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#or if you came on a THURSDAY night you could participate in the thursday night quiz my dad always gives
sappy-seresin · 1 year
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Karaoke Night (J. Seresin)
Pairing: Jake Seresin x female!reader
Warning: Mentions of alcohol consumption, mildly suggestive content, cursing. Minors DNI.
Summary: You get invited to go drinking with the Dagger Squad, kudos to your boyfriend Jake. The one detail he left out about the excursion is that it’s Karaoke Night at the Hard Deck, and your participation is mandatory.
Word Count: 3.2k
MY WORK IS NOT TO BE COPIED OR POSTED ELSEWHERE, especially without consent. DO NOT steal the work of other writers, thank you.
Gif Creds: @unicornships
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“Y/n, I’m so glad you could make it,” Natasha greets, bringing you in for a friendly hug while Jake takes liberty to order your first round of drinks.
“Of course I made it,” you smile after the hug broke. “A night out with my favorite pilots? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Jake returns with your drinks as the rest of the squad find you and Natasha, each of them bidding you friendly ‘hello’s’ and offering you hugs. You smile up at Jake when he gives you your drink, accepting the kiss he offers to go along with it.
As everyone falls into their normal banter, filing around the pool table to watch the rematch Mickey challenged Jake to upon seeing him, you can’t help but notice that the bar is more full than it typically would be on a Thursday night.
“It’s busier than I thought it would be,” you mindlessly tell Bob, your eyes still scanning the growing audience of people occupying the bar. He nods in agreement, taking a second to study the rest of the room with a light grin.
“Me too, but everyone always gets excited for events, so the larger crowd makes sense,” you furrow your eyebrows at his words. Events? Jake hadn’t mentioned anything special going on at the bar tonight, he was just insistent on you came along. You assumed it was because he’s been extra busy with training the last few weeks and hasn’t been able to spend as much time with you.
“Events?” Your voice trails off as an invitation for someone to explain. Now Bob’s eyebrows are pulling together in confusion, his eyes wordlessly flitting over to Jake who has his signature smirk plastered on his face after sinking two more pool balls into the table. Mickey groans in frustration, knowing he’s lost any chance of gaining the upper hand while Jake lines up another shot.
“You didn’t tell her?” Bradley asks, making his first appearance. There’s a humored smile on his face at the feign surprise he’s pointing in your boyfriends direction. Everyone’s eyes are on Jake as he takes the perfect shot, shrugging in victory when it ricochets off the table wall before rolling into the hole he was aiming for.
“She wouldn’t have come,” he states, his demeanor light and playful when he glances at you. “I thought we all agreed we’d tell her after she finished her first drink.”
Bob’s raises his hands in surrender when Jake’s focus shifts onto him, not wanting to take the blame for your questions when he’s been under the impression that you knew what Thursday nights at the Hard Deck entail. “It’s not my fault, she pointed out how many people are here, and I thought she knew.”
“I’m sorry, I’m standing right here,” you interject, still lost as to what any of them are talking about due to their lack of answers. “What am I missing?”
There’s a chorus of excited glances, each of them seeming to enjoy your cluelessness in what you’ve gotten yourself into. Or, sorry, what Jake knowingly dragged you into without your fully informed consent.
“Well Darlin’, it seems that Hangman here forgot to mention that Thursday nights are a big deal at the Hard Deck,” Bradley begins, smacking Jake’s shoulder to mess up his final shot. Jake releases a frustrated groan when Bradley’s attempt to sabotage him is successful. The cue ball smacks into one of Mickey’s balls, sending it into the nearest hole, ending Jake’s streak. There’s a quiet ‘prick’ whispered under Jake’s breath, but you don’t pay it any mind as you gesture for Bradley to continue. “Karaoke night.”
While he seemed pleased with his explanation, your confusion only grows. What’s so special about a bar hosting Karaoke night? Karaoke isn’t exactly new in the bar scene, you’ve been to several bars that have nights dedicated to it, hell, you’ve done your fair share of participating when there’s been enough alcohol to encourage you to do so.
Upon realizing that there’s no further explanation, you ask, “Why do I feel like there’s more to the story? What’s the big deal?”
“It’s tradition that everyone in the friend group participates,” Reuben cuts in, taking a sip of his beer with a knowing look. “Starting with the newest member. I hate to break it to you Y/n, but tonight, our newest member is you.” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head as it whips over to Jake, who's wearing a shit-eating grin. He doesn't even attempt to look apologetic for not telling you the full truth as he approaches you.
"You seriously couldn't have told me what I was getting myself into? Jesus Jake, you know what it takes for me to be performance ready," you scold him, unapologetically smacking his chest before he can pull you into him.
"Woah, sweetheart, there's no need to get hostile," he chuckles, pulling you flush against his chest anyway. The glare you send him turns his humored smirk into a lighthearted smile, his eyes softening as he looks at you. "Come on, it's not that bad. They already know you can sing and have been dying to hear you anyway. The way I see it, you're doing them an injustice by gatekeeping that sweet voice of yours that I love so much. It'll be just like when you used to perform in college, except in front of friends and a bunch of drunks that won't remember whether or not you suck tomorrow."
"I can't believe you brought my 'open mic nights' into this," you huff, knowing fully well that he's won. Jake knows how much you love it when he praises the way you sing, even though you don't believe your voice is anything notable. "You're still an ass for not telling me."
"Maybe, but I'm your ass, and you love me for it," he flirts, playfully kissing you while everyone impersonate over embellished gagging noises at his words.
You giggle at their antics, molding against Jake's chest while they return to their usual banter. "When does it start?"
**********
"Alright, settle down everyone," Pete speaks into a mic, walking onto the makeshift platform that's specifically utilized for Karaoke. His presence makes the overall chatter in the bar die down as the attention shifts to him. "I know I'm not your usual MC but I was informed of a special guest tonight and requested that Penny let me give her a warm welcome." You catch the squad all glance at you in your peripheral vision, but choose to ignore them as Jake's arm falls across your shoulders. "Without further ado, I'd like to welcome Y/n Y/l/n to the stage!" Your eyes widen at the immediate introduction, they told you that you have to be the first in the friend group to perform. They never said anything about you starting off the entire damn circus with an introduction from their captain.
"You're up, Y/n," everyone cheers, watching Jake usher you forward. He smacks your butt before you're out of arms reach, earning an eye roll in response.
"You better be prepared to make up for this later," you quip, a serious look on your face with the subtle suggestion. Jake raises his eyebrows at your words, his classic smirk crossing his face as he shoots you a wink.
"I'll make it up to you all night, baby," he calls, not caring that half the bar hears what he said. Whistles sound through the room at his words, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Pete offers you a hand when you reach the platform, immediately welcoming you into the spot next to him.
"Alright, now that she's here, let Karaoke night begin," he exclaims, sliding the mic into your hand before moving to stand next to Penny.
"Hey everybody," you timidly wave, taking a second to compose yourself while you cue for the song to start. The intro of "Love on the Brain," by Rihanna fills the room, earning various cheers across the room from those who recognize the song. "I swear, I'm not drunk enough for this." Laughter echoes around the room, everyone already enjoying your stage presence before you've even had a chance to start the song.
You take a deep breath, steadying the mic in front of your mouth, playing over the lyrics in your mind.
"And you got me like oh, what you want from me? And you tried to buy your pretty heart but the price's too high. Baby you got me like, oh," you sing, smiling at the chorus of claps ringing across the room. Everyone's attention is trained on you, no one having expected any actual talent to waft into the bar.
"Damn," Jake hears Natasha gush to no one in particular. Her eyes pan over to him, jaw slack in shock as your voice fills her ears. "I know you told us she can sing, but I didn't expect her to be this good." Pride swells in Jake's chest at the continuous praises showering over you from his colleagues mouths. He loves showering you with praise, but hearing his friends hype you up? That's next level for him. He watches you in awe from his spot several rows back, unable to tear his focus away from you as several more emotions flood his system.
The further you get into the song, the more comfortable you become. Strutting around the stage in confidence, you let your body do the talking, easily finding Jake's eyes in the sea of others. That's when you get an idea. He'd dragged you into this, and you want to be a little petty and make him pay for it.
The cordless mic makes it easy to see your plan through. The lyrics continue flowing from you as you take a step off the platform, eyes still locked on Jake as you make your way closer to him.
"Oh, and babe, I'm fist fighting with fire just to get close to you," you sing, your gaze burning so deeply into him that it makes him shiver. He's captivated by the way your hips sway as you walk, the melodic movements making it nearly impossible for him to keep his desire for you at bay. "And I'll run for miles, just to get a taste. Must be love on the brain..."
You're right in front of him now, deliberately trailing your hand down his chest to fully captivate him. To give him just enough that he's practically squirming in his chair in an attempt to collect his thoughts. Your forehead presses against his as you sing, and he's sure you're going to kiss him, but instead you pull away, breaking contact completely.
There's a stunned intake of breath from someone in your friend group when they notice your newfound attention on Bradley. Natasha's fighting back laughter, immediately catching on to what you're doing before watching it come to fruition.
Your gaze fixates on Bradley now, who eats up every second of the attention while Jake watches. He feels your fingers slowly drag across the skin on his neck, a laugh bubbling from his throat at the playful wink you shoot at him before turning your back to him and gently pushing yourself into his lap. Being the good guy that he is, Bradley plays along, while respectfully keeping his hands to himself. He respects you and Jake enough to not take it too far, but he's willing to be used as payback to get back at Jake.
"..It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good and I can't get enough," your eyes lock with Jake's, lips twisted into a devilish smirk as you sing to him whilst leaning further into Bradley. Jake grips his glass so hard that it's a miracle it doesn't break. He knows exactly what you're doing, and it's working. "Must be love on the brain, yeah. And it keeps cursing my name." The simple task of you participating in karaoke has turned into a ploy to make Jake go absolutely feral, and everyone's eating it up.
"Jake's met his match," Bob snorts to Javy, who nods his head in agreement. The pair of them noticing the effect your scheme is having on Jake. It's a change of pace to see the overly confident man completely defenseless before you.
After a few more minutes of innocently ogling over Bradley, you decide you've tortured your boyfriend enough. A friendly kiss is pressed against Bradley cheek after you stand up, your attention remaining on him long enough to see him tilt his drink toward you humorously before you make your way back up to the platform, nearing the end of the song. You make a point to meet Jake's firey gaze, letting your eyes assure him that you know exactly who you belong to. There's no hiding the jealousy he's harboring over the attention you gave to Bradley. Even in knowing that you purposely did it to get him worked up, Jake's skin feels like it's on fire as he watches you with the image of you on Bradley's lap burns in the back of his mind.
"..don't you stop loving me, don't quit loving me, just start loving me..." The rest of the song fades out of Jake's senses. Though his eyes never leave your figure, his thoughts are solely centered around all of the ways he's going to make you pay for toying with him later. All of the ways he's going to have you squirming and moaning his name.
You can see how lost in thought he is from your spot on the stage, knowing you're in for it later as you finish the song. "..must be love on the brain." You wink in his direction, though you're not convinced he catches it.
He snaps out of his trance when the bar erupts with a heavy round of applause, cheers and whistles accompanying the noise as you humbly bow to the crowd. Penny climbs on the makeshift stage while the room starts chanting, "Encore," repeatedly, the praise growing louder when you bow again.
"Alright, alright everyone, settle down," Penny commands, gesturing for everyone to oblige as she chuckles at their enthusiasm. "That was amazing, thank you." She gives you a quick hug, keeping her hand on the small of your back. "I know you all love her, but we can't pay her to give us a full concert, so we're going to continue on with Karaoke as planned." A chorus of playful "boo's" sound across the room as you exit the area, ready to get back to your friends.
There's a wide grin on your face as you make your way back to your table, pleasantly thanking those around you who stop you to shoot you words of praise. After making it through the last conversation, your eyes find Jake's again, which have remained locked on you from the moment you started your crowd-winning performance. You smile in his direction, hurrying to close the space between the two of you to ease the performance induced adrenaline that's left your body buzzing.
"Well if it isn't the woman of the hour," Coyote applauds the moment you reach the group, earning a sheepish grin and rosey cheeks from you. You giggle in response, finding your place next to Jake while the squad begins gushing about your incredible, hidden, talent. Jake's arms loop around your waist, pulling you into a half-seated position on his lap while everyone continues carrying on about how shocked they are that music isn't the line of work you chose to pursue.
His breath fans against the exposed skin on your next, sending goosebumps across the area which are accompanied by chills that rush down your spine. He kisses your temple slowly, dragging his lips across your ear when he pauses, taking a deep breath.
"I know I dragged you into this without knowing what you were getting yourself into, but what you did wasn't fair," the words are husky and low, only meant for your ears to hear. You can tell by the tone in his voice that he's frustrated and that your little game to get him worked up was successful. You twist your head in the slightest so that you can meet his dark gaze, your eyes innocent and twinkling as you shoot him a knowing smirk.
"I don't know what you're talking about Lieutenant," you whisper slowly, making a point to keep your tone sickly sweet in that way that always drives him crazy. "You asked for a show, and I'd like to think that I gave you one. I'm sure Rooster would agree." His eyes narrow in your direction, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows to clear his throat. You're being a brat, and it's driving him up the wall that he can't put you in your place in the way that he wants to.
"I'm sure he would, darlin'," he smiles, leaning back in the slightest to compose himself. There's a glimmer that flashes in his eyes as you watch him carefully, enjoying the way that he's subtly flustered by the casual name drop of his colleague who's only sitting a few feet away. Jake's pulling himself back in, lips grazing your ears once more as his signature smirk curves onto his lips. "But, it want be Rooster's name you'll be moaning once I get you home, it'll be mine."
Now it's your jaw that's practically on the floor, heat rushing to your cheeks as you lose the upper hand in the little competition the two of you have going. Jake's a pro when it comes to taking these little games and twisting them so that you're the one who's hot and bothered, antsy to get home, while he pulls back and makes you wait. You mentally curse yourself for not finding the right words to put yourself back on top, but a part of you knows that you were asking for this behavior when you made the decision to egg Jake on in front of the entire squad, using Bradley as your scapegoat because seeing you drape yourself over him is the exact thing you knew would drive Jake crazy.
"What's the matter, darlin'? Don't have anything to say now," Jake teases, dipping away from you so that he can take a sip of his beer while you watch him, apparently defenseless, as the cockiness in his tone grows slightly. He's got you right where he wants you, and he's weaseled his way into his favorite spot to be. Right on top.
The rest of the night at the Hard Deck continues on as planned, you and Jake making points to challenge each other further as the night progresses. Many laughs are shared as the rest of the squad participates in their own karaoke performances, your favorite being Jake and Coyote's rendition of "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," as it was the song Jake serenaded you with ages prior when he saw you at a bar, hosting a karaoke night just like this one.
By the end of the night, Jake's practically dragging you out of the bar, over the pleasantries and well past ready to get you home. You force him to contain himself long enough that you can bid the other aviators proper goodbyes. He stands in his spot impatiently, talking to Coyote and Javy while you make your rounds with everyone.
"I hope he doesn't go too hard on you," Bradley whispers, his stature light after you pull away from your friendly hug.
You laugh at his words, squeezing his arm in playful assurance that you can handle what Jake has planned. "Truthfully, him going hard on me might have been part of my plan. Don't worry about me Rooster." Loud laughs echo from Bradley's chest as he shakes his head with an award-winning smile.
"Fair enough," he chuckles, giving you one last hug before Jake drags you away with a casual goodbye to everyone.
He speeds down the nearly vacant streets with one hand on the wheel and one hand squeezing your thigh. Neither of you have to say anything to know where your minds were at, especially when the truck is thrown into park in your driveway and he's rushing you into the house, bridal style.
Let's just say that Jake was right about one thing, Rooster's name was the last thing on your mind the second you were tangled in the sheets with your favorite Lieutenant.
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I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Tags: @clancycucumber230 @sehnsuchts-trunken @atarmychick007 @b-radbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @fanboygarcia @bradleybeachbabe @rosiahills22 @athenabarnes @fogle97 @vici111 @noz4a2 @bcon24 @startterfly @fandomunite2107
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tawnyontumblr · 7 months
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Week 4 of Throwback Thursday, with one of my favourite pocket friends @saretton​
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The Hand That Feeds You Rated E 1/1
1950s. When Dr Fell takes on queer sex worker Anthony Crowley to help with his illicit research on the physiological aspects of homosexuality, neither of them had imagined that things were about to get so personal.
The things one does for science.
and
Once More, With Feeling Rated E 1/1
1950s. The research continues, but Aziraphale is determined to shake things up.
If only he can find the courage to let Crowley know.
The things one does for science.
I think this series (we are working on part 3) started because we were thirsty for Michael Sheen in braces, or maybe in glasses. Or maybe we were just thirsty...
snippet below the cut,
“How would you say we met?” Aziraphale glanced up from the form he’d been filling out. The form he’d personally written the questions for. He’d never expected them to feel so loaded, so dangerous.
“You propositioned me.” Crowley sprawled out in one of the leather armchairs where patients sat when they came in for a consultation. He was in his work gear. Not his evening work gear; rather, a suit that looked a bit on the cheaper side, but fitted him well.
He was an attractive man. Aziraphale could admit that to himself. Humans had evolved to assess each other objectively. To note their strengths and weaknesses, and whether or not they would be competition for resources, which included mates. Sex.
Yes, scientifically, Aziraphale could look at Crowley with his long legs, delicate hands, and sharp cheekbones, and acknowledge that females would find him attractive.
Crowley sucked the end of the pencil into his mouth, pink lips pursing around it.
Aziraphale looked away. He took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and wiped them on his handkerchief before putting them back on his nose forcefully. “I most certainly did not proposition you!”
“Well, you offered me something anyway.”
Aziraphale heard the grin in Crowley’s voice. Smug and amused, but never unkind.
It had been there that first night when Aziraphale had sidled up to him at the bus stop, heart in his throat, and offered to share his umbrella.
Crowley had looked at him. An assessing look, Aziraphale realised with hindsight, a risk assessment, before he’d taken up Aziraphale’s offer and ducked out of the rain.
He’d smelt of hair oil and cigarette smoke. A smoky floral cologne undercut with hints of citrus.
And he really had looked like just the type of man Aziraphale needed. Young, but not inexperienced, tight denims and tighter white t-shirt beneath a leather jacket. Hair, a dark copper in the street lights, that would have been stylish if the rain had not weighted it into a sad sag over his forehead. The dark glasses balanced on his nose, both mysterious and slightly foreboding.
With his heart in his throat, Aziraphale had said, “Forgive me but I couldn’t help noticing your, eh… attire.” The rain had turned the cotton t-shirt nearly transparent. Aziraphale tried not to fix his gaze on the shadow of a nipple. “I hope you won’t consider me too forward, but I’d like to ask you…”
“You could just ask for the price, you know?” Smug and amused, but not cruel. Kind, even, gentle.
That had somehow been worse than if Crowley had taken offence.
Aziraphale’s fingers had curled tightly around the umbrella handle. “I was actually asking you if you would like to participate in some research I’m doing.”
“Oh, yes? And what exactly would we be researching this evening?”
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buckysimp101 · 2 years
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Love at First Grade (18+) - 5
Single Dad!Bucky Barnes x Single Mom!Reader; Teacher!Bucky x CEO!Reader
chapter warning: nothing, the kids are cute af (cause that’s a warning tbh)
a/n: the next chapter??????????? i’m so excited. this chapter???????? i love. so much. 
Series Masterlist
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Bucky had forgotten just how long the first week of school felt. It always seemed to drag on with no visible end in sight. Becca was better behaved during the week, probably because Ethan ignored her and Avery every time the two girls got together on the playground. 
The two girls had a bond that Bucky liked to think was a strong as his and Steve’s, especially since both friendships started in eerily similar ways. From what Bucky could tell, Avery seemed to be benefitting from Becca’s friendship. Every day she came back from the playground that week she was a little more talkative, a little less shy with her classmates, and a little more willing to participate in classroom activities. 
Avery had an equally substantial impact on Becca. Every day after school it was all Bucky heard. Even if he didn’t have car duty, Becca was begging to wait with Avery until she was picked up to spend as much time as possible with her. The two would giggle and chat until someone came to pick Avery up. For most of the week it was you, and Bucky savored every interaction he had with you. Each day you dropped her off in a different pantsuit or dress and Bucky swore that it was impossible for you to get more attractive. But then you’d stoop down and swipe Avery into the biggest hug or you’d merely look at her with all the love you could muster for her playing on your face. It made Bucky find you even MORE attractive. 
 But yesterday, a young man had dropped Avery off, Avery referred to him as Uncle Sam when he walked her to her classroom door. You had sent a note with Sam and Avery to Bucky apologizing that you wouldn’t be there due to work to drop her off or pick Avery up on Thursday but that someone named Wanda would be picking her up in your place. When a young woman with auburn hair and a slight accent arrived Avery practically screamed “AUNTIE WANDA” as she ran full speed at the red head. Of course Becca followed and made sure that she introduced herself to her new best friend’s Aunt. Avery had whispered something in Wanda’s ear, and it must have had something to do with him or Becca because the young woman looked at him with a pleased smirk on her face and whispered her response to the mystery statement in Avery’s ear. Avery’s eyes brightened before she was nodding her head animatedly. Avery gave Becca a hug before taking her Aunt Wanda’s hand and waving bye to Bucky.
At dinner that night, Becca was telling Bucky all about her week while she ate her spaghetti. Some of what she had to say included what she was learning in Steve’s class. But most of her conversation revolved around Avery. How Avery’s favorite color was pink and that was similar to Becca’s favorite color, purple. How Avery loved unicorns and Becca loved unicorns. How they both loved Bluey and their grandparents. But the one comment Becca made that showed Bucky how caring and loving his daughter was? Becca informed Bucky that Avery’s dad wasn’t around, the exact conversation went a little like this:
“Daddy, did you know that Avery doesn’t have a daddy? Like I don’t have a mommy. But she has a mommy, and I have a daddy. And you both love us very much. And we’re best friends. If I share you with Avery, do you think I can share Avery’s mommy?”
Becca rarely asked about Dot and in return Bucky barely spoke about her. In Bucky’s mind, if Dot wanted nothing to do with Bucky then he’d make sure Becca had nothing to do with her. However, when she would ask questions about her, he’d answer them as honestly as he could, but she was six. How was he supposed to tell a six year old “hey your mom ran out on us because she didn’t want to get married, thought she’d made a mistake and didn’t want to be a mom?” Not that Bucky had forced the idea of marriage onto Dot, Bucky thought it had more to do with the fact that she liked the idea of being pregnant…but not necessarily the idea of being a mom. But he’d never know. For all he cared, Dot could stay away. He’d raised Becca by himself, with help from his ma, sister, Steve and Nat, and it was going perfectly fine. So the conclusion Becca had come up with on her own was that she didn’t have a mom. So the fact that she had recognized that Avery had a mom but no dad, and Becca had a dad but no mom, almost brought Bucky to tears.
“I think you’d have to talk to Avery and her mom about that kiddo. That’s a big question that requires a loooot of talking and a looot of thinkin,” Bucky answered his daughter’s question that had given him pause. Apparently that was the only answer she needed because she just nodded her head and went back to eating her spaghetti and talking about how she and Avery were going to play tag at recess tomorrow.
Finally the first week of the new school year had ended. Sam dropped Avery off at school again and either Bucky didn’t have as good of a poker face as he thought he did or Sam knew some information that Bucky didn’t because as the man left he called over his shoulder, “she’ll be here to pick Avery up this afternoon,” not even needing to clarify who “she” was. Bucky swore his heart picked up and he was light on his feet. Until the end of the day.
Becca was going to be picked up by Bucky’s mom today, she’d be spending the night with Winnifred so that Bucky could go out with Steve to Nat’s bar. They always celebrated the end of the first week of school and the last day of school with drinks at Nat’s, on the house of course. There was no way the two of them could afford to get drunk at Nat’s bar any other time, especially not on their teacher salaries. As Bucky waited for the kids to get picked up he noticed Avery and Becca giggling more than usual, he was about to ask what was so funny when he noticed the telltale look on Avery’s face. Her eyes grew to the size of sand dollars and the biggest grin took place as Bucky braced himself for,
“MOMMY!!!!!”
“Hi my sweet girl! Did you have the best day ever?” You asked enthusiastically and even though Bucky hadn’t seen you sine Wednesday he wondered if it were possible for you to look even better? You were wearing a blazer and fitted pants combination with heels that did everything for your figure. Soon you were tackled by Becca as well and you were giving her a big hug and asking, “how are you today Ms. Becca Barnes? Did you have the best day in the whole wide world?” 
Even though Bucky had seen you interact with the girls like this a few times earlier in the week, every time it just confused him. You never seemed to fit the reputation that you appeared in the news to embrace. When you were around Avery you were a doting mother who would do anything for their child, such as…
“So, Mr. Barnes. It appears we have two little giggle monsters,” you stated in mock-seriousness, making sure to look pointedly at the girls who, to your point, giggled at the situation, “who have been trying to drum up the nerves to ask if they can have a playdate at the Central Park zoo tomorrow. I’m willing to make a deal.”
Bucky raised his eyebrow at your tone, he could tell you were trying to make it as serious as possible but when he looked in your eyes he could practically see the amusement dancing in them. Bucky chanced a look at Becca, he recognized that grin. That was the look she gave his ma whenever she wanted something. It always worked and she knew it.
“Well, Ms. L/N, that is a deal that could be arranged. As long as Giggle Monster Barnes behaves for Nana tonight,” he stated, looking at Becca for a response, she just nodded her head ferociously. 
Your lips curled up into a grin, “well if Giggle Monster L/N behaves for Grammie and Grumps then you’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Barnes. Central Park Zoo, Fifth Avenue entrance, eleven o’clock to try and beat the heat?” you questioned, holding your hand out for him to shake on it. Bucky could have sworn he heard a slight teasing tone in your voice but let that thought slip away as he shook on the deal. The girls squealed and hugged each other before running to their respective parents and yelling “thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” Then, to both of your surprise, they ran to the opposite adult and gave them the same treatment. All Bucky could do was laugh. You gathered Avery’s stuff and told her to say goodbye to Becca before waving at the two members of the Barnes family. As much as Bucky hated seeing you go…he really enjoyed watching you leave. Alright, Lil Wayne. You’re not gonna make her bed rock, chill out, Bucky thought to himself, shaking his head as he looked at Becca who seemed seconds away from bursting with excitement. Luckily, that excitement was channeled into the form of a burst of energy as the six year old ran down the sidewalk to attack an older woman with the same dark hair and blue eyes.
“NANA! YOU’RE HERE! I HAVE TO TELL YOU ALL ABOUT MY NEW FRIEND AVERY CLAIRE L/N BUT SHE JUST GOES BY AVERY THANK YOU VERY MUCH!” Becca practically screamed at Bucky’s mother. Winnie just laughed at her granddaughter’s excitement as they approached Bucky.
“Hi, ma,” Bucky said with a grin as she pulled him in for a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She must have left a lipstick print there because Becca was taken over with giggles again.
“Maaaaa,” Bucky groaned as he moved to wipe his face, Winnie just laughed in response.
“Oh don’t wipe away my sugar, honey. How else am I supposed to make sure everyone knows your mother has visited,” she teased as she bent down to pick up Becca into the hug she really wanted.
“Now, my sweet Becca Bug. I have a surprise guest that will be visiting us tonight…do you know who it might be?” Winnie asked with a gleam in her eye.
“IS IT AUNT BEX NANA!?!” Becca squealed as Winnie nodded her head, Bucky just groaned. His sister was in graduate school in Pennsylvania, but she tried to come up and visit as much as she could. Especially since she had her little namesake to visit in the city. Whenever Bucky would send Becca to a weekend with Nana and Becca-squared, he knew she’d be spoiled to no end. Becca was already talking a mile a minute about what she had done at school that week, about the games she had played with Avery, but before Bucky could let the conversation go any further he interrupted.
“Alright, Becca. Remember you have to be on your best behavior for Nana and Aunt Bee tonight or what…” Bucky lightly threatened. 
Becca stood straight up and recited, “I have to be on my bestest-estest behavior for Nana tonight so that I can go to the zoo with my new best friend Avery tomorrow! Cause daddy said so!”
Bucky and Winnie laughed at Becca’s dramatics and Bucky nodded to show that Becca was correct. “I think we can manage to be as good as possible tonight so that you can have fun with your friend tomorrow. Now, go give your daddy the biggest hug ever so that we can go meet Aunt Bex at home!” Winnie exclaimed as she ran her hand through Becca’s curls, a fond look on her face. Becca nodded her head and did a running leap into Bucky’s awaiting grasp.
“I love you to the moon and back a zillion times, daddy!” She squealed as Bucky held her tight and responded, “I love you to infinity and beyond, sweetheart!”
Bucky let Becca down and she scrambled over to his mom and they began to walk towards her car. Becca and Avery were the last ones to be picked up so Bucky went inside to pack up the rest of his things to go home. Around eleven, Steve texted Bucky that he was in an Uber outside and the pair headed to Nat’s bar, Obsidian.
How Natasha Romanoff had come to own one of the fanciest bars in the city Bucky would never know. She always joked that she had ties to the Russian mafia and Bucky would laugh it off, but honestly he was too scared to question it. Obsidian’s usual clientele included Manhattan’s elite, but every so often Nat would invite Bucky and Steve for their free drinks. The trio had met in college and Steve and Nat had even dated at one point until they realized they were better off as friends. Ever since Bucky and Steve had started teaching and Nat had opened Obsidian, they had their traditions.
“Well look what the spider caught, is that Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers?” A sultry voice called from behind the bar as Bucky and Steve made their way into the dark bar. Natasha’s red hair gleamed in the dim lighting as she fixed the two of them with a wicked grin. “What can I get you to drink, oh mighty educators of our future?”
Bucky rolled his eyes and groaned as Steve laughed at Nat’s words. She had picked on them mercilessly in college because of Steve’s answer to her question “what do you wanna do after school?” He had said “I want to educate our future!” The answer honestly made Bucky cringe a little but now it was one of their inside jokes.
“Whiskey neat, please Nat,” Bucky answered her question as she nodded her head at his usual, Steve responded in kind and Natasha busied herself with their order. When she turned around and placed their drinks of front of them she asked, “so how’s the school year so far, boys? Any hot moms, or grandma’s I don’t judge, catch your attention?” 
Bucky’s mind immediately flitted to you. He had only managed to somewhat come to terms with the fact that he definitely had a crush on you in the car ride over with Steve. For some reason, Steve thought he was the expert on the subject and the perfect person to answer Nat’s query.
“Well Romanoff, buckle in cause our boy here is smitten as a kitten, in love as a dove, his name is Bucky and it rhymes with fucky…”
“Alright that’s enough! She gets it!” Bucky hurried to try and shut Steve up before he embarrassed Bucky even more. 
Nat’s eyebrow raised at Bucky’s sudden interruption before she turned her attention to Steve, “no please continue Rogers, I wish to hear more about this MILF that might help Buckaroo here break his unwilling era of celibacy,” an evil grin twisting on her lips. 
All Bucky could do was groan and focus more on his drink as Steve opened his mouth to talk, but thankfully Natasha interrupted him. “Speaking of, I’ll be right back boys. My big time tipper and all time favorite MILF just walked in the door. And since you’re not paying, onto the back burner you go.” 
Bucky could tell Steve was ready to complain by the huff of annoyance he let out, something caught Steve’s attention. Next thing Bucky knew, Steve’s mouth dropped as he blindly moved his hand to try and slap Bucky’s arm, causing Bucky’s whiskey to slosh over his hand.
“What is it, ma-,” Bucky stopped mid-sentence as he tracked Steve’s eyes which had landed on Natasha. Because there, across the bar, dressed in leather pants and a lacy tank top, talking to Nat as if they had known each other an entire lifetime; surrounded by Tony fucking Stark, Pepper Potts-Stark, Wanda, Sam, was the MILF in question.
You.
taglist: (to be added just let me know in the comments or dm!)
@youlightmeupfinn 
@la-undercover-latina
@jackiehollanderr
@fab-notfat
@galaxy-dusk
@asoftie4bucky 
@fangirlvoice
@queenbeecandi
@babyevansblog
@stevihj​
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vulpes-fennec · 11 months
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Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 4)
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Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.
Previously: Feyre and Nesta have bargained with Amarantha! What's Elain going to do?!?
Read: Masterlist | AO3
Thursday, March 14th, 1889
***Elain***
Feyre and Nesta didn’t stop giving her furtive looks until they sat her down for a serious conversation over yesterday’s afternoon tea. And now Elain knew why. 
“Nesta and I will be joining Prythian’s Fantasia for the next half year,” Feyre had announced, stirring cream and sugar into her tea as if it were any other day. “We made a deal with the ringmaster: Amarantha will cure Mother in exchange for our service.”
“How?” Elain had sputtered. Nothing—nothing—had helped Isabella Archeron’s illness, which seemed to worsen with spite.
Nesta’s heavy sigh preceded Feyre’s answer: “Magic.”  
Elain could believe magic existed. Her gift of reading the future was part of the occult, was it not? But the idea of a magical circus…well, stunning performances did not equate to proof of magic. 
“You do not seem surprised,” Feyre observed. 
Elain shrugged. “I am skeptical…but I am more concerned with where is Prythian’s Fantasia going.”  
“The circus will tour England…then head to Paris for the Exposition Universelle,” Nesta replied, switching into French for the last bit of the sentence. “Feyre will be the magician’s assistant, and I will be participating in the aerial silks performance.”
“What about Mother?” Elain asked. “What about the upcoming season? We ordered all our gowns already. And when Father gets back…none of us will be home…”
“That is why we need you to stay and care for the household…ensure Mother is taking her tonics and manage our correspondence from the other families,” Nesta responded swiftly. Her sister’s gaze dropped down guiltily. 
“You will be gone…for months?” Elain’s voice was barely above a whisper, her initial excitement quickly dashed. “And you did not care to include me in this arrangement?” 
Feyre was the more apologetic sister. “We will be sure to write, Elain. And Amarantha will give us the curative after a month, which means Mother will be back to health in no time at all.”
“I do not wish for you to write,” Elain had said stiffly. She had spent the afternoon baking scones and preparing the little sandwiches, but now the food was less than palatable. “I wish to join you both.” 
“Traveling is far too dangerous,” Nesta said. “Do you think we are going on holiday? Feyre and I will be working. We do not want you to go hungry, or sleep in the cold and damp. Staying here is easier, Elain. And safer.” 
“But I want to go to Paris!” Elain had cried, feeling like a petulant child. 
“Nesta is right,” Feyre had added. “The journey ahead is uncertain…and what talents could you possibly bring to Prythian’s Fantasia? Gardening and baking are not useful in a traveling circus.” 
Elain had glanced at her sisters, shocked that both were in agreement for once. “When do you depart?” she had asked, feeling discombobulated.
“Tomorrow morning,” Nesta had said with finality, clearly assuming Elain was agreeable with their plan of action. 
But Elain was livid, and far from agreeable when it came to this issue. How could her sisters leave her behind? Feyre knew damn well Elain wanted to travel to Continental Europe her entire life. And how could Nesta, of all women, assume Elain needed protection from the big scary world? Of course they would expect her to stay home, for she was the Archeron sister that was most well-adjusted to London society. Of course it was alright for radical Nesta and bold Feyre to gallivant England unchaperoned, but the thought of soft and sweet Elain doing so would draw gasps of horror! 
Elain called an early night, unable to bear watching Nesta and Feyre pack when it should have been her in their positions. Guilt gnawed at her: it would be their last night together for a while, yet Elain could not bring herself to spend a minute longer with them. Not that it would make much of a difference, for the Archeron sisters had never been particularly close.. 
But it simply wasn’t fair! 
Whatever happened to taking charge of her own destiny? The fact that she had a premonition about a mysterious man in Paris seemed a good sign to leap out of her comfort zone. Elain did not want to shoulder the burden of excusing her sisters’ prolonged absence to her mother. And telling Isabella Archeron her two daughters had left high society for a traveling circus would be a death wish. 
Which was how Elain found herself hastily packing after Feyre and Nesta bid her a stiff goodbye in the morning. Dresses, shoes, cosmetics, hats, and gloves were haphazardly stuffed into massive carpet bags. Elain bundled out the door, paying the family carriage driver a generous sum for his discretion. 
The big top had been taken down, but the circus performers were still packing up their camp. Feyre and Nesta had to be in there somewhere. Elain’s palms dampened gloves in a mixture of anxiety and thrill—no longer would she sit back and wait for life to happen!  
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Elain’s voice was shrill as she ran towards the camp as fast as her daintily slippered feet could carry her. The large cases she lugged in both hands made her gait even more awkward.
In her haste, Elain did not notice how wet and muddy the grass was. Her ankle slipped; she went down with a screech. Cases went flying, her hat turned askew, and her gloved hands sank several inches into smelly gunk. It seemed like the whole camp had come to a stand-still as everybody watched Elain struggle to stand. 
“Elain? Elain!” Feyre cried as she rushed over, picking up the muddy cases for her sister. “What are you doing here?” 
Elain stood, red-cheeked with embarrassment. Her creamy pink dress was sodden and now stank of filth, her cheeks were splattered with mud. But at the sound of Feyre’s voice, she straightened and indignantly replied, “I don’t want to be left behind.” 
“Elain, you must return home,” Nesta ordered, striding over to them quickly. “This is foolishness.”
“What is going on here?” Amarantha’s voice sharply rang out over the crowd of people. “My goodness, who is this pathetic creature?” The ringmaster assessed Elain’s now-filthy form with obvious distaste. 
“I’m sorry, Amarantha,” Feyre apologized quickly. “This is my sister, Elain.”
“She will be leaving now,” Nesta added meaningfully, grabbing the last clean patch of fabric on Elain’s elbow and tugging on it. Elain disentangled herself subtly, but Amarantha noticed it. 
“Leaving?” Amarantha arched an eyebrow. “Why, it looks like she was planning on joining us.” 
“Yes!” Elain cried breathily. “I wish to be with my sisters.” She ignored Nesta’s glare. The crowd of circus performers had grown larger, though, and Elain shrank slightly under their bold stares. This was not the first impression she wanted to make.
It could not be any more obvious that Amarantha was judging Elain’s clumsy feet, her gloved hands, the timid roundness of her shoulders. Elain held her breath, fearful of being turned away. 
“I know just the role for you. You will be our fortune-teller. We lost our last one thanks to…an unfortunate accident.” 
“I am afraid I do not have any experience in the occult,” Elain blurted out defensively, so taken aback by the accuracy of Amarantha’s assignment. It was partially true, though. Experiencing sporadic visions was one thing; being skilled at “parlor tricks” or channeling specific readings was another. Still, Elain mentally kicked herself for spurning the offer. 
“Well? Simply make things up,” the ringmaster waved her hand condescendingly. “As long as the circus visitors are satisfied, you will be of use to me. And do tidy yourself up before we board the train.” Amarantha flashed Elain a gleaming white smile that possessed no warmth before she turned away.
Nesta sighed and motioned for Elain to follow her through the camp. Elain kept her head down, careful not to embarrass herself again. There was a feeling of unease writhing in the pit of her stomach like a black worm. It was distinct from nerves or embarrassment…the sensation was akin to a warning bell.  
Elain considered herself an open-minded, friendly lady, who didn’t have qualms with many people. But there was something peculiar about the way Amarantha assessed her, and she didn’t like it. No, Elain did not like it at all.
“We were lucky enough to have our own caravan,” Feyre said, interrupting Elain’s musings. “Come, let us put your cases inside.”
The caravan was painted in a rich green with ornate gold detailing. Glass windows and beautiful lanterns hanging by the door, as well as the fold-down wooden steps of polished dark wood, elevated the caravan’s standing beyond a covered wagon on wheels.
“It’s so small,” Elain commented doubtfully. 
“It’s much bigger inside, you will see.” The door swung on well-oiled hinges, revealing an unusually spacious setting. The first thing Elain saw was a copper tub—for bathing—positioned opposite a wooden table complete with green-cushioned wooden chairs. 
“At least we can stand upright here! Look, we have a bathtub,” Feyre explained excitedly. “Towels and soaps included. We can heat the water on the stove.” A small iron stove was situated in the caravan’s corner, its black slender chimney extending up and out of the wooden roof. 
It was beginning to dawn on Elain that, while the caravan was better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground, nothing would compare to the comforts of home. Since the maids always drew up warm baths upon request, tending a flame and heating up water bucket by bucket would be a harsh wake-up call to reality. Elain wasn’t even sure she could strike a match.  
An elegant wardrobe stood next to the tub, facing an upholstered sofa with plush velvet pillows. Thick curtains kept the sleeping area separate: the back end of the caravan was taken up by a large bunk bed. 
“I took the top bed already,” Feyre said, pointing to the top bunk where a circular window offered views to the outside world. “And Nesta took the bottom one. But there’s a separate bed on the side for you.” 
She had never been confined in such close proximity to her sisters. Elain’s bed was built into the caravan, with extra storage underneath. Across from her bed sat a small counter with a marble wash basin, and an ornate mirror hanging on the wall. Her cruddy face reflected back at her, pale and disheveled. Her first adventure started off on the wrong foot, but she made it, didn’t she? 
“It’s quite nice,” Elain finally said quietly. “Home sweet home for the next few months.” 
Saturday, March 16th, 1889
***Gwyn***
Birds of a feather flock together. Any stranger would have taken one look at Daphne’s auburn and Gwyn’s coppery-brown hair, their pale skin and willowy statures, and assumed them to be relatives. Gwyn had learned several key facts about the fire performer over the last few days. One: Daphne’s son, Lucien was 26. Just two years younger than Gwyn. Two: she hailed from Ireland, somehow surviving famine and political turmoil. Three: she was married to Beron Vanserra, the sour-faced, Spanish escape artist. Based on Gwyn’s limited observations of the two, Beron was hardly deserving of Daphne’s warmth and goodness. In fact, Daphne seemed to shrink back within herself whenever she was in her husband’s proximity.
Prythian’s Fantasia, Gwyn also learned, was transported from town to town via the great English railway system. Tents were taken down and bundled neatly, caravans were rolled onto flatcars and strapped down, and the performers bundled into carriages.
When they boarded the train to Bristol two days ago, Gwyn could have sworn some odd emotion passed between Daphne and an older man. The man was around Daphne’s age, with earthy brown skin and hazel eyes like that of a wise owl. Gwyn had seen him several times, for his muscled thighs and foreign features were unmistakable around the camp.
“Who is that gentleman?” Gwyn had whispered to Daphne as they sat down in the carriage. “The tall, dark one who just passed us by?” 
“Ah…that is Helion,” the lady murmured, looking down demurely. “He assists with the lights during the performance.” From the way Daphne’s fair cheeks mellowed out with color, Gwyn presumed there was more to the story than Daphne would divulge. But she didn’t want to pry when Daphne had just warmed up to her.
Tomorrow would be their first show in Bristol, and Gwyn was currently assisting the circus hands in setting up the music hall. An open-air tent of forest-green fabric had just been pitched. Signage was carefully hung. Polished boards were neatly aligned to form a sizable dance floor. The stage would be elevated by pushing together massive crates, artfully concealed by luxurious curtains and decor. 
Amarantha had taken Gwyn into Prythian’s Fantasia to fulfill a singer position in the music hall, but Gwyn had been stationed at the ticket booth for the last few nights with no indication of reassignment. Gwyn was itching to move on from the rote task of checking tickets. She wanted to sing!
Everyone listened whenever Gwyn began singing. Her mother had always spoken of merrow or morgen heritage from their Irish and Welsh ancestors, something Gwyn had always dismissed. Sirens were pure myth; and Gwyn had never seen the ocean, nor felt any draw towards the vast seas. But even she could not deny that her voice was unusually rich and magnetic. Catrin incessantly encouraged Gwyn to audition for London’s high-end music halls, but Gwyn much preferred to offer her talents free of charge at the local church choir. 
Sweat beaded Gwyn’s brow as she pushed against the massive crate. The church would never accept her now, after all she had done—been forced to do—at the brothel…and Catrin. Catrin would never get to hear her perform at a music hall ever again, not even this one—
Gwyn’s foot slipped in the mud. A pair of scarred hands positioned themselves next to her, assisting with the crate. 
“Careful.” Azriel’s voice was flat, but his hazel eyes were wary. “Severe flooding occurred in Bristol this week.” The corded muscles in his forearms flexed as he easily pushed the crate into the proper position. 
“Thank you,” Gwyn replied, wiping her brow. “Are you looking forward to the performance tonight?”
“I am always prepared.” Not exactly answering her question. But from the daggers that were sheathed along his belt, Gwyn had no doubt that Azriel practiced everywhere he went. 
“What are you doing here?” Tamlin, one of the circus musicians, rounded the corner with a hammer in his hand. His emerald gaze was fixed on Azriel, and Gwyn could have sworn Tamlin’s imaginary hackles were raised like a cornered dog. 
“Someone could not be bothered to quit their hammering to lend her a hand, so of course I had to assist,” Azriel replied shortly, his eyes narrowing with mirrored distaste. His scarred hands hung loosely at his side, within close reach of his daggers. 
There must be some history between Tamlin and Azriel, Gwyn decided, for Tamlin had been nothing but cordial towards her, Daphne, and Tarquin. First Daphne and Helion, now Tamlin and Azriel. Prythian’s Fantasia, it seemed, held an unusual amount of secrets under its glossy tents and sparkling performances. 
“Tamlin.” A clear, powerful voice rang out as the magician strode into the music hall with feline grace. Tamlin’s expression soured even further. “You have a new performer assignment for the music hall.”
“You do not give me orders, Rhysand,” Tamlin snarled as Rhysand smacked a thick stack of papers against his chest.
Rhysand smirked, his inky black hair the polar opposite to Tamlin’s golden blonde. “They’re Amarantha’s orders, not mine. I do feel sorry for you, Gwyneth, that your new colleague is acting like an uncouth beast.” 
“Me?” Gwyn squeaked. It was the first time the magician had interacted with her, and she was surprised that he knew her name. His handsome face was even a bit unnerving to look at, for it was cold as the morning frost. 
Rhysand’s violet eyes flicked towards her, faint amusement shimmering. He produced another stack of papers out of thin air and offered them to Gwyn with a courteous bow. “Amarantha has reassigned you to the music hall, as promised. Do inform me if Tamlin gives you any trouble.” 
“I would rather be a beast than a bootlicking turncoat,” Tamlin threw back coldly at Rhysand’s retreating back. Bootlicking turncoat? What happened between Tamlin and Rhysand? Gwyn was vaguely aware of Tamlin saying something about practice times, before realizing Azriel had disappeared as well. 
***Feyre***
The magician’s tent was far too easy to spot amongst the multitude of colored tents in the circus camp: it was midnight black. It was the key to getting her questions about her shadow capabilities answered. Of finally meeting someone who was like her. Years of wishes on evening stars culminating in this very moment. 
“Be still, o beating heart,” Feyre whispered to herself as she approached. To her surprise, the top of the magician’s tent was left open, bathing the space in sunlight. And there he was, leaning casually against a tent pole and fiddling with his top hat. The magician looked up slowly when she stepped across the threshold, like a cat waking up from a luxurious nap. 
He was still dressed in black, albeit in a more simple pair of pants and neatly creased shirt. Onyx black hair carefully combed and styled across his forehead, and his tan brown face close-shaven. The magician clearly maintained an impeccable appearance even while off-stage.
“You must be my new assistant, Feyre Archeron.” Feyre’s breath hitched at the smooth purr of voice, shaping the syllables of her name as if he was savoring sweet wine. “I was wondering when you would show up.” 
“And you are…?”
“Rhysand,” the magician replied matter-of-factly, as if he was mildly offended she didn’t already know his name. He prowled towards her, mouth curving with an almost intimate smile. “But you may call me Rhys.”
“You are from Wales?” Feyre tracked his movements carefully, unsure of how to act around her new mentor. 
“My father is from Scotland, actually.” Rhys halted in front of her, close enough to border on impropriety. Dear lord—his deep blue eyes were hypnotizing. Already she was mentally tabulating the color combinations she could use to recreate the color of his eyes, for they were an unusual shade of violet. Like the color of amethyst gemstone mixed with sunset’s indigo. 
“I see.” Feyre doubted the validity of that statement, for Rhys’s brown nose and aquiline nose implied otherwise. 
“I heard you arrived here with not one, but two sisters. What is a darling like you doing in a circus like this?” Men who called ladies “darling” on the street were exactly the types of men Feyre rolled her eyes at. So why did she shiver with delight when Rhys said it? 
“My mother is very ill,” Feyre explained, tilting her chin up to maintain eye contact. “I sought Amarantha for help.” And you are the first person I’ve met who possesses the same gifts, she added silently.
Rhys’s brow creased slightly, and his sensual gaze chilled. “So you made a bargain with Amarantha.” Displeasure was laced in his tone. 
“Only six months of service for a healing potion. But since my mother’s condition is dire, Amarantha will give me the potion after a month,” Feyre explained, unsure of why he was frowning. 
“There is no such thing as only six months,” Rhys muttered, more to himself than her. While he appeared lost in thought, Feyre took the liberty of studying Rhys with an artist’s gaze, parsing every plane of his face, the details of his relaxed body. Surely a handsome man like him was married, right? It would be criminal—and alarming—if he wasn’t. 
The edges of Feyre’s attention span suddenly thinned and wavered, as if her thoughts were being scrambled up. Raw power thrummed in the air, thick enough to taste. Rhys tilted his head, darkness quickly evaporating into satisfaction. 
“What do you know about magic?” A double-edged question: was he inquiring about her skills with magic tricks, or was he somehow referring to the strange shadow capabilities she possessed? 
“Little enough for me to seek the master himself,” Feyre responded gamely. 
His beautiful mouth smirked as he closed the distance between them. Feyre leaned in, presuming he was about to kiss her…but Rhys’s hand brushed a lock of golden-brown hair behind her ear, producing a small silver chain with a delicate silver cross instead. 
“How did you do that?” Feyre blinked in crest-fallen confusion. 
“A magician never reveals his secrets.” Rhys offered her a sly smile. “Allow me.” 
Feyre could only nod slightly, heart hammering in her chest as Rhys positioned himself behind her. She pressed her lips together tightly when his hands brushed the nape of her neck, lest she let out an inappropriate moan. How could such a simple touch bring forth such pleasurable sensations that traveled right down to her very toes? 
His fingers delicately scraped her skin again, as he slipped the silver cross under her collar and out of sight. The gesture was chaste, yet the sensation of intimacy hung heavy in the air. “I advise you to keep that cross on at all times…for your own good.”
“...What?” Feyre needed to remember to breathe. 
“It’s protection,” he replied simply. “Identification.”
“I am not keen on wearing something around my neck like a dog,” Feyre objected, feeling even more confused.  
“Then consider a gift from your mentor.” Rhys stepped back in front of her, putting a regretful amount of distance between them once more. 
“Mentor, are you? If I am to be your assistant, I think I should be privy to at least some of your secrets.” She smiled back teasingly, fingering the delicate chain. Violet eyes regarded her with molten intensity. Feyre smiled even wider. Good…it seemed Rhys was just as taken with her. It would be such a shame if he found her uninteresting. 
“If you wish to know some of my secrets, then let us begin your training.” 
Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade
Author's Note:
I hope you enjoyed this update! Maybe it took you 5 minutes to read it, but it took me several hours to write it. Would you rather read a paragraph of words an AI strung together over a fanfic with fun headcanons and character analysis, or published writing?
I hope your answer is no, and I hope you will show the same respect to artists by NOT supporting or reposting AI art, especially on TikTok. Artists spend YEARS honing their craft, so propping up AI art is the equivalent of supporting plagiarism. I'm tired of seeing people defending their use of AI images over genuine art in their fan edits because AI "look perfect". ACOTAR fandom, please do better.
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sophieakatz · 6 months
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Thursday Thoughts: Playing the Best Version of Myself
I’m not intending to permanently turn this blog series into a “Sophie listens to podcasts and talks about the Starcruiser” thing, but… this week I found myself once again listening to a podcast episode about Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. It was The No Proscenium Podcast this time, and the episode was titled “Last Call at the Sublight Lounge.” One of the panelists, Kathryn, said the following about Halcyon passengers:
“I believe that a lot of the people on the ship were roleplaying that idealized version of themselves… Maybe you’re braver, bolder, more confident, more willing to stand up for what you believe in. Maybe it’s a version of yourself that you want to wish into being, but you’ve never had a chance to articulate it before.”
Funnily enough, this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard someone express this idea about the Starcruiser. On the final night of the show, I met up with a bunch of the performers after closing time. Emotions were running high, understandably, but a lot of those emotions were positive. There was so much love and gratitude in that space – for each other, and for what we had created and accomplished. Everyone kept talking about how much we’d grown because of the Starcruiser. Late in the evening, one of the performers attributed that growth to how we’d created a space where everyone who participated, everyone who came to play, could come be “the best version of yourself” – and playing as the best version of yourself changes you forever.
It gave me pause, when that performer said it, and I’m thinking about it further after hearing Kathryn bring it up again – because when I entered the Starcruiser as a guest, I didn’t think I was playing the best or idealized version of myself. I fully intended to not be myself. Sophie Katz knew too much about the Halcyon and its characters. I spent six months running around that ship, making sure that everyone else knew everything they needed to know about where to be, why they were there, and what to do while they were there. The beats of the whole two-day show are imprinted on my brain. So I thought that in order to have fun, and to avoid ruining anyone else’s fun with metagaming, I had to separate my guest-self from my writer-self.
Shira Alderaani Khesed was a character I made up almost two years ago. I wrote a poem about the destruction of Alderaan in Star Wars, and afterwards I fleshed out the character behind that first-person perspective. She was a woman without a homeworld, the daughter of Alderaanians who just happened to be off planet on their honeymoon when the Empire destroyed their lives. And as far as I could tell before my voyage, playing Shira would be about as far from acting as my real self as I could get without outright sacrificing my morals. Shira was a mechanic; she’d never had the good fortune to be able to pursue art as a career. She was cynical and cowardly, weighed down by the trauma she’d inherited and unable to imagine a better future – in direct contrast to my real-world optimism. She didn’t have a family or community to support her; her late parents kept her intentionally ignorant of her culture, believing that would protect her from her people’s genocide – unlike my real-life parents, wonderful and alive, who raised me to take pride in my culture. I wouldn’t have called Shira my ideal self; I certainly wouldn’t wish to be her or live her life!
I thought I’d successfully separated my real self from my Starcruiser-self.
But the performers on my voyage were quick to prove me wrong.
I mentioned last week that some of the performers dropped hints that they knew me. Gaya said I looked familiar. Raithe said he knew I understood what was going on better than anyone. Lenka outright added a bit to my backstory, saying she remembered how I helped repair the ship before this voyage.
There’s another example of this that I should mention now.
Captain Keevan’s path did not cross much with mine, but at one point late on the first day, I was standing with a friend in the lower concourse when the captain came out of the dining room. She approached us and asked how we were doing, mentioning she’d heard that I’d had some issues with Sammie the mechanic. I responded in character, explaining that Sammie had asked me to do something that I wasn’t comfortable with (lying to First Order Stormtroopers, which from Shira’s cautious-and-cynical point of view was a good way to get killed).
The captain told me that I shouldn’t have to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Half joking, I looked at my friend and said, “Does that mean telling my friends to not sing anti-First Order fight songs?” (Which, yes, is another thing that happened. Video evidence here. Sophie loved that scene; Shira did not.)
“Well,” said Captain Keevan, “something like that could be a useful distraction, at times. I find that some people work well on the front lines, and their actions make it possible for others to do the important work they need to do in the background.”
“I do well in the background,” I said.
And she smiled and replied, “And I know you’re good at keeping things on schedule.”
As she walked away, I realized something about Shira. I’d thought that by making her a mechanic, I was making her unlike me. I’m not a hands-on hard-science building-things sort of person. I’d even been a bit nervous that someone might ask me something technical that I wouldn’t be able to answer.
But as Lenka had pointed out, as a mechanic, Shira was someone who had helped prepare the ship for this voyage. And as Captain Keevan had pointed out, Shira was someone who worked well in the background, supporting the people who were visible on the front lines.
In other words, Shira was the me I aspire to be, as a professional creative writer – not the person in the spotlight, but the person who makes it possible for other people to do well in the spotlight. The person who builds the world, who takes care of the details in the background, and who, if I’m doing my job right, goes unnoticed. You don’t notice a mechanic unless something breaks; when things go smoothly, you praise the captain. Similarly, you don’t notice a writer unless the dialogue is bad; when shows make you laugh and cry, you praise the actors and directors. That’s how it is. That’s the space I work well in and take pride in. Sure, I want people to know what I can do, and I want to get credit when I do a good job – so that I can continue to do this work that I love and make a living with it. I don’t dream about being a big flashy hero with crowds chanting my name. I want to be quietly essential.
I realized that Shira had an opportunity here – to learn to be that quiet, essential background player.
And as the show progressed, moments kept coming up that developed her story in that direction. When Lt. Croy ordered that a restraining bolt be put on beloved droid SK-620, Shira whispered to Sammie that he needed to go through it, despite the boos of the crowd, to keep the ship safe. The next day, Shira helped lure Lt. Croy and the stormtroopers downstairs to give Lenka and Saja Fen a chance to rescue SK. During the heist, Shira didn’t get one of the many “noisy distraction” jobs; instead, Raithe secretly passed Shira the gem, and she stood far away from the action, quietly keeping it safe while Captain Keevan ordered Raithe to turn out his pockets. Moment by moment, act by act, decision by decision, Shira was learning how much of an impact she could have on the galaxy from the background, even if – perhaps even because – most people didn’t know she was there doing the work that needed to be done.
Everything culminated in a scene that caught me off guard just as much in reality as in character. Shira wound up in the middle of the atrium, with a whole crowd of people’s eyes on her, telling Lt. Croy a series of objectively terrible lies.
It would be impossible for me to exaggerate how uncomfortable I am with improv. I’m fine with public speaking – I’m honestly pretty good at it – but I always prepare a lot in advance. If you’ve ever heard me say something cool, it’s because I spent at least ten minutes beforehand planning it out. I did not plan for this moment. And so, in that moment, even though I objectively knew that no real-world harm would come to me, my fear and Shira’s were one and the same. All I wanted to do was run away.
But I didn’t run away. I kept talking – babbling, really – because I had to keep Croy’s attention on me, so he wouldn’t turn around and see Raithe sneaking up to the mezzanine to steal the coaxium. Because that’s what Shira would have done, after everything she’d been through on that ship. She would play her part. She would make it possible for other people to do the more obviously important and visible job. And, as soon as the job was done and it was safe to do so, she would run away… straight towards Raithe, who promptly handed her the suitcase of coaxium. He knew he could trust her with it.
And me? I want to be trusted. I want to be someone that people can rely on. I may not literally want to be Shira Alderaani Khesed, but I want to have the kind of impact she had on the story unfolding around her, just by being me, hard at work in the background. Building worlds, preparing experiences, and keeping everyone around me on schedule. Relied on and appreciated by the people who matter most. Quietly essential to a life-changing experience, and given the chance to be so again, and again, and again. That’s the best version of me.
You wanna know the best part? Those two days I spent as Shira was not the only chance I had to be that best version of me. I now understand that the role that Shira played on the Halcyon was the role I played with Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. I see it now more clearly than ever before. We don’t often get the chance to see ourselves so clearly, and I am so grateful to this cast for helping me see. They gave me such a gift. They gave everyone who set foot on that ship the gift of getting to be – and to learn that we are – our best selves.
I know what I can do for others – for a creative team, for an audience, for the world. I want nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again.
Let’s do it again, together.
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marchtomydrums · 2 years
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Speak Up
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Olivia Benson x Reader
Rated M
Request: Could you do one with Olivia x Amanda or Olivia x reader? Where Liv is the teacher and the student came to her house for a "private" lesson or something.
By now you should be used to the damp panties and ache between your thighs. It has become quite common since the beginning of the semester. Yet here you are struggling to keep still in your seat. From the short brown hair that frames her face just perfectly to the black leather jacket that hugs her just right to the cocky attitude and everything in between causes a flood twice a week. Professor Benson was without a doubt the hottest professor on campus. You have never had so much trouble focusing on a subject before. In all honesty, you might even be failing this class. You weren't sure. However, the thought of having to retake this course has its appeal. “How can you focus on anything when she looks like this? God, I gotta stop she's probably straight.” you think to yourself. “I don't see a ring though...ugh...
Stop!!!!
Wow, that sounded loud in my head.”
“Y/N?” she calls to you gaining your attention. The whole class is looking at you. “Holy shit did I say that out loud.”
“Yes?” You asked timidly.
“Are you okay or can I finish the lecture?” she asked raising her eyebrows.
“Umm, yeah sure.” you stuttered. A blush spreads across your face as the class snickers.
For the next ten minutes, you’re quiet as can be. Praying for the clock to hurry up so you can sprint out the door. As soon as Professor Benson dismissed the class you shot up out of your seat. Halfway to the door, you hear her call your name. You stop in your tracks and brace yourself for the humiliation to come.
Walking to her desk you can feel your cheeks burning and your heart pounding. She waits until every soul is gone until it's just the two of you. She sits down in her seat and you feel as if she's staring into your soul.
“Tell me y/n. Do you find my class boring?” she asked.
“N...noo Professor Benson not at all” you stutter.
She smiles “ I noticed that you tend to zone out during my lectures. Which is why it's not hard to believe that your grades are slipping. Your papers are very interesting and captivating to read. However, your in work class and communication are lacking.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I would love for you to express these thoughts with your peers. That's the purpose of a lecture to listen but to also bounce ideas and thoughts off of each other. Do you think you're too good to speak to your peers?”
“No! I just don't like to talk in class. I'm ss..sorry I’ll try to speak more. “ you said trying to swallow your emotions.
She sighed as she watched you duck your head hiding your eyes from her.
“Y/n I don't mean to upset you I just want you to be well rounded and to take advantage of the environment you are in.”
“I understand.”
“You're a good student. I just want you to thrive and seek more.”
“I understand. I'll try harder.”
“I hope you understand that I truly mean no harm. I'd just hate to see you waste your potential. With that being said I believe this belongs to you.” she says handing over the paper. Your eyes scan the paper seeing the bright red A+ at the top.
“Like I said you're a good student. Your papers are by far my favorite to read.” She smiles.
You smiled looking at her.
“Thank you, Professor Benson. “
“No thanks needed you did all the hard work. However, If you wish to have a better mark you need to participate and work on your public speaking.”
“I understand.”
“Now I don’t normally do this but I’m willing to offer some extra credit. If you’re interested?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good. I’ll see you Thursday night. I have your number on file I send you the details.” She says with a smile.
“Thank you Professor Benson I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I’ll see you then.”
You smiled nodding your head as you gathered your things to leave.
“And y/n?” She calls out causing you to turn around.
“When it’s just the two of us you can call me Olivia.”
“Olivia?”
“Mhm hmm.”
“Okay. See you later Olivia.” You smiled walking out the door.
The next day you received a text message from Olivia. It was an address and she said to meet her at 7. As you replied “ Okay” as your stomach formed knots. You were extremely anxious about being alone with her. What if you said something stupid or acted like a fool. You'd never be able to live it down. You sighed as you prepared for bed slightly dreading but also excited about tomorrow night.
The next day went by rather quickly as you mentally prepared for your meeting with the professor. Walking to the address you take in your surroundings discovering that this must be her apartment. You gulped as you headed for the door. Taking deep breaths you tried to calm yourself on the elevator ride up to her door. Finding it pretty quickly you gently knocked waiting. A few minutes later the door opens reliving Olivia. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of her. Her short brown hair was messier than usual.
She wore a pair of tight dark blue jeans and an NYPD t-shirt and you were pretty sure she didn't have anything underneath it.
She smiles stepping aside for you to enter.
“Y/n, right on time. Come in.”
You smiled entering the apartment.
“Would you like something to drink? I have water? Tea? Wine?”
“Wait,” she says stopping in her tracks.
“How old are you again?”
“22.” you stuttered.
“Ah. So yes I have wine or a beer if you prefer that.”
You shake your head “Water is fine.”
She smiles “Okay. I'll be right back.”
You smiled as she walks into the kitchen. Taking a moment you gather yourself as you look around her apartment. It's simple, laid back. There are countless books, and files scattered across the coffee table. She was working before you showed up. Taking a seat on the couch you run your hands down your jeans as you tried to calm your nerves.
“Here you go,” she says offering you the glass of water.
“Thank you.”
She smiles taking a seat next to you.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes. No. Umm.Yes.” you stuttered blushing slightly.
“There's no reason to be nervous. As I said before you're a smart girl. I think you just need a little help finding your voice.” she says.
You nod. “Yes.”
Olivia smiles “You know I've found the best way to do so is to express what you want. Do you know what you want y/n?”
“Like in class?”
“Sure. Or in general.”
“Umm. I want to pass your course and I want to be a journalist.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. I love to write. To tell a story.”
“Well that much is obvious.” she chuckles. You looked up at her in confusion.
“I told you that your papers are my favorite to read.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot.”
“That's alright. Tell me why is it that you space out in my class hmm?”
“Well, I umm.”
“I've seen you on campus. You seem to be very aware of your surroundings. Which leads me to believe that there is a distraction for you in my class. Is there?”
“Is there what?”
“A distraction.”
“Well, I umm.”
“Speak up.”
“Yes,” you said breathlessly.
She nods “hmm I thought so. And what might that be?”
“I...umm..”
“Would it be me?” she asked with a grin.
Your cheeks flushed and covered with a bright pink tint. The older woman chuckled.
“I thought so. And why might that be y/n?”
You shake your head not knowing how to respond. Olivia smiles grabbing your hands. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asked.
You looked up at her nodding your head.
“I find myself distracted by you as well.”
“You do?”
“Mhmm. Can you tell me why?”
“Why what?”
“Why I'm such a distraction for you.” she smiles.
“Umm. Well. I..”
“Are you thinking about me?” she asked gently running her fingertips up and down your thigh.
“Yes,” you whispered.
“Mmm. Sexual things?” she husked.
“Yes,” you answered slightly shocked by your confession.
She chuckles “I see. And what is it that you want dear?”
You looked up at her with wide eyes and your mouth slightly open not knowing what to say. She leans in just inches away from your lips. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
She grins slowly moving her lips closer to yours until they're barely touching.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she asked.
Your eyes closed as you breathed in her scent. “Yes.”
She hums “Do you want to fuck me?”
“Yes,” you whispered moaning as her mouth attaches to yours.
Olivia circles her arms around your waist pulling you to sit in her lap. Her mouth never leaving yours. You moaned at the taste of her tongue exploring your mouth. She hums pulling you closer as you begin to grind on her. Pulling back she looks up at you with lust in her eyes. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asked. You nod your head. She smiles shaking hers “Tell me.”
“Yes. I want you to fuck me,” you whispered. She grins lifting you off her lap to stand in front of her. Carefully unbuttoning your jeans she slowly slides them down your legs throwing them to the side once you stepped out. She wastes no time freeing you from your panties as well. Looking up at you with a smile she asked “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
“Where?” she asked.
You breathed deeply trying to control your heavy pants. She smiles lifting your shirt exposing your stomach placing a gentle kiss. “Here?”
“No.”
She grins dragging her tongue down your stomach as she reaches your hip bone kissing it gently. “Here?”
“Lower.” you moaned. She smiles as he drags her tongue lower her eyes never leaving yours. Kissing the top of your cunt she whispered “Here?”
“Lower.” you moaned.
Her tongue slides lower until she dips it in between your folds causing your head to sway back. “Here,” she asked kissing your clit gently. “Yes.” you moaned loudly.
She grins using her fingertips to expose your now throbbing bud. Taking a long lick across it causing you to Shutter. Her lips hover around it before she sucks it into her mouth. You moaned deeply as your fingers tangled in her hair. She hums and moans against you causing vibrations that are sending you into a pleasurable bliss.
“Olivia.” you sighed holding on to her short brown locks as she sucks.
Wrapping her arms around your waist she pulls you into her face as she feasts on you. You moaned and sighed holding on tight as she brings you closer and closer. Your legs wobble and shake causing you to stumble slightly. Olivia pulls back looking up at you as she sits back against the couch tugging you to straddle her lap.
Once you were settled she hooks her hand behind your head pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Pulling back slightly she whispered, “What do you want?”
You whined looking up at her.
“Speak up! Tell me, love.”
“I want you,” you whispered.
“How?”
You grind your hips against her legs “Inside of me.”
She smiles entering you with two long fingers. “Ahh.” you moaned dropping your head against hers.
“Take what you want. Tell me how you want it,” she orders.
You rolled your hips meeting her pace breathing deeply against her mouth.
“Faster,” you whispered.
Olivia picks up the pace “Like that?”
“Yes! Yes. Just like that.” you chant rolling your hips vigorously. She grins watching you ride her fingers.
Once you got lost in the pleasure it was easier for you to say what you wanted.
“More.”
“More?” she asked adding another finger.
“Yes! God yes!”
“Do you like that?”
“Yes! Yes! Liv.”
She smiles keeping her pace as she watches you slowly make your way towards the edge. “Close,” you whispered.
“Your close?”
“Yes.”
“What do you need baby?”
“Ah.Mhmm. I..umm. God. Olivia.” you stuttered getting lost in the pleasure.
“Tell me!” she growls.
“Thumb. My clit.” you moaned as her thumb circled the bud.
“Like that?”
“Yes! Yes! Ah. God.”
Olivia chuckles leaning to give you a sloppy kiss. You moaned wrapping your arms around her neck.
“I'm coming,” you whispered.
Brown eyes locked onto yours as she twisted her fingers deep inside of you.
“Then come for me, baby,” she growled.
That was all it took as your body arched into hers. Fire spread across your limbs as you screamed her name. She quickly covers your mouth with hers swallowing your screams.
Your body goes limp against hers as your hips slowly come to a halt. Her fingers gently thrust in and out of you as you drip down her hand. Your body was on overdrive as your head slumped against her neck. Gently reaching down you grab her wrist halting her thrust.
“Enough,” you whispered.
She hums kissing the side of your head before gently pulling out. The sound of her licking her fingers draws your attention to her. Looking up at her she smiles as she licks every last drop off her fingers.
Sitting up in her lap you smiled at her shyly. She chuckled “You're a piece of work. There’s no way you can come like that and still be shy.”
You smiled shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe I still need a few lessons.”
“Is that so?”
You leaned in kissing her “Yes.”
“Well maybe we can work something out,” she whispers.
“Next Thursday?” you asked innocently.
She chuckled “Of course. Anything for my favorite student.”
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wishtale-blogs · 9 months
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So, at camp which is where I was the week I was gone, I don’t remember if I mentioned where I was going or not so that’s where I was. It was alright but OH MY some things happened.
Which a lot of the things happened on Thursday. Everything until that point had been fine besides rain but we already knew it was gonna be a rainy week so I wasn’t shocked. Then Thursday came and the people running the camp decided to put water games and a hike directly after lunch.
Water games weren’t that bad. You only played 2 games per cabin which kinda sucked because there were I think 8 games in total but at least they weren’t wearing us out before the hike we were going on directly after.
But that was the issue. The hike was immediately after. There was no time to change out of the wet clothes we were in and couldn’t pack an extra pair in your travel bag that you would carry around because it wouldn’t fit and even if I did, there wouldn’t be a place to change until after the hike. So, as you can imagine, all the girls (whoops, I forgot to mention that the hike was only for the girls because the boys had done the hike yesterday) were walking to the start of the hike which was all the way across the campground. But once we are there, we could choose which waterfall we wanted to go to, there was 1st, 2nd, and 4th falls. (3rd falls had been closed off for as long as I can remember lol)
I decided to do 2nd falls because I didn’t want to do 4th falls with my friend that I was buddies with because it was an extremely difficult hike back. The only one in my cabin that went to 2nd falls was me and my counselor which was kinda awkward because I thought someone else in my cabin was going with me but I was wrong. It was fine on the way there tho. There were a lot more stairs than I remembered but it was alright, UNTIL we came back from the falls. The stairs were a LOT worse than I thought they would be. To make things even worse it was starting to rain, but it didn’t really bother me because the clothes I had on were still wet from before. Then it started pouring and thundering. It was extremely loud thunder to and sirens (that sounded when lightning was detected) started and as you can imagine, chaos started. Kids were screaming and crying and we were all rushing to get to the zip line equipment building because it was the closest building we could get to from where we were at.
Being in the building sucked. There was some room as the building had an area to get the gear you needed for the zip line on but we were trying to fit at least 100 people in it. So I’m standing with tons of kids some of them crying and being comforted but I was too busy being grateful that I had even made it up because I really thought I was gonna either faint or fall over because of how dizzy I was. But I was fine and once it was over, probably like 15 minutes or so later, we headed back to the cabins to get into clean clothes.
Which I had it pretty good because the people at 4th falls had just gotten to the falls and were getting in when the rain started. Thunder and lightning were very quick to start and while no one was electrocuted to my knowledge, my buddy felt it in the water and got out as quickly as possible and ran back to the cabins.
Unfortunately the day was far from over and after the counselor and I got back we got changed and went to dinner which was outside… because it was tournament night, where there was a form given out to every cabin to sign up with a group of with 5 or 6 to be a either basketball, soccer, or volleyball team and the team would all sign up and had to have the form signed and turned in that morning. But my buddy was on it so she rushed to get ready and somehow managed to get there in time and participate with her group in the volleyball tournament. They lost first round but it was probably for the better lol. I didn’t eat even though I was hungry because I didn’t like the food. But I found my sponsors (basically parents can pay to be at camp with their kid/group of kids) and my mom was a sponsor along with one of my group’s mom so I was happy to see my mom even though I was miserable and tired. My buddy came with me since she was part of the group I had come with but she kinda just talked to the other sponsor while I laid on my mom mumbling to her.
A while pasted and we had to head back to the cabin to change again for service and we did that. The only important thing that happened was I found out one of the kids in my cabin was sick so that was fun. Then we had to go change AGAIN because we had one last game before bed…
I really didn’t want to participate and the girl that was sick was for some reason not in the nurse’s office so I tried to just hang out with her but, of course, they wouldn’t let me sit out with her. So I participated and it was awful. I got body slammed by this really big girl (who was an adult) multiple times and I about cried, but I got through it and on the way back to the cabin the sick girl said that I would be a good mom which made me feel a little bit happy and even laugh a little bit. (Not at her of course, just at the idea of being a parent of my own.)
But then finally I could change one last time into pajamas and go to bed!!! I was so happy I could sleep!!
I’m so sorry for how many mistakes are probably in this but yeah. That was a day of camp. I probably forgot a lot of details and stuff but I think this is long enough lol.
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thegodthief · 2 years
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Old Lammas 2022: Keri Has A Jar
Having seen all of y'all Old Lammas 2022 posts, I feel like Netherworld Post's teeny bat holding up a tiny skull in offering to the grand and enormous moon. "I hope this is enough. I hope I am enough."
So the call went out and the theme was honey, local preferred. How serendipitous then, than I received an offer for quality honey drawn from bee colonies local to my state and even some from my area! A bit pricey, but the company has proven their quality time and time again, and hey, it's for something special, so why not?
I figured I was going to be in for a ride when the honey shipped with a target date of 10 business days for arrival but it arrived on Day 3.
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Yay! I have honey! Now what?
Hmm. No. Really. Now what? This is a Christian holiday after all, and I'm still working through some baggage from my experiences. Is this even a holiday I can jump into?
It's no secret that I've been siting with Christian elements again. Heh, that's a polite way to say I've been pushing my luck with certain folks from the Christian pantheon. (I'mma blame Saint Cyprian cuz he's smug af about it.) But I always worry about taking things too far.
(The fact that I exist is a step too far, but this is not the venue for that villain origin story monologue.)
So I did as some Christians are wont to do, and laid it at the feet of the Virgin Mary [VM]. I know how easy it is for me to get caught up in having the Perfect™ preparations which means having the Perfect™ material which means doing everything Perfectly Right And Good™ which we all know is impossible is this universe if not all possible others.
It was VM's prodding that made me pay attention to graveyarddirt's Lammas posts in the first place. And VM's (warm and generous) approval of the honey as acceptable even though it was purchased and jacque shitte was gathered by me. And VM's (soft and merciful) patience pointing out that there was a seat at that metaphorical table for abused and feral creatures like me. So... okay.
I have honey.
That honey was not cheap.
I am not spending another dime on this, [Mother]. If this is so important that I am compelled to participate one way or another, then reveal to me how I'm supposed to join in without wrecking my budget yet again.
That was Monday prior to Old Lammas weekend.
Tuesday, a coworker showed me flyers from a local craft fair with wheat woven corn dollies. "Isn't this neat! They're having a workshop where you can make your own! I'm sure you could do better like the over achiever you are!" I declined.
Wednesday, the restaurant near where I work ran out of honey for a special later in the week and lamented that there wasn't any at hand good enough to use. "All I need is just one cup of good artisan honey! I can stretch that flavor across the entire batch but there's nothing in the stores here and I can't justify the cost of shipping! Hey, you're good at finding last second things! You wouldn't happen to have some artisan honey at home that I can buy off you, would you?" Sorry, no, everything I have is spoken for, but have you considered a run to [specific store 60 min drive away] that I know stocks artisan varieties in pint bottles? (They immediately went out to that store and came back with a dozen bottles for less than the cost of two plus shipping.)
Thursday, I started to despair. I needed to have something ready by Friday evening, and all I have is a pint of precious honey. For whatever reason that still escapes me, I felt that I needed three things for Old Lammas weekend. Honey, plus two others. I had a pint mason jar in my cabinet already clean and set aside. But I had no idea what to do next. I made peace with the idea that I was chasing someone else's ideals again and declared that if Old Lammas arrived with nothing for me to do for it, that I would sell off the honey and never bother with the Virgin Mary again.
Thursday night, I couldn't sleep. I went to the kitchen and took stock of everything in the cabinets. By this time, I had seen so many Old Lammas preparation posts and I was very disheartened to see so many pretty tables and clothes and arrangements and I know better than to compare myself with them, but... fuck.
I am an insignificant bat in the middle of a shadow-smothered night. A scarred mongrel at the back gate. There is nothing here of worth to see, or to show.
Eventually, I did fall asleep. And because I was so exhausted, I dreamt of sleeping deeper still! I remember I was lying on an old cloak that had been softened by time and wear. It was comfortable to rest against. No bedding of thousand-thread cotton sheets would ever be as comfortable as this old cloth that smelled of soothing comfort. The scent even had a color to it: Blue.
Wait.
I opened my eyes and looked at the cloth I was lying on. Marian Blue.
Behind me, half covered by the cloth I was lying on, was a thick shrub in full bloom. Now that I was "awake", I realized the exposed flowers were covered by bees going to and fro. Half of the shade on me was from the shrub and half was from the cloud of bees busy at work. Their hum reminded me of the absent-minded humming of a mother rocking her child.
The wind shifted and instead of blowing away my discomfort, it now drew the scent of the shrub over me. Rosemary. I was snuggled up against a hedge of rosemary.
There was no one to be seen. Blowing dust raced around the sheltering hedge obscuring any sight of what lay beyond. But here, in this pocket of calm, I was safe under the rosemary and the bees. I resolved to untangle the symbolism when I fully woke up, and placed myself in the care of the old cloak, falling into a deeper sleep.
Friday morning, Old Lammas Eve, I'm driving to work and pondering the symbolism that I had literally slept through. That the bees were a reference to honey was blatant. The cloak was her cloak, but why was it snuggled under a hedge of rosemary? Oh, duh, what is it called again? The Rose of Mary! That's her herb! And I do have dried rosemary in the kitchen... but what else? I need three things and I only have two.
"Medicine."
I heard the word between my ears but no voice spoke it. I demanded an explanation but none was given. I continued the commute to work in silence, pondering what the hell could be in my pantry that could fit the category of medicine?
Honey is a carrier and a preservative (of sorts, don't sic any agencies on me, this is not medical advice you pedantic nerds) while rosemary is a blessing and a curative. My stock of individual spices is as thin as the time I have available for cooking.
At work, just as the despair begins to set in again, a conversation with a foodie coworker turns to flavoring honey jars. I express my concern about "an experimental jar" using dried herbs steeped in honey and how to balance flavors in it.
"Oh! Are you making a Medicine Jar?" I could hear the capitals as they asked. "My grandma made one every summer so it would be ready in the winter for flu season! She would take raw honey, and put dried ginger and rosemary and mint in it to steep for months! And come winter, all the dried stuff would be soft enough to chew on if you had to, though the honey would have all the flavor, and she would put a spoon of honey in a cup of hot water or tea. And let me tell you, that ginger taste! If the taste alone didn't cure you then the honey would at least make your throat feel better! She didn't always have dried mint, but she always had ginger one way or the other."
Ginger.
I have that.
I have a BIG bag of dried ginger. Probably a lifetime supply as potent as those pieces are.
The rest of the work day came and went as I considered how I use ginger already. I have a big bag of candied ginger that I use for general upset stomach and to chew on because it's yummy. I snap off pieces of dried ginger to put in my tea in the winter as a general cold medicine and because I like the taste of it. It's something that has been in plain sight all this time and was overlooked because of how common it is to me.
Okay. I have three things to put into the jar: Honey, rosemary, and ginger.
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Don't ask me why I waited for sunset before beginning the actual work of putting everything together. It just felt right to wait for darkness to catch up outside. That's what happens when you're so used to being alone, I suppose. But wait I did.
Nothing fancy about what happened next, to be honest. I took pictures each step of the way, but now that I'm sitting here (two weeks later) and looking over them choosing what to post and what to leave out, I don't have anything to show off.
But, here, have some progress pics anyway. Such as this one of a pint mason jar with a whole bunch of shredded (as best as one can shred dried ginger anyway) dried ginger pieces inside and one piece that I was compelled to set aside and not break up.
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I didn't measure shitte. It was all a matter of feelings, fears, compulsions, and restraints. I tore apart dried ginger for the jar until it felt right to stop.
And then I started shaking out the dried rosemary on top of that.
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Again, I didn't measure anything. I just kept going until it felt right to stop.
And then, the honey. Twelve ounces of it, to answer a question that no one asked.
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Throughout all of this, I was praying. I had started the endeavor with Pater Noster, Ave Maria, and Gloria Patri after assembling the containers but before opening any jars for actual use. From then to this point, it was a continual muttering stream of appeals to the Virgin Mary that I was actually doing something useful and not just religious theater. That this Medicinal Jar would be a salve not only to my throat later in the year, but to my spirit that was feeling everything except spiritual.
Feeling inadequate is a bitch, ya know, and seeing so many people having their shit put together enough that they didn't have to wait to receive their blessing chapped my ass. It seems I'm always playing catch-up, I'm always last to know and last to do. I'm always one foot at the back gate, ready to run away before I'm thrown out.
And all these feelings came out in assembling this jar. But with it, came a soothing solace. That some wounds take time to heal, and some medicines take time to create, and while that I don't have a house or a nación or a community to belong to, I am still Myself foremost and always.
And I am loved.
Even when I don't understand it.
Especially when I don't understand it.
It look longer to get the pictures together than it did to assemble everything. The only thing left to do that Friday night, was to offer a prayer from José Leitão's translation of the Precious Apothecary. Specifically, the blessing of new fruit (pg 311) because of the honey and how it was collected.
And so I did.
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The jar immediately went to sit at a certain spot where it was prayed over and tumbled each night until Sunday. That Sunday, it was opened and stirred while praying the Rosary. The rosemary had already softened but the ginger was being very resistant to any change. The honey had hints of rosemary and ginger in the taste, but it was clear to me that this jar had a long way to go before being ready for anything other than show.
I suppose there is a life lesson there, but I'll be damned if I see it. (Pun possibly intended.)
There will be no new pictures of the jar. Once the jar was seated in its spot, it became Precious™.
I have the feeling that while I may open the jar to give it a good stirring from time to time, it is not ready as Medicine™ until some point in December. As I know almost nothing of Catholic Holidays and/or Liturgy (I'm one of those depraved magicians, remember), I'm just going to have to keep an eye on the calendars of others and note which ones ring a bell for me.
I apologize that for all my words that I have so little to show. I know some that would say that the fact that I showed up is important in itself, and on the one hand, I would agree with them. But on the other hand, the night is so large and dark and I am so small and pitiful.
I hope it is enough.
I hope I am enough.
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xsage-writingx · 2 years
Text
Breaking the Rules Chapter 6
Author’s Note: Chapter 6 is finally up! I'm so sorry. Life has been a little wild and I wasn't able to write as much as I wanted to. I know I say this on all of my posts but people don't seem to listen and I've ended up blocking people already. So, I guess I'll say it again, I will am checking bio's, for everyone's safety. If I don't see anything that is noting that you are over 18 years old, I will have to block you. I know some chapters are tame but just to be safe I need to do this.
Once again, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Warnings: Fantasy DnD character death, DnD violence , Adult Language (if I missed anything, please let me know)
Masterlist
** I do not condone the copying and reposting of my work. If I find that it is being done I will delete everything and cease writing.**
Also: Here are the DnD characters connected to their in story character. Beck - Gwendriel (High Elf-Druid), Dustin - Donaar (Dragonborn-Paladin), Mike - Paelias (Half Elf-Paladin), Lucas - Oskar (Dwarf-Barbarian), Jeff - Anton (Turami Man-Fighter), Gareth - Amnon (Tiefling-Rogue), Matty - Urhur (Mulan Man-Barbarian).
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The days ticked by uneventfully. The days turned from golden early September days to the crisp late September that whispered of October crunchy leaves. Eddie helped me build my D&D character. I chose to be a Light-Elf Druid, named Gwendriel. Eddie helped as much as he could; maybe even too much, as he was the one creating the campaigns. I wasn’t complaining. Eddie even went with me to purchase my dice set and a little velvet bag to carry them in. We had all agreed that I would participate in my first campaign that coming Friday, September 27th.
Thursday came and went and the entire day of Friday seemed to drag. I couldn’t focus in any of my classes. Even lunch didn’t help to ease my tension. By ninth period I was a wreck. My leg bounced under the table and on more than one occasion, Eddie had to reach over and place a hand on my knee to remind me to relax.
At the sound of the bell, I jumped from my seat and began collecting my things to leave. From beside me Eddie said, “What has gotten you all jumpy?”
I sighed and turned fully to him; my copy of The Great Gatsby hugged to my chest. “I’m just nervous for tonight. I don’t want to fuck up and make a fool of myself.” Eddie chuckled and we made our way towards the door. “You laughed, but what if you’re describing the scene and you say, ‘There is a clearing, in the middle of the clearing there is a circle of mushroom. In certain angles of the sun there seems to be a shimmer in the air.’ And what if I think it’s a good shimmer and I go into the fairy circle and it’s not a good thing and I die?”
Eddie threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t even think I’m that clever. That would be a dick move, because I would know you would fall for it.”
I groaned and threw my head back. Eddie threw his arm around my shoulders and guided me through the hall. “I’m going to die in my first campaign,” I groaned.
There was an hour and a half between the end of the school day and when we would all meet back in the drama room. As my house was closest to the school, Eddie and I decided that we would hang out there. As soon as we got there, Eddie meandered down to my room and I grabbed the snacks from the fridge that I had prepared the night before.
With my hands occupied with the tray, I pushed open the door with my hip and found Eddie lounging across my bed. His black jeans and dark curls were so at odds with the otherwise light room. I set the tray of snacks on the top of my dresser and went over to the bed. Eddie watched me with heavy eyes.
Without a word, I crawled onto the mattress beside him. One arm wrapped around his torso and my head rested on his shoulder. His heart pounded in my ear as he slowly adjusted his one arm under me to wrap around my back and the other to play with my fingers. I looked up to find that he was already looking down at me.
My stomach flipped. His dark eyes held me captive and pulled me in like the tide. I felt myself get lost in him. I had leaned up and was moving toward him slowly. His hand that was playing with my fingers ran up my arm and rested on the side of my neck. My eyes fluttered closed and I hummed at the warm touch.
Slowly, gently, he pulled me to him and touched my lips to his. It was slow and tender. I leaned my body into him and ghosted my fingertips up his side, only to rest my hand over the center of his chest. Below my palm his heartbeat thumped strong and hard.
Eddie’s one hand remained at my back, he kept me pressed to him, as though any room between us would have felt like an ocean. His other hand moved from my neck to cup my cheek.
Eventually, we pulled away and rested our foreheads together. He looked between my eyes and stroked my hair away from my face. I could have stayed like that forever. Lost in his dark eyes, the smell of mint and tobacco cradled my senses, and his constant touch. “A penny for your thoughts,” he asked in a whisper.
“Just thinking about you.” I twirled one of his curls, at the base of his head, around my finger. “Never in my life have I gotten so close to someone in such a short time.” My eyes moved from his to travel across his brow bone, down his nose, his cheeks, down his jaw line, then to his mouth. “You just came in and broke down all my walls, all my rules. I was planning on having a quiet senior year.” When I looked back into his eyes there was a buzzing anxiety. I smiled softly and began tracing his features with the tip of a finger. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to thank who-ever is up there enough for giving me you, and ruining all my plans.”
I stopped my tracing when my finger returned to under his eyes. He took my fingers in his hand and then proceeded to kiss each fingertip. “You realize you’re stuck with me now, right,” he said in a gravely tone.
“What,” I asked breathlessly.
“You showed me human affection. Now, you’re stuck with me.” He wrapped both arms around me, caged in against his chest. He hummed as my body pressed to his. “Yeah, you’re never getting rid of me. You just fit so perfectly!”
I laughed and squirmed to look up into his face. “Eddie Munson, you are absolutely impossible.”
He grinned down to me, “Impossibly what? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly charming? Impossibly irresistible?” With each option he provided he tickled my sides more and more until I was squirming out of his hold and fell to the ground.
I popped my head back up over the mattress and said, “No, just impossible to deal with.”
His mouth popped open and I mockingly copied him. “Oh,” he said as a smirk took over, “she wants to act like a little brat.” He was scrambling up on the mattress. I squealed and ran from my room. I could hear Eddie behind me. “You can run, princess,” he taunted as he gained on me.
I barely made it into the living room when his arms wrapped around my waist and picked me up into the air. With hot breath against my ear, he whispered, “Gotcha.” He still held me in the air against his chest as he groaned and said, “You got lucky,” he buried his nose in my hair, “We have to get going, which means, I can’t punish you for that stunt you pulled back there.”
My stomach tightened and I held down the whimper that threatened to escape. I should have left it there, but some kind of emboldened confidence surged through me and I said, “That’s too bad.”
Eddie’s arms tightened around my waist. What in the world possessed me to say that, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Maybe I wanted to see what he was capable of. Maybe I wanted to see if he was just all bark and no bite. “Tease,” he groaned into my neck and put me back on the ground. I turned to face him and Eddie said, “Come on, let’s get going before we miss your first Hellfire night.”
I nodded and went to walk past him to go down to the door. As I passed, a sharp smack landed on my butt. I froze with a gasp. A fire exploded in my core. My hands began to open and close and a coil tightened in my stomach. I slowly turned to Eddie to see him smirking down to me. The way he looked through the fringes of his bangs, his eyes blown dark, and the way he held his hands in front of him, made me tighten my legs together.
“Everything alright, princess,” he taunted.
I couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, words wouldn’t come out, only some leud noise. Instead, I gulped and nodded my head. I turned back around and made my way to the door.
By 4:30pm the entire group was gathered around the map that Eddie had created. He sat up on his throne and I sat to his right. He had already taken up the persona of Dungeon Master, he looked at each of us over his steepled fingers, his eyes pausing on me and racked over my form.
 “Welcome members. Just to remind everyone let us recap where the company ended last week. Our heroes are resting in a small inn of a town that has been terrorized by foul beasts. They believe that they are nearing their target, the vicious Vecna and his hoard.” He waved his hands toward the little players that are huddled together in the far corner of the board.
My eyes looked at the little black chess piece that stood just out of their circle. “Someone sat in the dark corner of the pub. Something in their minds begged them to approach the figure, but they were tired and needed to rest.” Eddie sat back in his throne and opened the floor for us to engage. “How do you proceed?”
Gwendriel sits in the far corner of the pub and watches the band of warriors take up the bar. Each eating their fill to prepare for the journey ahead. Their heads turn, in turns, to glance at her and whisper things amongst themselves. The night ticks by, the members leaving to retire for the evening.
It isn’t until the Half-Elf Paladin vacates the bar that Gwendriel stands and follows him to the stables of the inn. It is a quiet night, just a soft pitter-patter of rain on the roofs and dirt road. The Half-Elf pauses before a grey horse, petting the muzzle.
Gwendriel takes up a space down the stalls and begins to pet her own gelding. His velvety nose nuzzling her palm.
“They can truly teach you humility, can’t they,” the male says, he never looks over to her but something connects between the two. “I grew up with my human kin. When Vecna destroyed my village, I swore that I would ensure that no other child felt the way I did.”
“Vecna has affected so many lives. 50 years is a blink of an eye for an elf, and yet in that time Vecna and his shadow have spread across the land like a disease. My people only had one name for death before him. Now, we have many,” Gwendriel says, then turns to her half-kin.
“Why did you follow me?” The Paladin walks over to her. He shifts just barely on his feet; his human heritage unable to keep as still as Gwendriel stands.
“Please let me help you,” she says, “The balance of nature is at a tipping point and your company needs all the help it can get.” She bows her head just slightly, the action alone a massive showing of respect between high elf and half-elf.
The Paladin sucks in a breath as he sees a glimpse of her features in the candle light. He tilts his head lower and places a hand over his heart in pure respect. “It would be our honor.” He lifts his gaze back to Gwendriel and says, “We leave at first light. I will introduce you to the company then. What is your name?”
“Gwendriel.”
“Paelias, at your service.”
“The night passes and our heroes take their rest,” Eddie narrated and I grinned over to Mike. “The sky turns red just before sunrise and our company takes note of the bleeding sky. Is this an omen in their favor, or not, they did not know. They all dressed and gathered their weapons, then met under the ominous sky - .”
“And who is this,” a human fighter calls as Paelias and Gwendriel stand before the prepared horses.
“This is Gwendriel, Anton,” Paelias introduces and the other members fall together before the half-elf and high elf.
Gwendriel removes the hood of her cloak, her features seem to glow in the breaking dawn. “I am Gwendriel. I have offered my blade and skills for your endeavors.”
The Barbarian dwarf scoffs and says, “And what skills are those? Dazzling Vecna to death?”
Gwendriel slowly stalks to the group and lifts the sleeve of her left arm to show her forearm. The males and men before her gaze at the skin. Intricate webbing of scars twist around the skin and in the center of her wrist shows a snow-white scar in the sigil of a Druid. All mouths hang open as Gwendriel covers her arm again. “Allow me to worry about my skills.”
“The group introduces themselves and mounts their horses.” Eddie looked over to me with a grin then continued. The quest moved quickly once we got to the ruins where Vecna was located. We moved through the hoard, until we all prepared to make the final stand.
“The ground shakes beneath the battle rams and the dark forces clash their blades against their shields. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!” Eddie beat out the rhythm against the table, causing all our figurines to tremble. “They chant out before our heroes, Hail Vecna! Hail Vecna!”
The company stands before the hoard. Their breaths raged and gore coated their weapons. Paelias raises his sword toward the waiting army. “By my oath, we will end this! Who will follow me into battle?”
The company breaks out into a roar of support. Each warrior raised their weapon with Paelias. Donaar’s flaming dragonborn blade, Oskar’s dwarvish battle axe, Anton’s shotel-curved sword, Amnon’s rogue dual swords, Urhur’s barbarian battle hammer, and Gwendriel’s elvish long saber all meet above their heads.
They turn towards the dark army and cry out. The dark forces surge like a rising tide, but our company is the stone. Strong and proud, they could not break.
Weapons clash and enemy after enemy fell before their weapons. The enemy is relinquishing the line. That is until a battle arrow shot through the air. Gwendriel watches it arch through the air and with a sickening thunk it hits its mark.
We were all standing around the table as we looked between the surrounded figures on the table and Eddie. “The air hangs still as the battle arrow brings Urhur to his knees. The battle hammer falls from his unfeeling hands.”
Matt yells and flopped into his seat.
Eddie flicked the figure down. I stared with wide eyes and my throat closed as our first player fell. “The army around the company has fallen and all that remains is Vecna.”
The company surged towards Vecna. The wild Barbarians and Fighters paying no heed as they try and fail to bring down the Maimed Lord. But Vecna did not falter and did not cease, it wasn’t until Paelias, Gwendriel, and Donaar stood alone before his dark shadow, that Vecna spoke.
“You have fought bravely,” dark shadows seem to seep from his tattered cloak. He looks between the remaining members and coos, “I feel the pain you have suffered. Let me take it and let me free you.”
He turns to Gwendriel, red eyes glow under the dark sky. He holds out his left hand, “I see your secrets, Gwendriel, child of light. It must burden you so.”
Gwendriel’s chest clenches as the breath is drawn from her lungs. Child of light, how did he know? There is a wild yell Donaar bursts forward and cuts clean through Vecna’s outstretched arm. Vecna’s arm falls to the ground and the hold on Gwendriel breaks.
The three warriors fight until Donaar falls and Gwendriel holds a fading Paelias in her arms. “Please, end this, Gwendriel,” Paelias pleads. “Do this for my people. As my kin, please finish what I cannot.”
“In Gwendriel’s arms Paelias parishes…” Eddie slowly leaned over the table, took the little figure of Paelias and placed him on his back. I looked over the stats that I had accumulated in this campaign and what Eddie and I worked towards in the weeks leading up to this.
Gwendriel looks up to Vecna with tears running down her face. “You poor dear. Come with me, and I will give you the peace you so desperately wish for.” He walks on feather-light steps, as though he glides with the mist.
Grief rips from Gwendriel’s throat as she slices her blade up. Vecna blocks the blow and the blade skates across the stones. Gwendriel is thrown back and Vecna comes to hover over her weak form.
His decrepit right hand takes hold of her throat and her body becomes paralyzed under his magic. She tries to find the light within her. Tries to find the will to break the paralysis. Something sparks within her and her arm reaches towards Paelias’ fallen body.
“I would have given you power. I would have let you live, she-elf.” Gwendriel sobs at Vecna’s words. Her arm stretches as far as she can get it, the tips of her fingers curling around a hilt of a dagger. “I suppose it is only fitting that you fall along with your friends.”
With a flash of light, the hold on Gwendriel is momentarily broken and swinging her arm up she slices across Vecna’s left eye.
“Vecna bellows as he clutches where his left eye should be,” Eddie narrated and loomed over the table from his throne.
Everyone had gathered around me as I shook the die in my hand. This would be my final move. I released the die and it twirled on the tabletop. The room hung still.
Gwendriel drills into her magic. Pulling, pulling until there is nothing left. With a final cry a wave of light bursts from her and slams into Vecna.
The die read 18.
Eddie leapt onto the table and yelled, “And when the light faded, Gwendriel on her knees, all that could be seen is a smoking form of Vecna. A form that did not move and did not get up.”
The group around me began to scream and hug me from all angles. They bounced around and cheered. I looked to Eddie and met his warm and dazzling gaze. Eddie stood from his place and came over to join us. I turned to him and squealed, “I did it!” I threw my arms around his neck and buried my face in his neck.
He spun me around and laughed. “I knew you would be amazing.” He pulled away from me just enough to look into my eyes. Then he cupped the side of my face with one hand and pulled me in for a kiss.
Behind us there was a chorus of groans. We pulled away and looked to the group. I laughed as I rested my head on Eddie’s chest as all the boys started to yell about no PDA in Hellfire. Eddie gave them all the middle finger as he turned back to me and tried to kiss me again.
**Thank you so much for reading!**
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muji-boy · 2 years
Text
a day in eating disorder inpatient treatment
tw food mention, ed recovery, hospital
my original plan for the summer semester was to take a course, leaving me with only one more semester of my degree. however, that plan had to be put on hold because i chose to further my recovery from my eating disorder and participate in the symptom interruption phase of inpatient treatment. while shorter than the full program, i still participated in all of the groups and meal supports for three weeks. i thought i would write a blog about a typical day in treatment in case anyone was curious, and to break down the stigma surrounding eating disorder treatment. note, i do mention what i would typically have for meals and snacks which is a totally personal thing! everyone is different. i was there only on weight maintenance, so my experience is much different than somebody on a weight restoration plan. please don’t continue if that is something that would trigger you.
my typical day started with being woken up to get weighed at around 7 am. then it was back to bed until 8 when bloodwork would wake me up a second time. after they finished i would get up, make my bed, and get dressed for the day. most people wore sweat pants and slippers but i tried to keep myself in a routine and would wear comfortable jeans and sneakers, the same as i would outside. my room, which just happened to be the biggest out of them all, was a private room with a bed, night table, desk, chair, bathroom, and sink. on my wall there were two posters, non negotiable rules and a dbt skills poster. i also had a whiteboard where i wrote an inspirational quote. i stuck pictures that meant a lot to me on the wall over my bed with sticky tack. i’d brush my teeth and by then the nurse would come in with my morning medication. then it was off to the group room to wait for breakfast. the group room consisted of a table with chairs and three couches we could sit or lie down on and watch tv or just hang out. at around 8:30 a staff member would come collect us from the group room and we’d make the long walk of shame down the hallway to the kitchen. breakfast would be laid out, ready for you. my best friend made the placemats during a previous admission we had together. they all have an inspiring quote on them.
for me, breakfast often consisted of coffee that tasted like bog water, scrambled eggs, a muffin with butter, plain oatmeal with brown sugar, and a banana. the room had a google home mini so we’d listen to music while we ate. we got 30 minutes to finish everything in front of us, 100% completion was a non negotiable rule. after we finished we went around the room sharing our check out of how the meal went, one thing we liked about the meal, and what our plans were afterwards. then we would be escorted back to the group room for our first group of the day. i’m going based on thursday, which means we had family relations first. we would talk about our relationship with family and friends and how the eating disorder influenced them. it was really cathartic, although it was common to be uncomfortable when the social worker asked for your participation.
after group we would go back to our rooms and wait for the doctor. she would sometimes pop in and go over your bloodwork with you and see if you needed anything. then the nurse would come in and let you know it’s time to lie down for vitals. you laid there for five minutes. some people would look at their phone during this time and play wordle, but i always stared and the ceiling and did square breathing. it felt like a good time for mindfulness. the nurse came in with the blood pressure machine and took it lying, then standing after two minutes. she also took my temperature and asked me some questions about mood and bowel movements. that’s one thing i don’t miss.
next we had morning snack at 10:30. we would reconvene in the group room and wait for the staff member to come collect us. although it is something i struggle with, i personally enjoyed this one the most. i even inspired some staff members to try peanut butter on their apples because that’s what i always had. while eating together as a group was a norm, part of the program is increasing independence. so i did a lot of morning snacks with just me and the staff member because of where the other patients were in their program. after we finished snack, which we had 15 minutes to complete, we played a game for 15 minutes. i usually chose skip bo.
after snack we would have another group such as dbt. if you’re not familiar with dbt, it stands for dialectical behaviour therapy. it’s a really helpful therapy that explores emotions, mindfulness, distress tolerance, and the connection between events and behaviours. for this group we were often assigned homework pages in a workbook to complete by the next session.
then another staff member would come get us for lunch at 12:30. everyone always ate lunch together no matter where they were in the program. a typical lunch would be an egg salad sandwich, salad with dressing, canned peaches, and water. again, we would have 30 minutes to complete it. then we would play a game for 30 minutes. the group of patients i was in with liked playing bananagrams. i had never liked the game before this admission.
from 1:30 pm to 2:30 pm we would have free time. this was also the time a staff member would open up the doors to the “patio” so we would hang out there. really, it was just some fenced in grass with a flower box and a couple of old lawn chairs on a concrete slab. but the fresh air was vital for our sanity. we would also mingle with the general psychiatry patients out there (as this program was separate, but still took place on a general psychiatry ward). then, another snack. my favourite was raisins and cheese. this snack was usually done by the nurse. again, 15 minutes to eat and 15 minutes to play a game afterwards. 
on thursdays we had weight review at 3 pm. the dietician would come find us and we’d go sit in private to discuss our weights and whether there needed to be changes made to our meal plan. for patients in weight restoration this was absolutely the most stressful and triggering part of the week. you also had the option of not knowing your weight but you would still have an idea of what was happening from the status of your meal plan. after our meeting we were free to do whatever until supper.
supper was supposed to be at 5pm but it was always more like 5:30 because the kitchen was always late. we’d be waiting in the group room, doing a puzzle to pass the time, a typical supper would consist of something like fish, mashed potato, vegetables, and cranberry juice. again, 30 minutes to eat and 30 to play a game. usually supper was supervised by a pca (personal care assistant). after supper we would have more free time, which was usually when we’d get visitors. when my mom was in town she visited, otherwise i hung out in the group room and watched movies while painting or studying for the mcat. night snack was at 9pm, and the pca would supervise that one as well. i loved ending off my day with something like cereal and soy milk. in the past you had to have a special reason to have soy milk, but now it’s more accepted as an alternative. i genuinely like the taste of soy better.
after that i would get a shower and read a book until my night nurse came in with my bedtime medication. then i’d go to sleep and do it all again the next day.
i am so thankful i had the opportunity to participate in this program. at first i felt like i wasn’t sick enough to be there, but then i realized that there was no “sick enough” and i deserved to be there. i gained a lot of insight and got back on my feet, which is what i needed. now i have the energy to focus on studying for the mcat! i hope writing about this experience takes away some of the stigma.
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willowreader · 4 months
Text
Dear American people. If you are not reading these daily letters you are missing vital information. Every American needs to follow Heather Cox Richardson on Facebook. December 7, 2023 (Thursday)
On the sunny Sunday morning of December 7, 1941, Messman Doris Miller had served breakfast aboard the USS West Virginia, stationed in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and was collecting laundry when the first of nine Japanese torpedoes hit the ship.
In the deadly confusion, Miller reported to an officer, who told him to help move the ship’s mortally wounded captain off the bridge. Unable to move him far, Miller pulled the captain to shelter. Then another officer ordered Miller to pass ammunition to him as he started up one of the two abandoned anti-aircraft guns in front of the conning tower.
Miller had not been trained to use the weapons because, as a Black man in the U.S. Navy, he was assigned to serve the white officers. But while the officer was distracted, Miller began to fire one of the guns. He fired it until he ran out of ammunition. Then he helped to move injured sailors to safety before he and the other survivors abandoned the West Virginia, which sank to the bottom of Pearl Harbor.
That night, the United States declared war on Japan. Japan declared war on America the next day, and four days later, on December 11, 1941, both Italy and Germany declared war on America. “The powers of the steel pact, Fascist Italy and National Socialist Germany, ever closely linked, participate from today on the side of heroic Japan against the United States of America,” Italian leader Benito Mussolini said. “We shall win.” Of course they would. Mussolini and Germany’s leader, Adolf Hitler, believed the Americans had been corrupted by Jews and Black Americans and could never conquer their own organized military machine.
The steel pact, as Mussolini called it, was the vanguard of his new political ideology. That ideology was called fascism, and he and Hitler thought it would destroy democracy once and for all.
Mussolini had been a socialist as a young man and had grown terribly frustrated at how hard it was to organize people. No matter how hard socialists tried, they seemed unable to convince ordinary people that they must rise up and take over the country’s means of production.
The efficiency of World War I inspired Mussolini. He gave up on socialism and developed a new political theory that rejected the equality that defined democracy. He came to believe that a few leaders must take a nation toward progress by directing the actions of the rest. These men must organize the people as they had been organized during wartime, ruthlessly suppressing all opposition and directing the economy so that businessmen and politicians worked together. And, logically, that select group of leaders would elevate a single man, who would become an all-powerful dictator. To weld their followers into an efficient machine, they demonized opponents into an “other” that their followers could hate.
Italy adopted fascism, and Mussolini inspired others, notably Germany's Hitler. Those leaders came to believe that their system was the ideology of the future, and they set out to destroy the messy, inefficient democracy that stood in their way.
America fought World War II to defend democracy from fascism. And while fascism preserved hierarchies in society, democracy called on all people as equals. Of the more than 16 million Americans who served in the war, more than 1.2 million were African American men and women, 500,000 were Latinos, and more than 550,000 Jews were part of the military. Among the many ethnic groups who fought, Native Americans served at a higher percentage than any other ethnic group—more than a third of able-bodied men between the ages of 18 and 50 joined the service—and among those 25,000 soldiers were the men who developed the famous “Code Talk,” based in tribal languages, that codebreakers never cracked.
The American president at the time, Democrat Franklin Delano Roosevelt, hammered home that the war was about the survival of democracy. Fascists insisted that they were moving their country forward fast and efficiently—claiming the trains ran on time, for example, although in reality they didn’t—but FDR constantly noted that the people in Italy and Germany were begging for food and shelter from the soldiers of democratic countries.
Ultimately, the struggle between fascism and democracy was the question of equality. Were all men really created equal as the Declaration of Independence said, or were some born to lead the rest, whom they held subservient to their will?
Democracy, FDR reminded Americans again and again, was the best possible government. Thanks to armies made up of men and women from all races and ethnicities, the Allies won the war against fascism, and it seemed that democracy would dominate the world forever.
But as the impulse of WWII pushed Americans toward a more just and inclusive society after it, those determined not to share power warned their supporters that including people of color and women as equals in society would threaten their own liberty. Those reactionary leaders rode that fear into control of our government, and gradually they chipped away the laws that protected equality. Now, once again, democracy is under attack by those who believe some people are better than others.
The once-grand Republican Party has been captured by the right wing. It has lined up behind former president Donald Trump and his cronies, who have vowed to replace the nonpartisan civil service with loyalists and to weaponize the Department of Justice and the military against those they perceive as enemies. They have promised to incarcerate and deport millions of immigrants and children of immigrants, send federal troops into Democratic cities, ban Muslims, silence LGBTQ+ Americans, prosecute journalists, and end abortion across the country. They will put in place an autocracy in which a powerful leader and his chosen loyalists make the rules under which the rest of us must live.
Will we permit the destruction of American democracy on our watch?
When America came under attack before, people like Doris Miller refused to let that happen. For all that American democracy still discriminated against him, it gave him room to stand up for the concept of human equality—and he laid down his life for it. Promoted to cook after the Navy sent him on a publicity tour, Miller was assigned to a new ship, the USS Liscome Bay, which was struck by a Japanese torpedo on November 24, 1943. It sank within minutes, taking two thirds of the crew, including Miller, with it.
I hear a lot these days about how American democracy is doomed and the reactionaries will win. Maybe. But the beauty of our system is that it gives us people like Doris Miller.
Even better, it makes us people like Doris Miller.
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alsjeblieft-zeg · 1 year
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279 of 2023
Are you going to be busy tomorrow?
No, but I will be at Thursday.
What was the last topic you read about on Wikipedia?
Seppuku, I guess. Lol at me.
Have you ever donated money to Wikipedia? 
No, I haven’t.
Is your country part of the Commonwealth?
Apparently it’s not.
Around what time of the year do you start your Christmas shopping?
December like normal people.
Do you have blinds or curtains on your windows?
Neither.
What are the most common birds you'd see around your home?
Pigeons, holy shit.
Did you sleep well last night?
No, I didn’t. Hopefully tonight will be better.
Did you live within walking distance of school when you were a kid?
It was about two kilometers or so, so I could take the tram and ride two stops. But it was nice to come back walking in warmer months :D
What board games did you play when you were growing up?
I didn’t.
Do you know any sign language?
No, I don’t. It would be good to know, though.
When was the last time you bought new clothes? What did you get?
Yesterday my order came in, it was just trousers.
What, other than books, do you have on your bookshelves?
Some decorations, mostly sea shells, and bottles of perfume. And some plants.
Do you ever watch streamers on Twitch?
No, I don’t.
How close are your nearest neighbours?
I live in a terraced house, so we share the walls.
Has your house ever been broken into? How did you find out?
No, it hasn’t.
What do you usually eat for breakfast?
Yogurts.
What's the first thing your hand touches if you reach to the left?
Currently my headphones.
Describe your favourite mug or cup.
It’s green with kind of striped pattern. Technically nothing special, but I love it the most for some reason.
If you could teleport to any country right now for a holiday, what would it be?
Poland.
Are you overwhelmed right now?
Not yet lol.
Did you share a bedroom with someone when you were growing up?
No, we had separate rooms.
Have you ever had anything dry cleaned?
No, I haven’t.
How many group chats are you in? Do you participate in them much?
I’m not in any.
What's the best concert you ever went to?
I don’t go to concerts. Lights bother me.
Do you like to watch subtitled movies?
I don’t like to watch movies at all.
Are you still in touch with any of your exes?
Yeah, with Nielsje. We’re still friends.
How old were you when the first American Pie movie came out?
I don’t even know when it came out and I’m not bothered checking.
Do you know how to change the oil in a car? What about a flat tyre?
Yes and yes.
What do you do for work?
I’m a rail electrician.
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Are you going to be busy tomorrow? YES I have two exams on Thursday and one on Friday.
What was the last topic you read about on Wikipedia? When the US signed the declaration of independence.
Have you ever donated money to Wikipedia? Nope 
Is your country part of the Commonwealth? Yes
Around what time of the year do you start your Christmas shopping? It never starts
Do you have blinds or curtains on your windows? blinds
What are the most common birds you'd see around your home? common blackbird
Did you sleep well last night? Yes 
Did you live within walking distance of school when you were a kid? Yep
What board games did you play when you were growing up? Monopoly and Cluedo are the main ones 
Do you know any sign language? nope
When was the last time you bought new clothes? What did you get? October I got asos mom jeans in ecru 
What, other than books, do you have on your bookshelves? my polaroid printer
Do you ever watch streamers on Twitch? No. 
How close are your nearest neighbours? I live in a terraced currently so very close. 
Has your house ever been broken into? How did you find out? No.
What do you usually eat for breakfast? Recently it's been muesli with sultanas, muller corner yoghurt and an orange
What's the first thing your hand touches if you reach to the left? My calendar.
Describe your favourite mug or cup. I got the sitting coffee like you're on a late night show mug from TS store. 
If you could teleport to any country right now for a holiday, what would it be? Skiing in Switzerland or one of the Scandinavian countries. 
Are you overwhelmed right now? Hmm surprisingly no. 
Did you share a bedroom with someone when you were growing up? nope
Have you ever had anything dry cleaned? yes
How many group chats are you in? Do you participate in them much? 4, only when needed
What's the best concert you ever went to? Taylor Swift's Reputation tour in London - I was enchanted
Do you like to watch subtitled movies? Yes
Are you still in touch with any of your exes? Nope
How old were you when the first American Pie movie came out? I was born
Do you know how to change the oil in a car? What about a flat tyre? Nope and nope
What do you do for work? Working part time as a receptionist but studying to become a lawyer.
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sampsonmonaghan90 · 1 year
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64,375 Fans Welcomed To South Korean Men's World Cup Qualifiers Among Soaring Covid-19 Cases
"It was a fantastic game. I can't think of the last time that I laughed and jumped when watching the national team's recent games. It feels as if I've been to a festival."
In a post-match interview that was aired on TV, Son said he was sad that he had not been able to laugh and enjoy the game with the fans. Risks
Son thanked the fans for filling the stands, and said "So many people came to [play the game] at an early morning on a Monday helping us to have an enjoyable match."
South Korea's Kim Young-gwon celebrates his victory in front of the fans.
Limited spectators
Prior to kickoff, fans held up colored cards to spell "We Missed You" -- something prepared by the Korea Football Association (KFA) to celebrate the return to large numbers.
KFA said they made the statement due to the emotions of players and fans following the pandemic caused them to restrict the number of fans who could attend matches.
In 2020, South Korea banned spectators from all sporting events after Covid-19 struck.
The K-League was one of the handful of football leagues that played behind closed doors after the world's game was mostly shut down.
The country had managed to keep the number of Covid-19 cases relatively low until the highly transmittable Omicron became the most prevalent variant in January 2022.
The virus quickly spread and health authorities decided to decrease the number of deaths and critical cases, rather than focusing on the prevention of all diseases.
As the latest death tolls rise, one in five South Koreans has had Covid.
On Tuesday, the nation's total number of infections since the pandemic began was in excess of 10 million. This means that about one-in-five South Koreans has been infected at some point in the pandemic.
The country has stopped using vaccines in the form of passes that were required to get into public facilities, such as sporting events. The country will also end the requirement of a seven-day quarantine period for fully vaccinated travelers from April 1.
The measures were eased and health authorities allowed up to 299 people to participate in sporting events, however, they added that the related departments could allow gatherings of 300 or more.
Thursday saw 64,375 fans get their temperature checked at the entry point. They sat in the stands wearing masks and sat down with their faces covered. However physical distancing, vaccines and passes were not required.
The KFA played pre-recorded voices of the fans during the game, as chanting is not allowed to prevent further spreading of Covid-19.
Supporter Won told CNN that he could see the absence of chanting as the main difference between games prior to the pandemic and after.
"In terms of football matches, I'd have to say the chanting ... I'm hoping that Covid-19 will get settled soon so that a supportive traditions like chanting would be back."
READ: Former Manchester United player is urging fans to stop his chant, which is racist stereotypes
Fans held up messages prior to the kick-off.
Sold-out Game
Despite South Korea seeing its deadliest day of the pandemic on Wednesday, with 470 deaths reported within the span of 24 hours the game on Thursday was sold out.
Seoul World Cup Stadium, the biggest soccer stadium in Korea, has been sold out only 10 times in its history according to the KFA.
The process of securing tickets was highly competitive. The ticketing website was not able to keep up and was down for 42 mins as more than 230,000 users tried to access it simultaneously.
"Considering the traffic numbers of previous sold-out A matches, we had created a server that could accommodate 120,000 people to simultaneously connect this time," the KFA said in an apology statement, apologizing for the inconvenience it caused.
But those who managed to secure tickets had an evening of celebration.
Fans turned on their flashlights for their phones to celebrate the end of the winless streak against Iran just minutes before the final whistle.
"Last night, I had the chance to feel the power of the fans once again... It was something I truly had not experienced. Thank you so much. Thank you for making it a great night!!" Son wrote on his Instagram Friday.
Fans were enthralled by the game and the opportunity to be back in the stadium with the crowd, however there were some who expressed concerns online.
"Covid-19 is not declining however, are the 60,000 seats at World Cup Stadium sold-out?" One tweet.
Another writer wrote, "The administration sold the World Cup Stadium while Covid-19 infection is on the rise."
South Korea will travel to the UAE for its final Qatar World Cup qualifying match on March 29. However, the team has already secured its entry to the World Cup in Qatar, scheduled for later in the year.
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pmcguffin · 8 months
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The women in the kitchen…
The Wednesday night Bible study was moved to Thursday nights, and we boarded the “home-groups” train that was trending in those days.  Everyone was grouped according to which Elder’s house was proximal to us. Logistics, naturally -the Elders were engineers.
I was impatient for that first Thursday.  This former Catholic could barely tolerate Sunday services where the preacher takes one verse of scripture and fiercely expounds on it for too long, with an intensity that often yanks him right out of his jacket in the frenzy over all that hellfire and damnation. Nope. All that fired-up hollering from the pulpit never “edified” my spirit.  The idea of calm contemplative study appealed to me, and I imagined intimate gatherings where deeper thought and honest sharing would foster closer friendships. Hungry for meaningful interaction and eager to participate, I looked forward to studying and growing with this lively little band of earnest Bible scholars. 
Thursday came.  I stepped into a spacious living room, settled on a large floor pillow, and rested against an ottoman.  The atmosphere was casual and subdued, and so far, it felt pretty good.  After the initial prayer, we opened our Bibles to the chapter of focus in this series of study, and before I knew it, I was happily engaged in a lively discussion.  One deacon leaned my way as he spoke, inviting me into a dialogue. He was erudite, eloquent, with a keen intellect and a wonderful sense of humor, and I genuinely liked him.  Never condescending, he offered his perspectives while validating mine as we looked to the practical applications of the scriptures at hand, and I appreciated his wisdom.  It was good, feeling connected and valid, but the moment was short-lived.
Once the study had finished, the women retreated to make coffee.  The men remained.  I stayed... until I noticed a raised brow with a directional glance toward the kitchen. Oh. I got it. I stood and slipped through the door to find the Women in the Kitchen caught up in animated chatter about diaper rash ointment and -I kid you not- whether it is worth the effort to wash and reuse plastic sandwich baggies. They lost me the moment I was told that my input wasn’t relevant because, until I have a baby, I can’t possibly understand... anything, apparently.  Well, I understood this:  the Women in the Kitchen were not my tribe.
I eased back into the living room and sidled onto the sofa armrest.  The men were discussing the current socio-political climate, the Church’s place in the world at large, practical ways in which we could best minister to our community, and whether to address our need for more space by expanding or moving... the big picture. 
A ton of ideas, some lofty goals, and a good measure of healthy debate were happening in that living room full of men, with me precariously perched on an armrest -the only woman not in the kitchen.  They didn’t miss a beat.  No one noticed.  None of the men moved to make room for me on that sofa.  Not one.  Yet there I sat like a glaring neon sign blinking in the face of their purposeful disregard.  Refusing to take the hint, I remained, invisible, silently swallowing swells of rage as those men planned our future and decided our places within it without any input from us -the Women in the Kitchen and me.
On the drive home, I was confronted with my behavior.  Why couldn’t I sit quietly like the other wives, refrain from joining the discussion, and stay with the Women in the Kitchen where, I suppose, I belonged?  I wanted to scream, “Why aren’t the Women in the Kitchen invited to stay and encouraged to participate in the discussion?”  Instead, I tightened my jaw and muttered, “They weren’t talking about anything interesting, and since I’m not a mother, no one cares what I have to say.”  He asked me to try.  I bit my lip.
He doesn’t get it:  no one wants me, but the exclusion by the men is more than oppressive; it is insulting.  The Women in the Kitchen are their wives, the mothers of their children, and the ones who keep life going forward against all that would interfere.  They are the anchors in their homes, the very hearts of their families, and it will be the Women in the Kitchen without voices who will bear the weight of the burden of the men’s decisions.  Although the Women in the Kitchen are not seated at the table for discussion, they will be expected to strategize the sacrifices from their household budgets to provide the contributions which will finance the men’s plans (imagine washing and reusing disposable sandwich baggies --do the men even know their wives do that?)  The Women in the Kitchen will be “holding down the fort” while the men devote their evenings away from their families to manage all the projects and ongoing church business.  After preparing breakfast to ignite the morning and ushering everyone to the day’s destinations, they’ll be parenting solo until late into the evenings when the children are asleep.  Finally, as the men eventually return home, the Women in the Kitchen (veiling their own weariness) shall cheerfully serve their husbands a carefully reheated dinner. 
Imagine.  Though they are the ones who create the very propulsion that provides the momentum to move the work forward, The Women in the Kitchen have no voices.
None, because the Women in the Kitchen are not invited to that table... except to serve it.      
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keywestlou · 2 years
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THE SAINT
THE SAINT - https://keywestlou.com/the-saint-2/ Originally posted July 2017 SUNDAY…..BRITISH OPEN AND LIZ Posted on July 24, 2017 by keywestlou Another slow pleasant sunday. My two biggies for the day were the British Open and Liz. The British Open spectacular! Actually, Jordan Speith spectacular! He closed as only a winner and potential golf great could. A tough 13th hole. Lucky to have walked away with a bogey. Then 5 under the next four holes. Birdie, eagle, birdie, birdie. Included in the four holes were 50 and 30 foot putts. Speith not yet 24. In a few days. I felt sorry for Matt Kuchar. Came in second. Three strokes behind. Fifty years old. A 7 time pro winner. Age upon him. Might never be that close to a major win again. Rushed over to Liz’s for lunch when the Open ended. Liz now home two weeks after five difficult weeks in the hospital. Her diabetes was out of control. Liz was born a diabetic. Takes her shots and watches her food intake religiously. When out to dinner, she spends time studying the menu, asks questions of the waiter, etc. Somehow there was a screw up. Whether she failed to take her medication or dieted incorrectly, no one knows. Whatever, almost killed her. Liz is an outstanding cook. She did not cook yesterday. Not up to it yet. She did select the ingredients and direct their preparation, however. I enjoyed crab, shrimp and key lime pie. Two different sauces with the crab and shrimp. We ate at a small table in the garden. a fan blowing upon us to ward off the humidity. Liz always has help. A woman who resides with her. Liz refers to her as her assistant. Yesterday, the number was up to two. I noticed also a chair has been installed to take Liz up and down the stairs. Liz is a good person. I enjoy her company. Dean of two law schools. Much in common to discuss. One thing stills bothers me about her. She voted for Trump. Still likes Trump. I do not understand. Liz just turned 83. I, 82. We are contemporaries. I tell Liz I like older women. Forgot to mention one thing in yesterday’s blog. On my busy Saturday night, I also stopped at Sloppy Joe’s to watch the finals of the Hemingway Look-Alike Contest. Sloppy’s packed. I was able to push myself in about 20 feet. Stayed 15 minutes. A fun event. Each contestant gives a speech why he should be selected. Prior winners judge. A lot of fun banter back and forth. I left before it was over. Later learned Richard Filip of Fayetteville, Texas the winner. Probably been a candidate 10-15 years. Faithful participation for years required before a look-alike is seriously considered for the title. Lobster mini season wednesday and thursday. For amateurs, not the commercial lobster fishermen. Their season begins August 6. Fifty thousand persons will visit the Keys wednesday and thursday to dive for lobsters. The local bank robber I mentioned a few days ago. We now know how he robbed the bank. Walked up to the cashier and said, “Give me all the bills. I know where you live.” When arrested, he is reported to have said to the police he wanted to be returned to jail. Sounds like he wanted to get caught. If you are able, take a look at my Facebook live video of yesterday. Key West Lou Live. I spoke of my grandfather again. This time how Ellis Island gave him his last name: Petrone. Enjoy your day!
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