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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 years ago

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By: Ben Appel

Published: Dec 26, 2023

In 2021, Harvard evolutionary biologist Carole Hooven stated on a television news program that there are “two sexes” and that “those sexes are designated by the kinds of gametes we produce.” She added that “understanding facts about biology doesn’t prevent us from treating people with respect” when it comes to “their gender identities and use [of] their preferred pronouns.” Afterward, a Harvard graduate student, in her official capacity as director of the Human Evolutionary Biology Department’s Diversity, Inclusion, and Belonging Task Force, tweeted that Hooven’s “dangerous” and “transphobic” remarks made the department unsafe for transgender people. The Graduate Student Union took out a petition against Hooven, and, since no one would agree to serve as her teaching assistant, she had to discontinue her popular lecture course. This past January, under duress, Hooven retired from her position at Harvard.

More recently, I heard Hooven speak at a conference in Denver. She talked about academic freedom and her dedication to creating a just society. She said something I believe: that the truth is the way toward true social justice, and that the truth is what ultimately alleviates human suffering. After Hooven left the stage, I tweeted my thoughts about what she said, concluding, “Yep, I’ll die on that hill.” A Twitter user, in a now-deleted series of replies, responded, “Wish you would then. And quickly.” Later, this person elaborated, “Cis white conservative gays can all d*e. Please do, no one likes you.”

This might be the first time I’ve been called “conservative” for voicing my support of the truth and social justice. Right-wing homophobia is nothing new, though the enmity for “cis white gays” like me from the other side of the aisle has sadly also become widespread online. Here’s a very small sampling:

“[C]is white gay men are the weakest links and idc who knows it.” — @ann_forcino.

“ur rave wasn't ‘100% queer joy’ it was a warehouse party full of white cis gay men who want to dance and fuck each other lmfao [...] “that's not queer joy, that's f^g joy.” — @Maxies_back

“Chelsea and Hells Kitchen, more so than other neighborhoods in New York, produce nothing better than prissy, entitled cis White Power pretentious gay men, who don't respect diversity, or the rule of law.” — “LGBT for Change”

“Maybe they were right all along and white cis gays really do go to hell.” — Jerry Falwell @obssdwmlp

“Behind every bad man there is an even worse cis gay white man.” — @ANIMETWTDNI

“We need to realize that gay cis white men are still cis white men.” — @pettypiedpipertake

“Maybe homophobia against cis white gay men is valid.” — @heartIwin

“Noah Schnapp is also evidence that gays will truly go to h£ll. especially a cis white upper class gay like i genuinely, genuinely mean that and i’m sorry if that comes off as problematic.” [Schnapp is a 19-year-old Jewish gay actor who has spoken out in support of Israel in the wake of the October 7 2023 terrorist attacks.] — @brat6z

“I love it when white gays erase the trans and black side of this flag [...] You faggots deserve to get hatecrimed to death.” — @daredevilshill_

Writing for The Nation in 1994, the gay playwright Tony Kushner argued that homosexuality and socialism are intrinsically linked. Homosexuals, he wrote, “like most everyone else, are and will continue to be oppressed by the depredations of capital until some better way of living together can be arrived at.” Kushner lamented the growing number of gay activists, like Andrew Sullivan and Bruce Bawer, who advocated a more pragmatic approach to equal rights. The radical contingent of the LGBT community has long pejoratively described these types of gay and bi people — those who prioritize marriage equality, the right to serve openly in the military, and peaceful inclusion in Western society — as “assimilationist.” Real gay liberation, the radicals argue, will result from razing Western civilization and its capitalist, cisheteropatriarchal system and rebuilding it in their utopian vision. Like the gay journalist Donna Minkowitz once said to Charlie Rose, “We don’t want a place at the table — we want to turn the table over.”

The thing is, the pragmatic approach won. Today, gay, lesbian, and bi people get married, serve proudly, have jobs, own homes, and raise families. Like black civil rights leaders who preached nonviolent protest and a politics of respectability, discerning LGBT activists took the long view. We don’t want to exist on the margins of society, they insisted, we want to participate in it. LGBT people, just like black Americans, are a vital part of the fabric of this nation.

But the radicals haven’t taken this defeat lying down. After the 2015 Supreme Court decision in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made marriage equality the law of the land, the radicals pounced. “You got what you want,” they seemed to say. “Now it’s our turn.” LGBT rights organizations, either under the influence of impatient extremists or in an attempt to stay relevant (i.e., donor-worthy), refocused their missions to a form of revolutionary activism that purports to fight on behalf of trans people but in practice agitates for a revolt against Enlightenment ideals, liberalism, capitalism, and even basic biology.

Every LGBT organization seemingly became an extension of a university Gender Studies department, whose purpose was not to produce new knowledge but to interrogate — or, in their academic lingo, queer — existing knowledge which they spuriously associate with “whiteness”, colonialism, and Western patriarchy. Alongside this, a new social hierarchy of disadvantage was erected, where everyone was in competition to be the most “marginalized” — and therefore deserving of resources, a voice, and power in the revolutionaries’ value system. According to that value system, being gay or bi seemed to matter far less if one were also white, cis, and male, and therefore deemed to be in cahoots with the oppressors.

In 2017, while I was a student at Columbia University, I interned for GLAAD, one of the largest LGBT organizations in the US. Not only had their mission absorbed this new orthodoxy, it had filtered down to the interpersonal level. On campus and at GLAAD’s offices, I was regularly called “cis” in a kind of sneering, vitriolic tone that reminded me more than a little of the bullies who called me “fag” in middle school. The oddest thing was that much of the vitriol was coming from people who didn’t seem to be LGB, or even T, but who identified only as nonbinary or “queer.” Many of the people I encountered seemed to be profoundly homophobic. Any gay or bi man that didn’t at least adopt he/they pronouns, especially if they were white, was considered assimilationist, right-wing, traitorous upholders of the evil sex binary.

I never quite got used to being eyed with suspicion by other activists for my normative, gender-conforming appearance, or the constant bad-faith interpretations of anything I said. The only cis white gays spared this unfairly cold treatment were the ones who made a public show of being self-hating — the ones who renounced their “cis white gayness” and frequently apologized for their white privilege.

It was alarming to be on the receiving end of such vitriol simply for being myself — for not shaving one side of my head, painting my nails, piercing my septum, and adopting plural pronouns. It was alarming especially because so much of the hate I received when I was young came precisely because I was way too sex-nonconforming (in fact, in middle school, my classmates would often ask me if I was a boy or a girl). I wondered if my peers cared that I had been mercilessly bullied as a gay kid, or that I had worked on a trans rights anti-discrimination campaign when they were barely teenagers. I knew that my volunteering for marriage equality wouldn’t earn me any points, since marriage was to them an antiquated Western institution and part of an “assimilationist” agenda. This attitude has become so entrenched in LGBT activist spaces, I suspect it partially explains why support for same-sex marriage among Gen Z Americans has dropped from 80% in 2021 to only 69% in 2023.

Last year, I got a little more clarity about this issue when I came across an article, also written in 1994, by Stephen H. Miller. The publishing journal, Heterodoxy, titled it “Gay-Bashing by Homosexuals,” although Miller’s original title was “Gay White Males: PC’s Unseen Target.” In the late 1980s and early 90s, Miller chaired the media committee of GLAAD’s New York chapter. In fact, Miller came up with GLAAD’s mission statement, which was to “fight for fair, accurate and inclusive representations of gay and lesbian lives in the media and elsewhere.” In the article, Miller wrote that he was “purged” from GLAAD in 1992 because he objected to the rising political correctness and censoriousness in the gay, lesbian, and bisexual movement. Similar to the cultural shifts of the past decade, Miller recounts how activist organizations began prioritizing race and gender (and of course, the Correct political views) over individual merit. New staff members had to attend “endless sensitivity sessions” which “identified white men (whatever their sexual orientation) as the oppressor class.” Suddenly, it seemed like there was more antagonism towards the “white males” within the LGBT rights movement than without. Miller, who described himself as a “political moderate who believed in dialogue with the straight world and a good-faith search for common ground,” found himself “shunned.”

The race and gender quotas that LGBT rights organizations began adopting, Miller wrote, included weighted voting that favored women and people of color. For example, after regional delegations of organizers for the 1993 March on Washington for LGB rights failed to achieve their quotas, it was decided that women’s votes would count for three votes apiece and non-white votes would count for two votes apiece. That decision — and the many others that have since followed in LGBT activist spaces — calls to mind some dark and creepy moments from American history best learned from rather than imitated.

Of course, this also raises the question: Who decides who is a person of color and who is white, and how? Will they apply the one-drop rule, the early 20th-century legal principle that deemed any American with even one black ancestor (“one drop of black blood”) as black? I suppose that would be illegal since the Supreme Court outlawed the one-drop rule in its 1967 Loving v. Virginia decision. And yet, I’m not surprised by these backward tactics. It was Ibram X. Kendi who recently wrote, “The only remedy to past discrimination is present discrimination. The only remedy to present discrimination is future discrimination.” Around and around we go.

Then as now, as Miller wrote, anyone who challenged this illiberal orthodoxy was “deemed racist and sexist” and accused of harboring the belief that “white men are the main victims of discrimination.” Naturally, Miller notes, such accusations serve to discourage people who sense this hostility toward gay white men from voicing their dissent.

Then after AIDS decimated gay and bi male activist communities, lesbian radical feminists moved in, and a “critical attitude toward men, male sexuality, and ‘the patriarchy’” became the norm. “Male solidarity, once a hallmark of gay liberation, is now anathema.”

A direct line can be drawn from this upheaval in the early 1990s and the divisiveness in today’s LGBT activist spaces, where “cis gays” — and, in particular, “cis white gays” — are seen as upholders of villainous Western cisheteropatriarchy and its henchman capitalism. These modern activists are sure to include “white” not only out of an animus against white people, but because they assume that all people of color are helpless victims of Western capitalism who, because of their oppression, invariably hold the “correct” far-left politics. In his aforementioned article, Kushner invoked Oscar Wilde, quoting “A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at.” He added that he is “always suspicious of the glacier-paced patience of the right.” Writing for The Advocate, the gay writer Bruce Bawer responded that he and so many others are “impatient with models of activism that involve playing at revolution instead of focusing on the serious work of reform.”

This anti-“cis white gay” attitude proliferates in LGBT media as well. “White Gay Men Are Hindering Our Progress as a Queer Community” was the title of an article published in the magazine Them. “You had your time — now, we have other things to fight for,” read the subhead. “Let's Talk About People That Aren't Young Cis White Gay Men,” a HuffPost article was titled.

I could go on and on.

A few years ago, I attended a conference for LGBT journalists. There, I met a young, white, gay writer who would go on to work for a progressive news outlet in New York. He said his upbringing in a Southern state had made him racist, but since then, he has “trained” himself to be attracted to black and brown people, and now black and brown people are the only types of people he wants to sleep with.

If this is the “progressive” strategy for combating racism, I want no part of it. And any liberal cis white gay person who opposes racism won’t either. This is racism, operating under the guise of “anti-racism”, plain and simple. It attempts to end inequality by inverting it and, in the process, is attacking the foundations of the principles that have enabled the remarkable progress our society has made in transcending bigotry and prejudice. I only wish more people who saw this dogma for what it is were unafraid to voice the truth about it.

Homophobia and anti-gay hate are alive and well as progressive virtues.

#Ben Appel #woke homophobia #homophobia 2.0 #anti male #anti gay #homophobia #anti white #anti gay hate #intersectional feminism #religion is a mental illness

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rom-e-o · 10 months ago

Note

At some point, maybe when Connie starts her job at S&C Financials, Bess gifts Connie an antique abacus she managed to find stashed away in a store. "I know you obviously don't have a use for it nowadays, but I thought it might look nice on your desk or shelf or whatever you get to have there. Be a cool conversation piece."

AWWW BESSSS. <3

Okay, I can't resist - here we go!

Perfect Addition

"So ... where is your desk?"

"Right near the front door - I'll show you!"

Constance DoGoode beamed as she escorted Elizabeth "Bess" Sullivan from the bottom-floor lobby of S&C Financials. The business was housed in a longstanding building with large windows and historic bones that made it quite the eye-catching monument compared to the other brutalist cinderblocks that lined the street.

As she pushed in the front door to the office building, they made their way past the other offices and up to the historic staircase. There, a short jaunt up the stairs, they passed by the panoramic glass windows that reveal the inner working of three offices. The three similar, yet subtly different, offices of the business' three owners. All three were filled with large bookcases of ledgers and dossiers, as well as masculine mahogany desks that looks heft enough to each anchor a small ship. Yet, the knickknacks and personal touches within all three spaces conveyed the sentiment that three very different people occupied the offices - and yet all three of them, at this moment, were absent.

There, just a step away from the front door and affronting a small waiting area, was a smaller desk equipped with a desktop and add-on monitor for address screen space. It was a simple set-up, but all she needed for her largely secretarial tasks.

Other than a computer, monitor, mouse and keyboard, a steel placard was the only other item that decorated her desk. Engraved in the metal were the words:

Constance DoGoode Clerk and Accounts Specialist

"Fancy!" Bess said, giving her friend's shoulder an excited squeeze.

"It was very nice of them to do." She sounded humbled, yet very pleased, by the item.

"How was your first day?" Bess pressed eagerly. "All go well?"

"I think so," she said with a hopeful smile, tucking one of the unruly curly-qs that framed her face behind her ear. It immediately sprang back into place. "They're wrapping up a meeting now. I'm waiting to see them out."

"Ah, perfect," Bess said with a clap of the hands. "Well, in that case, I have something for you, while we have a moment."

Constance blinked as she watched her friend gingerly lower her shoulder bag onto the floor, as if something delicate was inside. After tugging the flap up, she reached inside and procured a rectangular option wrapped in petal-pink tissue and tied with a satin ribbon.

"Here," Bess said, shyly nudging it forward, "An, um, office-warming present."

She laughed, then shut her eyes against her own joke. "That ... makes it sound like I got you coal or something, doesn't it? It's not coal. I promise. It's better. I hope."

Taking the gift, Constance pulled the ribbon free and slowly unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside the tissue was a glorious, hand-painted abacus. It was sturdy in her hands, made from heavy wood and faceted-brass.

"I know you obviously don't have a use for it nowadays, but I thought it might look nice on your desk or shelf or whatever you get to have here," Bess explained, watching her friend's face for a reaction. "Be a cool conversation piece, you know?"

Constance stared at the antique tenderly. As she cradled the device in one hand, her other moved to skim her fingers over the wooden beads. She dared to move one, nudging it up so it made a satisfying 'clack' against the other. Her face lit up.

"Oh, Bess. This is a real antique. It's so heavy, and so finely crafted."

"I-If it's too cumbersome to display, I totally understand."

"Absolutely not!" Connie was quick to reply. "In fact, I'm beyond honored. I love it! Oh, Bess, thank you so much!"

Sincerity glittered in her blue eyes, and she surged forward to pull her best friend into a tight hug, careful to not damage the gift while doing so.

Bess returned the embrace happily, relieved to see her friend enjoyed her gift as much as she hoped she would. "Aw, you're welcome. You really like it?"

"I do! Where did you find this?"

"Thrifting, of course," she said with a laugh, "Poor thing was lodged in the back of some dusty bookcase, just begging for a better home. It's in pretty good shape."

"She is!"

"'She?'"

"In fact, she'll be the perfect inaugural decoration. Here."

She turned toward her desk and, with a ceremonial sweep of the arms, bestowed the abacus on the corner of the desk, right behind the computer monitor. It was easily visible from the front door, meaning every visitor that came in would see if when being greeted by her.

After taking a step back to examine the angle and make sure the presentation was befitting of her gift, she turned to Bess with a triumphant smile. "See? The perfect addition! I already feel more at home."

As the girls shared one last hug, the door to the office's meeting room clicked open. Out of the room filed three gentlemen, all stressed smartly in finely-cut suits. They chatted amicably as they walked, exchanging remarks and light chuckles as they went. Two of the men were practically walking shadows of the other, while the other was a redheaded gentleman about a decade younger than the other two, but just as poised.

They made their way to the front area naturally, coming across the two ladies.

"Ah, hello!" Bob Cratchit, the youngest of the three owners said with a polite tip of the head.

Ebenezar Charles Scrooge, half of London's most esteemed philanthropy duo, bore a pleased but surprised expression. He nodded to Constance first, then more keenly to Bess, hands clasped behind his back. The posture made him look even more tall and proud, which was quite the achievement. That, combined with his slightly longer hair, gave him a more roguish air than his brother. "Why, hello there. This is quite the surprise! I hope we didn't hold you ladies up."

Constance observed Bess shift on her feet at the sight of him, her hands going behind her back as well.

Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, the other twin, clasped his hands at his waist and bowed gently to the two women. "Apologies for the delay. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not at all," she said, then looked to Bess with a grin, "I was just showing Bess around. Look, she was kind enough to bring me a gift for my desk as well! Isn't it marvelous - quite on theme, I think!"

"C-Connie..."

"That's quite a kind gesture," Ebenezar agreed, a softness touching his voice. "A thrifted treasure, yes?"

The raven-haired woman smirked. "How did you know?"

"I just had an inkling," he said, playfully squinting his eyes at her.

"Are you saying I'm predictable, good sir?"

"Perish the thought."

While his brother chatted amicably with Bess, Ebenezer redirected his gaze to Constance. "I'm so glad to see you're settling in. Truly. You did very well today, in case nobody mentioned it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Tell me, do you have any questions after your first day?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have plenty down the line," she said in good humor, "But ... none right now. I just ... I am very excited to have this opportunity, Mr. Scrooge."

"Ebenezer, please. No 'sir' either. It is not necessary."

"Very well, E-Ebenzer. I truly can't thank you enough for this chance."

The depth of her gratitude was easy to hear in her voice, and see on her lovely face. Cheeks turning a slight shade of pink, he put on his most gentlemanly smile. "Of course. Any questions, I am happy to answer at any time."

"I appreciate it. I do hope I'll be a helpful member of the team."

"I have complete faith that you'll do amazingly well," Ebenezer said fondly. "I think you'll be the perfect addition to the team."

That was fun~

#scroogeverse #no beta we perish like men #strawberry sunrise

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inquisitor-of-hearts · 8 months ago

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Broken

Nathan Drake/Chloe Frazer, Chloe Frazer & Victor Sullivan

Chloe withdraws after the events in the Tibetan village and Sully comes after her. Almost two years later she suddenly hears from Nathan again. (Spoilers for Uncharted 2 & 3.)

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 890

“Chloe”

The woman stopped and turned around as her name was called. When Sully caught up with her, she chuckled.

“I was just, uh, wondering if you know some place where I can have a drink.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re here for?” She grinned weakly. “Uhh, let me think. Here in the middle of a remote village in Tibet, yeah-- right there around the corner must be the nightlife district.”

She gestured past the mountains and both chuckled.

“Heading back?” he asked.

“Yeah. I guess I’ll have to arrange a pick-up somehow.”

“I can give you a lift if you want.”

“What about the other two?” Chloe nodded towards where they came from. Sully waved it off.

“They’ll figure something out.”

“I like your way of thinking.” She said and then turned around halfway, waiting for him to follow. “You coming, then?”

“Yeah. That way.” He pointed into the distance and they walked off.

All the way back they kept mostly quiet, only speaking the occasional word here and there. As they were approaching the airport, Chloe looked out of the window.

“Looks like we’re there.”

“Yeah. Look, I hope you’re not taking all of this too hard.”

She looked away from the window and towards him as he finally stopped the car and the engine was turned off.

“What do you mean? One of my business partners died, no treasure, lots of debt but oh well, I guess I’ll live. All in all not too bad.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She looked away, shaking her head eventually.

“Nah. It’s fine. They deserve each other. And I’m not made for that kind of life anyway.”

“You’re sure?” Sully asked.

“Absolutely.” She forced a smile at him, then shrugged. “Even if I was. Nothing I can do. But hey, thanks for the ride.”

“Sure. If you ever need anything, call me, okay?”

Chloe laughed, but at last smiled and nodded softly.

“Anyway, I’ve still got some time to kill.” Sully announced casually. “So you’re up for a drink before your flight or what?”

“How could I possibly say no?”

Hi Chloe, it’s been a while. Are you up for another gig?

Chloe stared at the e-mail in disbelief. Nathan Drake? Was that the Nathan Drake? Or had someone just taken his spot after he went MIA? Last time she heard about him it was Sully who informed her that he had gotten married, to Elena of course. After which she had actually decided to cut that tie and block Nathan's number. Not that anything worthwhile came from him anyway.

Just you and me? What’s the pay?

She answered after thinking it over for a few minutes. Strictly professional.

In the evening she checked her mails again.

Well no there’s Sully, Charlie, me and you. That'd be 25% for each of us. I tried calling you about this but I can’t get through.

My phone is broken. So just the four of us? Where?

Several hours later as the sun went up on her side of the world she received a reply.

Yeah. We’ll be heading to London. You in?

She sat in front of her laptop, having her morning coffee at her apartment in Australia while thinking it over.

London? Well that won’t break the bank.

We can chip in and get you a flight. You can pay it back from your share later. And before you ask: yes it will be worth it.

Chloe chuckled at the determination, finishing her coffee. How could she possibly say no.

As they sat in Charlie’s apartment discussing their plans for the next night, Chloe stole a few glances at Nathan.

“Alright, Charlie’s got the van parked around the block already. Let’s catch some sleep before it’s showtime.” Nathan concluded.

“Yeah, you look awful, mate.” Charlie taunted.

“Oh I’m sorry I am not looking fresh enough for your liking. A red eye flight will do that to you.”

“Let’s just go to bed already. I can’t wait to stretch my legs out tonight.” Sully sighed, stretching on the chair before standing up. Chloe caught his gaze quickly, Sully acknowledged it briefly, knowingly, but eventually walked towards the door. Charlie’s hand was already on the handle, ready to guide them downstairs where they would part.

“Nate” Chloe finally spoke up as they were already at the door. He turned around.

“Yeah?” he asked. The other two turned around as well.

“You have a second?”

“Sure.” He nodded, looking at Charlie and Sully. The two caught onto it, looked at each other and proceeded, leaving the room. Nathan approached Chloe again.

“What’s up?”

Chloe shrugged, but kept looking at him. As he did not speak up, she walked towards the kitchen counters and turned her back to them, her hips against them, her hands settled onto the cold ceramic.

“Why didn’t you text me back?”

“When?” he asked, confused.

“Today. When I arrived at my hotel. I called you. Sent two texts. I thought you said you wanted to see me before we meet tonight.”

Nathan looked into space, then his fingers found their way to his forehead.

“Right… Sorry, I guess I forgot, with the flight and all.”

Chloe breathed out in a condescending chuckle.

“We’ll catch up when this is over, alright?” he suggested.

“Sure.” Chloe said in defeat, her head sinking. “Whatever.”

#canon compliant #filling the gaps #the little cues from the games have been making me think since from a while ago #Im kinda sad they never had a real chance #at least she did not let him get away with all of his bs #Nathan Drake x Chloe Frazer #Nathan x Chloe #Chloe Frazer & Victor Sullivan #uncharted fanfiction

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thewriterg · 3 years ago

Text

♡︎Espresso shot♡︎N.D

Pairing(s): Nathan Drake x Fem!reader, Victor Sullivan x Fem!reader, Chole Frazer x Fem!reader,

Summary: You had a cover job everyone who had a brain and a past had one and the last person who you excepted to expose your cover was Victor Sullivan the man who screwed you over but in the end he got a metal taste in his mouth

Word count: 1,600+

Warning(s): Violence, Weapons, Blood, Pet names, and Language

A/n: —GIF isn’t mine— Um sooo late just now watching uncharted and it’s so good!?

“Take a left here gotta make a pit stop”Sully directed Chole as she looked at him suspiciously before reluctantly taking the direction the man gave her Noticing that Nate also didn’t look like he had much notice about the sudden change

“Why are we at a coffee sho- hey where the hell are you going!?” Chloe called to middle age man as he walked into the small café while Nate quickly rushed behind him leaving Chloe to muttered incoherent curses under her breath before following behind the pair

“Sully are you gonna tell us why we’re here or did you just suddenly need a macchiato with espresso” Nate questioned as the two men stood by each other third in line while you and two other workers in green aprons worked around the counters

“You see that girl right their y/e/c, ponytail” He questioned the brunette while he squinted his eyes seemingly to get a better look at you nodding his head subconsciously before turning back to the man

“Yea shes pretty hot too” Nate acknowledged with a hum inspecting the girl as she worked with a small smirk on her face while she shook the cocktail shaker in her hands above her head straining the caffeinated drinking into the plastic cup swiftly sliding down the bar-like counter to a customer who grabbed a straw giving the girl a smile while they brought two fingers to their lips bringing them down to their heart they were a regular anyone could tell

“Well be careful, don’t wanna fall in the colleague Lover’s category pretty cliché don’t you think?” Sully replied while Nate practically was on the brink of whiplash the way his attention shifted to the man

“I’m sorry what!? Another person are you out of your goddamn mind Sully!?” Chloe raised her voice looking up at the man in disbelief drawing attention to the group in the small usually peaceful café

“Chloe you’re causing a scene” He dragged in a sing song voice not bothering to throw a glance at the girl while you had finally looked up from the coffee machine locking eyes with the man while he smirked at you waving his fingers in sync before you whispered something into the ear of you co-worker before walking faster than necessary out of view of the group

“Well she doesn’t look that happy to see you” Nate acknowledge while Sully slipped out of line Chole grungy followed them both while Sully walked into a door that clearly had employees only in boldly written letters that led to an outside alleyway

“Whatever happens next don’t get in it, let it go and just watch me risk my life” Sully sarcastically smiled as they slowly walked up to your standing figure while you smoked a cigarette with sunglasses on you face and a black leather jacket resting on your shoulders while your black combat boots tapped against the gravel underneath your feet

“Have fun sweetheart” Nate threw the sarcasm back at the older man stopping close enough to get a good view but far enough not to be caught in the crossfire

“See you dyed your hair, aww haven’t you grown up” Sully taunted while you let the nicotine hit you lungs before blowing the smoke back out into the air

“Come on y/n/n, you’re my buddy my old pal” Sully pushed as you continued to ignore the man before letting the cigarette drop out of your fingertips before crushing it under your boot finally bringing your gaze to face the man before you continued to walk away

“Come on you can’t ignore me forever” Finally your last straw was feeling his fingertips gazed your shoulder blade while you bit the inside of your cheek nodding slowly and for a minute Nate thought you completely agreed without restraint

That was until you you punched Sully square clean in the jaw taking the arm that rested on your bringing it behind his back while he let out a low groan while you stood behind him threatening to break his collarbone and forearm at the same time all in once

“I know I had it coming for me” He grunted before sweeping his leg from under your feet knocking you off balance as you landed on the gravel before bringing your hands above your head pushing your body up while your feet landed on the ground quickly throwing a kick to the man’s side with a thud while he hauled over you ran full force jumping on the man’s back before propelling your body Weight up and onto the man’s shoulders wrapping your legs around his neck while one of your hands grabbed a pipe above your head while the other pressed a dagger towards his neck

“Which way do you want to die you want me to snap your neck or slit your throat” You offered while Sully clawed at your clothed thighs while you cut of his air circulation

“You’ll know I-I can’t find the gold without you Y/n please don’t do it for me do i-it for your s-sister” He choked gasping for air it was a while just as the man started to turn blue you finally let him go hopping down from his shoulders as he gasped for air before you grabbed the man by the collar of his jacket staring into his eyes that you’d grown to hate

“I’m only doing this for my sister Victor never think for a second in your small little pea brain that I’m here for anything but that mate” You finally pushed the man back from you before you began to walk out the alleyway coming into eye contact with Nate and Chole as you let out a humorous-less laugh nodding your head before turning back around going back over to Sully who were doubled over as he looked up at you with his eyes squinted before you swung you leg back kicking the man in his pelvis as he fell to the floor groaning rolling around like her were on fire

“Come on, that was a low blow!” He shouted as you began to resume your walking out of the alleyway passing both Nate and Chloe putting your sunglasses back on your face not acknowledging the pair before Nate jogged over to his coworker who clutched his knees to his chest

“Sorry think I’m just gonna have to fall into that category even with it being a cliché and all” Nate stated amused while lending a hand out to Sully which he took propelling himself up wobbling slightly at the burning feeling in his upper thighs

“You know I almost felt bad for you” Chole responded with a small smile on her face at the man’s struggle while he looked down at her in horror shaking his head before beginning to limp out of the alley to the parking lot with a laughing Nate at his side

“I’m sweaty, hot, and hungry put icy hot on your dick and get over it now come on” You raised your voice loud enough for the group to hear as you leaned against Chloe’s car tapping your foot against the concrete

“Oh you’re definitely hot sweetheart” Nate muttered under his breath with a small smile while Chloe looked at the man in disgust shaking her head before grabbing her keys out of her pocket

༒༒༒

“I found my cross in a crypt in genoa but I didn’t know it was a key to a much bigger fortune Sully knew and here we are… Doesn’t say what happens after we turn the keys ‘Trust in your fellow man for one will go to heaven and the other to hell’.” Chole spoke reading over the practically ancient journal

“Well it’s ironic as the only point in having two keys was that the 18, didn’t trust each other” Nate stated passing out glasses of red wine when he finally got to you he stood tall with a small smile on his face

“Oh you’re adorable” You smiled before taking the bottle instead of the cup holding it by its handle downing a good 1/4th of it before before sitting back on the counter

“Or chug it down like your on spring break. All good” Sully put his hands up in surrender as he continued to sip on his own glass a whine you rolled your eyes before you got up from your seat and passed the man taking his previous position on the couch which he complained about of course having no interest in the mam or the conversation you ignored him continuing to make yourself comfortable while Nate laughed light and Chole smirked at the scene

Nate got a sudden boost of confidence as he set his now empty wine glass against the counter making his way over to you before he lifted your legs sitting down next to your laying figure while he rested your legs on his thighs while you stared at him for a while and Nate started to get nervous under your gaze before you shook your head muttering something incoherent and turning your head facing the couch cushion

Somewhere in that time Nate started to subconsciously rub your legs and as the time passed you started to feel yourself blinking slower and your breaths get lighter and soon enough your closed as your body started to go limp and Nate acknowledge the heavier weight that set on his thighs before returning back to his Conversion with Nate and Chole

It took energy and a toll on your shoulders being a shot of espresso but Nate was willing to handle

#nathan drake #nate drake #nathan drake x reader #nathan drake x you #victor sullivan #uncharted #uncharted x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x yn #i love you #fluff #romance #thewriterg

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korizzybee · 2 years ago

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|| Something New || Chapter 1: Kendra Sullivan ||

(If you don’t know already this is an OC story pls go look at the info)

Currently reading: C.1

Next chapter (WIP)

————————————————————

Okay let’s do this the right way, my name is Kendra R. Sullivan. I’m 14 years old, and I was bitten by a radioactive spider on the way home from ballet practice. During the time I’ve been SpiderWoman, or as the people from my town call me, StarSpider, I’ve been through a lot.

I’ve fallen in love, been in MANY near death situations, lost my mother, Bianca and my uncle Benji in a car accident, and lost my best friend, Suzy Carter in a fire accident. I was adopted by my aunt, Mary Johnson, and was given the billions of dollars left in my name by my parents.

I currently live a life of luxury with my aunt and for the last 2 years I’ve been the one and only SpiderWoman…or that’s what I thought. A couple months ago I was recruited to join the Spider Society by a man named Miguel, even though I was young, he saw great potential in me.

He told me I had what it took to help him out with protecting the multiverse. Of course I HAD to accept, I mean not only did I get a cool watch that I could travel to many different multiverses with, but I was also not alone.

That amazing event is what led us to today…

————————————————————

ALARM ALARM!!

“Kenny! It’s time to get up for school you’re going to be late!” I heard my Aunt May call out to me from downstairs. I groggily opened my eyes and looked at my alarm clock, ‘7:43 AM?!’ I thought. “Coming Auntie!” I yelled, rushing to get out of bed as fast as I could, making me trip over my blanket and fall on the floor. “Ow…” I groaned slightly.

“Is everything okay up there!” My aunt yelled from the kitchen. “Yes ma’am!” I yelled back. The maid, Darla, came running in to my room, she helped me off the ground. “Oh dear, Ms. Sullivan, you sure are a clumsy one.” She said with a soft voice and kind smile. I loved Darla, she was like a mother to me, most of the time my aunt would be out working, so Darla would be the one taking care of me. Plus, Darla was the only one who knew about me being StarSpider…

I giggled at her words as she pulled my uniform out of my closet and handed it to me. As I got dressed, Darla was packing my bag and making sure I had everything I needed for both school and ballet practice. “Ms. Sullivan, you’ll need to leave school early today around 12:45 to be at practice. Ms. Johnson had scheduled you an extra practice so that you will be ready for your ballet solo this Saturday.”

I nodded at her words, “Got it, by the way, I’ve told you many times to just call me Kendra.” I sighed, a fake annoyed tone showing through my voice as she placed my cardigan on me. “Sorry,” she said softly with a small chuckle, “force of habit.” I rolled my eyes playfully at her, she sat me down on the bed and placed my brown loafers on my feet. “Well, I hope you one day get out of the habit.” I replied with a playfully snarky tone.

Anyone who didn’t know me would’ve thought that I was actually being rude to Darla, but I would never. Darla is one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, and yea I might be short tempered sometimes, but never to Darla, I’m always patient with her. “Come on Kendra!” I heard my Auntie yell, “It’s fine to go!” “Okay! Okay!” I yelled back, slightly annoyed she was rushing me. Darla put my lunch in my bag and placed my bag on my shoulders before hurrying me downstairs.

“Darla, please take her to school, it’s too late for me to now. I have a meeting with my boss, I won’t be back until late tonight.” She informed Darla before pressing a kiss on my cheek. “Auntie!” I whined, “I’m not a little girl anymore! You don’t need to give me cheek kisses every time you leave!” I softly argued. She giggled softly, pinching my cheek gently, “You’ll always be a little girl to me, my little girl, now have a good day at school.” She said as Darla and I left the house.

Looking out the window of the car, I see building passing by, or more accurately, us passing by the buildings. New Orleans was a big city after all, it’s always an adventure and sometimes there’s always a lot of traffic. Today, fortunately, there wasn’t any. “Make sure you work extra hard today, you have an algebra exam next week. Besides, it’s important you work harder because you’re a grade ahead.”

Darla said, keeping her eyes on the road. I just turned 14 in the summer, really, I’m still supposed to be in the eighth grade. Since I’m so smart though, I was able to skip seventh grade. Many people say I get my smarts from my dad, he graduated college at 18. I sighed, leaning back in my seat, “I know Darla, you tell me this with every exam each school year.”

I said with a bored sigh, but I know Darla was just looking out for me. “Sorry,” she said apologetically, “you know how I feel about this. I think you should be in a class with the rest of the eighth graders, but this was your decision to skip that grade so I have no choice but to comply.” She said. “I understand, I know you’re just looking out for me.” She turned and looked at me, smiling a bit.

The car stopped in front of the school, I stepped out of the car. “Have a good day Kendra.” She said, blowing me a small kiss. I pretended to catch it and place it on my heart. “Thanks, bye Darla.” I said to her, grabbing my bag and heading inside of the school. When I walked inside, a bunch of kids were staring at me. I was the youngest at the school, everyone there was either already 15-18 or turning 15 this year.

I had literally just turned 14 four months ago! This was a private school filled with snobby rich kids with nothing better to do than hate on others just trying to live their lives. I looked at the time on my phone, ‘8:15 AM,’ I thought to myself. Class started in 5 minutes, my senses went off, something told me this was going to be a terrible day….

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#korizzybee’s work #x black reader #across the spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales #miles morales x reader #Spotify

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chromosome23hq · 3 years ago

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vibe check ⇢

if you haven’t done at least:

2 thread replies with 2 different muns across all muses (if you have multiple), or

a self-para

in the last 7 days, you have 24 hours (sunday, 10 pm pht) to do so before those muse blogs get unfollowed.

please unfollow ⇢

@toxicfvmes

@yunjinxs

@adamrhm

@terpsichorist

frozen muses ⇢

april honey (@aprilhoneys) until 11/01

cordelia levy (@cordelialevy) until 11/01

cyra de león (@cyra-de-leon) until 11/01

cyrus yun (@cyrusyun) until 11/01

frances coldwell-gould (@frances-c-g) until 11/01

hriday ‘louis’ bhatt (@surelouisb) until 11/01

irena westwood (@hqwestwood) until 11/01

isaac nazari (@wehelminth) until 11/01

january st. james (@jcnuaries) until 11/01

lavinia han (@laviniahq) until 11/01

leonarda da sabbioneta (@everlasting-leo) until 11/01

mark jensen (@suremarkj) until 11/01

matthias goetsch (@ofgoetsch) until 11/01

richard ‘samson’ clemens (@samson-clemens) until 11/01

santiago de león (@santi-de-leon) until 11/01

sawyer sullivan (@sawyer-sees) until 11/01

soo-yun ‘maxine’ brandt (@silverplatters) until 11/01

william o’connell (@gcldenrule) until 11/01

zelda dare ventura-wexler (@coachdare) until 12/01

on hiatus ⇢

bry will be on a hiatus from 10/01 to 10/04. the mun plays laurel cunningham, sela musa, cyra de leon (who is frozen), and stevie crowe.

#vibe check #c23unfollow

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happylifefanfic · 4 years ago

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Safe Place Chapter 3

“Come on, man. Tell me more about her,” Buck insisted as he and Eddie double checked the equipment on the truck to make sure everything was operating correctly.

Eddie heaved a big sigh before turning around to face his friend.

“Buck, I really don’t know her that well. I’m not sure what else you want me to tell you,” Eddie said with frustration lacing his voice.

“Dude, she’s been babysitting Christopher every time we have to work and she’s off. Plus, she’s all Christopher talks about. I think he has a crush on her. Besides, you’ve totally glossed over the most important detail of all,” Buck said with a grin.

“And what would that be?” Eddie asked as he rolled his eyes.

“Is she single?” Buck said, clapping his hands together. Eddie’s frown deepened into a scowl.

“I don’t know,” he spat out between clenched teeth.

“Well, find out for me! Emma could be the one I’ve been waiting for,” Buck said with a hopeful expression on his face.

“No way in hell, Buck,” Eddie growled, shaking his head. He immediately regretted biting his friend’s head off, but he couldn’t shake the fury that ran through his body at the thought of Buck dating Emma. Or anyone dating Emma for that matter.

“Okay then. I’ll just ask Athena,” Buck said before turning around and pulling out his phone to tap out a text. Eddie watched his friend walk away in dismay. When he walked away from Emma that night a few weeks back, he knew in his gut that he had made a mistake. Even though he had tried dating again after Shannon’s death, nothing ever felt completely right. He’d gotten close once with Anna, but in the end he knew that he’d run away from her out of fear. He’d never been good with the unknown and a new relationship scared him more than he had realized. By the time he had decided he was ready to overcome his fear, Anna had moved on and was happy in a new relationship. Eddie couldn’t blame her. She deserved someone who had his shit together and wasn’t going to run scared every time they tried to take their relationship to the next level.

“Eddie, can we talk?” Bobby asked as he came to stand next to the younger firefighter who looked like he was trying to solve the world’s problems while he was inspecting their equipment.

“Sure,” Eddie said, putting down the clipboard he had in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure I should say anything, but I just got a call from Athena. Apparently Buck is trying to get Athena to set him up with Emma. Athena is concerned because she’s convinced that there is something going on between you and Emma,” Bobby said, causing Eddie to sigh loudly again.

“Nothing is going on between Emma and me, Bobby. She’s kept Christopher for me a few times when we had opposite shifts, but that’s it. She’s my neighbor, Christopher’s sometimes babysitter, and a friend,” Eddie replied.

“Well, if you’re sure, then Athena can’t really hold Buck off much longer,” Bobby said with a chuckle. “He’s driving her nuts.”

“I can only imagine,” Eddie said, sparing a grin.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something else when the alarm sounded causing the 118 to burst into a flurry of action. Several moments later they were racing towards the scene of an emergency. Bobby listened carefully to the information being relayed by dispatch.

“Dispatch, repeat that,” Bobby said, wanting to confirm what he’d just heard. The words that echoed through his headset caused his heart to speed up.

“What’s wrong, Cap?” Chim asked from the backseat of the firetruck. Bobby turned around and made eye contact with Eddie.

“There’s been an officer involved shooting at a shopping center,” Bobby said flatly.

“Is it Athena?” Hen asked on edge. Bobby shook his head.

“Athena was one of the officers on the scene,” Bobby said, maintaining eye contact with Eddie.

“Emma?” Eddie managed to say.

“She was shot, Eddie. Dispatch said she’s still breathing, but she’s unconscious,” Bobby said with sympathy in his eyes. Eddie just stared at Bobby as he slowly nodded his head.

“Hen, when we get there, you and Chimney are to work on Emma. Buck, you need to help keep the scene clear so we can get the ambulance out of there ASAP.”

“What about Eddie?” Buck asked, looking between his friend and his Captain.

“Eddie knows what he needs to do,” Bobby said as the truck came to a stop. The team of firefighters immediately jumped from the truck and ran to assess the situation. Hen, Chim, Bobby, and Eddie found Athena leaning over Emma’s still body on the ground near their police car. Athena had her hands pressed down hard on Emma’s upper left side of her chest. Hen and Chim immediately knelt down to begin assessing Emma’s injury. Bobby stood to the side and put his arm around Athena when she rose to her feet.

Eddie knelt down at Emma’s head as he watched his friends rush to stop the bleeding from the gunshot wound that was too close to the location of her heart.

“Eddie?”

His eyes shot down to see Emma’s green ones staring up at him. The corners of her eyes and mouth were pinched in pain. His right hand immediately found its way to cup her cheek.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he leaned down closer to her face. Emma’s eyes drifted close briefly before blinking open.

“I’m okay, but I’ve been better,” she said. A second later a loud gasp left her as Chim pressed down on the gunshot wound. Eddie’s other hand reached out to cup Emma’s other cheek.

“Focus on me,” he said. “Hen and Chim are going to take the best care of you. We’re going to get you to the hospital and you’ll be good as new.”

Emma nodded her in reply as a tear leaked out from each eye. Eddie hated to see her in pain. In that moment, he would do anything to take her pain away from her. Within moments, she had been loaded onto a stretcher and was being put into the back of an ambulance. Eddie stood beside the ambulance as Hen and Chim got Emma settled inside. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned to see Bobby standing there.

“Go with her,” Bobby said. Eddie nodded before climbing into the back of the ambulance to sit beside Emma. Memories hit him hard as remembered a different ambulance ride with another woman that had meant so much to him. Eddie reached out to take Emma’s hand in his. She squeezed his hand in return.

“Emma, I’m going to put this oxygen mask over your face,” Hen said as she moved the mask to cover Emma’s nose and mouth. The rest of the ride to the hospital was filled with Hen and Chim asking Emma questions. Eddie sat there silent as he held Emma’s hand as tightly as he could. He thanked God that she was still conscious the whole time. When they reached the hospital, Eddie helped remove the stretcher from the ambulance and then followed it into the emergency room. Hen and Chim filled the nurses and doctor in on the injury while Eddie continued to hold Emma’s hand.

“Sir, you need to move so we can take care of her,” a nurse said as she put her hand on Eddie’s arm to move him back.

“I’ll be right outside,” Eddie said to Emma as he squeezed her hand. Her eyes found his and she nodded at him before the nurse moved into his line of sight.

Nearly an hour later, Eddie was ready to climb the walls of the waiting room. They had heard nothing about Emma yet and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

“This is ridiculous,” Athena muttered. “Don’t you know someone you can talk to, Hen?”

“Let me see what I can find out,” Hen said, going to look for a nurse.

Eddie sighed as he paced across the floor again.

“You care about her,” he heard Buck say. His brown eyes shot up to meet Buck’s gaze.

“Of course, I do. She’s a friend,” Eddie said.

“You know that this is more than just worrying about a friend,” Buck said. “If she was just a friend, Bobby would have had you helping me direct traffic at the scene. If she was just a friend, you wouldn’t have ridden in the ambulance with her. If she was just a friend, you wouldn’t be pacing like this.”

“What do you know?” Eddie said as he cut his eyes at Buck and continued to pace.

“I know that you’ve been scared to give a relationship another try. I know that you looked like you were going to cry when you heard Bobby say that Emma had been shot. I know that you watch Emma every time she’s around even though you think no one notices. I know that you were insanely jealous earlier when I said something about dating Emma,” Buck said softly. Eddie stopped pacing to look at his friend.

“It’s okay for you to care about her. It’s okay for you to have feelings for her,” Buck said.

“I-I-” Eddie started to say, but was interrupted.

“Who’s here for Emma Sullivan?” a doctor asked. The firefighters and Athena all stood together. Athena took a step forward.

“I’m her partner,” she said. “How is she?”

“She’s resting right now. The bullet missed her heart by three centimeters. She’s very lucky. Based on what we could tell from her bullet proof vest, the bullet went through the velcro strap that connects the vest to her shoulder,” the doctor said.

“But she’s going to be okay, right?” Eddie asked as he moved to stand next to Athena who placed her hand on his arm.

“She’s going to make a full recovery. I want to keep her overnight, but I don’t see why she shouldn’t be able to go home tomorrow,” the doctor said.

“Thank God,” Athena breathed. “When can we see her?”

“Two of you can come with me and I’ll take you to her,” the doctor said, turning to hold open the door to the hallway. Athena and Eddie followed him with no hesitation. Moments later they were entering a hospital room to find Emma lying on a bed in a hospital gown. Athena went to her right side while Eddie sat down in a chair on the left side of the bed. Emma’s eyes fluttered open to see Athena smiling down at her.

“Hi,” she croaked.

“Boy, am I glad to see you’re okay,” Athena said as she ran a hand across Emma’s forehead.

“Thank you. Did you get the guy?” Emma asked squinting her eyes at Athena.

“We sure did,” Athena said. A shifting sensation on the bed caused Emma to look to her left. Eddie was sitting in a chair beside her bed with his hands clasped between his knees.

“Hey, neighbor,” Emma said quietly, causing Eddie to meet her gaze. The emotion she saw swirling in his eyes caused her heart to beat faster.

“Well, I’m going to run to your place and grab some clothes for you,” Athena said, patting Emma’s hand. “Do you need anything else?”

“Just my phone charger and a toothbrush,” Emma said. “Thank you, Athena.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest. I’ll be back in a while.”

Once Athena had left the room, Emma focused her attention on Eddie.

“Are you okay?” she asked. His brown eyes had been looking down at his hands again. They slowly rose to meet her gaze.

“I’m better now,” he said. “You scared the life out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispered. “I thought I had the situation under control and the second guy came up from behind me.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Eddie said leaning forward slightly to rest his hands on the bed near Emma’s hip.

“Thank you for being here,” Emma said. “You should probably get going though. Christopher will be home from school soon.”

“Buck is going to pick him up for me and keep him tonight at his place.”

“Eddie, you can go home and be with Christopher. I’m going to be fine,” Emma said.

“You’re stuck with me, Sullivan,” Eddie said with a small smile on his face.

“Eddie--”

“Emma, just accept it. I’m staying here with you until you get to come home. I know that I have been sending you mixed signals and I’m sorry. You’re important to me and I didn’t realize just how important until today. So, I’d like to stay,” Eddie said as he took her left hand in between both of his.

Emma just stared at him for a few seconds before she nodded her head slightly.

“Okay, Eddie, okay.”

#9-1-1 #9-1-1 imagine #eddie diaz

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handeaux · 4 years ago

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Green Beer Came Later: Cincinnati’s Original, Old-Time, Irish Saloons

So ubiquitous are the photographs of mustachioed men, feet up on the brass rail, plug hats screwed firmly upon their noggins, that you might be forgiven if you concluded that all Queen City saloons were identical. This is not the case.

For evidence, let us turn to a meeting of the General Protective Association of Saloon-Keepers convened on Tuesday, 24 April 1883, to discuss a new state law taxing dispensaries of alcoholic potations. Although the meeting convened at a German hall, the president, J.J. Abbihl, introduced the agenda in English. According to the next day’s Commercial Tribune:

“As Mr. Abbihl spoke in the English language, Mr. Albert Springer made a motion that the German language be used in the discussion, but it was agreed to make the explanations in English on account of the importance of the meeting.”

Although the German beer garden holds a sacred place in the gilded memories of Cincinnati, a fair number of local pubs were helmed by Irish and American barkeeps. Any discussion of group meetings involving saloon keepers is clear to distinguish between “German saloon keepers” and “American and Irish saloon keepers.” (Of course, in their segregated neighborhoods, there were also Black saloon-keepers, but they were not allowed to join the protective associations.)

In general, the Irish saloons hewed closer to the river, and you can see this among the watering holes listed in the city directories. You find O’Brien’s at Third & Ludlow, O’Herron’s at Plum & Ann, McCoy’s on Front Street, McSweeney’s at the southern end of John and Connor’s way down on Central.

While the Germans colonized Over-the-Rhine, that was not always the case. The WPA Guide to Cincinnati relates that O’Bryonville, with its Irish namesake but early nickname as “Dutchtown,” accommodated Germans and Irish in (not always happy) comity:

“Thenceforth the name Dutchtown also was applied to the community, and many arguments were started over the bars between Irish and German customers who were constantly striving for social supremacy in the little community.”

This distinction was underlined in 1877 when saloon-keepers throughout the city gathered to pressure Cincinnati’s brewers into maintaining standard prices. Throughout Cincinnati, you paid 5 cents for a tall glass of beer, except in a few disreputable dives where suds were dispensed at two glasses for a nickel. The saloon-keepers realized that there was only one way the dives could afford two beers at that price – some brewery was selling stock at a discount. In those confrontations, the German saloonists met at one location and the Irish and American barkeeps met at another. Although they endorsed the viewpoint of the German proprietors, the Irish and Americans elected their own delegation to confront the brewers.

It is clear, from newspaper coverage that the menus differed between German saloons and American and Irish saloons. William C. Smith, in his wonderful little book, “Queen City Yesterdays: Sketches of Cincinnati In The Eighties,” makes a distinction between the beer-centered German establishments and the Irish and America saloons that purveyed mostly the harder stuff. Smith avers there ought to be a strict differentiation between beer saloons and what he calls “boozing kens.” His description offers a physiological excuse for Irish and American drinking patterns:

“On a shelf next to the wall various brands of liquor were in evidence, some labeled and others in plain bottles, the quality of the latter known only to God and the proprietor. These emporiums were patronized by the Irish and American inhabitants who believed their stomachs to be lined with a substance that beer might corrode, whereas whiskey apparently acted only as a preservative and polishing agent.”

That distinction is fortified by a joke that, according to the Cincinnati Enquirer [23 September 1917], was so old it caused Cain to slay Abel:

“An Irish saloon keeper hired a new bartender. A man came in and got a drink of whisky and then said: ‘I’ll pay for this Saturday. My name is Murphy. The boss knows me.’

“’Wait and I’ll ask the boss,’ said the bartender. ‘Oh. boss,’ yelled the bartender up the stairs. ‘Is Murphy good for a drink?’

“’Has he had it?’ asked the boss.

“’He has,’ replied the bartender.

“’He is,’ replied the boss.”

It is not the case that all Irish and American saloons sold whiskey exclusively. Perhaps the premier Irish saloon in Cincinnati was Andy Gilligan’s Café on Vine Street directly opposite the Enquirer building between Sixth and Seventh streets. For nearly thirty years, Gilligan was famous for his luxurious beard, extending from his chin to his belt buckle. On warm days he was a living Vine Street landmark, basking in the afternoon sun as he stood outside his café enjoying a good 15-cent cigar. Gilligan ran book on local prizefights, but the cops usually looked the other way. He was known as an easy touch for actors down on their luck and a frequent host to heavy-weight champ (and prodigious drinker) John L. Sullivan. Despite his largesse, Gilligan left an estate worth a respectable $75,000 in 1905 dollars. Decades after his death, the Cincinnati Post printed a remembrance:

“Do you remember when no St. Patrick’s Day was complete without a peek at Colonel Andy Gilligan and his long whiskers resting on a great green sash in the Hibernians’ annual March 17 parade?”

During World War I, as Prohibition loomed, evidence accumulated that all of Cincinnati’s saloon-keepers were in the same, sinking, boat. As anti-German hysteria swept the city, nationalist firebrands were quick to point out Irish saloons catering to a German clientele. According to the Cincinnati Post [14 September 1917]:

“James J. Dolan runs a saloon at Richmond-st. and Central-av., which he calls ‘Zum Guten Happen.’ Now that German has nearly been put out of the schools, somebody, no doubt, will start a movement to put it out of Irish saloons.”

A similar situation obtained at an Oakley saloon managed by Patrick J. McHugh, called “Auf Wiedersehen.”

No discussion of Irish saloons can conclude without a mention of green beer. Now, before 1917, “green beer” meant improperly aged suds. A 1908 Wiedemann advertisement advised against drinking green beer because “it has practically no flavor and will cause biliousness.”

As for the annual emerald-hued St. Patrick’s Day quaff, blame the Elks. In 1917, in honor of the patron saint of Ireland, Cincinnati’s Elks lodges consumed green beer in abundant quantities. According to the Cincinnati Post, the verdant libation was concocted by a German brewer.

#cincinnati irish #irish saloons #andy gilligan #cincinnati saloons

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lemonlushff-iy · 5 years ago

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Dog Tags: Chapter 23 Teaser!

Summary: On the worst day of his life, an old WWII dog tag washed ashore. Now, being a Navy man himself, he feels like tracking this soldier down is the right thing to do. It’s amazing how sometimes random twists of fate can help your heart heal in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Catch up now on FFN and AO3:

Fanfiction.net

Archive Of Our Own

Fanart:

Inuyasha by Nsr0716

Wall of tags for notifications:

@sailorbabydoll92, @desiree239, @britonell, @itzatakahashi, @superpixie42, @lady-dark-69, @chanin29, @nartista, @theinuyashareader, @lilms-obsessed, @procellaxletalis, @underwater0phelia, @umacaking, @irrationalandimpossible, @willowandfog, @cstorm86, @lebiishoujo, @sticky-llama-perfection

Teaser below the cut!

Chapter 23

“Takahashi!”

Inuyasha and about fifteen other men looked up from the projection in front of them to the man in the doorway. It was Lieutenant Cody Richardson. He was a tall man with sandy hair and horrible acne scars across his cheeks. Accutane is what he always claimed caused it - not that many people asked him, however.

“Yeah?” he called, leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm over the back of his seat.

“Takahashi, Captain Sullivan wants to see you.”

He raised a brow but closed the notebook in front of him, ignoring the chorus of “ooooooh”s that the men let out. It reminded him of a fifth grader being called to the principal’s office.

He may as well have been, though.

Captain Brandon Sullivan was his commanding officer, and if he was being summoned to his office this time of the day with no prior explanation...it couldn’t be for a good reason.

He flipped off the men as he exited with a smile, trying to keep the nervous butterflies he suddenly felt in his stomach at bay. He could be wrong, he tried to reason as he walked to Sullivan’s office. It could be nothing.

Every step he took left him feeling like he was just kidding himself, though...and by the time he reached Sullivan’s office, he was doing everything in his power to stay calm. He kept searching his memory for something he could have done that would warrant him being summoned, but he honestly didn’t have any clue. He had perhaps been a little reckless during the dog fight yesterday - but his recklessness had paid off, and he had taken out all “enemy” targets.

He shook his head and told himself to stop speculating. It wasn’t going to help him, and it was only going to make him feel worse. He raised his hand and knocked on the door, waiting for the “enter'' he subsequently heard on the other side before twisting the cold metal doorknob and going in.

“Lieutenant Richardson said you wanted to see me, sir?” Inuyasha greeted, standing before him at attention and saluting.

“At ease,” Sullivan sighed, leaning back in his chair and gruffly telling Inuyasha to sit down in the one in front of him. Sullivan was in his late forties. The passage of time and the stress of his position in the Navy had begun to mar his face with wrinkles, making him appear to be well beyond his years. His brown hair had become peppered with whites and greys, and he had bags under his blue eyes. Inuyasha could only speculate that this was due to the news he was about to receive, but he was trying to remain optimistic. It could have also been from his son - he knew the kid had a cold right now.

Sullivan leaned forward again and threaded his fingers together on his desk, looking Inuyasha straight in the eye. Whatever this was about, Inuyasha knew Sullivan was going to give it to him straight.

“Takahashi...Lieutenant Commander Hunter Bradford was rushed to medical about an hour ago. His appendix burst. He’ll be fine, but the 173rd is set to deploy. They can’t do the mission without another Lieutenant Commander in his place.”

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what this meant.

Tag.

He was it.

“Sir…if I may...I’m still so new here. Isn’t there someone who would be a better fit? I’ve just begun building a meaningful relationship with my men here...”

“I’m afraid not,” he replied sympathetically. “You’re the newest one here, an Ace, and a G-Monster. You have the track record, the skills, and you’re new enough that you can easily fill in for Bradford without leaving the 124th in a position they aren’t already used to.”

“Sir—”

“—Here’s your mission file,” he continued on, ignoring Inuyasha’s protests. “It’s classified, and will tell you what you can share with your men. You’ll be gone until November at the earliest.”

“N-November?” he stuttered.

“Assuming the mission goes according to plan, yes. November.”

Inuyasha picked up the dossier and started flipping through the pages. Fuck, this wasn’t going to be easy…

“Sir...I don’t mean to question your judgement—”

“—Good. Then don’t. The order came from Admiral Woods.”

Inuyasha closed the file and his eyes, trying to calm down and keep from panicking. There was no fighting this. If this was being passed down from Donald “The Don” Woods, he was fucked. His ass was going to be on this ship whether he liked it or not.

“When do we leave?” he asked quietly, opening his eyes again.

“You need to be on the USS Cheyenne in three hours.”

“Three hours?!” he blustered.

“Is there a problem, Takahashi?” Sullivan asked, raising his voice and his brow in response.

Yeah. A big fucking problem.

Her name was Kagome.

How was he supposed to leave without saying goodbye? How could he just up and abandon her when they were here. When he hadn’t even asked her...no.

This couldn’t be happening.

This couldn’t fucking be happening!

“Sir, I…” he began, pausing to try and get his emotions in check and stop from vomiting as he felt panic settle into his stomach.

He couldn’t refuse this.

He had no choice.

When Sullivan said that he needed to be on the Cheyenne in three hours, he wasn’t just saying it for his health. He had better fucking be on the Cheyenne. “...no, sir,” he whispered. “Just had an important date tonight, is all.”

“Better reschedule, Takahashi.”

Yeah. No shit. If he could. Fuck! She wasn’t even going to be here when he got back...

He just nodded his head and stood when he was dismissed, heading towards the door.

“Takahashi?” Sullivan said suddenly, making Inuyasha pause with his hand on the doorknob.

“Yes sir?”

“This girl...if she’s worth it, she will still be around when you get back,” he smiled sympathetically. “The good ones always are,” he continued, rubbing his wedding band almost unconsciously.

Inuyasha just nodded and left.

He had a lot to do...and only three hours to do it.

#inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha fanfic #inuyashafanfic #inuyasha #inukag #dog tags #lemonlushff

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sciencespies · 5 years ago

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How Denim Became a Political Symbol of the 1960s

https://sciencespies.com/history/how-denim-became-a-political-symbol-of-the-1960s/

How Denim Became a Political Symbol of the 1960s

In the spring of 1965, demonstrators in Camden, Alabama, took to the streets in a series of marches to demand voting rights. Among the demonstrators were “seven or eight out-of-state ministers,” United Press International reported, adding that they wore the “blue denim ‘uniform’ of the civil rights movement over their clerical collars.”

Though most people today don’t associate blue denim with the struggle for black freedom, it played a significant role in the movement. For one thing, the historian Tanisha C. Ford has observed, “The realities of activism,” which could include hours of canvassing in rural areas, made it impractical to organize in one’s “Sunday best.” But denim was also symbolic. Whether in trouser form, overalls or skirts, it not only recalled the work clothes worn by African Americans during slavery and as sharecroppers, but also suggested solidarity with contemporary blue-collar workers and even equality between the sexes, since men and women alike could wear it.

To see how civil rights activists adopted denim, consider the photograph of Martin Luther King Jr. and Ralph Abernathy marching to protest segregation in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963. Notably, they are wearing jeans. In America and beyond, people would embrace jeans to make defiant statements of their own.

The Rev. Drs. Ralph Abernathy and Martin Luther King Jr. in Birmingham, Alabama, en route to a protest on April 12, 1963.

(Charles Moore / Getty Images)

Scholars trace denim’s roots to 16th-century Nîmes, in the South of France, and Genoa, in northwestern Italy. Many historians suspect that the word “denim” derives from serge de Nîmes, referring to the tough fabric French mills were producing, and that “jeans” comes from the French word for Genoa (Gênes). In the United States, slaveowners in the 19th century clothed enslaved fieldworkers in these hardy fabrics; in the West, miners and other laborers started wearing jeans after a Nevada tailor named Jacob Davis created pants using duck cloth—a denimlike canvas material—purchased from the San Francisco businessman Levi Strauss. Davis produced some 200 pairs over the next 18 months—some in duck cloth, some in denim—and in 1873, the government granted a patent to Davis and Levi Strauss & Co. for the copper-riveted pants, which they sold in both blue denim and brown duck cloth. By the 1890s, Levi Strauss & Co. had established its most enduring style of pants: Levi’s 501 jeans.

Real-life cowboys wore denim, as did actors who played them, and after World War II denim leapt out of the sagebrush and into the big city, as immortalized in the 1953 film The Wild One. Marlon Brando plays Johnny Strabler, the leader of a troublemaking motorcycle gang, and wears blue jeans along with a black leather jacket and black leather boots. “Hey Johnny, what are you rebelling against?” someone asks. His reply: “Whaddaya got?”

In the 1960s, denim came to symbolize a different kind of rebelliousness. Black activists donned jeans and overalls to show that racial caste and black poverty were problems worth addressing. “It took Martin Luther King Jr.’s March on Washington to make [jeans] popular,” writes the art historian Caroline A. Jones. “It was here that civil rights activists were photographed wearing the poor sharecropper’s blue denim overalls to dramatize how little had been accomplished since Reconstruction.” White civil rights advocates followed. As the fashion writer Zoey Washington observes: “Youth activists, specifically members of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, used denim as an equalizer between the sexes and an identifier between social classes.”

But denim has never belonged to just one political persuasion. When the country music star Merle Haggard criticized hippies in his conservative anthem “Okie From Muskogee,” you bet he was often wearing denim. President Ronald Reagan was frequently photographed in denim during visits to his California ranch—the very picture of rugged individualism.

And blue jeans would have to rank high on the list of U.S. cultural exports. In November 1978, Levi Strauss & Co. began selling the first large-scale shipments of jeans behind the Iron Curtain, where the previously hard-to-obtain trousers were markers of status and liberation; East Berliners eagerly lined up to snag them. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, when Levis and other American jean brands became widely available in the USSR, many Soviets were gleeful. “A man hasn’t very much happy minutes in his life, but every happy moment remains in his memory for a long time,” a Moscow teacher named Larisa Popik wrote to Levi Strauss & Co. in 1991. “The buying of Levi’s 501 jeans is one of such moments in my life. I’m 24, but while wearing your jeans I feel myself like a 15-year-old schoolgirl.”

Back in the States, jeans kept pushing the limits. In the early 1990s, TLC, one of the best-selling girl groups of all time, barged into the boys’ club of hip-hop and R&B wearing oversized jeans. These “three little cute girls dressed like boys,” in the words of Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas, one of the group’s members, inspired women across the country to mimic the group’s style.

Curiously, jeans have continued to make waves in Eastern Europe. In the run-up to the 2006 presidential elections in Belarus, activists marched to protest what they characterized as a sham vote in support of an autocratic government. After police seized the opposition’s flags at a pre-election rally, one protester tied a denim shirt to a stick, creating a makeshift flag and giving rise to the movement’s eventual name: the “Jeans Revolution.”

The youth organization Zubr urged followers: “Come out in the streets of your cities and towns in jeans! Let’s show that we are many!” The movement didn’t topple the government, but it illustrated that this everyday garment can still be revolutionary.

Why the dye that would put the blue in jeans was banned when it reached the West —Ted Scheinman

Fabrics soaked with indigo dye in Dali, Yunnan Province, China. “No color has been prized so highly or for so long,” Catherine E. McKinley writes.

(Alamy)

It might seem odd to outlaw a pigment, but that’s what European monarchs did in a strangely zealous campaign against indigo. The ancient blue dye, extracted in an elaborate process from the leaves of the bushy legume Indigofera tinctoria, was first shipped to Europe from India and Java in the 16th century.

To many Europeans, using the dye seemed unpleasant. “The fermenting process yielded a putrid stench not unlike that of a decaying body,” James Sullivan notes in his book Jeans. Unlike other dyes, indigo turns cloth vivid blue only after the dyed fabric has been in contact with air for several minutes, a mysterious delay that some found unsettling.

Plus, indigo represented a threat to European textile merchants who had heavily invested in woad, a homegrown source of blue dye. They played on anxieties about the import in a “deliberate smear campaign,” Jenny Balfour-Paul writes in her history of indigo. Weavers were told it would damage their cloth. A Dutch superstition held that any man who touched the plant would become impotent.

Governments got the message. Germany banned “the devil’s dye” (Teufelsfarbe) for more than 100 years beginning in 1577, while England banned it from 1581 to 1660. In France in 1598, King Henry IV favored woad producers by banning the import of indigo, and in 1609 decreed that anyone using the dye would be executed.

Still, the dye’s resistance to running and fading couldn’t be denied, and by the 18th century it was all the rage in Europe. It would be overtaken by synthetic indigo, developed by the German chemist Johann Friedrich Wilhelm Adolf von Baeyer—a discovery so far-reaching it was awarded a Nobel Prize in 1905.

#History

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karmaalwayswins · 5 years ago

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@writerscreed prompt 187: Night sweats and the day after.

----------

Question 14: Night sweats are a sign of:

A. Tuberculosis

B. Menopause

C. Endocarditis

D. A and C

E. All of the above

---

At the end, I ask Professor Sullivan, “When will get the results?”

“The day after tomorrow,” he answers. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Hope you’re right.”

---

71/100. Barely passed, but it’s better than failing. Small victories, I guess.

I pass the statue of Billy the Goat in the lobby of the Science Building. It’s nose is shiny from all the students who’ve rubbed it for luck over the years.

“Thanks,” I whisper to it.

My phone buzzes multiple times as I walk out of the building.

DEBRA: Dinner with Mom tonight. Lunch tomorrow?

ENOFE: When can I get my ironing board back?

RICK: Want to play Warlords tonight?

No messages from Lisa. This sucks.

I walk over to Good Stu’s for ice cream.

The guy behind the counter asks, “Know what you want?”

“Cherry Chocolate Delight.”

“How many scoops?”

“One.”

“Two scoops is just a dollar more. You sure?”

“Just one’s OK, thanks.”

He hands me the cone. “Here you go. $4.75.”

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy.”

As I walk out, the counter staff break from their work and start to sing, “Ice Cream, It’s a Good Thing”. I think I’d go crazy if I had to do that type of thing at work.

I walk over to Harrington Square. I sit on a bench and eat my ice cream. I watch runners and dogwalkers pass by while sunbathers stretch out in the grass.

My phone buzzes.

LISA: So my roommate’s gone until ten tonight...

I wait a few minutes to not seem desperate, then reply.

ME: Should I come over?

LISA: Yes

A picture of her underwear peeking out of her jeans pops up on my phone.

LISA: Bring some wine

ME: OK

I stand up and start walking to the liquor store.

#writerscreedchallenge #creativeduringcovid19 #writers on tumblr #kneipho #night sweats and the day after #not sure how to tag my own posts at this point

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halsteadloves · 5 years ago

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Chapter Four

Roberts' POV

Warren was over to us in an instant. "Sir, I'm going to remove the blood from her mouth with the suction and then secure her neck and airway as she's currently not responding." Warren explained calmly as Travis started a line in her arm, connected the fluids and handed me the bag of saline to hold up.

Travis then looked up at Warren who had just finished strapping up the c-collar "Ben, don't intubate. She's awake." Her eyes were open. She suddenly started coughing, clearing the blood from her mouth and airway. Travis sighed in relief. "Yeah, no please don't do that. Just get me out of here." She said weakly grabbing Travis' hand as we rolled her on her side, so that she didn't choke. Ben suctioned the blood out from her airway as we waited for the debris to be cleared from around her.

It took some time and a lot of firefighters, but we managed to extricate Andy from the rubble, she had some minor cuts and bruises, but her turnout gear kept the damage minimal luckily.

"Andy, we should really put you on a spinal board and get you to the hospital." Ben spoke. Andy shook her head at him. "Or into the aid car at least."

"Nope, I'm fine honestly. No c-collar, no spinal board." She paused as Travis gave her a look. "Fine, I'll take fluids and some oxygen in the aid car though" Andy said unstrapping the collar against everyone's better judgement, we stood her up carefully and lead her to the gurney where she sat. "See! Fine!"

Travis and Ben rounded up all the medical supplies and wheeled her towards the aid car and loaded her up.

Andys' POV

We sat in the aid car for a good 20 minutes waiting for the fluids to run in. Travis and Ben just sat watching me and my vitals. Robert still had command of the scene so thankfully he didn't join us. All he would do is worry. Which I don't mind really, but it's good that he has something to focus his mind on.

"Warren go and help with overhaul. Montgomery and I have this handled. Don't we Trav?" I said even though I knew Travis was in a world of his own. Lost in his thoughts.

Travis' POV

Andy was stable so I sat with her waiting for the fluids to run in. "Andy was right she shouldn't have gone in. Maya should've listened to her." Then I remembered why Andy didn't want to go in. I thought about looking in her pocket at the test result, but she was right here with me. I should just ask her. She was looking at me like she had asked me a question, so I went with "Yeah" trying to sound convincing, hoping that it was a yes or no answer that she was looking for.

Warren then agreed with whatever Andy had said and got out of the aid car and closed the doors behind him.

"Andy. I'm so glad you're okay but can we please look at the result from earlier? It's been killing me" I asked her, she looked at me blankly then remembered what I was talking about.

"Yeah, when you take this IV out. The bag is empty" She responded. I nodded and obliged, removing the needle and putting a Band-Aid over the site.

She then reached down into the pocket of her turnout coat and pulled out the test. I looked at it over her shoulder trying to read and understand the lines. After about a minute I looked at her, "Andy, it's positive. Congratulations?" She smiled and put the test back in her turnout pocket.

"This is a good thing Travis, isn't it?" she asked me, looking a little nervous. Before I had chance to answer her the radio went off.

"19 pack it up, we're almost good to leave" Sullivan's voiced echoed through the aid car from the radios.

"Thanks for the fluids and oxygen Trav but I think I'm gonna ride back to the station in the engine with Vic" Andy said as she turned to me, got up and pulled her turnout jacket back on.

"Andy there's still blood on your face" I said in reply chuckling slightly, whilst getting up and opening the door of the aid car.

"There are some wipes in the front of the truck. Thank you Travis." She said smiling at me as she hopped down and out of the aid car, closing the doors behind her.

Andys' POV

I made my way back to the engine and climbed into the front passenger seat. The same seat I was in when we arrived. I was busy wiping the blood and soot from my face when Robert made the call for everyone to load up into the trucks and head back to the station. Vic was back in the drivers' seat, with Miller in the back staring out of the window not paying any attention as per usual.

It took me a while to notice but Vic kept shooting me glances. I turned to look at her, taking my headphones off again as I had on the way to the fire. "Vic I'm fine honestly. I took the test before Maya sent me in" I said.

"What did it say?" I gave her a look hoping she would get it so I wouldn't have to say it out loud. Luckily, it didn't take her long to get. "Holy shit Herrera, congrats!" She said, seeming excited. I smiled back at her, putting my headset back on and looking out at the road ahead.

About five minutes from the station, Vics driving is great but she doesn't see potholes or bumps in the road and just hits them. She hit a fairly large bump causing me to bounce up out of my seat and suddenly hiss in pain. A sharp pain in my back and stomach, which felt like a cramp. But it disappeared as fast as it appeared.

My sudden hiss in pain clearly caught everyone's attention.

"Are you okay Herrera?" Both Miller and Hughes asked giving me a panicked look.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I must've just bruised my back or ribs in the collapse. I've got an appointment to see Dr Grey and Dr DeLuca after shift. I'm fine honestly." I responded as we finally pulled into the station.

I got out of the truck and headed into the turnout room. I put my gear away and headed to the showers, as I left the turnout room, I could hear Hughes and Montgomery talking about me, they were clearly worried. So, I yelled "I am fine Hughes, stop it." to them across the barn smiling, and headed upstairs.

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in-the-name-of-the-manga · 6 years ago

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Burning Bridges, Building Confidence Chapter 1: A New-Old Face

Special thanks to @bigcheeseyboi for being my beta reader on this!

Also AO3 link if you want to follow it there.

A few days later, Marinette moved up the stairs of the school, far before anyone else had even arrived. Dark bags were barely concealed by second day foundation as she walked into the classroom, taking her seat in the far back. She felt Tikki roll in her sleep inside her purse; it had been a hard night for both of them, a stubborn akuma combined with Chat’s constant flirting caused them to spend the entire night fighting the akuma. They got back just in time for a twenty minute power nap before they had to get ready.

The Chinese-French girl yawned, curling up on the bench for an attempt to get a few more minutes of sleep, using the pushed in bench to get some dark and quiet space. She hoped that no one would mess with her, she’d even taken to putting locks on her bags, hiding the keys on a piece of twine in her purse next to Tikki. Less chance for Lila to steal something and/or plant evidence to frame her because the designer wouldn’t put it past that vile liar to do just that.

Marinette wasn’t sure when she drifted off, but either way she awoke to a large amount of noise and someone gently tapping on her shoulder. She turned over on the bench to see someone leaning over her.

“It is time to wake up, the class will start soon.” The person was speaking in awkwardly pronounced French, with a twangy hint and strong ‘r’ sound that Marinette remembered was an American accent. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, somehow missing the desktop. With her vision clearing, she turned to the new person.

She was easily taller than most of the class, save for maybe Ivan, with skin that was slightly tanned, likely by the sun. Her hair was a caramel colored mess that obscured her right side of her face, leaving her vivid green left eye to peek out. Marinette blinked for a second before breaking into a smile.

“Right.” She sat up, scooting over and patting the bench on her right side. The girl sat down, pulling out a notebook and pencil from a cool looking backpack. She then pulled a cord from the side and wrapping it around, snapping a lock shut once it was wrapped securely around the backpack. Marinette rubbed her eyes again and stole a glance around the room, noting her classmates crowding around Lila, throwing glares and stares at the two girls every once in a while.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, alerting Marinette to a message. She pulled the phone, now with a tough case and screen protector, and unlocked it. There was a Discord message.

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : u ok?

She turned to the girl next to her, eyebrows in a ‘really?’ face before turning back to her phone.

Stitches-and-Swatches : v little sleep

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : want sum o my coffee?

Marinette nodded wearily, the girl slid a tall travel mug over to her. The heroine sighed in relief and took a huge swig of the warm liquid. The caffeine rushed through her system and within a few moments she was more alert.

Stitches-and-Swatches : thank u

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : np. surprised 2 c me?

Stitches-and-Swatches : maybeso.gif

Cat-with-a-Bat.jpeg : i was planning on picking u up and walking here together but ur mom said you left early :(

Before Marinette could reply, Mme. Bustier walked in. She placed her stack of papers on the desk before surveying the class, noting the two distinct groups. Most of the class around Lila, while the two girls up top and Chloé were the other group.

“Class, time to start,” Mme. Bustier announced. The class wandered to their seats. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have a new student. Please introduce yourself.”

The girl next to Marinette, surveyed the class with a bored glare. “My name is Collette Sullivan.”

Mme. Bustier’s mouth set in a frown, “Won’t you tell the class a little about yourself? Are you sure you’ll be alright back there? You had mentioned your ”

“There is not much to tell. I am from America. I hate nicknames from strangers. That is all.”

Mme Bustier sighed before starting the lecture, this one on Shakespearean play Hamlet . About halfway through, Collette perked up. She nudged Marinette, who had begun to doze off again.

“She knows she’s recalling Othello, right?” Collette said in english. Marinette paused for a moment before nodding.

“I stopped listening once she mentioned Gertrude being in love with Claudius and called ‘Romeo and Juliet’ a love story.”

“Marinette, Collette,” Mme Bustier called. “Do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Collette glared back. “Yes. You do realize that you have been quoting Othello for the past fifteen minutes right? And Hamlet isn’t simply crazy, there’s been centuries of debate on that. I think you need to fix your notes a bit, you must’ve mixed something up.”

Mme Bustier blinked for a few moments, as did the rest of the class. No one had ever spoken to her or any teacher like that.

“So it seems I have,” Mme. Bustier noted, looking at her notes. “Well, give me a few minutes class while I go get a full copy from the library.” The teacher spun on her feet and walked out of the room.

In an instant all eyes were on the new girl.

“What?” She asked as deadpan as can be, giving each of them a bored gaze.

“You can’t just talk to teachers like that!” Alya exclaimed.

“She asked if I had something to share so I did. Got a problem with that?” Instantly there was an uproar, Rose and Mylene were wondering how she could be so mean and insult Romeo and Juliet like that; Lila was lying (something about meeting a student who she had to save after talking back to the teacher or something stupid like that); Max was reiterating the statistics of how likely she was to get in trouble for talking back like that and Kim and Ivan were simply glaring at her. Nino was saying how much of a buzzkill she was while Alya began yelling again.

Cole noticed that the only ones who weren’t crowding around her were a blonde girl a few seats over with earbuds and music playing, a boy with red hair in his face, and a blond down in front. So complacency with the latter two, great.

Mme. Bustier came in a few moments later with a proper copy of Hamlet and a relieved smile across her face, which quickly turned to a frown when she saw her class ganging up on the new girl and said new girl moments away from murder.

“Back in your seats class,” her voice held all the class needed to return to their seats, giving one last glare to the new girl. Class went on as well as it could have until the lunch bell rang. As she strode down with Marinette close behind her, Cole leveled a glare at each student, stepping over Kim’s purposefully outstretched leg and signalling Marinette that it was there.

They weren’t anything but sheep, and what was a herd of sheep to a human being?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chloé wasn’t sure what to think of the new girl. When she walked into the class and gave zero indication of anyone else in the class, even her, Chloé was intrigued.

If the new girl’s tousled hair, vivid green eye, cropped jacket, fingerless gloves, multiple ear piercings and ripped jeans set her cheeks alight, then it was no one else’s business but hers.

As she watched Dupain-Cheng, no Marinette , lead Collette around, Chloé followed at a distance. Sabrina had long since ditched her for Lila’s flock of sheep, so she had no one to worry about following her.

"No way Nettie," The new girl teased in english. The duo ran past the rest of the class who, like the sheep they’d become, surrounded Lila to hear her garbage fire of lies. Chloé ignored the arrogant Italian and followed the two girls.

“I’m telling you Lettie,” Marinette replied. They passed the glaring sheep and went out the door. Marinette had long since stopped staying at school for lunch, opting to go home for lunch instead. “There’s this really cute cafe two streets over, you’ll love it!”

Cole’s laugh, twangy and loud, echoed down the hall. Chloé easily caught sight of the new girl’s backpack, with a wrap around cord and a lock surrounding it, it was a dull gray and black contrasted by her cropped leather jacket, brightly colored bandana, silver earrings (with an ear cuff that just kept distracting Chloé during class), or the mess of hair that was likely styled to be a bit sharper and oh no she’s rambling .

“Really?”

“Yeah, they have that spicy chicken you like,” Marinette gave a cheeky grin to the girl. “Even if it pales in comparison to a nice pastry.”

The taller girl gives her an edgeless glare, before giving a theatrical laugh. “As if! Your sweet and flaky pastries are weak against the fires of my spicy chicken! Does your friend back there want to come?”

Chloé jolted as she realized she’d been caught. She steps out from behind the pilliar she’d ducked behind.

“Chloé?” Marinette asks. “I thought you’d be in the cafeteria already.”

Chloé tsks and and looks affronted. “And be assaulted by the lowering IQ of our class and the attention whore that is Rossi? No thank you.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Cole replied, her French no longer stilted and formal. “It takes all I have to not just toss her out the window into the dumpster where she belongs. Oh where are my manners,” she holds out a hand. “The name’s Collette Sullivan.”

“Chloé Bourgeois,” The blonde replies, shaking the taller girl’s hand. They shook briefly before Marinette spoke again.

“Chloé, do you want to join us for lunch?”

“If you’re extending the invitation, sure.” Cole smiled as the three walked out. To Marinette’s surprise, Chloé didn’t call for her car, opting to just walk with them.

They found there way to the cafe about seven minutes later, the hostess seating them kindly. They ordered their drinks, latte for Chloé, cherry soda for Marinette, and water for Cole. As they sipped their beverages, Cole pulled out a notebook, writing things down as her left arm bumping against the wall of the booth.

“You’ve got guts Collette, I’ll give you that.” Chloé said out of the blue. “No one would ever talk to Bustier like that, let alone call her out, even if she’s wrong.”

Cole looked up from her notebook, and ran a hand through her bangs. “Thanks I guess. I just really like Shakespeare and I hate when people don’t give it the thought it deserves. Especially the Romeo and Juliet thing. It always drove me up the wall.”

Marinette smiled, looking to Chloé. “She takes her Shakespeare very seriously.” She turned to Cole. “Didn’t you play Hamlet at one point?”

“I memorized his soliloquy, yes,” Cole took a big sip of her water. “Shame the only time I can remember performing it was in class standing on a rolling chair and wearing a recycling bin on my head.” Chloé let out an unladylike snort of laughter, the two other girls looked to her.

“Do you happen to have video of that,” Chloé laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

For a moment Marinette feared that Chloé was reverting to her old ways, but Cole lit up, pulling out her phone and unlocking it at lighting speed. It was a few taps later that Cole passed Chloé the phone, offering her the earbuds. After a few moments Chloé began to snicker. She burst out laughing a few minutes later. She put the phone down and took a few moments to collect herself.

“That’s...amazing,” Chloé gasped out, still recovering from her laughter. “You definitely put a lot of work into that.”

“Thanks.” The waitress came back and the three girls ordered their food. “I was running on about two hours of sleep when I did that, I’m surprised that I got it right.”

“Just as Shakespeare intended,” Marinette joked. Cole nodded and laughed aloud.

“Shakespeare was crazy,” the brunette replied. “And you can add so many spins to the stories when you’re performing.”

The waitress came back in near record time, dropping off Cole’s spicy chicken, Marinette’s croissant sandwich, and Chloé’s sushi. The three girls began to eat their lunch when Chloé asked a question,

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Mme Bustier mentioned a vision problem you had, but you refused to move up front. Why?”

Cole looked uncomfortable for a moment before replying. “It’s nothing that affects how I see out of this eye,” She pointed to the visible green eye, before pulling back her bangs and clipping them back. “This eye however is a bit...MIA I should say.”

“Whoa,” Chloé gasped. She took a moment to look at the eyepatch that covered Cole’s eye socket. It was black, with embroidered begonias, rhododendron, and mint leaves on it, while beneath it, some medical gauze and padding peeked out from behind it.

“How does the eyepatch fit?” Marinette asked. “Does it hurt?”

“The eyepatch is fine Mari,” Cole replied. She put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “Thanks for embroidering it for me. You’re the best cousin ever.”

“Wait,” Chloé interrupted. “You two are related? No wonder you got along so quickly.”

The two cousins nodded in unison, before bursting out laughing. Cole added, “Yeah, my mom and her dad are siblings. But I lived in America for a long while. I’m glad to be here though, I missed being with my family.”

Chloé looked between the two, the resemblance was there, faintly. The same freckles, same ears, similar noses too. And from what she remembered of Gina Dupain, her eyes matched her granddaughter’s, the hairstyle and clothing was also an indicator.

“Well I hope you have a good time in Paris,” Chloé replied. “And if you ever want to hang out, well, you know where to find me.”

“I’d be glad to hang out with you if you want. And Chloé?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Cole if you want to.” Chloé nodded, feeling quite warm inside. She remembered Cole’s introduction earlier that day ‘I hate nicknames from strangers.’ Chloé must not be a stranger anymore then. Marinette’s smile seemed to confirm it.

They paid for their lunch and began to walk back to the school. As they got there, they heard a commotion from the cafeteria.

“MARINETTE!” Alya’s screech rang out. The blogger came storming down the stairs and right up to the designer. “How dare you! Bullying Lila when she went to the bathroom! Threatening to take away her friends! How could you be so selfish!? And you!” She spun to Cole. “Lila knows what you did! She heard about you faking a vision problem to try and get attention! You should be ashamed!”

Before Marinette could say anything, Alya was backpedalling, followed closely by Cole, whose aura had changed to be downright threatening.

“I’m sorry,” Cole’s voice was as sharp as a knife, sending chills up the spine of all three other girls, and the students hiding in the doorway. “I don’t recall asking the opinions of sheep and shower scum. If you just want to bitch, go somewhere else. But when you have a quality source, come talk to me. Because even with a vision problem, I can see this situation clearer than you could ever hope to. Now run along, you sheep. We have class to get to.”

Chloé and Marinette quickly followed the taller girl, who used her height and threatening aura to part the crowd like the Red Sea. She sent Mylene scampering behind Ivan, while Rose and Juleka peered around his other side. Kim gave her a glare, only to back pedal when she leveled her glare on him. As she passed Lila, clinging to Adrien like a lame sloth, she stated,

“And Rossi, if you have problems with someone with an actual disability, maybe you should shut your mouth. After all, you seem to stick your foot in it every time you open it.”

She leveled a glare at the Italian, who seemed genuinely scared, but more infuriated than scared. What a fool.

“You’re just mad I outed you.”

“Foot, meet mouth.” She pulled her cousin along, Chloé following not far behind. The three girls walked by and went to the classroom with little struggle, settling in the back. Chloé sat down, she noticed Cole tapping away on her phone before pocketing said device, turning to her cousin with a wink.

Class passed by with a tense air, whenever Cole spoke in class, Lila began to put on a show of waterworks. The rest of the class, sans Marinette and Chloé, would glare at her. As class was dismissed, the trio made plans to walk home together, she heard M. Damocles call out her name.

“Great,” She turned to Chloé and Marinette. “You guys go on ahead. Head wherever, just text me when you get home safe.” She handed Chloé a folded piece of paper, which when unfolded, had a phone number on it. “I’ll see ya later.” She headed up the stairs to the principal’s office. The two girls waved goodbye to the third. As she disappeared, Chloé turned to Marinette.

“We should get going, I don’t know about you, but I’m losing IQ points just standing here.”

“Sure,” Marinette replied. They made it down the stairs before anyone else could catch up to them, and as they walked into the bakery Sabine looked up from the counter.

“Hello sweetie, hello Chloé,” Sabine smiled. Marinette had told her how much progress Chloé had made since she decided to be a better person. It made the woman proud. “How’d you like your surprise at school Marinette?”

Marinette smiled sweetly. “I loved it! I’m so glad Lettie is here. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Is Nonna coming by anytime soon? They haven’t seen each other in years. ”

“She mentioned during her last phone call that she’d be back from Spain in a few days,” Sabine replied. “Why don’t you two girls head up? And take some snacks with you.”

“As much as I’d love to,” Chloé replied. “I have to go, my mother is headed out on a business trip and I want to see her off.”

Sabine and Marinette looked sadly at the girl. Despite accepting that she’d never get it, Chloé still held a bit of hope for her mother’s approval.

“Alright, but take these for the road,” Sabine replied, handing the blonde a box of honey and lemon flavored treats. “And text let us know when you get home safe.”

“I will, bye Ms Cheng, bye Marinette!” She waved to the two Chinese women as she gladly took the box and left the bakery.

“She’s come a long way these past few months,” Sabine observed.

“Yeah, even if she still has her moments,” Marinette replied, she joined her mother behind the counter, hugging her. Her mom smelled like the bakery, warm baked pastries and hints of butter and fruit.

“How did class go for you and Cole today?” Marinette frowned, even as she felt Tikki nudge her in her purse.

“It was decent,” She admitted. “Lettie didn’t make a good impression with the class, but I don’t think she cares.”

“She never was one to care, what was that thing she used to say?”

“‘Those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind’,” Marinette recited. Sabine hugged her daughter again. After a truly rough day, Marinette had admitted how her classmates were changing, and it wasn’t for the better. Sabine had been livid, and her daughter just managed to calm her down. She trusted her daughter to come to her if there was anything she could do, and Marinette admitted she had one idea. Transfer classes at the beginning of the next school year.

“Are you alright though?” Sabine asked, looking her daughter in the eye. “I know you used to really care about the class.”

“I still do to an extent,” Marinette admitted, tracing patterns in the flour on the counter. “But I’ve been wronged so much by them these past few months, that I don’t think I can ever return to the way things used to be.”

“And I’m glad you’ve come to that decision,” Sabine pressed a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “You’ve listened to your emotions, and made the decision for yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

Marinette wanted to cry. She loved her mom so much, Sabine had been a lot like Marinette when she was younger, a people-pleaser, overworking herself, changing herself to fit others’ demands, it was when she met Tom that she finally began to work past those issues. Sabine knew a little bit of what Marinette was feeling, but Marinette wished she could tell her more. About Ladybug.

“I know Mom,” Marinette replied. She broke the hug reluctantly. “I’ve got to go get my homework out of the way.”

“Alright sweetie,” Sabine handed her a plate of croissants and cookies to eat. “Don’t forget to take a break or two.”

“Okay Mom.” she took the plate and went upstairs to her room.

As she climbed up to her room, Tikki flew out of her purse. “Cole seems nice.”

“Yeah Tikki, I really missed her. I haven’t seen her in years.” The teen dumped her bag at her desk and sat in the chair. “I just wish she didn’t get a first hand look at Lila’s lies on her first day.”

“It was inevitable Marinette,” Tikki replied. “The longer Lila keeps lying, the more the class will turn against you. Since Cole is related to you, even if they don’t know it, Lila must consider her a threat.”

“She is,” Marinette replied. She typed out a message to her cousin on their discord chat. “We’ve been told we’re a lot alike, except I got most of the sweetness. She’s very good at planning. I think she’s more of a threat to Lila than I am.”

Suddenly there was a crash heard throughout Paris. Marinette looked up, seeing a cloud of dust rising from the ground and hearing the yells of panicked civilians.

“Of course,” She sighed. “Let’s hope Chat actually does something this time. Tikki, spots on!”

#Marinette Dupain-Cheng #marinette dupain cheng #ml salt #ml salt fic #ml fic #BurningBridgesBuildingConfidence #anti lila #lila rossi gets no rights #just saying #Collette 'Cole' Sullivan (OC)#chloe bourgeois #sabine cheng #ml tikki

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