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daisylincs · 3 years

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It's time to see what I can do! To test the limits and break through// no right no wrong no rules for meee// I'm freeeeeeeeee (and i was glad lincoln died)

*silence*

*utter, shocked silence*

Well, Birdie, I only have one thing to say to you --

Why Lincoln Campbell Shouldn't Have Died: A Small Essay By Lily [Redacted]

#1. It’s Lazy. There was all this fuss about how “heart-breaking” Lincoln’s death was, and how it was the most shocking choice, and I’m just like... really? Was it? Because frustrating as it is to me, it’s true that Lincoln didn’t have any significant relationships on the show aside from his with Daisy, and he also didn’t have the time/the writers didn’t invest the time to make him a character the audience could become really close to.

And I don’t see how that’s a shocking choice at all? That’s just taking the easy way out of things. If they had really wanted to make a heart-breaking death, it would have been so much worse to choose literally anyone of the OG team.

Or, heaven forbid, not to make anyone die at all!! (Yes, I hate the Fallen Agent arc. Yes, that’s a conversation for another day.) But think about it: it would have been way more original, way more shocking, to have Lincoln not die, or find a super original/Fitzsimmons-esque way to get past the vision. It could’ve been way more shocking and ultimately satisfying if the whole team had worked together to avoid someone dying, and succeeded in avoiding that. It would have made excellent bonding.

And it wouldn’t have been lazy, because Lincoln staying alive would force him and Daisy to have some tough conversations, i.e. Hive and SHIELD and what’s next. It would also have meant an equal amount of tricky conversations with the rest of the team - especially surrounding the whole Hive debacle and methods used during it (*coughs in murder vests*). It would’ve actually been much harder than just having Lincoln die... and isn’t that what good storytelling is supposed to do? Make the harder choice for an ultimately far more satisfying resolution?

Because choosing Lincoln to die makes it feel like that was his only purpose on the show, and I can’t help but rage against that. I know that’s how a lot of people actually do see Lincoln, and it just makes me so furious, because that’s actually such a disservice to his character?? He was so much more than just Daisy’s doomed boyfriend, and he could have been even more. Which brings me to my next point -

#2. Wasted Opportunities. I’ll always believe that one of the biggest missed opportunities on the show was that we never got to see Lincoln properly bond with anyone on the team - it was like the writers started, but then decided he was going to die, and then went all, oh, RIP that. Which, honestly, is stupid - because they created this amazing character that had so much potential, and then decided to drop it just like that.

And I mean, dammit!! Aside from Daisy, Lincoln had prime opportunities to bond with at least five other characters on the team - May, Coulson, Jemma, Fitz, and Mack, and that’s not even starting on the other Secret Warriors.

He had a little bit of bonding with May when Lash/Andrew was still a thing - but then, whoops-a-daisy, unequivocally dropped. And like... Lincoln and May could’ve been such a good friendship?? Imagine May initially terrifying the living daylights out of Lincoln, but slowly seeing that he’s not actually that different to Daisy, and he makes her happy? And maybe inviting him to t’ai chi with her, to help control her powers? And him in turn helping give her some closure over Katya Belyakov/telling her that she really did make the only choice? They could’ve developed a mother/son bond just as beautiful as Daisy’s, if AoS had only tried.

Then there’s Coulson. Daisy’s (basically) dad. We got to see a little bit of this, especially in the 3x14-15 era, but I would have loved to see even more of Coulson not-so-subtly threatening Lincoln, but grudgingly coming to accept him as a good agent (and, though he’d never admit it, kinda liking the guy.) Ugh, it could have been so funny and GOOD!!

Fitz and Jemma, to do them in a package deal, could also have been a GREAT BroTP with Lincoln if they had only actually developed it. I would have loved to see a) FitzSimmons initially distrusting Lincoln and being like “if you hurt Daisy...” and then eventually growing to bond with him over science and, well, adoring Daisy, b) a Lincoln-and-Simmons-specific friendship starting after Maveth, for example, Jemma can’t really be around her friends because they keep pitying her and trying to help and she doesn’t want that, so here’s someone new who’s nice and can also distract her with a common interest, and finally c) Lincoln and Fitz bonding over, oh, Daisy, and being ridiculously in love. Just. C’mon. It could’ve been WONDERFUL - and, just think about it, the picture of a Fitzsimmons-and-Lincoln triple alliance out-science-ing Daisy. FAB.

And Mack!! Someone who’s basically Daisy’s older brother, and, I do believe, another one for the Don’t-Hurt-Daisy pile. But Mack’s also very just, and an excellent judge of character, plus he was literally listening in on their first kiss, lmfao. So I think he’d be that “ugh AGAIN you two stop *eye roll*” big brother, but secretly be very happy for them. (I would’ve LOVED to see it, ahhhh.)

Then, of course, the Secret Warriors!! If anyone would listen, I could R A G E for days about how we only had one episode with the Secret Warriors, and that only barely before it all blew apart. But what snippets we had in that one episode!! Lincoln comforting Joey when he gets stressed before a mission. That’s canon. Now imagine Lincoln learning Spanish for both him and Elena (and so the three of them can fuck with Daisy.) And him encouraging them to follow Spanish traditions, because he picked up a lot of “traditions are important” culture from Afterlife. And, of course, them all going to Pride together to support Joey...

My point is just, there is so much MORE AoS could have done with Lincoln’s character, but especially his bonds with the other main cast. Instead of highlighting his relationship with Daisy, I would’ve preferred a lot more focus on his bonds with the rest of the gang. Because, most simply put, he’s a nice guy and loves Daisy - but that’s not all he is, and also, that love for Daisy would mean he WOULD go out of his way to bond with her family. (Point made.)

#3. It Conflicts With The S5 Time Paradox. During the Fallen Agent arc, all we’re hearing about is how time is fixed, and a death is inevitable. And then in season 5, we have the same thing with the time loop... except, they manage to break it then. We’re literally told, “there are many different futures.” And, cool. But, uh... that’s exactly what you guys didn’t say in season 3!!

Because someone saw a death, a death had to happen. My question is just: if the loop could have been broken in s5, why couldn’t the death have been avoided in s3?? It wouldn’t even have been that hard to make it still fit with the vision - Daisy can quake the controls to destroy them, then Lincoln pulls her out of the quinjet, but she leaves the jacket behind. Hive dies, but no-one else - and the best part is, that even still fulfils the original vision, because someone did die. Hive. Click boom.

And if I can figure that out, then, come on, surely AoS could have done so much better!! It just... really frustrates me, hrrrg.

#4. It Becomes A Plot Point To Hurt Daisy. We all like to joke about how much AoS hurts Daisy, but... this is extreme?? Like?? She only just went through probably the biggest trauma of her life, being freaking possessed, and now you want to make her lose someone she loves too? Cruel.

The only real reason the Fallen Agent arc ever existed was, let’s be real, to force Daisy into that spiral of hurt and depression. And, like... she already had more than enough trauma just from Hive. Nobody would have blamed her for running away then - in fact, how very Daisy it would have been, leaving before she could hurt anyone else she loved.

And then, of course, we could have had Lincoln and the team working together to find her and bring her back, and, heyo, bonding!! It could also have been such a good point for Staticquake’s relationship, what with Lincoln helping Daisy recover after depression/withdrawal, because who better suited, and Daisy slowly forgiving herself and them becoming that much more of a deeply caring, solid ship.

So in short - though, 🙈🙈🙈, I suppose I should really say in long, because it would seem I am incapable of doing anything in a short fashion - I don't think anyone should be "glad" about Lincoln's death. If anything, we should all be FURIOUS, and super frustrated, because if he had only lived, there could have been so many excellent storylines, both bonding-wise and regarding THE ACTUAL PLOT (his powers could have been SO HELPFUL, just, argh). Lincoln Campbell should not have died, and I will stand by that till the day I die.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

#ask #you can say a lot of things to me but DON'T say you're glad Lincoln died #cause that's a really downright ARSEHOLE thing to do #and you will get lectured for it #at length #as shown here #and probably not talked to for a while #again as shown here #😤#**lily rants #staticquake #defending staticquake #queue'll figure it out together

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adenei · 3 years

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Always A Bridesmaid, Never a Bride - Ch. 2

so much for only posting one chapter a week...oh well. You’re welcome for those of you who are into this!

AO3 || FFN

---RON---

“Ron, hey! Have a good weekend?” Neville Longbottom approached me as I walked into my office at The Telegraph.

“Hey, Nev. Yeah, I guess. You?”

“It was great! You missed out on Saturday night. The film festival was spectacular!”

“Yeah, well, in case you’ve forgotten, I work Saturday nights. I call it the curse of the commitments.”

I knew Neville meant well and he was a good friend, but he seemed to forget that I’m stuck in this hell hole having to attend weddings and then portray them as these beautiful, fairy tale level events. This was not what I anticipated my writing career to look like, yet here I was.

“Right. Sorry. It must be a truly despicable life. Dining on free food and red velvet cake. Was it a good wedding, at least? Find anyone to shack up with?” Neville asked.

I almost snorted out the sip of coffee I’d just taken. Nevile knew that I wasn’t on the pull, right? Let alone looking for someone to move in with. “Hardly. How many times do I have to tell you, one night stands and weddings are not a good mix, no matter how many people say otherwise.”

“But there has to be single bridesmaids looking for a fun night with no commitments,” Neville pressed.

“Maybe there are, but I’m not going for it. It’s not worth it.” I waved Neville off as I set my stuff at my desk and made my way over to my boss’s office.

I’d been waiting the rest of the weekend to unveil my brilliant story idea. I was convinced this would finally promote me out of the commitments section. Not bothering to knock, I strode in and dropped the overflowing Filofax on my editor’s desk.

“This better be important, Weasley,” Rita Skeeter said.

“Er, yeah. I’ve got a story idea I wanted to run by you,” I said. All the confidence I was feeling before somehow disappeared as soon as I stepped into her office.

Rita kept on working as she said, “We’ve been through this before. I hired you to write wedding announcements, not investigative pieces.” I could tell she was not in the mood, but I’d given this far too much thought to give up.

“All I'm asking for is a chance to prove to you that I can offer my writing skills to other sections of the paper—”

“If this is another story proposition about exposing some minute detail of how the wedding industry is ripping people off, you can walk right out of this office. I don’t have any interest in hearing it.”

“But those were meaningful stories! People deserve to know that bakeries are overcharging for cakes. You could ask for an elaborate birthday cake design and the price would be significantly less because it’s not for a wedding! They’re conning innocent people just because they’re in love!”

“Readers don’t want stories on the price gouging, Ron! They want happy, feel good stories that give them hope, and you do that quite well. Your articles make most of our money, and I’d be insane to switch you to a different section!” Rita said with a tone of finality.

“Just hear me out. Please? I promise this is a good one.” I opened the Filofax. “This girl’s been in seven weddings—”

“So?” Rita responded. She sounded unimpressed.

“—This year. She was in two this past weekend alone. On the same night! There’s a story here, and I can sense it. She’s like a perpetual bridesmaid. There has to be a reason for it. She doesn’t strike me as the type that has that many friends.”

Rita finally looked up at me. I couldn’t read what she was thinking, but I was mentally preparing to be shot down again. Not this time, though. I needed to fight back for this one. It might be the only way I can get close to Hermione again.

“Fine.”

“Seriously, Rita I can make this—wait, what?”

“I said, ‘fine.’ I’m giving you a chance. Two weeks to find something out of this, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Four,” I said. Two was nowhere near enough time.

“Three, and that’s it.”

“Okay. And if you like it, I move out of commitments for good,” I said firmly.

“Ron—”

“I’m serious. I’ll quit. I can’t spend the rest of my career finding creative ways to highlight baby’s breath and sugar roses.”

“Fine. But you won’t quit. I know you better than that.” Rita picked up the Filofax and handed it to me before ushering me out of her office. “Now, get that adorably cute face out of here before I change my mind.”

I flashed a grin at her. “You won’t be disappointed.”

If the indication from our conversation in the taxi told me anything, it was that I had my work cut out for me. I opened her Filofax and set to work. A plan was already formulating, and I was eager to set it in motion.

This was my chance. My ticket out. Now, I just had to get close to the woman who drove me insane two nights ago. The woman I was unable to get out of my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was just because of the bridesmaid thing, I kept telling myself. That was it.

---- HERMIONE ----

Monday rolled around far too quickly, but I was okay with it. Harry was coming back from a conference after being out of the office last week. I made sure things ran smoothly while he was gone since that was my job. You could call me his assistant, but I was also second in command of the company he’d started from scratch: Second Chance Publishers.

Harry Potter was the ultimate entrepreneur, and I was lucky to work for him. He was everything you could wish for in a boss. Kind and understanding, yet firm and determined in his vision. He was always one who wanted to help the underdog, hence the company’s name. We read author’s manuscripts that had been tossed aside from leading publishing agencies, and gave the promising ones a chance. It’d been eight years and the company was still going strong.

Harry had taken a chance when he hired me fresh out of university, and I like to think I’ve proved indispensable since then. I was incredibly lucky to work in a position where my opinion mattered and I felt needed, like I belonged. Not to mention my boss was unequivocally sexy, and somehow still single.

Single was a good thing. That meant I may still have a chance. He had to notice me eventually, right? Okay, yes, I’ll admit it; I fancy my boss, but it’s innocent! I swear.

I needed to stop thinking about him. The anticipatory butterflies were already fluttering in my stomach, and I needed to get them under control. Coffee in hand, I walked the remainder of the two blocks to the office, and met Lavender on her way in.

“Never made it home this weekend, I see,” I said with a smile as I handed her coffee over. I was totally judging her and she knew it. I was never one to engage in one night stands and she knew it.

Lavender gave me a smug smile and ignored my question. “Maybe. Not that I could find you to stop me. What happened to you the other night? You were hardly there and then you left with that guy. Did you get lucky?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re holding out for Mr. Right,” Lavender scoffed.

I ignored her comment as we meandered through the main doors into the office. Luna Lovegood, the receptionist, was sitting at the front desk. “Morning, Luna!”

“Hi!” she said brightly.

“Question for you: have you seen my Filofax around anywhere by chance?”

“No,” she answered simply.

“Oh, okay then. It’s probably in my office. No problem. I’ll keep looking. Did you happen to send out the order I left on your desk Friday afternoon for the manufacturer?”

She looked nonplussed. “No.”

“Alright. No big deal, I’ll take care of it,” I said as we continued on down the hall.

“Wow, Hermione, you really told her,” Lavender said.

I sighed. “It’s fine, Lav, I should have done it myself anyway..”

“But you’re the boss, you’re allowed to tell people what to do.”

“I’m not the boss, and you know that. I’m the boss’s assistant. There’s a difference.”

“Correction, there would be a difference if the boss didn’t rely on you so much as well.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just like my job.”

“Or maybe, it’s not the job you like, but the boss,” she raised her eyes knowingly at me.

“Get to accounting, Lavender,” I told her, since I wasn’t willing to admit that she was right.

“Oh, sure, now you get bossy,” she said as she meandered off.

I chuckled to myself as I walked into my office and got settled for the day. My first point of business was to find my Filofax. That held my life. Every appointment and event was written in there. Not to mention all my cut outs of details I loved and wanted to incorporate for my own dream wedding. I searched high and low and it was absolutely nowhere to be found.

Giving up, I turned to my computer and attempted to get some work done. My productivity didn’t last very long, though. I looked up a half hour later to see a flower delivery at the front desk. Did Luna just point to me? My heart beat a little faster in my chest. I think she did. The man was walking towards me and stopped just outside my office.

“Hermione Granger?” he asked.

“That’s me,” I said in a hushed voice.

“These are for you,” he said as he handed them to me and turned to leave.

I was dumbstruck. I never received flowers, let alone at work! Setting them on my desk, I began searching for the note card that should have accompanied the beautiful bouquet, but nothing was there to reveal the mystery sender.

“Oh, sure, I spend all weekend in bed with a guy and you’re the one who’s sent flowers!”* Lavender sounded annoyed as she strolled into my office. “Who are they from?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say.” My voice still sounded shocked.

When I turned to look at Lav, I watched as her face went from annoyed, to understanding, and then it finally settled on pity. “Hermione, no, you can’t possibly think it’s from him.”

“Well, who else could it be?” I asked indignantly.

“I don’t know, but you’ve got to stop this! You’re in love with a man who doesn’t even know you exist.”

“I am not in love with him,” I lied. “And he does too know I exist.”

“Yeah, in a ‘she’s my assistant’ kind of way, not in a ‘she’s so sexy I want to rip her clothes off and have mind blowing sex with her’ way.”*

“You don’t know that,” I said weakly.

“I do too know that! Honestly, at least get it under control, will you? The whole office knows,” Lavender argued.

“They do not!” I said incredulously.

Luna, who was passing by my door at that exact moment, must have heard Lavender and chimed in. “Yes, we do.” She smiled at both of us and kept right going before I could stop her.

“See?” Lavender pressed. “I’m telling you—” she was cut off by a dog barking, which could only mean one thing.

“Pads!” I cried as the large black dog darted towards me.

“Hey, Padfoot, easy there. Hermione doesn’t want a face full of slobber this morning,” came Harry’s sultry, baritone voice.

“No, no, it’s okay!” I said quickly as I stood back up. “Hi. How was the conference?”

“Brilliant! If things went as well as I hope they did, we may be expanding into the American and Canadian markets.”

“That’s wonderful!” I noticed Lavender pretend to gag from over Harry’s shoulder.

“How are things here? Have we met our quota for the end of the month?” Harry immediately began business talk. I liked a boss who was no nonsense and wanted to make sure things stayed on track.

“Almost. There’s a few manuscripts to get through, and we’re waiting on approval from Hopkirk on the illustrations. If we can get that soon, the art department can move forward, and we should have the new publication out by the middle of next month.

“Great. I’ll make a point to call her personally to see if we can get the process moving more quickly.”

I nodded. “Just so you know, you’ve got an 11:00 meeting with marketing. Oh, and the Boys and Girls Club has an event coming up that they’d like you to speak at. Nothing too intensive, just a few words on the impact that reading has had on their kids, and how you’ve seen the program grow since you’ve become involved. But it will be a formal affair,” I added.

“Ah, so I suppose that means I’ll need to bring a date,” Harry acknowledged.

“Yes, probably,” I said with a small smile. I was trying to hide the hope that he might ask me. It was a work event. Sort of…

“Well, I guess that’s one aspect of my life that I shouldn’t need your help with, right?” he said with a chuckle.

“Er, yeah, right,” I said regretfully.

I watched as he turned and left my office. Lavender looked like she wanted to say something. “Don’t even start.”

“Fine. Hey, what are you doing before Luna’s sten party tonight? I’m meeting some friends for pre-drinks. You could use the distraction!”

I laughed at her brazenness. “My neighbor is coming back into town. I promised I’d pick her up at the train station

and we’d grab a bite before the party.” I lowered my voice for what I was about to say next. “Who schedules a sten party on a Monday anyways?”

“Are you just starting to question Luna’s decisions now? And is that the neighbor you’ve been friends with since you moved in, but know nothing about? The one who disappears for months on end?”

“Yeah, Jenny. But she’s really nice, and fun to hang out with when she’s in town. There’s only so much I can take of you,” I joked.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me,” Lavender scoffed.

Just then, Harry popped his head back in my office. “Hey, Hermione, did you leave the coffee on my desk?”

“What? Oh, yes. It was nothing. I, er—I figured you might want it,” I said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Thanks! You were right, just like always,” he smiled and I thought my legs were turning to jelly. “That’s why I love ya,” he added as he disappeared from my doorway.*

I was awestruck. “I love you, too,” I said quietly under my breath as I watched him walk away*.

Slap! Lavender smacked me hard across the face. “Get it together!” she snapped.

I shook my head as I cleared my head from the haze. “Y-yeah. Yup. Thanks. I needed that.”

Lavender had no words for me. I always appreciated her realistic view on things, even if it was a bit crass. The fact that she was speechless over what had just happened was like someone dumping ice water down my back, and the cold realization creeped through my veins. I had it bad for my boss, and I was stuck.

~o~

I was right on time when I arrived at the train station to pick up Jenny. She’d been away for six months, which was longer than normal, but I was excited that she was coming home for a while. I loved Lavender and her friendship, but sometimes she was a bit much. Jenny was way more relaxed, and didn’t press me as much about my personal life. Soon enough I saw her flaming red hair in the crowd. I waved and it didn’t take long for her to spot me.

“Hermione!” I heard her cry as she made her way over to me. She wrapped me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you! I’m sorry you had to pick me up. My brother bailed on me last minute.”

“Ah, yes, this mysterious brother you insist exists, yet I’ve never met in our five years of sharing the same building,” I joked. “Come on, I’ve already called for takeaway.”

“Brilliant! I’m starved. Fish and chips, I hope? I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had a good English classic,” she said eagerly.

“Of course, would you expect anything less?”

Jenny threw her arm around my shoulder as I took one of her bags and we made our way to the taxis. The ride took a bit longer than usual since it was rush hour, but our takeaway was still warm by the time we got to the flat. Jenny dropped her bags off in her flat next door to mine, and then met me a few minutes later.

“Finally! I was drooling in the taxi,” she said.

“So, how were your travels this time around?” I asked between bites.

“Eh, same old, same old. It’s a rough schedule being on the job for six months and then off, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“You’re an athletic trainer for one of the female football teams, right?” I attempted to verify.

“Something like that, yeah. It’s hard to believe I’ve finished my sixth season already.”

I nodded, storing that information in the file I had in my brain for her. I’d learned a good deal about Jenny over the past few years, even if it was nothing terribly close to her personal life. I knew she wasn’t overly fond of animals, hated cleaning, and could drink anyone into the ground and be completely fine the next day. She was strikingly beautiful with chocolate brown eyes that possessed a hardness to them when she showed the world her ‘no nonsense’ attitude. I was sure she had no trouble finding men even with her crazy work schedule getting in the way.

“Soooo,” Jenny said, interrupting my thoughts. “What’s been going on with you? Have you met a man yet?”

Maybe I’d spoken too soon when I said I appreciated her friendship more than Lav’s. “No, still single, but I received flowers from some anonymous person at work today,” I mentioned with a chuckle.

“Oh? Tell me more!”

“It was nothing, really. Just a delivery with no note. I have an idea who may have sent them, but they never came forward.”

“Do you think it’s from your mysterious workplace crush? Have they finally noticed what they’ve been missing out on?”

“One can only hope,” I said as I shrugged. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Probably dumping the contents of my luggage on the floor of my bedroom and crashing, if I’m being honest. Why? Do you have anything planned?”

“Luna, the receptionist at work is having her sten party at XOXO,” I told her. “You’re more than welcome to join if you’d like. Meet new people, reacquaint yourself with London’s nightlife…”

“At an Indie bar? We’ll see how I’m feeling after this food digests. I’m way too full to think about going anywhere,” she said.

“Well, the offer stands if you decide you want to meet me there later on, though I don’t blame you for wanting to make a date with your sofa instead.”

We got up and took care of the containers. As Jenny was getting ready to leave, I saw her pause by the counter. “What are these?” she asked as she picked up several newspaper clippings.

“Nothing!” I said quickly, snatching them out of her hand.

“Do you really save wedding announcements?” Jenny asked me.

“Not all of them! Just the ones written by Billy Weston. He’s the best!” I insisted.

Jenny was looking at me quizzically before she headed for the door. “Well, you do you, I guess. Thanks for picking me up again! And for dinner. I owe you one.”

“No problem! It’s good to have you back.” Jenny flashed me a smile before she left.

I hoped that maybe someday she’d trust me enough to let me in on the parts of her life she kept locked up tight. The least I could do in the meantime was be a good friend. For now, I needed to get ready for the sten party.

~o~

Lavender and I were walking away from the bar in the club when I heard someone say Harry’s name. He was here! I turned in time to see him making his way over to us.

“You got them annual passes to the London Zoo and Aquarium,” I said, noticing the worried look on his face.

“Great! Thanks, Hermione. Any chance she’ll believe it’s from me?” Harry asked.

“Maybe. You do an okay job of getting to know your employees, so I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty shot,” I quipped.

He gave a look of approval. “Excellent. I’m going to head to the bar and get a drink. Do you guys need anything?”

I chuckled as I said, “No, thanks. I’m set.” I held up my own drink as Lavender also shook her head no.

Harry nodded and walked away as Lavender looked at me incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” she shot me a look.

“What?”

“When a guy asks to buy you a drink, you always say yes! Even if you already have one. If you ask for a sex on the beach, it’s a subtle hint to indicate what you’re hoping for later.”

I shook my head. “Honestly, Lav, do you ever not have sex on your mind?”

“What’s wrong with that? It might finally get you what you’re hoping for. He buys you a drink, you talk about something other than work, he sees you more than just his assistant and voila! Happily ever after!” She lifted her drink in a cheers motion.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous statement. “We already do talk about things other than work. I’m not going to rush him into anything.’

Lavender rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m responsible.”

“What guy wants responsible?” Lavender was clearly getting flustered now.

“Harry! He loves my responsibility and appreciates me for who I am,” I insisted.

“Well, yeah, but he might appreciate you more if he knew what you wanted,” Lavender said just before clamping her mouth down on her straw and taking a big swig of her drink.

I gave her a look as Harry made his way back over to us. “Hey, Hermione, I hope that thing I left on your desk this morning was okay…” he said quietly.

“That...thing?” I said breathlessly, immediately thinking of the flowers.

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of a new level for us and I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

‘Y-yeah! Yes! Totally fine with it! Definitely,” I said as a grin broke out on my face.

“Great. Er, thanks,” Harry said as he nodded to me and took off to mingle.

I turned to Lavender. “It was him. He sent me the flowers. Oh my God! Lavender, he sent me the flowers!”

“Holy shit, he really did!” I could tell by the shocked look on her face she couldn’t believe it either. “What are you waiting for?!” she asked.

“W-what?” I asked, confused.

“What are you waiting for? Go over there and tell him how you feel! He made the first move with the flowers! It’s now or never! Go declare your love! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s your fairy tale moment.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Go. Yes, I’ll go,” I said awkwardly.

Lavender pushed me in his direction and I began walking slowly his way. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for years to come face to face with! My heart was beating faster with each step.

I was only a few paces away when I saw him notice something. I followed his gaze across the dance floor and saw Jenny looking around, probably for me. I was used to seeing her dressed down in a pair of jeans or sweats, but she was actually done up nicely. Her makeup was done, and her straight red hair fell over her shoulders. She was wearing a shimmery emerald green dress that showed off a bit more than I would have ever expected from her.

I saw her notice Harry, giving him a small smile. I should have stopped and turned around when they were clearly making their way toward each other, but I couldn’t stop my feet. They just kept propelling me forward. Ironically, I met up with them just as they stopped in front of each other.

Jenny noticed me out of the corner of her eye and muttered, “Hermione.”

“Oh, er, right. Harry, this is my friend Jenny, Jenny this is my Harry—no! I mean, this is my boss, Harry,” I clarified. How humiliating!*

“Yeah, Hermione’s the best assistant anyone could possibly have. Half the time she knows what I need even before I do, and she’s always willing to help,” he said nervously. Since when did Harry get nervous? “Just this morning I left Padfoot’s groomer appointment slip on her desk. It was last minute and I had a meeting, so I asked Hermione to drop him off for me.”

I felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. The flowers weren’t from him after all. How stupid was I to get my hopes up?

“Ah, Pads’ appointment. Right,” I tried to say as lightly as I could.

“Well, a clean dog is rather important,” Jenny agreed in a sweet voice.

“Would you like to get a drink?” Harry asked. He only had eyes for her.

“Well, I came to get a drink with my friend, but I couldn’t possibly say no,” Jenny giggled. Since when was Jenny a giggler?

My worst nightmare was coming true. Harry was clearly smitten with my neighbor. This wouldn’t be happening if I’d never invited her to come along, and now I’m watching them get a drink together.

Before I could turn and leave, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was Ron. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I was totally shocked to run into him again.

“Fancy meeting you here! Did you like the flowers?” he asked me.

“What? Those were from you?” I asked. My voice definitely sounded rude.

He nodded with the lopsided grin flashing across his face. “Er, yeah. Did you like them?”

“Oh great, the marriage hating cynic left me romantic mystery flowers this morning. How ironic!” Could this day get any worse?

“Yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Oh, also, I have something for you.” He paused, and I watched him dig around in his satchel. “Here you go!”

It was my Filofax. “Oh, thank God! You found it!”

“Yeah, it was in the back of the cab. You should be more careful where you leave stuff like this. It was either I meet you here tonight or Thursday at your dad’s birthday party.” He laughed like it was a joke, but I was deeply offended and creeped out.

“You read it?”

He shrugged. “I tried to. I didn’t know anyone could fill up every possible centimeter on the page,” he joked again.

I didn’t find it funny, and what made matters worse was I now saw Harry leaning in and whispering into Jenny’s ear. She was smiling and flirting and it felt like my life was falling apart.

“Hey, Ron, could you hold this for a sec?” I asked as I shoved my drink in his hand.

He never got a chance to respond as I made my way to the nearest exit to get some air. Luckily the club was loud enough so no one inside could hear the scream of fury that was escaping my lips. I wasn’t proud of the vulgar language I let out, but tonight called for it. I stopped abruptly when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up and realized the door I’d left didn’t actually lead outside, but to another room where a child’s birthday party was taking place.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t—5 years old, wow. Congratulations!”

I knew my face was red as I swiftly turned around and made my way back into the club. I reluctantly walked back over to Ron. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he said, handing my drink back to me. “Do you want to get a drink?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know…” I said. I suddenly wasn’t in the mood.

“Come on, it’s just one drink,” he said. “Let me prove to you I’m not some creep.”

“It’s not that. I just—I won’t be any fun tonight,” I admitted.

“Oh, er, alright then. Well, maybe I’ll see you around? Thursday?” he joked again.

I glared at him. “Goodnight, Ron.”

He gave me an awkward wave as he turned to leave. Lavender had suddenly appeared behind me. “Ooooh, who was he and where can I get one?”*

“He’s no one, Lav,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood anymore, and I just wanted to go home.

“What happened?” She asked, concerned.

“It’s a long story. I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

I found myself walking over to the bar, approaching Harry and Jenny in a last ditch effort before giving up. “Hey,” I said to them. “Jenny, you must be tired from all that traveling today. Do you want to share a taxi?”

“What? Oh, no Hermione, I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “Harry, do you want to go somewhere more quiet?”

“Sure, I know a place a few blocks from here.”

“What? No—Jenny, it’s getting—” I tried to interject, but nothing could break their attention from each other.

“Brilliant! I hardly ever explore this side of town,” Jenny said to him.

“Do you want to join, Hermione?” Harry asked.

I looked between Harry and Jenny, and she was giving me a frown and a slight shake of her head, willing me to say no. Of course, I couldn’t let her down, so I said, “Oh, no. You two go. I need to get back.” That was it. My chance was officially blown.

“Maybe next time,” Jenny said convincingly. “Let’s get coffee in the morning, yeah? I’ll text you!”

I nodded weakly as I watched them get up and head for the door. Jenny turned around mouthed ‘Thank you! You’re the best,’ before taking the arm Harry held out for her. My heart felt like it was shattering to pieces.

I caught a taxi and made my way home, resisting the urge to cry. There was no way I was going to sleep tonight. I tried to do a few things to tire myself out, like clean the kitchen and doing a home workout, but I found myself obsessively checking the peep hole in my door, and listening intently to hear whether Jenny had come home and whether or not Harry had joined her.

Just the mere thought sent needles through my heart. At around two in the morning, I gave up and forced myself to go to bed. It was everything I could do to avoid getting up. Eventually, after a lot of tossing and turning, I managed to fall asleep.

#romione #muggle au #romione muggle au #ron x hermione #27 dresses inspired

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stitchlesswitch · 4 years

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have a question and haven't found anyone to answer it.. I've got very mixed feelings on doing any sort of cursing or jinxing of people because I feel like it's not my place and God will be upset... Thoughts and opinions? 👉🏻👈🏻

Oh man, that’s an excellent question, and I hope I can do it justice, but please keep in mind I am no way the final authority on the subject matter. Buckle up, because you made the mistake of asking a particularly wordy person. I’ll try to break it up to be more digestible.

TLDR: Do No Harm ... But Take No Shit

PS: Binding and Banishing Spells are pretty good “christian” alternatives -- to me, anyways. See the bottom of the really long post below.

Inadvertent Masterpost Below?

Opinion on Other Witches Using Curses

In terms of Other witches using cursing, hexes, and jinxes---don’t judge them. (Don’t call it black/dark magic either. It associates “black” or “dark” with “negative/bad/harmful” which has racist repercussions.) To me, it is not a Christian’s place to pass judgement on how other people live their lives.

Now this might confuse some people, and in fact it already has, because I literally just made a post where I told people to not curse donald trump--to clarify, I was kidding. It was supposed to be irony/satire.

Opinion on Christian Witches in General Using Curses

In terms of Christian witches cursing/hexing/jinxing, it’s the same rule, I don’t tell other christians/christian witches how to practice their religion. But it gets really complicated, because there’s obviously a line, right? Like if someone starts using Christianity to be homophobic or racist or as an excuse to oppress other groups, Obviously I’m gonna step up and try to stop them. As christians, I feel we have a certain obligation to stop other people from warping and twisting our faith into a tool of hate. So how does cursing/hexing/jixing fit into that line of thought?

In terms of other Christians using curses/jinxes/hexing, to me it’s a two sided coin. Either they are doing it to be malicious, in which case that’s their personal problem between them and their God. I’m not the sin police. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I espouse Christianity in all my words and actions. On the other side of the coin, and this is really important, they could do be doing it for the sake of Justice, or even in defense of worthy causes. For example, cursing an abuser, or hexing white supremacists. So that’s the distinction I hold, and I feel it’s important to separate: essentially, don’t tell people how to live, but don’t stand by and let them use christianity as a tool of oppression either.

My Personal Opinion on Cursing as an Individual Christian Witch

But, it goes even further, and I think this is really the heart of your question: how do I feel, personally, as a Christian witch, about curses in the name of justice? How are we supposed to know God’s thoughts/feelings/opinions about enacting negative consequences for the sake of a good and just cause? I think that, with all things, it depends.

Defense

I think using curses against someone who is abusing you in any way is entirely justified as self defense. I refuse to believe that God would want you to just lie there helpless and suffering if you have the means, any means, to stop it.

Vengeance

Now this is a big one, and the most complicated one. Especially if the person in question is a past abuser. I have a few of those in my life, and the temptation to curse them, is really powerful sometimes. It’s really hard, because one of the staples of Christianity is forgiveness. We’re taught to believe that those who are evil will get whats coming to them in the afterlife, therefore we do not need to seek retribution against them in this life. So I had to analyze my fundamental beliefs. Perhaps you too, could benefit from these questions:

Why did I become a Christian witch? What is it that I hope to get out of being a Christian witch? And the answer to that question is that I’m trying to be a better person, a better Christian. I am a Christian witch because I’m actually an incredibly hateful, angry, and violent person--I’m trying to use christian witchcraft to undo that. So to curse as a Christian witch would be hypocritical and counter-productive In My Case. Cursing For Me, would go against my core reasons for being a Christian witch.

Secondly, Do I accept letting God take responsibility for seeking vengeance on my behalf? I had to ask myself that--do I trust God? Do I relinquish control of justice into God’s hands? And again, because control issues and trust issues are major problems I’m struggling with, it is in line with my practice to say yes to those questions. To say no I don’t trust God and I don’t relinquish control when it comes to seeking justice, would be counter-productive against my core reasons for being a Christian witch.

But if you have entirely different reasons why you are a Christian witch, then your answers might differ.

Social Justice--Cursing Against Injustice in General

I always go back to this quote: “When we go before Him, God will ask, “Where are your wounds? And we will say, “I have no wounds.” And God will ask, “Was there nothing worth fighting for?”— Allan Boesak (via shaneclouw)

To me, I very much believe that God would want us to stand up for those who are being persecuted. In these cases, things along the lines of “hexing white supremacists” is quite acceptable in my perspective. But that’s because I’m a fighter.

Like I said, I’m a very violent and angry person. I have Zero issue with using violence for the sake of what I believe is right. BUT, not all Christians are like me. Some Christians are pacifists. I know people who are pure love, who are incapable of hate, who couldn’t hurt a fly if their life depended on it. Those are the kind of people that violent and angry people like me are supposed to protect. Does that make sense?

Not all Christians choose to respond to injustice with bloodthirst the way that I do. And I can’t sit here and pretend that there is only one correct way to respond to injustice. Both the fighters and the lovers are important and necessary in the response to injustice. Your wounds don’t automatically have to come as a result of being violent.

( This post is a cool resource fyi )

Protection Post and Hexes for BLM Movement from @littlewitchygreen

Talk to Your God

You don’t have to take my word for it. Try to pray, use divination, journal, ask for signs. Communicate with God. Easier said than done, I know. And God sometimes specifically withholds answers because he wants to see what we’ll do. But I really don’t recommend just jumping into something so serious without having multiple talks with your deity about it first.

It’s Not Black and White

Take this post for example, what magic does the bible prohibit? a very good post. Except, shit’s just not that simple. For example, the Bible unequivocally says, “Thou Shall Not Kill” -- but if someone is attacking me, you bet your ass I’ll kill them without hesitation, remorse, or mercy. Another example, it explicitly prohibits contacting the dead. Well I Regularly speak to love ones that died at their grave--could that count as contacting? Maybe maybe not. The point is we Love to pretend that Religion is just So Simple and Black and White and it just fucking isn’t. We can’t box the creator of the universe into a dichotomy.

Christian Alternatives

Protection Spells/Return to Sender

In some cases, protection spells can accomplish the same thing in a less malicious way, by simply keeping negativity the fuck away from you.

Ultimate Protection Magic Masterpost

[part 1]

[part 2]

Source: auricwitch

Baneful Magic Countermeasures from @breelandwalker

Return to Sender Protection Jar from @shroud-of-roses

Return to Sender Spell from @cyncrow

Return to Sender Masterlist from @the-canary

So you think you’ve been cursed from @sylvaetria

Banishing Spells

Definition: Banish--to forcefully remove something; to put an end to something. Source: lunaesteria. Banish--To magically end something, Or to rid the presence of. Definitely works on people. Source: unknown but not me sorry.

Methodology:

Banishing - take an item that represents what you wish to banish and: throw it in the trash, flush it down the toilet, burn it, bury it, drown it; burn the item and sweep the ashes out the back door or bury them; carve the name of what you want to banish into a black candle and let it burn down completely; transmute negative energy into a stone (preferably a black stone like onyx) and throw it over the fence in your backyard (or whichever direction is south in reference to your home); stir your morning coffee or tea in a counter-clockwise motion while focusing on the intent of what energies you wish to banish for the day; using incense that is associated with banishing negative energy, walk around your space in a counter-clockwise motion with the lit incense in your hand. Source: lunaesteria

Specific Banishing Spells:

Other Examples of Banishing Spells and This One both from @sylvaetria

Christian Banishing: Banished with a Blessing

Binding Spells

Definition: Bind – to restrict the actions/behavior of someone or to tie them to another object, place, or situation Source: lunaesteria

spells – what’s a binding spell ..?

Methodology:

Binding & Sealing - wrap a string around a poppet or other representation of the target or item you wish to bind; put the poppet or other representation in a plastic bag filled with water and freeze it; place the item in a black box and seal it - store in a dark place or bury the box in your backyard; drip wax over the item. Source: lunaesteria

Specific Binding Spells: Search “witchcraft binding” on Tumblr and you will find a Ton of binding spells for a variety of different purposes/reasons. Unfortunately they are not compiled on a single post.

Christian Binding Spells:

Prayer to Bind someone who wishes you harm

I’m so Sorry I didn’t post the below spell I looked all over tumblr for the original person who posted it but I can’t find the post anywhere:

“Christian Witch Binding Spell

Disclaimer: This spell does not belong to me. It belongs to Aslinn Dhan. It’s in her Christian Witch’s Book of Shadows

Materials

Anthame Bowl

White and Black Candle

paper and pen

wand

Incense

Sacred Fire

salt water

Perform cleansing and the calling of the corners to begin each spell. Pour some of your water into a bowl and bless it with the sign of the cross. Using salt, cast your protective circle and light the white candle from your sacred fire. Place the candle in the center of your circle and with your wand intone:

Angels of the four corners, hear my cry. Carry my words to your Master and mine. Within this space stands one who believes Protect me and give me the strength I need.

Write the name of the one who is harassing you. Roll it like scroll or fold it and lay it in your sacred space.

On this paper is the name of who is vexing me. Bind them from harassing others, and me, from harming others or me. The harm they inflict comes back to them. By the power of three make it be. May their heart grow heavy with regret but may they make amends. St. Michael the Archangel, I ask your help in this matter.

Burn or otherwise destroy the paper.

Say the Lord’s Prayer.

Take up your wand and say

___________ I admonish you from harming yourself and others. Your hurtful ways harm not only others but yourself, Angels of the four corners, protect him from harm and protect others from being harmed by him.

Announce: Blessed Be!

Angels of the four corners carry the sentiment of this spell to God in heaven. May all of the elements of this spell enlighten me to help me to withstand evil and encourage those around me to put aside their evil ways that are harmful to themselves and to others. May all we do come back to us seven times.

Perform closing ritual.”

Why are Banishing and Binding Okay?

To some, they aren’t. To me, they are just more defensive. They aren’t saying “I specifically wish ill intent on you” it’s more along the lines of “I wish you would go away” and “I wish you would fucking stop doing that.” (Some will say you’re infringing upon free will with binding, but to that I say, I also fringe upon my dog’s free will when I stop her eating a doughnut off the counter idgaf free will is a myth.)

Tips for Cursing

You should never cast a curse unless you know how to undo it from @sylvaetria

How to undo a curse from @heatherwitch

Curse Breaking from @nightmarist

What I learned about Curses from @kendallscraft

Jinxes Hexes and Curses from @orriculum

Source: lunaesteria

✖ Spell & Curse Breaking ✖

Methods for negating spells you have cast:

Destroy the physical representation of the spell i.e. if your spell was contained within a jar, break the jar and dispose of the pieces

Disassemble the spell and cleanse each component individually

Place item in a bath of sea salt and dried herbs that are associated with cleansing and banishing - leave overnight and disassemble the spell when finished

Cleanse the item with moon or rain water and disassemble if applicable

Place the item in a black box to negate its effects

Bury the item for 3 days, retrieve it, then dispose of it

Bury the item on the night of the full moon and retrieve it at the next new moon

Create a sigil or written incantation with the intent of breaking the spell and place the item on top of the paper - leave in place overnight

Create a written incantation that includes the details of the spell - bury, burn, drown, rip apart, or throw it away

Light a black candle that is surrounded by sea salt while focusing on the intent of negating the spell - recite an incantation if you wish, and allow the candle to burn down; sweep the sea salt out your back door

Breaking and warding spells others have cast upon you:

Perform a “Return to Sender” spell - find a black taper candle; turn it upside down; cut the tip off and leave the wick in place; carve “return to sender” and the target’s name (or a description of them) into the candle; light the candle upside down and let it burn down completely

Leave a Witch Bottle outside of your home - it should contain items like: pins, needles, broken glass (to shred their negative intentions towards you); your name and the names of those who may be affected by this negative energy plus an incantation for protection (e.g. your loved ones, pets, anyone who lives in your home); and lemon juice, lime juice, or sea salt (to purify their negative energy so that it may not get to you)

Create a mixture of charcoal, chili powder, and sulfur powder - sprinkle around the perimeter of your home to stop a spell in its tracks

Alternately, you may combine these ingredients, add to a hollow pendant, and wear on your person to protect you from the effects of a spell

If you know the details of the spell that has been placed on you, write them down on paper; while focusing on breaking the spell, hold the paper in your hand, and then rip it to shreds; throw the pieces in the trash, or bury in your backyard

If you don’t know the exact details, write down the effects you have been feeling if you think they have been caused by a spell or malintent directed at you; follow the steps above

Submerge yourself in a bath of sea salt and light frankincense incense - place the incense on the edge of the tub or somewhere safe in your bathroom - to cleanse yourself of any negative energy that has been directed at you

Place an energetic shield over yourself or your home that is designed to negate negative energy

Tips:

Close all loopholes

When crafting a spell, remember to create a fail safe (e.g. “this spell will be broken if X occurs”)

Add timed conditions to your spells (e.g. “this spell will be broken on the night of the next full moon” and include a specific date)

Be specific when describing the target that will be affected by the spell (whether it’s you or someone else, be sure to include taglocks whether it be their name written or spoken aloud, DNA such as hair, fingernail clippings, etc., or a photo of the target)

Use ingredients, supplies, and tools that match your intent

Employ a method of protection before casting spells, whether the intent is malefic or not

Cleanse your space and tools before and after performing a spell to “wipe the slate clean”

Herbs:

Ague, Angelica, Asafoetida, Bamboo, Basil, Bay Leaf, Benzoin, Boneset, Brimstone (Sulfur Powder), Burdock, Chili Pepper, Cinquefoil, Comfrey, Datura, Frankincense, Galangal, Garlic, Geranium, Holy Thistle, Huckleberry, Hydrangea, Iris Root (Orris Root), Lemon Verbena (Vervain), Lilac, Lily, Lucky Hand (Orchid Root), Mimosa, Myrrh, Nutmeg, Oak Moss, Onion, Oregano, Papaya, Patchouli, Peony, Pokeroot, Prickly Ash Bark, Rue, Safflower, Solomon’s Seal, St. John’s Wort, Stinging Nettle, Squill, Thistle, Toadflax, Turmeric, Vetiver, Willow, Wintergreen, Witches Grass (Dog Grass), Wormwood (Absinthe), Yarrow Flower, Yew, Yucca

Crystals:

Agate, Amber, Amethyst, Ametrine, Black Tourmaline, Bloodstone, Carnelian, Celestite, Chrysocolla, Citrine, Emerald, Epidote, Fire Opal, Fluorite, Garnet, Halite, Hematite, Howlite, Jet, Kunzite, Labradorite, Malachite, Natrolite, Obsidian, Ocean Jasper, Onyx, Selenite, Silver, Smoky Quartz, Sugilite, Sunstone, Turquoise

Jesus Christ I hope that covers everything.

#cursing #hex #hexes #hex white supremacy #christian witch #christian witchcraft #jynx #anon #answered #banishing spells #binding spells #inadvertent masterpost #long post #christian cursing alternatives

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thetaoofbetty · 4 years

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I find the cheating debate so interesting, I wonder how young they are. Punishing a partner creates an unhealthy dynamic that nobody should want. There is many reasons for that can lead up to someone cheating, maybe they should give Esther Perel a listen to to get some insight! The writers do not care about female characters on the show, we speak a lot of B & V but Alice, Hermione, Ethel could all have been great and no idea what they are doing with Cheryl and Toni.

hello lovely!

i don’t find it to be a debate, tbh, there’s no real debate that it’s wrong or hurtful to your significant other.

i do find that there’s hypocrisy in the way fandom runs. how many people read and like fics where betty cheats on someone with jughead? how many people don’t care how much violence or drug usage there is but balk at anything to do with the relationships? they know it’s fiction when it’s violent and unlawful, but when something hurts us in a human way that makes us feel vulnerable, we lash out.

so people are lashing out. that’s fine. they’re hurting. i get it. they’re projecting or self-inserting or they’ve just been plain let down and it sucks. i don’t judge them for being upset. i really wish they wouldn’t lash out at me because i can’t fix it for them, though i would if i could. wanting someone to hurt because you’re hurt isn’t something i would call healthy but i understand the urge. the way people wanted betty to hurt was firmly in the sphere of internalized misogyny and it wasn’t fun to see. betty’s scarlet letter was pinned directly to her and for some, it’ll never come off.

i do think the echo chamber in which fandom exists isn’t always the healthiest dynamic and with most of us being stuck inside, people are online more than ever. i see people on here who think they know the actors personally, they know the characters better than anyone, they’re convinced they know anything and everything and their proof is...well, it’s not concrete is what i’m saying. so i think heightened emotions are probably playing into it as well.

maybe they’re younger, i really don’t know. i was an extremely casual viewer as a teenager so i just stopped watching something when it annoyed me (looking at you, large chunks of gilmore girls). if you couple investment with showrunners and writers who are actively looking for negative engagement, i’m not shocked people are angry. the writers make me angry with their carelessness so it’s not like i’m in a bubble. i have so much blacklisted my dash chokes half the time i try and refresh it, ha.

i think there’s a learning curve to be found when you start to think your headcanon is an objective fact and when you feel like you’re entitled to a story to be told the way you want it to be told. did the writers assassinate betty cooper’s character? unequivocally. do the writers write any of the females on that show with any sort of care? no. it’s embarrassing at this point how much they tell us over and over again that they don’t care and we just keep hoping that they will. the resiliency of women hanging onto their faves, am i right? media gives us very little so we’re very protective of what we do like.

it is what it is at this point. i’m not going to harp on betty’s character, i’m not going to tell anyone how jughead should or shouldn’t handle it. and truthfully, the more people come at me for not performing the way they want me to just makes me want to participate less and less. i’m just trying to write fic and enjoy the pretty gifs and have a good time, i’m not here to be lectured on how i’m doing fandom wrong.

if this is your first fandom, y’all, please know that at this point, after the last few years, i’m just glad betty and jughead are still alive.

thanks for the ask, doll!💜

#besos!#long post #rd negativity #cw: cheating #anonymous

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

Seven: Chapter Eleven

ChA^pT3r Eleve^n

“You look absolutely ridiculous.”

I glance down at my feet, focusing on one specific scuff of dirt on my black boots. They’re the same boots I wore to the stakeout, because it’s the same outfit I’ve been wearing for the past few days. Cops around the precinct have noticed, but they’ve gotten used to it by now. One woman came to report a crime and actually thought I was human for a second. I knew she would stop being nice once she found out about what I really was, so I just stayed polite and didn’t dare correct her.

Celeste Amora, however, has been anything but nice or polite to me.

All day, she’s gone out of her way to inconvenience me. It’s ironic in a way, because she’s probably inconvenienced herself more than anyone.

At 9:15am, she threw two paper balls at my head in the morning meeting. Even Captain Ericson rolled his eyes at it. At 11:17am, Celeste deprived everyone of coffee by putting the grounds in her bag, just so I wouldn’t be able to give any to Cal. It was ok though, because I found a ten dollar bill on the floor not too long after and I gave it to him to buy coffee for himself. By 12:31pm, Celeste emptied the contents of my stakeout bag, which included my jacket and uniform. Honestly, it’s not a big deal, because Icarus will just send me another one through Captain Ericson. Celeste struck again at 1:28pm, when she left sticky orange liquid on my desk. Again, this was no big deal, because I identified it as orange soda and looked up the best way to clean it.

Now, at 2:53pm, our perpetrator makes another attack. I swear, she must be following me around all day to know when and where to strike. It’s almost… saddening?

I’m in the locker room. Not an actual locker room, just a sort of hallway by the evidence room lined with white lockers. Cal packed me a bag of clothes and toiletries for our trip, and left them in his unit for me to grab before we go. He seemed really proud of himself for remembering to put the toiletries in, because apparently he has a habit of forgetting to pack them, even for himself. I didn’t have the lack of manners to tell him I probably don’t need them. Tooth paste? I don’t need to brush my teeth- they’re always white. Pads and tampons? I don’t get periods unless I press a button. A pack of tissues? I’m incapable of sneezing, but I appreciate the sentiment.

So, that’s the scene for you. I- the Android- am reaching into a stark white locker to obtain a pack of a road trip. Celeste Amora- the officer who can’t do her job- is behind me, leaning against the wall talking to Blaise Shovelman- an officer who gets nervous around me but remains kind enough. In the corner, guarding the evidence room, is Officer Blackwell. Both Shovelman and Blackwell are entirely uncomfortable and nervous with what’s about to go down.

So, cut back to Celeste Amora saying, “you look absolutely ridiculous”.

I sigh to myself softly, disappointed that this was unavoidable. I tug the duffle bag out of the locker, and push it closed.

“Hello, Officer Amora,” I greet as I turn around. It’s satisfying to watch her twitch with anger every time I say that.

“What’s with the bag?” she says, glancing down. “I could cuff you right now for it.”

“No you can’t,” I frown. “Officers can only arrest if they have witnessed a crime, and you haven’t witnessed a crime- I assure you. You also do not have probable cause that I have committed a crime, or a warrant from a judge. Therefor you cannot arrest me.”

Oh, she looks so angry. Shovelman is trying not to laugh, and Blackwell’s lips are pulled inside his mouth to keep from smiling. “And the bag is for my road trip with Detective Kennedy.”

“A road trip?” Celeste mocks.

“We’re going to see his father and brother for his birthday,” I explain diplomatically.

Celeste scoffs. “And he invited you?”

“Yes.”

She is so unequivocally frustrated and full of rage that it’s funny. Shovelman knows this, Blackwell knows this, I know this. I’m sure back in the bullpin, Cal knows it too. Everybody in the entire universe might know it.

“You still look homeless in that outfit,” she seethes, and everybody knows it’s because she can’t think of anything else to say to me to mock me. She’s just defaulting back to an insult that doesn’t make much sense for plenty of reasons.

“You wore prostitution clothes for the stakeout, and I didn’t say anything.”

Blaise Shovelman spits out a sharp laugh. Quickly, his hands fly to his mouth to cover it up as a cough, but the damage is done. Celeste glares at him.

“Can we please be done, Officer Amora?” I ask, still determined to be as diplomatic as my Social Relations program is begging me to. “I need to join Detective Kennedy before we leave at 3pm. We’re taking a half day.”

“You have-”

I don’t bother for her to finish her sentiment before I start to walk away. I can hear some muffled words the farther I get, but I don’t actually care enough to register them.

Cal is sitting on his desk, on his phone. It makes me excited to see his keys in his hand. I’m actually going to be spending time with him outside of work, which could help improve our relationship and thus the chances of us solving cases. I’m also excited because apparently he actually got his car cleaned, and it’s going to smell just like a new one.

“Ready?” he asks without looking up.

“Yes,” I say. “Just Officer Amora giving me some trouble.”

“Feel free to run to my car and hide, Tin Fuck. I’ll be hiding right there with you.”

A slight smile graces my features, because when Detective Kennedy jokes like this, he makes me feel at ease. He has that effect on me, just be being his sarcastic self. I don’t think he even realizes it, but I admire how brave he is when it comes to social norms and just being social in general. He has no ‘Social Relations Program’. Or maybe he does, and he just chooses to ignore it every day. He talks back to Captain Ericson constantly, openly tells people he does not want to talk to them, and doesn’t even attempt to hide his rolling eyes and clever, biting words in conversations. It doesn’t matter how polite or kind you are to him- he is going to cuss or blow smoke in your face.

“This bag weighs approximately 16 pounds, what’s inside of it?” I question, hefting the bag in my right hand.

“Clothes,” Cal says mysteriously, still not looking up from his phone.

“How many clothes? We’re only staying for two nights.”

“I’ve packed the clothes I’ve packed. Go out to the car before I beat your ass.”

“Okey-Dokey,” I say cheerily. I get a better grip on the straps of the bag and carry it out to Cal’s car. While tomorrow is still scheduled to have Cal’s favorite type of weather, today is simply dry and cold and flat. There is a slight wind, but nothing overly harsh in the air. A few of the Seattle citizens have decided to wear their coats today, and I see three different women wearing the same one. They were most likely taking this as an opportunity to show off their new clothing.

I’ve never had to do that, though I guess I could do so on this trip. I don’t know what kind of clothes Cal has brought for me. An outfit for dinner and a set of pajamas maybe? I’m uncertain. My only choice is to trust Cal’s taste in fashion for me.

I open up the trunk and am immediately met with a variety of different smells. Some I find pleasant, others not so much. Still, the trunk of Cal’s car is clean and empty. I put the bag inside and close the latch. The door is locked, so I don’t have much other option than to stand at the ready for Cal to come out.

I don’t have to wait for too long, because he’s walking out of the building at 3:01. Still looking at his phone, he shoulders into someone entering the building. The man whips around, staring at Cal and waiting for an apology. And Cal, being my hero, just keeps walking and staring at his phone. It’s a glorious sight.

I hurry over to the trunk and open it again for him. Cal sticks his phone in his pocket and hefts his pack into the trunk. The shading of the outside makes the circles under his eyes more prominent, almost maroon or ash brown.

“You ready to go?” he says as he closes the trunk of his car.

“Correct.” I mirror Detective Kennedy in going to the car doors and waiting for the little click to show they’re unlocked. I in the passengers seat, he in the drivers, we close the doors. “You should put on your seatbelt,” I advise him.

The car begins to drive in reverse as we pull away from the parking lot. “And you should stop being so goofy looking, but you don’t hear me saying anything.”

Cal sighs as I look down, trying to stifle a smile. It’s not in my Social Relations Program to do this, it’s just something that’s coming naturally on my mechanical face. It must be because I’m spending so much time with humans and I’m adapting to their nature. I look away out the window as the corner of my lips fall into a soft upturn- one that not even Detective Kennedy could detect.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” I ask. I turn back around to watch Cal, whose one hand is steady on the wheel while the other rests nonchalantly.

“Why would I want to talk about anything?”

“The drive to Spokane is around four hours,” I explain. “I thought maybe we could do something to pass the time?”

“You mean like just waiting for it to pass?” Cal quips sassily as he looks at me sharply. “What could an Android possibly have to talk about?”

My led goes yellow. I have over 9,000 topics to discuss in my memory.

“Are you excited for your birthday?” I ask cheerily.

Cal shrugs his shoulders. “Not really.” I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. Luckily, Cal picks up on this and quickly adds to his words. “As you get older it just becomes less of a big deal, I guess.”

I process the information. “I’ve never had a birthday.”

“Really?” Cal questions. I can tell he means it when he glances over at me.

“Yes. What’s it like?”

“Well it’s… it’s like-” he cuts himself off as he struggles to find the words. The hand on the wheel clutches it tighter. “It changes each year, I guess.”

“What did you do last year?”

Cal’s expression darkens slightly. “Same as this year. Dinner with my father.”

I want to ask more, but something other than my social program tells me not to. I close my mouth and turn my attention back in front of me, out the windshield. We’re already at the edge of our district, and luckily scheduled for no traffic since it’s during the work day for most people.

I wonder what it’s like to have people worry about you.

Adelicia is my handler, of sorts. In truth, I am not even fully sure what she is to me or to Icarus. She has an affiliation with them, but for whatever reason her criminal record and occupation is blocked off from me. I only know that she appears in a virtual reality with me, and that she is more powerful than I and I answer to her.

But she doesn’t worry about me. And why would she? I’m a machine. Nothing more.

“What’s with the frown?” Cal questions next to me.

I don’t even realize it until he’s brought it up. “Sorry,” I say quickly.

Cal Kennedy glances at me. Eyebrows slightly creased together, lips parted- he’s concerned, maybe. High probability of thinking of me or something relating to me. “Hey, there should be something under your seat. Can you get it?”

“Alright,” I say. I double over in my seat and reach my right hand under my chair. I feel around for four seconds before my fingers graze against something. I grip it and pull it out. I turn it over in my hands, observing the object in my hand.

It’s a disk case. Square and plastic, the front of it is covered in a dark background with purple words printed onto it. ‘BLACK SABBATH, MASTERS OF REALITY’ never looked so solid to me.

Analyzing…

Title: Black Sabbath: Masters of Reality

Band: Black Sabbath

Genre: Rock, Metal, other

Length: 34:29

Label: Vertigo

Release Date: July 21st, 1971

“This came out approximately 43 years before you were born,” I say aloud, my eyes glued to the case.

“Yeah, best album. Put it in.”

I turn the album over in my hand a few times before opening it. Watching the iridescent lines swirl against the disk, I lean forward to stick it in the player next to the radio. Not many cars have that anymore.

We only have to wait 10 seconds before the first song starts to play. The electric guitar rings out throughout the car and Ozzy Osbourne calls out ‘Alright, yeah!’. Cal nods his head to the beat merrily.

Song: Sweet Leaf

He looks happy. I turn my head out the window while Cal sings along. He knows all the lyrics to the 5 minute song. I replay every little hum of his voice, every thrum that falls from his lips. I’ll keep it in my memory forever.

Software InStability ^

After 3 songs, Cal leans forward and turns the volume down a few notches. “So, you’ve listened to it now,” he says. I swear, he’s actually smiling naturally. “What do you think?”

My led goes yellow. “I think so,” I say. “It’s full of this… enjoyable energy.”

“I’m glad,” Cal grins. He turns the volume back up and we continue on our ride.

I watch him while the rest of the album plays on. He never misses a beat or a lyric. His sharp jaw compliments the smirk on his lips, the spark of charisma in his eyes. He’s almost unrecognizable. He’s so happy, moving, and alive in contrast to the exhausted, rough, and grump detective I know. Most people have come to hate him around the precinct in what they describe as a ‘record time’. But the air around him seems brighter when he sings and weaves along to the music. It’s like I’m being exposed to an entirely different being. I think I like it. It gives Cal more… what’s the word? Depth.

“What’re you looking at me for?” he asked after a while of my staring. He’s still smiling, so I know he’s in a good mood at least.

“Nothing,” I told him, still transfixed on his demeanor.

But the album ends eventually, and Cal takes the disk out of the player. It’s so sad to watch him do, because I know now he’ll go back to being so distant. I want him to be warm again. Not for me, but for himself.

We make polite conversation the rest of the ride, broken by long bouts of silence. It’s not uncomfortable- it’s normal between us. I ask Cal if there’s anything I should know about his father.

“He’s…” Cal’s grip on the wheel tightens so much, his knuckles pale. His heartrate increases and his pupils dilate momentarily. “A man.”

Very descriptive.

“What’re we going to do about your led, anyway?” Cal asks shortly after.

“I can hide it under my skin when we get there,” I explain.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s an added feature that helps with being disguised. I’m the only model that can do it.”

Cal grunts in response.

“What about your brother?”

“Hm?”

I swallow, even though I don’t have to. “Your brother. You were very elusive about your father, so I’m asking if there’s anything I should know about your brother.”

“He’s an idiot.”

After that, I mostly pay attention to the driving. We drive through a road guided by large trees overhead. The autumn leaves fall in confetti pieces of auburn and tangerine around us. Mountains stand in the distance eerily. Depending on the way I face, I can see buildings and skyscrapers. And while I don’t think I enjoy the looming silence between Cal and I, it’s peaceful and calm.

Soon, the fall trees turn into highways. The highways turn into suburban neighborhoods. The neighborhoods turn into a house.

As we near 7 o’clock, Cal pulls the car over in front of one of the houses. It’s white and two stories tall, with a decorative wreath on the door. I can see little porcelain rabbits by the door on the porch, most likely covering a spare key. All the windows are covered by curtains that look vintage or something of the sort. Even from the outside, it still looks cozy.

“Stay here,” Cal orders while he turns off the engine.

“Where are you going?” I ask curiously.

I know Cal heard me, he just doesn’t answer. He opens the door, removes himself, and closes it. I watch him come around the side and saunter to front. He knocks, and a man opens the door after a moment.

The man resembles Cal somewhat. His figure is slightly obscured from where I sit, but I can make out that much at least. It’s something about the face shape. Despite that, the man is shorter than Cal, but far grumpier looking. Name: Arthur Kennedy

Date of Birth: August 2nd, 1980- Age 61

height: 5’8

Weight: 173 lbs

Race: European American

Birthplace: Detroit, Michigan

Occupation: Naval Officer, Accountant[Retired]

Family: Caroline Kennedy, Wife (Age 58, Deceased) James Kennedy, Son (Age 23), Callan Kennedy, Son (Age 26)

Finding Related Articles… Articles Found. Searching ‘Kennedy, Arthur’…

The exchange between the two doesn’t last long. There’s a few head nods, and then the door closes. I am not expecting this.

The pair didn’t even smile to each other. They didn’t hug or shake hands. It was like they were strangers instead of father and son.

“What did you do?” I ask when Cal hops back in his seat.

“Just told my dad we’re here.” He twists the key in the ignition and the car starts up again.

“We aren’t staying here?”

Cal scoffs. “God no.”

After that, he drives us to a hotel. It’s about 33 minutes away and the color of cream. It stands out against the black ink color of the sky, freckled with faint little stars.

However, it is not until we walk into the place that something in my circuits twitch. The man at the counter catches a glimpse of my led from under my cap. Cal asks him to make an exception, but the man refuses with malice. Cal flashes his badge at him. Cue the man hurrying to apologize and sending us on our way.

As Cal opens the door with the key, I feel happy that I came.

Software Instability ^

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo

[I hope you’re having a good day, S]

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit become human fanfiction #detroit: become human fanfiction #dbh #dbh fanfiction #fanfiction #story #android #androids #technology

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years

Text

The Breakfast Club

Chapter Seven

TRR AU

Summary: Things get very heated in the library and between two of the teens. Some major fluff.

Warning: Drugs are mentioned.

Word count: 2417

Characters belong to Pixelberry. Library plot and much of the spoken dialogue written by John Hughes/A&M Films. Everything else is mine.

*please let me know if you want untagged from this story. I promise I won't mind 😊

Drake sits on the railing leading up to the second level of the library, deep in thought.

He hops down, still feeling the effects of his liquor filled breakfast. "You know what we should do? Close that door.... I've gotta a bottle of whiskey", he pulls it out of his pants and shakes it in the air.

Maxwell perks up and feels an instant rush of energy, "yeah, I'm always down for booze and a party, count me in."

Liam frustrated with Drake and life in general right now wants no part of this, "Come on guys, Vernon said to keep the door open."

Drake scoffs, "so what?"

Liam turns to face him, "so, there's four other people in here who don't want to piss him off and then we all have to deal with my father."

"A prince who can count...aren't you special" Drake says sarcastically.

Liam slams his hands on the table before him and looks at Drake, "Who the hell are you to judge anyway?"

Olivia nods her head in agreement, "yeah!"

Drake methodically walks over to Olivia and leans down to face her, "remember what you told me yesterday, huh?....I'm a nothing...a nobody...I may as well not even exist in this world."

She scowls back at him flatly, "yeah....and I still stand by that."

Drake acts like it doesn't bother him, but, inside, the words fuel him further. He sets his sights elsewhere, walking toward the entrance doors of the library. He studies it briefly then begins messing with the screw that holds the door open.

Riley carefully watches him before sitting up in her seat, "hey, you're not supposed to be doing that."

The door slams shut and Drake runs back to his seat, "am I a genius or what?"

Olivia speaks up, "No, you're an asshole."

Liam begs Drake to fix the door, but, he ignores his pleas.

Out of no where, Vernon slams the door open, "Damn it, who shut that door?"

Olivia points to Drake, "he did it", she was not about to protect him.

Vernon doesn't act surprised, he scurries through the room and stands at the corner of Drake's table, holding out his hand "Give me that screw Walker."

"I don't have it", he says innocently.

"Give me the screw or I'll shake it outta ya."

"Screws fall out all of the time sir, why would I want to take it?"

Vernon can feel the fury increasing in his chest, "Beaumont...front and center!"

Maxwell quickly stands up and salutes him, "At your disposal, sir."

Vernon motions for him to follow as he walks to a wooden book shelf, "help me move this into the door."

Maxwell barely holds one end as Vernon grabs the other. As they begin moving it into place, Drake feigns concern about fire hazards; the shelf is blocking the door and children's lives could be endangered....he emphasizes the Prince could be put in danger.

Vernon trying to save face looks at a breathless Maxwell who is hunched over, "What's the matter with you Beaumont! What are you doing, huh? Move this back over there".

Maxwell stood there for a moment scratching his head, "I'm so confused, sir."

"Just move it back!", Vernon yelps.

Maxwell sighs then pushes the shelf back to its original place.

He immediately returns to his seat when Vernon addresses him again, "I expected better of a Beaumont."

Maxwell is stunned and looks over at Riley, still not sure of what he had done wrong.

Vernon eyes Drake and points at him, "the next screw that falls out is going to be you!"

Drake mumbles under his breath, "Eat my shorts."

"What was that Walker?", Vernon asks as he quickly spins around from his attempt to leave.

Drake glares at him, "Eat.My.Shorts."

Vernon replies, "You just earned another Saturday of guard duty."

"So?"

"There's another....you finished?"

"No"

"You just bought another one."

"I'm free the Saturday after that too."

"Not anymore.....just say the word...you through?"

"Not yet."

"Im doing Cordonia a favor...you want another one?"

"Yes!"

"You got it"

Olivia turns to him, now with actual concern, "Drake, cut it out...stop."

Vernon continues, "Now are you through?"

"Not even close, bud"

"Good, there's another one."

"Do you think I give a shit?"

"Another"

Drake glances up at him, "how many is that?"

Maxwell innocently speaks up, "That's seven Drake, including the one you got when you asked him if he raids Trumps closet."

Drake gives a knowing look to Maxwell, desperate for him to stay quiet.

"You're mine Walker...for the next two months I got you."

Drake rolls his eyes, "What can I say, I'm thrilled."

Vernon begins his stroll out of the room and turns just before exiting, "the next time I have to come back in, I'm cracking skulls."

Drake mouths the words silently as Vernon says them.

After the door closes, Drake yells out, "Fuck You!!"

****

At a quarter to 11 am, everyone is bored. Drake sips on his whiskey quietly at his table with one foot propped up, Olivia rifles through her purse, Maxwell is playing with his balls, Liam is playing with the draw string of his sweatshirt and Riley is wrapping hair around her finger until it turns purple.

A few minutes later...Drake has a lighter burning the rubber of his shoes, Maxwell is playing paper soccer and quietly celebrates his goal, and Riley is emptying a salt packet onto her new drawing.

Eventually, Riley starts singing to herself...I don't mean to brag but I be like put it in the bag.

Then Maxwell joins in while pointing at his head...you like my hair gee thanks just bought it.

Both Olivia and Drake yell at the same time, "shut up!"

Boredom becomes overwhelming and everyone in the room, including himself, is ready to choke the shit out of Drake. One by one, heads lower to the tables in front of them as they peacefully fall asleep.

At noon, Vernon comes in and yells for everyone to get up and asks if anyone needs a drink; they all raise their hands.

Drake volunteers to get them, however, Vernon shirks him and randomly chooses who he feels is the safest options. He points to Liam, then Riley; he instructs them to promptly go to the main kitchen to bring sodas back for everyone.

***

Riley and Liam walk in silence through the long and winding hallways of the palace. He was troubled by his father's actions this morning and the bruises on his face were throbbing reminders. He felt as if he was in a daze, each minute a dizzying fog of inevitable gloom. Drake's odd behavior in the library was only a temporary reprieve to refocus his thoughts elsewhere, but, now, it all rushes back without his distraction. His eyes are sunken and troubled, his expressions are flat, emotionless. Even when he corrected Drake, the words flowed out without energy or substance.

Riley hesitated to speak as she walked just a half step behind Liam. She could read him like he was a book about her own life. She has wore that face before, even if only seeing it from the side.

Before she can say anything, he quickly glances at her, with a hollow tone in his voice, "what happened to your eye?"

She ever so slightly turned her head away and toyed with the charm on her bracelet, yet, kept moving. She questioned to herself whether he was like his father, was he leading her into a one way conversation where she would be called a whore again?

Curious by her timid behavior, Liam slowed the pace he was walking and reached out to tap her arm, wanting to gain her attention. She flinched before he made contact and a distressed look played deep in her light brown eyes. He too, knew that particular look..it's the one you wear when you've been conditioned to expect the worst.

Keeping her head down, she slowly moved her eyes back to him, not fully meeting his gaze.

He needed her to face him, there was an unmistakable force inside that had to know if someone else in the world knew his sorrows....experienced his demons. He tilted her chin up and their eyes engaged for the first time. Both of them felt exposed in that moment, as if every thought, every painful memory, all the lonliness was out in the open....revealed through the effectual union of their eyes.

Her lips began quivering as two large tears fell rapidly down her cheeks, and with a low shaky voice, almost inaudible "my stepfather."

Her soul felt like the floodgates of hell had opened and she was purged and unequivocally free from her bondage.

She had never trusted anyone to tell her secret, but, somehow, in this moment, she felt safe.

Liam didn't know Riley, had only met her two hours ago, however, the urge to protect her suddenly weighed on him. He felt powerful...strengthened...fearless. Leo described that feeling to him, but, Liam never expected to experience it.

Riley reached up, brushed her thumb along his own facial bruises; he leaned into her touch with eyes closed. There was nothing in the world better than her touch; it sent a powerful charge through his entire body.

They were two broken souls, from opposite ends of society, who now feared only the absense of the other. Seemingly impossible and, yet, suddenly real.

He opened his eyes, turning to gently kiss the palm of her hand. With tears still streaming and a heart that was pounding thunderously, she carefully placed her free hand on the other side of his face and pulled him to her lips. He wasn't a Prince and she wasn't a commoner....it was just Liam and Riley.

_________________________

Drake is laying on top of a table in the library , while Maxwell and Olivia are still anxiously waiting in their seats.

"Man, where are those drinks at?", Maxwell was getting inpatient and fidgety.

Drake sits up and lets his legs dangle off the table behind Olivia, "Hey Liv...are you still a virgin?

Olivia jumps up and grabs Drake by the back of the neck and wrestles him to the floor, "I will kill you Walker, do you understand me?"

Drake laughs as Olivia has him in a behind the back arm lock. He makes an attempt to break free, however, he is still too inebriated to make a concerted effort.

Olivia shoves his head away and walks back to her seat.

Moments later, Drake pulls out his cell phone and scrolls for a particular picture he has saved, "Liv, you want to see a picture of a guy with elephantitus of the nuts...its pretty tasty."

Maxwell tries to sneak a peak at this picture, while Olivia forces herself to ignore him.

Drake jumps down from his table and walks to the doors, he steadily opens it enough to see that Vernon is no longer at his desk and peaks out into the hallway. He shuts the door and turns to Maxwell and Olivia, "anybody up for taking a stroll in the halls...I need to get something."

As much as Olivia has had it with Drake, she wants to get out of that library more; she couldn't explain it, but, she trusted Drake was stealthy enough they wouldn't get caught.

She and Maxwell follow Drake out. Olivia is keeping pace with him, "how do you know we won't get caught?"

He simply replies, "I don't"

Maxwell whispers to her, "where are we going?"

She shrugs her shoulders, "Beats me".

"Well...what if we get caught?"

"I suppose we'll get in trouble."

"But, what..."

Olivia grabs Maxwell by the collar, "If you don't stop asking questions, Im going to beat the living shit out of you."

Maxwell raises his hands up in defense, "sorry".

Bastien's quarters are not too far from the library, Drake has a small bedroom within it.

As the trio enter Drake's bedroom, Olivia looks around in disgust, pinching her nose, the room was in complete disarray, "Slob".

"Yeah, well my maids on vacation", he replies while stepping through a pile of clothing scattered along his path.

Drake reaches up on the top shelf his closet and pulls down a small bag of marijuana and rolling papers.

Maxwell's eye's widen in surprise as he looks to Olivia to say something, but, she doesn't.

Drake lays his items on the desk and begins to prepare crafting a joint, "I actually haven't done this before."

Olivia slides next to him, carefully watching his hands, "Then why do you have it?"

He chuckles at her, "I was saving it for a rainy day."

She rolls her eyes, but, snickers with him

Maxwell watching this, clears his throat and huddles down between them, "watch out, let me do this." Maxwell is steadfast and makes quick work of his rolling efforts, "Ta-da, she's a beaut." He leans over and starts rolling a second one.

Drake yanks the first one from his hands and inspects Maxwell's work, "that's not half bad Beaumont."

Maxwell give him a coy look and a shrug, "Not my first time".

Olivia looks at Drake with an eyebrow raised, "now what?"

Drake places the joints back in the baggie and shoves it into the front of Maxwell's pants, "Go back to the library...Bas will kill me if he smells that in here."

They quietly make their way back through the halls, trying to be as quiet as possible. Just as they round the corner leading to the library, Vernon steps out of his office.

----------

Liam and Riley pull away from their kiss. It had been slow, gentle and tender; it left them both feeling breathless. Riley bites her bottom lip, still staring up at him, searching his eyes again.

This was his first kiss and he is beaming; it felt as if the earth had temporarily stopped moving. He is thrilled, but, nervous and doesn't know what to do next. He takes a finger and taps her nose with an awkward grin. Riley taps his nose right back as she lets out a light giggle.

As if instinct kicks in, he wrap his arms around her waist and pulls her close to his body, resting his chin on top of her head. The hair was so soft that he couldn't help but rub his cheek along it. They held each other close, both communicating with one another through touch and embrace.

He lightly kissed her forehead, inhaled her rose petal scent, then met her soft lips again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer. Liam reached up and grabbed her hand, laced his fingers through hers and held it to his heart. Constantine, his duties, his bleak life...no longer existed. When the kiss ended, he whispers softly in her ear, "Riley, you're so pretty."

@missameliep @ao719 @dcbbw @carabeth @romanticatheart-posts @emceesynonymroll @drakensword @jemrmax2love @pedudley @moneyfordiamonds @katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @kingliam2019 @thisperfectmemory @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @stopforamoment @silversparrow02 @choiceslife @timmagicktoad @lodberg @burnsoslow @gnatbrain @lovemychoices @hopefulmoonobject

#choices trr #the royal romance #trr liam #trr fanfic #trr drake #maxwell beaumont #trr #liam x riley #drake walker #olivia nevrakis #liam x mc

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anthropologicalhands · 5 years

Text

ceg fic: impressionism (what completes this picture of me and you)

title: impressionism (what completes the picture of me and you) characters: heather & valencia, beth/valencia, heather/hector summary: Valencia admits that she once had a crush on Heather notes: not totally sure how happy i am with this fic, but at this point it has been sitting in my drafts for literal months now, so out it goes. Ao3 Link

In Heather’s opinion, one of Valencia’s best qualities is her willingness to throw herself wholeheartedly into her ventures.

Granted, Heather usually prefers to observe the hurricane from a comfortable distance, rather than letting herself get swept up in it all. But, on occasion, she doesn’t mind braving her way into the eye of the storm.

Like right now, when she is seven months pregnant and less chill than she has ever been in her life, Valencia showing up unannounced and armed with rose, apple juice, and her cosmetics bag is unequivocally a good thing. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to hang out, just the two of them. Hector is nice and Heather loves him and she’s happy he’s been here for her during the pregnancy, but sometimes his niceness is just too much, and almost as annoying as Rebecca’s casual thoughtlessness. In contrast, Valencia’s straight-shooting, take-no-prisoners determination is a gift.

Even better: unlike the people Heather is living with, Valencia is observant, and notices changes around her without Heather having to point them out.

“What’s going on with Estrella?” Valencia pauses in front the aquarium on her way back to the sofa, bending down to get a closer look. “She looks different.”

“That’s ‘cause she is different,” says Heather as she reclines on the sofa with her feet propped up, doesn’t bother to look up from her phone.

“What do you mean?” Valencia asks, perching on the ottoman to resume painting Heather’s nails. She’s been looking more relaxed recently, Heather finds herself thinking idly. Probably the result of a series of fortunate events—the small but tangible successes so necessary to building a business. Heather bets that taking on Beth as a partner has probably helped ease the stress.

And, well, also the fact that Valencia is now definitely getting some on the regular. There is no way that there isn’t a net positive effect of some kind.

“I mean that she’s a whole new starfish,” Heather explains, wincing as the Rebyl spawn punctuates her statement with a two-beat kick.

Valencia’s concentration doesn’t waver, but her eyebrows arch up high on her forehead in surprise, followed by a deep sigh of resignation. “Again? Seriously?”

“Yeah. At least this one looks more like the original Estrella, so I didn’t know it happened until this week, because last week was Rebecca’s turn to take care of her.”

Valencia purses her lips, shaking her head in disappointment at Rebecca’s carelessness. “Wow. I’m surprised you’re not more upset.”

Heather shrugs. “I probably should be, but I already got angry at the shower this morning for the wrong droplet-to-skin-volume ratio, so it’s not worth working up the extra energy.”

“That sucks,” says Valencia sympathetically, looking down at her handiwork, forehead wrinkling in concentration.

“It really does. These pregnancy hormones are sending my reactions totally out of whack. I am noticing, like, everything is too much, like this dress is super itchy and you still smell like Beth’s perfume from yesterday. I know that sounds creepy, sorry, but I can’t help it,” she adds, responding to Valencia’s weirded-out expression. “And to make things worse, now I’m missing other things. Like, stuff I actually care about.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I used to be able to tell things about people before they even know it. Like a wolf. I learned a lot about wolves before I dropped my wildlife biology class. Did you know that they can tell if a person is pregnant even before they know it themselves?”

“That must get awkward.”

“Right?” Heather asks, letting her head fall against the back of the sofa so that she is staring right up at the ceiling. “But I’m not like that anymore – I used to be a wolf, and I knew things, but now I’m a pregnant wolf and I know nothing. Which doesn’t make any sense.”

Valencia’s eyes have gotten almost comically round as she follows this train of logic to its conclusion. “Oo-kay,” she says after a brief pause, setting down the bottle of violet nail polish and taking up the setting. “Speaking of Rebecca, you’re channeling her pretty hard right now.”

Heather rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that’s because she keeps texting me about the gestational periods for different mammals and it’s like, getting really annoying. I don’t care that elephant pregnancies last for two years, I’m human and I want it out now.”

Valencia’s head jerks up and she stares at Heather. “Two years?”

Heather gives a slow nod. “Yep.”

Valencia wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Ew.”

“Right? But it’s true.”

“Weird. Does Rebecca just know these things off the top of her head or is she Googling random animals every few days?”

“Who knows? But I’ll admit that she does follow up with cute videos of the respective baby animals, so that kind of helps, but only because my baby brain is really dumb and easy to please.”

“I mean, cute animal videos will do that,” agrees Valencia seriously.

Heather hums her assent. “But seriously, my powers of observation are gone. I’m missing out on the subtle social cues that tell me about drama. And you know I love drama.”

Valencia hums her agreement, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Heather texts Hector a non-negotiable request to pick up non-dairy milk and any bath products that might possibly have lavender in them.

“You’ll be back to normal and picking up drama in no time,” says Valencia soothingly. “It doesn’t matter if you miss a couple of things in the meantime.”

“It kind of does,” says Heather, looking up from her phone, peering over the swell of her abdomen down to Valencia. “It’s like missing an episode of The Nanny. It might not matter in the long run, but it’s still totally possible that a massive change happened while you weren’t looking and everyone is making references to an event that you don’t get and you have to piece it together without context, because streaming is not an option.”

“You’ve missed things before. No one is going to judge you for it.”

“No, I don’t miss things.”

Valencia’s responding hm is just judgmental enough to compel Heather to straighten up in her seat.

“I don’t,” she says, a hint of challenge entering her voice. “It was basically my superpower, before this parasite took it.”

“I’m not saying you don’t pick up stuff,” says Valencia, setting down the bottle of polish. “I’m just saying, that you can’t notice everything. It’s not possible.”

Heather’s eyebrows shoot high up her forehead; pregnancy might be messing with her senses, but Valencia’s carefully blank expression is radiating I have something on my mind loud and clear. “Okay, enough generalities – what did I miss?”

Valencia hesitates, but when she looks up to meet Heather’s eyes, she juts out her chin a little bit, firming up. “It’s nothing. And I’m going to tell you.”

“Good.”

“It might be weird.”

“Valencia, I am currently pregnant with Rebecca and Darryl’s baby. Is it that level of weird?”

“No, it’s not that weird,” says Valencia after a pause. “Right. Let me finish the varnish first.”

“Cool.” Heather opens up her phone and adds egg salad to the list. It’s not something she would normally eat, but whatever the Darryl baby wants, it’s gonna get. Maybe it will get bored by all the luxury and try to strike out faster.

Valencia screws the cap back on the bottle and travels back up to sit on the couch cushion besides Heather. “You’re going to love it –they have little white flowers on them.”

“Cool. I’d offer more specific compliments, except there is no way that I will be able to see them over my distended stomach and swollen ankles.”

“Which is why I uploaded the pictures on Instagram,” says Valencia breezily, waving her phone. “You can leave your comments there.”

“Right, exactly. Because that’s what Instagram is for, looking at things you can’t look at in your normal, day-to-day life.”

Valencia makes another noncommittal hum. Heather watches as Valencia continues to mess around with the bottles in her makeup bag, waiting patiently for her question.

“Well?” Heather prompts, when nothing juicy is forthcoming.

“Oh! Right.” Valencia startles a moment before composing herself, tucking her hair behind her ears. Interesting.

“Do you think you ever noticed anything about me that you don’t think that I was aware of?”

Sounds like Valencia is on another self-awareness kick. Well, Heather’s down to help. She tilts her head to one side, considering the question. “I doubt it. I mean, once you broke up with Josh, you’ve been pretty upfront about what you were thinking. Maybe when you and Beth were becoming a thing, but you figured that out pretty quickly, so it doesn’t count.”

“Okay but…”

“But what?”

“But what about me liking girls, specifically?”

“Specifically?” asks Heather, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Valencia takes a deep breath, setting her shoulders straight. “Yeah.”

Huh, interesting.

“Nothing specific,” says Heather thoughtfully, mentally flicking through their past hangouts for signs of Valencia’s interest in anyone beyond their direct social circle. “I mean, there was a distinct lack of interest in guys going on with you, like, even on our girls’ nights out, but when I saw you and Beth together I, like, knew that you had a vibe going on. I didn’t see that before with you and anyone else.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay, then you didn’t notice,” says Valencia, sounding vaguely offended.

“Notice what?”

Valencia takes a deep breath. “Beth might be the first girl I’ve dated, but she isn’t the first girl I liked.”

“That makes sense. Who were the others? Denise Martinez from high school? You’ve always complained about her. No, wait, it was Rebecca, right? I know she kissed you once—”

“She mentioned that?” demands Valencia, sitting up, spine ramrod straight, before she pauses and reconsiders. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t be surprised. But no. That was…something else. Which, in retrospect, might have helped me reconsider a couple of things, but that’s so not what I’m talking about right now.”

“Okay, so it’s not Rebecca. Cool. Then would it have—” she stops suddenly. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“So—”

Valencia nods. “Yep. I think I liked you.”

Valencia says it casually, but it’s a bombshell all the same. Heather blinks as she considers this new information, comparing this new context to all the things she knows about Valencia, like pulling away a curtain for a clear view. Their ease with one another, how quickly Valencia started seeking out Heather’s advice and was willing to let her slouch on her couch when she needed time to refill her chill bar during the most hectic days of Rebecca’s hasty wedding planning storm. Valencia had been remarkably lax about Heather setting very close boundaries.

“Oh, huh. Okay, didn’t see that at the time, but okay. That tracks.”

Valencia stares, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s your reaction?”

Heather considers the facts, how she had only known Valencia tangentially as Josh’s girlfriend, with a general idea that they were unsuited, but not understanding just how much until Rebecca brought her to Sugar Face for the first time, beaming and declaring that, if it was all right with her, Valencia might hang out with them a few times while she got over her own post-break-up blues. And she was kind of basic, but also acidic, and very fun and a little clueless and then she just stuck around.

“I mean, I don’t think I totally missed it,” clarifies Heather. “I thought I got a vibe on you for a little while there when I met you, but like, I was trying to figure out if you knew that or if it was just getting into the groove of having a girl group, but there was also the stuff where we were both trying to figure out what to do with our lives and then everything went down with Josh and Rebecca and it just, like, kept going down.”

Valencia nods, grimacing at the memory. “Yeah, it was a lot to process.”

“So much processing,” says Heather with feeling, eyes rolling heavenwards. After a beat, intrigue overtakes her surprise and she sits back up again. “So: how long did you carry a torch for me?”

Valencia gives a dismissive wave. “Not that long. After you started dating Hector I had an epiphany.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I realized that our tastes were way too different to ever work out.”

Valencia pulls a face to punctuate her statement, startling a laugh out of Heather.

“That kinda sounds like an excuse,” teases Heather, a little relieved. Valencia’s shoulders ease, and it’s obvious from the way she’s speaking that there isn’t jealousy or some sort of anguished feeling behind her declaration, and that’s soothing in a very Valencia way. She doesn’t want to stir up drama – she just wants to make things clear and straightforward.

“It really isn’t,” says Valencia, in the same tone she uses when critiquing Josh’s taste in formalwear.

“Okay, it isn’t.”

“I genuinely believe that your interest in Hector cleaved our chances as a couple completely.”

“Sure,” concedes Heather with a smile, “I know you don’t like Hector. Is it because he knows all of the embarrassing stories about you from when you guys were kids?”

“No. Why?” Valencia’s eyes narrow and her body goes rigid. “Why do you mention it? Did he tell you something? Was it about the Sleeping Beauty thing, because he really should know better than that—”

“No, he hasn’t,” says Heather immediately, because it’s true and if the way that Valencia’s perfectly sharp eyebrows are starting to furrow in the middle, if Heather doesn’t clear up that point immediately, there is a nonzero chance that Hector’s demise will be imminent upon walking through the door.

“Good.” Valencia leans back on the sofa, her face still thunderous. “At least his sense of self-preservation is intact.”

“I’ll get that story out of you, then,” says Heather, amused. “You really have nothing good to say about him, do you?”

“Hector is very symmetrical,” says Valencia primly. “And I am willing to admit that he’s been handling your pregnancy very well despite not actually knocking you up.”

“Thank you, I know that cost you something.”

Valencia nods, looking faintly martyred before she shifts position on the sofa, leaning against the cushions, her chin propped up in her palm. “So, you didn’t know I had a crush on you at all?”

“No, I missed that. Which is unfortunate, because it really is flattering.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, totally. You’re definitely a catch. So,” she drags out the word, starting to grin, her long-starved desire for gossip sniffing the air. “When did you know that you liked me?”

She’s pleased to see that Valencia relaxes completely at her teasing, whatever fears she has reassured by Heather’s reaction.

“I didn’t at the time,” admits Valencia. “It didn’t take that long to understand that I liked Beth, really, but I’ve been kind of unpacking stuff with her since we’ve started dating. You know what a good listener she is.”

“Right.”

“And I would keep talking, right, about times when I might have been attracted to other women, what I might have thought of them, and I would think about you and about how, when we first started hanging out, I was so giddy about having female friends for the first time in a long time, and you really helped me figure out what’s normal girl stuff and what wasn’t. And I was so excited to have such smart and attractive friends and I wanted to see you guys every day and your opinions really mattered to me—and I realized that there had been, like, two layers to how I was thinking about you, specifically.”

“Two layers, huh?”

“Yeah, both the core that, you were a cool person, but also like a filter on top of it that make things especially nice. Like the Amaro filter on Instagram. Which, incidentally, is the one I used when I posted your pedicure.”

“Got it.”

“Like, I wanted to be friends,” Valencia continues, insistent. “I absolutely wanted to hang out with you as a friend. But I also kind of wanted to impress you and…have you look at me in a certain way. Though, to be clear, that feeling isn’t really a part of our relationship now, that I was attracted to you. That is in the past. It’s important, but not, like, the defining thing about us. But it in our history and it was weird that you didn’t know about it.” Valencia deflates. “I’m sorry, is this making any sense? This isn’t meant to be a love declaration, or anything, and I’m worried it sounds like one, but it’s just—”

“Part of the history of our dynamic,” Heather finishes. “No, I get it. Human attraction is interesting and doesn’t really care about fitting neatly into romantic-platonic categories.”

“Exactly,” says Valencia, smiling. “Like, I just feel that it’s weird that you didn’t know that’s how I felt about you. You know everything.”

“Apparently not,” says Heather wryly. “But I’m glad you think so.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for telling me. For the record, though, we totally would have been a hot couple in a parallel universe,” Heather adds. “Totally objectively speaking.”

Valencia laughs, her shoulders loosening. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Yeah. And while you might not think the same about me, I do think you have good taste – I’m glad you met Beth. She’s very cool.”

“Aw, thank you.” Valencia beams, pressing her hand over her heart. “That means a lot.”

Heather smiles, a rush of affection for her friend coursing through her, sweeping aside the discomforts of the day. “Come on, let’s have a toast to your good taste and behaving like mature adults. Now gimme my apple juice.”

Laughing, Valencia does as she asks.

#crazy ex girlfriend #heather davis #valencia perez #ellie writes fic #i'm not sure i did this justice #my headcanon is a bit more unwieldy #but oh well

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freetobcubed · 3 years

Text

For Tasha

Who didn’t have to take me into her heart

But seems to have done so anyhow

It was a long, long way down.

Nobody thinks about fifty downy mattresses being tall, but I am here to tell you--they are tall. I was way, way high up. Is it any wonder that I didn’t sleep? I’m absolutely petrified when it comes to heights!

My father used to say that was my major character flaw. “Climb higher, do better,” he’d say--though come to think of it, he usually wasn’t referring to distance from the floor. More like overcoming my dirt-floor, dirt-poor upbringing.

Wouldn’t he have loved to see me there, scrunched up near the top of the castle’s tallest tower, shivering under a blanket, too scared to look over the edge of the bed?

Maybe not. Maybe he would have been disappointed to know that I wasn’t only afraid of falling. The queen, her outrageous demands, her apparent madness, they all scared me. But my father died when I was fourteen; Mother went two years later. I was alone.

At the very first, I’d met Stefan quite by accident. I wasn’t trying to social climb. Love sneaked up on us, though I did try to keep it at bay.

You see, the prince--Stefan is the prince--had been ordered by his mother to find a bride and provide an heir to the throne. Then, his crazy mother had systematically undermined every single potential wife from every last surrounding kingdom. The princess from Asurra had been driven away with a test involving fire (no one would even gossip about the details, apparently it was too frightening,) and the princess from Regat had been driven away when she’d been asked to embroider a full-sized tapestry. In silks. In two days.

I don’t blame either girl for giving up.

The other princesses were gotten rid of in similar manners. Every unwed royal or noble lady from the nine kingdoms, it seemed, had been invited to try for Prince Stefan’s hand, then been sent packing after being faced with a dread fear.

Finally, the king had stepped in.

King Ion is a tall man. Skinny, too. He looks like a single gust of air could blow him away, and his wife, Queen Elena, is constantly blowing storms of air and words out her mouth. Maybe that’s why King Ion doesn’t argue with the queen. Either way, Elena runs the kingdom of Pim, and she does it--well, let’s just say that I’d do things differently.

But once in a while, King Ion will dig in his heels good and proper. This time, it was for the sake of his son.

“Elena, dear,” he’d said (so the gossip went,) “Stefan is going to have to choose a Pimmish wife now.”

“Pimmish? There are no ladies worthy,” the queen had argued (so they say.) The royal couple had gone back and forth for days. Finally, someone thought to ask Stefan what he thought ought to be done.

“Devise a test, mother,” he’d declared (I know because he told me himself.) “Find a way to identify a worthy bride. Then let the women of Pim prove themselves against it.”

Now, I know that sounds absurd. It was. But Stefan knew his mother’s ways, knew that she would never just let him choose a wife. The game had to be played, and the deck had to seem stacked in the queen’s favor. It was that, or have his own mother executed for crimes against the nation. Stefan chose the gentler course.

“It’s a good plan, Elena dear,” Ion had agreed. And so it was that, however reluctantly, the queen got on board with a Princess test.

“I don’t think she expects anyone to pass,” Stefan said when he told me about it. He and I had been friends a long time--Stefan is one that likes to mingle with his commoners, see who he can help and serve. He’ll be a good king. I’d admired him for many years by this point, but I’d never imagined I’d be anything more to him than a friendly face in the market.

“What are you going to do?” I asked him, wiping dirt off a cob of corn with the corner of my apron. “You have to find a princess to wed.”

“Not necessarily,” he answered. “ I have to find a woman to wed. Technically, nowhere in the rules does it say she has to be a princess.”

“Well, sure, but we all know your mother means--”

“I don’t care what she means,” he said. He gave me his wide-eyed look, the one that reminded me of my pup, Rapscallion. The one filled with a longing that I guess we both felt, though we’d never talked about it. “Can I have one of those?”

I handed him one of the pea pods I was polishing. He chomped it cheerfully.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked.

` “Not I,” Stefan said, and swallowed. “We.”

“We?”

“If you want to,” he said quickly. “That is, if you’re interested. If it sounds like something you’d like to do.”

“If what sounds like something I’d like to do?” I asked, puzzled.

“Marry me?” Stefan asked, his cheeks and ears reddenning. “Become a princess? Be my wife?”

“Oh, ha, ha,” I said, though my heart thumped so hard I was sure the prince could hear it.

“I mean it, Vi,” he said. I gave him a hard stare.

“You do?”

“Yes.” So unequivocal!

“But why would you want to marry me? You could have anybody!” “What?” Stefan looked utterly flabbergasted.

“I mean, you could marry just about anyone if you really tried,” I continued. “Even your mother can’t scare someone off for good, and those princesses that came--”

“I don’t want those princesses,” he answered earnestly, and his deep hazel eyes met mine. I had to fight back the urge to grin sappily. “I want you.”

“...You do?”

“Of course I do, Vi. I thought you knew that.”

“But--but--”

“Do you love me? I love you.”

“Of course I do,” I whispered.

“Then it’s settled,” Stefan announced. “We’ll get married.” “How? Your mother’s game--”

“Why, we’re going to cheat, of course.”

***

I didn’t recognize myself by the time the royal clothiers were finished with me. True, I’d never seen myself in a looking glass before--or anything nicer than a clear puddle on stone--but the girl who peered uncertainly at me didn’t seem to be me. She looked like a princess.

“You look beautiful,” Stefan said as I tiptoed out from behind the changing screen.

“I look like someone else.”

“No,” he said, standing and taking my hands in his. “This is what I’ve always seen you as.”

“A cupcake in a frock that costs twice what my land is worth?”

He laughed.

“No,” he answered, and squeezed my fingers. “I look at you and I see fierce strength, and quiet wisdom. Kindness, patience, and a good judge of character. Like a queen.”

“Not like the current queen, I hope,” I whispered, and Stefan chuckled again.

“No, I think it’s safe to say that you and my mother have nothing in common,” he agreed. “Now. That was the easy part.”

I nodded. The dress, paid for by the prince himself, was simple. Even learning to breathe in the strict corset wouldn’t be the difficult bit.

I had to pass as “worthy” before the queen. And no one knew what the test was!

“Do you know what she’s requiring of me?” I asked.

“No idea,” he said, and released my hands, cupping my chin in his fingers instead. “But whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Together.”

“Together,” I agreed. It was a lovely sentiment.

***

“Lady Viorica of Desen-upon-Evela, Pim,” the herald announced as I entered the Grand Hall. I ground my teeth nervously; masquerading as a lady before Their Majesties was probably a crime.

“What a lovely young woman,” King Ion observed, giving a nod of his head. I smiled a little. Ion might not have been much of a king, but he was kind.

“Hmm,” Queen Elena rumbled. I quit grinding my teeth then, standing as straight as I could. Here’s a thing about me: give me wiggle room, a way to squelch out of a fight, and I’ll make a run for it nearly every time. I hate conflict. But if you try to box me into a corner--if you want to make me feel small--if for even a tiny second you act like I don’t deserve my humanity--I’ll come back so strong and so fast, swinging so hard, that you won’t have a clue what hit you.

That hmm struck me wrong. If I hadn’t been ready to fight for my love before, I was then.

“Your Majesties,” I said, sweeping into a shallower curtsy than was strictly proper. I was angry.

“Lady Viorica,” Queen Elena replied, her lips snapping together when she’d finished, as if she could spit me out of the room. “I don’t know you.”

“Your son does,” I replied.

“That is not as strong a recommendation as you’d think, my girl,” the queen said. “My son consorts with commoners.”

“Oughtn’t a king to know his people?” I asked, trying to keep my tone demure. “Your royal Majesty,” I finished. King Ion cracked a small smile behind his wife’s back.

“Hmm.”

“May I know what I am to do to prove myself, Majesty?” I asked. Stefan, seated behind his parents by a few inches, gave me a glance of warning. Too bold, Vi, I told myself.

“It is late,” the queen said with a wave of her hand. “There is a bed prepared for you in thetower. Pass the night here, and we will test your worthiness in the morning.”

Which is how I ended up terrified, annoyed, and precariously balanced atop fifty downy mattresses, as I mentioned.

Stefan crept into the chamber as I lay at the top, fingers gripping tightly to the bedsheets, staring at the ceiling that was only a few inches above my nose.

“Your Highness,” I heard the chaperone say as the door creaked open. “Lady Viorica is not to be disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbing her,” Stefan said. “I don’t think. Vi, are you disturbed?”

“By you?” I asked. “Never.”

“By what, then?”

“By your mother,” I answered. “I’ve been expressly forbidden to sleep anywhere but atop this tottering pile of fluff.”

“Then should I leave you to sleep?”

“As if I could!” I exclaimed, and rolled just close enough to the edge that I could peer down at Stefan. “Will you read me a story?”

“Certainly,” Stefan said. He looked to the matronly woman guarding the door. “Sofi, may I?”

“The queen has said nothing against it,” Sofi agreed.

“Then I will fetch a book and return,” the prince said. He left, and I rolled back to the middle of the bed. The pile of mattresses shook, and I trembled too.

“Are you well, m’lady?” Sofi called up.

“Not in the least,” I grumbled. “You may tell your queen that no proper person could sleep on this… this mountain.”

“A mountain, is it?” Sofi chuckled. “You’re uncomfortable, then?”

“Beyond description,” I called back.

“I’ll inform her majesty in the morning.”

“That might not be wise,” I said, realizing I might lose out on the mysterious competition by complaining.

“It is my duty to report on your sleep, m’lady,” Sofi said.

“It’s what?”

“I found a book,” Stefan called as he re-entered the room. I inched back to the edge.

“Read at your leisure, please,” I answered.

Stefan read to me for the rest of the night--and into the gray hours of the morning, too. The tale was interesting, though it was not what kept me awake. He finally nodded off in the chair he’d landed in. I couldn’t sleep.

“Awake and arise, my lady!” The queen herself announced as the sun began to peek through the tower window.

“I can get down, then?” I asked from my spot in the middle of the bed. The queen’s footfalls came to an abrupt halt.

“Did… you sleep well, Lady Viorica?” She asked. More steps echoed, and I peeked down to see King Ion standing in my doorway. He gazed up at me.

“I beg pardon, Majesties,” I said with a shudder, “but I fear that I did not sleep. May I descend?”

“Certainly you may,” the king said. I gave a sigh of relief, then rolled to the top of the ladder and inched downward. I took another great, steadying breath when my feet hit the floor.

“I thank you for the hospitality, Your Majesties,” I said. “However, if there is a couch somewhere that I can rest on…”

“You didn’t sleep?” the queen demanded.

“Forgive me, Majesty, but… could you have?”

“No, but--” she lunged forward, past me, reaching toward the base of the pile of bedding, She wiggled her fingers around under the bottom mattress, her hand finally sliding out with a green smudge on the forefinger.

“But how did you know?”

Know what? I wondered. Was sleeping some sort of--was it the test? What kind of lunatic test is that?

‘ “She knew because she is worthy, Mother,” Stefan said. I hadn’t realized he’d woken up.

“Apparently so…” the queen agreed.

No matter how many years pass, the image of her confounded, stupefied face will never cease to be a source of amusement and comfort to me.

***

Anyhow, that’s how I, Viorica of the tiniest farm in Desen-upon-Evela, an orphan and a stranger to royal ways, ended up the princess of Pim. It’s strictly terrifying, being in charge, but I have Stefan beside me as guide, friend, and love. Every day, I try to climb higher, and be better.

But I do it from the ground.

#Short story #rough draft #Princess and the pea #fairy tale #retelling

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cassolotl · 7 years

Text

Gender and sex are [not] different

Content note: Article refers to transphobia, TERFs, sex essentialism.

I have recently seen nonbinary people, even high-profile nonbinary people like Asia Kate Dillon, saying that gender and sex are different. This is bothering me a lot, for reasons I’ve struggled to articulate, but I’m gonna try anyway damnit.

Disclaimer: This is just the way I see things. I’ll back up my assertions where I can, but please do understand that I am the internet equivalent of some dude you met in the pub last week.

AN OVERVIEW / SOME CONTEXT

Sex and gender are both social constructs, which basically means they’re ideas that humans created. A penis is just a penis, but only a human would say that a penis (or a person with a penis) is inherently male.

The definitions of sex and gender are broadly agreed to be subtly different: sex is purely anatomical, whereas gender is an experience, a combination of physical, behavioural and psychological things that no one is really able to pin down.

I live in the UK, and here there is no legal difference between sex and gender.

The “sex” marker on your birth certificate can be changed with a gender recognition certificate (hormones and surgery not compulsory), and birth certificates are not connected to medical records at all. Getting that sex marker changed is very difficult and expensive.

You can legally have a different gender or sex marker on all your state-issued IDs and at most it’ll cause some bureaucratic confusion.

You can put any title on any record and some people will probably frown at you if you put Mrs if you’re an unmarried person but those people are legally speaking in the wrong.

Basically anything is legal as long as you’re not doing it to deceive or commit fraud, and the Gender Recognition Panel is way outdated and about to be dismantled anyway.

To put it another way, what the UK calls “legal sex” is actually just legal gender, misnamed. Even the sex marker on medical records is a gender marker misnamed.

To add to the confusion, linguistically speaking sex and gender are generally described in the same way - because until very recently, English-speakers have largely been unable to change their bodies and therefore unable to change the way the world treats them. Words like “female” can describe someone’s body and/or someone’s gender, while also describing the reproductive capacity of non-human lifeforms, the shape of the connecting end of a computer cable...

Because of the body/mind distinction, people who say that only we can define our genders will often comfortably say that sex can be objectively determined by an educated professional.

Doctors generally agree that sex is defined by:

the number and type of sex chromosomes;

the type of gonads—ovaries or testicles;

the sex hormones;

the internal reproductive anatomy (such as the uterus in females); and

the external genitalia.

Since finding out someone’s sex chromosomes takes months and is very expensive and largely unnecessary for most people, unless your doctor has found a pressing reason to test your chromosomes (such as signs that you may be intersex and it may affect your physical health in some way), you do not know your own sex. Yes, you. You have, at least, a (probably but not necessarily accurate) guess based on the information you have unequivocal access to: external genitalia.

This blog post assumes that misgendering people is harmful. It may not harm everyone, but it harms enough people that it’s a good idea to behave in a way that prevents that harm.

SEX AND GENDER ARE THE SAME

1: Sex --> gender

The idea that gender is defined by sex is an obvious wrong thing, so it seems like a good place to start. That’s the idea that your gender comes from your body. If you were born with a penis and testicles, you are a man, whether you like it or not.

Who does it: Some people (eg: TERFs) say that hormones and surgery simply “mask” your “true” sex/gender, and you can’t change your chromosomes or the way you were born. Some people (eg: some outdated gender recognition systems) say that your body must be changed in order to change your gender.

Why it’s harmful: It sucks for trans people. Either you can never be correctly gendered by other people, even when you pass, or you can only be correctly gendered by other people once someone has inspected your genitals or judged your facial hair or whatever.

What to do instead: Don’t say that gender is irrevocably tied to one’s body. Support the idea that people know themselves better than anyone else can, and trust them when they tell you what their gender is.

2: Gender --> sex

Who does it: If you’re on Tumblr you’ve probably read blog posts that say things like “I am female, therefore my penis is female.” A lot of us feel this way about our own bodies, and taking ownership of the language used to describe your body is a very positive thing. In the UK it’s supported by the medical system, which lets you change the gender/sex marker on your medical records just by asking the receptionist.

Why it’s harmful: It’s not - unless you start to impose it on others. It’s not universal. Some of us strongly feel and identify with the sex of the body; for example, Asia Kate Dillon is nonbinary but strongly identifies their body as female.

And then there’s Big Freedia, who says she’s a man because she has a man’s body. Her name and pronouns and presentation, everything that we use as gender cues, are decidedly feminine - but she is very open about her body being male.

What to do instead: Don’t assume stuff about people’s bodies or the language they use to talk about their bodies based on their gender, pronouns, presentation, etc. Don’t say that in general, for example, a body is female if it belongs to a woman. Respect everyone’s right to bodily privacy. Support the idea that people know themselves better than anyone else can, and trust them when they tell you what their sex is. But like, don’t ask, okay? Don’t even hint. It is none of your business.

SEX AND GENDER ARE UNCONNECTED

This is the one that’s been bugging me lately.

Who does it: I’ve seen nonbinary people go out of their way to correct people who equate gender and sex (or man and male, woman and female), and in doing so they state that sex and gender are never connected.

And it’s understandable! The idea that someone can be born in the wrong body has been central to the campaign of visibility and understanding aimed at cisgender people for quite a long time now. It counters the idea above, that sex defines gender, that has been socially prevalent for basically all of living ciscentric memory. A lot of us probably learned about what being transgender is by hearing the idea that your mind can be one gender while your body is another, and said, “damn, that could explain a lot for me.”

Asia Kate Dillon takes this to an extreme. I mentioned above that their gender is nonbinary and their sex is female, but they have also stated that sex and gender are entirely unconnected, for everyone. They insist that male and female are words used to describe sex only, and that it harms them when trans women call themselves female. They said that sex is defined by those five characteristics I listed in the overview, and if any of those characteristics doesn’t match the others then your body stops being male or female at all; a person who’s had a hysterectomy can no longer be called female in terms of sex.

Why it’s harmful: When people say to a trans person, “well you might be a man but your body is not male,” they are implying that someone’s biology would be relevant to anyone but themself, the people they may be physically intimate with, and maybe their doctor. On this level alone it’s personally very intrusive, in a way that no cis person would have to tolerate.

On a practical level, it allows people to exclude trans people from gendered spaces in which they belong on the basis of aspects of their body that may never even be visible, because their body is somehow more relevant (to gendered spaces like toilets and changing rooms) than who they are, and cis people can’t possibly cope.

There are two common excuses for excluding trans people from these spaces.

Random cisgender humans will accidentally see a weird body and be needlessly alarmed or frightened. (Frankly, not our problem?)

Some people are incurably violent or harmful because of their bodies; even someone seeing their bodies may cause harm. (That’s, at very generous best, insulting. In reality, if you are perceived as a serious threat when you walk into a room you become a target.)

What to do instead: Don’t make sweeping statements like “trans people were born in the wrong body” or “gender and sex are different and unrelated.” Support and respect people when they tell you about their own experiences of their body and gender. Encourage cisgender people to take responsibility for their emotional issues, improve and increase resources for victims of sexual violence, advocate for partially gender-neutralising spaces, and welcome trans people into gendered spaces where possible - and it almost always is possible.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS

Always respect people’s right to bodily privacy. Always.

If you feel like your sex is defined by your gender then great but it’s not true for every trans and/or nonbinary person. Similarly, if you feel that your gender and sex are independent of each other then that’s fine but don’t impose that on other people.

Barring unusual phobias, there is no need to ever consider the impact of someone’s sex on you personally. Unless you’re a doctor or you’re about to have sex or something.

In reality, there is a relationship between one’s body and one’s gender for a lot of people, otherwise gender dysphoria wouldn’t be a thing. What the connection is we may never fully understand, but that doesn’t matter. There is a connection for many people and it feels different for everyone, and that needs to be acknowledged and respected. At the same time, for many people there is no apparent connection between their gender and their body, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be one or that deep down everyone else is just wrong about themselves.

Gender and sex are complex individually, and their relationship to each other is complex too. Trying to logic it and sort it into boxes and make a flow chart of it just isn’t going to work. We can stop trying to teach each other, and start supporting each other instead.

#original posts #my words #gender #trans #nonbinary

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kitsutoshi · 6 years

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When you know better...do better.

With the new year about to start, I’m thinking about resolutions. Things to change. To quote Maya Angelou “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”

But I’m having trouble with that. A lot of the time I don’t do better.

Of course I want to “be the change I want to see in the world.” But I also don’t want to introduce myself with my pronouns, because it feels weird, and the phrase “I am too old for this” plays in my head. I understand that there’s some kind of thing about plastic straws being awful, but I’ve not read the articles and haven’t turned down a straw yet. I’m still struggling to understand cultural appropriation (at least grayer aspects of it) and while I’m not buying any “Hot Buddhist Monk” Halloween costumes, I find myself thinking “how much does this really matter?” when YES it matters. I think most people would agree it’s worse to knowingly do bad things than to accidentally or unknowingly do them. I like to think I’m a good person…but this is some bullshit.

And not just me, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who knows better but screws up anyway. If that wasn’t true then there would be no Doritos.

Right now we’re watching the long-overdue tipping point with sexual harassment, thanks largely to the #MeToo movement. We’re tossing flawed men out of positions of responsibility as if it’s going out of style. And we’re vilifying them. In some cases, for mistakes made back when those actions were the norm. In other cases it’s dick pics. Men fighting the tide of history. Men who knew better, or had no excuse not to, but who propositioned those teenaged girls, those women at work. Men who knew better, but grabbed women’s butts anyway.

And when I look at history, it’s filled with people who seriously had to know better (slavery? really?) but who just kept doing wrong. Even people “on the wrong side of history” who definitely knew better.

I think we can all relate to knowing better but doing worse. So how do we weigh that? How do we handle all of this?

I’ve engaged in discussions this year about how to honor historical heroes who were also deeply flawed people “by modern standards.” If we judge historical people by what we now generally agree is wrong (slave owners are a great example) then we lose the good with the bad. Thomas Jefferson, American hero…and terrible person who surely knew it was wrong to own people.

We’re also losing the good they’ve done (anyone feel like binging the Cosby Show?). We have to figure out what to do with the artistic works, awards, philanthropy, invention…everything.

So should we toss the baby with the bathwater? And how do we think about those folks, past and present? How do we think about ourselves? What wrongs are enough to write a person off completely?

So here we are, headed inexorably into the next New Year. I’m considering resolutions, I want to “do better.” I have a list of things I now know (or maybe haver for a long while) and I want to behave better. But what if I don’t? This issue is personal. I can’t think “yeah, that Thomas Jefferson guy…” or “Dammit Al Franken!” without also thinking “and you.” I’m no different than any people who didn’t “do better.”

We know that some social ills will only be fixed by waiting for a generation or two to die. Young people who are “woke” waiting for older racist/sexist/homophobe/etc bigots to just die off and take their crufty views and behaviors with them. Because change is hard. People know better all day long, and don’t do better.

So it’s hard. But is that an excuse? (spoiler: no, no it isn’t).

So what are some of the things people debate “overlooking?” because of “the times they lived in?” Owning slaves. Harassing behavior that might have been the norm but was never ok. There’s this idea that if something was common that we should just understand and give people a bye. I’m not so sure.

When I use a microscope, what I can see is a whole lot of people who knew clearly, long before the Civil War, that slavery was wrong. Otherwise the Underground Railroad would have been to nowhere. I see a lot of HR seminars on harassment and hostile work environment, laughed off by guys who didn’t want to change.

When recycling became a thing, young people were all over it. There are plenty of Baby Boomers who throw away water bottles every day. There are young people who would carry an empty plastic bottle across the earth to recycle it. And there are people in between, who recycle if it’s convenient. Do we give a pass to the individual boomers who can’t find a blue bin with both hands and a map, because it’s a “function of the times?”

Where am I going with this?

My dearest hope is that humanity will continue to advance. That the future will bring more social evolution. More cooperation, less competition. More selfless behavior, less profiteering. More live-and-let-live and less authoritarianism. I’d like to think that humanity will eventually produce the Federation of Planets.

The best example I can think of where a sea-change is coming but we’re not yet at a tipping point is eating meat. It seems likely that in the future, people won’t eat meat from real animals anymore. Lab-grown real meat may be a thing, or good sense will have prevailed and folks will eat vegan, or just flat-out overpopulation will make meat a thing of the past. I eat meat. I know better. I have the means to eat well without meat, and I don’t. I try to source my meat from local farms with high ethical standards. But not always. But someday there will be whole generations of people who wouldn’t even contemplate killing an animal to make a meal. How will they look at us?

If you speak to any not-deranged human being and say “is torturing an animal ok?” The answer is unequivocally no. Absolutely no. But we rationalize. We do it for medical science. We definitely do it for food. We wear leather but not fur. We eat pigs but not dogs. Ugly animals don’t count.

But those people will look back at us in bafflement and disgust. If we did awesome things, maybe won a Nobel Prize, or twelve Olympic medals…they will still look at us as “meat eaters.”

What I’m looking for is a litmus test. I’m no pinnacle of human perfection, there’s a lot going on that needs fixing here. And our ancestors were the same. People who knew damned well and good that women should be able to vote, but who went along with the social order of abuse and oppression. Nazis. Slave owners. War profiteers. Pussy grabbers. Casting-couch sleaze.

But many of those people (not the Nazis) did great things. Art, literature, war heroism, writing Constitutions. We want to know those things right?

What would I want for future folk to think of me? Not that I’m likely to be remembered in a hundred years, but if some future schoolchild does look back at my life, what do I want for them to think? What would Thomas Jefferson want for me (and us) to think of him?

These are some answers I would give (TJ will have to speak for himself):

1. If I’m making mistakes (and history suggests that we all do that) then I’d like to be forgiven those. If I really think I’m doing a good thing, but later hindsight says “nope,” future people please give me a pass. I offer the same to people in my rear-view mirror.

2. When I already know better…How would I like to be viewed for that? When I refuse a major change with measurable benefit to the world, in favor of personal convenience or preference. I’m the modern equivalent of the “nice” slave owner who knows it’s wrong so he makes sure that his slaves have good housing and food. I’m a “product of my time” where most people who can afford to will eat meat every day. So even though vegans exist and ethics matter, I eat meat. When I look forward and think of those future great-great-great-great grandchildren looking back at me, I can’t meet their eyes. If they need to dismiss whatever good I’ve done out of disgust for the things I do knowingly wrongly, I can’t blame them for that. I know better, but I don’t do better. My hope is that the problem (be it meat or something else) solved itself when a few generations died off, maybe including me and mine.

3. But what if I didn’t know, but I reallllly should have? What if I’d never watched any PETA videos, never read Temple Grandin’s book. What if I grew up without knowing how food comes to fork? Some forms of Christianity differentiate between a sin committed knowingly, and one committed without knowledge. Purgatory was invented because it wasn’t fair to think of all of those non-Christian souls burning in hell just because they never even had the opportunity to be forgiven. Modern criminal law differentiates some types of offenses based on intent. But I don’t know how I feel about those historical people who thought they were “protecting” women by treating them as voteless property. I know that I’ve been confronted with ideas that I just haven’t had time or inclination or energy to deal with. For example, the concept of “implicit bias” didn’t really land in my consciousness until this year, even though I had heard of it years ago. It didn’t hit me with enough impact to motivate any effort on my part until recently. But I could have learned it at any time. The information was available to me. I guess I’m not that forgiving. Willful ignorance isn’t an excuse to me. Your mileage may differ. I hold myself accountable for things I chose not to know, at least things it would have been easy to know. There’s a scale. I’m ok with future people thinking “she used STRAWS?! But didn’t she see those headlines on Facebook?” I hope they’ll cut a little slack for a primitive progenitor if the information wasn’t readily available, but if it was looking me in the face, that’s on me.

I don’t know how Thomas Jefferson would feel about this. Or Winston Churchill. My best guess is that they would feel as I do. A Golden Rule situation. If I would want for my progeny to forgive me for something, maybe I should forgive the same things.

Applying those rules of thumb: Sexual harassment and abuse in the workplace. It’s never been ok. Women have taken men to HR or court over this crap since women have worked. No one younger than 90 should be able to plead ignorance that work isn’t the place to get handsy or to talk about sex or to try to get a date with your subordinate. But men who knew better sure haven’t done better. Many have, but many have not. No one is getting a pass.

We fought a war in this country in which slavery was the primary or a collateral issue (depends on who you ask). Plenty of people knew perfectly well that it was wrong…but many people who knew better did worse. I vote no passes.

There are a lot of vegetarians and vegans around. And people still make fun of them. I think most of us know that’s really right-action and that our meat-eating isn’t. I’ve also seen a lot of humor to the effect that vegans and vegetarians are on a high horse (riding, not eating) and shouldn’t look down at the rest of us. But I see two things there:

When you’ve seen better and done better, maybe it’s ok to express that there’s something others should wake up to. Why would we NOT want that? Lots of people go to church specifically to be reminded to do better.

Maybe when you’ve walked a lot of miles being made fun of for ethical uprightness, reminders come out less like “hey, there’s something to consider” and more like “wtf is wrong with you?”

We should want that reminder. We should want to wake up to what we’re doing wrong. But when you’re around someone who you know is doing better, it feels like being judged. Which all of us hate. We think of ourselves as good people, but we know we’re doing bad things, and people doing better just remind us of that. We judge ourselves. Then we thrash, to avoid those feelings.

It’s galling, isn’t it. When you know you’re choosing worse, and someone else has chosen better? We want to keep doing the thing we do, but we don’t like to think of ourselves as bad. So we weasel and manage our cognitive dissonance. From inventing religions that give us “absolution” so we can keep on sinning, to making fun of vegans to avoid the idea that they’re right. We compound our wrongs with more wrongs.

Right now we have a society where people who do better are actively mocked by people who do worse. “Social justice warrior” is somehow an insult (!!?). It sounds like something that should be the highest possible praise. Its as if the bullies all won, and decent people are getting shoved into lockers. Only we’re all the bullies too, on one subject or another.

So “know better…do better” right? There’s no pass for failure. Of course it’s easier to do things when everyone else is doing them too. But sometimes we’re the first generation to know better. We still have to do it. We may someday figure out how to handle the artistic, scientific, philosophical, and other goods created by slave-owners, harassers, abusers, profiteers, and others. I hope we do. I’m going to use the “what would future progeny think?” litmus test. And if “they’d think I was scum of the earth,” that seems fair. If I knowingly do something wrong, just because everyone else is doing it too, I shouldn’t get a pass.

Here’s the main step I plan to take this year. I’d like to confront my irritation. My blind spots. Find my cognitive dissonance. I may not manage to do better in some respects (burgers) but I’m going to face that head one. No pats on the back. Conscience turned up to 11. No passes given to myself if that future society wouldn’t give me one. When I know better, I will own it when I don’t do better. The world needs that.

#knowbetterdobetter #progress #blindspot #resolutions

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kaleidoscopeheartache · 5 years

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oof

To The One That Got Away,

It’s been 8 years (how the fuck has it already been 8 years??) but it’s that time of year again where I’m reminded of you because it’s almost your birthday and the magical time we got together was late May. And so of course because I’m here alone and it’s Memorial Day when people are supposed to be with people they love and like spending time with, I’m feeling nostalgic for times when I felt loved. And so of course I get on a stint of reading my past posts about you -- a thing I’ve been doing more and more lately -- and this time I actually scrolled through like literally all our facebook messages too (which dated back to 2009, by the way) and I just got so overwhelmed by how much we loved each other and how freaking sweet you were. We literally wrote messages to each other daily about our days when we were apart. Every single one we said “I miss you.” And we meant it. I ached for you.

I hate that I don’t know where the CD is that you made for me. The “You’re Amazing” one. I remember only 2 or 3 songs from it and it makes me sad that it’s probably gone forever. I’ve kept everything else from those days. The letters, the songs... no one did stuff like that back then. Does anyone do stuff like that now?

I also long for those days because I was in such good shape and I hate that I hated my body and was so self-conscious and was worried about what people thought of you and me. Looking back of course it was high school and the pressure was different but you were so ahead of your time back then. I wish I had danced with you that day in Charlotte’s garage. I wish I had kissed you the first day we hung out when we were talking on your back porch. I wish I had been more enthusiastic about us getting back together that last time, because you deserved a full, unequivocal love. You didn’t care about what anyone thought, and yet you turned out to be this sweet, caring, opinionated, strong, passionate [and hot] guy at 17. I only imagine college made you even more so (not to mention your long-term girlfriend whom I’ve stalked countless times). And now you’re working at our high school as a history teacher, exactly what you said you’d do, even then. So you’ve stuck around. My sister is best friends with yours. Our families are forever intertwined -- despite how much your mom may or may not have had an impact on us.

I realize now how immature I was about the whole thing. Part of me just wishes I had kept my mouth shut. Part of me wishes I hadn’t blamed you for listening to your mom. Part of me wishes I had never gone to that camp in the first place. I truly wonder how long we would’ve stayed together if that whole thing never happened. And the reason I wonder it is because I don’t know that I’ve stopped thinking about you for real. I dated Austin for a year and then we were fooling around for another half a year, but it never felt like it did with you when I was with him. With him it was always physical and he showed me how to be a good lover. We were never really a good match as people but we were in the bedroom so I thought that was enough. But you? You made me want to be a better person. We talked casually about marriage. What our dreams were. What our childhoods were like. How we wanted to live when we were older. What our life would be like together.

I’ve dated other people since you, and I don’t know what it is that keeps bugging me about you, but I can’t get you out of my head. I hope someday that I find love like the way we loved each other. It’s crazy, when they say your first love hits the hardest, I really didn’t think that it would stick for this long. I know that we were kids and I know that we didn’t do major life things together, but I feel it in my gut that there’s a reason I keep doing this. And certainly part of that is that I’m not being so aggressive on the dating side. But I just wish that I could feel wanted in the way you wanted me. I mean we were together on and off for so long, how am I supposed to forget you?

You did a great job at forgetting me. And I held that against you so hard. I just really want to know what would happen if we ran into each other. Or if I moved home again. Have you really held those bad feelings for me for years? The last conversation we had was about those stupid fucking sunglasses after graduation and you said “if you hadn’t acted like a cunt...” and I was so overwhelmed with how harsh that was that I lashed out and that was that. I’m just. We were kids. Can’t we just get over ourselves by now?

I wonder if you ARE over it and that’s exactly why you’ve moved on in the way that you did. I’m not here to judge you for that. I just.

I hate that I miss you even though I don’t know you anymore.

I hate that I haven’t found someone to love like you have.

I hate that when I think about who I want to marry, it’s you that pops into my head.

I hate that when I talk to new people, I’m half disinterested... because they’re not you.

It’s been 8 years. 8 whole years and we’ve grown apart. And who I am now would love you no less than I did 8 years ago.

#ex love #ex boyfriend #first love #i miss you #and i hate it #who even are you these days #where do you live?#do you live with her?#you are still together right?#i mean you met in college and you definitely live at home right?#unless you commute from philly #and you live together there #i guess that's a possibility #regardless #high school love #personal

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inspirationallyinsane · 7 years

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May 10 2017

Hello Tumblr. I haven't written in a very long time. I guess I don't really know what to say. I am sad most of the time. Everyday stuff like school and relationships seem kind of distant and petty right now. I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to why it is I am so sad. I could say that it is exclusively because of stuff with my dad but I think that might be a lie. Sometimes I feel like I don't care about that so much and yet I am still really sad. It is hard for me to do anything. Which is not a good place to be in when classes are more demanding than ever before and you have to start being a real adult. I am living alone for the first time and I have to take care of myself. I am struggling doing the things that make me happy because when I get those short bursts of motivation I not only have to use it to do schoolwork but also to do dishes and laundry and cooking and organizational stuff. There is no room in my life for creative fulfillment. I am consumed by the sadness and the adulthood. I do like living on my own though, for the most part. I have done a good job of putting my little studio apartment together. Considering my budget, I am happy that I was able to design it exactly as I visualized it. I am glad that I didn't settle for something less than I wanted simply to have things quicker. I still need some decorational pieces, which I may be able to get this summer. It is difficult to deal with some things by myself. Like I can't kill any of the bugs so they can pose a challenge occasionally. Recently I had a mosquito in my bathroom. I was very afraid of it and I couldn't kill it. It is likely still somewhere in my apartment and it will likely bite me at some point. I worry about that constantly. I've had a few spiders too. Spiders are friends for the most part. Except when they are in your bed when you wake up in the morning. That can be scary. I feel like I am very different now. I didn't think I would change so much in college, especially since the people around me haven't changed at all. I never made new friends. I guess the only difference is the people who fell away. But it isn't because of them that I have changed. Well. Maybe it is partially because of them. My lifestyle has changed so exponentially. I went from being thankful for a new phone or computer to being thankful for a fridge full of food. Thankful for being able to cook breakfast in the morning. Thankful for being able to save enough money to buy myself a bag of salad and some apples at the end of the month. I don't judge people as harshly as I used to. I used to have this Godlike perfect human being in my life. Someone who had it all, someone who could do it all. Someone anyone could be if they wanted to. But now that I have realized that person isn't real at all I am more forgiving of people in general. And I am more forgiving towards myself. I don't have that standard to live up to anymore. And without that pressure I think that maybe I can explore what I want from life. His way is not the only way anymore. There are actually a lot of silver linings in this terribly dark situation. I do wish I could make more friends though. I am working on myself. Maybe in the future I will be able to treat people better. Keep friends. Not be afraid to make them. I don't want to become close to someone and have them leave. I can't have my heart break like that again. But I also don't want to be around people I just feel safe with. People who I feel worship me, people I am sure will never leave. People I have made sure will never leave. That is wrong and honestly that becomes boring. I can't look at relationships like that now. I feel like I have been conditioned to feel that way about people. I am working on not feeling that way. My relationship with AG is wonderful. He is one of the best, most stable, people in my life right now. My computer broke recently and he is letting me borrow his. I think that is a good real life situation that exemplifies how much I feel like I can depend on him. I don't know what I would do without him. He is so amazing. I appreciate that he is part of me. SOU gets better every day. I do not regret coming here. SOU is full of really nice people and wonderful professors who care a lot. And maybe I am starting to feel this way because I am just starting to be in a place where I can appreciate things again but I feel like SOU is one of the least toxic schools I've been at. There isn't the judgement that I always felt at St. M's or Chapman. I think that everyone at SOU is here for a reason, most of them kind of sad reasons and everyone understands that. I used to think that I was better than SOU. It took me actually going to this school to realize that I am not. Most of my classes are boring. I am thoroughly enjoying my creative writing class though. It is wonderful to have set times during the week where I get t sit in a classroom and just write. Listen to other people's writing. It feels peaceful. There is only one creative writing class at SOU. I am sad about that. But I will enjoy while I have it. I considered not posting the two pieces that came directly before this post. They might be hurtful to some people and I apologize for that. I have never been big on censoring myself or my writing and I am proud of those pieces. I wanted them on this blog. My writing is not an all inclusive look at any particular situation. I wish I could write every way I feel about a situation into one piece, but then that piece would be a disastrous mess. Sometimes I still write about Austin even though I am so totally and unequivocally in love with AG. Most of everything I write about my dad is negative and fucked up even though looking back most of the time I spent with him I feel positively about. Nothing I write is simple and easy to explain. That doesn't mean I shouldn't write it or be able to share it. Ok Tumblr. I guess that is all for now. I hope all my followers are doing well. I hope all my readers are doing well. I see that a lot of you still check my blog despite the fact that I have been inactive for months. It makes me happy that there are people out there who care. I love you.

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handicapbola75 · 4 years

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A Face (but not Jesus’s) has Appeared on my Bathroom Counter!

I don't have a clue why I didn't see this previously, since it was plainly directly before me each morning. Two or three months prior, I recognized a picture of a face in the examples of my phony marble washroom ledge. Like all other face-like pictures that show up in regular articles, it's genuinely shapeless, however to me, it would seem that a man with a conspicuous nose and huge, saggy cheeks, supporting a baby. Here it is:

Washroom Sink Image 1

These highlights appear to be genuinely clear to me, however in case you're experiencing difficulty making them out, I've numbered everything. Like a smart evangelist, I am presently deciphering this picture for you, and may even instill it with a gravitas that it likely doesn't merit. :o)

Restroom Sink Image Labels

This is the thing that I see: 1) and 2) Deep-set eyes. 3) Nose 4) Large, beefy cheek 5) Infant's head. 6) Infant's mouth 7) Infant's eyes. The white even line between the 7 and 3 is only the camera streak reflection.

My first idea was: perhaps this is a picture of Jesus. Each couple of years (or all the more habitually on the off chance that you read the sensationalist newspapers), there's an anecdote about somebody finding a picture of Jesus in their barbecued cheddar sandwich, family machine, chocolate bar or installed in a rotten stain on their washroom divider.

Flame broiled Cheese SandwichChocolate Milk

Jesus Plate-300Kit Kat

Divider StainIron

It's enticing to get on board with the temporary fad, and even include my own bend: maybe Jesus is the baby, and the elderly person holding Him is Joseph! For what reason should Mary consistently be the individual holding Jesus? While my restroom ledge picture looks to some degree like a shrewd, elderly person who seems to have a mustache and facial hair, and who may even be wearing a robe, I don't accept for a second this is a picture of Jesus.

Some of you might be thinking: Bob, what are you saying? That is not how it should function. This is the best possible arrangement of occasions:

You find what resembles a face in a typical family unit object.

Contact however many news sources as would be prudent.

Give various meetings, focusing on that you and the Lord are extremely tight, which is the reason Jesus showed up on your [household object].

Visit the nation and do the tacky syndicated program and morning show circuit.

Clarify that you trust this picture will motivate others to turn out to be better individuals.

Tell the TV crowds how significantly this revelation has affected you, and that you will love this article as an image of the solid and indistinguishable bond you have with Jesus.

At last, put the thing available to be purchased on eBay before the open premium fades away, and attempt to gather however much cash as could reasonably be expected.

The Golden Palace Casino paid $28,000 for some woman's flame broiled cheddar sandwich – and it previously had a chomp removed from it. Definitely I could get more than that for an area of my unmasticated restroom ledge.

For what reason Do We See Faces?

This made me think – for what reason do we see faces in regular items in any case? What befell our common suspicion and basic reasoning aptitudes? Some portion of the appropriate response lies in a mental wonder called pareidolia, which is the capacity to see designs from arbitrariness or undefined shapes. A case of pareidolia is this cloud arrangement:

I recollect that the subject of facial identification came up during one of my college brain research classes. As per our teacher, babies are hard-wired to perceive faces, on the grounds that a mother's face speaks to solace, sustenance and insurance. During the initial three months, a baby's vision is still quite fluffy, so they must have the option to perceive even an obscure portrayal of facial highlights. That is the reason we can see faces in nearly anything, regardless of whether the shape is to one side, twisted or ineffectively characterized.

The notorious Man In The Moon is a genuine case of a face emerging from undefined highlights. I've always been unable to see the face myself – it must be called attention to me. All things considered, I despite everything don't see quite a bit of a similarity.

MIM-1MIM-2

Why Is The Face Always Jesus?

At whatever point the media gives an account of one of these accounts, the face is perpetually Jesus. For what reason don't individuals rush to the media gripping their barbecued cheddar sandwich and enthusiastically case to see Pauly Shore, Judge Wapner, Les Nessman or Reuben Kincaid? A picture of Reuben Kincaid on a reuben sandwich – presently without a doubt that is something that will sell papers!

C.S. Lewis (1898-1963), the creator of The Chronicles Of Narnia, suggested that we see strict symbolism since we experience a daily reality such that is inundated in such things. Unquestionably, during Lewis' lifetime, religion was substantially more unmistakable in North American culture, so his perception bodes well. My humanism teacher once commented "accepting is seeing" – what we see is based, to some extent, on our conviction framework.

In the case of accepting is seeing, at that point for what reason doesn't anybody feel that the amorphous Man In The Moon is really the substance of Jesus? Wikipedia records a few anecdotes about the sources of the Man In The Moon. These incorporate stories from Norse, Chinese and Haida folklore, yet there is nothing that makes reference to Jesus. The Jesus association appears glaringly evident (in any event to me) – on the off chance that God is inescapable and is looking out for us from the sky, at that point a perfect sign would be a face-like picture on the moon, as both a substantial pointer of His inescapability, and an unobtrusive (and tenacious) suggestion to stay under control. The moon was a long ways past our scope (at any rate until 1969), so there would no chance to get for anybody to get a more intensive look and either confirm or expose this case.

Cone Nebula

A further incongruity is the Cone Nebula. After the Hubble Space Telescope shot it (over), a few people accepted this was additionally a picture of Jesus, and even cited Matthew 24:30 to back up their affirmation "And afterward will show up the indication of the Son of man in paradise: and afterward will all the clans of the earth grieve, and they will see the Son of man coming in the billows of paradise with force and extraordinary wonder". Indeed, this sounds exceptionally premonition – until you do a little research and find one nit-meticulous detail: the Cone Nebula is 2,700 light years away. The light from the Cone Nebula took 2,700 years to arrive, which implies that the light in this picture began its excursion toward Earth 700 years before Jesus was even conceived.

I can comprehend that individuals may see Jesus in regular items during C.S. Lewis' lifetime, however in the present progressively common society, for what reason is it despite everything occurring, and with (what is by all accounts) expanding recurrence? By and by, I think the appropriate response lies – amusingly enough – in one of the Seven Deadly Sins: hubris. We need to accept that we are exceptional, or possibly that we're superior to our companions and neighbors. One approach to achieve this is by manufacturing an association among ourselves and the maker of the universe. We need to feel that only we have been chosen by God, from this present planet's seven billion occupants. Others go to Mass at God's home each Sunday, yet now God (or His child) comes to you. It's what might be compared to a specialist making a house call, or of playing golf with your organization's leader, and having him get you at home.

This sense of self outing doesn't fill in also with pictures of others. Seeing a resemblance of Richard Simmons in your flame broiled cheddar sandwich, sends a totally unique, and unequivocally less complimenting message: put that sandwich down, and jump on the treadmill! Please, you can do it!

Penn and Teller, in a program called Signs From Heaven, offer another, comparable clarification. A few people are sick of going to chapel and finding out about wonders transpiring, so this is an approach to place themselves at the center of attention by encountering their own marvel. It's their chance to be the focal point of consideration; others currently incline toward them. Their lives are changed in a split second from dull to glamourous.

The "dull lives" perception is significant. What number of these "picture of Jesus" claims are made by big names, business investors, moguls or any other individual who as of now drives an energizing or glamourous life? Indeed, even the Pope (as far as anyone is concerned) doesn't go around the Vatican, waving a flame broiled cheddar sandwich, and professing to have encountered a wonder. On the off chance that you don't have the ability or favorable luck to become famous, at that point you can generally loll in the reflected magnificence of others – and who can outperform the wonder of Jesus Christ Himself? It's a splendid system.

Recognizing The Bathroom Counter Image

I'm not the primary individual to see a face in a washroom counter – as indicated by this story, a lady saw something in her sink that looked like a face, was persuaded that it was Jesus, and was so moved and propelled by it that she posted it on eBay with a selling cost of $50,000.

I, be that as it may, want to remain at the center of attention, nor do I harbor any sentiments of hubris, covetousness or foaming advantage. I'm not going to go to the media and guarantee this is Jesus since I want to be stuck on some TV television show, wedged between a maturing Elvis impersonator and some hayseed called Gomer who demands that he was kidnapped and afterward examined by outsiders. All the more critically, I'd preferably be known for my engaging blog entries, rather than "that nutbar who thinks Jesus is watching him put on antiperspirant each morning". I understand that the "face" on my restroom counter is just my pareidolia attempting to ascribe some importance to the amorphous examples.

Be that as it may, I likewise can't avoid estimating, and in the wake of gazing at this picture during the previous hardly any weeks, I've arranged a rundown of potential applicants: John Lennon; a late-1970s Dan Hill; Frank Zappa, supporting his infant girl, Moon Unit; Ted Neely (in character); an agile Dumbledore; Aragorn; an energetic Gandalf; or a youthful Saruman.

#Casinofreecoins #Casinofreeslots

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mastcomm · 4 years

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The Joy of Cooking Naked

LUTZ, Fla. — Karyn McMullen is tired of being asked how she cooks bacon without any clothes on.

It’s one of those jokes people can’t help but make about nudists, and to Ms. McMullen, who has been cooking naked for more than two decades, it shows how misunderstood nudism is. Many people think only about the pitfalls — spattering fat, minor burns — and not the benefits.

“Embracing the nudist lifestyle has given me permission to feel my feelings,” she said one morning as she sautéed bell peppers while wearing nothing but a glittery manicure in her home kitchen at the Lake Como Family Nudist Resort in Lutz, about 20 miles north of Tampa. She lives here with her husband, Jayson McMullen.

“But if you want to know the truth,” she added with a resigned sigh, “I buy precooked bacon, and I microwave it on a paper towel.”

The McMullens are two of more than 10 million Americans who identify as nudists, or naturists, according to a 2011 study, the latest available, by the marketing services company Ypartnership and the Harrison Group. Some historians say the modern naturist movement in the West emerged in Europe in the 18th century as a means of promoting health, exposing the body to fresh air and sunlight; others trace its origins to Germany in the 19th century, as an effort to resist industrialization by living simpler and closer to nature.

No-clothes resorts, groups and beaches sprang up, and when Germans immigrated to the United States in the 20th century, some brought along the naturist ethos. Now nudists live all over America — though understandably, many are concentrated in warm-weather locales. Erich Schuttauf, the executive director of the American Association for Nude Recreation, said they tend to skew older, more educated and wealthier. In 2017, the group estimated that nude tourism in Florida, which then had 34 nudist resorts, brought 2.2 million nudist visitors to the state each year.

So it was no surprise when The Chicago Tribune ran a recent feature on the rising popularity of the clothing-free getaway, or “nakation,” Or when Bon Appétit published “9 Rules for Naked Dining: The Etiquette of Nude Resorts.” (Tip No. 7: “Eyes Up Here, Buddy!”) Or when the American Association for Nude Recreation last fall sent out a news release with three recipes — baked chicken-and-rice, a roasted brisket and a chicken lasagna — that it deemed safe for members to bake.

But many nudists balk at any suggestion that cooking — or vacationing, or living in general — is more fraught for them than for the clothed. In fact, when it comes to cooking and dining, many nudists are unequivocal: It’s better naked. They feel less inhibited, more creative.

“It’s like a painter when his mind is free of everything else,” said Jack Clark, who lives part-time at the Lake Como resort. “He paints whatever.”

The nudist movement has historically been connected to food: When it emerged in Europe, it was as much about diet as about clothing. Some nudists avoided meat-heavy dishes, and embraced vegetarianism and healthy eating.

Today, food is still integral to the experience at Lake Como. The oldest continuously operating nudist resort in Florida, it feels like something between a summer camp and a retirement home.

Some nudist clubs and resorts offer either a restaurant or lodgings with kitchens. Lake Como has both, ensuring that guests never have to don clothes to dine. Its full-service restaurant, the Bare Buns Cafe, serves flank steak and shrimp scampi, while a bar called the Butt Hutt, decorated with license plates and string lights, offers naked karaoke and open-mic nights.

There are no dress (or undress) requirements at the restaurant or bar, beyond the rule that each naked guest must bring a towel to sit on, for hygienic reasons. On a Saturday morning in January, a man stared at his phone as he devoured a plate of fried eggs, while another rode by in a golf cart, munching on a powdered doughnut. Others gardened, played volleyball, walked dogs, read books. They just happened to be unclothed.

Residents and guests said most of the people at the resort are white. (Nationally, there are organizations like the Black Naturists Association seeking to build community among nonwhite nudists.)

Some at Lake Como said being naked had helped them cultivate a more positive relationship with food.

Ms. McMullen, 60, a flight attendant, grew up in Massapequa Park, N.Y., and in her late 30s weighed 310 pounds. “I would go to the beach in this giant balloon of a bathing suit, and hear people laughing and whispering,” she said.

A friend recommended that she visit a nude beach in New Jersey. “I got the nerve to get in my car and go, and for the first time, no one was looking at me. No one was judging. I knew right then that this was for me.”

Ms. McMullen has since lost 185 pounds, but considers that less important. All it took to feel good about her appearance, she said, was taking her clothes off.

She spoke about being naked and being a cook as if they were one and the same, as she made carnitas in her electric pressure cooker. Her husband, Mr. McMullen, 63, who is retired from the plumbing business, strummed his guitar.

“It is very creative,” Ms. McMullen said. “It is very do-your-own-thing. You take what you want and leave the rest.”

The McMullens live here but travel often, staying at nude resorts when they can. Their walls are hung with group photos from nude cruises. Ms. McMullen has two adult sons who visit from time to time, and go naked. For occasions that require them, like grocery shopping, the couple maintain a stash of clothes in a room where they keep cleaning supplies.

On the other side of the resort, another couple, Mr. Clark and Maryanne Rettig, prepared to host a dinner party — something they probably wouldn’t have done back when they always wore clothes.

“I was a very shy and nervous and introverted person,” said Mr. Clark, 63. “I’d stay isolated. I didn’t have a lot of friends. The second I was nude, that disappeared in two seconds. My whole life changed.”

Four years ago, Ms. Rettig, 62, was treated for lymph node cancer, which limited the mobility of her right arm. That arm swelled frequently, so she had to wear loosefitting clothes. One day, she accompanied relatives to a nude beach. As soon as she was naked, none of that mattered. She felt comfortable.

The two split their time between Orlando and their house in Lake Como. During the week, Mr. Clark works as an optometrist, and Ms. Rettig runs a nonprofit group called Tampa Bay Free Beaches, which lobbies for opening up more areas of Florida to nude recreation.

“I feel freer and more imaginative when I am nude while cooking,” said Mr. Clark, standing over his stove, tossing clams into garlic broth and boiling angel-hair pasta. A sign above his head read, “It’s naked o’clock somewhere.”

He deftly maneuvered around the kitchen, nearly grazing his belly with a pot of hot water while draining the pasta, wearing only oven mitts. “I’m fine!” he insisted.

Around 5 p.m., guests arrived, each dutifully carrying a towel — though some chairs already had towels draped over them, in case anyone had forgotten. They ate at a table on the deck, paper napkins slung over their thighs, slurping strands of pasta as the sun slid from the sky and Jimmy Buffett crooned from a speaker.

“I used to hate dinner parties,” said Ms. McMullen, who was in attendance. “They were always pretentious. There was all this small talk I didn’t get. Now I get to be myself. I don’t have to hide it when I don’t understand someone.”

That ease, they say, extends to eating out. At the Bare Buns Cafe, government health rules require that the staff be clothed, but most customers dine in the nude.

Nudists “are more friendly and more understanding than people who are not nude,” said the restaurant’s manager, Stephan Krienes, 78, who is not a nudist. “They are not uptight.” He said it took him “about 10 minutes” to adjust to being around naked people.

Tara Pickett, a cook at Lake Como and some other nudist resorts in the area, agreed. “They walk around like they have clothes on,” said Ms. Pickett, 36. “You walk up to someone and don’t even notice they are naked. They make you feel welcome.”

Where the restaurant does struggle, she added, is in hiring help. “When they find out people here are nudists, they seem to shy away,” she said. “They think they have to be nude here, and they don’t.”

Dee Lyman, 52, a bartender at the Butt Hutt, said she missed mixing drinks without a top on — legal in a bar setting, but Mr. Krienes requires uniforms. “I feel constricted,” she said.

For the uninitiated, residents are quick to explain their ways and distinct parlance. It’s “top-free” rather than “topless.” “Community” or “resort,” but never “colony.” Non-nudists are referred to as “textiles,” like a wizard calling out a muggle.

Being a nudist invites questions: Is it the same as swinging? Is it exhibitionist? Predatory? (No, no and no.) What if it’s cold outside?

“The philosophy is, nude when possible, clothed when practical,” Ms. McMullen said.

For all their enthusiasm about eating, cooking can pose some challenges. Ms. McMullen has learned to take a big step back when taking food out of the oven, to avoid being clipped by a hot rack. Her husband mostly refrains from frying, and wears an apron when he does. When grilling, he keeps a good distance from the flame.

Nancy Rehling, a retired restaurant owner who lives at Lake Como, said she wears a T-shirt when she cooks, to combat splatter. “I have scars all over my tummy and the top of my boobs from cooking,” she said — incidents involving fried fish, boiled-over soups and melted cheese, which “really sticks and keeps burning.”

But several cooks pointed out that safety and hygiene concerns are inevitable in any cooking. Table manners are no different whether someone is clothed or not. And a nudist is equally capable of preparing bacon, or any other food, as a cook in a full-length outfit.

“It’s not about the bacon,” Ms. McMullen said. “It’s about the freedom.”

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badgerpride96 · 5 years

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Wild West Experience Part 11!!

I FOUND MY NOTEBOOK! I lost it for several weeks, but I’m back with Part 11, finally!!

NOTE: THIS SECTION CONTAINS TRIGGER WARNINGS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS AFFECTS YOU, I AM HAPPY TO SUMMARIZE FOR ANYONE WHO WOULD STILL LIKE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WITHOUT READING.

The first day of the trial was long. The opening statements and arguments to the judge and jury were lengthy and over dramatic, hoping for first round points. Kelly had barely noticed the jury. She studied them now as casually as she could. She knew she’d seen some of them in the Goose, but others were strangers. “Interestin,” she thought to herself, “how they should call it a jury of my peers when I am not friends with any of them.”

The prosecution brought two witnesses: John’s father’s estate lawyer, and the medical examiner in charge of the autopsy. The lawyer stated unequivocally that the deceased’s money and assets went to his eldest son in full in the event of his death. The medical examiner’s assertion was that John’s death was not a self inflicted, and he had ruled it foul play.

The Admiral dealt his questions as smoothly as Sass poured beer. “My dear fellow,” he said chummily to the estate lawyer, “Would you then say that nothing at all went to the rest of his family? Well it was quite a lot of money, wouldn’t you agree?” The estate lawyer gulped and said it was. “Well then, is it possible that one of the family members not named in the will felt that they had been snubbed?”

“Objection.”

“Allowed. Continue, Admiral.”

“Thank you, Judge.”

When the doctor took the stand, a similar scenario played out. “And you, my good doctor,” the Admiral said. “Would you please tell me what the wound looked like?”

“Objection,” Thomas’s lawyer bawled again. “The witness has already testified that the wound was the result of a gunshot.”

“Sustained.”

“Allow me to rephrase. Indeed, Doctor, could you describe the wound? We know it was from a gunshot, yes. But the size of the shot? The number of bullets? Any discoloration?”

The doctor glanced at the prosecution, then said, “It was a shotgun from close range. The pellets were small, even birdshot. No discoloration. A very wide dispersal for close range.”

“This birdshot?” The Admiral held up a tray with some cleaned and labelled birdshot.

“Yes that’s it.”

“No further questions, your honor.”

“What was the questionin about birdshot?” Kelly asked later. “It doesn’t disprove it was my shotgun, I also have birdshot.”

“Oh, but it will disprove it, my dear,” the admiral said. “Just you wait. Now, you had better tell me everything about this birdshot you use. Where do you buy it?” She told him, even down to the date. She wished she could scream this information from the witness stand, but that was flatly denied.

The next few days were much the same. The prosecution called friends of John’s, who painted Kelly as a nagging and jealous wife. They brought up the constant fights, the drinking on John’s part (which they attributed to Kelly’s temper), and Kelly’s flight from the law. Every one of them was matched by a witness from the Admiral stating that the fights had happened but they were of her husband’s initiation, and that he had told them he drank because of his leg. They said they believed Kelly ran because she was afraid. To Kelly herself, it seemed as though all they were doing was defending without proving anything. It was all difference of popular opinion. It was, despite the Admiral’s pleas for trust, tremendously disheartening. Though Kelly noticed that Thomas was getting more agitated as the trial went on. He was fidgety, jumping and twitching like a locust, and the day of the Admiral’s witnesses, he had a compress on his side. Kelly surmised he was suffering from opium withdraw. She had seen the men in the hospital in her old town, shivering and vomiting from lack of the drug.

His lawyer must have forced him to stay off of it for the trial, as it caused him to be extremely unreliable. As the trial progressed, Thomas was getting more and more distressed. By the time the Admiral called Kelly’s childhood friend to the stand, he was positively bouncing. Kelly would have laughed, but the Admiral had begun.

Had any of the onlookers thought to ask Kelly what she felt as Catherine Cummings opened her mouth and defended her friend, Kelly would have been speechless. Obviously people had responded to the Admiral’s letters and agreed to provide a good word on her character. Few had agreed to testify, and of those, she was most grateful to see Catherine. To see so familiar a face look her dead on, and say, “No Admiral, I find it absolutely beyond belief that Kelly murdered her husband,” Kelly could have burst into tears. She did not, of course, but it was a close thing.

Thomas’s lawyer stood to cross-examine. Catherine eyed him with a look of contempt.

“My dear,” the lawyer said silkily, “You and the defendant are close, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like, after she married?”

“They were very happy for a very short time. Kelly was hurt when he took a mistress, but always forgave him because she had this utterly silly notion that love was always stronger than his weaknesses.”

“So she forgave him? Why?”

“I always thought her husband was...well, I never liked him. She would tell me he always came back to her. She knew that he knew she was the most capable, beautiful, intelligent woman who would put up with him.”

“But they fought?”

Catherine narrowed her eyes. “You’re not married, are you?”

The lawyer smiled. “No, I have not found the right lady.”

“A blessing,” Catherine sniffed. “Wedded couples argue, sir. It is practically in the sacred vows. But I tell you, those fights were not equal. There was yelling to be sure, but it was all his. Kelly would object to something small; the price of some stirrups, say, or lament over forgetting to buy some eggs. John would lose his head. It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot her.”

“What did they fight over most?”

Catherine looked at the Admiral, who nodded. “Money, the inheritance. They disagreed over John lending to his brother.”

The lawyer paused, then smiled wider. The Admiral chuckled.

“So, Miss Rose disapproved of her husband loaning my client money?”

“What? No, quite the opposite. She was quite wary of Thomas, told me he was unstable. She wanted John to give his brother more in the hopes that he would leave them alone. John would pay him, but never enough, and it terrified her.”

The lawyer spun to look at his client. Thomas was pale with rage.

“Do you have any further questions, councillor?” Judge Fauna asked briskly, as the courtroom murmured.

“No, Your Honor,” the lawyer snapped.

“In that case, ma’am, you may step down.”

Catherine gave Kelly a helpless look, then hurried out the side door of the courtroom. “I call my next witness,” the Admiral announced. He gestured to the door, opened by a guard. “Miss Annie Stafford.”

Kelly did not know Miss Annie Stafford, but Thomas apparently did. He roared and leapt to his feet, sending the compress flying. “How dare you?! She has nothing to do with Miss Rose!”

“Sheriff, please sit down, before I have you removed from my courtroom!” The judge smashed her gavel. The guard advanced until Thomas sat.

A young woman, was brought up to the stand. She had straight brown hair, was petite, and very pretty, under her absolute terror. Her wide brown eyes darted from Kelly to Thomas and back again. She took her oath and sat in the witness box, facing the court fully. Gasps echoed around the room.

Annie Stafford’s face was severely bruised. One eye was blackened. She was heavily pregnant, and clutching at her ribs as though they hurt. Kelly stared at Thomas, choked with horror. Annie Stafford was Thomas’s mistress, she realized.

The Admiral approached the stand. “Annie,” he said kindly, “my colleague there is going to ask you some questions, alright?” She nodded. “Very good. Councillor, you have the floor.”

The lawyer barely rose from his seat, unwilling to go near the shaking woman. “Miss Stafford, do you know the defendant?”

“No sir,” she said in a high, cracking voice.

“Have you ever met her?”

“No sir.”

“Have you ever met her deceased husband?”

“No sir.”

“Your Honor,” the lawyer said. “This woman is simply a distraction. She is obviously in no condition to -”

“Your Honor, she is a material witness and she shows great mettle in appearing here, whatever her condition. Her grievous injuries are relevant to her statement.” The Admiral said, for the first time with a forceful tone. “I submit her entrance as a key part of my client’s case.”

The judge was quiet for a moment. Kelly’s heart was in her throat. Thomas was gripping the desk so hard his fingers were white. Both councillors leaned toward the bench.

“Admiral,” the judge finally declared, “You may proceed with your witness, provided your line of questioning pertains to your client’s case only.”

“Agreeable, your Honor.”

“Your Honor, I must object -”

“Must you, councillor?” Judge Fauna said with an air of finality. “Any further questions?”

Recognizing a dismissal, the lawyer growled, “No further questions,” and crossed his arms.

“Miss Stafford,” the Admiral began. “Have you ever heard of my client?”

“Yes sir.”

A complete hush fell.

“In what capacity?” Annie shifted uncomfortably. “It’s alright, Miss Stafford.”

“My acquaintance, Sheriff Thomas, spoke of her as his brother’s wife, and then as his murderess.”

“Miss Stafford, do you have an idea of what happened that night?”

Anni stafford had begun to shake even more. She kept glancing at Thomas. She put trembling hands to her mouth, taking deep breaths.

“It’s alright, Annie,” the Admiral said soothingly. “Take your time.”

“Annie.” Thomas’s voice sounded cracked, like he was fracturing on the inside.

At his voice, Anni began to change. She looked angry, and she stilled a little.

“Yes sir. I know exactly what happened that night.”

“Annie!” Thomas cried.

“What?!” Annie suddenly shrieked. Everyone jumped. “You have ruined us, Thomas. This baby and I will not be fallin with you!”

“Order!” The judge shacked her gavel repeatedly. “Miss Stafford, please continue your testimony, as calmly as possible if you would.”

Annie continued.

“That night of the murder, Thomas was drinkin so he didn’t have any wits. He came to my cottage far after dark, only just able to walk. He said his brother refused him any more money. Thomas has dreadful debts, and there was me and our baby. I am a widow now, but when Thomas and I first met, my husband was alive. There is no use in shamin me, and I pray he never knew while he lived. In any case, I have no money and no family, but I was beggin Thomas to leave his brother and wife alone. He was in such a rage that night, so angry, as I’d never seen. He said his brother would give him the money, or he’d pry it from his cold dead hands. Then he went very still, and he smiled. He turned to me, as if in a dream. I was tryin to keep him there, tryin to reason, but he pushed me away. He pulled down my husband’s shotgun, and a sack of birdshot from the closet, and got back on his horse and rode away. I hurried to grab a shawl, and followed him on my own horse.”

“Why did you follow him?”

Annie’s lip trembled. “Whatever he was about to do, I felt it was my fault. It is my fault. It was in the name of me and the baby.” She took a deep breath. “I found his horse outside a big house in town. I tied my horse up and hurried inside, as the door was already open. I heard some mighty shoutin and screamin. I hurried up the stairs, and into a closet I could peek out of down the hall. I saw Thomas with the shotgun, pointed at his brother, Miss Rose screamin behind them.” “Annie! God damn you, Annie, please!” Thomas bellowed.

“Your honor,” Annie said, in a voice that was strong but shaking, “I saw Sheriff Thomas shoot his brother full of birdshot, and he would’ve got Miss Rose too if she weren’t so quick. She knocked him over, grabbed some things, and ran right past my closet. I ran out after her, waited until she disappeared, and raced home. Thomas came to see me a few days later. He told me Miss Rose had killed her husband, and was on the run, and as soon as he could prove it, the inheritance was ours. He did not know I’d been there. He was a violent man now; it had changed him. He started…” Annie gestured to her face. “Well, you can see.”

“Miss Stafford, is this the birdshot?” The Admiral showed her the same evidence tray. Annie recoiled.

“Yes sir.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I make it, sir. My late husband, rest his soul, had bad eyesight. I made his shot for him, I’d know it anywhere.”

“May I present to the jury bills to my client from Kunzman’s Gunshop, where she bought her birdshot made of lead. Lead birdshot discolors the flesh of its target, and Mr. Kunzman was so good as to give us a list of components in the example birdshot here. There is no lead, nor was there any discoloration. Neither my client nor the victim had any other shot in the house, and never used any other shop than Kunzman’s. My client’s shotgun, as seen here shot from ten paces (he held up a piece of butcher’s paper with pellet holes) has a very tight pattern, and the good autopsy doctor already testified to a wide pattern. I move to dismiss this trial and have this man arrested for the murder of his brother!” The Admiral spun to point at Thomas, his voice ringing through the courtroom with victory.

Thomas screamed. He howled, on his feet. The onlookers gasped, and began to hurry for the back doors.

“You!” he screeched at Kelly, his eyes bulging. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you like your snivelling husband, and send you straight to hell!”

His face contorted. He flung his chair at the audience, causing a rush en masse for the doors. He was quite unhinged. Two guards hustled Annie and Judge Fauna out the side doors, Annie sobbing. A third jumped Thomas from behind, and as the Admiral pulled Kelly out after Annie, she saw Thomas grab the man’s gun and shoot him.

It was the signal.

#A wild west experience #writing #tw: domestic abuse #badger scribbles

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