#this sat in my drafts for 10 months dear god

[meli-writes]

Long Time, No Shear - Ch. 01

A sheepish Fae-girl is desperate for someone to shear her for the summer, and to not be weird about it.

There’s a human on Dolly’s doorstep — and she’s naked.

Okay. No, not literally. Per human customs this is all completely appropriate, if a little avant-butch, for the current weather. Black boots and denim short-shorts; enough chains to lose count; loose, side-slit tank that makes her toned, tanned arms part of the outfit; no attempt to hide the lace bra underneath — citrine yellow, to match the sun beating down on her.

And Dolly, snout pressed on the window, feels like she can see all of her.

But— she’s here because Dolly invited her and Dolly can sympathise, because it has been three weeks since she was supposed to have been sheared and she is melting.

(It is though 100% the humans’ fault this is the 8th ‘hottest summer’ — on record, in a row.)

And so there she is, pressing forward through the curtains, trying not to be noticed while she works up the courage, when all of a sudden the human looks at her.

And waves.

---

sheep-goat Fae needs EMERGENCY help w/ summer shear. Can be reg if not weird

Last posted 18 hours ago on Fluffr, the dating-slash-bulletin app for Fae and panel-vetted humans. Yes, humans named it.

It still takes a weird person to apply to the panel, unless they got Fae-referred but that’s got pitfalls too; it also went public after the grants dried up, and has gotten worse because of that particular human-neoliberal urge to overdevelop everything into ruins; and it’s where she met her Wolf-Fae ex — the one who dumped her four weeks ago. But:

It’s still better than the human apps.

Because Dolly doesn’t need this to become a weird sex thing because it’s already super intimate and freaky — and it’s what every human she meets on their apps tries anyway.

Y’know, before she shuts them down and they false-report her till she’s banned.

None of this is the Dolly-in-distress’ preference. Not by the length of a thousand leylines.

---

“Hey. Sorry about that,” Dolly says, sheepishly.

“You’re all good,” the human replies, a smile perched beneath her silver-rimmed aviators. “I’m looking for someone in need of a bit of help, roommate maybe?”

“Dolly! Yeah. That’s me,” Dolly cuts in.

She points to the thin, white line traced on the interior doorframe, “You see the chalk? It’s a shadowskin enchantment, here and on the windows. Makes me look human from the outside, your side, so no one stares.”

“Ace! Makes total sense. Fiona, by the way,” Fiona says, as she steps past the threshold.

Behind the aviators her eyes glimmer, and Dolly has to remind herself it’s just the dispelled illusion and not— “You are a beaut, but I see yer problem.”

She’s glad Fiona can see the smooth, mottled-white velvet on her face now, because even from across the street anyone looking in would be seeing her cheeks swell up with a redcap-crimson blush.

“Girlfriend broke up on ya, didn’t she?” Fiona asks, a little idly.

“Mutual! It… was… mutual,” Dolly bleats, biting down on a full-blown shriek. “Okay. No. But she did it at the worst time and—” She breathes in the infodump, stops herself, curls in an outstretched finger and restarts, “Remember what I said on Fluffr about privacy?”

Fiona winces, hard, and Dolly has to smother her mirror of it, cursing at herself in her own head for not sucking it up. It’s nothing I didn’t tell her, justifying the post and shit. She was just—

“Yeah nah, totally,” Fiona says to her relief. “Just out to help a fellow gal in need.”

(Fellow. Yeah. Dolly also had to tell her in those DMs that Dolly was trans — up the freak-show sentiment even further — because there was no way around Fiona seeing it.

Humans could never tell otherwise, even though her horns were still buck-sized.

She was half-goat anyway, which explains away most irritating questions she gets from them — even if they still didn’t stop staring at the black thigh-high wool pattern on her legs.)

Dolly tries to move on, before Fiona stepping back over boundaries also means out the door, “Thanks. You’ve got uhh— experience. Right?”

Fiona’s nerves are swallowed in a moment. “Reckon!” she says, bouncing on her feet. “I was a kid when there was still livestock on the big, industrial farms. Went to the sheep-stations each year to help out; docking lambs in the spring and the like.”

(When Fiona had mentioned her ‘experience’ in DMs Dolly convinced herself it was practical. Human ethics have been catching up since Fae unveiled themselves a few decades back, after the Vampires, but it was still… weird.)

Did she have to specify docking? Dolly thinks as her tail twitches, and thinks Fiona can see her trying to hide it, and that Dolly can see that Fiona can see that, and that—

“That’s… okay? You’re okay?”

“Ahh! Yep. It’s helpful, not weird,” Dolly answers desperately. “Well, it’s a little weird, but it always is. Just remember that I’m very much sapient and talkative.”

She steps into the next room without looking, hoping Fiona is still with her.

---

“Alright girl, are ya ready?” Fiona asks, observing Dolly scurrying over the plastic mat that covers the floor, making sure it’s tightly held at each corner by a chair or spare textbooks.

“Uhh, one minute. Could you— look away?” asks Dolly, bringing a long-clawed paw to the neck of her shirt. “I know you’re gonna look back but—”

Fiona turns. She’s not giving you a striptease, she thinks to herself, pottering over to the sideboard to distract herself, “This is the stuff here?”

Dolly watches as Fiona inspects her life-long assembled kit — explains, “Yeah. I had to figure out what was best for me. Was not cheap.” Fiona whistles in agreement, as she slides a slim pair of double-bow metal shears out of the sunlight.

“I know this girl who can roo, so lucky,” Dolly adds, jerking about as her pencil-skirt stretches over her fluff-plumpened ass and— “Okay, ready.”

She sees Fiona tee-up herself, nabbing the electric handpiece. “No wide combs, I like it. Grandpa used to say we lost the union to those things,” she says, before turning back around and instinctively sizing Dolly up.

“Huh… like a whether,” she mutters under her breath.

Dolly has tried desperately to never learn the terminology; doesn’t think when she idly asks Fiona, “Excuse me?”

“Comb on the handpiece: anything bigger than 2.5 inches is a ‘wide’ comb,” Fiona answers obliviously. “So you can go faster, and get paid less. I suppose it makes sense to go smaller, and you’re not looking to sell the fleece are ya?”

(She had — once. When she still had rent to pay, and was needily short, so went and sold it on a Fae-fetish site for a shameful and incredible amount. And still thinks about it sometimes.)

Right now, her hooves grind anxiously into the floor. “No, Fiona. The other thing?”

The human’s round eyes tumble back into the abyss of their sockets, as Fiona’s brow rises in concert with realising what she’s said; something Dolly hasn’t the expertise to know, only the foolishness to ask. She doesn’t answer. Dolly feels the plastic fibres beginning to snag under her circling hoof.

“Say it, or go and don’t help me,” she demands at last.

“It’s a… castrated male,” Fiona says, biting her cheeks. “Sorry. Maybe I should go anyway? It was a bit of a heinous thing to say—”

“Nope. No, you’re doing it now,” Dolly tells her, making it obvious she’s guilting her. “Or, maybe I pull out Fluffr and report you?”

Tormenting her too — all while utterly in the fluff, Fae-adapted phone stylus in hand.

Fiona twists at her shirt, briefly exposing a rippling mid-riff, “You wouldn’t… really?”

Dolly makes a show of walking up, tucking the stylus into a stationary-drowned mug, and looks at her. “Fiona, I’m fucking with you. You apologised, and I’m desperate here.”

“It really is that bad?” Fiona mutters, as much about the overcoat as realising her pitiful remorse is far better than Dolly must usually get.

“You know what crutching is?” Dolly asks.

Fiona nods.

“Eugh. And, it’s a fifth of my body weight. Roughly. And fuck it’s so hot these days.”

“Yeah nah, lost my hometown to a wildfire,” Fiona says, a little dissonantly chipper about it. “Why I moved here to be honest with ya.”

“Shit. Sorry I’m—”

“Our fault,” Fiona reassures. Meaning humans. “Not yours. Just tryna help.”

“You really are, y’know.”

She sinks to her knees, leaning forward and pressing her thighs together to hide herself a little, and coaxes Fiona to join her. “My girlfriend— my ex— she promised to help me after the breakup ‘cos I was due but well… ghosted me, then blocked me after I called.”

(Six voicemails. The first few reminders; the last few begging.)

“The other options are like pay three hundred pounds to get nude at a hairdressers, and/or livestream the thing on a fetish site to break-even,” Dolly continues, knowing exactly what that site is called. “Yeah… nah.”

Fiona listens, but doesn’t look, focused on setting a few implements down before taking an offered arm to follow her down. “Wow, you’re soft.”

“Uhh, yeah? Unlike the sheep you’re used to, I don’t like live in a field,” Dolly says sardonically. “I get a bath in this place.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got an entrance hall, lounge, staircase. It’s heaps better than ninety-percent of the places in this city. Certainly better than the box I’m allowed to rent,” Fiona retorts, flipping the handpiece on.

Dolly lets out a small, nervous titter. The way humans tangled up their housing with markets seemed remarkably silly. “Adjustment funds, the Greater London—”

Fiona swipes, a whole ream of Dolly-fluff falling off of her.

“Hey-hey-hey! Wait!” Dolly squeals, Fiona blinking as she rushes to pause and Dolly collects herself. “You uh— need to go slower than that.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Was just thinking you’d want me to be… efficient.”

She smiles plaintively, “I mean, I do. It’s just I wanna make sure it’s not scruffy, or messy, or obvious. ‘Cos that would take weeks to grow out. It’s best to sort of—” She holds her breath, and looks at Fiona who’ll never be more ready for this.

“Go slow and hold me down.”

Fiona swallows, wishing it was light beer and not the sheep-girl’s dignity going down.

“And that’s… where people get really weird, right?” she asks.

“Yep.”

If they somehow got this far.

“Like, seriously — how do I explain on an ad: hiya, I need a girl to pin my nude body down and spend four-to-five hours groping me and not somehow make it a weird sex thing.

And, y’know, not make it too much of a regular weird thing either.”

She sighs; rearranges herself to lean back into Fiona, bumping horn into chest.

“Throat’s best to start,” she says, after a moment.

Fiona’s hand reaches slowly, constantly darting her eyes back-and-forth for consent and, not seeing any complaint, takes Dolly at the horn and pulls her low till she’s able to line the handpiece up against the notch at the base of her neck. She closes her eyes, a little unemboldened. The lambs never talked back to her or looked this cute.

“Come on,” Dolly interrupts. “I’d like to wear clothes again today.”

Fiona fumbles, and blinks open, and the lamb in her arms just laughs. It’s difficult not to, there isn’t a way this isn’t absurd and Fiona thinks she gets that now.

Her gaze focuses, a little less nervous this time. A smile creeps to the corner of her mouth, “No worries. I’ll get ‘er right, sweetheart.”

---

Three hours in, and Fiona’s just now reached Dolly’s hips. The arms were simple, if a bit too close to being nipped once or twice; the back came off clean, and Dolly doesn’t admit she thinks about that site again; the tits weren’t bad — mostly covered in the same velvet that’s on her face, all the way down to her— y’know.

(Dolly also absolutely does not mention the three times she came this morning. Not for any sort of pleasure, spirits no. But to make sure there’s as little chance as possible that she gets hard from the super-hot, basically-nude butch handling her like— well, like a sheep.)

The ass was mild torture; Fiona tearing her facial muscles to shreds in the sternest wince of her life, as she held up Dolly’s fat, soft cheeks to clean up the folds where her ass met her thighs. Dolly, at least, holding herself in a grim but merciful silence of solidarity, till at last both rushed to kick back into listing off more of their shared, fascinating, and agonising spars with each of the respective departments of the Home Office that exists to make their lives a bureaucratic nightmare.

It made it all too easy for Fiona to forget Dolly was even supposed to wear clothes, until she was looking at her bend down to a cupboard to fetch mugs for a strongly needed tea-break, even in the present heat.

But, it’s smooth now, and so she runs a hand serenely down the small of Dolly’s back, not thinking of anything more than just making sure the girl’s cut is clean and consistent — till her hand reaches that newly-shorn ass and—

Bleat!

It’s the tiniest sound Fiona has ever heard, and it sounds hot.

What comes after is worse than the ass-silence. Fiona tries not to panic, hopes that Dolly didn’t feel the still in Fiona’s slide, but before she can click on the handpiece to continue—

“Oh— God. I am so sorry,” Dolly squeals.

“No, no. It’s okay,” Fiona protests but Dolly is wrestling out of her lap and she doesn’t dare stop her, as the self-excoriated sheep covers her mouth in shock. 

Fiona tries to raise her hands in surrender, “I-I wasn’t thinking. Or rather thinking of you like a— I just wanted to check it was all the right length.”

“Fiona, you heard that right. I sounded like I was—” Dolly buries her face into the unshaven fluff of her thighs, butting the tip of her snout through to sniffle at the air. “You know what I said earlier…. weird sex thing. Like I’d never mean to, it’s just you’re hot and I can feel all of you. And I know how dumb that sounds coming out of me and with what the weather’s like but I’m used to people wearing like— more than that when they’re shearing me.”

She parts herself like Moses, and looks at Fiona clenching herself in awkward horror.

It really doesn’t help how it makes all her muscles flex.

“I-I’ve made it weird, not you,” Dolly whines; crucifies herself on the plastic sheet, “You can stop there, and I can wear shorts or a skirt so you don’t need to shave my legs.”

No one’ll notice the bulge. Shadowskin can take care of it. Right?

“Are you sure?” Fiona asks, tentatively placing her on Dolly’s knee and sinking it down a bit into her coat. Forcefully enough to both reach her wayward lamb, and to demonstrate the problem still there. “It’s really okay, that was totally me. I just sort of—

forgot the artwork for the canvas it was on.”

Dolly looks up, jerks a horrifically undecided croak out of her throat, and asks, “Did you prepare that one? You don’t… you don’t think this is a date, do you?”

There’s no velvet to hide the crimson shame that courses across Fiona’s cheeks, nor the same cushioned thighs to tuck them behind. “No, no, definitely not. Sorry,” she cries. “I know what you said too, and I don’t wanna be another weird human that you’re suffering for… basic care! It was just that you seemed… cute? And I don’t know, it feels nice to rescue a gal in need. I-I didn’t expect anything, I just… didn’t want to say no if you liked me too.”

The sheep stares at her, tilted head and pursed lips. Dolly can’t tell what reaction she’s having, which bloody well means Fiona won’t be able to.

Instead she slides back across the plastic and lies on her back, pulling her legs up till each forms a triangle. It does the trick.

“Should do the legs, shouldn’t I,” Fiona says — and Dolly is glad she didn’t have to ask.

---

The door is open, and Fiona hovers at not-quite the threshold unsure if she should be on the inside or the outside of it. Of the chalk line, Dolly’s rather literal boundary.

Dolly at least is— Fiona can’t admit it, not now, but she’s beautiful. To see the whole of her not in shittily-taken photo-form — her stylus is there for a reason it seems — but all in motion, as she stretched and shook and wiggled her tail and shorn-at-last self.

It’s hard not to feel proud too, of a job done well, of a girl saved.

The magic — the metaphorical, right now — worn off though leaves Dolly hovering too. She looks about as stressed as when Fiona showed up, but she hopes it’s only in a way that’s her fault — and that it’ll be quickly settled when she’s been booted out the door never to see her again.

“Uhh. Hey,” Dolly says, sheepishly, like Fiona was just coming in again. “You really helped me out a lot today.”

“No drama, sweetheart,” Fiona replies, the points of boots tip-tapping as she looks down at herself. “But, I should’ve dressed up better, didn’t think at all it’d be such a bother for you. Or— not a bother but— not your fault.” 

“No I— It’s cool. You look good.”

“Oh… Thanks.”

She takes a step back, pulls out her aviators and tries to flip them on but Dolly just reaches out and takes her at the wrist. They stare at each other for a moment, but Dolly doesn’t let go, and Fiona doesn’t shake her off.

“Would you wanna help me next time?” Dolly asks, in more of a squeak than a sensible, unheated whisper. “It’s in a few months time… a lighter cut, for autumn.”

She drops Fiona, watches nervously as Fiona’s own nerves creep across her face, “Oh, I mean, sure! Would you wanna meet up before then, maybe? I don’t know, just to help things be more… normal.”

Dolly laughs, sweet on the afternoon breeze that’s sweeping in. “Now it’s a date?”

Fiona’s tongue wants instinctively to slither down her throat, but she thinks she can spot one of the girl’s teases by now — and she probably does have all the right to be a little mean.

“If you’d like it to be,” Fiona teases back. “But — for real — I’m still happy to help.”

Dolly huffs, and smiles in eminent satisfaction, “Then yeah, we can call it a date.”

It’s when Dolly’s peering through the curtains a few minutes later that she sees Fiona, thinking she can’t be seen, stop at short distance down the street and dance with glee for just a precious, delightful moment, before she looks back with a dumb, fond smile on her face and it just cracks when she realises Dolly can still see her.

And Dolly waves.

And Fiona can see her blush.

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

[sunshinebingo]

This took me an embarrassingly long time to write but I finally did it. This fic is a gift to @headcanonheadcase who was one of the first writers that made me fall in love with fanfiction. And is also the one who opened my eyes to the wonders of Gwyn/Ithan. @headcanonheadcase dear, what you do for this fandom (and all the others you write for) is incredible. You are amazing!!

CRACKSHIP ALERT

Pairing: Gwyneth Berdara/Ithan Holstrom Synopsis: Ithan remembers the important events in his relationship with his red wolf, Gwyn, from how it started to where they are now. A recollection of little moments that they shared together. Word Count: 5.7k Warning: A tiny bit of smut

Important A/N: I started writing this waaay before hofas was released so this fic does not follow any canon event past HoSaB. It's not a 'hofas canon-divergence', it's just me posting a crackship fanfic after having it in my drafts for half a year.

Read on Ao3 or proceed below the cut for a snippet

Day 8

“I’m Gwyneth. Gwyn. It’s very nice to meet you,” she shook the hand that he had extended to her after introducing himself. Ithan thanked all the Gods above that he had not gaped at her again like a fool. He had been bracing himself for a conversation with her since he caught a glimpse of her bright hair as she was entering the Prime’s office.

“So, you are new here?” he asked as though he had not already secretly asked everyone at the Den for information about her. He had learned that Gwyneth had just arrived in Lunathion with the intention of settling here. Her grandparents were apparently related to the Prime himself. What had struck Ithan the most had been learning that she was a lone wolf, just like he had been before, even if he was now the only wolf in his pack consisting of an angel, some Fae, a mer, a deer shifter and even a dragon and some fire sprites.

“I am. I live near the Old Square, a few blocks away from the White Raven.”

“Really?” he replied a bit too excitedly before clearing his voice and continuing more calmly. “I mean, I live near the Old Square too.”

The smile that spread on her face could have rivaled the sun ahead. “That’s great. Um… maybe we’ll cross path someday. I mean…” she rambled. Was she nervous too? Ithan thought.

“Not that we aren’t already crossing paths at the Den already,” she added with a laugh while indicating the building behind them.

Ithan noticed the way that she was twisting a strand of hair between her fingers and how she could not stand still. She was nervous too. Somehow, that made him a little less tense.

He has admitted to Gwyn, months and months later, that their encounter on that day had not been accidental at all. He had confessed that he might have forsaken more urgent matters to wait until she would leave the Prime’s office. The tongue-lashing he had gotten from his roommates for being late for what they had planned later that day had been totally worth it.

***

Day 10

“Hello there,” a melodious voice drawled behind him. Ithan turned on the stool he was sitting on at the bar of the White Raven to find Gwyn smiling at him.

If he was not already seated, his first look at her would have made him fall on his ass. Gwyn was glowing in a green velvet dress that clung to her and accentuated all the dips and curves of her body. The makeup she had dusted on her eyelids sparkled beneath the flashing lights of the club, making it impossible not to look at her eyes.

“You look…” damn him and his habit of being speechless in her presence. “You are…” he tried and failed again.

Gwyn erupted in laughter at his flustered state. “I think I will take that as a compliment,” she said as she sat on the empty stool beside him.

“Sorry,” Ithan shook his head, “You are stunning.” Phew. See? That wasn’t so hard to say, he thought.

Gwyn’s cheeks started to flush and Ithan was momentarily mesmerised by the way it made her freckles stand out. “Thank you. And you are very handsome as well.”

Ithan was certain that the heat spreading across his face was close to turning him as red as her hair. Gwyn ordered three drinks and turned back to him.

��’They’re not all for me,’’ she explained when she noticed his raised eyebrows. She pointed at a blond Fae and a brunette angel on the dance floor. ‘’I came with my sisters.’’

His face must have given away his puzzlement concerning her odd family because Gwyn snorted then proceeded to tell him about her chosen sisters.

A drink was placed in front of him. But instead of making his way towards his table where his own found family was, Ithan stayed at the bar, chatting with Gwyn over the loud music. Either her sisters had forgotten about their drinks, or they did not want to cut their conversation short because, as they talked and talked, Gwyn ended up drinking all three cocktails she had ordered while Ithan kept ordering more for himself. He only took note of the time when he turned around at some point and found that all those he had come with were already gone.

That night, Ithan had talked more than he ever had with anyone else in his entire life. He remembers vividly how she had been the only thing on his mind when he was staring at his ceiling before he fell asleep in the early morning. He had a crush on Gwyn. One that went from little to massive in a matter of one training session with the Aux.

***

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Graduation surprise; BoRhap cast x reader

*Author’s note*

Hey ya’ll well I promised this fic when I posted the Queen prom fic so here it is. Now I know it’s not as long as the last one is but I felt like this didn’t need to be super long. Also as another special little fact for ya’ll I was gonna make this a Queen fic as well but then I decided to change it to a BoRhap CAST fic since I hadn’t done one of just them in awhile. 

So to all seniors whether HS or college, the class of 2020 CONGRATULATIONS I know it’s not what you hoped it would be but still try to find celebration in this pandemic, you all achieved probably the greatest milestones in your life. So stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane, and be happy :) Lot’s of love from me my darlings!

Taglist:

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@queensdivas​

@platawnic​

@queendeakyy​

@geek-and-proud​

@kairosfreddie​

_______________________________________________________________

Goddamn this year! Just when we think the new decade would be worth our wild, now we’ve got all this shit going on! First there was the threat of WW3, then the next month we’re dealing with wildfires in Australia, and finally to top it off why not add a global pandemic?!

The Coronavirus has literally been all over the news for months, and the fact that our government knew about it since late last year and didn’t warn us about it!? Then when they told us to be on lockdown, everyone starts hording toilet paper, hand sanitizer, and food that no one can buy said items for weeks on end.

But of course my main problem is the fact that I, along with so many other kids and adults around the world can’t participate in their own graduation ceremony.  As a college student, I was just longing to finally participate in my final graduation ceremony ever.  This was supposed to be my final chapter in school life and now because of this damn virus, that’s gone.

I mean yeah my diploma will be coming in the mail but I wanted my family to all be there to see me reach the end of my school life before I finally begin a new chapter.  Plus my cousin’s friends said that they would come and see me and I’ve missed seeing those guys, I hadn’t seen them all since the Bohemian Rhapsody premiere.

I sat there in my old room of my house (cause since the University closed down back in March, all students had to leave the college campus and go home so that way we could reduce the spread of the virus. So I ended up moving back in with my parents) just finishing up my final paper for class.

That’s when my Zoom video chat blew up with my cousin’s profile pic.  I grinned and clicked on the answer button and soon enough my cousin’s face took over my screen.

“Hey poppet.”

“Hey Gwil, how you holding up?” he let out a sigh.

“As best as I can. Though I should be asking you that, you are the one really dealing with this whole Coronavirus adjustment than I am. How’d you do on your classes?”

“For those that have said online classes are easier, they’re dirty rotten liars and completely incompetent.” He softly chuckled. “But thankfully I finished my last exam paper and submitted it just now.”

“Your dad look over it for you? Cause I know you’re a terrible editor.”

“Oi not all the time. Just when I’m lazy.” He hummed as he raised his brow at me. “But yes I did have dad review it for me. Cause before we got to submit the rough draft and my professor said I needed more analysis to my quotes on why I quoted that specific source. God I don’t know why I took that class to begin with?”

“Because you’re a criminology nut and you have been since you turned 16. God and I thought my horror movie tastes were bad.”

“Hey it’s good to be aware of shit like that!”

“Language missy!”

“Okay Cap.” I teased.  He gave me his stern look which made me laugh as I fell to my side on the bed. “Oh by the way I saw that little dating app video you did.”

“And what did you think?”

“I liked it. Kinda makes me wish an app like that did exist in real life.”

“You not just pulling my leg on this?”

“No. Honest and swear to god you had me moved by your performance. Well next to you being Brian May of course.” He grinned. “I swear I still can’t get over when I first saw you in the full hair and makeup, I literally almost had a freakin panic attack.”

“And the fact that Brian was also there to witness that.”

“Oh god don’t even go there!” I groaned as I hid my face in embarrassment.

“So—now that you’re all done with school, what’s next for you?”

“Well any plans I had are put on hold till this whole crisis goes away. And I really thought 2020 was gonna be my year. This sucks!”

“I know poppet, I know. But believe me that it’s not just you whose affected by this. Everyone in the whole world is suffering exactly the same way you are.” I sighed solemnly.

“I know. I mean I should be feeling for you and the guys right now, I mean all of you are out of work till further notice. And all the restaurants that I love going to. Did you know that the little ice cream parlor you and I used to go to when we were kids shut down?”

“No!”

“Yeah, the owner couldn’t keep up the payments because hardly anyone was ordering from them anymore, even with online delivery. So she closed it down.”

“Damn, that sucks. I really loved going to that place with you. That was always our special little time together without the grownups around.” I nodded remembering all the fun times we had together in that little shop.

It was then someone suddenly popped into our conversation.  The extra person now on my screen was none other than Joe Mazzello.

“Hey Gwil, mini-Lee!”

“Hello Joe.” Answered Gwil.

“Hey Joe been a long time.”

“How you two holding up?” he asked us.

“As best as we can, how about you? I’ve seen those Youtube videos you’ve been doing on your page.” Gwil said.

“You know those were jokes, especially that last one. I just wanted to get a laugh out of everyone, or have them hate me.”

“No one could hate you Joey.” I said with a smile.

“Aww thanks mini-Lee. How’s classes been?” I let out a groan as I once again flopped on my bed which made Joe laugh.

“I am just thankful that this is all over. At first I thought online classes would be easy but one of my professors was technology challenged. Another one would sometimes forget to do a lesson, and then of course blackboard could barely operate long enough for me to submit an assignment which caused some of them to be late.”

“Well like you said it’s over now.” Joe assured me.

“Oh hey I saw that Jurassic Park livestream you did.”

“Oh did you? How come I didn’t see you submit a question or just say hello? I’ve seen your Youtube page so I know your username by heart.”

“Cause I may or may not have also been working on a project. But chose the livestream over the project.”

“Nice going Joe, you’ve turned my cousin into a procrastinator.” Gwil complained.

“Hey at least she has Jurassic Park unlike you Gwilym Lee! Serious shame on you for not owning it! This is why mini-Lee is the coolest out of the two of you.” I snarked out a mock laugh as I stuck my tongue out.

“Ganging up against me okay I see how it is you two.”

“Oh come now cousin dear, we’re just messing around.”

“Messing around? If we’re messing with Gwil then I want a part of it.” Soon another picture came up and there lying on his side was Ben Hardy.

“Benjamin!” Joe screamed joyously.

“Hi Ben.” I sung out.

“Hey (y/n).” he waved at me with a wink. “Now going back to teasing Gwilym.”

“You guys are officially gonna be blocked right after this.” My cousin groaned.  We all laughed when I told him.

“Again cousin, we’re teasing you. So Ben, what brings you here?”

“What can’t I pop in and say hello?” I giggled.

“I see nothing wrong with it. Oh hey get this; I finally got around to watching 6 Underground.”

“And what did you think of it?”

“The first 10 minutes were insane! And truthfully I never really understood Michael Bay films, but this one—definitely my favorite. I loved it Ben, really.”

“Well thank you (n/n). Thank you.”

“Never did I think I needed to see both you and Ryan Reynolds on screen together….”

“Whoa okay easy there (n/n)!” Joe interrupted me.

“Oi you get your mind out of the gutters! And you say it’s the fans that make what you say to the extreme.” I scowled him.

“Trust me, I’ve known him for over 10 years and he still doesn’t grow up.” Another voice stated and soon two more familiar faces popped up on screen, stuck in quarantine together in LA were Rami and Lucy. And then a split second later another face came on the screen, it was none other than Alan Leech.

“Hey, Rami, Lu-lu, Alan!” I cheered.

“Hey (y/n)!” the three of them said as they waved.

“God I feel like I’m getting spoiled, got the entire BoRhap family together for the first time in like—forever.”

“It’s crazy.” Alan said.

“Definitely.” Agreed Rami.

“Maybe when this whole thing blows over we should all get together some time in New York.” Offered Joe.

“I’m down with it.” Ben said.

“Me too.” Lucy agreed with a nod.

“Yeah, (n/n), Ben and I could fly out together.” Said Gwil.

“I’m down with that. Now that I’m done with school, I can do what I want now.”

“So guys now that we’re all here shall we begin?” Lucy said.

“Begin what? Gwil what’s going on?” I asked.

“Well (n/n), when this whole quarantine shutdown and school cancellations started affecting the class of 2020 we all felt bad that you couldn’t graduate the way you hoped you would.” Gwil said before Joe continued.

“So Gwil called all of us up via the Whatsapp chat, as well as our daily zoom calls. To gather us all together on your ‘last day’ of college.”

“To celebrate your own Virtual college graduation party!” Rami cheered.  At that point everyone either threw confetti, blew on graduation blowers, or holding up signs that said CONGRATS 2020 GRADUATE!!!

I covered my mouth with my hands speechless and tried to hold back the tears.

“Ohh you guys.”

“Since you couldn’t have a college graduation party, we figure we’d bring the party to you. See not even this pandemic can stop us from celebrating our Mini-Lee’s ultimate milestone.” Ben said as he set down his congrats sign.

“And also expect some gifts within the next few weeks, depending on how the mailing services do with overseas gifts.” Alan said.

“Aww thanks you guys, you didn’t have to.”

“We know, but we wanted to. Let us spoil you even through this pandemic.” Said Joe.

“Thanks guys, this—really means a lot to me.” I wiped a hidden tear that strayed down the corner of my eye.  They all awed at me that’s when Gwil lifted up a small graduation cake.

“I know, I know this’ll be ridiculous but just humor me will yah?” I smiled and nodded.  He lit up the 2020 candles and held it just high enough for me to see the top part of the candles.

“CONGRATS (Y/N) LEE! CLASS OF 2020!!!” everyone proclaimed at once which made me smile and I blew out towards the screen.  Gwil then blew out the candles for me as everyone else cheered and clapped.

“Thanks so much you guys. Really, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“We’re happy to do it (y/n). If it makes your day a little bit brighter in these dark times.” Rami said.

“It did Rami, it really did.”

“Well hope we can make this even better cause I’ve also got a part 2 to this little surprise. But in order for that to happen, everyone else has got to go otherwise you won’t really be able to see it as clearly.” Gwil said.

“Aww man.” I whined.

“No worries mini-Lee, your cousin added you to our BoRhap Whatsapp chat and I’ll send you a link to our zoom channel if you ever wanna chat with us again.” Joe said with a wink.

“Thanks Joe. And thanks everyone take care and stay safe.” They all waved and bid me goodbye with waves or blowing kisses at me and one by one they signed off till it was once again just Gwil and I.

All I could see across his bearded face was that cheeky grin he does whenever he’s trying to hide something.

“What are you grinning about?”

“Just the fact that I’ll be the best cousin once you see part 2 of your special surprise.”

“What did you do?”

“If I told you it won’t be a surprise now would it? Now let’s see, god I hope they get it.” He muttered the last part to himself. It took a few minutes till finally another screen popped up and standing there in his room was Adam Lambert.  I fangirled in my seat and covered my mouth trying to contain my squeals.

“Hey girlfriend!” he greeted with a wave.

“Adam oh my god!”

“How’s it going?”

“It’s been going. Finally submitted my last paper. So I’m officially done with school forever.”

“Yaas Queen!” he snapped. “So how’s it feel to be a college graduate?”

“Well it’d be better if we weren’t in the middle of a pandemic.”

“Understandable, but hey you’ve worked hard for this so be proud of yourself no matter what’s going on in the world right now.” I nodded with a shrug. “And to celebrate your graduation, your cousin whipped up another little surprise for you.”

“Oh my god Gwil you didn’t!” I gasped.  He merely raised a brow at me cheekily as he bit his lip back from a smile.

“Hey guys you there?!” Adam called out and soon enough two more screens came on and the picture revealed to be both Brian May and Roger Taylor.  Brian sitting on his couch while Roger looked to be in his basement with his drumkit.

At this point, I had lost my shit.  I was fangirling to the max at this rate but tried to calm down.

“Hi (y/n), congratulations of graduating.” Brian greeted me.

“Major achievement there love. Congrats.” Roger added.

“Oh my god…..Gwil this is—how……”

“I knew you’d love it (n/n). Plus I knew this would cheer you up after our last conversation we had last week. You really needed some cheering up.”

“So guys are we ready to do this?” asked Adam.

“I’m ready to go if you both are.” Said Brian as he took his Red Special and set it on his lap and Roger twirled his drumstick.

“(Y/n), this is for you love. Hopefully when this whole mess is over, you can finally go out there and reach your dream job. Till then we hope you enjoy this.” Roger said.

It was then both Roger and Brian began playing the tune for ‘we are the champions’ but as Adam began singing the song, it turns out that they were actually singing their new song, ‘You are the champions’ dedicated to the first responders worldwide.

But now they were playing it in my honor as a college graduate.  As they continued to play the song, I allowed the tears to flow down my face as I laced my hand over my heart.

God—never did I think that through this pandemic would I be happy.  From having to never see any of my friends I made in college again, to not having my whole family come to the house to celebrate, or going out to party with some of my friends.  But this��right here and now, my cousin made it all up to me all the way from London.

At this point, I knew that I was officially the luckiest person in the world.  All thanks to my favorite cousin, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

[annalaurendet70]

Letter of Abdication of Tsar Nicholas ll of Russia

Manifesto of Abdication

Tsar Nicholas ll of Russia's diary entries before and after his abdication.

12 March 1917 Monday

Disorders started several days ago in Petrograd; unfortunately, even the troops have begun to take part in them. It is a sickening feeling to be so far away and to receive fragmentary, bad news. I did not spend much time listening to reports. During the day I took a walk along the highway towards Orsha. The weather was sunny. After dinner I decided to go quickly to Tsarskoe Selo, and at 1 o'clock in the morning (13 March 13) boarded the train.

13 March 1917 Tuesday

I went to bed at 3:15 as I had a long talk with N. I Ivanov, whom I am despatching to Petrograd with troops to restore order. We left Mogilev at five in the morning. I slept till 10 o'clock. The weather was cold and sunny. During the day we passed through Viazma, Rzhev, and Likhoslavl at 9 o'clock. March 14, Wednesday

During the night we turned back from Malaia Vishera, as Liuban and Tosno seenied to be occupied by the rebels. We went to Valdai, Dno, and Pskov, where I stopped for the day. Saw Ruzski. He, with Danilov and Savich, dined. Gatchina and Luga, too, reported to be in possession [of the rebels]. Shame and disgrace. Failed to reach Tsarskoe, but my thoughts and feelings are always there. How hard it must be for poor Alix to go through all these events alone. Lord help us.

📌 N.Ivanov ~ General Ivanov

📌 Ruzski ~ General Nikolai V. Ruzski, Commander of the Northern Army

15 March 1917 Thursday

In the morning Ruzski came and read his very long direct-wire talk with Rodzianko. According to this, the situation in Petrograd is such that a Ministry of the Duma would now be powerless to do anything, for it has to contend with the Social-Democratic Party, represented by the workers' committee. My abdication is required. Ruzski transmitted this talk to Headquarters, and Alexeev sent it on to all the commanders-in-chief. By 2 o'clock replies were received from them. The gist of them is that in order to save Russia and keep the army at the front quiet, such a step must be taken. I have agreed. From Headquarters has been sent a draft of a manifesto. In the evening Guchkov and Shulgin arrived from Petrograd, with whom I discussed the matter, and I handed them the signed and altered manifesto. At 1 o'clock in the morning [16th] I left Pskov, with a heavy heart because of the things gone through. All around me there is treachery, cowardice, and deceit.

📌 Ruzski ~ General Nikolai V. Ruzski

16 March 1917 Friday

I slept long and well. Awoke far beyond Dvinsk. The day was sunny and cold. Talked with those near me about yesterday. Read a great deal about Julius Caesar. Arrived at 8:20 at Mogilev. All ranks of the Staff were on the platform. Received Alexeev in the car. At 9:30 I went over to the house. Alexeev came with the latest news from Rodzianko. It transpires that Misha has abdicated. His manifesto ends with a four-tail formula (Universal, direct, equal, and secret suffrage. There was no definite time set for the Constituent Assembly) for the election of a constituent assembly within 6 months. God knows who put it into his head to sign such stuff. In Petrograd, the disturbances have ceased-if it would only remain that way.

17 March 1917 Saturday

Slept well. At 10 o'clock came the good Aleck. Then I went to listen to the reports. At 12 I drove to the platform, to meet dear Mother, who has arrived from Kiev. I took her to my own place and lunched with her and our own family. We sat and talked a long time. Today, at last, I received two telegrarns from dear Alix. I took a walk. The weather was very bad-cold, with a snowstorm. After tea I received Alexeev and Fredericks. Toward 8 o'clock I drove to dine with Mother and remained with her till 11.

📌 Aleck ~ Prince A.P. Oldenburg

18 March 1917 Sunday

It blew hard during the night. The day was clear and frosty. At 10 I drove to mass. Mother arrived later. She lunched with me and stayed until 3:15. I walked about the little garden. After tea I received N. I. Ivanov, who has returned from his mission. He was at Tsarskoe Selo and saw Alix. I took leave of poor Count Fredericks and Voeikov, whose presence, for some reason, has been irritating everybody. They have gone to his estate in Penza province. At 8 o'clock I went to dine with Mother.

19 March 1917 Monday

Last day at Mogilev. At 10:15 I signed the farewell order to the armies. At 10: 30 I went into the guard-house to say good-bye to all ranks of the Staff and bureau. At my own house I bade farewell to the officers and Cossacks, of my guard, cavalry and infantry. It nearly broke my heart. At 12 o'clock I went to Mother's and lunched with her and her suite. At 4:30 1 left her, Sandro, Sergei, Boris and Aleck. Poor Nilov was not permitted to go with me. At 4:45 I left Mogilev; a crowd that was greatly moved came to see me off. Four members of the Duma accompanied me. Went by way of Orsha and Vitebsk. The weather is cold and windy. It is hard, painful, and sad.

📌 Sandro, Sergei, Boris ~ Grand Dukes Alexander and Sergei Mikhailovich, and Grand Duke Boris Vladimirovich

22 March 1917 Thursday

Arrived quickly and safely at Tsarskoe Selo at 11:30. But, God, what a difference! On the street, around the palace, inside the park, wherever you turn there are sentries. Went upstairs and saw dear Alix and the precious children. She looked cheerful and well. The children were lying in a darkened room, but were in good spirits except Maria, who recently came down with the measles. We lunched and dined in the playroorn with Alexei. I saw good Benckendorff. Walked with Valia Dolg

... and worked with him in the little garden, as we cannot go beyond... After tea I played a game of Solitaire. In the evening we visited all the occupants of the other wing and found them in their places.

📌 Valia Dolg ~ Prince Vasily Alexandrovich Dolgorukov

[magpiemorality]

Could I get 10 and/or 23 with moceit or dukeceit? (Or both, if you’d like O.O)

10: fake-out make-out & 23: operation jealousy

Okay look, putting moceit and dukeceit together just brings back my Bring It On boys, and I have been dying to write this exact idea for those three, so I hope this is remotely like what you were hoping for!! There is Moduke now involved!

Bring It On is this:

Main Story (AO3)Bonus 1 | Bonus 2 | Bonus 3 | (this ficlet will chronologically be Bonus 4!)

AO3

***

A few things had changed since the end of college. For one; without any grand proposals but simply over breakfast the morning after the grad ball, wearing each other’s pyjamas and inhaling coffee in the frat kitchen, they’d all decided to move in together. It was logical, and it made so much sense that it didn’t even feel like something worth celebrating. They did go out to the diner for shakes anyway, because Patton’s sweet tooth needed constant feeding or it would grow feral and they’d find him in the small hours of the night, sitting in the dark downstairs with piles of sugary snacks. 

But as simple as it was to agree to move in- the logistics were not. 

One guy, dating two other guys separately, does not make for an easy bedroom situation. Generally, sure, they all just piled in together at this point. But there were times when Patton had a date night with one of his boyfriends and they needed a little privacy. So the hunt for a two-bed was on. 

It confused the hell out of several letting agents when they tried to explain, and after the third blank stare Dexter just started introducing himself as their roommate with a sour twist to his lips. It did the trick though, and they were all set to move in. 

And then they actually moved in. Remy and Logan had helped out, and Toby had driven the van. One glorious day of chaos and then the trio were ready to start their lives together at last. 

Except. Except. 

The guest bedroom went unused. For months they would find excuses not to have their date nights, not to need to kick the third out to the spare room for the night, until Patton was starting to get a little desperate. And luckily for him; so was Dex, for an entirely different reason. 

“Pats? I need to talk to you. It’s urgent,” he said over the phone at the end of one of his summer shifts volunteering as a paralegal aide. Patton was there within thirty minutes and they settled into the adjoining cafe to talk. “It’s about Remus.” 

Patton panicked immediately, surprising no one. He leaned forwards, twisting his hands together in worry. “Is it too much? Are you having second thoughts?! I knew it couldn’t last fore-”

“I’m in love with him.” 

Stunned silence followed the confession, and Dex winced. “I mean, you too dear, of course. But him too, like you. Believe me it was a bit of a shock when I realised, but we get on really well, and I- I mean he’s hot! You get it, right? You do, right?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Patton smiled in sympathy, taking his boyfriend’s hands. “I do. Have you talked to him about this? Tried to figure out if he feels the same?” 

“Oh god no, of course not. I was gonna maybe… bring it up at the ball. But we all had so much fun and it was just perfect, and he’s always just so chilled about everything except for, y’know, flirting with you, so I figured I’d definitely have noticed if he felt some kinda way about me too. Remember the fish thing?”

“Don’t remind me. I could talk to him, if that helps?” Patton offered. Dex thought about it for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I am. I want to… I mean it’s Remus. You’re right that he won’t say anything if he does feel the same, but he also might not have even thought about it. I only did because Remy made that stupid comment about threesomes-” Patton blushed and cleared his throat. “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about if we were all together- not like that Patton jeez!” 

“What?!” Patton grinned sheepishly. “I wasn’t imagining- okay I was. But still, I get your point. I mean I didn’t think it was a thing until you both brought it up, but wasn’t it Remus who had the idea in the first place? Wouldn’t it- oh!”

Dexter narrowed his eyes. “Oh?” He repeated. “What, ‘oh’?”

“I have a fantastic idea. You’re gonna love it…” Patton’s eyes gleamed with the promise of mischief and shenanigans. 

The idea was thus; make Remus hellishly jealous and when his macho possessive instincts override his logical thought Patton would shove Dex in front of him and they’d imprint or something. That was the first draft, at least. 

In practise it was a lot different and jealousy barely entered into it. Firstly they went off on their own date night, kicking Remus out (not entirely just for the plan; Patton was dying by this late stage and Dex wasn’t much better). Then for phase one Patton started spending more time with Remy and Logan, claiming he missed his friend and wanted to spend time with him before the couple got ready to move across the state for Logan’s new job. He took up a few new dance classes at the same time, and very nobly sacrificed spending time with his loving boyfriends in favour of that and his new coaching job at the local cheerleading club. 

They were all miserable within a week, but Patton held out. For Dex, and for Remus, and sort of for himself as well. 

Dexter spent more time with Remus then than ever before. He pretended to be equally as disappointed and sad about Patton’s frequent absence (which wasn’t hard because he was disappointed and sad about it) and suggested they go do things themselves instead. 

Remus agreed and they started their own date nights, without ever really calling it that. 

Luckily for the entire disaster trio, things came to a head only three weeks into the plan. It was a Saturday morning, the night after Patton had come home late from cheer practise again, and Remus and Dex had enjoyed dinner out with a movie together instead. Patton had been nearly ready to weep when he’d got back and snuggled in with them to go to sleep, and Dex had made sure to hold him extra tight, ignoring the slight guilt he felt at the sad wrinkle on Remus’s forehead. 

The morning was already bright, even for August, when Patton forced himself up and out of bed for an early dance class. But this time Remus refused to let him go, gearing up for an argument. 

Dex awoke to the weak struggle, just as Remus let go and let Patton up with a deep, tired sigh. 

“Shit it’s like you don’t want to spend time with us anymore, babe! Maybe I’ll just elope with this guy instead, huh?” Remus muttered, turning to the groggy Dex next to him in bed. He took hold of Dexter’s face and -oh god it was happening- leaned in towards his mouth. Instead of the romantic first kiss Dex had sleepily been preparing for, Remus went for his best fake make out, wiggling his tongue around and making lewd sounds that had a little edge of frustration. 

Patton bit his lip to keep from giggling, but when Dex looked back to Remus there was a spark in his eyes that said he’d seen the way Dex had instinctively leaned in towards him, the hopeful expectation on his face, and then suddenly the romantic first kiss was a go. 

Maybe Remus had been hoping to entice Patton back with a jealousy plan of his own, but the kiss quickly spiralled into more than that, and he hummed against Dex’s lips, still cradling his face in his hand. 

Dexter’s head swam, and he pushed back, propping up on his elbows on the bed until Remus flattened him back down, and in the end all of their plans collectively worked. 

Remus wasn’t best pleased to hear about their idea, but Patton was back in bed and Dex wouldn’t stop kissing him, soft in a way he usually only was with Patton, so he allowed himself to be persuaded to forgive them both, and Patton called in to cancel his class. He also demanded breakfast in bed for the next three weekends and premium bathroom rights- but he’d earned it by putting up with their terrible excuse for a plan, really. 

The guest room still went unused, eventually turned into a little home office for Dex to work in and Remus to work out in with a few bits of gym equipment. Remy laughed himself silly when Patton called to say he wouldn’t be needing to come round and vent as much anymore, truly amazed that the plan had worked at all. 

And the next time they had to have any kind of big discussion they sat down and actually talked about it. That lesson had been learned. 

[runawayface]

8 and 12 for the writing asks!! :-DD

8. What is a scene you wrote that you are most proud of?

Honestly, I’m SO proud of the only explicit scene I wrote in Runaway!  When I sat down to write the first draft of it, I was really intimidated.  I hadn’t written explicit content in over 10 years and since that time, I had identified as ace so it was just really overwhelming to attempt. I actually don’t have much memory of writing the first draft, I honestly think I blocked the whole experience from my mind, but I did it.  I made it happen even though it was really difficult for me.  Looking back now, I probably shouldn’t have even attempted it but I felt pressured to include a scene like that knowing that readers would want a payoff.  Fan fiction and smut generally go hand in hand and I just assumed I’d be disappointing a lot of people if I didn’t include it.

Anyway, months later and I was never fully comfortable with the scene that I’d written and posted, so I went back and re-wrote it but in my own comfort zone.  It was still explicit, but in a much more bearable way for me.  I was able to take a scene I hated and write it in a way that I was okay with.  I’m proud that I even tackled it to begin with, but then went back and tackled it again to make myself more comfortable with it.  It helped me to grow as a writer and step out of my comfort zone a bit to improve myself.  I’ve since written a few more explicit scenes (but dear god I’ll probably never post them again 😂) just to see if I could do it and now I’m actually pretty comfortable with it.  I’ve found a style of writing those types of scenes that I’m okay with, though I’m sure it’s not the hottest content ever written to most people.  I am still ace, after all.  But at the end of the day, I’m not writing for other people, I’m writing for me.

And 12 was answered here!

(for the Fic Writer asks)

[skgway]

1828 Dec, Fri. 26

6

11 35/60

From 7 1/2 to 7 50/60 reading Dr. Hutton’s excellent and most temperate speech in last Saturday’s Mercury in favour of emancipation. His sentiments on the subject, my own –

Breakfast at 7 50/60 in 20 minutes – Went out at 8 1/4 to Lightcliffe to pay Mrs. William P– [Priestley] for carriage of the parcel of books I paid for yesterday – Got there in about 1/2 – Sat talking. Mentioned the inconvenience of my being here, my fathers oddity of temper. To live with my mother was much to be pitied, and excused my father. Wont let me put stoves in the North parlour and room, tho my aunts coming here depends on it. A hundred a year would be enough to pay for her board and that of George and MacD[onald]. Did not see Mr. P– [Priestley]. Mrs. P– [Priestley] walked with me as far as the Hipperholme bar, I then went back with her to her own gate, and we parted there at 11 50/60 –

In returning, met the Saltmarshes (Mr. & Mrs. Christopher S– [Saltmarshe) in their carriage – Had passed Shibden – Thought from my manner of speaking of it yesterday they could not get there – Jno [John] – said it was no worse than usual – and took Mrs. S– [Saltmarshe]’s card for Marian instead of a call – 

Then went up Barraclough-lane to George Naylor’s – Took him to shew me what Joseph Hall wanted – Haigh has bought the bit of waste there of Mr. Rawson, wants to enclose it, make a garden of it, and block me up – Has already abused Joseph Hall’s son for carting across it – Said I would consider about it – But that I could not be thus blocked up – I had nothing to do with Haigh – Should speak to Mr. Rawson – He had no right to sell it – 

Then a good deal of conversation with George N– [Naylor] as to raising his farm etc. He must give me his opinion as to the rest and I should not hurt him. Pearsons and Hardcastles each worth fifty and Hilltop forty five, and to raise Hemingway twenty guineas fair to take cottages at half the actual rents. The man that George wishes me to take for the next vacant farm is John Kurten who married a Miss Priestley of Halifax has for three or four years been a preacher, but would give it up. Has a hundred a year of his own and wants a farm for his lads. Would be advised in all things at first by George. 

Said I should give Balmfirth notice to quit. He thought I could not get rid of him. We will try, said I. For that, explained that it was to get rid of a bad tenant with less trouble, for which I mainly had agreements, because then I could quit them in 6 months from the time instead of 3 times that time – Balmfirth has just sold off 500 stalks of hay to a man who is bankrupt and will therefore get nothing for it – 

Then walked along the top of the hill and got down into the plantation at 2 1/4. Nobody there – Went to the cunnery – The men Throp and Nathan came from dinner at 2 1/2 – Throp cleaning trees in the Hall wood, Nathan helping Jno [John] and William to clear the plantation, and Robert walling with James Smith for my father, a bit of Jno [John] Bottomley’s wall near the pit road gate at the too of the old bank that had come down – 

Staid a little in the plantation – From 3 20/60 to 5 with Throp – Planted out 2 little yews from the plantation and removed the 2 cypresses lower down, next to the wood – A pity to move them, they were beginning to strike out little roots so nicely – 

Came in at 5 10/60 – Dressed – Wrote the 1st 7 lines of yesterday – Dinner at 6 1/4 – Afterwards till 10 asleep on the sofa – Then sat talking 1/2 hour about the bit of waste near Joseph Hall’s, raising rents etc. and discharging James Travis – 

On going up Barraclough lane to George N– [Naylor]’s saw 3 or 4 men one with a gun and dog, in George N– [Naylor]’s field or Balmfirth’s – Asked his name (lives near the bridge?) discharged him – He would have a written discharge – Was qualified – Had a certificate – I could only make him pay for trespassing – At last, he was for asking leave to come – No! Said I, you are too late now – You shall have a written discharge – and it is your peril you come shooting on my ground without my leave – On inquiry James Greenwood junior at the Cunnery told me he had discharged him several times – Jno [John] has often seen him in the fields – 

Came up to bed at 10 1/2 – Till 11 looking over rent roll, and making, rough draft calculation of what the farms and pews would bear raising – Can now manage something upwards of sixty pounds and b[y] and b[y] can get about eighty or ninety, that I shall make what I now have, altogether thirteen hundred a year – Fine day – Frosty – Farenheit in the library 9 degrees colder this morning than yesterday – 

[sideways in margin] Musing this morning as I walked to Lightcliffe (first time the idea ever struck me) that as much is done for the rights of the Roman Catholics why not something for the rights of single women to vote for members of parliament? Write on this, on the good of raising women to a proper rank in society, their influence, their general education and manners in different countries in times past and present, their relative degrees of respectability.

[More on Dr. Hutton’s Speech]

Dr. Hutton’s Speech - Leeds Mercury Dec. 20, 1828

We have great pleasure in laying before our readers the following excellent speech, which was indeed to have been delivered at the Leeds Meeting to Address His Majesty in favour of the Catholic Claims. 

Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, – In the cause which has assembled us together this day I cannot but feel deeply interested. As a man and a Briton, I must be anxious to see the rights of men and Britons freely and fully participated by all my fellow-countrymen and as a Christian desirous that the truth may have free course amongst us I must wish that all the stumbling blocks of party prejudice and passion, with which our own frailty and folly, or those of our ancestors, have strewed the path of religious inquiry may be removed, and that we may all rejoice in the liberty wherewith it was the design of Christ to make us free. But, I stand in the midst of my fellow-men and my fellow-Christians many of whom I know to be as willing as myself; and more competent, to plead our common cause; their love of liberty, civil and religious, I believe to be not [insurdent?] than my own, and however we may differ on other subjects, I am assured of their entire sympathy with me in the wish to banish the temporal power altogether from the field of religious controversy; and to leave Truth – omnipotent Truth – to fight her own battles, with “the sword of the spirit; which is the word of God” In the character of a man and a Christian, therefore, I could have gladly remained silent, satisfied to say, “God speed,” with all my heart, to my friends and brethren around me, one of whom I cannot forget, has within the last few days nobly vindicated the rights of his fellow-men on Christian grounds, with a spirit and an eloquence, which multitudes have felt as deeply as myself, and which it would be superfluous therefore for me to panegyrize. There is a character, however, in which others cannot speak for me, and in which therefore I would embrace the opportunity of saying a word or two for myself. I appear amongst you; my fellow-townsmen, not only as an inhabitant of Leeds, bound to you by the strong ties of hospitality, and an absentee in the body from the land of my nativity, yet often-present with her in the spirit, with a heart that bleeds for her miseries, and kindles into indignation at her wrongs, and rejoices

in my hope, however faint, of seeing those miseries relieved, and those wrongs redressed. You have assembled, I trust, to express to our gracious King, your cordial acquiescence in a measure, should it be his good pleasure, in concurrence with the other branches of the legislature to sanction it, which I am not indeed so sanguine as to think will prove a panacea for all the numerous ills under which my unhappy country has so long suffered; but which, nevertheless, I am convinced will do something for her; – will help at least to soften and soothe the animosities, by which, while the present system of parish favour, proscription, and exclusion [?] she must continue to be torn asunder; a measure which will remove at least one material cause of dissension estrangement, and will tend in facilitate, if it does not absolutely produce that union of hearts amongst Irishmen, without which there can be no union of minds to any good purpose.

You have met, Gentlemen, to do what you can to alleviate to do what you can to alleviate the wretchedness and promote the future welfare of my suffering country, and I cam anxious, I confess, to express to you the deep interest that I take in a cause which the [?ctive] feelings of nature combine with reason and reflection to render dear to me. I should indeed be worthy of reprobation if I could stand by an uninterested spectator, where others, who have less reason, manifest so fervent a zeal. Gentlemen, if there still remain doubt and indecision amongst you on the subject before us, I cannot but think that it arises, rather from those prejudices and prepossesions of which we all carry about with us too large a share, – rather from the fluctuations of excited feeling, than from any serious difficulty suggested by the understanding. If the decision had rested with reason alone, it would have been long since made, and Fox and Barke, and Pitt and Canning, those master minds of various moulds, supported by almost all the intellectual strength of the houses of Peers and Commons, would not have addressed their powerful arguments to the British people in vain. But that people have a strong hatred of oppression, a powerful sympathy with suffering. Of Roman Catholics as they exist in the present day, either in the Sister Island or elsewhere, Englishmen know little, but they have many of them read tho fearful ties, and inspected the no less fearful prints in Fox’s book of Martyrs, and the have all heard of sundry wicked Popes, and more formidable still, of bloody Mary! Often, I am persuaded most Roman Catholics have been affected towards her, as an excellent preiste of the Church of England is said to have been towards a certain creed, and wished, alas! in vain, that they could be well rid of her. In truth I cannot but think it is somewhat unkind, when people are evidently ashamed of their relations, to be always putting them in mind of them, and I must say I feel some pity for my Roman Catholic brethren, when I see the blood brought into their countenances by the perpetual obtrusion of that bloody queen on their reluctant memories. But what proof have we that Roman Catholics either love or have any inclination to imitate that wicked woman? Earnestly do they disclaim all approbation of her conduct, and loudly do they protest against the injustice and cruelty of making them answerable for the crimes of their ancestors, whether of noble or ignoble blood.

True it is that Mary was a bloody persecutor; but it is prejudice and bigotry alone that dwell exclusively upon her atrocities, and contrive at the same time to forget the less numerous perhaps, but still bloody persecutions of her protestant sister Elizabeth – not in this connection certainly though a Rev. Gentleman has styled her so “of happy memory.” Few indeed are the sects that have not at one time or other swelled the annals of persecution, and we should all of us perhaps have reason to tremble if Heaven were to visit upon our heads the sins of our fathers in this respect. Calvin persecuted Servetus to death. Is there a Calvinist living now that pretends to vindicate the deed? Archbishop Cranmer persuaded King Edward against his will to condemn to the stake Joan Bocher and George Paris, one for denying the humanity, and the other for dyeing the divinity of Christ. What member of the Church of England will come forward to prove that Cranmer was justified in doing so? Luther, the father of the Reformation though he was against punishing heretics with death, thought that other punishments less severe might be lawfully hindered on them. “It is sufficient,” says he in one place, “that they should be banished.” In another passage he allows that “heretics may be corrected and lured to silence, if they publicly deny any of the articles received by all Christians, and particularly that Christ is God.” In a third passage he goes further, and says “that heretics, though they may not be put to death, may however be confined, and shut up in some certain place and put under restraint as madmen.” What think you, my fellow-townsmen, ought we to be satisfied with Luther’s toleration, and rest contented to enjoy our liberty of conscience in a gaol, or what might be called perhaps a heretic’s asylum. Though we are most of us Protestants, and as such have no small reverence for the great reformer, I rather think we shall none of us agree with him on this subject. Once more, that you may not think me partial, I may just mention, that Socinus, whom you probably think a great favourite of mine, and for, whose genius and virtues I will not deny that I feel a sincere respect, in a letter of his still extant vows [?] his opinion that “obstinate heretics” or, as he explains the epithet, “heretics who will pay no attention to their adversaries arguments, may be properly prevented from reading then opinions, if it cannot be otherwise done by chains and a prison.”  According to which doctrine I fear there are not a few in Leeds, whom, if I and my friends were in power, we should be under the painful necessity of placing under restraint. On this subject however, as on several others, I have the pleasure of assuring you that we take the liberty of dissenting from Socinus, and that you need be under no alarm on this head even if we should be called to rule over you. The truth is, that in the former days of ignorance, the spirit of persecution was to be found, in a greater or less degree, in almost every church. The Emancipationists say some of their opponents, cannot have read history: I answer, that they would have read it to little purpose, if they had not learned from it, that persecution of all kinds and in every degree is detestable, and that to persecute Roman Catholics a little now, because they persecuted our ancestors a good deal formerly, is neither wise nor Christian conduct. The church of Rome, I grant, was more deeply stained by the guilt of persecution than most of the churches that have seceded from her; but this is easily accounted for without supposing that it is essential to her nature to persecute, and that, no lapse of time, or alteration of circumstances can enable her to purge off this stain. It should be remembered, that she had long been in the possession of unrivalled and almost unbounded power; It was to be expected therefore, in consistency with all that we know of human nature, that, when the first attack was made up on that power, pride, and anger, and every other malignant passion should instantaneously rise up in arms, against those whom, as supreme judge in her own cause, she would naturally regard as rebellious schismatics and wicked innovators.

The Church of England on the contrary, chastised in her infant days by her aged parent, and surrounded almost from the first by Dissenters, was early taught wisdom and mercy by her own sufferings. Had she stood as long without a rival as the Church of Rome, it is at least possible that she might have persecuted as bitterly. The hostile spirit which some of her sons have manifested and still manifest to Dissenters as such, and the high tone which they assume, as if the mere act of their tempora establishment qualified them to take spiritual precedence of  those around them, would lead one to apprehend that even the Church of England meekly as, I grant, she has for the most part carried her faculties, might have abused, if she had enjoyed, enresisted, and unbounded power. In truth such power is good for none of us. We are all, not merely liable but likely to abuse it. The Church of Rome in power, however, and the same Church out of power, are very different. B[?] the terror of Europe, at St. Helens was a quiet gentlemanly, and somewhat [?] man: and so it is with the Pope in these days. As [?] as we are concerned, he might as well be at Helena as where he [?] an ocean flows between us and him; – the ocean of knowledge – which he can never cross to set foot in a hostile manner on our shores. Were he to do so, were he to threaten either our civil or religious liberties, I will pledge myself for my countrymen, yes, for my Roman Catholic countrymen; that they would be amongst the first to assist in driving him back to his snug hole and corner in Italy. Except as a peaceful ecclesiastic, a kind of Archbishop of Canterbury of the Church of Rome, the Pope neither has, nor can ever any substantial power in this realm. The greatest power he enjoys here at present is that which our No-Popery friends so kindly confer upon him, of frightening the grown-up children, who are not ashamed to listen to the horrible stories which they tell about him. What says our able townsman, Mr. M. Sadler, of these Papists, – this people who have been brought up under this murderous system, – who have imbibed, with their mothers milk, these doctrines, which according to our Brunswickers, not only forbid them to keep faith with heretics, but would lend them to commit murder upon all such? You shall hear “In the character of the inhabitants of Ireland!” says Mr. S. “there are the elements of whatever is elevated and bole.” These, however [?] down and hidden, are indicated whenever their development is not rendered impossible. Their courage in the [?] and panegyric of min, and has never been surpassed; their charity, notwithstanding their poverty, never equalled.” “Even while I am thus writing,” says Mr. Sadler, “I will dare to assert, that in many a cabin of that country, the godlike act of our immortal Alfred,” (who by the way, was a Roman Catholic too) “which will be transmitted down to the remotest generations – the dividing his last meal with the beggar, is this instant being repeated; – and their gratitude for kindnesses received equals the ready warmth with which they are ever conferred.” I mean not to contend” Mr. S proceeds, “that they have not faults and grievous ones, but these are mainly attributable” (I agree with him cordially) “to the condition to which they have been so long treated.” He then proposes his remedies, some of them well, worthy of attention, for Ireland’s calamities, and anticipates a time when “the Social edifice compact together and at unity in itself shall never again be shaken.” I thank Mr. M. Sadler in the name of my country, – I warmly thank him for his eloquent panegyric upon her sons, whom Popers, it seems, has not altogether corrupted, and whom unequaled charity I should hope, – charity that divides with the beggar his last meal should not be banished or transformed into the [?]-like spirit of malignity, and murder, by a little more kindness. Their “gratitude for kindnesses received,” Mr. S tells us equals the [?] warmth with which they are ever conferred.” Take Mr. S’s word for it, if you will not take mine. Though I too know something of the Irish heart – take the world of both of us, that they will not abuse your favours – that they will not violate your generous confidence – no, not for all the Popes and Priests that the word can contain, – but, on the contrary, will return [?] your  and your [?] every deal of kindness as you shall mete out to them. But what does Mr. S. say of emancipation in his work on the grievances of Ireland?

Of Emancipation Mr. S professes to say nothing. He merely intimates – and here too I agree with him – that Ireland has other grievances of a very serious nature to complain of to neglect those latter [?] talk of Emancipation only is in his mind, to pay tithe of mint and anise, and cumin, and to omit the weightier [?] of the saw of patriotism– judgment, mercy, and idolity supposes it to be so allow that Emancipation resembles the small tithes yes Mr. S. I should think would be one of the last persons to recommend our not paying them – he will doubtless remember the words, “these things ought the to have done, but not to leave the others undone.” – Having had [?] her tithe of [?] which she did not ask for, poor Ireland might perhaps be grateful for what she would deem a tithe of [?], in the form of Emancipation. I have read Mr. S’s book on Ireland with some attention: I admire the spirit of [?] and generous feeling in which it is written; I think that he has taken a true view of some of the sources of Ireland’s mystery, and I approve of some of the remedies which he proposes but I cannot agree with him that little good would be effected by pinning all sects on the same [?] of equality in respect to civil rights and privileges, and thus doing away the bitter jealous with which a depressed [?] always regard a dominant and domineering party, especially if the former be, as in the present instance, the more numerous. Does Mr. S. think that any good could be effected by it? If so, he ought not to be a Runswicker, and in his book certainly we may look in vain for the spirit of that party. Gentlemen, you are many of you anxious and so I confess am I, how can any honest and consistent Protestant be otherwise? – to see our Roman Catholic brethren brought over to Protestantism. Is this your real wish? Remove then the barriers which sever them from you in mind as well as body. Remove the party prejudices which dender their understandings and their heards inaccessible to any arguments or pleadings, however powerful and just, that you can address to them, I solemnly warn you, Gentlemen, that in perpetuating their persons and party hostility, you will necessarily obstruct their conversion to what you deem truth and in so doing, may find hereafter that you have “fought against God.” There is little change that we shall convince or persuade those with our lips, whom by our actions we are degrading and insulting. And is it not a degradation and an insult to brand your fellow-countrymen as persons whose patriotism a breath from Rome can disperse, at any moment, into thin air – whose oaths of allegiance and fidelity are not to be believed – and who are not to be allowed to serve their king and country in a civil capacity because they acknowledge an ecclesiastical superior in the supposed successor of St. Peter? The Roman Catholics are clamouring for power, say the Brunswickers. No, Sir – It is for eligibility to power, a right to which our Constitution supposes every Brion entitled who is not incapable of exercising it, or who has not forfeited his right to do so by his misconduct. Minors, aliens, criminals, and Roman Catholics, with a few other Sectarians, (who scruple to take the oaths prescribed) are the classes of persons noted by Blackstone as incapacitated from serving in Parliament. And is there no injury, no insult, in this association? I contend Sir, that there is, and that neither Roman Catholics nor any other class of sincere religionists whatsoever, ought, as such, to be ranked with [?], aliens, and criminals. If Protestant Englishmen were thus associated, the blood would boil in their veins; and can they wonder, then, that it runs in a quickened current through the body of the Irish Catholic, constitutionally hot in temper as he is warm in heart? As for the danger likely to result from admitting Roman Catholics into the legislative body, it is really childish to talk of it. While the comparative strength of the two parties throughout the United Kingdom remains as it is, there cannot, obviously, be the shadow of danger of Popish domination if all the Catholic Members without an exception) were Catholic barristers, as clever as O’Connell, and us eloquent as Shell, and if in the fervour of a zeal, such as few Protestants feel for the 39 Articles, they were to bring the questions of Transubstantiation and the Papal supremacy before the House every Session, which is not highly probable, I will leave it to any Brunswicker possessed of a decent portion of common sense, to compute the probable number of their converts, within any given time. And as for the House of Lords, their ease there would be still more hopeless, their advocates being still fewer in number, and the prejudices of [?]; we know, peculiarly strong. The Earl of Shrewsbury, it is true, has written a book in defence of his creed, but he will find some difficulty in persuading the Lords Temporal to read it – find the Lords Spiritual will, of course, find it easy to refute anything that a hymn can have urged upon the subject. On the whole nothing can be made ridiculous than the pretended apprehension of Poplar legislation, [?] weak heads may possibly entertain it; but when men of sense pretend to feel it, the purest candour must fear that it is their object to frighten and delude those whom they know to be ignorant, and therefore expect to be credulous. But say some really good men, the Roman Catholic religion is so attractive to the imagination, from the antiquity of its origin, and the splendour of its ritual; its doctrine of absolution, purgatory, &c. are so well calculated to make fail man easy under the burden of his frailties; and, in short, it is so skillfully accommodated throughout to the weakness of our nature, that we cannot but fear that if placed on an equality in other respects, with Protestantism, it may have superior charms for the multitude, and may even in time win over our princes and our rules by its seductions. So long, I would reply, as the Establishment retains its rich endowments, and enjoys the exclusive patronage of the Crown, there can be little fear of such a catastrophe. The majority, of the higher class especially, will long feel the sacred duty of conforming to an Established Church, of the truth of which they will require no surer voucher than the simple fact that it is established. I mean no disrespect to the Church of England, as a church, when I assert, that religion so well endowed as here – a religion that, in the phrase of Burke, can “raise a mitred head in Courts and Parliaments,” be its forms and doctrines and theological merits what they may, need be under little apprehension of any sudden or material defection of its wealthy and powerful adherents. But this, it will be said, is a mere argumentum ad hominem, addressed to the worldly wise, which will not satisfy those who are upon conviction piously attached to Protestantism, and seriously apprehensive of a revival of Popers. 

To objectors of this class, those worthy and pious men, for I doubt not there are many such, – who not having studied the subject in its political bearings, ground their hostility to Catholic Emancipation solely on their fears of the future prevalence of what they deem a dangerously erroneous creed, I would reply by this simple question, “– whether they can seriously think; that in a fair and equal contest with error, truth is in any danger of being defeated; or that with the favour of God on her side she can fall of being victorious? For my own part I am well persuaded that she needs none of the weapons, either defensive or offensive, with which the rulers of this world are so troublesomely axous to supply her. If she might have her own will she would cast them all from her, as David cast from him the armour of Saul. Like that brave champion of the Lord of Hosts, she would go forth to the battle free and unencumbered, trusting for her defense to God’s favour and her own unfettered movements, and asking for no weapons of more destructive power than a few sound and solid arguments, smooth pebbles well rounded from Silaos brooke, with the sling of natural eloquence, to send them home to their destination. Reflection I think will soon convince the pious and the good that error can be no match for truth, when they stand on equal ground, and that to pretend to guard the latter by pains and penalties is to discover want of faith in her native resources, and in reality to encumber her with aid. In conclusion I would say with my esteemed and respected brother, to our friends of the Church of England, “Be just and fear not.” – Be generous and fear not. You have relieved the Dissenters from their shackles. You have elevated them to equality with yourselves. I trust you will reap the good fruits of having done so; and that you will find in us your cordial and zealous co-adjustors in every just, humane, and virtuous enterprise. But let us pead with you, – gratitude should be like that of the manumitted slave, the first effect of whose recovered liberty is to render Him indifferent to the sorrows and the sufferings of the former companions of his bondage, gratitude, I say, which in our ethical system is not that frosty kind of feeling which some seem to imagine it, having ore affinity to cold than heat, and exerting a contractile rather than an expansive influence, gratitude for our own success excites us to plead with you for the brothers of the family who are still excluded, still degraded. Try my Roman Catholic countrymen, and, trust me, you will find them also capable and worthy of being connected with you in the equal bonds of brotherhood. If you thought them your enemies it were a noble and Christian experiment, and experiment justified by a wiser and better policy than that of this world, – to try to subdue them by your kindness. “If thine enemy hunger feed him, if he thirst give him drink,” says an apostle. ‘Absurd policy!’ says a Brunswicker; food will strengthen, and drink refresh him, and his power to do you mischief will be greater than ever. Christ however and Paul thought otherwise and foreold that by so doing we should “heap coals of fire on his head,” and melt or [?] him into friendship with us. This is human nature in this opinion; and Mr. M. Sadler has told you that my countrymen are not an exception to the general rule, but that they are as capable of gratitude as they are of kindness. All that I wish, my friends, is that you would try them. 

[thesardonicwriter]

Poems I Wrote in 2019

Yes, yes, I sometimes write poems. Because I’m a musician and write songs. Some of them aren’t long enough to be songs or I never put music to go with them, but all of them relate to how I was feeling at the time they were written. Sometimes a poem is easier than a journal entry.

Nightingale

What is a nightingale?

Is it something that we strive to be?

No, it is something that we wish could be reached.

What is a nightingale?

Is it an idea that brings us joy?

No, it is an ideal that no one can be held to.

What is a nightingale?

Is it my love for you?

No, it is something that I fake to bring joy.

What is a nightingale?

A nightingale is a simple songbird.

Nothing special for you or me.

Nightingale was written near the beginning of the year. I was still struggling with self identity. Hell, I still am now, near the end of the same year. I was in my final semester at community college after two years of not doing what I wanted to do. I felt... trapped. I felt like I hadn’t done anything important for the past two years and they had been a waste. 

What We Must

A lie is something easily told and easily believed

Because it is easy to want the better half

Of a world that revels in the dark and the hurt and the pain,

Of a world that pushes down that which makes us special.

The truth is something hated and revered, loved and despised

All for the same reasons a lie is believed.

A thing full of more pain than the word itself, a more tortured soul

Than a wannabe poet with a broken, leaking pen.

We do what we must to make people smile.

We do what we must to push forward.

We lie to make others happy.

We lie to make ourselves miserable.

Could the truth truly be an answer to freedom,

Or will it be the final nail that keeps the coffin lid down?

The first shovel of dirt has already been thrown on the roof

With a thundering, deafening blow that lingers in dark air

A lie is something that is wanted to avoid the pain

A lie is what I have told to you, my dear.

The truth would crush you, I am certain, for it is true

You say that you love me, but I cannot love you.

As you can probably tell, this was written about someone I was dating. He was really nice. A good friend of mine that I now no longer talk to because of a lot of reasons. We were pressured into our relationship by two other friends of ours. They were convinced that we would be perfect for each other. It was pretty great, but he wasn’t right for me. He had a lot of things that he needed to work out, mostly involving his parents. He also told me he loved me after a week together. Not wanting to break up with him after so short a time, I went along with it. I’m not proud of this, but I told him that I loved him when I don’t think I ever really did. I ended up breaking up with him after four or five months together. 

Special

Did you know

That I am not a special person?

If you’d look, I could show

How my mental state will just worsen.

I wish that it was much simpler to just go

To a state of being a much better version

Than who I am.

I want to be H.P. Lovecraft.

I want to be e.e. Cummings.

I want to be able to write past a rough draft

I wish that I could stand with the kings

Of literature and art, with a future graphed

To a level where people will take cuttings

Of works I have done, but I am too daft

To be more than I am.

I am not special, and neither are you.

1 in a million is a phrase for a reason.

There are hundreds of things we can do

Hundreds of things we can be, no matter the season,

That can change the world, but I know it is true

My name will not be remembered, but that’s not treason,

Because maybe I am the difference.

Ha. I think I’m much more depressing in my writing than I think, looking back now. Anywho, don’t worry about me. I’m doing fine. This was really just me coming to terms with the fact that, again, it’s okay to not be super famous or well known. That was what I wanted for a while and then I realised how much that would suck ass. So. I’m happy to just write these little things and live my life to the fullest without worrying about other people’s opinions of me.

Fragile

I think I came to you because you’re fragile

And I thought that I was strong

I could see my touch pulled you down

And lifted you up to a level you couldn’t keep

Something keeps bringing you back to me

No matter what I say or do

You keep coming back to me, back to me

I keep you near, and forget you when you’re gone

I’ve pulled you into my world, dragged you down

I’m drowning in your love, you’re slipping into my reign

I don’t recognise who we were supposed to be

This isn’t what I wanted, but what you asked for

I’ve shown you the dark parts to send you away

I’ve pulled you down with me, carved out a person

That’s just like me

I know that I can be reckless with your heart

I’ve left it broken and bruised, fragile and hurt

But still you come back again and again

Your fire a little weaker, your light fading fast

I stand tall, you slouch next to me

I’m far too messy and hardly ever kind

Please get out of my atmosphere

Before you break apart and go down in flames

This was what I wrote when I actually came to terms with what I was actually feeling in the aforementioned relationship. Yeah, that’s what I thought was happening. I think I did have somewhat of a good influence on his life. He started standing up to his parents more often (he’s 22 but was struggling with that part. I think he’s doing better with them now). Even if our relationship didn’t end up being happily ever after, I can at least say that we changed.

400

400 dollars

What shall I spend it on?

I know the thing.

A fucking WiFi juicer.

I... um... FUCK JUICERO

Carve

Carve, carve, carve.

Must we make things this

Hard, hard, hard?

Hold my hand, push you back, it’s just not in our

Cards, cards, cards.

Force, force, force.

We’re far in, can’t change the

Course, course, course.

Just one more day, I yell until I’m

Hoarse, hoarse, hoarse.

Mark, mark, mark.

Ink on my arm, igniting the

Spark, spark, spark,

Of inspiration, of things knocked out of the

Park, park, park.

Carve, carve, carve.

I’m yours, you are not mine.

I was in love with the same girl for five years. Actually. Literally. Five years. She was everything that I thought I wanted and of course the most unattainable person in the whole country to me. I’d been in love with her since we were sat next to each other in orchestra and she complimented my doctor who t-shirt. God, that girl was practically perfect in every way. We even dated until she moved to California to become an astro physicist. After talking to some professionals who helped me with romantic obsession (an actual thing I didn’t know I suffered from), I’ve gotten over the memory of who she was here. We’ve both changed. I’m sure if I went to talk to her now, I wouldn’t recognise her.

10 Years My childhood defined.

A world opened up to me.

Stories written. Stories read and refined.

One thing to show me what to be.

A moment of redemption for you.

Hours of distraction for us.

A destiny nobody knew

Entertainment as an added plus.

A start from 2008.

A reboot that created a phenomenon.

The end that was destined, fate,

Yet never viewed as a pawn.

Four words that were never small

Four words that we all stan.

Four words that will end it all:

I am Iron Man.

END GAME HURT ME, OKAY?!

Meanings

A hug means I need you.

It means my life is falling down.

It means that you are constant

And I cannot be alone.

A kiss means I love you.

Or rather an idea that relies

On us being together for it to exist

And words spoke to still hold meaning.

A call means you miss me.

It means that I was on your mind.

It means that I didn’t answer, again

And I couldn’t be bothered.

It all means nothing to me,

But everything to you

Yet somehow I can’t let you go

And you thrive on what I give

Drops of love, here and there.

Kernels of affection, to and fro

You still haven’t realised

What it means to me.

Oh man, romantic/love obsession is a hard road. Especially when you let yourself get roped into a friends with benefits situation with someone you have a crush on and form a connection that turns into romantic obsession because of unresolved issues from when you were a teenager. Nothing like it.

Unremarkable 

Two lives are never the same.

It’s simple enough to say. 

It hurts enough to count.

It holds enough weight that someone will remember.

If two lives are never the same, 

Can one ever be unremarkable?

Will there always be something to remark upon

And will you make remarks to me?

History doesn’t repeat, 

At least not the way people think it does.

There are always similarities,

But two lives are never the same.

Unremarkable.

Never has there been a greater injustice 

Uttered to those who would wonder

What is worth it and what is broken now

We’re all worth it. Everyone. We’re unique. No one can be the same as someone else. This is just the truth, my friends.

[iris-writes-things]

Two Guys and a Baby: Day 4

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Pining? He wasn’t pining. Ezra Fell hadn’t pined for anyone since secondary school, had he? He and Anthony simply felt comfortable with one another when their lives happened to slot together, except for maybe last night, but it wasn’t like he had felt any unbearable heartache whenever they had to go their separate ways.

Or, Ezra confronts his feelings.

Chapter 6 of 20 Ongoing 2164 words Romance/Humor

It had been just like the last time. Him and Anthony. Alone. Well. Alone-ish. The booth in that bar two years ago wasn’t entirely what one would call ‘alone’, but it was alone enough. Anyway. Him and Anthony. Alone. A bottle of wine split between them. It had been dark. The only light between them had been the flickering of a candle. Anthony had leaned in close, then, but so had he. Back then, he couldn’t help the feeling that something was off. Something was wrong. They had both been intoxicated. To make a move would have been taking advantage. He had done the right thing, then. He’d gotten up, paid the tab and went home.

And then there had been two years of radio silence.

He frowned as his pen scribbled across the page of his journal, rubbing his free hand over his face. He was sitting comfortably on his bed in his comfortable flannel pajamas, but he felt everything but comfortable. Had it really been the right thing to do, though? To leave Anthony alone in his obviously troubled state? To not lean in and close the gap? After all, this had been the second time it happened. Clearly some part of Anthony wanted it.

God knew he wanted it.

He wanted to work together with Anthony, because with him, he felt invincible. Wanted to settle down with Anthony ever since he showed up at the park just outside his bookshop with little Anathema on his arm, and again with little Adam in his stroller. He wanted to bury his fingers in Anthony’s hair, take those silly sunglasses off his face, look deeply into his amber eyes and kiss him until he was breathless.

If only Anthony wanted the same.

Ezra snapped the journal shut and shoved it under his pillow, wrapped himself up in his blanket. He curled up into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut in hopes of sleep washing over him. 

Tomorrow, everything would be better.

*

Ezra had slumped down the stairs and into the shop early in the morning the next day. He hadn’t slept well. He had barely slept at all. He’d been too worried about Adam and Anthony. And, perhaps, worried about Anthony in more than one way. The red light of the dawn the bookshop bathed in seemed to set it aflame. He rubbed his eyes and made a beeline for the magazine section he kept on the ground floor of the shop.

'10 signs that he's into you,' the cover of the magazine he was reaching for read. Was he really desperate enough to ask advice from a teen magazine? Well, as it was, yes. Ezra didn't have that many friends, and the internet was something he wasn't quite ready to explore just yet. Besides, there was nothing wrong with just checking, right?

He took a seat behind the counter of the shop and leafed through to the article. Alright, top of the list.

1. He reaches out first.

Well, that had been correct, wasn’t it? Anthony had needed his help with Adam, so that made sense. Though, it hadn’t been for himself, right? It had been for Adam’s sake. Ezra decided it didn’t count. For now.

2. He always seems happy around you.

That wasn’t quite right either. Whenever Anthony was around his nowadays he seemed… nervous, sometimes. Grumpy, other times, but even more reserved. And then there was whatever the heck yesterday was.

The bell over the bookshop’s door jingled.

“W-we’re closed!” Ezra stammered as he rushed to hide the magazine behind the counter.

“Ezra! Is that any way to greet a potential customer?” the man entering the shop said with a jolly tone in his voice. 

“Gabriel!” The magazine flopped to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Gabriel started as he made his way up to the counter. “I was going to meet up with a contact at a major publisher to discuss your book over a bagel and a cup of coffee, but I realized I left my copy of your first draft at home. So, since I was in the area anyway, I figured I’d swing by and ask if I can borrow your copy, maybe?”

Ezra squinted up at the impossibly tall American man, but got up and made his way up to his apartment nonetheless.

“Nice place you got here.” Gabriel noted flatly. “Real quaint.” Footsteps echoed across the empty shop, up to the apartment above where Ezra searched for his first draft, as his agent went behind the counter. 

“Thanks,” Ezra said with a flatness to his tone to rival Gabriel’s.

“Oh, what’s this? ‘10 signs that he’s into you’?”

Ezra nearly dropped his draft once he had it. “It’s nothing!” he called nervously down the stairs, before making his way back to the ground floor.

“Well, unless you suddenly hired yourself a cashier, I’d guess you were the one reading this garbage. Or are you about to tell me there’s some kind of top-grade journalism going into the production of a glossy teen magazine?”

“Surely, a lot more work goes into producing a glossy teen magazine than either of us think, but I swear, it’s nothing.” Ezra said as he snatched the magazine from Gabriel’s fingers and quickly replaced it with his first draft.

“If you say so, buddy,” Gabriel patted Ezra’s head before making his way back to the door.

So patronizing. He ought to say something. “Gabriel!” he called. But when the man turned around to face him, all traces of fierceness left the author. Ezra painfully remembered that he needed his help. “There’s something I need to ask you.”

The man rolled up the stack of paper, stuck it under his arm and folded his arms over each other. “If you’re going to invite me on a date, I’m sorry, but I don’t do that kind of thing with clients. Of either sex.”

“That’s not what I— Look, I just wanted to ask you if maybe I could pick the artist for the cover for the book. I have this friend who’s a fantastic painter, and he already said he’d be interested.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “First, let me try to get through to the publisher, then we’ll talk artists.”

“Oh, alright then…” Ezra stammered. “I just thought it might be nice since he’s a direct descendant Agnes’.”

A single eyebrow raised on the tall man’s face.

“The witch the book is about. His niece actually gave me a treasure trove of information I can use to make the book more accurate.”

“You know what, Ezra. I’ll see what I can do for you,” Gabriel said with a chuckle, turning to leave again. “Oh, and a quick word of advice: if the guy you think is into you won’t take the initiative, maybe you should give it a shot. Pining is all fun and games in romance novels, but in real life, it’s painful to watch.”

The bell over the bookshop’s door jingled as it clicked shut and Gabriel started on his way.

Pining? He wasn’t pining. Ezra Fell hadn’t pined for anyone since secondary school, had he? He and Anthony simply felt comfortable with one another when their lives happened to slot together, except for maybe last night, but it wasn’t like he had felt any unbearable heartache whenever they had to go their separate ways. Not for the first month of Anthony’s avoiding him last time, anyway. After that, Ezra would be lying if he said a deep dread didn’t settle in him that he, perhaps, had done the wrong thing. That he had hurt his friend. That they would never talk again.

And yet, when he’d met him and Adam in the park the other day, they talked like nothing ever happened. Perhaps he was overthinking this.

But perhaps not.

Ezra picked the magazine back up and sat back at his seat behind the counter as he continued reading the article.

3. He cares about your needs.

Ezra glanced up from the magazine when his phone buzzed. It would be one of those days, wouldn’t it? The saying might go ‘no rest for the wicked’, but there was rarely any peace for the virtuous either. Though, everything disappeared when he read the message on the black and white screen of his cell phone.

“Sorry I was an ass yesterday. At the bakery for a peace offering. Will see you soon. -C”

Well… That was alright, then.

*

Three words. Belgian, chocolate, croissants.

“You like it?” Anthony asked him while fed Adam, sitting in the windowsill he’d claimed as his own since Saturday. Perhaps Ezra would keep it cleared of all the books, if Anthony would still like to visit once Adam’s mums were back.

“Are you out of your mind? These are fantastic! Are you sure you don’t want any?”

Anthony shrugged. “I had breakfast before I left.”

“Well, your loss. They are splendid,” Ezra said as he ate another. He swore he saw Anthony smile at him, warm and gentle. But then again, it might have been directed towards Adam.

“That’s good,” Anthony said. “Wouldn’t be much of a peace offering otherwise.”

“Last I checked, we weren’t at war.”

“Last I checked, I was a complete ass to you yesterday and you deserved better.”

“It’s alright, dear. We all have those days,” Ezra smiled.

A shade of pink tinged the other man’s cheeks as he glanced away. 

It made Ezra’s heart leap, and he made a mental note of it to describe it in detail in his journal tonight. He briefly wondered if Anthony had any idea how captivating he was. If he knew how endearing he was.

“And…” he spoke again. “I’m also sorry about that night two years ago.”

“What?”

“I was just… pissed out of my mind. I shouldn’t have gone in to kiss you…” and Ezra had been sure Anthony would have gone on, had Adam not struggled around in his lap. “What’s up, little guy? Are you full already?”

“I think he wants you to put him down,” Ezra suggested.

Crowley gave him a look, but soon cracked a smile.

Ezra rolled his eyes. “On the floor, Anthony dear.”

“Are you sure? He’s been fine with me holding him so far.”

“Just, trust me. There’s nothing dangerous he can get up to in the shop.”

Anthony seemed to think this over as his brows furrowed behind the rims of his sunglasses, but eventually set Adam down on the floor and vigilantly watched the baby as he crawled off.

“You’ve gotten attached, haven’t you?” Ezra asked, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand.

“It’s not like he’s making it very difficult,” Anthony shrugged, still glancing in the direction Adam crawled in. “And I do like children, you know?”

Ezra knew the man must have liked children on some level, of course. He wouldn’t have had the presence he’d had in his niece’s life if he hadn’t. All that theatre Anthony put on to be the cool, tough guy, and yet, he was a big softie.

As the sun started to reach its apex and no longer hid behind the trees in the park outside the shop, its warm rays crashed through the window of the storefront, where Anthony was sitting in the windowsill. The sunlight caught behind his sunglasses, putting his eyes on display for Ezra, and bathed the bespectacled man in an almost ethereal aura. A smile spread across Ezra’s face as he gazed deeply into those amber pools.

“I think your eyes are the most beautiful I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking at. It’s a shame you hide them behind those sunglasses all the time.”

Anthony blushed a deep red and glanced away, and Ezra realized that he hadn’t just thought that to himself.

“I-I’m sorry!” he stammered. His face lit on fire like a matchstick struck at lightspeed. “I didn’t mean to say that, I just…”

A grumble escaped Anthony. Something along the lines of “you could have just asked me,” but against all odds, the man had taken off his sunglasses and tucked them into the inner pocket of his jacket. 

*

Granted, it hadn’t been the finest move on his part, Ezra thought as he scribbled in his journal that night, but it had been so worth it, to watch his eyes sparkle, his eyebrows knitting together, his mouth gaping, his cheeks growing the most beautiful shade of red… 

And he had stayed. They had had lunch and dinner together, Anthony’s treat, as well. They had talked about their respective jobs and crafts and everything and nothing. Anthony had actually managed to relax after letting Adam go and his sunglasses hadn’t rested on his nose again until he went home for the night.

Perhaps he would contact Anathema on the matter. But that would have to wait until the next morning. For now, he shoved his journal under his pillow and went to sleep.

[regrettablewritings]

The Devil’s Advocacy (Slight Lucifer Morningstar x Reader)

A/N:*casually publishes piece that’s been in her drafts for eons that honestly should’ve been done during Pride Month and in celebration of the fact that Lucifer got saved but she kept procrastinating, and is using the excuses that every month is pretty gay #20gayteen and that Tessa Thompson coming out calls for the elongating of the month*

The TV shows, movies, and music videos had it all wrong: There was absolutely nothing glamorous about going to a club to drink away your sorrows. Or maybe the problem was that you weren’t doing it right. That was honestly very likely; these types of places weren’t really your scene. And frankly you were probably kidding yourself by choosing to give your patronage to one of the more upscale clubs in LA rather than one of the much cheaper (yet arguably unsafe) bars that otherwise riddled the rest of the area.

And yet, you wanted to believe that you deserved Lux-level drinking. Or rather, you needed to (so your mind told you): You’d endured enough crap for the day, and there was no point in worsening your already glum mood by grabbing a sip at, say, the Swill Trough eleven blocks over. Though, as you sat in the seductively lit establishment, surrounded by the gyrating bodies of clubgoers and their voices which blared over the bass-heavy thud of the music, you were beginning to question your decision. Not necessarily regret it, per se, but perhaps mull over it. The $10 vodka-infused Shirley Temple you'd been nursing for the past half hour wasn’t even doing much for you, the ice having long since diluted the liquor. Though, at this point, did you even want to get drunk anymore? You weren’t entirely sure. Probably not, to be perfectly frank.

A decently loud yet still logical enough side of you figured that the least you could do was finish it and then decide what your next move was. But alas, with every sip, no thoughts were coming to mind. And you really didn’t want to go home just yet . . .

A glimpse at the clock on your phone had you deciding that two and a half hours probably wasn’t enough time for your mother to calm down from whatever breed of hysterics she’d risen to since you’d left. But then, it was also too much time to be sulking in such an environment – that was better suited for one of the aforementioned holes-in-the-wall.

You hummed a singular note as you brought your drink to your lips. Maybe I should go to the Swill Trough, you half-heartedly mused. Maybe then I’ll start feeling that “drink away your sorrows” crap.

“You know, most people would come to a club looking for a good time. At the very least, Lux has never been a place to disappoint. Is there perhaps any way that I might . . . better your experience?” The voice didn’t so much break your thoughts as it did manifest as fingers that curled around them with mischievous intent. Perhaps it was because it was soaked with seductive intent. Or perhaps it was because it the type of British accent it was delivered in was almost always used by tricksters in fantasy movies: Elegant, suave, but actually a sleazeball.

Good god, this man must’ve come from across the pond to hit on “easy American girls.”

Eyes rolling, you forced yourself to turn around, fully prepared to tell the guy that now really wasn’t the time to attempt innuendo with you . . . only to learn that he didn’t quite look like the sleazy, try-hard trickster archetype you’d pictured in your head. In fact, at the very least he could tricked you out of your clothes if you were in the right mood.

Though frankly, you almost forgot what kind of mood you were in for the few seconds it took for you to fully ingest the vision before you: Glossy hair, neatly combed back; dark eyes that gleamed with a vigor you had never quite seen in another person before; a finely-carved out nose, right above a smile that was equal parts flirtatious and intimidating. Though, not in a predatory way that one might find on most men in the Los Angeles area; if anything, it appeared to be powered by sheer cockiness. And considering the clearly bespoke suit the stranger wore, he had every reason to exude such levels of esteem. Maybe he was a hotshot lawyer or a doctor or something?

Whatever the case, he was, simply put, quite possibly the prettiest man you had ever seen – and that was saying something in a town bustling with men constantly undergoing procedures, diets, and fashion statements in order to peacock themselves! He was like the prime example of the sort of person your mother would’ve wanted you to meet – Oh, yeah.

In an instant, you remembered what mood you had been in. Your body responded accordingly with you shoulders slumping somewhat and your eyes perhaps flickering with diminished interest.

“Sorry,” you apologized despite personally feeling no reason to. “Kind of having a rough night.” You inwardly cringed, realizing the door you had just opened of your own admission. Tall, dark, and handsome seemed to take notice.

“Yes, well,” he prompted, “isn’t that all the more reason to stop sulking at the bar like some –” he waved a hand aimlessly at you in search of the right words. “– dockworker undergoing a midlife crisis. You’re young, you’re supposed to be carefree, taking life by the balls!” Truly, the vigor in his eyes was no lie; the amount of passion he had by simply suggesting you grab life by the proverbial testicles was honestly astounding even in your somber state.

“At the very least, you should be out grabbing somebody’s balls,” he muttered. “Looks like it might do you some good.” And with a sip of his own glass of high-end bourbon, any semblance of admiration for his zest that you had had died in a blazing ball of death.

“Excuse me?” you demanded, renewed with your own fire. In spite of the fury you had attempted to carry in your voice and glare, Tall, Dark, and Handsome did not appear to be fazed. If you had a moment to stop and think, you would have taken it to wonder just how often he’d found himself in like situations.

“I mean no offense to you, it’s just that you’re sort of existing in your own little depressing corner of the world and you look like you could use a pick-me-up. Or, in this context, a prick-me-up.” He arched a brow and kept that cocky smile still intact. If you hadn’t spent $10 on it, you would’ve been even more tempted to fling your drink into Tall, Dark, and Asshole’s face.

“Well, excuse me for daring to enter one of LA’s many clubs with the audacity of not wanting to snort coke off a hooker’s bellybutton and take a cop car on a joyride!” you uttered through gritted teeth.

“Not snort coke? You’re either no fun at all or in a bad mood,” TDA scoffed. “Either way, no coke tonight, love, I just had some the other day and a dear friend of mine is still on my ass about it. Though, speaking of, I could get you that joyride, free of charge with an optional and highly recommended other type of ride.”

You. Wanted. To. Scream. Pretty or not, he was getting on one of the already halved nerves that you had remaining. You wanted to scream and fling your drink at him – at anyone, really – and keep screaming until everything was out. Not just everything about this but everything from earlier, everything about your mom, everything about you –

But all you had the energy to do was turn away from the gadfly beside you and stop just short of slamming your face onto the counter of the bar. The exhaustion of performing as a human soda bottle was too much; you had to just let yourself sit there and let the inward stress fizzle out. Even though it would most certainly return, by TDA’s means or worse.

Had your eyes been kept on the man, however, you would have noticed that disgustingly charming smile of his begin to falter away.

“Oh dear, you must really not be in a great mood. That last bit usually piques some type of interest . . .” In your bitterness, you nearly dared to consider his newfound tone as one of genuine sympathy. In fact, it very well may have been, if not for your inability to convince yourself. At this point, you were sincerely prepared to abandon your drink and trudge back out into the stinking streets of the city. You weren’t sure if wallowing around would do your perception of the day any good, but you were very certain that staying here and being pestered by some smug prettyboy definitely wouldn’t do you any good.

But before you could even muster the strength to remove yourself from your barstool, the man continued, “Look: Emotions aren’t really my bag, usually I just focus on the more . . . superficial things.” At this moment, your brows furrowed. What did he mean by “superficial”? In spite of how slowly you did so, you couldn’t stop yourself from turning your gaze back to TDA.

“But,” he continued, setting his glass down on the counter, “it’s never been much of my style to necessarily leave a pretty lady in my establishment unsatisfied. So!” He leaned in, that smile leaking back onto his annoyingly handsome features.

“What do you want? What is it you truly desire?”

Normally, when a person is asked this, they will feel a flurry of thoughts and temptations. They may feel put off by the nosiness of such a question. Perhaps they might feel indifference or even eagerness to share what they had to say. Or maybe they would feel a spike of anxiety at the sudden presentation of such a potentially life-searching query. After all, what one responds with could easily say everything or all the wrong things about a person – and not everybody wants even the former.

Some might know exactly what their deepest desire was but feel compelled to hide it away out of shame or simply wanting to keep to themselves. Others wouldn’t offer an answer simply because they didn’t have one. Because to boil down the endless possibilities each individual wants into a simple, single sentence is very often impossible to do when one lives to want more than what they can have at that moment.

In your case, you were startled by the sudden question, as any person in their right mind would be upon receiving it from a stranger, no matter how good-looking he may be. And yet, as your eyes so much as entered the same line of his gaze, they were held there. It didn’t matter you’re your face was sparking from the inside with blush as you felt yourself staring into the twinkling eyes of this gorgeous stranger. All you wanted to do – all you could do – was keep staring into those deep, dark pools.

And just as soon as you had, it was as if you were no longer entirely in control of yourself, much less a part of your own mind and body. It wasn’t quite an out-of-body experience, but it certainly felt peculiar to say the least. As though the metaphorical hands from earlier had managed to manifest somewhere deep within the crevices of your mind, caressing with delicate but attentive fingers to find exactly what they were looking for with every intention of bringing whatever it found to the forefront of your mind.

Your voice and mouth moved of their own accord, your brain sluggishly scrambling to make sense of it all.  “I . . . I want . . .”

“Yes?” the stranger coaxed, his tone enticingly perverse and eager as he cling to your every syllable.

“I want . . . things to be okay,” you blurted. And just like that, you could feel yourself slingshotting back into your senses. Almost as if you had woken up from a dream you hadn’t been entirely invested in or even fully asleep for. As you blinked with rapid succession, coming to grips with what you had just confessed, the man reeled in from his leaning position. His face seemed, in a phrase, somewhat disappointed.

“Well, that’s awfully vague,” he said.

You felt your cheeks burning. You weren’t entirely sure what to say to that; he had a point after all. Everybody wants things to be okay, but it was their own personal situations that defined what “okay” meant.

As you began to sink into a state of reverie, you couldn’t help but pick up on small but nonetheless present cues from the man. He was preparing to leave you with your thoughts. Logically, this was what you wanted. However, this wasn’t what you told yourself you wanted. For whatever reason, in spite of what all had just transpired between the two of you, you wanted him to stay. To clear whatever air might not have even existed in that moment.

He wasn’t looking into your eyes, inducing that previous state of hypnosis when you found your next words tumbling from your mouth: “I came out to my mom as bi.”

You paused. You considered whatever you’d been attempting to do successful as TDA paused and set his sights back on you. The previous look of slight disappointment had been completely replaced with one of

“Sexual. Bisexual,” you clarified. It felt weird saying it out loud. Or maybe it was because it was being said to a complete stranger. Speaking of which, why were you saying even that? Was the alcohol actually strong enough after all? Was he really that charming that you were willing to confess that just to get him to keep from walking away? If anything, blurting out that sort of thing would have the opposite effect!

Right now, your newest, deepest desire had become to take the drink in your hand and smash the glass against your head, hopefully killing you instantly.

To your surprise, however, the stranger didn’t seem put off one bit by your confession. If anything, his brows had risen along with a smile. He actually looked . . . pleased? Possibly even impressed!

“Really? Good for you, welcome to the club!” he cheered. The excitement, to your befuddlement, was genuine. “We’ve got leather jackets, and then we’ve got suit jackets such as mine for those who know better.”

You couldn’t help but scoff in place of the coy chuckle you’d meant to give off. “At least you’re taking it well.”

“Oh, what, did some Bible Bob have an actually accurate gaydar – or I guess bi-fi in this case? Call you out on the streets?” TDA leaned forward once more with renewed enthusiasm. His voice lowered in an attempt to contain the obvious excitement present. “Did you dump a guy and then get with his superior-in-the-sack twin sister?”

“Nah,” you shook your head. Part of you told you to leave it at that. But another part of you told you you were already in too deep; you might as well come completely clean.

“My mom,” you said before stopping. Was this too much? No . . . No, you were still sore from earlier; you had every right to vent out just as everybody else in this place probably would over dumber things. “My mom, she . . . Like, she didn’t take it well.” At the vagueness of your statement, the stranger’s expression fell once more. Only it wasn’t one of disappointment or even precociousness. You were surprised to find that he was capable of creating such a stern expression. Surprised and frightened, to be more precise.

His aura, previously exuding an energy of life, now seemed to throb with something more tense. From the way his features seemed to darken and tighten, you could tell he was threatening disgust. Not only that, but it was a disgust that some part of you for whatever reason feared the most.

“Did she kick you out?” he asked, his voice sounding restrained in an attempt to handle the question with fragility.

“No! No… I mean…She just didn’t take it well.” You attempted to handle your words with as best of care as you could. You weren’t even certain what exactly you were afraid the man would do, considering he didn’t even know your mother or who you even were. But something about the way he’d composed himself at even the slightest hint of injustice made something within you curdle. You awkwardly shrugged in an effort to alleviate the foul mood.

“She kinda just stood there. Eyes got a little less focused. And she went all quiet . . . When I tried speaking, she just said she needed a moment to think about it. But think about what!? I’m bi, simple as that! . . . I mean, it’s NOT simple but – ” You groaned as you watched your efforts collapse with every utterance you made. Pressing a hand to your forehead in surrender, you sighed.

“I mean, I guess I should feel grateful that it’s just that. I know I should. But, like?” Your brow creased the harder you ran your thoughts. “I didn’t hurt anyone, it’s not like I just confessed to killing somebody and I needed her help hiding the body. I didn’t do anything shameful, I just told her something about me. It’s not fair to feel like crap for something that wouldn’t hurt anyone. So why do I feel awful for it?”

“Personal decision, from what I’ve observed,” TDA stated bluntly. That earned him an incredulous look from you.

“No, really,” he insisted. “It’s the same type of guilt that keeps somebody looping through their own personal Hell: They have opportunities and the tools to rid themselves of the guilt they imagine is there. They just have to let themselves have it.”

You never broke your stare; only adjusted it to express the confusion you now had. What was this weirdo going on about?

“I mean, look at me,” he grinned as he gestured to himself. “I have nary a regret about my bedmates and here I am, free as a horny bird!”

You made the decision to not compute those last two words. “Did your folks kick you out when you told them?” you inquired without thinking.

“Oh, no,” he responded immediately. In fact, he almost sounded surprised that you would ask such a thing. “Well, they did kick me out. My dad did. But it was for totally unrelated reasons, I can assure you.” He raised his glass to his lips. “Probably wishes that it was just my sexuality, though.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, though you weren’t sure what gave you validation to do so. You brought this upon yourself, whatever it was. You weren’t sure what exactly you were expecting from any of this or where you wanted this to go but at this point, it seemed to be heading closer and closer toward a whirlpool of small talk and emptiness. And realistically, it should be. Realistically, this had to end with the man getting bored or getting distracted by some other, more fulfilling (and dress-filling) chick ready to get boozed up and have a good time. And, realistically, you were going to be left alone once more, unsatisfied for receiving something you weren’t even aware you were searching for. You would gulp down your drink (which was probably so diluted that it was mostly an aqueous Shirley Temple) and, with no other plans, force yourself to head back home where your mother would still probably be thinking about your bisexuality. And she, too, would be unable to offer you whatever it was you wanted.

The stream of thoughts must’ve leaked into your features so fluidly that TDA, in his resumed cockiness, managed to capture their meanings before you even had a chance to realize that they were there to begin with.

It was a low sigh that managed to break you out of your mulling. It was a sound you could tell he didn’t make very often.

“Look,” he said. “Did you hurt anyone? As in, beyond petty vengeance or whatever it is?”

You shook your head. “No . . .”

He went on, “Are you using your bisexual powers for good i.e. having mountain-moving, mind-blowing sex with other consenting adults?”

Half a smirk managed to slip through your wall of worries at the wording of his statement. You really shouldn’t have had any semblance of surprise at this point but you still found yourself amused by the tonal shift.

“I mean, I haven’t been sexually active or anything,” you said, voice wavering with the threat of chortling. “But I’m not using it for, like, not good.”

“And do you have any plans to go out into the streets, promenading about your bed life once it does finally kick in?” he grinned teasingly.

“God, no!” You messed up: The smile broke completely free of your toothy hold on it.

“Don’t bring him into this,” TDA said almost warningly. “Though, you really are no fun,” he muttered with a smile. Before you could snap at him, he interrupted with, “Either way, congratulations, young lady: you’re in my father’s hands.” You couldn’t help but notice a node of sarcasm beneath the statement.

“That being said, you’re the goody-good bi type – more specifically, you’re good and just so happen to be bi. The only punishments you ought to be getting are weird, kinky ones, that is, if you were actually any fun. So enough with this whole self-induced guilt cycle, you’re bumming me out just watching you bum yourself out over this!”

You weren’t entirely sure what to respond to or how. “Gee, thanks.”

“No problem at all. If anything, you ought to be more ashamed by wasting your potential: Twice the options in love and sex means twice the fun! If you’ve never thought of it that way then I strongly suggest you start getting out more; maybe relieving yourself of the constant presence of the overthinking mother might do you some good. You shouldn’t let other people determine how you should feel or how you present yourself. Don’t be a plaything in their little play – Go out there: make your own story! Preferably one featuring lots of experimenting and, I don’t know, actually having fun with it.”

“You do realize that by that principle, I shouldn’t be trusting you, right?” you said, smirk entirely full at this point. TDA, however, appeared to be unfazed.

“True as that may be, I can assure you that you can trust me on this one. I’m not going to lie and say any of it’ll be easy but what I can do is tell you that I’ve seen some pretty pathetic sentient garbage passing for humans in my life. Not being straight doesn’t even put you close to that. It’s not necessarily who you are or what your desires are, it’s what you do with them. And clearly, you’re doing nothing with them at all to warrant such a self-defeating mindset.”

As he said this, you couldn’t help but feel as though there were an extra layer to what this dark-haired man was telling you. It was only further assisted by the fact that he didn’t quite look at you until he’d completed his final sentence. If anything, he appeared to have been reminiscing about something; likely those sentient pieces garbage. You were beginning to wonder about them yourself when he finally broke his wistful stare and redirected those stunning, dark eyes back upon you.

“You know,” he lifted his drink back up, “it’s never too soon or too late to start rewriting yourself. There’s plenty of me-approved debauchery around here that I could recommend for you.” Had you not been paying close enough attention, this man’s word choice could easily thrown you off. But as you found yourself maintaining eye contact (through no small feat of your own, frankly), you couldn’t help but share the glance. You felt something in that moment, only it wasn’t anything like the bizarreness that had occurred before. You didn’t feel hands picking gracefully through your mind and you didn’t feel words forming against your own will. You didn’t feel uncomfortable at all in spite of how flustered you were beginning to feel for staring at such a beautiful man.

You felt . . . welcome. You felt open, but willingly. You felt that goal from earlier in the night returning: That belief that since you’d had a bad day, you deserved to treat yourself to the fullest extent. It started to spark back to life and began to sway and grow with interest – and then it stopped. Because you realized that there was another feeling you had kicking around inside of you. One that surprised even you.

“It’s tempting. Really, it is. I think,” you informed. “But actually . . . I think I just wanna go home.” You didn’t think. You just knew. It was strange, but the thought of going home just felt right. Clearly, you weren’t alone in your surprise. TDA leaned backward slightly as if physically moved by your decision. His perfectly arched brows raised with curiosity.

“Really?” TDA questioned. “Are you sure?”

You nodded once. Pause. Two much more certain nods. “Yeah, I think so. I just . . . I dunno, I think I just need to talk to her now. Maybe help her with that ‘thinking.’” The corner of one eye creased as a closed but understanding smirk formed on the man’s features.

“Well,” he said, “personally that isn’t the first move I would’ve done in the process of embracing myself. But then that’s not my choice is it?” You returned the smile.

“Nope,” you agreed, gently pushing your abandoned drink away from you. It was no good to you anyway.

“Oh, and before I forget,” he said as you began to get up, “it’s occurred to me that in all the drama I never got to catch your name. How rude of me.” He offered you his hand. You took it. You shouldn’t have been too surprised by how soft it was, given how he appeared to be the sort to manscape and take deep pride in his looks, yet you still were.

“(Y/N).” Your introduction earned you a grin and nod of acceptance from your shaking partner.

“Lucifer Morningstar,” he said. It sounded like silver and silk slinking along polished ebony wood.

It was a pretty name if odd. A pretty odd name, befitting of the pretty and odd man who bore it. However, you had no time to inquire about its origin as you felt the man raising your hand, still in his own, until it was within inches of his lips.

“Well, Ms. (Y/N),” Lucifer Morningstar murmured, the warmth of his breathe tickling the back of your hand. “I wish you the best.”

His lips had to have been the softest thing to have ever come into contact with your skin, let alone your knuckles.

You could feel the heat from his lips travel through your hand, up your arm, and all the way into your face. It took everything in you not to bolt up from your seat like a madwoman and scramble out the door before he could study your features long enough to determine that you were blushing.

“T-thank you,” you found yourself stammering. “It means a lot to me. Really. Everything.” You attempted to continue smiling, but the flustered state that Lucifer’s gesture had put you in made you far too wobbly all over to sustain anything better than an awkwardly enforced grin. Not for any sense of rudeness, you cumbersomely attempted to make quick work of your exit. However, the effort was lessened by one last interruption.

“Oh, and one more thing:,” Lucifer stated. You paused and forced yourself to look upon him one last time. “If you’re ever looking for a place to stay, I have the names of two lovely ladies and one piece of spawn who would be blessedly willing to take you under their wings. . . . Well, one of them probably would. Can’t say the same for the other. In fact, I may have to warn you about that she’d likely more so want to take you under herself and completely ruin that who ‘use your powers of sex for good’ thing.

“Though, of course –” He propped himself leniently against the bar, that mischievous smile from the very beginning back in place “ – if you’re ever interested, my doors are always open.”

Your eyes narrowed but they were betrayed by an amused scoff.

“Thanks,” you responded dryly. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Thank you so much, Lucifer.”

He raised his glass to you in a gesture.

“Anytime, love.”

And off you went.

You didn’t realize you were still smiling until you had already exited Lux. It was certainly a major shift from the way you’d been when you first entered it. Admittedly, there was still some anxiety left bubbling around inside of you but that was to be expected. After all, there was always a hint of nervousness that accompanied the decision to take one’s own life and make it their own by their own set of rules.

You were certain that that applied even to the likes of Lucifer Morningstar.

Speaking of, you were quite surprised by the level of his incite. Perhaps it was your fault for buying into the stereotypes, but you had truthfully just assumed that with a face like that, he couldn’t have had much more than sex, drugs, and hedonism on the brain. And while, yes, it was true that those took up much of the mental property in the man’s mind, it was quite refreshing and even downright charming that he at least managed to translate to you something you had never gotten around to considering before.

You hummed thoughtfully.

Lucifer was a nice guy. You wanted to see him again. Maybe not to take up any of his offers (which honestly seemed a bit too bold for you at the moment), but just to see what other surprising features he had about him.

Lucifer watched your figure weave around the clubbers until it disappeared from his sight.

He felt quite proud of himself. Perhaps this was the sort of philanthropy Linda had told him to try exercising.

It wasn’t even necessarily that he felt nice about being nice; he just enjoyed the feeling of breaking the metaphorical chains off of a “baby bi” and encouraging her to embrace her identity. The rest was up to her now that he’d sent (Y/N) out into the wild world. In a vein similar to that of a person seeing their friend off after a rousing pep talk (but with double the vanity), he couldn’t help but imagine all the possibilities that would become available to the young lady once she began to embrace herself without guilt or question: The places she would go, the events she would attend, the wider selection of people to be with and the subsequent things they might try out –

At that moment, Lucifer felt his smile falter. Crap. Crap! He’d gotten so wound up in setting a poor soul off on their own journey of free will that he’d forgotten the very reason he came over in the first place!

Note to self: Stop trying to be so nice and helpful. Nice guys don’t get laid.

[junker-town]

Sharife Cooper is the 2021 NBA Draft’s Point God in training

How Sharife Cooper grew into the 2021 NBA Draft’s most electric playmaker.

Sharife Cooper spent the longest 72 days of his life wondering when he’d finally be able to get back on the basketball court. He had just started playing five-on-five again upon arriving at Auburn after being locked out of gyms as the pandemic swept through the country in the months following his legendary high school career. Now days before the Tigers were set to open the season, he got word the NCAA was investigating his eligibility.

Cooper sat on the sideline unable to practice as his teammates beat St. Joe’s in overtime in the opener and then got blown out by Gonzaga in a showcase game the next day. A month went by and he was still in the dark. As the calendar flipped to 2021 and Auburn began SEC play, Cooper wondered if he’d ever be cleared. Hours before Auburn was set to host Alabama, the message he was waiting for finally came through: Cooper was eligible to make his college debut.

“When I got to college, I got off to a good start, practice was flowing, and then I happened to be ineligible for something that was far out of my control,” Cooper told SB Nation. “That put a huge stop in my progress. But I think I made the most out of it.”

Cooper still hadn’t practiced, and was told he should only expect to play about 10 minutes. Instead, it became immediately evident the Tigers couldn’t afford to take him off the floor. Cooper shredded the nation’s No. 3 defense in the pick-and-roll, completed four beautiful alley-oop passes, and consistently forced his way to the foul line.

He ended the game with 26 points, nine assists, and a slew of highlight reel plays that put his incredible playmaking gifts on full display in a narrow Auburn loss. A long layoff, an elite opponent, and zero time to build chemistry with his teammates didn’t matter: Cooper still proved he could be the most dynamic creator in the country from day one.

Cooper’s college career came and went like a shooting star. He packed four years of highlights into 12 games, and ran up gaudy numbers on a young team with zero returning starters from the year before. He ended the season as one of only two freshmen in the past 30 years to average 20 points and eight assists per game, with the other being Trae Young. His 51.5 percent assist rate would have led America if he played enough games. He would have finished second in the country in fouls draw per 40 minutes if he qualified for the leaderboard.

While impressive, Cooper’s statistical profile also failed to capture the breathtaking nature of his game. This is a young point guard who plays with a raw electricity that can’t be measured. Cooper bent defenses off the dribble and broke them with his passing. His blazing quick first-step and endless combination of dribble crossovers put opposing guards into a blender all season. His panoramic vision and remarkable touch with either hand makes him an elite passer off the dribble against any competition. He seems to think a step ahead of the defense’s next adjustment, daring them with lobs to the rim and skips to the corner that feel more audacious with each attempt.

Cooper did it all while being the smallest guy on the court in almost every game he played. After one truncated year at Auburn, he’s now off to the 2021 NBA Draft. At 6’1 and 180 pounds, Cooper will immediately be one of the smaller players in the league. He also might already be one of its shiftiest ball handlers and most talented live dribble passers, too.

“I’ve played against 7-foot guys all my life,” Cooper said. “I don’t feel like it will be that much of a difference.”

Discount Cooper because of his size at your own peril. He’s been in complete control of almost every game from the moment he started in the sport.

Arden Barnes-USA TODAY Sports

Omar Cooper Sr. never had trouble finding a team for his daughter Te’a, who was recognized as one of the best players in the country from a young age and currently plays for the WNBA’s Los Angeles Sparks. Sharife was a different story. When he wasn’t competing against his twin brother Omar Jr. at the house, Sharife and his friend from down the street would pile into his dad’s car trying to find an AAU program that would take them.

Cooper took the boys to tryout after tryout around Atlanta, but they kept getting rejected by programs that already had their rosters in place. Little did they know Cooper was bringing two future NBA players with him to each stop: Sharife’s friend, one year ahead of him in school, was current Cleveland Cavaliers forward Isaac Okoro.

The elder Cooper instead coached the boys in a local rec league with other kids from the neighborhood. During halftime of a local All-Star Game, the upstart coach got desperate. Down 18 at the break to a team that featured a young Anthony ‘Ant-Man’ Edwards, Cooper issued an ultimatum.

“I told them if they win the game, I would start an AAU program with this team,” Cooper Sr. said. “They came back and won the game. I had to honor my word. That’s how Athletes of Tomorrow got started.”

Sharife and his friends finally had their own team. The majority of the group would stick together throughout their youth careers and into high school by enrolling at McEachern High. McEachern had never won a state championship when Sharife enrolled but it quickly became apparent the Powder Springs, GA school suddenly had a pair of special talents on their hands.

With Cooper at point guard and Okoro as an athletic wing who shined on the defensive end, McEachern quickly turned into an area powerhouse. In Cooper’s freshman year, with Okoro as a sophomore, McEachern didn’t suffer its first loss of the season until the Final Four of the state playoffs. The next year, the team ran up another gaudy record but was upset in the state quarterfinals. After each season, Cooper, Okoro, and most of their teammates would head to the prestigious Nike EYBL circuit playing for the same team Cooper’s father started back when they were children.

Eight of the players on Athletes of Tomorrow were from McEachern. One of the only imports was Brandon Boston Jr., a product of nearby Norcross High, who would eventually attend Kentucky as a consensus top-five recruit and possible first round pick in the 2021 NBA Draft. Atlanta’s recent basketball lineage — Jaylen Brown, Collin Sexton, and Edwards included — was suddenly getting a big boost from the same kids the rest of the city passed on.

Cooper had his coming out party on the national level after the sophomore season that ended in disappointment. He tore up the EYBL by averaging 28.2 points and 8.6 assists per game, a pair of a league-leading numbers that earned him EYBL Offensive Player of the Year honors. Suddenly, Cooper was a no doubt five-star with a growing list of offers from every important college basketball program in America.

Okoro gave his commitment to Auburn ahead of the next season to set the scene for his final year in high school. With Cooper now a junior and a talented cast of teammates maturing around them, something special was brewing at McEachern. Anything less than a state title was going to be considered a disappointment.

Despite massive expectations on their shoulders, McEachern was flawless. They beat prep powerhouses on the national level including Nevada’s Findlay Prep, Kansas’ Sunrise Christian, and California’s Rancho Christian on a team that featured Evan and Isaiah Mobley. The Indians also dominated locally. The school finished a perfect season at 32-0 in the state championship game with Cooper scoring 20 points and Okoro chipping in 16 points. McEachern had its first title.

Cooper and Okoro complemented each other perfectly as teammates, but it was the long hours guarding each other in practice that took each of their games to the next level. Okoro was the 6’6 wing with immense strength who was arguably the best defensive prospect in the country. Cooper was the tiny playmaker who kept the ball on a string, threw every pass, and consistently found a way to score. Each day, they went at each other to hone with own unique talents.

“That’s the only person that would guard me at practice,” Cooper said of Okoro. “Me and him would go at it every single day. That helped me a lot. That’s the best defender I’ve ever gone up against. Going up against someone like that gets you better.”

Cooper decided to follow Okoro once again when it was time to make his college decision. He committed to Auburn over offers from Kentucky and others. He was the highest-rated recruit in program history at the time of his commitment.

Cooper and Okoro never played together at Auburn after Okoro became a one-and-done and was eventually drafted No. 5 overall. Maybe that was the first hint Cooper’s college days would feel star-crossed and unfulfilled. If Cooper has it his way, that will only be a minor note in a much bigger story.

There are not many players in the NBA as small as Cooper. There also aren’t many who can cut up an opposing defense as ruthlessly off the dribble.

The NBA currently has 25 players listed at 6’1 or smaller by the league’s official measurements. Exactly 13 of them weigh 180 pounds or less. It’s a group that includes every walk of life in the NBA. There players on the fringes of the league (Yogi Ferrell, Mike James), change-of-pace guards who have carved out long careers off the bench (Ish Smith, Patrick Beverley), All-Star caliber starters (Kemba Walker, Mike Conley), and two players near and dear to Cooper’s heart: Chris Paul and Trae Young.

Cooper has been watching Paul in the NBA for almost his entire life — CP3 made his debut when Cooper was four years old — and credits him for helping ‘build (his) basketball mind.’ Young is more a recent favorite who followed a similar path. Both were McDonald’s All-Americans ranked outside of the top-15 in their class who rejected offers from Kentucky and other blue bloods to stay in-state before becoming a one-and-done. While Young was a freshman phenom at Oklahoma who made daily appearances on ESPN, Cooper’s long eligibility battle stopped the hype before it started.

“I feel like my whole life has revolved around basketball for so long,” Cooper said. “Whether it was playing it, watching it, or playing 2K. That’s where my basketball IQ comes from. I recognize how much thinking the game goes into it. Thinking the game is what separates good from great.”

Paul and Young each had one notable advantage over Cooper when they entered the draft: both were considered dangerous shooters. That’s still something Cooper is still looking to prove after shooting only 13-of-57 (22.8 percent) from three-point range at Auburn.

Cooper certainly isn’t lacking confidence in his shooting stroke. He was excellent from the foul line, making 82.5 percent of his free throws. There were moments when he hit nasty step-back threes, and even a few contested spot-ups. Those around him said it seemed like he didn’t have his legs under him early in the season after the long NCAA investigation kept him off the practice floor.

“I’ve always been able to shoot,” Cooper said. “I didn’t shoot it well this year, but when you come off almost a year and a half of not playing five-on-five basketball, it was tough for me to make that adjustment. I’ve proven a lot of people wrong in these workouts, and the combine. It’s going to be a long process, and I’m fine with getting it the hard way.”

If Cooper’s size and shooting are obvious shortcomings from a scouting perspective, his strengths are equally pronounced. His standstill burst and live dribble passing grade out extremely well on any scale. He sees angles other point guards would miss, and plays with a unique rhythm to his game that allows him to capitalize on his immaculate vision. For now, his best avenue for scoring the ball might be forcing his way to the foul line. He has the deception to beat his man off the dribble and fool a defender into fouling him around the basket.

Cooper may be small, but he’s never been afraid of contact.

“Growing up, I never played with fouls,” Cooper said. “We’ll play five-on-five and you can’t call a foul. I just got used to contact. I feel like the contact I get all the time in practice helps me go through it in games.”

Given his immense production during his short college career, it certainly doesn’t feel like a stretch to think there’s an alternate timeline where Cooper became a college basketball hero not dissimilar to Young at Oklahoma. Unfortunately, he was the victim of an NCAA investigation and postseason tournament ban that were completely outside of his control.

Instead, Cooper enters this draft as something of a high-upside swing in the mid-to-late first round. Every NBA team needs shot creation, and Cooper has a case that he offers more of it than any player in the class aside from presumptive top pick Cade Cunningham. Omar Cooper Sr. will represent him as the founder of LifeStyle Sports Agency, just as he represents Okoro and his daughter Te’a.

Top NBA prospects aren’t born overnight when they walk onto a college campus. Cooper has a body of work that includes spectacular offensive production and winning at a high level over the course of multiple years. His lack of size shouldn’t be so scary to a league that just watched Paul and Young thrive in the playoffs.

Cooper’s long wait is finally about over. He can’t wait to show you what comes next.

[hetaliareaderfanfic]

The Name Game

Notes: Reader x 2P!America vs. 2P!Canada (Y/N) = Your Name Human AU Part 3/13 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

First ten parts before Another Ending

It was the third Wednesday since Y/N’s last visit to Cafétea. She was not surprised, but still a little disappointed, to see her usual corner seat by the window taken by someone familiar. She decided to take the available table beside it. Where did I see him? Why does he look familiar? Was he a classmate before? I hope not. And then it struck her. The not so neatly tied blonde hair with some loose strands that rest on the man’s broad shoulders, the facial hair that suited him very well, the intimidating sunglasses that were very common to celebrities in disguise, the one-size-larger-than-his-actual-size red plaid button shirt, and the large plate on the table – a mountain of pancakes in the middle of a sea of maple syrup –, there was no doubt it was the same man who was always sitting on the seat she was now sitting on. Perhaps he was a rival who also wanted that corner spot by the window, but she was not there for two weeks, and the man finally had his moment.

She was too busy trying to remember who the man was that she did not see him slightly glanced at her. She was, at least, relieved to realize that she did not know the man; fearing the possible embarrassment of bumping into someone she knew but ignored that person’s presence, simply because she forgot the person’s name.

Seeing that she pulled out a pen and the same notebook she always had with her and started writing, he was quite relieved. He needed not to give up his new seat after all.

Oliver arrived with a tray on his hand to her table. He was so happy to see a regular customer back again. He should know the regulars, for it would be good for business. He gladly set down on the table Y/N’s usual order with an extra cupcake – that flavor Allen praised the most. Readying his rehearsed cute smiling pouty face, he asked Y/N, “Poppet, where were you these past two weeks, if you don’t mind me asking?”

It could not be ignored, the handsome Brit’s successful cute pouty face, and so Y/N smiled to not offend the worried Oliver and just answered with apologetic tone and expression, “I’m sorry, Oliver. I was just really busy with something. I could not leave the house.”

“Oh, Poppet! I’m glad you’re back! I have a new cupcake, and will you please taste it now? I really want to know if you’ll like it. You see, Poppet, I thought you no longer like my cupcakes, so…” As if the inquiring gentleman saw through the sunglasses of the man sitting on the next table, Oliver decided to talk to him as well after his conversation with Y/N.

“Oh, Oliver! That’s sweet of you!” And then she took a bite. Oliver could see the gleam on her eyes. “Oliver, this is amazing! You’re amazing! Thank you. I wish I could bake like you.”

“Oh, Poppet, if that happened, then you’d no longer come here.” He giggled. “I’m glad you like it. Enjoy your meal!” He then gave Y/N an even happier smile, and turned around to face the man on the next table. “Hello, dear M-hmmsir!” Oliver managed to improvise upon receiving a slight frown from the man. “Enjoy your meal!” He continued with a smile before leaving the dining area.

After serving all the customers at the moment, Oliver went to Francis and pouted, not rehearsed. “I think Mattie is angry at me.”

“I told you not to bother him while he’s eating his pancakes,” Francis reminded him while looking around to check the surroundings, “and he doesn’t want to be talked to here.” He added.

“I know, but… alright.” Oliver’s pout was instantly turned into a welcoming smile when a group of three women approached the counter. “Lovely day, ladies!” And he went back to business.

Sitting across an irritated Y/N, the three women seemed so carefree of their loud conversation. Y/N could not focus on her writing. Just a while ago, she was inspired to write a short story about an enchanted pancake island, no, not exactly that, but she had been looking quite attentively at the plate on the table next to hers.

One of the women who was wearing a chic floral dress sat facing Y/N’s and the man’s direction, and so she noticed the lonesome man. She whispered – but with a loud voice one might not be sure if it was truly a whisper – to her two friends, “Oh my god, he’s hot!”

And looking directly at the direction of the ‘hot’ man, they smiled and bet who would go first. One of them was wearing tight jeans and a lacy white tank top; the other one wore a short skirts and long sleeved shirt.

Tank Top Lady decided to go first. She gracefully stood up and casually walked to the other table and sat opposite the man. “Hello there, handsome. Lonely? Want some company?”

Y/N was not a fan of this kind of scene, and she did not want to be thought of as a gossiper by her frequent glances at the now just a hill of pancakes.

Tank Top Lady was just about to bend down slightly to reveal some more attractions she could display, but was stopped by the hot man’s reply: “No.” She frowned, and dismay was too obvious on her expression. She was not used of her beauty being rejected. Tank Top Lady was not just gorgeous; she was also persistent, brave, and confident, and so she tried again. She crossed her legs, and moved her right foot to touch the ‘hot’ man’s jeans-covered leg. “You’re lonely. I’m lonely. Why don’t we…” but she could not continue as the frown of annoyance on the ‘hot’ man’s face became too intimidating. Tank Top Lady stood up and rushed to her friends.

Despite of not wanting to witness a flirting scene, Y/N did and was impressed of the outcome. She continued writing. The great giant living in the enchanted pancake island would not allow anyone to trade goods with him, and so he spread more maple syrup into the sea to… “Wait, this does not seem so right, but, uh well this is just a draft.” Y/N told herself as she silently giggled and questioned her sanity. “It’s just a plot draft.” She was still trying to convince herself.

Thinking it was her she was giggling about, Tank Top Lady sat on the chair in front of the surprised Y/N. “Bitch. Why are you laughing at me?”

Y/N did not go back to Cafétea to be called ‘bitch’ again. She was asking herself and the universe why she had to deal with this kind of humans, despite of her trying to avoid not just them, but any other kinds of humans as much as possible. She found humans very complex, and usually negative type of complex. “I’m not a bitch.” She replied with her usual straight face.

“You are. And you laughed at me.” Tank Top Lady replied.

“Were you being funny?” Y/N wanted to just keep silent, but she could not control herself.

“BITCH!” Tank Top Lady could had had grabbed Y/N’s mug of espresso to splash on Y/N, but Y/N was quick enough to point her pen at Tank Top Lady’s face.

“Not. My. Coffee. Bitch.” Y/N’s cold stare could not be ignored. Her voice might not be as loud as the three female friends, but the warning was audible enough for the two other friends to hear. Seeing that Tank Top Lady’s hand carefully crept away from her mug, Y/N lowered her pen and smiled. It was not the same smile she gave to Francis and Oliver. “Evaporate.” Y/N, with unconscious glare, said in a whisper, but anyone looking at her could read it from her half-smiling lips.

Tank Top Lady invited her friends to go. Now, Skirt Lady had noticed earlier that Y/N was writing something and it was when she giggled. Skirt Lady looked afraid but polite and fair enough; she walked to Y/N and apologized for her friend’s behavior. Relief was evident on her face when Y/N replied, “Take care of her, of each other properly. Don’t spoil her or anyone on something bad. I’m glad you seem smart to analyze the situation. Don’t waste your orders, though. They’re great. At least have it take-out.” Skirt Lady did not expect to be answered like that, and so were the other interested customers, and she was not aware of her blush. She murmured a ‘Thank you’ to Y/N and was surprised to see the French and British ‘waiters’ at their table with their orders already in a take-out bag. And with that, the three friends left Cafétea without receiving an ‘Until next week’ from the French man, and not even a smile from the jolly Brit.

Y/N took time to breathe in some calmness and exhaled her exhaustion. She then looked at the two owners of the shop, and then around, and realized that some other customers were looking at her direction. She suddenly felt embarrassed, and no more was her ‘pissed off’ aura. She looked down and apologized to them sheepishly for “any possible inconvenience she might have caused both to the owners and the customers.” 

As if they were very close, Oliver walked to Y/N and hugged her. “No, Poppet, you should not apologize.” He was really concerned and amazed at the same time; and later thought that Y/N would be a great guard, er, ally. 

And Francis, to show his concern and support, turned to the customers. “Is any of you troubled by this?”

Some of the customers who were also audience of the previous scene shook their heads. And as if some clarification were needed, the ‘hot’ man replied, “Not by her”, referring to Y/N. And just like that, they all agreed and everyone minded their own business.

Perhaps he understood Y/N’s feelings. If it was his plate of pancakes and maple syrup that was threatened to be wasted in a very disapproving way, he might have done the same as that customer did. That customer who he also always saw in Cafétea every Wednesday or Thursday for the past seven months except for the past two weeks because of his stupid brother; that customer who usually ordered the same coffee and cupcakes yet sometimes might change, who always continuously wrote something undecipherable until she remembered her then cold coffee, but nevertheless would drink it; that customer who always seemed interested in his pancakes and maple syrup but never ordered them for herself; yes, that customer Francis and Oliver knew. He would not ask them, though, for he already knew her name.

[minujaen]

What have I been up to recently?

27.01.2019

I’ve been having some revelations. A lot of them lately. I have had revelations about my everyday life, relationships, different people’s different views on different stuffs. And all of it is so damn fascinating. 

(Also I’m not really sure what I’ve blogged about here and what not, because I’ve had a couple of drafts here and there and nothing seemed post-worthy so if I’m repeating myself, sorry. :D)

Also went to Madrid last weekend. It was with the main goal of surprising a very dear friend of mine, Maria Keck, as she was dancing in a tablao in Madrid and had no idea I was coming to see her. So obviously I went and sat down in the first row (in my reserved seat ‘cause turned out, I was literally the first one to reserve a place for the event) which resulted in the most amazing reaction I knew I was going to get. And aaah, the performance was just AMAZING. I swear to god, no amount of words could describe this. And of course, I had missed flamenco as well so I guess that was also a part of it. 

So yea, and the next 30 or some hours I was not let go of. We went out for dinner after the event, then visited the famous (at least in the flamenco world) Casa Patas, which, although we were just speaking to a guitarrist there for like 10 minutes, was such an experience for me. And at the door to my Airbnb we parted with the promise of me taking part in her bulerias course in the morning. Without any shoes. In less than 6 hours. Great. Can’t wait. (Honestly couldn’t). 

And so, took part in the course. It was amazing. Of course. And after that, I just went and had one of my childhood dreams come true aka ordering a custom-made pair of flamenco shoes from Spain. I just walked into the store, had a whole conversation with the oh-so-amazing lady in full Spanish. She was so exited when I told her that this was a literal dream come true. The shoes should be here in like a month so ...

Quick lunch, quick siesta, quick afternoon snack and off to the next Maria concert. Which, somehow, I loved even more than the first one. Though I’m not sure if one really can compare these two as they were completely different from each other. This was just a concert around his album and words cannot describe how amazing it was hearing those songs live. I swear to god. Like, I’ve listened to the album so many times, I almost know the majority of the words. Even the ones in Hungarian although I speak the bare minimum of the language. Which resulter in her sending me the lyrics to my favorite song from the album - Rituálé. (Sorry, Maria, for some reason I still haven’t had time to translate them, hehe).

Also, who is even a little bit interested in flamenco and still hasn’t heard Maria Keck’s “De Cobre”, go check it out. It’s available on Spotify.

But of course, the thing I loved the most about that night was that we were trying to find an actual juerga. Which we completely failed at. Or, I mean ... we got there when they had just finished. So we just had one of our own on the street. A guy singing (aaah, I can’t remember his name. Juan, probably), Maria dancing, everybody else (me and one other guy) clapping. Got even a compliment on my contratiempo. I was pleasantly surprised. But my god, the feeling of the whole thing put together was just amazing. The people that took part in the course she did in October, guys, that was nothing. You really need to see the actual thing in action. And this wasn’t even the real deal with a big crowd. This was just 4-5 people. 

But enough of that. Got home from Madrid. And did literally nothing for 4 days. Until I realised that damn it, I only have a couple more free days left before the lectures start. So I made a decision to go and visit the castle. 6km there and 6 back. My body regretted it a little bit this morning. But my god, it was so worth it. Those who follow me on instagram, saw some pictures. 

Also one thing I learned on that trip. In Spain, always carry around some cash with you. Not all places have a possibility to pay with card. So, I walked 6km uphill to find out that I cannot access the castle ‘cause they don’t accept card. Goddamnit, Hanna. Although, I didn’t really feel like I was missing much, ‘cause I still got to see some amazing views and walk on the wall. 

And tonigh, I had a very interesting conversation about one person’s beliefs on the world and how stuff works. (?) I’m not sure how to word it correctly. Whatever it is, I really hadn’t heard that kind of a view on stuff from anyone, ever. I even asked him if he has encountered anyone with this exact mindset and he told me no. Some people, who have similar views, but not exactly. It was so cool to listen to this, I feel like my mind expanded somehow. 

How many of you have heard of the Schrödinger's cat analogy? No? Google it. And after all that, I got recommended Hawking’s “A Brief History of Time”. I will start reading it in the near future and will keep you updated. 

Also. Carol released new music. Go check it out and give her some love. https://soundcloud.com/carolindus/polevus

I guess this is all for now. I might add some pictures, videos as a separate post. 

Mkay. I’ll keep you posted. 

EDIT. And OH! I forgot to mention one more thing! I wrote to the local flamenco school here and I will have my first trial cajon lesson tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll be attending those twice a week! So damn exiteeed! 😍😍

[lavenoon]

1-100 bc fuck you

I I almost regret this 

1: is there a boy/girl in your life?there are a lot of people in my life tho not in an s/o way and not sure if in a crush way

2: think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?my driving teacher and no, fuck him

3: what do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”I think of Litten tbh

4: what’s something you really want right now?poke// mon moon like plllsssss 

5: are you afraid of falling in love?I think a bit which is weird bc I’m craving romance

6: do you like the beach?yeah, tho I don’t like too crowded beaches

7: have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?ye, my sister and I had living room sleep overs quite a lot

8: what’s the background on your cell?

from @dailyrowlet and the pic’s here! I have like almost 50 backgrounds like this one and change them up every few days bc each and every one of their rowlets is a masterpiece 

9: name the last four beds you were sat on?tbh I don’t completely get that question but I guess the last four beds were 1) mine 2) the one in the guest room 3) Tina’s bed bc I visited her and 4) hotel bed

10: do you like your phone?I’m okay with it, it’s lagging sometimes but does its job

11: honestly, are things going the way you planned?well not that I had planned much but no, definitely not

12: who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?Freddy’s, he’s the bf of a friend of mine and I know him too, I’m also in a whatsapp group with him but was too lazy to add his number until recently

13: would you rather have a poodle or a rottweiler?Rottweiler tbh, like, love them

14: which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?emotional pain bc it fucks u up the most

15: would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?not sure tbh, depends probably on the museum

16: are you tired?ye

17: how long have you known your 1st phone contact?oh god I think 5 years maybe? haven’t seen the guy in like two years tho

18: are they a relative?no, an old classmate

19: would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?nooo oh god sorry no

20: when did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?I’m just guessing shared kiss is on the lips so it’d be my ex and like, we saw each other at a friend’s bday party last summer and talked a bit

21: if you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?nah, I’d wait for a few years maybe even bc marriage isn’t everything

22: would you kiss the last person you kissed again?last person I kissed (on the cheek): my sis, so yes, and if only to annoy herlast person I kissed (on the lips): my ex, so no

23: how many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?none

24: is there a certain quote you live by?no not rlly

25: what’s on your mind?my teacher hasn’t mailed me since I sent him the first draft of this rrrllly important essay that I finished last night and I’m getting antsy bc I am allowed to procrastinate but he apparently isn’t

26: do you have any tattoos?nah

27: what is your favorite color?blue/ purple

28: next time you will kiss someone on the lips?how should I know

29: who are you texting?u my bro, if discord counts

30: think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch????? n o i d e a sorry

31: have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?even if yes I’m not gonna think abt it bc I won’t give my anxiety that satisfaction

32: do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?not rlly

33: do you think anyone has feelings for you?I wish my dude I wish but I don’t think so

34: has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?possibly but I have no idea

35: say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?good for him

36: were you single on valentines day?yes

37: are you friends with the last person you kissed?no not rlly

38: what do your friends call you?Tina calls me moon friend sometimes B) otherwise either my birth name or Luna

39: has anyone upset you in the last week?yes, driving teacher, that asshole

40: have you ever cried over a text?definitely I’m a crybaby

41: where’s your last bruise located?rlly far up my thigh and it’s rlly small??

42: what is it from?I wish I knew

43: last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?yesterday during the driving lesson I just rlly did not want to drive around where we drove around and was hella glad when he finally dropped me off at home

44: who was the last person you were on the phone with?my mom this morning

45: do you have a favourite pair of shoes?I think so? never considered them a fave but thinking abt it they might be

46: do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?only if it’s cold enough and I don’t have to put it off somewhere that’s not home until my next shower

47: would you ever go bald if it was the style?not sure, maybe

48: do you make supper for your family?sometimes, but then always rlly simple stuff

49: does your bedroom have a door?yeah

50: top 3 web-pages?tumblr, ao3 and either kisscartoon or kissanime

51: do you know anyone who hates shopping?yeah 

52: does anything on your body hurt?my back is killing me since this morning

53: are goodbyes hard for you?ye ah

54: what was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?I don’t even remember?? 

55: how is your hair?it’s feeling fine thanks for askingwhat kinda questions

56: what do you usually do first in the morning?reconsider waking up

57: do you think two people can last forever?yes

58: think back to january 2007, were you single?ye

59: green or purple grapes?green, dunno why

60: when’s the next time you will give someone a big hug?maybe tomorrow?

61: do you wish you were somewhere else right now?I don’t know I’m okay in my bed tbh

62: when will be the next time you text someone?t omo rrow??? maybe??

63: where will you be 5 hours from now?in bed and sleeping

64: what were you doing at 8 this morning.sl eepingthese answers are so boring sorry

65: this time last year, can you remember who you liked?no, I don’t even think i liked anyone back then irl, like, fictional crushes don’t count

66: is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?my friends, like, all of them

67: did you kiss or hug anyone today?yes I can’t go a day without cuddles or hugs

68: what was your last thought before you went to bed last night?“fuck yeah finally finished that damn essay”

69: have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?I don’t know I’m scared of trying my best for exactly that reason, like, if I fail without doing so at least I can tell myself it wasn’t my best

70: how many windows are open on your computer?12don’t ask abt the tabs

71: how many fingers do you have?ten

72: what is your ringtone?sea of voices (antics remix) by porter robinson

73: how old will you be in 5 months?still 17 

74: where is your mum right now?in bed, she has to work early tomorrow

75: why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?bc I was more in love with the thought of him liking me instead of rlly loving him

76: have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?ye ah my sis

77: are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?partially, I got some new ones but also lost two v dear to me

78: do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?no one, I’m p sure

79: is there anyone you know with the name mike?not personally no, not the most common name here in germany

80: have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?I honestly don’t like all these “have u cuddled/ kissed/ held hands/ w/e” questions bc it makes me think I wish I could do that with a s/o b ut n o it’s always related to my family. yes to the question tho

81: how many people have you liked in the past three months?whatromantically? if yes 1 if not no I’m not gonna count

82: has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?my sister and also lucky

83: will you talk to the person you like tonight?m aybe;;;;;; 

84: you’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?bad question can’t relate, I don’t drink

85: if your bf/gf was into drugs would you care?depends on the drugs tbh, and how they showed they’re into it

86: what was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?the hot cheese sauce for my nachos was cold before the movie started

87: who was your last received call from?my therapist bc she thought she had told me the wrong time for our next appointment

88: if someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?it doesn’t say living or dead so checkmate I’m gonna burn a dead butterfly and get rich

89: what is something you wish you had more of?motivation. concentration. courage. money. time. owls. the list goes on

90: have you ever trusted someone too much?don’t think so tbh

91: do you sleep with your window open?depends on the weather and season, during summer yes always bc living under the roof is tough

92: do you get along with girls?yes?? I guess??? 

93: are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?I don’t think so?

94: does sex mean love?kinda, like, I wouldn’t do it with someone I don’t love, but it’s not some proof for love or smth, just smth rlly intimate

95: you’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?it’d be a bit awkward but I guess we’d deal with it

96: have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?n o nope

97: did you sleep alone this week?n AH my sis slept in my room twice and also Lucky is my bed buddy always

98: everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?many somebodies actually

99: do you believe in love at first sight?no, love’s not that shallow (imo)

100: who was the last person that you pinky promise?I don’t even remember my last pinky promise

[anthrat]

The Akatsuki members as high-school students

Has this been done before? Probably! Do I care? No, because these are my terrible headcanons and nobody can take them from me.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a long time, probably since early February. I’ve been lacking motivation to do anything at all for months and lo and behold, I find this basically finished piece bar one character. I really, really want to start writing again but I’m struggling to think of ideas, so if you have any requests for future headcanons/one shots/etc feel free to slide me a message or something :)

He's definitely the generic super intelligent kid who gets straight A's in pretty much every subject. All of his notes are really well organised, he keeps bullet journals and everything is colour coded - mans notes are literal art. His handwriting is definitely beautiful, we're talking professional calligrapher here.

All of his equipment is immaculate, he cries if one of his books gets a crease or something on it somehow. If you accidentally nudge him or ruin his notes he will silently hold a grudge against you forever - he probably won't act on his grudge though, he just wants to blend in and he dislikes conflict in general.

Despite being fully aware of his intelligence he hardly ever speaks up in classes. He only really speaks when spoken to and so is renown as the token quiet kid. I also envision him as being super pretentious, although he doesn't show it he definitely thinks he's better than everyone else.

His favourite subject would be English because he enjoys analysing anything and everything. If you're friends with him he will make comments on how random pieces of media etc. are a representation of -insert important world issue or theory.- He'd also like art despite it being the only subject he's not very good at. All his art is abstract, he will draw a pink square and claim it represents a patriarchal society.

Doesn't have many friends because he isn't very talkative, spends most of his time at school alone doing schoolwork. Sees school purely as an educational setting and so doesn't see the point in making an attempt to be social.

All of his school equipment looks like it's been mauled by 300 dogs because its all second/third/fourth+ hand. Man would never pay full price for a textbook. He definitely steals all the faculty equipment too. You could fill an entire room with the amount of stationary this man has but he will NEVER lend it to anyone else. If he does lend you something it's because its either A) broken B) barely functional (so like pens which can write 2 letters before running out) or C) you're giving him something better in return/paying for it (even then he'll probably take whatever he lent you back without you realising)

He also definitely runs mini-shops in school where he'll sell stolen equipment and things like sweets/chewing gum/trendy items (he made bank when fidget spinners were a thing) for like triple what they're actually worth.

His favourite subject is definitely history (He's a crusty dusty old man so of course) but he will never admit this. He takes business and economics but hates them, he's already done all of his own research into the subjects and is only doing them to get the qualification. Definitely complains about how he already knows it all already and it's a waste of time for him to learn it again. His only conversation topic is him talking about how he's going to set up his own business as soon as he leaves school.

Is very intelligent but only gets average grades in most subjects because he refuses to try if he dislikes the subject or sees it as a waste of time.

Watched DeathNote once and now thinks he's an actual real life version of Light Yagame. Carries around his own DeathNote and threatens to write people's name in it.

Convinced that he's been bestowed with supernatural powers, whenever he speaks he does lots of flashy hand gestures, - think generic cool-dude protagonist poses - these change depending on what piece of media he's currently obsessed with. His personality also changes alongside the poses.

Basically what I'm trying to say is he's the over-saturated 'weird anime kid' with a touch of superiority complex. Although, he's super confident and has absolutely 0 shame in this fact.

Bless his little heart, he loves writing but is the definition of 'uses complicated words without knowing what they mean'. He's still decently smart though. His grades would probably be pretty average because he struggles to apply himself properly. His favourite subject would definitely be something like sociology where he can freely express his profound ideas, even if some of them are completely god awful. He'd also enjoy any subject which gives him creative freedom such as art or English.

Cannot see this lad as anything but a jock. He loves sports, lives and breathes them. He's probably a member of practically every single sports team and is surviving on the basis he has a sports scholarship of some kind.

Despite him being a jock he'd be the most approachable out of all the Akatsuki members. He's the kind of guy who no matter who you are he'd always be happy to crack jokes and talk with you. He definitely brings in way too much food, he's that dude who brings a whole mini banquet to school every day for no discernible reason. He's always happy to share though, he's definitely the kind of guy who if he saw someone sat by themselves at lunch he'd sit with them and offer them food.

His grades would be a little on the lower side because most of his free time is taken up with all his sports, however, he'd still work hard at his academics regardless. If anything this man is probably the most dedicated, he would hate the fact that he's falling behind all his classmates but at the same time would rather die than give up any of his extracurricular activities.

He'd be fairly popular because of his naturally easygoing and humorous nature, but people would rarely ever invite him to events as they'd just assume he was busy.

Konan is an absolute babe, the kindest and most caring person in the whole school. Forgotten your lunch? She'll buy you some or give you her own. Didn't do your homework? Bitch will give you hers to copy, if it's an essay or something she'll sit with you and help you write it. Looking a little upset? Konan's right there to try and cheer you up even if you aren't friends.

Despite how wonderful and 100/10 a person she is she probably won't have many close friends. She'll get used a lot by others who take advantage of her good nature. She's smart enough to know what they're doing but she doesn't care, she's happy to be of help to anyone even if they don't appreciate it.

She's a bit of a teachers pet though, she's on super good terms with every teacher in the school even if she doesn't take the subjects they teach. Most of her breaks/lunches would be taken up by her helping with display boards or whatever.

Her favourite subject would be geography, she'd really enjoy learning about different cultures and societies. I can see her just really enjoying learning about how rivers are formed and stuff like that as well. Her least favourite would be something like math which is only fact based, she enjoys being able to look at things from different perspectives.

Also bitch would bake all the time, literally every lesson she'd whip out a box of cakes/cookies/anything else she'd baked the night before to share with the whole class.

Carries knives around with him because he thinks they make him look cool. He can and will whip one out at any given opportunity so he can flex a knife trick on you. His knife tricks suck though, he always drops them or cuts himself, if you try and walk away he'll beg you to stay claiming that fortieth time's the charm or something.

He never shows up to lessons, he doesn't even know what one is. If you ever ask him what subjects he takes he'll look at you blankly and ask what you mean. If he ever is in a lesson it's because he was dragged there by a member of staff. Honestly, the few lessons he's actually present for are so chaotic teachers find themselves praying he doesn't show up. Being as he never willingly shows up he'll never know what subject it is, and he'll ask insanely bizarre questions un-ironically because he gives no fucks and has no idea what is happening. For example, you'll be learning about arteries in biology and he'll ask something like "What ingredients do we need?" because he'll have confused arteries with artichoke and think he's in a home economics lesson.

Despite being the weird knife kid he's pretty popular, he's so completely brain dead and unaware of his surroundings that its impossible not to get along with him. He doesn't have the critical thought to bully anyone and so even if he tries to be horrible it always comes off as though he's just trying to be funny.

Oh dear oh lord what can I say about Zetsu? Zetsu is an absolute shit show of a student. Black Zetsu I can see as being very academic focussed, with their favourite subjects being religion, politics and some form of economics. I imagine they’d be very active within school politics/religious scenes, probably the head of some sort of group for both.

Black Zetsu would also be interested in applying for positions such as Head of Year, Class Representative and anything similar. They’re a big control freak and as a result have basically 0 friends. People would find them overbearing and awful to be around. They’re the incredibly opinionated kid who dismisses anything which they don’t personally agree with.

White Zetsu on the over hand, hoo boy. Class clown obviously. The living bane of Black Zetsu. If Black Zetsu wants class representative then you know people will vote for white Zetsu instead because he’s infinitely more popular. He’s incredibly weird but in such an innocent and goofy way they’d have a large group of friends. They wouldn’t be popular per say, but they’d be friends with practically everyone.

Their favourite subject would probably be biology because sex jokes, but I also think they’d enjoy English because uhh… Sex jokes. I just can’t see White Zetsu taking school even slightly seriously.

He basically lives in the art department. If you walk near him he will tag along and start talking to you about art, it doesn’t matter who you are you will be forced to listen to his speech.

Incredibly confident and has no issue starting a conversation with anyone. He's definitely the type of person who every time you see him he'd be with a completely different group of people, whether they want him there or not.

Despite his weird constant art rants he'd be the life and soul of the party. He's always fun to be around purely because of how much energy he has. He'd be the kid who makes everyone laugh completely on accident, although people would probably be laughing more at him than with him.

He'd probably get invited to lots of places by other kids just so he could be the butt of every joke. He wouldn't mind though, he'd brush it off and probably enjoy the attention he gets from it.

Most of his friends would end up being people who know nothing about art though, all the students who participated in any artistic subjects would stay far away in fear of him starting another argument about art.

If the art class ever does clay his has to be put in the kiln separately because it always blows up. He also has a habit of 'accidentally' damaging other people's art if he dislikes it. Eventually he would mellow out and start appreciating other forms.

Nobody knows who he is, people will have sat next to him for years and won't even know his name. The amount of times his name is called in the register and people will pipe up with "who's that?" or "didn't he move to another school?" is genuinely concerning. He doesn't care though, he'd rather go through school completely unnoticed.

Excels at all subjects (besides sports, he's never showed up to a PE lesson because of 'health reasons') despite putting very little effort into academics. His favourite subjects would be biology and math. He'd absolutely hate art as a subject, preferring to do art in his free time rather than make it into a chore at school. He'd have been put in Deidara's class at least once and it would have completely ruined all enjoyment of art as a subject for him. He'd also hate any subjects which prompt discussion such as English or sociology, he doesn't have any opinions on them and he doesn't care to listen to anyone else's.

Honestly, dude is the definition of a background character at school. He just simply does not exist, and I have mad respect for him. On the off chance anyone even tried to speak to him he'd probably completely ignore them, the only communication he has at school is through emails with teachers. He has 0 interest in making friends when they have nothing in common with him.

Another character sort of hard to pinpoint. He’d probably be somewhat similar to White Zetsu, but not quite as popular. He’d be a right teachers pet, with few friends his own age. He’d probably spend spend all his breaks and lunches with teachers in their classrooms, offering to help them with display boards etc.

Despite being a teachers pet he wouldn’t be academic whatsoever. He’d always try his best but bless him, he’s terrible at every subject and ends up constantly making a fool of himself. He’s definitely the sort to raise his hand to make a really great point, but his really great point is basically repeating the lesson objective. When studying of mice of men he definitely asked “what’s the name of Curly’s wife’s husband?”

His favourite subject, regardless of his ineptitude would be drama. He’d always be the most melodramatic and over the top in every character he played, not really caring what other people thought of him. In fact, that’s probably his best feature. Despite his lack of popularity he’d always unapologetically be himself, his goofy and over the top self.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

If we’re thinking more about Obito, I’d like to imagine for the sake of this headcanon Tobi is what he’s like during lower school years and then suddenly one summer he comes back and he’s completely matured into this foreign character unrecognisable to nobody.

He’d become incredibly serious, forgoing the role of energetic teachers pet to a much more muted one. He’d still be just as terrible at all his lessons, and still spend most of his time around teachers rather than others his age but he’d no longer have that fun spark. He’d probably start caring greatly about what people thought of him so his latter years would be trying to stay under the radar completely.

[janethlandis]

My son Dan was born on September 10, 1997.  I was working as a nurse at the time and decided I wanted to have a water birth at home. I remember being in the warm, soothing water after Dan was born and looking down in wonder at this pink, blonde, baby boy, whose eyes were grey-blue except for one small brown triangle in his right eye.  We always joked it was the one thing he got from me.

Dan was an easy baby, who plumped up quickly from nursing.  I started to wean him when I was pregnant with my daughter.  It was during this time that Dan began to get sick. He had his first bout with pneumonia before the age of 2.

When he was 2 ½ years old, after many tests, Dan was diagnosed with Ataxia-Telangiectasia, a rare, genetic neurodegenerative disease with no known cure. Literally translated, Ataxia means wobbly walking and telangiectasia is a word that describes the spider veins that make the eyes look bloodshot. The shorthand for the condition is A-T.

As Dan grew he went from walking on his own, to needing to hold your hand, to needing a walker, then a wheelchair, then a power chair.  When the kids were young we would sometimes eat dinner out on our porch and if the kids burped loudly they had to run to the end of the yard and back as “punishment.” Dan took pride in doing his best to run just like his brother and sister.  He always wanted to be treated the same as they were.  It was hard for me to do that at times, being a worrier by nature, and I would often jump to help Dan at the smallest signs of distress.  He once said to me, with his wry wit, that I had EMHD, and when I asked, “What is that Dan?”  His reply was, “Excessive Mom Hovering Disorder.”

Our Dan loved all things Marvel, but especially the X-men.  Wolverine was his favorite superhero because of his tragic backstory and his sarcasm. Dan used to wear a bracelet with the Wolverine quote, “I’m the best there is at what I do, but what I do best isn’t very nice.”  Wolverine embodied for Dan that even when the odds were against you, you could still find some ironic humor.  When we were given a trip to Comic-Con, Dan went as Wolverine, and he looked just like him.  One of the things we loved to do together was to go to movies; Marvel, DC, and Dragonball-Z were favorites, and even as the pieces of equipment required to get him there grew, we made it to the theater and would sit together in the handicapped section.  We often took selfies with our 3D glasses on to send to our family. We loved watching the challenges the heroes faced, and the courage they found, often through incredible hardships, to overcome them.  They were some of the happiest times we had together.

Dan was often sick because kids with A-T typically have an immune deficiency, and his mouth, nose and lungs had no protection from viruses and bacteria. When he was 10, he had to have a feeding tube placed in his stomach because he couldn’t eat enough to sustain his growing body.  As he entered his late teens, his hospitalizations became more frequent. After a trip to Disney World, where I was running a marathon to raise money for A-T research, he got a pneumonia/flu double hit that kept him in the hospital for most of that winter.  His lungs were now damaged to the point that he required oxygen all the time. I remember him asking me “why can’t they use a 3D printer to make me a new set of lungs?”  His questions were so often poignant and the answers so often illusory.

Dan received all his care at A.I. Dupont/Nemours Hospital for Children.  Almost everyone there knew Dan and he was loved by everyone who met him.  But Dan hated being in the hospital.  Each time we had to go back it tested his resilience and his spirit.  He missed being at home in his “Dan-cave” where he had a flat screen TV and a Playstation for his games. He loved God of War, Dragonball Z and Lego Marvel Superheroes. Even more, he loved his brother and sisters, his step-Dad, and our three dogs.  Home was always his favorite place to be.

On his 20th birthday Dan’s doctor told him that his best chance of getting home would be to have a tracheotomy, a surgery to make an opening in the windpipe that is necessary for breathing support.  It was either that or going home with hospice.  When the doctor left the room and it was just Dan and me, he looked at me and said, “Mom, I’m not ready to die.”

As it turned out, Dan decided he would get the tracheotomy. True to his nature, on the day of the surgery as we stood nervously around him, he smiled at us and as they wheeled him away he turned his head and called out “Yabba, dabba, do!”

After the surgery, we spent many more weeks in and out of the hospital.  In January of 2018 we were told that Dan’s only remaining option was to go home was with hospice.  On one of our frequent drives to the hospital Dan had said, “Mom, I don’t think they can fix me,” and sadly, it seemed he was right.  Dan’s homesickness was making his life increasingly difficult and pushing his resilience to its limits.  At the time, two things that were keeping him going, getting home and the upcoming release of the movie Black Panther.  Everyone we knew, including everyone at the hospital, tried to get a copy of it but were unable to do so.  Instead, on his final day as a patient there, his nurses, doctors, and therapists lined up along the hallway linking their hands above his head to make an archway of arms that led to an auditorium.  The hospital had arranged a special showing of Thor Ragnarok just for Dan, our family and the staff who knew him best.  They wanted to send him off with a celebration.

We had hoped that when we got home we would have a few months together.  As it turned out, we had two weeks.  When we finally did get him home, the nurses and I buzzed around his room setting up the equipment and fussing over him. In the midst of this, Dan called from his hospital bed to his older brother Al.  When Al came to his bed, Dan said, “Come closer.”  When Al took Dan’s hand, Dan repeated, “No. Closer.”  Al leaned further in, with a concerned expression on his face and in his eyes, and he asked, “What it is buddy?”  Dan looked at his brother with the impish twinkle in his eyes we loved so well, and whispered, loudly,  “Get these crazy bitches out of here!”

After Dan died, his nurses allowed me to help with his his bath.  I had given him his first bath as a baby and I wanted to be a part of giving him his last.  We were home, just as we had been for his birth, just as Dan had wanted it.  Bathing him, touching my dear child, now so still, I removed all of the devices that had been placed in his precious body; the tracheostomy tube, the stomach tube, so representative of the struggles he had been through.  It felt sacred; a consecration of a life of love, courage and perseverance.

We dressed him in his favorite Dragonball Z t-shirt and a pair of shorts he often wore. I lovingly washed and brushed his hair.  His room was quiet and still without the sound of the ventilator, the feeding pump, and the suction machine. All that was left was waiting for the funeral home to come for his body. Dan and I were alone, as we had been so often during the course of his life.  The television was on and by some strange coincidence, X-men Origins: The Wolverine, came on.  As the images began to play across the screen, I sat down by his side, took his hand in mine, and together we watched it, one last time.

  A Story Slam Draft My son Dan was born on September 10, 1997.  I was working as a nurse at the time and decided I wanted to have a water birth at home.