#well many of my friends have noun names anyways.. just not like mine

[pigswithwings]

now you need a friend named png, gif and............ and..................

an enemy named webp

mutuals tag yourself

[smalltragedy]

* brigette lundy-paine, nonbinary + they/them | you know kirby wormwood, right? they’re twenty five, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, two weeks? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ring ring by mika like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole balancing acts at perilous heights destined to entertain, jack of all trades master of none, refusal to accept the mortal world as it is thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is december 1st, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

hllo welcome 2 my third character i love them a lot theyre a. remake of an older oc of mine so this is fun <3 sdfhk anyways once again i am asking u. pleathe like if u wld like to plot.

ARSON TW

mini playlist.

wizard ;; lucas lex / ring ring ;; mika / crows ;; clues / sunrise sunset ;; bright eyes / la llorona ;; beirut / no children ;; the mountain goats / might be love ;; the pesky snakes / sax in the city ;; let’s eat grandma.

statistics.

full name: kirby wormwood (currently).

nickname(s): magpie.

birthday: december 1st, 1995.

zodiac: sagittarius sun, aries moon, libra ascending.

mbti & temperament: estp & improvisor / sanguine.

label: the hellion.

hometown: abilene, texas.

sexuality: bisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

alright lets get right into it. kirby ws switched at birth. they cld’ve hd a very like. picket fence trampoline in the backyard. 4 columns cos its texas n it feels right. bt instead they were chosen <3 somewhat unintentionally <3 by dorothea n fawley wormwood, two traveling circus workers who emergency stopped in abilene.

n u know what. growing up in st. pierre’s traveling circus ws kinda fkn awesome? like ok. besides the fact tht they were homeschooled fr like evr n there were a sparing amt of children 2 socialize with? it ws p cool idk.

it ws kinda like everybody ws their parent n also not at all bc they were all very casual. bt they grew up learning hw 2 maintain the circus (n also like. normal school thingz bt i dnt think kirby hs ever cared abt school like ever) n whenever they hd a show kirby wld facepaint or handle tickets until they were old enough 2 start learning like. the Real fun things. 

fawley hd a lot of his own weird odd little like superstitions n beliefs n practically raised kirby on them like n they dnt rly <3 make a lot of sense. lots of made up philosophy. very much like. nothing defines u. u cn b anything or anyone. n kirby ws like ok cool. n then developed a god complex.

names didnt rly stick 2 kirby when they were a kid like. nothing satisfied them or felt worthy fr them or simply they just. got tired of a name. this isnt related 2 them being nonbinary BUT it did help ease some of the. pressure of exploring gender identity. theyve only hd one name tht stuck genuinely n tht ws magpie n. thts bc everybody hd their own bird name n it felt very. like community. like a role. usually the names they used during performances bt. anyways KFHDSGLKKHL

theyre Kirby bt answers 2 most. neutral nouns.

honestly. they were also a rascal as a youth. ws like. oh. i learned sleight of hand? cool. time 2 pick pockets. wld throw popcorn into the hair of other kids n b like. omggg what was that ... became a mime fr a year. it ws a rigorous training.

now a master of charades. bt anyways. they traveled pretty much weekly, maybe bimonthly n sometimes just pure monthly. there wsn’t an off season fr them, when the colder months came they’d travel south and when summer rolled in they’d go right back up again. it ws easy to switch personas almost daily n just. never reveal ur true self. totally not saying tht’s what kirby did bt thts what they did. it nvr made them lose sight of themselves it ws more like. acting. tricking ppl fr fun. 

anyways all good things come 2 an end and when kirby ws like. 18. they were like hey ur old enough that we cn trust u with fire. we think. n they started 2 learn fire-throwing n like. they were ok at it bt lessons were painfully slow n kirby ws like. i wld b so good at this if i cld do it all the time. n it ws like. hey kirby, chill. u already know a lot of things.

arson tw // u see where this is going. tents are kind of flammable. kirby ws unsupervised. bad decisions all around. circus is aflame. all the animals n all the circus workers got out fine bt like. st. pierre’s ws efficiently out of business. arson end of tw //

n kirby fkn booked it they just. ran. pure fear. nvr looked back which is like super traitorous of them 2 do bt. sometimes they meet up in secret like. sunglasses n all at a coffee shop. not all of them just like. fawley or someone else. theyre like. ur family u cld burn down a thousand circuses n we’d still love u. n kirby is like yeah i know bt i’ve rly committed to the bit now. n they dnt reunite.

anyways. since then kirby hs just been. a traveler. nvr rly staying anywhere fr super long n driving around in their shitty little van tht’d been used as housing back at st. pierre’s.

they’re in irving n theyve been there fr almost. suspiciously long. compared 2 their average stays. when asked abt what they do or why theyre there theyll just. give a vague answer or spin a long tale tht usually involves a burning circus.

theyre staying at uh. abernathy creek rn bc of course they r they fit in so naturally. welcomed with wide arms. might b soul searching rn might b on the hunt fr their birth parents might b just vibing ... whose to say ..

personality & facts.

has a Big personality tht attracts others fr better or fr worse. either super likeable or the most despicable person on the earth. no in betweens. n honestly tht is a talent in itself

has no off button is constantly. spinning tales or performing a dance or getting kicked out of bars fr whatever nonsense reason. 

honestly they prob think tht nothing bad cn ever happen to them even tho like. bad has literally happened 2 them before? love the optimism here. KLFGDLKFSDHGF

acts a bit like u’ve known them fr ur entire life they r oddly warm in tht way bt they themself r so distant tht its like. oh nice ok ...

both honest n yet dishonest like. yes they will hustle u out of ur money bt they will also tell u their opinion straight up. 

probably smart bt they r just like. prime thembo? flowy pirate shirts n cropped tshirts n pants tht r never tight. dresses like they do still work n live at a circus. 

likes 2 instigate things between others n then stand back n just watch it happen while taking like zero accountability. loves a good small town drama. avid milf hunter.

does not hv any faith in the american healthcare system at all n will straight up refuse 2 go 2 a hospital if they get hurt theyre like. i cn do it myself im like practically a professional. they r not a professional. 

bt does hv like. a thing abt apples. fkn loves them. 

uuuhhh cn play instruments bt all very badly. only knows one (1) song tht isnt made up n its wonderwall by oasis. they play it at parties. they expect fr tomatoes to b thrown at them at any given time.

very nimble. agile. granted its frm. learning circus tricks frm a baby age bt they hv impeccable balance n cn sneak up behind anyone without a single noise. uses this 2 their advantage in order 2 scare ppl. chaotic neutral.

loves having the attention on them i wont fk around here. will go to drastic measures to accomplish receiving it. my other muses r capable of taking things srsly bt kirby just. is not. they do not take a single thing srsly they barely even took. st. pierre’s destruction srsly n they caused it. maybe.

likes being able to just. be unknown so the amt tht ppl know abt them is actually very. little. i dnt think they even tell others their last name. sometimes not even their first. just hs so many aliases n nicknames. i know i didnt list any bt thts simply bc Any cld.

probably acts out to compensate fr the. underlying guilt they hv bt thts okay. i mean it isnt bt.

will probably show up if u call them fr help bt they lose interest in people p quickly n r always moving onto the next shiniest person. bt when they do they give them like. all their attention. if u wrong them in this period they will just. ignore it. bt when theyre bored then its like. u werent even friends at all? very odd.

perhaps it is commitment issues bt <3 ya. thts them. they do not claim favorite colors or movies or. most interests. probably bc theyre very very disconnected frm pop culture i think they learn everything thru twitter n google.

i wld not call them a good person bt i also dnt think theyre like evil horrible nasty awful they just. think abt themself a lot more than they think abt others n also refuses to face consequences ever and also .. anyways.

wanted plots.

part of the bird’s nest ;; honorary bird honorary circus member. u hv to be very well regarded by kirby to earn a bird name bt i feel like tht doesnt feel like a lot considering theyve only been here fr like. two weeks KDGDSHKGK. the catch is tht u cn only refer 2 them as magpie frm then forward. 

hand in unlovable hand ;; theres comfort in being terrible ppl together n it may not last bt it doesnt hv to anyways. its just them n the like. vibes. n knowing tht its smth thts nvr gna b long term. cld b anything ur character just hs to be also a little evil. KHDSGFDS

one jester ... wht abt ... TWO jesters .. ;; hoo boy. ooh man. unstoppable force and immovable object combine forces n just become. the worst of the worst. ultimate jokesters. epic pranksters. absolute clowns. chaotic energy unmatched. always nonsense. 

n also ;; ppl they’ve stolen frm, ppl who hv caught them in that act, ppl who’ve maybe seen them in the circus a very long time ago, Found Family Trope, real family shenanigans, kirby just asking everybody if theyre their dad., mortal enemies if they see each other its an instant duel 2 the death, etc.

[silverlightqueen]

Secret

idol!Jimin x teacher!reader - nothing but fluff

Word Count - 3.1k+

Summary - You like to keep your private life just that... private. But Jimin doesn’t quite agree... (ft. Blackpink & NCT 127 as 8 and 9 year-olds lmao)

a/n: this is just a lil drabble, I was inspired by my work experience with all the (more annoying than) cute kids !! lmk what you think x (I think y’all might like this @arvbellas @khaoticamour @keylowmonie xxx)

silverlightqueen masterlist

‘Miss Park?’ I hear from behind me, turning to look at one of my students, Lisa, big eyes hidden behind her thick fringe as she looks up at me shyly, fingers toying with the hem of her blue and white check pinafore, part of the school’s summer uniform. 

‘Yes, darling?’ I ask, and a smile breaks across her face at the pet name. ‘Mrs Kim’s at the door, she said she’s got something for you,’ she says, and my eyes flit to the door, seeing the school receptionist, Kim Dahyun, waiting for me outside the door, visible through the windows.

I get up from where I’m crouched on the floor beside Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee and Jung Jaehyun who are struggling immensely with their 12 times tables. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, boys,’ I say at their protests, before turning to Lisa, ‘do you mind helping them, Lis? I know you know yours?’ The girl nods hesitantly before approaching the boys, and I watch slyly, nervous about how shy and quiet Lisa is around her classmates, or rather, how the boys will react to her. Mark moves to the side and pats the bit of his chair that is now free for Lisa to sit down, and my heart melts as she sits beside him nervously.

I weave my way through my Year 4 class that I’ve had all the way from Year 1, the group holding a special place in my heart, until I reach the door, slipping out and holding it open with one foot so I can hear if they become too boisterous (and quieten them before the bitchy Year 5 teacher, Mrs Choi, can come and have a go at me… again).

‘Hi, Mrs Kim,’ I say, the older woman smiling at me. I’m not particularly friendly with any of the other teachers at the school, all of them too petty and gossipy and competitive for my liking, so I keep myself to myself, something the rest of them hate. They’re always inviting me to things, which I decline, only to find out things about me and my life, as they know little more than my name and age.

‘Another delivery for you, Miss Park,’ Mrs Kim says, handing me a big bouquet of red roses, and I roll my eyes as a smile tugs at my lips, taking the flowers from her hands. ‘This is the fifth bouquet this term, Miss Park, and we’re not even halfway through,’ she says, clearly nosing, but I laugh it off. ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ I reply, the beautiful scent of the flowers making me feel serene, not getting annoyed with her prying as I usually do.

‘You must have a very keen secret admirer,’ Mrs Kim says primly, and before I can reply, I hear a shout from inside. ‘Sorry, Mrs Kim, I should probably go. Thank you for dropping these off though,’ I say, not giving her a chance to answer before I rush in. I worry that it’s Lisa, and that the boys have turned on her, but when my eyes land on their corner, Lisa looks more than comfortable, the boys writing out the answers as she gives them.

I scan the room and then I spot them; Kim Jisoo and Jennie Kim. I quickly rush over and they both spot me coming, instantly beginning to shout over each other to tell me what’s happened. ‘Stop it, both of you. You know we only speak to each other politely using our manners in this classroom, no shouting whatsoever. Now, what’s happened? You can each tell me from your perspectives,’ I say.

‘Jisoo put glue in my hair!’ Jennie exclaims, and Jisoo turns to her with a gasp. ‘You put clay in mine first!’ Jisoo says back, even louder. ‘Did not!’ ‘Did too!’ ‘Did not!’ ‘Um, excuse me!’ I exclaim, shutting them both up. ‘What have I just said?’ I ask, the two girls looking slightly sheepish. ‘Manners,’ Jennie says. ‘No shouting,’ Jisoo says.

‘Good. Right, so you’re both in the wrong, it seems. I don’t care who did what first, you both put things in the others’ hair. God knows why, we’re supposed to be doing maths,’ I mutter the last bit to myself. ‘Right, both of you apologise,’ I say, and they both stay quiet for a moment, too stubborn to say it first.

‘We’ll stay here all day if we have to,’ I say, and Jisoo gives in. ‘Sorry, Jennie. I shouldn’t have put clay in your hair,’ Jisoo says, and I nod, proud of her. I mentally count through the roses and when I know there’s enough, I begin to pull one out of the bouquet.

‘I accept your apology, and I’m sorry too, Jisoo, I shouldn’t have put glue in your hair,’ Jennie says, and I pull out another rose. I hand each girl a rose and they both beam at me. ‘And when you own up your mistakes, apologise and behave maturely, you get rewarded for it,’ I say.

I feel someone tap my back then, and turn to look. Jaehyun stands there, his shorts uneven on his legs and before he can speak, I put the bouquet down and bend down to fix them, rolling one leg down. ‘Miss Park,’ he says as I stand up, and I nod at him, motioning for him to say what he wants to say.

‘Can I give one to Lisa for teaching us the 12 tables times?’ he asks, and my heart melts again at how sweet my class is to one another. ‘Times tables, Jaehyun, not tables times. And, yes, of course, and you have one too for being so sweet. And give one each to Mark and Taeyong for being kind to your classmate,’ I say, pulling four roses out and handing them to the boy who beams up at me, beginning to run back to his friends. ‘Jaehyun! Walk!’ I call after him, the boy instantly slowing down into a speed-walk.

‘Miss Park,’ I hear, turning to look at Roseanne Park, or Rosie as we know her, looking up at me with her wide eyes. ‘Are the flowers from Mr Park?’ she asks, and I nod, a smile spreading across my face at the thought of him. ‘He’s so romantic!’ she exclaims, clapping her little hands together, and I nod in agreement.

I pull out a rose for her, in a good mood now, before I give everyone a rose, one remaining for me. It’s almost like he knows how many to send. When I dismiss the children at the end of the day, their parents, who wait outside the door, smile at me indulgently when they see their kids clutching their roses, knowing my husband has spoiled me once more, and when he spoils me, I spoil my children.

-

‘That’s a nice new car, Miss Park. How on earth did you afford that on our meagre teachers’ wage?’ Mrs Kim asks as I sign in at the front desk, trying to hide my eye roll from the gaggle of bitchy receptionists. Of course they noticed my brand-new Audi, gifted to me by my husband who loves spoiling me.

‘Thank you,’ I say shortly, ignoring the question, heading towards the door to leave as quickly as I can. ‘Was it a gift?’ one of the other receptionists, Mr Jung, says, leaning forward on his elbows with a raised eyebrow. ‘Yes, it was, from my partner,’ I say, all of them exchanging glances.

‘We didn’t know you were in a relationship, Miss Park! You kept that one quiet!’ Miss Kang exclaims, and I give a false smile. ‘Yes, well, my other half is a dancer with a group that is almost always abroad, so I’m always home alone, meaning I never have any stories to tell. But anyway, I should go, Mrs Choi wanted to meet for a curriculum discussion, so I’ll see you later,’ I say, not giving them a chance to reply before I duck out of the room, sighing with relief once the door falls shut behind me.

I don’t mind talking about myself and my personal life, I really don’t; it just annoys me that they only ever want to get to know me so that they can tell everyone else the ‘gossip’ they’ve found. Hopefully, due to my wording, they’ll go around spreading that I’m with a foreign lesbian stripper, rather than the truth, which I’d much rather hide.

I take a detour in the toilet, sending ‘Mr Park’ a quick text, before heading down to Mrs Choi’s classroom. As soon as I step foot through the door, she looks up at me with a smirk. ‘What’s this I hear about your foreign dancer partner?’ she asks, and I sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

-

‘Miss Park,’ Kim Doyoung hisses at me from where he sits at the front of the room, just beside where I stand writing on the board. ‘Give me a minute, Doyoung,’ I reply, continuing to write the definitions of ‘noun’, ‘adjective’ and ‘verb’ for the class to copy down.

‘It’s urgent, Miss Park,’ Doyoung hisses again, and I turn to him with slight annoyance. ‘If you need to go to the toilet again, Doyoung, so help me, because you only went twenty minutes ago,’ I say, and he shakes his head, pointing at the door, where I see the receptionists stood in a gaggle.

I squint in confusion, trying to work out what’s going on, before I spot a flash of familiar jet black hair, knowing none of co-workers have hair that dark. Someone else I happen to know, however, does. ‘You’re kidding me,’ I mutter under my breath, before ruffling Doyoung’s hair as an apology for snapping at him.

The door flies open then, the person who threw it open desperately trying to stop it from hitting the wall and making a loud noise, but to no avail, the entire class’ attention on the door now. ‘You forgot your lunch, babe,’ Jimin says, holding out a bag (that most definitely contain my lunch in it) out to me with that annoying grin of his on his face.

‘I… give me a minute, Jimin. Can you go sit at my desk for a minute?’ I say, and he nods, still grinning, the children staring at him as weaves between the tables, high-fiving and winking at the kids as he passes them, all of them beginning to giggle at him. I catch his eye, giving him a hard stare, and he subdues instantly, taking the seat behind my desk.

‘Thank you, gentlemen, ladies,’ I say to the receptionists at the door, a clear dismissal, and, reluctantly, they begin to troop back to reception, shutting the doors behind them. ‘Right, sorry for the disruption, children. Come on, get writing,’ I say, turning back to the board and finishing the definitions. I can feel Jimin’s eyes on me, making me flustered, causing me to make a few mistakes which I rub out hastily, hoping the children don’t notice.

‘Once you’ve finished those, put your books away and we’ll start reading lines before lunch,’ I say, excited whispers instantly running through the room. ‘Why are we talking? The quicker you get your definitions done, the longer we’ll have to run lines,’ I say, all of the children instantly beginning to write, telling each other to rush. ‘Miss Park, how long ‘til lunch?’ Kim Jungwoo asks, and I supress a laugh at the boy who is always asking me how long ‘til break or lunch. ‘Ten minutes, so get writing. We’ll have an hour and a half after lunch too,’ I say.

Once they’ve all packed their books away, and got their lines out, we start to run through the first scene. We’re doing a shortened version of The Little Mermaid, and my class is very performance inclined, so I already know we’re going to absolutely crush the other classes’ productions, as we have the past few years. Not that that’s what it’s about, of course.

After a rigorous casting process, Rosie is Ariel, Jaehyun is Eric, Jungwoo is Sebastian, Jisoo is Ursula, Taeyong is King Triton, Mark is Flounder, Doyoung is Scuttle, and Lisa, Johnny Seo, Lee Haechan, Dong Sicheng, Yuta Nakamoto and Taeil Moon are all playing Ariel’s (ugly except for Lisa) sisters (and I don’t mean that offensively… just that the wigs we’ve bought with the shitty school budget don’t really do the boys much justice – I’m thinking of just leaving the wigs and having them wear the tails and shell bras alone. I feel like it’d be quite humorous to watch).

As they run through their lines, I march over to Jimin, who looks quite amused watching them say their lines, the smile falling from his face when he spots me coming. ‘What are you doing?’ I hiss at him. ‘Bringing you lunch?’ he says, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head. ‘What were you thinking, you moron?’ I demand. ‘I was thinking it’d be nice for my wife to show me off to her coworkers instead of keeping me a secret all the time,’ he says, and I sigh, feeling guilty then.

‘Listen, Jimin, it’s not like that. I didn’t want them to start crawling up my arse just because I’m married to you, and I didn’t want them to discredit me as a worker knowing that I’m married to a rich man anyway. They’d just assume I don’t work hard because I don’t need to because you’ll buy me everything anyway,’ I say. ‘Well, I will,’ he says, completely missing my point.

‘That’s not the- you know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s not that deep anyway. I’m just worried it’ll get out to the world. There’d be a huge scandal!’ I say, the realisation suddenly dawning on me. ‘I had a meeting with Bighit this morning. They said it’s time we stopped being a secret, because the longer I keep you quiet, the worse it’ll be when it finally gets out. Oh, yeah, by the way, guys, I’ve been married for nineteen years, sorry for keeping it quiet! It would not go down well at all. So I’m gonna announce it on VLive tonight, if that’s okay with you?’ he asks, melting my heart. ‘Okay. You can announce it,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Well, you’ll be there with me. Right?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Always,’ I say, and he smiles at me warmly, my heart skipping a beat.

‘I didn’t realise how sexy you are in teacher mode,’ he says, the affectionate smile falling off my face at the perverted look he shoots me. ‘Was it too soon? Did I ruin the mood?’ he asks, and I nod, rolling my eyes at how clueless he is. And then I realise that it’s completely silent in the room.

‘Children! I’m sure you have lines to be running through!’ I exclaim, blushing in embarrassment. Before anyone can say anything else, the bell rings. Usually, the kids all jump up and line up at the door, desperate for lunch, but none of them do, not even Jungwoo. ‘Miss Park… or should I say Mrs Park?’ Jaehyun asks, and I hold back a laugh. ‘Carry on calling me Miss Park,’ I say, Jimin letting out an indignant noise behind me.

‘Miss Park, is that Mr Park?’ Jaehyun asks, and I nod, all of the kids craning their necks to get a good look at Jimin. ‘Is that Park Jimin from BTS?’ Taeyong asks, and I nod again, excited whispers running through the room. ‘But you can’t tell anyone. Not until tomorrow, okay?’ I say, and they all nod. I know they’ll keep their promise, having kept the fact that I was married quiet from the rest of the school for three years.

‘He looks like a Disney prince,’ Rosie whispers, and when Jimin looks at her, she blushes. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Jimin says, also blushing. ‘You do,’ I say, nodding in agreement with Rosie, who giggles. ‘Are you a good actor, Mr Park?’ Johnny demands, and Jimin looks slightly taken aback, not used to being interrogated by young children like I am every day. I have to hold back a laugh at the almost scared look on his face.

‘Um, I’ve acted before, in a few music videos. Why?’ he asks. ‘Can you help us in our show?’ Haechan asks. ‘We’re doing The Little Mermaid!’ Jisoo exclaims. ‘You could be Prince Eric!’ Jennie exclaims. ‘Hey, Jennie, I’m Prince Eric!’ Jaehyun exclaims indignantly, the shouts getting louder and louder. I hold up a hand and the kids shut up as they notice me waiting, the room falling silent again.

‘Jennie, stop trying to give Jaehyun’s role to my husband, he’s not going to be in our show. But, he might be able to help out a little bit,’ I say, already mentally plotting, Jimin side-eyeing me. ‘What are you planning?’ he asks. ‘Well… you guys have a, like, three month break now, right?’ I ask, and he laughs. ‘Not quite a break, babe. We’re writing and recording,’ he says. ‘Yeah, but that won’t take all your time. Maybe you guys could all come in and help. Joon and Yoongi could write and produce a couple new songs for it, you and Jungkook and Hoseok could help with dances, and vocals, and Jin and Taehyung can help with the acting and directing, as well as vocals,’ I say, Jimin raising an eyebrow.

‘You’re getting carried away,’ he says. ‘I know, but tell me it isn’t possible,’ I say, and he doesn’t say anything, thinking. ‘Exactly!’ I say, excitedly, and the kids all start to whisper. ‘I need to speak to Bang PDnim first, before I agree to anything. Okay?’ he says, and I nod, already knowing Bang Sihyuk won’t have an issue with it. He’s got a right soft spot for me.

‘Right, children, go to lunch now. You can grill my husband after you come back,’ I say. ‘But Miss Park, we wanna rehearse and grill your husband,’ Lisa says, making the whole class laugh. ‘Tell you what? We’ll move our Maths lesson to tomorrow, and have an afternoon long rehearsal, yeah? It’s not like you need to know Maths that desperately anyway, you’re only 8 and 9,’ I mutter the last bit, the class already celebrating.

‘Right, go to lunch. Go on, get out,’ I say, Jimin and I both ushering them out. Once they’ve left, Jimin flops down onto my chair, pulling out the sandwich that was ‘my lunch’ that he brought me (not like I didn’t already have my lunch with me). ‘God,’ he sighs, raking a hand through his dark hair, a mouth full of food, ‘this teacher life is hard.’

[eldritchsurveys]

1020.

5k Survey LXXI

3601. What brands do you like? >> I usually don’t pay much attention to brands unless it’s about food or electronics. I like the Sweet Earth brand of prepared foods, for example, and I have found Asus products to be pretty reliable. (So far.) 3602. What do you think of the 'don't ask don't tell' policy of gays in the millitary? >> I’m pretty sure they repealed that. I say “pretty sure” because to be honest, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention when that was a hot topic. 3603. Why do you think that so many people have such a problem with gays? >> There’s no one-size-fits-all answer for that, as far as I can ascertain. 3604. It seems like it is more accepted for a woman to be bi or gay than for a man. Why do you think that is? >> I don’t care to make a guess about that. I’m not even sure that assessment is true. 3605. When a kid kisses another kid on the playground is it sexual harassment? >> I think the particular term “sexual harassment” is best applied to older people who can grok exactly what that entails. When it comes to kids, I think the teaching point should be about respecting boundaries and others’ bodies, as well as appropriate behaviour in certain social settings.

3606. If you had to name your self after an object in the room with you what would you pick? >> No. 3607. Pick the two most important things out of these: writing deep thoughts, expressing your self clearly, being honest, finding new novel ways to waste time, being organized, practicing what you want to do, trying to be famous >> My two most important things from this list would be “expressing myself clearly” and “being honest”. 3608. You were only waiting for this momen to ----- >> ??? 3609. Knowing historically that native American indians were and are the first americans, how do you feel about america and current americans? >> I have no answer for this extremely broad and vague question. 3610. Just what exactly determines whether or not one is 'mental'? >> *shrug* Not me. 3611. is it true that people with depression CAN'T function in society? >> Some can and some can’t. People with depression should have access to mental health resources regardless of ability to perform socially. 3612. fill in the word: half of what i say is ----------- >> --- 3613. Some people believe the Holocaust was a hoax?. What do you think of this? >> I don’t think anything about it. I’m aware that’s a thing some people believe, but I am not one of those people and it’s nothing to do with me. 3614. Does EVERYONE in the world care about how they look except YOU? >> Well, I also care about how I look, so, no. 3615. Do you love italian names like Lorenzo, Gaetano, and Grazziano? >> I mean... not especially? They’re just names to me. 3616. Everyone does horrible things. Do you think that people are more accepting of the bad things they do themselves or the bad things others do? Which are you more accepting of? >> I think that depends on the person and how they view themselves versus how they view others, etc. I give other people way more leeway than I do myself, because I have a pretty developed Inner Critic who is tailor-made to assert that everything I do is bad and wrong even if it’s no badder or wronger than what some other guy did. 3617. Is it true that NO ONE wants to date grumpy people? >> I don’t know, I haven’t taken a fuckin poll or anything. 3618. Bush and his henchmen have now come up with a list of people for the CIA to assassinate. What do you think of this? >> What I think is that I find that highly doubtful. This is an extremely dated question, anyway. 3619. Why is it that in many states sodomy and oral sex are still illegal, even if they are consensual? >> Because those laws simply haven’t been updated for a more sexually liberal time period. 3620. What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of: liberals? conservatives? hippies? nobel peace prize winners? black panthers? time magazine? feminists? 3621. Order these issues from most important and needing to be dealt with to least important and we can put it off: cloning, racism, aids cure, the middle east, putting power back in the hands of the people, the environment, better education >> --- 3622. Do you feel like you are missing out because you can only know a certain number of people in this world and you can't know everyone? >> No, that’s not what makes me feel like I’m missing out. It’s usually stuff like “I can’t read every book” or whatever that makes me feel acutely how short our time on this planet really is. 3623. What do you imagine being a soldier in a war is actually like? >> I don’t want to imagine that, thanks. 3624. Do you agree that woman should be allowed to enlist in the army? >> Sure. Why anyone would want to is beyond me, lmao, but you should have the right. 3625. What is the purpose of government? >> You know, take care of the people etc etc. 3626. Why don't people believe in free love anymore? >> I’m pretty sure the rampant spread of STIs had something to do with it. The concept of “free love” comes with a lot of fine print. 3627. Do you make decisions with your head or your heart? >> I make decisions with my whole consciousness... 3628. What is the differance between sympathy and empathy? >> Google it. 3629. Can you think of any person or group you cannot empathize with? >> Not off the top of my head. 3630. Like creme savers? >> Unfortunately those do not exist anymore, but yeah, I was nuts about them back in the day. 3631. Your best friends asks you to marry them Out of the blue. You say: >> --- 3632. What makes you feel seriously depressed? >> Depression. 3633. Have you personaly worked for peace? >> Er, no? 3634. Do you suppress parts of yourself because you are afraid of judgement? >> Unfortunately. 3635. Do you take in the ideas and opinions of others too often?/ >> I don’t know. I don’t think so, but who knows. 3636. 36 - 24 - 36? >> ?? Those look like measurements, but they ain’t mine, so. 3637. What just isn't right? >> Left. 3638. What makes your blood boil?? >> I’m not sure. 3639. Have you ever gone to the bathroom in a place that wasn't a bathroom? >> Yeah. 3640. Want some water melon? >> Not right now. 3641. What's your favorite gum? >> It used to be Orbit Bubblemint, but then they changed the formula and now it’s horrible, so I have no more favourite. :( 3642. What do you imagine going to Harvard is like? >> I don’t want to imagine going to Harvard. I’ll just watch Legally Blonde instead. 3643. What would you get rid of forever if you had to choose snow or rain? >> As annoyed as snow makes me, I don’t want to get rid of it. I just want to live somewhere that maybe gets a little less of it. The climate doesn’t need to change to suit me, I can just... move... 3644. Is there a santa clause? >> Yeah, it’s that movie with Tim Allen or whoever. 3645. Do you understand yourself? Do you understand everyone else? >> I understand some parts of myself and I’m still learning about others. It’s similar with other people, just with varying ratios. 3646. Do you think there is a connection between understanding yourself and understanding others? >> Yeah, I do think that. 3647. What's good? >> Garlic bread. Garlic bread is good. 3648. Have you ever played dodge ball? >> Maybe in school. 3649. Is there anything you feel men can do better than woman? >> There’s nothing I can think of off the top of my head, and I suspect that there probably isn’t anything at all that I truly believe men can somehow naturally, innately do better than women. 3650. Is there anything you feel woman can do better than men? >> Same answer, just switch the nouns around.

[pettyelves]

keener

[ The Letter’s Source ]

keen·er/ˈkēnər/ noun 1.a person who wails or sings in grief for a dead person.

"I will remind this Council that Kurel An'Diel's removal is not yet up for debate as he has yet to fully violate the terms of his admiralty promotion. This is also not a character hearing--nor is it a platform for I-told-you-sos. I reject, at this time, Speaker Duskbringer's motion." She was on her fifth cigarette and surprisingly keeping her calm, "Kurel An'Diel's role as a husband and father is ,frankly, no one in this room's business but my own-- ...I will also remind this council that Kurel, aside from myself, is the oldest Councilor-- and did, help build this place."

The afternoon breeze shifted through the Starset Reach’s courtroom, a place they had called the Free Man’s Court. It felt hostile today, and Eilithe had readily blamed Reveria’s emotion-ruled judgement for such-- though she never said it aloud. Kur’elnth An’Diel’s name was a wired bomb as much as it was a ghost in the corner of the room. It made people angry-- it made her defensive. It was logical for people who loved her, people like Reveria, Feril, Hillier, and Clarcius to ask her why she was so vehement in her defense of a man that not two months after their marriage had wandered off somewhere into the world without a word to her. That is to say, Eilithe Duskbringer-An’Diel was well aware of how hopeless and pathetically in-love she was with her husband.

There was no justification beyond that. She loved him more completely than any man before him. Perhaps it was his unique brand of love that kept her hanging on. She was as attracted to his arrogance as she was his ambition. Kurel loved quietly, viscerally, and most importantly without expectation. 

“Arbiter, Admiral An’Diel’s vulture has just flown in. I thought you’d want to know.” 

When she left Stormwind, she had been excited or at the very least anxious. Croaks’ arrival meant news from Kurel and even if it was news that he wouldn’t be home for another month, she had opened the letter under the presence of the one and only promise he had ever made her: “I will always come home”  Every letter she ever wrote, Eilithe read three times. But not his. 

Eilithe,

The greatest and the worst secrets of my life have only ever been shared with three people in this world. Severin, Mavas and you. Lately, my list of regrets and mistakes expands by the creeping of every hour that moves beyond me. Of them all, only one do I have control over in some capacity to lighten.

When I told you about The Gate, about Archerous, and about what happened during those months. I did not tell you everything.

When Archerous demanded for its location and I refused, penance had to be paid for another hundred years. He did not choose to take Tailon, I gave Tailon to him and my sister was returned, dead.

In Severin’s devastation at the loss of his brother and his feeling that I had betrayed him, he left. For longer than I can remember, he and those of his lineage preceding him have served and sworn themselves to my family and its successors. There is more than expectation and tradition that holds him to this, so when he left me he returned to Tanaris. To serve Ammon.

By now I suspect you better realize that I did not simply vanish without cause or meaning and reading this far, you are outraged. That I would say nothing. That I would take no one.

“You can take the man out of the desert, but you can not take the desert out of the man.” A truth spoken by both my brother and lovers alike. Reveria understood that afternoon out on the pier while Eronal pleaded her case to me. Ammon’s tyranny was and never will be Deadsun’s problem. It is my problem and only mine. No argument or devotion will ever change that.

There is no good I do this world and there is no good I perhaps ever intend to do. Xavier may be the only thing of any -good- having come from me and you may have been the only thing good to have ever happened to me.

But I warned you. All those years ago. With me, there would only ever be misery and suffering. And that in the end, I would only ever disappoint you. No one survives me and writing to you, I am uncertain if I can survive myself.  You could be right, that the problem and this record of repeated misfortune is me and not the threads that puppet us. If that is true, I am too old to be changed.

I love you. I will until this body finally gives out or something takes it out. And perhaps there is some solace that I can feel the piece of you that you bound to me and know you are alive. I do not know if or even when I might return. In the event of never, raise our children with ferocity and fire.

Whatever happens. Whatever you feel.  Do not come for me. Do not wait for me.

Stay Alive.

   Kur’elnth An’Diel

She was not angry-- she was devastated. It must have been fate looking out for her that her children were not home when the first wail came from the deepest part of her stomach. Her body hit the floor their bedroom and she gave herself to crying that buckled her chest. The only thanks she might have mustered for that moment was that she could feel in those moments of anguish vast and numbing loneliness, sobbing on the floor was the most present she had been in months. 

Hours passed before she could breathe again, before she could uncoil and relax her muscles. Staring out the open balcony, she could swear she felt her soul twisting in his chest. And would it be that way, until one day he died and all at once the piece of her he took came rushing back to her?

Eilithe inhaled and sat up.

“What now?” She asked the room which accosted her with silence. Eilithe’s instinct, always, first and foremost was to run. But she had already run--she’d already kissed Death’s cheek and been pulled away. No safe house-- nor tree deep in the jungle was going to be her shelter. Her shelter was walking the sands alone to face all that he had done wrong in the world.

Would she be like her mother? 

Dear Reveria, Before I ever met Kurel--before he and I ever gave in to lust or love, before a lot of things actually I used to write letters. Some of them I thought I people would read after I was dead and it’d give them closure or comfort or maybe a final fuck you.

I stopped, eventually. It got too painful writing for forgiveness from people that were long dead and didn’t need to forgive me anyway. Anyway, it used to give me peace writing them every night-- usually to Lucia, sometimes to my children though at the time it was just Eilonwy and I. 

Right now, there is a hole in my chest and pieces keep falling out of it. It’s not just Kurel, who.. I’m sure you’ll figure out is gone before you ever read this letter. That is to say-- I hope you never read this, not until we’re old and my hair goes stark white like Endessa’s and we’re both raising grandchildren like our grandmothers.

But if you do, it means that I was out of options. It means that the ache-- not just from Kurel, but from thousands of years of disappointment, of loss of hope has finally gotten me.

I think I finally understand why my mother left after my father died, I started to understand it when I went to the jungle to die months ago but now with this finality-- I get it because as lonely as I was before, now I feel it in a sort of cosmic sense. I cannot help thinking that he was my ‘person’ -- you know, how Dianesh and Velerodra talk. 

What if he was my person and that was it?

As stupid as it must sound to you, I wouldn’t take it back. I hope that I am strong enough to stay, Reveria. I hope that you and I can be as close as we used to be. I hope that I do not run. But if I do, know that above everything. I love you. 

Eilithe

Kur’elnth An’Diel,

I bet you thought I’d be angry-- that I’d shred your letter and I would rip up all your clothes, throw the vanity off the balcony. Maybe even march an army to face Ammon and drag you back here to your home. 

I want to be angry at you. I want to spit your name the way I always do-- act like you forced me into loving you for some sick and manipulative reason. But I can’t because you tried at every turn to stop this.

One day, when we’re both dead-- I imagine yours is the soul I will gravitate to. As warped, twisted, and rotten as you were-- there is a piece of you that I know I will feel entangled with me beyond Bwonsamdi’s gate. 

I will not not rush there. Though while I write this I can think of little more than ending this pain, I know that our children need me. That Reveria and Velerodra need me. That Dead Sun needs me. You reminded me of that the last time, Kurel. 

For all the shit. The pain and rage. I want you to know, in true me-fashion, you were wrong. You promised me misery and nothing else, but that’s not what I got at all. No, I got two more beautiful children. I got confidence and strength. I got so many laughs and stories. 

You know I fell in love with you because of your stories, right?

And so this is ours. When our children ask of you-- I will not tell them you are the bastard son of Vishak An’Diel, True King of the Black Mirage. I will not tell them you were a coward who left us. I will not tell them about the fights or the leaving. 

I will tell them that we had fun. I will tell them that you were stubborn, and that you were grouchy. But that you smirked when I said something funny. And sometimes you even laughed-- deep from your belly.

I will tell them that we loved each other as hard and for as long as we could. I will tell them you are a good man. 

Until the gate,

Ei’lithene An’Diel

The letters found a home in a box buried in the back of their closest, sealed up, never to be seen. An inhale brought a final breath of his scent that lingered on his clothes throughout the space and Eilithe stood in it for only a moment longer before she pulled on a coat and headed out the door. 

@kurel-andiel​ @revthepunchbear​ @velerodra-valesinger​ [this was painful to write, but Kurel is one of my best friends oocly and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, @deadsunharbor​ would not exist without her support over these last four years. Thank you for all the stories.]

[smolbeandrabbles]

Humility: Almost Easy/Power & Control - Dave x Reader (Lost River)

Hahahahahhahahaa...  Author’s Note: Okay. I chose Dave of all the suggestions for 2 reasons. 1, I had more of a plot for him. 2, Nolan was the most requested - but I’m working on something similar for him that I assure you won’t be disappointing sequel to Sugar, anyone? As for Vince... Well... Damn. I’ll work on it. SO! It’s a two song fic because I really liked the song @sufferthesea​ sent along for Dave: Power & Control - Marina and the Diamonds AND this AX7 gem Almost Easy worked for this particular premise too... So you better consider it added to the Dave playlist. ** Idea credit to Amanda, because she took my thought and then flipped it a little and added some details so I can’t say this one is whole-y mine. Disclaimer: Lost River came from the (obviously slightly mad) brain of Ryan Gosling / Gifs & lyrics not mine. Premise:  Some of Dave’s performers are fed up with his attitude. It’s time for them to teach him some humility. And they figure that asking his favourite to do this for kicks makes their plan flawless... You’ll agree to do it, for a price.  Words: 4083 Warnings: It’s Dave... come on...  / Swearing / Sexual Connotations / Very subtle dom/sub tones - but also present in both songs.

__________ I feel insane every single time I'm asked to compromise 'Cause I'm afraid and stuck in my ways And that's the way it stays So how long did I expect Love to outweigh ignorance? By that look on your face I may have forced the scale to tip Shame pulses through my heart From the things I've done to you It's hard to face but the fact remains That this is nothing new... I'm losing the fight, I've treated you so wrong Now let me make it right I'm not insane, I'm not, not insane… Come back again, it's almost easy (You learned your lesson) Come back to me, it's almost easy (It's still your fault) Come back again, it's almost easy… --- Power & control I'm gonna make you fall Power & control I'm gonna make you fall Women and men, we are the same But love will always be game We give and take a little more Eternal game of tug and war Think you're funny, think you're smart Think you're gonna break my heart Think you're funny, think you're smart Yeah, you may be good-looking but you're not a piece of art ---

noun

the quality of having a modest or low view of one's importance.

Whispers spread like wildfire. You expected that from the second you got on stage. Bitchy bickering. Or complaining you guessed? It always happened when Dave caught your eye, or your wrist after your act was finished. “Meet me later...” You knew what that meant well enough. You didn’t need him to tell you. Mind you, Dave caught your arm so often his fingerprints might as well have been imprinted into your skin.

It wasn’t that they were jealous of you. Probably the contrary; that didn’t stop the whispers though. And tonight, as you changed, they seemed to be a little louder than usual; “I mean who the hell does he think he is-!? Walking around like he’s better than us?!” “Like he owns the place!” “He does own the place... but still, fair point. We do all the hard work!!” “People come for us - he only ever sings!” “And that’s only on bloody occasion too - not every night!” “We have way better work ethic-! I bet he doesn’t even PAY us fairly.” “I bet he pays himself better than us.” “...Well, he might pay some of us well then...” they all turned around to you, and you saw that from your mirror. You sighed, here we go again. Couldn’t be for love... had to be for money... You supposed it might not even have been for love... maybe just for company... but he wasn’t paying you for your time. They turned back around, whispered muttering you couldn’t hear that made you focus back on your mirror.  You caught the paper tacked there out of the corner of your eye. Dave’s writing; “Room 3”. You took a deep breath. A little part of you was always a little nervous about it. Dave had very distinct moods; if this wasn’t a good one, it might give you problems... “Oh! Y/N..!” They turned back to call your name and you turned, pressing you lips together to even out the lipstick; “Mm?” “Come here a second.” You sighed and stood; this could only be bad. “What’s wrong?” “Nothin’, yet. You seein’ Dave tonight?” Well, they knew you were so it was a stupid question. But they wanted affirmation. “Yes...” “We got an idea...” You didn’t like this one bit already, “Right...” “But we need your help.” You folded your arms, eyes narrowed in suspicion; “Why?” Rob gave you a look like you were dumb; “Because you’re his favourite! He trusts you.” No, you thought, you were his favourite right now. Next week that could all change, especially if someone newer younger and prettier walked in. Dave was always down to seduce the next big thing. “...Well what is it?” “Well, you agree. He thinks he’s great. Right?” “Yeah.” He did, on occasion, get this smug kinda swagger about him that annoyed you.  Clearly not as much as it annoyed them though. “And it’s getting a little out of hand?” “Maybe.” you didn’t want to seem decisive on this “Maybe?! C’mon Y/N don’t be amicable - he thinks he can do whatever the f*** he wants. We gotta stop this before we can’t anymore.” “Well what do you want me to do?!” “He taking you to a room tonight?” You glanced back to your mirror “Yes.” “Give him a taste of his own medicine.” “How?!” “What room?” “Three.” They all looked at each other for a minute, and suddenly you didn’t like the smirks they were all giving each other; “Shells, huh?” That didn’t really bother you. Dave had a remote, sure, but you knew him. “Yes?” You wondered where this was going. “Lock him in one.” “What?!” that sounded about as crazy as they all looked. “Yes! That’s such an excellent idea!!” “You guys do realise the lock mechanism keeps you safe right? And that he has a remote system too?” Rob tipped his head knowingly “Aw, like as if a girl like you can’t wrangle the remote from him?” You frowned at that - yeah, you guessed he had a point. “And… what am I doing this for?” Kat scoffed; “yourself for one!” You almost dared shoot her a look, but Rob cut in before the cat fight could start “The good of all your friends here! Our eternal gratitude? To feel good! Put him in his place? Y/N the list is endless!” You noticed no one was offering up a monetary reward! You shook your head with a smirk; “Okay. But I’m getting bragging rights for at least a year, I get a longer routine AND-!” You put your hands on your hips and turned to Rob, “I get to be the MC. At least a couple of times.” “Well, you gotta prove you did it.” Your smirk only grew; there’s one-way glass isn’t there? You’re welcome to watch.” All of them opened their mouths, hesitated, and looks appeared on their faces which let you know they realised exactly what that would entail. “Bring us the remote and any other proof you can. We’ll take it.” “Alright, you’re on...” you held out your hand to shake; Rob took it, and everyone else grabbed your handshake. You winked; “You guys better be thinking of how many precious seconds you can shave off... I’m coming for them.”

 ** Only that meant by the time the show was over, and pretty much everyone had left. Except the huddled group, because they wanted to make 100% you were going to go ahead with this; you were even more nervous. You could do it sure, but did you want to? Dave was good to you, forward sure - but a good man. And he took care of everyone here. Even if he had a kinda self-important attitude. Still, you saw their point completely. He usually got what he wanted; there was something alluring about him, and you probably weren’t the only girl he’d taken an interest in working here. You’d heard the words ‘Dave Situation’ often enough. In fact you probably weren’t the only girl he was seeing right now. But, you were his favourite.  Apparently.

He stood watching you wait patiently for a few minutes. Leaning on the door frame, with a smile. Such a good girl. But Dave knew that already. He scanned the room, frowning a little at those still loitering. He knew who had clients tonight and who didn’t.  That caused him slight annoyance as he stepped into the dressing room, calling your name. You turned instantly with a sweet smile and he walked towards you. Dave had an energy almost unreadable, that uncertainty gave him power and he knew it. His eyes traced the group who had allowed pause in their talking; “You can go home, right?” He looked between them, “I don’t pay you to stand around here, you don’t earn commission chatting either. Go home. Get rest.” “Yeah we know what we need to do to get paid around here.” You didn’t visibly wince at that obvious shot at what was about to happen between you and Dave; but he simply furrowed his eyebrows. Saying nothing he turned back to you; “You ready?” “Mmm!” You nodded and stood gracefully. “Good... let’s go.” You turned to the group again with a wink; watch this!!

 * 

You always thought that the electronic female voice telling you to play safe was a tad ironic, considering the catered to audience. And you thought that shell safety was a little bit of a joke too. Dave, after all, did have a remote that overrides the lock in system. Who said he didn’t have more he could give out for the right price? You wouldn’t have thought he would though. Even Dave didn’t seem like the kind of man who would put you in danger for money. He waited for the lock to click in place on the entry door and then was on you. Leaving you little-to-no time to take a breath, you found yourself pushed up against the wall in less than seconds. You weren’t wearing a heck of a lot anyway, but your thin coverup didn’t last long - floor - you weren’t about to let him get away with something like that without going for it yourself. Where the hell would he keep his remote, though...? Maybe you could get him to give that information up... You made sure to let him know you didn’t want him wearing his suit jacket too long either - floor. He’d already done the work on his top two buttons, allowing you to push his shirt collar back and kiss his neck.   You got a kick out of the sounds he made, and the way he gripped your hips tighter “...Y/N...” Oh! Well, if you could keep him saying your name like that... You bit him just hard enough, and pushed him back. When he conceded a step you knew this would be easy... it couldn’t have been many to the shell, push him in and lock it, and your work was done.

But Dave wanted your lips back on his. So he pulled you to him, hands running as much of your body as was within reach with you pressed up against him like this. Oh god- Dave... Yes-! He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d certainly never wasted his time with getting in tune with you. Okay, so what if you pulled him to the shell, if you lulled him into a false sense of security... You turned him, tugging him closer to you by his shirt. And your moans were are real as his were. He’d deny you his fingertips if he thought he could. There was nothing quite like the way he touched you. Dave chuckled, as he realised where you were heading. “My, my, so eager?” “Yes...” you pitched your voice at just whiny and needy enough for him to give it to you. “Good girl.” ...c’mon a few more feet... You paused just in front of it and broke his trial of kisses. “What?” You looked between his eyes; it was strange to think that for once this man had no idea what was coming.  You shook your head, kissing him again - this only soft and gentle... and you knew you were asking for forgiveness before you’d even done what you were going to. You took his hands in yours, turning him on the spot. Perfect. Best guess on where the remote was and you could do this; and it’s not like he would mind your hands on his body. But that kiss confused him. Being so different from the rest as it was... he didn’t have time to quiz you though; because you pulled him again, this time undoing a few more buttons, you ran your hands down his body. That picked his groan back up. He wouldn’t have dared leave his remote in his jacket... that ruled that out. It wasn’t in his shirt pocket... that left his pants. And Dave was left handed. “...Careful...” his whispered against your lips as your hands had to run that low; “...don’t make me call you a bad girl just yet...” Only he would be. Considering. The second you found it you broke the kiss - and pushed him. It was pretty hard and athletic for you, but still.  He realised what you’d done far too late and the door closed on him.

At first he sighed, and then laughed; “Oh I see...” but he didn’t. “Funny... let me out.” You at least gave a playful shake of your head “Y/N... don’t make this hard on yourself...��� your eyes flicked to his hands searching his pockets. He still thought he had the upper hand. And there was a sick sort of pleasure in watching his face change as he realised he didn’t. “Wh-!” You held the remote up; “Looking for this?” He slammed his hands on the plexiglass - clearly unimpressed. “C’mon, Y/N!” You at least laughed a little, folding your arms “Nah, I think it’s good for you...” Dave’s face changed again, and you’d never seen him look so vulnerable; “W...why??” Your eyes flicked to the club above your heads; “They all think you need a taste of your own medicine. I say they probably have a point...” you threw the remote behind you. You wouldn’t need it for at least a minute; “... I have to watch you... now you have to watch me...”  You tilted your head “...The crew thinks you think you’re too good for us. Guess you have that air, but just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean...” you weren’t even sure Dave was listening as he looked around the enclosed space you’d now trapped him in. If he was looking for an escape route, you could happily confirm for him there wasn’t one. You continued “...I guess they think you have an attitude problem they’d like you to tone down... Me? I’m just not sure I hold your attention... or could ever hope to hold it... and I’m not sure how that makes me feel. But certainly not good. You can’t always do whatever you want and expect it not to have... consequences...”

 Dave sounded like he was laughing, half hysterically. Like all the words you were saying meant nothing. All jokes for him. Only you realised with horror he wasn’t laughing. Dave was having a full on panic attack. SHIT HE’S CLAUSTROPHOBIC!!?! “Oh my god!! Shit!!!” You turned around; with the nonchalant way you’d chucked the remote it could be anywhere and you, nor he, really had the time for you to waste. “Shit! Dave! Just hold on!!!” Damn the seedy lighting in these rooms!! Eventually it glinted at you from a corner and you couldn’t run to it quick enough. Running back to the shell you never thought you’d heard anything that gave you as much relief as Shell Unlocked

Dave all but collapse into yours arms; gripping you tight. “Baby... baby... hush... hush. It’s okay... it’s okay, I’m here...” you sank down onto your knees, cradling him close to you with soothing tones; “Breathe... sweetheart... just breathe...” if you could regulate his breathing, hopefully you could help him calm down. ...well that wasn’t exactly the humble kind of attitude you expected to evoke. Sure you wanted him to meekly beg you, before you to let him out with an agreement that he’d bend to what the guys wanted. So you could put him on his knees and call him a good boy and feel whatever power he did. But this was more like humiliation. And you weren’t so sure he deserved that.  Also, causing a panic attack was the last thing you’d wanted. That was such an awful thing to do. You had a sudden horrific thought; did they know??! Had they asked you to do this because they knew?! It took him a little while to calm down, and he was still clinging onto you even then. “I’m so sorry...” Dave shook his head gently; “Is that how you feel...?” He nodded to the shell “...when you step in that?!” “I’m not claustrophobic, so no. I’m fine... but Dave I’m sorry. If I had any idea...” “That’s why they asked you to do it, isn’t it. Because you didn’t know.” “They do?!” your heart sank and you felt slightly sick – they really had come up with this plan to set off his claustrophobia then… But they didn’t think of you either, did they just expect you to let it happen to him and laugh it off? It hurt you that you’d hurt him. “They probably have some idea...” his breathing was still deep; “Did you mean what you said?” You ran your hands through his hair “We don’t have to talk about that...” “On the contrary... I thought you put me in there to talk about it...” He let out a small laugh “...Good negotiation tactic, I’ll give it that.” You moved your hands slowly as you dared down to his chest. To feel his pulse, under your fingertips - the way it was calming down. Thank Goodness.

Dave lay in your arms in silence for a good while; his only movement a shift to get more comfortable... and his hands found yours, clasping them with a gentle, dare you say affectionate, squeeze.  You bent your body and kissed his forehead with care, making his eyes flick to your face and one hand reach up to touch your cheek. “What are you staying here for?” “I’m staying for you. I want to make sure you’re okay.” He shook his head, with a chuckle that seemed almost out of place; “Is that what it is?” “Mmmm…” You couldn’t help but place your hand over his and fit your fingers between the spaces in his own. “You’re a good girl.” “I...” you wouldn’t disagree, neither would you agree with him. You just humbly bit your lip and dipped your head a little more; “...Can I get you out of here...?” He let you help him get to sitting up and then you stood together - still holding hands that way. “Yeah... sure. What you thinkin’...?” “Room 5?” Even he raised his eyebrow at your suggestion of the bedroom. “Why?” “It’s a little more comfortable that the floor...” you nodded to the shell, “It’s considerably lacking in claustrophobic spaces...” Dave chuckled again; “Aw, she’s good and smart too...” This time you conceded quietly; “I try my best...”

 **

 Your idea with bringing him in here had nothing to do with taking your clothes off. This was much more neutral; it would give him a safe(r) space to just calm down, chat... rest easy...

You shut the door and waited for it to click into a locked position. Please play sa- “SHUT UP!!!” You chided the female voice with annoyance and turned back to him; “Seriously? Do you know how annoying that thing is?!? And talk about IRONIC!!” He sat on the edge of the bed and threw his jacket over the chair “...It’s supposed to be fun! But I’ll take it into account...” Dave ran a hand through his greying hair, and loosened two or three more of his shirt buttons. “But I don’t like your use of the word ironic...” “Safe is about the last word I would use sometimes... this room...” You folded your arms, watching the way his fingers grazed against the fabric of his shirt a little too closely. Ah! Maybe this was a bad idea! You shook the thought away “…This one is something different. This is what goes on between you and me... but the shells, and some of these other rooms. Because of the barriers, I reckon people think they can do whatever they want without consequence.” You walked over to him slowly “Just because I know I’m locked in there, doesn’t mean I feel safe if someone is screaming things I’d rather not repeat, and trying to get me out...” Dave looked a little perplexed at that; and you figured he either was pretending he didn’t know, or he simply thought if he ignored it it wasn’t happening. But his gaze dropped from yours as you sank onto the bed next to him, so you knew he was taking responsibility for it in his head. As he should - as the establishment owner. “I’m...” “Sorry?” You shook your head “It’s a little late for both of us to say that tonight... don’t you think.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” He places his hands on your thighs, over where your own were resting. “Would you have listened?” You gave him a hard look, to let him know you weren’t messing around when you said that. He gave a sigh “...I wish I wasn’t even considering that I might not...” You tipped his chin back with your fingertips, so his eyes faced you; “...We both have a few things to work on, huh?” “What do you have to-!” You placed your finger to his lips; and you got a few seconds satisfaction of having them back on your skin; “I should never have agreed to do it...” He took your hands in his again - he wanted that physical connection too, it seemed - and those grey-blue eyes studied you; “...God, I must be truly awful for you to agree to do this...”

 You weren’t sure he was. That was the problem. Maybe he had good intentions that just didn’t work out. Of all the men you’d interacted with here (besides your colleges), Dave was the only one who cared, and took care of you. Who made you glad that you got to be here with him... and even more glad no one else could. You gave a gentle shrug “Maybe I had stupid selfish reasons...” Dave caught on straight away; “You think I’m seeing someone else.” “Are you?” You tried to not look so hopeful that he’d deny it. “It’s not... like this...” that confused you; because it was neither a yes or a no... You bit your lip “I don’t share well...” That only made him sigh again; “Seems we share that problem.” “Who is she?” “Not you...” “That’s not an answer.” “I know. It’s much less than you deserve. But I am also not at liberty to say...” That had you turning away from him, so he pulled you back - “Y/N... I promise you... you are the only girl I am intent on actively seeing.” “Good. Because I’ll put you in the box again and throw away the remote otherwise.” There was a stalemate of staring for a moment; Dave cracked first; “And... that would be fair...”

The sexual chemistry of the evening had long since passed, and he looked like he was doing a lot better... but you still craved some of that promised intimacy. “Will you hold me..?” “Now?” He opened his body to you; allowing you to wind your arms around him and thread your legs with his “Of course... it is the least you deserve...” Dave could say that all he wanted... but it was obvious he needed it as bad. When he felt you were secure around him, he lay back on the bed; caressing your hair he whispered gentle apologies against your skin. You closed your eyes gently to that - and this once; because of the feeling of him against you like this - you wouldn’t tell him they weren’t good enough.   “Ah-! Shoot!” You broke the silence in a way that had him laughing “What...?” His voice was still soft, and he pressed kisses into your forehead. You opened your mouth with a breath, and then covered it; “No! You know I still feel terrible..! Buuuut...” “Buuuut..?” He repeated with a smile “... I promised them I’d prove I did it...” you muttered with a pout “...Gosh, I’m awful...” Dave snorted “Okay, darling, where’s your proof coming from?” You tipped your head, and couldn’t resist the tease; “Guess you walking in tomorrow looking a little shaken would do the trick, huh?” “Don’t push it...” he growled gently, tracing his kisses across your cheek and jawline “...I said I’d get the remote...” He pulled back, eyebrow raised; “How would that prove it?” “I have it, which means I got it from you and locked you in there, as dictated by the plan...” He propped himself up on his elbow and couldn’t help but look amused “...oh, really? Interesting...” “Uh huh. But that means asking for it back...” “Oh.” He shrugged “Take it... you deserve your proof...”

You were surprised by that - he’d just been through a personal hell but he was still going to tell you win? “Oh you don’t need-” “Consider it a favour. I owe you enough, don’t you think...?” Dave ran his thumb over your lips as he held your chin to keep your gaze on his. “Y-Yes...” you couldn’t help but respond that way to the glint in his eyes. And he went back into his pocket; holding out the remote for you. He chuckled; “You go prove to them you did... I’ll go work on myself... and we’ll go from there. What do you say?” You smiled, taking the remote gently from his hand and looking back to him, lacing your fingers with his once more; you asked him for a kiss and he granted you with what you wanted. Pushing his forehead to yours he kept you barely millimetres apart, tangled up together. “I think... that’s a good idea.”

--- Thank You For Requesting!! We are ALL 7 Virtues down! 🎉 2 Sins to go! @dennismitchell  @happyskywhale @wltz-bby #MendoTagSquad. 💜❤💙

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Fate, the series (c.e.) (6/6)

Chapter Six- Fate

Pairing: Professor!Chris Evans x Student!OFC

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: fate (noun): the development of events beyond a person’s control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power. (verb): be destined to happen, turn out, or act in a particular way.

Amara is about to start her senior year of college with her newly single best friend, Elizabeth. She goes out one night and meets a handsome stranger, Chris. Sparks fly. Fast forward a week and she finds out Chris is her professor. What happens when she also meets Sebastian, a cute guy from another one of her classes?

Series masterlist

The awful screech of the microphone fills the room, scaring everybody into turning to see who held the device. I stand nervously. I’ve never been good at public speaking, but this is as good of an occasion as ever.

“Hi all. I just want to warn everyone that I am absolutely the worst at making speeches,” I hear laughter from around the room, “so bear with me.”

“Before I start I just want to thank everyone for coming tonight. It means the world to know that we have so many loved ones who care enough to celebrate this incredibly special day with us.” I look down at the love of my life: my husband. This man has quite literally been my rock for the past 3 years. He was with me through my internship that included many long days and nights. He bravely followed when I got a job in a different state, leaving behind his own publishing company (his teaching position was just a side gig). He was more than ecstatic when I told him I wanted to publish one of my own stories. He’s been there. Always. 

I gaze into the eyes of Mr. Evans. My Mr. Evans. The man who stole my heart faster than I could ever comprehend. The man who made me Mrs. Evans a few months ago with only our parents, his siblings, and Lizzie: my maid of honor, and Sebastian; his best man. The man who will be by my side during this next chapter in our lives.

“When I initially thought about what I was going to say for this, I drew a blank. My fear of public speaking rearing its ugly head. But I also thought to myself, ‘Come on, Amara. You’re a writer. Use it.’” I glance at my best friend on my other side. “I’d heard those wise words a few years ago from this lady when I needed them most.” She winks at me, beaming.

“Not a lot of people know exactly how Chris and I met. We tell everyone who asks that we met at a bar, which is true. But that’s not the full story. After we met, we didn’t exchange numbers or even last names. It had all of the classifications of a ‘one night fling.’ To make a long story short, he turned out to be my writing professor.” I could hear some murmurs but that was to be expected. We only told our families the full story. They commended us for not doing anything while he held the title of “professor.” They were extremely supportive of us which warmed both of our hearts tremendously.

“Anyway, it was during that time I, um, dated Sebastian.” I glance at him as he laughs. Chris claps his hand on his shoulder shaking it.

“But she was mine first!” Chris yells out. Sebastian nods in agreement. I was extremely surprised when they actually started to get along after they weren’t fighting for the same girl anymore. They almost instantly became best friends hence why Seb is Chris’s best man.

“Yeah, they’re cool now so I can talk about this without anybody getting butt-hurt.” The whole room filled with laughter. “While I was dating someone who was better off as my best friend-” I emphasize that he was mine and not Chris’s. We have this argument often. He was my best friend first and I will defend that until the day I die. He always tries to resolve it by saying we can share custody of him. “-I realized I wanted to be with this man.” I caress the cheek of my husband. “And I wanted to tell him how I felt, but I didn’t know how to describe the indescribable. So Liz says those words to me, a few weeks later, a letter came out of it.” A smile appears on his face at the memory of it. “So as my final assignment, I gave it to him. And let’s just say it changed everything.”

“So when it came to coming up with the perfect words to say today, I realized I already wrote them.” I turn to Lizzie who is holding out the piece of paper in question, before turning back to Chris.

“Mr. Evans,

Well I guess by the time you read this, you’ll no longer be my professor. So let me start again…

Chris,

Oh Chris... what have you done to me?

Three and a half short months ago, I was living the life. I was single with my newly single best friend entering into my last semester of college before my dream internship started. I was happy with how my life was. That is until I decided to go out for a little get away. Little did I know by some miraculous coincidence I would meet a mysterious stranger with questionable judgement on some eating habits. This stranger would end up turning my world completely upside down. You.

You have changed everything I once knew. I thought I knew what I wanted: in life and in a future partner. I was fine with being alone. I have been for a long time. I almost expected I would be alone all my life because I guarded my heart so much, I was afraid to let anybody in. But then you happened. You had the good fortune of shattering every wall I had in one night- no, in one hour. I don’t know how you did it, but it happened. It was like my heart knew that you were what it needed to feel whole again. 

When I realized I might never see you again, my heart hurt. It ached to be near you, to see you smile, to hear you laugh, to listen to you speak- it yearned for you. By some act of kismet, my heart found it’s match, but it was without the means of ever seeing it again after that. I was devastated. Lizzie can attest to our respective sufferings for the week following our encounter.

Seeing you on the first day of class, it was like destiny had brought us back together. It wanted us to be, regardless of the complications that would temporarily stop us from pursuing any sort of relationship outside of the classroom. But it was a little late for formalities. The line was already blurred. Neither of us knowing how to make it clear; neither of us wanting to either. But we fought. I fought against what we had. I only fought it because I knew I didn’t want to blur the line even more than it already was. I thought I could do it. But alas... here we are. You never gave up. You fought FOR us. You had no doubt in your heart what we could be.

And after everything that was said and done, ultimately you were right. We were meant to meet at the bar before school started. We weren’t meant to have a “normal” student-teacher relationship. We were meant to see each other as who we truly were outside of the classroom environment. And by chance our worlds collided. I see that now. I’m sorry it took me so long.

Because whatever you call it- a coincidence, fortune, kismet, destiny, chance, or fate...- it’s real. I believe.’”

I set the paper down and not a word is spoken. I look back at Chris as he stands up. “I’ve believed in us every day since and I will never not believe in us.” He intertwines his hand with mine. “I love you. I love us. And I love the next chapter of our lives that we’re about to take together.” My gaze casts down to my stomach. The past three months have been a total roller coaster. I’ve been sick every day, some days I was literally camped out in the bathroom. But it’s also been the best time of my life. Chris has been so supportive and caring. He dotes on me, talks to my stomach nightly, gets me anything I need- he’s been the absolute best. I’m finally feeling better now that I’m in my second trimester. I can finally enjoy this experience. We can also start telling people as well, which is why we decided to tell everyone we know at our belated wedding reception.

Chris’s hand finds its way to my small bump that was hidden by my wedding dress. He kisses my temple whispering, “I love you two, too,” in my ear.

It just goes to show that no matter what plans you might have, fate has a way of giving you everything you never thought you needed and completely changing your life. I’m a 100% believer. The man who went from being a complete stranger I met in a bar in the middle of the week who I never expected to see again to my professor to my husband and father of my unborn child.

If Lizzie and Robbie hadn’t broken up when they did, I never would have had to leave the apartment. If I never left the apartment, I never would have met Chris. Yes I would have met Mr. Evans, but not Chris. If one single detail would have been changed, my life would be completely different.

But as Fate would have it…

Permanent taglist: @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @naniky

[gabriellapatterson-blog]

Kiddo with a sweet tooth

A/N this is a fic with Gabby and Hazel set before the Sandcastle building fic. Thanks to @hazelschreave for the rp

Why does chocolate smell so good? I just wanna eat all of it. But *clenches fist* I just can't. I heard a noise as I worked and looked up to see Princess Hazel.

“Oh hello!” I stated.

She looked up at her phone and seemed to think for a moment trying to put a name to face, “Oh, hey, you're weed breakfast girl!” She exclaimed causing me to break out into laughter. Wow what a way to be known

“Yup thats me. And you're the one who brought the cops into it.” I replied shaking me head a bit shamefully as I recalled the vine reference.

She put her phone into the pocket of her dress- how come I don’t have dress pockets? I’m going to be talking to my maids about this as a suggestion. “Yes, and my dad was the police apparently.” She replied as she walked over to me. “What are you up to here?” She asked.

“Making chocolates. I'm planning a date with your brother, might as well show off my best skill.” I chuckled a bit at my joke before asking if she’d like to try some.

She snorted, “This is your best skill? Chocolate making?”

“100% name something that could be better. Hearing? Being able to speak?” I scoffed, “no way. I can create the best thing ever.”

She laughed, “I don't think hearing is a skill.”

“Tell that to a deaf person. Hmm I guess I would still rather be able to make chocolate than know how to say the alphabet backwards. That's a skill.”

“Okay, that might be harder than it sounds. But isn’t it more of a “memorize it and you’ll get it” type of thing?”

“Hmm I suppose so so that really isn't a skill either. Maybe skiing? I'd rather be able to make chocolate than skii?”

“...well, skiing is a sport, but you could be skillful at it.” She said as she reached for a chocolate. “What about painting? That’s a skill.” She added.

“Well some people aren't necessarily skilled from the get go at painting, they've just learned over the years so is that a skill?”

“Once you learn how to do it correctly, I think you can call it that... maybe we need to look up what defines a skill in the dictionary though. Oh, wait!” She said and pulled out her phone to start to research. “Skill. Noun. The ability to do something well; expertise. The second option just says it’s a particular ability.”

“So if you paint or skii well then that would be considered a skill.” I replied.

She nodded and put her phone back in her pocket, “I do agree chocolate making sounds more handful than skiing. At least if you live in Angeles.”

“See, so it really is my best skill. I mean ignoring the fact that I play 8 sports.” Well that just sounds braggy, Gabby.

She raised an eyebrow, “I see someone was a high school jock.”

I chuckled, “More like was a jock from the womb. Do you play anything?”

“Taekwondo. And ballet if you want to count it as a sport. My list is sadly not as impressive as yours must be.”

“Ballet is 100% a sport. And yours are more difficult than mine. I just do things like surfing and running and tennis. Not nearly as difficult in my mind.”

She smiled, “Thanks. I guess you only get points for versatility. I actually know how to play tennis too though. Its just... not /my sport/, if you know what I mean.”

“I get what you mean. I play the 7 other but more of for fun and just as a pass time. Surfing is the one I'd say is /my sport/. How'd you get into the fighting and ballet?”

“I was always sprinting around the palace-” She paused for a moment to chuckle, “-so my parents didn't take long to suggest ballet. Taekwando was more of my decision though. They were a little surprised when I asked them to let me join a class for it a year later. Maybe I watched too many action movies with my siblings...but when one day, dad came back from one of his most recent trips to New Asia with a videoclip of a performance of skills he got to see, I just said I wanted to learn how to do that.”

“Well at least if there's ever intruders in the palace you can kick their asses.”

“Another reason I gave to start Taekwondo. I’m glad they let me do it in the end.”

“I enjoy it.” She added.

“You should teach me sometime. I haven't tried one of those fighting things before.”

“You mean martial arts?” She asked with a smirks. “I must admit, I'm probably not the best teacher.”

“Yup, and probably better than what I would learn from a youtube video in my room.” I chuckled since I’d likely do that later anyways, I like learning new things especially new sports.

She laughed as well, “I guess in comparison I would be better. It takes years to actually do it well though, you are aware?”

“Yup. Like a lot of sports. I suck at biking still since that was a recent addition. Though I didn't actually get to compete in a biking contest I applied for, thanks selection timing, so I guess it's more of a hobby.”

She chuckled, “You were going to participate in a biking competition before this?”

“Yup. It looked fun. I tried to get my friend to do it with me but sadly she said no. As a freeloader for an occupation I have a lot of freetime to do things like that.” I said as I finished mixing the strawberry filling.

“Wanna try some of the strawberry filling?” I offered.

She nodded and looked at the contents of the bowl, “I expect these to be top notch chocolates just so you know.”

I chuckled, “I'd lower your expectations a few. I haven't made them in awhile and I can't test them myself since I'm allergic to strawberries and there's actual strawberry in it.”

“How can you make something you're allergic too? Isn’t that just tempting yourself?”

“well as long as I don't eat them I'm fine. And it is tempting, very. But not having flavors and just the different types of chocolates would be boring.”

“How can you tell if they're good without someone helping you though?”

“Hmmm well I haven't actually made them on my own before. I've only made chocolates 3 times before and each of them Emma was helping. I was planning on asking a maid or someone to taste test.”

“Good thing I am here.” She then frowned slightly, “This doesn't count as a skill anymore, however. You've only done this 3 times.”

That’s fair, “Does it count as a talent if it's really good chocolate?”

“Hmm, I guess talent could be it.” She then extended her hand, “I'll be the judge of that.”

I handed her a chocolate, “Time for the intensity.” I said referring to the intense moment of being unsure if the chocolate was good or not and waiting the response of Hazel.

She chewed it for a moment before covering her mouth and replying, “It’s good!”

I gave a small fish pump, “Yes still a chocolate genius!” I cheered.

She laughed and swallowed, “What are you even making these again?”

“For your brother. We're doing a sandcastle building contest so I thought food would go well with it.”

“Um... chocolate at the beach? With sand? I’m not sure if that’ll work out..” That’s what bins are for.

“I'll bring a box to put them in and a cooler container. I do beach picnics a lot at home since I live right by one.”

“Ah, you’re an expert, I see. I’ll trust your word for it...Can I have another one?” She asked.

These Schreaves seem to really like chocolate. “Sure thing.” I replied and gave her another. “also have dark, milk, and white in the fridge. Next I'm starting the last flavor which is caramel.”

“White?” She asked as her eyes quickly darted to the fridge, she must like white chocolate best. “When's that gonna be ready…?” She asked.

I couldn’t help but to laugh a bit at her eagerness. “A big fan of white chocolate I assume. They should be hard enough to try at this point.”

She practically skipped over to the fridge and placed her clasped hands behind her, rocking on her heels as she waited for me to get them out. Her eagerness reminded me a bit of Eliana. Though Ellie was 8 she was the same way when it came to sweets as Hazel seemed to be. Hazel probably is still just a kiddo at heart too.

I chuckled a bit and walked over and took the tray of white chocolates out, “You can take some with you if you'd like.”

“Don't mind if I do.” She replied happily then went around to get a small container to gather the chocolates in, “I'll just steal some of these and let you continue with your work.”

I chuckled a bit, “It's not really stealing if I gave you permission. So why did you come down here anyways?”

“Oh, I was just hoping to see--” She paused and seemed to decide that wasn’t how she wanted to say it. “see um, if the ratatouille Chef Gusteau is making will be ready soon.” I was couldn’t hold my laughter in at that.

“You have a chef named Gusteau who makes ratatouille?”

“He makes a lot of stuff, but his ratatouille is-” She made an Italian hand and kissed it, “pen-dropping.” She paused as she seemed to realize her mistake, “Let's pretend ratatouille is Italian.” for a second.

“Absolutely perfect-o. Hon hon hon.” I replied going along with the italian french confusion.

She laughed a bit, “Yes, after checking up on that I need to go get ready for my ballet class.”

“I'm sure you'll dance well with all those chocolates powering you though caloric energy. Just make sure to save room for your ratatouille.”

She closed her bin of chocolates and smirked, “Hopefully my sweet tooth won't beat me today.” Ah so other days it does beat her?

I chuckled, “Good luck with that, kiddo.”

She waved as she began to walk off, “Thanks for the chocolates!”

“You're welcome, have fun dancing!” I replied as she left and I returned to my chocolate making.

[alwaysaprille]

Hi Friends:

I hope you’ll reblog this, not in an attempt to keep the drama going, but in an attempt to help me defeat the libel that @sometimesrosy is currently spreading about me. I was not going to respond, and in fact did not even know she’d tailored an attack on me until someone else alerted me to the fact.

 I’ve been attacked numerous times, by many people and I very rarely respond because I know myself to be the bigger person, but I do not take kindly to being accused of racism, upholding racist systems, and trying to take away someone’s “POC identity”, so I’d like to show you guys what actually happened and hope that you can see that lies are being spread with malicious intent. 

I hope that after reading this post you all will begin to see that Rosy @sometimesrosy uses lies, manipulation and deceit in an effort to make herself appear to be the victim when she is in no way that. Please stop giving this woman your time and effort, she is not worth it. 

This will be a long post. Thank you for any time you’ll spend reading it.

It began when Rosy posted a meta about Thelonious Jaha that I did not agree with. The meta is linked above. I posted a vague post linked here but seen below:

Later in the day I received an anonymous ask that I responded to. Linked here but I will post below in it’s entirety for convenience (the beginning of the ask that’s “grayed” are screencaps of Rosy’s original Jaha meta):

If you managed to stick around through all of that ^^^ Thank you! I really appreciate your patience. As you can see (if you read everything), I never mentioned the person who wrote the original meta in my response. I never singled her out in any way. I made sure to crop out her URL in my response to avoid confrontation. 

I did not use any personal or emotional support for my response and made sure that I based my response in facts and evidence provided within the canon of the show and it’s creators. Nothing I did was an attempt to lambaste Rosy for her views. Even when I point out the anti-Black racism so prevalent in the entire fandom’s view of Jaha, I was not singling out Rosy. That’s why I said “y’all” meaning “you all” meaning a group of people. 

At some point, someone decided to tell Rosy that I had written a response to her meta. I assume she read it. I hope that she read it before composing the response that she did, because it’s always best to have an informed opinion.  I’m now going to share with you all Rosy’s response to my meta rebuttal (which is a full on written attack on me), linked here and posted in screenshots (which I will respond to as necessary):

In this screenshot, her 4th point is the age old “I have Black friends!” excuse, only applied to fictional characters. “I like these 2 Black characters, therefore my disdain for this other black character can’t possibly be rooted in anti-Black racism!!!

In the 2nd screenshot, Rosy attempts to imply that my only possible perspective could be from the Black perspective ( ”Her perspective is, and has always been from the Black perspective.”), as Rosy knows nothing of my personal background she can not make the assumption that my analysis of Jaha is only valuable “from the Black perspective”. 

She then goes on to say that her “interpretation of Jaha, is explicitly about class. I say it again and again. Privilege, Elitist, Civil Uprising, Inequality, Injustice, Classism.” as if I did not mention in my own analysis of Jaha that he comes from a place of privilege:

She then goes on to say that: “I got a scholarship to go to college and got educated, (something that April is seemingly offended by) and I learned how to speak up.” 

I also received a scholarship to go to college, a full ride for all 6 years (I have a Bachelor’s and a Master) on my (educational) merit. In fact, most people I know require some sort of financial assistance to obtain a higher education now.  My only problem with Rosy’s education is that she consistently behaves as if her English degree means that her analysis/meta/theories/etc are in anyway better/more adept than anyone else’s. 

Her next paragraph segues into the definition of intersectional feminism. She correctly points out that it was a term coined by a Black woman (although she does not mention her name:  Kimberlé Crenshaw) some 30 yrs ago and that it is about more than just the intersection of racism and sexism, but all women who have an additional minority label (LGBTQA, disabled women, immigrants, etc.). I don’t know why this topic was relevant as, again, in my original commentary on Rosy’s post, I never mention her name, URL or any other information that would enable you to immediately identify the poster as Rosy. 

In this 3rd screenshot we have a continuation of what intersectional feminism means (which is again, irrelevant to my response to her meta as, in my original commentary on Rosy’s post, I never mention her name, URL or any other information that would enable you to immediately identify the poster as Rosy.)

She, for whatever reason, brings up the major descriptors of my identity that most of you are aware of (that I am Black, and bi, and a proud single mother) and then brings up her own descriptors. She states that I can not understand her intersection (when what she means is her perspective), even while she attacks the points I make as a Black woman speaking about a Black character. 

Her next paragraph is, I assume, an attempt to convey the seriousness of her message. 

“We don’t have to talk or read each other’s meta at all.  But you don’t get to slander my name. You’re the one who has been doing this in public. “

As to the first sentence: I do not speak to Rosy and do not actively read her meta, nor do I search it out, because 10 times out of 10 I know that I will not agree with her opinions as they tend to not be based in the facts and evidence of the canon. As to the second sentence: I can not “slander” her name via tumblr or Twitter posts as slander is a false spoken statement. The proper noun to use would be “libel” (written defamation) which again, would have to be proven false in order to actually be called libel. As to the the third sentence: I have been doing what in public? As noted I wrote one response to Rosy’s post and in my original commentary on Rosy’s post, I never mention her name, URL or any other information that would enable you to immediately identify the poster as Rosy.

She further states that I have been “vague blogging, and let’s stop trying to build a case against my ethnicities and identities, hmm? The worth of my POC identity is not yours to decide. My existence as an oppressed minority is not yours to erase.)”

In going through my blog, my last tumblr post about Rosy was on June 26th, 2017, post linked here (the last reblog mentioning her was on July 31st, 2017): 

Prior to that it was sometime in March (which you can verify by going to my blog and searching “rosymamacita”

If by “trying to build a case against my ethnicities and identities” she means the times I have (rightfully) pointed out when her feminism wanders into the white feminism zone she is again mistaken. White feminism can be upheld by WOC as all it is is a form of feminism that focuses on the struggles of white women while failing to address forms of oppression faced by women of color and women lacking other privileges. White feminism also comes into play when you excuse the treatment of MOC by white women, something Rosy does often. 

She says that the worth of her “POC identity is not yours to decide.” First, she has used POC as an adjective here, when “POC” short for Person of Color is a noun and thus should not be used in this form (something an English major should know), and then attempts to say that I have ever attempted to strip her ethnicity from her. I have never spoken of Rosy’s ethnicity on my blog in any capacity because her personal identity is not mine to discuss. 

In this screenshot, she states (In all caps) that I “ignored everything that she said about class and injustice” (when again I did not, you can see that I addressed the privilege that Jaha, Abby, Clarke and Wells have in my response to her meta) in an attempt to invalidate her experience as a poor person. 

She then says “I don’t know April’s background” and she’s right, none of you do. Maybe I should inform you of some of it:

My name is April, I was born on January 13th, 1990 in Detroit, MI to a single mother, who was born to a Black mother and an abusive White father (this makes my mother a mixed race person, and myself a quarter White.). For the first year of my life my mother did not have a job and my father refused to support me. My mother enrolled herself in law school, she went at night and took me with her, because there was no one else that she could ask for help. I have gone to private school my for most of my educational career (I went to a public high school and a public university), but it cost my mother (what it cost I will not add here, because that is her story). At some point, my relationship with my mother became toxic and unhealthy. She has been at times, both physically and verbally abusive. I have been involved in an emotionally and physically abusive relationship (which resulted in my child), I raise him alone, with no financial help from his father who continues to work hard to ensure that he maintains some form of control over my life (through our child). I struggle with depression daily. I am blessed in that the career path I chose was one that pays well, but that was my choice, as it was Rosy’s to choose an English degree, which might not have been as lucrative. I am blessed that I am able to take care of my son with no financial, emotional or physical help from the vast majority of my family. I do not delight in my privilege, nor do I wave it in people’s faces. 

She presumes that I think the Black/White divide is most important, when I know, and you know if you’ve ever taken any time to peruse my blog, that I do my best to draw attention to all issues, even if I can only speak directly to my own experience as a Black woman in a white dominated world.  She states that I have actively tried to erase her voice every time she speaks up, but I have never done this. If you go to my blog and type “Rosy” in the search bar, you can easily verify this yourself. I believe in facts and concrete evidence and so I am striving to provide it for you today.

In this screenshot she has gone to my blog and found this post, linked here: 

and attempts to...somehow, make this about her? Somehow, this anon’s question and my answer (eight days before today’s incident and four days before her meta was written) are an “attack on her personally.” even though Rosy is not mentioned by name, URL or otherwise. She claims that I am not “using the correct terms.”, that I am “using ‘Mexican’ to be interchangeable with ‘Hispanic’” even though I am only using the anons wording (I do this as a courtesy to all anons because I do not like to assume that someone’s first language is English and want to make sure that my response is easier to interpret. She assumes that I have not done “any research to understand the situation.” This is false. I always research asks about racial and ethnic identity. As an aside: I did check in with my Cuban friend Mik ( @octanakin​) to be sure I was not being offensive or racist in any way, and she advised me that I was not. 

She says that I am “wrong and severely simplistic in my understanding.” It’s a two word answer, of course it’s simplistic. 

She then states: “When I fill out my taxes. There are two boxes. “white–non latino or hispanic” and “latino or hispanic.” I can NOT choose white, because I am latinx.” 

Just so everyone knows....when you fill out your taxes there is no box where they ask you to racially self-identify (source: my mother is a taxation and real estate attorney and also):

She says that “Latinx is not a race. We can be ANY race, white, black, indio, asian.” If you go back to the anon ask she’s referencing you’ll clearly see the part where I say: “But not all Hispanic and Mexican people are white.” soo...her argument here in a non-sequitur, as we’ve said the exact same thing. 

She goes on to say that I told her and other Latinx and disabled people that Raven Reyes was bad representation, this is laughable, because it is widely known that Raven is my 2nd favorite character on The 100, with that said, I’m sure she is referencing this post, linked here:

or this post, linked here, where I clearly give “ownership” or Raven to disabled and Latinx people while maintaining my stance that constant physical torture does not equal good representation. I think it’s laughable that me saying “Raven Reyes is tortured too much outside of natural pain originating from her disability” somehow equals “Raven Reyes is bad representation”:

In this screenshot she states, even though she admittedly has no knowledge of my own family history, decides that I am speaking over mixed race people (even though my mother is a Mixed Race individual herself). She says that speaking up about Octavia’s constant abuse of the Black people in her life (Lincoln and Indra) and the Asian men in her life (Bellamy and Ilian) is somehow invalidating her mixed race family and interracial relationships, even as I staunchly defend Bellarke (an interracial ship), Briller (an interracial ship), Marper (an interracial ship), etc, etc, etc. 

She implies that I was the person who told her that she was “speaking over darker skinned people and I should be quiet”, when in fact she received that message via an anon (and I have only ever sent one anon message in my entire tenure on this site-it was not to Rosy). With this statement: “ I am still not sure how April was seen as more of an authority on my history, my ethnicity, my identity and my experience because she is darker skinned.” she handily types out a lie, as I have never spoken about Rosy’s history, ethnicity, identity or experience. 

More to the point, perhaps people choose my stance over hers on Linctavia and Octillian because they also did not like the ships, and as a Black woman, my voice on topics involving anti-Black racism (like the kind found in Octavia’s relationship with Lincoln and Indra) should be elevated above someone who is not Black? She also handily ignores that I have a mixed-race family (which again, she admitted she had no knowledge of), that one of my grandfather’s was white, that my step-grandmother (My grandfather remarried after my grandmother ran from his abuse) was white, that my cousin has married a white woman (they have a daughter), that my uncle has married a white woman (they have a son), I could go on, but I hope that you all understand that my family is very diverse. 

In this screencap, she states that “It’s a shame that we can’t have a conversation about this, because colorism is absolutely real, as is internalized racism in the POC community.” She makes it seem as if I am the reason that we can’t have conversations about this, when the past proves that every time anyone has ever tried to point out to Rosy that as a lighter-skinned POC she has light-skinned privilege (this is a huge part of colorism) she someone decides that they are attacking her right to identify as a WOC. 

She then tries to sneak in the bit about internalized racism, which she is using incorrectly! I cannot exhibit internalized racism towards Rosy, because as she has made sure to point out many times, we are not the same ethnicity! I am Black and Rosy is Latina. Internalized racism is the internalization by people of racist attitudes towards members of their own ethnic group, including themselves. This means that both Rosy and I would have to be the same ethnicity in order for me to exhibiting internalized racism. 

Then she goes and discusses anti-miscegenation, as if I, the child of a mixed race mother whose parents married in the late 40s and lived in Tennessee would have no idea the effect that could have on people. She says I am being anti-miscegenatic and upholding racist ideals, when I have literally never said anything against interracial marriage or relationships and in fact have numerous posts, linked here, here, here, here, here, and here, (and there are more if you care to search “interracial relationships” on my blog) in support and defense of them. 

She keeps harping on this idea that I have ever said that Rosy is not a WOC:  “That she mocks me for saying I have an english degree, as if I as a POC (because I am April, no matter what you decide counts) didn’t have to work harder than the privileged white folk to get it, as if it wasn’t an accomplishment for someone born and raised in the ghetto “

When again, I don’t mock her for having an English degree, I mock her for pretending as if her English degree somehow makes her meta better than those of us who do not have English degrees. She tries to reinforce how hard she had to work to get her degree, as if I, a Black woman born and raised in Detroit, MI, have no idea how hard it is for POC to get degrees. 

She continues to say that I have ever called her white: “I don’t know if she’s aware that the way she tries to call me white and white feminist and invalidate my heritage is EXACTLY what she called racist when the CLantis did it to Bob. I don’t know if she is aware that she’s following their path of harassment and personal attacks.”

When the truth is that as noted above, white feminism can and is frequently perpetrated by POC!!! She tries to make my pointing out that a lot of her ideas about feminism when it comes to fiction align with those of known white feminists on this site equivalent to Cl/xas actively calling Bob Morley white, when I have never done this. 

She posted these screencaps (which are still on my Twitter, FYI, because I delete nothing and pull receipts on myself all day everyday) as evidence that I harrass and personally attack her, but please note the date (August 13th-over 4 months ago) and conveniently leaves out that this was a blatant full frontal attack because she and her group of white feminist friends attacked several WOC (not just myself in quick succession, over the course of about 3-5 days). 

If you’d like to see the “personal attack on her” it’s in the linked video and amounts to about 30 seconds of time, I have not mentioned or thought about Rosy since. 

She says those tweets (which again have dates) are because she called my theory bad or because she didn’t agree with my meta, when in fact they were because she raged an all out assault on a friend of mine @luisadoliveira because she dared to have a different thought than Rosy. She laughingly states that I can’t separate my meta from my self-worth when Rosy is the one who, every time, without fail, reacts like a nuclear explosion every time someone is too critical of her own meta. I’m beautiful, an excellent mother, loved, and capable of taking care of myself. That’s where my self-worth is. 

I’m not even in the Bellarke fandom anymore, precisely because of people like her, but for some reason she thinks that I care what this fandom has to say about me, lmao. 

Then she says this, let’s run through the check points:

She’s right, I don’t like her.

She’s wrong. I haven’t mentioned her name since September 1st, 2017 in a youtube video. 

I’m stalking her, but she’s the one who pulled screencaps from my twitter (which I did not give her access to and on which she does not follow me), she’s the one who responded to my professional, facts only dissection of her meta with a balls to the walls personal attack (which by the way falls into those handy harassment and bullying claims she’s making). 

She says I’m using ad hominem attacks (for those of you who don’t know that means you’re attacking the person and not their point) when my original reblog of her meta very clearly never mentioned her name and ONLY discussed her points, and this one still does not attack her person, even as she does nothing but attack me.) And one more time: You can’t say “POC” identity, because POC isn’t an adjective!!!

She says that “Calling people racist is my most powerful attack” when I clearly said it was unintentional racism exhibited by the entire fandom, not just her. And then tries to soothe that statement by calling me smart. I am well aware of my intellect, thank you, I did not need a boost from her. More to the point, in my original rebuttal of her meta, I only used factual evidence from the show to make my point, indicating that I was smart enough to tear apart her point without resorting to personal attacks, something you can clearly see that Rosy is not capable of. 

She thinks that I’m afraid because she grew up in the Bronx. This is the internet. We’re never going to meet in real life and it’s really easy to attempt to be big, bold and threatening online. Where you are from is not an indication of how “hard” you are, which is why you don’t see me constantly saying “I’m from Detroit!” as if it will add legitimacy to my claims. 

“I won’t respond to your rebuttal”. I’m fine with that. You’ve been blocked for 6 months and ignored for longer than that. These constant attempts to stir up drama that does not exist reflective poorly on you, Rosy, not me. This rebuttal isn’t about tearing you down,it’s about clearing the name that you have horrible besmirched with your lies and falsehoods. 

I hope you block everyone who agrees with me. Because they don’t deserve to be inundated with the lies that you spread about anyone who disagrees with you. 

She states that I don’t matter to her, but she took the time to compose a 2k word lie-fest about me even though I never mentioned her at all in my rebuttal of her Jaha meta. 

Finally, the last page of this nonsense. She somehow implies that I ever encouraged her to respond to my rebuttal of her meta when I did not! And Rosy, everyone knows that the second someone disagrees with you on a large enough platform you open your laptop and type unabashed lies and hate about that person, just as you have today. 

Be advised: I have documentation to prove that everything you’ve stated in your post today is false, if I hear that you have ever deemed yourself worthy (since you like that word) of typing my name again, I will absolutely pull this piece and present it before a court for a libel lawsuit. I have an attorney, and my mother can put me into contact with several more. 

End this before I have to. 

[life-n-times-rastaiza]

Fired from First Job

In preparation for senior year of high school I went through the phone book calling every doctor, physical therapist , and dentist's office I could find. Each time explaining that I was interested in going into the medical field after college and as part of graduation requirements I needed an internship. After many rejections I hit the jackpot. Proper Care Physical Therapy was open to the idea of an intern, but was actually looking to hire a Physical Therapist Aide and asked me if I was interested.

This is going to be my first job. I’m not only fulfilling my internship requirement for graduation, but I’m also getting paid! I’m going to buy a car, I’m going to take my boyfriend on dates, and I’m gaining experience for a real job one day. I was so excited, but also terrified. What if I hate this job? What if I don’t like the people I will be working with? What if this interferes with my schoolwork? My biggest fear of them all, what if they find out I’m gay?

I tried to shake that fear from my head. I don’t want to believe the world is truly homophobic, especially not in socially liberal New Jersey. I will be fine. This is my personal life anyway. I’m going to go in, do my job, and keep my personal life to myself. I have nothing to fear.

A month went by and I was getting closer to my work friends. Of course I was always asked if I had a girlfriend, or if I was going on a date with any girls over the weekend. I was always able to veer the conversation another way. I was busy with school work, and I’m a total nerd, of course I don’t go on dates or have a girlfriend. I hated lying. I was in the middle of my coming out process. I was out to all my friends and was working on getting the courage to come out to my parents. I wanted to live more openly, but I couldn’t risk my job. I bought a car so I needed the money and I needed this to count as my internship to graduate. Everything was kept a secret and I had no fear they would find out until I met a certain patient.

From the moment I saw her, I could tell this woman was a total fag hag and the moment she saw me her gaydar was on full alert. We made eye contact and I instantly turned red. Her smirk told me everything, “What a cute gay boy, I’m going to have fun with him!”

As luck would have it, she was assigned as my patient. I introduced myself and guided her to a room. She immediately started toying with me. She was complimenting every aspect of my appearance, and with each compliment asking me about girls in my life.  “You’re so handsome, i’m sure you drive the girls crazy. You have wonderful lips, how many girls have you kissed? You have great hair, do you like when girls play with your hair?” I turned a darker shade of red with each question. I was being polite, thanking her, and doing my best to breathe properly. To make matters worse, my boss walks in the room and gives this patient a hug. I learn they’ve been friends since high school. My secret is now on full display and it feels like my whole world is about to shatter.

I am now seeing the patient weekly, with each visit playing the same game. Toying with me for a reaction. As I get more comfortable with the patient I start playing her game, answering her questions without using gender nouns. Never confirming her suspicions about my homosexuality, but never denying it either. I start feeling more comfortable about coming out at work in general. I was thinking if my boss is friends with her, he can’t be truly homophobic. Maybe I should come out. The next time I’m asked about girlfriends maybe I should just tell them all I’m gay. I was still afraid to ruin my job, I couldn’t trust people at work yet, but I know I could trust that patient. It’s obvious she loves the gays and I’m getting tired of having to dodge all the girlfriend questions. The patient comes in one day, and starts her game with me. This time I say firmly, “I don’t have a girlfriend, and you know why I don’t have a girlfriend.”

She understood what I meant and after a few moments of silence she replies, “I know honey, I was just having fun with you. I wanted you to tell me the truth. You’re so cute and so young, I love when people your age have the confidence to be themselves.” She apologized for ever making me feel uncomfortable. I let her know I was proud of who I am, I was out to friends, and was lucky to be in a loving relationship. I let her know I wanted to have work boundaries because I was afraid of what reaction I would get and how important this position was to me. She understood and finally started a conversation that didn’t involve dating or girls.

I was so relieved after this conversation. I had nothing to worry about now and can continue keeping my personal life to myself. The next day at work I felt something was off. I felt like I was being micromanaged as if my boss was looking for a way to get me in trouble. I feared the patient told him my secret, but would stop myself before the paranoia truly kicked in. She wouldn’t do it anyway. We had a mutual understanding. She was a straight ally, but they have been friends for years. Maybe she doesn’t even know how homophobic my boss is. No, I can’t think that. She would keep my secret, this has to just be a bad day. This bad day would turn into a bad two and a half weeks. I was being yelled at for everything, given extra work, forced to stay late. It was terrible. I was really hating my job and was falling back on school work. I decided to take a day off. I asked a co-worker to cover my shift and went to my boss to tell him. I was only giving a day notice, but with my shift covered I didn’t think this would be a big deal. This was just the little mistake of mine my boss was looking for.

I walked into the Physical Therapist’s office and told him I was going to take the next day off, and my shift was covered. After the request he just went off on me, yelling and cursing, calling me unprofessional, telling me I was a terrible employee. I have never been spoken to like that before and I couldn’t help but cry. I cried as he yelled just inches away from my face. He shoved me out of his office, told me to go to calm down in the bathroom and finish my shift. When I return from the bathroom, everyone could tell something was wrong. Aside from hearing the screams from the office, my eyes were bloodshot from crying. A patient asked the Physical Therapist what was wrong with me and a coworker heard him tell the patient that I was probably on drugs. I was so angry and at a loss of what to do. I excused myself again to call my father. They knew each other a little bit from my dad’s business. My father just encouraged me to be strong and patient and assured me everything was going to be okay. I finished my shift without further problems, the next day I took the day off as planned, and came in the following day as usual.

The Physical Therapist comes into the office and greets everyone by name, except mine. He allows me to clean and prepare the patient rooms and gym for the day. When I was done he calls me into his office and starts going off on me again. Yelling, cursing, and firing me. I kept my composure, I knew this was coming and went around to say bye to everyone. During my goodbyes I heard him yell from the office “Is he fucking gone yet? If he’s not fucking gone I’m calling the cops and telling them that he’s trespassing! Get him the fuck out of here!”

I was so confused and angry about the whole situation. Why did this man hate me so much? I wanted to forget it as best as I could and would keep my mind busy whenever I would start to think about it. Luckily, I completed enough hours for the internship to count towards graduation and was able to pay off my used car. This horrible situation was out of my head until i was going off to college. My dad wanted to speak to me before move in day. A few months prior I finally worked up the courage to tell my parents, and now considered myself fully out of the closet. I was actually very surprised by my father’s reaction. He took it rather well and did not seemed surprised as my mother was. I go to my dad’s room for this talk he wants to have. He warns me about being open about my sexuality. I tell him that times are different now, people are more open, there’s nothing to be scared of, being out isn’t going to affect me negatively. Then he reminds me how I was fired so brutally from my first job. He reminded me how much my former boss hated me and lets me know that he called the Physical Therapist a day after my firing.

“Hello, this is Edgar, Randy’s father. He told me what happened yesterday, is everything okay? I know you’re a good man and maybe you are just having a bad day. Can you talk to my son and hopefully offer him his job back?”

The Physical Therapist replied, “Your son is a fucking faggot, and I don’t want a fucking faggot working for me.” He hung up to phone and my father never heard or saw him again.

I was in shock. It all made sense and I knew it, but I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe some people are so homophobic that they will just hate me for it. It didn’t matter if I was a good employee or not, he hated me anyway and was looking for any excuse to get me out of there.

This all happened many years ago and I would like to think it no longer bothers me, but it does. Before hearing the truth about this story I was the type of person that holds their boyfriend's hand in public without giving it thought, but now there is always a small fear. A fear to be bullied, hated, and bashed for being out. I hate that I carry this fear with me.

I was just walking home from my friend’s house and during my walk saw two men walk past me holding hands. I thought it was beautiful. They either have no fear or just have the courage to be themselves. This helps me find my own courage. Thank you for everyone that lives out and proud and I hope my first job experience never prevents me from living this way too.

The picture above is the actual name tag i used to wear. I have kept it with me through all these years for some reason and I hate it. I don’t want to carry around this fear with me anymore, and I’m hoping when I do find a boyfriend that I will have the courage to hold his hand as we walk on the beach at night like those two men had tonight.

Live out, live proud, and love yourselves.

[loveinthewriteway]

I'm Gonna Marry Her Anyway (Chapter 14: Denial)

Other chapters | 1DFF Maraming salamat - thank you very much Lumpia - Filipino egg roll, bomb as fuuuu Anak - term of endearment for a child Ano - what Matakow - greedy, usually teasing when someone wants food too much Tito - uncle (doesn’t have to be by blood, usually referred to an older man out of respect) Mahal na mahal kita - I love you very much Sisig - Filipino dish, usually pork based (also, bomb as fuuuuu) Bakla - gay --- I wasn’t expecting to see Zayn so soon after I cut things off. It was the Sunday after we went to LACMA together. He kept his promise with attending a Catholic mass, specifically, at the church where I sing for every week. I didn’t see him until, well, he was walking out the doors. My heart sunk. But what was I expecting, him to approach me? I hate that I doubted every song I sang that day, wondering if I impressed him at all. Since then, we haven’t talked. Or communicated at all - no texts, calls, e-mails. Nothing. It’s been hard, to say the least. Focusing on school has been the best option for me to move forward. Some people would think that all this shit happening to me is terrible timing since it was the time of my midterm exams, but I found it to be perfect. Dedicating more of my time into studying distracted me from this nonsense. It also made me realize how much work heavily affected my study habits. Although it took more effort and it was significantly more difficult, I managed to catch up in my classes and do well in my midterms. If I keep this up, I should be back to “Straight A Student Mary” on the Dean’s List. Surprisingly, Harry is one of the biggest contributions to me doing well in school. We still haven’t really talked about what we are exactly, but that hasn’t stopped him from coming around. He quizzed me with flash cards, gave me back rubs during my study breaks, and snuck kisses when my dad and lola weren’t looking. (No, we haven’t gone past kissing - not since he rejected me last time. But whatever, it’s not like Harry has really tried or anything… Yes, I’m bitter. Yes, I know I shouldn’t be. Let me be petty, please.) It almost feels like he lives with me since he’s here all the time. My dad doesn’t complain, especially since Harry helps clean the house and water lola’s garden. It’s pretty cute, actually. What I really like is how he just knew when I needed to focus. He never tried talking to me or distracting me - hell, Harry kindly told Tatay that I was busy studying when he was about to nag me about laundry. Somehow, my dad didn’t kick him out of the house like Uncle Phil with Jazz in Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Styles charm, I guess. When I would be studying, Harry usually tried to read one of my textbooks - but that usually never lasted very long. Some things really never change: his short attention span, constant curiosity, unwavering optimism, selflessness. However, there are many things that I never noticed before when we were younger. The way his eyes are trained on me every time we talk, how often he pinches his bottom lip absentmindedly, the distinct smile on his face - only when he sees me. I’ve grown to love how he always rests his chin on top of my head when he holds me, and how his body is always warm. All right, I’ll admit… Harry is my favorite distraction. “Hello? Mary, are you not listening to me again?” I blink, realizing that I’ve spaced out for the majority of my phone call with my best friend. Oops. “Um. No. I’m listening, Niall.” “Hm, okay. So what do you think I should do? Give her my number or nah?” “Nah. You deserve better,” I easily reply, putting my phone on speaker so I can start picking my outfit for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night. When Niall lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh of frustration, I’m grateful I put the phone down since it probably would’ve damaged my hearing. “I fucking knew you weren’t listening. I was talking about work, you asshole!” I can’t help but snicker. “Okay okay, sorry! I’m just… there’s a lot on my mind.” Niall quickly snaps, “Yeah, there was a lot on mine too. But you wouldn’t know because your ass wasn’t listening!” Before I can ask him to repeat everything he said (contrary to what he thinks, I actually do care), his tone softens, “Thinking about Zayn?” I drop my sweater, caught off guard. Quickly recovering, I bring the phone back to my ear and hiss, “Again, Niall. I don’t want to talk about him.” “Mary, you’ve been leaving me in the dark for weeks. All I’ve gathered - on my own, mind you - is that Zayn is in love with you and not Perrie. But he’s gonna marry her anyway.” I’m ready to hang up, but my friend knows better when he hastily stops me, “Mary, wait! Sorry. It’s just… it’s hard working here without you.” This makes me quietly sigh. “How is it going? Their wedding?” “It’s… it’s going.” Niall is quiet for a couple beats, and I can already picture him frustratedly tugging on his hair. “Perrie hasn’t been meeting her deadlines. I’ve been trying to turn to Zayn instead but…” “Please don’t.” My mouth moves on its own, even though part of me wants to know how he’s doing. Thankfully Niall obeys, instead talking more about how my old co-workers miss me and how much of a twat Lydia is. Although I’m listening a little more intently than earlier, the thought of Zayn has me reconsidering what - more like, who - my favorite distraction really is. *** I almost drool at the sight of my plate full of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes ham, and lumpia. There was definitely more food to choose from, but there wasn’t enough room on my plate. I deserve this, okay? I busted my ass studying for midterms, and I’m confident in all of them. Treat. Yo. Self. My mouth is already open, ready for my spoon full of heavenly goodness, but Tatay elbows me. It all falls back into my plate, and I don’t bother hiding my look of shock and annoyance. He doesn’t seem to notice, or chooses to disregard it (probably the latter), when he mutters, “Anak. Lead the… um…” “Tay. We already prayed. Please let me eat.” “No no… ano… everyone says what they want to thank?” I try to not face palm. When was Tatay so sentimental? He really wants to do that thing where people say what they’re grateful for? “Can we at least eat while people are talking?” “Yes yes, you’re so matakaw!” I ignore my dad’s jab, because hey, he’s not wrong. But listen, the last thing I ate was a bagel this morning because I was busy helping cook dinner. And I don’t know whose bright idea it was to have Harry lead the prayer, because he may as well have lead an entire hour of mass. I clear my throat and use my spoon to tap my glass, gathering everyone’s attention. “Hi everyone! Thank you all for joining us, I hope you’re enjoying the food!” Although my tone is sugary sweet and fake as hell, my family easily buys it and claps. A lot more people came than I expected, which meant that greeting everyone took twice as long. Although I definitely don’t know everyone by name, it’s a Filipino requirement to hug and bless (we take an elder’s hand and place it on our forehead as a sign of respect) everyone. Again, more reasons as to why I’m so damn hungry! “While we’re all eating, let’s go around and say what we’re grateful for,” I “excitedly” clap my hands, and gesture towards my dad, “Tay, how about you start?” He throws me a tossed look, but I simply smile and rub his shoulder. He coughs and is quiet for a moment before beginning, “I’m -” I interrupt and encourage him to stand up, because I’m petty. Tatay purses his lips at me but obliges anyway. “I’m grateful for many things. The roof over our head, my job, this food, and all of you. But I do want to say…” My dad turns to me, the corners of his mouth slightly quirked (this definitely surprises me because I’ve been a little shit to him). “Mary. Anak, thank you for everything you’ve done for this family. You work so hard in your studies, but… you always put family first. Thank you.” When everyone in the dining room starts clapping again, I feel like Tatay just won an Oscar and thanked me in his acceptance speech. Ever since I left my job, my dad and I have been the closest - ever since my mom died. We may express ourselves in different ways, or not at all, but hearing something like this from him truly uplifts my spirit. I try to hide my teary eyes (unfortunately, I can’t blame my emotional and simpy self on my period because it ended last week), but this is unsuccessful when Harry places his hand on my bare thigh. “It’s true, you know,” Harry whispers next to me when Tita Alma starts speaking. My face heats up, along with the spot he touches. Because everyone in my family is extra and truly do sound like they’re presenting an Oscar acceptance speech, I have time to indulge in the food I helped cook. Hell, I’m sure I have time to get seconds and dessert since Harry’s ass is probably gonna take a million years. When it’s his turn, unfortunately he murmurs to me before standing up, “Mary, you’re staying for mine, right?” “I… um…” I trail off, but then I see his wide, hopeful eyes and pouting lips. Yeah, I’m done for. “Yes. Of course.” He beams before clearing his throat. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Maraming salamat to all of you, especially Tito Danny for welcoming us to his home.” Here I was thinking I was special when my dad grinned at me, but nope. Tatay is giving Harry a close mouthed smile (which shouldn’t make me feel immaturely jealous, but it does). Harry runs his hands through his hair, something he does when he’s nervous. It’s strange though, he’s usually a natural when talking to a big group - especially our family. Then he nods at Tito Boy, who abruptly leaves the dining room. Maybe he’s going to finally grab the alcohol… yasss. “Um… I also want to thank your daughter, Tito Danny.” My brows furrow, because hello, I’m right here. Just say my name. “I know we… we talk already but. I just want to make sure this is okay, one last time.” My head whips towards my dad, who is already nodding. What is going on? “Harry, what are-” “Wait,” Harry cuts me off, earning a glare from me in response. He easily sends me a knowing smile, seemingly not as intimidated by me as he used to be. “I want to say that thank you to you too, Mary. Being with you has made me the happiest I have ever been.” My eyes widen, definitely not expecting this. “You’re one of a kind. You are hardworking, and…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head, “ano ambisyoso in English?” “Ambitious!” Tita Alma exclaims, sounding like she’s on the verge of tears for some reason. “Ambitious,” Harry affirms, turning towards me and brushing some of my hair off of my face. “You inspire me, and help me be better. You changed my life, and I want to be with you for a long time…” My head tilts in confusion, not entirely sure where this is coming from. Still, I think more about how Harry’s English has has improved impressively. However, once Tito Boy finally returns to the dining room holding a Scrabble board, my jaw drops to the ground once I read the letters. WILL U MARRY ME I barely have time to process this, because before I know it, Harry is on one knee in front of me. The Scrabble board replaces my empty plate in front of my seat. My family is loud with cheers and whistles, but all I can focus on is him. Harry Melchor Styles. The boy who was always by my side when we grew up in the Philippines. The boy who killed cockroaches for me, even though I found out that they were his biggest fear and he never wanted to tell me. The boy who chose easy hiding places during Hide-and-Seek so I can win. The boy who swore to protect me at all costs, and still hasn’t broken his promise. The man with a soprano singing voice and happy-go-lucky personality that perfectly complements my alto vocals and strict planning mindset. The man who is always smiling and has the most sincere heart. The man who puts everyone before himself, except now - when he wants me to be his. “Please be my wife, Mary Bandong,” Harry finally says after I stare at the board in awe. I don’t realize tears are rolling down my cheeks until he reaches over to wipe them. “If you say yes, I will be the most supportive and loyal partner. If you say yes, I will try to make you as happy as you make me - because you deserve it.” I’m breathless. “If you say yes, I’ll… I’ll be the luckiest man on the planet,” he breathes, his eyes glistening in tears too. “Mahal na mahal kita, Mary.” The room finally falls quiet, and everything is still - my heart, my mind, the entire world. If only time worked that way. What I need is everything to legitimately be still. There is too much happening right now, and my mind can’t properly process what’s going on. But knowing my family… any answer that isn’t an enthusiastic “Yes!” is equivalent to no. I owe it to Harry to save face. I ignore the tug at my heartstrings, and do what I know is right during this time. My body has been frozen for what seems like hours. Finally, my eyes divert away from Harry’s hopeful ones and towards the bag of Scrabble letters next to the board. My hand shakes a bit when I reach over to grab and hastily dig through it. Once I find the three letters I’m looking for, I place them onto the board underneath his proposal that took up the entire middle row. I DO I only have a second to let out the breath of air I’ve been holding, because I’m instantly brought to my feet and pulled into Harry’s tight embrace. My entire house is roaring in excitement, but it feels like it’s only Harry and me right now. He pulls away just a bit, his eyes drinking me in entirely. My heart skips a beat when Harry wears that smile he only has when he’s looking at me. He shyly closes the gap between us, and I’m grateful he did. Not necessarily because I want to though… while that is true to an extent, I’m mostly glad that our kiss prevented him from seeing that my tears that differ from his own of joy. My tears were from sadness and guilt. *** What better way to solve my problems than with alcohol? Regardless, I didn’t have much of a choice. If there’s anything you need to know about the Bandong family (by the way, this isn’t limited to blood relatives, oh no - this includes my cousins’ cousins, in-laws, neighbors, babysitters, dentists, behind-the-wheel DMV instructors…), we know how to get down. (Or, what is the new term kids use nowadays? Get lit? Turn the fuck up? Whatever.) Filipinos are a perfect example of the whole “get you a girl who can do both” (more like, get you a person who can do both - to be more gender inclusive). By day: We are known to be very hard workers, pursuing careers in competitive fields (read: medical), and excelling in academics. By night: We are known to start drinking as early as 4 PM, taking shots of Grey Goose like water, drunkenly singing karaoke (no matter how drunk, we’ll always have great singing voices somehow), and dancing to “Achy Breaky Heart” for half an hour straight. It’s pretty much a double whammy today - Thanksgiving and celebrating that dear ol’ Danny’s daughter, Mary, is finally getting married. To the ever so perfect Harry, her childhood friend. More like a triple whammy, because we’re also celebrating that this means Harry will be a legal US citizen once we’re married. I swore to take a shot or two because I was ready to slip into a food coma after all that turkey. But… one shot became three. And then ten. Or something. I don’t know, I’m at the point of being so far gone that I am in 100% denial that I’m drunk. By the way, I’m not drunk. I’m just closing my eyes to say a prayer. Thank you Lord for my family, sisig, and tequila. “Are you sayin’ ‘nother prayer, Mary?” I hear Niall mumble against my shoulder. Oh yeah, because Filipinos “are lit as fuck” (direct quote by Niall), my friend tends to crash my family parties often. I don’t mind, and my family doesn’t seem to mind either since Niall hooks it up with a shitload of beer. (Tatay also still thinks that Niall is bakla, so he’s not a threat.) “Mmmmhm…” “That’s like, your thirteenth one.” I snort, opening my eyes just to roll them. “Niall, please. Do you know how many times you have to say the ‘Hail Mary’ prayer during the rosary? There’s no limit with prayers, excuse you.” He scoffs and adjusts his body so he’s laying completely on this small couch, his legs resting on my lap. I’m definitely not drunk, but I’m regretting that last shot I just took. My head is starting to spin, and Shrek on the TV screen is looking even more ugly than he’s supposed to look. I grumble, squinting my eyes so my vision can somewhat adjust. “Why the… why the fuck are we watching Shrek?” “Dunno. Are there any Thanksgiving movies?” “Ugh. Don’t know. Maybe like, Charlie Brown?” Niall thoughtfully strokes his chin and asks, “Isn’t that… isn’t that a dance move in the ‘Cha Cha Slide?’ I never know what to do in that part.” This was said genuinely and not as a joke, which makes me laugh so hard that he falls off the couch. “That’s what you first think of? The motherfucking ‘Cha Cha Slide?!’ Not the boy with Snoopy?” I’m shrieking at him through my laughter, which I immediately stop once I realize how strikingly similar it is to all of my titas. My God, am I becoming one of them? Yikes. The Shrek scene playing right now is when Lord Farquaad is interrogating the Gingerbread Man, which honestly isn’t even that funny, but for some reason I can’t stop laughing. Lord Farquaad is taunting the Gingerbread Man with his broken off legs, “Run, run, run as fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!” When the Gingerbread Man squeals in his shrill voice, “You’re a monster!” and the “No, not the buttons!” I pretty much lose it. I’m crying tears of laughter, not even caring that my makeup is probably ruined at this point. Niall doesn’t seem to think it’s as hilarious, probably because I still haven’t helped him off the floor. I look around, trying to find someone to laugh with because this isn’t that fun alone. No matter how drunk I am. Wait, I’m not drunk. Anyways. Even though I spot Harry not too far away, he’s just not the person I want to talk to right now. In fact, the person I want to talk to isn’t even here. And I haven’t talked to him in, well, months. I think. I might regret this but… come on, it’s the Gingerbread Man. I unlock my phone and scroll to the bottom of my contact list, pressing call without a second thought. “Mary?” I’m definitely not expecting him to answer so damn quickly, so I gasp in surprise. I clear my throat, remembering my mission here. “Ahem. D-do you know… the Muffin Man?” His hearty laugh makes me smile really big, but I hastily recover into concentration. My purpose is important here. “Did you mean to call me, Mary?” I nod. “Hello?” Oh wait, he can’t see me. That makes me sad. “What makes you sad?” Oops, I think I’m thinking out loud. “That you can’t see me.” And I’m talking without a filter, I guess. He lets out a deep sigh, and I can imagine him running his hands through his messy hair in frustration. Maybe I shouldn’t have called. “No no… I’m glad you did.” Maybe I am drunk. I don’t even know what I’m thinking or what I’m actually saying. “Are you okay -” “Zayn!” I cut him off, because again, I can’t lose sight of my mission. “I asked you a question… Do you know the Muffin Man?!” It’s quiet for a couple beats, and I almost think he hangs up. Damn, mission failed. “The Muffin Man?” He repeats in the same tone as Lord Farquaad in the scene of Shrek. I manage to stifle my ugly tita cackling with quiet giggles, which Zayn seems to echo through the phone. “The Muffin Man,” I affirm with a nod, even though his ass can’t see me. “Yes, I know the Muffin Man… who lives down on Drury Lane?” Zayn is playing along so perfectly, I think I start crying again. “Well, she’s married to the Muffin Man…” “The Muffin Man?!” I shout, not giving a shit if I sound delusional, “The Muffin Man!!!” At this point, I’m not even disguising my unattractive laughter and hysterics anymore. I haven’t heard Zayn laugh this hard before, and I’m pretty sure it’s his first time hearing me too. We take a couple moments to catch our breath. “I wish you were here,” I whisper, sadness overwhelming me all of the sudden. My head is pounding again, and my lips begin to quiver. Simply put, I’m a hot ass mess who went from laughing at Shrek to sobbing over my complicating love life. Zayn finally says in a low voice, “I can be, if you want.” That’s when I finally realize that that’s all I’ve wanted this entire time. --- Hiiii friends, it’s definitely 3 AM here but I wanted to post this before I left for my retreat this weekend!!! Sorry this is shitty sigh. Wow, what a pleasant surprise to have received some new reviews for this despite not updating for awhile??? I thought this fic was long forgotten so yay welcome :) I’m going to try my absolute best to keep working on this, it’s just hard juggling more than one fic ah how do y’all do it? You may recognize the Gingerbread drabble from awhile back! I decided to alter it so it fit Thanksgiving instead because it fit the chapter well, and I’m honestly pretty proud of it. So why not make it canon, eh? Anywho! For the first time ever, one of my fics was featured ahhhh!!! I would appreciate if you read my author’s note at the end of this chapter of Here :) And this story if particular got nominated for Best Love Triangle in the Rooftop Awards O M G honestly I’m shook?! Please vote for your faves here, hopefully this fic is one of them :’) Last day to vote is today!!! Please tell me what you think of: -Harry’s Scrabble proposal, and Mary & Harry’s relationship overall -Mary’s bond with her family, specifically her dad -the Charlie Brown part in the Cha Cha Slide (not but really, what do y’all do??? I just stand there, confused lmao) -Mary being a hot ass mess over Shrek LMAO I still don’t know how I thought of that, bye -favorite line, favorite scene, predictions, anythaaaanggGggGg Aiiiiight I’m tired. Love y’all, thanks for reading :) - Angel P.S. Yes, I changed Harry’s middle name to a Filipino name. I’ve expressed this on Tumblr before, but I honestly regret not using another Filipino face claim for Harry’s character. This was written back in 2013 and I was ignorant of the opportunity to have proper Filipino representation, so I sincerely apologize.

[theletterunread]

Protest

This story follows Flame and precedes Beliefs.

“Those are nice shoes,” I said to Fia while we waited for the light at Eighth Street. I spoke mildly, deliberately not using that annoying inflection adults often employ when they talk to kids – “I love your shooooes!” – because I remembered from my own youth that children always pick up and resent being talked down to, and I had the sense that Fia was somebody whose respect I wanted to keep.

“Thank you,” she said, obviously trained in manners for she added, “I like your shoes too,” even though mine were just ratty sneakers.

“It’s so exhausting for me to walk around these days,” I explained, “so I just wear these comfortable shoes instead of…” I corrected course, realizing how on guard you have to be for opportunities to teach kids well or poorly. “Not that I need to have an apologetic reason for wearing whatever I want. I can wear whatever shoes, whenever. And so could you.” Clumsy, maybe, but at least I’d passed on the right lesson.

“Would you wear those even if you weren’t exhausted?”

“Oh, I have no idea.” I looked back and forth before we jaywalked over Ninth. “I’ve never liked picking out shoes. Or wearing them. Or the attention on them.” This is true, and I’m gratified for the chance to say so, since I said as much to the fashion reporter for New York magazine, only to find he’d cut it from the final profile. I’m not affecting a false effortlessness, claiming that I happen to dress as well as I do; I do select my wardrobe conscientiously. (Go ahead and read that profile if you want a more thorough explanation of my fragile, minimalist style, though honestly, it still astounds me that, given what I did for this city, my attire would be a primary subject of interest for anyone. But I suppose that’s New York City – or at least, that’s New York magazine.) But I never developed an eye for footwear. At whatever point I was supposed to integrate that knowledge into the rest of it, I zoned out.

However, the more plain my shoes, the less attention I suffer from foot fetishists. Half of my readers don’t need to be told, but to the men reading this: once you know to look for it, you will see foot obsessives everywhere. If a woman takes a walk around the block in anything more revealing than combat boots, ten guys will hesitate and pass a happy moment gawking before she gets back to her front door. At least one will surreptitiously snap photos. During the summer, when it’s a city of sandals, you can see the erotic overload almost exploding heads.

“Are you tired because of the weather?” asked Fia as we cut down Tenth Street. “I get really tired when it’s too hot out.”

“No, but that’s a good guess. I feel the same when it’s the deep summer. I’m tired because I’m pregnant, so I’m…” I realized that I didn’t know how much a ten-year-old knows or is supposed to know about the details of pregnancy. “I’m carrying more weight. It’s like walking with a 12-pound…” I didn’t even know what noun a kid would best register. “…backpack. On your front.”

Fia didn’t say anything because we had turned onto University Place and her attention was taken by a group of protestors marching up towards Union Square. It’s hard (at least, it’s hard for me) to really remember how thick and fast the protests were coming in those days. Now that that president is gone – and gone in such a spectacular, maximally gratifying way – the relief is so great that it’s obviated all sharpness from my memories of how trying it was to have that waxhead running the country, dominating our experiences and thoughts and conversations. But we were still in the middle of it this weekend.

Fia craned her neck to look at the protest signs all around us.“‘Girls just want to have fundamental rights.’ What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s a reference to a song, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun.’ Fundamental rights are…well, do you know what either of those words means?”

“Yeah, both,” said Fia, already on to the next sign. “‘Nasty woman.’”

“That’s something the president said once. So that person is flipping it around on him.”

“That one has a picture of Garfield. And it says ‘grabs back.’”

“Yeah…same thing. It’s something the president said and they’re using it against him.” I’d like to think that if it was my own daughter, I’d have been more thorough with my explanation, but you never know the rules other people’s parents have set down about what words or concepts are out of bounds. When I was a kid, my mom got in trouble with our neighbors for recounting in front of their son a scene where Bugs Bunny drops an anvil on Marvin the Martian. “Negative conflict resolution,” was their issue with it.

“What’s a ‘glass ceiling?’” asked Fia. It was another challenging concept to explain, so I just pretended not to have heard, pretended to be reading the other signs myself. Having been in plenty of protests, I had seen most of these slogans before, but Fia was experiencing them for the first time, and her fascination with the determination of the amassed people was obvious and renewed my populist sentiments. I was then immediately dinged by one of the more wearying aspects of a protest.

A blue-haired clippie had fallen in step with us. At a break in my remarks to Fia, she turned to me and said, “You’re such a great example for your daughter.”

I said, “Okay.”

“Taking her out to just feel and breath the change we’re gonna make.”

“I guess so.”

“But at the same time you’re somebody who wants to take concrete action and to be part of a community that’s setting up real solutions today.” She handed me her clipboard, which carried one page of manifesto and an optimistic ten pages of sign-up sheets. “Words of Insurrection isn’t just a bookshop. It’s a salon for new, effective action.”

The documents explained that Words of Insurrection was looking for small donations to finance research for the development of alternative energy sources to "break the petro-fascist hold on democracy,” to produce campaign literature for the bookshop’s own independent candidate for governor, and to buy an air conditioner, as public readings in the store were getting too stuffy. I agreed with their tenets, but I still put down a fake email address. This is why the revolution is stalled, I suppose, but I do feel bad about it, and if anyone from the bookstore is reading, please get in touch with my publisher, and they’ll give you the right email address.

I handed back the clipboard, took Fia’s hand, and we slipped through the crowd to the southern end of Union Square. Up the steps, somebody was speaking on a dais. I could barely see over the heads of everyone else, and Fia was really struggling. She wanted to be picked up, but was too polite to ask. Being unable to lift her, I suggested that she hop up on a flowerbed wall and gave her my phone, set to record, so she could periscope over the protesters. For those of you who are just reading this book to check off plot points leading to my triumph at the Strand, you should make a note of this moment.

I sat on the wall and read more of the handmade signs around me. I preferred the angry ones to the humorous ones. In the taxonomy of political comedy, liberal protest signs are leagues above the clumsiness and bile of conservative comedy, and markedly less aggravating than the libertarianism-disguised-as-common-sense musings of old-media columnists who style themselves “humorists” – seriously, has there ever been a funny “humorist?” – but we’re still dealing with the one-celled organism stage of comedy.

My eye was drawn to sign reading “Hands Off” around an illustration of a woman throwing a punch. I recognized the picture: it was an illustration of a friend of mine, done by her husband, from the webcomic he draws about their relationship. I’m not a big fan of his cartooning style. It’s a little too manic, a little too much sweat flying off the brow. But his love for his wife comes through, so she always looks good. I was glad to see her being used for such a message, so I introduced myself to the woman holding the sign and asked her where she got the image.

“From the internet,” said Sarah. “I follow a lot of other artists on Tumblr, and I saw this image pop up, and I was like, ‘Yep, that’s it.’ Plus, I didn’t want to use one of my own drawings, because this isn’t really the right time to be self-promoting.”

“I think it would have been fine,” I shrugged. “But this is a good sign anyway. And it stands out among all the pictures of you-know-who.”

“Yeah. I mean, officially, it’s a protest about him. So I get it, I’m kind of off-brand. But, you know, it’s all tied together. We gotta get this message out, too.”

“Sure. And it’s not like he’s not also guilty of that.”

“I hate to give him credit for anything, even accidentally,” said Sarah, “but at least he got people out into the streets.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but I think we were headed in this direction anyway.” I told her that about five years before, I had learned that a beloved novelist I won’t bother naming had been known to make comments like, “the smell of cunt is in the air,” when walking through college campuses. He said book tours were good for getting “audience pussy,” and wondered aloud if his time on earth was best used “to put my penis in as many vaginas as possible.” You could come up with worse remarks easily, for sure, but pretty negative stuff nonetheless. When I brought this up to people back in 2012, though, I was pooh-poohed and scolded for being insufficiently sex-positive.

“So, you’re saying…what?” asked Sarah when I finished. “That we used to let things slide so we wouldn’t seem like prudes…but now we’re shifting things back?”

I felt awkward hearing my own ideas articulated back to me. I don’t think of myself as having any necessary insight into cultural issues. “Shifting back isn’t really what I want to say. More just finding a more refined level.”

I didn’t really like how that came out. The phrase “refined level,” sounded like something to be followed with excuses. In those months, I, and everyone I knew, had had many conversations about the wave of reckonings coming for shitty men. And even among likeminded people, the subject generally got hot. Everyone could agree on the general premises, but specific stories caused debate. Parsing the details of an assault or an encounter or a remark gave infinite opportunities for dispute, and people’s emotional attachments to celebrities who’d been spotlighted were another hurdle to get over. (For whatever it’s worth, I actually had the opposite problem: while I never let my existing admiration for a celebrity lead me to make excuses for him, I admit that sometimes I got happy when a man I didn’t like for other reasons got popped for being a pig.)

The problem, as I saw it, came from our societal sense that there are “good people,” and “bad people.” Take your pick as to where this comes from – history books that oversimplify conflicts, a steady diet of moronic movies and TV shows with antagonists so flat and featureless that it’s easiest to just remember them as “the bad guy” – but it does us no good. I always argued that there are no “good people” or “bad people” (though admittedly, many of the later events of this day tested my theory). There are good and bad actions, and just plain people who set them in motion, people motivated by impulses and ideas and desires and influences and self-images too manifold to be summed up in one-syllable adjectives.

A trusted and smart friend told me this was a sterile and cold and emotionless way of looking at things, and maybe a lot of readers will agree with her. But I think it helps me to keep a generic sense of goodwill and empathy for humanity in general, while keeping me off the road of waving away specific, real-time crimes just because I’ve been fond of the perpetrator.

While something like these thoughts was going through my head, Sarah was reflecting on my last remark and giving me a squinty stare. I had either blown her mind or she was preparing to tear my argument apart. I changed the subject. “I noticed your sign because I actually know the guy who drew that picture.”


“Really? Me too.”

“Well, I know his wife. So I’m more of a friend of a friend.”

Sarah smiled. “Yeah, he seems like somebody who has more ‘friends of friends’ than ‘friends.’ That’s how I met him, and why I follow him on Tumblr.”

“What’s your connection?” I asked.

“I’m friends with a guy he went to high school with. Actually, though we’re – Kyle and I, that is. The guy he went to high school with and me – we’re not really ‘friends,’ exactly. We’ve hooked up and dated and broken up and been friends and collaborators and tried…all kinds of different ways of being.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know what the right word is. ‘Lover,’ maybe, if it wasn’t so stupid sounding. I think of us as magnets. If there’s something in the way, we're separated. But when there’s no obstacles, we’re always – click! – drawn back together.”

“Sure.” I said. “I know about that.”

“It’s not always like that, though, I guess. Like two weeks ago, I reached out to him to ask him to take a look at these opening pages I’d drawn…fuck. That opened a whole bag of worms.”

I smiled, because I always like it when people mix up their idioms.

“He told me that he didn’t want to look at them, and reminded me that six months ago he tried to get me to read part of this script he was writing…he’s a filmmaker, right? And I just sat on the pages and never responded. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want to read them, or was trying to put him in his place…I mean, there was a little of that, maybe. Because right around when he sent the script, I had seen him raving about some-person-he-knows’ album on Facebook. And he’s never hyped me up like that. Right? Maybe I was mad about that, subconsciously?”

“It’s hard to know with subconscious things,” I said.

“Well…so, he let me know he was mad at me about that, because the script was something really personal and he trusted only me to read it…and I kind of knew he would say all this when I reached out to him…I was probably provoking a reaction by asking him for his notes. Well, not ‘provoking’ him, but…you know, I wanted to talk about how I felt when he sent me the script, so I was setting up this conversation that could get us there.”

I “yeah”ed and “mm-hmm”ed through this.

“But it’s not totally phony. I really did want his thoughts on my pages. It was the first thing I’d been able to draw in months. I’m so crunched for time now, and I can’t devote the headspace to get into my work. And it freaks me out because, if I’m not drawing, it’s like, what’s the point of me? I used to be turn out so much work, and maybe it wasn’t great, but I was getting better. Now…I mean, I am better, when I can get the work done…but I want to do more. I don’t want to just draw for my own satisfaction anymore. I want to get it out there. But that’s selfish, right? I should be happy to do creative stuff at all.”

“No,” I said, “that’s an okay feeling to have.” I was referring to her whole speech. This happens a lot, and at first I thought it was just me, that I had some kind of blank demeanor that encouraged people to spill their guts, knowing I would listen without editorial comment. But it turns out to just be a feature of American life: every stranger you meet is pent up, dying to give you her prepared admissions. At first I thought this trend was depressing, but now I’m starting to see it as hopeful. If we’re all secretly aching, we’ve all got something in common. Which is one less thing to ache about.

“I don’t think it’s greedy to want to be seen,” I went on. “I’m not a creative person, but I imagine it’s frustrating to keep finishing work you like and putting it right into a dark drawer.”

“I send stuff out all the time…not saying I’m better than everything that gets published. But I know I’m at least as good. And sometimes better. But I can’t even get a courtesy read.”

It shames me to tell you she said that, given that only weeks later did publishers come pounding down my door making all kinds of offers to put out this book – before there was even any book to speak of. “Maybe it’s not about quality. You have to tick some other box for the company. They’re not publishing the work, they’re publishing you. They’re just looking for a certain person – or a certain kind of person – at a certain time,” I said (with dramatic irony, it turns out). “Maybe it’s just all political.”

“Yeah, and I’ve tried to be political. I can do caricatures of the president if that’s what people want to see. Still can’t get any traction. And if everyone’s doing political material today, maybe my only chance is to stand out going the other way.”

I started to say that wasn’t what I meant, but the crowd around us had fallen into a hush, and my voice sounded very loud to me. Everyone was standing reverentially, and a few people had their hands over their hearts. Up on the dais, a woman was singing “America the Beautiful,” which happens at a lot of protests in the city to preempt any accusations that “liberals hate America.”

All those songs give me a sinking feeling in my stomach, because they remind me of being 16 and letting my popularity go a little too much to my head and volunteering to sing the national anthem at a high school basketball game. When I got to “O’er the land of the free,” my voice squeaked and I lost the pitch. Looking back, the crowd probably would have let me get out “and the home of the brave,” but I was embarrassed and certain I’d lost them, so I just trailed off and left. I can’t remember whether I got any pity applause or just a considered silence as the whole gym watched me take the long walk off the basketball court.

In the middle of “America the Beautiful,” an older protester whipped around angrily. “Who’s humming?” she demanded to know, like a math teacher snapping during a quiet study session. “She’s up there singing a song for us. Who’s making that noise?”

It was Fia, and she looked so scared and guilty (that combination you only get when you’re a kid “in trouble”) that I got in the older woman’s face. “You can’t be out in the world if you’re gonna be screaming at people,” I said. “So either watch the stage or move along.”

She looked over my shoulder at Fia and pouted a bit. “Oh, okay. I didn’t realize it was a kid.”

“It doesn’t matter how old anyone is. You can’t be that rude.”

“That’s just how I am. My family’s Greek, that’s how we talk.”

“Yeah, I don’t accept that, though. I have Greek friends with manners. And there’s a whole array of people who will attribute being rude to being Israeli or Colombian or French or…it doesn’t matter what their background is, they just won’t own up to having no manners.”

Sarah broke in with a “Hey, hey! It’s okay, relax, we’re all here on the same side.” I stepped back, a little astonished at how quickly I’d got worked up. Already I was feeling very protective of Fia.

“Sorry,” I said, adding for credibility, “it must be referred frustration from all this.” I waved my arms in every direction, suggesting the targets of the protest.

The older woman introduced herself as Eleni and told me she understood, having been to a lot of protests in her life. “I know how easy it is to get hot at one of these. I know your emotions are running high. I’ve been there. Once you’re older, though, you learn that’s not actually the right answer.” I won’t quote her at length, because you’ve heard variations on this theme throughout your youth: somebody with more age and more experience assuring you that your sentiments are worthy of a pat on the head, but that in time you’ll grow out of them.

“Take a look at some of these signs,” she said, pointing to Sarah’s. “We want to make a change, but we don’t want to throw the baby out with the bathwater.” She pointed to my stomach. “I’m sure you’d agree.”

“Saying that the president shouldn’t grab women by the pussy, that’s washing the baby in the bathtub?” said Sarah, forgetting her seconds-ago attempt to calm me down, and getting worked up herself. There was an amazingly needling quality to Eleni’s speech, in content and tone.

“No, no, obviously not,” soothed Eleni. “That’s wrong, I’m not here to defend assault. I’m just saying let’s keep in mind what’s assault and what’s just rudeness. Actually grabbing somebody is a problem. If it’s just talking about it, if somebody’s just saying it to you…maybe it’s crass, but it’s something you just have to deal with. And a lot of it is just men being men. A lot of things, you have to remember – or maybe you have to learn – are biological.”

Then followed another familiar argument I won’t bother relaying in full. There were lots of exhortations to “look to the animals,” and phrases like “genetically dominant and genetically submissive.” I know very little about the ins-and-outs of any branch of science, so I’m unarmed for these arguments. But appeals to nature are down there with appeals to heritage in my list of least acceptable defenses.

I thought that Sarah would punch back at this, but there was just silence, and when I looked over I saw that she was glazed. A moment later she came to. “That just reminded me of something Kyle said. We were talking about exes and he was saying that no relationship he was in ever lasted more than a year.”

I didn’t know that that was unusual, since that was my record, too. “Yeah?”

“He said that he figured it was biological. A year was just enough time to get somebody pregnant and stick around long enough to protect her and the newborn.” She threw up her hands like tiger paws. “Rawr! Like that, that’s exactly what he did with his hands when explaining it…anyway, I’m not an idiot, I know he was saying this as a prelude to ‘We’re never going to last.’ But I so didn’t want to have that conversation. At least not then. So I just went off on his paws gesture and used that to talk about big cats. Stories about going to the zoo, talking about The Lion King…just forced him onto this huge tangent and would not let him get back to his point. Just tiring him out.”

Eleni looked impatient for us to start listening to her again. “Well, he was right, there is a natural calendar of–”

“Not to be glib,” I interrupted. “Sorry Eleni. Not to be glib, but that’s great material, Sarah. You could put that in a comic and it would be wonderful.”

The crowd cheered, and it was clear that somebody big was getting on stage. Everyone was jumping up and down, so I couldn’t see the speaker. “Fia, would you take a picture for me?” She held my phone up high, snapped a shot, and handed it back to me.

“Oh, weird,” I said, showing the photo to Eleni and Sarah. “It’s Anne Wysie.”

“Wysie?” repeated Sarah.

“I was just reading her…” I twisted around to pull the book out of my bag, which kept swinging out of my grasp. “See? That’s funny.”

Eleni looked at the book, then looked at me. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?” she said again.

I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. One thing that I hope will become clear by the end of this book is how, despite concocting an amazingly elaborate plan, the conspirators were incredibly stupid, and their use of “Are you okay?” as a code phrase is part of that. Any phrase even slightly less generic would have be better.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “I’m just trying to show you this book.”

“Ugh, I’m so tired of that bitch,” said Sarah, looking from the stage to the book. “She needs to just shut the fuck up and retire already.”

Eleni slapped Sarah’s cheek. “You need to have more respect.” She was smiling, and I think she would have defended her slap as “light,” or even “playful,” but there really isn’t such a thing.

Sarah grabbed Eleni’s still outstretched arm at the wrist, and said, “Don’t touch me,” or something to that effect. It was hard to hear over Eleni’s squealing. She was really freaked to be stood up to, and she squirmed and thrashed to get out of Sarah’s grip. She wrenched herself away and fell to the sidewalk, wailing in what I thought was a pretty theatrical way.

The protestors around us turned to look and help her up, asking what happened. “She threw me down,” said Eleni at the same time that Sarah said, “She slapped me.” People started to form ranks with both women, and it was self-preservation, or intuition, or just a happy coincidence, but at that moment, I remembered that I still had a doctor’s appointment to keep. I scooped Fia off of her perch and hustled out of the crowd.

The violence that broke out at the protest, sparked by that initial confrontation, was soon overshadowed by the rest of what happened that day, and it’s been completely forgotten now. But people were hurt, so I have to take responsibility for my part in it: I introduced Anne Wysie into a conversation between two unstable parties and left without even trying to cool them down.

An earlier draft of this part of the story went past my editor who said it was silly for me to insist on taking blame for a few fractures and chipped teeth, that it would muddy the image of me as a hero, and that it was nothing compared to the lives I wound up saving. But come on. “What are you? An accountant?” Besides, there are already enough stories out there that deal in black and white, in good guys and bad guys.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Temperance: Hide The Wine - Sheriff of Nottingham (Robin Hood 2018)

Author’s Note: Requested By Anon! Thank you for the request dearest Anon, and bless you! 😘💜 I hope you enjoy! Carly Pearce - Hide the Wine ~ this song literally came to me in the middle of the night where I woke up with the song stuck in my head and thought “OH! that’s much better than the one I’ve chosen!”, It’s a lot more light hearted which I feel fits what I’m going for here...

Disclaimer: No characters from Robin Hood are miiiine / Otto Bathurt’s crazy Robin Hood world is also not mine / lyrics & gifs as ever not mine! Premise: Upon receiving an invitation to a party in Nottingham you vow to yourself that this time, this time you won’t drink and you won’t end up in bed with the Sheriff... Words: 4460 Warnings: Sexual Amble (it’s not quite smut) 

______ I heard you were back in town Oh well, it's been a hot minute since me and you were hanging out Yeah, we had that crazy kind of chemistry Where you get burned, don't learn, don't care Just reach for another match and gasoline

Better hide the wine, and get it gone Oh I better hide every one of them records that turn me on  Turn up the lights, and kill the mood 'Cause baby I just don't trust myself with you I better hide the wine

Well I know me and I know you... Oh oh with one sip, one tip, we'll be sitting on the couch You'll be kicking off your shoes Oh knock-knock, here you come a-knockin' on my door But you're gonna have to wait another minute on the porch Oh no, no, it's a dangerous thing Pouring alcohol on an old flame ---

noun

Abstinence from alcoholic drink.

Temperance is defined as moderation or voluntary self-restraint. It is typically described in terms of what an individual voluntarily refrains from doing.

You knew the game. How many times had you played it? Too many. But this time, this time, you swore not to get dragged into it. You wouldn’t play. No matter how hard he tried to get you to. No matter how much you wanted to. And you always wanted to. But it went around and around. Ever since you’d been much younger. Ever since he’d caught your eye, and you his, around Foundling House. Before he got a fancy title; and attire to go with it. When he was young and angry, and would sneak you to the roof with the best bottle of wine he could find, and he’d yell to let of steam. He’d yell for the sake of yelling… like he did now. Except back them he didn’t have the authority to make that yelling go anywhere. Now he did. When the yelling was over, and the bottle was finished, you’d both sneak elsewhere. And that’s what you always looked forward to. He grew up and moved on. Sort of. He was older than you and could do such things. Still surrounded by so much he hated, sometimes he would return to where you grew up. To where you knew him back when he had a name, not a title. And that was dangerous. Because he would always carry with him a good bottle of wine. One thing would always lead to another and the next thing you were aware of there were clothes all over the floor, and you were back to the familiarity of the warmth and scent of his body. The sounds he made. The sounds you made – but only for him. You longed for that as much as he did. But that was all it was. On and off, and on and off again. Never serious; you were sure neither of you wanted anything serious as it was. But that didn’t stop you thinking you could move on. And it didn’t stop him from coming after you. On rare occasions, very rare occasions, you would be called to him. To Nottingham. And it just so happened that when a rider and invitation appeared at your door; you were called again. This was worse. At lavish parties that the Sheriff hosted you couldn’t escape alcohol and you couldn’t escape him. And it was alcohol, wasn’t it? That made you unable to resist each other. Because it never seemed to start with anything else. Sure, you didn’t have to attend. But that would be rude. You liked to remind him who he really was. Of the company he used to keep (that you bet he wished he still could keep). To alleviate the boredom. Especially on his side; what did he do all day anyway? This time though you had vowed, no drinking… You wouldn’t goad him, or tease him, or hell, even want him. You would take it like two friends catching up. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to hold on. But holding on to him for your entire life? You were fairly certain that at some point you should realise that this was all it was going to be. He’d be married eventually; you were surprised the Church hadn’t coerced him into that yet… and you had met someone else. But, that also wasn’t serious. Trouble was, you had a feeling that this one could be something, could develop into something, that whatever you had with the Sheriff was not… So you accepted the invite. And when the time came you made your way to Nottingham. And this time you were nearly intent on avoiding him entirely. If not for any reason other than to torture him yourself.

*** Your dress flowed gently behind you, off-shoulder and low cut, pulling in at the waist you knew exactly what you were doing by wearing this. There wasn’t any point wearing anything inconspicuous anyway, he’d still find you. In which case you might as well flaunt it; show him what he couldn’t have. Or what you were intent on denying him. If you could. Avoiding him wasn’t as hard as you’d imagined. This dress and the way you’d dressed up tonight drew people to you. Those who didn’t know you wanted to find out exactly who you were. Those that did clearly wanted to talk to you for other reasons… What was certainly unusual for you, was every drink you were offered you refused. There was nothing better than being offered or bought a drink. Especially from charming young men who might well make the Sheriff jealous. But then he’d cut in, obviously scare the other man off, you’d both be drinking and one thing would lead to another, meaning you’d wake up in his bed again. So there was absolutely no way a drop of alcohol was passing your lips. Having said that, you weren’t actively trying to avoid him; you actually wanted to make eye contact and tease him, but also make sure he got nowhere near you. Having said that it wasn’t hard; everyone always wanted to be all over the Sheriff – female or otherwise. And for a multitude of reasons. But the only one he wanted to be all over, or to be all over him was you. And tonight you weren’t playing. He’d seen you – oh, of course he had, how could he not? – wandering this party looking flawless… But he hadn’t been able to escape the usual crowd, or the Lords, yet. He wanted to escape this as quickly as possible and go over to you. But every conversation he dismissed had him falling right into another. And it was frustrating because he so desperately wanted you. Of course he invited you as a friend, but, that wasn’t what you really were. And when he’d received your acceptable note back, the Sheriff knew exactly why you’d come. For exactly the same reason he wanted you here. Because he craved that intimacy. To talk to someone who would hold him close, and listen, and understand, and run their fingers through his hair. No judgement, no opinion (at least not one that would oppose his. Usually you saw his viewpoint completely… Or calmed him down.), no strings. He could love on you as much as he wanted, and it would never be anything more than that.

** Eventually of course he caught you, so you had no choice by to converse with him; “Would you like some wine?” “Uh, no. I don’t think so.” “That’s very unusual for you… Let me get you something…” He snapped his fingers to beckon a waiter over “NO. No, trust me… I won’t be drinking a drop.” “Well, we can’t all be expected to follow suit, can we? Come on, I’ll have something, you should toast…” “Toast what?!” You looked around you, “A successful party? I can do that without alcohol.” You weren’t sure you liked the small smirk on his face; “Oh? Can you really? What are you worried about; I’ve seen you when you’re very, very far gone before – what happened? When did you get boring on me?” “…I’m well aware of what you’ve seen when I’ve been drinking…” “OHHHH – Is that what you’re worried about…” He pulled himself in closer to you; “Like that isn’t the reason you came here…” “Its-” “In that dress…?” The Sheriff’s voice was dark and husky, and you thought you might need a real drink to still everything. “…Huh, Y/N…” You couldn’t hold his eyes, no way, but that made your eyes focus on his chest; all the toning underneath all that wool and leather. You swallowed hard, and he noticed “That’s it… Don’t deny it…” You took a breath, and somehow with it came the courage to face those cold blue eyes. Not cold to you, but everyone else; and they were darker now. And you knew why when you could feel him this close to you. You loved watching them change like that; maybe this time around you’d missed your chance; “I’m not confirming or denying anything… But I’m certainly not drinking.” “Surely you won’t object to me drinking…?” “No.” Although you did, if this was going to work you’d prefer not to have him basically hanging all over you due to the amount he’d drunk. Because you were still supposed to be making sure what you both wanted didn’t happen. But, mmmmhn… The scent of him, the heat you could feel that you so desperately wanted to be wrapped up in now you were here…  He wasn’t touching you, but God, you knew it would feel so good if he did. Instead his hands were behind him, keeping his back straight. You had to bite your lip to stop the small moan escaping your lips at the thought of leaving scratches there… He could see it on your face, and that made him bend towards you; “Come on… Y/N… Tell me why you’re here…” It was weird, for him to be here, this close and talking like this and no one seeming to pay any attention. Because they sure had been paying a lot of attention to the both of you separately. Had he told them to leave him alone, had he told them to leave you both alone? You shook your head, because if you opened your mouth he’d know you were an outright liar – or worse, the truth would spill. But that only made his smirk broaden and then he did pull you into him, and you gasped. “Tell me.” “You know…” “Of course I know…” he kept that voice at a steady almost-growl “…I want to hear you say it.” “NO.” “Why not?” “Never!” Suddenly pulling you to him wasn’t enough, he had to touch your skin, taste your lips. Have you in any way that you would have him. So you found his lips on yours. And your hands on his coat didn’t push him away; but pull him in. But this was wrong; so wrong. It was exactly what you couldn’t allow yourself to have. What you didn’t want… But damn you wanted it so bad. You could taste the wine on his lips, and realised that your promise of no alcohol was quickly being thrown out of the window. Eventually you came to your senses enough to push him back; this was wildly inappropriate in the public eye. What the HELL was he doing?! “Control yourself!” Now your voice was at a growl and your eyes were fierce “We’re not sneaking around at Foundling House anymore…!!” “No we aren’t, my darling… But we could still do a lot of sneaking…” He raised his eyebrows as if to make a point, just in case you weren’t getting it. You let him go and took a few steps backwards; “Sneaking…?” and you finally smiled “I’d like to see you do any sneaking any more… Sheriff…” But now you’d had your first taste, your first sip and you craved more. But if he got to kissing you here, you’d be at the bar, you’d drink... it’d get messy... If you got to kissing elsewhere... Hold on, Y/N, kissing shouldn’t even come into this... the whole point was not to be caught up in him tonight. But then the Sheriff had a point; why did you come? if not to get tangled up with him, literally. Nottingham wasn’t your style, so it made very little sense for you to want to come here for any other reason. Parties where alright but also not your scene so... he was your only reason. And you could tease him all you liked, but what you should have expected was retaliation; him to tease you back or him to really go for it. And he did, no mercy... You kept your eyes trained on him and his on you as you hurried to the hall doors. You turned, one last glance. The choice was his. He followed you and you both got what you wanted, or he didn’t and you left knowing you’d done what you’d prescribed to yourself as the right thing. Did you even know what the right thing was? One last look to determine if he was brave enough and you slipped through the door. Of course he was. It would be stupid to think otherwise. And you weren’t far down the corridor you were making your way down before you heard footsteps. But that just made you walk faster... Suddenly the second echo stopped and you paused, when it didn’t pick up again you turned.  The corridor was empty. You took one step forward, puzzled. Was it even him you had heard? Who else would it be? But if so where did they go?! They weren’t walking up the other hallway, you could see this corridor stretch ahead of you. And you hadn’t heard a door open, although there was one almost adjacent to the one you had walked through. You became unnerved to realise that the sound you could hear was your own breathing, and your heart beating in your ears. You almost sounded scared; unless it was exhilaration? You continued watching the corridor, intrigued and listened out for anything that could possibly signal that anyone else was around. Sheriff of Nottingham or otherwise. In one swift movement from your left your question was answered, although in the dim lighting you couldn’t see exactly who had grabbed you; it caught you off guard, but your attempt to shriek was stifled by a hand clamped firmly over your mouth as you were dragged across the corridor. Your back came into contact with a stone colonnade and you protested again at the way it pressed up against your back.

You came face to face with those blue eyes - now shining silver in the light that made its way in

“If you wanted me alone why didn’t you just say so-!?” He hissed, removing his hand from your mouth you didn’t have time to retaliate before he replaced it with his lips. And once again you were met with the sweet intoxication of alcohol. Ugh, give me my Sin again He tangled his fingers in your hair and didn’t show any signs of stopping the kiss. Well, now you knew exactly where you were you didn’t feel like stopping it either. And your hands ran fervently from his chest to his neck; pulling him ever closer so that his body pressed up against yours again. He broke the kiss for respite, but not from you, and you could have killed him. “To be honest this has not gone according to plan!” “Oh?” Instead he kissed your cheek and down to your jaw line “And why is that? Don’t tell me you don’t want me!?” “N-no...” Although your protest sounded more like a whine of delight “...just like I don’t want any alcohol...” “Ah... I see...” His lips found your neck and his head pushed yours to gain exposure. And now your fingers ran into his hair and you tipped your head back for him. Ugh! I hate you! I hate you! You’d been doing this so long he knew your body like his. And what you really liked never changed much in all those years. “You’re attempt to abstain was a valiant effort...” The Sheriff whispered against your skin “...But sometimes we just have to give in to what we want most...” You didn’t have enough fight left in you to retort with Oh? And that’s you is it?! “Well, if it has to be one or the other-”

You gasped as he lifted you from the ground; back still up against the colonnade his hands slipped under your dress to grip your thighs as his lips found yours again. Some resistance Y/N... well, if you weren’t going to resist you might as well join in and not miss out. Your hands found the clasps on his jacket and afterwards the fastenings on his shirt with ease. This was almost second nature. You wrapped your legs around him to another growl that reverberated (delightfully) through your body. You almost smirked into the kiss as his hands travelled further across your skin; pulling you further into him - but this time accompanied by the slightly harsh grind of his hips into yours. You had to break the kiss, you had no choice but to moan his name at that. Damn! He chuckled “Always the same...” “You best not be complaining...” your voice was pitchy and breathless, you didn’t just want him now, you needed him. “On the contrary...” His fingers slipped into your underwear and your moan was louder now. “Mmm...” the hum was satisfied; “I thought so...” This time you almost glared at him, but it didn’t last long. I HATE you!! Why did he make you feel this good? Why did he always make you feel this good?!?

He continued to touch you exactly where you needed him to, and pleasure became elation. You were conscious of the party still; so even though it was loud in there you continued to stifle your moans. He wasn’t exactly happy about that, but you knew how to keep your mouth shut - you’d had to do it enough in similar situations - meaning no amount of grinding or growling from him was going to make you any louder. And that was a good thing; because the next thing you knew the doors swung open and light flooded your private little corridor. He dropped you instantly and pulled you around the colonnade. But the absence of his fingers made you whine louder than you’d been doing under his touch. You noticed how he still pressed his body into yours as you inched around the stone structure. A bunch of giggling, likely drunk, partygoers hanging off each other seemed to bicker with each other just outside the doors. You looked to each other with raised eyebrows as if that hadn’t ever been you once - and as the same thought crossed your mind you tried not to giggle like children yourselves, to no avail. You peered around the corner again “guess you still do need to sneak around Sheriff...” “Hush...” He nudged you gently, and pulled you back just a touch to make sure you weren’t spotted. “Leave...” He murmured it to himself, but his hot breath caressed your skin and nearly made you shiver as you watched them slowly make their way across the hall; nearly screaming with laughter as they stumbled over one another. “Leave...” his voice was a little more impatient as they once again stopped and began searching around for something. He sighed, and the pull of his body from yours made you turn to him; “Hmm?” His eyes traced your lips momentarily and the Sheriff smiled before he kissed them “I have a feeling if we continue here, we won’t remain uninterrupted for long...” You knew what that kiss meant; “Tell me what you had in mind?” He took your hand in his; “Come with me - I know just the room...”

 **

 You thought he might mean just a quiet room somewhere, as everyone was preoccupied, so many rooms would be empty for the entire night and possibly the majority of the morning too. But no. His room. that’s what he meant. And suddenly this was too personal and too intimate, and you should have been walking out of there, no alcohol in your system and no love from him. But you didn’t care. You weren’t drunk, but you were drunk on the way he made you feel. The door was barely closed, let alone locked and he was on you. Hands tangled back in your hair; he wasted no time in pushing you back towards his bed. Pulling you head back to once again expose your neck to him, his other hand left your hair to pull your dress down your arms and body. No, he really wasn’t attempting to waste time. Maybe he thought you’d change your mind. You couldn’t trust yourself, and you should have known that the second the invite came through. You should have torn it up and forgot about him, but you didn’t. You never had, you never did, you never could. So your hands found your dress too and helped him, almost impatiently, undress you. He released you for a minute, eyebrow raised; “I thought you weren’t doing this?” “OH SHUT UP!” His smirk accompanied his laugh, and he shrugged himself out of grey leather and wool – helping you with the fastenings of his black undershirt; “Why did I bother with the damn party?” “I think you were certainly thinking alcohol…”  You let him throw his shirt to the floor and attempt to pull his feet from his boots as you undid his pants; “No, no, wait – that’s not going to-” “Hush!” He nudged you back and kicked both off – but there wasn’t even enough time to stare at each other for a moment and get lot in it. No romance lost here… He grabbed you back into his arms and you both hit the bed; a passionate tangle of limbs and hot, breathless kisses. He was perfect… Every inch of him perfect. Although you couldn’t be sure at this point you were really registering him – given that you were absorbed in kisses – rather than anything else; that all seemed to be entirely subconscious… The Sheriff was flawless… the sex was flawless… His vibrant blue eyes both glittering and sinfully dark… A mixture leaving you lost for words before you’d even started…

 You couldn’t even describe how and what you felt. There was so much ‘pleasure’ that it was almost an out of body experience; you��d done this so many times and yet…this time left you wondering if this was actually happening… It was both too hot and yet cool; and completely sober you realised that you both seemed to fit together perfectly – his pale skin gliding smoothly over yours, creating fire at every point of contact. His kisses were deliciously hot, hungrier and yet still holding the gentle temperament that he always tried to keep with you…  How did he manage to keep control? You’d lose it if it wasn’t for him; but then again, you had lost it because of him…

That lustful tangle of limbs, an embrace; just a series of short kisses and even shorter breaths. His eyes were perfectly dark, passionate and they slowly became your point of focus…  You tangled your hands through his neat grey hair as he ran his lips over yours again… It was more than perfection… More than any excitement you’d ever experienced… More than bliss… There were no words anymore to describe the way this made you feel… HE made you feel…

His hand crept slowly down you left arm – although now calm… it still made your skin tingle as he whispered incoherent sentences in your ear. When his hand found yours you instinctively laced your fingers with his and kissed him again…You weren’t sure, and couldn’t be certain. Far too tired, and half way to sleep before the words passed your lips, but if you were to whisper anything to him then… Whatever you said…Not incoherently… Just purely honest… Too tired to remember and probably to care what kind of feelings were thus spilled from your lips, you just hoped that you had let him know how much he meant to you…

***

When you awoke to sunlight and his steady breathing you knew you’d made a mistake. You covered your face with your hands and let out a gentle groan. “Damn…” Staying wasn’t the problem, sleeping with him wasn’t the problem. Breaking a promise to yourself? You were just a little disappointed. You shifted your gaze to him, still sleeping but holding you strong in his arms and sighed in content; only a little… You gently brushed strands of his hair from his face and wriggled your body to nuzzle into his chest. As you might expect, the next thing you heard was the rumble of his laugh building there, and then running across your skin. His fingers danced across your shoulders as he caressed you, and you felt his lips against your forehead. “You stayed…” “You think I had a choice?” “…I would expect as such that you would leave.” “Are you kicking me out of your bed, Sheriff…?” Your enquiry was met with a huff; “No. I’m just used to your long string of babbled regret…” “Ah, well, usually I’ve been drinking and basically regret everything…” You sighed “Oh, I really did it this time.” “…How so?” He pulled slightly away from you so that he could gaze at you properly; tilting your chin so that your eyes met his “…I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.” “Oh, am I that unsatisfactory?” “NO!” You protested, disliking his slightly hurt pout, “No…” you took his hand in yours “…In myself… every time this happens we’re drinking and I…” you paused for a minute, and your face lit up in realisation; “But I DIDN’T DRINK!” “No, and how with all those people, I have no idea. I need your tolerance…!” You tilted your head with a smile; “Well, now I’m proud of myself. I did one thing right…” “Just the one?” You pushed the Sheriff’s arm at his cheeky smile “If I can keep half a promise, then that’s half a promise more than I expected…” But you’d realised something else; “…But… I always thought this happened because of the wine… Maybe that’s not…” you hesitated, biting your lip “…The issue.” “I fail to see any issue with this.” He kissed your face again, and continued to afford you butterfly kisses as you attempted to get an explanation out; “It’s unsustainable…!!” “Then stay…” His voice was soft, but that wasn’t what shocked you. “…Stay here, to be with me.” On receiving no response his eyes met yours again; “…Was that not a good suggestion?” Your eyes were wide; and for once there was something in them he didn’t recognise. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you scared before. You swallowed, blinking your fear away; “I- I can’t.” “Why?” He pulled you closer, as if you were about to scurry out of bed and leave him here alone “Well I… I don’t even really like Nottingham.” You took a deep breath and bit your lip again, this time leading into a smirk; “But---! I do think you could persuade me…” As expected, the Sheriff caught your wave length immediately, and caught your smirk with a teasing one of his own – leaving a chaste kiss on your lips before rolling you over; “...Oh, I think I know how...”

--- Thank You For Requesting!! 😘😘😘 Damn are we at 5 and 5! These have been so much fun to write!! 😊 @dennismitchell @krnncsbtch @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Charity: Most People Are Good - Emmett Dutton x Reader (Australia)

Author’s Note: I HOPE YOU BROUGHT YOUR INSULIN!!!  What have I done-!? This is ridiculous! I just really love writing him like this, he’s the perfect Mendo for it. I’m really surprised that I’ve only written him once before this! So Thank You for requesting him! Because he deserves a lot of love 💕 And the other was your idea too... sooo...

Disclaimer: Characters from Australia not mine / Requested Plot Not Mine / If you don’t have a Luke Bryan song in your playlist what kind of Mendo are you-!? AKA: Lyrics not mine

Premise: As Requested by @3134045126 😘 After the bombing everyone is leaving. A whole bunch of boys have been rescued - who's going to watch after them? Cue Reader! They make it to Adelaide; cue Reader who takes on the job of watching over the rescued boys who have no family, other than Brother Frank- Reader is sweet, and kind. Basically mothers all the boys. Giving up all her time, energy and resources to make sure the boys are well taken care of. Enter the Captain who notices  her and all she's doing for the boys and decides to be as helpful as possible. Cue a gentle, sweet romance started from these two taking care of the children.

Words: 4490

Warnings: N/A... But I meant it about the insulin... 

I believe kids oughta stay kids as long as they can ...Go climb a tree, get dirt on their hands I believe we gotta forgive and make amends 'Cause nobody gets a second chance to make new old friends I believe in working hard for what you've got Even if it don't add up to a hell of a lot I believe them streets of gold are worth the work But I still wanna go even if they were paved in dirt I believe that youth is spent well on the young 'Cause wisdom in your teens would be a lot less fun I believe if you just go by the nightly news Your faith in all mankind would be the first thing you lose I believe most people are good And most mama's oughta qualify for sainthood I believe you love who you love Ain't nothing you should ever be ashamed of I believe this world ain't half as bad as it looks I believe most people are good

---

noun

an organization set up to provide help and raise money for those in need.

the voluntary giving of help, typically in the form of money, to those in need.

Adelaide. Dutton didn’t think he’d ever seen something so beautiful in his entire life. Having said that it could have been anything. After Darwin. But, they were due to meet the main convoy here. So… Adelaide was the place he decided was the most beautiful. It's been a long hard journey. 30+ hours would be had enough if he only had his troops to think about. But Emmett Dutton now had a group of Mission Children to think of also. And any time he could he would have the convoy break to let the children be children. Even if that only lasted 10 minutes at a time. He was plenty glad for Brother Frank at all times. Because Emmett couldn’t look after all these kids alone. Much as he would like to try. It surprised him even more how much he found himself caring for these kids. He wasn’t never a kids person. He just wasn’t at all sure he was good at it. Frank was nearly 100% sure that he was. And even other members of his troop took time for the children. They didn’t have much considering all that had happened in Darwin, but… Everyone shared everything. It was on one such break that Emmett contemplated the future of the children. Usually if he wasn’t amongst the children himself he would stand watching them with a smile. There was still innocence at a time of war. Or he would just be happy… that there were good things. He had to continue to remind himself that there were still good things. However today Emmett Dutton looked worried. And Frank noticed this, wandering over; “Penny for your thoughts, Captain.” Emmett chewed his lip thoughtfully “…Brother Frank… tell me, when we get to Adelaide… what happens to the children?” Dutton already knew it was likely he would have to move his troops on. The convoy was not about to just end in Adelaide. It was likely Australia would play a bigger part in the war now. Would he have to travel to Europe to fight? To the USA? He shook that thought away as quickly as he could and turned to his companion for answers. “Well… Adelaide is a big place. It will have a Church.” “Surely the church cannot look after so many…?” It wasn’t Emmett didn’t think it possible. But the money, the people, the resource? …The fact the children were Aboriginal?... He’d seen so much injustice already done due to that. And adoption was so hard he didn’t expect anything to happen there of any consequence either. He’d explained that to Sarah many times. (And watched her fight it, though… He had to admit as much to himself). It certainly hadn’t deterred her, hopefully they would find more such people in the city… What Emmett thought they needed was another woman like her. “Well. God works in mysterious ways…” Emmett raised an eyebrow; “Indeed he may, but… Don’t these boys need a mother as well?” Frank’s face suddenly beamed; “I’m sure they will get one Captain. It’s only a shame I am not able to call ahead!” *** So now he was here in Adelaide, Emmett hoped that Brother Frank’s promise would pay off. Dutton wasn’t worried. But, now it was like these children were his. And he wanted to make sure they were well looked after and taken care of. The majority of the main army convoy was already here; but he was told that those from Darwin were allowed respite. Thank God. And rightly so after what they had been through. This gave Emmett precious time. And now he was tailing Brother Frank through the streets. “…So… Will they go here? Not the Church?” “If she can take them all. I’m sure she can! She has… the room, and the monetary resource at least.” “How do you know all this!?” “She does a great deal for the Church that is well documented. I’m sure she will be up for this too…” They continued on walking, and ended up a little way out of Adelaide… And Emmett couldn’t help but stop dead. Frank continued on; happy disposition as always, through the front gate and down the path. Emmett thought Faraway Downs was big; but it had nothing on this. In fact this was like taking Faraway Downs and planting it in the middle of a city… Maybe it was even bigger than the Administrators property in Darwin. “W-Wait… She lives here!?” “That’s right!” “Alone!?” How could one person manage an estate like this all by herself? “Yes.” Then Frank corrected himself; “Well, she probably wouldn’t by choice!!! But does, by circumstance.” They weren’t even all the way down the path before you were outside. And Emmett discovered the second most beautiful thing he had seen today. Your eyes flicked between them, amused. “You gentlemen look like you could be here for completely different reasons… And that you’ve seen better days. Should I invite you in, or are you simply too busy…?” You walked down the steps to join them on the path, addressing them correctly “Brother, Captain… How may I be of assistance?” You looked between them again. Okay, fine. He was cute by the clergyman was off limits, but the Captain... Well, someone that easy on the eye couldn’t have been single. “Actually we are…” There was a second pause, before the sentence was clarified “Here for the same reason, I mean!” “Oh!” You smiled, what could the Church and the army have in common? If the Captain was about to ask you to host troops that would make sense. But what did the Church have to do with something like that? “We have come from Darwin.” Your eyes widened, and you placed a hand over your mouth as you gasped; “Oh my goodness! I heard-! We all did! Oh-! Wow, my goodness… I’m… I’m so sorry… Are you all, okay?” “Those of us that made it… But, there were some children sent to mission island. It was hit, but, the majority survived.”  Your expression instantly softened, and Emmett took instant note of this as Frank continued; “I heard you might be the person to talk to…” “You want me to foster…. Children?” You tilted your head, but you were suddenly beaming; turning back to the Captain. “But what is the Army’s stake in this?” “Personal only… Ma’m.” You smiled; “Y/N. Call me Y/N… Please.” Then you realised “OH! I didn’t ask-!” “Oh!” He held out his hand instantly, manners maketh man, Emmett!! “Dutton. Captain Emmett Dutton… And this is Brother Frank.” “Emmett…” You liked that, and showed it by saying his name with a sweet smile; you took his hand “Thank you, for your service.” ***

 It surprised you that he was still around, so you certainly hadn't expected to run into him in the middle of town; "Oh! Captain Dutton! I expected you to be long gone by now..." "No no, not yet at any rate. Just waiting for the next posting... And please... Call me Emmett..." "Emmett..." you agreed, "I like that, it's a nice name..." You weren't sure if you were really complimenting him or it was just inane babble, but he seemed to turn a faint shade of pink anyway. "Thank you... But I shall not be taking the credit there..." he smiled "Can I be of any assistance...? You must have a lot to do, all things considered...?" "Oh... That’s sweet of you, thank you..." you let him walk in step with you, smile on your face "I'm just letting them settle right now. Brother Frank is a good help too... But... You have done so much for them already Captain, bringing them here... That’s very heroic..." you looked to his face for a minute; his hesitation. Probably to correct you on his name again. "Emmett! Sorry!" "That's okay... And I don't know about heroic... But they certainly needed to be far from mission island and Darwin..." "Mission Island... Oh. I see." you shook your head "They should be allowed to return home, don't you think?" "Well, maybe we can do that together..." You weren't sure if he was being truthful, but by the look in his eyes you would believe anything Emmett said, and that intensity. That belief as you had that that would be the right thing to do, took your breath away. "Y-yes... When all this is over..." Dutton nodded; “Well, hopefully that won’t be too long… I would hope humanity would have the decency to put a stop to this…” He shook his head “Maybe I shouldn’t go on believing it, but…” Emmett shrugged almost helplessly “When that’s all we have…” You smiled despite this; “You’ve not given up your faith in us all yet… Even with what you must have seen in Darwin?” “If anything it’s only made me more defiant. The world will get through this… They said the last war was ‘the war to end all wars.’ Maybe this one will actually do it.” You tipped your head “…Will we win?” “If it was all so black and white…” but he laughed “…I would think, in the end, the people who are meant to prevail will… But our most immediate problems… The things we can change…” He paused his walk, and turned to you – inspired “…Are right here!”

Emmett and you continued to wander around town together as he helped you run errands and shop for groceries. You hated to admit how much you enjoyed his company. Not because you wanted to come off standoffish, but because you knew that one day he would have to leave. And it would be soon. He wouldn't have reason to be here, in reality if they stationed him back up north... If he was so used to Darwin, he'd be so far away from you. You didn't want to start something just to see it all end. But you couldn't help falling for him. He was charming and sweet. How could you not?

 "Emmett, come in for a little while, I'm sure they'd like to see you..." "well, I suppose I have time. Are you sure you don't mind?" "i just invited you didn't I...!?" you quirked your eyebrow - "Of course, also its only polite that seen as you helped me with all of this." "Oh no! That's nothing, any time..." You folded your arms with a subtle shake of your head; "That's not nothing... Anyway, please, just accept my gratitude and come inside!?" He laughed; "okay, you won't need to tell me twice..." Of course as soon as you got him through the door and the children realised, they were all over him. "Woah-! Woah-! Okay...boys!!" Emmett was laughing again, which you loved; it made you smile. So much it started to hurt to smile for much longer. "Just let me help Y/N alright then I will come and see you..." When he finally got some of the younger children to let him go, with a little encouragement from you - you both slipped into the kitchen: "I suppose you get that a lot?" he straightened out his shirt, looking curiously back into the corridor where several of them were watching you both "Less than you would think... But you? Oh, they talk about you all the time..." "Really!?" "Mmm, oh, Captain I know all your stories second hand. Granted there's some variations on what actually happened, and I certainly wouldn't pass up the opportunity to hear them first hand, But! Yes, they certainly like you a lot. And you obviously care for them deeply..." He turned back to you, and that look on your face he hoped he might be reading correctly. But also made him bashful: admiration? Why? Hadn’t he done what any decent human would do? He felt he'd done far less than you... “Oh I…” he struggled with what was best to say, so he opted for a simple “Thank you…” instead. “No… Thank you.” Emmett set about helping you put things away, but you realised pretty quickly that you had gathered a small audience, laughing with him like this. That was understandable, they were equally curious on what was making you so happy (not that you weren’t always) and Emmett himself. Eventually you pushed him gently towards the door “Go on…” “We aren’t even finished-!” You waved away his protests “Go on, they want to listen to you… I’ll come through when I’m finished…” He hesitated “Y/N… I… Are you sure?” “They want to see you! Go on, I mean, how much time may you really get with them?” “I suppose you’re right… But I…” “Emmett…” You pushed him gently again; “Please, go!” He looked like he didn’t want to leave you, so even when he walked from the room, he did it slowly – almost pleading with you to pull him back. You couldn’t help your cheeky wink; “I won’t make you wait long!” He had to laugh again; and turned back to the children once again clambering all over him to pull him through into your extensive living room. “Okay! Okay! It’s alright! I’m here…” You tidied away and then wandered through. Each and every one of them was engrossed in every single word. And you sat yourself on the arm of one of the sofas with some of the younger children to listen too. You barely heard a word that Emmett said, and he barely registered that you’d even walked in, but the way he told it… The way he wasn’t even that animated, but his passion, the way he spoke… everything had everyone in that room hanging on his every word. You weren’t surprised that when you finally had the inclination to look at the clock it was late; But you still waited until the appropriate time to interrupt his story; “OH! Boys… Dinner…” Several of them leapt up immediately to eagerly assist you.  Emmett stood “I suppose I better get going…” “Nonsense, Captain… Would you please join us? It’s only fair, considering all your help in town and telling us such wonderful stories… Also, you can finish them over dinner… What do you say boys?” “Yes! Please! Please stay…!” The clamour of voices all politely asked the same thing. And Dutton wasn’t about to resist them or you; “Oh… Then, I suppose I better stay… Thank you…” You grinned; “I better ask now if you can cook!” “Oh I---” he laughed nervously “I… Suppose I can… You do tend to pick up a few things, here and there…” You nodded, that would do, all you really needed was another pair of (firm but fair) hands to help you out. “Well, Captain, I suppose it’s time for you to put those skills to the test…” “Oh. If I’d have known there was a test… I’m not sure I would have accepted the invitation!” ***

Turned out that his ‘you pick up a few things’ was neither wrong, nor exactly truthful. "Why don't you stop acting so humble?!" you giggled slightly, "At this rate its gonna turn out you cook better than me!” He laughed, but blush swept his face “No! Oh gosh! I wouldn't want to show you up..!" "Too late captain!" but you were both laughing. You had some of the boys help you with the easier things and then sent them on their way again before returning to cooking. Emmett let himself just watch you for a minute, how you made 10 things at once look easy.

He couldn't help it; "You're amazing, you know?" it was quiet, like a thought he hadn't meant to slip out and yet he wanted to You turned to him "Me!? No... I'm... Doing what anyone would do..." "No, no... This... Is amazing. Those boys deserve a mother and... For sure you are one... They couldn't have done better than this. But you must have helped so many people... Brother Frank alluded to it but... You are nothing short of incredible." "Captain, please..." you pressed your hands to your face, feeling it heat up, you'd never been very good at taking compliments. You didn't do this to be noticed after all, but so that other people could live a better life, or pick themselves up. He crossed to you for a minute "All you're doing, people should just thank you more often." "Well, they think I'm crazy for doing it..." His voice was quiet again "Well, I don't..." You looked back into his eyes, still blushing. Well I don't was possibly the most significant thing he'd yet said. And he'd said a lot that meant something to you. He still had that ever so sweet smile of admiration on his face. And he was getting to you. You were close enough to feel the heat from his body; and something within you was pining for that closeness – for his touch… or his love. But it couldn’t have been just you, you couldn’t have just been imagining that he was leaning closer to you. That made you instinctively lean into him. And this could happen, you could kiss, and it could be like some kind of fairy tale. And all this went through your head very quickly. Of course, reality had something to say about that – as the timer in the corner of the kitchen went off. SERIOUSLY!? He pulled away from you and took a polite step back as if he was forgetting himself; “Oh… I… I’m sorry…” You wanted to tell him not to apologise; you wanted to grab him and tell him to kiss me, dammit! But you couldn’t. Your face was still flushed and what you did do was say “It’s okay… don’t worry…” NO! DAMMIT! Y/N! IT’S NOT OKAY! IT COULD HAVE BEEN A PERFECT KISS!!! No time to dwell on that, with dinner ready, but both of you did. Standing looking at each other, hesitant for just a few more moments… Until one of the older boys cleared his throat; “Should I tell everyone it’s ready, Miss Y/N?” You didn’t want to tear your eyes from Emmett, but you had to; “Yes! Thank you!” *** Dinner passed quickly, but Emmett continued his anecdotes to the boys. Every so often one of them would pick up on a story thread of his and begin sharing a story of their own; and Emmett liked watching how you gave it your undivided attention. You reacted appropriately, and asked relevant questions. You made every boy around that table feel special. And when you caught Emmett’s eye and smiled like that, that number included him.   He stayed long after dinner was over, and helped you both tidy away and put the boys to bed. Which he found was not an easy task. “Drink?” You couldn’t help giggle at his slightly bedraggled exhausted look as he tried to neaten his appearance; “Please… I don’t know how you do it! You’re a Saint.” “Oh-! Sometimes I don’t think they’d think so-!” You gave a wink, “Can be the total opposite if they won’t behave!” He shook his head, mocking shock; “I don’t believe a word of it!” You sat him outside and handed him a glass as a night cap. The air was still warm even though the sun had long since set, and it made for a pleasant evening. There was comfortable silence as you both admired the scene of your garden, lit every so often by the glow of fireflies, and you could think about the evening in a little detail. Eventually you broke the silence with a hesitant question; “Do you have kids?” He turned those inquisitive blue eyes back on you, “NO. No… Single…” You wondered why he’d added that statement, because that wasn’t what you had asked. Single wasn’t a qualifier for if he’d ever had kids. And unless he meant always been single which you couldn’t believe for a moment, it certainly had no relevance. “You’re good with kids…” You mused, finishing your glass and setting it down “That’s worth something?” You smiled back at him, gently “I think it is…” His next smile was significant as he fielded your compliment back; “You’re a good mother.” You opened your mouth to respond, but it was like it suddenly all hit you, and you took a noticeable deep breath out “I learned from a good mother…” “So you aren’t one?” “No… I had a lot of younger siblings who moved out… They are all around Australia and Europe now… some of them…” You looked back to the house “…I stayed to help look after my parents… and when they both passed on… I thought what better to do with their house than look after people…” “You really are a Saint.” You turned back to him; how he seemed to voice some kind of clarity that hit you again, full force. And your heart yearned for him. To have him here to tell you things you so desperately wanted to hear… “Maybe…” Your voice was quiet, and when you looked away from him again he reached for your hand; “Not a maybe… you have compassion and generosity that you can’t show gratitude for with mere words… And yet you do this all without shouting it from rooftops.” “I don’t do it to be noticed, I do it because, like you, I want to believe there can still be good in the world – even if I have to do it all by myself…” He set his glass down; and took your other hand in his; “Y/N… Believe me, you are not alone.” And in that moment, what you knew he meant was you have me. *** It was a few days later when Dutton found the time to wander back to your house to see you and the children again. You were out in the back garden when he arrived; still expertly keeping the attention of all the children. Engrossed in some story or other you were telling. Acting out scenes here and there with the help of some of the older boys. Emmett couldn't help but laugh to himself as he watched from your porch, relaxing himself by leaning against it. From here he was in the shade from the hot afternoon sunlight but it didn't seem to bother you or them in the slightest.

Eventually your eyes caught his, and you turned to the older boys to keep the game going whilst you took a breather; "Captain! You're still here!" The way you were beaming and the sunshine hit your hair and eyes and made you literally glow, was the reason that just this once he didn't bother correcting you; "You always sound so surprised!" He turned his full attention from the children to you as you joined him. "Well, I just don't want to get my hopes up that you'll stay..." Emmett tried and failed not to read too much into that, and his smile was gracious "Well... You never know, perhaps you should..." He nodded to the children in order to swiftly change the subject, "they all seem to be getting on well." "Yes, thanks to you." "Me!? You-!" "Emmett you rescued them!" "Not I... A good friend of mine... I simply delivered them into your care... You have saved these children... You have given them a far better life that they would have received on mission island I can tell you that..." You shook your head, placing your hand on his to turn him back to you; “But as I say, they always ask after you... Emmett... When you're coming around next, if you’re going to spend the day here... Every time they see you... I wish you would stay..."

He watched the way that your eyes nervously left his, how you bit your lip and stared at his chest instead. From nowhere he gained a moment of courage, and instead of the nervous laugh he felt, Emmett spoke up, this time entwining your fingers properly with his. "Is that the only reason you wish I would stay?" This time you did blush; those soft blue eyes and that sweet smile became too much and you could feel the heat from his face at your almost kiss again. “Maybe not… But it shouldn’t always be about me…” He couldn’t help his chuckle, you were probably the most charitable, unselfish person he’d ever known. How could anything you did ever always be about you? “Then tell me…” Tell me what I want to hear; that’s what he was pleading with you to say… But you weren’t hearing that, because you didn’t want to believe it could be true. “You told me I was a good mother…” He tilted his head, “I did. And meant it…” You decided there was no time to be bolder and looked back into his eyes with confidence; “Well… I figure those boys need a good father figure too…” “Heh…” he bit his lip gently, but smiled through it “That’d require me to stay.” “No… Just be there when you can be…” “Well what about you?” “What about me…?” He tried again, this time more obvious “Maybe I would hope you weren’t just saying that… for them…” “…Why are you asking me to say it?” Emmett gave a little shrug; “Because maybe if I hear you say it I will know it’s true. What you really want.” You took a breath; “I don’t know what I want…” You shook your head “I want you to stay, if you can stay… of course I do. But if you must leave, then I want you to come back… But what I know for sure, is that what I wanted the other night…” You hesitated a moment and swallowed “I just wish…” You shook your head “I should have kissed you.”

For a moment he couldn’t believe that you would be that forward, but he liked it. He loved it. “Well, I feel we should rectify that situation… If you would allow me to kiss you?” Your eyes widened slightly, you knew it! You’d known it… You should have done something then… But he was doing something now. So your smile was confident as you looked back into his eyes “You may.” He kept your hands respectfully in his, and leaned in slow and gentle, you closed your eyes. Hardly daring to believe that this was real; that it was really a dream that you were about to wake up from. But as his lips touched yours you held his hands a little tighter; and pulled him in closer. No dream would compare to this. The kiss was just as soft and sweet as he was, and you kept your eyes closed as he broke it and placed his forehead gently to yours. You realised that you didn’t need to ask him to stay, that that kiss was a promise. No matter what the future held, he would return to you.

--- 🙈 Was that too sweet?! Ah! Sorry babe! But thank you for requesting him! As ever 😘💙💜 Eeeeek! 4 Virtues Down!

#MendoTagSquad! @dennismitchell @krnncsbtch @happyskywhale

[smolbeandrabbles]

Wrath: Next Contestant - Director Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

Authors Note: As requested by @alotofrandomfangirling 😘😘😘 Hope you enjoy! My darling! ❤ Thank you for your request! Oh my god. SO instantly my mind went to “I’d Be Jealous Too” by Dustin Lynch... and “Jealous” by Nick Jonas... But then... They are far too cute for “Wrath” so I remembered THIS gem by Nickelback and laughed way too hard. So that’s my song of choice... But really this has like a three song theme... Genuinely do not f*** with his girl

Disclaimer: I do not own Krennic sobs / Anything star wars Idea also not mine but a #GreatRequest

Premise (As Requested):  Maybe some guy tries to hit on the reader at one of those parties and Orson gets super mad at him? Jealous!Krennic, basically.

Words: 2892

Warnings: Ha. Like one swear word? / Blood / Drinking(?)

I judge by what she's wearing Just how many heads I'm tearing Off of assholes coming on to her Each night seems like it's getting worse And I wish she'd take the night off So I don't have to fight off Every asshole coming on to her   I'm hating what she's wearing Everybody here keeps staring Can't wait 'till they get what they deserve This time somebody's getting hurt Here comes the next contestant Is that your hand on my girlfriend? Is that your hand? I wish you'd do it again I'll watch you leave here limping I wish you'd do it again I'll watch you leave here limping And I wish you'd do it again Each night seems like it's getting worse And I wish you'd do it again This time somebody's getting hurt There goes the next contestant

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noun

extreme anger.

Krennic hated this. Well, no... correction he didn't hate THIS. But he hated leaving you alone. That's why whenever the ship was in for repairs or the crew got a few days respite and you went to hang with your friends, he always needed to know every detail of what you were doing, with whom and when. On the hour by the hour. You better believe he wanted an update. Especially if that schedule happened to change. Most of the time he was busy anyway, but every so often he'd clear a space in his schedule and meet you for lunch or... take you to some kind of magnificent architectural structure... But when you told him you were going out on the town for a girls night out, that meant you didn't want him to go.

 He ignored you. Because he knew somewhere some smart-mouthed loser - who, by the way, wasn't good enough for you - would appear and think maybe he had some kind of chance with you. And Krennic couldn't stand the thought of that. So here he was, sitting at the bar - working - but paying close attention to you and your group of friends. He wanted more than anything to be right out there with you... Maybe your friends would call it a night? Maybe he'd get you all to himself. He fired off another email - or maybe not... Maybe he would just have to be content to watch you all night.

 You knew he was here. You knew he would be, at the way he'd watched you getting ready. The way he huffed any time you lingered on an outfit he thought was too revealing (hypocritical as ever. If he was taking you out he’d have no qualms.) making you roll your eyes. He wouldn't say it but he was begging you to turn to him with a smile and ask him to come. For even one dance, one drink... It wouldn't matter as long as he got to be close to you. It was strange, because you felt like the last thing you wanted was him acting like you needed protecting, or watching. But with him here you felt safer. If anyone tried anything, it would probably be the last thing they ever tried. He was in rank uniform. You didn't mess with the Empire anyway, much less with a director. Of the Advanced Weapons Research Division, no less.

 Plenty of men had already come up to you tonight, asking for a dance... your name... your number... could they buy you a drink? You politely turned down every single one of them. You were taken (truthfully!), you were on a girl’s night, but, that was sweet of them to offer...  They took the hint, usually with a joke of how much that was a shame… And how lucky he was… You were sure he’d be agreeing if he could hear it. If he would have been close enough to hear it though, they wouldn’t have got within 50 yards of you.

Krennic was getting increasingly more agitated, though. Sometimes he hoped that one would overstep the mark because he was itching to spring into action. You could tell them you were seeing someone, but he wanted to show them who that was. His jaw tightened as the next man made his way through the crowd. It irked him more if they were cadets - certainly not worthy of the time of a ranked officer such as yourself - or if they were Empire at all. Sometimes that meant they found themselves on assignments that were less than ideal. He didn't care, he thought they were crossing boundaries. If they were local at least he knew they'd never see you again. He turned back to his work; his typing became increasingly erratic as he fired off another angry email. He knew it got to him, and it shouldn't, because he knew you were faithful. But that didn't stop him thinking they could keep their hands off you. You were his.

 You headed to the bar, needing a drink. You were aiming to head away from him, let him do his thing - he was clearly working too. But, for Krennic even though nothing was more important than his work nothing was more important than you. (Un)fortunately your friends spotted him and dragged you to his side of the bar. You weren’t sure why, maybe they thought he’d offer up his own credits for their drinks too? You noticed the little smirk on his face, even though he wasn't looking at you as he scanned his notes. That was better, you were in proximity, and he could hear every word you said and was spoken to you. Your friends nudged you to go talk to him but you shook your head, ordering your drink. "Girls night, remember?" "Oh. Girl. C'mon, he's your man." "I knooow he's my man. Which is why when you call it a night he's gonna drag me to another bar." Where he would hold you close and dance with you the way he wanted.   Unfortunately, his closeness was not enough. "Hey, beautiful." Here we go again... You turned to the next guy; "Please don't call me that." "Then what would you like to be called..." You huffed; he was clearly more than just a few drinks in. Over his shoulder you could tell Krennic was listening intently, he'd stopped writing and he was clearly only pretending to look at his screen. "...By my name..." "Which is?" You weren't going to answer that "...Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm seeing someone... I'm sure there’s plenty of other gorgeous single women in this bar, though..." He laughed; "Yeah. Babe, that’s what they all say..." Babe? Babe!? You told yourself to keep playing it cool, and not just for your own sake "I’m sure - only this time it’s really true." "Doll, I don't see a ring so...." Oh yeah - because that was the only possible way you could be taken. Couldn’t be true if he hadn’t put a ring on it… Your eyes flicked back to Krennic and the way his jaw tightened. The tension across his shoulders. If you didn't stop this right now this guy was going to get in all kinds of the wrong trouble. "Yeah, But... I'm not single... so..." "C'mon, let me buy you a drink." "I have one..." You hadn't paid your credits yet but- "Then let me buy you that one. Get to know you."  Krennic took a deep breath - Bless him for trying to control himself - but you knew every man that had come up to you tonight was one man closer to getting punched in the face. And Krennic had a mean backhand. "...You don't need to get to know me though, do you...? I'm taken. Please leave me alone... I can pay for my own drink." You turned away from him, but he roughly turned you back. Well, now he'd put his hands on you so, he was screwed. Krennic's attention was no longer on his notes, and those blue eyes of his were cold. S***. The last thing you wanted was to cause any trouble. "Baby doll, listen. You’re not gonna get a better offer than me all night." He pressed himself up against you and you watched Krennic turn in his seat. So much for the number of times you told him you didn't need saving. "So. I'm going to buy you a drink, and we're going to get to know one another Ok." "No..." You didn’t like that he was telling you this information either. "Are you listening!?"

"I think the lady said she wanted to be left alone." That made him turn. Krennic was looking back to his screen, acting like he'd overhead the conversation by accident, even though his body was turned into it. You swallowed, his voice was exceedingly calm and you knew what that meant. Krennic that calm meant he was at tipping point and he would snap any second. The man scoffed, still pressed up uncomfortably close to your body; "Yeah, well no-one asked you." He turned back to you, and opened his mouth again. Krennic just turned eyebrow raised, wondering if this guy was Empire. Probably not, but that also meant he hadn't noticed Krennic's uniform. Rude.  "Maybe not. But I think you should respect her wishes.” His voice was much more insistant this time around. "Man, the only thing she wishes is she was with me." Well, this was already exasperating... Krennic still wasn’t out of his seat, but he ran his tongue over the inside of his bottom lip. He was trying not to make a scene, but if this guy insisted. "I really would just leave her alone. She asked nicely. I wouldn't try it." "OR what, old man?!  Why don't you go back to your drawings." Old man-!? Krennic's eyebrows furrowed. Geez. That was original. It didn’t necessarily bother him – he knew the gap between the two of you was considerable. But between him and this guy; who was actually getting some from you? Also, drawings!?! DRAWINGS!?! Architectural schematics. Please! A few for some of the most important things the Empire was currently working on. What was the name of this planet..? It was increasingly becoming a strong contender to test the laser out on.

 You were amazed that somehow Krennic was still seated. But that wouldn't last. The guy had been impolite to you, uncivil with your lover and had topped it off with screwing with Krennic’s work. Awesome! This time when he turned back to you he was a little more forceful; his hands were on your shirt, trying to get up your shirt. And he was rough and forceful and you couldn't help your yelp.

All of a sudden, the man was dragged backwards, and then slam-! his face hit the bar. It made you jump. And everyone present in the bar turned. Krennic's eyes were now burning; it was one thing to talk to you like that, but it was quite another to put his hands on you. And so disrespectfully? It didn't surprise you that Krennic was pissed. He was strong too; this guy was clearly struggling to get off the bar as Krennic held him there. "You're going to want to apologise to her. Right now." He'd significantly turned the volume up. Authoritative. Commanding. Like he was giving orders to his troopers, but a lot less courteous. "Screw you man." Krennic sighed, he wasn't in the mood to ask nicely twice. He lifted the guy’s head again and this time when he slammed him into the bar there was blood. Krennic unholstered his blaster. "Apologise." The guy wasn't getting back-up from anywhere - you didn't argue with a pissed off Imperial Director. The man was still defiant - this time Orson didn’t sigh, but growled angrily as he took the safety off his weapon. He'd damn well use it if he had to. "S-Sorry! I'm sorry--!" It sounded pathetic, and the look you and Krennic both shared meant you knew it.

Orson lifted him off the bar again, this time slamming his back into it and grabbed his shirt - blaster still very much in play. "If I catch you ANYWHERE near her, or another woman, doing the same thing again I won't give you any warnings." His voice was as scary as it was sexy, and a shiver rolled up your spine. It was times like this that you realised just who Krennic was... Blood was almost pouring from this guy’s nose and mouth and a cut across his eye... Good. Something should be broken and he should learn his lesson then. The guy swallowed "Y-Yes sir." Noticed the uniform now, had he? Better – but Orson wasn’t impressed. Krennic let him go "Get out."

 He couldn't scramble from Krennic's grip quick enough. There was a good period of silence, whilst Krennic holstered his blaster and sat back down. Slowly the bar slipped into conversation but... you were still staring at him. He still looked angry. The way he was biting his lip and staring hard at absolutely nothing. In one quick decisive movement he shut his tablet down and gathered the notes he was making. Chucking what was left of the dark glass of whisky back, he stood. His mood was ruined, and his evening was ruined. And maybe yours too, so there was no point in staying. He handed his Empire Black Card over; to settle any damages...

Orson gave one last look back to you; probably looking a little sterner than he had meant. You didn't need to say thank you, he knew that much, of course he would do that for you. He loved you. He gave a nod, and then stalked out of the bar.

 You weren't sure what to do, as you watched him leave. Did he want you to follow him? Did he want you to stay here and enjoy the rest of your night? Well- what were you going to do if someone else tried the same thing? you took a decisive breath and turned to your friends; "I’m sorry I gotta go..." They completely understood, and ushered you out of the bar. You had to run to keep up.

“Krennic...!!!" He was way on down the street. His aura, or his look?, you couldn't tell with his back to you, made everyone swiftly dodge out of his way. You weren't surprised; even how he was walking and the way his shoulders set looked pretty imposing. "Orson! Wait!!" He slowed to a stop at your call. "...Thank you..." Just because you didn't need to vocalise it didn't mean he didn't deserve you to. "Don’t thank me. It wasn’t your fault...” There was a few second pause “Why did you leave?!" It was sharper in tone than he had wanted. He knew by the look on your face as he turned. "I know... But I just... Are you okay..?" Your eyes flicked to his uniform. Spatters of red stood out against the white. No wonder people were getting out of his way... "I'm fine." Again he snapped at you. But he looked more angry with himself for doing so. But it made you smile, and then laugh. And red shaded his cheeks because he knew you were laughing at him. "What!?!" He shouted it, but his tone and line was softer. You couldn't help it. "You're jealous! That's what it is! You always get so jealous! You're not fine at all!" You found it slightly endearing. He frowned in an attempt to fervently deny it "I AM NOT! He shouldn't be putting his hands on anyone like that!" "But it wasn't anyone..." You walked towards him, your look nothing short of teasing, "It was me." He puffed his cheeks and let a breath out, looking anywhere but your face for a moment. "I can't help it.... Look at you..." He brushed your hair from your face; "And it's different. You making me jealous on purpose and what they're doing." "Oh. So you're saying I should have flirted back." Your look was still teasing. He was right, sometimes you liked to make him jealous, because you knew what that would lead to. Usually him dragging you to his office shoving you against a wall, getting angry and kissing you like tomorrow was never going to come. Krennic got too emotional sometimes, and Tarkin wasn't the only one who noticed and pointed it out. Only, you used it for your own means. Sometimes riling him up was fun. But he knew your games. He was right, this was a different thing... "That is NOT what I said!" You laughed again, then looked to the floor as you bit your lip; "Okay... okay I'm sorry..." He tipped your chin so you met his eyes again; "I worry about you." Now it was your turn to blush "I know you do." "Well. Then…" "But now I worry about you - like how are you going to spend the rest of your evening?!" He gave a shrug "Calming down??" You tipped your head "Anything I can do to help." "No. This is a ‘yelling at people constructing everything wrong’ kind of calm do-" You silenced him with a kiss, and he didn't let you pull back from it. "Oh. Ok." "Are you sure I can't help?" He took a step back, and checked his watch "Well, they'll be just about packing away for the evening. They think. Trust me there'll be about 10 errors, why Tarkin can't send me engineers that actually damn well know how to do the job I don't know! I'll set them all straight. Don't you worry..." He smiled back at you "Meet me in my quarters... say around 23:30?" 23:30 - you almost rolled your eyes, back on military time. Still - his quarters? "I'll be there." "Damn right you will." He said it with a smirk "Enjoy the rest of your night, Darling. I will see you shortly. Be prompt. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting." Would that make him more angry? You smirked as you watched him walk briskly away. Why was it right now you enjoyed that prospect...?

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THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!! 😘😘

EEEKK!!! This is it!! The first Sin written! The second sin is posted!!! OH MY GOD. I love writing for Krennic. He’s so... He’s such a mood! He is also genuinely the most fun to write for...