#African child models
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#ponahalo#moon child sanelly#dj#black women#instagram#instagram story#queer art#aesthetics#instagram stories#model#super model#lgbt#lgbtq#lgbt art#queer artist#black queer youth#black queer south africa#johannessburg#south africa#south african pride month#tumblr
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women artists that you should know about!!
-Judith Leyster (Dutch, 1609-1660)
During her life her works were highly recognized, but she got forgotten after her death and rediscovered in the 19th century. In her paintings could be identified the acronym "JL", asually followed by a star, she was the first woman to be inserted in the Guild of St. Luke, the guild Haarlem's artists.
-Artemisia Gentileschi (Italian, 1593-1656)
"... Si è talmente appraticata che posso osar de dire che hoggi non ci sia pare a lei, havendo fatto opere che forse i principali maestri di questa professione non arrivano al suo sapere". This is how the father Orazio talked about his nineteen year old daughter to the Medici's court in Florence.
In 1611, Artemisia got raped, and she had to Undergo a humiliating trial, just to marry so that she could "Restore one's reputation" , according to the morality of the time. Only after a few years Artemisia managed to regain her value, in Florence, in Rome, in Naples and even in England, her oldest surviving work is "Susanna and the elders".
-Elisabeth Louise Vigèe Le Brun (French, 1755-1842)
She was a potrait artists who created herself a name during the Ancien Règime, serving as the potrait painting of the Queen of France Marie Antoinette, she painted 600 portraits and 200 landscapes in the course of her life.
-Augusta Savage (Afro-American, 1892-1962)
Augusta started making figures when she was a child, which most of them were small animals made out of red clay of her hometown, she kept model claying, and during 1919, at the Palm Beach County Fair, she won $25 prize and ribbon for most original exhibit. After completing her studies, Savage worked in Manhattan steam laundries to support her family along with herself. After a violent stalking made by Joe Gould that lasted for two decades, the stalker died in 1957 after getting lobotomized. In 2004, a public high school, Augusta Fells Savage Institute of Visual Arts, in Baltimore, opened.
-Marie Ellenrieder (German,1791-1863)
She was known for her portraits and religious paintings. During a two years long stay in Rome, she met some Nazarenes (group of early 19th century German romantic painters who wanted to revive spirituality in art),after becoming a student of Friedrich Overbeck and after being heavily influenced by a friend, she began painting religious image, getting heavily inspired by the Italian renaissance, more specifically by the artist Raphael. In 1829, she became a court painter to Grand Duchess Sophie of Baden.
-Berthe Marie Pauline Morisot (French,1841-1893)
Morisot studied at the Louvre, where she met Edouard Manet, which became her friend and professor. During 1874 she participated at her first Impressionist exhibition, and in 1892 sets up her own solo exhibition.
-Edmonia Lewis or also called "wildfire" (mixed African-American and Native American 1844-1907)
Edmonia was born in Upstate New York but she worked for most of her career in Rome, Italy. She was the first ever African American and Native American sculptor to achieve national and international fame, she began to gain prominence in the USA during the Civil Ware. She was the first black woman artist who has participated and has been recognized to any extent by the American artistic mainstream. She Also in on Molefi Kete Asante's list of 100 Greatest African Americans.
-Marie Gulliemine Benoist (French, 1768-1826)
Daughter of a civil servant, Marie was A pupil of Jaques-Louis David, whose she shared the revolutionary ideas with, painting innovative works that have caused whose revolutionary ideals he shared, painting innovative works that caused discussion. She opened a school for young girl artists, but the marriage with the banker Benoist and the political career Of the husband had slowly had effect on her artistic career, forcing her to stop painting. Her most famous work is Potrait of Madeline, which six years before slavery was abolished, so that painting became a simbol for women's emancipation and black people's rights.
-Lavinia Fontana (Italian, 1552-1614)
She is remembered for being the first woman artist to paint an altarpiece and for painting the first female nude by a woman (Minerva in the act of dressing), commissioned by Scipione Borghese.
-Elisabetta Sirani. (Italian, 1698-1665)
Her admirable artistic skills, that would vary from painting, drawing and engraving, permitted her, in 1660, to enter in the National Academy of S. Luca, making her work as s professor. After two years she replaced her father in his work of his Artistic workshop, turning it into an art schools for girls, becoming the first woman in Europe to have a girls' school of painting, like Artemisia Gentileschi, she represent female characters as strong and proud, mainly drawn from Greek and Roman stories. (ex. Timoclea Kills The Captain of Alexander the Great, 1659).
#judith leyster#artemisia gentileschi#Elisabeth Louise Vigèe Le Brun#Augusta Savage#Marie Ellenrieder#berthe morisot#Edmonia Lewis#Marie Gulliemine Benoist#Lavinia Fontana#Elisabetta Sirani#women artists#renaissance#baroque#art#women in art#artist women#feminism#women history#radical feminists do touch#radical feminists please interact#history#terfblr#terfsafe#cultura#culture
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The Best News of Last Week
⚡ - Goodbye Fossil Fuels, Hello Renewables: The Energizing News You Need
1. Fungi discovered that can eat plastic in just 140 days
Australian scientists have successfully used backyard mould to break down one of the world's most stubborn plastics — a discovery they hope could ease the burden of the global recycling crisis within years.
It took 90 days for the fungi to degrade 27 per cent of the plastic tested, and about 140 days to completely break it down, after the samples were exposed to ultraviolet rays or heat. We really see a solution within five years, according to environmental scientist Paul Harvey, an expert on global plastic pollution.
2. Topeka Zoo welcomes new African Lion as female sprouts mane
The Topeka Zoo has welcomed a new African Lion to its pride, a male, as one of its females started to sprout a mane following the 2021 passing of the pride’s last male.
The Topeka Zoo and Conservation Center announced on Thursday, April 13, that Tatu, a 4-year-old African Lion, has arrived in the Capital City. He comes to Topeka from the Denver Zoo and his arrival marks a time of growth for the zoo.
3. This barber opens his shop on his day off for children with special needs – and all of their haircuts are free
On his day off, Vernon Jackson still goes to work, opening up his Cincinnati barber shop, Noble Barber and Beauty, for VIP clients: children with special needs.
It's something he's done since 2021. "I was hearing so many horror stories that parents were going through with other barber shops and just the barbers or stylists having no patience with their child," Jackson told CBS News. "So I figured I would compromise by coming in on my day off so there were there would be no other barbers or stylists in the shop and I could give them the full attention that they need."
4. Renewables break energy records signalling ‘end of the fossil age’
Experts are calling time on the fossil age as new analysis shows wind and solar power produced a record amount of the world’s electricity last year.
The renewables generated 12 per cent of global electricity in 2022, up from 10 per cent the previous year, according to the report from clean energy think tank Ember. Last year, solar was the fastest-growing source of electricity for the 18th year in a row, rising by 24 per cent from 2021.
5. New nuclear medicine therapy cures human non-hodgkin lymphoma in preclinical model
A new nuclear medicine therapy can cure human non-Hodgkin lymphoma in an animal model A single dose of the radioimmunotherapy, was found to quickly eliminate tumour cells and extend the life of mice injected with cancerous cells for more than 221 days (the trial endpoint), compared to fewer than 60 days for other treatments and just 19 days in untreated control mice.
To explain it in simple terms because this is so freaking cool: There is a radioactive atom attached to a drug. The target cell eats the drug and the energy coming off of the radioactive atom kills the target cell
6. Colorado passes first US right to repair legislation for farmers
Colorado farmers will be able to legally fix their own equipment next year, with manufacturers including Deere & Co obliged to provide them with manuals for diagnostic software and other aids, under a measure passed by legislators in the first U.S. state to approve such a law.
Equipment makers have generally required customers to use their authorized dealers for repairs to machines such as combines and tractors.
7. When a softball player falls after hitting a grand slam, this is how her opponents reacted
youtube
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That's it for this week :)
This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation:
Buy me a coffee ❤️
Also don’t forget to reblog
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About Willi Smith
Willi Smith was considered one of the most successful African-American designers in the fashion industry at the time of his death in 1987, and the inventor of streetwear. His label that launched in 1976, WilliWear Limited, grossed over $25 million in sales by 1986 according to The Guardian. Inspired by the fashion he saw on the streets and also his desire to shape it, Smith’s accessibility and affordability of clothing helped democratize fashion.
Born in 1948, Willi Donnell Smith grew up in Philadelphia with an ironworker father and a mother skilled in the creative arts. “I was Mr. Bookworm. I was the artistic child no one understood. But my parents supported me. If I was doing a little drawing, my father didn’t say, ‘Why don’t you play baseball?’... The family sometimes used to say there were more clothes in the house than food.” After his parents divorced, Smith’s grandmother, Gladys “Nana” Bush, stepped in to nurture him, a role she played throughout his life.
Smith studied commercial art at Mastbaum Technical High School and fashion illustration at the Philadelphia Museum College of Art. He found himself bored by the limits of illustration, always “changing the design of the dress [he] was supposed to be illustrating.” Through the connections of a family for whom she cleaned, Bush organized an internship for Smith with venerated couturier Arnold Scaasi. At Scaasi, Smith assisted in creating fashions for clientele like Brooke Astor and Elizabeth Taylor, learning form, fit, embroidery, and the power wielded by access to a certain type of dress—a crash course in elite levels of fashion and the clothes he didn’t want to make
His label, Williwear, was ahead of its time: mixing the relaxed fit of sportswear with high-end elements of tailoring. His clothes were not meant to be untouchable, catwalk-only designs. Although the term “streetwear” has been much chewed over recently, Smith’s more elastic definition of the term (bringing urban culture to the catwalk) has been incredibly influential.
His clothes were meant for everybody. He said: “Fashion is a people thing and designers should remember that. Models pose in clothes. People live in them.” Though he was inspired by New York City, he wanted people everywhere to appreciate the culture and inspiration of the city. “Being black has a lot to do with my being a good designer,” he said. “Most of these designers who have to run to Paris for colour and fabric combinations should go to church on Sunday in Harlem. It’s all right there.”
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Summary: Lloyd delays telling Princess about her stalker’s identity. Vivian has a medical appointment, which leads to an episode of babysitting where Lloyd bonds with a three-year-old. Meanwhile, an unexpected event kicks the serial killer investigation into high gear.
Masterlist
Word Count: 6,866
Warnings: Smut, erotica level explicitness, impact play (Lloyd spanks Princess), and semi-rough sex. Criminal activity including stalking, kidnapping, and murder. Mention of child abandonment and dysfunctional family dynamics.
Chapter 22
From your perch on a barstool, you watched Lloyd stir a pot on the stove. He wore a snug pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. You decided this was your favorite look on him. Lloyd glanced over his shoulder and caught you staring. He smirked.
“See something you like, Princess?”
“Mmmhh. You’re like a real life Calvin Klein model, and you’re cooking me dinner.”
Lloyd snorted. “Their current poster boy is what, twenty-one?”
“I don’t know. Calvin Klein models were more of a middle school fantasy for me.”
“Which models, specifically?” he asked.
“The ones featured during the South African World Cup. The internet was plastered with their photos. You don’t remember?”
“Twelve years ago I was in Afghanistan. They don’t allow underwear commercials.”
“Well, I can’t remember his name, but he was a Danish soccer player, who was like three times my age.”
“You were drooling over thirty-six-year-old men when you were twelve?”
“What? He had really great abs.”
Lloyd shook his head, returning his attention to the pot of soup simmering on the stove.
“They were inescapable, and I had a lot of hormones, okay? All those delicious muscles slathered in baby oil was my sexual awakening.”
“Once you hit thirty, you’ll feel more comfortable thinking about sexual awakenings happening around the age of sixteen, or even better, seventeen.”
You laughed. “That’s not reality.”
He flicked off the burner and winked. “Once you eat something, let’s talk about these soccer player fantasies. I want details.”
“Don’t get your hopes up - I wasn’t old enough to fill in the details. Now, my highschool fantasies? Those are worth talking about.”
Lloyd caught you around the waist and pulled you into his lap when you moved to sit down at the dining room table. You giggled when his hands snuck under the hem of the button down dress shirt you wore, exploring the bare skin he found there.
“No panties?”
“Your dress shirt was all I could find. Someone must have stolen my clothes.”
“What a tragedy,” Lloyd murmured, nuzzling your cheek.
You giggled when his mustache tickled your neck. He kissed along your throat and across your jaw and chin, before finding your lips.
“First we eat, then you tell me everything,” he said.
Eating in Lloyd’s lap was surprisingly comfortable. He didn’t insist on feeding you and didn’t mind when you stole the spoon for yourself. After consuming half of the bowl, you handed it back to him and curled against him while he finished the dish. You sighed, content.
“See, this is even better than my fantasies. You can actually cook-”
“This hardly counts, it’s just soup.”
You ignored him, continuing, “-and you have chest hair. I didn’t know there was such a thing as a chest hair kink, but I definitely have one.”
Lloyd groaned as you traced the whorl pattern of hair on his right pectoral.
“Plus, you’re warm.”
“You’ll be all over me this winter, won’t you?” he said.
“Arm candy, bed warmer, and he’s smart? You really are the whole package, aren’t you?”
You stroked a zigzag pattern through the dark brown hairs of his happy trail just above the waistband of his boxers.
“Princess… you’re playing with fire.”
You smirked at his gravelly voice. “No, I’m not. You already turned off the stove.”
He grunted when you straddled him. The position put your breasts at the same height as his mouth. Lloyd nuzzled their upper swells as you sank your finger into his hair, petting the short strands at the back of his neck.
Lloyd unbuttoned your dress shirt and examined your breasts.
“Still sore?”
“They’re definitely tender.”
He rubbed one and you hissed.
“Yeah, that’s going to sting for a while,” he said.
“It’s not a bad sore, just kind of… raw?”
“Well, I did promise you raw nipples, didn’t I?”
“And a sore ass.”
Lloyd glanced up through his lashes. “I’m glad you brought that up, Princess. It reminds me… I only delivered on half of my promise.”
“Huh?”
“I gave you instructions, and you disobeyed me. That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”
“Lloyd, I’ve never let anyone paddle my ass, and if you think-”
He moved too fast for you to protest, manhandling you so you lay chest down, spread over his thighs. Your breasts pressed against his leg and you moaned at the pressure on your aching nipples. Tension coiled in your belly as excitement heightened your sensitivity, making the raw flesh sting.
“Lloyd!”
“Scoot up. I suggest you cooperate because if I don’t spank you, I’m going to have to come up with another punishment. I have a few ideas…”
The butt plug and lube in his nightstand drawer flashed through your head. You scooted forward.
“Good girl, so obedient. I think you want to be punished, don’t you?”
You whimpered at his velvety voice. “Y-yes…”
Lloyd ran a calloused hand over the back of your thighs. “I’ve been thinking of smacking this pretty ass for a long time, Princess.”
That piqued your interest. “How long?”
“Too long,” he said, caressing your bottom.
“The first day you met me?”
“The second day. That pencil skirt, the one that goes past your knees? It’s blue and tight.”
You suddenly regretted donating that skirt last year during a closet declutter, even if it was a size too small.
“On the day you gave me your first research file, that’s what you wore. I still can’t forget how good your ass looked as you walked away. Last chance to back out, Princess.”
You squirmed, but didn’t object.
Lloyd grunted. “Princess, use your words.”
“I don’t think you have the guts to-”
His palm cracked on your left ass cheek. You gasped, stunned by the blow. He slapped the other side with the same force and you cried out. He pinched the fleshy part of your inner thighs between his thumb and forefinger, hard, eliciting a yelp.
“Don’t hold your breath. If you do, you’ll pass out,” Lloyd said.
Then his palm cracked against your skin. The sides alternated: left cheek, right, left, left, right…
“Lloyd!”
You surged up, only to have his forearm shoved into the small of your back, pinning you down.
“Arch your back, Princess. Keep your ass in the air, practice makes perfect.”
“Ow, Lloyd! That hurts!”
“It’s supposed to. You can’t follow instructions, then you pay the price, my naughty… little… fucktoy,” he hissed, punctuating the last three words with a smack.
Your back arched.
“Please! Fucking hell, Lloyd! Damn it, oh!”
You struggled to get enough leverage to escape, but he was too strong.
“Next time you’ll arch your back just like this, won’t you? You’ll be a good girl and keep your chest down and your ass up, huh?”
“Gaaahhh!” you screamed when he peppered a series of blows on a spot that was already aching.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…! Lloyd, please!”
He wasn’t holding back and despite the pain, his spanking was having the strangest effect on your body. It was turning you on. Your protests were born from shock and confusion, because you hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. The pain was the shocking part; the confusing part was that you hadn’t dreamed it would feel so good.
Yet, your toes were curling and your legs stiffened with each stinging swat. Every strike aroused you further. The harsher the sting of his hand, the sweeter the pleasure in your pussy. It was like the sting traveled through you, racing through nerves and transferring the heat of burning slaps on your skin to the inferno deep in your core. Your pussy was throbbing with a fire that was more intense than pain. Then his next blow triggered a cry that had nothing to do with discomfort.
Your thighs flexed and your toes curled as your shriek tapered off into a needy, hungry sound.
“Oh, fuck… Lloyd…”
You whimpered and rocked against his thigh, groaning at the overwhelming rush of pleasure, mingled with pain.
Lloyd cooed. “That’s my girl. Your pussy’s dripping down my leg.”
Your nipples tingled, still raw from their earlier treatment. You were panting and shivering, sweat trickling down your neck. He switched hands, and you squealed at the next barrage of unrelenting slaps. The line between what was pleasure and what was pain ceased to exist. You were acutely aware of the pulsating heat in your nipples and the hardness of Lloyd’s cock pressing against your belly.
The feelings his spanking elicited now were sharp and hot, causing your moans to drop into a lower register as you rocked back to meet each blow. Slowly, he eased into a gentler pace, delivering milder smacks.
Your chest was heaving as darkness danced on the edge of your vision.
“Breathe, Princess.”
You gasped.
“That’s it, good girl.”
His fingers brushed your sex, and you wailed, shuddering at the intensity of the sensation. Your back arched when he stroked your abused skin. The gentle caress made you keen.
Lloyd hauled you upright, turning you so your back pressed against his chest. Without his support you’d have slid to the floor. Your body buzzed with an urgent need and you mewled as he gently palmed your breasts.
You moaned, caught in the grip of a sensation somewhere between pain and immense pleasure.
“There, there, Princess. You’re okay. Next time, what are you going to do? Hmm?”
“Keep… my ass… up,” you sniffed, fighting back tears.
He rubbed the backs of his knuckles against the side of your breasts. “You’ll keep your ass up, and?”
“Chest down,” you whispered.
“That’s a good girl. We’ll try again when your nipples aren’t sore and you can show me what an obedient little fucktoy you are.”
You whined, thighs clenching. Tears were falling and your ass stung but you were so turned on that the pleasure was acutely uncomfortable. Lloyd’s hands drifted from your breasts to roam your body, tracing your waist, belly, and hips. He skimmed your thighs, tugging them apart until you spread them wide, giving him unrestricted access. His fingers dipped into your sex.
“Aw, fucking hell. That pussy’s drenched for me. I knew you’d like your spanking, naughty girls always do.”
He pinched your tender nipple, and you keened, tipping into a state of delirium. Your head fell back against his shoulder as your body went lax. Lloyd murmured something approving, but the words were lost in the buzz of euphoria that echoed in your ears. You couldn’t stop trembling.
Lloyd’s fingers breached your cunt, probing your g-spot.
“Yeah, gush all over my fingers. That’s my Princess, so fucking responsive. You’re spent, but this creamy little pussy just can’t get enough, can it? She’s throbbing. I bet it aches worse than your ass.”
He used his free hand to tease your clit, and you bucked, sobbing from the intense pleasure. You grasped his wrist to ease the friction and Lloyd snarled.
“Cut that out, or I’ll put you over my knee again.”
He spread your pussy open and stroked your entrance, collecting juices and swirling them over your clit.
“Come on my fingers, Princess.”
After issuing the command, he worked your clit hard. Within seconds you jackknifed from a lightning flash of pleasure that almost made you surge out of his arms. Lloyd nipped at your neck and the unexpected sensation made you shudder. His teeth sank into your skin as your body rolled with waves of ecstasy.
When you came down from the high, you felt the hardness under your thigh and squirmed. Lloyd allowed you to slide off his lap but caught your hips to steady you when your knees wobbled. After taking a second to get your bearings, you turned to face Lloyd, then sank to your knees between his legs.
Surprise flickered in his eyes but he lifted his hips, cooperating as you pulled down his boxers. The thick, ruddy cock sprang free, and you grasped it by the base, then licked at its weeping head. Lloyd groaned, shoving himself past your lips in a silent demand. You accepted him eagerly, wiggling your tongue against the underside of his cock.
“Yeah, just like that…”
He guided your head, showing you the tempo he preferred, then let go once you’d adopted the pace.
“Harder,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal.
You hollowed your cheeks and gripped him tighter. He hadn’t tried to push into your throat, which only made you more excited to perform the act. Relaxing your jaw, you inhaled through your nose and took him as deep as you could.
Lloyd gasped. His cock twitched in your throat, and you swallowed reflexively, moaning. When you couldn’t hold the position anymore, you pulled back, gagging. After another deep breath, you braced your hands on his thighs and repeated the maneuver. He was restrained, and that emboldened you to swallow harder, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. You kept your hands on his thighs out of caution, aware that his good behavior might end at any moment.
The self-protection didn’t prove necessary. Going down on Lloyd was fun. He wasn’t pushy, and he was vocal about his pleasure. The slurred praise he offered when you took him deep made you quiver with excitement. When your jaw needed a break, you ran your tongue over his balls, laving the swollen sac and basking in the rough, male noises that rewarded your efforts.
You chipped in surprise when Lloyd hauled you to your feet. He jerked you onto his lap, cupping your ass while he aligned your bodies. His thick erection grazed your clit. The sensation was so intense that you jerked away. Lloyd growled, hauling you back down.
“Come on, relax for me, Princess. I know you’re desperate to be filled.”
He was right. Sucking him off had triggered a fresh wave of arousal that had fire licking at your core. Lloyd captured one of your battered nipples in his mouth and sucked, purring when you trembled in response. He released it and caressed your hips, then stroked his palms over the tender skin of your buttocks.
“Ready, sweetheart?”
You pressed your forehead against his and whimpered as his cock probed the entrance to your pussy. “Yes… Please, fuck me.”
He thrust up hard, impaling you with a single stroke. You screamed and dug your nails into his shoulders.
“Ah, fuck! Lloyd!”
“Shh… relax. Let me in. I know, I know. This is a new angle for you, isn’t it?”
He felt huge like this. The girth was too intense and you scrambled to adjust, hooking your ankles over his knees and raising your hips. Lloyd kneaded your ass, causing a rush of pleasure and pain that flooded your pussy with juices and allowed you to sink down a little further.
You groaned, thighs quivering as you struggled to hold yourself up. You were afraid your legs would give out, and you’d be impaled again. Lloyd claimed your mouth and kissed you. HIs mouth was slow and sensual and coaxed you into relaxing. You rolled your hips and whimpered when he slid deep, brushing a spot that made you quiver. He grasped your hips and pushed them back, then drew them forward.
You gasped at the sensation.
Lloyd paused. “Too deep?”
“N-n-no… Oh, fuck…”
You squirmed and tried to mimic the maneuver. Lloyd moaned.
“Atta girl, baby. Get yourself off on my cock.”
Your hips snapped harder at his encouragement. When he sucked delicately on one of your nipples, you keened. You lost your rhythm, but it didn’t matter because Lloyd took control. He used your body’s weight to guide your hips in quick tempo, rooting himself as deep as possible with every stroke. Your legs shook violently and when the orgasm hit, you screamed, unraveling into sobs of overwhelmed pleasure.
Lloyd took advantage of the deep angle. The ripples of your channel seemed to aim his cock right at the sweet spot that made you quiver and turned your muscles to Jell-O. His thrusts became rougher and harder, and your pussy creamed. You cried, disoriented, helpless against the unrestrained response of your body. All you could do was hang on and shudder as your eyes rolled back in your head and Lloyd’s hands guided your hips through the last of the orgasm.
He hissed your name and his seed flooded your womb, triggering another orgasm that wracked your exhausted muscles. After the final burst of ecstasy, your head fell into the crook of Lloyd’s neck and he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lloyd broke from his usual routine and silenced his alarm at 4 a.m.
He nestled against you, grateful that you were sleeping deeply, and therefore accepting of his intrusion into your side of the bed. When you were half-awake and still trying to cling to sleep you were very territorial about your personal space. He relished the victory of getting to hold you like this and pressed his forehead against the back of your neck. You slept soundly in these early hours, which sometimes allowed him to indulge in the affection he craved without disturbing you. Although he’d only intended to cuddle, he succumbed to sleep within minutes.
The buzzing of his phone woke him. Scowling at the time - it was just after six - he answered the unknown number.
“What do you want?”
“Hello, Lloyd.”
Lloyd’s nostrils flared. “Why are you calling me?”
“Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“We aren’t friends.”
“Fair point. Wait, don’t hang up. I have a new lead,” Court Gentry said.
Lloyd hesitated, his finger over the end call button.
“Go on.”
“The spy is trying to access files from B&H’s patent department. If they do, it’ll pose a threat to national security - a significant threat.”
“Then call Clayton Bishop, or the FBI - anyone but me,” Lloyd replied.
“Trust me, if I could, I would. You’re the only person I’m sure isn’t involved. The latest efforts to access the files prove this guy has hacking skills. He’s trying to exploit weaknesses in your cyber security and someone’s helping him. I know something is going down this week. I need your help.”
“No. I’m not a spy. Don’t call me again.”
Lloyd tossed the phone on the nightstand and sighed. The Chinese spy wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t even Court’s problem, but Gentry wasn’t the type to keep his nose out of other people’s business.
You murmured and rustled in the blankets, stealing the covers he’d loosened his grip on. Lloyd watched as you coiled yourself into a cocoon of blankets and wondered how you didn’t smother yourself by sleeping like that. His phone buzzed again. The sound made your lashes flutter and Lloyd rubbed your back. He was inordinately pleased when you settled immediately, your breathing evening out again.
Lloyd silenced the phone and checked his text messages.
There were three new messages, all from Jake. One had just arrived. The other two had come in around 5 a.m.
Hey. I need to upgrade the security on your guys laptops - work and personal. The stalker’s been trying to hack them. It’s mainly Princess’ work computer, but I want to cover all the bases just in case.
What time can I come over?
Lloyd? R u awake?
He responded, letting Jake know he could come over after eight, then went downstairs to make coffee.
Between the call from Court and Jake’s texts, the morning had gone sour. His anxiety was flaring back up and he was halfway through his first cup of coffee when it occurred to him that caffeine probably wasn’t the greatest idea right now. He poured the rest of his coffee down the sink and rubbed his jaw, wondering what problem to tackle first. There was the matter of telling you about Nguyen, reviewing your notes from the interview with Aliyah, catching up with Jake about the attacks on your laptops, and… Lloyd frowned.
The conversation with Court was still echoing in his head. Could the cyber attacks on your work computer have something to do with Nguyen? Did that fit the stalker’s profile? Aiden might be behind the latest attack. That would make sense… kind of.
Lloyd leaned against the counter, scowling, and wishing he hadn’t thrown the last of his coffee down the drain. Maybe Nguyen was the serial killer. Bishop still believed he was, and while Lloyd wasn’t keen on his boss’ blind faith in that theory, he suddenly wanted to take another look at Nguyen. His gut said that he’d missed something - something critical.
“Do I smell coffee?”
He turned to see you standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing his robe.
“Yeah, creamer’s in the fridge.”
Lloyd waited while you doctored your coffee and took a few sips. He’d figured out what he needed to say, but instead, he grabbed the files Landon had given him yesterday.
“Princess. We need to talk about your stalker.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
You sat at the dining table, reading the files. Each one was labeled with a name: Georgina Rochester, Aiden LeDoux, Shun Nguyen, and finally, Juan Medina.
Picking up Juan’s file, you frowned.
“What’s this?”
Lloyd cleared his throat. “We investigated all potential suspects we could think of.”
“Really? Investigating Juan would’ve involved talking to me. That never happened.”
“Given the circumstances, I can’t expect you to be impartial.”
Your gaze sharpened. “I’ve known Juan for a decade.”
“Princess, you’re too close to him to see him as a threat, and you know it.”
“And maybe you’re too far removed to see that he’s harmless. Everything in here is technically true - Juan got into bar fights and took anger management classes - but there’s more to the story.”
“Then explain it.”
“Juan’s little brother just turned twenty-one. He’s always had a bad temper and alcohol exacerbates it. Juan’s tried to keep him out of trouble but-”
“There’s no arrest record for the brother,” Lloyd interrupted.
“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Juan is the complete opposite of his brother and he’d never do anything to harm his family.”
“He’s been charged with multiple misdemeanors.”
“Two nights in jail hardly makes him a hardened criminal.”
“Princess, you’re one of the most loyal people I know. You’d defend someone you love even if they were guilty.”
“Maybe I would, but the idea that Juan would hurt me is ridiculous. He’s not angry or dangerous.”
“We can’t afford to dismiss any leads,” Lloyd said.
“But this lead isn’t significant. You should’ve discussed this with me.”
“I didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to defend him.”
“The impression you get of Juan from this file is totally wrong and knowing the backstory changes everything. Letting me explain would’ve saved time and resources.”
“No, it wouldn’t have. We’re running down every lead in this case - especially after what happened two weeks ago. I’m not risking your safety on a blind spot.”
“You’re not listening to me. I know Juan and I trust him. I’m absolutely sure he isn’t the stalker.”
“I don’t even trust myself to be objective right now, Princess. Neither of us should try to unravel the stalker’s identity. If Juan made the suspect list, he’s on it until Landon decides he isn’t.”
“Then I need to talk to Landon because investigating Juan is a waste of time.”
“I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, but we should turn over every stone.”
“You’re being unreasonable on purpose, aren’t you?”
Lloyd’s expression softened. “I’m sorry I waited to tell you about this, but please, leave the investigating to Landon. He’ll figure it out. If Juan is as squeaky clean as you think, it won’t take long.”
You sighed, rubbing your neck. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle. I’m just…”
Suddenly, you were on the verge of tears. Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and you buried your face in your hands.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
Lloyd stood up and moved around the table. His arms wrapped around you as he let you bury your head in his chest.
“I’m here, Princess. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this and things will go back to normal. You’re safe.”
“How can I be safe if Nguyen is in the country?”
Lloyd squeezed you. “I won’t let you out of my sight. Also, Jake’s coming over to update the security systems on the house and our computers. We’re taking every precaution and then some, okay?”
You pulled back and looked up at him, lips compressing in a grimace.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something… Vivian has an appointment with her obstetrician. She asked me if I could watch the kids this afternoon.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Lloyd said.
“I agree, but she needs my help. If you came with me, you could search for evidence on Juan. Think of how much time that would save Landon. Can we take evasive measures and sneak over, or is it totally out of the question?”
He hesitated. “It might not be safe.”
“The last thing I want to do is put Vivian’s family at risk, but if there’s a way to make it happen…”
“Have you discussed this with Vivian?” Lloyd asked.
“I can talk to her.”
“Explain the situation and if she’s okay with it, I’ll figure something out. Just don’t say anything about Juan, please.”
You kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Lloyd sat at Juan Medina’s desk in the upstairs master bedroom, preoccupied with Juan’s laptop. He kept an ear out for sounds that would warn him of an approaching toddler or the jangle of tags from the family dog, Chewy. The tan and white Cavalier King Charles spaniel had taken an instant dislike to Lloyd at first sniff, which he considered to be very insightful on the canine’s part.
The house was fairly quiet. The only sounds from downstairs were of you cleaning. He could hear the rumble of the washing machine, along with the frequent buzz of the dryer and the dishwasher. Your efficiency was unrivaled. He’d listened to the sound of you tackling a mountain of household chores while keeping the smaller toddler - the boy, Sam - occupied. Meanwhile, the three-year-old, Alyssa, had escaped to the backyard. From the window over the desk, he could see her playing in the yard.
His thorough search of Juan Medina’s laptop had yielded nothing of value. The man’s internet search history was full of hockey, nerdy online card games, and researching which fantasy novels he wanted to buy next. Judging by the bookcase, your brother-in-law’s primary hobby was reading. His offline commitments included a weekly Dungeons & Dragons meetup at the library, helping his mother with yard work, and taking the kids on monthly field trips with a local father’s group. Juan was probably pretty normal by regular standards, but to Lloyd he was the most boring person on earth. He was also envious of the man and that drove him nuts because he couldn’t pin down a reason why he felt that way.
Lloyd brushed off the feeling and closed Juan’s laptop.
Downstairs, the transformation in the family room startled him. The clutter of kid’s toys, piles of books, jackets, blankets, and empty drinking glasses had vanished. He barely recognized the room. In the kitchen, the countertops gleamed. You’d swept and mopped the floor and conquered the overflowing pile of dishes. The family room, the kitchen, the living room, it was all spotless. Even the sliding glass doors that had been covered in Chewy’s nose prints was now clean.
He noticed the basket of folded laundry by the couch and shook his head. How had you managed all this in just a few hours?
Lloyd walked out onto the deck where Sam was playing with a toy tractor. The little boy was so absorbed in his own world that he didn’t spare the man a glance when he walked by. Lloyd headed down the steps to the yard and headed to where you were crouched in the middle of the yard, looking frustrated.
“What are you doing?” Lloyd asked.
“I’m trying to fix this sprinkler head. Juan left Vivian a note to have Dad take a look, so I read a how-to article, which made it seem easy enough. I think I was lied to.”
Lloyd squatted down. “What step are you on?”
“Taking off the sprinkler head. I’m afraid if I use any more force it’ll break.”
“Do you have a screwdriver with a longer handle? You need more torque.”
You gestured to the tool box beside you. “Take your pick.”
He found the right tool and loosened the troublesome screw. Once it was free, you took over.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”
After knowing you for three years, he recognized the look on your face and easily handed over the sprinkler head. It was better to just get out of the way when you were on a mission. Besides, he wasn’t about to get grass stains on his freshly dry cleaned Tom Ford chinos if it wasn’t necessary. He scanned the yard, taking in Sam playing on the deck and then turning to the rock pile where Alyssa seemed to be digging a hole to China.
“What’s your niece doing?” Lloyd asked.
“Digging up rocks. Don’t ask me why, because there’s a perfectly good sandbox on top of the hill. She’s always in that rock pile.”
He left you to the sprinkler repairs and headed toward the rock pile. When he saw who was approaching, Chewy, the cocker spaniel, positioned himself between Alyssa and Lloyd. He gave the suspicious dog plenty of space and crouched down on the other side of the rock pile, leaving a large space between them to appease the dog.
“Hey, Alyssa.”
The three-year-old glanced at him, then stabbed her yellow plastic shovel into the dirt. There was a pile of stones next to her right foot. Lloyd watched as she sorted them, examining each before keeping it or tossing it back into the pit. He spotted one he recognized in front of him and picked it up.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked Alyssa.
She stopped digging and examined the rock he held out for a moment before shaking her head.
“See how smooth it is?” Lloyd scraped his thumb over the surface. “When you can scratch a rock with just your fingernail, that means it’s soft. The color and shape are also big clues.”
The little girl looked at him expectantly.
“It’s slate,” Lloyd said.
She held her hand out, and Lloyd dropped it into her palm. He watched as she searched her red bucket and then handed him two more rocks. Lloyd examined them.
“Yeah, these are slate, too.”
Alyssa dug into the bucket again. She paused, as if something had just occurred to her, and extended her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He passed back the two pieces of slate she’d given him, and the one he’d picked up. She placed them carefully into the red bucket before offering him another rock.
Lloyd studied the specimen, hiding his grin. When he realized what she’d handed him he raised an eyebrow.
“This is agate. Sometimes people make jewelry out of these.”
Alyssa continued to pass him different rocks, though she only allowed him to handle one at a time. She was like a strict librarian who only allowed single book check outs and enforced the return policy with the zeal of a Mutaween. He identified limestone, quartzite, agates, and several pieces of granite for her.
“Which ones are your favorite?” Lloyd asked.
She reached under a dense fern and pulled out an old Folgers coffee container. It surprised him when she took off the lid and handed it over. Lloyd inspected the contents. There was a chip of Mica, easily identifiable by its flakey structure and pearlescent shine. Several of the greenish rocks looked like Sandstone, though one of them had the striations characteristic of Gneiss. Looking at the collection, he realized that Alyssa’s criteria for special rocks focused on color and shininess. At the bottom there was a gray rock with a dusting that looked like blue powder.
He rubbed it with his thumb and inspected it in the light. Chrysocolla or Amazonite?
“This is an impressive collection,” he said.
Alyssa reached under the fern and dug around, searching for something and brushed it off before passing it to him. At first he thought it was just a piece of limestone, but when he flipped it over, there was a clear impression on the other side.
“Wow. This is a cool fossil.”
It looked like a prehistoric crustacean, with lots of ridges and segments in the stone that showed the shape and structure of the animal’s body.
“Is this why you’re digging over here?” Lloyd asked.
The plastic yellow shovel she was using made sense, considering the fossil. He handed it back and watched as she packed the rocks into the Folgers container.
“Why don’t you pick a few rocks to take inside? You could display them on your windowsill or something,” Lloyd said.
Her lips pursed as she considered him, then glanced over her shoulder at you. Lloyd followed her gaze to where you were filling in the hole around the sprinkler head.
��Hey, Princess. Have you seen the fossil Alyssa found?”
At his announcement, Alyssa hissed, shoving the red plastic container underneath the fern. She glared furiously at Lloyd and grabbed the spaniel’s collar. He watched as she stalked across the yard to the deck, dragging Chewy along with her. Lloyd realized he’d committed a betrayal of great magnitude but wasn’t sure how.
When you’d finished with the sprinkler system, he asked.
“Why is Alyssa so protective of her rocks?”
“What rocks?”
“She collects rocks. She’s got a good eye for it too, but I guess she doesn’t like sharing them.”
“Oh, you mean the rocks she smuggles into her bedroom? We try to keep them in the yard because she stashes them in her bookcase and it gets all muddy. Vivian tosses them back in the rock pile when she finds them.”
“That must be frustrating,” Lloyd said.
“Yeah, Vivian can hardly keep up with it.”
“No, I mean that she’s finding interesting stuff. You should have them tumbled. One of her rocks is probably Amazonite or Chrysocolla and she has a really cool fossil, too.”
You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. She knows what she’s looking for. I think it’s the colors in the rocks that attracts her attention. Blues and reds seem to be her favorite. Does she have any books on rocks?”
“No, she can’t read yet.”
“They have picture books,” Lloyd said.
“Huh. That’d be a great Christmas gift. Do you think I should re-seed the lawn?”
“What?”
“It might be too early, and I don’t know if Juan is planning on aerating,” you mused.
“You already did the dishes, the laundry, cleaned the house, and fixed the sprinklers.”
“Oh, crap! I forgot about the dryer. Sam! Come inside, it’s getting late!”
Sam launched a valiant protest when you tried to herd him inside. You tended to the toddler’s outburst while Lloyd went to find Alyssa. She was upstairs in her room. Chewy was curled into a ball on her bed and when he saw Lloyd, the fluffy spaniel growled. Lloyd stopped short, respecting the warning, and leaned against the doorjamb.
“If you pick out some rocks from your bookcase, I’ll help you polish them,” Lloyd offered.
Thirty minutes later you walked into the kitchen to find Alyssa standing on a stool next to Lloyd at the sink. A paper towel full of wet rocks sat next to a pile of used sandpaper.
“What are you two up to?” you asked.
“We’re polishing Alyssa’s rocks. Look at this one, it’s a carnelian.”
You examined the bright red stone and smiled at your niece.
“That’s beautiful.”
She looked down, shrugging, but smiled. Lloyd picked up another one.
“This is a blue lace agate.”
After he showed it to you, he handed it back to Alyssa, who snuck it into her pocket instead of laying it on the paper towel.
“Did you find these in the backyard?” you asked her.
She didn’t respond, so Lloyd answered for her.
“I think she might have, but I’m not sure. There’s enough variety here that I think she collected some of them from other places.”
“You should put them on display in your room. Your Mom will be home soon and she’d like to see them - especially now that they’re clean.”
Alyssa beamed. “Mine.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The quiet hum of the Mercedes’ engine filled the car as you drove west towards the cabin. Lloyd glanced over and you sensed his scrutiny.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you said, breaking the silence. “Is something on your mind?”
He turned his attention back to the road, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Tonight, at your sister’s place…”
“You really hit it off with Alyssa. I was impressed.”
“She’s a sweet kid, but I was actually wondering about all the housework. You did everything from the laundry to fixing the sprinklers. If your sister had hired a whole cleaning crew, they wouldn’t have done as much as you did.”
You sighed. “Vivian is juggling a lot right now. I was just lending a hand.”
“It’s not just tonight, though. You’ve always helped her out, even before, when you were in college. I’ve never seen her do the same for you, especially not to this extent.”
“She’s my sister, and she needed help. Besides, you never complain when I do things for you.”
“I pay you to help me,” Lloyd pointed out. “She didn’t even say thank you.”
You chuckled. “That’s just what having a sister is like.”
“Well, from my perspective, it seems like she’s taking advantage of you.”
“Lloyd, I can’t explain this to you.”
“What’s to explain?” he growled.
“I’m the oldest, it’s different. You wouldn’t understand, you’re an only child.”
Silence fell and again, the gentle hum of the engine filled the car.
“Actually, I’m not.”
“What?” you stared at him.
“I have two younger sisters.”
“You never mentioned… Lloyd, I didn’t realize… the articles about you never said...”
“I haven’t seen them in thirty years.”
“Why?”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. You watched his shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath.
“My mother left when I was eleven. She took my sisters, but left me.”
“She abandoned you…? And left you with your father?”
“Yeah.”
“Lloyd, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”
“Did you ever reach out to them?”
“No.”
You frowned. “Why not?”
“I wasn’t even sure they were alive until recently. I doubt they’d want to hear from me. They’ve built lives of their own. What would contacting them do except stir up bad memories? If they can forget… that would be better.”
Better for who? You held back the question, unsure if he was ready to answer it.
Lloyd sighed. “I don’t know if they’d want to see me and talking about them isn’t easy. That’s why I’ve never mentioned them before.”
His face was stony but there was a quiet ache in his voice that hinted at the hurt hidden behind the composed mask.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For assuming. For not asking you about your family.”
He shrugged. “Who could blame you? Sharing isn’t exactly in my nature.”
You turned away, gazing out the window. You tried to imagine having your siblings ripped away but couldn’t manage it. What was wrong with Lloyd’s mother? How could she have done such a terrible thing? There were reasons, of course - desperation, fear, psychosis. None of those answers softened the anger you felt toward the faceless woman who’d snatched Lloyd’s siblings. Why would she leave him behind, sentencing him to live with the man she’d chosen to flee?
“You’re wondering why she took them and left me, aren’t you?” Lloyd asked.
“I can’t imagine what kind of a mother would do something like that. It’s awful.”
“She was crazy. That’s a solid reason, but if you ask me, it’s because I looked like him.”
You were confused. “Him?”
“My father.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The cabin’s porch light glowed in a cozy welcome as Lloyd turned into the driveway. You pretended to look out the window to hide the tears in your eyes.
Lloyd’s childhood couldn’t have been easy. You’d known that already, but what he’d revealed tonight was crueler than your imaginings. He parked and shut off the engine, silencing the quiet hum.
The shrill scream of his phone pierced the quiet, making you jump. He frowned at the caller I.D.
“It’s Roth.”
You watched as he answered and lines of concern creased his face. The words on the other end of the line were muffled but the furrow between Lloyd’s brows suggested the news wasn’t good. He listened for a long time before he spoke.
“Alright. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”
“What’s going on?”
“There’s been a disappearance. Another woman was abducted in Harmony.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Next - Chapter XXIII
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DATE NIGHT
written December 14, 2023
a/n: I've read the first ACOTAR book in the series and a bit of the second book in the series. I immediately gravitated towards Azriel and of course wrote a blurb? one shot? About him and an oc. Her name is Ori, short for Aurora and she is the bastard child of Mr. Archeron. I picture her resembling Carmen Solomons the South African model. This thing in my head was inspired by the tiktoker ShannBailee. There's a video of her husband washing her hair and it was so sweet and beautiful to watch that I had to write something involving Azriel. I'm rambling. Enjoy.
Word Count: 3043
When Ori and Azriel decide to stay inside for date night, the Shadowsinger proposes a question that catches his mate off guard.
“Can I wash your hair?”
I stop detangling my hair turning to look at Azriel. He gazes down at me, honey brown eyes burning bright under faelight. I swallow, blinking slowly and open my mouth to answer, but the words die on my tongue. Azriel was well aware of my hair washing routine and often left me alone, not wanting to intrude on the vigorous and lengthy regimen I curated. Sometimes he would stay with me if we were deep in conversation, watching me detangle and coat my hair with various conditioners and hair masks. But wash my hair? The question caught me off guard.
His mouth twitches, a faint smile appearing on his face. I realize I'm gawking at him and close my mouth, shaking my head. A flush creeps up my face and I turn back to the mirror playing with my ends. A trickle of cool air whispered against my skin. Black shadows grazes my shoulders in attempts to get my attention. I glance at Azriel through the mirror where he lounged on the bed, leaning back on his hands, legs spread. He blinks at me, tilting his head to the side waiting patiently for my answer.
“You want to?” I breathe.
Azriel gave a nod, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling in between his legs.
“Are you sure?”
Azriel chuckles quietly. “Yes. I’m sure.”
I stare at him for a long moment before nodding my head. “Okay.” I note the way his eyes gleam with mirth, but don't comment. “I’m almost done detangling my hair. I’ll set up the bath when I’m done.”
Azriel rose from the bed, walking to the vanity. He places his cold hands on my shoulders and bent down kissing the exposed skin. “You sit and finish with your hair. I’ll set up.”
“Wait,” I say, holding his hand before he left. “You don’t know what products I use. I can show you—”
“I’ve seen you wash your hair several times.”
“But—”
Azriel brings my hand to his lips, kissing my skin. “I can figure it out, Ori.”
I watch him walk to the bath and after a few moments the sound of running water fills the room. I turn to the mirror returning to the section I was at and scoop a considerable amount of product into my hands, rubbing them together. I start from my scalp and run my hands down to my ends then comb my fingers through my curls making sure I remove all the knots. I crane my neck using my enhanced hearing to listen to what Azriel was doing in the bath, but his damn shadows. I can’t hear anything.
“I can feel you staring.” Amusement laces his tone. I can feel it through our bond. I fix my posture responding to the bond feeling bashful. Azriel chuckles quietly and I smile fondly focusing on detangling my hair.
+
The aroma of apples and water lily filled the air when I ease the door open. I peer around the door and find Azriel sitting on a stool hunched over with his hand in the water testing out the temperature. Bottles and jars of my hair products line the stone ledge of the bath along with a wide-tooth comb. I linger by the doorframe in awe of the set up. From my favourite candle lit on the other side of the bath, the light blue ceramic pitcher, to the goblet of red wine—when did he get wine, I thought in disbelief.
“I told you I’d figure it out.” Azriel spoke.
“How did you—” I struggle to find the words. Azriel smiles, big enough for his dimples to make an appearance, one very few got to see.
He rose to his feet strolling toward me. I take a step back to look up at him, his large stature overwhelming my pixie-like height. Azriel takes my hand in his leading me toward the bath. He stops right in front of the pool of water and I admire the pungent fumes of apples and water lily.
“Wow,” I gasp, gazing up at Azriel. “This is just—wow.”
“The water is at the temperature you like.”
I gaze up at Azriel lost for words at his attention to detail and begin to unwrap my silk robe. Azriel helps me out of the garment and assists me into the tub. I instantly sigh the moment my body descends into the water. It was the perfect temperature. Azriel sits on the stool beside the bath, thick, long legs spread open to accommodate his large size.
I turn my body to the side, placing my forearms on the ledge of the bath gazing warmly at him.
My stomach feels like it's full of butterflies fluttering around. I've always known Azriel was observant but this was…everything. Azriel picks up the light blue ceramic pitcher dipping it in the water, lifting it out when it was full. I wait for him to pour the water but he pauses for a moment leaning forward, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. My heart hums at the loving gesture. To the outside world, Azriel was distant and cold, observing the world from the outside looking in. But when it was only the two of us, he was gentle and loving; affectionate and doting.
I face forward, sitting upright in the warm bath with my arms wrapped around my shins, gazing at the rippling water. Warm water trickles down my head splashing back in the bath. I feel my long cinnamon red curls flatten along my back as Azriel fills the pitcher again, pouring water on my head in efforts to rinse out all the product in my hair. He repeats the motion again and again, running his scarred fingers through my hair, kneading my scalp to get the leftover product. I watch him in silence as he worked, my mind buzzing like a bee.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
I watch Azriel pick up a bottle of cleansing shampoo, pouring the smooth paste into the palm of his hand. He rubs his hands together until bubbles form. I turn around to face him, holding the ledge and he combs his fingers through my hair kneading my scalp.
“Nothing. It’s just…” I sigh as he began to scratch all around my head. My eyes nearly roll back to my skull at the pleasurable feeling. I am quiet for a couple of minutes revelling in pampering. Azriel stops to add more shampoo. “Why do you want to wash my hair? We could’ve done anything else for date night.”
Azriel lathers the soap onto the back of my head. A slight frown puckers between his brows in concentration. I bite back a smile, admiring his features. The elegant slope of his straight nose and refined tip, his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. The way he bites his lower lip when he is lost in thought or a task. Light freckles dusted over his nose, giving him a boyish, youthful look, I always adored.
“I don’t know…” he mumbles, lifting a shoulder. “I just wanted to do it.”
Azriel was a man of few words and it was an issue in our relationship we constantly worked on. I found it difficult to open up to people, even my sister Feyre sometimes when things became too much. But with Azriel it was much more than not talking about things. He kept it all bottled inside and I want him to feel safe enough to let whatever was going on in his head, out. It took us both a while to get comfortable enough to communicate our feelings. It didn’t mean we didn’t struggle with it daily.
I stare up at him with round eyes. Azriel fills the pitcher with water pouring it over my head to rinse out the shampoo. He blinks at my silence peering down at me and I lean forward resting my chin on my arms, waiting for the rest of his answer. He gazes at me, golden brown eyes trailing over my face and hair. I lift my head feeling uncertain about what he was looking at and thinking about. Reassurance pulled on my heart, rippling through the bond.
“How do you use this all the time?” he asks, referring to the pitcher.
“I usually dunk my head in the water to rinse my hair. Using the pitcher all the time would take way too long.”
Azriel chuckles quietly setting the pitcher back on the ledge. I giggle turning to the front and ease down to my elbows, tilting my head back submerging my long hair in the water. Balancing on my right elbow, I used my left hand to knead the remaining shampoo in my scalp out. A flush crept up my chest and the back of my neck feeling Azriel’s intense stare on my body. The water, though sudsy, barely covered my nakedness. I arch my back more and my chest hovers out of the water, the cool chill prickling my nipples to hard peaks.
I swish my head from side to side before sitting up, feeling the warm water trickle down my back. Azriel’s eyes flickers up to my face at the last second. His eyes darkening and I can feel his desire reverberating through the bond.
“What?” I ask softly, feigning innocence.
Azriel licks his lower lip. “Turn around.”
From the corner of my eye, I notice the gold goblet of wine. “Wait,” I said reaching for the glass. “I can’t forget about this.”
I sit on my backside holding the stem of the glass between my fingers. I take a sip of the cool red wine humming in content at the acidic and sweet tangy taste bursting in my mouth. Azriel scoops up my long hair, wringing out the excess water before letting it hang over the edge of the bath. He opened up a jar of my conditioner scooping out what I hoped wasn’t a considerable amount based on the size of his hands and runs his fingers through my hair.
I sink deeper into the bath letting the water reach just above my chest as he repeats the motion, evenly distributing the product so that no strand is left untouched. Azriel rearranges himself on the stool grabbing the wide tooth comb on the ledge and sections my hair into four. I feel him hold the first section in his hands and the scraping of the comb against my ends. He combs my hair from the ends to my scalp, untangling any knots I may have missed when detangling my hair prior.
We fall into our usual comfortable silence. Azriel taking his time to comb through each section of my hair and I sipping leisurely on the glass of wine. I never gave much thought on how intimate the act of washing someone’s hair was. The gentle attention and appreciation for your mate. The trust and vulnerability.
My stubbornness gets the best of me. I'm still not satisfied with Azriel’s answer.
My mate kisses my temple breathing deeply and I lean into his touch before turning back around to face him. Azriel takes the goblet of wine out of my hand setting it down on the ledge and inclines forward nuzzling his nose against mine. I gaze up at him waiting for his next move. Azriel closes the distance between us, pressing his full soft lips against my own. My eyes flutter close, smiling into the kiss knowing he couldn’t go five minutes without touching me in some way. He pulls away not before kissing me again, this one quicker than the last. His hand lay on my knees rubbing small circles on my skin while the other grabbed the pitcher again, filling it up to pour water on my head.
I play with his fingers, softly trailing my fingers against the intricate designs of his marred skin. It took some time to be able to touch his hands without feeling sadness through ripple through our bond. It was still an adjustment but slowly and surely, he was learning to like the scars.
“Az,” I spoke.
“Mm?”
“Why did you really want to wash my hair?”
Azriel pours the water on my head again and shrugs. I almost zap him with my powers. Sensing my impatience, a faint smile ghosts his lips. I open my mouth to protest but he speaks.
“I watch you do your hair all the time,” he begins filling the pitcher with water. “And I love how much time and effort you put into your routine.” I kiss his palm coaxing him to continue. “I’ll admit though, sometimes when you talk about your hair products and a new regimen you came up with, I’m looking at you, nodding my head as if I understand what you’re talking about but honestly, I don’t. I’m not listening.” He laughs when I squeeze his hand at the confession. Azriel pause and looks at me. “It’s not because I don’t want to,” he explained. “It’s because I can’t stop admiring you. Your hair is your expression, creativity, your freedom and I want to completely immerse myself in that part of you.”
Azriel returned to his task as if he said something so casual it didn’t require much thought. I shake my head.
“Gods, you’re so frustrating.”
Azriel stopps mid-pour. My response catching him off guard.
“Why?” He frowned.
I scoff. “Because how could you be any more perfect.”
Azriel rolls his eyes and continues to pour, shaking his head. “I’m not perfect,” he said flatly.
I hold his other wrist, halting his movements and bring his arm down. I gaze in his beautiful hazel eyes. “You are to me,” I say strongly. “You’re perfect and thoughtful and loving and—” Azriel cuts me off with his lips on mine.
I giggle leaning away from him, smiling when he purrs, chasing my lips. I indulge him closing the distance. The kiss deepens, Azriel licking into my mouth. My heart stutters at the fierceness of the kiss. Passion and devotion thrums through our bond as Azriel brings his hand up the back of my head, curling his fingers through my wet hair. I lean forward fisting his black shirt in my wet hands, desperate to feel his body against mine. A low groan escapes his lips sensing my desire and Azriel nips my bottom lip pulling away.
“You might take back those words when I’m done with your hair.” He breathed against my lips, amusement in his tone.
I grin. “So far you’re doing well for someone who doesn’t listen when I’m talking about my hair care routine.” Azriel growls playfully and the sound sent vibrations between my legs to my core. He leans back, the tips of our nose touching.
“That’s all you took from what I told you?” He spoke lowly, carefully.
“Yup.” I respond cheerfully, pulling away.
Azriel smiles, kissing my cheek before asking me to dip my head in the water again.
“I think we should think about your hair care regimen.” I muse, rinsing my hair out. It feels so silky and smooth against my fingers. Azriel hums a response, pulling strands of hair out the comb. “Yes, so you can stop using my shampoo.” I arch my brow knowingly at him. His hair has been smelling like pears and roses lately.
He grins, white teeth shiny and straight; dimples indenting his cheeks. It takes my breath away.
“What do you suggest?”
I sit up treading my hands through the soapy water. The tips of my fingers tingles with power surging through them. The soap in the water faded away becoming fresh and clean. I manipulate the temperature of the water making it a little hotter. Steam soon wafts in the air. Leaning back on my elbows again, I purse my lips in thought.
“A hair mask to lock in moisture. Flying dries out your hair,” I say. “Oh, and there’s this conditioner for wavy hair I saw at the market the other day.” Azriel rinses his hands in the water and combs his wet hands through his dark hair. I sit up observing him. “Other than that, I just think you need a haircut.”
“I thought you liked my hair.”
I do like it. I love it actually. He had grown it out, thick waves falling just above his shoulders. I was accustomed to his low taper fade, thick waves falling above his hazel eyes. Long hair somehow made him look older, despite his boyish looks. I love playing with his hair when he snuggles up against my chest or helping him put half his hair in a bun before training. But I miss his short hair.
“I do!” I promise, sitting up on my bottom. “But any longer and you’ll look like Cassian.”
Azriel tips his head back and laughs. I join rising to my knees, reaching up to card my fingers through his hair moving the strands of hair that fell over his face.
“I’m done,” he said, golden eyes trailing down my exposed body, drinking me up. I shiver at his intense stare. He drags his gaze up to my face looking into my eyes and I wrap my arms around his neck pulling him close. Azriel’s arms envelopes around my small figure, not caring I am wet.
“Thank you,” I murmur in his ear.
Azriel pulls away reaching a scarred hand up to caress my cheek. I lean into his touch and his cool finger brush my lips. I take the tip of his thumb into my mouth, biting softly. Azriel’s eyes darkens and desire thrums through the bond. He lowers his lips to mine in another deep kiss. His lips were warm and soft, parting slightly allowing my tongue to slip inside. I press into him feeling his heartbeat against my chest. Azriel sucks on my tongue eliciting a whimper from my lips. He pulls away, breathing deeply against my lips.
“You’re welcome, baby.”
#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x oc#acotar fanfiction#azriel one shot#azriel shadowsinger#poc reader#acotar imagine#acotar fanfic#oriarcheron
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Walter Franklin Anderson
The grandson of formerly enslaved people, Walter Franklin Anderson, classical pianist, organist, composer, jazz musician, community activist, and academician, was born on May 12, 1915, in segregated Zanesville, Ohio. Walter was the sixth of nine children of humble beginnings.
Information regarding his parents is not available. Anderson, a child prodigy, began piano studies at age seven, and by 12, he was playing piano and organ professionally while still in elementary school. He was the only Black student to graduate from William D. Lash High School in Zanesville in 1932. Although a talented musician, Anderson was not a member of any of the school’s music ensembles, including the Glee Club or orchestra. Afterward, he enrolled in the Oberlin Conservatory of Music in Oberlin, Ohio, 100 miles north of his hometown, and received a Bachelor of Music in piano and organ in 1936. Anderson continued his studies at Berkshire (Tanglewood, the summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra) and the Cleveland Institute of Music in Cleveland, Ohio.
From 1939 to 1942, Anderson taught Applied Piano, Voice Pedagogy, and music theory at the Kentucky State College for Negroes (now Kentucky State University) in Frankfort. In 1943, Anderson married Dorothy Eleanor Ross (Cheeks) from Atlanta, Georgia. They parented two children, Sandra Elaine Anderson Mastin and David Ross Anderson, before the marriage ended in a divorce in 1945.
In 1946, Anderson was appointed the head of the music department at Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio, thus becoming the first African American named to chair a department outside of the nation’s historically black colleges. Two years later, Anderson was a Rosenwald Fellow in composition from 1948 to 1949, where his variations on the Negro Spiritual, “Lord, Lord, Lord,” was performed by the Cleveland Orchestra. Moreover, John Sebastian, the conductor of the Orchestra, commissioned him to write “Concerto for Harmonica and Orchestra” for a performance with the same orchestra. In 1950, Anderson’s composition, “D-Day Prayer Cantata,” for the sixth anniversary of the World War II invasion, was performed on a national CBS telecast. In 1952, Anderson received the equivalent of a doctoral degree as a fellow of the American Guild of Organists. He left his administrative post at Antioch College in 1965.
In 1969, Anderson was named director of music programs at the National Endowment for the Arts, where he created model funding guidelines and pioneered the concept of the challenge grant. In addition, he spearheaded numerous projects and developed ideas at the then-new agency for supporting music creation and performance, specifically for orchestras, operas, jazz, and choral ensembles and conservatories.
Anderson was the recipient of four honorary doctorates in music over his professional career, including one from Berea College in Berea, Kentucky, in 1970. He retired from NEA in 1983. During this period, he became a presidential fellow at the Aspen Institute for Humanistic Studies and a recipient of the Cleveland Arts Prize for Distinguished Service to the Arts. In 1993, the American Symphony Orchestra League recognized Anderson as one of 50 people whose talents and efforts significantly touched the lives of numerous musicians and orchestras. He was also a member of the Advisory Council to the Institute of the Black World at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Center.
https://www.blackpast.org/african-american-history/people-african-american-history/walter-franklin-anderson-1915-2003/
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Extended Family | Stray Kids Additional Member AU
Nicholas's extended family on his mother's side
WARNINGS: J&M's Lifestyles is a fake business. A dead fish and dog. Mention of break ups. Mention of Nolan and Tamaya's questionable parenting habits.
Nicholas Ross Master List | A/N: I freaking struggled with the ages and birthdays of these little shits, so PLEASE tell me if I made a birthday, or gave a time frame, that doesn't add up.
✧*̥˚Jermaine Ross*̥˚✧
Date of Birth: June 17, 1955
Zodiac Sign: Gemini
Ethnicity: African American
Nationality: African American
Occupation: Co-Owner of J&M's Lifestyles
Jermaine Ross. Father of three children, husband of Makayla Campbell, and co-owner of J&M's Lifestyles. After coming across MaKayla's journal of ideas for a business, he created her business, with her permission, and named it after them. 'J' for Jermaine and 'M' for Makayla. Though he wasn't as active in the kids lives as Makayla, he still took time off and built his schedule around his kids and their lives.
He wasn't the best parent, but he told his kids, "We're all learning this together." (we're all in this together) The kids always spoke their mind, they asked questions, and they did stupid things. Jermaine always let them do questionable things as long as it wasn't putting people in high danger. He wanted them to learn for themselves. Tamaya (Nicholas's mom) was a Daddy's Girl, spoiled but disciplined.
Jermaine used to visit Nicholas and Lillian after work. As he spoiled Tamaya, it was only natural that he spoiled her children, his grandchildren.
✧*̥˚Makayla Campbell-Ross*̥˚✧
Date of Birth: December 20, 1954
Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius
Ethnicity: Black-Hispanic
Nationality: African American
Occupation: Co-Owner of J&M's Lifestyles/Stay At Home Mom
Makayla Campbell. Mother of three kids, wife of Jermaine Ross, and co-owner of J&M's Lifestyles. Originally, Makayla wasn't operating the business. Legally, she was the co-owner, but she didn't actively participate. The company was based on her ideas and she was fine with Jermaine making her dream come true. In her mind, all of the money goes to her husband's account for him to spend it on his family. So why should she care? She doesn't.
The main reason she didn't participate is because of her children. She wanted a parent to stay with them while the other went to work, if both couldn't stay. When Zion and LaTasha told her they wanted to work in the company, she decided to step in as the co-owner.
When Nicholas was a toddler, and his parents didn't punish him for crying, he would always go to Makayla when he was sad. He'd ask his mother to call her so he could hear her voice to put him to sleep.
✧*̥˚Zion Campbell-Ross*̥˚✧
Date of Birth: November 2, 1974
Zodiac Sign: Scorpio
Ethnicity: Black-Hispanic
Nationality: African American
Occupation: Manager at J&M's Lifestyles
Zion Campbell-Ross. The oldest sibling out of Makayla and Jermaine's children. He lives in a single family home and works at his parent's shop. Occasionally, he'll visit his parents and youngest sister.
Zion was an active person in Nicholas's life, and continuously taught him basic life skills and how to treat others. Him and Lillian like to joke that his girlfriend was Lillian's lesbian awaking as it was obvious she had a child crush on the older woman when she was 6. After Lillian and Nicholas moved out of Tamaya's house, Zion stopped visiting.
Zion, Nicholas, and Lillian still keep in touch. They check in at least 8 times a month, and plan to see each other 3 or 4 times a year.
✧*̥˚LaTasha Campbell-Ross*̥˚✧
Date of Birth: March 29, 1980
Zodiac Sign: Aries
Ethnicity: Black-Hispanic
Nationality: African American
Occupation: Influencer/ Model for J&M's Lifestyles
LaTasha Campbell-Ross. The youngest of Makayla and Jermaine's children. She lives with her parents and works as an influencer and a model for her parents company. LaTasha looked up Tamaya until she married Nolan. Though she looked up to Tamaya, she followed Zion around. Latasha is also a Mama's Girl.
LaTasha has never wanted kids. The idea of giving birth scared her. She doesn't like the idea of being restricted and bound to a person's life. She liked wants to be The Aunt, and the person people could go to when they needed a break. She also just doesn't like kids.
LaTasha is the one who brought up the idea of Nicholas becoming a singer. With LaTasha is the second person Lillian came out to, and she helped her come out to the family.
☼Pets☼
✧*̥˚Precious*̥˚✧
Pitbull Terrier | Female
Deceased: Died when Zion was a teenager
Jermaine gave Makayla the dog for their 8th anniversary when Zion was 4. She named him precious because Zion wouldn't stop saying the word for over 2 months.
✧*̥˚Merlin*̥˚✧
Betta Fish | Male
Deceased: Died from LaTasha over feeding it when she was six
Jermaine bought her the fish so she would stop begging for a pet. The fish actually lasted longer than it was supposed to, so LaTasha took good care of him until she didn't.
✧*̥˚Panther*̥˚✧
Great Dane | Male
Alive: Zion's Pet, who lives with him
Zion got the Great Dane 2 years after he moved out of his parents house. He let LaTasha name him. She named him panther simply because panthers are her favorite animals and Zion is her favorite sibling.
✧*̥˚Naveen*̥˚✧
Doberman | Male
Alive: LaTasha's pet, who lives with her and her parents
Nicholas gave Zion the idea to get LaTasha the Doberman to cheer her up from a bad breakup, after the younger male couldn't fly over to comfort her. Latasha named the dog after the prince from Princess and the Frog, Naveen.
☼Fun Facts☼
Makayla and Jermaine got together in April 1971, they were 15
Makayla and Jermaine were 19 when they had Zion, 22 when they had Tamaya, and 25 when they had LaTasha.
The family was only allowed to meet Lillian when she turned 5 and met Nicholas when he was 3.
Makayla didn't, and still doesn't, like Nolan (Nicholas's father) but she put up with him for Tamaya.
Makayla wanted to try and get custody of the kids, Nicholas and Lillian, but couldn't because legally the kids were taken care of and were "fine"
Most of Nicholas's outfits come from J&M's Lifestyles
LaTasha was 18 when Lillian was born
From the date of this post, Makayla and Jermaine have been together for almost 53 years
LaTasha is bisexual and biromantic
Jermaine is demisexual
Zion has had 6 girlfriends, only 4 serious relationships, but is currently single
Makayla only has 1 grey hair meanwhile Jermaine has noticeable grey curls spread through out his hair.
He's still more pepper than salt, but still
Jermaine is the one who told LaTasha to keep feeding Merlin so he indirectly killed the fish
Nicholas Ross Master list
©️DEANAMEANTAE2024
Tags List: @bada-lee-ily @jinnie-ret @hwxnghyynjin @foxilsdenn @rensahazard @mynameisnotlaura @lucianidealz @ziipzeepzop-eez @ilovejeongin007
You can be added by asking in the replies, sending me a message, or doing an ask thingy.
#deantae nicholas ross#skz 9th member#stray kids 9th member#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids x male reader#skz x male reader#skz x 9th member#stray kids extra member#stray kids with the 9th member#9th member of skz#9th member of stray kids#skz added member#stray kids added member#kpop added member#kpop addition#kpop extra member
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WIP Wednesday
thank you to everyone who has tagged me these past few weeks, though I haven't had much to share! I'm still fiddling around with part two of my Trojan War novel, so here's some more Briseis.
Lyrnesses was not a rich city by any stretch, but every slave had their own room, handmade clothes, and went to bed at night with a full belly. To some that may have meant nothing. They were still slaves, and that was its own indignity that no amount of kindness could lessen, I had learned. But my own father, born to a wealthy family in Ethiopia, was taken by pirates as a child and sold as a slave. He arrived at Lyrnesses as a young man, where he was freed, eventually attracting the attention of my mother, who fought for her right to marry him, dismissing every wealthy suitor her father offered her to until he relented. They were a rare love match, and I grew up hoping to model their affection in my own marriage.
My father never forgot his mistreatment, and understood how quickly and startlingly a person’s fate could change, and so he was always kind to those less fortunate. I wondered if he ever could have anticipated how my life would turn out to echo his own, to be free, enslaved, and then freed again. But as a woman, I was never as free as he became, and knew I never would be. I would be forever tethered to that part of my life by the children I carried within me.
I thought of my mother. Her deft hands braiding my hair, her clear voice singing along to a bard’s lyre as she did so. My father crooning back to her, making her very name a song. “Hippodamia…”
“Briseus…” She would reply, and tug at one of my curls. I was named after him, and the reminder always made me grin.
a long discussion of Briseis's appearance, plus tags, under the cut:
Briseis is an interesting case when it comes to visualising her. Most greek myth characters are depicted as roughly the same as they're described, but Briseis is so inconsistent! she's described by Homer as fair, and by Ovid as incredibly pale. most renaissance depicts her as blonde, and Natalie Haynes describes her as such in A Thousand Ships. but plenty of more modern art makes her brunette, as she is in the film Troy and the series Troy: Fall Of A City.
and then there's Madeline Miller's The Song Of Achilles, one of the most popular books to feature Briseis, where she is black. I have issues with the writing of all the women in Miller's book, and dislike Briseis being presented as a commoner, who can't speak greek and worships foreign gods, when she was a Queen, and the Trojans had the same gods. not to mention that Miller also kills her off (spoilers? the book is over a decade old) when we simply don't know what happens to her after the Iliad. the entire point of my writing is to fill in that gap in her story.
anyway, i don't mind her being black, and like the art the book has inspired. though i've seen some people say they dislike this choice, as Briseis was a slave, but ancient Greek slavery was a very different concept from the slavery of America and the colonies, and less about skin colour than simply being on the losing side of an invasion or war. that isn't to diminish what those people must have gone through, but there are more slaves in the world right now that there were in any period of ancient history. my Briseis is also given her freedom before the story kicks off.
so in the end, i decided to combine elements of all these depictions. i like Briseis having African heritage like so much art depicts. i like her being pale and looking good in dark colours like Ovid says. so, my Briseis is half Anatolian, half Ethiopian, and has albinism. a mix of this sculpture and this model is pretty much exactly how i envision her.
as for the people who get up in arms any time any person with more than a slight tan is depicted in Greek myth tellings, quite frankly, i don't care to hear it. it's fiction. there are gods meddling in people's lives and you're critiquing the accuracy of someone's ethnicity? anyway, there was an African man in the Trojan War, Memnon, the son of Eos, the goddess of the dawn, and presumably he brought other African soldiers with him. freaking Aphrodite is an evolution of Inanna, a Mesopotamian goddess. Andromeda, the wife of Perseus, was from Ethiopia, and Poseidon is also said to be visiting Africa at the beginning of the Odyssey. the ancient Mediterranean was a melting pot of cultures that was well aware of northern Africa long before the Romans conquered Carthage- which is also visited by Aeneas and his fellow Trojans!
tags: @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @artsyunderstudy @that-disabled-princess @prettygoododds @confused-bi-queer @imagineacoolusername @ic3-que3n @aristocratic-otter @larkral @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shemakesmeforget @fatalfangirl @ebbpettier @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cutestkilla @youarenevertooold @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @shutup-andletme-go @theearlgreymage @ileadacharmedlife @alleycat0306 @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @comesitintheclover @blackberrysummerblog and @orange-peony
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Task 01.
PART 1: THE BASIC
What is your full name?
Her full name is Morgan Ann Ivy.
Where and when were you born?
Bronx, NY 2/22/98
Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)
Nicole Ivy she is direct & candid. She consider herself a stage mom while also being a stay at home mother & wife. She only had one job in her life, where she met Morgan’s father while he was making a play. Joe Ivy is the complete opposite of her mother. He is more calm & secretive. He has his own tech company in New York City which expands over 38 states and 15 other countries.
Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?
Morgan has about 8 separate siblings, 5 of which were conceived outside of her parents marriage and she has never met them.
Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.
She currently lives alone in a townhouse located in Bel-Air. She has one cat named Shadow.
What is your occupation?
She is a socialite & works for her boyfriends company.
Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.
Morgan identifies as African-American woman that is 5’6 & weighs 140 pounds. She is currently the heaviest she has been in years. Her hair is in a neck length bob, dyed jet black & occasionally complimented with bundles or clip ins. She has about 10 tattoos, she has matching tattoos with her best friends and her mom. She has 6 piercings all residing on her ears. Her personal style is unique, she considers herself a self-proclaimed fashionista. She enjoys designer items.
To which social class do you belong?
Upper.
Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
Morgan has seasonal allergies which include pollen.
Are you right- or left-handed?
Right-handed.
What does your voice sound like?
Her voice has been described as raspy with a New York accent.
What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
She often uses the words bro, yo and crazy.
What do you have in your pockets?
Nothing.
Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
She has a habit of rolling her eyes and kissing her teeth since copying her boyfriend.
PART 2: GROWING UP
How would you describe your childhood in general?
Morgan had a complicated childhood, to her. If you ask her parents she had the perfect childhood that they did not have growing up. She considered her life the picture perfect lifestyle if you were outside looking in. She was the middle child to her parents but the 5th child overall for her father.
What is your earliest memory?
Spending a weekend at her best friends house when she was 7.
How much schooling have you had?
Morgan graduated from UCLA.
Did you enjoy school?
She loved every moment of it.
Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?
In school.
While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.
Her grandmother was her biggest role model. She taught her how to treat people and how to get what she wanted out of life.
While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?
Morgan only got along with her mother and siblings who lived in her household. She was cordial with her father.
As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
A stay at home mom.
As a child, what were your favorite activities?
Playing outside and going to basketball games.
As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?
She was very confrontational and honest.
As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?
Yes, she was popular amongst her peers. She had 2 best friends named Sarah and Mya they were both stubborn and confrontational. Morgan was the only water sign in the friend group. They were both fire signs.
When and with whom was your first kiss?
Jordan. 6th grade at grand central station.
Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?
No, she lost her virginity at 15 to her long term boyfriend Jordan.
PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES
What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?
The most important event in her life so far is completing college with two degrees.
Who has had the most influence on you?
Her grandmother.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Graduating college.
What is your greatest regret?
Missing a year of college.
What is the most evil thing you have ever done?
The most evil thing she’s done is set her ex’s boyfriends car on fire along with his mothers.
Do you have a criminal record of any kind?
Yes.
When was the time you were the most frightened?
The time she was most frightened was when her father threaten to cut her off.
What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?
The most embarrassing thing that has happened was when her father found out she was dating someone his age.
If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?
She would change the fact she got caught with an older man.
What is your best memory?
Her best memory would have to be when she moved to LA for the last time.
What is your worst memory?
Her worst memory would have to be losing her grandpa and watching her grandpa live with a broken heart.
@la-rp - @la-citizens
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LA Task - S.C.
•What is your full name? Santana Isaiah Cross
• Where and when were you born? Chicago, Illinois. 4/10/02
• Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)
Skylar Cross; Gym owner and physical therapist. She's loving, nurturing, passionate, loves hard. A go getter and great business mindset. Financial advisor to her son to protect his assets before he turns pro. Makes 🔥 cakes from scratch.
Cairo Jennings; Recently retired pro sports athlete currently works as a reoccurring analyst with ESPN. Stoic, old school mentality, provider, gym rat. Stubborn and headstrong, manipulative, controlling.
• Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?
Only child, that he knows
• Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.
UCLA campus apartments, by himself. Open space, hypebeast, got some color, tv mounted, surround sound.
• What is your occupation?
Student full time, brand ambassador
• Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.
6'2, semi muscular, brown skin, tattoos all over his torso and legs, african american, street casual, locs at his shoulder.
• To which social class do you belong?
Middle upper class for now
• Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
Nope
• Are you right- or left-handed?
Right
• What does your voice sound like?
Raspy, Midwest accent, husky
• What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
"Mane, Folk, Gang"
• What do you have in your pockets?
Tictac, phone, wallet
• Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
No
PART 2: GROWING UP
•How would you describe your childhood in general?
He had a solid childhood. With the child support hush money his mom received every month from her former lover it was enough to cover the mortgage so the rest of Skylar's money went to the small bills and splurging on her son.
• What is your earliest memory?
5 years old, running in the backyard with a little car. His father Cairo comes out to the backyard with Skylar and hands Santana a mini basketball before leaving. It was the only time he saw his father face to face.
• How much schooling have you had?
He's in college.
• Did you enjoy school?
Enjoys what it offers and how he can capitalize.
• Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?
Copying his favorite players moves until he perfected it and created his own. Kobe Bryant and Jamal Crawford.
• While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.
His mother, she taught him everything.
• While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?
Had cousins that he got from his mother's friends and two blood cousins that he stays in contact with to this day. They used to get in trouble all the time running the streets.
• As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
A firefighter
• As a child, what were your favorite activities?
Playing monster trucks and doctor
• As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?
Lots of energy, couldn't stay still, OCD
• As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?
Since he played ball in middle school he was known by a lot of people in the state area.
• When and with whom was your first kiss?
13, Courtney Wright in the closet.
• Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?
No, 17 Tamia Blake
PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES
•What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?
Overhearing a phone call of his parents fighting over him.
• Who has had the most influence on you?
His mother and Kobe Bryant
• What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Getting his first NIL deal before he graduated high school.
• What is your greatest regret?
Not retiring his mouth when he had the opportunity to do so.
• What is the most evil thing you have ever done?
Cheated on someone
• Do you have a criminal record of any kind?
No
• When was the time you were the most frightened?
Almost got his car stolen in Chicago when he turned 18
• What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?
Getting my beans caught in my zipper at school
• If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?
Cairo Jennings
• What is your best memory?
Back to back state championships in high school
• What is your worst memory?
Finding out his mother has breast cancer
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LA Task - About Andre.
What is your full name?
— Andre Terrell Davis Jr.
Where and when were you born?
— Atlanta, Ga
Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)
— Andre never knew his mom, and his father Andre Davis Sr. is a truck driver that had no intentions of being an active father. He was raised by his grandparents, Dion and Loretta Davis who own a soul food restaurant in Atlanta. Their nurturing personalities saved his life.
Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?
— He has 2 siblings but he doesn't know them.
Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.
— Andre lives in Boston, Ma part time and Los Angeles, Ca part time by himself.
What is your occupation?
— He is the starting small forward for the Boston Celtics.
Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.
— Andre is African-American with no tattoos and stands at 6 foot 6 inches tall and weighing about 220 pounds. His hair is always clean cut and he keep his beard long but shaped. He dresses how he feels and can be found breaking fashion norms because he likes to experiment and wear what he thinks looks good.
To which social class do you belong?
— Upper class.
Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
— No.
Are you right- or left-handed?
— Right handed
What does your voice sound like?
— Andre's voice is deep, gruff, and smooth.
What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
— Random basketball words. Huh, shut up nigga, energy.
What do you have in your pockets?
— His phone and wallet.
Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
— No.
PART 2: GROWING UP
How would you describe your childhood in general?
— Andre's childhood was rough for a long time with neither parents wanting him. He was bounced around family members, almost joined a gang in middle school but his grandparents stepped in and gave him a second chance. They were strict but it was what he needed.
What is your earliest memory?
— Getting a bike for his 6th birthday.
How much schooling have you had?
— Andre left college early to pursue his NBA career but he has since gone back an finished up and now holds a bachelor's degree in sociology with a concentration in family, gender and society.
Did you enjoy school?
— Yes he did.
Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?
— He learned how to play basketball from playing older guys in the park and watching tv.
While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.
— He didn't have anyone to look up to but he had a lot of people he knew he didn't want to be like. Andre wanted his own path and to be his own man.
While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?
— He didn't talk a lot and stayed to himself but he felt safe with his grandparents and respected them.
As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
— He wanted to be an astronaut.
As a child, what were your favorite activities?
— He liked to play sports and video games.
As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?
— Andre wasn't popular until high school because that was the longest he had stayed at once school. Everybody he was around he didn't consider friends because he wasn't used to having people support him and he never spoke to any of them once he went to college. The only person he was friends with was his high school sweetheart and she was his rock.
When and with whom was your first kiss?
— He had his first kiss in 5th grad with a girl who used to bully him.
Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?
— He's not a virgin, he lost his virginity at 16 to his girlfriend at the time.
PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES
What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?
— The day he signed a contract to play in the NBA.
Who has had the most influence on you?
— His grandparents were his only good influence and by far the greatest.
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
— Andre considers making the NBA the greatest thing he's ever done.
What is your greatest regret?
— His biggest regret is getting caught up with gangs when he was young.
What is the most evil thing you have ever done?
— He beat up a kid for no reason just to prove he could hang.
Do you have a criminal record of any kind?
— He's been arrested for fighting and for possession.
When was the time you were the most frightened?
— He was scared the last time he got arrested because he thought that would be the one that stuck.
What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?
— He was embarrassed when he got caught stealing as a kid.
If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?
— He wouldn't change anything because it got him to where he is.
What is your best memory?
— His best memory was making his first basket in the NBA.
What is your worst memory?
— His worst memory was not having anyone to celebrate mother's and father's day with.
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re: everything horny nothing beautiful—do you think people are onto something when they say that americans became oddly and intensely puritan after 9/11. never understood that particular argument, nor the bit about americans as uniquely puritan/sexually repressed compared to the rest of the (western) world
ya i can kind of understand people thinking that the wave of post-9/11 nationalism led to like a general sexual conservatism, like it's sort of just an assumption that those things must have automatically gone hand-in-hand, but i don't think actually that america did become significantly more sexually repressed or puritanical in the aughts lol. it's also another one of those cases where many people seem to want to use the idea of puritanism to mean, like, "intensification of reactionary ideas" and i think puritanism is better understood as just one reactionary strain among many. like, all roads do not necessarily lead to rome.
anyway as to the general perception of americans as uniquely sexually repressed and puritanical i think there are a couple things going on. one is a general, max weber-lite tendency to over-interpret the significance of protestantism as a guiding economic force with an accompanying cultural and sexual ethos. so the fact that america has always been plurality protestant gets taken as prima facie evidence of sexual repression, like the way countries like england or germany are also assumed more repressed and buttoned-up than eg france or italy. i've said before that weber arguments are bad (/tagged/weber) and i'll say it again.
there's also, i genuinely think, a continued appeal to the colonialist, climatic-racial argument that hotter environments make people more emotional, impulsive, expressive, and yes sexually uninhibited. again even just within europe you can think here about how northern europeans perceive themselves vs how they talk about spain, italy/the mediterranean, etc. i think the us gets broadly lumped in with england here as a former british colony, and then you can see how internally there's absolutely a distinction between how people talk about the us north vs the south, and how the south is contrasted as wilder and, despite the bible belt, sexually more dangerous/improper; obviously this also relates to internal racist and classist dynamics, including the legacy of slavery and its corresponding discourses of blackness/africanness. there's also an east-to-west distinction internally, which i'd argue shows the continued legacy of settler justifications and ideas of western expansion as both manifest destiny and exploration of a wild and untamed terra nullius. the northeast, which is where the puritan influence was historically strongest, is often positioned in these discourses as the 'true' america in the sense of being the cultural centre or source (on an internal centre-periphery model à la basalla) so the puritan influence gets overstated and puritanical/repressed sexual mores are then seen as linked to economic dominance as well as 'proper' behaviour and culture.
and then finally sometimes people are just like, going into these arguments assuming that religious proscriptions on sex can be taken at face value, which is honestly very funny. like for example you will often hear people assert that the us is specifically more 'prudish' about child sexuality than eg italy or france, and they may point to things like us evangelical 'purity rings' or those ceremonies where like, girls pledge their virginities to their fathers. and it is true these things happen. but people making this type of argument tend to forget that also, child marriage is legal in the us. in general a religious command is an interesting phenomenon for a sociological analysis, but not necessarily one that should be taken as uncomplicatedly true, esp where like sexual taboos are concerned lol. it's true that in general, americans are more concerned to preserve certain kinds of modesty than some europeans (like, public changing rooms or spas are a very different affair in the us than in eg iceland or scandinavia, specifically regarding level of comfort with nudity) but it's not really a very serious argument to assume this correlates to a larger phenomenon of general repression or puritanism.
i mean i understand all national identities are constructed and this is just a piece of how that's done, both by americans and by other countries looking at america. but yeah i would say it's not a very insightful analysis of religion or sexuality lol
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Get to know the blogger:
I was named after an angel. They have appeared in the Bible as both male and female. They are known as, “the lion of God”.
I grew up in New York but moved to California at the age of 18 to be with a girl I met online. We were in a committed relationship for 15.5 years.
I currently attend UCLA as an honors student in Economics. It isn’t fun.
As a child, I aspired to entertain people, so I immersed myself in various art forms such as dance, classical and voice acting, contemporary art, and music classes. These interests led me to connect with a wide array of individuals, including voice actors from TV shows and games I adored, such as Teen Titans, The Batman, Metal Gear Solid and more.
When I was 11 I had a seizure which resulted in me going into a coma for several months. When I woke up I didn’t remember anyone but I had an uncanny ability to solve math problems without having to go through the typical mathematical process.
During my middle school years, my sister and I started modeling largely because of my god mother. I pursued modeling until the age of 16. I stopped because began to feel that the expectations and standards placed on me were unrealistic l. Thanks to our modeling endeavors and the influence of my godmother, a renowned designer known for crafting exquisite modern African wears for actors, actresses, and even models like Tyra Banks, we were fortunate to forge numerous connections within the fashion industry.
I won an art contest during my elementary school years, and my artwork was exhibited at the Guggenheim Museum for several months.
During my high school and early college years, I honed my skills in video games, ranking among the top 10-30 players worldwide in both single-player and multiplayer games, including Modern Warfare 2, Gears of War 2, Battlefield 3, Battlefield 4, Overwatch and more. This recognition led to invitations to various events where I had the privilege of meeting game developers from companies like Bungie, Ubisoft, Infinity Ward, and Blizzard.
I graduated with 7 AA degrees with honors and a GPA of 3.99829. The lowest grade I received was an A- in my favorite course of all courses, modern philosophy.
I’ve also met various sports teams in the 90s including the Giants, Jets, Mets, Yankees, and the Knicks.
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“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” – A Victorian Fairy Tale
Off and on, I’ve been thinking about Roald Dahl’s classic children’s story, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
A few years ago, it came to light that, according to Dahl’s widow, “His first Charlie that he wrote about was a little black boy.” This comes as some surprise to those who know the history of the novel, since the Oompa-Loompas were “pygmy Africans” in the first edition, and remained imported slave labor in all subsequent editions and adaptations.
The writer of the linked Guardian article seems to think that making the Oompa-Loompas orange-faced and green-haired somehow erases this fact, but come on now. Regardless of whether they’re a real people, the very premise of importing an entire population into your factory as labor is colonialist as can be, and coding them with uniform physical features is both racist and racialist.
This in itself is nothing new, but lately I’ve been reevaluating these parts of the text in light of the news that Charlie was originally black. The Guardian, predictably, only cares about Dahl’s reputation, but we should take it further. How does a black Charlie change our reading of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory itself?
Charlie was black, and the Oompa-Loompas were also black. Narratively and thematically, what do these two facts say in conjunction?
Suddenly, a lot of pieces fit together more tightly than they ever did before.
It's a story about the Faustian bargain that a person of minority status must often make with the powers that be—powers that trace their lineage back to empire.
Art by Quentin Blake, Roald Dahl’s official illustrator
Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory is a microcosm of the British Empire itself. It’s a titanic palace of industry, producing wonders never before seen in all the world—and it does so through the labor of enslaved non-white people, never seen and never spoken about. Wonka’s magical candies capture the magical feeling of going to the sweet shop as a little English child, but Dahl also heightens the dark reality of how that idyllic childhood fancy was produced, as well as the cruel and paternalistic morality that oversaw it. The rules of the English colonies govern Wonka’s workers, while the rules of the English schoolhouse and nursery govern Wonka’s visitors.
And on that note, it's worth mentioning that while the naughty children's punishments are rightly regarded as extreme by today's audiences, the morality behind them is not rejected outright. “That’s what you get! You shouldn’t be greedy or rude or undisciplined,” etc. Conventional parenting still shows its Victorian roots in countless small ways, and not just in the fact that some people today still spank their children. Moral goodness is measured in obedience, and in conformity to a very confining model of behavior. Veruca Salt might have been a spoiled little tyrant—but what did Violet Beauregard really do? She was rude and excitable, and chewed with her mouth open. You know, things that children do because they’re children. Yet these behaviors were strictly managed and punished in nineteenth and early twentieth century English society.
Anyway, I’m getting away from the main point...
Into this world enters Charlie, a poor black boy who lives in a slum with his mother and his four grandparents. He, like all the other children, sees the hidden secrets of the factory. He sees the miraculous candies, the chocolate river, the pink candy boat. He sees the Oompa-Loompas. He listens, like all the other guests, to Willy Wonka’s stories and speeches and eccentric quips.
Yet while the other children buck against the rules of Wonka’s little kingdom, Charlie obeys. Like a poor black boy does in a world run by wealthy white men, he makes himself small and polite. Yes, he’s more virtuous than the other children by consequence of how he was raised—but he’s also conforming to a social script on which his survival depends, something that the spoiled little white children have never needed to do. This is how he reaches the end of the tour unharmed.
This is also the reason why, when offered all of Wonka’s empire as inheritance, he accepts it. The choice is no choice at all. On the one hand, he can inherit a morally bankrupt system that churns out wealth on the backs of imported slaves... and on the other hand, he can refuse, and allow his family to continue starving in the slums.
And that choice carries much more weight when Charlie Bucket is black himself.
When Charlie is black, his story lays bare the moral quandary at the heart of modern capitalism. When Charlie’s skin is the same color as the Oompa-Loompas’, you can’t help but see it. The only way to make a better life for yourself is to embrace an economic system that began in an era when companies traded human beings as property, and that has still not cut ties with the wealth made from those grave moral crimes. When your very life is at stake, you have no choice but to make a compromise with these entities. And the more you stand to gain, the bigger the compromise you must make.
An extra layer of dark irony comes from that fact that Willy Wonka himself is probably the reason why Charlie’s family is poor in the first place. Not only is he part of the capitalist class, but he doesn’t even circulate money back into the economy, like other capitalists claim to do.
The Oompa-Loompas don’t get wages which they then spend out in the surrounding community. They’re paid in cacao beans, a cheap resource that Wonka has aplenty. All the business profits go directly to Wonka, and this money never leaves his factory except in the purchasing of more materials. His factory is a huge economic drain on the area, and Charlie’s family is likely impacted by it directly.
Anyway...
All of this is to say that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was conceived of as “a Victorian fairy tale,” but not as an unthinking reproduction of Victorian values. Roald Dahl was all about subverting and undercutting expectations—sometimes with an overt twist, as in the story “Genesis and Catastrophe,” and sometimes with a subtle, growing unease that never resolves. Though he clearly backed down from this in the final version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the vestiges of a dark satire remain. As it turns out, Charlie himself was the missing piece to this, turning the factory’s vague tonal undercurrent of wrongness into pointed, directed criticism.
I would love to see a black writer, someone in the vein of Jordan Peele, extract this stuff from where it has been buried under layers of editing and editorializing, and put it on the screen or the stage.
#charlie and the chocolate factory#willy wonka#willy wonka and the chocolate factory#literature#children's literature#literary criticism#lit crit#Jordan Peele#Roald Dahl#colonialism#litblr#lit blog
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[“When my daughter received her diagnosis, my unspeakable fear was that this would just connect me to a long, depressing history of female caregivers. Self-effacing, with no identity besides caring for their child, these women were then hated by their other children—and sometimes by the cared-for child themselves.
I had struggled my entire life to redefine gender roles. To live a life free of the heteronormative and sexist expectations that define and limit women. That relegate women to supporting, care-giving roles while the men get to be independent, swashbuckling achievers. To be carefree. I chose to have only one child, late in life, in order to minimize the impact of care on my independent, feminist life. And I chose a gender-nonconforming female partner who would be an equal caregiver, ensuring that despite my being the birth mother, we would share the minimal burdens of our needs-free child. Like Washington, I naively thought that I could individually solve the systemic problems of care by having an egalitarian marriage—queer gender-nonconforming edition. All that was missing in this needs-free fantasy was the diamond poop.
I had no models, no lineages of caregiving that demonstrated the value of giving care to a disabled person in a nonsexist fashion. I had no lineages of caregiving at all.
“Behind every successful disabled kid is a bedraggled mother,” quipped one cishet “autism mom” friend. We met in the parent group I dutifully attended for the parents of kids with disabilities when my daughter was first diagnosed. “Parents,” it turned out, meant moms; my partner and I were the only couple to attend, and there was not a single dad in sight. Nor were there any single-parent families represented. Most of us were middle to upper-middle class, and three-fourths were white, with the rest being mostly Asian and South Asian, despite living in a county where 15 percent of the population are African American and 12 percent are Latinx.
We certainly were a bedraggled lot. Sacrifice seemed to be the theme. Accepting your child’s limitations. Submerging yourself to your child’s “special” needs. A kind of hyperfeminine Christian martyrdom was valorized. Oy veh! My queer, Jewish self wondered how she got here.
I wanted to escape: not from my daughter and her disability but from the system that seemed intent on denying the reality and ubiquity of ableism, instead sequestering disabled lives away in a privatized system of racist, sexist care. I found enormous value in the unique experience of caring for my daughter—and in forcing the system, from my position of extreme privilege as a white, tenured professor of English at an elite university, to adapt to my caretaking needs rather than deprofessionalize me.
My Asian American partner and I balked at entering the racist care system where BIPOC women were delegated the hardest, supposedly low-skilled, lowest-paid care work while a bevy of white female professionals handled the speech, occupational, and other high-skilled therapies. We were able instead to share the care work in an ungendered way, due to the flexibility of our white-collar jobs and our shared socialization as women. But we struggled to find a way to engage paid care-work systems that didn’t feel like a perpetuation of racism intersecting with sexism. We still struggle to find parent groups that don’t perpetuate sexism and heterosexism.
While our peers were baffled by our seeming embrace of lowly care work, and praised our DIY indie spirit and apparent adoption of maternal self-sacrifice, we didn’t recognize ourselves. Our own positionality felt unprecedented and unrecognizable. Where were we in this deeply racist, misogynist, and heterosexist story? Utterly cut off from our lineage as caregivers, which is as inherent a part of the story of disability as disabled people themselves.”]
jennifer natalya fink, from all our families: disability lineage and the future of kinship, 2022
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