#sex on a plane might be more appealing in first-class?

[freepassbound]

1. Think of your three closest friends - would you have sex with any of them? Have you already?

2. Where’s the most unusual place you’ve masturbated?

9. What’s your darkest fantasy?

11. Would you rather have sex on a beach, on a plane, or in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant?

(Did you notice there were 2 number 2s in this list? 😄)

1: No, and no.

2: On a bus, probably? (It was a charter bus taking students back to campus, maybe a third to a quarter full; nine-hour drive, mostly at night)

9: I'd say a total loss of autonomy - the "actually being their toy"-type ones.

11: I'd go with sex on a beach; on the rocks, though (or rather a big rock) - no one wants sand in their junk! 😂

(No, I did not. 😂)

[thegirlwhomoanedwolf]

Riding hood and the big bad wolf

(Dressed as red riding hood you meet the big bad wolf )

Klaus x reader

Warnings: 18+, slightly rough

(y/n) stared out the lavish airplane window looking down on the glistening city below her. She could barely handle her excitement as the pilot came over the speaker saying they would be landing within a few minutes. It had almost been a year since she had seen her best friend Rebekah and she was ecstatic to catch up. Sure they might have been unlikely friends but (y/n) could tell from the moment she met her that Rebekah was loyal and kind. (Y/n) didn’t even second guess Rebekahs character when she revealed herself as a vampire. They would spend hours talking about their lives but (y/n) preferred to listen to all the tales the blonde vampire would share about her loves, losses, adventures and family.

Once the plane landed (y/n) grabbed her bags from overhead appreciating Rebekah for compelling her a first class ticket and multiple on flight bags. (Y/n) rolled her luggage off the plane and as soon as she stepped off was greeted by a smiling Rebekah. “ (y/n) !,” she exclaimed walking over to her and wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug.

“ I missed you too bex,” (y/n) laughed having dropped her luggage to hug her back.

After pulling away Rebekah grabbed her bags carrying them easily and escorted her out of the airport and into her sports car. The warm night air blew through her (y/h/c) colored hair as they chatted about their plans for the week. They began to get closer to the French quarter and energetic jazz music filled the air as the glow of festive lights radiated against her skin.

Once they arrived to the compound (y/n) was in awe of all of the extravagant Halloween decorations and workers setting up for what she could assume would be the best Halloween party ever. Rebekah walked her up the old wooden stairs leading her to the room that would be hers for the week. As they reached the hallway a handsome man in a suit (who she assumed was Elijah from bex stories) approached them.

“ Good evening sister. This must be (y/n) who I’ve heard so much about.” He moved closer to (y/n) taking her hand and kissing it. “ Pleasure to finally meet you,” he smiled.

She blushed and responded. “ nice to meet you Elijah I’ve heard a lot about you as well.”

“ hopefully all good,” he joked making her and Rebekah laugh.

Rebekah spoke, “ alright enough jibber jabber lijah. (y/n) and I need to start getting ready.” With that Elijah nodded leaving them.

An hour and a half later they were both ready. Rebekah wore a gorgeous sparkly light blue tight fitted gown with matching gloves and a choker, her hair styled in a sleek bun. Her sexy Cinderella costume sticking to the fairytale theme of the party. (Y/n) stood in front of the large gold framed antique mirror feeling more confident than she had in a long time. When she had called and told Rebekah her costume idea she never would have imagined Rebekah would have assembled this. (Y/n) wore a black glittery corset with a short ruffled skirt that barely covered her lower half. Adding even more sex appeal to the costume were the sparkly black garters and stockings. At first (y/n) almost refused to try the costume on but after bex insisted the long red velvet cape would make it less revealing she gave in. Her hair was curled loosely and Rebekah had given her a dark smoky eye complimented by a deep blackberry colored lip. She looked stunning.

“ Ready (y/n) ?” Rebekah asked ready to join the party fashionably late.

(Y/n) looked herself over in the mirror one last time and smiled, “ absolutely.”

As the two of them ventured down to the booming party (y/n) couldn’t decide where to look. There were aerialists, magicians, jugglers and even fire blowers thorought the compound. The two found thier way to greet Marcel who asked Rebekah to dance and twirled her away once (y/n) said she was fine on her own.

(Y/n) walked over to a table filled with gormet appetizers picking up one that had apples and cheese and was surprised with how amazing it was.

“ Delicious,” she heard an accented voice say behind her.

“ Yes very,” she said beginning to turn to the man who had spoken to her. She inhaled quickly as she put the voice to the face. Standing only feet away from her was the sexiest man she had ever seen. He had short messy blonde hair that complimented his gorgeous blue eyes. He wore dark jeans and a deep crimson henley showing off his lean muscular body that made (y/n) wonder what he looked underneath.

“ I wasn’t referring to the food love,” he smiled deviously.

Trying to play it cool (y/n) ignored his comment looking him up and down asking, “ so was the costume memo lost on you?”

He chuckled showing off a smile that made her knees weak, “ You must be new around here,” he stepped closer to her, his mouth near her ear whispering “ I’m the big bad wolf.” Suddenly it clicked in (y/n)’s head.

“ You’re klaus,” she gasped softly. He pulled away feeling disappointed in her obvious distress.

“ I see my reputation proceeds me,” he said glumly.

Realizing he took her reaction the wrong way (y/n) tried to save the conversation. “ I’m (y/n), your sisters friend so I’ve heard many stories.” She joked lightly hoping he would stay and talk to her even though she knew she shouldn’t want that. Especially after what Rebekah had told her about him. “ I’ll actually be staying here the rest of the week.”

“ Well I have to say I’m surprised. My little sister normally doesn’t keep such good company.”

(Y/n) responded in a teasing tone while still being defensive of her best friend “ obviously not considering how much time she spends with you.”

He clutched his chest faking pain “ ouch you wound me (y/n).” They both laughed.

Conversation flowed so easily between them it already felt like they had known each other for years. He enjoyed how she spoke her mind unlike anyone else around him afraid of how he would react. He asked her about her life, her interests, her dreams and she happily told him. He hadn’t met someone who peaked his interest like this in hundreds of years. There was something special about (y/n).

“ There you are (y/n)!,” Rebekah interrupted and (y/n) immediately felt nervous. “ I see you have met my devilsih brother Niklaus.” “ come I have some people I want you to meet.” Rebekah smiled secretively about to introduce (y/n) to willing employers, trying to convince her best friend she missed so dearly to move.

Before (y/n) could reluctantly walk away klaus grabbed her hand pressing his full lips to it softly like Elijah had earlier but this time it felt different. ( y/n) felt butterflies in her stomach and her muscles clenching even lower. “ Don’t be a stranger (y/n). My room is all the way at the end of the left corridor.”

After an hour of mingling Rebekah pulled her friend aside. “ We’re best friends right ?” She asked accusitory making (y/n) nervous.

“ of course, why?”

“ Last time I checked best friends don’t hide their feelings and from the way you keep trying to sneak looks at my brother I’m curious as to what’s going on?”

“ I’m so sorry,” (y/n) apologized sincerely. “ I wasn’t trying to upset you. I wish I wasn’t into your brother and I didn’t want to hurt you. I promise I don’t plan on acting on it.”

“ Nonsense,” she responded quickly, “ if anyone can soften my dastardly brothers heart it would be you and by the looks of it he’s just as interested as you are. Just be careful he’s a beast.” She joked before adding sincerely. “ I just want you to be happy, you have my blessing.”

“ Thanks bex, you really are the best.” (y/n) leaned in giving her a hug.

...............

The night had ended and Klaus was no where to be seen for the past few hours. (Y/n) was so disappointed she felt like she could cry. She was so stupid to think he had actually liked her when it was obvious he probably left with the gorgeous blonde he was talking to earlier.

She made her way upstairs ready to just go to bed and hopefully put it out of her mind. Entering her candlelit deep green room she went straight into the bathroom removing her makeup ready to slip into pajamas after. Just as she finished washing her face she heard a light knock on the door and opened it without hesitation assuming it was Rebekah. Her eyes widened when she was met with a shirtless klaus, a black rosary hanging around his neck and noticed his tattoos for the first time. Her eyes traveled lower to his toned stomach, his low hanging jeans making her want to see what was underneath.

“ Hello love, I was hoping you’d accompany me to my room I have something I’d like to show you.” (Y/n)’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. She hesitated and Klaus held out his strong hand for her to take. Stepping forward she placed her small hand in his feeling electrified by his touch. She shut the heavy door behind her and began to walk with him, her stocking covered feet feeling the cold floor against them.

They reached the end of the hallway and entered a large living area. (Y/n) looked around admiring the eclectic decorations. Surely most of the items would be in museums if the mikaelsons didn’t have them. Klaus pulled his hand away from hers moving to open another set of doors making her miss his touch. He held out his arm beckoning her into the room. As she entered the brick room her heart beat faster seeing a large bed to the left covered in a dark grey comforter. She had to shake the explicit thoughts that raced in her mind. How was it he could bring up these desires in her so easily? She stood unsure of where to go when klaus looked over to the bed “ please make yourself comfortable.”

(Y/n) walked over to the bed, her cape dragging behind her and sat on the edge of it, the softeness helping calm her nerves. Finally finding her voice she asked “ so what was it you wanted to show me?”

Walking to the far corner of the room he picked up an easel with a canvass that was faced away from her. Carrying it closer he turned it and she was stunned at what she saw. It was a painting of her in a dark green enchanted forest dressed as she was now. A beam of light broke through the trees illuminating her and the large black wolf that sat beside her. She was speechless.

“ I hope this isn’t too much,” klaus spoke nervous for the first time centuries.

“ it’s perfect,” she responded from the bed looking up at him not just referring to the painting but also the hybrid in front of her.

He walked over to her and she admired how his muscles rippled as he did. Sitting beside her he brushed her (y/h/c) hair behind her ear and rested his palm against her face his thumb running across her plump bottom lip. “ just like you (y/n),” he gently pulled her face to his and she sighed the feel of his lips on hers making her feel like she was exactly where she belonged. He pulled back looking into her (y/e/c) eyes for reassurance. (Y/n) looked into his eyes seeing emotion she had never seen from anyone else before and quickly pressed her lips more firmly against his.

Klaus growled at her passion and kissed her more fiercely than he had before. His hand wrapped in her hair while the other gripped her thigh as their tongues began to battle. He showed his dominance which only made (y/n) want him more. As they kissed she began to try to grind into him needing to feel him where she wanted him most. Klaus smiled against her lips noticing this and sped them into a new position. He placed himself seated against the headboard with her straddled over his lap his large covered bludge pressing into her. He admired her flushed cheeks as she tried to please herself using him but he knew it wasn’t what she really wanted.

Klaus began to softly kiss and nip along her smooth neck her pulse making the animal in him want to come out and play but he pushed those urges down. Pressing his lips behind her ear he rolled his hips into her, “ let me show you what true pleasure is.”

“ please Klaus,” she begged in response feeling as if she had never wanted anything more. Klaus threw her onto her back and she bounced on the bed as she watched him now standing at the end of it, his hands at the zipper of his jeans. He slowly pulled the zipper down and easily pulled his jeans off. The look of shock was evident on her face when she saw the size of him. The wetness between her legs was soaking her panties as he began to prowl toward her like the wolf he was. He stopped his head hovering above her core and looked up at her smiling devilishly “ I’m going to eat you up,” with that he ripped all the clothing off of her lower half besides her stockings and began to kiss the inside of her thigh teasing her.

(Y/n) shifted her hips trying to move him to where she desperately needed him and he laughed holding her hips down. “ I need you Klaus,” she huffed frustrated before he pressed a soft kiss on her clit. She looked down to watch him, his blue eyes looking up at her as he kissed her clit again this time using his mouth as a suction causing her eyes to roll back in her head. Being the oldest creature in the world had its advantages and this was one of them. Klaus excelled at many things but art and sex were his true talents. He created a vibration against her with his tongue and felt her begin to tense up underneath him. She was already so close and he had just begun.

(Y/n) gripped the sheets, the pleasure beginning to become more than she could handle. She thrashed her head before letting out a cry, “ yes, yes, I’m gonna cum!” Stating what Klaus already knew he plunged two of his fingers into her tight core curling them upward hitting her special spot. (Y/n) shook in pleasure her orgasm taking control of all her senses. Her walls pulsed around Klaus’s fingers as he slowly pumped them into her helping her ride out her orgasm. Klaus kissed her there one last time causing her to twitch from the sensitivity then removed his soaked fingers sucking them clean, “ I knew you’d be delicious from the moment I saw you,” he growled.

Sitting up he watched as her chest heaved causing her sparkly corset to reflect the dim lighting in a hypnotic way. Deciding he would rather by hypnotized by her breasts he ripped the corset off and watched as her nipples hardend the cold air chilling them. Klaus slid his fingers up her sides slowly till he reached her breasts. (Y/n) moaned as he softly traced around her peaks. Klaus pinched them lightly and (y/n) let out a loud pleasurable cry that made his cock twitch. He couldn’t wait any longer he needed to be inside of her. Crawling on top of her he rested his weight on one arm while the other teased her slick opening with his overly eager member. They both moaned and he kissed her deeply before pulling his lips from hers. Looking into her gorgeous (y/e/c) eyes he huskily asked “ can I make love to you (y/n)?”

Looking up at him her heart fluttering at his choice of words she softly responded, “ yes Niklaus, I need you.” Enjoying the way his full name sounded on her lips he kissed her again and began to guide himself in.

“ fuck,” he growled as half of his large member was being squeezed by her. He pulled out slowly her folds gripping him tightly. He pushed back in this time all the way causing (y/n) to whimper.

“ Are you alright love?” He asked concerned stopping his movements.

“ yes, please don’t stop, you feel amazing.” With that he pulled back out and thrusted into her more forcefully.

“ you feel like heaven on earth,” Klaus growled beginning to set a slow and hard pace. (Y/n) dug her fingernails into his shoulders trying to cope with the amount of pleasure he was giving her. “ I want you to cum for me.” He picked up his speed causing her cries to fill the room. Moving his hand to her clit he rubbed her at an inhuman speed, her fingernails digging into him, pleasure overtaking her. “ that’s it, cum on my cock.”

(Y/n) shook beneath him the feel of him pounding in and of her and his magical fingers gave her what she needed. Klaus continued his ministrations until it became too much and she had to reach her hand down to his stomach trying to push him back but Klaus had another idea. He quickly flipped them over sinking her all the way down on him making her tremble. She rested her hands on his chest catching her breath as he looked up at her and ran his hand along the red cape that was still tied around her neck and flowing around her.

“ I’ve been thinking about this since I laid eyes on you.” Switching from stroking the cape he moved to her breast cupping it in a way that made her sigh.

“ me too,” she blushed.

“ naughty girl,” he responded and slowly thrusted up into her his other hand gripping her hip. “ can you ride the big bad wolf (y/n)?”

“ can you handle it?” She teased back seductively lifting herself up and down before giving him time to respond. Using his chest for balance she began to bounce up and down on him making him wonder how he deserved this. She was spectacular. Both of his hands found her hips helping her lift almost all the way off of him and then slamming her back down. Her breasts and hair bounced wildly. The sight bringing him closer to the edge. She leaned herself back planting her stocking covered feet in front of her giving him the best view he could imagine. He was mesmerized watching himself disappear inside her, full body on display bouncing above him.

Barely hanging on Klaus moved his fingers to her clit and felt her walls tighten around him. “ yes, you’re gonna make me cum niklaus.”

She continued to bounce on him looking down to watch where they were connected the sight about to push her over. “ That’s it (y/n),” he said now looking where she was. “ watch yourself use my cock like the naughty girl you are. Look at those pretty little pussy lips gripping me.” She moaned in appreciation of his dirty talk and he continued, “ I want to feel you tremble around me, I want to cum with you.” She was close and so was he.

Quickly flipping them so he was untop of her he connected his mouth to hers his hand playing with her clit and his hips moving at an inhuman pace. Her hands fisted in his sandy blonde hair keeping their mouths conntected. The kiss giving her what she needed. She cried out into his mouth, her walls milking him causing him to thrust erratically into her as he emptied himself.

He moved his mouth from hers to her shoulder and they both lay there breathing heavily still connected.

“ where have you been all my life?” Klaus whispered into her shoulder kissing it.

“ not born yet,” she joked back their laughter reminding them he was still inside of her. “ Klaus?” She said shyly.

“ yes love ?”

Blushing she quietly said, “ I’m really sore.”

He pulled out slowly and rolled beside her stroking her face. “ I’ll need to heal you when we want to do that again.”

She tried to nonchalantly ask, “ again?”

He smiled and pulled her closer to him. “ I heard you decided to take a job here. I’m going to want you every day, multiple times, over multiple surfaces.” She could feel the worry radiating from him. “ if you’ll have me. I’d like you to stay here with me.” He motioned to the room. “ or if you’d prefer you can have any room you want in the compound,” he said trailing off.

(Y/n) looked into his eyes trying to convey how she felt “ here is perfect.” She kissed him their tongues starting to intertwine causing Klaus to laugh.

“ I guess I’ll need to heal you sooner than I thought.”

[mariacallous]

Twenty years ago, we lost Paul Wellstone, his wife and daughter, three campaign workers and two pilots in a tragic plane crash. Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of him. Some politicians disappear quickly from the public imagination once they are no longer with us. Others have a legacy that lives on in the people they impacted and the values they upheld. Their light continues to shine beyond their time in office or on earth. Their influence even magnifies over time. That is true of Paul Wellstone.

I first met Paul as a 19-year-old student at Carleton College. He was my faculty adviser and political mentor and became a lifelong friend. No one had more influence on me than Paul. I worked on the 2002 campaign that ended so tragically and helped to found Wellstone Action. This is how I remember him.

Paul Wellstone loved and respected working-class people. He honored their dignity and their struggles to support their families. The Iron Range — indeed the entire Eighth Congressional District — was his second home. He was comfortable in union halls, church basements and on the picket line. He fought for the rights of steel workers, autoworkers, public sector workers and mine workers. These already strong relationships were cemented in the fight against NAFTA, the North American Free Trade Agreement.

Paul understood that any trade agreement that did not protect U.S. jobs was certain to cause dramatic dislocation for many workers, wrecking families and entire communities, as jobs were shipped overseas. What a different world we might have today had that fight not been lost. Huge swaths of voters might not have been attracted to Donald Trump's fake populism.

As the son of Jewish immigrants, Paul had a natural affinity with immigrants, whether they be Hmong, Mexican, Liberian or Russian. Having watched his mother work for years in cafeterias and his father in jobs far below his education level, Paul knew what immigrants give up when they come to the U.S. and how much they contribute to their new home. He never held himself above anyone and honored all communities who were finding a place in the fabric of our state. His was not a phony appeal to working people or immigrants, but rather a deep and abiding respect for who they were.

Paul loved rural and small-town Minnesota. One of his first organizing projects as a professor at Carleton was to create Organizing for a Better Rice County. This project enabled him to bring issues of local poverty to his students and to bring skills and organizing tools to his neighbors. Later he would forge alliances with farm families, whose livelihoods were being threatened by large utility companies, corporate agriculture and politicians who just didn't care. Paul walked their land, sat at their kitchen tables and listened to their stories. Then he would help turn that knowledge into action to improve people's lives.

Paul did not believe there was a contradiction between defending the environment and the need for good, high-paying jobs. He didn't change his position from audience to audience on these and other issues. Rather, when he was with a labor audience, he talked about the urgency of environmental protection, and when he was with environmentalists, he helped them to understand the real and immediate concerns of workers. He educated all sides and helped people see connections.

Remarkably for a politician, Paul admitted when he was wrong, and then sought to make amends. Early in this country's debate about marriage, Paul took the position that marriage was a right to be afforded to only a man and a woman. He believed civil union should be available for all. Later, after listening to the hurt and anger of his gay and lesbian friends, he changed his position. He evolved. He admitted that he was wrong and became a champion for same-sex marriage. This takes courage.

Paul Wellstone was authentic. He found joy in politics and in turn people felt his warmth, his genuine concern and his interest in finding solutions with them. "We all do better when we all do better" was not just a slogan for Paul; it was a core belief. He worked with his friend and Republican colleague, Jim Ramstad, to promote mental health parity and to see addiction as an issue worthy of legislative action. He worked with colleagues across the aisle on domestic violence.

He fought vigorously to protect workers and the environment, but after a fierce political battle, he could be friends with those with whom he disagreed. He could laugh with them, ask about their families and sympathize with personal setbacks. He was so certain of his convictions, that he was able to be both fierce and compassionate.

Paul is remembered for his friendships on the Senate floor, but also with the Capitol police, the elevator operators, the cafeteria workers, the custodians and the legislative staff whose jobs it is to make government work. These people were never invisible to Paul.

Long before Barack Obama, Paul understood that a multiracial, multigenerational coalition was not only an effective way to win elections, but also the only way to advance social change and strengthen our democracy. He believed in collective power and grassroots organizing. I witnessed dozens of gatherings where he shifted the focus from himself to the work being done by others in the room. He understood one person does not make change. Organized people do.

As I sit with the current ugly state of politics, the cesspool of lies, the rise of authoritarianism and racism, and our inability to get anything done, I remember Paul. A beacon of hope when he was alive, his legacy is still a beacon of hope. I believe we can learn to respect each other again, to come together to solve serious problems and to build a future worthy of our children and grandchildren.

[ka-za-ri]

Prize Pt 1

Hello! Comin’ at you hot with some commission work I received from a lovely client on Ao3. The request was for breeding centric fic, so if you’re not into that, please avert ye eyes. This is a three part series and will end up being Satan centric, but the first part will be dedicated to the lovely Asmo~

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  Please enjoy!

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Pairing: Asmodeus x Reader Genre: smut Wordcount: 4,200 ish   Tags: Hand job, demon sex  Summary: There’s a game afoot and it’s up to you to figure out the rules before you’re taken by surprise by the brothers.

Game

There was an unspoken game afoot, one that only the brothers were in on. You didn’t need to confront them on what they were hiding though, it wasn’t hard to figure out. None of the demons seemed to be well versed in the art of being subtle. At least it meant you were able to catch onto what they were doing much sooner than they anticipated. You would play along with them; and in the end, it would benefit all parties involved. The most important question was how to make them play by your rules without them knowing.

It was a careful dance around their flirtatious advances. It was a precise push and pull that you needed to become adept at if you wanted to win their game. For some, material bribes distracted them enough. A different approach was needed for the others who were more persistent. From Leviathan’s obvious attempts to usurp your time by asking you to raid with him until the wee hours of the morning to Beelzebub constantly asking you if you wanted some of his favorite snacks, they clearly wanted more personal time with you than they let on.

It wasn’t hard to push away Beelzebub. You could claim to have an upset stomach or were too full from your most recent meal to accept his idea to raid the fridge and retreat to his room to enjoy the spoils. Leviathan was similar. Most of the time you got away with complaining about how much homework was put upon you. On the few occasions you did end up joining him for a dungeon run or two, you may or may not have purposefully provoked the enmity of the boss to frustrate him enough to kick you out of his room early.

It was difficult to keep up appearances. Trying to find the balance of spending time with the brothers while also keeping up an innocent and unaware facade was more tiring than you anticipated. You knew that their intentions weren’t bad, but they were up to something that definitely revolved around getting you alone and probably naked. Some of the plans they executed were more obvious than others, and you needed to pick your battles accordingly.

Mammon was particularly difficult to deal with at times. He liked to spend most of his time hanging off you. He had the distinct advantage of being chosen to be your caretaker and guardian thanks to Lucifer. One of the few favors the first born had ever done for Mammon was allowing him to have as much contact as he needed with you. Though he was great with showing you the ropes of Devildom, it was problematic when it came to you wanting your own space. Though his words were brash, you could tell how much he adored being the default person that you had to turn to for help.

Luckily for you, it seemed as though his past made it hard for him to ever have enough time to be properly intimate with you. At any moment, he was liable to completely disappear from the current plane of existence due to his debt with a few powerful witches. You never found out who they were; but secretly, you thanked them for giving you just enough leeway to dodge out of his advances.

The game continued, and the tactics the brothers used became bolder with every attempt you managed to escape. Eventually, you realized that if you didn’t give at some point, the tension between them would only mount and create chaos among them.

Unsurprisingly, it was the Avatar of Lust that took it upon himself to break the ice and blow the game wide open for them all.

“Are you free after classes?” Asmodeus asked over breakfast. There was a brief moment of apprehension that passed through the other brothers when they heard his question. With all eyes on him, Asmodeus played off any nervousness he had by flaunting the attention he was receiving. He carried on with the conversation as if he wasn’t getting barely hidden glares from the others. “I just got the cutest outfit in the mail, and I want to show it to you if you’ve got time. You have a good eye for fashion, right?”

You checked your calendar, mumbling incoherently while you contemplated his offer. The Avatar of Lust truly lived up to his name, being ostentatious with his suggestions and leaving nothing to the imagination. There was no doubting his ulterior motive, but it didn’t stop you from gently trying to push him away. “There’s a test at the end of the week I need to study for,” you said while scrolling through all your tasks for the week.

“Oh please, with how quickly you pick everything up, it’ll be a breeze for you to pass it,” Asmodeus dismissed your excuse with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He could tell you weren’t convinced and quickly tried to strike up a deal with you to keep the advantage he had over his brothers. “How about I help you study after you take a look? What subject is it on?”

You double checked your schedule, realizing you weren’t going to get out of his offer so easily. He was being much more persistent than his brothers had been. To do it so publicly almost felt like he was trying to send a message to the others. After putting off answering as long as you could, scrutinizing your schedule over and over again, you gave in and just went with the first class on your schedule. “Demon Biology.”

Asmodeus’ grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I have the best notes for that class, and they can be all yours for just coming over and having a looksie. Sounds like a good deal, right?”

Beside you, you could feel Satan physically bristle at his brother’s thinly veiled intentions. Asmodeus didn’t have to say it, but everyone at the table seemed to know what his ultimate plan was. Sure, he was afforded some slack due to his general nature; but he was pushing the unwritten limits that had been set. You weren’t even sure if you should continue to play dumb; but the less they knew about what you surmised about their game, the better. In the end, the choice was yours; and you couldn’t afford to be too conspicuous when it came to how much you had gathered.

“Well, if that’s all I have to do for some notes to pass this test, how can I deny your generous offer?” You smiled sweetly, noticing the tension in the room grow as the agreement was made. The balance of power had been tipped in Asmodeus’ favor within the span of a few minutes.

“Great! I’ll see you after class then. You know where my room is.” He blew you a quick kiss and skipped off to get ready for his day.

You expected a great upheaval between the brothers after such a proposal from Asmodeus. Surprisingly enough, there was minimal fuss over it, further proving to you that there was a plot brewing among them where cooperation on all sides was necessary. The most dissent came from Mammon who was adamant about walking you to your classes and would spend the whole time grumbling about his brother’s audacity to pull such a stunt in front of everyone. Despite all the complaining, he didn’t try to stop you from visiting Asmodeus after your classes as promised.

You expected to be a little nervous, but you didn’t think your hands would be shaking as you knocked tentatively on Asmodeus’ door. The Avatar of Lust warmly welcomed you in, already dressed and waiting for your arrival. A large fluffy robe covered his newest precious outfit, but you could see bits of lace peeking out from under the collar. Oh boy, this will be good. You raised a brow, eyeing what might be hidden. He caught your glance and chuckled, pulling the robe tighter around him before beckoning you into his room.

Even if he tried to be stealthy about it, it was very difficult to ignore how he locked the door behind him while you got comfortable.

“I’m so glad you could make it. I wanted you to be the first person I showed this to,” he pitched his voice a bit lower, adding the slightest hint of a seductive purr at the end of his words. You sat at the edge of his bed and set your things down. Asmodeus was being quite the tease, twirling around and letting just hints of his ensemble show. You caught glimpses of shiny black leather trimmed with plenty of fine black lace. He was being a showoff, and he knew it.

“Well, I might be the only person you get to show this to if you’re going to make me wait three weeks before the great reveal.”

Asmodeus let out a laugh before he finally let the robe drop, showing off the new ensemble in its entire glory. It was quite the sight seeing him decked in all that leather and lace. The outfit clung to him like a second skin, flattering his figure in the best way possible. You had an idea it was going to be risque, but no amount of mental preparation was enough for you to be ready for the sight before you. The accenting jewels he chose to wear in champagne and pink complimented the black if only because they matched his hair and eyes.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t think anyone but you could pull that off, Asmodeus,” you replied truthfully.

He laughed, his eyes glittering with mirth at your compliment. “Oh please, you know you can just call me Asmo. I’d like to think we’re familiar enough for nicknames.” He twirled again, and there was a brief flash of light accompanied by a rustling sound. Once you blinked away the bleariness from the sudden bright light, you saw that he had changed into his true form.

The low back of the dress allowed for his wings to freely move making you wonder if this was a custom piece or if it was something he found on a whim. His wings peeking out past his shoulders only added to the aesthetic appeal of the ensemble as a whole. Asmodeus relished in the attention you gave him, posing and giving you his best angles. “It looks so much better like this, right?”

You nodded dumbly. There was no denying the Avatar of Lust was stunning, even in his human form. However, seeing him in his full glory, his horns and wings on full display, only seemed to elevate his look to a whole different level. His hand traveled down his abdomen, tracing the intricate lacework. He could tell your gaze was following his fingers; and he looked over at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “I take it as you like what you see?”

“It’s hard not to like something so… aesthetically pleasing,” you tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a definite waver in your voice. You knew his charms were useless against you. That had been established when you first met. However, the heated gazes he gave you and the lowered pitch of his voice was awakening things in you that you had tried to avoid thinking about since your arrival at Devildom.

You tried to look anywhere around you but at Asmo, the outfit he had on really was doing things to your libido you hadn’t expected. Furtively glancing over to the clock on the dresser, you noticed just how long you had been there and decided a change of subject was in order. If you could get out of this, you would have dodged yet another attempt from one of them. “Oh, so about those notes...” you started.

“Oh, yes. I was wondering when you would ask me,” Asmodeus giggled, a playful smirk spread across his delicate features as he continued to prance around his room. Eventually he stopped teasing you and pulled out a notebook to hand to you. While you flipped through, he lounged in bed next to you, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“Wait. Uh… are you sure this is the right book?”

“Oh of course, I wouldn’t dream of giving you the wrong one.”

“Asmo, the pages are blank.”

“Oh, I know,” he giggled, his eyes crinkling up with mirth as you stared at him in confusion. He coyly lifted the skirt to his outfit to reveal he hadn’t bothered to wear any undergarments. “It’s better if you got some hands-on experience, right? The upcoming test is on anatomy after all,” he gave you a sly wink and giggled.

You couldn’t avert your eyes fast enough before getting an eyeful of what Asmo was packing as a demon. Even if you covered your eyes, you couldn’t avoid hearing him giggle gleefully at your reaction as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Aww come on now, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is natural,” he cooed, petting your hair softly.

He guided your hand to feel him, letting you feel every curve and ridge of his dick. You didn’t want to look. It was too awkward for you to do so; but with a little coaxing, you eventually cracked open your eyes to take in just what you were feeling. It was a little odd to admit it, but his cock was pretty. Slim and tapered, your hand could easily wrap itself around his length. With a little more vocal encouragement, your fingers did eventually find their way round his cock. You gave him an experimental little pump partially to feel how his skin shifted and felt under your hand and partially to see his reaction. He let out a soft mewl of appreciation at the friction and rolled his hips up to meet your hand. “Feel free to ah…take as many notes as you’d like.”

His eyes were lidded, the irises blown out and darkening his light colored eyes. It only added to the sensuality of the moment as he laid next to you, letting you explore every inch of him for the sake of ‘studying.’ You could hardly believe it was happening yourself. His hand held onto your wrist firmly and continued to guide your hand to stroke him at a slow, lazy pace.

As your attention was occupied with what was in between his legs, he pulled you in with his free hand to press soft kisses at the corner of your mouth. They were quick, soft and a little hesitant at first; but when you didn’t immediately pull away from him, he became bolder, gliding his lips over your own and nipping at your lower lip, hoping to gain access to go deeper. With your mind short circuiting from all the sensations you were experiencing all at once, you gasped for breath; and that was all the permission he needed to deepen the kiss. His tongue swiped over your lips just once before delving into your mouth.

Kisses with the Avatar of Lust were unlike any you experienced before. Perhaps it was the centuries of practice he had with other partners, or perhaps it was his innate charm as the Avatar of Lust that made his kisses feel like a full body experience. You didn’t even feel embarrassed about feeling him up any longer as his kisses were what ultimately made you feel overwhelmed. The scent of new leather laced through the smell of his citrusy cologne and made for an absolutely intoxicating combination.

His hips jerked into your hand as he really got into it with you, the ridged texture under your fingers was firm yet pliant at the same time. His soft whimpers in your ears only emboldened you to explore more of his length. You traced the tapered tip carefully, watching his reactions. It seemed to be a rather sensitive spot considering he stopped kissing you just to let out a lewd moan and grind his length into your hand. His kisses trailed away from your lips to your jaw and to your ear where he licked and nipped right at your pulse point, enjoying the salt of your sweat as the room was quickly becoming warm.

Asmo let out soft whimpers almost akin to a coo every time you stroked him just right. His vocal appreciation egged you on, allowing you to stroke him with more confidence once you figured out just what he liked. He simply looked ravishing in that dress; and you needed to make sure you properly thanked him for not only the extensive notes he was giving you, but also the lovely little show as well.

Eventually, he pulled away from you if only to roll you onto your back and give your body as much attention as your hand had given him. Asmo gently put your arms at your side, murmured reassurances that he would take care of you while he slowly undid every layer of your uniform. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was making you anticipate his next move. He was slow and methodical, admiring every inch of skin he revealed; and he always had a compliment at the ready to make you blush even more under his watchful gaze.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful. Every bit of you,” he murmured before taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it.

You wailed, feeling his tongue lave at your sensitive skin. In fear of the others hearing your lewd exchange with Asmodeus, you quickly clasped your hands over your mouth to muffle your noises. He looked up at you from his place at your chest and laughed softly, putting your hands back at your sides. “No, no. Please be as loud as you wish. I want everyone to know exactly what’s going on here.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you could follow his demands; but the heat simmering in his eyes convinced you to comply. Once he was sure your hands would remain at your side, he went right back to what had been doing, redoubling his efforts on your nipple and making you whimper in need from his ministrations. He loved hearing every one of the sounds that came from your lips, and he was sure the others could hear just what he could do to you on the other side of his door. After the stunt he pulled at the table earlier that day, there was no way his brothers wouldn’t eavesdrop.

You surprisingly still had your panties on, but Asmodeus made quick work of them, peeling them off of you once he was sure your body was willing to accept him. Seeing you completely bare beneath him was absolutely breathtaking. He stared for a moment in awe, making you feel entirely too self conscious; and you curled up a bit to shy away from his heated gaze. “No,” he stated firmly, once again placing your arms at your side. “I want to see all of you.”

“Okay, you’ve seen it now, how about evening the playing field? You’ve got a lot more on than I do.”

“Oh, I do. How rude of me. Let me fix that.”

You felt his weight leave the bed momentarily. Looking up at where he went, you realized he had given you front row seats to a most sensual strip tease.

The only real garment he wore was that leather and lace dress. However, he somehow made taking it off feel like an eternity. From showing off his assets whenever he bent over to the slow pull of the zipper at the side of the dress, you felt like every second he wasn’t spending on top of you was another second that made your arousal reach the unbearable breaking point.

“Asmo, please…” you whined, “Stop teasing…this isn’t fair.”

He liked it when you were whiny. The way you pitched your voice in that desperate whimper broke the last bit of control he had. Whatever other teasing he had planned was thrown out the window in favor of shucking the dress right off so he could settle himself between your legs. His cock pressed at your soaking entrance. “You say please so prettily, I can’t resist.”

He pushed into you, and your hands almost flew to your mouth again to cover the lewd moan that came from your lips. He stretched you just right, fitting into your warm heat as if he was meant to be there. Your moan faded into a satisfied sigh as you felt him fill you. He smiled softly, memorizing the way your eyelids fluttered and the blissful look on your face when he bottomed out inside of you. “That’s a good look,” he purred, giving you a moment to adjust to his cock.

The time he gave you really wasn’t needed, he filled you but didn’t stretch you out in a way that made it painful. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hot kiss, your hips flexing as a wordless command for him to move.

He complied eagerly, moaning into your kisses and starting a pace that wasn’t unlike the one he guided your hand into earlier. It let you feel every ridge and bump of his cock slide in and out of you. He knew your first experience with a demon would be unlike any other coupling you had before. He wanted to make it special; and with all his experience as the Avatar of Lust, he sure was able to make you see stars and feel like you were drowning in pleasure.

It was an entirely new type of euphoria you were feeling, and you were quickly beginning to crave more of it. Your legs wrapped around his hips, and you desperately met every one of his slow thrusts in an attempt to get him to give you more. He quickly got the message and picked up the pace once he was confident you were well accustomed to his unique shape.

The change in speed and intensity was just what you needed to satiate your desires. He knew exactly what his cock could do, and he took advantage of it as he fucked you in earnest. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed off his walls, your breathy moans mingled with his grunts of pleasure as you both lost yourselves in the throes of ecstasy while chasing your release.

He could make you see stars and the ends of the universe with his cock and it wasn’t long before the building pressure in your abdomen of your oncoming orgasm was reaching its breaking point. You called for him, encouraging him with your jilted moans every time he buried himself inside of you. His skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion which only seemed to add to your overwhelming arousal.

“Oh fuck,” you choked back a sob as your orgasm washed over you like a wave. Intense and all consuming, your body convulsed as you reached your peak long before he was ready for his own release.

“You’re even more beautiful when you cum,” he panted, starry eyed and amazed at how tightly your inner walls were hugging his cock. “Makes me wish I was rutting right now so I could breed you over and over again. We would make the cutest babies.”

The primal, almost feral way his words sounded only made your walls clench around him even more. For as sensitive as they were, they reacted to him and craved more. He wasn’t done yet, and it seemed like he would continue until he reached his own blissful peak within you.

You weren’t able to keep up with the sensations of his cock still sliding in and out of your swollen walls. Everything became a blur of lust and desire. Your throat felt hoarse from screaming so much; you didn’t want anymore despite what your trembling body craved.

Eventually you could feel a change in Asmodeus’ pace as the even thrusts became erratic, and the volume of his moans matched the pitch of your screams. He gratefully unloaded himself, spilling his seed into you in hot spurts. Your name mixed with a variety of curses in a language you could only imagine was demonic in nature. He groaned, burrowing his head in the crook of your neck as he rode out his climax.

As soon as the brunt of his orgasm was over, he was kissing you deeply, wordlessly thanking you for the intimate moment the two of you had just shared. There was a fair bit of passion in his kisses though the needy heat from before had dissipated now that both of you had found the release you craved. He pulled away with a content sigh, rolling to your side and pulling out of you.

“So, do you think you got some good notes in?” he asked while he gazed lovingly into your eyes, brushing away a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Or do you need some more studying?”

You giggled, your skin still sensitive from such an intense session. “I think I’ll be able to pass with flying colors,” you reassured, rolling closer to him to get some much needed post coital cuddles.

[heresince93]

Gillian Anderson Sunday Times Interview Transcript

There is a moment in the second series of Netflix’s Sex Education when Gillian Anderson’s character, Jean, sighs a deep resigned sigh as she is lying in bed one morning and spots the messy pile of small change her latest lover, Jakob, has left on her bedside table.

It’s my favourite moment of this uplifting show about the tangled love lives of British secondary school teens that manages to appeal to both parents and adolescents alike. Anderson plays the outrageously inappropriate sex therapist Jean Milburn, a stylish, confident single mother.

The sight of those coins will resonate with any woman of Anderson’s age and stage of life (she is 51), whatever kind of relationship they are in.These pennies, a symbol of how untidy life gets and the constant imposing presence of someone else even when they aren’t in the room, represent for Jean the gradual realisation that the excitement of a new love soon becomes tempered by the boring bits.

For those of us who have been married a while, the coins are perhaps the equivalent of the dull domesticity of picking up the shirt always dropped on the floor or the wet towels you always end up refolding after your teens have left them near but not on the bathroom radiator. Anderson and I chat about this a lot when we meet to talk about the second series of Sex Education, given that we are both working mothers in our early fifties.

The actress, who is most recognised for her role as Scully in The X-Files, is twice divorced and has three children, Piper, 25, Oscar, 13, Felix, 11, all of whom live with her in London. Her partner of three years is the playwright, screenwriter and creator of The Crown, Peter Morgan, himself a father of five.

In person Anderson is chatty and witty, aloof and friendly at the same time, a peculiarly feline trait that I often encounter in driven, confident women who have reached midlife. Tell me about Jakob and the coins, I say, what is it like starting a new relationship in your forties, compared with your twenties?

“It’s very different,” she says. “I think you are more fully formed, especially if you have taken time out of previous relationships to find yourself.

“Early on after the break-up of my last relationship and before my current one, somebody encouraged me to write a list of needs and wants in a future partner. Needs are non-negotiable. If you go on a date with someone and realise they won’t meet, say, three of those needs, then they are not the person for you. It may last as a relationship, but it won’t make you happy. Wants are easier, not more frivolous per se, but easier to deliver. Doing this made it clear to me going forward who would be good for me in a relationship.

“And there is a new creativity nowadays to what a relationship should look like, too. For instance, my partner and I don’t live together. If we did, that would be the end of us. It works so well as it is, it feels so special when we do come together. And when I am with my kids, I can be completely there for them. It’s exciting. We choose when to be together. There is nothing locking us in, nothing that brings up that fear of ‘Oh gosh, I can’t leave because what will happen to the house, how will we separate?’. I start to miss the person I want to be with, which is a lovely feeling. And it is so huge for me to be able to see a pair of trousers left lying on the floor at my partner’s house and to step over them and not feel it is my job to do something about it!”

I’ve never interviewed a celebrity who, even though she is wearing heels (little pointy white boots) is still shorter than me (I’m barely 5ft 2in), but Anderson is tiny. This is only important to note, I think, because her roles since Dana Scully have been so big and so powerful: Blanche in A Street Car Named Desire and Margo Channing in All About Eve on stage; Lady Mountbatten in the film Viceroy’s House; Stella Gibson in The Fall; and now Jean Milburn.

I wonder if she is perhaps filed under “tricky, unpredictable, charismatic, spiky, intelligent and fearless woman” in the casting director’s directory of suitable roles. After all, her next part is going to be Margaret Thatcher (in The Crown). And when she arrives for our chat in the closed Chinese restaurant of a central London hotel, she apologises for the sticky mess in her hair caused by wearing the Iron Lady’s wig the previous day. Her nails are manicured pale pink like Thatcher’s too.

“She had a condition that meant two fingers of each hand would curl around — Reagan had it too — so it affected her gestures and she would wear lots of rings and bracelets to distract. But she kept her nails long, which is how I have to keep them now,” Anderson says. She is fascinated by Thatcher, concluding, after studying her childhood, that “nobody ever existed like her. She was unique.”

Anderson might be unique herself, and despite giving many interviews (three last year), I see that she has been smart and managed to remain a bit of an enigma. When I listen back to the tape, she is very good at general talk, but not so hot on specifics.

She spent her early years in north London with her American parents before going back to Michigan for high school. She was a teenage punk plagued by panic attacks that have continued to trouble her over the years, particularly during her intense work schedule on The X-Files. She went into therapy at 14, then became world famous at 25, and had her first child at 26 (the same age her parents had her, before going on to have her two siblings 12 years later). She split up with her first husband three years after that.

In 2011 she endured the death of her brother, Aaron, aged 30, from a brain tumour, which she rarely discusses. She is an impressive activist, campaigning for a variety of issues including women’s rights in Afghanistan, Burma, South Africa, Uganda and South America. There are 10 charities she has worked with listed on her website, and in 2017 she co-wrote We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, a well-received book of advice for women. She has also designed two small fashion collections for Winser London, which include some gorgeous silky blouses. I found I had three in my wardrobe without knowing they were hers.

She is a Bafta nominee and Golden Globe winner, and Neil Gaiman, who cast her in the TV series of his book American Gods, said: “She is in this strange place where everything exists in the shadow of Scully, yet she is bigger and better than that.”

When I listen to her 2003 Desert Island Discs, though, she tells a darker story. In between Radiohead and Jeff Buckley, she talks of troubled mental health that she has worked ferociously hard to improve. She has been in therapy for more than 30 years.

Anderson tells me she has been teetotal since her early twenties and despite some mild probing on my part is reluctant to elaborate on exactly why. I understand. She has soon-to-be teenage children who don’t need to know about any of the “dangerous things” she has done, as she described them to Sue Lawley.

I’m fascinated by Anderson and can see why she was the perfect person to cast as the quirky, funny therapist Jean in Sex Education, which really hits its stride in the second series. While still a comedy at heart, the subject matter tackled by its fantastic young cast is revelatory. Sex Education is one of the first productions to hire an intimacy director to make the young actors feel comfortable and process what they were doing, often naked in front of multiple cameras, to be happy and authentic about what they did and feel they had input.

Anal sex, drugs, masturbation, STDs and nudity feature graphically in this show, which I would advise all parents and teens to watch, though not at the same time — only Jean would do that. When I interview Anderson I have yet to see the finale, but Jean’s journey is that of many women in the middle of their lives after divorce with teenage children.

“There’s a grief, isn’t there?” Anderson says as we discuss the menopause. “I haven’t quite got to the place where I don’t have my eggs, but your body is going to mourn that, isn’t it? I remember the very last time I breastfed and it was heartbreaking. I wept and wept through it.

“And I know people who describe particularly difficult periods at home without realising they are describing their mothers going through the menopause.

“We’re all at the point where we’re kicking off just as our teenage children are kicking off. I was looking at some home videos of Piper when she was three and wondering where all my patience came from in my twenties. I have forgotten that version of me.”

She says she doesn’t feel quite ready for her two boys to become teenagers, but sometimes Jean slips into their conversations at home.

“I find myself saying something embarrassing at the dinner table and I don’t know if it is me or if Jean has given me the licence to say that. Maybe I have always been that way, though. Some of what she shares is too much information. I wouldn’t share it, even with my eldest in her twenties. But my son came home after having a sex education class and I completely clammed up. I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I just let it die. I really don’t know why.”

Over the years Anderson has tried to schedule her roles to fit in with her children, but like many of us who have devoted much of our time to careers, she still lives with nagging doubts about doing the right thing.

How did you deal with a small child while filming back-to-back episodes of The X-Files for 16 hours a day, I ask, especially when you decided to go it alone as a mum. “I missed her, really so much. Those moments when you see a small child in the street when you are apart from yours and the conversation just drops, it’s hard. She was on a plane a lot when she was six and we moved production to the West Coast. I justified that, I mean it was selfish on my part. I just could not imagine being away from her for long periods of time.

“I became obsessed with schedules, and I still am because of that time. I would plan and colour-code everything, make a series of propositions about schedules so I could see her, and the show would either reject or accept them.

“With the boys the longest I have been away from them was during the two X-Files movies, but again I would be travelling constantly to see them.”

I ask her if she regrets working so hard. “Not yet,” she says. “I have a feeling that will come. I definitely feel like on a level I do regret Piper flying back [to her dad, when she was six] as an unaccompanied minor.” We sit in silence for a bit, mulling over the thought.

“But there’s another version of my life where I could have worked less, had a smaller life and been more present as a parent. I could have chosen that, that could happen. But sometimes it feels like why would you, if you keep getting work as an actor, doing things you dreamt of doing and being offered incredible roles at this age, while paying the bills, and you still get to see them a huge percentage of the time and they witness a mother enjoying her work?”

She has talked to her daughter about it, but says Piper is not yet at the place where the lightbulb goes on and she realises Mum was still up at 6am the days she faced 16 hours of work to be with her, or those days we all have when we are still on the edge of the sports pitch, despite the demands of a job.

But Anderson is an all-or-nothing personality. She tells me she is either on a healthy eating plan, meditating and working out or hiding like a hermit at home eating chocolate. She has been plagued by frozen shoulders all her life, leading to months of pain-filled insomnia and cortisone injections.

“My default position is sedentary,” she tells me when I ask about her meditating and yoga right now. “I like being in bed in my PJs. When I’m working, like right now, I seem to exist mostly on chocolate. Then I go through a stage when I feel dreadful and I review it all and start a food plan, torture myself counting shots of milk and all that.

“In the cycle of all or nothing, I am in the nothing phase right now. It has gone on for quite some time, but I think I am better to be around. I was having lunch with my daughter and we were just, you know, eating, not asking for stuff without oils or sugar, and she said, ‘It’s so much better when you are not in that place.’ ”

I’ve enjoyed my hour with Anderson; she is likeable and thoughtful. I sort of hope we’ll meet again one day. It’s unlikely she’ll read the interview; she has said before that she rarely does. So what do I think as I walk away from her? I’m impressed by her curious nature and, obviously, her sense of style, a blueprint for us all at this stage of life, but mostly I’m inspired by her strong sense of self. It has obviously taken quite a bit of work for her to get there, but from what I can see, it has been worth it.

@GillianA

Sex Education series 2 is available on Netflix from Friday

Hair: James Rowe at Bryant Artists. Make-up: Mary Greenwell at Premier Hair and Make-up. Nails: Saffron Goddard at Saint Luke using Sisley Hand Care

[mazurah]

do you have any headcanons about alteration magic? i feel like due to game balancing limitations, it wasn't as powerful as it actually could have been in-universe. thoughts?

I’ve been sitting on this ask for more than a week trying to figure out how to answer. Yes I have Alteration magic headcanons, but a lot of them aren’t technically mine. 

First off, you’re absolutely right. Alteration is much more powerful in the lore than it is ingame. The Ayleids, who invented Alteration magic, could shapeshift.

There does, however, appear to be evidence that, just as the Psijics on the Isle of Artaeum developed Mysticism long before there was a name for it, the even more obscure Ayleids of southern Cyrodiil had developed what was to be known as the school of Alteration. It is not, after all, much of a stretch when one considers that other Ayleids at the time of Bravil’s conquering and even later were shapeshifters. The community of pre-Bravil could not turn into beasts and monsters, but they could alter their bodies to hide themselves away. 

⁠— Daughter of the Niben

The closest things we’ve ever seen to that kind of magic (not counting things which aren’t actually school-of-magic spells, such as the Wild Hunt, vampire transformations, and werewolves) are spells like oakflesh, which isn’t exactly what I would call shapeshifting. Shapeshifting implies that you’re actually changing your shape, not just changing the consistency of your skin, so I think it’s more likely that the Ayleids did things like make their limbs look like branches to blend in with forests. 

And then there’s that one NPC in Skyrim, the Face Sculptor, that will straight up let you open the character creation menu and change anything about your appearance except your race or sex. (What, no sex change option? Transphobic!) You can’t tell me there’s not Alteration magic involved in that somehow (although I would certainly listen to a case for Restoration.)

There’s also a spell (actually a greater power) that got cut from Skyrim called Polymorph Skeever which lets you turn yourself into a skeever. It was never implemented in the game, but it exists in the code, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s a valid piece of lore. Polymorph spells do exist! There’s even more of them in ESO.

So do I believe that a master Alterationist could potentially turn somebody into a chicken? It’s quite possible. Are we ever gonna be able to turn NPCs into chickens? Not without the Wabbajack. They gotta balance the game somehow.

To be honest, this is a limitation to magic in general, not just Alteration. If I was really a master healer, what’s to prevent me from healing somebody’s mouth closed? Or casting a spell that causes my enemy to have a heart attack? There’s all kinds of things I would love to be able to do with magic that I can’t because of game limitations, like casting a spell to send me to Oblivion so I can go exploring, or conjuring a Dremora or Winged Twilight to ask them about themselves (both of which exist in the lore.) Or using levitation in Skyrim. *sigh*

Back to Alteration though. If you want to know about Alteration in general, the lore book you should be reading is Reality and Other Falsehoods:

It is easy to confuse Illusion and Alteration. Both schools of magic attempt to create what is not there. The difference is in the rules of nature. Illusion is not bound by them, while Alteration is. This may seem to indicate that Alteration is the weaker of the two, but this is not true. Alteration creates a reality that is recognized by everyone. Illusion’s reality is only in the mind of the caster and the target.

To master Alteration, first accept that reality is a falsehood. There is no such thing. Our reality is a perception of greater forces impressed upon us for their amusement. Some say that these forces are the gods, other that they are something beyond the gods. For the wizard, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the appeal couched in a manner that cannot be denied. It must be insistent without being insulting.

To cast Alteration spells is to convince a greater power that it will be easier to change reality as requested than to leave it alone. Do not assume that these forces are sentient. Our best guess is that they are like wind and water. Persistent but not thoughtful. Just like directing the wind or water, diversions are easier than outright resistance. Express the spell as a subtle change and it is more likely to be successful.

⁠— Reality and Other Falsehoods

This is a great start, but it doesn’t help us understand what it would be like to use Alteration on a daily basis, and that’s where headcanon comes in. I headcanon that people have different ways of conceptualizing spells, and this can result in different teaching styles. Sometimes the differences are cultural. But ultimately, it comes down to how good you are at envisioning the changes you want, how much you believe the changes can/should/will happen, and how good you are at willing those changes into existence. How to Disappear Completely by @chameleonspell contains an excellent illustration of what it’s like to try to learn Alteration and navigate the cultural differences between teaching styles as a novice: 

Iriel had studied Alteration. Had, at one point, thought he might specialise in it. It had sounded so impressive, when he first attended lectures at the Crystal Tower: change the world! Bend the physical realm to your will - sorry - your Will! Then he had attended classes, and spent months learning about counter-aetheric force (the academic term for what ordinary people, who didn’t understand these things, called gravity) and formulas to calculate water pressure and wind resistance. Altmeri magical tradition demanded that students first master the theory. You had to learn the rules before you could break them. He might be allowed to actually alter things in a few years, if he studied hard and passed the exams.

Things were different when he transferred to Cyrodiil. There, the Professor of Alteration was a steely-eyed Imperial known to students as The Cliff, due to her threats to throw students off one, if their problems with levitation persisted. Necessity focused the mind, she said. Alteration was all about willpower and belief. She didn’t hold with teaching the physics of it. You are a mage, she would roar. You make your own physics! Your mind will do battle with the Aurbis, and if you are worthy, the Aurbis will bow before you!

She was rumoured to be working on a transmutation spell that would change lesser substances into gold. They said she spent her nights concentrating on a rock on her desk, glaring the resistance out of it, molecule by molecule. When she looked at him, Iriel could believe it. But, struggling to levitate a feather on his own desk, he hadn’t felt that engaging the universe in mental combat was ever going to be his forte. It was so much bigger, and more experienced than he was, so much more self-assured. There were thousands of years of inertia behind its processes, grinding like endless Dwemer machinery. His will, even capitalised, was too weak a spanner to jam into those works. A minor blip in the rhythm, at most, and it’d be crushed as the gears churned on.

He’d found himself returning to the equations he’d been forced to memorise at the Tower. He’d discovered, to his chagrin, that the Sapiarchs had been on to something, at least to his Altmeri-educated mind. If you wanted to change something, it helped to understand the thing you were trying to change. Staring at the feather, he had realised he didn’t need to do battle with the entire Aurbis, he only needed to fight the air immediately around the object he wanted to move, convince it that local relative masses were very slightly different. The Cliff had been right about one thing: it was about belief. And Iriel found it considerably easier to believe things if he could construct a veneer of logical process, however flimsy.

He’d balanced the feather on his finger. It barely weighed anything. Using the standard formula, it couldn’t be constrained by more than a quell of counter-aetheric force. He had repeated the incantation, but instead of trying to command physics as a whole, he’d merely suggested a minor adjustment to the relative densities of feathers and air, just within these few square inches.

The feather had shot upwards and lodged an inch into the plaster of the ceiling. He’d blinked, brushed the dust from his hair, and began recalculating the ratio. An hour later, he’d floated up to retrieve it himself.

⁠— How to Disappear Completely, Chapter 93: force by @chameleonspell ​

(That entire work is amazing and contains so many headcanons and extrapolations of lore I couldn’t possibly begin to summarize them if I tried. You should read it.)

The thing about Alteration, and to a lesser extent, all magic in general, is that to perform it, you must wrestle with the very nature of the universe. Alteration, at its essence, contains what could potentially be understood as the fundamental principle of magic: to perform it, you must impose your Will on the world around you. When you perform it, you change the world. 

This is not without consequences. I headcanon that the greater skill a mage has with Alteration, the more trouble they have with distinguishing what is real and what is not, and with maintaining control over the reality of their personal environment. This is a headcanon I garnered from reading the works of @troloputo2012, and to some extent, @chameleonspell.

The advanced alterationist starts with sensory issues, since they start being able to listen and see the mechanisms of this world (also the plane where spirits and magic roam, that occupies the same place as this Mundus, and being this over saturated with information can be overwhelming), and slowly, they start having trouble attaching to reality and they can’t go back to their normal life as before; many have grounding sensory “mechanisms” to wake up, but many don’t because sometimes nothing works … .

Many experts get tired of constantly wrestling with existing or fail because their will is not strong enough, just give up and vanish, or they get consumed into their own reality and are unable to follow the currents of the world and time … .

To be able to live correctly and master alteration, one must have considerable willpower, or it’ll consume you. You learned to use alteration to weaken reality for you, now you must use it to also reinforce reality (for you start to unconsciously exist in weakened reality you created for yourself) to live.

— Alteration is not as harmless as it seems. by @troloputo2012

So a master of Alteration who fails to have enough Willpower to maintain their own existence might even disappear completely (a concept very similar to the tenuously canonical concept of Zero Sum, wherein a person truly perceives the nature of the universe, sees that they are a figment of the Divine Dream, confronts the concept head on, and fails to assert that they still exist, thus ceasing to exist.) Sure, a master of Alteration can change reality to an amazing degree, but there is a danger; there is a price.

Finally, I have a headcanon (which I’m pretty sure isn’t actually my idea, but I’m not sure where I picked it up) that schools of magic are more like philosophical models for creating spells rather than rigid expressions of natural law. Ultimately, almost any spell could potentially be created using almost any school of magic, but depending on what the spell does, it may not be a very good spell. It might use too much magicka, or it might be insanely hard to cast, or it might take a really long time to conceptualize the spell in that school of magic so nobody bothered trying to make the spell in the first place.

This is an easier idea to apply to Alteration than it is to some other schools like Conjuration (like, what am I gonna do, conjure healthy body parts for a dying person?) but it can go a long way to explaining why some spells change schools between games. For example, there are a few Alteration spells (mostly resistance spells) that get moved to the Restoration school of magic between Morrowind and Oblivion. If you’re looking for an in-universe explanation for this, perhaps spell researchers developed more efficient spells using the philosophy of Restoration, and the magical community had come to accept them as the norm by the time Oblivion began.

So yeah, there’s a lot of overlap between schools. In fact, there are documented arguments between mages about the similarities and differences between schools:

The School of Alteration is a distinct and separate entity from the School of Destruction, and Bero’s argument that they should be merged into one is patently ludicrous. He insists — again, a man who knows nothing about the Schools of Alteration and Destruction, is the one insisting this — that “damage” is part of the changing of reality dealt with by the spells of Alteration. The implication is that Levitation, to list a spell of Alteration, is a close cousin of Shock Bolt, a spell of Destruction. It would make as much sense to say that the School of Alteration, being all about the actuality of change, should absorb the School of Illusion, being all about the appearance of change.

⁠— Response to Bero’s Speech

While I believe that Alteration is an insanely powerful school of magic in the right hands, it’s probably still easier to heal someone using the principles of Restoration than it is to do it using the principles of Alteration.

Feel free to add your own headcanons, I love having discussions like this!

[bountyofbeads]

Why Does Only One Party Play by the Rules? https://nyti.ms/2MNdCOX

Why Does Only One Party Play by the Rules?

Thanks to Trump’s deepening dependence on “alternative facts,” the assertion of reality is now a viable campaign strategy for 2020 Democrats.

By Jennifer Senior, Opinion columnist | Published October 25, 2019 | New York Times | Posted October 25, 2019 |

It’s that time of the campaign season when some Democrats are starting to feel — as President Jimmy Carter might have put it — malaise. They’re staring at their 2020 lineup and wondering whether it’s a guaranteed recipe for buyer’s remorse. Joe Biden is too old, Pete Buttigieg is too young, Kamala Harris is too uncertain, Bernie Sanders too unpalatable, Elizabeth Warren too unelectable.

All of which may be right. But I have an additional theory for why some Democrats are the vexed and depleted souls they seem to be these days, waking up with lead in their veins and worms in their stomachs. It boils down to this: They can’t escape the sense that they’re living by different rules.

Let me rephrase that: Democrats are acting as though there still are rules, when in fact they’re living in a political multiverse — with at least one parallel reality containing no rules at all.

What do you do when one party stakes its faith — and ultimately government itself — on observable, measurable realities while the other has made the cynical decision to cast these principles away? How do you strategize? How do you cope?

It’s not just that President Trump serially lies in plain sight. (What’s The Washington Post’s latest tally? 13,435? Whatever: Just imagine a whirring odometer on a shuttle to Mars.) It’s that he’s surrounded by occluders and toadies, nihilist tricksters spun directly from the looms of the Marx Brothers’ imagination. (“Who you gonna believe? Me or your own eyes?”)

A raft of House and Senate Republicans — including (say it with me) Senator Lindsey Graham — learned that Ukraine’s top diplomat had confirmed the Trump administration’s aid-for-dirt caper, yet still insists the impeachment proceedings are a sham. The acting White House chief of staff, Mick Mulvaney, acknowledged this same quid pro quo in a news conference, only to proclaim later that none of us understands English. Any public servant who dares say that two plus two just might equal four is immediately accused by Trump of radicalism, treason, witch hunting.

Compare that with President Barack Obama’s relationship with those who inconvenienced him. When James Comey, then the head of the F.B.I., made the fateful decision to announce that he’d reopened his inquiry into Hillary Clinton’s emails just days before the 2016 election, Obama could not have been especially pleased. By imperiling Clinton’s chances, Comey was imperiling Obama’s own legacy too. Yet Obama still behaved warmly toward him, according to James Stewart in his new book, “Deep State.” Why? Because “Democrats,” as Jonathan Chait  explained in his review of that book, “still believed in institutions and norms.”(See review below)

This idea — that Democrats still believe in norms, customs, the rather crucial notion of checks and balances, in government itself — may be the crux of the multiverse problem. Look at someone like Joe Biden, whose essential pitch (in addition to experience, incremental change, working-class-guyness) is that he can work with the men and women on the other side of the aisle.

But this suggests that compromise is an option. It doesn’t appear that the other side is much interested. You have Mitch McConnell, the Senate majority leader, holding a Supreme Court appointment hostage for nearly a year, blocking  almost all legislative debate and passing a bill to protect the 2020 elections from foreign interference only under extreme duress; the world’s “greatest deliberative body” is now a speedway for the Trump agenda. You have the House Republicans informally observing the “Hastert Rule”— named for the former speaker Dennis Hastert, who was carted off to prison for paying hush money to a former student he’d sexually abused — which says bills can come to the floor only if a majority of the Republicans support them. It virtually ensures minoritarian rule.

And you have partisan news outlets with zero interest in reporting the basic facts of Trump’s corruption or the catastrophic consequences of his impulses. We’ve gone from Pax Americana to Fox Americana in the blink of an eye.

Whereas the more traditional media, whatever their unconscious biases, do try to hold Democrats to account. Sure, let’s stipulate that there are more liberals than conservatives at these organizations. Maybe even a lot more. But it was mainstream newspapers that broke the Whitewater story, which led to an independent investigation of Bill Clinton. It was mainstream newspapers that kept Hillary Clinton’s emails on the front page in the run-up to the 2016 election. This newspaper covered Hunter Biden’s business dealings in Ukraine too — in May. These pages also ran an editorial about it. That was in 2015.

Of course Democratic politicians — all politicians — distort, gerrymander evidence, even lie and apply their greasy thumbs to the scales. (What was Bill Clinton doing on that plane with Loretta Lynch in 2016?) The question is whether their sins are occasional or habitual, whether their worldviews are Capra or Chandler. The Trumpkins are firmly in noir territory.

Now you have Trump strafing Facebook with campaign ads popping with falsehoods. Elizabeth Warren, meanwhile, ran a Facebook ad with falsehoods that acknowledged they were false midway through.

Which says it all, really.

So, to repeat: What to do about this? Do you capitulate, sell your soul and resort to the same lawless tactics as your opponents? Or do you take the high road and run the risk of losing?

The only guide we have is 2018. But it’s not a bad one. What it showed was that sometimes it pays to go high. The Democrats just have to aggressively sell an honorable message.

Specifically, what the Democrats should say is: Anyone who’s not in the business of peddling the truth shouldn’t be in the business of government. Or publishing, for that matter. Trump once said that he could probably get away with murder. (And his lawyers recently, surreally,  made this same case in a federal appeals court.) That’s what Mark Zuckerberg is doing on Facebook, figuratively speaking, by allowing political ads with demonstrably false content to run on his platform, no matter what other features the company rolls out.

Right now, the Democrats are badly losing the Facebook war. But it’s not too late for them to wage this fight, and in the right way. They could still campaign on the idea of a government that believes in itself — and self-evident truths, like something as basic as the size of an inaugural crowd.

It would be a declaration of values. In the Trump era, that’s not a bad place to start.

*********

Two Candidates, Two Investigations, One Deeply Flawed Agency

By Jonathan Chait | Published October 25, 2019 | New York Times | Posted October 25, 2019 |

DEEP STATE

Trump, the FBI, and the Rule of Law

By James B. Stewart

During the 2016 presidential election, one of the two major candidates labored under the shadow of a criminal investigation by the F.B.I. That candidate was Hillary Clinton. As we now know, though voters had little reason to apprehend it at the time, there were actually two investigations underway — and, while the probe into Clinton’s mishandling of emails played out in public, the more serious probe of Donald Trump’s secret political and financial connections with Russia remained largely unknown until well after the voting had concluded.

In “Deep State,” James B. Stewart, a columnist for The New York Times and the author of “Blood Sport” and “Den of Thieves,” among many other books, tells the story of both investigations. His account produces few new facts, nor a bold new thesis, that would dramatically alter our understanding of either. Instead, his contribution is to combine the two accounts into a single chronological narrative. He shows how the twin investigations turn out to be closely linked, and not just because an election pitted their subjects against each other.

The F.B.I. agents investigating Clinton’s use of a personal email account realized early on that they would never have a prosecutable case. While Clinton had violated laws pertaining to the handling of classified material, she had apparently done so out of a combination of technical ineptitude and convenience, and the government had never charged an offender without establishing nefarious motives. As a result, the bureau concluded it didn’t “have much on the intent side.”

You might think this decision made life easier for the F.B.I., which would be spared the ordeal of having to insert itself into a presidential campaign. Instead, it made life harder. The reason for this: The bureau contained what some Department of Justice officials considered “hotbeds of anti-Clinton hostility,” especially in the Little Rock and New York offices. Stewart describes how F.B.I. officials encouraged colleagues investigating the Democratic nominee with messages like “You have to get her” and “You guys are finally going to get that bitch.” James Comey, the F.B.I. director during the Clinton email probe, went so far as to tell Attorney General Loretta Lynch, “It’s clear to me that there is a cadre of senior people in New York who have a deep and visceral hatred of Secretary Clinton.” Those agents leaked regularly to right-wing media sources that the bureau was turning a blind eye to what they saw as Clinton’s criminality.

This pressure drove Comey to make two fateful decisions. First, when he announced that the bureau was not bringing charges against Clinton, he denounced her “extremely careless” behavior, as a kind of middle course between what the law dictated and what Republicans demanded. Second, when an unrelated investigation into sex crimes by the former Democratic congressman Anthony Weiner turned up more Clinton email 11 days before the election, Comey felt trapped into announcing that he had reopened the investigation.

Stewart shows how Comey violated the F.B.I.’s norm of doing everything possible to avoid involving itself in election campaigns, especially at the end. He believed that failing to intervene would lead conservative agents to leak the story — and would result in his own impeachment by the Republican Congress after the election. As a result, Comey told his staff he needed to publicly reopen the investigation lest he create “corrosive doubt that you had engineered a cover-up to protect a particular political candidate.”

This was a catastrophic violation of protocol — and probably a decisive one; as Stewart notes, the new email story led the news in six of the seven days in the final week before the election. But what drove Comey to this error was the refusal of Republicans in the bureau and Congress to accept and follow the rules. Stewart’s narrative shows Democrats still believed in institutions and norms — even after Comey’s extraordinary intervention against Clinton, he was still treated warmly by President Obama and cordially by Loretta Lynch. Comey felt bound to appease the Clinton-haters because they refused to accept any process that failed to yield their preferred outcome.

Notably, the Republican William Barr enthusiastically endorsed Comey’s decision to reopen the case against Clinton, but then — once Comey became a threat to Trump — cited that very decision as grounds to fire him. Barr’s subsequent elevation to attorney general is an ominous development that hangs over the second half of Stewart’s book.

Unfortunately, his account of the Russia investigation is less satisfying. When Comey briefs Trump on the so-called Steele dossier and its litany of supposed ties between Trump and Russia — including the unproven allegation that Trump had watched prostitutes in a Moscow hotel room urinating on a bed where the Obamas once slept — we see the new president give suspiciously unconvincing denials. “Almost to himself, Trump repeated the year ‘2013’ and seemed to be searching his memory,” Stewart recounts. Trump tells Comey he would not need to pay for sex, and links the charges to other women who have accused him of groping them — charges that have high levels of credibility. He insists his well-known fear of germs would preclude him from enjoying such a performance, even though he could easily have done so at a safe distance.

We also see Trump or his agents dangling pardons before Paul Manafort and Roger Stone, the two advisers who had the closest political contacts with Russia and WikiLeaks, leading to both men refusing to cooperate with the investigation. We come to see Rod Rosenstein, the deputy attorney general and supervisor of the Mueller report, as human Jell-O, losing his composure at times to the point of seeming unhinged. Stewart points out that Rosenstein agreed to meet with Trump privately. “Each time, against seemingly long odds, Rosenstein emerged with his job intact,” he notes. “What did he offer Trump in return? What threats, explicit or implied, did Trump bring to bear?”

Stewart also recounts the harsh treatment dispensed to government officials who, as a result of their involvement in the Russia investigation, became Trump’s targets. The Department of Justice publicized an affair between two agents working on the probe. It demoted the Justice Department lawyer Bruce Ohr after he spoke out, and ended the career of the longtime F.B.I. agent Andrew McCabe. All of these things, Stewart writes, “raise disturbing questions about their willingness to stand up to a president and preserve the long tradition of independent law enforcement and the rule of law.”

However, for all the suspicious patterns he reveals, for all the dots he connects, Stewart does not manage to produce a smoking gun that proves misconduct. We never learn the depth of Trump’s involvement with Russia, or whether he or Attorney General Barr applied undue pressure on the department. If these questions have incriminating answers, the people who hold them probably have no incentive to reveal them and possibly never will. What “Deep State” does tell us is that there are ample grounds for suspicion that Trump’s well-documented efforts to obstruct justice succeeded. To what end? That remains a mystery.

*********

In Tribute to Cummings, Obama Hints at Rebuke of Trump

The former president said that Representative Elijah E. Cummings showed that “you’re not a sucker to have integrity.”

Peter Baker

Oct. 25, 2019Updated 3:52 p.m. ET

WASHINGTON — Former President Barack Obama, who has remained largely silent amid the convulsive impeachment debate now gripping the nation, offered a tribute to a late Democratic congressman on Friday that sounded to some listeners like an implicit rebuke of President Trump.

Speaking at a service for Representative Elijah E. Cummings, who died last week, Mr. Obama never mentioned the president by name but seemed to draw a contrast between his successor and the congressman whom Mr. Trump denigrated last summer.

Mr. Obama said that Mr. Cummings showed that being strong meant being kind and that being honorable was no flaw.

“There’s nothing weak about kindness and compassion,” Mr. Obama told a packed hall at New Psalmist Baptist Church in Baltimore, which Mr. Cummings, a Democrat, represented in the House for the past 25 years. “There’s nothing weak about looking out for others. There’s nothing weak about being honorable. You’re not a sucker to have integrity and to treat others with respect.”

Warming to his topic, Mr. Obama pointed to a sign behind him referring to “the Honorable” Mr. Cummings.

“This is a title that we confer on all kinds of people who get elected to public office,” he said as the largely African-American and Democratic audience responded with knowing applause and laughter. “We’re supposed to introduce them as honorable. But Elijah Cummings was honorable before he was elected to office. There’s a difference. There’s a difference if you were honorable and treated others honorably outside the limelight.”

As chairman of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform, Mr. Cummings, 68, had become a major thorn in Mr. Trump’s side and was one of the leaders of the drive to impeach the president for abuse of power. Last summer, Mr. Trump lashed out at Mr. Cummings, calling him “racist” and “a brutal bully” who had done “a very poor job” representing a district that he described as a “disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess.”

Mr. Obama was part of an all-star lineup of speakers and guests at the Friday’s service, including former President Bill Clinton, former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, Speaker Nancy Pelosi, former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr. and Senator Elizabeth Warren.

But much of the attention was focused on the 44th president, who has largely avoided weighing in lately on his successor even as Mr. Trump lately has repeatedly accused Mr. Obama of illegally spying on him while in office and blamed the former president for various policy setbacks.

Mr. Obama made no reference to any of that, but did call on his audience to step up as Mr. Cummings did. “People will look back at this moment,” he said, “and ask the question: What did you do?”

*********

Elijah Cummings’s Funeral Draws Presidents and Thousands of Mourners

Presidents Barack Obama and Bill Clinton spoke Friday at the service for the longtime Maryland congressman.

By Nicholas Bogel-Burroughs | Published October 25, 2019 Updated 3:39 PM ET | New York Times | Posted October 25, 2019 |

BALTIMORE — Representative Elijah E. Cummings was firmly rooted in Baltimore, but for decades his voice extended far from his brick rowhouse on the city’s west side. On Friday, the legacy of his tireless advocacy brought powerful leaders from Washington and elsewhere to his city.

Mr. Cummings, a Democrat who rose in prominence in recent years for his unwavering pursuit of President Trump, died at 68 last week in the city he called home, the same one in which he was born and lived all his life.

Two former presidents, Barack Obama and Bill Clinton, were among the prominent cast of politicians, mentees and relatives who spoke at his funeral on Friday morning. Others included Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Hillary Clinton and Elizabeth Warren, the Massachusetts senator and presidential candidate.

Mr. Obama roused the congregation, extolling Mr. Cummings’s values and saying that the congressman had earned the title, “the honorable.”

“This is a title we confer on all kinds of people who get elected to public office,” Mr. Obama said. “We’re supposed to introduce them as honorable. But Elijah Cummings was honorable before he was elected to office.”

“There’s a difference,” Mr. Obama continued, his voice rising as many in the crowd stood up and clapped. “There’s a difference if you were honorable and treated others honorably — outside the limelight, on the side of a road, in a quiet moment counseling somebody you work with.”

Mr. Cummings’s success validates the concept of the American dream, Mr. Obama said, and his compassion and empathy were a lesson that kindness can be a sign of strength.

“There’s nothing weak about looking out for others,” Mr. Obama said. “There’s nothing weak about being honorable. You’re not a sucker to have integrity and to treat others with respect.”

Earlier in the service, following a psalm read by Ms. Warren and a song from one of Mr. Cummings’s favorite singers, BeBe Winans, Ms. Clinton took the stage and thanked members of Mr. Cummings’s district “for sharing him with our country and the world.”

Ms. Clinton said Mr. Cummings never backed down in the face of abuses of power or from “those who put party ahead of country or partisanship above truth.”

“But he could find common ground with anyone willing to seek it with him,” she continued. “And he liked to remind all of us that you can’t get so caught up in who you are fighting that you forget what you are fighting for.”

Ms. Pelosi asked attendees how many had been mentored by Mr. Cummings, and at least a dozen raised their hands. She recalled that he had sought to mentor as many freshman representatives as he could after Democrats took control of the House in the 2018 election.

“By example, he gave people hope,” she said.

Ms. Pelosi had spoken at another funeral in Baltimore on Wednesday for her own brother, Thomas D’Alesandro III, a former mayor of the city.

Earlier in the morning, thousands of grieving Baltimoreans stood in looping lines as the sun rose outside of New Psalmist Baptist Church, which seats 4,000 people and filled up shortly before 10, with many still outside. It’s the same church where Mr. Cummings sat in the front row most Sundays even after he began using a walker and wheelchair.

Mr. Cummings’s body lay in an open coffin at the front of the church on Friday, his left hand resting on his right as mourners passed by and a choir sang gospel music. An usher stood nearby with a box of tissues in each hand.

Elonna Jones, 21, skipped her classes at the University of Maryland to attend with her mother, Waneta Ross, who nearly teared up as she contemplated Baltimore’s loss.

“He believed in the beauty of everything, especially our city,” Ms. Ross said. “It’s important we’re here to honor a civil rights activist who was still around in my generation.”

Ms. Jones, a volunteer coordinator for a City Council candidate, said Mr. Cummings had motivated her to pursue a role in improving her city.

“As a young, black woman in Baltimore who wants to be in politics, he inspired me,” she said.

Mourning residents stood in black coats, hats and heels and sang Mr. Cummings’s praises as the police corralled the extended lines of people who woke up early to pay their respects. Above all, attendees noted, he always looked out for his city.

“He never forgot who we were,” said Bernadette McDonald, who lives in West Baltimore. “He was a son of Baltimore and a man of the people.”

The big names on the service’s agenda, the television cameras lined up outside and the large crowd belied the way many attendees interacted with the devoted congressman, who lived in the heart of West Baltimore and would simply give a knowing nod to those who recognized him on the street. He carried himself like anyone else when running errands or taking a walk around the block.

“If you didn’t already know him, you wouldn’t know who he was,” Ms. McDonald said.

Mr. Cummings saw his profile rise in recent years as he consistently sparred with Mr. Trump, determinedly pursuing the president, his businesses and his associates as head of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform. Mr. Cummings became a leading figure in the impeachment inquiry and was said to still be joining strategy discussions with colleagues from his hospital bed.

Rhonda Martin, who works at a local high school, said Mr. Cummings had inspired the next generation of Baltimore’s leaders by speaking to students in schools around the city.

“He brought a message of hope and told students that he did it, and they can do it, too,” Ms. Martin said.

Mr. Cummings, whose parents were former sharecroppers in South Carolina, graduated from Howard University in Washington and earned a law degree at the University of Maryland. He was first elected to Congress in 1996 and never faced a serious challenge over 11 successful re-election campaigns.

On Thursday, Mr. Cummings’s body lay in state in the Capitol, the first black lawmaker to do so, and Republicans and Democrats praised his integrity and his commitment to his constituents.

Over more than two decades in Congress, Mr. Cummings championed working people, environmental reform and civil rights. He served for two years as the chair of the Congressional Black Caucus and frequently spoke of his neighborhood while pushing legislation to lower drug prices, promoting labor unions and seeking more funding for affordable housing.

Even in his war of words with the president, the battle made its way to Baltimore when, in July, Mr. Trump called Mr. Cummings’s district a “disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess” and appeared to make light of a break-in at Mr. Cummings’s home, during which the congressman scared an intruder away.

The president’s insults still anger Baltimore residents. “See? We’re not all trash and rats,” one congregant said as she sat down in the church on Friday.

Mr. Cummings responded to the president by saying it was his “moral duty” to fight for residents in his district. “Each morning, I wake up,” he wrote, “and I go and fight for my neighbors.”

Jennifer Cummings, one of Mr. Cummings’s two daughters, recalled early morning calls from her father on her birthdays and the ice cream they shared in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.

Reading from a letter to her father, Ms. Cummings said her father had taught her to “love my blackness” by insisting on buying her dolls with brown skin and telling her to appreciate her lips and nose.

While she was proud of all the titles he held over his life, “perhaps the most important title you held in your 68 years on earth was dad,” she said.

One of Mr. Cummings’s brothers, James Cummings, said that in one of their last conversations, the congressman spoke of his heartbreak over the unsolved killing of James’s 20-year-old son, Christopher Cummings, in Norfolk, Va., in 2011.

The killing “haunted Elijah for the rest of his life,” James said.

Adia Cummings, the congressman’s other daughter, said Mr. Cummings always challenged her and her sister to be better people. And even though he would nudge her about owing him money, he rarely turned down her requests, even recently making sure that she could attend a concert for the rapper Cardi B.

“He didn’t really know who she was, but he went out of his way, even from his sick bed, to make sure I could go see her,” she said.

Maya Rockeymoore Cummings, Mr. Cummings’s wife and the chairwoman of the Maryland Democratic Party, gave a fiery speech that brought multiple rounds of applause and many congregants to their feet more than once. And while she did not cite President Trump by name, she invoked him clearly, saying her husband’s work had become “infinitely more difficult” in the last few months of his life when he “sustained personal attacks” on him and his city. “It hurt him,” Ms. Cummings said.

Looking at Mr. Obama, she recalled that Mr. Cummings had stood with the former president early and proudly. “But you didn’t have any challenges like we have going on now,” she added with a smile, as Mr. Obama nodded and responded with an appreciative chuckle.

Ms. Cummings said she felt as if people were trying to tear Mr. Cummings down, and that the celebrations and outpouring of love this week had assured her that he was sent off with the respect he deserved.

Two days before Mr. Cummings died, his wife said, the staff at the Johns Hopkins Hospital had wheeled him up to the roof to see the sun and look over the city he never left.

“Boy, have I come a long way,” he said, according to Ms. Cummings.

*********

[clerichoard]

long distance charges

finn & imbris, rockband au, 1.7k

a thousand miles really puts a dent in the phone bill.

for @darlingicarus​ for what may have been a prompt at one point

Finn's been away for a month when he gets the call.

“Charlie is lost without you,” Imbris says. “He won't stop calling me bro, and we both know how I feel about that.”

Finn grins at on the other side of the line, hearing the scowl in his voice even across the country.

“Ay, just tell him I miss him or something. Buy him a beer and say it's from me,” he offers. “Still gonna be a while. Family shit.”

Said 'family shit’ was his parents requesting that while the band was on break from touring that he spend the whole holiday season with them. After about a week they were sick of him and both went travelling for work until Christmas, leaving him all alone in a huge house in New York. For three more weeks.

Imbris sighs into the phone. “Yeah, I'll tell him. He's real put out, Finnley.”

Finn closes his eyes and bites his lip against asking if Imbris misses him too. So far they've avoided having any conversation that involved feelings other than the song that clearly put all of Finn's on display.

Instead he says, “So, you ever have phone sex?”

Imbris hangs up on him.

Finn is staring up at the ceiling of his room with a glass of some expensive ass liquor from the cabinet resting on his chest and his phone up to his face. He sends a simple, “u up” to Imbris' and waits.

The phone begins buzzing in his hands and Finn promptly drops it directly onto his face. He also manages to answer it with his nose.

“-really sent me a booty call text!” Imbris is saying once Finn manages to get the phone to his ear.

“You do have a great ass,” he points out. Imbris snorts.

“Oi, isn't it like-” There's a pause as Imbris struggles to get the time difference right. Finn doesn't even try. “-2 am there?”

“Probably,” Finn agrees. “Been drinking. Expensive shit.”

“You're drinking with your family at 2 am?” Imbris sounds appalled but not surprised. Finn guesses it has to do something with his own personality.

“No family for another two weeks,” he says, taking a long sip from his glass as he sits up. “Big empty house with lots of good alcohol.”

There's a beat of silence. Then: “Sounds like you're having fun.”

Finn shakes his head and then remembers Imbris can't see him. “M'not. Wish…I was with you,” he mumbles. He can almost see Imbris in his head, sitting on his own bed in his shitty LA apartment he barely uses. For a moment his brain pretends that they're both on the same bed. It's nice.

Imbris still hasn't said anything.

“I'm drunk, baby,” Finn finally says through a yawn. “And tired.”

Imbris sighs, quiet and soft. “Go to sleep, Finn. Night.”

“G'night,” Finn mutters as he lays back down, moving the glass to his table.

In the morning he finds his phone still on a call with Imbris on his pillow. He can hear soft snoring on the other line.

“Please be serious, for just one fucking moment, Finnley.” Imbris’ angry scowl fills the screen and Finn grins back at him with raised eyebrows.

“Your ass looks great in both,” he tells him. Imbris scoffs and flips to the back facing camera. He's holding up another pair of jeans in his hand.

“Just doesn't scream press conference to me,” he mutters as he turns to one side, examining the outfit from another angle. Finn bites his lip and looks him over from head to toe.

“Not a whole lotta things to scream about at press conferences,” Finn says. “Though I'm sure I could change that if-”

Imbris squawks and Finn has the great delight of seeing Imbris’ face turn dark red as he frantically presses a button on the phone and looks around at the store behind him. Finn laughs loudly, and even though he's sure Imbris muted him in time the reaction was priceless.

Imbris takes the phone back into the fitting room with him and only then does he unmute it and scowl at Finn.

“I am in public,” he hisses down at the phone. “Do you have any self control?”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “Sometimes. Kept my hands off you for like a year, didn't I?”

Imbris rolls his eyes and sets the phone down as he moves out of view.

“I don't know why I thought you'd be helpful,” he's saying off screen. “I should really stop having any expectations, whatsoever.”

“That's how I live my life, you're never disappointed, babe,” he sing-songs, and he can hear Imbris’ groan off screen. His head pops back in and his hair is a mess from the shirt he's just pulled on. Finn feels the urge to fix it for him- but he's a thousand miles away.

“The first jeans,” Finn says, seriously. “They're less slutty and the press will dig that. The second pair are for me when I get back.” He grins and wiggles his brows. Imbris’ face goes red, again, and Finn feels an enormous amount of satisfaction at it.

“Good bye, Finnley.” Imbris scowls and Finn wishes he was fast enough to screenshot it as the call ends.

Finn uploads the video and ten minutes later his phone begins to vibrate across his bedside table. He doesn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it is.

“Hey, babe,” he answers, grinning already.

“Don't you hey, babe me you- you shit,” Imbris is growling on the other side. “You absolute prick! You can't just- you can't just upload something like that!”

Finn has the video open on mute on his laptop in front of him and laughs loudly. He feels stupidly warm and giddy.

“Why not? Thought the lyrics were pretty good,” he quips. Imbris squawks on the other line.

“You can't just- write a Christmas song! About-” Imbris hesitates. “-About your feelings.”

“Dunno, writing a love song worked pretty well for me the first time. Thought it might make you remember how I feel,” Finn says, almost seriously. “Left out the lyric about my boner for you, if that helps.”

He hears the distinct clatter of a phone being dropped and Imbris shouting shit as he scrambles to pick it up. Finn bites his lip and imagines the dumb little scowl Imbris definitely has on his face.

“Please don't upload any songs about your boner, ever,” Imbris says after he finally gets back on the line.

“No promises,” he laughs. There's a moment of quiet and Imbris starts to say something then cuts himself off, twice.

Finally, he says, “When's your flight home?”

Finn's heart jumps in his chest. Home. He'd never really thought of LA as home before but now- it's where the band is and his favourite taco shop and that gay bar that plays their music and, well, Imbris. This big empty mansion was never really where he belonged.

“Next week,” he replies. “Two days after Christmas. Why? You miss me?”

It takes Imbris a moment to scoff and say no, you shit like he always does but Finn smiles anyways.

“Get ready for New year's, babe, we're gonna get trashed out of our minds,” Finn tells him, laughing at the inevitable groan.

“See you in a week, idiot,” he says.

Finn unmutes his video and puts the phone microphone right up the laptop right as the lyric ‘Christmas is lonely without you,’ plays.

The flight home is the worst one Finn's ever been on. It gets delayed in the layover in Dallas and Finn spends three hours hating every person in the airport. He only gets stopped by two fans and he makes a note to tweet out an apology to them for being in a mood later.

He texts Imbris and lets him know his flight was delayed and to have a beer opened for him once he gets to his apartment. He gets the rolly eye emoji in return.

The LA flight is worse, even in first class. There's heavy turbulence most of the way due to a large storm sitting over the west coast and Finn is too queasy to even consider drowning his mood in alcohol.

Thankfully the plane lands safely and Finn only has his carry-on because he's sure with his luck any checked bag would've been lost.

He strolls through the airport with sunglasses on since he's sure the bags under his eyes are less than appealing and only takes them off for security. He's already halfway through a text to Imbris at the arrivals gate when he hears a loud, “Oi!”

He looks up sharply and watches as Imbris comes barreling through the crowd to launch himself at Finn. He barely has enough time to steady himself as Imbris’ arms wrap around his neck and his legs are around his waist.

The kiss is a hard press of lips and Finn can't help but grin against it even with his sunglasses pressed awkwardly into both of their faces.

Imbris pulls back a moment later with a scowl as he shoves the sunglasses up into Finn's hair. Finn takes a moment to stare a him, grinning, and notes the dark shadows under his eyes as well. His hair is artfully mused and his t-shirt is ripped at the collar and the jeans-

“You're wearing the jeans,” Finn gasps. He clings to Imbris’ ass like a lifeline and bounces his knees. “You wore the jeans!”

Imbris grins wickedly as he takes Finn's face in his hands and kisses him. This time Finn kisses him back, with all the pent up frustration of not being able to do this for almost two months.

Someone clears their throat and they both pull away. Finn blinks as he notes both Charlie and Jarli standing nearby raising their eyebrows.

Finn drops Imbris, Imbris squawks, Charlie and Finn bro-hug for a long minute. A fan comes over and they all pose for a photo.

Finn can't stop staring at Imbris.

Later, when they're laying in bed, naked, Imbris put his head on his chest.

“I missed you,” he says. Finn beams down at him.

“I missed you too.”

[dororoscutesmile]

Summer anime preliminary reviews

Short, sweet, and to the point. I watched the first episode every new series so that you (hopefully) don’t have to! I try to make my brief reviews as unbiased as possible. My top recommendations from a variety of genres first, then the rest under the readmore in the order I personally liked them. There are a LOT of good anime this season, and I definitely recommend more than the first five.

Kanata no astra

Sci-fi/action. In a future full of space travel, a group of high schoolers are suddenly and mysteriously transported over 5,000 light years away from their home planet; they now must survive and work together aboard an abandoned ship trying to get home. The first episode is long and cinematic, which suits it perfectly. This one seems to have everything; action, mystery, comedy, wonderful character dynamics, sad backstories -- and all done very well. It’s going to be one of the best of the season.

Araburu kisetsu no otome-domo yo

High school/drama/comedy. This one is all about sex -- but it’s not ecchi or fan servicey. Girls in a literature club who are ignorant about sex make it their goal to learn about it as they make their way toward adulthood. If you don’t mind high schoolers speaking frankly about sex and their desires for it, but NOT in a way that seems objectifying or unnecessarily “sexualizing,” then this is an engaging coming-of-age story. It’s certainly different, and I believe it handles the topic tactfully and realistically.

Machikado Mazoku

Comedy/magic. A high school girl wakes up from a dream that reveals she is a demon who must defeat a magical girl and restore her family’s honor. This one’s really funny! It’s a fun twist on the “magical girl” genre. The main character is ditzy in a cute way, and she and the aloof magical girl play off each other really well. I was expecting to be bored based on the synopsis, but I ended up liking this a lot. Whatever you think of the magical girl genre, this series looks great.

Toaru Kagaku no Accelerator

Supernatural/action. In a city full of espers, the previously strongest one is recovering in the hospital after being shot in the head and is now being hunted down by a group of thieves using a special weapon. The main character is the cool, aloof, angry type. Intelligent, cocky, overpowered, an appealing design, and a soft spot for a small child. This character, rather than the plot, is what really drives this anime, at least so far. If he’s your type of character, then this is your type of anime.

Given

Music/BL. A high schooler who has lost passion for his hobbies meets another boy with a guitar with broken strings. He repairs the strings, and the boy starts following him around asking him to teach him guitar. Not much really happens in the first episode, but there are hints of a romance between the boys, which is obviously expected from BL. The animation with the instruments is good, and the characters have potential. For fans of BL or even just the music genre, this one seems pretty solid.

Dr. Stone

Sci-fi/adventure. This takes place in a future where all humans have turned to stone. The protagonists are one that is plain but charming, and another who is an enjoyable smart-ass; together, they start trying to revive all the people who were turned to stone. The characters’ dynamic together isn’t particularly interesting, but each character is enjoyable in their own right. There’s science, primitive technology, and some mystery in this. It’s definitely worth a watch.

Okaa-san Online/Tsuujou Kougeki ga…

Fantasy/comedy. A strange government program sends a boy and his mother into an online game. Having a mother and son dynamic here along with their generational gap in video game knowledge certainly makes for an interesting premise. The mom has a great personality and is surprising in a number of ways, and you can expect family bonding in this as the son is reluctant to have any kind of adventure with his mother. It’s cute!

Bem

Supernatural/horror. Three good youkai fight against evil youkai, trying to save humans as well as become humans themselves. At the same time, there’s a female police officer who gets involved and is fighting against corruption in the city. Warning for some gore. The tone of this show is jazzy and gritty, taking place largely on dark city streets. The characters have yet to be fully fleshed out, but the gritty tone is unique this season.

UchiMusume/Uchi no musume/Uchi no ko...

Fantasy/found family. Also known as “If it’s for my daughter, I’d even defeat a demon lord.” A young man meets an orphaned demon girl and adopts her as his daughter. This is incredibly, incredibly sweet. The first episode is very good at setting up the father-daughter relationship and making you care a lot about the little girl. If you want a cute and pure found-family story, this is the one.

Nakanohito Genome

Gaming/comedy. A group of various gamers are suddenly placed in a real life game where they must play well enough to gather 100 million viewers during what turns out to be a livestream. Think “The Hunger Games” but with gamers. The characters are fun, and it’s an interesting premise worth giving a shot. Give it two episodes before making up your mind, I think.

Kochouki: Wakaki Nobunaga

Historical/action. Based on the real historical figure Oda Nobunaga, starting from his teens and up through adulthood as a warlord. This was surprisingly engaging. The characters and the history are both interesting, and it does a good job of humanizing the historical figures. If you like historical anime, this one’s for you.

Yami shibai - Japanese ghost stories

Technically a returning series, not a new one, but it’s more of an anthology kind of series that doesn’t require previous viewing. Very short episodes, and exactly what it says on the tin. The animation is suitably creepy, and it’s great for a little scare.

Arifureta shokugyou de sekai saikyou

Harem/fantasy. A high school class was transported to a fantasy world where all but the main character gained powerful magical powers, whereas the main character only got a single common skill, and he is ostracized for it. Betrayed and dropped into a dungeon alone, he must fight his way out with newfound powers. The protagonist is engaging, and the action is alright, but the first episode doesn’t reveal much about the plot honestly. It could be worth giving a shot.

Enen no shouboutai

Sci-fi/action. In a not-too-distant future, humans have begun to spontaneously combust. Some have gained the ability to do this at will and retain their human form. A young man who can light his feet on fire at will joins a special task force of, essentially, firefighters who deal with the deadly combustions. This one’s got mystery, an engaging and well-designed misunderstood protagonist, and great action sequences.

Isekai cheat magician

Fantasy/adventure. Two high schoolers are transported into a magical world much like in an RPG. They join an adventurer’s guild where they learn they have unbelievably strong magical powers. The first episode merely sets up the premise, but the main characters’ friendship dynamic is nice, and it has good potential for an “another world” genre show, especially if you tend to like overpowered protagonists.

Vinland Saga

Action/historical. A viking boy, based on a historical Icelandic explorer, hones his skills to avenge his father. Solid animation, high quality in most aspects honestly, but a very slow start to the story. The first three episodes were released all at once, and it seems like they might together be a sort of prologue to the real story. If you don’t mind a slower pace and you enjoy vikings and/or historical shows, this does have a solid plot and solid character building.

Katsute Kami Datta Kemono-tachi e

Action/fantasy. The premise of this is somewhat similar to Fairy Gone. One side of a civil war turned to using magic in order to create monstrous super soldiers. They start to develop symptoms that make them too dangerous, and now in a time of peace, one of them makes it his duty to hunt the rest. If you like the action genre, this seems pretty solid. The first episode was just a setup for the premise, but the main character is interesting, and the action scenes are pretty good.

Dumbbell nan kilo moteru

Girls lifting weights! There’s what some may call fatshaming in this right from the start, so if that puts you off, you may want to avoid. Very fanservice-y. But If you’re into the “muscle girl” look, this probably won’t scratch that itch. The female body types actually seem pretty average for anime (even the “chubby” girl) despite the heavy focus on strength training. The main character has a cute personality, and the show is fun with some actual strength training tips.

Cop Craft

Sci-fi/buddy cop. In a city near a rift between Earth and other worlds, a male human police officer and a female alien team up to fight crime. There’s not much to say about this one, it’s exactly what you’d expect from the buddy cop genre with aliens mixed in. It’s good for what it is, and the character dynamic of the two protagonists being opposites is good, so if you like the buddy cop genre, you’ll like this.

Maou-sama, retry!

Fantasy/adventure. A man is transported into a video game that he manages, a world in which is powerful due to his administrative controls over the game and is seen as a “Demon Lord.” He befriends and protects a young disabled girl who joins him on his journey, and their dynamic is interesting. This is a pretty generic anime, but if the “normal guy is transported into a fantasy world” trope appeals to you, you’ll like it.

Sounan desu ka

Adventure/comedy. After a plane crash, a group of high school girls must survive on an isolated island. There’s plenty of “fan service” (things like upskirt shots) which may make some uncomfortable. If that doesn’t put you off, this is otherwise a cute show with an interesting survival aspect to it, where you might actually learn real survival tips.

HenSuki/Kawaikereba hentai demo suki ni natte kuremasu ka

Harem/comedy/light ecchi. The genre alone should tell you nearly as much as you need to know if this one’s for you. A high school boy who wants a girlfriend finds a love letter left for him, along with a pair of panties. He then tries to figure out which of the girls in his life left the letter. There’s not too much to say about it. A cast of mildly perverted girls, and exactly everything else you’d expect.

Joshikousei no mudazukai

Comedy/high school. A group of girls with very different personalities try to navigate their new high school lives, with the main character being obsessed with finding a boyfriend despite being at an all girls school. This is silly and cute, very light in substance, but a nice break from more serious anime.

Tejina-senpai

Comedy/ecchi. A high school boy looking to join a club stumbles upon a girl practicing magic tricks in a “magic club”; however, she makes mistakes during every trick, and he has to help her out when her tricks don’t come out as planned. Keep in mind that this is in the ecchi genre and therefore aimed at tantalizing straight male viewers. If that’s your thing, you’ll find this to be a very cute and funny show.

Granbelm

Fantasy/action. This is a sort of magical girl mecha anime, from what I can tell. A high school girl is temporarily transported into an “illusionary” world full of magic where she learns she’s a descendent of a mage. There’s a heavy focus on both lore building and action scenes. If you wanna see magical girls fight in big mecha suits, this is the place to do it.

Hakata mentai Pirikarako-chan

Slice of life/comedy. Very short episodes about a little girl named Pirikarako. It seems to be mainly for children, having talking fruits in it and being animated in an overly cute style. It’s hard to explain, but it’s very silly and cute.

Re:Stage! Dream Days

Idol/slice of life. A middle school transfer student stumbles upon her school’s “lyrical club,” the members of which want to become idols, only the new girl turns out to have been an idol in the past. The girls are cute, and the singing/dancing parts are fun.

[katbot]

Trivia, Tinder, and a Trinidad Sour.

This week’s Thirsty Thursday is an accidental Tuesday that kicks off from a series of specific coincidences. 

It’s a Tuesday night and for the first time in weeks, I’m not at my usual Tuesday meet up. I decide to ditch my drinking buddies and opt for Tinder swiping in bed. I’m digging up archives of lost conversations when my roommate walks in.

“You wanna come to trivia?” “Fuck no. I’m shit at trivia.” “They have beer.”

Our team name is Quiztina Aguilera.

I’m more focused on my IPA and S, a tinder match from early May, who just happens to be getting out of a yoga class two blocks away.

“Pick me up? I’m a Buddha Bar.” He replies with a thumbs up.

When I come back from the bathroom, my date is awkwardly sitting next my empty seat.

I can’t help but think. “...Him?”

Before I leave, I give the only answer of the night I know. “Carrie Nation.”

S is far from my type. In fact, he’s the kind of kid I would have bullied in middle school. I’m weary that Chris Hansen might pop out of the bushes.

Preteen or not, I’m grateful he saved me from trivia. 

“Hey. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the save.” “No problem.”

 He gives me an awkward hug which I need to bend down for. 

“So sorry I look a mess. Yoga was so intense..” 

I’m a bit taken aback. This guy has an undeniable gay lisp. “ I…uhh... yeah. No worries.” I clear my throat. I’m in a messy bun paired with a faded Star Wars tee & leggings. We’re definitely a sloopy duo.

“Is there a bar that you have in mind?” He mumbles a reply and when he passes the two most popular spots on the block I realize I’m in charge of this date.

“Have you been to Honeywell? It’s this cool 70’s bar, I’ve been interested in visiting again.” I don’t give him a choice, I’m half way down the staircase. If I’m going to sit through this, I’m having overpriced cocktails. 

They’re two plush teal seats open at the bar. When the couple in front of us hesitates, I quickly grab them. I love this bar. The decor is reminds me of my father’s basement. The wood paneled walls and 70s colours puts me at ease. 

They’re about twenty cocktails on the menu. I scour the list for gin based drinks. S decides for tequila. We’re talking about his DNA research when our bartender walks over. “Hey. Welcome guys, can I get you anything?” 

The voice sounds like butter. When I turn to face it, my eyes are equally rewarded. He’s outrageously handsome for a 70s parody. Huge aviator glasses, long eyelashes, hair buzzed on the side — a middle bang part  resting just in the middle of his forehead.

He’s in a floral shirt, that’s unbuttoned into a deep v. It gives a glimpse of gothic lettering spread across his chest.

I can feel my clit twitch when he smiles at me.

 “Yeah… I’ll take the Wallflower. He’ll take the Happy Hooking.”“Wallflower…an excellent choice.” 

Drink orders in tow, he walks away.  Leaving me totally smitten. My date’s lisp brings me back to reality. 

Seriously. How is this guy not gay? 

When our cocktails arrive, my sips quickly become gulps. I’m having an okay time, genomes are interesting but the cocktails and the bartender is what influences the second round. I leave my order and pop to the loo. 

When I return, my date & the bartender are talking about the history of cocktails. When he brings up Sasha Petraske, I swoon. He list out his favourites modern cocktails: Paper Plane, Goldrush, Penicillin, Trindad Sour. He knows what he’s talking about and I am digging it. Inbetween sentences, he mixes our drinks in front of us. He uses the jigger like a champ, easing straight to a clean cocktail shake. One of my favourite sounds in the world is the rattle of a cocktail shaker.

   “Despite not having grasshoppers, this is one of my favourite cocktail bars.” I mean it. They’re only two bars in the area that fit my decor slut personality.

 “Hey thanks. I’ve seen this area change so much. It’s about time we got a real cocktail bar.”

I roll my eyes, my words painted thick in sarcasm, “Oh yeah How long have you been here?” 

“Me?” he responds smoothly. “I’m a Native New Yorker.” 

I am absolutely fucking this man tonight. 

We tumble into the frantic flurry that only happens when natives New Yorkers find each other in the wild.

I’m practically jumping out of my seat when he knows my childhood neighbourhood. 

Only when S gets up to use the restroom do I remember I’m on a date.  I text my squad: “At this date, but hitting on the bartender.” 

When the least morally corrupt friend replies, “You should hit on whomever your heart desires TV.“

I can physically feel my last shred of ethical apprehension crumble. 

I watch my bartender follow S with his eyes. 

Once he’s out of sight he swings my way. “So. What is this? Friends? First tinder date? Please tell me it’s a tinder date. I love failed tinder dates.” 

“A very failed tinder date.” 

“Jesus,” he laughs. “Seriously thought you were doing drinks with your gay bestie!”

“God NO. And fuck YES. He’s absolutely gay right?”

 We both nod and simultaneously hope he figures out his identity soon.

With a quick glance towards the bathroom, I plot out my strategy. Everyone hits on their bartender, especially one this hot. I’ve got to play this fresh. I’m coming in with no advantages. Messy bun, no eyeliner, even my tits are hidden.

I’ve just got to rely on my personality & dimples. Tough.

I thank him saving me from the world’s most boring date. He accepts my gratitude and finally introduces himself. 

“Hey. I’m P.” I place my hand in his, fuck me eyes full beam. “Tessie.”

S comes back and I order a third round.

The three of us start to talk about our favourite spirits and when I mention my love of gin, P comments that he tends to stay away.

“It makes me too sexual.”

I word vomit, “I’ll take two shots of gin then.”

The exchange is so quick, S doesn’t seem to pick up on it. It takes P a second. When he laughs and blushes, I know I’m in.

There’s a small part of me that feels bad for S, but when I think about how hilarious the situation is it feels like I’m doing him a shitty favour. He’s so boring, a story of “My Tinder date ditched me for the bartender” would help his stale bread personality. 

The night progresses and I’m going full throttle shameless   A couple regulars grab the seats next to us. When they take a birthday shot. P puts a glass down for me. Post shot—I decide for another cocktail. My date says he’ll join in on the round.

“I just want to let you know, I’m notorious for out drinking people. Don’t feel pressured. I’m a heavy drinker. It’s okay to to take a break.”

He assures me he’s fine, but they always say they’re fine.

When P comes around, I muster has much sex appeal I can from my non mascara’d eyes.  “I’ll take….a Trinidad Sour.” I smirk and pair the “’sow’ syllable with a subtle tongue flick and lip part. P’s eyes flicker down to my mouth and back up.

“And he’ll take a…whatever.” I can’t remember what he wanted and frankly I don’t care. I know I’m the currently female equivalent of a douchebag but it doesn’t stop me from speaking up when S tries to order a margarita

“No. God. No. You can do better than that. P, he likes tequila and citrus shit. Can you work with that?”

My date’s drink arrives in a lightbulb. It’s embarrassingly hipster and I know it’s a stupid gimmick drink for people that don’t know what they want. I despise people that don’t have a drink roster. We’re not 19 anymore. (Well maybe he is.)

When P gravitates back to us, him and my date start talking about Russian Bathhouses. When he says he can speak Russian, I blurt-ask if I can buy him a drink.

He checks the time and concludes he’ll get us a round one of his favourites, a daiquiri.

“Noooo.” I coo. “I meant just you…” This time we both laugh, amused by my brazenness and the oblivious S.

Has soon has S leaves for the bathroom, I go for the Hail Mary.

“How’s it going?” P clinks my glass and we down our daiquiris.

“Shitty.  You know what I really want to do?”

“What?” He places both elbows across the bar and stares at me with an expecting smile.

“What I really want to do is take you out for drinks after this. Would you be down?”

“Yes.”

We’re still smiling at each other when my date comes back. Totally clueless and ignorant of what happen ten seconds before.

An ice cube thrown from across the bar breaks the spell. Righttttt. Other people exist.

He’s working, I’m…dating..I guess. P shoots me a wink before heading to the other side of the bar.

Touch Downnnnnnnn

Now. I’ve got to get rid of this dweebo.  In one swift motion,  I turn with a shit eating grin and tell S, “You should go…”He touches my knee and ask if we’re going back to my place.

Man this boy is dense.

 I almost pity him. Not hard enough though, after 10 minutes of arguing (Read: Me repeating for him to go home.) He listens.

When he FINALLY bounces, P places another cocktail in front of me to congratulates my success.  It takes about an hour for him to close. I’m a little bit nervous that it’s all a practical joke until the other bartender’s friends invite me over to sit with them. We dance to bachata until the till is set and the racks are clean.

Around 3am, we all hit the street and head to the only bar open till 4am. The sidewalk’s empty and I’m feeling the high of the night. We walk over to the bar, boisterous and giggly. I can’t believe the way this night is shaping up.

P wraps his arm around me as we cross the street. “Thanks for coming.”

It’s then that I realize he’s significantly shorter than me. I not a height whore, but it makes me laugh even more. How high is that bar?

At the next place, we order drinks, food, and receive a free round of shots. It’s around 4am when we close out. I follow P outside for a smoke, irked that we’re still out.

“Yo what’s the deal?”

“What’s up?” God, his voice is seriously tantalizing.

“Listen. I live two minutes away from here. And I’m serious about sucking your dick. So, if you’re down. I’m down.”

P stares back at me shocked, his mouth is open, a cloud of smoke spills out in a clean stream.

“Wow….I love how forward you are.”

“Good. Let’s go.” 

It’s the first time I’ve ever brought anyone back to my house. I’m excited and nervous. So glad I got that new duvet cover. 

I put on vaporware and slide into bed. 

He takes off his clothes to reveal American flag boxer briefs, and a myriad of tattoos.

They’re colourful and splashed all over his body. I can finally read his entire chest when he lays down—“Love is my Weapon.”

He’s blown (ha) by my beejee skills. And I make a mental note that I can officially add dick sucking to my resume with three solid references.

When he ask for a condom, I pull open my bedside drawer and whip out my freshly organized and colour coded condom box.

We fuck all morning.  We run through three rubbers, and I come four times. I’m surprised and pleased by his ability to stay hard.

He keeps calling me beautiful and hot. I can’t help laughing. Mid stroke he comments, “It’s so hot how well you hold your liquor.” And I gotta admit, that one gets me.

“I can’t believe we just met last night….it feels like I’ve known you forever…” I make a face at my invisible The Office camera. We fall asleep around 5. I have about 3 hours till work. I know it’s around 6 when I wake up, because he’s putting on the fourth condom while my roommates are running their morning routine. I’m embarrassed but fuck it. They’ve got to be up anyway, and FUCK I’m about to cum.

When I finally wake up, it’s 7:43. The time I leave for work. There’s no way I can make it on time AND kick P out.

I’m pleased he’s still cute without his glasses and in the daylight.

I bump into my trivia partner on the way to the bathroom. He can tell from my glow, I’m doing something bad. 

“THAT GUY?” he pauses on the way out, referring to S.

“No. Our bartender.” 

“Fuck. Savage.”

 I head back to bed and call out of work. We spend the next six hours sleeping on and off. I’m surprised by how comfortable my twin can fit us and then I remember he’s barely my height. He snores a lot, waking himself up. In his moments of alertness, he cuddles me and kisses me all over.

My group chat is ragging on me for not knowing how to kick him out, he’s clearly sleep deprived. I feel bad.

Around 1pm, he turns over, kisses me on the forehead and ask if I want to grab coffee.

Yes. The solution to all morning afters!

We get redressed and he decides to join me on morning duties. We pick up my neon sign from the post office, and he tells me about his father and his plans for the day. The sun is beaming down, and I’m having a fun time. P is definitely a little crazy, but I kind of like it. He’s a celebrity in the hood. A bunch of people wave at us and he’s calling everyone “Brotha” in his 70s aviators and buttery voice. It usually would be cringey but he has a personality that’s electric. It’s been so long since I’ve meet someone more extroverted than me!

He buys us both ice coffees. We sit outside, soaking in the sun. We chat about original date and how P felt bad for hitting on me.

“I wasn’t sure if you actually were hitting on me. And if you were on a date or just boozing gay bestie. Then I was like, ‘Oh.”

Welp. It worked out didn’t it.

He orders a Uber and lights up a cigarette.

“You wanna take down my number. ”

“Uh…sure?” I’m surprised but interested. We swap numbers just has his uber comes. We exchange a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Baby. Talk to you later.”

I walk off, feeling utterly cool. I can’t believe I went home with my bartender. Childhood bucket list status.

I decide to treat myself to Handpulled Noodles. A joint that’s two spots down from where it all began last night.

Has I take the first bite of a dumpling, I get a notification from Tinder.

It’s S.

I can’t be upset, what I did was fucked up. I prepare myself for the worst and get,

“Thanks for hanging out Tessie. I had a great time! You were right to send me home. Those drinks were delicious but I definitely couldn’t keep up.”

I’m ugly laugh into my soy sauce. This dude is dead stupid.

“Yeah. That bartender was so great.” I respond back, fully recognising how fucked it is.

“Agreed. P was his name?”

“Was it??? I don’t think he even said.”

Encounter rating: S:  1.2/10                                 P:  8/10

Lessons learned:

It’s possible to pick up dudes with just your dimples & wit. (Whatttt)

Trinidad sours are amazing.

There are some people that think my straight forwardness is hot instead of manly.

App: Tinder/IRL

[gettriggeredmedia]

Identity Politics and surrounding issues

Everyone knows about Identity politics. Some activists scream about colonisers, radical feminists cause a clicking ovation at slam poetry, gender-fluids cause controversy over the apparent 78 genders (or 112, or 63 - whoever you get your info from) and the overall takeover from the left when it comes to issues such as personal feelings and how someone identifies.

So let’s break it down.

Identity politics is essentially how someone can change their political beliefs and their whole identities based upon their identity (e.g. race, religion, social class, wealth, sexuality, etc.). The idea in itself might seem appealing to many, as it seems to with the left, but recently, Identity politics has gotten out of control.

Black people and those that sympathise are screaming about white men colonising the U.S. in the eighteenth century, that’s over two hundred years ago, and talking about the murders of their ancestors by the ancestors of the white men and women they walk around college with today. This idea promotes the victim mentality, where someone walks around thinking the world’s out to get them everyday and that everything’s against them. It’s simply false.

Many current white Americans today are actually descendant of people who immigrated into the country after the civil war, which statistically speaking, means that their ancestors most likely did not murder the ancestors of black Americans today.

Talking about the victim mentality, walking around screaming at white ‘colonisers’ (Which I'm pretty sure only became a term used by the progressive left after Black Panther was released), is, in itself, inherently racist. But we don’t mention that, do we? Right? I mean...you can’t be racist to white people, am I right?

Wrong.

You can be racist to white people. Being racist has nothing to do with one’s social class, past history of their race and so on. Being racist, however, has everything to do with judging another by their skin colour. 

Oxford Dictionary describes it as this:

“Prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against someone of a different race based on the belief that one's own race is superior.”

Where in that does it mention that you cannot be racist to white people because they’re the oppressors? No-where. It doesn’t say anything, and you want to know why? That’s because ‘reverse racism’ doesn’t exist. It’s just called racism.

Why do conversations about racism, oppression and slavery always have to do with black, African people and white, European people? The Middle East practically ran slave trading for a while, and it’s still happening. Irishmen were enslaved for a time. Do you see them getting mentioned? Nope.

“But what does that have to do with America?”

Nothing, you’re right, but it does show that slaves in America weren’t the only ones out there, and while American slavery has been abolished, Middle Eastern slavery in certain areas has not.

Now let’s look at feminism.

Feminism is currently the core belief that men and women are not equal in developed countries. I’m here to say that’s false. Men and women have the exact same rights as each other and complaining about the so-called ‘pay gap’ is nothing in comparison to what women have to go through in, once again, middle eastern countries and parts of Africa.

Look at this video for example:

While it’s not a conservative video, it does illustrate that these two people, a white man and a black woman, both of whom work the same job, but at different companies, are not only equal in pay, but the black woman is paid much more than the white man.

While this isn’t true for many places, a number of factors do influence how much someone is paid, such as; family leave (Whether it be maternity or otherwise), whether the employee decides to go part time or full time, whether the employee takes more time for the family, holidays and so on. It’s the same for both men and women. I guarantee that a man who works from home or works part time to spend more time with his kids is going to be paid much less than a woman with no kids and a focussed career.

Comparing the salary from the same or similar jobs but from different companies is not a way to get reliable statistics.

Feminists parading around in vagina hats to protest Trump in the 2016 women’s march is just kinda sick, really. Not even going to give a factual statement here, It’s sick. I don’t want to look at vagina hats and whatever other shit that they parade around in.

Moving aside from the side of the debate, let’s look at Muslims, feminist movements relating to Muslims, LGBTQ+ issues relating to Muslims, terrorism and other religious issues relating to Muslims.

Before we even get into it, I have nothing against peaceful Muslims. Freedom of Religion is a right.

Feminist Muslims. Oh how you’ve gotten everything wrong. Just today, Iranian women are pulling off their hijab’s in a protest for rights.

from: https://www.telesurtv.net/english/news/Iranian-Women-Tear-Off-Their-Veils-in-National-Push-for-Rights-20180425-0040.html

from: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5656091/Support-grows-Iranian-woman-viciously-beaten-morality-police.html

There was also the story a few months back about the woman doing the same thing. Then there’s white, American, atheist women (Called sympathisers or allies), who put on hijab’s for feminism.

What’s screwed up here?...hmmm

LGBTQ+ Issues. There are many. The Muslim religion is, in itself, greatly against homosexuality of any sort. Gay men and Lesbian women in the Middle East have been brutally murdered, and it’s not even stopped at the borders of the Middle East. I’m sure everyone heard of the rehabilitation camps in Chechnya. Well, guess what? Chechnya’s actually a Muslim majority. The main religion is Sunni Islam.

While the may have nothing to do with it, it’s still quite a coincidence.

Let’s talk about religious issues relating to Muslims and other religions. Many believe Muslims to be older than Christianity and Protestants. This is false. Muhammed, the founder of the religion, actually wanted to be a Catholic priest but was kicked out for being too militant. From then on, he created the Muslim religion in retaliation to the Catholics.

In truth, Christianity, Judaism and other religions like those, predate Muslims by around 600 or so years.

Next on the list is Terrorism.

Yes, many terrorists are Muslim, no, that doesn't mean that all Muslims are terrorists. There are white, domestic terrorists, like the Las Vegas shooter and several school shooters, but those responsible for some of the U.S’s biggest disasters in the past have been Muslim terrorists.

Al Queda was responsible for 911.

Osama Bin Laden was a big name in Terrorism.

Just recently, the YouTube shooter, a Muslim woman.

Boston Marathon Bombings

Those are just some of the few since 2001. Thousands of people have died, and there have been many more from Muslim terrorists in other countries. Now, none of this doesn’t excuse what the white terrorists have done (Because white privilege isn’t real), what it does do, however, is prove that there is a part of Islam, not all of it, a part of it, that is wrong, that has caused several mentally unstable Muslim men to go out, bomb people and fly planes into buildings.

Now, how about when Muslims immigrate to first world countries from Syria, Iran, Sudan and all of those ares. If you ask them to name which law they thought was better, many would say Sharia Law. In developed countries such as the U.S, U.K, Australia and so on, immigrants should be expected to follow the laws of that country, not the laws of the country they left behind. That should be fact. 

Religion actually has nothing to do with that. The Laws in Canada are different to the laws in Australia. Canadians moving to Australia should be expected to follow Australian Law, just as Australians moving to Canada should be expected to follow Canadian law. While the concept is the same, the stakes are higher when the immigrant is from a third world country.

I’ve known people who immigrated from Africa. They’re fine with the laws.

Lastly, let’s move onto the sexuality, gender and sex debate. You know, the one where the LGBTQ+ activists claim that there are infinite genders or some crap.

I can break this down into a few easy ways to understand it.

Sex and gender are not different from one another. Both have a basis in biology. Your sex is what genitals you have, a penis = male, a vagina = female. This is how it has been since sex and gender were first termed.

It goes deeper than genitals, though, it goes into your genes, cells, chromosomes, muscle composition, body fat distribution and so on. It’s common knowledge that males have an XY chromosome makeup, while female have an XX chromosome makeup. The deciding factor of what sex you are, actually depends on the father. When it comes to muscle composition, male’s have genetically stronger muscles, their composition is stronger than that of a female’s.

Female’s generally have softer muscle composition, as genetically, a woman isn’t made for doing hard work like a man is, a woman is genetically made to be a caretaker. That’s not to say that every woman is the same, just the opposite actually, but this is just the general genetic profiles of men and women.

A woman’s fat distribution is different to that of a man’s. A woman will have more fat around her hips, thighs, breasts and arms, while a man will generally have more fat around the stomach (See: Beer belly) and just the upper body in general.

Men and Women have different skeletal structures. A woman has a wider pelvis than a man, this is so she is ready to have children, smaller shoulders, smaller head and a smaller skeletal structure in general to a man’s. While a man will have a thinner pelvis, broader shoulders, larger rib cage and is generally taller. The height difference is quite apparent in many real world situations. (Every male I know my age or older, is much taller than me) There are anomalies to this everywhere, the odd female taller than all the males she knows, or the short male who feels like a dwarf in comparison.

This get’s me to hormones. Male and female brains will send out different hormones to their bodies. This is mostly evident in oestrogen and testosterone. Oestrogen is a woman’s hormone, generally a boost will be given through puberty which stimulates breast growth and the menstrual cycle, which in turn enables the female to have children. Males, during puberty, get a boost of testosterone, causing facial hair, voice breaking, genital growth and so on.

There is obviously a distinct scientific difference between male’s and females, and this is what gender and sex have been founded in. Both relate to the scientific properties of the sex.

Frankly, I don’t understand half of what goes on in the side of the world.

Well, thanks for sticking around (If you made it this far, sorry for the long post)

~GTM

[wishingforatypewriter]

Passion Food

Summary: Hisako and Akira have fun with aphrodisiacs. 

 "So it's settled." Erina adjusted her reading glasses before scribbling her signature on the twenty ninth page of the document in front of her. In today's meeting they were going through the lucrative tasks titans of the gastronomical wanted to put before the Elite Ten Council—for a hefty price of course. "Aldini and Mito-san will fly to Milan this weekend to advise Chef Batali on his new restaurant's menu. All expenses will be covered by the chef, of course." 

Everyone knew that Tōtsuki consultations didn't come cheap. "Hmm," Ikumi said. "What should I pack? Aldini, is it cold in Italy this time of year?" 

 "Not too bad, I think," he said. "I'd still bring a jacket though." 

 "Yeah, makes sense."

 "I wonder if it's a charter plane or a commercial flight?"

 "Definitely charter," Ikumi decided, "It's chef Batali we're talking about. But what snacks should we bring?"

 "Next order of business," Erina all but growled. These meetings lasted twice as long as they did back when she was tenth seat because everyone on the council was so chummy now. Her grandfather said nothing like this has happened since Chef Saiba was a student at Tōtsuki. She shook her head vigorously. Now was not the time to think about Saiba-san.

 "A renowned se..se...what?" Erina looked up, her face flushed. "That can't be right, right? A s...se...seeeeeeee." 

 Curious, Alice snatched the paper away from her flustered cousin. It had to be something good to make Erina drop her professionalism.

 "A world renowned sexologist wants us to develop a gourmet dish using natural aphrodisiacs to recommend to her clients. Hmm." 

 Alice looked around the room. Tadokoro was about as red as Erina; they'd both be useless at something like this. Yukihira and Ryo, though both geniuses in their way, had neither the sensitivity, nor the background in herb cultivation to excel at such a task. Maybe the underclassman? No...Alice wouldn't be a cruel senpai. "Alright!" she sung. "I'm going to give this one to Hishoko and...Hayama-kun!" 

 "You don't have the authority," the pink haired chef began.

 "Oh, but I do," the Nakiri replied. "In the event that the second seat is unable to perform her duties as head of the task distribution committee, the fourth seat is in charge. You have the medical know how. You're most qualified for it."

 "Yukihira!" Hisako tried, appealing to the first seat's veto power. 

 Souma scratched the back of his head. Truthfully he hadn't been paying that much attention. "I mean, she has a point, Arato." 

 "Better get to work," the Nakiri sang. "You too Hayama-kun. As part of my faction, I expect you to excel." 

 "When did I become part of something like that?"

 "First year. When you assisted with my booth on Main Street." 

 "For the last time, it was the Shiomi Seminar's booth!"’

  "No back talk!" Alice slammed her hand against the table. "Now, shoo, the both of you."

 Once they were gone, she turned towards her fellow council members. "So who wants to make a bet?"

 "I'm listening," Ikumi said. 

 "¥70,000 says they make out by Monday." 

 "You're being cautious," Ikumi observed. Her wagers usually went into the hundred thousands. "But I'll match it," she then glanced towards the second seat, who still seemed to be in shock, and lowered her voice. "Arato-san is just like Erina-sama when it comes to that stuff." 

 Alice shook her head. "That's an act for Erina's sake." 

 "We'll see." 

 Just then, the Nakiri in question seemed to come back to life. "Anyway, where were we?" 

 Alice smirked. "Just sign your name here, Erina."

On Saturday morning, a black car arrived in front of the Shiomi seminar. "I can't believe I'm already sending you off," Jun wailed as he put the spices he would need into small plastic containers. "I mean, she seems to be a nice girl but-" 

 "It's only Elite Ten business. I'm not even particularly fond of her. Don't be so dramatic, Jun," he chided.

 "It's professor Shiomi!" she insisted. 

 "Just remember to water the plants while I'm gone. Don't forget what happened last time."

 She sighed. "Yes, Hayama-kun. Good luck!"

 "Thanks." Then, not wanting to keep the driver waiting any longer, he got into car and was chauffeured to the Arato mansion, which was about a half hour's drive from Tōtsuki's campus center.

 It was a traditional estate with a small pond and multiple gardens behind the main house. The property was larger by far than the on-campus Nakiri mansion. Two maids awaited Hayama in front of the main house. 

 "You must be Hayama-san," one, a dark haired woman, said. "I'll bring your belongings to one of the guest rooms."

 "It's alright, you don't have to-" 

 "Please," she insisted. "There are many rooms in the Arato estate, and you might not find your way back." 

 "Okay..." Somewhat reluctantly, he handed his duffel bag over and the woman disappeared into the manor. 

 "Hisako-sama is out in the herb garden," the second one explained. "I can lead you there now, unless you'd like some tea first." 

 "No, that's fine," he replied, feeling a lot like he'd just entered a world class hotel. "We should probably get straight to work."

 After a ten minute walk through the compound, they reached the herb garden. Hayama was greeted with the sight of Erina's secretary strolling barefoot with feather light steps through the different plots. With a woven straw basket in hand, she'd bend down every minute or so and add something to her collection.

 "Oh, Hayama-kun." She finally spotted him and gave a little wave. "I'm almost done here. Just give me a minute." She pulled a root of some sort out of the ground and then made her way over to her classmate. 

 "Hisako-sama." The maid gave a little bow. "Is there anything more that you require?" 

 "Has someone delivered Erina-sama's weekend schedule to the Nakiri mansion?" 

 "First thing this morning, Hisako-sama." 

 "Perfect. Thank you, Hana. That's all I required. Please spend the rest of the day as you wish." 

 After the young maid took her leave, Hisako realized that her classmate was staring at her incredulously. "What?" she asked.

 "You're a princess," he deadpanned. Almost everyone at Tōtsuki has some wealth but this...to think that someone who grew up with all this could trail behind Nakiri the way she did. 

 "Don't say that," she laughed and started walking to the kitchen. "They just act like that because I'm not home often." 

 When they reached the kitchen, Hisako placed her basket on the counter alongside other ingredients she'd set out. "Cinnamon, nutmeg, guarana, and is that...maca root?" He quickly figured out her herb and spice blend, but feigned some uncertainty for her sake. 

 "Your powers are truly frightening, Hayama-kun," she joked. 

 "So you're making a dessert then," he predicted. 

 "I thought that would be the best choice for the task at hand," she explained as she began to chop up a large block of semi-sweet dark chocolate.

 "It's going to be a molten chocolate cake topped with raspberries and powdered sugar. You have a different idea in mind, though?"

 "A curry." 

 "Why am I not surprised?" she laughed. "But will that really...um...you know?" Hisako bit her lip, looking down.

 "Will it make them want to have sex?" The spice expert smirked at her. To think she'd doubt him. "I'll let you be the judge then, Arato." 

 Under his amused stare, her face and neck flushed. Still, she forced herself to look him in the eye. "In that case, Hayama-kun, you should taste mine as well."

 "The limit is two hours." Hisako resumed her cooking. She mixed the batter and poured it into molds, and dissolved the ground maca root and guarana in spiced rum to make a decoction. Then, as she started to temper the chocolate filling—a skill she picked up during the second year of high school—it hit her. The overpowering, irresistible fragrance that always accompanied Hayama's cooking gripped at Hisako like a physical thing, heating her from the inside out. 

The seventh seat shook her head and took off her cardigan, leaving her in only a floral sun dress. She had to stay focused! Still, that spicy, umami packed aroma whispered to her, tortured her. In a moment of weakness, after she'd slid her cake into the preheated oven, Hisako turned to look at Hayama on his side of the kitchen. Surely her own dish must be having a similar effect on her opponent. But alas, the spice king appeared completely focused on his own cooking. 

Hisako rolled her eyes, less than pleased. But the day was still young, and she would make him yield to her world of cooking once and for all. Over an hour later, when she'd taken the cake out to let it cool, Hayama approached her with his dish. 

"Tell me how it measures up." 

 With one look at those smug green eyes, Hisako knew she was in trouble. But with her head held high, she ate a spoonful of the curry. Almost immediately she broke into a sweat. The heat was tantalizing, heightening her senses. The rich umami of the goat meat burst forth in her mouth. The potatoes, with their hint of sweetness caressed her palate in just the right way. It entire dish was like an attentive lover whose every move was for the sake of her pleasure. 

Despite he best effort, she released a deep moan. Her knees nearly buckled.

 "I didn't know Nakiri's secretary could make sounds like that." 

 "Y-you shut up!" She squeaked, all the while waiting for her heart rate to slow. After regaining her composure, as much as she could anyway, she topped her own creating with powdered sugar and two raspberries. "Here." 

 He tasted it and seemed to have no reaction for a while. Hisako braced herself, expecting to hear that she was useless or limited. But instead he leaned down, looked at her and said, "I was wrong. Arato Hisako, your world of cooking is boundless." 

 Those words that she'd been hungry for since the day he defeated her in the autumn elections flipped a switch in Hisako, and it might have been the curry, or the look in his gorgeous eyes, but before she knew left from right she was kissing him—long, and hard, and breathless. Then Hayama's lips were on her neck, and she threw her head back, releasing another moan. 

 Suddenly, a wild shriek sounded from one of the gardens where an onlooker gazed at the pair through binoculars. Then the two came to their senses. 

"What was that?" the spice prodigy asked. 

 "My stalker, probably," she sighed. Hisako smoothed her hands over her rumpled dress. "Okay. We are both way too good at this. It’s dangerous."

 "True," he admitted. And then a pause charged with uncertainty passed over them. "So do you want to try again?" 

 "Sure, sure. Maybe this time we can improve the fragrance if we-" but then his lips were on hers again. "The smell would be stronger...if we switch...the rum you used with...bourbon whiskey," he told her between kisses. 

 "Yes," Hisako gave a contented sigh. "Why didn't I...think of that before?" Why hadn't she thought of any of this before? Why hadn't she been kissing and caressing him since the day they met? 

 When the effects of the food wore off, they perfected their recipes and presented them to the client, who said it reminded her of her first love affair. 

 On Monday morning after Sadatsuka Nao had filled the Elite Ten's suggestion box with hate letters addressed to Hayama, Alice waved her outstretched hand at Ikumi. "I told you I had a sure way of knowing. Now pay up, Mito-san."

 Author's Notes: So, I posted this on fanfiction.net a year ago, but I thought it was applicable. Happy Hisako day, everyone!

[leigh-kelly]

(More Hospital!AU)

Had she made the decision knowing that she’d be nearly five months pregnant with twins, and growing wider by the day, Santana never would have agreed to present research at a pediatric and neonatal surgery conference in Phoenix. She doesn’t do conferences often, not like Brittany, who is so prolific in her field that she travels at least once a month, but she does consider her occasional invitation a real badge of honor. Still though, the idea of waddling down the aisle of an airplane, being away from home for three days, and having even more trouble than normal sleeping in a hotel bed isn’t exactly appealing to her.

The week before she’s set to leave, Santana buys maternity clothes. She definitely didn’t think she’d need them so early, but even the most roomy of her professional clothes have become tight around her middle, and she refuses to look stuffed like a sausage in a room full of surgeons. So she goes out on her lunch hour, and she buys whatever she can find, figuring she’ll just return anything that doesn’t look good on her.

That night, after Liam is asleep, Santana goes up to the bedroom to try everything on. When Brittany comes in, she’s shy about modeling for her, still getting used to the changes in her body. Besides her ever growing belly, her face has gained weight, and her breasts feel massive, but Brittany gives her soft, adoring smiles. Brittany compliments her curves, Brittany kisses her and strokes her sides when she’s in between outfits, standing in just her bra and high-waisted maternity panties. Brittany makes her feel beautiful, even when she may not feel that way on her own.

The night before she leaves, Brittany makes love to her long and slow. Given her increased libido, Santana knows she’s trying to leave her sated while she’s gone, and she lies back, prone on the sheets as Brittany kisses every inch of her body. She threads her fingers through Brittany’s hair, and then she kneels at the edge of the bed while Brittany spreads her own legs, the most comfortable position now for Santana when she wants to go down on her wife for as long as she possibly can.

Because Brittany has to work, Santana takes a cab to the airport. Brittany and Liam hug and kiss her goodbye on the curb, and Liam hugs her belly tight, giving Santana a picture for them babies. It’s a struggle, but she doesn’t cry. She’s not quite there yet, losing all control of her emotions, but it’s getting closer, and she’s trying to prolong it for as long as possible. In the cab, she gets car sick, though she doesn’t throw up, but frankly, she’s beyond concerned about getting air sick and having to maneuver down the aisle of the plane and sink to her knees in the tiny bathroom to vomit.

When she checks in at the airport, she’s surprised when the woman at the desk tells her she’s been upgraded to first class. Though she’d considered it herself, she thought it was ridiculous to spend the money, and figured she’d be fine with coach. Smiling to herself, even the whole way through security, when she finally has her shoes back on and her computer tucked back in her bag, she digs out her phone, and sends Brittany a text message.

You really didn’t have to do that, Britt. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love that you did. She sends, shoving the phone back in the pocket of her elastic waisted jeans.

Heading into surgery. But I didn’t do anything? The reply comes quickly, and Santana furrows her brow.

You didn’t upgrade my ticket?

I didn’t. But now I wish I did!

Hmm, I guess it was just the airline. Okay, I love you. I’m boarding soon. Good luck in surgery, call you when I land.

Love you too, and give those babies a kiss for me.

Though she knows she might regret it when she has to pee ten minutes into her flight, Santana grabs a cup of coffee before she wheels her carry on down the jetway. As soon as she boards the plane, she sees a blonde grinning at her from the seat beside her in first class, and she has to laugh, shaking her head as the man across the aisle stands up to help her stow her bag in the overhead bin.

“Hey sweet cheeks!” Holly Holiday grins. “Took you long enough. Hope you like your upgrade.”

“That was you?”

“Come on, I couldn’t handle sitting up here all by myself when I knew you were shoving that basketball sized abdomen in the back of the plane. Shelby told me you were on my flight, so I took it upon myself to get some company.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Santana ducks her head sheepishly, settling into the aisle seat. “Really.”

“Please.” She waves her off. “Least I could do for my favorite peds surgeon.”

“Well, considering I figured I’d be fine when I decided not to change my ticket, and this morning I was kind of dreading coach, I seriously appreciate it.”

“Lopez, every time I see you running around the hospital like you’re not lugging two kids with you, I’m impressed.” Holly sits back in her seat, buckling herself in. “So how’s your presentation looking?”

“Good. I finished it last night. I figured I might pass out on the plane, so I didn’t want to leave anything up to chance.”

“Mind if I have a look?” She raises her eyebrows, with an excitement that only another surgeon would have. “Or do you not want to spoil the surprise?”

“Here.” Santana laughs, taking her iPad out of her briefcase and opening up the document containing it. “Enjoy reading about localized radiation in conjunction with ependymoma removal.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I will.”

Despite the coffee, Santana falls asleep a half hour into the flight. She feels really bad that she doesn’t have it in her to stay up and talk to Holly, but she didn’t sleep well last night knowing that she’d be leaving, and honestly, hefting around her added weight makes her more exhausted than she could have ever imagined.

When she wakes up, they’re landing in Phoenix, and she shares a car with Holly out to the hotel where the conference is being held. While she’d really love to go up to her room and stay on FaceTime with Brittany and Liam until she falls asleep, she insists on taking Holly to an early dinner after they check in. She appreciates the company, and she knows Brittany does too, worried that she’d be anxious alone and pregnant far from home, but by the time they’re done talking about Holly’s keynote address and Santana’s future plans, she’s ready to turn in for the night.

It’s just about Liam’s bedtime when she gets upstairs, and Santana takes a quick shower and changes into her pajamas before she gets them on the phone. They’re snuggled in his bed, and Santana feels a pang, missing them terribly already. She doesn’t know how Brittany manages to do this all the time, she doesn’t know how she can handle the travel and the hotel rooms and he being away, but she does it, and Santana gives her so much more credit than she can begin to express.

“Mommy Noodle!” Liam smushes his face against the screen. “You can read me the Crayon book! Mama didn’t read it yet, okey?”

“Oh, you know the crayon book is my favorite.” Santana laughs, settling back in her pillows. “I need Mama to hold the pages where I can see them, okay?”

“Okey! Okey! I am ready!”

Resting her phone on her belly, Santana reads The Day the Crayons Quit in its entirety, even though Liam falls asleep three-quarters of the way through. When she’s done, Brittany holds the phone, just letting her watch him sleep for a few moments, and she sighs heavily.

“Are you alright, Santana?” Brittany whispers, tucking Liam in and turning out his lights.

“Mmhm, just…wish I were home.”

“We wish you were too.” Santana watches Brittany turn the lights on in the bedroom, and set the phone down on the dresser so she can unbutton her blouse.

“Not helping.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want me to step out of the view of the phone so you don’t have to watch.”

“Don’t you dare.” She leans back in bed and crosses her legs at the ankles. “If I have to sleep alone, I at least want to watch you undress.”

“Anything that makes you happy, Santana.”

It’s possible that Santana gets a little carried away watching Brittany undress. Though she decides not to touch herself, instead, laying her iPad on the pillow beside her so she can fall asleep with Brittany, she wakes up in the middle of the night after an extremely vivid sex dream. Her hormones have run wild, she knows that, and considering the dream involved Brittany bending her over her desk at work, something she would never even consider, they seem to be even worse away from her wife.

The next morning, she’s exhausted from her fitful sleep, but she gets dressed slowly, making sure that her maternity skirt and blouse look normal on her. She’s a little nervous, even though she’s not speaking until tomorrow, she’s a little…embarrassed of how heavily pregnant she looks, and the idea that it will draw unwanted attention toward her, but there’s nothing she can do about it. She is gestating twins, and they—and she—gets bigger every day.

She takes over a hundred pages of notes, until her fingers cramp like they used to in medical school, but she loves to absorb information. She loves the idea of getting better and better and better in her field. Being a great doctor is one of the things she’s most proud of, one of the only things she managed to accomplished on her own, and as exhausted as she is, she’s thoroughly enjoying all the learning she’s doing.

After the day’s events are over, she goes to the cocktail party and sips ginger ale from a wineglass. Though she’s itching to get to bed, she fully takes in conversation with the greats in pediatrics that take the time to talk to her, peppering medical conversations with questions about her pregnancy, and from those who have been there, tips on how to handle surgeries as she gets increasingly bigger.

Liam is asleep when she gets back to the hotel room, but she FaceTimes Brittany, falling asleep again with her on the pillow beside her. The next morning, she’s an absolute wreck. She feels like her skirt is too tight and her blouse shows too much cleavage, so she tugs at herself the whole way down to the conference room, finally deciding to button her blazer and just…deal with it.

When she gets up to the podium, Holly gives her a thumbs up from the fifth row, and she bites her lip, smiling at how much she feels like a third grader saying the Pledge of Allegiance at a school assembly. That’s how she gets sometimes at things like this, like she’s a little fish in a very big pond. But she measures her tone, she articulates and projects, she avoids reading off the prompter as much as she possibly can, and she smiles, because she is proud of her work, even if she’s just a young doctor at the very start of her career.

There is applause when she finishes, and Santana waits until she’s off the stage to unbutton the constricting blazer. She goes back to her seat in the rear of the room, and when, after two more hours, they finally break for lunch, Santana feels a tap on the back of her neck. At first, she’s annoyed, already hot and prickly, even in the air conditioner, and never one to favor her personal space being violated, but when she turns her head, she gasps, and feels tears spring to her eyes like some kind of lunatic.

“How did you…? When did you…? You’re here.”

“I’m here.” A smile spreads across Brittany’s face, and professional decorum be damned, Santana wraps her arms around her wife as people mull around them, and feels her whole body relax. “You did an amazing job.”

“I can’t believe you’re here. Britt—”

“I hope it’s okay that I am, I wanted to surprise you, and maybe steal you away for a little babymoon in Sedona when your conference is over tonight.”

“Of course it’s okay you’re here. It’s…basically the best thing ever. And you really want to take me on a babymoon?”

“I do. I didn’t change anything, in case you want to go home in the morning, but, Liam is with your mom for the weekend, so whatever you’d like to do, you’ll have me all to yourself.”

“Wow.” Santana breathes, a rush of…so many different emotions hitting her all at once. “That sounds really good. And…I think I’d rather go to Sedona than go right home. I was only in a rush to get back to the concrete jungle, where I feel like I might die of heatstroke every time I step out of the house, when you were there.”

“There’s a spa resort there which supposedly has amazing prenatal services. I’d love if you let me have you pampered all weekend.”

“Britt?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously, why are you like this? Why do you treat me so well?”

“Because I love you, and all I want is for you to be happy and relaxed, and to feel at peace.”

“Thank you. For everything you do, every single day.”

After Santana grabs a quick sandwich for lunch, she gives Brittany the key to her hotel room, so she can pack her things, and sits through the remainder of the conference, still furiously taking notes, though she’s thrilled by the idea of her surprise getaway with Brittany. Before she leaves the conference center, Santana finds Holly, and she thanks her profusely for her plane ticket, for introducing her to some of her prolific friends, and for overall just being a mentor and a support system. Of course, as always, it’s in the back of Santana’s mind that she still may want to pursue neonatology someday, but she knows right now isn’t the time. When it comes though, she’s sure Holly will be the first to know.

Brittany is in the lobby when Santana gets there, and she feels such a surge of emotion when she sees her. It stays with her through checkout, and even when she’s settled in the passenger seat of the car Brittany rented, it doesn’t subside. There’s just something about the way Brittany loves her that she doesn’t think she’ll ever get over. Something about knowing there is someone who will love and support and protect her no matter what that settles her in such a visceral way.

She doesn’t sleep for the entire drive to Sedona. She leans her head against the window, rests her hands on her swollen abdomen, and she watches how Brittany drives so carefully on unfamiliar roads. She’s beautiful in the glow of synthetic light, she’s beautiful always, and Santana sighs, amazed that she gets to spend the rest of her life with her.

Though she still has a perpetual ache between her thighs from whatever it is the hormones are doing to her, she’s too exhausted to do any more than crawl into Brittany’s arms under the softest hotel sheets she’s ever slept on. She closes her eyes and lays like that, listening to the sound of Brittany’s heart, feeling the soft stroke of fingertips through her long, loose hair and over the swell of her belly. It has only been two nights since she slept in her arms, but it had felt like an eternity, and now, now she’s comforted in a way that lets her sleep soundly through the night.

In the morning, Brittany has breakfast delivered to the room. Santana leans against the headboard of the bed, and smiles as Brittany brings her avocado toast and hard cooked eggs. Brittany sits cross-legged across from her, and Santana has to lean over to kiss her, pressing her forehead into her wife’s, and holding the side of her face. She’s filled with emotion, she’s always filled with emotion these days, but this is the good kind, the kind that makes her want to close her eyes and wish that she’ll always feel this happy.

“I think I’m getting spoiled by you.” She smiles against her mouth. “The kids are going to come out rotten.”

“Stop.” Brittany laughs, running her hand over the top of Santana’s bump. “They’re just seeing what love is very early on. Can I…”

“Mmhm.” Santana nods, lifting up her shirt. She’s sensitive about it, being touched and kissed where she feels so…different, but she always tries to let Brittany experience everything with her, she always tries not to clam up and deny Brittany every part of this pregnancy. “Go ahead.”

“Hello, sweet babies.” Shuffling down so she’s laying on her belly with her legs kicked up behind her, Brittany places soft kisses below Santana’s naval. “Look how big you’re getting in there.”

“I feel like they’re really tiny humans now, Britt. Ten inches, that’s like…we could hold them in our hands. I just hate that I can’t feel them moving yet, I feel like it’s really late, and it weirds me out.”

“They’re probably just really snug in there, Santana. You’re so tiny.”

“I don’t feel tiny anymore. I look like I’m about to give birth any day.”

“Halfway there.” Brittany smiles, kissing up Santana’s torso until she reaches her lips. “And another scan in a few weeks.”

“I still can’t decide if I want to know the sex or not. I mean, I feel like nothing can shock me more than finding out there were two in there, but I don’t know if I want to wait until they’re born for another.”

“You know I’m okay with either choice. I’m just so glad that they’re healthy, and you’re healthy.” She smiles, tenderly pulling down Santana’s shirt. “We haven’t really talked about your anxiety though.”

“I’m…getting there, I think. I’m still a little, I don’t know, freaked, but I don’t feel that same pervasive sense of fear that I did at first. I guess it was just unexpected. If we’d done a multiple embryo transfer, then I would have been prepared for the possibility, you know? But having it split, and…identicals. I mean, what if I can’t tell them apart and I’m a horrible mother? Remember that episode of Full House, where they mixed up the twins.”

“Honey.” Brittany stifles a laugh. “I don’t think mixing them up will make you a horrible mother. I happen to know first hand that you are such a good mom. And yeah, maybe we might get confused a little at first, but we’ll know them. They’re ours.”

“That’s still kind of crazy to me.”

They take their time getting ready. When Brittany tells Santana she has a couples massage scheduled for them at noon, Santana puts on a pair of leggings and a loose fitting top, her pregnancy uniform, she teases, and Brittany hugs her close, kissing the top of her head. They go down to the spa, and though Santana really is hesitant about a stranger touching her naked body, she relaxes at the sound of the music, the smell of lavender salts, and the idea that Brittany is only a few feet away from her.

She nearly falls asleep on the table, belly in a protective cradle through the hole there. The masseuse works knots out of her lower back that didn’t even know she had, and she breathes in and out, in and out, focusing on the health of herself and her babies. She assumes they’re close to done, when a strange sensation washes over her, and she feels a push in her abdomen. At first, terror hits her hard and fast, but then…she realizes what’s happening. Then, she realizes that though she’s yet to feel even the slightest twinge of movement inside of her, one of the babies is nudging and she sits up with a start.

“Santana?” Brittany mirrors her motions on the other table with alarm, startling her masseuse. “Are you alright?”

“I…can you just…” She shakes her head, and Brittany is at her side in an instant, accepting the towel that is handed to her, and covering Santana with it before she grabs another. “Just…here.”

“Where?”

“Here. Hold your hand here. I think…I think I felt something.”

“Okay, alright.” Brittany presses her hand gently where Santana shows her. Santana closes her eyes, tries to bring herself back to the same state of being that caused it to happen the first time, and she waits, putting her hand over Brittany’s.

It doesn’t happen again, and Santana feels a sinking feeling in her stomach. She wanted Brittany to feel it, she wanted her to get to experience it, and she flutters her lashes, trying to clear away the tears she knows are forming there. Brittany can always tell when her heart sinks, and she leans forward, kissing her forehead softly.

“We still have a lot of time, honey. I’ll feel it, don’t worry.”

“No, I know, I just…whatever, it’s dumb, and I’m hormonal.” Santana waves her off, not wanting this to be a thing. “This is a really good massage, Britt. Thank you.”

Santana lays back on the table, and tries to relax again as she finishes her massage. There’s no more kicking, which she actually is glad for, not wanting to set herself up for disappointment if Brittany misses it again. When they’re finished, they get pedicures, and really, considering the insanity of her work week, coupled with wanting to spend time at home with Liam, she can’t actually remember the last time she had one. But since she can’t bend to paint her nails anymore, it’s actually the perfect thing, and while the pedicurist scrubs her feet and paints her toes, she takes Brittany’s hand and squeezes it in her lap.

After they’re done with that, the drive up to see the red rock formations, and they walk for awhile, Santana consuming excessive amounts of water to avoid dehydrating. The quiet is nice, and when they have an late lunch in a restaurant, Santana knows she’s making moon eyes across the table at her. This is the first time they’ve ever really been away alone together, not counting Santana’s surgery, and then their one night in the hotel room right after she found out she was pregnant. And as much as Santana loves having Liam with them all the time, there is something really nice about a romantic getaway, where she and Brittany have each other all to themselves.

When they get back to the hotel, Brittany gets in the shower, and Santana can barely wait two minutes before she joins her. She’s needy, and she’s horny, the clingiest of combinations, but when she climbs in behind her, more careful than she’s ever been not to slip, she feels Brittany’s smile, even without seeing her face. She slides her hands over Brittany’s soapy skin, and presses her chin into her back, cupping her small breasts in her hands.

“Well hello there.” Brittany turns slowly, and puts her arm around Santana’s waist. When their nipples brush, even with the swell between them, Santana feels a jolt of arousal, snd Brittany takes her bottom lip between her teeth. “Nothing better than being surprised in the shower by my naked wife.”

“If I wasn’t afraid of slipping and dying, I’d probably have to take you up against the wall right now.” Santana husks, trailing her fingers over the curve of Brittany’s ass.

“How about you give me five minutes to wash my hair, and you can take me anywhere you want?”

Santana shivers at the thought, and she quickly washes herself, watching as Brittany slowly drags a washcloth between her own legs, smirking and raising her eyebrows as she does. As Brittany’s long blonde hair cascades down her back, suds running from it, Santana has to pinch her thighs together, overcome by the desire to touch her, overcome by the desire to hear her name escape from her lips in the sort of reverence reserved for only her.

They’re barely dry from the shower when Santana takes Brittany’s hand, and leads her over to the turned down bed. When Brittany goes to lay her back, Santana stops her, giving a slight shake of the head, and pressing her shoulders down so she’s sitting at the very edge of the bed. Santana touches her knees, pushing them apart, and when Brittany’s tucked towel falls from her body, Santana sinks to her knees before her.

“Santana.” Brittany whispers, awe in her voice.

“I had a dream about this the other night, and I’ve been dying to do it since then.” She looks into Brittany’s darkened eyes, and she kisses a droplet of water from her thigh.

Every since Santana popped, she’s found it difficult to settle on her belly without losing her breath, but the longing to pleasure Brittany with her mouth has been pervasive. Kneeling before her like this, spreading her legs wider, watching her grow wetter as she kisses and sucks the creamy skin on the side of her thighs is so sexy that she can’t help but slip her left hand between her legs, rubbing herself in slow circles on her clit, as her mouth inches further up toward Brittany’s center. There’s something almost pornographic about this, Santana thinks, especially for her, who spent most of her life fumblingly touching with clothes on, but it’s really sexy, and she can tell by the way Brittany’s eyes drift down to where she touches herself that she thinks so too.

Brittany inches closer to the edge of the bed, and she gently touches the back of Santana’s neck, urging her closer, urging her mouth to her sex. When Santana tastes her, she moans, sending vibrations through Brittany’s body, and coupled with the touching of herself, she’s afraid she might come before she even starts to pleasure Brittany. Her hand between her leg stills, and she sees the slightest headshake from her wife, who smiles.

“Don’t stop.” Brittany breathes. “Watching you is…wow.”

Swallowing hard, Santana wraps her lips around Brittany’s clit and enters herself with two fingers, clenching around them as she does. It’s an almost out of body experience, especially when Brittany gives raspy directions, telling her pretend it’s me, curl your fingers, ugh, your tongue, right there muddling whether she’s talking about Santana’s actions on her own body, or Brittany’s. Santana comes first. She does, usually, and normally it embarrasses her, but Brittany threads her fingers though her hair, and keeps guiding her, throwing her head back and moaning as Santana probes her tongue against her entrance.

Santana can’t stop curling her fingers inside of herself, she can’t stop quivering, and when she finally pushes Brittany over the edge, her whole body quakes with a second powerful orgasm. Brittany grips her side with shaking hands, afraid Santana might fall back. Santana just stares up at her for several moments, taking in the sweat on her brow, her erect nipples, right hand still slowly squeezing a pale breast, the flush that covers her whole body, the look of love and lust and adoration in her eyes.

When Santana finally makes to stand, not able to wait any longer to kiss her wife, to crawl beneath the sheets with her and sleep naked in her arms, a shooting pain stabs at the back of her calf, and she yelps, catching herself on the corner of the bed. Brittany is on her feet in an instant, and she pulls Santana by the waist, eyes coloring in deep concern.

“Santana, what’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Agh. Fuck. Motherfucking shit.” Santana cries, tears running down her face. “Another stupid fucking charley horse.”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry.” Brittany lifts her gingerly and sets her down on the bed.

“God, this is so not sexy.” Santana pulls her leg up as much as she can, though she can’t get it too close with the orb that protrudes from her. “Fuck. Why the fuck am I taking potassium and magnesium and all of this other crap witch doctor shit if this keeps happening?”

“Baby.” Brittany bites her lip. “Let me rub it out for you.”

“I—” Santana can’t help but laugh, even through her pain, when Brittany begins rubbing her calves. “I thought I took care of that.”

Brittany just chuckles in response, continuing to massage the tightened muscle in Santana’s leg and pepper kisses along her hairline and eyelids until she relaxes. Once she does, she kisses Brittany’s lips, holding the kiss there for a long time, just…needing it. Her breath is still labored from the pain of the spasm, but to kiss Brittany feels good, to kiss Brittany is calming.

“Do you want me to get you water? Or pajamas? Or anything else?” Brittany asks, still concerned with Santana’s wellbeing.

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “Want to lay naked with you and feel you up against me.”

“That’s easy enough.” Brittany smiles, kissing her forehead and shuffling behind Santana, pulling Santana into her arms, and the blanket over them both.

Contentedly, Santana sighs, and tangles her fingers with Brittany, before settling their joined hands below her naval. She likes when they sleep like this, she feels secure and loved, she feels like the babies are secure and loved, with Brittany’s unwavering fortitude, and she closes her eyes, just breathing it in, until the same sensation she’d felt earlier comes back, bubbling low in her belly, and producing a nudge, nudge, nudge just where Brittany’s hand rests.

“Britt, do you—”

“I do.” Brittany sucks in a breath, barely whispering. “They like when you’re laying down.”

“I read that in the book too.” Santana swallows hard. “I wonder which one it is.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it? I wonder if you’ll figure out anything about their personalities while they’re still in there.”

“Well one of them is up under my ribs now, so maybe that’s the shy one.”

“That could be.” Brittany moves her hand up under Santana’s breasts and rubs it across there. “Are you shy in there, little one?”

“I love when you talk to them.”

“Yeah? I wasn’t sure how you felt about it, I don’t want to overstep and make you uncomfortable with anything.”

“They’re your babies, Brittany. I know that they’re in my body, but I want you to know that…that you always have the right to just…be here with them, okay?”

“Okay.” A slow smile comes across Brittany’s lips, and she kisses the side of Santana’s head. “I love that.”

[militant-holy-knight]

The Algerian Civil War’s Shadow Still Lingers

As the Arab Spring finally arrives in Algeria, we must remember they experienced a horror of their own not unlike what Syria experienced 

Until 2019, Algeria was by noted by several scholars as the exception in the MENA region for not having experienced a Arab Spring uprising despite having all the ingredients for a popular uprising like a dictator-for-life that has been in power for decades, poverty, under-employement, inequality and several other problems, which is really impressive they didn’t descend into civil war like in Libya or Syria. The key reason is because they had already experienced their own two decades ago - whose tragedies seem very familiar with what we experience today.

Prelude to the War

Since Algeria won its independence from France, they were ruled by a corrupt military junta based on socialism and anti-imperialism known as the National Liberation Front or FLN. Algeria was marred by too many issues like overpopulation that outstripped the stagnant economy's ability to supply jobs, housing, food and urban infrastructure. In October 1988, as thousands of youths rioted across the country in a scream of protest against difficult living conditions, scarcity of many primary food items, permanent austerity policies, lack of educational and employment opportunities, and absence of recreational facilities. The army cracked down hard which lead to pressure on the government to amend the Constitution and open free elections and end the FLN monopoly on politics. This quickly gave rise to the Islamic Salvation Front or FIS, an Islamist political party whose aim was to implement sharia law and turn Algerian into an Islamic government akin to Iran or Afghanistan.

FIS enjoyed huge popularity among the public as they were viewed as the better alternative to the FLN via their own charismatic leaders such as Ali Benhadj and Abbassi Madani. The former appealed to the angry and less educated urban youth while the latter appealed to the pious upper class. Hypocritically, despite the Islamists approach to winning power via the ballot, they had nothing but contempt for democracy and they have been quoted as saying that: 

“There is no democracy because the only source of power is Allah through the Koran, and not the people. If the people vote against the law of God, this is nothing other than blasphemy. In this case, it is necessary to kill the non-believers for the good reason that they wish to substitute their authority for that of God.” 

Their rhetoric alarmed non-Islamists, feminists and secularists, but there was nothing that could have been done since they made spectacular progress in the first year of its existence because of their charitable work described as ”just, equitable, orderly and virtuous, in contrast to its corrupt, wasteful, arbitrary and inefficient FLN predecessors”.

In June 1990 local elections, FIS won with 54% in urban areas and almost twice what the FLN had won. Once into power, they imposed the veil on  female municipal employees, pressured liquor stores, video shops and other “un-Islamic” establishments to close, segregated bathing areas by gender, removed the satellite dishes of households receiving European satellite broadcast in favor of Arab satellite dishes receiving Saudi broadcasts. Educationally, the party was committed to continue the Arabization of the educational system by shifting the language of instruction in more institutions, such as medical and technological schools, from French to Arabic. These changes were welcomed by the public since the continued use of French in higher education and public life jarring and disadvantageous.

As the first multiparty parliamentary elections approached in June 1991, Western television screens filled with great masses of bearded men in white dress and women in veil, praying on the streets of Algiers and demonstrating for an Islamic republic. Algeria looked like it would become a second Iran. But just days before the elections were to take place, the army intervened, disbanded the Islamist gatherings, and imposed a martial law regime. The military arrested thousands of Islamists, including two top FIS leaders Madani and Belhadj. So many FIS members were arrested that the jails had insufficient space to hold them all - even bearded men suspected of being Islamists were imprisoned.

The Rise of GIA

The few FIS activists that remained free took this as a declaration of war and quickly paved the way for the Armed Islamic Group or GIA, an extremist Islamist organization considered even too radical by the FIS themselves. Their aim was to establish an Islamic state via “total war” by completely collapsing the Algerian government and civilized society via terrorist attacks. While they had the same endgoal as the FIS, the GIA considered themselves the one true “Muslim” faction in the region and the FIS as apostates for being too “moderate”. It was affirmed that “political pluralism is akin to sedition” and considered anyone a target. Its slogan inscribed on all communiques was: "no agreement, no truce, no dialogue".  Among their most heinous crimes committed during the period of civil strife include:

Attacks on women ranging from assassinations of feminists and women’s rights activists since the GIA associated the emancipation of women with the evils of modernism, secularism, and Western ways, killing them for refusing to wear the hijab.

Abductions of young, nubile girls to be forced into temporary marriages of pleasure. Girls as young as 16 were dragged by the hair from their classrooms because the GIA believed they shouldn’t be at school.

Assassinations of journalists with the GIA declaring "The journalists who fight against Islamism through the pen will perish by the sword.

Assassinations of secularists such as Lounès Matoub for comitting apostasy.

Assassinations of the Christian monks of the Tibhirine monastery.

Assassinations of artists such as singer Cheb Hasni.

An attempted plane hijacking to crash it in the Eifel Tower that resulted in three civilians dying.

Bombings across Paris in 1995 that resulted in 8 people killed and many others injured.

For much of it’s existence, GIA would fight on two fronts against the Algerian security forces and the FIS loyalists, and infighting was all too common among it’s ranks. FIS deserters joined GIA either because they sensed the wind was blowing towards it’s direction or to alter change from within. There was a brief moment where GIA actually declared itself an caliphate with Cherif Gousmi as its “Commander of the Faithful”... For about a day, until many top-ranking members withdrew their support from them stating they deviated from Islam. But regardless of differences, they shared one thing in common: escalate the terror.

The Darkest Hour

We have the whole night to rape your women and children, drink your blood. Even if you escape today, we'll come back tomorrow to finish you off! We're here to send you to your God!

1997 saw the apogee of terrorist attacks peaking under GIA emir Antar Zouabri when in the holy month of Ramadan (no less), he began a campaign of massacres against several villages in Rais, Bentalha, Beni Messous. Pregnant women were sliced open, children were hacked to pieces or dashed against walls, men's limbs were hacked off one by one, and, as the attackers retreated, they would kidnap young women to keep as sex slaves. They justified these atrocities by claiming their victims were “infidels” for not joining their ranks.

The Islamic world has a word for these kind of people - Khawarij (which means something close to “exchangers”) - they were fundamentalists from the early times of Islam. They believed that no rulers could stand between men and God, and were responsible for murdering caliph Ali for the crime of negotiating with an enemy warlord. The Khawarij also adopted the practice of declaring any self-described Muslim an “non-Muslim” and as such they should killed. Several individuals through out the history of Islam were considered Khawarij: the Almohad Berbers whose spiritual leader Ibn Tumart was declared an Khawarij agitator by everyone he met, and the Wahhabi movement in what would later become Saudi Arabia. This says something really depressing about the Islamic world as whole that fundamentalism has been a self-diagnosed problem that they always had contend with it and the hadiths mention the Khawarij will continue to cause strife in the Muslim community until the end times.

In any case, back to the war: there was an very real fear that the Algerian government could collapse under the sheer horror perpetrated by the GIA. The escalation of the civil strife in 1994 and early 1995 reinforced the assumption of many American policy makers that militant Islam in Algeria was a rising and unstoppable tide. Some academics would suggested that the U.S. government should resign itself to the Islamic political movement and learn to do business with it, which is a folly to seek out "moderate" Islamists to work for there are no moderates in revolutionary Islamism. They may differ on tactics but they all share the final goal of an Islamic state in which democracy will be extinguished and civil liberties curtailed, women becoming second-class citizens, LGBT stoned or thrown off buildings, atheists executed for apostasy, Christians reduced to dhimmis and would militantly spread Islamist revolution elsewhere. "Moderates" turn out to be those Islamists who may draw the line at blowing up a car bomb but otherwise subscribe to the same principles as the "extremists", and the FIS may tried to distance itself from GIA’s actions, but never denounced their violence against their targets in principle.

There is also the fact the FIS was already arming paramilitary groups since before they even took power. All of these massacres. The FIS was already arming paramilitary groups after it’s foundation from battle-hardened veterans from Afghanistan which might explain their unfettered bloodlust and they were drawing up lists of people that needed to be removed after they came into power.

Endgame

In 1999, Abdelaziz Bouteflika was elected president and he implemented a policy of pardoning Islamists not guilty of rape and murder in order to weaken the more radical elements within the GIA. This move was widely criticized by everyone such as Algerian civilians who suffered under the Islamists’ actions, the West condemning him for pardoning the terrorists and the FIS themselves, for having fought so hard without achieving nothing at the end and essentially being back at square one. 

It did prove fruitful since the GIA by this point were being denounced by all sides, had virtually no allies to legitimize them and were being deserted in droves by members that wanted to resume a normal life. The ones who couldn’t or wouldn’t agree to take the pardon or negotiate where quickly neutralized by secret army operations. Some splinter groups were formed from the fall of GIA like the GSPC which was backed by al-Qaeda and focused more on government and army targets, but they were short lived even though the War on Terror had began at earnest in 2001 after 9/11, the war is thought to have ended in 2002.

Consequences

The official estimate by the Algerian government is that 150,000 died during the civil war, though it could have been as high as 200,000 by certain individuals. The horrors and atrocities committed by the terrorists made the public feel a lasting fear of political instability and chose to side with the government which they once criticized for its ineffectiveness and corruption. History teaches us that regimes collapse only when the middle classes and the army join the revolution and when those at the top lose confidence in their ability to survive. Neither of these conditions happened in Algeria.

The secular middle-class feared the Islamist take over more than they hated the FLN; the army and security forces also stayed on the side of the government since their privileges were tied directly to it; the Islamists alienated their own supporters even among the lower, less-educated class which was exploited by the jihadi rabble demanding zakat - a Islamic tax levied on Muslims to be distributed on “charity” or so they say. As a result, this war did a great harm to political Islam as an ideology; the GIA were never capable of establishing a functioning society, they only had blood and more blood to be offered. “Moderates” like FIS spent years trying to distance themselves from extremism as a result of the GIA’s actions.

There are some allegations that the Algerian government could have been behind some of the GIA’s actions. An anonymous deserter claimed that the 1997 massacres were committed by security forces to smear the GIA. Though these accusations were made primarily by Islamists trying to shift the blame, certain human rights groups have accused the Algerian army of at least inaction in preventing those massacres. Others dismiss this as libel since an report made by a woman’s rights groups collected testimonies from the survivors who had seen the attackers unmasked and recognized some of them as FIS members. Even so, some people assassinated were believed to have been targeted by the FLN regime who used the GIA as an convenient excuse.

Algeria also benefited from having not being caught in a proxy war between several countries wanting to play their influence in the region like Turkey, Iran, Russia, Saudi Arabia and the United States with any of these powers backing different sides in the conflict. So it didn’t suffer an near collapse, a bigger death toll and a massive refugee crisis like Syria had.

Bouteflika remained in power for 20 years until his resignation announcement. I write this blogpost with fear because I have no idea what will happen next, and what sort of government people will want to vote in. We certainly do not want another conflict specially now that the Syrian conflict is slowly dying down and Iraq is trying to rebuild itself. The best we can hope for is an peaceful transition like the one in Tunisia, but that is too good to be true.

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. II (Katlaska) - Sebald

A/N: [3444 words] Sex is sex, the rest is just noise. But maybe Justin likes the noise.

If there is one thing Justin prizes more than good sex, it is a good night’s sleep. Sleep, he has long realized, is a luxury. He knows this to be true for most people—students, overworked minimum wage laborers, parents, white collar professionals, you name it. For internationally known drag queens, even an hour-long nap on a plane ride is a blessing, never mind that Justin has to contend with leg space fit only for people of Kenya Michaels’ stature. Hotels are fine—more luxurious than his own bed, certainly, but before he can really indulge himself in the fresh sheets, his alarm is ringing and he has to pack and leave for the next city, the next country, the next continent. It is only at home that he gets to have pure, uninterrupted sleep. Sometimes he’d marathon it even: get up at one o’clock, take a long piss, have dry cereal, put on The Golden Girls, and pass out on the couch for another five hours.

It is too early to be past noon, he can tell by the soft light filtering through the charmingly ugly floral curtains his grandma had given him last Christmas. Justin buries his head under his pillow and blindly reaches out for his phone to turn the alarm off, but when he brings the offending device to his bleary sight, there is no alarm to put out.

He huffs and tosses it to the other side of his bed, ready to be pulled back into sleep, but instead of the soft thud of the mattress, he hears the phone flopping down on something very firm. Whipping his head, and instantly regretting it because of a crick in his neck, he sees Brian rubbing his chest where the phone hit him.

Oh, right.

“Sorry,” Justin croaks, voice raspy with sleep. He gently pats Brian’s warm chest and rests his hand there. Brian lets him.

Katya had a gig with Jackie Beat down at Precinct last night, and Justin had come out to see the show. They hadn’t seen each other since they’d slept with each other a week ago, and hadn’t really talked apart from a few texts. (Few texts being Brian linking him to stories of alien sightings, and Justin sending back pictures of quick alien doodles he’d made after dutifully reading every link.) Truthfully, he hadn’t planned anything by coming out last night, just genuinely wanting to have a fun night out, watching a drag show instead of performing in one. If it had been any other queen, he still would have come.

Of course, if it had been any other queen, he probably would have ended his night alone at home, or perhaps with some rando from the club. But Katya saw him in the audience and beckoned him backstage, and what Justin had anticipated to be a quick hello turned into, well, a quick blowjob—which is a good greeting in itself, isn’t it? What better way to convey warmth and welcome? He’ll add it to Alaska’s glamtr0nian mythology, sex as platonic greetings. Katya went on to do her second set completely blissed out and untucked beneath her ugly flared skirt, and Justin watched from the wings with an amused smirk and the musky aftertaste of her cum in his mouth.

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Brian grumbles, finally reaching out to turn his phone alarm off. Justin has half a mind to whine about the alarm on his day off, but before he can open his mouth, Brian’s already wrinkling his nose and offering an apology. He offers an unglamorous morning sight—hair sticking out, fabric marks on his cheeks, dried-up drool at the corners of his lips, his sleep-swollen eyes squinting at the earliness of the morning. Justin holds back his laughter, knowing he’s not such a welcome vision either.

It’s been some time since he’s had a hookup at his house. Usually it would be at a hotel. The last guy he slept with on this bed was a steady boyfriend. He needs a refresher for morning-after etiquette. Food, he thinks. He should offer food.

“I don’t have any food,” he announces, realizing he’s existed on takeout for a week. He reaches across Brian to retrieve his phone, thinking of having something delivered. “I think I have orange juice though.”

“I might have to bounce in a bit, actually. Hence the alarm,” Brian says, trapping the arm that was reaching across his torso. Justin gladly obliges and clings to him in a half-embrace. He is certain that he hears a note of apology in Brian’s voice, as if he truly regrets turning down the rather sorry offer of orange juice for breakfast. Brian stretches his arms over his head, and Justin stares unabashedly. They are at once soft in the morning light and firmly muscled under the pale skin. “Trixie’s boyfriend’s friend apparently told her that I stood him up, and now she’s demanding I rectify her damaged reputation as matchmaker by seeing the date through.”

“It’s a date now, huh?” he teases. Brian rolls his eyes. “Last week it was just a hookup.”

“Whatever. I’ll take him out to lunch, jack him off, delete him from my phone, and go to my yoga class. It’s really just to get Trix off my back,” he says. He sits up against the headboard, leaving Justin’s elbow resting near a suspicious tent under the covers. Justin makes no effort to move, keeping his arm looped around Brian’s waist. Smirking up at Brian, he waits for a go signal, but Brian just smirks back at him and then brings a hand to scratch Justin’s head. “How about you? What’s Her Majesty up to on this blessed Sabbath?”

All right then, maybe Brian’s saving it for Trixie’s guy. Not desperately horny enough to pursue the matter, Justin instead closes his eyes and cozies up to Brian’s hand. If he keeps this light massage up, Justin is going to conk back out of consciousness. “I’m meeting up with Cory. He’s dragging me to this gym where he got free memberships because he’s dating this girl who works there.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Sundays are the best day to go because literally no one else is there,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so you’re a gym rat now, Joanne?” Brian teases, lightly trailing a hand across Justin’s bicep. “Giving me that insider info.”

“As if.” Justin rolls his eyes. “I just tag along with Cory, and I think he’s just going ’cause his girlfriend has Sunday duty. He did that with his last girlfriend too. She was a sommelier up in Wilshire, and he would go there all the time to see her.”

“Cory’s always dating someone,” Brian observes lightly, the way one talks of the weather. Justin feels him moving his hand away, so he reaches out for his wrist to keep it on his head. Brian obliges, continuing to run his fingers through Justin’s hair.

“Don’t I fucking know it. He’s always waving it in my face and calling me an old crone,” he scoffs.

“But you’re always dating too,” Brian counters, rubbing lightly behind ears now. If it didn’t feel so good, Justin would complain about being petted like a dog.

“Sure,” he allows. He does date around quite a bit. He’s a Pisces who needs constant companionship, sue him. “But not nearly as much as him.”

Brian tuts. “Ah, but that’s a statistical impossibility. There are more blonde, tanned girls in LA than there are tops. Cory’s bound to date more people.”

“But see, I’m not geographically limited to LA. And I still lose to him,” he says with an exaggerated pout, making Brian laugh. It’s a nice sound, isn’t it? The haze of the morning light must be putting a filter over his eyes, because Justin suddenly finds it quite pleasant to watch Brian’s dry lips stretching over his stunningly white teeth. And then to delight in the roughened edges of his smoker’s laughter too? Justin really needs to wash the sleep out of his system.

“Maybe you’re just bad at dating,” Brian says sympathetically, tapping Justin’s nose. Justin glares up at him. “It’s okay. I’m terrible at it. I still get laid every other night.”

“Well, you don’t care about dating,” Justin reasons. In the time he’s known Brian, he’s never known him to date anyone. At first he’d thought it to be because of the demands of the job—it’s not easy to see someone when you’re constantly travelling. Justin has learned this with Aaron, and then again with Alex, and Carlos, and Kevin, and Jeremy. He wonders sometimes if it’s really his career getting in the way of his relationships, or if it’s just him. To protect his ego, he chooses to believe it’s the former. Still, most Ru girls manage to see other people. Some steadily, and others sporadically. Brian’s a rare case among them, never dating around. “Or am I making false assumptions?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t really see the appeal. Maybe once upon a time, when I was a baby gay, I wanted that whole romance extravaganza. Monogamy and slow dancing and all the works. The whole music video romance, you know? But now I don’t really see the point in it.”

“Really? And yet you tortured me with that unending Lana Del Rey playlist in Aspen?” Justin complains incredulously.

Brian holds up a finger in indignation. “I won’t have Lana slander, not on this good Sunday morning, no ma’am. Don’t speak against the lord herself. I’ll never stick my dick in you again, I swear to god.”

“He that is without sin, let him first cast a stone,” Justin says grandly, smirking up at Brian. “I’m not the one worshiping at Lana’s feet and then denouncing music video romances behind her back.”

It’s amusing how quickly Brian springs into animation, his sleep-encrusted eyes suddenly turning bright and sharp with a presence that commands Justin’s full attention, even if he has absolutely no interest in Lana Del Rey. Brian grabs his shoulder to get him to listen, completely unaware that he’s already caught Justin hook, line, and sinker. “You’re getting it all twisted. Lana isn’t commodified romance, really, she’s—”

Justin squints dubiously. “She’s a successful radio act, how is that not commodified?”

“Fine, okay, but at least she operates within pop culture as this brilliantly unachievable ideal that is very self-aware of its own ideality. Her music, her whole brand, it’s not going for realness. It’s not deceptive, you know what I mean? It’s drag, it really is. That’s why I love her. But romance, real romance”—here he puts air quotes around ‘real’—“it’s a joke.”

An impassioned defense of Lana Del Rey’s artistry isn’t exactly standard morning-after fare in Justin’s experience, but he find himself a willing student. He sits up finally, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. At some point I just figured romance isn’t real. It’s a whole manufactured spectacle designed to maintain this whole order of—well, the patriarchy obviously, but also probably some more complex and insidious societal riggeries and giggeries that we haven’t even yet caught on to. Because they’re so effectively run by the big guys, you know?” Brian says. Justin nods, even though he doesn’t fully agree, and lets Brian continue. “Romance blinds us and forces us into compliance with…” his hand fans the air as he looks for a word.

“The world order?” Justin offers dryly. He wonders if he should have saved this conversation for some other time, when he’s not still half-asleep.

Brian points at him and nods. “Hashtag thatpart. Capitalism, globalism, the whole she-bang. I don’t know how, but I’m sure romance is part of the mechanism somehow. We just gotta Winston Smith ourselves into the truth, Joanne.”

“Girl, you’re gonna have to help me out here. Is that the 1984 guy?“

“The very one,” Brian says, nodding.

Thank god Justin was a good student, reading all his assigned texts and turning in all his book reports. Let it never be said that basic education is useless. He scrunches his nose, trying to remember the novel. There was Big Brother, doublespeak, and lots of illicit sexual activities. And weren’t there also rats? Or was that A Clockwork Orange? What else? “How did it end again? Didn’t he go back to sucking Big Brother’s dick?”

Brian frowns. "Okay, yeah, he did. But he was tortured into compliance. You’re missing the point.“

“No, okay, I do get what you were saying: romance makes robots out of us, and love isn’t real.” Justin looks up to Brian for confirmation, which Brian gives with a nod. “Can I suck your dick now?”

His question goes ignored as Brian careens full speed down his socio-philosophical train tracks with no end in sight. He flaps his hands quickly, as if his monologue is powered by kinetic energy. “Or no, maybe it is! Or love is—okay, yes, that’s it, I think love is real, but romance is manufactured. Romance is the institutionalization of love, like… like Drag Race is the institutionalization of drag! Or like Catholicism is the institutionalization of the socialist sort of spirituality that Jesus preached!”

“Who told you to bring Jesus into my home?” Justin laughs. “I’m not having it. Is this what you do with all your guys? Is this a guerrilla tactic, educating the unenlightened masses one hookup at a time?”

Brian cackles, head thrown back, eyes wrinkled, teeth catching the light. “This should be how the revolution starts. Can’t get more grassroots than this.”

“I’ll pass it on to the next guy I suck off, comrade. We’ll get Bernie into office yet,” Justin promises solemnly, closing his eyes and bowing his head a fraction. He brings a fist up to his heart and intones gravely, “Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes, but love, like war, always finds a way.”

Brian bursts into a wheeze that possesses his whole frame. Justin was going for a laugh, but even then Brian’s full-body flailing impresses him. Being a comedy queen by trade, Justin takes to laughter like Tinkerbell to applause, and to him Brian is the Platonic ideal of an audience—open and generously receptive. And those perfect damn teeth don’t hurt either. If all he has to do is pull stage play quotes out of his ass to send Brian into irrepressible laughter, then he’ll gladly resurrect his theatre education and put it to good use. He allows himself a cackle as well, glad to join in with Brian.

“See, that’s the type of love that I’m advocating. Free and unburdened by societal expectations,” Brian says easily, likes it’s the simplest, truest matter in the world. “None of those tired old romantic tropes. Just love and sex for all.”

“Do you really mean that?” Justin inquires. “You don’t really sleep with everyone, do you?”

“Only because there isn’t enough time in the world, mawma,” Brian laments jokingly. Of course. And then he looks at Justin with a knowing grin. “I do have some time to spare before I absolutely have to leave though. You down for a quick round?”

Justin doesn’t realize that he was hoping for a serious answer until Brian shrugged it off kiddingly, but maybe that’s his problem. He’s always looking to ascribe meaning, always looking to pierce through the pleasures of the skin into—the soul? The heart? Whatever trite concept he imagines to connect people beyond just sex. Theoretically he understands free love, and can perhaps put it into praxis, as evidenced by the voluminous ledger of men he’s slept with, but if he’s being honest, he’s just an old romantic. All this no-strings-attached sex he’s having is less a choice and more a second resort until he finds someone more permanent. But maybe it would be healthier, smarter, worldlier to adapt Brian’s mind-set. To stop looking at sex as a means to an end but rather an end in itself.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says readily, letting the matter go. As his mouth takes in Brian’s length, he wonders why they’d spent so much time talking nonsense.

~~~

An hour into what Cory promised to be “bro bonding” at the gym, Justin already wants to die. His biceps feel as though they are aflame after Cory militantly forced him to do cable curls. And then Cory pretty much left him alone after that, opting to do some unnecessarily intimate spotting for his girlfriend on the bench press. Such a straight dude, Justin thinks.

He walks over to them, intending to just sit down for a second and watch as he lets his arms regain locomotive will. Kiara, the girlfriend, smiles up at him, and he is appalled by how casually beautiful she manages to look, even drenched in sweat. She is quite short, which is normal for Justin, who towers over most people. But what she lacks in height, she makes up for in muscle—solid, firm, meticulously sculpted. This she carries with her leonine air. Despite the disparity of their height, she seems almost larger a presence than Cory, who himself is taller than Justin.

“You’re way too gorgeous to be settling for Cory,” he comments, settling down on the floor and stealing Cory’s thermos, earning him a light kick on the shoulder from his brother.

“Trust me, I know,” Kiara plays along, but then she looks up at Cory with such a warm laugh as she pushes the weights up steadily. Cory returns the laugh with the easy, unbothered assurance of someone in love.

“Don’t listen to that idiot,” he says. “He probably hasn’t gotten laid in a year.”

Justin sputters for show, hastily withdrawing his mouth from the lip of the thermos. His jaw drops in mock offense. “I got laid this morning!” he whines, fully aware of how his last syllable is drawn out in the grating manner that Cory hates.

“Using your dildo doesn’t count as getting laid,” Cory retorts. Kiara just laughs at them, shaking her head as she finally gestures for Cory to take the weights off so she can sit up. “You’re such brothers.”

“Whatever, I totally got laid,” Justin insists.

“Good for you,” Cory beams proudly, carefully placing the weights back on the rack and handing Kiara a towel. “Do I know the unlucky guy?”

“Yeah actually,” Justin says, deciding that it’s all right to kiss and tell. If he’s gonna commit to the whole carefree, casual sex thing, there’s really no reason to be all coy about his sex life, even if it’s around his brother and her girlfriend. “It’s Brian.”

Cory looks at him blankly, in the way he often does. “Who the fuck is Brian?”

“Katya, sorry.”

“Oh. I like her,” Kiara pipes up cheerfully, and then, cheekily, “And you, of course.”

“Thank you,” Justin says with a huff of a laugh.

Cory settles down on the bench beside Kiara, but his eyes are on Justin. He rests his elbows on his thighs and clasps his hands, looking rather serious for Justin’s liking. Cautiously, he asks, “Are you a thing? Like with Sharon?”

Was he being a concerned brother? It’s a little endearing, Justin finds. He smiles reassuringly. “No, we were just fooling around.”

Cory raises a skeptical brow but says nothing more, grabbing his thermos from Justin’s grasp and tossing it back with impressively large gulps. Once upon a time Justin would have dismissed it as an aggressive display of masculinity, but after his own little session with the cable curls he’s sure he was lapping that water up like a man stumbling through the Mojave. Kiara snags the thermos from Cory, even though her own water bottle is sitting right by her foot. She tips her head back and finishes it up, and then races Cory for the bottle on the floor. They squabble a bit, holding each other back playfully, but Kiara eventually lets Cory have the first sip, sitting back and watching him fondly.

Again Justin is afforded entry into their world of easy touches and effortless interactions. For a moment, it makes him doubt his decision to trod the path that Brian’s on. The path of skin and sweat and cum and thank you and goodbye. But just as quickly as doubt flutters through his new resolve, he dismisses it, because he knows it’s not all easy touches and sticky smiles, really. He’s been there countless times, and they all slipped through his fingers like a shaft of morning light. Gaga really was on to something with “Perfect Illusion,” he thinks with a chuckle.

[forbiddenwords]

Stranded (Chapter 1)

Written By: TheHeathenSlave Rating: M for Plane crash, injury, survival, desert island, stranded, drug usage, drinking, alcohol, awkward flirting, voyeurism, watersports, fetish, sexual tension, extreme illness, graphic, puss, wound cleaning, surgery, vomiting, oral sex, fluff, angst, romance, drug usage, assault, near death, happy ending. Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Hours Era But Modern Day)

She never thought that a trans Atlantic flight could end in perfect paradise with David Bowie. Well…almost perfect paradise.

It was going to be a long flight and she was well aware of that. Even in business class, it didn’t seem like the most appealing thing in the universe. Oh well, it would just be a few hours right? If she took a sleeping pill and helped herself to the complimentary champagne service, she’d be out for most of the 10 hours that she was going to be forced to sit in one place. By the time the plane was about to take off she’d already had two glasses of champagne and a larger dose of ativan than usually advised (but she didn’t care since she was a doctor). Just as she drifted off she was sure she saw a familiar face smiling at her from just across the row. He was kind of fuzzy. Did she know him? Whatever, she’d bought two seats here just so she could stretch out and she was damn well going to make use of them.

Suddenly she was cold, wet, soaking wet. It was freezing. What the hell happened? She let out a loud scream, or rather tried to, it was quickly filled with water. Panicked, she flailed around a bit and started to swim. It was near the break of dawn, the sun just rising on the horizon and nothing but water as far as the eye could see. At least when it came to some sort of land mass. Otherwise all around her was debris. Some of it flaming. The plane? When had any of this even happened? How? Had she honestly slept through a plane crash? That wasn’t possible, right? Okay, maybe it was since she’d been completely trashed before the plane even got in the air.

She reached out and grabbed a piece of luggage floating by and used it to keep herself up. Her wrist just had to be broken, luckily it wasn’t on her dominant hand or she would have been fucked. There were bodies around. Bodies and body parts. Her stomach lurched but she managed to hold down the vomit. She didn’t know much about sharks or other predatory sea animals but she didn’t think it would be a great idea to vomit right now. Was anyone still alive? Someone had to be. Please let someone be alive. Using the luggage to keep herself above water she began to kick her legs to move herself away from some of the more intense flames. It wasn’t long before she came across a raft. It was floating there, in it’s tiny little contained package. With quite a bit of effort she managed to pull the cord. The thing was sturdy, actually let her small frame climb into it with only a it of energy expended. That was one problem solved.

“Hello?” She called, her voice weaker than she wanted it to be. She started to cough heavily and ended up vomiting anyway, right over the side of the raft. “Dammit.” She whispered and wiped her mouth with the back of her uninjured hand. She started to paddle as much as she could with her good arm. Anything that floated by she picked up and tossed into the raft. Since the thing was meant for about twelve people, she was going to have more than enough room to carry things with her. She doubted there were even twelve people alive. Not even three. She saw no movement other than the flames coming from the wreckage. Quickly she was losing hope that she was even going to make it out of this.

Each body she passed she was sure to give a good shake, but nothing. There was no response. Just as panic was starting to inch into her mind the raft shook violently causing her to scream. She looked over across the way, scrambling back a bit to try to keep the thing from tipping as another person climbed in. A man. His shaggy hair hanging in his face. He was clutching his side, there was something sticking out of it. Seemed he was struggling for breath. He collapsed on his back in the small space left where she hadn’t been stacking bags and other supplies that might become useful in the next few days. Once the shock had subsided, she scrambled over to him and looked down at his injury.

“I’m a doctor.” She said, “Let me help.”

“I’d say it was my lucky day but I was just in a plane crash.” He muttered and let out a grim chuckle. His accent was British and his voice was deep, two things she didn’t expect at all from this tall skinny man. But, she recognized him, the face that was smiling across the isle from her? She’d seen him before right? It didn’t matter, she had to help him first.

“Well…I suppose you could call this a streak of luck during a very unlucky day.” She laughed softly. “Hang on, I picked up a large first aid kit.” It was a huge one, attached to buoys, most likely just in case of a water landing or crash. She found it and opened it, pulling a flashlight and some other materials. It had been sealed so no water had actually gotten into it. Everything inside was dry, untouched. She turned on the flashlight and shone it over his injury. There was a piece of metal stuck in him and there was no way of telling how deep it was. She’d have to make a few educated guesses.

“Is it hard to breathe?” She asked.

“I would say so.” He laughed and then winced. She smiled at him gently and pushed some hair out of his face.

“Your eye its…”

“No that was…it’s been like that for a while it didn’t happen in the crash.” He said. “Just…take the metal out.”

“Okay okay but I mean…I need to make sure it’s not in your lung.”

“Could I talk if it were?” He replied. He did have a point, and it annoyed her because she was supposed to be the doctor here. The thing was, she wasn’t a clinical doctor. She was a forensic psychiatrist for the FBI. All she ever did was autopsies which meant working on already dead people. Though she had the qualifications to work on living people and the knowledge to save lives, it was definitely not something she did every day. Especially not after a plane crash.

“Right.” she said, “So can you take in a deep breath for me and let it out slowly?” She asked him. He nodded and did as she asked, wincing a bit but he was able to get in a full breath and let it out. There was no way that thing was too deep in there, or at least hitting anything vital if that were the case.

“Take it out?”

“Alright but if you bleed out…”

“I probably would have anyway, do you think help is really going to come any time soon? Even if you leave it in out of precaution? I’m consenting to the treatment pull the fucking thing out of me.” He growled. Her mouth was dry, and the taste in there was still bitter from the vomit. She just nodded and grabbed the metal, pulling it out. Thankfully, it really was only stuck in there about two inches. She quickly grabbed some gauze and unwrapped it before pressing it over the wound and holding it there tightly.

“You might need stitches but first we are going to hope the bleeding stops on its own, mostly because I haven’t got crap to stitch you up with. Might be able to find some super glue though.”

“Are you mad?”

“That’s originally what it was invented for.” She informed him, “Or you know, you could just die. Pretty sure you’d make very nice fish bait once I get desperate.”

“Very funny.” He muttered and then coughed.

“Hold this gauze there, my wrist is broken I need to find a way to splint it.” She said, grabbing one of his hands with her uninjured hand and putting it in place. “Apply as much pressure as you can without causing yourself too much pain, okay?”

“Yes yes.” He rolled his eyes and moved onto his back. “You didn’t recognize me before.”

“Don’t really recognize you now, to be honest, then again my mind isn’t in a place where I need to be freaking out at celebrities.” She muttered and started to go through more of the first aid supplies. There wasn’t anything in there she could use as a splint, she was going to have to improvise.

“So you at least admit to knowing I am a celebrity.” He asked. “Yet somehow you don’t recognize me.”

“Look…sir…”

“Sir? That’s a new one. I’m not old enough for you to be calling sir, ma’am.”

“Okay I am not old enough to be a ma’am I’m 38.” She snapped at him.

“So how exactly do you think I feel being called sir?”

“You are at least in your 50’s.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He said, “Look the point is I’m actually kind of glad you don’t know who I am. Saves me the trouble of having to deal with some kind of fan girl in this situation.”

“Oh?” She asked, “Well, you ever consider I might be famous as well?”

“Don’t recognize you.”

“Not famous in America. Not really. More it’s my family name that is. In any case, I’ve met a lot of celebrities each less impressive than the last. I hate to break it to you…guy…but you’re still a human being. You don’t shit chocolate ice cream because the whole world knows your name.”

Finally her hands settled on a ruler. Not sure why that was among the bags and debris. Maybe an architect or school teacher was traveling with it. No matter, it would work as a splint for now. The guy started to make some weird noise and at first she thought he was choking but then realized it was just a very weak and pained laugh. Ignoring him for the moment, she broke the ruler in half, which wasn’t easy, and used the combination of that and an ace bandage to tightly splint her wrist. No help from him either. He just lay there holding his side and laughing.

“Going to tell me what’s so funny now?” She asked, finally being able to rest back against the side of the raft and take a few deep breaths.

“If I had to get stranded, I’m glad it’s with the one person who isn’t impressed with what I do.” He said, “Maybe it is my lucky day. Wonder if the world will be convinced I’m dead. Now that, that would be interesting.”

“Oh…?” She asked and looked at him, squinting her eyes a bit as the sun rose more and light became more useful. “David Bowie?”

“You guessed right. Only took you…lets see…you passed out right before the plane took off so five hours or so?” He asked, “Congratulations, thought I was going to have to tell you.”

“Okay I was passed out for…how long were we in the air?”

“About three hours. Think the engine exploded.”

“You mean one of the engines, there isn’t just one engine on a plane like that. Whatever. I was passed out for three of those hours so really it took me ten minutes, and 9 of those minutes consisted of pulling metal out of your side and splinting my wrist.”

“Fair point.” He said. “So, what do we do now?”

“Look for land and hope that maybe there’s some kind of radio or beacon that is going off that a rescue team can follow to find us.” She sighed and closed her eyes trying to ignore the agonizing pain in her wrist. “Just shut up and let me think for a moment.”

The moment was longer than she meant it to be. A lot longer. The next thing she knew she was waking up because David was pushing at her side with his foot. One of her eyes opened and she noticed the sun was high over head. They weren’t anywhere near the debris of the plane, they must have drifted. There wasn’t even luggage floating in the water, there was, however, much more luggage in the raft. A ton more. David must have grabbed some more before collapsing back in place. At least he’d thought to do that. They would need as much as they could get, especially food. Seemed to be quite a bit of that.

“What?” She muttered. God her mouth was dry. Her other eye opened and she looked around. In the large first aid kit she had grabbed and opened before passing out, there was a bottle of water. She grabbed it and without thinking too much, tried to twist open the top. Then she screamed in pain and dropped the thing.

“Hey hey, careful.” He said, and grabbed the bottle as it rolled towards him. He sat up, carefully, opened it, and held it towards her. “I see land.” She took the bottle and took a few small sips. It was tempting to gulp it down but she knew it would just make her sick if she did that.

“Where?” She asked. He pointed behind her and she turned. He wasn’t wrong. There was land there but it was very questionable if it was inhabited land. Well, civilized in-habitation. Most likely it was just some random island. It would still be better than staying in a boat. More food sources, possible fresh water. If not they could always boil some or…well it was better than what they had now. “Come on we have to try to paddle this raft towards it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you serious about not doing that?” She asked. He gave her a look and shifted onto his knees. Then he grabbed the bottle of water from her and took a few sips himself. While he did that, she looked around in the boat for anything that could work was somewhat of a paddle. Nothing. Damn. In desperation (and maybe a bit of stupidity, she jumped into the water and got behind the raft starting to push it as she swam in the right direction.

“You want help with that?” David asked.

“I wouldn’t advise jumping back into the water with that wound in your chest.” She called. “Did it stop bleeding?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You don’t want to risk opening it again just…navigate.” She told him.

“Alright.” He said.

This plan worked for a good while, somewhat. She was exhausted but her will to survive was overpowering her will to pass out and give up. By the time she was nearly completely out of energy they were almost to the island. It was only about a thousand yards away. David had to help her back into the raft where she collapsed again, her lungs burning and her body aching like she never thought possible before. He handed her the bottle of water then started to use his hands to paddle. Progress was slow but they were getting there. Hopefully the tide would eventually catch them and wash them onto shore instead of insisting on pushing them back out.

“T-Thank you.” She whispered.

“Thank you. I think we’d have been fucked if you didn’t do something that crazy.” He told her, shifting from one side of the raft to the other to make sure they didn’t go off course. “What was your name again?”

“Again? Did I even tell you before? Sorry, it’s Leila.” She whispered and took a few more sips of water. “Hopefully you have some idea about survival on a deserted island.”

“Really? You think that’s what David Bowie does with his time? Camping?”

“No but I guess I was hoping. I read something online about you reading every book you could ever get your hands on. The odds being what they are because of your age, one of them could have been about survival.” She said.

“Possibly, but it would also come down to how much I remember said book and I haven’t read one like that recently. What about you?” He asked.

“I’m an FBI agent.” She said, “Hunting and fishing are a hobby, hiking as well. Don’t really camp too much but I have a general idea how to survive in a situation such as this.”

“Well, we should be fine then. You do all the work and I’ll provide the entertainment.” He laughed. She smiled and pushed some hair out of her face. This was one of those times that she realized it was just too long. Down to her waist and in the way more than she needed it to be. This was what prompted her to go through the bags until she found a scrunchy to pull it into a ponytail. By that point, they were nearly there and the waves had caught them pushing them up towards the beach.

“When we get close enough, I’ll hop out and pull us the rest of the way. Don’t get out until we are on land, I don’t want that cut to open up.” She said.

“You’re bossy.” He smiled, “but, can’t complain much.”

“Better not.” She muttered and then snickered, not being able to help herself. Of all the places she never thought she’d end up, it was on an island after a plane crash alone and with David Bowie. Perhaps she’d been wrong about how unlucky this situation was. At least for herself. She could honestly use the time off. How bad could it really be?

Next Chapters.