#the second half of the dream was about a lego dog getting to play outside

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

I had a dream last night that there was a series of jokes tha,t as part of his poetry lessons, Mr. Keating included lessons about languages and meter anyway.

One had him writing all the possible meters on the board with the important ones in "bold", but Mr. Keating was so casual about it, like "I think this is cool and important to remember", and then it cuts to the students looking horrified at the implication they'll have to memorize this.

The other had a passage of, idk, beowulf (I think) on the board, and he's saying like "And THAT, boys, is Old English!" And he keeps going into a lesson about how poetry is older than time or whatever. Again, cut to the Poets being confused as hell bc they don't understand what's on the board...

[trentaafcsblog]

9 with ruben please 🥺

Prompts - Baby

9. “I miss daddy”

Both you and Ruben would be lying if you said that you didn’t put off having a baby, partly because you were paranoid about raising a child on your own for the most part, but more so because the thought of your baby only seeing their daddy in the evenings and on the occasional weekend broke your heart. And up until this point, it seemed to be going okay. Your little boy didn’t know any different, just thinking that everybody’s daddies only saw them for fifteen minutes before bedtime and played football on the telly on a Saturday afternoon. But now he’s that bit older, he understands that that’s not true for everybody, and that he has a ‘special’ daddy in a strange sort of way - one that loves him to bits but can only really show that through FaceTime calls and little chocolate button deliveries when he’s been a good boy and daddy can’t be there to reward him in ‘real life’, something that breaks your hearts, but that’s the price that being a footballer pays.

“When will daddy be home?” he’s asking for the umpteenth time today. “Soon” is all you can really reply with, knowing that he’s still too young to understand the concept of time, so breaking it down into days, hours, minutes and seconds would just confuse him even more. “Why does daddy have to go?” he’s questioning, looking across the table at you with his big brown eyes, a glimmer of sadness shining through them which makes a lump appear in your throat as you poke around at your bowl of pasta. “Because that’s what happens when you play football” you’re telling him, a frown appearing on his face at the thought of him having to do the same if he becomes a footballer when he’s older, struggling to imagine what it will be like if his babies feel the way he does when he isn’t around. “Oh” he’s replying, falling silent as he pops a few pasta shapes into his mouth and takes a large gulp of his apple juice, but you can tell he’s absolutely heartbroken by the fact that he can’t see Ruben as much as his friends at nursery see their daddies, hating that he doesn’t have anyone to play football with in the garden when he gets home from preschool (you were asked to play once but your skills clearly didn’t meet his standards), or watch the Lion King with before bed (he knows you’re slightly fed up of it now after watching it about seventy five thousand times, so he doesn’t bother asking you anymore), or help do DIY like his best friend Louie does with his daddy.

It’s playing on his mind all evening. His little brain going into overdrive trying to work out how long it will be until Ruben comes home, rushing to look out of the window each time he hears a noise outside and occasionally popping his head around daddy’s office door, half expecting him to be sat at his desk in an important meeting call or doing some yoga in the corner. But nope. He’s still not home. So he’s carrying on playing very quietly with his Lego bricks whilst keeping his ears open incase, just incase, daddy happens to magically appear on the front door step three days early. And eventually, all of the anticipation and waiting around for nothing gets a bit too much.

“I miss daddy” he’s blubbing when you tuck him into bed, part of you wanting to ask him to repeat himself incase you’ve misheard what he’s said - the three words that you knew were coming at some point - but you heard him perfectly clear the first time around, you know you did, which is why it’s even harder to think of a response. “Daddy misses you too” you’re whispering, trying to disguise the emotion in your voice but he’s too clever to let it go unnoticed. Pulling away from you and resting his chubby hands either side of your face as you frantically blink back the tears so that he doesn’t think you’re about to start crying too, but he’s not stupid. “We can miss daddy together” he’s sniffing, his eyes all bloodshot as he stares into yours, desperately waiting for you to nod your head so that he doesn’t think he’s alone. “Yeah, we can, but daddy will be home so soon, I promise, and then we won’t need to be sad anymore” you’re telling him, watching him nod his head and settle back down at the comfort of Ruben coming home in a few days. Staying by his side and stroking his cheek until he’s fast asleep, probably dreaming about saving all of the dogs in the world like he usually does, and then you’re stepping back and admiring him sleeping so peacefully, so content now that he’s away from the reality of being dad-less for a while.

And god does it break your heart and make you feel so guilty. Taking your phone out of your pocket and hitting Ruben’s contact at the top of your screen. A stray tear rolling down your cheek as your gaze flicks between the message you’re typing and your little boy. ‘Please come home’.

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part eleven ~ wank material and how to get canceled ~

(part one) (part two) (part three) (part four) (part five) (part six) (part seven) (part eight) (part nine) (part ten) (part eleven)

A/N: Back at it again. Thank you for 160 followers; do enjoy and take care of yourself! Send a Message/Ask to make my day!

Summary: Alex screws up a lot. 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Lots of Language. Implied Domestic Abuse. Heavy Self-Deprecation. 

Word Count: 2.9k    BLUE TEXT = FLASHBACK

It is a small world. Or at least that is how the saying goes. For example: I happened to have dog-walked for a woman who turns out to be your aunt? Huh, small world.

The world is meant to be small, with everyone just six degrees of separation from one another. 

A lot can happen between six degrees – an ice cube melts,  a steak is cooked well done instead of medium,  a person dies of an unexplained fever.

Sometimes Alex’s world did feel small, constrictingly small like it was caving in on him. But more often than not, it was he who felt small and the world a vast sea – an endless horizon. And he was stranded on a raft in the middle of it. Splashing along with the waves, going wherever the wind wished to take him. Wondering if he would ever be found (if anyone was even searching for him) or if he was destined to drown in the deep dark waters. 

Alex shook his head, and he was back in the present moment. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Gripping a controller with his clammy hands, playing LEGO Star Wars with George. Although their characters appeared to be working together in perfect sync, Alex was not actually focusing on the screen. His eyes were, but his mind drifted like that raft on the sea, drifted to earlier that morning.

It rained briefly; when the early morning hours came, everything outside smelled of wet, and the scent seeped in through cracks in the sealing around the windows.

Y/N stirred in Alex’s arms, squirmed out of his gentle hold, and sat up. Shining through the glass door of the balcony was the pale blue of the moon illuminating her features – a pastel recolouring which further softened the curves and lines of her face.

Her unadjusted eyes appeared confused at her surroundings as she looked around. Planting her hands flat on the cushion on either side of her lap exposed her bruised forearm. Each circular mark was darker than it had been when she fell asleep. Alex noticed some quarter or half of the beads on her bracelet matched those bruises in colour – he was not sure how to feel about that.

A shy closed-mouth smile took Y/N’s lips as her eyes landed on Alex. If she were concerned about his contemplative somewhat doleful expression, she hid it well. “You’re warm.”

“Yeah?” Alex asked. It was dizzying, swimming in the lovesick haze of such an odd compliment

“Like sleeping on one of those blankets, you have to plug in – softer though.” 

“Probably more lippy as well.”

“I think that’s fair,” her words fizzled out with a giggle.

Pupils dilated in the dim lighting; Alex had never more resembled the pleading puppy eyes emoji. High on that feeling, he got whenever Y/N looked deep into the depths of him. Like the last piece of his puzzling life was being set into place. Like it was them. Always meant to be them. Together.

He just wished he dared to speak more.

“Jump! What are you doing?” George burst out, bringing Alex back for a moment.

“Sorry.” He had felt it all over again – how anxious he was to speak; how dead his tongue was in his mouth. As if every moment with Y/N was it for him. His one shot. And if he did not say the right thing or if his voice wavered, then it would be over for him. Finished.

Or maybe he would not have to speak at all, and he would lose his chance before he even opened his mouth. His big mouth – his friends would add, and in truth, so would he.

George cleared his throat and asked, “Did you remember to message Simon about the party?”

“Yeah, yesterday. And Tobi got back to me, said he’s coming.”

“Would’ve been easier to have done a group message for them.”

Sighing a short but exhausted sounding sigh, Alex agreed, “Maybe.”

“And Sammy’s coming?” George looked over for a split-second to see his flatmate nod his head; a tight smile plastered on his face. “Good.”

Another moment of comfortable calm washed over Alex and Y/N when something in Y/N’s gaze pulled back – became hesitant – and moved down to her hands. She picked up a crumpled deliveroo receipt from off the coffee table and began fidgeting with it. “If you—” 

Y/N stopped as her phone lit up; the notification was silent, but the light of the screen was visible through the pocket of her jeans. While pulling it out, she unmuted it to an eruption of DING. DING. DING. There were a lot of missed calls and texts, enough that she had to scroll twice up to see them all.

All Alex could read from his spot on the sofa (without wanting to appear as if he was reading over Y/N’s shoulder) was a text message in all caps reading ANSWER ME.

Thumbs hovered above the phone, not typing nor even moving to unlock to the home screen. Her back straightened, and her posture tensed. Eyes not leaving the screen, she said, “It’s Sam. I need to go.”

“That’s all Sammy? It’s a tad overkill, don’t you think?”

“No, he’s just worried.” Y/N took to her feet. Stepping around the coffee table, she beelined to where she left her shoes near the front door. “I don’t—I should have been checking in.”

Alex stood and followed. “Is he that upset? Genuinely?”

She flicked her hand dismissively before using it to pull on her shoes. Keeping her eyes down. “Of course not. It’s just frustrating when he can’t reach me is all.”

“Still…it’s a bit much.”

“And what? You’ve never been frustrated like that with someone?”

“No,” his projection of the word a startling thundercrack in the otherwise civil conversation.

It had not been confidence, though. Not real confidence. Alex had been scared, and he did not like being scared nor admitting to being scared, but he had been.  Frightened because he did not know how to handle the situation.  Terrified that he might have been losing himself. 

Liking Y/N made him nervous; made him protective. And he could not control it.

Y/N looked to him, and he would have to have been blind to not see the bewilderment that came to her eyes at his change in tone. Alex was just so sick and tired of allowing himself and his concerns to be played off. Always feeling like he was screaming to be heard, but no one cared to listen.  

He spoke stern and definite, “No. I’ve never been so agitated with someone that I screamed at them for a near hour. It’s not normal. I’ve certainly, never punched through—” 

DING. DING. Before he could finish, Y/N dropped her head to her phone.

Alex sighed, exhausted, and asked, “He’s still going, isn’t he?”

“Like I said,” Y/N looked up, and coming back into the conversation as if nothing happened, reasoned in a gentle – borderline condescending – tone, “he’s worried about me.”

“No, he’s not. If he were worried, wouldn’t he have gone looking for you?”

“How do you know he didn’t?”

“Where else would you have gone, but here? Does he let you have other friends?”

Taking a step from him, Y/N shook her head like she could shake herself awake and out of the situation – like it was a dream. She asked, “Where is this coming from?”

“Am I wrong? Red?” he didn’t mean it to come out overly harsh; it had. Alex’s eyes begged for the slightest amount of understanding.

“I think I should go.” Contradicting the sharpness that came into her words were the tears that sprung to her eyes, building up, daring to fall. Y/N pushed right through Alex (not unlike her previous shoulder-check) towards the front door with a sudden heaviness in her steps. 

Fuck. Think of something. 

She’s leaving think of something. 

Say something.

Anything!

“Are you still coming to the party Saturday?” Not that.

Stopping halfway out the door, Y/N whipped around with annoyance and anger burning in her eyes. “You’re serious? Is that all you care about? Padding your guest list?”

“No,” the whispered words fell graceless from his lips, “I care about you.”

“Don’t.” Y/N looked as if she were a second away from spitting in his face. “It was a mistake coming here. You can’t just say whatever shit you want, whenever you want. I’m sorry if you think I’ve been leading you on, but Sam is my boyfriend, alright? I love him.”

That was it. Alex did not know that would be it. He did not even know he was that close to the fucking edge. But he had been. And that? That was it. He wanted so bad to be a safe space for Y/N and to not start an argument or come off as if he were attacking her, but that was it.

“And does he love you?” Alex asked with a cruel scoff.

“Beg pardon?”

“Did he love you when he gave you that?” He pointed to her forearm – the five circular bruises.

“Fuck you, Alex.” Her lip curled into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She left. It was 2:01am.

It lingered in his head – the realization he came to when he was stood in the dark staring at his front door too confused to be shocked and too shocked to process the hurt. He lost; he was a loser. It was not a traditional emotion, but Alex felt it burning within even as he sat on the sofa with George.

Idiot. Since their first meeting, Alex dreamed and needed and worked so hard to be with Y/N, and he lost her. Gambled it all and lost. Useless. Weak. His thoughts took on their own intentions. Beginning to feel foreign as if coming from the outside and no longer sounding like him. 

Spiraling. Alex was spiraling. He did not – could not – understand how he could ruin everything life ever offered, bin the good opportunities, and fail all the people important to him. 

All at once, an intense feeling bubbled up from deep in his gut, perhaps the most classically masculine feeling he ever felt. Alex wanted to fight. Angry. Pained. He wanted nothing more than to scream out his voice and rid himself of the scorching torrent of blood that rushed through him, cauterizing his veins. Alex wanted to fight for Y/N. But he could not do that, could he? Fight. Not physically, at least.

“I need water.” George got up and moved to the kitchen, not knowing that his interruption of Alex’s internal monologue was like him saving the younger from drowning.

A light blush rushed to his cheeks as Alex pulled his head up. He inhaled deep and released it in a controlled exhale. Embarrassed with himself for falling victim to self-deprecation. It had to stop, and it was getting better. Alex just slipped up. He rerouted his focus to think neutral (as positive was a little out of reach), think solutions, think forward. 

Life is not a fiction. Not a page-turning romantic thriller nor bafta-nominated melodrama. He was not a leading man. Y/N was not the Eurydice to his Orpheus. Alex was himself. A regular human – he did not have the liberty of being able to go on an epic quest or save the world to prove himself to her.

He could not win back her comfort in him with a grandiose gesture – even if he wanted to. It had to be words. It had to be realistic actions. Sincere. Genuine. And Alex did not care if it would be difficult or if Y/N was difficult to understand, to please, he would keep trying until she told him to stop.

There was no guarantee Y/N would ever again see him as a safe space. Still, he would do his all because…well because he missed her. Alex had never missed someone like he did Y/N. 

He missed her more than he would miss his own heart if it lept from his chest. He missed her like they had spent their entire existence together up until that moment. He missed holding her close – brushing his fingers over her soft skin. He missed that blissful moment where he got to wake up with her there. 

Most of all, he missed how stable she made him feel. He was more present with her than he had been all his twenty-odd years. When she was with him, Alex lived a lifetime in each individual second.

Y/N made him feel strong for the first time in a long time.  He could not always carry himself, but  he would always, always be there to carry her.  

A minute later, George returned to the room with a water bottle in both hands; without warning, he chucked one towards the sofa. It struck Alex in the chest and landed in his lap before he doubled over. 

“Ow!” he shouted into his knees.

Taking a swig from his bottle, the older sighed and asked, “You alright?”

“No!” Alex popped back up and shouted. “You just hit me with a water bottle, you fucking idiot.”

George dropped his then half-full bottle onto the coffee table and took an extra step toward the sofa but remained standing. Looking down on the younger – something George did not have much experience in – he jabbed his index finger into his flatmate’s temple, pushing his head to the side.

“I meant your head.” He repeated, “You alright?”

“Again, George? We’re doing this again? You’ve never checked up on me this much before. Are you alright, Mr. Authoritarian?” Alex stood up and pushed his chin forward, bringing their faces closer and exaggerating the centimetre or four he had over his flatmate in height.

Shrugging both his shoulder, not flustered in the slightest, George said, “I’ve seen you like this before.”

“Like what?”

“After a break-up, you’re fine and good for a few months, but then you get a crush, and you start doing this to yourself. Fixating and—and fanning all these feelings and hyping yourself up to be disappointed. Now with Red—”

“I don’t want to talk about Red.” Alex snapped and moved to step around the coffee table, uncomfortable with the closeness he created. “For fuck sake, my life doesn’t revolve around the woman.”

“I’m not saying that.” George followed him. “Just that with the health advisements and staying inside, maybe you clung onto the first attractive person you saw in reach. Sammy’s not the type you go for – too muscular or whatever – so it’s Red. You should recognize that it’s not real; it’s nothing to do with her as a person; it’s just your pattern.” His prepared sounding speech came to an end as he placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Disgust glazing over his eyes, Alex dropped his shoulder recoiling from the contact like it might burn him. His voice was not gentle, with the sound of his scowl in each syllable, “You really think I’m that pathetic, huh?”

“In a few days or weeks, it’ll go away, all this, and you will feel like a complete idiot for acting like you are.”

“If you know that it’s not going to last, then why are you being such a prick? Why don’t you let me have a little fun in my,” he raised his hands, putting air quotes on his last word, “delusion?”

“Is that what Red is to you? Entertainment?” George looked disappointed. “That’s not fair—”

“No.” Alex refused, folding his arms. “I was repeating what you were saying.”

It went quiet; a pin could drop, and the sound would reverberate like in an echo chamber. Sweat beaded up on both men’s foreheads. Tensions unfamiliar to their apartment seemed to raise the temperature beyond boiling. Alex hated arguing – hated arguing with George. It was not something that happened almost ever until…Y/N.

In the silence, George closed his eyes, squeezed them shut as he dipped his chin to his chest. He blew out a harsh breath before straightening up and again opening his mouth. “If you do not listen to me. If you do not listen to yourself – that logical bit that isn’t wank material and how to get canceled – you are going to do something you regret. People will get hurt. Sorry I’m such a massive prick, but I know you, Alex. I know you and you’ll be fine; you always are. You’ll laugh off this ridiculous crush like you did when you were done daydreaming about Tom Holland twenty-four-seven those two months straight after Homecoming came out. You’ll be fine, but Sammy and Red might not be. I don’t want you starting a fight you’re not able to finish.”

Despite standing still with firm feet, Alex backed off. He could not keep holding on in the intense staredown, and he looked away. Folded arms dropped. There would be no response from him, not to that.

“You not saying anything proves my point.” George finished though he was not triumphant sounding. He spoke like something was blocking his throat, “You know what you’ve been doing is wrong, and you know I’m right.”

Taglist: (message to join!) @angelbabyivy​ @eboysimp​​ @trhtshonf @jaythegay92

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

The Backstage Pass (Out)

Hey everyone... this is still not an update of Do You Wanna Dance? but another pathetic attempt of me to provide you with PJ-related reading material... Sssooo, there was this post of @gardenofstoney... and I’ve always taken tags verry seriously. I felt addressed since the situation she described sounded absolutely like a perfect fanfic material so I ended up playing with the idea. One thing led to another and a Stone Gossard one-shot happened, which I hereby share with you (with her and @mookiebaelock’s consent). Disclaimer: may contain traces of Jeff Ament!

Ps. I solemnly swear I get Judy out of the shower soon.

„Are you sure you don’t want to move towards the side of the stage? These Vedder-fanatics seem pretty dangerous, I’m not sure I want to be here when they go wild…” Mel asked fidgeting with the setups of her professional camera.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m fine here…” Maggie answered leaning her forehead against her arms that were resting on the barrier. She was dog-tired; she and her best friend, Mel were cueing the whole day to get there at the show of their favorite band, Pearl Jam. Actually, Pearl Jam was their second favorite band but it was the rock group that brought them together. They saw each other’s introduction in the “Pen Pal Wanted” column of Footsteps, the band’s fanzine and the rest was history... And finally, they were there, standing at their precious front row places, waiting for the show to begin…

They agreed on standing in front of the center of the stage since they both had different preferences… Mel was dying to make close shots of her bassist crush (and maybe steal a few smiles and glances from him), while Maggie was interested in the other side of the stage… to be more accurate, in the person who regularly ruled it. Stone Gossard. The absent-minded, aloof alien who played the rhythm guitar parts and who, unfortunately, wasn’t the most responsive member of the band. He was said to be a sarcastic, hilarious and nice guy but at shows he just… didn’t give a shit about the crowd. He was usually absorbed in the songs, following the rhythm with his entire body, marching to the beat or just bobbing his head… but that was all. No interaction, no communication, just the chords. If Maggie had been alone there, she would have picked his side and stayed there as if she had been pinned to the ground… but Mel wanted to stand near Jeff so they made a compromise. Of course, Mel tried every kind of dirty trick to lure her closer to Mike’s and Jeff’s territory and Maggie begged desperately with her irresistible sad puppy face to move in the other direction, after all, if the mountain won't come to Muhammad… and Jeff would bounce around, anyways, she argued. But neither of them could convince the other one so they were stuck in front of the place of Eddie Vedder and they knew they would have to fight hard to be able to keep their position.

“You will defend me, I know.” Maggie cuddled to her friend, letting herself be pulled in a bear hug. She was short and slim, the top of her head barely reached the level of the tall Mel’s chin, that’s why they often joked about themselves being two dogs coming from different species but being allies and best friends forever.

“I’ll defend you just… not now, oh my god, ohmygod, they’re here, that’s him!!!” Mel suddenly let her go frantically taking one picture after another of her main target.

“Okay, I can’t win against Jeff Ament…” Maggie shook her head with a forgiving smile only to discover the object of her admiration appearing on the other side of the stage, walking around with a deadpan on his face. She couldn’t help chuckling when she noticed he was wearing a black socks-dress shoes combo... with light brown shorts. She’d already got used to these weird testimonies of his terrible fashion sense but he always managed to surprise her with a newer unacceptable outfit.

When the singer finally showed up too, the crowd moved forward, pressing the girls against the barrier… and from that moment on, they only had some rest during the slower songs. Not that they wanted to complain, they were singing along the lyrics, screaming, laughing, crying or just squeezing each other’s hand making sure they were not dreaming, they were finally together, having the time of their life, really living their favorite songs. Mel was overly contented with seeing the bass player’s manly moves in the tight tank top he was wearing and the passionate solos and dazed-off moments of Mike pleased both of them too, even if they were within the spitting range of Ed. But as time went by, they both started feeling the depressing thought that this would be over soon, even if they tried to fight against it by bouncing and screaming twice as intensely as before…

When Stone started playing the opening chords of State of Love and Trust, the crowd went completely nuts and Maggie had to tighten her grip not to be drifted… the pressure behind her eased for a second but at once, she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and lost the touch with the outside world…

***

Mhmmmm… what are these bright lights? I must have died and got in that shining corridor about which people who experienced clinical death always tell…

“Jesus, I go blind…” I mumble… or am I just hearing my own thoughts? Shit, this splitting headache, I’m definitely alive, I must have fallen asleep after taking in my migraine pill.

“Do you prefer low light?” a nasal male voice asks and as I look around, I find myself lying on a couch but I’m not in my own apartment, I don’t know this place. Oh, so I’m in a dream, nice, let’s see where it’s going…

“Yes, please!” I groan covering my eyes.

“Clouds roll by… sorry, bad joke, here, is it better his way?”

I take away my hand from my eyes and let them adjust to the pleasant half-light provided probably by a standing lamp somewhere out of my sight. When did I learn how to change the setting of my dreams? Cool… The owner of the voice takes place opposite me only to make me realize, I’m in a Stone dream, moreover, this time it’s a new one.

“Are you okay?” he’s checking me with the inquiring but still expressionless stare of a toad.

“More or less…” I mumble helplessly. Interesting, I’ve never had such a vivid dream about him, it’s somehow different, like I was in charge, I’ve never felt like this before while dreaming… Familiar melodies provide the musical accompaniment, I have to listen for a few bars until I recognize Yellow Ledbetter… but he’s here… and the music comes from…?

“Are we… at a show?” I ask suspiciously, I’m afraid that despite the realistic surrounding, it’ll turn into an incoherent screenplay written by my subconscious.

“Yes, we are…”

“But how come you’re not playing? You should be on the stage with the others…”

“I don’t feel like playing… I mean in that song, I have basically not much to do, I strum the same chords as Mike, it’s boring. At sound checks, sometimes I beg until I can play the drum parts, I’m a desperate drummer but I love it. But the rhythm guitar part is just… nah. Plus, I had to pee, anyways.”

“Fair enough.” I snicker. He’s such an awkward dork, even in my dreams. “Well, that happens if a musician is too busy with drinking beer at gigs instead of playing”.

“Excuse me?” he startles offended. That’s my favorite thing in dreaming, I can do and say what I’d never dare in real life.

“Do you think we don’t notice when you’re just fudging, walking around with the guitar and use the change of amplifier setups as an excuse to take a few sip of your booze? That doesn’t really count as musical contribution.”

“Ugh, busted. I try not to drink before the show though. Right as soon as I get onstage I start drinking. But come on, I never belch out of key, what’s this if not musical humility?”

I snort shaking my head and keep grinning from ear to ear. If he’s such a hilariously funny guy in my fantasy, how adorable he can be in the reality… I know he used to be an annoying, sarcastic little shit but when PJ got really successful, he mellowed down and made himself to the main target of his irony… The mixture of this down-to-earth humbleness and calm confidence was one of the main reasons why he became my favorite member in the band; in the band that only consists of great, relatable people, by the way.

Maybe I should use the occasion to have a chitchat with him, I could ask him questions about stuff I’ve always wanted to know… even if the answers are only the products of my mind…

“Do you see the world in yellow?”

Okay, maybe that’s not the best start but the colored lenses of his spectacles somehow distracted me and it just slipped out. He reacts with that short, amused eyebrow twitch I love… good job, Maggie.

“It’s a good question! It’s funny, nobody asked that before… but to answer it, I do, it’s like being trapped in that moment of sunset when everything is glowing in that golden light… but to be less poetic, it makes everyone look as if they were Lego figures, they have yellow head, y’know…”

The mentioning of my favorite toy brings back old memories about the times when I was building my own town with eclectic houses that served as the scene of the made-up action stories crafted by my cousin and me.

“I you were a Lego figure, you’d be a bad boy.” I remark with a timid smile and try to ignore the fact that my cheeks are in flames.

“Only if I were a Lego figure? That’s offensive. I was the member of the gang Newton Street Boys. We were the most dangerous guys on whole Capitol Hill, we terrorized the district by taking protection rackets from kindergarten pupils. They were scared to death when we showed up riding our bikes, I liked the banana-seat ones with the high handlebars - maybe a card in the wheel could have been part of it.” he chuckles playfully. “Anyway, why a bad boy?”

“It’s because of the scruff.” I giggle and reach out to pinch his neck but he leans away.

“Please don’t touch me.” he grunts.

Hey, brain, we had an agreement: if I behave decently enough in real life, you won’t throw any obstacles in the way of my naughty tendencies at nights. So if I want to touch Stone’s perfect neck, I’m gonna to do it. Period.

“I said no!!!” he repeats this time angrier when my fingers approach his skin again. What the hell???

“Sorry. I… I just wanted to say that there were those bearded figures… and you could get them mostly from the pirate or the police station series.”

“You mean they had an attachable Lego beard?” he inquires confused and excited at the same time; I’m sure he’s already forgotten the embarrassing intermezzo and is now desperately trying to recall the look of the little yellow dudes.

“Haha, no, it was just painted on their face. There was the moustache, the regular beard and the scruff that basically meant black dots on their face. And the scruffy guys always played the role of the bad boys in my stories. You know, the bank robber, the fleeing prisoner…”

“… the fucked-up musician… we should definitely have a Lego party once!”

“We should…” I repeat and we’re smiling silently at each other for a few seconds… I clear my throat and swallow hard since my mouth got completely dry, shit, it must be that damn gum-shield I have to wear at nights to prevent myself from gnashing.

“You want some water?” he asks walking to a fridge standing at the door.

“Fuck, yes, I’m dying of thirst.” I moan and I mean it.

“Here.” he hands a small bottle to me while he opens a beer can. I rather don’t make any remarks, the show is over, after all… But now that I think into it, maybe the other band members will show up too… I can’t wait!

I lower my head and press the ice cold bottle against my forehead. It feels incredibly good, that blinding pain is still pulsing in my head. As I direct my gaze onto the ground, I can’t help laughing again when I spot his dress shoes and the black socks tucked into them. The hem rolled down around his left ankle making the socks look like they were unmatched.

However thirsty I am, I can only take small sips since I’m already snorting at the next part of this weird vision.

“Anyway… before the others would arrive, there’s one thing we have to discuss.” I begin when I finally manage to force my facial muscles into a serious expression.

“Something that stays between us? Like a dirty little secret?” his face lights up with a boyish smile.

“Kind of, if your socks are dirty…” I roll my eyes. “It’s the footwear.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Of course yours, mine is normal. Matching boots, a totally adequate choice for a rock concert. But yours is just… criminal.”

“Don’t be rude with my shoes, they look good and they are comfy as fuck!” he circles with his feet comically.

“They do but man, look in that mirror!” I point at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. “You look like the mixture of an elementary school boy and a bachelor dressed by his mother. Shorts with dress shoes? How? Why? It’s an obvious no-no!” I scream.

“I have only these ones, sneakers and flip flops with me, which doesn’t leave much variation.” he shrugs briefly.

“You should have chosen the sneakers… as for the “f” word, I’m not even willing to pronounce it.”

“I always wore hiking boots in the earlier times, they were the most comfortable choice but they weren’t compatible with the heat on stage. And then, I got introduced in the magical world of orthopedic sandals but the band somehow vetoed them, I don’t really understand why... I was only allowed to wear them between shows and at soundchecks but at gigs, I had to wear the boots… Once, before a show, maybe in Atlanta, I can’t remember exactly, the sole of my boot separated so I could only wear my sandals… the guys freaked out about my velvet shorts-sweatpants-white socks-sandals outfit and obliged me to wear Jeff’s shoes during the show.” he recalls but I can barely listen to him, his hand talk and the fidgeting alien fingers are definitely more appealing than the image of Birkenstocks worn with socks.

As my eyes are glued to him, I involuntarily start playing with my hair but my fingers land in something sticky. I check them and glance at him helplessly, as if he could help me find out why blood is the next nonsense feature in this scene.

“Fuck, why didn’t you tell me earlier that you’re bleeding?” he shouts and rushes to the fridge.

“Because I didn’t know…” I mutter and can’t form further coherent sentences since he steps back to me with an ice bag and presses it to the back of my head… and he keeps standing opposite me with his arms laced around my neck. I’m desperately trying to look at the ceiling, the ground and the four walls at the same time, anywhere but him…

“This is too embarrassing, I want this to finally end… this is terrible.” I whisper in pain, fixing my gaze on the ugly shoes and working on calming down my hyperventilation with all my nerves.

“Hey, I just wanted to help! Just for the record, we don’t often let passed-out fans in the backstage, you were in bad shape and…”

“No, I mean, thanks and all but this dream… it’s going nowhere, it was funny but you entering into my personal space creates a tension that needs resolution, like a hug or a kiss or anything, this makes just no sense!” I blurt out, basically arguing with myself, the director of the movie.

“What? That doctor could finally arrive, you must have a concussion!” he gently tries to push me back onto to the couch but I shake his hands off me.

“What doctor... wait… the pain… the blood… is this… real?” I flail still hoping he doesn’t exist and suddenly disappears or turns into my real crush or Edge from U2 or whatever.

“You got hit with by a half-empty beer can and you passed out so the security personnel fished you out of the crowd. Since I came back anyway, I suggested that they should lay you down here until they get a doctor. You got a backstage pass by passing out. A backstage pass out.” he tries to ease he situation with a pun but I’m not really in the mood.

“No… the scruff… the shoes… the ki… I can’t believe I said all this bullshit, this is worse than a nightmare…” I bury my face into my palms completely mortified and stumble back towards the couch dizzily. Suddenly, I hear a familiar voice… Mel!!!

***

“I’m not going to repeat this again, my best friend is in that room so if you won’t let me in immediately, I’m going to fuckin’ sue you!!!” Mel pointed with her index finger outraged at the huge guy standing in front of the door of the dressing room. Actually, instead of suing, she wanted to headbutt him in the chest but she knew it would feel like running into a concrete wall. She’d already been arguing with him for like fifteen minutes but the guy was just standing there with folded arms, stoically bearing the threats and the various spells casted on him by the furious girl.

“Hey, Ernie, I think you can let her in, her friend has just woken up, it’d be better if she’s with her when the doctor arrives…” a top of a head with ruffled hair peeked out of the door. The security guard obeyed and silently stepped aside.

“Maggie!!!” Mel shouted and tossed the young man in the door away to get a free way to her friend. “I was so worried about you!!!” she captured her into a rib-breaking hug.

“I’m… I’m okay… Stone took care of me…” Maggie mumbled against Mel’s chest trying to point at the guitarist under her friend’s arm.

“Stone???” Mel screamed making both of them turn around without breaking the hug.

“Yup.” the guitarist waved clumsily with one hand at her, digging his other hand deeply in his pocket.

Maggie managed to tiptoe enough to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, which allowed her to saw the door opening… only to recognize the other members of the band arriving back from the stage. The small group was guided by Jeff who stopped at the door exchanging a surprised look with the embarrassed guitarist standing in the room.

Maggie started silently shaking of laughter because she could already imagine what’d happen next…

“Uhm… Mel… I’m choking… please let me go…” she acted patting her friend’s back a few times. “I think you should turn back… slowly…” she recommended biting her lips to hide her amusement when she pulled away to see the girl’s reaction.

“Why… what…?” Mel looked back over her shoulder and… due to the bassist’s excellent reflexes, she didn’t land on the ground but in his arms. Jeff stared shocked alternately at the unconscious girl and the other ones, begging for help with his eyes.

“Jesus, not again… “Stone sighed facepalming.” She’s yours, I’m out.”

[wazafam]

Disenchantment has returned for a third season and its amazing ensemble of veteran voice actors has returned with it. The new season also boasts some impressive guest stars, who only appear for an episode or two, but have a major impact upon the story and setting.

Set in a fantasy realm that may also be the same reality as Futurama, Disenchantment centers around Princess Tabeanie, or Bean for short. A hard-drinking rebel who has little use for her father's ideas about marrying her off to secure an alliance with a neighboring nation, Bean feels that there's some great destiny awaiting her somewhere outside the gates of Dreamland. She's right, but she's also not too crazy about fulfilling that destiny, which involves paying a debt her mother's family owes Hell and having a crown screwed into her head.

Related: Netflix: The Best New TV Shows & Movies This Weekend (January 15)

Season 3 picks up right where season 2 ended, with Bean having escaped being burned at the stake as a witch by a mob of Dreamlanders only to find herself surrounded by an entirely different mob of Trogs: a race of stunted, sub-terrain cave dwellers, who are in league with Bean's treacherous mother, Queen Dagmar. Here's a rundown of all the returning cast of Disenchantment and the roles that they play, as well as all the guest stars with major roles in season 3.

The lead heroine of Disenchantment, Bean is not your typical tomboy princess who wants adventure in the great wide somewhere. She'd be much happier if she just had the freedom to get wasted and pick up whatever cute guys she could find at the tavern, but fate (and the rest of the world, it seems) have other plans for her. She is voiced by Abbi Jacobson, who is best known as the creator and star of Broad City. She can also be heard in Bojack Horseman as the voice of Todd's ex-girlfriend, Emily.

Luci is Bean's own personal demon, bonded to her for all eternity to push her to the path of wickedness. This proved to be a much easier job than Luci's masters in Hell had anticipated, and he soon began to slack off on his demonic duties to run a bar and contribute to the general wickedness of Dreamland as a whole. Luci is voiced by Eric André, who is perhaps most famous as the creator and host of The Eric André Show. He also voiced the hyena Azizi in The Lion King remake.

Too cynical for the world of elves and too naïve for the world of man, Elfo is a half-elf who isn't entirely sure where he belongs. He has found a place at Bean's side, but his crush on her is unrequited and the only other love he seems to find is in all the wrong places (very wrong, incredibly sick and filthy wrong places). Elfo is voiced by writer/actor Nat Faxon, who is probably best known for his collaborations with Jim Rash, such as The Descendants and The Way, Way Back. He also played a lead in the FX show Married and the Netflix comedy series Friends From College. More recently, he's provided the voice for Captain Underpants in The Epic Tales of Captain Underpants in Space and will be playing Han Solo in the upcoming Star Wars: Detours series.

Related: Netflix: Every Movie and TV Show Releasing In January 2021

  Absolute ruler of Dreamland and Bean's beloved (if begrudging) father, King Zøg starts season 3 in ill health and on the verge of losing his life along with his crown. Naturally Zøg being Zøg, he's more concerned about the hat than his health. He is voiced by animation legend John DiMaggio, who is well known to Futurama fans as the voice of Bender. He also provided the voice for Jake the Dog in Adventure Time, Dr. Drakken on Kim Possible, and even Marcus Fenix in the Gears of War video game series. Recently, he voiced Heidegger in the English dub of the Final Fantasy VII remake. He also voiced both King Shark and the demon Trigon in Justice League Dark: Apokolips War.

The second wife of Zøg, who abandoned him and Dreamland to seek a new life as Queen of the Pirates, Oona returns to Dreamland in Disenchantment season 3. She is voiced by Tress MacNeille, who has voiced multiple characters on both The Simpsons and Futurama, including Agnes Skinner and Mom (of Mom's Friendly Robot Corp.). MacNeille also provides the voices for Prince Derek and the Archdruidess who leads Dreamland's state religion. She is also beloved as the voice of Dot Warner from Animaniacs.

Heir to the throne of the neighboring kingdom of Bentwood, Prince Merkimer was intended to be Bean's second fiancée after the untimely impalement of his older brother. While the wedding was called off after he was turned into a talking pig, Merkimer continued to hang around the palace of Dreamland being sad and/or drunk. He is voiced by British comedian Matt Berry, who is famous for his appearances on The IT Crowd, Toast of London, and What We Do In The Shadows. He can currently be heard in The Watch, lending his voice to a magic sword named Wayne.

A torturer and executioner by trade, Stan is still a jovial man who does his job with a kind word and a craftsman's eye. He is voiced by British comedy legend Noel Fielding, who is well-known as one half of The Mighty Boosh and for playing Richmond in The IT Crowd. Viewers may recognize him as a co-presenter for The Great British Bake-Off. He also lent his voice to Balthazar in The LEGO Movie 2.

Related: Disenchantment Season 2 Has Some Weird Game Of Thrones References

Still best known for playing the role of Michael Bolton in Office Space, David Herman went on to become one of the most prolific voice actors in Hollywood. He voices several characters in Disenchantment, the most notable being the Herald of Dreamland. He also provides the voices for Bean's uncle Jerry and the snarky spa attendant Chazz. He can also be heard as Mr. Frond in Bob's Burgers and Dmitry in Central Park.

Bean's mother and King Zøg's first wife, Dagmar is a wicked witch who has big plans for Bean involving some sort of prophecy. Season 3 will find her once again manipulating her daughter for her own sinister designs. Dagmar is voiced by Sharon Horgan, a comedian and voice actor who has appeared in several British sitcoms including Catastrophe and This Way Up. She provides the voices for Courtney Portnoy in Bojack Horseman and Kathleen in Bob's Burgers and also appeared in the movie Game Night

One of the most prolific voice actors in the business, Maurice LaMarche is perhaps most famous for his impression of Orson Welles, whom he played on both The Simpsons and Futurama. His voice was also dubbed over Vincent D'Onofrio's performance as Orson Wells in Tim Burton's biographical film Ed Wood. LaMarche's chief role on Disenchantment is the treacherous, three-eyed minister Odval, but he voices a number of supporting roles as well, such as the legendary demon hunter Big Jo.

Bunty is Bean's simple-minded, ever-pregnant maid. She is voiced by Lucy Montgomery, who will be familiar to many fans of British comedy. She appeared in the 2011 revival of Absolutely Fabulous, The Armstrong and Miller Show, Bellamy's People of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and Tracy Breaks the Internet. She can also be heard on a number of children's programs, having lent her voice to both Thomas the Tank-Engine and Bob the Builder.

Related: All The Simpsons & Futurama Easter Eggs In Disenchantment Season 2 

The chief wizard of Dreamland ever since he was allowed to put stars on his dunce cap, Sorcerio is perhaps the most incompetent member of Dreamland's ruling council — a low bar to jump over. He is voiced by legendary voice actor Billy West, who is instantly recognizable to fans of Futurama as the voice of Fry, Zoidberg, Zapp Brannigan and Professor Farnsworth. West has provided several iconic voices over his long career, including the title characters from The Ren & Stimpy Show and Doug. West pulls quadruple-duty on Disenchantment as well, also providing the voices for the Jester, Sir Mertz, and the Elf King Rulo.

Season 3 of Disenchantment briefly finds Elfo confined to a freak show, where he befriends a sarcastic mermaid named Mora who has dreams of being an actress. Mora is voiced by Meredith Hagner, who might be recognized as Portia Davenport from Search Party. She also voiced Madison on Bob's Burgers.

Rich Fulcher as Sir Turbish - Best known for his work with Noel Fielding and Matt Berry on various projects, Rich Fulcher returns to voice the awkward but well meaning Sir Turbish.

Lauren Tom as Trixy - Well known to Futurama fans as the voice of Amy Wong, Lauren Tom lends her voice to Trixy: a female Torg who develops a truly disturbing attraction to Elfo.

Richard Ayoade as Alva - Best known as Maurice Moss from The IT Crowd, Richard Ayodae plays Alva, the mysterious man who essentially rules Steamland.

Phil LaMarr as God - Best known to Futurama fans as the voice of Hermes Conrad, Phil LaMarr returns as the voice of God, the chief deity of Disenchantment's cosmology.

More: Disenchantment: The Biggest Unanswered Questions After Season 2's Ending

Disenchantment Season 3 Cast & Character Guide: What The Voice Actors Look Like from https://ift.tt/3ikobqy

[kuriquinn]

Prompt/Request - Gal Friday [Pt 2]

Anonymous said:

Your stories are frigging awesome. I fell in love with Gal Friday and it’s the best boss and Asst fic I have ever read in any fandom. You made Sakura so Bamf without Mary sue tendencies. I am desperately hoping for a small sneak peek into Sakura and Sauce's interactions at the office from Sauce's Point of view. It can just be a one-shot as I know you are very busy. Take your time and keep up the awesomeness Kuri.

AN: Well, I was eventually going to continue this one but I figured, why not, let’s treat it like a prompt/request :P Also, I’m posting early because I might not have time tomorrow and I don’t like to use the queue option because for some reason it mucks with my formatting...

Once again I shamelessly stole from Suits, but I just love the idea of Sakura Haruno being as chill and confident as Donna Paulsen. Inner Sakura is totally reigning in this fic…

Sasuke arrives work the next morning with a throbbing headache and a larger than usual disdain for the world.

He hates mornings on principle, but powers through them because he has to. Today he’s regretting that second tumbler of whiskey – alcohol tolerance is one of the few areas that he doesn’t shine – and wishing he could have just stayed in bed.

The surreal meeting with someone named Haruno feels like no more than a dream, and he thinks it’s entirely conceivable that he hallucinated her –

Except when he exits the elevator and heads into his office, there is a perplexingly familiar pink haired person standing by his desk.

What the…?

He strides forward, trying to disguise his confusion with a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” he demands, his head pulsing painfully with every word. He hopes to convey several other questions with that one demand -  how did you get in the building without identification, who let you up, why wasn’t I informed?

“I have my ways,” she informs him, sounding maddeningly cheerful and enigmatic as she hands him a cup of coffee. “Here – black, no sugar and a dash of cinnamon and chili power.”

He blinks, so caught off balance by the segue that he automatically reaches for the cup.

“How do you know that’s how I take my coffee,” he asks, eyes flicking disdainfully down to the cup, all the while blaming sleep-deprivation and the hangover for his uncharacteristic malleability this morning.

“The same way I know you’ve decided to hire me.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I’m going to hire you because I haven’t called security yet.”

“Oh, I knew you were hiring me the second you let me help sneak you out of that soiree early,” she retorts easily as he shifts in surprise – he doesn’t remember that – and continues smugly, “I did tell you I know people better than they know themselves.”

Sasuke considers her again for a further minute, and then relaxes. He’s not sure if it’s in resignation or acceptance. At least she’s dressed appropriately for work today, pink hair aside. And she brought him caffeine, which is a start.

“Fine,” he says, reaching for his chair. “When Hokumono gets in tell her –”

“Already done.”

He raises an eyebrow, only slightly taken aback. “You didn’t kill her, did you?”

“While that’s not outside of my power, no, I had Nanmono-san reassign her,” she informs him unconcernedly. As if there’s nothing outstanding about some strange woman walking into a major business and ordering a man three times her size to reallocate another employee.

“Where?”

“Shikamaru Nara.”

Sasuke’s mouth twitches, because he knows how much that will piss off the other man – and have the added bonus of ensuring he can’t nod off watching clouds. Hokumono Tayuya swears like a Yankī at the most random moments, and he’s pretty sure she would rather head a biker gang than be working as a corporate assistant. He vaguely recalls hearing that a powerful relation or something got her the job – which she kept due to the general uselessness of the former CEO and Sasuke’s own distaste for filling out paperwork.

It’s a change he welcomes, although he doesn’t tell this to the unbelievably cheerful woman before him. Instead he deflects, inquiring, “Other than firing my assistant, do you actually know how to complete administrative work?”

“Really, Sasuke-kun, you’re still doubting my abilities?” she teases, reaching for a tablet beside her. It’s this more than anything that stops him from reacting with knee-jerk annoyance at the casual form of address.

“Where did you get that?” he demands, staring at the company issue digital tablet that her fingers dance across.

“I know someone in IT,” she answers, and then passes him the device. He stares uncomprehendingly down at the screen and sees that – somehow – she’s managed to space out his double- and triple-booked meetings and appointments throughout the week according to maximum efficiency. The most important individuals are always scheduled in the morning, just as he likes it, and she has even accounted for his kendo schedule and a weekly luncheon at his favorite restaurant.

She looks as if she’s expecting him to compliment her or acknowledge his amazement at her skills, but he was raised in a family that didn’t waste praise on qualities a person knew were exceptional. She’ll learn that quickly if she expects to stay here.

“Hatake will never be on time for these, no matter how adequate you are at scheduling things,” he points out, gesturing to his Tuesday and Thursday appointments with his head of advertising.

“We’ll see about that,” she says, grinning wolfishly like she has taken that as a personal challenge. Sasuke thinks he doesn’t envy Kakashi having to face that particular resolve.

“Hm,” he says, because he has nothing to say to that.

“On that note, I have paperwork to file, and you have phone calls to return,” she goes on, passing him a notepad with neat writing on it.

“You answered my phone,” he deadpans.

“Well, Hokumono wasn’t going to, she was busy swearing a blue streak all the way down to the fourth floor. Also, your mother called – ”

“… you spoke to my mother?”

“ – She wanted to know if you were coming to your nephew’s birthday.”

Sasuke’s eye twitches. “What did you tell her?”

“That the Taka merger is today and you can’t miss it, but because you know the importance of family you’ll squeeze in a half hour on your way there,” she answers without missing a beat, “which will give you enough time to make a quick round of greetings and drop off a gift.”

“I don’t have –”

“Yes, you do, you’re giving him a giant Lego set, which is fun enough for a boy Haochizuki’s age and is educational – it helps with motor skills, fosters lateral thinking and creativity.”

“Did you memorize the brochure?” he grumbles, trying get over the constant sense of being thrown off balance.

“No, I played with a lot of Lego as a kid.”

“Of course you did,” he mutters.”

“Anyhow, given the short time frame you have, you won’t be able to stay very long – and if you greet the following guests that I’ve noted at the bottom of the page there –”

“Hold on, you know who’s attending?”

“Of course, once I called your sister-in-law to make sure the gift was age appropriate –”

“How the hell did you get Izumi’s phone number?” he demands, all ability to pretend aloofness disappearing.

She smirks at him. “Ways. I have them. Now stop interrupting, you have a tight schedule this morning and don’t have time to be basking in my awesomeness.”

Sasuke’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click.

“As I was saying, if you greet all those people I listed, you can make some valuable network connections, and also limit the amount of time you actually speak to your brother to about a minute and a half. Forty-five seconds if you stop in to compliment Inuzuka-san about his dog. It’s up to you which one you’d rather stomach.”

“Do you ever breathe?” he asks dimly.

“Only when I have to,” she chirps. “I told you – I’m not like any other assistant you could have. I’m Haruno Sakura. And I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

Again, he doesn’t know what to say to that.

It bothers him that somehow this…this person manages to put him off balance to easily, to the point he actually has to interpret what she’s saying to him because it makes no sense. He wonders if this is what it’s like for Naruto when Sasuke talks to him.

So, instead of commenting, he instead says, “Whatever,” and sits down.

“I’m taking my conference calls now – don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“You got it, boss!”

She strides confidently from the room.

“And for the record, I don’t take cinnamon in my coffee,” he calls after her.

“You will when you try that,” she replies without even turning her head.

Sasuke scowls at her retreating back through the glass windows of his office and sits back in his chair, somehow already exhausted.

How can anyone be so…exuberant this early in the morning?

Considering the merits of just firing her and finding a quiet, boring secretary – someone like Hyūga Hiashi’s daughter – Sasuke takes a resentful sip of his coffee.

And then startles at the sharp kick that shoots through him as he swallows.

Because it actually tastes good. Spicy, not sweet, and it feels like someone has hooked up an IV of caffeine directly to his veins.

“I told you so,” he hears Sakura singsong and when he glances up, she is grinning at him from her place at the desk outside his office.

Sasuke scowls at her and pointedly shoves the coffee cup away, reaching for his phone to dial his first appointment of the day.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

つづく

So, as I said, I’ll continue this one whenever the mood strikes me. It might not update as much as other stuff, but hey, when I’m inspired, you’ll get a chapter.

Reviews and concrit are appreciated!

クリ

Next Chapter

[365footballorg-blog]

How Cotterill used Lego in his long-term battle against depression

Warning: this article contains content which you may find upsetting.

Feeling he had nowhere else to turn, David Cotterill would try anything to distract his mind from his own thoughts.

There were times he’d be sat in a hotel room on international duty, spending hours painstakingly piecing together his latest Lego construction.

Teammates would raise eyebrows, but wouldn’t pick up on the clues. His kids aren’t with him. He’s not just passing time. He’s desperately trying to block out his own thoughts. Thoughts that would take him to dark places, even at one stage to contemplate suicide.

The 30-year-old knows such moments are some of his lowest in a battle he has fought with depression since his teens, moments that have proven far harder for him to forget than they are to talk about.

There were times when the Wales winger was stopped by the restraint and tears of his wife, feeling like he could no longer go on.

These were times and moments he would never dare discuss in front of managers or team-mates, fearful more of the consequences of opening up than of death.

‘Didn’t want to face the world’

These were the darkest days of Cotterill’s mental struggles, which he has carried with him through a career of more than 400 games for Birmingham, Swansea, Sheffield United, Doncaster and Wigan, including 24 caps for his country.

The Cardiff-born midfielder says he had most of the material things many would dream of: the cars, the house, the wages and the fulfilled boyhood ambition of playing in the Premier League and on the international stage.

This was all by the age of 17, all ultimately irrelevant to Cotterill, all overshadowed by a realisation that the depression and anxiety he has felt from schooldays was consuming him.

Football provided a release, but not the support.

“When you’re around others the conversations are flowing and you tend to not have time to think about it, you’re looking forward to going out to train,” Cotterill says, speaking publicly for the first time about his struggles.

“But there would be times when I finished training and I couldn’t wait to go and lie in bed. I’d be there for hours.

“Particularly in the off-season, I’d just spend three or four days at a time not even eating, just thinking the worst things you can imagine and not actually sleeping at all. You’d stay there because you didn’t want to face the world.”

<!–

Cotterill says he always “sensed he was a little bit different”; that it was more than just the typical teenage difficulties.

He says the excitement of his early career – he had already become Wales’ then-second youngest international in 2005 before a £2m move to the Premier League with Wigan from Bristol City – stopped him focusing on what was always in the background. It did not last.

“I had an Aston Martin, the big house, anything a person could want – but you can’t help what’s in the brain,” he concedes.

“It’s the most powerful tool you have and what you feel can block out everything you have. And when you’re fighting that battle every day, it takes its toll.”

Cotterill explains the hardest periods were often when he wasn’t playing, not because of being out of the team, but being unable to have what he calls his ‘release’.

“When I didn’t have that, it would double, triple what you’d have in your head,” he says.

‘How can you do that when you have children, a wife?’

Drink became a crutch, but it only, eventually, exacerbated the issues. A false sense of control built up into both rages and moments of clarity when he wanted it to end.

Cotterill recalls: “In the early stages, I’d always have to go and have a drive where I would spend hours in the car and think a lot of bad things.

Read more about depression on the NHS website[1]

“I’ve searched for the easiest way to commit suicide. Then you think, how can you do that when you have children, a wife?

“You kind of then have a couple of days when you feel OK again, but it keeps repeating itself.”

Cotterill says he realised he was in “a dark place”, although neither team-mates nor managers would ever know, something he believes is part of both his and football’s problem with depression.

In long periods on the road, he says plenty might have attempted conversations with him and “I wouldn’t be there” but, in general, he says they would also describe him as “one of the liveliest in the dressing room”.

He was never tempted to let them in.

‘There’s footballers all over the country who feel this way’

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“Put it this way, if I went to a manager and said I’m struggling mentally, I need a break or I need a little bit of help, there’s no way he’s playing me on a Saturday or a Tuesday,” Cotterill says.

“He would say ‘he’s not mentally stable, he’s not mentally up for it’ – and my release was to go and play.

“I guarantee there’s footballers all over the country who feel this way. They won’t tell the manager because they’re not going to jeopardise their place, they’re not going to jeopardise their earnings to look after their family, so they’re parking this to one side.

“I don’t think you can go to the manager or club and say, ‘by the way I’m not coming in today, I’m going to see a doctor because mentally I’m not feeling great’. It’s not possible.”

Cotterill credits his wife of two-and-a half years for making a big change to how he’s learned to cope with his mental illness, adding that “without her I probably wouldn’t be here today”.

It was her he first opened up to, saying he had “parked” for too long because of football.

Using Lego as therapy

Cotterill would use Lego as a way of distracting him during long hours in hotel rooms, team-mates not picking up on the clues of the therapeutic nature of constructing toy brick buildings.

Without a club after his release from Birmingham and a short-lived spell in India, cooking is his latest focus.

Counselling and regular contacts with a therapist have helped. He took a personal decision to opt against the support of the Professional Footballers’ Association (PFA) because he wanted to go “outside of football”, though he accepts they could be the best choice for others who he encourages to “find that person you can speak to”.

“I feel better for speaking about it,” he says, with one of the reasons for breaking his silence being to help others feel more able to talk about issues honestly.

“When I spoke to my wife more about it I actually felt better. Your rash decisions and what you’re doing doesn’t make sense, but if you explain it more you’re getting it off your chest and people can better understand why you act the way you act.”

Yet, pointing to the difference to the everyday workplace, the winger has his doubts if the football industry can change anytime soon.

BBC: Mental Health[2]

PFA: More players affected by mental health issues[3]

“I truly believe if a manager or club finds out they’d use it as a weapon to not play you. If you’re the big man or big dog in that football team you potentially might get help; if you’re just a number in that squad I don’t think you’re getting the help you deserve or need,” Cotterill says.

“If we’re trying to protect injuries, knee injuries, foot injuries, whatever it might be, then why are we not protecting the brain, I don’t get it. We definitely need to look into it.

“If everyone was open and honest (in football) about depression there would be a scary number. A huge number.”

Cotterill talks about being encouraged by his counselling to take the little steps rather than the big ones

But he knows going public is his biggest stride forward in a battle he admits he might never win, but simply learn to better deal with and manage.

And this time he is not concerned with the sporting consequences, saying: “If talking about it affects me from signing somewhere else then I don’t want to continue to play football.”

If you have been affected by the issues raised in this article you can find the details of organisations offering support via Action Line.[4]

References

^ Read more about depression on the NHS website (www.nhs.uk)

^ BBC: Mental Health (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ PFA: More players affected by mental health issues (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ Action Line. (www.bbc.co.uk)

BBC Sport – Football

How Cotterill used Lego in his long-term battle against depression was originally published on 365 Football

[janeaddamspeace]

Jacqueline Woodson, newly named 2018 Wilder Winner, Calls for the End of the Label "Struggling Reader" #JACBA Newsletter 16Feb2018

Stop Using the Label 'Struggling Reader,' Author Jacqueline Woodson Advises

Woodson: Any kind of qualifier can be harmful because who we are is not static. Our abilities are constantly changing. What does it mean to be a struggling reader? I know if I was raised in this day and age, I would have been labeled a struggling reader. But what I know now is I was actually reading like a writer. I was reading slowly and deliberately and deconstructing language, not in the sense of looking up words in the dictionary, but understanding from context. I was constantly being compared to my sister who excelled, and it made me feel insecure. What gets translated is 'you are not as good,' and that gets translated into our whole bodies. That's where the danger lies.

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Each Kindness written by Jacqueline Woodson, illustrated by E.B. Lewis 2013 Awardee

From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun by Jacqueline Woodson 1996 Awardee

I Hadn't Meant to Tell You This by Jacqueline Woodson 1995 Awardee

ALA Awards: Jacqueline Woodson wins 2018 Wilder Award

Jacqueline Woodson is the winner of the 2018 Laura Ingalls Wilder Award honoring an author or illustrator, published in the United States, whose books have made a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children. Her numerous works include "Brown Girl Dreaming" and "After Tupac & D Foster."

"From picture books through novels for young teens to her exquisite memoir in poetry, Jacqueline Woodson has established herself as an eloquent voice in contemporary children's literature," said Wilder Award Committee Chair Rita Auerbach.

If children's literature today addresses themes of racism, sexuality, and class; if previously invisible characters have come to the fore; if different voices are now heard; if more children see themselves and others in books, look to Jacqueline Woodson as a prime-mover. For over 25 years, in elegant poetry and prose, she has courageously explored issues once ignored and nurtured her readers' self-esteem and empathy.

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ALA Awards: Larry Dane Brimner wins 2018 Sibert Medal

Larry Dane Brimner, author of "Twelve Days in May: Freedom Ride 1961," was named the winner of the 2018 Robert F. Sibert Medal for the most distinguished informational book for children published in 2017.

"Twelve Days in May: Freedom Ride 1961" is published by Calkins Creek, an imprint of Highlights. In 1961 on the seventh anniversary of the Brown vs. Board of Education ruling, 13 freedom riders boarded two buses in Washington D.C. bound for New Orleans. The riders were willing to risk their lives to challenge illegal Jim Crow practices on interstate buses and in bus terminals.

"Spare text, bold graphics and arresting photos combine to take young readers on a 12-day journey through the Jim Crow American south of 1961," said Sibert Medal Committee Chair Tali Balas.

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We Are One: The Story of Bayard Rustin by Larry Dane Brimner 2008 Awardee

Birmingham Sunday by Larry Dane Brimner 2011 Awardee

ALA Awards: Eloise Greenfield is the 2018 recipient of the Coretta Scott King-Virginia Hamilton Award for Lifetime Achievement

"Eloise Greenfield is a trailblazer whose extraordinary books of poetry and prose have influenced many and continue to resonate with children today. Her rich body of work inspires and enriches readers," said Award Committee Chair Deborah D. Taylor.

Early in life, [Greenfield] discovered a love of reading and writing and realized there were few books that showed the fullness of African American life. She published her first book in 1972 and went on to write and publish more than 40 books. From "Honey, I Love" to "The Great Migration," this multiple award-winning author has captivated audiences through the years.

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Paul Robeson by Eloise Greenfield 1976 Awardee

Pierre TechnoKids to compete in World Championships

The Pierre Techno Kids, who compete in the FIRST LEGO League, will see competition at the FIRST Tech Challenge World Championships in Detroit on April 25-28. The teams create LEGO Mindstorms robots to help them complete these tasks. Teams compete in four areas, including a robot game that sees the robot complete a series of tasks in two and a half minutes without outside assistance. The other three area include core values robot design, and project.

The real world problem that teams were given this year was hydrodynamics, or in other words, the finding, transporting and use of water. According to Techno Kids coach Carolyn Ryckman, the team was inspired by the book "The Long Walk to Water" by Linda Sue Park, in which a girl in Sudan spends eight hours a day carrying water for her family. The solution that the Techno Kids developed was using drones to carry water to people in need.

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Newbery Medal-winner Linda Sue Park to speak at Bridgewater College

Children's and young adult literature author Linda Sue Park, winner of the 2002 Newbery Medal for her book, A Single Shard, will present a public lecture at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Feb. 21, in the Carter Center for Worship and Music at Bridgewater College.

She has written numerous picture books and novels for children and young adults, including the Publishers Weekly Best Books of the Year, When My Name Was Keoko, and Project Mulberry, which won the Chicago Tribune Young Adult Fiction Prize. Her most-recent titles are A Long Walk to Water (a novel from Clarion Books) that received the Jane Addams Children's Book Award; and more.

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A Long Walk to Water: Based on a True Story by Linda Sue Park 2011 Awardee

When My Name Was Keoko by Linda Sue Park 2003 Awardee

LI exhibitions shine light on black experience, artistry

Hofstra University is showcasing the work of artist Romare Bearden in a series titled 'Odysseus Suite.' Patchogue Arts Council is exhibiting the works of more than a dozen African-American artists.

The works are varied and include a detailed quilt by artist Faith Ringgold titled, "Tar Beach," which depicts a black family on the roof of their Brooklyn apartment on a summer night.

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Aunt Harriet's Underground Railroad in the Sky by Faith Ringgold 1993 Awardee

Civil rights icon Ruby Bridges inspires thousands with speech on values

Ruby Bridges, the "youngest foot soldier" of the Civil Rights movement, delivered the Presidential Colloquium to a crowd of over 2,000 people at Smith College on Friday, Feb. 2.

Dana Warren, a fourth grader from Westhampton Elementary School, was responsible for Bridges speaking at the college. After reading Bridges' autobiography "Through My Eyes," in the second grade, Warren was immediately inspired by Bridges' story and what it represented.

Hoping that others would be able to hear Bridges' message, Warren wrote to Smith College President Kathleen McCartney asking her to "help achieve her dream."

After listening to the speech she helped organize, Warren said "it was "amazing" to meet Ruby Bridges, and hear her story "literally through her eyes."

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Through My Eyes by Ruby Bridges 2000 Awardee

Start the year of the dog off with young adult social justice books

Lion Island by Margarita Engle

Through a series of poems, Engle tells the story of Antonio Chuffat, an Afro-Cuban whose youth was shaped by the struggle for independence and freedom of expression, and specifically against forced labor.

Margarita's verse novel elegantly sketches the young protagonists' personalities, fears and dreams. Antonio is entrusted to carry dangerous messages; indeed, his father hides runaways among his cuadrillas (work gangs). Yet his friend, Wing, runs away to take up guns with the Resistance. Fan had to run away from home to take her singing role and her father takes a local woman as a wife. The young people ponder their cultural identities, especially when lacking opportunities to further their Chinese or other language studies.

Margarita's compelling story inspires further research, and she ends by including sources for young people and adults. To place the experiences of nineteenth century Chinese diaspora in this broader context complicates yet also makes Asian American identity more whole.

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Silver People: Voices from the Panama Canal by Margarita Engle 2015 Awardee

The Surrender Tree: Poems of Cuba's Struggle for Freedom by Margarita Engle 2009 Awardee

'Love' and other best children's and YA books to read this month

Go ahead and judge Between the Lines (Simon & Schuster, ages 4 to 8) by its wonderful cover. Rightfully front and center is the picture book's subject - football player turned artist Ernie Barnes - handsomely wrought by illustrator Bryan Collier. Barnes is flanked by a football scene on one side and by Collier's version of "Sugar Shack," Barnes's most famous painting, on the other.

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Martin's Big Words: The Life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. written by Doreen Rappaport with artwork by Bryan Collier 2002 Awardee

Dear Match Book: Poems for Young Readers

Stretch the Rules: Once you've played with some words you'll want to master some forms.

And, for a more immediate though no less complex wordplay, turn to Paul Fleischman's exquisite book of read-aloud verse, "Joyful Noise." The insect-themed compositions unfold in rich counterpoint meant for two readers. After exchanging lines of verse while you are apart, I imagine that it will be poetic to hear your voices together.

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Seedfolks by Paul Fleischman 1998 Awardee

A$AP Rocky, Kelvin Harrison Jr., and Director Anthony Mandler on Their Sundance Drama 'Monster'

One of the many films to world premiere at this year's Sundance Film Festival was Anthony Mandler's feature film debut, Monster. Adapted from the best-selling novel of the same name by Walter Dean Myers, the film is about a 17 year old honors student and aspiring filmmaker Steve Harmon (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) who ends up being charged with a crime he says he didn't commit. As we jump back and forth between the trial and the time that led him to jail, the audience is asked to decide what kind of man he is - a young black criminal, assumed guilty and labeled a monster, or an innocent?

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Now Is Your Time! The African-American Struggle for Freedom by Walter Dean Myers 1992 Awardee

Patrol: An American Soldier in Vietnam by Walter Dean Myers 2003 Awardee

Unit 4 schools celebrating National African American Parent Involvement Day

Students in Ms. P's class will be studying the work of author/illustrator R. Gregory Christie and creating their own illustrations inspired by his unique style.

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The Book Itch: Freedom, Truth & Harlem's Greatest Bookstore by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, illustrated by R. Gregory Christie 2016 Awardee

Activism Anthologies and Guides for Young Readers

While activism isn't new, the methods and means available to today's citizens certainly are, as well as the platforms afforded to historically underrepresented people. Here we round up a list of recent and forthcoming titles that bring to the forefront progressive issues, individuals who are fighting for equal rights, and strategy guides for politically motivated young readers.

We Rise, We Resist, We Raise Our Voices: Words and Images of Hope Ed. by Cheryl Willis Hudson and Wade Hudson Fifty influential children's book creators, including Jason Reynolds, Jacqueline Woodson, and Kwame Alexander, offer their own responses to the following prompt: "In this divisive world, what shall we tell our children?" via poems, letters, essays, and art.

Shaking Things Up: 14 Women Who Changed the World Ed. by Susan Hood (Jan. 3, HarperCollins). This picture book tells the stories of influential women through history, from Malala Yousafzai to Pura Belpré, and features stories and illustrations by all-female contributors, including Selina Alko, Sophie Blackall, LeUyen Pham, Melissa Sweet, and many more.

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Brave Girl: Clara and the Shirtwaist Makers' Strike of 1909, written by Michelle Markel and illustrated by Melissa Sweet 2014 Awardee

Black History Month: Acclaimed picture book author to talk about segregation, social justice, writing

To mark Black History Month, acclaimed picture book author Carole Boston Weatherford will participate in a couple of free and family-friendly events in the Triangle.

Weatherford, an English professor at Fayetteville State University, has won numerous awards for her picture books, including "Freedom in Congo Square," which was a Caldecott Honor Book last year, and is a New York Times best-selling author. Other books include "Voice of Freedom: Fannie Lou Hamer, Spirit of the Civil Rights Movement," "Schomburg: The Man Who Built a Library," "In Your Hands" and "The Legendary Miss Lena Horne."

"Segregation, Social Justice and Civil Rights:" how our history and cultural evolution is shaped by slavery, segregation and social justice.

"Poetry and All That Jazz:" Celebrate the poetry of music and musicians, from North Carolina-born jazz saxophonist John Coltrane to legendary entertainer and activist Lena Horne.

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Birmingham, 1963 by Carole Boston Weatherford 2008 Awardee

How you can celebrate Black History Month...

Every year, the Association for the Study of African American Life and History selects a theme for Black History Month. This year, the theme, African Americans in Times of War, is meant to commemorate the end of World War I.

GIVE A CHILD A GIFT OF A BLACK HISTORY BOOK. One of my favorites, Preaching to the Chickens: The Story of Young John Lewis, by Jabari Asim, celebrates a contemporary hero, Congressman John Lewis.

Another, Minty: The Story of a Young Harriet Tubman by Alan Schroeder, tells the story of the Maryland icon who helped dozens of enslaved people escape through the Underground Railroad (legend says it is hundreds, but at Harriet Tubman Museum (operated by the National Park Service in Church Creek, Maryland) researchers say some of the estimates are too high.

The Youngest Marcher: The Story of Audrey Faye Hendricks, a Young Civil Rights Activist by Cynthia Levinson will motivate young people to activism.

Sit In: How Four Friends Stood Up By Sitting Down by Andrea Davis Pinkney and Brian Pinkney will also motivate young people to take on activist roles.

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Sit-In: How Four Friends Stood Up by Sitting Down by Andrea Davis Pinkney, illustrated by Brian Pinkney 2011 Awardee

Sojourner Truth's Step-Stomp Stride, by Andrea Davis Pinkney & Brian Pinkney 2010 Awardee

We've Got a Job: The 1963 Birmingham Children's March by Cynthia Levinson 2013 Awardee

We Shall Overcome: The Story of a Song written by Debbie Levy, illustrated by Vanessa Brantley-Newton 2014 Awardee

Abilene children's center making history with 'Our Voice' exhibition

An exhibit three years in the making opens Thursday at the National Center for Children's Illustrated Literature, 102 Cedar St.

"Our Voice: Celebrating the Coretta Scott King Illustrator Awards" will run through at least May 19, according to Sujata Shahane, director of education and exhibitions programming at the NCCIL.

The Coretta Scott King Book Awards have been given annually since 1969 to African-American authors and illustrators of books for children and young adults for demonstrating African-American culture and values.

Of the 108 illustrated books that have been honored for their illustrations, the exhibit has art, either original or official reproductions, from 100 of them. Of the 38 illustrators who have been honored with the award, the exhibit has work from 33 of them.

"I Too Am American," by Bryan Collier, is part of the "Our Voice" exhibition

The art runs the gamut of oil-based and water-based painted works, computer-generated works, art that is on ceramic tiles and even an illustrated quilt from Faith Ringgold. One of the exhibit's prized pieces is work from South African photographer Peter Magubane, Nelson Mandela's personal photographer.

Many of the exhibits are interactive. Patrons can scan a barcode on works and hear the artists talk about their works.

In addition to the exhibit, there will be presentations by artists Javanka Steptoe and Jerry Pinkney on March 20 and April 5, respectively. Claudette McLinn, chairman of the Coretta Scott King Book Awards Committee for 2017-2019, will be speaking at the NCCIL on March 5.

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Martin's Big Words: The Life of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. written by Doreen Rappaport with artwork by Bryan Collier 2002 Awardee

Aunt Harriet's Underground Railroad in the Sky by Faith Ringgold 1993 Awardee

Hot Day on Abbott Avenue by Karen English, with collage art of Javaka Steptoe 2005 Awardee

Why Christopher Paul Curtis writes best from a place of fear

Curtis: I find the writing goes best for me if I try to replicate as much as possible all of the circumstances of my first book, The Watsons Go to Birmingham - 1963. I was writing from a point of fear back in 1994 and that seems to be the place I find my best work. I was afraid I'd taken a year off work to write a book and wasn't going to be able to do it, I feared the loss of income for a year, I feared how it would feel to be unsuccessful at having the chance to try to "follow my dream" and finding out a nightmare was at the end of the journey.

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Elijah of Buxton by Christopher Paul Curtis 2008 Awardee

The Watsons Go to Birmingham - 1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis 1996 Awardee

Children's production 'Roll of Thunder' doesn't shy away from America's history of racism

Mildred D. Taylor's Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry was published in 1976, a novel for young adults during an era when educators were embracing the idea that children's books could and should tackle life's serious realities. Books like Roll of Thunder - and The Outsiders, and Bridge to Terabithia - could help kids understand, and grow.

It's a complex story of people who are striving to do right in an impossible situation, and a new SteppingStone Theatre production directed by Kory LaQuess Pullam ensures that every member of the audience appreciates the stakes. As the play opens, opposing crowds of black and white actors stalk forward to confront each other, chanting, "This is my world! My world! My world!"

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The Well by Mildred D. Taylor 1996 Awardee

Let the Circle Be Unbroken by Mildred D. Taylor 1982 Awardee

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor 1977 Awardee

Song of the Trees by Mildred D. Taylor 1976 Awardee

McNay showcases African American art

The exhibits include "Something to Say: The McNay Presents 100 years of African American Art" and "30 Americans: Rubell Family Collection" and will continue until May 6. "Something to Say" is the first major survey of modern and contemporary African American art to be presented at the McNay. The exhibition juxtaposes works from the pioneering collection of Harmon and Harriet Kelley with loans from the collections of Guillermo Nicolas and Jim Foster, John and Freda Facey and the McNay.

The concept is to provide visitors with the opportunity to reflect on a range of African American experiences and examine how artists have expressed personal, political and racial identity over 100 years.

Also included in the exhibit is Benny Andrews' "Sexism," the seventh in the McNay's series of AT&T Lobby instillations. Between 1970 and 1975, Benny Andrews created six monumental paintings as part of his Bicentennial series, in response to the United States Bicentennial plans in 1976.

McNay hosts the fourth work in the series, "Sexism," 1973, explores oppression of women. The works are classified as provocative and complex in its contemplation of power among genders.

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Delivering Justice: W. W. Law and the Fight for Civil Rights, written by Jim Haskins, illustrated by Benny Andrews 2006 Awardee

Read all about it: Black History Month books for kids

"Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice" by Phillip Hoose (Farrar, Strauss and Giroux 2009) is an excellent choice for teens. Hoose tells the story of Colvin, who as a teenager refused to give up her seat for a white passenger on a city bus in Montgomery, Alabama, and was arrested. This was nine months before Rosa Parks did the same thing.

While Parks was celebrated for her disobedience, Colvin was not. Colvin chose to challenge the segregation law in court, but was found guilty, leaving her with a criminal record. She became one of the plaintiffs in the Browder vs. Gayle lawsuit that eventually desegregated Montgomery's buses.

The message of this book isn't to detract from Rosa Parks' legacy, but to recognize another brave woman who fought for justice and equality. Hoose's writing is based on several personal interviews with Colvin, and included within the book are black-and-white photos from the time period and copies of documents and newspaper articles. "Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice" was the winner of the 2009 National Book Award.

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Hey, Little Ant by Phillip and Hannah Hoose 1999 Awardee

Claudette Colvin by Phillip Hoose 2010 Awardee

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The Jane Addams Children's Book Award annually recognizes children's books of literary and aesthetic excellence that effectively engage children in thinking about peace, social justice, global community, and equity for all people.

Read more about the 2017 Awards.