#zuri cooper

[happy-lemon]

NOT ON THE SAME PAGE

[cowboylikeekatie]

maybe in another life im not the little sister constantly serving cunt

[raye-sim]

zuri jackson + cooper bartley

copy writers at the simblr office

coop has been working at the office for ages and although he is a respected and talented writer, his socially awkward trait hasn't made him many friends. he took zuri on as a mentorship and the two hit it off over their shared geeky interests. her cheerful and outgoing traits helped coax her grumpy mentor out of his shell and now they're thick as thieves.

for @kashisun 's simblr office :)

[moviesandmania]

EASTER BLOODY EASTER Comedy horror - free on Plex, Roku, Tubi and Vudu

‘Hoppy hunting!’ Easter Bloody Easter is a 2024 cheesy comedy horror film about a housewife battling the Jackalope and his army of devilish bunnies as they embark on a murder spree over the Easter weekend. Directed by and starring Diane Foster from a screenplay written by co-producer Allison Lobel. Also produced by Will Amato, Rafi Jacobs, Liana Montemayor and Mitch Olson. The American WallyBird…

[emjayewrites]

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (6/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @saturnville @planetmimi @muglermami @shepgurl @sucredreamer @julescpu @tchouathon @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @lottins-only

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be removed from the tag list Thank you again for your love and appreciation!

Thursday arrived with a palpable sense of anticipation. Aurélien stood in his bedroom, adjusting his crisp white shirt and traditional Bamileke-patterned vest. The house was about to be filled with both his and Zuri's families, a thought that brought both excitement and a touch of anxiety.

He glanced at the newly arranged sleeping arrangements. Their parents and siblings would be taking over the pool house and extra rooms, while Zuri would be moving into his bedroom loft. The idea of sharing such an intimate space with her sent a thrill through him, memories of those vivid dreams flooding back. Aurélien took a deep breath, reminding himself to keep things in check. Having Zuri so close would make things harder - both literally and figuratively - but he was determined to behave himself with their families under the same roof.

"Get it together, man," he muttered to himself, sucking his teeth, willing his body to cooperate with his mind's decision. But, as usual, when it came to Zuri, his dick responded, swelling at the thought.

Merde.

Exhaling a vexed breath, he adjusted his crotch, forcing himself to think of the most disgusting things to quell his arousal. Eventually, he made his way downstairs, and Zuri was a vision in a matching Bamileke print dress, her hair styled in an elegant braided updo adorned with traditional beads. As their eyes met, Aurélien felt his breath catch. She looked stunning.

"You ready for this?" he asked, joining her by the front door.

Zuri nodded, a mix of nervousness and excitement in her eyes. "As I'll ever be."

From his dog bed in the corner, Zeus watched curiously, although he was more interested in the bone Aurélien had given him than the impending ceremony.

The sound of cars pulling up outside signaled the arrival of their families, and they straightened their posture, standing side-by-side on the path. The first to arrive were Aurélien's parents, Fernand and Josette, dressed in elaborate traditional attire. They were followed by a small procession of his family members, including his siblings, each carrying beautifully wrapped gifts and baskets filled with symbolic items. Then, it was Zuri's family - her father, Ernest, a woman he assumed was her mother, and another man, perhaps her brother.

To Aurélien's surprise, he spotted two elderly men among the group, their presence commanding respect. He leaned in close to Zuri, whispering, "Aren't those the elders from Cameroon?"

Zuri's eyes widened in recognition. "Yeah, Elder Nkeng and Elder Fotsing. I can't believe they made the trip."

Fuck, as if things couldn't get more complicated.

As the group assembled on the front lawn, the sound of traditional Bamileke music filled the air, drums and flutes creating a festive atmosphere. Aurélien's father, Fernand, stepped forward, holding a ceremonial staff.

He knocked on the door three times, his voice strong and clear as he called out, "We are the Tchouaméni family, come to seek the hand of your daughter for our son, Aurélien."

Zuri's father, Ernest, walked up behind Fernand, standing next to Aurélien and Zuri before responding, "And who is this son you speak of? What qualities does he possess that make him worthy of our daughter?"

Aurélien felt his cheeks warm as his father began to list his accomplishments and qualities. Zuri squeezed his hand, a small smile playing on her lips.

The back-and-forth continued, a dance of words steeped in tradition. Gifts were presented, their symbolic meanings explained. A bottle of palm wine, representing unity. Kola nuts, symbolizing respect and acceptance.

As the ceremony progressed, Aurélien found himself drawn into the beauty of it all. He glanced at Zuri, seeing the emotion in her eyes as their families came together in this ancient ritual.

"You okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

Zuri nodded, her voice soft. "Yeah, it's just… more overwhelming than I expected."

Elder Nkeng stepped forward, his weathered hands raised in blessing. "May these two families be joined in love and prosperity," he intoned in Bamum, his words translated by Aurélien to Zuri.

As the Nkap Nkong ceremony drew to a close, with handshakes and hugs exchanged, Aurélien felt a sense of peace settle over him. This was just the beginning of their journey together, but somehow, it felt right.

Until it didn't.

Inside, the house was transformed. Traditional Bamileke fabrics adorned the walls, their vibrant patterns bringing warmth to the space. The air was filled with the scent of African spices and flowers, creating an atmosphere both festive and intimate. The living room buzzed with activity, family members from both sides mingling, their voices creating a cheerful cacophony.

Zuri gave her parents, Amina and Ernest, and her brother, Malik, a quick tour of the house. Meanwhile, Aurélien found himself cornered by his own family.

"So, big brother," Yannis, Aurélien's younger sibling, teased, "how's married life treating you?"

Aurélien rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "We're not married yet, Yannis."

"But you will be soon enough," Yannis quipped with a grin.

Anne-Maïsha leaned in conspiratorially. "But seriously, how much do you like her? Is it just like or like-like?"

A smirk played on Aurélien's lips. "Like," he said simply.

Anne-Maïsha's eyes sparkled. "So, like-like. Understood."

As Zuri and her family returned to the living room, caterers bustled around offering refreshments. The elders cleared their throats, signaling the start of the La Dot ceremony - the negotiation and completion of the bride price.

Ernest stepped forward, his expression stern. "Now, about compensation for raising such a fine daughter..."

Aurélien felt his jaw clench as Ernest launched into a tirade about wanting a new car. It took all of his self-control not to cuss the man out right there. Zuri squeezed his hand, their eyes meeting in a look that spoke volumes. Taking a deep breath, Aurélien settled for rolling his eyes.

"With all due respect," Aurélien interrupted, his voice tight, "a new car isn't happening. However, I understand Zuri's mother has been wanting to remodel the kitchen. I'd be happy to cover those costs. Or perhaps we could put money towards student loan debt?"

Ernest sucked his teeth, clearly displeased. "I raised her and her brother well, spent money on them. I need to be compensated to some degree."

Murmurs of disapproval rippled through Aurélien's family members.

Zuri's grandmother, Mamie Adzoa, spoke up. "Perhaps we could do something extra special for Zuri instead? What would you like, ma chérie?"

All eyes turned to Zuri. Aurélien smirked, already loving her grandmother.

"Uh... I'm really grateful for everything already," Zuri said, looking a bit overwhelmed.

"Oh! So humble," noted one of Aurélien's cousins, making Zuri smile.

"Maybe we could donate to something or someone? Pay it forward," Zuri suggested.

Aurélien nodded approvingly. "What a giving fiancée I have," he joked, earning chuckles even from the elders. "So that's settled then, yeah?" Aurélien said, his tone making it clear it wasn't really a question. He fixed Ernest with a firm look.

The giving of the bride price commenced. Aurélien presented plans for Zuri's grandmother's new house, drawn up by his architect. He handed over the official notice for the cattle to her uncle. Then, with a nod to his mother, Josette brought forward several beautifully wrapped boxes. Zuri opened them to reveal an array of stunning jewelry - Van Cleef & Arpels pieces, including a bracelet matching Aurélien's own, Cartier items, and a pair of diamond studs.

Zuri's eyes widened in amazement. She threw her arms around Aurélien, hugging him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome, ma belle," Aurélien responded, planting a kiss on her head.

"Oh, they're in love already," Mamie Adzoa stated, causing Aurélien to chuckle.

As Zuri turned to show her grandmother and mother the beautiful pieces, Aurélien's gaze fell on Malik, Zuri's brother. A scowl marred Malik's features as he shook his head slightly. Aurélien made a mental note to talk to him later, sensing the need to clear the air.

Despite the underlying tension, as Aurélien watched Zuri's excitement, he felt a warmth spread through his chest. This moment - seeing Zuri happy - made all the complications worth it.

__________________________________________________________

As the evening progressed, the families gathered for a simple dinner. During dessert, some of the men stepped outside, and Aurélien saw his chance to talk with Malik.

"Hey," Aurélien said, approaching Zuri's brother. "Got a minute? I wanted to talk about Zuri."

Malik nodded, his expression guarded. They moved to a quieter spot in the garden.

Aurélien began, "I know this situation isn't ideal, but I want you to know that I have Zuri's best interests at heart."

"Look," Malik replied, "I'm worried about Zuri. She's sensitive, a people pleaser. Especially with our father. She bends over backwards for people, and I don't want to see her get used."

Aurélien nodded, understanding. "I get it. But I want you to know, I won't do that to her. I truly appreciate Zuri for who she is."

Malik laughed, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Maybe Mamie was right. You are in love."

Aurélien shook his head. "We're trying to see the silver lining in this situation. Making an effort to date each other. We've even talked about pushing the wedding date back a bit."

Malik's eyes widened at this, and he kissed his teeth. "You're something else, Aurélien, but I don't mind you."

Aurélien extended his hand, which Malik shook before pulling him into a bro hug. Leaning close, Malik whispered, "If you hurt my sister, I'll kill you. Understand?"

"Understood," Aurélien replied, nodding. He respected Malik's protectiveness, knowing he'd do the same if it were Anne-Maïsha in this situation.

"Aurélien!" Fernand called them over, handing Aurélien a cigar. "Nous célébrons tes fiançailles, fils," (We're celebrating your engagement, son) he said.

"Papa, anglais s'il te plaît," (Dad, English please) Aurélien responded, nodding towards Malik.

To his surprise, Malik responded in French, his accent not nearly as bad as Zuri's, "Ne t'inquiète pas, je comprends." (Don't worry, I understand.)

Confused, Aurélien blurted in English, "Wait, you speak French? Why doesn't Zuri?"

Ernest, joining them, provided the explanation. "Elle est pourrie gâtée," (She's spoiled rotten) he said, lighting his cigar. "We never pushed her to learn."

The glow from the cigar illuminated Ernest's still scowling face, and Aurélien felt his own expression sour. He recalled Zuri's stories about her father's behavior, the pressure she felt. His first instinct was to be polite – this was his fiancée's father, after all – but he knew that after this weekend, he'd need to be on high alert to protect Zuri from any potential bullshit.

As the men talked and smoked, Ernest continued to make snide comments. "She always took the easy way out," he muttered. "No discipline, that one."

Aurélien bit his tongue, reminding himself that this was temporary.

Suddenly, one of Zuri's cousins – Aurélien wasn't sure if her name was Adzoa or Akua – called out, "Venez danser!" (Come dance!)

Malik sucked his teeth. "Ah non, pas la danse," (Oh no, not dancing) he groaned.

As they headed back inside, Aurélien saw Zuri standing awkwardly in a circle, her female cousins dancing around her, performing traditional Cameroonian moves, however, she looked so lost.

Turning to Malik, Aurélien asked, "She doesn't know how to do this?"

Malik shook his head almost sadly.

What the fuck? Aurélien wondered why her parents had taught her brother about their customs but not her. Well, he was here to teach her now. He danced into the circle, taking Zuri's hand and spinning her around. Her giggles filled the air, and Aurélien found himself grinning, enjoying the sound of her laughter.

As the music pulsed through the room, Aurélien pulled Zuri closer, his hand resting lightly on her waist. "Follow my lead," he murmured, guiding her through the steps of a traditional Bamileke dance.

At first, Zuri was hesitant, her movements unsure. But as Aurélien continued to lead, she began to relax, her body swaying more naturally to the rhythm. He spun her out, then back into his arms, delighting in the way her eyes lit up with excitement.

"You're a natural," he said, loud enough for only her to hear.

As they moved together, the energy in the room seemed to shift. Family members began to gather around, clapping and cheering. Suddenly, one of Aurélien's uncles let out a loud, trilling yodel - a traditional Bamileke cry of celebration. The sound reverberated through the room, and soon others joined in, their voices rising and falling in a joyous cacophony.

Zuri looked startled for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. "What is that?" she asked, breathless from dancing.

"It's called 'nkuh'," Aurélien explained. "It's how we show approval and joy."

As if on cue, another round of nkuh filled the air, this time led by Zuri's grandmother. Aurélien saw tears glistening in the old woman's eyes as she watched her granddaughter embrace her heritage.

Feeling emboldened, Aurélien dipped Zuri low, earning another round of cheers and nkuh from the crowd. As he pulled her back up, their faces were close, breaths mingling.

"Thank you," Zuri whispered, her eyes locked on his.

"Anytime, ZuZu."

_____________________________________________________________

Zuri rolled her eyes as her father's grumbling about the car situation continued.

Seriously, Dad? Let it go already.

His pettiness was threatening to turn her engagement weekend into an episode of "Real Housewives of Cameroon." She made a mental note to give him the cold shoulder if he kept this up. This was supposed to be her time to shine, dammit, not a showcase for her father's world-class sulking skills.

After what felt like a million goodbyes (how many cousins did she have, anyway?), Zuri and Aurélien finally escaped the family circus. As they bid goodnight to their parents and siblings, Zuri couldn't help but think, Freedom at last.

Alone in the bathroom, Zuri began her nighttime routine. She carefully removed her makeup, cleaned her face, unbraided her hair, and wrapped it in her bonnet. After a quick shower and changing into her new pajamas (because God forbid she wears her ratty old t-shirt to bed with Mr. Soccer Superstar), a wave of nervousness hit her.

Sharing a bed with Aurélien. No big deal. Totally chill.

Taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves, Zuri flicked off the bathroom light and padded into the bedroom. And there he was, sitting up in bed, his phone casting a soft glow on his features. The t-shirt he'd worn earlier was discarded, leaving his broad, muscled chest on proud display. Zuri felt her mouth go dry at the sight.

Zeus, sprawled next to Aurélien like he owned the place, but Aurélien, ever the gentleman, shooed the dog to his bed. Zeus huffed dramatically as he complied, giving Zuri a stink eye that rivaled her father's.

"Hey," Aurélien said softly, his voice doing things to Zuri's insides. "You okay?"

Am I okay? I'm about to share a bed with a Greek god, but sure, I'm totally fine. "Yeah," Zuri managed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Just... been a long day."

As she approached the bed, Zuri's mind raced. What now? Do I jump in? Slide in gracefully? Is there a protocol for getting into bed with your arranged fiancé?

But as Aurélien smiled at her, warm and reassuring, some of her nervousness melted away. His eyes followed her intently, his gaze trailing over her silk pajamas. Zuri felt a flutter in her stomach. Sure, they'd shared kisses and some pretty heated makeout sessions, but sleeping together? That was a whole new ballgame.

As she slid under the covers, she couldn't help but admire Aurélien's muscled chest, his dark chocolate skin practically glowing in the dim light.

Focus, Zuri. Don't be a creep.

"You look pretty," Aurélien murmured, his hand reaching out to lightly touch the hem of her pajama top. Zuri's breath caught in her throat.

Trying to settle in, Zuri cleared her throat. "So, what's next on this whirlwind engagement tour?"

They chatted about the upcoming lunch with their families, more blessings from the elders, and Saturday's official engagement ceremony that Josette had planned.

"I'm a little nervous about how it'll turn out," Zuri admitted. "But your mom seems to have good taste. I like your family."

Aurélien nodded. "My family likes you too. I also like your family," he said, then added with a smirk, "Well, except for your dad. Still want to punch him in the mouth."

Zuri couldn't help but laugh. "I can't believe he and your dad were schoolmates. They seem so different."

"Yeah, my old man pushes me, but at least he respects my choices," Aurélien mused.

Zuri sighed. "My father never has. This arranged marriage might be the last thing he controls in my life."

As they decided to call it a night, Zuri turned onto her side, her back to Aurélien. Suddenly, she felt the bed shift and a strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, Aurélien's body pressing against her back.

"Aurél?" she whispered, her heart racing.

"Hmm?"

"What-what are you doing?"

"Cuddling with my fiancée," he replied nonchalantly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Zuri, meanwhile, was on the verge of a panic attack from the sheer closeness. Willing her horniness to take a backseat, she gulped and turned to face him. His face, visible even in the darkness, held a smug smirk.

"I can't cuddle with you now?" he asked innocently.

"No, no, it's not that… uh… we're alone," she stammered.

"I know. What's wrong, ZuZu?"

"Aurélien, you're literally pressed up against me. How am I supposed to sleep?"

"By closing your eyes, ma chérie," he responded, his snark game strong as ever.

"Ugh, goodnight," she grumbled, turning back around, only to feel Aurélien cuddle closer, tightening his arms around her waist.

I fucking hate him, she thought. Oh, be so for real, you like him too much to hate him, her traitorous mind replied.

And she did. Too bad she liked him too much to fall asleep easily, especially with him wrapped around her like a muscular, irresistible blanket.

The blaring alarm jolted Zuri awake, her body stiff and her mind foggy. Aurélien, meanwhile, was dead to the world, snoring softly beside her.

She hadn't slept well, not with Aurélien pressed up against her all night. And now? Well, let's just say she could feel every inch of his morning… enthusiasm.

Jesus, Mary, and Beyoncé, give me strength, she thought, desperately wishing for an ice-cold shower.

Stumbling to the bathroom, Zuri attempted to wrangle her hair into something resembling togetherness. Her bonnet had staged a revolt overnight, leaving her looking like she'd been electrocuted.

Heading downstairs, she was surprised to find Josette already up and dressed, chatting with a stylish woman in the living room.

"Ah, Zuri!" Josette called out. "Come meet Maria, your wedding planner."

Wedding planner? When did that happen? Zuri thought as she plastered on a smile and shook Maria's hand. The backyard was already a hive of activity, with Maria directing the setup for the Nhon Nkou - the family union lunch.

"Oh, before I forget," Josette said, pressing a small, elegantly wrapped package into Zuri's hands. "A little something for you, dear."

"Thank you," Zuri managed, touched by the gesture. Is this what having a normal mother-in-law feels like?

"Zuri!" Her father's voice cut through the moment like a knife. And we're back to reality.

Ernest strode into the kitchen, nodding curtly at Josette before pulling Zuri aside. "We need to talk about that car," he hissed.

Oh for fuck's sake, Zuri thought, resisting the urge to bang her head against the nearest wall.

"Listen," Ernest began, his voice low and insistent, "you need to convince Aurélien about the car. It's the least he can do, considering he's getting you. Tell him it's important to me, that it would mean a lot to your father."

Zuri fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Papa, I really don't think—"

"Just do it, Zuri," he cut her off. "Use that charm of yours. You've always been good at getting what you want."

As her father continued his spiel, Zuri felt her anger rising. This was beyond selfishness, bordering on narcissism. Here they were, in the middle of engagement ceremonies, her entire life uprooted, and he was fixated on a fucking car?

"Enough," Zuri snapped, her patience finally breaking. "This is crazy, Papa. I'm not asking Aurélien for a car."

Ernest's face darkened, and he stalked closer, backing Zuri against the kitchen counter. "You'll do the right thing, Zuri," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Suddenly, Aurélien's voice cut through the tension. "ZuZu? What the hell are you doing near my fiancée?"

He pushed Ernest aside, positioning himself between them.

Ernest snarled, "Mind your business, Aurélien. She is not yet your wife."

Aurélien sucked his teeth, turning to Zuri. "ZuZu? What's going on?"

Zuri took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving her father's face. "He wants me to convince you to buy him a car. Says it's the least you can do since you're 'getting me'," she explained, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Aurélien's jaw clenched. "Mr. Awanto Nchang, I've already said no to the car. If you can't respect our choices, you're welcome to leave our home."

Ernest's finger jabbed towards Aurélien's chest, but before he could speak, Fernand entered the kitchen.

"Step back from my son and Zuri, Ernest," Fernand said, his voice calm but firm.

Fuming, Ernest complied, but not before issuing a final threat to Zuri. "If this marriage falls apart, you have no home in New York." With that, he stalked out.

Aurélien turned to Zuri, his hands gently caressing her arms. "Are you okay, ma chérie?"

Zuri nodded, a newfound resolve in her eyes. "If he wants to act like that, good riddance. I'm done with his bullshit." She stood on her tiptoes, placing a chaste kiss on Aurélien's lips. "The makeup artist and hairstylist should be here soon. I need to get ready for the lunch."

As Zuri left the kitchen, her head held high, Aurélien and Fernand exchanged a look of admiration. This woman was stronger than anyone had given her credit for, and Aurélien felt a surge of pride.

Zuri made her way to the study where the hairstylist and makeup artist had just arrived. As they began working their magic, she felt a mix of emotions coursing through her - adrenaline from finally standing up to her father, pride in her newfound strength, and a twinge of sadness at his parting words.

Who knew it would take an arranged marriage for me to finally tell him to fuck off? she thought wryly.

New York had been her home, but Madrid was her future. And if things didn't work out with Aurélien? Well, she'd cross that bridge if she came to it. For now, she was relishing in her newfound freedom.

The hairstylist worked diligently, weaving fabric and cowrie shells into an intricate updo that celebrated both tradition and modernity. When it was done, Zuri retreated to the adjoining bathroom to slip into her dress.

The gown was a masterpiece of delicate embroidery, its pale gold fabric shimmering with every movement. Instead of the bold patterns of ankara, this dress featured subtle motifs inspired by Bamileke art, creating a look that was both elegant and culturally significant.

As Zuri emerged, putting the finishing touches on her outfit, she caught sight of Aurélien greeting their families in the foyer. He cut a striking figure in his ndop, the rich, intricately embroidered fabric of the traditional Bamileke robe making him look regal and powerful. The matching hat perched atop his head completed the look, making him appear every inch the Cameroonian prince.

For a moment, Zuri forgot to breathe. Despite the drama and the uncertainty, she couldn't deny that Aurélien looked… well, damn. As their eyes met across the room, a small smile played on his lips, and Zuri felt a flutter in her stomach.

Aurélien sauntered over, his eyes doing that slow once-over thing that made her want to check if her dress was still on. "You look beautiful, ma chérie," he murmured, planting a kiss on her temple that sent tingles all the way to her toes.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," Zuri quipped, praying her voice didn't betray how his touch made her feel like a teenager with a crush.

They made their way to the backyard, navigating the sea of relatives like it was a particularly chatty obstacle course. The garden had been transformed into a vibrant celebration space, with colorful fabrics draped over tables and traditional Bamileke decorations adorning every surface.

Elder Nkeng, looking like he'd stepped straight out of a history book, gathered them in the center of the space. The crowd fell silent, probably holding their collective breath to see if Zuri would trip over her dress or something equally embarrassing.

"May the spirits of our ancestors smile upon this union," Elder Nkeng said in Bamum, his voice carrying across the yard.

"He's asking our ancestors to bless us," Aurélien whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. "And hoping we don't fuck this up too badly."

Zuri bit back a laugh, trying to look appropriately solemn as the other elders joined in, their voices rising in a chant that sounded like a cross between a lullaby and a football cheer.

As the blessings wrapped up, the feast kicked off. Tables groaned under the weight of traditional Cameroonian dishes - ndolé, fufu, jollof rice, and more. The smell alone was enough to make Zuri's mouth water.

Looking around at her new extended family, Zuri felt a weird sense of belonging she hadn't expected. Despite being Americanized as all hell, she'd never felt more connected to her heritage than right here, right now. And doing it all with Aurélien by her side? Well, that was just the icing on the cake.

As she watched him charm the pants off her aunties (not literally, thank God), Zuri couldn't help but feel a surge of... something. Gratitude? Affection? Whatever it was, it made her think that maybe this whole arranged marriage thing wasn't the total disaster she'd feared.

Aurélien couldn't take his eyes off Zuri. He wanted to fuck his fiancée so badly it hurt. Between her looking beyond beautiful in her cultural attire and those sexy-as-fuck pajamas that teased him mercilessly at night, he was struggling to keep his sexual frustration in check. And don't even get him started on how hot it was when she told off her father yesterday evening. Sheesh. He was enamored, down bad… whatever you want to call it.

Today was Saturday - their Ntchounke (traditional engagement ceremony). All his friends and teammates had been invited weeks ago. His mother had worked tirelessly putting it all together, and he couldn't wait to see the finished product.

This weekend had brought him and Zuri closer than he'd imagined. He was itching for some alone time with her tomorrow. For the sake of their family sleeping under their roof, he hadn't dared go beyond cuddling or a simple kiss to her temple, and even those innocent gestures seemed to make his situation worse.

And now, looking at her in that floor-length gown of rich, royal blue fabric, its bodice adorned with intricate gold embroidery featuring traditional Bamileke patterns… Aurélien felt his mouth go dry. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, its modern silhouette balanced beautifully with traditional elements. The striking atoghu crown hat atop her head, decorated with blue and gold beads, made her look like royalty.

His own regal toghu matched her dress perfectly, the same royal blue fabric embroidered with bold, geometric patterns in gold. His nkwa'' cap and the ceremonial feather fan he carried completed the look. As they sat side by side, their matching outfits created a visually stunning and deeply symbolic representation of their union.

In the car on the way to La Quinta de Jarama, Aurélien couldn't stop stealing glances at Zuri. "You okay?" he asked, his hand finding hers.

"Yes," she replied, squeezing his hand.

When they arrived, Zuri's jaw dropped. The venue was a perfect blend of boho chic and traditional flair, with an explosion of flowers in reds, yellows, and greens. "Oh my god," she breathed, then turned to engulf Josette in a hug. "Thank you so much. It's beautiful."

They stood together as they greeted their guests and when his friends and teammates finally arrived, he immediately centered himself, mentally preparing for all of the teasing.

Camavinga approached, whistling appreciatively. "Looking good, you two!"

"Not so bad yourself, Cama," Zuri replied with a wink. "Loving the suit."

Jude and Lila weren't far behind. "Oh my god, you guys look amazing!" Lila gushed, admiring their outfits.

"Seriously," Jude agreed. "You're putting the rest of us to shame."

Rodrygo, Vini Jr., and Kylian sauntered over, identical mischievous grins on their faces.

"So, Tchouaméni," Vini started, "how does it feel to be officially off the market?"

"Better watch out," Kylian added, "or we'll all be next."

Aurélien rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Like I've escaped a terrible fate," he joked, earning a playful swat from Zuri.

Then came Jules Koundé, Aurélien's best friend. Jules looked sharp in a tailored suit, his locs styled impeccably. "So this is the famous Zuri," Jules said with a grin.

Before he could respond, a shrill scream cut through the air from his fiancée. Aurélien and Jules raised their eyebrows as Zuri took off running (as much as her dress allowed) towards a stunning woman in a black dress.

"Putain," Jules muttered in French. "Son amie est carrément canon." (Fuck. Her friend is fine as fuck.)

Aurélien elbowed him in the ribs as Zuri dragged her friend over. "Guys, this is my best friend, Senait," Zuri said, beaming. "Senait, this is Aurélien and his friend Jules."

"Enchanté," Jules said, his most charming smile in place. Aurélien fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Unfortunately for Jules, Senait didn't pay him not a once of attention. "So you're the one who's stolen my Zuri away," Senait said, eyeing Aurélien with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Guilty as charged," Aurélien replied, feeling suddenly self-conscious under her scrutiny.

Before the conversation could continue, the sound of drums filled the air. A group of traditional Bamileke dancers emerged, their colorful costumes a blur of motion as they moved to the rhythmic beat.

"Holy shit," Zuri breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. "Is this part of the ceremony?"

Aurélien nodded, leaning in close to be heard over the music. "Oh, yeah, just wait, it gets better."

As if on cue, Elder Nkeng appeared, gesturing for Aurélien and Zuri to join him. The crowd parted, creating a path for them.

"What's happening?" Zuri whispered, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"Trust me," Aurélien murmured, taking her hand and leading her towards the elder.

Elder Nkeng smiled warmly at them, producing a length of beautifully woven cloth. "This symbolizes the binding of your lives," he explained in Bamum, Aurélien translating for Zuri.

With practiced movements, the elder began to tie their hands together. Aurélien could feel Zuri's pulse quicken where their wrists touched.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

Zuri nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, just... this is really happening, huh?"

As Elder Nkeng finished the knot, the crowd erupted in cheers. The flash of cameras went off in rapid succession, capturing the moment.

Aurélien looked at Zuri, her face radiant with joy and maybe a touch of disbelief. He couldn't help but grin, feeling a bit dazed himself.

This is really happening, he thought.

"So," he said, leaning in close, "think we can convince them to leave us tied up like this for the rest of the party?"

Zuri snorted, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Why, Tchouaméni? Afraid I'll make a run for it?"

"Nah," he replied, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Just like having you this close."

He watched with satisfaction as a warmth crept up her cheeks just as they were swarmed by well-wishers.

"Félicitations!" Jules called out, clapping Aurélien on the back. "Though I still can't believe you beat me to the altar, man."

As the celebration continued around them, Aurélien found himself constantly aware of Zuri's presence beside him. The warmth of her hand in his, the brush of her arm against his side, the way she'd lean in to whisper comments in his ear... it was driving him crazy in the best possible way.

Later, as they swayed together on the dance floor (their hands finally unbound), Aurélien pulled Zuri closer. "You know," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "I think I might be the luckiest guy here."

Zuri pulled back slightly, eyebrow raised. "Oh? And why's that?"

Aurélien grinned, spinning her out and then back into his arms. "Because I get to take you home tonight."

The look Zuri gave him then – part surprise, part desire, all heat – nearly made him forget they were in a room full of people. As the music swelled around them, Aurélien made a silent promise to himself: arranged or not, he was going to make damn sure this marriage was one for the books.

As the DJ spun the next track, a familiar rhythm of Afrobeats pulsed through the speakers. Zuri looked a bit lost as the beat shifted, her brow furrowing slightly as she glanced at the crowd around them moving to the rhythm with ease. Aurélien couldn’t help but shake his head, amusement tugging at his lips.

"Shit, you gonna have to learn some moves," he teased, watching her struggle to catch the beat.

Zuri’s lips parted in a playful pout. "You should’ve known by now that I’m no dancer."

"You proved yourself wrong the other night, ZuZu. Just dance," he urged, leaning in closer.

She started to protest, "Aurél—"

"Dance with your fiancé," he said in a low, commanding tone that made Zuri lick her lower lip in a way that sent heat straight to his core. "That's not a request either."

"Oh?" Zuri's eyebrow arched, a challenge in her eyes.

"Exactly," he said, pulling her closer to move to the beat.

Around them, the dance floor came alive. Their friends and family were getting into it, but it was Camavinga who stole the show with his impressive footwork.

"Eh, footwork! Eh, footwork!" The chant rose from the crowd, led mostly by their cousins.

Aurélien grinned, he could always count on his cousins to hype someone up. But his focus quickly returned to Zuri, who was starting to loosen up, her body moving more naturally to the rhythm.

"See?" he murmured in her ear, his hands guiding her hips. "You've got this."

Zuri's answering smile was equal parts shy and seductive, and Aurélien found himself thinking that the real party would start when they finally got home. "You’re lucky I like you."

"Lucky?" He chuckled, his breath hot against her ear as he leaned in. "Bébé, I’m just getting started."

She let out a small laugh, but her gaze remained locked on his, the heat between them undeniable as the music pulsed, carrying them deeper into their rhythm. But then, her eyes flickered to the other side of the dancefloor, something catching her attention. Aurélien followed her gaze, spotting Senait and Jules dancing together. Senait’s back was pressed against Jules’ front, and he was catching her whines with a practiced ease, both of them lost in their own world.

"Oh my god, Senait—" Zuri started to say, but Aurélien quickly shushed her, surprising her into silence.

Her eyes widened as she gaped at him. "Did you just shush me?"

Aurélien smirked. "Don’t be a cockblocker, bébé," he teased.

"I’m not," she grumbled, pouting in that adorable way she did when things didn’t go her way. Aurélien groaned inwardly, fighting the urge to kiss that bratty pout right off her face. Since they’d started spending more time together, he realized that he thoroughly enjoyed this side of her. It was frustrating sometimes, but it also drove him wild. The thought of taming her properly had crossed his mind more than once.

"You are," he insisted, his voice deepening, the playful command in his tone unmistakable. "Worry about me tonight. Not Senait."

Zuri shifted closer to him, her lips parting as if she had a comeback ready, but whatever she was going to say died on her lips as the beat shifted again, drawing them back into their own rhythm.

Aurélien grinned, satisfied, pulling her even closer. "That’s more like it," he murmured, his hands sliding to her hips, guiding her body in time with his. "Just you and me, ma chérie."

Zuri relaxed into him, her pout fading into a smile as they swayed to the music, the rest of the room forgotten.

As the night wore on, they found themselves surrounded by a mountain of beautifully wrapped gifts.

"Time to see what damage our friends have done," Aurélien joked, picking up a sizeable box.

They tore into the gifts, alternating between genuine appreciation and fits of laughter. Jude and Lila had gifted them a set of "Mr. and Mrs." aprons, complete with cheesy soccer puns. Camavinga's gift was a state-of-the-art coffee machine that Aurélien was pretty sure cost more than some cars.

When Jules finally made his way over, Aurélien couldn't resist teasing his friend. "Alors, tu t'amuses bien?" (So, enjoying the party?)

Jules tried to play it cool, but Aurélien knew him too well to miss the slight flush on his cheeks. "C'est pas mal. Bonne musique, bonne bouffe..." (It's alright. Good music, good food...)

"Bonne compagnie? (Good company?)" Aurélien supplied, smirking.

Jules rolled his eyes. "Ta gueule, mec. J'étais juste poli." (Shut up, man. I was just being polite.)

"Ah bon," Aurélien nodded, not buying it for a second. "Et c'est pour ça que tu n'as pratiquement pas quitté Senait de la soirée?" (Uh-huh. And that's why you've barely left Senait's side all night?)

Jules opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Senait appeared at his side, slipping her arm through his.

"What are you two whispering about?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Aurélien's eyebrows shot up, and he couldn't help but grin at Jules' flustered expression. "Oh, nothing important. Just catching up," he replied smoothly in English.

Jules cleared his throat, looking both pleased and embarrassed. "We were just... uh..."

"About to dance?" Senait finished for him, tugging him towards the dance floor. "Absolutely."

As they walked away, Aurélien felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Zuri, an eyebrow raised in question. "What was that all about?"

Aurélien smirked. "Let's just say your friend might be sticking around Madrid a bit longer than planned."

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and Elder Nkeng stepped forward, his voice commanding as he spoke in Bamum. His words cut through the air, and everyone immediately quieted, listening with reverence. Aurélien leaned down, his breath warm against Zuri’s ear as he translated.

"He’s saying it’s time for the farewell ceremony," he murmured.

Zuri’s fingers squeezed his instinctively, her nerves evident. Though she had done well hiding them throughout the evening, moments like this reminded her how unfamiliar everything still felt, despite how deep they’d already gotten.

The guests began forming a pathway, an aisle of well-wishers lined with beaming smiles and blessings. Aurélien took Zuri’s hand, intertwining their fingers as he led her forward. Rose petals and confetti fluttered around them, catching in the soft breeze, and the melodic hum of the Bamileke chant filled the room, rising into the air like a blessing carried by the wind.

He could hear snippets of the words, fragments of Bamum and French woven together—prosperity, love, fertility, unity—each phrase stirring something deeper in him. Aurélien glanced at Zuri, who looked radiant under the falling petals, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted in awe. Her grip on his hand tightened, and in that moment, as they were showered with blessings, the weight of their situation became undeniable.

A rush of protectiveness swelled in him, followed by something more dangerous. Desire.

Zuri caught him staring, and her lips curled into a soft, questioning smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, her voice low, teasing, but with a hint of curiosity.

Aurélien’s smirk deepened. "You look good under confetti," he said, his tone playful but tinged with heat.

Zuri rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t falter. "Is that all?"

"No," he replied, his voice dropping to that intimate tone he knew drove her crazy. "It’s everything else, too."

The farewell ceremony was winding down, with the older guests exchanging warm goodbyes and lingering on final blessings. Zuri looked calm, but Aurélien knew she wasn’t unaffected by the evening’s weight. And neither was he.

Aurélien led Zuri toward the waiting car, his hand at the small of her back, a gesture that had become instinctive in recent days. His thoughts, however, were a storm of emotions.

They had been getting closer, that much was obvious. It wasn’t just the physical chemistry between them, though that was undeniable. It was the late-night conversations, the laughter, the way they seemed to just fit. But tonight, something had shifted. Something more real, more intense, had taken hold. His fingers flexed against her lower back as they neared the car, the heat of her skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud, leaving them in the intimate silence of the car. Zuri settled into her seat, and Aurélien felt a heat radiating through him that had been building all night.

Desire was one thing — he was no stranger to it — but this was more. They’d been skirting around each other for weeks now, growing closer, sharing more than just a bed in his house. He had gotten used to the sound of her laughter, the feel of her body curled up next to him at night. The question that had been lingering in the back of his mind for days now, though, was one he couldn't shake anymore.

Would they keep sharing the same bed after all this? After their parents left tomorrow and life returned to whatever normal looked like for them now, would she still come to him at night? Would she want to?

And more importantly… was she ready to cross that line with him?

Aurélien's jaw tightened as he glanced over at her, watching as she looked out the window, her expression soft but unreadable. He didn’t want to rush her, didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. But damn, it had been hard keeping his hands off her. The tension between them had been simmering for weeks now, and tonight had only turned the heat up.

He wanted her. Badly. More than he could admit, even to himself. But it wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something about the way she made him feel grounded and alive all at once.

He leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly, his hand still resting on her thigh.

She turned to him then, her gaze meeting his. There was a question in her eyes, maybe the same one that had been plaguing him all night.

"What?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aurélien’s lips curled into a slow smirk. "Nothing," he replied, though his voice was rougher than he intended. His thumb brushed absently over her knee, the contact making his pulse jump. "Just thinking."

"About?" she pressed, leaning slightly toward him, her tone playful but curious.

He let out a low chuckle, shifting in his seat to face her fully. "About what happens next," he said, his voice serious despite the smirk still tugging at his lips. His hand slid up her leg just a little, the weight of his palm warm and firm. "After your parents leave tomorrow. After all this… settles."

Zuri’s brow furrowed slightly, her teeth tugging on her lower lip. "You mean… us?"

Aurélien nodded, his gaze dropping to her lips before meeting her eyes again. "Yeah, us."

There was a pause, the air between them heavy with unspoken words and a tension that had been building for too long.

"I don’t know," she admitted, her voice soft but honest. "I mean… this weekend has been…" she trailed off, searching for the right words. "Different. Good, but… different."

He nodded, understanding what she wasn’t saying. It had been different. They’d gone from strangers bound by an arrangement to something… more. But what exactly, neither of them knew yet.

Aurélien shifted closer to her, his hand moving to cup her cheek gently. "I’m not asking you to make any decisions tonight," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her skin softly. "I just… I want you to know that whatever happens next, it’s up to you. No pressure, no expectations. Just… us."

Zuri’s eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch, her hand covering his. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Aurélien’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a slow, deliberate kiss. It wasn’t rushed, but there was a hunger beneath it, a promise of what could be if they both allowed it.

When they finally pulled apart, Zuri’s breath was shaky, her eyes still closed as if savoring the moment.

She smiled softly, and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the car drove further away from the venue.

Whatever happened next, Aurélien knew one thing for sure — he wasn’t letting go of her anytime soon. And if tonight was any indication, neither was she.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, teaches a year 13 elective class on Paranormal Sciences, because the school board took one look at his resume, saw The Magnus Institute listed as a previous workplace, and went 'we have a better idea' for his History teacher application. His first batch of students are not what he expected in the slightest, featuring: Kyōryokuna ‘Ko’ James, the Collector; Dian Cooper, hypersomniac goth; Christopher 'Kit' Wilson, tired barista; Alex Pierce, amateur paranormal investigator; Zuri Jelani, local sceptic; and Duke Murdock, Slaughter avatar in the making. There are also mugs. A lot of mugs.

Author: @surrealsupernaturalist

[pitviperofdoom]

OC picrews!

These are all from my main storyverse, Sacred Darkness or SDverse.

Picrews used:

1, 2, 3

Caleb Cooper:

This is the guy whose backstory keeps changing to make it sadder. He likes Jane Austen novels and hates feeling like a failure. Which he does. A lot.

Jack:

Jack is extremely difficult to make in picrews thanks to how weird his design has gotten over the years. This isn't even that accurate because he's supposed to have different skin tones between the stitches. Fun fact, this picrew game makes you choose between a face scar and a neck scar, so I just made two versions and put them together in MS Paint.

He likes poetry and music and his friends and the smell of green tea, and hates being talked over.

Sarah Cheung:

I used to do a lot more with Sarah; at one point I entered her into one of those OC art tournaments, but I dropped out after a couple rounds.

She likes singing and hates not being able to help when people are sad.

Rita Cheung Pruitt:

Rita's another OC that's gone through quite a bit of change, though I haven't talked about her nearly as much on Tumblr, if at all. As much as I love the sushicore picrew, there's only one body type option and Rita's supposed to be fat. It's hard to find picrews that look good and have more plus-size options.

She likes gardening and collecting animal bones, and hates littering.

Ryan Cheung Pruitt:

I used to roleplay with this guy. If you're wondering if I went for bisexual lighting on purpose, the answer is yes.

He likes arts and crafts and hates awkward social situations.

Maya Robinson:

Maya's just a cool werewolf lesbian that I'm very fond of.

She likes camping and collecting animal bones, and hates feeling like she's missing out.

Jake Molina:

Jake's one of the OCs I've talked about the least. He was pretty generic for a while, with his only discerning features being 'gay" and "telepathic", but at some point I was like "you know what this story's missing? A goth with a heart of gold" and Jake was enough of a blank slate for me to slap that on him and start turning him into an actual person.

He likes fibercrafts and hates big crowds.

Zuri Sullivan:

Out of all my characters, Zuri's been through the most change since her initial conception because proto-Zuri was a white boy whose name has been lost to time. The eyepatch is supposed to be on the left. The stuffed cat is plot-relevant.

She likes making plushies, and hates loud voices and the feeling of velvet.

[dear-indies]

hi, cat! i hope all is well.

do you have any recommendations for black fem fcs who have a similar look or vibe to sza / solana rowe or megan thee stallion / megan pete, please? they are gorgeous and i adore them both but i can’t keep reusing them forever </3

thank you so much for any help and i hope you are staying safe.

Amber Riley (1986) African-American.

Javicia Leslie (1987) Black Canadian.

Munroe Bergdorf (1987) Afro Jamaican / English - is trans - has spoken up for Palestine!

Teyonah Parris (1987) African-American.

Ego Nwodim (1988) Nigerian.

Victoria Monét (1989) French, African-American/Creole - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Nafessa Williams (1989) African-American.

Ashleigh Murray (1988) African-American.

Tabria Majors (1990) African-American - has spoken up for Palestine!

Linda Osifo (1991) Edo Nigerian.

Denée Benton (1991) African-American - has spoken up for Palestine!

Michaela Jaé Rodriguez (1991) African-American, 1/4 Puerto Rican - is trans.

Ari Lennox (1991) African-American.

Dominique Fishback (1991) African-American.

Raven Goodwin (1992) African-American.

Pepi Sonuga (1993) Igbo and Yoruba Nigerian.

Asjha Cooper (1993) African-American.

Asha Bromfield (1994) Afro Jamaican.

Ryan Destiny (1995) African-American, ¼ Irish.

Tink / Trinity Laure'Ale Home (1995) African-American,

Mouna Traoré (1995) Afro Haitian and Malian.

Geffri Maya (1995) African-American.

LU KALA (1995) Congolese.

Tems (1995) Nigerian.

Zuri Reed (1996) African-American.

Joy Sunday (1996) Nigerian.

Normani (1996) African-American.

Aida Osman (1997) African-American.

Coco Jones (1998) African-American.

Laura Kariuki (1998) Kenyan.

Imani Lewis (1999) African-American.

Alycia Pascual-Pena (1999) Afro Dominican - has spoken up for Palestine!

also I couldn't say no to suggesting these non-binary faceclaims:

Alex Newell (1992) African-American - is non-binary (he/she/they).

Miles Jai (1993) African-American - is non-binary (she/they).

Hope this helped, anon!

[harmonysanreads]

vampiretham: i understand this may come off as accusatory, but my intentions stem from curiosity. who is this blond man with a heart cutout design on his shirt? and why do you keep staring at his picture as though your eyes are glued to it?

you: can i not admire a beautiful person?

vampiretham: tell me his name or address immediately

(too bad he can't murder a character in a different universe lol)

Wait.. call me crazy now but Zuri you're giving me ideas for Aventurine and Alhaitham rivalry :O (or maybe even cooperation mmmmm)

I can see these two having many arguments. Both of them have the potential to be extremely unhinged (well, blondie already is unhinged but eh). Talking exclusively about Vampiretham though, he'll absolutely not allow it. He'll find a way to at least send death-threats if 'admiration' escalates to something else. If that technology doesn't exist already, he'll make it himself. Aventurine is hardly a man to back off by threats though, he'd come right back at Vampiretham and dare him to actually kill him.

[pinnithin-writes]

Star-Blessed

Scene expansion from episode 27 of the Live and Let Fly podcast. 3809 words. Read on Ao3.

The wind on the mountain was cold enough to burn. Roland Mons Gelidus narrowed his eyes and tucked his muzzle into his scarf as he surveyed the horizon. Dusk approached and the sky was a freezing cobalt, the dying sun sinking rapidly out of sight. Behind him trailed nine other vlakas, breaking through the snowdrifts in single file. 

Their journey was tethered by constant contact. Thick pelts of moon and ice, shot through with the bleak blue black of the darkening sky, brushed, connected, parted and met again as they trudged along. It wasn’t a time for speaking, conserving energy for the hike through silence and stilled hands, but each knew how the others felt about their trek. Heads ducked and ears flattened against the chill, emotions sparked between their fur like static in the cold, dry air. The scent of their nerves and exhaustion swirled on the wind. 

The Lajok wilderness in early spring was a dangerous beauty. Its stillness couldn’t be trusted; every motionless mountainside held the promise of an avalanche, every too quiet night the careful inhale before a snowstorm. Soaring peaks of sheer gray stone funneled the pack into a saddle between them, the boughs of spruce and fir offering sparse shelter from the elements. As Roland studied their formations, heavy with ice crystals as they grew into the unforgiving wind, he wondered if he, too, would freeze in a bizarre shape if he stood still for too long. Even in spring, the cold was enough to sting his eyes and crust his eyelashes with frost, the air so frigid it hurt to breathe.

He turned to face his traveling companions. “It’s getting dark,” he said, signing as he spoke. “Let’s find a spot to camp.”

The Lajok Leadership Academy had dropped Roland and his squad in The Space Between approximately twelve hours ago, leaving them with nothing but basic survival essentials and their thick woolen uniform coats. Their assignment was simple: make it back to campus alive. Roland had been excited by the challenge in the beginning, stepping forth as he often did to take charge, as none had officially been assigned as squad leader. Finally, a chance to test themselves in a real life scenario, something he had hungered for after the negligible stakes of so many simulations and exercises.

Roland knew it would take all of them working together to survive the task. Each member of their squad had a unique set of skills and experiences to lend to the collective whole. This particular group he was quite close to; all third year classmates of his, all with intrinsic knowledge of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Where Kedric lacked orienteering skills, Alyn covered him, and where Alyn struggled with trapping, Hoyt covered her, and so on. 

He rapidly grew disillusioned as he hiked through the snow, realizing that their wilderness assignment was simply beleaguering a point. It was all very pedestrian to him, a lesson taught time and time again since the moment he was born. Cooperation is key, no man is an island, and only a team succeeds. It was inherent to any vlaka anywhere on the planet, an interdependence ingrained in every facet of their society.

Roland knew they shouldn’t be in their third year at the Academy and still learning something so elementary. He hadn’t enrolled to learn teamwork. He was here to learn leadership, and he was beginning to suspect the Lajok definition of leadership was just another way to keep vlakas like him planetside.

As the group dispersed to set up camp, a familiar touch on Roland’s elbow drew him out of his thoughts. At his side was Zuri, a deafblind squadmate he often defaulted to as his deputy. If we keep this pace, they signed, we should reach Lajok in three days’ time.

“Thank you, Zuri,” Roland replied aloud, taking their paw in his and signing his words against their palm. “How are the others faring? Have you noticed anything I should take note of?”

Their eyes, pale pink and wandering, couldn’t see Roland as they conversed, their expressive ears unable to pick up the cadence and timbre of his voice, but Roland knew they understood the intention behind his words better than most. Zuri gathered it in his scent, the pressure of his touch, even the resonance of his footfalls. It was a much needed reassurance, to have someone by his side who not only understood what he meant when his words failed him, but could also mediate between others just as successfully. They had an extrasensory talent for understanding others, as if they could smell the very words their emotions translated to.

So far so good, Zuri signed, though some think we should press on through the night. The Space Between in early spring makes them uneasy. They want to be back within the city’s rings as quickly as possible.

Roland’s snout wrinkled with disagreement. “I told everyone it would be unwise to push ourselves,” he stressed. “We know how to survive in an austere environment, and we won’t come to harm if we take the journey slowly and carefully. Who is saying this?”

Zuri offered a small, sympathetic smile as Roland expressed his concerns into their paw. Skinner and his usual clique, they signed back. Just something to keep an eye on. You know how he can get.

Roland did know how he could get. Gaius Skinner Valens, who went by Skinner amongst his squadmates, was often at odds with Roland Mons Gelidus. He was an irascible, opinionated vlaka whose headstrong leadership style clashed with Roland’s thoughtful, meticulous approach. Troubled, he turned his gaze to the horizon again. The temperatures would drop from dangerous to deadly come nightfall, and they couldn’t afford to lose a single vlaka if they were to survive the journey. Something to keep an eye on, indeed. Perhaps he should speak to Skinner early before this came to a head.

For now, camp setup took priority. Starting a fire, thawing provisions, and divvying rations was the simpler matter, while the majority of the group’s efforts went toward excavating a snow trench to shelter against the elements. Tempers in the camp were tense but subdued, packmates conversing through low whuffs and tactile signing. Occasionally, a brief spat broke out and dissipated in moments - a harmless vent of anxiety.

Regardless of what their opinions might be, everyone contributed to the chore, tolerating Roland’s hovering. While he was confident in the squad’s ability to survive in The Space Between, the unpredictable spring weather made him nervous, and monitoring the particulars helped him maintain a sense of control. Thankfully, he had Zuri to soften things when his orders came out unintentionally abrasive. 

He took his own turn clearing out the trench, his paw pads stinging with cold. He could hear his own labored breathing and the howling wind as he worked, but underneath that was the faint nocturnal call of birds, the sparse patter of prey animal feet. If Lajok’s smallest creatures could survive out here, so could they. Not to mention dozens of lone vlakas survive in The Space Between year round, doing whatever it is they do beyond the city walls. Roland and his classmates had survived their adolescent journeys through the wilderness in valai, after all.

His breath clouded the air as he appraised the work, questioning himself. This was no longer valai, though. And they were no longer children.

As he contemplated this, his ears picked up the low tones of a grumbled conversation. A short distance away, Skinner huddled with a few of his friends, paws jammed in his coat pockets. Even without signing his words, his scent was enough to convey his dissatisfaction. It stained the bitter wind with a thick yellow anxiety. 

“...Wasting time out here digging ditches,” Roland heard him mutter. “He’s going to get us all killed.”

“I’m sorry, Skinner,” Roland interjected, brushing snow from his palms. “If there’s something you’re concerned about, please do tell me.”

The other vlaka scoffed at the interruption, turning from his huddle with a reproachful look. His eyes were the same ice blue as frost in moonlight. “Oh, now he knows there’s a problem,” he sneered.

Roland had no idea what Skinner meant. If he was so bothered by making camp here, why hadn’t he said something about it earlier? Zuri told him Skinner was uneasy, but this level of hostility was unexpected. “I… apologize,” Roland said, “I was unaware you had a grievance. If you have input that would better serve the group, I’d love to hear it.”

“Don’t play ignorant. I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d only pretend to listen,” Skinner snapped back. “Then you’d just go on ahead and do what you were planning on doing anyway. Tyrant.” As he spoke, the two other vlakas with him reflected his attitude, shifting their weight from foot to foot and raising their hackles.

Roland exhaled heavily through his nose. He really tried with Skinner. Even if he didn’t like him, he still respected him for his boldness. When it came to making quick, decisive action, he was the best of them, and Roland had full confidence he would make an excellent battle tactician someday. Matters of caution didn’t suit him, however, and he became agitated at anything that made him wait. He should have expected opposition from the likes of him.

Skinner’s coat, streaked with indigo, bristled as he continued. “The longer we wait out here, the more we risk getting injured or worse. We don’t have enough rations for a three day trip. We’re practically buried in snow. Spring is here, Roland. What if there’s an avalanche?” He gestured to the nearby mountainside, where its sheer face hung heavy with snow. 

Work around the camp ground to a halt as their raised voices drew the others’ attention. Roland caught movement in his periphery, but it was only Zuri, signing to ask a squadmate what was going on. Though Skinner and Roland were only verbally disagreeing, the deaf members could read lips well enough to gather the dispute. Uneasiness rippled through the pack, their fear scent betraying an erosion of faith.

Roland scowled. The name calling was a little juvenile, but he had heard worse. Sowing discord among the squad he wouldn’t stand for. He cut his eyes to Tiber, a classmate whose wilderness skills he trusted the most. “Is there risk of an avalanche?” he asked, signing out the words along with his question. 

Tiber studied the mountainside carefully, checking her own work, then gave a reticent shake of her head. “Snowpacks look stable, no recent displacement, still too early for rapid melting,” she responded, also signing. “There’s risk, but it’s low.”

Her words confirmed aloud the reasoning in his head. If the choice was between an avalanche, which might kill them, and subzero temperatures, which most definitely would, he was picking the avalanche. 

Roland turned a justified stare on his opposition, hoping the public address of Skinner’s concerns would be enough to quell the squad’s anxieties. “Pardon me, Skinner, if I trust the words of our most experienced mountaineer over yours,” he said, unable to keep the disdain from his tone.

Skinner rolled his eyes. “They’ll say whatever you want to hear because they know you’ll walk all over them if they don’t,” he said. “I should be leading this squad, not you. Everyone agrees.”

Did they? Roland wanted to pass a glance at his pack to verify, but he forced himself to hold eye contact with Skinner, even as doubt stormed his heart.

“This is challenging for all of us,” he shot back. “It’s going to be a hard couple of days. If you’re afraid, just admit it.” He meant it without malice, but like many things he said, it came out insultingly. “We’ll get through it together.”

“Afraid?” Skinner repeated. His tail lashed with agitation. “The only thing I’m afraid of is your stupidity. I’m putting an end to this.” He took a challenging step forward, eyes bright and alert. “Duel me. Winner takes charge of the assignment.”

The gall! Roland bared his teeth. “I’m not fighting you, Skinner,” he snarled, “have you lost your senses?”

The hot, impulsive side of him wanted desperately to accept the challenge. Prove his capability, vent his aggression, and put an end to this ridiculous argument all at once, so they could get back to more important matters.

Roland swallowed back the growl in his throat. He shared Skinner’s fear of dying, out here in the Lajok wilderness where the elements leached the very life from your blood, but it was eclipsed by a something greater. The onus of their survival rest upon his leadership. If anyone succumbed to cold, hunger, exhaustion, or injury based on his decisions, it would be no different than if he’d killed them with his own two paws.

He couldn’t risk hurting a packmate, no mater how badly he wanted to. He held his ground. The other vlakas flanking Skinner shifted indecisively, and all around them the temperatures continued to fall. 

Skinner was dauntless. Steam and fear scent rising from his body, he showed no indication of backing down. “I thought you’d say that, coward,” he spat. “It always has to be your way, on your terms.” He pointed defiantly at Roland. “I’m not letting you dig your heels in this time. You aren’t fit to lead this troop. Step down. I won’t say it again.”

Roland was beginning to gather that this stemmed from more than just the present situation, but he couldn’t examine how many times he might have unintentionally slighted the other man that very instant. “These are unacceptable terms-” he tried to protest, and Skinner charged him.

Reflex kicked in and he ducked, unable to fully dodge the claws aimed at his face. The blow came first and then the pain, a stinging, hot gash that ripped down the length of his snout. 

He clapped a paw to his muzzle and staggered back. The scent of his blood drenched the air, soaking through his fur and spattering scarlet on the snow. If he hadn’t moved in time, Skinner could have taken out one of his eyes. Panting, he felt a growl vibrating his chest, his nervous system flooding with the instinct to defend himself.

“Calm yourself, man!” Roland barked, both to himself and the opposition. Skinner was already preparing for another attack, his lithe body low and stanced to strike. 

As Roland braced himself, the pack surged around him, forming a barrier between him and Skinner. Backed up against him was Zuri, as vicious as he had ever seen them, teeth bared, hackles on end, head ducked and ears pinned against their skull. The others snarled and snapped at Skinner, scolding him for disrupting the order of the pack. It was a chastisement beyond words, coming from a primal place before the vlaka had developed language.

Roland was stunned. Both at Skinner’s audacity and the loyalty of his squadmates. He was tempted to resist their protection, to order them to step aside, to tell them this wasn’t their fight. But enveloped as he was by the animal congruence of his team, he allowed their support to wash over him. He realized, with a tiny thrill of vindication, that the pack took Skinner’s challenge as a threat to them all. A leader spoke for the group and the group spoke for him. His successes were their successes, his failures their failures. His squad would not stand for hostility from a wolf who would rather endanger them than trust their collective capability.

Skinner backed off, breathing hard, as his brethren rebuked him. He flicked his eyes questioningly to his usual supporters, but even they were unwilling to take his side against the rest of the squad. Fear and fury billowed off him and curled into the frozen sky; Roland could smell his humiliation even from behind the resolute wall of his squadmates. Skinner let out a snarl and set off, disgraced, away from camp.

“Skinner, wait!” Roland called, watching the indigo coat lose itself amidst the pines and snowdrifts. He tried to shoulder past his team to pursue him, but Zuri caught his arm.

Let him go, they signed, their hand motions quick and sharp with their remaining agitation. You can’t get yourself killed going after him. We need you here.

As much as he hated to admit it, they were right. If he ventured into the polar darkness, he was just as foolish as Skinner. All the bravado and self assurance left him in a rush and he took a step back, reeling from what had just happened. Blood dripped from his wound, glittering rubies congealing in the snow.

The phalanx dispersed, his packmates murmuring and signing amongst themselves. One of them offered Roland a clean cloth, which he gratefully pressed against his muzzle until the bleeding stopped. Though the cuts stung, resentment found no purchase in his heart as he stared at the place where Skinner had fled. The squad finished digging out their shelter and turned to other matters: eating and drinking, checking their paws for blisters, patching over minor injuries, wrapping hands and taping feet to protect against the next day’s strenuous hike. As night swallowed them, they huddled against the deadly temperatures inside the snow trench.

Roland posted himself at the entrance, watching the darkness, an anxious, guilty dread gnawing at his chest. Ordinarily, he would take this downtime to check on everyone, but the habit escaped him as he stewed in his emotions. He was furious with himself for allowing the argument to happen, for letting it escalate to violence, for losing a member of the team. It didn’t matter that he had successfully avoided a fight. If Skinner died out there, it was Roland’s fault.

He pressed his shoulder against the cold trench wall, listening to his companions slumbering at his back. He talked himself down from searching for Skinner over and over again, and as he did so his gaze wandered heavenward. Cradled by the mountains, away from the light and haze of the capital city, the night sky was a sprawling, starlit invitation. Roland found himself momentarily breathless, entranced by the glimmering cosmic expanse above him. There were entire worlds beyond the Vast, mere pinpoints of light from his small, insignificant vantage on Lajok.

Why he was doing this? Attending the academy, honing his leadership, striving for achievement - it all felt so meaningless under the infinite sky. The Circle of Lajok only fought amongst themselves, wasting time deciding what was best for the planet while Sota continued to die. Did his dispute with Skinner portend his future? Was their assignment supposed to teach him acceptable loss? This couldn’t be the life he was meant for, to lead his people confidently to their end. 

Rest, the stars sang him, and Roland felt a profound quiet overtake his troubled heart. Rest, yes. He needed to rest. He still had to lead the remainder of the squad safely out of the wilderness, and he was doing no one any favors wasting precious energy on penitence. With one last look at the sky, he ducked inside the snow trench, pressing himself amongst the furry bodies of his squadmates. He thought he would be too anxious to sleep, but exhaustion took him the moment he closed his eyes.

He didn’t know how much time had passed - minutes, hours - when movement stirred him awake. Roland startled, expecting an intruder, but the familiar scent of Skinner quelled his alarm. Wordlessly, he moved aside to allow room for his wayward teammate. Skinner settled sullenly against him, shivering from his solitary trek through the cold. Any impulse to scold him for his rashness was erased by a relief so powerful it made Roland dizzy. Together they nestled in close, sharing in the warmth of the pack.

Abruptly, he returned to the present. He was no longer on Lajok, the wound on his muzzle having long since healed over. The mist clouding the hall wasn’t from his breath in the frigid air, but the steam from Morgan’s shower. His hand hovered over their door, his determined knock utterly arrested by their haunting, bittersweet song.

His fear of losing Morgan was what brought him to their quarters in the first place. The necrograft they volunteered for was a point of contention he didn’t wish to escalate, but concern roiled within him all the same. Skinner had survived his recklessness, but would Morgan? He had come to care for and depend on them, even more so than Zuri back in his Academy days. While he couldn’t afford to lose any one of his crew, he knew he would be especially devastated if something happened to Morgan.

Roland had always struggled with his words, even on Lajok with the aid of all his senses. Now, it was even more difficult to convey how he felt, speaking a language that was not his birth tongue, parlaying with people who couldn’t scent the true emotions behind his stilted words. He spoke as clearly and often as he could, for fear of being misinterpreted, but it seemed the more he said, the deeper he dug himself. He had offended everyone on his crew dozens of times over, and still, somehow, they followed him.

It left him with the same shocked assurance he’d felt in The Space Between, with his squad rallied around him. Surely the crew didn’t defer to him based on rank alone at this point, but it was hard to believe everyone had his back when he fumbled his title left and right. This inexplicable cooperation he owed largely to Morgan.

The song ended, but its echoes rippled around him like ghosts. He lowered his hand, feeling unsettled and wistful and vaguely itchy, his fur saturated with ambient humidity. Morgan’s lyrics had slammed him back in time, back to the mountains of his namesake. A tremendous homesickness overwhelmed him. Rather than tamp it down as he usually did, he took a moment to sit with it, his throat tightening and his eyes prickling with tears.

One day the sun would set on his homeworld for the last time. How cruel it was, to love something so doomed. 

He had left his circles - his family - behind on Lajok. The crew he captained now was a naive replacement, a product of fleeing failure. Still, something within him ached for this to work. His leadership was tested and tested again, yet he felt a peculiar fondness for it, every impulse to run outweighed by a deeper desire for connection. This crew was just as hungry for life as he was. He felt privileged to lead them.

Roland drew in a shaky breath. Only after sunset could he see the stars.

He raised his hand and knocked.

[goalhofer]

2024 olympians representing non birth nation by country part 9

South Sudan: Sunday Dech, basketball (Ethiopia); Wenyen Gabriel, basketball (Sudan); Carlik Jones, basketball (U.S.A.); Anyiarbany Makoi, basketball (Egypt); Anunwa Omot, basketball (Kenya); Marial Shayok, basketball (Canada) & J.T. Thor, basketball (U.S.A.) Spain: Yulenmis Aguilar, athletics (Cuba); Mohamed Attaoui, athletics (Morocco); Alexandrina Barbosa, handball (Portugal); Polina Berezina, gymnastics (Russia); Lorenzo Brown, basketball (U.S.A.); Cristina Bucșa, tennis (Moldova); Juana Camilión, basketball (Argentina); Elvin Canales, athletics (Honduras); Marcus Cooper, canoeing (U.K.); Andy Criere, surfing (France); Thierno Diallo, gymnastics (Guinea); Jordan Díaz, athletics (Cuba); Tessy Ebosele, athletics (Morocco); Martin Faměra, water polo (Czech Republic); Megan Gustafson, basketball (U.S.A.); Jennifer Gutiérrez, handball (Switzerland); Lilou Lluís, swimming (France); Majida Maayouf, athletics (Morocco); Adel Mechaal, athletics (Morocco); Joaquín Menini, field hockey (Argentina); Tristani Mosakhlishvili, judo (Georgia); Thierry Ndikumwenayo, athletics (Burundi); Tariku Novales, athletics (Ethiopia); Abdessamad Oukhelfen, athletics (Morocco); Alisa Ozhogina, swimming (Russia); Felipe Perrone, water polo (Brazil); Enmanuel Reyes, boxing (Cuba); Leslie Romero, climbing (Venezuela); Nikoloz Sheradishvili, judo (Georgia); Lysa Tchaptchet, handball (Cameroon); Florian Trittel, sailing (Switzerland); Carmen Weiler, swimming (Singapore) & Miguel Zapata, gymnastics (Dominican Republic) Sri Lanka: Kyle Abeysinghe, swimming (U.S.A.) Sudan: Yaseen Abdalla, athletics (U.S.A.) & Ziyad Saleem, swimming (U.S.A.) Suriname: Irvin Hoost, swimming (U.S.A.) Sweden: Tyra Axnér, handball (Germany); Armand Duplantis, athletics (U.S.A.); Suldan Hassan, athletics (Somalia); Marlena Jawaid, pentathlon (Bulgaria) Felix Möller, handball (Germany); Björn Seeliger, swimming (Germany) & Sofia Sjöborg, equestrian (U.K.) Switzerland: Tadesse Abraham, athletics (Eritrea); Alexandre Dällenbach, pentathlon (France); Nikita Ducarroz, cycling (France); Helen Eticha, athletics (Ethiopia); Angelica Moser, athletics (U.S.A.); Jenjira Stadelmann, badminton (Thailand); Felix Svensson, athletics (Sweden); Albane Valenzuela, golf (U.S.A.) & Felix Vogg, equestrian (Germany) Syria: Lais Najjar, gymnastics (U.S.A.) Tajikistan: Somon Makhmadbekov, judo (Russia) & Viktor Rassadin, wrestling (Russia) Thailand: Jai Angsuthasawit, cycling (Australia); Tanya Prucksakorn, shooting (U.S.A.) & Joseph Weston, sailing (U.K.) Togo: Naomi Akakpo, athletics (France) Tonga: Noelani Day, swimming (U.S.A.) Trinidad & Tobago: Dylan Carter, swimming (U.S.A.); Zuri Ferguson, swimming (U.S.A.); Sanaa Frederick, athletics (U.S.A.); Sole Frederick, athletics (U.S.A.) & Jaden Marchan, athletics (U.S.A.) Tunisia: Jamila Boulakbech, swimming (France); Selma Dhaouadi, rowing (France); Salim Jemai, canoeing (France) & Sarra Mzougui, judo (Italy) Turkey: Vedat Albayrak, judo (Kazakhstan); Adem Asil, gymnastics (Egypt); Yasmani Copello, athletics (Cuba); Meliha İsmailoğlu-Diken, volleyball (Bosnia & Herzegovina); Kaan Kigen-Özbilen, athletics (Kenya); Kayra Özdemir, judo (France); Buse Savaşkan, athletics (Cyprus); Melissa Vargas, volleyball (Cuba) & Mihael Žgank, judo (Slovenia) Uganda: Sgt. Rebecca Ayeko, athletics (Kenya); Mercyline Chelanga, athletics (Kenya); Gloria Muzito, swimming (Sweden) & Jesse Ssengonzi, swimming (U.S.A.) Ukraine: Olena Kostevych, shooting (Russia); Olena Kryvytska, fencing (Russia); Perviz Nesibov, wrestling (Azerbaijan) & Maksym Talovierov, soccer (Russia) UAE: Aram Grigoryan, judo (Russia); Bishreltiin Khorloodoi, judo (Mongolia); Dzhafar Kostoev, judo (Russia); Magomedomar Magomedomarov, judo (Russia); Bayanmönkhiin Narmandakh, judo (Mongolia) & Nugzar Tatalashvili, judo (Georgia) Uruguay: Baltazar Amaya, rugby (Argentina)

[happy-lemon]

Zuri and Andrew went for an ultrasound, hoping maybe that would change her mind. Sadly, it didn't.

[hannahhook7744]

„A little help would be great.“

(Jace Badun is not paid enough for this.)

Trigger warnings: violence, fighting, injuries, swearing, etc. Could be seen as a prequel to ‘We don’t get paid enough for this.’ Notes: Glauco is Snow White and Prince Floran’s son. Zuri is the adopted daughter of Shenzi the hyena. Hadie is Persephone and Hades’ kid. Deja is Shan Yu’s daughter. Paro is Pain and Hedone’s son. Lada is Bridget the Hag’s daughter.  Danny is  Wendy and Edward’s son. 

—————————————————————————

“A little help would be nice, “ Jace snapped at his friends—more than a little irritated at his current predicament. 

Said predicament being the seven-way fight he was trying to break up between seven of his proteges—Glauco White, Hadie Athanasiou, Danny Darling-Cooper, Paro Imp, Zuri Crocuta, Shan Deja, and Lada Hag.

Glauco and Danny were rolling on the floor, trying desperately to get hits in on Paro and Hadie who were more successful in their attempts to hit, kick, and bite them. 

Zuri was biting Deja and Lada was trying to kick her in the head from Jace’s arms—which was hard because of how small she was and how tall he was—but only really managed to kick him.

Yeah, a little help would be more than a little nice, actually. 

“We are helping,” Harry replied seriously—as if Jace didn’t know that he was a lying liar that lies—from where he was sitting on top of his desk in their room in their new apartment. 

“Yeah, we’re watching the rest of the kids,” Eddie added, just as seriously—not looking up from whatever he was doing on his phone and not moving an inch from his spot on the floor. 

“Yeah!” Hermie chimed in from where she was somehow dangling upside down from the ceiling. 

Reza didn’t even bother to nod or pretend like he was paying attention to the conversation as he fiddled with a telescope he was trying to build.

Jace was having none of it. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it!”

“It is not!”

“Only ONE of you are even looking at the kids right now and it’s Yzla! And I’m not even sure she’s awake right now!”

“I am–”

“That’s great. Can you help m–ow!”

Jace dropped Lada and grabbed his eye—which the small girl had somehow managed to kick despite her legs being nowhere near his face.

Lada landed on the fighting boys and, upon getting caught in the crossfire, decided that Deja was on her own in her fight with Zuri and headbutted Paro. Who in retaliation yanked on her hair, leaving Hadie at Danny and Glauco’s nonexistent mercy. 

Yzla glanced at him then at the children and said one thing.

“Nope.”

Jace took a deep breath. Still holding his eye as he counted to ten.

“I hate all of you.”

“Love you too, Cuz.”

“Fuck off!”

“Jace!”

“Don’t Jace me!”

Eddie snorted and Hermie giggled. “You two sound like an old married couple.”

“I am not marrying Jace! The only person I’m ever gonna marry, if anyone, is Reza. Or Claudine, maybe!”

That caught Reza’s attention “Wait, what?”

“Nothing. Ignore that.”

All while the kids continued to fight and the fire alarm went (likely due to Hadie’s now flaming hair). 

Jace groaned, pinching his nose. “That’s it! I’m going on vacation!”

 Which only caused Eddie to snort again and Harry and Hermie to laugh. 

“I mean it this time!”

[dustedmagazine]

Aaron Dooley — The International Disassociation of (Centripetal Force/Island House)

This second outing of 2023 from Aaron Dooley’s seven-piece jazz ensemble shimmers and shifts, an indefinite haze of sound breaking, sporadically, for clear flights of melody. Dooley, a bass player out of Denver, plunks a subtle, unsettling undertow, allowing other instruments—pedal steel, saxophone, even drums—to slip to the forefront. All improvised, these cuts absorb multiple points of view into free-flowing inquiry, not muddying them, but softening the edges.

“Passing Tres” for instance weaves slow-moving textures of bass, percussion, saxophone and trumpet together, letting the drums float to foreground with their punches and cymbal shivers (that’s Diego Lucero on kit). It’s a luminous, somewhat indistinct sound with flares of fusion-y futurism, a musing, narcotic drift to it. A skirling saxophone, played by Gabriella Zelek, breaks through like a swimmer to the surface, the bass roiling deep underneath. “What About Being Alone” shifts the focus to Cooper Dickerson, his plaintive surges of pedal steel lifting out of the soundscape, while Zelek’s sax swirls and blows around him. “Reward of Consequence” provides space for Aesop Adams, the guitarist and Dooley’s partner in Osmium House, to let things rip.

The disc’s first three cuts are relatively concise. The last three stretch to wider horizons. “Westbound Alameda” does this in a lyrical, laid-back way, an elastic foundation of bass and struck percussion supporting flares of trumpet (Gavin Susalski), slithery runs of sax and, again, that gorgeous pedal steel. “Funeral of Fireflies” abstracts country pedal steel into abstract shapes, letting the thump and pound of percussion push it away from conventional twang. Adams, here, executes whistle-high harmonics that cut through the haze and Zuri Barnes sings warmly, evocatively in the background. It sounds like a slightly countrified version of Laraaji’s transcendental bliss. Dooley’s band is rooted in jazz, but not confined by it. The final track with its stand-up bass and swaggering horn line sounds the most like big band swing. It also allows the wildest bouts of brass improvisation, with Susalski arcing off into the stratosphere from a swaying, grounding foundation.  

It's not easy to get even a couple of people on one page, let alone seven. These tracks show a still relatively new configuration of people finding their way together, making a shared path and diverging from it.

Jennifer Kelly

[moviesandmania]

EASTER BLOODY EASTER Cheesy comedy horror - preview with trailer

‘Hoppy hunting!’ Easter Bloody Easter is a 2024 cheesy comedy horror film about a housewife battling the Jackalope and his army of devilish bunnies as they embark on a murder spree over the Easter weekend. Directed by and starring Diane Foster from a screenplay written by co-producer Allison Lobel. Also produced by Will Amato, Rafi Jacobs, Liana Montemayor and Mitch Olson. The American WallyBird…

[zuriboutique]

G'day Mates! Unleash Your Inner Hair Goddess with Zuri Boutique's Invisible Weft Hair Extensions

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