standing outside the chapel, waiting for him. Only one of them was not there, but then they walked into the chapel, and Kylo saw him there, sitting with Phasma, Mitaka and his future husband, who was dressed in white and wearing a veil. Kylo was wearing an elegant black outfit and a black cape that he had bought during one of his trips to Naboo. One of his knights attached a pink flower to his chest and then turned around to join the others at the benches. Kylo felt a shiver all over his body as the priest announced his presence, and everyone stood up. He kept his eyes on Hux as he walked down the aisle, wondering if the redhead would like the ring he had in his pocket. It was made of pure gold, decorated with a ruby and tiny diamonds around it.

You: It was difficult to see clearly with the veil on but Hux couldn't help but cry a little as the small chapel was filled with knights in black. He could barely belive so many people would take the time out to watch his wedding. Hux was lead over to the front where there was a viewport of stars and held his hand out for Kylo to hold as promised. Hux could feel his presence in the room and wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms. He felt a hand slip into his. "I asked for the Naboo wedding vows." Hux said softly, just for Kylo to hear. "I thought you'd like that."

Stranger: All of this felt like a dream. He couldn't believe he was watching Hux stand there, wearing white and a veil and with pink flowers in his hands, with the universe behind him. It was beautiful. He wanted to hold Hux in his arms in that moment, to uncover his face and kiss him, but he had to wait. He took Hux's hand gently, smiling softly at his words. "You're sweet. Thank you," he murmured with a smile. They were silent as the priest spoke and, when it was time to say their vows, they slightly turned so that they were standing in front of each other. Kylo took Hux's other hand gently. "I, Kylo Ren, I take you, Armitage Hux, to be my partner for life. I promise above all else to live in truth with you, to love and care for you..."

You: Hux felt the tears slide down his cheeks as Kylo said his vows, his promise meant everything to Hux. It was confirmation of all the sweet things Kylo had ever said. Hux squeezed Kylo's hand and forgot about everyone else as he repeated his vows, sending Kylo all his love and admiration mentally as he'd been shown. He had already given himself to Kylo even if he'd not said the words. He couldn't help but look down at his stomach. At the child they would soon share. Hux beamed as he lifted his veil. "Kiss me now husband. And try to pretend you're not an expert at it." He said into Kylo's ear.

Stranger: Even though he wasn't able to see Hux's face very well, Kylo knew that his bride was crying. Kylo felt like he was going to cry, too, but he breathed and focused on Hux's words and the love he was projecting, which felt like a balm. he looked down at Hux's belly, feeling the need to put his hand on it, but he couldn't do that here. He stopped breathing for a moment when Hux uncovered his face, and he smiled. "I love you, Hux," he whispered as he stepped closer to Hux, putting a hand on his hip and the other one on the back of Hux's head. He pressed a soft, gentle kiss against Hux's lips, hearing the others clap enthusiastically. When he leaned back to look at Hux, he wiped away his tears with his fingers gently and then kissed his forehead, leaving his lips there for a moment. "Oh..." He looked down at his pocket. "I just remembered something." He took the ring from his pocket, showing it to Hux. "Do you like it?"

You: Hux gasped at the beautiful ring. "Oh it's perfect." He grinned letting Kylo help him put it on. Hux didn't really wear such things but he was never going to take it off ever. He couldn't help but throw his arms around Kylo and cover his face with soft butterfly kisses.Hux buried his face in Kylo's shoulder as they broke apart. "I love you too darling." Hux smiled and turned to their guests. "I know it's traditional to stay and celebrate with you all. But I'd much rather be with Kylo, my husband right now.  So if it's alright we'll have a drink another time." Hux said feeling tired but so so happy.

Stranger: Kylo smiled and helped Hux to put the ring on. He knew Hux didn't wear jewelry, but maybe he would wear this ring most days. When Hux hugged him, Kylo wrapped his hands around Hux's waist, smiling at the kisses and kissing him back every time he could. He could feel his heart beating fast in his chest, swelling with love. He kept one arm around Hux's waist while the redhead turned to their guests. "Thank you all for coming," he said, and then he looked at the priest, thanking him as well. When everyone left and they were alone in the chapel, Kylo turned to Hux and picked him up in his arms easily, carrying him bridal-style and peppering his face with kisses. "Oh, Hux... my love... my beautiful bride... my darling," he said between kisses. "You make me so happy..."

[imgilmoregirl]

A Rose of the Forbidden Love

AO3 Link

Notes: Oh, I'm so sorry with the delay of this fic. I got really caught up writing my new on The Miracle, it has been quite an addiction writing it. But we are almost done here, I'd say another four chapters or so. I hope you're liking it!

Chapter Fourteen

Fiona was spending more time in Rose's apartment than she would like her to. There was a part of her that still couldn't believe her good intentions as nicer as she had been lately, mostly because whenever she made a question about her parents' past Fiona would start a whole monologue about how much of a bad person Belle French was. She seemed to be decided to convince Rosalie that her mother had given her up willingly, although the story Belle told her implied the very opposite.

“I would have helped, you know,” Fiona said in a certain afternoon. “I told Isabelle that she should stay in my home, that I would care for her and the child, she just shouldn’t keep seeking for Adam once he was a priest, but she didn’t hear me. I woke up one morning and she was gone.”

If she was feeling brave enough, then Rose might have gone to her mother and asked for the truth, but there was a lot going on at the moment and with Victoria threatening Roland constantly she got to make some decisions and not only for her sake, but for Izzy’s too. She had sent a message to Roland, telling him to come over as soon as he could, because she needed to discuss a few things with him. Rosalie had been waiting for really long when the doorbell rang and she pulled Izzy down to the Moses’ basket, walking to it promptly, but who she found there wasn’t exactly who she was expecting.

“Regina?”

The short haired woman gave her a tiny smile. From all people, Roland’s mother was the last one she thought could appear by her door and she started to wonder if he had send her there.

“Can I come in, please? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Mm, sure.”

She opened the door completely, letting the elegant woman walk inside her tiny apartment wearing her fancy red dress and black high heels. Rose stayed frozen in place for a moment without know exactly what to do as Regina took a few steps to into the living room her gaze falling to the Moses’s basket as Rosalie finally moved to close the door. Bending down, Regina pulled the pink blanket away from the baby to get a better view of her and smiled.

“Is that my granddaughter?”

“Yeah,” Rose said, coming right to her side and picking the child, lifting her. “Meet little Izzy.”

Regina gesticulated into the baby’s direction, asking to hold her and Rose handed Izzy to the new grandmother. Her smile became bigger. The short-haired woman took a seat on the couch, cradling the baby gently in her arms and touching her flushed cheeks.

“She is perfect,” Regina murmured, astonished, before looking up at Rose, her expression changing. “I came to say that I’m sorry for the things I’ve said to you that day at the company. I was angry with my son, I thought I knew what was right for him, but I didn’t.”

“That’s alright, Regina, I understand.”

And she really did. Roland had been irresponsible and even though he now knew that Ivy’s child was never truly his, it still didn’t change the fact that he had been sleeping with two women at the same time. So, out of the two of them, their parents needed to chose one relationship to support and obviously it wouldn’t be the one with the orphan girl. Rosalie would be totally capable of understanding Belle’s point of view too, if she hadn’t spent months snapping at her for literally no reason.

“So,” Regina started, sounding a bit unsure, “would you come back to the company?”

“What?” Rose blinked.

From her spot on the couch, Regina shrugged. She was smiling at the baby again, as if she was bewitched by her granddaughter and Rose was glad to know that at least her daughter was now accepted into her Roland’s family. Of course, she knew that Henry already liked her and had tried to help his brother a thousand and one times, but yet, Regina’s approval was really important.

“You’re still one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen and pregnancy didn’t make much damage in your body. I would like to have you modelling for us again.”

Rosalie couldn’t help but ask: “Did Roland send you?”

“No, he doesn’t know that I’m here.”

Oh. Another thing occurred to her and Rose knew her face had gone pale a great number of “what ifs” passing repeatedly through her mind. She worried at her lip, unsure if she would like to hear that answer or not but knowing that she should make the question anyway.

“Was it Ms. French then?”

“Nobody but my husband is aware of this visit,” Regina assured. “Come back Rose, you’ll do good for yourself.”

She took a deep breath and tried not to think much before she nodded. Yes, she would be back.

When Gold had called her and said the address, Belle thought she would find him in a coffee shop or something like that, but instead she ended-up parking her car in front of purple inn. She furrowed at it, looking at the street’s name and number for the second time, finding that she was in fact in the right place. The brunette made her way inside anyway, asking for the old woman by the counter which was Gold’s room, she smiled, saying that he was waiting on the number four.

Making her way upstairs, Belle knocked on the door and it didn’t take more than a few minutes for Gold to open it. Her breath got caught on her throat when she noticed his priest jacket and the collar thing where gone and he was only wearing a white shirt, the first buttons of it completely undone.

She tried to make up a good phrase in her head, but the only thing that came through her lips was: “Why are you in a hotel?”

Adam chuckled, gently grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her inside before the door locked behind them, his hands went then to both his pockets, burying deep as his eyes met with hers.

“I was living in the back of the church, but since I’ve sent letter to Vatican and they answered back confirming my resignation was done, I don’t have a home anymore.”

Belle blinked. A cold, bubbling sensation settled on her stomach a kind of excitement she thought she couldn’t quite feel anymore, even more now that her life was turned upside down. Oh, God forgive her, but she was so damn happy with this that she might jump with joy.

“You resigned?”

“Aye, sweetheart, and that’s why I asked you to come here, so I could kneel in front of you,” Gold said, going on one knee, taking a red velvet box from inside his pocked and opening it to display a piece of white gold and diamonds, “show you this ring and propose to you.”

“Oh my…”

“Isabelle French, will you be able to forgive me for everything and become my wife.”

She nodded frantically and he slid the ring to her finger as she pulled him up into at tight hug, kissing his whole face and saying repeatedly: “Yes! Yes, yes!”

When their lips met the kiss was messy and breath-taking, Belle clinging to him as Adam gave himself fully into it for the first time ever since they first dared a contact after meeting again. She moaned against his mouth, her too close to his and yet to far, Belle wanted it all and started to move them to the bed as she kissed down his jaw, her hands going down to his belt.

“We shouldn’t do this before we get married.”

“You know I’m hardly a virgin,” Belle murmured, noticing how lusty she already sounded. “Just make love to me, Adam.”

He looked at her beautiful blue eyes and found himself unable to deny it. Adam had been fantasying about this moment for forever now so he laid her down and they undressed each other, enjoying the sight before they dived into passionate kisses. When they were finally joined, panting at the sensation, they made love promises knowing this time they would be able to keep them.

Roland came over that night and Rosalie said him she couldn't get engaged into a relationship until he was properly divorced and Victoria had been calmed down, he mourned a bit, but he knew that she was right so the boy only promised to make it quickly so they could finally be together. In the very next day Rose found a nanny, a girl named Ashley and prepared herself for her first day back to the company on Monday. She still had a few fancy clothes in her wardrobe that she had been provided with while modelling and chose the best outfit she had: black trousers, white jacket, white heels and a blush-pink blouse.

Sabine encouraged her a lot when all she did was to step back, call Regina and say that she couldn't do it, mainly now when she had to leave her baby at home, but Rose was convinced to do so. She hadn't told her father about it, but Neal knew it and she was pretty sure that sooner or later he would let it slip through his mouth, but she couldn't give much thought to it or she would drown in the madness of her on mind, filled with so many doubts. Meeting with Ms. French would already be hard enough for her, but Rosalie remembered the places she used to stay at in the company and she would certainly avoid them.

So, in that morning, Rose went to Robin's office, finding him discussing some new dresses styles with Gideon. She sighed at her lack of lucky, because from all people it was Ms. French's son in there. Rosalie cleaned her throat anyway, making both of them look up at her.

"Ms. Weaver, what a pleasure to see you," Robin exclaimed cheerfully. "You look stunning as always and I'm glad you do, because we will be taking some pictures today and I want you wearing our newest masterpiece, designed by Belle herself."

"I think you'll love the dress," Gideon said, noticing her discomfort when Robin spoke about his mother. "Alice will help you downstairs."

Rose nodded.

"Thank you for hiring me again, Mr. de Locksley."

As quick as she could, Rosalie turned around getting out of the room and going down to the make-up and dressing room, where Alice jumped on her, hugging Rose close and calling her sister at each sentence she spoke. She showed her a gorgeous silver dress and let Rose pull it on before the photographer appeared to start the shooting. And she had to admit it was good.

While standing in their Rose felt like a princess, more alive than in all those dark days that started with her daughter's kidnapping. She smiled, she laughed, she made serious faces and, in the end, she was feeling herself again. Now, she knew who she was and it wasn't what people thought her to be. What she didn't realise, however was that Belle had been watching the photoshoot and only when it was over and the other were going back to the backstage, she saw her there standing with a glowing smile on her lips. She tried to ran away, but Belle's voice s her.

"I didn't know you were back."

"Regina and Robin hired me," Rose shrugged. "I hope that doesn't make you mad at them."

"No, of course not," Belle guaranteed. "I'm glad to see you here."

Well, I'm not, Rose thought, but didn't say anything. Maybe it had been a bad idea to come there, maybe she shouldn't have accepted the job if she knew that she wasn't ready to see her birth mother every single day. When Belle took a step into her direction trying to touch her face, but she shifted back.

"My child..." Belle trailed off.

"I've already told you I'm not your child."

Belle lifted her hand showing her a big solitary ring.

"Your father and I are engaged."

Swallowing these worlds Rose felt her vision blurry with tears. Gold could forgive everyone for everything, he could love endlessly and give comfort to the ones who needed it, but Rose was nothing like him. She was cold like her mother, so she turned around and went away.

[ourplanetary-blog]

'Priestdaddy' Shimmers With Wonderful, Obscene Life

New Post has been published on http://ourplanetary.com/priestdaddy-shimmers-with-wonderful-obscene-life/

'Priestdaddy' Shimmers With Wonderful, Obscene Life

“I want to suppose I sprang from a head; I like to assume the pinnacle became mine,” writes Patricia Lockwood in Priestdaddy, her memoir of growing up with a Catholic priest for a father.

But no. She sprang from the (oft-uncovered) loins of Father Gregory Lockwood, who transformed on board a submarine while watching the Exorcist: “That eerie, pea-soup light turned into pouring down, and all around him guys in sailor suits had been getting the bejesus scared out of them, and the bejesus flew into my father like a dart into a bull’s eye.”

It becomes, he boasted, “the innermost conversion on the report.” He became a Lutheran, after which a Catholic priest, maintaining his wife and family via special Vatican dispensation.

Father Lockwood not often wears pants, washes with dish soap, and performs the guitar like “a whole band demise in a plane crash in the 12 months 1972.” Additionally, he “despises cats. He believes them to be Democrats. He considers them to be little mean Hillary Clinton’s blanketed all over with feminist leg fur. Cats would have abortions if given half of a risk. Cats would have abortions for fun.”

In Priestdaddy, photographs like this abound — wherein every sentence shimmies with awesome, obscene lifestyles, however, the individual in the back of it isn’t always quite visible thru the dance. Her mother receives similar treatment: “If Daisy’s voice became full of cash, my mom’s voice is full of coupons without spending a dime appetizers.” They almost give away extra about Lockwood than her topics.

But Priestdaddy guidelines, in between those wackily affectionate sections, at a darker undescribed history – “that I was raised in an exchange reality, that my early life sky became inexperienced.” Lockwood’s descriptions of trauma, a rape, and a suicide strive, as an example, are mere paragraphs, after which we go back all over again to the wheeling, dancing circus. She would not owe us those revelations, of the route, but Lockwood is best while she is concrete. The pressure of her sentences, though stunning, isn’t enough to hold the circle of relatives portrait past the primary 150 pages.

Her writing approximately the Catholic Church, however, is scorching. It’s been a hot topic currently, what particular degree of compassion or scorn or blame or help or anything another cocktail of put up-Trump emotions is owed to white, proper-leaning Christian guys. Are they oppressing minorities or, wait, are the coastal elites oppressing them? For Patricia Lockwood, the strength runs one way: These conservative guys managed her adolescence, and he or she’s punching up, as difficult as she will endure too.

Of the priests and seminarians who stuffed her formative years domestic, a lot of whom grew to become out to be both infant molesters or their protectors, she thinks, “I had no actual strength; it was men like those who were in charge of my life. If they decided day after today I needed to cool my hair or put on skirts or pray one by one, or be barred from reading certain books, or take sure capsules and not take others, or be silent in the presence of men, I might have to do it.”

The day she publishes her throat-punch of a poem “Rape Joke,” she overhears her father and a seminarian talking about any other priest stuck kissing a 14-yr-antique woman: “‘She shouldn’t have positioned him in that function,’ I listen a male voice say, and an old familiar wildness flutters up in my chest and into my throat, sending feathers and flames into my voice field till I cannot speak, that equal phoenix heat that still rises up in me irrespective of how in many instances I force it down.”

Passages like these are searing and real, whilst the quirky own family anecdotes start to appear repetitive after a time. Lockwood shines while overlaying specific activities: her different huge piece of nonfiction, some reporting for the New Republic on a Donald Trump rally, has the equal sensibility with a extra defined target. At one point in Priestdaddy, she describes an idea as “precise change in the shape of a concept,” and that is the way her best terms experience: In the New Republic piece, Melania “wore an outfit nice described as Sensual Band-Aid and took small, ruthlessly edited steps.”

A few days after the tale came out, the New Republic in brief permit her run their Twitter account, which she used to tweet “f— me daddy” at Trump There she is the flasher below the poet’s robes. At her very best, Lockwood is antic, deadpan, heartbreaking — and so, so gross.

The Use of Vulgarities, Obscenities & Swearing In Public Speaking Because we as a people are losing our experience of decency, vulgarities have become the norm in our normal lifestyles: we see it in people’s movements; we see it within the enjoyment international; we listen it in communication on a daily basis. So how can we decide what is suitable in public talking? The nice advice I can give is to apply the language that is examine in print (no longer fiction) and now not the language being heard on TV or on the radio.

The trouble for a lot of our young human beings these days is that they are unaware of what is considered indecent due to the fact they have been in no way taught the primary fundamentals of true conduct by their parents. In truth, had been you to ask those in their 20’s and early 30’s to define the phrases, vulgarity, obscenity, and swearing, I am assured that many could not understand the variations.

And, because of political correctness, teachers are often unwilling to accurate the scholars. An suggest of loose speech, I am, however, saddened in addition to incensed that our lack of decency has led to any and all vulgarities, obscenities, and common swear words now being taken into consideration the norm.

Defined by Webster’s Dictionary as being “offensive in language,” vulgarities have no vicinity in public speaking. The phrase fr_gging, for instance, is defined by way of the dictionary as being a vulgarity; it’s also a word that you by no means read the newspaper, unless the author is quoting a person. But, we are hearing that phrase on a every day foundation no longer just from adults however from our youngsters as well.

Another vulgarity that has to grow to be a commonality is the word p_e. Having been taught as a child that that precise phrase turned into crass, I became taken again when my first child entered pre-kindergarten and heard the teachers the use of that phrase again and again again. To nowadays, that word still ‘hurts’ my ears much like listening to a person say, “It do not work that way” or “Me and him did it.”

According to Webster’s, obscenities seek advice from the ones phrases that are “disgusting to the senses; abhorrent to morality or virtue – especially designed to incite to lust or depravity; coarse.” And, whilst obscenities won’t yet be heard on our 3 predominant broadcast networks, I am confident that it’s far best a be counted of time before we are able to hear those ‘choice’ phrases as properly.

Why now not use questionable language in public speak if we’re listening to it in normal everyday verbal exchange? Because you will, virtually, offend a number of us. Using vulgarities or obscenities in public displays on you. It is crass, crude, and coarse. It shows which you have no taste, no elegance, and no appreciate for others.

The reason of public speaking is to move your audience to motion in a few fashion – to buy a product; to accept as true with your political bent; to trust on your defendant’s innocence; the listing goes on and on. Bottom line, but, is which you are promoting some thing. Should you offend your target market, it’s far pretty feasible that one in all your ‘offendees’ is that one man or woman who holds the keys to your future. That one person may be the individual equipped to offer you the deal of an entire life, the contract you’ve been negotiating, the task you’ve got constantly wanted. Is it worth the vulgarity, the obscenity, or the common swear phrase?

Dealing With Obscene Calls It is ordinary nowadays to get hold of unknown calls, however, receiving threatening calls continuously could be honestly worrying and frightening. It can disrupt your peace of thoughts and you have to do something to forestall it. Dealing with obscene calls can be very irritating but there are ways to prevent it.

Unwanted calls can be a real nuisance in your existence due to the fact it can disturb your sleep, your private time with your family and it may disturb your peace of thoughts. Dealing with obscene calls will be genuinely nerve-wracking. Changing your smartphone quantity is an option, however, it’ll be a super inconvenience for you because you need to tell all of the human beings in your cellphone e-book about your new range.

One vital issue that you may do is dangle up and do not communicate to your nuisance caller. Do no longer interact in any communication and do not give your caller the hazard to get any records approximately you. It is pleasant to get an answering machine to display screen your incoming calls and solution only the calls from human beings you recognize.

Although there are cases that savvy nuisance callers can block caller ID, it’s far nevertheless high-quality to get a caller ID to seize and record the numbers and names of your unknown callers. You can ask your cell phone organization approximately different to be had offerings that assist you to in coping with obscene calls. Your smartphone employer ought to help you trace and pick out your caller.

It is also pleasant to report the recurring obscene calls to the police to make sure your protection. However, you need to perceive the identity of your unknown caller to make a detailed police record. In this situation, an opposite cellphone directory can help you trace and identify your caller by using just the use of the phone quantity of your caller.