#✍

[gatalentan]

PHONECALLS | AO3

Summary: Young Melissa/Barbara, wine, unexpected phonecalls, and getting closer by the inch.

Hearing Barbara's voice in her ear while four drinks in was a little too much right now, she had to admit. Overstimulation, or something. She'd crawled onto her bed somewhere around minute ten, the low rumble of her voice like a soft hand stroking her cheek. She was more than tipsy before the phone rang, and had sunk another since then, her limbs loose and warm. Drifting in space.

---------------------

Melissa was a substitute, had to be all things to all men. A swiss army knife. Adaptable. Resourceful. Good at a little of everything, but feet never planted long enough to build relationships or make a difference. Just long enough to prevent the classroom turning into Lord of the Flies 2: Fly Harder. She hated it. It wasn't why she'd become a teacher. But she had bills to pay, and it was the only gig she could get, two years outta college. 

It was still teaching. And she was still good at it.

But she wanted to be great at it.

She first got asked to sub for Barbara Howard about a year ago, when Mel was still really green. She didn't really know her, only to nod-to in the lounge. Sometimes chatted if the room was quiet. She was hard to get to know. Didn't really open up past the surface layer of small talk. Real tense, very dignified, by the book. Extremely handsome though, in the way older, confident women are. Shiny. Nice to look at over morning coffee.

But subbing for her class turned her guts to pastina. Those kids adored her. They drew pictures of her, for her, even though she wasn't there. "Mrs. Howard says this, Mrs Howard says that, is she coming back, when will we see her..." Mel couldn't remember ever missing a teacher. What kind of woman was Barbara? The fact the pin-straight room was absolutely littered with pieces of these kids told such a story of mutual love. Even if it meant the windowsill was covered in the ugliest clay… somethings known to man. They'd made them for her.

She was so fucking jealous.

She wanted it to be like that. 

Ached for it, even. 

It made her wanna get to know her, learn from her. To get to be just like her. She brought her food, after that, as an excuse to sit beside her, the way she always did when she wanted to make herself indisposable. Let me in. They always let her in. Nobody could turn her down once they took a bite.

So it was a crush, yeah. Big deal. She had eyes. The woman's face looked like she was made by Michaelangelo, all soft and hand made by something otherworldly, made you wanna touch her to see if she was warm or just made of clay. And she was warm. And pretty, and kind, but it didn't have to be a whole thing. 

Except y'know, it definitely was a whole thing. 'Cause after weeks of careful aim and persistence she'd finally learned just how to crack a real, genuine laugh out of her without fail, and whenever that happened, Melissa was always a total goner. She loved making people laugh, especially the uptight ones. It's the knowing that they'll carry that bit of her with them for the rest of the day. Made herself into a sunny spot they wanna come back to.

And it became their whole thing, over days and weeks and months, food and laughter and chairs that got a little bit closer each morning. Direct, focused attention that Melissa could just drown in. Barb seemed to grow excuses to touch her - by accident? on purpose? - punctuation while telling a story, a balm on a shitty day, a playful warning after a dirty joke. And Melissa read meaning into it that wasn't there, but mattered to her.

She'd made herself a fixture in Barbara's day to the point where she'd see her smile when she rounded the lounge doorway to find Mel already sitting there, and it made her wanna melt through the floor. 

She'd gotten in through the garden gate, and she now wanted to be around her every chance she got. 

It was a whole… problem. 

She wanted to be her friend, but she also wanted to crowd her into the janitor's closet and kiss the smile off her stupid face.

But she couldn't.

But she could think about it. 

Thinking is free. 

So hearing Barbara's voice in her ear while four drinks in was a little too much right now, she had to admit. Overstimulation, or something. She'd crawled onto her bed somewhere around minute ten, the low rumble of her voice like a soft hand stroking her cheek. She was more than tipsy before the phone rang, and had sunk another since then, her limbs loose and warm. Drifting in space.

"Did you get all that?"

"Yeah, yeah." 

Actually she hadn't heard a damn thing, had been too distracted by other thoughts, of that same voice in other, sweatier circumstances, with a pair of plum red lips attached, telling her other, filthier, things, in the shell of her ear, in the column of her neck. Stupid thoughts, but pretty ones, hanging in the air. So easy to let them drift there.

She took a swig of her wine to recenter herself.

"Hmm." Barbara didn't sound convinced, could almost hear the hand on her hips. Made Mel squirm a little, in the way disapproval always did. Pulled her out of her haze, wanting to be seen all of a sudden.

"I've got you, Barb. I know the drill. I've subbed your class how many times? You gotta trust me by now."

Silence yawned open between them down the line. Clocks ticking, cars rolling by. Trust was a loaded word to insert into this small conversation about lesson plans.

"I do. Trust you, that is." The creak of a floorboard. Melissa could picture her, barefoot in the living room, pacing around as she spoke. Cute. "I don't know if I ever told you, but the children always rave about you when I come back. 'Miss Schemmenti always does the voice this way! No, not like that, like this!' It's enough to give me a complex."

Oh. Melissa felt like she might shatter. Could feel the tears surging up, the cold tingle in her fingers and toes, heart stopped. The kids did see her. And by extension Barbara saw her. Barbara was jealous of her.

Even this drunk, with her barriers on the floor, she knew this was an insecurity made flesh that was too tender to reveal on what was meant to be an easy-going work phone call. She sniffed, rubbed her face, reworked it into something else. Toes still tingling.

"Oh yeah?" Her voice was shakier, more tense than she'd like, even with all the false bravado she tried to pack into it. "If I'm so good, does that mean you'll owe me a favour?"

Flirting was safe. It's just a game.

She was on her belly now, toying with the edges of her pillowcase, and the throaty chuckle on the end of the line lit her up like the Main Street Electrical Parade. 

"What kind of favour?"

Oh, she could think of a few. None of them PG. All of them ending in Barbara's hand twisted up in her hair. 

"Come over for dinner on Monday," burst out in a rush, up in the air before she could catch it, greased up by the wine. "If you're not busy," she followed, hoping she didn't sound too desperate. Friends eat dinner. She cooks for her all the time just not at… her house. It's totally fine. It's fine.

"Oh." Almost a gasp, and a long pause on the end of the line that nearly made Melissa's throat close up. "I'd love that." 

It could have been a lot of things - her brain, the drink, the way she felt simultaneously sleepy and keyed up - but she could have sworn there was something in her tone, there. Something else. She wanted to tear it open and sift through the pieces. Fixated her nervous hands on the pillowcase instead. 

"Seven?"

"Works for me. Do you want me to bring anything?"

Just you. "Wine?" She yawned, flicking through her mental recipe book so she could give her some direction. Braciole? Ribollita? "A chianti or something would be great."

"Perfect." A beat. "You sound tired, are you alright?"

Yes. No. "Sorry. It's the chardonnay."

"Tsk. I thought you sounded drunk."

"It's 9.30 on a Saturday night, Barb. I didn't know you were gonna call and expect to talk to me about IEPs"

"Hey, hey, no judgement from me. There's brandy with my name on it by the sink."

"Ooh, my kind of woman."

"So you keep saying." 

"You know me, I can't help myself.”

"So I've heard."

They both cackled then, throaty and light. Easy, familiar.

"I'll let you go so you can pass out in front of Walker, Texas Ranger."

"Shut up!" 

"Don't forget, top drawer of my desk." 

"Yeah. I got you. G'night Barb. "

"I know. Goodnight. Take care. Sweet dreams."

Click.

Yeah. They will be.

She put down the phone and pulled up her dress.

#melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #work wives #god this is like. only the second ever fic i've ever written don't look at me IS THIS EVEN ANYTHING. help. #✍ #gifalentan

[phantom-prankster]

✍ пишем фанфик ✍ и парралельно пишем ✍ завещание одного долбаёба ✍ которому пришла смелая идея ✍ написать два фанфика одновременно ✍

🤡 🤡 🤡

#фикбук #✍ #книга фанфиков #мысли фикрайтера #фикрайтер #писатель #мои мысли #тумбурочка #русский текст #русский пост #клоун #🤡 #русский блог #русский tambler #русский язык #мой пост #русский тамблер #мой блог

[bogofcknshipda]

they decuntified him

#sebastian michaelis #biggest glowdown in anime or whatever #black butler #kuroshitsuji #✍

[themiddlewomen]

IBM created an experimental 'terrorist credit score' to weed out ISIS fighters from refugees. Analysts harvested a miscellany of unstructured data... They also made up a data set, modeled on the types of metadata available to border guards. From these disparate measures, they developed a hypothetical threat score: not an absolute indicator of guilt or innocence... but a deep 'insight' into the individual, including past addresses, workplaces, and social connections. Meanwhile, Syrian refugees had no knowledge that their personal data was being harvested to trial a system that might single them out as potential terrorists.

Kate Crawford, Atlas of AI

#✍

[i-am-theseeker]

Cat Cavendish on The Ghost of Erlestoke Prison and a new release

‘Erlestoke is a charming Wiltshire village on the edge of Salisbury Plain with a history dating back centuries. In fact, as such, it has a lot in common with Canonbury Manor in my latest novel, The After-Death of Caroline Rand. There used to be a grand house here – Erlestoke House – which was built […]Cat Cavendish on The Ghost of Erlestoke Prison and a new release

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#actually I fucking LOVE books #AM WRITING #articles #artist #artists #arty #Author #Authors #✍ #book shelves #Books #bookshelf #daily life #📚 #life #structure #writer #writers #writers&039; life #writing

[emjiroki]

Yuuta begs everytime to take the condom off. Wants to feel the warmth of you around him gripping him raw so bad he's near tears. Whimpering cries against your chest, throat, shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth

"Please baby, this time? Can I this time?"

"Wanna feel you all wet for me just once, let me slip it in please"

"Promise I'll be good"

The night you finally peel the latex off and give him the okay is the best night of his life.

He pulls three orgasms from you before hiking your legs over his shoulders and thrusting his sensitive cock in so deep he cums bucket loads against your womb, a contended sigh gracing your ears as he releases your legs and sits between your thighs to push his release back in with his fingers

#im having breeding thoughts #blame my hormones #yuuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu smut #jjk smut #em writes ✍ #em talks 👄 #late night ramblings 🚬

[elydeos]

Those 'creative relationships' which Staples speaks about within the Black community are almost invariably those which operate to the benefit of Black males, given the black male/female ratio and the implied power balance within a supply and demand situation. Polygamy is seen as 'creative', but a lesbian relationship is not. This is much the same as how the 'creative relationships' between master and slave were always those benefiting the master.

Audre Lorde, from Sexism: An American Disease in Blackface, first published as ‘The Great American Disease’ in The Black Scholar, vol.10, no.9 (May-June 1979) in response to ‘The Myth of Black Macho: A Response to Angry Black Feminists’ by Robert Staples (The Black Scholar, vol. 10, no. 8 [March-April 1979]), as detailed in Sister Outsider.

#AUDRE LORDE #SISTER OUTSIDER #✍ #📚

[gatalentan]

HOTEL ROOMS | AO3

Summary: The Young Melissa/Barbara cross an invisible line at PECSA.

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive. This wasn't a game anymore.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Oh my god, I think my feet might actually fall off."

"I told you to wear comfortable shoes, but did you listen? No..."

Mel had been so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when Barbara had invited her to PECSA with her, a year-and-change into their friendship. "It'll be much more economical if we share a room and carpool," - she'd said - "and also a lot more fun." She couldn't say no to that argument, really - not that it took a whole lotta arm twisting. She was excited about going to the convention in general - it was such an amazing learning opportunity. But it had come at a weird time in whatever it was they had going on.

She'd caught Barbara, on the highway, staring at her just a little too long, acrylics digging notches into the steering wheel, and figured that this was maybe getting a little mixed up for her too. Mel knew she was hot, she wasn't a complete dumbass, had had enough (unfortunate, messy) relationships through high school and college and after it too. She was pretty self-assured about all that. Saw the look in mens' eyes whenever she went into a bar. But as far as she knew Barb was straight. Married, even. Which didn't explain why she occasionally felt, saw, her eyes, intense, on the side of her face, or sometimes, well, her tits, in the break room, like she was a Rubix cube or something that she was trying desperately to solve, like she'd somehow invented gravity, like she'd hung the moon, like she wanted to rip her shirt clean off, her hands knuckling her coffee cup like it was the fuckin' Titanic door. Maybe she wasn't as straight as either of them thought.

She never mentioned it, or caught her eye. But it did stuff to her. Made her wanna preen, a little. Show off, a little. Dress nicer. 'Platonically' (yeah, right) touch her arm, knee, just a little bit longer. Push her luck. Just to see if she could get a reaction outta her. Test how well she could keep up her mask. It was the uptight ones, y'know? It did it for her. The challenge was fun, and this was just a game, just teasing. It didn't have to mean anything. They were both just really, really, enjoying the view.

If she told herself that, it made it easier to live with the fact it was never just that.

So the thought of their bags sitting side by side for a whole weekend was, well, a little terrifying, if she'd been honest, ‘cause this wasn’t part of the game. It’s like they were driving, Thelma and Louise style, towards something else. Entering a third space, not home, or work, but neutral, untested ground, an unknown territory with less rules, no witnesses. The domesticity of it all wasn't lost on her, either. The thought of getting to see Barbara Howard in the wild, outside of her natural habitat, in her pyjamas and no make-up, comfortably away from the pressure of public view… the thought that she was being trusted with that came with its whole, additional, set of baggage that felt so fucking heavy. Like she was being offered something just to see if she'd take it. Of course she would. Every time.

They somehow survived that first day, knee-to-knee at the crowded panels and hand-in-arm in the busy hallways, swapping notes and sharing overpriced concessions at another, foreign, table, orbiting each other like they were somehow still the most interesting people in any room they were in. The baggage was up in their (shared) bedroom, though, and she could feel it hanging over them like a promise or a threat.

By the time they made it back to the room though, after so many hours of travelling and sitting and standing and queueing, she was that dog-tired and sore from her stupid (but hot) outfit that all she wanted to do was collapse and not think at all. Definitely not think.

Melissa peeled off her jacket and flung it on the floor before collapsing in an undignified heap face down on her bed. She wiggled her boots off with some difficulty and kicked them across the room with two loud thunks that would definitely piss off the people in the room below. Ha ha.

"Uggghhhh. Do we really gotta go back out?" she mumbled into the pillow. Her whole body ached. She wanted a hot shower and pizza and wine and clean, white sheets. Well, she didn't know how clean these hotel sheets were, probably better not to think about that. But they were white enough. Better than having to get up.

She peered at Barbara with one eye in the low lamp light; Barbara, who was in the process of neatly removing her blazer and placing it on one of those weird, non-removable hangers in the open closet. Her posture was rigid and upright, looking as fresh-faced and unbothered as she'd ever seen her, like they hadn't just spent the same 10 hours together that had left Mel feelin' like she'd been hit by a semi and probably lookin' like it too. Her ass looked absolutely ridiculous in that skirt, too. What a bitch. So unfair.

"Do you really feel that bad?" Barb turned to look at her, looking all concerned, hands hovering in the air as if ready to fix her. Cute.

"Ehhhhh. I'll live. Little sore." Her ankles throbbed like punctuation. Who the fuck invented heels? An ass man, that's who. Not someone who had to wear 'em all day.

Barbara shook her head at her, tutting, returning to the closet. She knew better than to expect Melissa to be honest about her discomfort.

"Well, technically, no. We don't have to go. It would be nice to go for drinks, though. It's been a long day." She looked at her over her shoulder briefly, smile bright as the sun, looking like it hadn't been a long day at all. "You don't have to come though, if you're too tired." She smoothed down the sleeves of the white blouse she'd worn all day, a little rumpled but still professional, tucked into her purple vest. "But I'd like you to."

Aw, nuts. 

Guess she was going for drinks, then.

What a sucker.

Mel grumbled again, louder this time, kicking her bare feet for dramatic effect and smooshing her nose back into the pillow. 

Barbara clucked at her fondly. "Stop it." 

"Ugh. Fiiiine." She rubbed her tired eyes, and a little eyeliner smudged off on her hand. "Ah, shit. Hey Barb, do I need to put my face back on before we go out, or can I get away with it?"

"Hmm. Let me see." 

Melissa swung her feet off the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, self consciously pulling her own dark shirt over her belly. Bottle blonde hair curtained her face in messy strands, which she puffed at to blow away but it didn't do much.

Barb hummed, her eyebrows furrowed a little, taking two steps over from her side of the small room and, with no preamble, no warning, gently pushed her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear to take a closer look at her, fingers landing and making a home near the crest of her jawline.

Melissa's traitorous eyelids slipped closed of their own accord, whole face suddenly slack, her whole body slack. 

“Oh fuck.”

She’d said it, moaned it, before she could take it back. 

Even she could hear how thick with want it was, like shattered glass.

Like she'd been waiting for this.

(She had.)

The panic crested like a wave.

She needed to do something, make a joke, break the tension, apologise, but couldn't, was trapped in space, heart a hummingbird, pinned down in a museum case just by the light touch of Barbara's tender hand.

And Barbara, she didn't say a word, didn't make a sound, and that was somehow worse than pity or shame or disgust, gave her nothing to read into.

But the hand moved, now, in slow motion.

(or maybe Melissa was dying, stretching out her final moments as a last kindness. It felt like dying, or floating away.) 

Barbara's knuckles carved a smooth line from ear to chin and crooked it gently between her thumb and forefinger, cocking her chin up just-so. Her thumb was perilously, dangerously close to her mouth and felt white-hot. If she just parted her lips a little more, she could kiss the pad of her thumb, take it into her mouth.

She didn’t. Because that would be insane. But she thought it, as the tension held, in a loop.

She couldn’t help feeling like a prize, somehow, being displayed, admired, in the crook of her hand for much too long to be easily explained. Like this was an indulgence Barbara shouldn't be taking, being savoured. It did something to her. Something that pooled low in Melissa’s belly, lit her up like a roman candle.  

I asked her to check my make-up. She’s just looking at me. That's all.

Shaking, now, the hand left her chin, beat a matching path along her other cheek, pushing the hair off the other side of her face and over her crown, holding her there in her warm palm. Every hair on her body stood on end in a long shiver, crying out to be touched too. Her breathing was ragged, she knew she must hear it; she could hear Barbara’s, tense as a bow string, as it coasted across her lips in the dark.

"Lovely." Barb whispered into the silence of the room, like she hadn't meant to say it, just an exhale of a held breath, seeming to somehow fill the whole space with it, filling Melissa's ribs and cracking them open. 

It was soft, too soft, like she was being smoothed out. 

She could feel herself sinking into something that might burn them both alive.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Beyond this point was a conscious choice.

They couldn’t.

Her ring shone in the dark.

“Please.”

“I know.” Her hand, a whisper, a spectre, against her lips, an apology, before falling away.

They couldn’t.

She suddenly felt all of the strain in her body and fell backwards onto the mattress, staring up at her, heavy lidded and her underwear undeniably very, very wet. She felt loose all over, like her marionette strings that held her up had been slashed. 

She could see a whole theatre of emotions playing on Barbara’s face, like she’d become fully unhinged, fighting an internal war that Melissa couldn’t see, eyes not really seeing. It hurt her, badly, to see her hurting this much. To have instigated it, poked the bruises.

“Do you want me to go?” A small voice. Must be hers, because Barbara looked like she might cry. 

“No.” Assertive, determined, immediate. “No, stay. I’m sorry.”

To respond Me, too felt like an admission of guilt, and she was undoubtedly to blame, pushing this whole thing between them too, too far, maybe impassively far, maybe broken beyond repair - but couldn’t burden it, right now, couldn’t take it, couldn’t bear if she’d ruined this, and the shock hit her, then, like cold water, all over, what she’d maybe done, played with fire too recklessly, with a woman with a husband, a man who loved her, let herself get too close, took too much, got greedy. She breathed, but didn’t, not reaching all the places it should, her heart hammering to compensate, curling into herself, the mattress, the floor, the earth.

“Hey, Melissa. Hey. Look at me.” Far off, away. “Melissa, you’re ok, it’s ok. I’m here. I’m…”  a hand, careful, on her arm, not tight, just there: “I’m still here. I’m here. Breathe.”

She tried, she breathed, she counted, she looked at her, her dark eyes almost feral with concern, it pulled her in and out at the same time, slowed the scrambling, eventually, caught her breath, eventually, faded back into the sheets again, hollowed out.

The hand stayed there, a warm weight.

She shifted back into her own body again.

It wasn’t tension that was killing her anymore, it was the silence.

It held all the potential for Barbara to care, to pity having seen what she just saw.

She couldn't take that, right now. Didn't deserve it.

“Do you still wanna go out?”

She punctured it.

Barbara barked out a laugh that sounded like it had been locked away for a thousand years. It rang through Melissa’s body like church bells. 

“I could use a drink.”

“Me too.” She sighed, feeling fully deflated. Somehow, the floor between them felt more even again.

“Room service?”

“Did you win the lottery?”

Barbara just looked at her, where she laid curled up on the bed, for a moment too long, like she almost said, kind of. Then sighed, stretching a smile across her face that was just a little too wide. Melissa knew a mask when she saw one.

“We’ll figure it out.”

They just wouldn't talk about it.

#✍ #work wives #ok this is... what it is #the inevitable pecsa fic felt like a right of passage? #i hope it's ok. i'm not so confident about it. #thank you if you read it. #to say i am terrified is an understatement lol #its different to phone calls. i do still wanna do a followup to that in some way #in my head i just have a lot of. scenes at various stages #so this is one of those

[kagantory]

갓 짠 정제되지 않은 생우유를 드셔 보셨나요? #생우유 #고소하다 #🌞 #✍ #🇰🇷 지인께서 필요하다 하여 구해 드렸는데 남으셨나 보다. 지방이 함유되어 있어 고소함이 더 큰게 좋다. 건강에는 어떨지는 몰라도 맛있으면 좋은거지... ㆍ #20230320 #Monday #고현우 #암연 #일상 #긍정의힘 #선한영향력 #귀농귀촌 #countryside #countrylife #함양 #텃밭농부 #지리산 #지리산자락 #LifeGoesOn #끝까지간다 #SouthKorea @ Hamyang(South Korea에서) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp_uAvny2Kg/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#생우유 #고소하다 #🌞 #✍ #🇰🇷 #20230320 #monday #고현우 #암연 #일상 #긍정의힘 #선한영향력 #귀농귀촌 #countryside #countrylife #함양 #텃밭농부 #지리산 #지리산자락 #lifegoeson #끝까지간다 #southkorea

[bogofcknshipda]

walked into the wrong cinema hall and instead of some romantic comedy watched a documentary on mongolian culture filmed for a scientific study at the local university

#NOT a shitpost this actually happened to me today . #no signs. no one checking the tickets . just a slightly out of place audience to clue me in #normally i wouldnt be able to point out a philosophy professor in a crowd. but a crowd of philosophy professors u cannot mistake for anythi #we sat thru the whole movie + discussion bc we chose seats in the middle. couldnt leave without causing a big fuss for everyone #god. i thought this only happened in movies #the documentary was kinda good ngl #✍

[themiddlewomen]

...socially constructed models of creditworthiness have entered into many AI systems, influencing everything from the ability to get a loan to permission to cross borders. Hundreds of such platforms are now in use around the world, from China to Venezuela to the United States, rewarding predetermined forms of social behaviour and penalizing those who do not conform. This 'new regime of moralized social classification,' in the words of sociologists Marion Fourcade and Kieran Healy, benefits the 'high achievers' of the traditional economy while further disadvantaging the least privileged populations.

Kate Crawford, Atlas of AI

#✍

[nowiamthefire]

The only boytoy standing comes back next week <3

#and we have plans 😈 #but also he legit wants to hang a little bit at his place #should be nice last time i was there he let me play with his ds while he cleaned his equipment and we talked lol #✍

[i-am-theseeker]

ART-efact residency in Oswestry

The start of a summer-long residency with ART-efact in Oswestry.ART-efact residency in Oswestry

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#2023 #Author #✍ #blogs #daily writing #FOR POETS #iamwriting #memoir #memoirs #museum #poem #poet #poet in residency #Poetry #POETRY PROGRAM #poetry stories #poets #poets in residence #residence programs #residency programs #seeker #writers

[fraiserabbit]

hey remember that thing i said about the nickname

#going fucking insane over them at work #trolls 3 #trolls band together #trolls brozone #trolls john dory #trolls spruce #trolls bruce #✍🐇

[elydeos]

It is not the destiny of Black america to repeat white america's mistakes. But we will, if we mistake the trappings of success in a sick society for the signs of a meaningful life...

Audre Lorde, from Sexism: An American Disease in Blackface, first published as ‘The Great American Disease’ in The Black Scholar, vol.10, no.9 (May-June 1979) in response to ‘The Myth of Black Macho: A Response to Angry Black Feminists’ by Robert Staples (The Black Scholar, vol. 10, no. 8 [March-April 1979]), as detailed in Sister Outsider.

#AUDRE LORDE #SISTER OUTSIDER #✍ #📚

[gatalentan]

9. shoulder kisses, bonus points if one of them is sitting or standing behind the other when they happen!! ☺️

Soft Prompts: 9. Shoulder Kisses Ship: Melissa/Barbara Melissa wandered back in from the kitchen, drying her hands on her jeans after finishing up the day’s dishes, socked feet thumping on the tile and then sinking into plush carpet. She got to the doorway and found herself pausing, seeing Barbara curled up there on the couch, her back to her, tucked up all snug with Melissa’s blanket around her shoulders. The soft light of the standing lamp illuminated the side of her face, chiselling her carved features even more than usual. So pretty.

She loved seeing her like this, all peaceful, no stress, no worries. Knew how much tension she carried through the day, how hard she worked to maintain her professional persona. And selfishly, it felt good that she could help give some peace to her, to give her a space where she could find a soft landing no matter the situation. A place where she could be entirely herself without judgement, and if all she wanted to do after a shitty day at work was sit and read, well goddamn that’s what Melissa was gonna let her do. She’d have the best damn reading session of her life. Mugs of tea on tap, an easy dinner she could pick at brought straight to her lap, and a nice, quiet, warm place to just be. She’d give her that every day of her life, if that’s what she wanted.  She didn’t wanna disturb her. But it was getting late. 

And she did look, well, like that. All lovely.

She’s only human.

Melissa rounded the back of the couch and sank to her knees to drape her arms around her shoulders, pressing her nose into the soft pocket at the base of her throat. God, she always smelled so damn expensive.

“Hey, pretty lady.” she mumbled into her skin. Barbara huffed a laugh from her nose. She tilted her head and popped a kiss on Melissa’s cheek. “Hey yourself.” “You coming up soon?” “Mm. I guess so. I’ve got-” Barbara flicked a few pages forward, using her thumb as a bookmark, “-about six pages left of this chapter. Then I can come up.”

“Hmm.” Melissa toyed with the pearly top button of Barbara’s blouse, popping it open and laying her hand on her clavicle, nails gently scratching at her collarbone. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, pretty sure.” she laughed again, in the back of her throat, rumbling against Melissa’s palm. She flicked her book back to her original place, ignoring Melissa, but tilting her head anyway to keep her there. “Must be a pretty good book.” She whispered, pulling back a little to press a soft kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder where her blouse had fallen open. “Can we make it two pages?” Barbara tutted, but Melissa could feel her silent laughter against her mouth. “Six.” “Four?” She peppered her shoulder with kisses, spreading up to the side of her neck. “Melissa.” She was fully laughing now, full-throated, giving up on her book entirely, slipping a piece of paper between the pages and slipping her fingers between Melissa’s where they draped around her neck. “How about if I just bring it upstairs, and then we both get what we want?” “Sounds like a good deal to me.” She pressed one last kiss to the crown of her head and moved to pull her up off the couch. “C’mon bookworm.”

#✍ #prompts #work wives #thank you for your prompt!! i hope you like it